I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell

The Creator I

Among those who've heard my story so far, some might be wondering:

"So what is the government doing?"

In this apocalyptic madness, with cultists' antics, Cthulhu tentacles slithering, and World Tree zombies sprouting up, what are the politicians and government doing?

First, let me tell you this:

"Folks, the Korean government has something to say!"

That's right. We should consider the government's standpoint.

You must have heard that right after a Gate opened in Seoul, the National Assembly launched into space.

For reference, the president was in the midst of delivering a policy speech at the National Assembly about the supplementary budget. It was truly a touching moment when South Korea suddenly rose to prominence as a pioneer in space exploration.

The union between the ruling and opposition parties was realized not on this miserable Earth, but in a new colony called "Space."

From a politician's perspective, Korea is just a meager homeland, much like how the Portuguese royal family fled to Brazil to escape Napoleon. Similarly, the Korean government went on a summer vacation.

Q. What's left on the Korean Peninsula now?

A. A handful of National Assembly members and ministers who didn't attend the policy speech, governors, mayors, county chiefs, and many, many monsters.

When the social infrastructure was not yet fully destroyed, the politicians wasted three days foolishly.

In an apocalyptic situation, three days was more than enough time to drive people insane.

Very few could remain calm after hearing news like, "Monsters are hosting a neighborhood meeting in our apartment park and parking lot!"

Finally, on the third day, the remnants of the government delivered their address to the nation, firing the final fireworks of the grand festival.

-Fellow citizens. South Korea is still safe. For now, remain calm and continue with your livelihoods.

A truly generic speech.

What the politicians overlooked was none other than the DNA of Koreans.

That DNA bore an imprint of unshakable trust in the government. The people of this nation remembered the swift campaign of King Seonjo Lee during the Japanese invasion and the spirit of national defense proclaimed when the army recaptured Uijeongbu from the North Korean invaders and vowed to defend Seoul.

You could blame the scoundrel once for fooling you, but if you were duped twice, it was your fault, and three times? Hand in your Homo sapiens certificate. Koreans weren't yet ready to go extinct.

"Stay calm, my ass!"

"Oh, I knew these bastards would do this!"

"Head south! Just head south!"

The civilians of the Korean Peninsula evacuated with remarkable order.

"Citizens! The northern side of the Han River is still safe! Please, trust the government and the army, and go ba—"

"Who’s that guy?"

"They say he's the Vice Mayor."

"What’s that even mean, damn it."

"I don't know. Toss him."

"What? Uh, uh, uhhh—"

The Vice Mayor of Seoul (third in line as the acting mayor in emergencies, the only survivor) rushed out to Banpo Bridge to dissuade the citizens, but the citizens of Seoul simply threw him off the bridge and provided him with a practical lesson in water temperature.

It was a clean, bold toss worthy of a standing ovation if the people of Prague had witnessed it.

If only the politicians had admitted bluntly, "We’re completely screwed, but the north side of the Han River seems relatively safe based on monster distribution. To be more accurate, every region in the country is equally dangerous," maybe things would have improved.

But what could you do? You could only blame the ancestors who burned through their citizens' trust twice over.

When the Republic of Seoul went down in flames, the other coalition governments stood no chance. County chiefs and mayors across the nation had already carved the national slogan "Every Man for Himself" deeply into their hearts.

The final touch was the Mayor of Busan, closest to the throne of chaos, who fled to Japan, dealing the decisive blow.

Soon enough, the "Second Provisional Government of the Republic of Korea," with the Mayor of Busan as its head, was established on the Japanese archipelago.

-Fellow citizens. Rumors are spreading that I've abandoned my duties as mayor and fled. This is untrue.

-I’ve only moved to the diplomatic stage to secure foreign aid and reclaim Korean territory!

But the fact that the provisional government's capital was in Fukuoka, Japan, had even the staunchest government supporters scratching their heads. "Wait, was that really the original location of the provisional government? I thought it was a bit further west?"

Even the Japanese must have been a bit taken aback.

After all, the Provisional Government of Korea had a penchant for putting bombs instead of food in lunch boxes. How could they trust these lunch box fanatics, not knowing what mischief they'd stir up?

After many twists and turns, the "Second Provisional Government" was eventually shunned by its own citizens and foreigners alike. To me, it looked like a suicide.

For the final touch, a military coup confused the era on the Korean Peninsula by 70 years.

-Fellow citizens. Today, myself and the brave soldiers defending this country's territory have agreed on a grand proposition that we can no longer stand by this political chaos.

-We've risen up to overthrow this corrupt and incompetent government that lost the people's trust, and we soldiers have fully mobilized!

But the coup failed.

Its failure was simple. Unexpectedly, it turned out that the boss monster, the Ten Legs, was an ardent fighter for democracy.

The military units heading toward the Blue House repeatedly missed their targets and ended up inside the Ten Legs’ stomachs.

Though the army generals might not have known it, Ten Legs had a quirk of perceiving any group of over 300 people moving as a food truck.

The military unit that attempted to enter the Tower of Sauron last time belonged to the shattered remnants of the national army. Even those remaining forces slowly disappeared for various reasons.

That should summarize the answer to "So, what did the government do?"

Utter chaos. A madhouse. Total devastation.

But if you want a lotus to bloom, you first need a pool of mud.

Even within the Korean government, which fumbled the initial response miserably, a lotus bloomed.

Noh Do-hwa.

A seventh-grade public servant working at a public rehabilitation hospital.

She was the protagonist of this story.

Unlike other public officials, Noh Do-hwa succeeded precisely because she was just a seventh-grade public servant.

From the beginning, Do-hwa never dreamed she could replace the government of South Korea. Tax management? Electing National Assembly members? Universal welfare? Why should she care?

"I probably shouldn't say this, but I don't really think of myself as a public servant..."

Noh Do-hwa often said such things to me, and she would say similar things to others, too. She probably said the same things even when living on the taxpayers' money.

"I probably shouldn't say this, but I don't like the citizens..."

"Now, isn't that really something you shouldn't say?"

"Does it matter? Awakener Undertaker. Do you think more employees love their boss or dislike them? Isn't it the latter? To public officials, citizens are the bosses. So, it's only natural that more public servants dislike citizens."

Do-hwa muttered with slumped shoulders.

She was a person of unusual eccentricity whom I first met in the 11th cycle. I had heard bits about her in passing before, but our first direct meeting was then.

"It's all done."

"Oh."

"Would you like to stand up and walk?"

In the 11th cycle, my left leg was severed, so I had to wear a prosthetic.

I stood up, walked a little, then tried a light jog, even doing small jumps in place. Do-hwa observed all these movements carefully.

"How does it feel? Any discomfort?"

"None at all. Wow, this thing works amazingly. It feels like real muscles and nerves."

"That's good."

Do-hwa smiled faintly.

To some, it may have seemed a shady or insidious smile, but through my long regression experience, I had grown free from such prejudices. So I could confidently assess Do-hwa's smile as "benevolent."

"If something goes wrong, there’s a 5% chance it could sting like nerves are being pierced. Just think of it as a gacha gone wrong and come back to me. I'll make you another one for half price."

Do-hwa was a manufacturer of assistive devices.

Assistive devices referred to auxiliary gadgets used to aid those with mobility issues, like wheelchairs and crutches.

Before the Gate incident, Do-hwa worked at a public hospital, repairing and creating various assistive devices.

Even back then, she was already renowned among war veterans who had lost limbs to landmines. The Veterans Hospital always sought her out, but Do-hwa seemed uninterested.

"I shouldn't say this, but I don't like soldiers."

"Just asking out of curiosity, but do you like any human being at all, Do-hwa?"

"No, I don't."

"......"

It was a miracle she hadn't become a recluse.

Yet even Do-hwa had her concerns. Specifically, her worries lay with the patients, or more precisely, with those who had extreme difficulty moving.

"Some of the patients are struggling to move."

Those with damaged nerves in their spines had to rely on wheelchairs.

It would have been manageable if vehicles equipped with accessible seating for the disabled were still running, but over time, gasoline ran out, and the roads became rugged. Driving cars and even maneuvering wheelchairs was difficult.

Most people would have given up at that point.

After the Gate incident fully took hold, the notion of treating disabled people became increasingly rare. In this era, getting killed by a monster was practically considered a natural death. If not for Noh Do-hwa, I would have casually given up after losing my left leg.

"Even the elderly find it increasingly difficult to come to our workshop because the roads are too rough."

But a person with extraordinary eccentricity sees things differently.

"Shouldn't we make the roads a bit more convenient?"

Dragging her slumped body along, Do-hwa began negotiating.

Even though empathy for the disabled had dwindled, their numbers soared as more people lost limbs fighting monsters. Losing an arm or a leg was no longer a badge of honor.

Do-hwa was an Awakener with the "Assistive Device Creation" ability.

The assistive devices she made, even if constructed from wood or iron, felt like real muscles to the user. Just strap on the prosthetic and go, no rehabilitation or adaptation period needed.

In short, Do-hwa had an enormous number of "regulars" who were Awakeners.

Almost every guild leader was acquainted with Do-hwa. Even if they were unharmed themselves, if a guild member got injured, they'd quickly head to Do-hwa's workshop for assistive devices.

Do-hwa was a model public servant who never refused bribes. Those who hadn't established a rapport would hear, "Oh, you're on the waiting list. Please wait six months." Consider the chances of an Awakener surviving for six months with severed limbs, and even the haughtiest guild leaders would bend a little.

"Oh, Mr. Do-hwa! What brings you here?"

"Ah, well... I was thinking of fixing the road between Haeundae and Bansong-dong."

"Huh? A road? You will? Why?"

"There's a patient in Bansong-dong who complains that the road to our workshop is destroyed. I could always help them find a house in Haeundae, but I don't feel like being that generous. So I thought I'd just make a road."

In general, building a road would have been a far more significant act of kindness than finding a house, but Do-hwa's eccentric brain didn’t grasp the proper balance.

"But isn't Bansong your territory, guild leader? I was hoping you could lend a hand."

"Hmm. You mean no other guilds are involved, and it's just you?"

"Yes."

"Oh, of course, I'll help! Just tell me what you need!"

And so, a single-lane asphalt road was constructed from Haeundae to Bansong-dong, where Do-hwa's workshop was located.

Since the new road was a clean renovation of an old one, it wasn't a difficult project. Do-hwa's workshop handled everything, from construction to maintenance.

A 71-year-old patient named Lee, who was one of Do-hwa's patients, could now visit safely, even if it took time. The patient was satisfied, Do-hwa was satisfied, and the real estate prices in Bansong-dong were satisfied.

That was the beginning.

Footnotes:

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