Chapter 3: Constellation, Lethargic Nightmare
Chapter 3: Constellation, Lethargic Nightmare
Apparently, the free communication function provided to Constellations came with a certain level of filtering.
Just as I hadn't chosen it myself and the system had arbitrarily slapped the nickname "Lethargic Nightmare" on me,
what I'd just witnessed was my own intended message getting subtly filtered before it reached my incarnation.
Probably a trick to make me burn through points.
What was the point of expanding my living space, filling it with luxury furniture, and eating like an emperor?
The only people I could actually talk to were my own incarnations.
Unless my personality was uniquely twisted, wouldn't every other Constellation want to have a real conversation with theirs too?
I was so sick of talking to myself. I craved genuine, two-way communication.
I'd sent a chat message saying, "I look forward to working with you," and the system reduced it to "exchanges a greeting."
If I typed away in that chat window until my fingers fell off, it would probably get truncated to "asks after your well-being" or "offers encouragement" every single time.
Beyond the screen, I could see Han Ye-ji dipping her head in a deep bow, telling me she looked forward to working with me too, but we couldn't actually talk.
'This is a little frustrating...'
I couldn't even look up whether a communication function with other Constellations would be added later,
and for now I could only speak to my incarnation through fixed, pre-approved phrases.
Sometimes a single sip of water given to a thirsty man only sharpens the pain.
If no one else were around at all, I'd just give up and rot in bed,
but having other people right in front of me—knowing a little effort could get me this or that—kept nagging at my mind.
I didn't need fancier food, luxury furniture, a sprawling mansion, or a vast garden. So for starters, how about I just hoard as many points as possible?
While I read through the shop list, Han Ye-ji finished her part-time shift on the screen and headed home.
Incarnations were apparently sent to a training center in the middle of the continent first, to receive combat education.
Naturally, the period before that education began, along with the training and probationary period, was prep time—not just for the incarnation, but for the Constellation as well.
The message appeared to be: a Constellation can bestow more than one or two things, so make a plan for how you'll back your incarnation.
my only method of gathering information was zooming in on the screen and leeching off whatever Han Ye-ji found.
I had no communication function with other Constellations, and no search function whatsoever.
Her internet searches on other Constellations were the sum total of my intel.
The moment she contracted with me at the convenience store, she'd called her manager, quit her part-time job on the spot, and filed a report with the state.
Maybe the status of an incarnation in this world was higher than I'd thought, because there wasn't a hint of petty trouble.
Even though she'd ditched her shift without finding a replacement,
her manager acted like it was the best news ever and handed her a fat bonus, and not a whisper of dissent came up during her incarnation verification.
I'd suspected it from the flat planet and the donut-shaped continent, but this really was a different world.
Then again, I could've figured that out just from the supermarket ad with a soju bottle drawn next to a man's abs in square-cut swim trunks.
I figured it was lucky that aesthetic standards hadn't changed, at least.
Even if swapping men and women's roles made the world seem a bit scrambled, beautiful and cool were still beautiful and cool.
If there were posters of some muscle-bound cool older guy, I could just shrug and walk past,
but if some flabby, ugly man were striking a sexy pose, that would probably put me in a foul mood.
Though no matter how ugly he was, he'd still be better-looking than a creature.
※
While on-screen Han Ye-ji diligently scoured the internet, filled out paperwork, and filed applications with the government-assigned civil servant,
I was diligently scouring the shop list myself.
Through the fairly long stretch of time it took for her pale younger brother to be admitted to the hospital, for them to move, switch houses, and bring in furniture, I managed to get a handle on most of the list.
"Are they just outright telling us to pick a concept...?"
[Constellation, Lethargic Nightmare, advises their first incarnation to get some good rest.]
Han Ye-ji, who had just lain down in bed, awkwardly ducked her head, her back facing the screen.
This was the daily check-in message I sent to show her that I, as her Constellation, took an interest in her.
Some of the information she'd dug up included stories about Constellations who barely paid any attention to their incarnations.
I had no reason to be one of those.
Go back to living like a corpse, shut up in the side room of a basement, lying around lethargically doing nothing but reminiscing about the happy old days?
If I wanted that, I wouldn't have made the contract in the first place.
Besides, raising an incarnation was more like a game than exercise.
No sweating, no running around in agony on my part—
just watching over my incarnation's surroundings on that huge screen, looking after her, and earning more points from her growth.
Even in a ruined world, a human being is the kind of creature who, out of sheer boredom, will scratch a grid into a rusted steel plate and enjoy a crudely made board game.
No way I was giving up something this fun.
There was another reason it felt like a game.
A glance at the prices in the shop list made it easy to figure out what this world wanted from its Constellations:
pick a concept.
Why that was, I couldn't guess.
Who could ever hope to understand the divine entity that created a world by gathering the souls of the dead from countless realities?
But the list alone made it clear: Constellations were expected to pick a concept and build a character.
- Secret Sound Transmission [100,000pt]
- Telepathy [100,000pt]
- Dream Whisper [10,000pt]
These had been updated in the list right after the nickname "Lethargic Nightmare" got stuck on me.
Techniques for sending unfiltered messages to your incarnation.
I'd skimmed past them at first without a thought, but on closer inspection, I saw a single zero's difference in the price tags.
It was the same for the other skills.
Skills with keywords like dream, Nightmare, or phantasm initially cost only about ten percent of the baseline.
Even the ones whose names I couldn't make sense of at a glance followed that rule.
They were grouped in the same category, but if it related to dreams, it was best to think of it as a ninety percent discount.
Just seeing this, the vibe was immediate.
You're Lethargic Nightmare, so build your skills like an actual Dream Demon.
Most of the famous Constellations documented on the internet were the same.
There were Constellations who pushed physical fighters, and Constellations who pushed mages.
In contrast to combat, there were Constellations who focused on healing and service, and others who supported research and production.
If points were the goal, it wouldn't matter whether your incarnation was a combat class or a production class—
you'd just raise an incarnation with outstanding talent. So why would anyone pigeonhole their incarnation into a single role?
The answer had to be the points spent, not the points earned—the expenses differed by a factor of ten.
Even just for communication, it was ten thousand points versus a hundred thousand points—a difference of a full ninety thousand points.
If I thought about outfitting her in armor from head to toe, giving her a weapon that fit her hand and the techniques to match,
the cost was so staggering I didn't dare imagine it.
Even with the discount, the numbers made my jaw drop. Why would I ever pay ten times that without it?
The silver lining was that not every item was absurdly, hopelessly expensive.
The things clearly designed for beginners were fairly cheap.
Cheap, only compared to the dazzling items that ran into the millions of points—
against my base monthly income of a thousand points, they were still pricey.
- Sweet Lucid Dream [3,000pt]
- Dream Elixir 5 EA [500pt]
After snooping on Han Ye-ji's research into Constellations and poring over the item list on my own, I'd settled on two purchases.
The plan: use Sweet Lucid Dream to make her train even in her sleep, then feed her the Dream Elixir so that her physical body would actually grow stronger from the dream workouts.
It felt like the best approach I could come up with.
Honestly, what good would it do right now to drain my points and buy armor or a sword for a high schooler who was still a convenience store clerk?
Better to help her train, boost her confidence, and get her ready to adapt to the Academy.
Since I had zero intention of splurging on food and drink, if I saved as I was, that meant four months at a thousand points a month.
If Han Ye-ji had real talent and earned me bonus points, three months.
Considering the Academy's training curriculum was structured in years, that would be plenty of time for her to lay her foundations after I gave her the skill.
And after that... maybe buy Dream Whisper and do my best to steer things the way Han Ye-ji wanted?
I had no desire to swagger around lording my Constellation status over anyone.
What gave some guy who'd spent his days crouched in an underground shelter the right to dictate someone else's life?
Han Ye-ji would be the one receiving professional training as an incarnation. She was the one who knew this world better than I did.
On the screen, she was running through her neighborhood in an old tracksuit.
Even though she'd dropped out of school and was heading to the Incarnation Academy, her face was bright, happy, without a single complaint.
With every stride, the ponytail tied with a cheap hairband swayed lightly.
Watching that life force surge beneath the sunlight, free of worries and cares, lifted my mood for no particular reason.
The sight of her stretching her sleek limbs long and far,
wiping the sweat from her forehead with one hand and drinking cold water,
grumbling at the occasional sudden downpour and wringing out her soaked clothes.
What man would dislike watching a genuinely beautiful woman radiating healthy vitality?
At high school age, instead of studying, she worked part-time jobs.
She lived without parents, caring for her sick younger brother. And yet, Han Ye-ji always smiled.
Not because I was watching—the person herself was simply wired for positivity.
I'd spent my days seeing human faces in the water stains and mold on concrete walls,
and now, watching a truly vivid, living, breathing person, I could feel a warmth stirring in a corner of my chest.
Lying around doing nothing, just waiting for the scavenged food to run out and the day I'd starve to death—
could I even call that a life?
Though, to be fair, the people who'd been more active than me had all apparently died in one kind of accident or another.
So I wanted to help her.
It wasn't a heavy emotion like love or obsession.
The thing my slowly unwinding mind craved, now that the threat of starvation and death had vanished, was affection.
Not so much affection between two humans—more of a light fondness mixed with vicarious satisfaction toward a game character.
If I had to raise an incarnation anyway, wouldn't it be more fun to put everything I had into it?