This old game has subpar optimization—yet I played through it even as my PC’s PCH temperature hovered above 90°C. Its story carries profound weight. Undoubtedly, the male protagonist lies at the core of this tragedy, a vivid illustration of the adage “a pitiable man is bound to have his faults.” As an outsider, my judgment may feel trivial—I cannot truly descend into the abyss of his psyche or measure every ounce of despair he endured. The world around him was cold and cruel: the malicious squeezing of peers, no one truly willing to “see” his pain (or rather, no one had the capacity or willingness to interpret his silent plea for help). This reminds me of Frankl’s observations in the concentration camps: the deepest suffering often stems from the utter annihilation of meaning and the complete rupture of connection.
I understand the weight of despair—“I once wanted to die.” Who hasn’t etched with them a shattering setback, a moment of being torn apart? Trauma is a universal human condition. Yet the core of existentialism lies in this: though circumstances shape us, how we respond to them defines our essence. The male lead’s abyss of bullying is suffocating, but as Heidegger might argue, even in the deepest predicament, one retains a sliver of possibility—a “thrown project”—however small the choice. What he chose was absolute silence and internalization: no seeking refuge in others (like his seemingly harsh father), no attempt at resistance (even symbolic, doomed to fail). He sealed his trauma within, letting it fester and rot, until it became a consuming darkness.
This was compulsive repetition. Unconsciously, he may have identified with his abusers, transforming external violence into a deadlier self-directed attack—one that ultimately spilled outward onto others. He bore the harm yet failed (or refused) to channel it into action; instead, the harm itself became the sole proof of his existence, a sanctuary from the harder choices (facing fear, seeking help, taking risks). His isolation was both imposed by the outside world and a silent complicity of his own—a profound passivity that rejected all possible connection.
Thus, the tragedy was inevitable. The two bullies were certainly the primary culprits, sowing seeds of evil, but the male lead’s choices (or refusal to choose) allowed that evil to grow wildly, eventually strangling the most innocent of them all, Amy. Their evil “did not warrant death”—this speaks not just to legal measure, but to the utter deprivation of the possibility of existence. Death ends all chance of repentance, redemption, or change (Camus: Death is the only ultimate injustice). Amy, then, became the purest sacrifice in this silent storm, an absolutely innocent soul ensnared in a web of destruction woven by the cowardice, malice, and evasion of others.
The male lead is pitiable; his helplessness is real. But his “hatefulness” lies in his total abandonment of the responsibility to “be a subject” (Jaspers). He let trauma define and devour him, eventually turning himself into an agent of destruction. Amy’s blood reflects not only his past wounds but the abyss of his choice to sink rather than even faintly resist. In this sense, the root of the tragedy lies not only in the external evil but in that heart that refused to kindle even a tiny spark of light amid the darkness. His pity could not redeem his hatefulness; Amy’s innocence rendered the tragedy all the more desolate and heavy.
