Infinite Regressor, Chapter 440 - I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell

1. "Oh, right. Sir." "Hmm?" "I've been meaning to confess something for a while." "...I see. Dok-seo, I'm sorry, but I don't see you as a romantic interest. How about we remain colleagues as we've always been?" "Damn it, not that kind of confession! You crazy old coot!" Name: Oh Dok-seo. Status: Perpetual singleton. Record: 0 confessions, 1 rejection, adding to the tally. 2. [Oh Dok-seo's POV] The tale of the regressor had concluded. In its place, the world returned to its original state. "Aren't you going back to Germany, wise one?" "Hmm." But just as every result has a cause, every cause also begets a consequence. No longer was there any anomaly or void to defy the law of causation. Even if the memories of 'previous cycles’ had abruptly bid farewell from the minds of those awakened, a truly perfect reset could never be that nothing happened at all. "I'm planning to stay here and study." "Really?" Emit Schopenhauer, the old man famously known as a 'wise one,' hailed from Germany, was a prime example. "I aim to get a degree from Sungkyunkwan and become a doctor of Korean philosophy." "?" "Recently, there's been a surge in research on the Analects in the Anglo-American world, yet, for some reason, discussions here are sluggish. How can I, as a scholar, not feel incensed? Ah! I'll become a scholar of Confucianism and bring back benevolence to this land!" "?" Despite inheriting the surname of a renowned German philosopher, the former Sword Star was more akin to wielding iron; now, he delved into the mystic philosophies of the East. In truth, academia was merely an excuse. I personally believed it was a strategic choice to avoid loneliness. Lonely as he was, having been dragged into peculiar, foreign events late in life, he had accumulated unexpected connections. Unbelievably, among those connections was even a 'daughter from a past life.' Hard to leave all that behind, probably. "Dok-seo." "Yes?" On the contrary, there were certainly those who had left forever. "Since that day, haven't you heard the voice of Infinite Metagame again?" "Ah... No." I tapped my old laptop. In this café the old man had recently opened, I took refuge from the heat, cooling off inside. Actually, I would have stayed there regardless of the season. Fall, winter, spring, and even the next summer. "Oddly, when I write the novel’s text, a title page automatically appears." "A title page?" "Yeah. It has the title, the subtitle, indicates which part it is, and at the bottom, it credits Sinnoa as the author. Isn't that weird?" "Apart from that, no other powers?" "Not yet." Slurp. I sipped on the café mocha the old man prepared for me through a straw. It wasn't some cheap chocolate, but the real thing, infusing my brain with its bitter-sweet deliciousness through my tongue. I was happy. What more is happiness than this? "All that's left of the immense power that chose me as a medium is just a pseudonym." "...Yeah." "What do you think, sir? This power. If I want to, I could get rid of it by asking the platform for an edit." "Hmm." The old man rested his chin in thought. Even in his barista outfit, his pose remained unchanged for a good ten to twenty seconds. Conversations between people typically had a flow. Humanity embroidered the world with the battle of language. Thus, silence, an ‘absence of language,’ meant losing dominance over the world for humans. It was unbearable. Silence. Perhaps the most direct form of emptiness. For many, silence is uncomfortable, awkward, hard to endure. Trying to always fill that void with meaningful words is tough, which is why small talk was invented. However, the old man often, even in the midst of conversation, would respond with silence as casually as he did now. 'Does it mean he feels comfortable?’ I hoped so. Because I quite loved the moments spent sipping on the café mocha, stealing glances at his contemplative profile from the corner of my eye. "Dok-seo." "Yes." "You see, for anomalies, especially an Outer God, what do you think is the hardest, almost impossible task?" "Hmm... Love?" "Close." The old man chuckled heartily. Watching him, you couldn’t help but feel happy too. He threw that smile around so freely that I wouldn’t be surprised if he developed a [Knife Resilience III] on his belly, but since it wasn't my belly, I didn't care much. "An Outer God, and indeed a highly powerful awakened being, is someone who ultimately tries to impose their own definitions on others." "Yeah, I know that." "This. This is 'me'. My song. Me, me, me... They constantly proclaim and chant. That's the nature of anomalies." The old man said. "But if there’s something like Infinite Metagame, existing solely by a pseudonym, that allows others to judge for themselves, don't you think it’s no longer fair to call it an anomaly?" "Oh." I blinked. "So... leaving just her pseudonym, Infinite Metagame, relinquishing all other powers, does it mean she opened herself up to people?" "That's what I think." The old man said while grinding the coffee beans. "We don't know whether Ilias was truly authored by someone named Homer. We don't even know if it was written by a single person or a group. The same goes for the Notre Dame Cathedral. We know who led the design sketches, but pinpointing the architect is difficult." "Hmm..." "There is no tangible form. But we assume there is. That assumption is entirely reliant on others, which means the Outer God, Infinite Metagame, ultimately surrendered herself to humanity, whom she once scorned." "...." "Did she exist? Who was she? Was she an anomaly? Or just human? Does it even matter? She said she’d let go, but is that truly letting go?” "......" "All those decisions are now in the hands of those who are left. At the very least, that’s what Infinite Metagame must have thought." A story I've heard often before. Involuntarily, I found myself asking, "Just like how it is with you and me, right?" "......" "You've lived your life and reached your conclusions, but you’ve left how I should accept those conclusions up to me. Isn't that exactly what you just said?" "Yes. Exactly the same." He patted my head. In truth, he wasn’t someone who casually patted people's heads. He usually conveyed friendliness with a pat on the shoulder. Yet, he completely let loose with the head-patting skill on me, not because his fondness for me was exceptionally high but simply because I was an otaku. "You've gotten so smart, Dok-seo." "Hehe." I just liked it this way. 'But, can you really call someone who has let go of themselves like that a human?' A slight curiosity arose. 'Closer to a corpse than a human... Ah. But the gentleman has me, doesn’t he?' Indeed. Whether there is someone by your side or not. It’s that simple criteria that could have determined whether the anomaly that once dwelled in this laptop would turn into a corpse or remain a person. "Hmm. So, anomalies can only become human by letting go of themselves." "The term 'letting go' has a strong nuance. I’d say it’s more like doing your utmost to live fully, but not monopolizing the authority to judge that life, opening it up to others as well. That's more accurate." "Needlessly long and pretentious. Whereas 'letting go of oneself'? Short and succinct. That's the answer." "Oh dear, this so-called writer..." "Oh. By the way." As I enjoyed the fragrant aroma of coffee cascading down like weeping willow branches onto my forehead, something suddenly came to mind. "Sir." "Hmm?" "I've been meaning to confess something for a while." "......I see." Suddenly, his expression grew serious. "Dok-seo, I'm sorry, but I don’t see you as a romantic interest. How about we remain colleagues as we've always been?" "Damn it, not that kind of confession! You crazy anomaly!" Chills ran down my spine. Not because the prospect of dating him was appalling, but because I broke out in a sweat at the thought of knives itching to be wielded against me by now. No joke. 'Thank goodness Lee Ha-yul kept things under control!' Has it already been a year? The day after he discarded his awakened powers and interacted with the Udumbara to return to being human, Lee Ha-yul brandished a knife in the middle of the sports field. [Attention.] [If anyone wishes to date my father, the person must first pass a test.] For the record, Lee Ha-yul lost her powers, so she couldn’t use auras for telepathic messages or have her housekeeper doll mimic her vocal cords. In one hand, Lee Ha-yul held a knife, and in the other, a sketchbook. [The basic conditions are as follows.] Scribble, scribble. As everyone seemed at a loss, the chilling presence of the knife kept them from recklessly charging or shouting. That kid, Ha-yul, skillfully flipped the pages of the sketchbook with one hand. [First, you must permit my existence.] A voice from somewhere proclaimed, “I can do it!” It was probably that witch sister from the Three Thousand Worlds. No? Hmm. For their dignity, I won't pinpoint their identity. [But that's not all.] Ha-yul's impassive expression was majestic. [Next, you must also permit the existence of Oh Dok-seo.] [Even if she's not living in the same house, you must be willing to adopt an 'owl' who visits my father whenever she's bored, even if her average waking hour is 4 p.m.] The uproar in the sports field instantly dwindled. Truthfully, looking back, I should reveal the true journalist spirit and clarify that the person who proclaimed earlier was named Dang Seo-rin. She was a notorious tyrant who ran inspection and execution shows in the plaza without a vote. History may forget, but I, Oh Dok-seo, the reporter, will leave the truth here. [This is not the end.] [The existence of Sim Ah-ryeon must always be accepted, who perpetually indulges in social media on her smartphone, occasionally letting out insignificant laughter to herself.] [You must acknowledge that this will probably continue until the day she dies.] Silence. Now, even the sound of breathing was loud in the sports field. All eyes turned to one direction. Sim Ah-ryeon, munching on leftover cold pizza from last night’s party, was tilting her head in confusion. It was obvious what that anomaly was thinking. ‘Why are they fussing over what’s a given, acting like they’ve heard news?’ [These are the fundamental conditions.] Lee Ha-yul declared. [Anyone unable to meet and follow these conditions in officially loving my father, I am categorically opposed by principle.] What is official love anyway? Wasn't all love meant to be private? Once again, question marks hovered over everyone’s heads in the sports field. However, our Miss Lee Ha-yul’s face showed no sign of change. Well. Why would the gaze of some would-be onlookers matter to the seasoned legendary father-slayer who’s killed her legitimate father thousands of times? [To target a general, the tongue must fire first.] [My father is a triumvirate.] Swish. The final sketchbook page turned. [Now then.] [I am one part of the triumvirate, the weakest among the triad.] [Try persuading me first. Foolish beings.] ……In such a chaotic atmosphere, it was impossible to persuade. —I’m fine with it. Well. Technically, there was one person who attempted persuasion. The Saintess, Jeong Yeji, occupied the same emotionless expression quota in our returnee alliance as Lee Ha-yul and Woo Ji-won. Everyone stared at the Saintess in shock. Of course, the Saintess too possessed the nerve to casually disregard the gaze of almost any human group. Not even a blink. —After all, I have been watching over every single moment of your activities, 24/7 throughout the year, subjectively for even longer. —At this point, permission and authorization? I've been aware of all your existences from the start. —Honestly, nothing's going to change. ......! Convincing, perhaps!? [Okay.] Even Lee Ha-yul seemed to concede to the Saintess's logic, nodding her head in agreement. She put down the knife and pulled out crayons to swiftly jot something down in her sketchbook, indicating her acceptance. [But is 'watching from afar' truly the same as 'living together in the same space'?] -......? [I intend to question that sameness and difference.] Thus, cohabitation began. Not with the old man, but a triangular formation involving Lee Ha-yul, me (Oh Dok-seo), and Sim Ah-ryeon moving into the Saintess's home. A week later. —I'm sorry. The Saintess looked utterly worn out. —I relied too much on the faded memories of my past life. I’ve been too overconfident. —Next time. After I muster a little more courage and cultivate a bit more patience... I'll give it another go. —Undertaker, what sort of battles have you... No. Never mind. Yes. —Please, leave my house immediately. —Especially you, Sim Ah-ryeon. The Saintess surrendered!