Arima’s words sent shockwaves through my mind.
Who exactly am I?
This was the ultimate question that countless philosophers on Earth had pondered for thousands of years—one that had never yielded a definitive answer. And now, that sa question had co hurtling toward .
Ordinarily, no one could find a clear answer to such a question. Not even beings like Buddha or Jesus. After all, identity isn’t sothing one defines alone. It’s shaped by external perceptions, judgnts, and countless interpretations.
Had Buddha secluded himself after attaining enlightennt, he would have been rembered as a recluse who abandoned his throne.
Had Jesus not led his followers, he would have remained nothing more than a simple carpenter.
A person’s identity isn’t determined solely by their own perception but by others. No matter what one thinks of oneself, in the end, it's just a personal delusion.
But I was different.
I—could define myself.
Because I was from Earth? Because I was a scientist of extraordinary intellect? Because I was a remnant from a hundred million years ago?
No.
The answer was—
"Ares, Athena. I have a question."
I sought out Mr. Powerful and Mr. Rays. The two of them tilted their heads in curiosity as I approached, waiting for to speak. Without hesitation, I asked «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» the question that had lingered in my mind for so long.
"When we first t, you called Adam. What did you an by that?"
"Yeah, we did."
"What exactly does that an?"
From the mont I encountered them, they had displayed an inexplicably strong sense of familiarity toward . At the ti, I found it curious but saw it as an opportunity to exploit.
But thinking back, it was undeniably strange.
Adam.
Back then, I had dismissed it without much thought. But it was a na that shouldn’t have existed in this world.
Now, I understood the truth. This solar system had been created by Earth as a sanctuary. The Guardians were high-cost biological weapons ant to regulate human population control—sent from Earth itself.
And if they were created by Earth, then the na "Adam" must hold a deeper significance. That na was the key to my identity.
"Hmm... To be honest, we don’t know the exact aning either."
"...You don’t? Even though you recognized the mont you saw ?"
"That was just instinct. We knew what you were, but we don’t know what Adam really ans."
Mr. Powerful explained:
The one who would release the Guardians from their duty.
The one who would render the Guardians obsolete by subjugating humanity.
The first human, and so on.
There were many descriptors attached to the na, but none of them provided a clear answer. The only one who truly understood the aning—
"Mr. Clear would know."
"Of course... that bastard again."
I had considered myself fortunate to have captured him, but then I rembered—he was currently in Regalia’s hands. It had been a month since I’d handed him over to her.
For the past month, I had been too preoccupied with other tasks to check on him. And a month... was more than enough ti to break a man completely.
...Is he even still alive?
With a sense of unease, I went to find Regalia. Surprisingly, she agreed without hesitation.
"You need Mr. Clear? Take him, by all ans."
"Boss, I thought you were still getting your revenge?"
"Hmm. I ran out of emotions to spend on him after about three hours. Anything beyond that wasn’t particularly enjoyable."
Regalia had lost interest in Mr. Clear far too quickly. Perhaps because she had acquired him without any real effort—she had simply received him as a gift.
Once she captured him, her revenge was already complete. What followed was rely indulgence, an empty release of frustration.
That was fortunate. It ant he was likely still intact.
"So I just tossed him into the machine you gave and left him there."
"...Ah, I see."
"He’s in the basent. Take him."
The mont I recalled what I had given Regalia, I sprinted downstairs without a mont’s delay.
It was a device similar to the virtual reality system I had used to infiltrate the warship over the past month. A machine that certain lunatics had modified to remove all restrictions—so they could enjoy an unlimited experience.
A machine that, in practice, tended to overload the brain until it shut down.
A device that, rather than serving its intended purpose, was far more commonly used for torture.
Rushing into the basent, I found Mr. Clear suspended in a containnt cylinder. I imdiately shut down the machine.
With a chanical hiss, the bio-preservation fluid drained onto the floor, and Mr. Clear collapsed from the now-open chamber.
"...Kh—cough, cough—! Gah!"
Like an ancient, dust-covered computer struggling to boot up, Mr. Clear remained sprawled on the floor, gasping for breath.
Watching him, I cautiously approached.
His once god-like nuclear fusion ability—the power to convert energy into matter with 100% efficiency—had long since vanished.
The body that had once housed such overwhelming power had been forcibly reshaped—turned into that of a frail, delicate woman.
The reasoning was simple.
Estrogen, which was more prevalent in female bodies, was known to dull logical reasoning and increase emotional susceptibility.
Stripping him of his forr masculine identity and forcing him into a female body was just another layer of psychological tornt.
"...You..."
"Do you recognize , Mr. Clear?"
"Scientist..."
Fortunately, Mr. Clear’s mind was still intact. Though he seed sowhat unhinged, it was nothing that couldn't be recovered from. Without hesitation, I jabbed a few doses of dication into his neck.
As the rapid-injection device forced the treatnt into his system, the vacant look in his eyes gradually regained clarity. A few monts later, he was coherent enough to speak without stuttering.
"...What do you want? After doing this to , do you still have unfinished business?"
"Yeah. I have so questions."
"Questions, huh... I’m not obligated to answer."
"Then how about I put you back in?"
"...Ugh—"
Mr. Clear flinched as his eyes followed my pointing finger. At the end of it was the very sa virtual reality machine he had been trapped in for over a month.
A subjective ti fra of thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of years.
During that impossibly long span, he had likely experienced countless lives—each one nothing but misfortune and tragedy.
A life where his parents were murdered before his eyes.
A life where he was subjected to violence, left to wither away.
A life where he struggled desperately but never succeeded.
A life where hope was dangled before him, only to be crushed in the end.
The sheer volu of suffering would have eaten away at his soul, bit by bit.
Of course he recoiled at the sight of the cylinder.
"Mr. Clear, I don’t care whether you answer or not. I can always dig into your brain if necessary. But frankly, that would be a waste of my ti. So don’t make this more annoying than it has to be."
"...Tch."
It was a bluff, of course. The human brain was exceptionally complex, its functions dictated by intricate electrical impulses. Even a minor head injury could erase mories or alter cognitive function.
And Mr. Clear had once been a Guardian.
While his entire body had been forcibly replaced, his brain remained untouched. There was a real chance that it was protected by Earth-grade security asures—protections that could erase all data the mont they were tampered with.
But whether he believed my bluff, or simply wanted to prolong the ti before further torture, Mr. Clear hesitantly opened his mouth.
"...Fine. What do you want to know?"
"I want to know about Adam."
"Adam, huh..."
Hearing that na, Mr. Clear let out a bitter chuckle before looking over. He must have already been inford that I was Adam. Mr. Powerful had ntioned that he initially denied it—but that denial alone proved he knew more about it than others did.
After a brief mont, as though recalling distant mories, Mr. Clear cautiously spoke.
"You already know what Adam is, don’t you?"
"Yeah."
"The son of God... I don’t know exactly what that ans, but there’s one thing I do know."
Adam, the figure from Christian mythology, the son of God. At the sa ti, the progenitor of humanity. His rib was used to create Eve, and after eating from the Tree of Knowledge, he was cast out of Eden. From there, he and Eve birthed the human race.
I could understand why they called the son of God—it was another way of saying I was from Earth.
But I couldn’t understand why the na Adam was being used in particular.
"The first ti was... around ten thousand years in."
"...What?"
"The second was twenty thousand. The intervals between each appearance gradually increased, but—"
"Wait, hold on—what the hell are you talking about?"
"You asked about Adam, didn’t you?"
When I cut him off, Mr. Clear only tilted his head in confusion, as if wondering why I was acting so surprised.
"Adam is a being that appears whenever humanity reaches a certain level of advancent. The last one showed up about a million years ago... so that would make you the eighth Adam."
"...The eighth?"
"Yeah. The last Adam t a rather ridiculous end. He tried to teach people how to farm, but ended up violating the local priesthood’s authority and was beaten to death for it."
In that mont, I realized—
I had been gravely mistaken about sothing.
...I wasn’t the first person from Earth to end up in this world.
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