The Secret Code of Monsters.

Chapter 1197, Chapter 1196

The only remaining possibility for Mondes, a crucial turning point, a turning point where, after what ceremony is initiated, it can take it back:

It was the day I met my wife.

They met by chance in the brown-green woods outside the town, on the dirt road arched by the tree canopy and covered with fallen leaves in autumn.

Gale Mondes saw that spring-like face.

He struck up a conversation, reciting poems he himself couldn't even remember in a serious tone, talking about the tunes he'd heard and the instrument he was planning to practice. He discussed the pastries in the girl's basket, her sharp-tongued mother, and a certain freeloader patrolman in town…

They quickly fell in love, got married, and received many blessings.

then.

then…

A thunderclap, short but violent, exploded in Mondes's mind:

Next.

In his pursuit of a 'better life,' he arrogantly believed he had found a way to get rich quick through intelligence and courage…

He met that friend.

That man-eating den of demons.

Day after day, they moved from a large house to a small one. They traded varnished wooden furniture for scraps full of splinters.

They lived in increasingly cold conditions, regardless of the season.

then.

He finally suffered an irreparable defeat, breaking his back and now he could only stay at home and abuse his wife and son.

Thinking of this, the man, who had been reliving yesterday for decades, suddenly broke out in a cold sweat.

He suddenly realized that everything he had done over the years was a meaningless 'confession'—in fact, he had not truly salvaged anything.

Whether it's suffering, hope, or loved ones that shouldn't have happened.

As the ritual performer said, it was all a 'bubble'. This fish swimming upstream will leave no trace in the 'future'.

He lives forever in 'yesterday'.

Mondes leaned against the damp wall of the alley, his chest heaving violently, his heart pounding like a fist.

The bearded man's words still echoed in his ears:

'An adventure about starting over, Mr. Mondes. I believe you've not only rediscovered love, family, and friendship, but also learned in these long decades what many never learn in a lifetime—not that they couldn't.'

'They just didn't 'cherish' it.'

"As far as I know, some of the weavers' techniques in this town disappeared after thirteen years... Ah, you've learned them, haven't you?"

The person performing the ritual said softly.

'And there's more... languages, art, knowledge about money... the more you learn, the better you'll live when you go back—even if you're bedridden, you'll still be able to use the knowledge you've gained over the years to buy a big house and hire twenty or thirty servants...'

Yes.

Mondes thought.

Conversely, some people's suffering will also become 'reality'.

For example, his wife.

For the past twenty years, we have had to endure the constant 'disappearance' of our family savings.

The idiotic things he said during the argument that made her soul bleed, that damned nail that ruined her face, the pitiful wrinkles on her face.

The bowl that shattered on my shoulder.

Not twenty hours, twenty days, or twenty months.

It has been twenty years.

Thinking about these things, like grit in his shoes, made it impossible for Mondes to embark on his journey home with a clear conscience.

He arrived at the theater awkwardly for their date, while the young, infatuated girl still leaned gently on his shoulder, whispering tentatively, asking him to give her captivating, reassuring words of love.

Her rosy cheeks, glowing with youthful vitality, resembled a chick that never wanted to return to its innocent eggshell.

She is so cute.

Mondes was lost in thought.

On the way back, the soft moonlight lay on him, like a purring cat gently rubbing against his neck.

He was all alone and didn't feel warm at all.

If he were to go to a real Cornish harbor and throw the deep, almost solidified pain and regret in his heart into the waves, the whole town's dining tables would be filled with the sound of melting sorrow the following fishing season.

'Will you always be good to me, Gale?' the poet asked the sun, the woman asked the man.

The truly romantic ones are poets, not the sun.

Gale Mondes took a deep breath and ran into the dawn as if her feet were on fire.

…………

……

Gale Mondes got up very early that day.

Just as the ritualist had been certain, he would never miss this opportunity to turn back.

He has so much 'knowledge' and experience to take back with him. With that, even someone with a broken back could have two new legs made of gold in the world.

The road surface was a bit damp in the early morning.

In that brownish-green grove, on that dirt road arched by the tree canopy and covered with fallen leaves in autumn, a few shallow footprints meandered forward.

He followed the familiar, unforgettable rustling sound and stepped over the bushes.

That face, which I've seen for who knows how many years, is just like it was many years ago, as she bent over, dejectedly whipping the knee-length grass with her arm.

She was feeling down because she had lost the gold necklace her father had left her—little did the young girl not know that perhaps five minutes later, a man would magically reclaim it from the pile of pebbles on the sole of her shoe.

The topic and emotions began from there.

She couldn't possibly know, so she continued to bend over.

Two soft, shiny curls escaped from behind her ears, annoyingly dangling in front of her eyes and distracting her.

Gale Mondes held her breath and remained silent, leaning against the tree for a long time.

His wife was probably on the verge of tears by then—later, he clearly remembered that because of that recovered necklace, his wife almost lost her life to bandits.

And actually.

A smooth, yellow necklace—where could it possibly be 'gold'?

The real gold necklace had long been secretly sold by her mother.

If time could turn back, and we could return to yesterday.

What would you do?
In the six months since Gale Mondes 'returned', she has often pondered this question.

He now finally understands that he is not a smart person, and that it took him more than twenty years to figure it out.

He touched his young face, still flushed with youthful rosy hue, his stubble barely touching his chin, and slowly, carefully, took a step back.

then.

Take another step back.

He avoided the fallen leaves on the ground, parting from the framed picture he had cherished as a child, surrounded by lush greenery. He was reluctant to leave, as someone urged him, saying that he would pass by again tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, or any other day, and that he would see it again sometime.

Unfortunately, the soul within him was no longer young; the wrinkles and perfunctory nature of adulthood were as obvious as a new, smooth bed sheet that had been sat on.

But suddenly he became open and honest.

We cannot meet, nor can we fall in love.

We cannot.

'so…'

'None of this will happen.'

he thinks.

No one is indispensable in a person's love.

For someone who has suffered, even if his wife eventually marries a pig or falls in love with a dog, it's probably still much better than enduring twenty years of torment with him.

If you could turn back time and go back to yesterday, what would you do?
Gale Mondes believes the answer lies in the riddle itself.

Happiness shouldn't come at the cost of unhappiness, right?
He took one last, lingering look at the girl searching for the fake necklace in the grass, then turned away expressionlessly and silently walked quickly in the opposite direction from where he had come from.

He narrowly escaped a turning point in his fate one last time, not knowing how much time he had left...

But it must be longer than the road that leads away, right?

On the day before anything even began.

In that never-named brown-green grove, a girl called out to him in a tearful voice, as pure as morning dew on the grass.

“Gale”.

(End of this chapter)