Chapter 1419 - IR 1

Infinite Regression. There is a genre by that name.

It's called 'Infinite Regression' when the protagonist dies, then returns to a state before death to endlessly challenge the hurdles in their path. Naturally, the protagonist somehow overcomes them, no matter how perilous the obstacle. After all, they simply keep trying until they succeed.

What once was doomed to be a bad ending is transformed into a happy ending, or the protagonist miraculously saves a side heroine destined to die from an incurable disease, or―

Infinite Regression is essentially a cheat key to end all tragedies.

However, speaking from experience, the infinite regression depicted in various novels is nothing but despicable propaganda. It's like one of those cram schools that only displays the names of students who got into prestigious universities.

"Shit. This isn't going to work."

I set down my cane-sword.

The 1183rd regression. The world had ended again.

Those who were destined to succeed will succeed; those who weren't, won't. I belonged to the latter. I had to accept the fact that, no matter how desperately I tried, I couldn't prevent the world's destruction.

This is not a story of success, but one of failure—the mere afterword of someone who, despite possessing the ability of infinite regression, ultimately couldn't prevent the end of everything.

First thing to note is that the human mental state, or rather, mental strength always has an expiration date. No matter how normal someone appears on the outside, repeated regressions will undoubtedly forge an invisible crack in that surface.

A prime example of this is the story I'm about to tell concerning grandfather Schopenhauer.

"My direct ancestor was a very famous philosopher."[1]

Old Man 'Scho' often boasted about his lineage. I myself had heard the name Schopenhauer tossed around, but honestly, unlike his esteemed ancestor, Scho was far from a philosopher.

"Are those muscles of yours for Scho? Do some exercise, man."

Despite his clocking in at 60 years old, his body was all muscle. More familiar with an iron body than philosophical ideals, Old Man Scho always emphasized the importance of exercise.

"Come on, all that muscle disappears with each regression anyway..."

"Weight training is a habit. Habits don't disappear," Old Man Scho said sagely.

These days, I possess a skill known as [Resume], which allows me to retain my muscles and internal power even when I go back to the past, but back then, I was just a novice who hadn't even experienced regression ten times. It was pretty hard to sympathize with Old Man Scho's philosophy.

In terms of nationality, generation, taste, beliefs, and political leanings, Old Man Scho and I were complete opposites. There wasn't a single centimeter of common ground between us. And yet, there was one reason we always stuck together.

"Tsk. This run is messed up again."

"So it is."

Infinite regression.

That's right, Old Man Scho and I were regressors with the same ability. Somehow, in the world where I lived, there weren't just one, but two regressors. Considering that infinite regression was granted to only one person in most creative works, this was quite unusual.

"Damn, we're screwed. That monster can't be killed."

"What should we do, then?"

"I'll go ahead, you come later. While I hold it off, you try to escape and struggle 'til the end. Then maybe in the next run, you might see a way?"

"Fuck. Always leaving the hard parts to me..."

"Hey! Watch your language! Mind your manners, you brat!"

The one saying the Korean sentiment of "mind your manners" so fluently was Old Man Scho, who was actually German, funnily enough.

I first met Old Man Scho on my 6th regression. Back then, he could barely say "hello" in Korean. However, as soon as he realized there was another infinite regressor like himself, he immersed himself in studying the language.

By the 7th and 8th regressions, his Korean improved dramatically. Eventually, by the 10th regression, he was better at Korean than me.

The man could even read the Analects in Korean instead of German.

"Old man, your passion is really something else."

"It's not passion, you fool! It's habit! You don't learn German, so I had to. A person who has mastered memory skills, bah! What in the world are you doing, not studying? It was said, 'He who learns but does not think is lost.' How can you be so lazy about learning when you're much younger than me? Tsk, really..."

"..."

He might have learned a bit too well.

Anyway, thanks to Old Man Scho equipping his brain with K-conservativeness along with Korean, our communication drastically improved.

There were not one, but two infinite regressors, each a cheat key in their own right. Isn't that something?

Sometimes I sacrificed, sometimes Old Man Scho did, and together, we kept making our mark on this world.

"We did it! We actually did it!"

When we defeated the monster 'Ten Legs', which no one had overcome in ten runs, both of us cheered.

After blasting away that hateful, mop-like, tentacled head, Old Man Scho tossed his sword aside and rushed at me in a burst.

"Oh my! Thank you! It's all thanks to you! I couldn't have made it this far alone!" Old Man Scho laughed like a child.

Truth be told, from the 6th to the 10th regression, we worked together as allies, but somewhere in our hearts, we had always been wary of each other. It was difficult to trust someone else in a world on the brink of destruction.

Both I and Old Man Scho. We had seen too much to easily trust anyone.

But the moment this white-haired German old-timer embraced me with a bright smile, I felt the last vestiges of that mutual suspicion between us completely melt away.

I looked into Old Man Scho's gray eyes. It was clear he felt the same.

Yes, we were pilots who had crash-landed at the end of the century, but while we couldn't say we were born from the same land, we were comrades who had jumped with our delicate parachutes towards the same landing spot.

From that day forward, many things became unimportant between us. Nationality, generation, tastes, beliefs, political inclinations—all lost their natural pull on us.

In an atmosphere where gravity had faded, we felt significantly lighter.

"Actually, this regression thing is really hard to get used to."

Old Man Scho opened up to me about his human side, the part called 'weakness' in a world that had met its end.

We would fill a thermos with coffee in the morning or grab a bottle of soju and head to an empty café (many of which had been abandoned as the baristas had fled the ruined world) to chat over trivial matters.

"Why?"

"We wake up on June 17th when we regress, right? But a minute after we regress, my wife dies."

"Excuse me?"

Old Man Scho explained: June 17th, 13:59. That marks the point when our regression begins. But just around 14:00 on June 17th, a gate opens in Seoul, South Korea, and everything south of the Han River vanishes.

That day, unlike the two of us who were in Busan and escaped the catastrophe, Old Man Scho's wife was attending a conference in Seoul.

"Just one minute. Only a minute."

Old Man Scho downed his soju.

"My wife was in the auditorium, conducting an event with several famous scientists."

"Even if you warn her the gate is opening... she wouldn't be able to escape."

"That's right."

It was a disaster that turned Seoul into a wasteland. Even if Old Man Scho called immediately after regressing to tell her to evacuate, it was physically impossible to avoid the tragedy.

"Calling her is no use, she won't pick up immediately. She sets her phone to silent during important events... I have to call three times in a row for her to answer."

"..."

"Then there's no time. I just manage to say 'I love you', then there's a thump from the sky and the call cuts off. Just 10 seconds. That's all the time I get to hear my wife's voice..."

"Any other family?"

"None. I only have my wife," Old Man Scho muttered.

His real name, Emit Schopenhauer. His alias, Swordmaster.

I began to understand why he was so obsessed with gaining immense power.

With each regression, Old Man Scho's drinking increased. By the 9th regression, he'd say the soju wasn't real alcohol before drinking, but by the 19th, he'd down three bottles on the spot.

"Even if I drink myself to death, as long as I regress, my liver resets. It's a win, isn't it? Hehehe..."

He said that, but Old Man Scho's complexion was not bright.

By then, we—he—had endured approximately 120 years if we combined all the regressed time. However, the time he had spent talking with his wife amounted to just about 120 seconds.

The journey of an old man crossing a desert just to sip water was becoming ever more grueling.

"There has to be someone with teleportation abilities out there."

At some point, Old Man Scho's goal began to change.

"What?"

"A teleporter. If I can just find them, then as soon as we regress, I could rush to my wife."

"But... Old man. Even if a teleporter exists somewhere in the world, can you really meet up with that person within a minute? It takes us 30 minutes just to meet up after regressing."

"..."

Old Man Scho fell silent.

I could tell that it was not a silence of affirmation.

Over a century, my companion who had tried to prevent destruction with me was slowly consumed by increasingly bizarre thoughts. He muttered incessantly.

"Maybe if I find resurrection magic, I could bring dead people back to life?"

"If I could copy someone else's abilities, get teleportation and telepathy, I could surely solve any problem within a minute."

"It can be done. Surely it can be done."

It was like a sandcastle collapsing.

The pinnacle of the collapse was the 23rd regression.

I started the regression as usual, following the same route. After dealing with the dungeonized area in under 30 minutes, I moved to a pre-arranged meeting place. It was a hideout we had set up in an earlier cycle.

"Huh? Old man? Old man, are you there?"

No one was in the underground training center. I couldn't find any signs of someone entering or leaving.

"..."

A sense of ominous foreboding seized me, prompting me to move immediately.

My starting point was Busan Station. Old Man Scho's was the old Baekje Hospital building.

I passed by an elementary school that had been torn down to half its size due to a monster's rampage, then entered the old hospital building. Everyone had already evacuated, so it was deserted.

Old Man Scho was dead on the rooftop.

"..."

It was not murder.

From the beginning of the starting point, there was no one capable of killing Old Man Scho—be it monster or human. Even I couldn't have.

The only one who could have killed him was himself.

Old Man Scho's body was headless, but the rest of his torso was intact. He was tightly clutching a smartphone in his left hand.

"Madness."

-x-X-x-

Footnotes:

[1] Arthur Schopenhauer was a German philosopher. He is known for his 1818 work The World as Will and Representation, which characterizes the phenomenal world as the manifestation of a blind and irrational noumenal will.

-x-X-x-

The same phenomenon repeated itself on the 24th and 25th runs.

I had to experience the timeline where Old Man Scho died a total of three times. The only factor separating these runs from the others was whether a single comrade was with me, yet the perceived difficulty had increased five or sixfold. It was then that I realized how much I had been relying on Old Man Scho all this time.

It finally happened in the 26th run.

"I'm sorry."

Old Man Scho handed me a coffee as soon as he saw my face.

There was a café in the old Baekje Hospital building. He must have predicted that I would come rushing over and was using the empty café to brew coffee at his leisure.

The café au lait Old Man Scho prepared was truly delicious. It was back in the 11th run, I think? It must have been thanks to the barista skills he acquired then.

"Show your face, old man," I called out in German. By the 26th run, I too could recite poetry in foreign languages.

"Is this you forgiving me?"

"7, 7, 7."

"...?"

"Do you know what those numbers mean?"

"...A casino slot machine jackpot?"

"No. They're the runs I endured without you. Together, they add up to 21 years. Damn, after not seeing you for over 20 years, I was about to forget what you even look like. Let's talk face to face."

Old Man Scho didn't respond, seemingly cowed into silence.

I sat opposite him and gulped down my coffee. By now, I could waltz into whatever café I so pleased and loot a quick cup, but I hadn't been able to drink the real deal for five long years.

As someone who had just lived through a run of seven years before dying, indulging in genuine café au lait and not some assembly-line imitation was a luxury I couldn't afford. Regression wasn't all bad. Coffee. Draft beer. Cigarettes. Not-yet-deceased comrades... Experiencing them all again was tremendously important to me.

"Twenty-one years, huh... Remarkable. From my perspective, I last saw you less than an hour ago."

It seemed not for Old Man Scho.

More precisely, the most precious thing on his list of 'memories to keep fresh in mind' was still just out of reach.

"But I understand. I haven't seen my wife's face for over a hundred years myself. I know what it feels like."

"..."

"I can see her face in photos. I can watch videos I've saved to hear her voice. But still, there's a dry well inside me that remains unfilled."

My sense of foreboding was not misplaced.

If this had been like any other regression story, Old Man Scho would have kept his mental fortitude, I would have found some miraculous solution within the restrictions, and the elderly couple might have reunited after overcoming a century of separation.

"I want to see my wife in person."

But as I said, my story is not a tale of success but an afterword chronicling a series of failures.

Old Man Scho's spirit had broken. In less than 30 seconds, he had taken his own life three times just so he could talk to his wife.

There was no way for me to save him.

"Do you not understand me? You are the one person who should understand. Use your abilities to help me..."

"That's not possible," I flatly refused.

Just as Old Man Scho had a natural talent for swordsmanship, I too had various abilities besides regression. Opportunities to discuss my powers will come in due time, but for the purposes of this discussion, the ability Old Man Scho was referring to was Time Seal. And I had no intention of using it on a comrade I could very well see with my own two eyes.

"I know you know, old man. Once time is sealed, it's over. It never comes undone—no number of regressions can break it."

"Maybe, but I could still talk to her in my dreams."

"You would just be repeating the same day forever."

"How is that any different from our current situation?"

This time, I was the one left without an answer.

"Still," I said after a moment's hesitation, "it's not possible. We can't afford to lose our strongest ally like this."

"So be it."

Had he anticipated my reaction? As soon as Plan A was rejected, Old Man Scho immediately proposed Plan B.

"You keep trying until you find a solution. Keep regressing until you can save people in Seoul within a minute of starting. Or, until you admit it's impossible and give up like I did."

"What about you?"

"I'm tired. Really... I've grown weary. So I will just rest a while until you come to a conclusion."

That night, Old Man Scho took his own life.

That was the so-called "rest" he mentioned.

"...My God."

Fitting for a swordsman who had reached realms lofty enough to be titled a Sword Star, Old Man Scho could wield an explosive Aura powerful enough to blow one's head off. It would have been a painless death.

The 27th, 28th, and 29th runs brought no changes.

Old Man Scho was found dead on the rooftop of the café building that once housed the hospital.

Whenever I went to the café after clearing the dungeon at Busan Station, there would always be a cup of café au lait on the table, greeting me with a warm puff of air.

Underneath the coffee cup, there was a note.

Shouldn't you think about giving up, my friend?

I smiled wryly. "...I guess I've stumbled across a regular café to visit every decade."

Once, I imagined the life of my comrade.

For Old Man Scho, life had been reduced to calls with his wife lasting about 10 to 20 seconds and then spending 10 minutes preparing a café au lait for an old comrade who might visit him. This repetition had not changed, from the 29th to the 1183rd regression.

A body on the rooftop. A cup of café au lait on the table.

Who was crazier: the regressor who had not once taken his own life in over a thousand cycles, or the one who had incessantly done so over a thousand times?

I couldn't tell.

However, with each new run, a gradual change began to make itself known in the content of the calls between Old Man Scho and his wife.

「God! You finally picked up the phone!」

「Emit? What's wrong? I'm at a conference right now...」

「I love you, Adele. I love you. I will always love you.」

Old Man Scho always recorded his conversations with his wife, perhaps to replay the calls before ending his short life. Thanks to that, I could overhear what the elderly couple talked about every time.

「I love you, Adele... I love you.」

During the first ten or so regressions, there was no significant change. Old Man Scho was simply trying desperately to convey his love to his wife. But after the 30th cycle, the content of the calls began to subtly change.

「Adele, actually, I'm repeating my life. The world is going to end, but I still love you.」

「Oh my God. Have you been drinking? Why are you acting like a child? Wait a minute, Emit. There's something strange in the sky...」

Regression.

「Do you remember? Twenty years ago in Turin. I went under the bridge and picked a yellow flower for you. What was the name of that flower?」

「What? You're calling me to ask that now?」

「Please answer me, Adele. I'll die if you don't.」

Regression.

「Sorry, what was your brother's name again?」

「Maximilian, but why—?」

「Ah! Yes, Maximilian! Haha, I had forgotten! Thanks!」

「Hah... hopeless. Wait? There's some sort of noise coming from the sky...」

It was curious.

As the regressions continued, the calls Old Man Scho had with his wife shifted from being merely one-sided transmissions to something resembling a real conversation. They were brief, lasting only about 20 seconds before cutting off, but when pieced together, they almost seemed to form a proper exchange of dialogue.

「I've never liked that guy Maximilian.」

「Huh? Suddenly?」

「He doesn't think family is important at all! The guy's got his priorities all mixed up. He just pretends to listen in front of you.」

「Emit? Wait. Something odd is happening in the sky...」

「Honey, remember Christmas? When your brother brought someone he said was his girlfriend. Honestly, is Maximilian gay?」

「Huh? Where's this coming from? Why are you asking this over the phone...? Wait, Emit. It's weird. I hear something in the sky.」

「Exactly! My intuition is never wrong. Adele. Your brother is absolutely gay!」

「God! Emit, what are you talking about all of a sudden?」

「No, I have nothing against it. It's just that you and your brother assumed I wouldn't accept it and have kept it a secret all this time, and that feels disappointing.」

「I'm going crazy. What the...? Wait, let's save this conversation for when we meet in person! There's this bizarre sound coming from the sky.」

「Adele. We need to be more open-minded with each other! I'm not a closed-minded old man like your father!」

If one ignored the fact that the elderly couple's lives were "paused," per se, their exchange appeared to be a proper two-way conversation.

"So the old man's words had some merit."

Eventually, I had to admit it. What Old Man Scho called "rest" was indeed just that.

With each passing cycle, as the calls grew longer, the life returned to Old Man Scho's voice, and memories of the past, once long forgotten, were revived. Over time, he seemed to care less and less about this world coming to an end.

Even so, Old Man Scho did not stop taking his own life. Or rather—to put it in his words—he did not stop making calls to his wife.

By the 500th cycle, I had stopped eavesdropping on Old Man Scho's calls.

They had gradually become too intimate for outsiders to eavesdrop on. I never had any desire to know even the slightest detail regarding the old man's sexual preferences. Perhaps he couldn't even imagine that I'd been eavesdropping on his phone conversations all along.

However, every time a new run began, I would be sure to stop by the building and have a cup of café au lait.

Emit Schopenhauer, my former colleague from the distant past whose memory was now shrouded in obscurity. His choice of café au lait felt like a ritual, a way to fortify ourselves for the challenges ahead.

This was no different during my 1183rd regression. Beneath the coffee cup, the note lay there like always.

Are you still not giving up, my friend?

Well, to be honest, I had given up, but I didn't want to admit it to this young man. (By now, my age far surpassed his.) Perhaps someday, I'll confess, but for now, a little mischief wouldn't hurt. After all, I've spent thousands of years alone. I've earned it.

'...Come to think of it, I wonder what Scho is talking about with her?'

Suddenly, curiosity struck. It had been a long time since I retrieved Scho's old smartphone to listen to his recorded calls.

When I pressed the play button, Scho's distinctive, lively voice burst forth.

「Honey! I've told you a thousand times, drink only zero-calorie soda! Sugar isn't good for your health!」

「What?」

I sipped my café au lait inside the café, the argument playing out like the ambient music of a coffee shop.

The coffee was delicious.

-x-X-x-

The café where I often met Old Man Scho...

No, let me correct that.

The café where I often met the corpse of Old Man Scho is dotted with small fish tanks here and there, probably to cater to a certain barista's preference.

Though there's nothing particularly rare about the species living there, their tails possess a magical calming quality. All you had to do was look at them. Perhaps the flow of time almost seems to slow around those fins. Or maybe it's simply because the blank stare of the fish's eyes looks downright foolish.

As I sip on Old Man Scho's café au lait and watch a blue tropical fish perform its intricate, underwater ballet that ripples through time, one person invariably comes to mind.

The Saintess.

Today, I think I'll talk about her.

When the Gate crisis erupted worldwide, Korea fared relatively well, surprisingly enough.

It wasn't thanks to the government, though. From the outset, half of Seoul was devastated, including the National Assembly Building in Yeouido. Over a hundred politicians were vaporized that day. Whether that was a mark of good or bad fortune is a matter of personal opinion, but at least in the early days, it temporarily paralyzed Korea's political leadership.

The reason the Awakeners of Korea managed to navigate this crisis despite that was something else entirely—something that came in the form of a translucent, almost holographic message that appeared before their very eyes.

[The Saintess of National Salvation shows interest in your heroic deeds.]

That, for instance, was the sort of message displayed for me when I took a leading role in subduing the Gate at Busan Station. And I was not the only one who experienced this phenomenon.

"Huh? What's this?"

"...The Chancellor of the Red Cape? He's interested in me?"

Awakeners began to make themselves known nationwide, and inevitably, these messages found them. The sender varied from person to person, but every one of them had one thing in common: They all noticed someone was paying attention to their actions.

"It's the Constellations!"

Someone named this phenomenon the 'Constellations'. It seemed all too familiar to Awakeners who were fans of web novels. On the other hand, for the uninitiated like me, the concept was baffling.

Eventually, I approached someone who seemed all too eager to explain as they puffed out a palpable 'I know what this is! I've seen it!' energy.

"Excuse me, sir. Sorry to bother you when we haven't met before, but what are Constellations?"

"Oh, you don't know about Constellation stories!"

The Awakener was eager to explain.

"It's a way for transcendent beings like them to watch us Awakeners—expressing their interest and even sponsoring us! You know, like online streaming? We're the streamers, and the Constellations are the viewers dropping donations!"

"Wow."

"The Constellations are incredibly powerful too. Some are terrifying entities like Cthulhu, while others are deities who are friendly with humans... Anyway, it's a good thing! Always try to look good for the Constellations. Ahh, which Constellation should I choose? Is the option of [Choose None] still the trend?"

The Awakener continued to ramble on for a while. At the time, I just nodded along in vague acceptance. With monsters roaming around through the Gates, it wouldn't be all that surprising if there were also transcendent beings who munched on popcorn while watching the human world.

[The Conqueror of the Alps admires your valor!]

[The Chancellor of the Red Cape respects your strategy.]

As the cycles repeated, I grew accustomed to the existence of the Constellations. They seemed to follow my every move, praising me or offering encouragement whenever I did something unique or unexpected.

[The Saintess of National Salvation praises your accomplishments.]

I was particularly proud that the Saintess, known for favoring benevolent Awakeners, seemed to cherish me the most.

Had it not been for the Constellations, my life as an Awakener would surely have felt bleak in a way. While the identity of the Constellations remained a mystery, most of the Awakeners—myself included—developed a fondness for them.

"...This is odd."

Old Man Scho had a different take on it. Back around the 10th cycle—before he took his long "vacation"—Old Man Scho had grown suspicious of the Constellations' presence.

"Huh? What's odd?"

"I recently got in contact with some friends overseas. Most are dead, but a few survived. And the ones that did... they say they've never seen anything like this back home."

"Anything like what?"

"Bah, come on. The messages from the Constellations, the messages! My friends in Germany have neither seen nor heard of them." Old Man Scho frowned, scrunching his nose with the force of it. "Just in case, I asked some of my friends in other countries, and they also said they've never gotten the messages before."

"..."

"Then that means this bizarre phenomenon is unique to Korea... Surely you see how strange that is? Why would the Constellations only operate here if they are transcendent beings? What reason would they have to favor Korea?"

"Uh... maybe they like K-pop?"

"Bullshit, Doc."

A moment later, messages flooded in.

[The Saintess of National Salvation is disheartened by your conversation.]

[The Conqueror of the Alps asks you to withhold your doubts.]

[The Chancellor of the Red Cape scoffs at your shallow understanding.]

It was as though they had been waiting. By that point, Old Man Scho and I had already garnered significant attention from the Constellations. It was no wonder since Old Man Scho was undoubtedly the greatest Swordmaster, and I was...

Well, I was an irreplaceable resource of sorts.

I glanced casually to the side. Old Man Scho was furrowing his brow, seeming to see something in front of him as well.

"You too, old man?"

"Yeah. These things are watching every little thing we do," Old Man Scho grumbled, swatting the air with his hand as if to shoo away an annoying fly. "Anyway, there are too many things that are fishy here. They never sent me messages before I started picking up Korean. But once I spoke even the tiniest bit, they magically started sending messages my way."

"..."

"If what you said isn't true, and they're not high on K-hype, I can't explain it. Doc, don't trust these Constellation things too much."

Regrettably, Old Man Scho never unraveled the secret of the Constellations. By the 26th cycle, the gramps had gone on a long vacation with his wife, leaving him with no time to explore the mystery further.

But not me.

Being an infinite regressor is like being the Bill Gates of time. It'd be no exaggeration to say that all I have is time.

'Why do the Constellations only appear in Korea?'

I stroked my chin. It had remained a mystery intriguing enough throughout my swathe of regressions to warrant an entire run's investigation.

First of all, Old Man Scho's observation was correct. It wasn't just the foreign Awakeners—even those in Korea who had not learned the language never received these apparent messages.

'Thanks to them, the quality—or should I say, the conscience—of the Awakeners in Korea is relatively sound.'

In other countries, the Awakeners caused terror attacks, massacred civilians, and ran rampant, committing crimes on the daily. Korea alone saw a lower crime rate among its Awakeners.

Why was this phenomenon occurring? I had two theories.

First, the Constellations were truly addicted to K-pop culture and only cared about Korean Awakeners. And second—

'Do the Constellations only speak Korean...?'

If this was true, it would have massive implications. Just think about it. Even the stubborn Old Man Scho mastered foreign languages in just a few cycles. But these so-called Constellations only spoke Korean? What kind of transcendents could they possibly be?

'In other words, the Constellations aren't transcendents.'

A hypothesis formed in my mind.

But monitoring every Awakener in Korea and sending them personalized messages would be difficult if they weren't transcendents. Surely, there must be some underlying secret to it.

From the 35th run onward, I officially began my Constellation Investigation. I was determined to finally get to the bottom of what sort of beings had admired and balked at my actions thus far.

'First, I need to attract the attention of the Constellations.'

Attracting their attention was simple. Constellations had a habit of taking an interest in exceptional Awakeners. As soon as I began the 35th run, I pushed myself to use all my abilities to clear the Gate that erupted at Busan Station within 20 minutes. The 1st cycle ended with my death because I couldn't close the Gate. By the 3rd, I managed it after a week. In that 35th run, I had cleared it in less than 20 minutes, and none of the 399 humans summoned to the Busan Station concourse lost their lives except one. The only items I farmed were silver bells from the souvenir shop too, so there was no time wasted.

It was a literal speedrun, a record bound to astonish the Constellations.

[The Saintess of National Salvation is astonished by your feat!]

[The Monarch of the Crimson Horse feels a sense of rivalry at your strength.]

[The Conqueror of the Alps takes note of your course.]

[The Chancellor of the Red Cape is wary of your abilities.]

Sure enough, the Constellations took the bait immediately. Messages from four, then seven, then eleven Constellations poured in, stacking up one by one. I ignored the messages for the time being. Only after I left Busan Station and reached an empty parking lot did I speak.

"Ladies and gentlemen of the Constellations, I know you are Korean."

Poof.

The messages that had been flying in non-stop like Hogwarts acceptance letters suddenly halted all at once.

I watched the sky clear as the messages that had cluttered my vision disappeared, then turned my gaze skyward.

"I also know that you are not transcendents. I could reveal this fact to all the Awakeners... But I am more curious about your true nature. Please tell me who you really are."

-...

There was no response.

To be honest, I was quite nervous at the time. Although the possibility was slim, what if the Constellations were genuinely transcendents who dined on kimchi and seaweed, listened to K-pop during tea time, and watched K-pop TV in the evenings? What if they were simply acting on a mysterious, nationalistic favoritism toward Korean-speaking Awakeners?

'My brazen proposal might provoke the Constellations to attack all at once.'

I took a combat stance. My Awakening ability wasn't geared toward combat, but after spending time with Old Man Scho, the greatest Swordmaster, my combat abilities had grown considerably. If necessary, I was ready to die right then and there and move on to the next cycle.

[The Saintess of National Salvation invites you.]

That was when the message appeared.

Fortunately, no scenario of Constellations appearing to punish an impudent mortal unfolded. Instead, dozens of Constellations remained silent, and only one communicated its intention to me. That Constellation was, coincidentally, the first to express interest in me—the Saintess of National Salvation.

"An invitation?" I asked cautiously. "What kind of invitation?"

After a moment, a message returned.

[The Saintess of National Salvation invites you to the Jamsu Bridge in Han River.]

Seoul.

The hell on earth where Old Man Scho had lost his wife and numerous politicians were buried.

'Ah.'

...It hit me then that the Constellations had never once spoken in any regional dialect.

I've mentioned several times that Gangnam was reduced to rubble when a Gate erupted there. However, areas not touched by the Gate's influence remained surprisingly intact. Jamsu Bridge, for one, still looked exactly as it did before the world turned upside down.

The place where the Saintess of National Salvation had agreed to meet me was a sky-blue convenience store near Jamsu Bridge—an unexpectedly public-friendly location for a rendezvous with a Constellation.

Under the convenience store's parasol sat a woman with her hair tied back. Although her aqua-colored hair was unusual, it wasn't uncommon for an Awakener's hair color to change upon coming into their powers, and her appearance was otherwise ordinary. She certainly didn't give off the feeling of a being beyond human limitations.

"Good day. Are you the Saintess of National Salvation?"

She studied me silently, her gaze swiftly scanning me from head to toe. Her eyes resembled those of a fish, seemingly "submerged" rather than "lost" in thought.

"The Busan Station Gate?" she asked.

"Yes, that's correct."

"...I never expected you to make the trip from Busan to here in less than a day."

With half of Seoul gone, most of the transportation networks leading to the capital had been crippled. Roads and railways—nearly everything was destroyed.

Put another way, though, that meant there were still a few usable routes left. Old Man Scho had wanted to get to Seoul before his wife disappeared, hence the extensive research that had been conducted on 'the fastest way to get to Seoul from Busan'.

...No matter how fast, arriving within a minute was impossible, rendering the research futile. But thanks to that, I was able to meet the Saintess of National Salvation quickly.

"My code name is Undertaker. Nice to meet you."

"Ah, yes... But 'Undertaker'?"[1]

"It's a nickname with a story. Feel free to call me 'Doc'."

After shaking hands with her, I sat opposite her. Far in the distance, Seoul's skyscraper, also known as Sauron's Tower, loomed like a shadow.

"Before anything else, I'd like to ask you something."

"..."

"Are you the Saintess of National Salvation, or are you her representative? What are Constellations exactly? Are they truly transcendents?"

She was silent. Numerous, fleeting thoughts seemed to flicker across her eyes. After a moment, she bit her lip and clenched her fist. Then, she sighed softly.

"...Yes. I am the Saintess of National Salvation."

Bingo.

Just as I was about to nod in acknowledgment, she looked me straight in the eye.

"And you, you are a regressor, right?"

-x-X-x-

Footnotes:

[1] An undertaker is an individual whose business is to prepare the dead for burial and to arrange and manage funerals.

-x-X-x-

"..."

"Right?"

I didn't respond immediately.

Honestly, I was a bit surprised—yet at the same time, admittedly, caught by intrigue. While I had occasionally revealed that I was a Regressor, it was rare for someone else to recognize this on their own. So far, the only person who had was Old Man Scho.

"Why do you think that?" I hedged.

"I figured if you were a regressor, you would eventually come looking for me. Besides, you were slaying monsters at an unbelievable rate. But judging by how you ask... I'm guessing this is our first cycle together?"

I leaned forward a bit more. The green plastic chair of the convenience store creaked as it scraped the ground. Initially, I was merely curious about the existence of these Constellations. But now, my interest had shifted more toward the human before me.

"That's correct. Although I've been curious about the identities of the Constellations, this is the first cycle I've really started to delve into it."

"If you truly are a regressor, Mr. Undertaker, I believe we must absolutely establish a collaborative relationship."

"A collaborative relationship?"

"Yes. But right now, I cannot be sure whether you are a regressor or not. Not with what I can see."

The woman spoke cautiously, and though her expression was tense, her tone was steady.

'She at least has some backbone there.'

My eyes narrowed. "How interesting. Why can't you be sure I'm a regressor?"

"Because this same situation could arise if you had the ability of Prophecy or even the mind-reading skill of Clairvoyance. So..." She bowed her head. "I'm sorry you had to come all the way to Seoul. I can't fully disclose what the Constellations are, how much I know about them, or what my abilities are yet."

"Hmm."

Proper manners and mindful discretion. A lottery ticket worth scratching, by all accounts.

"All right," I agreed. "If you could be certain that I am a regressor, would you be able to answer all my questions then?"

"...Yes."

"Then there's a simple solution."

She looked up.

I turned on my smartphone. "We'll set up a password."

"A password?"

"Give me words or phrases that only a regressor would know. Even specific actions would do."

It was a method Old Man Scho and I had previously used, and one that had been proven to work during the 7th cycle.

"Anyway, you set those conditions, and I will carry them out exactly in the 'next cycle'."

She immediately understood. "Ah, that's a great idea. Hmm. Then in the next cycle, please come here and lay a red T-shirt out on the table. Just sit quietly for about 10, no, 15 minutes. Then write 'Moral Law' on the T-shirt in big letters."

"Hmm."

"If you do that, I will contact you first."

It was a neat and tidy method.

"Understood, Saintess of National Salvation."

"Ah... I'm sorry, but that nickname is a bit..."

"Everyone's code name among the Awakeners is just as childish. I let it slide and ended up with 'Undertaker' as my alias. 'Saintess' is dignified in comparison."

"How did 'Undertaker' even...?"

Whoops.

I quickly got up from the table.

Again, I have an extreme dislike for my alias. How I ended up with such a nickname is a story for another time, ideally in the far future—or better yet, never.

"I'll be going now, Saintess. Until next time."

"Oh, of course. I'll see you next time. It was nice meeting you, Mr. Regressor."

The 'next' I spoke of and the 'next' she thought of were a whole world apart.

We parted easily, like streams that meet then go their separate ways, and after that day, I no longer received any messages from the Constellations.

To be honest, I found myself a bit disappointed. Someone who had been reacting to my every action was now gone. I felt the absence more keenly than expected.

Of course, my goal wasn't to flatter the Constellations, but to prevent the world's destruction. I quickly pulled myself together and threw myself into the 35th run.

And I failed spectacularly.

If I had succeeded, there would be no need for the 1183rd run, after all.

'Did she say a red T-shirt?'

The 36th world, my 36th life, began.

I immediately fulfilled the promise I made in the previous world.

First, I cleared the Gate at Busan Station.

[The Saintess of National Salvation is astonished by your feat!]

[The Monarch of the Crimson Horse feels their competitive spirit stir at your strength.]

[The Conqueror of the Alps takes note of your course.]

[The Chancellor of the Red Cape is wary of your abilities.]

As before, messages from the Constellations poured in.

While it was nice to receive them again, I ignored them for now.

I followed the route developed by Old Man Scho as quickly as possible, heading north to Seoul. Along the way, I didn't forget to stop at a clothing store that hadn't been shut down yet and bought a shirt.

[The Saintess of National Salvation questions your actions.]

The Constellations kept talking to me as I traveled.

When I arrived at a convenience store near Jamsu Bridge, I sat down at a parasol table, spread out the shirt, then wrote "Moral Law" on it in marker.

[...]

[...]

The previously noisy Constellations fell silent all at once.

I leaned back in the chair and drank convenience store coffee. The place had not been looted yet, so the products were intact.

It wasn't long before someone approached the convenience store.

It was a woman with a hiking backpack on her back. Judging by the length of cycles, I had met her 20 years prior. She was the Saintess of National Salvation.

The joy of reunion didn't surge anew. To live long as a regressor, one must get accustomed to farewells and reunions.

Only this time, I was the one waiting to greet her.

"Excuse me, but by any chance..." She very cautiously observed my expression.

I nodded. "Yes. I am the regressor, Saintess of National Salvation."

The Saintess gasped.

She stood frozen, clenching her fists. What she was pondering, I couldn't tell, but after a while, the Saintess finally spoke.

"Please follow me."

Finally, it was time for the truth of the Constellations to be revealed.

The Saintess's dwelling was located in Yongsan.

With Yeouido and the Gangnam area having evaporated overnight, Yongsan was now essentially the front line against the Gates and one of the most dangerous places in Korea.

"Please, come in."

She lived in an old row house in Dongbigo-dong.

I looked around, taking in the shabby exterior that belied a tidy interior. Or more precisely, the space went beyond "tidy" into being eerily spotless.

In the dim living room, four computer monitors emitted a bluish glow. The light faintly outlined the cardboard boxes scattered around—boxes of canned food, jugs of water. With all of them bathed in the monitor's blue light, they almost appeared to be submerged in water.

Along the walls were large steel bookshelves. However, only a few books dotted the shelves, which were instead filled with 15- and 20-cube aquariums. Dozens of these water-filled glass tanks packed the space in dense formations.

Aquarium after aquarium.

The room was surrounded on all sides by walls of water, making it look like an underwater temple.

"You seem to have been preparing for this situation for a long time," I commented.

"Yeah."

The Saintess seated me on a sofa, then pulled up a computer chair for herself. "Should I call you 'Regressor'?"

"Call me whatever is comfortable for you. My alias is Undertaker."

"All right, Mr. Undertaker. How many times have we met?"

"This is the second time."

"The second time," the Saintess muttered softly. "So, this is practically our first meeting. I wouldn't have explained anything during the previous cycle, right?"

"That's correct."

"There seems to be a lot I need to clarify. Where should I start?"

"I'd like to ask about the Constellations first. What exactly are the Constellations? Are they truly transcendental beings? Are you an agent of the Constellations?"

The Saintess licked her lips, not from hesitation but as if she were choosing her words carefully. Finally, she spoke.

"The Constellations... do not exist."

"They don't exist?"

"Yes. The Saintess of National Salvation, the Conqueror of the Alps—they are all characters I created myself."

That was somewhat surprising.

I had considered the hypothesis that the Constellations might be fictitious entities. However, I hadn't anticipated that the person before me was single-handedly staging them all. I would have thought it'd require a team of at least five or six.

"Why would you do such a thing?"

"..."

The blue light of the monitors diffused hazily around the living room. Fish fluttered in the small aquariums.

"I Awakened about 20 days ago. Since then, my hair changed color, and I began having nightmares about monsters, dreams vivid enough that they couldn't be dismissed as mere fantasies."

I nodded.

It was a common experience for many who Awakened just before the Gates burst open across the world—a kind of precognitive dream.

"For some reason, I was convinced that these events would actually happen. So I pondered what I could do—beyond buying canned food and collecting water bottles. Something that only I could do."

The Saintess looked directly at me.

"Mr. Undertaker, will Awakeners really maintain social order after they gain their powers?"

"What?"

"Awakeners possess incredible abilities. Even I have gained two, no, three abilities that defy common sense. Can people who receive such powers really unite, act virtuously, and at the very least, restrain themselves from committing crimes?"

Shadows of fish flowed across the living room floor. Her voice seeped into their shadows.

For a moment, I was caught in a feeling similar to those careless dives during childhood baths. Her gaze seemed to lower the depth of this place.

"I decided not."

"..."

"If a powerful person appeared and could unite the Awakeners, that would be one thing, but that involves countless trials and time. Until then, Awakeners would form disparate factions, and civilians would be caught in the crossfire and sacrificed without a second thought. Naturally, as humanity divides, their ability to handle the Gates would diminish."

It was a valid assumption. Indeed, most nations had followed that process and perished. Korea was a rare case of prolonged survival.

"Wait."

At that moment, a certain hypothesis flashed through my mind.

I stared into the Saintess's deep black eyes, taking in pupils that seemed inclined not to blink even if submerged in water.

"Could it be?"

She was silent for a long moment, then nodded slightly. "Mr. Undertaker. When do people hesitate to commit evil acts? It's when they think someone is watching."

"The Constellations."

"Yes."

I was stunned.

The Saintess continued, "People easily violate order if they are confident they can hide or mitigate their crimes. However, if they believe a transcendental being is always watching them, even someone who has Awakened would hesitate to commit evil acts."

"Holy...."

"That's why I created the Constellations."

I felt like I'd just taken a series of mental punches. It was surprising enough that the Saintess of National Salvation who had watched me all this time was a fabrication, but that all of it was born from one person's meticulous planning was utterly shocking.

"But how did you even create the Constellations?"

"It's thanks to my abilities. I can use Clairvoyance and Telepathy."

She outlined her abilities:

1. Clairvoyance: Observe any Awakeners within a radius of 1,000 km at will. Observation may include listening to their voices.

2. Telepathy or Text Transmission: Can transmit one's voice to any perceived target. Texting is also possible but limited to 140 characters.

Both abilities had endless applications.

I looked at the human before me with new eyes. If conditions were right, she could lead a guild like Samcheon or Baekhwa, becoming one of Korea's top leaders.

"Remarkable. With abilities like that, you could have taken a more prominent role in organizing the Awakeners."

"I thought about that... But I'm really clumsy when it comes to leading people in person."

"Ah."

"I believe what I did was the best I could do. I'm not sure what will happen in the future... I'll continue as long as I can, as long as I live."

Her words brought back memories from past runs.

Even as the world was on the brink of ending, the Constellations had not stopped sending messages to the Awakeners in Korea. Whether it was 4, 7, or 10 years in any run, the Constellations remained active.

I thought about the hardships the Awakeners before me must have faced to maintain that facade. Many challenges, no doubt. Clairvoyance and Telepathy were great abilities, but they weren't directly helpful in combat. What's more, Yongsan was on the frontlines, an area facing a super-large Gate. Many forces would vie for control here in the future.

"How about it, Mr. Regressor?"

This Awakener, who had overcome countless adversities and survived to the very end, now looked at me with eyes swimming with unease and anxiety.

"Did I fulfill my role to the end?"

I clenched my fist involuntarily, as various thoughts waved over me. After a brief silence, I answered.

"Yes. Perfectly. Even I, a regressor, was completely deceived."

"..."

"Thanks to you, the crime rate among Awakeners in this country was exceptionally low. It was relatively easy for Awakeners to cooperate and respond to the Gates. Your efforts were not in vain."

Although it hadn't prevented the world's ultimate destruction.

Then and now, I never mentioned to the Saintess the hundreds of ways our world could end. At least with the Saintess around, there was no rampant Awakener supremacy, and cults like the New Buddha Cult or the Resurrection Church were relatively rare.

The Saintness took in my answer silently, then finally, she said, "Thank goodness." With a small sigh of relief, she sank back into her chair.

For some reason, that sigh sounded to my ears like a goldfish that had spent a very long time in the depths suddenly coming up to the surface to blow bubbles.

Afterward, we discussed in detail how we would work together.

I think our relationship was essentially established at that point. From the 36th to the 1183th cycle, the Saintess was almost always a reliable ally who had my back.

"What should I call you? If I call you 'Regressor', your identity might be revealed, Mr. Undertaker." The Saintess propped her chin in her hand. "Hero?"

I immediately waved my hands. "No, Hero is a bit... Just call me Undertaker." The title 'Hero' was not just embarrassing but related to a certain psychological disorder, which I preferred to avoid. I'll talk about this strange mental illness later.

"Sure, I'll call you Mr. Undertaker, then."

"Good, I'm glad that works. Just one thing." As we were about to part, I asked, "Isn't it impossible to act as the Constellations with just Clairvoyance and Telepathy? You'd need to observe multiple people simultaneously and send messages. Don't you have another ability?"

"Ah, well..."

The Saintess hesitated, then smiled faintly.

"That... is a secret. I'll tell you later."

Unfortunately, the 'later' the Saintess mentioned did not mean within the timeline of the 36th cycle.

I still needed many more cycles before I could uncover her last secret.

There is an epilogue to this story.

Starting from my 36th run, forming an alliance with the Saintess immediately upon regression became a standard progression in my tech tree, akin to an opening move in Go.

Aside from for the early stages of a new regression, it had become practically unheard of for the Constellations to send me their innumerable hand-holding requests like they had in the past.

It was on one of those days when I felt slightly disappointed by this fact that a message window popped up before my eyes for the first time in a long while.

[The Administrator of the Infinite Metagame announces the occurrence of a new event.]

I blinked. The name of the Constellation was entirely unfamiliar to me.

An infinite game? Did that mean 'the one who oversees the gameplay of all things'?

'The Saintess must have been bored and decided to play a prank.'

I nonchalantly dismissed the message with the passing thought that I'd triggered a rare event. After all, the message only appeared once and never again.

A few days later, when I met the Saintess in person, I brought it up. I wasn't particularly curious, just using it as an icebreaker during a strategy meeting.

"Oh, by the way, why did you suddenly decide to play that strange Constellation a few days ago?"

"Pardon?"

"A week ago. You sent a message under the name 'Administrator of the Infinite Metagame'. I was a bit surprised to see you make a mistake. Did you perhaps send a message meant for another Awakener to me by accident?"

The Saintess tilted her head in question. "I never sent such a message."

"What?"

"I never created a Constellation called the 'Administrator of the Infinite Metagame' in the first place."

A chilling current trickled down my spine.

Whether she noticed my reaction or not, the Saintess's face remained indifferent. She certainly didn't appear to be lying.

For some reason, I felt a drop in the surrounding temperature, though it might have been an illusion.

"Are you sure you didn't just misread it, Undertaker?"

"..."

Suddenly, it felt as if a deep sea had opened beneath my feet, and a gigantic shadow had just slinked past.

...It seemed there were still many unknown mysteries in this world that I had yet to uncover.

-x-X-x-

Footnotes:

[1] Samcheon literally means "Three Thousand" and Baekwha "A Hundred Flowers." Although they work in Korean, they don't in English for guild names, so I'm leaving these as romanizations as it feels appropriate knowing they're both Korean guilds in context.

-x-X-x-

The Hero

There are many mysteries in this world that remain unknown to me, but some I have deliberately left unsolved. Today, I'd like to touch upon one such chapter. Although it might seem abrupt, I want to start with this question: Do you like the fantasy genre?

I do. And while some may disagree, I personally think that if a fantasy story features a 'Saintess', then the 'Hero' profession should also appear. The two are like chocolate and mint—only when observed together at the same time, in the same place, do they make a complete dish.

But what if the proportions of these two ingredients are off? What if the ratio of chocolate to mint collapses from 1:1 to 1:3, or even accelerates to 1:81, or 1:729? Then it's no longer mint chocolate, but merely mint. And though I'm somewhat fond of mint chocolate, I detest mint. In that sense, the world I live in is a kind of failed dish.

What I mean is, there are too many heroes in this world.

"Excuse me? Can you hear me?"

"Uh..."

If you were walking down the street and saw people collapsed everywhere, and instead of stealing their wallets and maybe even their Adam's apples you feel an urge to help them, and if you still have enough goodness left in you to lightly tap them on the shoulder and tell them to wake up, especially if the place had been struck by a 'Gate incident' more than 13 years ago in the middle of a city on the Korean Peninsula. Then you might have about a 6% gacha chance of encountering this kind of reaction.

"Where am I...?"

"Ah, are you awake? Oh dear. Sir, you shouldn't be lying on the cold ground like this."

"This place... No way, is this Earth?"

Because I've seen it.

Just moments ago, the passerby who had been lying unconscious, completely dead to the world, suddenly sat up and looked around. It was miraculous, the sort of thing you'd see at the end of a subway line—or rather, the plaza outside it.

"Yes?"

"S-sir, do you happen to know what year it is?"

I answered, and then…

"It can't be. Twenty years have passed, and yet it's only been a year in reality...?"

His face lost all expression, and his eyes darted wildly, refusing to settle.

In the man's hand was a smartphone.

Now, if you were a normal person, you'd naturally get the sense that something was very wrong here and run away. Even if you've never encountered a madman in your life, a madman is like cow dung—you see one once, and you automatically go, "That's cow dung."

Unfortunately, having lived as a regressor for too long, my senses were slightly dulled. Instead of inputting "run away now" into my brain, I mistakenly typed "feel curious."

"Will you tell me what's going on?"

"I was just in a place called the Sintra continent, where magic and aura are real."

Those were some of the services newly implemented on the Earth server after the Gate incident, but I didn't make a big deal of that.

"Are you saying you experienced dimensional travel?"

"Yes, exactly. I was summoned there, received the title of Hero, and set out on a campaign to defeat the Demon King with my precious... my truly precious comrades."

The nostalgia and bitterness swirling around his stubble were too profound to dismiss as mere tall tales.

"Did you defeat the Demon King?"

"Ah, yes. Eventually... We had to sacrifice so much along the way, but somehow, we managed to subdue it."

"Huh."

If the person had indeed fallen into another dimension, fought on the battlefields for 20 years, and even coordinated attacks with his party members against formidable enemies, then he was the very definition of a 'veteran'.

And I, the Undertaker, desperately needed such Awakener veterans.

"But when they saw that I was about to die from a fatal injury, one of my team members, a priest and our mage, said, 'You mustn't die here, Hero...'" He sobbed. "Before I took my last breath, they sent me back to my original world."

Tears welled up in the man's eyes.

"I wanted to die with my comrades. How am I supposed to live on in a world without them...?"

His affection for his comrades was palpable.

I felt a faint glimmer of hope in my heart. Perhaps, by some fluke, I had stumbled upon a candidate for an epic warrior.

"I'm sorry to hear that. If it's not too much to ask, could you demonstrate some aura or magic while you're here?"

"What? Oh, yes, of course. I'm a Swordsman... Ugh?!" Suddenly, the man clutched his forehead, and the smartphone he'd been clutching tightly in his left hand tumbled to the ground. "Ahhh...?"

"Wait a minute. What's wrong? What happened?"

"My mind... My, my memories. I can't remember! The 20 years I spent on the continent of Sintra, the journeys I shared with my comrades, my love, it's all fading... No, nooo!"

For the record, I never mix in hyperbole when telling a story. So when the man with the stubble suddenly grabbed his head with both hands and dramatically reenacted Munch's The Scream in 3D right in front of me, it was all part of an emotionally charged documentary.

"Um, sir?"

"..."

"Hello?"

I waved my hand in front of him, but the man stood there, dazed for a long while.

I picked up the smartphone that had fallen to the ground.

"Hmm?"

The smartphone was still powered on, and it happened to be logged into a community website exclusively for Awakeners.

We'll talk about this community later. What's important now is the content of the post displayed on the man's smartphone screen.

---

Anonymous: [SYSTEM] Clicking this post will transport you to "Another World."

Hero.

If you are reading this post, you must have safely returned home.

We, no, our world, knew that you would have painful memories, yet you sacrificed yourself to protect us.

Seeing you suffer after losing your comrades in the final battle with the Demon King, we decided to erase your memories and send you back to your original world.

You may curse us for being selfish.

But, we didn't want to see you in pain.

Goodbye.

P.S. Sorry, Hero. Our magic was imperfect, so you might feel as though you have lost some memories.

---

I felt like a college student who had accidentally left the fridge door open earlier that day and only realized it when I went to microwave some frozen pizza late at night.

At that moment, murmuring came from beside me.

"...Huh?"

The man...

"Why am I crying?"

Despite his efforts to mask it with laughter, his lips twisted oddly as he cried.

"Why are these tears? I hate it. It's like I've lost something precious..."

"..."

Quietly, I handed him the smartphone and walked away silently, not looking back, with the skilled steps of an experienced regressor.

And thus, I safely distanced myself from the madman, but unfortunately, the madmen did not wish to distance themselves from me.

"Huh? This place is...?"

"I'm not Kim Jun-young from Anyang! I am Namgung Muncheong, the foremost disciple of the Namgung clan!"

"Please take me back to that world again... Huh, why am I crying?"

Shit.

This was the first time I witnessed such a phenomenon, in the 118th run.

Since then, whether it was regression, possession, or reincarnation, I often encountered returnees in various cycles, always showing the same reaction. This so-called 'Returnee Syndrome' was a disastrous party short for 'Reincarnation and Regression.'

I, the Undertaker, have seen a lot over the years, but this was a uniquely flavorful scene.

"Goodness."

After dozens of cycles—as in, once enough data had accumulated—I finally realized that this was not just a hidden camera prank by one or two madmen, but a serious societal phenomenon.

It was a 'Hero Syndrome', a type of monster that interferes with the mind.

"A monster?"

Thus, in the 161st run, I immediately set about devising a strategy. After hearing about the 'Hero Syndrome', the Saintess, who had always been my consultant, asked, "Can a monster exist without a physical body, Mr. Undertaker?"

"It's possible, yes." I nodded the affirmative. "Those not bound by physical laws or material form are even more dangerous. That's why it's more appropriate to call them 'anomalies' rather than monsters."

"Indeed. A 'Hero Syndrome'... A monster, no, an anomaly that exists in the form of a mental illness."

A drop of disquiet bled into her emotionless voice. By the way, this person had strong shut-in tendencies and stayed inside all day. The sound of bubbling water from the living-room aquariums had long since flowed into the ambiance of the Saintess's house. It was a regular, forgettable part of the decor for me now.

"All right, then how should we subdue this anomaly? If it doesn't have a physical body, we can't kill it."

"Well, in such cases, we cannot use orthodox methods and instead must turn to the unorthodox. In short, we game the system."

I wasn't even sure if it needed to be subdued, honestly.

The Saintess tilted her head. "We game what?"

I unlocked the smartphone. "Do you see this post?"

"Yes? Ah, it says clicking on this will... uh huh."

"All the patients with Hero Syndrome we've found so far had collapsed and had this post open. It seems the phenomenon spreads its 'infection' through this viral post."

"An infection that's gone viral? My goodness. Jokes from the COVID era have become reality." The Saintess paused, lost in thought again, then suddenly raised her head. "Does that mean I'm infected now?"

"No, this post is just nonsense I posted anonymously on the community. It's merely an imitation of the real one, rest assured."

"Ah."

Seeing the Saintess's relief, I smiled faintly. "However, this nonsense post actually contains a shortcut to combat the mental type of anomaly."

"...?"

From that day on, posts began popping up incessantly on the Awakener-only community board.

- Anonymous: [SYSTEM] Clicking this post will transport you to "Another World." (Views: 56)

- Anonymous: [SYSTEM] Clicking this post will transport you to "Another World." (Views: 17)

- Anonymous: [SYSTEM] Clicking this post will transport you to "Another World." (Views: 34)

- Anonymous: [SYSTEM] Clicking this post will transport you to "Another World." (Views: 11)

The same nonsensical, incessant posts with the same title kept appearing on loop. Such was the power of macros.

Members of the online community were, of course, baffled.

- Anonymous: What's this?

- [Samcheon] Officer: What's going on?

- Anonymous: damn, what's with this concept?

Initially, members clicked on the posts to see what the fuss was about, which is why some posts got over 50 views.

But the steady stream of posts, each with content that never changed, quickly became something to avoid.

- LiteraryGirl: Seriously, this is so boring. Who keeps posting this crap? It's neither fun nor moving.

- [Baekwha] SixthGrader: hooooh 😭😭

- dolLHoUse: Childish.

- Anonymous: What are the Constellations doing? Why don't they delete these posts?

└ [Samcheon] WitchJudge: Maybe the Constellations don't see it as worth deleting. It happens often.

└ Anonymous: sigh...

- ZERO_SUGAR: why don't you just set up a keyword block for yourselves...? i blocked it and now i see nothing; it's really nice ^^

- Anonymous: Blocked.

The views dropped to 10, then to 6, and eventually to 3.

Finally, the views on the flood of posts fell to 0.

Occasionally, one of the view counts would show a 1, but with the macros continuously posting, eventually, all community members set "Another World" as a blocked word.

- Anonymous: [SYSTEM] Clicking this post will transport you to "Another World." (Views: 0)

- Anonymous: [SYSTEM] Clicking this post will transport you to "Another World." (Views: 0)

A beautiful array of zeros.

The Saintess, who was observing the community with me, remarked upon the achievement with reluctant admiration.

"Of course. You didn't even need to exterminate the anomaly itself; simply eliminating exposure to it achieves the same effect as a 'subjugation'."

"Correct. A physical-type anomaly can approach us at will, but one without a body loses its power simply because there are no people aware of it."

"Certainly an effective method. It's simple yet skilled handling, befitting of a regressor."

"Thank you."

Originally, only Awakeners could post in this community. However, we had to consider the possibility that the anomaly could weasel their way into the community and interfere there using some cunning tricks.

But now, no matter how the phenomenon tries to post, it won't affect the members at all.

Well, perhaps a member might unblock it for fun and coincidentally click on one of the hundreds of constant posts, and maybe, just maybe, that post might contain the real 'Hero Syndrome' virus, breaking through the 1/100 odds.

Even if a victim did emerge, though, it would be no different than a tragic plane crash. No matter how many times I regress, I can't control all probabilities.

After all, even if infected, it wouldn't cause widespread harm.

Thus, I, the Undertaker, had safely sealed another anomaly.

"But... Mr. Undertaker."

"Hmm?"

"What if it's not a mental illness, but real? What if those who have seen the post really did move to another dimension, face life-threatening situations, and were then returned to the real world thanks to their comrades?"

"The probability of that is low."

Low, I would say. Practically close to 0%, really.

"Why is that?"

"It's just a simple deduction. All those people claim they only spent about 20 years journeying, caught the Demon King, saved the world, and all that. I know from experience that saving the world takes far more than 20 years."

"Ah..."

"Besides, even if by the rarest of rare chances another dimension exists, it's not my concern. Shouldn't we focus all our efforts on managing our own world?"

The Saintess seemed convinced by my logic and nodded calmly. "Certainly. You're right."

I sipped my café au lait and turned my attention back to the board.

- Anonymous: [SYSTEM] Clicking this post will transport you to "Another World." (Views: 0)

Even without running macros, the newly generated post displayed zero views.

And probably would forever.

-x-X-x-

How long I survive during a particular run varies wildly. Sometimes, I enjoy a mayfly life, dying just a day after regressing, and at other times, I struggle for over 20 years only to freeze to death. There are times when I get stabbed by a walloping alien's tentacle in my ninth year, and there are also times when, in my seventh year, I get to experience what it's like to be a dinosaur by dying to a meteor falling to Earth.

Even I, someone gifted with the privileges of regression, have such experiences. How much worse must it be for others?

Most people who had awakened don't even last 10, 5, even 2 years, let alone 20. Some die because they have power, others because they lack it. In a world barreling towards destruction, cause of death was a matter of how one wanted to dress it up it. The reality of the situation was that every day of life was essentially a cause of death. And yet, there was one person who died faster than any other Awakeners.

He went by the name of SG-Man. Well, 'SG-Man' wasn't his real name, of course. It was simply a shorter way of saying 'SuchAFucking Garbage Man', a nickname I had privately given him. I learned his real name during my 50th cycle.

The fastest-to-die in the world.

That was the image I had of SG-Man. To introduce his story, I must first describe the scene I encounter immediately after regressing.

"Wha— What? What is this place?"

"Huh? Busan Station? But I was just in the park a second ago..."

"Sir? Sir, where are you?"

Every time I regress, I wake up in the main concourse of Busan Station.

Apart from myself, 398 ordinary people had been forcibly summoned here. There were even some Japanese people dragged here from as far away as Fukuoka, far away. As hundreds of people began to panic at the sudden turn of events, something appeared in the air with a pop.

"Ah, hello there, everyone!"

It was the so-called Tutorial Fairy, a character that looked like it had just leapt out of a 2D world and into reality, caricaturized form and all.

"Oho? The numbers seem a bit low... Anyway, you must have been quite surprised to be summoned here so out of the blue, right? But don't worry! I'm here to be your trusty guide, here from the very start of your journey!"

I felt sorry for the fairy, but I couldn't help but be worried.

After all, she sounded like a dunce. A person's character was like a printer's ink; if the ink came out in a chaotic mess, one could reasonably assume that something was seriously wrong with the printer itself.

More important than that, though, was that the fairy was floating in midair without any device to support her.

As a result, screams of "Kyaa!" erupted across the length of the hall.

"Ah! It's okay, it's okay! There, there. I'm going to explain these things to you! You all got that I'm the homeroom teacher of Busan Station's main concourse, right? I hope you'll all be good and follow my instructions... I will treat you all kindly too. So, from now on—"

"You fucking asshole!"

Everyone froze.

A majestic roar rang out. "What the fuck is this bullshit?!"

He must have been in his early twenties.

The man with a tattoo sleeve on his forearm was pointing accusingly at the fairy while showing off his triceps.

Yes.

He was none other than SG-Man, SuchAFucking Garbage Man.

"Haaaa... Yes?"

"You fucking asshole! If you're going to drag people here out of nowhere, you should start with an apology. Where do you get off, blabbering like that?"

SG-Man had a very resonant voice. The citizens around him involuntarily took a step back because of his incredibly hearty rebuke.

The fairy stammered, "No, haaa. It's not my doing, I'm just merely in charge of—"

"You fucking asshole!"

The fairy flinched.

By now, it should be clear why I started calling him SG-Man.

He was the type of man who couldn't utter a word without first decorating it with 'fucking'. It was the sort of seasoned diction you'd only hear from someone experienced in the field.

"Anyway, you just said you're in charge! Huh? Aren't you going to apologize?"

"No... I've heard from my seniors that people like this one are rare these days. Humans have become cunning in their own way and never get provoked..."

The fairy looked crestfallen.

Suddenly, a notebook appeared in her hand.

"What did they say about how to respond in a situation like this?" the fairy muttered as she flipped through it. "Ah, here it is."

"You fucking asshole! Are you mocking me?"

"Hoi." The fairy gave a casual wave of her wand (which had also appeared out of nowhere), and SG-Man's head exploded with a bang. "Are we all good now? Come on! Everyone, please follow my lead!"

The fairy smiled broadly, as if expecting her prank to have worked perfectly.

What the fairy hadn't considered was the average sensibility of the people gathered there, also known as morals or ethics.

"Hieeeeeek!"

The owner of this amusing scream was Sim Ah-ryeon. (I know the names of all the survivors at Busan Station.) Unfortunately for her, she was right next to SG-Man and thus became the main character covered in bright red blood.

"P-people— People have died...! People have—! Hieeek, he just died!"

She was the quickest to run out of all the people here, bolting as soon as she was drenched in a bucket's worth of blood and then herself spattering blood and intestines all around.

The grotesque scene made people realize the reality of the situation.

"Kyaaaaaaah!"

"It's murder! It's murder!"

"Ruuuuuun!"

The nearly four hundred people followed Sim Ah-ryeon in a mad dash to escape.

The fairy tried to toss out "ah," "there," "that way," "wait," but her gesture only incited more fear. In just a few seconds, only about ten people, including me, remained in the main concourse hall.

"..."

"Uh..."

The fairy looked downcast. "The guidelines were rubbish! It said that if I just removed one person as an example, everyone would calm down!"

The body of SG-Man, whose head had been erased, lay alone on the floor of the hall.

After that, it was my turn to enter the souvenir shop alone and farm my exclusive item, the Silver Bell.

Now you all understand why I didn't know SG-Man's real name.

He was the sterotypical 'extra who rebels against the tutorial fairy and gets executed'.

That was the identity of SG-Man.

Honestly, I never felt any emotion towards SG-Man.

In every cycle, SG-Man would collide with the fairy. As my regresses continued, though the routes of my life became more varied, the original event of 'SG-Man dies to the fairy' always occurred.

'...What would happen if I saved that man?'

It's no wonder, then, that I suddenly felt curious.

'Yeah, let's save him.'

Who knows?

Maybe once revived, he'll turn out to be the teleporter that Old Man Scho so desperately longed for.

For the record, I was the type to indulge my curiosity and had been for a long time. I wasn't always like this, but regression had changed my personality.

During the 50th run, I decided to satisfy said curiosity.

"Ah, hello there, everyone! Oho? The numbers seem a bit low... Anyway, you must have been quite surprised to be summoned here so out of the blue, right? But―"

But the one who was really surprised was the fairy.

The reason was simple. I had leapt from the ground and positioned myself right in front of the fairy in an instant.

"Hoh?"

My shadow loomed over the fairy's stunned face.

I wasn't particularly sorry.

Before the fairy could even fully close her eyelids, my brutish palm had grasped her head. I circulated my inner energy through my hand, and with a playful, little bang, the fairy's tiny head burst. Since it was always the head of another human that exploded due to the fairy, perhaps this was an ironically fitting end for her.

"Huh?"

"What just happened...?"

People began to murmur as they looked at me while I landed back on the ground after what was literally a split-second of conflict.

At this early stage right into a regression, it was doubtful that anyone had managed to visually follow the fight between the fairy and me.

Oh, and by the way, it wasn't just her head. I had shredded the rest of her body too. So the people here probably only perceived it as 'something appeared in the air then suddenly disappeared.'

"Huh?" SG-Man, who had just been about to burst out in a roar, was now just spewing out gibberish with his mouth agape.

I approached him and greeted him politely. "Hello."

"Huh? Oh, yes... Hello?"

For the first time, I heard something other than "Hey, you fucking asshole" from SG-Man.

It was a momentous occasion in its own right.

Indeed, SG-Man was a manly man.

"Who might this guy be?"

He addressed me as 'this guy'. The determination to cling to his pride and guts while not losing his polite tone was palpable.

However, when he saw me slice through a monster at Busan Station with one strike, 'this guy' changed to 'hey you', and when the necks of the monsters I had cut exceeded fifty, it changed to '...'.

When we finally cleared the gate, his address took on a more dramatic form.

"Um... hyung?"[1]

"Yeah."

SG-Man hesitantly examined my expression. "Seeing how you handled those monsters, you seem like you are a remarkable person, so why did you bother to save someone like me...?"

"There are two answers. One is true but unbelievable, and the other is false but believable. Which one would you like to hear?"

"Huh? Oh... the truth, of course."

"I am a regressor, currently repeating my 50th cycle. Each time, you have died in this hall. I was curious about what kind of person you might be, so this time I decided to save you and work with you for a while."

"Uh...?"

SG-Man's face crumpled with a mix of admiration and fear. It must be how "What the fuck is that, you nerd? looks when expressed with facial muscles.

I felt somewhat disheartened. The 35th cycle, when I met the Saintess, was a kind of turning point, and since then, I occasionally confided the fact that I was a regressor.

Yet, apart from the Saintess, no one had ever believed my story. Why could that be?

"Actually, I am a member of Team 5 of the National Intelligence Service, prepared in advance for such situations. I ask for your cooperation."

"Ah, I see."

"I'm late in introducing myself. My codename is Undertaker. What is your name?"

"Seo Gyu, hyung. Please, feel free to call me by my first name."

"Is that so?"

Seo Gyu. That was SG-Man's real name.

I had realized how important 'comrades' were in the journey to prevent the end of the world. Thus, I actively scouted and assembled prospects who would later grow into A-class Awakeners.

The 50th cycle was no exception. As I traveled with Seo Gyu, I recruited more and more members to our party. How to use their abilities most effectively was something I had already learned through numerous cycles, and as such, my party members grew stronger every day.

"...It looks like I have no talent, hyung."

Seo Gyu was unable to enjoy the privileges of regression.

It was inevitable, really. This was the first time Seo Gyu had survived the tutorial and formed a party with me, and I didn't even know what ability he might awaken to. I wasn't in a position to offer him one-on-one tutoring.

"Ah, shit. Why is it only me that doesn't grow when the others do...?"

From Seo Gyu's perspective, he must have felt like a tremendously untalented underachiever compared to his peers, who were all A-class prospects and monstrous geniuses.

But I knew exactly how to handle such situations.

"Saintess."

"Yes?"

"Please send a message to Seo Gyu."

The Saintess of National Salvation.

It was time for my legendary Pokémon to take the field.

The Saintess occasionally sent messages to the party members at my request, sometimes chiding them, sometimes encouraging them.

[The Monarch of the Crimson Horse assures you that your talent is real!]

[The Conqueror of the Alps dispels your doubts.]

Of course, I had gathered enough information about my party members to know them inside and out—family background, educational history, past traumas, and more.

All this information was then passed to the Saintess. She provided psychological counseling based on their confidential profiles. Legally, it should be considered a breach of privacy and punishable, but after civilization had collapsed, the effectiveness of such laws had diminished. Even before the collapse, such laws were not exactly well-enforced.

The Saintess's ability of 'Clairvoyance' already made her an S-class Awakener. With my information leak added, the party members believed without a doubt that the Saintess was an omnipresent being who watched their every move.

And if the Constellations themselves vouched for your talents?

"...I will train hard to awaken my abilities!"

Seo Gyu had no choice but to ignite his determination.

My and the Saintess's two-pronged strategy was perfect.

To any accusations of brainwashing or gaslighting, I would exercise my right to remain silent.

Eventually, one late night, Seo Gyu came to find me, with a very serious expression.

"Um, hyung."

"What's the matter?"

"I think I might have awakened last night."

Finally!

I felt a swell of anticipation.

The tutorial's sacrifice. The man who, across fifty cycles, always exited the stage first.

What could his ability be?

Was he a jackpot or a dud? Either way, I was confident I wouldn't be greatly disappointed, as my curiosity would be satisfied.

I shook hands with Seo Gyu. "Congratulations. I knew you'd make it someday."

"Th-thank you. It's all thanks to you, hyung."

"So what is the ability?"

"Ah. That's... shit, how do I explain this?"

The hand I was holding fell limp, and his expression shuttered. Despite having achieved the awakening he so desperately desired, he didn't seem very happy.

'Is it a dud after all?'

Seeing his face, I also tamped down a layer of expectation in my heart. After all, high-tier abilities weren't that easy to come by.

"What is it?" I prompted. "Don't be shy, just spit it out."

"No, it's not that, it's just a bit awkward to explain with words... Hyung, do you carry a cellphone? Could you please look at it?"

"A cellphone?"

"Yes."

I looked at him with a dubious expression but obediently pulled out my smartphone.

The phone was dead. Half a year had passed since the Gate incident, and most communication devices had broken down. Phones, the internet, radios, radars—they had been contaminated by aberrations of all kinds.

"Could you turn on your wireless and try accessing the address I give you?"

"Um...?"

And then I witnessed something astonishing. The device had connected to the Internet, which should have been inaccessible.

I felt a rare moment of surprise as I manipulated my smartphone.

The Internet was still displayed as out of service, and other apps didn't work. But somehow, the site Seo Gyu directed me to worked perfectly.

"This is...?"

It was a website in the style of a forum, designed as crudely as the early days of PC communications.

Seo Gyu, blushing as if showing a childhood drawing to someone, said, "That's, uh, this is the ability I've awakened. Website management."

-x-X-x-