📣 (12-05-2022) I MESSED UP A CHAPTER. I SKIPPED ONE CHAPTER IN UPLOADING. THE MISSING CHAPTER IS CALLED BETRAYAL'S PEAK. It should be there by now. Sorry.
You decided to have breakfast with Petra in the mess hall.
Two crying idiots, just spotted eating in the long bench, along with hungover soldiers from last night, moaning, 'I'll never drink again... urghhh...' when everyone knows that's never true.
You had boiled potatoes and radish for breakfast, while Petra only had tea.
"You won't eat?" You asked her, helping yourself another serving of that bland root crop.
"I have plans for lunch so I'm saving space for later." She said before sipping from her cup. Normally, you'd respond with 'Ooh, who's the date?' but agreed that it might come off as insensitive. Arianne is the same after all. She can look tough however she wants, but you know that's a façade.
"You're not gonna ask who?" She lifted her cup.
"I don't want to pry..."
"Just ask. I don't mind. Last night was last night, this is today." She winked at you. That fast? Isn't it just a while ago she's all: 'Why am I not enough for him?!' And now she's like: 'I-can-find-ten-of-you-in-the-market-for-a-discount-fuck-you-captain-Levi!'?
You stabbed your food more than you should, wide-eyed of how she does it: From clingy Clara to bad bitch Barbara in a matter of minutes. Now that you remembered, the first time you met her, she put your jaw back, kills titans for a living, and handpicked by Levi Ackerman, himself.
Petra Ral, you concluded, is one nasty lady no one should pick a fight with. She's definitely the type to bring grenades in a gunfight, or take your family pet Pochita as hostage.
"You okay?" The subject of your thoughts snapped you from them, noticing her eyes pointed sideways to indicate somethi—
"Wanna get out of here?" You whispered, leaning to her. Levi, incoming at ten. That works for you, since you have to get going too. To be honest, you don't wanna see him as well. You've done some thinking, only for a conclusion to branch out to a full-blown, intrusive paranoia.
"I have nothing to do until lunch, can I come with you?"
"Nope." You flatout rejected the idea, sipping to dismiss. Why would she come in your shabby cabin and let her see that you're building a bomb to save their asses tomorrow?
And why did you even agree?
"Your cabin's..." She stared at the front door, gone were her puppy eyes and pleading, bubble cheeks, you can tell she's scrutinizing every bit of shabbiness and poverty seeping from JUST the front door.
"Shabby."
"Cute."
"Why thank you for the pity. Wait in the grass." You pushed her by your hip, catching the last of her retorts while mentally preparing yourself to dodge your own traps. Kick, dodge, step forward, jump.
And like the last time, you kicked your door— dodging an icepick that aimed at your throat, stepped forward to avoid the sacks of sand from your roof, and jumped to avoid that slashing knife hidden in the supposed mailbox in your front door.
"Clever." Petra clapped as she approached. She watched you pat the last pricks of sand on your shoulder, while you took in the dreary state of your cabin. Definitely not guest ready.
"How many robbers tried to steal from this house? I saw you do it, so where are you hiding the goods?" She tackled you as payback to the hip push, but Petra bet she didn't expect the impact of her strength on you.
"Sorry! Oh my goodness—how did you graduate when you're this... fragile ?" She pulled you up.
"You can say it—"
"Decrepit."
You honestly thought she would say 'weak'. Somehow, the word 'decrepit' had more bite than what you initially thought would be the perfect word. It left your jaw suspended in the air.
"Ouch— I don't know— I slept with Shadis? Tell your dad he better buckle up and take his blue pills, we need more vegetables!" She snorted at your retort, while you busied yourself finding the lamps once you got back on your feet. They should be somewhere here...
"Can you find the matches?"
"Found them!" Petra threw them to you, and you caught it mid air. "What exactly are you gonna do?"
"Uhh..." You haven't thought of an excuse yet. You scratched your forehead, thinking of something... "Making my own weapon for tomorrow?" ... which sounded more like a question than an answer.
"You think blade's not gonna cut it?"
"You just pushed me and called me a decrepit. I say I need more than blades." She nodded in your periphery. You can feel her eyes following your movements, from unrolling the draft, to finalizing it, she just watched you.
And to be honest, nothing distracts you more than a watchful eye while you do your work.
"I have some... stuff from where I'm from." You peered at her from your bent form, her eyes lit up and eager to devour whatever you're trying to feed her curious appetite.
"Can I see it?"
"In my room, go help yourself." She shrieked, almost unable to contain her excitement as she drew the curtains of your room, and basically ransacked your stuff. She should find cute stationeries, cute pens, pretty dresses, lacey underwear and your old, trusty electric blue backpack.
Oh, a couple of encyclopedias, magazines and cookbooks too.
You said yes in all of her whims, except that one when she asked if you could give her the satin, deep emerald cocktail. She must've thought that since you always said yes that she can get away on this one.
"Can I at least try it on?"
"Knock yourself out."
"How about this lacy thing, can I try it?"
"Yeah." You said, not tearing your eyes away from the table. You brought out all the stuff you've painstakingly gathered all throughout the month: the pipe, gunpowder, rusty nails and broken glasses, sharp stones, wax, some paste and lots of paper.
You first tested things on a piece of paper. It represented the pipe that's going to house the shrapnels. Just a small size, to test outside. You rolled it until it was thick enough; sealing a side with a thick layer of candle wax. You put in a mixture of pebbles and gunpowder, grinding it first before putting it inside the paper tube, then sealed it with another paper tube that was much thicker than the other side.
Finally, you clumsily rolled some paper along with some pasted gunpowder, put it on your half-assembled bomb— just halfway through, enough to count at least three seconds before it explodes.
You sealed it with a final layer of wax to complete your test piece.
You ran outside, a half-dressed Petra following behind. She looked good in that chiffon dress while running on grass. She could probably wear it for that 'plan' she has later for lunch.
"What's that?" She panted behind you, struggling to get the zipper up in the back. You had to help her, or she'll ruin the dress.
"Something to throw the motherfuckers' organs out for exhibit."
"You know... imagine if we have that in arrows..." You had to properly look at her, both of your eyes squinted to a slow, knowing smile, making connections for an idea that was forming in your head.
Right, fuse bomb but on a stick...
On rods...
"Huh," You clicked your tongue, swooshing the idea at the back of your head, lit your cutesy bomb with a match, ran in a safe distance and watched it explode. Petra had her fists in the air when it exploded, yelling so excitedly like a kid who just had her first dip of bungee.
You did the real thing after that, leaving Petra with all the mess she made, to clean up. She begged that she take the green dress, which you politely refused... at least at first, until she's asked more than you cared to count, and finally said yes.
"Only because you asked so many times and I know you won't shut up."
"Nah, you just can't combat my charms." She appeared from your room with the dress on, now thinking that the dress suited her better than you do.
"You think I'm cute, yeah?" She wore a teasing grin, piling her hair to one side that it fell gracefully to frame her face.
"Yeah, like a baby having tantrums because she can't have the candy she likes."
"Should I just wear this for lunch?" You had to pay her a questioning look; a deep emerald satin cocktail with a slit for lunch? For formal dinners, yes, but lunch?
"You can try the lace? I think that's more suitable for lunch— just who are you seeing?"
"So I get two of them?"
"No."
"Please?"
"NO."
"Well, that was worth a shot." She turned sharply, stomping her feet back to your room, and whimpered like a dog. Her head appeared in the door frame—
"Still no?" Petra pouted. You couldn't help but giggle.
"Okay, you can borrow it— I love that dress!"
"Oh sweet!" She shrieked while spinning to test the balloon effect of the dress. "And I have your lipgloss by the way," She said, suddenly stopping from spinning around.
"Is it okay if I use—"
"It's yours babe. Wear them however." You peered at her with a smile.
"Thanks!" You liked how slow the smile on her lips formed. In her fist was the lipgloss, carefully untwisting the cap and pumped a small amount on her lips. She was just too fun and energizing to watch that you had to mentally slap yourself to get back to work.
"Also," Petra spoke after what felt like minutes,
"Have you submitted your war letter yet?"
That made you look up to her, only to regret doing it right after.
"My letters are not gonna reach my family, Petra." You crouched feigning busy right after responding, not wanting to meet her sorry gaze.
LEVI ACKERMAN
There's nothing that fucks up a sunny day than one of these: dirt, mold, titans and a crappy food.
I didn't want to go. For all the two shits I give, this pub's wannabe restaurant pulled a prank on being an infamous steak house. I call bull— it's nothing but a charred slab of meat. No seasoning, no herbs, no nothing. But what gets me is the way the meat quivers when served. Am I going to pick a fight with a dead cow with my teeth or am I going to make out with it? I don't want to know. They claimed it to be the best in Trost to rip everyone's money off while they're still new and famous, but I say they're going to be famous for feeding and giving their customers a tongue bath.
And what's more: the prices are too high. Who are they expecting to eat? Not some commoner who deserves meat served on a big ass plate after a hard day's work.
"Well?" Erwin's jaw tightened. He obviously wants to spit the damn thing.
"Good." I lied. I took the last bite, my teeth chattering as I chewed, my tongue evading to taste the metallic taste. We ordered four steaks, cooked rare. They served us four raw steaks instead.
But look at Hange happily devouring the whole fucking thing.
There's a lot more to complain about this slab of meat they call a steak. I can't though. If I don't do this, Phoebe won't get a spot in the rear left wing tomorrow, under my immediate protection. I just have to endure eating this horrible quarter pounder, nod, and act like I'm having a good time.
They plan to walk Pyxis back to the Southern gates, while I'll use that to excuse myself and go with my afternoon from there.
I have nothing to do besides nothing to do.
Should I visit the memorial? Look up what's new in the tea shop? Maybe just stay inside the barracks and try to catch on some sleep? Who am I kidding? I should prepare notice of death letters before they pile up after the expedition.
That has always been the case after one of these exploits.
"... where will... wear..." I heard a familiar rise and tone of voices, and before I knew it, I'm already looking around.
"Today," Petra said upon seeing her first, "in that restaurant. People say they cook great steaks."
"They don't. It's just a slab of burnt meat. Overpriced for having no salt or pepper." I couldn't help but chuckle at how simple Phoebe put it, and better when Petra looked disappointed at her disinterest.
"What is it, Levi? What are you laughing at?" Hange pestered.
"Nothing."
They're approaching the restaurant, and Erwin will surely say hi. That's just how he is. Hange was the first to notice them, waving their hands in the air like a child lost in the fucking woods, waiting to be rescued.
Phoebe's eyes lit up, beaming as she approached us. And just as fast, her face soured upon landing her eyes on my face.
I guess Petra dropped the bomb already.
They saluted upon seeing Pyxis with us, and the old moustache guy eased them. It's everyone's day-off after all.
Petra's clothes didn't match the rigidness of the salute at all.
"Ooh, you're on a date?" Hange asked them, "That's rare, seeing girls taking out girls..."
"Oh, not me, captain." Phoebe waved her hands in front of her, tilting her head in Petra's direction as she did, "Just her. I'm off once I drop her here..." She side-glanced me, and even from that angle, I saw the malice in it.
"In case some moron decides to call things off."
Levi, 'how could you tell?' you asked? Because they were, after all, directed to me.
"Commander Pyxis, this is Petra Ral, from Squad Levi, and Phoebe Johnson, the lady who modified the gears." Erwin introduced them, and Phoebe gave the old guy a salute. He stroked his moustache, knowing exactly the next thing he'll say.
"Tell me soldiers, if you were to choose between a hundred soldiers and one commander to save, who would you choose?"
Petra answered first.
"The hundred soldiers." She suddenly got aware of Erwin's presence hovering at her back. "I-I mean, sir... pardon me, but I think a hundred lives is much more useful for preserving humanity. We're a struggling race trapped in these walls. The last thing that'll help us is the loss of a hundred soldiers, perfectly capable of reproducing."
"Hmm, preserving humanity..." Old man Pyxis said thoughtfully, "We need more like you: a dedicated soldier loyal to the true people you serve."
"Thank you sir."
"How about you miss?" It was Phoebe's turn.
"Hmm..." Phoebe thought longer of her answer. "As I thought, I'd do both."
"It's not one of those trick questions to determine your personality type, you know that, ain'tcha, Febe?" Hange whispered, nudging her.
"I know," She responded.
"How are you so sure that you can save them both?" Pyxis stroked his beard, making Erwin smirk at the sight of her contemplative expression. There goes the flailing of her hands as she explains things, the argumentative, yet thoughtful face she makes as she explains her point. I can feel the steak news become a century past of bad things that happened in Paradis, and what matters now is how descriptive her hands are.
And I noticed that I, too, am smirking.
Definitely need to work on self-control when she's around.
"I'm not sure how, but not saving them has the same possibility of saving them, isn't that right?"
"But suppose they're far from each other—"
"Then I'd better wake up earlier if I want the one hundred-one alive."
"Your answer is impossible." Hange sighed, but everyone seemed interested in her reasoning that they smirked and giggled under their breaths.
"Because you're asking an absurd question, Captain." She said flatly, only making Pyxis' smirk become heaps of laughter, controlling it soon with a cough under the ball of his fist.
"Am I?"
"With all due respect sir, but why will I be swayed to choose convenience over my resolution? Saving either of them is expected to be difficult, then why choose between a hundred or one?"
"Even if you die?"
"I'll try not to. My life is important too. Call me idealistic and greedy, but I wanna bake my cake and eat it. All of it."
Everyone laughed. I tried controlling the involuntary flaring of my nostrils; my lips were firmly pressed together to contain the warning shots of my own laughter.
"Pfft—"
Her answer is like a check-the-box survey question in a market stall, but she chose to draw houses on the boxes without actually answering the questions. When she's to choose between red and white, she'll try to blend them together to make out a yellow.
To be precise about it, she's a Dodo in a chicken coop.
Pyxis slapped Erwin's back repeatedly, telling him that he picked the wrong stray cat to adopt.
"I admit, she's beyond us." Erwin humbly said, wiping the water in the corner of his eyes. "But we'll do our best to use her ideas to lead us over our victory against the titans."
And there she stood, completely taking offense and at the same time, oblivious that everyone was dying of laughter.
I believe in Erwin, I believe and see the steps he's taking to realize the dream we have over our heads. Our dream is an all or nothing business with no time to savor life even while we breathe. We know we have a long way to go and the walls forbid, more lives to pay with.
But, somehow, wandering to this never ending nightmare is more tolerable when she's around.
What is it about making plans and breaking them right after? I thought I assumed every post there was back in my underground days: a document finder, bodyguard, assassin, drug pusher, house help, babysitter, bread kneader... I like some of them, but this, so far, is my favorite of them all.
Phoebe had a hard time contemplating whether to take the long route or the shorter route. To walk on the long route means more time with me being her escort, which she obviously doesn't want, considering I dumped Petra's father's proposal. It wasn't because of Phoebe, at least not entirely, but I've been meaning to do it even when she's not around.
It doesn't sit right, Petra has a future ahead of her. Besides, I'm not comfortable with the thought of robbing her of her years out of respect for her old man. Let's rephrase that: I don't want her, not in the way she wanted us and her father to be.
It just so happened that was the day I was to break it Petra's father. Me refusing marriage is intentional and planned, confessing to Phoebe was not . And now, I look like I'm replacing my betrothed to someone I 'just' met for more than a month.
Pretty douchey, even for me.
She walked ahead of me, wary about her footsteps, or wary because of me. She took her time watching the scenery in passing, randomly picking leaves hanging nearby and smelling it as she went on.
She looked over her shoulders sometimes, so I made my footsteps heavier to tell her I'm still there.
She suddenly stopped, turned around—
"Why did you break your engagement with Petra?" and fired away.
"That's between us—"
"No," She said with the tone of authority. I think she's pulling the day-off casualness too far now.
"You don't get to tell me that crap." She held her index finger up like a know-it-all,
"You've been doing all sorts of things that's out of your..." ... and began drawing a big ass circles in the air while struggling with her words.
"Your... Levi-ness, okay?"
Levi... ness?
"You restock the medicine kit even when you know I'm the only one using them. You always tell Petra to feed me— and don't even deny it, she told me! You patched me up; you— you include me in the hot water to wash my wounds..."
Somehow, this had more punch to my self-control than her answer to Pyxis' question a while ago. If I'd known that she's capable of making flustered faces in different categories, I would've pissed her off more everyday, not because I'm inherently an asshole, but because it's an easier pick between passing on breakfast than not seeing this everyday.
I can feel my face tense to a smile, as I try to calm myself with shallow, consistent breaths. I might even fight titans right now, if that means I get to see this everyday.
"... we always end up doing this thing with our eyes— you, us, in the kitchen that night— did you know I almost got a heart attack after you left? And then... and then you tell me you like me that very afternoon only to break your engagement that night too!"
She leaned forward like she's picking a fight, her arms flailed while ranting all the things I hardly remember. I learned two things about her after she listed all the stuff I supposed I did:
One, it meant a lot to her, because she remembered all of them.
"Just what is wrong with you?!"
And two: that she's aware of me.
"Just what is wrong with you?!" You fumed. This is an unnecessary expense of energy, you realized. He's just... just standing there smirking his ass off this is a shallow, laughing matter!
You caught your breath, feeling yourself turn red. How nonchalant is he?!
"No—"
"No." When he stepped forward, you stepped back, shying away from the reach of his touch.
You didn't take your eyes off of his. This is his tactic, isn't it? To take up your space so he'll overpower on you, but you won't let him do as he pleases anymore. You let him see the rude, blatant disgust in them, the faith depleted in your frown lines— why would he do this, when little by little, you're starting to see him in a different light?
His smirk slowly faded upon realizing you're not joking at all.
"This is you huh? Humanity's strongest does whatever he wants because he can." You nodded incessantly, a nauseating humor in your eyes, disappointment in your tone swept away from your burning, seething tongue to his still, unmoving form.
"You know, if you don't wanna marry Petra that's okay Levi. She's better off without you."
He wore a dull, unreadable expression but you didn't care to think what it meant. You wanted to hurt him even if it's the last thing you'll ever do.
Then why?
"But don't use me. I don't have a family, I have no husband and I am nothing important compared to you."
Why do your words sound desperate?
"I'm just trying to keep this one friendship I have."
Dismayed?
"And if I knew you're actually like this, I won't even think about a possibility of us at all."
You spent your entire afternoon rummaging the dilapidated rooms in the right wing of Ehrmich castle. Apparently, no one comes here because it's rumored to be haunted but you couldn't even care. They say boredom sparks imagination but you say unwanted thoughts craves distraction.
In the last day of freedom, you were out exploring the castle.
You didn't see Levi the rest of the day, because well, you're doing a magnificent job avoiding him.
He didn't say anything after that.
"My... what do we have here?" In the vanity mirror's drawing, is this... journal in a ziploc .
Why would a ziploc be in an isolated island of Paradis?
You opened the bag, the faint smell of cedarwood and eucalyptus clung in the cloth that bound of what looked like...
"A journal?" You muttered to yourself, examining the leather cover. You've read plenty of Eldian written language after years of being stranded, so you're confident about reading some earlier records of written accounts. What caught your attention, however, was the fact that a book in Paradis was covered in plastic. You've been around here for years— plastic is not manufactured in Paradis.
So what is a ziploc doing here?
You opened the cover and flipped the first page, it wasn't written in Eldian language, but—
"English?" You blinked countless times, struggling to process it. Why is there an English journal in Paradis?
You flipped more pages to satiate your tickled curiosity. It's not just English. Chinese, Japanese... French... Arabic...
You had to sit or you'll slump on the floor. How is this possible? There's no way someone had beaten you in coming here! Even the portal is the first of its kind! You hastily flipped more pages, some were dirty, bloodied even, but all of them were written in different languages you recognized to only come from your world.
And the dates...
They were dated a century apart from each other. The handwriting was not consistent. Even the inks they used changed every two to three pages, as if the owner— or owners of the journal took turns writing in the pages, but no one repeated writing again after they're done with a few entry.
You skimmed over the names; Martha, Rachel, Dione, Patricia, Agastone...
Sam.
You read her letter, word per word, your eyes faithfully unskipping a space between the terms, its phrases, and read on.
2045
I'm Samara or Sam for short,
Like you, I'm shocked to find this diary for the first time. You don't need to read all of it to get the gist but know that it's not a coincidence you're here. I don't know what my name would be, or your name would be when you read this, but even if you want to escape this place, you can't.
Or more like, you won't want to, because you're made that way.
You're confused now, aren't you? Let me ask you: did you want to come into this world just because you wanted to? Like it has a pull on you that you don't understand? It always starts that way.
Then you'd be trapped here, like all of us did.
Then the injuries will start in the hands. Arms, leg, fingers... but that's just the beginning. You can refer to others' entries and you'll know I'm telling the truth. It's gonna get worse, believe me. Others died being torn apart by titans, some died of blood poisoning or assassinations or just being blown up but at least they managed to write something before they died.
But whatever happens to you, I beg of you, whoever you are now, save him. You might not know yet, but soon you'll know why.
Nothing came after it, just blank pages.
"Him?" Eren?
"What the heck— first is getting out of here, now this journal wants me to do side quests?" You muttered to yourself, while shaking your head. Ain't no way you're gonna put your life for that. Rumbling versus you? No fucking way.
"Ah!"
Your heart nearly jumped out when Petra and Oluo decided that calling you so loudly in a place where everything echoes, is a good idea. You instinctively hid the book, burying it on your chest.
"Hmm?"
"We're called for the last fitting. We kinda need you back there." Petra chirped. Why did you hide it? It's not like some dead people's journal is a secret. This is an abandoned castle after all.
You unhid it. It's not worth losing the corps' trust.
"I'll be there, I'll just need a couple of minutes."
"Hey Febe, is something wrong?"
"Maybe she's having her period?" Oluo butted in.
"No, I uh..." You trailed your words, internally weighing if you should tell them what it was.
Maybe it's a bad, elaborate joke? But if it was, that didn't explain the plastic, the languages and the ominous premonitions like it didn't just map your injuries in the order that you got them.
And why did it imply that whoever wrote this, know exactly what's gonna happen to you?
So... you're gonna die because they did? Is this what the journal is telling you?
You hid it on your armpit, concealed in the safety of your uniform jacket. Clearly, this needs further inspection.
"What?"Petra asked in a nagging manner, snapping you away from your thoughts.
"Uh yes," You said, trying to make up something... something... "Just need to lace the shoes, I'd be after you."
And more importantly, who's him ?
Night time could be your favorite time of the day, but twilight you realize, is just as beautiful.
You're pretty composed for someone who's going out for the first time, now that you're scanning the rows of nervous soldiers. Their grip, too tight; they leaned forward too much as if the horse was running already. Some were even sweating bullets in this chilly early morning. Petra was stationed with her squad, just behind his captain.
You're still disgusted at him. There's nothing he can do to change that.
"60 SECONDS BEFORE THE GATE OPENS!" A random barker exclaimed, snapping you from yesterday's mundane go-about.
"Come back, okay? I don't care if you don't have an arm, just... come back alive." Eld Jinn's wife bid him good luck again, kissing his wrist.
"I'll try to be careful." His mouth read, caressing his wife's cheek with his thumb while a few, unsupportive others threw disheartening jabs of words in the background. Only the fresh recruits seemed affected, the veterans barely bat an eye on the insults.
"15 SECONDS!"
You couldn't help but smile when a soldier kissed his newborn son and they wailed, the kiss awakened him from sleep.
"Wait for me, okay?"
"I love you! I'll come back for you!"
You wanted to look around and imagine that some relative would bid you good luck with the same warmth. It was a nice illusion to have.
"Be safe! Don't try to fight them, run!"
You tightened the bind of your hair. Feelings set aside for later, your focus dawned looking at the rows and columns of horses. You buckled and unbuckled the gas locks, playing with it, counting the remaining seconds in your head.
You cannot afford to fail in this plan of yours. There are lives at stake if you do.
Some supportive civilians— the soldiers' families made noises as loud as they could, be it stones or pots, with the belief that noises would drive bad luck that brings death to the cursed legion of the whole army. The noise hyped the soldiers about to venture outside for the first time. A soldier raised his blades, bellowing battle cries after battle cries to keep the soldiers' hearts still and strong.
Sunrise shone on the edge of the walls now, making it glow.
The crowd cheered and cursed for them. The sunrays felt incomparable when accompanied with their energizing screams. Other's curses and mockery were overturned by yells of faith and support, and you couldn't help but join in.
The pots and ladles gave the loudest noises as if competing with the soldiers' proud battle cries...
But Erwin's scream topped them all.
Eren should be located in the rear center where the Levi squad would be. Cart convoy is where you were, conveniently located just below Levi squad. This formation is formidable, and you knew only Erwin could pull this off because the man has brains ahead of his time.
Veterans were stationed in the outer rows for enemy detection.
Fresh recruits were installed in the second row for relay.
Some were scattered in the inner rows to protect the carts.
Commander was in the very front.
"Launch the 57th Expedition!" Green flares filled the sky.
"ADVANCE!"
Hi, I thought that if I could finish the chapter, I'm good to sleep now, but it turns out that even when I wake up, it bothers me to leave it like this that I can't concentrate on my studies. So here is the full notes.
Evey part of this chapter, now that I'm reading it again, looked more of a piecemeal of sorts instead of a flowing story telling. There's just so many scenes I needed to insert so everything's arranged before the conflict finally introduce itself.
I'll try to avoid using cut scenes for now.
Please bear with me in this chapter.
( ༎ຶ‿༎ຶ)
But I'm quite glad to say that the good is finally over and we can now move to the angst and suffering part.
Hmmm, my favorite thing to write. (✧ω✧)
Thank you for reading this long ass chapter. I really am grateful.