Infinite Regressor, Chapter 456 - I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell

5. Double Standards. This inherent human nature—[When I do it, it's romance; when others do it, it's adultery]—because it is destiny, beckoned a challenger to overcome it. 'Right. Isn't it a problem you can solve by thinking simply?' A challenger against destiny. His name was the Undertaker. ‘When I go on vacation, I ignore the world-ending threats and indulge myself fully. Seo Gyu suffers. In fact, Seo Gyu is a victim who has died dozens of times due to my deliberate indifference.’ The Undertaker acquired a tranquil mindset, akin to a Zen monk who had reached enlightenment. ‘I shall adopt the mindset of Seo Gyu.’ The so-called Seo Gyu theory. Think about it. When Seo Gyu's neck was turned into a watermelon under the summer sun in a Japanese animation, did he truly blame the Undertaker? No, he did not. Seo Gyu died without knowing a thing. That ignorance was a salvation to the Undertaker during vacation times. ‘I too shall become ignorant in front of the Saintess, just like Seo Gyu!’ The very next day after the counseling session ended. The Saintess, appearing to break free from all previous worries and turmoil, shamelessly cast more [Time Stops]. "Heh, yip." With significantly lighter and more playful movements than before, she lifted Sim Ah-ryeon. For context, Sim Ah-ryeon was initially positioned in the Undertaker's lap when she was caught in the [Time Stop]. The Undertaker’s lap and back were like public commodities, claimed by Lee Ha-yul or Sim Ah-ryeon regardless of any descriptive sentence. "Whew. All moved… Sim Ah-ryeon, you weigh slightly more than you appear." If Ah-ryeon had heard this, the next piece of art would be painted with her blood. The Undertaker thought to himself. Strictly to himself. Viewed objectively, the current physical state of the Undertaker was as serene as the Buddha statue in Seokguram, worthy of being listed as a UNESCO World Heritage Site merely on appearance. "Eek." With the feel of pressing down softly on sponge cake, the Saintess settled herself. The moment she sat on the Undertaker's lap, she was slightly surprised. "…… It's more spacious than I thought. Well. Every now and then, I did think it was large." "……." The mindset of Seo Gyu! "And it's incredibly firm. Is this what the legs of someone who exercises earnestly feel like? It’s fascinating, almost like a different life form." "……." Only the mindset of Seo Gyu! 'No. Wait a second. Isn't there a risk this might sound like Seo Gyu and the Saintess are together?' Though it could lead to numerous controversies, the seasoned regressor Undertaker promptly resolved the dilemma. ‘Right, I was meant to learn from the decapitated Seo Gyu’s mindset, so it doesn’t matter after all.’ Only the mindset of the decapitated Seo Gyu! Indeed, by now anyone could perceptibly grasp that the Undertaker’s level of enlightenment was nowhere near that of an enlightened monk. He was desperately spouting nonsense to distract himself by monologuing. No matter how much of an aura prodigy he was, performing the feats of 'holding breath,' 'freezing movement,' 'stopping heart palpitations,' 'ignoring sensations from the lap,' and 'suppressing emotional changes' in multi-tasking fashion was no easy endeavor. "Oh. Right. I wanted to try this too." Now, it might have been time to stop. However, having received affirmation from her one-on-one session with the Undertaker that `you're fine` and `let’s stick to the current path`, the Saintess felt invincible. She trotted off somewhere. Thirty minutes later, she trotted back holding a hairbrush. Plenty of hairbrushes were already available around. Even Sim Ah-ryeon, who experienced the swift power of teleportation by the Saintess, had one. Nonetheless, the Saintess made a hurried trip through the Inunaki Tunnel to retrieve hers, sticking to her principle of strictly distinguishing between her belongings and others’. So why does she behave differently with the Undertaker? As reiterated, his body was largely public property. Had this world been a yuri genre and the protagonist's gender had been different, the yuri genius certification mark would have been showered upon him abundantly (and the count of bad endings multiplied vastly). To return to the matter at hand. "Here, um... Yes. Like this." The Saintess meticulously arranged the Undertaker’s fingers. As a result of her efforts, the hairbrush ended up in his hand, not hers. The Undertaker absent-mindedly mused— is this how a game character feels when equipment is forcibly equipped by the player? "Hmm." Creak, creak. After a bit more manipulation, his arm angle finally achieved the appropriate stance. Wearing an expression of immense satisfaction, the Saintess began the hair-tousling and brushing ceremony. "……." "Hmm. Hmm hmm, hmm." A short pause. As mentioned earlier, the Saintess had settled on the Undertaker's lap. No matter how delicately she adjusted his arm joints, she wasn’t a puppet master. In the unembellished fact, given the [Time Stop] power, she didn’t possess the authority to impose gentle hair strokes on the Undertaker. Yet, by demanding the most favored nation treatment from him, as she did with Sim Ah-ryeon—by insisting to be petted herself—a position inevitably arose. Hop. Hop hop. Indeed. The Undertaker's arm and hand, most notably the hairbrush, were fixed sturdily in the air. Only the Saintess raised and lowered her head repeatedly, hopping and landing on the Undertaker’s lap, creating the miraculous self-achievement of head-tousling. Has there ever been a figure in history who accomplished the cliché of a gentle head stroke in such a pitiful way? Let alone, someone who used the overwhelming [Time Stop] power for such trivial matters? Undoubtedly, no. 'Saintess….' Faced with this monumental historical moment, the Undertaker felt his consciousness about to drift away. ‘No, no. Saintess, what are you saying? Didn’t I just have my head explode by the tutorial fairy? Like Seo Gyu’s mindset. Just a headless corpse.’ The Undertaker reined in his runaway thoughts and brought his mind back from the brink. He contemplated the Saintess's suffering—how her mind eroded and trust in humanity frayed under constant surveillance over the Korean Peninsula, 24/7, year-round. If her mental burden could be eased through such "play," wouldn't that be fortunate? ‘Feel free to use me like a theme park ride, Saintess. I am merely a rock placed here by chance. If this playground of mine helps you in even the slightest way with your peace of mind, that brings me joy.’ "Uh, um..." Soon enough, the Saintess, with her lack of stamina, began panting. She even started to sweat. "Something... something, hmm. I feel like this isn’t quite right..." 'As expected.' "That was a very strenuous move. Why do Sim Ah-ryeon and the Undertaker repeat this daily, and why do they seem pleased with it...?" 'Because it's a completely different action.' "Perhaps it’s not such a remarkable act after all. Maybe realizing this fact today alone makes it a worthwhile experience." ‘You’re genuinely pleased, aren’t you, Saintess?’ Regardless, under the Undertaker’s silence, the Saintess was able to relieve her stress. And as difficult as it might be for the Undertaker to admit… he was secretly enjoying this bizarre situation as well. If you can’t avoid it, enjoy it. Wasn’t that always the Undertaker’s ancient motto? "Good morning, Undertaker. It’s a fine morning." "Yes. A good morning to you too, Saintess. Are you enjoying your early-morning walk today as well?" "Yes, it’s become my routine to leave home, walk through the tunnel, and have some coffee." For instance, just like now. Barely an hour ago, the pair embarked on a groundbreaking journey in the realm of head-patting. But as soon as [Time Stop] was disabled, as if history had never been rewritten, the Saintess visited the café hideout with an impeccably calm demeanor. “I’ll prepare your coffee right away. Please wait a moment.” "Yes, take your time." The regressor couldn’t help but admire the Saintess's unflinching expression. ‘…Now that I look at it, the Saintess's acting skill rivals mine.’ Or was it not an act at all? Briefly, the Undertaker came close to dismissing the events of an hour prior as a maliciously implanted delusion by some anomalous force. "Here it is." "Ah, yes. With gratitude, I shall—?" She paused. The Saintess’s eyes wavered slightly at the sight of the coffee the Undertaker had prepared. Understandably, her choice was predictable. A stick of Maxim coffee with half a teaspoon of cinnamon. As such, the Saintess enjoyed the charming notion of never needing to state her order, enjoying the luxury of "Barista, the usual." But resting before her now was—none other than a café mocha, topped with whipped cream and laden with thick chocolate syrup. It was, unmistakably, Sim Ah-ryeon’s favorite order. "……." Moreover, not too long ago, the Saintess borrowed the playground frequently used by Sim Ah-ryeon while the world was under [Time Stop]. Thump thump. The Saintess's heart began to race. “Um, Undertaker, this is…?” “Oh. My apologies. It seems some mice got into the Maxim supplies and chewed on them,” the Undertaker replied with a light chuckle, offering the prepared response with ease. “Though there were intact items, I couldn’t serve coffee from compromised stock to you, Saintess. I’ll bring in fresh supplies tomorrow, so why not enjoy something different today?” “Ah…” “Coincidentally, the chocolate syrup turned out nicely this time. Perhaps because Sword Marquess showed extra care while helping with the process? It's less sweet and has a deep flavor.” “Is that so?” Thump thump. The Saintess, also adept at aura manipulation, erected a soundproof barrier around her chest the moment she realized her heart was beating out of the ordinary range. Thump thump. The same went for the Undertaker. No matter how legendary an actor he might be, second only to Joshua von Arnim, he had never attempted such a jest on someone as earnest as the Saintess. Time stopped again. Noticing the shift to black-and-white at once, the Undertaker halted his facial muscles with a slight smile. The Saintess sprang up and dashed away, likely to verify the state of the barista’s ingredient storeroom. But it was in vain. ‘I’ve already laid my plans, Saintess.’ The Undertaker, like a serpent, deftly extended his aura to convincingly mimic mouse-gnawed coffee packets. He didn’t even leave the damaged goods in the storeroom—they had been tossed to the waste bin instead. Sticking to the character premise that “the Undertaker wouldn't leave compromised ingredients for customer service untended,” he remained loyal to his role. The devil's in the details, as they say, and the Undertaker was nothing short of devilish. "……." Sure enough, upon witnessing the evidence firsthand, the Saintess returned from the storeroom with an unfathomably stoic expression. “Just a coincidence… it must be, right?” Muttering to herself as she resettled at the table. “Yes, it’s a coincidence. Certainly, a coincidence. There’s no way the Undertaker could have remembered this morning’s events and deliberately served me Sim Ah-ryeon’s café mocha, is there…?” No way, she whispered to herself. "It must not be." “…….” “……Remove [Time Stop].” Color flowed back into the world. Both the Undertaker and the Saintess resumed the same posture as before time stopped. The Saintess, suppressing the tremors in her hands, gracefully took a sip of the café mocha. “How is it?” The Undertaker inquired nonchalantly. “Occasionally trying something different isn’t bad, is it?” “……Yes. As you mentioned, the chocolate syrup isn’t overly sweet, so it’s nice.” Thump thump. Thump thump. “Now I understand why Sim Ah-ryeon likes it.” “When you alternate between eating the whipped cream separately or mixing it in, the taste changes again. The ability to adjust the flavor concentration as one desires is a charm of café mocha-style coffee.” “Ah… it’s true.” Thump thump. Thump thump. The Saintess looked at the Undertaker. He returned her gaze with an innocent smile. The Undertaker looked at the Saintess. She faintly smiled back. ‘Undertaker, could it be?’ ‘I know nothing.’ There was a depth to their glances. Therefore, a silent underwater warfare had to be happening beneath those depths. ‘Isn’t it?’ ‘Could it be?’ ‘If it truly is, then why?’ ‘What if I'm merely enjoying the game as well?’ ‘I can’t be discovered. If fate intends for this clandestine affair to be exposed, it must be—’ ‘You who first raises the flag of surrender.’ Clink. The Saintess set her cup down. Simultaneously, time stopped. "……." This time, she didn't dart elsewhere. Instead, she drew closer. The Undertaker was in the middle of sipping his café au lait. With a determined expression, the Saintess lifted her own coffee cup. Subtly. Without making it obvious, she took a small, very discreet sip of the Undertaker's café au lait. "……!!" The sheer audacity and depth of her tactics sent shivers down the Undertaker’s spine. ‘So that's it. If I now drink my coffee as though nothing happened, it manifests!’ An indirect kiss. The quintessential follow-up cliché to a first affectionate head pat. There’s a reason clichés endure, and the Undertaker was currently experiencing the sacred law enforcing them firsthand. Gulp. He swallowed not down his throat, but through the pit of his heart. ‘If I show even the slightest hint of awkwardness here…’ Time resumed. Play. The Undertaker, without a trace of discomfort or hesitation, lifted his coffee cup to take a sip of the café au lait. Without altering the angle. His lips landed exactly on the spot where the Saintess had deliberately, attentively placed hers. "………!!" Once more, a rapid [Time Stop]. The Saintess swiftly retrieved the cup from the Undertaker's hand, hastily wiping the rim with her sleeve. Huff, huff, huff. Her breathing, rhythmic and controlled, rippled with tension. "……." Again, she looked at him. "……." And of course, he was looking back at her. ‘Why? Undertaker, why do this?’ ‘To whom are you speaking?’ ‘……The truth doesn’t matter. Whether it is or isn’t true, I can't afford to yield.’ ‘The same goes for me.’ A duel between two masters of deception. With no clear victors, only the less defeated and the more defeated were left standing in this miraculous face-off.