Three days passed, and finally my fever started coming down. I could manage small bites of food again, though only just enough to slide past my throat.
The meals were a pretty bland salt soup with tiny chopped vegetables floating around in it — fine for a sick person, but once I got my health back, getting my tongue to work together for a proper meal was going to be a real challenge.
I also gradually got used to being called Mine. From now on, I'd have to live as Mine. Better to accept it and move on quickly.
"Mine, are you done?"
"Yeah."
I handed my empty bowl to Turi, who had come to collect the dishes, then obediently lay back down in bed.
"Make sure you sleep properly, okay, Mine?"
The thing is, I haven't left this bedroom in three days?
If I so much as set a foot off the bed for anything other than the toilet, I get forcibly sent right back. Isn't that awful?
And by the way, the toilet in this house is a chamber pot — used right here in the bedroom. The humiliation is off the charts.
For the record, the whole family uses the chamber pot in the bedroom too, and then they just fling the contents out the window!
And sure enough, there was no bath either.
When I couldn't take it anymore and asked someone to help wipe me down, I got the weirdest look.
I can't stand this lifestyle!
Not that it matters — even if I couldn't stand it, a sick little child storming out of the house wasn't going to get me the life I wanted. My mental age was technically that of an adult, so at least I understood that much. No matter how miserable things got, I wasn't going to bolt without thinking about the consequences.
Looking at the state of this house, I couldn't exactly assume the outside world was safe either. I had no idea whether something like child services or orphanages even existed here, and there was no guarantee life would be any better than it was now.
If I ran away because I couldn't handle the filth, I'd most likely end up screaming at worse filth raining down from above, scrambling around in panic until I died of exposure.
The only option was to recover quickly and improve my living conditions.
My first goal: stop getting yelled at for getting out of bed. — Ambitious, huh?
But above all, what I needed were books.
Books were the first step toward improving my living environment. If I just had books, I could probably endure quite a lot of the other unpleasantness. No — I would endure it.
And so, today was the day I decided to finally explore the house. It had been far too long since I'd last read a book, and I was starting to get withdrawal symptoms.
Bring me books, roooaaar! I'm going to cry! A full-grown adult is going to cry their eyes out without a shred of shame!
Since I had an older sister named Turi, there had to be at least ten picture books somewhere in this house. I'd definitely be unable to read the characters, but maybe I could look at the pictures, use my imagination, and try to guess the text.
"Mine, are you asleep?"
Turi popped her head through the door. Seeing me lying obediently in bed, she nodded with satisfaction.
Every time I regained consciousness, I'd try to sneak out of bed to look for books and wander around the house, only to collapse — so Turi, my caretaker, was completely on guard against me.
Mother had asked Turi to watch over me while she went to work during the day, and Turi was dead set on keeping me in bed. No matter how I struggled, my small body didn't stand a chance against Turi.
"Someday I'm definitely going to pull off a 'climb from the bottom to the top.'"
"Mine, what did you say?"
"…Hm? I said I want to grow up big."
There was no way Turi would pick up on the true meaning hidden behind my carefully wrapped words, and she just smiled with a slightly troubled look.
"Once Mine stops getting sick, you'll grow. You're always sick, so you can barely eat, and even though you're five, people sometimes mistake you for three."
So I was five years old. And frail and small besides. That was the first I'd learned of it.
In my memories, birthdays were never really celebrated. Or maybe they were, but I couldn't understand the words yet?
"Is Turi big?"
"I'm six, but people often mistake me for seven or eight, so I guess I'm on the bigger side?"
"Ah, I see."
One year apart and already this kind of body difference.
Looks like climbing from the bottom to the top was going to be tough. Not that I'd give up.
I'd focus on diet and hygiene and work toward getting healthy.
"Mom went to work, so I'm going to wash the dishes now. You absolutely must not get out of bed. You won't get better if you don't sleep, and if you don't get better, you won't grow, understand?"
"Got it."
A convicted bed-escapee, I had been playing the role of a good, well-behaved child since last night to wear down Turi's vigilance. I was waiting for Turi to leave Mine in the bedroom and head out.
"Okay, I'm heading out now. Stay put like a good girl."
"Okaaay."
The moment I gave my sweet, obedient reply, Turi shut the bedroom door with a click.
Without a sound, Mine quietly waited as Turi picked up the basket of dishes and went outside. She always took about twenty to thirty minutes. It seemed like there was no plumbing in individual houses, so there was probably a shared water source somewhere.
Heh heh heh… Go on, hurry up and leave.
A loud clack from what must have been the front door — the lock closing — and then Turi's footsteps on the stairs grew fainter and fainter.
Once she was completely out of earshot, Mine carefully swung her legs off the bed. The gritty sensation of sand and dirt under her bare feet made her grimace.
Walking barefoot on a floor that her family trampled across in their shoes was disgusting, but Turi had confiscated her footwear to keep her from moving around, so there was nothing she could do.
Finding books took priority over dirty feet.
"If only they were in here, this would've been easy…"
The bedroom where I was being held captive still had a lingering fever. It contained two beds, about three wooden boxes for storing clothes and miscellaneous items, and several baskets for odds and ends.
The basket next to the bed held children's toys made of wood and straw, but no books. If there was a bookshelf anywhere, it would be in the living room.
"One small step for… ahhh…"
Each step sent the grit of tiny sand particles crunching under my soles. This was a household where people walked indoors in their shoes, so complaining about it wouldn't change a thing. I knew that.
But knowing it didn't make it any easier for me, with my deeply ingrained Japanese habits. If I was going to live as Mine, there seemed to be an endless list of things I'd have to get used to.
"Ugh, too high…"
The first obstacle of my house exploration was the bedroom door.
If I stretched up desperately, I could technically reach the doorknob — but turning it while barely touching it was far more difficult than I'd expected.
I scanned the room for something to use as a step and spotted a wooden box full of clothes.
"Hnngh…"
An adult might have been able to move the box, but no amount of pushing or pulling budged it with a small child's hands.
I considered flipping over the toy basket and climbing onto it, but my weight would probably send me straight through the bottom.
"I seriously need to grow up fast. There's way too much I can't do like this."
After surveying the bedroom and weighing my options, I decided to roll up my parents' futon and use it as a step.
I absolutely refused to put my own futon on the dirty, shoe-worn floor, but using my parents' futon — which apparently survived this living environment just fine — should be no problem. Surely.
If it meant getting my hands on a book, a little parental anger was hardly a major obstacle.
"Heave-ho…"
I rolled it up, climbed on, stretched to my full height, and threw my entire weight into turning the doorknob. With a groan, the door swung open — inward.
"Whoa!?"
The door came barreling toward me with considerable force. I nearly cracked my head on it, panicked and let go, then toppled backward with a roll.
"Waaah!"
Tumble tumble… bonk!
I rolled off the rolled-up futon and hit my head.
"Ow ow ow…"
Clutching my head, I sat up. The door was open a little, at least. The bump on my head was a wound honorably sustained.
"It worked. It's open!"
I sprang to my feet, jammed my hand into the gap, and shoved the door all the way open.
My parents' futon slid across the floor with a grinding swish, leaving a clean patch behind. Pretended I didn't see that.
"Ah, the kitchen."
Stepping out of the bedroom, I found myself in the kitchen. It wasn't the kind of nice, modern kitchen you'd call a "kitchen." More like a cooking area or a scullery — that was the sort of place this was.
In one corner sat a hearth, with metal pots, a ladle, and what looked like a frying pan hanging from nails driven into the wall.
A cord was strung from wall to wall, and from it hung what appeared to be a grimy rag. Wiping with that would only make things dirtier.
"At this point, I'm starting to feel like being sickly is pretty much unavoidable."
In the center of the room stood a not-so-large table, two three-legged chairs, and one wooden box that probably doubled as a chair.
On the right was a cupboard — probably for dishes — a wooden cabinet with handles on its doors. In the corner opposite the hearth sat a large basket stacked with what looked like potatoes and onions. There was a big water jug and something that vaguely resembled a sink where water could flow, but there was still no plumbing.
A quick sweep of the room revealed two doors besides the one leading back to the bedroom where Reino had emerged.
"Hehehe~ Hmm, which door is the right one?"
This kitchen didn't exactly scream "bookshelf inside." I opened the other door that led to a different room.
"Hmm, a storage closet?"
The room was crammed with things Reino couldn't identify — a chaotic jumble of objects. There were some shelves, but everything was cluttered and disorganized. This clearly wasn't a room that got regular use.
"What a dud…"
Resigned, I tried the other door. A sharp click told me it was locked. I rattled the handle several times, but it showed absolutely no sign of budging.
"…Could it be the door Turi left through? Wait — both are wrong?! No winning options?!"
I muttered out loud and instinctively grabbed my head.
If this was the only door to the outside, then this house had no bath, no toilet, no plumbing, and no bookshelf — a 2DK with nothing but missing amenities. There clearly weren't any other rooms.
Hey, God — what did I ever do to you?!
The reincarnators you read about in novels usually ended up in noble or wealthy families. At the very least, they rarely suffered from real poverty. Having memories and common sense as a Japanese person, yet living in a home with no bath, no toilet, no plumbing — it was beyond anything I could have imagined.
But the worst problem of all was that there wasn't a single book in sight. Not even in the room that served as a storage closet.
"…Could books possibly be expensive?"
Even on
"Fine. If that's how it is, I'll start by searching for printed text."
Even without books, it wasn't as though I couldn't study characters at all.
"…Nothing. There's nothing! Not a single thing! What is this house?!"
I rummaged through the kitchen cupboard and the storage room shelves one by one, but in this entire house, there wasn't a single item with printed characters on it. Forget books — there was nothing with text at all.
Before even getting to print, there was no paper.
"What is going on?"
As if my fever had spiked all at once, a throbbing pain shot through my head. My heart hammered loudly, and my eardrums tightened with a high-pitched whine.
Like a taut string snapping, my body crumpled to the kitchen floor.
Behind my eyes, it burned.
Being crushed to death by books — that was how I wanted to go.
Getting reincarnated — well, fine.
But really — am I supposed to live here?
With what, exactly?
Being reincarnated into a world where books didn't exist was beyond anything I could have prepared for. What on earth was I born for?
Unable to find any meaning in going on, I was overwhelmed by despair, and the tears wouldn't stop.
"Mine! Why aren't you in bed?! You can't get off the bed without shoes on!"
Turi, who had returned at some point, spotted me crumpled on the kitchen floor and let out a shout.
"…Turi, there are no books."
I wanted to read so badly, and there were no books.
I had no idea how I was supposed to live from here on out.
"What's wrong? Does something hurt?"
Dazed and blank, tears streaming down my face, I heard Turi's worried voice.
There was no point pleading to Turi, who didn't find anything odd about a world without books. She'd never understand how I felt.
I wanted books.
I wanted to read.
Hey — who do I have to tell so that someone understands?
Where do I go to find books?
Someone, please tell me.
I was in despair. No books in the whole house.
Next time, I'm going outside to look for books.
Yes, I know — I keep talking about despair, and yet I still haven't learned my lesson.