Somewhere in the universe, brilliant galaxies swirled beneath his feet and dazzling nebulae emitted an indescribable light.
Anyone who saw this even for a moment would feel its immense power and unfathomable depth—and at the same time, marvel at their own insignificance.
Yet the young man standing there had no interest in appreciating a sight ordinary people could never witness in their lifetimes.
He wore only two colors, black and white: a pitch-black overcoat, dark boots, and bandages wrapped tightly around his left eye, wrists, and neck, giving him a sickly appearance. His voice carried a slight nasal tone.
"You said you're the world consciousness?"
"Yes, Mr. Dazai." With the voice, a dark shadow appeared before him.
The shadow could not be called human. It looked like a child's scribble—its entire body made of twisted black lines. One glimpse would shred sanity, like staring at an evil god.
"…Why does the world consciousness look like this?" Dazai wrinkled his nose, glaring at the glitched, frame-dropping figure as if his eyes were being assaulted.
"I have no fixed appearance. Whatever you perceive in your mind is what you see," the dark shadow explained, flickering twice.
"Whatever."
Dazai turned his gaze aside, his tone flat.
"Why did you bring me here?"
The world consciousness said, "Mr. Dazai, you know our world is extremely fragile—full of cracks. Even the slightest disturbance could destroy it."
World destruction… Dazai's fingers, hidden in the shadows, twitched slightly.
Yes. This world was like glass already full of fractures; one wrong move and it would shatter.
—A fact Dazai had understood the moment he obtained the Book.
It was a Book that could make anything written real.
And Dazai's ability—No Longer Human—could nullify all other abilities.
What happens when nullification meets a book that can rewrite reality?
—A singularity.
When contradictory powers collide, they briefly reach an entirely new domain.
In that singularity, memories of "Dazai Osamu" from outside the Book had poured into him like a tidal wave.
"So that's how it is." With those memories came instant understanding of the absurd truth of this world.
It was merely a reflection of the main world.
The Book didn't simply "turn stories into reality." Connected to the root of the world, it summoned probability worlds matching what was written, swapping them with the real one.
The world he stood in was one of these infinitely derived worlds—always at risk of erasure.
Dazai normally didn't care about the world's fate. Before receiving the other memories, if someone had told him the world would be destroyed, he would have scoffed: "What does that have to do with me?"
But those memories had also brought tiny flecks of happiness, like gold dust in a river, followed by an overwhelming sorrow.
Odasaku—the friend he would invite into the Port Mafia, who would later die there.
Dazai began frantically searching the Book's probability worlds.
None—
Still none—
Still none—
Before despairing, he found one: a reflection world where another Dazai had also touched the Book, and in that world Oda Sakunosuke had chosen to save people, published a novel, and won a newcomer's award.
But Dazai could not replicate that world; his was even more fragile.
How could Odasaku live?
How could this world become stable and avoid being overwritten?
After filtering countless plans, he chose the same path as that other self: he would become leader of the Port Mafia, gather enough power to keep the world's development within his calculations.
The world consciousness continued, "Like you, we are not content to exist merely as reflections of the main world, nor to live in constant fear of destruction."
"We?" Dazai narrowed his eyes, catching the key point.
There was more than one world consciousness…?
"It's not just us," the shadow said. "Countless worlds exist in the cracks between."
"The strength of you and I alone cannot stabilize this world," it explained. As it spoke, faint facial lines emerged on its previously blank head.
"So you've allied with other fragment worlds. By piecing them together you hope to form a new, independent world."
Once independent, the world would no longer risk being overwritten. For the first time, Dazai allowed a faint smile. If it was stable enough, his plan could proceed early.
The world consciousness said, "Yes, but our fusion is incomplete. We need an agent who can bear the world's cornerstone, perfect the loopholes, and make the fusion whole. Only then can the world truly become independent."
From the void, it conjured two stick-figure stools matching its own art style—one for itself and one for Dazai.
Despite his distaste, Dazai sat.
"Why me?"
"Because half the world's authority is in your hands." The shadow's features grew clearer, blinking two small black dots for eyes.
Just as he thought.
"Even though our world is fragile, it is stronger than theirs," it continued. "Your actions with the Book and your unique talent convinced us that cooperation with you is our best option."
"What do you need me to do?" Dazai crossed his legs.
The world consciousness said, "To repair the world we need the power of souls from higher-dimensional worlds. Don't worry—we've negotiated with the consciousness of a higher-dimensional world. It will open a channel to transmit souls. Our only condition is to protect them."
"Extracting soul power while keeping them safe?" Dazai thought. "Current tech can't do that. Higher-dimensional souls have too many uncontrollable factors."
"We only need the energy that overflows when they're active here," it explained, legs swinging now with excitement. "Collecting that energy will stabilize this world."
"And you don't have to worry. Full-dive virtual reality games are popular now. If we say all this is a full-dive VR game, we can trick higher-dimensional souls into coming."
Dazai's expression cooled.
"Hmm… full-dive VR games. Sounds reasonable. But some things can't be avoided, can they?" He smiled thinly. He would never allow anyone to treat his carefully nurtured world as a mere game.
"We understand your concerns," the world consciousness said seriously. "We'll monitor the foreign souls and expel them at once if needed."
"Let's make a contract, Mr. Dazai." It rose; the stick-figure stools vanished.
It extended a rounded hand with no fingers toward him, gesturing for Dazai to place his hand on it.
Dazai, already realizing this entity was unreliable, composed himself. After two seconds, he stood.
"You know what I've always wanted, right?"
Everything he had done so far—
It was all to protect this fragile world, a world where Odasaku could write in peace.
So no one—not even a god or the world itself—could stand in his way.
"Yes, Mr. Dazai. We have always been watching you, no matter which world." Noticing his hostility spike, the world consciousness still tried to reassure him gently.
"All your efforts, your goal—we know them. That's why we're making this contract with you."
"Let's sign," Dazai said softly, placing his hand on its hand.
Was there anything about Dazai Osamu worth sacrificing a whole world for?
No.
"Pledge your left eye as collateral and sign a contract with this world. You will act as agent to supervise and maintain it until it stabilizes.
In return you will receive a promise from the world, a promise above all else. We will spare no cost to fulfill it."
"I accept."
"All for the world."
—All for Odasaku.
Golden light burst from their clasped hands. The shadow's hand became strands of golden thread, wrapping around Dazai. His black overcoat lifted in the glow. Amidst the abundant light, he slowly closed his eyes.
When he woke he saw the familiar ceiling of his safe house. Only ten minutes had passed.
He felt something different in his body.
Dazai rose and went to the washroom. With a flick of his hand, the bandages over his eye fell to the floor. In the mirror, his left eye socket was empty.
He leaned closer, examining the wound.
Unexpectedly, it was handled quite well.
But he still needed a good excuse to fool Mr. Mori.
After inspecting it, Dazai took a new roll of bandages and began wrapping his eye.
Then the world consciousness, which he thought had gone, suddenly spoke: "Ah, this angle is good, Mr. Dazai. Please don't move—let me record a video."
It was a strange sensation; his ears heard nothing yet an ethereal voice echoed in his mind.
"Hm?" Dazai hummed nasally.
"Games need promotional videos," the world consciousness declared. "As the main NPC and face of the game, you naturally have to perform."
"In the worlds of higher-dimensional people, what are we? Animations? Movies? Novels? Or something else?" Dazai asked while re-wrapping his bandages.
"All of them."
Dazai wasn't surprised. It was just the box theory.
The world consciousness: "Once we've edited the video and set up the official website forum, you can prepare to welcome the players from the higher dimension. Considering your wariness and compatibility, we'll open only five slots in the first phase."