Tap, tap, tap.

The soft pattering of chalk could be heard from a classroom blackboard. A middle-aged man with thin glasses was scribbling out numbers as his voice sounded throughout the room.

“We can finally isolate ‘x’ once we add five to both sides. It’s as simple as that.”

As the lecture came to an end, he turned around to look at the class. His eyebrows furrowed when he caught vision of a certain brown-haired teenager.

The boy’s head was resting on a desk, dozing off toward the window.

“Kurou! You’ve been sleeping for the past hour!”

The boy abruptly jolted awake with his eyes wide open. He silently mumbled to himself, “W-where am I?”

As he tilted his head up and glanced around the room, he saw a classroom full of around twenty students and an angry teacher. They were all glaring at him.

The teacher reprimanded him in a strict tone. “My students come to class to learn, not to dawdle around all day.”

The boy, Kurou, hurriedly stood up and bowed in apology. While his head was down, he said, “Sorry, sir. I’ll pay attention next time.”

The teacher’s attitude loosened up as he responded, “I’ll give you a warning this time. If—”

TING—TING—TING!

A clamorous tritone bell reverberated through a multitude of speakers. Many of the other students started zipping up their bags, and some were recklessly rushing out into the hallways.

“You may leave. If this happens again, I’ll have a chat with your parents.”

Kurou slowly nodded and then started packing up his schoolwork in a daze. As he mounted his backpack, he was rubbing his temples with an irritated expression.

‘The last thing I remember was that fight on the outskirts of the city.’

Kurou decided to shrug off those memories as walked out of the classroom. His mood started to lighten up once he noticed that it was the end of the school day.

‘What a weird dream. Whatever, school’s over. I’mma meet up with my friends.’

He wore his cap in a Ken Griffey fashion, with the visor sticking out backward.

After exiting the classroom, he found himself in the school’s atrium. Kurou pushed past a couple students and made his way into the school’s athletic hallway.

At this moment, the ground faintly trembled, causing tiny cracks to emerge on the floor tiles. If one were to look closely, one would also notice that tiny ripples were forming in the air.

However, in the next moment, the blurring abruptly ceased. Even the cracks had mysteriously disappeared.

Strangely, no one seemed to react. All the students continued chatting as if nothing had happened.

Nevertheless, Kurou was absent-mindedly strolling toward the locker area. He was too eager to meet up with his friends.

As he walked further, he bumped into a boy the same height as him. The boy’s hair was styled into a bowl cut, and he was holding a basketball underneath his right arm.

He greeted Kurou with a casual tone. “My n*gga, what’s up. You wanna go to the ballpark?”

“Ryo, you know me. Of course, I’m going,” Kurou answered without hesitation.

The boy with the bowl cut, Ryo, energetically replied, “Awesome! I’ve been wanting to test this out.”

Ryo proudly took out the basketball from underneath his arm, showing it off to Kurou. He balanced it on the tip of his finger and spun it while showing it off.

“I just got this yesterday. It’s perfect for both outdoor and indoor courts, and it’s water resistant—”

A sudden voice sounded from behind, cutting off his short-lived speech. “Bro still shows up even after I kicked his face into the dirt.”

Hearing this, Kurou’s expression immediately became ugly. He spotted a group of three older teenagers donned in sleeveless blue jerseys. They were precisely the ones who had attacked him.

‘But why are they here? They don’t even go to our school.’

The one who had rudely spoken out was wearing a green beanie overtop his long golden hair. He revealed a condescending sneer while walking forward.

He looked at both Kurou in disdain and uttered a singular word. “Trash.”

The golden-haired teenager grabbed hold of Ryo’s shoulder and violently thrusted him to the side. Ryo was sent airborne, crashing shoulder-first into the lockers.

SLAM!

Kurou was evidently horrified, but he was also confused after witnessing this scene. He stood still in shock as several thoughts raced through his head.

‘This doesn’t make sense. How did he send him flying with one hand? And why didn’t Ryo react at all? Wait. Nothing makes sense. It’s still summer break. School shouldn’t even have started yet.’

Kurou had suddenly become aware of his surroundings. It was only now that he noticed the faint trembling coming from the ground.

‘What the hell is going on! This has to be a dream, but why does this feel so real?’

He closed his eyes and rapidly shook his head, trying to calm himself down. As he opened them, he felt even more bewildered at the scene.

The golden-haired teen had almost disappeared. Only his outline remained, fading away into nothingness in the form of light particles.

As Kurou looked around, he noticed that everything else was exhibiting the same behavior. Ryo, the other teenagers, even the floor and ceiling.

It wasn’t long until Kurou felt a sharp pain in his chest. He then fell to his knees and gritted his teeth, clutching the area under his sternum. Looking down, he had realized that even his own body was fading away. His thoughts had become increasingly messy, and his vision had started to blur.

Kurou tried yelling and screeching for help, but not a single sound was able to be uttered. In fact, he couldn’t even tell if he had lips anymore.

Eventually, everything in the room had completely disappeared. The remaining light particles had come together to form a tiny ball of light.

This seemingly insignificant ball of light was the very reason for Kurou’s existence. It was the core of his being; it was his soul.

Tiny cracks could be seen on the ball of light. Every subsequent moment, it was dimming and shrinking. Seemingly, its vitality was being drained by a mysterious force.

Although Kurou couldn’t see, hear, or move, he could understand that he was rapidly losing energy. He tried desperately holding on to his last thread of conscience, but it was to no avail.

‘I-I don’t want to die…’

At this point, the ball of light was only a trace of its former self, too enervated to support cognition. In the due course of time, Kurou’s soul had completely disappeared. Now, all that was left were the ominous winds of death.

. . . . .

Taiheiyo Forest, Japan.

A dark-haired young man was crouching along a riverbank, studying a seemingly ordinary patch of soil.

‘Other than a small amount of missing dirt, this area is unchanged. It’s almost as if that child had never been here in the first place.’

As he stood up, the golden-red evening rays illuminated his caramel brown eyes. Unmistakably, this young man was none other than Chekhov.

He tilted his head upward, gazing at the sloping path along the riverbank. Chekhov was taking his time deliberating on his next steps.

‘It’s not ideal to wander around the city at night and bring suspicion to myself. And I can’t go back home until I’ve finished skimming through the previous Chekhov’s memories.’

As he was in deep thought, Chekhov felt a cool and refreshing sensation in his soul. It was almost like rehydrating with a glass of ice-cold water after an arduous workout.

He could sense that his soul was going through some changes. He estimated that these changes would result in some positive effect, based on his prior experience after devouring the bird.

At this time, Chekhov also noticed that there was a new reference book floating in his cabinet of memories. When he flipped to a random page, the scenery around him began to abruptly change.

He found himself in the eyes of a scrawny brown-haired teenager, sitting at a long, rectangular table in a school cafeteria.

The brown-haired teen seemed to be in a daze, staring at a girl with long, pink twintails. She was gracefully eating at the table directly in front of him.

However, his daydreaming session was shortly interrupted by another boy, the same age as him. He had black hair that was neatly combed into a bowl cut.

“Kurou,” the boy matter-of-factly said, “Nothing bad is going to happen if you ask her out. The worst that can happen is that she says no.”

Kurou turned around and quietly snapped back at him, “Shush, Ryo! You’re being too loud! What if she hears what you’re saying!”

Without warning, the scene started to blur until everything became white. Chekhov’s attention had returned to his cabinet of memories, eyeing the open reference book in his hands.

‘The chances are that most of these memories are useless. I’ll have to figure out a way to skim through them faster.’

. . . . .

Dusk had fallen, and most of the wildlife had already gone to sleep. The only movement that could be seen was the occasional swaying of the trees.

Suddenly, a low rustle sounded in the grass. Chekhov's figure came into sight, steadily trekking along the borders of the Taiheiyo Forest. Although there was an absence of light, he seemed to navigate without any issues.

A few hours back, Chekhov had noticed that his body functions had become abnormal. He didn't feel the need to eat or sleep, and accordingly, he wanted to use his extra time to explore the mysterious properties of dark energy.

After a few minutes of treading through the stiff grass, Chekhov stopped by a large broadleaf tree. It was noticeably larger than the others and had a small gash in its trunk.

'This echolocation skill is proving to be far more useful than I imagined.'

Chekhov had recently discovered that he could disperse a diluted stream of dark energy within a fairly large radius. Through collisions with objects, he could infer the general shape and distance of them. During the past hour, he had been testing this skill by mapping out and traversing paths along the edges of the Taiheiyo Forest.

Chekhov lifted his right arm up and held his elbow out. All of a sudden, he slashed his arm horizontally through the air. A whipping sound reverberated as a dark flash cut towards the tree.

CRACK!

The wave of dark energy landed accurately on the tree, penetrating through the small gash on its trunk. By his echolocation skill, Chekhov could discern that the gash had gotten much bigger.

‘These concentrated waves should be able to cause significant damage to humans, especially if I can land repeated blows.’

As of now, Chekhov had refined a total of three skills through his manipulation of dark energy. He could devour objects, conduct sizable echolocation scans, and release concentrated energy waves.

Additionally, he had discovered that dark energy could somewhat interact with sound waves. But he had yet to find a proper use for this.

Chekhov closed his eyes and focused, preparing to test his echolocation skill again. After a short while, countless streams of dark energy were abruptly released in all directions.

The energy dispersed throughout the forest in a 300-meter radius, colliding with many instances of vegetation. Other inanimate objects such as lumps of dirt and gravel were also picked up. However, there was an abnormality that was detected as well. It was a small rectangular lump dipping into a nearby pond.

‘These readings should be over 250 meters due south.’

Chekhov opened his eyes and turned around, facing the direction of the nearby pond. He cautiously hustled forward, making sure to not bump into any trees. As he was arriving closer to the pond, his speed started to slow down.

Rustle, rustle, snap.

Chekhov’s footsteps came to a complete stop when he was 50 meters away from the pond.

Shining a flashlight or making any sudden movements had the possibility of alerting the suspect. Hence, Chekhov was once again relying on his echolocation skill to scout around the pond.

‘From this distance, I should be able to get a very accurate reading.’

A stream of dark energy was silently dispersed toward the pond. As the particles collided with the mysterious figure, Chekhov determined it to be a wild animal with four spindly legs and a tiny tail.

‘I’m almost certain that it’s a fawn. But it’s still quite rare to see one near the borders of the city.’

After studying some of the previous body owner’s memories, Chekhov had rudimentary knowledge of wildlife in the Taiheiyo Forest.

‘Fawns are typically born between the middle of May and the end of June. This one should be at least one month old, traveling with its mother.’

‘Maybe… this can be an opportunity to test my two new skills.’

. . . . .

The third quarter moon was surrounded by an ethereal glow. Its fluorescent white light was unobstructed, revealing a small brown figure in a small pond.

Splash!

The brown figure seemed to be playing around in the shallow waters. As it jumped, its body was momentarily on full display. Light brown fur, oval shaped ears, and a cute black nose gave it the appearance of a female spotted fawn.

This fawn had originally come for a midnight drink, but she couldn’t resist the temptations of the cool, refreshing water. Ultimately, drowsiness took a toll on her body as she started getting weary.

At long last, the fawn had finally stepped out of the water. Squelches could be heard as she strolled along the pond’s bank.

Suddenly, her ears perched up and slightly twitched. She turned her head and surveyed the area behind her.

Over a minute passed by without any movement. As the fawn stood motionless, water trickled down her body and slowly dripped onto the soil.

The young fawn eventually gave up when she determined that no one was there. She turned her head forward and continued along the pond’s bank. After passing between two bushes, she entered a semi-open clearing where a large adult deer was sleeping.

Mreeep.

The young fawn vocalized a high-pitched bleat, signaling to her mother that she had arrived back. She laid down in the grass and rubbed her head against her mother’s leg.

At this moment, a pair of bright yellow eyes suddenly opened in full vigilance.

An adult spotted deer had an exceptional sense of smell, stronger than that of a canine. Consequently, as soon as the mother had woken up, she was able to catch wind of an unfamiliar scent.

She immediately stood upright, preparing to take her daughter and flee. But before she could make another move, a black wave rippled through the air and landed on her left foreleg.

The mother sharply cried and tumbled to the ground. Repeated black waves landed on the other legs, quickly slicing its stiff bones into half.

The young fawn was in a state of distress. Not too long after she saw her mother fall, her survival instincts took over. She received a powerful urge to flee.

However, the attempt to escape was of no use. When the young fawn had taken her first step, both of her forelegs had snapped in the same way as her mother.

The sharp wail of her mother was last thing that she heard before losing consciousness.

. . . . .

A foul stench permeated through the fresh forest air.

‘It’s no use searching any further.’

Chekhov was standing in front of a headless corpse. Beside the corpse was a disfigured clump of flesh and blood, once known as the fawn’s delicate head.

Shortly after capturing the mother-daughter pair, Chekhov had wholly devoured the larger deer. As for the daughter, he had mutilated it to perform a few tests on its soul.

Unfortunately, as much as he probed, Chekhov was unable to find any trace of the deer’s soul. But this in itself was useful information. He was able to understand more about the peculiarity of the universe.

‘Without a physical body, a soul might just instantly dissipate under the laws of this world.’

Chekhov glanced at the fawn’s corpse with indifferent eyes.

Tiny black particles started to materialize into a translucent sphere, encircling the mess. With a quick movement of his fingers, the sphere collapsed into a tiny black dot. The bloody muddle along with bits of dirt and grass were all cleaned up.

Throughout the entire process of hunting, dismembering, and devouring the young fawn, Chekhov had been completely unshaken. Countless years in the Cosmic Abyss had enabled his firm mental state.

At will, Chekhov could sway his sea of emotions to surge with any sensation that he wanted, at any time or place. But regardless of how high the tides could rise or fall; none were worth anything in his eyes.

The previous Chekhov would have asked, “What is the point of living if it’s not about experiencing the sensual urges?”. While this may be true for a regular human, Chekhov was very different.

‘When one is detached from the sense of time, one minute is the same as 10 years, and 10 years is the same as 10,000 years. Every object and every abstraction is slowly starting to become the same. Every moment that I am alive is becoming identical—with a perfect blissfulness and tranquility.’

He tilted his head upward and gazed at the beautiful night sky. He noticed the stars, some were big, some were small, some were bright, and some were dim. But regardless of the stars' appearance, to Chekhov, the night sky would always be a spectacle.

‘The simple act of existing is something that I deeply cherish. So much, that the only path in front of me is to find a way to retain it. Even if it means to go beyond the notion of infinity and beyond the notion of time itself…’