Welcome to the Regression, Possession, and Reincarnation Motel

"So you're the one who runs this inn, young lady?"

The white-haired man fixed a sharp-eyed stare on the woman before him. Her shoulders were barely a handspan wide, her neck so slender it looked ready to snap—this, the manager of a sprawling establishment like this one?

"That's right, sir. I'm So Sohee, the manager."

Even with the woman smiling brightly at him, he couldn't quite bring himself to accept it. She barely looked twenty. Far too young to be handling serious business.

"How long have you been in Wicheon?"

"I'm afraid I can't disclose that."

...What?

His eyelids tightened in an instant. Wide blue sleeves, eyes the cold blue of a blade's edge—Dang Jaeik, patriarch of the Sichuan Tang Clan and one of the supporting characters of the martial arts novel I Became the Immortal Heavenly Demon, swept a quick, assessing gaze over the woman in front of him.

Young. And yet….

His wandering eyes came to rest on the nameplate pinned at her chest.

Three white characters engraved in black. The plate bore the mark of an identity officially guaranteed here in Wicheon—the proof that she was the one in overall charge of the RPR Motel, the establishment responsible for the Regression, Possession, and Reincarnation of supporting characters and extras alike.

Well. I suppose one shouldn't judge ability by appearances.

Hadn't he faced countless masters of the martial world in his day, from children to elders? He lifted his eyes from his brief reverie and found them meeting So Sohee's, who was still smiling serenely.

"You're about the same age as my grandfather. Please, speak comfortably."

"...I shall."

Dang Jaeik idly smoothed the wide hem of his robe.

"Then let us begin."

"First, I'll confirm a few basic details with you."

Sohee unfolded the Life Record summarizing Dang Jaeik's existence. She had already familiarized herself with the novel he'd appeared in and the role he'd played, but she made a habit of carrying the record with her and reviewing it constantly. For the guests who came to this place, the present could very well matter more than any moment they had lived through.

"Name, Dang Jaeik. Died in battle at the age of sixty-five. Is that correct?"

"It is."

"And you know well enough where this is."

"An inn of Regression, Possession, and Reincarnation, for worthless things beneath the rank of supporting character."

Sohee's brow twitched. The remark was a slap aimed at her—yet it managed, almost casually, to disparage the entire motel along with her.

Even so, she quickly pulled the corners of her mouth upward. It had been so long since a guest had come; she couldn't afford to sour the mood over nothing.

"Yes, exactly. Though nowadays it's a motel—ah, yes, an *inn*, of course."

When Dang Jaeik's eyebrow gave a faint twitch, Sohee hastily corrected herself, then glanced down at the papers in her lap and continued.

"This would be your fifth time since your passing, then?"

"So it would seem."

"And every one of those was in a martial arts novel. This latest one, I Became the Immortal Heavenly Demon, was the first time you appeared as a named supporting character... let's see, the one just before that was The Sword God Hides His Power, and before that—"

"I have no interest in my past lives."

Sohee looked up from the record and studied him. In all the novels he had lived through, this man had been nothing more than a nameless bandit, a passing traveler, a merchant, a common swordsman.

And each time, he chose Dissolution.

His past selves, exactly as he'd said—things beneath notice—had had no reason to bother with the RPR process after death. There was no story to return to, and 'Dissolution,' the act of closing out a character's life for good, was far more profitable for them.

Characters who finished their roles would simply vanish without disturbing the work. And the reward for Dissolution was guaranteed: in the next work, they would be granted a slightly weightier character to play.

It had been the same for Dang Jaeik. He had chosen Dissolution four times, gaining a little more presence with each cycle, until at last, in this novel, he had become a supporting character with a name—Dang Jaeik of a prestigious clan.

And for a man like that to walk into this motel at such a critical juncture means….

Sohee couldn't help but wonder. If he chose Dissolution again this time, he stood a strong chance of aiming for a major supporting role—perhaps even a protagonist—in his next work.

"Manager of the inn."

Lost in thought, Sohee snapped her eyes up to his. The darkened eyes of Dang Jaeik—dead, pitch-black, having played his role to the end—stared straight back at her. After a moment's deliberation, he let out a long sigh, as though a decision had been made.

"I wish to Regress."

He was declaring his intent to defy his own fate within a novel.

Sohee's heart was pounding.

"Just browsing, thanks."

"Now that I think about it, I don't think the RPR thing is for me."

"Wait, I can *fail* at this Regression stuff? Then I'm not doing it."

Nine out of ten guests were like that. She fought to keep her composure in front of Dang Jaeik, who wanted Regression with unwavering certainty. Between here and a final decision loomed mountain after mountain, stacked one atop the other.

Sohee held out a single sheet of paper to Dang Jaeik.

"This is the RPR oath form. Please read it through and sign at the bottom."

"Oath form?"

Dang Jaeik picked up the paper and skimmed swiftly through its contents.

He frowned.

Stingy, aren't we. I've seen protagonists who Regressed hundreds of times over.

He already knew the opportunities granted to a protagonist could not compare with the single chance given to anyone ranked supporting or below. That was precisely why everyone clawed their way through Dissolution after Dissolution, desperate to become protagonists.

But understanding something with your head didn't make it sit any better in your heart. He read on.

I acknowledge the possibility of failure, fees payable in cash or in kind….

Yes, yes—obviously he knew all this.

But his voice caught on the very next line.

"...Regardless of whether the RPR procedure succeeds or fails, I will begin again as an extra in my next work?"

At the absurd condition, Dang Jaeik looked up at Sohee for a moment.

In other words—succeed or fail, all the Extinction Karma he had accumulated would be wiped to zero. From the next novel onward, he would start from scratch as a complete nobody. It was the worst possible condition, and Dang Jaeik's thoughts grew tangled.

Four lives I can't even remember, five men I've been counting this one. And all the karma I've piled up in that time returns to nothing in a single instant.

Wasn't this just another way of saying don't even bother trying?

"Haah…."

At his groan, Sohee swallowed hard. No matter how resolved a guest arrived, this final hurdle was where nearly all of them fell away. Hiding her anxiety, she quietly waited for Dang Jaeik's answer.

"Tch."

"...!"

With that disagreeable click of his tongue, Dang Jaeik wrote his name across the oath form in careful, upright strokes, then set the paper lightly down on the round table before him.

"Finicky terms, these."

"Thank you, sir."

Sohee bowed her head, because she knew all too well. Troublesome, difficult, expensive besides—and then success or failure, it made no difference, back to square one as an extra. The conditions were brutal.

Sohee gazed quietly down at his firm signature.

"I will make certain…."

"Hm?"

Her eyes blazed like sparks of flame. Dang Jaeik understood: even against such lopsided terms, she had a reason to stake her entire character-life on seeing this through.

"I *will* make your Regression succeed."

Looking at those two shining eyes, Dang Jaeik let out a short laugh. Unlike his own dead, lightless black eyes, theirs gleamed with such pure brilliance that something in his chest loosened, just slightly.

"Naturally, that is what you must do. Still—a proper payment does firm up one's resolve."

He drew from his deep sleeve something that glittered just as brightly and set it on the table with a soft tap.

"...!"

"A golden turtle should more than cover the fee."

It was the seal of the Tang Clan, which he had carried throughout his life. Sohee steadied her trembling voice—it was a far richer payment than she'd expected—before answering.

"...Yes. That's more than enough for the fee."

"Then I shall look forward to it."

With those words, Sohee hurried off to fetch a room key.

"Your stay here can last up to three months. But most guests finish their Regression preparations within a week."

"I'll manage well enough, I'm sure."

"Right this way, then, sir."

"One moment, young lady."

Sohee stopped mid-step, mid-gesture toward the hallway.

"Yes?"

"Are you a human being?"

"I am."

"Then—among the living, or the dead?"

Sohee answered with a practiced smile.

"That's a secret."

"A secret? Se. cret, my foot. You just can't be bothered to an. swer."

The motel's exterior was drenched head to toe in pink, its interior a shade of baby pink with just a little more white mixed in. The lobby held a few small sofas and tables and nothing more—a perfectly unremarkable, old-fashioned motel. Behind the tiny front desk visible the moment you stepped through the frosted-glass door, Sohee was busily scribbling something down.

"You have far too few guests for it to be about laziness."

"Poor atti. tude. Un. sincere an. swer to a guest's ques. tion."

"It's a legitimate strategy, actually."

There. Done.

Sohee looked over her notebook with a satisfied grin. It was a short list, but the golden turtle she'd received from the elder of the Sichuan Tang Clan was the most valuable payment she'd ever taken—by South Korean market standards, anyway.

Having recorded everything down to the last detail, she finally leaned back in the top-of-the-line chair that clashed horribly with the retro interior.

"A stra. tegy?"

"Of course. Think about it: a motel manager, an RPR specialist, who just so happens to be 'a human dragged helplessly from Korea into another world'? How does that sound?"

"De. cide for your. self."

"Doesn't it give off a certain... well, slightly diminished sense of trust, expertise, and reliability?"

"Expertise never ex. ist. ed. You are merely good at lies."

"That is not true! I take a genuine, honest core and... wrap it in fancy packaging, that's all."

Sohee's voice shrank, guilty as a child caught red-handed. It was true that she'd sprinkled a little seasoning onto the bland backstories of unremarkable supporting characters to improve their odds at Regression.

As if Regression just happens. You need a solid justification, a real story behind you. And I'm the one who has to build it.

Unlike protagonists, supporting characters could not Regression on a whim. The fundamental rule was that to even attempt it, they needed some manner of "public-interest story" to justify it.

In other words: don't try unless you absolutely must. But….

She hunted through the contents line by line, eyes blazing, fishing out even the smallest scrap of justification. For all that Sohee was a heavy reader of web novel platforms, this process was never easy.

And there was another reason she absolutely could not give up.

"Besides, *I* have to get back to my world too! That's why I'm pouring my life into getting people their Regressions."

Sohee swiveled her chair around to face the white porcelain. From the moon jar—immaculately white, flawlessly smooth, its round curves beautiful—came a stiff, mechanical voice.

"The sup. ports who come here stake their lives. What use is yours."

"...Then I'll take it easy, how about that? We don't even age here. Maybe I'll enjoy a little eternal youth while I'm at it?"

"...Stake your. life."

Wicheon—the afterlife of fictional characters. It had been exactly three months since the RPR Motel took root there, and exactly three months since So Sohee, twenty-five years old, arrived.

It had taken a truly great many things for her to accept her new reality. A truly great many, indeed.