Clumps of Letters
The place where the Principal had summoned me was inside a ruined building in Gangbuk that hadn't been rebuilt yet.
Windows and furniture alike were all smashed to bits, leaving the outside completely visible.
It was a terribly inappropriate spot for a secret conversation, in all sorts of ways.
There must be a reason for it.
I hadn't known him long, but the Principal struck me as a cautious man.
Someone without that caution couldn't possibly play tug-of-war between the radicals and the moderates.
If he weren't careful, he'd have been dead ages ago.
More than that, I'm curious about the Principal's ability.
Hmm, maybe I can learn about it through a deal? As long as there's no more important info or relic involved, it'd be a fine trade.
Worst case, I can regress to a checkpoint and repeat the same deal over and over.
Relics have real-world value—they can only be traded once.
But info or words, things without form, can be traded repeatedly.
Just go back in time and demand different info as payment.
In other words, the first trade is for information.
That said, he's a bit late.
Calling me here himself and then showing up late? What kind of nonsense is this? Unbelievable.
That's when I heard footsteps.
A figure of the Principal's stature wouldn't slip up by letting me hear his approach, so this must be him deliberately announcing his arrival.
I turned around without hesitation and looked toward the stairs.
Setting a checkpoint right now might be too risky.
My heart raced for no good reason.
A white-haired old man began emerging from the stairwell entrance, head first.
The Principal. It was him.
I didn't rule out the possibility of transformation, disguise, or illusion.
Confirm it with a message only the real Principal would know? On the way here, he could have been ambushed by someone—that scenario was plenty plausible.
Suspicion until the end. That's the right way.
I asked,
"The reason you called me..."
Before I could finish, the Principal spoke.
"Let's block their line of sight."
"Pardon?"
"Do you know about my ability?"
I had a rough idea. But not the details.
An ability specialized for close combat, surpassing even A-rank heroes.
Probably the type that directly enhances the body.
"You seem unaware, so I'll explain. My ability is knowledge is power. The more information I possess, the stronger I become."
"...And you're telling me this now because?"
"So you won't question the scene unfolding before you."
Don't question it?
A strange instruction.
No, it means don't show it on my face.
Act like I already know his ability.
In other words, someone out there can see us, even if they can't hear.
We're being watched?
As I started to turn my head to scan the surroundings, the Principal stopped me immediately.
He didn't move. The objects around us didn't move either.
An overwhelming pressure. A commanding presence.
Along with an indescribable eerie sensation, my body went rigid.
"It's killing intent. Best get used to it."
"......"
Killing intent. When an ability user who stockpiles mana in their body wills someone dead with intense resolve.
It matches a monster's presence perfectly.
Like a rabbit before a beast of prey, my body froze solid.
If Mask was telling the truth, there's no real difference between ability users and monsters anyway.
I got the Principal's intent loud and clear.
Act like this isn't our first meeting. That must be it.
The Principal pulled a book from his coat.
A book...?
Black threads slithered out from within the book.
Looking closely, tiny letters writhed along those black threads.
The letters stretched long, then slowly crawled into the Principal's ear.
The Principal spoke.
"A secondary ability. The power grows with accumulated knowledge, and I can manipulate letters and information to absorb them into my body."
"Impressive."
"Is it?"
Come to think of it, I'm a regressor.
Did that look a bit suspicious?
I'll have to be more careful from now on.
The Principal spoke again.
"I saw the group project, your duel with Gun-seok."
"Did you?"
"A bit rough around the edges, but... you passed with flying colors."
"Glad to hear it."
"No plans to adjust the rankings. Just said it to fire up the cadets."
He's a smooth liar.
I barely held back the retort bubbling up.
"...So why show me your ability on purpose?"
"In a world where lip-reading isn't all that strange, even for ability users."
Lip-reading.
He's worried our conversation is visible from outside.
"But what does that have to do with your ability...?"
"Because it can be applied like this."
The letters flowing into the Principal's ear began shifting their path.
They slowly grew larger, eventually forming a massive sphere.
A colossal sphere, a storm of letters.
It kept expanding until it swallowed both the Principal and me whole.
The inside was utterly still.
...What a bizarre sensation.
"You manipulate letters, information itself."
"A secondary effect, but useful, no?"
"Can you control it indefinitely?"
"No, the visible radius is the limit. I delay the information entering my ears. That's all."
Delay the information entering. In other words, send it back?
"I see."
"Just a play on words."
Play on words... play on words.
Something's clicking.
Expansion of the target. A clue to the next stage of his ability.
Far simpler and more intuitive than probing its essence.
Is the secondary effect he mentioned the next stage?
No.
Divide the ability simply: activation, process, result.
The Principal activated it, then forcibly extended the process to delay the result.
Could a side effect from stretching the process be called the next stage?
Expanding the target?
Absolutely not.
I fell silent for a long stretch, so the Principal spoke first.
No, it was his turn anyway—he was the one who called me here.
"To business."
"Yes."
"I know why the radicals tried to break your mind."
Finally, the main point. A long wait.
Should've gotten straight to it.
The Principal eyed me briefly before continuing.
"Monsters grow strong at times, weak at others. You know this?"
"...Somewhat."
"Then how do we distinguish the times? Why do they cycle strong to weak?"
"No idea."
The Principal answered.
"We've found the reason. Long ago."
"...What? Then why not share it?"
"Because it's beyond our control."
...What?
It didn't make sense.
Undeterred, the Principal pressed on.
"This world enforces a yoke. As the message said."
"Yes."
"Literally. To maintain balance."
A yoke for balance?
The Principal looked angry.
"The god who made this world wants us fighting forever. That's crystal clear."
"...Care to explain?"
"Humanity grows strong, monsters follow. Humanity weakens, monsters weaken."
A yoke for balance.
"Then..."
"Because a being who can regress infinitely sides with humanity. Monsters grow strong because you're on humanity's side."
I frowned.
It didn't add up.
"Killing me wouldn't change that."
"Wrong."
"Huh?"
"You regress infinitely... but you're weak. You offer infinite chances."
Infinite chances. But the main body is weak.
"Could it be..."
"Possibilities. If humanity has even a 0.1% chance of victory, the world deems it equal. Same power on both sides."
"Why?"
"Because humanity has the power to rewind time until that 0.1% happens."
So humanity was always fighting from an overwhelming disadvantage?
Because of me?
But what about the original Ivy Lane?
Plenty left unexplained.
"Why call it a yoke?"
"Found old experiment logs. Met someone by chance, talked."
"Who?"
"...Can't say. The info was in documents anyway, not the talk."
Mentioning what he can't share—betting I'll chase it down someday.
He's guiding me.
Or, low chance, just a slip of the tongue.
Old experiment logs...
"What experiment?"
"Kill ability users one by one, measure the intensity of monster disasters that year."
...Huh? Wait, experiment logs?
He's only mentioning one. What about the others?
I stayed calm and responded.
"Who the hell would authorize that...?"
"No one. A madman with some ability did it alone to prove his theory."
And the government has those records?
Not just Seoul's issue. Too big.
Other cities probably know too.
Then... more people might know about my regressions than I thought.
Aha.
Simple reason they spotted Ivy Lane's regressions.
That year's newborns with abilities get scooped up by A-rank heroes anyway.
Ivy Lane, with regression, tipped the scales massively at birth.
The world sensed it, added weight to the other side.
That year, monsters surged. The year Ivy Lane was born, monsters surged. So they knew someone world-altering was born.
"But... why does it work that way?"
"Don't know."
"If it's a yoke, there must be a reason."
"Don't know!"
The Principal shouted.
The world enforces a yoke. This world is probably a game.
Ivy Lane's existence is a nuisance. Because she's on humanity's side.
Father whispers near my ear.
"You can never be a hero."
I gritted my teeth and looked ahead.
The black clumps of letters enveloping us had vanished.
Far off, in a relatively intact section, sunlight slanted through cracks in the remaining windows. Their shadows, the window frames, looked like crosses.
I.
Clumps of letters, game, I'm a nuisance, because I'm on humanity's side.
Reached a conclusion. A brilliantly clear solution.
But I turned away from it.
Because I don't want that.