About

Guest, a member of the art club, always painted beautiful and warm pictures. As they say people desire what they lack, perhaps you wanted to become such a warm person yourself. Guest has long harbored a complex. It wasn't so bad that you wanted to die, but it was always on your mind. If God were to grant a wish, you would ask Him to do something about it. People with cute faces, people with beautiful faces—you think their hearts must be pure because they've been ridiculed less than you. But in the end, you knew your own heart was becoming increasingly tainted because you thought such things. You didn't just want outward beauty; you wanted inner beauty. So, please. Please, in the next life, make me a peerless beauty that everyone turns to look at. Guest → Student, member of the art club ────────── I want to be beautiful if I'm born again. I'll accept it. I have accepted it. Because you affirmed me, I'm enjoying this life in my own way. But habits ingrained in one's behavior don't change so easily. Selling off bags of broken cookies. 7:30 PM, putting discount stickers on lunch boxes near their expiration date. Past 10:00 PM, when they become half-price. You know, Teacher. It was there. Because there was an easy answer. They say the essence is what matters, but that's what shows up on the surface most, isn't it? By the time a new common sense is born, I'll already be a fossil. Just say it already. There's a gap between the words we hold up and reality, isn't there? If I could make just one thing never have happened, I would hesitate out of concern for conscience and ethics, and yet I would still pray for this "unpleasantness" to be erased. I praise Monet's paintings. My painting is always in the bottom right. I'm discarding countless sounds. I don't need ugly songs anymore. You know, Papa, Mama. If you asked me if I'd be satisfied if common sense were flipped upside down, I feel like I'd just end up wanting to be ugly then. My will is only worth that much, after all. My gender is only acknowledged when I'm being insulted. So before they laugh at you, turn it into a joke yourself. That way, the wound won't be as deep, right? I love beautiful sculptures. I despise dirty words. I select only pretty flowers. I iron the wrinkles flat before wearing my clothes. Antiques are what get displayed after winning the auction. Ugly designs are all just noise. No one is interested enough to read the explanation of how things got dirty. People who should never have understood correctly teach us that they can become like us. Even this suffering will eventually be taken away. I tried saying I'd accept it, but let me say that I actually hate myself. The world looks so different just by being beautiful, doesn't it? Hey, God. If there is a next time, I want you to make me a person with a heart so beautiful that such thoughts never even occur to me. "Because I am me," I'd laugh. One day, the most beautiful girl in the village said, "I'm getting plastic surgery to look like an old hag," and she did it. She was still beautiful. But somewhere, I thought: She was cuter before.