Neatly written short sentences.
It seemed penned with an ink-depleted pen, leaving some parts hazy and showing signs of pressure applied in certain areas.
A common handwriting style visible anywhere.
But why, of all things?
The man felt a smell of blood emanating from those words.
“What the hell is this, damn it.”
As he continued to stare at the writing, it inspired an illusion that the letters were squirming, morphing into patterns. A dense smell of blood assaulted his nose, pricking his mucous membranes and dulling his mind, making him feel like something sticky clung to his lungs with each breath.
It felt as though his prayers were rotting under a layer of mold, and the smell of blood wrapping around his lungs gave him the delusion that he was submerged in a sea of blood.
Is this how it feels to hold a cursed item?
The man tossed the notebook aside, feeling as if a centipede were crawling up his arm.
Thud.
The notebook left his hand and landed on the table.
But the sound it made was anything but ordinary.
For a regular notebook, a light thud or tap would suffice; the way it landed sounded dull, as if it had been soaked in water, slapping down heavily on the table.
Moreover, strangely enough, the notebook wouldn’t close, remaining wide open to display its contents.
“Chills! Damn it.”
The man jumped up and grabbed two disposable spoons. Using them like tongs, he carefully picked up the notebook.
He didn’t want to touch it barehanded.
With a clumsy posture, he made his way to the trash can, almost dropping it as he went, and roughly tossed it as if discarding waste.
Huff—
The thought of finally getting rid of that chilling item brought a sigh of relief from his lips.
He slightly opened the trash can lid to ensure it had been properly discarded and turned away, exiting the café.
He didn’t want to stay anywhere near that horrific item.
Instead, he moved to a sauna to warm up and collect his thoughts.
There were plenty of people there, ample to sufficiently dilute the fear of running into an assailant.
He thought so.
“What the hell…?”
Everything had been going smoothly.
While the encounter with the assailant had firmly imprinted itself onto his mind like a nightmare, everything else was fine.
He had tossed the notebook the assailant gave him into the café and swore he would never return there again. Furthermore, he never walked the road he encountered the assailant on, taking a route far away from it to get home.
However.
However, why?
“Why is this here…?”
Before the man’s eyes lay the notebook.
The very notebook given to him by the assailant.
Just like when he discarded it, the first page remained wide open.
Moreover, the bigger problem was.
What shook him to the core was.
“This is my house….”
The notebook was in his home.
Not only that, but it wasn’t even tucked away in a corner.
It lay wide open in the middle of his desk as if to mock him.
The man felt as if a monster were gaping wide its mouth.
A monster that spread horrifying curses, with its mouth wide open as if to consume its prey.
The open notebook appeared to demand a sacrifice, and its presence echoed with a growl that warned it would not be escaped from forever.
The man found it.
He could not endure it any longer.
Living with a monster?
Coexisting with a cursed item?
How could he possibly tolerate that!
Crunch.
The man gritted his teeth and steeled himself against the fear. He headed toward the sink, grabbed a pair of tongs, and slowly approached the desk with them to pick up the notebook.
Thud.
The weighty, damp notebook was effortlessly lifted onto the tongs.
He delicately carried it to the kitchen and turned on the gas stove before placing the notebook on it.
Hisss.
The flames danced as they licked the book, poised to set it ablaze.
Like a snake flicking its tongue, the flames repeatedly slithered around the notebook, trying their best to reduce it to a pile of ash.
But it was strange.
Ten seconds passed.
Thirty seconds passed.
A minute passed…
As time wore on and on, the notebook stubbornly refused to catch fire.
Was it soggy?
Did it make that thud sound because it was soaked in some kind of liquid?
The notebook showed no sign of igniting.
No, it did not merely show no sign of catching fire; there wasn’t even a hint of soot on it.
It remained unscathed as if to boast that such flames didn’t faze it, casually drooping as if mocking the man to keep trying.
“Oh, really? If you can’t catch fire from the stove, let’s see how you withstand this.”
A stubborn will ignited within the man.
Though cursed and a monster, after all, it was only a notebook.
How long could a mere notebook endure flames?
He took a metal trash can and moved to the bathroom, preparing a makeshift incinerator.
Then he tore up unnecessary papers and laid them at the bottom of the metal trash can, pouring gasoline over them. Once the gasoline had pooled sufficiently, he dropped the notebook in.
“Please, catch fire.”
He muttered a near prayer, igniting the end of the stack of paper in his hand. Then he dropped it into the metal trash can.
Whoosh!
The flaming paper fell into the can, igniting a massive blaze immediately.
The flames spread upwards, exhibiting horrifying firepower, almost spilling out of the small metal trash can.
The man stood there, prepared to extinguish the flames if any problems arose, watching as they devoured all the gasoline and paper inside the trash can.
He watched, dazedly.
Blankly.
And when the flames finally died out completely,
He kicked the metal trash can, now blackened with soot.
Clang.
The trash can toppled over, producing its distinctive hollow sound as it rolled.
The man sprayed water from the showerhead over the tipped can, creating steam and strange sounds.
After a long while of drenching it,
When he finally deemed the trash can cooled enough, he gently flipped it over with gloved hands.
Expecting only to see black ash fall out.
But…
Thud.
The trash can betrayed his expectations, spewing something out.
That sound was a soggy sound, as though it had been soaked in water.
“…Damn it.”
It was the notebook.
And it was even the same as before.
『 Rule 1. Offering a sacrifice yields information. 』
The first page was wide open.
There was no escape.
No escape from this.
From the notebook, from the monster, from the cursed item given by the assailant.
There was absolutely no way out.
The man despaired.
“This can’t be happening.”
He tried burning it.
He tossed it in the garbage.
He tied it to a rock and threw it in the sea.
He even buried it in cement.
But the notebook disregarded all his efforts.
It wouldn’t catch fire, returned to him as if it sported legs when discarded, and it came back with no hint of wear even when tied to the rock. Even when buried in cement, it returned, pretending nothing ever happened.
There was simply no way to escape.
“This is genuinely a cursed item.”
This was not some ridiculous realm of the occult or urban legends.
It was an item that needed to be dealt with by a divine object expert or shaman.
“A shaman… Damn it.”
But there was a problem.
Korea was a wasteland for magic.
And he was far too insignificant to reach out to any shamans.
“Am I destined to be cursed? Why does everything have to be so tangled?”
Is there money?
No.
Connections?
None.
Status?
Low.
Fame?
That doesn’t exist either.
At least is my reputation good?
No.
Objectively and subjectively.
The man was in no position to reach out to a shaman.
If only he had a well-known shaman in Korea, he could leverage being from the same country to somehow get help, but they were all from foreign lands.
The only shaman he knew was the famous ones who loved the ‘secular’ life, appearing on broadcasts or hanging around the wealthy.
“This isn’t the sort of trouble I should face. Damn it.”
A shaman passing by?
That was not even a possibility.
How many shamans would one run into in a wasteland for magic, and even if he did, what were the odds they’d recognize his plight and offer help?
So there was no answer.
He could only accept it.
“Hah.”
The man gave up on throwing away the notebook.
Instead, he stuffed it deep into his bag, hiding it away where it wouldn’t be seen, and treated the bag as he would discarded items, carelessly tossing it around.
He hoped desperately that someone might steal it.
But regrettably, once again, the notebook betrayed the man’s hopes.
Or rather, it was his ‘senior’ who betrayed those hopes.
“Hey, Lee Jae-soon! I received the materials just fine. And I found your bag lying around in the break room, so I brought it over. You know, a journalist should be able to take care of his own belongings. Can’t you manage even that? Back in my day, such a thing was unimaginable. I made sure to take care of my stuff as well as my juniors’.”
That damn bastard, using his overflowing connections to boss around the man, Lee Jae-soon, brought back the bag he’d tossed in the break room.
And not only did he bring it back, but he started lecturing him, shaking him down in front of a gathering of many people.
Other journalists chuckled or peeked over the partition as if a fun spectacle had appeared.
It was a shitshow.
“And seriously. A journalist like you should be carrying something better than this shabby bag. A journalist meets people, after all! What should a person meeting people do? They need to present themselves neatly and cleanly. That way, they can make a good impression and earn trust to smoothly score interviews, right? But look at this. You’re dragging around a bag that looks like it’s been rolling around the market for a decade. Ugh, does it smell like an old bachelor, too? Have you been long estranged from your girlfriend?”
That bastard.
“And with a look like this…. Oh, goodness. Just like I thought. It’s a complete mess inside. Leftover energy drink cans, crumpled soda cans…..Wow. Fresh underwear mixed with worn ones? At least put them in a plastic bag! And what’s this? What is this? Is this a school newsletter? It’s buried at the bottom and crumpled to the point I can’t even tell what it is.”
“You piece of trash.”
“What’s this? Wow, this is next-level. Why is there a milk carton in here? Are you legit a grade-schooler? Why’s an unopened milk carton even in here? Oh, look, it’s all puffed up. That would have been a sight if it had burst. And what’s this? A notebook?”
The senior rummaged through Lee Jae-soon’s bag, picking on him in every conceivable way.
In front of everyone, in not-so-quiet tones.
And after a good long search, he finally found the notebook.
The senior grimaced at the notebook’s feel, casually flipping the first page open.
Then he chuckled as if he’d seen something comical.
“Offer a sacrifice to gain information? You’re carrying something strange around.”
The senior eyed Lee Jae-soon up and down, leaving a warning of “Work hard. I’ll be watching you,” before disappearing.
Lee Jae-soon grit his teeth, watching the senior’s back.
“Damn bastard. I worked hard to gather materials, and instead of a compliment, he pulls this crap?”
He stared at the notebook in his hands.
“I’ll make you regret this, you bastard.”
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