“Hmm… Perhaps it would be better to do this here, don’t you think?”
“Then wouldn’t it make the flow a bit strange? We need to plan considering the possibilities for expansion too….”
“Even if we follow Mr. Cheon-soo’s suggestion, the flow seems tangled either way, doesn’t it? Look here, from here to here….”
“Um… Is that so?”
“Hmph.”
When Han Seori shot a piercing glare, Kim Cheon-soo felt a dizzy sensation and trembled. Shortly after, however, feeling a sense of injustice, he sighed quietly and mumbled cautiously.
“I’ve never done something like this before too….”
“…Alright. I’ve never done this either, so there’s nothing we can do about it.”
Though the dialogue seemed a little strange, it wasn’t actually anything significant. Shaking her head slightly, Han Seori looked at the large screen in front of her and pressed her temples.
After much deliberation, Han Seori decided to accept them. Perhaps the first time around, it wouldn’t have been so hard to miss. But to build a lifestyle zone and hold firm—she hadn’t expected that. Ultimately, if expelling them was impossible, there was no choice left but either to ‘process’ them entirely or to accept them.
Among those options, the one Han Seori chose was to accept them. Regardless, she thought that ‘processing’ them—to the point of eliminating them—was too extreme. Who knows, maybe back then she might have made that decision.
However, after meeting Lime and experiencing various events, she felt a strong resistance to such an idea. Of course, even though the group of ‘middle schoolers’ with their antics weren’t entirely agreeable, or even left her somewhat irritated… she couldn’t outright dismiss them as victims.
Still, Han Seori hadn’t decided to accept them purely out of sympathy.
She had already noticed that the world was not functioning as smoothly as it seemed. She anticipated that things were about to take a less-than-positive direction. Already, in other countries, signs of instability had begun to show. It seemed that where there was vast land, there was the emergence of many Singularities, and they lacked someone like Lime, who could ‘process’ Singularities effectively.
In the end, because the Singularities had not been properly ‘processed,’ they had to be quarantined and managed, and both the quarantine and management were the responsibility of humans. Hence, the natural consequence was an ever-growing shortfall of manpower.
As such, the choices were limited.
One was to recruit more people.
In reality, although this sounds simple, it wasn’t that easy. After all, if there was a shortage of people, you couldn’t hire anyone and everyone recklessly—especially since accepting new people required additional resources to manage them. Management included keeping an eye on the new recruits, which meant limits inevitably existed in filling the ranks.
If they overcame this by hiring a lot of people, maintaining secrecy would become very difficult. Systems built on human resources eventually require humans, but humans are not mechanical parts.
People who itched to show off or gossip existed everywhere, so it was essential to filter those carefully while recruiting. But identifying such individuals wasn’t an easy task either.
Ultimately, no matter which way you looked at it, recruiting more people was the simpler solution. If there were too few, you just hired more. Even if it caused some drop in quality, it couldn’t be helped.
If that wasn’t preferred, the only other option was to push the existing workforce too hard, which humanity already knew led to disaster. You know, that red revolutionary flavor… the images of scythes and hammers might start to haunt you.
Even if the essence differed slightly—it’s hard to predict what someone who’s lost their mind might do.
Ultimately, increasing manpower was a long-term decision.
When looking for a short-term solution, the only other option was not to quarantine all Singularities.
Let those Singularities that won’t affect the public become public knowledge, without anyone realizing they were Singularities in the first place.
However, this wasn’t a viable option for the Foundation. The people obsessed with the idea that they had to quarantine, protect, and manage every single Singularity wouldn’t choose this route.
As such…
Wouldn’t it make sense to distribute the tasks to the people lower down in rank?
For Han Seori, one of the reasons why requests for her lab to relocate might be coming in frequently could be tied to this. On paper, the number of Singularities in her lab could literally be counted on one hand.
It was nothing short of paradise.
The best workplace with minimal work and cute Limes around! Somewhere a Singularity seemed to guarantee safety amidst a growing sense of crisis.
However, the lucky few who managed to enter this space, aside from Kim Cheon-soo and Han Seori, were Yang Ha-na, who had stumbled her way in, and Hwang Bo-yul and Lee Yoo-jin, who had jumped onto the last possible chance.
Though Han Seori had decided to accept Iron Cheon’s group (a label that slightly overstated their size), she hadn’t planned to let them inside her lab.
Through Electric Scent, she had confirmed that this Iron Cheon wasn’t lying, giving her some trust in him. That trust was limited, though—she hadn’t checked everyone, after all, and there were reliability issues with Electric Scent’s lie detection, especially when it detected irregular heartbeats.
So she made a decision.
She would have a makeshift settlement built on the upper ground.
The two of them brainstormed on how to structure this upcoming settlement—this village instead of a city.
As the land around the lab was already under its name, there was no problem there. Besides, in such a remote area, administrative oversight was laughable.
The only issue was, as mentioned earlier, that neither of them had ever made, let alone planned out, anything even close to a settlement—neither had they played anything above SimCity-level games.
Even Bo-yul, who stood mutely next to them, was equally clueless. Despite this, she did contribute an idea.
“Managing food supplies collectively seems best.”
“…Sounds like that red flavor we know, but it does make sense.”
Though it evoked memories of a northern country, or rather its puppet state, this system was rather efficient.
And that was the extent of Bo-yul’s contribution.
While Bo-yul had provided logical suggestions regarding food distribution and defenses, these weren’t pressing concerns in their current situation.
Likewise, Yoo-jin didn’t make much of an impact either.
Yang Ha-na might as well not have been mentioned.
Even Original Cheon, the representative, only offered minimal assistance in one area.
It’s worth noting that Electric Scent, standing nearby silently, hadn’t said much. Though brought along to help build the village, she stood silently, like a soldier who had only agreed to stay half-way.
This was the Foundation’s reality. Even busy enough to have not played any city-building games—this was a bleak world where hobbies didn’t exist. These were the people saved by Lime, which evoked—
Anyway.
Considering the recent state of affairs and the potential impact of this group settling nearby, Han Seori was putting in serious thought.
It’s worth adding that deep thinking doesn’t always result in good outcomes, though we’ll set that aside for now.
Sighing while looking at the screen, Han Seori admitted the lack of ability—not knowledge—needed for this task. Things were on track for this group to end up as homeless wanderers sooner rather than later. It was time to set her pride aside for now and look for solutions, be it books—or, frankly, games.
“Need to look for books that might be helpful…”
Since games were less relevant, the books seemed like the better option.
Just as the group nodded lifelessly in agreement,
Whee~!
“…Hmm?”
“Hmm?”
The management room door, which had remained tightly shut, was abruptly flung open. This opened the door to the possibility of someone entering the management room. But there was something strange—it shouldn’t happen, since everyone who could access the management room was already in the room.
Though…
There was one exception.
Lime hadn’t been told to keep out, so it could very well have been Lime entering the room. Hoping for a calming visit from Lime amidst her throbbing headache, Han Seori brightened up.
Will Lime understand that I’m doing this for them? Eh, even if they don’t, it’s fine.
Smiling so, she turned her gaze toward the opening door, looking for Lime.
However, her search was fruitless. The door closed immediately afterward, and there was no sign of Lime.
“…Huh?”
What is this? If it wasn’t Lime, then who just entered? Considering how the lab systems prevented unauthorized entries…
‘Anybody’ in theory would mean anyone within the lab could enter this room.
“…Something seems off. I thought it was Lime… but there’s nothing here.”
Han Seori’s muttering brought the mood down further. Already low, the atmosphere deepened, becoming as cold and heavy as the depths of the ocean.
In response to this unsettling atmosphere, Hwang Bo-yul straightened up and asked lowly.
“Could it be a malfunction?”
“This door doesn’t malfunction after opening several times a day…”
Trailing off, Han Seori glanced over at Electric Scent standing silently. Catching Han Seori’s questioning look, Electric Scent blinked and furrowed her eyebrows slightly, as if saying, “It’s unlikely it’s a malfunction.”
‘…Since Electric Scent manages it, it’s likely not a malfunction.’
So what could it be?
Could it be a new Singularity?
In the past, she would have scoffed at the idea of Singularities appearing so easily, but now, with Singularities sprouting like bamboo shoots, it wasn’t such a far-fetched notion.
“Until we figure out what it is, everyone stays close.”
With Han Seori’s tense voice, the group silently nodded and formed a circle, back to back. While not literally backing each other, at least they eliminated the blind spots behind them.
The previously noisy management room was now silent.
Only the soft breathing echoed through the empty space.
No other sounds.
Not a peep.
Hmm smels like russia, wait no this smels like SSSR!