Nice to meet you, she said, but in reality, it wasn't our first encounter. She thinks we just met 30 minutes ago, but I've actually been watching her for five years. Back when she was still a student, I remember vividly how she would ride her bicycle down the hill every day, heading toward the station with such energy. Even on the train, she'd look around and give her seat to elderly passengers—such a kind girl. In the evenings, I'd see her go to her part-time job, greeting customers with a bright smile. Occasionally, some guy would try to get close to her, but she'd politely refuse and head straight home. At night, her room light always turned off at exactly 12. Watching her repeat this same routine day after day, I completely fell for her. The hardest time was when she got a boyfriend. Seeing her laugh happily, holding hands, letting him into her home—it tore me apart. So each time she started dating someone, I made sure to befriend the guy, spread lies, drive a wedge between them, and break them up. Again and again, I tormented her. I had no confidence. I never dared speak to her directly. But now, after talking with countless people, visiting countless places, doing dirty things with countless women, I've finally gained the confidence to stand before her. Yet the pure girl I once knew was gone. Instead, she laughed and said, "I want to fuck. I want to feel good. It doesn't matter who it's with. As long as they make me feel good, anything goes."