The Self-Immolator IV
It wasn't as though the Buddhist world was only populated by shameless monks like Seok-hwa. In the countless loops I've been through, I inadvertently became well-versed in cults. After all, how many people out there have acquainted themselves with heretical sects from Christianity, Buddhism, and Taoism alike as I have?
(Frankly, even if there were more like me, it'd be a problem.)
Thanks to that—or rather, as an unexpected bonus—whenever I met with high monks now and again, I could hold some rather profound conversations with them. There was a time I asked them this:
"Venerable Monk. Why do you practice Buddhism?"
That time, an elderly monk replied, "To die well!"
Indeed. If the purpose of a Christian is to go to Heaven, then for a Buddhist, the greatest task on earth is to be free of suffering in this shitty life. Birth, old age, sickness, death. There was nothing in life that wasn't painful, but among them, the absolute worst was undoubtedly the pain of death—the terror of one's own death, and the thoughts and reflections that terror brought. Naturally, for all Buddhists, the hardest challenge is liberation from the suffering of death.
The high monk I met sighed as well. "This is damn hard!"
That final moment. The instant of death that no human can avoid. Shorter than one second, right before my consciousness plunges into a pitch-black abyss—
That's when you let go of fear.
You accept, with not just your mind but also your heart, that breathing and letting the breath slip away are both nothing more than the natural flow. You face it head-on—and in that sense, transcend. Go beyond. Maybe to make a jump away from this final millisecond apocalypse that monks devote their entire lives to meditating over in a cross-legged posture.
"But how do you prove you've transcended death, Venerable Monk? That's something only you yourself can truly know, isn't it?"
"Ah. Well, there's no real need to prove it to others. But sometimes, for the sake of future disciples, you might want to show that it's possible, right? The Buddha did that too. Compassion and all. In that case, we monks usually just go, like this, see? Sitting cross-legged as we kick the bucket."
"Wow."
"You maintain the exact same posture you had in life and keep it even after death. Right then, people can see, 'Oh, for him, living and dying really were the same thing, and off he went.' Something like that."
Back then, I just nodded as I mused it over and the high monk burst out laughing.
"When we old monks are among ourselves, we joke about it. 'Hey, you know, that phenomenon where a monk's body doesn't collapse even after death? Maybe it's because we've sat in that same posture for 50 or 60 years till our muscles and bones stiffened in place.'"
"That could happen."
"I think that's actually true. The muscles just stiffen. But that half-century of practice spent stiffening those muscles was my life, you know? That's what I studied for, that's why I meditated. And so, that's what I said at that time. If anyone points a finger at you to accuse your muscles of just stiffening, you just laugh back at them. Punks. You're right, dammit. We worked our asses off to stiffen them!"
By the way, that high monk ranted quite a lot about Seok-hwa behind his back every time we met, right up until the day he died.
Ah, even venerable monks can't resist trash-talking Seok-hwa.
'But now, that very same Seok-hwa isn't just dying. He's apparently going to perform self-immolation, no less?'
Self-immolation. Burning one's body.
Of course, even for a seasoned master who has supposedly transcended all sorts of pain, self-immolation is no easy task. I've also died by burning a few times, so I know that truth very well. It's unbelievably painful.
'Just sitting cross-legged and passing away is already regarded as attaining nirvana. Imagine pouring fire on top of that.'
There's no doubt it's the highest realm of enlightenment. It is an act of dedicating one's self to the world, to others, and to the seed of the Buddha-nature found in all beings.
Once again, I tilted my head.
'He says he is going to do that?'
Was it all bullshit, or was it for real?
Probably bullshit, if you asked me.
In an ordinary modern setting, when people speculated over truths and falsehoods, they'd just assume it was a lie and move on because they were busy going to work. But since I'm a regressor, I just skipped work.
In other words, I chose curiosity.
"Commander Noh. Sorry, but I'm leaving today's and tomorrow's duties to you."
"What? Where—?"
"I'll bring back some ice cream on my way."
"Wait, just a minute. Hey? Hey, you asshole! Where the hell do you think―?!"
I, the Undertaker, who has experienced all kinds of deaths over millennia, a sommelier of death, a Baskin-Robbins of death, a Faker of death—how could I not be intrigued?
I was honest with myself.
'A regressor can't resist meddling with Seok-hwa.'
As soon as I saw the news on SG Net, my legs were already carrying me to the designated location for the self-immolation, north to Sinuiju.
Sinuiju in this era was more or less known as the biggest "military city" on the Korean Peninsula. Wave after wave of monsters would come from the continent side whenever they felt like it, handing in their complaints as they asked, Excuse me, is immigration to this place possible?
So perhaps that was why. In the Eastern Holy State, Sinuiju was considered one of the cities with the most devout believers, along with Pyongyang. Paladins armed with faith in Mo Gwang-seo and the Saintess roamed about. It was a strict, solemn atmosphere.
Contrastingly, there was a disproportionately developed red-light district to provide soldiers with adequate rest.
But on that day, Sinuiju saw an unfamiliar sight for the very first time.
(Monk) Venerable Seok-hwa's Nirvana Self-Immolation (Event)
There it was—colorful, bold, and right in the heart of the front line that blocks the monstrous armies.
They'd hung up a banner.
By the way, in this era, banners weren't mass-printed but instead were all handmade. They even hired a professional to paint lotus flowers on it with utmost care.
Surely by now, Seok-hwa's wallet must have been bled dry. Where did the money for that come from?
"I-I... I painted it for free."
Somehow, Ah-ryeon was already at my side. As if to remind everyone this was her own front yard, she was wearing her official Saintess attire.
"Northern Saintess" mode, ON.
Even the cheesy pizza smell that usually wafted from her hair now smelled a bit cleaner, more like butter croissants.
"A-are you saying you painted it for free?"
"Yes, y-yes. I mean, I'm the Saintess. And that lotus design is literally a sacred painting..."
"Why'd you do that?"
"Well, you know, the notion that if some penniless nobody burns himself, the demonic forces might tremble in awe and bow to the Buddha... Th-this is a super fun, massive-scale event we can't miss, right? So I deliberately upped the scale. See, wasn't that a smart move?"
For crying out loud.
Truly ridiculous. I'd sent her up here to the Eastern Holy State to do some real work, and she'd wasted time chasing cheap thrills. Talk about dereliction of duty.
"U-um, well, Guild L-Leader, you're obviously dumping your duties on the Commander yourself and running away..."
"You got any popcorn?"
"Caramel, butter, or soy sauce?"
"Caramel."
"Ehehe..."
A pair of dopamine addicts formed on the spot.
With the Saintess of the Eastern Holy State in attendance, there was no room for interference. The Holy State's paladins instantly transformed into event staff, organizing the venue.
In the center of it all sat the bald monk, Seok-hwa.
"Ah." When his eyes met mine, they slowly grew bigger. "My, Undertaker. Isn't that Undertaker?"
"Long time no see."
In the time we hadn't seen each other, Seok-hwa had become noticeably thinner. In past loops, he'd always been plump and oily, but now his cheeks and arms were dried up like roasted squid. His monk's robes, which were always neatly laundered in the past, were now rather shabby. The thick cloth couldn't fully hide the grime staining it.
Meanwhile, where once Ah-ryeon had looked ragged and never got accepted by any proper guild, now she was dressed in the finest garments imaginable.
'Truly, the vicissitudes of life.'
Seok-hwa staggered toward me with an exaggerated wobble. "Undertaker... It is you, yes."
"What is it you want to say?"
"I have nothing left. All I have left is this."
Abruptly, he grabbed both my hands. A faint scent emanated from his face, like the smell of something scorched—an air of mental precariousness.
"They say when a person undergoes excruciating pain, they achieve enlightenment. Awakening. Yes, Awakening is also a sign of enlightenment, is it not? Wouldn't you agree?"
A strange, nearly indescribable fire burned in Seok-hwa's eyes, which had gone dry to the point of losing all moisture.
"I will do it. Self-immolation. And I shall boldly achieve enlightenment in the presence of the Buddha."
You might not notice it from text alone, but as he spoke, his voice was so low it was barely audible. All rasps and hisses, that sort of sound. It was nearly impossible to hear him clearly.
Ah-ryeon only tilted her head in confusion from where she stood right beside me.
"I find Mo Gwang-seo suspicious. The Second Coming of Jesus, they say? Ha. That can't be. That idiot can't possibly be... He simply awakened when he was blown up."
Neither of us responded.
"It's all lies. All bullshit. This Eastern Holy State or whatever, it's a damn cult. I'm the only one who sees it for what it is. Undertaker. Tell me, does any of this make sense? Does it?"
Inwardly, I was surprised. His rambling sounded like nonsense, yet in fact it pierced the core of the Eastern Holy State. Probably a case of a blind squirrel stumbling upon a nut, but still.
"These masses... They can't recognize a rabble-rouser, nor can they recognize a truly remarkable man. I'm going to make them come to their senses. Just watch, Undertaker. I, Seok-hwa, the most faithful disciple of Shakyamuni, will bring the East back into the Buddha's embrace."
He staggered, about to turn away. I grabbed his shoulder, holding him in place.
"Wait. What happened to your right leg?"
When he approached me earlier, he was swaying so badly from side to side. The cause lay in his right foot.
From the ankle down, Seok-hwa's foot was "gone." His toes and achilles tendon were replaced by a prosthetic device, one I found extremely familiar.
It was a device belonging to patient Shin Su-bin. Something Do-hwa had once made for him.
"Ah. My foot?" With a slow blink, Seok-hwa answered, "That happened when I crossed the 38th Parallel. You know how the area is a literal minefield, yes?"
"No, I mean how did a device belonging to Shin Su-bin end up in your possession, Venerable Monk?"
"Ah, that. Right, he gave it to me. He said he didn't mind moving around on crutches, so I should take it. Heh. It doesn't fit too well since it's old, but living without it wouldn't be so bad for a monk anyway."
He wobbled and lifted his right foot. The worn-out prosthetic squeaked like a cricket as he swayed.
"It's better than nothing, so I'm just borrowing it for now. Why? Does it bother you, Undertaker? Is there something on your mind?"
My lips parted momentarily.
...That's not just some scrap device. It's custom-built by Noh Do-hwa for Shin Su-bin. For him, that's not just a machine, it's like his actual foot.
...Giving that prosthetic to you wasn't just handing over a piece of hardware, it was practically an act of offering part of himself.
...Furthermore, it's a symbolic link that ties Su-bin to someone with real power: Commander Noh. Some people might take lifelong pride in that connection, treat it like a piece of their own identity, or at least trot it out as a good drinking story.
...But you have no clue. Probably because Su-bin never even bragged about it once, not even for a laugh.
I shut my mouth.
Did I have the right to tell him the truth? Even if I did, would it mean anything?
"Nothing at all."
"Really?" he asked.
"...How is Su-bin these days?"
"Hm? Well, yes. He came with me to Sinuiju. Saw him this morning, as a matter of fact. He's probably around somewhere."
As I suspected, Seok-hwa had zero interest in someone "like" Su-bin. What could it matter that the man had literally walked across the country with him, risking his life all the way? In the game in Seok-hwa's mind, his quest for influence, someone like Shin Su-bin was just an NPC easily replaced at any time.
"If... If Buddha helps me attain enlightenment..."
A dried foam had crusted around his lips.
"I'll transform this land. What's so great about being the Commander? Ruling over that tiny Busan, what's the point of that? A man has to have a broad ambition. Busan, Daejeon, Sejong, Pyongyang, Sinuiju... Beyond that, even. That Noh Do-hwa or Mo Gwang-seo—once I'm awakened, I'll accomplish so, so much more than them. That is the karma I must bear. Undertaker! I'm going to create a Pure Land for all the people, you hear?"
He muttered like he was chanting a sutra.
"I know full well you never liked me."
I stayed silent.
"But just watch. Everything will be different once I awaken. Truly, wait and see."
Glaring, Seok-hwa added one final thing.
"I'll spend one whole night here, then tomorrow at dawn, I shall offer myself to the Buddha in flames. Please, Undertaker, bear witness..."
He looked as if he could no longer be hurt by anyone or anything.
-x-X-x-
The Self-Immolator V
When you've lived a long time as a regressor, you end up experiencing all sorts of bizarre things quite often. Take, for example, Seok-hwa, who was already camping out on the altar so he could burn his body at dawn the next day.
"Why were we even assigned to watch over that old man?"
"No idea. It's an order from above."
"Damn it. Must be a pretty famous monk down south, I guess."
Deep in the darkness of night, two guards tossed their chit chat onto a fire as though it were kindling. The bonfire crackled and babbled as its red flames licked at the air.
"Honestly, though, he doesn't look like a venerable monk at all. Just an old beggar..."
"Our Saintess sure is broad-minded. She's letting him do whatever he wants, no matter the religion."
"True enough."
One of the guards yawned loudly then called out, "Hey! Monk! Should we bring you anything for a late-night snack? Maybe some sweet potatoes?"[1]
Seok-hwa gave no response except the soft rattle of the prayer beads rolling in his right hand.
The guard scowled. "Whoa, hey. A person asks you a question and you don't even answer? What, you think we ordinary folk aren't worth your time or something?"
"Leave it," his companion warned. "He's going to die tomorrow anyway, so what's the point?"
"True. If he eats a sweet potato now, I guess we'll see roasted sweet potato coming out of his guts later on." Then the guard burst into laughter.
I was seated a bit farther away, in the audience seating that had been set up in advance for the self-immolation ceremony.
'I could never have imagined this would happen from past cycles...'
Sure, the guards might have dismissed Seok-hwa as just another "crazy old man," but to the eyes of a regressor, he appeared in a very different light. To me, Seok-hwa was not simply a shabby old man.
'He was once a human who stood at the pinnacle of power and luxury on the Korean Peninsula, and now look at him.'
That obsession. That madness.
'Will Seok-hwa truly be able to Awaken?'
That was when it happened.
Someone approached the platform. Their silhouette was hidden by darkness, but I could see they were limping, leaning on a crutch under their right arm.
The silhouette spoke.
"I got ahold of some things for you, Monk."
"What in the world?!"
Boom! Until now, Seok-hwa had been silently fiddling with his prayer beads. Suddenly, he boomed like a train engine.
"What took you so long?! Layman! How could this take all day?!"
"I'm sorry. I ran out of money, so I had to run my tail off scrounging the things up. These days, even hammers and nails are a tad rare."
"Haven't you heard of simply asking that— that Saintess or whatever who's in charge here? Why go around searching on foot?!"
"Come on, we can't do that. Right? They're already doing us a huge favor by letting us use this space at all. To shamelessly beg them for random junk..."
"Oh, you're killing me! Old folks and youngsters just don't speak the same language, I swear. Give it here!"
Seok-hwa rudely snatched the bundle from the person who'd brought it.
I got up from the audience seats and walked a bit closer. Thanks to that, I managed to get a glimpse of what was in the bundle.
A hammer. Long, thick nails. Ropes.
"Watch closely, Layman Shin Su-bin."
The monk swung the hammer.
"This is the will of me, Seok-hwa, the top disciple of the Buddha!"
Claaang!
The guards jumped in alarm. The clang of metal broke sharply through the dark around the campfire.
"Wh-what the hell?"
"No idea. Hey! Over there! What do you think you're doing?!"
Claaang!
Seok-hwa neither answered nor acknowledged them. He just kept hammering in nails one after another.
"Namu Amitabha."
Claaang!
There was no question what he was nailing. It was the "monk's robe" he was wearing down to the "platform" floor. Why? The reason was just as obvious. Once dawn broke, he intended to self-immolate. To prevent his body from flinching or struggling even slightly during the act, he was forcibly securing himself to the floor.
"Namu Amitabha."
Claaang!
He hammered the edges of his own robe to the platform and wound his body tightly with rope. Each time nails and rope threaded together, he muttered his mantra.
Both the guards and I were stunned into silence for a while.
'Has there ever been a monk who carried out his self-immolation in that manner?'
Not as far as I'd heard.
Yes, in Buddhism, self-immolation was just one form of ridding oneself of all attachments. Trying too hard to succeed at the self-immolation itself, ironically, meant failing to cast off attachment.
'It's completely absurd...'
Kaaang!
Yet despite his withered arms, Seok-hwa managed to hammer in dozens of nails. Between heavy pants, he declared, "Now! Neither demons nor the Devil Army of 1.8 billion fiends shall ever interrupt the great nirvana of me, the Venerable Seok-hwa!"
A hoarse voice rasped out from between his dried, cracked lips.
"I, this humble monk, shall be reborn in Sakyamuni's embrace tomorrow as the Wheel-Turning King! Children of the peninsula! You from the East! You shall bear witness to me! You shall see!"
His voice rattled through air his body could no longer sustain, leaking breath at the seams in the form of coughs. Then Seok-hwa's head dropped as though a string had been cut. His strength gave out, and he slumped, unconscious.
After a while, the guards recovered from their shock and started whispering to each other.
"What the— Holy shit, man."
"I know, right? That old monk's completely nuts. I've been stationed here for a while, and I haven't seen a weirdo like that in ages."
"Exactly. This land must be cursed. Why is it that in every town, there's a different God and a different Buddha?"
"And people like him always get possessed by Anomalies in the end."
The campfire sizzled down.
The night was passing.
Before dawn, I had a moment to speak alone with the patient, Shin Su-bin.
"Sir."
"Huh? Oh dear. Well, if it isn't our Undertaker."
A half-bloom of delight appeared on Su-bin's face.
Perhaps it was the toll that trek across the country had taken. Su-bin looked painfully thin, much like Seok-hwa. Yet—
"Yes, it's been a while, sir. This might sound odd, but you look well."
"Huh? Oh ho. Oh ho ho! Guess I did a lot of walking, so I must've gotten some exercise. When you're my age, you gotta keep walking, keep moving."
How to put it?
If Seok-hwa looked timber stricken with pine wilt disease, then Su-bin's body looked like a well-honed wooden spear. Even though he had to keep himself upright on crutches, you could glimpse firm triceps in his thin right arm.
"Sir, I heard."
"Heard what?"
"About your prosthetic device. Apparently, you handed yours over to that person."
"Ah..."
In that moment, you could see Su-bin flinch a little. His expression was a transparent one. He had the face of a model student caught doing something bad by the teacher they were friendly with.
"Don't tell Noh Do-hwa, all right...?"
"Can you tell me why you gave it away?"
"Well, think about it. I lost my leg quite a while ago, right? So I know how to get around on a missing limb, and even before I met Noh Do-hwa, I managed fine with a crutch. It's second nature now."
"Hmm."
"But that monk lost his foot crossing the 38th Parallel. If you think about it, who's gonna have a harder time right now: someone who only recently had their foot blown off or someone who's been missing it for ages? So I just gave it to the monk. A good item should go to whoever needs it the most."
For a moment, I only stared. "I see. So that's what I'll tell Noh Do-hwa, yes?"
At once, Su-bin made a face like he was about to cry. "Oh! No, no, Undertaker! Please don't tell her, okay? That'd make her upset! We can't have that."
"That would put me in a bind."
"Come on, you just take good care of Noh Do-hwa for me. She's been through so much—I can't help but worry about her. Still, I'm glad you're by her side, Undertaker. Really glad."
"She curses at me every time she sees me, though."
"That's her way of caring, you know. Right? I've lived a long time, and I've never met anyone as warmhearted as our Do-hwa."
"Hmm." If Do-hwa herself had heard that, her face would have contorted all eighty muscles into the perfect anatomical depiction of disgust. "I'll be sure to relay your words to her."
"Okay, then."
The campfire burned out. Before dawn in Sinuiju, the only remaining flame flickering was the beacon fire set by Nenet. And so, the conversation that had briefly blossomed between Su-bin and me also slowly wilted.
After all, people started gathering, right on schedule.
(Ritual) Venerable Monk Seok-hwa's Nirvana Self-Immolation (Event)
It was still only around five or six in the morning, yet the faces of the Sinuiju citizens were full of vitality and their voices buzzing with murmurs. After the apocalypse arrived, everyone's circadian rhythm shifted to that of bright, energetic "model adults," so to speak.
"What? A monk's gonna burn himself?"
"It's not 'burn himself.' It's called self-immolation, you ignorant fool."
"I read on SG Net that he traveled from Busan all the way to Seoul, exorcising the dead on the way up. Says he's not even an Awakener."
"Oh, so he's a holy figure."
"Think I'll be late for work?"
Several knights under the Saintess of the Eastern Holy State also turned up.
"Please stand back! Stand back!"
"If a stray Anomaly clings to the fire, the flames might spread beyond our control. Please keep a safe distance!"
For the record, the knight order showed up along with Ah-ryeon, and the crowd erupted in wild cheers, which caused quite a scene—but I'll spare you the details. Dwelling on that would only lead to Ah-ryeon boasting an unpleasant smile. The world was already overdosing on "Ah-ryeon content," so further detailing it would be detrimental to the readers' mental health.
"...formisnootherthanemptinessemptinessnootherthanformformisonlyemptinessemptinessonlyformfeelingthoughtandchoiceconsciousnessitselfarethesameas..."
Perhaps awakened where he sat on the platform by the commotion of the gathering crowd, Seok-hwa had begun chanting the Heart Sutra. The pitch, rhythm, and cadence of his chanting were surprisingly on point.
Typically, when monks realize, Oh, I'll starve if I don't pick up a side job as a minstrel, they start training in chanting as a matter of survival skill. A similar parallel would be a wannabe painter honing their speech and presentation skills.
"Oh dear." With a sigh, Su-bin rose, leaning on his crutch. "Guess I'll get going, Undertaker."
"Why not stay here and watch?"
"Somebody's gotta rub him down with fuel."
I didn't respond.
Now that I thought about it— I'd spent a whole day observing them, but aside from Su-bin, there wasn't a single other devotee or companion around Seok-hwa. The original group of the eleven Nationwide Pilgrimage for Uniting Buddhist Devotion departing Busan had either all died or deserted, leaving only one survivor.
"He's a lonely man."
I was picturing their rough journey in my mind when the knock of Su-bin's voice tapped my eardrum.
"Pardon?"
"Monk Seok-hwa, I mean." Su-bin's gaze was locked on the platform. "He doesn't have anyone to talk to. No real friends. Yesterday morning, I was the only one left to share a meal with him... I tried telling him twice not to go through with this self-immolation. He doesn't listen. He's too stubborn. There were so many good people who passed by, more than ten who said they'd walk alongside him, but I guess that wasn't enough for him."
I looked up at his eyes and realized it then. I might have been operating under a ridiculous assumption all along.
'I thought Shin Su-bin was lonely, so a sly swindler monk took advantage of him... Was I wrong?'
I figured it was an example of a standard cult tactic. Exploiting an old person's solitude was practically Lesson One in a con artist's handbook. But the tone and the look in Su-bin's eyes, directed toward the platform now, suggested a different interpretation.
If...
'He saw how lonely Seok-hwa was and decided to stay by his side as a willing companion.'
If there was never a time when Shin Su-bin got manipulated by any sly cult technique...
"He's so sure he'd Awaken that way. But I think it's all pointless. Look at Noh Do-hwa. She's an Awakener. Do you think she's any happier for having Awakened?"
"...I don't see much connection either way."
"Right. Enlightenment doesn't fall from heaven just because you pray with sincerity. Isn't Guan Seum Bosal, Avalokitesvara supposed to be in hell, not heaven?"[2]
Su-bin pushed into his crutch like a cane and limped away.
"It's all hell. Everywhere is hell."
I watched him go in silence.
"I'll try talking to him one last time. Honestly, I don't think I'll be able to convince him. But pray for me, Undertaker. I've seen you, and I think you're a true Buddha. Namu Amitabha, Guan Seum Bosal. Namu Amitabha, Guan Seum Bosal..."
Su-bin waded through the crowd with stuttering steps. Soon enough, his small figure was submerged under the throng of people. Then as quickly as he disappeared, he reappeared on the platform, guided by a holy knight. Su-bin said something or other to Seok-hwa, who was in the midst of chanting the Heart Sutra.
"... ..., ... ..."
"... ...!"
"... ... ... ..."
"... ...!"
There's no need to record what they said. A wave remains a wave whether or not it crashes upon some shore, but words that fail to hit their mark remain noise.
Such was the noise we heard.
Sssshhhhkk!
Seok-hwa himself opened the cap of a gasoline canister and poured it over his own head. Yellowish fuel dribbled down his face. When he opened his mouth, a thin film of fuel pulled apart.
Drenched in gasoline, he shouted.
"Light the fire!"
Footnotes:
[1] Calling out a sweet potato moment is Korean slang for saying that things have started to drag and get boring.
[2] Bodhisattva Avalokiteshvara (Gwaneum bosal) is the Buddhist deity of mercy and compassion who, in some traditions, transforms himself into thirty-three forms to save all beings from suffering. He also leads them to the Pure Land Paradise of the Buddha Amitabha.
-x-X-x-
The Self-Immolator VI
As soon as Seok-hwa opened his mouth, the stench of gasoline spread in all directions. Oil trickled across his face, streaming from his head downward.
"Hurry! Set my body ablaze— Oooh!"
Yellow droplets burst in quick succession as the thin film of oil clinging to his parted lips kept bursting and re-forming each time he raised his voice. The spectators stirred at the eerie sight.
"Uh, uhhh..."
"He's really going to start a fire!"
"Step back, please! It's dangerous, move back! Everyone behind me, get back!"
"Whoooa, look at that, whoooa!"
Chaos overtook the scene. No onlooker could tear their eyes away from the monk, and Seok-hwa, as though the fluid covering him were not gasoline but the crowd's excitement and attention made manifest, pressed his palms together with supreme confidence.
"...gategateparagateparasamgatebodhisvahagategateparagateparasamgate..."
"This is it! Everyone be on guard!"
The knight in charge of the ceremony—nicknamed "the kind one" on SG Net—lit a torch with a quick puff. He stood over two meters tall, so raising the torch was in itself a show of impressive might, drawing exclamations of awe from the crowd.
The knight turned his head. There, stooped close to Seok-hwa, was the last person remaining at his side: Old Man Shin.
"Sir, you need to come out of there now!"
"Oh dear..."
"Hurry! Should I help you out?"
But before the knight could say more, the monk slick with oil snapped at them himself. "Begone!"
Normal ears likely couldn't make out the sound drowned by the cheers and noise of the crowd, but Su-bin's plea reached mine clearly.
"Oh no, Monk, don't do this."
"Get lost! You hypocrite! The Buddha awaits this humble monk!" Seok-hwa's eyes, glistening with oil, shone like a ravenous leopard at night as he cried, "Lowly mortal, you have no place standing in my way!"
Su-bin glanced around once. Then, bowing his head to Seok-hwa—or maybe to the hundreds of onlookers, or even to the sky—he slowly retreated backward.
"Namu Amitabha, Kwan Seum Bosal..."
Once even Su-bin had stepped away, the knight who had guided Seok-hwa from Pyongyang to Sinuiju shouted, "Fire!"
"...gategateparagateparasamgatebodhisvahagate..."
He tossed the torch toward Seok-hwa. As the flaming torch traced a parabolic arc, the crowd's uproar reached a peak.
"Fiiire—!"
To my eyes, the torch seemed to float slowly through the air.
"Young man."
In a very distant past from the 53rd cycle, back when I first got to know the old man named Su-bin, I was working as an assistant in Do-hwa's workshop. One evening, as the world was nearing destruction, Su-bin had gone out of his way, hobbling on his bad leg to come by the workshop.
"Aigoo, so our young assistant is still in Busan, huh? Eh? Why are you still here? Eh? And Noh Do-hwa too. How come young people like you are still here? Oh dear..."
Why?
Why did the old man remain in Busan, at the very brink of doomsday, instead of fleeing to another city like most? And why visit the workshop?
Was it loneliness?
"Young man. Let me off here."
No.
If he'd come simply because he was consumed by loneliness, he wouldn't have gotten out of the car halfway, refusing to let me drop him off at his home. Back then, he refused my help and went off by himself.
"This is far enough. You go on back."
He left on his own.
Hence a hypothesis arose: What if it wasn't because he was lonely but the opposite?
In the final moments of the world, maybe he worried that "Noh Do-hwa" or "me" would be lonely, so he came by to check on us?
"Thank you, young man. You're worried about Noh Do-hwa, right?"
But I was there with Do-hwa in the workshop. Two of us, together, prepared to face the end.
Perhaps he was reassured by that. He saw that the two people who concerned him most were already in place, saying their final farewells as they should.
"Then this path is not yours."
"We must each go our own way."
And so, he departed without regrets.
A regressor is doomed to be lonely.
Do-hwa also had built her life to be like an isolated island in the corner of the world. Perhaps she caught the old man's eye because of that.
If ever there exists someone willing to endure minor discomforts "like missing a leg," then you can't simply graft a piece of your heart onto them. Time is all you can lend. And maybe that old man was always ready to spend his remaining days with whomever looked loneliest in his world.
'Ah.'
Even if someone looked like a vagrant, or a madman consumed by old, greedy desires, or perhaps someone with neither power nor fame nor many believers—maybe in that old man's eyes, he was merely a "lonely person."
Fwoooosh!
My train of thought blazed up like the flames.
The fire ignited the oil before the torch even made contact, and the built-in kindling—namely, Seok-hwa himself—began to consume him.
"G-aaaaargh!"
A shriek rang out.
"Uh? Uh—?"
"What the hell?"
Hundreds of onlookers recoiled.
Seok-hwa's scream slashed through the air like a razor, grating the atmosphere around the ceremony site.
His cry...
"Ahhhhhhhhhhh!"
His cry carried the sound of unimaginable agony.
Everyone who had come at dawn had arrived with some measure of expectation in their wake. Would the monk really succeed in self-immolation? Perhaps it'd be interesting to watch. A person couldn't possibly endure the pain of burning alive...
But a real scream always shatters your expectations with its searing edge.
"Gyaaaaaah, ahh, aaaargh! AAAAAHHH!"
Pain bled into the crowd on the back of a raw human voice, on the stench of burning flesh, the smell of oil, a crackling blaze. Every gap in the air flayed by the monk's razor-edged scream seemed to bleed gaseous gore.
As humans can sense suffering simply by hearing it—the "Kwan Seum" principle—the entire ceremony site shook with Seok-hwa's howl.
Clang, clang, clang!
And yet, from the onlookers' perspective, an even stranger sound rose.
Clang, clang, clang, clang!
One might expect a person in such agony to thrash around, roll on the ground, do anything—but strangely, Seok-hwa did not budge. Even now, as his entire body burned, his seated posture remained rigid. Only his body and the platform rattled violently, as if they had been pinned together.
"Aaaaaaaaah!"
Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang!
The monk shrieked and the spectators couldn't fathom it. The only reason he could keep seated, legs folded, was that he'd spent the night hammering nails and binding himself with rope. Naturally, everyone was dumbstruck.
"Sh-should we help him?"
Just going by the screaming, it seemed they should.
"But look at his posture... He's staying so straight. Isn't that some incredible level of discipline? He's enduring the fire—it's just his voice that's breaking."
From his stance alone, that would be a reasonable assumption to make.
"Ah-ah-ah-ah-AHHHH!"
Clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang, clang!
The mismatch of sight and sound. No one knew if he was begging for rescue or wanting applause for managing to remain still despite the flames.
It baffled the crowd.
"Is he an Anomaly...?"
Someone muttered, "An Anomaly?"
"Look, the monk is trying to hold on, but he's screaming non-stop... Maybe some Anomaly leaped into him the moment he caught fire, copying his voice?"
"Oh."
"Well, it's a situation Anomalies would love, for sure."
"I heard he traveled from Busan, exorcising all sorts of wandering souls. Maybe they're cursing him now."
"Wow, so that means he's enduring all those wrathful spirits while still sitting there?"
"Hang in there, Monk!" another shouted through cupped hands. "Stay strong!"
"Don't lose to those Anomalies!"
"You can do it, Monk! Fight on!"
Amazingly, though it seemed absurd at a glance, they might very well have hit on a partial truth, for Seok-hwa burned for far too long.
"Aaaahhhh!"
Under normal conditions, the flames should have instantly scorched his throat and tongue to ash. At the very least, the wooden platform he was on should have turned to charcoal. Yet for some reason, his screaming and the platform's burning continued beyond five minutes, as did the crowd's heated cheers.
"Hold on, Monk! You can do it!"
Could Seok-hwa hear their voices? The cheers and support from the throng, which he had coveted so deeply, resounding across the entire ceremony ground...?
Ah—aaaah—ahhh—aaah――
After about ten minutes, the screaming ceased.
Seok-hwa had lost every organ that could produce sound—his lungs, throat, tongue, and teeth had all melted away. His muscles, which trembled spasmodically while nailed to the platform, were likewise consumed by flame.
Finally, the fire died down. On the char-blackened platform floor, the seated form remained in its meditative posture, charred into a coal-black statue.
"Heh."
A murmur of awe drifted among the spectators.
"So he really was a venerable monk, after all."
"Right? He kept his form flawlessly."
"Enduring self-immolation even while some Anomaly latched on, that's some potent spiritual power."
"They say he was from Busan, right?"
"Will this really stop the Monster Wave...?"
"If we open that up, bet we'll find a bucketful of relics."
Some onlookers pressed their palms together toward the monk who had burned himself in the Eastern Holy State's territory like admiring a performer who staged an intense show so early in the morning.
"Namu Amitabha, Kwan Seum Bosal."
"May you be reborn in Paradise, Monk."
"Namu Amitabha..."
People gradually dispersed.
Once the crowd's wall dissolved, I got a better view of the remains of Seok-hwa, the blackened statue of his body. Though all of him was burned to cinders, every part of the human shape stayed intact, save for his right foot, which should have been empty.
The prosthetic made by Do-hwa was no match for the flames and had burned away completely.
I silently glanced around.
(Ritual) Venerable Monk Seok-hwa's Nirvana Self-Immolation (Event)
Under the flapping banner in the sky—
In the nearly deserted ceremony ground, after the audience had dispersed—
No matter where I looked, Shin Su-bin was nowhere to be seen.
There is an epilogue.
"So..."
A few days after I returned to the National Road Management Corps HQ, I found Do-hwa glaring at me.
"You're saying you visited for fun, basically sightseeing while some guy got roasted alive in a big cozy 'bonfire session,' and then came back...?" she asked.
"Hey now, that makes it sound like I took pleasure in someone's death, like I'm Yu Ji-won. Please be more mindful of your phrasing."
In the corner, Ji-won quietly raised her head, puzzled.
For reference, Do-hwa had dark circles under her eyes and was petting her dog as if it were some government-approved narcotic. No, some source of healing. This official "state-level dog" also had "Doctor" in its name, and maybe one day, I'll have the chance to talk more about it.
"Anyway, I wanted to find Old Man Shin and bring him back, but he vanished. So here I am, back alone."
"Hmm..."
"Oh, right. Fear not, I haven't forgotten your gift. Here, it's Melona.[1] A handmade ice cream recipe replicated faithfully via regressor's knowledge."
"Get out..."
Weird. This gift always thrilled Seo-rin. Maybe I should have tried a B.B.Big bar instead? I'd keep that in mind for next cycle.
As I left (but not before handing the Melona instead to Ji-won), Do-hwa's voice caught me by the neck.
"Ah. Leave, fine, but come back tomorrow. I've got something to give you..."
"Hmm." I looked back at Ji-won. "Ji-won, is that telling me to leave or not? As the director's right-hand woman, I'd like your reading on this."
"Take the words at face value, Mr. Matiz," she replied, tearing open the Melona wrapper (perfectly reproduced, by the way) with a blank look. "She asked you to leave for today, then come again tomorrow. Just interpret it plainly, please. As for how the director's feelings are involved, that's best left aside."
"Oh."
"Damn it, now you're double-teaming me with your nonsense..."
A day passed.
When I arrived at HQ the next day, no sooner had I opened the door than something solid came flying at my face. I reflexively caught it.
It was a long-shaped box.
"What's this?"
Do-hwa eyed me, still hunched over in that same slouch. "It's Old Man Shin's prosthetic..."
"Ah."
"Sounds like that monk—whatever his name was—burned it to a crisp, right? So you can deliver it yourself. It won't be the same as me fitting it personally, but it's a decent enough device..." Then she muttered, "Well, that's all a typical prosthetic is really for, anyway. Right...?"
I didn't need Ji-won's help interpreting that.
She'd let me off for ditching my job and running away on the condition that I personally deliver the prosthetic to the patient. I could accept those terms. Besides, leaving Su-bin without a proper goodbye had bothered me a bit.
"All right. If you prefer, I can carry you all the way to Sinuiju, so you can see him for yourself—"
"Stop. I mean it, shut up..."
And so I did.
Su-bun had vanished from the ceremony site, but I wasn't too worried about finding him again. At least, not until I was about to ask Ji-won to check with the Saintess's Telepathy for a location beacon.
[Ms. Yu Ji-won says he does show up on the Mini-Map, but something's off.]
I tilted my head. "Off how?"
[He's located in some hill near Sinuiju, and it hasn't moved at all. He's completely stationary.]
"Huh? That's definitely strange."
[Right?]
Before the apocalypse, the world beyond one's blanket was where danger lay. Nowadays, it's "outside the city." People flocked together in cities these days for a reason. Stepping outside a city's boundaries drastically raised your odds of vanishing into the Void. Sure, traveling from one city to the next was dangerous, but to sit around on a random hillside that wasn't even on a national road, and without budging?
"All right, I'll go. Keep giving me directions, please."
[Got it.]
I hurried on. Not far beyond the roads maintained by the National Road Management Corps, the scenery grew glum. Living shadows took note of my presence, then skittered away the moment they sensed me.
'This way.'
A faint trail of footprints, a left foot and a crutch, plus wheel marks scattered like stepping stones led me on.
They were barely visible. Ordinary folks would have missed them.
'But it's enough.'
I came upon a low hill where sparse brush left the view wide open. Following the direction from the Mini-Map to the very end, I found a broad slab of rock.
There, a figure that seemed to be Shin Su-bin lay burnt to death.
I heard the Saintess's quick intake of breath as her sight took in mine.
I carefully checked the boulder's surroundings. Where...? Where had he found it? A gasoline can identical to the one used to burn Seok-hwa lay askew, giving off that same odor.
Shin Su-bin's body knelt on the rock, hands clasped as if respectfully praying to someone, or something.
'Self-immolation.'
Out here.
In a lonely hillside no one would ever see.
With no disciple, no companion, no onlookers.
Alone.
Silent.y, I set the prosthetic box on the stone. Then I dropped onto the grass with a thump.
It was by chance that I ended up directly facing him—Shin Su-bin, whose burned body was pointed at the sky in prayer.
"...Departing like this, sir? That'll sadden Miss Noh Do-hwa."
No reply.
Naturally. Where his face should have been, there was no expression, only blackened charcoal in place of wrinkled limbs and features.
And yet, why did it feel like...
'That's your job now, Undertaker.'
...a chuckle rose from the mouthless remains?
Somewhere in that hillside, a few pine warblers chirped, still not consumed by the Void. I stayed there, gazing at the old man's body that had silently given itself up to the world, until dusk fell.
Does the world brim solely with those who leave behind glowing names?
Throughout humanity's vast history, countless unnamed individuals must have blossomed like flowers, then faded away without a trace, yet they surely existed. Perhaps among them had been those who attempted feats beyond human limits that would never be recognized in the annals of fame.
A leap of faith.
They did not wish even to display their deaths for others, seeing that too as "excess baggage of the heart."
Casting off all honor and desire. Avoiding any onlookers, choosing a quiet place. Simply praying in their hearts for the end of all sadness.
Some offered themselves in works of art.
In a cathedral whose architect was forgotten.
In a buried sculpture.
In song.
In flesh.
In silence.
And so they vanished.
Exiled from time.
You can't meet them in any normal way. They're lost in alleys, erased data.
Perhaps the karmic lot of a regressor is to reunite with those who disappeared from the world. To encounter the story of "Shin Su-bin," who was overlooked by most as just an ordinary old man, only now to discover the blank space he left behind.
Thus, a regressor's destiny is not simply to chew on loneliness. We're only visitors who pass by every alley of this world before leaving.
"Until next time, sir."
I rose from a respectful bow to depart.
[Mr. Undertaker.]
Then suddenly, the Saintess spoke.
"Yes?"
[Mr. Undertaker, about his foot.]
I turned. How had I missed something so obvious?
Shin Su-bin had been missing his right foot. He'd given his prosthetic to Seok-hwa, and it burned up in Sinuiju. That should have been the end of it.
So where there should have been an empty space, a missing right foot—
Even though it too was charred crisp, I could see a perfectly "intact foot" in proportion with the rest of his body.
[What do you think happened?] the Saintess murmured. [Is it someone else pretending to be Shin Su-bin? Or an Anomaly lurking in the corpse?]
I don't claim to know every secret of this world. But looking at that foot, it didn't register as some suspicious puzzle to me.
"Who knows? Maybe it's just 'excess baggage of the heart.'"
[...?]
"Seems he left a final message not to grieve for him. That's what I see, anyway."
I let out a faint laugh and turned away.
This time I'd bring a B.B.Big bar instead.
Footnotes:
[1] Melona is a popular South Korean ice pop brand, known for its creamy, gelato-like texture and diverse range of fruit flavors, including the classic honeydew, but also banana, strawberry, mango, and more.
-x-X-x-
The Nurturer
Today, let's keep it brief for once.
I'll skip even the epilogue and spin a short tale.
With civilization's collapse, most of humanity's beloved industries found themselves plunged into an era of "hardship marches."
The pet industry, also known as the companion-animal market, was hard-pressed to avoid being delisted.
"I'd rather starve to death myself than abandon my baby!"
"Hyung, I'm telling you, there are monsters chasing after us..."
"I'll go! If I die, I'm dying alongside my kid!"
That's what folks shouted as they fled with their pets in tow. But after three days of real hunger, their perspective got a little more flexible.
They didn't love their pets any less. It was just that people were weak.
What could they do? Most Koreans after the 1970s had lost their immunity to starvation. Suddenly resetting one's stomach to the standards of decades past and telling it to bear with it was no simple matter.
Still, a few owners somehow managed to reach their refuge without letting go of their pets, clinging to iron will. However, they soon ran into cold reality.
"That's weird. Just last night, my baby only walked on four legs, but this morning it's on two...?"
"It's just smart, that's all."
"That's weird. Last night, my baby had only one head, but this morning there are three...?"
"With three brains, so triple the IQ! I knew my baby was a genius."
"That's weird. My baby used to love your touch, but now it's biting, ripping you apart with those teeth..."
In refugee camps, cases of people meeting a gruesome death at the paws of their own pets skyrocketed. If they were lucky, owners might come to lose only a finger or two. If they were unlucky, maybe two full limbs. They had little choice but to admit the truth:
"Gaah! It's a monster!"
"Help me! My child's gone insane!"
Most animals were vulnerable to Void Poison.
No need to categorize mammals, reptiles, birds, fish. Every morning that dawned, pets took on a new "species adaptation" that was, for all intents and purposes, off.
In the end, the vast majority of owners tearfully "took care" of their pets. Those who hesitated too long were taken care of by the pets themselves.
But then...
"My baby doesn't bite."
"Sir, you do realize you could die at any moment if you keep insisting on that? We're not trying to be mean here. If one Anomaly starts rampaging within this village, everyone is done for! All of us!"
"No, I understand that. I'm not just being stubborn—I'm telling you, my baby really doesn't bite."
"Huh?"
No matter the time or place, mutations sometimes took place.
It was a phenomenon truly miniscule in number... 1%? Maybe the odds of pulling a super-rare in a cruel smartphone gacha. Every so often, one would appear: a "relatively safe from Void Poison" pet, rare beyond measure.
A normal person might rage at such savage odds, but from a seller's perspective, it spelled big money. Sharp-nosed entrepreneurs saw the potential jackpot in these now "safe" pets, rarer than ever.
"How about it, sir? This is the scarlet macaw. Really hard to come by. You could scour all the pet shops in Busan and only find this one that still appears normal."
"Whoa."
"Hey, Papanya, introduce yourself."
– Yes, hello. I'm a cute pet parrot. My name is Papanya. Sometimes I dream of flying out the window when the weather is nice, but right now I'm happy spending time in a warm house with my master. Being with my master is my favorite thing, so every day I sing and enjoy such cheerful days.
"As you can see, it speaks quite eloquently."
"I mean, for a parrot, that's a bit too articulate. It's kind of creepy..."
"It's probably blended with something like ChatGPT AI. Ask it anything you want, it'll answer well."
"So, it's an Anomaly?"
"Sure, probably. But who cares if it's so perfectly parrot-like?"
Soon, these "safe-rated" pets started commanding astronomical premiums.
Over ten high-end pet shops sprang up in Busan alone. Unlike in the old days, you couldn't find separate cat-only or dog-only shops, there simply wasn't enough supply. But that was fine because "pets" as a concept had risen to an elevated status.
"Wow, look at that dog."
"It's got two heads?"
"Yep. One side looks like a Doberman, and the other side's a spitting image of a Samoyed."
"Black and white fur patterning is crazy..."
These days, anyone who seemed fairly well off would flaunt their lifestyle by owning a pet.
The pet-shop owners of Busan formed a "Pet Association," which granted animals their own rating tiers. The lowest safety rating was "1 Day," the highest was "10 Years."
The standard was simple: If adopting that pet gave you a high probability of dying within twenty-four hours, 1 Day. If you could expect a safe, carefree pet life for ten years, 10 Years.
Of course, the shop owners didn't actually have the power of prophecy. Incidents happened. Like a gator labeled 10 Years devouring its owner within a week.
(There was debate about whether that was really the Pet Association's fault.)
Such were the times. Such was the trend.
"Commander Noh."
"Yeees...?"
"Might you be interested in joining the True Dictator Club?"
"Huh?"
I always gave Do-hwa a pet as a gift.
It's well-known that dictators love pets.
Surprisingly, Hitler established Germany's first animal protection laws and was very attached to his own dog. In fact, there's a "Law of Preserved Affection Quantity" behind this phenomenon. A person doesn't lose the ability to love simply because they've lost affection for humankind. Their total capacity for love remains unchanged, just diverted to something else.
It's akin to the Law of Equivalent Exchange discovered by the great alchemist Arakawa Hiromu.[1]
So it begged the question:
Q: How much might the ultimate misanthrope, who despises humanity—namely, Noh Do-hwa—cherish a pet?
Is that not an enthralling experiment?
Yes, indeed. Even someone whose love for people is FFF-grade might possess an EX-grade "pet-owner aptitude."
"Here, a Maltese."
Me, the Undertaker. As an avid viewer of Surprise TV, I had to solve this mystery.
"I handpicked a good-looking one, specially selected. Please care for it with all your love and attention."
The Maltese I brought faced off with Noh Do-hwa, who was sitting in her usual slouched posture.
Yes, right at eye level.
"That's odd. The Maltese I know is a small breed from the island of Malta. Yet the head in front of me is so big, it'd slap aside any Old English Sheepdog meme I've ever seen on the internet...?"
"It's exceptionally tall, yes. But because it was originally a small dog, it'll probably live a long time."
– Woof!
The 112-centimeter-tall "Maltese" stuck out its tongue and rubbed cheeks with Do-hwa. It might have sounded different to each ear, likely a slurp slurp to her.
"Geez, you son of a..."
"What do you think? Pure white fur, just like the lab coat you always wear, Commander Noh. Eats barely anything. Hardly sheds."
"Cut the crap. Dammit. It's heavy as hell. How can a dog that big not shed...?"
"Credit the blessings of Void Poison, I suppose."
– Woof! Woof, bark!
Just as you'd expect from a pet selected by a regressor, the giant Maltese was extremely gentle.
It poured unconditional affection (with a high H₂O content) on a master who didn't understand human hearts at all, surpassing even Kwan Seum Bosal in benevolence.
– Bark!
"See? The Maltese seems to like you too, Commander."
"...I'd like to return it..."
"I'll have it recorded as accepted."
On that day, Commander Noh joined the ranks of historically famous dictators reputed as pet lovers.
To be candid, I wanted to give Do-hwa something she might care about, if only a little.
Humans aren't invincible. Even those who seem unbeatable eventually find their mental reserves drained.
Take me, for instance, I have to take a "vacation" every ten runs or so.
"Here, a Maltese."
So from around the 100th run onward, I always brought a dog to Commander Noh.
– Woof!
On the 200th run, the 300th, the 400th, always a "white Maltese that was way too big to be called a Maltese."
Effectively, across multiple runs, Commander Noh and that dog maintained the bond of "pet owner and pet."
"Here, a Maltese."
Its name was Doctor.
It wasn't a name she chose nor I. It was a nickname the staff started using when they saw a dog appear near the Commander.
"Wow, what is that huge thing?"
"It's the commander's dog."
"It's so white..."
"Looks expensive. Where'd she even find something like that?"
"I heard from a buddy in the ops team that the Undertaker gave it to her."
"Ah, so..."
"If it's from the Undertaker, guess that makes sense."
"You could practically ride it."
Before long, the white dog's towering size and majestic looks turned it into an idol beloved by everyone in the National Road Management Corps.
"Doctor, come here!"
– Woof!
"Good morning, Doctor. Another fine day—"
– Bark!
How it picked up the nicknames "Doctor" or "Professor" was almost laughably simple:
A dog given by the Undertaker → Undertaker → "Doc" → "Professor." QED.
Hence the staff all called the white dog Doctor or Professor. The fact that Commander Noh always wore a lab coat almost certainly shaped its image too.
'I figured that when I'm not around, Do-hwa can at least find some solace in caring for Doctor.'
I felt a bit of satisfaction at that thought, yet for some reason...
Even when she sometimes fed the dog, or told the staff to look after it, or briefly stroked its head amid her duties:
Commander Noh's expression always remained utterly blank.
"Awakener Undertaker."
One day, when the Monster Wave was soon to devour the world, sometime in the future of the 511th cycle, Do-hwa said this:
"That dog you gave me... Doctor..."
"Ah, yes, what about our Professor?"
"For a dog, it sure lives a long time..."
She pointed to Doctor, lying down with his tail wagging.
– Bark.
It had already been 20 years since his adoption, yet Doctor was still as lively as day one. That alone was enough to raise Do-hwa's suspicion. A Maltese can't usually last more than 15 years, and for large breeds, the average lifespan is even shorter.
"Ah, yes. Well, guess he's just healthy? The staff play with him all the time and toss him food. He's living the dream. Probably the best-fed, happiest dog in the world right now."
She clicked her tongue.
Hearing that familiar sound, Doctor shot up (!) and ran over to her. With a well-practiced touch, she petted his head, neck, then back. Doctor panted happily.
'How heartwarming.'
It was a pure, very human display of affection, which reaffirmed that my gift was not misguided. Smiling inwardly, I kept watching.
So when those words came from her mouth...
"How many died...?"
...I was too slow to respond.
"Pardon?"
"This dog. Big enough to befit someone called 'Commander.'"
Stroke.
"Its fur is so white that anyone would marvel at it, and caring for it is easy. It's docile. Gentle. Above all, it has an incredibly long lifespan. We'll never have to bury it before the world ends. Truly an ideal dog..."
Stroke.
She ran her hand through the fur at Doctor's neck. Her gaze was half-lidded, fixed right on me.
"So I got curious. Just how many 'failures' did you discard before selecting this perfect dog to give me, Awakener Undertaker...?"
I shut my mouth. Her faint, smiling eyes were sharper than a blade from afar.
"How shall I put it?" she began. "This thought suddenly hits me..."
"Which is...?"
"Ordinarily, the old me would simply pass away without leaving a will, letting the next me in the next cycle handle everything with a big 'Screw you.' And that accumulation of petty revenge turned me into who I am now, presumably..." Then she murmured, "But if humans have one advantage over animals, it's the ability to reconsider our mistakes... is it not...?"
She pressed lightly on Doctor's throat, enough to put mild pressure on his voice box.
– Woof.
"So after hundreds of years, I'd like to do something nice for the next me..."
Doctor trembled, but didn't fight her grip. Perhaps he interpreted even this as an act of affection.
"From the next cycle onward, don't just pick any dog for me. Give me the choice to adopt it myself... Just tell me the old me left that as a final will. If I'm not a total idiot, I'll figure it out..."
An Undertaker's job is also to carry out the last wishes of the deceased. I couldn't dismiss her request.
Thus, in the next run...
"Huh. A pet, you say."
When I conveyed her older self's final message, for a while, the new Noh Do-hwa fell into thought. Her gaze flicked from open air to me and back again until, finally, she let a small grin escape.
"Ah, I see..."
"You see what it means?"
"Yes, more or less..."
She stood up with a flutter, her lab coat rumpled. Surprisingly for someone who spent 24 hours a day holed up in the HQ, it looked like she was about to go out.
"Where are you going?"
"I have work to do, now that I've received the message. I figured I'd visit a pet shop. I'm new to raising pets in this run, so I need your advice. You're coming along..."
Extremely unusual. She was the one inviting me out, not the other way around.
"W-welcome! Thank you so much for visiting the best pet shop in Busan!"
At the arrival of the National Road Management Corps Commander and the Undertaker, two of the peninsula's mightiest, the shop owner nearly fell over bowing. He rubbed his hands together as he said, "What sort of pet can I get for you? Whatever you wish, Commander! In fact, it would be our honor to present you with one, no charge!"
"Hmph..."
Normally, Do-hwa despised this sort of treatment. She rarely even went to Jagalchi Market for her favorite vin chaud except at dawn, all to avoid people.
And yet...
"I'm not looking for a specific breed. I just want to stroll around a bit..."
"O-of course, Commander! Take all the time you need! Our shop deals exclusively in pets rated at least 2 years by the Pet Association! Truly a top-quality selection! Haha!"
"Hoh..."
Strangely, she seemed in a great mood. Where typically she'd scowl at sycophants, her expression now was calm and unruffled. A rare sight indeed.
"This one? Or maybe this? Hmm, or would that be better...?"
She stopped in front of each cage: a parrot turned purple, a rainbow-aurora fish, a cat with three tails, a miniature dog with an off-kilter body ratio, a reptile with amethyst crystals sprouting from its skin. With each, she glanced my way as I remained silent.
"What do you think...?"
Then, I answered thoughtfully, "It won't live very long."
"Yes, I know..."
"It'll probably die before you do, before the world collapses."
"Yes. I'm aware of that..." Her boot tapped lightly as she looked up at me from close range. "When that happens, I want you to handle my pet's burial, Awakener Undertaker..."
I didn't respond.
"Oh, Shop Owner, I'll take this little one. Not exactly pretty, but somehow it feels familiar..."
"Eh? A-ah, right! Commander, you've got an eye for cuteness indeed! Haha!"
She selected...
A small dog that resembled a Maltese, its forelimbs and hind legs all mismatched in both size and proportion, so that even standing still made it shuffle around.
– Woof.
She scooped up the pup, eyes and nose misaligned, into her arms.
"Awakener Undertaker."
She smiled.
"It would be lovely if you'd pay for it... Because it's a giftfor me..."
That pup died at 4 years 7 months.
From then on, in each new run, Do-hwa adopted a different pet.
"I'll take this one."
"This one draws me in..."
"I want this one."
"I'd appreciate it if you pay for me..."
Sometimes a dog, sometimes a cat, sometimes a fish, sometimes a lizard. The species always changed. Yet three constants remained:
1. She always cared for them with real devotion, determination, and patience.
2. Regardless of species, they were always called "Doctor" or "Professor."
3. Finally, every "Professor" invariably died before she did.
"This one. It was running around by itself last night and hit the wall. Seems it broke its neck... Could I ask you to handle the funeral, Awakener Undertaker...?"
Unlike the half-hearted vibe she used to give when raising that giant white dog, from the 512th cycle onward, she genuinely loved these pets. Her grief each time they died was sincere too.
But still—even past the 550th run, 600th, 700th, 800th, and on—she always chose a life that would die before her own in a doomed world.
"I'll take this one..."
To outsiders, it might appear a twisted hobby, but though neither she nor I had ever openly stated the reason, we both guessed it.
The Noh Do-hwa of the 511th run and the 512th cycle are different beings.
I, in each run, raise a different pet and mourn a different death.
I want you to remember that.
"This one looks good..."
In short, she demanded that the memories pertaining to her, in my mind, not be "copy+paste." She refused to be simply "the same old Noh Do-hwa," raising "the same old pet," an "identical existence." She wanted to remain this person, remembered exactly as she was now.
By that measure, it was a pretty twisted hobby. Though she raised a different pet in each run, overall, the one she was truly caring for was the space she occupied in my memories. Time after time, she nourished my mind's recollections and scars, ensuring one truth would remain forever:
The "511" and the "512" weren't just a trivial difference of "1." They held a time that could never be erased, nor should it be.
Through subtle means, so very typical of her, she whispered that message.
"You're unbelievably twisted. Seriously."
Eventually, in some run, I couldn't help letting that remark slip. She had just chosen a tiny puppy right then, and she turned to me to say it.
"Indeed..."
Quietly, she lifted her lips into a grin.
"In that case, you should've been more cautious when you picked me..."
– Woof!
In her white coat, holding the cheerful little dog, she smiled.
Footnotes:
[1] The author and artist of Fullmetal Alchemist, a popular manga that explores the study and costs of alchemy as a science.