TBR CH87

The non-human sitting in the chair raised its lips in surprise, as if looking at someone foolish enough to treat a beast as kin. But when it met Isidor’s unwavering emerald-green eyes, it realized the researcher wasn’t joking.

“The institute won’t let me leave,” the monster said. “This is for the sake of you humans. I also can’t find a place untouched by humans anymore, where I could live alone as I did centuries ago. That’s impossible now—”

“No,” Isidor interrupted softly. “None of those concerns matter. If the opportunity were right in front of you, would you choose to leave? You like human life—try blending into human society. There’d be cafés, bakeries, and ordinary, everyday routines. It would be wonderful.”

“And you’d be there,” the monster added, then smiled. “That doesn’t sound like something an institute employee would say. But it’s just imagining, right? Of course I’d agree—gladly.”

It briefly pictured that life, shrouded in a hazy mist, yet with some details vivid. A 24-hour convenience store, bustling streets, a quiet, cozy house. If it had a house, it’d want it near the sea, though it didn’t need to be submerged in water all the time.

“A seaside cottage, filled with books and coffee, a city with flower shops and bakeries that smell amazing 24 hours a day…” Isidor repeated the wishes, his eyes sparkling as he smiled at it, as if it were all already within reach.

“And a big bathtub.”

“Right,” Isidor said, suddenly snapping to attention, then sheepishly adding, “I think we should at least install a swimming pool.”

To the monster, a bathtub or a pool made little difference. To live an ordinary, daily life, it would need to tuck away its chaotic mess of tentacles and eyes. A pool sounded too conspicuous—a water-filled bathtub would suffice for its basic need for water.

After seven years of learning, it had made progress in understanding human life.

These imaginings felt endless.

They were also impossible. As an SSS-rank entity, if it escaped, the institute would spare no expense to recapture it. Perfect disguises didn’t exist, nor could it live such a peaceful, idyllic life. Besides, it had never truly tried living in human society—who knew what might happen?

Isidor’s willingness to join it was wonderful, but humans were the fragile ones. The monster didn’t want its friend to defect or risk his life for its sake.

By the end, Isidor’s voice had grown quieter.

“Maybe one day,” the monster said, unable to bear the dejection in his eyes, offering comfort. “Things aren’t so bad now. We’re together every day, and I get a glimpse of human society.”

Isidor paused, then asked something the monster hadn’t expected: “What if I weren’t here? If… even if I’m not by your side, if you have a chance to escape, don’t hesitate.”

“What?” the monster said, astonished. “I’d wait for you.”

Like it was fate. Isidor closed his eyes heavily. He knew his star would say that, but hearing it, he couldn’t stop the sting in his eyes, followed by crushing guilt. His star liked humans, but it didn’t know how despicable they could be. Countless times, he’d wanted to speak, but guilt silenced him.

Wait a little longer, Isidor thought. Just a bit more, and I can stay with you longer.

—

Even with the institute’s tight security, seamless metal doors couldn’t block all information. The monsters, each locked in their rooms, rarely communicated or saw each other as kin. But when certain events occurred, information spread in ways humans couldn’t perceive.

Could there be the scent of flowers in seawater?

An unmistakable floral fragrance hung heavily around it. The monster, perched above the sea, had seen the researcher off and now sank into thought. The scent seemed imperceptible to humans—Isidor hadn’t shown the slightest awareness. This was a form of communication exclusive to non-human entities.

“Flower,” a simple codename for an S-rank containment object, though its danger rivaled SS-rank. Its fragrance always carried the heavy scent of human blood, its intensity revealing whether it had recently fed. When needed, its pollen could spread through any available crevice.

Through pollen, it could send messages to any monster it wished to contact—one-way, as “Flower” always did things its own way.

The monster hadn’t rushed to check the message from another cell, instead smiling gently in Isidor’s presence, playing the part of a human. It wasn’t urgent. Sometimes, other monsters, in their madness, sent aimless messages. Institute news also circulated among them.

Most monsters desperately wanted to escape. But Alpha was considered an anomaly—it wasn’t eager to break free and even showed a degree of willingness to stay.

A tentacle rose from the sea, stirring waves. The pollen finally found its target, clinging to the tentacle, the fragrance spreading faintly. “Flower’s” message surfaced in fragments in the monster’s mind:

“They’ve started to act,” the pollen carried the scent of human and monster blood, different this time. “It’s not like before. They—the ‘humans’ cultivated by the institute—are the true anomalies, not to be seen as human. Don’t reveal your weaknesses. Join us, Alpha. Yesterday it was that one, today it’s me, tomorrow it’s you. Trust no human…”

“Flower’s” words didn’t sound like mere alarmism. It had Isidor check the institute’s records, which showed Hill hadn’t directly encountered this containment object, so it hadn’t been influenced by the Child of Fate. Its information network was vast—it must have heard of recent anomalies, prompting this warning.

Some monsters were always restless, craving slaughter and freedom.

Even so, when meeting the Child of Fate, they might still expose their weaknesses to please him. Hill wasn’t a weapon crafted by the institute—“Flower” was mistaken. He was an external force interfering with this world.

This had to be stopped. The pollen dissolved on the monster’s tentacle, vanishing into the air. The intense floral scent faded after being read, leaving only a faint aftertaste, like a looping murmur. No new words came. The monster prepared to sink back into the deep sea, letting the cold water wash away the lingering sweetness.

But it hesitated, pausing in place.

The warning’s final words were scattered by the sea breeze, fragmented syllables echoing in its ears:

“—Never trust any human.”

__

When Isidor left the room, the sky was already dim. He had spent more time than usual in Project Alpha’s containment area today.

Perhaps due to the light, the researcher’s gentle emerald-green eyes dimmed considerably the moment he closed the door. Isidor swiped his card and passed through nine titanium-white security doors. He first returned to the employee lounge, to his desk.

The desk was nearly empty, his colleagues nowhere to be seen.

A round, chubby octopus plush sat by the computer, and a neat stack of books rested on the shelf. Most were standard: institute safety guidelines, public document writing protocols, dictionaries of biology and chemistry terms. These books had solemn white or deep red covers. But one book made Isidor pause.

The hardcover book with a black cover.

This was the book the monster had shown him, claiming it was the embodiment of the world consciousness. It sounded like a hoax, but the stories recorded in its pages had indeed seeped into current reality.

What does it feel like when fate becomes a book, and you read it yourself? Isidor searched for his place among the endless words. But as a discarded handler, he had long faded from the stage, a mere insignificant side character in the monster’s life. He vanished from its story.

Perhaps there was another version.

He thought: maybe there’s an unfinished part of the story. Even the monster didn’t know, and the self-proclaimed world consciousness in the black book could only vaguely glimpse it.

Earlier that same day, when he and the monster had reconciled, his star began searching for the black book it had stored among its tentacles, which had inexplicably gone missing. When Isidor entered the room, he found a book open on the desk. The moment he saw it, he knew it was what the monster was looking for. The words on the page flickered in his pupils.

Fate, monster, evil, destruction, world, salvation.

Ink bled onto the black book’s pages, as if the paper itself were speaking to him: “Please help…”

The sentence was cut off as the book was abruptly closed, the pages making a faint sound.

Isidor stood still, pausing for a moment as thoughts fell like heavy snow in his mind. But his movements didn’t falter. Ignoring the black book’s attempts to reopen itself, the human researcher walked toward the door without hesitation, his emerald-green eyes naturally taking on a puzzled expression. He said softly to the monster, “There’s a book here.”

This was a clear stance. The researcher had no intention of communicating with the world consciousness behind the monster’s back. There was no need for secrecy—he, as a human, would always stand by its side and trust only its words. But the black book was troublesome. It hadn’t given up on contacting him privately and had been appearing more frequently in places where Isidor was alone.

Like now. The black hardcover book sat atop the stack, one corner protruding, as if eager to be picked up. The employee lounge had no breeze, yet the pages stirred, ready to flip open on their own.

Isidor reached out, touching the book’s smooth spine, then grabbed it and shoved it firmly into the stack, without a hint of reluctance. The Institute Safety Regulations Manual above it, thick as a brick, pressed down on the black book. The refusal was unmistakable, and the black book stopped moving.

In the dim light, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, those same emerald-green eyes stared back. But even the monster would find them unfamiliar now. There wasn’t a trace of warmth in them—they were like emeralds frozen in an Arctic wasteland, so cold they’d burn to the touch. Yet the green was strikingly vivid. He reached out and turned on the computer screen.

The familiar boot interface, the unchanging desktop. The lounge’s employee computers had only Level 3 clearance, matching his status. Isidor opened the browser and typed a string of symbols—chaotic, nonsensical, meaningless.

He pressed Enter, and a new webpage appeared.

The text on the page was official and curt, coldly barring curious visitors:

“Detected login request. Please enter your username and ID password. Note: You must ensure you have the appropriate clearance. Unauthorized access risks leaking highly confidential institute information and may endanger your personal safety.”

Isidor didn’t even glance at the warning.

His fingers hesitated briefly on the keyboard before typing a string of letters with some unfamiliarity. The spinning loading icon illuminated his pupils. He didn’t blink. The computer’s built-in camera scanned his iris for identity verification. A fleck of red glinted in his emerald-green eyes.

The page refreshed. A pop-up box cheerfully congratulated him:

“Identity verified. Access granted.”