Chapter 235

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The Performer II

What do you think is the most overwhelming advantage of being a regressor?

It's the ability to "correct" embarrassing mistakes in the next cycle.

History is written by the victor. And in the apocalypse, survival is victory.

Do you get it? These days, when you see a regressor, just think of it as "they survived"—the Dormammu effect.[1]

Now, the mistakes from the previous cycle officially no longer existed.

The embarrassing incident with my favorite street musician? Wiped from history.

In this new cycle, I—along with Ah-ryeon—became a passionate fan of the Masked Song Queen, Cecelia.

“Guild Leader...! I-I can’t believe I get to fangirl with you! This feels like a dream!”

Every time there was a concert, regardless of the set, I spent a fortune buying VIP seats. During the show, I’d order the most expensive dishes and buy all the merchandise.

“I’m so happy! Meeting you at Busan Station was the luckiest moment of my life!”

“Because now you get to boast non-stop on SG Net?”

“Yes!”

Ah-ryeon’s admiration for me skyrocketed to unprecedented levels.

On the flip side, Seo-rin's gaze toward me grew colder.

Her nickname was the Divine Songstress, while Cecelia was known as the Song Queen. It was a dichotomy ripe for stirring up conflict.

Although my true loyalty as a fan would forever lie with the Divine Songstress, in this cycle, she no longer sang for me when we were alone.

It pained me, but there was no helping it. The purpose of all this was singular: to correct the embarrassing history related to Cecelia = Calypso.

“Oh, you're here again! Undertaker and Ah-ryeon! You’d like an autograph, right?”

“Yes, please.”

“The pleasure is all mine! I’m always so grateful!”

In this cycle, Cecelia now clearly saw me as one of her devoted fans.

Not just that. As in previous cycles, I continued to attend Calypso’s performances during lunch, day after day. Whether she wore a mask or not, whether she sang covers or originals, I was always there as Cecelia = Calypso’s fan.

Naturally, it started to weigh on her mind.

“W-wait, Undertaker!”

One day, after tipping her generously at a live performance in a restaurant, I left. That’s when Calypso came running after me.

“Yes? What is it?” I asked.

“Huff... I-I... Huff...”

“Take your time.”

Calypso was panting heavily from chasing after me, her acoustic guitar still in hand. When she finally caught her breath, she looked up at me with a resolute expression, as if she had made a difficult decision.

“I-I’ve been wanting to tell you something for a while, but I never had the chance. The truth is... I’m...”

“I already know.”

“Wh-what?”

“You’re Cecelia, aren’t you?”

Calypso froze, her entire body trembling like she had been struck by lightning. Her blue eyes, wide with disbelief, stared at me.

That was Strike One.

Calm and composed, I smiled warmly yet meaningfully.

Over my countless lives as a regressor, I had mastered the art of facial expressions to the point where I could act with method precision for 24 hours straight. I had honed the ability to convey anything with just my expressions.

I had Dormammu'd my way through cycles for this very moment, and failure was not an option.

“H-how...? Even the restaurant owner doesn’t know my identity. I haven’t told anyone...”

“A true fan recognizes their singer, no matter what stage they’re on.”

“......!”

Strike Two.

Artists are often deeply attached to their fans, harboring fantasies of that one fan who truly understands their art.

This dream, deeply ingrained in the psyche of many artists, gave rise to terms like 知音 (지음)—meaning a soulmate who truly understands one’s music—dating back to ancient times. It was a sentiment rooted in their very souls.[2]

For someone like Cecelia = Calypso, who had spent her entire life proving herself by mimicking other musicians’ songs, my words were nothing short of intoxicating. And the fact that the one person who recognized her was none other than the Hero of the Ten Legs Battle? That was a surefire dopamine overdose.

“B-but...” In halting, awkward Korean, she said, “I... As Calypso, I cannot sing at all. My voice, my tone—they are completely different. How could you possibly recognize me...?”

“Even if the voice you use on the surface is different, the soul behind it remains unchanged. Your songs as Calypso have always brought me comfort.”

“But... if you knew, why didn’t you ever say anything?”

“I’m just a fan, nothing more. Even if others fail to recognize Calypso, I was content simply to listen just as you were content to keep singing at the restaurants. That’s all.”

“......!”

Strike Three. Out.

On that day, both the unknown musician Calypso and the Masked Song Queen Cecelia found salvation.

We parted after promising to meet again later. On my way back, the Saintess contacted me through Constellation Telepathy.

[I’m impressed, Mr. Undertaker. Cecelia's singing is so indistinguishable from the original artists that I thought recognizing her true identity would be impossible. But your keen regressor’s insight truly shines. I’m in awe.]

“You flatter me.”

[I’ve spent my days observing people with my Clairvoyance, and along the way, I’ve grown lazy when it comes to reading their hearts. I’ll take this as inspiration to re-examine my habits.]

“You’ll do wonderfully, Saintess. I’m sure of it.”

At no point did I feel any guilt about what I had done.

Manipulative, you might say?

Well, that was fitting for a Guild Leader like Ah-ryeon’s, don’t you think?

Like guild member, like Guild Leader? Utter nonsense. Beauty only exists when it’s perceived, and ugliness, too, ceases to exist if it goes unnoticed. My so-called “ugliness” was no exception. If no one knew, how could they accuse me of it?

“Mission success! History altered!”

However...

At the time, I had no idea.n/ô/vel/b//in dot c//om

That one day, a certain brat named Oh Dok-seo would publish a detailed record of my life for all to see...

“At first, I lived in Fukuoka. But everyone around me died, and I just couldn’t stand it anymore. I couldn’t stay there any longer, so I came to Busan.”

“I see.”

“Yes. I had some basic knowledge of Korean, and I’d heard rumors here and there that Busan was still relatively safe...”

Cecelia’s story = Calypso’s story—and I learned that it wasn’t particularly unique given the times.

Everyone had lost someone. And as a result, people flocked together, trying to replace the family they had lost.

In apocalyptic fiction, you often hear about how disasters cause bonds to break, leaving everyone to fend for themselves. Sure, such cases existed. But in reality, the opposite was more common.

Survivors banded together. When they had no reason to unite, they created new terms like 空緣 (공연) meaning “fate with no ties” to justify staying together.

“If there’s anything unusual about Cecelia = Calypso, it’s that she deliberately chose to be an outsider.”

In short, she had no clear sense of identity.

Any ties she had to the Korean Peninsula? None.

Any connections in Japan? Dead.

Her acquaintances in the neighborhood? She left them behind.

And to top it all off, her Awakening ability dealt the final blow:

The Masked Song Queen. A skill that allowed her to perfectly mimic other singers’ voices.

It was the ideal power for someone who wandered without a place to call home.

“That makes sense. So you threw yourself into performing as Calypso in the hope of building real relationships with those who recognized your true voice.”

“Uh... yes. It’s a bit embarrassing, but you’re right.”

“I see.”

“Someday, I want to hone my skills, gather fans, and perform as Calypso in the same venues where Cecelia sings! Only then will my true talent shine!”

I rested my chin in my hand, contemplating how best to respond.

It would have been easy to suggest, "You’re already making tons of money, so why not just be satisfied?" But the woman before me wasn’t content with that.

Calypso was chasing something deeper, looking for a place where she could truly belong, somewhere her voice would be recognized. So, what could I, as a fan, offer her in this situation?

“Must you only perform live?”

She flinched. “Huh?”

“You’re ignoring your talent as Cecelia. You think, ‘I’m just a recording of other people’s voices. That’s not my true self.’ Right?”

“......”

“I don’t mind, but Cecelia’s fans would be disappointed.”

“...But aren’t those fans only interested in the original singers’ voices I imitate?”

“No. There are definitely fans of Cecelia as well.”

Like Ah-ryeon or OldManGoryeo.

Though I was a bit embarrassed to include them as fellow fans, fans were fans, after all.

“From my perspective... it seems like you’re worried that Cecelia’s reputation has grown too big compared to your original talent.”

“......”

“You want to reveal your true self, sing your own songs. But you’re afraid that if you do, your fans will be disappointed.”

Calypso bit her lip in silence. Her silence wasn’t a rejection, but rather an agreement.

“This dilemma comes from the fact that you don’t have your own space. But it’s surprisingly easy to solve.”

“Are you suggesting I buy a venue and create my own stage? I’ve thought about that, but...”

“No, that’s not it.” I sipped my coffee before placing it down. “The ability you possess has incredible value. If you shift your perspective just a bit, you can see how even the songs you cover could become part of who you are.”

“Wait... how?” She looked at me with wide eyes.

I smiled. “Have you ever considered becoming a radio DJ?”

Music radio programs.

If I had to pick the most famous one in Korea, it would undoubtedly be Bae Chul-soo’s Music Camp.

A DJ’s ability to curate songs and lead the show could make or break programs like that. For example, in classical music shows, the DJ’s expertise in selecting not only which symphony to play but also which orchestra’s recording to use—combined with their commentary—defined their standing as a DJ.

With the rise of internet streaming, radio’s golden age had passed into twilight. But in the post-apocalyptic world, the opposite was true.

Radio, Internet, and the Reverse World had reversed roles.

“These days, it’s hard to keep broadcast equipment running. Even if you find working gear, Anomalies tend to corrupt it whenever they get the chance.”

Whether it was vinyl records or albums, they often contained strange Anomalies like "Satan’s Song" or "Music That Puts Holes in Your Brain."

“But Calypso, you’re different. You don’t need any equipment—you can recreate countless albums using only your voice.”

“Ah...”

“You might not be able to completely block Anomalies, but Calypso’s music program would be the safest channel in the world.”

“Me, hosting a music show...”

“Yes. If you limit yourself to being just a live performer, you’ll always feel insecure about being nothing more than a mimic. But if you became a DJ who shares the ‘original voices’ of these singers...?”

“......”

“That would be an incredible strength as a DJ. Listeners would tune in to your show with joy.”

“A DJ’s talent...”

“That’s right. And you could even slip in your own original songs from time to time. Your channel would be irreplaceable.”

Calypso stared blankly into space for a long while. Her coffee had cooled by the time she finally spoke.

“...I’ll give it a try. Radio.”

“Good decision.”

“Yes. I wouldn’t have to show my face, and reading listeners’ stories sounds like it could be fun.”

It turned out that she was naturally suited to it.

I had already helped set up a radio channel called Ravenclaw Busan Branch. So gathering the necessary equipment and assisting with tests wasn’t hard.

Once Calypso reached a level of hosting that satisfied her, she came to me with this question:

“Benefactor.”

At this point, Calypso had started calling me “Benefactor.” I had asked her to avoid using my name, Undertaker, when sharing any stories related to me on air, since it would make me too much of a public figure. Hence, she chose a more ambiguous nickname.

It was an awkward title, but since her Korean wasn’t perfect, I let it slide.

“I think it’s time to choose a name for the show. What do you think would be good?”

“Oh. You still haven’t decided?”

“Haha, no. I kept putting it off, thinking I’d do it tomorrow...”

Despite her hardworking nature, this was surprising.

“Hmm.” I tapped my pencil on a notepad. After some thought, I wrote down a name that suddenly came to mind. “How about this?”

“Oh! Did you think of something already? Let me see!”

On the notepad, I had written Nymphocalypse (님프칼립스).

Calypso tilted her head.

“Nymph... Calypse? What does it mean?”

“It hides both Cecelia and Calypso in the name.”

After all, Cecelia stationed herself at high-class restaurants to perform while hiding away her singer persona, like a restaurant version of her namesake, the nymph Calypso.[3] The name hinted at the Apocalypse but lightened the mood by combining it with the playful “nymph.”

Someone like Calypso, who enjoyed hiding her true identity, leaped with joy upon hearing my explanation.

“Ahhh! I love it! No, I daisuki it!”

And thus, the music radio show Nymphocalypse was born.

There’s a short epilogue.

Attracting listeners to Nymphocalypse didn’t require any grand promotion.

Simply posting, “Hey, there’s a new music show—tune in if you’re bored,” on SG Net was enough.

- Anonymous: I tuned in to the frequency from that post. What the hell is this?

- Anonymous: The sound quality is insane.

└[Samcheon] MeteorIsIceMagic: What are you talking about?

└Anonymous: I turned on the radio channel advertised on the board earlier. The sound quality is crazy good, and the DJ’s voice is amazing.

└[Samcheon] MeteorIsIceMagic: Could it be an Anomaly?

└Anonymous: Maybe, but it seems safe for now. Check it out yourself.

With Ah-ryeon controlling 12 different anonymous accounts, creating buzz was a piece of cake.

If Calypso had lacked skill, the hype would have died out quickly. But like many hardworking young people, she had the tenacity to seize the opportunity.

- [Samcheon] MeteorIsIceMagic: ? Whoa, this is actually really good.

Within a year, Nymphocalypse, broadcast every evening at 7 PM, became a must-listen for not just Awakeners but regular people as well.

- Hello. This is Nymphocalypse bringing you a beautiful evening. Our first song today is...

- If you'd like to send in a story, please contact your Constellation. They’ll pass your message along to me...

- Hello. This is Nymphocalypse. The weather’s gotten quite chilly lately, hasn’t it?

Even as the world crumbled, Nymphocalypse never missed its 7 PM broadcast.

Whether you were an Awakener fighting Anomalies on the frontlines or a civilian supporting from the rear, people tuned in to the radio to hear the stories and songs of others.

“Hm.”

Naturally, I, the Undertaker, was no exception.

One day, I did something unusual. Without telling Calypso, I rented the entire venue where Cecelia had once performed. It cost a fortune, but that didn’t matter.

In the middle of the stage, where Cecelia had once stood with a microphone, I placed a wooden chair.

And on that chair, I set a radio. A vintage Zenith K731, made of wood.

- Hello. This is Nymphocalypse, bringing you a beautiful evening.

An empty audience.

A silent stage, save for the radio.

I sat at a table, two rows away from the stage, and waited.

In a place once filled with eager fans, I quietly listened to the “live performance on stage.”

- And today’s request is...

There was a slight pause.

- ...A song by an artist named Calypso. They were once an unknown singer, wandering from restaurant to restaurant in Busan.

- Haha.

- ...I wonder if anyone remembers them.

- Since it’s a request, I’ll sing it.

I heard a rustle of someone shifting around. Then, through the radio, the delicate strumming of a classical guitar filled the air.

- Calypso. Ruins.

And the song began.

I sipped my coffee. And as I listened to the voice of a now-renowned DJ, I nodded to myself.

After all, this was still my favorite voice.

Footnotes:

[1] In the Marvel universe, Dr. Strange locks the inter-dimensional entity Dormammu in an infinite time loop and repeatedly tries to subdue it using various methods until it nearly goes insane and admits defeat, begging to be released from the confines of endless time.

[2] The origin of the term comes from a famous story during the Spring and Autumn period in China. The musician Yu Boya had a friend, Zhong Ziqi, who could understand and appreciate his music deeply. After Ziqi's death, Boya broke his instrument, feeling that no one else could truly understand his music, thus symbolizing the depth of their friendship.

[3] Calypso is a nymph from Greek mythology. Her name means “to conceal” and she is known for being cursed to live alone on an island without true recognition or love.

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