“Benjamin Constant. His work is famous for its psychological depiction of human behavior—it’s pretty unique. I think this one was written in France in the early nineteenth century.”
Instead of reaching for it right away, Akiba paused to give the book and Rintaro a strange look, until he couldn’t quite control his amusement any longer. He laughed in delight.
“You really do love books, don’t you?”
That cheery laugh of his seemed out of place at Natsuki Books.
*
“Welcome to World’s Best Books.”
The booming voice greeted them as they ventured in through the tall, imposing door.
The room beyond the door was large, about the size of a high school classroom. From the ceiling hung a grand chandelier; below their feet, a plush carpet that completely muffled all sounds of their footsteps. And the walls on all four sides were covered with bright red curtains.
At the far end of this luxuriously decorated room was a desk with a glossy sheen, behind which sat a thin, elderly gentleman with an impressive head of white hair. He was dressed in a three-piece suit and leaned back at ease in his black office chair, his hands resting on the desk. He regarded his three visitors calmly.
“He’s not what I expected,” whispered Sayo. “It’s weird for a company president not to be fat and balding. I bet he’s just pretending to be the president. Maybe he’s a midlevel manager working overtime.”
Rintaro grinned. He found her tactlessness fascinating.
The man behind the desk raised his right hand.
“Please come in. I’m the company president,” he said, gesturing toward a sofa. However, neither Rintaro nor Sayo felt like sitting. The sofa was extremely expensive-looking and covered with a thick layer of fur. The president didn’t seem bothered by their refusal to sit.
“I really do appreciate your coming all this way to visit me. I know it must have been a difficult journey—I’m so far from the entrance, and security is extremely tight here.”
“Our good friend wasn’t allowed to come with us.”
“Ah,” said the president, narrowing his eyes. “I’m sorry about that. I’m afraid I hate cats.”
“Oh . . . you’re not a cat person?”
The kindly smile on the man’s face suddenly faded and gave way to a sudden volley of words.
“No, not a cat person in the slightest. I detest them. Especially cunning ones.”
The words flashed through the air like light reflecting off a knife blade.
The president may have sensed Rintaro stiffen, but he didn’t show it.
“I do apologize for the trouble this may have caused to my guests from Natsuki Books.”
“You know Natsuki Books?”
“Sure I do,” he said, stroking his narrow chin. “No doubt it’s a shabby old used bookshop, self-satisfied and stuck in the past. You must have piles of old-fashioned, difficult, unsellable books all over. Me, I’m envious. Sounds like running that store must be a walk in the park, free of any pressures or responsibilities.”
The president flashed them a big grin.
It was a surprise attack—a declaration of war. Sayo winced, but Rintaro was undaunted. From the moment he’d set eyes on him, Rintaro knew there was something troubling this man. Perhaps the tabby cat was onto something.
The president continued on, completely unperturbed.
“I was fascinated to hear I had visitors from an antiquated old bookshop. It made me curious what kind of wild ravings they might share with me.”