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He eats.

He drinks.

Park Jinseong continuously repeated a simple act while sitting on the bench.

Through various means, he promoted digestion, constantly stuffing his stomach with combat rations to ensure it was never empty.

The combat rations, which were a caloric bomb in themselves.

“Hmm, did I eat around 5,000 calories…?”

His meal concluded only after consuming roughly double the calories a typical adult male would intake in a day.

“It’s getting dark… Not bad.”

Additionally, the day was gradually turning dimmer.

Jinseong shoved all the waste from the combat rations into the trash bin and stood up.

Then, he began to slowly wander around the school.

Walking through the now deserted courtyard, which had changed due to the supplementary lessons, he strolled through the playground where warriors used to perform acrobatic feats and strange martial arts, resembling something out of a movie. He also glanced at the flower beds maintained by the environmental beautification department.

He caught sight of the gas piping used by warriors to escape outside and the tentacle traps set up to catch students escaping through the windows.

He observed the security’s enforcement devices charging under the sun to subdue students trying to flee, as well as the water bomb traps installed to prank those smoking.

He witnessed expired milk packs aging in sunny spots and incinerators burning the ants caught around the school.

Everywhere he looked, there were traces of students.

For someone, they might be playful yet precious memories.

In the places Jinseong wandered, those very things were visible.

Surely, his younger sisters were creating such memories as well.

Anastasia and Ella, too.

Or perhaps some of the traces he saw were left by them.

The combination of Anastasia, who loved playful mischief, and the lively, prankster Iarin, was practically… what Iserin would call ‘the worst combination.’

Anastasia’s ability to bring back things from dreams.

Iarin, who was social and active…

No matter how one thought about it, if those two combined, it would not end with light mischief.

“It’s good to have fun.”

Well, that isn’t necessarily a bad thing.

They weren’t wandering around killing people for fun like fairies from old tales.

What’s wrong with playing pranks that might briefly annoy someone but could lead to laughter afterwards?

Those were precisely the kinds of pranks that could be part of school life, and later, they’d be cherished as fond memories.

It was a joy for Jinseong that they were building such memories.

“Bad memories are like scars; they leave an intense shock, and those traces remain for a long time. Good memories, like paintings, may fade or weather with time, and if they become scarred by bad memories, they may distort or shatter.”

However, the more pictures one has, the more their magnificence is amplified, and even the scars can be encompassed as part of the picture.

This reason highlights why one should not dwell on bad memories and instead strive to build good ones.

Life is too short to only accumulate good memories.

“It’s a good thing…”

Especially for Anastasia, born twisted and of strange birth, who ultimately only saw horrific things while traversing battlefields until her life was cut short by curiosity…

“It’s a good thing.”

Indeed, it must be truly good.

Replacing gunfire and screams with the voices of friends.

Replacing the cold bodies with the warmth shared among friends.

Replacing memories of slaughter with good ones.

How could all of that not be a blessing?

Therefore,

“I’m wandering around here right now…”

Ensuring that happiness isn’t shattered is certainly a righteous act.

To prevent Iarin from becoming as she was before the rewind.

To ensure that Anastasia, who received a different name, lives happily and for a long time, unlike before.

That must be why Jinseong came here.

As he thought this, he lifted his head to look at the sky.

Is it due to the smoke?

The sky was pitch black.

Yet the flickering flames in his eyes pierced through that smoke, capturing the stars that lay beyond the clouds.

And those stars whispered to him with their light, their twinkling.

Ah.

The stars in the sky whisper in light.

On the ground, the mycorrhiza whisper in bacteria, tickling his nose with the chemicals they emit.

Through sight.

Through smell.

Thus, those two senses, which fail to articulate as language, intertwine and scatter, blending together and repeatedly reforming into meanings that enter his consciousness, giving his soul some kind of instinct.

That instinct is compressed and faint.

Jinseong moves forward amidst those whispers.

To the place where the students of Seoul Specialization High School for Ability Users engage in club activities.

The location of the ‘elevator’ that Iarin spoke of.

Towards the very place he had particularly focused on sending his army ants.

Without checking the map or having a guide.

He simply followed the whispers as he moved.

Like an ant finding its way through pheromones, he took each step.

With familiar movements, he descended the dimly lit stairs.

Strolling through the classrooms that had turned into a chaotic mess, ravaged by the army ants.

And finally, he stood still before a certain elevator.

“Hmm.”

The Dangerous Cargo Elevator.

This was the very place mentioned by Iarin in the urban legends.

Jinseong scrutinized the elevator.

He sought to see if he could reach a secretive location through it, as Iarin had suggested.

But unfortunately, there was nothing particularly visible to Jinseong’s eyes.

If it were visible to the naked eye, that would have been strange.

It would be a design flaw if a device leading to a secretive location was plainly visible.

Jinseong slowly raised his left hand.

Thud!

He then forcefully plucked a fingernail that was dangling precariously from the finger he had used for magic earlier, dropping it to the ground. He pulled out a canteen from his jacket and opened it, pouring the contents into his left hand.

Splash.

Water gushed from the canteen, and a chill gathered at his fingertips.

The water, which met the cold he had summoned, began to freeze, chilling his fingertips to the point of frosting.

As if to replace the missing fingernail, it grew sharp.

“I engrave the Qi here; the energy will move along this path.”

With the icy fingernail crafted, Jinseong brought it to the palm of his right hand.

Then, while muttering words akin to self-hypnosis, he began to slowly draw across his palm.

A long line extended.

It curved, drawing a circle, and within that circle, another circle was drawn.

Resembling the shape of an octopus’ suction cup.

The wound created in that manner bled freely, radiating its presence, becoming a channel for Qi, similar to the murmured sounds of Jinseong’s self-affirmations.

Yet he hadn’t formed a dantian, nor was he a warrior who had reached a state of oneness with nature, so what flowed through it was truly a meager level of Qi.

It was a trivial amount, incomparable to the level of a beginner in martial arts.

However, even small things have their own utility.

The Qi flowing in accordance with the pattern Jinseong had drawn roughly manifested an archaic form of martial arts.

It was a skill close to magic.

The prototype of what warriors would later systematically develop into the art of absorption.

Clunk.

The primitive form of absorption manifested as a weak expression.

His right palm pressed tightly against the elevator, creating a vacuum between it and the steel door like an octopus’ suction cup, adhering firmly. The adhered hand fixed Jinseong’s body as firmly as a warrior’s.

Creeeak.

Jinseong used his icy fingernail to pry open the elevator door, supported by that firm hold.

Creeeek.

Thus, the door of the Dangerous Cargo Elevator opened.

Just a tiny bit.

Too absurdly small for a person to pass through.

To open it further, he would likely need to use magic.

The door, fittingly named the Dangerous Cargo Elevator, was heavy and thick, appearing to have some mechanism preventing it from opening beyond a certain level.

Yet even a tiny gap could still prove useful.

Jinseong shoved the fingernail he had just plucked into that small crack.

Tap.

The blood-covered fingernail slipped into the gap with a tiny sound and began its freefall towards the deep and faraway space that the elevator traversed.

And finally, when the fingernail touched the ground…

…

When it made a truly minute presence.

“I’m not here.”

Jinseong realized, hearing the sound and whispers of that presence.

That the vital veins and energy that Iarin spoke of were not accessible through this Dangerous Cargo Elevator.

Even taking the elevator would not lead him to that place.

“It’s not an elevator… Hmm.”

Then where could it be?

If the content of the urban legend was incorrect, where should he head?

Where is the secret location hidden, and where must he go to prevent what lies ahead for Iarin?

Jinseong closed his eyes.

He inhaled the fragrance communicated through the network and sharpened his instincts.

The mycorrhiza spoke.

The instinct whispered.

Conveying something meaningless to his mind….

Ah.

That’s the place.

“It’s the stairs.”

Stairs.

There lies what he’s seeking.

Using the mushrooms as the footsteps of the fairies.

Following that path.

Listening to the whispers of the mushrooms, moving along the flow of their spores.

Let them lead him.

To the stairs….

 

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