I see.
Miyamoto Sota.
He knew me.
I didn’t know him.
He went to the same school I went to. I went to the same school he did. But I didn’t know him. Though he knew me.
That means.
That meant.
That could only mean.
He knew about my past.
My past. My dark past. My twisted past. A past I have left behind. A past that still haunts me. A past that is a part of me. A past that tells who I am. A past that shows what I am. A past where I ruined lives. My own life. Those girls’ lives. Everyone’s lives. I ruined. I destroyed. I broke. I sinned. I regretted. I didn’t regret it at all. Those girls. Those people. I don’t care about them. But, they care about me.
Miyamoto said.
“I hate you.”
Yes.
They hate me.
I am indifferent but not them.
They are human. Unlike me.
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