Who exactly are you?

"Waaah--"

The subway train travels through the tunnels beneath Shenzhen, and the wind outside the window sounds like weeping and wailing.

The once empty carriage where the adult man had been standing is now packed with people, instantly becoming as crowded as a train during rush hour.

Those sleepwalking people swayed slightly as the subway moved forward, some standing, some sitting, their eyes still blank and unfocused.

Clearly, the noisy sounds in the darkness during the subway lights-out period were the footsteps of these sleepwalkers.

Almost all the passengers in the adjacent carriages moved here.

The biggest difference between all these "passengers" and regular subway passengers is...

None of them were standing or sitting haphazardly.

Everyone crammed into this carriage was facing...

They are all heading in the direction of adult men.

They formed a fan-shaped encirclement, all staring blankly at the adult man with a gray bag on his lap and wearing black-rimmed glasses.

This bizarre scene would be enough to terrify any player, even a "Player." If someone with the courage of "Sherlock" were here, he would probably have already knelt down and shouted, "Happy New Year, Big Brother and Sister-in-law!"

But this adult man... is clearly no ordinary person either.

By normal standards, his constant talking to himself and his slurred speech with his sclera showing already borders on "terrifying and eerie."

There's no reason why Miss Mary would be frightened by Hanako.

So even when he was surrounded by a large number of "passengers" for a moment, he simply took a deep breath, pressed his hands to his face, and peeked out with his eyes through his fingers.

"Hmm... the one being manipulated... is it 'Schreiber'? No... no... these guys have been 'taken control'... unlike the other dormant ones who act on instinct... Hmm... how strange, who is it this time... this one also looks like 'Freud'..."

He muttered to himself as the lights inside the carriage began to flicker.

This time, however, his soliloquy received an answer.

"No... it's more like, 'Jung'."

A deep, gentle, and intellectual voice came from behind. Jung looked in the direction of the voice and, through the gaps in the crowd, through the gaps formed by their bodies, Backpack, coats, and umbrellas like cracks in a wall, he glimpsed the man sitting in the priority seat in the row of seats directly in front of him.

A white lab coat, wire-rimmed glasses, dark circles under the eyes, slightly disheveled hair, and deep-set eyes...

The other person also peered through the gap at the adult man and spoke.

"It's me... " Jung."

The adult man, the First Generation "Jung," contracted his pupils even more upon hearing this voice.

Then, his breathing became heavy.

"Hah... hah..." Freud? No, you bastard, you're lying to me, hah... he's dead,"Jung murmured, "He's... dead... I went to the 36th Island of Mist Island to check... hah... hah..." The " Diviner " killed even his last Remnant Soul..."

The man with dark circles under his eyes pushed up his glasses and said, "I thought you were dead too, Jung... I thought you were dead too."

The First Generation Jung stared intently at the man opposite him, his large, thick-knuckled hands pressed against his face, the veins bulging from the excessive force, making it look as if he wanted to crush his own facial bones.

He was breathing heavily, his breath rising through his fingers and fogging his glasses in the heavily air-conditioned car with a fine white mist.

Although on the surface he only appeared to be panting, but...

The subway windows behind and in front of him reflected the writhing, azure tentacles emerging from his body, coiling around him and spreading like vines throughout the carriage.

Wherever the tentacles reached, the corresponding parts in reality also showed signs of decay and flickering.

That was... his soul.

It expands, grows, and erodes the soul of reality.

"No... Heh... Haha... Heh... You're not him... You're a good imposter, but you're not him!"

"Impostor... Hah... Don't think you can fool me!"

The First Generation Jung's voice suddenly rose, and then he seemed to cough violently due to excessive emotional excitement.

"Cough cough... cough cough!"

As he coughed, all those soul tentacles suddenly stabbed towards the spot where "Freud" was sitting!

"Pfft!"

The moment the figure of "Freud" was stabbed, it didn't give the First Generation Jung any feedback that he had been hit; instead, it simply vanished into thin air.

If I'm not "Freud," then who am I?

A sigh rang out, and this time, looking in the direction of the sound, the figure in the white coat was not sitting, but standing in the crowd, swaying along with the subway car among the dazed "spectators".

The First Generation Jung looked at him, at this reappearance of "Freud," and felt that he was somewhat different from the one he had just seen.

He seemed... a bit more gloomy and somber than the one I had just seen, with a more pronounced sense of silence in his eyes.

"Accept reality, Jung... I'm not dead."

"The news that you're still alive is quite shocking to me, but I don't run away from reality like you do... What, have dying a few times worn down your spirit?"

Jung stared at the person in the crowd for a while, then said, "He does look more like him... but... ha... you can't fool me... this trick... ha... won't work on me!"

You may know him... but you don't know me!

Jung whispered, and soul tentacles emerged from the floor—a portion of his soul tentacles passed through the seat back, quietly reaching outside the subway, circling the exterior of the carriage, and arriving at the figure's feet.

This time, the First Generation Jung did not choose to stab, but instead tried to control the figure of the person in front of him by "entwining" his soul with it.

But he still failed!

The moment the soul tentacles touched the other, the figure vanished again!

Then...

A man in a white coat appeared before Jung.

He held onto the handrail in front of the First Generation Jung, his other hand casually in his pocket.

Don't I know you?

He asked.

The First Generation Jung lowered his hand, his gaze calm. "Ha... yes, ha... you don't understand me, you don't understand my past with him... ha... you don't know what the real Freud was like facing me..."

"Ha... if he were here, if he were still alive... ha... he wouldn't waste a single word on me... ha... he would just... kill me without hesitation!"

The man looked at the First Generation Jung and spoke haltingly, then sighed, "Perhaps it's just that having died once, I feel there's no point in killing you again?"

The First Generation Jung stared at the figure before him. "Ha... ha... see, you really didn't know."

"I know... ha... who you are... you deliberately manipulated everyone here... ha... using different methods... ha... so I'd think you weren't Schreiber, right? Ha!"

He didn't wait for a reply. This time... the First Generation Jung suddenly lunged forward, reaching out to try and grab the man's throat!

But even if the soul tendrils were replaced with the hands of the First Generation Jung, the ending would not have changed.

The moment the fingertip touched the figure, the figure vanished again.

The First Generation Jung bumped into other passengers—who reached out to steady him.

Then Jung heard a voice coming from behind him.

"Oh, so your answer is... I'm 'Schreiber,' right?"

The First Generation Jung turned around and saw that figure in the white lab coat again—only this time, his appearance was quite different from before.

His hair was smoother, and his eyes behind his glasses were sharper than before.

The figure was sitting right next to the priority seat he had just been in, holding a deluxe edition of "Principles of the Philosophy of Right," having replaced the original passenger at some point.

No...

The First Generation Jung took a deep breath and belatedly realized what was happening.

There was no replacement... This guy was sitting there from the beginning; it's just that... I "ignored" him.

"Cognitive Tampering... wow... that's impressive..."

First Generation Jung spoke, he grabbed his laptop bag from his lap, steadied himself on the armrest, and sat back down in his original spot.

The two sat side by side, and the First Generation Jung gasped for breath.

"Heh... this could be considered evidence that you're not Freud... he wasn't that good at 'instantaneous,' one-off cognitive modifications... including yours, several... uh... several shifts in position."

The man said in a low voice, "Really? What if these two moves are new ones I've just learned?"

After a period of silence, the First Generation Jung spoke again, "He... well... he wasn't that fond of showing off... well..."

"To be honest, I'm not him," the man in the white coat leaned back slightly, "But he's actually quite the show-off, isn't he?"

The First Generation Jung shook his head. "I didn't say he didn't love, it's just... well... not to the extent you've described..."

"At most... ha, three times—if he changes position... there won't be a fourth time... ha..."

Then, the First Generation Jung paused, and added, "And... well... the person from earlier... wouldn't help me either..."

The man in the white coat nodded slightly. "That's the principle. I've noted it down."

The First Generation Jung was silent for a moment, then said, as if talking to himself, "But... you're not 'Schreiber' either... Ha... How ingenious... a double deception..."

Upon hearing this, the man in the white coat turned around curiously. "Why am I not even Schreiber anymore?"

The First Generation Jung reached out and gently placed his hand on the other person's shoulder.

That figure...

It vanished into thin air once more.

"Because it has no soul... Heh..." Schreiber's words... even a 'Doppelganger' or something... should at least have a little... soul, right...? Heh, heh...

"Who... are you?"