Chapter 275 - Conclusion
What is it that we all want in this world?
Is it money? Success? Happiness? Strength? Peace? Tranquility?
The answer would definitely change according to the person that is asked. For me, it is the desire to see the outside world or see what lay beyond the limits of our village.
However, was that really the case? Had I really wanted all those things for myself? All those things were 'really' my desire.
Something inside me always told me that I was missing something. From the moment I opened these damn eyes to this world, I always saw things easily, and that was also the case for my quick head.
And that quick head became a curse in times like this. I always questioned if I was really the one who always desired to leave this place since whenever I saw her, all these feelings always disappeared.
I found myself questioning all those things as the new morning made me greet the rising sun. It became a trend for me to rise from my bed before my general time nowadays. This was something that had frequently happened after our father and mother left this world.
"At-ta-ta- ta-ta….."
As I stirred from my sleep, a dull ache resonated through my body, a testament to the physical strain endured during the wood-gathering task yesterday.
The familiar sensation reminded me of the harsh reality of our responsibilities, a routine that became more pronounced after our parents departed from this world.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow on the simple room I called my own. The wooden walls held memories of shared laughter and conversations, but the absence of our parents lingered in the quiet corners.
"Sigh…."
With a silent sigh, I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool wooden floor beneath my feet.
"Maybe I overexerted myself."
The weight of yesterday's training still clung to my muscles as I questioned whether I should have not trained that much or not.
After all, even if I had this initial desire to improve my body condition, I also heard it frequently that overexerting myself wouldn't bring much benefits. And considering what I had seen so far in my life, that seemed to be true.
CREAK!
The wind howled through the window as my attention was drawn to that place. Seeing the brown-yellowish silk covering the land and the branches of trees that had lost their green color, it became evident that the winter was already on its way once again, a constant reminder of the tasks that awaited me.
"It was definitely not a wise decision to push myself like that….."
I couldn't help but curse myself for yesterday, as I knew the fact that he was the one that was responsible for the muscle pain I was experiencing right now.
"It is definitely not me."
The question of what I wanted to do with my life continued to linger in the corner of my head.
"What do I truly desire?" The question echoed within me as I moved through the motions of my morning routine. The ritual of splashing cold water on my face seemed to wash away the physical weariness, but the existential questions lingered.
The village, the woods, the training—it was all part of a life predetermined by tradition and responsibility. But as the morning sun painted the world in hues of gold, I couldn't shake the feeling that there was something more beyond the boundaries of our familiar existence.
"Come one….Thinking about it is pointless, isn't it."
However, I knew, in the face of real responsibilities, thinking about those fragile things like this.
"You have a roof over your head….What is there to complain about….That old man would definitely say if he was here…"
Remembering the smile of my father and his gentle attitude, I involuntarily curled the corner of my mouth.
I mean, how can I help it? Elders always said that things that are precious always tend to be appreciated after they are lost.
That was definitely true.
The memories of my father flooded my mind, a bittersweet cascade of moments that defined our relationship.
As I dressed and prepared for the day, I couldn't help but reminisce about the times when his guidance and gentle encouragement shaped my understanding of the world.
"Sigh…" I sighed once again, this time not from fatigue but from the weight of unspoken emotions. The image of my father's smile, etched in the recesses of my memory, brought a mixture of warmth and longing.
Maybe it was the changing seasons or the echo of yesterday's exertion, but my thoughts gravitated toward the moments when I felt like I fell short of my father's expectations. He always smiled at my endeavors, even when I stumbled and struggled.
I recalled the times when I believed he wanted me to be like the other kids in the village—more physically capable, more outgoing.
The memory of his disappointed expression haunted me during those instances when I couldn't keep up or when my weaknesses were exposed.
But now, as I stood alone in the quiet room, I yearned for those moments of gentle correction, those subtle nudges that spoke of a father's unwavering belief in his son. The realization struck me that I missed the very things I once perceived as shortcomings.
The creaky floor beneath my feet seemed to echo the footsteps of the past; each sounded a reminder of shared laughter, conversations, and the unspoken bond between a father and his son.
The window, through which the wind whispered its melancholy tune, framed the landscape that had witnessed our family's journey.
Yet, the rational mind inside me told me that I should no longer waste my time thinking about all those useless things. After all, I needed to prepare breakfast before she woke up and left home for her duties.
"You were probably right, old man….." I mumbled with a rare smile. "As long as you have a roof in your head and someone to share it, you should never complain."
With a deep breath, I shook off the nostalgic thoughts, reminding myself that the present demanded my attention. The rhythmic motions of my morning routine provided a comforting anchor, grounding me in the tasks that needed to be done.
As I stepped out of the room, the quiet hallway seemed to hold whispers of bygone days, and I allowed myself a moment to appreciate the memories etched into the very walls. The creaky floor beneath my feet yielded familiar sounds, each one a silent testament to the shared history of our family.
Passing through the familiar spaces of our modest home, I made my way to the small kitchen.
The kitchen, though modest, held the familiar tools and utensils that had witnessed countless meals shared as a family.
I headed straight for the worn-out kettle, a faithful companion in my morning ritual. The rhythmic sound of water pouring into the kettle filled the room, a precursor to the comforting aroma of brewing tea.
The tea leaves, carefully stored in a small container, released their fragrance as they steeped in the hot water. I watched the swirls of steam rise, momentarily lost in the soothing routine that bridged the past and the present.
"This should be enough."
Next, I ventured into the small garden adjacent to our home. The dew-kissed leaves of the vegetables glistened in the morning light, awaiting their turn to contribute to our daily sustenance.
'I guess I should make her something good.'
For some reason, I knew she would also be moody when she woke up. This would probably enlighten her mood a little more.
I plucked fresh tomatoes, crisp lettuce, and vibrant bell peppers, envisioning the colorful array that would adorn our breakfast table.
A trip to the well provided the water needed to wash the vegetables. The cool water felt invigorating on my hands, a tactile connection to the earth that sustained us.
Returning to the kitchen, I retrieved eggs and cheese from the storeroom. The eggs, with their shells bearing a mosaic of speckles, held the promise of nourishment, while the cheese, aged to perfection, added a touch of richness to our simple fare.
CHOP! CHOP! CHOP!
As I moved through the familiar motions of chopping vegetables, cracking eggs, and grating cheese, the kitchen came alive with the sounds and scents of breakfast in the making. The familiar routine, a dance of culinary artistry, brought a sense of purpose to the start of the day.
The aroma of sizzling vegetables and the crackling sound of eggs in the pan filled the kitchen, creating a symphony of flavors that made my stomach grumble.
HUG!
At that moment, I felt someone's arms wrapping around my waist, a familiar touch that brought both surprise and comfort. Turning slightly, I saw Estelle, her presence enveloped in the soft light of the morning. Her arms held me in a gentle embrace, and for a moment, the world outside the kitchen faded away.
"Hmm, good morning, Astron," she mumbled into my back, her voice carrying a muffled morning grogginess. The warmth of her breath against my clothes and the softness of her embrace all indicated that she sought closeness today.
"Good morning, Estelle," I replied, a soft smile playing on my lips. Her slightly moody morning demeanor didn't escape my notice, and I couldn't help but wonder what thoughts lingered in her mind.
As she nestled her face into my back, I continued with the breakfast preparations, the sounds of chopping and sizzling providing a rhythmic backdrop to the shared silence.
The familiar routine served as a comforting balm, grounding us in the simple acts of daily life.
Estelle's embrace tightened, and I could sense a subtle sadness lingering in the air. The weight of our parents' absence hung between us, a silent acknowledgment of the void they left behind.
In these quiet moments, the memories of our shared past became tangible, and I knew that Estelle, like me, carried the weight of those memories.
As the aroma of the cooking breakfast filled the kitchen, Estelle spoke, her voice still muffled against my back. "Do you ever wonder, Astron, if they're watching over us? If they're proud of who we've become?"
The question hung in the air, a reflection of the unspoken thoughts that often surfaced in the quiet corners of our minds. I paused for a moment, letting the weight of her words settle.
"I do, Estelle," I replied softly. In times like this, I would normally be the one who sought comfort from her past in the past. But, at some point, our roles have been reversed, maybe at the time when our father and mother left us.
"I like to think they are. Their guidance and love linger in everything we do, in the memories that shape us. And maybe, just maybe, they find solace in seeing us carry on."
Estelle's grip on me relaxed, and she pulled away, her eyes meeting mine with a mix of gratitude and sadness.
"Thanks, Astron. Thanks for being here," she said, her voice carrying a genuine warmth. In times like this, I thought staying here wasn't bad at all.
Chapter 276 - Conclusion (2)
"Thanks, Astron. Thanks for being here," she said, her voice carrying a genuine warmth. At that moment, our shared understanding spoke volumes, a silent acknowledgment that, even in the absence of our parents, we were not alone.
With a nod, we turned our attention back to the breakfast preparations. The table was soon adorned with a simple yet hearty meal – scrambled eggs, fresh vegetables, and a wedge of aged cheese. The aroma of the food filled the air, inviting us to partake in the familiar ritual of breaking bread together.
As we sat down to eat, Estelle's demeanor shifted with a mischievous glint in her eyes. Her tone took on an animated quality as she delved into the intricacies of village life, sharing tidbits of gossip that she had likely gathered from her interactions as the village shaman.
"So, you won't believe what happened yesterday," Estelle began, a sly smile playing on her lips. "You know the wife of the village chief? The one who always tries to order me around as if I'm at her beck and call?"
I raised an eyebrow, intrigued by the prospect of village drama. "What did she do this time?"
Estelle leaned in slightly as if sharing a well-guarded secret. "Well, she was at it again, complaining about some trivial matter and insisting that I perform a ceremony to bring good fortune to her family. As if I have nothing better to do!"
I couldn't help but chuckle at Estelle's animated storytelling. "And what did you say to her?"
With a playful smirk, she replied, "Oh, you know me. I 'politely' reminded her that my abilities as a shaman are meant for genuine spiritual needs, not for personal whims. But she's persistent, that one."
We both shared a knowing look, acknowledging the sometimes challenging dynamics that came with Estelle's role in the village. Her position as the shaman made her a sought-after figure, and not everyone approached her with sincerity.
Estelle continued her tales, sharing anecdotes about various villagers and their quirks. From young couples seeking love potions to the elderly seeking remedies for aches and pains, her stories painted a vivid picture of the diverse characters that populated their small community.
Amid the laughter and jest, Estelle's gossip served not only as entertainment but also as a way for her to vent the frustrations that came with her responsibilities.
In these moments, her animated storytelling became a form of catharsis, allowing her to navigate the intricacies of village life with a touch of humor and resilience.
But that didn't mean she was free from my words. After reading books all the time and thinking about how I would act in certain situations while imagining those scenarios, I thought I became good with my words.
"Estelle, isn't it against the shaman's code to indulge in gossip?" I teased, a playful smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Where did the girl who said 'helping others is my desire' go?"
Estelle chuckled, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she met my playful gaze. "Oh, Astron, you always have a way of catching me, don't you? But in my defense, helping others doesn't mean I can't enjoy a good gossip session now and then. It's like a guilty pleasure."
I raised an eyebrow, feigning skepticism. "Guilty pleasure, you say? I thought the spirits would disapprove of such indulgences."
She leaned back, adopting an air of mock seriousness. "Ah, but you see, the spirits understand the importance of laughter and camaraderie. Gossip is just another form of community bonding, a way for me to connect with the villagers on a different level."
I couldn't help but laugh at her clever response. It seemed Estelle had a knack for turning any situation into a light-hearted banter. "Well, as long as the spirits are okay with it, who am I to argue?"
"Of course. But that is also the reason why you are so stiff all the time?"
"Who are you calling stiff?"
"You, mister, all serious."
"I am not serious all the time."
"Do you never look in the mirror?"
Intrigued by Estelle's comment, I couldn't resist the urge to check my reflection in the small mirror hanging on the kitchen wall. As I gazed at my own face, I couldn't deny the truth in her words. There was a subtle seriousness etched into my features, a reflection of the responsibilities and questions that often occupied my mind.
Estelle, witnessing my contemplative expression, couldn't contain her triumphant smile. "Caught you, didn't I? Mr. Serious Astron, always pondering the mysteries of life."
"For you to keep that smile all the time, you need a way to vent, huh?" I remarked, raising an eyebrow in mock seriousness.
Estelle grinned, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Exactly, dear brother. A little gossip keeps the spirits entertained, and it helps me keep my sanity."
I shook my head, unable to suppress a grin. "Maybe I do need to lighten up a bit. The spirits wouldn't mind, right?"
She laughed a melodic sound that echoed through the room. "Not at all! In fact, they might appreciate the change. A little mischief never hurts anyone."
As we continued our banter, I couldn't help but appreciate the way Estelle effortlessly brought a lighthearted touch to my world. It was a reminder that amidst the responsibilities and ponderings, there was room for laughter and companionship.
********
"Then, have a nice day, brother."
"You too."
As Estelle left the home, I was left alone right before the empty house as I looked around.
"That was a bit refreshing, wasn't it?"
I mumbled. Having conversations like this tended to calm my heart whenever I felt uncomfortable.
SWOOSH!
At that moment, the cold wind brushed against my face, a stark reminder that winter was approaching. I shivered involuntarily, the chill penetrating my bones. A quick glance at the changing landscape outside affirmed the inevitability of the season.
"Winter is coming," I muttered to myself, a claim echoed by the desaturated colors of the surroundings.
The village would soon be covered in a blanket of snow, transforming familiar paths into a serene, white landscape.
With a purposeful sigh, I decided to return to the warmth of the kitchen. The breakfast dishes awaited, and the kitchen needed tidying.
As I washed the dishes and cleaned the remnants of our morning meal, my mind drifted to the upcoming tasks.
I didn't know when it began, but from some point in my life, I always felt like I became a cleaning and order maniac.
'Was I like this before?'
I wondered to myself, but I couldn't answer the question. Sometimes, even my own actions didn't feel like they were completely mine, but I couldn't explain why.
The kitchen being now pristine, I gradually ascended through the modest house.
Each step echoed a sense of routine, a daily ritual that brought order to the quiet spaces we called home.
'The stairs are quite dirty.'
My eyes picked up the details on the corner of the stairs, as well as many other things, and my desire to fix them surfaced immediately.
Without much thought, I found myself retrieving a cloth from a nearby cabinet, determined to address the overlooked cleanliness.
As I wiped away the accumulated dust, my gaze lingered on the intricacies of the wooden banister. The grain, once hidden beneath the layer of neglect, revealed its natural beauty. However, inwardly, I couldn't help but narrow my eyes. This wood didn't seem like it came from the woods of our forest, and it was the first time I had paid attention to it.
'Maybe a now extinct tree?'
I thought inwardly.
It was a small detail but one that brought a subtle feeling to my head. Something felt like it didn't add up. The trees lived long, if I knew, and this house didn't seem like it was that old now. Doesn't that mean these materials came from somewhere else?
'Now that I think about it, how come we have furniture made from metal? I hadn't seen any person in the village who was interested in such things. Where did those come from?
Those questions that I had never asked myself started bothering me. Was it an external influence in my head, I wondered.
–CREAK!
Upon reaching my room, the door creaked slightly as I pushed it open. The familiar sight of bookshelves greeted me, their contents neatly arranged and waiting to be explored.
This was my place to relax, no matter the time or the thoughts in my head.
The room, an extension of my private sanctuary, bore the marks of countless hours spent in contemplation.
'Should I go with this….'
I chose a book, its cover worn from repeated readings, and settled into the chair by the window. It was a book that I started reading recently. A book about a man becoming a piece of society from a nomad.
"He will assimilate himself at the end."
I mumbled without knowing.
"Hmm?"
However, at that moment, something bothered me.
"Assimilate? What does that mean?"
I didn't know the meaning of the word that I had just spoken.
'I wonder, I started creating random verbs out of nowhere.'
It was certainly plausible for me to do such a thing. When you have time, you can do all those pointless things after all.
With a dismissive shake of my head, I started walking towards my bed.
But as I walked, my gaze lingered on the small clock perched beside my bed. The ticking hands, a reliable companion in the quiet moments of the night, now seemed frozen in time.
"Hmm, something's not right," I muttered to myself, my curiosity piqued. Upon closer inspection, I realized that the clock had ceased to function.
The hands, once in harmonious motion, now hung suspended in stillness.
'Wait?'
No. Saying it suspended in stillness didn't make any sense. With my eyes, I could see that there was a small abrasion on the tip of the two hands of the clock.
'Something is holding it.'
I leaned in for a closer look, my fingers delicately tracing the path of the clock's hands. Just as I was about to ponder what could be causing the obstruction, my eyes fixated on the time displayed on the frozen timepiece.
–06:06.
A sudden chill ran down my spine, and a strange feeling gnawed at the edges of my consciousness. Following that, suddenly, countless different images started seeping through my head, as if I was seeing the things that I had forgotten.
"What?"
The images and everything became so overwhelming that I almost lost consciousness on the spot.
"What is this?"
And just as everything started to make sense, suddenly, I felt another chilling sensation.
❰ Took you long enough. ❱
It was a cold and chilling voice echoing in my head.
Chapter 277 - Conclusion (3)
What is the first thing that a person remembers?
When we are born, do we remember everything? Is everyone born with the same composure?
If two newborn babies from different parents were put into the same environment, would they naturally become the same?
Does only our environment affect our lives and not our own beings? Or do the things that we define as our individuality stem from the environment?
What makes us what we are?
The first thing I remember is the color of grey.
The sky is gray; the walls are grayish…..The smell of the world that feels grayish…
I was staring at that gray ceiling in my first memory.
Before showing any interest in staring or playing with my fingertips, I simply wondered what this place was.
Well, calling it wondering might not be right. If wondering about something is an act that is done by the completely developed mind, mine was something that was instinctual.
Something that came from our evolutionary roots, something that we humans have done before we acquired the ability how to think.
Day after day, I spent more and more time just staring at that ceiling.
At first, I cried. I cried because I missed people, and then I learned that no one was coming to help me.
Now that I look back on it, it was instinct, not logic.
This is the first thing a newborn baby, who cannot even speak, learns when it accepts its environment.
After that, I realized the existence of my fingers.
I spent all day long looking at, sucking, and licking my little fingers, and nothing else, in the emptiness.
The nourishment necessary for life was never brought to me.
Do you ever know how it felt as a newborn baby with an empty stomach? Your whole body is in the process of developing, and yet there is no nutrition that it can develop on.
For a new human who just appeared in the real world, what could be more detrimental?
Lack of parents? Something like a parental figure that a human needs to develop both mentally and physically?
In the face of the real lack of three basic needs of life, are parents important?
The children of streets….Those who had never seen their parents in their lives, nor had any food that was prepared just solely for their sake….
For them….For us….The world is not a kindergarten but a game of survival in which you will lose your comrades one by one every day.
It is a cruel and harsh world different from the one of those like you who are now reading this from your comfortable and warm houses.
In this world of survival, losing friends became a routine, not due to a misunderstanding or a simple disagreement, but from hunger, from the lack of hygiene, from making wrong people enemies, from not abiding by the rules of the streets.
The streets had their own laws, unwritten yet absolute, dictating who could eat, who could survive, and who would inevitably perish.
But who are the ones that survive? Do they possess the same characteristics?
At that time, I didn't know about the term Natural Selection at all. But it was clearly laid in front of my eyes.
From the corners of the streets, when some of my 'friends' were getting beaten, I watched and listened.
As the days passed, I began to understand the importance of possessing the abilities that enabled me to observe and understand.
It wasn't a hobby; it was a skill crucial for survival. The keen sense of awareness, the ability to read situations, and the skill to discern 'friend' from foe became my weapons in this unforgiving environment.
For me, a friend was something that was useful for the sake of my survival. Something that I could never achieve with my own physical abilities alone.
From the day we were born, I realized that humans were never equal to begin with. Some always were stronger than others, some were faster, some were better at fighting, some were more emotionally strong, and some were more clever.
Was I a clever person?
I never knew. What are the criteria for measuring cleverness? Is it the speed of understanding something? Is it the depth that one can go in one subject? I didn't know.
But, neither did I have to.
In this place of survival, we never had the need to hang on to some random definitions. Those are the problems that can only be created by humans who live in a world different from ours. In a world so comfortable that they have the need to create their own problems.
Survival meant mastering the art of adaptation and learning quickly from every encounter, every loss, and every mistake.
The streets demanded constant vigilance, a perpetual sharpening of instincts, turning every moment into a potential threat or opportunity.
In this harsh reality, the world became a classroom, and the lessons weren't taught by teachers but by the merciless trials of the streets.
It was a place where weakness was exploited, and strength was respected. It was a brutal education in the school of life, where the curriculum was written in the language of scars and survival.
There was no room for sentimentality; emotions were a luxury we couldn't afford.
No, for me, I always knew.
Those emotions that we call. They were a clear weakness that needed to be eliminated. The sense of fondness that you form with the people that you hold close to.
When the necessary time comes, that fondness will be detrimental if you need to cut the people close to you.
After all, if you don't survive, does it matter that you feel that fondness?
As the days turned into months and months into years, I began to see people as pawns on a chessboard that we call the real world.
It was a natural reaction, or so I convinced myself.
With my limited physical capabilities, manipulating others became the only way I could ensure my survival.
If it was the strong eating the weak, then I was never going to let myself get eaten, and for this sake, using others was a necessity.
It was not like those people didn't reap any benefits from my acts either, as the closer they were to me, the safer they would be.
In this board, the most important piece is the one that is saved until last after all…..Or is it?
The life can never go as we always expect. Humans are unpredictable in their own way, and as they are more mentally unstable, they become more non-linear.
But after some point, what kind of person I was became evident to others.
As the realization of my true nature spread, so did my power. The chessboard of the streets was under my control, and I reveled in the authority I held over the pieces. However, the faster I rose, the harder I fell.
The very qualities that propelled me to the top—cunning, manipulation, and a disregard for sentimentality—became the seeds of my downfall.
I became arrogant, convinced that I was invincible in this ruthless game. I underestimated the ever-shifting dynamics of human relationships and the unpredictability of the streets.
The people I once considered pawns in my game started to rebel. Loyalties shattered, alliances crumbled, and trust evaporated like mist.
The web of control I had meticulously woven began to unravel, leaving me exposed and vulnerable.
As I faced the consequences of my own arrogance, the harsh reality of the streets hit me with brutal force.
The same people I had used as shields were now turning against me. Betrayal cut deeper than the wounds from street fights, and the fall from power was swifter than the ascent.
But the betrayal wasn't the one that came from the ones that I kept close to. After all, they were mere pawns to whom I held no attachment.
The reason for the feeling of betrayal was myself. It was my own nature that betrayed me. There was that feeling that I had still yet to cut off from my very being, even if I had cut others.
Without connecting with others, I connected to myself, developing a trait that made me revel when I witnessed the scene where everything went according to my wishes.
In the cold, hunger-ridden nights, I found myself alone, stripped of the false sense of security I had crafted. The pain of getting beaten was not just physical but a reminder of the mistake I had made.
The darkness closed in, and I could feel the chill seeping into my bones.
As I lay there, on the brink of what would probably be called despair, I couldn't help but reflect on the choices that led me to this point.
The arrogance, the overestimation of my own importance—all of it was a recipe for my own undoing.
In the end, the world didn't spare me from my mistake.
Closing my eyes from the cold, hunger, and pain of getting beaten, I accepted my fate. This was something I deserved, as I had lost in this world of power.
But then, something appeared right before my eyes, a hand that was reached to me.
❰ Aren't you quite a fine gem? ❱
In that moment of uncertainty, survival instincts kicked in. I grabbed the offered hand without hesitation.
It was the only way for me to live, to escape the impending fate that awaited me in the cold darkness.
Yet I knew there was nothing in this world that was given to us free. I knew no one needed to pay for anything.
Some paid it with money, and others with their lives.
But in the end, everything had a price that we needed to pay.
The one whose hand I had taken led me away from the unforgiving streets, from the cycle of hunger and violence.
The journey took me to a facility, a place where many other children were brought. From that moment on, my life would take a drastic turn, veering into a path I could never have foreseen.
Yet, for me, it was always better than dying.
And just as I knew inwardly, everything revealed itself instantly at once.
The facility was not a refuge but a breeding ground for a new kind of survival.
As I stepped into this unknown world, I entered another place, one that would highly likely shape my future.
But then again, once a person becomes who they are, they tend to change less.
At least, this is what I know.
And what is valid for me.
Chapter 248 - Conclusion (4)
Another fragment of memory is to be dug up.
In the process of erasing unnecessary memories, there are things that come to mind.
"Take your seat and state your name."
State your name—.
The brain received the instruction, and the brain quickly transmitted the signal to the throat. It was something that was natural, something we had already developed.
"001."
It was a symbol. A sequence of numbers.
An important element to distinguish humans.
All of the children here were given numbers as names as one of the ways to identify individuals.
From what I had observed, this place tended to be a place where the children with no parents were brought.
But when I came here for the first time, I immediately sensed the tension in the air.
The atmosphere was thick with hostility, and the looks I received from the other children were cold and unwelcoming.
I was a newcomer, an intruder in a world that had already established its own power dynamics and alliances. It seemed that whatever was happening here, some children came a lot earlier than others.
Seemingly from the name or number given to us, it seemed I was from the third generation of children here. The first generation likely didn't have any zeros at the front of their names, whilst the second generation did have one.
It seemed I was the first one of this batch, most likely because of the test that they had subjected me to before giving me even any food.
The existing factions within the facility eyed me with suspicion and disdain. They had formed their groups, alliances forged through shared experiences and the need for mutual protection. I was an outsider, a threat to their established order.
However, even if that looked disadvantageous at first, I knew these types of places quite well and experienced firsthand how easy it was to just simply break those so-called 'bonds.'
After entering here, from that moment on, my life took a drastic change. At that point, I was no longer in control of my life. I operated the way they wished me to while being subjected to the tests they had prepared for us.
At first, the most important of these was a written test for me, as my body was malnourished and weak.
But that didn't mean others were not subjected to it.
All children straightened their posture and faced the test papers.
The test consisted of simply writing.
Since they'd probably already spent their recent times being thoroughly taught reading and writing when they came here earlier, there was no hesitation in their fingertips' movements as they held the pen.
The students were most likely penalized if they didn't achieve a certain level of performance in a limited amount of time.
In addition, the students were also required to have good handwriting, as I could see how they were trying to pay attention to their writing even though the time was limited for them.
Even if your handwriting was good, you wouldn't receive any rewards if you got the answer wrong, but from how they paid this much attention to their writing, it was most likely that if you wrote poorly in a hurry, points would be deducted from your score, so we had to be careful.
No one at this facility asked whether or not we can solve the problems we face.
This is only true because the only children who were still here even after the tests were the ones who could solve them.
That meant that if I couldn't solve everything, I would be left out, but to keep the information secret, the fate awaiting me was obvious.
Following me, many other children also came, and in a matter of two days, everyone in my batch was also filled.
After that, we spent the whole week learning how to write properly, how to read, and how to do math.
Whether or not I was talented at it, I had given my everything, and then the test began.
The written test was 30 minutes long, but there was enough time to complete it in about half to two-thirds of the time limit if we solved the questions without hesitation.
This was the way it was supposed to be.
******
The days went on like that.
Solve the equation and move on to the next. Determine the answer and write it down.
At the same time, you review the previous question to see if you've made any mistakes.
When I finished, I raised my right hand straight up.
After signaling that I was done, I turned the paper over.
Getting a perfect score on the written exam was the minimum requirement. At the same time, you were required to be a neat and speedy writer.
This was the 7th written exam since I entered here, and I've won first place four times in a row. The first time I took the written test, I was ranked 32nd; the second time, 19th; and the third time, 11th. I didn't have a good start.
It took me a while to figure out how the written exams worked, its logic, and its efficiency.
Once I solved that, I wasn't overtaken, and I myself have been improving my certainty even more.
The gap between me and the second-place finisher was widening with each written exam, and now the time gap was about five minutes.
Regardless if I got a perfect score or first place, I would never be praised by anyone.
When everyone finished, we moved on to the next part of the curriculum.
"Now, we'll start with martial arts. Everyone, please change and follow the instructor to another room."
Martial arts. This was another curriculum added when we turned four, as was the written test.
I've already been taught judo for months.
While being trained in the basics, we progressed to the stage where we had to fight in actual combat.
"Haa!"
My vision shook, and I felt a strong pain in my back.
In the confrontation with the instructor, the children were always made to taste this bitterness.
I was no exception.
"Get up!"
The relentless slamming into the floor, making it impossible to breathe, didn't allow you a break.
If I didn't get up immediately, I would be reprimanded again and again. Next, arms that were many times thicker than mine flew at me.
I was slammed to the floor again, and I tried desperately to catch myself, but I couldn't absorb the damage.
While I was being knocked down to the ground, similar occurrences were happening all over the place.
All the kids were crying and sobbing while being thrashed around.
"I can't… I can't stand up…!"
As if begging for forgiveness, one girl, whose name was Hazel, clung weakly to the instructor's leg. It was the girl I had been eyeing for a while
"Still, get up!"
The girl was forced to stand up as the instructor forcibly shook off her hands, but her body seemed to be immobilized.
The fact that it's a girl wasn't taken into consideration here.
"I told you to stand up!"
The girl was kicked, spun around and around on the floor, and sprayed vomit all over the place.
Of course, the adults weren't kicking seriously.
Even so, it was obvious to everyone that the force of the kick was unbelievably strong.
"I don't give a damn, even if you're a kid! You already know that!"
The average mind would have a strong resistance to hurting a child this much.
But the instructors who've been called to this place are never ordinary. No, they are even more savage than the adults of the streets.
I know when I see one. Those people here killed countless different people in their lives with those hands. I can see it with my eyes. It is obvious from their even small gestures.
They are the kind of people who had no qualms about sending women and children to the brink of death.
"No one will cry if you disappear! Stand up and face them on your own!"
Hazel, convulsing and unfocused, put her hands on the floor and tried to get up.
"Yes! That's it! Show some spirit!
"Uh, uh… Ugh… gh…!"
But the previous kick Hazel took was critical, and she collapsed and lost consciousness.
"Damn! You gutless bastard! Get her out of here! Get out of my way!"
The instructor, who had been making irritating footsteps, shouted angrily as he forcibly removed Hazel from the room.
Do you believe such a scene is tragic?
If so, you should change how you think. After all, those reactions are just a way of showing weakness, and that's it. Even the children outside live a different life, and some of them always take it easier while those like me are more severe.
Though this is never a complaint, it is just a comment.
This is only the beginning. Excessive reactions like Hazel's were decreasing day by day, and even the expression of pain was fading away.
Even human instincts were eliminated by the brain as superfluous functions.
It was natural to be thrown. It was natural to have difficulty breathing. It was natural to hurt yourself to the point of sobbing. And even thinking about it was a waste.
The only way out of the situation was to keep trying to reduce the number of times you get thrown within the time limit.
Of course, the most ideal situation was to defeat your opponent.
But the opponent was far superior in strength, size, and skill.
Needless to say, it wasn't easy to bridge the gap between adults and children.
After being forced to fight intensely and breathlessly, everyone rose to their feet, battered and bruised.
After an intense education from our instructors, we were obliged to take part in hand-to-hand combat with three others at the end of the day.
The children never look tired.
But one thing was certain. We were being raised as guinea pigs, and I was never going to accept that.
For me, my freedom is the most important thing, and I only work for myself.
*******
CRACKLE! FOOSH!
"Someone….There is a fire here."
No matter what happens, there are always beings that can never be confined in places and can do whatever it takes to reach their goal.
BOOM!
"What-"
"HELP!"
"AAAAAAHH!"
They can kill others and destroy lives just for the sake of themselves.
Like me.
While reading continuously, I learned one thing. People like me are far from normal, and they will never be.
It is incredibly hard to define this constitution of mine, as I don't know whether I am a psychopath because something inside me is always missing or something else.
But that is no longer important.
After all, I have now achieved what I had hoped. Free from anything binding me, now I can do whatever I want without thinking about any other thing.
It is now to try and understand what I really wished for in my life.
Chapter 279 - Conclusion [Interlude] (9)
What is one's goal? What happens to a machine which had lost its purpose?
As I ventured into the outside world, a new realization struck me. The freedom I had craved for so long made my life become something….
It was something empty…..
With survival no longer a constant struggle, I found myself asking the question that had never bothered me before – what was the meaning of life?
The skills I had honed for survival in the harsh streets and the facility seemed pointless in a world where basic survival was no longer a concern.
Why had I done all of those things before? To step on others? To control? To be the one that always stood above?
All of them seemed pointless. Surely, at the start, I tried to live freely. Entering a normal high school after a bunch of fake identities and stories and then looking at the normal humans and how they lived.
But then again, at this point, I had already become far more different. The emptiness I felt wasn't satisfied by just blending in the crowd.
No, I had never been able to blend in in the first place. I was always an outsider. Even if I had perfectly acted as one and controlled everything inwardly, I always knew that I was in a different frame than others.
It was just how it was.
I became a wanderer, grappling with the void that replaced the constant threat of death. The very essence of my existence seemed uncertain, and I grappled with the question of what I truly desired.
I looked for different types of excitement.
I created a company and took many risks to taste the same feelings when I was a child on the streets. But, operating a company was a lot different from operating in those cold streets where your life was dependent on it.
I tried martial arts and fought to death in countless different types of underground positions.
But it wasn't pleasurable either. This emptiness inside me was killing me, and I knew that. Then, at that point of time, I had entered the college.
It was just to 'experience' how it would feel, nothing more, nothing less. Then, I was introduced to the gaming industry.
For starters, playing games wasn't that different from anything, either. They also felt empty as well, as if something inside me was never satisfied.
I played online games….but it was too easy…once my superior motor reflexes adapted, it became a monotone routine as well.
It was pretty close to fighting.
After that, I started playing story games. Not because I thought it would be different but because I started doing drugs. Even though it was pretty irrational, it was the only way to shut this mind so that I could no longer feel empty.
There, I came across that game.
During the game, I felt something for the first time long in a while.
Whether it was excitement or completeness….I didn't know. Was the game perfect?
It was not. What made it special? I didn't know. Was it something that could be explained by a rational mind?
It wasn't.
And that was what I was looking for. Something I couldn't understand, I couldn't grasp. Then I played the game again and again.
Continuously, at different times.
And that feeling of slight completeness that I could never get from anything else continued to fill me.
But at some point, it started becoming not enough. Just at that exact moment, something happened.
Something that one could never believe. As I lost consciousness and appeared inside a space filled with nothingness, I knew what I was experiencing was something that could never be understood.
Therefore, I was able to keep my sanity in that necklace for three years. Even if this mind of mine never stopped, I knew I was close to filling that emptiness.
And just exactly the moment the opportunity presented itself, I took it.
I made my other self take it, too. After all, he was in a position where he could never refuse. It was interesting how his life had unfolded, but I lacked that feeling of empathy to understand his feelings.
But, I inwardly knew that he would fill this void.
At that point, we became complete, but not entirely, it seemed.
And now was the time once again.
Watching him live his life like how it was supposed to be was certainly a surreal feeling, yet maybe because it was his past, I was buried under his consciousness and was suppressed.
However, the trigger for him to see came not long after. Awakening me and letting me enter his consciousness once again.
*******
Suddenly, as the clock's frozen hands and forgotten memories overwhelmed my senses, the world around me blurred into darkness.
❰ Took you long enough. ❱
It felt as if an invisible force gently pulled me inward, drawing me into the depths of a new space.
The transition was both surreal and disorienting. Colors melted into shadows, and the familiar surroundings of my room faded away.
It was as if I traversed a nebulous boundary between the tangible reality and an ethereal realm different from anything else.
"Where is this place?"
I asked myself, and following that, another voice came.
"This is your consciousness."
In this realm, I discovered another person sitting on a small rock. It was highly likely the person whose voice I had heard in my head.
"Who are you?" I asked, only to receive the cryptic response, "Don't you know?"
As I gazed upon the figure, a profound sense of familiarity struck me. The features were indistinct, shrouded in a mysterious aura, yet there was an undeniable connection.
"It is you…."
This person…As the memories of everything that had transpired before coming here flooded into my head once again, I realized who this person was.
"The one I had accepted at that time," I mumbled. The voice that had reached me when I was at my lowest.
"Indeed."
He replied, his silhouette still shrouded in mystery. I had never been able to see him before, after all.
"But…."
However, it was surreal and not understandable. Inwardly, I was feeling worried. Worried, fearful, curious…Countless different emotions resided within me.
"You are wondering about my identity, aren't you?"
His voice echoed into my head as if he had read my thoughts.
"You should be able to reach this conclusion on your own."
Just as I thought about it, I turned to look at the events that happened after I had accepted him. How my fate had changed….how everything had differed.
If I was pathetic and weak-willed, he was my complete opposite.
The person who calmly watched other people die just in the first week of his taking control.
The person who calmly dealt with monsters and life and death situations as if he was experienced.
The person who constantly observed everything noticed even the smallest details. The person who led others in a way that was hard to understand.
"You…..you are the one."
While I was a child, I had always felt that sense of freedom in my heart. I always sought and yearned for the world around me. I hated being confined in the spaces like this.
"You are me."
As I mumbled in realization, his shadowy figure slowly revealed itself as I faced the person.
The same body that I had always seen before the mirror, the same eyes and the same face, everything.
"Indeed, I am you."
He replied, his face devoid of any expression. It was scary as if I was looking at a hollow void.
Overwhelmed by a barrage of emotions, I couldn't help but ask, "How? How is this possible?" The echoes of my confusion reverberated through the enigmatic space.
The figure, my other self, responded cryptically, "Haven't you ever wondered why you were powerless all this time?" His words hung in the air, weaving through the darkness like threads of revelation.
The question lingered, a seed of doubt planted in the soil of my thoughts. "Powerless?" I muttered, grappling with the implications. "What do you mean?"
He continued with a question that cut through the fog of uncertainty, "Did it never occur to you that your soul was incomplete?" The words struck me with an unsettling force, unraveling the fabric of my understanding.
"Incomplete?" I repeated, the revelation settling in like a stormy sea. Each word echoed with a weight that I had never considered.
The figure on the rock observed my turmoil, his features an enigma in the shifting shadows. "You were always meant to find me, to complete yourself. To become whole," he explained, the words resonating with an inexplicable truth.
"And I was always meant to find you, to complete myself."
As I heard his words, I couldn't understand. The figure before me looked more composed, and from how he did, it felt like he was perfect.
"What are you missing? What was incomplete in you?" The figure, perched on the rock, turned his gaze towards my eyes, studying them intently.
"I lack one profound thing," he responded his words echoing in the enigmatic space. "Emotions, vengeful feelings, hatred, strong attachments, worries – everything that makes us inherently human. That's what I am devoid of."
"And you, the one who holds all those emotions to the extreme, are the one that could fill this void."
As his words settled, I realized what it was. From time to time, how sometimes my past actions were randomly fueled by my feelings and how he randomly took control of them.
"You can see it, can't you? Those times when we acted non-linearly. We had yet to completely fuse; it was never complete."
"So…"
"Yes. Now, in this place, when we can see each other one last time, it is about time I say my farewells," he declared, his face devoid of any emotion.
I watched, a mix of anticipation and trepidation, as he merged into me. The fusion was slow as if time itself bent around us. As our forms began to intertwine, I felt a surge of emotions, memories, and experiences flooding my senses.
"Now, we are complete," his voice echoed in my consciousness. "I had finally filled this void."
Suddenly, as if expelled from that mysterious realm, my consciousness was thrust back into reality.
"Haaaaaah…...Haaaaaaaah..."
"Astron!"