Chapter 369
Chapter 369
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Translator: crow
Chapter Title: Something Greater Than Pain
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People really are sly creatures.
I'd originally planned to meet my end here—death or whatever doom was coming—but with Song Arin sitting beside me, gazing up at me, the thought that I absolutely couldn't do it welled up inside me.
More than that, though...
I gaze at the words inscribed there: [Story Written Together].
Story written together...
A joint tale, and above all else...
Someone whispers to me.
No need to worry.
I can picture myself arriving safely.
...
And layered over that scene, Song Arin looking up at me with a flushed face.
Ah, damn it. I can't even think of anything else right now.
I recall what Song Arin said to me earlier.
She'd asked if there was any possibility.
...
It seems the time has finally come to say the words I'd only thought about for so long.
"...For now, as for me..."
"Wait."
Song Arin raises her hand to stop me.
"Hoo, huu..."
She takes a deep breath.
Soon, she opens her mouth.
"It's not that I want to confirm your feelings."
She continues speaking at a strangely rapid pace.
"No, I do want to confirm, but no, it's not like I just want to hear it right away..."
...
I stare straight at Song Arin, and she slowly opens her mouth.
"J-Just answer if there's any possibility..."
...
Song Arin mutters with her head bowed low.
Jang Chaeyeon was like that, and now Song Arin too. They all just say their piece and call it a day.
But I decide not to raise any objections to that.
"There is."
I answer her question calmly, and Song Arin looks up at me.
"...Really?"
"Would I gain anything by lying about something like this?"
I really wouldn't.
What could Song Arin possibly gain from a meaningless lie like that from me?
Our eyes meet for a moment,
"...Th-Then it's fine."
She mutters while averting her gaze from mine.
...
Yeah. Now's not the time to worry about that.
I lower my head to look at the pen.
A containment object that arbitrarily rewrites the world is sitting harmlessly in my hand, with no apparent side effects.
No, that's not right.
There can't possibly be zero side effects.
As the manual warned me, there must be some side effect I'm not noticing right now.
I just don't know about it yet.
...
Even if I figure it out, nothing changes. For now, focus on getting out.
Focus.
I mutter to myself inwardly and turn my gaze back to the translucent window in front of me.
Story written together, huh.
"Shall we talk after we get out first?"
"Ah, uh. Yeah."
Song Arin mutters and awkwardly stands beside me.
"Wh-What should I do?"
"I'm about to find out now."
"Yeah...?"
Song Arin mutters as if she has no idea what I'm talking about,
[Story Written Together - Two people become one. One becomes the ink, the other the pen, and they create each other's stories. After one use, unusable for one month.]
One month?
If we don't succeed on the first try, we're in deep trouble.
"Listen carefully, Arin."
"Y-Yeah."
"If we fail, you and I will have to survive here together for a whole month."
Song Arin blinks at my words, then lowers her gaze as if pondering something.
"Arin?"
Why's she gone quiet? It's making me anxious.
"Uh, yeah. Got it. I'll do my best."
Only after I call her out sharply does she finally nod.
Good. Don't look so scared.
"So, what exactly do I need to do?"
"Well..."
"Yeah?"
I answer like that and focus my mind.
Judging by what happened when I got the pen, it seems like an ability related to the pen, but then again, couldn't I just use it myself?
I pick up the pen and look at it, but as expected, no answer comes.
No choice, then.
[Story Written Together: 1->0]
[Time until reuse: 29 days 23 hours 59 seconds]
The translucent window appears and vanishes,
And the pen in my hand floats up into the air on its own.
"Whoa."
"Wh-What's that?"
Cool.
Unlike my murmur of wonder, Song Arin stares in horror at the scene unfolding before her.
At the same time, the pen starts writing letters in the air all on its own.
[Please set a title.]
...
"Title?"
Song Arin mutters and looks at me, and information flows into my head.
It feels like the pen is telling me what to do.
Got it.
"...We'll use this as our guide."
"What are you talking about?"
"So..."
I slowly raise my hand to grasp the pen and begin writing.
"Basically, the pen rewrites everything."
...
"But normally, it's used to rewrite people."
The world isn't a play, after all.
The fact that I could close the play was only because I was inside it to begin with.
If reality could be changed that easily, it wouldn't be human—it'd be a containment object.
Honestly, even containment objects probably can't change it that easily.
"But this time is different."
Now I understand what "Story Written Together" means.
It's something we can do because it's a joint ability used together with Song Arin, who's connected to the play.
"It rewrites a portion of reality into a play, even if only briefly."
It accomplishes what I and the pen alone can't do, with Song Arin's power.
What an amazing ability.
With that thought, I finish writing the title and look at it.
[The Road Home.]
[Act 1, The Road Home]
At the same time, the pen floats in the air and begins drawing a path.
An utterly ordinary-looking road.
...
"Let's go."
"H-How did you know this?"
Unlike my words, Song Arin stares at me intently, and I just shrug at her.
"The pen told me."
...
Song Arin's face seems to have gone completely pale.
The path begins to curve, and I step onto it.
"Let's go."
...
Song Arin, still pale-faced, places her foot on the path.
"Arin?"
...
"Arin."
"I'm thinking."
"Ah, okay."
Well, if that's the case, I have nothing to say.
With that thought, I start walking.
*
It was a boring road.
Or, put another way, a safe one.
"...Hey."
And then Song Arin quietly looks at me.
Unlike her gaze from earlier, her expression is resolute, like she's truly made up her mind.
"Can I try just one thing?"
"What?"
Why such a serious face?
"...Can I touch your forehead? Just once."
"Huh?"
Suddenly? Here?
As I look at her without hiding my bewilderment, she hurriedly continues.
"Ah, earlier. What I said to you is bothering me."
...
Ah, well, if you put it that way, I can't refuse.
"G-Go ahead."
I quietly nod in permission, and Song Arin slowly places her hand on my forehead.
The warm sensation on my forehead lasts only a moment before she nods.
"Yeah, it's fine."
"...What was it?"
"It's there."
She just nods, as if she has no intention of telling me.
"Okay, whatever."
Can't be helped, then.
This road has an end anyway.
We reach the end of the road, and before we know it, we're standing under a pitch-black sky.
"We're on the right path."
"...For real?"
"Yeah. I can tell."
The 'story' says so.
Song Arin blinks at my words, closing and opening her eyes.
"Got it. What's next?"
"We've made the road, so now we need to make a door."
Up to Act 2 seems doable.
[The Road Home.]
[Act 2. Door to Home]
I pick up the pen and set the title, and a door draws itself.
"Good."
This should get us back.
With that thought, I step forward, grab the doorknob,
"Wait."
Song Arin's voice stops me.
"Arin?"
What's wrong.
I turn to look at her, and Song Arin takes a deep breath as she stares at me.
"Tell me a story."
*
Something's off.
I'd thought it was strange when he picked up the pen, but above all, the man felt strange starting from when he began writing the title after grasping it.
...
Only someone like her, who had watched the man for so long, could notice it.
No. Even the black hair and white hair would notice.
With white hair, she'd say the atmosphere had changed, and with black hair, the scent had changed.
But neither is here now.
That's why Song Arin kept observing the man.
Confessions and all that could wait—something more important had come up.
For there to be a difference, that man had to stay alive first.
With that thought, Song Arin looks at the man.
"What story do you want to hear?"
The man stares at her intently.
From his words or the atmosphere he gives off, nothing seems different.
...
But somehow, this feeling is off.
It feels like conversing with something not human.
Like talking to something that transcends cognition.
And if there was one thing that could have changed the man in that short time, Song Arin could think of only one possibility.
Her gaze turns to the pen.
Containment objects often change people.
No, more than often—most tool-type containment objects do exactly that.
Otherwise, it wouldn't be a containment object; it'd be a spiritual entity.
Now I get why the manual isn't classified as a containment object. With that same thought, Song Arin extends her hand.
If so, the solution is simple.
"Hey, let me see that pen."
"The pen?"
"Yeah."
"What's wrong with the pen?"
The man speaks as if it's nothing, but Song Arin already senses the incongruity from there.
The man she knows would have said, "Sure, whatever," and handed over the pen.
And she would know how to take it from him.
"Damn it, just hand it over. It's not gonna wear out from writing."
As always, she glares at him with irritation.
And as if by prior agreement, the man would—
"...Sigh. Fine."
Hand it over like he'd lost.
But just now, he hesitated.
...
Do I have to do this alone?
Song Arin starts grumbling inwardly.
This might be the first time in her life that she'll miss the black hair and white hair so much.
With those two, they would have used everything at their disposal to help her.
No, the black hair would have come back to life even after dying to act for the man's sake.
The white hair would have subdued him without lifting a finger or resolved the situation.
But she has no such abilities.
She could go mad if driven mad, die if killed, and she doesn't possess overwhelming force.
Even so, she had to do it.
Because at this rate, the man looked like he wouldn't give up the pen at all soon.
Song Arin slowly probes the man's mind.
His mind always felt blocked by a transparent wall,
But this time it's different.
It feels like launching a mental attack on something not human at all.
...
Song Arin lets out a small sigh and swiftly snatches the pen.
"Huh?"
The man lets out a dumbfounded voice for a moment,
"Arin!"
His face fills with bewilderment and anger.
What can you do about it.
With that thought, Song Arin grips the pen,
"...!"
An absurd amount of information floods into her head.
It was a violently overwhelming volume.
And all that information was things no ordinary human should know or could know.
How to handle people, how to rewrite people, and all sorts of details on top of that.
"...Urk..."
Just like the man had, Song Arin's vision turns bright red.
Not only that, her mind fragments as if her brain is turning to mush.
But what can you do.
"...!"
The man says something and reaches out toward Song Arin, and her body staggers.
There's no way she, an ordinary person who can only handle minds, could endure this.
At this rate, she'll just—
'No!'
-crunch!
She bites down hard on her tongue with her own teeth and kicks the man away with her foot.
The man stumbles back, and as Song Arin swings her hand, threads wrap around him.
The man shouts something.
None of her business.
Blood spurts from her tongue at the same time as she grips the pen with all her strength.
She couldn't use hypnosis or control, and even if she did, it would be meaningless—but that's not for her to know.
-crunch!
Song Arin grabs the pen with both hands, closes her eyes, and puts every ounce of strength she has into it.
Its durability is just that of a regular pen, after all.
-crunch!
A cracking sound comes from the pen, and Song Arin's vision turns bright red.
Now she can't feel anything.
Her body and mind are already screaming, and she already knows it.
This is dangerous if she continues.
But what can you do.
Muttering that inwardly, Song Arin squeezes her hand even harder.
-crack!
All that pain, all that information,
-crunch!
Cracks form in the pen.
Song Arin closes her eyes tighter and applies more force.
Because it can't block her heart.
-crunch!
The pen snaps in half.