Chapter 165

Bloodsucker II

To be honest, as the Undertaker, my dark past wasn’t particularly painful. It was like trying to tease Buddha by saying, “Hey, I heard you pointed to the sky and declared yourself unique the moment you were born. Aren’t you embarrassed?” Butterflies don’t feel ashamed of their caterpillar days. I was lenient with others and myself. But it seemed different for others.

-Anonymous: Is it weird that getting bitten by mosquitoes feels good? Is it just me?

(Photo)

-Anonymous: It feels so good I trapped a mosquito in a glass and let it bite me every hour. My arm is bumpy, but rubbing it feels oddly satisfying. Try raising a 'pet mosquito' yourselves...

└LiteraryGirl: Are you insane?

└Anonymous: Lol, I’ve also gotten addicted to mosquito bites, so I stopped killing them. Glad I’m not the only one.

└[Baekhwa] FifthGrader: That’s an anomaly! Getting bitten is dangerous! (>_<);;

└Anonymous: Lots of crazy people here.

└[NRMC] Officer: I don’t understand this at all.

The atmosphere on SG Net began to change. Just days ago, it was filled with anger and curses against mosquitoes. Now, the idea of 'pet mosquitoes' was popping up. It was a sign that the mosquito anomaly was revealing its true nature. The situation was dire.

“Saintess, didn’t you warn the awakeners about mosquitoes in your constellation messages?”

[Yes, I did. I keep reminding them daily under different constellations’ names.]

“Yet, people keep getting bitten?”

[Well, it’s mosquitoes we’re talking about.]

It was a classic case of knowing something was bad but still falling for it. Escaping mosquitoes in Korea was practically impossible. Even with windows sealed, they always found a way in.

[The problem is that people feel pleasure when bitten by mosquitoes.]

“Pleasure? Seriously, they feel pleasure?”

[Yes. Try it yourself, Mr. Undertaker. One bite won’t hurt you.]

I tried it. I dropped my aura shield and let a mosquito land on my hand. I pulled off its wings, so it couldn’t fly away.

Sssuck.

The mosquito, desperate to survive, sucked my blood.

“Well, I don’t feel any pleasure.”

[Hmm. I think it’s because you don’t have much of a 'dark past,' Mr. Undertaker. I suspect the more someone has, the more pleasure they feel.]

“Wait, if that’s the case, then Ah-ryeon, who’s been bitten the most...?”

[She must have a lot of embarrassing memories, at least more than anyone on the Korean Peninsula.]

Indeed.

The situation worsened by the day. Literally, every hour, the mosquito anomaly intensified.

Posts about feeling good after mosquito bites increased, while posts about feeling bad decreased. A new term, ‘mosquito drug,’ even emerged on the forums.

-Anonymous: I’ve had insomnia since finishing the tutorial dungeon.

-Anonymous: Seeing people die in front of me gave me trauma.

-Anonymous: But after getting bitten by mosquitoes, I sleep well. I’m grateful to be alive.

-Anonymous: Constellations warn about the danger, but I can’t sleep without mosquito bites.

Yes.

Though called 'dark pasts,' these memories were psychological traumas, potentially leading to PTSD. It wasn’t surprising people had mental health issues in a world where DNA could turn into a potato due to a bug in the eye.

Every day, people vanished. More precisely, their 'humanity' disappeared.

People depended on external things to cope. Alcohol, drugs, the Three Kingdoms... Anything.

In such times, the Potato Saintess’s virtual counseling project thrived.

Despite using the Saintess’s Clairvoyance, controlling mosquito breeding was impossible. How could you catch all mosquitoes?

“This is serious, Undertaker.”

Even Dang Seo-rin occasionally complained to me.

“We’ve installed mosquito nets on every train window, checked drains, run fans, eliminated puddles... Yet mosquitoes keep appearing.”

“Does DDT help?”

“It works temporarily, but they develop resistance in two weeks.”

I sighed.

The Void accelerated the adaptation of life forms. What took decades elsewhere happened in days here.

Dinosaurs evolved in years, so mosquitoes developing pesticide resistance in a week was no surprise.

“Look at this.”

Dang Seo-rin showed me a photo.

It was of a bald person whose head looked like a pine cone, covered in mosquito bites.

“He’s from our guild. His whole body is bitten. It’s pitiful.”

“.......”

“But he says he’s happy, feeling liberated from past pains.”

The mosquito anomaly was drawn to dark pasts, not blood.

So it didn’t matter if the dark pasts weren’t in human form.

“Saintess. Saintess, please respond. It’s urgent.”

[Yes? What is it?]

“Do you remember the Potato Robot story I told you from another cycle?”

[Oh.]

The Saintess Talk connection crackled briefly.

[Sorry, a mosquito flew by... Anyway, I remember. But why bring it up?]

“Write down the Potato Saintess story yourself. Like a diary.”

[What?]

“Then leave it in your room. I guarantee, mosquitoes will swarm the diary like incense.”

[.......]

The next day.

[...It worked.]

The Saintess’s voice was akin to that of a geocentric believer confronting heliocentric truth.

[I left the diary out overnight, and 24 mosquitoes stuck to it. None came near my bed.]

“Just as I thought.”

[.......]

“Contact the writers at the Canned Hotel. Have them transcribe their old drafts. The older, the better—high school or middle school.”

[.......]

“And it’s not just novels. Even old social media posts will work. Cyworld-era posts are ideal.”

[Are you a devil, Mr. Undertaker?]

“Pardon?”

[Nothing. This is for humanity. I’ll relay the message.]

Time reversed at the Canned Hotel.

Writers across the Korean Peninsula poured their efforts into transcribing their high school and middle school drafts.

It wasn’t an easy task.

“Damn it! Just kill me!”

“Aaaah! No! This piece is absolutely not okay!”

“Forgive me! Using angle brackets and wavy titles was trendy then!”

“Can I fix typos? Please, show some humanity.”

“I deleted this work! Why do you have a copy?”

“I’d rather die...”

I whipped the writers into shape.

Finally, I compiled ‘The Top 100 Most Embarrassing Works in Korean Literature.’

After mass-printing them at the factory, I distributed a copy to every household.

“Aaaah!”

“Why? Why such cruelty?”

“Yes, let’s just die... Let’s just die...”

Great writers wailed as their past works (and social media posts) were publicly exposed.

But I didn’t care. The more they suffered, the better the solution.

If asked why I tormented writers I admired...

Because their past works didn’t embarrass me.

I even enjoyed their middle school parody drafts. I didn’t see the problem.

Thanks to the writers’ tear-soaked manuscripts, people were safe from the mosquito anomaly.

Pasting manuscripts on doors lured all mosquitoes there.

It was a historic moment when mosquitoes overcame their stalker-like obsession with humanity.

Oh Dok-seo, who contributed significantly, muttered in disbelief.

“...Wait. Does this mean all my current works will become dark pasts? Damn. Mister! Kill all mosquitoes! They’re calling your novels dark pasts!”

And that’s the end. No epilogue today.

Footnotes:

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