I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell - Chapter 355

The Missing VII

In most works, regression is treated like a lopsided playing field that overwhelmingly favors the protagonist’s side. Naturally, everyone except the regressor fails to notice the loop and just keeps treading water, which means only the regressor’s allies get to monopolize every lucky break.

However, is regression truly advantageous to the protagonist alone?

“Truth is, regression benefits the enemy as well.”

[Why is that?]

“Every time the cycle resets, the Anomalies we’ve already slain spring back to life. That’s virtually immortality.”

My counselor this time was the Saintess.

Noh Do‑hwa was the one who always slammed on the brakes whenever the Regressor Alliance tried to barrel forward, so with her now gone, the Saintess had the final say on our plan in this 173rd cycle.

Project Collapse.

Since the scheme asked every member of the Alliance to fall into Corruption on purpose, we obviously had to win the Saintess over.

[I‑I never thought of it that way.]

“It’s a hardship only someone who has actually regressed can understand, Saintess.”

After parting with Cheon Yo‑hwa, I strolled through midday Utopia. Lively laughter echoed through the streets as children darted past with high‑pitched giggles.

In that surprisingly peaceful post‑apocalyptic afternoon, I traded Telepathic messages with the Saintess.

“Each cycle I have to infiltrate Baekhwa Girls’ High to catch Infinite Void, spending what feels like a year—sometimes ten—inside its prison of time.”

[Ah… You suffer so much.]

“The same goes for Ten Legs and Meteor Shower. I get infinite tries, and the Anomalies get infinite life‑coins.”

And yet…

“Outer Gods like Infinite Metagame or Nut are different. Their partial immunity to regression… makes them vulnerable.”

The immunity they cultivated against me could be turned into a new opening. A weakness.

“If we wound Nut this time, it’ll carry that scar forever, cycles be damned.” I shrugged. “Just like I carry mine.”

[…]

“By sharing my heart with my comrades, I’ve secured spare hearts. An Outer God hasn’t—it’s fundamentally alone. Saintess, we won’t be the ones who collapse. They will.”

There was a small sigh.

[…If it’s to save the future me, it’s hard to refuse.]

“Then you consent?”

[Yes, provided we have safeguards so the Corrupted don’t end the world.]

“I already have a strategy for that.”

The first runner of Project Collapse was the silver‑haired former psychopath. Now, thanks to the Golden Scales, she was a member who’d had humanity and emotions forcibly injected into her.

Yu Ji‑won.

Even when I looked her way, Ji‑won turned her head without a word. She’d stayed like that ever since my “regression coming‑out” that night.

“C’mon, Ji‑won, I said I’m sorry.”

“Sorry? Please be more mindful of what you say, Your Excellency. How could a lowly, ignorant soldier like me deserve a personal apology for failing to recognise a regressor?”

In short, Lady Yu Ji‑won was sulking.

I couldn’t hide my dismay.

“Wow… I can’t get used to this side of you. I know it was unromantic to blurt out I was Mr. Matiz on the spot, but—”

“It’s fine. My birth parents never adapted to me either. Adding one more maladjusted person to my life changes nothing.”

I, the Undertaker, warrior of 999 cycles, could handle Dang Seo‑rin’s tantrums or the Saintess’s sulking any day.

Been there, done that.

But Yu Ji‑won sulking? This was my first! After all, a humane Ji‑won only exists in the 173rd cycle—a limited edition!

“What does our Ji‑won like…?”

“Forgive me, Your Excellency. Even if we met in childhood, you can’t keep treating me like a kid. Letting go of the past is something adults must learn.”

“I said I’m sorry!”

“Are you shouting at me now?” Ji‑won blinked. “My apologies. I’ve incurred Your Excellency’s wrath—why live any longer? I should die.”

“Ji‑won! Please! I swear I’ll never spill the Matiz secret without romance again!”

“…Adding another disgrace to your dignity—why live any longer? I should die.”

“Ji‑won, where is the pure, innocent girl from that summer…?”

“She’s dead. I should die too.”

“Please, just spare me…”

“Also, use that old perfume for the rest of your life.”

I froze. “Um… for life? Just this cycle?”

“Oh? So you plan to die after this cycle, Your Excellency? If you’ll abandon the world, why live any longer? I should die.”

“All right! All right! I’ll use that perfume until my regression ends. Will that appease you?”

“Excuse me? Are you suggesting I’m angry?”

Someone kill me…

Who would’ve thought that the comrade I assumed easiest to persuade—and easiest to Corrupt—turned out to be the trickiest.

So I quietly brewed the perfume.

“Hmm.” Ji‑won inspected the seven‑note fragrance like a picky civil servant approving paperwork, then nodded. “This suits you.”

“Right… Thanks.”

“Is that sincere—”

“Thank you, Ji‑won! I’ll wear this forever! I’m thrilled!”

A nod. Approval earned.

Sometimes, a person without psychopathy is scarier than someone with it.

After learning that brutal truth, Project Collapse truly began.

Execution date: June 6, midnight.

That night, Ji‑won climbed up onto the rooftop of the Tower of Babel, in an odd outfit: a school uniform.

Th𝙞𝓈 𝐜h𝓪pτ℮r ı𝙨 pⲟѕ†𝖾đ b𝗒 𝖪𝗶𝐭𝙚η𝐨𝗏ꬲ𝖑

For Dang Seo‑rin’s Operations Team Leader to wear a uniform of all things was sacrilege. Not only that, she’d even graduated long ago. How embarrassing.

“Whoa, team leader! Transferring to Baekhwa Girls’ High?”

“Must… photograph! And archive on SG Net forever!”

The others teased her, but I kept silent.

It was the uniform of Shinseo Middle School, practically Miko robes to Ji-won. She’d first received Leviathan’s possession in that attire.

Ji‑won ignored the jokes and  draped a white blanket over the uniform like a cape, then knelt quietly on the rooftop. I watched with the others, then it hit me:

I’d never seen Ji‑won Fall before.

We observed from afar as her lips moved, her hands clasped in prayer.

“Thank you.”

I tilted my head. Who was she talking to?

“Thank you for watching over me.”

Ah.

To Leviathan.

She prayed to the colorless, odorless sea‑dragon that had chosen her as priestess.

That, too, was a never-before-seen event. I’d never seen a Miko harbor gratitude for an Outer God.

“Thank you for letting me distinguish between people. For letting me see colors. For letting me smell.”

Clearly, evenly, the silver‑haired priestess offered her lone worship to the midnight sky.

“Thanks to you, someone like me could live among humans… The human heart was an unknowable well to me. Thank you for turning that nameless transparency into Aura I could see… But now, that’s enough.”

Ribbit.

Somewhere, a frog’s cry rang out.

“I don’t need to see them anymore.”

Ribbit, ribbit.

I looked down. Citizens were gathering in the plaza, gazing up.

Ribbit.

The sound came from their mouths.

Though they should be asleep, more and more people flocked beneath the tower. Their mouths were gaping and their eyes were hollow, like wells whose rims had collapsed into darkness.

“I no longer wish to separate people by color, scent, or spirit.”

Ribbit. Ribbit. Ribbit.

They did not move their tongues—only their uvulas bobbed. Even newborns stood upright, croaking ribbit with their throats alone.

“But if I may, my god.” Ji‑won bowed her head. “Please leave me the color and scent of the single person precious to me…”

Ribbitribbitribbitribbitribbit.

“…And of the people precious to that person.”

At that instant, rain began to flow in streams—but not downward.

Upward.

“Eiyaaaah!” Ah‑ryeon shrieked, clinging to my arm. “Their m-mouths— Look!”

No. With my sharper sight, I saw where the water truly took form.

It was their hair.

Drops seeped from every strand, from Unawakened and Awakened alike, looping around necks like nooses and then shooting skyward like ropes.

Ribbitribbitribbitribbit.

Color drained.

Black, brown, blond, red, blue—every vivid shade of post‑apocalypse humanity melted into the water.

Desaturation.

[…My word,] muttered the Saintess. [It isn’t limited to Utopia. The few survivors across the peninsula are experiencing the same. The colors, Mr. Undertaker. Everyone’s hair is turning white.]

Humanity’s colors were being stripped away. Instead, the night sky, now soaked in their pigments, blazed with an aurora brighter than mankind.

As though saying we no longer need to look at humans, only at the sky.

Oddly, the aurora spilled scents as well as light. It was as if people’s bodily odors had also been stolen.

And yet…

“Uh… Huh?” Ah‑ryeon peeked out from behind me. “I‑I think… we’re fine?”

Yes.

Members of the Regression Alliance were exempt. While the aurora reaped every hue and fragrance from humanity, only we on the rooftop remained untouched.

I stared at the aurora above us for another moment, then spoke. “Ji‑won’s prayer got through.”

“Ehhh.”

“Come to think of it, she has never once defied Leviathan. Unlike some, she’s been a devoted Miko. Leviathan must cherish her.”

Though she’d weaken the dragon by abstaining from Aura usage in the distant future, even that tactic was gentle. It lulled Leviathan, not killed it.

‘…Lulling a god to sleep is within a Miko’s role.’

When the rain ceased, I glanced at Seo‑rin, who nodded. This city—the “Divine Realm that Shouldn’t Exist”—was hers, giving her a keen sense of just what had been sacrificed.

“The people of Utopia feel… devoid of individuality. Humanity excised—almost like AI. Their hair is all white, their scents gone.”

“Has your power suffered?”

“No. It’s annoying, but the sacrifices themselves are still recognised as mine. The god only took what it could claim.”

Ji‑won rose, and the blanket slipped, revealing her true form. She’d shrunk—no—returned to the girl I met that summer.

She scanned us, nostrils twitching—an old habit of a girl born with prosopagnosia. Then she raised her hand.

“Dang Seo‑rin… Sim Ah‑ryeon… Cheon Yo‑hwa. Cheon Yo‑hwa. Lee Ha‑yul. Oh Dok‑seo. Seo Gyu.”

Like tracing the contours of existence, she named each person, then her finger halted at me.

“Mr. Matiz… Mr. Matiz.”

Those mirror‑clear eyes held only me.

“Yes. My world needs nothing more.”

She clenched her fist, and the night sky rippled, curling with the soft curve of her fingers, and I knew it then:

The galaxy of Aura dyeing that sky, the palette of that virtually limitless aurora, had gathered into Ji‑won’s grasp.

“Who’s next?”

Awakener: Yu Ji‑won

Corrupted alias: Despot

Has joined the party.