DBCR 13

Chapter 13

Room 301 didn’t give up.
Instead of trying to find another reader, he focused solely on trying to show it to me. He followed me around every day, fluttering his notebook at my side.

“Look. Please!”

It was time to give in.
I lost. I lost, okay. Right—of course there wouldn’t be anyone else worth showing his writing to. No, correction. There wouldn’t be anyone as easy a target as me.

In the end, I took it and opened the first page.

And then…

“……”

When I stayed silent for a while, Room 301—uncharacteristically cautious—asked,

“What? Is it weird?”

“I can’t tell what you’re saying. None of the spelling is right.”

Room 301 snapped.

“Of course you don’t know! I didn’t go to school!”

The medical records listed his first onset at age six—before he ever entered school.
After that, it was relapse, hospitalization, emergency admission, hospitalization…
At some point, discharge stopped appearing altogether.

He couldn’t even attend school; at best, he’d barely escaped illiteracy.

“Just read it! I said read it!”

Room 301 turned away and trudged off. The IV stand he dragged behind him rattled, the multiple fluid bags swaying back and forth. They looked heavier than Room 301 himself, who was little more than skin and bones.

I started reading during my break that day.

…

Surprisingly, it was interesting.

It was the kind of novel where you had no idea what would happen next, no clue how much worse the chaos would get—and yet, somehow, you wanted to keep reading.

I wasn’t sure if it was literary enjoyment, exactly, but it definitely succeeded in holding my interest.

At first, I thought I’d identified the protagonist—only for that character to die suddenly.

Confused, I kept reading, wondering if someone else was the main character.

That one died too.

The next story, and the one after that—same thing.

Every supposed protagonist either died or failed.

The one thing all those stories shared was this name:

Irix Berkhardt.

Irix was born the son of Duke Berkhardt, the empire’s chancellor.
At first, he was a relatively ordinary son living under an extraordinarily accomplished father.

Of course, he was quite capable himself—a boy most parents would be proud of.

But when your father is Duke Berkhardt, that changes things.

The duke was too brilliant, too flamboyant, too exceptional.

Irix simply didn’t possess the qualities to surpass the fact that he was that man’s son.

Then one day, the Order stopped the train Irix was on and arrested a large number of cultists who had been aboard.

Irix vanished that day without a trace.

He wasn’t arrested by the Order. He wasn’t in a reeducation facility, and his name wasn’t on the list of those to be condemned.

The Order flatly stated that Duke Berkhardt’s son’s disappearance had nothing to do with them.

Then, two months later, Irix suddenly returned.

As if he had never gone missing at all, he calmly appeared in the academy lecture hall, attended class, and went to the special research lab.

He continued attending school as though nothing had happened—until one day, he stole ancient relics and grimoires protected by the academy and disappeared.

That was the beginning of Irix’s life as the mastermind. Destruction here, destruction there. Massacres here, exterminations there.

Room 301—who couldn’t survive a single day outside the hospital—was freely destroying a fictional world that didn’t exist, through the destroyer named Irix.

The next day, when I handed the notebook back, I said,

“It’s interesting.”

Room 301 looked shocked.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

He blinked, as if he couldn’t believe it.

“You think that’s interesting?”

“I do.”

“You’re lying to make me feel good, right?”

“Why would I lie to make you like me? If anything, I’d lie to make you hate me.”

“Then… it’s really interesting?”

“Yeah. I enjoyed it. I’m curious about what comes next.”

“……”

I thought he’d be happy, but his reaction was oddly subdued—more like he didn’t know how to respond.

“What are you planning to do with Irix in the end?”

Room 301’s face darkened.

“Why? What happens to him?”

“He… dies.”

“Huh?”

“He’s a bad guy. So he has to die.”

“…Wasn’t he the protagonist?”

From my perspective, Irix was the protagonist of that world.
Every story ultimately revolved around him, and they all ended in his victory.

That made him the true main character.

“No. He’s just a bad guy.”

“Then why does he show up so much?”

“Because he’s behind everything. So he dies.”

To me, that sounded like this:

Because I’m going to die.

“Don’t you want to redeem him? You’re just going to make him do evil things and then kill him?”

“He’s already committed crimes. You can’t turn back time, so he has to die.”

Turn back time…?

Right. It wasn’t impossible.

What’s already happened has happened, and there are too many victims and casualties. Unless you rewrite everything from the beginning, the sins can’t be erased.

As long as I remember the story, now that I’ve read it, the tale of the mastermind Irix exists.

“It’s your story. Do whatever you want.”

As I turned away, Room 301 suddenly grabbed my sleeve.

“Hey—are you going to read the next part too?”

“If you show it to me.”

Did Room 301 eventually kill Irix?

Up to the part I’d read, he was still alive. As the story progressed, the challengers grew stronger—until eventually, he was even killing gods.

That was far in the future. For now, let’s sort out what’s happening today.

Today is the day Irix disappears—and two months later, returns.

When he comes back, he’s a completely different person.

The quiet, cold boy becomes loud, violent, and abrasive.

What happened during those two months to change him so completely—and give him such overwhelming power?

And why did his personality turn out so rotten?

Or maybe… it was always like that.

If this world is to survive, the mastermind must not exist.
And for the mastermind not to exist, the situation that creates him must never happen.

The first of those is Irix’s disappearance.

So that’s what needs to be stopped. Irix must not go to the Order’s secret monastery—in other words, his disappearance must be prevented.

I’m not calling it an abduction or kidnapping because I don’t know yet.

Irix might have gone willingly, or pretended to be kidnapped and run away.

After all, maybe he was always destined to fall—just following the natural course of corruption.

Just then, the door to the carriage flew open. A fierce gust of outside air rushed in. Harsh winds were whipping through the canyon, and with the train stopped, it rocked violently amid the howling wind.

Startled, the snake perched on Irix’s head scrambled down and hid itself between his neck and collar.

“They finally showed up.”

Irix looked toward the door.

“They took so long, I thought they overslept and missed the train.”

The duke’s dispatched unit had arrived.

I sat on the couch and watched them enter.

There were three of them: two men and one woman.

One man and the woman looked to be in their early twenties—still young, like fresh graduates. The large man at the front had a sword and a gun at his waist. The woman behind him carried a staff.

A knight and a mage.

The small badges on their chests, engraved with camellias, revealed who they were.

—The Red Camellia Unit.

They’d appeared a few times before. A search-and-extermination squad that hunted monsters and criminals.

Because of the nature of their missions, they operated in teams of two or three for mobility.

Behind them, I noticed a small, slender boy. He had chocolate-colored curls and light brown skin—like an acorn. He looked to be in his mid-teens, much younger than the others due to his short height and thin frame.

Thin chains hung from his waist, connected to several daggers. That must be his weapon.

“Greetings, Young Master.”

The large man stepped forward to speak. His tone wasn’t particularly polite—arrogant and rough.

I wasn’t sure yet whether he was the commander or just liked hearing himself talk.

“I didn’t expect you to come, Lieutenant Depor.”

Irix stood and faced him. There wasn’t much difference in height. Depor only looked bigger because he was bulky, unlike the slender Irix.

Depor…

Wait. Who was that again?

“……”

I had no idea.

Because that name had never appeared before.