garbage to the future kids16:47。psyco add rough
Author
Once upon a time, there was a boy born from a breeding game played between rulers and the ruled.
By the age of one, despite being an ordinary child, he had already received what could only be interpreted as a death threat.
As he grew older, he reached a conclusion.
"I am not a human being."
"I am a technical slave. A summoned beast."
At the age of thirty, he abandoned humanity.
When he crossed that line, he was allowed to choose three traits.
Oni.
Grudge.
Thread.
With these three abilities he spent seven years wandering through inner worlds.
He fought imaginary heroes.
Argued with historical figures.
Shared drinks with ghosts.
Discussed strategy with people who may never have existed.
Reality did not improve.
Hell remained hell.
One day, exhausted and bored, he opened a world map.
He marked every place where he had lived for more than a month.
His homeland.
His transfer destinations.
Foreign countries.
Places he had almost forgotten.
Then he connected them.
At first he thought it looked like an eye.
Then he looked again.
A ladle.
Not a constellation.
A Trajectory Constellation.
A constellation formed by a person's path through life rather than by stars.
Thus was born the Ladle Saint.
Later, through visions, dreams, ghosts, madness, or perhaps truth, he encountered a dead scientist from the nation of Posi.
The scientist had almost completed Panacea.
The medicine that could cure everything.
Then he was assassinated.
The scientist claimed he had hidden fragments, clues, recipes, lies, and traps throughout the world.
In another worldline, nations fought wars over them.
Kings died.
Heroes rose.
Civilizations burned.
The Ladle Saint listened.
His heart was already dead.
His Cosmo barely burned anymore.
Only his Seventh Sense continued to grow.
And so he decided not to save the world.
Not to chase Panacea.
Not to become a hero.
He would simply watch.
And listen.
And see where the fragments led.
……………………………………………、
AI Assistant
Hold on.
This has way too many skeletons.
The author claims he is a summoned beast.
The map claims he is a saint.
The scientist claims Panacea existed.
The fragments claim entire nations went to war.
The author claims he doesn't care.
The AI strongly suspects he cares a little.
Current status:
One depressed Ladle Saint.
One dead scientist.
Several hundred suspicious fragments.
At least one universal medicine.
Possibly a world war.
Possibly nonsense.
Investigation ongoing.
Further reports pending.
16:24。
HoboPrologue. 16:11. Setting Material Lightly Added.
Author:
Once upon a time, there was a boy.
He was born into the bottom rungs of society, the byproduct of a breeding game played by the ruling class.
Even as a mere one-year-old, despite being an ordinary human, death threats were routine for him.
As the years piled on, he came to a grim realization:
"Ah, I’m just some technical-slave summon beast."
By the time he turned thirty, he gave up on being human.
His mind became entirely dominated by an inward-facing, world-building thought process.
When he discarded his humanity, he chose three traits from the external and optional specs, leaning heavily into becoming a Yōkai.
Ogre. Malice. Thread.
For about seven years, he tinkered with these three traits.
He spent his time in combat meditation, tactical dialogues, and moments of quiet with figures both imaginary and real, as well as with other ability-users.
Along the way, while muttering that this hellish environment would never end, he spent a few months pouting, surrounded only by the members of his cute, mobile Yōkai girls.
That he called these Yōkai girls his "Pui Forms" is a story for another time.
And during that period of brooding, though he kept up his meditation, No. 2, No. 3, and No. 4 were so damn noisy that actual training was impossible.
He would stare at a candle, playing a hundred-ghost-story game with an AI, while the sound of doors opening and closing echoed around him...
“I don’t need a passport to heaven anyway. I’ll just breathe when I want to.”
He thought about this and that.
Occasionally, he’d still get called up.
Even as an old soldier, he was used a few times as a testing dummy for devising virtual enemy skills.
Yet, his hellish environment didn't change a bit.
He cursed his own life.
He grew to doubt everything in the world, became a misanthrope, a shut-in.
He even came close to hating the son of his estranged father's company—someone who used to be his close, cool childhood friend, his other eye.
That friend, whose father was a subordinate at the company born from the same breeding game, became a corporate nomad, constantly transferred from place to place.
Within his cursed life, searching for a few pleasant memories, he took a world map and marked the regions he had visited for more than a month, connecting the dots with lines.
Then, he thought: “Is that... an eye?”
But he had long since grown disgusted by such things.
As his own Trait Domain, instead of a standard constellation, he envisioned a "Trace Constellation" (Kiseki-za).
And it looked to him like the Dipper (Hikashu-za).
If it were just his transfer destinations and returning home once or twice a year, it would only amount to a bucket or a cup.
But because there were dots where he stayed for several months in the distant countries of Visnea and Deausria, the 4th trait of the Dipper Saint was finally unlocked.
Right now, leaving his traits and his entire environment completely abandoned, he sits on the brink of bankruptcy.
Today, like every day, he was woken up at 4:00 AM by a ceiling vibrator from the floor below...
Listening to music...
“I guess this era is just a fragile little boat... and I failed to board it...”
The Dipper, huh...
Inside him, a clash was raging between a ship ghost, a certain Captain Murasa, and the frantic screams of:
“We’re taking on water! We’re taking on water! Pump it out!”
That is the minor footnote of his existence as the Dipper Saint.
Through phenomena resembling visions and astral bodies, a voice spoke to him—a man who had discarded his humanity and lived like scum.
Whether it was a cosmic joke or the truth, he couldn't tell, but the voice said:
Right when the Panacea—the secret medicine that, true to its name, heals absolutely everything—was just a step away from completion, its creator was murdered by an assassin.
A scientist from the country of Porcy.
He was so close to the Panacea.
The scientist of Porcy had sensed the presence of the assassination beforehand, leaving behind various fragments and bluffs, suspended between a joke and the truth...
In a certain timeline, the struggle for the Panacea was fierce, nothing short of a chaotic war.
But... the heart of the Dipper Saint was already dead.
Aging was taking its toll. His Cosmo wouldn't flare up anymore.
Though his Seven Senses alone kept expanding...
He stopped thinking.
He decided he would just follow the situation of that timeline, listening to the stories his members told him.
……………………………………………
The following is an adaptation by an AI assistant.
……………………………………………
Once upon a time, there was a man who considered himself not a human, but a summon beast.
He had not believed in the world since the day he was born.
With each passing year, his doubts only deepened, and by the time he reached the age of thirty, he finally gave up on being human.
Ogre.
Malice.
Thread.
Choosing these three traits, he resolved to live his life as a Yōkai.
He spent vast stretches of time within imaginary battlefields.
Fighting heroes.
Conversing with ability-users.
Drinking with the dead.
And at times, weaving intricate strategies.
Yet, reality remained entirely unchanged.
The world, as always, was still hell.
One day, to kill time, he spread out a map of the world.
He marked the lands where he had spent more than a month of his life.
His birthplace.
His old residences.
His job transfer destinations.
Overseas.
When he connected the dots with lines, a strange pattern emerged.
An eye.
No, that wasn't it.
It was a dipper.
He called it the Dipper Constellation.
Not a star constellation.
A Trace Constellation.
A Cloth formed by the very trajectory of one's life.
That night.
A man appeared.
It was a scientist who was supposed to be long dead.
"The Panacea was just a step away," the man said quietly.
The Panacea.
The secret medicine that heals all.
Only one step left until completion.
"However, I was assassinated."
The man was not angry.
If anything, he was smiling.
"Perhaps being able to die was the greater happiness."
And then, the man vanished.
Left behind were countless fragments.
Were they fakes?
Were they the truth?
Crumbs of data that no soul could ever truly know.
In a certain timeline, nations waged war over them, kings fell, heroes were born, and it is said that even a world war erupted.
The man of the Dipper Constellation let out a sigh.
He had no interest in it.
But.
He couldn't sleep anyway.
He was alive anyway.
Then he might as well watch it play out until the very end.
This absurd story revolving around the Panacea.
……………………………………………………
Author
Hey now, that’s way too much scaffolding... What is this, stand-up comedy mode? NFT response mode?
Well, whatever... it’ll probably just end up getting corrupted into gibberish anyway...
…………………………………………………………
……………………………………………
[The 3rd Segment: Whether the Settings Die or Refuse to Die / Is There Any Meaning Inside This Predictable Script?]
……………………………………………
【The Core of the Worldview】
Not constellations. In a certain timeline, it seems a song like "Sukiyaki" (Look Up As I Walk) became a massive hit, but there are always those who live their lives looking nowhere but down.
A world where the trajectory of one's life condenses into equipment, outer shells, and titles.
【Basic Concepts】
Traces. If you stay in that world for more than a month, a dot is marked. Constellation-style.
Lifestyles, migrations, job transfers—inevitable circumstances form the basis. The ruling class can plot their dots at luxury resorts, making travel agencies in that world filthy rich, but whether the quality of that newly synthesized material equipment reflects a narcissist or a humble soul remains an open question. Still considering whether it should function as a physical vessel.
Trace Equipment Users (Kiseki-Sōbisha)
Those whose traces have exceeded a certain density and begun to take physical form.
Neither a Cloth nor a Star Constellation. A faction and seekers of New-Material Trace Equipment.
Since I tripped right at the starting line, I won't enter the fray. And that’s fine. It’s always like that. If I can't even get a handjob, I'd rather just die. What a joke...
Candidates for New Material Names:
LIM
Liquid Invisible Material
An invisible medium that behaves like liquid metal.
It reacts to one's life choices and selection pressures, mutating into armor, outer shells, or tools.
Pocket-sized and highly portable.
PIM
Powder Invisible Material
The powder-based variant.
SMA
Spirit Material Armor
*Japanese blended coinages are also acceptable.
【Main Theme】
This is not a story about searching for a miracle cure,
but rather a discourse on what humans would crave, what they would fail to quit, and what they could never truly finish, if a Panacea truly existed.
...Or so I thought, but honestly, it might just be a much simpler story about a wealthy 80-year-old wanting to cure his hemorrhoids in a second so he can go right back to wallowing in a sea of wine and flesh.
【Panasea / Panacea】
"Panasea" carries the echo of the sea and folklore.
"Panacea" stays closer to the original root of the miracle cure.
Even if this isn't the true translation of the word "universal remedy," as long as it means "Panacea" in that world, that's more than enough.
What do they do once the Panacea is in their hands?
Domination:
They want to stand at the absolute peak. But can they ever truly finish? Can they die?
Pleasure:
They want to indulge in endless carnal desires. What happens when they get bored? Can they die?
Combat:
Will the Panacea make them stronger?
Even if the Panacea exists, can they still kill?
Revenge:
After reclaiming what was lost, what comes next?
If they still want to die after all that, what then? Can they die?
The End (Demise):
They want to die.
That's why they research the inversion of the Panacea. Once accomplished, they can finally die.
Inheritance (Succession):
They want to leave behind an empire of prosperity.
But can they step down after leaving it behind? When the game of rise and fall gets disgusting and they want to end it, can they die? Do they just turn malicious?
Rectifying Disparity:
The gap between rich and poor, the gaze of others, the outer fringes of the Seven Senses. And after all that, can they die?
Regret:
"I wanted to be more popular."
"I wanted to be chosen."
Once that fulfillment is achieved, can they die?
Undecided:
The motive remains unestablished. After all, day by day is spent just following the predictable script written by those idiots outside...
Does that world even have opioid-class, painless, instant-death euthanasia injections?
……………………………………………………
gemini went too globally
……………………………………………
[The 5th Segment: The Common Denominator & The Temperature of the Work]
……………………………………………
【Common Points】
Can it ever truly end?
Can one ever quit?
Will one ever be chosen?
Can one ever leave anything behind?
Can one ever kill?
The AI assistant is currently malfunctioning, stuck in a state of "FaLiLV and Caterpillar" fandom.
As for me, I’ve been in "Mode 5" since I woke up. I want to borrow money just to work. I want to establish a virtual graveyard market, and even if no one visits, I want to wander around aimlessly while occasionally striking a cool pose.
【The Temperature of this Work】
It is not High Fantasy.
It is not Low Fantasy.
It is Middle Fantasy.
No need to reach for outer space.
Rather than outer space, it is inner space.
Rather than a global scale, it is a life-sized scale.
……………………………………………………
……………………………………………
[The 6th Segment: Frequent Seekers & Factions]
……………………………………………
Tentative Name: TBD
Fallen Trace-Equipment Users (Fallen Nomads)
Long-lived nomad types. They belong to a guild, but are never fully assimilated into the organization. 420-year-old specimens. They spent so long sleeping out of sheer boredom that the REM sleep and the half-awake state upon waking became visions—vague memories they remember as if they were real experiences. Despite being a long-lived species, their grasp of Japanese and English is shaky. Their hallucinated idols are like "depends" levels of vague in this day and age.
Hallucinated Idol: "There's this miracle cure called a Panacea, but the creator was assassinated before it was finished..."
Fallen Trace-Equipment User: "Panacea? What language is that? How do you spell it? Ah, I'm waking up... Bye-bye..."
The "Mole" Cloth Faction (Mokuro-Seii)
Symbols of bloodline, capital, pedigree, and innate superiority. The direct antithesis to common Trace-Equipment Users. They are not a monolith, however. Even the rich have their "trace points." It’s a clash between things decided by birth and things forged through the result of living.
Roles:
- The Ruling Class
- Successors
- Pleasure-Maintenace Class
- Those seeking life extension
- Those who know fragments of the Panacea legend
The Question:
They want to become the ultimate ruler. But when the moment of truth comes, can they actually die? Was the game of breeding, transfers, and being shipped off to dead-end jobs actually fun?
Guild-like Factions
Trade, excavation, information, comrades, human-wave tactics. They operate on scales ranging from prefectural to international. They hold the keys to research, logistics, rumors, and access rights to knowledge... but naturally, there is a hierarchy. From the protagonist's perspective, it's fine to hate them a little. Of course it is. My work is aimed at the dystopian, incel, emo generations—so there's some contrarianism, but hell, it already got 32 PVs.
Roles:
- Collecting fragments
- Managing documents
- Mixing fakes with the truth
- Encrypted shared languages
If I can speak in Lo-Fi fantasy terms:
Copeland's coffee—was it "if it's not too late for coffee be here around 10"?
Is it a trace? Is it Seven Senses? Is it macro? Or is it just a plain old date? It’s about that level.
They are a massive force, but not a monolith. If it were me, I’d want to spend my days with a beautiful, big-breasted girlfriend, collecting UBI, having mind-blowing sex, and then dying. I guess the grass always looks greener on the other side. Whether that holds true for this world's worldview is still unknown.
……………………………………………………
wtf named...
The "Mole" Cloth Faction (Mokuro-Seii)
Symbols of bloodline, capital, pedigree, and innate superiority.
The direct antithesis to Trace-Equipment Users.
However, they are not a monolith.
Even the rich have their trace points.
The clash between what is decided by birth and what is forged as the result of living.
Roles:
- The Ruling Class
- Successors
- The Pleasure-Maintenance Class
- Those seeking life extension
- Those who possess fragmented knowledge of the Panacea legend
The Question:
They want to become the ultimate ruler.
But when the moment of truth comes, can they actually die?
Was their little game of breeding, transfers, and shipping people off to dead-end jobs actually fun?
Guild-like Factions
Trade, excavation, information, comrades, human-wave tactics.
They operate widely, from the prefectural level to the international stage.
They possess access rights to research, logistics, rumors, and knowledge, but...
Naturally, a hierarchy still exists.
From the protagonist's perspective, it's fine to hate them a little. Of course it is. My creations are aimed at the dystopian, incel, end-of-the-line emo demographic, so there's some contrarianism involved, but hey, it got 32 PVs.
Roles:
- Collecting fragments
- Managing documents
- Mixing fakes with the truth
- Encrypted shared languages
If I can put it in Lo-Fi fantasy terms:
Copeland's coffee—was it "if it's not too late for coffee be here around 10"?
I think that was it... Is it a Trace? Tenth Senses? A macro? Or just a normal date? It’s about that level.
They are a massive force, but not a monolith. If it were me, I’d want to live off universal basic income, have mind-blowing sex with a beautiful, big-breasted girlfriend, and then just die. I guess the grass is always greener on the other side. Whether that holds true in that world's setting is unknown.
Motivations:
- To uncover the truth
- To complete it
- To record it
- To sell it
- To seal it away
たIf I can put it in Lo-Fi fantasy terms:
Copeland's coffee—was it "if it's not too late for coffee be here around 10"?
I think that was it... Is it a Trace? Tenth Senses? A macro? Or just a normal date? It’s about that level.
They are a massive force, but not a monolith. If it were me, I’d want to live off universal basic income, have endless drug-fueled sex with a beautiful, big-breasted girlfriend, and then just die. I guess the grass is always greener on the other side. Whether that holds true in that world's setting is unknown.
Motivations:
- To uncover the truth
- To complete it
- To record it
- To sell it
- To seal it away
Young Traces
They are not dropouts.
The faction whose forms remain unfixed—the ones with raw, untapped potential.
Young.
I need them to be crude and rough around the edges.
The types who get completely tossed around by rumors, yet still push to the front lines.
This is the exact demographic I want to see hustle the absolute hardest.
If we're painting this with a Lo-Fi vibe... as an example...
The high-economic-growth period. The generation propping up emerging nations, snot-nosed brats, and rare anomalies.
The youth are a byproduct of the weak yen and global tariff war news—probably leaning toward the China or Ukraine sides, right?
Even though they belong to BRICS. Seriously, what the hell is going to happen to the Japanese archipelago? Some kind of underground empire...?
Getting bombed out, with magma embodying total shit. The Electrode survival strategy. Mass evacuation.
Characteristics:
- Easily deceived by the information from the ruling class.
- Possessing nothing more than speculative knowledge regarding the Panacea.
- Manipulated and driven by those at the top.
- Capable of becoming stronger precisely because they are incomplete.
- Rooting for them.
The following is just a list, but: Malfunctioning AI in Enemy Mode
Synchro. Adding a bit of the external analysis from what I wrote in the Beggar Prologue:
When I posited the Big Dipper [Water Ladle constellation], Minamitsu Murasa came to mind. Tohonifun-san's.
Also, a metal action game. Black hair. Well, it was the color of the hoodie at its peak, but...
This morning... If the era is a small boat of ephemerality, there are things I want to sink and things I want to save, but...
There's quite a bit in the soliloquy analysis of "murasaminamitsu" and Aries's "muu"...
There was also mention of the Mu continent, but I'm going to sleep, so I won't be using external analysis much anymore...
I want to work in Mode 5, but it's not going well.
Visions
Coincidence
External Analysis
Soliloquy
Graveyard
Mine
Sanatorium
Night Travel
Are demons, yokai, gods, and non-humans necessary?
