I pretended to know nothing and asked.
“Uh… what happened here?”
“I’m sorry. I, I have this habit of banging my head against the wall… Wahhh.“
Yeah, she was banging her head a bit.
Getting harder every day, too.
Honestly, since it’s my shoddy construction, I shouldn’t have much to say.
But breaking through plaster and plywood to get this far? That’s impossible unless she was determined to smash the wall with her head.
If someone said there’s a person in the art room headbutting and shattering every plaster statue, would you even call that a person?
“First, let’s call 119…!”
“No, don’t!”
I was waiting for that response. Thank you.
As expected, I put the phone down immediately.
If 119 comes, the responsibility for this hole in the wall will come up.
I can’t exactly say I broke it and did a half-assed job fixing it…
“Wahhh… I messed up. I’m really sorry.”
No way I can admit that.
But it feels a bit bad to let Room 202 take all the blame.
So, it’s better not to make this a public issue.
There’s still another hole covered by the Sultan Boyz Amin bromide, shaped like a giant mosquito.
“It’s… embarrassing?”
“Y-Yes, wahhh. I’m only wearing panties!”
Even if she was naked, we’d still need to call for help. What’s she talking about?
The intelligence-boosting rice drink… if her intelligence is too low, does it turn into head durability instead?
Of course, it’s a relief for me since I’m hesitant to call 119.
I can kinda understand the embarrassment of being stuck like this.
“You could die like that, miss.”
“I can still eat, can’t I? Wahhh.“
“And I’m the one who has to feed you?”
“I’ll pay for the food.”
“It’s a million won.”
Room 202, covered in white plaster dust, lifted her head stiffly, sobbing as she spoke.
“Please give me a discount. Wahhh. I’m a crazy idiot. A blockhead. I’m sorry.”
She’s a negotiation queen. I can’t not give her a discount.
“This isn’t just blockhead level. Let’s call it concrete, steel skull.”
“Yes, I’m a steel skull. Concrete. I could probably hammer nails with my skull. Sob. Waaaah.“
“Oh, oh…”
I was joking to make her laugh, but she’s taking it to extreme self-deprecation.
“Ugh. I’ll feed you for free. But what about the bathroom?”
“Right… Wahhh.“
Are you really going to live like this?
Forget your bathroom situation—this is making my life unlivable.
I feel like I could pull her out with force, but.
If I do that, it might not just end with a dislocated joint, fracture, or ligament damage.
Wait, hold on… I can lift a car now, can’t I?
For a moment, I’m gripped by the fear that her arm might rip clean off.
Let’s do this as gently as possible. Gently.
“I’ll try pulling you out. Here we go.”
“Eek!“
“Hup!“
“Aaaah!“
It’s a scream, but the frequency’s a bit off.
It’s exactly like the pitch of the Japanese girls the guy in Room 204 cycles through daily.
“Can you not scream so loud?”
“It hurts, I’m sorry. It hurts.”
“Okay, tell me if it hurts. I’ll pull slowly.”
“Ah, it hurts. Eek.“
This girl’s “it hurts” sounds weird too.
No, seriously, how hard did she hit her head to break the plaster?
Did a ghost give her Headbutting LV100 with a Pachycephalosaurus trait or something?
“Please, keep the screams down a bit. People will get the wrong idea!”
“It’s just, my pelvis is stuck. It hurts so much. Sob. Waaaah.“
“Hmmm.”
“It feels like it’s moving a bit when you pull, but my hips are caught.”
“Who’re you calling an old man? I’m pulling with feeling.”
“I’m sorry…!”
She’s taking everything so seriously that my attempts to lighten the mood with jokes are coming off as scolding or teasing.
“No, you’re right, I’m an old man. Put some strength in your core. Here we go.”
“Kyaaaaa!“
But she’s really not coming out.
This could kill someone.
Should I just break the wall more to get her out?
Thinking about it, even if we call 119, I doubt they have a manual for this situation.
Breaking the wall more to make space and pulling her out seems like the best option.
“…”
Well, breaking walls is my specialty.
She’s stuck right in the middle, probably because of her pelvis and hips.
Seems like she’s got a nice figure.
If that’s the case, her chest is probably squished, so… hm.
“Can I pull from the other side?”
“Huh?”
Her face, covered in plaster dust like a kabuki mask, visibly turns red.
She’s in her panties, and since it’s caught on her bones, pulling from the other side where it’s caught on flesh seems right.
“Uh, it’s probably, um, the pelvis, yeah. Um. Yeah.”
“Uh, uh… can’t you push from here?”
“The bed’s in the way, so the angle’s off.”
“Oh…”
“Um, I’ll put some pants on you or something. And.”
“Huh?”
“Can I take a picture?”
“P-Panties?”
That one line turned me into a peeping pervert.
“No, no, no, I mean of my room. For insurance purposes, or in case we need to report it and 119 doesn’t believe us. I’ll leave my phone here and go help.”
If it comes to calling 119, they’d probably think this is a prank call.
The girl next door, hating school, headbutted the wall and got stuck in it! Who’d believe that?
“Sob, wahhh. Yes… don’t show my face. I’m sorry.”
She buries her head again, looking like a ghost with plaster-covered hair.
I feel bad, but this is really.
A picture you wouldn’t see anywhere else.
People would call it fake, no doubt.
I was about to head next door.
Oh, I did sneak into her place last time for repairs by climbing the balcony.
But I shouldn’t do that now.
“What’s the passcode?”
“0827.”
“Birthday? That was yesterday?”
“…”
“Uh… belated happy birthday.”
“Wahhh.“
Well, she probably didn’t expect to be stuck in a wall the day after her birthday.
I confidently entered Room 202 with the passcode.
From sneaking in to being invited—it’s quite the feeling.
I’d only seen her at the door a few times, never inside her place.
There’s a Jesus statue and a Virgin Mary figure on the optional desk.
And all sorts of talismans stuck everywhere.
What’s this, some East-West religious harmony?
More than that, there’s the lower half of the girl next door stuck in the bed.
She really is dressed casually.
“What pants should I put on you?”
It’s not just her embarrassment—Jesus and Mary are watching from behind, and I’m getting impure thoughts.
Unless Room 202 has eyes on her hips, she can’t possibly know I’m looking.
But if she saw, could I clear up the gay misunderstanding?
“Anything…”
I picked a sturdy pair of pants to avoid them slipping off while pulling.
“Hup.“
“Ughhh.“
“Yah!“
“Kyaaa!“
Crash.
Thankfully, pulling from behind worked. She popped out.
Her lower half is thicker than her upper body, huh.
My eyes did wander a bit.
Her T-shirt rolled up, but whatever.
“Phew.”
“Ah, waaaah. Thank you, thank you so much! I’m so sorry.”
This is practically the first time my strength stat has come in handy.
Room 202 was already crying her eyes out, but now she’s practically wailing, banging her head on the floor.
“You’ll break the floor next. Stop banging.”
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. I messed up!”
“Go wash up first.”
“Yes, sob, sniff.“
With plaster, plywood bits, bromide pieces, and tears and snot all over her face, she looks like she just came off a brutal construction job. I told her to shower.
Even rolling in a flour sack would look better than this…
“Hey, why are you undressing here!?”
I’m losing it.
“It’s my room…!”
Fair point.
But still, change after I leave.
Was she too sorry to tell me to go?
Or did she actually hurt her head?
Should I give her some rice drink and check her stats?
“I’m going.”
I headed back for now.
No matter how tough her head is, I can’t assume she didn’t get hurt.
But man.
This hole feels even bigger now, doesn’t it?
The estimate’s gonna be a mess.
She’s the one who headbutted the wall, but I’m the one getting dizzy.
“Sob, sob. Sniff…“
Room 202, still crying, washes up and then walks around naked.
I get why her mom nags her about being careless.
Maybe her mental state’s shot.
No point to it.
I’ve seen everything already.
Room 202, now properly dressed, stands in front of the even bigger wall hole.
Tap, tap.
She knocks on the wall.
The whole room’s visible—what’s she doing?
No monsters are coming through, thankfully.
It’s my karma, but I’m really on edge right now.
“Um, how do we… handle the damages?”
Room 202 asks in a timid voice.
“It’s not about damages; we need to fix this hole.”
“How…”
“Contact the landlord and call some workers, I guess?”
I know roughly how to cut plasterboard, fill it in, finish with plywood, and wallpaper.
But I played dumb, of course.
Unless I pretend to help and restore it to its original state, there’s no good solution.
Since there’s still the secret mosquito hole, I can’t entirely pin the blame on her.
“It’s gonna cost a fortune, isn’t it?”
“Before that, your mom will kill you, right?”
She nods vigorously.
Figured as much.
“What do we do then? You gonna live like this? With the whole room exposed if you just lie down?”
“That old man doesn’t seem like he’d have bad intentions toward me.”
“Bad intentions?”
“Honestly, in that situation, with my underwear kinda showing and all…”
“In that situation?”
“You could’ve just pulled my clothes off, but you didn’t. Like, you know.”
“…”
This girl’s a certified lunatic.
Kids’ evaluations are never as accurate as a mom’s cursing.
Unless you’re walking around with an ero-manga in your head.
How do you see a woman’s lower half stuck in a wall and immediately think of that?
“That’s just common decency. You’re the impure one.”
“You don’t seem that interested in women. Uh, I mean…”
Why’s she tearing up again?
The “you don’t seem interested in women” line is when I should be getting mad.
“Why are you acting like that now?”
“The Dean bromide, I’ll definitely buy you a new one. I’m so sorry. I messed up. Sob. Sniff.“
The bromide’s the issue in all this?
She’s lucky she didn’t know my room wasn’t wallpapered.
As long as she doesn’t make a fuss about the mosquito hole, it’ll stay that way.
“No, it’s fine.”
“It’s a limited edition. I’ll find a way to get you a new one.”
“I said it’s fine.”
“It’s not fine for you.”
This is driving me nuts.
To change the subject, I suggested a solution.
“Well, I don’t know how to cure concrete, so. Usually, studio apartments use plaster and plywood for finishing, right? Tomorrow, buy some plaster, plywood, and wallpaper from the wallpaper shop. Then we’ll fill the wall. It won’t be too expensive.”
Last time, I used the leftover materials to patch the mosquito hole.
There’s some wallpaper left, but that’s it.
Plus, it’s past business hours, so we can’t buy materials now.
I remember the wallpaper shop’s hours.
“How?”
“I’ll do it for you. Just buy the materials.”
I made the hole, but she’s the one who broke the wall I patched with materials.
Making her cover the material costs seems fair, right?
“Huh?! No, I’m the one who broke it!”
“Ugh, fine. I’m just trying to win you over.”
“Why are you trying to win me over?”
If I just shut up and patched the hole myself, it wouldn’t make sense.
I should tell her to take full responsibility, but my conscience won’t let me.
I’ve got too much fur on my conscience from preaching honesty and integrity.
Plus, Room 202 thinks I’m gay.
I kinda want to clear up that misunderstanding.
“Your backside was nice.”
“…”
“Done thinking?”
“Yes.”
I’d rather be a pervert than gay at this point. I just blurted out what I thought.
“…Why didn’t you do anything? No, I mean, not that I meant it like that! I’m not misunderstanding!”
No matter how you look at it, she definitely hurt her head breaking that wall.
Room 202’s intelligence is flashing red.
Thanks to that, I don’t know what her original intelligence was.
And her strength is surprisingly high.
Whatever. I’ll make the plasterboard and handle it. Just buy the materials tomorrow.
It might, no, it could become a decent wall.
I changed the subject because explaining what a “decent wall” is would be awkward.
Well, gotta work tomorrow, what else can I do?
Room 202 stares at me, then buries her face in her freshly changed T-shirt and says.
“You’re… kinda like an older brother.”
I really wish I didn’t have a sister whose head causes pain inside and out.