Chapter 38: Looks Like I Must Balance You Out
Rekka swept a flashlight beam over the yellowed parchment, reading the text from beginning to end.
"This diary possesses an unknown power. As long as a person's true name is written in it, that person will encounter a [Calamity]."
He stared at the words. A beat of silence passed.
'What the heck?'"After you take possession of this diary, you will be killed by its power within twelve hours..."'Kill me?'
His heart remained completely unmoved. If anything, a quiet snort escaped his lips, and he felt a mild urge to laugh out loud. He would be absolutely thrilled if this flimsy little book actually managed to drag Nanook the Destruction down here to do the job.
Just a moment ago, he had been mentally praising whoever left this loot behind as a generous benefactor. Now, the artifact was boldly declaring his impending doom.
Rekka flipped through the remaining pages, half-expecting some bizarre crossbreed between a Death Note and the Wonder of U. Instead, past the initial ominous warning that read like a melodramatic last testament, the rest of the book was completely blank. Not a single drop of ink remained. Just vast, empty parchment.
"Honestly, this feels a bit inferior to Polka Kakamu's handiwork."
"Rekka! Are you done over there?!"
March 7th and Dan Heng drifted through the doorway, their boots hovering just above the deck in the zero-gravity environment.
"Done." Rekka patted his bulging pockets, the fabric clinking heavily. "One jeweled brooch, one gold coin. What about you two? Did you dig up any decent treasures?"
"Ugh, don't even mention it." March 7th puffed out her cheeks, crossing her arms as she floated closer. "I dug up a massive pile of the most garishly colored clothes you've ever seen. I was almost buried alive in neon fabric." She reached into her bag and pulled out a palm-sized metal container. "We only found this iron box, and it won't even open. Look at it, though, the carved patterns are actually quite nice. I just wonder what's locked inside."
With their scavenging complete, the trio handled back through the derelict corridors, floating their way back to the Astral Express.
Back in the familiar comfort of his room on the Express, Rekka tossed the yellowed diary onto his desk.
"Oh my."
He was busy rummaging through his storage for a few specific tools when the diary gave a subtle, unnatural tremble against the wood.
"Found it!"
He pulled out a massive, heavy-duty chainsaw, the exact same model favored by Luna.
Wooo--Wooo! Wuwuwuwuwuwuwu--!
The motor roared to life, a deafening mechanical scream that vibrated through the floorboards. The jagged teeth blurred into a high-speed frenzy, whipping up a miniature gale inside the bedroom.
On the desk, the diary began to shake violently. It twitched and hopped against the surface, as if it had suddenly realized it made a terrible, terrible mistake.
"Eh, no good. This isn't very balanced."
Rekka lowered the roaring machine, tilting his head.
The diary instantly stopped shaking. It practically sagged against the desk, exuding a distinct aura of relief.
Swish!
With a sharp metallic clack, Rekka split the massive weapon right down the middle, separating it into two distinct, dual-wielded chainswords. He gripped one in each hand, the twin motors buzzing in perfect, terrifying stereo.
The diary resumed its frantic shaking, its pages rustling together in a loud, panicked clatter.
'I want to run~ But I can't escape~'
Rekka smirked. It was practically singing its own doom.
This thing was definitely operating on some Voldemort notebook logic. There had to be some sort of conscious entity or curse dwelling inside the parchment.
And the ever-clever Rekka had already figured out exactly how to handle it.
"A notebook like you only knows how to write bad things next to people's names," he scolded, pointing the revving tip of the left chainsword at the leather cover. "How can you live like this? It seems I have no choice but to saw you directly in half. The top half will become a Lucky Notebook, and the bottom half will become a Calamity Notebook."
He nodded to himself. Perfect. That would be completely balanced.
The diary twitched faster, inching backward until it teetered dangerously close to the edge of the desk.
Rekka casually swung his right chainsword forward, the spinning teeth biting into the wood just millimeters from the book, firmly blocking its escape route.
"Stop struggling. For something as fundamentally unbalanced as you, I am obligated to balance you out."
The diary clearly understood him. It spun wildly on the tabletop, a blur of panicked leather. Seeing its path blocked by the roaring blade on the right, it immediately pivoted and scraped toward the left, only to find the second buzzing saw waiting for it, teeth gleaming under the room's lights.
"Don't saw me! I'm very useful! I can bring people terrible misfortune!"
The pages flipped open rapidly on their own, the words bleeding onto the paper in frantic, wet ink.
Rekka sneered. He did not back down. Instead, he pressed the right chainsword a fraction of an inch closer. The spinning metal teeth grazed the edge of the leather cover, kicking up a flurry of shredded paper confetti.
"Bring terrible misfortune? That right there is the problem," Rekka lectured, his tone taking on the cadence of a disappointed teacher. "You are only responsible for bringing misfortune. Who is responsible for the luck? In this world, there cannot only be bad things without good things. Yin and Yang must be harmonious. Fortune and disaster rely on each other, that is the very essence of balance. A defective product like you, suffering from such severe imbalance, must be physically transformed by my hands to regain a new, proper life."
The diary bounced wildly, the ink practically screaming onto the page.
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I was wrong, Master!"
"You are just a little book, instinctively bringing misfortune to people. That is your nature. It's not your fault."
Rekka's expression softened. He suddenly showed a sliver of mercy, lifting the blades just a hair.
"Yes, yes! It's my nature! It's not my fault!" the ink scribbled out in desperate, jagged strokes.
"But--"
Rekka's tone dropped, turning ice-cold. The chainsword in his right hand pressed down another inch, the motor whining.
"Nature does not mean correctness. How can there be something in this world that only brings misfortune? That's far too specialized. Too unbalanced. Since I walk the Path of Balance today, I cannot possibly allow a crooked Path like yours to continue existing."
"I'll change! Isn't it enough if I change?!"
The text refreshed so fast the wet ink almost splashed out of the binding, splattering against the desk.
"I can bring good luck from now on! Write a name, and I guarantee they'll find money when they step outside!"
Rekka raised an eyebrow, lifting the chainswords slightly.
This little artifact was quite sensible, he would give it that. But words on a page were hardly a guarantee.
"No, I'm not reassured!"
Wuu--Wuwuwu wuwuwu wuwuwu wuwu!
"I'll count to three. If you don't agree to my exact terms, I'll start sawing. Three!"
Buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz buzz!
"How can you just count to three--"
The notebook did not even get to finish its inky protest. Rekka exerted a sudden, brutal burst of force. The roaring teeth of the chainsword bit into the leather, tearing through parchment and binding in a spray of shredded paper, sawing the cursed artifact directly in half down the middle.
"It died just like that?"
He poked the top half with the tip of his blade.
No reaction.
He poked the bottom half.
Still no reaction.
"Tsk. Turned into an ordinary notebook, I guess."
A fleeting sense of regret washed over him. He really thought it would put up more of a fight.
"Never mind. Since you're dead, I'll just modify you myself. A notebook that grants wishes but causes an equivalent amount of bad luck."
He sighed, dropping the heavy weapons to his sides. In that case, he might as well put it back together.
Rekka reached out, his daily Path resonance flaring to life. He grasped the two unevenly sawed halves and forced them together. Reality shimmered, and the notebook was restored to its original, uncut form.
If the diary still had a voice, it would undoubtedly be screaming: 'Are you kidding me?! Then what was the point of sawing me in the first place?!'
The point, of course, was that purging the miscellaneous diary ghost from the premises was highly important to Rekka's peace of mind.
"From today onward, you are a proper Wish Diary," Rekka declared to the inanimate object. "Any wish written in you will come true, but at the exact same time, an equally significant piece of minor misfortune will occur to the user. That is fair. That is balanced."
The diary showed absolutely no reaction.
"No objection means consent."
He picked up the freshly resurrected notebook and flipped through the pages casually. The blank parchment remained blank, but that eerie, oppressive atmosphere from earlier had completely vanished. Holding it now, it felt like nothing more than an ordinary leather-bound journal, even carrying a faint, fresh scent of ink.
"Rekka? What was that loud noise just now? I heard this crazy buzzing coming from your room and thought you were sawing something in half."
"I sawed, but I didn't completely saw."
March 7th stepped through the doorway, looking utterly bewildered. Her bright eyes scanned the room before landing squarely on the two massive, terrifying chainswords leaning casually against the wall. Her pupils trembled.
"What are those things?! Where did you even get those?!"
"Erudition made them a couple of days ago," Rekka replied smoothly, not missing a beat. "They are very balanced, and they work very well."
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