Shrinking Pursuit: Aid from Uttarakuru
1148 Words
Ozan lost her appetite in an instant. She ran onto the street, darting through the city’s lanes and alleys, scanning every corner with desperate eyes. Hope swelled and shattered again and again—there was no sign of him anywhere, only aimless strangers. At every turn, a homeless person stretched out a hand begging for money, or a half-naked woman stood by the roadside, yet people seemed ** numbed to it all.
Ozan frowned slightly. A restlessness she hadn’t felt in ages crept back. Since meeting Ji, she’d thought she’d left such feelings behind.
She and Ji had a small plan: save up 1,000 K-coins to buy two boat tickets. At the very least, they’d get a crystal boat. Once on board, it would set sail automatically, no matter how many passengers there were, accelerating across the water until it entered orbit.
Yes, even in this endtime—where life felt not worth living, tedious beyond measure—there was still a sliver of hope. Back then, great floods had submerged most of Earth’s land. A 200-square-kilometer island was the only city left in this age of virtue.
No one had ever returned from the boats. Rumor spoke of vessels made of gold, silver, bronze, glass, pearls, and conch shells, varying in rank. Floods came in waves, and some of the first to grow wealthy had sailed away. These tales had become myths, yet hope lingered on the island. Believers clung to slightly higher moral scores; nonbelievers drifted through each day. Ji had told her this legend, gleaned from his books. Ozan had laughed—their combined K-coins didn’t even reach 1, let alone 1,000.
The city center was less than 3 kilometers wide. Ozan searched it all in no time. She even entertained the worst thoughts: maybe Ji had been captured by the Sumeru people, or swept away by a sudden flood while standing on the shore.
Exhausted, she’d combed every inch of this endtime **，but there was no trace of Ji. She nearly lashed out at the homeless, tempted to kick and punch them, or poison someone—something she’d done before meeting Ji. She fought to hold back the surge of malice.
“Hey, aren’t you Ozan, the one who charged into the spaceship?”
Just as her agitation peaked, a passerby spotted her, shouting and yanking out a floating screen, shoving it almost into her face to livestream. Ozan snapped. She tore the screen off and smashed it on the ground, screaming, “What’s wrong with you?! Stop filming me! I’m sick of this!”
But she’d forgotten: the more bizarre the moment, the more the internet feasted on it. Such outbursts delighted them, and chaos in the city might even draw the spaceships back.
This was one of the rare times Ozan didn’t crave fame, didn’t care about earning K-coins for boat tickets. A desperate cry welled in her chest: Ji, where are you? I’m looking for you. You can’t just vanish without a trace! A reckless idea struck her. Ji had begged her never to expose him, but she was out of options.
“Who’s Ji?” an old man at the front of the crowd asked.
Ozan opened her mouth to answer, but her mind went blank. She recognized the feeling, but this time she knew she had to stay strong. Ji had never vanished when she needed him. She’d sensed this might happen. She had to find him, had to keep him alive. In this endtime, people scoffed at the body as a worthless husk—but Ozan cared about Ji’s.
She forced calm amid the sea of floating screens.
Then something ** happened: her mouth spoke one thing, but her ears heard another.
She’d meant to say, “Ji is my only friend in this boring world.”
What came out was, “No Ji—there’s no such person. Damn it, everyone deserves to die.”
She didn’t know when the chaos ended. She only remembered seeing herself on video, face contorted, and a tiny, dark figure—thin as a child, almost a dwarf—pushing through the crowd to grab her hand.
He had no clever tricks, just a slingshot. He fired at the screens; for all their advancements, they were flimsy and fragile. A single pebble from the little dark man shattered them beyond repair. Darting and weaving nimbly, he pulled Ozan out of the livestream mob in moments.
“This world can’t have friendship, can’t have love, can’t have real feelings. Do you understand?” he said.
“What?”
Ozan’s head buzzed.
“This is humanity’s endtime. In 500 years, when morality hits rock bottom and lifespans shrink to a few years, Earth’s civilization will restart, energy reset…”
“What are you talking about? I don’t get it.”
“Of course you don’t. You’re just an ordinary human. Come with me.”
“Wait—do you know Ji?”
“No. But I know a boy is imprisoned in a cave.”
“Who are you? Why help us? If this is all fate, as you say, why interfere?”
“Because I loathe the Sumeru people.”
“Aren’t you from Earth?”
“Of course not.”
“I’m from the Uttarakuru galaxy.”
“Where is Ji being held?”
“Come with me and you’ll see.”
The little dark man pulled Ozan into a sprint. She felt her body growing lighter, smaller—first like a monkey, then a rabbit, then an ant, shrinking all the while. Then she saw the boat. It looked enormous, but its material was plain, just simple wood for now.
“You can shrink things? I haven’t heard of such technology in ages.”
“It’s nothing. Uttarakuru people value simplicity,” he said.
When Ozan glanced back, the land stretched endlessly. Earth looked a hundred times larger than she’d ever seen it. And there, truly, was the boat.
“Wait—I don’t have 1,000 K-coins,” Ozan mumbled, embarrassed by her poverty.
“Who told you that’s needed?”
“Ji did.”
The small, plain-looking figure exuded the air of an Earthly leader: “That’s a lie we Uttarakuru spread. You’d believe that? Even if you had money, it wouldn’t matter if you don’t know us.”
“Earlier, you said you’re a Listener? You swear you can take me to Ji?”
“Yes. Come. He’s in the cave.”
Ozan had imagined a towering mountain, a vast cave. But this cave was unlike any she’d pictured. A wooden ship, its layered eaves like a sea palace, lowered a cork ladder for them. As the little dark man urged her to step up, she checked one last time: “I will turn back, right?”
“Relax. We Uttarakuru never lie.”
- Writer
