I'm an Infinite Regressor, But I've Got Stories to Tell-Chapter 406

Looking back,

I think I was an unusually colorless, odorless human being for an awakened one.

Let’s imagine, for example, that there exists a “Protagonist Recognition Association” for genre fiction characters—and one of their interviewers asked me this:

“Oh! A regressor! Cool! But just being a regressor isn’t really competitive among main characters these days, you know?”

“What’s important is a unique ability!”

“Setting aside regression—since everyone and their dog has that—what’s your personal, powerful skill?”

Hmm.

Even though I’m a professional regressor who’s been rolling through over a thousand cycles, if they asked me that, there wouldn’t be much to write on my résumé.

Time Seal?

“Definitely unique! But unless you get the opponent’s consent, it’s basically useless.”

“And it’s not really that strong, is it? Man, these kinds of things aren’t popular nowadays.”

Ridiculously strong aura?

“Oh, we’ll give you that. It’s powerful. But your résumé says you’re in an aura diet phase now…”

“Besides, aura isn’t even considered a unique ability, right?”

Interview result: Rejected.

That’s right.

Except for having a flexible mindset—and an unusual fondness for Romance of the Three Kingdoms—there was nothing particularly special about me.

But maybe that, too, is a kind of tradition, isn’t it?

The once-famed cliché of the “ordinary protagonist” that’s now become a worn-out joke.

The stubbornness to preserve this beautiful, fossilized culture to this day—perhaps that perseverance is my true identity as the Undertaker.

At least, it had been—until now.

________________________________________

“Everyone. I can hear the voices of anomalies.

Not mere noise or static—

I can interpret their screams, as if hearing human speech itself.

If you join me, we’ll develop precise, sophisticated strategies for confronting anomalies—and you’ll taste the thrill of truly conquering them.”

“Undertaker! Undertaker! Undertaker!”

“Uwooooooh!”

“Hey, we knew you could do it!”

Amid the roaring cheers of the awakened, I raised both arms high.

Waaaaaah! The shouts grew even louder.

The Undertaker.

At last—after one thousand full cycles—

I had successfully debuted as the protagonist.

________________________________________

Sometimes, life was truly ironic.

“If I’d had this ability—to understand the voices of anomalies—from the very beginning… say, around my fifth cycle…”

“Hmm.”

“Then I probably wouldn’t be dealing with anomalies with the mindset I have now.”

I was walking with Odokseo, Shim Ah-ryeon, Lee Ha-yul, and the little ones of the Regression Alliance.

Crunch.

The cracked asphalt dust of the ruined highway crumbled beneath our soles.

Cycle: 1,022nd.

Location: The Japanese archipelago.

“Why? Wouldn’t that be better?”

Odokseo tilted her head, backpack slung over her shoulder.

“Being able to understand every anomaly’s voice—that’s a huge advantage, Uncle.

If you’d had that early on, you could’ve avoided a ton of trial and error.”

“Maybe. Ah, we’re here.”

The broken highway led to a half-collapsed tunnel, buried halfway in dirt.

I pointed to a patch of bare ground near the entrance.

“Everyone, grab a shovel. Start digging around here.”

“Ugh… Why are we doing this manual labor…?”

Shim Ah-ryeon made a face like she was about to cry.

But with Lee Ha-yul—much smaller than her—already taking the initiative and shoveling away, she couldn’t exactly slack off.

Whining softly, Ah-ryeon joined us and began to dig as well.

Soon—

[Ah.]

Lee Ha-yul’s shovel stopped.

[Oppa. It’s here.]

We halted our work and gathered around Ha-yul.

A little more dirt removed—and at last, the thing we were searching for appeared.

It was a child’s forearm.

[Not a foot, but an arm.]

Ha-yul murmured regretfully—though technically, it was her maid doll’s mouth that moved and spoke.

[It would’ve been easier if it was a foot.]

“You can’t get full on your first bite. Finding it this quickly is lucky enough. Keep it safe for now.”

[Okay.]

Ha-yul brushed the dirt off the arm, then placed it inside the yogurt cart’s refrigerated compartment.

No need to worry about decay.

Even after being buried underground, it hadn’t been eaten by insects—

its condition was perfectly preserved. That alone told us this wasn’t a normal corpse fragment.

“Next one’s a tunnel about 40 kilometers from here.”

“Uuuugh… Guildmaster… I-I wanna ride in the cart too…”

“You seriously want to steal the vehicle from the one who doesn’t have legs?”

“B-but! With the administrator’s special prosthetics, I do have legs now! Guildmaster always spoils Ha-yul…”

“Good grief.”

Aside from Shim Ah-ryeon, the rest of us just shook our heads and headed for the next site.

“Wait! Wait for me! I’m coming too!”

For half a month, we scoured the Japanese archipelago.

A left leg here.

A few fingers there.

Piece by piece, the cart’s refrigerator filled with neatly assembled body parts.

“Ha-yul.”

[Roger.]

After arranging the collected fragments in order, Lee Ha-yul pulled out her puppet threads.

The threads wriggled like living parasites, burrowing into the corpse.

Stitch. Stitch.

Before long, the severed sections were sewn neatly together by the puppet threads.

[Complete.]

The body suddenly sat upright.

If you looked closely, you could barely see the seams—the reconstruction was flawless, like the marionette maids Ha-yul always carried.

But there was one difference.

“Ugh.”

Odokseo grimaced.

“Wow, the face is wrecked. What kind of bastard did that?”

Even though the limbs were repaired, the face was so badly damaged it was unrecognizable.

Before civilization collapsed, the kids probably would’ve thrown up several times.

Now, they just frowned slightly, unfazed by yet another corpse.

“Ah-ryeon. Your turn.”

“Mm… Okay…”

Shim Ah-ryeon furrowed her brows and opened her sketchbook.

She clearly had complaints but said nothing—because it was the Guildmaster’s request.

“…”

Once she began drawing, however, all traces of emotion vanished from her face.

“Please turn her around.” “Sitting pose.” “Arms wide open.”

She made quiet requests, and Ha-yul manipulated the corpse accordingly.

“Mm… Okay. It’s done.”

Her tone suggested she wasn’t fully satisfied—but it was acceptable.

Ah-ryeon’s sketch depicted a child’s full body.

Even the ruined face was “restored,” smiling brightly on paper.

“Well done. You must be tired from following us around—take a break for now.”

“Ah… Hehe…”

When I patted her head, Ah-ryeon smiled dopily, as if that single gesture erased all fatigue.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t glad.

I just knew that inside her heart, there was a □—a hollowed-out space—cut away by invisible scissors.

‘Someday, I’ll have to face that. Someday.’

For now, I had to focus on the anomaly in front of us.

I pressed the portrait Ah-ryeon had drawn onto the corpse’s face.

Then I covered it with the prepared mask.

The wrecked face and the portrait—both were swallowed and hidden beneath the blank mask.

“Oh.”

And then, something astonishing happened.

“U-uncle! It disappeared!”

As Odokseo said, the corpse wearing the mask and portrait vanished in an instant.

It wasn’t that it fled somewhere using speed beyond my sight—

it literally vanished before our eyes, like it had never been there.

Ha-yul tilted her head.

[Was it exorcised?]

“No.”

I shook my head.

“Probably not. I’ll go check.”

[Go? Where?]

Inunaki Tunnel.

The weathered sign above the entrance read ‘犬鳴隧道’—Inunaki Tunnel.

Beneath it stood a little girl in a plain white mask, fidgeting nervously.

“Ah.”

Perhaps she’d spotted me.

The masked girl trembled slightly, then spoke timidly.

“Um… Mister.”

“What is it?”

“I need to cross that tunnel, but it’s too dark, and I’m scared to go alone. Could you… go with me?”

“…”

I smiled.

“Of course. That’s fine.”

“Ah.”

“I was just about to cross the tunnel myself. Don’t worry—even if you’re scared, I’ll be with you. Let’s go together, shall we?”

“Th-thank you!”

“But you know, there are rumors that ghosts appear in this tunnel.”

“G-ghosts?!”

The child flinched in fright.

Even though her face was hidden beneath the white mask, I could feel the fear.

“Yes. So no matter what happens, no matter who calls your name—

don’t look back.

And don’t let go of my hand until we’re out of the tunnel. Got it?”

“Y-yes! I promise.”

I reached out my hand, and the girl lifted her arm to grasp it tightly.

We entered the tunnel.

Step.

Each footstep echoed long and deep.

Because along with my steps, there were smaller ones—

following right behind.

“Ugh…”

“Scared?”

“N-no… I’m not scared…”

It wasn’t my first time entering the Inunaki Tunnel.

It was, perhaps, the place I’d spent the longest time in across my regression life.

So I could walk safely.

The section where one misstep would plunge you into unseen water.

The part where limbs could be torn apart.

Where fingers split open.

“All this time, I forgot to ask—why do you want to cross the tunnel?”

“M-Melt went across.”

“Melt?”

“Ah, our dog. He’s really big. But just now, he started barking like crazy and ran into the tunnel.”

“…”

“If Melt’s gone, Dad and I will be so sad. And Melt must be scared too. So even if I’m scared, I have to go and bring him back!”

“You’re scared, but you’re still worried for your dog. That’s very brave.”

“Hehe… Ah! I-I’m not scared!”

Step. Step.

As always, the Inunaki Tunnel felt endlessly long.

Of course—it wasn’t strange.

Through a child’s eyes, a tunnel always feels longer than it does to an adult.

Why is it, I wondered, that when a child gathers a handful of courage and reaches out their hand—

there are so few adults willing to take it?

“Melt shouldn’t have gone far…”

The masked girl kept murmuring as we walked.

To fight off fear, and out of real worry.

“There were posters all over town—‘Please find my dog,’ ‘Please find my cat.’”

“Yeah?”

“Every time I saw those, I thought, ‘What’s the point of that?’ But now… if Melt’s gone, I’ll have to make those posters too…”

How long did we walk?

Woof!

From deep inside the tunnel, a dog barked.

The girl, who’d been walking with her head down, suddenly perked up.

“Melt!”

She let go of my hand and sprinted toward the sound—

forgetting, for a moment, that this was a frightening tunnel.

Faint light seeped in from the far end of the tunnel.

It pooled in the puddles along the floor, then splashed upward as her feet struck the water.

“Melt! Melt! Melt!”

She kept calling her dog’s name—

clinging to the fragile hope that it would recognize her voice.

That just a name could reconnect the two.

Woof! Woof!

Thankfully, it seemed the dog had heard her.

I couldn’t see the animal myself—but the masked girl could.

At the tunnel’s exit, she knelt and wrapped her arms around empty air—

as though embracing the dog waiting for her there.

“Thank goodness, Melt. Really, thank goodness. You didn’t go far.”

Woof.

“Don’t run off like that again, okay? I was so scared. Let’s go home, Melt. Let’s go home…”

Woof.

And then—all sound ceased.

I walked out of the tunnel.

At the exit, overgrown weeds and cracked concrete greeted me.

The dog waiting for its owner was nowhere to be seen.

The child was gone, too.

Instead, a mask lay on the ground.

Beneath it was Shim Ah-ryeon’s drawing, crumpled slightly.

When I lifted the mask, I froze.

In the picture, the girl was smiling.

And beside her—something Shim Ah-ryeon hadn’t drawn—

a large brown dog, roughly sketched in crayon, stood at her side.

“…”

I carefully folded the drawing, making sure not to crease it.

There was no epilogue this time.

In fact, not just this time—there would be no more separate epilogues from now on.

Because from this point forward,

every story would become the epilogue of a certain regressor.

– The Interpreter. 結.