Chapter 114

The game I played with CEO Cha was unique.

Games in Archive were generally structured around multiple playthroughs to unlock various endings.

But the game I played with him was completely different.

There was only a single ending, and failing to meet the necessary conditions forced a restart from the very beginning.

All while CEO Cha—the NPC accompanying me—retained the memories of every previous run.

For a player, restarting is a familiar routine.

But for an NPC, it is something that shouldn’t—and couldn’t—happen.

An NPC remembering everything perfectly while endlessly repeating the game with the player…

To the NPC, it wasn’t a reset; it was a regression.

Over the course of a thousand playthroughs, I watched CEO Cha slowly unravel.

It was a situation that inevitably pushed him to his mental breaking point.

As the player, I could simply quit the game and walk away.

But he, as an NPC, was trapped in this eternal loop.

I strove to guide CEO Cha to the ending.

CEO Cha promised that we would leave together.

Just as I had wanted, I reached the ending with him.

However, the conclusion wasn’t exactly pleasant.

I vividly remembered how CEO Cha had flown into a rage right before the ending.

Even though the dialogue consisted only of text, it felt as though I could actually hear the voice of his intense fury.

In any case, I managed to clear the game with CEO Cha.

It took longer than any other Archive game I’d played, and it left a correspondingly deep mark on my heart.

When I finally reached the ending, I was so exhausted I felt like I might drop dead, yet I couldn’t bring myself to sleep.

Later, when I asked the developer about the game, he gave a surprised response.

‘I didn’t think you’d clear it.’

The Creator heaped praise upon me, admitting he had expected me to give up because it was too challenging.

I had intended to ask why the game was designed that way, but since he acknowledged the difficulty himself, I was left speechless.

From that moment on, CEO Cha became my absolute favorite—holding the undisputed top spot in my heart.

I couldn’t help but feel affection for him, given the time we’d spent struggling through a thousand failed attempts together.

I gazed at my favorite character, now standing right there before me in the flesh.

It was a bittersweet relief that I was the only one who remembered those thousand playthroughs.

After all, there was no benefit in actually experiencing such things.

‘Come to think of it, he hated the name the trial gave me.’

CEO Cha had reacted very negatively the moment I mentioned the name ‘Roasted Chestnut.’

He had blurted out a curse word right away.

‘What’s wrong with Roasted Chestnut?’

I had felt aggrieved at the time, but I hadn’t dared to argue with CEO Cha.

Of course, I wouldn’t dare argue with him now, either.

While I was briefly lost in memory, CEO Cha kept his eyes fixed on me.

Noticing the expectant look in his gaze, I finally realized what was happening.

He was waiting for an explanation as to why I looked such a mess.

‘Why is he being so nice to me?’

Knowing his personality, I always found moments like this bewildering.

It felt as though he was treating me gently—as if I held some value beyond merely being a trial-clearing hamster.

I shook the thought from my mind.

Then, belatedly, I began to explain the situation regarding the new prison guard training center.

I summarized the key points as concisely as possible so as not to exhaust his patience.

I also managed to hear a bit of the backstory from CEO Cha himself. CEO Cha had summoned all the prison guards, bringing him into contact with Kwak Hanmuk, from whom he obtained information regarding my role.

Kwak Hanmuk had likely instructed him to assist me.

However, CEO Cha abruptly ordered someone to fetch the medical officer and bring him over.

I could vividly picture Kwak Hanmuk cursing CEO Cha right then and there.

After exchanging useful information, but before formally presenting my strategy for clearing the dungeon…

I made a crucial request.

“Um… CEO Cha? May I stand up now?”

My legs were starting to go numb from having knelt for so long.

I had held out as long as I could, fearing I might get kicked for being useless, but it hadn’t been easy.

The sensation brought back the nightmare of lower-body paralysis.

Unexpectedly, CEO Cha extended his hand toward me.

Flinching at the thought that he might strike me, I cautiously took his hand and stood up.

Then, I had to bow my head humbly for a moment as a cramp set in.

Only after the pain subsided was I able to explain my plan.

CEO Cha listened quietly to my briefing, then asked:

“Is this how you always clear trials?”

I couldn’t discern the intent behind his question.

Was he pointing out the high risk involved in the plan?

When I hesitated to answer, he didn’t press the issue and immediately moved on to another topic.

Crossing his arms, he asked bluntly:

“What if I refuse to go along with the plan?”

Anticipating this kind of pushback, I answered immediately:

“If the Trial isn’t clear, it will be difficult for me to honor my contract with you.”

When I alluded to the fact that I was facing death, he spoke without the slightest hint of agitation.

“You said the goal is to close seven Trials within two months, right? Paseong can easily handle that much for you.”

He was suggesting we close seven Trials rated between level one and three—safe ones—rather than dangerous Trials like Cell-X, which were estimated to be level five or six.

It was a highly efficient and rational proposal.

CEO Cha had likely carried out the quest and prevented the creatures from breaking out because he had calculated that he could quickly clear the scenario by aiming for the Warden Ending.

But I couldn’t accept that.

If I failed to achieve the True Ending, Cell-X would explode.

And… I had already told Orca about my dream.

In a situation like this, simply leaving the creatures behind and walking out myself was out of the question.

I quickly racked my brain.

Confiding in CEO Cha about Cell-X’s impending explosion wouldn’t really persuade him.

After all, the meteorite had landed in TRA, not Paseong.

And if CEO Cha valued me more than the danger posed by a Trial’s explosion, any attempt to convince him that way would be even more futile.

Thinking of the CEO Cha I knew, I opened my mouth to speak.

“Don’t you think you should verify just how valuable your contractual partner is?”

CEO Cha looked down at me as if challenging me to prove it.

Gazing at his perception suppression mask—which betrayed no emotion—I continued.

“This is the first meteorite to fall in four years. It’s a Trial attracting international attention—enough to prompt an international conference led by TRA—and I’ve successfully closed every Trial I’ve entered so far.”

Then, I deliberately provoked him.

“If we fail to clear Cell-X—the very place CEO Cha and I entered together… it wouldn’t look good.”

Sure enough, a dry, incredulous laugh escaped CEO Cha.

He stared straight at me without a word. I held his gaze and waited.

Finally, his synthesized voice spoke up.

“Do as you please. I’ll back you up.”

I was inwardly surprised; I had braced myself for a much more aggressive persuasion process.

He had accepted the idea far more quickly than I’d anticipated.

CEO Cha looked at me and added a warning.

“But if you fail to shut it down, you’ll have to bear the consequences of that loss.”

His tone suggested he was ready to extract a price—like demanding ten ‘Han Goyo Free Pass’ vouchers.

Yet, at that moment, I had a strange intuition.

Even though he was talking about potential losses, CEO Cha…

…seemed absolutely convinced that I would succeed in shutting down Cell-X.

I gave him a firm answer in return.

“Yes. I will definitely shut it down.”

After a long, arduous adventure, I returned to the medics’ quarters.

Many issues remained unresolved, but there was nothing more I could do for the moment.

With midnight approaching, I needed to get back to the quarters quickly.

Once inside, the first thing I did was carefully place the guard slime onto the table.

Then, I took off my guard uniform.

As I changed into a medic’s white coat, various thoughts crossed my mind.

Why had CEO Cha approved my plan?

And why was he so certain I could clear Cell-X?

Of course, that second point was just my own speculation, but the intuition I’d felt in that moment was too strong to ignore.

‘It’s as if he knows me inside out.’

It wasn’t as though we shared memories of playing through this a thousand times together. Was there something else going on?

Between CEO Cha’s inexplicable goodwill and everything else, I was full of questions.

At any rate, I had secured CEO Cha’s cooperation.

It seemed I wouldn’t have to worry about the quest going off track anymore.

In truth, the person I was most worried about right now was Je Hyun-oh.

‘Where on earth did he go?’

I had sent a few messages asking if he was alright.

He wasn’t the type to let himself get beaten up—if anything, he’d be the one doing the hitting—but…

Still, I couldn’t help but worry.

I knew Je Hyun-oh wasn’t the sort of person to arbitrarily abandon a mission while it was in progress.

Unless, of course, the mission had taken a bizarre turn.

I had asked CEO Cha if he could track Je Hyun-oh’s location, but even with the Warden’s abilities, he couldn’t find him.

That was because, from the very beginning, he was ‘No. 13’—a person who didn’t officially exist.

With no other options, I simply sent a message to Kwak Hanmuk explaining the situation and returned to my quarters.

I was exhausted from the day’s events, yet I couldn’t bring myself to lie down in bed.

Checking the time remaining until midnight, I spoke to the system window in my mind.

‘I failed the ‘Find the Escaped Creatures’ quest—is there no penalty?’

I had expected a penalty or a new quest to be issued, but everything remained quiet.

As the question crossed my mind, a rectangular window popped up.

It seemed to be boasting that it had resolved the issue on its own.

‘That was well done.’

Since it had done a good job, I praised it immediately.

‘I’m counting on you for the future, too.’

It was a small investment of praise for the sake of the future.

Hoping the system window would continue to prove its usefulness, I asked another question.

“What happens if I fail the medical officer mission?”

However, there was no response to this question.

It seemed the system window didn’t have much capability after all.

With the prison break event taking place today, I ultimately failed to complete Monday’s mission.

This led to two problems.

The first was that I ended up getting beaten up by the guards.

“Well, this… I think it can be resolved since CEO Cha is the warden. Plus, Captain Kwak is here, too.”

The second problem was that, having failed the mission, I would no longer be able to see the text that usually appeared on the weekly schedule.

Checking the clock—it was past 11:30 PM—I pulled out the weekly schedule.

Because I had failed the mission, I was left unable to verify the truth of Article 9 in the work guidelines.

I took out the work guidelines and read Article 9 again.

Normally, if the mission were completed, either ‘Ignore’ or ‘Open Door’ would appear under the rounds section of the weekly schedule.

If ‘Ignore’ appeared, I would simply ignore the sounds as instructed in Article 9.

Conversely, if ‘Open Door’ appeared, I would judge Article 9 to be false and act in the opposite manner.

But now, unable to see the text…

“I have to take a guess.”

With a fifty-fifty chance, the odds weren’t too bad.

I lay down on the bed and waited for midnight.

I told Dominic about what was about to happen, as well as the quest failure he had been worried about earlier. I didn’t mention that the system window had resolved the issue; I simply said I hadn’t had to pay the price for my failure.

Dominic looked slightly puzzled but didn’t ask for details.

Then, midnight struck.

Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud…

Heavy footsteps echoed from outside the door, accompanied by the sound of static.

The ‘Dregs’ had arrived.

The entities that roamed outside after midnight were known as Dregs.

They were either prison guards who had lost their humanity through the overuse of Neo, or human inmates who had secretly taken Neo and transformed into monsters as their bodies melted away.

It was the price paid for humans coveting the power of creatures.

I was lying on my bed, keeping a close watch on the situation.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

The door to the medical staff quarters shook violently. A Dreg was pounding on it.

It was time to choose: hide under the bed or open the door.

I was weighing my options, feeling as though I were tossing a coin.

Ring-ring!

A somewhat dull, analog ringtone echoed through the room.

I glanced at the wall where the telephone was mounted.

The phone in the medical staff quarters was an internal line for work; it never rang after midnight.

I wondered if this was some kind of glitch, or if—just maybe—it was Kwak Hanmuk or CEO Cha.

After a moment of hesitation, I ignored the door-shattering pounding and rushed to the phone.

Click. The moment I lifted the old-fashioned receiver…

The loud pounding on the door abruptly stopped.

A cheerful voice came through the line.

—Greetings, Little Lamb! Has the food been prepared?

I answered, bewildered.

“…Black Block-ssi?”