Chapter 8
Chapter 8
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: penny
Chapter: 8
Chapter Title: The Way to Turn Back Time
-----------------------------------------------------------------
“I'm against it.”
As if they hadn't expected my opposition, both the Tower and the Abyss stopped talking and turned to look at me.
They didn't react dramatically, but they both seemed flustered.
“Why?”
“May we ask the reason?”
“You two don't know how terrifying Time can be.”
Time brings suffering whether it flows or stands still.
The flow of years erodes even the tallest mountains and dries up even the widest rivers.
Time that doesn't flow, on the other hand, halts growth. Not much changes, yet the mind keeps working perfectly fine.
When the body's time and the mind's time flow differently, that disconnect drives people mad.
“Do you know why regrets form?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
The Abyss grumbled while the Tower tilted her head.
My face flushed for no reason. Ber had taken it well enough.
“Ahem, anyway! Regret is an emotion born from lingering disappointment. It's denser than mere disappointment, but the essence is the same.”
So, what is regret a disappointment about?
The arrow of regret points not to the future, but to the past.
Regret arises because it's hard to accept the results of one's choices.
It's because you can't go back to the past, can't undo your choices, that regret forms.
“Regret comes from being unable to accept the past. Just like you two.”
The Tower seemed to carry guilt over the players' deaths. And a deep-seated self-loathing rooted within her.
If she could do it over, she could do better.
That's what it boiled down to, in the end.
I couldn't read the Abyss well. Like her all-black attire, her inner thoughts were inscrutable. What did she regret?
“Are you any different? Don't you have regrets?”
“I do. I regret every day. I regret when I open my eyes in the morning and when I close them at night.”
When eating, when going out, when working.
Even when reading a book.
Even during enjoyable moments, regret doesn't fade—it clings persistently.
“I regret every moment, every second. Wondering why I did what I did.”
What if I hadn't taken them as disciples?
Would they not have pushed themselves to climb the Tower? Would they still be alive now?
If only I could have helped them directly.
If I'd researched the Tower, could I have intervened directly? Could I have saved them?
That's how regret works. It always ends in a question mark.
Not knowing the outcome of that choice makes it all the more poignant and lingering.
The faint possibility of "what if" chains into visions of a seemingly happy future.
“Then!!”
The Tower slammed her hand on the table and stood up.
The first emotion she showed was anger. Followed swiftly by sorrow.
Her eyes brimmed with flickering rage and churning grief.
“All the more reason to go back. If we can turn back time, if we can just fix our mistakes!!”
Her voice carried a pathos deeper than sorrow.
It filled the room like a voice on the verge of tears.
As if the dampness in her voice seeped into every corner, the atmosphere grew heavy.
“Sorry. I got a bit worked up.”
The Tower sat back down, reining in her emotions.
“So why can't we do it?”
The Abyss asked in an oddly calm tone that didn't suit her.
“Because turning back time won't erase our regrets.”
“What do you mean?”
“Time is like a rubber band. It has elasticity pulling it back to its original state.”
Regression isn't the omnipotent reset button from novels.
Most think of regression like a game's reset. But in reality, it's more like rewinding a video.
When you play it again, it follows the predetermined path—the ending doesn't change.
Of course, it might not be exactly the same. The process could shift midway.
But when you snap out of it, you'll find yourself circling the same spot again.
“We're different. It's a bit embarrassing to say it myself, but we're god-like beings. Transcendent ones. We're relatively free from time's flow.”
“True, but not completely free.”
Time is impartial to everyone.
The stronger you are, the stronger the tension. The bigger we grow, the bigger it swells to crush us.
To the weak, it flows like a gentle stream. To the strong, it crashes like a stormy sea with raging waves.
“We're not in the normal category.”
“The Tower is a special space. Time doesn't flow there—it's stagnant.”
The Tower's time is stopped. You could say it's pooled and motionless.
Anything that stagnates rots. Time is no exception.
Endless time is less a blessing than a curse.
Once turned to a curse, time's nature changes too. It becomes more stubborn, more vicious.
“Time has grown stronger as we've grown stronger.”
“Still worth trying, right? We might be able to resist it.”
“And if we end up following the same flow? Could you endure it?”
A chill silence settled in the room.
“I couldn't.”
I don't have the confidence to witness their deaths again. No courage.
The price of failure would once more fall on others, not me.
That's why I didn't even consider trying. I couldn't gamble on something I couldn't take responsibility for.
And so, the meeting dissolved without any resolution.
“Haa.”
Sighs escaped me for no reason.
I want to go back, but I don't want to go back.
Contradictory thoughts clashed in my head.
Like flint striking sparks, my mind burned hot.
“Haa.”
I sighed to vent the heat, but it didn't fade no matter how much I exhaled.
My insides turned to muck.
“Am I being selfish?”
“Well, I don't think so.”
I jumped in shock at the sudden reply.
“Kyaaak!”
“What normal scream is this?”
“Wh-what? Old Man, why are you here? I locked the door.”
“Heh heh. There's always a way.”
“Perverted old geezer.”
“Heh heh heh.”
He laughed lecherously.
Still, my mood improved a bit thanks to him.
Is this why friends are necessary?
“Something wrong?”
“There was. Or don't you know, Old Man? You told me yourself.”
“Oh, was that today? My memory's fuzzy these days.”
“You don't age in the Tower—what are you talking about?”
“Age doesn't advance, but fatigue does.”
Fatigue.
Spot on. No better word for it.
We were all worn out.
I placed an hourglass on the table and asked.
The sand had all fallen to the bottom. As if no time left to flow.
“Time can be turned back. Would you turn it back, Old Man?”
I slid the hourglass toward him.
What choice would he make?
“I'd have to. If you're not staying put forever, you turn it back.”
“...”
I bit my lip hard. For some reason, I'd believed he'd choose the same as me.
That belief betrayed, I felt irrationally angry.
“This is what I think.”
The Old Man's hand patted my head.
A rough palm. Wrinkled from years, proving an old man's long life.
“Looking at the hourglass, the word 'sacrifice' oddly comes to mind first.”
“Sacrifice?”
“Yes, sacrifice.”
It was hard to grasp at first.
Hourglass and sacrifice didn't pair naturally.
“The sand in the hourglass means time. Look here.”
The Old Man tapped the bottom of the hourglass and continued.
“My full time.”
As the hourglass turns, sand shifts to the bottom.
“Sharing it with someone empty. To turn back time, sacrifice is inevitable.”
The Old Man smiled at me.
A bright smile. Childlike, blooming between the wrinkles at his mouth.
“No one will blame you.”
“They won't know the original ending.”
“That's part of it.”
“But I know.”
“Then you can prevent it better. Guide them down a different path.”
“I!”
The sudden shout brought a momentary silence. I shrank back, startled by my own voice.
I deflated and muttered softly.
“I'm not confident.”
The Old Man stood up. The scrape of the chair sounded louder than I'd imagined.
Was he sick of me? Did facing my ugly inner self make him dislike me?
The Old Man simply rose, took a book from the shelf, and began reading.
“A Skill Book is a record of one's life.”
“How do you know that? I never told you, Old Man.”
“I've been hanging around you for years. Ugh, thinking about it, the number's horrifying.”
Did he learn mind-reading? Or was he really a crafty fox in disguise?
As I eyed him suspiciously, he chuckled openly.
“Heh heh. You told me yourself. Crying drunk.”
“M-me?”
“Don't remember, huh?”
My face burned red. Fortunately, he didn't tease more and started reading.
The rustle of turning pages filled the air.
I closed my eyes, savoring the sound.
Like waves crashing or wind blowing.
It was nice how natural sounds emerged from something man-made.
The Old Man closed the book with a thud and asked.
“Are you afraid of being left alone?”