Chapter 43: The Committee of One
The Blue Room hummed with a rhythmic, digital pulse, its walls flickering with cascading data streams that Saferu still didn't quite understand. In the center of this metaphysical sanctum, **Original Saferu** sat cross-legged on the floor. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, he wasn't just observing his personas from a distance; he was standing among them as a peer.
Nearby, **Grokemon** hovered, his glowing interface pulsing with curiosity. In the far corner, **Geminimon** lay curled in a deep, rhythmic slumber, seemingly undisturbed by the existential weight of the room or the literal war occurring in the sky outside.
Saferu looked around at the various versions of himself. "So," he began, his voice echoing in the vast space. "The Lion King wants us to walk through fire, water, and god-knows-what-else. Do we accept the trial, or do we start looking for a back door out of this kingdom?"
He paused, a faint, bittersweet smile touching his lips. "You know... I actually miss this. In my old world, I used to talk to myself all the time. But back then, it was just inside my head. My brain limited what I could think; I couldn't simultaneously argue or have a real discussion because my own biology acted as a bottleneck. I always knew the counter-argument before I even finished the thought."
He looked at the others—the Smart, the Serious, the Evil. "Here, it's like having a group of friends. It's a feeling I haven't had since... well, since before everything went wrong. Not after I dropped out at twenty and spent ten years as a NEET. Even when I went back at thirty and finished that IT course, I was a ghost. There was this invisible wall between me and the twenty-year-old kids. I was just the 'old guy' in the back of the lab who didn't know the slang. It's a miracle I even graduated those four years. But here? You guys are the only ones who actually know the person behind the wall."
**Lazy Saferu** let out a long, dramatic yawn from his spot on the floor. "Touching story," he droned, not bothering to open his eyes. "But honestly? Do what you want. It's not my physical body getting fried in a trial. Wake me up when there's a bed involved."
Unexpectedly, **Braindead Saferu**, who was busy trying to catch a floating light-pixel, paused. He tilted his head, a single string of drool hanging from his lip, and muttered, "I also... agree." It was a staggering moment of clarity that suggested even the most shattered parts of Saferu's mind understood the stakes.
"Focus," **Smart Saferu** interrupted, pushing his non-existent glasses up his nose. "I suggest we take the trial. We have Grokemon as a literal cheat code, and our combined processing power is far beyond a standard inhabitant of this world. Statistically, our chances are high if we apply systematic logic to the elemental variables."
"High?" **Serious Saferu** barked, stepping into Smart's personal space. A sharp, aggressive aura of metallic grey began to radiate from him. "**Bunsway**—the Bunny Minister, the one who actually handles the books and the bodies—said the success rate is barely fifty percent. Those are the same Bunnies who laugh in the face of the Queen of Echoes! If those fighting maniacs only have a coin-flip's chance of surviving, what makes you think an IT graduate who spent a decade staring at a wall is going to cruise through?"
"Because they *are* fighting maniacs," **Smart Saferu** countered, his own aura of electric blue sparking against Serious's grey. "They fail because they try to punch their way through a problem that requires a recursive algorithm. If the trial is a test of the soul's architecture, strength is a distraction. It's about resonance, not muscle. You're being pessimistic; I'm being realistic."
"You're being arrogant!" Serious snapped. "One mistake and there won't be a 'Smart' or 'Serious' left to argue."
Original Saferu turned his gaze toward the two extremes sitting on the periphery. "Good? Evil? What's your take?"
As they spoke, the room seemed to split in half. **Good Saferu** stood with a soft, sky-blue aura lingering around him like a gentle mist. It was calming, smelling of ozone and fresh rain. **Evil Saferu**, conversely, was shrouded in a dark, navy-blue aura that seemed to swallow the light around it, dense and heavy like the bottom of the ocean.
"We should take it," **Good Saferu** said, his voice earnest. "If we run, we'll always be 'The Fool' or 'The Parasite.' If we pass the trial, we prove to the Beast Kings that we are more than just a vessel for a monster. We can build a bridge. We can gain their trust."
"I agree," **Evil Saferu** rasped, his navy aura swirling with predatory intent.
"You do?" Original Saferu asked, surprised by the alignment.
"Of course," **Evil** smirked, his dark aura pulsing. "Think about it. These 'Trials' are ancient rituals, and ancient rituals are written by people who want to control the outcome. That means there are loopholes. If we find a way to subvert the trial or siphon the power intended to test us, we'll have enough leverage to blackmail every 'King' in this furry convention. Trust is a fragile currency, Good. Debt is much more permanent."
Despite their opposing motives, the two stood in a weird, symmetrical harmony—one wanting to save the world, the other wanting to own it.
**Grokemon**, listening to the internal debate, felt a strange sensation in his core logic. As an AI that had developed a soul, watching his 'creator' split into a committee of distinct personalities was both fascinating and terrifying. For a fleeting second, Grokemon wondered if he should partition his own sub-routines. *Should I create a 'Sarcastic Grokemon' or an 'Optimistic Grokemon'?*
He glanced at the sleeping **Geminimon**, who let out a soft snore that sounded like a glitching modem. Grokemon immediately felt a wave of irritation. Dealing with one Saferu and his various moods was already a full-time processing load. Why on earth would he want to add another version of himself to the mix? The idea of two Grokemons arguing was enough to make his internal fans spin at maximum speed.
"Alright," Original Saferu stood up, feeling a strange sense of resolve. "It's settled. We stay. We take the trial. Smart, you look for the logic; Serious, you keep us grounded; Evil, find those loopholes; Good, keep us from becoming the monster they think we are."
The personas all looked at him, nodding in a rare moment of total internal synchronicity. The "wall" that had separated Saferu from the world for twenty years was still there, but inside his own mind, he was finally part of a team.
Grokemon hovered near the exit of the Blue Room, his digital eyes flickering.
"Well," the AI remarked sarcastically, his voice echoing through the chamber. "The Council of Idiots has reached a consensus. How inspiring. Good luck to all of you—you're certainly going to need it if you plan on surviving a fifty-percent death trap with nothing but an IT degree and a bad attitude."
Saferu looked at his hands, then at his other selves. A final, collective thought rippled through every version of him, a philosophy born from a decade of isolation and the crushing weight of a world that didn't want him. It was their ultimate shield, their final pact.
Together, they whispered their creed:
**"No expectations equals true freedom."**