The Tower Manager glared at the system panel, lowering her hand that had nearly sliced through the air.
"If I tell him my true name, won’t his soul be released from the universe’s contract?" she asked, eyes sharp like a supervisor interrogating a cashier over a suspiciously large discrepancy in the financial report.
The panel paused. Then responded:
[The subject will not be reborn in the cycle if Earth loses.]
"So he’ll... disappear from the reincarnation system?"
[Losing a single soul is insignificant.]
[Earth’s chance of victory increases by 42.2%.]
The Tower Manager narrowed her eyes. "A boost that big? But didn’t The One Who Made the Earth deeply love humanity?" Her brows furrowed slightly.
The panel responded with its usual calm.
[The system merely follows the principles embedded by The One Who Made the Earth.]
[All of this is to end the endless Earth cycle.]
The Tower Manager closed her eyes for a moment. "Strange. Why does it feel like if Nathan disappears... something will be missing?" She lowered her gaze.
The panel replied instantly.
[Statement irrelevant.]
The Tower Manager gently placed her hand over her chest.
"Yes, system. But this strange feeling... it doesn’t come from logic. It comes from a place The One may have forgotten they even created."
She smiled, In this cycle, a single bug changed my entire existence. Because of that one human... she chuckled.
"If I say my true name... his soul’s memories might awaken. Isn’t that a problem?"
[On the contrary, it will be advantageous.]
[Additional memories will strengthen the Bugged Hunter’s motivation as a human.]
[The will to survive increases when he knows what must be saved.]
Tower Manager laughed, "For the sake of humanity, even Tower regulation can easliy change," The Tower Manager let out a long, steady breath.
"Well, after thousands of cycles, a bug only shows up now."
She tilted her head slightly, her long hair nearly brushing against the softly blinking stream of data.
"Maybe... maybe Nathan really is the way out of all this. Maybe he truly will make Earth win."
She stepped forward, then raised her hand.
"This is the strangest decision I’ve ever heard from a system designed by The One," she said, slicing the air with her index finger.
A black line appeared before the Tower Manager.
Nathan, still chopping wood, once again heard that familiar, muted bass thud. Everything turned gray.
Time froze once more.
He glanced toward Validia— she was still smiling widely. His gaze dropped.
Right in front of her feet, partially covering her colossal pussy, a thin black line had formed.
Nathan wiped the sweat from his forehead with his left hand, while his right hand still gripped the imagery axe.
A pale hand emerged from the black line,
ripping it open wider like a tear in space.
The Tower Manager stepped out— wearing a strange smile that made Nathan’s cock instinctively shrink a little.
Nathan lowered his axe slowly, his breath still heavy, the sweat on his skin yet to dry.
"What do you want this time?" he asked softly, his voice laced with a suspicion he didn’t fully bother to hide.
The Tower Manager didn’t answer right away.
She walked forward slowly—like an entity that had just emerged from a spiritual black hole, yet still insisted on making a graceful entrance.
"Carrying out a task," she said briefly.
Nathan frowned, then squinted. "Task?"
Her smile curved slightly.
Before Nathan could ask again,bher figure vanished— and reappeared right in front of him.
The distance between them? Gone.
Nathan’s heart slammed against his chest,
as if it had just been punched back by an unpaid memory.
Her fingers—cold yet gentle—lifted Nathan’s chin.
Her face was too close.
Her scent smelled like logic burning itself alive.
"I will now speak my true name," she whispered— but it wasn’t just a whisper.
It resonated like a command to the fabric of reality itself.
His eyes twitched slightly.
Her real name? Huh... now that I think about it, I’ve only ever called her Tower Manager, he thought.
The Tower Manager stepped back,
raising one hand to her chest.
"O wretched human, rejoice!" she declared with a smile.
"I, a being of far greater majesty, shall now reveal my true name!"
Her hands opened wide.
Her eyes pierced straight into Nathan’s.
"My name is— #######."
Nathan’s eyes widened.
The imagery axe fell from his hand and hit the ground.
In a quiet house, the same one that appeared in Chapter 101.
Sunlight slipped softly through the gaps in the dusty old curtains.
A woman—with strands of gray in her hair, wearing an oversized sweater and stretched-out pajama pants—was cleaning a room that felt like time had been unilaterally frozen.
Her hand wiped the surface of a long-abandoned table.
The air was thick with the scent of aged wood and memories that had never been invited.
As she dusted the top of a small shelf, her hand accidentally bumped into a photo frame.
The frame fell gently, landing on the carpeted floor with a sound like a memory trying to stay buried—yet refusing to comply.
She bent down and picked it up.
Inside: a photo of a teenage boy.
Wearing a school uniform.
A thin smile forced across his face.
She looked at it for a moment.
Her left hand gripped the edge of the frame.
"I’m starting to worry about him..." she whispered softly—like a prayer that no religion had ever taught.
Nathan fell to his knees.
Both hands clutched his head—
as if trying to crush the memory that had just been forcibly pushed inside.
His breathing, chaotic.
Tears streamed down his face—not from pain, but from something inside him being yanked out of where it once felt safe.
"What is this...?" His hands slowly released from his head.
His eyes stared upward—toward the grinning milky mommy before him.
"Do you remember, my dear?"