Yes, it was up to me, I cursed myself three hours later in the library, furiously flipping through a Latin dictionary. This book was an unreadable mess. With a snap, I closed the dictionary.

I had discovered that I could use my concentration skills for tasks other than watching a building for days. Researching in a library for hours was relatively easy, but it didn’t help me solve the mystery of this book. In that regard, I had overestimated my abilities.

Because the book—and Latin—had seemed vaguely familiar, I had believed I could translate at least a few sentences. Big mistake, apparently. I sighed in exasperation. The professor was probably right. This book was likely a fake. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, or why I was wasting time with it instead of returning to my observation post.

I mentally visualized the library where I had taken it, which was easy with my photographic memory. It was full of other books, apparently also written in Latin. Were they all fakes? But for what purpose? To sell them? Who would even be interested, aside from a few penniless academics?

Then again, was I in any position to criticize anyone flirting with the boundaries of the law? In the past few days, I had committed three crimes: injured an innocent passerby, stolen a car, and broken into the headquarters of... well, terrorists? Frankly, I found my aptitude for committing crimes quite troubling. Just how flexible were my ethics, exactly? Did my false memory hide a troubled past?

First law: protect at any cost.

The thought sent a shiver down my spine. I didn’t know where it came from. I realized that, almost automatically, I had taken the book and opened it. My eyes landed on one of the Latin sentences, and I was certain—absolutely certain—that it echoed what I had just thought. I read and believed I understood the following sentence:

Second law: obey the laws of the current era unless they conflict with the first law.

My heart raced. I wanted to read the next sentence, but the words blurred before my eyes. The moment had passed. Whatever knowledge I had a second ago had receded into the depths of my consciousness. Had I really been able to read, for a brief moment, this strange version of Latin?

Or more likely, I had imagined the translation. What I thought I read perfectly matched what I had been thinking. No surprise there—the human mind is persistent. After three hours of struggling with this book, it wanted to give me an answer. Believing I could read this strange Latin so easily when a professor couldn’t was... well, absurd.

Still, I kept flipping through the book, frowning, but I couldn’t make sense of it. I closed the book with a sigh. Thoughtfully, I rolled up my sleeve and looked at my tattoo. It only deepened my despair. None of it made sense, like the wheel etched on my arm, I was going in circles.

My gaze drifted into space as I watched students browsing the shelves, their faces focused. I didn’t remember ever going to university. I envied them—their carefree years of study. My imaginary life only told of a long series of struggles, one after another.

What a crazy idea, to imagine such a life. I would have preferred to wake up a few days ago thinking I was a rock star. If I had to have a false memory, it might as well be full of good ones. But I couldn’t find a single one. Had I never been happy, not even once? Not even in a fake life?

I racked my brain in vain—until I realized someone was speaking to me. I looked up, and the librarian, a pretty brunette with brown eyes, repeated:

"Sir, we’re closing."

"Already? But it’s way too early."

It was only early afternoon. To prove my point, I turned to a nearby clock—and was stunned to see it was already five in the evening. A chill ran through me. I glanced around the library. It was now deserted. The students who were there just seconds ago had left. All of them.

"Sir, are you okay?"

I looked back at the librarian. I felt drained. She looked slightly embarrassed.

"You’ve been sitting still for most of the afternoon, staring into space. I didn’t want to disturb you, but... are you alright?"

Was I alright? I had just lost several hours of my life—but considering I’d already lost several years, it didn’t feel like much in comparison.

The thought made me smile, and the librarian returned the smile, warm and kind.

"I’m fine, thank you. I’m sorry."

I gathered my things and left the library.

I was definitely going crazy.