Chapter 1
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 1
Chapter Title: I Picked Up an Erotic Novel
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Late into the dawn.
The day's routine was finally almost over.
"Phew..."
I tossed aside the dust-caked mask and wearily scanned my surroundings with eyes heavy with exhaustion.
From the shelves labeled 'History,' past those marked 'Magic Studies,' and finally to the assortment of desks in the center.
"This should do it..."
The library, which had looked like a storm of magic had torn through it when I first arrived—books scattered everywhere—now appeared nearly pristine after nine straight hours of deep cleaning.
The magic lanterns that the librarian had ditched as a waste of money since it was just me working alone.
The moonlight dimmer than usual.
And the bone-deep fatigue from hours of scrubbing.
With those three curses stacked against me, I couldn't check every nook and cranny, but it felt good enough.
I hadn't just skimped on visible spots; I'd twisted my body into pretzels to eradicate dust from places no human eye would casually reach.
Pride welled up for a moment.
But it was quickly overshadowed by doubt.
What the hell did the librarian do all day anyway?
She got paid a full salary every month, didn't she?
Was this some lowborn noble's protest, refusing to stoop to menial labor like cleaning?
So what did she do?
—Cough!
I hacked out a dry cough and began gathering my cleaning tools into a pile.
Still, the hard stuff was done. One last task, then straight to bed.
...Though with tomorrow's schedule, I'd be lucky to squeeze in two hours of sleep.
"Fuck."
As I stacked the dry mops, a low curse slipped out unbidden.
Two hours.
Who the hell could live on that?
If I hadn't been stuck cleaning the reading room, I could've crashed around 2 a.m.
Irritation boiled over, grinding my teeth.
Cleaning the library was my own choice to cover tuition, sure, but the reading room wasn't my job.
What had that bitch said again?
Something like, since you're already here to clean, do the fourth-floor reading room too.
What a dog of a woman.
...Irritation aside, her behavior wasn't entirely incomprehensible.
To the women here, I wasn't a student—I was just 'Janitor No. 1.'
All equal before knowledge?
What a joke.
To a noble like her, treating a plebeian like me like dirt was only natural.
Daring to hold a grudge against a noble as a lowly commoner—that would be the real crime.
For someone of my base station, grumbling where no one could hear was the height of rebellion.
"Ha."
Rubbing my temples to shake off the drowsiness, I grabbed the half-dry mop and climbed the wooden spiral stairs.
Destination: the top floor, fourth level.
I flung open the door to the reading room she'd offhandedly dumped on me like it was nothing.
"Where'd I see it again..."
The highest point in the Rpefas Library.
Unlike the musty old-book smell permeating the lower floors, a fresh, fruity fragrance tickled my nose here.
Did the librarian only bother managing little luxuries like this while ignoring the cleaning?
Whatever. Not my problem.
I shrugged it off and headed to the round table I'd spotted earlier.
Just moments ago, it had been buried under headache-inducing magical formulas.
Now, a single book lay alone there.
No title.
Not even one of those classifying bands libraries used.
So, not a library book.
In other words, a lost item.
Someone among the students who used the reading room had left it behind.
"What a pain."
If I tried to stay positive, at least this was the only one.
She'd told me to write the owner's name on any scrap of paper, stick it on, and drop lost items at her desk in the first-floor lobby.
I'd nearly dodged a bigger hassle.
Sinking into a chair, I peered at it intently with eyes that barely stayed open anymore, hunting for clues to the owner.
Reddish-brown cover.
About 300 pages thick, by the look of it—a neat notebook vibe.
And as I'd checked before, no owner's name.
That was it.
Surprisingly, nothing else stood out.
Not even on the cover—no name, no markings at all.
The only notable thing? Unlike a plain notebook, it had a hardcover, making it resemble a novel.
Of course, no title meant it wasn't a real novel.
Given the location, maybe a study notebook...
But 300 pages seemed a lot for notes.
Someone's diary, maybe?
I picked it up, sank deeper into the chair, and sighed.
"At least write your name..."
I sniffed it hopefully, but all I got was the scent of paper.
If I were a beastkin, I might've tracked the owner this way.
Shaking off the idle thought, I mentally listed the faces of students allowed in the reading room.
One weirdo obsessed with magic, knowing nothing else.
Two bitches who couldn't end the day without beating on me.
Three psychos hiding trash personalities behind smiling faces.
Six in total.
One of them owns this lost item...
Though a few were on leave for personal reasons, so subtract those.
Rpefas Academy wasn't a cage locking people in—it was a cradle of learning for the talented.
Currently residing here: four in total.
One of them.
Wait—actually, I'd overlooked something.
Judging by the reading room's state when I saw it earlier, this notebook had been lost since right after enrollment. No exaggeration.
...A fleeting fantasy crossed my mind: maybe some unnamed senior's?
"Guess I'll skim the contents and head to bed."
I muttered flatly, rubbing my fatigued eyes with both hands.
Not because I cared about noble ladies' study notes.
No guarantee I'd understand them anyway.
No—it was the slim chance it might be one of their diaries.
Low odds, sure, but peeking into the shameful private lives of those prideful, rude bitches? That kind of thrill didn't come cheap.
Bonus: a name inside might ID the owner.
It's probably just notes. No way they'd lug a diary up here...
None of them matched the soft vibe of a 'diary girl' anyway.
Something like 'Sex Slave Training Log' would fit better.
Slavery was abolished in most countries, but a few still had male brothels, from what I'd heard.
Abandoning hope, I flipped open the notebook and ran my eyes down the page.
And then.
"Nobles sure have pretty handwriting..."
My gaze froze.
Or maybe 'froze' isn't right.
It scrolled back up to the top.
Forcing the first sentence back into my brain, I started over, reading slowly, word by word.
"...?"
But doubts flooded my mind.
Am I reading this right?
Is this even continental common tongue? Some beast language?
My exhausted brain filled not with logic, but question marks.
One page.
Two pages.
Like a broken machine, I kept flipping, then returned to the start and read meticulously from the first line.
Once more.
Again.
After reading the opening sentence about ten times.
"...What the hell is this?"
A low voice leaked out.
Something was off.
Not that it was blank inside—no, pages were packed with writing.
The most beautiful handwriting I'd ever seen, in fact.
Dazed, I gave up reading and fanned through the pages like counting bills.
Incredibly, every page was filled with impeccably neat script, printed-book clean.
Beautiful handwriting recounting... something very strange.
If not for the weird sentences, you'd swear it was diligent study notes.
"...So..."
...if you ignored how bizarre the sentences were.
"What... is this..."
Rubbing my eyes over and over while flipping, I finally slapped my cheeks and looked again.
The scene didn't change.
The notebook's text still formed bizarre sentences.
...At this point, I had to accept this unreal situation as reality.
Not a diary.
Definitely not study notes.
Closest match? A 'novel.'
Of all things.
"Finally. She had achieved her dream."
"After enrollment, she'd crushed Luke's pride time and again, luring him to cross the line."
"Hands heavy with intent to ravage her until she blacked out. Pinned by the nape into the pillow, her face buried, her hips twitched involuntarily."
"Her carefully combed morning hair ruined? Irrelevant."
In fact, it wasn't enough.
"She wished he'd hurl insults like 'slut getting wet from being raped.'"
"If he raged at her insolence, she wanted him to slap his handprints all over her pale ass to shut her up."
"But she couldn't voice it."
"Her face mashed into the pillow left her gasping for air, nothing more."
"To be truly raped by him, she had to play the arrogant lady to the end."
"...You bastard... just you wait... I'll kill you..."
"The mumble faded into the pillow."
"Probably didn't reach Luke's ears. But it didn't matter."
"The vivid, searing touch piercing straight to her most vital place, no thin barrier. That sufficed."
"She desperately swallowed the drool flooding her mouth, down her throat. Gulp, gulp—the sound echoed in her own ears."
⟨ Finally. ⟩
⟨ She was getting raped. ⟩
...What the actual fuck is this nonsense?
Flipping a few more pages in a daze, I returned to the cover, scanning it every which way.
A neat reddish-brown notebook, about 300 pages.
No name anywhere.
Not on the cover.
Not in the novel inside.
Ah.
There was one thing written.
Luke.
None other than my name.