TBR CH80 [Arc 3]

“Don’t stare directly at the Black Star.” A fisherman, a survivor of a shipwreck, with lifeless eyes, rambled deliriously to others, “Because the stars are only a part of the abyss.”

—Excerpt from Dr. Roland’s 19th-century field investigation report in northeastern Russia, more akin to a collection of fantastical stories.

*

It’s said that in the deepest room of the Institute lies an SSS-class monster.

This is Area F-52 of the Institute, though the higher-ups often refer to it as Alpha Zone, signifying the highest level of restricted access. It is situated on a broad cape, shaped like a blade piercing into the sea. Centuries ago, this was a bountiful place where fishermen set sail to reap the ocean’s harvest. Now, civilians are not even permitted to enter the heart of this Institute’s territory.

All because of its existence.

Isidor stood before the titanium-white security door, crafted from the most resilient special alloy current technology could produce. To reach this point, one had to pass through nine such security measures, each requiring fingerprint scans, retinal verification, and a specialized personal ID card. This path was not unfamiliar to him. In fact, over the past seven years, unless forced to take leave due to health reasons, he walked this route every day to clock in for work.

The plastic bag in his hand sagged heavily, faintly leaking the sweet, slightly greasy scent of chilled butter.

The aroma of croissants.

The armed escorts gave him odd glances. Isidor, somewhat embarrassed, lowered his emerald-green eyes and pursed his lips. He didn’t attempt to explain why he was carrying a bag stuffed with buttery, chocolate-filled pastries to face the Institute’s most dangerous monster.

Fortunately, the special operations team, ordered to proceed with caution, had no excess curiosity. They simply escorted him to the door and issued a stern warning:

“Dr. Isidor you know this is your last chance. You’ve volunteered for this attempt, but even we cannot guarantee your safety.”

“I know,” Isidor replied, his green eyes dimming as the blunt words hit him. “I’m not the type to cling desperately when it’s clear it doesn’t want me. I just… want to try one more time.”

As he did every morning, he approached the glass door and swiped his card at the sensor lock. This time, however, the familiar beep didn’t sound. He froze.

[Identity Verification Error. Access Denied.]

The special operations team behind him looked slightly awkward.

“Uh, it must be HR. They probably—don’t worry, please “Starfield” doesn’t have a traditional narrative structure, but here’s a concise version of how it might unfold based on the provided text:

The Institute houses an SSS-class monster, a being so dangerous it’s confined in the heavily guarded Area F-52, or Alpha Zone, on a cape shaped like a blade cutting into the sea. Once a thriving fishing ground, the area is now off-limits to civilians due to the creature’s presence.

Dr. Isidor, who has cared for the monster for seven years, faces his final chance to interact with it after it rejected him. Carrying a bag of croissants, he passes through nine layers of security to reach a titanium door. Despite his ID card failing, the guards grant him access using override protocols, a sign his role may already be obsolete. The higher-ups, wary of the monster, have replaced him with a new, charismatic handler—a young man dubbed “Hope’s Star” or “Son of God”—who the monster seems to favor.

Beyond the door lies a simulated ocean, a breathtaking yet artificial prison of sand, waves, and dark reefs, designed to mimic the sea while concealing a concrete foundation. The monster, never truly captured but held in a tentative agreement with the Institute, remains elusive, possibly lurking beneath the water. Isidor steps inside, and the door seals shut, leaving his fate uncertain.

Meanwhile, a mysterious black book—embodying the world’s consciousness—hovers over the sea, seeking the “villain” capable of altering this world’s fate. It spots the monster’s glimmering tentacles, adorned with countless eyes, and is struck by its terrifying yet beautiful form. The book attempts communication, displaying the words “I want to talk” on its cover. The monster, intrigued but dismissive, toys with the book before dropping it from a height, leaving the world’s consciousness plummeting toward the water, lamenting its recurring misfortune with dangerous, book-destroying adversaries.

Just…

It was caught by a slender, bony hand.

The world consciousness, on the verge of withdrawing from the black book’s physical form, was momentarily stunned before realizing what had happened. It hadn’t plunged into the surging, dark currents of the sea but had landed in a pair of hands—hands that could only belong to a human. The book’s pages faced downward, so the first thing it saw was the now-calm sea, its surface smooth as a dark gem. The grotesque starlight seemed to have never existed, as if it were merely an illusion.

“What business do you have with me?”

The voice that rang in its ears was like the sea before it—hoarse, devoid of emotional inflection, yet imbued with a sense of serene tranquility. Following the pale, icy hand upward, the world consciousness met a pair of eyes. Eyes positioned where eyes should be, no more, no less. The consciousness let out a silent breath of relief at this fact before beginning to study the creature standing before it, cloaked in human skin.

The world consciousness had seen countless humans across countless worlds. The concepts of handsomeness or beauty had long ceased to impress it. Yet the “human” before it was strikingly unique.

Every part of its body was perfectly normal, yet it exuded an intense “inhuman” aura. This wasn’t because the monster’s human form was patchwork or discordant—quite the opposite. It was flawless in every detail, its overall composition harmonious to the point of beauty. The black of its pupils resembled slate frozen in ice, a visual anomaly that was palpable.

Was it something behind those eyes, something otherworldly, that made every human who gazed into them tremble with dread?

“Hello?”

Seeing that the black book it had caught showed no response, the ink on its pages still lingering on familiar letters, the monster offered a greeting with impeccable courtesy. It stood directly on the sea’s surface, the water beneath its feet as if solidified, bearing its weight. With long, pale fingers, it flipped through the book’s pages, only to find that just one page bore writing, the rest blank.

“Could it be,” the human-shaped monster sighed softly, “that even you are frightened by me?”