Infinite Regressor, Chapter 445 - I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell

6. Life, in its essence, was always like this, yet the Undertaker felt exceptionally bewildered these days. “Did you sleep well...?” “Ah. Yes. And you, Noh Do-hwa?” There was no need to point out who was causing this confusion. After all, apart from the Undertaker himself, only one person from humanity remained on Earth. “Hm.” Noh Do-hwa, receiving a morning greeting from the bed, smiled with sleep-laden eyes. “Am I still 'Miss' Noh Do-hwa even after all this? You're quite persistently formal...” The Undertaker found himself momentarily speechless. There may be no scent to one's gaze, but from her glance, it felt as though a lemon fragrance suddenly wafted up, prompting the Undertaker to shake his head to dispel the scent clinging to his thoughts. “...In the past, I meticulously addressed you as Director Noh Do-hwa. It's still quite awkward for me.” “Hm? Well, that's interesting—but, I suppose it's none of my concern. In fact, I like it. Please, continue feeling awkward.” “...” At this point, even the Undertaker, who lived bound to the past, had no choice but to notice. 'The Noh Do-hwa before me wants to be recognized as the one and only person.' Uniqueness. Should this be called a form of transient beauty? Noh Do-hwa was calmly committing things unimaginable in previous loops. As if to say the 'data related to Noh Do-hwa' collected until now was utterly useless. For instance, even now. “Hm—.” “...” She grasped his cheeks and suddenly leaned in to kiss him. No—describing it as just a kiss would be too tame. Her actions were akin to attempting to sever his tongue. Almost as if she could not forgive the very act of him inhaling air from the world, as she only allowed him to breathe the air filtered from her own lungs. A persistent, cloying act of breath-sharing. “...” “...” Their breaths tangled, and shadows soaked into the bed. It wasn't because the clouds blocked the sunlight through the window. Their shadows overlapped, draping each other's bodies. When breath filters through breath, a toxicity seems to be retained. When bodies slip into shadows, there's a certain allure. “Today...” The shadow tilted up at the corners of her mouth. “Do you have any plans...?” “Yes, I do.” “That's great...” “May I ask why it's great?” “Because it means I have plenty of time to ruin your day again today...” Watching the shadow deepen right before his eyes, the Undertaker had a sudden thought. ‘Ah.’ He might have come to cherish this poison. 7. After putting the last human, now in an after-lunch nap, to rest, the Undertaker went down to the beach and found a woman sitting on an isolated bench. “Good morning... no, good afternoon, Undertaker.” Her hair retained a pink hue. From the Undertaker's point of view, even calling 'it' a woman felt inappropriate. How could one call a non-human a person? There could be no doubt it was an anomaly, but there weren’t even clues to guess what kind of anomaly it was. “...Go Yuri.” And so, he could just barely use a proper noun to address her. “Yes! Hwaaah. It's gotten a lot lonelier now that all the people have disappeared. Ah, Guild Leader, please sit here too.” Go Yuri shuffled to the edge of the bench and tapped the empty spot beside her. “...” The Undertaker hesitated before placing himself at the farthest edge of the bench, as far from Go Yuri as possible. Seeing this, Go Yuri chuckled, then suddenly perked up. “Oh, right. I brought a gift for you!” “A gift?” “Here it goes.” Go Yuri pulled out a sign from nowhere. Before questioning how on earth she had produced an object from thin air, she hung it around the Undertaker's neck. The sign was inscribed with elegant calligraphy: [I am a licentious and lewd failure.] “...” “Naughty things are not okay!!” Go Yuri crossed her arms to form an X, even making a beeping sound with her mouth. The Undertaker was dumbfounded. “What is this?” “Oh. My line just now. It was a parody from something. Didn’t recognize it? It might be too old. Hmm, I suppose you wouldn’t know. This Guild Leader isn’t exactly close with Oh Dok-seo.” “...Oh Dok-seo?” The Undertaker furrowed his brow. “Who is that... wait. You mean the child summoned at Busan Station?” “Yes!” “I don’t understand why you're suddenly bringing up that child. I haven’t even heard that name in millennia. Was she perhaps a follower of your anomaly?” “Sigh.” Go Yuri sighed. For some reason, being privy to that sigh made the Undertaker’s nape prickle. The source of this chill was— “Guild leader who hasn’t learned to let go of his own habits or ways, he isn't very interesting.” ――Her eyes. Usually narrowed in a smile, those eyelids were now lifted, staring intently at him. Everything seemed to freeze for a moment. “...” Blinking, Go Yuri finally looked away, and only then did the Undertaker realize he had momentarily forgotten to breathe. He also noticed he had involuntarily risen from the bench, hand gripping the pommel of his sword, ready to draw it at any moment. “...” Watching the Undertaker, who had entered a battle stance, Go Yuri once again wore a smile. “Hmm. Still, your instincts seem intact. Remarkable, in a sense. Even in this pitifully deteriorated state, your instincts haven’t died.” “You are...” The Undertaker moved his lips. In truth, he wanted to move his hands. He wished to draw his blade and slice through that neck immediately. He’d tried countless times in the past. Knowing death held no meaning for this being, he held his stance. Yet, to rein in his murderous intent, the Undertaker's heart had to labor tirelessly. “What are you?” “It's nothing at all,” Go Yuri replied. She brushed off her knees and stood up, assuming a playful boxing stance with a grin. “And everything as well.” “...” “Wow, really? You don’t know this either? That's disappointing. Kingdom of Heaven is a film that's all about the splendid marching scenes. Before you die, be sure to watch it at least once, no, make that three times. Though, the heroine isn’t quite to my taste.” Go Yuri chuckled. “Well, compared to the heroine you’re with now, she’s probably quite ordinary.” “Are you human?” “Ah, a great question. But an even better one is [Am I human?]” “...” “I haven’t lived a life as study material or rehearsal for anyone else, allowing them access to my answers. A person must always be their own question and only face life’s exams as practice isn't adequate.” What on earth was she talking about? The current Undertaker found it difficult to comprehend. Go Yuri smiled softly. “The waves.” “What?” “They're beautiful, the waves.” She gestured towards the horizon. Following her finger, he unintentionally turned his head. Waves crashed. The deep blue always a shadow in the sunlight, layered over and over, giving a depth absent from the sunlight alone. “They're beautiful,” Go Yuri said. The Undertaker too momentarily lost himself, gazing at the waves, their sound, and the infinite blue. What is beauty? “...” There is no beauty in expressing sunlight as sunlight. To call sunlight beautiful, it had to be an entire rock mass blanketed in water. A water shadow. Life had to become a tree that shaded sunlight and also let it pass. An earth shadow. Though sunlight remained sunlight, it now became the deep blue of the sea and the blue of trees. Had I not lived my life trying solely to become sunlight? All humans are born as filth and pollution. So shallow that no one could swim in it. For a stream of pollution to become the sea, it must embrace all other pollution. Otherwise, it can only become a swamp. So said Zarathustra. The Undertaker was one who remembered everything and was the longest-lived human. But whom had he ever accepted as pollution? Am I the sea now, or a swamp? These questions flitted through the Undertaker’s mind like a waking dream. When the Undertaker turned his head back, Go Yuri was gone. “...” Though always seen as strange and bizarre, somehow her disappearance did not feel out of place. And the Undertaker was certain. ‘I’ll never meet Go Yuri again.’ The Undertaker turned away from the beach. Crunch. Rustle. The sound of his steps imprinted on the sand, making him realize he felt closer to sand than the sea. “Ah. You’re back...?” In the hotel hideout, Noh Do-hwa, who had woken late, was waiting. She appeared to have been in the middle of something. She only wore a doctor’s gown. “Yes. The supplies were running low, so I gathered some provisions. By the way, what are you working on, Miss Noh Do-hwa?” “Oh, this...?” Noh Do-hwa smiled faintly. “It's your eye...” “Pardon?” “Your left eye. You mentioned that when you look at the world with only your left eye, bitter memories flash through and make daily life unbearable...?” Shake. Noh Do-hwa shook the tools and materials she was holding. Indeed, among them was a carefully carved lens. “Remove your eye.” “...” The Undertaker fell silent. After a pause, he spoke. “I regard those visions as a form of responsibility. They’re the people I’ve let go. Whether they cause joy or sorrow, it’s something I must bear.” “Well, I figured you’d have your version of such a philosophy...” Noh Do-hwa's lips parted into a smile. “But do you need it? That...?” “...” “Look only at me...” The sound of waves reached them. Even if the sunlight stopped, the waves always crashed there. ‘Ah.’ I am a swamp. Yet if there exists a night calling the stench and rot of the swamp beautiful, it might not be so bad to live—and die—as a swamp, he thought. “Yes.” The Undertaker nodded. “Please proceed with the surgery.” “...” Noh Do-hwa set down her tools and work materials. Fluttering her doctor’s gown, she approached the Undertaker, firmly hugging him. She stood on tiptoe, but it wasn’t enough. The Undertaker gently lowered his head until their breaths mingled. “Do you have plans today...?” “Not really.” “And tomorrow...?” “Tomorrow, too.” “What about the day after...?” “There’ll be none, I think.” The Undertaker lifted Noh Do-hwa lightly in his arms. Their eyes met at the same level. “Noh Do-hwa, from now on, my time is yours.” “...” There was a hint of lemon from Noh Do-hwa's lips. “In that case, you may take all of my time as well...” The next day. The Undertaker lost his left eye. In its place, the new eye always carried a faint scent of lemon.