The whispers among the seven students gradually died down.
Rein looked past them, his gaze drifting toward the endless rows of shelves disappearing into the gloom.
“As you all know… Lucien entered the library last. With Noah, Lenora, and Senior Seris.”
He began to pace again, his quiet steps echoing rhythmically in the hush. Then he stopped in front of Julian, staring straight into his eyes.
“More importantly,” Rein said, voice hardening, “he might not have even survived tonight…”
He didn’t blink.
“…if I hadn’t found him being torn apart by zombies near the corridor by the cafeteria.”
Rein paused.
Then asked, quietly—like a blade sliding free.
“Do you really think someone in that condition had the chance to poison the entire room with Forget-Me-Not?”
Mirela, tight with impatience, snapped back immediately.
“Then how did we get poisoned?”
Rein didn’t answer her.
He turned his back.
His gaze fixed on the librarian’s room door.
“When you and your brother entered the library…” he asked, pointing toward it,
“…had that door already been forced open?”
Mirela froze.
Her eyes lowered, her lips tightening as she tried to drag memory back into place. She glanced at Julian, uncertain.
“It… should’ve been normal, right? Julian?”
Julian startled, scratching his chin.
“I—I don’t know, Mirela. I wasn’t looking at it.”
The uncertainty spread like cold water.
Lenora and Noah exchanged a brief look before Lenora admitted, “I didn’t notice either.”
Noah nodded without speaking—his expression strained, as if he was trying to recall a missing frame.
Seris, arms still crossed, exhaled and spoke in a controlled, serious tone.
“Even if someone looked, they wouldn’t have seen it. The door is dark. It sits in shadow. And that mana lamp over there has been failing all night.”
She stopped—then looked at Rein, realization flickering behind her lenses.
“You’re saying…”
Rein nodded once.
“Yes,” he said lowly. “That door wasn’t forced during the blackout.”
His eyes narrowed.
“It was forced before it.”
Everyone stared at Rein as if waiting for the next piece to drop into place. He didn’t flinch. He simply turned back toward the door again.
“Back then, I missed it too,” he said quietly. “Even though I went in and out of this room multiple times. I was too focused on rushing out to help people—I didn’t scan the surroundings.”
His eyes narrowed.
“But the last time—when I came in with Master Rachel and Ingrid—I saw it. That door had already been forced.”
“You saw it?” Seris asked, frowning. Her gaze fixed on Rein’s strange blue eyes—eyes that, in the dim light, seemed to catch and return it like starlight in a void.
Rein tapped his temple once, almost like he was mocking himself.
“Yeah. You could call it a special ability.”
Then, with a faint, bitter twist to his voice:
“And it’s exactly what sent me down the wrong path.”
He remembered the moment he’d held up the half-burnt scrap of Forget-Me-Not. He’d known this body could detect foreign scents—yet he’d been so pleased with its ability to see in the dark that he’d overlooked the more important clue.
That was mistake number one.
And then it hit him why no one else had noticed the door.
The shadows pooled thickly in that corner. The weak mana lamp made the area look normal from a distance—like an optical trap built from darkness and assumption.
From here, the door looked fine.
Ordinary. Untouched.
But as Rein focused on the shadowed door, he saw it clearly: the damage around the latch. The fractured mechanism. The subtle violence that the dim light tried—and failed—to hide.
And he saw it without even using Mana Vision.
In the beginning, he’d assumed everyone could see what he could.
Mistake number two.
He exhaled through his nose.
“Second miss…” he muttered. “If no one saw the damage from the start… then it’s possible it was forced open before the blackout.”
He went still.
The scattered shards in his mind—jagged, disordered—began to slot together. Not smoothly. Not kindly. But unmistakably.
Rein closed his eyes, drew in a deep breath, and when he spoke again his voice was steady.
“In that case… the missing variable has been in front of us all along.”
Every footstep in the library died. Even the air seemed to pause.
“Someone forced the librarian’s room before the lights went out,” Rein explained. “They used the failing lamp near the door—the half-darkness—as cover.”
His gaze flicked to the broken entry.
“They went inside and searched for the Arcane Key. And they already knew where it would be—on Librarian Belle’s desk. The mess, the wrecked room… that was just camouflage. A stage set to conceal the real intent.”
He let the silence settle.
“After that, they used Forget-Me-Not—the batch Lucien had left with the herb burner inside the room.”
Rein’s tone stayed calm, but the weight behind it pressed down.
“Of course, the culprit had an antidote. Lucien’s ‘loyal helper’ had been preparing things for him—research materials, supplies… whatever he demanded.”
“What?!” Mirela blurted, shock cutting through her composure. “Are you saying Lucien wasn’t the only culprit?”
Rein stopped moving.
He turned to her with a small smile—light at the corner of his mouth, cold behind his eyes.
“I already told you,” he said. “You’re asking the wrong question.”
His stare sharpened.
“You shouldn’t be asking who the culprit is. You should be asking… how many culprits there are.”
The room locked onto him.
Some frowned. Some looked stunned. Mirela took a half-step back as if his gaze had physically shoved her.
“Why are you looking at me—
I-I’m not the culprit!” Mirela snapped, voice wavering.
“You’re not,” Rein said immediately—too fast, too certain.
Then he added, voice dropping:
“But you and your brother…”
A pause.
“…are in the way.”
Everyone jolted.
Tara and Sally’s expressions hardened instantly—
And Rein, with infuriating ease, let his attention drift to them.
“Right, Tara… or should I call you Sally?” He let out a soft, amused sound.
“…Ah. Sorry.”
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
His eyes didn’t soften.
“I might be mixing you two up.”
The air went colder.
The others froze like statues, confusion and suspicion stamped across their faces.
Tara—the real one—flared.
“You’re breaking your promise…!” she hissed, nearly shouting. Her hands clenched so hard her knuckles whitened.
Rein didn’t answer right away. He looked at her with a flat, unreadable calm. The smile faded, inch by inch, until there was nothing playful left.
“I’m not breaking anything,” he said evenly. “I’m just… confused.”
A pause.
“You two look alike. You act alike. That’s true, isn’t it?”
Every gaze snapped to Tara and Sally. Both girls wore expressions that gave nothing away—and somehow, that made it worse.
Rein released a quiet breath.
“And according to what you told Master Rachel—before the zombie incident—
you were in the alchemy room. Correct?”
His voice stayed deceptively mild. “Studying for tomorrow’s quiz.”
A low murmur rose around them.
Sweat appeared at the edges of both girls’ hairlines—tiny beads catching the weak light.
Rein walked slowly, hands clasped behind his back, eyes never leaving them.
“For first-years…” he said, as if thinking aloud, “that’s unusually diligent. But if your scores are poor like you claimed, then sure—studying harder makes sense.”
He stopped.
Then his eyes lifted, sharp again.
“But here’s the thing. That story is easy to verify.”
His gaze shifted briefly—almost respectfully—toward Master Rachel.
“And I’m sure she suspected that too… but it seems she chose to let it pass. For now.”
The words hit the girls like a needle to the heart. Both of them avoided his eyes.
Rein turned back to them.
“But what I found next…” His voice cooled. “It’s too coincidental.”
He spoke with deliberate precision.
“Lucien—who wanted top marks in that subject more than anyone… and who also happens to be Tara’s fiancé—gets pulled into events that align perfectly in the same narrow window of time.”
A ripple of shocked noise moved through the group.
Seris frowned. Mirela looked rattled. Julian seemed to be forcing his mind to keep up.
“Two threads that shouldn’t connect,” Rein said, firm and quiet, “suddenly knot together.”
He paused, letting the implication bloom in everyone’s head.
“That isn’t an accident.”
Then Rein spoke again—slow, flat, heavy.
“I think…”
His voice carried pressure now, like a hand closing around the room’s throat.
“…you were Lucien’s assistants.”
The words landed—heavy, final.
Tara’s eyes flashed.
“You’re framing us,” she shot back, sharp with anger and self-defense.
Rein only smiled faintly—like her outrage didn’t even reach him.
“Then…” he drawled, stretching the word until it felt like a hook, “how about we listen to a little story?”
The word story pulled everyone’s attention, against their will.
Rein inhaled once—steadying himself—and began.
“This morning, Lucien obtained Forget-Me-Not from someone. He gave it to you so you could prepare the antidote.”
His mouth curved in a small, humorless amusement.
“Anyone who experiments with poison,” he said softly, shrugging, “makes sure they can save themselves first.”
“They were in the alchemy room,” Rein said firmly.
“Brewing the antidote. Until late.”
Rein said, his tone firm. “That’s why they ended up trapped here tonight.”
Mirela—silent up to now—shifted and tilted her head, suspicion sharpening her voice.
“Wait. If Lucien already had the antidote formula, why didn’t he make it himself? And why hand the Forget-Me-Not to them? Why make it this complicated?”
Rein didn’t answer her.
He turned to Seris instead.
“The antidote for Forget-Me-Not needs Forget-Me-Not in the formula too, right, Senior Seris?”
Seris adjusted her glasses and nodded once.
“Yes. The antidote requires certain components from Forget-Me-Not itself.”
“And today—Lucien had an important schedule,” Rein continued, eyes locking onto hers. “Didn’t he?”
Seris only had to think for a heartbeat.
“Yes. Second-years were assigned to record and observe the third-years’ exam with Master Kael.”
She exhaled softly as she explained.
“Only ten second-years are chosen as field-recording assistants,” she said.
“We get extra credit.”
“No one would miss that chance. Lucien and I were among the ten.”
Rein crossed his arms.
His mind flicked back to midday—when he and Ingrid had been turned away from the Infirmary Research Hall because the third-years’ exam was underway. Back then it had looked like nothing.
Now it had a shadow.
He nodded, slow—like a man catching the scent of the answer.
Then his gaze slid to the librarian’s door again, steady and intent, as if that slab of wood was the real lock on this entire night.
“The one who forced the librarian’s door… had to be the one holding both Forget-Me-Not and the antidote.”
Rein inhaled, then began pacing again—measured, deliberate.
“All night I kept circling that door in my head. Turning it over. Turning it over.”
He stopped, voice dropping as if speaking to himself.
“And the real answer…”
A pause.
“…was simple.”
His blue eyes swept the group—then landed on Sally and Tara.
Their faces were still.
But their eyes—
they didn’t close fast enough.
“After removing every other possibility…” Rein halted, turning fully to them. “That leaves only you.”
They exchanged a glance—barely a fraction of a second.
It was enough.
Rein’s mouth curved faintly.
“When I went down to help Julian and Mirela…”
Rein glanced aside.
“Five minutes.”
His voice remained calm, almost conversational—like the calm of a blade.
“In those five minutes, the library had only the two of you. No one watching. No one tracking your movement.”
He lifted his chin slightly.
“You forced the librarian’s door. Stole the Arcane Key. And then…”
Rein let a beat hang—then pinned Tara with a deliberate stare.
“…maybe you planned it,” Rein said lightly.
“You’ve always been the strategist.”
“The one who thinks in angles.”
Tara drew in a deep breath—said nothing.
Her face stayed smooth.
But her hand—clenched so hard the veins stood out—betrayed what her expression refused to show.
Rein resumed pacing, voice slipping into the cadence of a storyteller assembling a picture for everyone to see.
“Before you left the room, you probably noticed the herb brazier. And you realized it could mask scent.”
He looked at them like he could see the exact moment it happened.
“So you burned the Forget-Me-Not.
Mixed it into the usual herb smell.
Camouflage.”
He nodded once, as if approving the craftsmanship of the lie.
“The Forget-Me-Not you happened to be carrying became your cover. Everyone who walked in afterward would become an unreliable witness. And you two could ‘get poisoned’ along with everyone else.”
Rein’s voice cooled another degree.
“You knew exactly what it did—because you’d been assisting Lucien’s research.”
He lifted his gaze toward the wrecked librarian’s room.
“And there’s another point. That room is too trashed for one person to do it within a limited time.”
His tone was low, decisive.
“So whoever was inside that room…”
“…wasn’t alone.”
Sally stayed frozen—no immediate denial. But tension bled through her face. Her eyes kept flicking, again and again, toward the door.
Rein watched it.
Then continued, voice like ice.
“But after leaving the librarian’s room… just as you were about to go for Poison Domain—I came back with Julian and Mirela.”
He stopped and snapped his fingers once in the air.
“I returned too early. Faster than you expected.”
His eyes narrowed.
“So you shifted to Plan B.”
“And waited.”
He emphasized the last words with surgical intent.
“But it takes time. Smoke dispersing. Absorption. Slower than normal—until I brought Senior Seris’s group, and Lucien, into the library.”
At the mention of Lucien, one of the girls’ expressions twitched—small, involuntary.
Rein didn’t allow it to grow into speech.
“Lucien might’ve thought this was his chance too,” Rein said, voice slightly softer—almost like he was admitting his own uncertainty. “He kept glancing toward the Forbidden Section, just like Lenora noticed.”
His gaze hardened again.
“And here’s the real problem.”
He spoke as if carving the words into stone.
“You didn’t expect Lucien to get caught in the net tonight. So you had to signal him to come closer. And when he did—one of you gave him the antidote.”
Rein paused, exhaled once.
“And when Forget-Me-Not kicked in… everyone became half-awake, half-asleep. Lucien took the opening you created. With the Arcane Key already secured, he went straight to the Forbidden Section—while one of you kept watch.”
His voice turned flat.
“Then the blackout happened.”
He let that sentence sit—heavy, undeniable.
“An accident you didn’t plan for. It derailed everything. Lucien died. And you—afraid—did what frightened people do.”
He tilted his head slightly.
“You let the night keep moving. And kept acting.”
The words fell like a verdict. No gap. No mercy. No room to interrupt.
Tara finally countered, voice smooth but edged with defiance.
“So what can you do about it? You have no evidence. Just floating words.”
Rein folded his arms and regarded them, head slightly tilted—like he was deciding how much patience they deserved.
“True,” he said coldly. “In principle, we could inspect the test tubes and vessels in the alchemy room.”
He paused—deliberately letting the idea float and tighten around their throats.
“See whether there are traces of Forget-Me-Not.”
A pause.
“If there are…”
His smile was thin.
“…that becomes proof.”
Then—
He moved.
Fast—like a hawk dropping.
His hand snapped out and seized the bandaged arm of the real Sally with an iron grip.
“Let me see your wound.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
It didn’t need to be.
Sally flinched, trying to yank free—useless.
Rein didn’t hesitate. He ripped the bandage away in one brutal motion.
Sally staggered backward, shock cracking through her mask—
And—
Clink.
A small glass vial slipped from her robe.
Ping!
It hit the cold stone floor and split in two.
Shards skittered outward. A thick red liquid bled into the cracks in slow drops—one stubborn bead still clinging to the broken bottom piece like a preserved confession.
Then, beside the glass—
several dark leaf fragments fell, fluttering down like ash.
Seris lunged forward, expression sharp and grim. She knelt, carefully lifted the broken base of the vial, brought it close, and inhaled the faint scent clinging to the residue.
Her voice trembled—just slightly—before it locked into certainty.
“This is…”
She looked up.
“…Forget-Me-Not antidote.”
Then she picked up the fallen leaves, turned them across her palm, eyes narrowing.
“Forget-Me-Not.”
Rein didn’t even bend to look.
“Mm,” he said. “As expected.”
Seris nodded once.
“Yes. It’s real.”
That confirmation rang through the room like a bell announcing the end of pretending.
Every gaze snapped to Sally—who now looked like someone scrambling for air, eyes darting wildly, mind racing for a lie fast enough to survive.
These entries expand the lore and mechanics introduced in this chapter.
Completely optional—read only if you enjoy diving deeper into the system.
Items & Artifacts
Forget-Me-Not Antidote
– Requires components from the Forget-Me-Not plant itself.
– Must be brewed beforehand; acts to counter memory distortion and protect cognitive clarity.
– In this chapter, a broken vial containing red liquid and herb fragments was confirmed to be the antidote.
Arcane Key (Forbidden Section)
– A high-level magical security tool used by authorized librarians.
– Function: Unlocks the magical bindings (chains) sealing the Forbidden Section of the library.
– Status: Stolen from Librarian Belle’s office during the chaotic blackout incident.
Key Characters
Tara & Sally (Update)
– First-year students.
– Suspected of acting as Lucien’s assistants in preparing the Forget-Me-Not poison and its antidote.
– Had access to the alchemy room, where they likely brewed the antidote.
– Rein accuses them of staging the event, using the Forget-Me-Not smoke as cover for the theft and manipulation.
– Evidence of involvement was confirmed when a broken antidote vial fell from Sally’s bandage.
Other
Librarian’s Room Break-In
– The door to the librarian’s room was forced open before the blackout.
– Dim lighting and a failing mana lamp near the door allowed the damage to remain unnoticed.
– This detail helped Rein reconstruct the sequence of events.
Rein’s Enhanced Perception
– Rein mentions his "special ability" (tied to his heightened sensory processing and observation skills).
– He noticed microscopic details others missed, such as specific latch damage and faint scent trails.
– His reflection highlights his growth, showing he has learned from past investigative oversights.
Rein’s Accusation Logic
– Rein methodically reconstructs the timeline based on who could access the librarian’s room and when.
– Notes that the room was too damaged for one person to wreck alone—implying multiple culprits.
– Identifies an opening where Tara & Sally were unsupervised for five minutes.
– Uses psychological pressure and direct evidence (broken vial) to corner them.
the most dangerous question isn’t who did it—
They rely on people looking the other way.
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— Re:Naissance