The Banker Who Sees Potential 81
"This is…."
He tried to say something, but the words wouldn't come out.
Beyond the transparent wall, a human girl who looked no older than five or six was sobbing. Her body, strapped to the chair, trembled nonstop, and her large eyes streamed with tears. Her skull had been sliced open like the lid of a jar, exposing her brain, where dozens of electrodes were connected.
"Why would they do something like…."
"I know it's not a pleasant sight, but this procedure can't be delayed."
Dr. Bernard slowly approached the reinforced glass.
"This child's name is Rainy. The disease she's suffering from is called Paroxysmal Soul Dissociation Syndrome."
"Paroxysmal… soul dissociation…."
"So that's what it was."
It was a name I'd never heard before, of course, but Irool and Razma beside me nodded as if it all made sense.
"Rainy had a frail body and soul even before becoming undead. Not just because of her congenital immune deficiency that her body couldn't endure, but also because of the soul dissociation syndrome that weakened the bond between her spirit and flesh, causing constant out-of-body experiences."
"The doctor who performed her necromancy procedure didn't realize she had soul dissociation syndrome?"
"Unfortunately, yes. There's a tendency to dismiss frequent out-of-body experiences as mere magical aptitude, so it seems they only realized after the procedure was complete."
The doctor continued his explanation. To sum it up:
The girl called Rainy over there had a soul that was prone to detaching from her body even in life, and those around her hadn't paid attention to her out-of-body episodes because they were busy treating her other illnesses while she was alive. But when her condition worsened to the brink of death, her guardian couldn't bear to let a mere six-year-old end her life like that. With the child's consent, they hurriedly commissioned the necromancy procedure. It succeeded, and Rainy became undead.
The problem was that no one knew about the disease afflicting her soul.
In life, even when her soul dissociated during sleep and left her body due to the syndrome, it would return by daytime. That was possible because her soul still considered her body its home. Like how we return home and sleep after a trip, no matter how far we go.
No matter how much dissociation occurred, as long as the body was alive, the soul would find its way back.
But once she became undead, things changed.
Having recognized the death of her body, her soul was compelled by the primal function created by the gods toward the afterlife. And now, the girl's soul was constantly trying to escape the house called her body whenever it could.
In a way, it was natural. Her soul had acknowledged the body's death.
Like having to leave a rental after the lease ends.
Rainy's soul already saw her body as a place it could no longer stay.
"Necromancy is essentially inducing a bug in the soul's program to prevent the final code—departure to the afterlife—from executing. To reconnect a soul and a body that's already severed requires the subject to have a powerful attachment to this world."
Dr. Bernard gazed at the convulsing child as he spoke. His eyes stared straight at the horrific scene he'd created, without flinching.
His reflection in the reinforced glass showed no real expression, but I could tell he was suppressing his emotions.
"To be precise, it's not reconnecting the link so much as creating a vessel tied to the body and containing the soul within it."
Responsibility and guilt. And a tangle of other complex feelings lay beneath his skin. He couldn't bear having to subject a child to such brutality.
"But for dissociation patients, even after becoming undead, the soul keeps detaching from the body. No matter how strong their attachment to life on this plane, the vessel can't contain it and inevitably starts crumbling bit by bit."
A soul that recognizes its body's death follows the inscribed command to the afterlife. If you force it back with tricks, it's only natural for the soul to try breaking out of its prison.
"Ordinary undead bind themselves with their lingering regrets for life, but Rainy doesn't qualify. Her soul-body link is weaker than most due to the dissociation, and she didn't live long enough to form strong attachments. The only reason her soul hasn't left yet is sheer curiosity about a life unlived."
The glass vibrated with the child's sobs. I couldn't even imagine what torment those needles and electrodes in her brain were inflicting.
Was enduring that kind of pain really worth living? I started questioning the value of human life itself.
Unlike me, the other bankers remained remarkably composed.
"I get what you're implying, but I'm wondering if this procedure is truly necessary. It just seems like it'd make her not want to live at all—might it even backfire?"
Irool was suppressing his emotions as best he could, but I could sense the massive turmoil swirling in his heart. More than his hatred for undead, his angelic instincts pitied the little girl receiving treatment. It was natural for him to question if this incomprehensible therapy was really needed.
"As you say, there are side effects. But Rainy's soul has already accepted her body's death. To prolong its stay by confusing that awareness, there's no other way. Ironically, pain is what most vividly affirms the sensation of being alive."
"Then the electrodes in her brain—"
"They're directly simulating various pain sensations, like electric shocks, and inputting them into the pineal gland. So the soul can feel the pain."
Unlike Razma, who showed no reaction, Elama and I—mere humans—covered our mouths with handkerchiefs. Just hearing the explanation made it hard to hold back the nausea.
If this man weren't a leading authority in neurology and necromancy, if I hadn't known beforehand that his intentions were good, I'd have pegged Dr. Bernard as a psychopath who enjoyed torturing children.
But the undead girl Rainy, suffering beyond the wall, looked at the doctor without a trace of fear.
"…Are you okay?"
"I'm… okay."
The child answered when I asked. A short reply. But a faint smile graced her face.
"The doctor promised… he'd save me…."
She trusted him. She placed strong faith in Dr. Bernard, the very man inflicting this pain on her.
Even as she screamed in agony, begging to live, she desperately clung to her will to survive. She entrusted the tiny spark of hope left in her to the doctor.
Knowing that, she endured what was torture in name only—a treatment with a purpose.
"……."
I'm human too. My earlier worries about resource imbalances from aging populations and the spread of necromancy had vanished.
A child who'd only lived six years was dying. Undead or not, shouldn't we give her a chance? If the bank funds research to save a dying child, and it leads to a cure for soul dissociation syndrome, more people will get opportunities.
What those adults do with extended lives is their responsibility. But if we quibble over societal progress, economics, gaps between living and dead, reverse discrimination, and all that macro bullshit, and fail to help this child…
I could never forgive myself, or the bank.
"Branch manager."
"…What."
"I don't think we need to see any more. We should report to the board as soon as possible. We have to save this kid, right?"
"That's not for you to decide."
Elama's eyebrows twitched in irritation. I knew my words were utterly clueless. A rookie barely into the job shouldn't mouth off to his sky-high superior like that.
But I was too shaken to control myself. If any of the three bankers here opposed it, I'd shut up and bite their head off—I had that much conviction.
"Fine, we'll settle this when we get back."
"…I can't accept that."
As Elama unclenched his fist with a sigh, Irool shot his hand up.
I can't accept it. Contrary to me. Of course, I understood. An angel, servant of god. Guardian of providence. Even with free will, having witnessed the horrors of necromancy-created undead on the battlefield, it was no surprise he disagreed.
"These bastards, the more I see…."
Elama looked up at the ceiling with a disbelieving laugh. He was the highest-ranking here, tasked with reporting the audit results to the board. For lower-rankers like me and Irool to challenge him was ignoring the bank's hierarchy.
He was holding back only because Dr. Bernard—a potential client—was present. If this were the branch, he'd have drawn his gun by now.
"I know you'll think it's presumptuous. But even so, I'll speak out of turn: I lived through the Great War and witnessed the misfortunes necromancy brings. I'm afraid of what Dr. Bernard's research might unleash."
Yet he gave Irool the floor without a word.
"Sorry to Razma here, but necromancy itself—the foul procedure defying god's providence—is an enemy I must oppose. Every time I encounter undead at HQ, I still see my brothers' corpses… rising and shambling before my eyes…."
Irool spewing his rage was utterly unfamiliar. His usual smile was a mask maintained with medication. This writhing in PTSD agony was his true face, hidden away.
-Bzzz!
My smartphone kept vibrating, but I didn't reach for my pocket. The moment I ignored Irool's voice, I knew I couldn't remain his friend.
"……."
Irool bowed his head silently for a while. He'd realized he'd poured out unfiltered emotions.
"I apologize that most of what I said was personal experience. I find undead utterly repulsive. And I'm tired of watching them devour society's resources and opportunities. Considering all that, even questioning my identity as an angel… my conclusion is—"
Beyond the reinforced glass, the girl listening shed endless tears. Denied existence before the angel's halo blazing with hate and fury, she couldn't utter a word.
"Stop, Irool."
I tried to intervene, but he reached out and covered my mouth.
"I'm speaking."
Irool's eyes lost focus. No trace of the gentle guardian angel in that despair-twisted face.
But.
"My conclusion is that, considering the highest values the Dimensional Credit Vault pursues, saving that child is the right thing to do."
The words from his mouth were utterly unexpected.