Simon was shoved into the artifact's range.
The Phantom hadn't even started yet when, out of nowhere, he suddenly felt a little miserable.
It wasn't easy to describe.
It was like all the grievances he'd suffered in this life suddenly came flooding back.
To make it to the exhibition, he'd worked overtime yesterday, baking bread so he could make today's stock in advance. He hadn't taken the day off, either. He'd sold out during the breakfast rush, and still had to go back and reopen the shop at noon.
He hadn't had a proper day off in ages. The rent was high, and his landlord wasn't going to waive a day's rent just because he took a break. He worked himself to the bone to earn money, only for most of it to go straight into the landlord's pocket.
Taking a day off didn't just mean earning nothing that day; it meant losing a day's rent on top of that!
Earn in the Holy Land, spend in the Holy Land. Not a single coin was coming home.
Things had seemed poised to take a turn for the better. One of the landlord's daughters—not a pure-blooded Elf—really liked his bread. After countless deliveries, their relationship had gradually turned a little ambiguous.
He'd thought he was about to get out of paying rent through a roundabout arrangement. But her parents thought he was a poor match. Worse still, he later realized the landlord's daughter had only been flirting for fun while she was between relationships. She'd never intended to take things any further.
So, obviously, he'd made a fool of himself.
He'd thought he'd gotten over it, but now the memories had come rushing back.
It still hurt.
The pain of being toyed with, the pressure of making ends meet, the anxiety