Ch.204Chapter 204 – Five Orange Pips (10)

“A-Adler?”

As I coldly stare down at the page in my hand, the princess who was being held in my arms with her eyes covered begins to mutter in a trembling voice.

“…What are you saying?”

“…..”

“M-My world? What on earth does that…”

Giving her a cold glance, I soon quietly brought my head close to her ear and whispered in a low voice.

“…Sleep for a while.”

“What…did you…? Ah…”

She immediately began to stagger, then went limp as her body lost all strength.

I would have preferred to keep her by my side to prepare for any potential dangers, but it was unavoidable if I wanted to converse with the culprit without revealing my identity.

If she heard what was about to be said, it was obvious she would become intimidated and constantly watch my reactions no matter what I said afterward.

Then she would lose her tsundere-like quality, one of the few good points of this lecherous princess, and decisively, I wanted to be treated as “Issac Adler” by the connections in this world.

Instead of being treated as something that doesn’t suit me, like a god or creator.

– For someone who’s half Asian, you’re quite considerate toward women?

“…What did you say?”

Anyway, I was a bit reluctant to put the sleeping princess down on the floor where tentacles were writhing, so I slightly exerted strength to keep holding her in my arms as I picked up the paper again, and somehow the content that had been newly added seemed rather ominous.

– Well, Asia is a society where men are superior, right?

“What is that…”

– Then again, the East had very few outstanding women like Queen Arthur, Queen Alexandra the Great, or Empress Napoleon. So it makes sense.

“…….”

– Oh, if I had to name one, there would be Genghis Khan. Of course, she’s nothing compared to the outstanding women of the Western world.

As I quietly observed, wondering what this was about, my head started to feel dizzy for some reason.

What kind of person is this, spewing such blatant hateful remarks from our first meeting?

“…So what are you trying to say?”

– What am I trying to say? It’s very simple.

As I narrowed my eyes and asked that question, certain that this person harbored considerable hostility toward me, words soon began to be scrawled across the page.

– Stop what you’re about to do right now and leave far away. To the east, your homeland.

As expected, the content was quite threatening.

“Sorry, but when you talk like that, it makes me lose any inclination I might have had.”

Of course, having come this far, I had no intention of yielding to such threats, so I snorted and said that, but.

– Professor Moriarty, Sharlotte Holmes, Zia Lestrade, Celestia Moran and the three executives, and all the other connections you’ve built so far.

“……..”

– Are you okay with losing them all?

Seeing the message scrawled on the page next, I couldn’t help but open my eyes wide.

– Did you think I wouldn’t know? I can peek at anything that happens in this world.

Then, the writing speed begins to increase as if excited.

– I know when and how you met the professor. And how you gathered the three executives, how you expanded your influence in London. I even know how you had relationships with women…

However, the writing that had been flowing freely suddenly stopped.

“”…….””

And an awkward silence began.

“…So you’ve been peeping on my private affairs with the professor and Sharlotte in a perverted way?”

– I wasn’t peeping! I just happened to read a little bit by chance…

As I muttered in a low voice during that silence, the message being scrawled on the page was hastily erased.

– …Anyway, you’re a variable. One annoying lizard is enough to ruin the story I want.

“By lizard… do you mean the professor?”

– You should have died long ago. But you survived and continue to interfere with my story. Deliberately and calculatingly.

Eventually, the writing on the page began to make threats while completely ignoring my words.

– So I’ll warn you one last time. If you try to interfere with my story any further…

“…What kind of story do you want to create?”

As I scanned through the content with cold eyes, I asked a question in a low voice to the culprit whose gloominess and eeriness seemed to penetrate through the paper.

“If it roughly aligns with my plan, I might even help you. So instead of being hostile, how about we negotiate?”

After saying that to the paper that had been blank for a moment, the culprit’s message began to be written quietly.

– I want to turn this world into a horror story.

“…What?”

– A world shrouded in unknown terror, doesn’t that sound terrifying yet cool?

Upon reading that message, I couldn’t help but burst into a hollow laugh.

“Fine. Negotiation failed.”

I had wanted to try negotiating if possible, but it seemed impossible. As someone who loves detective stories more than anything in the world, I simply couldn’t bring myself to like horror.

Of course, there are quite a few cases where detective elements appear in horror, or even as main themes.

But in such cases, both the entertainment and the sense of fear tend to diminish eight times out of ten.

For instance, the fear felt when a masked unknown killer jumps out at the protagonist in the early part of a film is different from when the twist reveals that the killer is actually the frail old man living next door.

Like that example, horror literature focuses on feeling the fear and dread of the unknown itself.

It’s a concept completely opposite to detective work, which aims to illuminate the unknown hidden in darkness and extract the truth.

And now, you’re asking me to cover this precious world in horror?

“I’d never allow that to happen, not even over my dead body.”

– I knew you’d respond like that.

As I muttered with an agitated mind, the culprit’s message gradually began to fill half the page.

– From observing you all this time, it seems you and I are quite opposite.

“…Is that so?”

– That’s right. To be honest, it’s quite unpleasant. So…

Just as I was wondering if we wouldn’t be able to continue the conversation once the page was completely filled…

– Die.

“…!”

Along with the large, emphatically written word that appeared on the page, suddenly one of the writhing tentacles in front shot directly toward my head.

“…Tch.”

As I clicked my tongue, preparing a magic incantation, thinking I would have to engage in battle after all.

– Ding…!

“…System-nim?”

I stared with a slightly blank expression at the system window that suddenly spread out like a shield in front of me, directly blocking the tentacle rushing toward me.

– Again… Another failure…

“…….”

– Why can’t I kill you…?

At that moment, the culprit’s handwriting began to be scrawled again under the large letters.

– I spent years finding a way to eliminate the professor…

Only then could I realize.

– Why did you suddenly appear and ruin my story…!

The culprit’s claim that they could peek at everything happening in the world was a lie.

At the very least, they don’t know my true identity, nor about the existence of those disgusting tentacles still stiffly extended and System-nim who is blocking me.

“…Hey.”

Conversely, I just figured out their identity.

To be honest, anyone with even a little prior knowledge could have figured it out.

“You seem to think you’re safe behind that paper…”

If that’s the case, there’s nothing to hold back now.

“…Do you really think so?”

Though I fall far short compared to Holmes or the professor, it’s time to theatrically show off my narrow and meager knowledge of characters.

.

.

.

.

.

– Do you really think I don’t know about you?

“Ha, I was wondering what you were going to say.”

Until golden letters identical to what Issac Adler had uttered appeared in her notebook, Lovecraft’s expression remained composed.

– You’re American, aren’t you?

“…?”

– Not only do you use grammar different from British English, but even in that short conversation, your Southern American dialect is evident.

But her face gradually began to contort.

– And you’re introverted and like to shut yourself in your room? You want to make friends but don’t have the courage to go outside, so you just send letters here and there.

“…I, I have many friends. Though they are pen pals.”

– And your hobby is writing scathing criticism and sending it to magazines whenever you dislike a story published in them.

“That’s because those bastards write like shit…”

– On top of that, you have racist tendencies… truly the worst.

“…But what do you know about me to be talking like this!”

Eventually, Lovecraft explodes in anger.

– You’re asking what I know about you?

“How dare… how dare you think you’re something…”

– Hey, you’re young, aren’t you?

“…Huh?”

– And you have an unfortunate family background. You’ve even attempted self-harm or suicide a few times, haven’t you?

Her expression now shifts to slight bewilderment.

– From what I can see, you’re at least a teenager. How pitiful to suffer so much at such a young age…

“Who, who are you…?”

And with a puzzled expression, she picks up her pen and brings it to the paper.

“How did you…”

But as she was about to ask that question, she froze upon seeing Adler’s words that appeared on the paper.

– Isn’t that right, Miss Lovecraft?

“…!!!!!!”

How much time passed like that.

– How long do you think it would take me to find someone with the unusual surname Lovecraft in America?

“Hii, hiiiiieek…!”

As soon as Adler’s words filled the last part of the page that was already full of written conversation, Lovecraft hastily closed her notebook with all her might and stood up with a pale face.

“What is this, what…!”

Eventually, she jumped into bed, covered herself with a blanket, and began to tremble while staring at the closed notebook with a terrified expression.

“How, how…”

– Tremble tremble tremble…

“How does that half-Asian bastard know my name…?”

And so, having directly faced the unknown terror she so loved, she ended up skipping school and staying under her blanket all day, but no one noticed, they say.