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One message per loop.

The moment I connected to the server through that black line, my brother hijacked the circuit, seized control, perceived my loop—and used it to carry on a conversation with me, one word at a time.

Whether he could only afford one word at a time, or whether he deliberately chose to give me only one, I don't know.

…It was a very short conversation.

For a reunion after ten years. Far, far too short.

I still don't understand what my brother ultimately wanted to do.

A grudge? Forgiveness? Merging into one?

Maybe all three at once.

Though all three of them seem to have failed.

Which means he will surely come back to me again.

Someday. Somewhere in the labyrinth.

17-5. There Are No Errors in the Oracle.

I pushed aside that error window sitting at the very bottom and began rereading the error messages stacked above it.

There weren't many.

424 Failed Dependency.

425 Too Early. Too naмe.

…449 Retry With. Retry.

【Yo u r n a m e】 g i v e i t b a c k . i t i s m i n e .

That was the forty-ninth node.

To that one request alone, I answered that I could not grant it—and did not want to.

409 Conflict…….

417 Expectation Failed.

And now, one error message remained.

422 Unprocessable Entity.

…An entity that cannot be processed.

I had no choice but to stare at that error window for a long, long while. Just standing blankly in front of it, for ages.

No wires held me in place. It was as if I had taken root in that spot all on my own.

Click.

"Augh—jesus, that scared me…"

The moment I opened the server room door and stepped out into the corridor, Yoon Geonmin nearly jumped out of his skin.

"Ha… I thought you'd died in there, you took so long… What the—what's wrong with your eyes…?"

The ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠HR team employee stared at me, his brow creasing.

"Don't tell me she died? The ajumma?"

"…Yes."

"Tch. Seriously…"

Yoon Geonmin shook his head in irritation.

"See… didn't I tell you not to go in there? Why does nobody ever listen…!"

I couldn't tell why he was annoyed. Did the news that someone had actually died make him anxious after all?

In that case, he could just be honest and say he was anxious.

However much of a stranger she was to him, it was a sorry thing not to know how to offer even a token word of mourning.

"So, um… what exactly happened in there…?"

Yoon Geonmin asked cautiously, his eyes flicking between the server room door and me.

"…Hard to say. It seems she made a wrong choice."

Over the past few dozen loops, I had sent Kim Heesook into the server room first every time, so that my brother and I could speak alone, and every time, Kim Heesook died.

Whether she checked the empty box of ▢ Remember me or not.

I couldn't know whether the options that had appeared to me before my brother took control of the server had printed out identically for Kim Heesook.

But whatever the case, Kim Heesook must have chosen something wrong.

Next time we meet, I thought, maybe the two of us would go in together and find out.

"A wrong choice—like what…? No, wait, what is that on your back? Isn't that blood? Did something stab you? No—seriously, you need to start explaining things properly…"

Since I had nothing detailed to explain, I simply looked at him in silence, and Yoon Geonmin's voice trailed off.

"Wh-where are you going?"

"The offices over there."

What I had chosen was Unlock.

By now, power would be flowing into the door locks of the General Affairs Team office.

"Over there?"

Yoon Geonmin hurried to catch up, planting himself half in front of me.

"No—what are you even going to do in there…? Is your life really worth nothing to you? And I'm telling you, there's nothing in those ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠offices."

"Did you check the Finance and Accounting Team and General Affairs offices too?"

"Huh? Ah—ah, no, I didn't. But our team really didn't have anything, that part's true."

And it wouldn't have anything, would it, after you'd already picked it clean?

Instead of tilting my head, I nodded.

"I see. Then I'll look everywhere except there."

"Uh-huh. Right. Sure…"

Yoon Geonmin nodded quickly in relief—then jerked back to life and tagged along after me.

"No, wait, that's not the point. But seriously, what do you even expect to find in there…!"

"I'm going because I don't know."

Maybe there really was nothing there.

The labyrinth does love playing games with people.

Just as I thought.

The door lock had power. A locking mechanism that took both a keypad and a card tag.

"Mr. Yoon Geonmin."

"What. I'm not going in."

"Then could you at least tag your employee badge for me?"

"…No. Something could happen to me too, you know."

It sounded like an excuse, but it wasn't a baseless guess. In ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a labyrinth, it really could work like that.

Beep.

"What the—where'd you get that?"

Beep― beep―. A red light. A warning tone.

"Administrator? And who's that supposed to be?"

Clunk.

It wouldn't open.

At the very least, it was confirmed that an employee badge alone wasn't getting us in.

"Don't tell me… you grabbed the ajumma's earlier? But you said she died…"

"Yes. She has passed on."

I leaned over the door lock and examined it closely. The shape was a little different from a household keypad lock, but the layout of the number pad itself wasn't so different.

"No, so you're saying you stole a dead woman's things. In the middle of all this…?"

"Isn't it better than stealing from the living, in the middle of all this?"

"That's not— what are you, exactly… could you possibly be―"

"―this keypad. Do the numbers always have letters written under them?"

"Huh? Sorry?"

When I pointed at the keypad, Yoon Geonmin too peered at the door lock with an uneasy look, nudging ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up his glasses. Beneath the blue-glowing digits, tiny letters of the alphabet were printed.

"…I don't think they did. I just tap my card and walk in every day, so I've never really looked."

In that case…

That hint.

"Ha."

Root, as in the root of a plant.

Recognition failed. Administrator required. That was also the term for the system-level root administrator of a certain operating system.

And as it happened, quite coincidentally, the question of who you are…

…was also the riddle that thing had always thrown at me, every time I lost my way in the maze.

I reached out my hand without hesitation.

"Uh, uhh… um, excuse me?"

Beep, beep-beep, beep-beep, beep. ROOT.

"You do know what you're pressi―"

―Brrring! Clack!

The cheerful chime of a lock releasing.

"…Excuse me, but what exactly are you?"

"Good question. What am I…"

"Oh, come on, quit messing with me."

Yoon Geonmin looked at me with an expression of faint discomfort.

"Could you be a Red Weaver? There's been talk going around that they're recruiting Red Weavers this time. And not a transfer from some other guild—a completely fresh face. Right? That's you, isn't it? And that story about taking the Agent interview was a lie too, wasn't it? Because of the confidentiality?"

"And what would change if I were?"

Whoosh.

Partly to brush Yoon Geonmin off, I opened the door to the General Affairs office and walked straight in.

"Ah, of course it changes! What kind of question is that?"

…He's following me in.

"I know competitive-type and invasive-type are a little different, but honestly, being alongside a Red Weaver is a whole lot more reassuring."

So this one was the type to call contact-type labyrinths competitive-type, too. Like CPA Choi Jaeha.

The name competitive-type means exactly what it says—a form in which two parties face off and contend with each other. The universe cradling our Earth, and the labyrinth universe beyond the fissures.

"Red Weavers train mainly in their signature patterns, so there's no guarantee they'll perform in other contact-type labyrinths, let alone invasive ones. You of all people should know that, Mr. Yoon Geonmin."

Contact-type means the two universes touch through a fissure—that is, press up against each other. Which is what makes it the neutral term.

"Aigoo, of course I know that. Still, it's true they're better than regular people, isn't it? They've got good reflexes."

The view of the labyrinth as an opponent isn't exactly wrong.

The labyrinth takes the lives of Earth's creatures that enter it, and the humans who enter the labyrinth take away its objects—the ones they've named Relics.

Even if the labyrinth bears humans no particular malice.

"Yes, but I'm not a Red Weaver."

"Come on, you're still worried about confidentiality in this situation? When nobody knows how any of this ends?"

"Yes. I've told you clearly that I'm not."

"Yeah, yeah. Got it."

And later he'd raise hell about how I'd deceived him.

Well, that wouldn't be my fault.

Humoring Yoon Geonmin with half an ear, I swept my gaze across the General Affairs office.

"Honestly, there's nothing here, is there. I figured some weird monster or something would pop out…"

True to his word, there really was nothing that stood out.

So it had just been meant to wear people down after all? A pointless prank?

Still, there had to be something. Even something trifling…

Thud.

"Whoa—oof."

Yoon Geonmin, instead of opening drawers, had been pawing at the tops of other people's desks here and there, and finally sent a stack of file folders clattering to the floor.

From among them, I picked up the most eye-catching one—a yellow file folder.

It looked exactly like the Wager Ledger folder that Do-ssi, that gambler of a die, had tossed to me once before.

On the white title field, in immaculate lettering:

Just an ordinary General Affairs Team work folder.

Facilities management was one of General Affairs' duties, after all.

Managing the schedule of which hours the third-floor conference room was reserved as an interview room—that was General Affairs work too.

…Hold on.

Snap.

I snatched the folder back off the desk.

"Hm? What is it?"

Facility management items?

Not facility management personnel?