Heavyweight (3)
It's strange. Really, incredibly strange. Before or after possession, I'd never taken a single selfie with my own hands. Even after starting to get photographed post-possession, it was only because people like Kim Ji-eun forced me into it. But now, here I am, about to take a photo of myself. And not just any photo—I'm turning it into a tribute meme to share with others.
Calm down. They're not bad people. They're fans who like me, after all.
It took endless anguish and deliberation to make this decision. These were people who went wild over a single casual photo of me. Sure, some might have ulterior motives like point bets, but there were pure fans who supported me out of genuine affection. Seeing them rejoice in my growth as if it were their own—I knew that feeling well from my ordinary days cheering for celebrities and sports stars.
So I brainwashed myself: I've received plenty from them through my contract constellations, so this much should be fine.
Probably... probably it'll be fine. I used to scour fan cams of idols myself, after all.
Really... truly...
No. I'm dying of curiosity here.
The more I recalled the posts I'd seen, the stronger my hesitation and fear grew, but I shook my head to push it away. Above all, my curiosity was overwhelming right now. My future—and perhaps something even grander, like the apocalypse Jeong Chan-su mentioned—might hang in the balance. For people who'd already seen and known everything about me, offering one wholesome selfie I took myself wasn't such a big deal.
The reaction was explosive. Just adding a photo icon to the post skyrocketed the views by an order of magnitude.
Did I screw up again?
A chill ran down my spine at the comments multiplying like crazy. I'd known they liked this stuff from lurking, but this was beyond expectations. The angle was the culprit. My face burned so hot I couldn't scrutinize it fully before, overlooking how the so-called meme lords' shots were mostly limited, like viewing a game character.
This near-first-person shot they were raving as "total selfie material" was possible only because I'd taken it myself—unique in its kind.
Still, I'd paid the price, so time to collect. Spotting that recent commenter amid the replies, I zeroed in. Nickname Arati—the guy who'd mocked me for posting questions with nothing to offer.
True to form, he bowed his head at the photo and launched into explanations.
Tower conquerors, limit-breakers ascended to transcendence—Fate Road, the community this fan gallery belongs to, gathers the universe's top constellations. It's also a hive of collective intellect where they share knowledge and debate relentlessly, pushing beyond transcendence for growth.
No wonder I wouldn't know.
As the possessor who'd read to the end, no in-story concept should elude me. But the vast world behind the tale was beyond imagination.
His unexpectedly patient breakdown helped me grasp the concepts bit by bit. Now, I could follow the ongoing brawls more easily.
The knowledge I had was just a tiny fragment, after all.
A wave of emptiness hit me. Concepts these constellations tossed around casually were distant realms I strained to reach—undoubtedly the same for protagonist Jeong Chan-su.
Gale and Shattering Swords were ultimate destinations—even for constellations who'd conquered towers with a single blade—styles they still chased. At my level, aiming for them meant gradual tweaks at best.
With them debating so fiercely, I couldn't decide rashly. Plus, I couldn't act openly without risking exposure as the gallery lurker in disguise.
One silver lining: limited as it was, we had a communication channel. As Serpina said in her comment, if she gathered opinions as admin and passed them to me, I'd just follow.
"Uh, where to?"
"The sanctuary."
The next morning, I hailed a taxi at the hotel entrance. Through the rearview, the hobgoblin driver in white gloves swallowed dryly, face paling in recognition. Word of my arrival last night had spread like wildfire.
Our destination resembled a massive cathedral in the city center—a sanctuary for communing with constellations.
"Uh...?"
The 30th-floor sanctuary was especially vast, packed with users. Eyes naturally turned to me stepping out of the taxi. Hat and sunglasses couldn't fully hide my signature silver hair and striking looks.
"L-Reina-nim! We got word ahead."
A group pushed through the murmurs, rushing up. Their leader was the local branch chief of the Federation Council, overseeing the sanctuary and key facilities as a tower resident.
"This way. We've prepped for your constellation meeting."
The middle-aged man forced a smile, sweat beading despite his position commanding countless 30th-floor residents. He bowed obsequiously. No matter how prominent, residents existed to support climbers. The power of top rankers dwarfed fallen civilians like them.
"Prepped the quietest, deepest spot hehe. Any discomforts during your stay?"
Long lines waited, but I had VIP pass. The fawning chief stuck close; queuers glanced knowingly, no complaints.
Convenient.
Hands in pockets, strolling casually—I'd grown used to this treatment. Honestly, it was comfy. This world was built that way from the start.
Sanctuary interiors—prayer rooms—were dim, solemn, whisper-quiet with minimal light. Entering one lit by candles, heavy doors sealed, I was alone in silence. Essential for constellation talks, now routine.
Serpina's lingering comment flashed. Raising Insight skipped this hassle for direct contact—or so she lamented.
20 million? Who's that?
Doubtful I'd fulfill her wish. I was too pressed to dump 20 million into Insight just to skip visits. Even then, it wouldn't erase all limits.
"Long time no see."
Deep breath, kneeling reverently in the room's center—a voice echoed. My first contract constellation, A Thousand Silver Blades, Serpina.
"As you know, failure again."
Linking slowly amid her voice. Limits abounded: question quotas, answer fidelity, timers, distortions. Navigating them for aid was climber skill.
"Pitiful. Especially throwing yourself—core firepower—for one idiot healer's head at the end? Unforgivable."
Familiar Serpina scolding began. Prickly, nitpicky—I'd once responded coldly, what can you do? Contracts bound her till I died. To me, she was tool #1 for possession knowledge. Unnecessary? I skipped even post-cooldown.
"Sorry. My shortcomings betrayed your expectations."
"...You, saying that..."
But now? Different. Lurking the boards revealed her true heart as gallery creator/manager.
Outdated tsundere schtick.
Smiling, I lifted my head—unlike usual bows—gazing ceilingward. Strict coaching, clear carrot/stick: her creed. Yet behind it, she lived vicariously through my every move. My fan. Realizing her gifts warranted thanks.