Athanas should be furious with me right now.
For a moment, I can still vividly see it—the sheer rage twisting his face into something unrecognizable.
I remember him, drenched in blood, turning toward me with a rage so intense it made me want to step back. His teeth were bared, his steps slow and deliberate, like he was driven by some terrifying purpose...
Click, click. Click, click...
The grating sound of metal scraping against metal, followed by a soft rustling, assaulted Seojun’s ears. Every inch of his body ached—neck, shoulders, back, waist, arms, legs—there wasn’t a part of him that wasn’t in pain. His throat was parched, and his tongue felt like sandpaper. His eyelids were heavy and gritty, and his chest was so tight that even breathing had become a struggle. When he tried to move, his joints groaned like rusty machinery in desperate need of oil.
In elementary school, we had a lesson on planarian regeneration.
It wasn’t exactly fun or inspiring. We sliced up worms that looked like little eraser shavings and stared at the wriggling pieces. What were we supposed to learn?
Why did we have to do it? Planarian regeneration was already a well-known fact. Why repeat what had been done countless times before?
My heart pounded fiercely.
If I die, for whatever reason, I’ll wake up in Mother God’s faction... just like that?
How...
No, focus. Keep reading. Understand the full picture before jumping to conclusions.
I needed more information before letting my mind run wild with speculation. I had to read every word in this strange ‘Notebook’, every story my future self deemed important enough to share, regardless of the consequences. Only then could I truly understand the mess I was in.
I double-checked my status window, just to be sure, and there it was—a brand new trait. One I’d definitely never seen before.
Unique Traits: [Miracle of the Silver Tongue], [The Whole World Is Beneath One’s Self], [???], [System User], [I Record, Therefore I Exist.]
“…Since when did that get there?” I mumbled, my eyes drawn to the word ‘record’. It had to be linked to the God of Records somehow. Curiosity got the best of me, so I pulled up the trait’s description.
Johan, thankfully, was strapped in tight. His seatbelt dug into him as the car fishtailed, saving him from a smashing into the dashboard. He gripped the wheel, knuckles bone-white, wrestling the car back under control. Outside, the world was a dizzying blur, his mind a scrambled mess of thoughts.
Thud!
The book slipped from my trembling hands, crashing to the stone floor with a dull thud.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
I was completely stunned, my brain struggling to process what I’d just read.
Obliteration?
Tim swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing like a buoy in a storm. It was a dead giveaway that he was nothing like the vengeful ghost, Timothy, from his made up chilling tale. Johan’s words tightened around his throat, choking the air from his lungs like an invisible hand.
Wait, the System has dead zones?
I always figured it was this omniscient, ever-present entity that was hardwired into my very soul. But it turns out, it’s more like a satellite with spotty coverage.
The initial shock faded, replaced by a crushing wave of terror. The body, broken and bleeding, spasmed and gurgled in a growing pool of blood. Tim’s eyes darted wildly around. Was anyone else out here? Had anyone seen the horrifying thing he’d done? But the only answer was the rustling of leaves, a detached whisper in the wind that felt utterly disconnected from the turmoil inside him.