Ch.137We will not be defeated (End)

# “I Am Not a Genius”

I had harbored bitterness toward this sentence.

“Should I put the luggage here?”

“Sorry for seeming like I’m just hanging around.”

“What are you sorry for? Your back is so wrecked you can barely stand.”

Moving into a visibly worn corridor-style apartment. I set down these moving boxes on the floor.

He’s a corporate employee in his late twenties. Recently married to someone much older than him.

——————-

Some careers can’t be achieved through ordinary effort.

No. It would be more accurate to say there isn’t enough time to put in the effort.

Even drawing a single picture properly requires considerable skill. If you need to string hundreds of them together to create a story, ten years would be laughable.

During that time, your livelihood falls apart and your parents sigh with disappointment.

-The art style is beautiful but somehow ambiguous.

-It lacks the charm to captivate people.

I wanted to become a webtoon artist.

But the comments were all feedback I couldn’t possibly fix. On top of that, people in the webtoon industry were frighteningly indifferent.

What was even harder to bear was the fact that young newcomers appeared every year.

I gritted my teeth. I was determined to fill the talent gap with effort. I took on commissions left and right. I earned money through part-time jobs, and in my spare time, I sat in front of my tablet drawing.

“Right. The tablet. Did you throw that away?”

“Yeah. I tossed it while moving. Couldn’t stand the sight of it.”

“…Good for you.”

He makes this bitter expression, then quickly turns his gaze toward the door.

“I’ll be going then. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay.”

Thud.

After moving from one small room to another, I finally moved into this apartment with his help.

That was my first day here.

[Anomalous Apartment Survival Log, EP1, Moving In]

***

Many things have changed.

One thing that hasn’t changed is that I still haven’t thrown “that” away.

Among the moving boxes piled up at the door, there’s a buried item.

I once swore I would throw it away.

I thought I wouldn’t be able to come back for it after coming to this dangerous apartment.

The tablet and pen.

Items I used while dreaming of becoming a webtoon artist.

I wonder if they broke while I was away. There’s no sign that any other entity invaded the house, but I decided to check anyway.

Rustle.

When I first came here, I piled my luggage at the door. Afraid that the terrifying entities outside might somehow get in.

A bitter smile forms on my face.

I cleared away the boxes and took out the tablet.

On my first day here, I couldn’t even think about unpacking and just lay down helplessly. I even stopped my brother from helping. Actually, I was afraid he’d find out I hadn’t thrown away the tablet.

Thanks to that, now I have to do everything at once.

First, I need to set up the computer.

After roughly setting up the computer and connecting the tablet, a decent workspace is created.

Beep-

Both the tablet and computer, thankfully, still work fine. The electronic pen is also problem-free. The nib hasn’t fallen out and it draws lines well. The pressure sensitivity seems to work properly too.

“Yes. Everything works fine.”

I muttered to myself and moved the mouse cursor.

Now I need to check the file I was working on last.

Click.

[Loading file.]

After some loading, the file is retrieved.

The screen is still white, but I already know what image will appear.

Just an ordinary work-in-progress from an ordinary aspiring webtoon artist. That’s what it should be.

“…Huh.”

I froze with a single exclamation.

What appeared on the screen was the entrance to a cave.

A hole punched through a white background, with torn pieces fluttering around it.

As I stare at the tablet, wind blows from inside.

I reached toward the LCD screen.

Naturally, my hand is blocked by the screen.

But I can definitely feel the wind coming through.

I came here through that entrance.

After staring at my fingertips for a moment, I moved away.

I’m confused. Even when I try to organize my thoughts, I don’t know what to believe.

– In the future, I will kill all my companions

– Or, I will pay an equivalent price

Is this the price?

The faces of Serim, Daju, and everyone else I’ve come to know flash through my mind.

Is this the price I pay instead of killing them?

As I leave the entrance, I hear sobbing sounds again.

“Hic. Urrgh. Hic.”

The woman from earlier is sprawled on the corridor floor.

She must have taken quite a hit from the fire extinguisher I swung, as she can’t even maintain a human form now.

A monster that lives by borrowing human forms. A black liquid-like creature gurgling on the floor, making unpleasant sounds.

It covers the entire corridor, making it impossible to avoid.

Squish-

I had no choice but to step on it as I headed toward the elevator.

I’m confused.

The people on the hotel floor were still frozen. As if time had stopped.

After curiously examining their faces one by one, I stopped at a point in the corridor.

“Yebin.”

“Huh? What?”

Yebin looks around, turning her head quickly as if she just woke up from dozing off.

“Dabin? Where did you go?”

“I went to check something.”

“What? Why is everyone else frozen?”

It’s almost the first time I’ve seen Yebin this flustered.

Normally I would have found it amusing, but the situation is different now.

“Dabin. What’s going on right now?”

“Just listen first.”

“…Okay.”

This is dangerous knowledge.

An ordinary person would have their mind destroyed the moment they comprehend it, leaving cigarette burn-like marks that seem to continuously smolder on their existence.

But Yebin should be safe.

Yebin inherited the authority of the Wanderer’s Library with me.

She’ll be shocked, but she won’t be harmed.

“Yebin. Let’s say I drew a webtoon.”

“Okay.”

“Then how would the characters in the webtoon feel and think?”

“Maybe they’d think something feels unnatural?”

“No. They can’t know they’re characters.”

“Then what?”

“They’d think they’re acting according to their own intentions.”

I showed my palm facing downward.

“Now let’s move this up one level.”

Another hand is placed on top of mine.

“Above the world I live in, there’s a webtoon artist.”

“But you’re a webtoon artist, and you’re saying there’s someone above you?”

“Yes.”

“Then that person is drawing a webtoon where you appear.”

“That’s right.”

Both Yebin and I know this story to some extent.

But right now, this needs to be done.

“Then it could keep repeating, couldn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And in the webtoon you draw, it would repeat the same way. If there’s a character playing the role of an artist there too…”

“Exactly.”

Creation and the created.

The relationship between the two is layered upon layers.

Countless levels emerge accordingly.

On those levels, stories appear anew, reach conclusions, and sometimes are forgotten without a trace.

I laid out one fact I knew.

“We call one of these layers a narrative level.”

“Yes. I’ve come to understand that vaguely.”

Yebin nods.

I gathered my breath.

The reason for such a lengthy explanation is that I need to organize my thoughts.

I need to unload the thoughts flooding my mind and think calmly.

“…”

“Dabin. Can I ask you something now?”

“Sure.”

I was just about to bring that up.

“Why is everyone else stopped?”

“Because a conclusion needs to be reached.”

I answered quickly and leaned my back against the wall.

“Normally, it’s impossible to move between narrative levels. But I…”

One layer above this story.

That’s why I was able to create plot twists.

“I came from one level above.”

I don’t know how this was possible.

What matters is how I should interpret this.

Where does fiction end and reality begin?

I recalled the future I saw at the emergency exit.

The image of myself walking out of the apartment without any emotion after killing everyone I was close to.

If I take one wrong step here, I’ll become like that too.

They’re just characters in a made-up story anyway.

Whether they live or die doesn’t make much difference to me.

Even if this world is erased, I would survive.

After all, I came from a different narrative level.

The transparent membrane I saw beneath my feet when trying to leave the apartment through the emergency exit was proof of that.

It was a moment when I could actually see the narrative level with my own eyes.

Then…

The way for me to escape from here is none other than…

“Dabin. What are you thinking right now?”

“I don’t know. It’s too complicated.”

What if I let this world be erased?

What if I allow the Professor to do what he intended, watch the world end without interference, and don’t stop the Seven?

Would I be able to return to where I came from?

Was it not this apartment I needed to escape from, but the story that I needed to escape from the apartment?

Now I understand.

A man. A failed webtoon aspirant. And a worn-down apartment he just moved into.

The novel that started here was originally supposed to end with me succeeding as a webtoon artist.

***

He stands before me, smiling.

——————-

My surroundings had changed. Not a shabby apartment, but a spacious living room with large windows and sunlight streaming in.

In the corner next to the air conditioner, a life-sized standee of a character I drew stands proudly.

“My friend’s son watches your work too. He asked me to get an autograph from Author Lim Dabin?”

I stared at him before me with a bewildered face.

This is the story of a worldline where I succeeded with my webtoon.

That’s not why I’m surprised.

No matter how unlikely a story is, a worldline where it’s realized exists. It means someone imagined it.

His grinning expression changes.

He looks around with a perfectly blank expression, then says briefly.

“So you were originally a man.”

“What?”

“I was confused for a moment about why it needed to be changed. This form suits you better though. I like it.”

“What are you even…”

——————-

“Well done.”

The surrounding objects transform into information and then disappear.

Not physical collapse, but collapse at the information level.

From the table, the word “table” emerges.

From the clock, the word “clock” emerges.

The letters are extracted and slowly begin to disintegrate.

B Y E O N G G A E G J A

Y U R I P A PIECE

C O N C R E T E S C U L P T U R E

Everything was turning black and disappearing.

Everything disappeared.

[Anomalous Apartment Survival Log, EP100, Burning Narrative Level]

***

But in an instant, everything went wrong.

I became a woman trapped in the apartment.

I became a librarian of the Wanderer’s Library, and to survive, I had to prevent the world’s destruction.

When did it all begin?

Was I dragged into this story by someone’s need, forced to move against my will?

My memories are hazy. Even about the reality I remember.

Where would I return to?

Even if I did return, that too would just be another story.

Now that I know this, I can’t live anywhere.

“…Yebin.”

I quietly called to Yebin beside me.

“I’m really going crazy.”

There’s no guarantee I can return even if everything ends.

I might end up trapped alone in an erased world.

No. I’ve already seen the possibility.

In the internet broadcast I accessed through Jung Haewon’s phone, my future self was staring blankly at the night sky.

Alone in a world of nothing. Literally living because I couldn’t die.

But one thing.

I will not be defeated.

Regardless of the outcome.

That’s what scared me most.

That it’s not “us,” but just me.

I barely lifted my head.

With trembling breath, I asked Yebin.

“What will you do?”

What conclusion would someone else reach? It’s just a story. A story that will soon disappear.

The “Seven” will eventually devour all the stories here, and the world will be deleted as simply as a computer file.

It doesn’t stop there. It will go higher. To higher narrative levels. The reality I came from will be erased too.

Even gods.

Even the gods of gods will all disappear, and no new stories will emerge.

All narratives and existences will eventually disappear.

“Hm?”

I kept questioning poor Yebin.

Because very few people can understand this story.

“What do you think we should do?”

“…Dabin. I…”

Yebin struggles to give an answer.

“I don’t really know. But,”

“Yeah.”

I cut off Yebin’s words and turn away.

My tears had already dried up.

“I understand.”

Now I think differently.

The “Professor.”

What answer would the Foundation’s “Professor” have given?

Perhaps soon, I’ll be able to hear the answer he reached.

I couldn’t reach a proper conclusion.

But the story starts rolling again.

The hotel inside the apartment. The people frozen in stopped time were slowly, gradually waking up.