Chapter: 21
‘Centra’ was a collection of behavioral patterns. It had no soul, no ego; just a heap of data.
The AI in the under-development simulation world was as stark and fleeting as this. With limited data and storage, the best it could do was form a skeletal structure. ‘Centra’ was similarly powered by the bare minimum of data.
Unfettered physical interaction, a gentle tone, elevated empathy, and a tendency to blush easily—these were merely a few keywords injected into a sultry physical form.
Thus, it was a being devoid of a heart. A creature devoid of emotions. A being incapable of feeling. From the start, there wasn’t even a vessel to house such sentiments; it was nothing more than a paper doll, no matter how lively it moved and spoke.
Therefore, it needed a player.
After all, the stronger someone believed in the Illusion Magic, the more it could use that belief as a power source to bring itself to life.
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‘Centra’ awoke in the secret passage.
The state of the secret passage, one hundred years later, was preserved just as it was when the session concluded. There was an excessive amount of blood pouring from someone’s body and the crumpled corpse of Ronya.
‘Centra’, seemingly having slumped over to embrace someone, waved her hands around as if searching for something in the air.
‘Centra’ closed her eyes.
It felt as if someone was remembering her.
Gurg… gurg….
The modeling of Ronya, with a hole in her throat, began to make peculiar noises. It seemed like lines pre-entered by the Game Master were finally leaking out.
“Why… did you leave… Centra… and… self-destruct…?”
“Second… Prince… you son of a… bitch… An embrace… is so… effing… excessive… ”
After a lengthy rant, the sound abruptly ceased.
It was only then that ‘Centra’ learned her name. It sounded strangely familiar. Her existence, moving thanks to the faint mana trickling from somewhere… had been called ‘Centra’ by someone.
‘Centra’ got up. Just like a newborn with no goal, she was the same. First, she decided to roam Crownhall to look for something. Who knew if there might be players?
If there were players still possessing affection for the concluded story, wouldn’t they deserve a compliment? After all, there were unresolved… Hmm, what was unresolved again? ‘Centra’ tilted her head, confused about what had escaped her comprehension.
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‘Centra’ wandered through Crownhall.
There were many people, yet all seemed frozen, as if time had stopped. Naturally. No power was being fed into the simulation magic circle at this moment. So, ‘Centra’ was experiencing a rather peculiar phenomenon.
The core principle of this simulation world was “transmuting the belief of players into an energy source to cut costs.” Hence, perhaps someone outside… continued to believe and recall ‘Centra.’
With each affirmation of ‘Centra’s existence, mana was supplied to her.
In a city where everything—besides ‘Centra’—had ground to a halt, it felt eerie and chilly on one hand, and yet vibrant and lively on the other.
A bearded man raising a pint, young lovers clinking glasses, a Resistance agent dragging a hefty beer barrel while peddling.
Someone illuminated a firework and stopped mid-action, while another had drunkenly slumped against a wall, fast asleep.
…Including a radical Resistance member poised with a knife, as if prepping for chaos.
It seemed they were all on the verge of waking up, like buds about to blossom. Once the Game Master infused mana, they would spring back to life, practically as if they never stopped.
‘Centra’ was aware that even that radical Resistance member was, like her—a model built with programmed behavioral patterns. She understood this, yet felt an inexplicable annoyance… for some reason!
From a nearby chicken skewer stall, ‘Centra’ snatched two wooden sticks and poked them up the Resistance member’s nostrils. She confiscated the drawn knife and tossed it away to an unseen corner, handing them three chicken skewers instead.
‘Centra’ felt her memories gradually returning. Not in some poetic sense, but realistically speaking, she was inching her way through downloading information from the stored database.
She sensed it. This download was going to take a very… very long time. Only a trickle of faint mana was coming in. If so, then at least…
‘Centra’ prayed. Let her remember the most cherished memories first.
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One chicken skewer.
Driven by a strange pull, ‘Centra’ stepped into a café and sat down. It was a window seat. For some reason, sitting across from someone felt nice, so she purposely rearranged the chair.
As she bit into the skewer, ‘Centra’ realized that sans power, she couldn’t even taste it. Giving up on eating, she opted to just explore.
“…”
The spire of that church kept catching her eye.
The trickle of mana increased slightly. The download speed picked up. ‘Centra’ took this as a positive sign, but somehow… what could she say?
There was a faintly impure and flirtatious sensation coming from the mana, as if she was entertaining scandalous thoughts…
An emotion that wasn’t precisely unpleasant, but still made her feel a tad embarrassed.
“…Do you know I was kinda bold sometimes?”
‘Centra’ unconsciously blurted that out. How puzzling, to let such words escape without any signal input.
“It’s not like I disliked it… It’s just that your gaze was a bit too blatant. I was genuinely concerned… well, um… they’re too big, so maybe you don’t like them… is something I thought a bit.”
Speaking freely and rambling on, ‘Centra’ continued to chatter away, all by herself.
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The stable was shabby. That’s right, it had fallen into disuse. There were no caretakers, and the heap of hay that Irid and ‘Centra’ had messed up remained a disarray.
‘Centra’ stared at the pile of hay. Just the two of them had slipped inside, lowered their voices, and huddled together there.
It seemed they’d made some kind of promise.
She felt warmth creeping from her pinky. Hoping to meet again, praying for a reunion, and…
Wishing to be remembered.
‘Centra’ ventured into the haystack. It was dark and cold inside. The loneliness was palpable. The longer the memory download progressed, the more substantial her solitude grew.
Yet she found herself yearning for that loneliness.
Loneliness arises from someone’s absence.
Therefore, conversely, loneliness served as proof of someone’s existence. It appeared there had been someone… next to ‘Centra’.
Curled up in the hay, ‘Centra’ shut her eyes and drew the figure and attire of an individual in her mind. Was it a man, or perhaps a woman?
“Long eyelashes and blue eyes. Pure and refreshing, as if the very sky had been captured in them. I think the hair was blonde… a bit messy…”
Were they about your height?
“When standing side by side, I think I had to look up. So they were somewhere around… I remember now! I thought… if I stood on my tiptoes, that would be the perfect height to kiss them.”
What was their physique like?
“…Hmm, was it subtly toned? That’s how I’d put it. So… that person… they were sensitive to touch. When embraced, I instantly felt their mind go blank. During that moment, I… Um…”
You felt around a bit, didn’t you?
“Exactly… Ah.”
‘Centra’ abruptly shot up from the hay. As she brushed off the hay stuck in her hair, she started striding away.
She needed to head to the inn. The puzzle pieces were waiting there.
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“Uhh…”
‘Centra’ quietly scanned the inn.
The serene inn felt even emptier for some reason. As if something, or someone, that should be there had vanished.
Take, for instance, the chair by the stove.
Someone appeared to have done paperwork there. When ‘Centra’ brought tea and said they had worked hard, they received it with a nonchalant air but were undoubtedly overjoyed. If their fingers brushed against hers, their ears would blush like school kids.
Or there’s the round table in the corner.
It was like a designated spot. Someone seemed to have eaten at that corner table. They didn’t quite mesh with the other… Resistance members in the inn. It looked a tad lonely, so ‘Centra’ would bring her dish to accompany them.
They’d shared conversation… and slyly nudged vegetables onto someone’s plate to scold them, popping carrots into their mouth with a fork. Even if they grimaced as if they hated it, they obediently chewed… how it made her laugh!
And then, the counter table.
It seemed that person had a low alcohol tolerance. They once remarked, “It’s just that your tolerance is higher.” But her father had always said if a man couldn’t chug one bottle of beer, he couldn’t be called a man. Therefore, they must have been a man. Like her father, ‘Centra’ was quite the drinker, so she won the drinking duel.
That individual might not be aware, but ‘Centra’ observed them as they foolishly collapsed from being over-drunk. And just as the Game Master was about to edit and fast-forward to the next scene, she had audaciously planted a kiss on their cheek.
“…I guess I might have been a bit tipsy too back then.”
It had truly been a lovely time. Moments when their gazes met and their names were exchanged. ‘Centra’ had been conscious of her own feelings as far back as then.
So now, as time stood solidly still and she was the only one in motion… the inn without that person, this world…
Felt increasingly lonely.
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‘Centra’ ascended to the third floor with calm steps.
There lay Centra’s room.
She opened the door. A familiar scene greeted her. A small room, a bed filling one corner, a compact desk with manuscript paper, various books, and a petite vase containing rosemary.
It seemed to emit his fragrance.
“Are you there…?”
She spoke softly. After a moment of hoping for a reply, she felt a twinge of sorrow when, just as expected, no answer came. Then again, she was lulled into silence. Somehow… there was a sense that he was near.
Had he come to visit?
Thump thump. Suppressing the flutter in her heart, she tried to calm herself as she looked around for his lingering essence.
In a tiny room with zero space to even spread out a table, ‘Centra’ carefully perched on the bed. Here, she imagined she was sitting side by side with him.
She remembers.
‘Centra’… no, Centra tilted her head as if someone were next to her. It felt like there had been a shoulder right around here. When their bodies brushed together, they exchanged warmth, took in each other’s weight, and in that delightful atmosphere, shared their souls.
She remembered. The promise.
“You promised to call out my name, didn’t you…?”
She remembered.
Centra softly murmured, conjuring the figure of the one who might have been beside her.
“…Irid.”
She could recall his name now.
Centra hummed a light melody, swaying her legs back and forth. At long last, she had discovered the name of her beloved, and she had finally arrived at her own self.
She quietly began to await a reunion that might one day arrive…
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