"Damn it…" Kiriya muttered, staring at his hands, which still felt cold—as if the blood that had touched them hadn't truly been washed away. Though the night had begun to calm and the mountain air brought a cool relief, inside, he still felt like he was burning.
He hated what he had done, even though his logic told him it was necessary. That action might have saved lives—or at least ended someone's suffering—but in the end, it was still killing.
In his mind, the ethics and laws he had learned in his old world constantly clashed with the brutal reality of this new one. Back where he came from, a high school student like him would struggle with choosing a college major, not deciding whether someone should live or die.
To him, killing—even with justifiable reasons—left a moral scar that was hard to put into words. There was no honor in the choice, no badge of bravery or heroic applause... just silence, nausea, and guilt, heavy like stone.
