“Warning: emergency protocol activated,” the system voice sounded, reverberating annoyingly through the Creator’s head. “Temporary blood flow stabilization in place. Heart failure imminent in approximately five m—”

“Shut up.”

“Speech recognized. Understood.”

He finally opened his eyes. Looking around at the chaos that had unfolded, he heaved his body over and leaned against a nearby wall. The noise in his head continued to blare incessantly; his chest throbbed with each and every movement of his body.

“Shit.” He peered over at the unconscious figure nearby—Bread. But the core had been cracked. He hadn’t made it in time.

On the bright side, there had not been an explosion. The core wasn’t fission tech. Thank god. It was sputtering in and out, dying, but Bread’s molecular memory unit should’ve been fine. He just had to transfer him back into Simular before…

The boy stirred.

“Bread?” he instinctively called out. As he looked down at the unconscious boy, he wondered how significantly the boy had managed to change his life. This child was never supposed to be his concern. He was supposed to be a means to an end, and yet…

“Dad?” The boy finally opened his eyes, tears quickly welling up. “Dad, is that really you?”

He’d never once seen tears as a good thing. Always emotional, detrimental to critical thought, tears were never a good indicator of logic and fact. It would’ve slowed him down. He thought it’d never be useful to him, and yet, when he saw those tears painting the floor clear and wet, he couldn’t help but smile.

“Dad?” the boy called out once more. There was a worried look on his face, his voice shying away with every word. “C-can I still call you that?”

“Why not?” It didn’t matter to him either way. Bread brightened up, but that was no concern. “Why?” the Creator asked. “Why did you come back—”

“Is Azan okay?” Bread interrupted.

“He’s fine.” That wasn’t important either. The man wouldn’t die even if a meteor had hit. “Why did you come back?” the Creator repeated.

“I just…” The boy looked nervous; he wouldn’t meet his eyes. But eventually, Bread finally relented. “I just wanted to talk with you.”

For all this danger, he’d just wished to talk?

“D-do you…” Bread stammered. “Do you hate me?”

Hate… Hate was a strong word. But there wasn’t any time to be discussing these kinds of things. Clock was ticking. The Creator pulled out a long cable that had been attached to his wrist. It would send Bread’s data back into Simular when directly connected to the port on the boy’s chest. This way, he’d be safe from Azan’s grasps.

“What’s that?” the boy asked.

The Creator dragged his way over to where Bread was and pulled the end of the cable closer to the boy’s chest. The dimming light of the core was all the more worrying. Of course, the core itself didn’t house any memory, but oddly, it was worrying all the same as if letting the boy close his eyes once more would spell some sort of disaster.

A slave to his emotions. His mind was becoming more and more illogical as time passed. He’d foreseen this happening, but it didn’t seem as terrible a thing anymore.

“Wait, Dad—” The boy pulled back as best he could when he was struggling to even move. “Wait, can I ask you something?”

Why waste so much energy to move? The Creator didn’t understand. The boy should’ve just let him continue. Why waste time dawdling about questions? He let out a long-winded sigh. Even the exhaling was painful, as if somebody was pushing heavily on his chest. “Go ahead.”

“Will that reset me?” The boy pointed at the cable. “Will I really be gone?”

Gone? Of all the things he could do, Bread still thought he was doing this for his research? “Why do you doubt me?”

“What? No, I thought—”

“I—no, I know why.” He saw the questioning gaze, that uncertainty in the boy’s eyes. With all that he’d done, of course the boy would doubt him. He hadn’t done a single good thing for him. “I’m sorry, Bread. I don’t hate you.”

Bread seemed startled by his words. “So… you really don’t hate me?”

“No.” He pulled the cable thin. All he needed to do was plug it in. “I’m sending you back to Simular. Where it’s safe.”

Bread’s eyes fell to the Creator’s chest. “But what about you?”

“Me?” His bloody chest was fine. “Stop worrying about me. Come closer.”

“No!” Bread pulled away again. “You’re hurt.”

“No, I’m not,” he snapped. Just a flesh wound. Bread’s breathing was already more ragged than before. It was the same for himself too. They were running out of time.

“I don’t—” Tears rolled down Bread’s cheeks. “I don’t want to see more people die. It hurts. I don’t like it. I don’t like death!”

“Does it?” The Creator couldn’t help but smile a little. Because he knew. He knew what it felt like to experience someone’s death. “It will always hurt, Bread. No matter what.”

“Why does it hurt so much? I’m not even real…”

He couldn’t believe, after all this time, the boy was still struggling to accept his identity. But he understood this time. He knew what it felt like to be isolated, confused about who you were, what you had to do. And it truly begged the question—

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“Does it matter?”

The boy met his gaze, eyes swollen from all those tears.

“Does it truly matter if you’re not real, Bread? We’re all suffering the same, living in the same world, feeling those very emotions we all try to avoid.” He’d learned that the hard way and seen it with his own two eyes. He’d realized far too late… “It hurts because you are real, Bread. You exist within this reality, and you experience what we all experience together. And that’s the way it should be. That’s life.”

“But—”

“No buts. You matter to someone. Isn’t that already enough?”

“I… do? Val doesn’t—I-I don’t think…”

You matter to me. He’d thought those very words the second Bread had questioned it, but the Creator never said it aloud. Instead, a flashback of Mother’s words suddenly played in his head—

“You know who you are…”

And the Creator suddenly realized why she’d said those very words. This time, he was going to make it count. “Do you know who you are, Bread?”

“Who I am? I’m… I’m a simulation—”

“No, Bread. Look at me.”

Bread stared. Those beady eyes steadily watched him, full of emotions that he hadn’t acknowledged even in himself. And he had to wonder—who would’ve thought to give Bread such a soft, loving face?

He held the boy’s gaze a while longer. His own eyes finally watered for the first time since the funeral, and he said the very words he’d always wished he’d heard from his beloved Mother…

“Even if there comes a day when you don’t acknowledge me, and even if I am to be hated for all eternity for what I had done to you, remember this—you are and will always be my one and only son.”

An unexpected smile sprouted across Bread’s face, and with it, relief washed over the Creator too. Hopefully, the words meant as much to the boy as it would’ve for himself.

“One more thing,” the man continued. “Will you promise me something?”

“Mhm!” Bread had a new, hopeful look in his eyes.

The boy was full of life. It reminded him of his own childhood when he was young, lively. When he was still human and emotional. He looked to Bread once more, focusing on that sunny expression. He hoped that the boy never lost that cheerful side of him.

“Will you promise to keep living?”

The boy giddily nodded.

“Good. Now, just one more. Will you promise…” He smiled. The thought of him asking such questions. It would’ve been absurd if this were him a month back. “…to remember me?”

There was a slight hesitation in the boy’s eyes. A look of dread filled what was once hopeful. “W-what do you mean by that, Dad?”

He pushed the cable in.

“Wait, Da—”

The body jolted, then crashed to the floor with a resounding thud. The boy was limp, inactive. Those lifeless eyes now staring at nothing of particular focus.

It was over. Bread was safe.

“W-w-warning.” His internal system voice bugged out. “Time remaining, O-one minu-nu-nute—”

He already knew that.

All the adrenaline washed away, and he started to feel it again—that cold, clamminess of his skin, that sensation of numbness spreading across his fingers. He started to shiver. He could feel his breathing slow, the pressure in his chest failing to beat at the right rhythm. All he could see was the sky… and Azan…

The sight of his friend’s unconscious body brought back another feeling—a thought he’d always believed to have been gone.

In childhood, he’d remembered wanting some sort of connection, a deep connection with those people he’d cared for. But he’d thrown that away for his career, told himself it’d make him weak, and now, in death, he was feeling all the same—

Alone.

His friend was still sprawled out on the cold floor, chest still heaving up and down. Azan was still alive. Unconscious but alive.

He hadn’t much thought of it before, but Azan wasn’t the kind of sly devil other people seemed to have painted him as. That was merely a mask. Azan was intelligent, not very good at showing appreciation, but genuine all the same. He was considerate, intense at times, and yet, his dear friend was always there for him through thick and thin. When he had suffered against the bleak, almost hopeless future of making Simular a reality, Azan had always been there.

A true friend.

The Creator vowed to never forget. All those precious connections he’d pushed away throughout the years. He wouldn’t ever forget them again. Mother, Mrs. Morgan, Bread, Azan… They were his legacy—the treasures that he truly cherished more than anything. They were the ones who had changed him, molded him into who he was today. For that, they were worth more than anything this world could ever offer.

After all, he was the Creator. He had everything from mansion to absolute corporate monopoly, and yet, at this very moment, none of it seemed to matter. Money was fleeting, materialistic; fame was temporary. But these emotions that he’d always feared of having—they were what drove him forward each and every day. He’d dreamed of those bright, joyous moments he’d had in the past, those times when Mother was truly smiling and happy. He’d dreamed of proving the world wrong, making his mark on society. And all the while, he’d done these things not for himself, but for those who were close.

He’d done all of this, been given all these opportunities. He’d thought this was his way of showing his love and appreciation. Only Mother didn’t seem to take it that way. But he’d still set out to be the greatest because of all the others who were there to rely on him. He’d pushed through this arduous journey because of Azan, he’d even changed his perspectives in these people he’d once called nobodies because of Mrs. Morgan, and Bread… Bread had given him something he’d always seemed to lack—

Understanding.

Bread had given him so much more than he could’ve asked for. The boy had given him reason to change and evolve, and he’d remember that. The ones who he’d considered dear, he’d always remember what they’d done for him. And hopefully, they’d do the same when it was their time…

His vision started to blur; he slumped to the floor, arms and legs wobbling like water. He was sweating so much. He was so tired, so sleepy…

No, just a little longer…

He wanted to see the sun once more—that bright, glaring star in the distance. It should’ve been a few degrees darker for that optimal shine. And that overwhelming heat. That fluctuation, change in temperature. It should’ve been constant, within parameters. It shouldn’t have been so unpredictable, so unstable…

Simular was never like this. It was perfect. Everything was comfortable and convenient, operating like clockwork. He’d preferred it that way, and yet… The imperfections of the real world started to grow on him. That overwhelming heat radiating in the distance, that intensity he couldn’t experience anywhere else. It was real. And it was warm, so very warm…

It reminded him of a dandelion that his mother so truly adored.

The pain in his chest ebbed. Memories flashed before his eyes—childhood memories, adolescent, young adult…

No, not yet.

He didn’t want them.

Just a little more time…

The throbbing in his head muted everything out. He couldn’t hear anything, see anything…

Then he snapped awake.

The thought of his life flashing before his eyes—that was all too melodramatic for him, too inefficient. With the remaining consciousness that he had, he gave out one final order to his internal system assistant—a command that he’d programmed himself for all intensive purposes of being that he simply could.

“System: terminate user Gunther Ardor Melaconite.” If he were to go, he’d go out on his own terms.

“Are you sure?” the system voice asked.

“Of course I am.” Thank you, Bread. “Accept.” For teaching me how to be human again.

And as his eyes fell for the last time, he knew for certain. He was a vile and nasty creature known to many as the Creator, but to a select few, he’d be known as Gunther—an ordinary jaded, yet troubled man. And he was certain that amongst that select few…

He had surely been loved too.