The S-Classes That I Raised - Chapter 718: Farewell.

Every world possesses a power that protects itself. Not a mere defensive barrier, but a sort of dimensional wall that separates each world from the others. Thus even transcendent beings find it difficult to step into worlds not their own. Under normal circumstances, the wall is so thick and sturdy that one must commit all one’s power to breach it.

But with the system established across all worlds, a fissure has formed. Transcendents can now interfere with other worlds via the system, and invade more easily than before.

“Kuk—!”

A fierce backlash surged. The system’s intricate mana circuits went haywire, tearing free and flaring in every direction. The white light from the spear swallowed them over and over, but could not wholly quell the tremors.

“Cancel internet connection—this is a filthy nuisance!”

If our world’s system is a program installed on a computer, a transcendent’s interference is a remote login over the network. In other words, if you sever the internet line, outside access becomes impossible. Yet the program itself remains, and continues to run.

Perhaps that was the designers’ intent: the program runs automatically, and managers or transcendents only connect when maintenance is needed.

But these current transcendents were remoting into a stranger’s computer, fiddling with everything at will. They even threatened to take critical software—despite risking system collapse.

Crunch, crack!

The spear’s tip drove deeper. The backlash grew stronger still, as if the wall sought not only to tear apart my flesh but to smash my mana and circuits from within.

“…Ugh.”

My vision darkened momentarily, flickering like a dying lightbulb before going fully black.

“Seong-Hyeonje.”

“I’m watching.”

He looked at me while keeping the channel to the system open. He watched within the huge display, at the countless web-like circuits the spear was shredding. Clinging to that shared sensation, I gripped the spear as its brightness blazed white-hot.

All the power it held—if one transcendent’s share is insufficient, I would take the rest and more.

My ears rang. Sensation numbed in my fingertips and toes. It felt as though my body was slipping away, or that the “me” trapped inside was shattering.

Crrrrr—

The conduit linking my world to the system buckled. The manager’s access point was torn asunder.

‘For now it’s only one,’ I thought.

All systems move organically. If one access fades, soon the conduits in other worlds will feel the strain. Even if they do not vanish, interference will grow far more difficult than before.

I was grateful to the designers. Their goodwill was pure, and by sacrificing themselves they bore the cost. The system itself had helped people adapt and avoided chaos—a soft carpet laid below, so that those who fell might be injured less and find it easier to stand again. But these transcendents peered down from above, pulling the puppet-strings of fate.

Mortal lives do not need false gods.

“…!”

Only labored breaths escaped my throat—my voice was gone. I no longer sensed where my body lay. My limbs dangled in every direction, like flotsam drifting on water.

Within the void of sensation, I saw myself. I remained cradled in Seong-Hyeonje’s gaze, still clutching the spear. Somehow I stood, as if controlled by another. I curled my fingers tighter and stepped one foot forward—firmly.

Thunk! Clang!

An ancient, thick resistance burst apart, echoing through Seong-Hyeonje’s ears. With one last surge, I drove the spear forward with my whole body. A red line appeared along its haft. I saw my shoulder skew beneath the force. Yet I felt nothing.

Then—

Snap. With one final whisper of sound, calm descended. The storm of mana subsided. The white spear clattered to the floor, and my body collapsed forward. Just before even the Instructor skill cut out, I drew from my inventory the vial containing the jewel the King of Devourers had given me. The molten gem sloshed in its tiny glass bottle as it hit the ground, then darkness engulfed me.

Or rather, I no longer perceived darkness—I only remembered it. After a brief haze came a tide of terror. My body should have trembled, yet I felt nothing. My flesh bore only light injuries, but I lay motionless, unable even to sense my limbs. There was nothing.

‘I’m… scared.’

Terrified. How much time had passed? Had it been moments since I fell, or an hour, or longer? If the Devourer King’s jewel failed, what would become of me? Was this the end? I thought I felt my heart beat—but with no sensation, I could not be sure. I tried to move, to think, yet I could not locate the self I once knew. I wished even for pain, anything to prove I was alive.

Frightened. Time slipping away—my existence felt as if it were blurring. Where was I? Was my heart beating? How did thought continue without sensation? It felt as though I floated somewhere, yet that “somewhere” was also lost. I feared that if my thoughts ceased, I would vanish entirely, so I fought to think.

‘…Hyun.’

My sister. I recalled childhood, her small hand, its warmth. Those vivid sensations in memory faded swiftly. What was warmth? Her voice, her face—I could no longer sense the feel of her hand gripping mine or her arms pulling me close. I struggled to hold on.

I summoned the image of my sister’s retreating figure. The chill in my heart, long gone, flickered one last time. The weight of her body in my arms. Blood drying. Warmth ebbing. I gasped for a breath that wasn’t there.

I struck myself with those memories. It was a merciless laceration, yet it clung me to life in that endless, abyssal, ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) non-existent time.

My lips grew wet.

‘Ah!’

Dampness. Moisture clung to me. A spark ignited in the lost, fading senses. I seized on the trickle of feeling. Like ambrosia it poured between my lips. I sensed my teeth and tongue. They moved. My Adam’s apple bobbed. Through that rise and fall, a tide returned—heart beating, blood surging.

“Hah! Cough—!”

My eyes flew open. A torrent of color flooded in, tumbling into a blinding white. My flailing hand closed on something—solid, sweet relief amid pain. My finger-nails, broken and misshapen, told me all I needed to know.

“Ugh… sob… snrk…”

Tears poured down my face. The light stung, mind and emotion tangled. Yet I clung desperately to what my hand grasped.

“How long—did I—”

My tongue blocked me.

“About five minutes. I sealed the system and made you drink at once.”

“…Five minutes?”

Just five? I barely took in Seong-Hyeonje’s form. My hand remained clutched to his sleeve like a lifeline. Embarrassed, yet I could not let go. The terror of total sensory loss—that drives one to madness.

— Beep! —

Eunhye fluttered anxiously, peering at me.

“Are you all… right?”

— Beep! —

She tapped the cracked bracelet with her wingtip. As if nothing had happened, its surface gleamed whole again. Seong-Hyeonje gently patted my back. My ragged breathing steadied somewhat.

“The system…”

“I confirmed the link is severed. But traces may linger.”

“It’s not like cutting a cable outright. Still, taking our world’s Shards is now impossible.”

By now London should have reverted.

“I’ll have the newcomers finish the full block. There’s also the Master and the One Who Gave Gifts.”

With his help I rose—yet my grip on his sleeve did not loosen. When I tried to release him, my whole body shuddered.

“We belong to our world, so we can always return. Though we’ll be impeded—if we merely make it back alive.”

I met those golden eyes looking down at me.

“You will be granted time—ample time to melt away the years you’ve endured.”

Transcendents can no longer meddle freely in our world. To break in, they’d risk losing all their power.

“Even if the Crescent orders another transcendent to shatter the shield, the Filial Rebels and Doting Addicts would balk. They’d ask why someone would so arrogantly storm a world that has cut its connection, a world capable of defending itself. Worse, they might destroy our world entirely.”

They could discover the Crescent’s presence—or lose it forever.

“They would rather wait, let our world drift toward ruin until its defenses weaken. Seong-Hyeonje will still… exist then.”

An eclipse might vex him, but the Crescent would learn that Song Taewon would not harm Seong-Hyeonje lightly. In a safe world where he remains himself, all the more so.

“Seong-Hyeonje will do well.”

I smiled. He returned the faint curve. Then he flicked his fingertip—

“…Han Yujin!”

Director Song appeared. Though he’d been teleported here, he calmly assessed the scene—and then, seeing me, froze.

“What… what happened?”

“Ah, no—it’s…”

He disentangled me from Seong-Hyeonje. Wait—why… oh.

‘I must look a sight.’

I’d been injured many times, but now I was also soaked in tears. My eyes red from crying—unusual for me, especially in front of Director Song.

“I’m okay.”

I said, gripping him. The twitch in his brow betrayed his concern.

“Really okay? May I hold you?”

No Peace here. Director Song withdrew a towel from his inventory—a plush souvenir from Dodam Breeding Grounds.

“You must be using it well. Want another?”

“No, thank you.”

“It’s free, after all.”

“The others are fine. No more battles.”

“Good to hear. Then—”

“It’s time to say goodbye.”

Seong-Hyeonje spoke. Director Song and I turned to him. His face held a bright smile, youthful and vibrant—indistinguishable from the man he was before.

“…What do you mean, so suddenly?”

“The backlash affected me as well.”

The toll of holding open the path to the system, the strain from the earlier breach. He picked up the glass vial from the floor. A little liquid still glowed red within.

“Why give up so easily? There must be a way.”

“I was never meant to stay long.”

“Still… or you could…”

“At last, I’ll leave something behind.”

His voice held joy. Speechless, I watched him grin like a young man.

“For the first time.”

Seong-Hyeonje had always been the one left behind. His first world vanished without him. Every subsequent world first bid him farewell. No matter what life he led or bonds he forged, he must have watched them depart alone.

I could say nothing. I could not plead for him to remain in a place that was not his time.

“I told you I came to bid farewell.”

He spoke softly to soothe me. His golden eyes, shining with light, turned to Song Taewon.

“Will you accept this?”

“…Hunter Seong-Hyeonje.”

A shadow flickered in his palm. He regarded the power of plunder with mischievous eyes.

“I may covet what I hold now, but I’ve amassed more than I can bear to keep.”

“…You were heartless, Seong-Hyeonje.”

My throat caught, yet I smiled through it.

“You seduced me into carrying your burden.”

“I intend to return it to the rightful owner. I doubt I will need it myself. My cold love you will care for in my stead.”

“Ha—you just offload everything onto me.”

Seong-Hyeonje extended his hand toward Song Taewon. His heavy gaze followed that hand, that shadow.

“…I—”

“It’s yours.”

“……”

“My fragile hope.”

The final gift from Director Song. Seong-Hyeonje called it hope. Hesitantly, Song Taewon reached out and took his hand. The hope of one departing—an offer impossible to refuse, even if it curdled like poison within.

“Song Taewon… live long this time.”

Seong-Hyeonje faltered. Director Song and I each supported him. His presence waned at our fingertips. We gently laid him on the ground. A soft laugh came from him.

“…Always so merry. No regrets, then?”

“Of course. It’s all here.” He spoke as if life and death were one and the same.

His eyes fluttered sleepily.

“As far as I know, Han Yujin never gave up.”

“She’s the same person.”

“Yes. She would endure to the end and grow even more lovable than now. It’s a pity I won’t see it.”

He smiled again—so blissful.

“But I have seen it.”

Both Director Song and I have seen it: a vision of his past and—perhaps—his future.

And finally, Seong-Hyeonje himself.

Truly, he leaves nothing behind. To leave and to be remembered—not just remembered, but alive in memory—may be impossible, even for him. This is Seong-Hyeonje’s first and last farewell, a departure of his own making. No wonder he smiles.

“Goodbye.”

His eyes closed. One instant his presence vanished completely; then, as if a dried spring burst anew, another presence slowly swelled.

Golden eyes shone with light once more.

“Goodbye.”

This was the farewell from Seong-Hyeonje as he prepared for the life ahead.

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