I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell - Chapter 343

The Surrenderer V

The admin had reached her conclusion.

For a moment, my private room fell silent. On the laptop resting on the table, the screen showed the Admin of the Infinite Metagame’s avatar again in 144p resolution—or even more degraded, like a dot-pixel white-haired girl perched atop the Recycle Bin icon.

[At first, I did not suspect—Infinite Void or that elder twin girl, Cheon Yo-hwa.]

Her voice had likewise weathered further. Gone was any trace of that aristocratic flair she once gave off, that sense of maybe smiling with a butterfly on her hand. No vintage elegance, just a worn-out relic. All that remained was a simple, off-beat TTS voice emerging from the laptop’s tinny speaker.

[Just a worthless-loser.]

[Pathetically tried imitating—a human, clinging to the Regressor with flattery—and coquettish wiles, that pathetic insect—]

[I—took her lightly.]

Perhaps because of that, even in the 688th cycle when we subjugated the Mastermind, the Admin of the Infinite Metagame chose to cooperate with Cheon Yo-hwa. She decided that Infinite Void was a more serious threat as an Outer God, not suspecting that the real puppet master was Cheon Yo-hwa.

[You would—remember.]

[That I tried persuading Infinite Void—to form a pact with me and rise against you, the Regressor.]

But Infinite Void did not act as the Admin wanted. It used the Admin and betrayed her, leading to the Admin’s ultimate conclusion.

[Cheon Yo-hwa was actually the Mastermind—] 

[She was just Infinite Void at first, but then stole the Mastermind’s authority—granting Mind Reading to you.]

[She’s the one who toyed with me from start to finish.]

Bzzt.

The curses, fried in static, dripped like sticky black grease.

[Sly creature.] 

[Treacherous creature.] 

[Malicious creature.]

Indeed.

From the moment that Book Possessor, her trump card, was dismantled by Cheon Yo-hwa, the Admin’s chances of victory nosedived. After that, the Admin’s moves were less rebellion, more desperate flailing.

Thı𝓈 ƈhа̄p𝘵𝙚r ɪ𝑠 p◎ʂ𝕥𝓮đ b𝙮 Ƙ𝐢ṯ𝓮𝕟𝖔ν℮ḷ

She gave Oh Dok-seo Side Story Creation, hoping it might shake the Regressor’s psyche. Failure.

She pumped all the Aura she could into Oh Dok-seo while Leviathan slumbered, yet though Oh Dok-seo fell somewhat, she still wouldn’t oppose the Regressor Undertaker. Failure.

She tried secretly poisoning the novel Oh Dok-seo was writing (Undertaker: The Romance) to distort the readers’ perception.

And yet the more the Admin tampered, the more Oh Dok-seo felt a primal aversion to writing. The Miko’s drive to avoid harming the Regressor overpowered her servitude to the Outer God.

Failure.

Failure, failure, failure. Failure.

[If at least…]

The speaker crackled in her lament.

[If you had treated your comrades as disposable pawns even a little bit.]

[If you hadn’t given them your trust—I would have won—]

[And you—would have become me.]

Finally, I broke the human silence. “So? A loser can replay the chess game all she wants, but the outcome doesn’t change.”

[…]

“I get that scattering tablets along the shore was your way to vent your grudge against Oh Dok-seo. Now go ahead and state the real condition you want.”

Squirm, squirm.

That black curse-stuff seeped over the background, forming greasy droplets as they all converged in one direction: the recycle bin. Once all the black sludge had drained into the icon, the background turned pure white again, as though bleached.

With a squelching plop, the Admin’s avatar hopped out of the bin, then knelt quietly in the center of the white screen.

[I surrender.]

Like a white flag unfurling, a notepad file popped up with lines of text typing out in real time.

[Please grant—the victor’s mercy.]

[At least spare—my life—if you would.]

In the 925th cycle. Autumn.

So it was the day the Outer God known as the Admin of the Infinite Metagame formally offered a complete surrender.

Faking it until you make it. Raising your price before offering terms.

That was what all this fuss amounted to for the Admin of the Infinite Metagame. Making a pathetic show of proving she wasn’t dead “quite yet,” so to speak.

I hummed in thought. To be honest, there was no particular urgency from my end of things. So what if my beloved Three Kingdoms stories were all transformed into bizarre gender-bent side-lore? Fine by me. I could simply re-read the same text in a new twist and enjoy it again.

Two ways to savor the meal. Men’s camaraderie and maidens’ friendship. Different flavors, perhaps, just as Ceylon Tea was distinct from café au lait, but if you prided yourself on being the greatest glutton in the best of times, you might declare them both delicious and gulp them straight down.

“P-please accept her surrender, mister…”

However, our illustrious literary figure clung to my arm like slime, stretching out in desperation.

“If that thing promises not to sneak any Outer God junk into my novel anymore, I can keep writing without interruption! Then our dear readers are happy, your allies are happy, and I’m happy too! A happy ending! An overwhelmingly happy ending—!”

“I-I won’t be happy at all,” a voice intervened.

Dok-seo and I turned to look, and there stood Sim Ah-ryeon, who had rushed to Busan so quickly she hadn’t even changed out of her Saintess garb. Fidgeting, she said, “Don’t accept the surrender, G-Guild Leader…”

“Huh,” I huffed, somewhat intrigued. “Considering you’re also part of the Regressor Alliance, I’ll at least pretend to listen. Why not?”

“B-because an Oh Dok-seo who updates daily isn’t Oh Dok-seo at all. Characterization. There’s a certain personality trait that must remain protected, even if it’s h-hidden from others.”

I nodded. “I see. What’s your real reasoning?”

“Because I won’t let go of this precious gem who’s living a life even more worthless than mine…”

“What the— Ah-ryeon unnie?!”

“I— I absolutely won’t let you go. Ms. Dok-seo, taking it upon yourself to become a decent human being is a betrayal I can’t forgive…”

“Mister! Mister, I’m scared! Please accept the surrender!”

So Ah-ryeon clung to Dok-seo, and in turn, Dok-seo clung to me.

Ha-yul, who had been wandering around the guild hideout, saw this and latched onto Ah-ryeon’s waist, asking, [What’s this game, anyway?]

It was total chaos.

[Listen—to how it feels to be bested by these scoundrels.]

Anyway, it was a momentous event: an Outer God formally surrendering.

We had but one crucial question left to settle: Where would we accept this surrender? If there were some famous “capitulation hot spot” nearby, like the Palace of Versailles in France, that would be convenient, but we had nothing so thematically fitting in Korea.

When in doubt, improvise. We needed a space meeting three specific criteria:

1. It must remain intact no matter how much time passes.

2. Neither the Admin nor the Regressor can easily meddle with it.

3. The host of that space must be on par with or above an Outer God in stature.

Could such a place actually exist?

Surprisingly, yes.

“Welcome, sunbae! I’ve been waiting!”

Beam, beam.

Waving her hand was Cheon Yo-hwa, the older twin sister, dressed in a black sailor uniform.

The Divine Realm of Infinite Void. A classroom that kept the windows of four seasons sealed. The domain of a god, in which time stood still.

“And… Aha.”

When she looked at me, she had a face of pure innocent cheer, but upon noticing the laptop in my arms, her expression turned sly.

“Pop Quiz: The manga character Whitebeard and that white-haired girl inside your laptop share something in common. What do you suppose that is?”[1]

[…?]

“Three, two, one, buzz! The answer: They’re both holdover losers from the previous era!”

[…]

“Bahahah! Ehehe, ahahahahaha!”

Zzzt—zzzt—zzzt.

Static hissed violently from the laptop, but Cheon Yo-hwa just pounded on a desk, rolling from laughter.

“Wow! Remember how that Outer God once mocked me? ‘How can a god stoop to love a human or surrender to a human,’ she said. Huh? What happened to her old adage, ‘you can’t beat them, join them’? But you wouldn’t listen! Then, oh, I heard we got a new member this season, so I came here and—and what do you know? It’s you? You also joined?!”

[CENSORED.]

“Uh oh, sorry! I can’t hear a has-been whose power got sealed by sunbae like a disobedient puppy—!”

[CENSORED.]

“Gasp! Or could this be an example of the Great Guardian of the Script? Like how the word for male genitalia can’t be spelled out directly, forced into the obscure world of bleeps. You’re physically demonstrating the content guidelines of a creation—?!”

[CENSORED.]

“Hehehe. Goodness, Admin-chan! You’re so committed to roleplay. If you had this level of RP skill in Japan, you could shoot for the top Vtuber rung! I’m laughing because you’re so into it.”

[CENSORED.]

[CENSORED.]

[CENSORED.]

“Repeat after me: The Admin of the Infinite Metagame… is just an above-average laptop, that’s all!”

[CENSORED.]

[CENSORED.]

[CENSORED.]

For over fifteen minutes, Cheon Yo-hwa tormented the Admin with every variety of otaku insult, humiliating her psychologically.

‘Man, she has a nasty streak…’

Then again, from what I could recall, the older twin was always a real piece of work. While her younger twin might troll the entire world from behind a mask—she was Ah-ryeon’s friend, after all—the older twin would pick one target and tear them apart until they coughed blood, curse-caster style.

Cheon Yo-hwa stretched her arms wide, looking thoroughly refreshed. “Haaah! I feel better!”

In stark contrast, the laptop across from her was spewing black smoke as if broken.

“You done venting?” I asked then.

“Mhm! I’m good now. Anyway, I guess from what I’m seeing, the Admin wants to fully surrender to you, sunbae?”

“…Yes.”

“Aha, it’s all going according to my plan. Ehehe, guess I really am a genius.”

She giggled manically like a clown, but I couldn’t bring myself to laugh along.

“There’s something I’d like to ask, Yo-hwa.”

“Sure, sunbae! Ask anything you want. Doesn’t mean I can answer everything, though.”

“The Admin suspects you of gifting me Mind Reading, specifically to sabotage the scenario she cooked up of pitting her Miko against me. Is that true?”

“Ah, yep,” she confirmed briskly, as if it were no big deal. “I did. To be exact, I did it after absorbing the Mastermind’s powers. Remember when I apologized because I couldn’t save Old Man Schopenhauer? That time.”

I swallowed hard. “I’m not accusing you of anything. Just curious. Why didn’t you tell me?”

Smiling, Cheon Yo-hwa answered, “I’m sure you have an idea already, sunbae… And that guess is correct.”

Go Yuri.

That entity living not just in my mind, but in the deep unconscious of humanity.

‘I can’t forget anything once I hear it. That’s just the way I am.’

Finally, I felt certain.

All along, Cheon Yo-hwa had not only been taking the Regressor’s point of view into account when interacting with me, she had also always factored in the presence of Go Yuri, who was entwined with my memory.

Noticing my face stiffen, Cheon Yo-hwa forced a faint smile. “It’s tough, huh, sunbae? The world can collapse so easily. And to prevent that, we have to calculate variables as complicated as the Sands of the Ganges. If a mere vow to sacrifice ourselves could solve everything… it’d be simple.”

“Indeed,” I said gravely. “It’s not easy.”

“Mhm. Not easy.”

For about five seconds, we gazed at each other. Perhaps we both need the time to verify the angles and intensities of our mutual wry smiles.

“But in any case, we’ve come this far because you never gave up, sunbae.”

With a motion of her hand, Cheon Yo-hwa made chalk levitate and write on the blackboard in a nostalgic rhythm.

“People often say that strategizing is about variables. They think preparing for unknown factors demonstrates intelligence and deserves praise.” Cheon Yo-hwa curled her arms around her knees. “But for a tactician like me, the truly precious thing isn’t the variables, it’s the constants. Something that stays the same wherever, whenever. A bedrock for your calculations, a reliability that lets you plan strategies without worrying it’ll shift.”

In that classroom, her gentle voice and the chalk’s scratchy writing formed a sort of a cappella duet.

“What was the reason the Admin lost, anyway? Because I’m the greatest genius who defies even the gods?”

[…] 

“No, she was a genius too. Our calculation power is basically the same. So I myself can’t be the decisive cause of her defeat.”

The chalk paused against the blackboard.

Resting her face on her arm, Cheon Yo-hwa turned, letting the light of sunset frame her silhouette.

“The Admin and I were originally both far from human. But after hundreds of cycles, we each grew more human. Think about it, sunbae.”

“What do you mean?”

“Simply the fact that she says ‘I surrender’—that’s extremely, profoundly human. And ‘making promises’ even more so.”

A small smile tugged at her lips.

“You call humans Corrupted by Anomalies ‘Fallen Ones’? ‘Corrupted’? Those are nice terms. It’s the same on this side, too. By now, The Admin has fallen so far from being an Outer God that she’s barely an Anomaly. She genuinely got mad at her Miko, sulked, sought survival—enough to consider surrender… And it’s thanks to you, sunbae. All because you’ve remained the same, unwavering you.”

There, behind Cheon Yo-hwa.

“While the Void gazes upon humans, so too do humans gaze upon the Void. Maybe Anomalies need a saying like that.”

The blackboard’s “Surrender Agreement” read:

1. The Admin of the Infinite Metagame shall relinquish all authority over creative works (novels, comics, movies, games, etc.).

2. The Admin of the Infinite Metagame shall, under no circumstances, interfere with any future works authored by her Miko, Oh Dok-seo.

3. The Admin of the Infinite Metagame shall not threaten the Regressor Undertaker’s physical or mental survival in any way. Nor may she communicate with other Anomalies without the Regressor’s permission.

4. The Regressor Undertaker will allow the Admin of the Infinite Metagame to avoid entanglement in the flow of regression and to retain her own sense of self and memory.

5. The laptop provided by the Admin of the Infinite Metagame, and any works written on that laptop by Miko Oh Dok-seo, will remain safe from the ravages of time, recognized as an Ark that retains its own unique identity.

6. All of the above shall be guaranteed by the Admin of the Infinite Metagame, the Regressor Undertaker, and the Divine Realm’s Cheon Yo-hwa. Should any party break the agreement, that violator shall face unconditional destruction.

7. The right to determine the ultimate interpretation of the words and phrases in this pact lies solely with the Regressor Undertaker.

The white-haired girl on-screen bit her fingertip, tipping away the tip of her right index finger with a static hiss.

[…If it will ensure.]

[That my life—is guaranteed.]

[Gladly.]

Thump.

She held out her hand, and—oddly—in that very moment, the laptop screen and the blackboard both displayed her fingerprint.

A blood oath. The strongest form of pledge.

Cheon Yo-hwa and I placed our own bloody seals in turn.

After wrapping her finger in a white handkerchief, Cheon Yo-hwa turned to me to say, “You know, sunbae, to me this world was always just variables. Ever since I was a kid.”

Then she smiled like a blooming flower.

“You’re my only constant, sunbae.”

There is a brief epilogue.

One day in the next cycle…

“Mister! We’ve got a problem, a huge problem!”

“Now what?”

“I-I can’t write anything!”

I stared.

“What do I do? I took Friday off because I was sick, Saturday and Sunday are always off by default, Monday I claimed I had the Flu Anomaly, so I took another day, but if I slack off today, Tuesday, everyone will start asking why I didn’t just get healed by Ah-ryeon unnie! Because the Baekhwa Girls’ High student council leader and Ji-won both know I can get treated anytime! So I need a legitimate excuse—some miraculous reason—why a literary figure like me can skip Tuesday too, so I can trick the Regressor Alliance…! Mister!”

Thus was it proven that Oh Dok-seo’s indefinite-hiatus disease wasn’t wholly the Admin’s fault. QED.

Footnotes:

[1] Whitebeard is a character from the manga One Piece.