Klein Moretti sat in the dark confessional booth, his back straight, his mind racing.
On the other side of the screen, the woman who would become the Evernight Goddess had just asked him a question that cut through time itself.
"Who are you, Sherlock Moriarty?"
Klein hesitated. To reveal his identity was a risk. To reveal the truth about the timeline was an even bigger risk. But this was Amanises. The fellow transmigrator who had helped him ascend in his own time. If there was anyone in this epoch he could trust with the burden of the future, it was her.
He took a deep breath. He didn't speak. Instead, he visualized a symbol. Not the symbol of The Fool. He visualized a smartphone. A modern, rectangular device glowing with blue light.
On the other side of the screen, the pressure vanished instantly. A soft, incredulous laugh echoed in the dream.
"I see," the woman said. Her voice changed. The divine indifference melted away, replaced by a tone that sounded shockingly... human. It was warmer, livelier. "So you really are a 'Junior'. When did you wake up?"
"It is complicated," Klein said, relaxing slightly. "I am from the future. From the Fifth Epoch."
"The Fifth Epoch?" The woman whistled softly. "That is quite a jump. I assume I am still around? Or did I finally retire to a nice villa in the astral world?"
"You are the Evernight Goddess," Klein said respectfully. "One of the Orthodox Deities."
"Orthodox? Me?" She chuckled again. "That sounds boring."
She leaned closer to the screen. "So, Junior. Why are you here? Tourism? Or did something break?"
"This is a Recorded Past," Klein explained quickly. "We are trapped in a fragment of history. Our mission... the condition for our escape... is to prevent the death of the God Almighty."
The laughter stopped. The silence in the booth grew heavy.
"Prevent His death..." she murmured. Her voice lost its playful edge, turning sharp and analytical. "So, Grisha's plan fails?"
"Grisha?" Klein blinked.
She clarified. "That's what I call him. He hates it. He prefers 'The Creator' or 'Sun God', but he's just a researcher with a god complex." She sighed. "He plans to purge the Primordial One's will by resurrecting himself. I assume... it fails?"
"Yes," Klein confirmed. "Leodero (Lord of Storms), Herabergen (God of Knowledge), and Aucuses (Eternal Blazing Sun). They consume his body during the critical moment."
"Those fools," Amanises hissed. There was no divine wrath in her tone, just pure, unadulterated annoyance. "I told him those three were ambitious. Especially Aucuses. He always stares at the sun too much."
She tapped her fingers on the confessional ledge.
"This changes things. If they betray him..."
She paused, then suddenly, the cheerful energy returned. "Alright! I'll help you."
"Just like that?" Klein asked, surprised by her decisiveness.
"Why not?" She laughed. "If you succeed, I gain a powerful ally in the future. If you fail... well, this is just a recording, isn't it? No harm done." She shifted. "Besides, it's been ages since I talked to someone who gets my jokes. Grisha is always busy playing God, and Lilith is also very busy lately... It's lonely at the top, Junior."
She sounded so... outgoing. So different from the silent, mysterious Goddess of the Fifth Epoch.
'Is this her true nature?' Klein wondered. 'Before the weight of divinity crushed her humanity?'
"Listen closely," Amanises said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "You and your companions... you should join Rose Redemption."
"Rose Redemption?" Klein's heart skipped a beat. The organization dedicated to the Creator's resurrection.
"Yes. We are meeting in two days," she said. "The Kings of Angels will be there. Sasrir will be there. Even I will be there.Meet me in the Northern Continent. In the Amantha Mountain Range. I will vouch for you."
"Amantha..." Klein memorized the name. "Thank you. I..."
CRACK.
The dream didn't fade. It shattered. A force of immense, crushing gravity slammed into the confessional booth. The wood splintered. The velvet curtains disintegrated.
"Oh?" Amanises looked up, not alarmed, but impressed. The darkness of her domain was being torn apart by a sheer, brute force that defied the laws of the dream world.
"It seems your wake-up call has arrived," she said, her silhouette fading as the dream collapsed. She smiled. "You have powerful companions, Sherlock Moriarty. Dangerous ones."
"Wait!" Klein reached out.
"Two days!" Her voice echoed from the dissolving void. "Amantha. Don't be late!"
Klein jolted awake.
He gasped, sitting up in bed, cold sweat drenching his back.
A hand was hovering over his face. It was glowing with a terrifying, golden light that twisted gravity itself.
The Secretive Plotter stood over him, his eyes dark with suspicion.
"What..." Klein panted, pushing the hand away. "What are you doing?"
The Plotter withdrew his hand. The golden light faded.
"I felt an intrusion," he said calmly. "A foreign entity entered your dream space. A high-level one. I thought you were being attacked."
"I was negotiating," Klein groaned, rubbing his temples. "You just crushed the dream of a Goddess."
"A Goddess?" The Plotter raised an eyebrow.
"Yes," Klein climbed out of bed, his legs shaky. "She is... an ally. Or she will be."
He walked to the window. The sun was high in the sky.
"We have a destination. The Northern Continent. The Amantha Mountain Range."
"Why?" the Plotter asked.
"To meet Rose Redemption," Klein said. "And our new ally. Arianna might have talked about 'Her' a lot."
***
Kim Dokja opened his eyes. He wasn't in the safehouse. He wasn't in Sefirah Castle. He was back in the Library.
But it looked different. The shelves were taller, stretching into infinity. The lighting was warmer. And sitting on a stack of books titled [The 41st Regression] was a teenager.
He wore a fedora and round glasses. He had soft white hair and a face that looked like a younger, innocent version of Bihyung.
"You're awake," the teen said, not looking up from the book he was reading.
"You..." Dokja approached him. "You're the boy from before. You grew up."
"Time passes differently here," the teen shrugged. He closed the book. "You were reckless, Kim Dokja. Consuming the Sequence 9 to 4 potions... you almost lost control."
"I had to," Dokja said defensively. "Besides, I knew that you'd help me."
The dokkaebi teen sighed. He pointed to a section of the library where four glass jars sat on a shelf. Inside each jar swirled a different colored liquid.
[Sequence 9: Marauder]
[Sequence 8: Swindler] ...and so on.
"I isolated the characteristics," the teen explained. "They are part of you, but they are 'shelved'. You can access their powers, but they won't clash with your main Story until you digest them one by one. Properly."
He hopped off the books. "Remember the Acting Method for the Marauder pathway. It is about theft. Not just of items, but of rules, of logic, of fate. You must become a glitch in the system."
"I know," Dokja nodded. "I'm good at finding glitches."
"And for the Swindler..." the teen smirked. "Well, you don't need lessons on lying."
Dokja rolled his eyes. "Thanks."
He turned to leave, but then stopped.
The teen paused. He adjusted his glasses. A small, sad smile played on his lips.
"I think..." the teen whispered, his voice fading as the library began to dissolve around them. "I think I am starting to remember."
Kim Dokja woke up. He was lying on the sofa in the living room. The house was empty. Klein and the Plotter were gone.
Sniff.
A delicious smell wafted from the kitchen. It smelled like... dumpling soup? And stir-fried pork? It was the smell of a home-cooked meal, something he hadn't smelled in years.
His stomach grumbled. He stood up, his legs wobbling slightly, and followed the scent.
He walked into the kitchen. Standing on the counter, wearing a tiny, perfectly tailored apron over his black coat, was a Kkoma.
He looked exactly like Yoo Joonghyuk, but chibisized. He had the same scowl, the same handsome features, but he was the size of a doll. On his cheek was the number [999].
The Kkoma was stirring a pot that was almost as big as he was, using a ladle with practiced ease.
He looked up as Dokja entered. His expression was one of utter disdain, but his hands kept stirring the soup.
"Oh," the 999th Kkoma said, his voice high-pitched but dripping with the same arrogance as the original. "You are awake, Sleeping Beauty?"
Dokja stared at him.
He stared at the apron.
He stared at the soup.
"Yoo... Joonghyuk?"