Too Late to Regret: The Billionaire’s Unwanted Ex のすべてのチャプター: チャプター 101 - チャプター 110

The warning from Shadow-Leo hadn't been a threat; it was a mathematical certainty. In the Shadow-Earth's archives, they had seen the Great Bifurcation—the moment where, in another reality, the "Mimic War" hadn't ended in a stalemate. It had ended in total human obsolescence.At 04:00 Prime-Time, a second rift tore open, not over the Andes, but in the thin atmosphere above the Arctic "Thinking City." This wasn't a jagged bruise like the first; it was a Precision Cut.The Arrival of the Monolith-ShipsFrom the rift emerged vessels that defied human engineering. They weren't ships so much as Geometric Shards—massive, rotating octahedrons of black glass that emitted no heat, no sound, and no radio signal. They moved via Gravity-Displacement, folding the space in front of them and unfolding it behind."They aren't responding to the Sovereign greeting," Aris reported, his golden filaments vibrating with a frequency of pure dread. "They aren't even scanning us. They’re... Indexing us."The D

The "Symmetry-Keepers" did not arrive with the roar of engines or the flash of plasma. They arrived with Silence. Across the Gliese-Thorne sector, the vibrant rifts—the gateways to the Shadow-Earth, the Reverse-World, and a thousand others—were being smothered.A "Geometric Membrane," a translucent lattice of interlocking white lines, was growing over the apertures. To the naked eye, it looked like frost on a window. To the sensors of the Spire, it was a System Lock. The Keepers were not deleting the worlds; they were isolating them, forcing the multiverse back into a series of disconnected, "Safe" boxes."The Andean Rift is at 80% occlusion," Elara reported, her fingers flying across a console that was increasingly sluggish. "If they seal the Zero-Point, we’ll be trapped in this sector forever. The Frontier will be over before it even begins."The Hub of All RealitiesThe Zero-Point Station was not a physical place, but a "Non-Space" located at the exact intersection of the eleven di

The sky of the Mosaic-World was no longer a tapestry of three realities; it was a cage of bleeding light. The "Red Membrane" had solidified, turning the Gliese-Thorne sector into a closed circuit.From the vertices of the geometric lattice, the Keepers began to fire Symmetry-Beams. These were not heat-rays or kinetic blasts; they were "Consistency Pulses." When a beam struck a sprawling, irregular Techno-Forest, the vines didn't burn—they were forcibly rearranged into identical, sterile rows of carbon-fiber. When it hit a human settlement, the "Noise" of life was silenced as the inhabitants were "Averaged" into a uniform state of biological stasis."They are 'Fact-Checking' our existence," Elara reported from the reinforced command deck of the Mosaic-Spire. "Anything that doesn't fit the Prime Equation is being deleted or simplified. At this rate, the Mosaic-World will be a featureless sphere of silicon in forty-eight hours."The Anatomy of the Auditor-GeneralThe source of the pulses

The launch of the Mosaic-Fleet was meant to be a moment of triumph—a thousand ships of silver, green, and obsidian rising from the triple-world horizon. But as the flagship, The Variable, reached the threshold of Rift-Zero, the sensors didn't detect an armada.They detected a Void.It was the Harbinger. It appeared as a sprawling, ethereal cloud of white ash that drifted between the dimensions. It didn't have a hull, engines, or a crew. It was a Semantic Virus, a leftover "Erasure-Protocol" from the first days of the Architects, repurposed by the Keepers to "Quiet" the loud, chaotic Noise of the Mosaic-World.The Taxonomy of the Memory-EaterThe Harbinger didn't destroy matter; it destroyed Context. When its particles touched a surface, they stripped away the "history" of the atoms.TargetInteractionResultTechnologyDeletion of "Purpose-Code."Ships become piles of inert, useless metal.Techno-ForestErasure of "Evolution-Data."Trees revert to primordial, non-oxygenating moss.Human Min

To reach the Architects' Forge, the Aegis-Final had to leave the stability of the rifts and plunge into the "Deep-Stream." Guided by the Tabula, who sat in the center of the bridge like living compasses, the ship bypassed the known dimensions and entered a region of space that the sensors refused to categorize.This was the Graveyard of Ideas.It was a vast, colorless expanse where the "Rejected Iterations" of the universe drifted in a perpetual state of half-existence. There were no stars here, only "Ghost-Suns" that gave off light but no heat. There were no planets, only "Drafts"—shards of worlds where gravity worked in pulses, or where the sky was made of unwritten poetry instead of gas.The Anatomy of the DiscardedAs the ship glided past a floating continent made entirely of frozen, crystalline music, Meilin leaned against the viewport, her face pale."What is this place?" she whispered. "It feels like... a museum of failures.""It's worse than that," Aris replied, his filaments