"What? What did I like? What did I focus on?"
When Morty, who had been trying hard to dig a pit for the Ricks, was hit with a round of questions from Number 7, he could not help but laugh on the spot.
Because he was half a believer in Dimension C-137's philosophy.
In other words, nihilism.
Sometimes, Morty would question himself.
Did any of these people, any of these things—even the breeze brushing across his face—really have any meaning?
He would die. They would die. She would definitely die. She absolutely had to die.
Earth would be destroyed, the sun would explode, and the universe would grow cold. In the end, none of it mattered.
Since the death of everything was inevitable.
Since everything was merely a matter of sooner or later, did he really need to care about anything?
Even if he saved Grandpa, Grandpa would still die someday. So why not just let him stay dead forever?
But everything had two sides, not merely a narrow-minded, extreme side.
After Morty's memories were restored, he saw the times he had spent with Grandpa. Though the endings of some adventures had not been good.
The excitement over novel things that arose during those experiences.
That feeling gave everything meaning.
Because Morty knew.
Everything would someday come to an end.
People who drank and made merry all night would eventually return to their beds in exhaustion when daylight came.
A factory that bustled all day would have to shut down its roaring machines when faced with all kinds of problems.
A newborn child, entering the world alone, might die the very next second—or decades later, pass away to the sound of their own child crying.
If all you thought about was the ending, then everything would be emptiness.
If you