The Books Fall Ill
After returning the ailing books to the library, I slipped back into my usual routine. Sweeping the floors, indulging in idle games, returning scattered volumes to their rightful shelves, smoothing crumpled pages or mending torn ones—that was my life. The only new task was bookbinding. Specifically, turning the Laugh Encyclopedia into a proper book.
"Prisoner number Laugh. Visiting hours." I stepped into the Preservation Archive with a theatrical lilt. The thing thrashed violently, pages flapping in protest. Flap, flap! Ignoring its silent outrage over why a mere number had been granted a name, I brushed my fingers across the glass case where it was kept. The Preservation Archive always felt like a high-end art gallery—sterile white lights, a single glass pedestal standing alone in the center of the room, displaying one book and nothing else.
Inside, the Laugh Encyclopedia strained against thick iron chains, still trapped in its crumpled-paper form. Its power had weakened considerably.
"So, how's prison treating you?" I grinned and dragged a chair over, settling in front of the case. The book flapped once.
"⋯⋯My novel. You still think it's dreadful?" Flap!
"⋯⋯Hmph."
Its punishment was simple: it had to read the novel I wrote. Every day—or once a week at most—I would turn the next page. I nearly teared up at its stubborn tone, but swallowed the urge and smirked instead.
"Want me to step on you again?"
Flap!!
⋯It would rather be trampled than read my writing. Even now, its mouth kept moving, and it annoyed me to no end. I pulled it out, removed my socks, and stomped on it thoroughly before shoving it back inside the case. ⋯⋯At least it didn't smell. That was something.
Today I had two reasons for visiting. First, to show it the next page of my novel. Second, to finally bind it into a real book. I'd considered leaving it as it was—the prankster that nearly ruined Earth—but in the end I decided to give it a proper binding and store it in the general stacks. After all, the Laugh Encyclopedia still contained genuine knowledge about the concept of laughter. Of course, I would need to edit it heavily first. Laughter was strictly forbidden inside the library.
'⋯⋯But how exactly do I bind a book?'
The unfortunate truth was that I had no idea how to make one. Threading pages together was technically binding, but I wanted a thick hardcover. I'd never learned the craft, and Grandmother—who had given me this job—had never imagined I'd need to. She hadn't taught me. Worse, I had no materials.
"⋯Maybe I should just leave it as a paper bundle."
Flap! Flap! The book shrugged as if it couldn't care less. I knew better. Staying unbound was exactly what it wanted—its power remained weaker that way, giving it a chance to escape eventually.
⋯I would probably need to buy supplies. A cover and proper binding tools. Luckily, one of the library's connected entrances opened near a stationery store. The real problem was money.
"⋯⋯Should I ask the Anomaly Management Bureau for funds?"
No. That would be too pathetic. The librarian of the Shinbi Library begging for pocket money? How embarrassing.
"Stay like this for now. I'll figure something out."
Flap! Flap-flap-flap!
"Yeah, screaming won't help~. Ehehe."
I gave it an amused look and turned the next page of my novel. Delighted by the fresh content, the Laugh Encyclopedia let out a silent cheer. Fine. I'd make it my novel's very first fan.
Another peaceful day in the Preservation Archive came to an end.
. . .
Creak⋯ Creak⋯
Once the girl was gone, the Laugh Encyclopedia panted within its paper prison, trying to calm its frayed mind. Yet the sinister novel spread before its unclosable eyes refused to let it rest.
Flap!
How could such a novel exist? It was unbearably dreadful. It had wondered whether the librarian had created some kind of living demonic book, but every test failed. The novel was ordinary paper—lifeless, inert. That made it even more terrifying.
Would this dizzying story ever end?
The Laugh Encyclopedia prided itself on its formidable mental fortitude. To bestow laughter upon countless beings and objects, one needed resistance to every imaginable subject and prop. A grotesque killer required corpses fashioned into a wheel. A sullen stone needed a statue of a woman. Understanding, accepting, and even enjoying every taste and element demanded exceptional willpower.
Even with that strength, filtering the text made it nauseous.
[Once upon a time📜 there was a super strong ■■ and when it waved its hand like this 👋 ■■ collapsed 💥 Oh right ■■ was so huge that it encompassed the entire ■■■■ 🪐 Even the ■s were surprised 😲 and came down from ■■■ report ■ and tried to strike down ■ with ⚡ to kill ■ but failed and instead were killed by ■ so ■ was destroyed 💥 rebuilt 🌱 destroyed 💥 and repeated 🔄 but at some point ■ was born and became ■■■ and ■⋯⚔️.]
That was the result after heavy filtering and distortion. The genre appeared to be fantasy, yet the original had been pure literature set against ■■■■■. Bricks of text, incomprehensible prose, abysmal readability⋯ and sheer boredom. It had tried filtering through Earth's recent internet style and twisting it into something resembling a forbidden book, but this was the pathetic result. The original⋯
The Laugh Encyclopedia stopped thinking. It wanted nothing more than to escape this room and drown the world in laughter once again.
* * *
After Earth was pulled from the sea of laughter, the number of visitors to the library seemed to have increased. What surprised me more than the count, however, was their behavior. Unlike earlier guests who trembled or went mad and vanished, these new visitors followed every rule to the letter.
"Welcome to the Shinbi Library."
"⋯⋯."
A man silently handed me a note. His body trembled slightly, but that was acceptable—he hadn't broken any rules.
"We have this book. Would you like to read it?"
He nodded. The man with the sewn-shut mouth followed quietly. Fear filled his eyes, yet he was so obedient that I almost felt inclined to treat him kindly.
"[Record of No Desire] is this way. Any consequences from reading other books are your responsibility."
He nodded again, then opened [Record of No Desire] right where he stood instead of going to the reading room.
"Mmph⋯⋯!"
The content must have been too much. Blood tears streamed from his eyes, but they ran down his face and never touched the pages. He refused to look away, forcing himself to absorb every word until the end.
⋯He looked exactly like a high-school student cramming concepts the night before an exam.
"⋯⋯Goodbye. Please visit again."
After several cycles of blood tears welling and drying, the man finally dragged his exhausted body out of the library.
⋯⋯Similar visitors had come and gone several times lately—men and women, young and old. Roughly eight of them. Most had read books of the same category: [Record of No Desire], [Abyssgertia], and the like.
Hmm⋯ Was this truly coincidence? The world held all kinds of people; some might genuinely sew their own mouths shut. I was willing to overlook it⋯ unless this was part of someone's scheme.
'⋯⋯Using multiple people just to read library books?'
That would make them dedicated "book-loving humans," wouldn't it? Perhaps they simply enjoyed what they'd read and wanted others to experience it too. But who would orchestrate such a thing? Or was it one of the previous visitors⋯?
⋯⋯I couldn't tell.
Not long after dealing with these peculiar guests, I noticed something odd.
"Why is [Record of No Desire] looking so sickly?"
Some of the books had begun losing vitality, growing weak and listless. Every single one of them had been read by the visitors with sewn mouths.