A soft smile on her face, one that wasn't fake.
"…Is something wrong?" I asked.
She shook her head slightly, and then said, "Happy Birthday."
I froze.
"…What?"
She chuckled. "I've seen you here every year.
Same cake. Same time.Day before Christmas Eve. I've been working here for three years now. So, yeah. I remember."
I stared at her, completely thrown off. I had no idea what to say.
I didn't even know her name.
She pushed the box across the counter.
"Here. And... if you're not in a hurry, could you wait for a few minutes? My shift's about to end."
"…Sure," I mumbled.
I walked back to the seat and sat down again.
My mind was racing.
Someone had remembered my birthday.
No. Not just remembered it. Noticed me.
Me—some forgettable guy walking into a cake shop once a year.
And it wasn't even out of pity. She said it with ease, like it was just something normal.
I stared at the cake box in my hands.
For a moment—just a moment—I felt warm inside. Not from the heater.
But from that tiny flicker of... what was it? Happiness?
Of course, I tried to kill the feeling fast. No point getting excited over something small. Maybe it was just routine for her. Maybe she says that to all sad-looking loners.
Still, I waited.
When she was done, she took off her apron and came out from behind the counter.
"There's a vending machine nearby," she said. "Let's walk there. I'll buy you a drink."
I followed her without thinking.
The streets were still crowded, but this side alley was quieter.
Cold wind blew again, and I stuffed my hands deep into my pockets.
"So… you remember me because of my face?" I asked.
"Partly," she said. "But mostly because... you never brought anyone with you."
I looked at her. "That's a weird reason."
"It stuck with me," she said with a small shrug.
"A lonely boy who buys a birthday cake for himself every year. Kind of hard to forget."
Her words were soft. Not teasing. Just honest.
But it hit me like a truck.
Yeah. That was me.
And just like that, I was back to my old self.
Cynical. Dull. Real.
Of course, she remembered because I looked pathetic.
Of course, that's how I stood out.
People don't remember you for being great.
They remember you for being strange.
I sighed, watching the steam of my breath in the cold air.
We stopped in front of the vending machine.
She was about to put coins in when—
Something stabbed me.
A sharp, blinding pain shot through my back.
I gasped. The world tilted.
My body shook. My hands let go of the cake box. It fell with a dull thud.
I looked down.
Blood.
Thick, dark red. It dripped down my side, slowly staining my pants.
My legs felt like jelly. My head spun.
The lights of Shibuya blurred. I dropped to my knees, then collapsed fully on the cold concrete.
My vision flickered.
Memories crashed through my head—like someone hit the fast-forward button on my life.
Old birthdays. School fights.
My first phone. Every time I got ignored. Every time I wanted to cry but didn't.
And then, strangely...
My p*rn history.
That's right.
I never cleared it.
Not once.
If someone checks my phone after I die, they're going to see it. All of it. Every weird search.
Every 3 AM regret.
I laughed.
I actually laughed.
Even as blood poured out of me, I was lying there, giggling like an idiot.
Not because it was funny.
Because I was dying... and that was the final thought my brain picked.
Figures.
Just as my vision went completely blurry, I saw her face.
The girl.
She was standing over me. Still smiling.
But it wasn't kind anymore.
It was...
Grinning.
Like she knew.
But, it didn't matter to me anymore.
I would be dead anyway, so why bother to think, why she is grinning?
It would be nice, if I could reincarnate in a fantasy world, like the web novel stories I have always read.
It would be nice to get another chance to live a happy life.
It would be nice ..... if.....I had never killed that little girl....
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