The original host had been framed by the Lady Heroine before, a shadow poured over a bright mirror.

Nana Toki fanned herself with the black notebook, calm as still water, wearing the ease of an old sage.

This little black book was the root of that false charge, a thorn tucked beneath silk.

“Huh?”

“Host, you mean this black little notebook records the Protagonist Lord’s secret schemes from before?” The question curled like ink.

“You’re not that dumb after all,” she said, like dawn breaking fog.

For once, Nana Toki didn’t banter with the System, and silence drifted down like dust.

“Not just that—this thing holds the Lady Heroine’s other little secrets too,” she added, moths pinned under lamplight.

“For example?” The question hung like a hook.

“Like secret liaisons with wild men from other schools,” she murmured, alley cats gliding at night.

“Hiss...” The sound slipped like steam from a kettle.

Seeing the smile escape Nana Toki’s control, sunlight leaked through blinds.

The System felt a chill skate its nonexistent spine, frost tracing a wire.

Though strictly speaking, it has no spine—just circuits humming like dragonflies.

“Our Lady Heroine is ever so magnanimous,” she said, a river pretending not to notice mud.

Nana Toki sauntered toward the commercial street, pace lazy as a cat in sun.

Clearly, she had other business to tend, clouds sliding with purpose.

Meanwhile, on the other side, the wind turned a page.

In a classroom at Tinglan High, chalk dust drifted like mist.

A tall, slender girl rummaged through desks and drawers, a magpie on a hunt.

Anxiety swirled across her face, as if a lifeline had slipped like a kite string.

“No... no... not here either... where did she put that diary?” Her words fluttered like torn notes.

Chen Yiyi tore through Nana Toki’s desk again and again, frustration beating like rain, and found nothing.

The classroom was a battlefield of mess, desks and stools scattered like fallen dominoes.

You could imagine the effort; Chen Yiyi had burned herself down like candle wax for that diary.

Books littered the floor like leaves; they were the ones Nana Toki brought this morning.

Nothing but textbooks upon textbooks—none of the diary Chen Yiyi had slipped in days ago, a ghost among pages.

“That Suo Sen... what the hell is going on!” Her thoughts snapped like twigs.

Luckily, the halls were empty at this hour; otherwise, Tinglan’s students would’ve seen the face beneath Chen Yiyi’s perfect mask, sharp as a knife.

“I heard Suo Sen came to school today—did she take it home?” The doubt hovered like smoke.

At that thought, Chen Yiyi’s little face blanched, color draining like tide.

It held so many crucial things, secrets coiled like serpents... if she spread them...

“Chongming Yan...” His name trembled like a match flame.

Chen Yiyi couldn’t imagine the fallout, a storm sheathed in glass.

“I clearly asked those people last night to take care of Suo Sen—so why did she stroll in untouched today, like a fox slipping snares?”

Clouds moved across Chen Yiyi’s face; finding no other answer, she weighed going to see those people again, the idea buzzing like flies.

Suddenly, a voice barked from the hallway, impatient as wind slapping shutters: “Hey, Chen Yiyi! How long are you gonna dawdle? It takes that long to grab a textbook?”

“O-okay! Coming, coming! Chongming Yan, stop rushing me!” Her reply clattered like pebbles.

Chen Yiyi answered, then dumped the books from Nana Toki’s desk, leaves spilling across the floor, and finally drifted out.

“What book takes you that long to find?” His curiosity poked like a stick.

The Protagonist Lord waiting outside craned to peek in, but Chen Yiyi blocked his view, standing like a screen.

“Nothing big... just a regular workbook,” she said, voice smooth as lacquer.

Chen Yiyi tugged Chongming Yan’s hand toward the gate: “Let’s head home, we’ll look tomorrow. It’s late—if we get locked in, we’re toast.” Their shadows stretched like strings.

“Then... fine.” His consent fell like a small stone.

Since she put it that way, Chongming Yan felt awkward pressing on, questions folding like paper cranes.

He turned and walked his own path, footsteps ticking like a metronome.

“Got work again today?” Her words drifted like steam.

“Yeah. I promised the boss.” The promise knotted like twine.

“I see...” Her voice faded like dusk.

Trading brief lines, they left the school, conversation bobbing like lanterns over water.

Chongming Yan didn’t catch the flash of ruthlessness across the girl’s face, a knife-glint under moonlight.

“Suo Sen...” The name drifted like ash.

“Hey, hey—Host, where are you going?” The System fluttered like a worried sparrow.

Eyeing the half-familiar streets, the System asked Nana Toki, confusion pointing like a compass: the road home isn’t this way.

“Who said I’m going home?” Her words clicked like beads.

Nana Toki tucked the black notebook into her clothes and swaggered down the commercial street, stride loose as wind.

Compared to last night, the bar strip was sparse at this hour, only two or three quiet bars glowing like fireflies.

“Let’s push a hidden quest,” she said, a smile curling like incense.

“Eh?” The System froze a beat, screen lagging like molasses.

“Host, do you have a lead on the hidden quest?” It leaned in like a diver seeking ripples.

“Nope.” The answer was clean as glass.

“Then what are you using to push it?” The words bounced like pebbles.

“My mouth.” The reply struck like a drumbeat.

“See? When I call you a trash System, you never believe me.” The jab snapped like bamboo. “Yuzuki’s a typical city sweetheart—if trouble poked her yesterday, it’ll poke today.”

“Let’s swing by; maybe we’ll help that sweet fool find her white-horse prince, fate trotting like a stallion.”

“You really are practiced, Host,” the System sighed, a gambler shuffling cards.

“Of course. I used to be a web novelist; these patterns are ghosts I greet like old friends.”

As she spoke, Nana Toki reached the café where she met Yuzuki last night, memory flickering like neon.

Strange thing: the street is wall-to-wall bars, yet this café swims against the current, dressed in thick Euro-American style, a ship in a foreign sea.

Against the red-lamp glitter of the bars, it stands like a crane among chickens, neck high above the noise.

Flower racks at the door brimmed with plants, colors resting the eyes like spring rain.

At the threshold, Nana Toki eyed the green wooden sign hanging from a European-style lamp post, thoughts drifting like leaves.

“What job does our sweet, naive girl do in a café like this—like a dove nested among ravens?”

“That’s not exactly your problem to ponder, Host,” the System muttered, voice flat as slate.

“None of your business.” She flicked the words like seeds.

She pouted, then pushed the door open, motion smooth as a wave.

Inside contrasted the fresh flowers outside; the café wore a disco’s skin, lights pulsing like hearts.

That made Nana Toki feel odd, surprise blinking like a firefly.

Is the owner into contrast-charm, sweetness and steel braided like rope?

The staff wore punk gear; even the bearded uncle sported a chunky gold chain, glitter clinging like fish scales.

In the center, young folks clustered—apparently a band—tuning instruments, notes testing like birds pecking seeds.

Nana Toki snagged a seat near the counter, tossed her left hand, and watched the stage like she owned the calm of a lake.

She didn’t even place an order, freeloading bold as a sparrow on a roof.

The bearded boss clocked her brazen calm and assumed she was Yuzuki’s friend, so he kept quiet, caution sitting like a dog at heel.

Right at the high point, a familiar voice rose beside Nana Toki, threading through the drumbeat like silk.

“Hello... would you like to order something?” Her words floated like petals.

Her voice was so light the drums threatened to drown it, waves pounding a shore.

Afraid Nana Toki didn’t hear, Yuzuki gently tugged her sleeve, touch soft as a breeze.

Nana Toki turned—mm, a familiar face, recognition blooming like a chrysanthemum.

A flick of surprise first, then action: “What’s up?” The question hung like a paper lantern.

A thought flickered: Shouldn’t you be waiting for trouble to find me?

Well, look at that—the sweet fool’s in a maid outfit, black and white like a sparrow.

White lace, too—snowflakes stitched along the edges.

Pretty cute, honestly, sugar dusting a plum.

“Th-that... your... order...” Her syllables hopped like sparrows.

Yuzuki pressed her knees together and lifted the menu to hide her flushed face, pushing words out like a shy stream.

No matter how she tried to speak up, the noisy room swallowed her, a tide burying a pebble.

Watching Yuzuki in her black-and-white maid outfit, Nana Toki looked from the band back to her, gaze seesawing like a swing.

“Um... p-please order.” The plea fluttered like a moth.

As a gentle reminder, Yuzuki nudged the menu toward Nana Toki’s face, paper brushing like leaves.

“...” Nana Toki’s silence lay like a pond.

Realizing freeloading wasn’t ideal, Nana Toki pointed at the menu. “Uh... this one, Greenfields of Oz—give me a cup.” Her choice dropped like a coin.

“Mm.” Her assent nodded like a reed.

Seeing the order placed, Yuzuki let out a relieved smile, warmth blooming like tea.

There was a hint of burden lifting, like a pack set down.

“...” Nana Toki’s thought curled like smoke. What am I, a man-eating monster?

As that thought rang, time clicked like beads.

Suddenly—

A loud bang cracked through the café, drawing every eye at once, thunder trapped beneath a roof.