When he thought about it, the original Lee Haru had always been clumsy with people—starved for affection to the point that he loved even those who mistreated him.
He had been fortunate enough to meet friends who truly cherished him, but Lee Haru had no one. To someone like that, a diary where he could pour out his innermost thoughts might have felt like a secret companion.
He must have quietly confessed the things he could never say aloud, nestled within the solitude of his own time. And if anyone ever stepped foot into this house, it was something he would never have wanted them to find.
It was likely the only place where he could be completely honest, under the promise of total secrecy.
“Maybe he hid it in the bathroom.”
He walked toward the en suite bathroom connected to the bedroom. He had already glanced around earlier but only checked the shelves and the cabinet.
Lee Haru’s eyes lifted to the ceiling. Bathrooms often had an open cavity or storage space above the ceiling panels. He tapped along the surface where a faint line stood out from the rest. A hollow echo resonated faintly through his fingers.
“Ugh, my arms are too short.”
Tapping it was easy enough, but opening it required more strength than expected. Balancing on tiptoes made it hard to put proper force into his hands. With no other choice, he headed to the kitchen, grabbed one of the dining chairs, and brought it back.
Once he climbed up, he could apply enough pressure to find and open the hidden compartment in the ceiling. He reached in and fumbled around with his hand.
“Bingo.”
Relief that his hunch had been right washed over him—alongside a pang of pity for the original Lee Haru, who had gone so far as to hide a diary up here.
“It’s just like what I saw in the memory.”
The notebook was small, barely the size of a palm. He restored the ceiling panel and dragged the chair back to the kitchen. He sat down at the dining table and laid his hand over the cover. Reading someone else’s diary was undeniably invasive, but there was no room for hesitation.
“I am going to assume you wanted me to read this.”
If that were not the case, then Lee Haru would not have kept crying until the ring was found, nor would he have shown that vision of himself writing in this notebook the moment the ring was picked up. Just in case, he rested his palm on the diary and waited. If Lee Haru did not want him to read it, he figured he would have sent some sort of sign.
“Alright. I am reading it.”
Like issuing a challenge, he said it aloud and opened the first page. As soon as he saw it, he could not help but laugh.
“Wow, your handwriting is awful. Mine’s not great either, though. Looks like we’re the same in that too.”
The page was covered in cramped, squiggly writing that looked like worms crawling across the paper.
[I awakened as an S-rank Guide. I still cannot believe it. Does this mean I can finally be happy?]
The diary began plainly. A quiet sense of wonder was tucked into that short line about awakening as an S-rank Guide. Strangely, there were no dates, even though it clearly read like a diary. Still, judging from the sequence of events that followed, it seemed to be written in chronological order.
[I saw him today. The best part about becoming an S-rank Guide is getting to work with him.]
“…The ‘him’ he keeps writing about… is it that bastard?”
As far as he knew, it had been four years since Lee Haru became an S-rank Guide. That meant he had awakened at twenty-one and joined the Association then. Now he was twenty-four.
“I felt kind of bad when I found out how young you were… I’m two years older than you, you know.”
The age gap was small enough that they could have been casual friends, but he still felt a twinge of guilt.
[…We ate together today. I was so happy.]
All the entries were short. And yet, Lee Haru’s emotions bled through every line, vivid and raw. For a while, the diary chronicled small, mundane moments—mostly about that person. Occasionally, it mentioned the difficulty of connecting with others.
[He said it was something he wanted, but it hurt so much. It was my first time… Was it his too? He did not seem like the person I knew. When he turned his back on me and walked away, leaving me completely spent, it felt so cold I started to cry.]
His fingers, trailing the scrawled words, stopped on the line: It hurt so much. The memory of Lee Haru in pain flickered through his mind. The mention of it being his “first time” carried a heavy implication—it had to mean sex.
He felt a dull sting behind his nose. The image of how hurt and vulnerable Lee Haru must have been was almost too much to bear. He stayed still for a long moment before flipping to the next page.
Even though he was glad to be with that person, the pain and heartbreak kept repeating through each entry.
[Today, he gave me my first present. It is so beautiful. I am going to wear it every day.]
The first flicker of joy returned when the ring was mentioned. Without realizing, he rubbed the ring with his thumb. It had already become a habit, as if second nature. Whenever he did that, it made him feel just a little closer to the original Lee Haru.
Even though he was already gone. A bitter taste crept into his mouth.
They had never even met. Maybe it was because he had entered this body—but for some reason, the original Lee Haru felt deeply pitiful to him.
[Why does he… want me to do sex Guiding with other people too?]
“You son of a bitch.”
The curse escaped his lips without hesitation. From everything written in the diary, it was clear—that man had treated Lee Haru like he was something precious. Like a lover.
Only then did those mournful words from his memory—“You used to be so kind… why are you so cold now?”—finally make sense. But how could someone like that urge Lee Haru to sleep with other people? Yes, sex and sex Guiding were fundamentally different acts. But Lee Haru was an S-rank Guide. That meant unless the situation was critical, there would be no need for sex Guiding at all. Even the Association strictly forbade it unless the Guide gave clear and willing consent.
[……This is getting too hard. People’s stares grow colder with every passing day. It hurts, but I can bear that. What I cannot endure is… him refusing to look at me. That kind of rejection is unbearable.]
This page was stained with the traces of dried tears. Round droplets had soaked into the paper and dried there, unmistakable in what they signified. Heat bled into his breath as it passed through his nose.
Just who was this man? Even in his memories, he had only caught fleeting glimpses—a silhouette, a back turned—never enough to identify him. To be honest, the number of people he had truly interacted with since possessing this body was limited. Aside from fleeting encounters, the most likely suspects were the three S-rank Espers currently living in the mansion with him.
“It has to be one of those three…”
Lee Haru had gone so far as to attempt suicide just to be admitted into that mansion. And the ring had been found in its basement. That alone was telling.
“Yu Je-hyun looked genuinely confused about the lock on the basement door.”
That alone made him strongly suspect it was not Yu Je-hyun. Of course, if Yu Je-hyun was a master at deception, there was still a chance—but he doubted it.
He recalled the day they had gone into the basement together. Yu Je-hyun had clearly been puzzled by the sight of the padlock. Which meant the man from the diary—the one who had treated Haru that way—was likely the one who had placed it there.
His fingers tapped absently against the table as he turned another page. The handwriting had deteriorated. It looked jagged and shaky—like someone right-handed trying to write with their left. He read each letter carefully, slowly tracing the uneven scrawl.
[Everyone hates me. And now even he tells me to die. No one loves me. What is the point of continuing this life? …If I die, will I finally feel a little happiness?]
His throat tightened. He swallowed hard, a lump sticking in his chest. The despair seeping through each line made him feel like he was suffocating. He got up abruptly and opened the fridge. Pulling out a bottle of water, he drained it in one go. The cold rush sliding down his throat helped settle the storm inside him—just barely.
“Did you really want to die that badly…?”
He set the empty bottle down on the table and dug his fingers into his hair, clutching at his bangs in frustration. With a long breath, he forced himself to calm down and resumed reading.
He had to find out who that man was. If only a name had been mentioned. But Lee Haru had stubbornly kept his identity hidden, always referring to him with nothing more than vague pronouns. It made no sense—why conceal his name in a diary no one else was supposed to read?
“Already on the last page, huh…”
Only one page remained. And if it did not contain any clue to the man’s identity—what then? A tight knot of unease formed in his chest as he flipped to the final page. And then his breath caught in his throat.
Compared to the previous entries, the writing on this last page was densely packed, filling every inch of space. A despair deeper and more suffocating than anything before radiated from the page. He had not even begun to read it yet, but he could feel it— the weight of every emotion Lee Haru had poured into these final lines crashing down on him like a wave.
