Editor 132

The format of the message announcing the details of the ‘Unique Skill’ was familiar, but the content was quite different. What happened afterward was even more so.

Bracing himself for the distortion that never became easier no matter how many times he experienced it, Kleio hunched his body. But the collapse and reconstitution of the world did not occur.

Instead, the surroundings flickered once, as if a page had turned.

Dong—dong—

The bell for two o’clock rang.

‘Time hasn’t been turned back.’

Kleio hurried out of the archbishop’s room. The young attendant who had been guarding the hallway outside the heavy door yawned and hastily stopped.

“Is your conversation finished?”

“Yes. The archbishop gave his blessing and fell asleep again, but her condition doesn’t seem good. Please call a priest.”

“That’s our responsibility. I’ll guide your companion. The prince seemed quite bored from waiting.”

Apparently, Regina falling asleep suddenly was common, as the attendant spoke in a leisurely tone.

He knew nothing of what had happened inside.

Kleio was stunned. A storm raged within him, yet this afternoon was absurdly peaceful.

.

.

.

When Kleio entered the modest parlor of the archbishop’s residence, Arthur sprang to his feet like a coiled spring.

As soon as the attendant bowed and withdrew to prepare the carriage, Arthur blurted out an irreverent remark. It was a joke meant to hide his worry.

“Hey, why do you look like that? Did the archbishop poison your tea or something?”

“…”

Kleio was in no mood to answer. His throat felt clogged, as if something was stuck all the way up, and he couldn’t get any words out.

“Ray, did something really happen?”

Seeing Arthur’s face, a question flared up like wildfire.

It was a question that “Kleio Asel” could never voice.

How could the safety of an entire world be equivalent to the life of a single boy?

If this place truly was a real world, what meaning was there to “living” as a character who wasn’t the protagonist in such a world?

And if this boy truly was a real being, how could he bear the consequences of a few casual words, a few lines of email sent during a few minutes of an evening, making the hardships of his life so much worse?

‘What kind of kind world is this? A world where the value of life can’t even be equal as a premise.’

When Arthur didn’t move, Kleio forced himself to speak. His voice was already hoarse.

“…Go. It’s nothing.”

Normally, Arthur would have stayed and joked around, but sensing something was wrong with Kleio, he only let his eyebrows droop.

“Then you take the carriage. I can walk to the palace from here.”

.

.

.

In the carriage on the way back, Kleio fell into deep contemplation.

The author who was said to be asleep.

Considering the manuscript always appeared without any trace of the one writing it, in an ever-empty space, perhaps Regina’s claim that this world was being automatically written was valid.

Regina, or “Minsan,” who fell asleep after coughing up blood.

If he believed her words, the god of this world was not omnipotent, and so Clio summoned “Jeongjin” as the agent of the god’s will.

That sweet whisper: you alone are special, you alone are chosen, you alone can set this world right.

It felt somehow wrong.

An assumption he hadn’t considered since the first day revived itself.

After slipping on the Dongjak Bridge at dawn, he was in a coma, dreaming. Dreaming of a world that needed him, a world that desperately wanted him.

‘…And to think it’s not just anyone saying such things, but someone with Minsan’s face.’

To hear such a plea in the voice of someone he loved was cruel. Like a siren’s song foretelling disaster, or a muse’s song of human tragedy.

Habitually stroking the ring, Kleio consciously removed his right hand from his left.

Letting his separated hands rest on his knees, he stared blankly out the window.

The streets and people of Lundane were now as familiar as daily life to him.

A maid running errands in quick steps, a delivery boy riding a bicycle with tattered pant cuffs fluttering, the pot-bellied owner of the newspaper stand.

Kleio buried his cold hands in his face.

The conclusion was the same as when he first woke up here. He didn’t have the imagination to think up all these places and people.

He had thought his arrival in this world was just a coincidence, like being struck by lightning on the street. A coincidence ambiguous as to whether it was luck or misfortune.

But that being in the form of Minsan—she, who remembered even the smallest connections between them, said the person who reached this world had to be “Jeongjin” from the start.

‘Only I can do this?’

He had never heard such words in his entire life.

‘If I want to know what’s really going on in this world, do I need to raise my narrative intervention even higher?’

When you don’t know a secret exists, you’re not curious. But once you recognize there’s a closed door, the desire to open it—or to avoid it—arises.

It’s so hard not to care about what’s behind the door, especially if it’s the truth of the world and existence.

The enhanced “Memory” ability replayed Regina’s words as vividly as a recording. He couldn’t stop going over them, probing their meaning.

‘Jeongjin’ reconsidered the choice he made on that summer day from a completely different angle.

He had two worlds.

The real world that didn’t need him, and another real world that desperately did.

The last world still absolutely needed his help to survive.

What he had to do was clear.

Protect Arthur Leogunan from danger and support him as king of Albion.

His narrative intervention increased when he actively involved himself with the protagonist. The technical system of this world did not allow “Jeongjin” to remain a bystander.

‘I promised myself I’d do nothing once the story was finished.’

How naive that was.

He hadn’t imagined how much true devotion it would take to “finish the story,” to ensure “the king chosen by the author, the kingdom chosen by the author, the technique chosen by the author can have a future.”

‘So what will I become when my narrative intervention is completely filled? Will I no longer be Kim Jeongjin? Or…?’

As the carriage passed under a bridge and everything went dark, the window became like a mirror. Kleio, who had been looking out with an uncertain gaze, stiffened in surprise.

The face reflected in the dark window had “Kim Jeongjin’s” expression. The very face he had seen for thirty-two years.

His race, age, and appearance had all changed, nothing matched his original self, yet the natural stubbornness showed in the boy’s eyes and cheeks.

Does the soul exist?

At this moment, it felt as if his gloomy soul was even influencing Kleio’s outward appearance.

The carriage emerged from the shadow.

What appeared in the brightened window was a peaceful afternoon scene, but Kleio’s shaken emotions would not settle.

Having almost depleted his ether on “appropriateness judgment” and used “editor authority,” Kleio was terribly exhausted.

Soon, heavy drowsiness overwhelmed his consciousness.

---

Three days later.

An emergency meeting was held in the Asel family parlor between Dione and Arthur. Behemoth, too, sat on the lady’s lap.

“He’s been like that ever since Arthur took him out that day. School starts tomorrow, but he says he doesn’t want to go. What’s going on! Take responsibility and do something!”

“Did you try talking about money?”

“I did! Many times! I told him about our book’s huge preorders because of the generous giveaways, that serializing Professor Maria’s manuscript in made the weekend edition sales skyrocket, there was so much good news. But none of it works, so I’m worried our young master might be seriously ill.”

Dione, in her pale green mousseline dress, turned briskly.

“Mrs. Canton is extremely worried. She says he looks like he did before he started school. No motivation, no interest in anything, doesn’t even want to breathe or swallow food.”

“…Was Ray always like that?”

“I didn’t know, but I heard this time. Mrs. Canton has watched him since he was little. But once he started school, he brightened up, made lots of friends, and she thought he’d gotten better, but the experienced head maid nearly cried….”

Worried about Kleio, Dione’s tone became sharp.

“When they washed the clothes he wore that day, they found a bloodstained handkerchief in his pocket. You should’ve seen Mrs. Canton’s face when she told me. She thinks of the young master as her own son.”

“A bloodstained handkerchief?”

“No! The prince was with him that day, so why are you so surprised? The young master wasn’t hurt!”

“He did look pale, but I can’t imagine how he got blood on him.”

“How bizarre.”

With Dione so anxious, Arthur, too, shed all his usual exaggerated praise and silly jokes, and his face was somber.

“He didn’t tell me what he talked about with the archbishop that day, or what happened. Did Ray have some religious experience as a child?”

“I don’t think so. Baron Asel is an atheist. He had the children blessed by the goddess out of custom, but I don’t think he ever took them to consecration every weekend.”

“If Baron Asel had done that as a young man, it would have been quite unusual.”

Even just two generations ago, priests with divine power still performed miracles on the continent, and faith in God was strong.

The current secular, atheistic rationalism did not always dominate Albion.

“People say everything was different when Ray’s mother was alive. Lady Telma’s family, the Laska viscounts, have always been devout worshipers of the goddess.”

“Viscount? Ray’s mother was a noble?”

“Yes. But her father’s will was firm, so she didn’t inherit the title. Lady Telma married against her family’s wishes. So when Viscount Laska died 25 years ago, the title was returned per his will, and only this house became Lady Telma’s. Mrs. Canton thinks if she hadn’t died so young, the young master’s life would have been different.”

Arthur replied with an utterly serious face.

“…I don’t know if I should be hearing all this.”

“Who else should I tell? You’re the young master’s best friend.”

“Wayuuuwk (to call this guy a friend).”

“Mota, please be quiet for a bit today. Please.”

“Myak (hmph).”

The prince, as if he’d been struck, opened his dark turquoise eyes wide. On the young man’s face, joy and surprise, embarrassment and guilt all appeared at once.

“By the way, do you know why the young master, who doesn’t even care about the goddess, wanted to meet the archbishop?”

“At your father’s birthday party last summer, I think he became interested after seeing the portrait of Archbishop Historia. Looking back, I think he reacted like someone meeting a familiar person in an unexpected place.”

“Haa… what’s that supposed to mean. The archbishop has been asleep for over thirty years.”

“Did you inform Baron Asel of Ray’s condition?”

“If he doesn’t leave for school today, I’ll send a telegram. I’m his guardian, so it’s my duty.”

“Then is Ray going back to Colpos?”

Behemoth, having heard Dione’s plea, did not interrupt, but flicked the sofa seat with his tail as if displeased by the situation.

“It’s very likely. Please try to persuade the young master. I have no idea why things turned out like this.”

Dione sat on the sofa opposite Arthur, leaning against the armrest. Several documents, including the patent registration, were scattered in front of her.

As she noticed Arthur’s gaze fall on the documents, Dione gave a weak supplementary explanation.

“When the young master returned from his internship, he was so enthusiastic. He designed a heating plate using ruby magic stones. We made two at our workshop and sent one to Baron Asel. Then he asked for the design and supporting documents to register a patent. I was touched that Baron Asel could be such a normal, proud parent.”

“I see. So to Ray, Baron Asel is just… an ordinary father.”

“What else would he be? I don’t feel good about having to tell a hopeful parent that everything’s back to square one. And most of all, I’m worried. The young master may seem naive, but he’s mature and doesn’t let people in. He never shows where he’s hurting.”

Though always smiling, Dione’s analysis was startlingly accurate.

Always building walls and not letting others close. Polite, but a boy with many secrets.

Arthur couldn’t be sure if he really knew his friend “Kleio Asel” at all.

“The only person the young master acts like his age around is you, Arthur. Please help him come out again. I’m begging you.”