No Substitutes for the Bigshots' Dream Girl Anymore!-Chapter 1955 Vincent Extra (End)

They say I’m a fool.

A fool without even a name.

He has no memories, or perhaps he doesn’t. He can hardly be considered a real person, merely a persona, or perhaps just a part of a person’s consciousness.

He doesn’t truly exist.

When he opened his eyes, seeing the scrutinizing and calculating gazes around him, he faced human malice for the first time—so blunt, so glaring.

Everything was crystal clear.

Am I a fool?

Perhaps I am.

Those people deceived him as if he were a rat in a garbage heap, locking him in a dark room, pressing him into the clear stream, the sky very blue, filled with mocking laughter around him.

Feeling the air growing thinner and thinner, his heartbeat seemed to echo in his ears, beat after beat after beat.

A blank whiteness before his eyes, with nothing but a buzzing in his ears.

"Then call him Vincent."

He remembers her, always remembers, remembers Hannah, and remembers his own name, "Vincent."

He is not a fool, he has a name, he is Vincent.

Beneath the night sky filled with stars, he always remembers the girl smiling beside the rice field. It was the first time he saw such pure eyes—no malice, no mockery, no disgust.

She would chat with him, would smile warmly at him without reservation.

Before he met Hannah, he often lay alone on the haystack in the rice field, looking up at the moon and stars above.

After meeting her, he realized that someone could indeed outshine the stars in the sky.

He liked her, liked her very much, wanted to always follow Hannah.

Next to the village, there is a forest, and in the forest, there are many beautiful wildflowers. He would go every day to pick the prettiest one, along with butterflies, fallen leaves, so many things. He wanted to share everything he found beautiful with her.

He was used to living like a mouse, only coming out at night, hiding in corners, keeping his head down, never daring to let others see his true self.

He knew he was filthy, covered in mud and scars.

But towards her, he wanted to offer his smile, even if it was ugly, all he had left was a sincere heart.

"Vincent belongs to Hannah, always will."

"Vincent will never forget Hannah!"

"Hannah... please don’t abandon Vincent."

Please don’t abandon him.

His world itself was shrouded in darkness, beneath his feet thick with mud, from which countless hands reached, while different voices repeated in his ears.

You are a fool, you don’t even count as a person.

Vincent is just a consciousness.

A being destined for destruction from the moment it split off.

He really enjoyed sitting next to Hannah, accompanying her as they gazed up at the starry sky that night. He would secretly watch her, like a child gazing at their favorite cake through a glass window.

He never owned anything; it was Hannah who gave him a name. So, he only wanted to follow her, only wanted to hear her call him "Vincent," no one else.

Even if he fell, with wounds bleeding profusely, he would still chase after her; he really didn’t want to be alone anymore.

But what is Vincent?

He is merely a consciousness.

Like snowflakes falling in winter, dancing in the wind, waiting for the sun to appear, to evaporate, to disappear.

He hoped, hoped for winter to return, for the snowflakes to fall again, so Vincent could meet Hannah once more.