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

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

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The Skeptic II

In the game of Go, there’s a term called reviewing the game.

Go is a game where etiquette between players is crucial, so there are few opportunities to show off one’s personality. Giving advice during the game is also considered taboo.

However, showing off one’s personality is inherently human. How could one ignore their own self?

Thus, Go invented a brilliant solution. After the game ends, players replay the entire match from start to finish, legally exchanging the pent-up banter and advice they couldn’t share during the game.

The genius of this idea becomes clear if you replace “Go” with “StarCraft.” Even if you lose the game, you can’t just rage quit. You must review the replay with your opponent, discussing where you made mistakes and where you should have focused your forces.

Whether in the present or the past, one can see that gamers have always been truly dedicated to teabagging.

If you don’t understand StarCraft and the example doesn’t resonate with you... Well, that’s your fault.

A Korean who doesn’t know StarCraft? Such an Anomaly doesn’t exist.

“Sunbae, sometimes I feel like you deliberately act like an old man just to enjoy the horrified reactions of people around you. You do, don’t you?”

“Stop reading people’s minds so casually. Truly befitting the leader of Anomalies.”

“No, it’s just that reading your expressions is surprisingly easy...”

The person in front of me, who looked exactly like Cheon Yo-hwa, the student council president of Baekhwa Girls’ High School, let out a sigh.

“So, after ignoring me for 300 years, you suddenly show up and start talking about Go? Want to play a game?”

With a flick of her hand, a Go board and stones materialized on the classroom desk. The girl in front of me smiled brightly, picking up a black stone with her index finger.

“By the way, as befits a daughter of a prestigious family, I’m quite skilled. Don’t expect me to go easy on you just because you’re my sunbae.”

“Hmm.”

The girl in the black sailor uniform—or Cheon Yo-hwa, as she had insisted on being called after once being known as Infinite Void, devourer of the Mastermind—was an Anomaly who claimed to be the twin sister of her namesake.

During the 688th cycle, while defeating the Mastermind, she was sealed with Time Seal.

“I love you in this very moment.”

Those were her last, incomprehensible words.

As you all know, those sealed by Time Seal leave no trace of themselves in reality. Their existence is erased, and Cheon Yo-hwa was no exception. After leaving a transparent crystal tombstone like a secret door at the National Road Management Corps headquarters, the Anomaly (or human) vanished forever.

“It’s always fascinating when I visit...”

“Huh?” Yo-hwa asked. “What is?”

“Those sealed by Time Seal usually don’t remember their lives. They don’t even realize they’ve been sealed. But...”

“But?”

A moment of hesitation lingered on my lips. “Cheon Yo-hwa. No matter when I visit, you’re always aware that you’ve been sealed by Time Seal. Is it because of your status as an Outer God?”

“Ahhh... No, no. Haha. Not really.” She waved her hand dismissively and explained, “Sunbae, you’re already a monster on par with Outer Gods. Why would you dismiss my abilities just because I have some status? I’m just repeating ‘the happiest day of my life’ in this classroom.”

“Then how do you know you’re trapped in a crystal tombstone?”

“Simple. The happiest day of my life was the day I confessed to you, and that day, I willingly requested the Time Seal.”

I stared at her, silent.

“Unlike the others you’ve buried, the moment I was sealed is etched in my memory as the happiest day. So of course I’m aware of it.” A smirk played about Yo-hwa’s lips. “In fact, I planned it that way. Right after confessing, I got sealed. As you like to say, ‘Every ability has a loophole,’ right?”

“...Clever.”

“Haha. Don’t underestimate me. I’m Cheon Yo-hwa, the heir to the cult, a villainess, and a strategist for regressors ♪”

Yo-hwa laughed, waving a fan she had summoned from somewhere.

Even if Yo-hwa was aware of the Time Seal, she wouldn’t remember the conversation we were having now once the day reset. After a day passed, her memories would reset again.

“I see. Let’s get back to the main point—”

“Oh. Sunbae, hearing that the day I confessed was the happiest day of my life is making me emotional. Are you trying to change the subject?”

“...Let’s get back to the main point. Just like reviewing a Go game or watching a replay, I want to consult with you about this cycle.”

“Heh.” Yo-hwa propped her chin on one hand and looked at me. “The consultation you mentioned earlier? About how the convenience of infrastructure in the apocalypse might all be part of an Anomaly’s scheme?”

“Yes.”

“Hmm... I don’t really care. Though it’s funny—you treat me like an Outer God rather than a human, so you’re consulting an Anomaly about Anomalies.”

“Don’t tease me. You know why I’ve been calling you Cheon Yo-hwa. If you keep this up, I’ll start calling you Infinite Void again.”

“Hehe. Sorry, sorry.”

Her giggle eased into a sly smile. I paused, wanting to scold her but hesitating at the sight of my cherished student acting cute...

This kid and I really didn’t get along.

“To cut to the chase—yes. I think your speculation is correct.”

I was right!

“I’ve said it before. You, a regressor who’s lived through hundreds of cycles, are practically an environment of your own. So it’s only natural that Anomalies adapt to you and try to thrive.”

“You’re saying they’re pretending to help humanity while secretly parasitizing us.”

“Well, if you want to put it bluntly, yes.”

Yo-hwa placed a Go stone with a click against the board. Even though I hadn’t made a move, she began sketching out the game’s flow on her own.

“This mysterious Anomaly... Let’s call it ‘Infrastructure’ for now. Wow, this reminds me of the meetings we had while strategizing against the Mastermind. Good times.”

“Hmm.”

“Anyway. Infrastructure’s role model is probably the Tutorial Fairies. The Baku. Thanks to you, they didn’t just protect their domain of dreams—they became its rulers.”

“That’s right.”

“Yeah. Infrastructure might be pursuing a similar strategy. ‘Regressor, I can provide you with passenger planes. Regressor, I can allow you to build railways. So please, don’t exterminate me.’”

Tap. Tap.

I stared at the black and white stones as Cheon Yo-hwa continued to play out the game, lost in thought.

“So... should I interpret the expansion of Infrastructure as a sign of surrender rather than a threat?”

“Maybe.”

Yo-hwa tilted her head and smiled. The sunlight streaming through the classroom window cast a diagonal shadow across her face.

“Or this surrender could be a ruse. A ploy to lull you into complacency before striking from behind... Which is it? Genuine surrender? Or a scheme? The materials to judge are already in your hands.”

I rested my chin on my hand.

The rhythmic sound of Go stones clicking against the board served as background music. Oddly, the orderly noise helped me focus.

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After a while, my mind was settled.

“I see. I understand.”

“Yeah?”

“Normally, my comrades trust me unconditionally when it comes to Anomalies. But this time, for some reason, they all seemed to conspire to dismiss my concerns about Infrastructure.”

“Yeah.”

“At the time, I laughed it off, but looking back, it’s incredibly strange.”

My comrades were a diverse group. Just take Dang Seo-rin and Cheon Yo-hwa (the other twin) for example—they were practically enemies. Yu Ji-won and Kim Ji-soo were outright rivals. Yet all of them agreed that ‘Anomalies mimicking infrastructure isn’t strange’? Without a single objection?

“It’s mental manipulation. That’s what it is,” I concluded.

Yo-hwa smiled. “As expected of you, sunbae. Right, I think so too. To be more precise, it’s closer to altering common sense. A widespread distortion of perception that ‘Anomalies contributing to human civilization isn’t strange at all.’”

“If they were genuinely surrendering, they wouldn’t resort to such underhanded tactics.”

“Yeah. And the second-hand shopping mall Toad House you frequent might also be part of Infrastructure.” When I didn’t respond, she continued, saying, “Without you realizing it, this Anomaly has already infiltrated your daily life. Thankfully, your mental defenses are strong, so the common sense alteration didn’t work on you.”

The National Tax Service Anomaly collecting taxes.

Yeouido Airport’s overseas travel services.

Village Bus No. 44’s long-term transfers.

The Trolley Dilemma’s railway usage.

Even the Toad House’s delivery of missing persons’ remains.

If you replace “infrastructure” with “national systems,” you could even include Namsan’s Central Intelligence Agency.

‘Wait. If you think about it that way, even the Supreme Leader Anomaly that ran rampant last time might have been part of Infrastructure.’

A chill ran down my spine.

The darkest place is under the lamp. Anomalies that seemed completely unrelated were actually connected.

“Sunbae. If we assume Infrastructure’s specialty is altering common sense, there’s one thing in this cycle that’s unexpectedly explained, isn’t there?”

Yu Ji-won.

The silver-haired secretary—the only one with an absolute ego who could face Go Yuri without being brainwashed.

What did Ji-won say when all the other comrades dismissed me as paranoid?

“I don’t trust these psychological tests, Your Excellency.”

“Your words are truly wise, Your Excellency.”

That’s right.

Only Yu Ji-won agreed with me. While it might be because she was a power-hungry psychopath, it was also because she was immune to Infrastructure’s common sense alteration.

“Even a broken clock is right twice a day...” I mused. “Who would’ve thought Ji-won would be the only one to say something sensible?”

“Haha. Everyone has their uses, which is why you keep them around, right? Well, except for me.”

Every word this kid said carried weight.

“Now, sunbae. Look at the Go board.”

I looked.

The game had reached its endgame while we were consulting. All that was left was to count the points.

“Doesn’t it look familiar?” Yo-hwa pressed.

“This game?”

“Yeah.”

“...No. Even with my Complete Memory, I can’t recall it at all. If I had to guess, both players seem to be around amateur 2-dan and 3-dan level.”

“Of course you don’t remember,” she said, another sly smile tugging at her lips. “Because this is a game we played secretly when you were tutoring me at my house.”

I didn’t respond.

“This is today’s consultation fee.”

Swoosh!

Memories from a past my Complete Memory couldn’t reach were colored in by the girl in front of me.

‘Ah.’

There’s a meme on the internet called “memories that don’t exist.” It originated from a Japanese manga.[1]

Ridiculous as it sounds, the same phenomenon was happening to me.

Cheon Yo-hwa sneaking me through secret passages in her grand, palace-like hanok.

Inviting me to her private hideout and suddenly pulling out a Go board while we discussed what to do.

Cheon Yo-hwa, the jewel of a prestigious family, happily chattering away as we played Go.

Like a montage of movie scenes, every moment flashed through my mind’s eye, and when they did, everything about them was automatically etched into my memory as an eternal recollection.

Just now, Cheon Yo-hwa had planted a piece of eternity in my soul.

“Yeah, today was fun too!”

This was also the core reason I didn’t visit her crystal tombstone often.

As someone who had devoured both Infinite Void and the Mastermind—two Outer Gods—Cheon Yo-hwa was undoubtedly the best consultant for Anomalies. But at the same time...

She was dangerous.

Every time I consulted her, she demanded a “consultation fee” in the form of small memories, unforgettable recollections, and her own existence.

Isn’t it astonishing? Even though she had been sealed by Time Seal and should have long since exited the stage, the girl in front of me still had a way to intervene in my reality.

As she said, she truly was a strategist worthy of the title.

“By the way, would you like to pay another small consultation fee, sunbae? I might even help you figure out how to deal with Infrastructure.”

“No, thanks. Confirming that Infrastructure is an Anomaly is enough. I’ll find a way to deal with it myself.”

“Aww, what a shame.” Yo-hwa laughed, not looking disappointed at all. Then, she said, “Then here’s a freebie.”

“A freebie?”

“I have a conscience too. I feel a bit guilty for charging a consultation fee just for confirming an Anomaly. If you ever feel stuck dealing with Infrastructure, there might be an unexpected escape route you haven’t considered.”

“...I’ll keep that in mind.”

The chair creaked as I stood. As I walked toward the classroom door, Cheon Yo-hwa waved at my back.

“Come back anytime... Next time, let’s play Go like we used to, Sunbae.”

Looking at her smiling face, I could no longer call her Infinite Void as I used to.

“...Alright, Yo-hwa.”

“Yeah!”

With a creak and a thud, the classroom door closed and the cold air of reality brushed against my cheeks.

Below the Tower of Babel, the ruins of Busan—destroyed by the Monster Wave—lay scattered.

I smiled bitterly.

‘Really. Whether in this world or the next, everyone’s just trying to charm me. That’s the problem.’

It was time to exterminate Anomalies again.

To the next cycle we go.

Footnotes:

[1] The meme in question originates from the series Jujutsu Kaisen. To not get too deep into spoilers, a character there is featured several times in “memories that don’t exist” wherein adversaries are suddenly struck by nostalgia for moments they know didn’t happen but that still endear them to this character without them really being able to resist the change.