Editing Read or Die:Volume1 Transition

The room was thick with the scent of paper.

It was almost like a potent chemical diluted with water, a sensation that couldn’t quite be explained, but was undeniably unsettling.

A man in a black leather coat raised his left eyebrow exactly three millimeters at the smell.

It wasn’t an expression of disgust, just simple curiosity.

After all, for all the paper scent that filled the room, there was hardly a book in sight.

It was a dark room.

The light from the indirect fixtures shone dully against the white walls. There wasn’t anything you could call a window.

The man in the coat checked his watch. It was past ten o’clock at night. Not that time really mattered in a place like this.

From the depths of the room came the sound of quiet sobbing.

He stepped forward. With each step, the crying grew louder, though not just because he was drawing closer.

Overwhelmed by emotion, the soft cries grew into ragged sobs, and soon into open weeping.

“…Sorry to interrupt your little moment,” the man called into the darkness.

“…Scissorhands, is that you? Hmph.”

The reply came back nasally, a man’s voice, one that had long since left childhood behind.

The man addressed as “Scissorhands” took a case from his coat pocket and selected a cigar.

“…Should I have left you alone?”

It wasn’t clear when he’d done it, but the clipped end of the cigar dropped softly to the floor, the cut so clean it was perfectly flush with the boards.

“…No, I was just rereading it. No matter how many times I go through it, it always makes me cry. ‘''On a Street Corner with Cats''’, it’s a masterpiece…”

He was talking about Nenene’s new story, the one Yomiko had brought to the library.

“I really don’t get it. What sets her apart from all the other kids out there?”

Scissorhands, unfiltered, snapped open his lighter. The sudden rush of gas ignited into a flame, nearly a pillar of fire.

The blaze illuminated Scissorhands’ face in the darkness. He looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. His features were Asian, but his complexion was shockingly pale, a stark contrast to his dark coat.

But what caught the eye most were the scars crossing his face, vertically, horizontally, and diagonally, almost too many to count.

His hair stuck up like wire, amplifying his prickly, dangerous aura.

The pillar of fire cast multiple reflections. Embedded in the surface of his coat were sharp fragments of metal, not fashion accessories, but real, cutting blades.

Even the hand holding the lighter was sheathed in a wicked, armored glove, each finger tipped with cruel shards of steel, dangerous to the touch.

Just being there was enough to intimidate.

But the voice from the darkness didn’t so much as flinch. If anything, it pressed on, almost scolding:

“A fool like you will never understand. You know nothing of creation, only destruction. A beast, interested only in breaking things.”

Scissorhands exhaled, sending a perfect ring of smoke into the air.

“Say what you want. As long as I get paid, I don’t care if my target is a brat or an artist.”

“She’s young, and brilliant,a rare talent. To call her the second coming of Shakespeare would be no exaggeration…”

The voice from the darkness was heated, almost trembling with excitement. Perhaps at its own words, or at what those words might bring.

“But the tragedy is, she’s still in her early stages. Will she become a writer whose name endures? Or will she be swept away in the vulgar tide of publishing? She’s at a fragile crossroads.”

The heat left his words instantly, as if boiling water had turned to ice.

“It’s now or never. If she isn’t taught at this moment, she’ll end up just another ordinary writer. If she’s to reach even greater heights…”

The speaker’s breath came faster, thick with fervor.

“I have no choice but to teach her myself.”

The words landed at Scissorhands’ feet with the force of absolute certainty.

“Bring me my Paul S., Scissorhands.”

“Understood.”

Scissorhands smiled, twisting his lips into a grin. The motion distorted his scars, and for a moment, it looked as if his mouth stretched all the way to his ears.
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