Why is everyone standing in rows?
Don't care. I just need to find myself a place to stand like a statue, just like everyone else. I spotted an empty space at the end of the last row and quickly took it.
I kept my eyes down. The General was standing right in front of all of us.
"People with short heights, come forward."
I could hear the slight vibrato in his voice.
A path was quickly made for me to move toward the front, and a few other short guys joined me.
Nice trick, General.
He wanted me in front of him, and considering I was the shortest of all, there was no way I was going unnoticed.
The general turned around and began walking, his steps steady and almost like a march.
"Follow me."
So, we followed.
We walked for what felt like a long time before finally reaching an area where numerous targets had been set up.
So, we're aiming today.
I had already decided this was going to be my worst day, but I guess this part might be a little better.
I've been learning to aim for the past ten years. At least this is something I know how to do.
By the time we reached the training ground, though, everyone was exhausted. We had been walking for so long that almost everyone had stopped marching properly. Instead, they were dragging themselves forward, one step after another.
The general turned to see how we had followed him. "It was a shortcut. Look at yourselves. Pathetic."
Just as he said this, more than half of the guys instantly dropped to the ground to rest.
As for me, I wasn't that tired, but still, why waste time that had been given to us for resting? I took the opportunity and sat down as well.
The sun was directly above us, pouring its heat over the entire training ground. I've never been a fan of summer. The sun's rays and I have never had a good relationship.
The stronger the heat, the itchier my skin gets.
So, if I had been given a chance to rest under this scorching, showering sun, I might as well make use of it.
Back in my district, it isn't this hot. Also, I don't get out much, so I never feel like this.
For me, this is an extreme condition. This sitting right beneath the sun is making me feel uncomfortable. It hasn't been this hot ever since I came here, and today the sun is showing off all its abilities. The more I think about this, the more uncomfortable I get.
I need to think about something else. If I think about being caught, I still haven't figured out how I'm going to avoid it, so that topic needs a lot more pondering.
And if I think about going back home, I'll only end up worrying about my brother.
So, basically, I don't have a damn thing to think about.
While I was busy thinking about absolutely nothing, I didn't even notice that I had started scratching my neck. It was already hurting quite badly, but by then, I knew my hands weren't going to listen to me.
Once my neck had enough, my hands became the next target.
Being skinny, I had been wearing thicker clothes from the very beginning. I was currently wearing two shirts underneath my uniform, deliberately layering them so my physique would look more... well... masculine.
But sitting directly under the sun was making me regret that decision.
I felt like ripping every layer off and letting my skin breathe. The heat was making the itching even worse, and there was only so much self-control I had left. I don't have it in me.
My neck and hands are both itchy, so I'm going to keep scratching until I feel better, even if it means peeling my skin off.
My neck and hands are both itchy, so I'm going to keep scratching until I feel better, even if it means peeling my skin off.
Soon both my lawless hands went up towards my face. I don't want to scratch my face, but it's uncontrollably itchy.
The three places that are directly exposed to the sunlight—my neck, hands, and face—are now completely peeled off.
I know the more I scratch, the itchier it'll get, but how am I going to explain this to my stupid hands?
Just as I was about to take my hands back to my face to scratch it again, someone took hold of them and forcefully made me stand up.
I know who it is. This voice can only belong to the person whom I had planned to ignore.
"What are you doing? Are you trying to peel your face off or what?"
I tried taking my hands from his tight grip, but I think I have for a moment forgotten that this guy in front is much more powerful than me in terms of strength.
"What's wrong? Tell me." His inquiring tone was the last thing I needed.
I didn't want to talk to him, but to save the rest of the skin I have left, I need to say something.
"It's too hot."
There was no one else here but the two of us. A river ran quietly between them, cutting through the forest. The trees were so dense that barely any sunlight managed to penetrate through the leaves, leaving the entire place cool and shadowy.
My body is gradually getting better since I'm no longer uncomfortable. My skin is returning to its typical state. The constant scratching had caused it to turn quite red, but it is now fine.
"Stay put. Here, wait for me."
Huh? Was that an order?
Why did he tell me not to move? Why does he want me to wait for him? And why should I even listen to him?
Humph.
I'm going to move, and I'm definitely not going to wait for him. Yes, that's it. I'm so smart.
Well... he's definitely smarter than me.
Actually, even if I wanted to move, I couldn't. He had tied my leg to the leg of the chair.
Ridiculous.
And slightly embarrassing.
At least no one was here to see me sitting there, literally tied to a chair. I could already imagine how humiliating it would be if someone walked in.
I was still trying to come up with another scheme to free myself and make my way back when, before I could think of anything useful, he returned.
In his hands, he had a bowl and a cloth. Rather than coming in my direction, he turned in the direction of the river. I looked up to see all his movements and tried to decipher what he was going to do with it.
He filled the bowl with water, turned around, and is now coming in my direction.
I looked everywhere except for him now.
"You can look at me. I don't mind."
He's smiling again. If I wouldn't have been angry back then, then I would have been completely immersed in his laughter.
He soaked the cloth in the water, then reached forward to take my hand. I was not giving him my hand, but he glared at me, so I placed my hand in his quickly and silently. It's just a hand, anyways.
With the cloth, he started to wipe both my hands slowly. I feel that there's a disinfectant in this water, first because of the smell and second because it slightly gives off a burning feeling. He's helping me?
Am I mistaking him?
He again soaked that cloth and slowly massaged my face with tenderness. What?
Did I judge him too early? No, there is no judging… It's just traps.
Now he put the cloth on my neck. I trembled with pain. This really hurts, as I had scratched my neck the most.
The general, after seeing my pained expression, slowed down.
"Does it hurt?"
I still didn't want to talk, but I had too many questions, and for the time being I need to ask this question, as it is really bugging me.
I asked, even if it was just partial, "Why are you helping me?"
We are enemies. I didn't say this outright, but I could tell he got the catch.
"I don't know why I'm helping you, but I can tell you that we are not enemies."
He paused.
"We might be something better than us as enemies."
"How are we not enemies? You're from district one, whereas I'm from district ten. And no, there's nothing better than being enemies." I literally said this loudly, and I forgot to maintain my voice.
"What's your name, pretty girl?" He's likely got a snicker on his face.
I really dislike my temper. How many times do I have to tell myself not to get angry in front of people who are somewhat intelligent?
Now he wants to know my name.
Tell him? Make up a name out of nowhere, or stay silent.
"My name is Rachel."
He's looking at me as if I don't even know my own name.
Only my brother can usually tell when I'm lying. Can he tell too?
I really hope not.
Because if he can, then I'm in serious trouble.
"No, it's not," he retorted quickly.
"How do you know that I'm not Rachel?"
He's laughing at me.
He pointed at his head. "I just can."
I'm still thinking about how. Did I give him a hint or something?
"Why are you so cute?"
What is he trying to get out of me? Although I don't like people calling me cute, right now I just don't want to correct it.
"OK. Now let's have a serious talk." He bent down, at my eye level again.
Can't we just stay quiet for some time?
"What's your name?" He looked as if he's done playing games.
"Does it really matter if you know my name?"
His hand reached out, holding the back of my chair. "I just want to know who I'm looking at."
"Can't you just call me Rosen?" Is it that hard?
"Why should I call you Rosen when you already have a name of your own?"
I need to change this 'what's your name' topic. I don't feel like telling you... Is that hard to grasp?
"Aren't we supposed to go back?"
Let's go back and forget about this topic and conversation.
His grip on the chair tightened a bit. "We will, but first."
He took a tube out of his pocket. Maybe that's a salve (ointment). His hands were about to reach my face when I took hold of them.
"I'll do it myself. Thank you." He snapped his hand back that held the tube.
"No. I'll do it or else I won't give this to you."
He gestured towards the medicine. Well then, don't expect me to beg for it.
"Then keep your medicine to yourself."
After saying this, I stood up, forgetting about my leg. I stumbled, and he pushed me back on that small chair.
"Wow. This little girl is also stubborn."
He's grinning now. Only God knows how I'm tolerating this guy.