Although this world doesn’t have the internet or radio waves, it’s not completely barren when it cos to entertainnt.
There are plenty of things to watch—movies, plays, and even sothing close to musicals, all distributed through recording magic. The technology is surprisingly advanced, and the quality isn’t bad at all. So works even show real artistic depth.
But... there’s just one problem.
"...It’s boring."
No matter how polished the production, they all lack one crucial thing—dopamine. The kind of thrill or punch that keeps you hooked. Most of these so-called "films" are just retellings of legendary heroes’ journeys or songs praising their achievents.
It’s not that they’re bad. It’s just... predictable.
If I had to sum it up, I’d say they lack originality. From a modern perspective, they feel like the kind of history docuntaries you’d put on just to fall asleep faster.
After the academy announced its temporary suspension for reorganization, I’ve basically been holed up in the dorms, doing absolutely nothing productive.
Rolling around in bed, munching on snacks, and staring blankly at the ceiling.
I was enjoying my rest to the fullest—maybe a little too much.
Movies, plays, and all sorts of visual dia.
Even the so-called famous literary works that people swore would change your life.
But after a while, all of it started to blur together—predictable plots, recycled tropes, the sa emotional beats.
"I’m bored."
The words slipped out of my mouth as I lay sprawled across the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling.
Berno, who had been quietly reading beside the window, lifted his head slightly at my voice. His calm, even tone filled the silence.
"Would you like to train, young master?"
I groaned. "The gym’s closed."
"Ah, right. For the inspection."
"Yeah."
All the academy facilities were temporarily off-limits for safety checks. Normally, I’d be fine with a day or two of rest—but today, the stillness was suffocating. I wanted to move, to do sothing.
After a mont of silence, I turned my head toward Berno, who was still absorbed in the thick, worn-out book in his hands.
"By the way, what have you been reading so intently since yesterday?"
He looked up with a faint smile. "This? I stumbled upon it in the library not too long ago. It appears to be soone’s diary."
"A diary?" I raised a brow. "And you’re just casually reading it?"
"It was shelved with the old collection. I doubt anyone’s claid it for decades," he said, closing the book halfway and tapping its faded leather cover.
Curiosity got the better of . "Mind if I take a look?"
"Of course, young master."
He handed the book, and I carefully flipped it open. The pages were yellowed and brittle at the edges, the ink slightly smudged with age.
As I skimd a few entries, I felt a strange sense of intimacy—like I was peeking into soone’s forgotten life. The handwriting was neat, flowing, almost too deliberate.
"It really does feel like soone’s daily journal," I murmured. "Is it okay for us to read sothing like this?"
Berno shrugged. "Since it’s sitting on a library shelf, I don’t think anyone minds. The author’s probably long gone by now."
"...I guess that makes sense."
Still, a small pang of guilt tugged at as I turned the page. There was sothing oddly captivating about it—the words carried a weight, a vividness that pulled in.
But then I paused.
"Wait a second... this setting..."
"Hmm?" Berno glanced over.
"This place—it sounds a lot like the academy."
He frowned thoughtfully. "Does it?"
"Yeah," I said, running my fingers along a line of text. "Look—this mountain, the old hill near the gym, even the na of the nearby river. They’re all the sa."
"That’s... peculiar."
I kept reading, intrigued. The diary didn’t just record mundane daily life—it chronicled journeys, discoveries, and even encounters across the continent.
"So what’s it actually about?" I asked, my eyes still on the page.
Berno leaned back in his chair. "From what I gathered, the writer traveled around the continent, chasing after so kind of treasure. Most of the entries detail their adventures—places they visited, people they t, the dangers they faced."
I closed the book for a mont, feeling the faint texture of its cover beneath my thumb.
A forgotten diary about a treasure hunt, hidden in plain sight in the academy library.
"Treasure hunting..."
The words rolled off my tongue as I stared at the old book in my hands.
It sounded exciting—no, it sounded perfect.
Wasn’t this exactly the kind of life I’d always dread of? Traveling from place to place, uncovering hidden stories, collecting artifacts that whispered of forgotten tis.
A life filled with adventure, mystery, and discovery.
I glanced down at the book again, the pages yellowed and fragile, yet the handwriting was neat—almost ticulous.
Whether this was a genuine diary or just a novel written in a diary format, I couldn’t tell. But one thing was certain: I was jealous of whoever had written it.
The entries told stories of distant lands and unknown people. None of the nas ntioned matched anything I knew, even with my knowledge of the original work. That alone made it fascinating.
Then, as I flipped to the next page, a word caught my eye.
Eldrite.
My brow furrowed.
The author had written about coming across a "tall, strange building" called Eldrite while traveling through this region—right where the academy now stood.
They’d been curious about it but unable to enter because the place had been sealed tight.
"...But isn’t it open now?" I muttered under my breath.
A vivid image surfaced in my mind—the structure standing quietly to the right of the academy’s main building. I’d passed it several tis, its massive doors standing open as if inviting anyone brave enough to enter.
The diary described Eldrite as a place of "sleeping light," whatever that ant.
My curiosity spiked.
"Maybe..." I murmured, a faint smile tugging at my lips. "Maybe there’s still sothing left inside."
The thought alone was enough to make my pulse quicken.
I closed the book, tucked it under my arm, and stood up in one smooth motion.
"Let’s go right now."
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