“Pull the trigger, Arthur.” A man’s voice echoed through the dimly lit room.

“This is your only chance to survive,” he added, his tone calm, his pale blue eyes steady and unwavering.

Arthur’s hands trembled as he raised the gun, his grip unsteady. He bit his lip hard, his brow furrowed.

“W-Why are you d-doing this, Ray?” he stammered, his voice breaking as his breath hitched.

This wasn’t something he had ever prepared for—not in the most dreadful scenarios he could imagine.

Ray smiled, a soft, almost serene smile that didn’t belong in a moment like this.

“It has nothing to do with you,” he said quietly.

He closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in a long, steady breath, as if bracing for what was to come.

When he opened them again, the determination in his gaze was unshaken, fearless.

Arthur’s heart clenched. “R-Ray…” he murmured, barely audible.

The words hit like a knife to his chest. Pain twisted inside him, tightening his jaw and bringing a faint tremor to his lips.

His eyes shimmered with unshed tears, burning as he forced them back.

“Pull the goddamn trigger, Arthur!” Ray roared, his voice cracking under the strain. He grabbed the barrel of the gun and shoved it against his forehead.

“Show your fucking owners how loyal their dog really is!”

Ray’s outburst sent Arthur’s emotions spiraling out of control. His breath quickened, his vision blurred with hot tears, and a scream tore from his throat.

He tightened his grip on the gun, every muscle in his body trembling, and pulled the trigger with all the strength he had left.

“I-I’m s-sorry, R-Ray!”

Bang!!

“Arthur!!”

All of a sudden, he heard a voice, a familiar one.

It kept calling his name, growing louder, more insistent, each call pressing harder against his chest.

“Arthur!!”

“Arthur! Wake up!”

His eyes fluttered open, taking in the ornate light bulb on the ceiling that cast a soft glow onto the lavish wooden walls.

He rubbed his eyes with his fingers, blinking away the haze, and saw a woman looking down at him, her eyes clouded with worry.

“Arthur, are you okay?” she asked, her voice low but thick with anxiety.

He raised his hand to her cheek, his brows knitting together in confusion.

“What’s wrong, Alice? Why do you look so worried?”

Her hand covered his as she leaned into his touch.

“You were panting in your sleep,” she said softly, her eyes lowered ever so slightly.

“And you kept saying the name Ray.” She closed her eyes, her brows knitting together, worry tightening her expression.

“Are you sure you’re...okay?”

Arthur drew a deep breath, forcing a small, reassuring smile. He leaned closer to Alice, his fingers brushing through her hair with slow, deliberate care. “I’m fine,” he said, his voice gentle.

“You don’t need to worry about me. Let’s focus on curing your disease.”

Alice let out a soft sigh, leaning into his embrace. Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head against his chest.

Arthur closed his eyes, holding her close, his grip firm as though grounding himself in her presence.

It had been almost a month since her leukemia treatment began.

Her condition was gradually improving; the symptoms were fading, and the pallor that had haunted her face was giving way to a gentle flush.

Slowly, she was becoming herself again.

Yet, despite the progress, Arthur often seemed distant. Like today, he sat on the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling, his expression devoid of emotion.

In the kitchen, Alice watched him, a flicker of concern crossing her face.

Was it related to what happened last night? Could his dream be tied to the weight of his past?

She shook her head, dispelling the thoughts.

With a determined breath, she walked over to him and stood in front of him.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

Arthur blinked and looked at her, his lips curving into a faint smile. He patted the empty seat beside him, gesturing for her to sit.

Alice lowered herself onto the couch, her gaze fixed on him.

“Tell me,” she said, her tone soft but firm. “What’s gotten into you so suddenly?”

Arthur’s gaze faltered, and he let out a shaky breath. “Alice,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion.

“Do you want to know about my past? The reason I couldn’t let go of my trauma before I met you?”

His hands trembled slightly, the movement subtle but noticeable. Alice caught it and placed her hand over his, squeezing gently.

She smiled at him, her eyes warm and reassuring. “My ears are always open to you, Arthur.”

He held her hand gently. “It escalated so fast… I had to force myself to accept the fate waiting for me,” he said, his voice heavy as he drew a deep, shuddering breath, struggling to steady himself.

She fixed her gaze on him, her expression sharp and questioning.

“Force yourself?” she asked, her voice soft but edged with disbelief.

He gave a faint nod, his eyes drifting upward to the ceiling as if searching for solace in its blank expanse.

“I had to force myself to kill the people who ever respected me, the only ones who saw me as a human being, not just a tool.” His eyes met her, genuine seriousness.

“Those people were my comrades,” he said, each word dragging out of him like a confession.

The weight of his admission struck her like a blow. Her breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened, and a shiver ran down her spine at the weight of his words

It was sudden, raw, like a blade slicing through her resolve. She hadn’t expected him to say it to her face.

“H-Huh?” she murmured, her words stuck, refusing to leave her throat.

“You heard me right,” he said, his voice trembling, as if the words themselves were too heavy to bear. “I stained my hands with the blood of my comrades to get where I am today.”

He shook his head slightly, sorrow weighing down the motion, and his gaze locked onto Alice’s, unwavering, intense.

Pain and guilt burned in his eyes, his lips pressed into a hard, unforgiving line.

“I killed my own comrades.”