A Fool's Errand - The End is Never the End (3.00)

Firstday, Autumn 11th, 3–…4,372; Evening, 23:00 [3142910433]

Ruminate, for I have a question. A hypothetical, if you will. It's not particularly hard one, so you don't have to worry. I'm not expecting an answer anyway. It's not like you can give me one, nor will I be able to hear it. Though with you, who truly knows?

Ah, but would you be able to understand what I'm trying to tell you? I suppose not.

Then, let me set the scene.

It's the first day of the ten-day week. The final bell of Tona Academy, a secondary school for those between 15-18 human years of age, rings as the sun touches the horizon. The handful of students that remain for their after-school clubs are told its time to leave. Most pack up rather quickly, rushing out the doors without looking back. Only a few are diligent enough to clean up after themselves, having been silently coerced into the role.

One such student is a junior, finishing up another report from m-- her never-ending pile of paperwork. A sigh of exhaustion escapes her lips, not really satisfied at her progress, but not despairing either. This is simply her life, one she is forced to accept.

Like usual, she grabs her glossy black handbag, following behind the last of the students heading out. The sun -- or suns, depending on the day -- has already set, leaving only the light reflecting off the shattered moon, a few flickering street lamps to illuminate her dark path. Though, even that is swallowed up by the gray clouds hovering in the sky.

It isn't long before it starts to rain. A few scattered drops at first, staining her black blazer. Then a few more, and some more after that, slowly building to a downpour. In response, she pulls out an umbrella, trying to keep her upper half dry. Her exposed legs? Left to the whims of the wind, not that it particularly matters this time.

Then... hm... what happens next? Let's see... It's...

Ah yes, I remember now.

A streetlamp flickers just ahead with a man in a suit standing below. He stares up the clouded sky, water dripping off his body, muttering something under his breath. In one hand, a briefcase. In the other, a gun pointing directly at his head. Anyone can tell he's clearly unstable. Even the slightest sound can trigger him.

Crick.

Like the tree branch beneath my foot.

BANG!

...

...

...

Well, I already spoiled the surprise.

I know what happens, and you do too. A rather obvious conclusion, one so contrived I can't help but laugh. This may only be the fourth time you've seen, yet it blows me away how many cliches there have been. But don't worry. I've already come to terms with it a long time ago, although it does feel like a weight has been lifted off my chest.

After all, I'm dying a pointless death once again. One where there's no reason for me to stay any longer.

It's been seventeen years -- a time so short yet so painfully long. A preamble that climaxed just a few hours ago, though most wouldn't know about it. That part of history has been expunged, known only to me... and a few others, annoyingly. Even as my body crumples to the ground, this death feels rather painless. Well, better than the agony of poison, drowning, or mutilation, in my opinion.

Of course, I do have some regrets. I wish I could've said bye to my foster parents or graduate high school. Plus, the junior prom is only a season away. I was definitely looking forward to that. Erasing my browsing history... Eh, does it really matter? Maybe someone will get a kick out of it thinking, "Why the hell did she look that up?" or, "OMG, she was into that shit?!?"

But I guess this death is rather lonely this time. The man who shot me has already run away, and I can't do anything to stop the blood from leaking out. The sidewalk will be stained red for a while, but somebody will eventually find me. When though, I have no idea.

After all, people rarely come down this road, making anything like a stray truck a miracle unto itself.

Well, I shouldn't be surprised. Even as my vision blurs and my breath grows labored, I've already accepted my fate. This is the day I'm destined to die, and nothing can change that.

That's just how it is -- my punishment for the life I lived, and the life I'll live next.

Ah, right. I'm supposed to be asking you a question. It completely slipped my mind. I hope you'll forgive me. Well, no time like the present. So, let me ask you:

What happens after you die?

...no answer? No worries, I expected that, so let me answer for you.

See, it's rather simple:

Nothing.

There is no afterlife, nor is there some isekai to another reality. Your body remains behind as your soul breaks down into mana particles, saturating the surrounding environment, becoming the sustenance for someone else's spells. That's the law of this world -- a process impossible to stop. Ah, though I guess you're not fond of the word impossible.

Then, let's say you manage to live by modifying the information stored within the mana -- a feat only two people in the entire world can manage. It's a second chance, and you can remember everything that happened from your first go-around. What then?

Well, from my experiments, it's hell.

At first, you think you're okay, going about your daily life. Sure, there are a few things out of place here and there, but nothing that's particularly worrisome -- just a creeping uncomfortableness in the back of your mind. Then, the trauma begins to settle in, eating away at your mind. Sudden memories pop into view, causing you to subconsciously hesitate and freeze. A wall is assembled brick by brick, something you choose to ignore until you can no longer see the top. That's when the fear truly takes hold. Sure, some may overcome it, but the majority struggle, falling back down over and over.

Then follows the destruction of their ego: their personality and sense of self questioned:

"Why am I here?"

"Do I deserve to exist?"

"Am I even real?"

The wall only continues to grow. Their thoughts muddle, dropping into an endless ocean until there's nothing left. A blank slate, ready to be molded into whatever the orchestrator desires.

Of course, they may obtain a modicum of power instead, using it to prop themselves up. They're still themselves, though their shadow gradually twists and warps into something similar. That's the problem with the mind; it's quite the fragile thing.

Me? Well, you can think of this death as me making amends -- fated to relive my mistakes until I destroy them completely, until I disappear altogether. That is the punishment for my sin.

For every person I broke.

For every child I killed.

For every story I changed.

So, even though I know you won't answer me, I ask you once again, dear Professor:

What happens after I die?

Even through my non-existent vision, I can clearly make him out, staring at me with those gold and silver eyes. His jet-black hair eats into the night, while a purple umbrella hangs off his left wrist. A rather useless trinket since the rain doesn't even deign to touch him. That's simply how powerful he is.

My judge, jury, and executioner. The person who caught and stuck me in these chains. Though, back then, he was more of a researcher, wearing that oversized blue lab coat and clacking black flip flops. Nowadays, I see him or two others -- all terrible conversation partners, mind you.

Anything else is pointless to think about. I only know as much as he wants me to know. If only he let me rest... He can be a real slave driver sometimes.

"That's purely your fault, you know?" he retorts, reading my mind like a teacher would. Without taking a single step, his face instantly appears in front of mine, encompassing my entire world. He isn't wrong, though he could've just let dying dogs die.

"Funny," he comments, not bothering to engage my quip. "Now, before we diverge even further than usual, let's get started."

In an instant, everything turns pitch black. Even the Professor himself is swallowed into the darkness, not that it makes a difference. This is his dominion, so he's still around. Although where, I can't tell you.

"Your next errand is to support the chair. Head down an alley across from the guild on your seventh birthday." Like always, the details are lacking. Who's the chair? Alley in what town? Which guild? He really does like to speak in vague proverbs, even though he knows exactly what's going to happen. I'm not even sure if that's really my task. Usually it involves some kind of cleanup, not a forced encounter. I wish he had the slightest bit of consideration. More information is required.

"And yet, with that, you always make it on time."

...you know, I really hate him. Especially because I can't refute it. If I fail once, I simply try again. And again. And again. Until I hit that one success.

I must rewrite the past to remove my influence.

Erase their memories to adjust that moment.

Fix any conflicts that arise in the timeline.

For I am the Fool, and this is my atonement.

And so, underneath a terrifyingly muted smile, I die, forever forgotten by the people I was forced to save.