Chapter 73
Chapter 73
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Translator: MadScientist
Chapter: 73
Chapter Title: Unwelcome Traces
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How long is ten minutes, really?
A school break, waiting for a date, a friend not reading your text—they all feel like short times.
But for that man, at least, those ten minutes waiting for the Bureau felt longer than any other time in his life.
"Good work."
The man, barely conscious, was loaded into the ambulance and whisked away.
"Damn... if only we'd been a little faster..."
Regrets poured out from all around.
The recent gambling den incident had the entire Bureau—not just the New Tale Investigation Squad—watching closely, so it was only natural they'd feel this disappointment at failing to prevent another victim.
As the investigation team entered the house, Se-jin followed right behind.
Damp mold blanketed the place, overlaid with a thick, fishy blood stench that told the tale of what had happened.
"This is definitely the same bastard."
The corpse, twisted beyond human, was a dead ringer for the one from the gambling den.
It even looked similar enough to make you wonder if it was the same person as that reporter or this woman.
"The key thing now is that there's a witness."
Se-jin headed straight for the hospital.
Stepping into the room, he saw a man who looked as lifeless as the corpse itself.
He'd seen that face countless times—the one you make when you lose the most precious person in your life—but it never got any easier.
A sturdy build and a face that seemed like it would greet you warmly if you passed by on the street were now scarred deep with tear tracks.
"Hello. Kwak Young-cheol-ssi."
Kwak Young-cheol struggled to open his eyes.
Being this blunt with the person involved was taboo, but given the nature of this case, they couldn't afford even the bare minimum courtesy.
"I know how hard this must be for you, and I'm sorry that's all I can say... but to prevent more victims like your wife, we need your help, Kwak Young-cheol-ssi."
At the word "wife," Kwak's eyes reddened.
"Yes... I have to speak for my wife's sake."
Kwak struggled, lips trembling, unable to open easily.
Gazing at Se-jin, who waited silently, Kwak finally steeled himself and explained what he'd seen.
"Thank you for sharing."
Of course, you couldn't fully trust the words of a patient whose mental state was so unstable, but the story revealed both good and bad news.
For starters, the description matched the person they were chasing—definitely good news.
But as far as Se-jin was concerned, that was the only positive.
"Saying 'today it's just this woman' probably means more killings to come. And the hazy memory means the toilet paper wasn't his doing."
Se-jin muttered under his breath, barely audible even to himself.
"No special tools besides the hook knife—why do people turn into that form? What's the purpose...?"
The man's voice cut through the chain of questions.
"Is there... anything else I need to say?"
"This is—"
Kwak opened his mouth without a second thought.
"The Shop... I bought ice cream from a strange shop. That's when it took my finger..."
The man slowly raised his hand, as if pushing through water.
"Like this."
Se-jin's pupils dilated.
"And I survived because of that ice cream. Ha... stupid me, the only one who lived!"
Se-jin even forgot to offer words of comfort.
Anyone could tell—it was the Tale Shop.
"The Tale Shop involved twice in one case? Unless it's deliberate..."
If it wasn't the Shop's intention, that would be even stranger.
What were the odds that two random customers were both connected to the incident?
"But it erased everyone's memories the first time—why save this guy now?"
"I..."
"Ah, sorry. That's all. We'll contact someone to arrange treatment for your finger."
As Se-jin turned to leave the room, Kwak suddenly grabbed his arm.
Kwak spat out his final words through intense agony.
"That son of a bitch... please kill him."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ "Argh! Probability rigged or what? I'm about to start a truck protest."
I said I'd investigate the changed history, but what could I actually do?
Wait for the wine glass gacha to hit, I guess.
What does "changed history" even mean?
Literally, everything that could prove the history had changed was gone.
Even TooWiki hadn't recorded the altered history, so I doubted some ordinary item could prove it.
"That's why this wine glass has to do the job!"
Thinking back, I'd never had good luck with pulls in my life.
Half pity was the baseline, and on bad days, I'd smash through full pity.
And this wine glass didn't even have a pity system...
"Maybe I'm not fated to learn the truth."
I'm glad you valued my advice enough to take it seriously, but there's no need to rush.
It's not that easy to stay calm.
The shock of realizing I'd forgotten something as basic as my own name was beyond words.
I brushed it off as unavoidable for a while, but now that there's a chance to uncover the truth, I can't ignore it.
In that state, I could never focus on business for the rest of my life.
Maybe I gave you useless advice for nothing.
Come to think of it, without the Shop's help, I probably wouldn't have even realized it.
"You know, you actually seem smarter than I thought."
Hah.
Not "seem"—I've long since transcended human intelligence.
Though when you're nagging about business all day, you look like your IQ's barely 80.
Well, your manners have been trash since the moment I first saw you, so I'll graciously put up with it.
"Hmm... what now."
That said, I didn't want to stupidly wait around for my luck to turn.
"No, let's think a bit more."
There were definitely awkward inconsistencies when my week vanished—when my existence was erased from history.
Take the blue toilet paper's origin, for example.
When I read about it on TooWiki, there was no mention of it being in that reporter's house.
"Why was that?"
They must not have secured perfect plausibility when rewriting history.
Or maybe too much history had to change just for that one small item to exist.
With that in mind, what would be hardest to make plausible during a history rewrite?
Something I'd notice, specifically...
Thinking that way, places would be easier to spot than small objects.
A location would stand out somehow, after all.
"Yeah, that makes sense."
Places, huh...
If my assumption's right, there's only one spot where the evidence of changed history would stand out most.
"Not a place I want to set foot in at all."
◇◇◇◆◇◇◇ In the dingy sewer, an old man lay sleeping on a tattered blanket in one corner.
Around him, what seemed to be his belongings were piled haphazardly, with half-torn documents reduced to near-ash standing out especially.
The title read something like "1st Grade Sec—," too mangled to make out fully, but the old man seemed to treasure them—they were the cleanest of his possessions.
A rat scurried past the piles and the old man, off into the distance.
Not that any human sleeping in a sewer was clean, but this old man's state looked particularly dire.
Dust and blood caked his dark skin, giving off a bizarre stench, yet the high-class suit he wore muddied his status.
Soon, the sewer's sour stink pierced through even his own body odor, snapping the old man's eyes open.
He glanced at his wristwatch.
"It's already..."
His face twisted bitterly as he lightly touched the hook knife in his pocket.
"A whole day... gone by."
He shoved the leftover sandwich into his mouth roughly and unfolded a map.
"Where to today? Can't remember."
Is this what dementia feels like? But knowing this amnesia wasn't from that, it just soured his mood.
"Fuckin' hell, can't even nab that one brat, making me go through this hassle. Useless lot..."
His lament drifted away with the flowing sewage.
"Gotta head out quick—something'll turn up."
The old man vanished into the darkness down one path in the sewer.
About ten minutes later, faint footsteps echoed from the opposite direction.
"This smell is no joke."
It was the Merchant, walking with one hand clamped firmly over his nose.
"Uh... which way was it?"
His eyes caught the old man's belongings.
"Whoa... someone lives here? Even with the dangers outside, this is..."
Pushing aside his pity, the Merchant pressed on through the sewer.