Recca Black Clover Novels & Stories

If there's anything I know about our world, it's that the need to relive your victory is far too great that sometimes the majority toss away common sense just to have the opportunity to gloat. I hope this would be no different. I hope I would be knuckles deep in some bastard's stomach by this time tomorrow. The attendant shakes his head, his entire face covered in sweat as he looks at me and looks away repeatedly. Fucking pussy. Yet, I don't blame him. It isn't everyday one could see a member or even two of The Black Rose without dying afterwards. But then again, it isn't every time one sees a member of The Black Rose in a fucking freezer.

The light is doing what March light does on the Costa Brava — coming in low and specific, the sea a grey-blue that is neither winter nor summer, the town above the harbour making the sounds of a place that is waking up after the long indoor months. She has Clara's old notebook with her — the first one, from when Clara was eight. Clara gave it to her last year, when she started university, saying: *this is yours more than it is mine. You taught me to do it. Keep the record.* The first notebook, eight years old, full of Clara's handwriting about rocks and twins and what her mother does. She has her own sixteenth notebook too. Both on the harbour wall. She opens Clara's notebook to the first en