Chapter 37 — Only I Remained
Darkness—not the kind that follows the turning of the world or the hush after sunset, but a merciless, suffocating presence that pressed in from every direction, thick and almost sentient. It did not merely surround Aken; it seeped into him, crawling beneath his skin and clutching at his thoughts with cold, invisible hands. This was not a darkness that faded when eyes adjusted. It lingered, alive, whispering at the edges of his awareness, promising nothing but oblivion, clinging as if it could not bear to let him go.
Aken could not feel the ground beneath his feet. He could not feel his body; he couldn't even tell if he was breathing. For a long time—seconds, minutes, perhaps hours—there was nothing. No sound, no light, no system, no pain, only absence.
Then he heard footsteps—soft, measured, echoing through the void as though something solid lay beneath them. One step, then another, drawing closer, each carrying a weight that did not belong in a place like this.
Aken's thoughts struggled to form, forcing their way through layers of resistance. "Someone's here."
The footsteps neither rushed nor hesitated. They moved with quiet certainty, as though time itself held no meaning for whoever approached. Aken tried to turn, to speak, to react—but nothing answered his will. His body refused him.
The footsteps stopped. Silence returned, but it was no longer empty. Something stood before him, watching, waiting.
Then a voice broke through.
"I can't believe you actually died."
Calm, clear, and familiar.
Aken's heart—if it still beat—stuttered.
"And after everything I've done for you."
There was no mockery in the tone, no anger, just disappointment. The darkness shifted, just enough to reveal a figure standing a few steps away. Same height. Same build. Same presence. Then the face came into view.
Aken's breath caught.
It was him.
Not similar, not resembling, identical. Yet something was wrong.
The eyes were not empty or cold. They were tired, as though burdened by too much time, too much knowledge.
"So," the other Aken said quietly, tilting his head, "what are you going to do now?"
Aken's thoughts fractured. Nothing about this made sense. He tried to rationalize it—a hallucination, a dying illusion, the final unraveling of his mind—but it felt too real.
His hands trembled, and only then did he realize he could move.
"I… I don't know," he admitted, his voice breaking.
The other Aken's expression remained unchanged, though something in his gaze shifted.
"Yeah," he said softly. "That sounds about right."
He began to walk—not toward anything, not away, but as though the space itself belonged to him.
"Do you know why you're here?"
Aken frowned faintly. "What?"
"Think about it," the other Aken replied, his voice echoing strangely. "Why has something always been wrong, from the day you were born?"
Aken's breath hitched. "What are you talking about?"
"Your birth," the other Aken continued. "The same day you came into this world, a flood struck Nigeria. Hundreds died. Coincidence?"
Silence pressed in.
"That's—" Aken faltered.
"At school," the other Aken went on. "You were bullied."
"That happens to people," Aken said weakly.
"Not in that manner."
Aken's breathing grew uneven.
"And then the first good thing," the other Aken continued. "The scholarship. Perfect timing. Perfect opportunity. Almost as if it were meant to be."
"You're twisting things," Aken muttered.
"Am I?" The other Aken turned to face him. "And then the plane."
Aken froze.
Cold air. Screams. The sound of tearing metal and burning flesh.
"Everyone died that day," the other Aken said quietly.
"Stop it."
"You survived."
"Stop it."
"No one else did."
"I SAID STOP!"
The scream tore from Aken, and the darkness trembled.
"Where are you going with this?" he demanded.
For a first, the other Aken truly looked at him.
"I'm showing you the truth."
"What truth?"
"That none of it was a coincidence."
The words fell like a verdict.
"It was all me."
Silence swallowed everything.
"That's not funny."
"I'm not joking."
"That's impossible."
"It isn't."
"No." Aken shook his head. "No, that's—"
"Reality?"
Aken stepped back—or thought he did—but nothing changed.
"You're lying."
"I wish I were."
"Then explain," Aken demanded.
For a moment, the other Aken said nothing. When he spoke again, his voice carried weight.
"In my world, mana came a year later. By then, it was too late. A storm—an earthquake—tore the planet apart. Billions died. Cities collapsed. Continents split. And from the cracks… they emerged."
"Monsters," Aken whispered.
"Yes. And when mana finally appeared, it didn't matter. Survival replaced victory. We adapted. We changed."
"And you?"
"I climbed," the other Aken said.
"To where?"
"The top. Beyond Players. Beyond Constellations."
"And then?"
"It meant nothing. Too many were gone. Too much was lost."
Aken's chest tightened. "So what did you do?"
"I erased it," the other Aken said quietly. "I destroyed that world and created a new one."
Aken's mind went blank. "Using what?"
The answer was immediate.
"You."
"No."
"Yes."
"That's insane."
"A second chance," the other Aken corrected.
"Then why am I still suffering?" Aken demanded. "If you made this, why is it the same?"
"Because I couldn't fix everything," the other Aken replied. "I recreated the conditions, but some things had to remain."
"Like what?"
"You."
Silence stretched.
"You were never meant to be normal," the other Aken said.
Aken's voice dropped. "Then what's the point? If everything is decided, what am I even doing?"
For the first time, the other Aken softened.
"You're choosing—whether to become me… or something else."
Then his tone shifted.
"Anyway, we don't have time. You're still dying."
The darkness shattered, and reality surged back. Jae-Min—broken, bleeding, one arm gone—still stood against the Vampire Prince.
Still standing.
Aken's chest tightened. "Why… why is he still fighting?"
"Because he hasn't given up on you."
A tear slipped down Aken's face.
"So," the other Aken said sharply, "what are you going to do? You have one chance."
"Three things," he continued. "First, the second evolution. It will hurt—enough to kill you. Second, I'll take control; this approach won't work on its own. Third, Miokuo—evolve it. You still have enough energy."
"And if I refuse?"
"You die."
Aken looked back at Jae-Min—still fighting, still standing.
"Idiot…" he whispered.
His chest ached. "Why are you doing this…?"
No answer came, because he already knew. Aken closed his eyes, his hands trembling. "I can't trust you."
"Yes, I know."
"You destroyed a world."
"Yes."
"And now you want my body."
"Temporarily."
"That doesn't help the case."
Silence.
Then Aken looked again.
Jae-Min—falling, rising, refusing to stay down.
"Damn it…" Aken's voice broke. "I can't lose them too."
He clenched his fists until they shook.
"Fine," he said at last. "I accept."
"Say it properly."
Aken lifted his head, tears falling, gaze steady.
"I accept… everything."
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then the other Aken smiled—not warm, not cruel, but something worse.
"Good, then let's begin."
The darkness cracked. Light bled through.
And in that moment, a system that should have remained silent awakened.
End of Chapter 37