Chapter 62

It was an eye.

An eye dedicated to the role of seeing.

An organ faithfully observing objects and forming images.

An organ that excluded all other functions, solely devoted to its role.

The eye gazed at the existence beyond the mirror.

Men in white coats were chatting, oblivious.

The eye couldn’t hear their conversation, but it could read their lips.

– “How’s the <Eye Beyond the Mirror>?”

– “No reaction today either. It seems to lack any form of intelligence.”

– “Then let’s conclude. One year has passed. No intellectual responses, no human reflexes.”

It laughed at them inwardly.

The Eye Beyond the Mirror.

That was the name given to it as soon as it was pulled from the sea.

The eye knew they needed the mirror to see it.

But their naming was wrong.

The eye was not a passive entity requiring an object; the mirror was merely a window through which it observed the world, not its dwelling.

Humans couldn’t perceive it without the mirror, yet arrogantly assumed the eye lived within it.

Their arrogance didn’t end there.

Humans shone light on the eye, but it didn’t react.

They concluded it had no reflexes, but the eye mocked that conclusion.

Why would it have reflexes when it needed neither a spine nor a brain?

The very idea that the eye relied on light to perceive was flawed.

It didn’t depend on light to see. To grasp essence, it captured essence directly.

Similarly, the assumption of no intelligence was wrong.

It simply didn’t respond because it was bored.

Thinking the eye lacked intelligence, they carelessly conversed before it, never considering their lips could be read.

Their arrogance lay in believing a magic mirror and thick walls could shield them from its gaze.

The Eye Beyond the Mirror felt boredom.

No yawns, no blinks, but the concept of boredom existed within it.

To alleviate its tedium, it peered across dimensions, only to be met with the researchers’ trivial chatter.

Their scandals and crimes provided slight amusement, but it quickly grew dull.

It was by chance that a man entered the eye’s view.

Perhaps driven by a longing for the future, or the lingering madness of a mother’s love even after death, or maybe just fate.

Owen, the man touring the lab, observed the eye, and the eye observed Owen.

The eye subtly responded only to Owen.

Owen grew intrigued and leased the eye, placing it in the company’s basement.

The eye found Owen’s story fascinating and shifted its window from the mirror to Owen’s eyes.

The world seen through Owen’s eyes was intriguing. So was Owen’s life.

Thus, in Owen’s moment of despair, as he lay dying, the eye gave him a small gift.

A mother’s love and the power he so desperately craved.

– “Ah! Finally, you are by my side…!”

Owen praised the eye.

The eye didn’t need worship, but the praise wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Part of the eye’s consciousness, once confined to a screen, now connected with Owen.

In human terms, their interaction had escalated from TV viewer to gamer level.

Was the eye controlling Owen, or passively following his story?

With their connection strengthened, the distinction no longer mattered.

The eye—or perhaps now <Owen>—saw a world closer than before, observing a man named Amon and his companions.

They all had intriguing stories.

But the eye’s preference leaned toward its host’s tale.

It hurriedly cleared Amon’s party from view to continue watching Owen’s story.

The strengthened connection left the humans immobilized, like snails to a human.

A slight sense of superiority filled the eye.

At that moment, one among the crowd moved.

It was Amon.

The appearance of a snail running at human speed intrigued the eye.

Owen, connected to the eye, also found Amon fascinating.

Unable to resist, he peered into Amon’s essence.

And beyond Amon…

“An ill-mannered intruder dares to step into my garden.”

A woman with a cold expression met the eye’s gaze.

*

The woman—conveniently labeled as such, though certainty eluded—locked eyes with the eye.

The eye realized she was what humans called a “Goddess.”

The eye gazed at her.

And the moment their eyes met, an indescribable descent was felt.

“!!!”

“Child not of mine. How dare you gaze where you do not belong.”

The Goddess spoke to the eye.

“Drifter of impure dimensions, entering a home uninvited and locking gazes with the master is unacceptable in any realm.”

The eye’s descent continued.

It felt its status being “torn away.”

In human terms, it was like a four-dimensional being falling onto a two-dimensional canvas.

The eye desperately sent a telepathic plea.

[“No, that’s not it! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”]

But the Goddess had no intention of conversing.

“Do not apologize. A mother may find fleas repulsive, but she does not speak to them. Foolish owner of a well. Scoundrel. Yet, I shall not judge you.”

The Goddess gestured.

“I have chosen to respect my children’s freedom and will, so I shall merely lock the door you must leave through. Descend. My children shall judge you.”

“Ahhh!!! I’m sorry!!!! Please have mercy!!!!”

Before the words ended, the eye sank into Owen’s consciousness.

In reality, Owen screamed the same.

“Ahhh!”

Owen writhed in pain.

His eyes hurt. He felt he had seen something, but his head ached. His brain refused to comprehend.

What did I… see?

Only one voice echoed in Owen’s mind.

[I loved you and set boundaries, yet children always cross the fences their mothers erect.]

Owen refused to understand.

In his pain, he looked at Amon.

Yes. The pain started after seeing him.

Then, defeating him would solve it.

In excruciating pain, Owen saw the future.

In that future, Owen fought Amon one-on-one…

And was beheaded.

“?!”

He saw the future again. And was beheaded.

Like a normal human unable to dodge a bullet despite knowing it’s coming, he lost by an insurmountable margin.

He couldn’t comprehend.

So he looked again. This time, using Amon’s companions as hostages.

And lost.

“Ugh…!”

He changed strategies.

Provoked Amon to lose his cool and fought.

And died after horrifying torture.

“Ugh…!”

As if experiencing it firsthand, he retched at the vivid, gruesome future, then observed again.

And lost in every future.

For one reason.

Owen feared Amon and couldn’t conceive a way to defeat him.

As Cash had warned, the future offers no choices to those who give up.

Though Owen had briefly realized his resolve during battle, his arrogance and intoxication with power made him forget, rendering that option unreachable.

‘No… that can’t be…!’

But Owen refused to accept.

So he strained his eyes harder.

‘I can’t give up…!’

He couldn’t give up.

But it wasn’t resolve.

‘How could I lose this eye…!’

Obsession couldn’t become resolve.

He sought a future where he could defeat Amon.

The cost was his limbs beginning to melt.

But his priority was the eye, so he paid no heed.

The melting spread from his limbs to his torso, reaching his head.

Even then, Owen kept looking into the future.

Soon, only one eye remained.

As his nerves shrank to his torso and his eyeball diminished, what was once Owen became more snail-like.

Finally, he saw a future where he didn’t lose to Amon.

It was Owen taking his own life.

“Ah…!”

But the snail that was Owen could only let out a pitiful sigh.

Even as he sighed, countless futures flashed before him.

But the snail had no right to choose.

All it could do was watch.

What was once Owen watched the approaching figures of Amon and Cash.

“What is this?”

Amon looked down at the snail with considerable bewilderment.

He had never seen or heard of such a thing.

If even hardcore veteran Amon didn’t know, Cash had no chance.

“I don’t know either.”

Amon pointed at the snail and asked Cash.

“Is this Owen?”

“Maybe?”

Hearing Amon and Cash’s conversation, the snail remembered it was Owen.

A being incapable of action quickly loses its identity.

But the memories it recalled were jumbled in a flood of information, becoming irrelevant.

Amon looked at the snail with an awkward expression.

“What do we do with this…”

Cash cautiously asked.

“Should we… kill it?”

“Huh? Why? Feeling sympathetic?”

“No. Not that… it’s just…”

Cash hesitated, then spoke.

“It doesn’t seem like a normal snail, more like an entity. I’m not sure if it’s useful, but I’d like to store it in our company’s basement for research… Haha. Sorry. Feeling disillusioned?”

“No. Hearing you out, it sounds fine.”

“Huh? Are you sure?”

“About what?”

“Heresy and all…”

Hearing Cash, Amon briefly reviewed Owen’s actions.

Why did this man turn into a snail?

No idea.

But one thing was certain.

He did the same things as that cult leader from Punk City 1.

Circumstantial evidence was enough.

Bang bang. Heresy confirmed.

But despite the conclusion, Amon’s internal scale didn’t tip toward execution.

“This isn’t the Middle Ages. Heretics aren’t always executed. Besides…”

“Besides?”

“Sometimes, there are punishments worse than death.”

Effectively, permission.

“Ugh-”

Cash picked up the arm-sized snail with a dustpan and placed it in a container.

“Alright. Let’s name the new entity. <The Wise Snail>. How’s that?”

Everyone agreed.

Owen, who sought to see much, ultimately lost his name, retaining only the identity of a snail.

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