“Not a problem,” announced the tabby. “My business is with you, the new proprietor.”
It fixed Rintaro with slightly narrowed eyes.
“I need your help.”
“My help?” Rintaro asked.
“Right. Your help.”
“Help with . . . ?”
“There are books that have been imprisoned.”
“Books?”
“Are you a parrot? Stop repeating everything I say like some half-wit.”
The words landed like a slap across Rintaro’s face. The cat, however, paid no attention to his reaction.
“I need to rescue those books.” The jade eyes flashed. “And you have to help me.”
Rintaro sat for a moment in silence, watching the ginger tabby cat. Then he slowly lifted his right hand and began to fiddle with the frame of his glasses. It was his habit whenever he was thinking.
I must be really tired, he thought.
Rintaro closed his eyes, his hand still on his glasses frame.
His grandpa’s death and the stress of the funeral, it had all left him exhausted. He must have drifted off to sleep without realizing it and now he was dreaming. Convinced by his own logic, he opened his eyes again. But there was still a tabby cat sitting calmly right in front of him.
Okay, now I have a problem.
Come to think of it, I’ve been sitting staring at these bookshelves for days now.
I’ve really fallen behind on my reading . . .
Now where did I leave that copy of Candide I just started?
All sorts of random thoughts began to pop into his head.
“Are you listening, Mr. Proprietor?”
The tabby cat’s sharp tone pierced the bubble of Rintaro’s thoughts.
“Look, kid, I’ll say it one more time. I need you to help me save those books.”
“You say you need me, but . . .”
Rintaro was struggling to find the right words.
“I’m useless. Like I said, I’m just a high school hikikomori,” he said earnestly, from his seat behind the register.
For some reason, he couldn’t make himself lie to this talking tabby cat.
“No problem. I already knew you were a miserable, good-for-nothing shut-in,” the cat sneered. “But I still have a favor to ask you.”
“If you already knew that, then why are you asking for my help? There must be millions of people who could do a better job than me,” Rintaro said.
“Goes without saying.”
“And I’ve just lost my grandpa. I’m feeling pretty depressed right now.”
“I get that.”
“So then why—”
“Don’t you like books?”
The tabby cat’s deep voice brushed off all Rintaro’s protests. It was gentler now, but also filled with determination. Rintaro didn’t really understand what the cat was talking about, but its strong presence and the power of its speech seemed to rob him of all reason.
The jade eyes stared straight into Rintaro’s.
“Yes . . . Yes, of course I like books.”
“Then what’s stopping you?”
Everything about the tabby cat was bold and confident—so different from Rintaro himself. The boy began to fiddle with his glasses frame again, desperately trying to figure out what was going on. But there was no explanation that made any sense.