A long time had passed, but how long exactly? Rupert couldn't know, for he had just woken up from his well-needed sleep.

"mmm..." he groaned, caught between sleep and wakefulness, then slowly opened his eyes.

The room was silent, and his vision was dark. The air was dense and smelled muddy—he could detect the earthy texture of the stone room he was in. His body ached all over from the hard, cold floor he had slept on. It seemed he had fallen asleep on the floor, even though he had been sitting upright by the pillar. His rib cage felt tight, and his hips screeched in pain as if he had been frozen after being soaked in the rain.

Although he was exhausted, it felt as if he had slept for a long time. The drowsiness had vanished from his body, leaving only soreness behind.

I can't believe this is how I die. Is this what I get for avoiding society? Is this my punishment for living outside a group? I never had any attachment to people, but it seems like that has backfired. I should have spoken with more people. I should have made more connections. Why did I avoid others? Really, why did I avoid other people? Why didn't I try to get closer to them? If I had interacted with more people, I would have been smarter, avoiding this stupid act of mine. If I had interacted more with others, I would have had the courage to abandon those thugs and run away long before falling into their trap. Why didn't I run away? How stupid can I get? Is this really the extent of my intelligence? Am I really that foolish? I can't understand... I should have never followed them. Why did I follow them? Why did I do something so stupid despite knowing the stupidity of my actions? I knew it was a trap. I sensed it—I already knew. Why didn't I muster the courage to run away? Was it improper? Was it unnatural to flee after they went out of their way to lead me to the destination I wanted to reach? Did I really fall for their fake act of kindness? But I knew it could be fake—it could be a trap. I knew that. Why couldn't I accept that their kindness was fake? Was I deceiving myself? It can't be... no, it can't be... but it makes sense. Was I longing for that kindness, that interaction, so much that I completely risked my life just to enjoy that short pleasure, that brief joy, that warm feeling in my heart? What was that feeling? Love? No. Was it happiness? No, it can't be. Maybe a little. But I know—I already know. There's no one here to deceive anymore. It's only me and me alone. Who am I trying to deceive? I already know what that feeling was. It was the opposite of loneliness. I felt like I belonged in their friend group. I felt included. I felt connected with them. It was short—really short—but at that moment, it felt like a lifetime. Those small conversations about useless things, things that don't even matter... I don't even remember what we talked about. But those conversations, combined with the feeling of being included—it really felt good.

I fell into a trap that shouldn't have happened. I'm not like the rich pigs with no brains and all money. I can't imagine myself being dumber than them... but it seems like there's a world of difference between me and them—something that can't be bought with money. A skill that can't be cheated, only improved little by little. Something they have that I don't—the social skills needed to thrive in this world. It seems I don't have that... but that's not true either. I can speak with people normally. I don't stutter. I don't get anxious. I talk fine with Mr. Han, the kind old lady Roxy from the bakery, the smelly and mean-looking butcher. His face is swollen... just what kind of life must he have had for his face to have such wrinkles? I would be sour and mean too if I had a life like that... hehe...

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

I guess it's friendship that I lacked. It's not my conversation skills—it has to be my social intelligence. I can converse fine, but if I can't understand the conversation, then how can I expect to understand others? If I can't understand others, then I won't improve my social skills. But making connections is hard... I don't want that. I don't want to put myself through unnecessary pain. But it seems like it is necessary after all.

Maybe I could have refused Mr. Han's offer to buy wine. If I had never accepted his errand, none of this would have happened. I'm going to lose my life over a measly 300 coins. Is my life really worth so little? I'm going to die trying to earn 300 coins. If I add that to my life savings, my life is worth 51,400 coins. This is the value of my life. But that's not right—I could have earned more, increased my worth, proven to this world that even I could reach the end of my life peacefully. I could have done all of that if only I hadn't come to this town.

It seems like money can't save me from this situation. What have I really been trying to hoard money for? If I'm going to die like this, leaving behind all the wealth I spent my life gathering, then I don't want it. I wasted all the time I had. Seven years of my life, working hard day in and day out—chopping and chopping and chopping and chopping every day, carrying logs over and over again. For what? Only to reach this conclusion? Only for my life to end like this? I wasted all my time for nothing. Absolutely nothing. I gained nothing, and now I have lost everything. The money can't save me when I need it most. So this is the reality rich people face, huh? They must feel like this at the end of their lives. I sympathize with you guys a little now. Me and you—we're not so different after all. We both hoard money our whole lives, only to leave the world the same way. The only difference between me and you is the legacy left behind. The more money you have, the greater the possibility of leaving behind a mark in this world, proving your existence. You can have more wives and children. Children are legacies. The more money you have, the more resources you can access—allowing you to reproduce more and ensure you leave something behind in this world. If not children, then you can build things that will last for generations or accomplish things beyond the reach of ordinary people.

I get it now. I understand the rich. Rich people are just as afraid of dying as I am. That's why they do stupid things—afraid of disappearing from history, they do whatever they can to leave their mark.

I get it now. You're not so different from me after all. If I get the chance to leave this place, I will dedicate my life to leaving a great legacy behind. After all, I don't want to disappear from this world either.

Rupert, at the end of his life, reflecting on and regretting his decisions, sat in the darkness of the room for a while. Suddenly, he heard a noise—a cracking sound coming from the boulder blocking the entrance.