NABC Chapter 62 – The Puppeteer V
Chapter 62 – The Puppeteer V
[Translator – Jjsecus]
[Proofreader – Gun]
Chapter 62 – The Puppeteer V
9
There’s a bit of a long epilogue.
My entire story is essentially one long epilogue.
To be honest, I originally wanted to title this memoir something like “The Regressor’s Epilogue.”
“Huh? Are you crazy, old man?”
If it weren’t for the interference of Otaku Oh Dokseo, that’s exactly what I would have done.
“Why? Isn’t it a good title?”
“Good? Are you kidding? These days, even the kids who hang out on the SG Net serialization boards wouldn’t fall for that.”
“Hmm... Then how about ‘The Infinite Regressor’s Daily Café’?”
“What?”
Oh Dokseo looked like she had just heard something absolutely absurd.
“What did you just say?”
“You know my hobby is being a barista. Every time I go to see Old Scho’s corpse, I also drink a café au lait. So I thought I’d use the word café...”
“You’re completely nuts. You’ve lost it, haven’t you?”
I could sense the “sincerity” in Oh Dokseo’s words.
Though I knew an otaku’s sincerity didn’t guarantee truth, this time, surprisingly, I could sense the “truth” as well.
Hmm. Is it that bad...?
“How to Fail with Infinite Regression?”
“Your Excellency.”
“I Am a Regressor.”
“Your Excellency.”
“The Regressor Gives Up on Salvation.”
“Bullshit.”
“The Regressor’s Epilogue.”
“Get lost!”
“Records of the Regressor’s Chronicle.”
“Oh, please! Old man! Stop it already!”
“...”
Why, though?
Is this a generational gap? No, it can’t be. My artistic discernment, honed over thousands of years, has transcended human levels, reaching a point where I can casually greet Leonardo da Vinci, Michelangelo, and Goethe with a “Long time no see.”
I threw out all the title ideas I had come up with over twenty minutes, but Oh Dokseo rejected them all.
Even if my character were as enlightened as Gautama Siddhartha, this was an excessive tyranny.
In my frustration, I blurted out, “If you’re so smart, come up with a title yourself.”
“Fine! But whatever title I come up with, you can’t interfere! After I read all your writings, I’ll decide on a title that fits perfectly!”
“Alright, let’s see what you’ve got.”
“Deal!”
“Deal.”
In hindsight, I should never have made such a foolish promise.
Why did I trust Oh Dokseo to come up with a title?
Was it the 50,000 won cap? The jeans full of holes? The gum she could never blow a bubble with? I’d have more faith in Jungg Sangguk’s patriotism.
In the end, I still don’t know what title my story has. You might guess that from the fact that I just call it “the story.”
What a paradox. Like not being able to call one’s father “father”... No, it’s more like Oedipus not recognizing his father at all since I don’t even know the name.
I don’t know how you all feel about this. If you’re seeing both my story and its title, at least know that the title wasn’t chosen by me, Doctor Jang.
Anyway.
Let’s get back to the epilogue of Lee Hayul, the Puppeteer.
10
Jung Sangguk is dead.
The former mayor of Busan is dead. The current Prime Minister of the Republic of Korea’s Second Provisional Government is dead. The chairman of the Fukuoka Korean Association is dead. The representative of Busan is dead.
No single word was quite fitting. Jung Sangguk didn’t die for any of those reasons.
To be precise in the death certificate, given the cause of death, the most fitting description for this funeral would be:
Lee Hayul’s biological father is dead.
Although I didn’t subscribe to Freudian psychoanalysis, I enjoyed using its terms.
A child killed their father. But Lee Hayul was neither Electra nor Oedipus.
A parent’s death should not be considered an epilogue for a child; it is more accurately a prologue.
It was a cruel thing.
And now, I was about to do something cruel.
“Lee Hayul.”
“Yes.”
Lee Hayul answered, not by moving Jung Sangguk’s severed head, but using the housekeeper’s lips.
“Don’t do that.”
Lee Hayul tilted her head.
“What do you mean? This man is dead. Irreversible. Can’t stop it.”
“I’m not telling you not to kill Jung Sangguk. I’m telling you not to kill yourself.”
“......”
She hesitated. The red circles in her eyes grew larger.
No further conversation was needed. Every breath Lee Hayul took was a language in itself. The girl was flustered.
“How?”
“If you’ve killed your parent, you’ve killed them. Why follow them in death? You have talent. The talent to kill people and the talent to save them are the same. If you’re determined to kill yourself, turn that resolve into a weapon against the monsters.”
“......”
“This world needs Awakeners. Humanity’s survival is at stake. It doesn’t matter if they are Korean or Japanese. Whether Jung Sangguk is dead or not, everyone you’ve known until now will end up dead at the hands of the monsters.”
“......”
“Help us. I’ll help you do that.”
Silence followed. Half of the silence spilled from Jung Sangguk’s gaping mouth, lying on the concrete floor.
Was it just my imagination? It felt like all the dolls crammed into the basement were staring at me.
“What if I follow you?”
“......”
“Can you stop it? The end of the world.”
“No, I can’t promise that.”
“What’s your alias again? Sorry.”
“Doctor Jang.”
“Doctor Jang.”
I had introduced myself several times, but it seemed Lee Hayul’s mind was just now registering my alias properly.
Before now, she probably hadn’t considered it. Someone on the brink of death wouldn’t bother remembering new acquaintances.
Lee Hayul murmured.
He refused to have a name for his ability or even an alias for himself.
– “A bureaucrat’s name isn’t useful for anything.”
That was Noh Doha’s philosophy.
I managed to bring someone like him into the National Roads Administration as the chief.
Because of this, his ability was casually referred to as [Prosthetic Creation]. Even [Loss Restoration] would have been a more fitting name.
“Yes, the measurements are done....”
Noh Doha scribbled some complex numbers into a notebook.
“It usually takes one to two weeks to create a prosthetic. Is this tall person here Lee Hayul’s guardian?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a preference for wood or metal?”
“What’s the difference?”
“Wood needs frequent replacements, so you’ll need to visit my workshop regularly. Metal has a longer lifespan but can make a squeaking noise and might rust. Some patients find this annoying.”
“.......”
“If you prefer another material, you can bring it to me and I can work with that. A prosthetic is something you’ll use for life, so if you find good materials later, it won’t be too late to decide. No need to rush into getting premium materials now....”
Lee Hayul pondered. You could sense her consideration as a doll expert.
“Then, metal.”
“Are you averse to clockwork?”
“No.”
“Do ticking noises drive you crazy, make your hair stand on end, and give you an uncontrollable urge to destroy the source?”
“No.”
“Do you prefer to move silently and have tasks that require assassinations?”
“No.”
“Alright. I’ll make it as quickly as possible, but it might still take more than 15 days. Once it’s done, I’ll send someone to your place to inform you....”
Despite saying that, it took Noh Doha less than five days to call us back.
There are those who give their ideal timeframe and those who give a cautious one; Noh Doha belonged to the latter category, always doubling his estimate.
“This is Lee Hayul’s prosthetic....”
“.......”
Noh Doha handed over the box with tired eyes. The long wooden box was simple yet neat.
One corner of the box had ‘Lee Hayul, xxxx year xx month xx day’ carved into it. The date changed each turn.
Instead of handing over the product as is, Noh Doha always packaged it in a box before giving it to the patient.
Now you might understand why no one could treat Noh Doha lightly.
Any awakened one who dared mess with him would find themselves up against a mob of defenders.
“Since it’s your first time at our workshop, would you like to try it on here? If it doesn’t fit well, I can adjust it for you....”
“Sure, please.”
“Then, Doctor Jang, please turn around....”
I complied with the instructions of the prosthetic maker.
From over my shoulder, came the clanking, clicking, and clattering sounds.
Amidst the clinks of metal, Noh Doha’s instructions continued, “This goes here,” “If it doesn’t fit well, don’t get upset, just remain calm and try again.”
Finally.
“It’s done....”
I turned around.
“Try standing up once...?”
“.......”
Lee Hayul shifted in her wheelchair.
Even during her return from Japan to Korea, Lee Hayul was very sensitive to the wheelchair’s settings, such as the angle of the seat and its inflation level.
Feeling a bit uneasy, with a mix of worries and some expectations, like someone suddenly leaving a rented apartment they thought they’d live in forever.
“......!”
It was a soundless exclamation, whether it was a battle cry, a protest against the world, or a message to herself.
Then she stood up on her own two feet, for the first time since she was a newborn.
“.......”
“How is it? Does it hurt, or feel uncomfortable, or tingly, or tight?”
“No.”
The mechanical sounds seemed particularly loud with her words.
“How. Is. It. Completely, fine.”
“Hmm.”
Noh Doha tapped Lee Hayul’s ‘legs’ with his cane. The mechanical parts made a metallic noise.
But the material didn’t matter.
“Does it feel like real legs...?”
“Yes. My toes can wiggle. It feels. Really. Like I’m walking. My feet are walking.”
“Yes, indeed. Here, I attached a gear to it. It doesn’t serve any engineering purpose; it’s just for looks. As the walking speed increases, the clock hands attached to the gear rotate, just for the aesthetic. There’s no practical use for it. I could have made a sound dampener if it fits your taste...”
“Yes.”
Lee Hayul cried. She wiped away her tears with the back of her hand.
Though tears kept flowing, she could speak freely, unlike her usual self.
“Thank you.”
“Hmm.”
Noh Doha smiled faintly.
“Well, I’m glad then....”
Depending on who saw it, his smile might seem sinister or ominous.
But I judged it to be an innocent smile, without any discomfort.
I always feel a sense of guilt in my heart for dragging someone who finds satisfaction in simply replacing lost body parts into a position like the Chief of the National Roads Administration, who, despite having the biggest ambition was just pulling someone out of the most inconvenient elderly patient’s home straight to his workshop from the beginning to the end of his life.
“Thank you.”
Lee Hayul looked at me.
“Thank you, Oppa.”
Even after that, Lee Hayul often rode in her wheelchair. She had become so accustomed to controlling it like a doll’s house, and she enjoyed the sensation of being pushed from behind by the housekeeper.
But I witnessed it.
“....”
One summer night, when shooting stars poured down from the sky.
I saw Lee Hayul, who had been sitting in her wheelchair, rise to her feet and reach out towards the starlight.
Her eyes, a dazed golden color, reflected as much golden light as her own pupils.
She gazed at the twinkling little star, her thoughts a mystery.
In the end, when we’re born, we have no choice but to accept something belonging to someone else, whether it’s their heart or their flesh and blood.
We’re all born as dolls.
But Lee Hayul, like some puppeteer, was undoubtedly going to die as a human after facing death hundreds or thousands of times.
Listening to the lullaby of starlight.
– The Puppeteer. The End.
[PR/N: Beautiful chap.]
[Translator – Jjsecus]
[Proofreader – Gun]