Chapter 127.

Chapter 127. Preparations to Destroy a Scumbag’s Life. (8/8)

She looked a bit taken aback when I said that.

“You’re… really not grossed out or weirded out by me? You don’t think it’s creepy or anything?”

“No, in fact, I might be a fan. Though not of your writing since I haven’t really read much of it. But rather, your ability to deceive. As for your writing, I’ve only just skimmed through this observation diary. I assume you have a lot of other stories as well, don’t you? Do you plan to continue this one even after you change stores?”

“I’m… not sure. It depends, I guess.”

“Depends on what your coworkers there will be like? Or did you plan to turn this one into weekly releases for just Saturday so you could commit more time to other stories?”

“It’s… more the latter I guess. It’s been more focused on you than anyone else. How are you fine with me observing you like this and continuing to write about it? Aren’t you too calm about this? Do you plan to use this to blackmail me?”

“Not at all. Keep doing what you’re doing. Do whatever you want. As long as you don’t become my enemy… I won’t become yours either. So… if you discovered anything that could be damaging to me in the future… I’d like to just make sure you keep it to yourself. Other than that, feel free to keep making your observations, I won’t stop you. In fact, reading about what’s on your mind when you’re someone with a mask I can’t see through might not be so bad.”

Yes, she was a woman who I felt it was best to know what she thought. I couldn’t see through her mask, hence, her writing would allow me to. Was there really a need to be so wary of a co-worker like her? Probably not, but it was better safe than sorry.

I had to confront her to ensure she’d be mindful should she stumble upon my own secret in the future and not blindly go and publish a diary entry about it for the whole world to see. I enjoyed my privacy. As someone who was an author like her, she could one day see through me.

Perhaps she stumbled upon someone I wrote that used references to things in my life she was aware of. She could potentially see through me as someone with the mindset of an author. Someone aware of how an author like her would think about things and how they would use them.

I wouldn’t underestimate the potential threat she posed in her own way. She was pretty sharp as it was.

Since I’d gotten my message across, I turned away from her to leave when she suddenly called out, “Uhm, c-can you… promise me that you will not reveal any of this to anyone?”

“Sure, I promise. I have no interest in doing so. You can rest easy, I won’t tell a single soul.”

“Then… in that case… can you… maybe… read my other works?”

I stopped in place when she made such an embarrassing request.

“You… want me to read more?”

“Y-Yes. I’ve always kept my writing a secret and never showed it to anyone who personally knows me. But I want to get used to it… I’d like it if people who know me begin to know I write such things. I eventually want to make a name for myself as an author in the future. Since… you already know everything… can you become my… f-first?”

I turned and looked at her face. She had her eyes closed shut as she blushed, red as a tomato under the dim illumination from the convenience store to our side. It was such a stark contrast to the cool beauty I was used to seeing. 

Writing was that sort of embarrassing thing after all. I knew the feeling all too well. I would never be fine with others knowing the things I’d written. Yet, this girl wanted exactly that? The uncomfortable tingles that assaulted your body when someone read your work. She willingly wanted to get used to that sensation? Was she secretly a top-tier masochist?

No seriously, are you really fine with this?

Your mask is completely broken right now. Even I’m feeling a bit embarrassed looking at it.

“Your answer?” She asked with her eyes still closed.

It was the first time I’d dealt with someone in person who shared the same type of secret.

“If… you’re really fine with me reading it… I don’t mind. Just don’t expect much feedback from me, I’m not good with that sort of thing.” I didn’t think there was much I could offer. The types of books she and I read were completely different. She read traditionally published works while I only ever read junk food. I could never get into those stories with flowery words that took themselves too seriously.

I respected those authors for the effort they put in, but I enjoyed lighter reading material. Simplicity was what I strived for. Complexity, hidden within simplicity. There was no need to turn things into something indecipherable where you’d need to constantly check a dictionary to figure out what the hell the author was trying to convey. The greater majority of people would just get irritated and drop those books on the spot if they couldn’t understand it. 

No matter how great that work may have been. I preferred entry-level stories that someone who was never too keen on reading would find themselves unknowingly drawn in. The way I saw it, my target audience was completely different from what she was striving toward in the future.

Being a student majoring in literature who read such traditional stories, I couldn’t help but come to that conclusion.

She’d been a bit stunned when I accepted her offer, only now did she open her mouth to clarify, “Really? You’ll really read them?”

“Yeah, I’ve actually got a lot of free time these days.”

“You do? Didn’t you say you were in electrical engineering before? To be a first-year student, and in that faculty, you must have gotten direct entry, right? Shouldn’t you have less time for such things than me? You claimed you weren’t particularly smart, but you were just trying to be modest, weren’t you?”

“No, it’s the complete opposite. I got in through underhanded methods. That’s a secret though.” That was a lie, I had actually gotten in because of high academics in my first life, but I’d already acted as if I did poorly academically in front of her so I kept up the act.

“Under… handed… methods?” Contrary to my expectations, her eyes sparkled and lit up when she heard that. “Tell me. Tell me. What sort of underhanded methods did you make use of?”

“I snuck into the dean’s office and swapped my results out with someone else’s.” It was just some lip service to satiate her curiosity. Since it never happened, even if she went and reported such an occurrence, nothing would ever happen anyway. 

There was no footage, logs, nor was I really a student there. She wouldn’t be informed of any of that for privacy cancers and would just be treated like a troublemaker. She only knew my first name as Sean as well. Good luck reporting me. Even with a picture of me, what are they going to do? I don’t show up to university looking the same way I did at work.

“You’re like a character in a story. I kind of feel inspired and want to write it now. Bad academically, but willing to use underhanded methods to achieve his dreams. A person who will fake it till he makes it. That sounds pretty good, don’t you think?” Ah… I know that feeling all too well. It’s the same sort of feeling I get whenever I think I’ve struck gold. It typically doesn’t turn out that way.

“Sure, feel free to do what you want with that idea.”

“Will you read it if I write it?”

“Yeah, yeah. I will.”

“Great! I’ll get to work immediately. Give me a few days to write it all up.” Having said that, she eagerly ran off. I’d never seen this side of her before. The image of her cool aloof self had been destroyed to a certain degree. I guess when it came to writing, what she was most passionate about she forgot all about the mask she always wore.

Somehow, through this event, I’d inadvertently gotten a bit closer to Yuna. I would never call her a friend though. We were just two people with a similar interest that happened to be co-workers.

Nothing more, nothing less.

When I finally returned home, I checked on the training for the neural network. It was still chugging along. It had made some substantial progress. I figured I’d leave it overnight and finish preparations early in the morning so I could begin the big operation I had planned for Sunday. The groundwork had all been laid.

Tomorrow was the day everything would be set into motion.

Plucking a star out of the sky, the death of a star.

Operation: Supernova.