There's no feeling in the room. There is neither the tangy cold sting of winter nor the hot prick of summer. I guess when you're really immersed at the moment, you sort of just forget these kinds of things. Do you know how they say anger or lust makes someone lose control of themselves and give in to their instinct or what not? Well, if not, then that's not my problem because I'm gonna move on regardless. But if you do understand, then well, know that sort of what's happening here.

In the heat of the moment, I swallow what remains of the saliva in my throat. I'm watching a very familiar figure in a very familiar position. A middle-aged man with a blank expression on his face, his whole body, lies face forward to the ceiling.

I describe him like that because that's what he is to you, but to me? That man was my father.

Yep, my very own flesh and blood, can you believe it? Dead, because of a cardiac arrest from having his heartbroken or whatever, the details over how he died don't really matter. What's important is how he lived. And let me tell you, he lived like a coward. A weak, snivelling coward who was unable to control himself, that was all there was to it. Whether it be with his own wife, friends, or coworkers, it was all the same. Ever since I was a child, he was always far too forgiving. Too kind, too naive, and far too ignorant of what happened around him. He would lend money to friends time and time again even if they never paid back, he would help obvious scam artists who claimed their legs were broken, and he even risked his life to save someone else from getting hit by a car.

I hated watching him. Worse of all, it was how he made me feel shit too, you know?

It felt strange because no one else reprimanded him for his bullshit either. Save for the one bloody soul that was my mother, no one else ever called him out on it. Not a single other person, can you believe it? To this day, I still can't tell if people were just trying to take advantage of him or are just that dense to think there was nothing wrong with him.

Either way, it didn't matter. The end result was that he died all the same. Without so much as a legacy to his name beside me, he was like any other person. Someone whose name would fade away after his own daughter died, someone who would be forgotten after only a few years had passed. Someone, who lived a existence without accomplishing anything.

God, it annoys me just to think back on it.

Let’s move on. To go back to what happened after I found him on the bed, well I remember thinking he was sleeping. That he had once again tried to drown his sorrows in alcohol and that he had woken up late in the afternoon yet again. After a while, though, I obviously realized that it wasn't the case. So instead, I started hitting him. In my heart, I knew that it would do nothing, that no matter how hard that I tried, that he would not open his eyes again. Still, I didn't care. The thing is, I just wanted something to vent my frustrations on, and his dead corpse just happened to be quite convenient. That's all there is to it. There's no other reason to hit a corpse, probably. I’m not that familiar with corpse hitting alright, it’s not as if I had done it before.

The important bit isn't my reaction to him though, it's the world's. After that, it was the authorities who eventually found out he was dead. And it took them a long ass time, too, might I add. I mean can you imagine? It literally took the neighbour to smell the scent of rotting flesh, to walk up to our apartment, and then ask me if everything was ok, before calling the cops.

Not a single friend, coworker, or any other of his so-called contacts had reached out to him. All those people that he spoke of with such fondness and respect couldn't even care less if he died. And it was the same at his funeral too. I remember distinctly that I was the only one there. The only one with my silly little umbrella and tissues, standing over his grave.

It’s painful to think about it that way, but it’s true. While I think he was a rotten man, that doesn’t mean that he deserved what happened to him. Even with his many faults, he never hit nor yelled at me either. In other words, despite the damage he caused to himself, he never inflicted it on other people, and yet, even so, it made no difference. Sometimes, I wish that it was otherwise. That he had done something to wrong me, that he was actually an awful person. But the truth is that he wasn’t.

The truth is, that I just hate him for being pathetic.

---

Camille felt nothing. When she finally awoke, it was not because of some conveniently placed ray of sun, or the clamour of a sudden jarring noise. Rather, it was but the routine call of her circadian rhythm that brought Camille to her senses. Without much ado, she looked about with a sour expression. Was she just dreaming a while ago? Camille began to assess that possibility, before accepting that it was the case.

What a weird dream. Pausing for a while, Camille tried to think back to its contents. Still vivid and as fresh as a coat of paint, Camille had no difficulty in recalling what precisely it was that happened. Whether it be the sights, smells, or foreboding sense that someone was observing her, it was all there. Concerned and yet apprehensive as to why, Camille felt that she had missed an integral detail. A clue that would hint at the greater scheme that surrounded her and answer her questions, she tried her hardest to recall what it was. And despite mustering all the intellect possible still failed.

"Welp, screw it. I'll think about it later."

Little did she know, that she wouldn't. Passing over her mind, Camille's hand reached for the phone by her side and checked what time it was.

One PM. Just enough to hit a perfect ten hours of sleep, Camille decided to test her theory from the night prior.

"Status."

Of the afternoon, this was definitely the highlight. She was lucky enough to have an automatic HP increase, and still have three points left to spend, what was there not to love? If she was even more fortunate, she would even have additional information on what the stats entailed.

"Damn, that ain't bad at all." As far as level two went, being able to lift 208 KG in a snatch lift did seem like a tempting offer. And to be fair, it wasn't as if she had any need for most of the other stats. RES, being magical resistance, was essentially out of the equation, CHA was useless as far as Camille was concerned, DEF was ok, but she disliked being on the defensive and DEX? Eh, she'll give it a look.

Alright, damn. Maybe that was better than she had thought it was. At her current speed, she was still, for lack of a better term, really fucking fast. Not superhuman, but enough to compete among top tier athletes? Definitely.

Camille made a scheming smile. A habit of hers, she was even prepared to accompany it with a good dose of laughter. Or at least, she would've if it had not been for a single factor.

"...." With a hand over her mouth, Camille stifled what would have been the sounds of her victorious triumph. Unsure of whether Morgan was still sleeping, she decided that she might as well stay on the safe side. In a subdued but speedy walk, she made her way to the door and knocked. Enough so that any awake soul would hear, but quiet so that anyone still asleep wouldn't. Camille waited for a bit.

"I'm coming in." Ushering one last word of warning, Camille then pushed the door open.

The room was completely dark, but Camille still understood that the room was empty. There was no breathing, no slight shuffle of blankets, or anything else. Whatever the reason for her departure, Camille only now figured. It was the afternoon and a weekday. So, there was really only one answer.

Morgan must've gone to work. That was it. Despite being such an obvious answer, Camille only came upon this realization now.

"Did she really come over on a Tuesday?"

Camille knew Morgan well enough to know how much she loved to go to bed early and get her beauty sleep. So to forsake that just to come to visit her?

Dumbass. There was no reason to go to that extent for her. Much less, be that kind to someone like herself for no reason. And yet, Morgan had gone and done just that, again. Camille clenched her fists. Then, without any particular reason as to why, flipped the light on. Looking through the room, her eyes stumbled upon a yellow post-it note. Aware that something was written on it, Camille came closer to check.

'Sorry I didn't say good morning! I didn't want to wake you up so, I hope you have a lovely day. <3 Morgan'

Happy that Morgan had left a note for her, and disappointed at the same time, Camille could only sigh. Then, without anything else to do, she sat on her bed. Comfortable as it were, it was the perfect resting place for her to reflect and to think on what to do next. Whether it be her stat point allocation or the opponent she would fight tonight, there were more than a few things to think about.