I Really Don't Notice Volume 2, Prologue - ‘Ignorance is a Bliss’

Volu 2, Prologue: ‘Ignorance is a?Bliss’

“In this wide, wide world, do you think you’re the main character? Or are you a side character?”

I wonder when it was that he asked such a thing. It felt like just yesterday, but it felt like it could just as well have been over ten years ago. At the ti, as I recall, he was reading a small and thin paperback book, while I was reading a big, thick Corocoro.

That’s how we would usually spend our ti.

He made a bittersweet smile as he waited for my answer.

“Let’s see…” I thought.

When I was small, I thought I was the hero. That there was an incredible power hidden in , that I’d soday beco a hero of justice, that I’d fight the bad guys for the sake of world peace. I firmly believed it.

But as I grew older, such thoughts faded away.

In Gentle Breeze Park, the lady in the strange suit taught .

There are no heroes of justice in the world.

It’s simply impossible.

If in the million to one chance a hero of justice existed—that a protagonist was out there, then at that very mont, as I wasn’t fighting for the world, I was a side role you could find wherever you looked. Nothing more than bystander A.

But despite that.

“I think I’m the main character. In my life’s story, the main character can only be .”

For the ti being, I decided to say sothing cool. I think my strongest intention was to convince myself.

“Hmm. I see. You say so cool things.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t think I’m either. No, they’re just both wrong would be more accurate. I’m not a main or side character, and no one in the world’s a main or side character.”

Unable to grasp his aning, I tilted my head.

“Main characters and side characters don’t exist in this world, And it goes without saying that villains don’t exist either. All that’s there in the world… is readers.”

“Readers?”

“Humans are all readers browsing a book titled ‘self’. An unfortunate person’s ‘self’ just wasn’t written to their tastes, that’s all there is to it.”

With a sowhat pitying smile, he spoke as if he had it all figured out.

I myself, half understanding, half oblivious, sohow managed to ask back.

“But if humans are all readers, then who’s writing the story?”

“That’s”

He stuck up his index finger to point at the sky. Bitter and sweet, a smile that truly fit him floating on his face, he spoke in jest.

“—Got to be god, right?”