"Eh?"
Elysia's nose twitched slightly. Her expression shifted from excitement to sharp realization, and finally, her brow furrowed deeply—
"Oh no, oh no! My dish!"
Holding her spatula high, she dashed back into the kitchen like a streak.
"..."
"Don't worry, Michael! It's just a little burnt, there are other dishes. Go sit on the sofa for a bit. I'll bring everything out when it's all ready."
Michael shook his head. Just smelling the air didn't give him much confidence in tonight's meal.
But it was Elysia's cooking, after all. No matter how bad it tasted, he couldn't refuse, right?
An indescribable weariness washed over his entire body—no, more accurately, a sense of weakness.
This feeling robbed him even of the motivation to speak. He just wanted to collapse onto the sofa and sit there, zoned out, for hours.
"Hm?"
A pink backpack sat on the sofa. Judging by the color alone, it wasn't hard to guess whose it was.
Michael turned sideways, listening to the clatter from the kitchen. Ultimately unable to suppress his curiosity, he gently sat down beside the backpack and, timing it with the clang of the spatula against the wok, pulled the zipper.
"Zzzzip—"
"This is..."
Blushing, Michael silently zipped the bag closed. Then, facing the kitchen, he called out in a voice neither loud nor soft:
"Ely, why did you bring... a change of clothes?"
"Huh? What? What did you say? I can't hear you!"
"Never mind..."
Michael was inexplicably reminded of Kosma. Sometimes, silence truly was the better option.
"..."
Yes, this apartment was somewhat different from Kevin and Mei's. The biggest difference lay in the number of occupants.
Just like in previous years, Michael wasn't living with Elysia. For most people, this situation would likely involve the man pleading and the woman refusing.
But between these two, it was Michael who was unwilling.
Others naturally couldn't understand this. Pardofelis, for instance, had implicitly and explicitly stuck up for "Big Sis Ely" several times.
But the real reason within, Elysia herself knew very well, which was why she never pressured Michael about it.
And that so-called reason wasn't the laughable self-blame of the past, though in terms of "laughability," perhaps little had changed.
On one hand, for him, the meaning of [Elysia] had transcended the definition of "lover." He certainly loved her, but it was no longer the equal love between typical partners. Yet, to call it the fervor of a believer felt too calm, too intimate.
Meaning, even if they did live under the same roof, likely nothing would happen.
On the other hand, it was because of choice.
A person's life is a trajectory woven from countless choices. And before the final end descends...
Heh... He himself had once said this to Elysia:
"I'm the kind of person who can't stand others being good to me."
Because from his perspective, every instance of "goodness" accepted from others meant adding another burden onto himself, something separate from her.
After all, goodness is indeed a driving force, but the force itself carries weight.
And if this goodness was bestowed by the original source of goodness itself...
Elysia must have sensed it too, right? Even though he never mentioned a single punctuation mark of it to her, she could still feel that Michael had formulated and was executing a plan hidden from her, hidden from everyone.
And at the very end of this plan, he might face an impossible choice.
Every bit of goodness from others, every bit of goodness Elysia gave him, would be placed on the scales, becoming the criteria for his final decision.
Therefore, refusing Elysia on this point wasn't his true intention, but a sacrifice he felt compelled to make.
But what about Elysia herself?
Michael didn't know that in the kitchen, just a dozen steps away, Elysia gently stirred the wok, her mind occupied with almost identical thoughts.
Just as Michael had his own plan, she too had a choice she felt she had to make—and likewise, it was an impossible one.
If she got closer to Michael, she too was afraid. Afraid that every moment of affection and intimacy would tilt the scales in her heart towards the option she didn't want.
So, for a long time, she had tacitly accepted this relationship that was both close and distant.
But...
She ultimately came here anyway. Because compared to "making the choice she didn't want," she feared more the regret of never having been together until the very end.
No matter what, she hoped, she yearned for this love to remain whole until the very end.
Or perhaps...
If they absolutely had to part ways in the end, let her and Michael at least create some more unforgettable, unprecedentedly sweet memories together.
Even though, even though!
If she truly [Returned to Finality], perhaps even her personality couldn't be preserved. The so-called [Memories] would naturally become worthless, meaningless things.
She also knew that if she really did this, the sweetness in these memories wouldn't just be [meaningless] to her. For Michael, they might even transform into an even more unbearable pain.
But people are selfish...
She didn't want to be alone at the final moment either.
She also thought, if possible... please let me die in the arms of the one I love most. Even if it becomes his lifelong nightmare, a burden he can never shake off, just let me be selfish this once, just this once!
Perhaps Michael felt the same way, right? Compared to the hesitation of facing the choice, he too was actually more afraid of the regret of not having savored enough sweetness before the end descended, right?
It's just that he's always been the reserved type, rarely putting his thoughts into words, no matter how strongly he felt them, right?
Her vision blurred only for an instant. Elysia quickly wiped away the tears with the back of her hand, then opened the salt container nearby and, without looking, poured two large spoonfuls into the scrambled eggs with tomato.
How many more chances like this would there be? A few? A dozen? Several dozen? Hundreds? Or perhaps, just this once?
She didn't know when the Twelfth Herrscher would appear, let alone when Finality would descend. She believed Michael didn't know either.
But she also felt that both Michael and herself, whether as Herrschers or as beings somehow even more special, could sense that the time left for them to make their choices was running out.
Adjusting the heat, covering the lid, reducing the sauce—her technique was impeccably skillful. If Michael saw it, he'd probably be quite surprised.
However, not everything in this world was like cooking. Except for a very few individuals, continuous repetition could almost guarantee making a dish that wasn't inedible.
Or perhaps, for Elysia, and for most people, cooking was inherently something they [Could Do].
But for the rare few like Mei, cooking was something they [Could Not Do].
Things you can't do won't become doable just because you want them to, nor because you keep repeating them, and certainly not because you declare, "I can do it."
But that's how the world is. What people can do often isn't what they truly want to do, and what people truly want to do, they often cannot achieve no matter how hard they try.
Elysia thought this as she carefully wiped every teardrop from the corners of her eyes and eyelashes with a tissue, then quietly blew her nose, patted her cheeks, and started humming one of Eden's tunes. After plating the two dishes, she put on a radiant smile and carried them to the dining table.
"Food's ready! Come and try it!"
Michael's lips twitched slightly as he silently sat down at the table.
Elysia enthusiastically handed him utensils, saying with anticipation:
"The stewed beef is indeed a bit burnt, but the scrambled eggs with tomato should be fine. Quick, try it!"
Michael blinked. He wanted to ask, "Did you taste it yourself?" but felt that wasn't the right thing to say.
So, narrowing his eyes, with unwavering determination, he first picked up a large piece of surface-charred beef, popped it into his mouth, and began chewing gently.
Honestly, it wasn't as bad as he'd imagined. Especially the cooking time; being slightly burnt actually suited Michael's taste. While not exactly crispy outside and tender inside, it certainly wasn't tough.
It just tasted strangely bland, as if no salt or any other seasoning had been added.
He glanced at the black pepper sauce on the tip of his chopsticks. Hmm... with this much black pepper sauce, salt probably wasn't necessary anyway.
But Michael sucked on his chopsticks. The black pepper sauce was equally tasteless, leaving only a warm, viscous sensation spreading through his mouth.
How strange. If no salt was added, that could be explained, but how could black pepper sauce possibly have no taste?
Michael swallowed the piece of beef with considerable effort, then looked up. He wanted to ask Elysia what exactly she had done to completely remove the savory flavor of the black pepper sauce, but meeting her expectant and nervous gaze, he decided to try the next dish first before saying anything.
This time, he was smarter, only scooping half a spoonful of the scrambled eggs with tomato into his mouth. After a brief chew, he lightly covered his mouth with one hand. His Adam's apple bobbed up to its highest point, then slowly descended after a moment, indicating the food in his mouth had, more or less, been swallowed.
"Elysia, you... how much salt did you put in these two dishes?"
"Eh?"
Elysia tilted her head, thought for a moment, then suddenly cupped her face forcefully:
"Oh dear! The beef is fine, but the scrambled eggs... I think, maybe, possibly... I added double the salt!"
She scooped a large spoonful right in front of Michael and put it in her mouth. Her features instantly scrunched together. After swallowing with difficulty, she let out a long breath:
"Phew... close call, close call. At least it's not salty to the point of bitterness. Okay, I'll put it back in the wok and add more water... uh, no, that'll turn it into tomato egg soup..."
"Bring more rice then," Michael said with a faint smile.
"Uh... okay!"
Blushing, Elysia walked back to the kitchen, leaving Michael alone, staring blankly at the two dishes.
"Double the salt, huh?"
Michael looked at the fiery red color and couldn't resist putting another spoonful in his mouth.
But, unsurprisingly, he still couldn't taste anything. Only the slippery texture of the tomato, the viscous sauce, the scalding egg, and the sensation of the unpeeled tomato skin swirling in his mouth.
"...Hmph..."
Following a long, heavy sigh through his nose came confusion.
"Why is this happening? It shouldn't be..."
It really shouldn't. There could be many reasons for losing one's sense of taste. For ordinary humans, it might be nerve dysfunction or some other illness. For a Herrscher, the memories buried in his brain had "seen" similar situations before.
But Michael carefully examined his hands—back, palm, up to his arms. He even pulled open his collar, lowered his head to inspect his chest and abdomen, then rolled up his pant legs to look...
No matter how hard he searched, he couldn't find a single trace of purple markings.
Perhaps this line of thinking was flawed from the start. Kiana experienced that because, in her unascended state, her body couldn't handle the Honkai Energy erosion from four Herrscher Cores.
But neither of those issues applied to Michael.
He had experienced ascension, twice.
He only possessed one core. The other constructs were merely projections of this Herrscher of Reason core onto other dimensions to replicate corresponding authorities. Although the Honkai Energy his body endured was unprecedentedly immense, the total amount wasn't additive, and he never felt "overwhelmed."
Yet, this had happened anyway, due to some factor beyond Michael's control.
He sniffed. His sense of smell seemed largely fine; he could still detect some aroma from the food. But his sense of taste was undeniably gone.
Why, though?
Elysia's soft humming drifted continuously from the kitchen doorway. She seemed to be taking an exceptionally long time scooping rice.
Just as Michael thought this, he suddenly chuckled wryly. Maybe it wasn't Elysia taking a long time, but rather his own consciousness becoming completely detached from external time while thinking. Perhaps at this moment, Elysia had just finished rinsing the bowls and opened the rice cooker, and the second hand had only swept across a dozen seconds on the clock face.
"Don't overthink it," Michael reassured himself.
Not overthinking didn't mean this phenomenon was normal or could be ignored. From any perspective, the opposite should be true.
But since deep contemplation yielded no answers to this problem, what was the point of thinking about it? It would be more practical to just get a check-up at Mobius's place tomorrow.
"Or maybe, it's just fatigue from overusing my brain recently, an illusion... Ah, no, no!"
The more he emphasized the words "Don't think about it" in his mind, the more his consciousness did the exact opposite, irrevocably spiraling into a vortex.
"Why?"
He slowly typed these two words in his mind.
"Is it because I'm a Herrscher, fundamentally different from humans, so physiological rejection occurs? Barely noticeable at first, but worsening over time? No, probably not. Elysia is also a Herrscher, the first one, she's existed longer than me. And the two Welts are the same. Never heard of them losing their sense of taste."
The essence of elimination is selecting potential characteristics that could lead to this result. If a corresponding characteristic appeared in other individuals without causing the same result, it can be ruled out.
And the last remaining option, no matter how absurd, must be the correct answer.
Thus, only two possibilities remained. First, it could be the effect of constantly changing bodies. A reconstructed body is, after all, a "new" body; rejection reactions are quite normal.
From a certain perspective, especially considering the timing, this possibility was extremely high. Losing taste was a recent symptom, appearing five days after changing bodies again, making the correlation easy to spot.
But...
Michael suddenly unearthed a phrase from his memory, a memory related to this phrase that had never surfaced before, as if someone had arranged it specifically, presenting it to him now in his moment of confusion:
"When writing essays, after analyzing the prompt, the very first idea or theme that pops into your head must be discarded."
Because that initial inspiration is often superficial, a conclusion reached without deep thought. Upon quiet re-examination, countless flaws will inevitably be found—this possibility was the same.
Never mind Welt Yang's multiple body changes; didn't Otto also frequently swap Soulium bodies? He had enough bodies to fill a warehouse, yet he drank his red wine and ate his steak without any such rejection reaction.
As for differing effects due to individual physiological variations, that was a low-probability event capable of explaining almost anything. Michael didn't want to settle on it so early.
That left only one possibility... Though achieved through an unbelievable method, he unquestionably possessed all Herrscher authorities up to this point.
Michael first sighed inwardly. He might not have been certain before, but now, this fact itself was the cornerstone of his plan.
And regarding the present... regarding what the loss of taste truly meant, he couldn't articulate it yet, but he could feel the "weight" of the so-called truth—
It meant there was no retreat path left for what he wanted to do. He had to personally reach the deepest part of the world, then grasp that sole opportunity, to give everything he cared about everything they desired. Even though, for himself, that meant...
He suddenly laughed self-deprecatingly.
So what?
He suddenly found himself liking this kind of meaningless turn—
"I never had a retreat path."
Such a thing had never existed for him from the moment he was born into this world.
So what had he lost?
He had lost nothing.
Thump!
A tremendous sound reverberated from the depths of his heart, striking his brain directly.
It was definitely a proper heartbeat, no doubt, but beyond being unusually loud, Michael seemed to detect within it...
A sense of "resonance."
As if the sound didn't originate from one heart, but from two identical hearts, born from the same source, completing the exact same expansion and contraction at the exact same instant.
"..."
He silently closed his eyes. Elysia's humming, the click of the rice cooker closing, her footsteps—all this "reality" nearly dissipated.
He opened his eyes in pitch darkness. Before him lay neither crimson sand nor a golden giant tree.
Ultimately, those were just abstract, yet concrete, visualizations humanity used for the incomprehensible Imaginary Space.
This place had always contained nothing, yet contained everything.
Then, unsurprisingly, he felt the familiar sensation of being watched.
But this time, he didn't flee. Instead, he met the gaze without hesitation.
"Not enough."
A voice sounded beside his ear.
Michael wasn't sure if it was a real sound, or if such things even existed in the Imaginary Space.
Then, more and more cold, dry things flooded his mind—
"Not enough... not yet complete... not the right time..."
Just as I thought. The loss of taste was simply a reminder, or perhaps, a call.
"Urgh!"
He opened his eyes again, squinting tightly against the sudden light he couldn't adapt to. But this stimulus also made him realize he had returned to the "real world."
The dining table was empty. Elysia sat across from him, head propped on her hand. Upon closer inspection, her eyes were tightly closed, her breathing long, slow, and gentle—clearly fast asleep.
Outside the window, frogs croaked tirelessly, a sound both annoying and not annoying.
All the hands on the clock had moved to the upper left quadrant. Hours had passed in the blink of an eye...
Michael walked into the kitchen, followed the lingering smell, and opened the pot lid. A dish blending red, yellow, and black appeared before him.
Truly Elysia. To dilute the saltiness of one dish, she had ruined the other, perfectly fine dish.
However, for Michael, who had lost his sense of taste, it wasn't exactly culinary horror.
Of course, he could choose not to eat it, but she would likely be heartbroken tomorrow morning if he did.
...
"Retch!"
The kitchen door was tightly closed. Michael gently turned on the faucet, letting the water trickle out with the softest possible sound.
The food had barely gone down before it all came back up. His stomach violently rejected everything that entered.
"Is this also part of the call..."
Michael filled the pot with water. It was too late; he didn't rush to wash it.
He turned and walked back into the dining room. Elysia remained in the same position, motionless.
Michael gently lifted her, carried her to the bedroom bed, removed her outer clothes and pants, and then wrapped her tightly in the covers.
The bed was large. Michael, without taking off his own clothes or using a blanket, lay down straight beside her.
He slowly closed his eyes, ensuring his mind thought of absolutely nothing—normally the hardest thing to do when suffering from insomnia, but with the Authority of Sentience, it wasn't a problem.
However, despite his mind being blank, thinking of nothing, the lazy, heavy drowsiness refused to come.
"Is this... also part of it?"
Everything was reminding him: You are no longer human. You no longer have a retreat path. You must reach the deepest part of the world, the entity that is simultaneously the world's end.
But at the same time, you are not enough. You are not yet complete. And it is not yet time.
Michael turned to face Elysia, wanting to embrace her, yet afraid the movement would startle her awake, even though such a small gesture was insignificant compared to what had happened earlier.
He turned over again. Silvery light, like grains of sand on the moon's surface, poured through the gap in the curtains, pooling on the wooden floor.
Michael decided to get out of bed and gently pulled the curtains aside.
In the sky of the underground city floated a full moon that seemed eternally unchanging. Not only was it surprisingly large, but even the traces of its craters were visible in minute detail.
Unfortunately, the number of craters on this moon would never increase.
Because it wasn't the real moon.
Despite this, Michael couldn't help but murmur to it:
"Yes, it's not yet time. But, the wait won't be too long now."