The director's gaze shifted to the briefcase resting on Mario's lap.
"…As for that sword."
"I found it during the war—at one of the inheritance sites."
His fingers tightened slightly on the armrest as old memories surfaced.
"Back then, I was only a second-cycle martial artist, traveling with my team… before we were ambushed by those people."
His eyes dimmed, his gaze drifting for a moment.
"…Their abilities were too strange. One of them could make fire appear anywhere, while another used some kind of doll as a medium to harm us."
A bitter smile formed on the director's face.
"If not for our leader using some kind of forbidden martial technique to hold them back, the rest of us wouldn't have escaped."
"We all ran in different directions, hoping that at least some of us would survive."
He slowly exhaled, unclenching his hands to steady himself.
"For two whole days, I ran. I didn't stop… Fortunately I didn't encounter any beasts during that time."
"Then, maybe because of exhaustion, I gradually lost consciousness. At that moment, I thought I was going to die…"
'…And maybe a part of me hoped I would.'
After another quiet sigh, he looked at the briefcase again.
"When I woke up, I was in a strange cave. In front of me was a mummified corpse, seated with that black sword resting on its lap."
"I was confused—until the corpse began to glow. Then an illusionary figure appeared, merging with it, making it seem as though it had come back to life for a moment."
"He told me he had saved me to pass on his legacy… and to ask for my help in delivering a message."
The director shook his head. "But since I was already a martial artist, I couldn't inherit his full legacy. I could only take the sword. Before he vanished, he told me the message."
"After that, I returned to the capital and spent a year recovering in the hospital. Then I tried to find the person he wanted me to deliver the message to…"
"…but I learned that they had already moved to the Holy Kingdom—the strongest nation at that time."
The director looked at Mario. "That's pretty much everything."
Looking into the director's eyes, Mario could tell he was avoiding a certain topic—likely something related to his former team. However, he respected the director and chose not to ask.
The director's expression then turned serious as he shifted to another subject.
"I don't know if it's true or not, but I have a feeling the war didn't truly end."
"Part of me didn't want you to live the way I did. But at the same time, I didn't want to cage you here either—even if you wouldn't mind it."
He stood up and walked toward the window, gazing at something far beyond.
Mario remained seated, silently watching his back.
For a brief moment, an illusion flickered in his mind—his simulated self overlapping with the director's silhouette. Along with it, the memory of him forcing Kevin away resurfaced.
Mario shook his head lightly, pushing the thought aside, just as the director spoke again.
"Child, live for yourself. Don't think about me or what happened to me in that dream of yours. Instead, find something that could make you happy—I mean truly happy." The director paused, his voice lowering to a whisper. "…Don't become like me.""
Mario didn't catch the last words clearly, but he had a vague sense of their meaning.
"Go to the capital. Enroll in the Unique Skill Academy. Find someone… and build your own family," the director continued without turning back.
Even though pushing Mario away hurt him deeply—especially since, among all the children in the orphanage, Mario was the only one he had ever treated differently, even going as far as giving him his own name—he still forced himself to continue.
If it were only his own feelings, he would have wanted Mario to stay. But after hearing Mario's story about his simulated self, he could no longer bear the thought of letting history repeat itself.
"You can leave now. I want to be alone for a while. Before you go, take the pouch—and there's no need for goodbyes."
The director spoke without turning around.
Hearing that familiar phrasing, Mario felt his chest tighten, his heartbeat slowing for a moment.
'It hurts…?'
He stood up, took the briefcase, and left the pouch behind.
Without another word, he walked out of the orphanage. The sky had already dimmed, and for over two hours he continued walking as if in a daze.
But eventually, he made it home safely.
He sat on his wooden bed and placed the briefcase beside him, letting out a long, heavy breath.
As if trying to distract himself from his feelings, a thought drifted into his mind.
'I forgot to buy food for tonight.'
But even that failed to pull him away.
Mario shook his head, the director's words resurfacing again.
'Live for myself…?'
'And what does he mean by finding something that can truly make me happy…?'
As the question formed, memories from the simulation surfaced in his mind once more—this time far clearer than before.
He remembered his simulated self's life, the relentless effort, and the final moment of death.
'…I think the simulated me lived a fairly content life… Doesn't that mean he was happy?'
No answer came immediately.
"…I don't know."
Unconsciously, Kevin's face surfaced in his thoughts.
And in that instant, the heaviness in his chest shifted into something emptier—something hollow.
Mario exhaled slowly, trying to push the feeling away.
But it didn't fade.
Eventually, he slid the briefcase beneath the wooden bed, then lay down quietly.
He closed his eyes.
It didn't take long before sleep took him.
***
Shhhhhh~
The familiar sound of flowing water whispered into his ears.
Mario slowly opened his eyes and found himself floating once again.
For a moment, confusion lingered in his mind before his gaze slowly scanned the surroundings.
He was inside a room filled with knives, pans, a stove, and various kitchen tools.
"…I'm dreaming again," he muttered.
A moment later, the door opened.
A middle-aged man entered, followed by a young Kevin.
Mario observed the man closely—emerald green eyes, long black hair, and a ruggedly handsome face. It was him. His simulated self.
The middle-aged Mario took a large fish from the freezer and placed it on the table.
Then, he picked up a knife and carefully demonstrated how to prepare it for Kevin.
After finishing, he handed another fish to the young boy, allowing him to try on his own.
Young Kevin paused, thinking carefully as he recalled the earlier demonstration before slowly imitating the steps.
Whenever he forgot, he would stop and look at the middle-aged Mario with a timid expression, silently asking for guidance.
And the older man would respond calmly, patiently correcting him each time.
Time passed. Hours became days. Days became weeks.
Eventually, the child managed to fully clean and gut the fish.
After that, the older Mario showed him how to cook it, then let him try again on his own.
When the fish was finally done, a strong unpleasant smell filled the air—judging by Kevin's expression, it was barely edible.
After hesitating, Kevin took a small bite. His face immediately twisted, as though he was on the verge of spitting it out.
But before he could, the middle-aged Mario also took a spoonful and tasted it. Unlike Kevin, his expression remained unchanged as he swallowed.
"…Not edible," he said flatly.
At those words, a faint blush appeared on Kevin's face. Still, he forced himself to swallow it as well, though with a grimace.
Then Mario, floating beside them, noticed something unexpected.
A small trace of amusement appeared on the middle-aged Mario's face as he looked at Kevin's reaction.
"…Is that really me…?" Mario muttered.
Then the surroundings shifted.
He found himself in a large room filled with toys and action figures. The bed was made of polished wood.
Young Kevin sat on it, leaning against the headboard, a fever patch on his forehead. His face looked pale and weak.
The middle-aged Mario sat beside him, holding a bowl of steaming food as he slowly fed him.
And there—another unfamiliar expression.
Worry. And gentleness.
The scene puzzled him. The memories he'd received were clearest around the moment his simulated self and Kevin had separated—so he only knew that version of himself at that particular time, and hadn't expected this.
But before he could dwell on it, the surroundings fell apart.
For a brief moment, he seemed to glimpse an absolute darkness, and at its center, a white sphere.
Its color was uneven—a small portion was a deeper white, while the rest was lighter. In that fleeting instant, it looked as though the lighter portion was slowly merging into the smaller, deeper one.
Then—nothing.
***
He opened his eyes to the familiar ceiling, dim light filtering through the small holes in the roof.
Slowly, he sat up—then immediately flinched as a sharp hunger twisted in his stomach.
Without hesitation, he stood, took two pills from the bottle, and headed out toward the southern part of the city to work.
On the way, he stopped by a convenience store and spent his last silver coin on a piece of bread and a small bottle of water.
He ate half the bread together with one of the nutrition pills before continuing on his way.
When he reached the familiar warehouse, something surfaced in his mind.
Between the tangled thoughts and the flood of simulation memories, Mario had forgotten about the warehouse owner's words—and the gift he had left behind.
After greeting the guards, he entered, checked in with the timekeeper, and made his way toward the owner's office.
He knocked once. Then again.
No response.
Only then did he remember—the warehouse owner had said he would be away for the next two months.
'My memories are getting messy because of the simulation… Is this one of the side effects it mentioned?'
He shook the thought away and headed toward the loaders instead.
Then he got straight to work.
An hour later, while gutting and cleaning fish, a familiar cool sensation passed through his body.
His brows tightened briefly as he instinctively checked his panel inwardly.
He ignored the grayed-out section related to his unique skill and focused on the rest.
[Skill: Fish Cleaning — Tier 0 (Intermediate) 5/300]
It had changed from (Beginner) 3/100 to (Intermediate) 5/300.
He paused for a moment.
'Is this the benefit the simulation was talking about?'
"So I can gain experience… but my body still needs time to adapt," he muttered.
He dismissed the panel and returned to work.
Cut the belly. Remove the intestines. Rinse with water. Place it with the clean ones.
Repeat.
For the next few hours, Mario continued without pause, fully focused on cleaning and gutting fish. Without realizing it, his hands gradually settled into a steady rhythm.
The decade of experience from the simulation quietly aligned with his movements, unnoticed by him.
Then the bell rang, signaling break time.
The sound broke his concentration. He looked down at his hands.
A cleaned fish. A knife.
He rinsed it one last time and tossed it into the basin with the others.
'What was that?'
It felt as though he had become someone else—or rather, as though another version of him had briefly overlapped with his own.
He stood up and washed his hands.
'Is this another benefit?'
With a slight shake of his head, he picked up his leftover bread and joined the other workers.
For the first time in two years, Mario ate in silence, without exchanging a single word with anyone.