1335 "I" (1/2)

I'm sitting on the chair in a police station, looking at the mouths of two men in black-and-white checkered uniforms opposite me. It's like they're talking about something.

The man on the left has a cold expression on his face, as if he has been through too many unfortunate events. The man on the right is a little inexperienced, and there's a hint of pity in his eyes.

I don't feel any pain, nor did I regret delivering that final stab. At that moment, I even felt that I had been liberated. The warm blood that sprayed on my body was like salvation from a god.

I only regret my fervent pursuit of money in my youth. I had sacrificed my dignity, my body, and my freedom.

Over the past few days at the police station, I've had enough peace and quiet. I had the opportunity to ponder this question at a deeper level, far deeper than whatever that I've been thinking about over the years:

Me having a weak will and being immature were the source of the mistakes I made. But they weren't the only reason.

Ever since I was a child, all the education I received told me that working and striving hard is for that big house, those full floor-to-ceiling windows that let in plenty of light, to have more than three servants, a lawn and garden that I can call my own, silver-plated or even gold-plated cutlery, be able to host a banquet filled with delicacies, run balls that were filled with melodious music, etc.

The newspapers and magazines I'd read also told me over and over again that only those that showed a sufficient level of decency can be called middle-class. They are the true pillars of support for this kingdom. They are people of high-class, excellence, zero mediocrity, and integrity, while having compassion and knowledge.

At the same time, they also told me what decency was. It's wearing a beautiful dress, matching expensive skincare products, cosmetics, and exquisite fashion handbags for different occasions. It was to attend concerts, high tea, and gatherings filled with class.

And all of this translated means gold pounds, gold pounds, and gold pounds.

I have to admit that pursuing a better life is instinctual for everyone. However, when the influences on a girl tells her in every aspect that, when the mainstream views of society are all about appearance, exquisiteness, and elegance, it's very difficult to not have her thoughts become influenced.

I don't know what this phenomenon is called. I only know that if all of this can't be changed, then a tragedy like mine will continue happening, happening more and more often.

When that happens, someone would definitely curse.

”Look at these gold-digging women, selling out their souls!”

Subconsciously, I turn around and see the beautiful and bustling world outside. I see the bright red blood flowing in this world.

”Miss Tracey, are you listening to us?” A voice distracts my thoughts, coming from the slightly inexperienced policeman.

I grin at him, not telling him I'm thinking about some philosophical questions.

What a joke. A gold digger who sold her soul is actually thinking of such inane matters when she's being interrogated by the police.

The policeman nods and says to me, ”Miss Tracey, you'll be put on trial soon. We'll arrange a lawyer for you.

”I'm sorry, We didn't manage to retain the witness. Just having his testimony isn't in your favor.”

”It's okay,” I say quietly to him.

I will try my best to defend myself, and repent for the crimes I have committed. I only hope that I can restart life anew.

I think for a moment and curl the corners of my lips. I say to the two officers, ”Can you borrow a few books from the library for me while I wait to go on trial?

”Yes, 'Phenomena of Sociology and Education'…”

At that moment, I see the two police officers in a daze, and a hint of, yes—surprise.

…

I sit at the far end of the mottled table and hear Miss Judgment describe the Utopia incident.

After she finishes, I look around and hoarsely say, ”This is a ritual.”

Unsurprisingly, I see Miss Judgment's gaze freeze. I can sense Mr. Hanged Man and Miss Justice looking over with a hint of speculation in their eyes.

At this moment, I can almost guess what they're thinking.

They definitely suspect that this is The World Gehrman Sparrow's Sequence 1 ritual. And they are already long aware from the talks in the Tarot Gatherings that the existence of a Sequence 0 true god makes it impossible for a Sequence 1 to exist.

Regarding this matter, I have already prepared an explanation. It is to let them think about the ancient sun god and ”His” eight Kings of Angels.

Unfortunately, no one raises any questions. They may have already made the connection to the Kings of Angels, or perhaps they believe that the ritual involving Utopia is mainly to help Mr. Fool awaken further.

…

I look at the lady who is lost in thought, and I ask after some deliberation, ”Miss Tracey, where do your parents live?”

”They've already passed away…” the beautiful lady whose soul no longer belongs here replies with an ethereal voice.

I lower my head and record it.

”Do you have any other relatives?”

The lady turns to look out the window and answers casually, ”No…”