Ch.9494. Eternal Return.

94.

In a world created by humans, there truly exists no meaningless object.

Just as we’ve always strived to assign characteristics to abstract entities that cannot be seen or felt, making them recognizable not only to ourselves but to everyone else.

Human cognitive activity. Everything that exists in a world cultivated by intellect has its own role, even if it might seem meaningless at first glance.

I thought this facility would be the same.

But this donut-shaped facility with large and small buildings surrounding a spacecraft launch pad…

After coming through bridges and passages, entering through windows, and passing through various buildings, I found myself wandering aimlessly.

“Why is there nothing here?”

My original purpose was to find traces of people who had left this place to discover where they went, and if there were any remaining systems, to use them to attempt contact with those who might be drifting in the sea of possibilities.

Of course, I also thought I might find something useful for myself in the process. I knew from experience that the cleaner an object is, the less likely it would be useful to a wanderer like me, but there was no harm in hoping.

But there was truly nothing in the facility.

To be precise, there were remnants like large metal rings that could fill an entire floor, or parts that might have been used for spacecraft. Things too massive to be considered human items. But nowhere could I find any trace of people.

It was strange. In my travels around the world, I’ve seen many buildings filled with human traces, buildings left abandoned with only spray-painted graffiti remaining, or buildings standing desolately with nothing at all.

But I had never seen a place like this—where traces of human habitation clearly existed, yet had been so cleanly erased. They say beautiful people leave beautiful places behind, and even if they had cleaned up before leaving, this was too empty.

To operate this massive facility, build and launch spacecraft, there would naturally need to be appropriate equipment and work environments.

But in this mostly circular space, all I could see were completed “results” and suspiciously vast empty spaces.

While personal items might be easy to remove, disposing of such equipment would be no simple task, and even if they had been disposed of, it would be nearly impossible to clean up so thoroughly that it seemed as if they “never existed in the first place.”

Having reached that point in my thinking, I naturally arrived at one conclusion.

“…This seems like ‘that thing’ I saw in the city.”

What if ordinary material equipment never existed here in the first place?

I had already seen a garden where leaves and grass swayed in the wind under a blue sky, even in the shadow of a metal world in the underground city.

If this place had been filled with a substance that could change form and properties according to the user’s wishes, making the impossible possible, it would explain the current emptiness.

“Now the important question is whether it naturally disappeared when the power was cut, or if people intentionally erased all traces before leaving…”

I confirmed while in the city that this substance needed power to maintain its proper properties.

Just as material that fell from a tree returned to its original state when brought close to the tree again, I also confirmed that once properties were assigned to the substance, it tried to maintain those possible properties.

Therefore, in the former case—if it simply lost its form due to power loss—I might be able to restore the facility’s original appearance by supplying electricity. I couldn’t be certain, but it was worth trying. Above all, it would be disappointing to leave without finding anything.

“Alright. Let’s first find a way to turn on the electricity.”

By my estimation, the top floor wasn’t built that long ago.

The museum, photo studio, and other places. Even considering that only a small number of people could access the top floor, the building was well-maintained and even had electricity, didn’t it? There must be some way to turn on the electricity, like a generator or circuit breaker.

“I came in with a light heart, but things have gotten a bit complicated. Well, that’s life.”

Through the window I glimpsed, it was too dark to see anything. I wanted to find what I was looking for before daybreak, so I’d have to search thoroughly starting from the first floor.

“…Come to think of it, I said I’d be back soon.”

If I had known it would be like this, maybe I should have forced them to come with me.

I thought about the two robots waiting for me in the car, then shook my head.

Whether I’m driving or here now, nothing’s different from their perspective. I don’t need to feel sorry.

Rather, this is, yes, time that’s necessary for both of us. It’s actually good that I found something to focus on.

Repeating such thoughts in my head, I started moving my feet to achieve the goal I had found, almost as if I were running away.

*

I climb up and down stairs. I move from building to building through passages made of glass so transparent that you can’t distinguish between outside and inside. Behind me, green dots remain like the breadcrumbs Hansel and Gretel left behind.

With an unlit cigarette in my mouth since I didn’t bring a torch to light it, I shake a spray can with a rattling sound as I advance through the dark corridor. Occasionally kicking stones is my way of chasing away the thick silence.

Circular buildings and circular rooms. Circular pillars and circular stairs. I don’t know what they were thinking when they built this place—to go down a floor, you have to circle the entire level to use the stairs on the opposite side. Going around and around these buildings makes me feel like my head is spinning.

Round and round and round and round. I move my legs while meaninglessly repeating these words, expressing what I’m feeling right now. The one fortunate thing is that while the path may be annoying, at least it’s not complicated. It’s already boring enough with so little to see—if I had to memorize paths with no distinguishing features, I might have truly lost my mind.

“Why did they build the buildings like this? Even with elevators, it’s so inefficient when you have to walk.”

The same stairs and the same corridors. Pass through the same rooms and go down to find the same floor. When I cross a passage and enter another building, a slightly different scenery welcomes me, but even there, the same landscape repeats itself.

Considering that this facility is circular, it means that unless I go out through an exit, I’m doomed to walk the same path forever.

“What’s the meaning of this?”

Why would humans, who pursued efficiency so diligently, come here and build such inefficient buildings?

Thinking there might be some meaning to it, I crossed another passage and entered a new building when—

I encountered the first trace left behind by people in this place.

“In a limited space, energy changes but does not disappear.

Therefore, all existence and energy infinitely repeat in a limited space and infinite time.”

Massive text scrawled across the gray wall.

On the wall I faced when I woke from my long sleep, text was written in a similar style.

Was it written by the same person? Or is there some connection between this facility and the place where I was?

Apart from being startled by the suddenly appearing text, I knew the content of this writing.

Let’s assume I’m trapped in a circular room, endlessly going around it.

A person’s gait is not consistent, and there are limits to physical endurance.

Therefore, when walking two laps, five laps, or ten laps, different footprints will inevitably be left.

But if this continues infinitely—billions, trillions, or even more times.

Since the actions I can take in my space are limited, eventually there will come a point where I repeat exactly what I’ve done before.

In other words, what’s written here means that while I think I’m living only this moment, from the perspective of infinite time, it’s already “predetermined,” and I’m merely following and repeating it.

A bleak and frightening statement that denies not only the value of my current actions and thoughts but even the freedom that humans consider their own.

Why would such text be written here?

Was it written by people who realized that whatever they did, nothing could be achieved, and only this cold and cruel reality would endlessly repeat, so they wrote it with a sense of resignation?

Hoping it wasn’t just that, I approached the text one step at a time.

“Huh?”

And the moment I slowly placed my hand on the wall.

Flash! A blue window I had been waiting for appeared before my eyes.

When asked if I wanted to supply power to the building, I answered without a moment’s hesitation.

Soon, from far away, the sound of lights turning on began, and the surroundings started to brighten.

Flash! Finally, the bright light turned on in the room where I was, and after squinting at the sudden illumination and opening my eyes again.

“What is this?” I couldn’t help but exclaim at the magnificent and splendid scenery unfolding around me.

Between cascading streams of light was a map of stars. The signpost of our souls that made the impossible possible.

Starting from the sun, then Mercury and Venus. Then Earth and surprisingly many other stars swimming through the void.

As if capturing the real movement of stars, they moved slowly but steadily along curves every second, connected by the efforts our humanity had made to leave our home.

Lines connecting from Earth and small dots around it to each planet.

When I carefully pressed on them, photos and records appeared showing when and where they were launched and what was achieved. Among them were photos that seemed to have been sent relatively recently.

“…That’s a relief.”

Humanity had not given up on survival. Whatever the outcome, the fact that they continuously challenged fate eased the anxiety that had risen in me when I saw the text.

Even if this universe is truly finite and this moment repeats endlessly, and we face the same despair again and again, what matters to us living in the present is only the immediate world we experience through our lives.

What does it matter if all this repeats endlessly and our actions are predetermined? Even so, the future for us remains obscured by an opaque veil of the unknown.

What mattered was now. Faith and happiness in my choices in this moment. And a clear will to never give up. To love my own fate in any moment, to have confidence and faith in what I choose to do. To find value in the immediate attempt and choice, not the result.

The people who came here even as the world was ending, calculating humanity’s last chance for survival, knew this. They didn’t settle for the dying reality but left their homeland to pioneer new lands and possibilities, venturing into the unknown.

Countless lines departing from Earth, traveling so far that the solar system appears as a tiny dot.

At the end of these lines that traveled immeasurably far were mostly what was labeled as probes, or the last signals of something that had gone missing.

But among them, there were also spacecraft still blinking with the light of life, navigating through the sea of possibilities.

I don’t know if there are really people aboard.

Even if there are, I don’t know if their consciousness is living in the same time as mine.

But still, the fact that humanity never gave up until the end.

That alone gave me considerable comfort.