Chapter 72: The Pink Diary

Leon walked swiftly to the front of the seventh door, his very own. He halted, turned his head toward the elevator’s direction, and sighed softly.

The memory of the frozen car and the echoing command remained like a cold stone in his gut. He tilted his head back, pushed the door open, and stepped inside.

Darkness welcomed him, but he wasn’t bothered. He went straight to the bed, unwrapped the black shirt from himself, and threw it aside without caring where it would land.

He collapsed onto the mattress and closed his eyes.

Outside his window, darkness loomed while the bright stars glittered. Dry leaves scraped across the glass like brittle claws.

Cool air flowed into the room through the slightly open window beside the wardrobe, carrying a distant, sweet-rotten scent from the fruitful trees.

Leon’s door remained unlocked, but no one entered, despite the faint sounds of footsteps that passed in the hallway.

Mr. Lee’s words and the phantom command from the elevator hummed in a discordant loop in his mind as sleep pulled him under.

After a while, Leon bolted upright, gasping, as he felt something wet touch his face. His heart remained in a frantic drum in his ribs as he scanned the room.

His gaze landed on the bed beside him and widened. Zoe’s side was empty, the sheets undisturbed like his own were.

But on her pillow, where her head should have been, was the pink diary.

’Where is she? I didn’t see her last night, and she’s not here now.’ A spike of cold alarm echoed in Leon’s mind as he thought of possible places she would be.

He brushed his right palm across his cheek where he’d felt the damp touch. When he moved his hand down, he saw it was clean.

He narrowed his gaze sharply on the diary and caught sight of a corner of a photograph that had peeked from between its pages.

“What or whose picture is that?” He stretched his right arm for it instinctively, but paused a few inches away from it.

Zoe’s terrified reaction from the other night flashed in his mind. Stay back!

He pulled his hand back as if burned and swung his legs out of the bed. He stood and stretched, crackling sounds echoing from his body with every turn.

“What a strange feeling.” A weary smile touched his lips as he closed his eyes and yawned.

Ding.

A notification sound came from under the edge of the bed, where he’d slept.

“Did I sleep on it?” he muttered, keeping his voice low. He knelt and retrieved the scuffed datapad, turned it over in his hands, and gave it a clinical scan.

“I’d be in even deeper trouble if this got destroyed too.” He placed it carefully on the black cloth he used as a sheet and turned toward the bathroom.

“Final match, huh,” he said, and pushed the bathroom door open, paused with one foot inside, and glanced at the analog clock above the frame.

“06:00.” He entered fully and shut the door behind him.

After five minutes, he exited, his blue towel wrapped around his waist, water dripping from his jet-black hair.

He walked to the wardrobe and crouched to open the lower drawer where his clothes were kept.

His face turned pale when his eyes flickered past one of Zoe’s drawers. ’Empty?’

“HOW?” He swallowed hard, blinked three times, and stared at the vacant space as if his eyes had played tricks on him.

“Has she left?” A hollow sadness opened up in his chest. He yanked open all her other drawers.

After five futile minutes, Leon moved back to the bed, the towel still clinging to his hips.

“If she’s gone, why did she leave this here?” He ran a hand through his damp hair, his gaze locked on the diary with a clinical intensity.

“Nah, she hadn’t,” he said, and shook his head, denying the truth.

He turned back to the wardrobe, pulled out a fresh, stretchy black shirt and a pair of dark trousers, and put them on.

“Did she leave the diary by mistake? Or for some reason I can’t figure out?” He stared at the small pink book while balancing on one leg to pull his trousers on.

“No. I have to check what’s inside that.” A stupid, desperate courage overrode his earlier hesitation.

He moved to the bed and picked up the diary. His thumb slid to the edge of the warm leather, ready to flip it open.

Bzzt-bzzt-bzzt!

The datapad on the bed vibrated aggressively, its screen flashing. Leon flinched; the diary almost slipped from his grasp.

He snatched the device and stared at the priority notification dominating the screen.

GROUP TRIAL – FIRST WAVE

REPORT TIME: 06:50

PARTICIPANTS INCLUDED: STORM, L.

“06:50?” His eyes widened with shock. He jerked his head toward the clock above the bathroom door, then back to the datapad.

He inhaled deeply and dropped the diary onto the rumpled sheets as if it were suddenly toxic and dashed for the door.

The door slammed shut behind him.

Boom.

In the silent room, on the bed, the impact of the slamming door stirred the air. The pink diary trembled.

Then, as if guided by an unseen finger, its front cover flipped open. On the first pristine page, only two words were written in elegant, looping script: Leon Storm

Beneath the sentence, three bold dots pointed toward the next page.

Outside the room, Leon moved like the wind, bypassing the elevator with only a glance. He took the stairs two at a time, his boots echoing in the concrete stairwell.

All eyes in the lobby tracked him as he burst through the main door and out into the cool morning.

In a blink, he halted at the entrance of the trial hall, panting, sweat already beading on his brow and soaking through the back of his new shirt.

He shoved the heavy door open and hurried to the changing room, expecting a crowd.

But it was empty.

He sat heavily on a metal bench, letting the silence press on him like a hand. “No one is even here. Why did I run so fast?”

He lowered his head into his hand and closed his eyes, trying to slow his frantic breath.

After ten minutes, the datapad in his pocket vibrated again. He pulled it out. The screen displayed a new, brief update:

LOCATION UPDATE: GROUP TRIAL WILL COMMENCE AT PRIMARY TRAINING FIELD. PROCEED IMMEDIATELY.

“Change of location?” The words came out in a frustrated sigh. Leon stood, his limbs feeling heavy with wasted strength, and walked back out of the trial hall, frowning.

Source: Webnovel.com, updated by NovelKeep