Click. Deflated.
[Needs Academic Counseling]
[Schedule Change – TBD]
[☆☆☆☆☆☆]
Even though it was still workplace-related material—barely more valuable than half a bunch of spinach—Cha Eui-sung couldn’t suppress his disappointment. He’d hoped that the page covered in stars might indicate something important, but with the shapes and sizes all different, it looked more like idle doodles scribbled while taking a phone call. Was every page like this? He’d seen Moon Tae-young scribbling beside him now and then, but was he just organizing his schedule?
Flip. He turned the page. Still nothing substantial—just scattered notes barely above the level of memos.
Flip. Flip. Flip. After skimming a few more pages, Cha Eui-sung bit his lip and turned his eyes away.
Really, what had he expected to find in a notebook left lying around like this? A diary, maybe? Moon Tae-young writing a diary? That uptight man with so many things to hide, leaving a written record of his daily activities?
“Shit.”
A low curse slipped from his lips, a frustrated mutter born of foolish hope. And yet, oddly enough, he still couldn’t bring himself to put the notebook down. Glancing at the time, Cha Eui-sung started flipping through the pages like a man possessed. As he casually skimmed each page, light notes written in that distinctive handwriting rolled time backward. The notes went from test material to Sports Day, to farming experience trips, to observation visits, then to the school arts festival.
“This must’ve been… around autumn.”
Occasionally, more meaningful words popped up—like “reservation” or “delivery.” But that was it. There were no explanations about what the reservation was for, what was delivered, to whom, how, or why. Without context, these personal records were little more than crumbs—impossible to tell if they were related to school affairs or his plans for revenge.
Just as Cha Eui-sung was about to close the notebook and set it down—
“Huh.”
—a word caught his eye.
[Apple Juice]
Suddenly, the image of that gift bottle of apple juice Moon Tae-young had handed him flashed through his mind.
Snap. He reopened the notebook. It was such an ordinary word, and yet it felt like it could be a loose thread from his own story. By estimating the timeframe of the memo, it likely dated back to when he’d been staying in the man’s office. Narrowing his eyes, Cha Eui-sung stared at the four syllables written in thin pen, going over them again and again like he was tasting each one.
This…
Now that he looked closely, the top edge of the “사” character had a slight notch to it. A tiny deviation—but one that didn’t appear on the “스” character in “주스.”
…It was a marker.
Revived suspicion clung to him. Cha Eui-sung went back and began scanning the pages he had earlier flipped through so quickly. Like beans in a drought, he found several words whose first consonants had that same deliberate little notch. Same pen, same pressure, same handwriting. And now, the only reliable way to distinguish their purpose had finally come into focus.
Without realizing it, Cha Eui-sung had perched himself on the bed, now focused only on the marked initials. He didn’t even read the contents—he just scanned ahead until he reached the first page where the symbol had appeared. And there it was, finally—on a day in early summer.
[Intent]
[17:40–45]
A clear, deliberate notch on the otherwise rounded “ㅇ” in “의도” (intent). As if a video clip were playing in his mind, Cha Eui-sung recalled his first meeting with Moon Tae-young. The fragmented notes strung themselves together, and the meaning clicked into place.
[Between 5:40 and 5:45 PM — intentional approach.]
From that point on, as he turned each new page, more figures began to appear—people observed through Moon Tae-young’s eyes, one by one.
[False Identity: X]
[Objective]
Words wedged casually between Long Jump and Grade 6 Math Curriculum Progress.
[Unable to determine authenticity of niece’s transfer consultation. Presence of ulterior motive.]
That was the day the Skill had first activated in front of him. He’d coughed mid-sentence and ended up vomiting blood, even borrowed clothes to change into—yet none of that had made it into the note. The only thing recorded was the approach and its objective. Goes to show just how much the presence of an unfamiliar S-rank had gotten under Moon Tae-young’s skin.
[4:07–15]
If it was around 4 a.m. during this time… then that must’ve been when he brought the Gigas Armor and saw the Skill.
The chillingly emotionless and clinical memo mirrored exactly how their relationship had started. And when Cha Eui-sung found another entry just below, with the vowel of the first letter slanted sideways—he quickly caught on. This notebook didn’t just document daily life and himself, but also contained pieces of Moon Tae-young’s revenge.
[Completion Schedule]
The moment he searched for the correctional facility’s construction on his phone, he’d found an article about a new treatment center being built in a residential avoidance zone—an area home to three unstable dungeons.
Found it. Moon Tae-young’s special memo.
Records so cryptic, so deeply embedded among ordinary notes, that they could only be understood by someone already fully informed—or obsessively paranoid. Cha Eui-sung swallowed hard, moistening his dry throat, and began devouring the text. Notes on Jo Tae-jong appeared so rarely they were nearly impossible to track, but one thing became clear: Moon Tae-young was targeting his transfer. With so many figures tied to the incident, no individual alone could take out Jo Tae-jong while he was holed up in a correctional facility. Even a simple visitation risked drawing external attention.
So he’s aiming for the moment Jo’s moved—when he slips past maximum security.
[Summary Comprehension: C]
[Documentation Effort: A]
Just as he’d suspected, Jo Tae-jong wasn’t the only target of Moon Tae-young’s revenge. Though he couldn’t decipher all the entries, the existence of other records strongly suggested it. More detailed plans were likely on personal devices—like that gutsy PC he used to draft documents with Cha Eui-sung sitting right beside him.
This… I’d have to really dig to understand.
Still, entries involving himself continued to appear regularly. In the memos, he’d been marked as an Unregistered Awakened with suspicious intent, then a lurking threat, then an inconvenient curiosity, and finally… a persistent attachment.
[Buy Fruit]
[BuddyCare Cozy Cotton Soap]
[Boiler Repair]
[Nightmare / If He Reaches Out, Hold His Hand]
[Carrot, Onion, Minced Beef]
[Touch His Hair Only When He’s In a Good Mood]
He’d almost missed it—one page he’d flipped past too fast had a very familiar doodle. A poorly imitated, ink-heavy sketch of a bipedal cat. The proportions were warped and the ink had bled through, making it look more grotesque than cute.
In one paw, the cat held a machete.
Cha Eui-sung let out a huff and rubbed the back of his neck. He’d drawnthat—mindlessly, to distract Moon Tae-young—and then forgotten it.
And for some reason, the man had copied it exactly into his own notebook.
A strange pressure tightened just below his chest. Like he’d swallowed a whole froth of bubbles. It prickled, churned, and made him nauseous. Every clipped little memo, every emotionless scribble, summoned vivid images of Moon Tae-young brushing his hair aside, running fingers through it with that always-calm expression.
“Fuck this.”
Cha Eui-sung groaned and pressed his palm hard against his forehead. He’d definitely uncovered a goldmine of information, and yet—it felt like he’d dug up something he wasn’t supposed to see. His pent-up frustration was unraveling on its own, and he hated how helpless he felt to stop it. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t muster the will to suppress it.
After letting out several long sighs to collect himself, Cha Eui-sung finally picked up his phone. He started taking photos of each page, knowing he wouldn’t be able to remember everything.
Just then—flutter.
Something slipped from behind the notebook’s cover and landed on the floor. A small scrap of paper. Crumpled. Dusty at the edges.
He stared at it blankly for a moment before jerking his head away.
Fuck.
He couldn’t even bear to look at it. Even blinking rapidly and clutching his head didn’t help. His heart pounded erratically, flooding his mind with disjointed thoughts.
In the end, he picked the scrap up quietly. Inserted a pen halfway through the notebook to mark the spot, then shut it without a second thought and tucked it into the drawer of the nightstand.
Cha Eui-sung sat in silence on the bed for a long time, thinking about the last note that concerned him.
[D–2]
It felt like swallowing something cloyingly sweet, then bitter, then spicy—all at once. And it was stuck in his throat.
***
What does “Demon King” mean on that fabricated status window of ‘that thing’?
Moon Tae-young had been fixated on it ever since the ever-changing status window finally started showing legible text. After much thought, he’d concluded that it was tied to that arbitrarily granted special Skill.
“To bring down a worthless world.” However you tried to interpret it, there was no way it could be taken as anything noble. Looking back now, that wasn’t such a wrong interpretation. If he’d just kept on living with that understanding, it might’ve been easier.
Standing there, listening to the noisy clamor echoing down the hallway, Moon Tae-young stared silently into the air.
[Moon Tae-young (S)]
░░░░’s Proxy
!
! !
! !
[Demon King (Bloomed)]
—Black Veil (S)
—Lightning Strike (A)
—Counterattack (D)
—Burnt Offering (??)
The status window, after yet another shift, now blatantly flaunted its purpose without pretense. And still, despite knowing this, he couldn’t help but be dragged along. Because the only straw he had left to cling to… was floating in this direction.
[Demon King (Bloomed)]
And where there’s a Demon King, there’s usually someone else—the Hero. A Hero, huh. What exactly did that title mean? Moon Tae-young turned his head, which had remained statue-still, toward the mirror hanging on the wall.
Was it just his imagination? In that fleeting moment as his gaze shifted, he thought he saw a flicker of red in his reflection—just around his eyes.
