From the moment I saw the floor plan of the mart, I had been thinking about it.
Exactly how much of a human body did I have to cut off and put on the grill for this damned mart Ghost Story to count it as “barbecue”?
I considered everything from the wrist to the shoulder.
But I had decided from the start what I would cut.
‘My right arm.’
If I cut off a leg, it would affect my mobility.
If I cut off my left arm, I wouldn’t be able to use the tattoo.
And I was close to ambidextrous, so whichever arm remained, I could still use it.
Then there was only one conclusion.
‘Cut part of my right arm off.’
Of course, trying to cut through the ten-centimeter diameter of an adult forearm, bone and all, with a knife was insane.
Naturally, it wouldn’t come off in one blow.
‘A chainsaw would’ve been better.’
Thud, thud.
I hacked at my arm with the huge butcher’s knife, almost tearing through the cross-section rather than cutting it. In the spray of blood, I could hear the people in front of me and beside me making tearful sounds.
There was no pain, but there was sensation.
That feeling of the nerves in my arm being severed.
Cold sweat ran down my back, and my head rang dully. A blunt mental shock of horror and fear.
Even though I had definitely injected Happy Maker, it still came.
‘…Am I building up a tolerance?’
Or maybe it was because the candle was “protecting” even Happy Maker’s effects. No, maybe it was all just in my head.
The important thing was that I hadn’t died of shock, and I…