Fine rain beat against the cobblestone road, pooling into muddy little puddles on the damaged patches.
Though rather narrow, it was still a main thoroughfare wide enough for carriages. The gas lamps along the road had already been lit, casting a gentle glow into the gloomy, rainy night.
The street was muddy, but there was no stench. This wasn't the Clocktower Lane District where she currently lived.
A carriage approached from the opposite direction. Shaer turned sideways beneath her black umbrella to give it room to pass.
The movement jostled the cheap black canvas tote in her hand, drawing her gaze to the bag itself.
Not her usual school satchel… A new purchase?
Shaer opened the canvas bag.
Inside were a few sharpened pencils and a familiar notebook. She immediately pulled the notebook out and opened it. On the flyleaf was the message she had just left for herself.
She took a deep breath and turned to the first page. Only when she saw the new, neat Chinese characters did she slowly exhale.
So the method worked.
Her deliberate use of the notebook to record decisions had influenced her self inside the Future simulation, prompting that simulated self to record events as well.
This way, Shaer could learn what happened during the stretches of time she had no memories of in the simulation.
She skimmed through the entries quickly.
[Saint 741, June 18, 3:00 a.m.]
[Nothing unusual happened last night. When Big Sis got off at 2:30, I told her I wanted to move out of Clocktower Lane early.]
[Her original plan was to move me out of Clocktower Lane anyway, so she had no objection to leaving sooner.]
[As for not going to university, I haven't discussed it with her yet. This isn't the time. She's worked all these years so I could attend university; it's easy to imagine how much it would hurt her if I gave that up. A cold war won't help us through the trials ahead.]
Shaer turned the page calmly.
The language recorded in those characters—line by line—matched her own thoughts so closely that just reading them felt like reliving the events herself, without any sense of dissonance.
[Saint 741, June 18, 12:00 noon]
[I took the day off from the academy. Following the plan, I went to Cam Street, where I'd already scouted. When the landlady learned I'm a student at Bolen Private Academy, she was very surprised—not only did she hold a large room that can fit the two of us, she even reduced the rent. It's not much more expensive than the places in Clocktower Lane.]
[Saint 741, June 18, 2:30 p.m.]
[After what I experienced in the future simulation, my nerves have been tight. I observed my surroundings more carefully. Perhaps [Dexterity Lv.1] heightened my perception, but ever since morning I've felt a gaze fixed on me.]
[On the way back to Clocktower Lane, I slipped into an alley, quickly climbed to a rooftop, and found the tail following me.]
[I've been under surveillance. Be careful. I have a feeling this didn't start today.]
[I'm going back down now and will pretend I didn't notice, to avoid spooking them.]
"A tail?"
Shaer narrowed her eyes.
Someone was following her? Ayan's hooligans? Or men from the Blackwater Gang? Why were they tailing her?
If someone had been tracking her all along, then moving wouldn't work—the people hiding in the dark would learn her new address immediately. Nowhere would be safe.
In that case… what would I do?
Find a place where I could shake the tail without arousing suspicion—and use it to test how deep their reach went…
Thinking that, she turned the page. What followed matched her thoughts perfectly.
[Saint 741, June 18, 7:30 p.m.]
[The invitation I hadn't thrown away came in handy. At 4:30, I went to Miss Amy's tea party right in front of the tail. Once I entered Amy's residence, the watching gaze vanished. Standing by the window, I could see the tail below—well-dressed, wearing a newsboy cap.]
[Obviously, the tail couldn't infiltrate a noble's home. I'm 90% sure the tail is connected to the Blackwater Gang. Ayan's crowd wouldn't care this much about attire. Why are they following me? For the ritual the old man mentioned?]
[The tea party was as boring as I expected. My head was full of the tail, so I didn't even notice how out of place my school uniform looked amid the luxury. Amy pulled me aside into a room and offered to give me two dresses.]
[I took the chance to ask whether she'd ever heard rumors about rituals and mentioned the Blackwater Gang. From her bewildered look, she had no clue.]
[Perhaps wanting to answer me, Amy left and ran to find her father, and never came back. Before the party ended, the butler asked me to leave—and I learned from him that Amy had been confined to the house.]
[It seems Amy's father, the baron, is deeply wary of the questions she raised. I don't know whether he fears the Blackwater Gang or the "ritual."]
So even nobles didn't want to touch this.
Shaer frowned faintly at her own writing.
She had known it wouldn't be simple; she hadn't expected the hidden layers to be so much more complicated than she'd imagined.
Was the trail broken here?
Amy's father clearly knew something—but with her status, Shaer had no way to reach a baron.
And during school, she had always kept a low profile: offending no one, becoming close to no one. It wasn't just nobles, officials, and merchants—there was constant open and covert strife among their children too. Pick the wrong side and ending her would be easier than crushing an ant.
As for reasons? "I don't like her face" would suffice.
Perhaps because of the safety net of simulation, her future self had felt bold enough to discuss the Blackwater Gang with Amy—yet the results were meager.
Shaer shook her head lightly.
Still, the actions her simulated self wrote down served as a reminder: inside simulations, she could act more boldly.
Only the outcome mattered—and with repeated runs, she could search for the optimal path.
She turned the page—and blinked.
[Saint 741, June 18, 11:00 p.m.]
[A nervous maid knocked on my door and handed me a letter. The envelope had no signature. Judging by the crest on the maid's carriage, it was from Amy.]
[So Amy had someone look up my address—or maybe she already knew it. Since she's confined, she can only pass messages through a maid.]
[She got quite a bit from her father. Amy wrote everything in the letter.]
[The Blackwater Gang is the biggest outfit in Clocktower Lane. They make and transport bootleg liquor and control all the bars there. Their boss, Blaide Solari, is in collusion with a number of nobles.]
[Lately, Amy's father heard that the boss spent a fortune to connect with a certain church member and obtained "something" from him. Father warned Amy to avoid the Blackwater Gang entirely—and to stop meeting Shaer, who's asking about their leader.]
[Lastly, Amy asked whether I was in trouble. If so, I could shelter at her home for a few days—but that's impossible. With how cautious her father is, the moment he identified me he'd hand me straight to the Blackwater Gang to wash his hands of it. He won't entangle himself in this mess for a commoner.]
[Saint 741, June 19, 6:29 p.m.]
[Ayan is dead—but this time, I killed him.]
[We still have too little intel. Most crucially, I have no force of my own to protect myself. There's no way to begin many lines of inquiry. Acting blindly would be a lamb to the tiger. It would be best to acquire stronger weapons.]
[I can only stick to the plan and avoid leaving any cracks. I used my birthday as an excuse and had Big Sis wait for me at a café in the city center, while I wandered around the neighborhood where we plan to rent.]
[This split-up was a control test, to determine whether the "ritual's" target is me or Big Sis. Clearly, we got the answer. They changed the plan. The tail passed intel so that the thug Ayan found me. I'm the one they're after.]
[I prepared a knife in advance. Ayan came alone this time, bringing no other hooligans. He was inexplicably weak—almost as if he'd come to die—so that I could indeed stab him once! The bloody knife is still in the canvas bag's inner pocket.]
[Be careful.]
The last entry… was just now!
"Dong—"
At half past, clocktowers across the district tolled, their notes heavy and oppressive in the rain.
Damn! The timing's tight this run!
Shaer thrust a hand into the canvas bag and quickly found a sticky, blood-slicked wooden knife handle. Instinctively she glanced right—several blurred shapes were approaching through the rainy night.
One gaunt figure in a newsboy cap stood out—it had to be the tail from the notebook.
Without a heartbeat's hesitation, Shaer flung the umbrella aside, gripped the knife, and sprinted down the road to her left. She'd taken only a few steps when she saw figures already waiting at the far end.
Shaer stopped where she was, fists clenched.
"Six thirty-one… why is the ritual off schedule?"
The words she had heard before sounded again. As the familiar old voice and footsteps closed in behind her, the steps halted—and the crisp click of a cocked hammer rang out.
[It would be best to acquire stronger weapons.]
The notebook line flashed through Shaer's mind.
"Blaide Solari!" Shaer shouted.
"Hm?" The name startled the gunman. He hesitated, puzzled that the sacrifice before him knew who he was.
In that instant, Shaer turned with the knife.
Less than two meters! Close—only three steps!
She lunged straight for Blaide, her bloody short knife slashing toward his head.
Beyond three steps, the gun wins.
Within three steps, the gun is both fast and sure.
"Bang—!"
A round screamed for Shaer's head, shattering her cheekbone. The slug lodged against the skull.
The searing pain nearly knocked her out—but her left hand had already clamped onto the warm barrel of the revolver.
The sudden change made Blaide jolt. Instinct said the pistol was being taken, and he moved to yank it free—only for the girl to drive her forehead to the muzzle even faster.
What was this? Madness?
His gaze met the red-haired girl's, half her face sheeted in blood. In her calm, blood-colored pupils, he saw no fear, no panic—so calm she didn't look like a dying soul caught by surprise at all.
Her left hand locked the barrel. Her right released the short knife, shot forward, and—before Blaide could retreat—pressed down the trigger!
"I won't… let your ritual… succeed…"
"Bang—!"
The girl collapsed, limp, blood blooming under her as the rain washed it thin. Blaide, face spattered red, felt his heart race. He stared at the body, mind blank for a long time.
He hadn't pulled the trigger just now. The one who pulled it… was the girl.
What was she? How did she know his name—and about the ritual?
She said she wouldn't let his ritual succeed. But she was dead!
And that calm look in her eyes just now…
"'Revenge' has been replicated. What are you waiting for?"
A black-robed figure emerged from the mouth of the lane, snapping Blaide from his daze. He took out a handkerchief and wiped the blood from his face, drawing a long breath—but there was none of the release or serenity that "revenge" was supposed to bring.
"Bang, bang, bang—"
He raised the revolver and emptied the cylinder into the corpse, only lowering the hot, smoking barrel once the hammer clicked on empty chambers.
Just now, he had felt a long-forgotten emotion—fear of the unknown. The same feeling as when he first met that black-robed man.
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Chapter 5 — Reversing Death
"Reality"
"Saint 741, June 17, 18:44"
"Evaluation: Compared to your first simulation, your information-gathering improved dramatically. You've also begun to grow fearless in the face of death… Is that a good thing?"
"Take it—this is the reward for one who does not fear death."
"Rewards: Fate Points ×3, [Death Reversal Lv.1]"
"Fate Points: 14"
"Hah—"
With a sharp inhale, Shaer pushed herself up from the bed.
Phantom pain still throbbed along the left side of her face. No matter how calm she had seemed, the agony of torn flesh did not lessen in the slightest.
Ignoring the system's comments, Shaer called up the interface in her mind.
"Simulation"
"Skills"
(Chapter 5 continues in your source beyond this point; the excerpt ends here.)
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