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⸢...998.⸥
He had failed. Miserably so, at that. 998 whole regressions had passed, but not a single one of them was even close to reaching his ■■; it was truly a wicked story which would drive any normal human crazy. For Yoo Joonghyuk, however, it was a bitter, ever-growing reminder of his continuous, growing failure.
⸢998.⸥
The train shuddered to life as he stared listlessly at his surroundings. He spotted a group of high school students chattering away about his career from many rounds ago. A 'dream job'. Slowly, he recalled the headline he discreetly read that very same, fateful day over the shoulder of a fellow passenger.
- Pro gamer Yoo Joonghyuk, for how long will he stay under the radar?
Forever. Forever was the answer. No amount of money or attention would've been enough to bring him back to that wretched industry.
...Some 'dream job' that was, huh.
Even so, he had already long forgotten the once familiar touch of a simple mouse and keyboard. The Yoo Joonghyuk of that era was long gone. His past and present were more than worlds apart, but he couldn't help but yearn to return to simpler times, as unpleasant as they were. It was a feeling of longing and aching that deeply rooted itself within his being, but even such gripping emotions had grown worn and dull over such large, boggy swaths of time.
It didn't mean that such emotions couldn't affect him anymore, though.
He shook himself from overly reminiscing. He couldn't afford to.
He began to collect his thoughts. The 999th round. The number lingered in his mind. He would be well within the thousands given enough time, albeit unwelcome. A sickening thought. He clenched his fists. At least, he tried to. His fingers merely twitched at the futility of it all.
6:57 PM.
His vision began to blur as he struggled to stay alert. Maybe he really was crazy. Soon, he would have to watch his allies die once again; unending suffering following the nightmarish scenarios the ⸢Star Stream⸥ had to offer.
...Why did he come this far?
His figure slightly stiffened as his right hand searched for the hilt of a non-existent sword. There were moments when his purpose would become unclear, his goals clouded. The only reason why he could hold onto any semblance of sanity was because he still had a goal which he had yet to achieve: To see it through to the end of the scenarios.
6:58 PM.
Hundreds of rounds had already passed since then. They wore him down. He cursed the scenarios, he fought thousands of constellations, but it wasn't enough. It was far from enough. For him, it cost countless lifetimes; but, more unpleasantly, it cost countless more lives of others. Must he continue to watch his companions die meaningless deaths? Even if he himself were to die, he could simply continue to regress. The same couldn't be said for his loved ones.
They would get no such second chances.
...He knew that, yet he continued to ignore it.
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Could he even call himself human anymore?
6:59 PM.
