found himself disoriented on the floor of a storage room. But this storage room was different from the one he had seen before losing consciousness; it lacked the bookshelves and rows of boxes he had previously noticed. The only book nearby was the same notebook he had been reading just before he fainted.
He picked up the notebook and, with the little strength left in his body, managed to stand. After briefly surveying the storage room, his confusion deepened. The length of the room had changed from 15 yards (13 meters) to 20 yards (18 meters), and its width had expanded from 10 yards to 15 yards. Still, Itsaku walked toward the door of the room, indifferent. As he moved toward the door, he realized that the rats were gone, and even the cracks and damp spots on the walls, which had been so disturbing before, were no longer present. Only the sound of his footsteps broke the silence as they echoed through the room.
As he neared the door, he struggled to recall what had happened, but the only memories that surfaced were of him reading the notebook. These memories were vague and faded quickly.
While pondering his situation, he suddenly came to his senses when he saw the door, and he reached for the handle. But the moment his hand touched the rusty, worn-down handle, a red alarm appeared before him, and a voice in his head echoed, "You cannot leave without the keys."
Itsaku froze. No, it wasn't simply a freeze; it was more a mix of fear, anxiety, disbelief, and shock—a horrible, terrifying sensation that made his heart feel as though it might jump out of his chest. He was gripped by fear, as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over his head, and instinctively, he began to pull at the door. The sound that followed was an unbearable screech—a combination of the alarm blaring and the door scraping against the ground.
After several attempts, pushing and pulling on the door, he finally decided to try his last hope: screaming. But deep down, he knew it was pointless. The storage room was tucked away in a corner of an old house, a place no one ever visited.
No more sound came from Itsaku's throat. Now, with all his energy spent, the screeching had ceased, replaced by a stinging, agonizing sensation. He had resigned himself to the fact that he couldn't escape, and all his efforts had been in vain. As his body's adrenaline faded, it was replaced by a deep exhaustion that grew more oppressive by the second. Without the adrenaline, the void of energy within him screamed for relief, adding more weight to his already heavy body. Two minutes passed, and his weakness was no longer just a feeling—it pounded against his body, showing the signs of what felt like twelve hours of wasted time.
Lack of energy could be solved with sleep, but it seemed Itsaku wasn't ready to surrender to fatigue just yet. He still made weak attempts, but after a few seconds, it was clear that nothing would help. The only thing he could do before giving in to exhaustion was to crawl over to an old, worn-out mattress and lie down on it.
---
Time passed at an incredible speed, and Itsaku slept for another four hours. Now, sixteen hours had passed since he entered the storage room. Itsaku lay on the floor, staring at the white ceiling. There were small black holes scattered across the otherwise smooth ceiling, giving it a rustic, stone-like appearance. The sight of it made Itsaku want to stare at the ceiling for hours, without trying to escape the pitiful reality he found himself in. To be honest, the main issue wasn't sleep or hope—it was resources.
This time, Itsaku reasoned logically. His food supply was extremely limited. If he wanted to do anything, the best move would be to conserve his energy.
"Ugh, damn it, I wish my food supply was bigger. Maybe then, I could escape like Giacomo Casanova with a nail from my prison... Heh, funny idea. But for now, I guess I'll just have to fight reality. Maybe one day, in one of my dreams, I'll pull that off."
With that, Itsaku got up from his spot and began to scan the room again. But then, his gaze fell on the hourglass he had just set up minutes before.
Itsaku had found the hourglass when he first woke up and was checking the storage room to ensure nothing had changed. He had decided to regulate his meals based on it. There was a label on the hourglass that displayed the time settings, indicating it was set for 8-hour intervals.
Itsaku raised the hourglass repeatedly, hoping to somehow make the time stretch, but it didn't make much difference.
---
Itsaku placed the hourglass on the ground and made his way over to the notebook. The sound of his footsteps echoed softly in the empty storage room, reverberating as it traveled across the entire space. Each tap of his foot seemed to explore a new corner, uncovering a new part of the room before returning to its owner.
This time, Itsaku wasn't thinking about escaping; he was focused on conducting an experiment. A simple but important experiment—he wanted to know if the contents of the notebook had changed, just like the room.
Itsaku took the notebook in his hands and examined the ruby-red cover. Despite its faded hue, it still reflected a little bit of light. He opened the notebook and, without thinking, flipped to the last page.
Excitement surged from deep within him as he started reading, even though the writing didn't seem to offer much excitement or meaning. But Itsaku kept reading, as though something inside him was urging him to continue.
When he reached the final line, the initial excitement was gone, but still, an odd feeling persisted, convincing him to read the last line.
With a tinge of regret for his failed experiment, Itsaku read the final line aloud. And once again, that excitement erupted within him, flooding his entire heart.
And the final line read:
"For more information, call the notification."