The Regressor gave me a sidelong glare and spoke.

“Once you have a biometric terminal inscribed in you, you're tied to the Military State whether you like it or not. Not only will the Military State use that information to watch your every move, but other countries will regard you with deep suspicion too. In hostile countries like the Empire or the Federation, you might even be put under surveillance.”

And here I'd wondered what she was going to say. I adopted an equally crooked posture and remarked offhandedly,

“Not much of a problem unless you're planning to defect.”

The Regressor glared at me. I glared right back.

Badmouthing the Military State was fine. It was a sham of a country that threw blameless criminals into the bottomless pit, after all.

But I wouldn't stand for her badmouthing the biometric terminal I used! I didn't use my terminal and clothing packets out of loyalty to the Military State. They were just convenient!

“... Besides, a biometric terminal is a weakness in itself. A magical device that can affect my entire body. It may look different, but it's no different from the slave brands of the past.”

What? Was she calling me a slave? Now I was offended.

I was someone who'd wished several times a day that the Military State would collapse. Ever since being locked up in Tantalus, cursing it had become second nature. As a prominent petty crook in the back alleys, I'd committed several times as many kinds of offenses as she had. Fraud, gambling, embezzlement, blackmail, bribery, and more!

And she was treating me like the Military State's slave? No, I was its worst petty criminal! Our crimes might be different in nature, but mine were far more varied!

Thoroughly indignant, I snapped back.

“That's going too far. By that logic, what in the world is safe? You could call a tight suit a prison that constricts you, or insist a necktie is no different from a leash around your neck. You'd better confiscate every fountain pen in the world too. The pen is mightier than the sword, after all.”

The Regressor leaned against the back of her chair and bored into me with her glare.

Caked-on hostility prickled against me. A chronic hatred. A dark shadow that had followed her through thirteen deaths, wearisome but never gone. The grime accumulated in the Military State's shadow still occupied a corner of her heart.

“... Surely even you know.”

The Regressor gave me an icy look laden with several lifetimes of emotion. Her heart was so cold it seemed it would never burn again.

That look chilled me to the bone, and I muttered inwardly.

Military State. What on earth did you do to get on the Regressor's bad side? You should've been careful. The world is vast, and somewhere out there are individuals capable of taking on a nation. A Regressor who can turn back time infinitely, for instance.

From now on, ease up on the torture and treat people a little better...

“That the very first use the Military State found for biometric terminals... was torture.”

A faint trace. A brief, intense recollection. Through mind reading, I read the past the Regressor recalled. Long ago, in her first life. An old memory from that time surfaced.

All I could feel there were fragments of pain.

The only thought in her mind was a mere two words: 'It hurts.' Like some piece of wretched performance art, they blackened the final page, alongside ragged scars.

I swallowed hard.

Military State, I think it's already too late for you.

I'd better get out of this country as soon as possible. Adios. Once we part, let's never meet again.

“A biometric terminal is an Arche Avatar forcibly opened from outside through alchemy and magic. An extension of my body. If you pry the terminal open and put a specially made toxic substance inside... Heh. You can inflict nothing but pain while keeping sensation intact. Run a current through it, and it spreads through the whole body in an instant. The metal needle is clearly touching my wrist, but my toes curl up on their own. Hah. The Military State didn't just develop ordinary technology. What advanced fastest and most dramatically were the technologies for making weapons... and inflicting pain.”

Dark emotions came surging out. So much so that the vampire was left speechless, and even the oblivious Azi raised her tail and watched warily.

The vampire remained silent.

But it was clear which way her heart leaned. If hearts could be represented as compasses, the vampire's needle would have pointed toward the Regressor.

Recalling her pain, the Regressor repeated the thoughts hollowly to herself.

'Everyone subjected to that torture died. I couldn't bear it either, and killed myself. After that day, I carried poison so I could die painlessly whenever I needed to. No matter how I look at it, I can't forgive them. The Military State...'

I was fucked.

If I'd known, I wouldn't have impersonated an Instructor. I hadn't read these painful memories!

No wonder she'd thrown her sword at me first. Should I count myself lucky I was still alive?

The Regressor clenched her fist hard enough to draw blood, trying to stop her hand from shaking.

“Even after all that, do you think biometric terminals are necessary?”

'If this man sides with the Military State despite knowing its darkness, we'll clash sooner or later.'

The Regressor was sizing me up. One careless move here, and she'd brand me an enemy and torment me for eternity. This life wasn't the end for her, after all.

She wouldn't believe me if I said I wasn't an Instructor now, would she?

In that case.

I lowered my voice. In an instant, like a face-changing performer, I replaced my cheerful, slightly higher pitch with another.

Through that abrupt shift, I reset the mood. I forcibly snapped the thread of conversation. If a conversation were a living creature, this would be its death. I erected a wall of silence, creating a gap as though declaring that what followed had nothing to do with what came before.

The end of one conversation. The beginning of another.

Once ready, I opened a new discussion.

“When biometric terminals and clothing packets were first created, such uses were never envisioned.”

My voice was calm, as though viewing things from a great distance, yet suffused with warmth.

Giving it as much resonance as I could, I recited an old tale.

“The first person to devise the clothing packet was an elderly woman with a daughter-in-law. She ran a small fabric shop, and watched with pity as her clumsy daughter-in-law sewed and washed clothes until her hands blistered. The young woman's once bright, lively face was always clouded with worry. But sewing and laundering were burdens she had to bear if she was to help her husband carry on the family business. The old woman pondered ways to help her daughter-in-law grow accustomed to the housework, but could think of no good solution. Then, one day, a noble commissioned a garment from her.”

Seen from afar, steep slopes and sharp rocks are merely delicate details in a gentle landscape. A story alone could never contain all the tears and pain shed along the way.

But even with a portion of those emotions in it, a single story cannot move someone's heart.

“The noble ordered the most splendid, beautiful garment the old woman could make. She was aghast at the request. With all its ornaments joined together, the thing could hardly be called clothing. Prostrating herself before the noble, she answered.”

This garment is beyond my ability to make.

Make it.

The fabric and thread are twisted together like a pack of fucking dogs fighting. Made this way, it could never be put on or taken off.

No matter. Make it.

There are so many layers of fabric that even the smallest child who can hold a needle could not squeeze between them. If it frays or tears, it cannot be mended.

No matter. Make it.

Silks and fabrics of utterly different natures are tangled together as one. Even when soiled, it must not touch water, nor can it be cleaned with ammonia water on a brush.

No matter. Make it.

Why does Your Excellency desire a garment that cannot be worn again, mended, or cleaned?

It is to be used for one day. One single day. Afterward, it will be taken off, torn apart, and buried in the earth. Your concerns are unnecessary.

It is an abomination unworthy of being called clothing.

No matter. Make it.

I carried on the exchange alone, like a traditional storyteller. Wetting my parched throat with saliva, I continued.

“It was an eccentric order from a capricious noble. An order anyone would have struggled to accept. She could have dismissed it as a whim or refused it as unreasonable. But to the old woman, who had spent so long thinking of her daughter-in-law, it was inspiration that came like a miracle.”

Her daughter-in-law was clumsy, hopeless at laundry and sewing. Though the old woman scolded her openly, she had secretly swallowed tears at the sight of the blood and water spotting those sleeves. And now—

“If clothes were worn for only one day and discarded, there would be no need to wash or mend them.”

She attained the seamless perfection of heavenly robes.

“It was impossible. It should have been impossible. Making clothes anew each time they were worn, then dismantling them with alchemy instead of taking them off? How could that make sense? It couldn't have been easy. It must have been terribly difficult. The old woman must have burned through all her remaining years. At an age when failing eyesight should have made her consider retirement, she must have picked up her needle again. Her skill approached artistry, but sadly, age was against her. Dozens of needle pricks pierced her weak, trembling hands, and unlike in her youth, they did not heal readily. Not a day passed without blood.”

I deliberately paused for breath there. Then I raised the hole in my body for them to see again.

To show them what that tiny hole contained.

“At its heart, a biometric terminal is a wound left by a needle. A clothing packet is a garment made for a daughter-in-law. The Military State merely made them a little more... magitechnical.”

The Military State had made all the evil things in the world.

But before those things became evil,

they had been feelings far smaller, and far more precious.

I approached the Regressor, dismissing my clothing packet as I went. As though someone had pulled every loose thread on my body at once, the fibers unraveled strand by strand and gathered in my left hand. Like a silkworm making a cocoon, like a spider wrapping its prey, the fine threads went from translucent to opaque and returned to a small bead.

After a few steps, I was back in my standard-issue shirt and shorts.

The Instructor's uniform packet popped out of my biometric terminal. I caught it and stopped before the Regressor's desk.

“I cannot speak for the Military State, and you, Trainee Shei, cannot speak for everyone who has suffered. Even so, I will ask forgiveness.”

I hadn't done it. But since I belonged to that country too, I would ask forgiveness for my share.

With that intent, I took the Regressor's hand, searching for her biometric terminal.

She watched what I was doing without a word.

“For the sins of those who heated the world's most warmhearted achievement in hellfire and drew it forth.”

And so, I placed my finger where her biometric terminal ought to be—

Huh? Smooth. Never mind a hole; all I could feel was a lively pulse.

Puzzled, I asked,

“What? You don't have a biometric terminal?”

Why wasn't there one? How strange. Her memories of torture had been so vivid.

Just as I was about to tilt my head, the flustered Regressor snatched her hand away.

“N-no. Wait.”

'I was tortured in my second life, when I went wild without knowing anything... This time, I never had the procedure in the first place.'

Oh, right.

She'd been tortured in a previous life, hadn't she? I'd become so absorbed in the thoughts and memories I heard that I'd forgotten for a moment. They'd been that intense.

Realizing the situation, I fell silent and gave her an awkward look. She, too, was having trouble meeting my eyes, evidently finding the atmosphere exceedingly uncomfortable.

Wait. That made me look ridiculous.

I'd read her mind without asking, empathized too much, and made a whole production of it. I'd thought the Regressor had been tortured. Well, she had. In a previous life.

This time, she'd been the one raising hell instead.

Things had suddenly become complicated. The Regressor had told a lie that only regression could explain, and I'd learned something only mind reading could explain.

What should I do at a time like this? What if she discovered I was a mind reader?

After a moment's thought, I flailed both arms and shouted.

“Liar! You made it sound like you'd been tortured! I thought you were the one it happened to!”

Turn it around and get angry!

To make it abundantly clear that the Regressor had fooled me, I stamped my foot and yelled.

“Torture, my ass! You don't even have a biometric terminal! Huh? How are they supposed to shove anything into this smooth wrist of yours?”

“Th-this is...”

“Did you want to show off that badly? Or are you even trying to steal the painful scars of torture? To make them a medal decorating your life? How shameless! First poverty, and now even torture and suffering are being stolen!”

“W-wait! I really did!”

“Really did what?”

As I raised my chin and pressed her, the Regressor worked her lips with an aggrieved expression. But she couldn't turn her thoughts into words.

'I still... can't tell him I can regress!'

Of course not. A Regressor's regression would be the secret she had to keep until the very end.

Then how would she explain this? How would she escape the predicament I'd cornered her in?

The answer was surprisingly simple.

BANG!

The Regressor launched herself away and fled. An escape—in the physical sense.

Whew. To think she'd bolt using means I couldn't counter. She'd gotten me there.

[“That was a most fascinating tale.”]

The vampire, who had quietly listened to the story, approached with a satisfied air. She seemed quite pleased with today's lesson.

[“It was worth breaking my seclusion for this outing. But I have yet to hear the ending. What became of the old woman?”]

“Ahaha.”

[“... Why do you laugh?”]

“Oh, nothing. I just wondered why you were calling her an old woman. She lived in relatively modern times, you know. Even if she were still alive, she wouldn't be two hundred yet. Far younger than you, Trainee Tyrkanzyaka. So please call her a little girl, not an old woman. Wow. Imagine being able to treat someone like her as a little girl...”

BANG!

The vampire smashed through the building's outer wall and left. She'd fled.

Whew. With nothing but my mouth, I'd driven off one woman and one corpse. Someone would be proud of me.

Still, that coffin was made of wood. How could it smash through a concrete wall and remain intact? I felt as though common sense had gone awry.

“That's destruction of property... Oh, whatever. Let things happen.”

I wasn't the Military State's budget department. They'd figure it out. All I needed was somewhere decent to sleep.

“Now, then...”

I approached Azi, who was nodding off at the back of the classroom. As my footsteps drew near, her tail started wagging first. Then her ears pricked up, she raised her head, and, noticing my approach, sprang to her feet.

Judging by the drool around her mouth, she was living the dog's life of luxury again today. Dodging her attempt to wipe her drool on my hand, I spoke.

“Azi. Did you pay attention in class?”

“Woof!”

“Can you tell me what I taught today?”

“Woof!”

“So I shouldn't expect anything at all?”

“Yep!”

“... It's kind of infuriating that you only speak human at times like this.”

“Angry?”

“Yes! I'm angry, you mutt! At least try to listen!”

“Mutt?! Woof! Woof!”

Good grief. What was I going to do with this mutt?

She was incredibly docile and fond of humans, but according to the future I'd seen through the Regressor, even she would turn into a vicious beast that tore people apart.

I didn't know why, but it was a future I had to prevent. I'd hoped teaching Azi some common sense might help.

“I must be crazy. Even whoever came up with the saying that a dog at a village school learns to recite poetry after three years would scold me for not understanding metaphors if I brought in an actual dog.”

As I scratched my head, Azi stretched her upper body forward and barked furiously.

“Woof! Woof, woof! Woof!”

Azi was looking at my left wrist.

Could it be? Had she listened to the lesson and realized what it was?

Half skeptical, I showed her my left wrist.

“What? Do you actually remember something? Yes. Look. This is what's called a biometric terminal, and if you insert a clothing packet here...”

“Chomp!”

“AAAAAAAAAGH!!”

With the sensation of sharp, hard fangs digging into the hole in my body,

I lost consciousness.