Chapter 118
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The Tormented One
Shin Noah
1
Let me tell a brief anecdote about Old Man Sho after a long while.
"Yeomjang-ah."
"…."
As I mentioned before, Old Man Sho frequently called me 'Yeomjang-ah.' It was because my alias was an undertaker—a profession that prepared others for burial.
The saying that a single vowel makes all the difference exists for moments like this.
Though it was simply one vowel changed from 'Yeomjang-i' to 'Yeomjang-ah,' in Old Man Sho's highly developed Korean pronunciation, there was a resonance mixed in that sounded like 'Yeombyeong-ah' [you damn consumptive].
This proved that Old Man Sho's mental state had not yet escaped infancy. By giving people the nastiest possible nicknames and declaring them in front of others, he was trying to prove his dominant power over them.
It was another moment when the latter claimed a voter's precious vote in the eternal electoral showdown between innate goodness and innate evil.
"Yeomjang-ah. Why no answer? Did you cut out your tongue and donate it to a beggar? Tsk, you rascal. Even if it's a beggar, you shouldn't torment them like that."
"Damn it…."
"Oh my, Yeomjang-ah. While I'm quite pleased to see you grasping the Parthenon's maxim to 'know thyself,' why would you demean yourself like that? And you still claim to be a returner? All human values are equal. Even if you are a damn consumptive fellow, you're an undertaker, not consumption itself."
Who on earth taught native Korean to this German elderly gentleman before my eyes?
Truly, he must be an amazing language instructor. If I ever identified them, I wanted to pay my respects and gift them a respectful stabbing.
"Fine. What is it? What kind of new insanity are you planning to showcase this time?"
"You have better memory than I, so you'll know more precisely. That little kid over there."
Old Man Sho pointed at someone.
A child about five years old. A little girl was playing between a young couple running a bakery in Busan's Haeundae.
Old Man Sho said, "In the last iteration, it was definitely a boy."
"…."
"As the iteration changed, the couple's child changed too. The baby that should have been born to this couple disappeared. Isn't that so?"
That wasn't all. Though I hadn't told Old Man Sho, I remembered clearly. The couple's child always changed with each iteration.
In the 18th iteration, it was a boy. In the 17th, also a boy but with different features. In the 11th iteration, they were twins. Even the timing of conception and birth was subtly different. Throughout all iterations, a child born identically had never appeared even once.
"So what? Why are you suddenly asking about that?"
"Think about it. Doctor."
When saying something serious, Old Man Sho would always call me 'Doctor' instead of 'Yeomjang.'
"Then doesn't it mean that every time we return, the children who existed in the previous world, the humans who were newly born, all disappear?"
"…Not all of them."
"Right. Lives unrelated to the butterfly effect we cause remain the same. But after the Ten Clans were subjugated, I felt it strongly. Lives I'd never seen before increased."
"With the Ten Clans subjugated, more people felt safe settling in the Korean peninsula, so that's only natural."
"Why pretend not to understand? My point isn't about such things. I'm saying there are children who are forever erased from the world due to our returns! Their memories, their existence. All of it! Except for you with your exceptional memory!"
"…."
"I'm worried that I—or more precisely, the butterfly effect waves unintentionally created by my struggles—might be committing wicked acts against those small, young beings."
An indescribable guilt dwelled in Old Man Sho's aged brow.
I learned much later that the Schopenhauer couple had lost a child to miscarriage once. Old Man Sho was projecting his own wound onto the 'lives that disappear' when iterations passed.
Perhaps that was also a reason Old Man Sho decided to leave on 'vacation'?
Erasing his own traces. By not interfering at all with lives yet to be born, to prevent their existence from being erased so fleetingly.
"Hmm."
"…What's with that bothered look?"
"It's nothing. Just."
But my side thought differently. Not just thoughts, but emotions too.
Perhaps from this moment, the paths Old Man Sho and I would take were destined to diverge.
Because I felt absolutely no guilt toward the 'disappeared lives.'
Of course, I felt regret and sadness.
For example, the child Old Man Sho had pointed out had made glutinous rice donuts following their parents, and having made too many, they even gifted some to me.
"Mister! Ah-ah!"
Young laughter, the hand that placed the donut in my mouth, the stiffness of having to bend my waist to accept the child's touch, the stickiness of sugar that was perhaps too heavily coated on the surface for a glutinous rice donut, my reaction of 'Wow—this is really delicious!', and the shy greetings from the child's parents.
All memories remained with me.
Yes. I admit it.
I probably won't receive sugar donuts as gifts again from Haeundae Bakery's child, 5-year-old Jeong Seo-ah, our little baker who declared she too would make bread because her mom and dad were so cool.
Was Jeong Seo-ah the only existence embedded in my heart like a grain of sand? Tens of thousands, hundreds of thousands, millions of losses clung to the returner's years.
Shadows exist not only in space but also in time, and we named that shade 'memory.' To me, the human who had lived the longest time, the densest memories draped.
But the emotions my heart shed were only sadness, wistfulness, and longing.
By no means was it the same texture as guilt.
Originally, the targets I felt guilt toward were limited.
Mainly toward the tombstones I'd given funerals through [Time Seal]. In other words, guilt pooled only toward those I had personally buried for eternity.
"Old man. Didn't I tell you last time?"
"Hm? What?"
"You know, how I asked if existence erasure occurs every time we return because children born are subtly different."
"Huh? When did I say that…. Ah, ah! That thing?"
Old Man Sho glared at me intensely.
"This crazy bastard exists."
"…?"
"You damn consumptive bastard! That's a story I brought up more than 3 iterations ago! Are you suddenly talking about it as if it were a conversation we had yesterday? You little shit. Are you doing this on purpose to paint me as a senile old man with bad memory?"
Old Man Sho fumed. I had to spend 3 minutes calming him down.
So I couldn't even bring myself to joke, 'Didn't you tell me long ago not to use the word "consumptive" toward people? Why the changed language?' When dating an old man much older than yourself, you have to yield many things.
"Doctor. If you don't fix that damn habit of yours, you'll suffer a huge lesson someday."
"Indeed. Hearing that from an old man whose entire body is metastasized with madness disease cells does make me suddenly alert."
"No, why does this bastard's tongue get longer by the day…? Yeomjang-ah! Where did the pure you from the old days disappear to?"
"Who knows. Maybe I got dragged off by a German, gassed, and died."
"This racist bastard! My family has supported the Social Democratic Party since the Imperial Assembly era! My ancestors were arrested too!"
"Yeah, no matter how much a white person tries to frame a yellow person with racism, it won't work. Anyway, I spent some time thinking about what you said, old man. I couldn't agree with it."
We were walking along Haeundae.
A beach that was once a symbol of vacation in the Korean peninsula. Whether humanity's lost jewels called civilization had stolen everything away here, the water color of the sand held blue emerald.
"If young lives disappear every time we return, isn't the reverse also true—that lives that couldn't be born before are created thanks to us?"
"…Hm?"
"If there had been no return, the humans who would be born into this world at this moment would have all been predetermined. But the stronger the typhoon of butterfly effects we create grows, the farther it spreads, entirely different possibilities see the world for even a brief moment before departing."
"…."
"Of course, it's not exactly a good world. Every generation of humans grumbles that they were born in the worst era of history, but now truly—excluding the Ice Age—it is undeniably the worst era. Still, I think it's better to exist here briefly and pass through life than to be in an abyss-like nothingness."
Crunch. The sands of the Ganges River pressed beneath my shoes.
"And do you think we return because we want to? It's the fault of those damn anomalies. The ones who should feel guilt are those anomaly bastards, so why should we innocent ones take responsibility for the world's destruction?"
"Ha."
"Old man. In my opinion, there's no need to feel guilt toward lives already departed, and no need to claim credit toward newly arrived lives either. The determination to prevent world destruction alone makes our backs heavy enough. There's no need to even mention the stupidity of breaking one's own spine by adding responsibility that doesn't exist."
"…."
"If you, old man, truly feel you must feel guilt, since that too is a form of determination, I won't stop you—but you should also feel exactly that much joy toward newly born children to be proper."
"…."
"Since I'm no great person and have too narrow a heart to bear both emotions, I choose to feel neither guilt nor joy toward new lives."
For a long time by the seaside, only the sounds of waves, sand, and footsteps rustled.
So I had just advised Old Man Sho 'not to be too sad.'
"When did the child who couldn't understand a single passage of the Analects become this clever?"
Like the old sea spitting out waves, a sigh flowed from Old Man Sho's lips.
"Right. Summoning the courage to take something is difficult, but discarding takes even more courage. Doctor. Perhaps as a returner, you may be more suitable than I."
I couldn't readily agree with that monologue.
However, one certain fact was that my words probably hadn't provided much comfort. As everyone knows, Old Man Sho eventually left on vacation with his beloved wife.
I still didn't concede to Old Man Sho's claim.
It was just that when I saw Sim A-ryeon reduced to 1-bit graphics and smiling, I couldn't help but briefly wonder if perhaps I was 'committing wicked acts' against other children.
"Mister!"
That was when I was walking along the beach.
"Hm?"
"Ah-ah!"
A tiny boy came running and thrust a glutinous rice donut toward me. Looking past the child's shoulder, the familiar bakery couple was smiling cautiously.
I immediately understood the situation.
"Ah-ah!"
"…."
In the 19th iteration, I compared the Jeong Seo-ah I had met thousands of years ago with the child before my eyes.
The appearance was completely different.
But surprisingly, the taste of the glutinous rice donut I swallowed after opening my mouth—including the excessive sweetness of sugar coating—was remarkably similar, was it not?
My eyes widened. I had no choice but to savor the flavor while chewing the donut.
"How is it? Is it good?"
"…It's good. Really, very good. You could become a bakery owner."
The child giggled and pattered across the sand back to his parents' arms. The baker couple, knowing I was the main force behind the Ten Clans subjugation, bowed their heads.
The sight of sand grains bouncing beneath the child's footsteps was clearly imprinted in my eyes.
The seaside waves rushed in, brushed past my feet, and retrieved even the last debris wedged in my heart before departing.
'If Old Man Sho erases all traces through suicide, then I should rather survive to the end anytime, to continue the flow of time so that newly born lives can walk the earth a little longer. Anyway, time will judge which of us two was wiser.'
Just as I was about to leave Haeundae with light footsteps, a strange sense of discomfort seized my feet.
'Huh. But didn't the child in the 19th iteration call me "oppa"?'
Even comparing purely by timeline excluding iterations—that is, considering only face value—I was a year younger now than then.
'So why call me "mister"…?'
Hmm.
…Come to think of it, I think Jeong Seo-ah's glutinous rice donut was indeed more delicious.