Han Seori had much to contemplate.
Interestingly, the theory that she had conceived during a conversation with Lime, which proposed that singularities were crossing over from a parallel world, was far too immense for her to handle alone, almost to the point where it wasn’t even worth considering.
She needed to collaborate with others, pooling information about the phenomena related to parallel worlds and singularities in order to build hypotheses and test them.
Although, naturally, she was somewhat at a loss for how exactly these tests could be carried out, she couldn’t just sit idly by.
The reward at the end seemed too sweet to ignore.
As dire as the situation appeared, the prospect of understanding why these singularities emerged and possibly how to halt them was too tempting to resist, even if it carried grave risks.
Especially considering that the existence of singularities was becoming more common—a fact too overwhelming to continue hiding from the public.
Thus, Han Seori decided to drop hints liberally at other laboratories, hoping they could sift through the clutter to find something useful.
With that done, Han Seori gazed at her screen.
As she watched the footage, an involuntary smirk crossed her face.
“…These people. They were just the bait.”
In her mind, she recalled the ‘prisoners’ being monitored by numerous jellies, prisoners who seemed associated with those responsible for planting the colossal tree.
Judging by their swift actions the day they arrived, their standing within ‘that group’ was apparent. Arrogant troublemakers who lacked cooperation and were hasty and impulsive.
However, this time their volatile nature worked to their advantage.
The group, much like middle schoolers with delusions of grandeur, had used these individuals as bait and held an event akin to a press conference.
“It’s very dangerous to manage such threats in one place. Therefore, we should separate them for better management…”
It seemed they believed that since the Foundation had gone public, there was no reason they couldn’t follow suit.
They were simultaneously handling their troublesome elements and making an appeal to the public, discouraging anyone from recklessly meddling with them.
Ironically, due to the acknowledgment of singularities, such actions became possible.
And the Foundation, not entirely upright in its dealings with them, struggled to act openly against them once exposed to the public eye.
To the ordinary person, research laboratories and the Foundation were powerful entities associated with the state, while the group known as the “Call of Twilight” had positioned themselves as the underdogs, despite their actions and motives.
For the time being, at least, these people appeared to be a righteous faction delivering a just message—an impression that would remain even if it wasn’t entirely true.
Because proving their ill intentions would require the Foundation itself to undertake an extensive investigation, Han Seori surmised the situation would be left unresolved for now.
She felt a mix of satisfaction and bitterness. She realized that had she not intervened, matters could have become far messier. Yet, she also couldn’t help but reflect that the Foundation, to which she belonged, wasn’t entirely noble either.
Still, their actions clarified one thing—this group called the “Call of Twilight” wasn’t aiming for the world’s end.
They simply disliked the Foundation that much, a conviction she now held firmly.
Of course, there might be individuals within them who genuinely hoped for the world’s destruction, but the majority didn’t seem inclined toward such a calamity.
If they truly desired the annihilation brought by singularities, why hadn’t they leveraged the current situation to unleash them?
Even those following Lime appeared to act out of self-preservation, not out of a desire to bring about the world’s end.
“Not that Lime would agree to something like that anyway.”
With a dry mouth, Han Seori reminisced about the times she’d tasted the golden jelly and unconsciously sipped at her lips.
In any case, their actions hinted that this group operated within some boundaries.
And after some thought, this wasn’t particularly surprising.
“…Probably those who collude with fellows like the former director.”
Those who siphon off singularities for personal gain.
What a headache.
It seemed the corruption wasn’t limited to just them.
Had they not pulled such groups into the spotlight, the growing number of singularities might have led to accidents that couldn’t be reversed.
While their trouble might be their problem, such occurrences would have disrupted the currently peaceful routine.
Thus, Han Seori felt a small pang of sympathy for those under surveillance by the jellies.
“Why did they come here?”
Their exploitation seemed pitiable, but according to the villagers, it appeared they’d invited disaster upon themselves.
After deliberating on their situation, Han Seori decided to entrust them to the state.
Something that, in the past, would’ve been unthinkable, now seemed necessary.
An example demonstrating the consequences for anyone using singularities for malice.
If they had already discarded these individuals, it was only fair for her side to follow suit.
She didn’t know what their sentence would be, but she hoped they’d reflect on their actions, though she doubted it.
Perhaps they’d spend the rest of their lives in prison, where their basic needs would be met—a profitable outcome.
Having cleared the next item off her mental checklist, Han Seori then shifted focus to the giant tree and the village.
That was a challenging issue as well.
Firstly, it was commendable how the village had been transformed with the help of Electric Scent.
However, maintaining such enhancements required funding.
While Electric Scent had established a jelly power plant that covered some electrical needs, resources were beginning to tighten when accounting for the research lab’s energy consumption.
For now, the limited use of electronics hadn’t posed supply issues, but with time, demand would grow.
Since they’d aligned with the government, it seemed wise to incorporate infrastructure.
The problem, of course, was money.
Even if they could secure some assistance for connecting facilities, the ongoing costs remained a hurdle.
Self-sufficiency had its limits.
Additional funding had been secured for the Polar Laboratory thanks to the proper procedures followed by new Foundation personnel, but the expenses still outweighed the budget.
As the name implied, living essentials for the Polar Laboratory required travel to distant locations.
In modern society, everything required money.
That was true.
The issue was money—there wasn’t enough.
Even the puddings devoured by the jellies amounted to an enormous expense.
Compared to what other anomalies consumed, it seemed modest, but large numbers altered the equation.
And the jellies weren’t idle—they needed their puddings.
Hence, more sources of income were necessary.
In her possession, Han Seori ultimately had only the anomalies themselves.
Though the canned goods incident brought up earlier left a queasy feeling, since they were already in the public eye, perhaps they should openly use the anomalies for commerce.
“…Still, it’s not something that should be consumed.”
The first idea that popped into her mind involved the tree bark and the sweet substance produced by the golden jelly—but that seemed unsuitable.
Would people even accept it without feelings of repulsion?
Drinking milk from cows felt different from eating from a jelly.
“…Or would they?”
She wasn’t sure.
Regardless, fundamentally, it was problematic to market something whose potential side effects were unknown.
While Lime was capable of rejecting dangerous substances, unknown side effects might still exist, urging caution.
Thus, the next idea that came to Han Seori’s mind was turning the tree into a hotel-like accommodation for guests who sought mental detox from urban life.
The building, rich with the scent of phytoncides, seemed quite appealing. It would be suitable for photography and creating memories, fitting the trend of detoxing from technology.
What if the remaining jellies could play with the visitors?
“Seems like a good idea?”
Han Seori felt her plan was decent. So much so that, were it to open, she imagined herself wanting to be the first guest.
“Is it practical…?”
But again, her worries surfaced.
Primarily, safety.
The security of visitors would depend entirely on the jellies and Lime.
Ironically, the very jelly that guaranteed safety posed potential risks.
And then, the golden jelly.
The soft one resembling Lime herself.
“Hmm…”
Han Seori replayed in her mind the sight of the jellies mingling with humans under the tree.
Based on that alone, the concept seemed plausible.
Though those humans were accustomed to anomalies, not ordinary tourists—a detail that added complexity.
“Ugh…”
In truth, her first concern needed the resolution of the second.
Her second worry:
Would anyone come?
Considering the recent influx of visitors eager to see Lime, it seemed promising. But after witnessing the chaos of the colossal tree, how many would still come?
Previously, Lime appeared to visitors as a bastion of safety, but since some had experienced a fright, their numbers might dwindle.
It was hard to gauge since fewer visitors had been coming recently to see Lime.
Still, money was necessary.
Getting financial support from the government would be difficult.
It might be possible, but the process would be arduous, unless the situation worsened drastically.
This was perhaps also due to Lime’s overzealous efforts.
“…To what rhythm should I dance?”
Lost in thought, Han Seori envisioned guests lounging at the tree-hotel, rejuvenating with Lime.
But ultimately,
It seemed there was little she could do to remedy the situation right now.
