People trapped in Purgatory were locked in their eternal past, endlessly reliving their worst memories.
However, if someone escaped from Purgatory…
They became almost superhuman with an ironclad mind.
Those who overcame their past could live the rest of their lives with a refined spirit, succeeding in whatever they did, free from distracting thoughts.
Witnesses called these superhumans products of a trial, a mysterious place of empowerment if only one could pass through.
But could this truly be called a trial?
Cheondo harbored doubts and was certain.
Those who called the ordeal of this place a trial didn't seek to know the stories of those who couldn't escape Purgatory.
Or perhaps the dead couldn't speak, so they remained ignorant.
"..."
Cheondo closed her eyes and pondered.
'A very alien power.'
The power she released through the mistletoe was already eroding the entire dungeon.
Weak as she might be, she was still the Celestial Demon. She could faintly sense the old man's presence here.
The dungeon's power and the old man's abilities.
'I knew it, but… as expected.'
A terrifying ability.
She knew it was the same ability she had encountered as a child.
Thus, what Lee Shiheon would experience… would undoubtedly be the same as hers.
The experience of being trapped in the past. It wouldn't be easy.
No matter how hard you tried, a place you couldn't escape from was more aptly called hell than a trial.
'Celestial Demons must turn crises into opportunities, as they say.'
Recalling her master's golden words, Cheondo clasped her hands as if praying.
'He must succeed.'
To escape the power of the World Tree. To root out the persistent mistletoe that had entrenched itself in Lee Shiheon's soul.
He had to let go of the status window.
"…Ah."
I had a nightmare.
A memory I had vowed to forget, yet why did it keep resurfacing?
On a quiet evening as the sun set, I got up groaning and wiped my sweaty face with my hands.
'My phone.'
Instinctively, I fumbled beside the mat, searching for my phone.
Then, thud- my hand knocked over a cola can, spilling the cigarette ashes piled on top.
Ignoring it, I found my phone and naturally logged into the community to check the post I made.
-Is this game fun?
└Yeah, try it.
└Super fun.
Reviewing niche games was quite enjoyable.
I got to play games I liked, increase their player base, and even help with the game company's promotions. It was like killing three birds with one stone.
After briefly checking the comments, I got up and sat in front of my computer.
My reflection, a complete wreck, appeared on the monitor.
-Throb.
Once again, a strange thought crossed my mind.
It felt like I was failing to remember something crucial, something I shouldn't forget.
'Shit.'
A curse word came to mind out of nowhere.
'Cheondo… Seyeong?'
Subsequent to these memories, names I seemed to have heard somewhere but couldn't quite remember started surfacing in my mind.
Who could they be?
I tilted my head, gazing out the window. The dark sky had a gaping hole in it.
-Whoosh!
The computer's CPU, interrupting my thoughts, began to boot up. Reaching out to the mouse, which somehow even had a scent, I spent time aimlessly surfing the internet.
-Click, click.
Days passed by playing games or reading humorous posts online, smirking to myself.
I had been living the life of a recluse for quite a while.
A social misfit?
I didn't really have any complaints or grudges about this lifestyle. Even if there was a reason for ending up this way, I didn't feel like blaming it.
But if I had to pinpoint a reason… It was hard to say.
My mother told me I was very active as a child.
Always leading the pack of kids, loudly proclaiming I would follow in my father's footsteps. Such talk was only possible in childhood. Looking back, it all seems like a joke. Following in the footsteps of my father, a politician, probably meant ending up in prison.
I smirked bitterly and clicked the mouse.
-Click.
"..."
Suddenly, an old memory resurfaced.
I became less talkative around fourth grade in elementary school.
My mother didn't know why, which was natural since I never told her.
I was fortunate to be perceptive from a young age.
Honestly… as a child, I thought my father was a good man.
I proudly looked up to his broad back, dreaming of being like him someday.
And he fully supported that aspiration.
-Learn and observe a lot.
Have a broad perspective and act wisely. That was always my father's advice to me.
The hellish study routine started when I entered elementary school.
My father, a political figure, was a near genius, and as his child, I excelled academically.
Always ranking first, I was the envy of everyone.
Certainly, I could have been called a prodigy.
'I used to be like that.'
But I was too mature for my age.
I learned too early how to hide the truth behind cheerfulness and playfulness.
The first time I saw my father's true intentions was a pivotal moment.
It was when the parents of my childhood friend, who lived next door, passed away.
I was the only one who noticed something odd about my father that day.
Wet hair, a strange smell tickling the nose, a grimacing face despite always being perfect. My friend's parents, who died that day, were closely associated with my father. Were they enemies in the political arena?
I was the first to vaguely realize the true nature behind what was officially deemed a suicide.
My father was the culprit. I was half-convinced.
Soon after, I found irrefutable evidence in my father's office. After much deliberation, I decided to let it go. I knew what an angry father looked like.
Fearful and reluctant, I had no choice but to ignore it and return to school.
...On that day, in a classroom that was always cheerful, I was forced to watch my friend fall apart after losing their parents.
Even though I could have revealed the truth, I instinctively avoided it. Perhaps it was out of fear that things might turn against me, or because I wanted to believe in my father, or maybe it was just wishful thinking.
Looking back, I realize that I shouldn't have acted the way I did then.
If I truly wanted to live righteously, I should have revealed the truth. Yet, knowing this, I chose to remain silent out of fear, avoiding facing the truth until the end.
Ultimately, my closest friend, who sat beside me, left my side.
-Click.
Tension filled my index finger as I tapped the mouse. Remembering the white flower placed on my childhood classmate's desk filled my heart with heavy emotion.
After that day, I found myself unable to communicate with anyone. Overwhelmed with guilt and shame, I could hardly talk, even to my parents.
Depression and hallucinations followed. I spent years going from one hospital to another.
I could say I was running away. In middle school, I built walls in my relationships, fearing the unknown. Even if someone tried to converse, it was only superficial, never developing into anything deeper.
Throughout middle school, I spent my days lost in useless fantasies, living a shameful life. It was then that I started wasting time on comics and games, disappointing my father.
This was why I became a recluse.
Doctors said excessive expectations and strenuous studies had led me to this state, but that was all nonsense. The reality was my own fault for not facing the truth and failing to receive proper mental health care.
Time passed, and my father was imprisoned for making too many enemies.
My reputation at school plummeted, further tainted by being labeled as a politician's son.
I faced ridicule, saw my stories spread online, and even cried over them. Sometimes, I thought this was the karma for my childhood mistakes.
My broken mind sought stability elsewhere. I expanded my hobbies and indulged in strange, impulsive behaviors, of course, only in private.
I justified these acts as curiosity, hiding behind the shield of 'selective curiosity.'
Even in college, where I became more social and started dating, how could someone who shunned communication for six years engage in proper conversations? Eventually, neither here nor there, my relationship ended, and I retreated back into my room.
'I knew it all along.'
There were many problems with me.
'I regret it.'
Not stepping up back then, I deeply regret it. I was nothing but a coward, always looking for an escape.
I was nothing like the person who saw potential in me and risked their life for me.
Throb.
A headache struck again.
Why today? As if recalling a neglected past, I found myself revisiting old regrets. It felt ridiculous to dwell on things long gone.
'I wish I could go back.'
Yet, I still harbored such futile thoughts.
A life riddled with mistakes, it seemed like tightening a screw could set everything right, but everything was too tangled.
-Rustle.
I opened the drawer beside the desk. Inside lay a frame that shouldn't have been there.
A faded childhood drawing in the frame showed a kid, made of circles and lines, drawn with tiny hands, smiling confidently.
'I wanted to.'
At least, like the kid in the drawing.
'To live without shame.'
I turned around. A chilly wind sharply cut through my waist.
"Making that choice was the hardest part."
I wondered whom I was speaking to, laughing hollowly like a deranged clown.
Life didn't allow a return to the past. I knew this better than anyone.
Sitting alone, hunched over in my chair, I dropped my head.
-Click.
The last cursor sound echoed painfully in the room. I stared blankly at the monitor.
[Comments on the Post about Namuddal]
A humor post title that seemed oddly familiar caught my eye. My fabricated curiosity, used to justify my past behaviors, was piqued.
Just as I was about to click on the title, I felt as if something connected inside me.
"…?"
A sense of déjà vu struck me, and my skin crawled.
"You've lived quite a challenging life."
"Yes, I suppose so."
"But… I wasn't wrong about you."
An unfamiliar voice struck my ears like a hammer.
"You were never a brave one. I don't know what people in your world consider normal."
My throat felt parched.
"In my eyes, you seem quite kind."
Confusion washed over me as I touched my face, reflecting on those soothing words I didn't remember hearing.
"You didn't try to hide your mistakes. Most people would have forgotten and moved on, but you kept agonizing over them, scared of repeating the same errors."
"That's not it. I just couldn't adapt."
"Sometimes, it helps to believe in what others say. And don't interrupt your master. I'm speaking now."
"Lee Shiheon."
Why did this person know my name? After much contemplation, one name flashed through my mind.
"I won't tell you to forget what you consider your sin. Only you know your heart. It would be presumptuous for me to judge. So, as your master, I can only say this."
Cheondo.
"Just do better from now on."
I closed my eyes and hunched over the desk. My clenched fists trembled as new emotions bloomed within me.
"Too many people in this world can't even do that."
"Is it okay for me to do that?"
"Of course."
In the past, I lived in a wretched single room, decaying, doing nothing.
I had resided there, never seeking change after that day, trying not to harm others.
Faded memories returned.
I learned everything I had forgotten since moving to the other world.
Crime, obsession.
Choices I would never have made originally.
"So, I'll ask again. Remember my question when you get there."
To that final question, I responded.
"Who are you, really?"
At that moment, the crack in the sky became even larger.