I don't know what to say

I shove my pickaxe into the wall, forcing out a large chunk of rock. I've been mining away since the morning announcement, but have yet to even see the tiniest bit of a card.

Driving my frustration and desperation back into my arms, I swing again, taking out another chunk-

A card! 

I almost scream as something flat and rectangular pokes out from the rocks. Shoving my pickaxe in the crack, I push at the handle, popping the card out with leverage.

Yes, yes, yes! I think as I reach down and wipe away the dust on my newest card, revealing:

[Adamancipator Crystal-Dragite] [4] [ATK: 0] [DEF:2200] 

"Are you kidding me?!"

I already have three of this card in my deck! I can't put this in!

I take a dusty breath, trying to calm down. Let's hold on and think about this. Even if I can't put in my deck, it is still a card. If it's R rarity, I can dismantle it and use the dust to craft [Minefieldriller].

"Open menu." I say, revealing the system menu. I then tap the 'deck builder' option, revealing a menu much like the master duel screen: my incomplete deck on the left, and my collection of cards along the right.

I shove the new card into the screen, after which the card dissapears and re-appears within my collection. There, I can finally see it's rarity:

N rarity... shit.

I can't use this to craft the card. Holding out some vain hope, I drag the card into my deck, but the screen physically won't let it enter the deck, giving me the error message:

______________________________________________

You can only have 3 copies of a card in your Deck

______________________________________________

I can't use it, and dismantling it doesn't get me anywhere... in essence, I haven't gotten a step closer to getting out.

Just to let out a bit more steam, I throw the card at the wall, where it bounces off and lodges itself on a rock. How convenient that yugioh cards are unbreakable in this world: throw it around as much as you want, and it'll still be fine.

Maybe I can trade it with someone?

It's not something anyone does, because why would you? To the slaves, the cards are just quota. They don't care how good it is as long as it gets them through another day, and there's no reason to give up higher-rarity or foiled cards for lesser ones. And if you trade for a card of same rarity and foiling, what's the point?

But maybe I can fool someone into thinking this card's actually high rarity? But then people would find it odd I'm trading away a high-rarity card for less...

It's not going to work. I realize.

But maybe I can still trade it with someone for a card of same rarity. They'll find it odd, but it shouldn't be detrimental.

That reminds me, the rarity system they use here is a bit odd. Cards are divided into NS and S rarity, and that's it. I don't even know what separates an S card and an NS card: so far, the few cards I've handed in were all NS. 

Comparing to master duel, maybe NS is N and R rarity, while S is SR and UR? All I've handed in thus far are foiled N and R cards, after all.

I do have one SR card. I could hand it in and see what the rarity evaluation is, but that'll cut down my deck count. I've asked a few of the other slaves, but they didn't know anything.

I suppose it's nothing to worry about. 

I don't see how this world's weird rarity system is a concern for me right now.

Suddenly, I hear the familiar sound of banging of steel ripple throughout my tunnel, making me block my ears.

"It's High NooooOOOn you bastards! Time's winding down, so work harder!"

It's already been that long, huh. 177 asked me to meet him right about now.

Taking a break from mining, I crawl out of my tunnel and head into the one next-door. Ducking through a low overhang, I emerge into a small space where Jay is lying against the wall, looking blankly up at the ceiling.

I approach him, noting bits of fresh dust on the end of his pickaxe. His hand's callouses look a bit darker, too.

At least he's been mining. It's good he at least has the energy to do something.

"Hey Jay, back when we were standing in your line, 177 called out to me." I begin. "White haired guy. He asked me to meet with him right about now."

I crouch down to be on eye level with the resting Jay. It feels a bit odd, since usually I'm the one looking slightly up at him.

"Think you'll be fine alone? For about 10 minutes?"

His head leans fully back at a 90 degree angle, facing the celing. His lip quivers for a second, then he finally forms a full sentance:

"...Thanks." He begins. I wait for him to continue. "I'll be fine."

As he says that, I can't help but get a bad feeling. The combination of his exposed neck, and the grimy pickaxe just a foot away, sends chills down my spine. Like sandpaper scraping my skin, it gives me a dangerous, shaky feeling.

"...Scooch over." I say, kicking the pickaxe away to make room next to Jay. Ignoring his confused look, I sit down next to him, but with my arms and legs spread out like some mob boss. I also bend my head back and stare at the ceiling, shifting around to avoid the pointy bits of rock.

"..."

"..."

I'm not sure what to say.

But, I do know that leaving Jay like this gives me a foreboding feeling, one that has erased any inclination I have of leaving.

It would be too easy, with him like this and the pickaxe nearby. It would be too easy for him.

But I'm not sure what to say.

"...You're amazing, you know." says Jay, surprising me by being the first one to talk. "How many times have you gone through... that?"

"I try not to count." I say automatically, before immediately regretting it.

Did that sound like I was bragging? Did it sound a bit demeaning? Was that too blunt?

Trying to salvage myself, I quickly follow up. "If I count how many, it'll make me think foreboding thoughts like 'I've already gone through this much' or 'how much more can I survive?' I would keep wondering when my time would be up."

It's true. It's only when you count the days, that you realize how much time has gone by. Call it blissful ignorance, but I think of it as keeping my eyes on the future. All that matters about the past is that I survived, and I don't pay it any more mind than that.

"So, I try not to give the Arena, or the past, any room in my mind." I say, trying to wrap it back around to what I hope is a helpful message. "It doesn't matter how many times you've cheated death, or how long you've persisted in this despicable place. This isn't a dick-measuring contest."

"The only thing you should take away from the Arena," I continue, making sure Jay is listening closely, "is that you survived. There's nothing else about that place worth remembering."

"...I don't think I can do that." replies Jay. "I don't think I can be as... resilient."

I realize then, as Jay curls up into himself much like this morning, the arrogance of my words.

The only reason I can ignore everything, is because I have freedom to look forward to. Because I have a clear-cut path, and a goal to strive for. No one else here has that. I knew it already, but that fact makes it even harder for me to find something to say.

If I didn't have my system, would I be the same as Jay right now? Despondent, tired and seeing death?

But just as those thoughts start to creep up, I stop.

Because such things aren't worth my headspace.

It doesn't help me get out, it's not productive, and it doesn't change anything about what I have to do. I can re-evaluate, but doubting myself can be saved for later.

Focus. Leave those bad thoughts in some far-off place.

Reevaluate. Return to what you have to do right now.

Think. What do you have to do right now?

What I have to do right now... is say something to Jay. 

But I'm still not sure what—

"...Can I ask you something?" says Jay.

"Go ahead." I say, latching on immediately.

"I'm sorry if this is a... sensitive question." he says, cautious and deliberate with every word. "But how can you... no. Do you feel like—"

He takes a pause, then finally seems to find what he wants to say.

"When you saved me, from my group. Back then, you... tripped up a bunch of people. I don't mean to be ungrateful, but—"

He cautiously looks to the side, peering into my eyes.

"You... killed them, right? Or maybe it's not really your fault, but even so."

He takes another pause, wrapping his arms around himself.

"...When I think back to them—I knew a few of them, too. I can't help but feel like they're cursing me from the afterlife, like they spent the last moments of their life hating me."

Finally finding some footing in his voice, he manages out his question:

"Thank you for saving me, but are you... ok? How do you deal with something like this? Like what you did—again, I know you did it to save me, but still, how do you sleep through this? Are we just supposed to live on like nothing happened? Like we're the same person as we were yesterday?"

As the torrent of words slow down, he seems to lose his voice and slow down, curling back up into himself.

"Am I just... soft? Weak? Stupid? For feeling like this? I know it's really the organization's fault. I know it's the Arena's fault. I know it's Head Handler Ronovan's fault. But still..."

His head slouches down, digging deep into his knees and away from the world.

"I'm sorry. I know you've gone through way more than me, and you helped me, saved me, and that I shouldn't be like this when you've done so much for me, when you're still going on after much more."

"I just... really don't know."

And again, I have no idea what to say.

No, maybe there isn't anything I can say. Maybe, as someone who's just been ignoring everything until now, who talked proudly about ignoring everything about the Arena until now, I can't say anything.

"You can go ahead." he says, still curled into himself. "I won't do anything drastic. I feel better after spitting everything out."

"...Are you sure?" I finally manage, after being stunned into silence for so long.

"I'll just be resting for a bit. Go ahead." He says, head still buried into his knees. "You can take my pickaxe if you're still worried."

I do end up taking it. And just to be safe, I drop by my tunnel and take my pickaxe as well. I walk off, knowing that even if I stayed, I had nothing to say. I flee, knowing I couldn't say anything.