Chapter 145
Prophet of the End.
(prophète de l'apocalypse)
An old man shouldering the world's karma.
The dean looked at the boy before his eyes along with the cooling teacup.
Sitting opposite the table was a golden-haired boy with a brazen smile.
He had suddenly barged in saying he had business during work hours, and took a seat in the most annoying spot.
A private meeting realized by chance.
"Ahem."
Though he came saying to have some conversation.
This time he wasn't opening his mouth and just fiddled with his teacup.
Smiling meaningfully every time their eyes met.
"......"
He was waiting for the other to open his mouth first.
The old man quietly sighed. He was used to such snake-like speech.
Actually.
Though this was only the second proper conversation with the boy, the dean was already reacting as if familiar.
No. Perhaps he really was familiar.
Because for him, the present was merely a piece cut from the future.
The old man finally decided to briefly engage in the young man's conversation.
"I heard about this incident."
A voice lightly opening the topic.
It was a few sentences recalling the recent topic and afterwards.
The dean spoke recalling memories from a few days ago.
"Selena... that child has noticeably improved too."
"Did you have a separate conversation?"
"I briefly stopped by the hospital room. What teacher in the world would be indifferent when their only disciple is bedridden?"
"Then that's good. I thought the relationship between you two had been awkward."
"Yes. We had a deep conversation after a long time."
A brief reminiscence.
The old man remembered his disciple lying in the sickbed.
The atmosphere completely changed in just a few days.
The gaze that had seemed devoid of emotion all along faded, and moisture gathered drop by drop in those red pupils.
The sudden shower flowed down her snow-white cheeks all day.
While tightly grasping the old man's wrinkled hand.
-I'm sorry, Master...
That crying lingered in his ear.
Gaston muttered, recalling the body heat still remaining at his fingertips.
"It had been a long time."
Nearly 10 years of time.
Selena revealing emotions so intensely was now in hazy memories from long ago.
When he came to his senses, several more wrinkles had formed on the old man's forehead.
His mouth tasted bitter at the needless old thoughts.
-You... have talent.
-Call me master from today.
For a moment.
He remembered the moment he took in the girl.
The old man washed his mouth with lukewarm black tea.
"I suddenly reminisced. About the time when Lianne was still alive."
"......"
"It was a time when nothing had gone wrong yet."
Lianne.
As that name was mentioned, the atmosphere sank.
The two didn't readily continue speaking.
If asked why they suddenly closed their mouths, it was because the boy had questions to throw, and the old man already knew the content of those questions.
The boy sipped tea pretending to be indifferent.
"There was always a part I couldn't understand."
Clatter.
He set down the cup.
"Why did you take her in?"
"......"
Reason.
The boy was asking about the reason.
Their gazes calmly crossed.
'Selena.'
The boy knew part of the future.
At the same time, he also knew the fact that the old man before his eyes was a prophet.
To that extent, he couldn't help but have doubts.
Why did he take in a child who would become a seed of disaster?
Why did he just watch her younger sister be played by the heretics' schemes?
Why couldn't he protect the two of them?
The short question contained countless 'whys'.
The old man silently caressed the cup caught on his fingertips.
'Reason.'
Well.
There were two answers to the question.
One.
The old man cannot go against the world's will.
As the boy before his eyes also knew.
His ability had the condition 'must not interfere with the story' attached.
This didn't simply mean doing nothing.
It was closer to a process of fully carrying out the script and role given by the world.
If he foresaw a future A, the old man had no choice of going to B or C, or not going.
He just moved following the script A given by the world.
'Puppet.'
The old man called himself that.
Because he was a being living following the given script.
Taking in Selena was in the same context.
Whether she betrayed and half-destroyed the academy as a traitor, or repented and lived as the boy's helper.
In any future, the woman was a figure standing at the center of the story.
For Gaston, there was no choice but to bring Selena.
And the second was.
'Yuda Snakers.'
Because the boy existed.
The old man knew from long before meeting Selena that she would be saved.
That's why he searched through all the empire's slums.
-Master.
A life conforming to fate.
But that didn't mean loss of emotion.
Selena was the old man's only disciple and family.
How could he not have affection?
The old man constantly hoped she would be saved.
From the snake.
"......"
Though there was no way to convey it to others.
For Gaston, he had followed the best he could take.
Clatter-.
The old man tilted his teacup along with silence.
Had he been lost in thought for quite a while?
The liquid touching his lips was already cold.
The boy opposite furrowed his brow but soon withdrew his gaze as if giving up.
He loosened the chilly atmosphere and leaned back in his chair.
He spoke briefly.
"Well... I didn't expect an answer."
Just.
The boy needed a subject to throw his monologue at.
Should I say it was close to a complaint?
"It's difficult to have such conversations often. I thought of an appropriate partner and came."
Talk about the future.
It was difficult to open up to or explain to others.
In that sense, the old man was suitable as a subject for a monologue.
Because he was a person who knew the world's future like the boy, yet wouldn't be flustered by most nonsense.
If the role he needed was a silent audience, the old man was willing to go along.
It wasn't a particularly difficult role either.
"If you have thoughts, have tea sometimes."
"That's unexpected. I thought you'd hate such pointless conversation."
"If you think about it, aren't we in a relationship of disciple's disciple, or master's master?"
Also,
In some futures, they were friends too.
The old man swallowed the following words.
"...Therefore, I have no intention of treating you coldly."
"That's welcome news."
"But I'm worried because I'm not good with words. I ask for understanding that I can't answer any particular questions."
"Oh my... that might certainly be a minus factor."
Laughter bursting quietly.
The boy shrugged as if that was enough.
Then he set down the teacup he had been holding on the table.
Did he have another schedule soon?
The boy soon brushed off his seat and stood up.
"I'll be going now."
"Do so."
"See you next time."
"If there is a next time."
"Of course."
Grin.
The boy turned his back with a brief smile.
The old man followed the receding back with his eyes for a moment.
Soon the dean's office door closed and the snake completely disappeared.
"......"
A space left alone again.
Gaston needlessly fiddled with his left hand covered by a glove.
Beyond the leather sensation, nothing existed.
Last time. While leaving a prophecy for the boy, he forcibly added a few more words and paid the price.
The hand that had crumbled to a handful of ashes couldn't be restored even by magic or divinity.
It was a kind of warning.
'Damn it.'
The world declared.
It meant not to overstep his bounds.
The role given to the old man was not prophet, but observer.
Fate cannot be changed without a terrible price.
'Not yet.'
Foresight.
The old man's ability was one that transcended providence.
It was on a different level from what fortune tellers generally carried out.
To the extent it was problematic because it was so severe.
For example, it was like this.
The old man knew everything.
From the fact that the boy would visit today, to what conversation would be exchanged in between.
Even after entering the dean's office. How many times he inhaled, how long he held the teacup in his hand, how many sips he took from the cup.
'834 times. 12 minutes 56 seconds. 21 sips.'
It wasn't remembering through simple observation.
He had constantly 'known' from before.
That was.
From before the boy entered the dean's office.
Or from before this morning dawned.
No, from before this heretic attack occurred.
Perhaps from before he entered the academy.
Actually, from the moment he received the call from the star when the old man was still a fifteen-year-old boy. Continuously since then.
The prophet foresaw, memorized, and penetrated all days.
Countless information flooded his mind as if about to burst.
Constantly.
The old man was living overlapping realities.
It felt like being trapped in a dream for a long time.
Present and future tangled in a mess.
Now it was difficult to distinguish whether the scene before his eyes was really reality, or if he was seeing the future through prophecy.
As the story got on track more and more, the prophet's mind was collapsing.
Gaston felt that his remaining time wasn't very long.
'One more year.'
60 years had passed since receiving the calling of the end.
From a fifteen-year-old boy who was still young, to an old man reaching eighty.
Gaston had been enduring all that karma consistently.
Only for the future.
'The ending approaches.'
It was an irrefutable proposition.
Because disaster would appear, breaking peace in the not-too-distant future.
The main and supporting characters would have to choose their end.
And
The old man too.
'Indeed.'
Had to choose his end.
Whether to remain the world's observer, or die as a recorder, or take on yet another role...
The prophet agonized over his complete use to be fulfilled to the world.
Along with the sunset fading outside the window.
The prophet closed his mouth like that.