Unfortunately, he didn’t meet the requirements to transfer schools, nor did he have the courage to commit suicide.

All he could do was continue living like this.

…………

Evening of December 10th.

The school bell rang. For Samuel Grant, every day of high school felt like a year, and when he got home, he still had to do a ton of chores, because his father—a gambler and drunkard—was always wasted, usually doing just three things: making a drunken fool of himself, beating his son for “exercise,” and drooling in his sleep.

Dragging his weary steps, Samuel Grant walked down the familiar streets. The whole world seemed gray to him, and every moment of life felt like torture.

As he gradually reached a more remote area, Samuel Grant suddenly stopped, staring at a shop by the roadside and muttering to himself, “Was there always a bookstore here?” He vaguely remembered that just a few days ago, this was an empty lot, but now there was clearly a single-story building of several dozen square meters. The sign read “BOOKS,” and the window facing the street was piled high with books, making it impossible to see inside.

Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe he just didn’t want to go back to his filthy, messy home too early, but Samuel Grant pushed the door open and went in.

Inside, it felt like the space was even bigger than it looked from outside. The room was roughly cross-shaped in layout. Besides the bookshelves along the walls, several tables pushed together in the center were piled with books, and books were stacked in the corners and on the floor as well. The place was so cluttered that there was barely any room to stand or walk; the space was almost entirely taken up by randomly placed piles of books.

The air was filled with the distinctive smell of paper and leather—not exactly unpleasant. Walking a few steps further in, he saw a desk, and behind it, in a swivel chair, sat a man who looked to be in his twenties or thirties. His hair was messy, he wore a black shirt and suit with the collar open, looking completely unkempt.

Ethan didn’t react at all to the customer entering. He just kept reading with one hand, while the other hand slowly stirred a cup of coffee on the desk with a spoon.

“Um… boss… excuse me…” Samuel Grant instinctively wanted to ask where this bookstore had come from.

Ethan didn’t let him finish, nor did he look up from his book. He just put down the spoon, lazily raised his arm, and pointed with his finger at three bookshelves in the corner to his left: “What you’re looking for is over there.”

Samuel Grant felt that the situation was indescribably strange, but still walked woodenly toward those bookshelves. He didn’t even know why he was following Ethan’s instructions, as if the owner’s simple words could lead him to unravel all the doubts in his heart.

When he got there, Samuel Grant realized that all the books on this shelf had black covers, making it impossible to tell what was inside just by looking. So it didn’t matter which one he picked up. He randomly took a book from the shelf, then glanced back at Ethan, who was still reading and drinking coffee, completely ignoring him.

“What a weird guy…” Samuel Grant muttered under his breath, and opened the book in his hand.

The first page was blank. On the second page, near the top center, was the title.

It was three characters written in an unsettling green ink—Samuel Grant望.

“My name?” Samuel Grant instantly got goosebumps, thinking, “Is this a coincidence? A prank? Some TV show’s hidden camera?”

He flipped a few more pages. Aside from the title, the rest of the text was in standard black print, but the content nearly made Samuel Grant cry out in shock.

“People like Dad should just die.”

“That bastard Miura, I really want to push him off the roof.”

“I want to be a popular guy like Fujita.”

Samuel Grant quickly flipped through the contents, his face gradually filling with terror and shame, until he was about two-thirds through the book, where the content abruptly stopped, leaving only dozens of blank pages.

And the last two lines were: “Is this a coincidence? A prank? Some TV show’s hidden camera?” and “How is that possible?!”

At this point, Ethan finally put down his own book, took a sip of coffee, then turned to look at Samuel Grant: “Put the book back, let’s talk business.”

Samuel Grant trembled, hesitating, torn between a primal fear of the incomprehensible and a reluctance to let go of a book filled with his innermost thoughts, struggling for a moment without following Ethan’s instructions.

Ethan sighed: “Put the book down and come over here, or I’ll chop you up and feed you to the pigs.”

Samuel Grant gave in. He put the book back on the shelf, carefully memorizing its location, then nervously walked over to Ethan’s desk.

Ethan gave a smile so fake it couldn’t be more fake: “Samuel Grant-kun, the pig-feeding thing was just a joke, don’t take it seriously. What you just saw was free, but only this once.” Ethan raised the book he’d been reading since Samuel Grant entered, which also had a black cover.

“The title of this book is Walter Charles Reed.” Ethan was very satisfied with Samuel Grant’s reaction, and continued in an enticing tone, “As long as you do one thing in exchange, you can read what’s inside.”