Edison and Tesla (1)

Creeeeak—

The sound of the door opening seemed to echo louder than usual.

"…!"

My gaze met Visitor C's, huddled in the corner of the small space.

Her face was smeared with tears, the corners of her eyes bloodshot.

Having hidden away alone to cry, she hadn't fully settled her emotions, and for a split second she shot me a fleeting look.

It was a sharp glare, brimming with resentment.

Oh, great. I came back in too soon.

She pulled herself together and hastily averted her eyes.

I had braced myself to be the target of her venting, but seeing her trying to hide her feelings instead only made things more awkward.

Best to just play like I saw nothing, I suppose.

"This compartment's empty, huh?"

"…Yes. Ah, I forgot something. I'll just step out for a moment."

"You've finished crying now, so don't worry and sit down."

She waved her hand as if to say there was no need for me to put on an act, and steered me toward a seat.

I sat down beside her, feeling sheepish, and handed her a newspaper.

"I got two copies. Start with this one first."

"A newspaper?"

As I held it out, her gaze naturally drifted down to the paper.

"1880?"

"Yes. Seems we're in 1880s America. I had a rough idea once they started mentioning historical figures, but it really is an old era, isn't it."

"I see. It's all about electricity, every last page."

Visitor C skimmed through a few pages, then reached out asking for the second newspaper.

"Ah, I haven't read that one yet either. It seems like time passes every time you turn the pages."

"Time? Goodness—look, up at the top of the page, the monthly dates really are different."

Only then did she grasp the newspaper's peculiar structure, and she went back over the changing contents with each passing stretch of time, combing through them thoroughly.

…………

"Tesla? …That was a person's name?"

The name kept reappearing.

Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla.

Edison was someone everyone knew well, but Tesla's name was comparatively less familiar to the general public.

"Yes. Edison and Tesla. Both are electrical inventors."

At my words, the woman tilted her head, looking confused.

As for me, everything I knew about Tesla came from a single book I'd read as a child.

They were fragmented memories rather than anything I remembered in detail. And on top of that—

I read Edison's biography first, then picked up a separate book about the two of them later, so there could be errors in my memory.

It seemed I would need to use my Docent ability to properly organize my recollections.

Seeing the two names repeated over and over in the papers, I'd guess we're supposed to change a mistake made by one of them.

Edison or Tesla—which of the two had made the mistake?

"Maybe it's just my ignorance, but Edison is famous as the first electrical inventor, while I've never heard of Tesla as a historical figure."

"In fact, neither of them was the first electrical inventor."

"Really?"

The woman's eyes went round with surprise.

It was perfectly natural not to know, unless you were a specialist or had picked the knowledge up from books.

"More people than you'd think dreamed of electricity and experimented with it. It's only the ones who commercialized it that become known to the world."

In history, being "first" matters—but what matters more is persisting to the very end.

Leaving behind a history that can be remembered all the way down to the present humanity.

And the one who creates that memory earns the name.

Even if you weren't the first to conceive of something, the process of developing it and bringing it into the world is great in its own right.

"But why do these men keep coming up? Did Edison and Tesla make some mistake?"

Her question was something I had been pondering myself.

It wasn't easy to answer, so I rested my chin on my hand and sank into thought.

"Hard to say. They're human, so of course they made mistakes. But pinning down just one… might not be so simple."

Genius or great figure alike—no one is flawless, are they?

"!"

Fwoosh—

Just then, as if it had only been waiting for us to raise the topic, the Leaflet unfolded with perfect timing.

More text is appearing below.

Below the quest window I had seen last time with the Curator, new lines were being added.

Detailed conditions had been added, and the quest had grown that much more demanding.

No, wait. They've narrowed down our options—this might actually make it easier to deduce which mistake it is.

The woman, who had been reading the quest text rapidly, soon clicked her tongue.

Unable to make sense of the quest conditions at all, she thrust her face even closer to the page.

"We have to correct a historical mistake, and yet the future can't change? Does the Museum not know what a butterfly effect is?"

"If humanity's future isn't to change…"

We must not touch Edison's and Tesla's scientific achievements.

A mistake. A tiny, deeply personal mistake—one too small to trigger a butterfly effect.

"We're probably meant to change something personal between these historical figures. Their views, their attitudes—something on that level."

"Can a personal mistake be historical?"

"Even personal mistakes can be, when ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the people involved are famous enough to reach the world's ears."

The very fact that a person's name survived is proof that they already became part of history.

"So it seems we'll have to find a mistake made during the war between Edison and Tesla."

"A war?"

Her eyes widened slightly.

It seemed the word electricity, which had come up again and again, wasn't easily connecting to war in her mind.

"It's commonly called the War of the Currents."

"War of the Currents…"

"A commercialization war fought between Edison's direct current power system and Tesla's alternating current power system."

Edison had been a practical inventor and businessman.

Tesla, by contrast, leaned far more toward the inventor's temperament—a man possessed by experimentation.

"What's the difference between direct and alternating current?"

"Hmm."

I organized the difference in my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠head so the woman could follow a simple explanation.

"Direct current, at that point in time, was already electricity you could sell. It had been commercialized. Alternating current hadn't yet undergone any real commercialization."

Heard only this far, direct current would sound superior. But.

"To put it simply, direct current has a short transmission range, while alternating current can travel long distances. That made alternating current far more efficient—usable even with fewer power plants."

"Then alternating current is obviously better, isn't it?"

"That's exactly why almost everything today runs on alternating current. But Edison stubbornly refused to abandon his direct current, insisting on improving it instead."

Just as geniuses develop technologies unlike anyone else's, they hold equally firm convictions about their own abilities.

Business considerations aside, Edison believed devoutly in direct current, the product of his own experiments.

"You're working hard, explaining all this to me."

"Sorry?"

"Even if it's a joint battle, it's not something you strictly need a partner for, is it? Visitors can always be replaced, after all."

Her tone was flat, but woven into it was a subtle sense of distance.

There was an anxious line drawn between us—less a partnership than a relationship that could be severed at any moment.

Just like the wall her twin sister had once put up.

"……"

"Ah, of course, there's a chance I abandon you and you're the one who gets judged a failure."

Sensing the chill in the air, Visitor C belatedly tossed out something like a light joke.

It wasn't a remark either of us could laugh off entirely.

"I've never thought like that. I look for ways to survive together whenever I can."

I did my best to project as much trustworthiness toward Visitor C as I could.

She didn't argue back, but a look of half-doubt showed in her eyes.

She might well wonder why I was so bent on camaraderie in a brief joint battle between strangers whose bond ran so shallow. But.

Even if it takes time, I know the help eventually comes back around to me.

In the tower, I believed that enduring alongside someone was ultimately more effective than finding ways to survive alone.

In the end, just as I had received help from Jang Siwoon and Go Gyumin.

And even if it doesn't help me—this way is more peaceful for me too.

At the very least, it leaves less room for regret.

"Forgive me. That was out of line."

"Not at all."

The woman admitted her feelings had slipped through, and apologized briefly.

A short, awkward silence passed between us.

"It's not just because of my sister. I was afraid of being treated as dead weight, so I came off too brusque. That was my fault."

She laid her inner heart bare, honestly.

It was the attitude of someone peeling away a layer of the shell she used to defend herself.

"On the way up here, I was actually somewhat useful, you know. I used to go around looking at exhibitions and such."

There was a trace in her words of trying to prove herself.

Had she judged me a useful person after watching me explain scientific knowledge?

"But I really don't know a thing about science or history, and of all things…"

"Forgive my rudeness, but for the sake of cooperating—I'd like to know what Perk you hold, Ms. C… no, you don't have to go that far."

"……"

"Could you tell me what kind of ability you specialize in?"

I quietly waited for her answer.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

This wasn't an evaluation—it was a confirmation, to determine our roles going forward.

Until now we had each hidden our Perks behind locked doors, but this was now a repechage where we had to survive by any means.

There was no room left for wariness of each other.

"Of course."

Unexpectedly, her answer came quickly.

"I—"

What could her Perk be?

Watching her pause for a beat only made me more curious.

Still, I'd guess she's someone specialized in some kind of knowledge—

Forgive me for judging by appearances, but she was a woman who carried an intellectual air, both in her looks and her bearing.

A doctor or a researcher, perhaps—

"I'm a tarot master."

Tarot…

Science and divination.

Thomas Edison and Nikola Tesla—and now, countless tarot cards filled my head.

A combination as ill-matched as chicken and blood sausage.

To think keywords pointing in completely different directions would meet inside the same quest.

"You might think of it as pseudoscience—no, as pure superstition—"

"No, that's not it."

When I didn't answer right away, the woman immediately started rambling on, adding words in a rush.

Perhaps she'd received discriminatory looks throughout her climb; her protest was mechanical.

I cut her off reflexively.

I knew that interrupting someone was discourteous speech, but I couldn't bear to be misunderstood.

"I only… thought you might be a researcher, or someone who writes papers. You gave off such an intellectual impression."

"……"

"That was rude of me. ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'm sorry."

"No, it's fine. Hah, I hear that a lot."

Visitor C finally let a smile spread across her stiff face.

Thankfully, the air lingering behind her laughter was softer than I'd expected.

"Later on, I'll read your fortune in money or love sometime."

"No, thank you for the offer, but those are fortunes I was never fated to have anyway, so there's no need."

It may have sounded like a needless excuse, as if I had no interest in tarot. But it was the truth.

Fortunes of money and love, which had never once visited my life—what use was wondering about them inside this tower?

What I wished for now was neither money nor love, but only to turn back the past.

It's a bit out of left field, but there was a visitor who was a shaman, after all. It'll surely be useful.

The form the ability took didn't matter.

In this place, usefulness was survival itself.

"Until now, I've never shown my Perk to anyone so easily."

"……"

"But now is the time to climb together."

The woman had made up her mind, thinking exactly as I had.

And within that resolve lay the responsibility of bearing the fate to come.

It was a declaration of choosing to trust the other—and at the same time, a choice that carried within it the possibility of betrayal to its very end.

"Here's hoping the day never comes when I'm guarding myself against you again, Mr. A, regretting the choice I'm making now."

"Ha ha."

She and I both let it pass with a light laugh, but we each knew those words weren't entirely a joke.