Chapter 09
Beep—beep—beep.
The warning alarm repeated endlessly, signalling an error.
Researchers clad head to toe in protective suits and equipment reported with tense expressions.
“Third attempt failed. The error has been confirmed, and even forced measurement is impossible.”
An unfamiliar waveform flickered across one of the monitors.
Fear quietly spread through the research team.
Director of Research Analysis Ham Ji-wol, who had been examining the readings, quickly turned to Kwak Han-muk.
Han-muk waved a hand, signalling that he still had the restraints firmly under control.
Ji-wol cautiously approached it and replaced the patch attached to its body.
The way she moved was as careful as if she were handling radioactive material.
I’d rather it actually were radioactive.
With that thought, Han-muk looked through the observation window.
Although the room overflowed with tension, the figure at its centre remained perfectly calm.
The man, tightly bound with prayer beads and sleeping peacefully, seemed completely detached from the commotion surrounding him.
Out of habit, Han-muk rolled one of the beads around his wrist.
His prayer beads were a defensive item.
Made from lightning-struck zelkova wood, they could freely extend in length and even separate into multiple sections within a certain range.
They were ideal for restraining and subduing targets.
But Han-muk had always found bizarre ways to use them offensively instead.
Ironically, he rarely used them for their intended purpose of restraint.
The reason was simple.
Because it wasn’t fun.
But what had happened earlier?
“Han-muk. Restrain him.”
The instant Mo Hae-in gave the order, he activated the restraints without a second thought.
It had been pure instinct.
His body had moved before his mind could process anything.
The sensation of that moment was still vivid.
“Hae-in… what the hell did you bring back?”
Han-muk shook his head in disbelief.
Mo Hae-in immediately corrected him.
“I didn’t bring him back. He appeared in front of me.”
She looked utterly exhausted after having to report everything to headquarters without a moment’s rest.
Yet her eyes still burned with determination.
The exhilaration of permanently closing a Trial through the True Ending was the only thing keeping her going.
“…Is he even human?”
“I… don’t know.”
The moment Park Seong-gyeon’s head exploded into golden fragments…
Mo Hae-in had clearly seen it.
The change that occurred in its eyes.
No human should have been capable of that.
At this very moment, every available member of the Bureau was investigating the existence known as Han Goyo.
Soon, Samra would begin its own analysis as well.
Whether he was an infected being contaminated by the Trial’s virus…
Or something that wasn’t human at all.
In truth, Mo Hae-in didn’t care what Han Goyo was.
The only thing that mattered was one question.
Could he be used…
Or not?
If he could help permanently close Trials through their True Endings…
She was willing to accept him, no matter what he turned out to be.
“Thank you for your hard work, Captain.”
The image of him smiling politely as he thanked her suddenly surfaced in her mind.
For a brief moment…
He had looked like nothing more than an ordinary university student.
But Mo Hae-in forcibly pushed the memory aside.
The emotions she’d felt then had been genuine.
Now, however, they would only interfere with her judgement.
As she continued staring at the sleeping Han Goyo without blinking…
Han-muk, who had been silently rolling his prayer beads all this time, suddenly spoke.
“You said the Trial NPCs acted friendly toward Han Goyo, right?”
“Yeah.”
“…Did you ever try attacking him with the Black Moon Blade?”
Mo Hae-in frowned at the seemingly random question.
Han-muk, however, was completely serious.
“No, I know this sounds completely insane… but I keep feeling it.”
He let out a laugh, unable to believe his own words.
“My prayer beads.”
“They want me…”
“…to release him.”
Mo Hae-in’s lips parted in surprise.
Han-muk pressed down on the beads wrapped around his wrist as he stared at Han Goyo.
Ever since earlier, the beads had repeatedly sent tingling sensations through his skin, almost as if they were complaining.
Finally, he voiced the impossible conclusion that had been weighing on his mind.
“It might not just be the Trial NPCs…”
“…Even items could be friendly toward Han Goyo.”
***
“Ugh…”
Suppressing a groan, I slowly opened my eyes.
A white ceiling greeted me.
Looks like a hospital room.
…I wanted to think that.
Unfortunately, reality was far less comforting.
I had woken up inside an interrogation room.
Wearing a restraint suit.
Strapped tightly to a chair.
This is really bad.
The Bureau belonged to the Ministry of National Defence, so any trials involving its personnel were conducted in military court.
Calling them “trials,” however, was generous.
Because of the Bureau’s special authority, it operated its own independent military court with completely separate procedures.
In other words—
If the Bureau simply declared,
“This bastard is guilty!”
their military judge could immediately approve imprisonment or punishment without much fuss.
At least there was one small blessing.
My injuries had apparently been treated.
The pain in my thigh was noticeably weaker than before.
Then a thought crossed my mind.
Come to think of it… why couldn’t I register Kwak Han-muk?
Someone of Captain Kwak’s calibre was both an important character and an exceptionally capable one.
He should have qualified for registration.
Yet the system had never displayed the message saying he was a registrable character.
You believe you should choose your registered characters carefully.
After all, you currently have only three registration slots available.
You decide that it’s still a little too early to fill one of the slots with Kwak Han-muk.
After all, he might end up escaping your ■■.
You find yourself wanting to increase your abilities as a system as soon as possible.
You think it would be a good idea to register Mo Hae-in.
A curt response came back to my idle curiosity.
Having more or less satisfied my question, I ignored the familiar system window.
Just then, the previously closed door swung open, and a man in the Trial Response Agency uniform walked in.
“Hello, Mr. Han Goyo.”
Greeting me with an easy smile, the man introduced himself.
“I’m ■■■ from the Trial Response Agency.”
He told me his name, but I didn’t recognize the character at all.
Wait… what did he say his name was?
I tried to think back, but somehow I couldn’t remember the name I’d heard only moments ago.
Looking at me wrapped up like a cocoon, the man wore a sympathetic expression.
“It must be quite uncomfortable. If you cooperate with us, we’ll untie you immediately.”
I had every intention of cooperating.
After all, I had nowhere else to go.
This place is basically my food, shelter, and livelihood.
If I left here, I’d be homeless.
Doing my best to look as harmless as possible, I answered,
“Yes. I appreciate your help.”
The man sitting across from me checked his tablet for a moment before smiling.
“First… what does ‘Roasted Chestnut’ mean?”
Ready to answer immediately, I instead stared at him blankly.
“…Pardon?”
“‘Roasted Chestnut.'”
“Oh… Roasted Chestnut…”
I froze.
How am I supposed to explain that?
For a moment, I wondered if this was some kind of interrogation technique.
Unsure what to do, I blinked awkwardly before speaking.
“It’s just… roasted chestnuts. You know, chestnuts that have been roasted.”
The atmosphere instantly turned icy.
Trying even harder to appear cooperative, I dragged out every explanation I could think of.
“My name is Han Goyo. You know the Christmas carol, right? ‘Silent Night.’ At first people called me ‘Go-bam’ from ‘Goyo-han Bam’—’Silent Night.’ Then one day my friends and I were eating roasted chestnuts, and ‘Go-bam’ somehow turned into ‘Gunbam’…”
Wow. That sounds so pathetic.
The more I explain it, the worse it gets.
But stopping now would probably make things even stranger.
“…So the nickname just stuck. Since it was an ordinary word, I started using ‘Gunbam’ as my online username too.”
Even when I played Archive, I always set my player name to Gunbam.
“So you’re saying ‘Gunbam’ is simply a nickname you chose yourself?”
“Yes.”
“…”
The man fell silent.
There wasn’t anything more I could add.
Please, let’s move on to the next question.
Just as I quietly waited…
“The names given by Trials reflect an Aptitude User’s characteristics or carry symbolic meaning.”
The man gazed steadily at me.
It was the look of someone trying to detect a lie.
“And those names are always assigned by the Trial itself.”
That was news to me.
I’d always assumed everyone simply picked whatever name they wanted, like creating a character in a game.
Although I’d spent countless hours playing Archive, most of its world-building was tucked away in bonus material unlocked after finishing the game.
Naturally, there were things I didn’t know.
“In all of history, there has never been a case where someone used a completely meaningless name—or worse, a nickname they personally chose—as their Trial name. Never.”
The man held out his tablet.
“In this Happy Smile Factory, another Aptitude User besides you experienced an abnormality with their name.”
A photo of Park Seong-gyeon appeared on the screen.
“Instead of the name normally assigned to him by the Trial, Park Seong-gyeon was given an entirely different one.”
In Happy Smile Factory, the name tag on Park Seong-gyeon’s chest had read:
Sample.
A system message immediately came to mind.
[‘Park Seong-gyeon’ is a registerable sample character. Would you like to register him?]
Sample.
And Specimen.
The naming was so blatant it practically screamed for someone to notice.
The moment Park Seong-gyeon entered Happy Smile Factory, he’d already been marked as a sample for me.
Honestly…
It wasn’t a bad choice.
Because it was Park Seong-gyeon, I could choose execution without feeling guilty or hesitating.
Still, I didn’t like the implications.
It felt as though some unseen will wanted me to grow stronger as a system.
Anyway, the interrogation seemed to be going badly.
I can’t exactly claim my defining characteristic or symbolic meaning is ‘Roasted Chestnut.’
Leaving me to stew in my thoughts, the man continued.
“Mr. Han Goyo, you knew how to clear Happy Smile Factory with the True Ending. Is that correct?”
“It was just luck.”
“You displayed exceptional skill during the boss fight and even knew a strategy that the Trial Response Agency itself was unaware of, ultimately achieving the True Ending.”
He smirked slightly before finishing.
“…That’s what Captain Mo Hae-in’s report says.”
“It really was luck. It just reminded me of a game I liked, so I tried something and it happened to work—”
“Why did you blow up Park Seong-gyeon’s head?”
He cut me off.
The way he asked made it clear he’d already decided I was responsible.
I denied it again.
“I don’t know anything about that.”
The man let out a long sigh.
“Mr. Han Goyo.”
“Yes?”
“You don’t seem to understand the situation, so let me make one thing clear.”
“The Trial Response Agency is legally permitted to use torture.”
I know… I really, really know…
But I couldn’t exactly confess.
To tell the truth, I’d have to explain that I’d been transported into the world of Archive.
No one would believe something so absurd.
Can I register this guy?
For the briefest moment, I imagined registering him and threatening him with execution.
Just then—
Entities that are not ■■ cannot yet be registered.
A system window abruptly appeared.
Pretending to lower my gaze in fear so I wouldn’t reveal I was reading it, I looked down.
Those damned black squares again.
I had no idea why they kept censoring things.
As if reading my thoughts, another message appeared.
Insufficient.
Apparently typing “Your abilities are insufficient” had become too much effort.
Now it simply threw out a single word.
At this rate it’d start communicating with initials.
Just as I was about to dismiss the message—
I stared once more at the blacked-out text.
■■…
Could it mean…
Human?
The instant the word crossed my mind, realization struck me like a hammer.
One of the Trial Response Agency’s key figures.
A being created by South Korea using Trial artifacts to combat the Trials.
Not a human—
An AI system android.
I spoke the man’s name.
“Samra Mansang.”
The moment I did, I finally saw his face for what it truly was.
Someone had seemingly scribbled over it with black paint.
The instant I recognized the distortion, the dark Trial Response Agency uniform transformed into pure white.
The black coating peeled away smoothly, revealing his real appearance.
Hair and eyes shimmering with holographic colours that shifted continuously with the light.
Colours no human could ever possess.
The being burst into laughter.
The gloomy interrogation room dissolved.
Towering walls rose around us, stretching so high their tops vanished from sight.
They were made from countless monitors, smartphones, tablets, and display panels of every kind, stacked together without order.
Every screen played a different scene from somewhere in the world.
Before the colossal wall stood an impossibly high platform.
Upon it rested a chair with no backrest.
Seated there, Samra looked down at me.
“How did you figure it out, Mr. Han Goyo?”
