Prophet, Vocation, and Saint
Before undertaking this task, I already knew full well that it made no sense to simply let her—who, as the bearer of the shard of humility, was duty-bound to shatter the illusions of those insufferably arrogant fools—do only as she pleased.
From the start, as someone incapable of feeling emotions myself, I had deliberately shown them the contradictory sight of meticulously reviewing reports from humans who believed their own emotional whims produced perfectly rational assessments.
It was no accident.
'As expected. My calculations hit the mark with pinpoint accuracy. I respect her will, and take particular interest in her—not out of sentiment, but for practical reasons. But people won't see it that way. They're barely managing the squabbles born of their own survival instincts.'
With her now bearing the shard of humility, mere formalities wouldn't advance things any further.
I'd already provided government-level investment for her shop, but even the reason she gave last time—urging me not to publicize it widely—aligned with my deductions: in this era of communist rationing, it could lay the groundwork for introducing capitalism later.
But I couldn't know more than that.
And besides, Cleas and I had engineered things to turn out this way long ago.
'In short, it'd be great to work together day-to-day, but there's no reason to force it yet. I can just observe her during the Christmas event. And... come to think of it, lacking emotions right now doesn't mean there's no room for them to emerge or intervene. Fine. Might as well listen to White's love troubles and offer solutions with my intellect. The world doesn't have much time left; living purely without emotions feels insufficient.'
Above all, by now, people should have enough insight into the sincerity I display.
Of course, the leadership will center on Michelle, so no need to check every detail—just glance at the collective like the Deadly Blonde Outrose group, and that should suffice.
Michelle side —_- , same time
After the Minister left, I thought to myself.
'Still as coldly detached as ever. Though, even if he showed emotion, it'd only amplify what he feels most strongly—and demanding he express it would be too much.'
People had mostly reacted with either mindless hatred—their sanity and reason fleeing in the face of his father’s heroic intentions yielding catastrophic results, for which the Minister took direct responsibility—or pity for his leading by example.
Perhaps, though he showed no outward sign, the Minister feared the majority spiraling into that first state, and so maintained his icy demeanor to avoid seeming overly attached.
'Maybe even that lengthy critique of humanity he shared with me revealed a glimpse of his true feelings.'
I'd grow into a full adult soon enough, thriving vigorously.
But the Minister's face wouldn't change much, even by then, given the circumstances.
What if someday I could soften that frozen expression?
Wouldn't that finally free him from his ordeals?
All I could do was stretch my hand toward his receding figure.
It felt a bit unfair to him, in a way.
He appeared so casually before my eyes, yet the true distance between us loomed impossibly vast.
Jeracle side —_- , the next day
As planned, I told the soldiers it was time to gradually open their hearts.
Exactly two weeks after April 10th, people's wariness had likely softened considerably.
Such rigid mindsets would only breed conflict in the end.
Besides, holding the Christmas festival in the colony's usual grim, mysterious atmosphere wouldn't do—with everyone already on high alert.
While developing enhanced nanites, I reflected.
'Best to inspire both fear and love for true rule. That way, even in adversity, they won't dream of abandoning me, let alone betray for personal gain. And mere funding won't cut it... In this era, total stability without upheaval or tension defies logic.'
Psionics would remain exceedingly rare.
Only Cleas and I understood its scientific principles.
Others couldn't cram such arcane, complex knowledge into their brains—physics of cosmic birth amid vacuum decay (my research), or inflaton vacuum mass states during inflation (Cleas's domain)—and comprehend it.
They could only wield psionics by enduring the immense mental shock without losing emotional control.
Like an infant dead asleep at 3 a.m., blasted by a megaphone at max volume right by its ear, eardrums rupturing and blood flowing—yet somehow regulating emotions rationally, without rage.
Regardless of whether observation or cognition in my neural cycles initiated first, they had to parallel observation and thought, then comprehension and application, analysis and utilization, synthesis—looping back instantaneously.
Even without grasping it, they needed blood flow efficiency to withstand the stress, or their heads would literally explode.
And "instantaneously" meant sustaining that excruciating strain without a single breath's respite.
'In essence, even without knowing the flow, calmly regulating emotions while handling it lets you shape your inner imagery freely—that's psionics. Like physicists operating particle accelerators without mastering the engineering principles, equations, or specs behind them.'
But with the non-material realm viewed as an inscrutable domain defying physics, spewing Strange Zombies unbound by spacetime, humans couldn't properly research or advance it.
Thus, these nanites weren't just for physical enhancement—they were vital for emotional and mental control.
They could erase fear outright, enforce ruthless vigilance, while suppressing useless emotions like anger, sorrow, anguish, sarcasm, or whining—for now, bolstered by nanites, skill, and historical confidence, they held back.
Unless psionics vanished entirely.
'Mephauric camp should stay stable until the scheduled Christmas event. But fixating only on that is risky; complacency in just soothing mercenaries' anxieties won't do. White's absolute loyalty stems from her crush on Cleas, so watch for anyone exploiting that. Key is aiding Cleas on Earth effectively.'
Cleas side —_- , Washington D.C., National Security Advisor’s Office, Earth
I exchanged telepathic updates with my brother.
'The Russian nationalists' influence has diminished somewhat, right?'
'For now. But that doesn't mean time's on our side here.'
'Same here. Though our side's pacified and quiet; yours still sounds chaotic.'
'Spot on. External threats aside, Philias is treating this like a game—roaming space like the Grim Reaper, slaughtering Strange Zombies on sight, praying for the dead, and disposing of corpses to prevent proliferation.'
'People must be terrified. That black reaper garb, plus psionics? Even the zombies would flee.'
'Yeah. How's Philias's sister, Meline, reacting over there?'
'Not fazed much. With anti-Western nations wiped out, she's worry-free.'
'Makes sense, especially since Ivan Reofle Petrovsky's base is confirmed somewhere in space. So, at minimum, ensure currency circulates smoothly outside Earth and Mephauric—keep jobs and housing from total chaos.'
'Digital finance only, of course.'
'Exactly. Easier black market tracking.'
With that, I dove into work proper.
I could handle it routinely, but growing too accustomed risked viewing lives as mere numbers—fading the protection I originally sought.