Chapter 15: The Black Organization Is Not As Simple As You Think
Alarm clock? Memo?
Kasumigaoka Utako muttered to herself, staring at the faint words that had appeared in her diary.
It was only after she wrote "diary permissions" that a prompt burned into her vision.
"Diary Level 1 permissions activated."
Explanations poured into her head all at once.
Her lips parted slightly. So Ai hadn't been lying after all—the alarm clock and memo she mentioned were indeed new functions. She could now write freely into the diary not only with pen, but directly with her thoughts. If her imagination was sharp enough, she could even add sketches, entire illustrations, even mock PPT slides. Best of all, she could silently export and import content between the diary and her phone or laptop—utterly seamless.
Set an alarm? The diary would wake her up.
Jot down a reminder? It would nudge her in advance.
Research something? It could filter information, even flag nearby danger.
Utako leaned back in her chair, tapping the cover of the diary.
"The direction of this unlock is different from what I expected… but it's annoyingly practical."
For a novelist, the ability to draft with her mind was priceless. Even crude sketches could be handed to illustrators as direct reference. It was the sort of tool every light novel author dreamed of.
But the most intriguing function lay deeper—the system of reading value points.
Daily reading still granted one point.
If her name appeared in the Mysterious Person's diary—real or pen name—she earned another.
And now? They could comment under his entries. Each comment gave a point, with one lucky remark chosen each day and shown to everyone.
Utako's fingers hovered above the page. A public comment visible to all? A potential lifeline. With the right wording, they could signal other holders without breaking any rules. She almost smiled.
"But risky," she murmured. "Even a slip could expose us."
---
Elsewhere, she mulled over the group chat. Creating it so recklessly had been just like Hoshino Ai. Bold, impulsive, dazzling—always chasing connections. It wasn't wrong, but it was dangerous.
The four members were a strange mix:
Hoshino Ai, already unmasked by the Mysterious Person's cruel spoilers. Her secrets—the pregnancy, the fan who killed her—were laid bare. She had nothing left to lose.
Eru Chitanda, polite to a fault, likely the Classics Club girl hinted in the diary. Too earnest, too trusting.
Rikka Takanashi, the chunibyo with her "Evil King's True Eye." Utako almost wrote her off, until she remembered Yin-Yang Eyes were real. Thirty percent credibility, she decided, scribbling in her private analysis table.
And herself, the so-called failed heroine who needed to strip Kato Megumi from the stage to even have a chance at love.
Utako chuckled humorlessly. "What a pathetic lineup of protagonists." And yet—without the diary, they never would have crossed paths. The absurdity almost comforted her.
---
She decided to float the idea in the group:
Kasumi Utako: "If we use the comment system, we could drop hints about the group's existence. That way, others will find us. But it exposes risk—our names may not stay private."
Ai: "As expected of Kasumi Utako-sensei! When I made the group, I didn't even think that far. I just wanted everyone to have a place to talk… and maybe track down the Mysterious Person together."
Ai: "But you're right. Maybe we shouldn't add more yet. You trusted me, and I won't gamble that away."
Eru Chitanda: "It's fine. I asked the diary. As long as we don't give out our real names, nothing leaks. I'll change mine now."
A moment later, her name flickered.
Classical Literature Club: "There. Better, right?"
Utako smirked and checked. As promised, no personal info was visible. As expected of a function bought with points—the safeguards were solid.
Ai: "Chitanda—no, Classical Literature Club—you're amazing! I'll remember to call you that now. Everyone already knows who I am, so I don't need to change mine, hehe."
Kasumi Utako: "If you forget, just @ the name. That way you won't slip."
Kasumi Utako: "Alright, let's test it. Everyone leave a comment on today's diary. Drop our group hint there. If the diary picks it up, others will come to us."
Ai: "Then it's decided! Let's find our mysterious writer together!"
The chat quieted after that. Small plans, small hope. But enough to make Utako's chest feel strangely lighter.
---
Far across Tokyo, Renji Miyauchi had no idea a secret network of heroines was forming around him. He stretched lazily, flipping open his diary as a new notification blinked.
"…Upload entries by thought? Add illustrations? Don't tell me it'll let me post videos next. This thing's turning into a full-on social media app." He scratched his cheek. "Figures. It used to be old-school diary style, but the moment I figured that out, it leveled up. Real sneaky."
Still, one new feature caught his eye—the lucky reader's comment. One chosen each day. Anonymous by default.
"Anonymous, huh? Lame. But let's see what today's genius had to say."
The words glowed.
[I haven't heard of Lupin III, but saying he could destroy an organization that's lasted thirty years? Unbelievable. Maybe he's strong in his own world, but here, the Organization is not that simple. Stay away. That's my only advice.]
Renji froze, then grinned slowly. "Well, well. That reeks of Shiho Miyano. Or… Ai Haibara, eventually." He tapped the page. "A warning, huh? Cute. But telling me not to poke the Black Organization is basically begging me to write about them tomorrow."
He leaned back, stretching, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Guess I've got my inspiration. Thanks, 'anonymous.'"
---
Meanwhile, Yotsuya Miko tossed restlessly in her bed. The diary lay on her floor, silent but heavy, as if waiting. The words from yesterday echoed: spirits watching, testing. She pulled the blanket tighter.
The room was still—yet the silence felt too sharp, as if someone were holding their breath beside her.
She dared not open the diary. To her, it wasn't a lifeline but a snare. A demon's lure.
Her phone buzzed on the nightstand, a trivial sound that made her flinch. Miko pressed her eyes shut. Don't look. Don't see. Don't invite them closer.
She prayed for sleep, for a dream where the world was ordinary again.