I'm an Infinite Regressor, But I've Got Stories to Tell-Chapter 387

WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Chapter 387

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The Suicidal V

What, really, makes the greatest masterpiece.

According to the opinion of a certain writer, Ms. Oh, whose credibility ranks dead last in the world.

“In the end, the novel you loved when you were a kid is, for you, the greatest masterpiece. Nothing else can beat a work that’s been taxidermied inside your memories.”

“Why’s that? Memory only does one of two things, mister. Either it slaps on a filter that scrubs every blemish from a selfie, or it preserves that one blemish in ultra-high definition. The masterpieces of the past are always the former.”

If I accept that claim, then sadly I’ve already missed the window to remember the <Harry Potter> series as the crowning masterpiece of my life.

It wasn’t only <Harry Potter>.

Because for me, the Undertaker, every scrap of information about my childhood got sorted into the recycling bin labeled “memories that don’t exist.”

Even so, on the timeline of my memories, <Harry Potter> still stands as the very first novel I ever encountered among all the books I have read.

Back when I was still pure—namely, before I was tainted by that otaku Oh Dok-seo—I was already under Commander Dang Seo-rin’s orders to read and reread <Harry Potter>.

If I have to pick the single most memorable scene, it was the moment the character named “Hermione” made her debut at the school ball.

– Wait, Hermione was that pretty?!

– Gah! No way! How can that bookworm with the permanent turtle neck suddenly become the belle of the ballroom!

– Just yesterday I was chatting with her like nothing. Can someone like me still stay by Hermione’s side as her friend…?

It was, quite literally, the classic hidden-power-nerd cliché.

She had always possessed the looks to conquer the social battlefield if only she dressed up, yet until now she’d simply kept her distance from the mundane world to probe the truths of all creation—

But because the ignorant masses never stopped bad-mouthing her, the Grandmaster Hermione chose a single instant to unleash her hidden cultivation and rearranged the entire jianghu pecking order in one stroke.

I nodded and turned the page.

‘Mm. This is sweet.’

Back in my 5th cycle, when I was still quite young, I never caught on.

Yet that very scene served, for me, as the archetype that would later shape the genre called “romance fantasy.”

Even before I met Oh Dok-seo and was formally introduced to rofan, I had—like prophets sensing God’s will before Christ spread the Gospel—already been baptised in the DNA of romance fantasy.

And what is the flower of rofan? Without a doubt, the high-society ball. Mandatory debutante. No theories or objections accepted.

For the record, I stayed firmly on the Harry-and-Luna ship till the very end.

A hero born as the prophesied child yet forever tormented by “fake news,” and beside him Luna Lovegood, the daughter of a paper that printed nothing but “fake news,” yet who alone saw through to Harry Potter’s essence—surely they are the one legitimate couple skewering the series’ irony…

But I digress.

So why was I suddenly reminiscing about Hermione’s ballroom-debutante scene?

“…?”

Tilt.

Because the very person now strolling down Haeundae beside me—who sensed my stare, met my eyes, tilted her head, and softly smiled—Director Noh Do-hwa herself—

“If you keep staring at me like that, even I’m going to get a little embarrassed, Mr. Undertaker.”

…was live-action inheriting the very roots of romance-fantasy cuisine right before my eyes.

I snapped back to myself with an empty laugh.

“Ah, my apologies. You just look so unfamiliar I stared without meaning to. But, um.”

“Yes, go ahead.”

“Are you… truly Director Noh Do-hwa?”

Noh Do-hwa—or whatever anomaly I was seeing—covered her mouth with a hand and laughed quietly.

“Mmm-hm. Seeing you this flustered makes all my preparation feel worth it. But it’s a little sad too.”

“Sorry?”

“If you fail to recognise me just because I dressed up a bit, that’s lonely, you know. Or do you, like Team Leader Yu Ji-won, suspect I’ve been possessed by an anomaly?”

As I stammered, Noh Do-hwa’s eyes curved into a smile.

“I’mreallyNohDo-hwa.”

“…”

Her smile was as warm as spring sunlight, yet my head went ice-cold.

That single sentence yanked me by the hair and hauled me out of my daze back into razor-sharp reality.

‘Right. That’s how it was.’

Flustered? Why be flustered?

Noh Do-hwa herself had released the trailer over a week ago.

– If you decide to date me.

– Every word and every action of mine will be fabricated.

– Holding your hand is a lie. Saying I’m happy is a lie.

– Until the day this run ends I will never, ever, reveal my true feelings again.

A declaration of fake love.

It had started as a simple suggestion to pretend to date, yet Noh Do-hwa piled extra conditions on top.

However hollow the lies might be—no, precisely because they were hollow—

if I chose to date her, I would be allowed to see nothing but the “fabricated Noh Do-hwa,” never the real her.

‘I see. So this is what she meant by falsehood.’

By producing an entirely different self she could keep every shred of sincerity out of the romance, while feasting on my embarrassment.

That’s Noh Do-hwa for you.

Truly an elite talent at teasing her partner straight into hell.

In that case, I too had a stratagem.

“I’m sorry to have disappointed you.”

I clasped Noh Do-hwa’s hand—gently, as though handling precious porcelain.

Then I spread across my lips a smile more perfect than anything on earth.

“I was so taken by you, Ms. Noh Do-hwa, that I blushed without realising.”

“…”

“From now on I’ll try to act like my usual self, too. Ahaha. Though it won’t be easy, what with my heart pounding nonstop.”

At that moment.

Cutting through all the lies and acting, a razor-sharp exchange of looks flashed between Noh Do-hwa and me, between the Director of the National Road Management Corps and the Regressor.

– And what kind of cheap trick do you call this?

– A secret art.

Heart-to-heart. The screech of naked intent.

I was, after all, someone who could interpret even the screams of anomalies. Cracking a human’s gaze didn’t require me to loosen my wrists.

– Countering the fake romance.

– Ah, so you’ll play the fake Undertaker and pit fake against fake until one of the real ones breaks? Is that it?

– “Win before you fight,” says the Art of War. For one like me who values human intimacy, light physical contact is routine. You, Director Noh Do-hwa, brand yourself a voluntary outsider and avoid human relationships. There’s already a density gap in our lives. This battle is mine to win.

– Oh, screw you. Fucking bastard.

The instant those eye-beams crossed, Noh Do-hwa, as though nothing happened, softened her gaze again, folding her brows like curtains in shy fluttering.

‘…Terrifying.’

An acting ability of truly fearsome calibre!

Who could look at this Noh Do-hwa and imagine she’s that Director? No wonder even the Saintess or Yu Ji-won made a fuss.

‘However.’

I kept that perfect smile glued to my face.

‘I, the Undertaker—while I may not boast the inhuman acting chops of Oh Dok-seo’s “Side Story Creation,” I’m still skilled enough not to shame my long, long life.’

What if I’d hesitated, dithering?

I’d still be floundering in confusion, feeding nothing but Noh Do-hwa’s twisted voyeurism.

I could not allow that.

‘Well then. How will she strike back?’

We had already left the seaside path behind and were nearing the entrance to Jagalchi Market.

Even at dawn it was crowded. At this rate, the sight of us holding hands would be put on public display before all Busan citizens!

A split-second crisis.

“…”

Squeeze.

“…!”

Amazingly, Noh Do-hwa did not answer with a barbed line or teasing wordplay.

She forewent her specialty.

Instead, wordlessly, she demonstrated with action.

‘Interlaced fingers?!’

Yes.

Not content with casual hand-holding, Noh Do-hwa wove our fingers together, changing the battlefield through the tactic commonly called “locking fingers.”

‘Director Noh Do-hwa is locking fingers?!’

A scream made entirely of French rang inside my skull. I felt like a soldier witnessing the Wehrmacht’s first blitzkrieg.

“…”

Unable to contain my shock I tried to force eye contact again, but it misfired.

The entity presumed to be Director Noh Do-hwa simply dipped her head thirty degrees, as if steeping embarrassment upon embarrassment like tea.

Even a regressor’s eyes found no flaw in that acting.

‘Have you lost your mind, Noh Do-hwa!’

I shuddered.

‘Just how badly did Cheon Yo-hwa’s message scratch you that you’re willing to dive this deep into hell? Aren’t you afraid of creating black history!’

And then it hit me.

‘…Gasp! When all is done I’ll be the only one left who remembers this!’

From Noh Do-hwa’s perspective, even if a black-history event was born she had nothing to fear.

A few years on, once she embraced the world’s end, everything would reset with an “oh well, I’ll just forget.”

‘Ah, damn it!’

If the fake-dating front escalated into a black-history battle like this, I alone was doomed to shoulder all blame.

Around the moment my mind began buzzing blank—

“Ah! Undertaker, good morning. What brings you to the market toda—huh….”

Thud.

At the market entrance, someone wearing a witch’s hat, someone who looked very much like Dang Seo-rin, was clutching a basket stuffed full. She had three attendants as well. The moment she spotted me and ran up to greet me, she suddenly dropped the basket.

Thump, roll roll roll…

Apples spilled from the basket, bright red and perfectly ripe, scattering across the ground.

Just like when Don Corleone was gunned down in The Godfather Part I.

My own feelings were not much different from Don Corleone’s failing heart.

“…”

“Uh, you, uhh, you….”

Dang Seo-rin’s finger, pointed at me, trembled violently.

“You—”

“Seo-rin.”

“You, youuu!”

“Seo-rin. This is a misunderstanding.”

“Youuuuuu! Who is thaaaaaat!”

The Heavenly Demon Dang Seo-rin’s sonic arts tore the sky above Jagalchi Market in an instant.

Every gaze zeroed in on us.

“W-what? What’s going on?”

“What in blazes is that noise?”

Mutter mutter.

The vendors who had been up since dawn stared at us wide-eyed, as if they’d just been woken a second time.

I squeezed my eyes shut.

I almost envied Don Corleone—better to take a few bullets. This was hell.

“Who is she! You, who are you?! Do you know whose hand you’re holding?! Huh? That’s the Undertaker! Undertaker! Undertaker! Do you even know that?!”

“Oh?”

A soft chuckle slipped from Noh Do-hwa, perhaps the dirge that backs hell itself.

“Of course I know, Guild Leader Dang Seo-rin.”

“You know who he is and you… you know who I am and you still?!”

“Certainly. But it hurts my feelings. We used to chat whenever we bumped into each other at the dawn market. It’s only been a few days and you no longer recognise me?”

“Huh?! I-I don’t know anyone like you!”

“Guild Leader Dang Seo-rin.”

Srrk.

Noh Do-hwa drew a monocle from her bosom and set it over her eye.

With her other hand she kept our interlaced fingers, then leaned in and hooked her arm through mine.

“It’s me. Noh Do-hwa.”

“What?!”

“Noh Do-hwa.”

“…”

“Noh Do-hwa.”

“……….”

Cause.

To Dang Seo-rin, everything in the world translated into sound. Each object had its own timbre, and a unique tone resonated from Noh Do-hwa as well.

In other words, even if everyone else saw the current Noh Do-hwa and shouted “Fake! Enemy of the sect!” Dang Seo-rin alone could not.

Naturally, treating the Undertaker at her side as “fake” was also impossible.

“Ubbuh-bubbuh-buh—”

Result.

Dang Seo-rin fainted.

“Great Witch!”

“Seo-riiin?!”

“Hehe.”

Her attendants and I rushed up and shook her, but her runaway consciousness refused to come home.

Vendors gathered from every side, clamouring “What’s going on!” “Oh dear, Great Witch!” Even now Noh Do-hwa stuck to my side, adding confusion to the chaos.

It was bedlam—no, a literal market scene.

– Click!

At that moment an ominous sound hit my ears.

“H-haaa… whoa, h-holy crap…”

On the market floor, now a sea of people, I heard a voice all too familiar—one I dearly wished were not.

“Extra… sensational scoop, extraaa…”

My eyes locked with Sim Ah-ryeon.

“……!”

Gooseflesh spread across my skin.

I nearly forgot to wake Seo-rin.

“Ah-ryeon!”

“H-hieeek… s-scary.”

Click click click.

“Ah-ryeon, what are you doing! Ah-ryeon!”

“I-it looked fun so I followed you… heehee. Holding back my sleep the past few days to get up early really paid off… The early bird gets the worm… and not just any worm either, a huuuge, squirmy earthworm…”

“Ah-ryeon! Don’t go! Ah-ryeon, where are you heading!”

“Wiggle wiggle wiggle. Hehehe. D-delicious. Such a delicacy… The worm keeps wriggling and wriiiggling…”

Sim Ah-ryeon ignored me and slipped through the wall of people with her own footwork. I couldn’t abandon the scene to chase her.

Later that very day.

A post went up on SG Net.

– OldManGoryeo: [Image] Undertaker ← If this bastard two-times the Great Witch of Samcheon World and the Director of the National Road Management Corps he’s basically begging for suicide lol hit like lololol

(Likes: 3,103)

“……”

And thus SG Net logged the highest like count since its founding.

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