Chapter 55: An Unforgivable Act
Cloud Island.
That afternoon, Bullet visited the hospital once again—this time at Ross's summons.
He had undergone another round of intense transformation via the "Training Cheat Device," which utilized concentrated clouds to overhaul his entire body.
For the first time, he endured it for a full thirty minutes. His incredible willpower was awe-inspiring, and his unyielding body drew attention and admiration.
In the end, Ross personally escorted him to the hospital for recovery, ordering the staff to deliver an expensive, nutrient-rich meal.
Even as a "defective pseudo-lifeform," Bullet still possessed the same innate passive trait: the return of false life. And judging by his digestion speed, he might even surpass Sakazuki in sheer metabolic power.
With enough training, he could fully master this potential over time.
---
That evening.
Bullet had just finished his final meal at the hospital and now walked alone along the chilly, dimly-lit roads.
The central district's land and architecture were vast, but at night, only around a hundred people were likely active. After all, the Nasdaq family wasn't that large—silence was the default.
He arrived at the small garden.
At the entrance, several bulletin boards had posted notices. Along the way, Bullet had seen similar announcements outside important buildings.
Curious, he stepped closer to take a look.
...Emmm.
Right—he couldn't read.
Shaking his head, Bullet walked into the garden.
---
"Sob... sob... sniff..."
Not far in, he saw a girl weeping quietly in front of a flower bud. She held something tightly in her hands—it seemed deeply meaningful to her.
Bullet paid her no attention and walked to his usual spot, gently playing with the sensitive, shrinking plants.
The two were no more than three meters apart. Occasionally, her voice drifted to his ears in soft, grief-stricken murmurs:
"Gragor... why did you leave me alone... I told you not to go on that mission.
"Wasn't it enough to just live a normal life together? Why did you have to enlist?"
"Mr. Ross never asked anything of us. If we just stayed like we were on the ship, wouldn't that have been enough?"
"You said we shouldn't let Mr. Ross's efforts to raise us go to waste. You wanted to follow Sakazuki, become stronger, earn honors... and then repay the kindness we've received all these years."
"But look at you now. You're dead! And your death meant nothing, you bastard!"
The girl's voice grew increasingly agitated.
From her words, Bullet picked up quite a bit of information.
But—
To him, death was nothing new.
He had seen far too many people die.
Even if a cheerful comrade collapsed before his eyes, he would feel nothing.
Because the dead don't come back.
Lingering thoughts only made living harder.
Better to let go and move forward, to accept loss quietly.
That's why he couldn't understand: why was this girl reacting so strongly?
Who was this "Gragor" to her, really?
After her final angry shout of "bastard," silence fell. Only her ragged breathing echoed in the moonlit garden—a sign she was still trying to hold back the storm in her heart.
Eventually, she spoke again, her voice trembling with sobs, thick with longing and grief:
"Gragor... I'll never forgive you for this."
"I'll take back your belongings. I'll put them next to my bed. That way, I'll never forget that a bastard like you betrayed me."
"This thorned rose... you planted it with me the last time you came home. You said once it bloomed, you'd return—with a gift—to make up for abandoning your family."
"But now?
You're no different from those bastard relatives who left you behind...
You... you..."
Her voice cracked. The tears finally overwhelmed her.
They fell like rain onto the unopened flower, soaking the soil with sorrow.
"I'd rather you never became a Marine!
I'd rather you never had the title of hero!"
The girl's anguished cries tore through the night. She threw what she had been holding into the flowerbed. The budding flower trembled gently, and beside it, a pocket watch lay still in the dirt.
Sobbing uncontrollably, she turned and ran away from that place of heartache.
Only the quiet street remained, the one thing gentle enough to soothe her wounded soul.
Bullet stood there, watching the figure vanish into the night.
Her cries grew fainter and fainter—until they faded completely.
A strange, unfamiliar feeling stirred inside him.
Why did one person's death deserve such heartfelt mourning from another?
Did it even mean anything?
He suddenly thought of those notices he'd seen earlier. If he guessed correctly, they were probably related to the same "Gragor" that girl had been crying over.
Was it really necessary to make such a spectacle over someone who was already dead?
Unbidden, a strange feeling of envy rose in Bullet's chest.
He realized he wanted to be remembered this way too.
To have people grieve for him.
To not end up like so many of the dead he'd known—disappearing without a trace, as though they'd never existed.
And… a hero, she'd called him.
Bullet knew what a hero was.
When he was a child, he'd heard stories of "heroes" who earned glory and were publicly honored by the entire military.
Back then, he and the other children were always made to attend those ceremonies. He remembered them vividly.
But after he was recruited into the cadets, there were no more ceremonies like that.
Even so, whenever the word medal was mentioned as a reward, some part of him would stir—a yearning he couldn't explain.
It felt as if that was the true reason they all fought so desperately.
So was being a "hero" just like receiving a medal?
Some purpose to fight for, a direction to point all your strength toward?
Or… was it something else entirely?
Deep inside, a belief he'd been drilled with since childhood flickered back to life.
A longing to become a hero.
A hunger for battle.
But almost at once, that longing was overshadowed by the memory of the girl running away, her figure blurring in his mind's eye—until it transformed into Mona.
In his vision, she looked at him—the him who had become a "hero"—with tears streaming down her face.
She turned away, sobbing words he couldn't hear, as if he were already gone.
Then her image faded, replaced by Tocos.
He stood silently before Bullet, head bowed. He set something indistinct at Bullet's feet, then turned to leave.
All of it—every illusion—seemed to happen in the same instant he felt that fierce desire to become a hero.
---
Haa—haa—
Bullet gasped for breath.
Like a ghost, another self appeared in his mind's eye again.
It smiled in mockery:
Useless attachments!
Its gaze was scornful:
Pitiful cowardice!
Its expression turned wild, deranged:
You… wavering… tool. "Bullet."
That voice had always been there, ever since he cast aside the past and began his pursuit of strength—whispering, eroding, tempting his resolve.
Would he become an invincible weapon?
Or remain a person named Bullet?
---
Dazed, he turned and walked back to the thorned rose.
The pocket watch had burst open when it was thrown.
In the moonlight, he saw the photograph inside.
A boy holding a longsword, his expression calm and serene.
Beside him stood a girl with a bandage on her forehead, smiling radiantly.
"I will never forgive you for this."