Ch.145Hangover (3)

The Prophet of the End.

(Prophet of the apocalypse)

An old man bearing the karma of the world.

The Chancellor gazes at the boy before him alongside a cooling teacup.

Across the table sat a blonde with a shameless smile.

He had suddenly barged in claiming to have business during work hours, and positioned himself in the most irritating spot in view.

A meeting that happened on the spur of the moment.

“Ahem.”

He had come saying he wanted to talk.

But now he wasn’t speaking, just fiddling with his teacup.

Smiling meaningfully every time their eyes met.

“……”

He was waiting for the old man to speak first.

The old man sighs softly. He was familiar with that snake-like way of communication.

In fact.

Though this was only the second proper conversation with the boy, the Chancellor was already responding as if he were accustomed to it.

No. Perhaps he truly was accustomed to it.

For him, the present was merely a piece cut from the future.

The old man finally decides to engage in conversation with the young man.

“I heard about what happened.”

A voice that casually broached the subject.

A few sentences that traced back to their previous topic and what followed.

The Chancellor speaks while recalling memories from a few days ago.

“Selena… that child has noticeably improved.”

“Did you speak with her separately?”

“I stopped by her hospital room briefly. What kind of teacher would be indifferent when their only disciple is bedridden?”

“Then that’s good news. I was under the impression that your relationship had been awkward for some time.”

“Yes. We had a deep conversation after a long while.”

A brief reminiscence.

The old man remembers his disciple lying in the hospital bed.

The atmosphere had changed dramatically in just a few days.

The eyes that had seemed devoid of emotion had softened, and droplets of moisture formed in those red pupils.

The unexpected shower of tears flowed down her pale cheeks all day.

All while tightly holding the old man’s wrinkled hand.

-I’m sorry, Master…

That crying still echoes in his ears.

Gaston murmurs while recalling the warmth that still lingered on his fingertips.

“It had been a long time.”

Nearly 10 years.

It had been so long since Selena had shown such intense emotion that the memory was now hazy.

When he came to his senses, several more wrinkles had formed on the old man’s forehead.

The sudden reminiscence left a bitter taste in his mouth.

-You… have talent.

-From today, call me Master.

Just for a moment.

He remembered the moment when he had taken in the girl.

The old man cleanses his mouth with the lukewarm tea.

“I suddenly found myself reminiscing. About the time when Lianne was still alive.”

“……”

“It was a time when nothing had yet gone wrong.”

Lianne.

The atmosphere sinks as that name is mentioned.

Neither of them continues speaking for a while.

If asked why they suddenly fell silent, it was because the boy was preparing for the question he was about to ask, and the old man already knew the content of that question.

The boy casually sips his tea.

“There’s something I’ve always found difficult to understand.”

Clank.

He sets down his cup.

“Why did you take her in?”

“……”

Reason.

The boy was asking about the reason.

Their gazes calmly intersect.

‘Selena.’

The boy knew part of the future.

At the same time, he also knew that the old man before him was a prophet.

Because of this, he couldn’t help but have questions.

Why he had taken in a child who would become the seed of calamity.

Why he had merely watched as her younger sister fell victim to the cultists’ schemes.

Why he couldn’t protect the two of them.

The brief question contained countless “whys.”

The old man silently fiddles with the cup in his hand.

‘Reason, is it.’

Well.

There were two answers to the question.

One.

The old man cannot oppose the will of the world.

As the boy before him also knew.

His ability came with the condition that he “must not interfere with the story.”

This didn’t simply mean doing nothing.

It was closer to fully performing the script and role given by the world.

If he foresaw a future A, the old man had no option to choose paths B or C, nor the option not to go at all.

He could only follow the script of A that the world had designated for him.

‘A puppet.’

That’s what the old man called himself.

Because he was a being who lived according to the given script.

Taking in Selena was in the same context.

Whether she would betray and partially destroy the Academy, or repent and live as the boy’s helper.

In any future, the woman was a figure who stood at the center of the story.

For Gaston, there was no choice but to bring Selena in.

And the second reason.

‘Judas Snakus.’

Because of the boy.

The old man had known long before meeting Selena that she would be saved.

That’s why he had searched through all the slums of the Empire to find her.

-Master.

A life of submission to fate.

However, that didn’t mean the loss of emotion.

Selena was the old man’s only disciple and family.

How could he not care for her?

The old man had always hoped she would be saved.

From the snake.

“……”

Although there was no way to convey this to others.

Gaston had followed what he believed was the best course of action available to him.

Clink-

The old man tilts his teacup in silence.

Had he been lost in thought for quite some time?

By now, the liquid touching his lips had gone cold.

The boy across from him furrows his brow, but soon withdraws his gaze as if giving up.

He eases the chilly atmosphere and leans back against his chair.

He speaks briefly.

“Well… I wasn’t expecting an answer anyway.”

Just.

The boy needed someone to whom he could voice his thoughts.

It was more like a form of venting.

“These kinds of conversations are difficult to have. I thought of you as an appropriate person to talk to, so I came.”

Talk about the future.

Content that was difficult to share with or explain to others.

In that sense, the old man was suitable as someone to talk to.

He was someone who, like the boy, knew the future of the world, and wouldn’t be surprised by most nonsensical talk.

If the role needed was that of a silent listener, the old man was willing to oblige.

It wasn’t a particularly difficult role, after all.

“If you have thoughts, come have tea occasionally.”

“That’s unexpected. I thought you’d detest such pointless conversations.”

“If you think about it, we’re in a relationship of disciple’s disciple, or master’s master.”

Also.

In some futures, they were friends too.

The old man swallows the words that follow.

“…Therefore, I have no intention of treating you coldly.”

“That’s good to hear.”

“Though I worry that I’m not very articulate. Please understand that I won’t be able to answer many questions.”

“Oh my… that might indeed be a minus factor.”

A soft laugh.

The boy shrugs as if that was sufficient.

Then he places the teacup he was holding on the table.

Perhaps he has another appointment soon.

The boy soon gets up from his seat.

“I’ll be going now.”

“Do so.”

“See you next time.”

“If there is a next time.”

“Of course.”

Grin.

With a brief smile, the boy turns his back.

The old man follows the retreating figure with his eyes for a moment.

Soon the door to the Chancellor’s office closes and the snake completely disappears.

“……”

Once again left alone in the space.

Gaston absently touches his left hand covered in a glove.

Beyond the leather’s texture, nothing existed.

Last time. While leaving a prophecy for the boy, he had forcibly added a few more words and paid the price.

The hand that had crumbled to ashes could not be restored by magic or divine power.

It was a kind of warning.

‘Damn it.’

The world had spoken.

It meant not to overstep his bounds.

The role given to the old man was not that of a prophet, but an observer.

Fate cannot be changed without a terrible price.

‘Not yet.’

Foresight.

The old man’s ability transcended providence.

It was on a different level from what ordinary astrologers practiced.

To such a severe degree that it became problematic.

For example:

The old man knew everything.

From the fact that the boy would visit today, to what conversations would take place between them.

Even after the boy entered the Chancellor’s office, how many times he breathed in, how long he held the teacup in his hand, and how many sips he took.

‘834 times. 12 minutes and 56 seconds. 21 sips.’

It wasn’t something he remembered through simple observation.

He had “known” it all along.

That was.

From before the boy entered the Chancellor’s office.

Or from before this morning dawned.

No, from before this cultist attack occurred.

Perhaps from before he enrolled in the academy.

In fact, since the moment the old man, still a fifteen-year-old boy, was called by the stars.

The prophet had been foreseeing, memorizing, and penetrating all days.

Countless information flooded his mind to the point of bursting.

Continuously.

The old man was living in overlapping realities.

It felt like being trapped in a dream for a long time.

Present and future entangled in confusion.

Now it was difficult to distinguish whether the scene before his eyes was reality, or if he was seeing the future through prophecy.

As the story increasingly got on track, the prophet’s mind was collapsing.

Gaston realizes that his remaining time is not very long.

‘About one more year.’

Sixty years had passed since he received the calling of the end.

From a young fifteen-year-old boy to an old man approaching eighty.

Gaston had been enduring all that burden consistently.

All for the future.

‘The end approaches.’

An irrefutable proposition.

Because calamity will break the peace in the not-too-distant future.

The main and supporting characters will have to make their final choices.

And.

The old man too.

‘Indeed.’

Had to make a final choice.

Whether to remain an observer of the world, or die as a recorder, or perhaps another role…

The prophet contemplates his complete usefulness to the world.

Along with the sunset fading outside the window.

The prophet thus closed his mouth.