Chapter 368: The Spectator's Gaze
Chapter 368: The Spectator's Gaze
At my answer, Yellow King wears a strange expression. It’s a look the original owner of that face would never have made.
No, even that is a bit of an understatement.
That expression isn't something a human can make. In the first place, it’s questionable whether it can even be called an expression.
The skin slides.
As if decaying on the spot, the face slumps downward.
The frozen expression melts and flows onto the ground.
From within, new life surges forth.
A white, wriggling life.
They grow rapidly, turning into black life, beginning a new cycle.
Amidst everything scattering away, only the gaze remains.
Yellow King’s eyes, staring intently at me.
As if even if the bones rot away and vanish, the eyeballs will remain forever to watch over me.
After experiencing a person’s return to nature in a single instant, I stood before the grave, soaked in the rain, looking at Yellow King.
I watched him, buried in the grave, open his mouth from beneath the soil.
“That is not an answer, Lee Ha-ram.”
From that unforgettable voice, the memories of that day are dredged up.
What was I doing back then, standing in the rain?
Did something that could mix with the rain flow from my eyes then?
I’m not sure.
At the very least, the current me feels nothing even while witnessing this sight.
Is it because I know this is a play?
Is it because I am watching the stage from the perspective of a spectator?
Yes. This is a play.
Yellow King is provoking me.
By showing me the incident that twisted my essence, he is asking me to reveal the abyss I’ve shown to no one.
Not a clumsy play on words, but my essence.
However.
“That was my answer, Yellow King. I came here as the person standing in this spot.”
“Do not equivocate about where you stand. Choose. One who walks in the twilight will eventually be swallowed by one side or the other.”
Twilight, huh.
I don’t quite understand the metaphor, but I suppose he’s telling me to choose between night and day.
“Your metaphor is wrong, Yellow King.”
“What do you mean?”
“The path we walk is always a pitch-black night. A night without a single speck of light. You shouldn't be talking about twilight or whatever in a place like that.”
“Sophistry. Even in the darkness of night, there are differences. We used a simple metaphor, and you are merely nitpicking at the words…”
Sophistry, he says.
“How much blood is on our hands?”
Not the blood of enemies, but the blood of people.
“….”
“How many comrades have we swallowed?”
They became our flesh and bone.
“I did not participate in the underground.”
“Shut up, Yellow King. You have the memories. Don’t look away from it.”
That’s why he still thinks he can walk in the bright light of day.
“I don’t look away from it. I don’t even negate that underground. Looking back, I don’t negate the fact that I chose to do wrong. I’ve been walking in the night for a long time.”
“The sins of the old Heroes. Are you saying, then, that all Heroes are guilty?”
“Why should I care about other people’s mental health? I have my hands full just protecting myself. I simply don’t forget. Whether by choice or by force, the blood I’ve drunk.”
“….”
Yellow King waits for me to continue.
“When you walk the streets at night, your appearance is covered by darkness and turns black. Black Marauder? Fine. I don’t negate that either. Good? Evil? It’s a childish dichotomy, but if I had to pick, it’d be evil. But I’ll call it a necessary evil.”
A necessary evil to ensure the survival of humanity.
Even the twisted actions taken during that process—I will shoulder them all.
“You are half-baked. The Heroes wearing the skin of good, and the villains wearing the skin of evil. They are all half-baked. That is why we urged you to make a choice.”
Thud. Thud.
A curtain of pouring water blocks everything out, leaving only a narrow range around me and the grave visible.
Through it, two lumps of metal fall from the air to the ground.
A hammer and a Pry Bar.
As if telling me to choose.
When I refuse, items continue to fall.
An ID card with my face from the days before I was fixed in this form.
An ID card with my current face.
The radio I used as the captain of the Assassination Unit.
The GPS tracker that was attached to my ankle during my days as an Awakened.
And items that even I can’t exactly identify.
They keep pouring down.
Fragments that could define a cross-section of my existence.
Without looking away from them, I glared at the grave.
I’ve already thrown my answer.
Now, all that’s left is for Yellow King to accept it.
How much time passed in that battle of wills?
Just as the ground began to turn muddy from the torrential rain and the items placed on it started to get buried.
“…I know. I know that your words now are not an excuse, but the truth.”
A voice comes from within the grave.
“But at the same time, I can see it. The future that stretches out beyond. It is a perspective you cannot have.”
Gurgle. Glug.
A person crawls out through the muddy soil. But he, who crawled out of the grave, is no longer rotting.
He—no, she. The Thunder God looks at me with an expressionless face.
“…That’s in poor taste.”
“You need not worry. Even Meteor does not know of the Thunder God in this form.”
Right.
The Thunder God, as a shell worn by Yellow King, is a form that no one in the Management Bureau should know.
Black lightning, clad in the power of the black Otherworld.
It means Yellow King even knows about that.
Just how much does this guy know?
As I stared blankly at Yellow King with that thought.
“We know nothing. As to why the Thunder God became like this.”
Yellow King opens his mouth.
“However, we know for certain that the Thunder God in this form has been fixed in the future from this point in time.”
Incomprehensible words pour out.
“…What on earth are you talking about?”
“The existence up there. It is a story about the perspective held by The End, Lee Ha-ram.”
The world collapses.
Just because that one word, ‘The End,’ was spoken, everything begins to be crushed.
The rain gains weight and batters my body.
The place where the grave was turns into an abyss, falling away, unable to withstand the heavy weight of the rain.
Everything in the world is pierced and vanished by the spears of pouring rain.
I fall into the void.
Now, the rain no longer hits my body.
Because we are falling at the same speed.
But that isn't what’s important.
“…You.”
What’s important is what Yellow King said.
“Did I know? Yes. I knew. But I could not speak of it.”
In the form of the Thunder God, she speaks as she falls.
“One called Yellow King is one whose essence belongs to the Otherworld. I know what happens when the existence of that thing is revealed to someone who does not know of it.”
In the void where only the light emitted by Yellow King remains, she continues her words.
“But now I can tell you. You know of its existence. You went out into the Otherworld, looked upon their essence, and returned with fragments of it in your brain.”
Yellow King begins to reveal himself as a storyteller.
“We are not actors in the story. We are stage equipment. Permitted exceptions that exist to unfold the story anew.”
I don’t open my mouth.
Because right now, I am The Spectator.
I simply focus on Yellow King’s intensity.
“We must not stand out. We must not involve ourselves more than necessary. The form of a spectator. This is a contract made with the Management Bureau, but it is also a rule necessary for our existence.”
Yellow King goes on and on.
As if he had prepared for this moment.
“Then, let us stretch out the story. I can see the world through their eyes.”
Snap.
Suddenly, Yellow King raises his hand and snaps his fingers.
Yellow sparks cover the world, and after closing and opening my eyes from the blinding light.
I was in the middle of a desert.
However, it was a landscape completely different from any ordinary desert I knew.
Countless concrete blocks were scattered across the sand dunes.
The sky was stained purple.
In that sky, innumerable stars boasted their brilliance.
Stars of all colors flaunted their unique light and fell as shooting stars.
As the shooting stars reached the horizon.
They destroyed the world.
Beyond the horizon, a flash occurs.
A shockwave sweeps through, and the roar tears at my ears.
From over there, debris of concrete buildings flies into the desert.
And so, another decoration is added to the desert.
A lump of concrete that can no longer maintain its original form as a building.
I look around blankly.
Beyond the horizon, I see white pillars of light rising to the sky.
One, two, three….
…Just how many are there?
Pillars of light, too many to count.
Shooting stars that continue to pour down.
Amidst that light, a small being is running wild.
One who traverses the world holding a hammer.
With one arm torn off, holding The Hammer with the remaining hand, a Magical Girl approaching death.
That’s me.
‘What is this?’
Before I could even utter those words.
Snap.
Along with the sound of fingers snapping again.
I was in a different place.
It’s a city.
An ordinary city.
A city at night that turns dark, yet overflows with a flood of light, the evidence of human progress.
But why?
Why is it so dark here when the sun is up?
Looking up at the sky, I see the blue sky and the bright sun.
And yet, this city is dark.
As if swallowed by the night.
While I was observing that bizarreness.
“Black Marauder!”
Someone shouts my alias.
Surprised, I turned my head.
But the gazes of those who uttered those words were not directed at me.
The place their gazes were fixed was the rooftop of a building that wasn't very high.
It looked like there was nothing there.
But soon, I could tell it was different.
On that rooftop, there is darkness.
A pitch-black darkness, clad in a hint of redness.
It rises at the sound of its name being called and shakes its body.
One who holds a Red Pry Bar in hand and is clad in darkness.
One with red eyes and red teeth, swaying like a shadow.
He opens his mouth.
“Weak….”
At that moment.
Snap.
Fingers snap.
And I returned to how I was.
We are falling.
Just as we were at the beginning.
And finally, I opened my mouth.
“…What was that… just now?”
“It is the future belonging to the present.”
“…What are you talking about?”
“You wouldn't understand. But that is the future that coexists with the present.”
“…Future Foresight?”
“No, a fixed future at this point in time. The place you will naturally arrive at.”
What the hell does that mean?
“Do you not understand? That is the most basic perspective of The End. The future that began as your balance, Lee Ha-ram, collapsed. I and The End are watching it. A story whose conclusion is already known.”
Yellow King is calm, as if there is no lie or embellishment in those words.
If that is true.
“Is the only future one where the world is destroyed, or I completely fall into corruption?”
Talk about killing the options.
“It is different. What I presented is the future belonging to the present. The true future can be fixed by no one. Not even The End.”
Crack.
With the sound of something shattering, Yellow King’s left shoulder blade was blown away.
Before I knew it, the Thunder God’s body had changed into the form of someone I couldn't recognize, and yellow mucus flowed from the torn cross-section of the body.
“…I stand corrected. The End knows almost every conclusion. That is why it is The End.”
‘Almost every,’ huh. It sounds like he’s saying I can pierce through the gap.
“So. Did you just try to poke me? To make me choose?”
Based on what I’ve roughly understood, it sounds like he’s saying I’m heading toward those two worst conclusions because I haven't chosen anything.
“Correct. The struggle of a spectator to shake up the predetermined path.”
“Then you’re not a spectator anymore, are you?”
“…We like this world.”
What kind of sudden nonsense is that?
Can I trust him?
No, regardless of trust, I lack information.
“Then, does the future get better if I make a choice?”
Whichever one I choose?
Then I guess I can just say whatever…
“I do not know.”
“…Huh?”
“That is the limit of my vision. I am simply placing a bet.”
“So you’re saying there’s a possibility it could get worse?”
“Correct.”
Hey, don’t say something like that so calmly.
Let’s ask for now.
“Then, if I answer that I am the Black Marauder, will you eliminate me?”
“I will spectate. However, personal assistance will cease.”
“I don’t recall receiving much help from you normally anyway.”
“Because we are spectators.”
“Then while you’re spectating everything, why don’t you tell me who the traitor is?”
You know very well that the reason I came here is because of the traitor.
“The traitor. Yes. Not long ago, someone who could be a traitor depending on the viewer’s perspective came by.”
“…Who was it?”
“I cannot tell you. That is something that falls outside the scope of a spectator.”
Give me a break, seriously.
Telling me the future is within the scope of a spectator.
But telling the Management Bureau that I’m the Black Marauder, or telling me who the traitor is, isn't allowed?
Who decided that?
At least, looking at the way he’s talking, it’s not Yellow King.
In that case.
I slowly raised my head.
They’re probably there.
The pieces of trash looking down.
I don’t perceive whether those things truly exist in the sky, but there is one thing I can do.
“Hey. Yellow King.”
I spoke with my head tilted back toward the sky.
“What is it?”
“I’ve chosen. I’m going with this.”
“I shall respect whatever choice you make.”
As soon as I received that answer from Yellow King.
I wore a full smile on my face and raised my right hand.
With my middle finger standing stiff.
“Eat shit, you voyeuristic bastards. A fixed future? What a load of crap. Even The Queen was wrong plenty of times. You think you can talk me into choosing one side?”
I laugh.
I just laugh.
Like a stand-up comedian telling an unfunny joke to an invisible audience, I laughed alone.
“I am me, you bastards. No matter what you babble, I’m going to walk this half-baked route.”
After finishing those words, I raised my left hand as well for good measure, making the same gesture as my right.
Since I’m doing it, two hands should be twice as good.
“Have some of this, too.”