Chapter 68
Chapter 68
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Translator: uly
Chapter: 68
Chapter Title: How to Survive as the Second Son of a Magical Noble House
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“…….”
I staggered without realizing it, and Narke steadied my back with a light touch.
Until now, I had only considered the Pleroma itself in its completed form. Seeing an ordinary human turn into one firsthand came as a shock.
My voice slipped out unconsciously.
“…You’re Genda Asman, right?”
“Yes, that’s me.”
He continued speaking, maintaining his smile.
“Is this about something important? It’s raining, so please come in first.”
* * *
Narke scanned the room with a rigidly stiffened expression.
Unlike our previous visit, every family photo that had dotted the space was gone.
But beyond that, his attitude was what truly surprised us.
‘Does he not remember us?’
That seemed the most likely explanation.
Reviving a sixty-year-old as their twenty-year-old self would mean losing those forty years of memory afterward.
And if he did remember us by some slim chance, and it posed a problem, Narke would have warned me beforehand.
Genda Asman set the teacup down on the table. A sharp mint aroma wafted through the air.
“So, what brings you here?”
“A few days ago, I interviewed Genda Asman, and some follow-up questions came up, so I decided to visit in person.”
“Ah, the interview.”
He narrowed his eyes and gave us a quick once-over, then smiled with what seemed like regret.
“I’m afraid I can’t provide answers. And the reason you’re here is probably my grandmother, Genda Asman… She passed away a few days ago.”
—“…No, it’s you.”
Narke stared straight into his eyes as he spoke.
He had no choice.
There was a clear contradiction in the man’s words.
From our conversation with them just days ago, Genda Asman’s entire family had died back when they were young—before their children had even reached adulthood.
People in this era typically married in their twenties or thirties, so there was no way he could have grandchildren.
“I see. My condolences on your loss. I feel guilty for stirring up memories of her at a time like this.”
“No, not at all. It’s actually comforting to know there are people who remember her kindness and seek her out.”
“Were you close to her, Mr. Asman?”
“Yes. I didn’t see her often, but she was like a spiritual pillar to me—someone I’ve always been proud of.”
Genda Asman beamed with evident satisfaction.
“…….”
It seemed Pleroma even scripted post-revival scenarios.
I wanted to tell him to work on his acting.
Accepting death as a blessing wasn’t strange in itself, but if you were putting on a performance, leaning into universality was smarter than airing personal philosophies. Smiling brightly about a respected grandparent’s fatal accident would only arouse suspicion.
I turned to Genda Asman.
“By the way, it seems you share her name.”
“It’s fairly common to take names from parents or grandparents.”
“If I may ask, how old are you?”
Asman fell silent for a moment before replying.
“Twenty-five. Why do you ask?”
That pause grated on me.
He’d clearly just double-checked his own age.
“No particular reason. You just seem around my age.”
“You said Felix Baizel? How old are you, Mr. Baizel?”
“Twenty-three.”
That made me twenty-four in Korean age.
We’d settled on it after discussing with my friends, but considering I was technically a high school sophomore, it felt a bit of a stretch.
Still, my face hadn’t changed much in my memories even if my style had, so a little inflation like this wasn’t implausible.
“And the person with you?”
“Yes.”
“I see. A new media outlet—good luck with it.”
Asman said as he read the business card I’d given him.
He seemed to be running out of small talk, so I got to the point.
“I have a question for you, Mr. Asman. It won’t make it into any article—just a casual one, so feel free to answer honestly.”
“Go ahead.”
“Do you plan to continue the sponsorship work your grandmother was involved in?”
“You mean the Hairigenji Orphanage.”
He rubbed his chin and nodded.
“Of course. Someone has to carry on her legacy. She had no family left besides me and my older brother.”
This was it.
Yes, he had no intention of abandoning the orphanage.
Pleroma didn’t engage in charity.
Paying a price for revival—for the blessing—was only natural.
He would offer the orphanage’s children to Pleroma as sacrifices.
Staring into his clear eyes—so different from the ones I’d seen days ago—I asked.
“You have an older brother, then. What does he think about the orphanage sponsorship?”
“Who knows. Lately, business is all he cares about.”
Genda Asman chuckled.
“…….”
I fought desperately to keep my expression from darkening.
Avin Asman had become Pleroma too, without a doubt.
The man I’d met days ago had stepped away from business and was living off earnings from his youth.
‘…He’s reverted to his twenties mindset.’
Of course. They’d been revived to that era.
I had no idea what principle made revival reset everything to their younger days… but these weren’t the people I’d met before. Forty years was enough time for a person to reinvent themselves several times over.
The Empire had changed dramatically in those forty years too.
Adapting seamlessly to a world turned upside down was astonishing.
Revival or not, for them, it was effectively a time leap.
Even I, when I first arrived here, had barely managed carefree smiles in those initial weeks.
Yet he smiled with utter ease, showing no hint of disconnection—like his daily life was as serene and unchanged as yesterday’s.
‘There must have been benefits and shocks to match.’
They’d been granted rewards worth skipping forty years—ones that could shatter their old, frustrating lives.
Pleroma’s doctrinal indoctrination was part of it, no doubt. But if it also fulfilled their deepest desires?
Before they’d resigned to an immutable reality—back when they’d once dreamed, ‘I wanted to be a magician’…
“What are your thoughts on magic? It’s a bit off-topic, but we’re planning a special feature on social reform. We’d love to hear how people view a world that revolves around magic.”
“Without magic, our world wouldn’t have advanced so quickly. It might differ from your view, Mr. Baizel, but I don’t think the current system is broken—unfair in spots, maybe, but not wrong.”
“…Then, have you ever wanted to become a magician yourself, Mr. Genda Asman?”
The same table as days ago. The same seat. The same man. The same question.
I couldn’t help recalling the old man’s answer from before—his trembling hands clasped in mine, his faded eyes still holding that stubborn fire as he spoke to us.
His gaze, overlaying his younger self onto a non-magician youth who longed for magic, remained vivid.
‘…Please.’
I clasped my fist tight, praying to whatever force might listen.
Then, after a moment’s thought, Genda Asman broke into a bright grin, wrinkling his nose.
“Of course! If I had the chance, I’d love to. Honestly, life as a non-magician isn’t easy. If I could wield even a scrap of magic… at least I wouldn’t be treated like some inferior human.”
“…….”
Narke bit his lip.
His tense shoulders slackened on their own.
Energy drained from me as I looked away from him.
Let me correct that. He was no longer the same person.
The old man I’d seen days ago was gone—dead. The man before me was a separate being, severed from him.
‘It feels like I’m at a funeral.’
I replied quietly.
“I understand.”
“No notes?”
“It’s fine. I’ll sort out the quick back-and-forth later.”
I took down Asman’s contact information and headed back to the dorms in silence.
Narke did the same.
After a long drive bringing us near the school, Narke finally spoke.
—“Desecration of the dead. Would Asman have wanted this?”
—“Yeah.”
He never would have chosen to live as a Pleroma lackey.
Their youthful yearning for magic ran deeper than I’d anticipated.
Narke let out a bitter sigh he couldn’t hide. Then he turned to me.
—“Lucas, I dug up something today. Meet in the student union basement at midnight. I’ll bring Leo and Elias.”
* * *
I wrapped up the purification of the four agreed-upon countries and returned to school just before midnight.
In the capital and Bayern alike, armed magicians prowled the streets with grim faces.
A week had passed since Pleroma’s incident, but foot traffic remained sharply down compared to before.
From my dorm, I glanced at the outside scenery, skimmed the day’s paper, and warped to the meeting spot.
Elias looked up.
“You’re here.”
The three were already seated. Their faces were dour—likely from prior talk of Pleroma.
Sure enough, the article on the Hairigenji deaths lay open on the desk.
Narke straightened from his lean.
“Now that Lucas is here, let’s get into it.”
“Yeah.”
“As you all know, Pleroma grant unique abilities to each member. Meaning actual Pleroma, not just lay followers.”
First-generation Pleroma, in other words.
Those who didn’t just preach the doctrine but embodied Pleroma’s traits.
Narke glanced at his friends before continuing.
“Genda Asman’s ability is similar to mine.”
“Like yours?”
“My unique ability is insight. Nothing amazing, but I can gauge someone’s rough situation and thoughts without them spelling it out.”
“Cool.”
Elias nodded matter-of-factly—more blasé than expected. He’d probably guessed.
Similar abilities spelled trouble, though.
“Genda Asman can read emotions like me. But it’s strictly emotions—no reading situations or unspoken thoughts like I can.”
‘Hm.’
That explained the ability.
Though maybe it wasn’t granted so much as his latent potential making him a target. Either way…
It was tailor-made for manipulating people.
Children especially would fall easily.
Who could harbor ill will toward someone who read your heart and preemptively gave you what you craved?
In the novel, the Pleroma had frequented the orphanage as sponsors—joining events, meeting kids.
The setup for exploitation was primed.
“I’m not sure what Avin Asman got. But even with Genda alone, it’s obvious this power will be dangerous. Lucas, you figure they’ll hit the orphanage soon, right?”
Narke eyed me as he spoke.
He’d clearly pieced together my conclusions already—but this was for the others’ benefit.
“Yeah. I think Asman’s linked to the Pleroma behind those local disappearances—or will be shortly.”
“They’ll team up?”
Leo asked.
“Yeah. New lives demand payment in solid results. Pleroma might’ve engineered this specifically to harvest kids more efficiently.”
“Hmm. Timing’s the issue. We can’t stake out twenty-four-seven. Monitoring the northern capital orphanage…”
Everyone lapsed into thought, silence stretching.
At last, Leo broke it.
“We use Pleroma’s own playbook.”
“How?”
“If they turned orphanage staff into collaborators to dodge suspicion, we plant someone there too. Plainclothes won’t spot everything—have them alert us at the first sign of trouble.”
Solid plan.
“Yeah, let’s run with that.”
We’d rotate personnel daily to stay under the radar.
I pressed on.
“But we need more. Plainclothes only catch problems after they blow up. They can’t extract plans straight from someone’s head.”
“…Fair point.”
Leo nodded.
Endless visits from Narke to stare him down weren’t feasible.
‘Come on. There’s got to be a way.’
I shut my eyes briefly, pressing my brow ridge.
They snapped open almost instantly.
“…Emotions.”
“Hm?”
I’d read magic texts on emotions since arriving here. One covered manipulating them via potions.
“Leo, can you procure a love potion?”
“What?”
Leo shot back, incredulous.
Song lyrics flickered through my mind post-statement, drawing a faint chuckle—but that wasn’t the point.
Elias clapped, bursting into laughter before reining it in.
“You gonna dose him? Make a Pleroma crush on you?”
“We’d get the intel for sure…”
Leo muttered with a wry chuckle. Then he met my gaze squarely.
“Fine, I’ve got one. Borderline illegal, but Pleroma target? No sweat. How do you administer and sustain it, though? Slip it into tea daily?”
“No.”
I shook my head.
“I’ll be the one drinking it.”