Chapter 79
Chapter 79
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 79
Chapter Title: Purgatory (9)
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Those who touch Purgatory become trapped in an eternal past, endlessly repeating only their horrific memories.
But if one escapes from that Purgatory,
they become no different from a superhuman armed with an ironclad mind.
Having overcome the past, such a person can live out the remainder of their life with a spirit more refined than anyone's.
Free from any stray thoughts, everything they do falls into place effortlessly.
The people who witnessed such superhumans unanimously called that place a trial ground.
A mysterious realm where one becomes stronger simply by passing through somehow.
But was it truly worthy of being called a trial?
Cheon-do harbored doubts. She could assert with certainty.
Those who called this place's ordeal a "trial" had no interest in the stories of those who never escaped Purgatory.
No, since the dead cannot speak, it would be more accurate to say they simply didn't know.
"……."
Cheon-do closed her eyes and pondered.
'A rather alien power.'
The mana she had drawn out through Winterberry had already permeated every corner of the dungeon.
No matter how weakened she was, she was still the Heavenly Demon. She could faintly sense the old man's presence here.
The mana forming the dungeon and the old man's authority.
'A power I knew... as expected.'
It was a fearsome authority.
Having experienced it once before, she knew her suspicions were correct.
The power wielded by the old man was strikingly similar to what she had suffered as a child.
Therefore, what Lee Si-heon was going through... would surely be the same as her own.
The experience of being locked in the past. It wouldn't be easy.
No matter how much one tried to flee, there was no escaping it—a place more fittingly called hell than a trial.
'A true Heavenly Demon turns peril into opportunity as easily as flipping their palm.'
Recalling her master's priceless words, Cheon-do clasped her hands together as if in prayer.
'He must succeed.'
To break free from the World Tree's power. To uproot the accursed roots of the trees embedded in the core of Lee Si-heon's soul.
He had to let go of the status window.
****
"…Ah."
I had a nightmare.
I'd sworn to forget all of it, so why did it keep resurfacing?
On a quiet evening as the sun set, I groaned and sat up, wiping my sweat-drenched face with my clammy hands.
'Phone.'
Instinctively, I groped around beside the mattress for my phone.
In the process, the back of my hand knocked over a cola can. The cigarette ash piled on top spilled everywhere.
I ignored it and grabbed my phone, naturally opening the community site to check the post I'd written.
-This is fun?
└Yeah, give me more.
└Fucking hilarious
Reviewing an obscure game was incredibly enjoyable.
I got to play games I liked, increased the player base, and even helped promote the game. A total win-win-win.
I skimmed the comments, got up, and sat down at my computer.
The rotten hikikomori's reflection stared back at me from the monitor.
-Throb.
A strange thought flashed through my mind once more.
It felt like I was failing to recall something crucially important that I mustn't forget.
'Shit.'
A curse bubbled up unbidden.
'Cheon-do... Se-young?'
Names that sounded familiar yet eluded memory followed one after another.
Who the hell were they?
I tilted my head and glanced at the window. A gaping hole punched through the dark sky.
-Whirr!
The computer tower hummed to life, interrupting my thoughts.
For some reason, even the mouse reeked of stale incense. I reached for it and spent time pointlessly surfing the internet.
-Click, click.
Playing games or chuckling at the occasional humorous post online—such were my days.
By vulgar standards, I'd been living the hikikomori life for quite a while.
Social misfit?
I had no complaints or grudges about this existence. Even if there was a reason for it, I didn't particularly want to blame it.
But if I had to pinpoint a reason... well.
My mother said I was extremely lively as a child.
Always at the front of the pack, shouting at the top of my lungs that I'd follow in Dad's footsteps.
That was something only a kid could say. Looking back now, it was all nonsense. Hilarious. Succeeding a congressman father? Might as well say I'd follow him to prison.
A bitter smile tugged at my lips as I clicked the mouse.
-Click.
"……."
Suddenly, an old memory surfaced.
I started becoming taciturn in the fourth grade of elementary school.
Mom said she didn't know why, but of course she wouldn't. I never told her.
Thank goodness I was quick on the uptake from a young age.
-Click.
Honestly... as a kid, I thought Dad was a saint.
I wondered why his broad back always looked so proud and admirable.
I'd even harbored youthful dreams of becoming like him someday.
And Dad supported me wholeheartedly.
-See a lot and learn.
Acquire a broader perspective and act shrewdly. That was Dad's constant advice.
The hellish studying began when I entered elementary school.
Dad was a near-genius navigating the political world, and as his son, I was no slouch at desk work.
Top of the class always. The envy of everyone.
If that's what they call a prodigy, then sure, I was one.
'That was back then.'
But I matured far too early.
Beneath my cheerfulness and mischief, I learned too young how to hide the truth.
The first time I saw through Dad's facade was then.
When my neighbor friend's parents died—people who'd lived next door since childhood.
Only I noticed how strange Dad seemed that day.
Wet hair, a peculiar smell at his nostrils. A furrowed brow as if he'd just done something momentous. His ever-perfect handkerchief askew, but only that day.
The parents of my friend who died that day were deeply connected to Dad.
Politically opposed—his enemy, perhaps.
The truth behind what was staged as a suicide—I vaguely grasped it before anyone else.
That Dad had killed them. I was half-convinced.
Soon after, I found irrefutable proof in Dad's study. After agonizing torment, I decided to let it lie.
I knew what Dad's angry face looked like.
It terrified and repulsed me, so I forced myself to ignore it and return to school.
...That day, in the class that had always been fun,
I could only painfully watch my friend collapse after losing his parents.
Even though I could have spoken the truth, instinct made me evade it.
Fear that it might turn against me, a desire to believe in Dad—maybe I rationalized it as "just maybe."
What I can say for sure now is that I shouldn't have done that back then.
If I truly wanted to live righteously, I should have revealed the truth.
But knowing that, I still pretended not to know out of fear of exposing it.
In the end, my closest desk mate left my side forever.
-Click.
Strength gathered in the index finger tapping the mouse.
Recalling the white flowers placed at my childhood friend's seat brought a heavy emotion surging in my chest.
After that day, I couldn't talk to anyone.
Writhing in guilt and self-loathing left me too overwhelmed to even converse with my parents.
Depression and hallucinations.
I wandered between hospitals for years like that.
I ran away, you could say. In middle school, fearing "what if," I built walls around relationships. Even if someone talked to me, it was only superficial chit-chat—nothing deepened.
Throughout middle school, I lived a shameful life lost in pointless fantasies.
That's when Dad gave up expectations of me, and when I started wasting time on comics and games.
It didn't matter anymore... that was the reason I became a hikikomori.
The doctors blamed excessive expectations and grueling studies, but that was all bullshit.
Reality was, it was my fault for not getting proper mental treatment, fabricating the story instead.
Time passed, and Dad got arrested for various reasons. He'd made too many enemies.
With my reputation already tanking from being taciturn, the school image plummeted further, branded as "the politician's son."
I got shit on, over and over, even cried reading online stories about me once.
Sometimes I thought it was karma for my childhood mistake coming back.
My shattered mind sought stability elsewhere.
I piled on hobbies, forced quirky outbursts for levity—but only in private, where no one saw.
Doing things others wouldn't dream of, then packaging it as "curiosity."
Claiming I was always deeply curious about weird stuff since childhood.
Using that nonsensical "selective curiosity" as a shield for my eccentricities.
By college, I'd mostly fixed that personality—increased social circle, even dated.
But someone who'd avoided communication for six years couldn't hold real conversations. Ended up half-assing it, broke up with my girlfriend, and holed up in my room again.
'I knew it all along.'
I had tons of problems.
'No regrets.'
That time I couldn't step up. I regret it immensely.
I was just a petty coward, busy running away.
Unlike that man who saw talent in a nobody and staked his life on it.
-Throb.
My head hurt again.
Why today of all days? I ended up reminiscing, tracing back the past I'd tried to ignore.
Was the regret that deep? Clinging to long-past events made me laugh at myself.
'I want to go back.'
Still, such pointless thoughts arose.
A life full of mistakes—like tightening one screw would make it work, but everything was already tangled.
-Slide.
I opened the drawer beside the desk. Inside was a photo frame that shouldn't have been there.
A faded childhood drawing hidden in the frame showed a kid boldly grinning, scribbled with circles and lines like fern hands.
'I.'
At the very least, like the kid in the picture.
'Wanted to live without shame.'
I looked back. A chill wind pierced my waist coldly.
'That turned out to be the hardest.'
Who was I talking to? I let out a hollow laugh like a mad clown.
Life can't go back to the past.
I knew that better than anyone.
Alone in the chair, I hunched over, curling up.
-Click.
The final cursor sound echoed pitifully in the room. I stared blankly at the screen's reflection.
[Tree Fuck After-Action Report]
A familiar humorous post title, for some reason.
It caught the eye of the me who'd justified eccentricities with feigned curiosity.
As I moved the cursor toward that title, it felt like some connection linked up somewhere.
'……?'
Déjà vu widened my eyes. Goosebumps prickled.
-You've lived quite a unfortunate life.
-Well, yeah, you could say that.
-But... my eyes don't lie.
An unfamiliar voice hammered into my ears.
-You definitely weren't a courageous guy. But whatever the standards in your world, I don't know.
My dry throat clenched shut.
-In my eyes, you seem plenty kind.
I pressed a hand to my face, bewildered for a long while by words that soothed my weary heart—words I didn't know when I'd heard them.
-You don't cover up your mistakes. Even things many would forget and move past, you tormented yourself with. Afraid it might repeat, you distanced yourself from people.
-That's not it. I just couldn't adapt.
-Sometimes believing others helps with reflection too. And don't interrupt your master. I'm speaking now, aren't I?
-Lee Si-heon.
How does this person know my name?
After repeated agonizing, one name flashed through my mind.
-I won't tell you to forget what you consider your sin. Only you know your heart. Lecturing on it would be arrogant. So as your master, this is all I can say.
Cheon-do.
-Just do better from now on, right?
Hunched over the desk, I closed my eyes.
Slowly, like a flower blooming, my clenched fists trembled with surging emotion.
-There are too many humans in the world who can't even manage that much.
-Am I allowed to?
-Of course.
In the past,
that goddamn single-room hellhole where I rotted away doing nothing.
I'd lived there.
Before my eyes was the me from that day onward—desperately avoiding harm to others, expecting no change.
Fuzzy memories returned.
I recalled everything I'd forgotten after going to the other world.
Crimes, obsessions.
Choices I wouldn't have made otherwise.
-Then I'll ask again. When you go there, remember my question.
To that final question, I answered.
-Who the hell are you really?
Crackle.
It was the moment a crack split the holey sky.