The Weight of 182 Loops
You are currently in loop ‘182’.
Before picking my rewards, I eliminated the most useless option.
That left four.
[All Information on Ivy Lane x1]
[Checkpoint Release Function x1]
[Clue to Your Death Tomorrow x1]
[Note with Your Regression Count x1]
Stat boosts could be handled somehow with that syringe glowing crimson.
Not that I'd use it right now, of course… but if there were no other options, I'd have no choice.
By shoving someone else's corpse inside me.
Feeling repulsed first was only natural.
“Checkpoint.”
Set.
I designated this moment as my checkpoint. If something happened in the future, I'd return here and use the syringe.
A perfect plan.
I slipped the black syringe into my pocket and zipped it shut.
I hadn't removed the cap from the tip, so no risk of accidentally stabbing myself.
Back to the main issue. I resumed my deliberations.
I had two reward slots, and four options minus one.
‘Clue to Your Death Tomorrow.’
That meant some incident would blow up tomorrow.
One of the random mandatory events, like an academy raid? Would the masked man show up again?
If he knew I was a regressor, he'd probably avoid antagonizing me like the principal had.
‘Or maybe try to turn me into a tool, like the higher-ups.’
In that case, the masked man's intentions would be simple to grasp.
One of two things.
He'd drugged me to use me as a tool, or drugged me to recruit me as an ally.
The ally recruitment part didn't quite add up, honestly.
A whole month had passed, and I was still in this state—it didn't seem like an especially potent drug.
Just hallucinations and auditory ones.
I'd expected unbearable pleasure or suicidal urges at least.
‘If it had been something highly addictive, things might've unfolded like in those 19+ novels.’
Anyway, focus on the main point.
What reward to pick?
‘I've already saved a checkpoint here, and I know something's coming tomorrow. Do I really need the clue?’
That left three.
[All Information on Ivy Lane x1]
[Checkpoint Release Function x1]
[Note with Your Regression Count x1]
The note with my regression count…
‘The unconscious I met in my dream? Another me? Anyway, high chance it's me from another loop.’
When I'd opened the status window in the dream, the number had been obscured by a black box.
Definitely a ‘me’ who'd witnessed more deaths than I had.
Now it was down to the checkpoint release function or all info on Ivy Lane.
The checkpoint release was something I desperately needed right now.
What if I'd stupidly believed the principal?
What if I'd gotten trapped in that eternal beheading loop?
Could I have stayed sane?
No drug or anything could match the mental breakdown from an eternity crammed into a split second.
‘But….’
It was also true that I needed to know what the original Ivy Lane had been up to before enrolling at the academy.
Based on what the principal said, Ivy Lane had revealed her regression ability to the government and collaborated to resolve many crises.
But the ungrateful higher-ups tried to exploit her as a tool, and the principal had blocked them in the middle.
‘In summary, the government's trash, principal's neutral. Better assume the top brass all know about my regressions.’
…No, one more thing.
The principal bringing exactly eight syringes bugged me.
Such a precise number, like he knew the next reward condition was ten people.
Had past Ivy Lane pulled some strings?
A few things didn't add up.
How much did he know, how much didn't he?
In info wars and mind games, the one with even a sliver more knowledge unilaterally dominates the one with less.
Here I was, a regressor who didn't know jack about the basics a regressor should.
My own laziness, my complacency.
My head throbbed.
‘I need the regression count note. I'll get it as a reward eventually anyway.’
Since I'd decided to take it, better sooner than later.
All info on Ivy Lane or checkpoint release.
One or the other.
I moved my hand.
Rustle. Paper fluttered and fell onto the desk.
A note.
You are currently in loop ‘182’.
“…182?”
The words slipped out unbidden.
A number that far exceeded my expectations.
Had past me regressed that many times and wiped my memories? Or did it include Ivy Lane's regressions too?
No clue.
‘Let's check if the other functions work.’
I thought inwardly.
‘Checkpoint release.’
Released.
‘Checkpoint.’
Set.
Okay. Confirmed.
All info on Ivy Lane was tempting, but right now, the regression count was more urgent. ‘Main reason: something's nagging at me.’
I'd already erased my memories at least once, likely because acquiring certain memories or info caused problems. Just a hypothesis, though.
Anyway, until this mystery was fully resolved, I couldn't pick Ivy Lane's full info.
The most probable reason was wiping drug-related issues, but probabilities weren't certain enough.
Simply put: how would "all info on Ivy Lane" be delivered?
If as physical documents or books, how to store and hide that massive amount? What if someone saw it?
If directly implanted in my brain, what effects would 182 regressions plus the original Ivy Lane's personality have on me?
The other me in the dream answered "Ambiguous" to "Are you me?" What did that mean?
No solid info yet—I couldn't, shouldn't take Ivy Lane's data.
That was my call.
And one gain from these two rewards: conviction that the black sludge from the dream was another loop's me, or Ivy Lane.
100% certainty vs. 99%—a clear difference.
Certain vs. probably certain.
Some might say ignore such a tiny gap, but I was the type who couldn't.
Play it safe. Safe.
I didn't need Ivy Lane's full info right now.
‘Plus, regressions could sort it out anyway.’
Even if I suddenly changed, they'd chalk it up to madness from repeated loops.
Way more plausible than sudden possession, right?
Hoo. Deep breath.
Calmed down.
Now I could release and set checkpoints at will. No more eternal-split-second traps.
I'd learned Ivy Lane—or past me—had looped countless times.
Next reward at 13, so three more deaths and I'd get her past soon.
Whatever happened tomorrow, I'd get dragged in for sure.
Might rack up those three deaths quick.
Ideally, I'd save everyone…
“Is that so.”
A voice came.
By now, it was routine. No surprise.
“…You don't get tired?”
“I'm something you made. Of course not.”
Dad answered calmly.
He never appeared around Ja-an, but popped up the second I was alone.
Mom showed occasionally, so apparently my subconscious feared Dad more.
“……”
“You're quiet today.”
“Nothing to say.”
“Why?”
“Because you finally voiced that cringey delusion of clinging to false hope and wanting to be a hero.”
False hope. Plenty bet everything on it.
Me included.
Well, past me.
“I prayed every day for Dad to die, and suddenly the cops came and arrested him.”
“…Huh.”
“Didn't die, but he'll rot in prison till he does. Not bad.”
Yeah. Compared to back then, I was living large now.
Living alone, friends, decent future ahead.
Mountains of problems, sure, but no beatings from others.
Oh, almost forgot the best part.
I wasn't a total outcast anymore.
Light-years better than before.
“Satisfied?”
“…Somewhat.”
The hallucinated fake Dad looked more real than the actual one.
Real Dad would've smashed a bottle into my face by now.
“You can't be a hero.”
“Repeating yourself doesn't get old?”
“……”
Ah, right.
Hallucination I made. Maybe the limit of my imagination?
Good thing no varied horrors. Praise my impoverished creativity.
All I could conjure: reuniting with the old family, eyes popping from walls/doors/ceilings.
Impressive imagination.
‘Time for bed.’
Lights out, into bed.
.
.
.
Morning came.
Grabbed my phone first.
Frontline dispatch.
FYI, Ritta's out too, so don't get hurt.
…What the hell.
No point raiding the academy when every A-class student skips class.
The goal of attacking students was killing the most promising talents at their weakest.
‘Gotta be worth breaching the academy's tight security. Makes financial sense.’
So no raid today.
Then… why did the status window warn I'd die today? Why give it as a reward?
Ding. Another phone message.
Let's hit Gangbuk!
‘…What’s this? No, obviously Han Ye-seo’s doing.’
No way.