Chapter 21 – People Called Her The Motherless Girl (3)

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After Albert left the library with his book, the space fell into a hollow silence.  

Even the fine dust that had been drifting between the shelves settled as his footsteps faded.  

In this place where cold air wrapped around the skin, I quietly savored the void he left behind.  

‘Yes. This is the kind of stillness I remember.’  

In this space where not even a breeze flowed, heavy, sunken emotions lingered between the bookshelves, unable to disperse.  

Yet, the library was alive.  

As if breathing invisibly, it repeatedly welcomed and bid farewell to its visitors.  

Though I, too, resided here, my presence was merely that of an existence, devoid of any desires.  

I had long since let go of such emotions.  

I simply flipped through books, read, and occasionally pieced together thoughts.  

And I only observed, studied, and thought about butterflies.  

*Creak—! Creak—!*  

At that moment, Lauten descended the wooden stairs connecting the second and first floors.  

With a book tucked under her arm, she moved slowly.  

Her hands, which had been rummaging through the shelves, still seemed to carry the lingering touch of books, and her gaze appeared to already be wandering within the pages.  

“…I get it. Disgusted by the filth of the world, they eventually built a mighty tower of power. And the slaughter was merely a step toward their goal. Right?”  

I neither affirmed nor denied her words.  

I simply nodded with a subtle movement.  

It wasn’t a definitive answer, nor was it a rejection.  

Just a simple reaction.  

A trivial gesture.  

People called it a conversation.  

But I knew better.  

It was more like the motion of a rusty machine tightening an old screw.  

“I see.”  

When I gave only that simple reply, her gaze paused for a moment, as if trying to confirm something, before sinking back into her own world.  

Perhaps she had read a meaning I hadn’t intended.  

Everyone who came here did that.  

But I didn’t correct her.  

I felt no need to explain.  

If the interpretation was already decided, I had no will to change it.  

Reading books, especially about butterflies, was something I excelled at, so I boldly excluded areas where I didn’t.  

But I had no talent for weaving stories.  

Weaving tales was the work of people, and I was born differently.  

Even if humans are included in the category of animals, not all animals are accustomed to walking on four legs. I simply fulfilled my role.  

*Thud—!*  

She gripped the book tightly with both hands.  

Then, standing firmly on both feet, she shouted.  

“That’s it! I’ll take more. More, more!!! I’ll take everything here! Understand!? I’ll burn all the lies and arrogance of the witches’ history!”  

“…As you wish.”  

Her declaration was tinged with madness, yet brimming with vitality.  

As if the printed letters on the page had leapt out and were stirring the library.  

Her eyes burned.  

Filled with hatred, colder than ice, hotter than flames.  

It was clear she despised me.  

Not mere contempt or discomfort, but a deeply ingrained emotion, as if I were something she had to deny with her entire existence.  

“They manipulated people with lies, teaching them as if it were the way of the world. The weak were always sacrificed. This disgusting history of witches… I can’t bear it anymore. Understand!?”  

“……”  

Her fingertips trembled.  

But it wasn’t fear.  

Anger, disgust, and unwavering resolve.  

She seemed ready to act on her beliefs.  

As if her hatred for witches was the only thing sustaining her.  

Or as if she was trying to cover her loneliness and sorrow with hatred, longing for Sirius, whom she might never see again.  

“That’s it. I’m leaving. I’ll take more…”  

And she moved again.  

Leaving the first floor, she climbed the stairs to the second floor.  

The stairs carried the faint scent of cedar, and with each step, the wood creaked warmly.  

But she paid no attention to the sound.  

As if nothing mattered except her goal.  

And, naturally, her destination was the third floor.  

Passing through the Floor of History on the second floor, she pushed Yu Hae aside as he tried to speak to her, heading toward the space where unsorted books were piled.  

The final staircase leading there was made of concrete for some reason.  

Cold walls, dry echoes with each step.  

A stiff chill, entirely different from the warmth of the wooden stairs, crept up her ankles.  

*Thud! Thud!*  

The sound of her shoes hitting the concrete echoed in her ears.  

It wasn’t the gentle creak of wood but a dry, monotonous sound.  

Dust scattered with her footsteps, and fine particles rose into the air, but…  

“Forward.”  

She paid no heed.  

Only forward, forward.  

She pressed on.  

I watched her back and muttered softly, as if reciting without emotion.  

“May you find the book you seek…”  

It was a very formal, ritualistic phrase.  

As if it flowed out automatically.  

At the same time, it was a gloomy, disconnected utterance that revealed my identity.  

And so, she arrived on the third floor.  

 

*****  

 

High above, shadows tangled and drifted like ghosts.  

The bookshelves were stacked like massive walls.  

Endless corridors, suffocating silence, and the scent of books breathing.  

Lauten drifted through it like a ghost.  

From the first floor to the second, and finally to the third.  

As her eyes scanned the shelves, her gaze was greedy, as if swallowing or digging deep into something.  

“Amazing. It’s even bigger than the capital’s library. John Menard… that guy, they said he was an artist, but he really expressed it artistically.”  

Her voice echoed through the library.  

The words bounced off the dusty ceiling, and I felt a strange interest in the reverberation.  

‘…It’s fine to watch for a bit, right?’  

In the end, I ended up watching her.  

It wasn’t that I felt any particular emotion.  

But strangely, today, her presence stood out more than usual.  

*Flip—!*  

I opened a book and quietly observed her words and actions.  

Like an emotionless animal.  

It was just simple curiosity.  

Having been a woman for less than half a year, the sensation of being female still felt awkward and unfamiliar to me.  

After all, identity doesn’t change just because you switch skins.  

Lauten’s fingertips paused as they scanned the shelves.  

“Huh? This is… a record about soldiers. The name is…”  

She carefully flipped through the pages.  

Her slightly parted lips seemed about to say something, but instead, a short, admiring breath escaped.  

It wasn’t just simple interest.  

Her gaze was almost obsessive, as if she had found her destiny.  

I watched her and casually propped my chin on my hand.  

In the golden-hued air of the library, I suddenly wondered what she was searching for.  

What had driven her to such desperation?  

And finally, she whispered.  

“Is this it…? Is this the path to my success? The way to not lose anyone?”  

Her fingertips trembled.  

No, it wasn’t just excitement.  

It was obsession.  

Madness.  

Within it was resentment toward a crumbling world and a resolute determination to achieve something.  

Witches.  

Namely, me.  

It seemed like a resolve directed at the being that had thoroughly trampled her life.  

She acted as if she wanted to reach deep into her bones, her veins, to a place she could never forget.  

“Hey! Witch!!!”  

She shouted at me, as if unwilling to waste any more time, and came down.  

She roughly shoved the book she was holding back into the shelf and instead grabbed five others.  

As if certain of something, or perhaps gone mad.  

And she descended the stairs from the third floor.  

*Thud! Thud! Thud…*  

Dust rose into the air, and the thick scent of cedar spread.  

She didn’t look back.  

As if staying here even a moment longer was a sin.  

“I’ll take these books.”  

*Thump—!*  

The books were thrown roughly in front of me.  

The heavy impact cut through the air and struck me.  

I frowned slightly.  

“I see. Five books. You must be very interested in books, huh?”  

“Stop the nonsense and just approve it.”  

“…Understood.”  

At her irritated voice, I nodded lightly.  

The books were handed over, and finally, I said.  

“I won’t charge you for these.”  

Her fingertips twitched.  

“…Why?”  

I slowly, indifferently opened my mouth.  

“…That’s what Sirius, that uninvited guest and visitor, wanted.”  

At that moment, Lauten’s expression twisted.  

The flames of hatred that had filled her eyes wavered, and the anger she had directed at witches began to mix with confusion, emotion, and something undeniable.  

“Huff… Huff…”  

But she quickly hardened her face.  

As if pushing away her emotions, crushing her hesitation.  

And without another word, she roughly grabbed the books.  

*Thump—!*  

The door opened roughly.  

And then, mercilessly, it closed.  

I stared at the closed door and muttered.  

“What book did she find…?”  

Soon, I read the sentences that appeared before my eyes.  

 

=====  

[Guest: Lauten]  

[Nationality: United States of Greater America]  

[Borrowed Items: *The Way of a Leader*, *The Path for Our People*, *The State, Revolution, and I*, *The Potential of Our People*, *The Path to National Revival*]  

[Author: Park Chung-hee]  

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(Translater Note: Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo)