The Notebook Was Not Read Alone
People tend to make up excuses the moment they’re backed into a corner. The instant Leticia Arkan pressed me, my head was already spinning with thirty different justifications.
It’s a misunderstanding.
It was a literary device.
Future me must have lost his mind.
Actually, that page wrote itself after the notebook gained sentience.
The last excuse was, surprisingly, the most believable.
In this world, swords that have seen long use choose their masters, and books left too long in the dark begin to radiate curses. There was no law saying a notebook couldn’t develop a will of its own.
The problem was that Leticia didn’t look like the type to entertain such nonsense.
Inside those blue eyes, a dark light flickered.
It resembled confirmation more than rage.
So you really could kill me.
I swallowed slowly.
“It’s a last resort.”
“Last resort?”
“Writing down every option doesn’t mean I want to pick them. Sometimes you record them precisely so you never forget which choices must never be taken.”
Leticia’s fingertips pressed against the notebook’s edge.
“Then did you write it down so you wouldn’t forget that you mustn’t kill me, Senior?”
I simply admitted it.
“Yes. Because I mustn’t forget.”
The frost clinging to the window at the end of the corridor grew a shade thicker.
Leticia remained silent for a long time. She didn’t even blink. She stood as still as an ice sculpture, staring at me.
Then she asked, very quietly.
“Why?”
There was an answer.
If Leticia died, the Black Constellation would lose its first vessel. The catastrophe that would freeze half the academy could be avoided.
From a purely efficiency standpoint, it was the simplest solution.
And for three years I had lived by efficiency alone.
Stay unnoticed. Don’t form attachments. Don’t feel pity. Those were my rules for survival.
“Because that method is the easiest. Easy paths keep whispering to you. That there’s no other way. That it’s for everyone’s sake. That if you stain your hands now, you can save far more people later.”
“……”
“That’s why I wrote it. Knowing it was the easiest road, I reminded myself it had to be postponed until the very end.”
Once spoken aloud, it sounded surprisingly convincing.
The real problem was that every word had been sincere.
I had written the notebook to survive.
Yet the more names I added, the more I was forced to picture their deaths.
Leticia becoming the vessel of the Black Constellation.
The student council president crushing everyone beneath the weight of her justice.
The saint candidate and the demonic sword girl collapsing beneath their respective tragedies.
If I imagined those scenes too often, I strangely began to want to save them.
Getting entangled with people is exhausting.
Merely thinking about it becomes unbearably tiresome.
I reached for the notebook at once.
“Now that the misunderstanding has been cleared up, please return it.”
“No.”
“We just had a rather touching conversation, didn’t we?”
“Which is exactly why I refuse.”
Leticia hugged the notebook to her chest and took one step back. She looked exactly like a duke’s precious daughter cradling a treasured book of poetry.
In truth, she was clutching a catalog of my future causes of death.
“Miss Leticia. That notebook is dangerous.”
“I know.”
“If anyone else sees it, I die.”
“I saw it, though.”
“Which is why I’m currently dying.”
“You’re still breathing.”
“My inner self is deceased.”
Leticia tilted her head slightly.
“Then I’ll take responsibility.”
“For my inner self?”
“For you, Senior.”
I swallowed a laugh. Her eyes were far too sincere to brush the statement off as a joke.
When the sole daughter of the Northern Ducal House used the word “responsibility,” it carried an entirely different weight. If Leticia Arkan decided to do so, she could freeze a person’s entire life and store it inside an ice display case.
“Please don’t take responsibility.”
“Why not?”
“When nobles say they’ll take responsibility, it usually leads to kidnapping, confinement, or marriage.”
“You have quite the imagination, Senior.”
“The accumulated wisdom of an experienced library assistant on scholarship.”
“Then I’ll settle for surveillance.”
“That… somehow sounds worse.”
Leticia tapped the notebook lightly.
“Whether Senior truly won’t harm me. What methods you’ll use to keep me alive. Whether you’ve left similar records for other girls as well.”
The final sentence carried a strangely sharp edge.
I pretended not to notice.
“Other girls? I maintain an equal distance from every student in the academy.”
“I saw the list.”
“……”
“The list of women you must never get close to.”
Why does life always choose the most critical moments to be brutally honest?
It was then.
Jingle.
The brass bell hanging from the corridor ceiling rang.
In the library, they didn’t ring it to demand silence. It only sounded for troublesome matters—fire, leakage of forbidden texts, magic overload, or a student council summons.
A small bird folded from paper descended gracefully from beneath the bell.
I instinctively stepped backward.
The second truth I had learned after arriving in this world:
Official documents are deadlier than blades.
Avoid a sword and you survive. Avoid paperwork and punishment finds you anyway.
The paper bird landed in front of me and clicked its beak.
“Library assistant scholarship student Yurian Locke. You are to report immediately to the Student Council President’s Office.”
A cold mechanical voice echoed down the corridor.
“Reason: Reclassification of lost item danger grade and investigation related to the festival eve preparation committee.”
Lost item.
Danger grade.
Festival eve.
When those three words combined, life had a ninety-percent chance of going sideways.
Leticia asked quietly beside me.
“If it’s a lost item, does it mean this notebook?”
“I really hope not.”
“And the danger grade?”
“Top-class by the standards of my continued survival.”
The paper bird opened its beak once more.
“Accompanying individual: Leticia Arkan. Confirmed as the first person to acquire the aforementioned lost item.”
Leticia looked at me.
I looked at Leticia.
Our expressions differed, but our thoughts were probably identical.
We’re screwed.
The Student Council President’s Office sat at the very top of the main building.
High places are the essence of power. An arrogant vantage that looks down on everyone below and steals the breath from those who approach.
When the door opened, an impeccably ordered room greeted us. A festival schedule hung on the wall, documents were stacked on the desk like sharpened blades, and not a single petal of the white roses by the window was out of place.
At the center of it all sat Aria Bertia, Student Council President.
Golden hair.
Crimson eyes.
A woman whose lips always carried a smile, yet facing that smile made everyone instinctively straighten their clothes.
Crownfall Academy Student Council President.
Successor to the Empire’s Chancellor family.
And, according to the original story, another catastrophe who in twenty-four days would expel thirty-one students under the banner of a “just purge” and drive three others to the brink of suicide.
A brilliant smile bloomed across Aria’s face.
“Yurian Locke. And Leticia Arkan. Thank you both for coming.”
“You summoned us. The phrase ‘thank you for coming’ is usually reserved for people who had a choice.”
Aria’s smile deepened by a fraction.
“You certainly have a way with words.”
“I tend to lose my manners when I’m nervous.”
“I see. Honesty isn’t a bad thing.”
No, it was terrible. The moment Aria Bertia said “good,” someone’s demerit record was usually being organized into neat little columns.
Aria lifted a thin sheet of paper from her desk.
The instant I saw it, ice slid down my spine.
It was a page from my notebook.
More precisely, a copy.
- Aria Bertia.
- Perfectionist. Justice addict. The type who grinds people beneath good intentions.
- Never praise her. Never interfere with her work. Helping will only make her suspicious.
- Student council inspection rights scheduled to run wild in 24 days.
- Get too close and you may be crushed beneath an avalanche of paperwork.
I quietly stared at the ceiling.
If a god existed, he was surely laughing right now.
Fucking bastard.
“Mr. Locke. Did you write this document?”
“It does look remarkably like my handwriting.”
“The library’s lost-item registration magic also records the original author’s magical signature.”
“I wish magical civilization would collapse.”
The student council secretary standing beside Aria cleared their throat.
Leticia stood silently at my side, still clutching the notebook to her chest. She looked less like an ally and more like an accomplice helping me conceal a crime.
Aria set the paper down.
“Would you care to explain? What exactly does it mean that I will ‘run wild’ in twenty-four days?”
No avoiding it. I had to get through this situation first.
“President. You received the festival budget audit materials yesterday, correct?”
Aria’s eyes shifted by a microscopic degree.
Bullseye.
She had received them.
In the original story, Aria Bertia’s purge hadn’t begun without warning. The embezzlement of festival funds, the professors’ tacit approval, the noble students’ abuse of privilege—those things had ignited her sense of justice.
The problem was that she hadn’t been wrong.
Being right had only made her more dangerous. Because while carrying out judgment, Aria would drown ever deeper in the pleasure of the act itself.
“I did. But how could you know that, Mr. Locke?”
“A request for copies arrived at the library records room. Festival budget, club subsidies, noble sponsorship records. When those three categories move simultaneously, an incident usually follows.”
“And that leads to me running wild?”
“Because you’re diligent, President.”
Aria’s smile froze.
I kept speaking.
“Diligent people chase truth until they reach the end. When they see corruption, they feel compelled to correct it. They believe clear punishment is necessary. Logically, the process is flawless.”
“And after that?”
“After that, cold rules tend to overtake human warmth.”
The air in the room grew still.
A sigh rose from deep inside me. This refined eloquence that only emerged when my life hung by a thread was practically a curse.
After a long pause, Aria spoke.
“How interesting. You speak as though you’ve been observing me for a very long time, Mr. Locke.”
“There’s plenty of public data on the student council president.”
“Very well, Mr. Locke.”
“This doesn’t feel very well…”
“I hereby appoint you as special inspection assistant to the festival eve preparation committee.”
“I decline.”
“You don’t have that option.”
“Then why bother asking?”
“Courtesy.”
Noble etiquette truly was optimized for killing people.
Leticia spoke in a low voice.
“Senior must first address my stigma issue.”
Aria’s eyebrow rose slightly.
“Stigma?”
I glanced toward Leticia.
She had already fallen silent, offering no further explanation.
It was too late.
Aria’s mind was already spinning tens of thousands of calculations.
At that moment, the notebook in Leticia’s arms opened on its own. The silver lock emblem on the black leather cover shimmered, and new sentences rose across the final page.
I lunged to snatch it away.
But the text had already finished writing itself.
Readers: 2/7
Leticia Arkan — Confirmed
Aria Bertia — Confirmed
Remaining targets: 5
The strategy notebook has been activated.
I stared at the glowing text, eyes slowly widening.
This was no longer my notebook.
Or rather, it was still mine.
Until a moment ago.
Now something extra had attached itself—something extremely annoying and ominous, carrying the unmistakable stench of a typical genre story.
Aria asked in a gentle voice.
“Mr. Locke.”
Leticia’s voice followed, low and clear.
“Senior.”
The two calls overlapped like a single chord.
“Who are the remaining five?”