Chapter 2

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Translator: MadScientist

Chapter: 2

Chapter Title: Rediscovery (1)

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The nation of Edshila operates under a parliamentary cabinet system. It's nominally egalitarian, but that's just for show— a rigid class system still permeates every corner of society.

The most powerful position in Edshila belongs to the ninety-nine "Representatives," whose selection owes more to political maneuvering, deals, or backroom intrigue among noble houses than to any vote.

Thus, each Representative— the very emblem of the nobility— stands as a pillar of the nation and the glory of their house. And the one who commands them all, lording over them from on high, is the nation's master: the Chairperson.

...The throne overlooking sea and land from the continent's highest peak.

The millennial house of Libra aims to reclaim that seat before long.

"The freeloaders just aren't cost-effective."

A gloved hand flips through the pages of a document. The motion is crisp, without excess, and the cool voice carries a relaxed edge.

"My apologies."

The man standing before her, by contrast, is visibly nervous. He bows repeatedly, gauging the eyes of the man widely seen as the next family head.

"It's not your fault. Who can easily find usable tools in a trash bin?"

For two centuries, Libra has run an "orphanage" in the family name.

They gather orphans, illegitimate children— anyone showing signs of awakening the "Spectrum," or seeming to have the talent for it— feed them, house them, train them with Libra funds, and hone them into tools. In truth, it's little more than a welfare project, scattering money to the winds.

After all, any real brilliance would be snatched up long before it could be polished. All that's left are scraps and stones.

"We can't keep feeding the useless forever. Better to lead ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠camels through the desert or dive for pearls in the sea."

Sweeping back her blue hair— the mark of their bloodline— the eldest son Jedric smoothly turns the page of the roster.

[Sion Askal......]

He doesn't even glance at the orphans' names. As if they weren't worth even a moment of his time.

"Expel them all soon."

The succession in Libra seems settled yet remains fiercely contested. The eldest son, second son, and eldest daughter have been locked in this tedious tug-of-war for years.

Of course, legitimacy and time favor Jedric, the firstborn. But the factions backing the second son and daughter are no pushovers.

The only one he can truly trust— or at least, not have to watch his back around— is the youngest.

They have no luxury to waste assets on a place like this orphanage.

"Make up whatever justification you need. I'll handle the family head when the time comes."

In the eldest son's study, Jedric ends the meeting. He turns back to his seat without so much as hearing objections.

"......Understood. I'll relay the order."

Henry bows neatly, ever the proper butler.

"......Sion Askal."

In the counseling room of the Libra Orphanage, in the capital Edshila.

A senior knight dispatched from the main house calls my name.

"Sion Askal."

I stare at him with somewhat dazed eyes.

It still doesn't quite feel real.

"Sion Askal. Answer me!"

"Why?"

"......Why?"

The knight furrows his brow. Then he reads aloud from the document listing my history, his voice booming at first.

"Fine. Enrolled in the orphanage at seven. Brain tumor at eight? Leukemia at thirteen, Endex Mana High School at fourteen...... Wait, leukemia?"

His voice grows quieter as he goes on.

No surprise. Lives like mine aren't exactly common.

"Hmm......"

The knight pauses, lips pursed, then seems to collect his thoughts.

"Libra saved you, then. You couldn't have covered those hospital bills alone, right?"

Common misconception.

Twelve years ago, I believed it too. I was loyal to this damned house.

"My father's salary, severance, and death benefits covered the treatment."

"Your father?"

"Yes. He was a knight. For Libra."

"......"

The knight's expression turns ambiguous.

I add one more word.

"Low-rank."

"Didn't even go to college?"

"No."

He nods, as if that settles ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠it. Looks relieved, too.

Figures. He's a college knight himself.

"Anyway. You're turning eighteen this year, right? You beat it all in the end."

"Those illnesses."

A worse one still lingers, but the rest got full remission.

"Good enough. No Spectrum awakening yet?"

He's asking about the "Spectrum." That's when it finally sinks in.

It's 2013.

Not 2025. Exactly 2013, without a single day's discrepancy.

I've rewound twelve years, back to this godforsaken time.

"Answer."

The knight strokes his mustache and presses.

"No."

I shake my head. Same answer as twelve years ago— pre-regression.

Even though it had already awakened.

Not in 2012, but 2010.

"Still?"

I was just too embarrassed to say it.

My Spectrum is a notebook! I can write diaries! Jot down to-do lists and supplies so I don't forget, fu—

"Useless. You are."

"Yeah, pretty much."

Sigh.

The knight sighs, then hardens his expression into stern lines.

"The main house is deeply disappointed in you lot. This orphanage wasn't built for you to freeload. Tuition, food, books, training, kids' allowances, teachers' salaries— it all adds up to 60-70 million ren a year. And you haven't paid a single coin."

I don't remember the Mustache Knight's name, but his next words are burned into my mind.

They hit hard as a kid.

"The orphanage is closing."

The old me would've gaped, maybe even grabbed his pant leg on the verge of tears.

He clearly expects that reaction.

"......What, you okay with that?"

"Yes."

Not anymore.

"Er...... right. Don't despair too much. There's still a chance. Young Master Jedric is very magnanimous."

Young master. The word choice is almost funny. The main family head probably doesn't even consider it.

The Mustache Knight fiddles with his mustache.

"Word is, you and nine others are the orphanage's most promising."

"Me?"

"You're at Endex, aren't you? Prestigious place even I couldn't get into. Anyway, they're holding a 'match.'"

"......Ah."

I nod.

Of course I know. I've lived it already.

"Prove your talent, and the orphanage might survive."

Lies.

It won't.

It can't.

"It's a skill test. If you've trained hard, you'll face winnable opponents. Sound good?"

"Yes. Sounds extremely fair."

I answer and stand. No point sticking around.

"......Extremely? You said extremely?"

I ignore the Mustache Knight grasping for a pretext and walk out.

The Libra Orphanage.

Not far from central Edshila, with clean breezes from forest and stream, it's a welfare facility with 150 years of tradition.

Run by the great house Libra, it's massive. The grounds boast dorms, cafeteria, playground, sports field, park— facilities rivaling any school.

"2013 it is."

Having wrapped up that pointless interview in the orphanage counseling room of my memories.

I sit on a park bench, gazing at the dark horizon.

"Amazing."

It's amazing to take in this night sky. To move my hands. That I'm alive and breathing.

I clearly died not in 2013, but some day in 2025— just a week ago in felt time. Impaled by werewolf claws like prison bars.

"Should I be happy?"

I wonder.

Did I really regress?

Even if so, is this regression ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a good thing?

Diseases still ravage this body, ones current medicine might not beat.

Just a repeat of incurable agony?

"Why now, of all times?"

That's why, despite being alive, I complain.

Like someone pulled from drowning, griping it took so long.

......My dantian feels off.

I lift my shirt slightly. A burn-like scar.

From just above the navel up to my chest— proof of dantian damage. The cancer of cancers, requiring treatment till death's door: dantian cancer.

It wasn't there a year ago.

If only one year earlier.

Goddamn bullshit.

"Hey, Sion!"

My name rings in my ear. On the orphanage sports field, a shirtless guy calls me.

"Not training?! Didn't you hear?! If we lose to the mercenaries, the orphanage is gone!"

"......Yeah, okay."

Training? Pointless.

Those "mercenaries" for the "match" are active knights in disguise.

No winning, even in death.

The orphanage closes. The 700 kids here scatter......

What about "me"?

Pre-regression, I'd have blamed myself. The closure, later failures, even the dantian cancer— all my fault.

This worthless talent useless to Libra, this shitty luck dragging diseases— I'd pin it all on my "bad luck," but still cling to life, scraping cash as delivery boy or driver, checking into hospital for futile treatment—

Until I learned the truth.

That the house "Libra" ruined my entire life.

"Whatever. Let the others win. Sion's been a total deadweight lately!"

What's his name again?

Anyway, he runs. But the world is cruel. Running fast solves nothing. Trip, and you just hurt yourself.

I sink into the bench.

Mindlessly open the Notebook.

First page: a diary entry.

"......Is this why?"

The diary hinting ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠why I regressed to 2013.

February 14, 2013. Monday.

The first diary entry in the Notebook, till then just to-dos, supply lists, cheat sheets. The day they suspected dantian cancer.

Exactly the day I regressed to.

"So the Notebook triggered the regression too?"

Its potential went this far?

Hard to believe.

"Whew."

I close the diary. Screen shifts to [File List].

For reference, I organized these categories myself. The Notebook has limited capacity, so I tidy it often or it fills up.

Never actually filled, of course. Just text chunks—

"......What? 30? What's this?"

But it's way fuller than before. And a new folder catches my eye.

■ Memories

Memories.

I don't remember making this.

Where'd it come from?

"Memories...... What is this?"

Memories? Of what? Where's the object?

I open the folder anyway.

└Untitled.

A file inside.

I open "Untitled" too.

Simple: think Open. Basic Spectrum, basic use.

Open—

"—Huh?!"

Suddenly, my dantian reacts. Deep inside, it quivers.

"Guh!"

A surge erupts. From dantian, flooding veins...... amplifying my whole body?

I hastily seal my dantian.

"What the."

Still, my body burns hot, veins bulging red. Vision spins.

"What in the world......"

I'm stunned, but chills run down my spine. Flashes race through my cooling mind.

Pre-regression— right before "death."

"......Perion?"

Then, I devoured Perion. Precisely, 100g of its pure essence, distilled and compressed from the "mother lode."

Right after swallowing, werewolf claws pierced my throat. I blinked awake in 2013.

So what's happening now?

Why does it feel like the pre-regression Perion is "multiplying" inside me?

"Memories......"

The Notebook's "■ Memories" folder.

No memory of creating it. Inference?

"The Notebook...... remembers."

Did my Notebook memorize the Perion I swallowed whole before dying?

Saved like any file?

"What is this."

The Notebook, always pathetic— I thought it utterly useless to my life. Well, not utterly. It had its uses, but never dramatically changed things.

Now it's different.

Why?

Did the pre-death Perion amplify it too?

Or just randomly? For kicks?

......Either way.

I rub my chin, murmuring.

"The Notebook remembers."

One more line.

"If it remembers...... I can summon it anytime......"

Rubbing my chin in thought, I rename [Untitled].

Looks better now.