WeTried Translations

Translator: ZERO_SUGAR

Discord: https://dsc.gg/wetried

◈ I'm an Infinite Regressor, But I've Got Stories to Tell

Chapter 385

──────

The Suicidal III

It seemed I was destined to be single for the rest of my life.

「Please don’t come looking for me.」

「Human relationships are a jungle in the desert.」

「I’d like some quiet for a while.」

「Sincerely, the Undertaker.」

I pinned that one brief letter to the wall of our hide-out in the Inunaki Tunnel and left.

From today on, I—the Undertaker—was opening Chapter One of my runaway-teen saga.

ShaaAAAA―

Saipan Island. Waves shattered on a beach once famous as a resort, and my heart shattered right along with them.

The reason I chose a distant foreign island was simple: even the Saintess’s Clairvoyance couldn’t reach this far.

Born alone, yet even to be alone required effort—

I muttered to myself, lonely:

“So this is solitude.”

“…”

“How should I describe what I feel now? I only ever meant to live each moment earnestly, yet this is the result. Life never gets easier, no matter how long you live.”

“…”

“You know, I honestly don’t care if I never have a romance in my entire life. Why must every feeling between a man and woman be translated into that one word, love? Wine doesn’t all taste the same; human emotion comes from countless vineyards and varietals mixed together.”

“…”

“In fact, trying to define my ties with the people around me using those two syllables—‘ro-mance’—is violence, pure and simple. All we do is prove each other’s existence.”

Crashhhh—

The breakers smashed again. They kept flinging themselves at the island, fearless of breaking, just like humankind, just like me.

“Hrm…”

Noh Do-hwa narrowed her eyes.

“Fuck, I closed my eyes for one second in the office and opened them here on some random scrap of island. When does our illustrious Regressor plan on explaining that?”

Trust Noh Do-hwa. Even faced with this beautiful coast and my tragic monologue, she offered no reaction at all.

“P-please think of it as a little vacation.”

“Oh? These days a vacation automatically skips immigration while the traveler’s asleep. What a marvelous era. If only it hadn’t also skipped the traveler’s consent, I might have praised this technological leap.”

“Gasp! Look at this, Director!”

Like a pirate discovering buried treasure, I dug in the sand. There, amazingly, lay a wooden chest. When I opened it, rows of exquisite vintage wines were sorted by country of origin.

“Holy—this is insane. Do you see these bottles? Some of these masterpieces are impossible to buy now.”

“…”

“The world must have left this gift to celebrate our arrival. And—whoa! Jazz records, the very ones you love! That’s it, vacation mode activated!”

“Want me to end your life?”

No sale.

Hard to believe, a hardcore alcoholic who downs vin chaud every dawn didn’t even blink.

“Don’t worry. I packed sunscreen and all your personal toiletries. I filled an entire suitcase with the exact same products and already set them up in that picture-perfect cottage.”

“Hm…”

“Well? Isn’t it flawless, Director? I mean it, how many humans today get to enjoy a trip like this? You’ve worked yourself half to death. You deserve to rest!”

“…”

“…”

“So, you shit-weasel. What’s your real point?”

“I heard a few things from the older of the twin sisters, and—”

I explained.

“—in short, she thinks you’re the one and only talent who can pull this mission off. Of course, that’s her opinion, mine differs. Ha! Director is far too busy to play along with this kind of—”

“In summary, you want me to collude with you, fool everyone else, and stage a fake romance?”

“Put bluntly… yes, that’s one way to phrase it.”

She throttled me.

“Well, I get the gist.”

Not until the next morning did Noh Do-hwa sit at the same table as me.

For the record, three of the wines from the treasure chest had already vanished overnight.

“If you’re serious about facing the ‘Ending,’ you have to think about the ‘world after the Ending,’ and sooner or later your trash-heap of relationships will have to be sorted out.”

Clink. She tipped her glass.

From the corner of the cottage, an HMV gramophone dripped mournful jazz.

“But what I don’t get is this: Cheon Yo-hwa—the strategist, right? The one you sealed away and booted from reality?”

“Yes, that’s her.”

“Why did she recommend me of all people?”

Do-hwa’s brows knit.

“Awakener Undertaker, you know I have zero intention of stepping into the swamp you built. I loathe it. Why not ask Team Leader Yu Ji-won? She’s smart enough to manage the mess.”

I wondered the same. That’s why I’d asked Yo-hwa if she was sane.

Logically speaking, there was no way the mighty Noh Do-hwa would join such a scheme.

“Yo-hwa told me to give you this note.”

“Hm…?”

I drew a slip of paper from my pocket.

On it, in handwriting imitating Yo-hwa’s, stood a two words:

‘Reverse thinking.’

Do-hwa’s brows drew together.

“Reverse… thinking?”

“She said you’d figure out the reason yourself once you saw that.”

“…”

“Don’t overthink it, Director. She likes acting superior. Showing a note and calling it the key to the plan—what does she think she is, Zhuge Liang?”

“…”

Do-hwa didn’t look at me.

Ting—

She set her glass down and tapped the rim lightly with a nail.

Slowly. Over and over.

Ripples quivered inside the crystal, and in her jet-black pupils the wine reflected as a wavering shade of gray.

“By any chance…”

“Yes?”

“Is there another note?”

“Er.”

I swallowed a sigh and produced another slip.

“I didn’t want to hand this over, but Yo-hwa said, ‘If the Director asks for a second note, give her this.’”

“…Open it.”

“Here.”

Two lines were written on the second note:

‘Simply trust one human being.’

‘A wager.’

A sneer tugged at Do-hwa’s mouth.

“Hmmm…”

Sneers were as natural to her face as sunsets to the western sky, yet this time even that law of nature felt strained.

“Wait. Did you truly understand that message, Director?”

“More or less.”

Her voice said “more or less,” but her eyes were different: the sarcasm aimed with surgical precision at an orange-haired schemer who could not be present.

A long silence passed.

“However…”

She opened her mouth carefully.

“All right. I need to confirm whether I’m following. Since she called it a duel, I’ll place my stake too…”

“Your stake?”

“Open the third note, Undertaker-nim.”

“…”

“If I’m right, the last note will contain something truly vile. Then I’ll join your ridiculous ‘fake’ scenario with everything I’ve got.”

Do-hwa glanced at me.

“But if it says anything else, well. I’ll forget every bit of nonsense I heard on this island.”

I blinked.

“Really?”

“Yes. I won’t hold it against you or tease you. We’ll call it a simple vacation.”

That was exactly what I wanted.

I drew out another slip. I’d never said there was a third note, yet she accepted it as natural.

And then—

“Heh.”

The moment she read it, Do-hwa laughed.

Deeply, darker than her own eyes.

‘Cowardice of the defeated.’

‘If you want more, see the back.’

She flipped it over.

A longer sentence filled the reverse:

‘Miracle logic: Invoice yourselves as debt to get what you want. Then claim it’s separate. Detach! Booster! Launch!’

‘Good thing this person is kind, right?’

Rip. Rip.

She tore the note to confetti.

Then something even wilder happened: she dumped the scraps into her wineglass and drank them in a single gulp.

“Uh.”

While I gaped, Do-hwa swallowed the paper, wiped her lips with the long sleeve of her doctor’s coat, and said,

“Undertaker…”

“Y-yes?”

“You have a real knack for collecting absolute bastards. Fabulous. Had I not met you, I’d have died not knowing this little land crawls with such dogs.”

“…”

It was obvious—at least to me.

Anyone else might miss it because her face looked normal, but I saw it clearly:

Noh Do-hwa was genuinely angry.

Maybe “angry” was too broad, let’s call it “pissed off.”

Which amazed me.

“My God. Three scraps of paper actually pissed off the Director for real? What sorcery is this, Cheon Yo-hwa?”

“Fine. Undertaker. I will gladly join your ‘fake’ romance.”

She stood.

“On one condition.”

“A condition?”

“Yes. Just one, so don’t fret.”

Turning her back, she approached the gramophone, flipped through the LPs, and pulled out Piazzolla’s “Libertango.”

“If we start dating, from that instant every word I speak and every move I make will be a lie.”

“Excuse me?”

“Exactly what you heard. Even if I say ‘I love you,’ it’s a lie. In fact, I intend to speak and act only falsehoods.”

“…”

“Holding your hand? A lie. Saying I’m happy? A lie. Until this cycle ends, I will never, ever show my true feelings again.”

Every act, the reverse of her heart—

Saying “I feel good” would really mean “I feel awful.”

A romance that was counterfeit in the literal sense.

“Ah. Of course, I won’t stop you from misunderstanding. Delusions are a personal liberty.”

“…”

“Well?”

Still she kept her back to me.

“Will you date me anyway?”

In that instant, I still didn’t grasp the meaning of Yo-hwa’s notes, but a different certainty kicked in, like instinct.

The Noh Do-hwa before me had made a monumental decision—one she’d avoided or hesitated over in every other cycle.

If I missed this chance, she would never reach it again.

Trusting that certainty, I answered at once.

“Yes.”

“…”

Crrk.

She dropped the needle. The vinyl began to haul jazz up from the depths of the earth.

“Very well. From this moment…”

Do-hwa slipped off her white doctor’s coat. When she turned to face me—

Noh Do-hwa was gone.

Only a single person remained, smiling brilliantly, like a flower in full bloom.

“Shall we drag everyone else into hell together, Mr. Undertaker?”

“…”

From that day forward, the most dangerous fake romance of our lives began.

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