Final Chapter: Vision
Flashback: 31 minutes remaining.
2007, hospital.
I'd been brought here by Victor's men for treatment. Within an hour, all my wounds had been properly dressed.
Jessica had volunteered to stay with me, and now she lay asleep beside me.
We both knew each other's feelings, and we both knew that in our current situation, there was no way to stand against Victor.
So be it.
What else could we do?
Jessica's breathing grew steady and soft.
I called her name quietly a few times, but she didn't respond.
My heart ached for her. I thought I'd let her sleep a little longer. But the moment that thought surfaced, all my fighting spirit began to dissolve. The hospital bed felt comfortable, and the smell of the hospital felt safe.
Really—what was the point of fighting?
If Victor wanted to play God, let him. If he wanted to manipulate the timeline, let him.
Would the world really get worse because of it?
Besides, even if it did, what did that have to do with me?
I argued with myself in my head. My eight-hour struggle suddenly seemed rather laughable.
I was insignificant.
Next to Victor, next to the entire timeline, I was profoundly insignificant.
I wanted to just drift off, wait to wake up in 2017, and go back to being that detective with the high case-solving rate and the high complaint rate.
But I had that dream.
A dream where many people stabbed me in the chest with knives.
In the dream, they said: "The mission isn't over yet." "Think one step further." "For the entire timeline."
Those words.
They hurt more than the knives.
I woke in a cold sweat, drenched from head to toe.
That's right—I still had a mission.
The funny thing was, no matter how many twists had occurred along the way, my mission had never changed: assassinate Victor.
I was the detective with the highest case-solving rate and the highest complaint rate in Southside District.
I couldn't even pull off this one job in eight hours. How embarrassing.
It was past midnight. The lights in the private room had gone out, leaving everything in blackness.
I could sense two faint breathing sounds.
One came from Jessica beside me. The other came from a dark corner of the room—someone who hadn't been there before I fell asleep.
Victor had sent someone to watch me.
I glanced at the clock hanging on the ward door. Its hands had a luminous coating, popular in this era.
11:52
How perfect.
Eleven minutes left.
In those eleven minutes, I had to turn defeat into victory.
---
61
Flashback: 11 minutes remaining.
I slowly turned onto my side. One hand covered Jessica's mouth and nose, while the other pressed firmly on the Quchi acupoint of her elbow.
Master had taught me this technique—the pain wasn't sharp, but it was persistent, enough to wake her without causing a major reaction.
Jessica was smart. She kept her body still and gently bit the hand I'd placed over her mouth.
I relaxed my hands, then slid one beneath the covers to her palm. Same trick as before—I would write all my thoughts into her hand.
"I know how to win"
"Jessica"
"No time left. I write. You memorize."
When I'd confronted Victor earlier, I'd been too panicked, my mind too turbulent. Now, after lying still for a while, everything seemed clear.
I started going over everything that had happened, speculating on all the "rules" of this timeline, and sure enough, I found a possible path.
But only possible.
The odds were slim, because there were at least three critical points I couldn't control.
"I'm betting on three things."
I wrote this in her palm.
"First, Reeves is still on my side."
Actually, it had been obvious during my confrontation with Master.
We detectives believe in motive.
When Master said he'd joined Project Rebirth so Master's wife could live, that motive was reasonable for most people—but for a lifetime cop like Reeves, it was absurd.
So when he said those words, it was likely a "hint." A hint that he was undercover.
He had to be undercover. Because my entire plan needed him.
Jessica was only seventeen—her mind was unsteady, her methods not ruthless enough, and she shared blood with Victor.
But my master was different. He was a hard man, capable of doing bloody work.
"Second, find the secret of Victor's memory."
Jessica squeezed my hand. Clearly, she didn't understand.
I quickly explained.
"Victor beat Damian because he knows everything that happened across 1,043 time travels."
This was what made Victor "unsolvable."
He could always anticipate before being caught, could make a crowd of people appear from nowhere in the wasteland, and all those memory lapses I'd experienced—whether or not I'd held a knife, whether or not I'd taken down those Project Rebirth operatives...
These were simply "memory paradoxes" from multiple timelines.
When someone activated the Gate and rebooted a timeline, only the person who traveled through the Gate retained memories from both timelines. Everyone else's memories would be "overwritten." That's why I'd experienced strange memory lapses during my standoff with Master, only to realize within moments that I was left with only one set of memories "matching the current situation."
Because I was a "passive traveler"—my memories were overwritten by the new timeline.
But Victor was different.
He'd said to me in the car: "I am the source of all 1,043 timelines."
I thought I understood what he meant.
He could remember every timeline's events even as a "passive traveler."
He must have some method to prevent his memories from being "overwritten."
Jessica: "Got it"
Me: "Find the secret. Use this secret"
Jessica: "Then keep you from being overwritten"
Me: "No. Let Master use it himself"
Jessica: "What about you?"
Me: "I must forget. Forget this plan immediately"
Jessica: "?"
Me: "Forgetting is the only way to survive"
Jessica: "Then what?"
Me: "Wait"
Me: "Wait until you find the earliest parameter across all timelines. Then find me"
Jessica: "Earliest?"
Me: "The parameter that stopped Victor. The parameter that fulfills his wish"
Jessica: "The parameter that resurrected my mother?"
Me: "Yes. And finally, bet that Victor still deeply loves your mother"
---
62—2019
"So, Master, did you find the secret of how his memory wasn't overwritten?"
In the 2019 lab, I asked Master.
Master shook his head. Half his face remained slack, while the other half managed a weary smile.
"He didn't find it, but he discovered something new," Jessica said.
"Something new..."
I'd already guessed the gist. The old scavenger, Master—they both seemed to retain memories from other timelines, and they shared similar symptoms...
"Brain damage," Jessica said softly. "Severe brain damage."
Jessica told me that over the past two years, to earn Victor's trust, Master had done Project Rebirth's dirtiest work, even leveraging his own authority.
He was an old cop—he knew exactly how to infiltrate a criminal organization. Armed with resources from both the underworld and the legitimate world, he carried out his duties with meticulous thoroughness. Eventually, Victor realized that his disciple's memories had been "overwritten" by the new timeline, and his guard dropped. By late 2018, Master had become one of the primary strategists within Project Rebirth.
He could even operate the Gate device and access new parameters.
But even so, he couldn't discover the secret of Victor's memory.
Then, his informant found a way.
That informant had been beaten half-senile after his cooperation with the police was exposed. Master had been supporting him, hiring people to care for his daily needs.
Once, when Master went to visit him, he found him raving again.
Master thought he'd be paying medical bills again, but quickly realized something was wrong.
Because the man's words kept circling around one idea: "Victor is already dead, isn't he..."
That informant was the old scavenger I'd met.
"So, Master, did you use the same method?"
Jessica nodded.
One day, six months ago, Master went to inspect the Gate device as usual.
He put on the consciousness-transmitmitting helmet and sat inside the artificial wormhole device.
But no one knew that he'd tampered with it the night before.
The electrical current in the helmet had been amplified nearly a hundredfold.
He raised his hand and kissed his wedding ring.
Then he nodded to the Project Rebirth staff beside him.
The Gate activated.
Violent sparks erupted, destroying half of Master's life.
---
63
"Come on, child... why are you crying..."
"Master is still here..."
"Your plan... is beautiful..."
"Except for you... no one could have come up with it..."
"Go..."
"Go finish it."
---
64
Intel:
Project Rebirth has calculated numerous parameters
And can restart time infinitely
But, if one travels to the earliest time the Gate can reach
Then one can avoid "being restarted"
The earliest time, currently, is the parameter for resurrecting Jessica's mother
Master activated the old Gate in the lab.
The heavy motors, the rust-spotted axles, and the artificial wormhole slowly charging beneath.
The lights throughout the lab began to flicker.
We were about to travel to the earliest time the Gate could currently reach.
Only at that point in time could Project Rebirth no longer create new timelines.
Master had Jessica and me step inside the Gate device and put on the helmets. Then, dazzling white light rose from below, enveloping us like a luminous dome.
Fierce pain exploded in my skull.
Jessica and I held each other tight.
At that moment, the lab door was suddenly thrown open.
Over a dozen men in suits stormed in, each pulling out a dagger, rushing toward Master at full speed.
Of course—the three of us all knew...
Activating the Gate device in the middle of the night, using Project Rebirth's latest parameters—how could that not alert Victor?
But what other choice did we have?
Master took one last look at Jessica and me, and with the half of his face that still held life, he smiled.
Then he slowly turned around.
Left foot forward, knees slightly bent.
Arms extended, elbows slightly lowered.
Chest drawn in, shoulders spread, back curved.
This was the combat technique every officer in the Southside District police force wanted to learn—Master's signature grappling art, honed over decades to subdue countless criminals.
He'd taught me.
But his opening stance was so slow.
So painfully slow.
Full of openings, utterly unthreatening.
The white light intensified, and my consciousness was already merging into the corridor of time.
Those black-suited men charged at Master like wolves descending on an aging goat.
They swiftly vanished into the blinding white.
The last image I saw was Master's gaunt, unyielding silhouette.