That amount of time, if you were alive, would mean graduating high school, thinking about college, worrying about your future.

But here, such a concept of time is meaningless.

Since I fell into this hell, I’ve lost count of how many times needles have pierced my feet.

Skin torn. Flesh ripped open. Blood gushing. Bones impaled.

And yet—I cannot die.

No matter how many times I collapse, I’m forced to stand again.

Even if my soul shatters, it is “restored” like time rewinding—and I am made to walk again.

But each time I’m restored, something is unmistakably being scraped away.

At first, I screamed from the pain.

Then, I screamed out of rage.

Eventually, even shedding tears felt like a waste of effort.

Now, I scream no more.

I walk, mindlessly, through an endless field of needles.

---

No sound.

No wind.

No color.

Only the cold touch of metal, the stench of blood, and the deep groaning from the depths of the earth.

No one speaks.

No one meets eyes.

When someone walking beside me collapses, no one looks back.

Ah—another one has broken. That’s all we think.

The sound of bones snapping.

The sound of a soul shattering.

The sound of a skull being crushed by a club.

I hear them all.

And yet—I feel nothing.

The moment you stop feeling pity for others, that’s when you know you’re broken too.

---

I can’t remember the past well anymore.

Even my own name is fading.

I whisper “Kanata Yomi” in my heart.

But sometimes, I forget even whose name that is.

Somewhere deep in my memory, I think a voice still lingers.

“Good morning.” “See you later.”

But I can no longer recall whose voice it was.

It’s like trying to reach for memories sunk deep at the bottom of muddy water—reaching again and again, never able to grab hold.

---

My soul is undoubtedly wearing down.

It hurts.

With every step, my soles are torn apart.

Countless needles, drenched in blood.

Whether that blood is mine or someone else’s—it no longer matters.

---

No night comes.

No morning comes.

The sky remains stained in an eternal red.

Suddenly, I hear something collapse behind me.

But I don’t turn around.

I don’t have the “heart” left to do that.

Whoever it is, I have no reason to help.

Voices of others feel irritating.

Don’t scream. Don’t cry. Don’t beg.

If you still have emotions like that, you’re still too soft.

I lost those long ago.

---

Ah…

How many more years will I have to walk this path?

I no longer have the strength to even wonder.

Today again—

Bleeding,

Bones breaking,

Soul tearing—

Am I still alive?

Or merely kept alive after failing to die?

Either way, it doesn’t matter anymore.

Only one thing is certain:

There is no end to this hell.