Honobono Reina, 22 years old.
I love books. I love them more than anything.
I love them more than three meals a day.
I love how through the printed word, I can touch someone else's knowledge—I love touching their delusions, too. Following the author's thoughts from there makes my heart dance and my face can't help but break into a grin.
When I read a book packed with all kinds of knowledge, I feel like I've hit the jackpot. And browsing photo collections in bookstores or libraries lets me see worlds I've never set foot in with my own eyes—don't you think that's intoxicating, how it keeps expanding?
Even old foreign tales offer glimpses of customs from different eras and different countries, which is endlessly fascinating. Every field has its history, and once you start unraveling it, you lose all track of time—that's just the way it is for me.
Psychology, religion, history, geography, pedagogy, folklore, mathematics, physics, geology, chemistry, biology, art, physical education, language, stories—I love from the bottom of my heart the books into which humanity's accumulated knowledge has been crammed tight.
Thick, imposing encyclopedias, complete literary collections with not a single volume missing, specialized journals that look plain on the outside but are packed with cutting-edge content, colorful magazines loaded with photographs, novels full of elaborate prose, light novels that sell like crazy despite being thin on substance, big picture books for children, manga that have become a culture
And then there's the musty smell unique to old books gathered in a library's archives—that faintly dusty, aged scent. I savor it slowly, and just knowing those years-old books are there makes me shiver with pleasure.
Of course, the smell of fresh paper and new ink is irresistible too. Just thinking about what might be written there, whether new knowledge awaits, is enough to make me giddy.
I want to spend my whole life surrounded by books.
Ideally, I'd spend my entire life in a reading room built to keep sunlight off the books while allowing good airflow.
No matter if people call my skin deathly pale and creepy, no matter if they say I'm unhealthy from lack of exercise, no matter if I get scolded for skipping meals—I can't let go of a book.
If I'm going to die anyway, I want to die buried in books. Honestly, being buried in books on a bed is a far happier way to go than dying peacefully on a tatami mat.
—No, to be precise, that's what I *used to* think.
The truth is, I!
Just a little while ago, I actually died buried in books in a massive earthquake!
Yes, exactly as I'd wished—is there a problem?
I had it coming, of course, but the reason I can't sincerely thank God is that I had just gotten my librarian certification and had *just* secured a position at a university library, in an era when jobs are scarce.
Please, God.
If you can, please reincarnate me.
I haven't read nearly enough yet.
In my next life, I want to read books again.
And I want to become a librarian in a library.
I want to spend my days surrounded by books from morning to night.
Of course, a librarian's job isn't just reading books. If you're working, you can't exactly sit around reading. I know that.
But compared to other jobs, the time spent surrounded by books is overwhelmingly longer, isn't it? Just being surrounded by them makes me happy.
The blissful feeling of inhaling the scent of paper and ink—anyone can understand that, right?
The fact that humans alone have been leaving behind written words to convey knowledge, that this purely intellectual act has been carried on since ancient times—if you look back at history even a little, doesn't it absolutely make your heart race?
As long as I can read books, that's all that matters.
Now then, God. If you understand my wish, hurry up and reincarnate me.
Because once I'm reborn, I'm going to read books all over again.