As Bun tried to pull himself together, the mysterious group moved closer, forming a circle around him. The man who appeared to be their leader leaned forward slightly, his piercing eyes fixed on Bun with icy intensity. In a detached tone, he spoke in Chinese: 「你听说过著名的"蝴蝶梦"吗?」(Nǐ tīng shuōguò zhùmíng de "húdié mèng" ma?) — "Have you ever heard of the famous 'Butterfly Dream'?"
Bun, completely overwhelmed, didn't understand a word they were saying. The group exchanged amused glances, then burst out laughing, their contempt palpable in every burst of laughter. "他当然不懂中文," (Tā dāngrán bù dǒng zhōngwén) — "Of course he doesn't speak Chinese," said another member, his tone tinged with scathing mockery.
The leader then spoke again, this time in Japanese, his expression as inscrutable as ever. "Let me enlighten you, Bun. 'The Butterfly Dream' is a parable by the Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi. One day, Zhuangzi dreamed that he was a butterfly, fluttering freely, carefree of his human existence. But when he awoke, he wondered, 'Am I Zhuangzi who dreamed of being a butterfly, or a butterfly dreaming that it is Zhuangzi?'
The group remained silent, letting these words float in the air, filled with mystery and meaning. Bun, even without fully understanding, felt the weight of the words, the philosophical enigma that seemed to transcend reality itself. He tried to say something, to protest or ask a question, but his voice died in his throat. He was terrified, unable to react, as if the mere act of moving might break something fundamental.
The chief moved even closer, his presence overwhelming, and asked him the fateful question: "Do you think, Bun, that we are dreaming? That all of this, these riddles, this suffering, is nothing more than an illusion? A fabrication of our minds, where we are all butterflies trapped in an endless dream?"
Bun's eyes widened, his mind desperately trying to process what he had just heard. He was trapped, not only by fear, but by the very idea that his reality might not be real. The group stood there, impassive, their imposing aura crushing Bun's will, leaving him no escape except perhaps to question everything he thought he knew.
The leader of the mysterious group stared at Bun with a piercing gaze, a smirk stretching his lips. "Don't delude yourself, Bun," he said in a deep, almost hypnotic voice. "What you are experiencing here is reality. It is not a movie, nor is it a dream."
The word "movie" echoed in Bun's mind like a distant bell, awakening a glimmer of hope within him. He clung to it desperately, repeating over and over in his head: It's just a movie, it's not real. It's all fiction, a bad dream. I'll wake up, I just have to wait. That thought, fragile as it was, became his shield against the terror that threatened to overwhelm him.
He closed his eyes, trying to convince himself, to erase the oppressive reality that surrounded him. He sought refuge in the idea that this was all just an elaborate scene, that he was just an actor in a temporary role, soon to be freed from this illusion.
"I'm just a SPECT-*CRACK*..."
But the group did not give him that respite. Without warning, one of the members, a stocky man with a sinister look, approached Bun and, with frightening brutality, struck him violently on the head. Bun's eyes flew open at the impact, a searing pain radiating through his skull. He staggered, his false hope shattered, as the attacker spat at him: "Wake up! Face reality, you coward! This isn't a movie, it's your life at stake here!"
Bun, stunned by the pain, tried to regain his senses, but the man's words hit him even harder than the blow. There was no escape. The slim hope he had clung to had just collapsed. The harsh reality dawned on him, relentless and inescapable, as the members of the mysterious group stared at him, their eyes filled with cold, calculating cruelty.
The leader of the mysterious group approached Bun with an expression that might have seemed compassionate if it weren't tinged with that calculating coldness. "Listen, Bun," he said in a feigned soft voice, "it's really not against you. You're just... a disruptive element for what's coming next. We can't let you do as you please."
Bun, still reeling from the previous blow, tried to respond, but his words died in his throat. The group now surrounded Bun in a circle, their overwhelming presence making him more vulnerable than ever. One of them, a woman with an impassive face, stepped forward and, without warning, delivered a brutal slap. The shock rang like a bell in his skull, leaving him bewildered and disoriented.
"Don't worry," she whispered in a honeyed voice, kneeling in front of him to be at his level. "We're doing this for your own good. You'll understand later." Her words slid like venom, disguised as false empathy that fooled no one, not even Bun in his weakened state.
She then held out an object to him, a strange little item called the "Zhuangzi Pacifier."
[Item Name: Zhuangzi Pacifier
Type: Potion
Rank: A
Evolution: None
Description: A mysterious pacifier, decorated with patterns representing butterflies taking food from a bowl and flying away. When used, it plunges the victim into a dream state so realistic that it becomes difficult to distinguish dream from reality. The injuries felt in this dream seem real, although they leave no physical marks.
Attributes:
- Damage: 0 stars
- Defense: 0 stars
- Mana: ★★★★ | 4 stars
- Resistance: ★★★★ | 4 stars
! Warning: This item may cause side effects.]
Bun's gaze fell on this artifact, a delicately carved pacifier adorned with detailed butterfly motifs. The butterflies seemed to fly gracefully after feeding from a bowl engraved on the pacifier. The object seemed both fascinating and terrifying, a morbid curiosity in the hands of these disturbing individuals.
"Here, take this," she said, forcing the pacifier into his trembling hand. "It's a gift... A way for you to find some peace. This pacifier will plunge you into a dream so realistic that you won't be able to tell what's real and what's not. Everything you feel there, every pain, every wound, will seem as real as the one you just felt. But don't worry," she added with an icy smile, "it won't leave any marks on your body. "
Bun looked at the pacifier, his fingers trembling slightly as he clutched it. He knew these people meant him no good, despite their soothing words and the pretense of compassion they tried to show him. Yet he felt trapped, like an insect in a carefully woven web.
The first blow came without warning. One of the men, tall and muscular, punched him in the stomach, bending Bun over in pain. He gasped for air, desperately trying to catch his breath. The others took advantage of this to kick him, their laughter mingling with the dull sounds of violence.
Each blow seemed a little more unreal, as if he were sinking into a thick fog. But the pain was very real. It echoed through his body, spreading to every nerve, every muscle.
As he curled up under the blows, Bun suddenly felt himself swept away by a flood of memories. He saw himself standing in front of a mirror, repeating banal phrases over and over again, trying to control the tremor in his voice. Social life had always been a mountain to climb for him. Every interaction, every word exchanged was a struggle against his own demons.
He saw himself in that small, shabby apartment, the walls crumbling, the air heavy with humidity. The rent was several months overdue, and eviction loomed. He needed a job, any job, to keep a roof over his head. That's how he ended up working at Yodobashi Camera, a famous store specializing in cultural and electronic products. The book and video game section was his refuge, a place where he could lose himself in the pages of stories or the virtual worlds of games, far from the real world that terrified him.
But even there, the fear never left him. Every customer who approached him was a test. He would practice for hours in front of his mirror, tirelessly repeating the phrases he would have to say, the smiles he would have to force. The reflection in the mirror was that of a broken man, struggling with himself to adapt to a world that did not want him as he was.
A particularly violent blow to the head brought him brutally back to reality. Blood was now flowing from his forehead, blurring his vision. He was on the ground, surrounded by his attackers, who took sadistic pleasure in prolonging his ordeal. Every punch, every kick was accompanied by laughter, laughter that echoed in his head like a cruel reminder of his own insignificance.
But as he sank deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, something changed. The world around him began to waver, the faces of his attackers distorting and becoming blurred. Zhuangzi's Pacifier was finally taking effect. The pain faded, replaced by a sense of unreality, as if the world were slipping away beneath his feet.
The labyrinth around him seemed to dissolve, and the laughter of his attackers turned into distant whispers. Bun felt himself falling, but endlessly, into an abyss of intertwined dreams and nightmares. The ground beneath him dematerialized, leaving him floating in an infinite void.