He’ll find me… won’t he?

I believe something greater created us and that the world didn’t arise from a simple explosion. Thoughts from my past life kept me company as my body lay paralyzed with fear.

My name was Honoka. I lived in Japan before entering this novel. My father was an atheist and Japanese, while my mother was Jewish. Because of this, I had the opportunity to hear many theories about the creation of the universe, before he left us. My mother, however, believed in only one theory: the existence of a single God.

In truth, she scoffed at the idea that any other explanation could account for the creation of such a vast and beautiful world. She was courageous and determined. She was the one who taught me never to give up and to always stay strong, no matter what happened. “Don’t wash the dishes carelessly just because no one is watching; don’t eat more than you need; don’t fear heights—just don’t look down.”

As I grew older, I went to college for robotics engineering, driven by my childhood dream of fixing small devices, like vacuum cleaners. That dream soon revealed itself as a talent, and my classmates called me “the golden hands of engineering.” Robots were my only ambition, and during time outside of college, I worked to help support our home alongside my mother.

Much of who I am today was shaped by her teachings.

But my father’s departure hurt her deeply. She remained the strong woman she’d always been, but the light in her eyes faded. She stopped leaving the house, yet she never neglected her household tasks. “If I don’t do this, what else am I good for?” she would reply, arranging things almost robotically.

Like her, I was living robotically, both before and after I entered the novel. Outside the window of my dark, high-up room, I noticed the snow falling heavily, forming a thick layer on the windowsill. If I hadn’t been living like a robot, I wouldn’t be here now, trembling with cold, without food or water, lying on the filthy floor with rats nearby.

I don’t want to die—not like this. I always imagined that when my time came, I’d be as old as my great-grandmother and would pass away peacefully, napping after lunch.

I noticed my leg was injured, and my swollen purple ankle still throbbed. Cold sweat dripped down my face, and my breathing was shallow. I was either about to enter hypothermia or already in its grip. My teeth chattered, and I couldn’t warm my hands since they were tied.

The thought that all this started because I was too curious embarrassed me. After my mother-in-law found me “snooping” in her daughter’s room, she ordered soldiers to bring me to this desolate place, far from everything. “Good place for you to starve; no one will come looking for you,” she’d said before slamming the door.

Maybe she was right. I was just a character in a game; no one would search for me. But… the pain I feel isn’t fake—I feel it truly. I still remember how much it hurt when I died in my past life. Feeling each muscle screaming in pain, losing my senses, and fighting the urge to vomit—it was awful. I don’t want to live through death again!

If I’m in this game, maybe it isn’t a game at all, but rather my reality forever. What guarantee do I have that I’ll return to life after going through this? I must find a way out before I experience death once again.

But… could there be even a slight chance that Rafar might find me, even if this is just a game? What am I saying? I need to accept once and for all that this isn’t a game but my new reality.

He’ll find me… won’t he?