Ch.175Epilogue (3) – Where Is My Friend’s Home? (1)

I wake up to the alarm. Another ordinary morning has arrived.

I get up, wash, and eat breakfast. After a cup of coffee, I check the forum site on my phone. I scan through the posts and delete the useless ones.

For example, things like these:

– – – – –

<Title> Special gift for Admin Sagan who reigns but does not rule^^

<Content>

Put up a Times Square ad to celebrate your resurrection

– – – – –

“Crazy bastard.”

Post deleted. User blocked for one hour.

Reason: <Please review the forum operating rules>

Of course, they love it even more.

<Sagan saw me! Sagan actually saw me!>

Because these kinds of posts keep coming day and night from different accounts.

“These lunatics…”

– – – – –

<Title> I’m stuck here and don’t know what to do. Guard at the door

<Content>

Flew a plane

(Photo attached)

– – – – –

It was a photo of a small aircraft flying over the city.

It was crossing the sky near the landmark building of the city where he lived, with a banner trailing behind it.

“(Congrats) Celebrating Sagan’s resurrection – S-Burum2 Forum Super Cowards Association (Congrats)”

Muttering “No way, it must be photoshopped,” Sagan (or more precisely, the man known as Sagan, though his real name cannot be revealed, so for convenience we’ll refer to him as Sagan) approached the window.

There really was a small aircraft flying through the sky with a banner attached.

Sagan laughed for a long time, holding his stomach. Until tears came out. Until he collapsed on the floor from exhaustion.

“These guys never change. Really.”

Still, he couldn’t hate them.

* * * * *

After moderating the forum, I begin my daily routine.

Walking. Running. Walking. Running.

To move as much as possible, I twist my body with exaggerated motions. I feel the movement of muscles and the sensation of nerves. I sweat under the harsh sunlight.

The doctor said such movements would help me regain my sense of reality.

‘When you’re exercising, try not to look at your phone. Just focus on what’s in front of you.’

Sagan followed that advice. Except when choosing music he liked or when his lawyer contacted him, he didn’t look at his phone.

That alone made Sagan’s world quieter.

“Huff. Huff.”

Sitting on a bench, I catch my breath in short bursts. I drink water slowly so it doesn’t flood my throat all at once.

Sometimes when I felt like it, I’d stop by a convenience store for an energy drink. I could see cigarettes displayed behind the counter, including Camels, but I didn’t bother smoking.

On the day I finished rehabilitation and was discharged, I bought a pack of Camels. After smoking about two, I threw the rest in the trash.

It wasn’t the same taste as before.

If it had been completely different, I might have understood, but it was somehow crude. I even felt insulted.

It was like the betrayal you feel when a nostalgic snack claiming “Same taste as back then!” comes back half the size but twice the price.

‘Cigarettes aren’t good for you anyway.’

I start exercising again.

Exercise. Exercise. Exercise.

* * * * *

The atrocities of Drugstore were gradually revealed.

Manipulating public opinion and bribing media outlets were just the beginning.

People were shocked by the unbelievable story that they had kidnapped mod creators, locked them in isolation, and forced them to maintain and update programs through virtual reality machines.

The federal government analyzed the machine in detail. It was a wasted effort.

It was built on an incomprehensible, bizarre system.

Strangely, Drugstore refused to testify about the machine and even seemed reluctant to mention it.

So all they could learn was the name of the machine.

<Gateway: Yog-Sothoth>

‘The God of Gates. The gate that freely traverses between all worlds, a deity from the Cthulhu Mythos.’

A terrible yet fitting name.

But the machine had been reduced to scrap metal.

Drugstore had completely removed all related code, and the machine became nothing more than a slightly modified VR headset.

Their testimony that they not only removed the code but melted down the computer itself revealed a kind of desperate madness.

Because of this, the federal government had hoped for Sagan’s testimony. But even Sagan had nothing to say about the machine.

All he remembered was going to the meeting place near the North Studio and then losing consciousness.

Though disappointed, the federal government still paid for the information.

They issued him a new identity, changing his age and birth records.

The federal agent said it was similar to a “Witness Protection Program” or “Victim Protection Program.”

‘You can become anything. We can help you find a job. The only thing you can’t be is your past self. Think of it as shedding your terrible memories like an old skin.’

Sagan didn’t say much. He was used to such disguises.

In fact, even the name Sagan wasn’t his real name but a nickname he used on the forum, and he had also lived under the name Crayfield for some time.

But he never quite got used to the emptiness.

* * * * *

The federal government didn’t say much about Sagan’s return to the forum.

The media, however, made it a big story. The pseudonym Carl Sagan became almost as famous as Satoshi Nakamoto.

The former forum administrators welcomed Sagan back.

Even though they had never met in person and didn’t know his name, age, personality, or nationality, they were still happy to see the familiar nickname.

The forum lunatics went wild, of course.

Some flew banners on small aircraft, others put up Times Square ads, and some even sent tips to daily newspapers…

Someone even made donations in Sagan’s name.

Sagan just laughed at these incidents, but he made his position clear on one matter.

It was a proposal to use money collected in Sagan’s name to hire lawyers for Simaepalcon.

Simaepalcon himself was in a very awkward position; his fame had exploded, but his income sources were cut off because he couldn’t monetize his content.

But regardless of Simaepalcon’s reputation, legally he had trespassed on private property—the Overeating Games North Studio building.

Even Simaepalcon couldn’t deny that. He had saved Sagan, but he had also jumped over fences, opened windows, and broke in while livestreaming the whole thing.

That’s why he needed an especially good lawyer, according to Sagan’s logic.

Of course, the reactions to this were typical of the lunatics.

<Sagan said it lolololololol>

<Hey hey Sagan has something to say! Sagan! Is speaking!>

<How dare you post nonsense when Sagan is speaking?>

<Sagan is entering, Earth attention!>

As a result, Simaepalcon was able to get a better lawyer.

A very excellent lawyer, no doubt. The lawsuit was settled with a dramatic agreement before even going to trial.

* * * * *

Other than that, he didn’t write posts. He didn’t even leave comments.

Although he held the title of one of the administrators, he did nothing besides periodically deleting advertisements or blocking users who violated the forum rules.

Even that wasn’t really necessary since there were many other administrators.

Yet Sagan couldn’t leave the forum.

<Sagan must really like the Burum series>

‘No.’

After looking at the post, Sagan shook his head.

Sagan had already lost interest. In both the Burum series and the forum. Yet he held on because of the shell.

A shell he had once left behind. A monument-like place where he could recall his past self that he could never return to.

When he visited the forum and read the posts, he remembered the days when he would write spaghetti code trying to create mods that no one appreciated, when he could spend entire days just having fun.

Days when he knew nothing and ran wild, when even if he got crushed today, he believed he could conquer the world tomorrow just by opening his front door.

Days when he believed his life would flow exactly as he wanted, days of romance.

Young and foolish, but happy days become candies named memories.

Walking through lonely and desolate todays and tomorrows, taking one out of the pocket to crunch on.

But someday, when even those run out,

Ah. I’ve become an adult.

I’ve become one of those expressionless statues I used to look up at as a child.

And then comes the day when you just have to walk forward silently, looking only ahead.

Of course, that day comes for everyone.

But when he lay down to sleep, Sagan would unconsciously mutter:

If only I could have chosen when to leave.

If it hadn’t been forced upon me.

If I had taken the road not taken rather than the road I couldn’t take, wouldn’t I have been happier?

* * * * *

An unexpected proposal came through his lawyer. It was when Sagan’s body had fully recovered, and he had started to enjoy building muscle.

It was a contact from Overeating Games headquarters. Compensation for damages, measures to prevent recurrence, personal support for Sagan, and so on.

And a request for him to become the director of the newly established East Studio.

“Actually, they want you to take charge of the Burum series. They’ll hire completely new staff, and you’ll join the studio under your new identity.”

“What do you think, counselor?”

“My opinion?”

The lawyer was a seasoned man who knew how to handle matters cleanly.

“Well… please consider my opinion as just a reference.”

According to the lawyer, Overeating Games was on the brink of bankruptcy.

Creating an unbeatable game itself wasn’t a major issue. They had continuously released patches, and the fact that the problems weren’t resolved could be attributed to “not intending to deceive but simply being incompetent,” and by refunding the game, they had made “efforts to recover compensation.”

There were two problematic areas. The first was Drugstore’s promise.

The promise to give a reward equal to the number of sales to the first person who beat the game.

If they made such a promise when the game couldn’t be beaten, and if Drugstore knew this, then the elements of fraud could be reconsidered.

The second area was the real problem. Drugstore and his team had destroyed all the source code of the game before surrendering.

It was a complete destruction with no backups.

So the game had become a coding mess that couldn’t be fixed even if they wanted to.

Overeating Games had filed for damages against Drugstore personally, but that alone couldn’t stop the various international and domestic lawsuits flooding in against the game company.

“That’s why they want to bring you in, Sagan.

You know the game better than anyone, and you can fix it. Then they’ll have something to say in court: ‘We acknowledge our shortcomings, but please consider our efforts to provide the service consumers expected through subsequent patches.’ Something like that.

Also, no one but you can touch that program now. Not all 400 million people will join the international lawsuit, but it’s obvious that paying you alone would be cheaper than compensating all those people.

In other words, your value is equivalent to the compensation costs for 400 million people. Of course, the sin of twisting one person’s life is hard to forgive.

Sagan, will you accept the offer? Or decline it?”

The deliberation wasn’t long.

“I’ll accept.”