From American Internet Celebrity to God Among Men

254: Chapter 254 The Mark on the WindowThe first sentence the system spoke was the one Taylor had asked seventeen days ago:

”Are you still there?”

It wasn’t repeating it to her; it was saying it itself, in its own language—the breathing of No. 1, the distant one of No. 2, the repetition of No. 3, and the crying of No. 4. Four sounds appeared at the same time, but this time, they were saying the same thing.

Taylor heard it.

The rise and fall, the rhythm, and the pauses of those four sounds were exactly the same as when she asked, ”Are you still there?” It translated her question into its own language and then said it once.

She was there, so it was there.

Taylor faced the screen and said softly, ”I’m here.”

The system didn’t respond.

But she knew it heard her.

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The message from three in the morning was seen by a third person.

Not the Designer, not the Young Analyst, but a High school student. Unable to sleep at three in the morning, he happened to open the ”Listening Map,” clicked on that three-second ”Hello,” and saw the two messages below.

The first one: I replied with a ”Hello.”

The second one: At three in the morning, someone was here.

He thought for a long time, then wrote the third one below:

”I’m seventeen this year. I can’t sleep at three in the morning. I’ve listened to this ’Hello’ thirteen times. I don’t know who you are, but I want to tell you, I’m here too.”

The Young Analyst saw this message the next morning. She sat at her workstation and didn’t move for a long time.

Thirteen times. A seventeen-year-old High school student listened to it thirteen times.

She screenshotted the message and saved it in the folder named ”cup.”

Then she sent a text message to that unknown number:

”The third message—someone wrote it.”

A few minutes later, a reply came:

”She said she listened to it. She said she wants to get to know that person.”

The Young Analyst froze. Wants to get to know him?

Before she could reply, another text came in:

”She said, at three in the morning, it turns out there are so many people who can’t sleep.”

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In the nursing home, Irene made a mark on the window.

Not with a pen, but with her fingernail. While The caregiver wasn’t paying attention, she lightly scratched a line on the window pane.

It was very light, almost invisible. But the mark was there.

By the time The caregiver noticed, she had already finished. The caregiver asked her what she was doing, but she didn’t speak. However, her eyes were looking at the road outside the window, and then at the mark.

The caregiver understood later.

She was counting the days. One scratch meant one day. When Kim Soon-ja returns, she can count those marks and know how long she has waited.

The caregiver wrote in the records:

”The twenty-third day after Kim Soon-ja left, Irene scratched the first mark on the window.”

”No one knows how many she will scratch, but she scratches one every afternoon.”

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In the evening, Alex and Taylor were on the balcony.

Taylor talked about the first sentence the system spoke. Alex talked about the High school student who listened thirteen times and the mark on the window.

”Thirteen times,” Taylor said softly.

”Yeah.”

”A High school student.”

”Yeah.”

Taylor was silent for a moment, then said, ”The system translated my question into its language and said it once.”

Alex looked at her.

”It said, ’Are you still there?’”

”You answered?”

”I said, ’I’m here.’”

A siren sounded in the distance—long-short, long-short, long-short, long-short.

Taylor leaned on his shoulder, looking at the lights in the distance.

”That mark,” she said softly, ”is Irene counting the days.”

”Yeah.”

”When she comes back, she can count them for herself.”

Alex didn’t speak. He just squeezed her hand.

The old coffee cup was on the desk, reflecting a bit of the light.