It was the tuna cans that were the problem.

I don't remember the exact date, but it was definitely a long time ago.
In the lab.

They seemed to be studying how much of the drug to use to ensure scars healed without leaving any marks.
Why they were experimenting on my body, I couldn't understand.

“Is there anything you want to eat?”

A researcher asked.

“I thought you might be hungry.”

Were they talking to me?

“Me?”

“No, I’m not asking you.”

The researcher, who was staring at the computer screen, turned to look in my direction.

“This thing can talk?”

“Apparently, it speaks occasionally if prompted.”

“Really?”

I can talk.
I just keep quiet because they complain it’s noisy when I speak.
Plus, no one really talks to me.
After all, who would want to question a bloodied creature? I was something to avoid.

“What’s your favorite food?”

What was it again? Let me think.

“It’s not answering.”

“No, it will. Just ask about its favorite food.”

There were a few people I liked. The ones who were kind.

“What do you like to eat?”

Eating… What had I eaten a lot of? What was it?

“Does it need to be told to eat before it understands?”

Not much was coming to mind.

“Um…”

“Oh, it speaks.”

“Tuna… can…”

“It said tuna can.”

A can of tuna I once shared with Shihu.
We had it at home. It was delicious.

It wasn’t cheap, so we couldn’t eat it often. Tuna triangle kimbap was good too.
But I could only get it if I went all the way to the city.

I remember Shihu cutting his hand while opening a can.
It didn’t open easily. There was blood. Blood.

“Ha?”

What are they doing?
What are they doing?
They’re doing something with a knife.
A pocketknife.

They lightly slash my lower abdomen, drawing a line as if with a pencil.

“Let’s write down that it likes tuna cans.”

“Leaving it as a scar?”

“Hm.”

What are they talking about?

“Or should I draw a picture? Since it said it was hungry.”

I never said I was hungry.
What does drawing have to do with being hungry?

“A tuna can, huh?”

“I can’t put it in your stomach, but I can draw it on there.”

What nonsense is this?
I thought the scar experiments were over, and they had just worked on my arm.

I was restrained and couldn’t move.
I was too weak to resist in the first place.
There was no way to stop them.

I still didn’t understand.
What were they doing to me?

“Show it to your friends when you meet them.”

They said, sneering.

“If someone asks what you want to eat, you can just show them this.”

“No, ugh.”

What did they do to me?
I hate it.

“Isn’t this a good thing? After all, it can barely talk anyway.”

What are they saying?
What are they talking about?
I wanted to close my eyes, but for some reason, even that was hard.

A tuna can?
The memory feels tainted.

I don’t want to eat tuna cans anymore.
Eating it with Shihu was nice.
But why carve it into my body?

Ah.
I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.
I don’t like tuna cans.
Please, don’t use that.
Don’t draw on my body.
What are you doing?

“It’s not coming out right. Ovals are hard to draw.”

“Just write it in words.”

“It’s hard to do with a knife. What should I write?”

I hate tuna cans.
But I liked the ones I ate with Shihu.
No, but I hate it.
But tuna cans are tasty.
I like tuna.

But why write it on my body?
Why?
I don’t get it.

“Aah…”

Am I the tuna can?
Or am I just like a tuna can?
I once asked Shihu if we could eat it together.
We even tried tuna ice cream once.
I liked it.

Shihu bought me tuna because I liked it so much.
It was delicious.
But there’s no reason to carve it into my body.
Shihu would know without me saying anything.
Even if it’s written here, no one will understand.

“Why tuna can?”

“Maybe someone gave it as food? Like they would for a cat.”

Why do they do this?
With Shihu, at home, we didn’t have much, just rice and ramen.
So, when we had it occasionally, it was good.
I liked it.

I shouldn’t have said I liked it.
I shouldn’t have said I liked it.
I shouldn’t have said I liked it.

What are they doing?
A sense of helplessness fills me.

“Heh.”

Something inside me breaks off.

It’s fine.
It doesn’t matter if they do things to my body.

No one will know anyway.
I just won’t show it to my friends.

Tuna can.
I like it.

There’s no need to write it down, is there?
No need.

Thunk.
They injected a small dose of the drug.
If the recovery effect is minimal, a scar will remain.

A scar was left behind.
The carefully written letters and drawings remained.

Tuna can.
Likes it.

That’s what it says.
There’s no way something like this happened to me.
Who went through this?
Yoo Seo Ah?
Who is that?

Who, who, who.
I don’t think it’s me.
Haha.

Time passed.
And still, the scar didn’t disappear.

Today’s experiment supervisor said they’d have coffee in the morning tomorrow.
I see.
They gave me their shopping list.
They’re buying lots of vegetables.
And fruit.

Specifically, a bundle of cabbage, five radishes, a box each of apples and pears.
Oh, and they’re getting cereal too.
Looks like they’re buying beer as well.
It’s a shopping list.

That’s something for a memo pad, not a person’s back.

People aren’t memo pads.
Even if it’s inconvenient to find pen and paper.
Most of the scribbling is done on my back.
It seems like writing on the stomach doesn’t work well, so they write on the back.
I wonder if these scars will disappear.

I also learned the initials of one of the researchers.
What was it… Something that started with a K.
They left it on my shoulder like a signature.
Practicing their signature, apparently.
I don’t know why they used a box cutter to do it.
They were probably just bored.

Luckily, most of the marks didn’t scar over.
The drug is effective, so many wounds healed completely.

Why is graffiti a trend?
I wonder if they scribble on other creatures like me.
Perhaps the researcher who wrote “tuna” spread the word.

“Hmm.”

What if Shihu sees?
What if my friend sees?

What would they think of me?
What did they say last time?

Think carefully.
At the end, didn’t I hear something harsh?

Did they call me trash?
No, that’s not it.

How do I prove it?
People just came and left scribbles.
Hehe.

Why did they do that?

Do you want to join them?

What should I do? What should I do?
People will think I’m strange if they see this.
What should I do?

Do you like tuna cans?
No.
Then why is it written on your stomach?
I don’t know.

I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.

They did it to me.
They said it was break time in the lab.
I didn’t do anything.

Why is there a shopping list on my back?
I don’t know.
They said they were going shopping.
Maybe they like using me as a memo pad.

Is there a phone number here?
Is there?
I don’t get it.

They said they would erase it with medicine to keep me clean for future notes.
Did it get erased?
Probably.

I could check in a mirror, but I’m too scared.
I just want to pretend it’s not there.
That it never happened.

I didn’t want to show anyone the scars that were already on my arms.
But I could show my friend.
But this tuna can scar, I don’t understand it.

What if someone notices?
Will they think I’m crazy?
Will they think I’m just a little strange?

You know…
They wrote "likes tuna cans" because I said it.
Isn’t it pretty?
Heh.

“There’s no way.”

Right.
What I’m saying doesn’t even make sense.

“Heh…”

I’m alone in the room anyway.
No one else is here to see me.

“Haha…”

Even if I slightly lift my shirt, the rough drawing of a tuna can is visible.
They wrote “likes tuna” on me.

“Heheh…”

I laugh because it doesn’t make sense.

I just…
I liked eating with Shihu.
When they asked what I liked to eat, that’s what I said.

“Hehehe…”

The drug makes me feel good.
But I can’t shake the feeling that something’s wrong.

What if I didn’t know?
What if, one day, I could be close to people again, like I was before?

“I just want to pretend it didn’t happen.”

I don’t like tuna cans.
So there’s no reason to call it my favorite food.
No reason for them to carve it onto me.

But does liking something mean it should be written on my skin?
I don’t even like vegetables that much.
So why write a shopping list on me?

What if my friends see?

“It’s not like I’m leaving here, right?”

I can’t get out.
I’m not supposed to get out.

“There are no friends left anyway, so it’s fine.”

The people I knew—I’ll never meet them again.
And even if I did, they wouldn’t recognize me.
It doesn’t matter anymore.

I never planned to meet them again.
I just wanted to watch.
Let the main character handle everything while I just observe.

“Forget it. Just forget it.”

I’ll forget.
I’ve forgotten so much already.
I’ll forget.
I’ll forget.
I’ll forget.

“Haha…”

For someone who remembers nothing important…

“…[Forget it.]”

And then, I really did forget.

Until the doctor reminded me, just a moment ago.

Hyperventilation.

“Ha- haa, haa…”

[394 hours and 12 minutes]

Despite the effects of the drug, it seems the trauma has resurfaced.
The scar is no longer visible.
The doctor wrapped it with a bandage.
Though it only covered the lower abdomen, it was enough.

“Haa, haaa…”

My breathing is labored.
In the end, the real issue hasn’t been resolved, has it?
It wasn’t overcoming anything—it was just something I had forgotten.
But now, I’m out of the comfort of forgetting.

It’s just some graffiti.
A small prank.

“[It’s fine.]”

Is it?
I start to feel calmer.
My breathing slows.

“[Relax.] It’s just some writing.”

Is that right?
Yes.
I feel relieved.

“Oh, and I have all the experiment video recordings.”

“……”

Video recordings.
They even record these things?

“There’s no need to worry; your friends won’t ever see these videos.”

How much does the doctor know?
If he’s seen footage of the experiments…
If he’s known about the experiments all along…
If he’s aware I was trapped there…

Why didn’t he come to save me?
He’s supposed to be a good person.
And he is a good person.
He must be.

Why was I put in such a place in the first place?
The doctor says it was my choice, but I have no memory of it.

“All surveillance footage has been collected.”

Anyway, it’s a happy ending.
The people who hurt me—I killed them all.
I made them suffer the same way.
They didn’t even last 30 seconds.

Maybe I should have asked them what they liked.

“No one else knows that Seo Ah killed them, aside from me.”

No one knows.

“…Huh?”

A killer?

“You partially destroyed the facility. If the public knew, they’d call you a villain. If not for me, that is.”

Does the doctor know everything?
If he hadn’t been there, who knows what would have happened.
He really is a good person.

“I’ll keep the video recordings safe for now, especially the experimental footage. I think it might come in handy later. Don’t worry; I’ll keep it secure.”

There’s no reason it should be needed.
Is he threatening me?

“Oh, it’s not a threat… you really don’t seem to remember.”

The doctor continued, looking somewhat troubled.

“There’s someone who owes you a debt. Someone who is a beneficiary. Do you remember?”

A debt?
A beneficiary?
I don’t know what he’s talking about.
I have no idea.

“She’s called a saint. She lives happily now, having forgotten everything…”

The doctor neatly adjusted my clothes.

“It’s time to collect on that debt.”

He held my hand and helped me up from the bench.

“It’s chilly. Shall we go talk inside?”