Archive of Our Own

When a human died, the heart stopped beating,

And when the heart stopped beating, blood pressure dropped immediately.

Therefore, if a knife was cut into a deceased person, there was no horrifying sight of red liquid splattering or gushing out like when a living person was slashed with a sharp weapon. Although he wasn’t an ex-dastur who sought the secrets of wisdom like his partner of decades, he also knew this fact after spending time with him.

But hearing about it and seeing it with his own eyes was totally different.

Especially when he saw the laboratory crowded with bluish-haired man of various ages, all appearing frenzied enthusiasm, and the one who lying motionless on the operating table in the center... was the old man who had always been just as frenzied and turned eighty-fifth today.

The scents of bodily fluids, disinfectant, and freshly burned incense.

All of them mingled in a strange way, as if thickening the air, creating a viscous mass that blocked his airways. Breathing seemed far more difficult than usual. The Sumeru incense he had provided for them was now bringing dizziness rather than refreshment.

Low laughter, boisterous conversation, and greeting from someone who saw him at the door frame.

What stood out the most in his view was the crimson color, but not from the bloodstains. It came from many pairs of predatory eyes of the people in the room.

It wasn’t that he had never seen death.

Of course, a person who had climbed from the lowest of society to become one of the Fatui Harbingers, named Pantalone, and also known as Regrator, was certainly not someone with clean hands or high morals.

Even so...

“Would you like to be a witness?” The man who had just cut open the chest of the person on the table wore a surgical mask, but he was undoubtedly smirking. “It was a rare opportunity that no one has ever had before. A self-dissection.”

That was the 35-year-old Dottore, who usually wore the most arrogant smile of all.

Pantalone showed no expression.

He just stroked the silver ring on his right ring finger, slowly sweeping his gaze across the crowded Dottores, before finally settling on the lifeless body of Zandik.

“I’d rather not,” after a moment, a faint smile appeared on his lips, his eyes squinting behind his glasses. “Please continue. I’m going out for a smoke.”

***

In his usual spot for relaxation in a corner of the building, an orange flame almost reached the filter of the cigarette held between his fingers when a small, waist-high figure appeared.

Pantalone glanced over, exhaling a puff of dull smoke through the gap between his lips.

“Aren’t you going to participate in that historic autopsy?” he asked with a smile.

“Hmph, those me!” Zandik’s 8-year-old Segment snarled. Those familiar eyes showed anger, like boiling water in a kettle. “I just pulled a chair to watch because that table was too high. But they said I was in the way and threw me out! They even said that if I have nothing else to do, I should keep an eye on you to make sure you don’t exceed your smoking quota!” At this point, the waist-high Dottore paused, staring at the thing in his hand. “...How many cigarettes have you smoked?”

“Five,” Pantalone chuckled.

As expected, that little one stomped his feet.

“You just left fifteen minutes ago! Fifteen minutes!! The fifth cigarette is almost gone in just fifteen minutes?! Are you smoking it or shoving it in your mouth?!”

“Shove it in my mouth? Is that considered an advice? Actually, I used to do that,” he tilted his head.

“What did you say...?” The bluish-haired boy winced.

“Shove it in my mouth. Sometimes just smoking wasn’t enough, so I’d chew cigarette fillers and spit them out later. It made me feel awake,” he acted dumb.

“Agh! Stop it! These days I’m already busy enough preparing the operating room for your lung transplant every time. I don’t want to add your mouth repair surgery to my list. No chewing cigarette fillers!!” Of course, he got scolded immediately.

“That’s a shame,” Pantalone feigned a sigh. “Alright, alright. Whatever you say. I’ve always listened to you. From now on, I’ll smoke normally, no more chewing cigarette fillers.”

“Good!” the 8-year-old Dottore nodded sternly.

“Like this only?” He raised the cigarette butt to his lips.

“Yes!” the 8-year-old Dottore nodded firmly again.

Ah, so easy to fool, Pantalone thought, closing his eyes and inhaling the toxic smoke. Even though Zandik had been twisted since childhood, the 8-year-old still lacked social experience to keep up with the cunning of adults, especially adults like him.

He wasn’t the only one who knew this; the other Dottores knew it too.

But if that were the case... what was the point of sending the youngest Segment to him then? Even the original Zandik, who had constantly complained ever since they became partners, had never succeeded in doing so.

That man had complained non-stop, but had always scheduled health checkups, planned lung transplant surgery, performed himself as a leading surgeon, and sat with Pantalone throughout his recovery claiming it was necessary to closely monitor for side effects, only to grumble again when Pantalone had casually asked for a cigarette after just getting out of medical bed. This pattern had repeated countless times.

But not anymore.

Pantalone had just seen it with his own eyes. So suddenly, unexpectedly, and worse than he had ever prepared for.

That guy was gone...

“Hey,” suddenly, the voice of the 8-year-old Dottore interrupted his thoughts.

“What is it?” He exhaled his last puff of smoke before turning to ask.

“Since my other selves aren’t around, I wanted to talk about something.” This time, the little one’s red eyes sparkled. “Well... I have a really cool experimental project idea, but ‘18’ keeps saying it’s too childish. Hmph, that’s not true at all! If you heard the details, you’d love it.”

The lively, almost innocent expression of little Dottore somewhat eased the tension in his heart.

The Harbinger who had overseen the organization’s finances for many years smiled, his voice softening.

“So, you want to propose a project,” he extinguished the white cigarette with the delicately carved ashtray that was placed beside. “Sure. I was here for a meeting to discuss budget allocation after all, but since the other Dottores seems more interested in other things this morning... it would be good to use most of this quarter’s funding to support projects of those who are willing to attend my meeting. Like your project, for example.”

“Really?” The small figure almost jumped with excitement. “Great! Then let’s have a meeting!”

“Alright, lead the way,” he gestured.

As he followed the young Segment who strode along as if flying, he pondered something.

Then, he decided to ask abruptly, “Have you ever tried Medovik?”

“What is that?” The bluish-haired didn’t stop, just turned his head curiously.

“A popular dessert in Snezhnaya. It makes from stacks of honey biscuits with Smetana in between each layer,” he pulled out a small rectangular box hidden in his cloak. “Actually, I prepared it as a small gift for Zandik’s eighty-fifth birthday, but since he’s not in a condition to eat anything anymore... then I’ll give it to you. You both have number eight in your age after all.”

“Wow, that’s super good!” The 8-year-old waved his fists triumphantly before rushing down the hallway, completely losing his composure. “Hurry up, I want to eat!”

What a joy, both pure and freakish at the same time.

At just eight years old, he possessed eyes that saw only self-interest. He didn’t even care or mourn the original who had just died. No wonder other Segments of Zandik were even more indifferent to the death of their creator.

No wonder a man who had walked a heretic path his entire life found no peace in his final moments. No wonder a genius who had been selfish his entire life received a bizarre and unimaginable end.

Pantalone continued walking, holding the box of sweets in his right hand, adorned only with a silver ring.

From now on, Zandik would really no longer be by his side.

Yet, Zandik’s Segments, memories, ambition, and unwavering determination to dismantle the disgusting rules that shaped this world... all remained.

The relationship bound by benefits also remained.

‘Dottore’ still remained by his side, and would remain so for a long, long time.

***

The Harbingers meeting this time didn’t end well.

That’s normal and wasn’t surprising. Since when had he ever been without Pulcinella’s sarcastic remarks? And since when had he ever not engaged in a heated argument with that mayor until the Jester frowned and cut them off?

“Seriously, every time I come here, there’s something to stress me out. I’d rather talk to the vault or the documents at Northland Bank,” Pantalone muttered, shaking his head as he walked back to his office in the private building.

“Looks like you’re going to pull out a cigarette and use stress as an excuse again,” the bluish-haired man beside him warned in a low, deep voice. “Give me a break. Even if the elixir of immortality has extended your lifespan by over a hundred year, your lungs wouldn’t last that long, especially when you keep massacring your own lung tissue.”

“You know me well,” he shook the cigarette pack in his pocket, grabbed one, and then nonchalantly fumbled for a lighter. “But so what? You’ve been complaining for almost two hundred years, yet have I ever quit?”

The 35-year-old Segment, who was from the prime of Zandik’s life, let out a snort.

The upper half of his face was covered by a mask, but the frustration was clearly visible. Part of it was probably due to Pantalone, and another part to that annoying meeting. Even so, Pantalone noticed that, compared to the other Segments who preferred to isolate themselves in research, the 35-year-old Dottore was the one who left the lab most often to meet with people, including other Harbingers.

He lit his cigarette, thinking the person beside him would be tired of arguing about this topic. Unexpectedly, after walking a little further, Dottore’s voice floated over:

“But after the last time ‘65’ performed a lung transplant and told you to quit smoking, you actually reduced it from twenty cigarettes a day to ten.”

The muted purple eyes behind the glasses glanced at the person beside.

“And isn’t that a good thing?” he asked, exhaling smoke.

“It is,” Dottore wrinkled his nose.

“Then what is the issue?” he asked again.

The only response was silence.

Between the two, only the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway for a long time.

Until the embers had burned halfway through the cigarette, the other’s voice could be heard again.

“When I told you, you didn’t listen,” his face was quite sullen. “But when ‘65’ told you, you listened somewhat. Why? Because that’s the one who closest to Zandik?”

That was quite surprising. Pantalone raised his eyebrows, taking the cigarette from his slightly smiling lips. “Whether it’s you or him, whether it’s ‘35’ or ‘65’, you’re all Dottore. You’re all parts of Zandik, just from different perspectives. What’s the point of dwelling on small things?”

He wasn’t imagining things; Dottore beside him seemed even more displeased.

Ten seconds later, his assumption was confirmed. The other man was indeed displeased, because as he raised the cigarette back to his lips to take another puff, this time Dottore brazenly snatched it from his mouth.

Pantalone’s brows furrowed, his footsteps stopped.

“Dottore,” he drawled, a warning in his voice, “I’m afraid there is the certain line that shouldn’t be crossed.”

“And between us, where is that certain line?” Dottore asked nonchalantly, raising the cigarette to his own lips.

Pantalone watched.

He watched Dottore’s slender fingers that were more like crushing the cigarette than holding it. He watched the tip of Dottore’s tongue that slowly and deliberately licking the filter, the part that used to be in his mouth, instead of smoking like a normal person.

Filled with a bizarre aura, radiating a strange and eccentric ambiance.

What a... familiar feeling.

For a fleeting moment, he felt as if he drifted back to a memory from almost two centuries ago, to a time when that one person was still alive. It was like recalling the wet touch of a tongue licking the back of his neck, the breath that sent shivers down his spine, and the trembling of his body as hands caressed his numerous surgical scars like an artist admiring his own work.

He had to admit that those stimuli made his pulse race wildly more than any experimental drugs.

Especially the husky, captivating whisper:

‘Feofan...’

Pantalone snapped out of his reverie of the past when his right hand being grasped.

Dottore coughed, the cigarette carelessly tossed to the ground. He probably didn’t like the taste and smell very much, just like Zandik, who had always frowned and complained to him repeatedly to quit that kind of addiction.

Dottore held his hand, not with tenderness or concern, but like a mad researcher scrutinizing every detail of a test subject repeatedly—squeezing, caressing, pressing, poking, and prodding.

Pantalone let the man do as he pleased for a while without saying a word.

Before politely withdrawing his hand the moment Dottore was about to remove his ring.

“The certain line between you and me is...” His eyes squinted “I have no problem with you touching me however you like. You’ve already seen my whole body, inside and out after all. There’s nothing awkward between us. My life and my body have always been yours, willingly entrusted to your hands. But I must make it clear that my personal property remains mine, whether it’s that cigarette or this ring. Don’t try to take anything without permission ever again. Regrator isn’t the type to be that generous, Doctor.”

The man in front of him was silent.

But just as he was about to turn and walk away, Dottore spoke slowly.

“That’s not true.”

“Pardon?”

“Considering the scope of what you allow and forbid, overall I’d say you’re quite generous,” Dottore looked directly at him, the intense gaze veiled even through the half-mask. “You’ve always been generous to me... generous to Zandik, and you’re not unaware of that, Pantalone.”

Dottore’s hand reached out to touch the back of his neck.

The fingertips tracing slowly, sending a familiar tingling sensation through his nerves.

***

The next Harbingers meeting was even worse.

It made him question himself whether being this ‘generous’ to Dottore was really the right decision.

“Regarding improvements to the Research and Development Department budget, it must be stated here that a budget is a tool to help plan and allocate limited resources most efficiently. Statistics and results from various research projects undertaken over the past year point to a significant trend; therefore, it is unavoidable to discuss it in this topic...”

Of course, he performed his duties smoothly as usual.

The annual budget distribution proceeded as it should. He answered the Jester and Capitano’s thoughtful questions, giving Pulcinella a knowingly provocative business smile, brushed off Sandrone’s request for increased funding, ignored Signora’s irritated sigh at having diplomatic budget cut as well, and simply let the absent-minded Columbina start humming out of nowhere.

But the real annoying problem today was...

“Mmm!” Just as he was giving his closing remarks for the meeting, he suddenly flinched and lost his balance.

The person beside had caught Pantalone just in time. That hand rested somewhere between his waist and buttocks, causing another jolt. Fortunately, his long white coat perfectly concealed one secret... he wasn’t wearing pants today.

Pantalone glared at the owner of the audacious hand, receiving a sly smile in return.

“It seems you haven’t had enough rest. How about get a checkup after the meeting?”

Not enough rest? What audacity.

It was true that he has been getting little sleep and eating irregularly these days due to the workload, but how could his recent briefly loss of his composure has anything to do with rest?

So good at pretending to be oblivious, huh? even though you are the one who suddenly doubled the vibration level of the device plugged into me.

“Thank you for your concern, Doctor,” he stabilized his breathing, agreeing with a smile. “I’m afraid I’ll have to trouble you for a physical examination.”

After the meeting ended, Dottore enthusiastically escorted him back to his private base.

Dottore didn’t complain even though Pantalone walked slower than usual, just watching with a smile, like he was curiously observing a frail, unsteady-legged cub, wondering how long it would take.

Meanwhile, the vibration level of the device inside him fluctuated according to the mood of the person controlling it. Of course, it didn’t make things any easier. Pantalone really wanted to scold this man until his ears were numb.

But thinking about it now was pointless.

He’d had many chances to stop Dottore... yet he had always ended up giving in.

***

Most of these behind-the-scenes activities usually took place between Pantalone and the 35-year-old Dottore.

But it wasn’t always like that.

“Back off. It’s my turn this time.”

“What nonsense. It should be my turn.”

“Ridiculous. It’s obviously my turn.”

The Segments’ seemingly endless arguing was incredibly irritating. Pantalone, already aroused and trembling, had just stumbled and collapsed onto the familiar operating table, finding it even more unbearable.

The 35-year-old Dottore was the one who had brought him to the private lab, but it had turned out that ‘25’ and ‘45’ happened to be discussing things inside. Upon seeing the situation and understanding what was going on, they had immediately gone straight to taunt ‘35’, saying that he had been taking Pantalone around too often lately. They felt it was unfair.

Pantalone listened, half-ignoring. A vein in his brain throbbed as he tossing his coat aside with his own irritatingly stiff hands. Besides his tight-fitting top and long boots, his lower body was completely bare. His legs, scarred from surgery, were spread wide. His back arched slightly with the intense pleasure emanating from the cylindrical object that still inside. It vibrated and rubbed against his sensitive spot incessantly.

“Ugh... stop arguing!” His emotions were turbulent; He cut short the endless self-bickering of the three Segments. “Come in all at once!”

Those guys shut their mouths instantly, quickly obeying orders.

Now they were surprisingly compliant and united.

Pantalone closed his eyes and did the same thing he always did: Entrusting everything into Dottore’s hands. From this moment on, the waves of his emotion would surge wherever the other man desired.

He let himself feel the wet touch of a tongue licking the back of his neck, the breath that sent shivers down his spine, and the trembling of his body as hands caressed his numerous surgical scars like artists admiring their own work.

Pantalone willingly experienced these sensations again and again.

He moaned as the device that had been inserted into him for hours was withdrawn and replaced by a hot, throbbing shaft, thrusting and grinding aggressively, as if exploring the deepest parts of him.

He, who hated being controlled, entrusted the right to lead to someone everyone considered insane.

He, who valued his pride above all else, entrusted himself at his weakest, most vulnerable, most pathetic, and most out of control moments to Dottore.

Even if this relationship was based on benefits, what was so bad about it? After all, it was what they both believed in most, the strongest bond in the world between two outcasts who had crossed paths.

Pantalone tilted his head back and laughed during their intercourse.

A mixture of broken laughter mingled with gasps, moans, and sobs of lust as he felt like his body was about to split in two by ‘25’ and ‘45’s double penetration. The pain was so intense he almost choked, screaming and tears welling up, yet there was not a shred of fear. He moved his hips, unafraid of the pain, because he knew full well that Dottore would never let him die.

In this person’s hands, he could seek pleasure as much as he wanted, without worrying about the consequences.

The ultimate trust he could offer anyone.

His inside was warm with fluids. He had come countless times. Someone’s hand had masturbated him, the pleasure almost overwhelming. He had screamed, his throat burning to the point he couldn’t tell if he was still moaning or if his voice had completely vanished.

Didn't know how long the storm lasted. The scent of sweat and semen lingered in the air. He remained with his eyes closed, his breath trembling. Feeling lightheaded, he simply lay there motionless, letting the Segments clean up the magnificent mess they had just created together. They wiped the sweat from his face, cleaned his body, checked for injuries before applying ointment, helped him sit on a comfortable armchair, measured his pulse and breathing, examined his pupils for responsiveness, and much more—all standard procedure.

Then came the final act, seemingly unnecessary but one that seemed like their unwritten tradition:

Dottore removed his mask,

and kissed him.

Each Segment had his own preferred spot (but they all unanimously avoided lips, for the reason that who the hell would want to kiss a chain-smoker’s mouth). ‘45’ leaned in and kissed his forehead; ‘25’ left a touch on his shoulder;

And ‘35’...

Pantalone lowered his gaze.

The other knelt in front of him, placing a kiss on the back of his foot for a long time.

This Dottore always said that of all of Zandik’s Segments, he was the most selfish, and seemed incredibly proud of that. Yet, Pantalone pondered, wasn’t it contradictory that such a selfish and arrogant would always choose this kind of kiss? Wasn’t that contradictory?

After a while, those crimson eyes, rarely seen because they were usually covered by the mask, looked up and met his gaze.

The blood-red color blazed like a raging fire.

As if some kind of desire in his heart still burned fiercely, and had not subsided with the rhythm that had just ended.

***

A few more hundreds of years passed, and even without Zandik by his side, the Segments had always been around him.

They said it was just because he was useful for approving research projects and also as a test subject for the elixir of immortality, the results of which had been monitored for centuries. Therefore, how could they let him out of their sight?

Pantalone didn’t mind. He rather found the excuse amusing.

If it were Zandik... that guy would probably have made the same excuse.

“Is that ring that important to you?”

Hearding the question from across the table, Pantalone lowered his porcelain teacup.

The 45-year-old Dottore, who had come presenting a new research project at the banker’s office today, looked at Pantalone’s hand. He followed his gaze before replying with a smile, “Wealth isn’t something you can acquire overnight. I always cherish the fruits of my hard work.”

“You’re talking about those rings on your left hand, aren’t you?” the other said. “But I meant the one on your right hand.”

The teacup was placed. Silence fell for a moment.

Pantalone slowly stroked the ring. It was the elegant silver ring, featuring violet gemstones, perfectly matching his taste, but he knew so well that wasn’t the point of this conversation.

Snezhnayan had a tradition of wearing wedding rings on the right ring finger, unlike people of other countries in Teyvat who usually wear them on their left hand.

“You’ve already known the answer, yet you still ask?” he asked softly.

“Whenever we do ‘that’, you always willingly take off all your clothes and accessories, except this ring,” the other said.

“And whenever we do ‘that’, you and other you always willingly take off everything, except the earrings containing the elixir of immortality. But that’s strange, isn’t it? The Segments created with the technology of Khaenri’ah don’t even need that. So why are you so possessive of it?” The Ninth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers clasped his hands on his lap, a smile on his face. “Our reasons might be similar.”

The 45-year-old Dottore paused for a moment, then took a sip from his own cup.

Isn’t it fair to exchange questions for questions? Pantalone chuckled as he observed his expression.

“Haha, well. Perhaps you, as a researcher, are just that proud of the elixir of immortality as a groundbreaking achievement,”

Pantalone offered an excuse.

Unexpectedly, the 45-year-old Dottore didn’t accept it.

“No,” the person in front of him shook his head, gripping the cup slightly tighter, causing his knuckles to turn white. He seemed to hesitate for a long moment before speaking the next sentence, “I always keep the elixir with myself in case of an emergency. That is, if something happens to you or your body, any of us can go straight to you and prolong your life with this elixir of immortality immediately.”

“...”

“You are important to me, Pantalone, important to all of ‘me’, just as important to Zandik.”

The confession came quite suddenly.

And it was quite unusual.

In truth, Pantalone wasn’t unaware of this. He was rather wondering if Dottore himself even knew his own thoughts. Therefore... the confession, which should have been a joyful one, was instead tinged with something unsettling.

“Why telling this to me now?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper.

“Because I have a not-so-good feeling about another me, who is currently on a mission to Sumeru.”

The muted purple eyes trembled behind the glasses.

He had referred to the 35-year-old Dottore, tasked with taking Gnoses from the Land of Wisdom.

“I’ve already lived through thirty-five. I know very well just how crazy, violent, and selfish ‘I’ can be during that time. This ‘me’ surely sees you as important just as we do. But the most striking difference is...”

His expression became more solemn.

The atmosphere seemed to freeze.

“The 35-year-old me would never gladly share you with anyone, not even with myself.”

Crash!

“Dottore?!”

A terrifying incident occurred without warning.

The 45-year-old Dottore trembled violently, his teacup shattering. His face contorted as he writhed in agony before collapsing backward along with his chair.

Pantalone rushed to him.

Whether it was instinct or not, despite his unusually frantic behavior, Dottore clutched the vial of elixir, protecting it from hitting the floor. He gasped for breath before awkwardly trying to remove it from his ear.

“Dottore! What happened? What’s wrong?!”

“Just as I thought... That arrogant... me...”

“Guard! Go get a doctor! Now!!”

His subordinate burst through the door with a horrified expression, received the order and run down the hallway.

Pantalone’s eyes widened as the vial was thrust into his hand by the trembling figure.

“It’s pointless, Pantalone,” his voice rumbled through clenched teeth. “That ‘me’... made a decision.”

“You who went to Sumeru?” His breathing quickened, his heart pounding. “What did he do?”

The other person didn’t answer, only gazing at the ceiling, or perhaps somewhere far beyond his sight. His expression was stern, mixed with a dark, ironic amusement.

The 45-year-old Dottore’s last words were faint.

And seemed more to be spoken to another self than to Pantalone beside him.

“You did it again, just like we all did to Zandik...” His lips twisted into a sarcastic smile. “I hope you’ll make this moment count.”

***

The Dottore’s operations building had never been this eerily silent.

In fact, the place had always exuded a chilling, unsettling aura, but this time was distinctly different.

Pantalone strode down the corridor, entering the various laboratories.

As expected... the lifeless bodies of Dottores lay scattered everywhere.

Everyone’s expressions were almost the same—grimace and filled with rage. Their eyes wide and fixed, as if cursing someone until their final moments. Pantalone looked at the Segments of various ages with his usual faint smile, patiently carrying them to lie down in a row in the main laboratory one by one.

The Ninth of the Eleven Fatui Harbingers sighed softly as he knelt beside the body of the 25-year-old Dottore, finding him in almost the same position as the 45-year-old who had died in his office moments before—lying on his side yet clutching the vial of elixir that usually hung from his right ear in his now clenched hand. Pantalone carefully removed the vial and put it in his pocket, then leaned down and planted a kiss on his shoulder, and gently lifted the 25-year-old Segment to join the others.

He had spent half a day handling this alone.

He knew he could call for help, but didn’t want to.

What he needed the most right now... was some private moment.

Finally, the last one. Pantalone went into the room at the end of the hallway. The small body of the 8-year-old Dottore lay face down on the floor, fists clenched, utterly helpless.

He carefully turned the body over, finding that the expression was the same as the other Dottores: a burning resentment.

That adorable little nose was broken and crooked, presumably from a face-first fall.

“Oh my, it’s just a hundred years ago when I couldn’t find my glasses so I tripped over the bedpost and got a nosebleed, you were the one who take care of it and wouldn’t stop mocking me,” He chuckled softly as he stroked the small head covered with bluish-hair, “But look... even the great little Dottore has experienced something like this too.”

He carried the young body to the other Dottores.

The main laboratory was filled with resentful Dottores. Everything was silent, yet it was as if the screams echoed just by looking at their faces.

Pantalone took a cigarette from his pocket and lit it.

In truth, he had already smoked his quota for the day... but who cared? Who could stop him?

Now, there was only one person left who would want to complain about it.

Dottore.

The one Dottore that currently far away in Sumeru.

Gray smoke lingered, cloudy ashes fell. Smoking in a laboratory like this was normally strictly forbidden, but since this special occasion had arrived, he might as well fully indulge in something he’d never done before. Pantalone let his thoughts drift, entwining with the smoke.

Before he knew it, the entire pack was gone.

Ash splattered on the floor and his leather shoes. He blinked slowly, exhaling the last puff of smoke from his lungs, guessing that his next transplant appointment would likely be ten years sooner than scheduled because of today alone. Then he stroked the centuries-old silver ring on his right hand.

“You never fail to surprise me, Zandik,” he whispered to the ring, his eyes slightly closed. “Your end came in the hands of the Segments from each time of your life. Then, they met their end too, at the hands of the one Segment from the prime of your life.”

The lingering cigarette smoke irritated his eyes. It seemed next corneal repair surgery might be imminent as well.

He took off his glasses and raised his right hand to cover his eyes. The cool touch of a silver ring brushed against his skin.

“You know what? This incident made me realize... I truly regret something.”

In the center of the silent room, Pantalone murmured to himself like a comedian reciting a monologue. However, right now, he had no captive audience. They all laid lifeless.

“Do you know what I regret?”

Of course, his question floated away with the gray smoke, leaving no answer.

So, he answered himself.

“I regret that we met too late, Zandik.”

As he spoke, the faint smile was gone.

The corners of his mouth swirled, this time into a wide, sinister grin. His eyes beneath his palm widened as well.

His shoulders trembled, but not from pure sorrow.

He was excited.

“Oh dear, we met when you had already seen enough of the world. Our partnership formed when you were halfway through your life. Of course, you never abandoned your aspirations, but your selfishness pales in comparison to your past self. Even someone as extreme as you have been changed by the world, softening sharp edges rounded. I must say, I’m still impressed by you, and always have been.”

Pantalone began pacing around the room,

gesturing his hands with ecstatic delight.

“But oh... Oh dear! Just imagine! What if we had been partners since you were thirty-five? That insane, radical, extreme, and selfish you! The 35-year-old you’ve done shocking things time and again, hahaha, and even dared to take your own breath without hesitation twice! Zandik, you at that time... were just... absolutely amazing!”

He burst into laughter, then slumped into the familiar armchair in the corner. His body bounced slightly as he continued to laugh, a laughter that seemed uncontrollable.

Pantalone’s long and slender legs crossed. He lowered his gaze to his foot, wiggling it slightly, as if beckoning someone to hurry back and press their lips against it.

“Wow dear, your 35-year-old self is far beyond what you’d calculate in your later years, isn’t he? Oh pardon me, aren’t you?” He wiped away tears of laughter before kissing the ring on his right ring finger. “Thank you. Thank you for defying fate and creating your past self for me to get to know. Now I’m absolutely certain... that we have more than enough potential to burn down the old rules of the world that both you and I despise.”

Now, hurry back to me, Dottore, the most ambitious and selfish one beyond anyone’s imagination.

Next stop, we’re going to revolutionize the pathetic, outdated order of this world together.

:: Extra ::

Zandik was dying.

The elixir of immortality had no effect on him. The ravages of aging were finally catching up. He experienced cardiac arrhythmia, chest tightness, and dyspnea. He dropped his cane and fell backward. A hip fracture caused excruciating pain shot through his body.

The Segments appeared around him.

“Help me... up... C—Call for help...”

Yet, they just stood there,

Staring with creepy eyes.

Whether it was the 8-year-old, the 25-year-old, the 35-year-old, or the 45-year-old, they all seemed indifferent to the original who was about to die a pathetic death in the middle of the room.

Zandik just realized it then.

He had always been selfish.

And he had never loved himself.

Never.

Of course, none of the versions of him in the past seemed eager to help him.

The 35-year-old Segment smiled casually and crouched down, watching him struggle.

“Don’t forget, you’re one of... us...” Zandik tried to reach out.

“Yes, and we’re all waiting.” the other replied with an indifferent smile.

“Hah... Waiting for me to die?” he stammered, his voice hoarse and broken, unable to believe his words.

His hand couldn’t reach the Segment; instead, the Segment’s hand grabbed his face, gripping tightly like steel, blocking his breathing.

“It can’t be helped. The elixir of immortality we’re researching hasn’t been successful. You yourself are barely holding on... so how much time do you think Feofan has left?” The words of the 35-year-old Segment sounded faint, slowly drifting away. “We want him to have a future. You do too, don’t you? So, hurry up and die, Zandik. You, who took the elixir of immortality but it didn’t work, are the source of new possibilities. We’ll dissect you thoroughly, no matter what, rest assured.”

Feofan

Oh, Feofan...

Darkness encroached on vision like tidal waves. Zandik convulsed beneath the palm of the 35-year-old him, who was the most selfish and extreme.

Therefore, his final thought was:

If we had been partners since I was thirty-five... Who knows, we would have had more than enough potential to burn down the old rules of the world that both you and I despise successfully hundreds of years ago.