I Have Become an NPC at the Tower’s Used Bookstore

“I oppose it.”

As if they hadn’t expected me to oppose, the ‘Tower’ and the ‘Abyss’ stop talking and look at me.

Though they didn’t show a dramatic reaction, both seemed perplexed.

“Why?”

“May I ask the reason?”

“You don’t know how frightening time is.”

Time gives pain whether it flows or stands still.

The passage of time erodes even the highest mountain and dries up even the widest river.

Conversely, time that doesn’t flow stops growth. Not much changes, but the mind continues to function properly.

Time flows differently for the body and the mind. That gap is what drives people crazy.

“Do you know why regret arises?”

“What nonsense is this?”

The ‘Abyss’ grumbles and the ‘Tower’ tilts her head.

My face reddens for no reason. Ber had listened well.

“Ahem, anyway! Regret is an emotion derived from a sense of missing out. It’s more concentrated than just missing out, but the essence is the same.”

Then what is regret a sense of missing out on?

The arrow of the emotion called regret points to the past, not the future.

Regret is precisely what arises when it’s hard to accept the results of one’s own choices.

Regret arises because we can’t go back to the past, can’t withdraw our choices.

“Regret arises from not being able to accept the past. Like you two.”

The ‘Tower’ seemed to feel guilty about the deaths of players. And a deep-rooted self-hatred was embedded in her.

If I could do it again, I could do it better.

That’s ultimately what’s in her heart.

I don’t know about the ‘Abyss’. Like her all-black attire, I can’t see inside her. What does she regret?

“Are you different? Don’t you regret?”

“I do regret. I regret every day. I regret when I open my eyes in the morning and when I close them at night.”

When eating meals, when going out, when working.

Even when reading books.

Even when doing enjoyable things, regret doesn’t disappear but continues to cling.

“I regret every moment, every second. Thinking, ‘Why did I do that?'”

What if I hadn’t accepted them as disciples?

Would they not have pushed themselves to climb the Tower? Would they still be alive then?

It would have been good if I could have provided direct help.

If I had researched about the Tower, would direct intervention have been possible? Could I have saved them then?

Regret is like this. It always ends with a question mark.

Because the result of that choice is unknown, it’s more regrettable and there’s more lingering attachment.

The possibility of “what if” follows one after another, making one imagine a future that seems only happy.

“Then!!”

The ‘Tower’ rose, hitting the table strongly with her hand.

The first emotion she expressed was anger. And what followed was sadness.

Waves of anger and surges of sadness filled her eyes.

“All the more reason to go back! If we can turn back time, if we can correct what’s wrong!!”

A sorrow deeper than sadness fills her voice.

A voice that seems on the verge of crying fills the room.

The moisture embedded in her voice seems to have permeated every corner of the room, making the atmosphere heavy.

“I’m sorry. I got a bit excited.”

The ‘Tower’ sat down, trying to contain her emotions.

“So why can’t we do it?”

The ‘Abyss’ asked in an uncharacteristically calm manner.

“Because turning back time can’t erase regret.”

“What do you mean?”

“Time is like a rubber band. It has an elasticity that tries to return to its original state.”

Regression isn’t as omnipotent as it appears in novels.

Most people think of regression as similar to a game’s reset button. But in reality, it’s closer to rewinding a video.

When played, it just follows a predetermined path; the ending doesn’t change.

Still, it wouldn’t be completely identical. The middle process could change.

But when you come to your senses, you’ll find yourself circling the same place.

“We are different. It’s a bit embarrassing to say this myself, but we are beings similar to gods. Transcendents. We’re relatively free from the flow of time.”

“Yes, but we can’t be completely free.”

Time is fair to everyone.

The stronger the force, the stronger the elasticity. As we grow in size, it also grows in size and overwhelms us.

For the weak, it flows with the intensity of a stream, but for the strong, it sends angry waves like a sea on a stormy day.

“We’re not included in the general category, though.”

“The Tower is a special space. Time doesn’t flow but stagnates.”

Time in the Tower is stopped. It would be fair to say it’s stagnant, not flowing.

Anything that stagnates rots. The same applies to time.

Time that continues without end is closer to a curse than a blessing.

Time that has transformed into a curse has also changed in nature. It’s become more stubborn and severe.

“As we’ve grown stronger, time has grown stronger too.”

“Still, it’s worth trying, isn’t it? We might be able to resist.”

“What if we end up following the same flow? Could you bear it?”

A cold silence settles in the room.

“I can’t bear it.”

I don’t have the confidence to witness their deaths once more. I lack the courage.

The price of failure this time too would be borne by others, not me.

That’s why I didn’t even think of trying. I couldn’t recklessly gamble on something I couldn’t take responsibility for.

And so the meeting ended inconclusively without reaching any conclusion.

* * *

“Haah.”

I can’t help but sigh.

I want to go back, but I don’t want to go back.

Contradictory thoughts collide in my head.

Like flint striking, the rising flame fills my head with heat.

“Haah.”

I try to exhale to remove the heat, but no matter how much I exhale, the heat doesn’t disappear.

My insides are becoming a mess.

“Am I being selfish?”

“Well, I don’t think so.”

Startled by the sudden response, I jumped up.

“Kyaaaak!”

“For once, a normal scream.”

“Wh-what? Why is the old man here? I’m sure I locked the door.”

“Hehehe. There’s always a way.”

“Pervert old geezer.”

“Heheheheh.”

He laughs lecherously.

But thanks to that, I feel a bit better.

This is why one needs friends, I suppose.

“Did something happen?”

“There was. No, you should know, right? You’re the one who told me.”

“Ah, was that today? My memory is fading these days.”

“You don’t even age in the Tower, what are you talking about?”

“We might not age, but we do get tired.”

Tired, he says.

That’s right. There’s no more appropriate expression.

We were all tired.

I put an hourglass on the table and asked.

The sand is at the bottom. As if there’s no more time to flow.

“Time can be turned back. Would the old man turn back time?”

I pushed the hourglass toward him.

What choice would he make?

“I’d turn it back. If we’re not going to stay, we should turn it back.”

“…”

I bit my lip hard. For some reason, I seemed to have believed that the old man would make the same choice as me.

I felt resentful at the thought that that trust had been betrayed.

“I have this thought.”

The old man’s hand strokes my head.

It was a rough palm. A palm full of rough wrinkles, as if testifying to the old man’s long years.

“When I look at an hourglass, strangely, the word ‘sacrifice’ comes to mind first.”

“Sacrifice?”

“Yes, sacrifice.”

It was a statement not easily understood.

Hourglass and sacrifice weren’t words that matched each other.

“The sand in the hourglass represents time. Look at this.”

The old man continued, lightly tapping the bottom part of the hourglass.

“My full time.”

The hourglass turns and the sand moves downward.

“Is shared with someone who’s empty. Sacrifice is inevitable to turn back time.”

The old man smiles at me.

He smiles brightly. Through the wrinkles around his mouth, a child’s smile spreads.

“No one will blame you.”

“Because they won’t know the original ending.”

“That’s part of it.”

“But I know.”

“Then you might be able to prevent it better. You could guide them well to a different path.”

“I!”

A momentary silence flows at the sudden loud voice. Even I was startled by the sound I made and shrunk back.

Removing my strength again, I muttered quietly,

“I don’t have confidence.”

The old man rose from his seat. I didn’t know the sound of a chair being pulled could be so loud.

Has he grown tired of me? Maybe he’s come to dislike me after facing my ugly inner thoughts.

The old man simply got up, took a book from the bookshelf, and began to read.

“A skill book is a record of one person’s life.”

“How do you know that? I’ve never told you.”

“How many years have I been attached to you? Ugh, thinking about it now is terrible. The number is frightening.”

Has he learned mind reading? Is there really a snake inside him?

As I looked suspiciously, the old man laughed casually and said,

“Haha. You told me yourself. Crying while drunk.”

“M-me?”

“You don’t seem to remember.”

My face naturally reddens. Fortunately, the old man doesn’t tease further and begins to read the book.

The sound of turning pages rustles.

I close my eyes and appreciate that sound.

It sounds like waves crashing or wind blowing.

I liked that the sound of nature came from something artificially created.

The old man closed the book with a thud and asked,

“Are you afraid of being left alone?”