Even If I’m Reborn as a Cute Dragon Girl, I Will Still Make a Harem Book 6: Chapter 77: All In

Book 6: Chapter 77: All In

*Drip. Drip.*

In the dimly lit room, the cold machinery continued its work flawlessly, following its programd routine.

Inside a transparent stasis pod, a petite young girl slept.

She was no older than five or six, her sweet, innocent face still round with baby fat that was begging to be pinched.

She was at an age ant for laughter and curiosity, for dreams of a better world. Yet she lay there, her body connected to countless tubes and subrged in pale green liquid, like a cursed princess from so old tale, slumbering behind a wall of thorns.

She occasionally smiled, as though dreaming of sothing beautiful. Other tis, her brow furrowed, as if plagued by a nightmare—an expression that made one want to smooth the worry lines away.

The dean instinctively reached out, only to et cold glass. The barrier between them felt like the farthest distance in the world.

“Susie…”

As if hearing his voice, the girl’s brow relaxed. Her nightmare faded, and a small, sweet smile returned to her lips.

The old man’s hands curled into fists as he whispered resolutely, “I’ll cure you. I promise.”

Debilitating Syndro. It was a disease that had appeared out of nowhere a decade ago—spreading silently, claiming lives with one hundred percent fatality. This strange affliction had wreaked havoc on society.

Ten years later, despite uncountable hours of research and billions spent, no drug had even managed to slow its progress.

It was a bitter irony. This “great civilization” that had stretched its influence across the stars couldn’t even save a single child.

One by one, researchers had given up. Devoting one’s life to chasing a cure with no end in sight was a luxury most couldn’t afford.

But not the dean.

Even as research funding was cut year after year, even as colleagues resigned and labs emptied until only he, his assistant Woodman, and a few underqualified students remained—he refused to quit.

Because if he gave up, no one would be left to save this little girl.

They weren’t related by blood, but he had sworn long ago that he would give everything and risk everything to save her.

And so, after countless failed experints and dead ends, when he was at his wits’ end, he found a single ray of hope in old fairytale books he had confiscated from his students.

Chasing that lead, he finally discovered the truth behind this disease known as Debilitation Syndro.

No, it wasn’t actually a disease.

It was a phenonon.

A phenonon inevitable for a species that continued to multiply and expand. It was a natural limit to this glorious civilization—a ceiling that couldn’t be broken.

Because the total energy value of this species was fixed.

Yes, fixed.

Whether through reincarnation or cyclical evolution, this species functioned like a closed, self-regulating system. No matter how it operated, the total energy within it would never increase or decrease—it always remained the sa.

In other words, when the population was small, as it had been in ancient tis, the energy allocated to each individual was imnse.

The feats of those eras, like moving mountains or filling seas, now dismissed as re myths and legends, had once been ordinary.

Conversely, as the population grew unchecked over ti, the energy distributed to each individual diminished. This was why, generation after generation, individual physical capability had declined.

Yet thanks to technological advancent and the increasing convenience of life, this creeping weakness went largely unnoticed. In the age of interstellar conquest, individual strength had simply ceased to matter.

…Until the Debilitation Syndro appeared.

Though the academic world continued to treat it as an unknown disease, it wasn’t a disease at all. It was a phenonon—a natural result of individuals becoming so weak that they could no longer sustain or maintain life itself.

And as a phenonon, it had no cure.

The only solution was to strike at the source.

But when the dean submitted his report, he was t with nothing but rciless ridicule from the upper echelons.

*You expect us to believe an answer pulled from legends and myths? Ridiculous. Co back when you have proof.*

And with that, he was chased out of the room and stripped of his research funding.

However, the dean understood that their disbelief had little to do with a lack of evidence. For an issue as grave as the Debilitation Syndro, even the flimsiest hypothesis would normally be considered.

The real reason was that his conclusion threatened their interests—the interests of the entire race.

Ten years ago, the alliance expansion front had captured two more galaxies, entering a critical phase that demanded a massive influx of manpower. From that mont on, birth rates were aggressively encouraged.

In fact, incentives reached absurd extres: bearing enough children could earn one a suite in the city center.

The population exploded.

And the Debilitation Syndro began at that exact sa ti.

Would the leadership believe that the only cure for this Debilitation Syndro was population control?

No. And even if they did, would they enforce it?

Hardly.

After all, how many died of debilitation? Surely, they thought, it could be offset by having more births each year.

What was that compared to the march toward the stars?

Nothing at all.

But the dean knew the truth. This was only the beginning. If the population continued to grow unchecked…

This entire race, in its blind greed, could face catastrophic loss.

“I can’t wait for the day you all finally co to your senses, so…”

He looked at the sleeping girl beside him and allowed himself a faint, tender smile.

Then, letting even that weakness fall away, he turned and began entering data into the quantum terminal, letter by letter.

When he finished, he transmitted it using channels he had quietly prepared long ago, releasing it across the Gaea Network that blanketed the entire society.

Wherever people lived within the alliance’s territory, whether on the front lines or in the comfort of distant resort worlds, they would all receive the sa ssage directly in their electronic brain cores.

*Truth About The Debilitation Syndro.*

*Signature: The dean of the Celesea Research Institute.*

With the final keystroke, the dean sank into his chair, utterly spent.

Since the completion of the Gaea Center and the mass adoption of electronic brain cores, speaking on the network was no longer a casual affair.

Anonymity was possible, but when one signed their real na, they were legally bound to their words.

Which ant the dean knew exactly what kind of storm he was about to face.

“Locke!”

As expected, he had barely closed his eyes for a mont, hoping to catch so rest before Donnie’s birthday party, when a priority transmission forcefully linked to his brain core through the Gaea Center.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”