Kesiba had returned to the underworld.
All things considered, the underworld was still relatively safe.
He sat alone in a bar, lost in thought, slowly drinking. Under his breath, he murmured a single name.
"York..."
They had known each other a long time.
York had told Lorc that Kesiba used to be an official—but he'd conveniently left out the part where he himself had once held the same title.
Back then, they weren't friends. Merely colleagues.
When Hossie launched his revolution, Kesiba had been the first to surrender.
But surrendering brought him no reward. On the contrary, because he had once stood on the side being overthrown, life under Hossie was particularly harsh for him.
This was why so many chose to resist to the bitter end.
To surrender meant to lose everything—and sometimes, it meant falling even lower than the average citizen.
Some had deluded themselves into thinking their prior status would earn them a high post under Hossie's new regime.
But reality didn't care.
The wave Hossie unleashed was brutal, uncompromising, and absolute. It accepted no negotiations.
York had stood on the resisting side.
Kesiba, because of his former identity, was assigned to persuade the remaining officials—York included—to surrender.
Naturally, avoiding bloodshed was the ideal outcome.
Kesiba contacted York. He succeeded in convincing him. He even promised York decent treatment. And in the end, though they both ended up as laborers under the new order, at least they had survived.
It was during that long, bitter transition that they forged a genuine bond—born not from old loyalties, but shared suffering.
After the Hossie Eternal Cycle Star Nation was formally established, both of them were discharged from the military and became ordinary citizens.
Lorc had misunderstood—York didn't owe Kesiba any favors.
When Kesiba sent Lorc to York, it wasn't to exploit a debt. It was to warn York. Star City 5 might soon be in danger.
And York had understood that message clearly.
That was why, later, he told Lorc to pass along a message: that he was leaving.
But Kesiba knew better.
York wouldn't leave. Not without him.
And, sure enough, when Kesiba later asked around, it didn't take long to find him.
York hadn't left because he knew Kesiba wouldn't.
…
The bar owner approached quietly, placing a glass of Electronic Vodka in front of him.
The liquid sparkled faintly, electrons pulsing through its surface—tiny arcs of electricity dancing above the rim.
"You really don't need to come here every day," the bartender said gently. "After all this time… still can't let it go?"
"In our endless years, everyone's just a passing shadow."
Kesiba downed the shot in one go.
The turbulent electrons flooded his atomic orbital layers, wreaking havoc on his internal system.
"You don't understand."
"You never will."
"She just didn't see it!"
He said nothing more.
He'd heard similar advice more times than he could count.
But the more people told him to let go, the more determined he became to hold on.
The Olive Branch Civilization had never known emotion.
Not until they connected with human civilization—only then did emotion begin to awaken within them.
But the first emotions to stir were purely selfish ones—desire, craving, indulgence.
Only later did more complex, layered feelings emerge.
It was a long process.
So long, in fact, that many only began to develop such consciousness after the founding of the Hossie Eternal Cycle Star Nation.
It was the Samsara system that allowed them to truly experience emotion—again and again across countless lifetimes.
Kesiba's first cycle had overwhelmed him.
It was the first time he truly understood what "love" meant.
What kind of feeling was it, that people would pledge to live and die for each other?
In human civilization—perhaps more broadly, the Federation—such emotions were abundant. Every human was born immersed in them. Joy, grief, jealousy, longing—so many that they came to be taken for granted.
But in the Eternal Cycle Star Nation, there were none.
Love—limitless, consuming—became the most coveted treasure. And Samsara made it attainable… if only temporarily.
With each death, it was lost again. Just a fleeting sensation, dissolving into memory.
Kesiba became addicted to it.
He fell hard. Too hard.
He and a woman had made a promise: that after death, they would find each other again.
But after all these years, no message ever came.
Still, he believed in that love.
He had to.
York's early business dealings in the underworld and mortal realm were originally for Kesiba's sake.
Not to help him reclaim some romantic ideal—but to help him face reality.
People in the mortal realm made lofty promises at the moment of death. But once they returned to the underworld, once their memories reactivated—how many still remembered those vows? How many still cared?
The woman in Kesiba's heart—his so-called moonlight—was likely just a beautiful illusion.
And the bartender knew it.
To him, Kesiba was simply refusing to admit the truth.
Because acknowledging it would hurt too much.
Especially after all this time.
The more years passed, the heavier the price. The more effort spent, the harder it became to let go.
It was classic sunk-cost tragedy.
Everyone around him saw it. Advised him.
But still, he waited.
That was Kesiba's flaw.
At that moment, the bar door opened.
A newcomer stepped inside.
The bartender glanced up. "What'll it be?"
"The same as Kesiba," the stranger said.
Kesiba turned to look.
His heart immediately ignited with rage.
"I told you—I'm not playing that game with you again! Get out."
It was Lorc.
Lorc blinked in confusion. "What the hell are you talking about?"
"What game?"
He looked toward the bartender. "How much has he had? He's rambling. Is his system fried?"
Lorc was confused—and increasingly annoyed. He hadn't come here to be yelled at for no reason.
Kesiba's eyes flared.
"You bastard!"
"Still playing dumb, huh?"
"Do you really think that acting like nothing happened will make me forget it all? That I'll follow you like some obedient pet—to fight your grand evil crusade?"
"Hah. Mr. Righteousness, is it?"
York's death had left a hole in Kesiba's heart.
And back then—he hadn't taken that anger out on Lorc.
It had been his idea to find York and bring him back to the mortal realm.
Kesiba had taken full responsibility for the fallout.
But that didn't mean he'd tolerate Lorc's provocations now.
Lorc, still trying to piece things together, looked completely baffled.
"Fight evil?"
"A game?"
"What the hell are you talking about?"
"Kesiba, don't start ranting just because you've had a few drinks."
His tone wasn't mocking. It didn't sound like he was faking anything.
Kesiba's rage abruptly cooled. His voice dropped, measured and searching.
"You really don't remember anything?"
"About York?"
Lorc's expression shifted—there was a warning behind his words now.
"York? Look, I just came back from the mortal realm. I died under god-knows-what circumstances, and I haven't even had time to grieve with my wife and kids. Don't push me."
Kesiba narrowed his eyes. "Your wife... is her name Dana?"
Lorc froze.
"How do you know that? Don't tell me you— You disobeyed the rules?"
Before he could finish, he saw something snap inside Kesiba. His entire expression twisted into an almost manic light.
"That's it."
"That's it!"
"It wasn't that she didn't want to find me—she was passively forgotten!"
His voice cracked with sudden, feverish hope. It was as if a dying man had found water in the desert.
Lorc turned to the bar owner, exasperated.
"Is he insane?"
The bartender shook his head slowly.
"No... I think he's finally been saved."
"Some truths he never dared believe have just been confirmed."
"But…" he glanced at Lorc, "did you truly forget?"
He didn't know the details of what had passed between them, but he had seen how close Lorc and Kesiba used to be. And now they were talking like strangers.
"Forget what?" Lorc asked, frustration mounting.
"I honestly don't remember how I died. But other than that, I don't think I've forgotten anything important."
The bartender said nothing.
These two were unlike anyone else he'd met. Whatever they had gone through—he didn't want to know.
Kesiba, meanwhile, had calmed again, his excitement giving way to quiet certainty.
"You really did forget."
"I don't know the exact details of your death, but one thing is for sure—it wasn't suicide."
"Because the body you brought to the mortal realm... was your original body. And you know damn well you're incapable of suicide."
He paused.
"Just like I was."
Kesiba had once believed the same thing—that if he died in the mortal realm, he'd simply return to the underworld. No big deal. Even without a body, the main server would regenerate one eventually.
But then he realized something crucial.
The physical body wasn't just a container for consciousness. It held memories, too. And if the original body was lost—so were those memories.
The main server could supplement memory loss… but only if it had already recorded everything.
And Kesiba had slipped through the cracks. He had gone dark. Which meant anything he'd done afterward was invisible to the server.
When regenerated, those memories were simply gone.
Now, looking at Lorc, everything made sense.
Lorc's current state confirmed Kesiba's suspicions.
The main server hadn't deleted them—it had simply purged the corrupted code they were carrying.
Their existence remained intact.
"Original body? Mortal realm? You're still not making sense."
Lorc's voice was cold. He thought Kesiba was still drunk.
But Kesiba met his eyes without flinching.
"I'm not drunk."
"I'm perfectly sober."
"Your wife's name is Dana. You just remembered that recently. But how do I know it?"
"It's simple. Just check the current date."
Lorc blinked.
Immortal beings like them rarely bothered with timekeeping—especially in the underworld. He'd only paid attention to dates while in the mortal realm. The last time he remembered checking the calendar was... what? Four, maybe five thousand years ago?
Still, he pulled up the date.
June 18th.
After integrating with human civilization, the Olive Branch Civilization had discarded most of their old calendar systems—Chu's decision, made long ago. The past, after all, had nothing beautiful worth preserving.
Lorc stared at the display.
"No way..."
"The last date I remember is May 30th."
Kesiba's voice cut in, soft but sharp.
"Check the year."
Lorc glanced again.
220703 A.D.
But he remembered dying in 220695.
Eight years.
He'd lost eight years of memories.
"That… that can't be right."
His voice cracked.
"I've lost eight years?"
Kesiba nodded without hesitation.
"You died eight years ago," he said. "And since then, you haven't returned to the mortal realm through official channels."
"But you have returned—twice. Both times, using... unconventional means."
"And both times... you were with me."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
Now he truly wondered—how had Lorc died?
Had something happened? A crisis so severe that suicide had been the only way out?
"Unconventional?" Lorc echoed.
He had assumed Kesiba was simply rambling from the alcohol. But now, he was beginning to suspect he might be the one with the missing pieces.
"Exactly," Kesiba said. "We used a special method to re-enter the mortal realm. One that let us retain our memories from the underworld."
"You and I—we were searching for a truth."
"And in part... we found it. But it wasn't something we could fix."
Lorc cut in, the words coming almost instinctively.
"I still wanted to fix it. You didn't. That's why we split up."
He looked down, brows furrowing. "But maybe I was wrong. I still couldn't fix it. That's why I lost those memories."
He knew himself well enough. And Kesiba's strange words now painted a picture—a fractured one, but a picture nonetheless.
Kesiba nodded solemnly.
"Exactly."
Lorc fell silent, deep in thought.
But still... he remembered nothing.
"If that's true… if I couldn't solve it, and I already tried…" He exhaled. "Then I don't want to think about it anymore."
He gave up.
Just like that.
It was too easy.
Because the things Kesiba was saying—none of it felt real. None of it felt like it belonged to him.
There was no emotion tied to those words.
And without emotion, it was easy to let go.
"You really don't want to dig deeper?"
Kesiba's voice was quiet now. Measured.
"Do you even remember why you were so determined to find that answer?"
Lorc didn't respond immediately.
He didn't know.
But more importantly… he didn't really want to know.
"It's just more trouble," he muttered. "So what if I know? So what if I don't?"
This version of Lorc—detached, indifferent—made Kesiba uneasy.
"Maybe so," Kesiba said. "But forgetting doesn't mean it never happened."
"This time… I lost someone. My best friend. Killed in the mortal realm. Not a standard death—complete death. Consciousness annihilated."
Lorc's eyes widened.
That kind of death... True death.
It was a concept so far removed from their lives that he hadn't even considered it a possibility.
People didn't die like that anymore. Not in this era.
"You're giving up?"
He laughed bitterly. "Isn't that what we've both done? Given up? Sure, it's not fair to him… but this way, it's simpler."
His tone was flat.
Kesiba stared at him for a long time.
There was no trace of the Lorc he'd once known in this version. And perhaps that was what disturbed him most.
It made his skin crawl.
"I thought so too," Kesiba said. "But I've changed my mind."
"You need to remember."
"Why were you so relentless back then? Even after seeing York die—even knowing you might die—you still insisted on pushing forward. Don't you want to know what kind of person you really are?"
Kesiba's eyes flickered.
He still held onto a faint hope.
Somewhere out there, she might be in the same situation as Lorc.
Maybe lost. Maybe forgotten. Maybe still searching.
It was unlikely. But it was all he had left.
Most of the time, he'd had nothing—no hope, no direction, no reason.
Lorc looked at him, baffled.
What was this guy thinking?
After all this effort to escape whatever hell they'd been caught in, now he wanted to dive back into it?
It made no sense.
Truly incomprehensible.
And yet...
And yet, a question lingered in the back of Lorc's mind.
What had been so important to him—so vital—that he would walk into death for it?
He didn't see himself as a man of great emotion.
Not even when his wife and daughter died.
Not even when the world ended.
He had always endured it all in silence.
So what could possibly have driven him that far?
That deeply?
He didn't know.
But now, for the first time, he wasn't sure if he could ignore it.
Did he really need an answer?
Lorc didn't know.
But the question wouldn't go away.
And that, more than anything, disturbed him.
Because at this point, those memories had become unknown to him.
And naturally, life fears the unknown.
Of course, the fear and inner conflict weren't overwhelming—just a subtle spark was enough to shake him.
"How exactly are you planning to help me get my memories back?" Lorc asked.
Kesiba turned toward the door.
"How do you retrieve something truly lost? Even the main server didn't archive that part of your missing memory."
"I haven't reached the level of a god who can restore such things. But if we continue what we were doing before—pick up the trail—even without those memories, you'll start to grasp what it was you once believed in."
He was the one leading now.
Yet in his own mind, he wasn't contradicting himself.
Because to him, there was a path—a thread only he could see—linking his past to his present.
He constantly asked himself, again and again:
Why was he still alive?
Every sentient being, at some point, poses that question to itself.
Kesiba had his own answer: to find her.
He needed that answer.
Simple on the surface, but this purpose had held him captive for tens of thousands of years.
Kesiba walked out. Lorc followed.
The two of them—one ahead, one behind—arrived once again at Dawn's workplace.
He had been waiting.
"To be honest, I thought you two were dead."
That was the first thing Dawn said.
After getting the earlier answers, he'd tried to contact both of them—but received nothing in return.
"Sorry. Something came up," Kesiba replied.
"Any discoveries?"
"You're really invested in HHHI Corporation," Dawn said directly. "You must have some connection to them."
Kesiba wasn't surprised by the observation.
He cut straight to the chase.
"HHHI Corporation probably isn't the real culprit. Honestly, I can't figure out what reason they'd have for doing something like this."
"Any corporation—no, any collective—always prioritizes its own interests."
"So ask yourself—would destroying Star City 5 benefit them?"
"Are they trying to build their own star nation?"
"Or are they being used by a separate star nation, trying to ignite a war between the Eternal Cycle Star Nation and the Federation?"
"Their scale is way too small. Something like this—one misstep and they'd be wiped out."
"Besides, they're not alone. Other companies are doing similar things. If HHHI were poking around like that, it's impossible no one else noticed."
"And most importantly—they don't even have the kind of technology required."
It was clear that Dawn was subtly defending HHHI Corporation.
But after building that entire case, he finally dropped the key point.
"Still, I did manage to extract some information from HHHI that might be relevant to you."
"They've been trying to conquer microscopic worlds for years. But it turns out, these worlds are actively resisting them."
"Which, on its face, sounds absurd. After all, microscopic worlds operate under different rules. Some fundamental physics even breaks down at that scale."
"But I'm not talking about physical incompatibility. This resistance—it seems... engineered."
"They first assumed it was just a natural phenomenon. But after some research, they realized someone—or something—designed it."
"The Olive Branch Civilization has been around here for 400,000–500,000 years. It's not like we did this ourselves without knowing. So the real question is—who built these things?"
Dawn handed over the data to Kesiba and Lorc.
It contained extensive calculus and other mathematical constructs.
Fortunately, both of them could follow the math.
By tracing the logic of the equations, they pieced together a complete sequence of information.
The formulas offered answers that were even clearer than written language.
"This is clearly artificial," Kesiba said. "Someone engineered this within the microscopic world. Why didn't we notice?"
Lorc, meanwhile, had calculated a few steps beyond Kesiba already.
"These aren't just microscopic worlds. More accurately, they're super-microscopic—or perhaps even two-dimensional."
"Whoever's behind this built something in a higher-dimensional space. And that something affects three-dimensional reality—specifically, it interferes with the microscopic realm."
"What's brilliant is—it completely avoids interfering with the macroscopic world."
"In fact, it could affect the macroscopic world too. But it hasn't."
Lorc's words made Kesiba recall Lorc's earlier doubts.
A jolt of realization struck him.
He suddenly understood what Lorc had been doing after they parted ways.
"They didn't refrain from acting—they've been acting all along."
"It's just that we never saw it. Or worse—we did, but our mouths were sealed."
And maybe the "mouth" was precisely what they'd lost.
But they knew what a mouth was.
In the Olive Branch Civilization, their core language was still their own, though peppered with many English terms.
Lorc imagined: wasn't his current state a metaphor for a sealed mouth?
Dawn, too, noticed something strange about Lorc.
He asked about his condition.
Lorc told him about the memory loss.
Dawn was quiet for a while, then handed over another set of data.
"Honestly, I didn't think much of it at the time. Nor did anyone else in the company. They just thought it was an EMP that caused partial memory wipe."
"Roughly 1,310 years ago, everyone in HHHI Corporation lost a chunk of their memory. It was dismissed as a fluke."
"At first, people were concerned. But they quickly moved on."
"If they went through something like what you did… then everything starts to line up."
"We all know—in the underworld, if your body is destroyed, the main server simply regenerates it. Usually, right where you were."
"But that new body? It's built by the main server. So if the server itself lacks certain data—those memories will be missing from the regenerated version."
"Everything is starting to make sense."