I'm an Infinite Regressor, But I've Got Stories to Tell-Chapter 338

The Nurturer

Today, let’s keep it brief for once.

I’ll skip even the epilogue and spin a short tale.

With civilization’s collapse, most of humanity’s beloved industries found themselves plunged into an era of “hardship marches.”

The pet industry, also known as the companion-animal market, was hard-pressed to avoid being delisted.

“I’d rather starve to death myself than abandon my baby!”

“Hyung, I’m telling you, there are monsters chasing after us...”

“I’ll go! If I die, I’m dying alongside my kid!”

That’s what folks shouted as they fled with their pets in tow. But after three days of real hunger, their perspective got a little more flexible.

They didn’t love their pets any less. It was just that people were weak.

What could they do? Most Koreans after the 1970s had lost their immunity to starvation. Suddenly resetting one’s stomach to the standards of decades past and telling it to bear with it was no simple matter.

Still, a few owners somehow managed to reach their refuge without letting go of their pets, clinging to iron will. However, they soon ran into cold reality.

“That’s weird. Just last night, my baby only walked on four legs, but this morning it’s on two...?”

“It’s just smart, that’s all.”

“That’s weird. Last night, my baby had only one head, but this morning there are three...?”

“With three brains, so triple the IQ! I knew my baby was a genius.”

“That’s weird. My baby used to love your touch, but now it’s biting, ripping you apart with those teeth...”

In refugee camps, cases of people meeting a gruesome death at the paws of their own pets skyrocketed. If they were lucky, owners might come to lose only a finger or two. If they were unlucky, maybe two full limbs. They had little choice but to admit the truth:

“Gaah! It’s a monster!”

“Help me! My child’s gone insane!”

Most animals were vulnerable to Void Poison.

No need to categorize mammals, reptiles, birds, fish. Every morning that dawned, pets took on a new “species adaptation” that was, for all intents and purposes, off.

In the end, the vast majority of owners tearfully “took care” of their pets. Those who hesitated too long were taken care of by the pets themselves.

But then...

“My baby doesn’t bite.”

“Sir, you do realize you could die at any moment if you keep insisting on that? We’re not trying to be mean here. If one Anomaly starts rampaging within this village, everyone is done for! All of us!”

“No, I understand that. I’m not just being stubborn—I’m telling you, my baby really doesn’t bite.”

“Huh?”

No matter the time or place, mutations sometimes took place.

It was a phenomenon truly miniscule in number... 1%? Maybe the odds of pulling a super-rare in a cruel smartphone gacha. Every so often, one would appear: a “relatively safe from Void Poison” pet, rare beyond measure.

A normal person might rage at such savage odds, but from a seller’s perspective, it spelled big money. Sharp-nosed entrepreneurs saw the potential jackpot in these now “safe” pets, rarer than ever.

“How about it, sir? This is the scarlet macaw. Really hard to come by. You could scour all the pet shops in Busan and only find this one that still appears normal.”

“Whoa.”

“Hey, Papanya, introduce yourself.”

– Yes, hello. I’m a cute pet parrot. My name is Papanya. Sometimes I dream of flying out the window when the weather is nice, but right now I’m happy spending time in a warm house with my master. Being with my master is my favorite thing, so every day I sing and enjoy such cheerful days.

“As you can see, it speaks quite eloquently.”

“I mean, for a parrot, that’s a bit too articulate. It’s kind of creepy...”

“It’s probably blended with something like ChatGPT AI. Ask it anything you want, it’ll answer well.”

“So, it’s an Anomaly?”

“Sure, probably. But who cares if it’s so perfectly parrot-like?”

Soon, these “safe-rated” pets started commanding astronomical premiums.

Over ten high-end pet shops sprang up in Busan alone. Unlike in the old days, you couldn’t find separate cat-only or dog-only shops, there simply wasn’t enough supply. But that was fine because “pets” as a concept had risen to an elevated status.

“Wow, look at that dog.”

“It’s got two heads?”

“Yep. One side looks like a Doberman, and the other side’s a spitting image of a Samoyed.”

“Black and white fur patterning is crazy...”

These days, anyone who seemed fairly well off would flaunt their lifestyle by owning a pet.

The pet-shop owners of Busan formed a “Pet Association,” which granted animals their own rating tiers. The lowest safety rating was “1 Day,” the highest was “10 Years.”

The standard was simple: If adopting that pet gave you a high probability of dying within twenty-four hours, 1 Day. If you could expect a safe, carefree pet life for ten years, 10 Years.

Of course, the shop owners didn’t actually have the power of prophecy. Incidents happened. Like a gator labeled 10 Years devouring its owner within a week.

(There was debate about whether that was really the Pet Association’s fault.)

Such were the times. Such was the trend.

“Commander Noh.”

“Yeees...?”

“Might you be interested in joining the True Dictator Club?”

“Huh?”

I always gave Do-hwa a pet as a gift.

It’s well-known that dictators love pets.

Surprisingly, Hitler established Germany’s first animal protection laws and was very attached to his own dog. In fact, there’s a “Law of Preserved Affection Quantity” behind this phenomenon. A person doesn’t lose the ability to love simply because they’ve lost affection for humankind. Their total capacity for love remains unchanged, just diverted to something else.

It’s akin to the Law of Equivalent Exchange discovered by the great alchemist Arakawa Hiromu.[1]

So it begged the question:

Q: How much might the ultimate misanthrope, who despises humanity—namely, Noh Do-hwa—cherish a pet?

Is that not an enthralling experiment?

Yes, indeed. Even someone whose love for people is FFF-grade might possess an EX-grade “pet-owner aptitude.”

“Here, a Maltese.”

Me, the Undertaker. As an avid viewer of Surprise TV, I had to solve this mystery.

“I handpicked a good-looking one, specially selected. Please care for it with all your love and attention.”

The Maltese I brought faced off with Noh Do-hwa, who was sitting in her usual slouched posture.

Yes, right at eye level.

“That’s odd. The Maltese I know is a small breed from the island of Malta. Yet the head in front of me is so big, it’d slap aside any Old English Sheepdog meme I’ve ever seen on the internet...?”

“It’s exceptionally tall, yes. But because it was originally a small dog, it’ll probably live a long time.”

– Woof!

The 112-centimeter-tall “Maltese” stuck out its tongue and rubbed cheeks with Do-hwa. It might have sounded different to each ear, likely a slurp slurp to her.

“Geez, you son of a...”

“What do you think? Pure white fur, just like the lab coat you always wear, Commander Noh. Eats barely anything. Hardly sheds.”

“Cut the crap. Dammit. It’s heavy as hell. How can a dog that big not shed...?”

“Credit the blessings of Void Poison, I suppose.”

– Woof! Woof, bark!

Just as you’d expect from a pet selected by a regressor, the giant Maltese was extremely gentle.

It poured unconditional affection (with a high H₂O content) on a master who didn’t understand human hearts at all, surpassing even Kwan Seum Bosal in benevolence.

– Bark!

“See? The Maltese seems to like you too, Commander.”

“...I’d like to return it...”

“I’ll have it recorded as accepted.”

On that day, Commander Noh joined the ranks of historically famous dictators reputed as pet lovers.

To be candid, I wanted to give Do-hwa something she might care about, if only a little.

Humans aren’t invincible. Even those who seem unbeatable eventually find their mental reserves drained.

Take me, for instance, I have to take a “vacation” every ten runs or so.

“Here, a Maltese.”

So from around the 100th run onward, I always brought a dog to Commander Noh.

– Woof!

On the 200th run, the 300th, the 400th, always a “white Maltese that was way too big to be called a Maltese.”

Effectively, across multiple runs, Commander Noh and that dog maintained the bond of “pet owner and pet.”

“Here, a Maltese.”

Its name was Doctor.

It wasn’t a name she chose nor I. It was a nickname the staff started using when they saw a dog appear near the Commander.

“Wow, what is that huge thing?”

“It’s the commander’s dog.”

“It’s so white...”

“Looks expensive. Where’d she even find something like that?”

“I heard from a buddy in the ops team that the Undertaker gave it to her.”

“Ah, so...”

“If it’s from the Undertaker, guess that makes sense.”

“You could practically ride it.”

Before long, the white dog’s towering size and majestic looks turned it into an idol beloved by everyone in the National Road Management Corps.

“Doctor, come here!”

– Woof!

“Good morning, Doctor. Another fine day—”

– Bark!

How it picked up the nicknames “Doctor” or “Professor” was almost laughably simple:

A dog given by the Undertaker → Undertaker → “Doc” → “Professor.” QED. freewёbn૦νeɭ.com

Hence the staff all called the white dog Doctor or Professor. The fact that Commander Noh always wore a lab coat almost certainly shaped its image too.

‘I figured that when I’m not around, Do-hwa can at least find some solace in caring for Doctor.’

I felt a bit of satisfaction at that thought, yet for some reason...

Even when she sometimes fed the dog, or told the staff to look after it, or briefly stroked its head amid her duties:

Commander Noh’s expression always remained utterly blank.

“Awakener Undertaker.”

One day, when the Monster Wave was soon to devour the world, sometime in the future of the 511th cycle, Do-hwa said this:

“That dog you gave me... Doctor...”

“Ah, yes, what about our Professor?”

“For a dog, it sure lives a long time...”

She pointed to Doctor, lying down with his tail wagging.

– Bark.

It had already been 20 years since his adoption, yet Doctor was still as lively as day one. That alone was enough to raise Do-hwa’s suspicion. A Maltese can’t usually last more than 15 years, and for large breeds, the average lifespan is even shorter.

“Ah, yes. Well, guess he’s just healthy? The staff play with him all the time and toss him food. He’s living the dream. Probably the best-fed, happiest dog in the world right now.”

She clicked her tongue.

Hearing that familiar sound, Doctor shot up (!) and ran over to her. With a well-practiced touch, she petted his head, neck, then back. Doctor panted happily.

‘How heartwarming.’

It was a pure, very human display of affection, which reaffirmed that my gift was not misguided. Smiling inwardly, I kept watching.

So when those words came from her mouth...

“How many died...?”

...I was too slow to respond.

“Pardon?”

“This dog. Big enough to befit someone called ‘Commander.’”

Stroke.

“Its fur is so white that anyone would marvel at it, and caring for it is easy. It’s docile. Gentle. Above all, it has an incredibly long lifespan. We’ll never have to bury it before the world ends. Truly an ideal dog...”

Stroke.

She ran her hand through the fur at Doctor’s neck. Her gaze was half-lidded, fixed right on me.

“So I got curious. Just how many ‘failures’ did you discard before selecting this perfect dog to give me, Awakener Undertaker...?”

I shut my mouth. Her faint, smiling eyes were sharper than a blade from afar.

“How shall I put it?” she began. “This thought suddenly hits me...”

“Which is...?”

“Ordinarily, the old me would simply pass away without leaving a will, letting the next me in the next cycle handle everything with a big ‘Screw you.’ And that accumulation of petty revenge turned me into who I am now, presumably...” Then she murmured, “But if humans have one advantage over animals, it’s the ability to reconsider our mistakes... is it not...?”

She pressed lightly on Doctor’s throat, enough to put mild pressure on his voice box.

– Woof.

“So after hundreds of years, I’d like to do something nice for the next me...”

Doctor trembled, but didn’t fight her grip. Perhaps he interpreted even this as an act of affection.

“From the next cycle onward, don’t just pick any dog for me. Give me the choice to adopt it myself... Just tell me the old me left that as a final will. If I’m not a total idiot, I’ll figure it out...”

An Undertaker’s job is also to carry out the last wishes of the deceased. I couldn’t dismiss her request.

Thus, in the next run...

“Huh. A pet, you say.”

When I conveyed her older self’s final message, for a while, the new Noh Do-hwa fell into thought. Her gaze flicked from open air to me and back again until, finally, she let a small grin escape.

“Ah, I see...”

“You see what it means?”

“Yes, more or less...”

She stood up with a flutter, her lab coat rumpled. Surprisingly for someone who spent 24 hours a day holed up in the HQ, it looked like she was about to go out.

“Where are you going?”

“I have work to do, now that I’ve received the message. I figured I’d visit a pet shop. I’m new to raising pets in this run, so I need your advice. You’re coming along...”

Extremely unusual. She was the one inviting me out, not the other way around.

“W-welcome! Thank you so much for visiting the best pet shop in Busan!”

At the arrival of the National Road Management Corps Commander and the Undertaker, two of the peninsula’s mightiest, the shop owner nearly fell over bowing. He rubbed his hands together as he said, “What sort of pet can I get for you? Whatever you wish, Commander! In fact, it would be our honor to present you with one, no charge!”

“Hmph...”

Normally, Do-hwa despised this sort of treatment. She rarely even went to Jagalchi Market for her favorite vin chaud except at dawn, all to avoid people.

And yet...

“I’m not looking for a specific breed. I just want to stroll around a bit...”

“O-of course, Commander! Take all the time you need! Our shop deals exclusively in pets rated at least 2 years by the Pet Association! Truly a top-quality selection! Haha!”

“Hoh...”

Strangely, she seemed in a great mood. Where typically she’d scowl at sycophants, her expression now was calm and unruffled. A rare sight indeed.

“This one? Or maybe this? Hmm, or would that be better...?”

She stopped in front of each cage: a parrot turned purple, a rainbow-aurora fish, a cat with three tails, a miniature dog with an off-kilter body ratio, a reptile with amethyst crystals sprouting from its skin. With each, she glanced my way as I remained silent.

“What do you think...?”

Then, I answered thoughtfully, “It won’t live very long.”

“Yes, I know...”

“It’ll probably die before you do, before the world collapses.”

“Yes. I’m aware of that...” Her boot tapped lightly as she looked up at me from close range. “When that happens, I want you to handle my pet’s burial, Awakener Undertaker...”

I didn’t respond.

“Oh, Shop Owner, I’ll take this little one. Not exactly pretty, but somehow it feels familiar...”

“Eh? A-ah, right! Commander, you’ve got an eye for cuteness indeed! Haha!”

She selected...

A small dog that resembled a Maltese, its forelimbs and hind legs all mismatched in both size and proportion, so that even standing still made it shuffle around.

– Woof.

She scooped up the pup, eyes and nose misaligned, into her arms.

“Awakener Undertaker.”

She smiled.

“It would be lovely if you’d pay for it... Because it’s a gift for me...”

That pup died at 4 years 7 months.

From then on, in each new run, Do-hwa adopted a different pet.

“I’ll take this one.”

“This one draws me in...”

“I want this one.”

“I’d appreciate it if you pay for me...”

Sometimes a dog, sometimes a cat, sometimes a fish, sometimes a lizard. The species always changed. Yet three constants remained:

1. She always cared for them with real devotion, determination, and patience.

2. Regardless of species, they were always called “Doctor” or “Professor.”

3. Finally, every “Professor” invariably died before she did.

“This one. It was running around by itself last night and hit the wall. Seems it broke its neck... Could I ask you to handle the funeral, Awakener Undertaker...?”

Unlike the half-hearted vibe she used to give when raising that giant white dog, from the 512th cycle onward, she genuinely loved these pets. Her grief each time they died was sincere too.

But still—even past the 550th run, 600th, 700th, 800th, and on—she always chose a life that would die before her own in a doomed world.

“I’ll take this one...”

To outsiders, it might appear a twisted hobby, but though neither she nor I had ever openly stated the reason, we both guessed it.

The Noh Do-hwa of the 511th run and the 512th cycle are different beings.

I, in each run, raise a different pet and mourn a different death.

I want you to remember that.

“This one looks good...”

In short, she demanded that the memories pertaining to her, in my mind, not be “copy+paste.” She refused to be simply “the same old Noh Do-hwa,” raising “the same old pet,” an “identical existence.” She wanted to remain this person, remembered exactly as she was now.

By that measure, it was a pretty twisted hobby. Though she raised a different pet in each run, overall, the one she was truly caring for was the space she occupied in my memories. Time after time, she nourished my mind’s recollections and scars, ensuring one truth would remain forever:

The “511” and the “512” weren’t just a trivial difference of “1.” They held a time that could never be erased, nor should it be.

Through subtle means, so very typical of her, she whispered that message.

“You’re unbelievably twisted. Seriously.”

Eventually, in some run, I couldn’t help letting that remark slip. She had just chosen a tiny puppy right then, and she turned to me to say it.

“Indeed...”

Quietly, she lifted her lips into a grin.

“In that case, you should’ve been more cautious when you picked me...”

– Woof!

In her white coat, holding the cheerful little dog, she smiled.

Footnotes:

[1] The author and artist of Fullmetal Alchemist, a popular manga that explores the study and costs of alchemy as a science.