The academy slept beneath the moonlight.
Towering spires cast long shadows across stone pathways.
Dormitory windows gradually darkened one after another as students surrendered to exhaustion after an eventful day.
The sea breeze drifted inland.
Carrying the scent of salt.
Mist.
And secrets.
A shadow moved silently across the academy grounds.
No footsteps.
No presence.
No mana fluctuations.
Kel slipped through the darkness like a wandering ghost.
The black mask still covered his face.
His cloak blended naturally with the night.
Not because he feared discovery.
But because unnecessary attention was annoying.
Eventually.
He reached the student dormitory.
Inside his mind—
Seiren yawned.
"You're sneaking into your own room."
Kel opened a window.
"And?"
The Guardian laughed.
"Most people use doors."
"Doors attract questions."
"Windows attract suspicion."
"Not if nobody sees me."
The Guardian sighed.
She had no counterargument.
Because technically—
He was correct.
A moment later.
Kel stepped into his room.
The room was quiet.
Neat.
Simple.
A desk.
A bookshelf.
A wardrobe.
A bed.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
Moonlight entered through the window.
Painting silver patterns across the wooden floor.
Kel looked toward his bed.
Then toward the illusion still occupying it.
The illusion version of himself appeared asleep.
Breathing rhythmically.
Looking completely natural.
Even if someone entered the room unexpectedly.
They would never suspect anything.
Inside his mind—
Seiren sounded impressed.
"Your illusion magic keeps improving."
"Practice."
"Normal people use illusion magic to deceive enemies."
"They lack creativity."
The Guardian laughed.
Kel snapped his fingers.
The illusion dissolved.
Mana particles scattered through the room.
Like glowing fireflies disappearing into darkness.
The fake Kel vanished.
The real Kel immediately collapsed onto the bed.
Not because he was tired.
But because soft beds existed for a reason.
The mattress sank slightly beneath his weight.
The blanket shifted.
The room became peaceful.
For several moments.
Neither Kel nor Seiren spoke.
The silence felt comfortable.
Then—
Kel reached into his storage ring.
A worn notebook appeared.
The copied manuscript from the scholar district.
The strange legend.
The possible clue.
The possible lie.
Or perhaps—
Both.
Inside his mind—
Seiren spoke.
"Still reading that?"
Kel opened the first page.
"Yes."
The Guardian floated lazily within their soul bond.
"You think it's important?"
"I think somebody wanted people to remember it."
That answer made Seiren pause.
Interesting perspective.
Very interesting.
The silver-haired young man began reading.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Not like a student reading a story.
Like an investigator examining evidence.
Every sentence.
Every detail.
Every inconsistency.
Nothing escaped his attention.
The book itself was strange.
Even the title sounded ridiculous.
The Betrayed Lover of the Abyssal Shore.
Kel stared at the title.
Then sighed.
Inside his mind—
Seiren immediately laughed.
"That title alone sounds fabricated."
"Most legends have terrible titles."
"Fair."
Kel continued reading.
The story described a young fisherman.
A common man.
Nothing special.
Nothing extraordinary.
According to the legend—
He fell in love with a woman living on the island centuries ago.
The woman supposedly came from a wealthy family.
A noble family.
A powerful family.
The fisherman loved her.
She loved him.
At least according to the story.
Then betrayal happened.
The woman allegedly lured him into the ocean.
Deceived him.
Abandoned him.
And watched him sink into the depths.
Kel turned the page.
The story became stranger.
Much stranger.
The fisherman survived.
Not through luck.
Not through magic.
But through hatred.
The manuscript claimed his resentment transformed him.
Changed him.
Corrupted him.
Eventually.
He ceased being human.
And became a monster.
Kel read silently.
The room remained quiet except for the sound of turning pages.
Outside.
Wind touched the windows.
Inside his mind—
Seiren watched the story through their connection.
Eventually she commented.
"This sounds ridiculous."
Kel turned another page.
"Why?"
"Because emotions don't transform people into sea monsters."
"Depends on the setting."
"No."
A pause.
"It doesn't."
Kel almost smiled.
The Guardian sounded unusually firm.
Which made the conversation entertaining.
Page after page.
The story continued.
The transformed fisherman supposedly began hunting sea creatures.
Then sailors.
Then entire ships.
Eventually.
He disappeared.
Only legends remained.
Kel closed the notebook briefly.
Thinking.
Analyzing.
Inside his mind—
Seiren spoke again.
"It looks fabricated."
A pause.
"Very fabricated."
Kel nodded.
"Probably."
The Guardian looked satisfied.
Then Kel continued.
"Which makes it interesting."
Silence followed.
Seiren immediately regretted speaking.
Because she knew that tone.
The tone Kel used whenever he discovered something suspicious.
The Guardian sighed.
"Explain."
Kel reopened the manuscript.
Then pointed toward several notes.
"Look here."
Seiren examined the pages through their connection.
The details appeared random.
Scattered.
Disconnected.
Yet Kel continued.
"This story mentions a noblewoman."
A pause.
"It names a district."
Another pause.
"It references an old harbor."
Another.
"It mentions specific cliffs."
The Guardian listened carefully.
Kel turned another page.
"The names change."
"Yes?"
"The timeline changes."
"Yes?"
"The details contradict each other."
"Yes?"
Kel looked toward the moonlit window.
Then spoke softly.
"Yet the locations remain consistent."
Seiren froze.
The realization struck immediately.
The romance changed.
The betrayal changed.
The characters changed.
But the locations didn't.
Inside his mind—
The Guardian became thoughtful.
"So someone kept rewriting the story."
"Maybe."
"But preserved the same places."
"Exactly."
Silence followed.
The story suddenly felt less random.
Less ridiculous.
Less harmless.
Kel continued reading.
The fisherman.
The noblewoman.
The betrayal.
The transformation.
Perhaps none of it was real.
Or perhaps only parts were real.
History often worked that way.
Facts became stories.
Stories became myths.
Myths became legends.
And eventually—
Nobody remembered which part was originally true.
Inside his mind—
Seiren suddenly chuckled.
"Like Divine Spoon Art."
Silence.
The room became very quiet.
Very.
Very quiet.
Kel stared at the page.
Seiren waited.
Then waited longer.
The Guardian slowly began smiling.
"You aren't denying it."
Still silence.
"Kel."
Nothing.
"Creator of Divine Spoon Art."
No response.
The Guardian immediately burst into laughter.
Because she knew she had won.
The current Divine Spoon Art stories included:
A wandering sage defeating dragons using spoons.
A legendary explorer destroying mountains with forks.
A nameless hero defeating an army using noodles.
None of which were true.
Yet people believed them.
Which perfectly proved Kel's own point.
Myths changed.
Reality remained hidden beneath layers of nonsense.
Eventually.
Kel sighed.
Then closed the notebook.
The manuscript rested upon the bed.
His eyes looked toward the ceiling.
Inside his mind—
Seiren finally calmed down.
"So?"
Kel thought carefully.
Then answered.
"There are two possibilities."
The Guardian listened.
"The story is fake."
A pause.
"Or."
Another pause.
"The story is fake."
Seiren blinked.
"...what?"
Kel continued.
"But the locations are real."
The room became silent again.
Because that possibility sounded increasingly likely.
Somebody had hidden information.
Not inside facts.
Inside fiction.
And if that was true—
Then tomorrow night.
Kel knew exactly where he would begin searching.
The ancient harbor.
The cliffs mentioned repeatedly.
The locations nobody questioned because everyone focused on the myth.
Outside the window.
Moonlight reflected across distant ocean waters.
Far beyond the academy island.
Far beyond the horizon.
Something unseen continued watching.
Waiting.
And unknowingly.
The distance between hunter and hunted was becoming smaller.