Memo 018: (R1)Lyceum.

The night air of Veylstra pressed cold against Nagisa’s skin as she walked the stone-paved streets. Lanterns burned low, casting long shadows that seemed to bend and curl at the edges of her vision. Her boots clicked against the damp ground, but inside her chest there was a hum — a rhythm she hadn’t felt since her first step into this foreign world.

> [Mission Complete: [monarch macabre]

[ King’s Directive]

Objective: Investigate the hidden doctrine.

Status: Success

Abilities Unlocked:

Memo Maestro II – Notes taken in your pad now hold greater influence; words written can inflict “unease” or “resolve” depending on context.

Photo Veritas (Enhanced) – Snapshots now capture not only truth but fragments of hidden aura, revealing details invisible to normal perception. Passive: Aura Resilience – Nagisa’s mind resists tampering effects (fear, confusion, suggestion) more effectively.

Nagisa froze mid-step as her vision shimmered. A faint glow traced across the corners of her eyes like phantom text, as though the world itself was feeding her information.

Nagisa Raines (The Reporter)

Level: 5 ⟶ 10

The glow faded, leaving her breathless on the empty street. She clutched Cammy close to her chest, blinking back the vertigo.

“Level ten,” she whispered to herself, hardly believing it. “From nothing… from nothing to this.” But the numbers on the phantom screen didn’t feel like comfort. They felt like a warning. Every rise meant higher stakes, heavier burdens. A king’s attention, a demonill’s reliance, a viperian’s loyalty—all of it pressing against her as though the world itself expected more now.

Yuranu’s voice broke the quiet. “You stopped walking. Something wrong?” Nagisa smiled faintly, while camera was on her sash. “No. Just… realizing the story’s only going to get bigger from here.” Inside, the air was thick with incense. Scrolls and parchment cluttered the shelves, and on the table at the center sat a mahouist draped in gray robes, his hair wiry and white, his eyes as dim as burned-out coals. He didn’t rise to greet them.

He only stared.

Nagisa felt his silence like a pressure, the weight of unspoken recognition.

Yuranu hissed softly, tail flicking as she crossed her arms. “We came for something, old man. Don’t play mute with us.” She reached into Nagisa’s satchel before the reporter could react and pulled out the heavy doctrine. The mahouist’s gaze sharpened. His lips parted as if to protest, but Yuranu snapped it open on the table, her claws pinning the pages flat.

At once, the haze overlaped his vision.

Not smoke, not light—something in between. The letters writhed and blurred, impossible to hold in the mind’s eye. The same distortion that had rejected Nagisa and Yuranu before now spread into the room, warping the lamplight, making the air taste of copper.. For the first time since they entered, he broke his silence, voice dry and wavering. “…Where did you find this?" Yuranu’s fangs gleamed in a sly grin. “Doesn’t matter where. What matters is what it says. And you’re going to tell us how to read it.”

“I have no art that lifts haze. My sigils bind. They suppress. They stitch closed what should never open.” He pressed his long fingers against the cover of the book, flinching as though touching a hot iron. “This is no simple seal. The mahouist paused, then lifted a finger and pointed. Not at them—through them. Toward a place far beyond his walls. “There is one. A mystic of academia.

Veylstra Collegium Lyceum.

Nagisa blinked, the words sinking into her. “The Academia…” She scribbled it into her memo pad, underlining it twice. “So the trail leads higher, i wonder how school in another world would be like..” Yuranu tilted her head, tongue rolling the word awkwardly.

“A… sckool? What’s that supposed to be?”

Nagisa blinked, then laughed softly. “Right… I guess it wouldn’t exist here.” She tapped her pen against her memo pad, searching for the simplest way to explain. “A school is… well, it’s a place where scholars gather. You go there to study—numbers, words, history, even things you’ll probably never use again. I wasn’t really good at some subjects, honestly, but…” She trailed off, staring at the hazed-over doctrine in her hands. “…sometimes the worst lessons stick with you the most.” 

Yuranu’s lips quirked, amused. “Hmph. So your world gathered people in one place just to… talk about numbers and words?” Nagisa nodded. “Yes. But… schools back home were never just about learning. They shaped how people thought, what they believed. If Veylstra’s has been doing the same…” She shut her memo pad firmly. “We’ll need to tread carefully.”

Nagisa and Yuranu stepped out of the incense-thick shack, the heavy door creaking shut behind them. The night air was cooler, cleaner, but the scent of ash and oil still clung to their clothes.

Inside, the Binding Mahouist exhaled, leaning back in his chair. That little girl… she will drag misfortune with her everywhere she goes. Prying, seeking conspiracies—such things only end in death. Yet… He allowed himself a wry smile. They can also shine a light. Before the thought fully left his lips, a shadow fell over him. Two figures materialized at the threshold, their presence suffocating.

His eyes widened.

“The… Vanguard…?”

Serenya’s gaze was cold steel, unblinking. Yano’s blade was already moving. There was no time to raise a barrier, no sigil to scrawl, no breath to beg. The strike was clean, merciless. The Binding Mahouist’s head toppled from his shoulders, rolling across the incense-stained floor. Silence returned to the shack. Only the candles sputtered, and the blood pooled, hot and dark.

The shack reeked of blood now, iron tang cutting through the fading incense. Yano wiped his blade with mechanical precision, his expression unreadable.

He glanced at the headless corpse.

“The King’s book was here. Only for a split second. He must’ve been in contact with it.” Serenya stepped closer, her boots leaving faint prints in the spreading pool. She shook her head.

“Tch. He could’ve been an asset if we interrogated him.” Yano slid his sword back into its sheath. His voice was cold, unwavering.

“The King’s orders were clear. Anyone who's even looked at it DIES. Immediately.” Serenya sighed, her silver eyes narrowing. “You and these orders…” She turned toward the door, cloak sweeping behind her. “One day they’ll cut deeper than your blade.” Yano didn’t answer. 

Yano stood in the threshold of the shack, crimson flecks speckling his cheek, his blade still humming from the strike. His eyes burned—not with rage, but with a bloodied resolve.

“The King’s will is absolute,” he muttered, though low enough that only Serenya could hear. His gaze sharpened, distant. “But even i can admit I didn't enjoy the littlw spectacle he put the demonill through. Instead that wretched creature, that one will die by my hands.”

Serenya tilted her head, lips curling into a smile that was equal parts cruel and alluring. She leaned in, almost whispering, “Mmm. I can’t wait to see it. The look on his face when you break him.” 

He only gave the corpse one last glance, The shack door creaked shut behind them, leaving only the corpse to keep its silence. then followed her out into the night.

The candles sputtered out, and the shack sank into darkness.

Nagisa and Yuranu trudged along the cobbled streets, the doctrine bound tightly at Nagisa’s side. Though sealed and unreadable, its weight was palpable—like carrying an unspoken curse.

The night was thick and restless, shadows crawling long under the gaslamps. By the time they reached the Lyceum, the city’s hum had thinned into a hush.

Before them stretched the Collegium Lyceum’s entrance—an imposing arch of black stone, etched with sigils that glimmered faintly under moonlight. Iron gates stood wide open, as though inviting them in. Nagisa paused, gazing up at the sprawling campus. Towering spires clawed at the sky, windows lit dimly with flickers of arcane fire. Her pen twitched between her fingers, her instincts screaming this place is alive with secrets.

“The entrance is wide open…” 

Nagisa whispered, her eyes darting across the sprawling campus.

“We’ll have to track down the mahouist who can lift this haze. Somewhere in here, there’s a lead.” Yuranu frowned, scanning the labyrinth of halls and looming towers ahead. “It seems we’ll have a lot to comb through…”

Before Nagisa could reply, a sharp voice cracked behind them.

“Out late, are we?”

Both girls stiffened, turning to see a tall, robed figure step from the shadows beneath the archway. His mantle bore the Lyceum’s sigil, a L looping with a snake devouring its own tail. His eyes gleamed like steel under the moon.

“You will return to your dormitories at once,” the man commanded. “No pupils wander the Lyceum’s grounds after the final bell—not unless summoned.”

Yuranu blinked, whispering to Nagisa, “Pupil?”

Nagisa raised her memo pad protectively, swallowing. The man lifted his chin. “I am didaskal Praeceptor Leynos. Knowledge is not a torch for the reckless to wave about in the dark. Now move.”

Didskal praeceptor Veynos’s words trailed off when his eyes dropped to the bundle clutched beneath Nagisa’s arm. His breath caught; the faint torchlight flickered in his gaze like revelation.

“You… you carry one of the Holy inscriptions.”

Nagisa’s pulse spiked. Her grip on the doctrine tightened as though her fingers alone could conceal it.

Leynos took a single step back, the air thickening, his expression caught between awe and terror. His lips moved in a whisper too faint to hear before his voice returned, low and fervent.

“No… not only that.” His eyes locked on Nagisa’s face, narrowing as though tracing every contour, every flicker of her unease. “Your presence… your aura. You are no child of Veylstra.”

Nagisa froze, the night suddenly too quiet.

“The Lord has gifted us an envoy…” His voice trembled with conviction, as if he had just stumbled upon a prophecy made flesh. He surged forward, his fingers wrapping tight around her arm with surprising strength.

“You must come with me.” His tone left no room for refusal.

“W–what?” Nagisa stammered, struggling against his grip. Camera buzzed nervously in her satchel, and Yuranu bristled, stepping forward.

Leynos did not look at Yuranu, only flicked his free hand dismissively. “The other may return to her room. This one… belongs with us.” Yuranu’s tail lashed, her eyes glowing faintly in defiance. “She doesn’t belong to anyone.”

Nagisa looked back over her shoulder, eyes locking with Yuranu’s for a single, decisive second. Her voice was steady, though her lips trembled.

“Find the mahouist. Don’t waste this. I’ll… I’ll be okay.”

Nagisa twisted in his grip, wincing as Praeceptor Leynos tugged her through the archway. Yuranu darted forward, tail lashing like a spear, grazing the folds of his robe—just enough to sting.

But in the next blink, the man was gone. The torchlight bent around him, pulling Nagisa into the dark as if the Lyceum itself had swallowed her whole.

“Boss!” 

Camera’s voice cracked from the satchel.

The night streets of Veylstra seemed quieter without her.