Hearing Little Lang's question, Miles pointed to his shoulder badge.
"I'm a police officer," he said.
He wasn't lying, because he did indeed have a "Police" Law Mark.
"Is that so." Little Lang nodded noncommittally, offering no opinion on a foreign police officer entering his room.
He didn't recognize the police badge, nor did he recognize the military insignia of the Kingdom of Liastan, so he had absolutely no way to judge whether what Miles said was true or false.
Miles looked at Little Lang, never expecting that Samuel could once have been so taciturn.
"Are you afraid?" Miles asked the same question again.
"A little..." Little Lang replied in a somewhat hollow voice. "I don't know."
"I think I should be afraid."
Miles looked into Little Lang's eyes. He was about to speak when he suddenly realized a problem.
That was, he actually didn't know what Samuel's "Law" was.
To destroy Wyatt's "Law," he only needed to make him give up "Pride."
But what about Samuel?
What was his "Law"?
Miles looked at Little Lang, feeling somewhat uncertain.
But soon, he reached a conclusion.
Regardless of what Samuel's "Law" was, one thing was certain.
That was that he was a Law Seeker of [Absurdity].
His Law tendency was [Absurdity].
That being the case, he didn't need to worry about what Samuel's "Law" was. He just needed to make the boy in front of him deviate from [Absurdity].
Looking at the confusion, despair, and deadness in Little Lang's eyes, Miles decided to add fuel to the fire.
"Pretty hopeless, isn't it?" he asked in a calm tone.
But the boy just shook his head, indicating that he probably wasn't that hopeless.
Yet Miles could see it.
He wasn't not hopeless. He simply couldn't feel emotions anymore.
Fear, despair, sadness...
A torrent of negative emotions had crushed his spirit. His brain had activated its automatic defense mechanism. He could no longer feel emotions.
Even though his pain was practically spilling from his eyes, he himself couldn't perceive it.
Losing interest in everything, believing nothing had meaning?
This did seem to align with the goal of "deviating from [Absurdity]."
So Miles began to reinforce this cognition.
He glanced at his watch, confirming he still had plenty of time.
Half past four...
The consumption of Spirituality suddenly increased.
He decided to speed things up a bit. So he clasped his hands, leaned forward, and started making casual conversation with Little Lang.
"Yes, nothing has meaning. I'm glad you've realized that."
"Not only does this world have no meaning, but your very existence also has no meaning."
Seeing Little Lang cast him a glance, Miles continued.
"People will eventually die. We come into this world only to inevitably face death. So-called self-worth only ever exists in the eyes of others."
A look of genuine pity appeared in Miles's eyes.
"Why do people live? Why do people exist?"
"Our worth can ultimately only be determined by those who remember us."
"But all the people around you are fake."
His pity was genuine because he truly felt that Little Lang was pitiable, that Samuel was pitiable.
"As you can see, everything around you is fake. You're like a puppet, a toy, being played with in the hands of a higher will. The entire world you live in is a toy. But you're a bit luckier—you discovered that you are a toy."
"But what use is discovering the truth?"
"You can't change your circumstances."
"You're even a beneficiary of this environment. After all, within the arranged fate, you gained family, friends. They all love you. This love has no flaws except that it's inherently fake."
"You can't fight it, and you can't escape it."
For a moment, the boy's thoughts returned to a few minutes ago.
It was roughly a few minutes ago.
He was celebrating his birthday.
The sound of rain drifted in through the window, pattering softly.
At today's birthday dinner, he had invited quite a few people.
There were friends, neighbors, classmates...
Quite a few people came, since he was indeed quite popular.
At least in this area, his reputation was decent.
His parents were in the room and didn't join the birthday party.
After all, with adults present, everyone couldn't really let loose. They couldn't chat well or have fun well.
But, somehow, at one moment, he suddenly felt a strange sensation. He felt that everything before his eyes had become clear in an instant, like wearing glasses that had suddenly been wiped completely clean.
He didn't pay it much attention at first, continuing to chat happily with his friends, planning to perform a little juggling later.
He was very skilled with his hands and feet; he could learn any acrobatic trick just by seeing it. He was a born clown.
That's what his friends always said.
He also liked hearing that kind of talk. On his birthday today, of course, he had to show off.
He reached for three red balls sitting on the table but accidentally knocked them to the floor.
"Ah..." He quickly bent down to pick them up, but someone was faster. Before he could even bend over, they had already caught the three balls.
"Here you go." The friend smiled and handed the balls to Little Lang.
"Oh, thanks." Little Lang took the balls with a smile.
But, with just a quick glance, Little Lang suddenly felt something strange.
He looked at the expression on his friend's face. No matter how he looked at it, it gave him the creeps.
His friend was clearly smiling, but Little Lang always felt that there was no trace of laughter in his eyes. His gaze was very calm, his two eyeballs as placid as two black glass beads.
Come to think of it...
What was this friend's name again...
Little Lang's movements faltered for an instant.
It was as if, in a daze, he couldn't remember his friend's name anymore...
But he quickly adjusted his emotions and pushed the unwelcome thoughts aside.
How strange. He had no idea why he was having such thoughts.
Really strange.
Holding the three red balls in a display of showmanship, he turned his head to look at the others around him.
He opened his mouth, wanting to say something.
But the next moment, the sound in his throat got stuck.
The friends around him—he always felt they were somewhat unfamiliar.
It seemed he couldn't remember a single one of these people's names. He couldn't call out a single one.
His friends looked at him expectantly, smiled at him, their facial expressions exactly the same, their smiles exactly the same, their eyes equally calm and unruffled...
Little Lang opened his mouth, feeling like his throat was blocked, unable to say anything.
You guys... What's with those expressions...
For a moment, he felt that his entire home had become strange, that everyone around him had become strange.
He inexplicably felt a bit cold.
The heating was on in the house, but he just felt a bit cold.
At that moment, the rain outside seemed to be falling even harder.
He looked out the window and felt that the entire neighborhood had become strange.
No one spoke. Everyone was looking at him.
It was then that Little Lang realized just how eerily quiet the whole living room was when he wasn't speaking.
Everyone was here, but it also seemed like no one was here.
Perhaps sensing the sudden silence in the living room, the door opened, and Little Lang's mother poked her head out.
"What's wrong? Is there a problem?"
Hearing his mother's gentle voice, Little Lang suddenly felt like he had found support. He spun around abruptly to look behind him.
But...
It was the exact same expression.
The exact same smile was plastered on his mother's face.
That face made Little Lang feel equally strange.
In that instant, Little Lang suddenly realized that he couldn't seem to recall his mother's face at all.
What did his mother look like? He couldn't remember all of a sudden...
Not just her face—his mother's personality, the sound of her voice, what she liked, her name...
He couldn't remember any of it.
No, it wasn't that he couldn't remember. It was that he had never known from the start.
He had never known.
Somewhat panicked, he looked at everyone else present, his gaze sweeping across all their faces.
Don't know... Don't know... Don't know...
He instinctively stood up, backing away repeatedly.
He didn't even bother with the chair that fell over behind him.
The others also stood up. Simultaneously, they all put on identical expressions of concern and moved closer to Little Lang.
As Little Lang retreated step by step, they slowly approached, uttering comforting words, as if they didn't understand why Little Lang's face had turned so pale, why Little Lang seemed so scared now.
They pressed in, step by step, slowly cornering him against the wall, leaving him leaning there, looking around at the people around him with confusion and terror.
Little Lang looked up blankly, feeling that everything around him was fading.
This was his home, but then again, it wasn't.
He couldn't tell at all.
The people around him kept muttering, but he couldn't hear a word.
At this moment, he suddenly understood something. He suddenly realized something.
He felt that a hole had appeared deep in his heart, empty and hollow.
Fake...
It's all fake...
Whether it was friends, neighbors, or even family...
Everything was fake.
Even his own memories were fake.
He had never had any of this.
His body suddenly burst forth with considerable strength. He knocked aside the people around him, overturned the table, ran into his room, and locked the door behind him.
Then, he stood blankly in the center of his own room, feeling all the strength drain from his body.
Who was he?
Where was he?
What was he doing?
What was he going to do in the future?
He lowered his head blankly, feeling like he couldn't think of anything.
Why was he able to become friends with those people? It seemed like... it was because it had been arranged.
Why was he able to achieve his current accomplishments? It seemed like... it was because it had been arranged.
Why was he able to receive care and friendship? It seemed like... it was because it had been arranged.
Even...
Why were his parents so attentive to him? It seemed... also because... it had been arranged.
He raised his hands blankly and looked at his own palms.
The next moment, the world in his eyes suddenly became transparent. The surrounding light immediately grew dim and distorted, as if seen through frosted glass.
Everything became translucent and blurry.
Except for the hands before his eyes, everything else had changed.
He instinctively activated his player vision, awakening the extraordinary ability he shouldn't have possessed at this point in time.
He looked back in a daze, through the translucent walls, at the family and friends outside.
Those people were the same as the surrounding walls—translucent.
Although he was using this ability for the first time, he instantly understood something was wrong, as if he had used it countless times before.
Beings with souls shouldn't look like this.
They had no souls.
He wanted to speak, to say something, but then he suddenly realized that saying anything was useless anyway, because no one would listen to him.
Even if he knew, what meaning did it have?
How pitiful. How laughable. How absurd.
He stood there, feeling that his world was collapsing...
But in the next instant, without any warning, he felt that he could no longer perceive any emotions.
He suddenly became calm.
Staring blankly at his room, he even scratched his butt, wondering why he had inexplicably become so calm.
Without him noticing, the rain outside had stopped.
But he didn't even know when the rain had stopped.
He walked calmly to the bed and sat down. He looked calmly out the window, then took off his shoes, lay down calmly on the bed, and stared blankly at the ceiling.
After a few seconds, he pulled the covers over himself, slowly turned over to face the wall, and began to zone out.
He felt that his mind had become clearer than ever, clearer than it had ever been before.
There was only one thing he couldn't figure out.
If everything was fake, then what meaning did this world actually have?
He fell into deep thought, feeling no emotions at all.
Until, after who knows how long, he heard the sound of a chair being dragged from behind him.
He turned his head and saw a stranger.
Dazedly, he sat up on the edge of the bed and met the stranger's eyes.
Miles's narration continued.
"This world has no meaning, and neither do you. Life itself has no value. Under infinitely extended time, everything will eventually turn into the ultimate 'nothingness.'"
"Most people experience nothing but emptiness and chance. But you're more pitiful—everything about you has been arranged."
"Even the fact that I'm here telling you all this is only because of my struggle against someone else."
"Everything in your life is fake. The only real thing here, as things stand, is me—and I only care about the outcome of my struggle, not about you." Miles spread his hands.
Listening to the words constantly washing over him.
Little Lang was lost in thought.
This world has no meaning.
He came to this conclusion.
Of course, this world had no meaning at all.
He looked up at the ceiling, listening to the voice in his ears.
So, what meaning did his own actions have?
Every day before this, he had lived so happily, so joyfully.
But what meaning did that happiness have?
What value did he, having grown this old, possess?
Everything about him had been denied—family, friendship...
It was all gone.
If he had to say... only happiness remained.
Come to think of it, after living all these years, the only things he could remember were the moments of daily happiness.
He felt that his memories were a gray wasteland, empty of everything.
After all, everything was fake. Nothing had meaning.
But there was one thing...
He remembered the joy he felt at the birthday party.
Even though the spectators around him were fake, his own happiness was real.
But that happiness was shared with no one.
His memory seemed to improve several times over in an instant.
Everything in his memories began to surface.
If he had to say...
He had actually experienced quite a bit of happiness, hadn't he?
He remembered going out to play with friends, playing games with friends.
These were all moments of happiness, but also moments of fake happiness.
Yet he had still been happy, hadn't he?
Even if everything was fake, the joy he felt at the time couldn't be faked.
And what else? There should be more, right?
His memory was getting better and better, clearer and clearer.
He remembered tasting his favorite food, remembered learning some skill for the first time...
These were all moments of happiness, a happiness that belonged only to him.
What about earlier?
Even earlier?
Even earlier, even earlier, in the very beginning.
What was the first joy he had ever felt?
It seemed to be a pitch-black void.
A black void where nothing existed.
He recalled the first smiling face he had ever shown.
It was the first smile he had made as an infant.
A smile with absolutely no meaning.
And it was particularly ugly.
An ugly smile appeared on his wrinkled baby face.
But...
That was precisely why everything had meaning.
He had come into this world with nothing.
Because of that, no matter what he gained, it was a profit.
Every time he felt happy, every time he felt joy, it was a profit.
He was a toy, a puppet, living in a fake world.
But so what?
The joy he felt was real.
His own happiness was real.
He had lived well, he had lived happily.
Precisely because this world had no meaning, that was why he needed to be happy...
The corner of his mouth twitched upward just a little.
This world was utterly fake, but happiness alone belonged to him.
So then...
Little Lang raised his hand, extended his index and middle fingers, pressed them against the corners of his mouth, and pushed them upward slightly, forcing a smile onto his face.
"I won't think about so-called value or meaning anymore." He looked at Miles and smiled.
"Happiness is happiness. Happiness doesn't need meaning."
"The meaning of happiness is the meaning itself."
"So, it is the meaning we give to them that matters."
"As long as I can feel happiness, then everything has meaning."