I'm an Infinite Regressor, But I've Got Stories to Tell-Chapter 440

“Ah, right. Mister.”

“Hm?”

“There’s something I’ve wanted to confess for a long time.”

“...I see. Dok Seo. I’m sorry, but I don’t see you as a romantic partner. Why don’t we just continue to stay as comrades, the way we always have?”

“The fuck— not that confession, you crazy old freak!”

Name: Oh Dok Seo.

Occupation: Lifelong single.

Record: Zero confessions, one rejection — newly added.

Hình dạng

The story of the regressors had ended.

Instead, the world itself had regressed to its original form.

“You’re not going back to Germany, sir?”

“Mm.”

But just as every result has its cause, every cause also bears its consequence.

Now, there was no longer any monster or Infinite Void left to trample causality.

Even if all memories of the “previous loops” were swiftly bidding farewell within the minds of the Awakened, it was impossible for the world to truly perform a perfect reset of “nothing ever happened!”

“I plan to just study here.”

“Pardon?”

Emmet Schopenhauer — the old man I called “sir” — was one such example.

“My current goal is to graduate from Sungkyunkwan and get a doctorate in Korean Philosophy.”

“?”

“Recently, even in the English-speaking world, research on the Analects has become quite lively, but here, for some reason, the discussion’s been slow. As a scholar, how can I not feel indignant? Ah! I’ll become the foreigner of Confucianism and bring benevolence (仁) back to this land!”

“?”

Despite having inherited the name of a famous German philosopher, this former Sword Master was far more suited to iron (鐵) than to philosophy. Now he had entered the mysterious realm of Eastern thought.

Well, perhaps his “scholarly pursuit” was just an excuse.

Personally, I thought it was a strategic choice — to avoid loneliness.

The old man had spent his later years entangled in strange, foreign events.

He must have had many painful memories — yet in the end, he gained unexpected bonds.

No one would believe it, but among those connections was even a “daughter from his previous life.”

Of course he wouldn’t want to leave. Probably.

“Dok Seo.”

“Mm?”

On the other hand—

There were also those who had left, never to return.

“Since that day… you haven’t heard the voice of All-Delight, have you?”

“Ah… no.”

I tapped on my old laptop.

Café. I was spending time here, cooling off, in the shop the old man had recently opened.

Honestly, I would’ve been here even if it weren’t summer. Autumn too. Winter, spring, and then summer again.

“It’s weird — even if I only type the novel’s text, the cover page automatically appears.”

“The cover page?”

“Yeah. It has the title, subtitle, and chapter number. And at the bottom, the author’s name appears as Shin Noah. Isn’t that strange?”

“Other than that, there’s no visible power?”

“Not yet.”

Sluurp. I sipped the café mocha he made me through a straw.

Not the cheap kind — real chocolate, its bittersweet taste zapping my brain with sugar.

I was happy.

Happiness doesn’t need to be grand, right? This was happiness.

“So in the end, the only divine power left to the god who chose me as his shaman… was nothing more than a pen name.”

“...Yeah.”

“What do you think, Mister? This power — I could erase it if I wanted. I could just contact the platform and change it.”

“Hmm.”

The old man rested his chin on his hand. Dressed in a barista uniform, his pose stayed frozen for ten, twenty seconds.

Normally, in human conversation, there’s a kind of flow.

Humans embroider the world through the thread of language.

That’s why silence — the absence of language — means losing control over one’s world.

It’s something difficult to endure. Silence.

Perhaps the most direct form of emptiness.

To many, silence is uncomfortable, awkward, unbearable.

Because it’s hard to fill emptiness with only meaningful words, people invented “small talk.”

Yet the old man often went quiet like this — even in the middle of a conversation, he’d receive a question and remain utterly unbothered in silence.

‘Does that mean he’s comfortable around me?’

That’d be nice.

Because I really did enjoy these quiet moments, sipping mocha and secretly glancing at his profile lost in thought.

“Dok Seo.”

“Yeah?”

“Tell me — what do you think is the hardest, almost impossible thing for an aberration, especially for an Outer God, to do?”

“Hmm… love?”

“Close enough.”

The old man chuckled warmly.

It was the kind of smile that naturally lifted the mood of anyone who saw it.

Honestly, maybe that’s why his stomach came with the passive skill [Kitchen Knife Resistance III] — because he smiled like that at anyone, anytime. Not my stomach, though, so not my problem.

“Outer Gods — and Awakened ones who’ve grown too powerful — ultimately exist to impose their definition of ‘self’ upon others.”

“Yeah, I know that.”

“This is me. This is [I]. My song. Me, me, me… they always shout and chant that. That’s what aberrations are.”

He spoke quietly.

“But if something existed like All-Delight — existing only as a pen name — and thus allowed others the freedom to judge what it is… then could it still truly be called a monster?”

“Oh.”

I blinked.

“So you mean… All-Delight leaving behind only a pen name and disappearing — that was actually him letting go of all his power and opening himself to humanity?” 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝐰𝚎𝕓𝐧𝚘𝘃𝗲𝐥.𝐜𝚘𝕞

“That’s how I see it.”

He said as he ground coffee beans.

“We can’t know whether the one who wrote The Iliad truly bore the name Homer. We don’t even know if it was one person or a collective. It’s the same for the builder of Notre Dame — we know who designed it, but not who actually built it.”

“Hmm…”

“There’s no concrete form. Yet we presume one exists. Because that belief is entirely in the hands of others, the Outer God All-Delight — once contemptuous of humanity — ultimately entrusted himself to them.”

“...”

“Did he exist? What kind of being was he? Was he a monster? A human? Or does it not even matter? He said he ‘let go,’ but was that truly letting go?”

“...”

“All those judgments now belong to those who remain. I think… that’s what All-Delight wanted.”

Something about that sounded familiar.

So, without realizing, I asked:

“Like how you did with me?”

“...”

“You lived your life, reached your conclusions — but you left it to me to interpret them. Isn’t that the same thing you just said?”

“Yeah. It’s the same.”

He patted my head.

He normally didn’t pat people’s heads. Usually, he’d just tap their shoulders.

But with me, he did it naturally — not because his affection gauge for me had maxed out or anything.

Just because I was an otaku.

“Our Dok Seo’s gotten really smart.”

“Hehehe.”

I liked that.

‘But… can you really call someone human, if they’ve let go of themselves like that?’

I wondered.

‘More like a corpse than a person… ah, but he has me.’

Indeed.

Having someone who stays by your side — or not.

That simple difference decides whether a being that once lingered in this laptop becomes a corpse or remains human.

“Hmm… so in the end, monsters can only become human by abandoning themselves.”

“The word ‘abandon’ feels too harsh. Let’s say… they live their best life, but don’t monopolize the right to judge that life — they open it to others. That’s more accurate.”

“Needlessly long and pretentious. [Self-abandonment] is short, concise. That’s the answer.”

“Oh, listen to this wannabe writer…”

“Ah, right.”

As I savored the willowy scent of coffee floating down on my bangs, I suddenly remembered.

“Mister.”

“Hmm?”

“There’s something I’ve wanted to confess for a long time.”

“...I see.”

Suddenly, his face turned serious.

“Dok Seo. I’m sorry, but I don’t see you as a romantic partner. Why don’t we just keep being comrades, like we always have?”

“The fuck— not that confession, you crazy old freak!”

I shivered.

Not because the thought of dating him disgusted me — but because I broke into a cold sweat at the idea of getting “nice boated” by the kitchen knives currently being sharpened somewhere.

Not a joke.

‘Thank god Ha-yul handled the situation back then!’

It had already been about a year.

The day after the old man abandoned his divine power, touched the Udumbara, and returned to humanity — Lee Ha-yul stood in the middle of the schoolyard, holding a kitchen knife.

[Announcement.]

[Anyone who wants to date my dad must first pass my trial.]

Ha-yul had lost her powers too, so she couldn’t send messages with aura or use her housekeeper doll as a voice relay.

One hand held the kitchen knife. The other, a sketchbook.

[Minimum requirements are as follows.]

Scratch, scratch—

Everyone froze in disbelief, unable to even scream under the chill of that blade.

Ha-yul flipped the page with a single hand, skillfully.

[First, you must acknowledge my existence.]

From somewhere, a voice shouted, “I can do that!”

Probably that witch sister from the Three Thousand Worlds. Or maybe not. For her honor’s sake, I’ll refrain from specifying.

[That’s not all.]

Her expression didn’t change one bit.

[Next, you must also acknowledge Oh Dok Seo’s existence.]

[Even if you don’t live in the same house as me, you must adopt an owl who visits Dad whenever she’s bored, and whose average wake-up time is 4 p.m.]

The noisy schoolyard suddenly fell silent.

Now, in the spirit of true journalism, let me reveal that the voice from earlier belonged to a certain person named Dang Seo Rin — the infamous tyrant who once executed people in the plaza without trial. History may forget her, but I, journalist Oh Dok Seo, record the truth here.

[This is not the end.]

[Shim Ah-ryeon must always stay at Dad’s house — or in her room — wasting her life on her smartphone, occasionally laughing to herself for no reason.]

[And you must accept that this will continue until she dies.]

Silence.

You couldn’t even hear breathing in the schoolyard.

Everyone’s gaze turned toward one person.

Shim Ah-ryeon, munching on leftover cold pizza from last night’s party, tilted her head.

You could almost read her thoughts:

‘Why are people acting like this is new information?’

[Those are the basic conditions.]

Lee Ha-yul declared.

[Anyone who cannot fulfill them, I absolutely oppose your relationship with my father.]

Official relationship? Isn’t love inherently private?

A field of question marks rose above everyone’s heads.

Yet our Miss Ha-yul’s face remained completely unfazed.

Well, of course — when you’ve killed your own father thousands of times, the stares of nobodies don’t matter.

[If you wish to court my father, start by striking true.]

[My father is a three-horse chariot.]

Flip. The final page turned.

[Now then.]

[I am but one wheel of that chariot — the weakest of the Three Kings.]

[Convince me first, you fools.]

…There was no way anyone could win over that atmosphere.

—“I’m fine with it.”

Well, actually, one person did attempt persuasion.

The very embodiment of stoicism in our Regressor Alliance, alongside Ha-yul and Yoo Ji-won — the Saintess, Jung Ye-ji.

Everyone stared at her in shock.

Of course, the Saintess had nerves of steel — she deleted other people’s gazes like useless files. Not a blink.

—“I’ve already been watching all of you, 24 hours a day, all year round. To me, nothing changes.”

—“Permission? Approval? I’ve acknowledged your existence since the start.”

—“Honestly, nothing’s different.”

…!

That… actually made sense!?

[Okay.]

Ha-yul nodded in agreement.

She put the knife down, took out a crayon, and scribbled something in the sketchbook.

[But I ask this: is distant ‘observation’ truly the same as living together in the same space?]

—“...?”

[I wish to test that difference.]

And thus, cohabitation began.

Not with the old man — but among Lee Ha-yul, me (Oh Dok Seo), and Shim Ah-ryeon, all moving into the Saintess’s house together.

A week later—

“I’m sorry.”

The Saintess’s face was haggard.

“I… relied too much on the blurry memories of my past life. I was arrogant.”

“Next time… after I’ve built up more courage, more patience… I’ll try again.”

“Undertaker, just… what kind of battles have you even… no, never mind. Please. Leave my house.”

“Especially you, Shim Ah-ryeon.”

The Saintess — surrendered!