I Created Urban Legends in Parallel World
[Original – YakuMan]
[TL – MiT7]
[PR – Spades]
Chapter 4: Page 109
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Kamihara Shinji flipped through the notebook, counting a total of 109 pages.
Most of them had already reached their conclusion—each period marking a person's death. Only a handful were still holding on, enduring the torment of *The Gaze from the Cracks*.
But he knew they wouldn't last much longer. The longer they resisted, the more agonizing their mental suffering would become.
Soon, he reached page 109, which documented a man named Nakano Ichiro.
A quick scan confirmed what he suspected: another domestic abuser.
After marrying and starting a family, Nakano had cast a shadow over his household. Whenever work didn't go his way, he'd come home and take out his frustrations on his family.
This had gone on for a decade. A scourge like him dying was, in a way, a service to society.
Kamihara didn't linger on it. The stories recorded in the notebook were all tales of domestic violence—reading too many of them would weigh down anyone's mood.
He turned back to the second page, eyeing the nearly 40,000 Legend Points, and began to ponder whether it was time to write a second urban legend.
After all, *The Gaze from the Cracks* wasn't exactly efficient at sending monsters to hell.
In over a month, it had only filled 109 pages—roughly three people a day.
That pace wasn't doing much for his Good/Evil Points either.
And those points were tied to his life—only Good/Evil Points could extend his lifespan.
When he'd first crossed over, the notebook had shown him a lifespan of 30 days. Naturally, he hadn't dared to test what would happen if it hit zero. Sure, he'd traversed worlds, but at least his body was younger now.
So, over the past month, he'd scraped by, using Good/Evil Points to add over 90 days to his lifespan.
Through that month, he'd started to piece together how Good/Evil Points worked.
The more wicked a person was, the more points he'd gain when they were killed by his urban legend.
As for accidentally killing a good person—would that reduce his points, or even deduct them? He didn't know. He hadn't tested it.
After all, he'd only written one urban legend so far.
Legend Points, on the other hand, couldn't be used on himself—they were for influencing the urban legends.
Most urban legends were regional by nature; it was both their defining trait and their limitation.
To break those limits, he'd need Legend Points.
But he hadn't delved too deeply into them. For the past month, the countdown to death had loomed over him like a suffocating weight, his mind consumed with survival. Now that the Sword of Damocles had lifted, he could finally breathe.
Still, he needed to write a second urban legend soon. *The Gaze from the Cracks* was too slow at killing.
Most domestic abusers were twisted, repressed individuals—hard to spot on the surface.
After being crushed by societal pressures, they'd vent their stress on their families. The odds of them stumbling across an urban legend online were slim to none.
The stories recorded in the later pages of *The Gaze from the Cracks* bore this out: these people had only died because they'd chanced upon the photo, triggering the legend's killing rule, and were subsequently tormented to death.
With just 92 days of lifespan left—three months—it still felt too tight. If he'd had enough Legend Points earlier, he'd have written a second legend already.
On top of that… he needed to figure out how to earn money to support himself.
Tokyo was an international metropolis, home to a third of Japan's population. Living costs were steep, and he couldn't just sit back and burn through his resources.
The original owner of this body had parents, but now he was an orphan.
His father had remarried and planned a honeymoon. Then the plane crashed, giving everyone on board an unscheduled, ropeless bungee jump.
That had been a relief, honestly.
It might sound callous, but crossing over to Tokyo, Japan, was something he could stomach. Calling strangers "Mom" and "Dad," though? No way in hell.
There was also a sister.
But a year ago, after the plane crash and the funeral, this nominal sister had returned to university. They'd lived together for just a few days—barely enough to get past the awkward stranger phase.
Now she lived at her university. They hadn't seen each other in a year, hadn't even exchanged a single phone call. She was as good as a stranger.
So, this sister might as well not exist.
That suited him fine. He was used to living alone—having family show up would've been a headache.
Counting on her to support him? The thought hadn't even crossed his mind.
Right now, his mind was on what had happened at the club that afternoon…
"What's the deal with that Shinkawa Chie?"
Thinking of the girl made Kamihara Shinji frown. The story she'd told to join the club was clearly *The Gaze from the Cracks*—his creation.
He'd been lying on the sofa, not asleep, listening until she finished. Only then had he dozed off for a bit.
But the way Shinkawa Chie told the story was too vivid—like she'd witnessed it herself.
Yet anyone who saw that eyeball was basically doomed.
Sure, he'd written in the notebook that domestic abusers who saw the photo would be relentlessly watched by the eyeball. But that was just the rule he'd set in the notebook.
In reality, while the legend had spread online, it was framed as "seeing this photo leads to something terrifying."
In other words, unless Shinkawa Chie had seen it herself or spoken to someone who'd been targeted by the gaze, there was no way she'd know it in such detail.
He'd observed her briefly earlier. She seemed relaxed, her demeanor light—not at all like someone living under the shadow of domestic violence.
If not that, then…
"The police?"
Over the past month, aside from a few stragglers still clinging on, *The Gaze from the Cracks* had killed over a hundred people.
It'd be perfectly natural for the Metropolitan Police Department to take notice.
It clicked—Shinkawa Chie's family likely worked at the police department. With that realization, Kamihara Shinji felt a slight wave of relief.
He wasn't afraid of the police. He was just the creator of the urban legend—he wasn't the one doing the killing. There was no way they could trace it back to him.
What he feared were things like onmyoji, shrine maidens, or sorcerers.
In the past month, he hadn't encountered anyone with supernatural powers. He'd even wondered if this might be an ordinary world.
But that was just a hunch. Not encountering them didn't mean they didn't exist.
For the past month, he'd stuck to a strict routine between home and school, avoiding shrines and temples like the plague.
He didn't want anyone discovering the notebook he carried.
This thing was tied to his life—he couldn't let anyone know about it, nor could he risk going to a shrine or temple for help.
People with power weren't guaranteed to be good. Human hearts were unpredictable—who knew what they'd do if they found out? Better to control his own fate than leave it in someone else's hands.
And the facts proved it: you had to rely on yourself.
After figuring out the notebook's rules, he'd stabilized his situation, at least for now. As long as he kept creating urban legends and earning Good/Evil Points, his lifespan would grow.
Maybe even…
With this notebook, breaking the limits of human longevity would be a piece of cake.