Someone's diary

"What could it be?" I muttered as my sword clicked softly and metallically back into its sheath. I shut my eyes and concentrated, pushing the boundaries of my senses.

I was searching—searching for that elusive second source of magical energy. 

To feel every pulse and minute vibration in the air, I extended my senses and probed the shadows. The room seemed to drone, the walls holding their breath as I focused.

Minutes stretched into what felt like an eternity, my mind narrowing in on the faintest trace of power.

And then—there.

A sharp flare of magical energy cut through the stillness. I snapped my eyes open, my pulse quickening as I followed the source.

It was there, hidden among the piles of filth and broken remnants of the abandoned apartment complex—beneath the trash, half-buried in the debris.

At first glance, it was just another discarded object, a useless relic left behind by time. But as I approached, the pulse of magic grew stronger and more defined.

An old book.

Tattered and worn, its cover nearly shredded beyond recognition. The edges were curled and weathered, with frayed corners that looked like they had been chewed up by time itself. But there, in the midst of the junk, it was undeniably present.

And by the size of it, it wasn't just any book.

It was a diary.

I kneeled down, my hands carefully brushing aside the trash, uncovering the object with deliberate precision. The book's worn pages seemed to radiate with an energy all their own. 

My fingers hesitated for a moment, feeling the eerie pull of the magic that emanated from it. 

I squinted at the book, a shiver crawling up my spine as its dark aura practically emitted from its pages. 

The vile energy that seeped from it felt like it was pressing against me, trying to pull me in, to drown me in its malevolent embrace. Just holding it, I could feel the weight of the curse contained within. 

Whoever had written this had poured their twisted thoughts and souls and, in turn, created a remembrance so strong that it absolved a ridiculous amount of mana—even more than the creature I had just slain.

Interesting. Very interesting.

What had this person been thinking? What had driven them to create something like this?

I wanted to know it

The temptation to open it, to give in to my curiosity, was overwhelming. My fingers itched to flip through the pages to uncover the sickening secrets they contained.

But then, reality hit me.

What the hell was I thinking?

I gripped the book tighter, resisting the pull of its influence. I could feel the urge to read it pressing against my mind, but I knew better. 

This wasn't something that should ever be opened. Even I, with all my training and resistance to magic, could feel the sinister attraction of the curse, trying to worm its way into my thoughts.

If someone else—someone without my resistance—got their hands on this, it would be catastrophic.

The book wasn't just dangerous; it was a ticking time bomb, a corrupting influence that would destroy anyone who dared to read it. The darkness within would consume them, drive them mad, or worse, turn them into something else.

I exhaled sharply, knowing I couldn't keep it. I couldn't risk it. The longer I held on to it, the more its influence would grow. And that meant I needed to destroy it.

No matter how badly my curiosity tugged at me, I couldn't let that happen. The book had to go. The curse had to be wiped out before it could spread.

I must burn it.

A sharp, frustrated sigh escaped me as I glared at the cursed diary, its presence gnawing at the edges of my mind. The temptation to burn it, to erase it from existence, was overwhelming.

 Yet, for some reason, something inside me hesitated. I could feel its influence tugging at my thoughts, whispering desperately.

Don't burn me. Please. This is proof of my existence. If you destroy me, I'll disappear.

The voice was faint, almost pitiful, and it grated against my resolve. 

The curse within the diary was "alive," clinging to its creator's twisted will, and I knew what it wanted. It wanted me to leave it be, to spare it from annihilation.

I sneered. "What, you think you can beg me to stop?"

Despite my words, the hesitation remained.

The darker part of me, the part that was trained to destroy dangerous things without mercy, told me to burn it without hesitation. It wasn't a living thing; it was a cursed object, a tool of destruction.

Yet, as I reached for my lighter, the pitiful voice echoed again in my mind, softer now.

Please... just put me down.

I clenched my jaw, my grip tightening around the lighter. Everything in me screamed to destroy it. I can't leave it to ruin anyone else's life. It's too dangerous.

But then, the voice whispered again, even softer this time. I'm... nothing. If you burn me, I'll disappear.

So please. Don't burn me.

I shook my head in frustration, knowing it would be a bad idea to let such an item roam free.

But another thought lingered in my mind like an insidious shadow: What if it's alive in some twisted way?

I clenched my fist around the lighter once more, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on me. 

If I destroyed it—if I burned it—was I simply eliminating a dangerous object? Or was I snuffing out something that had a twisted form of life? Something that could feel, that could think, that could beg for mercy?

What if burning it means killing it?

The idea gnawed at me, making my skin crawl. 

Could a cursed object, so full of dark magic, somehow have consciousness? Could it have a soul, a will of its own? The voice inside me—trembling and pleading—made me question everything. 

Would I be committing murder?

The darker side of me, the one trained to eliminate threats without mercy, screamed that it didn't matter. 

"Are you retard?"

"It was dangerous; it had to be destroyed. It was a threat to the world, to the people around you, to your very life."

But even so, the nagging doubt remained, refusing to leave.

I exhaled, slow and heavy. I had to be sure. If it was alive in some twisted way, then burning it would be murder. But if I didn't burn it—if I left it to fester, to spread its influence—it could kill countless others.

A cruel paradox.

I gritted my teeth, still staring at the diary. The decision wasn't clear-cut. Was this just an object of magic, or was there something more to it? What if I was wrong? What if burning it truly meant taking a life?

In the end, the uncertainty only deepened my resolve to keep it hidden for now. 

Maybe I won't destroy it just yet, but I won't let it go either.

With a final, defiant breath, I shoved it deeper into my pants pocket. It would remain locked away in the basement, buried in darkness, until I could find the truth. Until I could decide.

But for now, I couldn't afford to let doubt rule me. I had to focus on the rest of the work.

I looked around the room some more to search for some anomaly.

But suddenly, the static broke and it seemed that the magical interference had started to clear up. The signal was coming through more clearly now.

"Shinji! Oh my god, are you okay?!"

Her voice cracked through the communicator, filled with panic and distress. My senior's voice startled me, pulling me from my thoughts of the cursed diary. 

Her frantic tone made me pause. For a moment, I considered the absurdity of her reaction.

What was there to fear? This kind of job wasn't new to me. I had faced far worse. But then again, she had been the one on standby, left in the dark while I was in the thick of things. Her anxiety was understandable, I suppose.

"I'm fine. I've eliminated the target." I replied, keeping my tone steady and measured, as I usually did. My voice was calm, almost too calm, in contrast to her frantic tone.

"Fine, my foot! Do you know how worried I was when the signal disappeared? If anything had happened to you, Mr. Masanori would've killed me!"

Her words were sharp, and I could hear the exasperation in her breath. It was clear she wasn't going to let this go anytime soon. A sigh escaped me. I had expected this, but it didn't make it any less tiring.

"I get it. I get it. You don't need to keep yelling," I muttered under my breath, though I knew she couldn't hear that. "Send someone to collect the scene."

I softened my tone to ease her worry, and it worked somewhat. She quieted down, but I could still sense the tension in her words as she responded.

"...Alright, but next time something like this happens, you need to retreat, understand?"

I didn't know why she was so anxious. Was I really that close to danger? Maybe. But I couldn't bring myself to care. I'd seen worse, and this job had its risks. But if I said I didn't understand, it would just cause more trouble.

So, I complied.

"...Yes, I understand."

I reached for the earpiece, about to end the conversation. But just as I was about to, her voice rang out again, sharper than before.

"Shinji, you didn't understand, did you?"

Beep!

I shut off the communication with a swift press of the button. I didn't have the patience to deal with this right now. I wasn't some fragile rookie, needing constant reassurance. 

But for some reason, I could never quite shake off how much she seemed to care.

It was puzzling. I couldn't understand why she was so invested in my well-being.

"It's seven thirty already. I wonder what Hoshizora is doing." As I searched this further, I sighed and thought about that question.

Why did I suddenly think about her, though?

I'm not sure.