The girl places the nail down and covers her eyes with her hand.

In the end, the weapon she uses is a crowbar... that's pretty orthodox.

Then, she crouches down, picks up the nail again, and walks toward me.@@novelbin@@

Ah, she doesn't forget. When she approaches, the fighter's memory inside me reminds me that, at least at the girl's level, there are no openings, and that's truly terrifying.

“Are you throwing a tantrum because the 25-foot monster doesn’t want to go home?”

In the faded memory, a moment that seems like a supernova explosion shines brightly. What did you just say again? What did you mumble! It's a violent light. Why are you so obsessed with units? This memory.

“I can’t move downstairs, it’s endlessly cold. All I can do is stare up at the lights in the night sky. I barely got out, and I don’t want to go back.”

Ignoring the sparkling memory, I speak the truth as it is. The advantage of telling the truth is clear. No one has ever ignored what I’ve said so far.

And it’s convenient too.

If you lack intelligence, it’s better not to lie.

Of course, it’s possible to withhold some facts!

“What, were you locked in some box?”

“It was spacious.”

An endless, perfect plane stretched out infinitely.

She approaches me with a very disgruntled expression. The fighter's memory warns me. If she wanted to, she’d hammer the nail in and then use the crowbar to pound it in.

She’s aggressive.

Is she really from a special forces unit?

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