Baka-Tsuki - User contributions [en]

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter 2

2025-07-22T21:24:31Z

Alekazzandre:

{{MTL}}

“…It’s not widely known, but Napoleon was one of history’s most famous book-lovers. When he went on military campaigns, he brought along a mobile library of three thousand books.”

Yomiko Readman’s eyes sparkled as she shared her “little-known fact” with enthusiasm. But not a single student in Class 2-C looked the least bit impressed.

On her second day on the job, Yomiko walked to school with Nenene from the apartment. Maybe because both were still tired from the night before, they only just made it in time.

Yomiko, especially, flagrantly ignored the rule that teachers must arrive thirty minutes before class, earning her a second reprimand from the principal in as many days.

But Yomiko wasn’t the sort to dwell on regret or pride. Any fleeting emotion was swept away in the tide of her own, unshakable rhythm.

And so, first period on her second day, Yomiko launched into her first ever class at Kakinzaka High School.

It was supposed to be a lesson about Napoleon Bonaparte’s diplomacy in French history,but Yomiko’s train of thought soon derailed.

“French people are famous across Europe for being book-lovers,what you’d call ‘bibliophiles’. There’s even a saying: ‘Women, books, and horses should never be borrowed,’ which just means that the French don’t just read books, they want to keep them close,like collectors. In contrast, the British are seen as more practical,if they want to read, the library is enough. That’s the common view in Europe, anyway. But honestly, that’s just a stereotype. England has plenty of book-lovers too.”

She pouted, not sure who she was even complaining to. No one agreed. In fact, hardly anyone was even listening.

The students, indifferent, busied themselves with “side work” for the next class, doodled in their notebooks, or whispered quietly with friends.

Yomiko, having veered so far off-topic, couldn’t really scold them.

And so, Class 2-C’s lesson drifted further off track.

Still, compared to what was about to happen later, it was almost peaceful.

Meanwhile, Nenene Sumiregawa wasn’t paying the slightest attention to geography class. Instead, she stared at the bookmark Yomiko had given her the night before.

There was nothing remarkable about it,a small Union Jack and some kind of emblem on the front and back. It looked old, but was neither torn nor creased. Maybe it was made from high-quality paper?

Whatever it was, it was still just a bookmark. Without much thought, Nenene slipped it into her shirt pocket.

A large map hung on the blackboard. The lesson was about China’s topography, but Nenene’s eyes drifted to England, remembering the Union Jack.

That teacher,she’d said she was half-British, but had she really lived over there?

Nenene’s curiosity about Yomiko started to take root.

Could someone that laid-back ever have found herself in real trouble? Maybe that calm meant she came from a good family… No, probably not. Maybe her parents were civil servants who met and married while studying abroad,that was the plot of some movie, wasn’t it? She wished there were something a bit more unexpected.

Unconsciously, Nenene started weaving little stories in her head about Yomiko’s past, probing for a thread she could build a “plot” around. Story seeds, after all, are everywhere.

She supposed it was surprising,a scatterbrained type like that probably had a romantic story somewhere in her past… It’d be sad if her partner had already died. Or maybe they were separated by illness,that’d make it even more of a tragic love story.

Just as Nenene was struggling to shape these thoughts into something concrete, a small, folded piece of paper bounced off her hair.

She glanced diagonally back and caught sight of Nori and Harumi, her friends who’d called out to her at the school gate the day before,giggling.

Nenene bent down, discreetly picked up the note, and unfolded it.

It was a memo. In round, girlish handwriting, it read:

“Yesterday’s boy was the worst. We’re hanging out later today, do you have a deadline?”

“………………”

Nenene considered for a moment. She’d planned to visit her publisher and talk to her editor about that letter. She couldn’t have Yomiko stay at her place forever, and she wasn’t exactly the most reliable person in an emergency.

…But, with everyone together, the chances of trouble seemed slim. The more people around, the safer it would be. Nenene shot a thumbs-up behind her back,a sign of agreement. From behind came a soft round of applause. That’s right. Sometimes you have to let yourself relax. Soon enough, another deadline would be looming.

Whatever story had started forming in Nenene’s head was gone before she knew it. Footsteps echoed along the hallway. Of course, it wasn’t just the sound moving forward, the sound belonged to a pair of black leather shoes.

A man in a black leather coat, known in the underworld as “Scissorhands”, was making his way down the corridor of Kakinzaka High.

Since it was during class hours, there were no students in the hallway. No teachers, either. If there had been, they would have stopped this man, his face a lattice of scars, his body bristling with knives.

“Who are you?”

“What do you want?”

But Scissorhands had no intention of answering, even if someone had just asked, “Where’d you get that cool coat?” Idle talk only delayed the job.

He had just one task: to kidnap the brat with the unmistakable name, Sumiregawa Nenene. (Though he’d have to remember to call her Paul S., or the client would throw a fit.)

It was an easy job. Far too easy.

But easy didn’t mean boring. For Scissorhands, this was his first time setting foot in a place called “school” and he found it fascinating. He watched his surroundings with keen curiosity.

Born with the traits he had, Scissorhands had always walked in the underworld. It wasn’t until he was past twenty that he could walk so boldly, letting his footsteps ring out. Only after he grew strong enough that even noisy footsteps wouldn’t get him killed.

And with that strength came jobs like this. The client, a spoiled rich brat, a certified lunatic, a pervert and a megalomaniac, paid more than most. Maybe the money wasn’t different, but it was a lot more than usual.

Plus, he could rattle a few “regular” kids as a bonus.

Scissorhands’ scarred face twisted into a sinister grin.

Soon, he arrived at his destination: Class 3-A.

He raised his right hand and slid it swiftly across the alloy door.

A high-pitched, skin-crawling screech raced through the classroom.

Every student clapped their hands over their ears at the sudden, unnatural noise. Nenene was no exception.

“Huh…?”

“What was that? Thunder?”

But outside, spring sunlight streamed down, a clear sky, not a hint of a storm. Still, unable to process what was happening, the students tried to fit it into what they knew.

“Calm down! Everyone!”

The teacher’s voice tried to steady the class, but words with no certainty behind them couldn’t even calm himself.

Then came another short, sharp sound from the door. Every eye turned to its surface.

And then, as if straight out of a cartoon, a classic gag manga, or an old American animation, the next moment unfolded before their eyes.

A human silhouette bulged from the surface of the door. It was a perfect outline, pressed from the outside and now falling inward.

Students near the door leapt to their feet. With a tremendous crash, the thing that had been the door, a metal sheet now punched through in the shape of a person, toppled onto the floor, rattling the entire classroom.

Sound and dust swirled, then faded away.

Most students still hadn’t processed what had just happened.

“A prank…?” someone whispered, but no one laughed. No one answered.

Through the person-shaped hole, a shadow slipped inside. A face covered in scars swept the classroom, then broke into a toothy grin.

“…Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”

“…Who are you…?”

The teacher, to his credit, managed to find his voice. First to confront this mysterious intruder, that took guts.

“…Which one’s Sumiregawa?”

At the sound of Scissorhands’ voice, every student turned to Nenene. Their stares gave her away before anyone said a word.

“I’m here to pick you up, Paul S…”

As soon as she heard it, Nenene felt the blood drain from her face.

Scissorhands began moving toward her, slow and deliberate.

“Wait just a second!”

The teacher grabbed Scissorhands by the arm.

The next instant, something rolled onto the desk of the student in the front row, a chopped sausage, splattering ketchup across the open notebook.

That’s what the student’s brain registered, at least for a moment, until the truth snapped into focus. What looked like a sausage was actually a severed finger, and the “ketchup” was blood.

It was the teacher’s finger, newly sliced off, that rolled across the desk.

On the teacher’s face, shock far outweighed pain. But before he could react, a girl by the window let out a scream.

“Noooo!”

Her shriek soared through the open window, echoing into the classrooms beyond.

“!”

The first to react was Yomiko.

“What was that just now?”

“A girl?”

“A third-year?”

Most students just looked around with curiosity or confusion, but a strange tension had appeared on Yomiko’s face. She’d already guessed the direction, the commotion was coming from Class 3-A. Nenene’s class. The scream wasn’t Nenene’s, but that didn’t make her any less anxious.

“Sensei?”

A student looked up, puzzled at the sudden halt in Yomiko’s (rather enthusiastic) monologue about French bibliophiles.

“Self-study, everyone!”

With just those words, Yomiko dashed out of the classroom, which was already halfway to self-study anyway.

Three male teachers appeared in the hallway, clearly drawn by the scream,just as concerned as Yomiko.

However, the teachers merely gathered slowly, trading anxious looks and murmuring, “What’s going on?”, no one willing to take action.

Yomiko sprinted toward the main staircase.

“Ms. Readman!?”

One of the male teachers called out as Yomiko charged past. He was someone she vaguely remembered being introduced to at yesterday’s staff meeting, but he disappeared from her memory and vision in an instant.

Her coat flared as she dashed in long, bounding strides, loud footsteps echoing down the hall.

“Sensei!?”

Without so much as a glance back at her colleague’s shout, Yomiko took the stairs three at a time. In just eight strides, she’d reached the third floor.

A quick scan of the corridor showed Class 3-A’s students spilling out the door in a confused scramble.

“What happened!?”

No one could answer. Every face was wide-eyed, mouths opening and closing in shock, voices tangled with fear and astonishment. Realizing no answers would come, Yomiko rushed straight for the classroom.

She pushed open the door, that now oddly had a human-shaped hole, and leapt inside.

“Who’s there!?”

A man in a black leather coat stood at the center of the room. In his arms hung Nenene, limp and unconscious, the edges of her uniform slashed, pale skin showing through.

Yomiko took it all in at a glance. Desks split in half. Textbooks, notebooks, pencils, cell phones, almost every student’s belongings, either deeply gouged or cleanly sliced in two.

From the man’s coat protruded several blades. There was no doubt. This destruction had happened just by him passing through.

“I said, who are you!?”

The man’s finger twitched, and Yomiko’s eyes caught the flicker of a small piece of metal flying toward her. She dove forward, and at the same time, flicked a slip of paper from her sleeve toward him.

He clearly hadn’t expected a counterattack. The man dodged, but just a fraction too late. The paper grazed his right cheek, leaving a new cut and a trail of blood.

The shard of metal he’d thrown embedded itself in the blackboard behind Yomiko. She recognized it instantly, an oversized box cutter blade, or something close to it. The edge was far sharper than anything ordinary; nearly half the blade was sunk into the board.

At the same time, Scissorhands realized what had wounded him: a long strip of paper, like a memo pad, that had lodged itself in the back blackboard like a thrown shuriken.

Front and back of the room. Metal and paper. Their weapons had crossed, each driven deep at opposite ends.

“Paper-user.”

Shock lit up Scissorhands’ scarred face, but the surprise was real for Yomiko as well. tThis man knew about paper-users.

Trying to hide her confusion, she glanced at Nenene. Still unconscious, thankfully, and hadn’t heard the exchange.

“The British Library, huh?!”

Yomiko nodded sharply, edging a little farther back for safety.

“…Give back Ms. Sumiregawa…”

Even as she spoke, she was already palming more memo paper and sticky notes, hidden inside her coat, ready to strike at the first opening.

But Scissorhands kept Nenene’s body between them, using her as a shield.

“…Well, well. Didn’t think this brat was worth so much. Worth getting the British Library involved?”

There was something strange in his words, but Yomiko kept moving, searching for a blind spot.

“…If you’re really a fan, you should know better than to bring trouble to Ms. Sumiregawa! Let her go!”

The scars on Scissorhands’ face twisted into a grotesque smile, part physical, part psychological.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’ve got no special feelings for the kid. It’s my client who wants her!”

“That letter…!”

If life were a book, Yomiko and Scissorhands’ names wouldn’t be on the cover, they’d be on the back. Marked by strange talents, their places in the world were set apart, and in this moment, both measured each other, probing for any hint of weakness.

With the truth of each other’s powers out in the open, neither dared act carelessly. Yomiko was paralyzed by Nenene’s hostage state; but by using her as a shield, Scissorhands was likewise restrained.

Now, it all depended on who could force an opening.

But the longer this stalemate stretched, the more it favored Yomiko. Sooner or later, help would arrive. For Scissorhands, this was enemy territory, if he was surrounded, it would be over.

Maybe sensing this, Scissorhands moved to break the deadlock.

“A paper-user from the British Library… you must be ‘The Paper’, then?”

Yomiko tensed slightly at the mention of her codename.

“…The Paper I fought last time was a man. What happened to him?”

His words hit harder than expected.

Yomiko froze,just for a heartbeat, but that was all he needed.

“Hah!”

Still clutching Nenene, Scissorhands rose on tiptoe, spinning with his left foot as a pivot, his right foot tracing a circle on the floor like a compass needle.

“Ah!”

Yomiko was caught off guard by the sudden motion,but what happened next was even more shocking.

Scissorhands and Nenene vanished, no, they dropped away.

He’d used a hidden blade in his shoe to cut a perfect circle in the floor, then dropped straight down.

Shouts of surprise erupted from the floor below. Yomiko didn’t hesitate for an instant. She immediately understood the escape and darted for the window.

She saw Scissorhands crash out a first-floor window and bolt into the schoolyard, carrying Nenene.

A car waited just ahead. That was their getaway.

“Sensei!”

Yomiko glanced around. Under the blackboard was a huge world map, left over from class.

Without hesitating, she snatched it up, dragged it to the window, and threw the window open.

“Haaaah!”

She jumped,out the third-story window, into open air.

If she took the stairs, she’d lose them. She had to take the fastest, most direct route.

Gravity seized her, yanking her down.

As she fell, Yomiko tore the map apart in her hands.

Fold. Fold. Fold. Still spinning in the air, she folded the paper at miraculous speed, her limbs and the map tangling together, the paper transforming with every twist.

“It’s done!”

Just before she crashed, it was finished,a giant paper balloon.

Flushed, she blew air into it, flung it below, and landed right on top. The impact softened, the shock dispersed.

“…Haah, haah…”

Even having landed safely, Yomiko was gasping for breath. Her heart hammered; her lungs burned for oxygen. The escape had cut it razor-close.

“! …Ms. Sumiregawa!”

By the time she climbed off the balloon, the car was already speeding away.

“Sensei!”

Yomiko chased after it, running with long, desperate strides.

In the rear window, she caught a glimpse of Nenene, slumped unconscious in the back seat.

The car shot through the school gates, sped around the corner, and disappeared from view.

“Sumiregawa-senseiiii!”

The car was already well out of range, even for her paper techniques. Sweat poured down Yomiko’s face as she collapsed, knees hitting the ground.

She might be a top-class agent with paper, but physically, she was just a regular person. After diving from the third floor, her breathing was ragged. There was no way she could outrun a car at full speed.

“………………”

　The car vanished down the road, swallowed by the distance.

Yomiko looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes landed on the spot where, just yesterday, she had stopped Nenene as she was leaving for home. What had she said then?

“…To tell the truth, I wanted to protect you, Sensei.”

“I may not look it, but I’m actually pretty strong.”

Not even a full day had passed, and those words were already a lie.

She hadn’t been able to save Nenene.

“…Sensei… Sumi…rega…wa… Sensei…”

Still gasping for air, Yomiko called out Nenene’s name again and again.

Before she knew it, hot drops were streaming down her cheeks.

They were far too hot, far too bitter, and far too sad to be just sweat.

Beneath her glasses, tears fell in silent, endless streams.

''I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t save her.'' Mercilessly, Yomiko blamed herself. What good was being a paper user? What was “The Paper” worth? What right did she have to call herself a fan of Sumiregawa Nenene?

“Ugh… ugh…”

She raised a hand to wipe her tears away, but her fingers stopped short, bumping against the thick, black frames of her glasses.

“Ugh…”

It almost felt as if the frames themselves were holding her back.

Is this really the time for tears?

It felt as if that’s what he,the man who once wore these glasses,would say to her now.

She’d cried then, too. Like a child, lost in sorrow.

The man who wore these glasses had smiled at her through his own pain, bloodied and suffering so much more than she.

He had tried to comfort her, hiding agony behind a smile, even as blood welled from his throat instead of words.

Back then, too, there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t comfort him, couldn’t help him, couldn’t save him from pain.

All she had done was cry.

Yomiko’s sobs grew hoarse, then faded, until at last they were silent.

It wasn’t forgivable. Someone who bore the name “The Paper” had no right to cry any longer.

Right before her eyes, a writer had been taken,a bright, talented writer with her whole future ahead. How many times had Nenene’s books made Yomiko happy, moved her, encouraged her?

For someone who loves books, giving up was unthinkable.

Yomiko stood up. Of course, the car was nowhere in sight now.

But there was still a way. As long as she didn’t give up, there was always at least a fifty-fifty chance of success.

She pressed her finger to the bridge of her slipping glasses, steadying them.

“…Ms. Sumiregawa, I swear,I’ll save you.”

It was Yomiko Readman’s personal declaration of war.

Nenene Sumiregawa awoke on a cold, hard floor.

At first, she couldn’t process what had happened.

That man with the scarred face had appeared in the classroom, had sliced off the teacher’s finger…

The memory, full of disgust, made her stomach churn.

From there, it had all been a nightmare. An all-too-vivid, all-too-real nightmare.

As the man walked, desks split apart. She’d thought, for a moment, it must be a supernatural wind blade,but there hadn’t been even a hint of wind.

Several students’ uniforms were sliced open. Some had skin cut, blood staining the cloth. By then, most of the students had panicked and were rushing for the door.

But Nenene herself couldn’t move.

Staring down the man, she hadn’t even been able to stand from her seat.

What truly paralyzed her was his words: “I’ve come to pick you up, Paul S.” The memories of the past few days came rushing back.

With a theatrical, almost foreign gesture, the man spread his arms.

And pain shot through her body.

The shock tore at her uniform, and before she knew it, her skin was exposed to the air.

One of the blows struck the back of her head, and darkness closed in.

“…Owww…”

Somehow, Nenene managed to raise her upper body. Everything ached, but nothing seemed broken.

Her uniform was torn in several places,a clear sign this wasn’t just a dream, unfortunately.

“Awake at last?”

The voice made Nenene flinch.

Scissorhands stood over her, looking down.

“…What’s with you…?”

Nenene’s voice was stripped of its usual energy. It couldn’t be helped, given the circumstances.

“In this world, they call me Scissorhands.”

“Scissorhands…?”

Nenene echoed the name, but what stuck in her mind was the way he’d said “this world.” As if sensing her curiosity, he continued:

“Seems you were quite a celebrity in your old world, young lady. But,”

His scars twisted, turning his smile sadistic.

“,You can’t go back. From today, you belong to this world.”

His words sparked the last bit of resistance left in Nenene.

“What is that supposed to mean? What are you going to do with me? First the letters weren’t enough, and now you have to kidnap me too?!”

Scissorhands watched her with a mocking grin as she spoke.

“I won’t let you get away with this! This is a crime! I’ll sue you, just you wait!”

“Young lady, from now on you’ll be living in a world with no use for the laws of the outside. You’ll have to follow our rules, got it?”

His strangely gentle tone only made it creepier.

“And just to be clear,if you’ve misunderstood anything, it’s not me who wants you. It’s my client. If you’ve got someone to shout at, shout at him. As you can see, I’m easily hurt.”

“Client…?”

So this wasn’t just one stalker,it was a whole plan.

“Paaaaaauuul… Essssssss…”

A voice echoed from the opposite direction of Scissorhands.

“?!”

Shock froze Nenene’s face as she turned.

Squinting, she saw a wide bed, draped in expensive sheets. A man was lounging there.

“At last, we meet, Paaaauul…”

He looked to be just under thirty. Too thin, dressed in black leather pants and a white shirt. His black hair was slicked back with oil, a few strands hanging over his forehead.

Nenene had never seen him before.

“…Who are you…?”

It was the only question that made sense.

“I’m your number one fan, Paul.”

“Who’s Paul!? I’m Sumiregawa,”

Before she could finish, something flew at her.

“?!”

She instinctively shielded her face, and felt a hard object hit her arm and fall to the floor. When she looked down, she realized what it was:

Her own new book, ''On a Street Corner with Cats''.

“How rude,” the man said with a casual smile, looking at her.

A red welt remained on her arm where the book’s corner had hit.

“Well, that’s fine. We’ll take our time fixing everything,your personality, your manners, your way of thinking, your writing style, every last part of you…”

There was a sickly intensity oozing from his words, and Nenene fell silent.

“My name is Kazumi Marihara. I’m a bibliomaniac.”

“A… bibliomaniac?”

“That’s right. But I’m not your average fanatic. I comb through every book published in Japan, searching for true talent. When I find it, I sometimes support the writer’s work, even sponsor their career. Luckily, I have the means to do so.”

“But why? What’s the point?”

Marihara slowly sat up on the bed.

“…To support publishing culture. Modern Japanese, living in one of the world’s rare publishing giants, are forgetting the magic of books, little by little.”

He fixed Nenene with a piercing stare, his strangely pale eyes radiating a quiet menace.

“Games, TV, events, music, the internet,people are drowning in every kind of pleasure, drifting further and further from books. Literature is now misunderstood as the most old-fashioned of all media. It’s the duty of those of us who love books to change that.”

Nenene could follow his logic, but what did any of it have to do with kidnapping her?

“So what do we need to break this reality? A work that’s both literary and dazzlingly entertaining,a masterpiece where art and entertainment truly fuse. The savior of the literary world, who can actually write it!”

His voice began to burn with an uneven, feverish energy.

“I’ve read a hundred million books, and among them, I found you! Nenene Sumiregawa, you can write it,a masterpiece that will go down in human history!”

Marihara pointed dramatically at Nenene, raising his voice. The next moment, his hand opened wide as if to welcome her.

“…But you’re still immature. I want to help you. I want to draw out the brilliance in you that even you haven’t realized yet. Do you understand, Paaaaaul…?”

“So that’s why you kidnapped me…?”

Nenene’s face drained of color. She had doubted how serious he was,now she wondered just how sane he could be.

“You’re… insane…”

That was all she could force out.

“…Alright. Let’s start with that.”

Marihara turned his gaze to Scissorhands.

And with just that, Scissorhands was already moving, snapping handcuffs onto Nenene’s wrists.

“Wh-what…!?”

The reality of being restrained doubled Nenene’s fear.

“Sometimes, only madness can create art that’s impossible in ordinary life. Honestly, that’s one of the things your writing is missing.”

He gave her a shove and Nenene tumbled to the floor.

“All your stories have happy endings. That’s lovely in its way, but once in a while, I want to read a dead end. And for that, you’ll need to experience one yourself first.”

As Marihara climbed down from the bed, Scissorhands called out.

“There’s something I want to ask.”

“What is it?”

Marihara, his excitement soured, glared at Scissorhands.

“When I took this young lady, a woman appeared,a paper-user.”

“A paper-user? A woman?” Marihara frowned at the unexpected revelation.

“I thought the British Library’s Paper-user was a man?”

“That’s what I thought too. But if they’re involved, we can’t let our guard down.”

“Hmm…”

Marihara lapsed into thought for a moment.

Nenene, lying on the floor, listened to them. A woman… the British Library… a paper-user… The words tangled in her mind, and she thought of a certain someone. Surely not…

Her hand crept to her shirt pocket. The bookmark Yomiko had given her last night, with the Union Jack on it.

Were they talking about Yomiko?

“With her level of talent, it’s no wonder the British Library took notice. When it comes to books, they’ll stop at nothing,” Marihara commented, apparently blind to his own hypocrisy.

“In any case, we need to be cautious. Scissorhands, get in touch with our informant and have them look into this woman.”

“Understood. And you?”

“…Of course, I’ll be busy educating her. I intend to make her the greatest writer in human history.”

Nenene swallowed hard. He really was crazy. This wasn’t just a stalker,he was something much worse. What could have drawn this madman to her?

In a creeping, hopeless despair, the only thing Nenene had left was the bookmark Yomiko had given her last night. The “good luck charm” Yomiko had called it,just a piece of paper, but right now, it was her only support.

“Hey, didn’t I see you yesterday?”

The taxi driver tried to make small talk, but Yomiko remained silent, eyes locked on the navigation screen.

“You know, yesterday in front of that school, I picked up a girl,and you came running after us. You really can run.”

He talked to himself, but Yomiko never looked up from the plate.

“Turn at the next corner.”

Every so often she’d give a direction, but in truth, Yomiko herself didn’t know exactly where they were headed.

The display showed a simple map and a blinking red dot,the signal from the bookmark she’d given Nenene the night before. That bookmark was actually an emergency transmitter, the kind all British Library agents were required to carry. The ribbon was woven from ultra-fine fibers.

Yomiko was grateful Nenene had kept it. Now, at least, she knew their location. And knowing that gave her a real chance of rescue.

Beside her, a suitcase rattled on the back seat,the only “weapon” she had brought. She had no idea how she’d fare against a man who threw knives like that, but she had no choice. Every second of delay only increased Nenene’s danger.

Suddenly, Yomiko remembered:

That man… he knew about Paper-users.

“…The last time I fought The Paper, it was a man. What happened to him?”

He’d known about the previous Paper,Donnie. That one sentence had shaken her, left her open.

But this time, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. This time, it would be fatal.

She steeled her will.

Nervous, Yomiko realized the signal source was close.

Through the taxi’s windshield, a massive warehouse came into view.

The warehouse stood in the suburbs, in a patch of deep countryside. The area was all fields and empty lots,a peaceful scene by day, but with the sun gone, it felt desolate.

The warehouse itself sprawled across the land, like a whale stranded on the plain.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

The driver gave her a wary look as he stopped. Yomiko, cautious, decided to get out a little distance away.

“Well, give my regards to that girl, too.”

The driver tossed the words out casually as Yomiko paid and got out of the taxi, completely unaware that Nenene was being held prisoner inside the warehouse.

Yomiko checked her tracker one last time,there was no mistake, the bookmark’s signal was coming from the very back of the building.

A faded sign on the warehouse read ''Easter Publishing'', a company that had gone bankrupt years ago. This must have been their old stock storage; what was happening here now was anyone’s guess.

Yomiko tipped her suitcase onto the ground and opened it.

Inside, it was crammed with books,probably close to a hundred. The books inside her coat weren’t the only ones she carried with her.

There was also a compartment stuffed with stationery: notepads, vocabulary cards, origami paper, and all the little things you’d find in a neighborhood shop. Yomiko scooped up a handful and slipped them into her coat’s inner pocket.

Donnie...

She unzipped a pocket on the lid and pulled out an envelope printed with the word “DANGER” and the British Library’s emblem. Inside was special “Battle Paper,” developed by the Library’s R&D department and only authorized for emergencies.

Yomiko swapped a few books out of her inner pocket for the Battle Paper, stowed the removed books in the suitcase, and said, “Sorry,please wait for me here,” before dragging the suitcase into the bushes to hide it.

She turned to face the warehouse and took a deep breath.

She was ready.

In her coat’s outer pocket, she found Nenene’s ''On the Street Corner with Cats'',the copy she’d been carrying around for a signature. On the back cover, Nenene’s smile hadn’t changed a bit.

I have to help her. I have to bring back that smile.

Donnie… Watch over me.

Yomiko put the book in her chest pocket, adjusted her glasses, and started walking.

Her coat fluttered in the wind.

She circled to the side of the warehouse and stopped in front of one of several doors. The iron side door was locked tight, but in the moonlight, she saw how oddly clean it was,no rust, no grime, nothing to suggest it had sat abandoned for years. Clearly, someone had been coming and going here.

Yomiko tore out a flash card, pinched it between her fingers, and with a swift motion, brought her hand down. The sharp metallic clang rang out into the night.

Inside, the warehouse was filled with a strange scent,a blend of dust and paper. Books were piled on wooden pallets, stacked so high they seemed to form a labyrinth of tomes.

If the world of publishing was an ocean, this was its sunless deep. Time itself seemed to stop among these books, dust falling like marine snow.

But Yomiko found comfort in the silence. She’d grown up in this world,a sea of books. Even if a book never found a reader, she would still love it for simply existing.

The mountains of books towered over her.

She picked up one near at hand: ''GO! GO! Lambada!'' A wry smile crept onto her lips. Probably a book that tried to ride a fad and ended up dooming its publisher all the faster.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

A voice called out.

She turned to see a man in a suit standing there,not the knife-wielding one, but another. She’d expected there to be more than one enemy.

“You…!”

The instant he realized she wasn’t one of his, his hand dove into his jacket,there was a holster under his suit.

Yomiko opened ''GO! GO! Lambada!''

He drew his gun and fired just as she tore a page free. The bullet flashed from the muzzle, but the pages she flung filled the air, fluttering like autumn leaves.

The man stared in shock. Every bullet vanished into the swirling pages, stopped cold,something that should have been impossible for paper. Bullets struck the leaves with high-pitched cracks, their tips buried halfway, before dropping harmlessly to the floor.

“Wha,!?”

He could barely believe it. Paper?!

Yomiko pressed her advantage. She slid the paper obi,the book’s sash,off, flicked her wrist, and flung it at him. The strip of paper spun through the air and slapped across his eyes.

“Gah,!?”

Blinded, he clawed at his face, trying to rip off the sash. He had no idea what was happening.

Yomiko marched right up to him, grabbed a heavy book from a pile, and muttered, “…Sorry about this.”

She brought the corner down on his head.

He collapsed with a cry. A book’s edge can be as devastating as a martial artist’s fist.

“…Should’ve asked how many more there were…”

Yomiko covered her mouth, grimacing.

But she got her answer quickly.

“What was that!?”

“A gun!”

More voices,his comrades, drawn by the noise.

“Oh, not good…”

Yomiko vanished quietly into the maze of books.

Scissorhands and two of Marihara’s men came upon the downed guard. He was unconscious, but unharmed.

Pages littered the floor. Scissorhands bent and found what he was looking for,a page with a bullet embedded in it, bent under the weight. The paper’s mysterious power had faded.

No doubt about it. That woman. He didn’t know how she’d found them, but she was here.

“That woman’s already inside…”

After checking with several informants, he’d learned who she was and how she became The Paper. She looked ordinary, but she was dangerous.

“A woman?” one henchman asked, not understanding.

This was one of Marihara’s hideouts, out in the country, with only a handful of men stationed. Marihara hated people around when he was with his books. If the British Library attacked in force, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

They should probably run, but Marihara wouldn’t want to leave any time soon. Things were getting tricky.

He could escape alone, but if Marihara was caught, he’d lose his reward.

“Tch…”

The best move might be to use the brat as a hostage.

“Search the warehouse. Watch for a woman,and for paper.”

Leaving his men behind, Scissorhands headed to Marihara’s room, hoping he hadn’t gone too far already.
----Elsewhere, a guard wandered between the books.

How were just two men supposed to search a place holding nine million books?

Catwalks eight meters up, mountains of books separated into blocks,it felt more like wandering through city alleys than a warehouse.

Scissorhands had said to watch out for the woman.

A woman? With a gun, she’d be no problem.

Or maybe he’d have some fun first, just like in his favorite crime novels,a dark thrill rose in his chest.

He lit a cigarette with a match,matches felt more hardcore, more violent.

Suddenly, a gust of wind and a sharp noise from behind made the flame flicker.

He whirled, gun raised. A book pile had collapsed behind him, overloaded.

“Tch…”

Then he heard a sound slicing the air.

“?!”

The end of his cigarette dropped to the floor,not burnt to ash, but sliced clean off.

He stared at what had flown by,a torn page from a paperback, stuck in the stack of books like a shuriken.

Reacting fast, he fired in the direction the paper had come from.

"……………………"

When the gunfire subsided, silence took its place.

“Did I get her?”

The words were barely out of his mouth when more sheets of paper came spinning through the air,four this time, slicing both vertically and horizontally as they hurtled toward him.

“Damn it!”

He threw up his arms to shield his face. If he took one in the eye, it’d be over. The four pages grazed his sleeve and thigh, then fluttered away behind him.

“Whoa, whoa!”

Enraged, he fired his gun blindly into the darkness.

Nothing. No sign he’d hit anything. As if to confirm it, more paper came flying.

“You bastard!”

He charged deeper into the dark, desperation mixed with fury. But he was sure the enemy was up ahead,if he closed the distance and caught her, victory was his.

“Damn!”

He fired as he ran, but a page slashed his cheek, drawing blood.

He stopped short in surprise,he’d actually seen the paper flying at him. But the real problem was its direction: it had curved around the corner of a bookshelf, turning a full ninety degrees. Every bullet he’d fired had missed.

“Damn!”

A page stabbed into his shoulder. Looking closely, he saw that the edge was folded, allowing it to curve in midair.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

His boiling anger turned into a cruel sense of superiority. Now that he’d figured out the trick, he just needed to shoot around the corner and it’d be over.

He ducked and watched another page fly overhead. So, it wasn’t about aim,just about volume.

He jumped around the corner.

There stood a woman with glasses,Yomiko. For a split second, her appearance caught him off guard, but he didn’t make the mistake of lowering his weapon.

“Checkmate!”

But Yomiko was strangely calm, staring back at him from behind reflective lenses that hid her eyes.

“Check and mate,” she replied.

The words were barely out of her mouth when a sharp pain stabbed through his back.

“Agh!”

A page, its ends folded, was stuck deep in his back. The last page had flown over his head, then boomeranged around and struck him from behind.

“Guuh!”

He collapsed to the floor. Yomiko looked down at him and spoke softly.

“Surrender. Tell everyone else to surrender, too.”

Her tone was gentle, almost like she was admonishing a child. It reminded him of the high school teacher who had worried about him until the very end, even as he went off the rails.

“Damn… you…”

He fainted, leaving behind the same words he’d once spat at that teacher.

Regret clouded Yomiko’s face.

,

Nenene had been rolled onto the bed. Beside her, Marihara lay stretched out as if keeping her company.

The bed was oddly hard, and the handcuffs digging into her wrists made it even worse.

“How do you feel, Paul?” Marihara asked.

“…Now I finally get it. The meaning behind ‘Paul.’”

“Oh? Go on.”

“King’s ''Misery'',” Nenene answered.

Marihara nodded, pleased.

''Misery'',the bestselling novel by Stephen King. The famous author Paul Sheldon is rescued from a car accident by Annie, a woman who claims to be his biggest fan. But she soon holds him captive, forcing him to revive his ''Misery'' series,torturing him with violence and drugs to make him write.

The terror of a writer trapped by a mad fan. It was exactly the nightmare Nenene found herself in now.

“I thought you might know. You must read a lot.”

“I haven’t read it. I saw the movie,” Nenene replied, coldly.

Marihara’s mouth twisted.

“She broke his legs and forced him to write, but I’m not writing a thing.”

Nenene glared at him, full of defiance.

“Why not?”

“Because if someone else forces you to write, you can’t write anything good. There’s none of ‘you’ in it. Any novel born that way is just pitiful.”

Marihara’s face shifted, expressionless.

“Maybe all I can write are happy endings, and I’ve never published a book that tackles social issues or wins the praise of important people. But I can say this,since I was thirteen, I’ve poured everything into every story I’ve written! While everyone else was out having fun, I was worrying over my writing. I never had a boyfriend, and people talked behind my back, said I was unlucky, but I was always thinking about novels! That’s my pride! No matter what some twisted pervert like you does, I won’t write even a single lowercase letter for you!”

Nenene’s rapid-fire words hung in the air.

“…!”

Marihara grabbed her jaw, squeezing hard enough to silence her.

“That’s why you’re still not there yet… You need to read the novel itself. In the book version, Sheldon has his foot chopped off with an axe, and the stump is burned with fire.”

“!?”

“Will you still say the same thing after that? I’m looking forward to finding out…”

As Marihara spoke, his words thick with madness, the door opened and Scissorhands entered, holding what looked like an A4 sheet of paper.

“…What?”

“…The Paper User is here. She’s caught up to us.”

“!?”

Marihara let go of Nenene.

“And the British Library?”

“No sign yet. But if we’re going to run, we’d better hurry. We can use the brat as a hostage,”

“No! That’s not an option!”

Marihara waved his hands frantically, rejecting Scissorhands’ idea.

“No, no, no! It has to be here! We’re not finished yet!”

“We can finish it after we escape.”

“No! It must be here! …Scissorhands, go! Take down the Paper User! While you do,”

Whatever Marihara intended to do, Nenene didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Tch… Hurry up and finish it. If it’s just her, that’s one thing, but if they all come, we’re in trouble.”

Scissorhands thrust the paper he was holding at Marihara.

“This is info about that woman. …Don’t underestimate her.”

The edges of the faxed paper were jagged, probably torn by Scissorhands himself.

As Marihara scanned the document, Scissorhands left the room.

After reading, Marihara let out a twisted laugh.

“Aha! Now this is good,she really is The Paper! That’s the kind of passion it takes to truly love books!”

Nenene swallowed hard.

Scissorhands turned and headed out of the room, into the warehouse.

Surprisingly, he realized somewhere inside himself that he was enjoying this.

He touched his face,the wound the woman had given him in the classroom. The bleeding had stopped, but it would leave a new scar.

Ironically, on the opposite side of his face, there was another scar,a mark left by a different paper user, from the time he’d fought the man from the British Library.

That man, that woman… The two paper users who had appeared before Scissorhands were like the first and second volumes of the same book.

It was convenient: the foreshadowing of the first volume comes alive in the second. It wouldn’t be bad to settle his score with the man by defeating the woman,she had the skills to make it worthwhile.

The thought that he could face off against the Paper User from the British Library,The Paper,sent a thrill through Scissorhands’ body.

The thousand blades embedded in his flesh seemed to tremble with excitement, just like their master.

“Deryaaah!”

Yomiko turned and bent backward. A sword slashed through the air just a centimeter from her side, slicing the edge of her coat and leaving a triangular scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground.

One of Marihara’s underlings had suddenly attacked with a Japanese sword. Yomiko had been careless, assuming her enemies were all armed with guns.

The man’s face was flushed, half from rage and half from exhilaration.

“Die!”

He hurled the words at her, far too direct for any kind of literary flourish. But Yomiko was more concerned about the blade in his hand than his lack of eloquence.

The sound of slicing air filled the corridor. Yomiko barely dodged in time, but in this narrow space, it was only a matter of time before she’d be cornered.

“Doryaa!”

The sword’s tip dug into a pile of stock books, snapping the plastic ties that held them together and leaving welt-like scars along their sides.

“Wha,?!”

The tip had sunk deeper than expected, and for a moment, the man froze, straining to pull it free. That opening was all Yomiko needed.

“Excuse me!”

She whipped a sports newspaper from her coat’s inner pocket, unfurled it, and in less than three seconds rolled it into a makeshift baton. At almost the same instant, the man wrenched his sword free.

“Daah!”

“Hiyah!”

Yomiko parried the incoming blade with the rolled newspaper.

“?!”

The man’s mouth dropped open when he realized his sword had been stopped by nothing but paper.

“Wh-what…?”

His battle cry was tinged with confusion.

“Yes!”

Yomiko blocked high, blocked low, fending off the sword’s attacks. Dodging could only last so long, but with a “long weapon” of her own, she could put up a real fight.

“Hmph! Hmph! Take this!”

The man’s attacks grew more desperate, brute force replacing technique. Clearly, he found the absurdity of fighting a newspaper with a sword infuriating. As he pressed harder, Yomiko began to lose ground.

“W-wait… just a sec,kya!”

The surface of the newspaper began to shred and fly apart. As the fight dragged on, Yomiko’s physical weakness was starting to show.

“Daah!”

Finally, with a powerful blow, the man split the sports newspaper in two. The upper half soared into the air.

Convinced he’d won, the man laughed,a critical mistake.

“!?”

Yomiko caught the falling paper, and with a swift motion, unrolled it. The pages of the newspaper opened before the man like a great scroll,page after page.

“!? ?!”

Blockbuster movie announcements. A pro baseball player engaged to a former race queen. Four hundred fans mobbing an idol’s debut event.

The lurid headlines and photos blocked the man’s view.

“Gah!”

He swept the newspaper aside with his sword,but Yomiko was already gone.

She’d circled behind him, a new weapon in hand, and brought it down hard on the back of his head with a dry, echoing thud.

“Guh…”

His sword fell from his hand and clattered across the floor as he crumpled.

Yomiko sighed, dropping her weapon,a paper fan,to the floor.

But this was no ordinary paper fan. It was a special item developed by the British Library’s research department after much trial and error: strong, powerful, and lightweight,something any nation would covet.

“That’s three… is that all of them?”

Yomiko muttered, only to be interrupted by the sound of applause.

“A marvelous performance, Paper User.”

At the far end of the corridor, Scissorhands stood, leaning against a mountain of books and clapping.

“You, uh,”

“Now that I think of it, I never introduced myself, did I?”

He straightened, letting paper scraps flutter to the floor where he’d been leaning.

“I’m Scissorhands. Like you, I have a special ability.”

With a swift motion of his hand, a book behind him shredded apart and scattered into the air.

“…You’ve probably noticed, but I’ll tell you: I have a thousand blades,large and small,embedded in my body. They’re my weapons.”

Yomiko tried to judge the distance. Even as he spoke, he never dropped his guard,instead, he steadily closed the gap.

“Paper User. What’s the British Library up to? Where are the others?”

“They’re not coming… I’m here alone.”

That answer seemed to genuinely surprise him; his mouth fell open.

“You’re alone?! Why?”

“To save Sumiregawa-sensei.”

Yomiko’s hand moved quietly inside her coat. Scissorhands was a different caliber than the henchmen. She’d need stronger battle paper.

“Are you insane? For just that brat?”

“She’s not a brat. She’s someone important to me.”

“What matters is the books she writes! All Paper Users are the same!”

Yomiko’s fingers found the envelope.

“…Where is she?”

“She’s in the room up ahead. If you beat me, you can go. Who knows what you’ll find by then?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Didn’t the kid tell you? Paul Sheldon.”

At the sound of the full name, everything became clear to Yomiko.

“!”

She pulled out the special battle paper from the envelope, readying herself.

“Let’s have some fun, Paper User!”

Scissorhands opened his mouth wide. Sitting on his tongue was a rectangular stack of razor blades.

“Eee-yahhh!”

With a monstrous roar, he spat the razors, which hurtled through the air toward Yomiko.

At the same instant, Yomiko threw Battle Paper No. 16: “Wild Bullet.” What started as a single sheet split into two, then four, then eight, multiplying in the air.

Between them, countless razors and sheets of paper collided,some cut, some knocked aside…

After the brief clash, several razors slipped through and flew at Yomiko. She dove to the side, rolling across the floor.

The spot where she’d stood was now bristling with razors. If she’d taken that hit, she’d be done for.

“…!”

Yomiko looked back, shocked. Scissorhands was standing there, completely unfazed.

“I took down all your pretty papers.”

He grinned in triumph.

“It’s rock-paper-scissors, The Paper. You’re paper, I’m scissors. You never had a chance!”

As soon as he spoke, his fingertips sliced through the cords holding up a tower of books.

The makeshift skyscraper toppled, crashing toward Yomiko in an avalanche.

“If you’re going to die, you might as well be buried under books!”

There was no time to even look up. Yomiko pulled out Battle Paper No. 9: “The Great Wall” and held it over her head.

Intricately folded, it spread out from the center into a dome-shaped framework.

Without pause, a downpour of books crashed down onto it.

The paper frame sagged, groaned, and creaked, but somehow held together.

As Yomiko leapt away, the makeshift dome finally gave in under the weight, collapsing behind her.

“Not bad, The Paper…”

“Thank you…”

She wasn’t joking or mocking him,Yomiko just used polite language with everyone, even her enemies.

But she had no intention of simply staying on the defensive.

From her sleeves, she slid sheets of paper into her hands. With lightning-fast dexterity, she folded them,two paper airplanes, ready for the next move.

"Excuse me!"

With a flick of her wrist, Yomiko hurled the paper airplane straight at Scissorhands.

But Scissorhands raised his foot and, with a sharp kick tracing a sideways figure eight in the air, sliced the approaching paper plane clean in two. The pieces fluttered to the ground.

"What's wrong, The Paper? Show me what you can really do!"

With a manic grin, Scissorhands marched toward her.

"You're supposed to be strong, right? You love books, don't you? Paper is your weapon, isn't it?"

He peeled off his coat as he walked, revealing something grotesque,his forearms, from elbow to wrist, were made of gleaming metal.

"Look! These are my Scissorhands!"

With a half-turn of his wrist, the metal parts split open and snapped forward. His palms spun around, comically grasping his own wrists, and the exposed metal flashed like the blade of a sickle.

In an instant, both arms had become weapons,gigantic, shining shears.

Yomiko could only stare in shock. He looked like a monster from a children's superhero show. It was more astonishing than frightening. She'd seen many agents in her life, but never one who had gone so far as to transform his own body.

"Kill!"

True to his name, Scissorhands swung his arm sideways. Yomiko ducked just in time, and a bookshelf pillar was cleaved in two with a screech.

"Kill! Kill, kill!"

Scissorhands rampaged through books and shelves, mowing them down indiscriminately. The cut edges left behind showed just how deadly those blades were.

Backing away, Yomiko fumbled for Combat Paper No. 27,"Blown Away",inside her coat.

But in her haste, she made a fatal mistake. She hadn’t checked behind her and found herself cornered at a dead end.

"Paaa-per..."

Backlit by the warehouse lamp, Scissorhands spread his bladed arms wide like a monster from a horror film, savoring every slow, deliberate step as he closed in.

Above his head, he crossed his arms, forming a monstrous pair of scissors. Sparks and a shrill metallic shriek filled the air as the blades scraped together.

"I'll cut off your head, The Paperrrrr..."

His shadow loomed, swallowing up Yomiko, her back pressed against a mountain of books.

"This...this is the scar you gave me..."

A wound squirmed on Scissorhands’ right cheek,the mark Yomiko had left with a flying sheet of paper back at Kaitanezaka High.

"And this one...is from that man..."

On the opposite cheek, another scar twisted. That man could only be the previous Paper, Donnie.

"You fought Donnie, didn’t you?"

Cornered, Yomiko still met his gaze with unwavering determination.

"Yeah. He was stupidly honest, the most earnest guy you could imagine. I left a scar on his back too... So, how's he doing now?"

Those words hurt far more than any blade, and Scissorhands knew it,that was his aim. He wanted her to say it out loud.

Yomiko swallowed hard, her face set. What she was about to say took all the courage, resolve, and will she had.

"Donnie Nakajima is dead..."

Even with all her resolve, saying it was agony. Sadness surged through her whole body; it felt like her temperature dropped.

"Dead? How?"

Scissorhands pressed on mercilessly. He already knew the answer. What mattered was making Yomiko confront it.

Yomiko nearly drowned in her own anguish. If she’d been asked the same question last night in Nenene’s room, what would she have done?

She could have just kept silent. She could have lied. But that would betray the bond she and Donnie had shared, would betray them both.

She couldn’t do it. He was the only person in the world she loved as much as she loved books,her mentor as a Paper User, her lover as Yomiko Readman, her respected and admired predecessor. The man who loved books more than anyone, who smiled like a boy.

She had to tell the truth.

"I killed him. I killed Donnie. To become The Paper."

The pain of saying it was far worse than any physical wound. Words could be so much crueler than any blade.

"...Ha! Ha! He was killed! By a woman! You're one terrifying Paper User!"

Scissorhands' mocking laughter cut deeper than any attack. Yomiko fought to keep herself from collapsing,not yet, not now.

Scissorhands was thrilled. What had begun as an interrogation to create an opening had turned to pure sadistic pleasure.

The most interesting line in the informant’s report came to mind:

"...After killing her predecessor, Donnie Nakajima, she was appointed the sixteenth Paper a year later. It's believed that, though unofficial, she and Donnie Nakajima were romantically involved."

One look at Yomiko’s face told him the truth,her eyes were filled with despair.

"Go apologize to Donnie in the afterlife!"

Scissorhands laughed triumphantly, crossed his blades, and charged.

"Die, The Paperrrrrr!"

But this was exactly the chance Yomiko had been waiting for. She suddenly dropped straight down, her body sinking to the floor.

"What?!"

Scissorhands' eyes widened in confusion. Yomiko’s body was gone, but her coat hung in midair. At the collar, a small wedge of folded paper had hooked it onto the string binding the stack of books behind her. It hung there like a jacket on a hanger.

Scissorhands' blades swept through the space just above Yomiko’s head,less than a centimeter away,lopping off a few strands of her hair. The tips stabbed deep into the coat’s lining.

Sitting on the floor, Yomiko quickly rolled sideways and escaped under Scissorhands’ legs.

Stubborn woman! Scissorhands seethed with rage. He knew all too well her coat was loaded with her dangerous papers. Now, without it, she was practically defenseless.

He’d meant to finish her in a single blow, but now he’d make her suffer.

As he yanked his blades out of the coat, he realized,too late,that he’d also pierced a piece of paper attached to the lining.

It was a black sheet dusted with a powdery substance.

Combat Paper No. 27: "Blown Away."

It was coated with a mix of black powder and special chemicals. Normally harmless, but when Yomiko’s ability dissolved the coating, it became a "paper bomb," ready to explode at the slightest spark.

"Y-you...!"

Scissorhands didn't stop. He tore the blades free, but as they scraped together, a shower of sparks flew.

A blast of heat and fire erupted in his face.

"GYAAAAHHH!"

The flames lasted only a moment, but they mercilessly burned Scissorhands’ face. Sparks flew into his eyes, and the world went black.

"You, damn Paper! Damn you!"

Swinging his blades wildly, he accidentally sliced through the cord holding up the mountain of books.

The avalanche that had nearly buried Yomiko came crashing down,this time onto Scissorhands.

"Ugh,gah! Ahhh!"

The books, now deadly weapons, pounded every part of his body. Blades shot out from his twisted joints.

"Ohh,gah!"

Crushed by the books, wounded by his own blades, Scissorhands finally fell silent.

"...Hah... hah... hah..."

Yomiko, having barely escaped the collapse, steadied her breathing and slowly stood up.

“………………”

The mental exhaustion was even heavier than the physical.

Even Yomiko was surprised she was still standing.

If she hadn’t steeled herself, she would have drowned in her grief.

Donnie…

She touched the frame of the glasses Donnie had left her.

Just like their previous owner, they were called old-fashioned, clumsy, and uncool by others,but Yomiko loved these glasses more than anything. She couldn’t bear to be apart from them, not even for a moment.

“…My coat…”

The coat she’d sacrificed was buried somewhere beneath the mountain of books. She didn’t have the luxury to go digging for it now.

Yomiko turned and walked toward the room Scissorhands had told her about.

“True talent only appears when you overcome despair. Do you understand that?”

Marihara had stripped off his shirt, now bare-chested.

“!”

Nenene’s eyes widened. There wasn’t even time to feel shame.

Marihara’s upper body was completely covered in tattoos,lines of text etched into his skin.

''“I can never return to that green field I loved. Not ever again…”''

,a line from Nenene’s ''Brothers of Green Field''.

''“After the rain, the off-key sound of a guitar echoed in the sky. Stars twinkled in rhythm, hundreds of light-years away.”''

,a phrase from ''Love Song from the Attic''.

''“…So just that alone made me happy. No matter what changed in the world, you know who I am…”''

,from her debut, ''You Know Who I Am''.

All across his body, there were quotes from Nenene’s books, carved deep into his skin.

It brought to mind the ghost story “Hoichi the Earless,” but seeing it in reality was nothing short of horrifying.

“It was agony,unimaginable pain. You get it, right? But I endured it all, just to understand your writing more deeply. Because I’m your number one fan.”

As he drew closer, Yomiko could smell a heavy, sickly sweetness on his breath, like overripe fruit.

Nenene turned her face away as far as she could.

“Stay away! What kind of fan are you? If that’s what fans are, I don’t need any!”

Her rejection twisted Marihara’s face.

“You don’t need any…? Did you say you don’t need any?”

“That’s right! If you want to fantasize, do it by yourself! Don’t drag me into it!”

With a loud slap, Marihara struck Nenene across the face.

“!”

Nenene’s cheek flushed red with pain.

“Writers exist because of their fans! You write your novels for us, don’t you?”

“No!”

“Then who are you writing for?!”

It was the same question she’d struggled with herself just last night. She still didn’t have a full answer, but this much she could say:

“Maybe I write for other readers, but I’m absolutely not writing for you!”

She braced herself for another blow, but instead, Marihara’s hand gripped the edge of the sheet and yanked it away.

What she saw beneath stunned Nenene.

They were all her books.

From her first work, ''You Know Who I Am'', to her latest, ''On the Street Corner Where Cats Are'',

Sixteen volumes, packed tightly together.

This bed had been built out of Nenene’s own books.

How many thousands had he bought…?

“So many! I’ve read every one of your books! And you say it’s not for me?! I know everything about you! I understand you, because I’ve read them all!”

It was just like the words Yomiko had once spoken to her in the library.

“All I’ve ever thought about is you! And you’re saying you don’t need me?”

His leather pants were visibly bulging. Marihara stood before Nenene, fully aroused.

“…I’ll violate you on top of your own books. Despair like that will deepen your writing.”

Confronted with such a direct threat, true terror welled up in Nenene once again.

This time it wasn’t the war of words or willpower,this was a blunt, overwhelming reality of violence.

“What do you mean, ‘for me’? ‘My education’… This is what it’s really about, isn’t it?”

She tried to raise her voice, but even she could hear the fear that crept in around the edges of her words.

“I know everything about you… That’s why I just want you to know me, too.”

Suddenly, Marihara’s voice grew quiet.

But that only made it more clear,he was frighteningly, hopelessly sincere.

To be violated by her own fan, on the books that were her life’s work…

Was this really the result of everything she’d given herself to, ever since she was thirteen?

Was this the end of all those years, after losing her father, never dating or making close friends, pouring herself only into stories?

A reality more cruel than any tragedy she’d ever written was about to overtake Nenene.

“I love you, my Paul S…”

Marihara still never once called her by her real name.

Just as Nenene felt her heart plunging into despair, the door opened.

“Not now, Scissorhands!”

Marihara shouted without even looking up.

“Step away from Sumiregawa-sensei.”

A quiet voice scolded Marihara from the doorway.

A woman stood silhouetted against the warehouse lights, only the glint of her glasses shining white in the darkness.

“…You?”

Marihara turned toward the door, realizing the intruder was someone he didn’t know, just as he was about to throw himself on Nenene.

From the bed, Nenene called out,

“Sensei!”

Yomiko Readman was standing there, coatless.

“I’ve come to protect you,just as I promised.”

“Hurry up, you idiot!”

Relief crept into Nenene’s voice, sapping its strength.

Given what she’d endured, it was no wonder.

“‘The Paper’…”

Yomiko’s voice hardened as Marihara used her codename. Now was the moment,she could hide nothing from Nenene anymore.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you, Sumiregawa-sensei. I’m an agent with the British Library Special Operations Division. My codename is The Paper. I have a special ability,I fight using paper as a weapon.”

She stated it simply, matter-of-factly.

Nenene just stared, unsure how much she could even comprehend.

Yomiko turned back to Marihara.

“You’re the one who threatened and kidnapped Sumiregawa-sensei, aren’t you?”

“…To make her into a perfect author.”

“That’s not a reason.”

Yomiko took a step into the room.

But Marihara lashed out with an act of desperation.

“Don’t move!”

He pulled a gun from under a cushion and aimed it at Nenene.

“If you move, I’ll shoot her.”

The gaping black muzzle made Nenene’s body freeze.

“…Aren’t you supposed to be her fan?”

“I’m her number one fan. I know everything about her.”

“And yet you’d threaten to shoot her?”

“As long as she has her head and hands, she can still write books.”

The air around Yomiko seemed to shimmer with something new,an emotion she had never felt before.

“Did Scissorhands get taken down? How many people from the British Library are here?”

Suppressing something inside, Yomiko replied,

“…The British Library has nothing to do with this. I’m not The Paper right now. I’m Yomiko Readman,a part-time teacher at Kakinezaka High School, and a fan of Sumiregawa Nenene.”

She locked eyes with Nenene, almost as if praying, almost as if calling out to her soul.

“…A fan? If you’re just a fan, then stay out of it. How much do you really care about her?”

Yomiko turned her gaze to Marihara.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Mere fans just buy the latest book, get swept up in their own emotions, and if the author writes anything even a little outside their tastes, they lose interest and throw her away. To them, authors are nothing more than a new toy,tossed aside as soon as something newer and flashier comes along.”

Nenene trembled at his words.

“That’s not true…”

“They come to your house. They beg for autographs. If the work isn’t exactly what they imagined, they get angry.”

Yomiko had no rebuttal. Marihara’s words were dripping with malice and prejudice,but he’d hit on something she herself had once done.

“You call yourself a big fan, but how much do you really care about her? I’m different. I can draw out the true talent sleeping inside her. I can turn her into a writer whose name will echo through eternity!”

The gun barrel shook in his hand. He was so overcome with excitement he’d lost control,a deeply dangerous state.

After a pause, Yomiko finally spoke, quietly.

“Sumiregawa-sensei is not a character in your story.”

It was the first time Nenene had ever heard Yomiko’s voice like this. Her words quietly soaked into Nenene’s heart.

“Whatever path Sumiregawa-sensei chooses, I’m going to follow her. She doesn’t need to be famous, or win any big awards. Because those are books she thought up, decided on, and wrote all on her own. I’ve been reading those books for so long. And they’ve moved me, and given me courage. I want to keep reading books by a teacher like that.”

Compared to Marihara’s frantic rambling, Yomiko’s tone was quiet and calm. But Nenene didn’t miss a single word.

“When I first read your book, ''You Know Who I Am'', I was so deeply moved. When I found out it was written by a thirteen-year-old girl, I was amazed. Someone so young, already knowing what she wanted to say to the world… I couldn’t help but admire you.”

Maybe these were words she should have said a long time ago. Deep down, Yomiko knew it.

“But then, just for a moment, I wondered… maybe the person you truly wanted to speak to was someone much closer. Your father, or your mother…”

Nenene said nothing,neither agreeing nor denying.

“I don’t know if your words reached those people. But I at least wanted you to know,your words ''have'' reached us. They moved us, gave us courage. And now, we want to tell you that.”

Yomiko stumbled a little over her words, awkward but sincere.

“That’s why I’ve always loved you, Sumiregawa-sensei.”

It was almost like a confession of love. Yomiko took a deep breath.

“Isn’t it a wonderful thing to create work that makes someone fall in love with you before they ever meet you? Isn’t that so much better than some fancy award?”

Yomiko was looking at Nenene. Nenene was looking at Yomiko.

There, in that room, was one writer and two readers. But Marihara stood alone, left behind.

“Don’t just say pretty words… I know what you’ve done.”

Marihara’s voice twisted with spite. The FAX page Scissorhands had brought made a dry, papery sound.

“You killed your lover to become The Paper! You killed Donnie Nakajima, the previous one, with your own hands,with your paper!”

It was a direct attack. Marihara’s words struck Yomiko at her most vulnerable, when she was most exposed.

Her heart was left bleeding.

“?!”

Nenene’s gaze pierced her. For now, it was still just shock, but at any moment it could turn into accusation or fear.

“More than your teacher! More than your lover! You chose the book! As a fellow bibliophile, I get it, but how can anyone trust the words of someone so heartless?!”

Every word stabbed into Yomiko.

Her eyes lost their focus.

Marihara’s gun swung away from Nenene,pointing, with lightning speed, at Yomiko.

“!”

Yomiko’s reaction was a beat too slow.

“You idiot!”

Nenene threw herself at Marihara.

The bookmark fluttered down from her chest.

Even off balance, Marihara pulled the trigger. The bullet flew straight at Yomiko.

“…!”

There was no avoiding it. Leaving her coat behind had been a mistake. Without paper, a paper user is just an ordinary person.

The bullet struck Yomiko in the chest. Her body jerked backward and collapsed to the floor.

Nenene, tangled on the ground with Marihara, cried out in anguish.

“Sensei! Sensei!”

Yomiko didn’t move.

“Come on… Paul… let’s enjoy the rest…”

Marihara staggered upright.

“Sensei! Sensei!”

But Nenene’s whole world had narrowed to Yomiko, lying motionless on the floor.

“…This is the dead end… Hope you learned something.”

“You idiot! I’d never write an ending like this, not even if it killed me!”

“Face despair, Paul. That’s how a writer grows,”

But Marihara’s words cut off.

“…guh…”

He couldn’t finish. A piece of paper was embedded in his throat.

“Whoa…”

Nenene was just as stunned.

“Sen,”

She looked to the door through her tears.

Yomiko was still lying there. But her arm was stretched out, as if she’d just thrown something. It was then Nenene realized,the bookmark was what was lodged in Marihara’s throat.

The bookmark had fallen from her pocket and, caught by a breeze from the sheets, had drifted toward Yomiko.

“Pa… per…”

Was he referring to the paper in his throat, or to Yomiko herself? Marihara collapsed to the floor.

“……………”

Yomiko slowly pushed herself up.

“Sensei!”

Still handcuffed, Nenene lunged for Yomiko, crashing into her and knocking her over.

“You idiot! Don’t scare me like that, you moron!”

“…Sorry…”

Pinned by Nenene, Yomiko stammered an apology. She didn’t even remember using her power. So how…?

“Oh…”

Yomiko pulled ''On the Street Corner Where Cats Are'' from her breast pocket.

The bullet was lodged almost dead center. Flipping through it, she saw it had pierced almost the whole book, stopping just before the last five pages.

“……………”

Yomiko looked at Nenene.

“For a happy ending, is this one a little too normal?”

“…I like it. I like it way better than a dead end.”

……………………………………

It was the kind of moment that should have ended in laughter, but only silence hung between them.

“…Just wait a second…”

Yomiko got up and shuffled outside to get some tissues.

She twisted a piece into a thin string and threaded it through the lock on Nenene’s handcuffs.

“Don’t move, okay?”

“There’s no way that’ll,”

Before she could finish, the handcuffs sprang open.

“What?”

Nenene, suddenly free, grabbed the makeshift string from Yomiko. It was nothing but an ordinary, floppy twist of tissue.

“…This is…”

“That’s the power of a paper user… The Paper…”

Even seeing it in person, it was hard to believe. At best, it felt like a magic trick.

“Let’s do the other one…”

Yomiko, still subdued, repeated the process for her own cuff.

“Hey, Sensei…”

A drop of water landed on Nenene’s hand as she reached out.

“…Sensei?”

It was a tear. Yomiko’s tears were dripping onto Nenene’s hand.

“…Sorry… Just give me a moment…”

“…Was it true… what you said before?”

It felt cruel to ask, but Nenene couldn’t stop herself.

“…Yes…”

The twist of tissue bent in the keyhole. Yomiko’s focus broke, and it unraveled back into paper.

“…When it comes to books, I just… lose control… I can’t help myself…”

She spoke through sobs. Nenene didn’t know the details, but she could feel Yomiko’s sorrow.

“…Donnie chose me over books… But I… I chose books over him… Why…? Even though I knew there’d never be another Donnie…”

Head bowed, Yomiko let her tears and words spill out.

“…I thought about dying… But Donnie left me these glasses in the end… If I died, then there really wouldn’t be anything left for him to read… But… is that just an excuse…?”

Nenene had reached her breaking point. Still handcuffed, she grabbed Yomiko’s face and lifted it to look at her.

“Eh…?”

Yomiko’s cheeks, streaked with tears, were pulled upward.

“H-hey!”

“Don’t cry! Smile!”

Nenene’s face was fierce with determination. Yomiko just stared, stunned.

“I don’t care about your reasons! But if Donnie really loved you more than books,if he chose you,he’d never want to see you cry!”

Yomiko looked straight at Nenene. Even though she was eight years older, her eyes behind the glasses looked like a child’s.

“Smile! You love books, right?! You love them so much it hurts, don’t you?! Then read my books! I’ll write you all the stories you want,I’ll make you glad you’re alive! I’ll make you and Donnie, in those glasses, both happy! I’ll give you your happy ending! So don’t be sad anymore!”

Nenene was desperate,she felt if she didn’t hold Yomiko together now, Yomiko would never recover.

“Ahh, ahh…”

More tears poured from Yomiko’s eyes. Different tears this time.

Nenene let go; Yomiko’s cheeks bounced back.

“Sensei…”

Yomiko buried her face in Nenene’s shoulder and cried.

“I told you not to cry!”

“Sorry… but, but…”

It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had just defeated a monster. She wept like a child.

Nenene gently stroked her hair, grateful and kind.

The rest was cleanup.

Yomiko and Nenene struggled to drag the unconscious men into one place and tie them up. Only Scissorhands was left pinned beneath a stack of books,ropes alone wouldn’t hold him. He might have been seriously injured, but he wouldn’t die. As for Marihara, he was basically in a state of suspended animation. With proper treatment, he’d be fine.

They called the police from a payphone outside and briefly explained the situation, leaving a written note just in case.

That was where Yomiko’s involvement ended. Getting any deeper would only cause trouble for her. Maybe it was already too late for that.

Nenene was supposed to stay behind to give her statement, but she clung to Yomiko, unwilling to be separated.

And so the two of them walked home together, side by side, down a quiet country road where hardly any cars passed.

“…Sumiregawa-sensei, are you sure it wouldn’t have been better to stay? I’m sure the police still have questions for you.”

“That’s exactly why. I’m exhausted, so I’ll give them my statement tomorrow. I’m injured, you know.”

“Ah… right, but, um…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll smooth things over. I might not look it, but I’m a writer,just leave it to me.”

“Thank you…”

The sound of Yomiko’s suitcase rolling along seemed even lonelier in the quiet night. Nenene’s uniform had been torn up, so she wore Yomiko’s coat over her shoulders. Getting just the coat out without waking up Scissorhands had been a real ordeal.

“But seriously… you could’ve at least brought some money with you!”

“Sorry. The taxi fare was more than I expected.”

Nenene’s wallet was still at school, and Yomiko had used up almost all her cash just getting there. That’s why they couldn’t even flag down one of the rare taxis that passed by.

Even so, the long walk home was, for some reason, filled with a gentle peace.

“Hey, Sensei?”

“Yes? What is it, Sumiregawa-sensei?”

“Stop calling me that! It’s confusing when we’re both ‘sensei.’”

“Then… what should I call you?”

“Just ‘Nenene’ is fine.”

“……………”

Yomiko fell silent, lost in thought, her face wrinkling in distress as she played through various options in her head.

“That’s… honestly, really hard for me to say…”

“What? I’m eight years older than you,it’s fine, really.”

“But still…”

Yomiko, who used honorifics with everyone, found it awkward to suddenly call Nenene by her first name.

“Oh, whatever. Then you can call me ‘Sumiregawa-san’ if that’s easier.”

“Sumiregawa…san?”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

Yomiko sighed in relief, glad to have found a compromise.

“So… what is it, Sumiregawa-san?”

“Do you think I have any talent?”

It was a heavy question, tossed out lightly. Maybe what Marihara had said was still bothering her. Still, Yomiko could only answer with honesty.

“Well… to be honest, I’m not sure.”

“Why not?”

“There are all kinds of talent. But whether you have it or not, I love your novels.”

“Heh… well, thanks.”

Their conversation drifted away into the soft spring night. The two of them enjoyed the kind of rambling chat they’d never had time for before.

“…Hey, Sensei. Want to hear about my next story?”

Yomiko’s face lit up instantly. “Yes, please! If you don’t mind!”

Nenene folded her arms and started speaking, drawing it out like a performer.

“This time, I’m thinking of making the protagonist a woman who’s just started teaching at a small high school.”

“Huh…?”

“She’s kind of clumsy and not exactly cool, but in the underworld, she’s something of a legend.”

“…Um, Sumiregawa-san, are you sure that’s not…”

“And she uses her special powers to beat up the bad guys and help her students!”

Yomiko stopped, frowning in protest. “Isn’t that basically a nonfiction story about a real person…?”

Nenene just grinned mischievously and turned around.

“So what? It’d be a waste not to use such good material.”

“Well, I have my own circumstances… If I get too much attention, my superiors will yell at me…”

“It’s for my novel. Please, be a good sport and let me use you as inspiration.”

“There are a lot of scary people out there… You might end up getting dragged into my mess, too, Sumiregawa-san…”

Nenene stopped, turning to look at Yomiko.

“If that happens, I’ll just have you protect me again.”

“Me…?”

“You said you’d protect me, didn’t you?”

“…Yeah…”

The spring moon shone softly down on them.

Nenene, in high spirits, strode ahead; Yomiko followed quietly behind.

“You’re my teacher, and I’m your teacher’s teacher…”

“It’s like a tongue-twister…”

“And you’re my fan, and I’m your fan.”

At Nenene’s unexpected line, Yomiko couldn’t help but raise her voice.

“A fan? Of mine? But you’re my teacher,”

“Sumiregawa-san, remember?”

“S-sorry… but…”

“It’s fine. You don’t get relationships like this very often. For me, this is a first.”

Nenene laughed, her smile pure and bright,a true seventeen-year-old’s smile.

“…Me too,” Yomiko said.

For that smile, Yomiko had run herself ragged all day. It was more than enough reward.

Donnie…

Painful memories came back, but compared to yesterday, the pain was much softer now.

That was thanks to Nenene.

Yomiko felt a new kind of happiness,different from what she felt reading books.

“What are you spacing out for, Sensei? It’s almost midnight,let’s go home.”

“…Right.”

Beneath the calm spring sky, the two of them walked leisurely home,down that long, joyful road together.

A few days later.

“Oh! Sumiregawa!”

“You doing okay now?!”

After finishing her police interview, Nenene returned to school for the first time in a while, and was immediately surrounded by her classmates as soon as she entered the AV room.

The regular classrooms were still being repaired from the holes Scissorhands had made, so for the time being, classes were being held in the AV room.

“Yeah, I’m fine now. The TV talk shows were a bit much, though.”

Because a high school author had been kidnapped by a stalker, Nenene was at the center of a media storm. Some networks spun it as a scandal, but as the victim, public sympathy was overwhelmingly on her side.

And in a very pragmatic way, all the fuss meant her books started selling again.

Marihara and the others had been arrested and were awaiting trial.

The detective who questioned Nenene was a passionate guy, and promised her, “We’ll definitely make them pay for their crimes.” She didn’t know how things would turn out, but she felt she could trust him for now.

“Were you hurt at all?”

“Everyone was so worried about you, seriously.”

Nori and Harumi patted her on the shoulder. It felt like ages since her classmates had felt this close.

This whole ridiculous incident had been far from pleasant, but, like Marihara had said, she’d gained something important from it.

Her father even called her for the first time in ages. His awkward words were laced with worry. In the past, she might have been angry that he still didn’t come home in person, but now, strangely, she just couldn’t bring herself to feel upset.

Why had she started writing novels in the first place? Maybe at first, it really was for her parents’ praise and attention.

But before she knew it, the act of “writing” itself had become what moved her forward.

So, what would she write for now?

Honestly, she still wasn’t sure. But she had a feeling the answer might lie in the emotions she’d felt that night, desperately trying to encourage Yomiko.

Nenene decided she’d figure it out in her own time. At the very least, she had a “reader” who would always pester her for thoughts and opinions.

The bell rang for class.

“Shoot, I didn’t do the homework…”

“Sumiregawa, see you later.”

“Let’s have lunch together today!”

“First period’s World History, right?”

The students scattered to their seats.

Nenene also took her seat,or, to be precise, her seat in the AV room.

The door opened.

“Stand… bow!!”

At the class rep’s command, everyone bowed in unison.

Nenene raised her head and looked at the podium.

“…No way.”

A male teacher stood there, looking a little lost.
----When you’re busy, you don’t really notice it, but the library has always felt so warm.

It’s not just the sunlight. Maybe it’s the atmosphere created by all the books.

Nenene stood quietly in the middle of it.

“I’m not feeling well,” she’d said, slipping out of class. Before she knew it, her feet had brought her here, not the nurse’s office,to the place where she’d first met Yomiko.

Yomiko Readman had left the school “for personal reasons” the very next day after the incident.

No one tried to stop a teacher who’d skipped every class on her first day, then vanished again during a crisis on her second. And so, Yomiko Readman, branded a “problem teacher,” disappeared from Kakinezaka High.

“…Really? Did you have to just leave without a word…?”

Nenene’s voice was feeble as she wandered deeper into the library.

That long walk home had been the last time she’d seen Yomiko. They’d talked a lot, but there was still so much more she’d wanted to say.

Breaks between classes. After school. On holidays. Ditching class to hang out in the library. There were so many things she thought they’d talk about, sooner or later.

But Yomiko had left, just like that, as if the whole ordeal had been a dream.

Nenene hadn’t said anything about Yomiko to the police. If it was inconvenient, she’d just say, “Sorry, I was tied up, so I don’t know.” In a way, it wasn’t even a lie.

Apparently, Marihara and the others hadn’t mentioned Yomiko either. She gathered as much from the detective’s questions. The underworld must have its own rules.

“…Didn’t you want my autograph…?”

Nenene muttered as she made her way to the very back corner of the library,the spot where she’d first met Yomiko.

Of course, no one was there.

But… there was something just a little off. Anyone who knew bookshelves would notice,a subtle, tiny oddity.

Among the old hardcovers, a few pocket-sized novels were hidden.

“!”

She snatched one up in a rush. ''On the Street Corner with Cats.'' It was her own book.

There was a round hole in the center,a bullet hole. No doubt, it was the copy Yomiko had carried.

As she flipped the pages, a letter fell out, tucked inside as a bookmark.

It wasn’t even in an envelope,just a plain piece of white paper, folded in four.

She looked down at the text. It was handwritten, the characters squiggling across the page like earthworms.

Nenene began to read:

To Sumiregawa Nenene,

Sorry, I suddenly have something urgent to take care of, so I have to leave.

I wanted to get your autograph, but let’s save that for the next time we meet.

Thank you for everything. It was only two days, but I really enjoyed spending time with you.

Please take care of your deadlines, and stay healthy.

P.S. I’ll always be watching you. No matter where you are in the world, I’ll be reading you through your books. Not just me,everyone else too. You’re never alone. But if you ever have a hard time or get stuck, just call me. I’ll come running from wherever I am.

I’m so grateful to have found your books, and to have met you in person.

That night, you saved me. Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.

P.P.S. …But if possible, maybe pick a different theme for your next book…

– Yomiko Readman

The handwriting was terrible, and the letter itself was a mess.

Nenene smiled wryly, muttering to herself,

“Seriously, how did you expect me to read this with writing like that? I’m a professional author, you know…”

Even as she laughed, tears fell from both her eyes.

It had been a long time since she’d cried over someone else’s words.

“I even practiced my signature for you… Idiot…”

With a tearful smile, Nenene gazed out the window.

Out past the school gates, she could almost hear the clatter of that suitcase rolling down the spring hillside.

England.

There’s an apartment on a corner of Baker Street.

On a certain floor of that apartment is a room.

A simple nameplate on the door reads “D.N.”

Open the door, and you’re met by a flood of books.

Bookshelves fill the halls and every room, all of them, of course, overflowing.

Western books, Japanese books, photo collections, paperbacks, comics, picture books,every type of book imaginable. They say a bookshelf reveals its owner’s soul, and if that’s true, then the owner of this collection must be open-hearted,or, to put it less kindly, utterly disorganized.

Yomiko stands before a sun-drenched shelf at the back of the room.

“I’m home, Donnie…”

This room was one Donnie Nakajima secretly rented, but it contains no rare first editions or secret British Library documents.

Just ordinary books, lined up on ordinary shelves.

Only Yomiko knows about this place. Donnie had told her she was free to use it whenever she liked.

It was, in other words, a “secret library” just for the two of them.

Today, Yomiko had come straight here from the airport, before her next assignment.

“I brought you a souvenir.”

She pulled out Nenene’s On the Street Corner Where Cats Are from her suitcase,a pristine, brand-new copy.

“Sumiregawa-sensei’s latest! Oh, and I met her in person, you know, in Japan!”

She slid On the Street Corner Where Cats Are onto the shelf, alongside the other works by Nenene.

“Donnie, you always said, ‘She must be such a sensitive, quiet girl,’ didn’t you? Well, you were way off! She’s lively and active, much more together than I am!”

Of course, there’s no reply.

But the bookshelves seem to quietly accept and embrace Yomiko’s words, just as Donnie himself once did.

Donnie Nakajima,a British Library agent who lived his life in the shadows.

He has no grave. Not even a photograph remains.

But the books he loved are still here.

And the memories remain inside Yomiko.

He is one with the books, surrounding her still. Through her glasses, she shares in his feelings.

Yomiko realized something, standing there:

She was glad she loved books.

“…Sensei promised to write another good book for us. Let’s read it together, Donnie…”

She smiled gently, feeling his presence in that mountain of books.

I love books.

I love Donnie.

I love them both.
{| class="wikitable"
|+
!Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Transition|Transition]]
!Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
!Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Epilogue|Epilogue]]
|}

Read or Die:Volume1 Epilogue

2025-07-22T21:23:44Z

Alekazzandre:

{{MTL}}

It was an ordinary little bookstore.

Right by the station,nothing special, just the kind of place students and office workers stop by on their way to or from school or work. The shop mostly carried magazines and manga, with a decent assortment of paperbacks, maps, guidebooks, and novels. The selection wasn’t bad, though it couldn’t compare to a large bookstore.

Still, it was enough to get by. I was old, but with a single cat for company, at least I didn’t have to worry about putting food on the table. Shifting magazines around got harder every year, but what could you do?

But lately, the local convenience store had started eating into my magazine sales. My only son had moved to the city, living alone in a little apartment.

Sometimes I thought about moving to a retirement home myself, but I didn’t have nearly enough saved up.

Month by month, sales slipped a little further, gnawing at me along with the neuralgia.

And then, one day,

“Um…”

A woman stood at the register. Long hair, awkward glasses, a heavy coat draped over her even though it was spring, dragging a suitcase as if she was on a journey.

Behind those glasses, her eyes drooped slightly, giving her an odd vulnerability, something that might bring out people’s teasing. I couldn’t tell if she was a student or a working woman, but she looked like the sort who’d been pushed around a lot.

She repeated herself, her voice thin and flustered.

“Um…”

“Yes?”

I answered, perhaps a bit sharper than necessary, a big no-no in this business, but I couldn’t help it.

She seemed to flinch a little, but with newfound determination, spoke again.

“I’d like a book, please.”

“…”

A gentle silence hung in the air.

“Well, this is a bookstore. Of course we sell books. But as you can see, there are all kinds of books. If you don’t pick one, I can’t sell it to you.”

Why was I being so prickly? Even I was surprised, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“N-no, that’s not what I meant…”

“What do you read? Magazines? If it’s manga, those shelves over there.”

Despite my brusque attitude, the woman stubbornly held her ground.

“A book,” she insisted.

“That’s what I’m saying…”

“All the books.”

“Huh?”

She spread her arms wide and gestured around the store.

“I’d like all the books in this store, please.”

“………………………”

I thought she was joking. Or maybe a madwoman.

But she was neither.

One Week Later

Sagawa Mitsuharu (67), having just moved into the “Hidamari Ryokō” nursing home on the outskirts of Tokyo, set a photograph on the shelf as soon as he entered his new room.

In the photo, Sagawa stands by the entrance, holding a makeshift banner reading “Congratulations on Our Closing,” flashing a V-sign. In the background, you can see young guys from the moving company packing up every book on the shelves. And right next to him, that customer with the big, awkward glasses, smiling sheepishly, yet still making a clumsy V-sign for the camera.

It was a precious memento from the last day of Sagawa Bookstore.

A staff member noticed and asked,

“Is that your granddaughter?”

“Not at all,” Sagawa said, pressing his hands together in reverence.

“She’s a goddess.”

“I did it! I did it again! Oh no, what am I doing?”

Yomiko Readman was on the train, holding her head in dismay.

She’d just returned from overseas after a month away. She made it from Narita Airport to Shinjuku, then tried to catch the Sobu Line home, only to fall asleep and end up all the way out in Chiba.

If that was all, she could have just turned around and gone home, but when she spotted the word “Bookstore” from the platform, she felt a jolt, her body moved on its own. She rushed out of the station, and as soon as she entered, she got swept away by all the unread magazines and new releases, and before she knew it, she’d all but bought out the shop and forced another bookstore to close.

“Why… why am I like this?”

Even she found her own book obsession scary sometimes. Maybe she’d changed the course of someone else’s life today.

Either way, the pay she’d just received for a month-long “D-BOOKS” job had disappeared in an instant.

To put it simply, Yomiko was broke. Her salary as a British Library agent, and the occasional pay from substitute teaching, all vanished into her enormous book bills and the rent for multiple apartments needed just to store them.

Luckily, she didn’t care about fashion, and wasn’t picky about food, so her other expenses were shockingly low. If she’d spent like an ordinary woman her age, she’d have starved long ago.

But more importantly, where was she even going to put all those books when the store’s delivery arrived?

For her own sanity, Yomiko decided not to think about that for now.

Once again, she resolved to reflect on her “entire bookstore purchase” and swore to turn over a new leaf.

“I’ve decided…”

She declared out loud, even though no one was around to hear.

“I’m not buying any more books for a while!”

“Thank you for riding with us. We’ll be arriving at Ochanomizu shortly.”

As if to cheer her on, the train rolled into Ochanomizu, her home station.

Yomiko lived in Jinbōchō, just down the slope, a town famous as the world’s largest book district, where bookstore signs could be seen everywhere from big chains to used bookshops tucked away in alleys.

The only reason Yomiko settled here was, simply, “because there are so many books and I can buy them easily.” So now, as she walked through Jinbōchō, her self-imposed “book ban” felt like a smoker touring a tobacco factory, or a dieter walking into a buffet.

“Nnngh… grrr…”

Yomiko groaned, pacing in front of Shosen Bookmart, a big shop at the bottom of the hill known for its huge subculture and music selection. This was her first trial of the day.

If she just hurried past, there’d be no problem, but like iron filings to a magnet, the bookstore tugged her closer.

What if they had new arrivals that hadn’t shown up at the last store…?

Once she started thinking like that, she was doomed. Her feet moved on their own, and soon she was inside.

“…I said I wouldn’t buy books. I never said I wouldn’t go into bookstores.”

Yomiko added another mental loophole and stepped through the doors.

“Aah!”

She let out a weird little cry as she walked in, earning a startled look from the cashier. But Yomiko didn’t care, her whole focus was on the new release display.

There it was: Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts, by Ara Fudemura, one of her must-buy authors.

“Uuugh…”

Yomiko slumped weakly to the floor.

“Why did a new book have to come out today, of all days? God, why are you so mean?”

Of course, the gods don’t decide book release dates, but today, she felt like blaming them.

“Aah…”

Yomiko agonized. It hadn’t even been thirty minutes since she’d made her vow.

But Fudemura’s books were infamous for being returned or going out of print almost immediately after release. If she didn’t buy it now, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

She was at a crossroads:

Buy it and read it at home!? Or miss her chance and regret it forever!?

READ OR DIE? READ OR DIE!?

“…!”

Yomiko straightened with determination.

“Sorry, Fudemura-sensei!”

She spun around and made for the exit, “Huh?” but a poster caught her eye.

“Um… Is it okay if I get five copies of this?”

“Yes,”

She placed five copies of Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts on the counter.

One to read, one to keep, one to lend, one for an autograph someday, and a spare. Yet, somehow, they always got lost in the tide of books in her room.

“Would you like covers?”

“No, that’s fine. Actually, um, that,”

Yomiko pointed at the wall poster: “Meet Fudemura Ara! Buy the new book Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts for a ticket to the autograph event!”

That’s right, reading wasn’t even the point. She was only buying it for the autograph. Really, this was less a book than a ticket voucher, wasn’t it? Of course, of course, that’s what it was.

Her mental shelves grew another layer.

“Oh, about that…”

“Yes. So, can I get five tickets? I can, right?”

“Um, actually…”

The cashier gave an awkward look.

“That was supposed to be tomorrow, but… The author’s flown out to Venezuela for a sudden interview, so it’s been canceled.”

“Whaaat!?”

Yomiko felt something inside her crumble.

“Then why is the poster still up?”

“We haven’t sold a single copy, so nobody’s asked about it. I just forgot to take it down…”

“No way…”

Yomiko hung her head.

“Would you still like to purchase them?”

She looked up, her eyes full of new resolve.

“…Fifty more copies, please.”

Yomiko trudged through the backstreets of Jinbōchō, weighed down with paper bags.

In a narrow, twisting alley stood an old four-story building. Cardboard boxes stacked in the halls, books on every stair, anyone could guess what the rooms inside looked like.

A hand-scrawled sign by the entrance read, “Readman Building.”

The top floor was her home.

Climbing four flights with all those books was exhausting, the elevator was blocked by boxes and unusable.

Finally, she reached the rooftop: a plain, rough little penthouse. She’d started living on a lower floor, but as the books overflowed, she’d been pushed further and further up.

“Whew, whew…”

She caught her breath and glanced out over Jinbōchō, everywhere she looked, books and bookstores, every variety imaginable.

Yomiko made up her mind:

Tomorrow, she’d visit every shop in town and buy up ''Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts'' wherever she found it.

She’d get “Ara Fudemura” on every bestseller list.

And this time, she’d write a petition to ensure the autograph event happened for real.

She’d already forgotten the vow she made forty minutes earlier about not buying books.

“I’m home…”

She said it out of habit as she opened her door. No one answered, of course, she lived alone.

Books were stacked everywhere. Supposedly there were bookshelves by the walls, but piles blocked them from view.

A bed, with one end against the window, was plopped right in the middle, layout clearly not a consideration.

“Here goes…”

She stepped carefully into a gap between book piles, then another, following a “beast trail” that wound through the room, her only path to the bed.

“Whoa…”

Maybe it was just that she’d been away, but she lost her balance and flopped onto the bed.

From beneath the newspaper she used as a blanket, a shriek:

“Ow! That hurt!”

She hurriedly yanked the paper aside, revealing a familiar girl rubbing her eyes.

“Hey, watch it!”

It was Sumiregawa Nenene.

“!? Sumiregawa-sensei!?”

“Sensei! Where have you been?!”

“Uh, well, work… But why are you here?!”

“You left without a word, so I came looking for you!”

“How did you get my address…?”

“From the publisher’s survey postcard.”

Yomiko always sent in those survey cards after finishing a book. A blind spot she hadn’t anticipated.

“But… how did you get in?”

“The door was unlocked.”

Yomiko often forgot to lock up, though, with nothing worth stealing, it hardly mattered.

“But… why did you follow me…?”

“I got curious! There’s just something about you, like there’s a secret or two.”

“There’s not! I’m a totally ordinary citizen!”

Nenene’s gaze wandered, unimpressed. “This room isn’t normal. Seriously, no TV, no CDs, not even a computer.”

“I’m not good with machines…”

“Whatever. I’ll be dropping by a lot from now on, okay? Call it research. Interviewing you.”

“…Wait, are you really going to write about this…?”

Yomiko’s shoulders slumped, and her paper bags toppled, scattering books everywhere.

“What’s this? Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts? Sensei, you read stuff like this? You should read my books!”

Nenene was already moving around, poking into corners, beginning her exploration.

“Sensei, sensei, something’s growing in the corner… Whoa! Mushrooms! Hey, when was the last time you cleaned in here?”

Yomiko collapsed, exhausted, on the books.

“You don’t have any other clothes either. Have you been wearing the same thing all this time? That’s kinda weird…”

Yomiko was simply happy Nenene had come. But as a curious high school girl and novelist, how much of Yomiko’s secret agent life would she uncover?

And when that happened, how would the British Library staff react? Her feelings were a mess.

“Aah… Joker’s going to kill me…”

Nenene peered innocently at Yomiko, who was holding her head.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I’m here for you. This’ll be a happy ending for sure!”

'''(To be continued)'''
{| class="wikitable"
|+
!Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter 2|Chapter 2]]
!Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
!Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume2 Prologue|Volume 2]]
|}

Read or Die:Volume2 Prologue

2025-07-22T21:22:52Z

Alekazzandre: Added Machine Translation Template

{{MTL}}

It’s just paper.

With only a slight gust of wind, it flies away; a single drop of water soaks it, making it warp and bend; a mere spark and it burns up into nothing but ashes.

So easily folded, torn, and once damaged, never returns to its former self.

It’s one of the weakest things in this world.

That fragile material, gathering someone’s scrawls and dripping ink onto its white surface,

a book.

Someone unknown, their entertainment, their thoughts, their whims, their beliefs, their egos all arranged upon that surface.

Nothing but trivial stories, bits of knowledge someone decided to share, selfish ideas and assertions — a mere vessel to hold it all.

That’s all paper is.

It can’t do anything other than be read.

In modern society, where the speed of transmitting information is paramount, its sluggishness is fatal. Its bulk is oppressive, and the cost and effort of preserving it is absurdly high.

Its utility is vanishing into a distant future.

Paper. That’s all it is. Paper.

And yet, why is it that we continue to treasure and love it with a mad devotion?

—-

The interior of the cave was dark.

Well, that’s hardly surprising — one rarely comes across bright caves.

The path twisted and wound, so it was impossible to know exactly where they were, but they must have walked at least five hundred meters from the entrance by this point.

The cave was deeper than expected.

There weren’t many inclines or descents, yet walking under only the light of a Maglite in total darkness compounded both their physical and mental fatigue.

However, Alex Boldwin felt none of that right now.

Though he was a man in his sixties, his stride was spry enough to evoke thoughts of a boy scout. In his backpack clinked hammers, pickaxes, brushes, and other excavation tools in a cheerful rhythm.

What drove Alex onward was a blend of fame, desire, and greed — gasoline in his tank.

That fuel kept his aging engine churning with unforeseen power.

He had spent the first half of his life as an archaeologist, and the latter as a tomb raider.

And in this final chapter of his life, he had thrown himself into one last, improbable challenge.

Here, in the heart of Africa, from beneath the deep cover of its “Dark Continent,” where satellites and survey teams rarely dare to pry — sometimes held back by political alliances, sometimes by the vast, unexplored virgin land itself — had emerged an incredible find.

And yet, even after all this time, its secrets remained thoroughly impenetrable.

The depths of this jungle.

More than three thousand different tribes.

More than one thousand different languages.

…And the mysterious mechanism, crafted by nature itself, remained sealed tight, its lock still untouched.

Call it metaphor, if you will. But prying open that sealed chamber— that was Alex’s job.

He now presses forward into the cave.

Beyond its mouth, there must lie some form of treasure, one not meant to be found by just anyone.

Just a few days ago, he had encountered the Zobka people— a tribe so fantastical, they could’ve walked straight out of an adventure novel from half a century ago.

They practiced ritual magic, excelled in hunting, and—unbelievably—could communicate with animals as if by telepathy.

Alex was no anthropologist, but even he understood that their unusual abilities held immense value. That value might only be realized by being shared with the world.

Among the tribe, he had discovered a young man who spoke of the gods in whispers, and Alex pursued the truth behind those whispers with relentless curiosity.

The boy and his kin, so vividly like characters out of a novel, eventually explained the reason behind their tale.

Everything, they said, came from the Book of Wisdom.

That book—

an ancient manuscript passed down among the Zobka—

contains the laws of living in harmony with nature,

methods for speaking with animals,

and the key to interpreting the language of weather and omens.

It was said to be an ancient text passed down through the Zobka tribe. Within its pages were recorded teachings on how to live in harmony with nature, how to communicate with animals, how to understand weather patterns,

grasping,

longevity,

and

the secrets

of a long life.

Their ancestors had added to it gradually over the course of their endless history, writing bit by bit for their descendants.

The thing Alex was seeking in the depths of the cave he now traversed… that book of wisdom was supposed to be there.

Only the elders of the Zobka tribe were permitted to lay eyes directly on the Book of Wisdom.

Others could only learn of it through oral transmission passed down from long ago.

The elders would, when they discovered something during their lives that they deemed of value to future generations, carve it into the cave wall.

It was a deeply fascinating cultural practice in many ways—but Alex had no doubt about his own reason for being here.

“That book… will make

money.”

Publishing it in an academic journal was out of the question for a tomb raider like him. He’d be better off selling it directly to a scholar. Whether it was a zoologist or anthropologist didn’t matter—either way, he figured he could get at least several million dollars for it.

This was unknown wisdom, accumulated steadily over unfathomably long stretches of time.

It was certainly deserving of respect.

But Alex, as an individual, wished to prioritize his own happiness. No matter what.

And so, Alex infiltrated the cave said to contain the Book of Wisdom.

One of the younger tribesmen who had spoken to him of its secrets had insisted on accompanying him, but he came to realize that Alex was not, in fact, a “good person,” and declined to join him after all.

If he didn’t hurry, that young tribesman might tell the others.

Alex himself wasn’t exactly without guilt—he couldn’t deny that—but it wasn’t something he had taken lightly.

If he were caught, he wouldn’t be able to wield a machete or a blade.

No, the best course was to grab the book quickly and flee this place.

Upon entering the cave, Alex once again had the chance to savor the atmosphere of a true adventure novel.

The passageways were rigged with various traps.

Pitfalls, falling spears,

swinging ceilings,

collapsing floors...

Of course, these were all intended to deter intruders, but from his perspective, they were more laughable than threatening.

In the four and a half centuries of tomb-raiding history,

such traps

were all too familiar.

The chief’s authority was absolute.

Apparently, no one from the tribe had ever attempted to break in.

As a result, these traps had long since lost their edge, outdated and ineffectual.

“...They should’ve paid more attention to recent trends.”

Suppressing a smug smile, Alex continued forward.

Strangely enough, he actually found himself enjoying this tomb raid.

Becoming an academic in the first place had been influenced by the adventure novels he devoured in his youth.

But real excavation work had nothing to do with fantasy, adventure, or mystery.

Excavation was a world of pure

wilderness—

It required massive expenditures, meticulous research, and thorough preparation.

To form a team and secure funding,

one needed either scholarly clout or a wealthy sponsor…

He’d have to bow his head to a sponsor.

Whether it was Nazi Germany,

ancient

grudges,

or vengeful spirits—no such melodramatic enemies had ever surfaced.

But sabotage from rival teams? That he had suffered many times over.

In the end, fed up with such entanglements,

he switched careers and became a tomb raider.

The rewards were more than enough to justify the change,

but along the way, both his heart and his name had become thoroughly stained.

And yet now, Alex found himself standing

on high ground.

For the first time in decades, he was in the mindset of a man in search of adventure.

He thought back to that book, the one said to

bridge

human and animal understanding.

A book that brought to mind King Solomon’s ring of legend.

Passages from beloved adventure novels came faintly to mind, as if rising from the depths of memory.

What he was doing now,

was unmistakably

theft.

Even if he didn’t try to justify it,

he couldn’t deny that some part of him was enjoying it.

> “……………?”

The dim light from the maglite blurred at the edge of his vision.

The path had come to an end.

Swallowing the breath that had gathered in his mouth,

Alex quickened his pace.

That faint light ahead was likely natural light.

If that were true, then the room ahead must have an opening—

Almost certainly the hidden location

where the “Book of Wisdom” was kept.

His heartbeat quickened—not from haste, that much was certain.He never had any intention of turning back.

Even as the thought crossed his mind—“If there’s a trap here, I’ll definitely fall right into it”—he pressed forward, carefully stepping across the solid, unmoving stone floor.

It seemed even misfortune was on his side now.

The final obstacle he faced was a massive

spider—

Or rather, its web.

He cut through the fragile threads with his Maglite and proceeded onward, finally reaching the end of the passage.

There, just as he had anticipated, was a chamber.

Surprisingly vast—perhaps even wider than a chapel.

A space enclosed by rock, oval and circular in shape.

The ceiling reached the height of a two-story building, and from a fissure like a crack in the earth, sunlight poured in.

Seeds must have drifted in from that opening, for grass had taken root in patches across the floor, stretching out to bask in the light.

It looked just like a hidden treasure room out of an adventure novel’s illustration.

A happy ending was within reach, and a smile came unbidden to Alex’s face.

At the center of the room was a platform constructed from stacked stone.

Likely for flood protection, it stood noticeably higher than the surrounding floor.

There was no doubt: the Book of Wisdom was there.

So he thought—but then Alex blinked in confusion.

There, atop the platform, was a human figure.

For a moment he assumed it was a statue—

But it was too lifelike.

Moreover, the figure’s appearance didn’t resemble any known statue seen in Africa.

Long black hair.

Their face couldn’t be seen due to their posture, but from the color of their hands and feet, it was clear they were not of African descent.

She was dressed plainly in a white coat, unconcerned that it was getting dirty as she sat directly on the altar. Her lower half was not covered by pants or slacks, but rather a skirt. Looking more closely, the shirt beneath her coat was pushed up by a generous bust. A woman.

“…A woman?”

The words escaped Alex’s lips as a question, but the woman didn’t seem to have noticed his presence. Her eyes were focused intently on the book in her hands.

It was a coarse, crudely-bound book, made by stitching together animal hide. The mere act of flipping a page suggested that without her gestures, it might not even be recognized as a book.

In a secret cave deep in the heart of Africa, in a place hardly befitting a jungle, a woman in a white coat was reading a book.

In that instant, Alex wondered if he had been caught in some kind of illusion. He couldn't accept what he was seeing. But if this was a spell, what would be the point of conjuring such a harmless hallucination?

Alex’s logical mind swiftly concluded that this was no illusion.

And yet, the woman didn’t acknowledge him. She continued reading as if he weren’t there.

Suppressing his confusion, Alex decided to initiate communication.

“Hey!”

He cautiously stepped forward and called out to her. But the woman didn’t react.

“Hey, you! Woman!”

He stepped even closer, raising his voice a level. There was no way she hadn’t heard him—but the woman remained silent.

Alex reached into his knapsack and pulled out a handgun.

Though he had taken up the gun, Alex had almost never used it to shoot a person. The times he had were only when his life was truly at stake.

“Can’t you hear me, damn it?! Hey!”

The stone steps leading up the altar came to an end. The muzzle of the gun remained pointed at the woman. Even now, she made no attempt to respond. She had spread the coat across the floor in a semicircle and was slowly turning the pages of the leather-bound book.

Now at close range, Alex could see the writing on the hide. It was script unlike any he had ever seen. Parts resembled Scripili language, but the characters were even more primitive and rudimentary.

No doubt it was a script that had evolved in isolation, passed down only among the tribe. The question was: why was this woman able to read it so fluently? A linguist…? That was the immediate hypothesis that came to his mind. Indeed, the aura she exuded was that of a researcher or scholar, not unlike someone you’d find behind a desk.

Alex kept the gun aimed at her head, trying to gauge not just her identity but whether she was the mastermind behind this.

With more force behind his voice, he opened his mouth.

“Enough already…!”

“Paoooooon!”

The first words the woman returned to him were utterly foreign to Alex’s ears. Startled, his finger nearly squeezed the trigger, but he hastily diverted the barrel.

“………………………”

The woman slowly lifted her face. Yellow-skinned, East Asian. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, though perhaps a bit younger. She wore thick, unfashionable glasses with black rims. Beneath them, her eyes shone with a brilliance of purpose — much like Alex’s own had an hour before.

The woman nodded repeatedly to herself, murmuring softly.

“So that’s it… elephants… they can talk…”

The joy of absorbing knowledge softened her cheeks.

A goofy, indescribable smile appeared on her face.

“…Hey!”

Somehow regaining his composure, Alex raised his voice from above the woman’s head.

“Yes?”

Finally, the woman’s gaze and awareness locked onto Alex. It was as if she’d run into a familiar face whose name she couldn’t quite place, looking up at him with a defenseless, questioning expression.

“………………………”

About five seconds of silence passed.

“…Who are you?”

The woman tilted her head greatly. The childlike gesture of hers made her look all the younger and softer.

“That’s my line! Who the hell are you?! What are you doing here?! What’s with that getup?!”

As Alex continued to shower her with a mix of anger and confusion, the woman straightened herself.

“S-sorry… I… my name is… Yomiko Readman…”

“Yomiko?”

The unfamiliar sound of the name slightly eased Alex’s intensity. Even as she nervously gave her name, Yomiko responded politely.

“I’m sorry, I just, I came here thinking I’d, um, study this book a little… but it was so interesting I kinda got caught up reading it…”

Study it? Interesting? Got caught up reading it?

The words spun around in Alex’s head — words he could recognize, but couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Well, about my outfit… I’m sorry, but this is the only clothing I have… And, um, it’s standard-issue from the British Library, so I don’t think it’s anything particularly strange, but… um, did something about it bother you?”

Yomiko looked up at him as if seeking reassurance, but her hands still held the book tightly against her chest.

“British Library? …From England?”

“Yes!”

Presented with a puzzle piece that didn’t seem to fit at all, Alex pressed further, searching for a hint.

“…You—where did you come in from?! Do you have the knowledge to get through all those traps?!”

“Huh? There weren’t any traps, though…”

“Don’t lie! From where—how did you get in?!”

“The emergency exit.”

As if to prove it, Yomiko pointed at a section of the wall. There, opposite the corridor where Alex had entered, was another passage.

A corridor with few bumps or dips, a straight path as far as the eye could see.

Even above the corridor, some sort of sign with characters written on it was affixed to a board.

“…Huh, that’s an emergency exit?”

“Yes, that’s what it says.”

Her nonchalant answer made Alex’s eyes widen.

“You can read it!? Those letters—that book!?”

“Uh, I’m sorry…”

There was no need for her to apologize, but Yomiko raised a hand to her head as if reflexively.

“Why!? That’s the Sibuka tribe’s traditional script!”

“Well, that said… the grammar is the same as Swahili, and the rest is just recognizing individual letters from patterns. If you do that, you can kind of, sort of, more or less… get the gist of it.”

The extraordinary language comprehension ability she had developed in order to read books. Anyone who knew Yomiko Readman would nod in understanding. It was like the neck of a giraffe that had stretched out over generations to reach higher branches for food—an evolutionary adaptation for survival. In Yomiko’s case, it was her desire to read books from as many countries as possible that unconsciously drove her ability to new heights.

But that didn’t matter at all to Alex right now. He forcefully set aside his ever-growing questions for the time being and chose to focus on his immediate goal. There was no guarantee the Sibuka pursuers wouldn’t come.

“.................. Enough. Forget the details.”

“Huh?”

Alex pointed the muzzle of his gun at the book Yomiko was holding.

“Hand over that book.”

At his words, Yomiko’s demeanor changed.

Clutching the book tightly, she held it as if she would never let go.

“W-why?! I haven’t even finished reading it yet!”

The hesitation in her eyes vanished, replaced by a strong, determined look.

“Shut up! Just give it to me quietly! That thing is the treasure my whole life has been about!”

“A treasure? You treat books like that? Who...! Who are you?!”

More questions came spilling from Yomiko’s lips, but Alex gave no answer.

“It’s none of your business. Hand it over, or this thing’s gonna put a hole in your head.”

He thought even himself—

What a cliché line.

Just another stock phrase from some adventure novel.

What bothered him most was that the one using it always ended up being the villain who got taken down by the hero in the end.

Had he really spent the last five years playing the part of a second-rate villain?

Alex let out a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle.

But unlike the way it goes in adventure stories, he had no intention of being defeated in the final act.

He'd come this far—he was aiming for a hard-boiled novel now.

“.....................”

Yomiko was silent for a long time, staring at the barrel of the gun, but finally, slowly, she held out the Book of Wisdom.

Good.

A woman who defied a gun wasn’t something he was equipped to deal with.

Alex, trying to look appropriately villainous, twisted his lips into a sneer.

“Sorry. This one’s going to serve a better purpose with me.

Better with me than rotting in a hole like this, right?”

But Yomiko met Alex’s gaze with an intensity and clarity that didn’t waver in the slightest.

“……That book is……”

“Huh?”

There wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes.

Not even the slightest shadow of defeat.

“……That book has been created slowly, bit by bit, over countless, countless years.

Even now, it continues to be created and recreated.

We have no right to take it out of here with us—none at all.”

Her voice was calm, but it carried a strength that brooked no argument.

Even while staring down the barrel of a gun, she did not flinch.

Alex felt a chill run down his spine.

“That book already belongs here. It always has. Please… think again. You’re trying to take this book out of the hands of the people who wrote it.”

It was a voice that pierced deep into his heart.

The face of the teacher who had scolded him the day he first shoplifted, back when he was a boy obsessed with adventure novels, floated to mind.

But even so, Yomiko's words were not enough to change Alex’s course of action.

“…Thanks for pointing out the emergency exit. I’ll make sure to get back safely.”

Turning his back, he began to descend the stone steps.

It felt dangerous to look into Yomiko’s eyes any longer.

But then—

Just as the sole of his boot touched the floor again, something changed.

“………………!?”

The floor quivered faintly beneath his feet.

Not only that—

Even the grasses began to rustle, trembling violently.

“What the…?”

Before Alex could finish his sentence, a section of the ceiling gave way and collapsed.

Rocks clashed and tumbled.

A thick cloud of dust surged upward, smoke and soil swirling in the air.

“An e-earthquake…?”

He started to guess—but Yomiko’s calm voice cut through his thought.

“It’s a trap. Why else do you think the elders of the Zubka tribe never wrote anything past this point?”

“The book isn’t supposed to be taken past here.”

Yomiko stood above him now, positioned atop the altar.

Strangely, their positions had reversed.

Now it was she looking down at Alex.

“If you try to carry the book out of here—

The cave itself will collapse.

It must be some sort of mechanical safeguard mechanism.”

“That’s absurd! There’s no way people living deep in the jungle could construct such a—what!?”

Just as he started to shout, The Book of Wisdom gave a sudden tremor. It felt as if it had shivered in his hands.

“Hii!?”

“Please… put it back. The book, this place—I want that too.

No one else does. No one but you.”

Yomiko’s voice was strangely calm.

As if she wasn’t shaken at all, she stood firm upon the altar.

Alex turned and fled.

Clutching the book that had nearly slipped from his grasp, he dashed for the emergency exit.

“Wait—! Please!”

Yomiko leapt down after him, landing on the stone floor in pursuit of Alex, who refused to answer her appeals.

The path leading from the emergency exit was a straight corridor.

If her words were to be believed, there were no traps left.

All he had to do was flee.

For Alex, that was the perfect situation.

Even though he was older now, his body was still well-trained from years of fieldwork.

And with his life on the line, he could run faster than he’d ever expected from himself.

Of course, the collapse was already beginning behind him.

As he ran through the passageway, pebbles and dust rained down from the ceiling.

In just a few more moments, the entire cave might be buried beneath a blanket of sand.

Giving it everything he had— his entire life poured into this desperate flight— Alex pressed on.

From behind him came a cry.

“The book—! Give it back, please!!”

Without thinking, he turned around.

Back down the corridor, Yomiko stood. She was unbuttoning her coat. Yomiko flipped her coat up as she enter a sprint after him. The elegance and power of her stride was almost unbelievable—it defied the expectations of her gender. Clearly, her mind was focused on a single goal: recovering the Book of Wisdom.

“The book—!”

It was like a ghost chasing him up from the underworld. To Alex, that’s what she seemed like. But his shock was quickly drowned by a rising wave of dread.

Just as he entered a wider section of the hallway, a massive stone sphere suddenly dropped from a high recess near the ceiling.

“...!”

The soundless shock seemed to melt into the air. The force of the impact shook the entire corridor, and even Yomiko turned to look back.

The huge stone orb dropped into a groove carved into the floor along the corridor’s edge, neatly slotting into place—and then began to roll forward, quickly consuming the passage.

Of course, it was chasing both Yomiko and Alex.

“Hyah!”

With the danger literally looming behind her, Yomiko let out a high-pitched shriek, seeming to snap back to herself. Her pace slowed just a little.

Even in this desperate situation, Alex found himself dumbfounded.

Was that woman faster when it involved books?!

The stone sphere must have been at least four and a half meters in diameter.

It barreled down the passage after them.

Truly, to the bitter end, this was an adventure novel!

Just as Alex was cursing the absurdity of it all in his mind, the sound of footsteps behind him suddenly vanished.

Was she crushed!?

He turned around reflexively—and saw something utterly unexpected.

Yomiko had stopped running.

She was standing her ground. Facing the sphere.

“What are you—?!”

Alex nearly shouted at her in rebuke, forgetting entirely who he was or what side he was on.

In that moment, the distance between the two closed rapidly. In another second, Yomiko would be crushed.

“Screw this—I’m out!”

Making a perfectly rational decision under the circumstances, Alex focused only on what lay ahead and kept running.

Up ahead, he could see it now—a pinprick of light from the outside world.

“!”

His face lit up with joy as he accelerated.

By now, Yomiko wasn’t even a memory in his mind.

“………………”

Meanwhile, Yomiko stood facing the oncoming sphere, calm. She slipped a hand into the inner pocket of her coat.

“…!”

She pulled her hand back out, holding a slip of paper between her fingers—a long, narrow rectangle, like a strip used for writing wishes.

White.

Even in the dim corridor, it caught the light like a blade.

“Pardon me...!”

With a quiet murmur not meant for anyone in particular, Yomiko swung her hand wide.

The paper flew from her fingertips, gliding toward the surface of the massive stone that was nearly upon her.

The strip of white left a streak in the darkness—a trail of afterimages. Dozens, hundreds more followed, spreading like a net over the orb’s curved surface.

A piercing sound sliced through the gloom.

A high-pitched whistle, like something being torn open.

But the stone sphere that was supposed to follow… didn’t.

Five seconds passed.

Then ten.

Still, it didn’t appear.

Amid the crashing rumble of destruction, only one voice rang out—

“Boooook!!” cried Yomiko as she started running again.

“Gwaaahhh!”

Alex burst into the light, emerging into the blazing savannah sun—the same scorched landscape as before they entered the cave.

“Gahh, gahh…!”

He coughed violently, each gasp a raw affirmation that he was still alive.

But even that desperate breathing was cut short by a voice behind him, reaching his lungs like an icy wind.

“Booook! Pleeease give it baaaack!”

Even in this sweltering heat, her voice sent chills down his spine.

That was Yomiko, still giving chase.

What the hell!? Hadn’t she been crushed…!?

Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still under some kind of illusion.Was that woman in the coat—some kind of monster conjured by sorcery!?

His rationality was beginning to fray. And then, a miracle appeared in his eyes.

A lifeboat.

It was a jeep. Probably the one that woman had used when she first arrived at the entrance.

Though judging by her earlier behavior, he couldn’t imagine she actually had a license.

Without hesitation, he dove into the driver’s seat.

And luck, or perhaps lingering misfortune, was still with him—the key was already in the ignition.

“Book!!”

Yomiko burst out of the tunnel entrance just as the jeep roared to life.

Whether she saw him or not, the tires kicked up a cloud of dust behind him, as the jeep tore off into the distance.

“Waa— koff!”

The dirt flung up by its departure, combined with the plume of rock dust erupting from the collapsed cave behind her, completely engulfed Yomiko.

“Koff! Cough! Agh, geez!”

Her coat was caked in soil. Grit clung stubbornly to her hair, grinding between the strands.

But any discomfort vanished in an instant before her singular sense of purpose.

“…Book!”

She fixed her eyes on the space where the jeep had vanished, trailing a wake of dust as Alex made his escape.

“Ugh, what the heck are you doing, Joker-san!?”

She grumbled irritably at her superior, who should’ve been in the jeep. Yomiko herself didn’t hold a driver’s license of any kind. Both she and Joker had come here riding in a jeep driven by staff.

For whatever reason, the jeep had been left behind. Maybe while she’d been lost in reading the Book of Wisdom in the cave, Joker had taken shelter in the shade of the trees.

In any case, the fact remained—she had no ride. And that was a serious handicap.

“……………………Well then—no choice!”

Even so, she wasn’t the type to give up.

When a book was involved, Yomiko’s thought process veered wildly off the rails of conventional reason.

To chase after the jeep, Yomiko dropped into a standing-start position, just like in a track-and-field sprint. There was no real need for it, of course—it was purely a matter of spirit.

“Ready…!”

But the “go” signal came unexpectedly… from the earth itself.

The ground gave a mighty tremble.

“Abeshi!?”

Just as she was about to launch forward, Yomiko landed flat on her butt. But the cave had already finished collapsing—so why was the ground still shaking?

As the thought crossed her mind, it trembled again. She’d just started pushing herself back up, only to go sprawling face-down in the dirt.

“Awabyuu!?”

The cause of the tremors appeared from within the trees. A massive shadow loomed, completely blanketing Yomiko’s toppled form.

“………………Ah.”

---

“Ah—hah! Hyaaaah!”

Alex ran full-speed across the savannah, his face a twisted blend of victorious euphoria and lingering confusion.

But that confusion gradually ebbed away… replaced by satisfaction, as his eyes drifted to the Book of Wisdom sitting on the passenger seat beside him.

He did it. He’d won. This was victory.

If he brought this book to an airport, flew off to some foreign land, and sold it—he’d have enough cash to live out his retirement in comfort.

He’d just won the biggest gamble of his life.

His hands began to tremble, rattling uncontrollably.

He thought it was just the adrenaline, bubbling up and spilling out past his control.

“Iyaaaa! Haaaah!”

Alex shouted as if trying to pierce the sky above the savannah. But the trembling in his hands wouldn’t stop. On the contrary—the jeep itself began to shake.

“...Wha!?”

Why was the car shaking!? Alex looked around in a panic, and then saw it—caught it in the rearview mirror.

He saw it.

“…………………………A-Aaaaaah!?”

“Book—! Please return it!”

It was chasing him—churning up dust and rumbling the earth beneath its feet.

The tremors rattling his hands weren’t just nerves—they were being transmitted through the ground by massive feet.

And once again—how many times had it been today?—an illustration from an adventure novel flashed through Alex’s brain.

Yomiko Readman was riding an African elephant… chasing down his jeep.

“This has to be a dream… A joke…”

But despite the absurdity, this was undeniably reality.

“Paooooon!”

Yomiko’s voice reached him in a foggy haze, as though it were an auditory hallucination. Come to think of it, she’d made a sound just like that back in the cave.

“Excuse me, coming through!”

From behind him came a voice—and a sharp slicing sound through the air. In the rearview mirror, something square and white flashed—and the jeep flipped sideways in an instant.

“Byah! Agh!”

The rear left tire detached from the body and went rolling off. The exposed shaft showed a cleanly sliced edge—but Alex didn’t even register it.

Because his body had just been flung, full-force, into the savannah dirt.

“Guh—! Aghh…”

It was sheer luck he hadn’t broken any bones, but the impact had jolted his entire body. Head ringing with numbness, he shook it off and somehow at the edge of his vision, Alex caught sight of The Book of Wisdom.

“Ah—!”

He reached for it—

And just as he did, the elephant’s massive foot came crashing down like a giant weight.

“Gah!”

It didn’t crush his hand, but the sheer terror froze him in place.

Timidly, Alex raised his gaze to the towering beast.

“…I’ll be taking that book back now.”

From high above, Yomiko looked down at him with quiet authority.

Alex, body trembling, accepted his defeat with every fiber of his being.

“Paoooon!”

The African elephant lifted its trunk high, letting out a triumphant call—

As if it fully understood what was going on.

“Paoooon~♪”

Yomiko echoed the sound with a bright smile.

It was a response filled with gratitude, though of course, Alex couldn’t begin to comprehend it.

“…What do you think you’re doing, The Paper?”

Just as she was sharing a moment of camaraderie with the elephant, a new figure stepped forward and picked up The Book of Wisdom from where it had been dropped in the dirt.

Brushing the sand from the cover with a light pat-pat, he shot her a disapproving glare.

Yomiko turned at the voice, her eyes widening at the familiar sight.

“Mr. Joker! You’re one to talk—what were you doing, abandoning the car like that!?”

With his neatly combed blond hair and deep navy suit, the man stood there—looking every bit out of place in the blazing African savannah.

Holding a parasol aloft, he stood as if nothing were unusual.

“Well, when you failed to return, I set out to explore the area. It is Africa, I can’t come here very often, after all.”

Joker said casually, his tone betraying a personality not easily dealt with.

With a single glance, his narrow eyes seemed to grasp the book’s true nature.

“…You took it out of the site? I told you—we only had an agreement with the Nmbuka tribe for an inspection.”

“I’m sorry… but it wasn’t my fault…”

Yomiko stammered. Joker looked between the overturned jeep and Alex. It wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened.

“…Well, it can’t be helped. File a report detailing the situation. We can’t linger much longer. If your investigation is complete, begin preparations to return.”

His tone wasn’t harsh, but it left no room for argument.

“Ugh… oh—oh no!!”

Suddenly, Yomiko shouted, as if remembering something important.

“What is it?”

“Joker-san! What day is it today!?”

“May 21st. Why?”

“Oh no! I won’t make it in time!”

Still perched atop the elephant’s head, Yomiko began flailing her arms in a panic.

“Joker-san, I’m returning to Japan directly! I’ll fax my report later!”

Joker furrowed his perfectly groomed brows at her abrupt declaration.

“If it’s Japan, you can return with us later. I’ll be heading back to England soon and—”

“I have to go now, or else——!”

“Paooon!”

As if in sync with Yomiko’s shout, the elephant turned and thundered off across the savanna.

“Hey! Wait, The Paper!”

Whether Joker’s voice carried over the thundering hooves was anyone’s guess. And even if it had, whether Yomiko would actually come back was a whole other question.

Like something out of a fable, Joker silently watched her ride off on the elephant.

“…When did our paper-user become an animal handler, I wonder…”

His gaze then turned to Alex, still collapsed on the ground.

“…Well then, I suppose I’ll be asking you for an explanation… thoroughly.”

The smile that spread across his face, even under the blazing savanna sun, was cold as ice.

{| class="wikitable"
!Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Epilogue|Volume 1]]
!Return to [https://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/Read_or_Die Main Page]
!Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume2 Chapter|Chapter - Twilight of The Paper]]
!
|}

Read or Die:Volume2 Chapter

2025-07-22T21:21:36Z

Alekazzandre: added the chapter, and warning/template

{{MTL}}

Humans are said to possess the three great desires.

Those being: the desire for food, the desire for sex, and the desire for sleep.

And yet, people are consumed by many other kinds of desires as well, burning in the flames of longing.

This is a hunger that animals do not share, it's an entirely human desire. Among those many desires is one called the thirst for knowledge. You could call it an ordinary library.

Deep within the building, rows of bookshelves stood in neat order, and before them were seats with reading tables set out.

It was a weekday morning, so there were few people about. But even so, city libraries rarely fell completely quiet. At the very least, they’d draw in students swamped with homework or preparing for exams during summer break.

In other words, the library was, as always, a quiet place.

Sitting at the reception desk, was Haramine Mitsuko. She had her eyes on Watership Down. She was twenty-six years old. After graduating from college, she had gone straight into this job. Sunlight from early summer poured in through the windows, casting a glow that made time seem as if it had stopped.

It gave the air a certain stillness. She performed her calm duties in a calm workplace. The door remained closed, a silent barrier, until its doorknob began to turn with a sound shockingly loud in the stillness.Startled by the unnaturally loud sound, Mitsuko, who had been sitting, reflexively straightened her posture.

The door swung open violently, and in walked a man with blond hair in a deep navy suit.

“!”

Mitsuko stiffened.

The man was the one and only inconsistency in her otherwise peaceful workplace.

“Pay him no mind. Don’t get involved. Treat him like air.” Mitsuko's boss had said when she first started working here.

But calling him “air” was a stretch. The man stood out far too much, and made far too much noise. If there was such a thing as noisy air, he was exactly that.

“Hi there! Mitsuko!” He called out to her from across the room, and every time he did, Mitsuko was at a loss for how to respond. Though she struggled to remember what her boss had told her, the answer always seemed to slip her mind.

The blond man strode right up to the reception desk and pulled a book from his coat.

The title was A Christmas Carol. It was the same book he had borrowed the last time he came in.

“It was really good. Thanks for the recommendation—much appreciated.”

The blond man winked at Mitsuko with his

vivid blue eyes.

Mitsuko responded only with a silent nod.

This, she had decided, was the best way to deal with him.

“Well then. What should I borrow today?”

He looked around with deliberate exaggeration.

As he did, she noticed a large suitcase gripped in his hand.

“This place has such a great selection—I just know I’ll be lost in it again today.”

He muttered to no one in particular, prompting several nearby patrons to raise their eyebrows.

But the blond man didn’t pay the faintest mind

to that atmosphere of tension. He slipped off deeper into the shelves.

“………………………”

At the reception desk, Mitsuko turned to the filing shelf behind her and pulled out the lending card for A Christmas Carol.

At the bottom of the card was the name of the blond man.

Every time she saw that name, a little cloud of doubt stirred in her mind.

It simply read: “JOKER.”

A name so obviously fake, it couldn’t possibly be a real one.

And yet—neither could it be dismissed as just a pseudonym.

—---

He proceeded between the bookshelves.

Compared to his home base—the British Library—this place was no match, whether in scale or facilities.

Even so, the scent drifting from the books around him, the atmosphere and the air itself—those things were the same.

And Joker liked that air.

He felt lucky to be able to work in an environment like this.

He reached the very back of the library, near the shelves lining the wall.

By this point, the angle put him out of view—not only from the reception desk, but from the patrons’ reading tables as well.

He couldn’t be seen.

From the shelf labeled Medical & Pharmaceutical Sciences,

he pulled a book titled Peaceful Applications of Malignant Tumors, and opened the back cover.

There, a paper pocket had been affixed, and inside it was a library checkout card.

But no name had ever been written on the card.

Which meant that, since the library’s founding, it had never been borrowed by anyone.

That was as it should be.

This book existed for a different purpose.

Joker pulled the near-blank card from its pocket.

He returned the book to its original place, then strolled over to the Science & Chemistry section.

Between two books—The Reality of Relativity and Bright Chemical Reactions, both untouched for years—he slipped the card.

He slid it downward, from top to bottom.

The moment it touched the backboard of the shelf, a faint click echoed.

“…………………………”

Joker took one or two steps back from the bookshelf.

Before long, to his surprise, the bookshelf quietly began to rotate.

Pivoting around its center, the left half turned outward into the aisle. Naturally, the right half sank inward by the same degree, embedding itself into the wall.

Before long, a passageway appeared behind the wall—straight out of an old suspense or horror movie, or perhaps one from two generations ago.

The classic secret entrance.

Joker looked at it with a slightly self-conscious expression.

“…So this really is a matter of taste, isn’t it? I must admit, the gap in aesthetic is a bit much.”

Still, he couldn’t spend all day complaining.

Enclosed by stark white walls, the hidden corridor swallowed up Joker as he stepped inside.

As if confirming his passage, the bookshelf began to rotate again—this time in reverse, sealing off the passage behind him.

From the direction of the library, footsteps echoed.

The measured beat of those steps grew louder, until a face peeked out from behind the shelves—Mitsuko.

Just a moment earlier, the bookshelf had completed its rotation. Now, bathed in the glow of early summer sunlight, the corridor looked like any other—a perfectly ordinary space, as if frozen in a photograph.

She looked around the aisle, but the person she sought was nowhere in sight.

“………………………………”

Even though she’d carefully checked each row along the way to get here…

Standing in the sunlight, Mitsuko tilted her head, feeling as if she’d just witnessed a magic trick.

The hidden passageway was lined entirely in white.

It stretched about twenty-five meters in length, with a gentle downward slope. The total elevation difference was likely around three meters.

Joker deliberately allowed his footsteps to echo as he moved forward.

At first glance, it looked like an empty hallway—but embedded throughout the walls and ceiling were more than a hundred cameras and sensors.

Facial features, appearance, movement patterns, retinal scans, clothing variations, height, weight—every conceivable parameter was checked. If all measurements fell within a predefined margin of error, the subject was recognized as authorized personnel. Naturally, if even one variable was outside that range, the individual would never reach the other end of this hallway—having been subjected instead to an appropriate level of “processing.”

Whistling a tune, Joker arrived at the end of the corridor.

There was a sliding door set into the wall—no visible handle.

From somewhere, a voice came over the speaker system.

> “Dr. Strangelove.”

The passphrase. At the same time, it triggered a voiceprint verification.

> “Or: How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Bomb.”

As Joker recited the response, the white wall split in two and opened, admitting him inside.

Into his workplace.

A vast, open chamber stretched out before him.

Yet despite its scale, the sheer volume of noise and heat within made it feel almost claustrophobic.

From the partitioned booths—separated by glass and metal plates—staff bustled in and out in a constant flurry of motion, never stopping for even a moment.

Hundreds of monitors were arranged in a semicircle.

At the very center, a man sat in a swivel chair, endlessly turning left and right.

The screens displayed footage from bookstores under their surveillance.

Every so often, the man would speak into the headset he wore, giving quiet instructions.

They were responsible for monitoring crimes within bookstores.Their extraordinary vision didn’t miss even a single shoplifted paperback.

A massive panel displayed a world map.

The numbers overlaid across the nations shifted by the minute—data reflecting book imports and exports through air, sea, and land.

Information gathered from airports, seaports, train stations, and customs checkpoints around the globe was constantly being uploaded to this panel. It served to track the global “book balance” between countries.

Around a sprawling table, a group of men studied blueprints, seriously discussing the expansion of bookstore operations for staff stationed at the South Pole.

Between booths, carts rolled along narrow lanes—carrying mission-critical reference books, seized contraband literature, newly published volumes from around the world, and stacks of paperwork.

Staff plucked necessary materials from the mountainous piles of paper, scribbled down new requests on slips, and tossed them into the attached mail slots.

Here, data on every book in the world converged.

And from that data, the staff worked proactively to respond to emerging threats.

Their slogan was simple:

> “Peace to all books across the globe.

A hammer of justice to those who abuse them.

And may all knowledge return to England.”

Yes—this was the workplace that Joker had devoted everything to.

The British Library’s Special Operations Division—Japan Branch.

Tightening the tie that had come loose, Joker stepped forward once more.

As expected of the Japan Branch, the staff he passed in the corridor were of East Asian descent. But without exception, the moment they caught sight of Joker, a look of recognition softened their expressions.

That was because he had visited this island nation countless times, often participating in missions.

Japan was the most prolific publishing country in the entire Asian bloc. One could not hope to monitor the state of books globally without keeping a constant eye on Japan.

For that reason, the Special Operations Division had allocated significant resources here—but the locals didn’t always seem aware of that.

The disorderliness of Japan’s publishing industry was, frankly, a mess.

And it was exactly that chaos which had opened the door for countless foreign organizations—of various nationalities and races—to run rampant.

It was Joker and his colleagues’ mission to clean that up.

Many might say, “Mind your own business,” but let a fire rage on the far shore long enough, and soon it’ll be licking at your feet.

There was no folly greater than standing by and watching it happen.

Besides, even if the situation had nothing to do with books, his "master" would never sit idly by.

That man desired peace in the world more than anyone.

Joker’s steps finally stopped in front of a door nestled deep within the facility. Like the others, it was encased in glass, but the glass had been infused with photochromic minerals—making it impossible to see inside.

All that could be seen was a darkness, as dense and rich as strong coffee.

With a gesture so poised it could almost be mistaken for performance art, Joker rapped gently on the door.

“Come in.”

A curt reply came through the door.

“Excuse me,” Joker said.

And with only those words, the door opened.

Seated around an oval table were more than a dozen men. Their ages and ethnicities varied. But what they all shared was the unmistakable glint in their eyes—sharp, calculating, not easily read.

At the far end of the room, as far from the entrance as one could sit, stood a massive chair, its back turned toward the room.

Given its position, there could be no doubt—the person seated there held the highest authority.

As Joker entered, every man around the table turned to him with piercing stares.

They weren’t necessarily hostile, but neither were they warm. Their gazes were clinical at best—perhaps even skeptical.

Joker paid them no mind, brushing aside their scrutiny as if it were no more than a passing breeze. He addressed the high-backed chair directly.

“I’ve come to deliver my mission report, Mister Gentleman!”

The backrest slowly rotated.

A small, elderly man came into view.

His face was creased with deep wrinkles, and his body was thin, as if skin had simply been stretched over bone. Though dressed in a suit befitting a gentleman, his appearance had the waxy pallor of a figure long removed from good health.

Gentleman lifted his face from the thick book resting on his knees.

“...Joker, is it,” he murmured.

With one thin hand, he set the book down on the table in front of him. Joker watched with mild concern, as did the other men around the table, half-expecting the elderly man’s arm to snap under the weight of the book.

“What are you reading?” Joker asked.

“A new release.”

There was a faint firmness in Gentleman’s voice—just enough to tell that the book had managed to impress him.

“Young people… are promising,” he muttered.

“Sorry, what?” Joker replied, a bit confused.

The deeply wrinkled eyes quivered faintly.

“This newcomer will be a master one day.”

Joker glanced down at the book’s cover.

TRUE AT FIRST LIGHT by Ernest Hemingway. In parentheses, “Kenya.”

“With all due respect,” Joker said, “Hemingway died in 1961.”

A quiet hush fell over the room. The men at the table were intently watching how this would unfold.

“The cover said it was a new release,” Gentleman replied.

“It was unpublished during his lifetime.”

“Ah… I see.”

Gentleman nodded sharply, unbothered, as if it were a trivial mix-up.

“Haven’t been reading the papers lately. A shame to have lost such a promising young author.”

“Well… he did win both the Pulitzer and the Nobel, so calling him a newcomer might be a bit misleading.”

“When was that Nobel Prize?”

“1954.”

“Don’t recall selecting him…”

Gentleman looked vaguely contemplative, as though dredging through the recesses of his memory.

However, amid the vast, hazy memories of a long life, that name could not be found.

“Well then, let’s put the Hemingway story aside for now.”

Joker once again placed the suitcase on the edge of the table. Not only the gentlemen but everyone turned their attention.

After fully savoring their gazes, Joker opened the case.

Wrapped in protective cushioning, The Black Fairy Tale Collection appeared. A soft breath of awe escaped.

“The repairs have finally been completed. This is The Black Fairy Tale Collection. Not a speck has changed since it was stolen. The British Library’s restoration department spent two months and finished it perfectly.”

With great reverence, Joker took the book in hand and walked around the table to the gentlemen, delivering it like a lost child returned to its parents.

The gentlemen received it with eyes full of nostalgia.

“It’s come back… at last.”

Lovingly, they turned the pages with slender fingertips.

Each movement was filled with deep emotion.

“‘The Paper’ has proved its worth. They were a great help.”

“The Paper?”

The gentlemen once again combed through the depths of his mind, finally dredging up a name that had caught on the edge of his memory.

“Ah—Donnie, you mean?”

“No. That title now belongs to Yomiko. Yomiko Readman.”

Joker’s tone, which had been light, now carried a subtle edge of formality.

“Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Yomiko… how nostalgic.”

“It was her first assignment in quite some time, and she seemed highly motivated.”

Of course, that was merely a convenient explanation. The real reason Yomiko had been so enthusiastic was because a rare book had been involved.

“She’s out of high school by now, I presume?”

“Yomiko is currently twenty-five years old.”

“I see…”

The conversation with the gentlemen drifted without a clear direction. As far as Joker knew, the old man had never changed. From the very first time they met, he had already been old. How many years had passed since then? Even the man himself likely had no idea.

Over time, his vast accumulation of memories had blurred together into a chaotic swirl within his mind.

“Mr. Gentleman. As this mission’s success has made clear, The Paper possesses exceptional operational capabilities. Given the threat we are now facing, her particular talents are indispensable.”

“What nonsense!”

One of the men raised his voice sharply. He hadn’t missed the moment when Joker’s report shifted from objective summary to outright advocacy.

“I read the report, but she’s just a female paper-manipulator, isn’t she? We can’t entrust such a crucial plan to someone so delicate!”

“That may be,” Joker replied, calmly analyzing the man’s background based on his attire, “but if the Royal Navy were to intervene, things would escalate quickly. Should the operation be exposed, it would inevitably become an international incident.”

As the man fell silent, silenced mid-retort, Joker turned back to the gentlemen.

“There are numerous advantages to using our Special Operations agents. First, they allow us to form teams with the smallest number of personnel. Second, they’re unrecognizable as agents to outside observers. Third, should the need arise, ‘disposal’ can be carried out with minimal complication. And above all—”

He paused deliberately.

“—when it comes to missions involving paper, there is no one more capable than her.”

“Hm.”

In the sea of wrinkles that was his face, the gentlemen’s brow stirred.

“As you mistakenly noted earlier, sir, The Paper has changed hands since the previous generation. But that information is still not widely known. That, too, will serve us well in the field.”

“I have an objection.”

A silver-haired man raised his hand with theatrical exaggeration.

“You’re only listing her good points. That makes you sound less like a handler and more like a salesman. If she’s really so capable, then-”

“I know that much. Even if it was only for four months, I was her superior,” the silver-haired man interjected.

Joker’s brow tensed with hostility. The silver-haired man belonged to British Intelligence—known more commonly as MI6.

“She’s certainly capable. But she also carries a flaw that far outweighs that ability. And I have no reason to believe that flaw won’t be a detriment in this case.”

“We appreciate your concern,” Joker replied politely, “but we don’t intend to leave this mission in her hands alone. I’ll be overseeing it personally, and she’ll be supported by our most skilled staff. We’ve no plans to repeat the mistakes of the past.”

The implication didn’t go unnoticed—nor did the suggestion that MI6 had dropped the ball. The silver-haired man’s brow creased with irritation.

“And if I may be blunt, members of Intelligence are far too well-known. Their faces are already too exposed.”

With that final jab, the tension in the room thickened.

But just then, to break the strain, a light flicked on atop a mini-panel set into the table.

Gentleman placed his finger atop it.

“This is Gentleman.”

“My apologies for interrupting the meeting,” said a voice from the panel. “We’ve received word that the BBC is about to begin a broadcast.”

“Put it on.”

At Gentleman’s command, the meeting was suspended. One wall of the room lit up with a pale, dull glow—gradually resolving into a massive screen.

A female BBC anchor announced that the program was transitioning into an international segment.

“And now for international news. In Japan, a new bookstore is soon set to open— and we have in the field, reporting from Japan—Bush Lambert.”

The screen cut to a live feed of a man holding a microphone in front of a towering building. In the corner of the screen, the word LIVE was displayed.

“This bookstore,” he began, “will span forty floors above ground and six below, with a total inventory of approximately 800 million books. Upon opening, it is expected to be recognized by Guinness as the world’s largest bookstore.”

“What’s this about?” one of the men asked, frowning in confusion.

“A news segment on the opening of a bookstore,” Joker answered.

“Why would the BBC care about that?”

“Didn’t you catch the details?” Joker replied smoothly. “It’s a forty-story building—plus six underground. That makes it the world’s largest bookstore.”

The room stirred with interest. Even for those whose duties had little to do with books, the phrase forty-story bookstore had an undeniable impact.

“Eight hundred million books… That’s quite a number.”

Even Gentleman’s tone perked up slightly. Though aged and typically stoic, he couldn’t hide his fascination when it came to books. In fact, it was this very bookstore that had prompted him—rarely one to leave England—to personally visit Japan.

“The Japanese do love being number one,” Joker continued. “Though their obsession tends to lean more toward quantity than quality, which does feel a bit simplistic.”

“You won’t find many countries where there’s such a disparity between the number of books published and the number of actual readers,” another man remarked.

“Well, at least that shows how passionate their individuals are. It’s why someone like Yomiko could even come into being in the first place.”

While those two went on making their observations, the broadcast advanced to the next segment.

“And now, a report from Bush Lambert in Japan.”

The screen switched to a reporter standing in front of the colossal structure, microphone in hand. In the corner, the word LIVE gleamed. Putting on an exaggeratedly stern expression, Bush opened his mouth to speak.

“The Tower of Babel, as it appears in the Book of Genesis, is often cited as a symbol of human arrogance in challenging the divine. But here, in the Far Eastern nation of Japan—where over ninety percent of the population identifies as Buddhist—a new challenge to the heavens is taking place. Take a look.”

As Bush spoke, the camera tilted sharply upward, capturing the building from its base.

The skyscraper’s towering side filled the frame, the angle so steep it seemed to slice the sky itself. Even through the screen, the building’s overwhelming scale came across with forceful emphasis.

“Forty floors above ground and six below—on its own, not so unusual for a skyscraper. But imagine every floor packed with nothing but books. It’s enough to make your head spin.”

Bush continued his report as he strolled along the building’s outer perimeter.

“This unprecedented bookstore goes by the name Babel Books. It’s a name that almost begs one to imagine a tragic ending.”

The reporter’s irony-tinged tone brought faint smiles to the faces of the men watching.

“Unquestionably, it’s the largest bookstore in recorded history. The man behind this outlandish endeavor is Nagisa Buzushima, known in Japan’s entertainment industry as something of a maverick. With a background in talent agency management, film production, and game development, Buzushima has now turned his attention to publishing—drawing no small amount of interest from industry observers. That said, the things he’s currently making headlines for have certainly earned him a bit of news value,” Bush concluded, dropping his words with a knowing pause before glancing down at his wristwatch.

“In thirty minutes, at precisely 11:00 AM Japan time, this bookstore will open its doors. To mark its grand debut, a series of extravagant events are set to take place inside the building. Among them: a special public exhibition of a rare private collection on loan from the Crown Prince of Nalnia; a joint autograph session featuring one hundred popular authors; and an enormous used book fair boasting a circulation of over one million volumes. Each of these events is enough to thrill any devoted bibliophile.”

The camera shifted to the wall behind Bush, where several posters promoting these events were displayed in the windows—just as he described.

Lined up along the base of that wall were men who, to put it generously, wouldn’t be mistaken for fashion icons. They sat sprawled out along the tiled asphalt, seated on newspapers, killing time reading books or tapping away at handheld games.

“Even before opening hours, a massive line has formed around the entire building. Some of these people have reportedly been camping out for several days. Japan may be known as a nation obsessed with lining up, but even so, the sheer dedication here is astonishing.”

Though Bush kept his tone mostly professional, there was a faint, unmistakable trace of condescension in his delivery.

Still, true to his reporter’s duty, he made his way toward the very front of the queue with determined steps.

The closer he got to the head of the line, the more intense the atmosphere became. Sleeping bags were everywhere now. Some people had even pitched makeshift tents right there on the pavement.

It didn’t come through on the broadcast, but Bush wrinkled his brow in a subtle, almost imperceptible sign of displeasure—one only close acquaintances might pick up on. Perhaps there was even something offensive to the nose about it.

“We’re just about at the head of the line now… Hmm?”

He stopped walking with a faint grunt. Something unexpected had just entered his field of view.

At the very front of the massive line near the main entrance, it wasn’t a man occupying the coveted first position—it was a woman. To be more precise, a young woman. In fact, it might be more accurate to call her a girl.

She was half-curled inside a sleeping bag, resting against the wall with her eyes closed. Earbuds from an MD Walkman were stuffed into her ears. Scattered across the sheet beneath her were empty snack bags and drink bottles. A large cloth duffel sat nearby—perhaps packed with outerwear for the cold night.

“Well now, this is a surprise. It looks like the honor of being first in line belongs to a teenage girl.”

Raising his hand to his forehead in theatrical amazement, Bush exaggerated his reaction for the camera.

“Well then, let’s see if we can get a quick interview. Moshi moshi!”

He called out in Japanese. Having lived in the country for some time, he was capable of holding a decent conversation.

“…”

But she didn’t respond.

Thinking perhaps he was being a little rude, he gently removed one of her earbuds. A blast of trendy rock music leaked into the open air.

“Moshi mo~shi…”

“Nnya?”

The girl responded in the tongue of the feline kingdom—more of a reflexive grunt than a proper reply. She wasn’t really answering him; it was just the sound of someone being jolted awake.

“May I have a moment of your time?”

Her eyes slowly started to focus. The gears of her mind spun up, and bit by bit, she began to make sense of her situation.

“…Who are you?”

“I’m a reporter with the BBC.”

“BBC-eee?”

“I was hoping to ask you a few questions—since you’re first in line for the opening of Babel Books. Just how long have you been camped out here?”

Apparently now fully awake, the girl blinked at him and looked directly into his face.

“I’m not first.”

That was an unexpected answer.

“…Huh?”

“I just came along with someone else.”

“Came along? With whom?”

The girl turned toward the mountain of newspapers piled beside her and called out.

“Sensei! Sensei, come on! It’s morning already! Wake up!”

At her prompting, the paper mound rustled and stirred.

Bush frowned and squinted at the heap, confused.

“Mrrgghh… Five more pages…”

A barely intelligible groan came from beneath the heap. Judging by the voice, it belonged to a woman.

“They wanna talk to you, Sensei! Come on!”

The girl grumbled and slapped away a newspaper with the headline “New Hanshin Tigers Recruit: Alien from Outer Space!?” Beneath it, a white shirt came into view.

“Mrrrghhhhhh…”

Pushing aside headlines about pro baseball, soccer, horse racing, and celebrity gossip, a bespectacled woman sat up. Her hair was a mess of bedhead, and her shirt was wrinkled beyond belief.

Behind her large glasses, her eyes wandered hazily, still not fully awake. Reflected on her cheek—backwards, like a mirror—were the words “Lewd Lady Teacher.” The headline had been printed on the sports newspaper she’d used as a blanket.

The sleeping beauty who’d emerged from the mountain of old newspapers gave her head a vigorous shake.

She was probably older than the girl beside her, but her droopy eyes gave her a far younger impression.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, that was so mean of you…”

She stared at the girl with a face that looked like she might start crying.

“What was?”

“I was finally reading a mystery novel…”

“But you were asleep.”

“I was reading it in my dream! I was just five pages away from figuring out who the culprit was…”

The girl brushed off her resentful protest with ease.

“You don’t have to go reading even in your sleep, Sensei. You’ll ruin your eyes in your dreams too.”

“Awwuhh… I still don’t get how the trick worked in the room where Gainsbourg died…”

The woman clutched her head and shook it back and forth violently, her whole body expressing her frustration.

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry already. But you know, the one who said he wanted to ask you questions is this guy.”

With a gesture so sharp you could practically hear a smack!, the girl pointed directly at Bush.

The woman scrunched up her mouth in a pout and glared daggers at him.

“If you’re gonna blame someone, blame him, okay?”

The moment the topic was turned his way, Bush clearly flinched.

But before anything else, his sense of journalistic duty took hold.

Raising his head with a jolt, Bush spoke.

“S-Sorry about that, Miss—”

The woman responded with a face that was still clearly displeased.

“Yomiko. Yomiko Readman.”

With her hair sticking out in all directions, her eyes still unfocused, and a dozy haze puffing gently around her face, the image of Yomiko Readman was broadcast across all of Britain.

The ones thrown into chaos were Joker and the others present.

“Yomiko!?”

“The Paper!?”

Even among Eastern names, that one was distinctive—there was no way they could’ve misheard it. In that moment, everyone watching realized that the woman now being shown in close-up on-screen, rubbing her sleepy eyes, was the very same “capable” agent they had just been discussing.

Even Joker was left with his mouth hanging open in astonishment.

There had never been a case of an active agent appearing on live television under her real name.

Until just minutes ago, Joker had been using the fact that Yomiko’s identity was still unconfirmed as a strategic advantage—yet within a span of mere minutes, that had been completely undone.

“Who ''is'' that woman!?”

“Does she have ''no'' sense of what it means to be an agent!?”

A storm of protest and indignation erupted at once, but Joker answered it all in silence.

He raised a hand to his forehead in a gesture of dismay—as if to say this was utterly beyond his expectations. And truly, at this point, it was all he could do.

So ''this'' is what she meant by “urgent business,” huh. Of course—if you don’t camp out ahead of time, you can’t possibly be first in line before opening.

Come to think of it, for her to be at the very front of the line for the opening of ''Babel Books'' should’ve been an entirely predictable outcome.

A rare book fair, a mass autograph event, an exhibition of priceless tomes—it was no different than a kid at the start of summer vacation being drawn to an amusement park.

Still… he should’ve asked. He ''should'' have confirmed.

As Joker wrestled silently with regret, he became aware of a faint hissing sound beside him. Listening more closely, he realized—it was the sound of Gentlemen chuckling.

“I see, I see. So ''that’s'' Yomiko, is it? Fshu-hahaha…”

Gentlemen stared at the screen, laughing with genuine delight.

“She hasn’t changed one bit.”

Onscreen, the interview with Bush continued.

Though he had just made history by securing the first-ever live interview with an active intelligence agent, he was no more aware of that fact than the viewers at home.

“So, when exactly did you get in line?”

“Mmm… I think… about three days ago?”

Yomiko tilted her head uncertainly as she answered, prompting Bush to react with exaggerated surprise.

“Three days!? …If you don’t mind my asking, what have you been doing for meals during that time?”

“Oh, I brought her food!”

Bursting in cheerfully from the side, the teenage girl raised her hand high and leaned into frame.

“Ah, well—thank you very much for your service.”

Had Bush been just a little better at distinguishing East Asian faces, he might have realized who this spirited girl actually was.

Roughly two months ago, she had been the talk of the town, the bestselling author who’d been kidnapped: Sumiregawa Nenene.

But his interest—or perhaps his professional instincts—remained fixed on the bespectacled woman: Yomiko Readman.

“So, as the first customer through the doors, where do you plan to go first?”

“Ahh… I’m still not sure yet… There’s an author at the signing I really like, but I also want to check out the used book fair, and the rare collection too…”

“I see. You must really love books, huh?”

At that casual observation, Yomiko’s whole face lit up like a child being praised for their best trait.

“Yes! I absolutely love books!”

Bedhead in every direction, newsprint smudged across her cheek, and a wrinkled, half-slept-in shirt… and yet, at that moment, Yomiko looked genuinely charming.

At least, Bush thought so.

“Well, I hope today turns out to be a wonderful one for you. But still—three days away from work? That’s a pretty forgiving job you have. Pardon me, but what’s your occupation?”

“Yes!”

Yomiko straightened to answer—but then her mouth stiffened in a frozen smile.

It seemed she’d finally connected the dots between her position… and her current situation.

All the color drained from her face.

“...I-I’m a part-time teacher…”

“A teacher? So then, you’re—”

Nenene grinned and cut in.

“That’s right! My teacher! Well, ex-teacher.”

“And now?”

“...Unemployed. They didn’t renew her teaching—”

Bush gave a sympathetic little shrug.

“Let’s hope you find another teaching job soon. Thank you for your time.”

“N-not at all…”

Yomiko bowed her head rapidly and repeatedly, flustered. Turning his back on her, Bush concluded his increasingly troublesome live segment.

“Reporting live from the pre-opening of Babel Books, this was Bush Lambert.”

The BBC broadcast cut back to the studio anchor.

A long, heavy sigh echoed through the meeting room—no one in particular had started it.

“That,” said the silver-haired man, with sarcasm dripping from his tongue, “is her flaw.”

“When her personal interests get involved, she completely loses her sense of judgment. Did you know? During a bomb defusal training exercise, she got so absorbed reading the instruction manual that she forgot to do anything else.”

“She’s simply… exceptionally thorough in her preparation,” Joker offered with an awkward smile. “Can’t we spin it that way?”

Before the discussion could erupt into a full-blown argument, Gentleman raised a hand to cut them off.

“Enough.”

Everyone in the room was reminded once again of who held the final authority here.

In the end, the fate of the mission lay in the hands of this one old man.

“There’s still time. Let’s go over everything again—each section’s strategy, the personnel assigned, how you plan to ensure this mission succeeds.”

Gentleman gestured to the empty seat opposite him.

“You too. Take your place.”

With a short bow, Joker obeyed.

And the seat he was given… was at the very end of the table. Quite literally, the last seat.

“Uuuugh... What am I gonna do? I’m probably gonna get yelled at...”

“For what?”

Yomiko muttered anxiously as she folded the newspaper. Nenene, slicking her hair into place with mousse, replied with mild disinterest.

“That interview just now. I don’t think I’m supposed to be in stuff like that. Probably.”

“Why not?”

“Why not? Well... I mean, if people recognize my face or anything, it could be a problem, right? Ugh, I’m definitely in trouble...”

Yomiko sank into a gloomy funk, dreading the scolding she hadn’t yet received. But Nenene, unaware of this inner turmoil, leaned in close, her interest piqued.

“Hey... who’s gonna yell at you?”

“Ah—”

Yomiko immediately realized she’d said too much. She turned her gaze away, feigning innocence.

“That’s a secret...”

Without warning, Nenene reached out and pinched Yomiko’s cheeks between her fingertips.

“Pmph!”

Caught off guard, Yomiko let out a strange little yelp.

“Between us, secrets aren’t allowed—remember?”

“Buh... betweem ush... there’sh no shecretsh...”

<nowiki>“Stahp~~~”</nowiki>

Yomiko’s mumbled protest went completely ignored as Nenene gleefully kneaded her cheeks between her fingers.

<nowiki>“Shenshei... pleash... shtahp~~~”</nowiki>

“Whoa, they really stretch... this is amazing!”

After toying with them for a while, Nenene finally let go of Yomiko’s face.

“Well, whatever.”

“Uuu…”

Clutching her now-flushed cheeks, Yomiko let out a pitiful whimper. Watching from the sidelines, you’d be hard-pressed to guess which of them was older.

“Um… Sumiregawa-san…”

“What?”

Nenene casually tossed empty snack wrappers and bottles into a plastic garbage bag.

“Don’t you need to go to school? It’s a weekday… classes have probably already started…”

“Oh, school? I filed for a leave of absence.”

“Eeeehhh!?”

Yomiko flailed her arms in panic, but Nenene herself remained perfectly unfazed.

“I barely went anyway, what with all my work. Besides…”

She flashed a sly smile, and a chill ran down Yomiko’s spine.

“From now on, I’ll be tailing you around, Sensei.”

“W-Why?”

“Because you’re a total mystery. You won’t even tell me what this Dai-Ei-something job is.”

“T-That’s… um…”

Yomiko awkwardly pressed her fingertips together, looking flustered.

“People have… circumstances, you know…so that’s why,” Yomiko murmured.

“And that’s why I want to ''get to the bottom'' of those circumstances. Heh heh.”

Yomiko could already tell—Nenene’s boundless curiosity had now turned her into its latest prey. Inside, she wept.

A torrential, heartbroken sobbing.

While the two of them were chatting at the very front of the line…

A sleek limousine glided smoothly down the road approaching the bookstore entrance.

It came to a halt—and the moment the door opened, a swarm of waiting cameras and microphones surged forward.

The man who emerged was tall, sharply dressed in a sleek, tailored suit.

He looked to be in his early forties, with a sharply chiseled face and commanding presence. An eyepatch over his left eye served as a striking accessory—part costume, part mystery. What kind of past had led to that scar? It was the sort of detail designed to spark intrigue.

Just by walking, the man radiated overwhelming charisma.

And he knew it.

Stopping in front of the main entrance just before opening time, he turned once more to face the press.

“Welcome, everyone—to the grand opening of Babel Books!”

This man was none other than Nagisa Busujima, the owner of the megastore.

A maverick who dabbled in every corner of the entertainment world—music, film, theater, live events—he stirred up every industry he entered with tactics bordering on the aggressive.

His grandstanding and flashy antics undeniably drew attention, and any project bearing his name instantly electrified the scene, but as with everything else, the faster the rise, the steeper the fall.

In particular, the failure of the film he produced last year seemed to have dealt him a serious blow. Rumors swirled that he'd taken on considerable debt, and he was now frequently hounded by tabloid reporters.

At Babel Books, he was credited as the general producer, but the press’s interest had little to do with the bookstore and everything to do with him.

Instead of bouquets, a cluster of microphones was thrust at the man standing in the spotlight of his life.

“Mr. Busujima, a word on the debt repayment situation!”

“Is it true you’ve been involved in multiple scandals with your leading actresses!?”

Busujima frowned, his finely shaped brows drawing together as he ignored the wholly inappropriate questions for such a festive occasion.

“What inspired you to build such a massive bookstore?”

He selectively caught wind of that one—the kind of question that wouldn’t wound his pride—and turned his head toward it.

“Books, aside from murals and stone tablets, are the oldest media known to humankind—and still the most powerful. And yet, despite Japan being one of the world’s great publishing nations, our reading population continues to decline. That is why I built this building—to play my part in revitalizing the current landscape.”

With polished, florid words and a camera-ready expression, he delivered the line.

But for the reporters, there was a clear dissonance between his usual flashy media ventures and the construction of this enormous bookstore. Sensing there was more to it, they tried to pry at the truth behind the façade ...and pressed him further, desperate to draw out something more revealing.

“In this day and age, with the internet so widespread, isn’t this a bit out of step?”

“The internet?” Busujima scoffed. “Hah! Yes, the internet is certainly convenient, but it remains a medium riddled with flaws. Cybercrime is only on the rise, and countermeasures against viruses are far from perfect.

“We benefit, yes, from being connected—but even more than that, we must confront the fear of being connected.

“Through the medium of books, I want to champion once again the importance of personal information, the acquisition of knowledge, and the reconstruction of individual identity.”

The way he rattled off his answer was so fluent, it was as if he’d predicted the question beforehand.

“What route was taken to secure and exhibit the Nalnian Collection?”

The Nalnian Collection referred to a trove of rare books reportedly gathered from around the globe by the Crown Prince of the Kingdom of Nalnia, known as an avid bibliophile. This was the first time the collection had ever been transported abroad for public viewing, making it the crown jewel of the bookstore’s grand opening.

“I’ve enjoyed a close relationship with the Crown Prince since my student days, when I studied abroad in Nalnia. I’m deeply grateful for his generous cooperation in this endeavor.”

A murmur of admiration rippled through the press.

Busujima’s career had always depended heavily on his personal connections, but few had expected the Crown Prince of Nalnia to be among them—if, of course, his claims could be taken at face value.

“Ah, speak of the devil…” he said.

The thunder of rotor blades filled the air as a shadow dropped from the sky. Looking up, they saw a transport helicopter descending toward the rooftop of the building.

“Just barely made it in time. The setup was a nightmare.”

“That helicopter—is it transporting the Nalnian Collection?”

“Yes. There were quite a few items, and they only just arrived the other day. We had to make use of both air and ground transport.”

Perhaps it was a bit of deliberate theater. At the very least, the dramatic effect was undeniable.

From among the cluster of reporters, a particularly burly man leaned forward.

“Historically speaking, anything named ‘Babel’ in the world of fiction ends up destroyed by divine wrath. Any thoughts on that?”

The question, posed in a different register than the rest, came from Bush—the same one as before.

Perhaps it struck Busujima as more thoughtful than the others, because he responded with a faintly approving smile.

“Forgive me, but I think that’s a misunderstanding. The origin I had in mind has nothing to do with the Tower of Babel from Genesis. Any true lover of books would know—there’s another Babel, one even more famous among bibliophiles.”

“And that would be…?”

Before the question could finish, Busujima turned his gaze toward one of the cameras.

“To everyone watching on television—what image comes to mind when you hear the word book?

“A book is the most affordable, most beloved companion to culture.

“And here, you will find books unlike anything you’ve ever dreamed of. Works beyond imagination await.

“Please—come and see for yourself.”

His voice took on a theatrical flair as he delivered his pitch. But bolstered by his natural charisma, it came off as perfectly convincing.

“Well then…”

Busujima turned his gaze from the camera to the long line of customers waiting outside.

A reporter asked, “Where are you going?”

“To greet my customers.”

No sooner had he said it than Busujima strode off with flair, heading directly for the long line of guests waiting with bated breath for the store to open.

“Sensei—look.”

“Hmm?”

Yomiko, who had just folded up her newspaper and tucked it inside her suit, followed the direction of Nenene’s subtle pointing.

Sure enough, Busujima was approaching from that very direction, flashing a radiant smile, with a full entourage of press trailing in his wake.

“Eep!”

For a moment, Yomiko looked ready to bolt. But after three days spent camping out to earn her prime spot at the head of the line, she managed to stop herself just in time.

Unaware of her inner turmoil, Busujima came to a halt directly in front of her, towering above.

“Welcome, miss.”

“U-uh… th-thank you…”

Yomiko wasn’t exactly young enough to be called “miss” anymore, but she obediently took the hand he offered. It naturally became a handshake.

In an instant, they were surrounded—by journalists’ cameras, microphones, and TV crews.

(Ohhh no, no no no this is bad this is so bad this is sooooo bad…)

Yomiko’s panic showed plainly: her mouth flapping helplessly, her arms twitching and flailing like some kind of deranged interpretive dance.

“To have such a beautiful young lady as our very first customer—it’s an honor for Babel Books.”

“Eh? Ah—n-no, I… I mean…”

“Our bookstore staff will continue to do our utmost for customers like you.”

Busujima’s words were a smooth blend of flattery and polite formalities. His comments were aimed far more at the surrounding press than at Yomiko herself—a textbook media performance.

Whether or not she realized this, Yomiko kept smiling with a dumb, stiff little grin plastered on her face, still clutching his hand in the handshake.

“If you notice anything during your visit, please don’t hesitate to contact us.”

With practiced ease, Busujima produced a business card and handed it to her.

Printed on it were the words:

“Nagisa Busujima – General Producer, Babel Books, Inc.”

“Th-thank you very much… That’s very kind…”

Yomiko bowed repeatedly, her head bobbing like it was on a spring.

“Well then, please enjoy yourself today.”

With a final smile, Busujima turned gracefully on his heel and swept away, the press corps trailing behind like a royal procession.

“The opening ceremony will begin shortly! This way, everyone!”

Yomiko stared after his retreating figure, dazed, until Nenene sidled up beside her.

“Smooth talker, that one... I can’t trust people like that.”

“You shouldn’t say that, Sumiregawa-san,” Yomiko murmured.

“Ooooh? Don’t tell me you actually go for guys like that?”

“N-not at all. Not in the slightest.”

The firmness in her tone left no room for doubt.

“Then what was that about?”

“Anyone who loves books can’t possibly be a bad person.”

It was such an utterly unfounded declaration that Nenene was left speechless.

“Ahh! And I was caught on TV again—what should I do, what should I do?”

Yomiko was flailing helplessly, and Nenene spent a good minute debating whether she should point out that the words Lustful Lady Teacher were still faintly stamped across her cheek.

---

“As you can see—people, people, and more people!”

From the window of a news chopper, a TV camera swept over the scene below.

The time was 10:55 a.m. Just five minutes before opening, and the area surrounding Babel Books was engulfed in layer upon layer of human lines.

Naturally, they were all here for the grand opening. Regular readers, rare book collectors, fans of the authors scheduled for signings, curious onlookers, even scouts from rival bookstores—there was no single type.

“I think it’s safe to say that every book lover in the country has gathered here today! With the slogan ‘You’ll always find the book you want,’ can Babel Books really live up to such massive demand?”

Even as the commentator delivered their breathless narration, the line continued to grow, inch by inch.

According to the latest official statement, the crowd had already surpassed ten thousand people.

In front of the main entrance, a special archway had been erected just for today.

Shaped around the word “OPEN”, a large ribbon waited, sagging between the two pillars of the archway that was placed there for the ceremonial opening-day ribbon cutting.

10:58 a.m.

The line had been moved closer to the entrance, and the air around it was thick with a strange, feverish intensity.

Attendees stood right up against the marked boundary, as instructed by security, tensing their bodies like runners at the starting line of a race, holding their breath, waiting for the moment.

Nenene, caught in the charged atmosphere, found herself shrinking back.

The source of that heat was, of course, the frontmost section of the line.

A kind of fierce, unmistakable resolve radiated from them. An unspoken vow that, no matter what, they would get the book they came for.

That raw, unfiltered, and utterly unselfconscious passion was overwhelming. It wasn’t hard to see why someone like Nenene—who was, after all, a relatively sane person when it came to buying books—would feel more than a little intimidated.

“I-it’s like… the air itself is hot…”

She could have added smelly, too, but that observation stayed tucked safely away in a little lockbox in her mind. If the wrong person overheard something like that, there was no telling what kind of retribution might follow.

“Hey, Sensei, are you even listening?”

But when she turned to look at Yomiko, the woman standing there wasn’t the same one Nenene knew.

“Fshhhrrrrrrr…”

Yomiko exhaled slowly through pursed lips, her gaze sharp and focused, fixed on the store’s front entrance from beneath her lashes.

“Sensei!?”

But she didn’t respond. Yomiko stood utterly still, every sense sharpened, every fiber of her being trained on the prize—like a predator poised to pounce.

It was hard to believe this was the same woman who, just thirty minutes ago, had been teary-eyed after Nenene had tugged on her cheek.

She was someone else entirely.

In that moment, Yomiko was dangerous—so sharp with tension it felt like you might cut yourself just by touching her.

“Haaah…”

A bead of sweat slid down Nenene’s forehead.

10:59 a.m.

Amid the applause of the onlookers, Busujima appeared before the entrance. In his hand gleamed a pristine pair of scissors. It was time for the ribbon cutting.

Sensing the battle was about to begin, the tension in the waiting line ratcheted up another level.

Bobsledding. Speed skating. And used book fairs.

These three are said to be utterly decided by how fast you can launch yourself from the starting line.

How quickly can you move? How fast can you reach the shelves? That alone is what determines glory or defeat.

“Miss it today? There’s always next time.”

No one here thinks that way. Everyone in this crowd knows the truth:

The book you truly want—if you let it slip past you once, you may never see it again.

And so, these people have cast aside pride, shame, and reputation…

All for the sake of getting the book they desire.

And unfortunately, Yomiko was among them.

A soul gripped—deeply, seriously—by that very obsession.

The second hand on the clock reached its lowest point and began its upward climb.

Busujima, savoring the moment and all the eyes on him, lowered the scissors to the ribbon.

Fifteen seconds remaining.

The line twisted, as if it had a will of its own. Brimming with heat and tension, and yet eerily silent.

Ten seconds remaining.

Beyond the glass doors, staff lined up on either side, standing at attention, ready to greet the very first customers.

Five seconds remaining.

Nenene suddenly realized how dry her throat had become, or maybe it was just the heat. The Near-Water she’d drunk not long ago already felt like it had completely evaporated.

Three...

Two...

One...

Busujima's lips curled into a crooked grin—then he snipped the scissors shut.

At the same instant, the ribbon guarding the entrance fell cleanly to either side.

“We are officially open! Welcome to Babel Books!”

Busujima threw both arms high and wide, proclaiming the grand opening of the world’s largest bookstore for all to hear.

Camera flashes erupted. Applause broke out.

But all of it was drowned beneath a deafening rumble—

The sound of countless feet pounding the pavement.

The moment the security guards stepped aside, the men at the front of the line bolted forward, like racehorses bursting from the gates. They launched themselves toward their goals with singular, desperate focus.

“The book you’re searching for is waiting for you!“

Busujima stepped neatly aside with the ease of a showman, clearing the way.

And right beside him—

“Sensei! Wait—hey!!”

Nenene shouted after her, but Yomiko didn’t even glance back. She tore past at full speed.

“………………”

Busujima watched her profile with a puzzled expression.

He was sure she’d been the woman at the very front of the line. She’d looked so slow, so dopey, so dull. And yet now she was charging through the entrance at a speed that would shame a professional track athlete.

He’d seen plenty of women go feral at luxury brand sales, but this was the first time he’d seen one sprint full force into a bookstore.

Truly, book lovers were a breed beyond comprehension.

And as he stood there thinking that, over a hundred people had already been swallowed up by the entrance.

“Welcome! Welcome! Welco—!”

The bookstore staff stationed at the front doors were, in a word, pointless.

The crowd surged forward like a dam bursting, utterly uninterested in any ceremonial greetings for “our very first customer.” The employees bowed dutifully, over and over, as customers blasted past them at full speed.

Their destination: the antiquarian book fair being held in the Grand Event Hall on the 30th floor—

And to get there, they needed the elevators.

“Forget it! Get back to your sections and organize the floors!”

Realizing the greetings were meaningless, the floor chief barked orders. The staff immediately scattered to their designated posts.

“Please don’t push! No pushing, please!”

“Where’s the Simulated Problems for Randomized University Entrance Exams workbook?!”

“This section is off-limits to customers under 18! Please be aware!”

“The comic floor has a dedicated elevator—please follow the staff instructions!”

Cries from both customers and employees echoed through the store.

A bookstore is, by nature, meant to be a quiet place.

But right now, in this moment, it was nothing short of a war zone for both the shoppers and the store itself.

But no one yet realized that this metaphor—a war zone—would become literal reality just one hour later.

Naturally, the first to arrive at the elevator hall—where all six cars stood ready—was Yomiko.

“S-sensei! You’re way too fast!”

Nenene caught up shortly after, slightly behind. While she lacked the burning passion or obsessive drive, she managed to close the distance thanks to the raw stamina of youth.

Even so, it was Yomiko’s performance that was truly astonishing. She’d sprinted all the way from the front entrance to the back hall—dragging her ever-present suitcase behind her—and had still beaten Nenene, who had been running flat-out.

But now that she had arrived, Yomiko stood still before the elevator, making no move to board it.

“…? Sensei? What’s wrong?”

“Move!”

With a speed that bore no trace of her usual dreamy airheadedness, Yomiko seized Nenene’s arm and yanked her over to the wall between the elevators.

A heartbeat later, a stampede of men thundered past, charging into the open elevator cars like a tidal wave of bodies.

“!?”

“What are you doing!? We have to hurry up and get in too!”

Yomiko’s primary goal was the used book fair on the 30th floor. The autograph session would continue until 2:00 p.m., and the Nalnia Collection would be available to view after the media presentation concluded.

But the used book fair—that was a raw, first-come-first-serve battle. Naturally, it took top priority.

So why, at such a critical moment, was Yomiko not getting into the elevator?

Nenene couldn’t make sense of it.

“Don’t rush. We can’t get on yet.”

“Huh? But—”

“If you get in right away, you get shoved all the way to the back. And then when the elevator reaches the top floor, you’ll be the last one to get out. If you want to be first into the venue, the spot right at the door is the best position.”

“Huh… wow…”

Now that she heard it, it made perfect sense. Nenene couldn’t help but be impressed by Yomiko’s explanation.

It was a piece of battlefield wisdom—honed not from books, but from countless firsthand campaigns at used book fairs.

Even as she explained it to Nenene, Yomiko was silently counting the number of men boarding the elevator, estimating its load limit by eye.

She carried herself with a calm precision that Nenene had never seen in a classroom—though admittedly, she’d never actually attended one of Yomiko’s classes.

“Now!”

Yomiko spun on her heel and slipped neatly into the elevator.

“Ah! Wait for me!”

Nenene scrambled in right after her.

And the very instant she squeezed herself inside—

BZZZZZZT!

The cold, merciless sound of the overweight buzzer rang out.

“Ehh!?”

There are few things more mortifying than being the person who sets off an elevator’s overload warning.

And if that person is a girl, the awkwardness triples.

But in this case, any such delicate sentiment was blown away by the sudden eruption of angry voices:

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?! Get out!”

“Hurry up and get outta here, dammit!”

“Go wait for the next one, kid!”

Merciless shouts came crashing down on Nenene.

“Wh-what the hell!? You guys are way heavier than me!”

Nenene wasn’t the type to just take that quietly. She fired back without flinching, despite the fact that her opponents were all scruffy men, each a good decade or more older than her.

But shouting back didn’t solve anything.

The men storming in from behind, having heard the buzzer, shifted their target to the next elevator over.

“Get outta there! We don’t have time for this!”

“No way! I’ll get separated from Sensei!”

Nenene turned to Yomiko, clearly expecting backup.

“……………………”

But what she saw was Yomiko staring back at her—

with a face twisted in anguish and sorrow.

“……………Huh?”

“Sumiregawa-san… I’m sorry!”

Yomiko placed both hands against Nenene’s chest—

and shoved.

“Wah—!”

Caught completely off guard by such a move from such an unexpected source, Nenene tumbled backwards onto the hallway floor.

“I’ll wait for you upstairs!……”

Yomiko had chosen her desire over her own student, and for some reason, the men inside the elevator burst into spontaneous applause.

“H-hey! HEY!!”

Nenene sprang to her feet and lunged at the doors, but just as she reached them, they closed coldly in her face.

The floor indicator began to blink, announcing that the elevator was on its way up.

With her palm still pressed to the door, Nenene curled her fingers into a tight fist.

“You IDIOT, Sensei!!”

She screamed the words with all her might.

---

Comedy and tragedy were unfolding not just in the elevator hall, but throughout the entire building.

“Attention, customers: Access to the magazine floors—levels two through four—is currently restricted. If you wish to enter, please line up at the east staircase!”

“The store is extremely crowded! We ask that you refrain from reading items while standing!”

“Please watch out for pickpockets and bag snatchers! If you experience any trouble, notify a staff member!”

A flood of announcements echoed over the PA system, though it was doubtful they reached the ears of the frantic shoppers.

One man, arms stacked with books from a bargain cart, tore through the aisle at full speed, only to wipe out when he failed to clear a sharp corner.

Elsewhere, in a corner showcasing out-of-print stock salvaged from a bankrupt bookstore, a full-blown scuffle had erupted over a single mass-market paperback.

Layer upon layer, magazines were lain, in a towering spiral, at least until someone slammed into them, sending them tumbling into a chaotic mess.

A small child, clutching a picture book and likely separated from their parents, wandered through the crowd on the verge of tears.

Of the six staircases positioned throughout the floor, five had been designated “up only.”

Some customers had taken up positions in front of the freight elevators, reaching greedily for books that had just been wheeled out.

At the autograph booths, the fan queues had become a painfully visible chart ranking the popularity of authors, flooding the space with a mix of awkwardness and clamor.

Babel Books had transformed into a boiling crucible of books and the people obsessed with them.

It was as if every book lover in Japan had descended upon the store.

Everyone who stepped inside felt the same illusion, and let themselves get swept up in a strange kind of euphoria.

Amidst the store interior, now nearing its boiling point, one man strode confidently with the mass media in tow.

Needless to say, it was Busujima.

Rather than being troubled by the chaos that had erupted the moment the store opened, he seemed to take genuine delight in it.

“Look at this heat—this energy,” Busujima said, addressing the TV station’s camera with an expression of rapturous bliss. “We’ve been far too calm about books until now. Like rock and roll, like action movies—great books can make people go wild. This is proof of that.”

He raised a single finger with a flourish and jabbed it toward the camera.

“A new page in Japan’s reading culture is being turned right here, today. If you don’t come see it with your own eyes—you will regret it.”

Everything Busujima touched had a phenomenal start. That was his gift. Every time, sales or attendance would spike to record highs on day one—only to collapse immediately afterward. Some reporters in the crowd knew this pattern well. But none of them were going to challenge him right now. At this moment, Busujima was newsworthy.

With deliberate flair, Busujima checked his watch and turned back to the press.

“Preparations should be complete by now. Ladies and gentlemen—this way, please, for the unveiling of the Nalnia Collection.”

30th Floor.

With a soft chime, the elevator doors opened.

Poised and ready for battle, Yomiko launched herself through the opening, emerging into the floor exactly as planned—at the very front of the pack.

She found herself standing in an ocean of books.

The open-concept floor, its walls removed, was filled with neatly arranged desks and bookshelves.

And covering every inch of those desks and shelves were, of course, books.

Most of them were secondhand—books that had passed through the hands of others. Just what kinds of stories had they experienced? Each one, surely, held its own history quietly pressed between its pages, lying still and silent.

The scent of old paper tickled Yomiko’s nose.

She had lived her entire life enveloped in that smell.

Books are the one thing she loved more than anything else in the world.

No matter how much she read, the world was still overflowing with books she had yet to encounter.

Even just sweeping her gaze across the room, unfamiliar covers leapt out at her.

An overwhelming euphoria surged through her entire being.

“Mmmm…………………………”

But that bliss was abruptly swept away by the thunder of approaching footsteps behind her. Yes, she couldn’t forget. This place was also a battlefield, a warzone governed by the law of the jungle.

A ring where desire ran rampant, where you had to snatch and seize what you wanted to attain glory and rare treasures.

Behind her glasses, Yomiko’s eyes gleamed with sharp determination.

And then she threw herself into the fray without hesitation.

The fact that she had left Nenene behind didn’t even cross her mind anymore.

“Seems to be going quite well.”

Watching the interior of the store broadcast on-screen, Joker murmured to no one in particular.

Since the BBC had cut away from its coverage, he was now watching a Japanese variety program, but even through the screen, the fervor was palpable.

Truthfully, he hadn’t expected such a massive turnout. As far as opening days went, this was a resounding success.

“Vulgar,” came a quiet remark.

Still staring at the monitor, the Gentlemen had spoken. The unexpected comment caused a shift in the room’s atmosphere.

“Vulgar…? What do you mean by that, Mister?”

The silver-haired man asked cautiously.

“Books are not something to be bought amid such clamor. They should be chosen with time, with care.”

His voice was calm, but it carried a sharp firmness. The Gentlemen continued:

“I doubt even one in ten of them has truly thought about why they’re buying those books.”

Forty floors aboveground. Eighty million volumes in inventory.

Managing such a collection by human effort alone would be utterly impossible.

That is why the twentieth floor of Babel Books housed its central control room—its nerve center.

There, six operators worked in shifts from the store’s 11 a.m. opening until 8 p.m. closing, overseeing the management system.

Sales from over five hundred registers were fed into the system in real time.

Every book sold, by title and quantity, at every sales counter, was recorded and automatically compiled into restocking data.

Barriers at corridors and stairwells could be opened or closed to minimize congestion across the building.

Newly delivered books from distributors arrived via the rooftop helipad, and a portion was moved into stock warehouses on the 37th, 38th, and 39th floors. From there, the cargo elevators transported them to their assigned floors to be distributed to their respective floors.

This meticulously regulated operation was known among the staff as BPS—Book Partician System.

It was, in effect, the heart of Babel Books.

And now, a directive reached that heart:

The presentation of the Nalnia Collection was about to begin in the grand event hall on the 25th floor.

An operator activated the recording system for archival purposes.

The presentation venue was roughly the size of a mid-sized auditorium.

With a thousand seats set out and a stage prepared at the front, the room was filled with an air of anticipation.

Stacked cubic blocks formed a backdrop, and to the left stood the host’s podium.

As cameras and press crews looked on, and stakeholders watched from the wings, Busujima stepped into place behind the podium.

The house lights dimmed. A single spotlight bathed Busujima in brilliance.

Contrary to expectations, he began to speak in a quiet, measured voice.

“Books…”

He paused, then began again from the same place.

“Books, naturally, are made to be read. But in this world, there are books whose value transcends the act of reading—books that possess meaning simply through their existence.”

With microphone in hand, Busujima slowly stepped to the center of the stage.

“If we accept that books are a form of culture, then their variations are truly infinite.

And yet, most people only think of books as square-shaped objects meant to be read.”

He placed a hand on one of the stacked blocks.

“Take a look,” Busujima said.

He peeled back the surface of the block—and a ripple of surprise ran through the reporters.

“What you see here is also… a book.”

What had looked like a simple cube was, in fact, a book.

“''GOLD DUST IS MY EXLIBRIS'', published in the Netherlands in 1983. Sixteen and a half centimeters tall, sixteen and a half wide, and fifteen point one centimeters thick. No text on the front cover, back cover, or spine. And inside—”

He fanned through the pages. Most were blank, save for the occasional hidden illustration that flickered into view.

“—the vast majority is empty. This is an example of a book whose value lies in its ''form''. A book whose very existence is its most important quality.”

The reporters could not entirely conceal their confusion in response to such an unusually intellectual introduction.

Busujima, sensing their unease, pressed onward with momentum.

“My good friend, Crown Prince Nyeltega Anarlai of the Kingdom of Nalnia, is deeply insightful when it comes to cultural artifacts like these. He has gathered rare and precious books from around the world—what is known as the ''Nalnia Collection'', which has long fascinated bibliophiles across the globe.”

The spotlight widened, flooding the center of the stage with light.

There stood an enormous book—or rather, a book-shaped installation—with the word '''NALNIA''' emblazoned across it.

“But today!” Busujima’s voice rose with passion, “By the grace of the Crown Prince, the Nalnia Collection will be unveiled to the public for the very first time!”

As the heat in Busujima’s voice built, so too did the atmosphere in the hall, slowly but steadily.

Most of the reporters present had little personal interest in books, but with all the fervent buildup, even they began to feel a stir of curiosity.

“And now, ladies and gentlemen, allow me to present—the Nalnia Collection!”

As a drumroll rumbled through the speakers, the enormous book’s cover was slowly opened.

But what emerged from within… was something no one had anticipated.
----“Aaaaah! Someone stoooop meeeeee—!”

Yomiko’s world was utter chaos.

“Gimme that! That’s ''mine''!”

Two men were locked in a tug-of-war over a back issue of ''Weekend Super''.

“Volume Three of ''The Phantom of Devil Wolf Island''! Volume Three’s the ''only one'' missing!”

Someone was frantically tearing through the sea of books in a desperate hunt to complete their set.

There were others like him.

All of them, drawn here by one thing above all else: books. The men who had gathered for this event were now embroiled in a frenzy, each desperate to claim the books they longed for.

They fought not for fame or fortune, but for the sheer joy of acquiring the book they desired most—to bring it home and giddily admire it in private. That was all this struggle was about.

And Yomiko stood right at the heart of that chaos.

The trouble was, she had completely melted into it. The confusion, the frenzy—it had swallowed her whole.

“Hey! I ''grabbed'' that copy of ''King of the Grotesque Faces'' first!”

“Idiot! ‘Grabbed’ means you’re hugging it like ''this'', see!”

“Stooop, pleaaase, don’t take it from meee~~!”

“Wait! That’s it—let’s settle this fairly with rock-paper-scissors, okay? Rock-paper-scissors, yeah?”

“Lady, what are you, five? Play it by yourself!”

The man completely ignored Yomiko’s desperate plea, tossed the book into his shopping basket, and turned his back on her to hunt for more.

That was when—

''Shff!''

Yomiko’s arm flicked through the air in a flash. Without a sound, the edge of the man’s basket was neatly sliced open, and the book he’d just dropped inside slid silently to the floor through a sudden, triangle-shaped gash.

The man didn’t notice a thing—too caught up in the surrounding frenzy.

Yomiko quietly stooped down to retrieve the fallen ''King of the Grotesque Faces'', then casually slipped it into her own basket, wearing the most innocent face she could muster.

A Paper Master from the British Library is meant to be a guardian of both people and books. It is part of the Special Operations Division's very creed—to ensure that fine literature finds its way into the hands of those who deserve it, no matter what.

But still... when it came to the books she truly wanted, Yomiko just couldn’t bring herself to let them go to someone else.

“I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry… But I think this book would be happier being bought by me. So, um… pardon me—I'll be taking it now…”

Murmuring her selfish justifications under her breath, Yomiko quietly edged away from the man. With the chaos all around them, even if he noticed the hole in his basket, the odds of their paths crossing again were slim.

Pushing through the shifting tide of bodies, Yomiko made her way to a new block.

It was the children’s section—an area filled with picture books, fables, and nonfiction geared toward young readers. There were yearly school reading list selections, bestselling illustrated books, collections of folk tales and legends, and even introductory science volumes. A broad and colorful array.

But to the sort of people who threw themselves into a rare book sale the moment the doors opened, this genre clearly held little appeal. Compared to the other sections, this one was practically deserted.

Yomiko let out a soft breath, a brief reprieve. Then, preparing to hurl herself back into the human storm, she began cutting across the quiet space.

That’s when she saw it.

It wasn’t deliberate—her brain simply registered it, caught among the spines of the hundreds of books that passed under her gaze.

''“The Freckled Teacher’s Strange School.”''

The spine was simple. Unassuming. Nothing flashy—just plain text printed on a hardcover binding.

“!”

Her head snapped around with reflexive sharpness. For a moment, she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.

“…………………………!”

What can one compare the shock to, when a true bibliophile stumbles across the book they’ve spent years—maybe even a lifetime—searching for?

Perhaps it’s like finding out your longtime unrequited love… actually feels the same way.

Or like reuniting, entirely by chance, with a childhood friend you thought you’d never see again.

Or like the return of a beloved pet long presumed lost.

Something like that.

You doubt your eyes. You check again. And again.

Her heartbeat quickened. Her mouth went dry. The rush of blood in her ears echoed up into her skull. All other sounds vanished. Nothing remained in her field of vision except that single book.

The noise receded like the tide. The jostling bodies, the frantic hunt for books—it all faded away, like some distant world no longer connected to her.

Yomiko stepped toward the book, slowly. Inside, she wanted to leap. Her emotions were wild, impatient. But her body moved as if in slow motion.

She’d dreamed this moment so many times. In the dreams, she’d wander into a bookshop, and it would be filled with nothing but the kinds of books she loved. Overjoyed, she would gather them all into her arms and bring them to the register. But the moment she tried to read any of them—she would wake up. They were never books she could read. Not ''femme fatale'', but ''livre fatal''—the one destined volume forever just out of reach.

Carefully, she slipped the book out from the jumble of others stacked around it. ''The Freckled Teacher’s Strange School''. There was no mistaking it. That title was etched into her memory—it could never be forgotten.

Her eyes stung. The book she had searched for all these years was finally, truly in her hands.

She clenched her grip around it. The sensation of the firm hardcover pressing against her fingers confirmed it—this was no dream. It was real.

Time slowed around her, as if to honor the moment. A reunion ten years in the making. Even the air itself seemed to embrace her gently, in celebration.

This was it.

This was the reason why a bibliophile could never quit. This was the ecstasy that no one else could ever understand.

Yomiko’s expression softened, as though she had just been reunited with a long-lost lover—

She brought the book close to her face.

And with all the tenderness of a lover’s embrace, she nuzzled her cheek against it.

'''Illustration'''

“Ahhh…”

“What the hell do you mean, ''ahhh''?!”

The blissful silence shattered beneath the furious shriek of none other than Sumiregawa Nenene.

“W-w-wahhh!”

Yomiko juggled the precious book she’d only just secured, flailing in panic.

“S-Sumiregawa-san…”

“That’s right! ''Sumiregawa Nenene''!”

Nenene’s face was flushed with righteous fury.

“I can’t believe you! You just left me behind like that!”

“S-sorry, I’m so sorry! It’s just, um, how do I put this… I kind of… lost control for a second…”

Her excuse sounded like something a middle schooler would mumble after being caught shoplifting, only making Nenene shout even louder.

“You have ''no idea'' what I went through after that!”

“I really am sorry, truly sorry…”

Yomiko bowed her head over and over, the very picture of contrition. Nenene let out a long sigh. She already knew this about Yomiko—knew that when books were involved, all common sense flew out the window. That didn’t make it okay, but… it did make it understandable.

“…So? You find anything good?”

It was the exact question Yomiko had been hoping to hear. Her entire face lit up like a child on Christmas morning.

“Yes!”

With a proud beam, she thrust the book forward in both hands. Of course—it was ''The Freckled Teacher’s Strange School''.

“I’ve been searching for this for ''so'' long! I finally found it!”

The joy radiating from her face was undeniable. She was practically glowing.

“…What is it? Looks like a kids’ book.”

“Even children’s stories can be wonderful. They’re really fun, you know!”

Compared to Yomiko, who was practically glowing with excitement, Nenene looked entirely indifferent.

She didn’t seem all that interested.

“Well, whatever. …Anyway, can we get out of here for a bit? I feel like I’m gonna suffocate.”

Inside the venue, aside from Yomiko and Nenene, there were hardly any women to be seen. Which meant, effectively, that nearly everyone else present was a man. She didn’t mean to be discriminatory, but the strange, heavy aura radiating from all those male bodies was more than enough to wear Nenene down.

“…But I haven’t even looked at everything yet…”

Nenene grabbed Yomiko’s arm and forcefully dragged her toward the checkout counter.

“You can come back later. Let’s go check out the autograph session. We might run into someone we know.”

“Ahh, ahh, ahhhh~~”

Yomiko was pulled away, sliding helplessly behind Nenene.

Well, in her case, she’d be getting Fudemura Ara’s autograph anyway, so it wasn’t exactly a loss.

—

Under the watchful gaze of the assembled press and the lenses of countless cameras, the door—shaped like the cover of a book—began to slowly open.

At first, those seated at the very front thought it was simply another part of the event. With someone like Busujima, who loved theatrical flourishes, they assumed it was something he had staged. Since what emerged was so out of place, it could only be part of some elaborate performance.

The interior of the massive book had been hollowed out like a coffin.

And standing inside it was a man.

He wore a loose-fitting navy suit that clung to a slim, slight frame. He looked to be in his early forties, perhaps a few years older. The deep lines etched into his face hinted at a past long weathered.

But what most drew the crowd’s attention was what he held in his hands.

An M-16 assault rifle—the most widely used automatic rifle in the world.

Some thought it was a joke, and chuckled under their breath.

But Busujima, staring into the now-fully opened interior of the book, stood frozen, his mouth agape in shock.

According to the script, the first “page” was supposed to feature a congratulatory message from Nyertega: ''“Congratulations on your grand opening. May your paradise be cherished by all who love books.”'' Busujima had already approved the message, and had even prepared a speech in response.

He turned toward the man with the rifle, his expression clearly reading, ''Who the hell are you?''

The silence dragged on—too long for any planned entertainment—and a murmur of unease began to ripple through the audience.

The man smirked. Just a twist of the lips, but unmistakably a smile.

He raised the muzzle of the rifle to the ceiling and pulled the trigger.

“YAAHH— HAAHH—!!”

A piercing, shrill shriek was swallowed by the deafening roar that filled the room.

Chunks of what used to be the ceiling came crashing down in shards.

Reporters dove to the floor all at once. Cameramen were knocked over, and the live broadcast feed trembled violently.

Screams and shouts of confusion erupted throughout the hall.

“What the hell!?”

Even at the British Library’s Special Operations Division – Japan Branch, the reaction wasn’t much different.

A man emerging from inside a book and opening fire with a gun, no matter how much of a showman the producer was, this defied all reason.

Amid the chaos around the operations table, only two men remained calmly focused on the screen.

The eldest: Gentleman.

And the youngest: Joker.

The man emptied an entire magazine’s worth of bullets.

During that time, not a single member of the press had the composure to properly assess the situation. They were all cowering, curled on the floor, shielding their heads.

Once the final round had been fired, and splinters still fluttered from the ruined ceiling, the man finally spoke. His voice was almost calm.

“Ladies and gentlemen…”

With practiced hands, he reloaded the rifle.

“Stay quiet. If you cooperate, you’ll walk out of here unharmed. But…”

He clicked the new magazine into place, then slowly swept the muzzle across the terrified press from right to left.

“If anyone tries anything funny, I’ll make sure your coworkers get to read your obituary in the morning papers.”

“Wh–Who the hell are you!?”

Busujima shouted, voicing the thoughts of everyone present.

“Me? I’m John Smith.”

The muzzle of the rifle swung around to aim squarely at Busujima’s chest.

“Leader of ''Red Ink''.”

“Red Ink!?”

A sharp crease formed on Joker’s brow.

He knew the name. A terrorist organization active primarily in the United States. They earned their moniker from the way their attacks left scenes splattered in blood, like red ink spilled across the page.

Joker had once encountered them before. The infamous New York bookstore siege. They had barricaded themselves inside, taking customers hostage. The incident left three dead and became a lasting nightmare in the American publishing world.

They were what one might call a trigger-happy gang, spraying bullets without hesitation. Their violent unpredictability had caused Joker no small amount of trouble.

What made them especially dangerous was how their tactics constantly changed, making countermeasures nearly impossible. Lacking any coherent ideology, they seemed to revel in terrorism itself. They called themselves “artists of death.”

But why ''here''? Why now?

Their presence, of course, had already been caught by the surveillance feed in the control room.

“Th–This is bad…”

One of the operators reached toward the direct-line button to the police.

But behind him, a tall man had crept silently into the room.

Without a sound, the man moved closer, toward the hand poised over the button.

A knife touched the man’s finger.

“!?”

The cold sensation of the blade was instantly replaced by searing heat.

The tall man had sliced the operator’s finger clean off.

A scream surged up from the pit of the operator’s stomach.

But it never escaped his mouth. With a swift motion, the man reversed the blade and slashed the operator’s throat. The scream became nothing more than a wheezing hiss, slipping out through the ragged wound in his neck.

Inside the store, the surveillance cameras began to swivel in unnatural directions.

It was the signal: the system’s heart had fallen into their hands.

Men wearing long, heavy coats, far too heavy for early summer, reached into their coats.

The security guards, who had been watching closely, stiffened with alarm.

The men slowly drew out what they were hiding.

In each hand, guns.

“LAND HO!”

With a roar, they fired into the ceiling.

Startled customers turned around to see what was happening—only to stare wide-eyed at the pistols now brandished in the air.

“Sorry to interrupt your shopping, folks; but the exit’s that way!”

With the mocking announcement, another round was fired. The bullet pierced the forehead of a life-sized idol cutout and embedded itself deep into the wall.

“It’s a robbery!”

Someone screamed, and with that scream, the panic was unleashed.

With the same force as the morning's grand opening, the customers began running for the exits.

Driven by pure, unfiltered panic, they charged blindly forward. Some slipped and fell. Others trampled right over them.

“Move it, dammit!”

“Don’t push! You’ll knock people over!”

“What the hell’s going on? Is it a fire?!”

Most of the customers had no clear grasp of the situation. They were simply being swept along by the chaos that had exploded into existence, fleeing without direction or understanding.

The carefully stacked towers of books, balanced with such effort, were smashed apart by the stampeding crowd.

On the floors below, where no one even knew yet what was happening, shouts erupted as people were slammed into by those hurtling down the stairs.

“Please don’t push! Stop pushing!”

Grinning idiotically, a man with a gun approached.

At last, a few customers began to piece together what was going on. They, too, succumbed to the spreading panic and made for the exits.

In a matter of minutes, the Babel Books sales floors had transformed into a living showcase of hellish chaos.

“Uhhh, what’s this now?”

The elevator carrying Yomiko and Nenene suddenly ground to a halt.

“What’s going on?”

Nenene pressed the emergency switch again and again. No response.

“Hellooo?”

She leaned into the emergency microphone and spoke into it, but no one answered.

“That’s so weird… Maybe it’s broken, Sensei?”

“If it’s broken, that’s a real problem.”

Having just finished paying at the register and intending to head to the signing event, Yomiko’s voice grew noticeably tense at this unexpected delay.

“It’s a problem for me too, y’know.”

All the customers who had been around earlier must have gone off to find whatever it was they were after, leaving the elevator empty save for the two of them.

Yomiko leaned in close to the microphone and shouted.

“Helloooo! Mister Elevator! Helloooo!”

Nenene winced at the outburst.

“Sensei! Yelling into it doesn’t mean someone’s going to hear you!”

“Awuuu…”

Yomiko’s face puckered into a sulky frown as she was dragged away in a headlock. She looked exactly like a scolded child.

“Maybe there’s a power outage?”

“But the lights are still on.”

“Could it have been an earthquake?”

“I didn’t feel any shaking.”

“Mmm…”

Yomiko pursed her lips in thought. Nenene, having apparently already resigned herself to their situation, leaned against the wall and sat down on the floor.

“Well, we might as well wait it out. I’m sure it’ll start moving again eventually.”

But Yomiko wasn’t ready to give up. She paced restlessly around the small elevator, dragging her suitcase behind her with a constant clatter that made the cramped space all the more irritating.

“Ugh, Sensei! Would you just calm down already?!”

“But—but, just thinking about how while we’re stuck here, Fudemura-sensei’s autographs are disappearing one by one… Ahh, it’s just too much!”

The blocked passage must have been making her anxious. Yomiko’s eyes were flitting all over the place, completely restless.

“So what? If they run out, you can just go to another signing!”

“Fudemura-sensei skips signings all the time! He’ll suddenly say he wanted to see some cranes or that he felt like playing with monkeys…”

“What is that? Some kind of animal kingdom nonsense?”

To Nenene, who hadn’t read any of Fudemura Ara’s books, those reasons were completely incomprehensible. Though even if she had read them, she probably still wouldn’t accept it.

Yomiko suddenly planted her feet, as if steeling herself.

“I’ve decided. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“What are you planning to do?”

She didn’t give a direct answer. Instead, she pushed her suitcase to the wall, stepped up onto it, and climbed on top.

“I’m going to go take a little look.”

“A little- what?!”

She removed the ceiling panel and began to hoist herself up.

“Sorry, could you hand me my suitcase?”

“Why don’t you just wait here? What’s the point of going out of your way like that?”

Yomiko smiled a little awkwardly and said,

“I know, but… I just can’t help it. I’m a fan.”

Her innocent smile sparked a twinge of envy in Nenene’s chest. After the whole thing with Marihara, what did it mean when she said ''she'' was a fan? Did she say that to every writer? Was it all the same to her?

Words along those lines nearly escaped her lips, but—

“……………………Sumiregawa-sensei?”

Yomiko, likely not thinking about anything in particular, was climbing upward when Nenene looked at her and let out a long sigh. There was no helping it—she’d have to be the adult here, even if the other woman was eight years her senior.

“Sheesh… Fine. Alright, I’ll come with you.”

“Huh? No, really, I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not safe leaving you alone, Sensei. If you fell while reading the elevator’s safety instructions or something, I’d feel awful. Okay, c’mon—help pull me up from above.”

Nenene hoisted up the suitcase and held it out toward Yomiko.

Yomiko looked down at her, a faint smile forming on her face.

“Thank you very much, Sumiregawa-sensei.”

“Sumiregawa-sensei… I do have one request.”

“What is it now?”

“If you could possibly be… just a little lighter, it’d make me very happy.”

Yomiko was clinging to the inner wall of the elevator shaft, inching her way upward.

Nenene was piggybacked on her back, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. In the other, she dangled Yomiko’s suitcase.

“I’ll go on a diet next time.”

“Please doooo…”

Yomiko’s hands, wrapped in wet tissues, made soft sticking sounds as she pressed them to the wall, climbing steadily upward. The tissues didn’t peel away from the surface, as though coated in some kind of industrial-strength adhesive.

“…Sensei.”

“Yes?”

“I know I’ve asked this before, but—how can you even do stuff like this?”

"…It’s a special skill of mine."

From behind, Nenene yanked hard on Yomiko’s cheek.

"Ih hurth! Ih hurth, Shenshei!"

Yomiko’s shriek echoed through the dark shaft.
----“Kill the cameras—NHK, CNN, and BBC are the only ones that stay live!”

John’s voice and his rifle menaced the room into silence.

“The rest of you—sorry, but you’re out of luck on this scoop!”

He let out a short, stuttering chuckle—''kukuku''—a sound that sent a strange chill down the spine.

“What are you planning?”

Bravely, Bukishima interjected from the side.

“That’s obvious, isn’t it? A declaration of our demands—and a ransom note.”

With NHK in front of him, CNN to the right, and BBC to the left, John stretched both arms wide.

“People watching this broadcast—consider yourselves lucky! You’re about to witness the most academically significant act of terrorism in history!”

Still holding his rifle, John gestured wildly with theatrical exaggeration. Each time the muzzle swung toward them, the reporters flinched.

“I’m John Smith! Don’t laugh—it’s my real name. And my group, Red Ink, is demanding a ransom of one hundred million dollars from the Japanese government!”

One hundred million dollars! For a moment, even the reporters forgot the danger they were in—gasps rippled through the crowd. At current exchange rates, that was 11 billion yen—the highest ransom demand in history.

“You know what the hostages are, right? The main event of today—the entire Nalnia Collection!”

“What!?”

Of course, it was Bukishima who cried out. No surprise—he was the one who had arranged for the collection to be brought into the country under his responsibility. If anything happened to it, his career—and life—would be over.

“Six hours from now, I want the full amount in Japanese yen, in cash. Deliver it to the rooftop heliport. Got it? If you’re even a minute late, I’ll scatter the collection from the top of the building. No doubt it’ll become an international incident.”

Then, turning his gaze toward BBC and CNN in turn, he continued:

“This is the first extortion in history carried out by holding cultural heritage hostage. Let’s see just how much this country is willing to pay for ''culture''.”

A maniacal grin spread across his face.

“Wait! Where is the collection? Where are you keeping it!?”

At Bukishima’s shout, John waved a hand irritably.

“Don’t worry. My guys are keeping it safe—with the utmost care.”

“Um, how did you get past all that tight security…?”

“That was ''security''? I’ve seen tougher setups in a high school locker room.”

At John’s scornful words, Bukishima’s face flushed red with humiliation.

“The collection was a gesture of goodwill from Nieltega! I won’t let you do whatever you please with it!”

There were surprised expressions among the gathered reporters. They could hardly believe that Bukishima—always more talk than action—was standing up to a man with a gun.

Even the grin vanished from John’s face.

“You’ve got guts, I’ll give you that.”

His hand moved. The gun in his grasp swung toward Bukishima.

The next moment, a short, sharp crack split the air.

Before anyone even realized what had happened, the bullet had already struck Bukishima in the chest.

“Wha…!?”

Leaving behind a question-shaped cry and expression, Bukishima crumpled to the floor. A dark red stain spread rapidly across his suit.

“Brave men die young. Got that!?”

The second half of the sentence was flung at the reporters.

As chaos erupted, the cameras from NHK, CNN, and the BBC remained rolling—unsettlingly eager as they broadcast a murder live.

Before the shock had fully settled, a brief tone rang out. John pulled a communicator from his waist.

“This is me. …Good. Let the civilians and authors go. The media here will do just fine as hostages. …Secure the floors, one by one, starting from the top.”

John ended the transmission and swept his gaze slowly over the seated reporters.

“Being the ones getting reported on for a change... it’s kind of refreshing, isn’t it?”
----“Isn’t this weird?”

The first to notice something was off was Nenene.

Having made their way out of the elevator shaft through a side vent and into the hallway, she and Yomiko were now heading toward the autograph venue on the 35th floor.

But ever since they entered the hallway, they hadn’t seen a single person.

Not a single customer, not a clerk, not even a security guard.

“Maybe it’s lunchtime?” Yomiko offered, not sounding entirely convinced herself.

“This isn’t school. And it’s not just the staff, there aren’t any customers either. That’s what’s weird.”

The two of them had given up on the elevator and were taking the stairs. The stairwell was fairly spacious, and there were even posters along the way that read ''“Autograph Session Ahead.”'' Which made the total absence of people all the more unsettling.

“But, well, if it’s empty, that just means we’ll get our autographs quicker—and more of them too.”

“……………………”

Nenene gave Yomiko a slow, damp stare. Instinctively, Yomiko pressed a hand to her cheek.

“...You really do lose it whenever books are involved, don’t you, Sensei?”

With a sigh of resignation, Nenene shrugged. Yomiko, finally a little flustered, puffed out her cheeks in protest.

“What do you mean, ‘lose it’? I’m perfectly normal!”

“Yes, yes.”

And with that, the two of them finally arrived at the 35th floor; the autograph session venue.

“Excuse meee…”

Yomiko’s overly polite, utterly out-of-place greeting dropped to the floor unanswered, as if no one were there to catch it.

“This ''is'' the right place, right?”

Nenene double-checked the sign posted at the entrance to the venue: ''“Joint Autograph Session – 100 Popular Authors All Together!”'' Of course, the publisher had extended an invitation to her as well. But Nenene, who as a rule didn’t do signings, had politely turned them down.

That said, not every author must’ve made the same decision she had, but the spacious venue was utterly deserted.

Along the walls, the tables had been arranged in a U-shape. In front of each one hung a placard with a name like ''“Norikazu Mahama Sensei”'' or ''“Kaede Kaoru Sensei.”''

And yet, at none of the tables sat a single author.

No, not just the authors. There wasn’t a single attendee in sight either.

Nenene checked her watch. It was just past noon. This should have been the liveliest, noisiest time of the signing session.

“What do you make of thi- wait, Sensei!?”

But Yomiko was already off and running, ignoring Nenene’s concern completely. Naturally, her destination was in the H row. ''“Fudemura Arashi Sensei’s”'' table.

“Seriously! Don’t you think this is weird!?”

But as Yomiko drew closer to the table, her pace began to slow. Her brisk run turned to a stagger, until she finally came to a stop and crumpled to her knees right there on the floor.

“What’s wrong?”

“Auuuh…”

As Nenene questioned her, Yomiko simply pointed at the table. It was the one prepared for Fudemura Arashi. But over his nameplate, someone had taped a printout, clearly made on a word processor:

'''“Fudemura-sensei has departed on an impromptu research trip to Tibet for the development of his next work. We sincerely apologize for the sudden schedule change and ask for the understanding of all his fans.”'''

Nenene read the message and gave a nod of acceptance.

“Ah… so he wasn’t going to be here either way.”

“But I was so, ''so'' looking forward to getting his autograph…”

Yomiko pulled a paperback from her coat pocket and began to sob softly. The title read ''Space Violence: Cosmic Dynamite Bastard.'' It wasn’t what you’d call a tastefully named book, and the contents did nothing to improve that impression.

But to Yomiko, he was one of her beloved authors. Someone she simply couldn’t help but admire and follow.

People’s tastes, after all, are often inexplicable.

“Well, anyway…”

Nenene let out a sigh and hauled Yomiko upright as she collapsed in despair.

“Let’s check the floor downstairs. I don’t feel right until we at least see ''someone'' down here.”

At that, Yomiko suddenly lit up, as if she’d remembered something.

“That’s right! The ''Narnia Collection'' exhibition is still going on here!”

It might’ve dropped in her priority list, but when one hears of the private collection of the Crown Prince of Narnia, an internationally renowned bibliophile; even someone like Yomiko, mad for books, would be practically foaming at the mouth to see it.

“There’s no time to lose, Sumiregawa-san!”

“It’s not like we ''have'' to rush. It’s not as if the exhibit is going to—”

“It ''will'' run away! That’s how books are!”

Yomiko yanked along her suitcase and took off running. It wasn’t the full-speed dash she’d done at the store’s opening, but it was still impressively fast.

“Hey, slow down! Sensei!”

Nenene tried to stop her, but Yomiko was already nearing the entrance.

And then, suddenly, a figure stepped out in front of her.

“Gyah!”

Yomiko slammed straight into the person and went sprawling backward in a dramatic tumble. Her trusty suitcase tipped over and clattered to the ground beside her.

But the shadowy figure didn’t escape unscathed either. No matter how small-framed, a full-grown human crashing into you is no joke. The figure was sent flying backward, mirroring Yomiko’s fall almost perfectly, and likewise dropped their own suitcase in the process.

“S-sorry about that…”

“What the hell do you think you’re doing, bitch!?”

The furious shout came in English, and it was ''very'' foul-mouthed.

Yomiko’s cheeks turned crimson, not from anger, but from the crude language.

“U-um… I mean, I ''am'' sorry I ran into you, but calling someone a… a female… ''dog'' right off the bat… I think that’s kind of uncalled for, don’t you?”

It was only then that Yomiko finally realized the person she’d crashed into was a foreign man.

“So you’re still skulking around up here… Get down to the lower floors, now!”

“Huh?”

The strange, aggressive tone behind the man’s words left Yomiko blinking in confusion, unable to fully grasp what he meant.

Behind her, Nenene finally caught up.

“Oh, thank god. There ''are'' people here.”

She commented with a perspective slightly out of step with the situation, coming to stand behind Yomiko.

“Hurry it up!”

The man reached into his coat. Instinctively, Yomiko sprang to her feet.

And what he pulled out… was a handgun.

“!”

“!?”

Wordless exclamation marks hung over both Yomiko’s and Nenene’s heads.

“Shut up and do what you’re told!”

“Wha—why!?”

Nenene’s voice rose, full of confusion and protest.

“Shut it! Don’t talk!”

The gun, almost naturally, now pointed more toward Nenene than Yomiko.

“Why the hell are you carrying a gun!? Who even ''are'' you!?”

Because the man was shouting in English, his threats weren’t getting through clearly to Nenene. That misunderstanding was putting her in real danger.

She was now facing a situation where being shot was very much on the table.

“She doesn’t understand English. Please, just put the gun down!”

“Don’t give ''me'' orders!”

The man was clearly rattled, unnerved by this unexpected encounter. Most likely he was even more agitated than Yomiko or Nenene.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, please don’t say anything!”

“Sensei, who ''is'' this guy!?”

Nenene, unable to hold it in, pointed at the man. It wasn’t much of a gesture—but it was more than enough to set him off.

The finger on the trigger twitched.

“!?”

An instant before the shot rang out, Yomiko’s hand dove into her coat.

Her fingers brushed against a book. No time to check what it was—she yanked it out.

The man’s gun fired.

Nenene squeezed her eyes shut on reflex. In that moment, Yomiko thrust the book she’d grabbed in front of Nenene.

The bullet tore through the air, straight toward Nenene’s face.

But at the very last second, the book intercepted it.

A pistol round may not be the most powerful in the world, but it was still a bullet—and fired from this close, no ordinary book could have stopped it.

Yet the bullet ''did'' stop. It had no choice.

Because of the special power imbued in the book Yomiko held.

The man stared in disbelief, as if watching a bad joke unfold, seeing his bullet be halted midflight by nothing more than a paperback.

Nenene opened her eyes and found herself staring at the spine of the book in Yomiko’s hand.

Neither of them said a word.

The first to break the silence was Yomiko, standing between them.

“Ahhh—!”

Her voice was closer to a scream.

Because she had just realized which book she’d used to block the bullet.

It was none other than the copy of ''Space Violence: Galaxy Dynamite Guy'' by Fudemura Arashi—the one she’d brought in hopes of getting signed.

“Ah—ahh!?”

While the two of them stood frozen in shock, Yomiko quickly flipped through the book.

The bullet had punched a neat, insulting hole straight through the center. It had torn from the cover all the way to three pages before the end.

“This book’s out of print…!”

Tears welled up and spilled from her eyes in uneven sobs. Almost every one of Fudemura Arashi’s books went out of print shortly after release. If you missed your chance to buy it, tracking down another copy was an uphill battle.

The man finally snapped out of it. He seemed to decide that he’d put what had just happened on a mental shelf for now, and raised his gun again to fire another shot. This time, the target was not Nenene—but Yomiko.

“Sensei—!”

Nenene shouted, trying to snap her out of her daze.

“Ughh!”

Yomiko ''was'' in shock—but she hadn’t completely lost touch with reality.

“Hyah!”

With a bizarre shriek, Yomiko batted the incoming bullet out of the air—again, using a book, as casually as if swatting a fly.

The man’s mouth dropped even further open. He was going to need a second shelf in that mental cabinet of his.

“This is all your fault! You understand that, don’t you!?”

Her words were polite, but Yomiko was clearly furious—a rare thing indeed.

She strode straight toward the man, completely ignoring the gun pointed at her.

“This book’s publisher went bankrupt, so I can’t even reorder it! The print run was tiny so it barely shows up in used bookstores either! I came all this way just to get it signed, ‘cause I was gonna make it a treasure!”

The reproach, wildly off-point, was something the man couldn’t begin to understand.

“Wh—what ''are'' you!?”

A question he himself now found flung at her—the very one he’d shouted at them a minute earlier.

“I’m a fan of Fudemura-sensei!”

That was one part of who she was—and not even a particularly important one.

Whether he found the answer unsatisfactory or simply lost interest, the man once again attempted to resolve the situation with his handgun, undeterred by everything he’d just witnessed.

“Honestly! You ''should be ashamed of yourself''!”

And with that, Yomiko’s psyche finally passed its critical limit.

She tore a page from the book, rolled it swiftly into a cone, and threw it.

It struck the barrel of the gun with uncanny precision, lodging itself inside and blocking the next shot.

The man’s face faltered. It was paper. Just paper. There was no way it could cause a misfire. And yet—everything he’d seen up to now defied reason. That absurdity stayed his finger on the trigger.

That hesitation would end up deciding his fate.

A square-shaped iron hammer came flying at his face. More specifically, it was none other than ''Space Violence: Cosmic Dynamite Bastard'' by Fudemura Arashi (out of print).

The garish illustration on the cover—some sneering man grinning against a starfield—swallowed his field of vision. The bullet still lodged in the center of the book struck him square on the nose, and he saw sparks explode behind his eyes.

“Ahhh… I can’t even ''read'' it anymore…”

Yomiko clutched ''Dynamite Bastard'' in her arms, sobbing softly, her tears soaking into the ruined book. The cover was stained with the man’s nosebleed. The center of the book was pierced clean through with a bullet hole, and to make things worse, she had torn out the ending.

Sure, in the moment, she’d had no other choice. There ''was'' no other choice… but still…

“…Who ''was'' that guy, anyway?”

'''Illustration'''

Nenene stood looking down at the unconscious man, who now sported a square-shaped bruise across his face.

“Any idea who he was?”

“Not really…”

“You think it’s got something to do with why everyone’s gone?”

“Maybe…”

Yomiko’s reply lacked her usual energy. She still hadn’t fully recovered from the shock.

“We should probably tell the police—”

Just as Nenene, ever the voice of reason, began to suggest the proper course of action, a new voice echoed from the end of the hallway.

“Hey!”

A suited foreigner was striding toward them.

“Oh, perfect timing. Excuse me—”

Nenene raised her hand and waved broadly. But as she did, something buzzed past her like a hornet.

“…Huh?”

It struck the wall behind them, leaving a small hole.

Another bullet.

“You’re assholes!” the man shouted, hurling the insult in broken English as he advanced. His demeanor was nearly identical to the man now collapsed at their feet.

“Sensei!”

“Yes!?”

Nenene grabbed Yomiko’s hand and bolted down the opposite hall.

“Ah—m-my case!”

Yomiko reached out and managed to snag the suitcase by the handle. It was packed with the books she’d bought at the rare book market… and the “paper” that served as her weapon of choice.

“They’re working together—move it!”

As if to confirm Nenene’s deduction, the man opened fire. Fortunately, there was a corner just ahead.

Yomiko and Nenene immediately ducked behind it and dashed down the emergency stairwell.

“Faaack!”

The man who had just arrived kicked the unconscious one aside in frustration.

“Carlos! Get up!”

The man called Carlos began to stir.

“Was that a dream? Richard, tell me I had a bad dream…”

Richard spat on the floor and cursed.

“I don’t give a shit about your dreams. Who were those women!?”

“Those women…?”

Carlos’s expression shifted as though he were recalling what had happened just before he lost consciousness.

“It wasn’t a dream… She’s a witch. A witch who uses paper!”

“You high or something?”

Richard didn’t bother to hide his suspicion as he stared at Carlos. No unusual dilation in his pupils—he didn’t seem to be on any drugs.

“Whatever. John wants us to finish the setup, now. Where’s the package?”

“Ah, right… over there…”

Still visibly dazed, Carlos pointed to the suitcase lying where it had been flung across the floor.

The suitcase lay toppled on the ground.

“Things have taken an interesting turn.”

In the conference room of the British Library’s Special Operations Division, Japan Branch, a group of men were watching the rapidly unfolding situation.

“This sort of incident is a first for Japan.”

“Indeed. It’ll be something to see how the Japanese government responds.”

“The real question is, do those old books actually hold that much value?”

“In this case, the bigger issue is international public opinion. The government will do everything it can to resolve the situation for the sake of national pride—whether by money or by force, who can say.”

“Gentlemen.”

The flurry of conversation came to a halt at a single word from The Gentleman.

“If it were up to you, how would you resolve this situation?”

The silver-haired man raised his hand.

“We will suppress it using a special task force. The hostages’ lives will be our highest priority, with the collection placed second.”

“And your reason for that priority?”

“Because human lives are more valuable than anything else.”

The Gentleman fell silent for a moment, as though tasting the words and weighing them carefully.

“…MI6 has grown quite humanitarian, it seems.”

The silver-haired man’s brow twitched. He had caught the note of sarcasm in The Gentleman’s voice.

“Sir. That may be, but what I said is simply the logical conclusion.”

“It’s perfectly logical. Which is why it’s so dreadfully dull.”

“For a man who claims to love peace, that’s a rather surprising thing to say.”

The air in the room took on a hardened edge as the exchange between the silver-haired man and the Gentleman unfolded.

It was Joker who diffused the tension.

“Mr. Gentleman.”

“What is it?”

“If it were up to me, I wouldn’t assign a priority.”

A faint murmur rippled through the room.

“You mean to say you’d place the collection and the hostages on equal footing?”

The one who responded wasn’t the Gentleman, but the silver-haired man.

“That’s not what I meant. There’s no need to assign priorities at all. With our Special Operations Division’s ''The Paper'' on the case, both the hostages and the collection can be retrieved without so much as a scratch.”

The murmur swelled into a stir.

“You speak rather boldly.”

“With absolute confidence.”

Brushing off the silver-haired man with ease, Joker turned back to the Gentleman.

“What do you think, Mister? May I entrust this incident to The Paper? And, if possible, submit the results for consideration in your upcoming operation?”

From between the folds of his wrinkles, the Gentleman glared at Joker.

“A most intriguing proposal.”

“Mister!”

The silver-haired man nearly shouted, as if about to leap from his seat.

“Very well. Give it a try.”

“Thank you.”

Joker smiled, his greatest weapon was his charm, and made his declaration.

“I hereby order The Paper to mobilize. In the name of the British Library Special Operations Division’s honor.”

Richard opened the suitcase.

Inside was a tightly packed collection of folded newspapers, Post-its, notepaper, A4 copy paper, paperbacks, and light novels.

But one crucial item was missing.

“In other words,” He said, “you’re telling me that woman beat the hell out of you and took the case, is that it, Carlos?”

Carlos, his face pale, answered in a small voice.

“She didn’t take it... I think... she must’ve grabbed it by mistake. The cases looked similar…”

“So you’re not denying she beat the crap out of you, huh? Hmph.”

Richard didn’t bother hiding the contempt in his voice or his expression.

“In that case, my orders are simple…”

He leaned in close, shouting so furiously that spittle flew from his lips.

“Find her! Take it back! And kill her!”

Carlos flinched and nodded, his body rigid.

As Richard moved to roughly shut the suitcase, something gave him pause.

“…………………………”

He stared into the case again, scanning it from end to end.

Someone had once used things like this. A long time ago.

“Carlos…”

Richard called out just as Carlos was about to leave the room.

“Tell me again. What kind of magic did that woman use?”

Forty floors above ground level, a bookstore like this had all sorts of unusual features, and the twenty-third floor, where Yomiko and Nenene finally arrived, turned out to be one such place.

“What is this... a hotel?”

It was a floor of one-room hotel suites, available for rest or overnight stays. Presumably, it was meant for guests to relax after buying large hauls of books.

“A bookstore that even has lodging… You’d never be able to leave once you came in,” Nenene muttered.

And right on cue, Yomiko was beside her, her eyes shimmering with dreamy delight.

“Wonderful… If I stayed here, I could just read and buy and read and buy and read and buy for the rest of my life…”

“Get a grip, Sensei. …Doesn’t seem like they followed us, though. Think we’re safe to hide out here for now?”

Nenene peeked into the lobby and switched on the TV that had been set up.

Before long, the screen displayed a tense-looking newscaster.

“We now interrupt our regularly scheduled programming to bring you a special news report. Earlier today, the newly opened large-scale bookstore ‘Babel Books’ was taken over by terrorists.”

“!”

Yomiko and Nenene looked at each other.

“The group, calling themselves ‘Red Ink,’ has issued a demand to the Japanese government for a ransom of 11 billion yen. If their demands are not met, they claim they will destroy the rare books on loan for today’s event from the Crown Prince of Narnia’s private collection.”

“Wait, those guys were terrorists!?”

Nenene's eyes widened—she had assumed at most they were just robbers or something.

“Because news crews from various networks are still inside the building, the police are being forced to proceed with extreme caution. Now, over to you, Isozaki-san, on the scene.”

The screen switched to a slightly overweight reporter with glasses. Behind him was a very familiar building—of course it was familiar; it was none other than Babel Books, the very building they were currently in.

“This is Isozaki. Right now, Babel Books has been surrounded by dispatched police forces and the riot squad.”

Sure enough, police vehicles could be seen at the edge of the screen.

“It appears that the general public—those who had come to shop—have already been released. However, we’ve received word of multiple casualties, including the man in charge, Mr. Buzushima.”

The footage then abruptly switched to the moment Buzushima was shot by John Smith.

“!?”

The two, having never seen this before, were visibly shaken. Especially for Yomiko—it had only been a couple of hours since she’d been chatting with the man.

“Police are focusing their efforts on resolving the situation with top priority on preserving the hostages’ lives. As of now, we have not yet received any statement from the Kingdom of Narnia.”

Whether it was the sticky pre-rainy season air, or the crowd-generated heat pressing in, sweat was beading visibly on the reporter’s forehead.

And just from watching, a small bead of sweat also formed on Nenene’s brow.

“Terrorists… in a bookstore… for real?”

“Japan’s really gotten dangerous these days, hasn’t it…” Yomiko replied, sounding strangely detached.

“Then that guy earlier must’ve been one of them too.”

“Most likely…”

“So what now? How do we get out of here?”

“…………………………”

Yomiko furrowed her brows in thought.

It was at that moment that something changed on the TV screen.

The police squad, the crowds, and the broadcast crew all suddenly turned their eyes to the sky.

“What the hell is that!?”

Isozaki, forgetting he was still live on air, looked up. The camera lens tilted to follow his gaze.

“!?”

When had it arrived?

Above them floated the massive shape of a blimp.

“What kind of airship shows up at a time like this!?”

“Do they have clearance? Did they get authorization for that!?”

Snatches of agitated voices—presumably from security personnel—bled into the broadcast.

Yomiko and Nenene also turned to face the large window set into the wall of their hotel floor.

There it was—hovering just slightly above the height of the building—a blimp flying unusually low. It didn’t have any visible writing, unlike those used for advertisements. A mysterious, unmarked airship. The scene below was growing increasingly agitated in response.

“What on earth is that? Could it be connected to the incident?”

Even the reporter's voice wavered with uncertainty.

“…………………………”

Everyone stared up at the sky, wondering what this sudden vessel was going to do.

And then, something began to fall from the bottom of the airship—thin, square, white slips of paper.

“Paper…?” Nenene murmured.

Hundreds upon hundreds of sheets poured down from the ship’s underbelly. It had been a long time since anyone had seen flyers scattered like this—like a department store promotion drifting over a downtown street corner…

There had been a time when stores scattered flyers like this—but now, no one used such outdated promotional methods.

The sheets fluttered gently, tossed by the wind as they drifted to the ground.

Some people picked them up.

“What the hell is this?”

But not a single one of them could grasp the paper’s meaning.

And that was only natural—because these papers had been scattered for the sake of one person alone.

“I wonder what that is…”

Nenene pressed herself against the window, trying to make out the writing printed on the falling sheets. But with the way the paper danced erratically in the wind, it was nearly impossible to read.

Beside her, Yomiko also stared intently at the drifting paper.

“…………………………”

“…Sensei?”

At that moment, a gust of wind blew—toward the building.

The air caught the flyers, sending them spinning against the glass.

One of them stuck flat against the window where they stood, and through the pane, they could read the printed words:

'''“THE PAPER NOW ON SALE!”'''

“!”

That was all it said. It looked like a newspaper ad slogan—but Yomiko knew exactly what the words really meant.

It was a secret code used by the British Library Special Operations Division. And its true message was…

“Sensei?”

Nenene had noticed it—noticed the change in Yomiko after she read the flyer.

The dreamy, floaty air about her had vanished. And now, behind those eyes, a sharp gleam had begun to burn.

Yomiko was no longer the same.

Yomiko Readman: no longer just a book lover, but once again ''The Paper''.

“Was it really necessary to send such a conspicuous message?”

The Silver Haired man cast a sarcastic glance toward Joker.

“With that kind of method, it’s guaranteed to reach her no matter where she is,” Joker replied.

“That might work if she were outside. But what if she’s still inside the building? There’d be no way for her to receive the flyer.”

A perfectly reasonable objection—but Joker parried it with a smile.

“Don’t worry. All paper is on her side.”

———

Yomiko had laid her suitcase on its side. Now that the mission had begun, it was time to prepare.

“Sumiregawa-san, please stay hidden here. It’s dangerous.”

“No.”

Nenene flatly refused Yomiko’s unusually serious instruction.

Yomiko’s hands froze just as she was about to open the case.

“Sensei, you’re about to do something, right? No way I’m letting that slip by.”

Nenene’s expression was alive with curiosity—and there was no chance she’d be talked out of it.

“I’m not kidding. It’s ''really'' dangerous. Please listen to your teacher—”

“You’re not my teacher anymore, Sensei.”

It sounded contradictory at first, but somehow Nenene’s logic still made sense.

“Ugh… I’m going to fight terrorists, you know! This isn’t the time to be selfish—”

Yomiko’s sentence cut off as she opened the case, because there was something unfamiliar inside.

The suitcase was supposed to contain her favorite things: newspapers used as bedding, cherished books, memos, Post-its, and stacks of copy paper—her everyday companions.

But now, nestled inside, was a rectangular object the color of pale ochre, wrapped in protective padding.

“What’s that?”

A scene replayed itself in Yomiko’s mind like a flash of lightning.

That moment in the hallway outside the autograph area—when she and Nenene had been fleeing from that man.

In her haste, she’d grabbed a suitcase lying on the floor… But that had been ''his'' suitcase!

“I… grabbed the wrong one…”

Yomiko slumped forward with a look that could only be described as ‘whoops’.

“The case? Back then? Well, we ''were'' in a rush.”

Nenene casually reached into the suitcase and picked up the object. It had a soft, clay-like elasticity to it.

“So, what is it?”

Yomiko dug into the back of her memory. Long ago, during a brief stint with the intelligence agency—MI6—she remembered seeing something like it.

“I think… that might be plastic explosives.”

“B–b–''bomb''!?”

Nenene, startled, dropped the object without thinking.

“!”

The blood drained from her face, and her heart turned to ice.

But the thing simply landed with a dull ''splut'', sticking to the floor without so much as a spark.

“It’s okay. It won’t explode unless it has a detonator attached. …Or, well, that’s what I read in the instruction manual once.”

“Sensei… what kind of place even ''has'' bomb instruction manuals?”

Nenene clutched her still-pounding chest.

Yomiko didn’t answer. Instead, she knit her brows.

“Which means… my case is…”

“They’re the ones who took it, right?”

“Aaaaugh!”

Yomiko clutched her head and thrashed her upper body back and forth.

“And after I went through all the trouble! ''All'' the trouble! Of finally finding that book!”

“That book?”

Needless to say, she meant the ''Sobakasu-sensei'' she’d discovered at the rare book market.

Giving up on it wasn’t an option for Yomiko. No way, no how. Now that it had come to this, she’d simply have to get it back. Her mission and her passion had, at last, aligned in perfect harmony.

Stowing the plastic explosive back in the suitcase, she muttered to herself.

“…Anyway, I need to resupply my paper stash.”

Right now, she hardly had any paper on hand. Normally, she’d keep as many books as she could fit in her coat pockets, but since it was the day of the rare book fair, she’d packed them all into the case.

And as for her wallet… well, thanks to buying out half the rare book market, she only had one or two bills remaining.

But still, this was a bookstore. And not just any bookstore, but the largest in history.

If they could just get to a floor above or below, paper would be in endless supply.

“For now, we move.”

“Yeah!”

Nenene stood up. Yomiko looked at her with a half-defeated expression.

“…It can’t be helped, but don’t stray from my side, okay?”

“Got it!”

Nenene promptly clung tightly to Yomiko’s arm.

“Th–that’s not what I meant!”

Yomiko flushed red. Just then, behind her, there came a soft ''pon''—an electronic chime.

She turned around and saw the elevator doors just beginning to open.

“!”

Damn. If the building had been taken over, then the control center had to be in enemy hands. That meant the hall’s power, the security cameras—everything was likely under surveillance. The elevator stopping earlier had to be their doing. And now, it had started moving again...

As if to confirm her worst suspicions, the elevator doors slid fully open.

Inside stood several men, guns raised. Every finger rested on a trigger.

“Sumiregawa-sensei!”

Yomiko grabbed Nenene and yanked her with all her strength—

They tumbled backward down the hallway, practically in each other’s arms. The suitcase bounced after them.

Not a second later, a hail of bullets tore into the space where they had just been standing.

“It’s her! Kill her!”

With Carlos at the lead, the men burst out onto the floor. Trampling across the carpet now riddled with bullet holes, they charged in pursuit of the vanished pair.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, please!”

Yomiko handed off the suitcase to Nenene and leapt for the nearest door.

Predictably, it was locked.

“!”

In a flash, she pulled a 10,000 yen bill from her wallet and slid it between the door and the frame. ''Chin''—a short metallic snap—and the lock broke open.

As she threw the door open, the sound of the men's footsteps thundered from down the hall.

“Get in!”

She yanked Nenene inside and slammed the door shut behind them.

She could feel the harsh vibration of bullets gouging into the outer surface of the door.

She scanned the cramped single-room space. Beside the bed, near the phone, was a notepad set. Yomiko snatched it up. Only five sheets.

“To the window!”

She gave the order to Nenene, and began tearing the memo paper and sticking the pieces over the crack between the door and wall. How much time would this buy them?

Even as she worked, bullets continued to pound against the door with a dull thudding sound.

The room had only a desk, a chair, a TV, and a bed.

“Paper! Or books—anything!”

Nenene yanked open the drawer of the desk. Inside was only a pamphlet about the hotel’s amenities. And worse—it had been folded into thirds and was laminated in plastic. That meant Yomiko’s powers wouldn’t work on it.

The door began to scream. The memo paper acting as a stopper had reached its limit; its corners were already starting to peel away.

“………………!”

She opened her wallet. The only bill left was a single 5,000 yen note. Even if she tore it up and used it, it would only buy them a brief moment at best.

“Sensei…”

Even Nenene was showing signs of real unease now.

“It’s okay… It’s going to be okay…”

Yomiko’s brain was working at full throttle. Outside the window was a balcony. From the 23rd floor to the ground, it had to be at least eighty meters. There had to be some way to escape…

“!”

A spark of inspiration lit up in Yomiko’s mind.

“Sumiregawa-san! Out—get outside!”

She unlocked the door to the balcony and shoved Nenene out onto it. Then, without hesitation, she dashed straight for the hallway where the door was groaning under pressure.

“Sensei!”

The door’s cries became a death scream.

The memo paper peeled away.

“Outta the way!”

The door, hanging on the verge of collapse, was kicked in with the sole of Carlos’s boot.

Slamming shut the bathroom door that had been left ajar near the entrance, the men surged into the room like a flood.

“—You!”

Carlos and the others all saw it at once—Yomiko was climbing over the balcony railing. Clinging tightly to her back, arms wrapped around her shoulders, was Nenene with the suitcase gripped firmly in her hands.

A suicide!?

“Hand over the case!”

“………………”

Without replying, Yomiko launched herself into the air.

“Hyann!”

Apparently, the fear had finally struck her—Nenene gave a short yelp from behind.

“Damn it!”

If the case fell outside, retrieving it would become a nightmare. Carlos and the others rushed toward the balcony.

“Hey!”

One of the men behind him noticed it first—the white cloth trailing from the iron railing.

“!?”

Leaning out over the railing, Carlos was met with a sight far beyond his expectations.

Yomiko and Nenene, whom he had assumed had crashed to the ground, were instead dangling from the outer wall roughly five floors below. Around their waists was a white length that extended from the railing above.

No—wait. It wasn’t cloth.

It wasn’t cloth at all.

It was paper. A very, very familiar paper.

Toilet paper!

Yomiko had taken the toilet paper from the bathroom and used it as a lifeline to leap from the balcony!

Of course, toilet paper on its own couldn’t possibly have that kind of strength. It was purely the result of Yomiko’s abilities as a papermaster.

Far below, even the police and media crews had now noticed the spectacle. As she dangled against the outer wall, Yomiko pulled a 5,000 yen bill from her pocket and used it to draw a circle on the glass before her.

“Sh–shoot them!”

Snapped back to reality, Carlos and the others aimed their guns downward.

But a split second earlier, the two women had slipped inside the building through the hole in the window. The stray bullets, now without a target, were wasted as they scattered toward the ground.

“Tch!”

In frustration, Carlos yanked on the toilet paper tied to the railing—only for it to tear feebly. Yomiko’s ability had been released.

“Damn it! That witch—!”

“No. She’s not a witch.”

Behind Carlos, John stepped forward.

“With skill like that, there’s no mistake. She’s a papermaster. That’s worse than a witch—far more troublesome.”

John plucked the scrap of paper off the railing. Something black had caught his eye on it.

“How the hell are we supposed to get the bomb back from someone that dangerous?”

Unfolding the crumpled paper, John scanned its surface—and then answered cheerfully.

“Don’t worry. Even papermasters have their weaknesses.”

There, written with the room’s complimentary pen, was a message left on the paper:

'''"I’ll be taking my book back."'''

A challenge, if ever there was one—and it made John grin.

Below, a buzz rose through the crowds. Following the shock of the woman’s bungee jump off the balcony, the mastermind behind the terrorist incident had just revealed himself. The news show’s live coverage—

The press stirred, the police squad tensed.

John noticed an armored vehicle idling behind the lines of riot officers.

“Well now... They’re ready to act sooner than I thought.”

He tossed the remark offhandedly, as if he'd anticipated this all along, then barked an order to the man standing at his back.

“Get floors one through five into combat readiness.”

With that, he turned on his heel and strode back inside.

“I’ll show them the most literary terrorism the world has ever seen.”

“She’s moved—The Paper is in play.”

The footage of Yomiko leaping from the balcony played over and over on every station.

In the conference room with Gentleman, the men watched it and voiced their opinions one after another.

“Isn’t getting filmed while in action a major slip-up for an agent?”

“It’s only her back, and the zoom is pulled wide. There’s no risk of facial recognition. That girl with her serves as additional cover, too.”

“But that girl’s a civilian, isn’t she? Drawing a civilian into an active operation is a serious complication.”

“Think back to the next scene—they’re fired upon by the terrorist on the balcony. That means she saved the girl from an armed threat. The public will see it favorably.”

Joker parried the barrage of concerns with all the cleverness at his disposal. But even so, he felt the firm weight of a solid first step.

Gentleman said nothing, eyes fixed on the screen. The final decision would rest with him alone.

All Joker could do now was follow Yomiko’s every move, completely and faithfully.

That, in this situation, was what teamwork meant.

There was only one thing Joker still worried about: that girl. Although he had just covered for her, he could only hope she wouldn’t become a liability when the time came. Perhaps she’d even need support.

Joker engaged another part of his mind and began running new simulations.

“Waaah! Waaah! That scared me!” Nenene gasped as she leapt back inside through the hole in the window glass, finally exhaling deeply. It seemed she had been holding her breath the entire time. The dive using toilet paper had been more thrilling than expected, her face flushed from the excitement.

“I really thought you were dead for sure!” Nenene exclaimed.

“I won’t die,” Yomiko replied firmly. “I’ve decided I won’t die until I’ve read every unread book in the world.”

“So that means you’ll never die…” Nenene teased, starting to unwrap the toilet paper wrapped around her body. The weight of two people had taken its toll; tears were visible in several places on the paper, making reuse a doubtful prospect.

“Sensei, do you have any paper money on you?”

“After using the convenience store, I only have coins. I do have a card, though.”

Nenene’s hopeful suggestion was dashed by the fact that cards wouldn’t help in this situation.

“Somewhere… I’ll need to find more paper again…”

It seemed she had ended up in a hallway. Yomiko gave the ceiling a quick once-over. No surveillance cameras in sight. She could easily get more books if she went to the sales floor, but there was a real risk of being spotted by one of the shoplifting prevention cameras. This was something that had to be handled delicately.

“What should we do…” Yomiko murmured, tapping her chin in thought.

“Sensei! Look! That!” Nenene cried, pointing out the window.

Down below, the armored vehicle had begun to move. It seemed it was preparing to breach the building from the first floor.

“To think we’d see something like this in Japan…”

“That’s an inappropriate thing to say, Sumiregawa-san,” Yomiko scolded gently—but even she was transfixed by the unfolding clash below.

In the control room, monitors showed the armored vehicle approaching from the front, from the upper right, and from the upper left. It looked like the vehicle was planning to march in proudly through the front entrance.

The man stationed at the operator console contacted John.

“They’re coming through the front. So, what shall we read them before bed?”

Suppressing a laugh, John answered,

“An encyclopedia. There’s no book better for putting someone to sleep.”

“Roger.”

The operator relayed orders to the team stationed on the second floor.

The nearly pristine automatic doors at the building’s front entrance shattered to pieces.

Jagged shards rained down onto the magazines strewn across the floor, catching and scattering the dim light.

The first-floor lobby was buried beneath magazines and books discarded by fleeing patrons, to the point where the floor was no longer visible.

The armored vehicle rolled straight ahead, crushing the innocent books beneath its treads. There was no other way forward.

Strangely, there was no resistance. The vehicle made it to the central staircase without a single shot fired. This staircase opened up into the second floor—specifically, the magazine section. However, with the lights above completely out, nothing could be seen from below.

The side hatch of the armored vehicle swung open, and several riot officers emerged. They moved cautiously, eyes scanning the surroundings—but there were no signs of life.

“…Something’s not right.”

One officer muttered under his breath to no one in particular. The forest of books around them was eerily silent.

Red Ink was a terrorist organization unlike any other—leaving swaths of victims behind through their unprecedented attacks. Each operation had a defined “concept.” These so-called “artists of assassination” were immune to conventional counterterrorism strategies.

The officers knew this, and yet they had no choice but to proceed with standard tactics.

“……………………”

An unnerving minute passed.

Should they spread out and scout the area? Call in reinforcements to charge the stairwell?

They were still wavering—when it happened.

A thunderous noise erupted from the top of the stairs.

“!”

It was a wave. A tsunami of books. Hundreds—no, thousands—came surging down the steps in a relentless avalanche.

“What the hell!?”

Crunch. Crack. A low, thunderous series of sounds echoed through the lobby. The books were all hefty volumes—encyclopedias and the like. Having braced themselves for gunfire, the officers were momentarily stunned, unable to grasp the situation. Their mouths hung open as they froze in place.

The wave of books poured swiftly down the staircase, flooding the floor below. On top of that, a second wave of dictionaries cascaded down. This flood of accumulated knowledge crashed upon the armored vehicle and the officers like a living avalanche.

“!? Fall back!”

Only when they were already surrounded did they realize it was a trap.

Encyclopedias are heavy. Lavishly bound with thick covers and filled with high-quality paper, they weigh several times more than a normal book. Now, thousands—tens of thousands—were swallowing the floor in every direction.

“Reverse! Get us out of here, now!”

The order was given, and the armored vehicle attempted to back away. But the tires simply spun in place, kicking up shredded pages like splashes of water—unable to gain any traction, as if mired in a bog.

“Gh…damn it…!”

The riot officers struggled to retreat, wading through the sea of encyclopedias up to their knees.

Books meant to enlighten the mind had become devastating weapons, overwhelming them by sheer physical mass.

Back in the control room, watching the scene on the monitors, John let out a delighted laugh.

“If used right, books really can be weapons. These are doing the job of sandbags… but unlike sandbags, these burn real well.”

A devil’s grin split his face, teeth nearly bared.

At the top of the staircase, a silhouette appeared and began to pour liquid over the piles of encyclopedias. The pungent, unmistakable odor hit the officers at once.

“Gasoline!?”

In the next instant, a serpent of flame slithered across the stacked encyclopedias.

“Uwah—!! AAAAAHH!!”

With a sudden ''whoomph'', flames burst upward. From the shattered front entrance came soldiers engulfed in fire, flailing and writhing as they rolled across the floor in desperate attempts to extinguish the blaze.

“Put it out—hurry!!”

Police officers rushed forward, slapping at the burning men with coats and blankets. Somehow, they managed to smother the flames, but the wounded officers continued to groan in agony.

“Get them to the hospital—move!”

Deeper inside the entrance, the armored vehicle was aflame, the surrounding encyclopedias licking at it with scorching heat.

Then the fire reached the engine compartment.

With a thunderous blast, the armored vehicle erupted in a fiery explosion.

“Whoa!”

A blast of hot wind burst out through the entrance, scattering flaming fragments of paper. The second squad of officers—who had been lining up for a follow-up incursion—were blown backward, collapsing in disarray.

Just hours ago, Commander Busujima had stood at this very entrance, cutting the ribbon to commemorate the store’s grand opening.

Now, that same front hall had become a battlefield.

“Damn, that’s ''awesome''! Seriously—freakin’ awesome!”

John looked about ready to clap in pure delight.

“I mean, I’ve always loved the Bible and porno mags, but I never knew encyclopedias could be this useful!”

He was deeply satisfied with the strategy he’d devised—a tactic that would go down in the history of terrorism.

He opened a line to the control room.

“Turn on the sprinklers. That oughta cool it down! With this, those bastards should keep their heads down for a while!”
----Nenene was speechless.

It was like watching a scene straight out of an action movie—only it was unfolding directly beneath her feet.

The armored vehicle had charged in and then never reemerged. Then, out of nowhere, people came hurtling out, completely engulfed in flames. The final punctuation was an explosion so massive it rocked the entire building.

“What the hell… is going on down there…?”

Even her active imagination couldn’t process what she’d just witnessed. The reality defied belief, and Nenene could only stand there in dazed confusion.

“…Unforgivable…”

Yomiko’s muttered words made it clear she hadn’t even heard Nenene.

She had seen it. Amid the flames and the blast, books had scattered through the air.

She knew what had happened. John and the others had misused them—those precious books.

“To treat books like that… how could they…? What do they even think books ''are''?”

“Sensei?”

Nenene could feel the heat coming off Yomiko—palpable, seething.

“I am truly, deeply angry now. Those people… they’re enemies of books!”

“Honestly, I think they’re enemies of way more than just books. I mean—they’re terrorists.”

But her comment didn’t seem to register with Yomiko. The paper user clenched her fists, her voice rising with conviction.

“I can’t forgive them. I ''won’t'' forgive them. For the books that perished in those flames—and for the sorrow of the innocent people caught in the crossfire—I will see justice done!”

Read or Die:Volume2 Prologue

2025-07-22T20:57:18Z

Alekazzandre: Created page with "It’s just paper. With only a slight gust of wind, it flies away; a single drop of water soaks it, making it warp and bend; a mere spark and it burns up into nothing but ashes. So easily folded, torn, and once damaged, never returns to its former self. It’s one of the weakest things in this world. That fragile material, gathering someone’s scrawls and dripping ink onto its white surface, a book. Someone unknown, their entertainment, their thoughts, their whims..."

It’s just paper.

With only a slight gust of wind, it flies away; a single drop of water soaks it, making it warp and bend; a mere spark and it burns up into nothing but ashes.

So easily folded, torn, and once damaged, never returns to its former self.

It’s one of the weakest things in this world.

That fragile material, gathering someone’s scrawls and dripping ink onto its white surface,

a book.

Someone unknown, their entertainment, their thoughts, their whims, their beliefs, their egos all arranged upon that surface.

Nothing but trivial stories, bits of knowledge someone decided to share, selfish ideas and assertions — a mere vessel to hold it all.

That’s all paper is.

It can’t do anything other than be read.

In modern society, where the speed of transmitting information is paramount, its sluggishness is fatal. Its bulk is oppressive, and the cost and effort of preserving it is absurdly high.

Its utility is vanishing into a distant future.

Paper. That’s all it is. Paper.

And yet, why is it that we continue to treasure and love it with a mad devotion?

—-

The interior of the cave was dark.

Well, that’s hardly surprising — one rarely comes across bright caves.

The path twisted and wound, so it was impossible to know exactly where they were, but they must have walked at least five hundred meters from the entrance by this point.

The cave was deeper than expected.

There weren’t many inclines or descents, yet walking under only the light of a Maglite in total darkness compounded both their physical and mental fatigue.

However, Alex Boldwin felt none of that right now.

Though he was a man in his sixties, his stride was spry enough to evoke thoughts of a boy scout. In his backpack clinked hammers, pickaxes, brushes, and other excavation tools in a cheerful rhythm.

What drove Alex onward was a blend of fame, desire, and greed — gasoline in his tank.

That fuel kept his aging engine churning with unforeseen power.

He had spent the first half of his life as an archaeologist, and the latter as a tomb raider.

And in this final chapter of his life, he had thrown himself into one last, improbable challenge.

Here, in the heart of Africa, from beneath the deep cover of its “Dark Continent,” where satellites and survey teams rarely dare to pry — sometimes held back by political alliances, sometimes by the vast, unexplored virgin land itself — had emerged an incredible find.

And yet, even after all this time, its secrets remained thoroughly impenetrable.

The depths of this jungle.

More than three thousand different tribes.

More than one thousand different languages.

…And the mysterious mechanism, crafted by nature itself, remained sealed tight, its lock still untouched.

Call it metaphor, if you will. But prying open that sealed chamber— that was Alex’s job.

He now presses forward into the cave.

Beyond its mouth, there must lie some form of treasure, one not meant to be found by just anyone.

Just a few days ago, he had encountered the Zobka people— a tribe so fantastical, they could’ve walked straight out of an adventure novel from half a century ago.

They practiced ritual magic, excelled in hunting, and—unbelievably—could communicate with animals as if by telepathy.

Alex was no anthropologist, but even he understood that their unusual abilities held immense value. That value might only be realized by being shared with the world.

Among the tribe, he had discovered a young man who spoke of the gods in whispers, and Alex pursued the truth behind those whispers with relentless curiosity.

The boy and his kin, so vividly like characters out of a novel, eventually explained the reason behind their tale.

Everything, they said, came from the Book of Wisdom.

That book—

an ancient manuscript passed down among the Zobka—

contains the laws of living in harmony with nature,

methods for speaking with animals,

and the key to interpreting the language of weather and omens.

It was said to be an ancient text passed down through the Zobka tribe. Within its pages were recorded teachings on how to live in harmony with nature, how to communicate with animals, how to understand weather patterns,

grasping,

longevity,

and

the secrets

of a long life.

Their ancestors had added to it gradually over the course of their endless history, writing bit by bit for their descendants.

The thing Alex was seeking in the depths of the cave he now traversed… that book of wisdom was supposed to be there.

Only the elders of the Zobka tribe were permitted to lay eyes directly on the Book of Wisdom.

Others could only learn of it through oral transmission passed down from long ago.

The elders would, when they discovered something during their lives that they deemed of value to future generations, carve it into the cave wall.

It was a deeply fascinating cultural practice in many ways—but Alex had no doubt about his own reason for being here.

“That book… will make

money.”

Publishing it in an academic journal was out of the question for a tomb raider like him. He’d be better off selling it directly to a scholar. Whether it was a zoologist or anthropologist didn’t matter—either way, he figured he could get at least several million dollars for it.

This was unknown wisdom, accumulated steadily over unfathomably long stretches of time.

It was certainly deserving of respect.

But Alex, as an individual, wished to prioritize his own happiness. No matter what.

And so, Alex infiltrated the cave said to contain the Book of Wisdom.

One of the younger tribesmen who had spoken to him of its secrets had insisted on accompanying him, but he came to realize that Alex was not, in fact, a “good person,” and declined to join him after all.

If he didn’t hurry, that young tribesman might tell the others.

Alex himself wasn’t exactly without guilt—he couldn’t deny that—but it wasn’t something he had taken lightly.

If he were caught, he wouldn’t be able to wield a machete or a blade.

No, the best course was to grab the book quickly and flee this place.

Upon entering the cave, Alex once again had the chance to savor the atmosphere of a true adventure novel.

The passageways were rigged with various traps.

Pitfalls, falling spears,

swinging ceilings,

collapsing floors...

Of course, these were all intended to deter intruders, but from his perspective, they were more laughable than threatening.

In the four and a half centuries of tomb-raiding history,

such traps

were all too familiar.

The chief’s authority was absolute.

Apparently, no one from the tribe had ever attempted to break in.

As a result, these traps had long since lost their edge, outdated and ineffectual.

“...They should’ve paid more attention to recent trends.”

Suppressing a smug smile, Alex continued forward.

Strangely enough, he actually found himself enjoying this tomb raid.

Becoming an academic in the first place had been influenced by the adventure novels he devoured in his youth.

But real excavation work had nothing to do with fantasy, adventure, or mystery.

Excavation was a world of pure

wilderness—

It required massive expenditures, meticulous research, and thorough preparation.

To form a team and secure funding,

one needed either scholarly clout or a wealthy sponsor…

He’d have to bow his head to a sponsor.

Whether it was Nazi Germany,

ancient

grudges,

or vengeful spirits—no such melodramatic enemies had ever surfaced.

But sabotage from rival teams? That he had suffered many times over.

In the end, fed up with such entanglements,

he switched careers and became a tomb raider.

The rewards were more than enough to justify the change,

but along the way, both his heart and his name had become thoroughly stained.

And yet now, Alex found himself standing

on high ground.

For the first time in decades, he was in the mindset of a man in search of adventure.

He thought back to that book, the one said to

bridge

human and animal understanding.

A book that brought to mind King Solomon’s ring of legend.

Passages from beloved adventure novels came faintly to mind, as if rising from the depths of memory.

What he was doing now,

was unmistakably

theft.

Even if he didn’t try to justify it,

he couldn’t deny that some part of him was enjoying it.

> “……………?”

The dim light from the maglite blurred at the edge of his vision.

The path had come to an end.

Swallowing the breath that had gathered in his mouth,

Alex quickened his pace.

That faint light ahead was likely natural light.

If that were true, then the room ahead must have an opening—

Almost certainly the hidden location

where the “Book of Wisdom” was kept.

His heartbeat quickened—not from haste, that much was certain.He never had any intention of turning back.

Even as the thought crossed his mind—“If there’s a trap here, I’ll definitely fall right into it”—he pressed forward, carefully stepping across the solid, unmoving stone floor.

It seemed even misfortune was on his side now.

The final obstacle he faced was a massive

spider—

Or rather, its web.

He cut through the fragile threads with his Maglite and proceeded onward, finally reaching the end of the passage.

There, just as he had anticipated, was a chamber.

Surprisingly vast—perhaps even wider than a chapel.

A space enclosed by rock, oval and circular in shape.

The ceiling reached the height of a two-story building, and from a fissure like a crack in the earth, sunlight poured in.

Seeds must have drifted in from that opening, for grass had taken root in patches across the floor, stretching out to bask in the light.

It looked just like a hidden treasure room out of an adventure novel’s illustration.

A happy ending was within reach, and a smile came unbidden to Alex’s face.

At the center of the room was a platform constructed from stacked stone.

Likely for flood protection, it stood noticeably higher than the surrounding floor.

There was no doubt: the Book of Wisdom was there.

So he thought—but then Alex blinked in confusion.

There, atop the platform, was a human figure.

For a moment he assumed it was a statue—

But it was too lifelike.

Moreover, the figure’s appearance didn’t resemble any known statue seen in Africa.

Long black hair.

Their face couldn’t be seen due to their posture, but from the color of their hands and feet, it was clear they were not of African descent.

She was dressed plainly in a white coat, unconcerned that it was getting dirty as she sat directly on the altar. Her lower half was not covered by pants or slacks, but rather a skirt. Looking more closely, the shirt beneath her coat was pushed up by a generous bust. A woman.

“…A woman?”

The words escaped Alex’s lips as a question, but the woman didn’t seem to have noticed his presence. Her eyes were focused intently on the book in her hands.

It was a coarse, crudely-bound book, made by stitching together animal hide. The mere act of flipping a page suggested that without her gestures, it might not even be recognized as a book.

In a secret cave deep in the heart of Africa, in a place hardly befitting a jungle, a woman in a white coat was reading a book.

In that instant, Alex wondered if he had been caught in some kind of illusion. He couldn't accept what he was seeing. But if this was a spell, what would be the point of conjuring such a harmless hallucination?

Alex’s logical mind swiftly concluded that this was no illusion.

And yet, the woman didn’t acknowledge him. She continued reading as if he weren’t there.

Suppressing his confusion, Alex decided to initiate communication.

“Hey!”

He cautiously stepped forward and called out to her. But the woman didn’t react.

“Hey, you! Woman!”

He stepped even closer, raising his voice a level. There was no way she hadn’t heard him—but the woman remained silent.

Alex reached into his knapsack and pulled out a handgun.

Though he had taken up the gun, Alex had almost never used it to shoot a person. The times he had were only when his life was truly at stake.

“Can’t you hear me, damn it?! Hey!”

The stone steps leading up the altar came to an end. The muzzle of the gun remained pointed at the woman. Even now, she made no attempt to respond. She had spread the coat across the floor in a semicircle and was slowly turning the pages of the leather-bound book.

Now at close range, Alex could see the writing on the hide. It was script unlike any he had ever seen. Parts resembled Scripili language, but the characters were even more primitive and rudimentary.

No doubt it was a script that had evolved in isolation, passed down only among the tribe. The question was: why was this woman able to read it so fluently? A linguist…? That was the immediate hypothesis that came to his mind. Indeed, the aura she exuded was that of a researcher or scholar, not unlike someone you’d find behind a desk.

Alex kept the gun aimed at her head, trying to gauge not just her identity but whether she was the mastermind behind this.

With more force behind his voice, he opened his mouth.

“Enough already…!”

“Paoooooon!”

The first words the woman returned to him were utterly foreign to Alex’s ears. Startled, his finger nearly squeezed the trigger, but he hastily diverted the barrel.

“………………………”

The woman slowly lifted her face. Yellow-skinned, East Asian. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties, though perhaps a bit younger. She wore thick, unfashionable glasses with black rims. Beneath them, her eyes shone with a brilliance of purpose — much like Alex’s own had an hour before.

The woman nodded repeatedly to herself, murmuring softly.

“So that’s it… elephants… they can talk…”

The joy of absorbing knowledge softened her cheeks.

A goofy, indescribable smile appeared on her face.

“…Hey!”

Somehow regaining his composure, Alex raised his voice from above the woman’s head.

“Yes?”

Finally, the woman’s gaze and awareness locked onto Alex. It was as if she’d run into a familiar face whose name she couldn’t quite place, looking up at him with a defenseless, questioning expression.

“………………………”

About five seconds of silence passed.

“…Who are you?”

The woman tilted her head greatly. The childlike gesture of hers made her look all the younger and softer.

“That’s my line! Who the hell are you?! What are you doing here?! What’s with that getup?!”

As Alex continued to shower her with a mix of anger and confusion, the woman straightened herself.

“S-sorry… I… my name is… Yomiko Readman…”

“Yomiko?”

The unfamiliar sound of the name slightly eased Alex’s intensity. Even as she nervously gave her name, Yomiko responded politely.

“I’m sorry, I just, I came here thinking I’d, um, study this book a little… but it was so interesting I kinda got caught up reading it…”

Study it? Interesting? Got caught up reading it?

The words spun around in Alex’s head — words he could recognize, but couldn’t quite comprehend.

“Well, about my outfit… I’m sorry, but this is the only clothing I have… And, um, it’s standard-issue from the British Library, so I don’t think it’s anything particularly strange, but… um, did something about it bother you?”

Yomiko looked up at him as if seeking reassurance, but her hands still held the book tightly against her chest.

“British Library? …From England?”

“Yes!”

Presented with a puzzle piece that didn’t seem to fit at all, Alex pressed further, searching for a hint.

“…You—where did you come in from?! Do you have the knowledge to get through all those traps?!”

“Huh? There weren’t any traps, though…”

“Don’t lie! From where—how did you get in?!”

“The emergency exit.”

As if to prove it, Yomiko pointed at a section of the wall. There, opposite the corridor where Alex had entered, was another passage.

A corridor with few bumps or dips, a straight path as far as the eye could see.

Even above the corridor, some sort of sign with characters written on it was affixed to a board.

“…Huh, that’s an emergency exit?”

“Yes, that’s what it says.”

Her nonchalant answer made Alex’s eyes widen.

“You can read it!? Those letters—that book!?”

“Uh, I’m sorry…”

There was no need for her to apologize, but Yomiko raised a hand to her head as if reflexively.

“Why!? That’s the Sibuka tribe’s traditional script!”

“Well, that said… the grammar is the same as Swahili, and the rest is just recognizing individual letters from patterns. If you do that, you can kind of, sort of, more or less… get the gist of it.”

The extraordinary language comprehension ability she had developed in order to read books. Anyone who knew Yomiko Readman would nod in understanding. It was like the neck of a giraffe that had stretched out over generations to reach higher branches for food—an evolutionary adaptation for survival. In Yomiko’s case, it was her desire to read books from as many countries as possible that unconsciously drove her ability to new heights.

But that didn’t matter at all to Alex right now. He forcefully set aside his ever-growing questions for the time being and chose to focus on his immediate goal. There was no guarantee the Sibuka pursuers wouldn’t come.

“.................. Enough. Forget the details.”

“Huh?”

Alex pointed the muzzle of his gun at the book Yomiko was holding.

“Hand over that book.”

At his words, Yomiko’s demeanor changed.

Clutching the book tightly, she held it as if she would never let go.

“W-why?! I haven’t even finished reading it yet!”

The hesitation in her eyes vanished, replaced by a strong, determined look.

“Shut up! Just give it to me quietly! That thing is the treasure my whole life has been about!”

“A treasure? You treat books like that? Who...! Who are you?!”

More questions came spilling from Yomiko’s lips, but Alex gave no answer.

“It’s none of your business. Hand it over, or this thing’s gonna put a hole in your head.”

He thought even himself—

What a cliché line.

Just another stock phrase from some adventure novel.

What bothered him most was that the one using it always ended up being the villain who got taken down by the hero in the end.

Had he really spent the last five years playing the part of a second-rate villain?

Alex let out a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle.

But unlike the way it goes in adventure stories, he had no intention of being defeated in the final act.

He'd come this far—he was aiming for a hard-boiled novel now.

“.....................”

Yomiko was silent for a long time, staring at the barrel of the gun, but finally, slowly, she held out the Book of Wisdom.

Good.

A woman who defied a gun wasn’t something he was equipped to deal with.

Alex, trying to look appropriately villainous, twisted his lips into a sneer.

“Sorry. This one’s going to serve a better purpose with me.

Better with me than rotting in a hole like this, right?”

But Yomiko met Alex’s gaze with an intensity and clarity that didn’t waver in the slightest.

“……That book is……”

“Huh?”

There wasn’t a trace of fear in her eyes.

Not even the slightest shadow of defeat.

“……That book has been created slowly, bit by bit, over countless, countless years.

Even now, it continues to be created and recreated.

We have no right to take it out of here with us—none at all.”

Her voice was calm, but it carried a strength that brooked no argument.

Even while staring down the barrel of a gun, she did not flinch.

Alex felt a chill run down his spine.

“That book already belongs here. It always has. Please… think again. You’re trying to take this book out of the hands of the people who wrote it.”

It was a voice that pierced deep into his heart.

The face of the teacher who had scolded him the day he first shoplifted, back when he was a boy obsessed with adventure novels, floated to mind.

But even so, Yomiko's words were not enough to change Alex’s course of action.

“…Thanks for pointing out the emergency exit. I’ll make sure to get back safely.”

Turning his back, he began to descend the stone steps.

It felt dangerous to look into Yomiko’s eyes any longer.

But then—

Just as the sole of his boot touched the floor again, something changed.

“………………!?”

The floor quivered faintly beneath his feet.

Not only that—

Even the grasses began to rustle, trembling violently.

“What the…?”

Before Alex could finish his sentence, a section of the ceiling gave way and collapsed.

Rocks clashed and tumbled.

A thick cloud of dust surged upward, smoke and soil swirling in the air.

“An e-earthquake…?”

He started to guess—but Yomiko’s calm voice cut through his thought.

“It’s a trap. Why else do you think the elders of the Zubka tribe never wrote anything past this point?”

“The book isn’t supposed to be taken past here.”

Yomiko stood above him now, positioned atop the altar.

Strangely, their positions had reversed.

Now it was she looking down at Alex.

“If you try to carry the book out of here—

The cave itself will collapse.

It must be some sort of mechanical safeguard mechanism.”

“That’s absurd! There’s no way people living deep in the jungle could construct such a—what!?”

Just as he started to shout, The Book of Wisdom gave a sudden tremor. It felt as if it had shivered in his hands.

“Hii!?”

“Please… put it back. The book, this place—I want that too.

No one else does. No one but you.”

Yomiko’s voice was strangely calm.

As if she wasn’t shaken at all, she stood firm upon the altar.

Alex turned and fled.

Clutching the book that had nearly slipped from his grasp, he dashed for the emergency exit.

“Wait—! Please!”

Yomiko leapt down after him, landing on the stone floor in pursuit of Alex, who refused to answer her appeals.

The path leading from the emergency exit was a straight corridor.

If her words were to be believed, there were no traps left.

All he had to do was flee.

For Alex, that was the perfect situation.

Even though he was older now, his body was still well-trained from years of fieldwork.

And with his life on the line, he could run faster than he’d ever expected from himself.

Of course, the collapse was already beginning behind him.

As he ran through the passageway, pebbles and dust rained down from the ceiling.

In just a few more moments, the entire cave might be buried beneath a blanket of sand.

Giving it everything he had— his entire life poured into this desperate flight— Alex pressed on.

From behind him came a cry.

“The book—! Give it back, please!!”

Without thinking, he turned around.

Back down the corridor, Yomiko stood. She was unbuttoning her coat. Yomiko flipped her coat up as she enter a sprint after him. The elegance and power of her stride was almost unbelievable—it defied the expectations of her gender. Clearly, her mind was focused on a single goal: recovering the Book of Wisdom.

“The book—!”

It was like a ghost chasing him up from the underworld. To Alex, that’s what she seemed like. But his shock was quickly drowned by a rising wave of dread.

Just as he entered a wider section of the hallway, a massive stone sphere suddenly dropped from a high recess near the ceiling.

“...!”

The soundless shock seemed to melt into the air. The force of the impact shook the entire corridor, and even Yomiko turned to look back.

The huge stone orb dropped into a groove carved into the floor along the corridor’s edge, neatly slotting into place—and then began to roll forward, quickly consuming the passage.

Of course, it was chasing both Yomiko and Alex.

“Hyah!”

With the danger literally looming behind her, Yomiko let out a high-pitched shriek, seeming to snap back to herself. Her pace slowed just a little.

Even in this desperate situation, Alex found himself dumbfounded.

Was that woman faster when it involved books?!

The stone sphere must have been at least four and a half meters in diameter.

It barreled down the passage after them.

Truly, to the bitter end, this was an adventure novel!

Just as Alex was cursing the absurdity of it all in his mind, the sound of footsteps behind him suddenly vanished.

Was she crushed!?

He turned around reflexively—and saw something utterly unexpected.

Yomiko had stopped running.

She was standing her ground. Facing the sphere.

“What are you—?!”

Alex nearly shouted at her in rebuke, forgetting entirely who he was or what side he was on.

In that moment, the distance between the two closed rapidly. In another second, Yomiko would be crushed.

“Screw this—I’m out!”

Making a perfectly rational decision under the circumstances, Alex focused only on what lay ahead and kept running.

Up ahead, he could see it now—a pinprick of light from the outside world.

“!”

His face lit up with joy as he accelerated.

By now, Yomiko wasn’t even a memory in his mind.

“………………”

Meanwhile, Yomiko stood facing the oncoming sphere, calm. She slipped a hand into the inner pocket of her coat.

“…!”

She pulled her hand back out, holding a slip of paper between her fingers—a long, narrow rectangle, like a strip used for writing wishes.

White.

Even in the dim corridor, it caught the light like a blade.

“Pardon me...!”

With a quiet murmur not meant for anyone in particular, Yomiko swung her hand wide.

The paper flew from her fingertips, gliding toward the surface of the massive stone that was nearly upon her.

The strip of white left a streak in the darkness—a trail of afterimages. Dozens, hundreds more followed, spreading like a net over the orb’s curved surface.

A piercing sound sliced through the gloom.

A high-pitched whistle, like something being torn open.

But the stone sphere that was supposed to follow… didn’t.

Five seconds passed.

Then ten.

Still, it didn’t appear.

Amid the crashing rumble of destruction, only one voice rang out—

“Boooook!!” cried Yomiko as she started running again.

“Gwaaahhh!”

Alex burst into the light, emerging into the blazing savannah sun—the same scorched landscape as before they entered the cave.

“Gahh, gahh…!”

He coughed violently, each gasp a raw affirmation that he was still alive.

But even that desperate breathing was cut short by a voice behind him, reaching his lungs like an icy wind.

“Booook! Pleeease give it baaaack!”

Even in this sweltering heat, her voice sent chills down his spine.

That was Yomiko, still giving chase.

What the hell!? Hadn’t she been crushed…!?

Alex couldn’t shake the feeling that he was still under some kind of illusion.Was that woman in the coat—some kind of monster conjured by sorcery!?

His rationality was beginning to fray. And then, a miracle appeared in his eyes.

A lifeboat.

It was a jeep. Probably the one that woman had used when she first arrived at the entrance.

Though judging by her earlier behavior, he couldn’t imagine she actually had a license.

Without hesitation, he dove into the driver’s seat.

And luck, or perhaps lingering misfortune, was still with him—the key was already in the ignition.

“Book!!”

Yomiko burst out of the tunnel entrance just as the jeep roared to life.

Whether she saw him or not, the tires kicked up a cloud of dust behind him, as the jeep tore off into the distance.

“Waa— koff!”

The dirt flung up by its departure, combined with the plume of rock dust erupting from the collapsed cave behind her, completely engulfed Yomiko.

“Koff! Cough! Agh, geez!”

Her coat was caked in soil. Grit clung stubbornly to her hair, grinding between the strands.

But any discomfort vanished in an instant before her singular sense of purpose.

“…Book!”

She fixed her eyes on the space where the jeep had vanished, trailing a wake of dust as Alex made his escape.

“Ugh, what the heck are you doing, Joker-san!?”

She grumbled irritably at her superior, who should’ve been in the jeep. Yomiko herself didn’t hold a driver’s license of any kind. Both she and Joker had come here riding in a jeep driven by staff.

For whatever reason, the jeep had been left behind. Maybe while she’d been lost in reading the Book of Wisdom in the cave, Joker had taken shelter in the shade of the trees.

In any case, the fact remained—she had no ride. And that was a serious handicap.

“……………………Well then—no choice!”

Even so, she wasn’t the type to give up.

When a book was involved, Yomiko’s thought process veered wildly off the rails of conventional reason.

To chase after the jeep, Yomiko dropped into a standing-start position, just like in a track-and-field sprint. There was no real need for it, of course—it was purely a matter of spirit.

“Ready…!”

But the “go” signal came unexpectedly… from the earth itself.

The ground gave a mighty tremble.

“Abeshi!?”

Just as she was about to launch forward, Yomiko landed flat on her butt. But the cave had already finished collapsing—so why was the ground still shaking?

As the thought crossed her mind, it trembled again. She’d just started pushing herself back up, only to go sprawling face-down in the dirt.

“Awabyuu!?”

The cause of the tremors appeared from within the trees. A massive shadow loomed, completely blanketing Yomiko’s toppled form.

“………………Ah.”

---

“Ah—hah! Hyaaaah!”

Alex ran full-speed across the savannah, his face a twisted blend of victorious euphoria and lingering confusion.

But that confusion gradually ebbed away… replaced by satisfaction, as his eyes drifted to the Book of Wisdom sitting on the passenger seat beside him.

He did it. He’d won. This was victory.

If he brought this book to an airport, flew off to some foreign land, and sold it—he’d have enough cash to live out his retirement in comfort.

He’d just won the biggest gamble of his life.

His hands began to tremble, rattling uncontrollably.

He thought it was just the adrenaline, bubbling up and spilling out past his control.

“Iyaaaa! Haaaah!”

Alex shouted as if trying to pierce the sky above the savannah. But the trembling in his hands wouldn’t stop. On the contrary—the jeep itself began to shake.

“...Wha!?”

Why was the car shaking!? Alex looked around in a panic, and then saw it—caught it in the rearview mirror.

He saw it.

“…………………………A-Aaaaaah!?”

“Book—! Please return it!”

It was chasing him—churning up dust and rumbling the earth beneath its feet.

The tremors rattling his hands weren’t just nerves—they were being transmitted through the ground by massive feet.

And once again—how many times had it been today?—an illustration from an adventure novel flashed through Alex’s brain.

Yomiko Readman was riding an African elephant… chasing down his jeep.

“This has to be a dream… A joke…”

But despite the absurdity, this was undeniably reality.

“Paooooon!”

Yomiko’s voice reached him in a foggy haze, as though it were an auditory hallucination. Come to think of it, she’d made a sound just like that back in the cave.

“Excuse me, coming through!”

From behind him came a voice—and a sharp slicing sound through the air. In the rearview mirror, something square and white flashed—and the jeep flipped sideways in an instant.

“Byah! Agh!”

The rear left tire detached from the body and went rolling off. The exposed shaft showed a cleanly sliced edge—but Alex didn’t even register it.

Because his body had just been flung, full-force, into the savannah dirt.

“Guh—! Aghh…”

It was sheer luck he hadn’t broken any bones, but the impact had jolted his entire body. Head ringing with numbness, he shook it off and somehow at the edge of his vision, Alex caught sight of The Book of Wisdom.

“Ah—!”

He reached for it—

And just as he did, the elephant’s massive foot came crashing down like a giant weight.

“Gah!”

It didn’t crush his hand, but the sheer terror froze him in place.

Timidly, Alex raised his gaze to the towering beast.

“…I’ll be taking that book back now.”

From high above, Yomiko looked down at him with quiet authority.

Alex, body trembling, accepted his defeat with every fiber of his being.

“Paoooon!”

The African elephant lifted its trunk high, letting out a triumphant call—

As if it fully understood what was going on.

“Paoooon~♪”

Yomiko echoed the sound with a bright smile.

It was a response filled with gratitude, though of course, Alex couldn’t begin to comprehend it.

“…What do you think you’re doing, The Paper?”

Just as she was sharing a moment of camaraderie with the elephant, a new figure stepped forward and picked up The Book of Wisdom from where it had been dropped in the dirt.

Brushing the sand from the cover with a light pat-pat, he shot her a disapproving glare.

Yomiko turned at the voice, her eyes widening at the familiar sight.

“Mr. Joker! You’re one to talk—what were you doing, abandoning the car like that!?”

With his neatly combed blond hair and deep navy suit, the man stood there—looking every bit out of place in the blazing African savannah.

Holding a parasol aloft, he stood as if nothing were unusual.

“Well, when you failed to return, I set out to explore the area. It is Africa, I can’t come here very often, after all.”

Joker said casually, his tone betraying a personality not easily dealt with.

With a single glance, his narrow eyes seemed to grasp the book’s true nature.

“…You took it out of the site? I told you—we only had an agreement with the Nmbuka tribe for an inspection.”

“I’m sorry… but it wasn’t my fault…”

Yomiko stammered. Joker looked between the overturned jeep and Alex. It wasn’t hard to imagine what had happened.

“…Well, it can’t be helped. File a report detailing the situation. We can’t linger much longer. If your investigation is complete, begin preparations to return.”

His tone wasn’t harsh, but it left no room for argument.

“Ugh… oh—oh no!!”

Suddenly, Yomiko shouted, as if remembering something important.

“What is it?”

“Joker-san! What day is it today!?”

“May 21st. Why?”

“Oh no! I won’t make it in time!”

Still perched atop the elephant’s head, Yomiko began flailing her arms in a panic.

“Joker-san, I’m returning to Japan directly! I’ll fax my report later!”

Joker furrowed his perfectly groomed brows at her abrupt declaration.

“If it’s Japan, you can return with us later. I’ll be heading back to England soon and—”

“I have to go now, or else——!”

“Paooon!”

As if in sync with Yomiko’s shout, the elephant turned and thundered off across the savanna.

“Hey! Wait, The Paper!”

Whether Joker’s voice carried over the thundering hooves was anyone’s guess. And even if it had, whether Yomiko would actually come back was a whole other question.

Like something out of a fable, Joker silently watched her ride off on the elephant.

“…When did our paper-user become an animal handler, I wonder…”

His gaze then turned to Alex, still collapsed on the ground.

“…Well then, I suppose I’ll be asking you for an explanation… thoroughly.”

The smile that spread across his face, even under the blazing savanna sun, was cold as ice.

{| class="wikitable"
!Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Epilogue|Volume 1]]
!Return to [https://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/Read_or_Die Main Page]
!Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume2 Chapter|Chapter - Twilight of The Paper]]
!
|}

Read or Die

2025-07-22T20:55:53Z

Alekazzandre: /* Volume 1 */

{{Teaser|English}}
[[Image:ROD v12 cover.jpg|300px|thumb|Cover of Volume 12]]

Note: [[User:Alakazzandra|Alakazzandra]] is currently translating this on [http://translateordie.livejournal.com/ her livejournal], where she posts the first draft. We are hosting the edited version. Feel free to edit once the second draft of any given page has been posted on here.

== Story Synopsis ==
Odaiba, Tokyo, a skyscraper devoid of human life.
Woo had come from Hong Kong, bringing with him a rare book entitled "The Black Book of Fairy Tales".
His counterpart was a blond Englishman. However, next to him was a bespectacled young Eurasian woman, whom he introduced as a consultant. To check her for weapons, Woo opened the front of the woman's coat and was promptly struck speechless.
The inside of the coat bristled with pockets, which were overflowing with novels, magazines, newspapers, and God knows what else!

- Taken from the cover of the first book

== Translation ==

=== [[Read or Die:Registration Page| Registration]] ===
'''Translators are asked to [[Read or Die:Registration Page| register]] which chapters they're working on (see the Guideline page for usage rules)'''.

=== Format Standards ===
*[[Format guideline| General Format/Style Guideline]]

Please refer to this [http://www.baka-tsuki.net/forums/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=2009 topic thread] for information about this project.

== Updates ==
*June 9, 2011 :*Pages 83 through to 85 added.(Sorry for taking so long to get this up)
*November 1, 2010 :*Pages 75 through to 82 uploaded.
*July 6, 2010 :Recruiting a lead project editor; please see post at [http://translateordie.livejournal.com/14608.html project journal] if interested.
*June 13, 2010 :Text through page 74 updated with translator's edits; now open for general editing
*October 10, 2009 :*Page 74 uploaded
*March 1, 2009 :*First page of chapter one added
*July 8, 2008 :*Project page created
*Volume One:Prologue uploaded

== Read or Die by Hideyuki Kurata ==

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 1 ===
[[image:ROD v01 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1|Chapter 1 - The Two Sensei]] (up to page 97)
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Transition|Transition]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter 2|Chapter 2 - Those who Write and Those who Read]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Epilogue|Afterword]]
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 2 ===
[[image:ROD v02 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume2 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume2 Prologue|Prologue]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume2 Chapter|Chapter]]
*[[Read or Die: Volume2 Epilogue|Epilogue]]
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 3 ===
[[image:ROD v03 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume3 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*[[Read or Die: Volume 3 Prologue|Prologue]]
*[[Read or Die: Volume 3 Chapter 1 - The Case of Wendy Earhart|Chapter 1 - The Case of Wendy Earhart]]
*[[Read or Die: Volume 3 Chapter 2 - Nenene Sumiregawa's Case|Chapter 2 - Nenene Sumiregawa's Case]]
*[[Read or Die: Volume 3 Chapter 3 - The Case for Yomiko Readman|Chapter 3 - The Case for Yomiko Readman]]
*[[Read or Die: Volume 3 Epilogue|Epilogue]]
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 4 ===
[[image:ROD v04 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume4 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 5 ===
[[image:ROD v05 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume5 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 6 ===
[[image:ROD v06 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume6 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 7 ===
[[image:ROD v07 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume7 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 8 ===
[[image:ROD v08 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume8 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 9 ===
[[image:ROD v09 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume9 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 10 ===
[[image:ROD v10 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume10 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 11 ===
[[image:ROD v11 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume11 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Extra Chapter
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 12 ===
[[image:ROD v12 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*Novel Illustrations
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

== Project Staff ==
*Supervisor: [[User:Darklor|Darklor]]
*Project Manager: [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]]

=== Translators ===
'''ACTIVE'''

'''M.I.A.'''
::*[[User:Alakazzandra|Alakazzandra]] of [http://translateordie.livejournal.com]

=== Editors ===
'''ACTIVE'''
::*[[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]](never know when im on the prowl)
::*[[User:Gamesfreak26|Gamesfreak26]] (Slav...Um, volunteer - currently editing Chapter 1)
::*[[User:Animrbill|animrbill]] (Initially looking at spelling, word usage, and grammer)
::*(feel free to volunteer!)

''' M.I.A.'''
::*[[User:Zhirzzh|Zhirzzh]]

==Series Overview==
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ (July 14, 2000 ISBN 978-4-08-630002-5)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第二巻― (October 14, 2000 ISBN 978-4-08-630014-8)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第三巻― (March 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630026-1)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第四巻― (July 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630040-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第五巻― (December 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630062-9)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第六巻― (July 14, 2002 ISBN 978-4-08-630087-2)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第七巻― (December 14, 2002 ISBN 978-4-08-630105-3)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第八巻― (July 14, 2003 ISBN 978-4-08-630136-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第九巻― (February 14, 2004 ISBN 978-4-08-630169-5)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十巻― (July 14, 2004 ISBN 978-4-08-630192-3)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十一巻― (February 24, 2006 ISBN 978-4-08-630280-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十二巻― (August 25, 2016, ISBN 978-4-08-630765-9)

Read or Die

2025-07-22T20:33:25Z

Alekazzandre: removed an odd link

{{Teaser|English}}
[[Image:ROD v12 cover.jpg|300px|thumb|Cover of Volume 12]]

Note: [[User:Alakazzandra|Alakazzandra]] is currently translating this on [http://translateordie.livejournal.com/ her livejournal], where she posts the first draft. We are hosting the edited version. Feel free to edit once the second draft of any given page has been posted on here.

== Story Synopsis ==
Odaiba, Tokyo, a skyscraper devoid of human life.
Woo had come from Hong Kong, bringing with him a rare book entitled "The Black Book of Fairy Tales".
His counterpart was a blond Englishman. However, next to him was a bespectacled young Eurasian woman, whom he introduced as a consultant. To check her for weapons, Woo opened the front of the woman's coat and was promptly struck speechless.
The inside of the coat bristled with pockets, which were overflowing with novels, magazines, newspapers, and God knows what else!

- Taken from the cover of the first book

== Translation ==

=== [[Read or Die:Registration Page| Registration]] ===
'''Translators are asked to [[Read or Die:Registration Page| register]] which chapters they're working on (see the Guideline page for usage rules)'''.

=== Format Standards ===
*[[Format guideline| General Format/Style Guideline]]

Please refer to this [http://www.baka-tsuki.net/forums/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=2009 topic thread] for information about this project.

== Updates ==
*June 9, 2011 :*Pages 83 through to 85 added.(Sorry for taking so long to get this up)
*November 1, 2010 :*Pages 75 through to 82 uploaded.
*July 6, 2010 :Recruiting a lead project editor; please see post at [http://translateordie.livejournal.com/14608.html project journal] if interested.
*June 13, 2010 :Text through page 74 updated with translator's edits; now open for general editing
*October 10, 2009 :*Page 74 uploaded
*March 1, 2009 :*First page of chapter one added
*July 8, 2008 :*Project page created
*Volume One:Prologue uploaded

== Read or Die by Hideyuki Kurata ==

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 1 ===
[[image:ROD v01 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1|Chapter 1 - The Two Sensei]] (up to page 97)
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Transition|Transition]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter2|Chapter 2 - Those who Write and Those who Read]]
*Transition 2 - '''I'm fine,' she said'' —
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 2 ===
[[image:ROD v02 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume2 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 3 ===
[[image:ROD v03 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume3 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 4 ===
[[image:ROD v04 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume4 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 5 ===
[[image:ROD v05 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume5 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 6 ===
[[image:ROD v06 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume6 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 7 ===
[[image:ROD v07 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume7 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 8 ===
[[image:ROD v08 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume8 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 9 ===
[[image:ROD v09 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume9 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 10 ===
[[image:ROD v10 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume10 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 11 ===
[[image:ROD v11 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume11 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Extra Chapter
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 12 ===
[[image:ROD v12 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*Novel Illustrations
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

== Project Staff ==
*Supervisor: [[User:Darklor|Darklor]]
*Project Manager: [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]]

=== Translators ===
'''ACTIVE'''

'''M.I.A.'''
::*[[User:Alakazzandra|Alakazzandra]] of [http://translateordie.livejournal.com]

=== Editors ===
'''ACTIVE'''
::*[[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]](never know when im on the prowl)
::*[[User:Gamesfreak26|Gamesfreak26]] (Slav...Um, volunteer - currently editing Chapter 1)
::*[[User:Animrbill|animrbill]] (Initially looking at spelling, word usage, and grammer)
::*(feel free to volunteer!)

''' M.I.A.'''
::*[[User:Zhirzzh|Zhirzzh]]

==Series Overview==
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ (July 14, 2000 ISBN 978-4-08-630002-5)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第二巻― (October 14, 2000 ISBN 978-4-08-630014-8)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第三巻― (March 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630026-1)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第四巻― (July 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630040-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第五巻― (December 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630062-9)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第六巻― (July 14, 2002 ISBN 978-4-08-630087-2)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第七巻― (December 14, 2002 ISBN 978-4-08-630105-3)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第八巻― (July 14, 2003 ISBN 978-4-08-630136-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第九巻― (February 14, 2004 ISBN 978-4-08-630169-5)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十巻― (July 14, 2004 ISBN 978-4-08-630192-3)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十一巻― (February 24, 2006 ISBN 978-4-08-630280-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十二巻― (August 25, 2016, ISBN 978-4-08-630765-9)

Read or Die:Volume1 Epilogue

2025-07-10T19:21:03Z

Alekazzandre:

It was an ordinary little bookstore.

Right by the station,nothing special, just the kind of place students and office workers stop by on their way to or from school or work. The shop mostly carried magazines and manga, with a decent assortment of paperbacks, maps, guidebooks, and novels. The selection wasn’t bad, though it couldn’t compare to a large bookstore.

Still, it was enough to get by. I was old, but with a single cat for company, at least I didn’t have to worry about putting food on the table. Shifting magazines around got harder every year, but what could you do?

But lately, the local convenience store had started eating into my magazine sales. My only son had moved to the city, living alone in a little apartment.

Sometimes I thought about moving to a retirement home myself, but I didn’t have nearly enough saved up.

Month by month, sales slipped a little further, gnawing at me along with the neuralgia.

And then, one day,

“Um…”

A woman stood at the register. Long hair, awkward glasses, a heavy coat draped over her even though it was spring, dragging a suitcase as if she was on a journey.

Behind those glasses, her eyes drooped slightly, giving her an odd vulnerability, something that might bring out people’s teasing. I couldn’t tell if she was a student or a working woman, but she looked like the sort who’d been pushed around a lot.

She repeated herself, her voice thin and flustered.

“Um…”

“Yes?”

I answered, perhaps a bit sharper than necessary, a big no-no in this business, but I couldn’t help it.

She seemed to flinch a little, but with newfound determination, spoke again.

“I’d like a book, please.”

“…”

A gentle silence hung in the air.

“Well, this is a bookstore. Of course we sell books. But as you can see, there are all kinds of books. If you don’t pick one, I can’t sell it to you.”

Why was I being so prickly? Even I was surprised, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“N-no, that’s not what I meant…”

“What do you read? Magazines? If it’s manga, those shelves over there.”

Despite my brusque attitude, the woman stubbornly held her ground.

“A book,” she insisted.

“That’s what I’m saying…”

“All the books.”

“Huh?”

She spread her arms wide and gestured around the store.

“I’d like all the books in this store, please.”

“………………………”

I thought she was joking. Or maybe a madwoman.

But she was neither.

One Week Later

Sagawa Mitsuharu (67), having just moved into the “Hidamari Ryokō” nursing home on the outskirts of Tokyo, set a photograph on the shelf as soon as he entered his new room.

In the photo, Sagawa stands by the entrance, holding a makeshift banner reading “Congratulations on Our Closing,” flashing a V-sign. In the background, you can see young guys from the moving company packing up every book on the shelves. And right next to him, that customer with the big, awkward glasses, smiling sheepishly, yet still making a clumsy V-sign for the camera.

It was a precious memento from the last day of Sagawa Bookstore.

A staff member noticed and asked,

“Is that your granddaughter?”

“Not at all,” Sagawa said, pressing his hands together in reverence.

“She’s a goddess.”

“I did it! I did it again! Oh no, what am I doing?”

Yomiko Readman was on the train, holding her head in dismay.

She’d just returned from overseas after a month away. She made it from Narita Airport to Shinjuku, then tried to catch the Sobu Line home, only to fall asleep and end up all the way out in Chiba.

If that was all, she could have just turned around and gone home, but when she spotted the word “Bookstore” from the platform, she felt a jolt, her body moved on its own. She rushed out of the station, and as soon as she entered, she got swept away by all the unread magazines and new releases, and before she knew it, she’d all but bought out the shop and forced another bookstore to close.

“Why… why am I like this?”

Even she found her own book obsession scary sometimes. Maybe she’d changed the course of someone else’s life today.

Either way, the pay she’d just received for a month-long “D-BOOKS” job had disappeared in an instant.

To put it simply, Yomiko was broke. Her salary as a British Library agent, and the occasional pay from substitute teaching, all vanished into her enormous book bills and the rent for multiple apartments needed just to store them.

Luckily, she didn’t care about fashion, and wasn’t picky about food, so her other expenses were shockingly low. If she’d spent like an ordinary woman her age, she’d have starved long ago.

But more importantly, where was she even going to put all those books when the store’s delivery arrived?

For her own sanity, Yomiko decided not to think about that for now.

Once again, she resolved to reflect on her “entire bookstore purchase” and swore to turn over a new leaf.

“I’ve decided…”

She declared out loud, even though no one was around to hear.

“I’m not buying any more books for a while!”

“Thank you for riding with us. We’ll be arriving at Ochanomizu shortly.”

As if to cheer her on, the train rolled into Ochanomizu, her home station.

Yomiko lived in Jinbōchō, just down the slope, a town famous as the world’s largest book district, where bookstore signs could be seen everywhere from big chains to used bookshops tucked away in alleys.

The only reason Yomiko settled here was, simply, “because there are so many books and I can buy them easily.” So now, as she walked through Jinbōchō, her self-imposed “book ban” felt like a smoker touring a tobacco factory, or a dieter walking into a buffet.

“Nnngh… grrr…”

Yomiko groaned, pacing in front of Shosen Bookmart, a big shop at the bottom of the hill known for its huge subculture and music selection. This was her first trial of the day.

If she just hurried past, there’d be no problem, but like iron filings to a magnet, the bookstore tugged her closer.

What if they had new arrivals that hadn’t shown up at the last store…?

Once she started thinking like that, she was doomed. Her feet moved on their own, and soon she was inside.

“…I said I wouldn’t buy books. I never said I wouldn’t go into bookstores.”

Yomiko added another mental loophole and stepped through the doors.

“Aah!”

She let out a weird little cry as she walked in, earning a startled look from the cashier. But Yomiko didn’t care, her whole focus was on the new release display.

There it was: Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts, by Ara Fudemura, one of her must-buy authors.

“Uuugh…”

Yomiko slumped weakly to the floor.

“Why did a new book have to come out today, of all days? God, why are you so mean?”

Of course, the gods don’t decide book release dates, but today, she felt like blaming them.

“Aah…”

Yomiko agonized. It hadn’t even been thirty minutes since she’d made her vow.

But Fudemura’s books were infamous for being returned or going out of print almost immediately after release. If she didn’t buy it now, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

She was at a crossroads:

Buy it and read it at home!? Or miss her chance and regret it forever!?

READ OR DIE? READ OR DIE!?

“…!”

Yomiko straightened with determination.

“Sorry, Fudemura-sensei!”

She spun around and made for the exit, “Huh?” but a poster caught her eye.

“Um… Is it okay if I get five copies of this?”

“Yes,”

She placed five copies of Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts on the counter.

One to read, one to keep, one to lend, one for an autograph someday, and a spare. Yet, somehow, they always got lost in the tide of books in her room.

“Would you like covers?”

“No, that’s fine. Actually, um, that,”

Yomiko pointed at the wall poster: “Meet Fudemura Ara! Buy the new book Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts for a ticket to the autograph event!”

That’s right, reading wasn’t even the point. She was only buying it for the autograph. Really, this was less a book than a ticket voucher, wasn’t it? Of course, of course, that’s what it was.

Her mental shelves grew another layer.

“Oh, about that…”

“Yes. So, can I get five tickets? I can, right?”

“Um, actually…”

The cashier gave an awkward look.

“That was supposed to be tomorrow, but… The author’s flown out to Venezuela for a sudden interview, so it’s been canceled.”

“Whaaat!?”

Yomiko felt something inside her crumble.

“Then why is the poster still up?”

“We haven’t sold a single copy, so nobody’s asked about it. I just forgot to take it down…”

“No way…”

Yomiko hung her head.

“Would you still like to purchase them?”

She looked up, her eyes full of new resolve.

“…Fifty more copies, please.”

Yomiko trudged through the backstreets of Jinbōchō, weighed down with paper bags.

In a narrow, twisting alley stood an old four-story building. Cardboard boxes stacked in the halls, books on every stair, anyone could guess what the rooms inside looked like.

A hand-scrawled sign by the entrance read, “Readman Building.”

The top floor was her home.

Climbing four flights with all those books was exhausting, the elevator was blocked by boxes and unusable.

Finally, she reached the rooftop: a plain, rough little penthouse. She’d started living on a lower floor, but as the books overflowed, she’d been pushed further and further up.

“Whew, whew…”

She caught her breath and glanced out over Jinbōchō, everywhere she looked, books and bookstores, every variety imaginable.

Yomiko made up her mind:

Tomorrow, she’d visit every shop in town and buy up ''Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts'' wherever she found it.

She’d get “Ara Fudemura” on every bestseller list.

And this time, she’d write a petition to ensure the autograph event happened for real.

She’d already forgotten the vow she made forty minutes earlier about not buying books.

“I’m home…”

She said it out of habit as she opened her door. No one answered, of course, she lived alone.

Books were stacked everywhere. Supposedly there were bookshelves by the walls, but piles blocked them from view.

A bed, with one end against the window, was plopped right in the middle, layout clearly not a consideration.

“Here goes…”

She stepped carefully into a gap between book piles, then another, following a “beast trail” that wound through the room, her only path to the bed.

“Whoa…”

Maybe it was just that she’d been away, but she lost her balance and flopped onto the bed.

From beneath the newspaper she used as a blanket, a shriek:

“Ow! That hurt!”

She hurriedly yanked the paper aside, revealing a familiar girl rubbing her eyes.

“Hey, watch it!”

It was Sumiregawa Nenene.

“!? Sumiregawa-sensei!?”

“Sensei! Where have you been?!”

“Uh, well, work… But why are you here?!”

“You left without a word, so I came looking for you!”

“How did you get my address…?”

“From the publisher’s survey postcard.”

Yomiko always sent in those survey cards after finishing a book. A blind spot she hadn’t anticipated.

“But… how did you get in?”

“The door was unlocked.”

Yomiko often forgot to lock up, though, with nothing worth stealing, it hardly mattered.

“But… why did you follow me…?”

“I got curious! There’s just something about you, like there’s a secret or two.”

“There’s not! I’m a totally ordinary citizen!”

Nenene’s gaze wandered, unimpressed. “This room isn’t normal. Seriously, no TV, no CDs, not even a computer.”

“I’m not good with machines…”

“Whatever. I’ll be dropping by a lot from now on, okay? Call it research. Interviewing you.”

“…Wait, are you really going to write about this…?”

Yomiko’s shoulders slumped, and her paper bags toppled, scattering books everywhere.

“What’s this? Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts? Sensei, you read stuff like this? You should read my books!”

Nenene was already moving around, poking into corners, beginning her exploration.

“Sensei, sensei, something’s growing in the corner… Whoa! Mushrooms! Hey, when was the last time you cleaned in here?”

Yomiko collapsed, exhausted, on the books.

“You don’t have any other clothes either. Have you been wearing the same thing all this time? That’s kinda weird…”

Yomiko was simply happy Nenene had come. But as a curious high school girl and novelist, how much of Yomiko’s secret agent life would she uncover?

And when that happened, how would the British Library staff react? Her feelings were a mess.

“Aah… Joker’s going to kill me…”

Nenene peered innocently at Yomiko, who was holding her head.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I’m here for you. This’ll be a happy ending for sure!”

'''(To be continued)'''
{| class="wikitable"
|+
!Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter 2|Chapter 2]]
!Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
!Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume2 Prologue|Volume 2]]
|}

Read or Die:Volume1 Epilogue

2025-07-10T19:16:45Z

Alekazzandre: put chapter in

It was an ordinary little bookstore.

Right by the station,nothing special, just the kind of place students and office workers stop by on their way to or from school or work. The shop mostly carried magazines and manga, with a decent assortment of paperbacks, maps, guidebooks, and novels. The selection wasn’t bad, though it couldn’t compare to a large bookstore.

Still, it was enough to get by. I was old, but with a single cat for company, at least I didn’t have to worry about putting food on the table. Shifting magazines around got harder every year, but what could you do?

But lately, the local convenience store had started eating into my magazine sales. My only son had moved to the city, living alone in a little apartment.

Sometimes I thought about moving to a retirement home myself, but I didn’t have nearly enough saved up.

Month by month, sales slipped a little further, gnawing at me along with the neuralgia.

And then, one day,

“Um…”

A woman stood at the register. Long hair, awkward glasses, a heavy coat draped over her even though it was spring, dragging a suitcase as if she was on a journey.

Behind those glasses, her eyes drooped slightly, giving her an odd vulnerability,something that might bring out people’s teasing. I couldn’t tell if she was a student or a working woman, but she looked like the sort who’d been pushed around a lot.

She repeated herself, her voice thin and flustered.

“Um…”

“Yes?”

I answered, perhaps a bit sharper than necessary,a big no-no in this business, but I couldn’t help it.

She seemed to flinch a little, but with newfound determination, spoke again.

“I’d like a book, please.”

“…”

A gentle silence hung in the air.

“Well, this is a bookstore. Of course we sell books. But as you can see, there are all kinds of books. If you don’t pick one, I can’t sell it to you.”

Why was I being so prickly? Even I was surprised, but I couldn’t stop myself.

“N-no, that’s not what I meant…”

“What do you read? Magazines? If it’s manga, those shelves over there.”

Despite my brusque attitude, the woman stubbornly held her ground.

“A book,” she insisted.

“That’s what I’m saying…”

“All the books.”

“Huh?”

She spread her arms wide and gestured around the store.

“I’d like all the books in this store, please.”

“………………………”

I thought she was joking. Or maybe a madwoman.

But she was neither.

One Week Later

Sagawa Mitsuharu (67), having just moved into the “Hidamari Ryokō” nursing home on the outskirts of Tokyo, set a photograph on the shelf as soon as he entered his new room.

In the photo, Sagawa stands by the entrance, holding a makeshift banner reading “Congratulations on Our Closing,” flashing a V-sign. In the background, you can see young guys from the moving company packing up every book on the shelves. And right next to him, that customer with the big, awkward glasses,smiling sheepishly, yet still making a clumsy V-sign for the camera.

It was a precious memento from the last day of Sagawa Bookstore.

A staff member noticed and asked,

“Is that your granddaughter?”

“Not at all,” Sagawa said, pressing his hands together in reverence.

“She’s a goddess.”

“I did it,I did it again! Oh no, what am I doing?”

Yomiko Readman was on the train, holding her head in dismay.

She’d just returned from overseas after a month away. She made it from Narita Airport to Shinjuku, then tried to catch the Sobu Line home,only to fall asleep and end up all the way out in Chiba.

If that was all, she could have just turned around and gone home, but when she spotted the word “Bookstore” from the platform, she felt a jolt,her body moved on its own. She rushed out of the station, and as soon as she entered, she got swept away by all the unread magazines and new releases, and before she knew it, she’d all but bought out the shop and forced another bookstore to close.

“Why… why am I like this?”

Even she found her own book obsession scary sometimes. Maybe she’d changed the course of someone else’s life today.

Either way, the pay she’d just received for a month-long “D-BOOKS” job had disappeared in an instant.

To put it simply, Yomiko was broke. Her salary as a British Library agent, and the occasional pay from substitute teaching, all vanished into her enormous book bills and the rent for multiple apartments needed just to store them.

Luckily, she didn’t care about fashion, and wasn’t picky about food, so her other expenses were shockingly low. If she’d spent like an ordinary woman her age, she’d have starved long ago.

But more importantly,where was she even going to put all those books when the store’s delivery arrived?

For her own sanity, Yomiko decided not to think about that for now.

Once again, she resolved to reflect on her “entire bookstore purchase” and swore to turn over a new leaf.

“I’ve decided…”

She declared out loud, even though no one was around to hear.

“I’m not buying any more books,for a while!”

“Thank you for riding with us. We’ll be arriving at Ochanomizu shortly.”

As if to cheer her on, the train rolled into Ochanomizu, her home station.

Yomiko lived in Jinbōchō, just down the slope,a town famous as the world’s largest book district, where bookstore signs could be seen everywhere from big chains to used bookshops tucked away in alleys.

The only reason Yomiko settled here was, simply, “because there are so many books and I can buy them easily.” So now, as she walked through Jinbōchō, her self-imposed “book ban” felt like a smoker touring a tobacco factory, or a dieter walking into a buffet.

“Nnngh… grrr…”

Yomiko groaned, pacing in front of Shosen Bookmart, a big shop at the bottom of the hill known for its huge subculture and music selection. This was her first trial of the day.

If she just hurried past, there’d be no problem, but like iron filings to a magnet, the bookstore tugged her closer.

What if they had new arrivals that hadn’t shown up at the last store…?

Once she started thinking like that, she was doomed. Her feet moved on their own, and soon she was inside.

“…I said I wouldn’t buy books. I never said I wouldn’t go into bookstores.”

Yomiko added another mental loophole and stepped through the doors.

“Aah!”

She let out a weird little cry as she walked in, earning a startled look from the cashier. But Yomiko didn’t care,her whole focus was on the new release display.

There it was: Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts, by Ara Fudemura, one of her must-buy authors.

“Uuugh…”

Yomiko slumped weakly to the floor.

“Why did a new book have to come out today, of all days? God, why are you so mean?”

Of course, the gods don’t decide book release dates, but today, she felt like blaming them.

“Aah…”

Yomiko agonized. It hadn’t even been thirty minutes since she’d made her vow.

But Fudemura’s books were infamous for being returned or going out of print almost immediately after release. If she didn’t buy it now, she’d regret it for the rest of her life.

She was at a crossroads:

Buy it and read it at home!? Or miss her chance and regret it forever!?

READ OR DIE? READ OR DIE!?

“…!”

Yomiko straightened with determination.

“Sorry, Fudemura-sensei!”

She spun around and made for the exit,

“Huh?”

,but a poster caught her eye.

“Um… Is it okay if I get five copies of this?”

“Yes,”

She placed five copies of Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts on the counter.

One to read, one to keep, one to lend, one for an autograph someday, and a spare,yet, somehow, they always got lost in the tide of books in her room.

“Would you like covers?”

“No, that’s fine. Actually, um, that,”

Yomiko pointed at the wall poster: “Meet Fudemura Ara! Buy the new book Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts for a ticket to the autograph event!”

That’s right,reading wasn’t even the point. She was only buying it for the autograph. Really, this was less a book than a ticket voucher, wasn’t it? Of course, of course, that’s what it was.

Her mental shelves grew another layer.

“Oh, about that…”

“Yes. So, can I get five tickets? I can, right?”

“Um, actually…”

The cashier gave an awkward look.

“That was supposed to be tomorrow, but… The author’s flown out to Venezuela for a sudden interview, so it’s been canceled.”

“Whaaat!?”

Yomiko felt something inside her crumble.

“Then why is the poster still up?”

“We haven’t sold a single copy, so nobody’s asked about it. I just forgot to take it down…”

“No way…”

Yomiko hung her head.

“Would you still like to purchase them?”

She looked up, her eyes full of new resolve.

“…Fifty more copies, please.”

Yomiko trudged through the backstreets of Jinbōchō, weighed down with paper bags.

In a narrow, twisting alley stood an old four-story building. Cardboard boxes stacked in the halls, books on every stair,anyone could guess what the rooms inside looked like.

A hand-scrawled sign by the entrance read, “Readman Building.”

The top floor was her home.

Climbing four flights with all those books was exhausting,the elevator was blocked by boxes and unusable.

Finally, she reached the rooftop: a plain, rough little penthouse. She’d started living on a lower floor, but as the books overflowed, she’d been pushed further and further up.

“Whew, whew…”

She caught her breath and glanced out over Jinbōchō,everywhere she looked, books and bookstores, every variety imaginable.

Yomiko made up her mind:

Tomorrow, she’d visit every shop in town and buy up ''Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts'' wherever she found it.

She’d get “Ara Fudemura” on every bestseller list.

And this time, she’d write a petition to ensure the autograph event happened for real.

She’d already forgotten the vow she made forty minutes earlier about not buying books.

“I’m home…”

She said it out of habit as she opened her door. No one answered, of course,she lived alone.

Books were stacked everywhere. Supposedly there were bookshelves by the walls, but piles blocked them from view.

A bed, with one end against the window, was plopped right in the middle,layout clearly not a consideration.

“Here goes…”

She stepped carefully into a gap between book piles, then another, following a “beast trail” that wound through the room,her only path to the bed.

“Whoa…”

Maybe it was just that she’d been away, but she lost her balance and flopped onto the bed.

From beneath the newspaper she used as a blanket, a shriek:

“Ow! That hurt!”

She hurriedly yanked the paper aside, revealing a familiar girl rubbing her eyes.

“Hey, watch it!”

It was Sumiregawa Nenene.

“!? Sumiregawa-sensei!?”

“Sensei! Where have you been?!”

“Uh, well, work… But why are you here?!”

“You left without a word, so I came looking for you!”

“How did you get my address…?”

“From the publisher’s survey postcard.”

Yomiko always sent in those survey cards after finishing a book. A blind spot she hadn’t anticipated.

“But… how did you get in?”

“The door was unlocked.”

Yomiko often forgot to lock up,though, with nothing worth stealing, it hardly mattered.

“But… why did you follow me…?”

“I got curious! There’s just something about you,like there’s a secret or two.”

“There’s not! I’m a totally ordinary citizen!”

Nenene’s gaze wandered, unimpressed. “This room isn’t normal. Seriously, no TV, no CDs, not even a computer.”

“I’m not good with machines…”

“Whatever. I’ll be dropping by a lot from now on, okay? Call it research. Interviewing you.”

“…Wait, are you really going to write about this…?”

Yomiko’s shoulders slumped, and her paper bags toppled, scattering books everywhere.

“What’s this? Muscle Lady: 1,000,000 Volts? Sensei, you read stuff like this? You should read my books!”

Nenene was already moving around, poking into corners, beginning her exploration.

“Sensei, sensei, something’s growing in the corner… Whoa! Mushrooms! Hey, when was the last time you cleaned in here?”

Yomiko collapsed, exhausted, on the books.

“You don’t have any other clothes either. Have you been wearing the same thing all this time? That’s kinda weird…”

Yomiko was simply happy Nenene had come. But as a curious high school girl and novelist, how much of Yomiko’s secret agent life would she uncover?

And when that happened,how would the British Library staff react? Her feelings were a mess.

“Aah… Joker’s going to kill me…”

Nenene peered innocently at Yomiko, who was holding her head.

“Don’t worry, don’t worry! I’m here for you. This’ll be a happy ending for sure!”

'''(To be continued)'''
{| class="wikitable"
|+
!Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter 2|Chapter 2]]
!Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
!Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume2 Prologue|Volume 2]]
!
|-
|
|
|
|
|-
|
|
|
|
|-
|
|
|
|
|}

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter 2

2025-07-10T19:11:09Z

Alekazzandre: added the chapter and Navigation

“…It’s not widely known, but Napoleon was one of history’s most famous book-lovers. When he went on military campaigns, he brought along a mobile library of three thousand books.”

Yomiko Readman’s eyes sparkled as she shared her “little-known fact” with enthusiasm. But not a single student in Class 2-C looked the least bit impressed.

On her second day on the job, Yomiko walked to school with Nenene from the apartment. Maybe because both were still tired from the night before, they only just made it in time.

Yomiko, especially, flagrantly ignored the rule that teachers must arrive thirty minutes before class, earning her a second reprimand from the principal in as many days.

But Yomiko wasn’t the sort to dwell on regret or pride. Any fleeting emotion was swept away in the tide of her own, unshakable rhythm.

And so, first period on her second day, Yomiko launched into her first ever class at Kakinzaka High School.

It was supposed to be a lesson about Napoleon Bonaparte’s diplomacy in French history,but Yomiko’s train of thought soon derailed.

“French people are famous across Europe for being book-lovers,what you’d call ‘bibliophiles’. There’s even a saying: ‘Women, books, and horses should never be borrowed,’ which just means that the French don’t just read books, they want to keep them close,like collectors. In contrast, the British are seen as more practical,if they want to read, the library is enough. That’s the common view in Europe, anyway. But honestly, that’s just a stereotype. England has plenty of book-lovers too.”

She pouted, not sure who she was even complaining to. No one agreed. In fact, hardly anyone was even listening.

The students, indifferent, busied themselves with “side work” for the next class, doodled in their notebooks, or whispered quietly with friends.

Yomiko, having veered so far off-topic, couldn’t really scold them.

And so, Class 2-C’s lesson drifted further off track.

Still, compared to what was about to happen later, it was almost peaceful.

Meanwhile, Nenene Sumiregawa wasn’t paying the slightest attention to geography class. Instead, she stared at the bookmark Yomiko had given her the night before.

There was nothing remarkable about it,a small Union Jack and some kind of emblem on the front and back. It looked old, but was neither torn nor creased. Maybe it was made from high-quality paper?

Whatever it was, it was still just a bookmark. Without much thought, Nenene slipped it into her shirt pocket.

A large map hung on the blackboard. The lesson was about China’s topography, but Nenene’s eyes drifted to England, remembering the Union Jack.

That teacher,she’d said she was half-British, but had she really lived over there?

Nenene’s curiosity about Yomiko started to take root.

Could someone that laid-back ever have found herself in real trouble? Maybe that calm meant she came from a good family… No, probably not. Maybe her parents were civil servants who met and married while studying abroad,that was the plot of some movie, wasn’t it? She wished there were something a bit more unexpected.

Unconsciously, Nenene started weaving little stories in her head about Yomiko’s past, probing for a thread she could build a “plot” around. Story seeds, after all, are everywhere.

She supposed it was surprising,a scatterbrained type like that probably had a romantic story somewhere in her past… It’d be sad if her partner had already died. Or maybe they were separated by illness,that’d make it even more of a tragic love story.

Just as Nenene was struggling to shape these thoughts into something concrete, a small, folded piece of paper bounced off her hair.

She glanced diagonally back and caught sight of Nori and Harumi, her friends who’d called out to her at the school gate the day before,giggling.

Nenene bent down, discreetly picked up the note, and unfolded it.

It was a memo. In round, girlish handwriting, it read:

“Yesterday’s boy was the worst. We’re hanging out later today, do you have a deadline?”

“………………”

Nenene considered for a moment. She’d planned to visit her publisher and talk to her editor about that letter. She couldn’t have Yomiko stay at her place forever, and she wasn’t exactly the most reliable person in an emergency.

…But, with everyone together, the chances of trouble seemed slim. The more people around, the safer it would be. Nenene shot a thumbs-up behind her back,a sign of agreement. From behind came a soft round of applause. That’s right. Sometimes you have to let yourself relax. Soon enough, another deadline would be looming.

Whatever story had started forming in Nenene’s head was gone before she knew it. Footsteps echoed along the hallway. Of course, it wasn’t just the sound moving forward, the sound belonged to a pair of black leather shoes.

A man in a black leather coat, known in the underworld as “Scissorhands”, was making his way down the corridor of Kakinzaka High.

Since it was during class hours, there were no students in the hallway. No teachers, either. If there had been, they would have stopped this man, his face a lattice of scars, his body bristling with knives.

“Who are you?”

“What do you want?”

But Scissorhands had no intention of answering, even if someone had just asked, “Where’d you get that cool coat?” Idle talk only delayed the job.

He had just one task: to kidnap the brat with the unmistakable name, Sumiregawa Nenene. (Though he’d have to remember to call her Paul S., or the client would throw a fit.)

It was an easy job. Far too easy.

But easy didn’t mean boring. For Scissorhands, this was his first time setting foot in a place called “school” and he found it fascinating. He watched his surroundings with keen curiosity.

Born with the traits he had, Scissorhands had always walked in the underworld. It wasn’t until he was past twenty that he could walk so boldly, letting his footsteps ring out. Only after he grew strong enough that even noisy footsteps wouldn’t get him killed.

And with that strength came jobs like this. The client, a spoiled rich brat, a certified lunatic, a pervert and a megalomaniac, paid more than most. Maybe the money wasn’t different, but it was a lot more than usual.

Plus, he could rattle a few “regular” kids as a bonus.

Scissorhands’ scarred face twisted into a sinister grin.

Soon, he arrived at his destination: Class 3-A.

He raised his right hand and slid it swiftly across the alloy door.

A high-pitched, skin-crawling screech raced through the classroom.

Every student clapped their hands over their ears at the sudden, unnatural noise. Nenene was no exception.

“Huh…?”

“What was that? Thunder?”

But outside, spring sunlight streamed down, a clear sky, not a hint of a storm. Still, unable to process what was happening, the students tried to fit it into what they knew.

“Calm down! Everyone!”

The teacher’s voice tried to steady the class, but words with no certainty behind them couldn’t even calm himself.

Then came another short, sharp sound from the door. Every eye turned to its surface.

And then, as if straight out of a cartoon, a classic gag manga, or an old American animation, the next moment unfolded before their eyes.

A human silhouette bulged from the surface of the door. It was a perfect outline, pressed from the outside and now falling inward.

Students near the door leapt to their feet. With a tremendous crash, the thing that had been the door, a metal sheet now punched through in the shape of a person, toppled onto the floor, rattling the entire classroom.

Sound and dust swirled, then faded away.

Most students still hadn’t processed what had just happened.

“A prank…?” someone whispered, but no one laughed. No one answered.

Through the person-shaped hole, a shadow slipped inside. A face covered in scars swept the classroom, then broke into a toothy grin.

“…Sorry I’m late. Did I miss anything?”

“…Who are you…?”

The teacher, to his credit, managed to find his voice. First to confront this mysterious intruder, that took guts.

“…Which one’s Sumiregawa?”

At the sound of Scissorhands’ voice, every student turned to Nenene. Their stares gave her away before anyone said a word.

“I’m here to pick you up, Paul S…”

As soon as she heard it, Nenene felt the blood drain from her face.

Scissorhands began moving toward her, slow and deliberate.

“Wait just a second!”

The teacher grabbed Scissorhands by the arm.

The next instant, something rolled onto the desk of the student in the front row, a chopped sausage, splattering ketchup across the open notebook.

That’s what the student’s brain registered, at least for a moment, until the truth snapped into focus. What looked like a sausage was actually a severed finger, and the “ketchup” was blood.

It was the teacher’s finger, newly sliced off, that rolled across the desk.

On the teacher’s face, shock far outweighed pain. But before he could react, a girl by the window let out a scream.

“Noooo!”

Her shriek soared through the open window, echoing into the classrooms beyond.

“!”

The first to react was Yomiko.

“What was that just now?”

“A girl?”

“A third-year?”

Most students just looked around with curiosity or confusion, but a strange tension had appeared on Yomiko’s face. She’d already guessed the direction, the commotion was coming from Class 3-A. Nenene’s class. The scream wasn’t Nenene’s, but that didn’t make her any less anxious.

“Sensei?”

A student looked up, puzzled at the sudden halt in Yomiko’s (rather enthusiastic) monologue about French bibliophiles.

“Self-study, everyone!”

With just those words, Yomiko dashed out of the classroom, which was already halfway to self-study anyway.

Three male teachers appeared in the hallway, clearly drawn by the scream,just as concerned as Yomiko.

However, the teachers merely gathered slowly, trading anxious looks and murmuring, “What’s going on?”, no one willing to take action.

Yomiko sprinted toward the main staircase.

“Ms. Readman!?”

One of the male teachers called out as Yomiko charged past. He was someone she vaguely remembered being introduced to at yesterday’s staff meeting, but he disappeared from her memory and vision in an instant.

Her coat flared as she dashed in long, bounding strides, loud footsteps echoing down the hall.

“Sensei!?”

Without so much as a glance back at her colleague’s shout, Yomiko took the stairs three at a time. In just eight strides, she’d reached the third floor.

A quick scan of the corridor showed Class 3-A’s students spilling out the door in a confused scramble.

“What happened!?”

No one could answer. Every face was wide-eyed, mouths opening and closing in shock, voices tangled with fear and astonishment. Realizing no answers would come, Yomiko rushed straight for the classroom.

She pushed open the door, that now oddly had a human-shaped hole, and leapt inside.

“Who’s there!?”

A man in a black leather coat stood at the center of the room. In his arms hung Nenene, limp and unconscious, the edges of her uniform slashed, pale skin showing through.

Yomiko took it all in at a glance. Desks split in half. Textbooks, notebooks, pencils, cell phones, almost every student’s belongings, either deeply gouged or cleanly sliced in two.

From the man’s coat protruded several blades. There was no doubt. This destruction had happened just by him passing through.

“I said, who are you!?”

The man’s finger twitched, and Yomiko’s eyes caught the flicker of a small piece of metal flying toward her. She dove forward, and at the same time, flicked a slip of paper from her sleeve toward him.

He clearly hadn’t expected a counterattack. The man dodged, but just a fraction too late. The paper grazed his right cheek, leaving a new cut and a trail of blood.

The shard of metal he’d thrown embedded itself in the blackboard behind Yomiko. She recognized it instantly, an oversized box cutter blade, or something close to it. The edge was far sharper than anything ordinary; nearly half the blade was sunk into the board.

At the same time, Scissorhands realized what had wounded him: a long strip of paper, like a memo pad, that had lodged itself in the back blackboard like a thrown shuriken.

Front and back of the room. Metal and paper. Their weapons had crossed, each driven deep at opposite ends.

“Paper-user.”

Shock lit up Scissorhands’ scarred face, but the surprise was real for Yomiko as well. tThis man knew about paper-users.

Trying to hide her confusion, she glanced at Nenene. Still unconscious, thankfully, and hadn’t heard the exchange.

“The British Library, huh?!”

Yomiko nodded sharply, edging a little farther back for safety.

“…Give back Ms. Sumiregawa…”

Even as she spoke, she was already palming more memo paper and sticky notes, hidden inside her coat, ready to strike at the first opening.

But Scissorhands kept Nenene’s body between them, using her as a shield.

“…Well, well. Didn’t think this brat was worth so much. Worth getting the British Library involved?”

There was something strange in his words, but Yomiko kept moving, searching for a blind spot.

“…If you’re really a fan, you should know better than to bring trouble to Ms. Sumiregawa! Let her go!”

The scars on Scissorhands’ face twisted into a grotesque smile, part physical, part psychological.

“Don’t get the wrong idea. I’ve got no special feelings for the kid. It’s my client who wants her!”

“That letter…!”

If life were a book, Yomiko and Scissorhands’ names wouldn’t be on the cover, they’d be on the back. Marked by strange talents, their places in the world were set apart, and in this moment, both measured each other, probing for any hint of weakness.

With the truth of each other’s powers out in the open, neither dared act carelessly. Yomiko was paralyzed by Nenene’s hostage state; but by using her as a shield, Scissorhands was likewise restrained.

Now, it all depended on who could force an opening.

But the longer this stalemate stretched, the more it favored Yomiko. Sooner or later, help would arrive. For Scissorhands, this was enemy territory, if he was surrounded, it would be over.

Maybe sensing this, Scissorhands moved to break the deadlock.

“A paper-user from the British Library… you must be ‘The Paper’, then?”

Yomiko tensed slightly at the mention of her codename.

“…The Paper I fought last time was a man. What happened to him?”

His words hit harder than expected.

Yomiko froze,just for a heartbeat, but that was all he needed.

“Hah!”

Still clutching Nenene, Scissorhands rose on tiptoe, spinning with his left foot as a pivot, his right foot tracing a circle on the floor like a compass needle.

“Ah!”

Yomiko was caught off guard by the sudden motion,but what happened next was even more shocking.

Scissorhands and Nenene vanished, no, they dropped away.

He’d used a hidden blade in his shoe to cut a perfect circle in the floor, then dropped straight down.

Shouts of surprise erupted from the floor below. Yomiko didn’t hesitate for an instant. She immediately understood the escape and darted for the window.

She saw Scissorhands crash out a first-floor window and bolt into the schoolyard, carrying Nenene.

A car waited just ahead. That was their getaway.

“Sensei!”

Yomiko glanced around. Under the blackboard was a huge world map, left over from class.

Without hesitating, she snatched it up, dragged it to the window, and threw the window open.

“Haaaah!”

She jumped,out the third-story window, into open air.

If she took the stairs, she’d lose them. She had to take the fastest, most direct route.

Gravity seized her, yanking her down.

As she fell, Yomiko tore the map apart in her hands.

Fold. Fold. Fold. Still spinning in the air, she folded the paper at miraculous speed, her limbs and the map tangling together, the paper transforming with every twist.

“It’s done!”

Just before she crashed, it was finished,a giant paper balloon.

Flushed, she blew air into it, flung it below, and landed right on top. The impact softened, the shock dispersed.

“…Haah, haah…”

Even having landed safely, Yomiko was gasping for breath. Her heart hammered; her lungs burned for oxygen. The escape had cut it razor-close.

“! …Ms. Sumiregawa!”

By the time she climbed off the balloon, the car was already speeding away.

“Sensei!”

Yomiko chased after it, running with long, desperate strides.

In the rear window, she caught a glimpse of Nenene, slumped unconscious in the back seat.

The car shot through the school gates, sped around the corner, and disappeared from view.

“Sumiregawa-senseiiii!”

The car was already well out of range, even for her paper techniques. Sweat poured down Yomiko’s face as she collapsed, knees hitting the ground.

She might be a top-class agent with paper, but physically, she was just a regular person. After diving from the third floor, her breathing was ragged. There was no way she could outrun a car at full speed.

“………………”

　The car vanished down the road, swallowed by the distance.

Yomiko looked back over her shoulder. Her eyes landed on the spot where, just yesterday, she had stopped Nenene as she was leaving for home. What had she said then?

“…To tell the truth, I wanted to protect you, Sensei.”

“I may not look it, but I’m actually pretty strong.”

Not even a full day had passed, and those words were already a lie.

She hadn’t been able to save Nenene.

“…Sensei… Sumi…rega…wa… Sensei…”

Still gasping for air, Yomiko called out Nenene’s name again and again.

Before she knew it, hot drops were streaming down her cheeks.

They were far too hot, far too bitter, and far too sad to be just sweat.

Beneath her glasses, tears fell in silent, endless streams.

''I couldn’t protect her. I couldn’t help her. I couldn’t save her.'' Mercilessly, Yomiko blamed herself. What good was being a paper user? What was “The Paper” worth? What right did she have to call herself a fan of Sumiregawa Nenene?

“Ugh… ugh…”

She raised a hand to wipe her tears away, but her fingers stopped short, bumping against the thick, black frames of her glasses.

“Ugh…”

It almost felt as if the frames themselves were holding her back.

Is this really the time for tears?

It felt as if that’s what he,the man who once wore these glasses,would say to her now.

She’d cried then, too. Like a child, lost in sorrow.

The man who wore these glasses had smiled at her through his own pain, bloodied and suffering so much more than she.

He had tried to comfort her, hiding agony behind a smile, even as blood welled from his throat instead of words.

Back then, too, there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t comfort him, couldn’t help him, couldn’t save him from pain.

All she had done was cry.

Yomiko’s sobs grew hoarse, then faded, until at last they were silent.

It wasn’t forgivable. Someone who bore the name “The Paper” had no right to cry any longer.

Right before her eyes, a writer had been taken,a bright, talented writer with her whole future ahead. How many times had Nenene’s books made Yomiko happy, moved her, encouraged her?

For someone who loves books, giving up was unthinkable.

Yomiko stood up. Of course, the car was nowhere in sight now.

But there was still a way. As long as she didn’t give up, there was always at least a fifty-fifty chance of success.

She pressed her finger to the bridge of her slipping glasses, steadying them.

“…Ms. Sumiregawa, I swear,I’ll save you.”

It was Yomiko Readman’s personal declaration of war.

Nenene Sumiregawa awoke on a cold, hard floor.

At first, she couldn’t process what had happened.

That man with the scarred face had appeared in the classroom, had sliced off the teacher’s finger…

The memory, full of disgust, made her stomach churn.

From there, it had all been a nightmare. An all-too-vivid, all-too-real nightmare.

As the man walked, desks split apart. She’d thought, for a moment, it must be a supernatural wind blade,but there hadn’t been even a hint of wind.

Several students’ uniforms were sliced open. Some had skin cut, blood staining the cloth. By then, most of the students had panicked and were rushing for the door.

But Nenene herself couldn’t move.

Staring down the man, she hadn’t even been able to stand from her seat.

What truly paralyzed her was his words: “I’ve come to pick you up, Paul S.” The memories of the past few days came rushing back.

With a theatrical, almost foreign gesture, the man spread his arms.

And pain shot through her body.

The shock tore at her uniform, and before she knew it, her skin was exposed to the air.

One of the blows struck the back of her head, and darkness closed in.

“…Owww…”

Somehow, Nenene managed to raise her upper body. Everything ached, but nothing seemed broken.

Her uniform was torn in several places,a clear sign this wasn’t just a dream, unfortunately.

“Awake at last?”

The voice made Nenene flinch.

Scissorhands stood over her, looking down.

“…What’s with you…?”

Nenene’s voice was stripped of its usual energy. It couldn’t be helped, given the circumstances.

“In this world, they call me Scissorhands.”

“Scissorhands…?”

Nenene echoed the name, but what stuck in her mind was the way he’d said “this world.” As if sensing her curiosity, he continued:

“Seems you were quite a celebrity in your old world, young lady. But,”

His scars twisted, turning his smile sadistic.

“,You can’t go back. From today, you belong to this world.”

His words sparked the last bit of resistance left in Nenene.

“What is that supposed to mean? What are you going to do with me? First the letters weren’t enough, and now you have to kidnap me too?!”

Scissorhands watched her with a mocking grin as she spoke.

“I won’t let you get away with this! This is a crime! I’ll sue you, just you wait!”

“Young lady, from now on you’ll be living in a world with no use for the laws of the outside. You’ll have to follow our rules, got it?”

His strangely gentle tone only made it creepier.

“And just to be clear,if you’ve misunderstood anything, it’s not me who wants you. It’s my client. If you’ve got someone to shout at, shout at him. As you can see, I’m easily hurt.”

“Client…?”

So this wasn’t just one stalker,it was a whole plan.

“Paaaaaauuul… Essssssss…”

A voice echoed from the opposite direction of Scissorhands.

“?!”

Shock froze Nenene’s face as she turned.

Squinting, she saw a wide bed, draped in expensive sheets. A man was lounging there.

“At last, we meet, Paaaauul…”

He looked to be just under thirty. Too thin, dressed in black leather pants and a white shirt. His black hair was slicked back with oil, a few strands hanging over his forehead.

Nenene had never seen him before.

“…Who are you…?”

It was the only question that made sense.

“I’m your number one fan, Paul.”

“Who’s Paul!? I’m Sumiregawa,”

Before she could finish, something flew at her.

“?!”

She instinctively shielded her face, and felt a hard object hit her arm and fall to the floor. When she looked down, she realized what it was:

Her own new book, ''On a Street Corner with Cats''.

“How rude,” the man said with a casual smile, looking at her.

A red welt remained on her arm where the book’s corner had hit.

“Well, that’s fine. We’ll take our time fixing everything,your personality, your manners, your way of thinking, your writing style, every last part of you…”

There was a sickly intensity oozing from his words, and Nenene fell silent.

“My name is Kazumi Marihara. I’m a bibliomaniac.”

“A… bibliomaniac?”

“That’s right. But I’m not your average fanatic. I comb through every book published in Japan, searching for true talent. When I find it, I sometimes support the writer’s work, even sponsor their career. Luckily, I have the means to do so.”

“But why? What’s the point?”

Marihara slowly sat up on the bed.

“…To support publishing culture. Modern Japanese, living in one of the world’s rare publishing giants, are forgetting the magic of books, little by little.”

He fixed Nenene with a piercing stare, his strangely pale eyes radiating a quiet menace.

“Games, TV, events, music, the internet,people are drowning in every kind of pleasure, drifting further and further from books. Literature is now misunderstood as the most old-fashioned of all media. It’s the duty of those of us who love books to change that.”

Nenene could follow his logic, but what did any of it have to do with kidnapping her?

“So what do we need to break this reality? A work that’s both literary and dazzlingly entertaining,a masterpiece where art and entertainment truly fuse. The savior of the literary world, who can actually write it!”

His voice began to burn with an uneven, feverish energy.

“I’ve read a hundred million books, and among them, I found you! Nenene Sumiregawa, you can write it,a masterpiece that will go down in human history!”

Marihara pointed dramatically at Nenene, raising his voice. The next moment, his hand opened wide as if to welcome her.

“…But you’re still immature. I want to help you. I want to draw out the brilliance in you that even you haven’t realized yet. Do you understand, Paaaaaul…?”

“So that’s why you kidnapped me…?”

Nenene’s face drained of color. She had doubted how serious he was,now she wondered just how sane he could be.

“You’re… insane…”

That was all she could force out.

“…Alright. Let’s start with that.”

Marihara turned his gaze to Scissorhands.

And with just that, Scissorhands was already moving, snapping handcuffs onto Nenene’s wrists.

“Wh-what…!?”

The reality of being restrained doubled Nenene’s fear.

“Sometimes, only madness can create art that’s impossible in ordinary life. Honestly, that’s one of the things your writing is missing.”

He gave her a shove and Nenene tumbled to the floor.

“All your stories have happy endings. That’s lovely in its way, but once in a while, I want to read a dead end. And for that, you’ll need to experience one yourself first.”

As Marihara climbed down from the bed, Scissorhands called out.

“There’s something I want to ask.”

“What is it?”

Marihara, his excitement soured, glared at Scissorhands.

“When I took this young lady, a woman appeared,a paper-user.”

“A paper-user? A woman?” Marihara frowned at the unexpected revelation.

“I thought the British Library’s Paper-user was a man?”

“That’s what I thought too. But if they’re involved, we can’t let our guard down.”

“Hmm…”

Marihara lapsed into thought for a moment.

Nenene, lying on the floor, listened to them. A woman… the British Library… a paper-user… The words tangled in her mind, and she thought of a certain someone. Surely not…

Her hand crept to her shirt pocket. The bookmark Yomiko had given her last night, with the Union Jack on it.

Were they talking about Yomiko?

“With her level of talent, it’s no wonder the British Library took notice. When it comes to books, they’ll stop at nothing,” Marihara commented, apparently blind to his own hypocrisy.

“In any case, we need to be cautious. Scissorhands, get in touch with our informant and have them look into this woman.”

“Understood. And you?”

“…Of course, I’ll be busy educating her. I intend to make her the greatest writer in human history.”

Nenene swallowed hard. He really was crazy. This wasn’t just a stalker,he was something much worse. What could have drawn this madman to her?

In a creeping, hopeless despair, the only thing Nenene had left was the bookmark Yomiko had given her last night. The “good luck charm” Yomiko had called it,just a piece of paper, but right now, it was her only support.

“Hey, didn’t I see you yesterday?”

The taxi driver tried to make small talk, but Yomiko remained silent, eyes locked on the navigation screen.

“You know, yesterday in front of that school, I picked up a girl,and you came running after us. You really can run.”

He talked to himself, but Yomiko never looked up from the plate.

“Turn at the next corner.”

Every so often she’d give a direction, but in truth, Yomiko herself didn’t know exactly where they were headed.

The display showed a simple map and a blinking red dot,the signal from the bookmark she’d given Nenene the night before. That bookmark was actually an emergency transmitter, the kind all British Library agents were required to carry. The ribbon was woven from ultra-fine fibers.

Yomiko was grateful Nenene had kept it. Now, at least, she knew their location. And knowing that gave her a real chance of rescue.

Beside her, a suitcase rattled on the back seat,the only “weapon” she had brought. She had no idea how she’d fare against a man who threw knives like that, but she had no choice. Every second of delay only increased Nenene’s danger.

Suddenly, Yomiko remembered:

That man… he knew about Paper-users.

“…The last time I fought The Paper, it was a man. What happened to him?”

He’d known about the previous Paper,Donnie. That one sentence had shaken her, left her open.

But this time, she couldn’t afford to let her guard down. This time, it would be fatal.

She steeled her will.

Nervous, Yomiko realized the signal source was close.

Through the taxi’s windshield, a massive warehouse came into view.

The warehouse stood in the suburbs, in a patch of deep countryside. The area was all fields and empty lots,a peaceful scene by day, but with the sun gone, it felt desolate.

The warehouse itself sprawled across the land, like a whale stranded on the plain.

“Are you sure this is the place?”

The driver gave her a wary look as he stopped. Yomiko, cautious, decided to get out a little distance away.

“Well, give my regards to that girl, too.”

The driver tossed the words out casually as Yomiko paid and got out of the taxi, completely unaware that Nenene was being held prisoner inside the warehouse.

Yomiko checked her tracker one last time,there was no mistake, the bookmark’s signal was coming from the very back of the building.

A faded sign on the warehouse read ''Easter Publishing'', a company that had gone bankrupt years ago. This must have been their old stock storage; what was happening here now was anyone’s guess.

Yomiko tipped her suitcase onto the ground and opened it.

Inside, it was crammed with books,probably close to a hundred. The books inside her coat weren’t the only ones she carried with her.

There was also a compartment stuffed with stationery: notepads, vocabulary cards, origami paper, and all the little things you’d find in a neighborhood shop. Yomiko scooped up a handful and slipped them into her coat’s inner pocket.

Donnie...

She unzipped a pocket on the lid and pulled out an envelope printed with the word “DANGER” and the British Library’s emblem. Inside was special “Battle Paper,” developed by the Library’s R&D department and only authorized for emergencies.

Yomiko swapped a few books out of her inner pocket for the Battle Paper, stowed the removed books in the suitcase, and said, “Sorry,please wait for me here,” before dragging the suitcase into the bushes to hide it.

She turned to face the warehouse and took a deep breath.

She was ready.

In her coat’s outer pocket, she found Nenene’s ''On the Street Corner with Cats'',the copy she’d been carrying around for a signature. On the back cover, Nenene’s smile hadn’t changed a bit.

I have to help her. I have to bring back that smile.

Donnie… Watch over me.

Yomiko put the book in her chest pocket, adjusted her glasses, and started walking.

Her coat fluttered in the wind.

She circled to the side of the warehouse and stopped in front of one of several doors. The iron side door was locked tight, but in the moonlight, she saw how oddly clean it was,no rust, no grime, nothing to suggest it had sat abandoned for years. Clearly, someone had been coming and going here.

Yomiko tore out a flash card, pinched it between her fingers, and with a swift motion, brought her hand down. The sharp metallic clang rang out into the night.

Inside, the warehouse was filled with a strange scent,a blend of dust and paper. Books were piled on wooden pallets, stacked so high they seemed to form a labyrinth of tomes.

If the world of publishing was an ocean, this was its sunless deep. Time itself seemed to stop among these books, dust falling like marine snow.

But Yomiko found comfort in the silence. She’d grown up in this world,a sea of books. Even if a book never found a reader, she would still love it for simply existing.

The mountains of books towered over her.

She picked up one near at hand: ''GO! GO! Lambada!'' A wry smile crept onto her lips. Probably a book that tried to ride a fad and ended up dooming its publisher all the faster.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

A voice called out.

She turned to see a man in a suit standing there,not the knife-wielding one, but another. She’d expected there to be more than one enemy.

“You…!”

The instant he realized she wasn’t one of his, his hand dove into his jacket,there was a holster under his suit.

Yomiko opened ''GO! GO! Lambada!''

He drew his gun and fired just as she tore a page free. The bullet flashed from the muzzle, but the pages she flung filled the air, fluttering like autumn leaves.

The man stared in shock. Every bullet vanished into the swirling pages, stopped cold,something that should have been impossible for paper. Bullets struck the leaves with high-pitched cracks, their tips buried halfway, before dropping harmlessly to the floor.

“Wha,!?”

He could barely believe it. Paper?!

Yomiko pressed her advantage. She slid the paper obi,the book’s sash,off, flicked her wrist, and flung it at him. The strip of paper spun through the air and slapped across his eyes.

“Gah,!?”

Blinded, he clawed at his face, trying to rip off the sash. He had no idea what was happening.

Yomiko marched right up to him, grabbed a heavy book from a pile, and muttered, “…Sorry about this.”

She brought the corner down on his head.

He collapsed with a cry. A book’s edge can be as devastating as a martial artist’s fist.

“…Should’ve asked how many more there were…”

Yomiko covered her mouth, grimacing.

But she got her answer quickly.

“What was that!?”

“A gun!”

More voices,his comrades, drawn by the noise.

“Oh, not good…”

Yomiko vanished quietly into the maze of books.

Scissorhands and two of Marihara’s men came upon the downed guard. He was unconscious, but unharmed.

Pages littered the floor. Scissorhands bent and found what he was looking for,a page with a bullet embedded in it, bent under the weight. The paper’s mysterious power had faded.

No doubt about it. That woman. He didn’t know how she’d found them, but she was here.

“That woman’s already inside…”

After checking with several informants, he’d learned who she was and how she became The Paper. She looked ordinary, but she was dangerous.

“A woman?” one henchman asked, not understanding.

This was one of Marihara’s hideouts, out in the country, with only a handful of men stationed. Marihara hated people around when he was with his books. If the British Library attacked in force, they wouldn’t stand a chance.

They should probably run, but Marihara wouldn’t want to leave any time soon. Things were getting tricky.

He could escape alone, but if Marihara was caught, he’d lose his reward.

“Tch…”

The best move might be to use the brat as a hostage.

“Search the warehouse. Watch for a woman,and for paper.”

Leaving his men behind, Scissorhands headed to Marihara’s room, hoping he hadn’t gone too far already.
----Elsewhere, a guard wandered between the books.

How were just two men supposed to search a place holding nine million books?

Catwalks eight meters up, mountains of books separated into blocks,it felt more like wandering through city alleys than a warehouse.

Scissorhands had said to watch out for the woman.

A woman? With a gun, she’d be no problem.

Or maybe he’d have some fun first, just like in his favorite crime novels,a dark thrill rose in his chest.

He lit a cigarette with a match,matches felt more hardcore, more violent.

Suddenly, a gust of wind and a sharp noise from behind made the flame flicker.

He whirled, gun raised. A book pile had collapsed behind him, overloaded.

“Tch…”

Then he heard a sound slicing the air.

“?!”

The end of his cigarette dropped to the floor,not burnt to ash, but sliced clean off.

He stared at what had flown by,a torn page from a paperback, stuck in the stack of books like a shuriken.

Reacting fast, he fired in the direction the paper had come from.

"……………………"

When the gunfire subsided, silence took its place.

“Did I get her?”

The words were barely out of his mouth when more sheets of paper came spinning through the air,four this time, slicing both vertically and horizontally as they hurtled toward him.

“Damn it!”

He threw up his arms to shield his face. If he took one in the eye, it’d be over. The four pages grazed his sleeve and thigh, then fluttered away behind him.

“Whoa, whoa!”

Enraged, he fired his gun blindly into the darkness.

Nothing. No sign he’d hit anything. As if to confirm it, more paper came flying.

“You bastard!”

He charged deeper into the dark, desperation mixed with fury. But he was sure the enemy was up ahead,if he closed the distance and caught her, victory was his.

“Damn!”

He fired as he ran, but a page slashed his cheek, drawing blood.

He stopped short in surprise,he’d actually seen the paper flying at him. But the real problem was its direction: it had curved around the corner of a bookshelf, turning a full ninety degrees. Every bullet he’d fired had missed.

“Damn!”

A page stabbed into his shoulder. Looking closely, he saw that the edge was folded, allowing it to curve in midair.

“You’ve got to be kidding me!”

His boiling anger turned into a cruel sense of superiority. Now that he’d figured out the trick, he just needed to shoot around the corner and it’d be over.

He ducked and watched another page fly overhead. So, it wasn’t about aim,just about volume.

He jumped around the corner.

There stood a woman with glasses,Yomiko. For a split second, her appearance caught him off guard, but he didn’t make the mistake of lowering his weapon.

“Checkmate!”

But Yomiko was strangely calm, staring back at him from behind reflective lenses that hid her eyes.

“Check and mate,” she replied.

The words were barely out of her mouth when a sharp pain stabbed through his back.

“Agh!”

A page, its ends folded, was stuck deep in his back. The last page had flown over his head, then boomeranged around and struck him from behind.

“Guuh!”

He collapsed to the floor. Yomiko looked down at him and spoke softly.

“Surrender. Tell everyone else to surrender, too.”

Her tone was gentle, almost like she was admonishing a child. It reminded him of the high school teacher who had worried about him until the very end, even as he went off the rails.

“Damn… you…”

He fainted, leaving behind the same words he’d once spat at that teacher.

Regret clouded Yomiko’s face.

,

Nenene had been rolled onto the bed. Beside her, Marihara lay stretched out as if keeping her company.

The bed was oddly hard, and the handcuffs digging into her wrists made it even worse.

“How do you feel, Paul?” Marihara asked.

“…Now I finally get it. The meaning behind ‘Paul.’”

“Oh? Go on.”

“King’s ''Misery'',” Nenene answered.

Marihara nodded, pleased.

''Misery'',the bestselling novel by Stephen King. The famous author Paul Sheldon is rescued from a car accident by Annie, a woman who claims to be his biggest fan. But she soon holds him captive, forcing him to revive his ''Misery'' series,torturing him with violence and drugs to make him write.

The terror of a writer trapped by a mad fan. It was exactly the nightmare Nenene found herself in now.

“I thought you might know. You must read a lot.”

“I haven’t read it. I saw the movie,” Nenene replied, coldly.

Marihara’s mouth twisted.

“She broke his legs and forced him to write, but I’m not writing a thing.”

Nenene glared at him, full of defiance.

“Why not?”

“Because if someone else forces you to write, you can’t write anything good. There’s none of ‘you’ in it. Any novel born that way is just pitiful.”

Marihara’s face shifted, expressionless.

“Maybe all I can write are happy endings, and I’ve never published a book that tackles social issues or wins the praise of important people. But I can say this,since I was thirteen, I’ve poured everything into every story I’ve written! While everyone else was out having fun, I was worrying over my writing. I never had a boyfriend, and people talked behind my back, said I was unlucky, but I was always thinking about novels! That’s my pride! No matter what some twisted pervert like you does, I won’t write even a single lowercase letter for you!”

Nenene’s rapid-fire words hung in the air.

“…!”

Marihara grabbed her jaw, squeezing hard enough to silence her.

“That’s why you’re still not there yet… You need to read the novel itself. In the book version, Sheldon has his foot chopped off with an axe, and the stump is burned with fire.”

“!?”

“Will you still say the same thing after that? I’m looking forward to finding out…”

As Marihara spoke, his words thick with madness, the door opened and Scissorhands entered, holding what looked like an A4 sheet of paper.

“…What?”

“…The Paper User is here. She’s caught up to us.”

“!?”

Marihara let go of Nenene.

“And the British Library?”

“No sign yet. But if we’re going to run, we’d better hurry. We can use the brat as a hostage,”

“No! That’s not an option!”

Marihara waved his hands frantically, rejecting Scissorhands’ idea.

“No, no, no! It has to be here! We’re not finished yet!”

“We can finish it after we escape.”

“No! It must be here! …Scissorhands, go! Take down the Paper User! While you do,”

Whatever Marihara intended to do, Nenene didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Tch… Hurry up and finish it. If it’s just her, that’s one thing, but if they all come, we’re in trouble.”

Scissorhands thrust the paper he was holding at Marihara.

“This is info about that woman. …Don’t underestimate her.”

The edges of the faxed paper were jagged, probably torn by Scissorhands himself.

As Marihara scanned the document, Scissorhands left the room.

After reading, Marihara let out a twisted laugh.

“Aha! Now this is good,she really is The Paper! That’s the kind of passion it takes to truly love books!”

Nenene swallowed hard.

Scissorhands turned and headed out of the room, into the warehouse.

Surprisingly, he realized somewhere inside himself that he was enjoying this.

He touched his face,the wound the woman had given him in the classroom. The bleeding had stopped, but it would leave a new scar.

Ironically, on the opposite side of his face, there was another scar,a mark left by a different paper user, from the time he’d fought the man from the British Library.

That man, that woman… The two paper users who had appeared before Scissorhands were like the first and second volumes of the same book.

It was convenient: the foreshadowing of the first volume comes alive in the second. It wouldn’t be bad to settle his score with the man by defeating the woman,she had the skills to make it worthwhile.

The thought that he could face off against the Paper User from the British Library,The Paper,sent a thrill through Scissorhands’ body.

The thousand blades embedded in his flesh seemed to tremble with excitement, just like their master.

“Deryaaah!”

Yomiko turned and bent backward. A sword slashed through the air just a centimeter from her side, slicing the edge of her coat and leaving a triangular scrap of cloth fluttering to the ground.

One of Marihara’s underlings had suddenly attacked with a Japanese sword. Yomiko had been careless, assuming her enemies were all armed with guns.

The man’s face was flushed, half from rage and half from exhilaration.

“Die!”

He hurled the words at her, far too direct for any kind of literary flourish. But Yomiko was more concerned about the blade in his hand than his lack of eloquence.

The sound of slicing air filled the corridor. Yomiko barely dodged in time, but in this narrow space, it was only a matter of time before she’d be cornered.

“Doryaa!”

The sword’s tip dug into a pile of stock books, snapping the plastic ties that held them together and leaving welt-like scars along their sides.

“Wha,?!”

The tip had sunk deeper than expected, and for a moment, the man froze, straining to pull it free. That opening was all Yomiko needed.

“Excuse me!”

She whipped a sports newspaper from her coat’s inner pocket, unfurled it, and in less than three seconds rolled it into a makeshift baton. At almost the same instant, the man wrenched his sword free.

“Daah!”

“Hiyah!”

Yomiko parried the incoming blade with the rolled newspaper.

“?!”

The man’s mouth dropped open when he realized his sword had been stopped by nothing but paper.

“Wh-what…?”

His battle cry was tinged with confusion.

“Yes!”

Yomiko blocked high, blocked low, fending off the sword’s attacks. Dodging could only last so long, but with a “long weapon” of her own, she could put up a real fight.

“Hmph! Hmph! Take this!”

The man’s attacks grew more desperate, brute force replacing technique. Clearly, he found the absurdity of fighting a newspaper with a sword infuriating. As he pressed harder, Yomiko began to lose ground.

“W-wait… just a sec,kya!”

The surface of the newspaper began to shred and fly apart. As the fight dragged on, Yomiko’s physical weakness was starting to show.

“Daah!”

Finally, with a powerful blow, the man split the sports newspaper in two. The upper half soared into the air.

Convinced he’d won, the man laughed,a critical mistake.

“!?”

Yomiko caught the falling paper, and with a swift motion, unrolled it. The pages of the newspaper opened before the man like a great scroll,page after page.

“!? ?!”

Blockbuster movie announcements. A pro baseball player engaged to a former race queen. Four hundred fans mobbing an idol’s debut event.

The lurid headlines and photos blocked the man’s view.

“Gah!”

He swept the newspaper aside with his sword,but Yomiko was already gone.

She’d circled behind him, a new weapon in hand, and brought it down hard on the back of his head with a dry, echoing thud.

“Guh…”

His sword fell from his hand and clattered across the floor as he crumpled.

Yomiko sighed, dropping her weapon,a paper fan,to the floor.

But this was no ordinary paper fan. It was a special item developed by the British Library’s research department after much trial and error: strong, powerful, and lightweight,something any nation would covet.

“That’s three… is that all of them?”

Yomiko muttered, only to be interrupted by the sound of applause.

“A marvelous performance, Paper User.”

At the far end of the corridor, Scissorhands stood, leaning against a mountain of books and clapping.

“You, uh,”

“Now that I think of it, I never introduced myself, did I?”

He straightened, letting paper scraps flutter to the floor where he’d been leaning.

“I’m Scissorhands. Like you, I have a special ability.”

With a swift motion of his hand, a book behind him shredded apart and scattered into the air.

“…You’ve probably noticed, but I’ll tell you: I have a thousand blades,large and small,embedded in my body. They’re my weapons.”

Yomiko tried to judge the distance. Even as he spoke, he never dropped his guard,instead, he steadily closed the gap.

“Paper User. What’s the British Library up to? Where are the others?”

“They’re not coming… I’m here alone.”

That answer seemed to genuinely surprise him; his mouth fell open.

“You’re alone?! Why?”

“To save Sumiregawa-sensei.”

Yomiko’s hand moved quietly inside her coat. Scissorhands was a different caliber than the henchmen. She’d need stronger battle paper.

“Are you insane? For just that brat?”

“She’s not a brat. She’s someone important to me.”

“What matters is the books she writes! All Paper Users are the same!”

Yomiko’s fingers found the envelope.

“…Where is she?”

“She’s in the room up ahead. If you beat me, you can go. Who knows what you’ll find by then?”

“…What do you mean?”

“Didn’t the kid tell you? Paul Sheldon.”

At the sound of the full name, everything became clear to Yomiko.

“!”

She pulled out the special battle paper from the envelope, readying herself.

“Let’s have some fun, Paper User!”

Scissorhands opened his mouth wide. Sitting on his tongue was a rectangular stack of razor blades.

“Eee-yahhh!”

With a monstrous roar, he spat the razors, which hurtled through the air toward Yomiko.

At the same instant, Yomiko threw Battle Paper No. 16: “Wild Bullet.” What started as a single sheet split into two, then four, then eight, multiplying in the air.

Between them, countless razors and sheets of paper collided,some cut, some knocked aside…

After the brief clash, several razors slipped through and flew at Yomiko. She dove to the side, rolling across the floor.

The spot where she’d stood was now bristling with razors. If she’d taken that hit, she’d be done for.

“…!”

Yomiko looked back, shocked. Scissorhands was standing there, completely unfazed.

“I took down all your pretty papers.”

He grinned in triumph.

“It’s rock-paper-scissors, The Paper. You’re paper, I’m scissors. You never had a chance!”

As soon as he spoke, his fingertips sliced through the cords holding up a tower of books.

The makeshift skyscraper toppled, crashing toward Yomiko in an avalanche.

“If you’re going to die, you might as well be buried under books!”

There was no time to even look up. Yomiko pulled out Battle Paper No. 9: “The Great Wall” and held it over her head.

Intricately folded, it spread out from the center into a dome-shaped framework.

Without pause, a downpour of books crashed down onto it.

The paper frame sagged, groaned, and creaked, but somehow held together.

As Yomiko leapt away, the makeshift dome finally gave in under the weight, collapsing behind her.

“Not bad, The Paper…”

“Thank you…”

She wasn’t joking or mocking him,Yomiko just used polite language with everyone, even her enemies.

But she had no intention of simply staying on the defensive.

From her sleeves, she slid sheets of paper into her hands. With lightning-fast dexterity, she folded them,two paper airplanes, ready for the next move.

"Excuse me!"

With a flick of her wrist, Yomiko hurled the paper airplane straight at Scissorhands.

But Scissorhands raised his foot and, with a sharp kick tracing a sideways figure eight in the air, sliced the approaching paper plane clean in two. The pieces fluttered to the ground.

"What's wrong, The Paper? Show me what you can really do!"

With a manic grin, Scissorhands marched toward her.

"You're supposed to be strong, right? You love books, don't you? Paper is your weapon, isn't it?"

He peeled off his coat as he walked, revealing something grotesque,his forearms, from elbow to wrist, were made of gleaming metal.

"Look! These are my Scissorhands!"

With a half-turn of his wrist, the metal parts split open and snapped forward. His palms spun around, comically grasping his own wrists, and the exposed metal flashed like the blade of a sickle.

In an instant, both arms had become weapons,gigantic, shining shears.

Yomiko could only stare in shock. He looked like a monster from a children's superhero show. It was more astonishing than frightening. She'd seen many agents in her life, but never one who had gone so far as to transform his own body.

"Kill!"

True to his name, Scissorhands swung his arm sideways. Yomiko ducked just in time, and a bookshelf pillar was cleaved in two with a screech.

"Kill! Kill, kill!"

Scissorhands rampaged through books and shelves, mowing them down indiscriminately. The cut edges left behind showed just how deadly those blades were.

Backing away, Yomiko fumbled for Combat Paper No. 27,"Blown Away",inside her coat.

But in her haste, she made a fatal mistake. She hadn’t checked behind her and found herself cornered at a dead end.

"Paaa-per..."

Backlit by the warehouse lamp, Scissorhands spread his bladed arms wide like a monster from a horror film, savoring every slow, deliberate step as he closed in.

Above his head, he crossed his arms, forming a monstrous pair of scissors. Sparks and a shrill metallic shriek filled the air as the blades scraped together.

"I'll cut off your head, The Paperrrrr..."

His shadow loomed, swallowing up Yomiko, her back pressed against a mountain of books.

"This...this is the scar you gave me..."

A wound squirmed on Scissorhands’ right cheek,the mark Yomiko had left with a flying sheet of paper back at Kaitanezaka High.

"And this one...is from that man..."

On the opposite cheek, another scar twisted. That man could only be the previous Paper, Donnie.

"You fought Donnie, didn’t you?"

Cornered, Yomiko still met his gaze with unwavering determination.

"Yeah. He was stupidly honest, the most earnest guy you could imagine. I left a scar on his back too... So, how's he doing now?"

Those words hurt far more than any blade, and Scissorhands knew it,that was his aim. He wanted her to say it out loud.

Yomiko swallowed hard, her face set. What she was about to say took all the courage, resolve, and will she had.

"Donnie Nakajima is dead..."

Even with all her resolve, saying it was agony. Sadness surged through her whole body; it felt like her temperature dropped.

"Dead? How?"

Scissorhands pressed on mercilessly. He already knew the answer. What mattered was making Yomiko confront it.

Yomiko nearly drowned in her own anguish. If she’d been asked the same question last night in Nenene’s room, what would she have done?

She could have just kept silent. She could have lied. But that would betray the bond she and Donnie had shared, would betray them both.

She couldn’t do it. He was the only person in the world she loved as much as she loved books,her mentor as a Paper User, her lover as Yomiko Readman, her respected and admired predecessor. The man who loved books more than anyone, who smiled like a boy.

She had to tell the truth.

"I killed him. I killed Donnie. To become The Paper."

The pain of saying it was far worse than any physical wound. Words could be so much crueler than any blade.

"...Ha! Ha! He was killed! By a woman! You're one terrifying Paper User!"

Scissorhands' mocking laughter cut deeper than any attack. Yomiko fought to keep herself from collapsing,not yet, not now.

Scissorhands was thrilled. What had begun as an interrogation to create an opening had turned to pure sadistic pleasure.

The most interesting line in the informant’s report came to mind:

"...After killing her predecessor, Donnie Nakajima, she was appointed the sixteenth Paper a year later. It's believed that, though unofficial, she and Donnie Nakajima were romantically involved."

One look at Yomiko’s face told him the truth,her eyes were filled with despair.

"Go apologize to Donnie in the afterlife!"

Scissorhands laughed triumphantly, crossed his blades, and charged.

"Die, The Paperrrrrr!"

But this was exactly the chance Yomiko had been waiting for. She suddenly dropped straight down, her body sinking to the floor.

"What?!"

Scissorhands' eyes widened in confusion. Yomiko’s body was gone, but her coat hung in midair. At the collar, a small wedge of folded paper had hooked it onto the string binding the stack of books behind her. It hung there like a jacket on a hanger.

Scissorhands' blades swept through the space just above Yomiko’s head,less than a centimeter away,lopping off a few strands of her hair. The tips stabbed deep into the coat’s lining.

Sitting on the floor, Yomiko quickly rolled sideways and escaped under Scissorhands’ legs.

Stubborn woman! Scissorhands seethed with rage. He knew all too well her coat was loaded with her dangerous papers. Now, without it, she was practically defenseless.

He’d meant to finish her in a single blow, but now he’d make her suffer.

As he yanked his blades out of the coat, he realized,too late,that he’d also pierced a piece of paper attached to the lining.

It was a black sheet dusted with a powdery substance.

Combat Paper No. 27: "Blown Away."

It was coated with a mix of black powder and special chemicals. Normally harmless, but when Yomiko’s ability dissolved the coating, it became a "paper bomb," ready to explode at the slightest spark.

"Y-you...!"

Scissorhands didn't stop. He tore the blades free, but as they scraped together, a shower of sparks flew.

A blast of heat and fire erupted in his face.

"GYAAAAHHH!"

The flames lasted only a moment, but they mercilessly burned Scissorhands’ face. Sparks flew into his eyes, and the world went black.

"You, damn Paper! Damn you!"

Swinging his blades wildly, he accidentally sliced through the cord holding up the mountain of books.

The avalanche that had nearly buried Yomiko came crashing down,this time onto Scissorhands.

"Ugh,gah! Ahhh!"

The books, now deadly weapons, pounded every part of his body. Blades shot out from his twisted joints.

"Ohh,gah!"

Crushed by the books, wounded by his own blades, Scissorhands finally fell silent.

"...Hah... hah... hah..."

Yomiko, having barely escaped the collapse, steadied her breathing and slowly stood up.

“………………”

The mental exhaustion was even heavier than the physical.

Even Yomiko was surprised she was still standing.

If she hadn’t steeled herself, she would have drowned in her grief.

Donnie…

She touched the frame of the glasses Donnie had left her.

Just like their previous owner, they were called old-fashioned, clumsy, and uncool by others,but Yomiko loved these glasses more than anything. She couldn’t bear to be apart from them, not even for a moment.

“…My coat…”

The coat she’d sacrificed was buried somewhere beneath the mountain of books. She didn’t have the luxury to go digging for it now.

Yomiko turned and walked toward the room Scissorhands had told her about.

“True talent only appears when you overcome despair. Do you understand that?”

Marihara had stripped off his shirt, now bare-chested.

“!”

Nenene’s eyes widened. There wasn’t even time to feel shame.

Marihara’s upper body was completely covered in tattoos,lines of text etched into his skin.

''“I can never return to that green field I loved. Not ever again…”''

,a line from Nenene’s ''Brothers of Green Field''.

''“After the rain, the off-key sound of a guitar echoed in the sky. Stars twinkled in rhythm, hundreds of light-years away.”''

,a phrase from ''Love Song from the Attic''.

''“…So just that alone made me happy. No matter what changed in the world, you know who I am…”''

,from her debut, ''You Know Who I Am''.

All across his body, there were quotes from Nenene’s books, carved deep into his skin.

It brought to mind the ghost story “Hoichi the Earless,” but seeing it in reality was nothing short of horrifying.

“It was agony,unimaginable pain. You get it, right? But I endured it all, just to understand your writing more deeply. Because I’m your number one fan.”

As he drew closer, Yomiko could smell a heavy, sickly sweetness on his breath, like overripe fruit.

Nenene turned her face away as far as she could.

“Stay away! What kind of fan are you? If that’s what fans are, I don’t need any!”

Her rejection twisted Marihara’s face.

“You don’t need any…? Did you say you don’t need any?”

“That’s right! If you want to fantasize, do it by yourself! Don’t drag me into it!”

With a loud slap, Marihara struck Nenene across the face.

“!”

Nenene’s cheek flushed red with pain.

“Writers exist because of their fans! You write your novels for us, don’t you?”

“No!”

“Then who are you writing for?!”

It was the same question she’d struggled with herself just last night. She still didn’t have a full answer, but this much she could say:

“Maybe I write for other readers, but I’m absolutely not writing for you!”

She braced herself for another blow, but instead, Marihara’s hand gripped the edge of the sheet and yanked it away.

What she saw beneath stunned Nenene.

They were all her books.

From her first work, ''You Know Who I Am'', to her latest, ''On the Street Corner Where Cats Are'',

Sixteen volumes, packed tightly together.

This bed had been built out of Nenene’s own books.

How many thousands had he bought…?

“So many! I’ve read every one of your books! And you say it’s not for me?! I know everything about you! I understand you, because I’ve read them all!”

It was just like the words Yomiko had once spoken to her in the library.

“All I’ve ever thought about is you! And you’re saying you don’t need me?”

His leather pants were visibly bulging. Marihara stood before Nenene, fully aroused.

“…I’ll violate you on top of your own books. Despair like that will deepen your writing.”

Confronted with such a direct threat, true terror welled up in Nenene once again.

This time it wasn’t the war of words or willpower,this was a blunt, overwhelming reality of violence.

“What do you mean, ‘for me’? ‘My education’… This is what it’s really about, isn’t it?”

She tried to raise her voice, but even she could hear the fear that crept in around the edges of her words.

“I know everything about you… That’s why I just want you to know me, too.”

Suddenly, Marihara’s voice grew quiet.

But that only made it more clear,he was frighteningly, hopelessly sincere.

To be violated by her own fan, on the books that were her life’s work…

Was this really the result of everything she’d given herself to, ever since she was thirteen?

Was this the end of all those years, after losing her father, never dating or making close friends, pouring herself only into stories?

A reality more cruel than any tragedy she’d ever written was about to overtake Nenene.

“I love you, my Paul S…”

Marihara still never once called her by her real name.

Just as Nenene felt her heart plunging into despair, the door opened.

“Not now, Scissorhands!”

Marihara shouted without even looking up.

“Step away from Sumiregawa-sensei.”

A quiet voice scolded Marihara from the doorway.

A woman stood silhouetted against the warehouse lights, only the glint of her glasses shining white in the darkness.

“…You?”

Marihara turned toward the door, realizing the intruder was someone he didn’t know, just as he was about to throw himself on Nenene.

From the bed, Nenene called out,

“Sensei!”

Yomiko Readman was standing there, coatless.

“I’ve come to protect you,just as I promised.”

“Hurry up, you idiot!”

Relief crept into Nenene’s voice, sapping its strength.

Given what she’d endured, it was no wonder.

“‘The Paper’…”

Yomiko’s voice hardened as Marihara used her codename. Now was the moment,she could hide nothing from Nenene anymore.

“I’m sorry I kept this from you, Sumiregawa-sensei. I’m an agent with the British Library Special Operations Division. My codename is The Paper. I have a special ability,I fight using paper as a weapon.”

She stated it simply, matter-of-factly.

Nenene just stared, unsure how much she could even comprehend.

Yomiko turned back to Marihara.

“You’re the one who threatened and kidnapped Sumiregawa-sensei, aren’t you?”

“…To make her into a perfect author.”

“That’s not a reason.”

Yomiko took a step into the room.

But Marihara lashed out with an act of desperation.

“Don’t move!”

He pulled a gun from under a cushion and aimed it at Nenene.

“If you move, I’ll shoot her.”

The gaping black muzzle made Nenene’s body freeze.

“…Aren’t you supposed to be her fan?”

“I’m her number one fan. I know everything about her.”

“And yet you’d threaten to shoot her?”

“As long as she has her head and hands, she can still write books.”

The air around Yomiko seemed to shimmer with something new,an emotion she had never felt before.

“Did Scissorhands get taken down? How many people from the British Library are here?”

Suppressing something inside, Yomiko replied,

“…The British Library has nothing to do with this. I’m not The Paper right now. I’m Yomiko Readman,a part-time teacher at Kakinezaka High School, and a fan of Sumiregawa Nenene.”

She locked eyes with Nenene, almost as if praying, almost as if calling out to her soul.

“…A fan? If you’re just a fan, then stay out of it. How much do you really care about her?”

Yomiko turned her gaze to Marihara.

“What do you mean by that?”

“Mere fans just buy the latest book, get swept up in their own emotions, and if the author writes anything even a little outside their tastes, they lose interest and throw her away. To them, authors are nothing more than a new toy,tossed aside as soon as something newer and flashier comes along.”

Nenene trembled at his words.

“That’s not true…”

“They come to your house. They beg for autographs. If the work isn’t exactly what they imagined, they get angry.”

Yomiko had no rebuttal. Marihara’s words were dripping with malice and prejudice,but he’d hit on something she herself had once done.

“You call yourself a big fan, but how much do you really care about her? I’m different. I can draw out the true talent sleeping inside her. I can turn her into a writer whose name will echo through eternity!”

The gun barrel shook in his hand. He was so overcome with excitement he’d lost control,a deeply dangerous state.

After a pause, Yomiko finally spoke, quietly.

“Sumiregawa-sensei is not a character in your story.”

It was the first time Nenene had ever heard Yomiko’s voice like this. Her words quietly soaked into Nenene’s heart.

“Whatever path Sumiregawa-sensei chooses, I’m going to follow her. She doesn’t need to be famous, or win any big awards. Because those are books she thought up, decided on, and wrote all on her own. I’ve been reading those books for so long. And they’ve moved me, and given me courage. I want to keep reading books by a teacher like that.”

Compared to Marihara’s frantic rambling, Yomiko’s tone was quiet and calm. But Nenene didn’t miss a single word.

“When I first read your book, ''You Know Who I Am'', I was so deeply moved. When I found out it was written by a thirteen-year-old girl, I was amazed. Someone so young, already knowing what she wanted to say to the world… I couldn’t help but admire you.”

Maybe these were words she should have said a long time ago. Deep down, Yomiko knew it.

“But then, just for a moment, I wondered… maybe the person you truly wanted to speak to was someone much closer. Your father, or your mother…”

Nenene said nothing,neither agreeing nor denying.

“I don’t know if your words reached those people. But I at least wanted you to know,your words ''have'' reached us. They moved us, gave us courage. And now, we want to tell you that.”

Yomiko stumbled a little over her words, awkward but sincere.

“That’s why I’ve always loved you, Sumiregawa-sensei.”

It was almost like a confession of love. Yomiko took a deep breath.

“Isn’t it a wonderful thing to create work that makes someone fall in love with you before they ever meet you? Isn’t that so much better than some fancy award?”

Yomiko was looking at Nenene. Nenene was looking at Yomiko.

There, in that room, was one writer and two readers. But Marihara stood alone, left behind.

“Don’t just say pretty words… I know what you’ve done.”

Marihara’s voice twisted with spite. The FAX page Scissorhands had brought made a dry, papery sound.

“You killed your lover to become The Paper! You killed Donnie Nakajima, the previous one, with your own hands,with your paper!”

It was a direct attack. Marihara’s words struck Yomiko at her most vulnerable, when she was most exposed.

Her heart was left bleeding.

“?!”

Nenene’s gaze pierced her. For now, it was still just shock, but at any moment it could turn into accusation or fear.

“More than your teacher! More than your lover! You chose the book! As a fellow bibliophile, I get it, but how can anyone trust the words of someone so heartless?!”

Every word stabbed into Yomiko.

Her eyes lost their focus.

Marihara’s gun swung away from Nenene,pointing, with lightning speed, at Yomiko.

“!”

Yomiko’s reaction was a beat too slow.

“You idiot!”

Nenene threw herself at Marihara.

The bookmark fluttered down from her chest.

Even off balance, Marihara pulled the trigger. The bullet flew straight at Yomiko.

“…!”

There was no avoiding it. Leaving her coat behind had been a mistake. Without paper, a paper user is just an ordinary person.

The bullet struck Yomiko in the chest. Her body jerked backward and collapsed to the floor.

Nenene, tangled on the ground with Marihara, cried out in anguish.

“Sensei! Sensei!”

Yomiko didn’t move.

“Come on… Paul… let’s enjoy the rest…”

Marihara staggered upright.

“Sensei! Sensei!”

But Nenene’s whole world had narrowed to Yomiko, lying motionless on the floor.

“…This is the dead end… Hope you learned something.”

“You idiot! I’d never write an ending like this, not even if it killed me!”

“Face despair, Paul. That’s how a writer grows,”

But Marihara’s words cut off.

“…guh…”

He couldn’t finish. A piece of paper was embedded in his throat.

“Whoa…”

Nenene was just as stunned.

“Sen,”

She looked to the door through her tears.

Yomiko was still lying there. But her arm was stretched out, as if she’d just thrown something. It was then Nenene realized,the bookmark was what was lodged in Marihara’s throat.

The bookmark had fallen from her pocket and, caught by a breeze from the sheets, had drifted toward Yomiko.

“Pa… per…”

Was he referring to the paper in his throat, or to Yomiko herself? Marihara collapsed to the floor.

“……………”

Yomiko slowly pushed herself up.

“Sensei!”

Still handcuffed, Nenene lunged for Yomiko, crashing into her and knocking her over.

“You idiot! Don’t scare me like that, you moron!”

“…Sorry…”

Pinned by Nenene, Yomiko stammered an apology. She didn’t even remember using her power. So how…?

“Oh…”

Yomiko pulled ''On the Street Corner Where Cats Are'' from her breast pocket.

The bullet was lodged almost dead center. Flipping through it, she saw it had pierced almost the whole book, stopping just before the last five pages.

“……………”

Yomiko looked at Nenene.

“For a happy ending, is this one a little too normal?”

“…I like it. I like it way better than a dead end.”

……………………………………

It was the kind of moment that should have ended in laughter, but only silence hung between them.

“…Just wait a second…”

Yomiko got up and shuffled outside to get some tissues.

She twisted a piece into a thin string and threaded it through the lock on Nenene’s handcuffs.

“Don’t move, okay?”

“There’s no way that’ll,”

Before she could finish, the handcuffs sprang open.

“What?”

Nenene, suddenly free, grabbed the makeshift string from Yomiko. It was nothing but an ordinary, floppy twist of tissue.

“…This is…”

“That’s the power of a paper user… The Paper…”

Even seeing it in person, it was hard to believe. At best, it felt like a magic trick.

“Let’s do the other one…”

Yomiko, still subdued, repeated the process for her own cuff.

“Hey, Sensei…”

A drop of water landed on Nenene’s hand as she reached out.

“…Sensei?”

It was a tear. Yomiko’s tears were dripping onto Nenene’s hand.

“…Sorry… Just give me a moment…”

“…Was it true… what you said before?”

It felt cruel to ask, but Nenene couldn’t stop herself.

“…Yes…”

The twist of tissue bent in the keyhole. Yomiko’s focus broke, and it unraveled back into paper.

“…When it comes to books, I just… lose control… I can’t help myself…”

She spoke through sobs. Nenene didn’t know the details, but she could feel Yomiko’s sorrow.

“…Donnie chose me over books… But I… I chose books over him… Why…? Even though I knew there’d never be another Donnie…”

Head bowed, Yomiko let her tears and words spill out.

“…I thought about dying… But Donnie left me these glasses in the end… If I died, then there really wouldn’t be anything left for him to read… But… is that just an excuse…?”

Nenene had reached her breaking point. Still handcuffed, she grabbed Yomiko’s face and lifted it to look at her.

“Eh…?”

Yomiko’s cheeks, streaked with tears, were pulled upward.

“H-hey!”

“Don’t cry! Smile!”

Nenene’s face was fierce with determination. Yomiko just stared, stunned.

“I don’t care about your reasons! But if Donnie really loved you more than books,if he chose you,he’d never want to see you cry!”

Yomiko looked straight at Nenene. Even though she was eight years older, her eyes behind the glasses looked like a child’s.

“Smile! You love books, right?! You love them so much it hurts, don’t you?! Then read my books! I’ll write you all the stories you want,I’ll make you glad you’re alive! I’ll make you and Donnie, in those glasses, both happy! I’ll give you your happy ending! So don’t be sad anymore!”

Nenene was desperate,she felt if she didn’t hold Yomiko together now, Yomiko would never recover.

“Ahh, ahh…”

More tears poured from Yomiko’s eyes. Different tears this time.

Nenene let go; Yomiko’s cheeks bounced back.

“Sensei…”

Yomiko buried her face in Nenene’s shoulder and cried.

“I told you not to cry!”

“Sorry… but, but…”

It was hard to believe this was the same girl who had just defeated a monster. She wept like a child.

Nenene gently stroked her hair, grateful and kind.

The rest was cleanup.

Yomiko and Nenene struggled to drag the unconscious men into one place and tie them up. Only Scissorhands was left pinned beneath a stack of books,ropes alone wouldn’t hold him. He might have been seriously injured, but he wouldn’t die. As for Marihara, he was basically in a state of suspended animation. With proper treatment, he’d be fine.

They called the police from a payphone outside and briefly explained the situation, leaving a written note just in case.

That was where Yomiko’s involvement ended. Getting any deeper would only cause trouble for her. Maybe it was already too late for that.

Nenene was supposed to stay behind to give her statement, but she clung to Yomiko, unwilling to be separated.

And so the two of them walked home together, side by side, down a quiet country road where hardly any cars passed.

“…Sumiregawa-sensei, are you sure it wouldn’t have been better to stay? I’m sure the police still have questions for you.”

“That’s exactly why. I’m exhausted, so I’ll give them my statement tomorrow. I’m injured, you know.”

“Ah… right, but, um…”

“Don’t worry, I’ll smooth things over. I might not look it, but I’m a writer,just leave it to me.”

“Thank you…”

The sound of Yomiko’s suitcase rolling along seemed even lonelier in the quiet night. Nenene’s uniform had been torn up, so she wore Yomiko’s coat over her shoulders. Getting just the coat out without waking up Scissorhands had been a real ordeal.

“But seriously… you could’ve at least brought some money with you!”

“Sorry. The taxi fare was more than I expected.”

Nenene’s wallet was still at school, and Yomiko had used up almost all her cash just getting there. That’s why they couldn’t even flag down one of the rare taxis that passed by.

Even so, the long walk home was, for some reason, filled with a gentle peace.

“Hey, Sensei?”

“Yes? What is it, Sumiregawa-sensei?”

“Stop calling me that! It’s confusing when we’re both ‘sensei.’”

“Then… what should I call you?”

“Just ‘Nenene’ is fine.”

“……………”

Yomiko fell silent, lost in thought, her face wrinkling in distress as she played through various options in her head.

“That’s… honestly, really hard for me to say…”

“What? I’m eight years older than you,it’s fine, really.”

“But still…”

Yomiko, who used honorifics with everyone, found it awkward to suddenly call Nenene by her first name.

“Oh, whatever. Then you can call me ‘Sumiregawa-san’ if that’s easier.”

“Sumiregawa…san?”

“Yeah, that’s good.”

Yomiko sighed in relief, glad to have found a compromise.

“So… what is it, Sumiregawa-san?”

“Do you think I have any talent?”

It was a heavy question, tossed out lightly. Maybe what Marihara had said was still bothering her. Still, Yomiko could only answer with honesty.

“Well… to be honest, I’m not sure.”

“Why not?”

“There are all kinds of talent. But whether you have it or not, I love your novels.”

“Heh… well, thanks.”

Their conversation drifted away into the soft spring night. The two of them enjoyed the kind of rambling chat they’d never had time for before.

“…Hey, Sensei. Want to hear about my next story?”

Yomiko’s face lit up instantly. “Yes, please! If you don’t mind!”

Nenene folded her arms and started speaking, drawing it out like a performer.

“This time, I’m thinking of making the protagonist a woman who’s just started teaching at a small high school.”

“Huh…?”

“She’s kind of clumsy and not exactly cool, but in the underworld, she’s something of a legend.”

“…Um, Sumiregawa-san, are you sure that’s not…”

“And she uses her special powers to beat up the bad guys and help her students!”

Yomiko stopped, frowning in protest. “Isn’t that basically a nonfiction story about a real person…?”

Nenene just grinned mischievously and turned around.

“So what? It’d be a waste not to use such good material.”

“Well, I have my own circumstances… If I get too much attention, my superiors will yell at me…”

“It’s for my novel. Please, be a good sport and let me use you as inspiration.”

“There are a lot of scary people out there… You might end up getting dragged into my mess, too, Sumiregawa-san…”

Nenene stopped, turning to look at Yomiko.

“If that happens, I’ll just have you protect me again.”

“Me…?”

“You said you’d protect me, didn’t you?”

“…Yeah…”

The spring moon shone softly down on them.

Nenene, in high spirits, strode ahead; Yomiko followed quietly behind.

“You’re my teacher, and I’m your teacher’s teacher…”

“It’s like a tongue-twister…”

“And you’re my fan, and I’m your fan.”

At Nenene’s unexpected line, Yomiko couldn’t help but raise her voice.

“A fan? Of mine? But you’re my teacher,”

“Sumiregawa-san, remember?”

“S-sorry… but…”

“It’s fine. You don’t get relationships like this very often. For me, this is a first.”

Nenene laughed, her smile pure and bright,a true seventeen-year-old’s smile.

“…Me too,” Yomiko said.

For that smile, Yomiko had run herself ragged all day. It was more than enough reward.

Donnie…

Painful memories came back, but compared to yesterday, the pain was much softer now.

That was thanks to Nenene.

Yomiko felt a new kind of happiness,different from what she felt reading books.

“What are you spacing out for, Sensei? It’s almost midnight,let’s go home.”

“…Right.”

Beneath the calm spring sky, the two of them walked leisurely home,down that long, joyful road together.

A few days later.

“Oh! Sumiregawa!”

“You doing okay now?!”

After finishing her police interview, Nenene returned to school for the first time in a while, and was immediately surrounded by her classmates as soon as she entered the AV room.

The regular classrooms were still being repaired from the holes Scissorhands had made, so for the time being, classes were being held in the AV room.

“Yeah, I’m fine now. The TV talk shows were a bit much, though.”

Because a high school author had been kidnapped by a stalker, Nenene was at the center of a media storm. Some networks spun it as a scandal, but as the victim, public sympathy was overwhelmingly on her side.

And in a very pragmatic way, all the fuss meant her books started selling again.

Marihara and the others had been arrested and were awaiting trial.

The detective who questioned Nenene was a passionate guy, and promised her, “We’ll definitely make them pay for their crimes.” She didn’t know how things would turn out, but she felt she could trust him for now.

“Were you hurt at all?”

“Everyone was so worried about you, seriously.”

Nori and Harumi patted her on the shoulder. It felt like ages since her classmates had felt this close.

This whole ridiculous incident had been far from pleasant, but, like Marihara had said, she’d gained something important from it.

Her father even called her for the first time in ages. His awkward words were laced with worry. In the past, she might have been angry that he still didn’t come home in person, but now, strangely, she just couldn’t bring herself to feel upset.

Why had she started writing novels in the first place? Maybe at first, it really was for her parents’ praise and attention.

But before she knew it, the act of “writing” itself had become what moved her forward.

So, what would she write for now?

Honestly, she still wasn’t sure. But she had a feeling the answer might lie in the emotions she’d felt that night, desperately trying to encourage Yomiko.

Nenene decided she’d figure it out in her own time. At the very least, she had a “reader” who would always pester her for thoughts and opinions.

The bell rang for class.

“Shoot, I didn’t do the homework…”

“Sumiregawa, see you later.”

“Let’s have lunch together today!”

“First period’s World History, right?”

The students scattered to their seats.

Nenene also took her seat,or, to be precise, her seat in the AV room.

The door opened.

“Stand… bow!!”

At the class rep’s command, everyone bowed in unison.

Nenene raised her head and looked at the podium.

“…No way.”

A male teacher stood there, looking a little lost.
----When you’re busy, you don’t really notice it, but the library has always felt so warm.

It’s not just the sunlight. Maybe it’s the atmosphere created by all the books.

Nenene stood quietly in the middle of it.

“I’m not feeling well,” she’d said, slipping out of class. Before she knew it, her feet had brought her here, not the nurse’s office,to the place where she’d first met Yomiko.

Yomiko Readman had left the school “for personal reasons” the very next day after the incident.

No one tried to stop a teacher who’d skipped every class on her first day, then vanished again during a crisis on her second. And so, Yomiko Readman, branded a “problem teacher,” disappeared from Kakinezaka High.

“…Really? Did you have to just leave without a word…?”

Nenene’s voice was feeble as she wandered deeper into the library.

That long walk home had been the last time she’d seen Yomiko. They’d talked a lot, but there was still so much more she’d wanted to say.

Breaks between classes. After school. On holidays. Ditching class to hang out in the library. There were so many things she thought they’d talk about, sooner or later.

But Yomiko had left, just like that, as if the whole ordeal had been a dream.

Nenene hadn’t said anything about Yomiko to the police. If it was inconvenient, she’d just say, “Sorry, I was tied up, so I don’t know.” In a way, it wasn’t even a lie.

Apparently, Marihara and the others hadn’t mentioned Yomiko either. She gathered as much from the detective’s questions. The underworld must have its own rules.

“…Didn’t you want my autograph…?”

Nenene muttered as she made her way to the very back corner of the library,the spot where she’d first met Yomiko.

Of course, no one was there.

But… there was something just a little off. Anyone who knew bookshelves would notice,a subtle, tiny oddity.

Among the old hardcovers, a few pocket-sized novels were hidden.

“!”

She snatched one up in a rush. ''On the Street Corner with Cats.'' It was her own book.

There was a round hole in the center,a bullet hole. No doubt, it was the copy Yomiko had carried.

As she flipped the pages, a letter fell out, tucked inside as a bookmark.

It wasn’t even in an envelope,just a plain piece of white paper, folded in four.

She looked down at the text. It was handwritten, the characters squiggling across the page like earthworms.

Nenene began to read:

To Sumiregawa Nenene,

Sorry, I suddenly have something urgent to take care of, so I have to leave.

I wanted to get your autograph, but let’s save that for the next time we meet.

Thank you for everything. It was only two days, but I really enjoyed spending time with you.

Please take care of your deadlines, and stay healthy.

P.S. I’ll always be watching you. No matter where you are in the world, I’ll be reading you through your books. Not just me,everyone else too. You’re never alone. But if you ever have a hard time or get stuck, just call me. I’ll come running from wherever I am.

I’m so grateful to have found your books, and to have met you in person.

That night, you saved me. Thank you, truly, from the bottom of my heart.

P.P.S. …But if possible, maybe pick a different theme for your next book…

– Yomiko Readman

The handwriting was terrible, and the letter itself was a mess.

Nenene smiled wryly, muttering to herself,

“Seriously, how did you expect me to read this with writing like that? I’m a professional author, you know…”

Even as she laughed, tears fell from both her eyes.

It had been a long time since she’d cried over someone else’s words.

“I even practiced my signature for you… Idiot…”

With a tearful smile, Nenene gazed out the window.

Out past the school gates, she could almost hear the clatter of that suitcase rolling down the spring hillside.

England.

There’s an apartment on a corner of Baker Street.

On a certain floor of that apartment is a room.

A simple nameplate on the door reads “D.N.”

Open the door, and you’re met by a flood of books.

Bookshelves fill the halls and every room, all of them, of course, overflowing.

Western books, Japanese books, photo collections, paperbacks, comics, picture books,every type of book imaginable. They say a bookshelf reveals its owner’s soul, and if that’s true, then the owner of this collection must be open-hearted,or, to put it less kindly, utterly disorganized.

Yomiko stands before a sun-drenched shelf at the back of the room.

“I’m home, Donnie…”

This room was one Donnie Nakajima secretly rented, but it contains no rare first editions or secret British Library documents.

Just ordinary books, lined up on ordinary shelves.

Only Yomiko knows about this place. Donnie had told her she was free to use it whenever she liked.

It was, in other words, a “secret library” just for the two of them.

Today, Yomiko had come straight here from the airport, before her next assignment.

“I brought you a souvenir.”

She pulled out Nenene’s On the Street Corner Where Cats Are from her suitcase,a pristine, brand-new copy.

“Sumiregawa-sensei’s latest! Oh, and I met her in person, you know, in Japan!”

She slid On the Street Corner Where Cats Are onto the shelf, alongside the other works by Nenene.

“Donnie, you always said, ‘She must be such a sensitive, quiet girl,’ didn’t you? Well, you were way off! She’s lively and active, much more together than I am!”

Of course, there’s no reply.

But the bookshelves seem to quietly accept and embrace Yomiko’s words, just as Donnie himself once did.

Donnie Nakajima,a British Library agent who lived his life in the shadows.

He has no grave. Not even a photograph remains.

But the books he loved are still here.

And the memories remain inside Yomiko.

He is one with the books, surrounding her still. Through her glasses, she shares in his feelings.

Yomiko realized something, standing there:

She was glad she loved books.

“…Sensei promised to write another good book for us. Let’s read it together, Donnie…”

She smiled gently, feeling his presence in that mountain of books.

I love books.

I love Donnie.

I love them both.
{| class="wikitable"
|+
!Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Transition|Transition]]
!Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
!Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Epilogue|Epilogue]]
|}

Read or Die:Volume1 Transition

2025-07-10T19:00:50Z

Alekazzandre:

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.
{| class="wikitable"
|+
!Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1|Chapter 1]]
!Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
!Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter 2|Chapter 2]]
!
|}

Read or Die:Volume1 Transition

2025-07-10T18:58:14Z

Alekazzandre: added navigation at bottom of page

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.
{| class="wikitable"
|+
!Back to [Https://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter 1 Chapter 1]
!Return to [https://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/Read_or_Die Main Page]
!Forward to [https://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/Read_or_Die:Volume1_Chapter_2 Chapter 2]
!
|}

Read or Die:Volume1 Transition

2025-07-10T18:52:00Z

Alekazzandre: /Read Or Die: Interlude Chapter/

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-10T18:50:30Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

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


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.


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.


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.  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 head-shot of the author and a short biography.

Out of the photo smiled a girl with hair that stuck out at the back.  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. 

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....” 

The students that were walking up the road behind her responded to her unprompted babbling with dubious expressions. 

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.



“If I could have your attention please!  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—!“ 

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. 

“...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.  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.” 

His  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.”


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?" 

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.


“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.  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> , 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.”



Yomiko reached into her coat pocket again and pulled out another book.

"This action  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>,  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.



“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>. 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 formulas.


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 dumb ass, 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.


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.


“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.


“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...” [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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....


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  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.


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 step 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. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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.



"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! 

"Can't wrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiittte!"


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?!”




"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!" 

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.


"..... 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.  Out of the scenarios she had considered before, she finally had made a breakthrough.

"Se--, Sensei--! So, who can defeat Valkes  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.


"Aaaargh~!"

Her fingers danced over the cramped keyboard. They leapt, they flew, they ran, faster than the eye could follow, spinning forth all manner of words onto the screen at an astonishing rate.

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

However, if it had sounded like a melody before, this was more like machine gun fire; that was the only match for this intensity and force.

"Whoa—..."

In the end, without having received verbal confirmation, Yomiko had to conclude that this could be no other than Nenene herself.

Though it certainly would not be fitting to describe her as physically imposing, her presence was a million-fold 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.

As for Nenene, she completely failed to notice Yomiko's emotional outburst or anything else beyond herself as she continued to vigorously pound away at the keys.

Occasionally she slid along the desk, shuttling from notebook to notebook and working on four drafts at once. The reasoning behind this was impossible to discern.

Almost overcome with longing, Yomiko suddenly remembered her objective.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"


How many times had she tried by now? She spoke up once more.

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 a notch. Even with that, the girl didn’t turn around.

“Sensei~, errr~!”

Yomiko stood right behind her target and moved her hand as if to grab the girl by the shoulder, and suddenly, Nenene turned toward her.

“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, albeit more from surprise than pain.

Nenene roared down at Yomiko, who was seemingly unable to rise from her position on the floor.

“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 shrink back. 

“....... Hmph~!”

From behind Nenene, who had relaunched her writing, Yomiko tentatively craned her neck in an attempt 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 mindset of a fan is quite complex.


Though she was unaware of what Yomiko was up to behind her, 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 the entire upper half of her body around as she tried to see those screens.

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

Wordlessly, the two continued their opposed 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 today’s 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.

...... To be honest with herself, it was 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 was already 4 in the afternoon.

Anyway, time to go home. Go home, and sleep, and think things over.

Nenene stood up from her chain and turned around.


"Whoooa~!"

Right there 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 now the girl produced 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, she on pregnancy leave?"

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

Yomiko pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#Notes|(3)]]

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

It looked as if she had indeed forgotten her last conversation with Yomiko. Perhaps she had been so intent on her deadline that her brain had been in a state of confusion.


"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.

".... Just possibly, ‘sit you? The one who's been hasslin' me lately?"

"Huh?"

Nenene produced a single envelope from the midst of some documents that were scattered about and thrust it toward Yomiko.

It was a plain white envelope, with no distinguishing characteristics. No stamp, postmark, or even address had been recorded on it. Apparently someone would have needed to directly place it into the recipient’s mailbox.

After examining it closely, Yomiko emptied its contents into her hand 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 for you soon. To my Paul S"

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

"What might this be?"

"Found it in my home mailbox yesterday. It was you, right?"


"No."

Yomiko shook her head politely as she answered.

Nenene made an even more disagreeable face.

"Happens a lot lately. Keep getting random phone calls where no one says anything, and when I leave the house, I feel like someone's tailing me. Thanks to all that, I just can’t get aaaannnny writing done!"

"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 working for my taxes!"

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

"And just to top it all off, this letter! First off, 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. Wordlessly, it seemed to communicate the strong ego and self-esteem that lay within her.

"I know all about you. You debuted with <i>You Know Me</i> 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 wash your right leg first, 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."


"Yes~! I'm a big fan, you see!"

Smiling like a puppy who’d been praised by its master, Yomiko fished through her pockets and took out a copy of <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Live</i>.

"I've alllways, alllways loved your books! When I read this one back in the day, 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, without moving from 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, dammit. You read the stories I write and you’re moved; that should be enough. So why the hell, then, would you feel you gotta get a signature? A signature's just a name, you know."


"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."

For any popular author, sometimes particularly "excessive" fans would develop grandiose ideas and send letters or “presents”. When one becomes an author 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?"

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


At those unexpectedly heartfelt words, Nenene's burning spirit 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 even before that, I've read so very much of you."

Yomiko's statement lacked any hesitation. Her words were as guileless as those of a child.

"...And I just told you, that wasn’t me; those’re 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 <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Are</i>, her fingers moving the pages with obvious loving care.

"This paper tells me how very much you throw yourself into your writing."

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

"I, truly, love you."

An awkward silence fell. Within statement lurked a small particle whose meaning that was as of yet something the two of them could not understand.

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 picked up the letter again.



“For this person as well, surely it would be that way. So, if you’d just talk to him...”

However, Nenene flung the letter away from her, letting it flutter about until it came to rest on the floor between them.

“Ah...”

“You could say what you want, and this guy’d still get in my way.”

Nenene’s tone had returned to its previous state.

“But...”

“Furthermore,” she interrupted Yomiko before she could finish her statement, “thanks to this guy, I can’t sleep a wink. I’ve missed four deadlines, home and work both fail me(*), so I get stuck writing my manuscripts in the library. Got me?”

“Yes...”

“I don’t know what the hell he wants from me, but there is just one thing I want from him to stop goddamn harassing me! That’s all!”

For a second time, silence fell over the room; This time there was clearly something different about it...

“Readman-Sensei!”

The silence mingled with a third person’s voice.

From around the corner of the bookshelves, the figure of a jersey-clad male teacher appeared. It was Nire, the gym teacher.

“What are you doing-?! Your class-!”



As he said that, she came to her senses-- Yomiko had been sitting there in seiza for something close to seven hours, determined to wait until Nenene had finished her manuscript-- and, as one would expect, the history class she had been charged with overseeing had begun long ago. To have done this on her first day of substitute teaching showed a outstanding level of ineptitude.

“Aaah--...”

As you would expect, all the color drained from Yomiko’s face, “I--, I’m so sorry! I’ll head out straightaways...”

As Yomiko went to stand up, she pitched forward, falling to the ground painfully.

On account of having sat in seiza in place for so long, her feet had fallen entirely asleep.

His voice, laced with ice, fell coldly upon Yomiko from above

“Waaaaa~...”

Yomiko was mumbling and crying incomprehensibly while thrashing her upper body about in a clearly distraught fashion.



"Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

Having cleaned up the mess she had made of the library, Nenene tiredly approached the school's main gate, only to hear a voice call out to her.

She thought it was weird that she could tell who it was without turning around.

"Please wait, Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

It was that woman from the library. That woman’s name was something like...Yomiko; that’s it. The name sounded like a joke, not that her own was the sort you’d usually hear used for a person.

Yomiko chased after Nenene, the wheeled bag she always dragged with her making a quiet clacking noise.

"I'm not even gonna bother lecturing you."

"... Yes. I apologize for worrying you like that."

Sighing to herself, Yomiko bowed sheepishly. It wasn't clear which was the teacher and which was the student.

"Couldn't say I was worried."

She'd meant it to sound cold, but a smiling, laughing Yomiko just gazed at her.

“...Well, What?!”

"Ummm, as for the next thing. I was thinking that I'd like to do a home visit.”

“A home visit--? To MYYY HOME--?!”

At Yomiko's sudden suggestion, Nenene's voice rose significantly.

"Yes"

"Why the--you're a substitute teacher, right?! It's not like you're my homeroom teacher!"

"That may be true, but..."



At this point Yomiko glanced around as if checking the perimeter and then lowered her voice.

"Actually, I had thought to offer to protect you."

"Protect?"

"Yes. Umm, from the person who sent the letter."

"The hell? I'm good--'cuz tomorrow, I'm hiring a bodyguard."

For a high school girl like Nenene to be talking about bodyguards had a strange feeling to it.

"But even then, if he were to strike tonight or something, wouldn't that be pretty dangerous?"

"What I'm saying is, even if you were there, it's not like you'd have any goddamn impact."

"Sensei, I, I'm a bit stronger than I appear."

She thumped her chest with a fist. Unlike what she'd expected, it hit the top of her full bust, producing
more of a "Poof" noise.

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

Speechless, Nenene reached her hands toward Yomiko's face.

"Yes?"

She grabbed both of Yomiko's cheeks and pulled and stretched them to the extreme left and right.

"Th--Thumirehawa, Thenthei--!"

"Woah. They realllly stretch!" As they had managed to stretch twice as much as the average person's cheeks, even Nenene had to raise her voice in amazement.

"Thop, puwease--, thop...."



After toying with Yomiko for a bit, Nenene released her fingers. (1)

"Hi-hiiin..."

Her cheeks blazing red, Yomiko began to cry audibly, her tears just starting to pool in her eyes beneath her glasses.

"Wha-errrrre are you strong, damnit. You get your cheeks pinched and you're already half crying, aren't you."

"J-just now, I wasn't expecting that, you know~. That was just a cheap trick."

"Ah"

Nenene's gaze focused on something behind Yomiko's back.

"Eh?"

Without thinking, Yomiko turned around to look behind her.

"Tou”

Instantly, Nenene planted a light kick on Yomiko's unprotected back.

"Tawaba--!"

Yomiko fell quite magnificently, both hands raised as if cheering.

"You're just feel of fuzzy feelings, aren't you. To hell with protecting me; it's yourself you need to worry about. Maybe you should take a correspondence course in Aikido?"

Having picked herself up into a squatting position, Yomiko whimpered as she brushed dirt off of her face.

"....I just can't put forth my real power when it's not a serious situation."



A student on the way home spoke up toward these two in whom the power balance between teacher and student had been completely inverted.

"Whaaaaat, Sumiregawa. You're even puttin' on skits with the teach now?"

"Switchin' ta comedy? Gonna debut in the entertainment world?"

It was Nenene's classmates, Nori Kawarazaki and Harumi Mishima.

They were kidding around, but it felt like there was a speck of irony mixed in there somewhere, though it wasn't clear if that were intentional or not.

"It's just that this teacher up and started arguing with me! Me, I wanted to get home ASAP and sleep!"

"Such a HARD worker. For the two've us, next stop's the meetup.”

"Meetup?"

"Yep. Kitasawa and Nishi Middle's kids're getting along pretty well."

"Middle schoolers? Since when've you been into that sort of thing?"

"It's good and all, 'ccasionally. Even Sumiregawa might do something other than work on her novel all the time, maybe have a little fun. "

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get left behind. With the cool stuff."

"Hooow 'bout speaking to some of the kids who're fans of yours?"

"Nope, no way. Sumiregawa's fans're usually female, right."

"Bit weird, but that way there'd be new stuff to explore..."


[[Image:Read or Die vol01 081.jpg|thumb]]


Glancing at her face, the two burst into laughter. But as for the one in question, her face displayed neither amusement nor anger, but serenity.

"Umm..."

Beating the dirt out of her coat, Yomiko stood up.

"This meetup thing sounds like fun to me, but."

"Yes?"

To have Yomiko, who almost didn't register with those two as a human being, let alone as a teacher, suddenly involve herself in their conversation was quite unexpected.

"You could also try reading some books; how about that?"

"Books? The questioning looks on the two showed they clearly didn't know what she is getting at.

"Yes."

Yomiko pulled a single volume from within her coat. It was a young adult novel.

"There's this one, Radio Girl. It's light and interesting. It talks about a boy that falls in love with a female listener that sends postcards in which are read during a late-night broadcast….”

Her explanation appeared to have no end, as she produced out book after book with flourishes worthy of a magician.

"... Ah, and then, there's Please Return My Kiss. The main character is a girl who's searching for the boy who'd been her first kiss back in their childhood. The only clue she has is an old photo of the two of them, but there's a surprising twist in the end..."


The two female students exchanged glances as Yomiko's explanation flowed in one ear and out the other, the specter of the morning exercises returning to life in their imaginations.

"...But well, when it comes to YA novels, I've really just got to recommend Sumiregawa-sensei's debut work, You Know Me."

"!"

As her own book was brought up, Nenene stiffened up slightly.

"Ah, but if you're friends, you've probably read it already..."

"Knock it off--!"

It was Yomiko's turn to stiffen up, as Nenene's shout made her accidentally drop the book.

"....Eh?"

The air stopped dead, but only between the two of them.

As for the two female students, this was the chance they had been looking for.

"Aahh.....We've got to get going, so....."

"See ya later, Sumiregawa"

Quite in contrast to how they had strolled up before, they began to walk rapidly away.

Subsequently, Nenene and Yomiko were all who remained.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei.....?"


"It's embarassing, don't ya think--! Don't whip out my book in front of people--!"

"I'm sorry.... But....."

"But what--!"

"..... If you go into any bookstore, there'd be tons of your books around."

"A bookstore's alright--! I just hate it when that gets pulled in front of people I know!"

Despite the threatening aura that was pressing down upon her, Yomiko just had to inquire further.

".....Why would that be?"

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

Without answering, Nenene turned around and began to walk away.

".....Umm, Sensei....."

Suitcase clattering behind her, Yomiko chased after the fleeing target's back.

"Don't you follow me--! Go home--!"

"Buuut..."

"Haaah..... So this is Sensei's apartment?"

Yomiko peered upward at the high-class apartment building as it towered before her, her voice tinged with awe at the sight.

"Man, you're really bold, seriously."



In the end, Yomiko hadn't even considered leaving Nenene alone.

Nenene had hailed a taxi and headed off, but Yomiko, suitcase clattering along as she dragged it behind her, raised a loud "Seeeeeeenseeeeei" before seeming to give up. The taxi driver also assumed that it wouldn't be hard to drive away from the women, her hair dishelved and her coat flying around her as she ran.

As for Nenene, not once did she see Yomiko's reflection fall behind in the rear-view mirror, with not the slightest sign of her abandoning pursuit. It felt as if she'd gotten a meddlesome cousin.

Grumbling all the while, Nenene opened a keypad installed at the first floor entrance. After she pressed the numbered keys to enter her code, the noise signalling that the door to enter the floor had opened could be heard.

"Yeah, yeah, here's where we say goodbye. I gotta sleep now, you know~"

Waving a half-hearted goodbye, Nenene went to enter the doorway.

".....Sensei, ummmm..."

"What."

Yomiko pointed toward the postboxes lined up in a row nearby. They were obviously intended for use by the residents of the apartment building. Apparently, with her overabundance of exhaustion Nenene had forgetten to check her mail.

As the number of slots that would fit in the space were limited, the numbers didn't go beyond 100. In their midst Nenene's was conspicuous enough to be obvious for Yomiko, who was visiting for the first time, to pick it out at a glance. It's not that it bore any decoration.


The mailbox’s raison d’etre was on full display, its narrow slot stuffed to the limit with mail.

“...What?”

“It’s letters, packages, and so forth, yes?”

Yomiko had piped up cheerily, but Nenene retorted with a harder tone.

“...No way should this much stuff show up in one day. Not when it was totally empty this morning…”

Nenene had checked her mail before heading to school that morning. At the time, there hadn’t been a single scrap of paper in there.

For her job, there were certain days when novels or essay magazines were sent, but never so much as to make the mailbox this full.

As Yomiko watched, Nenene turned the dial on the mailbox and opened its door.

“!”

As if they had been waiting for this moment, fluttering papers surged down around their feet with the force of a waterfall.The grey tiled floor was promptly awash with white.

“Oh, my…”

Yomiko picked up one paper from the mass as Nenene stood frozen and speechless.

Once inspected, it proved to be not a piece of paper, but an envelope. It was an easy mistake to make, as it bore no decoration, color, or writing of any kind.

“... Is it alright if I open this?”

Yomiko thrust an envelope in front of Nenene’s face. Nenene wordlessly nodded.

“Here goes.”

Yomiko traced a fingertip along the back of the envelope. It seemed a trivial motion, and yet the glued flap of the envelope was sliced open as if by a letter opener.

What was pulled from inside was a quad-folded piece of white paper.

It wasn’t even stationery, but merely an ordinary piece of white paper. Yomiko slowly opened it, while Nenene dropped her gaze to follow.

The contents therein read as you would expect.

“I’ll be coming to meet you soon. -Yours, Paul S.”

Nenene’s brows began to furrow as Yomiko stooped to gather more and more envelopes, revealing their contents as before.

“You cannot escape. -Yours, Paul S.”

“Sorry for the wait. -Yours, Paul S.”

“I know you. - Yours, Paul S.”

With little variation in contents, it was clear that these had all been sent by one person. Although, they seemingly had not been sent via the postal service. Rather, they had been hand delivered directly.

“... Hmm?”

It was then that Yomiko realized that Nenene had been standing there the whole time.

“...................”

Nenene had seemed tired, but now in her expression undercurrents of deep strain were revealed.

In the library room and at the approach to the school, she had shown none of the pale weakness that was now evident.

Still kneeling, Yomiko softly took Nenene’s hand. Nenene stiffened with surprise and looked down at her.

Yomiko gave her a smile that spread across her whole face, the kind of overeagerly artless smile she was so wont to give.

“Don’t worry yourself, Sensei. I’ll be with you.”

“... I’m NOT that worried.”

Nenene brushed Yomiko’s concerns aside with a wave of her hand. Her voice had regained its usual tone.

<nowiki>----------</nowiki>

“Uwaaa, it’s huge; there’s so much room…”

Unit 1602. This was the first expression Yomiko gave upon entering Nenene’s apartment.

A hallway lined with innumerable doors led to a living room more akin to a classroom in size. Were one to sweep their gaze to the side, they would espy a dine-in kitchen. Visible through a large window was a line of potted decorative plants lining a veranda.

Yomiko’s impression was simple, but accurately captured the nature of the apartment. It was indeed quite huge and roomy. However, beyond that, it utterly lacked the feel of a lived-in space.

“Let’s set you down all careful-like,” Nenene thoughtlessly remarked as she slung down her backpack, bearing a single laptop within it, and placed it on the floor.

“Oookay, if you’d excuse me….”

Yomiko sat down on the sofa in the middle of the living room, rested her body against its back, and snuggled deeply into the cushions.

“Not gonna take off your coat? It’ll get wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about me…”

Keeping a coat on inside seemed a bit strange, but Nenene wasn’t about to push her to take it off, so she said no more of it.

“I’m gonna go change. Just wait a sec.” With that, Nenene disappeared down the hallway.

“Take your time…”

After watching Nenene leave, Yomiko turned her attention back to the contents of the room. She was visiting the house of an author she admired. Surely a fan should be excited by this, but for some reason, this was making her feel uneasy.

“......................”

Yomiko stood up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.

Though it was rude, she opened the fridge, which was full of P.E.T. bottles of mineral and flavored water. Peering behind the bottles, she spotted some beer cans that may have been intentionally hidden. There wasn’t a single item you could call a meal ingredient.

“Hmmmm…”

Yomiko returned to the living room and began to absently search the place.

A giant wall projector was hooked up to a DVD player. On the table’s surface lay remote controls for the AC and other systems. It looked like a model room, clean and tidy, but without a lived-in smell.

In this room, Yomiko stumbled upon one relic of the inhabitants. A decorative shelf held a display stand containing a photo.

“Oh my.”

It was a photo of the Sumiregawa family. It looked like she had still been in elementary school, but there was a young, cheerful looking Nenene, hair already sticking out in the back, smiling and holding hands with a man who was apparently her father and a women who looked to be her mother.

A pure, innocent smile typical of childhood. Yomiko squinted, looking closer at some of the other, similar photos, and noticed something odd. The family pictures could be broadly divided into two types. One showed the family centered around Nenene. The other showed just the man and woman—without Nenene. There were no photos of just Nenene and her father. Or just Nenene and her mother, but the photo of just the man and woman… the woman in that picture was clearly not the same woman from the other photos.

Someone else stood beside the man. Someone who, from the way she leaned in, was clearly close to him. And not the woman who’d appeared earlier with young Nenene.

“………………”

A different wife, maybe? Two different family portraits, decorating the shelf like pieces in a game of spot-the-difference.

“What are you doing?”


Nenene’s voice came from behind.

She had returned from down the hallway, now changed into a beige sweater and a moss green pleated skirt.

A casual, comfortable outfit—perfect for relaxing.

“I see… are your parents still working, then? Probably?”

“Work is work, you know.”

“About what time do they usually come home? I mean, I should at least say hello.”

“Who knows when they'll come back? Isn’t it usually around New Year’s?”

“…Huh?”

Nenene leaned back against the sofa, stretched her legs out like she was airing them, and let out a long sigh. A faint trace of exhaustion from work drifted up like a scent and filled the room.

“They’ve been stationed in America for the past two years. My dad and my step— I mean, my mom too.”

That pause on “stepmother” came with a delicate nuance.

“They’re both working for some company over there, doing computer development or whatever.”

Her tone was indifferent, but it left behind an unmistakable sense of distance.

“So then… you’re living alone?”

“I wanted to go to high school here. It was also for work.”

By “work,” she clearly meant writing.

“I think I read that in an interview somewhere…”

As she said that, Yomiko settled into the seat across from Nenene.

“You didn’t say you were lonely or anything. It’s kind of…”

“Annoying.”

“I see… but still, don’t you ever get lonely?”

“What bothers me is when people assume I do.”

“It's annoying when people think that way.”

Nenene pursed her lips as if she was upset. It wasn't her true feelings, but rather a pose she was putting on.

“You read novels and manga, right? For people our age, living alone is heaven. There are no curfews, no nagging, and no need to worry about anything. We can play as much as we want."


“But, um, what about family gatherings?”

Nenene looked taken aback by the sudden question.

“Family gatherings? Do you think those still exist these days?”

“No? Like when your dad flips the table, or when you're watching TV with your mom and there's a kissing scene and it gets awkward?”

　Was it just her knowledge, or was it a misconception? Yomiko's example was far from the definition of family time.

“...How old are you?”

“I'm 25.”

Many women dislike talking about their age, but Yomiko answered without hesitation.

"Even so, you should know a little more about the world. This isn't some old manga. Don't you watch TV?"

“I don't have a TV at home.”

This came as a surprise to Nenene.

“Why not?”

“I read books all the time when I'm at home, so I don't really need one...”

“Then how do you find out about the latest fashions, hot spots, and events? Oh, from magazines?”


“Yeah, I read those sometimes, but they're hard to remember. I just prefer reading books. ... Oh, but I always wear the same clothes, and when I go out, I only go to bookstores and used bookstores, and the only events I'm interested in are used book fairs, so I'm fine without it.”

“You mean you really wear the same outfit all the time!?”

“That coat!?”

“Well… I do have multiple coats, shirts, ties, and skirts… but they’re all the same design, so people often think I’m always wearing the same thing.”

“Why!? Don’t you want to dress up or anything!?”

“I don’t.”

“You should! You're a girl!”

“A girl...?”

It was probably just the force of her words, but Nenene's words made Yomiko's cheeks relax.

“It's been a while since someone said that to me...”

She grinned, her face falling into a slovenly expression. It was unclear what memories were coming back to her.

"I'll take back what I just said. Not a girl, but ‘sort of a woman’."

Yomiko let out a disappointed voice at Nenene's cold correction.

“...Um, I'm not just a woman, I'm a woman in every sense of the word...”

She was probably referring to gender.

Nenene coughed to clear the air, which was filled with a vague sense of humor.


“Well, it's okay. That kind of thing. The point is, the problem is that guy.”

“Ah, right.”

At Nenene’s words, Yomiko pulled a stack of envelopes from her coat pocket—the ones she’d picked up from the post downstairs. These were the letters shoved into Nenene’s mailbox. She’d gathered them all and brought them along. Nenene had grumbled and argued about letting her up into the apartment, but in truth, it was this that had convinced her.

The long rectangular table was now covered in white envelopes. To someone who didn’t know better, it might have looked like a game of high-stakes poker.

“All in all, there were 219,” Yomiko said. “All of them the same kind of envelope.”

Even as a prank, the number was bizarre. There were no return addresses. Nenene stared at them again, a deep, unsettling chill crawling up her spine.

“What kind of idiot… seriously… should I call the cops?”

“That might not be so easy,” Yomiko said, her voice level and calm. “This person never sends anything but letters.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier? Then what should I do?”

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“…What?”

Yomiko’s unexpected answer clearly threw Nenene off.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, you don’t have to do a thing. I’ll take care of it.”


“…Take care of what?"

Yomiko grinned sheepishly, pinching the letter between her fingers.

“I just want to catch this person and make sure they don’t bother you anymore, Sensei.”

It was a remarkably plain statement; so simple, in fact, that Nenene had to reprocess it to confirm what she'd just said and then groaned.

“Listen. Like I told you back in the library. This guy is just some delusional nutcase with a crush. Total creep, totally obsessed.”

“Well then, all the more reason to bring him to justice, right? Otherwise, he’ll just keep stalking you.”

“Do you really think logic’s gonna work on someone like this? With this level of obsession? Get real.”

For Nenene, this kind of commotion wasn’t anything new.

From when she debuted at age three, to now as a currently active student author with that label plastered everywhere, she’d gained a lot of fans over time. Which meant, naturally, she also had a lot of weird fans. More than your average writer, in fact.

Each week, she received over a hundred fan letters.

Most of them were the usual stuff; reactions to her books, personal updates, that kind of thing. Ordinary, boring fan mail.

But some of them? Went way off the rails. Some were on A4 paper typed perfectly in size 24 font, just full-page rants.

Some described magic spells and secret cult messages like they were writing a novel.

Some used strange characters or esoteric codes—like ancient weapons would activate just from reading the keywords.

It wasn’t just weird—it was dangerous. And what was she even supposed to do with that kind of mail?

There were even letters that claimed Nenene’s novels were actually stolen from the sender’s own mind. According to them, they’d planned to write the exact same story themselves, but Nenene had somehow overheard their thoughts and published the idea as her own.


“If you don’t immediately cease writing, I’ll consider filing a lawsuit.”

She’d actually received a letter that said that—word for word. It was so absurd she couldn’t help but laugh.

Then there was the time she set a story in the near future and got a phone call from someone claiming to know the characters. When her editor asked where the call was coming from, the person on the line said:

“A-Sa-Ke-Tani.”

Philosophically baffling, to say the least.

A thirty-five-year-old man once insisted he had to marry her because she was his destined younger wife. She was fourteen at the time. Her father—understandably disturbed—let the editor handle him. (The man was eventually paid off and disappeared.)

There were others too. People who tracked down her address and sent letters directly. Some even dug into her family registry, trying to gather info to reach her.

Because of that, her parents had moved, she’d relocated to a new apartment, and her name had been omitted from phone books. Things had been relatively quiet since.

Not that she was proud of it—but she had plenty of experience dealing with stalkers.


Even so, this time… the sheer volume was unusual.

And the sender hadn’t shown themselves at all. That was what made it worse.

There was something… off. Not threatening, exactly. But unsettling.

Maybe it was that, despite this being their very first meeting, Yomiko Readman didn’t seem like an ordinary fan at all. That vague unease was the reason Nenene hadn’t been able to bring herself to kick her out.

It wasn’t logical, but the fact that Yomiko was now her teacher—even if temporarily—might’ve played a role too.

“It’s fine. People who love books can’t be bad.”

Yomiko said this with total conviction. The words weren’t exactly persuasive, but her eyes, fixed steadily on Nenene’s, were brimming with sincerity.

“Well, sure. You say that. But what if he doesn’t respond to persuasion? Then what?”

Nenene’s retort was edged with sarcasm, but Yomiko just folded her arms and tilted her head thoughtfully.

“In that case... maybe, just a little, I might have to use force…”

Her voice was small. Her expression reluctant and a little pained.

“What the hell could you even do with force? I’m pretty sure I’m stronger than you.”

Nenene recalled how things went in front of the school gate. Physical protection wasn’t going to be this girl’s strong suit.

“I—I guess you’re right…”

Yomiko shrank slightly, rubbing the back of her head in embarrassment. Yet behind the sheepish smile, Nenene could sense something buried deep inside her.

“Whatever. Tomorrow I’ll call the publisher and ask them to help out—maybe get in touch with a security firm or a detective agency. I’ll hire someone. I probably won’t need them for long.”

For now, though—tonight—she just didn’t want to be alone. Just tonight, for some reason, the thought of being by herself was making her uneasy. In that sense, having someone like Yomiko around was a relief.

“…So, what are you gonna do? Tonight?”

“T-Tonight?”

“You said you’d protect me, didn’t you? …Are you staying over?”

“You’ll let me?!”

Yomiko’s face lit up like a light switch.

“That’s totally fine! I mean, I don’t need you to do anything for me or whatever—”

“Just being able to stay over at your house is already the highest honor, Sensei!”

Her sheer fangirl energy was on full display, practically bouncing with glee. It was hard to believe she was any older than eight, the way she was acting.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I mean, it’s not like we’re gonna be doing anything. You’re just sleeping over.”

“Right. But still, to be under the same roof as you, Sensei… ahaha…”

Now that Nenene thought about it—Yomiko was a woman, and her teacher. That detail alone was enough to soothe her nerves somewhat. And yet, the way she was acting wasn’t all that different from the sender of those letters.

Realizing this, Nenene gave her a wary, side-eyed glance.

They ordered pizza delivery for dinner. After eating, Nenene got into the shower early and began getting ready for bed. It was just past 8 PM, but she was running on a sleep deficit from the past few days, and her exhaustion had piled up fast.

Yomiko, however…

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes!”

…said this as an excuse to avoid using the shower.

“You didn’t bring clothes? What’s the suitcase for, then?”

Driven equally by suspicion and curiosity, Nenene headed to her closet to dig around for a spare set of pajamas.

The only ones she managed to find were from her middle school days, abandoned and unused for years.

A pale pink set, dotted with a scattered pattern of strawberries.

Childish.

She used to adore those childish pajamas back then.

These days, she preferred a soft white set scattered with pale lemon-yellow dots. A size too big, they hung loosely on her frame—cozy and relaxed.

Before long, Yomiko emerged from the hallway after her shower, and the moment Nenene caught sight of her, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Pfft—ahahaha!”

“...They’re a little small,” Yomiko mumbled.

They were her old middle school pajamas, after all. And since Yomiko was taller than Nenene, it was no surprise the fit was… tight. The fabric clung awkwardly around her unexpectedly full chest, making the top look cropped.

Despite her baby-faced appearance, Yomiko was still a twenty-five-year-old woman. The tightness of the pajama top highlighted her figure in ways that came off oddly suggestive.

A guy might’ve found the whole thing sexy, but for plain old Sumiregawa Nenene, it was just straight-up ridiculous.

“Please… don’t laugh so much...” Yomiko said, flustered, fidgeting in place with an expression halfway between shame and embarrassment.

Her body still radiated steam from the shower, and her glasses were thoroughly fogged over, which only added to the sketch-comedy vibe of the scene.

“Sorry. I mean, they don’t not suit you, but like—come on, it’s just us, no one’s gonna see.”

“Uuugh…”

Yomiko let out a weird little groan at the world’s least comforting reassurance.

Nenene couldn't bring herself to lend Yomiko her underwear, so she sent her out to buy some at the convenience store.

Yomiko, unfazed, had said, “It’s fine, really. This is good enough.”

But Nenene had insisted, “Not a chance. Without that, what’s the point of taking a shower?”

And forcibly sent her out.

When it came to things like this, Yomiko clearly lacked common sense.

Nenene found herself growing a little curious about what exactly this girl’s private life was like.

A wave of drowsiness washed over her.

Perhaps because her nerves had finally relaxed, she let out a wide yawn.

“Wow… Even you yawn like that, Sensei...”

Yomiko murmured, oddly impressed.

“What else would I do? …Anyway, sleep. Go sleep.”

“Haa…”

Nenene brought a thick blanket out from the bedroom and handed it to Yomiko.

“The air conditioner’s on, so this should be enough.”

She took another of the same blankets for herself and lay down on the living room sofa.

“If it’s alright, I’ll sleep here. This is plenty for me.”

Yomiko stood in front of the sofa, not sitting.

Nenene asked, confused,

“What? Are you saying I’m in the way or something?”

“No, not at all!”

Yomiko shook her head vigorously, her still-damp hair flopping wildly.

“Then pick a spot and sleep.”

She placed a cushion under her head as a makeshift pillow and began settling into a sleeping position.

Satisfied, Yomiko quietly plopped herself down on the floor in front of the sofa with a soft thump.

“I... I know I’m just an unworthy novice, but I look forward to serving you for a long time…”

Just like she had done in the library, Yomiko knelt on the floor, placed her fingers to the ground in a formal bow, and lowered her head.

“Stop that! Don’t go doing weird stuff like that!”

Nenene threw up her hands. Yomiko had a way of always floating off somewhere—too light to pin down, too deep to see through—and somehow always seemed to exist just slightly outside the bounds of common sense. Nenene found herself genuinely curious about what kind of environment had produced someone like that. Someday, she thought, she might like to find out.

“Um, Sensei—” Yomiko began, reaching into her coat pocket and rustling through it.

Soon she pulled something out from between the pages of one of her paperback books: a long, narrow slip of thin paper. One end had a small round hole punched through it, with a short ribbon tied there.

“So you don’t forget—I was hoping you might keep this with you?”

She held it out toward Nenene.

“…A bookmark?”

Indeed, it was a bookmark. The paper section bore the image of the British flag—a Union Jack.

“Why?”

“It’s a good luck charm. You know, like a protective charm.”

“I’m sorry, you’re saying this bookmark is supposed to take the place of a charm?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but it’s surprisingly handy to have around!”

“A bookmark? Handy for what, exactly?”

Nenene didn’t read many books for fun. Compared to her peers, she did read a fair amount, but she didn’t see herself as one of those so-called “Bibliophiles." She only ever skimmed magazines when her own drafts were published, and even then, only casually. She read reference materials, sure—but she counted that as work, not a hobby.

“I’ll explain tomorrow. Just hang on to it for now.”

“Well… I mean, sure, fine.”

Nenene placed the bookmark on the table. It wasn’t like a single slip of paper was going to get in the way of anything.

“Thank you so much.”

Yomiko bowed slightly as Nenene reached for the remote and dimmed the lights in the room. The glow receded, and the darkness crept in like ink seeping into the air.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Sensei.”

They both lay down, on either side of the table, settling in quietly.

“……………………”

She thought she’d fall asleep right away. But her mind wouldn’t let her settle.

Now that she thought about it, it had probably been since elementary school that someone else had stayed over at her place.

Ever since she’d entered junior high and debuted as an author, the opportunities to hang out with friends had dwindled drastically.

Even now, though she technically attended school, her conversations with classmates rarely went beyond shallow pleasantries. She’d go straight home, never stopping off anywhere with anyone after class. No detours. No sleepovers.

She hadn’t been fully aware of it before, but when she thought about it now—it was clear. She’d long since gotten used to being alone.

“…Hey.”

“Yes?”

Maybe the reason Nenene spoke up wasn’t because of any deep meaning—but simply because she had noticed that about herself. About how used she was to solitude.

She wasn’t even sure if she cared about the reason behind that realization. It hadn’t been a particularly serious thought. She just felt like saying something.

“…Aren’t you going to take your glasses off?”

“No, I’ll leave them on like this.”

“But the frames will get bent or something, won’t they?”

“No.”

Yomiko replied firmly.

“Because... these glasses are for reading.”

Now that Nenene looked at them, Yomiko’s glasses didn’t even look like they were meant for women. The frames were thick—honestly, they seemed more like something made for men. They were a plain, practical design.

“What if you roll over in your sleep or something? Aren’t you worried you’ll break them?”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t toss and turn. Also…”

Her voice wavered slightly. There was a faint shift in her tone.

After a long pause, she finally added softly:

“…I don’t want to take them off.”

Now that she thought about it, Yomiko had kept her glasses on the whole time—even going into and coming out of the shower. It was hard to believe she actually wore them in the shower, but…

“Why? Are they that important to you?”

“…Yes… Very.”

Her voice was calm, but there was weight behind those brief words.

Nenene still hadn’t realized that her casual question had just opened the door to a surprisingly serious conversation.

“Were they… a gift from someone?”

She threw it out casually, like bait in the dark. If she hadn’t already been lying down, she might have sat up from surprise at what she saw next.

Yomiko’s lips had tightened ever so slightly.

“…Yes. From someone I liked.”

“Wait—you liked someone?!”

It came out a little sharper than intended, but Nenene couldn’t help it. For someone like Yomiko—so dull and indifferent when it came to romance—to have once fallen for someone? That alone was shocking.

And if that’s the case… then of course the glasses being for a man made sense.

“Well… yeah, I suppose…”

“What kind of person were they?”

Nenene realized, with a faint jolt, that her offhand question had accidentally hooked something unexpectedly deep.

Even though she wasn't a dyed-in-the-wool novel lover like Yomiko, it wasn’t like she had no interest in this kind of personal story.

“He loved books,” Yomiko said quietly.

“Well, yeah. Figures, if he was your type.”

“…So even when we were together, we mostly just read books.”

There wasn’t the slightest hint of romantic tension in her voice.

“Seriously? That’s it? You just sat around reading?”

“There was more to it. After I finished a book, I’d talk about what I thought of it, and he’d just sit there grinning and listen to every word.”

The image that came to Nenene’s mind was Yomiko, sitting down in the evening with Norito and Harumi, pulling out a book.

Unless you were also into reading, just watching that would be unbearable.

“…He was kind. To people, and to books.”

She added, “He read your books too, Sensei. He was really moved by them every time.”

Hearing herself mentioned so directly caught Nenene off guard. She wasn’t sure how to respond, so to cover her awkwardness, she consciously pushed the conversation forward.

“Thanks. …So, um, where is he now?”

“I… I don’t really know. I think he might be dead.”

Yomiko’s answer made it clear: her use of the past tense hadn’t been accidental.

Nenene was silent for a while. She couldn’t immediately process what Yomiko had just said, and her mouth stayed shut.

She sat in the dark, quiet, until Yomiko gently began to speak again.

“That’s why… I stopped reading books for a while. I couldn’t. But now, using these glasses he left behind… I think I want to start again. I want to read for him. Books that are wonderful, like something out of a teacher’s life story.”

Yomiko wasn’t necessarily good at putting feelings into words—but the emotion in her voice came through clearly.

Her tone was calm—unlike when she talked about books, she didn’t show much emotion. She just spun the words out, quietly.

Even so, it was clear this wasn’t the kind of topic one could treat lightly or casually.

Nenene found herself silent for a long time—long enough to be acutely aware of it.

“…I’m sorry. That must’ve sounded weird.”

“No, no… I asked, remember? I wanted to hear it.”

Honestly, it wasn’t just curiosity. Nenene wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate to be talking about something so personal in the middle of the night. Normally, “late-night chats” meant things like gossip, romance, or silly little dramas—but what Yomiko had shared was serious. Earnest. And much heavier than expected.

She’d always thought of Yomiko as a cheerful, oblivious sort of person—but now she’d learned something completely unexpected.

“………………………”

The long silence that followed served as a quiet, mutual end to that part of the conversation.

Just as the air between them began to shift, Yomiko opened her mouth.

“Sensei…”

“Hm?”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a really long time.”

“What is it?”

“I mean… you’ve never answered it in any of your interviews, so I thought maybe…”

“Oh, come on already. Just ask.”

Still sitting on top of the blanket, Yomiko clenched her fists.

It was like she was trying to summon all her courage in the center of her palms.

“Sensei… why did you start writing books?”

“……………………”

The only thing that came back from Nenene was silence.

“Ah, um… If it’s difficult for you to talk about, that’s okay! I just… I’ve always wondered, so…”

“…Why, I wonder?”

In the dim room, Nenene’s voice drifted up softly. There was a flicker of hesitation woven into her words.

“…Unlike you, I didn’t especially love books. Not back then…”

Nenene slowly began to trace her memories, stringing them together.

“…In second grade, I wrote a poem for class. The teacher praised me for it…”

“The teacher?”

“The teacher. And my mom and dad too. I wasn’t really good at anything, so… maybe it just made me happy.”

Yomiko wasn’t sure whether that uncertainty was directed at herself, or at her parents, or maybe both.

“I started writing things like book reports and little fairy tales… and I guess it just sort of snowballed.”

“And then, by three you were writing novels?”

“Yeah… well, kind of…”

Nenene turned over in bed, giving Yomiko her back.

“Strangers praised me too, but…”

“Weren’t your parents proud of you?”

“My dad… he was already super busy around then. And my mom… she’d already passed away.”

“I—I’m so sorry! That was such a rude question…”

“It’s fine. Really. It’s not like it’s some dramatic tragedy or anything.”

Nenene’s tone didn’t carry any trace of loneliness. She’d probably gone over this story in her head so many times that it had lost its sting. Or maybe, by now, it was just a fact—even to her.

Maybe she just hadn’t realized it herself yet.

“…Maybe they thought I became an easy kid to deal with. I mean, I didn’t have time to goof off or rebel when I was busy writing novels. …Not that I ever studied, though.”

“…But…”

Yomiko looked like she wanted to say something, but fell silent.

“Yeah… Why am I writing books?”

Nenene’s words were spoken more to herself than to Yomiko. Somewhere in her hectic life, she’d lost track of that question—a question she hadn’t truly asked herself in years.

“Sensei…”

“…Sorry. I’m getting sleepy now…”

She cut the conversation short, using a convenient excuse to avoid answering.

“Good night…”

“…Good night…”

In the darkness, the two had come to know each other just a little. But that small sense of connection drifted unresolved into the night.

The hum of the air conditioner paused for a moment, adjusting to the room’s temperature.

And in that quiet room, the only thing left between them was an unanswered question.

“…nn… nnnkuuu…”

Who knows how much time had passed—Nenene’s faint sleep-muttering gently colored the night like a passing breeze.

Yomiko watched Nenene’s sleeping face in the dark with a look of quiet curiosity.

Even with her glasses on, it was hard to truly see her expression while she slept.

At a book signing, at a publisher’s party she’d sneaked into, or maybe at a secondhand book market?

Yomiko had seen her favorite authors many times. However, this was the first time she had ever pushed her way into their room.

When she met Nenene in the library, Nenene had a strong aura.

Although petite, she was like a bulldozer that scattered everything in her path. That was what a writer in the process of writing was like.

However, when she saw the large number of sealed letters at the entrance of this apartment building, she looked even weaker than a normal girl. Yomiko couldn't help but hold her hand.

　Perhaps both sides are the real Nenene. The imbalance between her different qualities must be affecting her writing.

If so, Yomiko must protect her. From those who interfere with her writing. That is Yomiko's mission, and Yomiko wants to read what she writes.

“It's okay, Sensei...”

Yomiko said good night, even though she knew Nenene couldn't hear her, and then she went to sleep herself.

== 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

3: Technically three fingers of each hand, like [http://07ki04yo21ka.at.webry.info/200707/article_3.html this].

<noinclude>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Transition|Transition]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Read or Die

2025-07-10T18:38:40Z

Alekazzandre: /* Volume 1 */

{{Teaser|English}}
[[index.php?title=Category:Hosted Projects]]
[[Image:ROD v12 cover.jpg|300px|thumb|Cover of Volume 12]]

Note: [[User:Alakazzandra|Alakazzandra]] is currently translating this on [http://translateordie.livejournal.com/ her livejournal], where she posts the first draft. We are hosting the edited version. Feel free to edit once the second draft of any given page has been posted on here.

== Story Synopsis ==
Odaiba, Tokyo, a skyscraper devoid of human life.
Woo had come from Hong Kong, bringing with him a rare book entitled "The Black Book of Fairy Tales".
His counterpart was a blond Englishman. However, next to him was a bespectacled young Eurasian woman, whom he introduced as a consultant. To check her for weapons, Woo opened the front of the woman's coat and was promptly struck speechless.
The inside of the coat bristled with pockets, which were overflowing with novels, magazines, newspapers, and God knows what else!

- Taken from the cover of the first book

== Translation ==

=== [[Read or Die:Registration Page| Registration]] ===
'''Translators are asked to [[Read or Die:Registration Page| register]] which chapters they're working on (see the Guideline page for usage rules)'''.

=== Format Standards ===
*[[Format guideline| General Format/Style Guideline]]

Please refer to this [http://www.baka-tsuki.net/forums/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=2009 topic thread] for information about this project.

== Updates ==
*June 9, 2011 :*Pages 83 through to 85 added.(Sorry for taking so long to get this up)
*November 1, 2010 :*Pages 75 through to 82 uploaded.
*July 6, 2010 :Recruiting a lead project editor; please see post at [http://translateordie.livejournal.com/14608.html project journal] if interested.
*June 13, 2010 :Text through page 74 updated with translator's edits; now open for general editing
*October 10, 2009 :*Page 74 uploaded
*March 1, 2009 :*First page of chapter one added
*July 8, 2008 :*Project page created
*Volume One:Prologue uploaded

== Read or Die by Hideyuki Kurata ==

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 1 ===
[[image:ROD v01 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1|Chapter 1 - The Two Sensei]] (up to page 97)
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Transition|Transition]]
*[[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter2|Chapter 2 - Those who Write and Those who Read]]
*Transition 2 - '''I'm fine,' she said'' —
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 2 ===
[[image:ROD v02 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume2 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 3 ===
[[image:ROD v03 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume3 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 4 ===
[[image:ROD v04 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume4 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 5 ===
[[image:ROD v05 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume5 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 6 ===
[[image:ROD v06 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume6 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 7 ===
[[image:ROD v07 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume7 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 8 ===
[[image:ROD v08 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume8 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 9 ===
[[image:ROD v09 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume9 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 10 ===
[[image:ROD v10 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume10 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 11 ===
[[image:ROD v11 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read or Die:Volume11 Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Extra Chapter
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 12 ===
[[image:ROD v12 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*Novel Illustrations
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

== Project Staff ==
*Supervisor: [[User:Darklor|Darklor]]
*Project Manager: [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]]

=== Translators ===
'''ACTIVE'''

'''M.I.A.'''
::*[[User:Alakazzandra|Alakazzandra]] of [http://translateordie.livejournal.com]

=== Editors ===
'''ACTIVE'''
::*[[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]](never know when im on the prowl)
::*[[User:Gamesfreak26|Gamesfreak26]] (Slav...Um, volunteer - currently editing Chapter 1)
::*[[User:Animrbill|animrbill]] (Initially looking at spelling, word usage, and grammer)
::*(feel free to volunteer!)

''' M.I.A.'''
::*[[User:Zhirzzh|Zhirzzh]]

==Series Overview==
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ (July 14, 2000 ISBN 978-4-08-630002-5)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第二巻― (October 14, 2000 ISBN 978-4-08-630014-8)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第三巻― (March 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630026-1)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第四巻― (July 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630040-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第五巻― (December 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630062-9)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第六巻― (July 14, 2002 ISBN 978-4-08-630087-2)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第七巻― (December 14, 2002 ISBN 978-4-08-630105-3)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第八巻― (July 14, 2003 ISBN 978-4-08-630136-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第九巻― (February 14, 2004 ISBN 978-4-08-630169-5)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十巻― (July 14, 2004 ISBN 978-4-08-630192-3)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十一巻― (February 24, 2006 ISBN 978-4-08-630280-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十二巻― (August 25, 2016, ISBN 978-4-08-630765-9)

Read or Die

2025-07-10T18:38:04Z

Alekazzandre: /* {{pad|140px}} Volume 1 */

{{Teaser|English}}
[[Category:Hosted_Projects]]
[[Image:ROD v12 cover.jpg|300px|thumb|Cover of Volume 12]]

Note: [[User:Alakazzandra|Alakazzandra]] is currently translating this on [http://translateordie.livejournal.com/ her livejournal], where she posts the first draft. We are hosting the edited version. Feel free to edit once the second draft of any given page has been posted on here.

== Story Synopsis ==
Odaiba, Tokyo, a skyscraper devoid of human life.
Woo had come from Hong Kong, bringing with him a rare book entitled "The Black Book of Fairy Tales".
His counterpart was a blond Englishman. However, next to him was a bespectacled young Eurasian woman, whom he introduced as a consultant. To check her for weapons, Woo opened the front of the woman's coat and was promptly struck speechless.
The inside of the coat bristled with pockets, which were overflowing with novels, magazines, newspapers, and God knows what else!

- Taken from the cover of the first book

== Translation ==

=== [[Read_or_Die:Registration_Page | Registration]] ===
'''Translators are asked to [[Read_or_Die:Registration_Page | register]] which chapters they're working on (see the Guideline page for usage rules)'''.

=== Format Standards ===
*[[Format_guideline | General Format/Style Guideline]]

Please refer to this [http://www.baka-tsuki.net/forums/viewtopic.php?f=15&t=2009 topic thread] for information about this project.

== Updates ==
*June 9, 2011 :*Pages 83 through to 85 added.(Sorry for taking so long to get this up)
*November 1, 2010 :*Pages 75 through to 82 uploaded.
*July 6, 2010 :Recruiting a lead project editor; please see post at [http://translateordie.livejournal.com/14608.html project journal] if interested.
*June 13, 2010 :Text through page 74 updated with translator's edits; now open for general editing
*October 10, 2009 :*Page 74 uploaded
*March 1, 2009 :*First page of chapter one added
*July 8, 2008 :*Project page created
*Volume One:Prologue uploaded

== Read or Die by Hideyuki Kurata ==

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 1 ===
[[image:ROD v01 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume1_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume1_Prologue|Prologue]]
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume1_Chapter1|Chapter 1 - The Two Sensei]] (up to page 97)
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume1_Transition|Transition]]Transition
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume1_Chapter2|Chapter 2 - Those who Write and Those who Read]]
*Transition 2 - '''I'm fine,' she said'' —
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 2 ===
[[image:ROD v02 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume2_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 3 ===
[[image:ROD v03 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume3_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 4 ===
[[image:ROD v04 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume4_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 5 ===
[[image:ROD v05 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume5_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 6 ===
[[image:ROD v06 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume6_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 7 ===
[[image:ROD v07 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume7_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 8 ===
[[image:ROD v08 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume8_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 9 ===
[[image:ROD v09 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume9_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Epilogue
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 10 ===
[[image:ROD v10 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume10_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 11 ===
[[image:ROD v11 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*[[Read_or_Die:Volume11_Illustrations|Novel Illustrations]]
*Prologue
*Chapter 1
*Chapter 2
*Chapter 3
*Chapter 4
*Extra Chapter
*Afterword
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

=== {{pad|140px}} Volume 12 ===
[[image:ROD v12 cover.jpg|left|140px|border]]
<table border=0 cellpadding=0><tr><td>
*Novel Illustrations
</td></tr></table><br style="clear:both"/>

== Project Staff ==
*Supervisor: [[User:Darklor|Darklor]]
*Project Manager: [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]]

=== Translators ===
'''ACTIVE'''

'''M.I.A.'''
::*[[User:Alakazzandra|Alakazzandra]] of [http://translateordie.livejournal.com]

=== Editors ===
'''ACTIVE'''
::*[[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]](never know when im on the prowl)
::*[[User:Gamesfreak26|Gamesfreak26]] (Slav...Um, volunteer - currently editing Chapter 1)
::*[[User:animrbill|animrbill]] (Initially looking at spelling, word usage, and grammer)
::*(feel free to volunteer!)

''' M.I.A.'''
::*[[User:Zhirzzh|Zhirzzh]]

==Series Overview==
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ (July 14, 2000 ISBN 978-4-08-630002-5)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第二巻― (October 14, 2000 ISBN 978-4-08-630014-8)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第三巻― (March 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630026-1)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第四巻― (July 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630040-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第五巻― (December 14, 2001 ISBN 978-4-08-630062-9)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第六巻― (July 14, 2002 ISBN 978-4-08-630087-2)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第七巻― (December 14, 2002 ISBN 978-4-08-630105-3)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第八巻― (July 14, 2003 ISBN 978-4-08-630136-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第九巻― (February 14, 2004 ISBN 978-4-08-630169-5)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十巻― (July 14, 2004 ISBN 978-4-08-630192-3)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十一巻― (February 24, 2006 ISBN 978-4-08-630280-7)
#Ｒ.Ｏ.Ｄ ―第十二巻― (August 25, 2016, ISBN 978-4-08-630765-9)

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-10T18:32:34Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

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


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.


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.


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.  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 head-shot of the author and a short biography.

Out of the photo smiled a girl with hair that stuck out at the back.  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. 

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....” 

The students that were walking up the road behind her responded to her unprompted babbling with dubious expressions. 

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.



“If I could have your attention please!  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—!“ 

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. 

“...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.  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.” 

His  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.”


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?" 

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.


“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.  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> , 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.”



Yomiko reached into her coat pocket again and pulled out another book.

"This action  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>,  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.



“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>. 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 formulas.


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 dumb ass, 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.


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.


“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.


“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...” [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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....


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  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.


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 step 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. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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.



"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! 

"Can't wrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiittte!"


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?!”




"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!" 

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.


"..... 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.  Out of the scenarios she had considered before, she finally had made a breakthrough.

"Se--, Sensei--! So, who can defeat Valkes  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.


"Aaaargh~!"

Her fingers danced over the cramped keyboard. They leapt, they flew, they ran, faster than the eye could follow, spinning forth all manner of words onto the screen at an astonishing rate.

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

However, if it had sounded like a melody before, this was more like machine gun fire; that was the only match for this intensity and force.

"Whoa—..."

In the end, without having received verbal confirmation, Yomiko had to conclude that this could be no other than Nenene herself.

Though it certainly would not be fitting to describe her as physically imposing, her presence was a million-fold 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.

As for Nenene, she completely failed to notice Yomiko's emotional outburst or anything else beyond herself as she continued to vigorously pound away at the keys.

Occasionally she slid along the desk, shuttling from notebook to notebook and working on four drafts at once. The reasoning behind this was impossible to discern.

Almost overcome with longing, Yomiko suddenly remembered her objective.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"


How many times had she tried by now? She spoke up once more.

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 a notch. Even with that, the girl didn’t turn around.

“Sensei~, errr~!”

Yomiko stood right behind her target and moved her hand as if to grab the girl by the shoulder, and suddenly, Nenene turned toward her.

“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, albeit more from surprise than pain.

Nenene roared down at Yomiko, who was seemingly unable to rise from her position on the floor.

“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 shrink back. 

“....... Hmph~!”

From behind Nenene, who had relaunched her writing, Yomiko tentatively craned her neck in an attempt 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 mindset of a fan is quite complex.


Though she was unaware of what Yomiko was up to behind her, 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 the entire upper half of her body around as she tried to see those screens.

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

Wordlessly, the two continued their opposed 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 today’s 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.

...... To be honest with herself, it was 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 was already 4 in the afternoon.

Anyway, time to go home. Go home, and sleep, and think things over.

Nenene stood up from her chain and turned around.


"Whoooa~!"

Right there 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 now the girl produced 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, she on pregnancy leave?"

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

Yomiko pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#Notes|(3)]]

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

It looked as if she had indeed forgotten her last conversation with Yomiko. Perhaps she had been so intent on her deadline that her brain had been in a state of confusion.


"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.

".... Just possibly, ‘sit you? The one who's been hasslin' me lately?"

"Huh?"

Nenene produced a single envelope from the midst of some documents that were scattered about and thrust it toward Yomiko.

It was a plain white envelope, with no distinguishing characteristics. No stamp, postmark, or even address had been recorded on it. Apparently someone would have needed to directly place it into the recipient’s mailbox.

After examining it closely, Yomiko emptied its contents into her hand 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 for you soon. To my Paul S"

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

"What might this be?"

"Found it in my home mailbox yesterday. It was you, right?"


"No."

Yomiko shook her head politely as she answered.

Nenene made an even more disagreeable face.

"Happens a lot lately. Keep getting random phone calls where no one says anything, and when I leave the house, I feel like someone's tailing me. Thanks to all that, I just can’t get aaaannnny writing done!"

"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 working for my taxes!"

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

"And just to top it all off, this letter! First off, 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. Wordlessly, it seemed to communicate the strong ego and self-esteem that lay within her.

"I know all about you. You debuted with <i>You Know Me</i> 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 wash your right leg first, 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."


"Yes~! I'm a big fan, you see!"

Smiling like a puppy who’d been praised by its master, Yomiko fished through her pockets and took out a copy of <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Live</i>.

"I've alllways, alllways loved your books! When I read this one back in the day, 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, without moving from 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, dammit. You read the stories I write and you’re moved; that should be enough. So why the hell, then, would you feel you gotta get a signature? A signature's just a name, you know."


"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."

For any popular author, sometimes particularly "excessive" fans would develop grandiose ideas and send letters or “presents”. When one becomes an author 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?"

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


At those unexpectedly heartfelt words, Nenene's burning spirit 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 even before that, I've read so very much of you."

Yomiko's statement lacked any hesitation. Her words were as guileless as those of a child.

"...And I just told you, that wasn’t me; those’re 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 <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Are</i>, her fingers moving the pages with obvious loving care.

"This paper tells me how very much you throw yourself into your writing."

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

"I, truly, love you."

An awkward silence fell. Within statement lurked a small particle whose meaning that was as of yet something the two of them could not understand.

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 picked up the letter again.



“For this person as well, surely it would be that way. So, if you’d just talk to him...”

However, Nenene flung the letter away from her, letting it flutter about until it came to rest on the floor between them.

“Ah...”

“You could say what you want, and this guy’d still get in my way.”

Nenene’s tone had returned to its previous state.

“But...”

“Furthermore,” she interrupted Yomiko before she could finish her statement, “thanks to this guy, I can’t sleep a wink. I’ve missed four deadlines, home and work both fail me(*), so I get stuck writing my manuscripts in the library. Got me?”

“Yes...”

“I don’t know what the hell he wants from me, but there is just one thing I want from him to stop goddamn harassing me! That’s all!”

For a second time, silence fell over the room; This time there was clearly something different about it...

“Readman-Sensei!”

The silence mingled with a third person’s voice.

From around the corner of the bookshelves, the figure of a jersey-clad male teacher appeared. It was Nire, the gym teacher.

“What are you doing-?! Your class-!”



As he said that, she came to her senses-- Yomiko had been sitting there in seiza for something close to seven hours, determined to wait until Nenene had finished her manuscript-- and, as one would expect, the history class she had been charged with overseeing had begun long ago. To have done this on her first day of substitute teaching showed a outstanding level of ineptitude.

“Aaah--...”

As you would expect, all the color drained from Yomiko’s face, “I--, I’m so sorry! I’ll head out straightaways...”

As Yomiko went to stand up, she pitched forward, falling to the ground painfully.

On account of having sat in seiza in place for so long, her feet had fallen entirely asleep.

His voice, laced with ice, fell coldly upon Yomiko from above

“Waaaaa~...”

Yomiko was mumbling and crying incomprehensibly while thrashing her upper body about in a clearly distraught fashion.



"Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

Having cleaned up the mess she had made of the library, Nenene tiredly approached the school's main gate, only to hear a voice call out to her.

She thought it was weird that she could tell who it was without turning around.

"Please wait, Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

It was that woman from the library. That woman’s name was something like...Yomiko; that’s it. The name sounded like a joke, not that her own was the sort you’d usually hear used for a person.

Yomiko chased after Nenene, the wheeled bag she always dragged with her making a quiet clacking noise.

"I'm not even gonna bother lecturing you."

"... Yes. I apologize for worrying you like that."

Sighing to herself, Yomiko bowed sheepishly. It wasn't clear which was the teacher and which was the student.

"Couldn't say I was worried."

She'd meant it to sound cold, but a smiling, laughing Yomiko just gazed at her.

“...Well, What?!”

"Ummm, as for the next thing. I was thinking that I'd like to do a home visit.”

“A home visit--? To MYYY HOME--?!”

At Yomiko's sudden suggestion, Nenene's voice rose significantly.

"Yes"

"Why the--you're a substitute teacher, right?! It's not like you're my homeroom teacher!"

"That may be true, but..."



At this point Yomiko glanced around as if checking the perimeter and then lowered her voice.

"Actually, I had thought to offer to protect you."

"Protect?"

"Yes. Umm, from the person who sent the letter."

"The hell? I'm good--'cuz tomorrow, I'm hiring a bodyguard."

For a high school girl like Nenene to be talking about bodyguards had a strange feeling to it.

"But even then, if he were to strike tonight or something, wouldn't that be pretty dangerous?"

"What I'm saying is, even if you were there, it's not like you'd have any goddamn impact."

"Sensei, I, I'm a bit stronger than I appear."

She thumped her chest with a fist. Unlike what she'd expected, it hit the top of her full bust, producing
more of a "Poof" noise.

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

Speechless, Nenene reached her hands toward Yomiko's face.

"Yes?"

She grabbed both of Yomiko's cheeks and pulled and stretched them to the extreme left and right.

"Th--Thumirehawa, Thenthei--!"

"Woah. They realllly stretch!" As they had managed to stretch twice as much as the average person's cheeks, even Nenene had to raise her voice in amazement.

"Thop, puwease--, thop...."



After toying with Yomiko for a bit, Nenene released her fingers. (1)

"Hi-hiiin..."

Her cheeks blazing red, Yomiko began to cry audibly, her tears just starting to pool in her eyes beneath her glasses.

"Wha-errrrre are you strong, damnit. You get your cheeks pinched and you're already half crying, aren't you."

"J-just now, I wasn't expecting that, you know~. That was just a cheap trick."

"Ah"

Nenene's gaze focused on something behind Yomiko's back.

"Eh?"

Without thinking, Yomiko turned around to look behind her.

"Tou”

Instantly, Nenene planted a light kick on Yomiko's unprotected back.

"Tawaba--!"

Yomiko fell quite magnificently, both hands raised as if cheering.

"You're just feel of fuzzy feelings, aren't you. To hell with protecting me; it's yourself you need to worry about. Maybe you should take a correspondence course in Aikido?"

Having picked herself up into a squatting position, Yomiko whimpered as she brushed dirt off of her face.

"....I just can't put forth my real power when it's not a serious situation."



A student on the way home spoke up toward these two in whom the power balance between teacher and student had been completely inverted.

"Whaaaaat, Sumiregawa. You're even puttin' on skits with the teach now?"

"Switchin' ta comedy? Gonna debut in the entertainment world?"

It was Nenene's classmates, Nori Kawarazaki and Harumi Mishima.

They were kidding around, but it felt like there was a speck of irony mixed in there somewhere, though it wasn't clear if that were intentional or not.

"It's just that this teacher up and started arguing with me! Me, I wanted to get home ASAP and sleep!"

"Such a HARD worker. For the two've us, next stop's the meetup.”

"Meetup?"

"Yep. Kitasawa and Nishi Middle's kids're getting along pretty well."

"Middle schoolers? Since when've you been into that sort of thing?"

"It's good and all, 'ccasionally. Even Sumiregawa might do something other than work on her novel all the time, maybe have a little fun. "

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get left behind. With the cool stuff."

"Hooow 'bout speaking to some of the kids who're fans of yours?"

"Nope, no way. Sumiregawa's fans're usually female, right."

"Bit weird, but that way there'd be new stuff to explore..."


[[Image:Read or Die vol01 081.jpg|thumb]]


Glancing at her face, the two burst into laughter. But as for the one in question, her face displayed neither amusement nor anger, but serenity.

"Umm..."

Beating the dirt out of her coat, Yomiko stood up.

"This meetup thing sounds like fun to me, but."

"Yes?"

To have Yomiko, who almost didn't register with those two as a human being, let alone as a teacher, suddenly involve herself in their conversation was quite unexpected.

"You could also try reading some books; how about that?"

"Books? The questioning looks on the two showed they clearly didn't know what she is getting at.

"Yes."

Yomiko pulled a single volume from within her coat. It was a young adult novel.

"There's this one, Radio Girl. It's light and interesting. It talks about a boy that falls in love with a female listener that sends postcards in which are read during a late-night broadcast….”

Her explanation appeared to have no end, as she produced out book after book with flourishes worthy of a magician.

"... Ah, and then, there's Please Return My Kiss. The main character is a girl who's searching for the boy who'd been her first kiss back in their childhood. The only clue she has is an old photo of the two of them, but there's a surprising twist in the end..."


The two female students exchanged glances as Yomiko's explanation flowed in one ear and out the other, the specter of the morning exercises returning to life in their imaginations.

"...But well, when it comes to YA novels, I've really just got to recommend Sumiregawa-sensei's debut work, You Know Me."

"!"

As her own book was brought up, Nenene stiffened up slightly.

"Ah, but if you're friends, you've probably read it already..."

"Knock it off--!"

It was Yomiko's turn to stiffen up, as Nenene's shout made her accidentally drop the book.

"....Eh?"

The air stopped dead, but only between the two of them.

As for the two female students, this was the chance they had been looking for.

"Aahh.....We've got to get going, so....."

"See ya later, Sumiregawa"

Quite in contrast to how they had strolled up before, they began to walk rapidly away.

Subsequently, Nenene and Yomiko were all who remained.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei.....?"


"It's embarassing, don't ya think--! Don't whip out my book in front of people--!"

"I'm sorry.... But....."

"But what--!"

"..... If you go into any bookstore, there'd be tons of your books around."

"A bookstore's alright--! I just hate it when that gets pulled in front of people I know!"

Despite the threatening aura that was pressing down upon her, Yomiko just had to inquire further.

".....Why would that be?"

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

Without answering, Nenene turned around and began to walk away.

".....Umm, Sensei....."

Suitcase clattering behind her, Yomiko chased after the fleeing target's back.

"Don't you follow me--! Go home--!"

"Buuut..."

"Haaah..... So this is Sensei's apartment?"

Yomiko peered upward at the high-class apartment building as it towered before her, her voice tinged with awe at the sight.

"Man, you're really bold, seriously."



In the end, Yomiko hadn't even considered leaving Nenene alone.

Nenene had hailed a taxi and headed off, but Yomiko, suitcase clattering along as she dragged it behind her, raised a loud "Seeeeeeenseeeeei" before seeming to give up. The taxi driver also assumed that it wouldn't be hard to drive away from the women, her hair dishelved and her coat flying around her as she ran.

As for Nenene, not once did she see Yomiko's reflection fall behind in the rear-view mirror, with not the slightest sign of her abandoning pursuit. It felt as if she'd gotten a meddlesome cousin.

Grumbling all the while, Nenene opened a keypad installed at the first floor entrance. After she pressed the numbered keys to enter her code, the noise signalling that the door to enter the floor had opened could be heard.

"Yeah, yeah, here's where we say goodbye. I gotta sleep now, you know~"

Waving a half-hearted goodbye, Nenene went to enter the doorway.

".....Sensei, ummmm..."

"What."

Yomiko pointed toward the postboxes lined up in a row nearby. They were obviously intended for use by the residents of the apartment building. Apparently, with her overabundance of exhaustion Nenene had forgetten to check her mail.

As the number of slots that would fit in the space were limited, the numbers didn't go beyond 100. In their midst Nenene's was conspicuous enough to be obvious for Yomiko, who was visiting for the first time, to pick it out at a glance. It's not that it bore any decoration.


The mailbox’s raison d’etre was on full display, its narrow slot stuffed to the limit with mail.

“...What?”

“It’s letters, packages, and so forth, yes?”

Yomiko had piped up cheerily, but Nenene retorted with a harder tone.

“...No way should this much stuff show up in one day. Not when it was totally empty this morning…”

Nenene had checked her mail before heading to school that morning. At the time, there hadn’t been a single scrap of paper in there.

For her job, there were certain days when novels or essay magazines were sent, but never so much as to make the mailbox this full.

As Yomiko watched, Nenene turned the dial on the mailbox and opened its door.

“!”

As if they had been waiting for this moment, fluttering papers surged down around their feet with the force of a waterfall.The grey tiled floor was promptly awash with white.

“Oh, my…”

Yomiko picked up one paper from the mass as Nenene stood frozen and speechless.

Once inspected, it proved to be not a piece of paper, but an envelope. It was an easy mistake to make, as it bore no decoration, color, or writing of any kind.

“... Is it alright if I open this?”

Yomiko thrust an envelope in front of Nenene’s face. Nenene wordlessly nodded.

“Here goes.”

Yomiko traced a fingertip along the back of the envelope. It seemed a trivial motion, and yet the glued flap of the envelope was sliced open as if by a letter opener.

What was pulled from inside was a quad-folded piece of white paper.

It wasn’t even stationery, but merely an ordinary piece of white paper. Yomiko slowly opened it, while Nenene dropped her gaze to follow.

The contents therein read as you would expect.

“I’ll be coming to meet you soon. -Yours, Paul S.”

Nenene’s brows began to furrow as Yomiko stooped to gather more and more envelopes, revealing their contents as before.

“You cannot escape. -Yours, Paul S.”

“Sorry for the wait. -Yours, Paul S.”

“I know you. - Yours, Paul S.”

With little variation in contents, it was clear that these had all been sent by one person. Although, they seemingly had not been sent via the postal service. Rather, they had been hand delivered directly.

“... Hmm?”

It was then that Yomiko realized that Nenene had been standing there the whole time.

“...................”

Nenene had seemed tired, but now in her expression undercurrents of deep strain were revealed.

In the library room and at the approach to the school, she had shown none of the pale weakness that was now evident.

Still kneeling, Yomiko softly took Nenene’s hand. Nenene stiffened with surprise and looked down at her.

Yomiko gave her a smile that spread across her whole face, the kind of overeagerly artless smile she was so wont to give.

“Don’t worry yourself, Sensei. I’ll be with you.”

“... I’m NOT that worried.”

Nenene brushed Yomiko’s concerns aside with a wave of her hand. Her voice had regained its usual tone.

<nowiki>----------</nowiki>

“Uwaaa, it’s huge; there’s so much room…”

Unit 1602. This was the first expression Yomiko gave upon entering Nenene’s apartment.

A hallway lined with innumerable doors led to a living room more akin to a classroom in size. Were one to sweep their gaze to the side, they would espy a dine-in kitchen. Visible through a large window was a line of potted decorative plants lining a veranda.

Yomiko’s impression was simple, but accurately captured the nature of the apartment. It was indeed quite huge and roomy. However, beyond that, it utterly lacked the feel of a lived-in space.

“Let’s set you down all careful-like,” Nenene thoughtlessly remarked as she slung down her backpack, bearing a single laptop within it, and placed it on the floor.

“Oookay, if you’d excuse me….”

Yomiko sat down on the sofa in the middle of the living room, rested her body against its back, and snuggled deeply into the cushions.

“Not gonna take off your coat? It’ll get wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about me…”

Keeping a coat on inside seemed a bit strange, but Nenene wasn’t about to push her to take it off, so she said no more of it.

“I’m gonna go change. Just wait a sec.” With that, Nenene disappeared down the hallway.

“Take your time…”

After watching Nenene leave, Yomiko turned her attention back to the contents of the room. She was visiting the house of an author she admired. Surely a fan should be excited by this, but for some reason, this was making her feel uneasy.

“......................”

Yomiko stood up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.

Though it was rude, she opened the fridge, which was full of P.E.T. bottles of mineral and flavored water. Peering behind the bottles, she spotted some beer cans that may have been intentionally hidden. There wasn’t a single item you could call a meal ingredient.

“Hmmmm…”

Yomiko returned to the living room and began to absently search the place.

A giant wall projector was hooked up to a DVD player. On the table’s surface lay remote controls for the AC and other systems. It looked like a model room, clean and tidy, but without a lived-in smell.

In this room, Yomiko stumbled upon one relic of the inhabitants. A decorative shelf held a display stand containing a photo.

“Oh my.”

It was a photo of the Sumiregawa family. It looked like she had still been in elementary school, but there was a young, cheerful looking Nenene, hair already sticking out in the back, smiling and holding hands with a man who was apparently her father and a women who looked to be her mother.

A pure, innocent smile typical of childhood. Yomiko squinted, looking closer at some of the other, similar photos, and noticed something odd. The family pictures could be broadly divided into two types. One showed the family centered around Nenene. The other showed just the man and woman—without Nenene. There were no photos of just Nenene and her father. Or just Nenene and her mother, but the photo of just the man and woman… the woman in that picture was clearly not the same woman from the other photos.

Someone else stood beside the man. Someone who, from the way she leaned in, was clearly close to him. And not the woman who’d appeared earlier with young Nenene.

“………………”

A different wife, maybe? Two different family portraits, decorating the shelf like pieces in a game of spot-the-difference.

“What are you doing?”


Nenene’s voice came from behind.

She had returned from down the hallway, now changed into a beige sweater and a moss green pleated skirt.

A casual, comfortable outfit—perfect for relaxing.

“I see… are your parents still working, then? Probably?”

“Work is work, you know.”

“About what time do they usually come home? I mean, I should at least say hello.”

“Who knows when they'll come back? Isn’t it usually around New Year’s?”

“…Huh?”

Nenene leaned back against the sofa, stretched her legs out like she was airing them, and let out a long sigh. A faint trace of exhaustion from work drifted up like a scent and filled the room.

“They’ve been stationed in America for the past two years. My dad and my step— I mean, my mom too.”

That pause on “stepmother” came with a delicate nuance.

“They’re both working for some company over there, doing computer development or whatever.”

Her tone was indifferent, but it left behind an unmistakable sense of distance.

“So then… you’re living alone?”

“I wanted to go to high school here. It was also for work.”

By “work,” she clearly meant writing.

“I think I read that in an interview somewhere…”

As she said that, Yomiko settled into the seat across from Nenene.

“You didn’t say you were lonely or anything. It’s kind of…”

“Annoying.”

“I see… but still, don’t you ever get lonely?”

“What bothers me is when people assume I do.”

“It's annoying when people think that way.”

Nenene pursed her lips as if she was upset. It wasn't her true feelings, but rather a pose she was putting on.

“You read novels and manga, right? For people our age, living alone is heaven. There are no curfews, no nagging, and no need to worry about anything. We can play as much as we want."


“But, um, what about family gatherings?”

Nenene looked taken aback by the sudden question.

“Family gatherings? Do you think those still exist these days?”

“No? Like when your dad flips the table, or when you're watching TV with your mom and there's a kissing scene and it gets awkward?”

　Was it just her knowledge, or was it a misconception? Yomiko's example was far from the definition of family time.

“...How old are you?”

“I'm 25.”

Many women dislike talking about their age, but Yomiko answered without hesitation.

"Even so, you should know a little more about the world. This isn't some old manga. Don't you watch TV?"

“I don't have a TV at home.”

This came as a surprise to Nenene.

“Why not?”

“I read books all the time when I'm at home, so I don't really need one...”

“Then how do you find out about the latest fashions, hot spots, and events? Oh, from magazines?”


“Yeah, I read those sometimes, but they're hard to remember. I just prefer reading books. ... Oh, but I always wear the same clothes, and when I go out, I only go to bookstores and used bookstores, and the only events I'm interested in are used book fairs, so I'm fine without it.”

“You mean you really wear the same outfit all the time!?”

“That coat!?”

“Well… I do have multiple coats, shirts, ties, and skirts… but they’re all the same design, so people often think I’m always wearing the same thing.”

“Why!? Don’t you want to dress up or anything!?”

“I don’t.”

“You should! You're a girl!”

“A girl...?”

It was probably just the force of her words, but Nenene's words made Yomiko's cheeks relax.

“It's been a while since someone said that to me...”

She grinned, her face falling into a slovenly expression. It was unclear what memories were coming back to her.

"I'll take back what I just said. Not a girl, but ‘sort of a woman’."

Yomiko let out a disappointed voice at Nenene's cold correction.

“...Um, I'm not just a woman, I'm a woman in every sense of the word...”

She was probably referring to gender.

Nenene coughed to clear the air, which was filled with a vague sense of humor.


“Well, it's okay. That kind of thing. The point is, the problem is that guy.”

“Ah, right.”

At Nenene’s words, Yomiko pulled a stack of envelopes from her coat pocket—the ones she’d picked up from the post downstairs. These were the letters shoved into Nenene’s mailbox. She’d gathered them all and brought them along. Nenene had grumbled and argued about letting her up into the apartment, but in truth, it was this that had convinced her.

The long rectangular table was now covered in white envelopes. To someone who didn’t know better, it might have looked like a game of high-stakes poker.

“All in all, there were 219,” Yomiko said. “All of them the same kind of envelope.”

Even as a prank, the number was bizarre. There were no return addresses. Nenene stared at them again, a deep, unsettling chill crawling up her spine.

“What kind of idiot… seriously… should I call the cops?”

“That might not be so easy,” Yomiko said, her voice level and calm. “This person never sends anything but letters.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier? Then what should I do?”

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“…What?”

Yomiko’s unexpected answer clearly threw Nenene off.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, you don’t have to do a thing. I’ll take care of it.”


“…Take care of what?"

Yomiko grinned sheepishly, pinching the letter between her fingers.

“I just want to catch this person and make sure they don’t bother you anymore, Sensei.”

It was a remarkably plain statement; so simple, in fact, that Nenene had to reprocess it to confirm what she'd just said and then groaned.

“Listen. Like I told you back in the library. This guy is just some delusional nutcase with a crush. Total creep, totally obsessed.”

“Well then, all the more reason to bring him to justice, right? Otherwise, he’ll just keep stalking you.”

“Do you really think logic’s gonna work on someone like this? With this level of obsession? Get real.”

For Nenene, this kind of commotion wasn’t anything new.

From when she debuted at age three, to now as a currently active student author with that label plastered everywhere, she’d gained a lot of fans over time. Which meant, naturally, she also had a lot of weird fans. More than your average writer, in fact.

Each week, she received over a hundred fan letters.

Most of them were the usual stuff; reactions to her books, personal updates, that kind of thing. Ordinary, boring fan mail.

But some of them? Went way off the rails. Some were on A4 paper typed perfectly in size 24 font, just full-page rants.

Some described magic spells and secret cult messages like they were writing a novel.

Some used strange characters or esoteric codes—like ancient weapons would activate just from reading the keywords.

It wasn’t just weird—it was dangerous. And what was she even supposed to do with that kind of mail?

There were even letters that claimed Nenene’s novels were actually stolen from the sender’s own mind. According to them, they’d planned to write the exact same story themselves, but Nenene had somehow overheard their thoughts and published the idea as her own.


“If you don’t immediately cease writing, I’ll consider filing a lawsuit.”

She’d actually received a letter that said that—word for word. It was so absurd she couldn’t help but laugh.

Then there was the time she set a story in the near future and got a phone call from someone claiming to know the characters. When her editor asked where the call was coming from, the person on the line said:

“A-Sa-Ke-Tani.”

Philosophically baffling, to say the least.

A thirty-five-year-old man once insisted he had to marry her because she was his destined younger wife. She was fourteen at the time. Her father—understandably disturbed—let the editor handle him. (The man was eventually paid off and disappeared.)

There were others too. People who tracked down her address and sent letters directly. Some even dug into her family registry, trying to gather info to reach her.

Because of that, her parents had moved, she’d relocated to a new apartment, and her name had been omitted from phone books. Things had been relatively quiet since.

Not that she was proud of it—but she had plenty of experience dealing with stalkers.

== 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

3: Technically three fingers of each hand, like [http://07ki04yo21ka.at.webry.info/200707/article_3.html this].

<noinclude>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-10T18:31:14Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

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


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.


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.


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.  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 head-shot of the author and a short biography.

Out of the photo smiled a girl with hair that stuck out at the back.  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. 

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....” 

The students that were walking up the road behind her responded to her unprompted babbling with dubious expressions. 

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.



“If I could have your attention please!  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—!“ 

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. 

“...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.  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.” 

His  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.”


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?" 

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.


“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.  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> , 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.”



Yomiko reached into her coat pocket again and pulled out another book.

"This action  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>,  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.



“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>. 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 formulas.


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 dumb ass, 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.


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.


“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.


“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...” [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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....


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  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.


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 step 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. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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.



"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! 

"Can't wrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiittte!"


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?!”




"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!" 

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.


"..... 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.  Out of the scenarios she had considered before, she finally had made a breakthrough.

"Se--, Sensei--! So, who can defeat Valkes  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.


"Aaaargh~!"

Her fingers danced over the cramped keyboard. They leapt, they flew, they ran, faster than the eye could follow, spinning forth all manner of words onto the screen at an astonishing rate.

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

However, if it had sounded like a melody before, this was more like machine gun fire; that was the only match for this intensity and force.

"Whoa—..."

In the end, without having received verbal confirmation, Yomiko had to conclude that this could be no other than Nenene herself.

Though it certainly would not be fitting to describe her as physically imposing, her presence was a million-fold 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.

As for Nenene, she completely failed to notice Yomiko's emotional outburst or anything else beyond herself as she continued to vigorously pound away at the keys.

Occasionally she slid along the desk, shuttling from notebook to notebook and working on four drafts at once. The reasoning behind this was impossible to discern.

Almost overcome with longing, Yomiko suddenly remembered her objective.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"


How many times had she tried by now? She spoke up once more.

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 a notch. Even with that, the girl didn’t turn around.

“Sensei~, errr~!”

Yomiko stood right behind her target and moved her hand as if to grab the girl by the shoulder, and suddenly, Nenene turned toward her.

“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, albeit more from surprise than pain.

Nenene roared down at Yomiko, who was seemingly unable to rise from her position on the floor.

“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 shrink back. 

“....... Hmph~!”

From behind Nenene, who had relaunched her writing, Yomiko tentatively craned her neck in an attempt 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 mindset of a fan is quite complex.


Though she was unaware of what Yomiko was up to behind her, 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 the entire upper half of her body around as she tried to see those screens.

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

Wordlessly, the two continued their opposed 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 today’s 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.

...... To be honest with herself, it was 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 was already 4 in the afternoon.

Anyway, time to go home. Go home, and sleep, and think things over.

Nenene stood up from her chain and turned around.


"Whoooa~!"

Right there 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 now the girl produced 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, she on pregnancy leave?"

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

Yomiko pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#Notes|(3)]]

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

It looked as if she had indeed forgotten her last conversation with Yomiko. Perhaps she had been so intent on her deadline that her brain had been in a state of confusion.


"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.

".... Just possibly, ‘sit you? The one who's been hasslin' me lately?"

"Huh?"

Nenene produced a single envelope from the midst of some documents that were scattered about and thrust it toward Yomiko.

It was a plain white envelope, with no distinguishing characteristics. No stamp, postmark, or even address had been recorded on it. Apparently someone would have needed to directly place it into the recipient’s mailbox.

After examining it closely, Yomiko emptied its contents into her hand 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 for you soon. To my Paul S"

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

"What might this be?"

"Found it in my home mailbox yesterday. It was you, right?"


"No."

Yomiko shook her head politely as she answered.

Nenene made an even more disagreeable face.

"Happens a lot lately. Keep getting random phone calls where no one says anything, and when I leave the house, I feel like someone's tailing me. Thanks to all that, I just can’t get aaaannnny writing done!"

"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 working for my taxes!"

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

"And just to top it all off, this letter! First off, 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. Wordlessly, it seemed to communicate the strong ego and self-esteem that lay within her.

"I know all about you. You debuted with <i>You Know Me</i> 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 wash your right leg first, 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."


"Yes~! I'm a big fan, you see!"

Smiling like a puppy who’d been praised by its master, Yomiko fished through her pockets and took out a copy of <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Live</i>.

"I've alllways, alllways loved your books! When I read this one back in the day, 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, without moving from 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, dammit. You read the stories I write and you’re moved; that should be enough. So why the hell, then, would you feel you gotta get a signature? A signature's just a name, you know."


"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."

For any popular author, sometimes particularly "excessive" fans would develop grandiose ideas and send letters or “presents”. When one becomes an author 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?"

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


At those unexpectedly heartfelt words, Nenene's burning spirit 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 even before that, I've read so very much of you."

Yomiko's statement lacked any hesitation. Her words were as guileless as those of a child.

"...And I just told you, that wasn’t me; those’re 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 <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Are</i>, her fingers moving the pages with obvious loving care.

"This paper tells me how very much you throw yourself into your writing."

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

"I, truly, love you."

An awkward silence fell. Within statement lurked a small particle whose meaning that was as of yet something the two of them could not understand.

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 picked up the letter again.



“For this person as well, surely it would be that way. So, if you’d just talk to him...”

However, Nenene flung the letter away from her, letting it flutter about until it came to rest on the floor between them.

“Ah...”

“You could say what you want, and this guy’d still get in my way.”

Nenene’s tone had returned to its previous state.

“But...”

“Furthermore,” she interrupted Yomiko before she could finish her statement, “thanks to this guy, I can’t sleep a wink. I’ve missed four deadlines, home and work both fail me(*), so I get stuck writing my manuscripts in the library. Got me?”

“Yes...”

“I don’t know what the hell he wants from me, but there is just one thing I want from him to stop goddamn harassing me! That’s all!”

For a second time, silence fell over the room; This time there was clearly something different about it...

“Readman-Sensei!”

The silence mingled with a third person’s voice.

From around the corner of the bookshelves, the figure of a jersey-clad male teacher appeared. It was Nire, the gym teacher.

“What are you doing-?! Your class-!”



As he said that, she came to her senses-- Yomiko had been sitting there in seiza for something close to seven hours, determined to wait until Nenene had finished her manuscript-- and, as one would expect, the history class she had been charged with overseeing had begun long ago. To have done this on her first day of substitute teaching showed a outstanding level of ineptitude.

“Aaah--...”

As you would expect, all the color drained from Yomiko’s face, “I--, I’m so sorry! I’ll head out straightaways...”

As Yomiko went to stand up, she pitched forward, falling to the ground painfully.

On account of having sat in seiza in place for so long, her feet had fallen entirely asleep.

His voice, laced with ice, fell coldly upon Yomiko from above

“Waaaaa~...”

Yomiko was mumbling and crying incomprehensibly while thrashing her upper body about in a clearly distraught fashion.



"Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

Having cleaned up the mess she had made of the library, Nenene tiredly approached the school's main gate, only to hear a voice call out to her.

She thought it was weird that she could tell who it was without turning around.

"Please wait, Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

It was that woman from the library. That woman’s name was something like...Yomiko; that’s it. The name sounded like a joke, not that her own was the sort you’d usually hear used for a person.

Yomiko chased after Nenene, the wheeled bag she always dragged with her making a quiet clacking noise.

"I'm not even gonna bother lecturing you."

"... Yes. I apologize for worrying you like that."

Sighing to herself, Yomiko bowed sheepishly. It wasn't clear which was the teacher and which was the student.

"Couldn't say I was worried."

She'd meant it to sound cold, but a smiling, laughing Yomiko just gazed at her.

“...Well, What?!”

"Ummm, as for the next thing. I was thinking that I'd like to do a home visit.”

“A home visit--? To MYYY HOME--?!”

At Yomiko's sudden suggestion, Nenene's voice rose significantly.

"Yes"

"Why the--you're a substitute teacher, right?! It's not like you're my homeroom teacher!"

"That may be true, but..."



At this point Yomiko glanced around as if checking the perimeter and then lowered her voice.

"Actually, I had thought to offer to protect you."

"Protect?"

"Yes. Umm, from the person who sent the letter."

"The hell? I'm good--'cuz tomorrow, I'm hiring a bodyguard."

For a high school girl like Nenene to be talking about bodyguards had a strange feeling to it.

"But even then, if he were to strike tonight or something, wouldn't that be pretty dangerous?"

"What I'm saying is, even if you were there, it's not like you'd have any goddamn impact."

"Sensei, I, I'm a bit stronger than I appear."

She thumped her chest with a fist. Unlike what she'd expected, it hit the top of her full bust, producing
more of a "Poof" noise.

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

Speechless, Nenene reached her hands toward Yomiko's face.

"Yes?"

She grabbed both of Yomiko's cheeks and pulled and stretched them to the extreme left and right.

"Th--Thumirehawa, Thenthei--!"

"Woah. They realllly stretch!" As they had managed to stretch twice as much as the average person's cheeks, even Nenene had to raise her voice in amazement.

"Thop, puwease--, thop...."



After toying with Yomiko for a bit, Nenene released her fingers. (1)

"Hi-hiiin..."

Her cheeks blazing red, Yomiko began to cry audibly, her tears just starting to pool in her eyes beneath her glasses.

"Wha-errrrre are you strong, damnit. You get your cheeks pinched and you're already half crying, aren't you."

"J-just now, I wasn't expecting that, you know~. That was just a cheap trick."

"Ah"

Nenene's gaze focused on something behind Yomiko's back.

"Eh?"

Without thinking, Yomiko turned around to look behind her.

"Tou”

Instantly, Nenene planted a light kick on Yomiko's unprotected back.

"Tawaba--!"

Yomiko fell quite magnificently, both hands raised as if cheering.

"You're just feel of fuzzy feelings, aren't you. To hell with protecting me; it's yourself you need to worry about. Maybe you should take a correspondence course in Aikido?"

Having picked herself up into a squatting position, Yomiko whimpered as she brushed dirt off of her face.

"....I just can't put forth my real power when it's not a serious situation."



A student on the way home spoke up toward these two in whom the power balance between teacher and student had been completely inverted.

"Whaaaaat, Sumiregawa. You're even puttin' on skits with the teach now?"

"Switchin' ta comedy? Gonna debut in the entertainment world?"

It was Nenene's classmates, Nori Kawarazaki and Harumi Mishima.

They were kidding around, but it felt like there was a speck of irony mixed in there somewhere, though it wasn't clear if that were intentional or not.

"It's just that this teacher up and started arguing with me! Me, I wanted to get home ASAP and sleep!"

"Such a HARD worker. For the two've us, next stop's the meetup.”

"Meetup?"

"Yep. Kitasawa and Nishi Middle's kids're getting along pretty well."

"Middle schoolers? Since when've you been into that sort of thing?"

"It's good and all, 'ccasionally. Even Sumiregawa might do something other than work on her novel all the time, maybe have a little fun. "

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get left behind. With the cool stuff."

"Hooow 'bout speaking to some of the kids who're fans of yours?"

"Nope, no way. Sumiregawa's fans're usually female, right."

"Bit weird, but that way there'd be new stuff to explore..."


[[Image:Read or Die vol01 081.jpg|thumb]]


Glancing at her face, the two burst into laughter. But as for the one in question, her face displayed neither amusement nor anger, but serenity.

"Umm..."

Beating the dirt out of her coat, Yomiko stood up.

"This meetup thing sounds like fun to me, but."

"Yes?"

To have Yomiko, who almost didn't register with those two as a human being, let alone as a teacher, suddenly involve herself in their conversation was quite unexpected.

"You could also try reading some books; how about that?"

"Books? The questioning looks on the two showed they clearly didn't know what she is getting at.

"Yes."

Yomiko pulled a single volume from within her coat. It was a young adult novel.

"There's this one, Radio Girl. It's light and interesting. It talks about a boy that falls in love with a female listener that sends postcards in which are read during a late-night broadcast….”

Her explanation appeared to have no end, as she produced out book after book with flourishes worthy of a magician.

"... Ah, and then, there's Please Return My Kiss. The main character is a girl who's searching for the boy who'd been her first kiss back in their childhood. The only clue she has is an old photo of the two of them, but there's a surprising twist in the end..."


The two female students exchanged glances as Yomiko's explanation flowed in one ear and out the other, the specter of the morning exercises returning to life in their imaginations.

"...But well, when it comes to YA novels, I've really just got to recommend Sumiregawa-sensei's debut work, You Know Me."

"!"

As her own book was brought up, Nenene stiffened up slightly.

"Ah, but if you're friends, you've probably read it already..."

"Knock it off--!"

It was Yomiko's turn to stiffen up, as Nenene's shout made her accidentally drop the book.

"....Eh?"

The air stopped dead, but only between the two of them.

As for the two female students, this was the chance they had been looking for.

"Aahh.....We've got to get going, so....."

"See ya later, Sumiregawa"

Quite in contrast to how they had strolled up before, they began to walk rapidly away.

Subsequently, Nenene and Yomiko were all who remained.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei.....?"


"It's embarassing, don't ya think--! Don't whip out my book in front of people--!"

"I'm sorry.... But....."

"But what--!"

"..... If you go into any bookstore, there'd be tons of your books around."

"A bookstore's alright--! I just hate it when that gets pulled in front of people I know!"

Despite the threatening aura that was pressing down upon her, Yomiko just had to inquire further.

".....Why would that be?"

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

Without answering, Nenene turned around and began to walk away.

".....Umm, Sensei....."

Suitcase clattering behind her, Yomiko chased after the fleeing target's back.

"Don't you follow me--! Go home--!"

"Buuut..."

"Haaah..... So this is Sensei's apartment?"

Yomiko peered upward at the high-class apartment building as it towered before her, her voice tinged with awe at the sight.

"Man, you're really bold, seriously."



In the end, Yomiko hadn't even considered leaving Nenene alone.

Nenene had hailed a taxi and headed off, but Yomiko, suitcase clattering along as she dragged it behind her, raised a loud "Seeeeeeenseeeeei" before seeming to give up. The taxi driver also assumed that it wouldn't be hard to drive away from the women, her hair dishelved and her coat flying around her as she ran.

As for Nenene, not once did she see Yomiko's reflection fall behind in the rear-view mirror, with not the slightest sign of her abandoning pursuit. It felt as if she'd gotten a meddlesome cousin.

Grumbling all the while, Nenene opened a keypad installed at the first floor entrance. After she pressed the numbered keys to enter her code, the noise signalling that the door to enter the floor had opened could be heard.

"Yeah, yeah, here's where we say goodbye. I gotta sleep now, you know~"

Waving a half-hearted goodbye, Nenene went to enter the doorway.

".....Sensei, ummmm..."

"What."

Yomiko pointed toward the postboxes lined up in a row nearby. They were obviously intended for use by the residents of the apartment building. Apparently, with her overabundance of exhaustion Nenene had forgetten to check her mail.

As the number of slots that would fit in the space were limited, the numbers didn't go beyond 100. In their midst Nenene's was conspicuous enough to be obvious for Yomiko, who was visiting for the first time, to pick it out at a glance. It's not that it bore any decoration.


The mailbox’s raison d’etre was on full display, its narrow slot stuffed to the limit with mail.

“...What?”

“It’s letters, packages, and so forth, yes?”

Yomiko had piped up cheerily, but Nenene retorted with a harder tone.

“...No way should this much stuff show up in one day. Not when it was totally empty this morning…”

Nenene had checked her mail before heading to school that morning. At the time, there hadn’t been a single scrap of paper in there.

For her job, there were certain days when novels or essay magazines were sent, but never so much as to make the mailbox this full.

As Yomiko watched, Nenene turned the dial on the mailbox and opened its door.

“!”

As if they had been waiting for this moment, fluttering papers surged down around their feet with the force of a waterfall.The grey tiled floor was promptly awash with white.

“Oh, my…”

Yomiko picked up one paper from the mass as Nenene stood frozen and speechless.

Once inspected, it proved to be not a piece of paper, but an envelope. It was an easy mistake to make, as it bore no decoration, color, or writing of any kind.

“... Is it alright if I open this?”

Yomiko thrust an envelope in front of Nenene’s face. Nenene wordlessly nodded.

“Here goes.”

Yomiko traced a fingertip along the back of the envelope. It seemed a trivial motion, and yet the glued flap of the envelope was sliced open as if by a letter opener.

What was pulled from inside was a quad-folded piece of white paper.

It wasn’t even stationery, but merely an ordinary piece of white paper. Yomiko slowly opened it, while Nenene dropped her gaze to follow.

The contents therein read as you would expect.

“I’ll be coming to meet you soon. -Yours, Paul S.”

Nenene’s brows began to furrow as Yomiko stooped to gather more and more envelopes, revealing their contents as before.

“You cannot escape. -Yours, Paul S.”

“Sorry for the wait. -Yours, Paul S.”

“I know you. - Yours, Paul S.”

With little variation in contents, it was clear that these had all been sent by one person. Although, they seemingly had not been sent via the postal service. Rather, they had been hand delivered directly.

“... Hmm?”

It was then that Yomiko realized that Nenene had been standing there the whole time.

“...................”

Nenene had seemed tired, but now in her expression undercurrents of deep strain were revealed.

In the library room and at the approach to the school, she had shown none of the pale weakness that was now evident.

Still kneeling, Yomiko softly took Nenene’s hand. Nenene stiffened with surprise and looked down at her.

Yomiko gave her a smile that spread across her whole face, the kind of overeagerly artless smile she was so wont to give.

“Don’t worry yourself, Sensei. I’ll be with you.”

“... I’m NOT that worried.”

Nenene brushed Yomiko’s concerns aside with a wave of her hand. Her voice had regained its usual tone.

<nowiki>----------</nowiki>

“Uwaaa, it’s huge; there’s so much room…”

Unit 1602. This was the first expression Yomiko gave upon entering Nenene’s apartment.

A hallway lined with innumerable doors led to a living room more akin to a classroom in size. Were one to sweep their gaze to the side, they would espy a dine-in kitchen. Visible through a large window was a line of potted decorative plants lining a veranda.

Yomiko’s impression was simple, but accurately captured the nature of the apartment. It was indeed quite huge and roomy. However, beyond that, it utterly lacked the feel of a lived-in space.

“Let’s set you down all careful-like,” Nenene thoughtlessly remarked as she slung down her backpack, bearing a single laptop within it, and placed it on the floor.

“Oookay, if you’d excuse me….”

Yomiko sat down on the sofa in the middle of the living room, rested her body against its back, and snuggled deeply into the cushions.

“Not gonna take off your coat? It’ll get wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about me…”

Keeping a coat on inside seemed a bit strange, but Nenene wasn’t about to push her to take it off, so she said no more of it.

“I’m gonna go change. Just wait a sec.” With that, Nenene disappeared down the hallway.

“Take your time…”

After watching Nenene leave, Yomiko turned her attention back to the contents of the room. She was visiting the house of an author she admired. Surely a fan should be excited by this, but for some reason, this was making her feel uneasy.

“......................”

Yomiko stood up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.

Though it was rude, she opened the fridge, which was full of P.E.T. bottles of mineral and flavored water. Peering behind the bottles, she spotted some beer cans that may have been intentionally hidden. There wasn’t a single item you could call a meal ingredient.

“Hmmmm…”

Yomiko returned to the living room and began to absently search the place.

A giant wall projector was hooked up to a DVD player. On the table’s surface lay remote controls for the AC and other systems. It looked like a model room, clean and tidy, but without a lived-in smell.

In this room, Yomiko stumbled upon one relic of the inhabitants. A decorative shelf held a display stand containing a photo.

“Oh my.”

It was a photo of the Sumiregawa family. It looked like she had still been in elementary school, but there was a young, cheerful looking Nenene, hair already sticking out in the back, smiling and holding hands with a man who was apparently her father and a women who looked to be her mother.

A pure, innocent smile typical of childhood. Yomiko squinted, looking closer at some of the other, similar photos, and noticed something odd. The family pictures could be broadly divided into two types. One showed the family centered around Nenene. The other showed just the man and woman—without Nenene. There were no photos of just Nenene and her father. Or just Nenene and her mother, but the photo of just the man and woman… the woman in that picture was clearly not the same woman from the other photos.

Someone else stood beside the man. Someone who, from the way she leaned in, was clearly close to him. And not the woman who’d appeared earlier with young Nenene.

“………………”

A different wife, maybe? Two different family portraits, decorating the shelf like pieces in a game of spot-the-difference.

“What are you doing?”


Nenene’s voice came from behind.

She had returned from down the hallway, now changed into a beige sweater and a moss green pleated skirt.

A casual, comfortable outfit—perfect for relaxing.

“I see… are your parents still working, then? Probably?”

“Work is work, you know.”

“About what time do they usually come home? I mean, I should at least say hello.”

“Who knows when they'll come back? Isn’t it usually around New Year’s?”

“…Huh?”

Nenene leaned back against the sofa, stretched her legs out like she was airing them, and let out a long sigh. A faint trace of exhaustion from work drifted up like a scent and filled the room.

“They’ve been stationed in America for the past two years. My dad and my step— I mean, my mom too.”

That pause on “stepmother” came with a delicate nuance.

“They’re both working for some company over there, doing computer development or whatever.”

Her tone was indifferent, but it left behind an unmistakable sense of distance.

“So then… you’re living alone?”

“I wanted to go to high school here. It was also for work.”

By “work,” she clearly meant writing.

“I think I read that in an interview somewhere…”

As she said that, Yomiko settled into the seat across from Nenene.

“You didn’t say you were lonely or anything. It’s kind of…”

“Annoying.”

“I see… but still, don’t you ever get lonely?”

“What bothers me is when people assume I do.”

“It's annoying when people think that way.”

Nenene pursed her lips as if she was upset. It wasn't her true feelings, but rather a pose she was putting on.

“You read novels and manga, right? For people our age, living alone is heaven. There are no curfews, no nagging, and no need to worry about anything. We can play as much as we want."


“But, um, what about family gatherings?”

Nenene looked taken aback by the sudden question.

“Family gatherings? Do you think those still exist these days?”

“No? Like when your dad flips the table, or when you're watching TV with your mom and there's a kissing scene and it gets awkward?”

　Was it just her knowledge, or was it a misconception? Yomiko's example was far from the definition of family time.

“...How old are you?”

“I'm 25.”

Many women dislike talking about their age, but Yomiko answered without hesitation.

"Even so, you should know a little more about the world. This isn't some old manga. Don't you watch TV?"

“I don't have a TV at home.”

This came as a surprise to Nenene.

“Why not?”

“I read books all the time when I'm at home, so I don't really need one...”

“Then how do you find out about the latest fashions, hot spots, and events? Oh, from magazines?”


“Yeah, I read those sometimes, but they're hard to remember. I just prefer reading books. ... Oh, but I always wear the same clothes, and when I go out, I only go to bookstores and used bookstores, and the only events I'm interested in are used book fairs, so I'm fine without it.”

“You mean you really wear the same outfit all the time!?”

“That coat!?”

“Well… I do have multiple coats, shirts, ties, and skirts… but they’re all the same design, so people often think I’m always wearing the same thing.”

“Why!? Don’t you want to dress up or anything!?”

“I don’t.”

“You should! You're a girl!”

“A girl...?”

It was probably just the force of her words, but Nenene's words made Yomiko's cheeks relax.

“It's been a while since someone said that to me...”

She grinned, her face falling into a slovenly expression. It was unclear what memories were coming back to her.

"I'll take back what I just said. Not a girl, but ‘sort of a woman’."

Yomiko let out a disappointed voice at Nenene's cold correction.

“...Um, I'm not just a woman, I'm a woman in every sense of the word...”

She was probably referring to gender.

Nenene coughed to clear the air, which was filled with a vague sense of humor.


“Well, it's okay. That kind of thing. The point is, the problem is that guy.”

“Ah, right.”

At Nenene’s words, Yomiko pulled a stack of envelopes from her coat pocket—the ones she’d picked up from the post downstairs. These were the letters shoved into Nenene’s mailbox. She’d gathered them all and brought them along. Nenene had grumbled and argued about letting her up into the apartment, but in truth, it was this that had convinced her.

The long rectangular table was now covered in white envelopes. To someone who didn’t know better, it might have looked like a game of high-stakes poker.

“All in all, there were 219,” Yomiko said. “All of them the same kind of envelope.”

Even as a prank, the number was bizarre. There were no return addresses. Nenene stared at them again, a deep, unsettling chill crawling up her spine.

“What kind of idiot… seriously… should I call the cops?”

“That might not be so easy,” Yomiko said, her voice level and calm. “This person never sends anything but letters.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier? Then what should I do?”

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“…What?”

Yomiko’s unexpected answer clearly threw Nenene off.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, you don’t have to do a thing. I’ll take care of it.”


“…Take care of what?"

Yomiko grinned sheepishly, pinching the letter between her fingers.

“I just want to catch this person and make sure they don’t bother you anymore, Sensei.”

It was a remarkably plain statement; so simple, in fact, that Nenene had to reprocess it to confirm what she'd just said and then groaned.

“Listen. Like I told you back in the library. This guy is just some delusional nutcase with a crush. Total creep, totally obsessed.”

“Well then, all the more reason to bring him to justice, right? Otherwise, he’ll just keep stalking you.”

“Do you really think logic’s gonna work on someone like this? With this level of obsession? Get real.”

For Nenene, this kind of commotion wasn’t anything new.

From when she debuted at age three, to now as a currently active student author with that label plastered everywhere, she’d gained a lot of fans over time. Which meant, naturally, she also had a lot of weird fans. More than your average writer, in fact.

Each week, she received over a hundred fan letters.

Most of them were the usual stuff; reactions to her books, personal updates, that kind of thing. Ordinary, boring fan mail.

But some of them? Went way off the rails. Some were on A4 paper typed perfectly in size 24 font, just full-page rants.

Some described magic spells and secret cult messages like they were writing a novel.

Some used strange characters or esoteric codes—like ancient weapons would activate just from reading the keywords.

It wasn’t just weird—it was dangerous. And what was she even supposed to do with that kind of mail?

There were even letters that claimed Nenene’s novels were actually stolen from the sender’s own mind. According to them, they’d planned to write the exact same story themselves, but Nenene had somehow overheard their thoughts and published the idea as her own.

== 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

3: Technically three fingers of each hand, like [http://07ki04yo21ka.at.webry.info/200707/article_3.html this].

<noinclude>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-10T18:26:09Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

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


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.


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.


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.  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 head-shot of the author and a short biography.

Out of the photo smiled a girl with hair that stuck out at the back.  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. 

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....” 

The students that were walking up the road behind her responded to her unprompted babbling with dubious expressions. 

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.



“If I could have your attention please!  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—!“ 

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. 

“...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.  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.” 

His  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.”


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?" 

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.


“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.  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> , 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.”



Yomiko reached into her coat pocket again and pulled out another book.

"This action  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>,  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.



“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>. 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 formulas.


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 dumb ass, 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.


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.


“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.


“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...” [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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....


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  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.


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 step 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. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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.



"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! 

"Can't wrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiittte!"


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?!”




"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!" 

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.


"..... 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.  Out of the scenarios she had considered before, she finally had made a breakthrough.

"Se--, Sensei--! So, who can defeat Valkes  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.


"Aaaargh~!"

Her fingers danced over the cramped keyboard. They leapt, they flew, they ran, faster than the eye could follow, spinning forth all manner of words onto the screen at an astonishing rate.

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

However, if it had sounded like a melody before, this was more like machine gun fire; that was the only match for this intensity and force.

"Whoa—..."

In the end, without having received verbal confirmation, Yomiko had to conclude that this could be no other than Nenene herself.

Though it certainly would not be fitting to describe her as physically imposing, her presence was a million-fold 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.

As for Nenene, she completely failed to notice Yomiko's emotional outburst or anything else beyond herself as she continued to vigorously pound away at the keys.

Occasionally she slid along the desk, shuttling from notebook to notebook and working on four drafts at once. The reasoning behind this was impossible to discern.

Almost overcome with longing, Yomiko suddenly remembered her objective.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"


How many times had she tried by now? She spoke up once more.

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 a notch. Even with that, the girl didn’t turn around.

“Sensei~, errr~!”

Yomiko stood right behind her target and moved her hand as if to grab the girl by the shoulder, and suddenly, Nenene turned toward her.

“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, albeit more from surprise than pain.

Nenene roared down at Yomiko, who was seemingly unable to rise from her position on the floor.

“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 shrink back. 

“....... Hmph~!”

From behind Nenene, who had relaunched her writing, Yomiko tentatively craned her neck in an attempt 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 mindset of a fan is quite complex.


Though she was unaware of what Yomiko was up to behind her, 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 the entire upper half of her body around as she tried to see those screens.

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

Wordlessly, the two continued their opposed 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 today’s 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.

...... To be honest with herself, it was 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 was already 4 in the afternoon.

Anyway, time to go home. Go home, and sleep, and think things over.

Nenene stood up from her chain and turned around.


"Whoooa~!"

Right there 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 now the girl produced 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, she on pregnancy leave?"

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

Yomiko pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#Notes|(3)]]

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

It looked as if she had indeed forgotten her last conversation with Yomiko. Perhaps she had been so intent on her deadline that her brain had been in a state of confusion.


"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.

".... Just possibly, ‘sit you? The one who's been hasslin' me lately?"

"Huh?"

Nenene produced a single envelope from the midst of some documents that were scattered about and thrust it toward Yomiko.

It was a plain white envelope, with no distinguishing characteristics. No stamp, postmark, or even address had been recorded on it. Apparently someone would have needed to directly place it into the recipient’s mailbox.

After examining it closely, Yomiko emptied its contents into her hand 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 for you soon. To my Paul S"

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

"What might this be?"

"Found it in my home mailbox yesterday. It was you, right?"


"No."

Yomiko shook her head politely as she answered.

Nenene made an even more disagreeable face.

"Happens a lot lately. Keep getting random phone calls where no one says anything, and when I leave the house, I feel like someone's tailing me. Thanks to all that, I just can’t get aaaannnny writing done!"

"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 working for my taxes!"

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

"And just to top it all off, this letter! First off, 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. Wordlessly, it seemed to communicate the strong ego and self-esteem that lay within her.

"I know all about you. You debuted with <i>You Know Me</i> 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 wash your right leg first, 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."


"Yes~! I'm a big fan, you see!"

Smiling like a puppy who’d been praised by its master, Yomiko fished through her pockets and took out a copy of <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Live</i>.

"I've alllways, alllways loved your books! When I read this one back in the day, 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, without moving from 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, dammit. You read the stories I write and you’re moved; that should be enough. So why the hell, then, would you feel you gotta get a signature? A signature's just a name, you know."


"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."

For any popular author, sometimes particularly "excessive" fans would develop grandiose ideas and send letters or “presents”. When one becomes an author 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?"

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


At those unexpectedly heartfelt words, Nenene's burning spirit 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 even before that, I've read so very much of you."

Yomiko's statement lacked any hesitation. Her words were as guileless as those of a child.

"...And I just told you, that wasn’t me; those’re 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 <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Are</i>, her fingers moving the pages with obvious loving care.

"This paper tells me how very much you throw yourself into your writing."

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

"I, truly, love you."

An awkward silence fell. Within statement lurked a small particle whose meaning that was as of yet something the two of them could not understand.

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 picked up the letter again.



“For this person as well, surely it would be that way. So, if you’d just talk to him...”

However, Nenene flung the letter away from her, letting it flutter about until it came to rest on the floor between them.

“Ah...”

“You could say what you want, and this guy’d still get in my way.”

Nenene’s tone had returned to its previous state.

“But...”

“Furthermore,” she interrupted Yomiko before she could finish her statement, “thanks to this guy, I can’t sleep a wink. I’ve missed four deadlines, home and work both fail me(*), so I get stuck writing my manuscripts in the library. Got me?”

“Yes...”

“I don’t know what the hell he wants from me, but there is just one thing I want from him to stop goddamn harassing me! That’s all!”

For a second time, silence fell over the room; This time there was clearly something different about it...

“Readman-Sensei!”

The silence mingled with a third person’s voice.

From around the corner of the bookshelves, the figure of a jersey-clad male teacher appeared. It was Nire, the gym teacher.

“What are you doing-?! Your class-!”



As he said that, she came to her senses-- Yomiko had been sitting there in seiza for something close to seven hours, determined to wait until Nenene had finished her manuscript-- and, as one would expect, the history class she had been charged with overseeing had begun long ago. To have done this on her first day of substitute teaching showed a outstanding level of ineptitude.

“Aaah--...”

As you would expect, all the color drained from Yomiko’s face, “I--, I’m so sorry! I’ll head out straightaways...”

As Yomiko went to stand up, she pitched forward, falling to the ground painfully.

On account of having sat in seiza in place for so long, her feet had fallen entirely asleep.

His voice, laced with ice, fell coldly upon Yomiko from above

“Waaaaa~...”

Yomiko was mumbling and crying incomprehensibly while thrashing her upper body about in a clearly distraught fashion.



"Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

Having cleaned up the mess she had made of the library, Nenene tiredly approached the school's main gate, only to hear a voice call out to her.

She thought it was weird that she could tell who it was without turning around.

"Please wait, Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

It was that woman from the library. That woman’s name was something like...Yomiko; that’s it. The name sounded like a joke, not that her own was the sort you’d usually hear used for a person.

Yomiko chased after Nenene, the wheeled bag she always dragged with her making a quiet clacking noise.

"I'm not even gonna bother lecturing you."

"... Yes. I apologize for worrying you like that."

Sighing to herself, Yomiko bowed sheepishly. It wasn't clear which was the teacher and which was the student.

"Couldn't say I was worried."

She'd meant it to sound cold, but a smiling, laughing Yomiko just gazed at her.

“...Well, What?!”

"Ummm, as for the next thing. I was thinking that I'd like to do a home visit.”

“A home visit--? To MYYY HOME--?!”

At Yomiko's sudden suggestion, Nenene's voice rose significantly.

"Yes"

"Why the--you're a substitute teacher, right?! It's not like you're my homeroom teacher!"

"That may be true, but..."



At this point Yomiko glanced around as if checking the perimeter and then lowered her voice.

"Actually, I had thought to offer to protect you."

"Protect?"

"Yes. Umm, from the person who sent the letter."

"The hell? I'm good--'cuz tomorrow, I'm hiring a bodyguard."

For a high school girl like Nenene to be talking about bodyguards had a strange feeling to it.

"But even then, if he were to strike tonight or something, wouldn't that be pretty dangerous?"

"What I'm saying is, even if you were there, it's not like you'd have any goddamn impact."

"Sensei, I, I'm a bit stronger than I appear."

She thumped her chest with a fist. Unlike what she'd expected, it hit the top of her full bust, producing
more of a "Poof" noise.

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

Speechless, Nenene reached her hands toward Yomiko's face.

"Yes?"

She grabbed both of Yomiko's cheeks and pulled and stretched them to the extreme left and right.

"Th--Thumirehawa, Thenthei--!"

"Woah. They realllly stretch!" As they had managed to stretch twice as much as the average person's cheeks, even Nenene had to raise her voice in amazement.

"Thop, puwease--, thop...."



After toying with Yomiko for a bit, Nenene released her fingers. (1)

"Hi-hiiin..."

Her cheeks blazing red, Yomiko began to cry audibly, her tears just starting to pool in her eyes beneath her glasses.

"Wha-errrrre are you strong, damnit. You get your cheeks pinched and you're already half crying, aren't you."

"J-just now, I wasn't expecting that, you know~. That was just a cheap trick."

"Ah"

Nenene's gaze focused on something behind Yomiko's back.

"Eh?"

Without thinking, Yomiko turned around to look behind her.

"Tou”

Instantly, Nenene planted a light kick on Yomiko's unprotected back.

"Tawaba--!"

Yomiko fell quite magnificently, both hands raised as if cheering.

"You're just feel of fuzzy feelings, aren't you. To hell with protecting me; it's yourself you need to worry about. Maybe you should take a correspondence course in Aikido?"

Having picked herself up into a squatting position, Yomiko whimpered as she brushed dirt off of her face.

"....I just can't put forth my real power when it's not a serious situation."



A student on the way home spoke up toward these two in whom the power balance between teacher and student had been completely inverted.

"Whaaaaat, Sumiregawa. You're even puttin' on skits with the teach now?"

"Switchin' ta comedy? Gonna debut in the entertainment world?"

It was Nenene's classmates, Nori Kawarazaki and Harumi Mishima.

They were kidding around, but it felt like there was a speck of irony mixed in there somewhere, though it wasn't clear if that were intentional or not.

"It's just that this teacher up and started arguing with me! Me, I wanted to get home ASAP and sleep!"

"Such a HARD worker. For the two've us, next stop's the meetup.”

"Meetup?"

"Yep. Kitasawa and Nishi Middle's kids're getting along pretty well."

"Middle schoolers? Since when've you been into that sort of thing?"

"It's good and all, 'ccasionally. Even Sumiregawa might do something other than work on her novel all the time, maybe have a little fun. "

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get left behind. With the cool stuff."

"Hooow 'bout speaking to some of the kids who're fans of yours?"

"Nope, no way. Sumiregawa's fans're usually female, right."

"Bit weird, but that way there'd be new stuff to explore..."


[[Image:Read or Die vol01 081.jpg|thumb]]


Glancing at her face, the two burst into laughter. But as for the one in question, her face displayed neither amusement nor anger, but serenity.

"Umm..."

Beating the dirt out of her coat, Yomiko stood up.

"This meetup thing sounds like fun to me, but."

"Yes?"

To have Yomiko, who almost didn't register with those two as a human being, let alone as a teacher, suddenly involve herself in their conversation was quite unexpected.

"You could also try reading some books; how about that?"

"Books? The questioning looks on the two showed they clearly didn't know what she is getting at.

"Yes."

Yomiko pulled a single volume from within her coat. It was a young adult novel.

"There's this one, Radio Girl. It's light and interesting. It talks about a boy that falls in love with a female listener that sends postcards in which are read during a late-night broadcast….”

Her explanation appeared to have no end, as she produced out book after book with flourishes worthy of a magician.

"... Ah, and then, there's Please Return My Kiss. The main character is a girl who's searching for the boy who'd been her first kiss back in their childhood. The only clue she has is an old photo of the two of them, but there's a surprising twist in the end..."


The two female students exchanged glances as Yomiko's explanation flowed in one ear and out the other, the specter of the morning exercises returning to life in their imaginations.

"...But well, when it comes to YA novels, I've really just got to recommend Sumiregawa-sensei's debut work, You Know Me."

"!"

As her own book was brought up, Nenene stiffened up slightly.

"Ah, but if you're friends, you've probably read it already..."

"Knock it off--!"

It was Yomiko's turn to stiffen up, as Nenene's shout made her accidentally drop the book.

"....Eh?"

The air stopped dead, but only between the two of them.

As for the two female students, this was the chance they had been looking for.

"Aahh.....We've got to get going, so....."

"See ya later, Sumiregawa"

Quite in contrast to how they had strolled up before, they began to walk rapidly away.

Subsequently, Nenene and Yomiko were all who remained.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei.....?"


"It's embarassing, don't ya think--! Don't whip out my book in front of people--!"

"I'm sorry.... But....."

"But what--!"

"..... If you go into any bookstore, there'd be tons of your books around."

"A bookstore's alright--! I just hate it when that gets pulled in front of people I know!"

Despite the threatening aura that was pressing down upon her, Yomiko just had to inquire further.

".....Why would that be?"

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

Without answering, Nenene turned around and began to walk away.

".....Umm, Sensei....."

Suitcase clattering behind her, Yomiko chased after the fleeing target's back.

"Don't you follow me--! Go home--!"

"Buuut..."

"Haaah..... So this is Sensei's apartment?"

Yomiko peered upward at the high-class apartment building as it towered before her, her voice tinged with awe at the sight.

"Man, you're really bold, seriously."



In the end, Yomiko hadn't even considered leaving Nenene alone.

Nenene had hailed a taxi and headed off, but Yomiko, suitcase clattering along as she dragged it behind her, raised a loud "Seeeeeeenseeeeei" before seeming to give up. The taxi driver also assumed that it wouldn't be hard to drive away from the women, her hair dishelved and her coat flying around her as she ran.

As for Nenene, not once did she see Yomiko's reflection fall behind in the rear-view mirror, with not the slightest sign of her abandoning pursuit. It felt as if she'd gotten a meddlesome cousin.

Grumbling all the while, Nenene opened a keypad installed at the first floor entrance. After she pressed the numbered keys to enter her code, the noise signalling that the door to enter the floor had opened could be heard.

"Yeah, yeah, here's where we say goodbye. I gotta sleep now, you know~"

Waving a half-hearted goodbye, Nenene went to enter the doorway.

".....Sensei, ummmm..."

"What."

Yomiko pointed toward the postboxes lined up in a row nearby. They were obviously intended for use by the residents of the apartment building. Apparently, with her overabundance of exhaustion Nenene had forgetten to check her mail.

As the number of slots that would fit in the space were limited, the numbers didn't go beyond 100. In their midst Nenene's was conspicuous enough to be obvious for Yomiko, who was visiting for the first time, to pick it out at a glance. It's not that it bore any decoration.


The mailbox’s raison d’etre was on full display, its narrow slot stuffed to the limit with mail.

“...What?”

“It’s letters, packages, and so forth, yes?”

Yomiko had piped up cheerily, but Nenene retorted with a harder tone.

“...No way should this much stuff show up in one day. Not when it was totally empty this morning…”

Nenene had checked her mail before heading to school that morning. At the time, there hadn’t been a single scrap of paper in there.

For her job, there were certain days when novels or essay magazines were sent, but never so much as to make the mailbox this full.

As Yomiko watched, Nenene turned the dial on the mailbox and opened its door.

“!”

As if they had been waiting for this moment, fluttering papers surged down around their feet with the force of a waterfall.The grey tiled floor was promptly awash with white.

“Oh, my…”

Yomiko picked up one paper from the mass as Nenene stood frozen and speechless.

Once inspected, it proved to be not a piece of paper, but an envelope. It was an easy mistake to make, as it bore no decoration, color, or writing of any kind.

“... Is it alright if I open this?”

Yomiko thrust an envelope in front of Nenene’s face. Nenene wordlessly nodded.

“Here goes.”

Yomiko traced a fingertip along the back of the envelope. It seemed a trivial motion, and yet the glued flap of the envelope was sliced open as if by a letter opener.

What was pulled from inside was a quad-folded piece of white paper.

It wasn’t even stationery, but merely an ordinary piece of white paper. Yomiko slowly opened it, while Nenene dropped her gaze to follow.

The contents therein read as you would expect.

“I’ll be coming to meet you soon. -Yours, Paul S.”

Nenene’s brows began to furrow as Yomiko stooped to gather more and more envelopes, revealing their contents as before.

“You cannot escape. -Yours, Paul S.”

“Sorry for the wait. -Yours, Paul S.”

“I know you. - Yours, Paul S.”

With little variation in contents, it was clear that these had all been sent by one person. Although, they seemingly had not been sent via the postal service. Rather, they had been hand delivered directly.

“... Hmm?”

It was then that Yomiko realized that Nenene had been standing there the whole time.

“...................”

Nenene had seemed tired, but now in her expression undercurrents of deep strain were revealed.

In the library room and at the approach to the school, she had shown none of the pale weakness that was now evident.

Still kneeling, Yomiko softly took Nenene’s hand. Nenene stiffened with surprise and looked down at her.

Yomiko gave her a smile that spread across her whole face, the kind of overeagerly artless smile she was so wont to give.

“Don’t worry yourself, Sensei. I’ll be with you.”

“... I’m NOT that worried.”

Nenene brushed Yomiko’s concerns aside with a wave of her hand. Her voice had regained its usual tone.

<nowiki>----------</nowiki>

“Uwaaa, it’s huge; there’s so much room…”

Unit 1602. This was the first expression Yomiko gave upon entering Nenene’s apartment.

A hallway lined with innumerable doors led to a living room more akin to a classroom in size. Were one to sweep their gaze to the side, they would espy a dine-in kitchen. Visible through a large window was a line of potted decorative plants lining a veranda.

Yomiko’s impression was simple, but accurately captured the nature of the apartment. It was indeed quite huge and roomy. However, beyond that, it utterly lacked the feel of a lived-in space.

“Let’s set you down all careful-like,” Nenene thoughtlessly remarked as she slung down her backpack, bearing a single laptop within it, and placed it on the floor.

“Oookay, if you’d excuse me….”

Yomiko sat down on the sofa in the middle of the living room, rested her body against its back, and snuggled deeply into the cushions.

“Not gonna take off your coat? It’ll get wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about me…”

Keeping a coat on inside seemed a bit strange, but Nenene wasn’t about to push her to take it off, so she said no more of it.

“I’m gonna go change. Just wait a sec.” With that, Nenene disappeared down the hallway.

“Take your time…”

After watching Nenene leave, Yomiko turned her attention back to the contents of the room. She was visiting the house of an author she admired. Surely a fan should be excited by this, but for some reason, this was making her feel uneasy.

“......................”

Yomiko stood up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.

Though it was rude, she opened the fridge, which was full of P.E.T. bottles of mineral and flavored water. Peering behind the bottles, she spotted some beer cans that may have been intentionally hidden. There wasn’t a single item you could call a meal ingredient.

“Hmmmm…”

Yomiko returned to the living room and began to absently search the place.

A giant wall projector was hooked up to a DVD player. On the table’s surface lay remote controls for the AC and other systems. It looked like a model room, clean and tidy, but without a lived-in smell.

In this room, Yomiko stumbled upon one relic of the inhabitants. A decorative shelf held a display stand containing a photo.

“Oh my.”

It was a photo of the Sumiregawa family. It looked like she had still been in elementary school, but there was a young, cheerful looking Nenene, hair already sticking out in the back, smiling and holding hands with a man who was apparently her father and a women who looked to be her mother.

A pure, innocent smile typical of childhood. Yomiko squinted, looking closer at some of the other, similar photos, and noticed something odd. The family pictures could be broadly divided into two types. One showed the family centered around Nenene. The other showed just the man and woman—without Nenene. There were no photos of just Nenene and her father. Or just Nenene and her mother, but the photo of just the man and woman… the woman in that picture was clearly not the same woman from the other photos.

Someone else stood beside the man. Someone who, from the way she leaned in, was clearly close to him. And not the woman who’d appeared earlier with young Nenene.

“………………”

A different wife, maybe? Two different family portraits, decorating the shelf like pieces in a game of spot-the-difference.

“What are you doing?”


Nenene’s voice came from behind.

She had returned from down the hallway, now changed into a beige sweater and a moss green pleated skirt.

A casual, comfortable outfit—perfect for relaxing.

“I see… are your parents still working, then? Probably?”

“Work is work, you know.”

“About what time do they usually come home? I mean, I should at least say hello.”

“Who knows when they'll come back? Isn’t it usually around New Year’s?”

“…Huh?”

Nenene leaned back against the sofa, stretched her legs out like she was airing them, and let out a long sigh. A faint trace of exhaustion from work drifted up like a scent and filled the room.

“They’ve been stationed in America for the past two years. My dad and my step— I mean, my mom too.”

That pause on “stepmother” came with a delicate nuance.

“They’re both working for some company over there, doing computer development or whatever.”

Her tone was indifferent, but it left behind an unmistakable sense of distance.

“So then… you’re living alone?”

“I wanted to go to high school here. It was also for work.”

By “work,” she clearly meant writing.

“I think I read that in an interview somewhere…”

As she said that, Yomiko settled into the seat across from Nenene.

“You didn’t say you were lonely or anything. It’s kind of…”

“Annoying.”

“I see… but still, don’t you ever get lonely?”

“What bothers me is when people assume I do.”

“It's annoying when people think that way.”

Nenene pursed her lips as if she was upset. It wasn't her true feelings, but rather a pose she was putting on.

“You read novels and manga, right? For people our age, living alone is heaven. There are no curfews, no nagging, and no need to worry about anything. We can play as much as we want."


“But, um, what about family gatherings?”

Nenene looked taken aback by the sudden question.

“Family gatherings? Do you think those still exist these days?”

“No? Like when your dad flips the table, or when you're watching TV with your mom and there's a kissing scene and it gets awkward?”

　Was it just her knowledge, or was it a misconception? Yomiko's example was far from the definition of family time.

“...How old are you?”

“I'm 25.”

Many women dislike talking about their age, but Yomiko answered without hesitation.

"Even so, you should know a little more about the world. This isn't some old manga. Don't you watch TV?"

“I don't have a TV at home.”

This came as a surprise to Nenene.

“Why not?”

“I read books all the time when I'm at home, so I don't really need one...”

“Then how do you find out about the latest fashions, hot spots, and events? Oh, from magazines?”


“Yeah, I read those sometimes, but they're hard to remember. I just prefer reading books. ... Oh, but I always wear the same clothes, and when I go out, I only go to bookstores and used bookstores, and the only events I'm interested in are used book fairs, so I'm fine without it.”

“You mean you really wear the same outfit all the time!?”

“That coat!?”

“Well… I do have multiple coats, shirts, ties, and skirts… but they’re all the same design, so people often think I’m always wearing the same thing.”

“Why!? Don’t you want to dress up or anything!?”

“I don’t.”

“You should! You're a girl!”

“A girl...?”

It was probably just the force of her words, but Nenene's words made Yomiko's cheeks relax.

“It's been a while since someone said that to me...”

She grinned, her face falling into a slovenly expression. It was unclear what memories were coming back to her.

"I'll take back what I just said. Not a girl, but ‘sort of a woman’."

Yomiko let out a disappointed voice at Nenene's cold correction.

“...Um, I'm not just a woman, I'm a woman in every sense of the word...”

She was probably referring to gender.

Nenene coughed to clear the air, which was filled with a vague sense of humor.


“Well, it's okay. That kind of thing. The point is, the problem is that guy.”

“Ah, right.”

At Nenene’s words, Yomiko pulled a stack of envelopes from her coat pocket—the ones she’d picked up from the post downstairs. These were the letters shoved into Nenene’s mailbox. She’d gathered them all and brought them along. Nenene had grumbled and argued about letting her up into the apartment, but in truth, it was this that had convinced her.

The long rectangular table was now covered in white envelopes. To someone who didn’t know better, it might have looked like a game of high-stakes poker.

“All in all, there were 219,” Yomiko said. “All of them the same kind of envelope.”

Even as a prank, the number was bizarre. There were no return addresses. Nenene stared at them again, a deep, unsettling chill crawling up her spine.

“What kind of idiot… seriously… should I call the cops?”

“That might not be so easy,” Yomiko said, her voice level and calm. “This person never sends anything but letters.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier? Then what should I do?”

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“…What?”

Yomiko’s unexpected answer clearly threw Nenene off.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, you don’t have to do a thing. I’ll take care of it.”

== 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

3: Technically three fingers of each hand, like [http://07ki04yo21ka.at.webry.info/200707/article_3.html this].

<noinclude>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-10T18:24:36Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

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


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.


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.


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.  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 head-shot of the author and a short biography.

Out of the photo smiled a girl with hair that stuck out at the back.  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. 

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....” 

The students that were walking up the road behind her responded to her unprompted babbling with dubious expressions. 

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.



“If I could have your attention please!  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—!“ 

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. 

“...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.  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.” 

His  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.”


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?" 

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.


“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.  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> , 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.”



Yomiko reached into her coat pocket again and pulled out another book.

"This action  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>,  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.



“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>. 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 formulas.


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 dumb ass, 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.


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.


“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.


“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...” [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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....


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  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.


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 step 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. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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.



"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! 

"Can't wrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiittte!"


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?!”




"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!" 

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.


"..... 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.  Out of the scenarios she had considered before, she finally had made a breakthrough.

"Se--, Sensei--! So, who can defeat Valkes  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.


"Aaaargh~!"

Her fingers danced over the cramped keyboard. They leapt, they flew, they ran, faster than the eye could follow, spinning forth all manner of words onto the screen at an astonishing rate.

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

However, if it had sounded like a melody before, this was more like machine gun fire; that was the only match for this intensity and force.

"Whoa—..."

In the end, without having received verbal confirmation, Yomiko had to conclude that this could be no other than Nenene herself.

Though it certainly would not be fitting to describe her as physically imposing, her presence was a million-fold 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.

As for Nenene, she completely failed to notice Yomiko's emotional outburst or anything else beyond herself as she continued to vigorously pound away at the keys.

Occasionally she slid along the desk, shuttling from notebook to notebook and working on four drafts at once. The reasoning behind this was impossible to discern.

Almost overcome with longing, Yomiko suddenly remembered her objective.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"


How many times had she tried by now? She spoke up once more.

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 a notch. Even with that, the girl didn’t turn around.

“Sensei~, errr~!”

Yomiko stood right behind her target and moved her hand as if to grab the girl by the shoulder, and suddenly, Nenene turned toward her.

“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, albeit more from surprise than pain.

Nenene roared down at Yomiko, who was seemingly unable to rise from her position on the floor.

“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 shrink back. 

“....... Hmph~!”

From behind Nenene, who had relaunched her writing, Yomiko tentatively craned her neck in an attempt 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 mindset of a fan is quite complex.


Though she was unaware of what Yomiko was up to behind her, 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 the entire upper half of her body around as she tried to see those screens.

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

Wordlessly, the two continued their opposed 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 today’s 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.

...... To be honest with herself, it was 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 was already 4 in the afternoon.

Anyway, time to go home. Go home, and sleep, and think things over.

Nenene stood up from her chain and turned around.


"Whoooa~!"

Right there 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 now the girl produced 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, she on pregnancy leave?"

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

Yomiko pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#Notes|(3)]]

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

It looked as if she had indeed forgotten her last conversation with Yomiko. Perhaps she had been so intent on her deadline that her brain had been in a state of confusion.


"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.

".... Just possibly, ‘sit you? The one who's been hasslin' me lately?"

"Huh?"

Nenene produced a single envelope from the midst of some documents that were scattered about and thrust it toward Yomiko.

It was a plain white envelope, with no distinguishing characteristics. No stamp, postmark, or even address had been recorded on it. Apparently someone would have needed to directly place it into the recipient’s mailbox.

After examining it closely, Yomiko emptied its contents into her hand 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 for you soon. To my Paul S"

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

"What might this be?"

"Found it in my home mailbox yesterday. It was you, right?"


"No."

Yomiko shook her head politely as she answered.

Nenene made an even more disagreeable face.

"Happens a lot lately. Keep getting random phone calls where no one says anything, and when I leave the house, I feel like someone's tailing me. Thanks to all that, I just can’t get aaaannnny writing done!"

"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 working for my taxes!"

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

"And just to top it all off, this letter! First off, 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. Wordlessly, it seemed to communicate the strong ego and self-esteem that lay within her.

"I know all about you. You debuted with <i>You Know Me</i> 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 wash your right leg first, 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."


"Yes~! I'm a big fan, you see!"

Smiling like a puppy who’d been praised by its master, Yomiko fished through her pockets and took out a copy of <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Live</i>.

"I've alllways, alllways loved your books! When I read this one back in the day, 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, without moving from 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, dammit. You read the stories I write and you’re moved; that should be enough. So why the hell, then, would you feel you gotta get a signature? A signature's just a name, you know."


"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."

For any popular author, sometimes particularly "excessive" fans would develop grandiose ideas and send letters or “presents”. When one becomes an author 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?"

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


At those unexpectedly heartfelt words, Nenene's burning spirit 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 even before that, I've read so very much of you."

Yomiko's statement lacked any hesitation. Her words were as guileless as those of a child.

"...And I just told you, that wasn’t me; those’re 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 <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Are</i>, her fingers moving the pages with obvious loving care.

"This paper tells me how very much you throw yourself into your writing."

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

"I, truly, love you."

An awkward silence fell. Within statement lurked a small particle whose meaning that was as of yet something the two of them could not understand.

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 picked up the letter again.



“For this person as well, surely it would be that way. So, if you’d just talk to him...”

However, Nenene flung the letter away from her, letting it flutter about until it came to rest on the floor between them.

“Ah...”

“You could say what you want, and this guy’d still get in my way.”

Nenene’s tone had returned to its previous state.

“But...”

“Furthermore,” she interrupted Yomiko before she could finish her statement, “thanks to this guy, I can’t sleep a wink. I’ve missed four deadlines, home and work both fail me(*), so I get stuck writing my manuscripts in the library. Got me?”

“Yes...”

“I don’t know what the hell he wants from me, but there is just one thing I want from him to stop goddamn harassing me! That’s all!”

For a second time, silence fell over the room; This time there was clearly something different about it...

“Readman-Sensei!”

The silence mingled with a third person’s voice.

From around the corner of the bookshelves, the figure of a jersey-clad male teacher appeared. It was Nire, the gym teacher.

“What are you doing-?! Your class-!”



As he said that, she came to her senses-- Yomiko had been sitting there in seiza for something close to seven hours, determined to wait until Nenene had finished her manuscript-- and, as one would expect, the history class she had been charged with overseeing had begun long ago. To have done this on her first day of substitute teaching showed a outstanding level of ineptitude.

“Aaah--...”

As you would expect, all the color drained from Yomiko’s face, “I--, I’m so sorry! I’ll head out straightaways...”

As Yomiko went to stand up, she pitched forward, falling to the ground painfully.

On account of having sat in seiza in place for so long, her feet had fallen entirely asleep.

His voice, laced with ice, fell coldly upon Yomiko from above

“Waaaaa~...”

Yomiko was mumbling and crying incomprehensibly while thrashing her upper body about in a clearly distraught fashion.



"Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

Having cleaned up the mess she had made of the library, Nenene tiredly approached the school's main gate, only to hear a voice call out to her.

She thought it was weird that she could tell who it was without turning around.

"Please wait, Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

It was that woman from the library. That woman’s name was something like...Yomiko; that’s it. The name sounded like a joke, not that her own was the sort you’d usually hear used for a person.

Yomiko chased after Nenene, the wheeled bag she always dragged with her making a quiet clacking noise.

"I'm not even gonna bother lecturing you."

"... Yes. I apologize for worrying you like that."

Sighing to herself, Yomiko bowed sheepishly. It wasn't clear which was the teacher and which was the student.

"Couldn't say I was worried."

She'd meant it to sound cold, but a smiling, laughing Yomiko just gazed at her.

“...Well, What?!”

"Ummm, as for the next thing. I was thinking that I'd like to do a home visit.”

“A home visit--? To MYYY HOME--?!”

At Yomiko's sudden suggestion, Nenene's voice rose significantly.

"Yes"

"Why the--you're a substitute teacher, right?! It's not like you're my homeroom teacher!"

"That may be true, but..."



At this point Yomiko glanced around as if checking the perimeter and then lowered her voice.

"Actually, I had thought to offer to protect you."

"Protect?"

"Yes. Umm, from the person who sent the letter."

"The hell? I'm good--'cuz tomorrow, I'm hiring a bodyguard."

For a high school girl like Nenene to be talking about bodyguards had a strange feeling to it.

"But even then, if he were to strike tonight or something, wouldn't that be pretty dangerous?"

"What I'm saying is, even if you were there, it's not like you'd have any goddamn impact."

"Sensei, I, I'm a bit stronger than I appear."

She thumped her chest with a fist. Unlike what she'd expected, it hit the top of her full bust, producing
more of a "Poof" noise.

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

Speechless, Nenene reached her hands toward Yomiko's face.

"Yes?"

She grabbed both of Yomiko's cheeks and pulled and stretched them to the extreme left and right.

"Th--Thumirehawa, Thenthei--!"

"Woah. They realllly stretch!" As they had managed to stretch twice as much as the average person's cheeks, even Nenene had to raise her voice in amazement.

"Thop, puwease--, thop...."



After toying with Yomiko for a bit, Nenene released her fingers. (1)

"Hi-hiiin..."

Her cheeks blazing red, Yomiko began to cry audibly, her tears just starting to pool in her eyes beneath her glasses.

"Wha-errrrre are you strong, damnit. You get your cheeks pinched and you're already half crying, aren't you."

"J-just now, I wasn't expecting that, you know~. That was just a cheap trick."

"Ah"

Nenene's gaze focused on something behind Yomiko's back.

"Eh?"

Without thinking, Yomiko turned around to look behind her.

"Tou”

Instantly, Nenene planted a light kick on Yomiko's unprotected back.

"Tawaba--!"

Yomiko fell quite magnificently, both hands raised as if cheering.

"You're just feel of fuzzy feelings, aren't you. To hell with protecting me; it's yourself you need to worry about. Maybe you should take a correspondence course in Aikido?"

Having picked herself up into a squatting position, Yomiko whimpered as she brushed dirt off of her face.

"....I just can't put forth my real power when it's not a serious situation."



A student on the way home spoke up toward these two in whom the power balance between teacher and student had been completely inverted.

"Whaaaaat, Sumiregawa. You're even puttin' on skits with the teach now?"

"Switchin' ta comedy? Gonna debut in the entertainment world?"

It was Nenene's classmates, Nori Kawarazaki and Harumi Mishima.

They were kidding around, but it felt like there was a speck of irony mixed in there somewhere, though it wasn't clear if that were intentional or not.

"It's just that this teacher up and started arguing with me! Me, I wanted to get home ASAP and sleep!"

"Such a HARD worker. For the two've us, next stop's the meetup.”

"Meetup?"

"Yep. Kitasawa and Nishi Middle's kids're getting along pretty well."

"Middle schoolers? Since when've you been into that sort of thing?"

"It's good and all, 'ccasionally. Even Sumiregawa might do something other than work on her novel all the time, maybe have a little fun. "

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get left behind. With the cool stuff."

"Hooow 'bout speaking to some of the kids who're fans of yours?"

"Nope, no way. Sumiregawa's fans're usually female, right."

"Bit weird, but that way there'd be new stuff to explore..."


[[Image:Read or Die vol01 081.jpg|thumb]]


Glancing at her face, the two burst into laughter. But as for the one in question, her face displayed neither amusement nor anger, but serenity.

"Umm..."

Beating the dirt out of her coat, Yomiko stood up.

"This meetup thing sounds like fun to me, but."

"Yes?"

To have Yomiko, who almost didn't register with those two as a human being, let alone as a teacher, suddenly involve herself in their conversation was quite unexpected.

"You could also try reading some books; how about that?"

"Books? The questioning looks on the two showed they clearly didn't know what she is getting at.

"Yes."

Yomiko pulled a single volume from within her coat. It was a young adult novel.

"There's this one, Radio Girl. It's light and interesting. It talks about a boy that falls in love with a female listener that sends postcards in which are read during a late-night broadcast….”

Her explanation appeared to have no end, as she produced out book after book with flourishes worthy of a magician.

"... Ah, and then, there's Please Return My Kiss. The main character is a girl who's searching for the boy who'd been her first kiss back in their childhood. The only clue she has is an old photo of the two of them, but there's a surprising twist in the end..."


The two female students exchanged glances as Yomiko's explanation flowed in one ear and out the other, the specter of the morning exercises returning to life in their imaginations.

"...But well, when it comes to YA novels, I've really just got to recommend Sumiregawa-sensei's debut work, You Know Me."

"!"

As her own book was brought up, Nenene stiffened up slightly.

"Ah, but if you're friends, you've probably read it already..."

"Knock it off--!"

It was Yomiko's turn to stiffen up, as Nenene's shout made her accidentally drop the book.

"....Eh?"

The air stopped dead, but only between the two of them.

As for the two female students, this was the chance they had been looking for.

"Aahh.....We've got to get going, so....."

"See ya later, Sumiregawa"

Quite in contrast to how they had strolled up before, they began to walk rapidly away.

Subsequently, Nenene and Yomiko were all who remained.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei.....?"


"It's embarassing, don't ya think--! Don't whip out my book in front of people--!"

"I'm sorry.... But....."

"But what--!"

"..... If you go into any bookstore, there'd be tons of your books around."

"A bookstore's alright--! I just hate it when that gets pulled in front of people I know!"

Despite the threatening aura that was pressing down upon her, Yomiko just had to inquire further.

".....Why would that be?"

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

Without answering, Nenene turned around and began to walk away.

".....Umm, Sensei....."

Suitcase clattering behind her, Yomiko chased after the fleeing target's back.

"Don't you follow me--! Go home--!"

"Buuut..."

"Haaah..... So this is Sensei's apartment?"

Yomiko peered upward at the high-class apartment building as it towered before her, her voice tinged with awe at the sight.

"Man, you're really bold, seriously."



In the end, Yomiko hadn't even considered leaving Nenene alone.

Nenene had hailed a taxi and headed off, but Yomiko, suitcase clattering along as she dragged it behind her, raised a loud "Seeeeeeenseeeeei" before seeming to give up. The taxi driver also assumed that it wouldn't be hard to drive away from the women, her hair dishelved and her coat flying around her as she ran.

As for Nenene, not once did she see Yomiko's reflection fall behind in the rear-view mirror, with not the slightest sign of her abandoning pursuit. It felt as if she'd gotten a meddlesome cousin.

Grumbling all the while, Nenene opened a keypad installed at the first floor entrance. After she pressed the numbered keys to enter her code, the noise signalling that the door to enter the floor had opened could be heard.

"Yeah, yeah, here's where we say goodbye. I gotta sleep now, you know~"

Waving a half-hearted goodbye, Nenene went to enter the doorway.

".....Sensei, ummmm..."

"What."

Yomiko pointed toward the postboxes lined up in a row nearby. They were obviously intended for use by the residents of the apartment building. Apparently, with her overabundance of exhaustion Nenene had forgetten to check her mail.

As the number of slots that would fit in the space were limited, the numbers didn't go beyond 100. In their midst Nenene's was conspicuous enough to be obvious for Yomiko, who was visiting for the first time, to pick it out at a glance. It's not that it bore any decoration.


The mailbox’s raison d’etre was on full display, its narrow slot stuffed to the limit with mail.

“...What?”

“It’s letters, packages, and so forth, yes?”

Yomiko had piped up cheerily, but Nenene retorted with a harder tone.

“...No way should this much stuff show up in one day. Not when it was totally empty this morning…”

Nenene had checked her mail before heading to school that morning. At the time, there hadn’t been a single scrap of paper in there.

For her job, there were certain days when novels or essay magazines were sent, but never so much as to make the mailbox this full.

As Yomiko watched, Nenene turned the dial on the mailbox and opened its door.

“!”

As if they had been waiting for this moment, fluttering papers surged down around their feet with the force of a waterfall.The grey tiled floor was promptly awash with white.

“Oh, my…”

Yomiko picked up one paper from the mass as Nenene stood frozen and speechless.

Once inspected, it proved to be not a piece of paper, but an envelope. It was an easy mistake to make, as it bore no decoration, color, or writing of any kind.

“... Is it alright if I open this?”

Yomiko thrust an envelope in front of Nenene’s face. Nenene wordlessly nodded.

“Here goes.”

Yomiko traced a fingertip along the back of the envelope. It seemed a trivial motion, and yet the glued flap of the envelope was sliced open as if by a letter opener.

What was pulled from inside was a quad-folded piece of white paper.

It wasn’t even stationery, but merely an ordinary piece of white paper. Yomiko slowly opened it, while Nenene dropped her gaze to follow.

The contents therein read as you would expect.

“I’ll be coming to meet you soon. -Yours, Paul S.”

Nenene’s brows began to furrow as Yomiko stooped to gather more and more envelopes, revealing their contents as before.

“You cannot escape. -Yours, Paul S.”

“Sorry for the wait. -Yours, Paul S.”

“I know you. - Yours, Paul S.”

With little variation in contents, it was clear that these had all been sent by one person. Although, they seemingly had not been sent via the postal service. Rather, they had been hand delivered directly.

“... Hmm?”

It was then that Yomiko realized that Nenene had been standing there the whole time.

“...................”

Nenene had seemed tired, but now in her expression undercurrents of deep strain were revealed.

In the library room and at the approach to the school, she had shown none of the pale weakness that was now evident.

Still kneeling, Yomiko softly took Nenene’s hand. Nenene stiffened with surprise and looked down at her.

Yomiko gave her a smile that spread across her whole face, the kind of overeagerly artless smile she was so wont to give.

“Don’t worry yourself, Sensei. I’ll be with you.”

“... I’m NOT that worried.”

Nenene brushed Yomiko’s concerns aside with a wave of her hand. Her voice had regained its usual tone.

<nowiki>----------</nowiki>

“Uwaaa, it’s huge; there’s so much room…”

Unit 1602. This was the first expression Yomiko gave upon entering Nenene’s apartment.

A hallway lined with innumerable doors led to a living room more akin to a classroom in size. Were one to sweep their gaze to the side, they would espy a dine-in kitchen. Visible through a large window was a line of potted decorative plants lining a veranda.

Yomiko’s impression was simple, but accurately captured the nature of the apartment. It was indeed quite huge and roomy. However, beyond that, it utterly lacked the feel of a lived-in space.

“Let’s set you down all careful-like,” Nenene thoughtlessly remarked as she slung down her backpack, bearing a single laptop within it, and placed it on the floor.

“Oookay, if you’d excuse me….”

Yomiko sat down on the sofa in the middle of the living room, rested her body against its back, and snuggled deeply into the cushions.

“Not gonna take off your coat? It’ll get wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about me…”

Keeping a coat on inside seemed a bit strange, but Nenene wasn’t about to push her to take it off, so she said no more of it.

“I’m gonna go change. Just wait a sec.” With that, Nenene disappeared down the hallway.

“Take your time…”

After watching Nenene leave, Yomiko turned her attention back to the contents of the room. She was visiting the house of an author she admired. Surely a fan should be excited by this, but for some reason, this was making her feel uneasy.

“......................”

Yomiko stood up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.

Though it was rude, she opened the fridge, which was full of P.E.T. bottles of mineral and flavored water. Peering behind the bottles, she spotted some beer cans that may have been intentionally hidden. There wasn’t a single item you could call a meal ingredient.

“Hmmmm…”

Yomiko returned to the living room and began to absently search the place.

A giant wall projector was hooked up to a DVD player. On the table’s surface lay remote controls for the AC and other systems. It looked like a model room, clean and tidy, but without a lived-in smell.

In this room, Yomiko stumbled upon one relic of the inhabitants. A decorative shelf held a display stand containing a photo.

“Oh my.”

It was a photo of the Sumiregawa family. It looked like she had still been in elementary school, but there was a young, cheerful looking Nenene, hair already sticking out in the back, smiling and holding hands with a man who was apparently her father and a women who looked to be her mother.

A pure, innocent smile typical of childhood. Yomiko squinted, looking closer at some of the other, similar photos, and noticed something odd. The family pictures could be broadly divided into two types. One showed the family centered around Nenene. The other showed just the man and woman—without Nenene. There were no photos of just Nenene and her father. Or just Nenene and her mother, but the photo of just the man and woman… the woman in that picture was clearly not the same woman from the other photos.

Someone else stood beside the man. Someone who, from the way she leaned in, was clearly close to him. And not the woman who’d appeared earlier with young Nenene.

“………………”

A different wife, maybe? Two different family portraits, decorating the shelf like pieces in a game of spot-the-difference.

“What are you doing?”


Nenene’s voice came from behind.

She had returned from down the hallway, now changed into a beige sweater and a moss green pleated skirt.

A casual, comfortable outfit—perfect for relaxing.

“I see… are your parents still working, then? Probably?”

“Work is work, you know.”

“About what time do they usually come home? I mean, I should at least say hello.”

“Who knows when they'll come back? Isn’t it usually around New Year’s?”

“…Huh?”

Nenene leaned back against the sofa, stretched her legs out like she was airing them, and let out a long sigh. A faint trace of exhaustion from work drifted up like a scent and filled the room.

“They’ve been stationed in America for the past two years. My dad and my step— I mean, my mom too.”

That pause on “stepmother” came with a delicate nuance.

“They’re both working for some company over there, doing computer development or whatever.”

Her tone was indifferent, but it left behind an unmistakable sense of distance.

“So then… you’re living alone?”

“I wanted to go to high school here. It was also for work.”

By “work,” she clearly meant writing.

“I think I read that in an interview somewhere…”

As she said that, Yomiko settled into the seat across from Nenene.

“You didn’t say you were lonely or anything. It’s kind of…”

“Annoying.”

“I see… but still, don’t you ever get lonely?”

“What bothers me is when people assume I do.”

“It's annoying when people think that way.”

Nenene pursed her lips as if she was upset. It wasn't her true feelings, but rather a pose she was putting on.

“You read novels and manga, right? For people our age, living alone is heaven. There are no curfews, no nagging, and no need to worry about anything. We can play as much as we want."


“But, um, what about family gatherings?”

Nenene looked taken aback by the sudden question.

“Family gatherings? Do you think those still exist these days?”

“No? Like when your dad flips the table, or when you're watching TV with your mom and there's a kissing scene and it gets awkward?”

　Was it just her knowledge, or was it a misconception? Yomiko's example was far from the definition of family time.

“...How old are you?”

“I'm 25.”

Many women dislike talking about their age, but Yomiko answered without hesitation.

"Even so, you should know a little more about the world. This isn't some old manga. Don't you watch TV?"

“I don't have a TV at home.”

This came as a surprise to Nenene.

“Why not?”

“I read books all the time when I'm at home, so I don't really need one...”

“Then how do you find out about the latest fashions, hot spots, and events? Oh, from magazines?”


“Yeah, I read those sometimes, but they're hard to remember. I just prefer reading books. ... Oh, but I always wear the same clothes, and when I go out, I only go to bookstores and used bookstores, and the only events I'm interested in are used book fairs, so I'm fine without it.”

“You mean you really wear the same outfit all the time!?”

“That coat!?”

“Well… I do have multiple coats, shirts, ties, and skirts… but they’re all the same design, so people often think I’m always wearing the same thing.”

“Why!? Don’t you want to dress up or anything!?”

“I don’t.”

“You should! You're a girl!”

“A girl...?”

It was probably just the force of her words, but Nenene's words made Yomiko's cheeks relax.

“It's been a while since someone said that to me...”

She grinned, her face falling into a slovenly expression. It was unclear what memories were coming back to her.

"I'll take back what I just said. Not a girl, but ‘sort of a woman’."

Yomiko let out a disappointed voice at Nenene's cold correction.

“...Um, I'm not just a woman, I'm a woman in every sense of the word...”

She was probably referring to gender.

Nenene coughed to clear the air, which was filled with a vague sense of humor.

== 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

3: Technically three fingers of each hand, like [http://07ki04yo21ka.at.webry.info/200707/article_3.html this].

<noinclude>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-10T18:22:28Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

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


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.


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.


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.  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 head-shot of the author and a short biography.

Out of the photo smiled a girl with hair that stuck out at the back.  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. 

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....” 

The students that were walking up the road behind her responded to her unprompted babbling with dubious expressions. 

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.



“If I could have your attention please!  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—!“ 

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. 

“...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.  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.” 

His  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.”


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?" 

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.


“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.  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> , 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.”



Yomiko reached into her coat pocket again and pulled out another book.

"This action  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>,  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.



“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>. 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 formulas.


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 dumb ass, 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.


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.


“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.


“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...” [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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....


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  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.


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 step 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. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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.



"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! 

"Can't wrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiittte!"


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?!”




"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!" 

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.


"..... 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.  Out of the scenarios she had considered before, she finally had made a breakthrough.

"Se--, Sensei--! So, who can defeat Valkes  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.


"Aaaargh~!"

Her fingers danced over the cramped keyboard. They leapt, they flew, they ran, faster than the eye could follow, spinning forth all manner of words onto the screen at an astonishing rate.

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

However, if it had sounded like a melody before, this was more like machine gun fire; that was the only match for this intensity and force.

"Whoa—..."

In the end, without having received verbal confirmation, Yomiko had to conclude that this could be no other than Nenene herself.

Though it certainly would not be fitting to describe her as physically imposing, her presence was a million-fold 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.

As for Nenene, she completely failed to notice Yomiko's emotional outburst or anything else beyond herself as she continued to vigorously pound away at the keys.

Occasionally she slid along the desk, shuttling from notebook to notebook and working on four drafts at once. The reasoning behind this was impossible to discern.

Almost overcome with longing, Yomiko suddenly remembered her objective.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"


How many times had she tried by now? She spoke up once more.

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 a notch. Even with that, the girl didn’t turn around.

“Sensei~, errr~!”

Yomiko stood right behind her target and moved her hand as if to grab the girl by the shoulder, and suddenly, Nenene turned toward her.

“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, albeit more from surprise than pain.

Nenene roared down at Yomiko, who was seemingly unable to rise from her position on the floor.

“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 shrink back. 

“....... Hmph~!”

From behind Nenene, who had relaunched her writing, Yomiko tentatively craned her neck in an attempt 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 mindset of a fan is quite complex.


Though she was unaware of what Yomiko was up to behind her, 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 the entire upper half of her body around as she tried to see those screens.

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

Wordlessly, the two continued their opposed 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 today’s 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.

...... To be honest with herself, it was 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 was already 4 in the afternoon.

Anyway, time to go home. Go home, and sleep, and think things over.

Nenene stood up from her chain and turned around.


"Whoooa~!"

Right there 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 now the girl produced 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, she on pregnancy leave?"

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

Yomiko pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#Notes|(3)]]

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

It looked as if she had indeed forgotten her last conversation with Yomiko. Perhaps she had been so intent on her deadline that her brain had been in a state of confusion.


"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.

".... Just possibly, ‘sit you? The one who's been hasslin' me lately?"

"Huh?"

Nenene produced a single envelope from the midst of some documents that were scattered about and thrust it toward Yomiko.

It was a plain white envelope, with no distinguishing characteristics. No stamp, postmark, or even address had been recorded on it. Apparently someone would have needed to directly place it into the recipient’s mailbox.

After examining it closely, Yomiko emptied its contents into her hand 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 for you soon. To my Paul S"

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

"What might this be?"

"Found it in my home mailbox yesterday. It was you, right?"


"No."

Yomiko shook her head politely as she answered.

Nenene made an even more disagreeable face.

"Happens a lot lately. Keep getting random phone calls where no one says anything, and when I leave the house, I feel like someone's tailing me. Thanks to all that, I just can’t get aaaannnny writing done!"

"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 working for my taxes!"

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

"And just to top it all off, this letter! First off, 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. Wordlessly, it seemed to communicate the strong ego and self-esteem that lay within her.

"I know all about you. You debuted with <i>You Know Me</i> 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 wash your right leg first, 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."


"Yes~! I'm a big fan, you see!"

Smiling like a puppy who’d been praised by its master, Yomiko fished through her pockets and took out a copy of <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Live</i>.

"I've alllways, alllways loved your books! When I read this one back in the day, 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, without moving from 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, dammit. You read the stories I write and you’re moved; that should be enough. So why the hell, then, would you feel you gotta get a signature? A signature's just a name, you know."


"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."

For any popular author, sometimes particularly "excessive" fans would develop grandiose ideas and send letters or “presents”. When one becomes an author 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?"

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


At those unexpectedly heartfelt words, Nenene's burning spirit 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 even before that, I've read so very much of you."

Yomiko's statement lacked any hesitation. Her words were as guileless as those of a child.

"...And I just told you, that wasn’t me; those’re 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 <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Are</i>, her fingers moving the pages with obvious loving care.

"This paper tells me how very much you throw yourself into your writing."

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

"I, truly, love you."

An awkward silence fell. Within statement lurked a small particle whose meaning that was as of yet something the two of them could not understand.

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 picked up the letter again.



“For this person as well, surely it would be that way. So, if you’d just talk to him...”

However, Nenene flung the letter away from her, letting it flutter about until it came to rest on the floor between them.

“Ah...”

“You could say what you want, and this guy’d still get in my way.”

Nenene’s tone had returned to its previous state.

“But...”

“Furthermore,” she interrupted Yomiko before she could finish her statement, “thanks to this guy, I can’t sleep a wink. I’ve missed four deadlines, home and work both fail me(*), so I get stuck writing my manuscripts in the library. Got me?”

“Yes...”

“I don’t know what the hell he wants from me, but there is just one thing I want from him to stop goddamn harassing me! That’s all!”

For a second time, silence fell over the room; This time there was clearly something different about it...

“Readman-Sensei!”

The silence mingled with a third person’s voice.

From around the corner of the bookshelves, the figure of a jersey-clad male teacher appeared. It was Nire, the gym teacher.

“What are you doing-?! Your class-!”



As he said that, she came to her senses-- Yomiko had been sitting there in seiza for something close to seven hours, determined to wait until Nenene had finished her manuscript-- and, as one would expect, the history class she had been charged with overseeing had begun long ago. To have done this on her first day of substitute teaching showed a outstanding level of ineptitude.

“Aaah--...”

As you would expect, all the color drained from Yomiko’s face, “I--, I’m so sorry! I’ll head out straightaways...”

As Yomiko went to stand up, she pitched forward, falling to the ground painfully.

On account of having sat in seiza in place for so long, her feet had fallen entirely asleep.

His voice, laced with ice, fell coldly upon Yomiko from above

“Waaaaa~...”

Yomiko was mumbling and crying incomprehensibly while thrashing her upper body about in a clearly distraught fashion.



"Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

Having cleaned up the mess she had made of the library, Nenene tiredly approached the school's main gate, only to hear a voice call out to her.

She thought it was weird that she could tell who it was without turning around.

"Please wait, Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

It was that woman from the library. That woman’s name was something like...Yomiko; that’s it. The name sounded like a joke, not that her own was the sort you’d usually hear used for a person.

Yomiko chased after Nenene, the wheeled bag she always dragged with her making a quiet clacking noise.

"I'm not even gonna bother lecturing you."

"... Yes. I apologize for worrying you like that."

Sighing to herself, Yomiko bowed sheepishly. It wasn't clear which was the teacher and which was the student.

"Couldn't say I was worried."

She'd meant it to sound cold, but a smiling, laughing Yomiko just gazed at her.

“...Well, What?!”

"Ummm, as for the next thing. I was thinking that I'd like to do a home visit.”

“A home visit--? To MYYY HOME--?!”

At Yomiko's sudden suggestion, Nenene's voice rose significantly.

"Yes"

"Why the--you're a substitute teacher, right?! It's not like you're my homeroom teacher!"

"That may be true, but..."



At this point Yomiko glanced around as if checking the perimeter and then lowered her voice.

"Actually, I had thought to offer to protect you."

"Protect?"

"Yes. Umm, from the person who sent the letter."

"The hell? I'm good--'cuz tomorrow, I'm hiring a bodyguard."

For a high school girl like Nenene to be talking about bodyguards had a strange feeling to it.

"But even then, if he were to strike tonight or something, wouldn't that be pretty dangerous?"

"What I'm saying is, even if you were there, it's not like you'd have any goddamn impact."

"Sensei, I, I'm a bit stronger than I appear."

She thumped her chest with a fist. Unlike what she'd expected, it hit the top of her full bust, producing
more of a "Poof" noise.

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

Speechless, Nenene reached her hands toward Yomiko's face.

"Yes?"

She grabbed both of Yomiko's cheeks and pulled and stretched them to the extreme left and right.

"Th--Thumirehawa, Thenthei--!"

"Woah. They realllly stretch!" As they had managed to stretch twice as much as the average person's cheeks, even Nenene had to raise her voice in amazement.

"Thop, puwease--, thop...."



After toying with Yomiko for a bit, Nenene released her fingers. (1)

"Hi-hiiin..."

Her cheeks blazing red, Yomiko began to cry audibly, her tears just starting to pool in her eyes beneath her glasses.

"Wha-errrrre are you strong, damnit. You get your cheeks pinched and you're already half crying, aren't you."

"J-just now, I wasn't expecting that, you know~. That was just a cheap trick."

"Ah"

Nenene's gaze focused on something behind Yomiko's back.

"Eh?"

Without thinking, Yomiko turned around to look behind her.

"Tou”

Instantly, Nenene planted a light kick on Yomiko's unprotected back.

"Tawaba--!"

Yomiko fell quite magnificently, both hands raised as if cheering.

"You're just feel of fuzzy feelings, aren't you. To hell with protecting me; it's yourself you need to worry about. Maybe you should take a correspondence course in Aikido?"

Having picked herself up into a squatting position, Yomiko whimpered as she brushed dirt off of her face.

"....I just can't put forth my real power when it's not a serious situation."



A student on the way home spoke up toward these two in whom the power balance between teacher and student had been completely inverted.

"Whaaaaat, Sumiregawa. You're even puttin' on skits with the teach now?"

"Switchin' ta comedy? Gonna debut in the entertainment world?"

It was Nenene's classmates, Nori Kawarazaki and Harumi Mishima.

They were kidding around, but it felt like there was a speck of irony mixed in there somewhere, though it wasn't clear if that were intentional or not.

"It's just that this teacher up and started arguing with me! Me, I wanted to get home ASAP and sleep!"

"Such a HARD worker. For the two've us, next stop's the meetup.”

"Meetup?"

"Yep. Kitasawa and Nishi Middle's kids're getting along pretty well."

"Middle schoolers? Since when've you been into that sort of thing?"

"It's good and all, 'ccasionally. Even Sumiregawa might do something other than work on her novel all the time, maybe have a little fun. "

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get left behind. With the cool stuff."

"Hooow 'bout speaking to some of the kids who're fans of yours?"

"Nope, no way. Sumiregawa's fans're usually female, right."

"Bit weird, but that way there'd be new stuff to explore..."


[[Image:Read or Die vol01 081.jpg|thumb]]


Glancing at her face, the two burst into laughter. But as for the one in question, her face displayed neither amusement nor anger, but serenity.

"Umm..."

Beating the dirt out of her coat, Yomiko stood up.

"This meetup thing sounds like fun to me, but."

"Yes?"

To have Yomiko, who almost didn't register with those two as a human being, let alone as a teacher, suddenly involve herself in their conversation was quite unexpected.

"You could also try reading some books; how about that?"

"Books? The questioning looks on the two showed they clearly didn't know what she is getting at.

"Yes."

Yomiko pulled a single volume from within her coat. It was a young adult novel.

"There's this one, Radio Girl. It's light and interesting. It talks about a boy that falls in love with a female listener that sends postcards in which are read during a late-night broadcast….”

Her explanation appeared to have no end, as she produced out book after book with flourishes worthy of a magician.

"... Ah, and then, there's Please Return My Kiss. The main character is a girl who's searching for the boy who'd been her first kiss back in their childhood. The only clue she has is an old photo of the two of them, but there's a surprising twist in the end..."


The two female students exchanged glances as Yomiko's explanation flowed in one ear and out the other, the specter of the morning exercises returning to life in their imaginations.

"...But well, when it comes to YA novels, I've really just got to recommend Sumiregawa-sensei's debut work, You Know Me."

"!"

As her own book was brought up, Nenene stiffened up slightly.

"Ah, but if you're friends, you've probably read it already..."

"Knock it off--!"

It was Yomiko's turn to stiffen up, as Nenene's shout made her accidentally drop the book.

"....Eh?"

The air stopped dead, but only between the two of them.

As for the two female students, this was the chance they had been looking for.

"Aahh.....We've got to get going, so....."

"See ya later, Sumiregawa"

Quite in contrast to how they had strolled up before, they began to walk rapidly away.

Subsequently, Nenene and Yomiko were all who remained.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei.....?"


"It's embarassing, don't ya think--! Don't whip out my book in front of people--!"

"I'm sorry.... But....."

"But what--!"

"..... If you go into any bookstore, there'd be tons of your books around."

"A bookstore's alright--! I just hate it when that gets pulled in front of people I know!"

Despite the threatening aura that was pressing down upon her, Yomiko just had to inquire further.

".....Why would that be?"

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

Without answering, Nenene turned around and began to walk away.

".....Umm, Sensei....."

Suitcase clattering behind her, Yomiko chased after the fleeing target's back.

"Don't you follow me--! Go home--!"

"Buuut..."

"Haaah..... So this is Sensei's apartment?"

Yomiko peered upward at the high-class apartment building as it towered before her, her voice tinged with awe at the sight.

"Man, you're really bold, seriously."



In the end, Yomiko hadn't even considered leaving Nenene alone.

Nenene had hailed a taxi and headed off, but Yomiko, suitcase clattering along as she dragged it behind her, raised a loud "Seeeeeeenseeeeei" before seeming to give up. The taxi driver also assumed that it wouldn't be hard to drive away from the women, her hair dishelved and her coat flying around her as she ran.

As for Nenene, not once did she see Yomiko's reflection fall behind in the rear-view mirror, with not the slightest sign of her abandoning pursuit. It felt as if she'd gotten a meddlesome cousin.

Grumbling all the while, Nenene opened a keypad installed at the first floor entrance. After she pressed the numbered keys to enter her code, the noise signalling that the door to enter the floor had opened could be heard.

"Yeah, yeah, here's where we say goodbye. I gotta sleep now, you know~"

Waving a half-hearted goodbye, Nenene went to enter the doorway.

".....Sensei, ummmm..."

"What."

Yomiko pointed toward the postboxes lined up in a row nearby. They were obviously intended for use by the residents of the apartment building. Apparently, with her overabundance of exhaustion Nenene had forgetten to check her mail.

As the number of slots that would fit in the space were limited, the numbers didn't go beyond 100. In their midst Nenene's was conspicuous enough to be obvious for Yomiko, who was visiting for the first time, to pick it out at a glance. It's not that it bore any decoration.


The mailbox’s raison d’etre was on full display, its narrow slot stuffed to the limit with mail.

“...What?”

“It’s letters, packages, and so forth, yes?”

Yomiko had piped up cheerily, but Nenene retorted with a harder tone.

“...No way should this much stuff show up in one day. Not when it was totally empty this morning…”

Nenene had checked her mail before heading to school that morning. At the time, there hadn’t been a single scrap of paper in there.

For her job, there were certain days when novels or essay magazines were sent, but never so much as to make the mailbox this full.

As Yomiko watched, Nenene turned the dial on the mailbox and opened its door.

“!”

As if they had been waiting for this moment, fluttering papers surged down around their feet with the force of a waterfall.The grey tiled floor was promptly awash with white.

“Oh, my…”

Yomiko picked up one paper from the mass as Nenene stood frozen and speechless.

Once inspected, it proved to be not a piece of paper, but an envelope. It was an easy mistake to make, as it bore no decoration, color, or writing of any kind.

“... Is it alright if I open this?”

Yomiko thrust an envelope in front of Nenene’s face. Nenene wordlessly nodded.

“Here goes.”

Yomiko traced a fingertip along the back of the envelope. It seemed a trivial motion, and yet the glued flap of the envelope was sliced open as if by a letter opener.

What was pulled from inside was a quad-folded piece of white paper.

It wasn’t even stationery, but merely an ordinary piece of white paper. Yomiko slowly opened it, while Nenene dropped her gaze to follow.

The contents therein read as you would expect.

“I’ll be coming to meet you soon. -Yours, Paul S.”

Nenene’s brows began to furrow as Yomiko stooped to gather more and more envelopes, revealing their contents as before.

“You cannot escape. -Yours, Paul S.”

“Sorry for the wait. -Yours, Paul S.”

“I know you. - Yours, Paul S.”

With little variation in contents, it was clear that these had all been sent by one person. Although, they seemingly had not been sent via the postal service. Rather, they had been hand delivered directly.

“... Hmm?”

It was then that Yomiko realized that Nenene had been standing there the whole time.

“...................”

Nenene had seemed tired, but now in her expression undercurrents of deep strain were revealed.

In the library room and at the approach to the school, she had shown none of the pale weakness that was now evident.

Still kneeling, Yomiko softly took Nenene’s hand. Nenene stiffened with surprise and looked down at her.

Yomiko gave her a smile that spread across her whole face, the kind of overeagerly artless smile she was so wont to give.

“Don’t worry yourself, Sensei. I’ll be with you.”

“... I’m NOT that worried.”

Nenene brushed Yomiko’s concerns aside with a wave of her hand. Her voice had regained its usual tone.

<nowiki>----------</nowiki>

“Uwaaa, it’s huge; there’s so much room…”

Unit 1602. This was the first expression Yomiko gave upon entering Nenene’s apartment.

A hallway lined with innumerable doors led to a living room more akin to a classroom in size. Were one to sweep their gaze to the side, they would espy a dine-in kitchen. Visible through a large window was a line of potted decorative plants lining a veranda.

Yomiko’s impression was simple, but accurately captured the nature of the apartment. It was indeed quite huge and roomy. However, beyond that, it utterly lacked the feel of a lived-in space.

“Let’s set you down all careful-like,” Nenene thoughtlessly remarked as she slung down her backpack, bearing a single laptop within it, and placed it on the floor.

“Oookay, if you’d excuse me….”

Yomiko sat down on the sofa in the middle of the living room, rested her body against its back, and snuggled deeply into the cushions.

“Not gonna take off your coat? It’ll get wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about me…”

Keeping a coat on inside seemed a bit strange, but Nenene wasn’t about to push her to take it off, so she said no more of it.

“I’m gonna go change. Just wait a sec.” With that, Nenene disappeared down the hallway.

“Take your time…”

After watching Nenene leave, Yomiko turned her attention back to the contents of the room. She was visiting the house of an author she admired. Surely a fan should be excited by this, but for some reason, this was making her feel uneasy.

“......................”

Yomiko stood up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.

Though it was rude, she opened the fridge, which was full of P.E.T. bottles of mineral and flavored water. Peering behind the bottles, she spotted some beer cans that may have been intentionally hidden. There wasn’t a single item you could call a meal ingredient.

“Hmmmm…”

Yomiko returned to the living room and began to absently search the place.

A giant wall projector was hooked up to a DVD player. On the table’s surface lay remote controls for the AC and other systems. It looked like a model room, clean and tidy, but without a lived-in smell.

In this room, Yomiko stumbled upon one relic of the inhabitants. A decorative shelf held a display stand containing a photo.

“Oh my.”

It was a photo of the Sumiregawa family. It looked like she had still been in elementary school, but there was a young, cheerful looking Nenene, hair already sticking out in the back, smiling and holding hands with a man who was apparently her father and a women who looked to be her mother.

A pure, innocent smile typical of childhood. Yomiko squinted, looking closer at some of the other, similar photos, and noticed something odd. The family pictures could be broadly divided into two types. One showed the family centered around Nenene. The other showed just the man and woman—without Nenene. There were no photos of just Nenene and her father. Or just Nenene and her mother, but the photo of just the man and woman… the woman in that picture was clearly not the same woman from the other photos.

Someone else stood beside the man. Someone who, from the way she leaned in, was clearly close to him. And not the woman who’d appeared earlier with young Nenene.

“………………”

A different wife, maybe? Two different family portraits, decorating the shelf like pieces in a game of spot-the-difference.

“What are you doing?”


Nenene’s voice came from behind.

She had returned from down the hallway, now changed into a beige sweater and a moss green pleated skirt.

A casual, comfortable outfit—perfect for relaxing.

“I see… are your parents still working, then? Probably?”

“Work is work, you know.”

“About what time do they usually come home? I mean, I should at least say hello.”

“Who knows when they'll come back? Isn’t it usually around New Year’s?”

“…Huh?”

Nenene leaned back against the sofa, stretched her legs out like she was airing them, and let out a long sigh. A faint trace of exhaustion from work drifted up like a scent and filled the room.

“They’ve been stationed in America for the past two years. My dad and my step— I mean, my mom too.”

That pause on “stepmother” came with a delicate nuance.

“They’re both working for some company over there, doing computer development or whatever.”

Her tone was indifferent, but it left behind an unmistakable sense of distance.

“So then… you’re living alone?”

“I wanted to go to high school here. It was also for work.”

By “work,” she clearly meant writing.

“I think I read that in an interview somewhere…”

As she said that, Yomiko settled into the seat across from Nenene.

“You didn’t say you were lonely or anything. It’s kind of…”

“Annoying.”

“I see… but still, don’t you ever get lonely?”

“What bothers me is when people assume I do.”

“It's annoying when people think that way.”

Nenene pursed her lips as if she was upset. It wasn't her true feelings, but rather a pose she was putting on.

“You read novels and manga, right? For people our age, living alone is heaven. There are no curfews, no nagging, and no need to worry about anything. We can play as much as we want."


“But, um, what about family gatherings?”

Nenene looked taken aback by the sudden question.

“Family gatherings? Do you think those still exist these days?”

“No? Like when your dad flips the table, or when you're watching TV with your mom and there's a kissing scene and it gets awkward?”

　Was it just her knowledge, or was it a misconception? Yomiko's example was far from the definition of family time.

“...How old are you?”

“I'm 25.”

Many women dislike talking about their age, but Yomiko answered without hesitation.

"Even so, you should know a little more about the world. This isn't some old manga. Don't you watch TV?"

“I don't have a TV at home.”

This came as a surprise to Nenene.

“Why not?”

“I read books all the time when I'm at home, so I don't really need one...”

“Then how do you find out about the latest fashions, hot spots, and events? Oh, from magazines?”

== 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

3: Technically three fingers of each hand, like [http://07ki04yo21ka.at.webry.info/200707/article_3.html this].

<noinclude>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-10T18:20:56Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-10T18:19:00Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

User talk:Wolfpup

2025-07-10T18:10:09Z

Alekazzandre:

== Decided? Where? ==

I did check before editing, and I don't see it being decided on to leave them out. But even if it was agreed upon, "princess" should still be left intact since Louise calling her "hime-sama" is important to show the character relationship between her and Henrietta. Also, the fact that Henrietta doesn't want Louise to be so formal with her is blatant enough. [[User:Imagker|Imagker]] 16:20, 2 August 2010 (UTC)

== RE: Consensus ==

Consensus wasn't reached in there. The discussion there really isn't up-to-date either. Throughout the whole ZnT project that has been translated so far, there are still honorifics being used here and there. Some edits have been made by a couple of editors and lurkers, so there are quite a number of inconsistencies. I went through every volume/chapter and scrutinized each of their history page, and mostly, princess-sama and master-sama were edited without keeping the -sama...which seems alright, I guess. But until an agreement is reached, it's best to leave the typical honorifics (including pronouns) alone. For now, though, I'll edit out -sama, but princess definitely should be left alone since that's what was said in the original text, so there's no reason for the change. The context of the dialogue alone practically goes against it... [[User:Imagker|Imagker]] 19:41, 3 August 2010 (UTC)

==[[Read or Die]]==
Page 82 was the last translated page or are there already some more in the hands of the editor? --[[User:Darklor|Darklor]] 05:34, 10 March 2011 (UTC)
yes there are more pages ready bee waiting on the translator is say ok on the finals befor posting them. [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]] 17:39, 10 March 2011 (UTC)
Hello. I have a translated version of Volume 7. I would like to give it to anyone still involve with the project [[User:Violetgrass]]. Good afternoon, i was wondering if you would be available to discuss R.oD's Translation? I am currently unable to add pages for the translation of Volume 1, but would like to translate this light novel.

== Forum Account Reset ==

Dear Wolfpup,

I have manual reset your forum account password, please check your email that you registered with.

I look forward to your reply and apologise for the inconvenience.

Regards,

[[User:Onizuka-gto|Onizuka-GTO]] 04:07, 29 September 2011 (CDT)

== curious about British English ==

I noticed that you commented on an anonymous users talk page regarding HighSchool DxD that "there are some things in the series that can only be properly expressed via the USE OF BRITISH English and NOT American English." I've only read a little bit of DxD, but I was curious what kind of things British English was better at expressing. I'm doing edits on Index, for which the format standard is also British English, so I've tried to look up and understand the differences with what I'm used to (American English) when I'm editing. I thought most of the differences were spelling, some vocabulary/word-choice, and a few in preposition use; but I didn't think that was enough to change what could be expressed with the two forms of English. So I was curious what you thought British English was better at expressing (so that I can better understand the differences for my Index edits)? Thanks, --[[User:Cthaeh|Cthaeh]] ([[User talk:Cthaeh|talk]]) 10:02, 23 January 2013 (CST)

== DxD ==

Why did you revert my edits? [[User:Stellarroze|Stellarroze]] 08:46, 28 February 2013 (CST)

I did so because the edits you did were not meeting the guide lines set for the project as it has two sets one the the general Baka-Tsuki translation guideline then on top of that is the more restrictive HighSchool DxD project guide lines that set a specific version of English to use please read this http://www.baka-tsuki.org/project/index.php?title=High_School_DxD#Format_Standards . I have recently add a English(United Kingdom) dictionary to the browser I use for doing any edits that I will be doing from now on in this project so that I can use the proper spelling of words at least. [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]] ([[User talk:Wolfpup#top|talk]]) 09:20, 28 February 2013 (CST)

Ah, I see. If it's the British English part that is the problem, please excuse me. :) Since I'm British myself, I guess my knowledge of the language is lacking. As for the tenses, Code-Zero hasn't decided on past or present so I just kept whatever tense he used in a particular sentence for the time being. Since japaneses novels use both tenses, maybe he's using both for now. Thanks for the quick reply :D [[User:Stellarroze|Stellarroze]] 09:27, 28 February 2013 (CST)

I don't see where the 'descriptive' part comes in. The only difference there is is "a crimson red hair" and "crimson red hair". If you don't see anything wrong with "a crimson red hair" you probably shouldn't be reverting edits. Or editing, actually. If you want to 'denote shade', you might want to consider "Red—red hair, a shade of crimson far more brilliant than strawberry-blonde", or something along those lines. [[User:Florza|Florza]] ([[User talk:Florza|talk]]) 10:48, 28 February 2013 (CST)

The thing in there is a contextual meaning that is lost by removing the 'a'. by having the 'a' there you are implying the words 'shade of' so if those words are not in the original Japanese text they are at least being implied and adding those words would end up 'Westernising' the text even more and stray from the original author's meaning. Of which Code-Zero is trying to get back by completely redoing the chapters so the main thing the editors need to really look for is spelling errors and maybe some minor changes to the wording as long as we do not lose the original meanings that the author had when it was written. [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]] ([[User talk:Wolfpup#top|talk]]) 12:20, 28 February 2013 (CST)

Yes dear, I totally understand you. Allow me to double-check with the Japanese RAWs to see if any 'contextual meaning is lost' by me correcting a minor grammar error. Or, perhaps you have done so already? [[User:Stellarroze|Stellarroze]] 12:31, 28 February 2013 (CST)

Even in the original Japanese text there isn't any 'a crimson red hair'. This is not about 'Westernising', this is about whether this even makes sense in English. 'A crimson red hair' means a strand of crimson red hair, and if you actually meant that (the original doesn't, for sure), you'd go with 'a strand of crimson red hair'. Even if Stellarroze was legitimately wrong (lol@BritishnotknowingBritishEnglish) there's no need for you to revert the rest of her edits as well. Just manually edit it back in. [[User:Florza|Florza]] ([[User talk:Florza|talk]]) 18:54, 28 February 2013 (CST)

Hi there Wolfpup! Thanks for your early work on editing High School. There's something that I'd like to discuss with you via email. Please contact me on: admin[at]zxzxzx.info [[User:Zxzxzx|zxzxzx]] ([[User talk:Zxzxzx|talk]]) 13:47, 4 April 2019 (CEST)

== Strike The Blood ==

I am active now. I need you to get on with edits.--[[User:Kouen no Ten|Kouen no Ten]] ([[User talk:Kouen no Ten|talk]]) 04:32, 30 December 2013 (CST)

Where are you Wolfpup? I haven't seen any edits from you in a while.--[[User:Kouen no Ten|Kouen no Ten]] ([[User talk:Kouen no Ten|talk]]) 12:01, 4 January 2014 (CST)

I did a some minor edits this morning and will be doing more in the morning have been a little busy with other projects(not related to here.[[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]] ([[User talk:Wolfpup#top|talk]]) 12:05, 4 January 2014 (CST)

Hello, are you still active as an editor for STB? I might require your active help at STB novel. --[[User:JinXiang|JinXiang]] ([[User talk:JinXiang|talk]]) 17:31, 27 June 2014 (GMT+8)

I will do the inserting of images, just keep a lookout for sentence structure issues. Thanks. [[User:JinXiang|JinXiang]] ([[User talk:JinXiang|talk]]) 23:38, 28 June 2014 (CDT)

== Editing ZnT ==

Why did you revert my edits without any reason? - [[User:Pie|Pie]] ([[User talk:Pie|talk]])

Hi Wolfpup, whats the standard operating procedure for signing up as an editor? I've read its required for major changes right? I've read on the rules pages I'm suppose to talk to the "Project Manager" but "Vaelis" seem to be inactive. I've also contacted Shadowys, the only active translator on the series, and he suggest I should contact you about this? - [[User:Iro Daijoubu|Iro Daijoubu]] ([[User talk:Iro Daijoubu|talk]])

Have you tried contacting [https://www.baka-tsuki.org/forums/memberlist.php?mode=viewprofile&u=1009 Vaelis] in the forum side or left a post in the proper [https://www.baka-tsuki.org/forums/viewforum.php?f=25 Zero no Tsukaima] forum? All though I check my watch list regularly maybe other don't as they might have a lot more that they are doing so it. plus it might help if you have done some minor editing as well before your name can be put on list. [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]] ([[User talk:Wolfpup#top|talk]]) 12:12, 7 August 2015 (UTC)

I did check but the forums seems to be dead and Vaelis hasn't been active since 2014...?

I'll do as you suggest and start editing and build some history. BTW I did some detective work on the editors on the main page, did you know that some of these so called editors' only contribution - is adding their names onto the editor list? Someone should remove them off the list. - [[User:Iro Daijoubu|Iro Daijoubu]] ([[User talk:Iro Daijoubu|talk]])

Yeah I did look it up in the book but I felt it was better to use meters instead of mails. (This is what is what I use in my offline copy of the prev vols) As "mail" only sounds like a foreign measuring term in Japanese, while in english it makes you think of letters. Plus when I first read the book, it was very confusing whether it meant meters or miles. Had to check up on it on the net to find out it was the equivalent of meters. Using meters is much better for new readers imo. - [[User:Iro Daijoubu|Iro Daijoubu]] ([[User talk:Iro Daijoubu|talk]])

Hello, wolfpup, are you still around in the znt project? --[[User:Shadowys|Shadowys]] ([[User talk:Shadowys|talk]]) 15:41, 24 January 2017 (CET)
Yes I'm still around it is just that I have been busy with RL [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]] ([[User talk:Wolfpup#top|talk]]) 12:21, 25 January 2017 (CET)
Are you in discord? I could extend an invitation to u for the ZnT Tl discord --[[User:Shadowys|Shadowys]] ([[User talk:Shadowys|talk]]) 16:17, 25 January 2017 (CET)
Yes I'm on Discord same name as here. [[User:Wolfpup|Wolfpup]] ([[User talk:Wolfpup#top|talk]]) 13:47, 26 January 2017 (CET)
Could you add me instead? I'm "![Dan] shadowys#1035" --[[User:Shadowys|Shadowys]] ([[User talk:Shadowys|talk]]) 14:22, 26 January 2017 (CET)

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-07T17:18:03Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

2025-07-07T17:09:27Z

Alekazzandre: /* Chapter 1: The Two Sensei */

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


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.


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.


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.  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 head-shot of the author and a short biography.

Out of the photo smiled a girl with hair that stuck out at the back.  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. 

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....” 

The students that were walking up the road behind her responded to her unprompted babbling with dubious expressions. 

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.



“If I could have your attention please!  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—!“ 

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. 

“...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.  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.” 

His  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.”


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?" 

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.


“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.  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> , 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.”



Yomiko reached into her coat pocket again and pulled out another book.

"This action  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>,  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.



“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>. 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 formulas.


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 dumb ass, 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.


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.


“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.


“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...” [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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....


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  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.


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 step 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. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#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.



"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! 

"Can't wrrrrrrrriiiiiiiiiiiiiittte!"


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?!”




"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!" 

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.


"..... 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.  Out of the scenarios she had considered before, she finally had made a breakthrough.

"Se--, Sensei--! So, who can defeat Valkes  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.


"Aaaargh~!"

Her fingers danced over the cramped keyboard. They leapt, they flew, they ran, faster than the eye could follow, spinning forth all manner of words onto the screen at an astonishing rate.

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

However, if it had sounded like a melody before, this was more like machine gun fire; that was the only match for this intensity and force.

"Whoa—..."

In the end, without having received verbal confirmation, Yomiko had to conclude that this could be no other than Nenene herself.

Though it certainly would not be fitting to describe her as physically imposing, her presence was a million-fold 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.

As for Nenene, she completely failed to notice Yomiko's emotional outburst or anything else beyond herself as she continued to vigorously pound away at the keys.

Occasionally she slid along the desk, shuttling from notebook to notebook and working on four drafts at once. The reasoning behind this was impossible to discern.

Almost overcome with longing, Yomiko suddenly remembered her objective.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei~!"


How many times had she tried by now? She spoke up once more.

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 a notch. Even with that, the girl didn’t turn around.

“Sensei~, errr~!”

Yomiko stood right behind her target and moved her hand as if to grab the girl by the shoulder, and suddenly, Nenene turned toward her.

“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, albeit more from surprise than pain.

Nenene roared down at Yomiko, who was seemingly unable to rise from her position on the floor.

“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 shrink back. 

“....... Hmph~!”

From behind Nenene, who had relaunched her writing, Yomiko tentatively craned her neck in an attempt 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 mindset of a fan is quite complex.


Though she was unaware of what Yomiko was up to behind her, 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 the entire upper half of her body around as she tried to see those screens.

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

Wordlessly, the two continued their opposed 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 today’s 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.

...... To be honest with herself, it was 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 was already 4 in the afternoon.

Anyway, time to go home. Go home, and sleep, and think things over.

Nenene stood up from her chain and turned around.


"Whoooa~!"

Right there 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 now the girl produced 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, she on pregnancy leave?"

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

Yomiko pressed her hands to the floor and bowed deeply. [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1#Notes|(3)]]

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

It looked as if she had indeed forgotten her last conversation with Yomiko. Perhaps she had been so intent on her deadline that her brain had been in a state of confusion.


"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.

".... Just possibly, ‘sit you? The one who's been hasslin' me lately?"

"Huh?"

Nenene produced a single envelope from the midst of some documents that were scattered about and thrust it toward Yomiko.

It was a plain white envelope, with no distinguishing characteristics. No stamp, postmark, or even address had been recorded on it. Apparently someone would have needed to directly place it into the recipient’s mailbox.

After examining it closely, Yomiko emptied its contents into her hand 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 for you soon. To my Paul S"

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

"What might this be?"

"Found it in my home mailbox yesterday. It was you, right?"


"No."

Yomiko shook her head politely as she answered.

Nenene made an even more disagreeable face.

"Happens a lot lately. Keep getting random phone calls where no one says anything, and when I leave the house, I feel like someone's tailing me. Thanks to all that, I just can’t get aaaannnny writing done!"

"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 working for my taxes!"

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

"And just to top it all off, this letter! First off, 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. Wordlessly, it seemed to communicate the strong ego and self-esteem that lay within her.

"I know all about you. You debuted with <i>You Know Me</i> 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 wash your right leg first, 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."


"Yes~! I'm a big fan, you see!"

Smiling like a puppy who’d been praised by its master, Yomiko fished through her pockets and took out a copy of <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Live</i>.

"I've alllways, alllways loved your books! When I read this one back in the day, 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, without moving from 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, dammit. You read the stories I write and you’re moved; that should be enough. So why the hell, then, would you feel you gotta get a signature? A signature's just a name, you know."


"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."

For any popular author, sometimes particularly "excessive" fans would develop grandiose ideas and send letters or “presents”. When one becomes an author 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?"

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


At those unexpectedly heartfelt words, Nenene's burning spirit 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 even before that, I've read so very much of you."

Yomiko's statement lacked any hesitation. Her words were as guileless as those of a child.

"...And I just told you, that wasn’t me; those’re 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 <i>The Streetcorner where the Cats Are</i>, her fingers moving the pages with obvious loving care.

"This paper tells me how very much you throw yourself into your writing."

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

"I, truly, love you."

An awkward silence fell. Within statement lurked a small particle whose meaning that was as of yet something the two of them could not understand.

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 picked up the letter again.



“For this person as well, surely it would be that way. So, if you’d just talk to him...”

However, Nenene flung the letter away from her, letting it flutter about until it came to rest on the floor between them.

“Ah...”

“You could say what you want, and this guy’d still get in my way.”

Nenene’s tone had returned to its previous state.

“But...”

“Furthermore,” she interrupted Yomiko before she could finish her statement, “thanks to this guy, I can’t sleep a wink. I’ve missed four deadlines, home and work both fail me(*), so I get stuck writing my manuscripts in the library. Got me?”

“Yes...”

“I don’t know what the hell he wants from me, but there is just one thing I want from him to stop goddamn harassing me! That’s all!”

For a second time, silence fell over the room; This time there was clearly something different about it...

“Readman-Sensei!”

The silence mingled with a third person’s voice.

From around the corner of the bookshelves, the figure of a jersey-clad male teacher appeared. It was Nire, the gym teacher.

“What are you doing-?! Your class-!”



As he said that, she came to her senses-- Yomiko had been sitting there in seiza for something close to seven hours, determined to wait until Nenene had finished her manuscript-- and, as one would expect, the history class she had been charged with overseeing had begun long ago. To have done this on her first day of substitute teaching showed a outstanding level of ineptitude.

“Aaah--...”

As you would expect, all the color drained from Yomiko’s face, “I--, I’m so sorry! I’ll head out straightaways...”

As Yomiko went to stand up, she pitched forward, falling to the ground painfully.

On account of having sat in seiza in place for so long, her feet had fallen entirely asleep.

His voice, laced with ice, fell coldly upon Yomiko from above

“Waaaaa~...”

Yomiko was mumbling and crying incomprehensibly while thrashing her upper body about in a clearly distraught fashion.



"Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

Having cleaned up the mess she had made of the library, Nenene tiredly approached the school's main gate, only to hear a voice call out to her.

She thought it was weird that she could tell who it was without turning around.

"Please wait, Sumiregawa-Sensei--!"

It was that woman from the library. That woman’s name was something like...Yomiko; that’s it. The name sounded like a joke, not that her own was the sort you’d usually hear used for a person.

Yomiko chased after Nenene, the wheeled bag she always dragged with her making a quiet clacking noise.

"I'm not even gonna bother lecturing you."

"... Yes. I apologize for worrying you like that."

Sighing to herself, Yomiko bowed sheepishly. It wasn't clear which was the teacher and which was the student.

"Couldn't say I was worried."

She'd meant it to sound cold, but a smiling, laughing Yomiko just gazed at her.

“...Well, What?!”

"Ummm, as for the next thing. I was thinking that I'd like to do a home visit.”

“A home visit--? To MYYY HOME--?!”

At Yomiko's sudden suggestion, Nenene's voice rose significantly.

"Yes"

"Why the--you're a substitute teacher, right?! It's not like you're my homeroom teacher!"

"That may be true, but..."



At this point Yomiko glanced around as if checking the perimeter and then lowered her voice.

"Actually, I had thought to offer to protect you."

"Protect?"

"Yes. Umm, from the person who sent the letter."

"The hell? I'm good--'cuz tomorrow, I'm hiring a bodyguard."

For a high school girl like Nenene to be talking about bodyguards had a strange feeling to it.

"But even then, if he were to strike tonight or something, wouldn't that be pretty dangerous?"

"What I'm saying is, even if you were there, it's not like you'd have any goddamn impact."

"Sensei, I, I'm a bit stronger than I appear."

She thumped her chest with a fist. Unlike what she'd expected, it hit the top of her full bust, producing
more of a "Poof" noise.

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

Speechless, Nenene reached her hands toward Yomiko's face.

"Yes?"

She grabbed both of Yomiko's cheeks and pulled and stretched them to the extreme left and right.

"Th--Thumirehawa, Thenthei--!"

"Woah. They realllly stretch!" As they had managed to stretch twice as much as the average person's cheeks, even Nenene had to raise her voice in amazement.

"Thop, puwease--, thop...."



After toying with Yomiko for a bit, Nenene released her fingers. (1)

"Hi-hiiin..."

Her cheeks blazing red, Yomiko began to cry audibly, her tears just starting to pool in her eyes beneath her glasses.

"Wha-errrrre are you strong, damnit. You get your cheeks pinched and you're already half crying, aren't you."

"J-just now, I wasn't expecting that, you know~. That was just a cheap trick."

"Ah"

Nenene's gaze focused on something behind Yomiko's back.

"Eh?"

Without thinking, Yomiko turned around to look behind her.

"Tou”

Instantly, Nenene planted a light kick on Yomiko's unprotected back.

"Tawaba--!"

Yomiko fell quite magnificently, both hands raised as if cheering.

"You're just feel of fuzzy feelings, aren't you. To hell with protecting me; it's yourself you need to worry about. Maybe you should take a correspondence course in Aikido?"

Having picked herself up into a squatting position, Yomiko whimpered as she brushed dirt off of her face.

"....I just can't put forth my real power when it's not a serious situation."



A student on the way home spoke up toward these two in whom the power balance between teacher and student had been completely inverted.

"Whaaaaat, Sumiregawa. You're even puttin' on skits with the teach now?"

"Switchin' ta comedy? Gonna debut in the entertainment world?"

It was Nenene's classmates, Nori Kawarazaki and Harumi Mishima.

They were kidding around, but it felt like there was a speck of irony mixed in there somewhere, though it wasn't clear if that were intentional or not.

"It's just that this teacher up and started arguing with me! Me, I wanted to get home ASAP and sleep!"

"Such a HARD worker. For the two've us, next stop's the meetup.”

"Meetup?"

"Yep. Kitasawa and Nishi Middle's kids're getting along pretty well."

"Middle schoolers? Since when've you been into that sort of thing?"

"It's good and all, 'ccasionally. Even Sumiregawa might do something other than work on her novel all the time, maybe have a little fun. "

"Yeah, yeah. You'll get left behind. With the cool stuff."

"Hooow 'bout speaking to some of the kids who're fans of yours?"

"Nope, no way. Sumiregawa's fans're usually female, right."

"Bit weird, but that way there'd be new stuff to explore..."


[[Image:Read or Die vol01 081.jpg|thumb]]


Glancing at her face, the two burst into laughter. But as for the one in question, her face displayed neither amusement nor anger, but serenity.

"Umm..."

Beating the dirt out of her coat, Yomiko stood up.

"This meetup thing sounds like fun to me, but."

"Yes?"

To have Yomiko, who almost didn't register with those two as a human being, let alone as a teacher, suddenly involve herself in their conversation was quite unexpected.

"You could also try reading some books; how about that?"

"Books? The questioning looks on the two showed they clearly didn't know what she is getting at.

"Yes."

Yomiko pulled a single volume from within her coat. It was a young adult novel.

"There's this one, Radio Girl. It's light and interesting. It talks about a boy that falls in love with a female listener that sends postcards in which are read during a late-night broadcast….”

Her explanation appeared to have no end, as she produced out book after book with flourishes worthy of a magician.

"... Ah, and then, there's Please Return My Kiss. The main character is a girl who's searching for the boy who'd been her first kiss back in their childhood. The only clue she has is an old photo of the two of them, but there's a surprising twist in the end..."


The two female students exchanged glances as Yomiko's explanation flowed in one ear and out the other, the specter of the morning exercises returning to life in their imaginations.

"...But well, when it comes to YA novels, I've really just got to recommend Sumiregawa-sensei's debut work, You Know Me."

"!"

As her own book was brought up, Nenene stiffened up slightly.

"Ah, but if you're friends, you've probably read it already..."

"Knock it off--!"

It was Yomiko's turn to stiffen up, as Nenene's shout made her accidentally drop the book.

"....Eh?"

The air stopped dead, but only between the two of them.

As for the two female students, this was the chance they had been looking for.

"Aahh.....We've got to get going, so....."

"See ya later, Sumiregawa"

Quite in contrast to how they had strolled up before, they began to walk rapidly away.

Subsequently, Nenene and Yomiko were all who remained.

"Sumiregawa, Sensei.....?"


"It's embarassing, don't ya think--! Don't whip out my book in front of people--!"

"I'm sorry.... But....."

"But what--!"

"..... If you go into any bookstore, there'd be tons of your books around."

"A bookstore's alright--! I just hate it when that gets pulled in front of people I know!"

Despite the threatening aura that was pressing down upon her, Yomiko just had to inquire further.

".....Why would that be?"

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

Without answering, Nenene turned around and began to walk away.

".....Umm, Sensei....."

Suitcase clattering behind her, Yomiko chased after the fleeing target's back.

"Don't you follow me--! Go home--!"

"Buuut..."

"Haaah..... So this is Sensei's apartment?"

Yomiko peered upward at the high-class apartment building as it towered before her, her voice tinged with awe at the sight.

"Man, you're really bold, seriously."



In the end, Yomiko hadn't even considered leaving Nenene alone.

Nenene had hailed a taxi and headed off, but Yomiko, suitcase clattering along as she dragged it behind her, raised a loud "Seeeeeeenseeeeei" before seeming to give up. The taxi driver also assumed that it wouldn't be hard to drive away from the women, her hair dishelved and her coat flying around her as she ran.

As for Nenene, not once did she see Yomiko's reflection fall behind in the rear-view mirror, with not the slightest sign of her abandoning pursuit. It felt as if she'd gotten a meddlesome cousin.

Grumbling all the while, Nenene opened a keypad installed at the first floor entrance. After she pressed the numbered keys to enter her code, the noise signalling that the door to enter the floor had opened could be heard.

"Yeah, yeah, here's where we say goodbye. I gotta sleep now, you know~"

Waving a half-hearted goodbye, Nenene went to enter the doorway.

".....Sensei, ummmm..."

"What."

Yomiko pointed toward the postboxes lined up in a row nearby. They were obviously intended for use by the residents of the apartment building. Apparently, with her overabundance of exhaustion Nenene had forgetten to check her mail.

As the number of slots that would fit in the space were limited, the numbers didn't go beyond 100. In their midst Nenene's was conspicuous enough to be obvious for Yomiko, who was visiting for the first time, to pick it out at a glance. It's not that it bore any decoration.


The mailbox’s raison d’etre was on full display, its narrow slot stuffed to the limit with mail.

“...What?”

“It’s letters, packages, and so forth, yes?”

Yomiko had piped up cheerily, but Nenene retorted with a harder tone.

“...No way should this much stuff show up in one day. Not when it was totally empty this morning…”

Nenene had checked her mail before heading to school that morning. At the time, there hadn’t been a single scrap of paper in there.

For her job, there were certain days when novels or essay magazines were sent, but never so much as to make the mailbox this full.

As Yomiko watched, Nenene turned the dial on the mailbox and opened its door.

“!”

As if they had been waiting for this moment, fluttering papers surged down around their feet with the force of a waterfall.The grey tiled floor was promptly awash with white.

“Oh, my…”

Yomiko picked up one paper from the mass as Nenene stood frozen and speechless.

Once inspected, it proved to be not a piece of paper, but an envelope. It was an easy mistake to make, as it bore no decoration, color, or writing of any kind.

“... Is it alright if I open this?”

Yomiko thrust an envelope in front of Nenene’s face. Nenene wordlessly nodded.

“Here goes.”

Yomiko traced a fingertip along the back of the envelope. It seemed a trivial motion, and yet the glued flap of the envelope was sliced open as if by a letter opener.

What was pulled from inside was a quad-folded piece of white paper.

It wasn’t even stationery, but merely an ordinary piece of white paper. Yomiko slowly opened it, while Nenene dropped her gaze to follow.

The contents therein read as you would expect.

“I’ll be coming to meet you soon. -Yours, Paul S.”

Nenene’s brows began to furrow as Yomiko stooped to gather more and more envelopes, revealing their contents as before.

“You cannot escape. -Yours, Paul S.”

“Sorry for the wait. -Yours, Paul S.”

“I know you. - Yours, Paul S.”

With little variation in contents, it was clear that these had all been sent by one person. Although, they seemingly had not been sent via the postal service. Rather, they had been hand delivered directly.

“... Hmm?”

It was then that Yomiko realized that Nenene had been standing there the whole time.

“...................”

Nenene had seemed tired, but now in her expression undercurrents of deep strain were revealed.

In the library room and at the approach to the school, she had shown none of the pale weakness that was now evident.

Still kneeling, Yomiko softly took Nenene’s hand. Nenene stiffened with surprise and looked down at her.

Yomiko gave her a smile that spread across her whole face, the kind of overeagerly artless smile she was so wont to give.

“Don’t worry yourself, Sensei. I’ll be with you.”

“... I’m NOT that worried.”

Nenene brushed Yomiko’s concerns aside with a wave of her hand. Her voice had regained its usual tone.

<nowiki>----------</nowiki>

“Uwaaa, it’s huge; there’s so much room…”

Unit 1602. This was the first expression Yomiko gave upon entering Nenene’s apartment.

A hallway lined with innumerable doors led to a living room more akin to a classroom in size. Were one to sweep their gaze to the side, they would espy a dine-in kitchen. Visible through a large window was a line of potted decorative plants lining a veranda.

Yomiko’s impression was simple, but accurately captured the nature of the apartment. It was indeed quite huge and roomy. However, beyond that, it utterly lacked the feel of a lived-in space.

“Let’s set you down all careful-like,” Nenene thoughtlessly remarked as she slung down her backpack, bearing a single laptop within it, and placed it on the floor.

“Oookay, if you’d excuse me….”

Yomiko sat down on the sofa in the middle of the living room, rested her body against its back, and snuggled deeply into the cushions.

“Not gonna take off your coat? It’ll get wrinkled.”

“Don’t worry about me…”

Keeping a coat on inside seemed a bit strange, but Nenene wasn’t about to push her to take it off, so she said no more of it.

“I’m gonna go change. Just wait a sec.” With that, Nenene disappeared down the hallway.

“Take your time…”

After watching Nenene leave, Yomiko turned her attention back to the contents of the room. She was visiting the house of an author she admired. Surely a fan should be excited by this, but for some reason, this was making her feel uneasy.

“......................”

Yomiko stood up from the sofa and headed for the kitchen.

Though it was rude, she opened the fridge, which was full of P.E.T. bottles of mineral and flavored water. Peering behind the bottles, she spotted some beer cans that may have been intentionally hidden. There wasn’t a single item you could call a meal ingredient.

“Hmmmm…”

Yomiko returned to the living room and began to absently search the place.

A giant wall projector was hooked up to a DVD player. On the table’s surface lay remote controls for the AC and other systems. It looked like a model room, clean and tidy, but without a lived-in smell.

In this room, Yomiko stumbled upon one relic of the inhabitants. A decorative shelf held a display stand containing a photo.

“Oh my.”

It was a photo of the Sumiregawa family. It looked like she had still been in elementary school, but there was a young, cheerful looking Nenene, hair already sticking out in the back, smiling and holding hands with a man who was apparently her father and a women who looked to be her mother.

A pure, innocent smile typical of childhood.

Yomiko squinted, looking closer at some of the other, similar photos, and noticed something odd.

The family pictures could be broadly divided into two types.

One showed the family centered around Nenene.

The other showed just the man and woman—without Nenene.

There were no photos of just Nenene and her father.

Or just Nenene and her mother.

But the photo of just the man and woman… the woman in that picture was—

—clearly not the same woman from the other photos.

Someone else stood beside the man.

Someone who, from the way she leaned in, was clearly close to him.

And not the woman who’d appeared earlier with young Nenene.

“………………”

A different wife, maybe?

Two different family portraits, decorating the shelf like pieces in a game of spot-the-difference.

“What are you doing?”

Nenene’s voice came from behind.

She had returned from down the hallway, now changed into a beige sweater and a moss green pleated skirt.

A casual, comfortable outfit—perfect for relaxing.

“I see… are your parents still working, then? Probably?”

“Work is work, you know.”

“About what time do they usually come home? I mean, I should at least say hello.”

“Who knows when they'll come back? Isn’t it usually around New Year’s?”

“…Huh?”

Nenene leaned back against the sofa, stretched her legs out like she was airing them, and let out a long sigh. A faint trace of exhaustion from work drifted up like a scent and filled the room.

“They’ve been stationed in America for the past two years. My dad and my step— I mean, my mom too.”

That pause on “stepmother” came with a delicate nuance.

“They’re both working for some company over there, doing computer development or whatever.”

Her tone was indifferent, but it left behind an unmistakable sense of distance.

“So then… you’re living alone?”

“I wanted to go to high school here. It was also for work.”

By “work,” she clearly meant writing.

“I think I read that in an interview somewhere…”

As she said that, Yomiko settled into the seat across from Nenene.

“You didn’t say you were lonely or anything. It’s kind of…”

“Annoying.”

“I see… but still, don’t you ever get lonely?”

“What bothers me is when people assume I do.”

“It's annoying when people think that way.”

Nenene pursed her lips as if she was upset. It wasn't her true feelings, but rather a pose she was putting on.

“You read novels and manga, right? For people our age, living alone is heaven. There are no curfews, no nagging, and no need to worry about anything. We can play as much as we want."

“But, um, what about family gatherings?”

Nenene looked taken aback by the sudden question.

“Family gatherings? Do you think those still exist these days?”

“No? Like when your dad flips the table, or when you're watching TV with your mom and there's a kissing scene and it gets awkward?”

　Was it just her knowledge, or was it a misconception? Yomiko's example was far from the definition of family time.

“...How old are you?”

“I'm 25.”

Many women dislike talking about their age, but Yomiko answered without hesitation.

"Even so, you should know a little more about the world. This isn't some old manga. Don't you watch TV?"

“I don't have a TV at home.”

This came as a surprise to Nenene.

“Why not?”

“I read books all the time when I'm at home, so I don't really need one...”

“Then how do you find out about the latest fashions, hot spots, and events? Oh, from magazines?”

“Yeah, I read those sometimes, but they're hard to remember. I just prefer reading books. ... Oh, but I always wear the same clothes, and when I go out, I only go to bookstores and used bookstores, and the only events I'm interested in are used book fairs, so I'm fine without it.”

“You mean you really wear the same outfit all the time!?”

“That coat!?”

“Well… I do have multiple coats, shirts, ties, and skirts… but they’re all the same design, so people often think I’m always wearing the same thing.”

“Why!? Don’t you want to dress up or anything!?”

“I don’t.”

“You should! You're a girl!”

“A girl...?”

It was probably just the force of her words, but Nenene's words made Yomiko's cheeks relax.

“It's been a while since someone said that to me...”

She grinned, her face falling into a slovenly expression. It was unclear what memories were coming back to her.

"I'll take back what I just said. Not a girl, but ‘sort of a woman’."

Yomiko let out a disappointed voice at Nenene's cold correction.

“...Um, I'm not just a woman, I'm a woman in every sense of the word...”

She was probably referring to gender.

Nenene coughed to clear the air, which was filled with a vague sense of humor.

“Well, it's okay. That kind of thing. The point is, the problem is that guy.”

“Ah, right.”

At Nenene’s words, Yomiko pulled a stack of envelopes from her coat pocket—the ones she’d picked up from the post downstairs. These were the letters shoved into Nenene’s mailbox. She’d gathered them all and brought them along. Nenene had grumbled and argued about letting her up into the apartment, but in truth, it was this that had convinced her.

The long rectangular table was now covered in white envelopes. To someone who didn’t know better, it might have looked like a game of high-stakes poker.

“All in all, there were 219,” Yomiko said. “All of them the same kind of envelope.”

Even as a prank, the number was bizarre. There were no return addresses. Nenene stared at them again, a deep, unsettling chill crawling up her spine.

“What kind of idiot… seriously… should I call the cops?”

“That might not be so easy,” Yomiko said, her voice level and calm. “This person never sends anything but letters.”

“Why didn’t you say that earlier? Then what should I do?”

“You don’t need to do anything.”

“…What?”

Yomiko’s unexpected answer clearly threw Nenene off.

“Sumiregawa-sensei, you don’t have to do a thing. I’ll take care of it.”

“…Take care of what?"

Yomiko grinned sheepishly, pinching the letter between her fingers.

“I just want to catch this person and make sure they don’t bother you anymore, Sensei.”

It was a remarkably plain statement—so simple, in fact, that Nenene had to reprocess it to confirm what she'd just said.

And then groaned.

“Listen. Like I told you back in the library—this guy is just some delusional nutcase with a crush. Total creep, totally obsessed.”

“Well then, all the more reason to bring him to justice, right? Otherwise, he’ll just keep stalking you.”

“Do you really think logic’s gonna work on someone like this? With this level of obsession? Get real.”

For Nenene, this kind of commotion wasn’t anything new.

Ever since she debuted at age three—

Now a currently active student author with that label plastered everywhere—she’d gained a lot of fans over time. Which meant, naturally, she also had a lot of weird fans. More than your average writer, in fact.

Each week, she received over a hundred fan letters.

Most of them were the usual stuff—reactions to her books, personal updates, that kind of thing. Ordinary, boring fan mail.

But some of them?

Went way off the rails.

Some were typed perfectly in size 24 font, just full-page rants.

Some described magic spells and secret cult messages like they were writing a novel.

Some used strange characters or esoteric codes—like ancient weapons would activate just from reading the keywords.

It wasn’t just weird—it was dangerous. And what was she even supposed to do with that kind of mail?

There were even letters that claimed Nenene’s novels were actually stolen from the sender’s own mind. According to them, they’d planned to write the exact same story themselves, but Nenene had somehow overheard their thoughts and published the idea as her own.

“If you don’t immediately cease writing, I’ll consider filing a lawsuit.”

She’d actually received a letter that said that—word for word. It was so absurd she couldn’t help but laugh.

Then there was the time she set a story in the near future and got a phone call from someone claiming to know the characters. When her editor asked where the call was coming from, the person on the line said:

“A-Sa-Ke-Tani.”

Philosophically baffling, to say the least.

A thirty-five-year-old man once insisted he had to marry her because she was his destined younger wife. She was fourteen at the time. Her father—understandably disturbed—let the editor handle him. (The man was eventually paid off and disappeared.)

There were others too. People who tracked down her address and sent letters directly. Some even dug into her family registry, trying to gather info to reach her.

Because of that, her parents had moved, she’d relocated to a new apartment, and her name had been omitted from phone books. Things had been relatively quiet since.

Not that she was proud of it—but she had plenty of experience dealing with stalkers.

Even so, this time… the sheer volume was unusual.

And the sender hadn’t shown themselves at all. That was what made it worse.

There was something… off. Not threatening, exactly. But unsettling.

Maybe it was that, despite this being their very first meeting, Yomiko Readman didn’t seem like an ordinary fan at all. That vague unease was the reason Nenene hadn’t been able to bring herself to kick her out.

It wasn’t logical, but the fact that Yomiko was now her teacher—even if temporarily—might’ve played a role too.

“It’s fine. People who love books can’t be bad.”

Yomiko said this with total conviction. The words weren’t exactly persuasive, but her eyes, fixed steadily on Nenene’s, were brimming with sincerity.

“Well, sure. You say that. But what if he doesn’t respond to persuasion? Then what?”

Nenene’s retort was edged with sarcasm, but Yomiko just folded her arms and tilted her head thoughtfully.

“In that case... maybe, just a little, I might have to use force…”

Her voice was small. Her expression reluctant and a little pained.

“What the hell could you even do with force? I’m pretty sure I’m stronger than you.”

Nenene recalled how things went in front of the school gate. Physical protection wasn’t going to be this girl’s strong suit.

“I—I guess you’re right…”

Yomiko shrank slightly, rubbing the back of her head in embarrassment. Yet behind the sheepish smile, Nenene could sense something buried deep inside her.

“Whatever. Tomorrow I’ll call the publisher and ask them to help out—maybe get in touch with a security firm or a detective agency. I’ll hire someone. I probably won’t need them for long.”

For now, though—tonight—she just didn’t want to be alone. Just tonight, for some reason, the thought of being by herself was making her uneasy. In that sense, having someone like Yomiko around was a relief.

“…So, what are you gonna do? Tonight?”

“T-Tonight?”

“You said you’d protect me, didn’t you? …Are you staying over?”

“You’ll let me?!”

Yomiko’s face lit up like a light switch.

“That’s totally fine! I mean, I don’t need you to do anything for me or whatever—”

“Just being able to stay over at your house is already the highest honor, Sensei!”

Her sheer fangirl energy was on full display, practically bouncing with glee. It was hard to believe she was any older than eight, the way she was acting.

“Yeah, yeah, fine. I mean, it’s not like we’re gonna be doing anything. You’re just sleeping over.”

“Right. But still, to be under the same roof as you, Sensei… ahaha…”

Now that Nenene thought about it—Yomiko was a woman, and her teacher. That detail alone was enough to soothe her nerves somewhat. And yet, the way she was acting wasn’t all that different from the sender of those letters.

Realizing this, Nenene gave her a wary, side-eyed glance.

They ordered pizza delivery for dinner. After eating, Nenene got into the shower early and began getting ready for bed. It was just past 8 PM, but she was running on a sleep deficit from the past few days, and her exhaustion had piled up fast.

Yomiko, however…

“I didn’t bring a change of clothes!”

…said this as an excuse to avoid using the shower.

“You didn’t bring clothes? What’s the suitcase for, then?”

Driven equally by suspicion and curiosity, Nenene headed to her closet to dig around for a spare set of pajamas.

The only ones she managed to find were from her middle school days, abandoned and unused for years.

A pale pink set, dotted with a scattered pattern of strawberries.

Childish.

She used to adore those childish pajamas back then.

These days, she preferred a soft white set scattered with pale lemon-yellow dots. A size too big, they hung loosely on her frame—cozy and relaxed.

Before long, Yomiko emerged from the hallway after her shower, and the moment Nenene caught sight of her, she couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Pfft—ahahaha!”

“...They’re a little small,” Yomiko mumbled.

They were her old middle school pajamas, after all. And since Yomiko was taller than Nenene, it was no surprise the fit was… tight. The fabric clung awkwardly around her unexpectedly full chest, making the top look cropped.

Despite her baby-faced appearance, Yomiko was still a twenty-five-year-old woman. The tightness of the pajama top highlighted her figure in ways that came off oddly suggestive.

A guy might’ve found the whole thing sexy, but for plain old Sumiregawa Nenene, it was just straight-up ridiculous.

“Please… don’t laugh so much...” Yomiko said, flustered, fidgeting in place with an expression halfway between shame and embarrassment.

Her body still radiated steam from the shower, and her glasses were thoroughly fogged over, which only added to the sketch-comedy vibe of the scene.

“Sorry. I mean, they don’t not suit you, but like—come on, it’s just us, no one’s gonna see.”

“Uuugh…”

Yomiko let out a weird little groan at the world’s least comforting reassurance.

Nenene couldn't bring herself to lend Yomiko her underwear, so she sent her out to buy some at the convenience store.

Yomiko, unfazed, had said, “It’s fine, really. This is good enough.”

But Nenene had insisted, “Not a chance. Without that, what’s the point of taking a shower?”

And forcibly sent her out.

When it came to things like this, Yomiko clearly lacked common sense.

Nenene found herself growing a little curious about what exactly this girl’s private life was like.

A wave of drowsiness washed over her.

Perhaps because her nerves had finally relaxed, she let out a wide yawn.

“Wow… Even you yawn like that, Sensei...”

Yomiko murmured, oddly impressed.

“What else would I do? …Anyway, sleep. Go sleep.”

“Haa…”

Nenene brought a thick blanket out from the bedroom and handed it to Yomiko.

“The air conditioner’s on, so this should be enough.”

She took another of the same blankets for herself and lay down on the living room sofa.

“If it’s alright, I’ll sleep here. This is plenty for me.”

Yomiko stood in front of the sofa, not sitting.

Nenene asked, confused,

“What? Are you saying I’m in the way or something?”

“No, not at all!”

Yomiko shook her head vigorously, her still-damp hair flopping wildly.

“Then pick a spot and sleep.”

She placed a cushion under her head as a makeshift pillow and began settling into a sleeping position.

Satisfied, Yomiko quietly plopped herself down on the floor in front of the sofa with a soft thump.

“I... I know I’m just an unworthy novice, but I look forward to serving you for a long time…”

Just like she had done in the library, Yomiko knelt on the floor, placed her fingers to the ground in a formal bow, and lowered her head.

“Stop that! Don’t go doing weird stuff like that!”

Nenene threw up her hands. Yomiko had a way of always floating off somewhere—too light to pin down, too deep to see through—and somehow always seemed to exist just slightly outside the bounds of common sense. Nenene found herself genuinely curious about what kind of environment had produced someone like that. Someday, she thought, she might like to find out.

“Um, Sensei—” Yomiko began, reaching into her coat pocket and rustling through it.

Soon she pulled something out from between the pages of one of her paperback books: a long, narrow slip of thin paper. One end had a small round hole punched through it, with a short ribbon tied there.

“So you don’t forget—I was hoping you might keep this with you?”

She held it out toward Nenene.

“…A bookmark?”

Indeed, it was a bookmark. The paper section bore the image of the British flag—a Union Jack.

“Why?”

“It’s a good luck charm. You know, like a protective charm.”

“I’m sorry, you’re saying this bookmark is supposed to take the place of a charm?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but it’s surprisingly handy to have around!”

“A bookmark? Handy for what, exactly?”

Nenene didn’t read many books for fun. Compared to her peers, she did read a fair amount, but she didn’t see herself as one of those so-called “Bibliophiles." She only ever skimmed magazines when her own drafts were published, and even then, only casually. She read reference materials, sure—but she counted that as work, not a hobby.

“I’ll explain tomorrow. Just hang on to it for now.”

“Well… I mean, sure, fine.”

Nenene placed the bookmark on the table. It wasn’t like a single slip of paper was going to get in the way of anything.

“Thank you so much.”

Yomiko bowed slightly as Nenene reached for the remote and dimmed the lights in the room. The glow receded, and the darkness crept in like ink seeping into the air.

“Good night.”

“Good night, Sensei.”

They both lay down, on either side of the table, settling in quietly.

“……………………”

She thought she’d fall asleep right away. But her mind wouldn’t let her settle.

Now that she thought about it, it had probably been since elementary school that someone else had stayed over at her place.

Ever since she’d entered junior high and debuted as an author, the opportunities to hang out with friends had dwindled drastically.

Even now, though she technically attended school, her conversations with classmates rarely went beyond shallow pleasantries. She’d go straight home, never stopping off anywhere with anyone after class. No detours. No sleepovers.

She hadn’t been fully aware of it before, but when she thought about it now—it was clear. She’d long since gotten used to being alone.

“…Hey.”

“Yes?”

Maybe the reason Nenene spoke up wasn’t because of any deep meaning—but simply because she had noticed that about herself. About how used she was to solitude.

She wasn’t even sure if she cared about the reason behind that realization. It hadn’t been a particularly serious thought. She just felt like saying something.

“…Aren’t you going to take your glasses off?”

“No, I’ll leave them on like this.”

“But the frames will get bent or something, won’t they?”

“No.”

Yomiko replied firmly.

“Because... these glasses are for reading.”

Now that Nenene looked at them, Yomiko’s glasses didn’t even look like they were meant for women. The frames were thick—honestly, they seemed more like something made for men. They were a plain, practical design.

“What if you roll over in your sleep or something? Aren’t you worried you’ll break them?”

“I’ll be fine. I don’t toss and turn. Also…”

Her voice wavered slightly. There was a faint shift in her tone.

After a long pause, she finally added softly:

“…I don’t want to take them off.”

Now that she thought about it, Yomiko had kept her glasses on the whole time—even going into and coming out of the shower. It was hard to believe she actually wore them in the shower, but…

“Why? Are they that important to you?”

“…Yes… Very.”

Her voice was calm, but there was weight behind those brief words.

Nenene still hadn’t realized that her casual question had just opened the door to a surprisingly serious conversation.

“Were they… a gift from someone?”

She threw it out casually, like bait in the dark. If she hadn’t already been lying down, she might have sat up from surprise at what she saw next.

Yomiko’s lips had tightened ever so slightly.

“…Yes. From someone I liked.”

“Wait—you liked someone?!”

It came out a little sharper than intended, but Nenene couldn’t help it. For someone like Yomiko—so dull and indifferent when it came to romance—to have once fallen for someone? That alone was shocking.

And if that’s the case… then of course the glasses being for a man made sense.

“Well… yeah, I suppose…”

“What kind of person were they?”

Nenene realized, with a faint jolt, that her offhand question had accidentally hooked something unexpectedly deep.

Even though she wasn't a dyed-in-the-wool novel lover like Yomiko, it wasn’t like she had no interest in this kind of personal story.

“He loved books,” Yomiko said quietly.

“Well, yeah. Figures, if he was your type.”

“…So even when we were together, we mostly just read books.”

There wasn’t the slightest hint of romantic tension in her voice.

“Seriously? That’s it? You just sat around reading?”

“There was more to it. After I finished a book, I’d talk about what I thought of it, and he’d just sit there grinning and listen to every word.”

The image that came to Nenene’s mind was Yomiko, sitting down in the evening with Norito and Harumi, pulling out a book.

Unless you were also into reading, just watching that would be unbearable.

“…He was kind. To people, and to books.”

She added, “He read your books too, Sensei. He was really moved by them every time.”

Hearing herself mentioned so directly caught Nenene off guard. She wasn’t sure how to respond, so to cover her awkwardness, she consciously pushed the conversation forward.

“Thanks. …So, um, where is he now?”

“I… I don’t really know. I think he might be dead.”

Yomiko’s answer made it clear: her use of the past tense hadn’t been accidental.

Nenene was silent for a while. She couldn’t immediately process what Yomiko had just said, and her mouth stayed shut.

She sat in the dark, quiet, until Yomiko gently began to speak again.

“That’s why… I stopped reading books for a while. I couldn’t. But now, using these glasses he left behind… I think I want to start again. I want to read for him. Books that are wonderful, like something out of a teacher’s life story.”

Yomiko wasn’t necessarily good at putting feelings into words—but the emotion in her voice came through clearly.

Her tone was calm—unlike when she talked about books, she didn’t show much emotion. She just spun the words out, quietly.

Even so, it was clear this wasn’t the kind of topic one could treat lightly or casually.

Nenene found herself silent for a long time—long enough to be acutely aware of it.

“…I’m sorry. That must’ve sounded weird.”

“No, no… I asked, remember? I wanted to hear it.”

Honestly, it wasn’t just curiosity. Nenene wasn’t sure if it was even appropriate to be talking about something so personal in the middle of the night. Normally, “late-night chats” meant things like gossip, romance, or silly little dramas—but what Yomiko had shared was serious. Earnest. And much heavier than expected.

She’d always thought of Yomiko as a cheerful, oblivious sort of person—but now she’d learned something completely unexpected.

“………………………”

The long silence that followed served as a quiet, mutual end to that part of the conversation.

Just as the air between them began to shift, Yomiko opened her mouth.

“Sensei…”

“Hm?”

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you for a really long time.”

“What is it?”

“I mean… you’ve never answered it in any of your interviews, so I thought maybe…”

“Oh, come on already. Just ask.”

Still sitting on top of the blanket, Yomiko clenched her fists.

It was like she was trying to summon all her courage in the center of her palms.

“Sensei… why did you start writing books?”

“……………………”

The only thing that came back from Nenene was silence.

“Ah, um… If it’s difficult for you to talk about, that’s okay! I just… I’ve always wondered, so…”

“…Why, I wonder?”

In the dim room, Nenene’s voice drifted up softly. There was a flicker of hesitation woven into her words.

“…Unlike you, I didn’t especially love books. Not back then…”

Nenene slowly began to trace her memories, stringing them together.

“…In second grade, I wrote a poem for class. The teacher praised me for it…”

“The teacher?”

“The teacher. And my mom and dad too. I wasn’t really good at anything, so… maybe it just made me happy.”

Yomiko wasn’t sure whether that uncertainty was directed at herself, or at her parents, or maybe both.

“I started writing things like book reports and little fairy tales… and I guess it just sort of snowballed.”

“And then, by three you were writing novels?”

“Yeah… well, kind of…”

Nenene turned over in bed, giving Yomiko her back.

“Strangers praised me too, but…”

“Weren’t your parents proud of you?”

“My dad… he was already super busy around then. And my mom… she’d already passed away.”

“I—I’m so sorry! That was such a rude question…”

“It’s fine. Really. It’s not like it’s some dramatic tragedy or anything.”

Nenene’s tone didn’t carry any trace of loneliness. She’d probably gone over this story in her head so many times that it had lost its sting. Or maybe, by now, it was just a fact—even to her.

Maybe she just hadn’t realized it herself yet.

“…Maybe they thought I became an easy kid to deal with. I mean, I didn’t have time to goof off or rebel when I was busy writing novels. …Not that I ever studied, though.”

“…But…”

Yomiko looked like she wanted to say something, but fell silent.

“Yeah… Why am I writing books?”

Nenene’s words were spoken more to herself than to Yomiko. Somewhere in her hectic life, she’d lost track of that question—a question she hadn’t truly asked herself in years.

“Sensei…”

“…Sorry. I’m getting sleepy now…”

She cut the conversation short, using a convenient excuse to avoid answering.

“Good night…”

“…Good night…”

In the darkness, the two had come to know each other just a little. But that small sense of connection drifted unresolved into the night.

The hum of the air conditioner paused for a moment, adjusting to the room’s temperature.

And in that quiet room, the only thing left between them was an unanswered question.

“…nn… nnnkuuu…”

Who knows how much time had passed—Nenene’s faint sleep-muttering gently colored the night like a passing breeze.

Yomiko watched Nenene’s sleeping face in the dark with a look of quiet curiosity.

Even with her glasses on, it was hard to truly see her expression while she slept.

At a book signing, at a publisher’s party she’d sneaked into, or maybe at a secondhand book market—

Yomiko had seen her favorite authors many times. However, this was the first time she had ever pushed her way into their room.

When she met Nenene in the library, Nenene had a strong aura.

Although petite, she was like a bulldozer that scattered everything in her path. That was what a writer in the process of writing was like.

However, when she saw the large number of sealed letters at the entrance of this apartment building, she looked even weaker than a normal girl. Yomiko couldn't help but hold her hand.

　Perhaps both sides are the real Nenene. The imbalance between her different qualities must be affecting her writing.

If so, Yomiko must protect her. From those who interfere with her writing. That is Yomiko's mission, and Yomiko wants to read what she writes.

“It's okay, Sensei...”

Yomiko said good night, even though she knew Nenene couldn't hear her, and then she went to sleep herself.

== 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

3: Technically three fingers of each hand, like [http://07ki04yo21ka.at.webry.info/200707/article_3.html this].

<noinclude>
{| border="1" cellpadding="5" cellspacing="0" style="margin: 1em 1em 1em 0; background: #f9f9f9; border: 1px #aaaaaa solid; padding: 0.2em; border-collapse: collapse;"
|-
| Back to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Prologue|Prologue]]
| Return to [[Read or Die|Main Page]]
| Forward to [[Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter2|Chapter 2]]
|-
|}
</noinclude>