I'm an Infinite Regressor, But I've Got Stories to Tell-Chapter 320

Editor: echo

Discord: https://dsc.gg/reapercomics

◈ I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell

Chapter 320

──────

The Skeptic XIII

This might not sound too convincing, but I actually care more about my companions’ personal privacy than you might expect.

I’m not like some typical subculture protagonist who goes, “Oh, you’ve had such-and-such trauma in your past? Then let me heal you!” and then starts prying into every painful detail, and there are many reasons as to why.

“Mister. Actually, I’ve been bullied since fourth grade... Ahhh, thinking back on it, my life started falling apart back then. That’s when I learned how to loathe people, hate society, and give up on hope.”

“Didn’t you say it was third grade last time?”

“Huh? Did I say that? Well, anyway—”

First off, human memory isn’t accurate. As someone who has Complete Memory, this still amazes me. Even when it comes to their most painful, life-defining traumas, most people still somehow hide them away in a haze that never quite clears.

For my part, each of my runs spans about twenty years. By the time I entered my 776th cycle facing off against Leviathan again, my total lifespan had already sailed past ten thousand years.

Just imagine. How many contradictory “testimonies” do you think I’ve collected from my companions in that time?

At some point, I picked up a certain habit—or you might call it an attitude—in how I deal with people:

“Don’t be too quick to judge.”

As Scott Fitzgerald once said, reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope. A person’s character isn’t determined by their words or actions in a single moment—it’s proven over time.

This is the monologue of a regressor who’s outlived ten thousand years.

Does Oh Dok-seo sound like an idiot sometimes? Yes, that’s undeniably true.

Idiotic speech aside, though, she never betrayed us, or me for that matter, even when she was mentally corrupted by an Anomaly. (She just ended up punching her fans at a meet-and-greet.) Therefore, I don’t assign too much weight or importance to remarks about a companion’s “past” or “trauma.”

A slight mistake in their memories? Who cares? They’ve already proved themselves with countless years of loyalty and action.

The same goes for Yu Ji-won.

It didn’t matter whether she was some psycho who seized control of a convenience store the moment the apocalypse hit, or whether there was some past event that twisted her sense of humanity. Unless she took the initiative to tell me herself, “Your Excellency, to be honest, I carry a very tragic trauma from my past,” I saw no need to dig into her history.

Among all my companions, Yu Ji-won ranked first place by a landslide in the “Never Talking About My Past” competition.

Even when we all drank together...

Even when just the two of us were chatting over drinks...

Even when she was on the brink of death, leaving her last words for the next run...

She never really divulged the details of her past.

Was it because she genuinely placed no value on her pre-apocalypse life? Or was she silently taking into account my own situation of having lost all memory of my pre-apocalypse past?

Whatever the reason, her past remained as silent and nebulous as a Void.

Hence...

“A little more natural, please... Okay, good.”

The photographer kept pressing the shutter, and the camera click-click-clicked away. Ji-won struck poses without so much as batting an eye at the nonstop camera flash. She turned her head this way and that, her face blank.

“All right. Now give me a little smile.”

She offered a faint smile.

It might have been an earthshaking, mind-blowing event to me, but the photographer hardly found it special. He just kept singing her praises—it was perfect, perfect!—and snapping pictures.

“Great, wow! You’re just perfect again today, Ji-won.”

“Thank you.”

“All right, next up we’ll have you sit in that chair over there, reading a book.”

So, yeah.

It turned out that in her first year of middle school, the 14-year-old Yu Ji-won—black-haired, because it’d be a while before her powers Awakened and turned it silver—was indeed a born psychopath in many ways. However, in this era, she was also a professional model.

“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

I was hiding behind the scenes at the photo shoot, suppressing my presence with Aura and stealth, my mouth hanging open in disbelief.

“That’s just cheating.”

To the camera’s lens, Yu Ji-won was playing the quintessential star student, all dressed up in a crisp school uniform and wearing a flawless smile that was practically perfect in every way.

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Editor: echo

https://dsc.gg/reapercomics

Over two weeks of practicing my stealth game and sneaking around, I pieced together the story of this so-called “14-year-old con artist.”

Yu Ji-won was born into poverty.

As a girl, she lived on the third floor of a leaning villa on a steep hillside slum. Hers was a household of four: a grandmother with dementia, a father with anger management and alcoholism issues, and a mother who had gotten sucked into some shady religious group.

“It’s like the trifecta of misery or something...”

A messed-up home, no doubt.

At this point, we’d usually delve into a squalid sob story of how deeply unfortunate Yu Ji-won’s home life was, how her personality flaws were both innate and shaped by her environment, and how that forces us to feel sympathy, yet also reprimand her for stooping to killing people, but...

“She doesn’t look miserable at all.”

Sure enough, Yu Ji-won was not your average kid. All of that “tragic family backstory” was just a minor inconvenience to her. Even if you just listened to the snippets of conversation with the photographer, you could guess how well she was managing.

“Oh, right, Ji-won. You have any interest in modeling for eyeglasses? A friend of mine is looking for a few student models these days.”

“If you can put me in touch, Director, I’d be glad to work hard.”

“Oh man, our Ji-won is so polite! Not like most kids these days! Everybody I introduce you to says nothing but good things.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Case in point, even in an environment where you’d expect a deluge of misery, she managed to live perfectly well. Despite being only 14 years old, Ji-won had already learned to distinguish between her family’s poverty and her own. She’d freed herself from relying on her parents’ allowance, instead filling up her own bank account through her own labor.

“Is this for real?” I muttered.

As you all know, Ji-won’s face was basically at the Status Ailment: Kingdom-Toppling Beauty level. That was as true in middle school as it was later. She put her naturally extraordinary looks to work, making a living as a fashion model.

It wasn’t just her face that captivated people either.

“I may be polite, Director, but I owe it to your generosity. Not all adults would lend a helping hand to a child like me. Being able to work with someone as wonderful as you is my good fortune.”

“Huh? Wow, Ji-won, you sure talk in a unique way! Haha!”

No matter which set she went to, Ji-won delivered her compliments in a flat tone of voice that sounded deeply sincere.

She was “pretty,” “polite,” and “young,” and people found it painfully hard to brush her off, so all the modeling gigs out there practically fell into her lap.

“This is a middle-schooler’s idea of socializing?”

She was truly a force that broke the ecosystem.

She had a mature build for her age, a distinctively expressionless face that intrigued people, an air about her that could look childlike or strangely grown-up, and that disarming bit of charisma that soothed the hearts of weary adults.

Thus, 14-year-old “serial-killer-in-the-making” model Yu Ji-won was basically inhaling all the possible gigs in her age bracket like Kirby on a binge.

“...Seriously?”

Every day, she juggled classes and modeling jobs until well past 10 PM, then transferred from subway to local bus on her way back home.

“What are you doing coming home at this hour?!”

No sooner had the villa’s front door slammed shut than I heard a man’s shout from the third floor, her father’s voice.

Yesterday it was her mother who blew up, and now it was his turn.

“You little brat! Watch your tone, huh? Huh? Huh?!”

“I’m sorry. I was held back at school studying.”

“Don’t lie to me! I called your teacher, you know! Don’t you try to—”

“I apologize. I really was studying.”

“Hey! You... You little...!”

“I’m sorry. Please don’t hit my face, Father. If there’s a mark, everyone will notice.”

The yelling didn’t stop even after fifty minutes. The verbal altercation broke out into physical violence a few times, but Ji-won always tried to shield her face. She wasn’t the only victim either. Her mom and grandmother were also caught in the abuse, until everyone was hurling insults back and forth.

So it wasn’t by chance that Yu Ji-won adapted so quickly when the apocalypse came. Her world had fallen to ruin from the start.

During these two weeks, I didn’t just learn about Ji-won. I also investigated the area around her.

The slum rested on a steep hill, with crooked concrete poured through different decades so the alley and stairways resembled geological strata.

I stepped into the multiplex building across from the villa where Ji-won lived. On the building’s first floor, there was a small monthly-rent apartment, and I rummaged through the mailbox in front.

National Health Insurance

Personal and Confidential

■■■

The recipient’s name was all static, blurred out by some glitch.

“So even Cheon Yo-hwa, who built this ‘past timeline’ for me, couldn’t fully create a name in place of the real occupant’s identity...”

Inside the run-down building was a tiny studio apartment about 7 to 8 pyeong in size.[1] A battered desk stood inside, stacked with ID cards like a driver’s license and a resident registration card.

■■■

The same glitch. An unreadable name.

Yet the photo was clearly me—or rather someone who looked exactly like me, except younger by a few years.

I silently flipped the license over and over. Only the name was censored. The face was obviously that of a “younger Undertaker.”

There was no point trying to hide it.

“In this timeline, or at least in the world Cheon Yo-hwa is showing me, the ‘past me’ was apparently living in this neighborhood.”

Then, another burst of shouting from beyond the shabby window. The father’s furious hollering echoed out, followed shortly after by the clipped and composed replies.

“You think I’m doing this just to squeeze money out of you? Huh? You—!”

“I’m sorry. I’m out of cash. Please forgive me.”

It was so loud I could easily hear it all from my one-room across the street.

“Huh.”

So, incredibly, it turned out that in the “forever-lost memories” of my past, I was a resident of the very same neighborhood as a 14-year-old psycho middle-schooler.

“...Is this for real?”

It was real.

For the time being.

Breaking news.

The 20-year-old Undertaker (I learned my age from the ID card) used to be neighbors with 14-year-old Yu Ji-won.

“This is crazy. I can’t tell if it’s all Cheon Yo-hwa’s trick or if it’s some actual reconstruction from a database of the past.”

Whether it was real or not wasn’t that important anyway. My past was always a blank canvas, and my present mission was to paint a “connection to Yu Ji-won” onto that empty space.

The quest requirements were basically this:

(1) Intervene in Yu Ji-won’s life.

(2) “Imprint” the idea that she was “destined to be Leviathan’s Miko” all the way back in this era.

(3) Return to the present so we can use the newly affirmed “Miko of Leviathan” to defeat the Outer God.

Steps 2 and 3 could be figured out with time. The first step was my immediate priority.

I had to intervene in her life.

“Easier said than done...”

Think about it. Neighbors in the same town can be both close and incredibly distant. Adding in a status gap of a “college freshman in a studio apartment” and a “middle-schooler victim of domestic abuse” only made that equation more awkward.

At least Cheon Yo-hwa had the “tutor-student” connection with her older sister. Me? I had nothing.

“Let’s see... How would I realistically get close to a 14-year-old kid?”

Forcing closeness out of nowhere would be pointless.

I could do something like rob a bank, hand Ji-won a huge pile of cash, and proclaim, “Hey, now you’re free! Problem solved!” However, that wouldn’t matter. What actually mattered was that the version of me in this era formed a “natural bond” with the 14-year-old Ji-won.

If it wasn’t at least somewhat believable from the vantage point of my past self, I couldn’t accept it, even as a rewriting of history.

“Well... That younger me would definitely have tried to help her somehow.”

I drummed my fingers on the flimsy plastic desk, thinking.

“When the Void came, I risked everything to rescue the Yo-hwa sisters. That implies I had a soft heart, even as a teenager. No way I could ignore the kid next door getting beaten up every night.”

Of course, that younger me probably didn’t know all that much about Ji-won. At best, maybe I had some basic sympathy for her.

“But to Yu Ji-won, sympathy and concern would be worthless.”

Even if I “happened” to meet her whenever she took out the trash or said hi because we were neighbors, she’d likely see no value in me.

“So I have to solve her problem. That’s the only thing that matters to her.”

And the main problem in her life is her family. If she had enough money, that might solve it.

However, as I said, abruptly giving her a wad of cash would break narrative causality.

“How can the me of this era naturally, and believably, help Yu Ji-won make money...?”

At that moment, my eyes fell on my driver’s license lying on the desk.

Yu Ji-won had to shuttle from subway to subway to get to her photo shoots...

“Yes, that’s it!”

I’d found a way for “a random local college student” to get close to “a middle-schooler from an abusive household” in a natural way.

One week later.

Same as the first time I entered this rewritten past, I met Yu Ji-won in the middle of the narrow alley.

“Hello. If it’s not too much trouble, could you move aside so I can get by?”

She greeted me with the same line as before. The difference was that last time, she carried trash bags in both hands. Now she was lugging a large duffel bag full of modeling gear.

I offered a friendly smile.

“Hey, Ji-won. How are you?”

“Do I know you...?”

“Nah, I’m just a neighbor. I live in the building across from yours.”

“I see.”

Sniff sniff.

She gave a subtle twitch of her nose, then lowered her head slightly.

“Pardon me. I’m not very good at remembering faces. Next time I see you, I’ll be sure to greet you properly.”

Well, yeah. If she decides you’re useless to her, she won’t bother remembering your face.

“Actually, I’m in a hurry. Could you please let me pass?”

“Where are you headed?”

“Uijeongbu. I have work.”

Uijeongbu, practically on the opposite side of Seoul from here.

It wouldn’t be easy traveling that far on public transit, carrying all her gear and trying to keep up her condition for her job.

I pretended to be surprised.

“All the way to Uijeongbu? That’s pretty far.”

“Yes. It’s my usual routine. It’s no problem.”

“Still, that looks pretty tough...”

I glanced at the heavy duffel bag slung over her shoulder.

“How about I give you a ride?”

“Pardon?”

“I’ve got a car. It’s an old Matiz I picked up secondhand, but it still runs.”

Blink.

She tilted her head.

“Could you say that again?”

“I’ll drive you. I don’t have any plans today, so I can take a spin and drop you off.”

“...”

That’s right. Yhe idea was to become Yu Ji-won’s “road manager.”

Balancing school and work had to be exhausting; the time lost in commuting must’ve been her biggest burden.

And I had a way to fix that: a used Daewoo Matiz, which I’d hurriedly purchased a few days prior.

If I approached it from that angle, I could definitely get closer to this expressionless psycho-in-training middle-school model. It was a perfect tactic.

“Hmmm.”

While I patted myself on the back, Yu Ji-won tilted her head the other way.

Amusingly enough, that tilt was the same gesture she’d do in the future.

“Let me summarize. A certain Mr. Matiz, who claims we’ve met before, though I don’t recall it, an adult male older than me, offers to drive me, a 14-year-old girl, all the way across the city to Uijeongbu. For free. Simply because he has nothing else to do, and also the car is a dingy old secondhand Matiz. Is that correct?”

“Uh...”

“So you agree with that statement upon review?”

“Huh, well... yeah, it’s definitely suspicious. Sounds a bit like a stalker, doesn’t it?”

Yu Ji-won nodded, tilting her head back to center to stare directly at me.

“Thank you. Then we are in agreement on that point.”

“...”

“...”

“...”

“...?”

This content is taken from freeweɓnovel.cѳm.

“...”

Um.

Is it safe to assume our first meeting just failed spectacularly?

Footnotes:

[1] A pyeong is a Korean unit of measurement that is used for area and floorspace. One pyeong is about 3.31 square meters or 35.58 square feet.