Read or Die:Volume1 Chapter1

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 History Repeats Itself , 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, Illinois Heat, 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, King of Books. 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 The ICBM of Love, 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, The IRBM of Love. 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, Don’t Chase Me into Infinity. 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, Dotou’s Newlywed Life. That was a best-seller, so you’ve all heard of it, right? However, if you compare it with this one, The Married Chimp, 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...” (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. (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 The Streetcorner where the Cats Live 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 Glendard’s Jesters?"

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. (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 You Know Me when you were just thirteen years old, and since then five million copies have been sold, making you the best-selling wunderkind of junior novel publishing world! Your favorite food is cheesecake, and when you take a bath, you 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 The Streetcorner where the Cats Live.

"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 The Streetcorner where the Cats Are, 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..."

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.

----------

“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 am a Cat.

2: Originally was this kanji, not U: 凹

3: Technically three fingers of each hand, like this.

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