[Supplement medicine, Popo Shark!]
[Supplement medicine—what a personality this cowboy has!]
[Bad news! Haven't you noticed Boothill's voice changed?]
[It sounds… purer somehow.]
[He won't get brainwashed and then turn his gun on the main group, right? Knife Boothill next?]
[Then the writer's horse is gone for good.]
[Don't say it—there's actually a bit of suspense there.]
[Maru ra!]
[Based on the earlier plot, Boothill will only turn into a Sleeping Banana Monkey. That's just how Dr. Primitive operates.]
[Give up give up give up give up give up give up give up…]
[Damn it, Dr. Primitive—you're not human.]
[Is it possible Dr. Primitive really is a monkey—or an ape-man, like Planet of the Apes?]
— —
Boothill walked toward the Banana Helper, though he didn't even know why himself.
Looking at Boothill approaching, the Helper continued, "So-called 'Erudition' is a curse ordinary people cannot bear…"
The memetic virus once again interfered with Boothill's thoughts.
"Lose it—and you won't 'become more miserable.'"
Though the Helper spoke the line, the subtitles appeared as black bars.
[Maru ra!]
[Is this saying Boothill has already lost the ability to recognize text?]
[Probably lost knowledge—though he didn't have much to begin with.]
Immediately after, Boothill continued walking blankly toward the Helper.
"Lose these colors—and you won't 'become more miserable.'"
Boothill's world lost color.
"And sound—only makes you restless."
Boothill's world lost sound, and the entire web drama lost audio as well.
Boothill kept walking. The Helper seemed to say something more, but the subtitles remained black bars, and no sound came through.
"▇ ▇ ▇, ▇ ▇ ▇ ▇."
[What the hell did he just say?!]
[Boothill—supplement medicine!]
[So that's what the Sleeping Banana Monkeys are like? No wonder they have no consciousness of their own.]
[What did the Helper even say?]
[Helper: This is… the final lesson.]
[????]
The screen plunged into total darkness. The process felt far too despairing—having lost everything, viewers were convinced Boothill no longer had any chance of turning the tables.
Darkness silently swallowed everything. Even without hearing it, one could guess what sentence was echoing at that moment—"Even if you lose the ability to gaze upon all things, you will not become more miserable."
From any angle, the man had ultimately lost by one move. The trap he walked into of his own accord had precisely extinguished the gunfire he intended to use to backfire.
Thus, after finally finding his sworn enemy, his fate was obvious—to become like all those who were once human: just another monkey.
Slap—
After a brief black screen and silent performance, a crisp slap rang out.
Pain remained—pain, no matter the time or place, was always best suited to awaken someone. And right now, it was still there.
"Hey—wake up—wake up!"
Boothill slowly opened his eyes. March 7th's face filled most of the screen.
[March 7th cute pinch.]
[Did she just slap Boothill?]
[Probably. March 7th doesn't know hand chops.]
[Our little March is reliable at times like this!]
"You made it! You didn't turn into one of those!"
Boothill looked at March 7th, eyes full of confusion. "This… what happened…"
"No time to explain—come help quick! I'm going to wake Montana too—hurry!"
But before the two could act, Helper 71 abruptly appeared in front of them.
"Wait—this is…"
"This is grace, Miss Nameless. And you, Ranger friend—you personally interrupted his process of obtaining happiness."
"Don't come closer—stay right there." March 7th spread her arms, ready to fire an arrow at Helper 71's backside at any moment.
"Of course—resorting to force is not my purpose. I came here to 'prove,' not to conquer."
"Prove… what?"
"Prove my viewpoint… by going along with people's desires." Before Helper 71 finished speaking, Montana once again moved closer to the Helper.
"Montana?" March 7th grabbed Montana's hand.
Montana didn't appreciate it. "March 7th… what are you doing?"
"No way… Montana, haven't you figured it out yet? The guy behind you is a bad one!"
As expected—Montana had already been brainwashed.
Boothill suddenly spoke. "Uh… I'm just saying…"
March 7th didn't have time to care anymore—save whoever she could. She grabbed Boothill's arm and started running. "Hurry—get out of here—fast!"
Yet Helper 71 made no move to pursue. Instead he clapped his hands. "Go ahead. I look forward to you completing the final piece of my proof."
"Crazy bastard!" March 7th dragged Boothill away, cursing under her breath as they disappeared around the corner.
[Ah—feels so good!]
[Cursing feels so good.]
"Crazy bastard!"
— —
March 7th dragged Boothill running the whole way. Just as they were about to escape, two Sleeping Banana Club members blocked the main exit.
"What the hell—why are they blocking the way on purpose now?"
"You're free to leave, of course. But how can you just take away my observation sample?" Helper 71 flashed behind them again.
"Observation sample?"
At that moment the camera gave Boothill a close-up. He wore a smile—his eyes completely different from usual.
[Look at Boothill's expression.]
[Yeah—he's gone full idiot.]
[Smiling like a child?]
"Exactly. The body has been modified—abnormal, incapable of material-level regression. Mind as hard as steel—utterly unshakable, sneering at any corrosion. Such a Galaxy Ranger… what he can be turned into is extremely worth observing."
Seeing March 7th didn't continue arguing, Helper 71 went on. "I guess the reason you're hesitating and just want to call for backup immediately is because you believe these monkeys who were once human lose their minds completely after transformation and are under my control. If that's the case—on what basis do you believe… you really awakened that Ranger?"
"Uh—no way."
"Ranger sir—please. Shoot this lady."
[Nooooo!]
[No!!!!]
[Which B…commenter said Boothill would turn his gun on the main group? Step forward!]
— —
"Hey!"
With March 7th's shout, the screen plunged back into black.
In her hasty turn, she had already braced for the worst—even if she saw a Sleeping Banana Monkey pointing a gun at her and pulling the trigger, she wouldn't be too shocked.
However, Boothill's response far exceeded her imagination.
"But ma'am—killing is against the law. Especially shooting such a beautiful lady?" Boothill spoke in a voice that didn't belong to him—or rather, belonged to the him of long ago.
Accompanied by an unfamiliar tone, what appeared before March 7th was a sight only possible in the Memetic Domain.
A young Boothill stood there unmistakably on screen.
"Uh… wait—don't tell me I'm the protagonist now? Because of this gun?" Young Boothill stared at the revolver in his hand, deep in thought. "It looks nice—but whose life did I take with it? I don't have any intention of that. How about you two settle your grudge yourselves? I'll just step out."
[Was Boothill this handsome as a kid?]
[No—how did they film this? Even with an actor, he shouldn't look this identical.]
[Believe in modern makeup technology. No difficulty at all—though it's a huge test for the actor. Capturing young Boothill's vibe isn't easy.]
— —
"You…" March 7th seemed to realize something. "Wait—you wanted me to witness this?"
Helper 71 didn't hide it.
"Exactly. You should have guessed already. After all, this is just an empty dream—even if someone turns into a monkey in the dream, their real-world body won't undergo physical regression.
And he—with his incomparably resilient mind—became an even more valuable sample. His mind wasn't completely destroyed. Instead… what stands here is neither a monkey nor a Galaxy Ranger.
But the carefree him from years ago, living on the prairie before his homeland was destroyed—the 'past Boothill.'
'Incomplete regression'… extremely interesting. Based on memory calculations, this appearance is at least ten years before he first pulled the trigger on bandits.
How miraculous. Whether this Dream Troupe or my true self—he could end it all with one shot.
But the power to pull the trigger… comes from the mind, not flesh. Now he's just a child—who simply doesn't know how to fire that shot.
Alright, cowboy sir—please come here. Now we complete your final lesson—a Galaxy Ranger standing on Dr. Primitive's side, a traitor born from cultivation… this deserves several more papers."
[I just want to say one thing—does this mean Boothill's Synesthesia Beacon hasn't actually been altered? So he can speak freely?]
[You're actually a genius, damn it.]
[Not necessarily—what if he hasn't received that heavy artistic influence yet?]
— —
"Dream?!"
Boothill suddenly opened his eyes wide.
"Hey—don't go over there!" March 7th tried to reach out and stop him, but Helper 71 interrupted.
"Quiet, miss—please mind your manners while auditing class."
The next moment, March 7th vanished from Boothill's side.
Guided by the voice in his head, Boothill walked toward Helper 71. "This… am I dreaming?"
Yet he still spoke in that youthful voice.
"Of course—based on your memories… where does your last memory stop? Herding? Chopping wood?"
"No—eating hot stew. Weird—how did I fall asleep? I still have tons of things to do. Nick's gonna kick me awake any second now."
From then on, Helper 71 began guiding Boothill step by step into the scenario he had prepared.
A Galaxy Ranger in the name of Dr. Primitive was about to be born!
[Boothill's acting is explosive—he nailed the youthful vibe.]
[Damn—he didn't turn into a monkey. He turned into Dr. Primitive's man.]
[So that B...commenter who said Boothill would turn enemy—step forward!]
Helper 71's tone grew more excited. "You must be willing to spread this 'fairest form of care' to every corner of the cosmos… in the name of Dr. Primitive.
This is the final lesson. I will make you fully comprehend his philosophy. And one star… will pitifully go out here."
"No problem, teacher. But there's one more thing I want to say…" Boothill slowly raised his hand and grabbed Helper 71. "I was worried I might miss—but since I've got you now, I won't."
The revolver's sights aligned perfectly on Helper 71.
"What?! This… how is this possible… 'regression' clearly already happened…"
[Familiar Boothill is back!]
[Too damn cool!]
[I'd rewatch the whole thing just for this part!]
"Whew… you know, I was actually worried I got it wrong earlier! But now—no problem. Only the wicked ask 'why' before they die."
Boothill smiled, openly showing his teeth. "I'm not deaf. When you were talking so loudly earlier—did you really think I couldn't tell good from evil?
Just like Nick said—revenge doesn't need an excuse. There's only one thing in the world you don't have to learn:
Aiming at evil—and pulling the trigger, baby!"
[Baby—damn that's cool.]
[Baby—you're so damn cool!]
[Aiming at evil—Baby!]
[This is The Hunt!]
"Since you altered my Synesthesia Beacon, little cutie—here's a free secret. That line about 'loving you to death with one shot' really wasn't altered—I genuinely feel that way. Death is the fairest form of care—especially for little cuties like you who only get worse."
Boothill slowly pulled the trigger.
Bang—
The bullet struck Helper 71 with perfect precision.
"That's another good thing about death—no matter what sob story or ideals you have, I don't have to waste time listening."
Boothill blew on the barrel, spun the revolver twice in his hand, and holstered it.
"Ah… did I come too late?" March 7th asked weakly from behind Boothill.
"You mean the thing that's already over—or the thing that's just about to start?"
March 7th felt like Boothill's brain had short-circuited. "Just about to start? Ah… right—we need to find help quick. And get your head checked too."