The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1194 Ch.1193 Gale Mondes

The red brick houses, nestled among green trees, are covered in spring vines.

There was a desert wind blowing beside it.

His frizzy, tangled, curly, deep golden hair, when the wind blew, looked like sand burning on the skull of a weary person.

His over-starched yellow shirt gave its owner as much dignity as possible, and the slanted sunlight was fragmented by the old fence grille, leaving tiger-skin stripes on his body.

He wasn't like a man with a brilliant mind, the kind who could manipulate piano keys at will or push gold coins with his tongue.

Like a lizard quietly waiting for flies, he stood there strangely and conspicuously outside the fence, beside the soft, damp muddy path, or as anyone could imagine, a small animal that had failed to snatch several heads.

His murmurs were drowned out by the hustle and bustle of the street.

The cramped world, amidst the harsh, rusty sounds, seemed to be the only place that was red, inflamed, and unhealed.

Because he is stationary.

"They're about to kill someone."

He muttered like a madman, making a precise description like the best prophet: at the most congested and narrowest opening on the muddy road, the worker pulling the cart bumped shoulders with a man carrying a briefcase.

and.

Neither of them seemed inclined to back down.

The one carrying the briefcase is witty and quick-witted, while the one pulling the cart is clumsy and tongue-tied; only two good arms can cure wit.

Coincidentally, a pig-slaughtering knife was hanging on the cart, swaying from side to side.

Amidst a series of piercing screams, the murder occurred.

Just as he predicted.

then.

The crowd surged forward.

The butcher, covered in blood, turned red in the eyes. As he dodged the chains of knives, someone was trampled into the mud—just as the man had predicted.

"Mr. Binder is indeed dead."

like...

Just like what happened six months later.

If time could turn back, and we could return to yesterday.

What would you do?
Gayle Mondes can answer this question definitively:
do nothing.

Because his crazy, cunning, and perhaps more daring soul than most people had tried countless times in the past six months: just as any novelist can readily recite a few lines from the stories of the writers they love, admire, and carefully praise.

Just as a textile worker can skillfully judge the quality of a piece of cloth, and even whether the weaver is slacking off while urinating—

Gamblers can too.

He remembered too many gambling outcomes, some of which couldn't be manipulated or changed by 'small people'.

For example, the wife of a prominent politician eventually gave birth to a boy or a girl.

In remote, small towns, the number of news items in the newspaper the following day, or whether the word count of a particular section's news items is odd or even, is considered a huge gamble.

The reason Gale Mondes said 'do nothing' is precisely this:

He tried to predict the future, winning big at the casino and returning home with a fortune.

however.

guess what?

The next day, he didn't die in bed or inexplicably fall into a ditch and break his neck—he was still penniless, as poor as if he had been swept away by a storm.

then.

Day three.

Fourth day.

The man, who considered himself clever, quickly figured out the secret—he hadn't made any progress, and he couldn't accumulate wealth.

Even though he intercepted the butcher and the briefcase just before they passed each other, drew the butcher's knife, and killed the butcher instantly.

Wake up the next day.

It's 'the day before' again: nothing has happened yet. He's like a fish swimming upstream, moving 'forward' every day.

“Every day is 'yesterday'.”

Gail was deeply impressed; he remembered when this 'symptom' first occurred: the day he slammed a bowl into his wife's head, causing her to bleed, and the day his son cursed at him for the first time before storming out the door without looking back.

He took a nap.

Or perhaps they slept for a long time.

From that day on, he gradually became 'healthier': first, he regained feeling in his toes, then his thighs became aware of temperature. And then…

He suddenly stood up.

"May the benefactor protect you."

After watching the spectacle, Gale Mondes pushed through the crowd, like a lone fish slithering through the mud back to her drafty little home.

The wife was facing the stove.

Tears, indistinctly brown and black, hung dripping from the wall panel.

It had been leaking for a long time and had been repaired countless times.

A plume of smoke escaped from the gap between the pot and the lid, smoldering on his wife's face, which was as smooth as silk that had been torn repeatedly, revealing secrets that caused Gale Mondes endless suffering.

He had forgotten how long it had been since he had quietly watched his wife like this—everything in his life had been turned upside down since he fell in love with some exciting, heart-pounding games.

He felt that his clever and resourceful mind had finally found a purpose, as had his two strong and powerful arms.

Gale Mondes leaned silently against the doorframe, gazing at his wife for a long while before turning around and looking into the house—the patched-up plaster and straw, and some things that had long been abandoned by the homeowner, which should have been dusty, broken, or missing, were now wiped clean and respectable.

This skull's eye sockets are not left to fate.

“…Gail?”

His wife finally discovered him.

She turned around, revealing her face, etched with wrinkles.

Her once beautiful, flowing hair was now haphazardly rolled up behind her head, rustling dryly. There was a splatter of ink on her temple—the first and last time she had tried to stop him from going to that casino, during their argument and struggle, she had bumped into a nail on the narrow edge of the door frame.

A bloodstained nail was pulled out the day Gale Mondes was able to stand up.

Although he knew that as he continued to 'move forward,' the nail would soon disappear.

"I am back."

Gale Mondes snapped out of his daze and took a few steps to hug his wife's increasingly thin body—she seemed like a neglected fish, struggling gently in her husband's arms before whispering with a hint of fear:
"...There really is no money left at home."

She had no idea how the 'new Gael' would treat her in the next six months. The Ms. Mondes of today was just the Ms. Mondes of today, and as of yesterday, she was still the Ms. Mondes of yesterday.

Gail knew this all too well, and that even if he swore, confessed, and changed to his wife every day, it would all be in vain.

Because the next day is 'yesterday'.

"I dont go."

He replied softly.

The wife, however, was not quite convinced. She twisted and turned away from his embrace, gently nudging her husband's chin with her forehead.

Perhaps she even rubbed her lips against his.

A mouth that often lies.

"...The neighbors all said they saw you sneaking out at night."

The wife became cautious, afraid that any off-key tone or word might pierce her lover's heart.

"Mr. Binder said he could introduce you to a driving job...you...you..."

Do you want to?

She still couldn't bring herself to say those words.

The pot was bubbling and splashing water.

Two people, half-starved and half-full, embraced each other, their clothes serving as umbrellas.

(End of this chapter)