The Red-Haired Madman (1)

Dong—

"Come hither."

"Place your elixir upon the dish."

I bowed my head and pulled the hood of my clothes down over my face.

"Aren't you being awfully defeatist about this?"

The man standing before me carried himself with a thoroughly relaxed air.

A revolting creature who cheers at another's despair. Even in a world where death was justified, the terror engulfing me did not come without its own sting of shame.

"The Turtle Minister standing on the left, first."

"Declare what your opponent's elixir is."

"...A Mass That Lost Life."

I recited the answer in a trembling voice. This voice of mine, convulsing as though in a seizure, felt alien in my own mouth.

Cold sweat ran down my entire body. Even my clenched fists were soaked through.

Then again — the moment agony comes crashing down, anyone would be terrified.

"The Turtle Minister standing on the right."

"Declare what your opponent's elixir is."

"An Egg of the Land."

"...…"

"Hahh, hahh... It's a free extension round from here on. How the hell am I supposed to block that piss-ant little dagger?!"

The man raised his weapon and took up an attacking stance.

The instant the extension round began, this body and this soul would be skewered, no doubt about it.

"Even if you have taken the breaths of others beyond counting, I have no right to spit at you."

"...What are you suddenly on about—"

"For this tower is a world where one must trample others to climb. ...And yet, even if it is meaningless, even if it is a contradiction—"

"...one must envision one's own way of walking. This soul intends to press on in exactly that manner."

My pain, steeped in absinthe. You, who would exploit this outpouring as a mere tool... I shall watch, and see whether your contradiction proves, in the end, sublime.

'...Ah.'

My consciousness, which had sunk somewhere beneath the floor, returned at last to its proper place.

Dong—

"The true and loyal minister is the Turtle Minister who stands upon the left."

"?!!"

The man's face crumpled in an instant.

Wondering whether the judgment had glitched, he checked the leaflet hovering in the air again and again.

"Th-this is wrong...! Something's gone wrong here...?!"

As though urging the man to give up already, the letters inside the leaflet grew heavier and bolder.

"Th-that's impossible!!"

Only then did I wipe the sweat drenching my body with my right hand and let out a long breath.

Then I tossed the small potato in my hand onto the floor.

The man gaped at the potato as it tumbled and rolled away.

"What — how...?"

"Hahh... Because I offered a Mass That Lost Life."

"That's exactly the point! You couldn't possibly have had one to offer — so how did you?! Fuck, isn't this cheating?!"

The man hurled himself at me in sheer desperation.

Clutching my collar and shaking me — his last desperate struggle.

I swayed limply in his grip, and yet a breathless laugh slipped out between my lips.

"I'd been so busy beating myself up and worrying about everyone else... I guess the moment I thought I'd won, all my tension drained right out."

"What the—"

"If you've made up your mind to kill someone, at least study your target more carefully."

I seized the hood I had kept drawn so deep over my head and pulled it down.

And when the man saw the face I had hidden beneath it, his eyes shook violently.

To be precise, it was not my face his gaze seized upon. It was my ear.

"Th-that's..."

"A Mass That Lost Life... isn't it?"

Red blood was dripping steadily from my left ear.

I had torn the hem of the t-shirt beneath my hood and pressed it against the wound, so thankfully none of the blood had stained the hood.

I frowned as I looked past the man, at my own left earlobe resting upon the dish.

So I had come face to face with my own severed flesh after all.

The leaflet floating in the air rolled itself up with a flicker and vanished.

Even before the bonus perk had activated, my mind had already been made up.

'Even so, I'm going my own way.'

If a rabbit's liver or a rotting fish counted as a "Mass That Lost Life," then my own body should qualify just as well.

But for all my resolve, my hands kept hesitating.

'Do I have to cut off a finger? Through the bone, with this knife...'

An office worker like me could hardly be accustomed to carving into his own flesh with a blade. Yakuza, maybe. Not me.

If I bled out and died, I would have gone through all of that only to fail on the spot.

Just then, the Curator's voice sounded, and a leaflet unfurled before my eyes.

Shffl—

'Soul Rental?'

I stared blankly at the Perk so suddenly bestowed upon me.

By the time I finished reading the leaflet, the letters erased themselves and new text appeared in their place.

'...The figure I desire.'

It had to be someone connected to the Museum — so an artistic or historical figure.

Perhaps because the situation was so desperate, only the most one-dimensional idea surfaced in my head.

Someone who would not hesitate to harm their own body.

'I chose the path of winning at the cost of my own flesh. I want strength to match this reckless courage.'

I drew in one deep breath and recited the figure's name in my heart.

'Soul Rental, activate. Vincent van Gogh.'

Shffl—

The painter Vincent van Gogh, born in the Netherlands.

His works, painted in rough, violent brushstrokes, are impossible to forget once seen.

'And he was a painter whose mind was so unmoored he cut off his own ear.'

A bright light wrapped around my body, and moments later a new soul slipped inside me.

In an instant, my own soul was pressed down to the very bottom of my consciousness.

"Hah..."

Van Gogh's soul now commanded my body.

Without a flicker of hesitation, Van Gogh pressed the dagger against my left earlobe.

"Aaaaagh—!!"

I let out the scream for all the pain I had been holding back.

When I had turned my body as if to dig up potatoes and severed my earlobe, I truly thought I was going to die.

The blade slicing through flesh was agonizing beyond words, but I had to endure it so that no groan escaped my lips.

I gritted my teeth and bore it until my molars ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠went numb.

'If it hadn't been for Van Gogh's impulsive nature, it would have been far harder.'

The fact that I endured it without screaming was only possible because my own will lay pinned beneath his.

I don't know how much of my mind I spent wrestling down Van Gogh as he threatened to shriek at the top of his lungs, forcing his mouth shut until the end.

"The quest never limited the elixir to things made on this floor. So, it isn't cheating — would you not agree?"

"You lunatic bastard!!"

"Honestly, I think so too."

If the opponent is a madman, then you survive by playing the madman.

"Ugh, God, this hurts..."

It felt like fire was burning in my ear, and my mind was going hazy.

Still — I had won the quest. I had no regrets about my choice.

Once my wish was granted, I could return ten years into the past; I'd figured an earlobe was a cheap enough price to pay.

'Tower system or not, I do feel terrible about exploiting Van Gogh's soul like this.'

"Please!! Bro, spare me! Huh?! I—I can't die here...!"

"...…"

"I'm an only child with a widowed mother — I'm the breadwinner — my whole family depends on me and me alone...!"

The man dropped to his knees, rubbing his palms together, begging.

Watching that face, slick with tears and snot, left a bitter taste in my mouth.

Even ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠so — I was sorry, but there was nothing to be done.

"I'm far too desperate myself to die in your place. I have to win using every scrap of strength I've got."

My voice trembled as I spoke, barely clinging to my spinning head.

Belatedly, I did my best to wrap the ear roughly in the scrap of t-shirt and stem the bleeding.

I had gone this far to win — all I could do now was pray it didn't end with me dying of blood loss or infection.

"I never should have... come into a place like this... Stupid, stupid me..."

The man berated himself in a quavering voice.

The superiority he'd worn toward me earlier was gone without a trace; he had returned to his naked, ordinary self.

Rumble—

Then a massive boulder surged up from the floor.

The man, who knew full well this boulder was as good as a guillotine, scrambled away into the distance.

But the Dragon King stretched out his enormous hand and plucked the man up with ease.

"The traitor who spoke falsehood. This wretch."

"No. No, you can't!! I don't need the—the wish, I don't need it, just let me live, please...!"

"Your head shall be split upon the stone—"

Bang—! Bang—! Bang—!

"...!!"

The sound of the man's skull striking the boulder, three times over.

I squeezed my eyes shut at an end ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I could not bear to watch.

When I opened them again, the man had already collapsed to the floor in a crumpled heap.

The tips of his feet and fingers blackened and began to crumble away. ...He was turning into this tower's data.

"Even so... not having someone precious to you — do you know how that..."

He stammered, trying to finish, and then scattered into black powder and was gone entirely.

"Hah..."

Only then did the tension drain from my whole body, and I sank to the floor.

Only then did the final chime I had been waiting for ring out.

Shffl—

"The loyal Turtle Minister has saved Us."

"...…"

As the gleaming leaflet unfurled, the Dragon King let loose a booming laugh.

'And this is supposed to be a monarch.'

I clicked my tongue at the bloodstains smeared across the boulder.

Either way, this Dragon King was just another piece of the tower — no reason to waste any more feeling on it.

"Turtle Minister. We shall open for you the road to the land above."

Rumble—

The Dragon King swept his arm, and the earth groaned.

This time a wall split open, and a new door appeared.

"The road is long and far — follow the shining star."

"The shining star..."

Light blazed so fiercely from the doorway that I couldn't see a thing inside.

Either way, I just had to follow the light.

I hurried past the Dragon King and dove through the door.

Praying that beyond it, on Floor 4, there would be something to restore my strength.

"Hahk, ugh—"

My vision was so clouded that my feet kept tangling beneath me.

If I fell here, I might never get back up, so I walked with my eyes forced wide open.

Once through the door, the blazing light finally faded and my surroundings came into view.

Unexpectedly, it was a cramped white room.

No dragon palace unfolded before me, and no cat appeared.

"What is this."

I looked back — the door was already gone, and with it, every way out.

Was I to die in here, trapped, bleeding out drop by drop?

I ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pressed a hand to the cloth-wrapped ear and panted for breath.

"...Curator."

By now, even a sudden appearance couldn't startle me.

The Curator shrugged his plaster shoulders, as though mocking my agony.

"Yes. I'm in so much pain I could die. Give me something to treat it, why don't you."

"What?"

The Curator sent his robes flaring and waved both arms.

Doors formed on either side of him.

Both were unremarkable, weathered wooden doors, alike to the last detail.

'Is Floor 4 nothing but a corridor?'

"...I could go straight through Floor 5?"

"Then the right door."

"?!!"

Floors 5 through 10, in one go.

A chance to reach that distant goal of the 100th floor that much sooner.

"Compared to going through the left door, how much longer does walking the shortcut take?"

"And if I use honorifics, will you tell me?"

Yeah. Figured as much.

I hadn't thought for a second he'd answer so obligingly.

The blood I was dripping while I deliberated was too precious to waste. Without another word, I pointed my finger at the door my heart leaned toward.