Chapter 4: Chapter 4: Transmigrator. Cowards. Regression (1)

[Missiles have been launched all over the capital city of—]

 

The blares of sirens.

 

[Breaking news! The seventh concurrent war in the world has begun]

 

The flames of destruction.

 

War.

 

"M-mom..."

 

A child holding his breath.

 

"Almost there, just a little more."

 

A mother wading through a field of corpses.

 

Death.

 

"W-wait, sir, please! I'll pay my rent soon—"

 

Desperate swings.

 

"Kind sir? Can I get a quarter—AhK!"

 

Hopeless attempts.

 

Poverty.

 

"And for our next song—Oh my god!"

 

Screams of fear.

 

"Student, go back to your class—"

 

The cracks of guns.

 

Rage.

 

"You're not welcome in this neighborhood."

 

Words of division.

 

"The government needs to stop these people from coming here. Ban all these third-class bastards."

 

Demands of ostracization.

 

Hate.

 

[New estimates show that 5% of the adult population is depressed.]

 

Loss of desires.

 

[One person commits suicide Every. Forty. Seconds!]

 

Unending nightmare.

 

Despair.

 

Those were the sounds of a world.

 

A world at its peak of advancement. 

 

A world at its peak of connectivity.

 

A world at its peak of prosperity.

 

Those were the feelings of that world.

 

That world where people turned away from the skies. 

 

That world where people blinded themselves with their deepest fears.

 

Where people cried.

 

Despaired.

 

Then it happened.

 

To answer their calls. Their grief.

 

All over, all at once. Whether it was the night or the day, whether there was poverty or prosperity, war or peace.

 

For all those who dared hope.

 

For all those who dared dream.

 

For all those who dared love.

 

For all those... who looked.

 

A tower stood tall.

 

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A tower, piercing through the heavens.

 

***

 

In the streets of Symphonia, Ativan adjusted his cloak as he stood around the corners of a block in the outskirts. Behind him were the ivory walls of a small apartment complex created in the City of Beginnings.

 

The tower's regressor.

 

There wasn't much the office worker knew about that 'character.' No, it was doubtful that even the author had decided enough about the regressor.

 

A character that didn't contribute anything to the story, but was always present throughout the different scenarios. 

 

Ativan had no idea how, but the regressor in these three months had gone from being a nobody in a small apartment complex to being the seventh-ranked member of the tower and the de-facto leader of the Ascent Union, which was a union made by the strongest powers of the tower to continue climbing.

 

The coward puked at least seven times every day as the leader of such an organization but did not change his personality. A gag character through and through, that was the overpowered regressor.

 

Thankfully, there were a few things that were described about him that didn't change no matter his position.

 

For one, today was a Tuesday.

 

Ativan, hidden underneath the darkness of the alley, rolled up his sleeves.

 

At exactly two in the afternoon of a Tuesday, when the streets of Symphonia, and generally, the entire world were least crowded following a mind-numbing morning traffic, the coward usually stepped out of his abode to stock up on groceries for the entire week.

 

Other than that, the regressor also—

 

"Ah."

 

The sounds of footsteps rang out. Ativan brushed back his red hair and raised the collars of his cloak as he peered around the walls.

 

Stepping out of the apartment complex with hunched shoulders was an androgynous, almost effeminate person. His long white hair twisted in a braid twirled with his every movement as he covered every inch of his body in an oversized coat. As if that wasn't enough, he even donned a black face mask that barely hid his sharp features.

 

"Regressor..." Ativan muttered, his eyes focused on the man's hunched back and tiny steps. Shuffling his sight left to right, the Regressor pushed his arms in his coat and took off.

 

This was his key to survival.

 

Within the next three months, Ativan was going to bring this man to his side regardless of the cost. And then, he would become an irreplaceable part of the tower so that the damn SSS-Class Hunter would be unable to touch him.

 

Clenching his fists, Ativan hid behind the poles, bushes, and boxes in the path as he followed behind the Regressor.

 

The Regressor walked for twenty minutes in the outskirts and reached the least crowded supermarket in Symphonia. 

 

His ability to locate the quietest place was awe-inspiring.

 

Hiding inside a trash can, Ativan slightly pulled up the lid and watched as the Regressor stopped in front of the entrance.

 

"Meow..." purred a black cat, seated atop the lid of the trashcan.

 

"I should make him rely on me..." he thought. The Regressor was a coward through and through, he would need someone to give him courage.

 

If Ativan could become like that for him, the Regressor will take any measure to keep Ativan safe. Probably.

 

Schemes unfolded in Ativan's mind as he wondered whether he should make up a chance meeting or brute-force his way to forming a bond with the Regressor.

 

It was then that he noticed.

 

Biting his thumb, the Regressor was sauntering outside the entrance of the store. His brows were knitted together while his eyes drooped in a tight frown.

 

The Regressor stopped at the edge of the entrance and took in a deep breath. He then pulled his hand out and started waving it around while muttering something.

 

Disbelief crept up Ativan's back. 

 

Both his and the cat's jaws dropped when they realized what was up.

 

"This fucker is practicing for the reception!?"

 

"Meow meow!!"

 

The Regressor continued waving his hands around and took another deep breath. After rehearsing the conversation thrice, he tried to turn around when an employee of the store tapped his shoulders.

 

"Excuse me, can I help you?" she asked.

 

The Regressor froze in his spot.

 

Color drained from his face and he turned purple. The employee of the store was stunned as the man started quaking in his boots.

 

After a few long and difficult seconds, the Regressor dived back into his pockets.

 

"Customer?"

 

The Regressor pulled out his wallet at breakneck speed and held out two checks of a hundred bucks.

 

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry..."  Like a broken recorder, the Regressor apologized and pushed the money on the employee who couldn't do anything.

 

This.

 

It went beyond the level of cowardice.

 

The cat's body was lowered as Ativan slowly sunk back into the trashcan.

 

"Maybe I don't need him?"

 

"Meooow..."

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