I Don't Need To Log Out-Chapter 309: The Path to Beauty

This was Agema's usual teasing.

What Agema had likely seen was the promise he'd made to Mei before he left the academy. The same promise that was about to be fulfilled.

Because Arlon already knew.

The visitor he'd be seeing soon was Mei.

She must have come here after learning he was finished with his training and fighting against the Keldars.

The next few notes were far less invasive—just little things scrawled between the lines, like post-it notes from a parent who never quite stopped checking in.

"Don't forget to exercise regularly."

"When you're back, eat every kind of food."

Arlon actually liked them more than he thought he would.

He hadn't had anyone worry about what he did before, so this was a change.

But some messages were longer.

"My disciple. You will probably come back from the Tower much stronger. But don't forget that that strength isn't real.

You will be a big shell, but it will be an empty shell. Filling it out is in your hands. Don't just read my book; research everything yourself.

This book will help you in your research. But if you ever feel stuck, this book will also give you the answers, just like when I was with you.

So, I hope you don't feel alone.

I will be observing you."

This was more emotional than Arlon thought.

Arlon stared at that line longer than the rest.

"I hope you don't feel alone."

He didn't. Not anymore.

He had June. The Gamers.

But there were still moments—quiet ones, like now—where a strange kind of solitude lingered.

He wasn't lonely. But he had been, once.

Agema's presence, even through a book, made that solitude feel smaller. Less dangerous.

And then there was the last part:

"I will be observing you."

She probably meant the system notification he'd received after reaching level 300—that the ascended existences could observe him.

He looked up at the ceiling as if that would help.

He didn't see anything, of course.

He didn't even know if the ascended were really there—or if "observation" was something beyond physical space entirely.

Still…

She was probably watching right now.

He returned his gaze to the pages.

There were more messages—some filled with thoughtful concern, others full of Agema's usual prideful flair.

After reading each one carefully, Arlon finally reached the true start of the book's content.

His new training.

The second page was filled with instructions. Nothing simple.

This wasn't like A Magician's Secret.

There were no clear instructions and no beginner-tier spells laid out in numbered steps.

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This was a real research journal.

Not a spellbook.

Not something to read once and follow like a recipe.

Arlon wouldn't read this through once and then start training.

If he tried that, he probably wouldn't even understand the fifth page.

So, he began slowly.

The second page included a note in Agema's familiar handwriting:

"Time magic is no longer my main domain—but even my discarded knowledge is stronger than most people's best. And you'll need that now."

Arlon smiled faintly.

Time magic.

That was what he wanted to focus on—partly because of this book and partly because of his reward.

His one-year leaderboard reward.

He had received it this morning.

But there was a change—something different from his previous life.

Back then, he had been given a choice between another adaptive skill core or a powerful warrior skill.

He'd chosen the skill. It was efficient. Practical.

But things were different now.

He wasn't a pure warrior anymore.

He was something new.

And so the system had changed his options just like it offered him a different title from his last life.

This time, the reward offered him a choice between an adaptive skill core and a one-time-use item.

And he had chosen the item.

He would use it soon. Not now. But very soon.

He was glad, in hindsight, that Asef had retreated earlier.

It bought him time.

Time to train. To prepare. To be more than a shell.

So Arlon began reading the first research section in earnest.

He studied every word, every graph, every handwritten correction Agema had left behind.

Then he stood.

And he began to experiment.

Not with spells.

But with concepts.

Because if he was going to fight something he couldn't yet measure—he'd need more than strength.

He'd need understanding.

And now, he had the perfect guide to help him reach it.

---

After working through the notes for what felt like hours, dawn had already begun creeping in.

The sky beyond the window had started to lighten, and a soft, pale glow reached into the quiet corners of the room.

Arlon rubbed the side of his head, exhaled slowly, and turned to the next page.

Just one more.

He told himself that. Just one more page before morning fully arrived.

The next section was about time magic.

And that made it worth it.

It started not with diagrams or formulas—but with Agema's personal notes. Her first observations. Things she'd noticed about time magic even before she formally began her research.

She was a genius, through and through.

Even in these early musings, Arlon could tell she had already grasped more than he could hope to in years of study.

Her words were fluid but precise, inquisitive but bold.

She wrote about how time magic behaved.

And more importantly, she questioned why it worked.

Where did it draw its power?

And the biggest question, scrawled cleanly at the top of the page:

"What is time?"

Arlon paused.

He hadn't expected that question to hit as hard as it did.

He never thought he'd be the type of person to sit in a quiet room before sunrise and wonder about the nature of time itself.

But here he was.

And instead of immediately reading her answer, he stopped himself.

He closed the book for a moment.

And tried to answer it on his own.

He only had one real question.

Was the time he manipulated—the time he slowed, bent, or twisted—different from real time?

At first, he assumed it was all relative.

That maybe, he was just altering his own perception of time.

But the more he thought about it, the less that made sense.

If time magic only affected his perspective, then slowing down an enemy shouldn't be possible—because that would mean changing the perception of every living existence in the universe.

Impossible.

No.

That couldn't be it.

So, he discarded that theory.

Instead, a new possibility surfaced.

A better one.

Maybe there were two kinds of time.

One: the absolute time of the universe. The kind that governed stars, planets, light, and entropy—untouchable and beyond alteration.

And two: the perceived time. The time that individual existences experienced—subjective, local, fluid.

And maybe…

Time magic only touched the second one.

Only perception. Only the lived experience of time. Not the cosmic march of the universe.

It made more sense than anything else he'd come up with.

Still, a theory meant nothing without testing.

So, he reached into his inventory.

And took out the item he had received that morning.

His one-year leaderboard reward.

A glass container, its surface faintly glowing.

An hourglass.

Not a metaphorical one.

A real one.

Its sand shimmered faintly—each grain too slow to fall, too deliberate to seem ordinary.

A tool made for more than just keeping time.

He held it in both hands.

And prepared to test his theory.