Tap, tap. He knocked the middle of the pipe against his forehead. He knew that even saying such things, when it actually came down to it, he wouldn’t go. Tap, tap. Pipe ash fell onto his pants, and the ember that hadn’t gone out yet singed a mark into the fabric. He stared at it blankly for a moment, then gave himself fully over to the bed.
“What am I going to do for food.”
Here or there, a person who wanted to die was still a person who wanted to die. Worrying about what to eat was the same then as it was now. What an irony.
* * *
The strange experiences weren’t anything like a dream. It had already been over a week since Hyeonwoo arrived here. Aside from the occasional bouts of pain from the curse, it was manageable enough. The house was bigger than the one in reality (and above all, it was his house), and he at least had the means to feed himself.
Maybe it was because he’d been a loser and a shut-in in real life. If he was going to be a shut-in either way, the life he had now was obviously the better one.
For the entire week, he hadn’t taken a single step outside. That was just how he was — and the in-game Hyeonwoo had lived no differently from himself. Which meant the storage was packed with preserved foods that could keep for a long time.
“Hmm.”
His long hair, which fell all the way to his waist, kept getting in the way, so he tied it up. The annoying part was that with a DEX stat as high as his, it should have been tied up neatly and properly — but it absolutely was not.
From the hair tie down, stray strands poked out every which way or slipped out entirely, leaving a disheveled mess. His brow furrowed on top of it all.
[Unique Ability:
Midas’ Hands | All actions in the Creation, Crafting, and Repair categories are influenced by DEX. Critical success rate is increased. DEX stat has no influence on anything else whatsoever.]
It was because of the unique ability the Hyeonwoo character possessed. Creation, crafting, repair. Broadly speaking, it made him exceptional at those things — in exchange for being utterly hopeless at anything else that used his hands.
“What kind of bullshit……”
When he’d played as Hyeonwoo in the game, it had been a trait so good it might as well have been SS+ tier. Actually useful in a lot of ways, too. …Yeah, right. Now that he was experiencing it firsthand, it was an absolutely garbage trait. A trait that meant he couldn’t even tie his own hair properly? Just as useless as his real-life self.
In the end he gave up on tying it and yanked it loose roughly. Then he collapsed onto the sofa.
He picked up the pipe and puffed on it lazily. He fixed his gaze on the ceiling and exhaled smoke. Thunk — the arm holding the pipe dropped limply over the side of the sofa.
“So I’m inside the game……”
His eyes went vacant, unfocused. He stared into empty air and zoned out. There wasn’t much he’d figured out since arriving here. For one, he could pull up and see the system window. Was there perhaps another player in this Limit world besides Hyeonwoo? …Was that just another delusion the depression was showing him.
The system window was the same as it had been in Limit. Just like in Limit, without a special item, he could only see his own system window. Other people’s ability windows — he had no idea about those. Honestly, before even thinking about other people’s ability windows, he hadn’t gone outside to meet any other people.
And there was one more thing. Something odd. The residence-slash-workshop where Hyeonwoo was staying now was in worse shape than he remembered, and things that should have been there weren’t. This workshop had been upgraded several times to support the kids, and there had been a lot of stored materials.
But now there were no traces of upgrades — and no signs of destruction either. He opened the system window. Then closed it. He kept opening and closing it for a long time. The pipe in his hand was in danger of slipping. He gripped his forehead and sank into thought. What’s going on.
“Did a bug trigger on the wrong date…… Is this a glitch.”
[Imperial Year 10. The month the goddess’s hair sways in the flower-scented breeze, Day 10.]
[2:25 PM.]
It was then that a corner of the system window he’d been opening and closing caught his eye.
He scratched his head. The workshop was deep in a forest. A barrier had been erected, so there was no need to worry about attacks from wild animals or monsters. If his guess was right and this was before the upgrades, it wasn’t a particularly good barrier — but still.
Either way, the reason he hadn’t lost his sense of time living in isolation here was the system. For Hyeonwoo, who had been a gaming addict, knowing how to check the date in Limit was second nature.
The month about the goddess’s hair swaying in flower-scented breezes was spring, at any rate. Roughly equivalent to around May 10th in real terms — but the Imperial Year 10 at the front…
“The kids shouldn’t be active yet.”
Kids.
That was the pet name Hyeonwoo used for his characters. He didn’t know when it had started. A long time ago, when he’d created the four characters other than Hyeonwoo. Hyeonwoo had always called the characters he raised kids, or babies. Probably the same way his mother had called him, probably a habit she’d passed on to him without meaning to.
“…Imperial Year 10.”
Around this time would be when he’d abandoned “Hyeonwoo.” When he’d just created the kids and they were in the early stages of growth. Each of them had made a name for themselves at different times, but it was certain that by around Imperial Year 10, he had discarded his first character, Hyeonwoo. Having gone through trial and error, he’d reached the point of creating stronger characters that wouldn’t fail him again.
On top of that, it was also around the time he’d been grinding himself to the bone to grow them. At this point in the story, most of them would be rolling around in the slums…
“Stats… time……”
One of the two was wrong. If the system window was right and the time had gone back to the past, then the workshop not yet being upgraded made sense. The puzzle fit. But what was subtly off was Hyeonwoo’s stats.
Either way, as an artisan-type supporter, he had leveled up by crafting equipment and artifacts for the kids (one of the leveling methods for the artisan class). But right now, before he’d grown — meaning before he’d even started supporting the kids — his level and stats were already raised.
Why are they the same stats as when I last saw them. There was nothing he could figure out. They were pathetic stats, but better than nothing. Without meeting the kids, the mystery probably wouldn’t be solved. There was a chance some of the other kids had also brought over their final stats.
“……”
So it had come to the point where he needed to think about it seriously. Were the kids he’d created — his main characters — really here in this world? They’d have to be, he supposed. Since he was here. He felt like he should at least confirm it.
Alright, then — a problem arose. The most annoying scenario he could imagine, one he’d rather not think about at all. Unconsciously, he assumed the worst case first.
If his main characters didn’t exist in this world, that was fine. But what if they did? And what if, in line with the Imperial Year timeline, they were versions of the kids who hadn’t grown yet? What if they went through the exact same process that he’d put them through?
“……”
They were the ones who had risen to the top with the help of the artisan-type supporter “Hyeonwoo.” He had made them that way. From the very beginning, Hyeonwoo’s sacrifice had been a given in their growth. It was systematic. He had laid out the whole plan from the start so they could grow through Hyeonwoo’s support.
“…Do I really have to do it.”
Should I just not.
If they really did follow the same process, it was obvious without even looking that things would get annoying. Back in Limit — it was literally just Limit. A game.
Having one of his own characters receive support from another character to grow stronger was nothing significant. But what if that became reality? Did he really have to help them?
“……”
There was too much he needed to figure out. Did the kids he’d created — his main characters — really exist here? If they did, were they currently at a stage of growth? If they were growing, could this Hyeonwoo just look the other way…
“Ah, damn it.”
Of course not. Hyeonwoo had to feel responsible for them. He was the one who had created them, and even more so because he had pushed them into that pit.
He’d almost picked up his mother’s habits again. If he wasn’t careful, the kids might end up with scars on their wrists too.
They were children he had brought into existence. So he had to. He had to look after them. That was the duty of a parent. He didn’t want to be an irresponsible person. He couldn’t let their brilliant futures fall into ruin because of one useless bastard.
And they were what Hyeonwoo had always wanted to be —
* * *
Once he’d made up his mind, things moved forward smoothly enough. His characteristic laziness delayed the plan by a few days, but since he more or less remembered when and what would happen (not precisely), he figured he just needed to be prepared by then.
“Mail.”
Hyeonwoo said it out loud with confidence. Nothing happened. Face already scrunching, he called out again, louder: “Mail.”
“Ha.”
The mail window he’d expected didn’t appear. The system window came up fine — but every convenience feature outside of the system window refused to work.
“The hell, if that’s how it is, don’t show me the system window either.”
He muttered under his breath and dropped heavily into his seat. He stuffed some herbs into the pipe and lit it with a match.
His violet eyes were hazy. Hard to tell if he was dozing or just blanking out. As much effort as had gone into the customization, the white figure sometimes looked not entirely human.
Then he jumped to his feet belatedly and tried again.
“Inventory.”
That didn’t work either. With his current specs (limited to DEX), he had the capacity to craft equipment and artifacts for the kids right up until the end. So as long as he had materials, he could recreate those items from back then. The problem was……
“Am I broke……”
No inventory, and the crafting materials he had on hand were severely lacking. …Which made sense. When he’d been supporting the kids, he’d received the spoils and materials they gathered and used those to craft. But at this point in time, when Hyeonwoo was flat broke, making items to support them was going to be difficult.
So what — Hyeonwoo would go out and gather materials himself? That made no sense. Hyeonwoo was a support class, not a combat class. He’d be lucky not to die getting beaten by some random mob while gathering material items. On top of that, he never knew when that damned curse would flare up, which was exactly why he kept the pipe in his mouth at all times.
“……”
He spent a good while burning through tobacco and time like that. He ran a hand roughly through his hair and got to his feet. His body felt stiff — but it had to be lighter than his old fat body.
So why does it not feel lighter. He laughed grimly and let muscle memory guide him. This place was Hyeonwoo’s home and his workplace. There was a separate workshop. At the very least, there ought to be some leftover scraps of crafting materials in there.
