The Power to Do Anything
The city's nightscape spread out below in dazzling splendor, the lights of countless buildings glittering beneath his feet. Ingong sat on the sofa in the spacious living room of a penthouse top floor—the one place from which all of it could be taken in at a single glance. And between his legs, a woman was kneeling.
It was a face no one could fail to know. Movies. Dramas. Commercials. Even the massive billboards lining the streets. For anyone living in South Korea, it would be harder to claim they had never seen her than to admit they had.
The nation's actress, Jeon Ji-yeon.
Ingong studied her for a long moment. She was not someone who merely resembled her—at least, not to his eyes. The face. The voice. Even that signature expression he had watched countless times on screen. And now that very woman knelt between his legs, delight written across her face as she licked his cock. She had already taken his seed once, and her face was smeared with the milky-white fluid.
Ingong turned his gaze away. In the empty air, a small cluster of light floated in silence.
"Terminal."
[Yes.]
Looking back down at the woman, Ingong asked, "What's the deal with this woman?" He let the question hang for a beat. "Is she actually the actress Jeon Ji-yeon?"
[She is not.]
The Terminal denied it at once.
"Then?"
[Information concerning the subject was confirmed from your memories.] The cluster of light shimmered faintly. [This planet was then searched in its entirety, and the individual matching that information was identified.]
Ingong's eyebrows rose. "You located the real Jeon Ji-yeon?"
[Correct.]
"But you said she isn't the actual person."
[No changes of any kind were made to the original individual.]
Ingong's gaze returned to the woman. "Then this one?"
[An identical individual was re-created based on the confirmed information of the original.]
"You cloned her?"
[That is close.] The Terminal immediately added an explanation. [More precisely, it is closer to having re-instantiated an identical individual.]
"Re-instantiated?"
[It is not merely a copy of the body.] The Terminal enumerated, one item at a time. [Physical structure. Memories. Personality. Experiences. Habits. Every personal trait formed up to this point.][The information composing the original was verified and reconstructed into a new individual.]
Without quite realizing it, Ingong leaned back against the sofa. "So..." He took a moment to sort out his thoughts. "Right now, the original Jeon Ji-yeon is going about her usual life wherever she happens to be?"
[Correct.]
"And the one here has exactly the same memories as her?"
[As of the moment of her creation, yes.]
"Does she think she's a fake?"
[No.]
Ingong's gaze went to the woman. She, in turn, was looking back at him as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
[Her memories and experiences are continuous, so she recognizes herself as Jeon Ji-yeon.]
"..."
Ingong stared at her for a while. But one thing didn't add up. If she truly possessed the same memories and personality as the original—then this reaction was impossible to explain. An unfamiliar place. A man she had never seen. And yet she wasn't flustered. She wasn't running. If anything, serving Ingong seemed perfectly natural to her.
"Terminal."
[Yes.]
"Then why is she obeying my every word without so much as a question?" Ingong pointed at her. "You said her memories and personality match the real Jeon Ji-yeon. But she's appeared out of nowhere in a place like this, and she doesn't have a single doubt."
[Because an additional recognition was implanted during the restoration process.]
"What recognition?"
[The recognition that she belongs, wholly and completely, to you, Master Ingong.]
Ingong's expression froze. "...Wholly?"
[Yes.] There was no emotion whatsoever in the answer. [The memories, personality, and experiences the original possessed have been preserved intact. However, with respect to her relationship with you, she has been constructed to recognize as perfectly natural and self-evident the fact that she is entirely your woman, and that serving as your sex slave is simply what she does.]
Ingong looked at her again. The nation's actress, Jeon Ji-yeon. The life she had lived. The memories of her path to becoming an actress. The relationships she had built with people. Even the personality that made her who she was—all of it remained. Except for one thing. On top of it all, a single new fact had settled into place as naturally as if it had always been there.
She was—Ingong's slave.
"I never asked you to do that."
[It was not explicitly mentioned.]
"And yet you applied it on your own?"
[While selecting the subject through your memories, the purpose of the demonstration and the outcome you desired were confirmed together.]
Ingong gazed blankly at the cluster of light. "So even if I don't spell everything out, you judge on your own what I want?"
[Correct.]
"And if detailed conditions are needed, I can set them myself?"
[That is possible.]
Ingong gave a short laugh. This was no simple command executor. It didn't merely listen to what he said—it grasped what he wanted and made it real. He sank deep into the sofa. "So it's true... I really can do anything I please."
[Correct.]
Such a simple answer. Ingong thought for a moment. In that case—what should he do first? Let's think like an ordinary person. What does a man want first, when he suddenly finds he can do anything?
"...Maybe make some money?"
[How much do you require?]
"What?"
[Tens of trillions of won can be deposited into the account you currently use.]
Ingong blinked. "Hold on. You'd just deposit it?"
[Yes.]
"Tens of trillions?"
[Is that insufficient?]
"No."
Ingong let out an awkward laugh. "That's not the issue." Tens of trillions. Money he would have to rack his brain just figuring out how to spend it all in a lifetime. "That much money appearing out of nowhere obviously causes problems. The bank, for one. The taxes, for another."
[It can be handled so that no problems arise.]
"How?"
[Financial and administrative records can be revised so that the assets appear to have been legally formed.]
"..." Ingong considered it for a moment, then waved a hand. "Forget it. Don't."
[Understood.]
Something felt off. Making money, getting rich—until yesterday, the mere fantasy would have put him in a good mood. Yet now that he could have tens of trillions of won this very instant, his interest had evaporated instead. Ingong thought of something else. "Then how about getting famous?"
[That is possible.]
Another instant answer. "How, this time?"
[The recognition of every sentient being currently on this planet can be modified.]
Ingong frowned. "...Every person?"
[If you wish, that recognition can be added immediately, so that every person on Earth knows you, Master Ingong.]
"Famous for what, exactly?"
[It can be specified.]
"A world-renowned actor."
[Possible.]
"A singer."
[Possible.]
"A genius scientist."
[Possible.]
Ingong smirked and threw in one more. "The richest man in the world."
[Possible.]
"...So anything goes."
[That is what I have said from the beginning.]
"Fair enough."
This time he reached for something bigger. "What about power?"
[State the form you desire.]
"Say I wanted to become president."
[Possible.]
"Without even an election?"
[If necessary, history itself can be revised.]
"...History?"
[A history in which you were elected president through proper procedure can be constructed, with the records, memories, and causality revised to match.]
Ingong sat there with his mouth hanging open for a moment before he broke into a laugh. "Forget it. Don't do that one either."
[Understood.]
Money. Fame. Power. The things people spend their whole lives chasing. Any single one of them would be enough to have the world call your life a success. But to the Ingong of this moment—they were far too easy. Easy wasn't even the word for it. The outcome was already sitting in the palm of his hand. There was no process. No competition. No possibility of failure. And, strangely enough, that drained away even the desire to have them.
Ingong gazed for a while at the glittering night view. Down there, at this very moment, countless people were surely living and striving to obtain something. And all it took for him was a single word: I want it.
"Terminal."
[Yes.]
"But if everything really is mine to command like this..." Ingong thought a moment before going on. "I get the feeling I'd grow sick of it all before long." This time it was closer to muttering to himself than to a question. "That's just how people are. The thing you wanted so desperately at first becomes familiar the moment you actually have it. And the thing you loved bores you in the end if you keep doing it over and over."
Even money had worked that way. How long had it been since he'd heard he could have tens of trillions? And already he'd stopped caring. What if he kept using this power? Tomorrow over today. The day after over tomorrow. He might end up hunting only for ever-newer, ever-stronger stimulation. And someday—there might come a moment when nothing he did stirred anything in him at all. Ingong's expression creased slightly. "Now that would be a problem."
[It can be solved.]
Ingong turned his head. "Even that?"
[Yes.]
"How?"
[By modifying you, Master Ingong.]
"...Me?"
[Yes.]
Ingong sat up straight. "Change me how?"
[There is no need to remove your memories.] The Terminal explained. [Your experiences and learned knowledge can likewise be preserved exactly as they are. Only the familiarity and sensory adaptation produced by repeated experience can be adjusted to fade naturally as time passes.]
Ingong turned the words over in his mind. "So I won't be forgetting what I've done?"
[Correct.]
"I'll still remember everything I've tried."
[Correct.]
"My tastes stay the same, too."
[They are maintained.]
"But once enough time has passed and I experience something again, it can feel new?"
[That is possible.]
Ingong's eyes changed. He liked this. He didn't want his memories wiped. What he had done. What he had loved. What he had lived through—all of it was his life, and he had no intention of repeating the same things while erasing even that. But familiarity was another matter. Like pulling up a favorite old movie after years away: if he could still enjoy it to the fullest even knowing the story by heart, that was enough.
"All right."
Ingong nodded. "Don't touch my memories or my experiences."
[Understood.]
"Instead, make the degree to which I've grown used to any pleasure fade naturally with time."
[Possible.]
"It's not that I'll become someone experiencing it for the very first time, right?"
[Understood.]
"Just enough that, once plenty of time has passed, I can enjoy it all freshly again."
[Requirement confirmed.]
A moment later.
[Application complete.]
Ingong blinked. "Already?"
[Yes.]
He felt nothing. Not in his body. Not in his memory. Even his thoughts were exactly as they had been a moment ago. But the instant that thought finished, Ingong recalled one more thing. "Hold on."
[Speak.]
"You said you could reshape my body however I wanted, right?"
[That is possible.]
"Then let's take care of this, too."
Ingong looked down at himself. He had gained a power like this. If he wanted, there was no telling how long he might go on living. And yet—what if he died some absurd, pointless death in a car crash? The thought alone was laughable. "Protect my life, absolutely."
[I will specify the conditions.] The cluster of light rippled faintly. [Disease. Aging. Toxic substances. Physical impact. Accidents. Protection is possible against every other factor that could threaten the continuation of your life.]
"Even if I'm shot?"
[Protection is possible.]
"Even if I fall from a great height?"
[Likewise.]
"Then there's no point settling for merely keeping me from dying."
Ingong glanced down at his own arm. "Block my body from being damaged in the first place."
[Possible.]
"And make it so I can't fall ill, either."
[Possible.]
"Aging..."
Ingong paused to think. "Simply freezing me at my current state won't do."
[State the condition you desire.]
"Keep my body always in its healthiest, best possible state."
[Possible.]
"And there'll be dangers I haven't thought of right now, won't there?"
[There exist such dangers.]
"Judge those yourself and protect me from them as well."
[Possible.]
One more thing occurred to him. "But my everyday senses had better not vanish along with everything else."
[Please be specific.]
"As in, touching something hot and feeling nothing, or falling down without any sensation. Nothing like that."
[Sensation and normal physiological function can be maintained while only actual bodily damage is prevented.]
"Good. Do it that way."
[Requirement confirmed.]
A moment later.
[Application complete.]
Once again, no change could be felt. Ingong opened his hand, closed it, then made a fist. Ordinary. So ordinary that he wondered whether anything had truly changed at all.
"So now I can't die?"
[One exception exists.]
Ingong caught on at once. "...Half of all sentient beings."
[Yes.]
The Terminal answered. [If, as a consequence of your choice, more than half of the sentient beings existing at that moment lose their lives, the annihilation then applied cannot be prevented.]
"Because that isn't a rule you made?"
[Correct.][It is a condition established on a level above even me.]
Ingong nodded. "I have no intention of touching it."
[Confirmed.]
Ingong leaned back into the sofa once more, and let out a long, slow breath. His memories stayed. His experiences would go on accumulating. And he need never go permanently numb to pleasure. His body would remain in peak condition forever. No disease. No aging. No accidents. Not even death was anything to worry about. There was only one condition—he must never cause more than half of this planet's sentient beings to die.
Ingong looked out the window. The brilliant lights of the city. The world spread out beneath them. Until just a short while ago, he too had been an ordinary man living inside that world's rules. But not anymore. Money? If he wanted it, tens of trillions could appear. Fame? If he wanted it, the whole world would know his name. Power? If he wanted it, history itself could be rewritten. Those things could hardly even be called goals anymore.
Ingong chuckled. In that case—what should he do? The things he had believed impossible in the real world. The fantasies he had dismissed as too absurd. The thoughts that had surfaced in his head only to be laughed away, waved off with his own hand. The things that had existed only as delusions. Those things—now, he could truly do them.
Ingong rose slowly to his feet. "All right."
The cluster of light hung quietly at his side, and a smile spread across Ingong's lips. "And now..."
A moment later, he spoke.
"Shall we do the things that only ever ended as delusions?"