Forty Hours Later — Midnight
Inside an upscale restaurant, a young man named Sebastian sat across from a girl named Vela at a small round table.
Vela suddenly rose from her seat, her hands pressed against the table, her eyes shining with excitement.
"Does this mean," she said breathlessly, "that you're going to propose to me tomorrow, Sebastian?"
Embarrassment — and something close to irritation — flashed across Sebastian's face.
"Sit down," he muttered. "Don't make a spectacle of us."
He leaned closer, lowering his voice to a whisper near her ear.
"I'm truly sorry. Is there anything I can do to compensate you besides that? What I did a month ago… and what I did two days ago… it was a mistake. It won't happen again. You know I'm not that kind of person. The old Sebastian is back. I promise you won't see anything that disgraceful from me again. Now let's finish our dinner without attracting attention."
Vela smiled brightly. "You've done more than enough. I accept your apology."
Sebastian's expression shifted.
It became strange. Unsettling. Even Vela couldn't decipher it.
"Try to remember anything else I did wrong to you," he said quietly. "I want to apologize again. I don't know what's wrong with my head… but I can't remember anything else to be sorry for. I apologize for that too."
Vela forced a smile, unease creeping into her chest.
"Why would you want that? That's… strange."
His eyes gleamed with unnatural excitement. His face looked almost detached from consciousness.
"I can't get enough of it," he whispered. "Apologizing gives me a strange… overwhelming pleasure."
At that moment, two girls left the neighboring table.
Before the staff could clean it, an elderly woman — around seventy years old — slowly took their place. She was slightly short, her hair completely white. She wore an earth-colored cloak that covered her entire body except her face and head.
A waiter approached her.
"Good evening, ma'am. What may I get for you?"
She offered a faint smile.
"For now, just clean the table. I want my work to be clean. That's the least it deserves."
Her final words carried a quiet sadness as her gaze dropped to the floor.
"Of course," the waiter replied. "I've already asked someone to take care of it. When you decide what you'd like, just call me."
One of the employees pulled the waiter aside.
"She didn't reserve a table. And judging by her appearance, she probably can't afford anything here. Why didn't you ask her to leave?"
The waiter calmly leaned closer and whispered:
"She's my mother. I'll pay for her."
Then he walked away before hearing the other employee murmur in confusion:
"But your mother is dead."
After the table was cleaned, the old woman reached into her bag and took out a small cake — no bigger than her hands. She placed it gently on the table. Then she removed a single birthday candle, pressed it into the center, lit it, and closed her eyes to make a wish.
Vela noticed her and seized the opportunity to escape Sebastian's disturbing words.
"Sebastian, look at her. She's celebrating her birthday alone at that age. Let's join her."
Sebastian nodded.
The two approached the old woman and began encouraging her to blow out the candle.
She smiled.
She blew it out.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"My son promised he would buy me a large cake and come celebrate with me," she said softly. "He promised he would cut the cake himself… taste it first… and tell me how wonderful it was before feeding me a piece. But he couldn't keep his promise."
She then turned toward Vela, her smile thin and unnatural.
"Would you cut this small cake and taste it for me?"
Vela agreed.
She picked up a knife from the table, sliced a small piece, and ate it.
"Wow," she said while chewing. "It's really delicious."
The old woman stared at her intensely, tension tightening her face as she waited for Vela to swallow.
Only when Vela finished did the old woman lower her gaze and begin speaking again.
"You didn't ask why my son couldn't keep his promise. Of course you didn't. You're not interested. That's fine. I'll tell you anyway. I must tell you."
She inhaled slowly.
"His name was John."
"Two days ago, he found a girl being assaulted. The moment he saw what was happening, he rushed to save her without hesitation. He pulled her away from the attacker and escorted her safely home."
Her voice trembled.
"But when they arrived, the girl was frightened and confused. She didn't want to cause trouble for the real criminal. So she lied to her father. She said John was the one who assaulted her."
"When John heard the accusation, he was terrified. Shocked. He ran home."
"When he got there, he immediately told us — his parents — everything. He didn't want to disappear and worry us. He wanted to be honest."
"He promised me he would come to my birthday today after retrieving the camera footage from the place where the assault happened — footage that would prove his innocence."
Her hands trembled.
"But when he left the house… someone was waiting for him. They grabbed him violently. The last words he said to me were: 'I promise I'll come back to celebrate with you. I'll bring a big cake. Don't worry about me.'"
Her voice broke.
"In the morning… I found a live-streamed video of my son being brutally murdered."
She slowly lifted her eyes and locked them onto Vela.
"Do you recognize my son?"
"…And do you recognize that girl?"
Vela was so overwhelmed by fear and shock that she didn't realize she was choking until it was too late.
She tried to breathe.
Tried to fight it.
But she couldn't.
Her body collapsed onto the floor.
People began rushing toward her, attempting to help.
Meanwhile, the old woman stood up from the table, trembling with rage and grief, tears pouring from her eyes.
"He tried to help you!" she cried. "Why did you do that to him? Don't you have a conscience? A heart? Why did you take my son from me? Give me one reason! Don't stay silent — speak!"
"He did nothing wrong. He was a good boy. Kind-hearted. He helped everyone without thinking of himself. It's not fair for him to die at that age."
Her voice grew sharper, darker.
"Taste death. And if I could give you something worse than this… I would."
Then, slowly, she fell to her knees.
Her voice dropped to a fragile whisper.
"He was my only son. I waited thirty years to have him. And you took him from me… suddenly… for no reason."
"There is no justice in this."