When Itsako regained consciousness, she found herself dizzy and lying on the floor of the storage room. However, the storage room she woke up in was different from the one she had seen before passing out. There were no shelves filled with books or rows of boxes. The only book near her was the same notebook she had been reading before losing consciousness.
She picked up the notebook and, using what little strength she had, stood up. After briefly surveying the room, her suspicion grew even stronger: the storage room had changed in size. Its length had increased from 15 yards (13 meters) to 20 yards (18 meters), and its width had expanded from 10 to 15 yards. Despite this, Itsako indifferently walked toward the storage room door. As she walked the short distance, she noticed there were no more rats, and even the cracks and damp stains on the walls—disgusting as they were—were gone. Only her footsteps broke the silence, echoing throughout the room.
As she got closer and closer to the door, she tried to recall what had happened to her, but could only remember the moments before she passed out—memories of reading the notebook, followed by vague and fragmented recollections.
While lost in thought, she suddenly snapped back to reality upon seeing the door and reached out to open it. But that simple action felt like a monumental task. Although it was the same door she had entered through—with its rust and wear now mysteriously vanished—it now gave off an ominous feeling, like an impenetrable fortress. And as she reached for the handle—if it could be called that, as it resembled more of a pull-bar than a proper knob—a red alarm flashed in front of her, and a voice echoed in her head:
"You cannot leave without the keys."
Itsako froze. No, "froze" wasn't the right word. It was more like a surge of terror, anxiety, disbelief, and shock all mixed together—a sickening, terrifying feeling that made her heart feel like it was about to burst out of her chest. Panicked, she began pulling on the door like someone who'd had a bucket of ice water dumped on them. The door let out a screeching noise, a horrible mix of an alarm and the grinding of metal on concrete.
After several desperate attempts to yank or push the door open, she made a last-ditch effort—shouting for help. But even she knew it was pointless. The storage room was located in an old, abandoned corner of the house. No one ever came here.
---
No more sound came from Itsako's throat. Her energy had run out, and the agonizing screams gave way to a burning pain.
Now that she was certain she couldn't escape and all her efforts were futile, the adrenaline in her body began to fade, leaving behind nothing but exhaustion. Without that rush, her body began to feel unbearably heavy. Two minutes later, it wasn't just fatigue—it was like being hit with the weight of twelve sleepless hours.
Sleep might've helped, but Itsako didn't want to surrender to exhaustion yet. She still tried, even weakly, to keep going. But after only a few seconds, it became clear that she had no strength left.
The last thing she could manage before surrendering to fatigue was to drag herself to an old, worn-out mattress and collapse onto it.
---
Time passed with incredible speed, and Itsako slept for another four hours.
Now, 16 hours after she had entered the storage room, she lay on the ground staring at the white ceiling. The plain ceiling had tiny black dots scattered across it, giving it a stone-like, ancient look. It was oddly mesmerizing, making her want to keep staring and forget all about escaping. The real issue wasn't sleep or hopelessness—it was resources.
This time, Itsako used logic to assess her situation:
Her food supply was extremely limited.
Even if she did decide to try something, her best option was to conserve her energy.
"Ugh, damn it. If I had more food, maybe I could've escaped like Giacomo Casanova did—with a nail! Heh… not a bad idea. But for now, I need to deal with reality. Maybe I'll try that in one of my dreams later."
As she got up to examine the room again, her eyes caught something—a small hourglass she had adjusted just a few minutes earlier.
She had found it while exploring the room after waking up, wanting to make sure nothing else had changed. She decided to use it to track her meal times.
Apparently, the hourglass had a label with details showing that it was set to measure eight-hour intervals.
Itsako tilted the hourglass up and down several times, trying to make it stretch time longer in her mind—but of course, it didn't help.
---
She set the hourglass down and walked toward the notebook.
Her footsteps echoed through the stillness of the room, uncovering every corner as if they were searching the space on her behalf before returning to their source.
This time, she wasn't returning to the notebook in search of an escape. Instead, she wanted to run a test.
A simple but important one: had the contents of the notebook changed the same way the storage room had?
She picked it up and first looked at the ruby embedded in its cover. Though it was cloudy, it still reflected a bit of light.
She opened the notebook and, almost without thinking, flipped straight to the last page.
A deep excitement rose in her heart as she started reading. Even though the writings weren't particularly thrilling or meaningful, she kept going, driven by something within her, a voice from the depths of her soul urging her to continue.
By the time she reached the final line, the initial excitement had faded, but the strange compulsion still whispered to her: read the last line.
With a sigh of disappointment at her failed experiment, she read it.
But the moment she did, a massive spark of emotion surged through her chest once again.
And here is what was written on the last line of the notebook:
"For more information, summon the notification."