Endless Debt

Opening his eyes, the gray-white ceiling came into view, a slightly chilly breeze brushed by, and Bologue saw a pure white angel descending from the sky, reaching out to him.

Is this... the Celestial Kingdom?

Bologue was bewildered for a few seconds and quickly realized that given his actions, he wouldn't end up in Hell, nor in the so-called Celestial Kingdom, right?

With ample self-awareness, Bologue struggled to open his eyes, trying to discern the curtains dancing in the wind.

Indeed, he probably should wear glasses normally.

He wasn't dead, nor in any Celestial Kingdom; he just slept too long, his mind became jumbled together, and his consciousness had slowed.

His body was overwhelmed with a fatigue difficult to alleviate, Bologue tried to lift his hand to rub his eyes, but then a wave of pain shot through his arm, immobilizing him.

At times like this, he should just rest quietly, but stubbornly, he raised his hand, enduring the pain to lift it, only to see his arm wrapped in bands with an IV line attached.

"It hurts so much... Aimou, what happened?"

Bologue asked, he had gotten accustomed to querying his state with Aimou, knowing that Aimou remained conscious when he himself fell into a coma, which was quite advantageous for him.

Realizing Aimou wasn't there, Bologue felt uneasy, instinctively assuming that Aimou would always be in the Shared Chord Body state with him.

Bologue lay motionless on the hospital bed, beginning to carefully recall his experiences before falling into a coma. As an Undead, upon awakening from death, Bologue couldn't control where he would appear; like after a hangover, he had to strive to recall events before his death and connect the story.

Soon, the lightness on Bologue's face vanished, he sat up nervously, looking around in panic.

The ward was empty; only Bologue was there. Normally after resurrection, he should be restored to his complete state, yet this time he still felt fatigued, lacking strength, with an unsettling hunger stirring deep within.

Few things could still affect Bologue post-resurrection, Bulimia Nervosa being one of them.

Suppressing the nausea in his heart, Bologue pushed open the room door, searching for something along the corridor.

...

"I'm truly envious of that bastard! Died so miserably, yet managed to come back alive!

Wow, you guys should have seen what he looked like then, like he was swallowed by a monster, partially digested, and then expelled again."

In the corridor of the Border Sanatorium, Palmer sat in a wheelchair, chatting with the nurse behind him.

The last time he was admitted to the Border Sanatorium, Palmer hit it off with the nurses, and now with his second admission, Palmer felt like he was back home, experiencing a full sense of belonging.

"I really envy these Undead..."

Palmer said, touching the cast on his arm. Bologue's lance pierced through Palmer's arm, saving his life, but also extending his vacation in the Border Sanatorium by several weeks.

Palmer was a Condenser, but not an Undead, and even with the assistance of Alchemy Potion, his injuries would take time to heal.

Although injuries made the time tough, looking on the bright side, Palmer considered it a vacation.

An invaluable, albeit somewhat painful holiday.

"Speaking of which..."

Palmer suddenly spoke mysteriously.

No need for Palmer to continue, the nurse smiled and nodded, then she, too, adopted a mysterious demeanor, reaching into her uniform pocket.

Palmer's breathing slightly hastened, watching the nurse's hand with full expectation. In his excited gaze, the nurse took out two cassette tapes from her pocket.

"Here, remember to keep it quiet, you'll have them confiscated if you disturb others," the nurse cautioned.

"Oh, oh, oh!"

Palmer exclaimed in anticipation upon receiving the tapes.

Everything at the Border Sanatorium was wonderful, except the lack of entertainment.

Recently, Palmer's amusement, aside from sleeping, consisted of chatting with the nurses. Though he liked telling strange jokes that no one quite understood, his brilliant comedic persona consistently won everyone's affection.

By Palmer's own evaluation, he had laid the cornerstone of friendship and next wanted to see love bloom among them.

Of course, whenever love seemed about to blossom, Palmer lamented.

"It's really a pity, but alas, I have a fiancée and must remain faithful to her, otherwise, we might have had another story."

Palmer felt like a wandering young man bound by his marriage, but in the nurses' eyes, he was a poor patient with a brain somewhat troubled, telling them strange jokes every day.

"Are all the field staff like this now? Is his mental age really considered adult?"

"Shh, I heard from other doctors that he wasn't like this before; an accident during a mission made his mind somewhat impaired."

"Ah? So unfortunate."

After the nurses finished chatting, they, too, looked at Palmer with a similarly regretful gaze.

Their care for Palmer came purely from a harmonious doctor-patient relationship and Palmer's noble spirit of dedication to his career, thus the two groups interacted on completely different frequencies but remained harmonious to this day.

Palmer fiddled with the tape in his hand, something he had asked the nurse to buy for him. In this era, where communication wasn't very advanced, what music you could listen to depended entirely on what the radio played and what the shops near your home sold.

Because of this, Palmer had a peculiar habit of visiting local shops whenever he was in unfamiliar places to see if there were any new gadgets he hadn't come across before.

Just when Palmer felt that his boring life might have some changes, a rush of footsteps came from the end of the corridor.

A disheveled figure rushed out; he was barefoot on the cold ground, his figure swaying slightly, so he took an infusion stand as a walking stick.

To anyone else, this would be a sorry sight, but those familiar with him knew that this thing looked like a walking stick, but in his hands, it could turn into a lethal weapon at any moment.

Palmer paused for a moment and then recognized his companion.

"Alive! Alive!"

Palmer stammered, while Bologue quickly walked up to him.

"Good morning, Palmer."

"Goo… good morning, Bologue."

Palmer's response came out dryly; he felt something was off about the atmosphere.

"Sorry," Bologue glanced at Palmer's plastered arm, "I couldn't think of any other way at the time."

"No… it's nothing."

Palmer felt quite uncomfortable; Bologue was being… too polite; he preferred Bologue's usual stern demeanor, which meant Bologue was in a normal state.

A psychopath who goes out every day to murder, cleans up the scene afterward, and brings you dinner, that's perfectly normal, too normal.

But if one day, this psychopath starts discussing the meaning of life with you and whether what he does holds any significance… that's too strange, definitely the prelude to trouble!

"So… how long has it been since I fell into the Great Rift?"

Bologue sighed. If he hadn't encountered anyone else on his way here, he wouldn't have wanted to ask Palmer, this unreliable guy.

"Almost half a month."

Palmer blinked, "Anyway, I've been here for nearly half a month, and you were brought in a few days ago. Oh, you looked terrible back then, like you were discharged from some monster."

"Just me? Did you see Aimou?" Bologue automatically ignored Palmer's rambling.

Bologue was very worried about one thing; when he fell into the Great Rift, Aimou and he were in a shared chord body state.

In Geoffrey's view, only he fell, and then Aimou was torn apart by him. If not careful, she might be forgotten there.

The more Bologue thought, the more anxious he got; he always had a sense of responsibility towards Aimou; he got Aimou involved in this conflict, used her shared chord body for his benefit, so he must be responsible for Aimou. If Aimou died in such a ridiculous way, Bologue would feel deep guilt and self-reproach...

Bologue hated guilt; it felt like a curse that couldn't be lifted, accompanying you day and night, reminding you of your past mistakes when you're most vulnerable, and you have no ability to rectify them; everything is already destined.

"Aimou?"

Palmer assessed Bologue for a moment, suddenly showing an expression of realization, as if he knew what Bologue was thinking, with a playful smirk.

"Relax, partner, don't be so tense."

Palmer's voice was slow, like an old man basking in the sun.

A sharp look fell on Palmer, an icy chill ran through him, making Palmer shiver. His speech began to accelerate, though even under such circumstances, Palmer didn't forget his damn cold jokes.

He loved cold jokes too much.

"Guess a riddle, Bologue; when a person gets sick, they go to the hospital. When a machine breaks, where should it go?"

Bologue's eyes remained sharp; he wasn't in the mood for riddles.

"Take it for repair, of course!"

Palmer shouted in a panic.

"So she's at the Sublimation Furnace Core now?" Bologue asked.

"Belli is responsible for rebuilding her body. What's wrong! What's wrong!"

Palmer explained halfway, clearly sensing something off about Bologue's aura.

"Belli…" Bologue muttered Belli's name with a complex expression; he remembered Aimou's evaluation of Belli, but now it seemed there was no one else to be entrusted with repairing Aimou besides Belli.

Because...

"And the Delusional… Teda?" Bologue asked again.

Upon hearing this, Palmer put away his smile and replied solemnly.

"He disappeared, along with the Immortal Heart."