Chapter 231: Good Evening, Boss
When the galaxy's first genius, Zandar One Kuwabara, wrote the words [Imaginary Tree] on paper in an ancient and unfamiliar language, what exactly did he see in his mind's eye?
Chadwick didn't know. But when he had first encountered theories related to the Imaginary as a child, it was Zandar's Imaginary Tree theory that had mapped out the very foundation of the universe in his young mind.
Ironically, firecrackers that were only slightly less powerful than the Imaginary Collapse Pulse were currently locked in large quantities within the Astral Express's safe. The Imaginary Collapse Pulse was, in truth, merely an application of Imaginary energy; the devastating explosion was nothing more than a side effect.
"I'm... very tired. I want to rest for a while." Chadwick took a deep, trembling breath, his spectral form wavering. "But before that, I have a simple sentence that I've held in for most of my life. Something I could never bring myself to say."
He looked at the faces gathered around him. "...I didn't conduct the Imaginary Collapse Pulse experiments for any grand ideals back then. It was just for myself. I wanted my talent and my field to be seen by the world. Nothing more."
Screwllum lowered his head, his mechanical gears whirring softly as he paid his respects. "You have worked hard on this long journey, Dr. Chadwick."
"I understand, Senior," Herta added quietly.
"Your conscience and moral standards have already far surpassed a significant portion of geniuses," Rekka said, stepping forward to address Chadwick directly. "Although you couldn't withstand the temptation of curiosity and the lure of fame and fortune... I have something to say. You might feel a bit better after hearing it."
Chadwick looked up, his eyes weary.
"The first genius, Zandar, was just like you," Rekka continued, his tone uncharacteristically solemn. "He couldn't suppress his own curiosity and did something he deeply regretted, with consequences that were quite severe."
"Something to regret...?"
"Yes. He regretted it immensely, to the point where he has always blamed himself for not being able to restrain his curiosity."
"As for the specifics, let's discuss that after we leave The Family's controlled area," Screwllum interjected smoothly, focusing on their immediate safety.
After a brief but tense negotiation, Screwllum successfully persuaded The Family and retrieved Chadwick's memories.
Once they had seen off Chadwick's final moments, Herta obtained the lifelong learning of the fallen genius. Although Chadwick had only experienced a few decades of life, those were the decades of an unmatched mind.
"The passing of every genius with a conscience is a cause for sadness." Screwllum withdrew his hand, the optical light in his mechanical eyes flickering slightly in the dim room.
"You possess human emotional traits and moral standards far exceeding most people," Rekka noted, glancing at the mechanical aristocrat.
"Thank you for the compliment. The rationality of organic life is indeed elusive," Screwllum replied, shaking his head slightly. "But the impulses of organic life often contain a magnificent and romantic poetry that shocks me. I find it hard to understand organic life, which is why I hope even more to clarify the true differences between organic and inorganic existence."
Herta stood there silently for a long time. She simply crossed her arms, staring at the empty air where Chadwick had disappeared, seemingly lost in deep thought.
"Mr. Rekka, I want to know one thing," Screwllum suddenly asked, breaking the silence. "What is your mindset in helping the Galaxy Rangers?"
"One-third retaliatory psychology, one-third justice, and one-third conscience," Rekka answered without missing a beat.
Screwllum nodded in appreciation. "A very precise self-confession. Most organic lives, when faced with similar questions, choose to use rhetoric to disguise the true motives driving their actions. Even geniuses are rarely an exception in this regard."
"I want to criticize Dr. Primitive," Herta suddenly declared, her voice cutting through the philosophical atmosphere.
Those who walked the Path of Erudition more or less shared a habit of criticism. They could criticize absolutely anything—even Nous was not exempt from the scrutiny of the geniuses.
"Criticism... Hmph," Screwllum mused. "I won't comment on his experiments before his project is finished, but remember to send me a copy of your electronic draft after your criticism is done."
"...Are you really sure this thing can reverse the effects brought by the meme?"
Undying Path stared intently at the small bottle resting in Boothill's hand. He remained silent for a long moment before finally speaking, his voice laced with heavy skepticism.
"The Detective is confused because he holds considerable doubt towards this matter, and—"
"Old Bai, stop reading the narration for a second," Undying Path interrupted with a tired sigh.
"Eh? But you pay me Credit Points and bananas as salary! Isn't that exactly what you hired me for?" The Sleepy Banana Monkey, acting as the self-appointed narrator, reached out a furry claw and scratched its face in confusion.
Undying Path rubbed his temples. "It's just... do you really think this medicine can treat those who were affected?"
"I have seen with my own eyes the Master Cloak transform from a mindless evil spirit back into human form, breaking this evil technique. The Master Cloak's Ninjutsu is the real deal!" Rappa nodded, her voice ringing with absolute certainty.
What the two of them meant was that someone, relying solely on their own willpower and strength, had actually overcome the regression.
"The Detective's eyes are full of disbelief; he feels this is like a fairy tale—"
"Old Bai, I'm begging you, don't talk for a moment," Undying Path pleaded.
"But if I don't talk, I feel the atmosphere isn't serious enough!" the monkey protested.
Undying Path exhaled sharply and refocused his attention entirely on Rappa. "You said that Master Cloak really broke this thing? Can this medicine actually work?"
"The Master Cloak instructed me and the Silver Spear Shura to bring the medicine for the afflicted Ninja Heroes to use, so they can regain their sanity," Rappa explained, her posture rigid and disciplined. "Once they recover, we go find him. He intends to have a final reckoning with the Evil Ninja Osaru."
The memories buried deep within Undying Path's heart—those horrific images that tormented him to the point of wanting to die in his midnight dreams—surged up without reservation. He remembered his former comrades-in-arms howling in agonizing pain as the regression forcibly devolved their minds and bodies.
He had only been able to watch it all happen, completely powerless.
And now, he was being told that there was a cure for all of it. How could that even be possible?
"You just said... how is this medicine used?" Undying Path asked, his voice trembling slightly.
"Unscrew the cap, aim it at the Ninja Hero infected by the evil spirit. No need to shake." Rappa handed over the small bottle with the utmost seriousness. "The Master Cloak warned that this medicine can only temporarily suppress the meme and restore sanity; their physical functions will be far from what they used to be. To completely exorcise the evil spirit, one must go find him."
"Are you truly sure?"
"Sure. One hundred percent certain."
"That kid is a Trailblazer, although... well, all in all, he can be trusted!" Boothill chimed in, crossing his arms.
"Old Bai." Undying Path looked down at the narrator monkey sitting at his feet.
The monkey had already forgotten so many things. If this medicine really worked, he would surely be able to remember more of who he used to be.
With trembling fingers, Undying Path carefully unscrewed the cap. A wisp of almost invisible, pale golden mist drifted out from the bottle's mouth, floating like dandelion fluff scattered by the wind, until it lightly landed on the narrator's furry head.
The monkey blinked, then sneezed violently.
"De... Detective... no, I..."
The little monkey's body began to tremble uncontrollably. Its originally curved, simian back struggled to straighten. Its furry claws grabbed at its own head, making indistinct, pained mumbling sounds as it fought against the regression.
The three of them watched the extremely pained Sleepy Banana Monkey with bated breath, their nerves pulled taut.
After a few agonizing minutes, the frantic scratching finally ended. The monkey slowly lowered its hands, its posture noticeably different. The chaotic fog in its eyes had cleared, replaced by a sharp, familiar clarity.
"Good evening... Boss."
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