When a Program Runs on Bugs

Darkness.

A pitch-black void.

Boundless, endless darkness.

Within the darkness, Hohen walked in peace.

The moment he lost his strength and slipped into unconsciousness, Hohen truly believed he was going to die again. Unlike his first experience—where he had blacked out from drinking at a company annual meeting and woken up to find himself transmigrated—this time, his soul felt unimaginably light, transcending its heavy shell and falling toward the sky.

In a state of confusion and trance, Hohen forgot where he was.

Hovering above all things, looking down at the earth as if soaring, his formless soul gazed downward in a daze.

Yet, what he saw was not heaven, but a hell so tragic that a mortal could not imagine even a fraction of it in a lifetime.

--The earth trembled as it awoke, and unfathomable canyons split open. Stars extinguished one by one, falling with the shattered, false firmament to hammer like raindrops against the already dried-up oceans.

--River water turned into viscous oil, dust turned into sulfur, and the soil became burning coal; day and night, it never ceased, and smoke rose forever. The corpses of men and beasts piled up in one place, the stench permeating with the dust. The mountains were melted by their blood, mixing into ugly scabs that clung to the broken, ruined earth.

--The nations of the world were like cut thorns and burned lime, gray and white, incinerating amidst withered forests. The plumb line of emptiness and the plummet of chaos were drawn over them, ensuring they would never find redemption for generations to come.

Only the word "apocalypse" could describe this grand spectacle before his eyes.

Then, a radiance rose.

Violent firelight burned away the night, igniting the firmament and the earth alike. In this light, which even the sun could not rival, eight magnificent pillars of different colors intertwined, yet remained distinct, supporting the world and preventing it from falling into a state of death. It was as if they encompassed all things—vast, wide, and all-inclusive.

It was like destiny.

As the perspective pulled back, behind the pillars, great existences revealed their true forms.

One was a scorching furnace, shattering the night and ending the immutable; one was a cup filled with blood, tempting to the extreme, overflowing with pain; one was a cold dawn, harsh, precise, and meticulous. One was a wild beast, filled with wrath, growing stronger without end; one was a full moon, perfect to the extreme, dazzling and brilliant; one was a fragrant bud, intoxicating and dreamlike, forever out of reach.

And there were more, so many more...

Like stars... no, brilliant symbols a hundred times more magnificent than stars stood upon the pillars, casting an indifferent glance toward the tiny, mundane world.

Even in his dream, Hohen held his breath involuntarily.

He marveled at such greatness, feared such power, and yearned for such achievements...

--Suffocated by this gaze!

They, them, He/She/It...

They were all looking at him!

Bathed in this gaze, which was so intense it felt physical, Hohen felt his tiny self dissolving, collapsing, and...

--Transforming!

As the feeling of exhaustion washed over him, the scene before his eyes grew increasingly blurred. The last thing Hohen saw was a grand light pouring down from even higher above, enveloping everything.

Sunlight? Candlelight? Or firelight?

Before he could look closely, his consciousness, having reached its limit, could no longer maintain the perspective. An irresistible pulling force came from beneath him, and Hohen's vision went black once more.

Birmingham, Sacred Heart Hospital, a luxury single room on the top floor, on a hospital bed covered with classic blue-and-white striped sheets.

"Holy crap, a Giant of Light!"

Hohen sat up abruptly in his deathbed.

"An unfamiliar ceiling... wait, didn't I get attacked by that perverted old geezer?"

With lingering fear, he pulled back the sheets, saw his upper body still wearing the hospital gown someone had put on him, and reached down to confirm the state of his lower body before letting out a sigh of relief.

Thank goodness, his rear hadn't been sold. It seemed the perverted old geezer, whose name he still didn't know, had indeed been driven off and hadn't come back to loot the body of the unconscious him.

Struggling to recall the memories from before he collapsed from exhaustion, Hohen looked around. Seeing the clean, fresh-smelling room with only his own bed, he felt increasingly uncertain.

According to what Belloc had said earlier, had he been saved by an organization called the Prevention and Suppression Bureau?

Why would they save him? Was the life of a wild transcendent worth anything?

No, that wasn't right either. The only person who had seen him use the Flame of Destiny was Belloc, and since he had "risen from the dead" three times, he was definitely dead for good now and certainly wouldn't have any objections.

The Blood Cup Cult was a confirmed enemy, and the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, which fought them, might not be trustworthy either. Such official organizations might use the debt of saving his life to coerce him into signing some contract of indentured servitude, forcing him to work like a beast of burden for the rest of his life, toiling day and night, night and day, doing whatever they pleased...

At any rate, that was what the occult conspiracy theory section of the Kael-Isum Review he had read told him.

But as he touched the smooth sheets, feeling the delicacy and warmth unique to the fabric, Hohen decided it didn't matter.

Shrugs, nothing to do with me.jpg

At least he was still alive, wasn't he?

It was good to be alive; to be alive was to have hope, and to be alive was the most fortunate and happiest thing of all.

Hohen hadn't lived enough yet. In his past life, he had finally managed to overcome all obstacles, pass the competitive exams to get into a good school, study through his master's and doctorate, and finally squeeze into a well-known company in the industry, only to be sent to intern on a project rumored to have "infinite potential" the moment he started.

Then came the celebrations, the banquets, the forced toasts, and the blackout.

When he opened his eyes again, Hohen had become Hohenheim Lancaster, experiencing this strange world for the second time.

Holding onto the perspective of a transmigrator, filled with hard work and sweat, and with the insignificant help of a golden finger, Hohen was full of ambition, believing that his second life would be more brilliant and magnificent than the one that had ended so abruptly.

Looking at it now, it was more than just spectacular; it was downright excessive.

Igniting a colorless flame and watching the air at his fingertips shimmer, Hohenheim still felt a sense of relief.

"Whew—"

Outside the window, a gust of wind blew, and the heavy wooden frame swung open as if it had been freshly oiled. The pink wristband tied to his left wrist, signifying his status as a patient, unraveled into thin air under Hohenheim's stunned gaze and fluttered down onto the bedsheet.

At the only door to the ward, the lock clicked open on its own, the latch making a sharp "clack" sound. A blonde girl wearing sunglasses walked in leisurely, her hands tucked into her pockets.

Without the slightest bit of resistance.

"Yo, you're awake."

She adjusted her sunglasses with her right hand, slightly obscuring her pale purple slit pupils that were reminiscent of a snake. Veronica looked at Hohenheim, who was guardedly clutching his collar with a shocked expression, and skipped any pleasantries to get straight to the point.

"I am a special consultant for the Prevention and Suppression Bureau, Veronica Cessno, and I am currently in full charge of all matters regarding the Blood Cup Cult here in Birmingham. So, um, Mr. Hohenheim Lancaster, would you be willing to sign this non-disclosure agreement?"

As if performing a magic trick, a thick stack of contract papers appeared out of thin air with a flick of Veronica's wrist. She handed them to Hohenheim, thoughtfully attaching a manual explaining the technical jargon, clearly worried he wouldn't understand the contents of the agreement.

"...May I confirm the contents first?"

"Of course, it's your freedom."

She shrugged in agreement. Taking advantage of the moment Hohenheim lowered his head, she peered through her sunglasses at his crimson eyes, conducting a final check. She didn't miss a single sign of abnormality, meticulously discerning every trace of spiritual flow.

And so, she widened her eyes in confusion.

Oh damn, that's weird. Let me look again.

Blinking seven times to open the threshold of her vision, Veronica's pupils elongated slightly. She watched as a massive amount of spiritual residue—which would have caused a normal person to drop dead on the spot—settled within Hohenheim's body, coexisting peacefully.

No, saying they were coexisting peacefully wasn't quite accurate. On the contrary, the spiritual energies were clashing with extreme intensity, yet they had combined in an unexpectedly harmonious way through those very conflicts, allowing this body to run and jump just like an ordinary person.

It was a special structure that could be called a medical miracle, layered thousands of times over, presenting itself as a mountain of legacy code that would make medical students cry in confusion and programmers tremble in fear!

One bug is a bug, but a pile of bugs can actually work.

As long as it runs, it's a success!