The Cat Who Saved Books(3)

He glanced at the pile of printouts and the notebooks on the counter. Akiba hadn’t brought them; a little earlier, Rintaro’s class president had dropped them off.

Her name was Sayo Yuzuki, and she lived nearby. She’d known Rintaro since primary school. She was a strong, no-nonsense type and not particularly close with the silent, hikikomori Rintaro. When she’d turned up at the shop and seen Rintaro staring blankly at the shelves, she let out a pointed sigh.

“You look like you don’t have a care in the world. Guess the hikikomori life’s treating you well, huh? You doing okay?”

Rintaro had shrugged. Sayo frowned, then had turned to Akiba instead.

“Should you really be hanging around here? The basketball club were all looking for you.”

She then turned and strode right out of the shop.

She was completely unafraid to be direct with an older boy. That was typical Sayo Yuzuki; it was her way of showing that she cared. Rintaro admired her for it.

“Your class rep is always so driven,” Akiba remarked. “She must feel responsible for you. She didn’t need to bring you your homework herself . . .”

Though Sayo didn’t live far away, Rintaro realized it still must’ve been a pain to go out of her way when the season was cold enough to see your own breath.

“You can have those for six thousand yen,” he said, finally getting to his feet. Akiba raised an eyebrow.

“That’s kind of pricey for a closing sale.”

“Ten percent off. Can’t do more than that. These are literary masterpieces that you’re buying.”

“Classic Natsuki,” Akiba said, laughing. He pulled several notes from his wallet and grabbed his scarf and gloves from the counter. As he secured his bag over his shoulder, he added:

“Come to school tomorrow.”

And with his trademark cheerful smile, Akiba left the shop.

Natsuki Books was thrown into silence. Beyond the door the sunset gave off a reddish glow. In the corner, the heater, almost out of paraffin, was beginning to complain.

It was about time to go upstairs and make some dinner. Even when his grandfather had been alive, it had been Rintaro’s job, so it wasn’t a big deal.

And yet, Rintaro remained motionless, staring at the shop door.

The sun sank lower in the sky, the heater gave out, and cold air began to fill the shop. Still, Rintaro didn’t move.





The First Labyrinth

The Imprisoner of Books

Natsuki Books was a tiny shop tucked away on a street in the old part of town. It had a rather peculiar layout.

Leading from the front entrance straight through to the back of the store was one single, long aisle. Each side of this aisle was lined with towering stacks of bookshelves reaching all the way to the ceiling, and every shelf was crammed full of books. Retro-style lamps hung overhead, their soft light reflecting off the polished wooden floor.

About halfway down there was a simple wooden desk for handling sales, but besides that and a couple of wooden stools, no other furniture or adornment of any kind. At the back of the store, the aisle ended at a simple wall of bare wood, but when you entered through the front door from bright daylight, you had the impression that the whole place was much deeper than it actually was. Surrounded by walls of books, it felt like entering an endless passageway that disappeared into the darkness beyond.

The image of his grandfather quietly reading a book under a lamp placed on the small desk was seared into Rintaro’s memory, its lines drawn simply but with care, like an oil painting by a master artist.

“Books have tremendous power.”

That was his grandfather’s mantra.

To tell the truth, the old man wasn’t much of a talker, but when he got onto the subject of books he would suddenly burst into life. His narrow eyes would crease into a smile, and words flew out of his mouth with passionate energy.

“There are timeless stories, powerful enough to have survived through the ages. Read lots of books like these—they’ll be like friends to you. They’ll inspire and support you.”

Rintaro stared around at the tiny bookshop with its walls of books. Its shelves held none of the current bestsellers. No popular manga or magazines. These days, books didn’t even sell the way they used to. Regular customers often expressed concern about the survival of Natsuki Books, but the frail old shopkeeper would just nod a brief “thank you.” The complete works of Nietzsche and well-thumbed old collections of T. S. Eliot’s poetry remained on display by the front door.

This space that his grandfather had created was the perfect refuge for a boy who tended to be something of a recluse. Rintaro, who had never really fit in at school, got into the habit of coming here and immersing himself in books, voraciously reading anything he could find on the shelves.

In other words, this was Rintaro’s safe space, a place where he could find shelter from the outside world. But now, in a few days, Rintaro was going to be forced to leave Natsuki Books forever.

“Grandpa, this is messed up,” he whispered.

At that moment, he was brought back to reality by the cheerful ring of the old-fashioned bell that hung on the front door. Normally, it would mean that a customer had come in, but right now the door had its Closed sign up. Outside the sun had set, and beyond the glass door there was nothing but darkness. It felt as if Akiba had only just left, but somehow a great span of time had slipped by.