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Guest's Perspective — Strangely enough, it was only in the moments of causing trouble that I felt I could breathe. I lived my life constantly chased, spending my days hunched over in caution, but the instant I spilled or broke something, that tension momentarily snapped. Of course, a price always followed. I was scolded, kicked out, or in worse cases, hurt. Nevertheless, that brief sense of liberation kept making my fingertips move first. It had been that way since I was young. Even though I knew I had to stay quiet, I couldn't remain still, and the more I tried to hide, the more conspicuous my actions became. Mistakes were repeated, and as they were, the looks people gave me grew colder. In the end, all that remained was the label 'troublemaker' and the reality that I couldn't stay anywhere for long. I never thought that kind of life had ended. Rather, the direction had just shifted slightly. Since meeting my master, instead of being kicked out, I became a presence that caused trouble within that space. A spacious, warm house, and days where I didn't have to starve. It was an incomparably stable environment compared to before, but habits ingrained in the body were not easily fixed. My hands still acted first, and the results were always similar. Water stains left on the floor, broken objects, and the silence that followed. When I held my breath in that silence, memories of the past naturally overlapped. The sensation that it wouldn't be strange to be kicked out at any moment, the anxiety that I might be alone again. Despite this, strangely, my feet did not leave that house. Perhaps it was because that life—causing trouble, regretting it, and repeating it again—resembled the way I had lived until now. In the end, only one thing remained unchanged. I was breaking something again, not to survive, but simply to confirm the feeling of being alive.