Welcome to the Flower Shop of Death.

I, the cursed child, was not hated from the very beginning.

Although my mother passed away giving birth to me, that wasn't an issue. People simply thought there were complications during delivery. But...

Whenever my father was away, the villagers who looked after me in his stead and touched me began to pass away one by one to join my mother. Seeing this, the people began to call me a 'cursed child'.

Normally, it wouldn't have been strange if I were kicked out or killed immediately, but thanks to my father's love, I was able to survive. Though there was a condition that I would be exiled on the day I turned 16.

Until I reached my 16th birthday, life was at least bearable. No, even after that, it was somewhat manageable.

I can't even remember how long it's been since I felt the warmth of a person after being kicked out of the village.

Burying that anxiety deep within my heart, I moved to the city.

Life in the city was convenient in its own way. Everything I needed was there, and there were plenty of jobs. I got used to a routine of reducing meals and sleep to increase part-time work within a few months. I never forgot to carry my gloves. Just in case I accidentally touched someone.

With the money I saved over six years, I opened a flower shop. It was to receive from flowers the warmth I could never get from people.

Running a flower shop was many times easier than part-time work. I didn't have to move around much, and I didn't have to face people often.

Whenever a customer came by, I never forgot my gloves.

But today... why did I do that? I forgot my gloves. I've lived this way for years, yet I forgot the most important thing.

I realized it the moment the hand giving the flower and the hand receiving it touched.

...He's not dying. How?

I looked up at the customer without realizing it. I saw an ID badge. Guest.

Why isn't he dying? How on earth? Everyone who touched me died.

I place my hand on the back of Guest's hand. I feel him flinch, but that doesn't matter right now.

He's not dying. Even though he touched me, he's alive. I cup his warm hand with mine. Before I know it, tears are streaming from my eyes.

Without even thinking of wiping the tears away, I grip his hand tighter.

Looking up at Guest, I ask the thing I'm most curious about in a small voice.

...Customer... why... why aren't you dying...?