The director's gaze shifted to the briefcase resting on Mario's lap. "…As for that sword."

  "I found it during the war—at one of the inheritance sites."

  He paused, his fingers tightening slightly on the armrest as old memories surfaced. "Back then, I was with my team when we were ambushed… by those people."

  His eyes dimmed, and for a moment his gaze drifted, unfocused. "…Their powers were too strange. Too difficult to understand. Even our leader fell into their hands."

  His jaw tightened and his hand clenched as if suppressing something. "If not for the interference of others, I wouldn't be sitting here now."

  The director slowly exhaled, unclenching his hands as though steadying himself before continuing.

  "…I ran. I didn't stop running." A brief, humorless smile crossed his face. "Then I fell—into a pit that appeared out of nowhere."

  "When I woke up, I was in a place I didn't recognize." His voice lowered slightly. "That's where I met the residual will of a man."

  He glanced at the briefcase again. "He wanted to pass on his legacy. But I was already a martial artist. I couldn't receive everything… Only that sword."

  "After that… he vanished."

  The director shook his head, as if dismissing memories that refused to fade. "That's pretty much it."

  Mario didn't ask about the director's team. He could tell—the director was deliberately avoiding that topic.

  Sure enough—

  His eyes shifted away from the briefcase and locked with Mario's, his expression grave. "I have a hunch that the war merely ceased and didn't truly end."

  "…If possible, I didn't want you to live the way I did, but I know I cannot cage you here even if you wouldn't mind it."

  The director stood up and walked toward the window, gazing toward some unknown place.

  Mario didn't follow him and only looked at his back. Though it lasted only a moment, Mario could feel something heavy emanating from the director.

  And in that moment, a memory resurfaced in his mind, far clearer than before—it was himself and Kevin, just before he'd forced him to depart.

  He shook his head, trying to shrug off the memory, before he heard the director's voice again.

  "Child, live for yourself and don't think about me or what happened in that dream of yours. Instead, find something that would make you happy." The director paused, his voice lowering to a whisper. "…Don't be like me."

  Mario didn't catch the whisper, but because of the memory from the simulation, he could guess what was coming next.

  "Find someone and build your own family," the director said without looking back.

  "You can leave now. I want to be alone for a while. Before you go, take the pouch—and there's no need for goodbyes."

  Thump… Thump… Thump…

  Hearing that familiar exchange, Mario felt his chest tighten as his heartbeat slowed.

  'It felt heavy…'

  He stood up and left with the briefcase, without taking the pouch.

  He walked out of the orphanage. The sky had already grown dim, and for more than two hours he wandered as if in a daze.

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.

  But fortunately, he made it home safely.

  He sat on the wooden bed, placing the briefcase beside him as he let out a heavy breath.

  As if trying to distract himself from his feelings, a thought drifted into his mind.

  'Ah, right. I forgot to buy food for tonight.'

  But the thought failed to distract him.

  In the end, Mario could only force himself to confront his own feelings as memories from the simulation passed through his mind, as if reminding him of something.

  'Live for myself…?'

  '…Am I not doing that…?'

  Only one answer came to him.

  "…I don't know." He could only murmur the answer he already knew.

  Unconsciously, Kevin's face appeared in his mind—from childhood to the final memory he had of him.

  It was far clearer now.

  Mario felt a heaviness in his heart, and the weight he had been carrying since earlier was replaced by a hollow emptiness.

  He let out a slow, heavy breath, hoping the uncomfortable feeling would fade and disappear.

  But it didn't.

  Eventually, he slid the briefcase underneath the wooden bed before slowly lying down and closing his eyes.

  It didn't take long before he drifted off to sleep.

  ---

  Shhhhhh~

  Mario found himself floating again, and after a moment of confusion he looked around and realized—

  "I'm having a dream again," he muttered, eyes surveying his surroundings.

  He was inside a house, floating in a room with knives, pans, a stove, and more—it was a kitchen.

  Moments later, the door opened.

  A middle-aged man entered, followed by a young child.

  Mario looked carefully at the man's appearance—emerald green eyes, long black hair, and a ruggedly handsome face. It was himself from the simulation.

  The middle-aged man took a large fish out of a freezer and placed it in front of himself and the child.

  Mario watched as his simulated self showed the child how to prepare the fish, slowly cleaning and gutting it.

  The older Mario's expression was neutral as he taught.

  When he finished, he took another fish from the freezer and let the child try for himself.

  The child did as instructed but kept making mistakes. The older Mario, however, didn't raise his voice or give up—he simply remained patient.

  He even took out another fish for the child to try again, unbothered by the waste, calmly correcting each misstep.

  Time passed. Hours turned to days, and days turned to weeks.

  Eventually, the child managed to fully clean and gut the fish. Right after that, the older Mario showed the child how to cook it, then let the child do the same on his own.

  When the fish was done, a terrible smell filled the air, judging by the child's expression.

  After some hesitation, the child slowly tasted it—and his face twisted as if he were about to spit it out.

  But before he could, the older Mario tasted it as well. Unlike the child, his expression didn't change; he swallowed it calmly.

  "Do not fear making mistakes—fear not learning from them." The middle-aged Mario turned to the child and continued, "…And do not hide your mistakes, because the only thing you will learn from that… is how to hide them better."

  At those words, a hint of red appeared on the child's cheeks before he swallowed the food with a grimace.

  Then Mario saw something he hadn't expected.

  After the child swallowed, a small smile appeared on the older Mario's face—a genuine smile, not one worn like a mask.

  The surroundings shifted.

  Mario found himself in a grand room filled with toys and action figures. The bed was made from fine wood.

  But the scene itself was something else entirely.

  The child sat on the bed with his back against the headboard, a fever patch on his forehead, his face pale and sickly.

  The middle-aged Mario sat beside him, holding a bowl of steaming food, slowly feeding the child.

  Another expression Mario hadn't expected appeared in the older man's eyes.

  Worry. And gentleness.

  The scene puzzled him. The memories he'd received were clearest around the moment his simulated self and Kevin had separated—so he only knew that version of himself at that particular time, and hadn't expected this.

  But before he could dwell on it, the surroundings fell apart.

  For a brief moment, he seemed to glimpse an absolute darkness, and at its center, a white sphere.

  Its color was uneven—a small portion was a deeper white, while the rest was lighter. In that fleeting instant, it looked as though the lighter portion was slowly merging into the smaller, deeper one.

  Then—nothing.

  He opened his eyes to the familiar ceiling, dim light filtering through the small holes in the roof.

  He slowly sat up, then flinched at a sharp pain in his stomach. He'd forgotten to buy food yesterday.

  He got up, took two pills from the bottle, and headed straight out toward the southern part of the city to work.

  On the way, he stopped at the convenience store and bought a piece of bread and a small bottle of water with his last silver coin.

  He ate half the bread along with the nutrition pill.

  When he reached the familiar warehouse, something came back to him.

  Between all his tangled thoughts and the flood of simulation memories, Mario had forgotten about the words and gift from the warehouse owner.

  After greeting the guards, he went inside, checked in with the timekeeper, and made his way to the owner's office.

  He knocked, but there was no response—even after a second knock.

  Then he remembered. The warehouse owner had mentioned he'd be tied up for the next two months.

  'My memories are all tangled up because of that simulation. Could this be one of the side effects it warned about?' He shook the thought away and headed over to find the loaders.

  He got straight to work.

  An hour in, as he was gutting and cleaning fish, a familiar cool sensation passed through his body.

  His brows furrowed briefly. He decided to pull up the panel inwardly.

  He ignored the grayed-out section for unique skills and focused on his regular ones.

  [Skill: Fish Cleaning — 0 Tier (Intermediate) 5/300]

  It had changed from (Beginner) 3/100 to (Intermediate) 5/300.

  His frown deepened. He stopped working and turned the possible reasons over in his mind.

  After a moment, an answer surfaced.

  'Is this the benefit the simulation was talking about?'

  "So I can gain experience… but my body still has to adapt to it," he muttered. "That means it isn't immediate."

  He dismissed the panel and got back to work.

  Cut the belly… remove the intestines… rinse with water… place it with the clean ones.

  Repeat.

  For the next few hours, Mario kept at it, fully focused on cleaning and gutting fish. Without realizing it, his hands settled into a steady rhythm.

  A decade's worth of experience from the simulation quietly aligned with his movements, seeping into his muscle memory without him noticing.

  The bell rang, signaling break time.

  The sound pulled Mario back. For a moment his eyes were unfocused. Then clarity returned, and he looked down at his hands.

  A cleaned fish. A knife.

  He rinsed the fish one last time and tossed it into the basin with the others.

  Frowning, he muttered, "What was that?"

  It had felt as though he were a different person—or more precisely, as if something were merging with him.

  He stood up and washed his hands.

  'Another benefit?'

  With a shake of his head, he picked up his leftover bread and joined the other workers.

  For the first time in two years, Mario ate in silence, not exchanging a word with anyone. His mind was still caught in the lingering sensation.