Even after our arrival in the Room of Rewards—a place of sterile, seamless white—Han Geon-joo remained lost to consciousness. I held my fingertips under his nose, a cautious inquisition, and was relieved to feel the faint, rhythmic rush of breath against my skin, a little rough, but regular. A lingering worry had tightened in my chest: that the overwhelming presence of that long-haired man, the sheer, crushing will of his past life’s power, might have inflicted some lasting harm upon Geon-joo’s body. But I checked his pulse, and it was steady. Thankfully, the disaster I had feared had not come to pass.

Of course, the long-haired man had insisted, perhaps a hundred times, that he meant no harm. But how was I supposed to believe that? Steeped in distrust, I clicked my tongue and let my fingers thread into his soft black hair, rustling the strands.

The man had said Geon-joo was unconsciously learning the application of his power, and sure enough, his brow was a flurry of activity, knitting in concentration before smoothing out again. His expressions were a world apart from the long-haired man we had just faced. It’s a bizarre thing. How could a person’s entire atmosphere shift so radically based on the soul residing within, even when the vessel remained identical? Granted, the Han Geon-joo I knew could be plenty suspicious when he put his mind to being gloomy, but for the most part, his intentions were remarkably transparent. I never knew if it was simply because he was still young or, as he’d once claimed, he had made a conscious decision to be honest in my presence. Whatever the reason, I welcomed that transparency; it made him easy to keep by my side.

But the long-haired, past-life version of Han Geon-joo… he was something else entirely. Even as a fallen deity, a sinner who had plummeted from grace, he was still a god. An indescribable, palpable weight emanated from him. He wore an ambiguous, unreadable smile as a permanent fixture, a passive skill that made it impossible to distinguish the truth from the lies he spoke. Given that I was currently human, it was only natural to feel a profound sense of dissonance, an inability to connect or blend with a being so thoroughly cloaked in divine energy.

That was why I couldn’t bring myself to treat him warmly. And yet… the expressions he had worn kept flickering in my mind’s eye, hazy but persistent. He had looked sorrowful, then bitter—expressions that seemed utterly alien on that magnificent, noble face. Was it only because the foundation of that face was Han Geon-joo’s that it affected me? Even now, with the man long gone, I found a subtle, nagging worry taking root.

He did say he would disappear once Geon-joo fully awakened to his power… Does that mean I’ll have a few more chances to see him?

Honestly, I had no idea. Han Geon-joo was hardly a run-of-the-mill Awakened. His innate disposition was pure ‘Heaven and Earth, I alone am the Honored One.’ Considering the dizzying pace of his recent growth, it was painfully obvious that he would grasp the fundamentals of this divine power in no time. A knot of confusion tightened within me, and I found my fingers once again sweeping through his hair.

My fingertips pressed firmly against his furrowed brow, and the tension in his expression eased, his features relaxing as he lay with his head on my thigh. I recalled the man’s words, his frustration at Geon-joo’s stubborn insistence on fighting in his snake form—a foolish and frustrating spectacle.

“…The human heart is truly a fickle thing.”

On one hand, I couldn’t keep entering Gates exclusively with those in the know, just to hide Geon-joo’s true form. For the sake of pure convenience, I needed him to master his abilities quickly, to wield his full power in human form. And yet, a part of me hoped, just before that happened, that I would get to meet that long-haired man at least one more time.

It wasn’t merely because his expressions lingered in my mind. It was the words he left me with. That was what truly unsettled me.

‘Become the sun and set a new board. You were born as the purest good for that very purpose.’

I had ‘seen’ my past life’s memories; I hadn’t ‘remembered’ them. There were bound to be gaps, and until this moment, I hadn’t particularly cared. But now, a pressing need had awoken. I had to know. My past self, my angelic self… I had to understand what he was thinking when he saved that sinner. I had to know what thoughts defined his life, born as he was with the mantra to ‘be great.’ The thoughts of my past self, his plans for Han Geon-joo, his feelings for the main God—I had to uncover all of it.

Just as the long-haired man, by virtue of being a god, possessed a different aura and different information than Geon-joo, my angelic self would be the same. An inhuman being, he would not be as guileless as he appeared. And as someone who had risen high enough to be called the successor to the main God, he was undoubtedly painting a grand picture of his own. It was, after all, a universal truth: one does not ascend to such heights by being merely good and pure.

My past self. To uncover the picture he was painting, I would need the help of the long-haired man I met.

And… I would also need the help of the System.

“It makes me want to curse a hundred times over, but when I actually need it, there’s no better support,” I mumbled, checking the Karma accrued from clearing the quest.

The Hwahapjeon quest, the Gate Break quest, and now this Abaddon Gate quest… from these three massive-reward quests, I had amassed a considerable sum. Of course, I still needed an astronomical amount to fully delete the ‘True Evil of Humanity’ trait, but my conversation with that man had fundamentally shifted my perspective.

I no longer needed to be so desperate, so singularly focused on gathering that Karma. Hadn’t the man who was once a god said it himself? That I should become the new sun, that I was the purest good born for that very purpose. The instant I heard those words, I was irresistibly thrown back to the memory of being transported to the Predestined Tower. That precise moment when, for no discernible reason, all the required Karma had been automatically fulfilled, the shop had opened, an item had been forcibly purchased, and I was teleported. Everything had flowed with an uncanny, preordained smoothness.

Judging from that experience, the scenario of ‘Winning the war and deleting the trait bestowed by the main gods’ could also be seen as a predetermined outcome. It seemed entirely possible that the very instant I achieved victory, all the Karma I lacked would be filled. If the main gods were to be dragged down and the God of Wisdom seized control of the System, such a thing was well within the realm of possibility.

Of course, this was all contingent on the grand premise of ‘winning the war.’ But then again, if I lost, I probably wouldn’t be alive to worry about it, so failure wasn’t a scenario worth considering.

If that was the case, then why was the System practically force-feeding me Karma, insisting I receive these rewards? Was it merely consolation money, a palliative measure to keep me from activating the ‘True Evil of Humanity’ trait in a fit of fucking frustration from the trait conflict? Or were they trying to hedge their bets, to lessen their own risk for the day of victory that would inevitably come?

Both theories had merit, but I decided to lean into the one that was more convenient—and more advantageous—for me. The Karma Shop had finally opened, after all. It seemed a colossal waste to charge forward with only a single goal, the deletion of a trait.

No, the System provides Karma for a reason: strengthening.

Until the day of the war, I must use all the Karma I gather to forge myself into a state capable of achieving victory. Even if Han Geon-joo manages to wield the complete power of a god through Shadow Storage, his time limit is a mere ten minutes—a laughably insufficient duration for the war to come. In the end, he will be forced to rely on the control skills he just learned, fighting in his demigod form. If that is his limitation, then it must be me who fills the gap in firepower. It meant that I, this side, must be able to wield a complete divine body, without any time restrictions, for us to have any chance of winning.

With new resolve, I immediately opened the Karma Shop and began scrolling through the available items. Aside from a few fixed products, the inventory rotated periodically. I swiped rapidly through the list, and soon, my fingertips brushed against a single, compelling item.

[Past Life Incense (L)] How much do you know about the superstition that burning incense as you sleep will let you dream of a past life? This incense makes that absurd tale a reality! Find out about your past life.

• If you fall asleep while the incense is burning, you will recall memories from your past life. *Caution! While asleep with the incense burning, you will fall into the ‘Helpless’ status abnormality. This is a state where all defense drops to 0. You must use this in a secure location. The duration of the Past Life Incense is 48 hours.

Directly beneath that item, [Body Enhancement Potion (S)], [Pain Reduction Potion (A)], and [[Disposable] Safe Zone Skill (SS)] were lined up in a neat, conspicuous row.

The arrangement was so unnatural it was almost comical, as if someone had mistakenly registered an instruction manual as a product list: Use the Safe Zone skill to create a sanctuary, burn the Past Life Incense to reclaim your memories and powers, then use the potions to prepare your body to receive that power.

It felt deliberate. Just like someone’s careful arrangement.

Ha.

A dry laugh escaped me. It truly felt like I was a puppet dancing on the palm of someone’s hand, yet for the first time, the feeling wasn’t entirely unpleasant.

Because I had no conviction that this palm belonged to the main God. I had no feeling that it belonged to the gods at all.

“…Yeah, fuck. Even if it’s my past life, it’s still me. There’s no way in hell I’d act like such a goddamn pushover.”

For some reason, I couldn’t shake the insidious thought that this entire stage was one I had set for myself. The long-haired man had insisted that I would be able to use every power he had displayed. And why now? Why would I hear this at this exact moment, and so coincidentally, from the lips of Han Geon-joo’s past self—a man intrinsically and deeply connected to me?

Who could have delivered that message to him?

A small smile touched my lips as I glanced at the guild members, who were still staring at Han Geon-joo in a stupor. Despite having cleared the Gate, no one was cheering, no one was marveling at their success. They had just become the first team to clear an SSS-Rank Gate, standing in a room that should be overflowing with magnificent rewards, yet the treasures were invisible to them. Their focus was solely on Han Geon-joo.

They looked possessed. Or as if they were being forcibly, magnetically drawn to him.

Snap.

I flicked my fingers. The sharp, clear sound echoed through the white space, shattering the trance.

“What are you all staring at? Aren’t you going to open the chests?”

Only after I barked at them did their vacant eyes regain focus. The guild members, startled back to reality, hastily composed themselves. They shot me questioning, bewildered looks before finally turning their attention to the reward chests.

The moment their gazes left me, I pressed the purchase button in the Karma Shop. The Karma I had painstakingly saved vanished in an instant, melting away like snow, but I felt no regret.

Because it seemed that, for me, this was the true reward for clearing the Gate.