Editing Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

<!-- Note: TC=translator comment-->

=== Chapter 1: The Two Sensei ===

<!--p47-->
Cherry petals were dotted across the pavement, seemingly the last vestiges of spring.

Up the road that led through the school’s gate, groups of girls walked at a measured pace, their forms wrapped in uniform blazers.

Two weeks had passed since the start of the new school year, and the early nervousness had now faded from every face.  In its stead, relaxation or, even at this early stage, boredom, would peek through before being hidden away.

The first-years were discussing the fact that high school apparently wasn’t going to be a mere extension of middle school; the second-years were enjoying putting off concrete concerns about their next so-called battle, the college examinations; and the third-years were lost in uneasiness-tinged dreams of whether they would, in a year’s time, find themselves standing on that battle’s winning or losing side.

It could be said that the road that lead to Kakinezaka Metropolitan High School was a model of peace and tranquility.

To examine the quality of the individual students, while there were probably a few problem students, there hadn’t been any incidents severe enough to warrant coverage in newspapers or magazines. 

As far as schools went, this one had no real distinguishing characteristics, and due to that,  was known to local teachers to be a “no-risk” school. Thus, this school should be as calm as could be expected of a city school.

Up the hill to this peaceful academy, a single woman walked in the midst of the students.

<!--p48-->
Although the sun’s rays were already quite warm, she wore an unfashionable white coat.

She was going on a trip, or perhaps returning from one. She pulled behind her a suitcase with small wheels and an extendable handlebar. It produced a clacking sound as it rolled along. 

Her hair was black and worn long. On her face was a pair of frighteningly thick-framed glasses.

This was a woman who seemed to have neither knowledge nor interest in fashion, style, or trends.

She looked to be in her mid-20s, perhaps a bit younger.

Most of the students didn’t seem to pay her much mind. They thought it was just another O.L. passing through on a trip, a perfectly normal event. 

Compounding the situation, she was just as oblivious of the students as they were of her. Her awareness was fixed exclusively on the book that she held poised before her eyes.

“............................”

Her gaze chased rapidly along the lines of characters arrayed upon the pages. From time to time she took a page between her thumb and pinky, and with a flicking motion, sent it flying.

On the cover of the volume could be seen a logo featuring the title “The Streetcorner where the Cats Live”, as well as an illustration of a smiling girl embracing a mass of kittens. It looked like a junior novel, the sort aimed at teens.

The woman’s steps led steadily onward, while she remained wholly engrossed in the book, but even when she went astray, there wasn’t anything that posed any danger to her. Even if it looked as if she were going to crash into a telephone pole, or if a bicycle came at her, she always avoided it. Without paying any attention, she seemed to posses an innate, immensely accurate evasive ability.

<!--49-->
Presumably, she read while walking whenever she went out. This “habit” was definitely not the sort of thing that developed overnight.

The woman’s feet stopped before the school gate.

Thrusting the book to her chest, she released a small sigh. <!--TC:(This has the onomatopoeia “Hou” as well... if you want to include that somehow. And know what I mean.)--> Both of her cheeks were stained with a light pink blush. Above that, both eyes were slightly blurred by tears.

After marking her place with a beribboned bookmark, she opened to the flap of the book’s cover.

Therein lay a headshot of the author and a short biography. 

Out of the photo smiled a girl with hair that stuck out at the back. <!--TC:(That sounds so...unpoetic.)--> Though this was labeled a recent photo of the author, she looked too young for the part.

She was in fact that young. The author of this book, Nenene Sumiregawa, was a mere 17 years of age and thus was a high school student. <!--TC:(It specified female, though that would look a little weird in translation.)-->

Though no one had asked, the woman read the contents of the profile aloud.

“Nenene Sumiregawa... Presently attending a particular high school in the city, every day she must balance the onerous demands of homework and her literary career....” <!--TC:(Edited for flow, significantly.)-->

The students that were walking up the road behind her responded to her unprompted babbling with dubious expressions.  <!--TC:(“Unprompted” made the most contextual sense for me, anyway. The actual word would have been more like "muttered/grumbled".)-->

However, without paying any heed to what was going on around her, she returned the book to a coat pocket.

“.................................Aha~ ♪”

Directing her attention to the school building, her face lit up with an unsinkable smile. 

She took a deep breath and bowed her head in deep reverence. It goes without saying that she wasn’t actually directing this toward anyone in particular. 

<!--p50-->

“If I could have your attention please! <!--TC:(This was just a standard “shitsurei shimaaasu!”, but this seems the best way to render it English-wise.)--> From this day on I’ll be relying on your support. I’m your new substitute teacher, Yomiko Readman!”

Just as her speech reached its end, the chime of a bell would be heard from the roof of the school. Those students who hadn’t yet reached the entrance hall and the shoe lockers lined up therein sped up their pace. 

“................. Uwatata—!“ <!--TC:(Umm, I can’t think of a good English onomatopoeia match, so here’s the original.)-->

Knowing that to be the five minute warning bell before the morning assembly, a flustered Yomiko began to run.

Her suitcase rattled along behind her. <!--TC:(Should probably combine the last two ‘paragraphs’ here. That goes for a lot of this, really.)-->

“...Even so, in those times where a person’s spirit has been allowed to grow slack, unhappiness is sure to befall him...”

The weekly Monday assembly. For the student body, the principal’s lengthy speech was no surprise. 

The first-years, as was to be expected, weren’t yet inured to this, and their annoyance over when this would end was plain to see on their faces. Meanwhile, the second- and third-years would occasionally glance at their watches and think something like, “It’s been five minutes now, so he’ll probably go for another five.”

Typically enough, the principal was an elderly man, and old people are fond of long speeches. <!--TC:(Yes, that’s actually what it said, and it was two separate sentences, at that; they’re now combined.)--> Therefore, it was natural that when the principal gave speeches, they were quite thorough and syllogistic in style.

Today, as usual, the speech dragged on for a good ten minutes. As soon as they saw the principal reverently bow his balding head to close the speech, the student body let out a sigh of deep relief as one in harmony. 

“Eh, well then. Next on the agenda, I have a new teacher, whom I would like to introduce, to all of you.” <!--TC:(Commas were originally present and serve to emphasize his speech style, so I left them.)-->

His <!--TC:([Shatner-esque])--> deliberate statement, a peculiarity of his upbringing, sent ripples of unexpected interest through the assembled students.

“Abe-senshi, starting this week, will be taking pregnancy leave, and until she returns, her position, as our history teacher, will be held by this teacher.”

<!--p 51 (in which Kurata proves that he never tires of describing Yomiko)-->
From the line of teachers that faced the students, a figure in a white coat began to move. Soon, it stopped at the announcement podium at the center of the stage.

"This is Yomiko Readman. Proceed."

After the head teacher's introduction, a stir arose amongst the students.

"Yomiko?"

"He say Readman? What now--some foreigner?" <!--TC: (Here comes the teenager-speak. I cannot sufficiently express how slappable it sounds.)-->

Whatever their concerns, the students' awareness and attention began to home in on the podium.

A blindingly white coat and glasses with thick, dark frames. A makeup-free face, with eyes that gave the impression that their owner had just woken up.

It was quite bewitching, to those with the necessary tastes, and thus the better part of the male student body let out a despondent sigh.

As for this woman--one Yomiko Readman--she utterly failed to pick up on the atmosphere as she stood there, smiling broadly.

"Gooood morning, everyone!"

She paused for a moment. Of course, not a single student or teacher there was willing to return a "Good morning" in this situation. Absent the impressive reaction she had been expecting, she let her shoulders slump slightly.

<!--p52 (In which Yomiko torments the translator with her name)-->
“Soooo... Starting today, I’ll be teaching history here; I’m Yomiko Readman. Yomiko, as in “yomu ko”, or “girl who reads”, you know, books. Readman, that’s spelled R, E, A, D, M, A, N. As in, a person who reads. Uhh. It’s a name that means reading, and nothing but, you know?”

That elicited a few laughs that more closely resembled groans.

“You probably figured it out from my name, but I’m not fully Japanese. <!--TC: (“Hafu” strikes again.)--> My father was English, and my mother, Japanese. The two of them reaaaally loved books, and that’s why they gave me this name, I think. Of course, with a name like this, I just had to love books too, right?”

That got a few more laughs. Yomiko seemed to take heart from that response, so she kept talking.

“Since I was a child, I never played with toys or games. It was just books, books, and more books. It was almost like I couldn’t survive without books. Whenever I went out without bringing a book, it just felt wrong.”

Yomiko produced a single book from a coat pocket. It was an implausibly large, thick hardcover.

“Look, even now. This book here is <i>History Repeats Itself</i> <!-- TC: (It's really more like "Retreating History"; if it jumps out at someone, feel free to make it more literal.)-->, and it contrasts the writings of scholars of both modern and medieval history. It’s pretty interesting, really. Those who have an interest in history, please give it a try.”

The principal nodded in approval. Such an attitude, burning with passion for education, touched his heart.

“....If you think that’s interesting, there’s this, too.”
<!--(TC:(Yeah. That’s gonna go downhill fast.)-->

<!--p53 (In which things go downhill)-->
Yomiko reached into her coat pocket again and pulled out another book.

"This action <!-- (TC: maybe adventure would work better in English, but it was literally "akushon noberu")--> novel, <i>Illinois Heat</i>, was recently released in translation, at long last. I'd read the original version first, but still. I thought, it's out here now, so I'd better read this version, too. The translator's pretty good, so the quality was raised even higher in this version."

Yomiko thrust her hand into her pocket once more and pulled out a new book.

"This translator is also a literary critic. His critical writings have been collected in this volume, <i>King of Books</i>. It doesn't quite live up its title, though. He’s too biased against certain genres. He really smacks down any and all movie novelizations. Don’t you think that’s just plain prejudice?”

No one seemed to have a response for that. Yomiko may have been betting on that outcome or might simply have been satisfied to have expressed her thoughts, for she simply proceeded to introduce the next book.

“Speaking of movies, there’s <i>The ICBM of Love</i>, <!-- (TC: This needs to happen for real.)--> which came out last summer. That thing was really stupid. Oh, that was originally a manga, actually. ... There is that, but still. That was entitled, <i>The IRBM of Love</i>. When it came down to it, they must have figured that an ICBM would have sounded like a bigger deal than an IRBM, you know. Movie people.”

The teachers’ expressions were beginning to shift. The students, too, had probably picked up on the fact that Yomiko, who had been pulling out book after book, was not normal, and were starting to whisper to their closest peers.

But Yomiko simply pulled a fifth book out of a pocket and began to describe it enthusiastically.

<!-- (TC: This page's translation was pretty damn inaccurate the first time around. Should be much better now.)-->
<!--p54 (In which Yomiko devolves into fangirlism for what is neither the first nor the last time)-->
“Anyway, for another movie-related example, I’d like to go with this one, <i>Don’t Chase Me into Infinity</i>. A lot of people avoid it since they assume it’s a shojo manga, but they shouldn’t, ‘cause it’s a reaaalll tear-jerker. Ah, the original author usually goes by Makizawa Uri-san, but using a different pen name he wrote this book, <i>Dotou’s Newlywed Life</i><!--(TC: This might have been descriptive, rather than a name.)-->. That was a best-seller, so you’ve all heard of it, right? However, if you compare it with this one, <i>The Married Chimp</i>, you can have fun finding all the similarities between the two books. Ooh, yeah, and speaking of the chimp one, I got it signed at a meet-and-greet with different authors.... It was this copy, actually. It was more than just a signature; he even drew me stuff. You see, right here, look, it’s a monkeyyy!....”

With a succession of thuds, she began to pile books on top of the podium.

In parallel to the growing number of volumes, the feeling of irritation that always filled the air during any morning exercises reached new heights.

In the end, Yomiko’s speech took up a full twenty-seven minutes and covered 33 books. There was clearly more remaining at the point where she was cut off by a male teacher miming that she should step down from the stage. The students burst into grateful applause as she return to her seat.



“What’s up with that teacher? Walking around with all those books, no way that’s normal.”

“She’s pretty weird, gotta say.”

Fortunately, due to the strange substitute teacher the start of classes had been  pushed back.

Here, in senior class A, Hashimoto-senshi had written, perhaps with a bit more speed than usual, a problem on the blackboard, which was now chock full of mathematical formulae.

<!--p55 (In which teenagers and Yomiko talk when they shouldn't)-->
However, the sole topic of the students’ stealthy discussions was the matter of the morning’s star, one Yomiko Readman. 

Students who’d skipped the morning exercises were being fed exaggeration-filled explanations about their new teacher from their classmates.

“We got a sub? ‘Stead of Abe-chan?”

“She was at it for a good half hour at the assembly, saying that book’s good, this book’s good.”

“Stuff like that, no one was really into it, yeah?”

“....But ya know, she sorta had a cute face.”

“You dumbass, you got a thing for glasses? Serious?”

From the students’ idle talk their impression of the new teacher could be determined, and that revolved around but a single point.

Those students who hadn’t yet seen the real thing were exceedingly interested and kept pressing the eyewitnesses for more info.

“What’s her name? That teacher.”

“Why’d you want to know her name? Uhhh, something like...”

Hashimoto’s chalk stopped, but the current problem wasn’t entirely written out yet. As he turned his head to look back, the students quickly dropped their gaze toward their desk.

“Well, for this problem, let’s see then, Sumi...”

“Sumiregawa, Sensei—!”

The classroom door suddenly burst open with enough energy to cancel out the rest of Hashimoto’s statement.

<!--p56 (In which the author displays a juvenile sense of humor and grosses out the translator)-->
Standing in the doorway was a disheveled-looking woman, with tears and snot flowing freely down her face and a copy of The Streetcorner where the Cat Lives clutched tightly in her hand.

The person in question was clearly one Yomiko Readman.

“Wh-what do you need, Sensei...”

On receiving such an unexpected visitor, Hashimoto was unable to hide his surprise, but even then, he managed to speak with the demeanor of a relatively proper gentleman.

However, Yomiko didn’t even spare a glance for the aforementioned Hashimoto. While everyone present stared at her, she made a beeline for the teacher’s platform.

“I, I was just moved. Moved beyond words!”

Excitement, passion, and intoxication intermingled in her expression as her voice continued to rise.

“Your previous work, The Love Song from beneath the Ceiling, was great too, but this time it  was reaaaaally amazing! Ooooh, jeeeez!”

Yomiko grabbed Hashimoto’s suit as the teacher tried to refocus on his math lesson, and proceeded to loudly blow her nose on it.

“Urgh—, aaaah—!”

Hashimoto raised a shout louder than any heard from him ever before, as that suit was a momento, having been given to him by his daughter, who had purchased it with her very first paycheck.

After swiftly depositing her snot on that heart-warming item, Yomiko turned back toward the students.

<!--p57 (In which some teenagers school Yomiko)-->
“Please sign this! I shall make it a family treasure! I will not move from this spot until you sign it! Well then, please come along quietly, Sumiregawa-sensei!”

In her defense, Yomiko normally wouldn’t be this discourteous; it’s just that she was in a state of near-arousal. After reading any interesting book, she would be caught up by, shall we say, an overwhelming excitement.

At the back of the dumbstruck classroom, a female student raised her hand.

“Ummm—...”

“Yes?”

“Nenene, she’s in the Library Room...”

“Huh?”

“‘Cause she’s got a deadline coming up. I think she’s writing her draft.”

“’Cause she’s a famous author, ya know.  ‘Course she’d be busy with work, right?”

Something in the tone of voice used by the student who’d cut into the conversation gave the impression that this was a long-standing issue, but Yomiko was no longer listening.

Her eyes shone from behind her glasses like a beast stalking its prey.

“Excuse me!”

With that, she flew out of the classroom.

From the suit of the still-present Hashimoto, snot dripped onto a desk.

<!--p58-->
“Muwahahahahaa~...”

Yomiko stood before the entrance to the Library room.

No one had told her how to get here. By herself, she had made her way unerringly to this room.

So long as a given school had a library, Yomiko would be able to pinpoint that room’s location. The scent given off by the stacks of books called out to her.

With a single swift motion, she laid her cheek against the door.

“Within this very room...”

Burning excitement was beginning to creep into her voice and expression.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, is here...”

She rubbed her face affectionately up and down the door. As if she were a young girl in love, a pink blush spread across her cheeks.

“So--.... Ahem.”

Drawing herself up formally, she cleared her throat in preparation.

“Aaah--... I am a Cat. I am as of yet nameless...” [[#Notes |(1)]]

She had striven in that declamation practice from the depths of her literary self.

“Please, excuse meee...”

Yomiko quietly opened the door and stepped into the room.

From where she stood, she could see the checkout counter; set a bit off to the side, tables and desks for reading; and at the heart of the room, a large number of bookcases arranged in parallel lines....

<!--p59-->
Since class was in session, there was no one in sight. Rays of sunlight spilled through the window to fill the calm air, nothing more.

It was a perfectly ordinary high school library.

“.............Yeaah--.......”

Yomiko basked to her heart’s content in the scent of the library.

Blended from an innumerable variety of paper, it was a deep and pleasant fragrance. That sort of air held a different flavor <!-- (TC: If anyone can come up with something that seems more appropriate here than "flavor", shoot.)--> than that found in a bookstore.

“Hmmm~....Hm?”

While Yomiko was occupied with her olfactory sense, a sound flew to her ears. 

Spun forth like a song, the surprisingly pleasant sound reoccurred at regular intervals. Much like a duet for the piano, it resembled an intricately tangled melody.

That sound originated from somewhere within the stacks.

More specifically, it had emitted from the hidden spot at the innermost part of the library, way on the other side of the stacks.

Yomiko walked unsteadily forward, drawn to the spot like a traveler lost in the woods to the sound of a fairy’s flute.

Perhaps from a lack of visitors, much of the contents of the shelves along the way were crowned with dust.

To complete the scene, little sunlight penetrated this far in, giving the stacks the appearance of a labyrinth’s walls.

<!--p60-->
It felt as if this place was cut off from the flow of time.

Of course, that could be said of any library.

With each Yomiko took, the volume of the song steadily increased. In effect, it could be said that she was drawing ever closer to its performer.

There was no mistaking it. Around the corner of the bookcase before her the song was clearly audible.

Yomiko swallowed hard. Elation and nervousness intermingled within her body.

But right at that moment, the melody cut off abruptly.

“Eh--?”

After thoughtlessly shooting off her mouth, Yomiko rounded the corner of the stacks in a panic.

And there, was she.


Between the stacks there was a U-shaped table. [[#Notes |(2)]] On its surface were piled dozens of books, pages bristling with place-markers.

And, threaded somehow into the midst of all that, a total of four notebook computers had been placed. All of them seemed fully operational, and their various screens displayed open word processing programs.

This corner of the library had been transformed into a sort of private study.

The girl who was responsible for all this sat in the center. From behind, she appeared to have both hands raised as if begging heaven for some favor.

Her chestnut hair shot out backward energetically. That hairstyle was the same as in her author headshot.
<!--(TC: Damnit Nenene, that's some serious nerd-pimpage. Four laptops? Really? )-->

<!--p61-->
"Sumi--....."

Yomiko directed her voice toward the girl's back.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei--!"

"...................."

The girl's back answered her with silence.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei.....?"

Yomiko's statement took on a slight interrogative note.

"....................."

The fingers of the girl's hands jerked slightly. The motion was minor enough that Yomiko failed to notice.

The air within the library began to change its character bit by bit. Until now, the atmosphere had been that of calm silence, but from the direction the girl at the table the temperature was dropping with alacrity.

Yomiko raised her voice slightly and threw it forth a third time.

"Sumiregawa, Nenene, Sensei~!"

"OOOohaaaargh~!"

The girl called Nenene stood stock upright, screaming at the top of her lungs. From the violence of her motion, the wheeled chair on which she had been sitting shot backward and fell to the floor.

Yomiko was taken by surprise and flinched away! <!--(TC: The ! was in the middle of the sentence in the original. Really.)-->

"Can't wrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiittte!"

<!--62-->
Nenene, at quite a loss, grabbed her own head with both hands, and began to pull violently at her hair until it looked as if she’d had a bomb go off on her.

"Se......Sensei?"

Having apparently heard her just now, Nenene spun around and spotted Yomiko for the first time.

"Uwha~....."

With the girl in that state, Yomiko unthinkingly produced <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Live</i> from a pocket and began to compare her with the portrait within.

Her eyes were large and bloodshot, and her hair was in complete disarray. The upper button of her uniform was undone, but the impression that detail gave wasn't so much "sexy" as "dead tired". Her mouth didn't have the leisure to smile around the panting brought on by her overexcitement.

When matched up one by one the general features in the photo certainly seemed to match up with the real Nenene, but the impression she gave now was quite the opposite.

"You're Sumiregawa.....Nenene.....Sensei.....right?"

Yomiko timidly sputtered out her statement in cut-off chunks.

"Ohhhhhhh~!"

Letting loose a scream that could not be taken as denial or confirmation, Nenene burst forward. As the space between them suddenly shrunk, a dumbstruck Yomiko tried to retreat.

“Medusea's sword! Faltz, who took the blame for Dorid, is gonna get beheaded! If he were you, what’d you do?!”

<!--
(Translator's Comment: If anyone wants to take a crack at de-katakanaizing those random character names: Faltz was "Farutsusu" and Dorid was "Dooriddo". More on character names later, because... oh, romantization.)
-->
<!--[[Image:Read or Die vol01 063.jpg|thumb]]-->
<!--p64 (In which Snape kills Dumbledore)-->
"Eh? Eh? Eh?"

Yomiko was steadily forced backward by Nenene's onslaught, until her back was pressed against the nearest bookcase.

While Nenene was more than half a head shorter than her target, the near-demonic force projected by Nenene's demeanor shot down any hope of opposition.

"You just went and killed your little sister! Whatcha gonna do? C'mon, whadda ya do?"

"... Is this about <i>Glendard’s Jesters?</i>"

The names that were spewing forth from Nenene’s mouth were those of characters from her recent fantasy novels. Of course, Yomiko was following the series.

"Wait a--... aaah!! Is Faltz is going to die?!

"You bet! Mildrowd's secret potion makes her go on a wild, sword-swinging rampage! Then Medusea kills her ass!"

"No! Please stop--! It'll take the fun out of reading it when it comes out!"

Yomiko covered her ears with her hands and shook her head in protest.

"You've never been apart since childhood! This little sister of yours, who's aaalllways been by your side, you killed her! Well, how about that--? How does that make you feel!"

"Lalala, I can't hear you! Laaa laaa laaa!" <!--Translator's comment: So she was actually "nya~"ing for the latter half of that. If anyone feels a pressing need to make Yomiko meow, now would be the time.-->

Still covering her ears, Yomiko sank to the ground. For a tale that held such promise, true satisfaction would only be derived from reading it for herself. Even when given by the original author herself, spoilers would never make her happy.

However, as Nenene noticed Yomiko's position, the look in her eyes began to change.

<!--p65 (In which Yomiko serves as Nenene's muse)-->
"..... That.... that's it!"

"Yes?"

"Medusea regrets what she did! Having slain her little sister, she loses herself in despair! She plugs up her ears and puts out her eyes, and throws herself down into a world of darkness and silence!"

Her voice was thick with excitement. <!--Translator's comment: Yes, close to *that* kind of excitement, judging by the compound involved here.--> Out of the scenarios she had considered before, she finally had made a breakthrough.

"Se--, Sensei--! So, who can defeat Valkes <!--Translator's comment: Arbitrary villainous-sounding romantization.--> now! If Medusea's come to this!"

The main character having been lured into such a fix, even before the climax of the tale, had to be too major a problem to overcome.

Nenene sent Yomiko's concerns flying like a speck of dust in the wind.

"Not gonna think about that now!"

At that self-confident declaration, Yomiko's eyes grew round behind her glasses.

"Alllright! I can work with this!"

"Can you really say that, Sensei--?"

Suddenly, Nenene turned in place, sat back down in her chair, and poised her fingers over one of the notebook computers' keyboards. For some strange reason, a variety of said computers were scattered about.

"Huuh--"

She breathed a small sigh and in the next moment began banging violently away at the keys.

<!--p66-->
<!--
"Aaaargh~!"

Her fingers flew over the cramped keyboard. They danced, they ran, with keystrokes too fast to be seen, spinning forth words onto the screen. Surprisingly, the sentences appeared to conflict with each other.

The sound she had heard before was that made by these same keys being struck.

However, by comparison to the key's previous percussion, this was now more akin to a firing machine gun.That was the only match for this intensity and force.

"Whoa..."

After all, without having received verbal confirmation, Yomiko was quite convinced that this was indeed that which was Nenene.

Though her physical form couldn't be called large, her presence was a millionfold stronger. It was as menacing as an engine running at full blast.

That is to be expected of a writer in the midst of the fevered creative process.

With Nenene in this state, she completely failed to notice Yomiko's feelings or disheveled appearance as she continued to vigorously pound away at the keys.

Occasionally she slid along the desk, shuttling from notebook to notebook as she finished up four drafts at once. The nature of the drafts' content was impossible to discern.

Nearly lost in a sea of longing, Yomiko suddenly remembered her objective.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"
-->

<!--p67-->
<!--
She had lost count of her attempts, but she called out yet again.

However, her voice was drowned out by the keystrokes that sounded through the quiet library.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"

Drawing a bit closer, she raised her voice one level. Even with that, the girl didn’t turn to look at her.

“Senshi~, errr~!”

Just as Yomiko stood right behind her target and moved her arms into position to grab the girl’s shoulders, Nenene suddenly turned about.

“Hiiyaaa~!”

A spectacular chop came swinging down toward Yomiko’s forehead.

“Urk.”

Taking the rapid blow right in the part of her hair, Yomiko staggered about. However, this was more from surprise than from pain.

Nenene roared down at Yomiko, who had unsteadily plopped herself down right where she stood.

“Stay the hell out of my way~!”

“I, I’m sorry...”

Rubbing her forehead, Yomiko unthinkingly switched to a more formal style of kneeling. That rebuke had been enough to make her recoil.

“....... Hmph~!”

From behind Nenene, who had relaunched her writing, Yomiko craned her neck about awkwardly as she tried to glimpse the notebooks’ screen.

It would be awful to know how the story would end, but she was quite interested as to what Nenene was writing. The mentality of a fan is quite complex.
-->

<!--p68-->
<!--(Translator's Comments: (I would like to remind everyone that these are quick, initial drafts...))-->
<!--
Though she was unaware of Yomiko's desires, Nenene rolled her chair in various directions while she continued to work on her drafts. It was almost as if she were trying to block Yomiko's view of the screens.

And from behind her, Yomiko was now moving half of her body around as she tried to see those screens.

From a third person's perspective, this would have resembled basketball offense and defense.

Without speaking, the two continued their movements.




"Aaaand... Finiiiished!"

Sending her last draft off to the editing department via the net, Nenene gave vent to her joy.

She had somehow met her deadline for those four drafts.

She'd never before cut it so close with her schedule, but this time some sort of writer's block had taken up residence in her head.

...... In all honesty, it'd probably be best for her to talk it over with someone.

Her will seemingly gone slack, she let loose a giant yawn. It was futile. Lately, she hadn't been getting anywhere near enough sleep, as her precious sleep time was continuously interrupted.

Looking at her wristwatch, she found it had already turned 4 in the afternoon.

Looked like it was time to go home. Go home, and sleep, and then, perhaps think things over.

Nenene stood up from her chain and turned around.
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"Whoooa~!"

Right behind her was Yomiko, still kneeling formally.

"Excellent work, Sumiregawa-sensei."

Thus said Yomiko, with a surprisingly unperturbed expression, to Nenene.

"... Who the hell are you?"

Apparently she hadn't made that much of an impression on Nenene's memory, as the girl had put on a suspicious expression.

"I'm Yomiko Readman."

"Riidoman?"

Nenene repeated back the foreign-sounding name.

"My father was English, my mother, Japanese, so I'm biracial, you see. Starting today, I'll be the substitute teacher for world history here."

"Teachin' world history? Abe-chan's... Ah, out for pregnancy leave?"

"Yes. I'm not nearly experienced enough, but please treat me well."

Yomiko pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply.

"... If you're teachin' that class, what're you doing here?"

It looked as if she had indeed forgotten her last conversation with Yomiko. The end of her statement was abrupt, and it seemed that her head was lost in a muddle of confusion.
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"Yes--! That's just it!"

The tone of Yomiko's voice jumped up a level.

"The thing is, well! I, for you, Sumiregawa-sensei, may be of some measure of service."

In response to Yomiko's beaming expression, Nenene raised an eyebrow.

".... Waitaminute, you? You the one who's been hasslin' me lately?"

"Huh?"

Nenene produced a single envelope from the midst of some documents that she had scattered on the table and thrust it toward Yomiko.

It was a plain white envelope, with no distinguishing characteristics. No stamp, postmark, or address had been recorded on it. It looked as if someone might have personally delivered it.

After examining it closely, Yomiko extracted its contents and looked over the message within.

A single sheet of unruled paper had been inserted into the envelope.

At its center was but a single line of text.

"I'll be coming after you soon. To my Paul S"

The characters had been printed on a word processor. The letter gave away no meaning, no connections, no sense of the nature or personality of its author.

"What may this letter be?"

"Found it in my home mailbox yesterday. It was you, wasn't it?"
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"No."

Yomiko shook her head politely as she answered.

Nenene made a disagreeable face.

"That kinda thing's been happening a lot lately. Keep getting random wordless phone calls, and when I leave the house, I feel like someone's tailing me. Thanks to all that, I haven't gotten any writing done, whatsoever!"

"Umm, might that be something about which you should notify the police...?"

"Already did! They just said 'We will step up our patrols,' and that's it! The hell kind of half-assed response's that! They're being paid with my taxes; they'd better do their job right!"

As she spoke, Nenene began to pace around the room, most likely spurred on by her rising emotions.

"And just to top it all off, this letter! Who the hell's Paul? I'm Nenene! Most people'd call me Sumiregawa Nenene!"

She punctuated her last comment with a jab of her thumb toward her chest. That action would normally come across as boastful, but it seemed strangely fitting to see Nenene do it. It was if it wordlessly communicated the strong ego and self-esteem that lay within her.

"I know all about you. You debuted with You Know Me when you were just thirteen years old, and since then five million copies have been sold, making you the best-selling wunderkind of junior novel publishing world! Your favorite food is cheesecake , and when you take a bath, you first wash your right foot, right~! *"

Yomiko's ardor was carried in her voice, which rose in pitch as she spoke.

"... You sure do know a lot about me, don't you."


* Well, that got really creepy, really fast. 
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"Yes~! I'm a big fan, you see!"

Smiling like a praised puppy, Yomiko fished through her pockets and took out a copy of On the Street-corner Where the Cats Are.

"I've alllways, alllways loved your books! When I first read this one, I was so moved that my nose almost began to run!"

"... Try to make the flowing stuff tears next time."

Yomiko thrust the book straight toward the dubious-looking Nenene, while still in her kneeling position.

"Well... I'm begging you! Please sign this! To receive your signature, it's been a dream of mine for ages!"

As she looked down at Yomiko, Nenene's gaze grew a bit colder.

"If you're such a big fan, you'd know that I don't sign stuff, right?"

It was true. Since her debut, she hadn't held a single signing event. For her class of novelist, that was quite unusual.

"Yes~! But with that sort of reputation, it makes me want it even more."

"God, you're annoying!"

"Pardon?"

Yomiko's voice was drowned out by the volume with which Nenene responded.

"You're a fan? I'm not an idol singer or some TV celebrity. I'm an author, damnit. You read the stories I write and you are moved; that's enough. So why the hell, then, would you feel you gotta get a signature? A signature's just a name, you know."
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"Huh? But, I meant..."

"I put every last bit of myself into my writing. Whatever fixation you have should be aimed not at me, but at my books--nothing more."

For any popular author, sometimes particularly "excessive" fans would develop grandiose ideas and send letters or presents. For one of Nenene's class, the ratio of such fans tends to skyrocket. This clearly wasn't the first time she'd had to deal with this.

"An author and a novel are two. Separate. Things. If you start looking for more outside the book, you're just gonna confuse yourself!"

Yomiko choked out a response to Nenene's strong statement.

"...Is...that so..."

"Huh?"

Dropping her gaze, Yomiko stacked the books and the letter.

"I... I read your books, and I was truly moved. I wondered, what was she like, this teller of magnificent tales?"

"......................."
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At those unexpectedly heartfelt words, Nenene's ardor cooled a bit.

"I bet there are others who feel the same way, too. But you know, when you like someone, you want to learn more about them, right?"

"Like? Me? Even though you just met me?"

"Yes. Because beyond that, I've read so very much."

Yomiko's statement was impossible to misinterpret. Her words were as guileless as those of a child.

"...And I just told you, that's not me; that's my books."

"One and the same. After all, didn't you say that you put your all into them?"

"...................."

Yomiko began to flip gently through The Streetcorner where the Cats Are, her fingers moving the pages with apparent loving care.

"The extent to which you throw yourself into your writing is made clear to me through this paper."

With that, Yomiko turned her gaze directly onto Nenene, smiling unguardedly.

"I, truly, love you."

An awkward silence fell. Odds are neither one wanted to address a certain tiny implication in that statement.

Having just been hit by a statement that could be interpreted as a confession of love, Nenene's expression shifted to one of simultaneous befuddlement and rage. Yomiko quietly replaced the letter's envelope.
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== Notes ==
1: The line she's quoting here is the very first bit of Natsume Souseki's classic novel <i>[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/I_Am_a_Cat I am a Cat]</i>.

2: Originally was this kanji, not U: 凹

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