The price of the skill—Infinite Spells and Knowledge Recall—stood like a wall in front of him. 5,000 Plot Points. A very solid price tag. But Ruvian didn’t flinch and he also didn’t accept it.

He had learned early on that anything made by a system, no matter how advanced or divine in appearance, was built upon rules. And where there were rules, there were always ways to take advantage of it.

Think of them as the doors.

Locked ones, hidden ones, badly-painted-over ones. It was never a matter of whether they existed. It was only a matter of looking long enough to see through them.

Ruvian did not begin with excuses or moral limitations.

He began with practicality.

“First flaw,” he said, his tone flat but deliberate.

“All entries must be written by hand. No mental transcription or spoken activation. If I want the notebook to remember, I’ll have to do the work myself.”

The system acknowledged his request instantly. The numbers began to shift. The glowing total, once unmoving, dropped ever so slightly.

[Plot Point Cost: 5000 → 4200]

“So the system rewarded effort. Or more accurately, it penalized ease. That was a good sign.”

“Next,” he said, letting the syllables carry a rhythm now, a cadence shaped by control.

“I want the retrieval process tied to proximity. Specifically, skin contact. The notebook must be touching my hand, wrist, or arm and no sleeve. No pocket. No remote linking. If I touch it, I will remember it. If I let it go, I would lose connection with it.”

Again, the system adjusted without hesitation.

[Plot Point Cost: 4200 → 3500]

His fingers tapped the wood of the desk, soft and slow, not impatient but thoughtful.

“Let’s add a cooldown,” he continued, voice almost conversational now.

“Limit it to two retrieves every 15 minutes. If I try to pull more than that—scramble me. Give me a headache, dizziness. Loss of coherence for a while. Make it unpleasant and enough to deter me.”

The interface beamed again, and this time, the cost reduction was more generous. The system clearly liked punishment more than limits.

[Plot Point Cost: 3500 → 2900]

Ruvian nodded slightly, leaning back against the wooden frame of the chair, one hand tracing his jawline absently while he watched the numbers continue their descent.

“Shit. Now, what else can I add the flaw without putting a lot of handicap on me…”

He was nearly there.

“Ah. Make it soul-bound,” he said next.

“If someone else touches the notebook, the ability locks. They can’t see the entries, can’t hear what I stored, can’t use it. Just a blank book to them. Which means this book couldn't be shared by others, only for a specific person and when the owner dies, the book dies with him as well.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The cost dipped further.

[Plot Point Cost: 2900 → 2500]

His eyes dropped to the notebook itself.

“If the notebook is destroyed,” he said slowly, carefully, “...all stored information vanishes. No backups or transfer. If it burns, I lose everything. Make it fragile.”

The glow of the interface pulsed brighter for a moment, then faded into calm as the number recalibrated one final time. ᴛʜɪs ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ɪs ᴜᴘᴅᴀᴛᴇ ʙʏ novel•fire.net

[Plot Point Cost: 2500 → 2200]

He smiled with satisfaction as though he had been offered a riddle and found it laughably solvable.

Ruvian managed to lower it from 5,000 to 2,200 Plot Points without compromising the soul of the skill.

He hadn’t taken away the function. He had simply added boundaries. A leash on a beast that would still bite when commanded.

The system awaited confirmation, its presence quiet now, expectant. Ruvian sat a moment longer, gaze distant, his thoughts running parallel tracks behind his eyes.

Every weakness he had written into the skill was one he could live with or, if necessary, work around.

‘When you understand how to carry your flaws, even your limits could become leverage.’

He raised his hand and without flourishing, confirmed the modification. Then, a light passed over the cover, catching glimmers of red and gold in the lamplight.

The edges of the pages trembled faintly as if they were suddenly aware of their own existence.

[Confirmation completed.]

[Remaining Plot Points after deduction: 250 PP]

Then, the [Editorial Pen], which had until now hovered beside him with docile patience, suddenly froze mid-air.

Slowly, it turned toward the notebook and began to drift downward, its movements guided by a purpose that belonged neither to Ruvian nor to any ordinary tool.

It paused above the book’s cover, spun once… its red ink glowing with restrained heat, and then pierced downward in a single stroke.

The tip never actually touched the leather, but the surface responded nonetheless. Glowing crimson letters etched themselves into the cover, spiraling outward in a language that Ruvian didn’t recognize but understood instinctively.

They were runes-bound, alive in their purpose. He watched silently as the ink bled into the material and vanished, as if consumed.

A single sound echoed through the room, low and final. The notebook was no longer a notebook. It was now a vessel, a bound archive, anchored in parchment.

[Do you wish to assign this item a name?]

Ruvian scratched his head lazily.

“Eh… whatever. Just make it sound close to what it is.”

[Awaiting input…]

Ruvian sighed.

“Fine, fine. Just call it…”

“…Write That Down.”

[Are you absolutely certain? This designation will be permanent.]

“It’s a notebook. What else am I supposed to call it? Book of Destiny?”

[…]

Then, after a dramatic pause, the screen lit up with confirmation.

[You have officially named the item: Write That Down!]

‘Was my naming sense that bad? It's just a book anyway, no need for it to be so grandiose.’

The [Editorial Pen] floated upward again, its glow already fading. Whatever power it had expended in the process had clearly taken its toll, because a new message emerged before Ruvian could even reach for it.

[The Editorial Pen is now entering a recovery state.]

[Next available activation: 24 hours]

He sat back slightly, studying the notebook without reaching for it. It still looked as unimpressive and mundane as before, but he could tell something was different about it.

“That is fine. I don't need any dramatic aesthetics.”

He didn’t want glowing runes or black flames or any other sign that would draw the wrong kind of attention.

Power was best hidden beneath the ordinary.

Let the world see it as a scholar's notebook. No one would think to open it. And if they did, they would find nothing.

Because that's the skill of the [Editorial Pen], only he could see the changes. Meanwhile, others will only just see this as an ordinary notebook.

The pages were still blank. But the potential within them stretched wide. He gave a small nod that didn’t signify pride, but acceptance.

‘This would serve me well. Knowledge was permanent if you protected it. And now, so was the memory.’

For the first time since arriving in this strange world, Ruvian felt like he had something secure to stand on.

He stood, stretching slowly, the stiffness in his shoulders reminding him that today had not been kind to his body either.

He pulled the blanket aside and sat on the edge of the bed, letting himself breathe in the calm.

His thoughts drifted, not toward victory yet. Tomorrow, he will wake up. And the work would begin again.

That was the cost of survival.

And he intended to pay it in full.

With this notebook, he can easily cast the chanting spell without having any difficulty remembering the chants.

“I should sleep now. Tomorrow is gonna be a long training session with Leon since it's still orientation day, so the academic hour will end early, and I will have a lot of time to train after that.”

PP = 250

ME = 172