I nodded.

    "A hunter, you say?"

    Vivabot 014 scoffed.

    "Old School? Or Awakened? Oh wait, Awakened types are pretty useless here, aren’t they?"

    Was she a Korean-American? Or maybe one of her parents was Korean?

    At the very least, it was undeniable that she had a solid grasp of Korean culture.

    Like the time she coldly banned someone simply for saying "waeng" instead of "why," which is a quintessential Korean phonetic mimicry.

    "Old School."

    Time was running out.

    I had to quickly recover my account and deliver my message to Melon.

    "What’s your rank?"

    "S."

    "S?"

    Vivabot sneered, glaring at me.

    "Did you just say S?"

    "S."

    "Look, I’ve got access to an Old School Hunter database—excluding China. If you’re lying, I’ll ban you for a month. Are you fine with that?"

    "Call sign: Professor."

    I had nothing to hide, and my confidence didn’t waver.

    Vivabot, previously arrogant, seemed to sense the weight of my words. She frowned, glanced at her monitor, and started typing.

    It didn’t take long before she seemed to find something.

    Her eyes darted between the monitor and me, wide with shock.

    She stammered.

    "Is your real name, by any chance...?"

    "Park Gyu."

    "Do you have the badge? The S-rank badge that only S-class hunters receive?"

    "Oh, that thing."

    I got up and rummaged through a cabinet.

    Digging through a black bag stuffed with miscellaneous items, I eventually pulled out a shiny golden badge.

    The so-called Golden Fleece.

    It was a solid gold badge inspired by the legendary fleece of the golden ram, Chrysomallos, from Greek mythology—an emblem of S-class hunters, of which there had only ever been twelve worldwide.

    Once, it had been the ultimate symbol of pride and aspiration for all hunters.

    Personally, I wasn’t fond of flaunting such things, so I’d rarely touched it unless attending official events. After the decline of Old School Hunters, it became more of a self-deprecating relic and was sealed away in storage.

    And now, here I was, pulling it out again in this moment.

    I was glad I hadn’t thrown it away.

    I showed the badge to Vivabot.

    "...Oh."

    Her face turned pale.

    "Could you... show me the back?"

    I flipped the badge and held it up to the camera.

    Engraved on the back were a serial number and an encrypted QR code.

    She couldn’t verify the QR code with just her eyes, but the serial number should match her database.

    She checked the number and, with an excited voice, asked,

    "Are you really Professor? The one who first discovered the origin of mutations?!"

    "Yes, I am."@@@@

    "Wait, why would someone like you do something like this...? Are you on drugs?"

    "...No."

    Her question was irritating, but at least she now seemed to recognize me as Professor.

    "Oh my God, I can’t believe you’re alive! I’ll post an announcement and get you connected to Melon immediately!"

    Fame really did have its perks.

    Even someone as hostile as Vivabot had turned into an eager helper.

    But her newfound enthusiasm carried a dangerous implication.

    "An announcement?"

    I asked urgently.

    "Yes! I’ll post a big message: ‘Advice from SKELTON (A.K.A. Professor)!’ How about that?"

    "Don’t."

    "?"

    Was she insane?

    Did she want me dead?

    Right now, even Woo Min-hee was likely watching this live broadcast.

    I’d lied to her dozens of times, saying I wasn’t using the internet.

    "My apologies, but could you make it anonymous instead?"

    "Why? May I ask the reason?"

    "There are people targeting me."

    Vivabot nodded.

    I attached the photo to my message and sent it.

    MELON MUSK: This photo is...?

    SKELTON: Me and a friend who’s no longer here.

    On camera, Melon Musk’s face was awash with unspoken emotions.

    He looked at the camera and spoke.

    MELON MUSK: If I were to release Bumpy...

    Before he could finish, the door to the workspace module swung open.

    Beyond the open door, a man in a spacesuit wielding a wrench in both hands burst in with an unmistakable mix of fury and purpose.

    Thunk!

    The wrench came crashing down on the head of a zombie.

    "Melon!!!"

    Donald McGarry.

    The true nightmare of Plus Ultra glared at the CCTV camera and screamed.

    "I knew it! You sneaky bastard! You’re always lying! I’m glad I didn’t kill you right away! I figured you’d mess with the rocket!"

    Donald McGarry stormed past the module, heading straight for the residential section.

    The shutters were closed, but with the master key in his possession, they posed no barrier to him.

    Melon’s options were dwindling fast.

    Would he follow the impossible suggestions of the other users or risk everything on his bond with Bumpy?

    At least the latter option promised a quicker and less painful death.

    It seemed Melon Musk’s thoughts weren’t far from mine.

    He quickly moved to the cultivation module, standing hesitantly before the shutter.

    His finger hovered over the button, unable to press it as he wrestled with indecision.

    Countless Vivarions watched with bated breath.

    This was the moment that would decide the fate of the creator of their world.

    Soon, the shutter opened, revealing the green-filled space of the automated cultivation zone.

    Melon slipped inside through the opening.

    "Has he lost his mind?"

    Donald staggered at the shutter, his limbs flailing before regaining his balance by grabbing the edge. He stared into the cultivation zone.

    What he saw might have been less shock than sheer disbelief.

    A massive sloth stood before him, its gaze fixed on Melon.

    The creature stretched out one grotesque clawed paw.

    It wasn’t trying to kill him.

    It was trying to pat him on the head.

    "Bumpy!"

    Melon’s face twisted with indescribable emotions as he looked at his pet.

    Then Bumpy noticed Donald below, staring up at him.

    Bumpy bared his teeth.

    Donald scrambled to close the shutter, but the spacefaring sloth, defying expectations, hurtled through the zero-gravity zone with incredible speed.

    Bumpy’s monstrous claws lashed out at Donald.

    Two things became clear:

    Donald was dead, and in space, sloths were far faster than we’d ever imagined.

    *

    MELON_MUSK: Today, I don’t even know how to properly thank everyone.

    The ordeal was over.

    Control of Plus Ultra had fully returned to Melon Musk, and every threat to his life had been decisively eliminated.

    The mission to save the creator of our world had concluded successfully.

    MELON_MUSK: I’m really sorry, but my heart’s still racing from all the stress. I’ll need a few days to rest. There’s blood to clean up... and bodies too.

    Our world''s creator gazed at us through the camera.

    The silence in the stream was broken only by the faint sound of his typing.

    MELON_MUSK: Today, I owe my life to all of you. Dongtanmom, Jekyll, Defender, Grrrrr, Ohio, M9, and SKEL—no, to the anonymous user who asked to remain unnamed, among others.

    He mentioned a few names, but it was clear the greatest reason he’d survived was the collective support of everyone.

    MELON_MUSK: The life I owe you, I’ll repay it somehow. I’m not sure exactly what I can do from here, but at the very least, I hope this message from space brought you all some hope.

    Melon Musk stopped typing and let out a faint chuckle.

    He seemed to think of something as his expression brightened, and he began typing again.

    MELON_MUSK: If you think about it, aren’t your messages also messages from space?

    Maybe so.

    MELON_MUSK: We’re living on a planet—look up!

    Melon smiled brightly and looked up toward the ceiling.

    Then, he turned his camera to show a window.

    Through the space window, the vast blue planet rotated serenely in the void, its beauty beyond words.

    Though parts of it were now tinged with ashen gray, Earth still retained the colors we knew and loved.

    "See you in a week, my friends!"

    The camera shifted to a corner of the room, where the spacefaring sloth was perched.

    Our sloth, Bumpy, was hanging lazily in the cultivation zone, munching on a leaf. He gazed at the camera with serene indifference, as if the chaos from earlier had never happened.

    Barely an hour later, an announcement on Viva! Apocalypse! featured a two-shot of Melon Musk and Bumpy.

    The photo was comical, yet I wasn’t the only one who found "hope" in it.