The Exhausting Reality of Novel Transmigration

Chapter 132

The voice was as indistinct as its face.

It was difficult to tell whether it was owned by a man or a woman.

Nevertheless, what’s clear was this: she had received a request related to the ‘sacred relics’ some time ago.

‘And I think I was asked to do something else…’

But she couldn’t recall at all.

The more she tried to grasp her memories, the thicker the fog inside her head became.

She took several breaths to center herself once more, and it was only then that her cloudy vision gradually cleared up.

And only then did she see the cigarette pipe rolling across the floor of the carriage.

Pressing her temples with one hand, she used the other to flick her fingers.

Tak.

The pipe, which had been lying by itself on the floor, soon returned through the gap between two of her fingers.

It trembled, just as much as her hand trembled.

Bringing the empty pipe to her lips, she leaned back against her seat and rested her throbbing head against the window.

“Strange… There’s no way I wouldn’t remember a client of mine.”

She meant that quite literally.

As they were the source of all that’s fun and interesting, clients were like her lifeblood.

It was impossible for her to forget such a client, especially if it was one who made such a request.

But, evidently enough, she had forgotten.

Her memories of that exchange were so vague that she couldn’t even infer the client’s gender, let alone their identity.

It was as if someone had twisted her memories, wrung them taut, then painted them all black.

“…I wonder if this could be called possession.”

She uttered the words as if in mere jest, but not a hint of mirth could be seen in her eyes.

* * *

Flap, flap.

As he looked out the window with his lips shut, the man briefly turned to glance at the blue bird that was flapping its wings on his hand.

The expression on his face was not just apathetic, it was entirely unfeeling.

An expression so cold that it did not look human.

The small, flapping bird stopped moving as if it had been discouraged.

The man winced slightly, conscious of the small, numb headache afflicting him.

The brainwashing of some of the people under his control seemed to have been lifted.

If his superficial brainwashing were to be released due to someone else’s doing, a weak rebound would return to him.

Just like the headache he felt a moment ago.

‘Who, I wonder.’

Well, it mattered not who it was.

Even if the brainwashing was released, most people tended not to notice that they had been under a spell in the first place.

Besides that, this was especially true for those who had been under his spell recently.

Well, the widespread brainwashing was merely something of an oil to make the rumors surrounding Rosetta smoothly press onward.

Their role was to spread the word, to inflate these rumors, and to make other people believe that the rumors related to Rosetta were true.

Originally, of course, oil was a great way to make things flow forward at a smoother pace.

In any case, that objective had already been met, and the brainwashing spell had now been dropped. Even so, there was little chance that those people would notice that something was amiss.

But then, one particular thing was worth being concerned over.

That, besides those people, the brainwashing of a few others had come undone.

For example, the person he met before the hunting festival…

‘Madam Blanca.’

Like her.

“What do you know about the sacred relics?”

He recalled the question he had asked her.

And the explanations about the sacred relics that he had been given.

When he came to this world through the book and possessed this man’s body, the contents of the original novel became imprinted in his head.

However, it did not come with the knowledge of which character Rita hid in, or how to get her back.

Still, he solved the former dilemma without much trouble.

The moment he transmigrated into this novel, he immediately thought that she might have come to possess the female lead, or perhaps someone close to the female lead. So, he immediately began to investigate that person and the people around her.

He homed in on anything that might have changed from the original.

And, indeed, he quickly discovered such anomalies.

A lot of commotion had taken place.

The ‘abuse of the nanny’ was revealed at House Valentine, and many of the household’s employees were fired.

He headed straight towards that place.

Towards the Valentine family, where the poor, pitiful Rita must be hiding somewhere and was changing the original.

After meeting a maid on his way there, he heard from her that the ‘two ducal ladies have become strange’. Thus, the candidates dwindled down to two.

Rosetta and Alicia.

The two esteemed daughters of the Valentine Duchy.

And what cemented his conviction as to who truly was his Rita, was during the day of the funeral at the Carter family’s residence.

When the two of the sisters were alone together, he intentionally showed a monster.

He was certain that Rita would not fail to react to a monster that would appear right in front of her.

And, just as he expected.

He found her.

That one person who reacted.

He watched as her face grew cold in an instant—it was such a beautiful scene.

Eyes, wide open, unfocused. Her, expressing fear, panic.

The same expression that Rita used to make.

Her outward shell was different. But really, truly, it was the same Rita inside.

My love.

My soul.

My Rita.

Rosetta.

Even so, his second dilemma remained unsolved.

What must he do to bring Rita to his side.

What must he do to keep her forever.

As time went by, his plan gradually took form, but he needed more information so that his plan would become more solidified.

So, it was Blanca who he visited.

The best informant in this world.

Someone who was quick, accurate, and would keep their exchange confidential.

He asked several questions, including the one about the sacred relics.

Blanca answered some questions, and didn’t answer a few others.

However, her silence alone was sufficient enough answer.

The man soon pulled Blanca into a spell.

Forget that I was ever here.

No matter how tight-lipped this woman was, wouldn’t it be better to eliminate all possibilities of this getting out?

He briefly entertained the thought of killing her if he must, but he refrained from doing so because he thought that he might need her for more information later.

Brainwashing her took far longer than it usually should due to her excellent mental fortitude.

Nevertheless, he finally brainwashed her, didn’t he?

Even if it took a little risk.

—Gururuk. Gwak!

As the man was staring blankly into the air, he dropped his gaze as the bird in his grasp let out a harsh cry.

It kept flapping its wings, gurgling.

And this was because the man, lost in thought, unknowingly tightened his hold on the bird, closing his hand into a closed fist.

“Good grief.”

At the less enthused exclaim, he loosened his grip.

The bird flew away at once.

It acted as if it was desperately breathing in the air it once lost—as if it was now free from the hand that once oppressed it.

Flap, flap.

Behind the frantically flapping bird, the man smiled while watching it.

Then, soon, he snapped his fingers lightly. At the very same instant, the wings of the frenetic bird stopped.

And crashed straight to the ground.

Thud.

There was a dull sound below, but the man paid this no mind.

His apathetic face turned to the sky, where the boundary between twilight and the deep evening sky was thick.

“Should I have just killed her?”

Unlike the vicious words he uttered, the tone in which he spoke was gentle.

But the man shook his head immediately.

That woman was a cause for worry, but it would be too regrettable to kill her.

If Rita also knew the original novel, then she would undoubtedly approach Blanca as well.

Or, perhaps she had already met the woman before.

That’s why he still thought that Blanca would be of use to him.

Nipping it in the bud for fear of the hypothetical was not quite a predilection of his.

The man laughed.

Though beautiful, the man’s smile evoked such eeriness.

* * *

After Blanca and I parted ways—

I was left alone, and I immediately set off on a search around the library.

As my mind was plagued with thoughts of the voice of God saying that this was what ‘Rosetta’ wanted, with thoughts of House Valentine’s sacred relic, and with thoughts of my transmigrations… I couldn’t help but presume that these were all connected. And so, I couldn’t sit still either.

I went off to find the book.

Of course, Rosetta’s body still had not passed the age of adulthood, so the sacred relic might still be hidden in the secret library. But you never know.

Perhaps Rosetta already found the book and hid it somewhere.

However, I found nothing.

I couldn’t find any suspicious books, whether it be in my desk or in any of the bookshelves.

The most suspicious thing I found was only a small notebook, which had been crammed between two large books.

“A notebook?”

I pulled it out straight away. Anyone could tell that this was deliberately hidden.

Diary.

The writing at the front was in a neat script. It was familiar to me, too.

This was the original Rosetta’s handwriting.

Soon, memories related to the notebook flooded into my head.

Rosetta usually kept a candle going and wrote diary entries every night.

‘Then it really seems to be Rosetta’s diary.’

I paused before opening the notebook. Didn’t it naturally feel strange to take a peek into someone else’s diary?

But, well. I’m Rosetta now.

Shrugging, I grasped the cover in order to open it.

However, right at that moment, I heard something from the window.

Tap, tap.

The shallow sound of something tapping could be heard from there.

I approached the window, still holding the notebook that I had yet to open.

A paper plane was hovering in front of the window, which I soon opened and reached through. With a rustle, I opened the paper plane and found a certain man’s familiar handwriting.

〈 May I come and meet you? 〉

It was from Cassion.

I let out a light chuckle without realizing it.

Really, he’s got an oddly adorable side to him.

I took out a pen and drew a circle on the paper plane.

As I folded it back to the way it was, it soon flew like a butterfly in the sky.

I leaned against the window frame.

The late-night sky was dark. And the autumn air was a little cold.

Fiddling with the notebook in my hands as I basked in the night air, I felt the air outside the window shift soon enough.

Someone’s shadow appeared from where the moonlight streamed in.

The rectangular windowsill was like a frame, and the man’s shadow within it was like a painting.

How did the girl feel when she met Peter Pan in the middle of the night?

Uselessly sentimental for a moment, I asked,

“Why are you coming through this way?”

“I’m afraid that some prying eyes might follow me for no reason.”

I asked while I still gazed upon his shadow, but I was given an answer naturally enough.

Then, he turned his head.

The face of the man, who was framed by the windowsill, could now be seen closely.

Our faces were near—perhaps too near—but neither of us avoided it.

As soon as I stretched out an empty hand to him, he stepped into my room.

And, with that same outstretched hand, I reached up to caress the man’s cold cheek.

“You’ll only get hurt.”

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