Chapter 152 - The Strategist IV

4

Let’s talk about Oh Dokseo for a moment.

5

Oh Dokseo was a bookish girl.

And like every bookish girl, she hoped that something “special” existed in this world beyond its dreary, ordinary people.

Of course, that hope was futile.

Most bookish girls quietly gave up their expectations of the world somewhere between fifteen and twenty-five, after betrayal, scheming, and collective selfishness had punched their teeth out three times or so.

There were no schools of magic in this world, no beautiful debut balls for noble young ladies, and no secret societies holding regular meetings in bars down shadowy alleys. (There were organizations selling mysterious white powder and fantastical chewing gum.)

Reality was that harsh.

Any normal bookish girl on the Korean Peninsula would now have to prepare herself to accept a university in place of a magic school, a college group retreat in place of a debutante ball, and social media activity in place of a secret society.

It wasn’t difficult.

Children who read the Harry Potter series when they were young generally entered a stage of denial around fifth or sixth grade, thinking, ‘Huuuh? My Hogwarts acceptance letter is taking a little... longer to arrive than everyone else’s...?’ Weren’t those growing pains every ordinary person experienced?

Oh Dokseo was not ordinary.

‘No. The world is wrong.’

She had thought that since childhood.

The school playground had been built in imitation of a desert. Even on that expanse of sand, she preferred walking in the shade rather than the sun.

‘Wizards exist. So do secret societies. There are forces of evil threatening the world, and apostles of justice fighting them. And of course there are gods watching over it all.’

Between reality and fantasy, Oh Dokseo willingly discarded reality.

For her, it was a very easy choice. Why should she abandon her fantasies simply because they were “unrealistic” in the first place?

What was so great about those “realistic” human affairs, anyway?

At most, they consisted of petty envy, jealousy, the habit of belittling others merely because one’s own talents fell short of one’s desires, hatred of family, hunger, word games, and counterfeit friendships.

‘I hate it.’

Above all, what nauseated Oh Dokseo was how easily people forgot their own actions.

["You promised last time that you’d never lie again. Why are you doing it again?"]

["Promised? When?"]

["Last time. A few months ago, we talked by the water dispenser next to the bathroom at the cram school."]

Even as a child, Oh Dokseo’s memory was extraordinary compared with her peers’.

It came naturally. She did not easily forget the dialogue of characters in books she had read. In real life, too, every word people said and every little action they took were carefully stored away.

Just as some brains specialized in numbers and calculations, Oh Dokseo possessed an extraordinary aptitude for “human behavior.”

["That never happened."]

Other people were not like her.

Promises. Bold declarations. Broken promises. Oblivion.

With every breath she took, the “reality” unfolding before Oh Dokseo was nothing more than a collection of people forgetting their own actions in real time.

Had the young Oh Dokseo possessed her present ability to express herself, she would have said this:

‘Forgetting is no different from death. What has been forgotten no longer exists.’

‘Then what are those people in reality?’

‘Aren’t they a carnival procession, constantly killing themselves little by little, oblivious to it, and deluding themselves that [We are living]?’

When she reached that realization, goose bumps rose on her skin.

It was terrifying.

Yes. The entire world was burying itself alive. Every human being was a cannibal devouring themselves.

‘I hate it.’

Oh Dokseo wanted to run away.

‘I don’t want to die.’

So she ran.

Compared with reality, fantasy—ah, fantasy was always radiant.

In creative works, people could always become greater.

Characters in novels did not “forget” their own words and actions. They remembered everything they had done in chapter 30 even when they reached chapter 300.

To Oh Dokseo, these fictional characters were the ones who felt truly “human.”

Beings who remembered. Beings she could therefore communicate with. Beings who could consequently shoulder responsibility, or grant forgiveness.

Yes. Oh Dokseo simply had slightly higher standards for “human beings.”

‘These people are alive.’

The bookish girl’s heart split in two. Endless hatred of humanity, rooted in reality. And boundless love of humanity, rooted in creative works.

‘The world is filthy.’

‘Characters are more human.’

‘As long as I don’t abandon my faith in these characters, they can exist, at least within my heart.’

Amid the fierce discord between the left and right halves of her heart, Oh Dokseo indulged more and more in her faith in “something other than reality.”

As everyone knows, ordinary human faith went unrewarded.

‘Huh? What’s this? Did I favorite a novel like this?’

Oh Dokseo was not ordinary.

‘Let’s see. The title is...’

Fifteen days before she was forcibly summoned to Busan Station.

‘... Omniscient Regressor’s Viewpoint?’

A miracle happened to her.

6

Back to the present.

In the middle of the night, with starlings calling, I looked at Oh Dokseo and answered.

“Yes, Dokseo. From the very beginning, you were designated as the [Operator of All Things at Play]’s shrine maiden.”

“... Oh.”

“In most novels, the protagonist transmigrates into a book or game for no reason, without any particular explanation. But in this world, anomalies lurk behind every event that happens ‘for no reason’ or ‘without explanation.’”

In other words.

“That novel, <Omniscient Regressor’s Viewpoint>, which you thought you happened to read... is not merely a novel. Still less is it merely a coincidence. It was a gift to you from the God of Alienation called the Operator of All Things at Play—”

Bestowed by an anomaly upon its most cherished shrine maiden.

“—and in itself, it is proof that you are the God of Alienation’s representative. You are a human chosen by a God of Alienation.”

“...”

“The Operator of All Things at Play must have judged you the most suitable shrine maiden on this earth. Though, strictly speaking, anomalies do not possess the same capacity for judgment as humans.”

The starlings fell silent.

Oh Dokseo’s expression was truly peculiar. She looked as though she couldn’t decide whether to be happy or sad.

After working her lips a few times, she spoke.

“... Then is the God of Alienation listening in on everything we say to each other, Mister?”

“Yes. But you don’t need to worry too much.”

“Why?”

“As I said, anomalies don’t have human judgment. Their standards of value and their sensory organs are different. Even the expression ‘listening in’ doesn’t apply.”

I pointed at Oh Dokseo’s backpack.

Inside was the laptop the Operator of All Things at Play had given her.

“At the start of this run, we defined this world as a ‘gameplay stream.’ The time we’re spending shooting the breeze now counts as a break after the stream has ended. As long as we adhere to the gameplay-stream format, the God of Alienation won’t classify our private chatter as meaningful, either.”

“Oh, I see...”

So that’s how it works, Oh Dokseo murmured.

But clearly, this was not what she truly wanted to discuss.

For a while now, her lips had been twitching as though she were debating whether to say it.

“... But, Mister.”

“Hmm?”

“<ORV> reveals that you’re a regressor, and everything you went through in each run. If the God of Alienation wrote that and showed it to me, then, um, the Operator of All Things at Play knows you’re a regressor...”

“Yes. It would know.”

“...!”

Oh Dokseo’s breathing hitched.

“Th-then aren’t we in serious trouble? A regressor’s biggest advantage is that their enemies don’t know they’re a regressor. But if the God of Alienation knows...!”

“The Operator of All Things at Play has always had some power to resist my regression. You can tell just by looking at that ‘laptop’ I handed over to you.”

Run 135.

Ever since that run, in which the Logout Game destroyed the world, ended, a laptop item had somehow appeared beside me whenever I regressed.

It meant the [Operator of All Things at Play] was continuing to approach me across runs.

“But the God of Alienation’s power isn’t perfect, either. I’m also resisting the Operator of All Things at Play.”

“Resisting...? What do you mean?”

“ORV. The novel you read is progressing far too slowly. There’s a lag of roughly five hundred to six hundred runs between my ‘reality’ and that ‘novel.’”

The current run was the 593rd.

Meanwhile, the story of my life Oh Dokseo had read in <ORV> at this point had only reached around run 33.

Therefore.

“Let’s compare the [Operator of All Things at Play] to a hacker. In that case, it’s hard at work hacking into me.”

“Oh!”

“But so far, its progress is only five percent at most. It may be busily decoding the regressor called the Undertaker, but collecting data only up to run 33 won’t let it understand who I am now, in run 593.”

“Whew, thank goodness. Then we still have plenty of breathing room...”

Oh Dokseo sighed.

“But we can’t let our guard down. Slowly, little by little, the Operator of All Things at Play is steadily extending its sinister reach toward me.”

“Ah, yeah. Of course, but...”

“The fact that you began awakening in earnest in run 555, Dokseo, means the [Operator of All Things at Play] had gotten that much closer to me.”

“Huh? Really?”

I nodded.

Why had Oh Dokseo, a “book transmigrator,” become aware of her powers in run 555 rather than run 1?

Why had I, a “regressor,” and Oh Dokseo, a “book transmigrator,” both been summoned to the very same Busan Station Tutorial Dungeon?

A coincidence that defied staggering odds?

No. It was deliberate.

Everything was an intended result.

“Just as I’m trying to kill the God of Alienation by any means I can, the [Operator of All Things at Play] is using every means at its disposal to bring me to heel. That’s precisely why, Dokseo, one reason it selected you as its representative was that we share the same starting point.”

“...!”

“The God of Alienation would have wanted to interfere with me as quickly and effectively as possible.”

Oh Dokseo was startled.

“Th-then... me, the ‘book transmigrator,’ keeping you, the ‘regressor,’ in check, getting in your way, or stealing your lucky breaks... Was that the kind of plot the [Operator of All Things at Play] was aiming for?”

“Exactly.”

“You and I were actually... destined to be enemies, not allies?”

Let’s recall.

Run 555, when Oh Dokseo first encountered me as a book transmigrator. The girl’s impression of me had been anything but favorable.

["Oh Dokseo: There he is. This world’s protagonist. Code name: Undertaker."]

["Oh Dokseo: The Undertaker is a protagonist who has already regressed several times. He’s utterly cold-blooded."]

She had been wary of me instead.

["Oh Dokseo: A typical regressor living only out of hatred for monsters, still alive because he can’t die..."]

["Oh Dokseo: He’s just a fucking lunatic. A lunatic. He might kill me the moment he notices anything suspicious. Let’s handle him carefully."]

Oh Dokseo had genuinely believed I might murder her. She would even have been prepared to betray me and stab me in the back if circumstances demanded it.

Why?

The reason was simple.

“Dokseo. The <ORV> written by the God of Alienation led you to form that impression.”

“Oh...”

“More precisely, back then, the God of Alienation would only have hacked me up to run 4 at most. That was how it judged the character of the regressor called the Undertaker, and it imposed that judgment on you, too.”

Well, even the God of Alienation couldn’t have anticipated that the murderous maniac who recklessly slaughtered anomalies in run 4 would turn into “this sort of person” after five hundred runs.

The [Operator of All Things at Play] analyzed me from a point in the past and responded accordingly.

It predicted that if it selected Oh Dokseo as its champion, rivalry, distrust, and ruin would inevitably follow between the book transmigrator and the regressor.

But.

I had warped the God of Alienation’s ambitious project from the very beginning.

“... Then the fact that you and I became allies... was completely unexpected from the God of Alienation’s perspective?”

“Yes. It wouldn’t have expected me to let my guard down around you so easily.”

“Wow.”

“It’s probably utterly dumbfounded.”

I chuckled.

The [Operator of All Things at Play] was certainly clever.

Imagine yourself in that God of Alienation’s position.

You need to engulf the world in the void and declare a victory in Civilization, but some regressor shouts, “One more game!” every time the game ends.

Normally, you would let it slide, thinking, “Fine. They’ll play a few rounds and quit when they get bored.”

But this lunatic regressor keeps resetting the game even after two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred runs!

Q) How do I get rid of that goddamn troublemaking regressor?

A) Turn the regressor’s entire life into a novel. Then create someone who has read that novel—in other words, a book transmigrator. This strips the regressor of the “protagonist” attribute, and the book transmigrator, as the new protagonist, will ultimately triumph.

That was the ingenious scheme the [Operator of All Things at Play] had devised.

It was supremely clever.

A strategy that used Cliché to strip a regressor of their advantages. Anyone other than me would probably have fallen to the God of Alienation’s checkmate.

Oh Dokseo, the book transmigrator, the bookish girl who should have served as that checkmate, looked at me.

With a hint of anxiety in her eyes.

“Did you know from the beginning that I’d been chosen as the God of Alienation’s shrine maiden, Mister?”

“Well, to some extent.”

I shrugged.

“I became truly certain when I learned that more chapters of <ORV> appeared as the runs progressed. A phenomenon exerting influence across runs is exceedingly rare.”

“... And you still didn’t kill me?”

“Hmm?”

“I mean, it’s simple.”

Oh Dokseo lowered her head and murmured.

“If I’m something like a terminal unconsciously connected to the God of Alienation, you could just kill me every time you regress, and eliminate a potential danger to you entirely.”

“...”

“Why didn’t you choose the simplest method? Now we’ve even taken ‘hate potions,’ making us dislike each other... Don’t you think I might side with the God of Alienation and betray you at a truly critical moment?”

Hmm.

I rested a hand on my chin. After considering how to answer, I simply told her the truth.

“What’s so special about getting betrayed that a regressor should make such a fuss over it?”

“... What?”

“It’s fine. This old guy’s mentally tough. I just haven’t told you about it, but every one of my companions has stabbed me in the back at least once. Oh. Want to hear about the run where an awakened called the Saintess tried to kill me? It was fucking insane.”

“...? ...?”

I faintly heard the Saintess coughing in the distance.

I smiled and patted Oh Dokseo’s shoulder.

“Dokseo. Do whatever you want.”

“...”

“Unlike other people, I’ve been given almost an eternity’s worth of chances. I’m lucky. Even if you betray me ten or twenty times, the hundred or two hundred runs in which you trusted me will still remain intact in my memory. How could I ever forget them?”

“...”

“If it doesn’t work out this time, we can do better next time. I know you far too well to be disappointed in you.”

For a while, Oh Dokseo kept her lips closed.

“Yeah.”

By the time the starlings began calling in the forest again, she raised her hand and took hold of mine where it rested on her shoulder.

“I wish I could have read what you just said in <ORV>, too.”

“Won’t you get to read it someday?”

“Yeah. ... You’re right. Maybe I will.”

Oh Dokseo grinned.

“I don’t care whether the God of Alienation has its eye on me or not. Remember this, Mister. This is a promise.”

She squeezed my hand tightly, her grip growing a little warmer.

“I’m the one who’s going to save you. I swear I’ll save you from this goddamn world.”

I gave a little chuckle.

Kid, that’s already the twenty-sixth time you’ve said something like that to me.

And I gave my twenty-sixth answer.

“All right. I’m counting on you.”

“Yeah!”

Starting the next day, we began our work in earnest to drag the [Operator of All Things at Play] down to earth.