The Yellow-Haired Villain in Soaring Phoenix's Novels Also Desires Happiness

A diary, at its core, is just a record of one’s own experience.

So if the Black Book’s ability was to “keep a diary,” then wasn’t the assassin standing before him simply... another form of recorded entry?

If an assassin could be recorded by the Black Book—then what about other things? Or rather, other people?

The more Muen thought about it, the more exhilarated he became.

“If that’s the case, then don’t I basically have the ultra-miserable knockoff version of the Sharingan? I can just record other people’s moves and learn them from scratch—no tuition fees required!”

“And with this kind of hyper-realistic environment and opponent, I’ll master those skills even faster!”

“With a cheat this powerful... why the hell should I be afraid of the protagonist?”

His eyes sparkled with more and more excitement, as if the future was already laid out before him—kicking the protagonist down, punching ❀ Nоvеlігht ❀ (Don’t copy, read here) out villains, marrying a beautiful rich big-sister-type waifu, and ascending to the peak of life!

“Ah—”

Unfortunately, before he could decide whether he preferred the gentle big-sister-type rich woman or the scheming poison-tongued big-sister-type rich woman...

...the assassin flashed in front of him again.

And raised her dagger.

“Shit.”

Muen didn’t even get a chance to react—just enough time to curse uselessly.

And once again, his head went flying.

...

“Again!”

Snapping back to the real world, Muen didn’t even pause to process the aftermath of death before slapping the page of the Black Book.

“I don’t believe this!”

...

The pitch-black space. Muen’s eyes opened.

The assassin stood where she always had, just over ten meters away. Same position as the first and second times.

But Muen knew—that distance was meaningless to her.

“So my goal right now is to learn that movement technique of hers?”

That skill—able to blink across ten-plus meters in an instant—was exactly what had Muen drooling. With that, if nothing else, his odds of survival would skyrocket.

“There better be a weapon for me, at least.”

He looked around at the empty surroundings.

“How am I supposed to fight her barehanded?”

No sooner had he spoken than he felt something cold and metallic in his palm.

Looking down, he saw it was a dagger.

Identical to the one the assassin used.

“As expected. Only what’s already been recorded can be recreated.”

Muen wasn’t particularly skilled with daggers.

But that didn’t matter. The assassin’s dagger skills were worth learning too.

He lifted his head, the corner of his mouth curling into a grin.

He might be trash compared to that gang of cheat-code protagonists, but he was still the son of a Duke. The foundation his noble status had afforded him growing up placed him far ahead of his peers.

The fact that he could still more or less keep pace with the protagonist—despite not relying on blessings or tools—proved that much.

Of course, in a real fight against the assassin, he didn’t stand a chance.

But—

“Right now, you’re nothing but a phantom. A remnant of a Black Book recording.”

Muen reversed his grip on the dagger, took a stance.

“So go ahead—show me all your tricks, and hand over every last one of your skills!”

...

The assassin, being a phantom projection created by the Black Book, didn’t reply. Just like in life, she attacked in total silence.

“She’s coming!”

Muen’s eyes sharpened.

Just like before, the maid’s leather shoes stomped sharply against the floor.

Her body vanished.

Not literally—but her speed was so absurd that his eyes simply couldn’t keep up.

By the time she reappeared, she was already right in front of him.

“You think the same move’s going to work on me again?”

Even a pig would react after being killed twice by the same trick—let alone a person.

So the moment the assassin vanished from his sight, Muen predicted her next move. She was absolutely going for the neck again!

His stats were leagues below hers, so he couldn’t rely on reflexes. But he could rely on prediction!

And the moment she disappeared, Muen jerked his head to the left—dodging the deadly thrust that would’ve struck the artery from the right.

In truth, it didn’t matter whether she was aiming for the artery or not—her strikes always decapitated him in one blow.

But even the sharpest dagger couldn’t cut what it didn’t touch!

If it didn’t connect—it might as well be a toy!

Watching her dagger miss, the assassin froze just for a split second.

And Muen grinned smugly.

“What now? Even with the power gap, all I need to do is—”

He didn’t finish his sentence.

Because he heard something whistle through the air.

The sound of a blade cutting wind.

The first strike had missed, yes. But the assassin hadn’t abandoned the attack. She hadn’t retreated, hadn’t even hesitated.

She’d simply opened her fingers.

The dagger spun freely in her palm, fluttering like a butterfly.

Then she grabbed it again.

But now, her grip had changed—from a forward stab to a reverse hold.

And in that moment, the blade that had just whiffed past his neck...

...spun around and came slicing back.

“Shit—”

He didn’t even have time to curse fully before the dagger plunged cleanly into his artery.

Blood sprayed.

Consciousness faded.

...

“Goddamn it.”

Muen snapped awake again, breathing hard.

His neck still tingled with the phantom memory of death.

“Even her improvisation matches the real thing?”

The assassin who tried to kill Celicia three days ago hadn’t pulled off any dagger spins like that.

Which meant—the maid he faced in the dark space wasn’t just replaying surface-level events.

She was re-enacting the full, detailed record of the assassin, including realistic adaptive reactions.

“The Black Book’s phantom recordings are that realistic...?”

Far from feeling discouraged, Muen’s eyes lit up with glee.

The more accurate the replay—the more useful it was to him.

He glanced at the wall clock.

“Time flows the same in here... tch. That was only three seconds?”

“Again!”

He slammed the Black Book.

...

“Five seconds! Not bad. Let’s keep going!”

“Again!”

...

“Ten seconds!”

“Again!”

...

“Damn it—should’ve blocked that sweep instead of dodging it!”

“Again!”

...

“Fuck! A knee strike?! She knows how to use knees?!”

“Again!”

...

“SHIT, A LOW BLOW?! Seriously?! You’re this much stronger than me and you still go dirty?!”

“Again!”

...

“Young Master, it’s time for dinner.”

Anne knocked softly on the door, a tray in her hands. She’d brought his meal up herself.

“...”

“That’s odd. No response. Did he fall asleep?”

She didn’t raise her voice again. Instead, she naturally reached out and opened the door.

Her gaze swept the room.

The desk had clearly been used, so he hadn’t been napping all day.

She placed the tray down and turned to look at the bed.

There, she saw Muen tightly cocooned in his blanket, curled up into a ball.

“Sigh... he’s this old and still sleeps like a child.”

“He must’ve just gone to bed. Better not disturb him.”

Thinking that, Anne quietly cast a warming spell on the food and left without making a sound.

Once she was gone, the blanket-ball shifted slightly.

A head poked out.

Muen’s bloodshot eyes locked onto the steaming dinner.

In a voice only he could hear, he muttered:

“Just one more round. I’ll eat right after this one...”