Chapter 62

Puppeteer V

There is a bit of a long epilogue.

In fact, my whole story is one long epilogue.

To confess truthfully, I originally intended to title this memoir something like ‘The Regressor’s Epilogue.’

“Huh? Mister, are you crazy?”

If it weren't for the interference of the web novel otaku, Oh Dok-seo, that would have indeed happened.

“Why? Isn't it good?”

“What's so good about it? These days, even those kids who live on SG Net wouldn’t fall for a title like that.”

“Hmm... Then how about ‘The Infinite Regressor’s Daily Café’?”

“What?”

Oh Dok-seo looked like she heard something unspeakable.

“What did you just say?”

“My hobby is being a barista. Every time I go to see Old Man Scho’s corpse, I also make café au lait. So I thought of using the word café...”

“You're really insane, aren’t you?”

There was genuine sincerity in Oh Dok-seo’s words.

Though I knew an otaku's sincerity didn’t guarantee truth, surprisingly, I sensed some truth this time.

Hmm. Is it really that bad...?

“How to Fail at Infinite Regression?”

“Your Excellency.”

“I am a Regressor.”

“Oh god.”

“The Regressor Abandons Salvation.”

“Bullshit.”

“The Regressor’s Epilogue.”

“Get lost!”

“The Records of the Regressor’s History.”

“Oh, please! Mister! Stop!”

“.......”

Why is this?

Is this a generation gap? No. It can’t be. My aesthetic sensibility, honed over thousands of years, had transcended human levels, capable of casually greeting Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Goethe with ‘Yo, long time no see.’

I poured out all the title candidates I’d thought of for twenty minutes, but they were all cut off by Oh Dok-seo.

Even if my character was at the level of Siddhartha Gautama, this was an excessive tyranny.

I said in anger.

“If you’re so good, why don’t you name it yourself?”

“Fine! But no matter what title I come up with, you must never interfere! I’ll read everything you’ve written and then give it a comprehensive title!”

“Alright. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

“Deal!”

“Deal.”

Looking back now, I shouldn’t have made such a foolish promise.

What was I thinking, trusting Oh Dok-seo with naming?

A 50,000 won cap? Jeans full of holes? Gum that couldn’t even blow a balloon? I’d rather trust Jung Sang-guk’s patriotism.

In the end, I still don’t know what title was given to my story. Just by calling it a ‘story,’ you can guess.

What a paradox. Not being able to call a father a father... No, it’s more like not knowing the name itself. Oedipus not recognizing his father would be more fitting.

I don’t know what it’s like from your perspective. If you are reading not only my story but also its title, please at least understand that it wasn’t a title created by me, the Undertaker.

Anyway.

Let’s return to the epilogue of the Puppeteer, Lee Ha-yul.

Jung Sang-guk died.

The former mayor of Busan died. The current Prime Minister of the Second Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea died. The president of the Fukuoka Korean Association died. The representative of Busan died.

No word was appropriate. Jung Sang-guk did not die for those reasons.

To be accurate in the diagnosis considering the cause of death, the following phrase was most fitting for the coffin of this death.

Lee Ha-yul’s biological father died.

Although I didn’t agree with Freudian psychoanalysis, I enjoyed using its terms.

A child killed their father, but Lee Ha-yul was not Electra. Nor was she Oedipus.

A parent’s death should be called a prologue, not an epilogue for the child.

It was a cruel affair.

From now on, I planned to do something cruel.

“Lee Ha-yul.”

“Yes.”

Lee Ha-yul responded. Not from the already decapitated Jung Sang-guk but from the maid’s lips.

“Don’t do it.”

Lee Ha-yul tilted her head.

“What do you mean? This person is dead. Perception. Can’t be stopped.”

“I wasn’t telling you not to kill Jung Sang-guk. I meant don’t kill yourself.”

“.......”

Pause. The red circles in Lee Ha-yul’s eyes grew larger.

No further conversation was needed. Every breath from Lee Ha-yul was language. The girl was confused.

“How?”

“If you killed your parent, you killed them. Why follow after and die? You have a talent. The talent to kill people and the talent to save people are the same. If you are determined to kill yourself, turn the blade of that determination to stab the anomalies.”

“.......”

“This world needs awakeners. Humanity’s survival is at risk. Whether they are Korean or Japanese, such distinctions are meaningless. Whether Jung Sang-guk is dead or not, ultimately, everyone you’ve known so far will die at the hands of the anomalies.”

“.......”

“Help us. I will help you so you can.”

Silence followed. Half of the silence flowed from the gaping mouth of Jung Sang-guk lying on the concrete floor.

Was it just my imagination? It felt like all the dolls densely packed in the basement were staring at me.

“If I follow you?”

“.......”

“Can it be stopped? The world’s end.”

“No, I can’t guarantee it.”

“What did you say your alias was? Sorry.”

“Undertaker.”

“Undertaker.”

Although I had introduced myself several times, it seemed that only then did Lee Ha-yul's brain properly register my alias.

She wouldn’t have considered it before. People facing death didn’t bother to remember new acquaintances.

Lee Ha-yul muttered.

“Swordmaster’s comrade.”

“Yes.”

That was Noh Do-hwa’s philosophy.

Such a person was brought into the National Road Management Corps as the leader. By me.

Anyway, due to this reason, her ability was roughly referred to as [Prosthetics Production]. Even [Restoration of Loss] would have been a cooler name.

“Yes, the measurements are done.”

Noh Do-hwa scribbled some complex numbers in a notebook.

“It usually takes one to two weeks to produce prosthetics. Is this tall person Lee Ha-yul’s guardian?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you have a preference between wood and metal for the material?”

“What’s the difference?”

“Wood needs to be replaced often. So you would have to visit our workshop periodically, which is inconvenient. Metal has a longer replacement cycle, but it might make a squeaking noise and rust. Many patients find it bothersome.”

“.......”

“If you bring your own materials, we can work with those too. Prosthetics are meant to last a lifetime. It’s not too late to decide after finding good materials. You don’t have to rush to get high-end materials right now.”

Lee Ha-yul pondered.

I could sense her consideration as an expert in dolls.

“Then, metal.”

“Do you dislike clockwork?”

“No.”

“Does the ticking sound of a clock drive you crazy and make your hair stand on end, and do you feel an obligation to smash it immediately?”

“No.”

“Do you usually perform covert operations and have assassination missions?”

“No.”

“Great. I’ll make it as quickly as possible, but it might take more than 15 days. Once it’s done, I’ll send someone to inform you.”

Even though she said that, it took less than five days for Noh Do-hwa to call us back.

Some people either reflected their hopes in the deadlines they gave or distrusted the timeframe, and Noh Do-hwa’s basic distrust level was over twice her hope level.

“This is Lee Ha-yul’s prosthetic leg.”

“.......”

Noh Do-hwa handed over a long wooden box with a hollow gaze. The plain wooden box was neat and clean without any decoration.

On one corner of the box, the words ‘Lee Ha-yul, xxxx year xx month xx day’ were engraved with a carving knife. The numbers changed every cycle.

Noh Do-hwa’s habit was to give the completed product in a box rather than handing it over raw.

Now you can guess why no ruffian dared to mess with her. If someone did, there were countless awakened ready to form a lynch squad to protect her.

“This is your first time at our workshop, so would you like to try it on here? If it doesn’t fit, I’ll adjust it.”

“Okay. Please.”

-Then, Awakened Undertaker, please turn around.

I complied with the prosthetist’s instructions.

I could hear faint sounds of clanking and scraping behind me.

Between the metallic noises, Noh Do-hwa’s explanations continued, “Do it this way” and “If it doesn’t work, don’t get angry, just calmly try again.”

Finally.

“It’s done.”

I turned around.

“Please stand up.”

“.......”

Lee Ha-yul fidgeted in the wheelchair.

Even during the journey from Japan to Korea, she had been extremely sensitive to the setting of the wheelchair, such as the angle and puffiness of the cushion.

Like someone suddenly leaving a rented room they thought they would live in forever, Lee Ha-yul stood up a bit dazed, with many worries and a bit of expectation.

“......!”

With a silent breath, whether it was a shout or an oath, or a silent encouragement to herself or the world.

She stood on two legs.

For the first time since infancy.

“.......”

“How is it? Does it hurt, feel prickly, or ache?”

“No.”

There was a particularly strong mechanical tone in her voice.

“How. It doesn’t. Hurt. At all.”

“Huh.”

Noh Do-hwa tapped, tapped, Lee Ha-yul’s ‘legs’ with a stick. The metal parts clinked.

But the material didn’t matter.

“It feels like real legs, doesn’t it?”

“Yes. I can move my toes. It feels. Real. I’m walking. My feet are walking.”

“Yes, indeed. Look, I attached a spring here. It has no practical purpose, just looks cool. The clock hands spin faster as you run, but it’s purely decorative. I wish I could make vocal cords too, but that’s tricky. So, do you like it?”

“Yes.”

Lee Ha-yul cried. She wiped her tears with her hands.

Tears kept falling, blocking her mouth, but she could speak fluently with a mouth that wasn’t originally hers.

“Thank you.”

“Huh.”

Noh Do-hwa smiled faintly.

“That’s a relief.”

Depending on who was watching, her smile might seem creepy or sinister.

But I could confidently say it was a genuine, kind smile.

She was a person who found satisfaction in just replacing lost body parts for patients. A person whose greatest desire was to build a direct road from the most inconvenient elderly patient's house to her workshop. I always felt a sense of guilt for dragging her into the mundane world and assigning her the title of National Road Management Corps leader.

“Thank you.”

Lee Ha-yul looked at me.

“Thank you, oppa.”

Even after that, Lee Ha-yul often moved around in a wheelchair. She was so used to controlling the doll and liked the feeling of the maid pushing her.

But I saw.

“.......”

One summer night, when a meteor shower rained down from the sky.

The sight of Lee Ha-yul standing on two legs, reaching out towards the starlight from her wheelchair.

Looking up at a star that shone golden like her eyes, in a daze.

A sparkling little star.

Ultimately, everyone is born accepting something from someone else, whether it’s heart or flesh.

We were all born as dolls.

But Lee Ha-yul, the Puppeteer, would die as a human every time she faced countless deaths.

Listening to the lullaby of starlight.

Footnotes:

Join our discord at https://dsc.gg/wetried