Chapter 81: Teacher’s Diary

Ion hesitated, then picked up Sansevieria.

“Eat enough and come down. I’m heading to the lab.”

“Let’s go together! I’m full!” Baba chirped, flapping energetically. The small bat, belly bulging, perched on the pot.

“Full… already?” Ion asked, skeptical.

“Yup, super full. Let’s go down.”

Ion checked the bottle Baba had eaten from. Only a tenth was gone—just the granules near the neck.

“You’re full from that?” Ion said.

Baba had devoured entire bottles in ten minutes before, then demanded more. Now this tiny amount satisfied it? Maybe starvation shrank its stomach?

“This Mana Sulfur’s different,” Baba said. “Fills me faster. Super filling. Tasty!”

Faster filling means faster digestion, Ion thought, expecting Baba to whine again soon. He grabbed the bottle to take with him.

Baba piped up, “Dam Ion, take all of it! All these crates are Mana Sulfur!”

“I’ll take it all later. This is just for you while I explore the lab.”

“No need! I’ll stay full. You planning to camp in the lab all day?”

“Talking like you won’t be hungry by tomorrow,” Ion said.

“For real! Full! Satisfied!” Baba insisted.

Knowing Baba’s gluttonous nature, Ion didn’t buy it and headed downstairs.

Ion went to the lab one floor below the top. Unlocking a simple seal on the glass door, he stepped in and momentarily wondered if he was in Idea or on Earth. The countless archmages who tried entering the tower would’ve left empty-handed—they couldn’t read the texts.

Everything was in Korean.

From scribbles to analysis sheets and labels, it was all Korean and English. Ion pulled a thick book from a neatly arranged shelf.

[Idea’s Existing Magic List: ㅇ~ㅎ]

Teacher had even organized spells by Korean consonant order. Flipping through, Ion stopped at a page.

[Compressed Space Pouch Magic found in ancient texts. Compresses objects into a specially made pouch for storage and retrieval. Similar to post-Cataclysm inventory/subspace concepts. The pouch can be as small as a buttonhole, but its material must withstand the total weight of stored items.]

Subspace magic! Ion thought. His magic fell into two categories: Idea’s existing spells taught by Teacher, and new spells born from his plant-based imagination. Subspace pouches didn’t fit his plant-inspired creativity—seeds with wings or camouflaging leaves, yes, but not pouches.

“Why didn’t you tell me about this…” Ion muttered. Teacher likely saw no need, assuming awakenings granted inventories. Ion considered tearing out the page but decided to memorize it and keep the book. He planned to master every spell in it.

The shelves held other intriguing titles:

[Korean-Idea Translation Dictionary] [Idea Folktales Collection] [Residual Beast Interaction Records] [10,000-Year-Old Human-Beast War Theory]

Ion picked up the last one, but only the first few pages were translated into Korean; the rest was in ancient script, unreadable. “I’ll leave this to the experts,” he said. With Noishe’s tower open, scholars like Semir and Musriolph would swarm in, translating eagerly.

Ion moved to the lab, cold and eerie. Experimental tools bore inactive freezing and flame spells, and preserved materials sat in transparent containers.

“Dam Ion, spirits here,” Baba said.

Ion looked and saw spirit corpses—frenzied ones. Unlike the cute, doll-like spirits he knew, these had sealed-over eyes, noses, and mouths, with boil-covered bodies, ashen wings, and rotting limbs. Grotesque.

Since Mana Sulfur came from frenzy zones, studying it required studying frenzied spirits.

“Lots of dead spirits. Cruel. Sad. I mourn…” Baba said.

“You know Mana Sulfur comes from where spirits die, right? Could be secreted from their corpses,” Ion pointed out.

“Sad. Gross. Why’s Mana Sulfur tasty to me?” Baba asked.

“Then stop eating it,” Ion suggested.

“Impossible. Regretful. I’m a bad bat,” Baba moaned.

“Not bad. All life does this,” Ion said. Humans ate animal flesh; spirits ate substances from their kin’s death sites. Nature wasn’t about good or evil.

Descending through the lab and research rooms, Ion reached the study. It was pristine, filled with preserved ancient books that smelled faintly pleasant. Sitting at a wooden desk, the chair creaked. Absentmindedly, Ion opened a box on the desk, expecting pens but finding a thin, spiral-bound notebook. He opened it, expecting research notes, but froze at the first page.

[Why am I here? It’s been a week. This is the novel I read. I don’t know why I’m here. Why? Why me? I want to go home.]

Teacher’s diary.

[April 1. I decided to keep a diary to stay sane. Two months since I was transmigrated into this novel. I’ve thought countless times about why I’m here, why I’m experiencing this transmigration nonsense. I still don’t know. Sarah, the protagonist, hasn’t even been born. Why am I here? I resent God.]

[April 25. I miss Mom’s spicy bibimbap. I want to hear Dad’s ridiculous political rants. Go to a PC bang with my annoying little brother. I want to go home.]

[June 12. I’m sorry, Mom and Dad. I can’t take it anymore. I’m sorry.]

[June 13. I can’t even die.]

[July 3. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH]

[September 1. Let’s think. Is there really no way back? Noishe believed in other worlds and studied dimensional travel magic. If I succeed in that magic and reach Earth, will Mom, Dad, and my brother be there? Since this is a novel, it’s unlikely. But I can’t let go of hope.]

[October 30. People here believe in a Creator God who made Idea. If the novel’s author is God, why did they transmigrate me here? Why as a fringe magical scholar? I didn’t obsessively comment on an unread novel, it wasn’t written by family, I didn’t just read one volume, and I didn’t leave hate comments. The author sent me here with no message. Why am I here? There must be a reason I can’t even die. I prayed at the temple, but no answer came. I wish someone, anyone, would answer…]

[December 19. Today was Mom’s birthday. I miss her.]

[January 1. Idea holds a big festival on the new year, a detail not in the novel. It feels so real, not like a novel, and it’s confusing. I wish it was real—then my family would exist on Earth. Knowing it’s futile, I tried hanging myself again today.]

[February 11. (An entire page blacked out.)]

The diary’s early entries were raw chaos and despair.

“I didn’t know they suffered this much…” Ion murmured.

Teacher had mentioned missing family to the orphans, but always with calm, detached eyes and voice. They were more desperate about fulfilling the novel’s ending. Ion never imagined they’d attempted suicide repeatedly.

“Dam Ion, Teacher sounds crazy,” Baba said.

“Don’t badmouth Teacher. You got Mana Sulfur because of them,” Ion snapped.

“Oh, right. Cancel that. Teacher’s good. I don’t like them, but good,” Baba said.

Ion kept reading. For nearly two years, Teacher struggled to adapt, drowning in confusion and despair, attempting suicide or filling pages with I want to die. The Korean texts in the lab made sense now—a desperate cling to their original life.

Then…

[April 14. Noishe’s brother visited. I left the mansion for the first time. I picked ripe apples at his orchard. At night, we ate skewers at a night market. For the first time here, I felt something was delicious.]

[May 28. A villager knocked, saying a bridge broke in heavy rain. I used magic to rebuild it stronger. The villagers left herbs, fruits, and crops I didn’t need at my door. Some kid even gave me a worn stuffed toy. Funny humans.]

[September 1. Harvest here is August to September. I helped with the labor shortage. Rose’s soup was salty, like it was loaded with seasoning. It reminded me of Mom’s gochujang stew.]

[November 15. It snowed. Kids dragged me out, and villagers were making snowmen. Snowmen are snowmen even in Idea. I showed off my skills for the first time in a while. Back home, I’d make snowmen all over the neighborhood when it snowed.]

[April 7. I’m writing again because I’m starting magic lessons for village kids tomorrow. What to teach first? Noishe’s study and lab have no basic magic books. What an arrogant jerk, not even a grand archmage. Start with drawing magic circles, I guess? Hope the kids keep up.]

Teacher began adapting to Noishe’s life, even enjoying it, and the diary entries grew sparse. Then, on February 5 the next year, a few lines were written in bold, pressed strokes.