Chapter 2: The Resident of the Library

Returning borrowed books to their shelves.

That had been my after-school routine for the past month.

One month had passed since enrollment.

The library catalog left by my predecessor was nearly useless.

The classification numbers did not match the actual shelf locations.

In the first place, nearly thirty percent of the books had no classification numbers assigned at all.

In my previous life’s library, that would have been a serious problem.

But here, no one was troubled by it.

There were so few students who used the library that even a broken catalog went unnoticed.

For me, it was rather convenient.

Rebuilding a collapsed catalog takes time.

And time meant I had a legitimate reason to stay shut inside the library.

Walking between shelves, checking spines, reassigning classifications, copying them into a new catalog.

Plain, quiet, and unnoticed work.

As daily life for a mob, there was nothing better.

The library was quiet again after school today.

The western sunlight streamed through the windows, dyeing the old shelves a deep orange.

Dust drifted slowly within the beams of light.

I gathered the books stacked on the return desk into my arms and walked between the shelves.

“History goes here, magical theory over there, heraldry records… second row, fourth shelf from the top.”

Murmuring softly, I slid each book into place.

The fact that I could now tell their classifications just by glancing at the spines was the result of checking every shelf over the past month.

When I returned the final book, I noticed a figure seated in the back reading area.

That person again.

The one whose documents I had picked up on the first day.

The second son of the chancellor’s family, Gilbert Weiss.

Since that day, he had begun visiting the library frequently.

He always sat in the same seat in the back, spreading out thick books and old booklets.

Teacher Muller had told me he held special permission as an auditing student.

Though he was one year above, he was apparently allowed to attend classes in this year as well.

The son of the chancellor’s house, coming to the library every afternoon.

Ordinarily, places like the dining hall or salon would be far more politically meaningful for expanding connections.

And yet, he was always here.

I had decided not to get involved.

I had thought he was safe because he did not appear in the game.

But the title of chancellor’s second son was conspicuous enough.

Simply being near him carried the risk of being dragged into something.

So even when he came, I spoke only the minimum necessary.

As the management assistant, I confirmed his seat usage and informed him of closing time.

Nothing more.

That was my intention today as well.

I returned to the counter and resumed updating the catalog.

I copied the contents of the shelves I had confirmed today into the new ledger.

The closed stacks in the old wing were especially chaotic, with dozens of books completely displaced from their original positions.

Last week, while organizing the deepest section of the closed stacks—behind the restricted shelf—I found several books wedged between the shelf and the wall.

Judging by the dust, they had been left there for years.

One of them was strange.

A thin, unbound booklet.

On its cover, handwritten: Personnel Transfer Records of the Temple Audit Bureau, Third to Fifth Terms.

Inside were personnel records of the audit bureau.

The assignments, transfers, and reassignment dates of auditors were listed plainly.

It was not a document that belonged in the library.

Nor was it forbidden.

It was merely a personnel record.

I confirmed from the classification stamp on the cover that it was not a restricted document.

There was no Temple “Internal Only” seal, only “Administrative Record – General.”

Meaning it should have originally been stored in the administrative archive and had somehow ended up misplaced in the library’s closed stacks.

As the management assistant, if I found a document with unclear affiliation, I needed to decide whether to return it to its proper place or deliver it to the responsible office.

I checked its contents to determine its shelving destination.

As I turned the pages, I noticed the pattern of records changed at a certain point.

Five years ago, two auditors had been transferred at the same time.

Their transfer destination was the kingdom’s frontier—effectively a demotion.

There was no trace of replacement personnel afterward.

In other words, for five years, the audit bureau’s active workforce had been significantly reduced.

I closed the booklet immediately.

Considering the meaning of that was not part of my job.

I had confirmed only what was necessary to determine its placement.

As an administrative record, it should be returned to the administrative archive via the academy office.

However, I had been unable to decide how to handle it.

Delivering it to the office would settle the matter.

But if I reported, “I found Temple Audit Bureau personnel records behind a shelf in the library,” they might ask why I had been searching such a place.

Explaining that I was organizing the closed stacks as part of my duties should suffice, but the fact that a viscount’s daughter had handled Temple-related documents could attract unnecessary attention.

In this world, topics related to the Saint were sensitive.

Simply being perceived as a viscount’s daughter interested in Temple materials could become troublesome.

A mob must not stand out.

In the end, I temporarily stored the booklet in the drawer of the counter.

I needed time to consider the proper recipient.

I set down my pen and lifted my head.

From the back reading area, I could hear Gilbert Weiss turning pages.

Over the past month, I had noticed a pattern in the books he read.

As the management assistant returning books to the shelves, it was natural to see what each person had borrowed.

Temple institutional history.

Commentaries on religious law concerning the Saint.

Original treaties defining the authority of the Temple and the royal family.

Consistently, he read only materials related to the Temple and the Saint system.

It was whispered in the academy that his mother had been falsely accused through a Saint’s oracle.

It had happened before enrollment.

I did not know the details, but it was said she had been sent to a convent.

That was likely why he researched Temple materials.

It had nothing to do with me.

Nothing to do with me, and yet.

The booklet in my drawer would not leave my mind.

That personnel record.

The unnatural transfers of two auditors.

A document of uncertain placement, sitting in my drawer.

As a management assistant, knowing a document was not in its proper place unsettled me.

In my previous life’s library, materials of unclear destination were always handled by consulting someone capable of making the decision.

If I could not judge it myself, I would ask someone who understood the content.

That was procedure.

Right now, in this library, there was someone who routinely investigated Temple institutions.

This was not emotion.

It was logic.

As the management assistant, I would confirm the appropriate handling of this material with someone capable of judging it.

That was all.

I opened the drawer.

Taking the booklet in hand, I walked toward the back reading area.

“Gilbert-sama.”

When I called out, he lifted his face from the book.

Deep blue eyes looked at me.

The same color as on the first day.

“While organizing the closed stacks, I found this booklet misplaced behind a general shelf.”

I placed it at the edge of his table.

“It appears to be an administrative record, but not part of the library’s collection, and I am unable to determine its proper placement. Since you have been reading Temple-related materials, might you know its jurisdiction?”

I was not lying.

It was true that I did not know its placement.

It was true that he read Temple-related texts.

Gilbert looked at the cover.

His eyes changed for just a moment.

His expression did not move.

The gentleness at the corner of his mouth remained.

But the temperature in his gaze cooled slightly.

“…May I open it?”

“Please do.”

He began turning the pages.

Quickly.

He was not reading.

He was confirming.

His fingers moved without hesitation, the motions of someone searching for specific information.

After a few minutes, he closed the booklet.

“Torres-jou.”

“Yes.”

“This is indeed an administrative record of the Temple Audit Bureau. It was likely mixed into the library by mistake during a transfer of holdings several years ago. It is not a document meant to circulate externally.”

“Then should it be returned to the administrative archive via the academy office?”

“No.”

There was a slight pause.

“I will take custody of it. Through my father’s connections, I can return it to the appropriate department.”

As the chancellor’s family, they certainly had channels to the administrative archive.

It might even be more reliable than going through the office.

“Understood. I apologize for the trouble.”

That should have been the end.

“Torres-jou.”

He called my name again.

“Did you look at the contents?”

For a moment, I hesitated.

If I said no, the matter would end.

But I had said I could not determine its placement from the cover alone.

It was natural that I had checked inside.

Lying would be more unnatural.

“I glanced at the first few pages in order to determine its placement.”

I answered honestly.

Gilbert looked at me.

Not the cooled gaze from when he examined the document.

It was as though he were appraising me, yet without hostility.

A curious look.

“You noticed that I was reading Temple-related materials and brought this booklet to me. Is that correct?”

“No. As the management assistant, I merely consulted someone capable of judging how to handle a document of uncertain affiliation.”

“…I see.”

The corner of Gilbert’s mouth moved slightly.

Perhaps he smiled.

“You are a prudent person.”

I did not quite understand what he found prudent, but there was no need to probe further.

“Then, I must prepare for closing time. Please excuse me.”

I bowed lightly and returned to the counter.

I felt his gaze on my back.

I did not turn around.

Sitting in the chair, I opened the catalog ledger.

The hand holding my pen felt slightly cold.

Was it correct to hand him that booklet?

As the management assistant, I had properly handled a misplaced document.

That was all.

The meaning of its contents and what he was investigating had nothing to do with me.

I began preparing to close.

Clearing the return desk.

Straightening the chairs.

Closing the windows.

From the back seat, I sensed Gilbert rising.

The faint rustle of cloth as he put the booklet into his bag.

His footsteps approached and stopped before the counter.

“It is closing time.”

“Yes, I am aware.”

He returned two books to the counter.

As usual.

“Torres-jou.”

How many times had he called my name today?

“This catalog—”

His gaze shifted to the new ledger spread across the counter.

“Are you rebuilding it?”

“Yes. There are many discrepancies between the existing catalog and the actual shelves, so I am updating it as I verify each section.”

Gilbert leaned in to look at the ledger.

On its pages were the classification numbers, titles, and shelf locations I had confirmed over the past month.

“This classification system differs from the academy’s standard.”

“The previous system was not functioning, so I reorganized it into a more practical structure.”

“…It is far more accurate than the academy’s academic archive catalog.”

It was likely a courtesy.

But his eyes studied the ledger seriously.

“It is my duty as the management assistant.”

“I doubt many assistants could bring it to this state in a single month.”

I did not know how to respond.

Being praised any further would trouble me as a mob.

“Please take care on your way back. I will be closing.”

I cut the conversation short.

Gilbert seemed about to say something, but closed his mouth and inclined his head lightly.

“Good night, Torres-jou. Until tomorrow.”

Until tomorrow.

Meaning he would come again tomorrow.

His footsteps faded, and the library door closed.

I locked it and stepped into the corridor.

The evening light dyed the stone floor orange.

As I walked toward the dormitory, I reviewed my actions.

Was it truly necessary to hand him that booklet?

Delivering it to the office would have sufficed.

There was risk of attracting attention, but handing it directly to the chancellor’s second son—was that not even more unnatural?

No, it was not unnatural.

He was a regular of the library and routinely consulted Temple-related materials.

Asking him about the jurisdiction of an administrative record was a rational decision for a management assistant.

It should have been rational.

And yet, a small unease lingered in my chest.

The transfer of those two auditors.

The unfilled vacancies for five years.

I did not know what it meant.

I did not need to know.

It had nothing to do with a mob.

As I walked down the dormitory corridor, the bell tower rang once.

The bell announcing closing time.

I heard it every day as I locked the library.

Tomorrow, I would hear it again and lock the door the same way.

That was all.

Two years and eleven months more of such days.

I opened my room door and sat on the bed.

I recalled Gilbert Weiss’s eyes.

The brief change when he saw the booklet’s cover.

The appraising gaze.

His words: “You are a prudent person.”

And then the serious expression when he looked at the catalog.

“…He said he would come again tomorrow.”

My mutter fell into the small room.

I had decided not to get involved, and yet I had once again done something unnecessary.

Just like the day I picked up those documents.

I could not ignore what lay before me.

Outside the window, it was already dark.

The orange glow of evening had vanished, and a single star shone in the indigo sky.

Tomorrow I would open the library, return books to the shelves, write in the catalog, and lock the doors at closing.

That was enough.

Whatever he was investigating, whatever was written in that booklet, it had nothing to do with me.

It should have nothing to do with me.

I closed my eyes.

I felt as though the scent of old paper still lingered at my fingertips.