Chapter 112: Accomplices.
Chapter 112: Accomplices.
I am dreaming.
A dream of a child.
A dream of scattering one’s own body across the earth.
A dream of a child who, lacking power, was satisfied simply by offering herself to the world.
Tick.
Time flows.
The Child met someone.
Someone walking the path with a look of transcendence, carrying something massive that didn't suit their small frame.
Someone who would walk ahead in place of her, who knew nothing.
Someone who would set up a signpost for her as she wandered aimlessly.
The Child did not follow the signpost the small figure had set. She chased after the small figure who, after setting the signpost, headed down a different path.
As if saying that was the path she was meant to take.
Tick.
Again, time flowed.
The back that once looked so large had, at some point, become smaller than her own.
Her thoughts flow in.
The back she thought would always be held straight and true was now bent.
Perhaps it had been bent from the very beginning. It was simply that she had grown enough to notice it.
She opened her mouth. She wanted to be of help to him.
That voice does not reach him.
the figure before her does not look back.
It simply moves forward.
And so, for the first time, she overtook him and looked back.
This is that kind of dream.
【“Yes, that kind of dream.”】
Tick.
【“It’s time to wake up.”】
Someone whispered.
* * *
Screeeech.
I opened my eyes to the sound of something hard scratching forcefully.
『Morning. Requesting wake-up.』
What I faced upon opening my eyes was a brand-new PDA covered in those sentences.
Can’t she wake me up more normally? That messy method is just like her master, honestly.
As I stared blankly at the PDA with that thought, the Black Head Nurse tilted her head and repeated the same action.
Perhaps she was checking if I was conscious, as she rubbed the PDA against my face.
“I’m awake.”
I wasn't generous enough to tolerate such bizarre behavior, so I pushed the PDA away with my right hand and spoke.
Only then did the Black Head Nurse nod as if satisfied and move on to the next phrase.
Screech, screeeech.
I gave her that sturdy new device so she’d stop using the scratched-up one, but looking at her now, it doesn't seem like it’ll last long.
More importantly, is that habit something she can’t fix even after dying and being regenerated?
Continuing those useless thoughts, I looked down at my right arm.
I had moved it subconsciously, but I needed to check if its sensation and function were intact.
Fortunately, the right arm was safely attached. The connection point was hidden by my clothes, but it was definitely my arm.
My fingers moved well, and there was no pain or pressure on the joints.
Having finished checking my condition, I looked for a clock to check the time, but there wasn't one to be found nearby.
“How long have I been asleep?”
Upon hearing that, the Black Head Nurse, who was changing the flowers, snapped one finger instead of scribbling on the PDA.
“An hour? The surgery finished faster than I thought.”
Glug, glug.
Her head shook violently from side to side.
“Surely not a day?”
Glug.
Another shake of the head.
Could it be a week or a month? Surely it hasn't been a year.
“A week? A month?”
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh.
Perhaps because she kept shaking her head, the room was filled with the sound of wind cutting through the air instead of the glugging of her body.
Is it really a year?
As I clutched my head in worry, she half-bent the raised finger and flicked it.
“…Use the PDA.”
Despite my words, she seemed to have grown stubborn, as she manifested an extra finger and held up six fingers on one hand.
Does she mean 6?
Then perhaps….
“You meant half a day.”
The Black Head Nurse nodded her head up and down vigorously in affirmation.
Since it was half-bent, it wasn't 1, but 0.5.
Someone please teach this creature some common sense.
Just as I was thinking I’d wasted time talking to a crazy Head Nurse and started to push myself up from the bed—
—Whaaaaaaaang!
An emergency siren suddenly began to blare from the speaker on the ceiling.
What now?
“Misterrrrr! Absolute restttt!”
About ten seconds after the siren started, the fool burst through the door, breaking it down.
It was you again.
Apparently, she had set it up so the siren would go off if I got out of bed.
“Lie down for now! How is your consciousness? Is your arm okay? What’s 58 plus 97? Do you recognize who I am?”
As soon as she entered the room, she unceremoniously lashed her belt to strap me to the bed and poured out a torrent of questions.
“Is your vocal system paralyzed? As expected, the problem was the scalpel piercing your throat….”
“Just calm down.”
How is it that Oxymoron, the perpetrator, is noisier than me, the victim?
“Ah. Your vocal cords are fine. Then how is your arm? Does it lift well? Can you feel sensation? It was such an emergency that I couldn't even perform the surgery properly….”
“I said, calm down.”
Since she wouldn't listen, I lightly jabbed Oxymoron in the solar plexus.
“Gah.”
I only hit her lightly, but it must have been an unexpected blow for Oxymoron; she bent over, coughing in my face.
Fortunately, she was wearing a Gas Mask, so I avoided the worst-case scenario of spit flying onto my face, but it didn't feel great.
“Hrk, wheeze.”
Additionally, Oxymoron continued to make strange noises.
Did it hurt that much?
It was all Oxymoron’s fault, but I felt about one percent responsible, so I patted her on the back as she clutched her chest.
“There. Inhale.”
“Hee-ack.”
“Exhale.”
“Hoo-uck.”
Sounds like she’s spitting up phlegm.
I patted her back for a while, thinking that if I said that out loud, she’d kill me.
“Cough… That’s enough.”
Finally, Oxymoron caught her breath and spoke.
“So, are you feeling okay?”
“…You’re throwing my own words back at me.”
It’s quite a complicated situation when you put it that way.
“You seem perfectly fine, Mister….”
Oxymoron sighed and sat on the edge of the bed.
Then, she looked at my face and—
“Sigh.”
Another sigh.
“What is it?”
“…Nothing.”
Why did she suddenly become so docile?
It definitely wasn't because she got hit.
Fists are never helpful in making someone quiet. I know that just by looking at my noisy disciples.
In that case….
“Is it because you lost to me?”
“…Did you really have to put it into words?”
Since when did I ever filter my words?
“So, is that it?”
“…Whew.”
Another sigh. A long sigh followed, as if she were exhaling a lifetime’s worth of breath.
Tired of watching her, I observed the Black Head Nurse, who was busy doing something on the PDA.
“Yes, it’s because I lost. I used everything, even the techniques I kept secret from you, and I still lost.”
Oxymoron leaned back and sprawled out on the bed.
“Ah! Seriously! Really!”
She began to flail her arms and legs, shouting.
Like a child throwing a tantrum.
It was behavior unlike Oxymoron, who always tried to act mature while still letting her childishness slip through.
Seeing her like that reminded me of the dream I had right before waking up.
The process of a child growing up.
It really was Oxymoron.
I had heard rumors of a telepathic phenomenon where one shares memories and emotions with an opponent they’ve fought, but this was the first time experiencing it.
Oxymoron had said before the battle ended that she wanted to be recognized. Those were likely words she had kept hidden deep in her heart.
What she said in the basement.
The day the Thunder God left.
Bringing up the Black Marauder.
It was all to have me acknowledge the fact that she had grown.
I don't know how she ended up with such a personality, but it’s a truly troublesome one.
To cut off a man’s arm and pierce his throat just to be recognized by someone like me.
But looking at her now, she’s still a kid.
To throw a fit on a bed because she failed once.
“If you’re an adult, act like one.”
“Then treat me like an adult!”
She’s not even trying to hide it anymore.
An adult. There were certainly words Oxymoron used exceptionally often.
Asking me to rely on her.
Relying, huh….
Come to think of it, there were words I had been contemplating from the start.
“Oxymoron.”
“What.”
“Where is Un-ho?”
“He went back down to check on the Terminal Plague patients since he had some time.”
True, he had been checking something there the whole time we were here.
On top of that, his appearance had changed from a ferret to something more like a lynx. Like a wild animal with a sharp, streamlined body.
That’s enough about Un-ho.
“…You, Head Nurse.”
I quietly spoke to the last Sentient Being remaining in the room.
Glug.
The Black Head Nurse replied with a sticky sound instead of words.
“Can you go out and check if anyone is coming near here?”
Glug.
She tilted her head excessively as if she didn't understand my words.
“I have a secret to discuss with your master.”
Did the word 'master' work well?
As soon as she heard the word 'master,' the Black Head Nurse quickly threw herself out of the room.
She even carefully controlled her strength so the door wouldn't make a sound as it closed.
…So she could control her strength. It wasn't that she couldn't; she just didn't.
And so, all sound vanished from the room, leaving only the breathing of two people.
Even the noisily wailing Oxymoron shut her mouth upon hearing the words 'secret story.'
“Oxymoron.”
I called her name, putting weight into my voice so it wouldn't sound frivolous.
“Yes?”
Oxymoron also sensed the atmosphere in my words, as she wiped away her childish demeanor from a moment ago and answered.
“What I am about to tell you must not be repeated to anyone.”
“Is it related to that secret?”
Black Marauder. The secret she and I shared. But.
“It is something more than that. So.”
Is this really okay?
This choice might bring about everyone’s ruin.
I might be dragging another person into the mud I’ve been walking through alone.
I might become unhappy.
She might become unhappy.
Even so, I opened my mouth.
“Can you… keep a secret?”
Because I want to recognize her as a Hero.
Because I saw her dream.
“Until someone steps over my corpse.”
What an interesting expression.
Since she said that, I suppose I should live up to her expectations.
“Entities at The End of the Story.”
I spoke its name. Our enemy.
“What is that?”
“The story I’m about to tell you… is information I obtained from a certain Mutant group.”
“Did you get it during intelligence activities?”
“It’s not some filthy information whose truth can’t even be verified. It’s information containing the truth. Information I received through a personal acquaintance.”
“…Acquaintance.”
She quietly chewed over my words.
An acquaintance with a group hostile to the Management Bureau.
That constitutes a serious crime.
Of course, it’s a small sin compared to my crimes as a Mutant, but it’s more than enough reason to be taken into custody.
However, that was only a fraction of what I was going to tell her.
“Now… where should I begin?”
This is going to be a long story.
* * *
“…And that’s the gist of it. It’s full of holes, and the information isn't certain.”
A short story that lasted about a minute.
After hearing it, Oxymoron spoke in a cold voice.
“So… they really existed.”
“Yes, though the only one I faced directly was The Modifier.”
The Modifier, The Planner, The Narrator, The Spectator.
And numerous other entities.
Those four were the only names I had heard. One each that Al’shel and Al’shirin knew, and two that Linshua knew.
Entities who appreciate and weave the Story, known only by their titles. Linshua seemed to know a bit more, but there was no way to squeeze more information out of her.
“…It’s hard to believe. It even conflicts with the Management Bureau’s data.”
“Right. According to the Bureau, there is no entity above a Mutant, and the Otherworld Invasion is just a simple act of aggression.”
They even went as far as to say the Story was something that naturally existed for them.
It seems strange now that I think about it.
“Why did they use the word 'Story'?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who… was the first to use it?”
Since when had we been using that word as if it were natural?
A 'Story' is something artificial.
“…Ah.”
“So, Oxymoron.”
I will share the burden here.
“Investigate this for me.”
The day The Hole first opened. Something happened.
Perhaps there is a traitor.
But I don't have enough hands to prioritize that.
To uphold justice, raise disciples, form a faction, and gather information all at once.
So, let’s share the burden.
Like Chong So-rim and Yumil.
“Why… are you giving this to me…?”
“Oxymoron. I’m trusting you.”
The Hero who grew up magnificently enough to knock me unconscious.