"How do you know me, Chase Oppa… and how do you even know my name?"
"Were you the one who sent those gifts? It must be you, right?"
"But… why was there writing made with dried blood?"
"And what exactly is the meaning behind that message?"
"Why did the words feel as though they knew exactly what I said after I left school that day?"
"And about the promise written there… what does it actually mean?"
"Then… what is your connection to that little white puppy?"
"He's alright, isn't he?"
"What about the wound on his front leg…?"
"Nothing worse happened to him… right?"
The sudden barrage of Margaret's questions surged forward, piercing through Chase's ears and causing him to flinch ever so slightly.
As their eyes locked, something held him captive—the glimmer in Margaret's gaze, a volatile mix of a thirst for answers and a pulse of quiet anxiety. Between those two shades, it was the anxiety that spoke the loudest.
And there, deep behind the carefully guarded expression on his face, a smile grew in secret—a smile that remained invisible to the eye, yet one he felt with absolute clarity.
He let out another breath, a fleeting, thin smile appearing on his lips before he finally leaned his body forward.
Resting his chin upon his palm, he leaned against the table with an air of effortless relaxation. He tilted his head to the side, his soulful, beckoning gaze fixed intently on Margaret.
"How about you listen to my story first, Margaret?"
"After that… you may ask as many and as specific questions as you'd like, hm?"
Chase's faint voice echoed once more, low and nearly a whisper, yet enough to send an unexpected shiver crawling down the back of Margaret's neck.
The vibration seeped into her very spine, forcing her body to stiffen—almost lifting her slightly off her seat—though she fought hard to suppress it.
However, she allowed the sensation to pass. Her focus remained fixed on the heart of the matter—what was truly happening, and what had been so deliberately hidden all this time.
She gave a curt nod.
That small gesture was enough to ignite a different kind of spark in Chase's eyes. His thin smile widened, and then, he began to speak.
"That afternoon, I actually had a training session scheduled at the agency, yet I found myself taking a leisurely stroll along the roadside… a road I had no idea would eventually lead to your school."
"I still had an hour left, so I wasn't in a hurry and could enjoy the walk. But... suddenly, I felt hungry… truly hungry, to the point where it became difficult to even think about what I should do."
"Of course, along that stretch of road, there wasn't a single place I could enter. If I had gone inside and they recognized my voice—even though I was careful enough to mask it—it could have been dangerous, right? You surely understand what I mean, Margaret."
He paused for a moment—not because he had run out of words, but because he was deliberately granting space for the silence.
His gaze never wavered from Margaret; he was searching for something—doubt, unease, or even just a subtle shift in the girl's expression.
Yet, what he found was quite the opposite.
Margaret remained there, sitting with a posture that had hardly changed. Her face was calm, too calm, as if the pause Chase had engineered held no influence over her whatsoever.
That response ignited a faint sense of satisfaction in his chest, like a small ember fanned by a gentle breeze.
"I decided to endure it, until my footsteps suddenly came to a halt as two students walked past me, laughing together, completely unaware of my presence. And one of them was clutching a sandwich in her hand."
"Because I happen to love sandwiches—especially the ones filled with vegetables and chicken breast, spread with sweet sauce and mayo; that's my absolute favorite—I reflexively snatched half of that bread from the schoolgirl's hand."
"Without thinking, I immediately ran and bolted through your school gates."
"I thought they wouldn't notice. But as it turned out, the moment I began to run and breached the gate, they started chasing me while shouting—hurling curses and insults at me."
Margaret's breath hitched at that very second. Her face, which had been calm just moments ago, suddenly hardened, the muscles in her jaw tightening without her realizing it.
Yet, that stiffness wasn't because she was deeply immersed in every word falling from Chase's lips. Rather, it was because of the fact she had just heard—a fact far too shocking, too bizarre, and too nonsensical for her to process all at once.
Chase caught that shift—the change that was so glaringly obvious on Margaret's face.
Even so, he didn't show the slightest hint of concern. On the surface, he remained silent and relaxed, acting as though nothing out of the ordinary were happening. But within his heart, a thin smile was carved—a smile of victory that only he could feel. He had succeeded in making Margaret waver.
Without waiting any longer, Chase continued his story. This time, his tone shifted. Lower. Heavier.
"They didn't stop chasing me back then. I was already so exhausted—running in circles through the yard filled with lush trees and thick, hard roots that crawled everywhere."
"Just as my strength was about to give out from trying to evade them, I lost my balance. My leg tripped, and I fell. Of course, the pain radiated instantly, and my leg began to bleed."
"Seeing me rendered helpless, those two schoolgirls burst into laughter. They mocked me—calling me a weak creature, saying I didn't deserve to live because my body was so small. Without a shred of mercy, they even tried to trample me with their shoes."
"I curled up deeper, hiding amongst those massive roots, putting on a guilty face. Because I knew… I was the one at fault. Stealing was something I shouldn't have done. But at that moment, I had no other choice, Margaret."
This time, Margaret's back stiffened—suddenly, as if an invisible rope had been yanked violently from behind her.
Her breath caught, and her throat began to feel parched, not from thirst or fatigue, but from something deeper, something far more biting.
The imagery surfaced unbidden in her mind—the day she saw Veriza and Noor bullying that little white puppy. The sound of the creature's cries, its weak whimpers, and those innocent eyes pleading for help rushed back into her consciousness.
Her lips parted before her mind even had the chance to gather its courage.
"Was… was Chase Oppa… were you… were you that dog?"
Her voice was choked, fragmented, and trembling.
She wasn't even fully aware of how that conclusion had clawed its way into her mind, or how logic and emotion had suddenly collided with such force, pushing her to utter something she had never planned to say.
Now, as she continued, a new layer of realization wrapped around her actions. She spoke with intent, slowly, yet the look in her eyes could no longer be fully concealed—her eyes were shaking.
"That little white puppy... was... was it... was it you, Chase Oppa?"