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Chapter 99
Having steeled my resolve, I slowly stepped down the stairs.
They weren’t very deep. After only a few steps, I reached a door.
It didn’t seem to lead directly to a basement—you had to open the door and go inside to truly reach it.
Light seeped in from behind me, and thanks to that, I was able to read the sign posted on the basement door.
<Door>
“Door?”
Well, of course it was a door. But usually you’d see something like Basement or Storage Room written there, wouldn’t you?
Feeling puzzled, I quietly turned the doorknob.
Click. Click.
I’d half expected it, but the door didn’t open. Should I ask Jenas? He probably wouldn’t tell me, but I could at least try when he got back.
I quietly walked back up the stairs. In case Jenas returned earlier than expected, I checked my surroundings and glanced out the window once before heading up to the second floor.
The stench on the second floor was just as overpowering as before. I pinched my nose shut and walked down the hallway. At the very end of it was the staircase leading up to the third floor.
With a tense expression, I moved forward step by step. Even though it was the time of day when the morning sun shone brightly, the second-floor hallway was dim.
There were only two windows, and they were very small.
Just as I’d seen yesterday, all the room doors were open, and there was nothing particularly unusual.
When I reached the third floor, I noticed a strange door right next to the stairs as soon as I came up.
“What is this?”
A strong stench was wafting from that spot.
I hesitated for a moment. Was it really the right thing to open this door? Right or wrong aside, I was honestly scared.
I absolutely hate horror stuff.
Swallowing hard, I wiped the sweat that had pooled in my palm onto my clothes. Then, with my face drawn tight in tension, I slowly grasped the doorknob.
Click. Click.
The door was firmly locked. Strangely enough, that made me feel relieved.
Letting out a sigh, I stepped back—and then noticed a plaque on the door. It was covered in dust, so I brushed it off with my hand.
<Room of Repose> — Sealed
That was what it said.
“Room of Repose? Sealed?”
Highly suspicious.
“Why is everything here so suspicious?”
A chill ran through me. I quickly turned away and looked around the third floor.
Thankfully, the third floor was much brighter than the second. There were more windows, and they were large, letting sunlight pour in.
But brightness didn’t make the eerie atmosphere fade. If anything, the third floor felt colder than the second.
Feeling cold in a tropical climate—at this hour, with the sun already up. It sent shivers down my spine, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.
I forced myself to stay calm and scanned the hallway. Like the second floor, the third floor was littered with trash and filthy.
“Damn it, all the doors here are closed.”
I took a deep breath. Opening a closed door required a lot of courage. I had no idea what might be waiting for me inside.
There were four doors in total.
The first room was completely empty—no bed, no wardrobe, nothing.
Relief washed over me, but at the same time I worried that I might end up finding no useful information at all.
“I hope there’s at least something…”
In front of the second door, I paused and took another deep breath before reaching for the knob.
Thud.
At the sound from inside, I froze. Damn it—what was that?
I quietly removed my hand from the knob. There was no way I could open this door. In the end, I decided to skip the second room.
I opened the third door and was checking to see if there was anything inside when—
BANG!
“Ah, shit! That scared the hell out of me!”
The second door burst open violently, and I flinched so hard I ended up collapsing onto the floor.
My heart nearly leapt out of my chest. I pressed a hand to it, checking to see if it was still intact, and took a moment to breathe.
In my field of vision, the second door stood wide open.
For a moment, my entire body froze, unable to move. Fear overwhelmed my mind, and I began to tremble.
Now I understood why protagonists in horror movies can’t immediately run away when danger strikes.
Damn it, I’m scared!
But fortunately, nothing came flying out of the open doorway. Only a chill air drifted through the hallway, and I slowly got to my feet.
It must have been a strong gust of wind that opened the door. I decided it would be better for my mental health to believe that.
Still, I probably need to check inside.
Gripping the wooden knife tightly, I cautiously approached the second room. From outside the door, I slowly poked my head in to look.
Inside were a bed, a wardrobe, and a desk placed in front of the window.
There was a window in the room as well, so it wasn’t dark, but the atmosphere was unmistakably bleak.
Unlike the other rooms, which were filthy and filled with trash, this one was remarkably neat. There was some dust, but it looked like a room someone had actually lived in.
As I looked around, I noticed something lying on the floor near the desk. It looked like a notebook. The noise from earlier must have been from this falling to the ground.
I exhaled in relief and slowly stepped into the room. Sunlight streamed in, making it bright, yet the air remained cold and desolate.
“Is this… a diary?”
I slowly picked up the notebook and opened it. It was covered in dirt, so I brushed it off with my hand and scanned the contents.
The notebook was filled with notes written in someone’s elegant handwriting. And among the indecipherable scribbles, one sentence stood out clearly.
I should die.
A chill ran through me. I flipped the page, then froze. Another line was written beneath it.
Everyone is dead. Should I be the only one to live? I don’t think I can escape this island. Ever. This isn’t living.
Who wrote this? Jenas? Or one of the companions he said had died? I quietly turned the pages.
I feel like I’m slowly losing myself. That’s why I decided to start writing things down—everything I’ve experienced so far.
The diary I was reading didn’t seem to be the “record book” the writer was referring to. It sounded like there was another notebook used specifically for records.
I turned the page again.
Thanks to Jenas, the poison has been completely cured. He says the reason we went mad all this time was that red flower—Tentationen.
Thud.
The notebook slipped from my hands and fell to the floor. I stared blankly at it.
I hadn’t misread it. For one thing, this confirmed the writer was not Jenas. And they clearly stated they had been addicted to Tentationen.
Strangely, the original novel kept coming to mind.
The writer mentioned that the reason we went mad was Tentationen. My memory was hazy, but I distinctly recalled Yuanna saying something very similar in the original story.
—The reason we went mad… it was all because of this flower.—
I was sure there had been a line like that. I didn’t know why it came to mind now, but it made the sentences in the notebook feel eerily familiar.
I slowly picked the notebook up again and carefully turned the next page.
She told me how to turn everything back. And she gave me a key. She said it was a key that could open every door.
She? Who is she?
Could that key be the same one Yuanna had?
For some reason, Yuanna kept coming to mind. Again and again.
I hurriedly flipped the page.
Today, I’m setting out to find the place she told me about. I plan to take my rest there. I think I’ll be able to finish the record book there as well.
I turned the next page.
What matters more than survival is not forgetting who I am. I’ve engraved those words she once told me deep into my heart.
My legs gave out.
Still holding the notebook, I collapsed onto the floor.
“What matters more than survival.”
That was the title of a practice novel I’d once picked up off the street back when I was Lee Jinju. Could this really be a coincidence?
And who exactly is this “she” the writer keeps mentioning?
There were hints, but no definitive proof that the owner of this notebook was Yuanna.
I don’t have much time. I should take this with me.
I stuffed the notebook into my crossbody bag. Then I turned around—
And through the gap of the open door, I caught sight of someone’s sleeve brushing past.
“…Damn it.”
