Chapter 1: The Protagonist Treatment

You know how some protagonists sometimes get the luxury of passing out after going through a most exciting and traumatic experience? Yeah well, I wasn’t one of them. Almost immediately after the dagger made contact with my throat, I felt an unnatural force robbing me of my motor functions and causing me to lose all sensation in that arm completely. Two things. One, this confirmed that everything I felt before wasn’t just my imagination, and something really had possessed me and taken at least partial control of my body. Two, almost immediately did not equal instantaneous, so despite the entity’s attempt to save me from myself, it wasn’t able to stop the dagger from cutting partially into my throat. In other words, it looked like my death wish would be granted after all. Actually, make that three. Three, I realized that, despite wanting nothing more than death literally a moment ago, I didn’t want to die after all.

Yes, yes, I’m aware how crazy that sounded. Maybe it was because the pain had snapped me out of my stupor, or maybe it was because I subconsciously thought I was in a nightmare, and I would wake up if I killed my dream self. Look, lots of people do crazy things when they’re panicking, and I was possessed by an evil dagger within the hour I was fucking teleported to a fucking isekai, so get off my fucking back, alright? Anyway, I dropped the dagger and clutched the right side of my neck immediately, but it was useless. I could physically feel thick globs of blood leaking out of my severed veins in bursts and wetting my palm far, far too quickly.

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck—oh shit…”

It was incredible how quickly dizziness had struck me. One moment I was cursing my own stupidity, and the next the world was threatening to turn upside down. Must have cut an artery or something, I thought almost deliriously to myself. I remembered reading a trivia on the internet that it only took tens of seconds to bleed to death if a major artery in your neck was cut, which meant that in the worst case scenario, I only had tens of seconds left to live. It was terrifying. My mind raced faster than ever before to find a solution. What could I possibly do to save my stupid, stupid ass? The cottage was the first thing to enter my mind. Someone clearly lived there since its chimney was smoking, and it was close enough that I could walk there in half an hour at most. Problem alpha and omega. I wasn’t sure if I even had a minute, much less half an hour. At the rate I was losing blood—Huh? When did I fall on my knees? This is really bad—I would be dead unless I stemmed the bleeding within the next few seconds. But how? I had absolutely nothing on my person that could be used as a bandage. I could try wrapping my shirt around my neck, but I was fairly sure that it would be even less effective than my now slippery hands. When I was younger, I had seen faucets with cloth wrapped around the aerator to trap the leaking water. That was how I envisioned wrapping the wound with my shirt would work; the shirt acting as an effective trap to keep the blood from dripping onto the ground, but doing nada to keep my blood inside. Still, what choice do I have? I could not keep my hands on my neck forever, and it wasn’t like I had anything else that could do—

Wait.

My eyes shifted downward. An incredibly dangerous and definitely stupid idea began sprouting in my mind. In fact, I did have something that might work. Namely, the belt of unknown substance hanging around my waist. It was unnaturally cold, so it should help constricting the blood vessels and reduce the bleeding like an ice pack. As a belt, it was also designed to wrap around things and stay there. Despite the uneven curvatures of the human neck, it should, theoretically speaking, be possible to wrap it around my neck tight enough to compress the wound, but not so tight that I would be strangling myself. It being semi-elastic was a boon in this case. Which brings me to my last point—the strap was made of exotic material. It was too much to hope that it might secretly possess some sort of supernatural healing properties, but who the fuck knows, right? God, I sure hope so.

It wasn’t all positives, of course. The belt was only so wide, so my plan would be for naught if the wound was too huge. It was also slippery as hell, which did not make for a good combination with my bloody hands. And even if everything went without a hitch, I still needed to walk to the cottage to get help. If I moved a little too roughly and jostled it out of position, then…

Another sway threatened to unbalance me and jolted me out of my thoughts. No time to think. While keeping my right hand on the wound, I unbuckled my otherworldly belt as quickly as possible and held it by the buckle. Now came the hardest part. Because the belt was so slippery—I’m sorry, I just had to complain here again, but in their fucking right mind makes a belt that’s slippery?—I would not be able to remove my palm little by little while inching the belt over the wound. Forget that my consciousness was fading by the second, it would’ve been tricky to pull off even when I was at full health. Instead, I would have to remove my palm for a second, wrap the belt over the wound, and tighten it as hard as possible without choking myself too much. Easy peasy. I could only hope that all those years I spent typing away at a keyboard had kept my fingers relatively dextrous.

“Here goes nothing,” I muttered to myself. I bent my neck a little to keep pressure on the wound. Then, I let go. There was a disgusting squelch as I removed my palm from the wound. At the same time, I was struck by another powerful dizzy spell that threatened to end everything before it even began. Thankfully, I didn’t faint. I looped the belt right over my neck and pulled it against the right side of my neck. There was an immediate flare of pain, but that was good because it was keeping me awake. It also told me that I had, against all odds, managed to cover the entire wound in one go. That was good. As quickly as possible, I slid the tail end of the belt through the buckle and pulled as hard as I dared. After fastening the strap, I finally looped the rest of the length around my whole neck before shoving the tail end—which conveniently ended up on the left side of my neck—unto itself to secure it.

And then it was done. The process had gone easier and smoother than I dared to hope. To be honest, I had no idea if the first aid would work—now that I think about it, the exotic material could have been permeable or something, and all I had achieved was to give myself a blood red collar before I drop dead—but after wiping my hands and my neck as much as possible before caressing the bottom side of the belt, I couldn’t feel any liquid seeping through the material. I waited a few seconds to see if my vision would continue to darken. Didn’t seem like it. Then, I tried getting on my feet. That immediately set off a dizzy spell that dropped me on all fours and made me panic-check the belt all over again, but it didn’t get worse than that.

I survived. I had survived my own suicide attempt. What a mad day it had been.

It wasn’t over yet though. This was a temporary measure at best, and I still had to get to the cottage for help. How on earth am I going to do that though? I can’t even stand up right now… do I have to crawl over there like a bug?

I tried the obvious solution first. “If you’re there this whole time, you can come out now! I promise I don’t bite!”

“Hello?”

“Can anyone hear me?”

“I need help!”

Nothing happened. All my yelling did was to flare my injury and deepen the darkness around my vision. I should’ve known. The cottage was within walking distance, sure, but hearing distance? That was a little too much to hope for. Plus, in this strange world where everything was a bit off, could I even be sure if sound carried through the air the normal way?

I really have to crawl my way over, am I?

I swore. “Phuck!”

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Day 0, Afternoon

It occurred to me some time during my crawl that my wounds might not be as fatal as I thought. Had I actually cut a major artery in my neck, I should’ve fallen unconscious and died by now. Some people survived fatal injuries not because the injuries weren’t fatal, but because they were rushed to the hospital fast enough for the doctors to work their science on them. Otherwise, all the first aid would’ve achieved was to delay the deaths. Prolonged the suffering.

It was an unsettling and sobering thought.

I had a lot more thoughts during the crawl—the mind wanders the freest when it is unburdened by immediate concerns—but they weren’t worth mentioning, so I will refrain from doing so. I have read that it is supposedly therapeutic to write out your thoughts—all of them, no matter how light or dark—on the paper. Some even go as far as to burn the papers as a way of letting go of those thoughts. However, I’m recording my experiences for pragmatic reasons. I’ve never had the best memory, and now I’m in a whole new world where I will most likely have to relearn everything. A record would do wonders in reminding me the key rules of survival in this place, and maybe a detail I thought was trivial at the time of the recording would turn out to be critical later. It would also keep me grounded. I doubt I would ever be able to return to my world, meaning it was inevitable that Kaylan of Earth would be continuously chipped away until nothing was left. My memories, knowledge, culture, identity, bonds, everything. Keeping a diary would slow down the process as much as possible and, when the inexorable inevitably came to pass, serve as a memento of the person I once was.

The dark thoughts, sensations and emotions that plagued me as I crawled hopelessly toward the cottage though? The throbbing pain that sapped my will to continue, the fear I felt each time I touched my neck to make sure that the belt hadn’t been jostled out of place, the dark loathing that soured my mouth when I inevitably started reflecting upon my suicide attempt, and so much more? Yeah, I don’t think I need to recall any of that. Many people claim that the best way to deal with one’s fears is to face it head on, but I think they think that only because they haven't tried hard enough to escape it. Diary, please hide this section from my view after I finish it, and be sure to never show it to me again unless I explicitly ask you to, thanks.

After what seemed like hours of crawling and countless mini breaks later, I finally made it to the four wooden steps leading up to the front door. The sun was still hanging tall on my head. My clothes were completely drenched in sweat, and the linings slick with blood. Despite my best efforts, the belt had been jostled out of position a couple of times during the crawl, and each time it happened I thought for sure that would be the end of me. But somehow, even after my vision had narrowed into pin needles, and I was breathing so rapidly it felt as if my brain was screaming for oxygen—it probably was, and the fact that I had a tightened belt around my neck didn’t help—I never once fell unconscious, and I never gave up on pushing until finally, almost abruptly, I found myself at the finishing line. It was a complete miracle. Physically speaking, it should have been impossible for me to make the journey considering all the blood I had lost until that point, and mentally, well, the reason I was like this in the first place was because I had tried to kill myself. I should stop thinking about it.

It wasn’t over yet though. I still needed to cry for help. I sucked in a mouthful of air and tried to scream, but the only thing that came out of my mouth was a pathetic wheeze that was barely louder than the breeze passing through my ears. A couple of failed attempts later, I tried tapping on the wooden steps as loudly as I could, but still I heard no response from the cottage whatsoever. My doubts nearly overwhelmed my desire to live then. There has to be someone in the house. I couldn’t have imagined the smoke coming out of the chimney! But… I was staring at the ground most of the time when I crawled my way over. The owner didn’t leave the house while I wasn’t looking, did they? But even if they did, why didn’t they come to me? There’s nothing out here, there’s no way they could’ve missed a dying man crawling toward their front door. If they were a good person, they would try to help me, and if they were bad they would try to get rid of me. But no matter what type of person they are, there’s no way they would just ignore me and go about their business, right…?

I ran a couple of scenarios in my head in an attempt to distract myself, but in the end, there was only so much time I could delay before I must do what must be done. I would have to climb up the steps to knock on the front door. Unusually steep steps that were almost as tall as my knees, and there wasn’t even a handrail to hold onto. Fuck.

Imagine you’re at the bench press, and you had just completed your final rep. It wasn’t just any rep either, it was the one that marked a new personal record and took absolutely every drop of strength to complete. Then, two Ian Randalls suddenly appeared next to you, grabbed the weights, and pushed down with all they got. That was what I felt I had to overcome when I saw them. It was practically hopeless, and I did languish in despair for a while. I eventually pulled myself together though, not just because it was my only hope, but also because it took more strength than expected to wallow in despair. As always, it was easier to resign yourself to fate and simply do whatever it was that must be done. You’ve already come this far, I told myself repeatedly, so why not push just a little further? Worst case scenario you die, and nothing will matter anymore. So I did. I sucked in a deep breath, grabbed onto a step with my trembling, bloody hands, slowly shifted my sore knees beneath me, and pushed.

The first step was… well, it turned out to be easier than expected. Pushing myself to an upright position had set off a wave of dizziness that refused to fade away even after I tried waiting it out for a couple of minutes, and pressing my knees against the hardwood had elicited a sharp pain that startled me so much I nearly faceplanted against the steps—I must have hurt my knees worse than I thought when I crawled here—but a few awkward shufflings later, I was officially on top of the first step and sprawled over the second. A good start! The second step was where the hard part began, however. I would have to lift my legs over the second step before pushing myself upward, which was really more difficult than it sounded. In fact, this wouldn’t exactly be effortless to pull off even when I was at perfect health as it strained muscles I never thought I would have to use, not to mention that I was utterly exhausted as I was. If only I had enough blood in me to stand without feeling like I was about to black out immediately, and trust me, I had tried this multiple times on my way over. Anyway, all I had to do was to lift one leg, put it on the step, pull my body over the steps, and put my other leg on the step, rest and repeat. Easy peasy.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

It wasn’t. My knee kept bumping into the second step because I couldn’t lift it high enough, and each time I tried my leg seemed to dip just a little lower. Getting desperate, I leaned to one side as far as I dared, pulled with both arms like I was performing a very awkward push up, and lifted my leg at the same time. Finally, I was able to place it over the second step and eventually climb on top of it. This was worrying though. I was running on fumes at this point, and there were still two steps to go. Also, I couldn’t seem to recover my strength probably because I was half-kneeling, half-sprawled over the steps like a weirdo. I couldn’t give up though. Just two more and a knock on the door, and maybe someone would—no, I can’t think like that. Just two more. Two.

I didn’t think I could do it with my left leg this time, so I switched it up and made the attempt with my right leg instead. Learning from experience, I tried repeating what I did just now and leaned to the left side at the same time I raised my leg. That was my first mistake. As I leaned toward the left, I subconsciously bent my neck to the side as well, stretching the wound that I had so painstakingly kept sealed this whole time. Good news and bad news. The good news was that I felt the pain and a trickle of blood sliding down my shoulder immediately, so I was able to react to it. The bad news was that it was a panic reaction, and I overcompensated by throwing myself to the right and clamping down on the wound with everything I got. You could probably imagine what happened next. There was pain like nothing I had ever felt before, the sky and earth going round and round, impact, and finally, sweet, merciful darkness.

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Day 0, Night

When I came to again, I realized I was staring at a night sky filled with seemingly an endless amount of stars. It was beautiful. I did not recognize any one of them, but since the only constellation I remembered was the Big Dipper, I highly doubted I would be able to compare the night skies and confirm that I was truly in a different world anyway. Not to mention that it did not matter one bit because…

“I should be dead…”

I touched my neck. By some miracle, the belt had remained in place even though I had thrown myself off the steps like an idiot. In fact, this was beyond the scope of a miracle. Now that I wasn’t driven by fear, pain and despair, I realized that my plan had been beyond idiotic. I had tied a slippery belt around my neck as a makeshift bandage. I repeat, a slippery belt. If the damn thing had been made of silk or something, I could’ve tightened it hard enough to crush my windpipe, and it still would’ve slid all over the place, making it utterly useless at keeping my blood inside. Well fucking done, Kaylan. The only reason I was still alive was because the belt was made of exotic material, and it could be “sticky” when the conditions were right. I proved this by attempting to slide it across my neck and found it to be firmly affixed. Guess the belt was a proper belt after all. If I wasn’t feeling like absolute shit right now, I might even experiment with the bag to see exactly how it worked. Oh wait, I don’t have the bag. I left it behind with the notebook because they would only slow me down. Fuck.

“Can I still move…”

I could. In fact, I felt much lighter even though my body was aching in places I didn’t know existed. I could move my arms and legs fairly easily, and while I hadn’t tried to sit up—just didn’t feel like tempting fate after all the shit I had gone through until that point—I thought I had the energy to do so, maybe even enough energy to stand. It was probably because me accidentally knocking myself out actually got my body the rest it so desperately needed after crawling for god knows how many hours. Lucky man, always getting lucky in everything except the things that truly mattered. It wasn’t going to last long though. I had just finished breakfast when I was suddenly brought to this place, but it had been an entire day since. My stomach was growling even before I made it to this cottage, and right now my throat hurt like burning charcoal. I was going to die of thirst if I did not get up and knock on that door soon.

“Does it even matter…”

Seriously. Unless the owner had been holed up inside the cottage this whole time, I highly doubted they could’ve missed a body lying right next to their doorsteps. In other words, they were most likely uninterested in helping me and were just going to leave me for dead. What a dick. I turned my head sideways and glared at the wooden door as if I could laser whoever was living in the cottage into ashes. I gave up after just a couple of seconds though. Didn’t think there’s ever been a character with laser beam eyes in a fantasy setting. On the other hand, this was starting to feel more and more like a tragedy than a fantasy, so maybe…? Nah. Shit, I’m getting depressed again.

“I miss my phone…”

Or more specifically the internet, the world’s greatest cure to depression. Sure, that demon always comes back eventually, but cat pics and funny videos and interesting stories had never failed to repel it either. Now all I had left were the memories, and some of them would never be whole again. I would’ve subscribed to Patreon and finished reading all the stories I wanted to read if I knew this would happen, dammit.

“I wonder how my family is doing right now…”

Bad, of course. I was trying really, really hard to avoid thinking this, but silence, darkness and solitude had a way of evoking your worst fears. I wasn’t the social type. In fact, I went out of my way to put an invisible barrier between myself and others. I had my reasons. Anyway, what this meant was that my family were the only ones I truly opened myself up to, and now I have lost them forever. Mi would be going crazy and strangling cops and trashing up the house right about now. Pa would not be able to sleep for days, maybe even weeks to come. I really hope his heart condition wouldn’t worsen too badly, because the family needs him now more than ever. Sis would pretend that everything was going to be fine as usual, but even she would have to face reality eventually. In short, it was a total nightmare. The novels never really described these stuff because it was too depressing, and depression while popular rarely sold well. Chinese web novelists—or maybe their editors? Managers?—went a step further by making their protagonist basically immune from depression. This way, they could keep their readers happy and hopefully inebriated enough to pay them a pittance as thanks. But I digress.

“Why me…”

Seriously, why me? I’m not smart. I’m not amusing. I’m not charismatic. I’m not demented. I’m not even your average Joe. I’m the guy who tried to kill myself within half an hour of being teleported into a new world. If gods existed, they must be really fucking desperate to choose me of all people to be their object of amusement. Or maybe they’re just a shitty gambler who got dealt a really shitty hand in their game of cards. Literally all I did after coming to this world was to get possessed, kill myself, save myself, crawl a couple hundred meters to the one place I might be able to get help, then fail at the last moment. Judging from the way my throat was burning, I didn’t think I would last until tomorrow noon.

And if gods did not exist and this was all just a mistake, a freak accident… then… fuck.

“Maybe I should just…”

Give up. I couldn’t remember how many times I woke up. Heck, I had been telling myself this since practically the moment I started crawling toward this cottage. The path of least resistance and moderate comfort; that was the answer I had arrived at after growing for over two decades and finally maturing into myself. And I do mean both least resistance and moderate comfort. I would work hard to provide myself and those I cared about with moderate comfort, but I would never go out of my way to improve my circumstances to the point of luxury. I would comply with rules and regulations or just avoid encountering them entirely because the consequences of breaking them was just too uncomfortable. I would keep my thoughts to myself when I heard an interesting argument because getting my voice out was not worth the shitstorm I was going to catch as a result of it, and I would avoid any news that wasn’t entertainment-related because when World War 3 happened, and artilleries started raining on my homeland, I would rather be caught with my pants down and die in a blaze of fire than living with the knowledge for decades, knowing there was nothing I could do to change it and getting depressed about it the entire time. Seriously, I had an online friend who talked about his plans to migrate to Indonesia because if a nuclear war did happen, then the radioactive dust would all be concentrated in the Northern Hemisphere or something. It was a cool idea. It was also something I did not need to hear, like, at all. Dude.

Anyway, what was I thinking about again? Eh, it couldn’t be that important. What’s important is—

“What should I do now?”

Two options, realistically speaking. One, I could just stay where I was and wait for death to claim me. Two, I could challenge those wicked steps again and get help from the owner of the cottage. The first option was obviously the easiest way out, though not necessarily the most comfortable. In fact, it was practically guaranteed to be a slow and painful death since I would have to wait for the sun to rise first before it slowly evaporates all the liquid in my body—actually, I’m not going to think about it. The second option was my only real shot at surviving this, and if not, at least die a less painful death. On the other hand, life didn't always go as planned; me being here being a prime example of that. The owner could be a kind soul who wanted to help, but simply didn’t possess the medical skills to do so. I had a gaping hole in my neck, and that wasn’t something basic first aid could treat. They could be an asshole who wanted nothing to do with me and kick me out of the house, which ends the same way as option one. There could also be no one in the cottage at all, meaning that the smoking chimney I saw was just a red herring. Honestly, this was more likely than you think considering that this was a different world, and everything I saw up until this point had this uncanny quality of being just a little different from their Earth counterpart. Who was to say what was and what wasn’t? And this was all under the assumption that the language of this world was similar to mine, which, let’s face it, was beyond unlikely.

I sighed. I ran a hand across the wet grass beside me and tried flicking a couple of dew droplets into my mouth. The cool, soothing sensation only made me desire for more.

I had procrastinated enough. It was time to make a decision.

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Creak.

The first step. I almost couldn’t believe how easy it was. The sleep hadn’t just restored some of my strength, it also gave me enough time to regenerate some of the blood I lost; just enough that I was able to stand on my feet instead of knees. You wouldn’t believe the amount of difference it made. It felt like the difference between walking with a walking aid and without as a ninety years old senior.

Creak.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t a difficult climb though. One of the reasons I had pushed myself to the absolute brink during daytime was because I knew I was on a timer. I still had a gaping hole in my neck. I hadn’t had any food or water since I arrived in this world. I had crawled like a worm across this meadow for god knows many hours, and then I had knocked myself out and baked under the sun for many more. Licking the dew of the grass did alleviate my thirst a little, but I also feel like I could drink a gallon of water right now. And eat a cow. Long story short, the energy sustaining me right now was temporary at best; more than a flash in the pan, but less than even the final lucidity before one’s death. If I couldn’t get to that damn door before it runs out, then… I supposed that the owner would wake up to quite the surprise tomorrow. Serves them right. Haha. Ha.

Creak.

Did the wooden steps always creak this loudly? Maybe it was because the night was quiet. A little too quiet, in fact. I abruptly realized I hadn’t heard so much as a cricket sound since I woke up. I had definitely heard the sounds of insects and bird songs during the day, so their absence was ominous to say the least. To a dead man walking like me though, it didn’t matter. As if on cue, my legs gave out at this exact moment and caused me to stumble forward like a drunkard. But I had planned for this. As soon as I felt myself floundering, I immediately kicked out with both feet to propel myself forward as much as I could. It was not a graceful landing. My arms flailed uselessly in the air until I hit the wooden plank face first. My chest landed next, and all the air in my lungs gushed out in one painful exhale. It was still nothing compared to what my legs suffered though. It felt like someone had taken the axe to them as the edges dug deep enough to pressure bones. Why couldn’t the owner have padded the damn planks? Could I even walk after this? Ugh. That was a problem for future Kaylan to handle.

But I was there. I managed to overcome the steps of hell and made it to the front door. Now, all I needed to do was to knock on it and pray that the owner was awake at this time.

… Phuck.

“Screw it. There’s no harm in trying,” I muttered to myself. Too exhausted to push myself to an upright position again, I simply raised a hand and rapped my fist against the bottom of the door.

Knock knock.

“... Is anyone home? I need help—”

The door swung open, and I looked up. I tangled vines joining together to form something like an oval-shaped head, but the face was hollow like a black hole that sucked out all the light around it. I saw heart-shaped leaves cascading down what seemed like shoulders made of larger vines, hairy roots, branches, and more things I could not possibly identify. Their overall shape was humanoid, but human would be the last thing I associated with the monstrosity standing in front of me. Speaking of which, I hadn’t seen a moon in the sky when I was stargazing earlier, but somehow I could see every part of the thing towering over me perfectly. I really wished I hadn’t. The impression only solidified into absolute certainty when the vines around the face shifted like they were alive, and a blast of air suddenly hit me, causing me to squint. It took me about a second to realize the thing was screaming; a cacophony of unearthly, windy howls that I could only describe as a thousand tortured souls screaming at the same time:

"̶̼͈̰́̎̈́́̎̂̏͘͝ͅW̶̛͔̖̭̭͖̦̄̊͗̓͠H̵̲̲̞̭̅̽̿̎O̶̳̟̩͙̠̱̅̾̈́́͘͠O̸̡̥͖͕͙̥̺̼̲͑͂̾͠Ó̸͈̗O̸̢̹̎̎͋̋̀̈́Ö̵̬͖͖̺͙͇́̏͝Ŏ̵̧̼̤͎̰̞͕̹͜Ọ̴̖̳͐͛̓́ͅƠ̶̩̻̹̜͖̩͝͝Ọ̷̩̻͔̘̣̹͊ͅO̵͉̦̤̲̬̟̻̟̊͊́̏͘Ọ̸̣͔̻̯̰̹̳̗̘͒̍̄̋̑͘͝Ơ̵̠͎̄̾͛̀̏͊͒͠Ö̶̧̘͓̤͚ͅÒ̴̧͙̠̖̰͉̪̼̂̽̋̈́̀̚͠Ö̵̢͕̣́̆̆̀̈̀͆̇̈́͘O̵͇͍̝̭͇̮̯͗̕͜O̶̢̮͉̯̣͎̞͐̑̂̈́̓̿̓̍͠O̶̭͕̗̥̙̾͛͒.̷̢̡̜̯͔͉̪̟̎̀͘͝͠ͅ ̷̧̢̢̧͓̻͍͉̱̈́͂

̸̡̡̤̯̯͖͇͎̼̺̒̏̓͑̈́͆̂̌̑

̴̨̠͚̫̔̋́̄̈̉̊̈́̍͝"̵̧̱̣̻̻̟̯̭̯͕̍̽̂̊̇Â̴̙̳̱͛̏̉̑̑̌̌͋̒R̸̢̙̫̭͕̙̰̤͕͋̀̐̇̒̋͜E̸͎͚͚̋̔̊̀́̚.̴̟̫̹̖̌̔͊̍̋͒̿̀͘ ̴̦͓̄́̌̚

̴̣͊

̷̢̗̖͚̗͊̀̀̕͜ͅ"̷̼̟̖̳̿͐̐̔̓͜ͅͅŶ̶̱̮̫̱͛̇͝Ȯ̶̗̬̒̈́̉͑̉̚͝͠Ù̴̧͍͖̤͖̫͚̺̩̘̊̀̍̔̈́̋Ư̴̥̬̟͆̍̐̐̊̀̀̕͠ͅU̴̡̼̰̼̦̮̲͙̓̿̂̽͛̐͒̐Ȗ̴̥͈̪̙̫̦̯̜̜̏Ũ̷̫̟Ȗ̸̳͎̽̂̕Ṳ̴̘̝̜͇̘̘̮̈́U̴̢̩̫͆̋́̄̒́͊́͠Ų̸̧̭̖̰̫̳͔̝͎̊͆̈́̐̆Ư̶̮͗̒͒͛͝Ǘ̶̫̦̠̬̯͚̳̼̤́̽͗̍̋̚͜Ṷ̴̂̌̓́ͅ.̴̢̨̫̗̮̗̩͎̿̅"̵̐͜

For the second time of the day, I got to enjoy the protagonist’s treatment. I passed out after a most exciting and traumatic experience.