[Brain Capacity Utilization - 40%]
"Don't interact with information recklessly," Morin said calmly. "For ordinary people or objects, you can retrieve data. But if the target is stronger than you, everything about you will be exposed. And controlled."
"I'm just... curious."
Lucy stared at Morin blankly.
From her perspective, she could already see the pheromone flows inside towering trees, the vast root systems buried deep underground, the material exchanges within the soil, and the blood circulation and internal structures of other people. The world had completely changed, transforming into something she had never touched before, yet was undeniably real.
That reality filled her with panic.
Only a little, though.
Her emotions were already fading as her cells continued to evolve.
But in this world, Morin alone was different.
Or rather, he hadn't changed at all.
He still looked like an ordinary man.
That contrast made Lucy realize something very clearly.
The man in front of her might be the only one who could help her.
"That reaction is normal," Morin said. "The first time I saw what you're seeing, I was startled too. I adapted quickly, though. Most of the time, I keep my vision set to its original state."
He smiled faintly.
"One reason is habit. The other is simple. The original version is more beautiful. And more acceptable."
"You can do the same. Try taking control of your cells. Fully master those autonomous evolutionary functions, then shut them down."
"Why?" Lucy tilted her head.
"You still want to feel things, don't you?" Morin replied. "The more you know, the more your emotions will disappear."
"Do feelings make people dull?" Lucy asked.
"No," Morin said, shaking his head. "Feelings are part of being human. Your evolution rate far exceeds natural limits. Emotional loss is a side effect."
He continued evenly.
"You're absorbing an enormous amount of information in an extremely short time. To handle that load, your brain cells are becoming increasingly rational. Mechanized."
"If you want emotions, you need to stop this process. Or at least slow it down."
"...I can't."
Lucy thought for a moment, then shook her head.
"The knowledge is flooding into me nonstop."
"Information is engraved into cells," Morin said. "Passed down through generations. That's the mission life is born with."
He nodded.
"Right now, you're accepting everything without resistance. Like a hole torn into the ocean floor, letting billions of tons of seawater crash down."
"That's why I can't stop it," Lucy said quietly. "It feels irreversible. Terminal."
"When I try, it's like I'm fighting the entire world."
"Then conquer the world," Morin said.
Lucy paused.
"...How?"
"First, take this."
Morin handed her the bag of CPH4.
"Then we go find someone who might be able to help."
"For creatures like us, still in a primitive stage, the meaning of life seems to serve a single purpose... gaining time."
On the tablet screen, a white-haired professor lectured calmly.
"As time passes, we discover that this is also the ultimate goal of the single cells within us. To achieve it, whether they become an earthworm or a human, countless cells face only two paths."
"Immortality. Or reproduction and inheritance."
"If the environment is unsuitable for reproduction, cells choose immortality-self-sufficiency and self-regulation. If the environment is ideal, they choose reproduction, passing essential information to the next generation."
"And so, life is inherited."
"What do you think?" Morin asked.
"He's right," Lucy said.
"I agree," Morin replied. "When life is finite, people pursue longevity. Or they leave something behind-children, creations, proof that they existed."
He continued.
"Leaving a trace is instinct. And when life sees the possibility of immortality... it will move toward it relentlessly."
"Then what about me?" Lucy asked.
"Your cells are undergoing massive energy conversion," Morin explained. "Hidden potentials are being unlocked at high speed."
"At the same time, your cells exist in an environment unsuitable for survival."
"So..." Lucy said slowly.
"They interrupted the division process they were supposed to follow. While developing, they're shifting toward immortality."
"Correct," Morin said. "But not collective immortality."
He looked at her.
"You've lost control over them. Each cell will reach immortality individually. Not simultaneously."
"If this continues, when your brain utilization reaches one hundred percent-"
"That will be the moment I die," Lucy finished. "All the cells in my body will scatter into the universe."
"You still have time," Morin said. "If you can regain control, you'll achieve true immortality."
"How?" Lucy asked.
"I don't know," Morin admitted. "Maybe a special substance."
He thought briefly.
"But I can give you a direction."
"...Emotion?"
"Yes. Emotion."
"Joy. Anger. Sorrow. Obsession."
Morin's voice remained steady.
"Emotion is redundant. It can even be destructive. But it's precisely because of emotion that humans desire, act, and persist."
"Without it, you're just a dead object."
"Your biggest problem right now isn't energy. It's that you're losing your feelings."
"Without desire, I don't see why you'd even want to exist."
"Why are you helping me?" Lucy asked.
"...Maybe because I'm kind," Morin said with a shrug. "Or maybe I'm bored."
Lucy leaned closer.
After a brief, intimate exchange, she whispered, "Thank you."
"I'm really not that kind of guy," Morin said solemnly.
Lucy glanced down at her hip.
At the large hand that had somehow ended up there.
"Ahem... reflex," Morin said quickly, withdrawing it. "Purely instinctive."
"If you want to, I can cooperate fully," Lucy said softly.
"That would feel like taking advantage of someone in a vulnerable state," Morin replied, declining again.
In truth, he wanted to see whether Lucy could succeed on her own.
If he truly wanted to solve her emotional problem, he could simply use telepathy to rewrite her mind.
But telepathy wasn't a cure.
It was an external restraint.
Not something born from Lucy herself.
Once her mental strength grew enough and her brain fully developed, that restraint would break.
Everything would return to zero.
In the end, it depended on whether Lucy could do it herself.