Absolute Terror

[No Female Lead, Not Naive, No Playing the Fool, No Face-Slapping] The breeze stirred up by a butterfly's wings must be repaid with the suffocating low pressure before a torrential downpour; the bones piled beneath the throne of power will one day become chains winding around your neck in the dead of night; even the sweet traps recommended by algorithms quietly run up a debt against your attention span. Those seemingly effortless pleasures, glory, and shortcuts are nothing but bills that fate has advanced in the shadows. Some people bask in the gilded patterns on a gift box while turning a blind eye to the price tag in the lining, forged from blood and tears. Then one day, when a scythe reaches up from the abyss and hooks their ankle, they finally realize that every gift comes with interest, and every ray of light nurtures a shadow.

All who face the truth shall be doomed to eternal reincarnation.