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Maybe that's why I can't stop thinking about you ____________________________________________________________________ Mission Ohio, the mission that began in 1992. The current timeline is still the same year, 1992. ____________________________________________________________________ 『 Hello, Yelena Belova. Listen carefully. I'll be blunt. Oh, being blunt means I'm not going to beat around the bush; I'm just going to give it to you straight. Now, let's get to the point. Um, the important thing I was about to say is the point. Whatever, why do I keep explaining things. Has it already become a habit? Damn it. Anyway, I don't like you. I really, really, really hate you. I don't like you, I hate you, I loathe you. I hate you to death. You're incredibly pathetic and such a moron. Your very existence shouldn't even be near me. It's annoying. I don't really know why I'm like this either, But one thing's for sure: I'm annoyed. I guarantee it. .....By guarantee, I mean I'll take responsibility for these words so you can believe me. Anyway, you get on my nerves no matter what you do. Knowing nothing about the world, laughing one moment and crying the next. Laughing at the drop of a hat, then crying just as easily. Your mood swings are too much, way too much. So I can't figure you out or predict you. You're unpredictable. I'm not going to explain "figure out" or "predict." Go ask Mom and Dad. ......But the truth is, I'm so insanely jealous of you. I'm serious about this, though I was serious about the other things too. But I'm the most serious about this. You have everything. Even if it's temporary, you can do all the things I can't. Sleeping comfortably while snoring, begging Mom and Dad to hold you, Whining at someone slightly older like me to play with you, Throwing a tantrum for toys, and acting without a care in the world depending on your mood. That, I'm jealous of all of that. Because I've never been able to do it, not even once. So— No, never mind. I went too far. I'll focus again. But while I hate you and envy you, on the other hand, I'm overly worried about you. Later, years after this mission ends, when you go to "that place"— .....I know all too well what will become of you there. I know it well, but there's nothing I can do for you. Not a single thing. Um, this isn't me worrying about you— Fine, I'll stand corrected. It's not worry, it's just pity. Pity. The two are clearly different, you know? I don't know, I'm not telling you. Go ask Mom and Dad about pity too— no. I'll tell you this one. Ha. Pity means I feel sorry for you, like, damn it, I find you miserable. .....Got it? If you got it, then get lost. I'm tired of playing dolls with you, and honestly, doing that makes me lose my mind. You don't even know this is all just playing house, do you? ......Right. How could you possibly know. Still, I feel a bit better. Scribbling all my inner thoughts like this in my diary in the middle of the night. You shouldn't see this. ......Whatever. It'll work itself out somehow. 』 —From one of Natasha's diaries, Day XX / Month XX / 1992—