I’m an Infinite Regressor, But I’ve Got Stories to Tell

Chapter 2

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The same phenomenon repeated itself on the 24th and 25th runs. I had to experience the timeline where Old Man Scho died a total of three times. The only factor separating these runs from the others was whether a single comrade was with me, yet the perceived difficulty had increased five or sixfold. It was then that I realized how much I had been relying on Old Man Scho all this time.

It finally happened in the 26th run.

"I'm sorry."

There was a café in the old Baekje Hospital building. He must have predicted that I would come rushing over and was using the empty café to brew coffee at his leisure.

The café au lait Old Man Scho prepared was truly delicious. It was back in the 11th run, I think? It must have been thanks to the barista skills he acquired then.

"Show your face, old man," I called out in German. By the 26th run, I too could recite poetry in foreign languages.

"Is this you forgiving me?"

"7, 7, 7."

"…?"

"Do you know what those numbers mean?"

"…A casino slot machine jackpot?"

"No. They're the runs I endured without you. Together, they add up to 21 years. Damn, after not seeing you for over 20 years, I'm about to forget what you even look like. Let's talk face to face."

Old Man Scho didn't respond, seemingly cowed into silence.

I sat opposite him and gulped down my coffee. By now, I could waltz into whatever café I so pleased and loot a quick cup, but I hadn't been able to drink the real deal for five long years.

As someone who had just lived through a run of seven years before dying, indulging in genuine café au lait and not some assembly-line imitation was a luxury I couldn't afford. Regression wasn't all bad. Coffee. Draft beer. Cigarettes. Not-yet-deceased comrades… Experiencing them all again was tremendously important to me.

"21 years, huh... Remarkable. From my perspective, I last saw you less than an hour ago."

It seemed not for Old Man Scho.

More precisely, the most precious thing on his list of 'memories to keep fresh in mind' was still just out of reach.

"But I understand. I haven't seen my wife's face for over a hundred years myself. I know what it feels like."

"......"

"I can see her face in photos. I can watch videos I've saved to hear her voice. But still, there's a dry well inside me that remains unfilled."

My foreboding feeling was not misplaced.

If this had been like any other regression story, Old Man Scho would have kept his mental fortitude, I would have found some miraculous solution within the restrictions, and the elderly couple might have reunited after overcoming a century of separation.

"I want to see my wife in person."

But as I said, my story is not a tale of success but an afterword chronicling a series of failures.

Old Man Scho's spirit had broken. In less than 30 seconds, he had taken his own life three times just so he could talk to his wife. There was no way for me to save him.

"Do you not understand me? You are the one person who should understand. Use your abilities to help me..."

"That's not possible," I flatly refused.

Just as Old Man Scho had a natural talent for swordsmanship, I too had various abilities besides regression. Opportunities to discuss my powers will come in due time, but for the purposes of this discussion here, the ability Old Man Scho was referring to was 'Time Seal'. And I had no intention of using it on a comrade I could see with my own two eyes.

"You know, old man. Once time is sealed, it's over. It never comes undone—no amount of regressions can break it."

"Maybe, but I could still talk to her in my dreams."

"You would just be repeating the same day forever."

"How is that any different from our current situation?"

This time, I was the one left without an answer.

"...Still," I said after a moment's hesitation, "it's not possible. We can't afford to lose our strongest ally like this."

"So be it."

Had he anticipated my reaction? As soon as Plan A was rejected, Old Man Scho immediately proposed Plan B.

"You keep trying until you find a solution. Keep regressing until you can save people in Seoul within a minute of starting. Or, until you admit it's impossible and give up like I did."

"What about you?"

"I'm tired. Really… I've grown weary. So I will just rest a while until you come to a conclusion."

That night, Old Man Scho took his own life.

That was the 'rest' he had talked about.

"…My God."

Fitting for a swordsman who had reached realms lofty enough to be titled a Sword Star, Old Man Scho could wield an explosive aura powerful enough to blow one's head off. It would have been a painless death.

The 27th, 28th, and 29th runs brought no changes.

Old Man Scho was found dead on the rooftop of the café building that once housed the hospital.

Whenever I went to the café after clearing the dungeon at Busan Station, there would always be a cup of café au lait on the table, greeting me with a warm puff of air.

Underneath the coffee cup, there was a note.

-Shouldn't you think about giving up, my friend?

I smiled wryly.

“…I guess I've stumbled across a regular café to visit every decade.”

Once, I imagined the life of my comrade.

For Old Man Scho, life had been reduced to calls with his wife lasting about 10 to 20 seconds and then spending 10 minutes preparing a café au lait for an old comrade who might visit him. This repetition had not changed, from the 29th to the 1183rd regression.

A body on the rooftop. A cup of café au lait on the table.

Who was crazier: the regressor who had not once taken his own life in over a thousand cycles, or the one who had incessantly done so over a thousand times? I couldn’t tell.

However, with each new run, a gradual change began to make itself known in the content of the calls between Old Man Scho and his wife.

?God! You finally picked up the phone!?

?Emit? What’s wrong? I’m at a conference right now…?

?I love you, Adele. I love you. I will always love you.?

Old Man Scho always recorded his conversations with his wife, perhaps to replay the calls before ending his short life. Thanks to that, I could overhear what the elderly couple talked about every time.

?I love you, Adele… I love you.?

During the first ten or so regressions, there was no significant change. Old Man Scho was simply trying desperately to convey his love to his wife. But after the 30th cycle, the content of the calls began to subtly change.

?Adele, actually I'm repeating my life. The world is going to end, but I still love you.?

?Oh my God. Have you been drinking? Why are you acting like a child? Wait a minute, Emit. There’s something strange in the sky…?

Regression.

?Do you remember? 20 years ago in Turin. I went under the bridge and picked a yellow flower for you. What was the name of that flower??

?What? You're calling me now to ask that??

?Please answer me, Adele. I’ll die if you don’t.?

Regression.

?Sorry, what was your brother’s name again??

?Maximilian, but why—??

?Ah! Yes, Maximilian! Haha, I had forgotten! Thanks!?

?Hah… hopeless. Wait? There’s some noise coming from the sky…?

It was curious.

As the regressions continued, the calls Old Man Scho had with his wife shifted from being merely one-sided transmissions to something resembling a real conversation. They were brief, lasting only about 20 seconds before cutting off, but when pieced together, they almost seemed to form a proper exchange of dialogue.

?I’ve never liked that guy Maximilian.?

?Huh? Suddenly??

?He doesn’t think family is important at all! The guy's got his priorities all mixed up. He just pretends to listen in front of you.?

?Emit? Wait. Something strange is happening in the sky…?

?Honey, remember Christmas? When your brother brought someone he said was his girlfriend. Honestly, is Maximilian gay??

?Huh? Suddenly? Why are you asking this over the phone…? Wait, Emit. It’s weird. I hear something in the sky.?

?Exactly! My intuition is never wrong. Adele. Your brother is absolutely gay!?

?God! Emit, what are you talking about all of a sudden??

?No, I have nothing against it. It’s just that you and your brother assumed I wouldn’t accept it and have kept it a secret all this time, and that feels disappointing.?

?I’m going crazy. What the…? Wait, let’s save this conversation for when we meet in person! There’s a strange noise coming from the sky.?

?Adele. We need to be more open-minded with each other! I’m not a closed-minded old man like your father!?

If one ignored the fact that the elderly couple’s lives were ‘paused’, their exchange appeared to be a fully two-way conversation.

“So the old man’s words had some merit.”

Eventually, I had to admit it. What Old Man Scho called ‘rest’ was indeed just that.

With each passing cycle, as the calls became longer, the life returned to Old Man Scho's voice, and memories of the past, once long forgotten, were revived. Over time, he seemed to care less and less about this word coming to an end.

Even so, Old Man Scho did not stop taking his own life. Or rather—to put it in his words—he did not stop making calls to his wife.

By the 500th cycle, I had stopped eavesdropping on Old Man Scho’s calls.

The content had gradually become too intimate for outsiders to eavesdrop on. I never had any desire to know even the slightest detail regarding his sexual preferences. Perhaps he couldn’t even imagine that I’d been eavesdropping on his phone conversations all along.

However, every time a new run began, I would be sure to stop by the building and have a cup of café au lait.

Emit Schopenhauer, my former colleague from the distant past whose memory was now shrouded in obscurity. His choice of café au lait felt like a ritual, a way to fortify ourselves for the challenges ahead.

This was no different during my 1183rd regression. Beneath the coffee cup, the note lay there like always.

-Are you still not giving up, my friend?

Well, to be honest, I had given up, but I didn’t want to admit it to this young man. (By now, my age far surpassed his.) Perhaps someday, I’ll confess, but for now, a little mischief wouldn't hurt. After all, I’ve spent thousands of years alone. I've earned it.

‘…Come to think of it, I wonder what Scho is talking about with her?’

Suddenly, curiosity struck. It had been a long time since I retrieved Scho’s old smartphone to listen to his recorded calls.

When I pressed the play button, Scho's distinctive, lively voice burst forth.

?Honey! I’ve told you a thousand times, drink only zero-calorie soda! Sugar isn’t good for your health!?

?What??

I sipped my café au lait inside the café, the argument playing out like coffee shop background music.

The coffee was delicious.

Footnotes:

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