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.
Deciding the bell had been a trick of his imagination, Rintaro turned his gaze back toward the bookshelves.
“Kinda gloomy in here.”
The voice startled him. But when he turned to check the doorway, there was nobody there.
“Pity—you’ve got quite the collection here, but these books are just fading away in this dingy old place.”
Rintaro realized that the voice was coming from deeper inside the store. He spun back around to see . . . nobody. Except, that is, for a tabby cat. It looked like your average ginger tabby—a rather large, plump cat with an orange-and-yellow-striped coat. This particular cat had distinctive stripe markings running from the top of its head down its back and tail—typical of a tabby—but its belly and legs were pure white. Against the dimly lit background, its eyes were two gleaming jade stones. And they were fixed directly on Rintaro.
Rintaro watched as the cat flexed its long, graceful tail.
“You’re a cat!”
“Got a problem with that?” asked the cat.
There was no mistaking it—the cat had just spoken.
Although he was shaken, Rintaro managed to scrape together an ounce of calm. He shut his eyes tightly and counted to three. Then he opened them again.
A furry coat, bushy tail, two piercing green eyes, and two neat triangular ears—there was absolutely no doubt about it. It was a cat.
The tabby’s whiskers twitched.
“Hey, kid, something wrong with your eyes?” it asked. This wasn’t a creature who minced words.
“No, I . . . er . . .” Rintaro scrabbled around for the right thing to say. “My eyesight isn’t all that good, but I can see that there’s a talking cat sitting right in front of me.”
“Splendid,” the cat said, with a nod. It continued:
“The name’s Tiger. Tiger the Tabby.”
There was nothing more bizarre than a cat suddenly introducing itself to you, but Rintaro somehow managed to reciprocate.
“I’m Rintaro Natsuki.”
“I know. You’re the new proprietor of Natsuki Books.”
“New proprietor?”
Rintaro was confused. This was the first he’d heard of it.
“I’m sorry to say I’m just a high school boy, a hikikomori,” he explained. “My grandpa knew all about books, but he’s not around anymore.”