By Zephyria 
‘Jin Mu-hae.’
He swallowed the name that had now become a habit on his tongue.
If the scene he was recalling now was the cutscene he knew, he must not interfere. He didn’t want to disturb him.
Joo-oh quietly clasped his hands and watched him. In a space where even the sound of breathing had subsided, Jin Mu-hae drifted through old memories like a man left entirely alone.
A narrow, bright attic with lights flickering here and there. His pale face looked unique, almost like a hidden illustration.
Still, Joo-oh didn’t touch the Link Watch. Sometimes, capturing and engraving a moment with one’s eyes and mind lasted longer than a photograph.
‘I’m excited.’
In life, there are no resets, nor is there a way to restart from a saved point. Inevitably, for Jin Mu-hae, this was his first and last play.
Thus, Joo-oh hoped that he would feel the same emotions he had felt when he first played 「La Vida Blue」.
One. Two. Three. He waited, counting. Not yet. Calling him had to be delayed a little longer.
Within the infinitely repeating melody, Joo-oh thought quietly.
It felt as if he were savoring every moment he had longed for, like eating a precious dessert one bite at a time.
Ah. He was truly glad to have come to this world.
* * *
♪♬♩-
In the neighborhood where the child lived, there were only high-rise buildings. Even without leaving the house often, that much was easy to discern.
The glass windows on the terrace didn’t allow those outside to see in, but from the inside, the outside was clearly visible. The child’s field of vision was always filled with buildings so massive they seemed to touch the city’s dome.
Nothing was lacking. When bored, he played with toys and a video pad; he ate delicious meals every hour and received lessons from a teacher.
The teacher rarely praised him. Even so, the child knew that his learning was fast.
The teacher often asked the child, ‘Already?’ Those were the words he would hear whenever he mastered something immediately after being taught.
♪♬♩-
The child lived alone. People who took care of him were always by his side, but through intuition and atmosphere, he already knew that this place was not their real home.
Of course, such a concept was too complex and unfamiliar for the child to fully comprehend; strictly speaking, he had only realized the fact that people who lived in different houses were not family.
Once, the teacher told him that his mother was a busy person. That was why she couldn’t come home often.
If that were the case, since his mother’s home was here, she was family. Family he hardly ever saw. Family more distant than the people he saw every day.
The child did not know what the difference was between family and those who were not.
♪♬♩- ♬♪♩♪-
The toys were changed periodically. Whatever he had would disappear around the time it became boring. They were replaced by things that were harder to handle and required more thought to play with.
Only one thing—a round plushie with soft fur—always remained by the child’s side. It wasn’t a bear, nor a rabbit. It wasn’t a bird, nor a wolf.
It had no ears, nor arms or legs. It was merely a device that played a song when its belly was pressed, but the child liked it very much.
Occasionally, when he threw a tantrum because he disliked everything, someone nearby would place that plushie in his hands.
A very simple and cute melody. The last time he heard that sound was on the day the door was violently thrown open and the surroundings became chaotic.
♩♩♩-♩♩♪—
♪…… Static-! Crack!
‘……!’
A terror felt for the first time in his life, a strange realization that tomorrow might not come.
Things too difficult for a child to accept crashed over him in succession.
Like the plushie crushed under a stranger’s foot, he felt that he, too, would be unable to make a sound for a very long time.
Then, a scream rang out…….
Krrr-!
♩♩♩-
“Jin Mu-hae.”
♩♩♩-♩♩♪—
“Jin Mu-hae!”
♩♩♩-♩♩♪—
“……Yeah.”
Suddenly, as if emerging from a sediment of darkness, his peripheral vision returned. Jin Mu-hae took a deep breath at the bright light.
Eyes that had been wandering in the distance stopped before a familiar face. Reflected in those clear red eyes was the image of a dazed mercenary.
Only then did he remember, one by one, where he had been and what he had been doing, as if thoughts were floating to the surface of the water.
“…….”
Too many memories flashed through his mind in an instant.
Fragments that felt like dreams or imaginations because they were so blurred and old. As if he had been pulled out while swimming in deep water, reality and the past mingled, choking his breath.
A throb—a dull pain was felt in his temples. Amidst the pain, Mu-hae experienced something like déjà vu.
Come to think of it, he had experienced a similar moment before. When facing a great danger, hadn’t he tasted a past he had never been conscious of, like a revolving lantern?
However, this time, no gun muzzle had touched his head, nor had a blade approached. Simply by hearing the melody from his memory, fragments from beyond that firmly nailed door had flowed in.
“Jin Mu-hae. Are you okay?”
“……Yeah.”
At the continued conversation, Mu-hae pressed his forehead and barely regained his senses.
Under the quite bright light, a small mechanical device was visible.
A monotonous melody was flowing from it in an infinite loop. It had likely been playing from the moment the attic door opened.
“Does it hurt?”
“I said I’m fine.”
He answered with a frown, but in truth, the headache was unusual. It felt as if the backs of his eyes were being pulled out, and his head felt as heavy as if someone had split his skull and placed a rock inside.
Still, this level of pain wasn’t something he couldn’t endure. It wasn’t as if he had slammed his head hard while coming in.
As long as nothing was broken, he could move. That was enough.
“The door is…….”
“I closed it. Because there was a sound.”
Joo-oh spoke of the events that had happened in the brief interval while firmly holding his arm. As he said, the door that had been flung open downward was now tightly locked.
It was commendable that he had assessed the situation and acted on his own without being told. Mu-hae gave a slight nod and took a deep breath.
“Want me to help you up?”
“I’m fine. Stop treating me like a patient and wait.”
Then, he walked awkwardly through the attic, which had an absurdly low ceiling. He saw an on-off switch on the device, which was smaller than a thumb.
Click. The moment he switched it off, an awkwardly deep silence flowed. Mu-hae fiddled with the object in his hand and looked at the ceiling.
A circle inside a square. A triangle inside a circle. Vivid sigils, as if mocking him, were drawn wherever his gaze landed.
Even if half his brain were gone, he could tell this was related to the Return. That big shot wasn’t simply someone interested in the goal of the Return.
He was clearly a participant in the Return, or had been one. He was a person who knew the extremely personal past—which even the party involved had forgotten—with terrifying precision.
From that moment, he felt the top of his head grow cold. Though he stood motionless, he had the illusion that his fingertips and all the extremities of his body were trembling slightly.
For the first time in a while, his inner voice—his subconscious—asked.
In truth, it was a problem he could have easily associated. Wasn’t the reason he hadn’t factored this into his calculations simply because he wanted to ignore it?
“…….”
At the same time, a warm body temperature suddenly touched the back of his hand.
Turning his head quickly, he saw Joo-oh enveloping his clenched fist.
Despite the difference in hand size making it impossible to grip fully, he clung to him and smiled.
The emotions that had been writhing unpleasantly subsided in an instant. Mu-hae looked down at his hand and swallowed hard.
It was strange. The filthily noisy interior of his head grew quiet. The floor that had been swaying became firm under his feet again, and his narrowed vision returned to normal.
Mu-hae stuffed the Sound Module into the inner pocket of his jacket and stepped closer to the box where the device had been placed.
When he nudged it with his foot, the shabby cardboard box slid back weightlessly.
“Nothing there?”
“I don’t know. I have to open it.”
Even when shaking it slightly, there wasn’t even a rattling sensation. Nevertheless, he had a strong intuition that something would come out from inside.
Rrip— tear.
The contents of the meticulously closed box did not exist physically, but they existed meaningfully.
Inside the empty box, a note remained.
[There is a flaw in the Starpath.]
The feast of characters that followed beneath it were scribbles focused on form rather than meaning.
Beep— boop!
As if knowing the answer, he held the Link Watch up and scanned it. As expected, the device read the code.
Flash. A translucent Hologram Window floated before Mu-hae’s eyes. The method of appearance was similar, but the format of the document was a record quite different from his father’s or the Return’s.
———
[Fable: The Fruit that Swallows Fire]
The world was gradually being scorched black.
While traveling through a star filled with smoke, the expedition finally discovered a single fruit.
It was the ‘Fruit that Swallows Fire.’ Before this fruit, no spark could spread any further and vanished.
“If we eliminate all fire with this, the smoke will disappear too,” Noru said.
Baram examined the fruit for a long time and then shook his head.
“We can stop new fires from blooming with this, but we cannot eliminate the smoke that has already spread.”
Because flames bloomed, the world was engulfed in smoke.
However, even in a world where the sky was hidden by raging fires, light and heat were abundant.
“If not now, I don’t know when we’ll be able to put it out. This opportunity may never return.”
“Darkness and cold will come.”
“We can wait until the smoke subsides.”
“Not everyone can.”
On the night there was a quarrel, the fruit disappeared.
Someone had hidden it deep away.
The fire continued to burn.
The smoke continued to rise.
The members of the world lived within the smoke.
And without anyone knowing, the surface of the star gradually turned blacker.
———
Flick. As if the power had run out, the attic lights went out. The only things shining in the darkness were the Hologram Window with its foolish story and the red eyes reflecting its surface.
“I think there’s a fire.”
“There isn’t.”
Calming the guy talking nonsense, Mu-hae pushed the firmly closed door.
It had been closed so tightly that only after stomping on it several times did the floor open slightly with a pop.
Seeing that the ring had fallen off, it seemed the door had been forced and fixed in place.
Thanks to that, no one could have entered even if they lingered here, but the person who entered had almost been unable to leave.
“World.”
Joo-oh said, pointing to the ceiling. It was too dark to see, but he seemed to be repeating exactly what Mu-hae had said regarding the Sigil of Return.
World or whatever, Mu-hae stomped his foot hard once more and smashed the door.
Leaving the shattered world behind, the two jumped through the broken gap without looking back.
240 – I Became an Aberration in a Dead Game