Sudden as it may be, I’d like to make a declaration.
“My favorite word is ‘peace.’”
I love words like tranquility, serenity, harmony, and calm in general.
I’m not exactly a laid-back or easygoing person myself, but I really dislike things like problems, conflicts, or disputes.
The reason is simple and obvious: they’re a hassle.
Before anything about human connection or harmony, what I despise most is inconvenience.
My close friends don’t call me a pacifist—they call me an “avoider.”
Even though I put in a great deal of effort to prevent trouble, which surely makes me a pacifist, I wasn’t acknowledged as one.
At some gathering years ago, it was decided that someone like me—with thick skin, unshakable nerves, and an attitude of ignoring anything that doesn’t directly harm me—is a quintessential avoider.
And yet, even someone like me, labeled an avoider by others, is starting to reach their limit.
“Oracle, please, have mercy on this humble Desiderio Mendez Dabo.”
A strange man kneels before me as I sit on an ostentatious chair.
Would he be satisfied if I blessed his pitifully balding head?
While such idle thoughts drift through my mind, a warm breath tickles my ear.
No matter how many times it happens, it sends shivers down my spine, disgusting me, though I’ve somewhat grown used to it.
“Oracle, Desiderio Mendez Dabo prays for success in his business ventures in the western lands. I implore you, please grant your blessing to fulfill his heartfelt wish.”
A sticky voice whispers directly into my ear.
I understand, so could you stop? Please. Stop the breath, stop repeating his name so many times as if to make me memorize it, stop always standing this close.
It’s creepy, unsettling, and that faintly odd smell of strange tobacco is overpowering.
I glance sideways. Those snake-like eyes narrow lazily.
On a lanky, unhealthy-looking body rests a face that screams “sleep-deprived alcoholic junkie.”
In the dark, I might scream and punch this villainous-looking snake-man right in the face if I encountered him unexpectedly.
The fact that someone like him is my “protector” is beyond absurd.
“Desiderio Mendez Dabo. I pray for your success in the west,” I intone solemnly, exhaling as instructed.
Raising my lightly lifted right hand, I motion briefly.
“Oh… how extraordinary…”
Silvery, sparkling particles swirl around the man.
It’s a fantastical sight. If only the one enveloped by the light wasn’t this man. If only this room wasn’t a sealed, windowless space.
My energy drains away.
Performing this takes a heavy toll. It feels less like after an intense workout and more like dealing with an annoying customer complaint, only to then work overtime late into the night.
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