I walk up to Master to find him standing on the castle’s balcony and staring out onto the city.

“I was going to ask him about how he wants the world to change for the sake of argument—but on second thought, I don’t care what he thinks. I already know.”

He answers me before I could ask, so I instead settle for the next best question I have in mind.

“Now what?”

Master turns back to me, smiling thinly as usual.

“Now, we go for a little more walking.”

Then he moves to the nearby wall, places one foot on it… and begins walking up the castle’s exterior, casually defying gravity with each step.

—Why can’t he just float around as I do? He did that before when we first met, does it get boring after a while or something?

Ultimately, none of that really matters and we continue our climb, higher and higher until we’re above the highest structures in the city.

The vantage point gives us the most stunning view of the landscape in a different filter of the night. Below, almost every street and alley are filled to the brim with dancing colors and flashing fireworks, energetically pulsing as if the veins of a festively beating heart.

“How do you think this world should change, Steve?”

As Master stands on the very tip of the castle’s pointy roof, his white robes don’t sway to the night’s wind.

Behind him, the celestial white moon looms over the dark blue sky like an all-seeing eye that watches over the entire world.

More importantly, however…

—Why is he asking me?

I float to Master’s side, helplessly scratching my cheek.

“I’m not sure if it should. Isn’t it fine the way it is?”

While I kind of understand the importance of the Divergence Process in conjunction with the Conception. Plus the looping universe, and the meaning of it.

—Maybe not everything should be changed? I mean, compared to Earth, Kyrias to me looks like a land from a fairy tale, therefore, shouldn't it be fine the way it is?

Despite my response being somewhat argumentative, Master doesn’t strongly react to that in any noticeable way, simply spinning around to face me in a single smooth motion, then pinches his chin with his pale white hand.

“Huh… I see you haven’t changed all that much.”

He says with a strange attitude, like a teacher giving a student’s performance evaluation or a scientist curiously observing their test subject. A notion which I find rather odd.

“Why should I have?”

“Because you know, character and development and all that?”

“—I’m sorry, what?”

It takes me a second to comprehend that.

“Ah, right, you did say that we are [Fictional].”

“It would be weird otherwise to go up to people in real life and say that their characters are [underdeveloped]. Hold on, now that I think about it, that would make for a pretty good insult...”

At some point while saying so, the white-haired man’s voice trails off. But instead of moving on or changing the subject, he continues to stare at me from somewhere under that black, ominous blindfold.

“What?”

“I knew this was going to be the case, but you aren’t reacting to that at all, huh? No anger, no sadness, no despair, no ‘my existence is just for the sake of others’ entertainment?’ kind of thing?”

Master asks back with an inquiring shrug.

“That’s… Huh.”

His words bring to mind something I haven’t realized before about myself. That after being told that I’ve lived my entire existence in a [Fictional Reality]—something which I should feel strongly about one way or the other.

—It didn't disturb me as much as it should have.

I don’t know why. But compared to the scale of [everything] that I’ve been exposed to through the Grand Archive, the fictional truth doesn’t trivialize anything more than all of that already did.

—Everything still feels… [Real]. Every drop of tears, every moment of pain, every loss. Every goodbye and struggle—they’re all still real to me. That hasn’t [changed].

Perhaps compared to Master who thinks that knowledge is a curse, an obstacle to overcome, maybe I...

“Maybe it’s because it doesn’t personally matter to me all that much?”

“Heee~”

Master continues to observe me, says nothing more than that, then turns back toward the city.

“In the end, I stand corrected about you being a boring person, Steve.”

“An insult apparently doesn’t have to be a good one to get on my nerves...”

—At my half-joking half-irritated response, the corner of Master’s lips curls into a smile.

“But then again, your boring qualities are the most interesting parts of you.”

“Um, thanks?"

Far in the distant sky above the Colosseum, a massive firework explodes. Painting the dark canvas of the night with golden light shaped like a crown.

Maybe this is the opportunity to ask him about what’s been in the corner of my mind all this time…

“Where did you go, after you left me during the tournament..?”

...Considering that Master can sometimes be strangely considerate.

“You went to take a look at something... Something you didn’t want me to see?”

“...”

In the silence of the castle’s rooftop, too high above the rest of the city for any sound of singing from the streets to reach us…

“I didn’t want to ruin your childhood fantasy wish-fulfillment trip… Though I guess, I sort of did it anyway.”

Master’s quiet voice finally resounds.

—It was that bad? I don’t know what it is but now my morbid sense of curiosity makes me want to find out.

“You don’t really.”

—Yeah, I don’t really…

“What I really want to know is why you looked troubled… Which if I have to guess is related to what you did during that time… And if I have to guess again, it also had something to do with the Scry.”

When Master turns to face me again, no denial came from him. Only yet another warning.

“You can still choose to back out, Steve... You can still save yourself from knowing what’ll happen. It’s your choice.”

“I did say that I would ‘bear that curse’ with you, right? So I feel like I’ve already chosen.”

—After all, if [The Conceptors Grand Archive] holds a record of every moment in my life, every thought that has ever appeared in my head, every word ever spoken from my lips, then my promise to him must also have been recorded somewhere on a page, prepare to be preserved eternally.

It’s scary, the reality that there’s a detailedly written record of me, all my lives, all my deaths. But after thinking about it a little more I find that it really doesn’t matter.

I mean, It may not look like it in the record but, I'm still right here right now… being me. Isn’t that all there is, or at least should be?

In order not to let the meaning of my existence be completely trivialized by the sheer scale of the universe. By [The Six Eternities], by [The Godmakers], and by [Everything].

—Perhaps the simplest thing to do is to honor the small things that make me, [me]. The choices I’ve made that I know were my own and not the results of some predetermined [Loop], or [Fate].

My last moment encounters with [The Sixth Master of the Conceptors Grand Archive]. My decision to become his friend. My memory of Sabetha's death after I passed away. Those are my experiences.

So even if I am just the latest in the long line of [Steve]s that have come and gone throughout the countless loops of the universe, I’m still the only Steve to have ever gone outside of time and space and debated the [All-Knowing One] about the dumbness Level of <The Hero of Skien X Maestro and the Army of Catgirls>.

—So there’s no way I could just pretend all of that didn’t happen now, could I?

“A promise must be honored, a vow must be kept. Nothing more, nothing less. Or else what would be the point?”

Master sighs helplessly and hugs his book in front of him.

“You’re a good person... We don’t always get along with good people—can’t ever bring ourselves to look them in the eye.”

“Isn’t that because you’re wearing a blindfold?”

Master chuckles softly, behind him, dark shapes of clouds now block the moon. The festival down in the city seems to have reached a climax and six differently colored fireworks shoot up, followed by another six barrages which continuously light up every corner of the night.

But there’s a secret to this vibrant world of magic, one that isn’t visible under its bright, colorful shine—a secret that’s about to be uncovered.

“It’s costly to be a good person in any universe, Steve… and the price only gets steeper the more you know.”

Reminiscent of our first meeting, Master holds out his book as if presenting the weaving thread of my destiny back to me along with a question.

“Are you sure you’re willing to pay?”

After a moment of consideration, I nod silently.

“Alright then…”

Master flicks his wrist, and…

“Quiz time!”

The instant the book flips open, time stops—

The clouds freeze with the wind, and the continuous fireworks turn solid as though they have truly become picturesque illustrations vividly painted on the very fabric of reality, revealing the world as it should be in the eyes of true outsiders to the temporal flow.

—Fixed, permanent, and unchanging.

Amidst the paused scenery, Master strides toward me, each step evenly landing on the empty air underneath as if truly walking on a hard surface.

“1st question: what do you already know about the Scry?”

He asks and continues to walk right past me. I didn't try to follow his figure with my eyes and instead look down, pondering the question.

“You said that… ‘The flat outer ring is where the Scry live’... Viviana also said something about them not being able to use magic.”

“Hmm~ 2nd question—”

—Master circles back in front of me again with two fingers raised in front of him.

“What do you think is out there in the outer ring along with the Scry?”

“Out there…?”

I look away to the side, scanning the edge of the horizon to discern the environment of the capital city’s surroundings.

Large open plains, dotted with rectangular fields visibly illuminated somewhat by the glistening light emitted from the frozen fireworks.

“Farmlands, wheatfields… other things?”

From the corner of my eye, Master sticks out three fingers.

“3rd question: do you remember what is the most popular—and therefore important—trading market in the Elysian Empire’s capital city?”  

—What does that have to do with anything? But I remember it was…

“The enchanted artifacts trading?”

I turn to Master, who steps back with his book still open in his left hand, raising fingers on his right hand one by one.

“Who? Where? Why? And the 4th, most important question—how? How did Elysian manage to become the center of enchanted artifacts, trades, and even creations, despite me saying before that Umara is more technologically advanced?”

“There are a lot of factors that could contribute to that...”

Political power, strength, wealth, connections, but in the case of Elysian’s capital—a city built on top of a mountain—there’s a high probability that it’s because...

“—They have direct access to the largest and richest source of precious ores and gemstones?”

Snap—!

With the shutting of the book in Master’s hand—the entire world turns—for a millisecond, heaven and earth, east and west, up and down, everything viscerally twists and switches places. The city begins coiling, folding onto itself above me until finally—darkness.  

“Ding~ Dong~  3 out of 4, you get 5 points, Steve!”

The white shadow in the corner of my eyes lures me to turn around.

Behind me, Master stands before an enormous archway, carved jaggedly from dark rocky stone.

No attempt was made to disguise its crude architecture with superficial decorations, making the already ancient-looking passage barely distinguishable from an opening to a massive cavern.

The sinister air emanating from it is only amplified when a faint red light shimmers from within, as if a flickering soul fire, calling out beyond the gateway to the dark abyss.

“Welcome—to the Farseer’s catacomb…”

Master gestures into the dept with his book.

“In there is where most Scry goes to die.”

—————……….

“1500 years ago, there was a man who called himself [The Farseer], he was a prophet, a king, and a warlord. Just as his name suggests, he could foresee the future as though it was written for him on a page of a book. And with that ability, he led his people to conquer the continent, massacring countless people—well, it was 510.121… million people—and [Kyrias], this planet, didn’t like that at all. So in a desperate effort to continue its [life], Kyrias fully awakened its [Edinera] and elected 6 individuals to carry out its intentions.”

The moment I follow Master into the archway, a chill breeze carrying a faint whiff of rot hits me, followed by the humid stagnant air of a natural cave.

The winding path that leads into the depth is almost pitch-black, brightened solely by the sharp translucent red rocks burrowed into the rough wall of the earthen corridor.

“It then sent them on a quest to solidify their conceptual jurisdictions by gathering faiths and beliefs of sentient lives. Not the most elegant solution—but it worked. The 6 ascended into [Godhoods], granting them powers to control the elements, defy death, and command reality, you know the rest. And in the final showdown at the Fortress of Cilisil, they defeated the Farseer and freed the continent from his rule… But the story didn’t end there, did it?”

The claustrophobic tunnel eventually opens to a spacious underground quarry with a large, tower-like stone pillar at the center, connecting the ceiling to the floor and conspicuously supporting the inside cavern that was hollowed and carved out into layers of walkways that spirals downward.

And from those walkways, dimly lit under the glow of the red rocks littering throughout, I hear faint sounds of banging, calling my attention to the groups of people in the mine.

Noticing them in the first place turns out to be quite a challenge. The dirty, tattered rags they wear to cover their bodies act as sufficient camouflage and it would be near impossible to tell their figures apart from the blackened stone wall if not for their movements—their strange, disturbing movements.

With each stroke of the pickaxes their frail, boney bodies wobble and stagger, almost falling back due to the impact.

It’s transparent that these people aren’t living under desirable conditions, while the wounds and bruises on their skins tell me that they aren’t receiving any kind of treatment that could be called humane either.

There’s no need for Master to tell me who they are...

“The Scry.”

I mutter in palpable realization, feeling as though I’ve overstepped my bounds with the Grand Archive once again.

“... Why are they being treated like this?”

“Ense, with his [Edictum], marked the blood of the Farseer’s descendants and his people’s descendants so that they became invisible in the eyes of the world—the connection to Kyrias’ [Edinera]—and basically stripped them of their capabilities to wield any form of magic…”

Master slowly walks to the edge of the quarry.

“To weaken them, crippled them... and condemned them.”

He continues to explain calmly, but he’s no longer smiling.

“So in summary… when the people of the six empires are up there, singing and dancing, celebrating their powers and wealth—for the last 1500, the Scry are here, suffering the punishing consequence of their hideous ancestors by slaving away in a forgotten hell hole.”

“...”

I walk up to him, observing the miners. One of them drops a pickaxe from their hands, it makes a loud clank, the impact of which almost knocks the owner themselves to the ground.

They seem tired, lifeless—all of them—as if they were puppets on strings, used to the verge of falling apart.

“Do they ever get to rest?”

“Depends on what you mean by [rest]…”

Master lifts up his right foot to reveal a dark trail of dried blood on the ground, it runs along the side of the spiraling walkways downward into the dark pit.

“Food is rarely given therefore starvation and dehydration take most of them eventually—injury and accidents come in a close second. But the thing is, the people in charge of these places couldn’t care less about the Scry’s deaths…”

Master begins walking down the walkways, following the trail of blood while I follow behind him as though it has become natural.

The metallic scent lingering above the descending slope forces me to hold my nose. I wish they would all be coming from whatever is being mined… even if that’s just avoiding reality.

—But reality has never been easy to look away from, has it?

Despite my attempt to ignore it, the sick and horrid stench of blood and waste becomes so strong it captures my sinuses and crawls down my throat, drowning me with a disgusting feeling so thick it’s revolting to even breathe.

At the very bottom of the pit, surrounding the huge stone pillars is a ditch filled to the soot-covered brim with dead people, lifeless bodies, and countless cadavers.

Some are bloodied but still largely intact, while others are already rotten, worse are charred remains giving out the scent of burnt meat—all piling on top of one another in a terrifying sea of corpses.

“Ugh...!”

I pull my hands over my mouth reflexively, feeling nauseous despite not having the ability to throw up anymore.

As if the endlessly horrific sight doesn’t bother him even slightly, Master crouches down, closely inspecting the swollen cadavers spilling out of the pit.

“The corpses were thrown in here… waiting to be disintegrated to ash like piles of unwanted garbage.”

The more I look around, the more I begin to notice unsettling details among the bodies. Most of them have their skulls and other parts bludgeoned and torn open to reveal the inside. The limbs bent and twisted in strange directions as though the corpses were thrown down into the ditch from a great height. Who would treat them so apathetically?

—It’s sick, sick, and disgusting!

The macabre display in front of my eyes invokes an intense sense of dread and apparition unrivaled by any gruesome scenes I’ve witnessed in any form of media in my entire life.

“Master...!”

I grab his shoulder, trying to express the undercurrent of my panic as I’m too terrified to even talk. I’ve seen enough, now I just want to get out of here, please—I don’t want to be here!

Ever so knowing, the white-haired man steps away from the ditch. And as soon as he does I can almost feel a release in tension in my stomach.

“Your will shall be done.”

Master whispers. The page flips, and as abruptly as this small detour into the abyss has begun, it abruptly—ends.

—————………..

You know… the feeling of waking up from a dream after believing wholeheartedly it was real?

The rush of panic as you jolt awake followed by a moment of realization as you heave a sigh of relief and ask yourself how did I not know that was a dream?

Whether it’s a pleasant dream or a terrible one, at least once in your life you must have fallen for the illusion of the now, the conviction of truth, the feeling that what you’re seeing is real because what you see is all there is.

The past is but a faint memory, the future is shrouded in fog—you only exist in the present so your experience right now, no matter how unreal, is your current [subjective reality]. Because humans are temporal beings, if everything else becomes intangible, a dream which is happening in front of your eyes would become as believable as any reality.

Master has brought us back where we started, on the yellow-tiled rooftop of the Yellow Stone district.

The streets below are as bustling as it always is, now with the addition of singing bards and drunken-orcs dancing under the gentle orange street light, everything is ever more lively. As though what I’ve seen in the dark cavern beneath was but a dream or a nightmare.

—Well, it is a [nightmare], just one that’s also happened to be real.

Leaning uncomfortably against a chimney with my arms crossed, I glance at Master who's hanging his legs off the side of the roof with conflicting moods.

That’s when he begins talking to me again, with a voice that lacks any emotion behind it.

“I didn’t just go there, I went everywhere. All across the 6 empires on the entire continent. And everywhere I looked, I only saw the same sight.”

...The sight of death, of blood, and the weak being hopelessly oppressed and enslaved to work cruelly until the day their lives end without a way to fight back.

“Remember when I say that Ense isn’t a case of [absolute power corrupts absolutely]? Well, that’s the [objective] truth. In the eyes of the Scry, he may very well be an evil overlord.”

“...”

Back at the Colosseum, Master’s said some vague things to me. And the meaning of those words becomes clear now that I have witnessed the truth.

He had been elusive about it because he didn’t want me to know—not originally—and I misunderstood him then. But with this new information, I now have a better grasp of [Kyrias]’s history.

If I was to compare this world to a fantasy setting in a story, then it would be one that takes place after the [great evil villain trying to take over] part has already been played out.

The 6 heroes that defeated him became the new rulers of the continent, unity between races was achieved, peace and prosperity followed them for the next millennia and a half. Looking at it like that then this world is no different from a fairy tale where everyone lives happily ever after in the end.

—Yet. What about the Scry?

...They are the only part of this world that shouldn’t exist.

He was right, in a way, they shouldn’t exist. People like them shouldn’t exist in any world. But they do. Right here in Kyrias and in so many others. So the question then becomes… Why? After such a long time has passed, why are they still being punished for the crime of their ancestors?

—But if my assumption is correct, Master has already answered that too.

...People like him are rare in this world.

Those words weren’t spoken because Robert Neratian was a good person. [Good] people aren’t what this world is lacking, that’s not what he meant.

But rather the people who can see cruelty as cruelty, those who are wise enough, and open-minded enough to realize that despite 1500 years of social norms, the sickening stigma that has been passed down from generation to generation—does not equate to [Righteousness].

“We’re about to be done, let’s go meet one last piece.”

Master says and stands up, his voice has completely turned into one of cold indifference. He walks to the other end of the roof and drops down, into a dark alley similar to the one where Viviana was hiding when she was running away from the Orc guard.

But the person hiding behind a wooden barrel in this alley isn’t Viviana, but a small black-haired, black-eyed boy around her age, perhaps a little older. It’s hard to tell with his thin short and thin build covered in dirty and torn robes.

“Some Scry were able to, fortunately, escape to blend in among the dwellers of the slum. Their inability to interact with mana makes them especially hard to notice for the people of this world, so stealing to survive is a reliable option. Well, not for him, not this time.”

The boy hugs his knees and shivers constantly as thin layers of frost cover more and more of the exposed skins on his arms like an encroaching infection. With each breath, he takes immense effort, and with each breath, his life is slowly and visibly seeping away from him.

—Master and I stand watching, unable to do anything to help.

“This Scry boy tried, obviously unsuccessfully, to steal some food from the festival street. An Umaran sorcerer caught him, immediately froze his blood vessels, and stopped the circulation.

"He managed to run away to hide here, but now frostbite is eating his tissues fast from the inside out and his body’s temperature is rapidly dropping because of it. There are only 60 seconds left for him to live.”

Master states coldly and walks in front of the trembling boy, who's leaning feebly against the wooden barrel. His black pupils start to become hazy and unfocused.

“You see, due to the basic principle of that loophole I mentioned earlier, there’s a special phenomenon that happens when a consciousness linked to the [Datasphere] is gradually ceasing. That link will begin to [pull] them. And during that time, if you listen very carefully…”

Right as he says that, [Time] itself begins to soften as though it has been stretched, prolonged, and seconds turn into minutes.

The entire world slows down, including the encroaching frosts on the boy’s shivering body, but it doesn’t come to a complete halt—

(Are you… Are you Death?)

An unfamiliar voice somehow resounds in my ears—the boy’s voice—questioning the otherworldly appearance of the white-haired, white-clad figure crouching down in front of him who replies dispassionately.

“No, but right now I’m the closest thing you’re gonna get so yeah sure, why not? Hi, I’m [Death]. I’m here to take you away.”

(...Why?)

“For the balance of the universe. And before you ask. No, your life isn’t important, your death is. You have to die here today so that eventually something very important can happen later because of your death. Your people are the same.”

(...)

—This sounds weirdly familiar...

The boy goes silent, digesting the meaning of the words being said to him. Until finally he starts saying with a shaking voice.

(So is that… what all our cursed fates amount to? Oppressed to become stepping stones for others? How pathetic...)

He sounds helpless and pitiful, but even so, Master continues uncaringly.

“If you want to defy your fate then the only real reason why you people are still oppressed is that none of you have ever tried hard enough. If there’s anything that deserves your curse, it would be your own incompetence. ”

In response, the boy suddenly screams out like a cornered animal on the brink of death, 

(If only... I was stronger…!)

Those words contain more than pain and hatred, more than frustration and anger.

(Then none of this… would have happened…!)

What kind of life has to be lived for a boy this age to spill out those kinds of emotions? With the resolve of an awakening beast, ready to forcefully tear the world apart, he roars.

(Then we can have our revenge against the arrogant bastards that cursed us with this fate...!)

“—No, you moron.”

…..

(Huh?)

—Huh?

I look back at Master who has a crooked smile on his face while saying in an undisguised mocking, cutting tone, crudely scoffing at the boy’s determination.

“Haven’t you seen what they can do? Seriously, you think you can fight them? You? How? You can’t use any [Magic], so [Martial Arts]? Even if you spent your entire life mastering the sky-splitting blade and mountain-destroying punch, they can already do that by just whispering one word. Stop being stupid, trying to beat them in their own game is practically suicide—and not even the kind that sent any message…  Idiot.”

—Master!

(Then…! If I was smarter—)

“Yeah right, then what? Invent a more powerful technology to overwhelm them? Those people are not barbarians, you know, they have music, cultures, a guild created specifically so that they could advance their crafts through thousands of years of research and legacies—and you think you can just outdo that? I’ll admit It would be a different story if you’re an unparalleled genius or the smartest being in existence—Hi!—but I hate to break it to you… you can’t even read.”

This time, after being pushed to the corner by Master’s harsh reasoning, the boy screams out again.

(Then what—?!)

“Wait.”

The answer he receives from Master’s lips, however, is unexpectedly gentle.

(Huh...?)

“Outlive it. See that girl over there?”

Master points to a faraway corner of the alley, where a back figure of a little girl with braided hair is faintly visible under the orange light from the street.

“She’s a daughter of a bookstore in the Yellow Stone district. After witnessing your death, she wrote in her diary about how horrible she felt about the Scry. And perfect timing, or maybe a trick of fate, in 500 years that diary will be used in a civil rights movement. Eventually winning the Scry’s equalities as living beings.”

He turns back to the boy and softly summarizes everything he’s said.

“Your people will be fine, so rest. History will take care of itself eventually.”

(Is that so…?)

Slowly, the word begins returning to its normal speed. While the layers of frost have already spread up to the boy’s face and all over his body.  

(Thank you...)

His black eyes close, and his head slumps forward. And after his voice finally fades, everything returns to its natural state. Signaling an ending of another life that I can’t do anything to help.

“...At least the part at the end was somewhat nice.”

I say to Master who continues to stare at the boy’s lifeless body as if contemplating something. I don’t know what he intended to achieve by talking to him, but that calming sent-off is a truly kind gesture on his part.

“Well of course it was. I lied. They all eventually died out, all of them, and then forgotten from the history of this world.”

“...”

—But... why then?

Ignoring the extremely speechless and confused me, Master begins tracing the frost-covered arm of the boy’s recently deceased corpse with his hand, seemingly deep in thought, even though he couldn't really touch him.

“Do you know what it’s like, Steve? Taking all that recorded information inside your head?”

"Obviously I don't..."

Even with my experience working in a library, there's always something I can't keep track of, some information I can't perfectly organize.

"Due to it having to be compressed as small as possible no matter how much I try to arrange everything orderly, some things are bound to get out of control.

"The pain and suffering of those I’ve eternally trapped, swirling, and churning endlessly in the sea of chaotic memories. Most of the time, they’re balanced—or rather drowned out—by the other voices.

"But being here… Right now… In front of him. I could feel the echoes inside my head as if they were my own. "

Master pulls back his hand from the boy's arm and slowly stands up.

“So, I can't help but want to do something about it.”

"Do what, exactly?"

Master turns and walks away, and as he does the scenery around us starts to fall apart and deconstruct, splitting into shards and slowly reforming into a new environment.

“Nothing could ever hold the same value when you multiply it by [Infinity], Steve. A quarter of the population isn’t half. Their suffering versus the potential well-being of countless isn’t a justifiable debate…”

As Master continues his speech, I can hear a slight edge of frustration in his voice, one that is eerily similar to the boy’s, hidden under that surface of calmness. 

“But over and over again. The helplessness they’ve felt, the unfairness they’ve experienced. The feeling of living in a reality that doesn’t give a damn about their existence and the powerlessness of not being able to change anything—I’m their senior in that department.”

Right as he stops walking, the scene successfully reconstructs into a familiar room. A circular room with no wall or ceiling surrounded by short wooden railings and a gap separating it from the towering shelves full of books and tomes. [The Astral Projector] sits imposingly at the center as if anchoring everything together, its rotating rings slowly coming to a halt.

—The main observation room of [The Conceptors Grand Archive].

It looks a little different from what I remember. The couch and table are still behind me along with our glasses of water and my box of popcorn, but the stacking piles of records that have been scattered about messily the last time I saw them are now neatly organized along the railings.

—It's as though the room has been changed to better suit its true purpose, not as a cozy living room, but as the room in [the Conceptors Grand Archive] where the fate of the universe will be decided.

“Everything has been set up, every requirement fulfilled, every condition met. So let’s try doing this again.”

[Kyrias ——0%—— Divergence]

“And this time...”

Standing in front of blackboards, Master confidently picks up a piece of white chalk and continues to say in a voice that regains its tone of absolute certainty.

“I’ll show you how to change the world—”