Chapter 5: The Reason for Silence

What is that person searching for?

Life at the academy in my second year was as quiet as the first.

At least, inside the library it was.

The reorganization of the catalog was progressing smoothly.

During my first year, I had verified the placement of every shelf and reassigned classification numbers.

After entering my second year, I extended my work deeper into the closed stacks, refining the catalog’s accuracy.

Teacher Muller still only watched me from behind his reading glasses, but last month he said, “Thanks to you, inquiries from the teachers have decreased.”

Whether that counted as praise was debatable, but it was proof that the library catalog was beginning to function.

The number of student visitors had increased as well.

Somehow, the reputation that “you can find anything if you go to the library” had spread.

Before examinations, the reading seats would fill up.

The number of times I was asked for book locations had increased.

Though I was meant to remain transparent as a mob, my presence as the library management assistant was growing on its own.

Troublesome, but I could not neglect my duties.

Work is work.

After school, as I returned borrowed books to their shelves, I passed by the entrance to the closed stacks.

There was someone inside.

A small-framed young lady with black hair cut neatly below her ears stood in front of a shelf, expressionless.

Elen Bergkhardt.

The count’s daughter I had seen seated in the middle row on the entrance ceremony day.

In the game, she was the third villainess, condemned as the “cold count’s daughter.”

I did not know exactly when she had begun visiting the library.

I noticed it several weeks ago.

Near closing time, when I checked the back of the closed stacks, she was there.

She neither borrowed anything nor asked questions.

She simply sat in front of the shelves.

The next day, she was there again.

And the day after that.

Always the same place.

The deepest part of the closed stacks, near the shelves for pharmacology and healing arts.

A corner where few people ever came.

At first, I did not speak to her.

In my previous life’s library, there had been patrons like this.

People who did not come to read books, but to seek a place to exist.

They did not want conversation.

They simply wanted to sit in a quiet space.

With such people, you do not speak first.

You wait until they move on their own.

That was what I had learned as a librarian in my previous life.

So I said nothing to Elen.

There was only one thing I did.

I reorganized the area around the shelf where she sat.

The pharmacology and healing arts shelf originally had few books.

Only old herb encyclopedias and outdated prescription records scattered sparsely.

It was the least visited corner of the closed stacks.

During the catalog reorganization, I had found several pharmacology-related books misplaced among other shelves.

Introductory pharmacology textbooks.

Cultivation records of medicinal herbs.

Case studies published by royal capital clinics.

By classification, these belonged on this shelf.

As the management assistant, I returned them to their proper place.

Nothing more.

Gradually, the collection near Elen’s shelf increased.

Three weeks passed.

Elen continued coming every day.

Sitting in the same place.

Doing nothing.

One afternoon, as I was checking the shelves in the closed stacks, I noticed something different in her hands.

She had opened a book.

It was the medicinal herb cultivation record.

One I had returned to that shelf the week before.

Her fingers turned the pages slowly.

Whether she was reading or merely staring, her expression did not reveal it.

I said nothing and continued checking the shelves.

Careful not to meet her gaze, I examined the opposite shelf first.

The next day, a book rested on the return counter.

The medicinal herb cultivation record.

I checked the loan card.

The name Elen Bergkhardt was written on it.

She had borrowed it through proper procedure.

I recorded the return date and placed the book back on the shelf.

That was all.

She had simply borrowed a book for the first time.

And yet, something felt different.

Someone who had only sat there for weeks had reached out for a single book.

The librarian’s instinct in me tried to assign meaning to it.

She needed a book on pharmacology.

For someone frail, perhaps.

Or for herself.

I did not know.

But the book had been within reach.

And she had taken it.

That much was certain.

The game’s memory flickered in my mind.

The “cold count’s daughter.”

In the game, Elen had been depicted as an emotionless villain, cutting others down like a doll without feeling.

But the Elen before me was different.

She did not look cold.

Beneath her blank expression was the face of someone suppressing something.

Coming daily to the deepest part of the closed stacks, avoiding people’s eyes.

That was not the behavior of someone cruel.

It was the behavior of someone frightened.

It had been the same with Katia.

Though labeled “arrogant duchess” in the game, in reality she had stood by the wall, biting her lip in endurance.

Viola, too, was supposed to be “scheming,” yet she had truly been fighting fear.

The game’s information and the reality before me did not align.

Three villainesses.

All three bore faces different from their in-game descriptions.

“…How much of the game’s information can I trust?”

I murmured softly at the counter.

Since the day of enrollment, I had used the game’s memory as my guide.

Whom not to approach.

What would happen.

How to avoid it.

Everything had been based on that knowledge.

But a year and a half had passed, and more and more of that knowledge failed to match reality.

The villainesses were not villains.

Then perhaps other information was wrong as well.

The Saint’s actions.

The crown prince’s judgments.

The process of condemnation.

Would events truly unfold as the game had dictated?

I no longer knew.

The after-school library.

Elen was in the closed stacks again today.

She held a different book this time.

A case study collection published by a royal clinic.

Another volume I had relocated to that shelf the week before.

She opened it on her lap and turned the pages quietly.

I passed near her while organizing the shelves.

I did not speak.

I simply worked at my usual distance, as always.

Elen lifted her face slightly.

Our eyes met.

Only for a moment.

She quickly lowered her gaze back to the book.

But in that brief instant, I did not miss what surfaced in her eyes.

Relief.

The faintest trace of relief, as if acknowledging she had been noticed.

I said nothing and moved to the opposite side of the shelf.

My chest tightened slightly.

This person is asking for help.

She simply cannot voice it.

And yet, I am only the management assistant.

A mob.

I have no standing to interfere in the affairs of villainesses.

Even so, my hands moved on their own.

Organizing shelves.

Returning books to proper placement.

Positioning volumes she might need nearby.

I was not speaking to her.

Only adjusting the environment.

In my previous life’s library, I had done the same.

Subtly rearranging shelves for patrons who did not want conversation.

Placing potentially helpful materials within reach.

Waiting until they extended their own hands.

It fell within the scope of my duties.

That was what I told myself.

Closing time approached.

From the back reading area, I heard Gilbert close his book.

As usual, he returned his books at the counter before closing.

“Torres-jou.”

“Yes.”

“The pharmacology shelf in the closed stacks has grown recently.”

It sounded casual, but his eyes were not smiling.

Beneath his usual gentleness was a gaze that seemed to confirm something.

“I simply returned books that had been misplaced on other shelves during reclassification.”

“I see.”

Gilbert glanced at my hands as I accepted his returned book, then turned his gaze toward the closed stacks.

Elen was rising from her seat, quietly leaving the stacks.

“…Elen Bergkhardt-jou.”

It was a quiet murmur.

Not meant for me, but spoken as if confirming to himself.

He knew her.

And when he said her name, his eyes resembled mine when I had seen Katia in the courtyard.

Not the eyes of someone relying on game knowledge.

But of someone looking at the reality before him.

“Good night, Torres-jou.”

“Good night, Gilbert-sama.”

After he left, I locked the library.

As I walked down the corridor, I recalled Elen’s eyes.

That fleeting relief.

Then Gilbert’s voice when he spoke her name.

He knew something.

Something behind Elen’s circumstances.

But I would not ask.

If I asked, I would take another step forward.

The path to the dormitory was dark.

The bell tower rang once.

The usual closing chime.

Tomorrow I would open the library.

Check the shelves.

Write in the catalog.

Lock the doors at closing.

If Elen came again tomorrow, she would sit in the same place.

I would not speak.

I would only ensure the books were there.

That was all I could do.