Chapter 12
Chapter 12
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 12
Chapter Title: (Side Story) The Sun's Story
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I reflect on my first memory.
So, before the Tower was created, before my sister and I were trapped in one body.
When I first opened my eyes, it felt just like waking from a terribly vivid dream.
The body was nothing but heavy and uncomfortable. It felt like my freedom was being suppressed, which wasn't exactly pleasant.
A voice with an ambiguous sense of distance—it seemed close yet far away.
I lifted my head toward the voice, and what came into view was something in the shape of a human.
It was entirely enveloped in light, so I couldn't make out a single detail.
That made the small crack at the base of its heart all the more noticeable. It was shattered in all directions, like broken glass.
"Who are you?"
The vibration of sound rising through my throat felt awkward.
There was a sense of liberation akin to release.
Within this body, two opposing concepts—suppression and liberation—coexisted simultaneously.
You... plural?
I turned my head, and there I saw another being besides myself.
It was a girl entirely cloaked in white. Her pale purple eyes evoked the image of a starry night sky.
The moment we recognized each other, we felt how deeply connected we were.
As if we were one body, her thoughts and emotions flowed to me vividly and naturally.
Its face, unreadable even for expression, seemed to form a smile.
The one who introduced herself as a god (her tone and gestures were feminine, so I decided to think of her as female) did nothing in particular.
She simply stared blankly at the world.
Even as she emitted a brilliance brighter than anything else, she blended seamlessly into her surroundings, her presence fading as if she weren't there at all.
Many things approached her in turn.
Sometimes she was a flower, other times a tree or a rock.
When she was a flower, butterflies alighted around her, and bees danced.
When she became a tree, she stood steadfast, giving of herself generously.
She became a home for birds and bore fruit to sate other animals.
When she was a rock, she endured stubbornly, taking in the sight of everything that slowly passed by.
Brooklets babbling along, birds chirping, deer lapping at the water.
Like moss growing on the rock, the crack near her heart grew larger and larger.
The Moon and I watched her in silence.
We gazed at her against the sunset landscape dyed in orange hues.
The only times we could meet were at dawn and dusk.
The Moon loved to lie with her head on my lap. And I loved stroking her hair like that.
Doing so made even the worries and anxieties in my heart melt away.
Though illuminating the world's darkness was our role, it seemed we couldn't brighten the darkness within our hearts.
Why did that ever-growing crack keep nagging at me?
If I asked, she would answer readily, as always. Casually, as if it were no big deal.
She would recount her own story as indifferently as if it were someone else's.
I hated that. I feared the answer that would come from asking.
Words plant seeds. Once spoken, they can't be taken back.
Was that why? It felt like hearing the answer would make it certain, make it reality—so I couldn't bring myself to ask.
I thought living with unease was better than living with sorrow.
Even so, her crack continued to widen.
Her words were hard to comprehend at first.
"A game?"
After that, she excitedly chattered on about what a game was.
This so-called god was quite the talker by nature. It was hard to imagine how she'd endured so much time alone while loving to talk this much.
Yet why was I listening to her ramble in silence without saying a word?
I closed my eyes and lent her my ear, savoring her chirping voice.
The twitter of birds, the rustle of wind, the gentle babble of a brook. Her voice resembled the sounds of nature, and it was pleasing to the ear.
I nodded quietly to her soft question.
My heart plummeted with a thud. A heavy fall.
Perhaps from the shock of the descent, my voice trembled as it emerged.
"A new god?"
"Die? A god? Why?"
"Then why did you create us? If you're just going to die anyway? Why do you need us?"
I couldn't understand why she had implanted self-awareness in us, who had been fine as we were.
She uttered such cruel words so casually.
We were blades forged to kill her.
I realized we were the caretakers of the Babel Tower, built to challenge a god.
"Selfish."
Her ready admission made bile rise in my throat.
Tears welled up.
The tears that fell couldn't withstand the searing heat rising from my body and evaporated away.
Ah, I can't even cry properly.
Sizzle. Ssss. Only unpleasant sounds echoed.
Steam billowed upward.
And then the rain came.
I stood amid the drizzling rain, gazing endlessly at her.
Through the misty fog, she didn't look blurred at all. She seemed like she would vanish if I reached out to touch her.
I hated that the target of her selfishness had to be me.
She parted the rain quietly and approached, embracing me.
This so-called god was endlessly selfish and endlessly cruel.
But her body heat was so warm, and her embrace so comforting.
Human bodies aren't all bad.
You can feel another's body heat more keenly. Their heartbeat, their breath—every little thing etches itself clearly into you.
It makes everything more vivid.
In the end, I had no choice but to yield to her. To concede.
"Can't we become gods ourselves?"
It was hard to understand.
In short, no dice.
After that, nothing much happened.
There was a minor mistake in choosing the site for the Tower.
I deliberately ignored the steadily widening crack. The more I did, the more I threw myself into developing the game to push away the anxiety.
And finally, when the game—the system within the Tower—was complete...
Her end arrived as well.
The woman who had shone so brilliantly was no longer there.
Only a figure with cracks spreading across her body like a shattered mirror, slowly losing her light, remained.
Even in her dying moments, she remained transcendent.
How could she be so calm, so indifferent?
Wasn't death frightening? Wasn't the end terrifying?
"Waaah."
It contrasted sharply with the Moon sobbing beside me.
Tears and snot streaming down her face, contorted in ugly grief.
The red glow of the evening sun made it seem like she was bleeding.
Crack. The fissure grew larger.
The crack crawled up her body and soon covered her face.
Shatter. With the sound of a glass bowl breaking, her true face was revealed.
"I'm sorry. For leaving you with such a heavy burden."
Inside, she was crying. Sobbing pathetically, her face drenched in tears.
"I didn't know parting would hurt this much. I didn't know it would be this agonizing."
"It's okay."
"It's all right."
Just as she had embraced me—us—I held her gently in my arms.
I felt her warmth slowly cooling. Her heartbeat gradually slowing. Her breath fading into the distance.
Within the shell of a god was just an ordinary person.
Not something transcendent.
Someone prone to loneliness and selfishness, but not hateful.
.
.
.
After the Tower was built, I could no longer meet the Moon.
I couldn't meet the Moon. I couldn't stroke her hair or face each other and smile.
I vaguely sensed her presence within me, but it wasn't satisfying.
I missed those days of gazing at the sunset while stroking her hair.
I missed the times when we could feel each other's warmth.
We had the authority to tamper with the Tower's system, but we touched nothing. Changed nothing.
Even gods can make mistakes. We didn't want to admit that.
We didn't revise or fix the system she had designed at the start.
Because it would feel like denying her.
And this is the result.
In the end, we accomplished nothing.
If someone had to bear the blame for that failure, I thought it should be me. More than the Moon.
The Sun emits a fierce light. That intense brilliance devours all the world's darkness—and even light itself.
Under the Sun, nothing can be dark, and nothing can shine.
The Moon was different.
She couldn't produce her own light.
Yet she borrowed the Sun's light and strove to illuminate the world somehow.
Even that was faint, unable to light the entire world.
Under the Moon, the world was dark, but it shone in multifaceted ways.
Like stage lighting—not too bright, subtly glowing to let other things shine more.
If the Sun was the lead, the Moon was the perfect supporting role.
So, the Moon suits this world better now.
After all, the true protagonists of this world are the Players climbing the Tower, not us.
Too strong a light isn't needed.
"That's why it's better if I sacrifice myself. I'll be the offering."
"No need."
I lifted my head at Liv's words.
"Why? Why not?"
"I've already paid the price. Upfront. You know that, right?"
"What?"
"According to you, I've been stripped of the potential to become a god. I thought just being saved was enough, but apparently not."
The world's accounts often differ from ordinary human standards.
This seemed to be one such case.
"In exchange for losing the right to ascend, I gained the right to turn back time. Of course, it's not perfect. Like a one-use coupon, and there are additional costs."
"So..."
"You don't have to sacrifice anything. You won't die. You might lose administrator privileges, but..."
That would be better than dying.
My face flushed red at Liv's words.
All my agonizing deliberations felt foolish.
I couldn't bring myself to look straight at Liv's face, smiling as if teasing me.