A vast library stretched out before . It was so imnse that, even after expanding my Appraisal to a greater range, I still couldn’t grasp its full size.
I remained still in my chair, staring at it.
Priyanka had taken on walks before, and we had already co near this place once, but I usually didn’t pay attention to my surroundings to avoid wasting energy.
“It seems that she likes this place.” Connie’s voice ca from behind , directed toward her father. She probably thought I wouldn’t understand her because I couldn’t see her lips; unfortunately for her, my eyes were only for show. Nothing escaped Appraisal.
“Mhm? Is that so? She seems the sa to ,” Doug said, his tone doubtful at Connie’s remark.
His perception wasn’t unusual. Any normal person would never be able to read my intentions unless they paid very close attention to my actions.
“That’s because Dad is only looking at her face,” Connie replied, as if she were talking to a clueless newbie in an online MMORPG complaining about not being able to beat the first boss.
“To understand Asha, you first need to look at her hands and then her eyes. Look, she just twisted her middle finger, and her eyes are a little lighter than usual. It ans she’s a little anxious and intimidated by the sight.”
Connie began analyzing in real ti. She was right about my feelings, but not about the reason behind them.
The real reason I was anxious was that the more she talked, the more I realized how terrifying her analysis skills were.
Maybe because she used a sword in the original work, Connie had naturally been a child gifted with many physical talents, including her sharp perception.
How could soone read others just from the movent of a middle finger? That was absurd. I quickly hid my hand between my thighs, trying to keep it out of sight. I felt far too exposed just because of my hands.
Maybe it was because my hands were what I focused on the most in my daily life that I was unconsciously sending signals through them like an old gar jumping while walking in a ga for no reason other than habit.
I really needed to fix this bad habit.
But whether they knew my true feelings or not, Doug and Connie kept talking to each other.
“Can you tell just from the movent of her middle finger? Isn’t that just a guess?” he asked with genuine curiosity.
“Of course it could be, but based on my daily observations, there’s an 80% chance Asha is feeling anxious right now. This is a pattern she shows often when she’s watching Super Drill before a tense climax.”
She explained to her father with precise examples, even listing which fingers I moved the most and in what situations I did it.
Doug looked at my hands as if he’d just discovered a hidden gem, genuinely impressed.
“Oh, I can see it now. That’s a little cute,” he said, laughing softly. “When did you beco so sharp at analyzing people?”
“I learned from Dad~” Connie said with an innocent smile.
“You little… You’re cute too.” Doug ruffled Connie’s hair, hiding his face with his other hand, a little moved by her words.
It was a beautiful scene between father and daughter, but unfortunately, the topic was . It was so embarrassing that they analyzed so openly that I could die.
I grabbed the edge of her clothes, telling her to hurry up.
Connie, feeling my touch, stopped the conversation abruptly and looked at .
"Oh, sorry for keeping you waiting." She apologized when she noticed the intensity of my grip and read my intention to hurry up and leave this place.
Silence followed once again, and we finally reached the library.
The library was big and old, but not many people were inside. A few students sat at scattered tables reading technical books, likely university textbooks, along with so older people in their fifties.
The students’ movents didn’t seem those of people familiar with the place; they kept checking the shelves and flipping through books, perhaps doing so research.
The older visitors, on the other hand, seed to be regulars; the books in front of them were already more than halfway read.
Considering it was a weekday, it felt premature to judge whether the library truly struggled to attract people or if its regulars were simply elsewhere. It’s possible that more students co here on weekends.
That ant if I wanted to return and avoid unnecessary friction, I should co on weekday mornings or afternoons rather than evenings or weekends.
At least, that’s what I gathered from the available data.
While I was lost in these thoughts, Doug and Connie continued pushing my wheelchair inside.
The mont we entered, a few glances turned our way. That was natural. I was in a wheelchair, pushed by a girl who didn’t look much older than physically, and accompanied by a man who clearly didn’t fit the profile of an avid reader.
Even with such an unusual combination, one person remained calm and utterly disinterested. She had rare blue hair, probably dyed, nose piercings, and dark circles under her eyes. Her whole deanor radiated indifference.
She wore headphones while fiddling with her phone. As we approached, she didn’t even make eye contact but still greeted us with a flat tone.
"Good afternoon... Make yourself at ho." She spoke like a student forced to read aloud in class, completely detached and fed up.
She probably wasn’t much older than , at least when considering my past life age, yet she already looked like soone who had faced every frustration life could offer.
Her personality seed peculiar, and she hardly looked like soone suited to run a library on a regular basis.
I glanced at Connie. Given how much she read, she was probably a regular here too. But instead of the ease of soone in a familiar place, her face held the wary curiosity of seeing sothing strange.
That expression told this woman didn’t usually manage the place. She had probably started working here recently, especially considering Connie usually leaves the house once a week on weekends.
It was safe to assu she hadn’t been here until last weekend.
Fortunately, it was unlikely we’d need her assistance. Since Connie was a frequent visitor, she could probably lead straight to the books I wanted.
And as for what kinds of books I’d choose, the answer couldn’t be more obvious.
A book about sound waves was what I needed most.
Until now, all my knowledge was empirical; I hadn’t attended school properly in my previous life, and I frequently struggled with my grades.
I wasn’t smart. I never was.
I suffered from severe ADHD, and it was hard to even listen to a teacher’s voice without falling asleep. I was always the last one to finish my tests in the entire class, and the teachers often looked at with faces that said they didn’t know what to do.
That, among other reasons, made attend school even less and focus more on my work, which was helping carry things or selling strange items in the streets to buy my dinner.
It was a busy and tiring life. When I grew older, I could finally enjoy little luxuries like gas and ani, but before that, it was nothing but dull routines.
That’s why I wanted to do it properly this ti, now that I had ti and a clear mind.
As we approached, Connie looked at and asked so questions.
"Which book do you want? Sothing about drawings?"
She also seed a little curious about my tastes. I naturally wrote my intentions on the paper.
[Sound waves.]
It was simple and straight to the point.
Connie looked at the paper, a little confused.
She knew well that I wasn’t the kind of person who would study things, but rather spend my ti drawing, watching TubeTube, or reading the fiction books on her bookshelf.
And even those books, I didn’t read very far into. I was a little scared to touch books since I had almost died last ti I tried and expanded my Appraisal to an atomic level.
But I was determined to face those fears once and for all.
"Did you just want a book about that? I think you would like this one more." Connie explored the shelves and took out a beautifully illustrated book called The Principles of the Three Fras – Animation Manual.
The cover was clean, and the title was self-explanatory yet intriguing. Three fras, what was the principle behind it? How could I make beautiful animations with only three fras?
I had so ideas, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the effort the author must have put into condensing all this knowledge into one book...
But I shouldn’t look at it.
My goal was sound waves; everything else was a distraction. I refused the book by gently pushing it away with my hand, keeping my focus.
I wasn’t the sa impulsive gem I once was; my ditations weren’t just for show. I looked at my thoughts without reacting.
'Wah... so pretty.'
'Ugh, I really want it. Do I need to choose only a single book?'
'I want it. Won’t I have it? That’s so sad. I really want it.'
I sighed at my own thoughts, which seed to spiral out of control. I just wanted to grab the book and leave this place as fast as possible.
But Connie, seeing my strong rejection, felt a strange need to suggest books I could potentially read.
"If not this one, what about that?" she said, bringing a thick book with few illustrations. The title was Algorithms – Analyze Systems as a Professional.
I swallowed hard, looking at the cover. I would probably spend a lot of ti reading it. It could be useful, since I could improve the automation of my gem, but at the sa ti, I didn’t want to take on too much at once.
My goal was truly to learn more about sound waves, one step at a ti. I didn’t want to be distracted by anything outside that focus. Maybe I could read that book later, but not now.
Again, I refused the book. Connie seed a little shocked, as if she hadn’t expected I’d turn it down.
Honestly, I was so tempted that even my ditation wasn’t working anymore.
'Will you refuse that book? You're crazy!'
'Imagine how interesting it would be. The book is so big...'
'It’s useful. I really need it. I need it now. I need it!'
My mind was like a spoiled child crying aloud for everyone to hear. Even without reacting to those thoughts and knowing their nature, I could feel my fingers trembling.
Connie tried again to pick another book, but I grabbed the hem of her clothes before she could tempt again.
I didn’t want to lose control; I was working so hard every day.
[SOUND WAVES]
I pointed at the words again to make it clear I wasn’t interested in anything else.
This was a complete lie. I wanted those books so badly I could die. If my face could move, I’d probably be biting my lips like soone desperate to use the bathroom.
I wanted Connie to stop . I wanted her to buy the books regardless of what my rational mind commanded.
At this point, I understood how easily reason could be overshadowed by emotion. But even with so much internal contradiction, I insisted on refusing.
And Connie, being a naturally obedient kid, simply accepted my decision.
She slowly nodded at my words.
Watching her accept so easily left frustrated, but I knew my feelings were irrational.
"I don’t know if there’s a book focused on it, but I’ll search for it..." she said, scanning the shelves and trying to rember sothing.
"It will take a while to find." She touched her chin, lost in thought, looking at with a worried expression.
She was probably reluctant to leave alone. Honestly, this was a useless worry, so I imdiately stopped her thoughts.
[I’m fine. You can go.]
Connie looked troubled at those words, maybe because of the promise she had made to her mother.
Her eyes glanced toward Doug, who was watching us distractedly in the background.
She knew I felt a little uncomfortable around Doug, making her worries deepen.
But I knew that as long as Doug didn’t touch , there wouldn’t be any problems.
I grabbed the tip of her clothes to pull her attention away from useless thoughts.
[I’m fine.]
She seed conflicted between taking with her or leaving here, but naturally, she made her decision.
"I’ll be back soon...!"
She said it, and then she walked away quickly, leaving just and Doug in an uncomfortable silence.
"......"
[......]
On second thought, that may not have been the smartest decision.
The problem I had with Doug wasn’t only physical but also ntal. We had lived in the sa house for months and shared the sa food.
But we were still strangers to each other.
Connie was the glue that naturally connected us; she could chat casually with Doug without losing sight of the fact that I was there.
But the mont that figure left, the situation beca clear. In terms of our relationship, we were worse than strangers.
I looked at Doug, who wore a blank expression beside while playing with his stupid coin, feeling a little guilty.
There were many things I wanted to talk to him about, but I was unconsciously avoiding him, as if I didn’t want to suffer any discomfort.
But in this place, an unexpected opportunity ca. It wasn’t a bad idea to stay on good terms with Doug, and even if it was, I was already connected to Connie on so level; the future was dark anyway.
I decided to accept it and move on. If I stayed in this family, I would inevitably get more entangled with the Maheswarans. And if I ran away, I couldn’t even imagine the impact it would have on Priyanka and Connie.
This would change the genre of this cartoon from action and cody to drama and tragedy the mont Connie appeared in the show.
If I stayed, I would affect the original in an unknown way, and if I left, I would affect it in an even more incalculable way.
My mind quickly decided that the best thing to do was simply accept the situation. And so, in order to create a healthy bond, I had to get along with Doug.
Or at least that’s how I tried to rationalize my choices.
I looked at the paper, determined, and tried to collect all the information I had about making friends. Maybe I should start with sothing simple, like… the weather, probably.
I spread a little of my energy to analyze the surrounding temperature and how it was affecting the concrete on the ground and the plants absorbing it.
After a careful analysis, I made the most rational assumption.
I wrote the words in my notebook and showed them to Doug, holding it with both hands.
[It’s hot.]
It was simple and succinct, clearly conveying the aning in a way that would avoid any doubt about the facts.
The day was clearly hot, and the concrete had absorbed a large amount of solar radiation.
People often complained about the weather. I never understood why, but they could talk for hours about their problems.
That’s why I simply said the weather was hot, simulating a disgruntled deanor that would generate sympathy between us and naturally stimulate conversation.
Even then, I was calculating how Doug would react next and how right I was.
However, unlike the expected behavior, Doug just laughed a little and shook his head.
"Yes, it’s very hot outside. I’m happy this library has good air conditioners."
[...]
I missed this small detail.
There was indeed an air conditioner in this library, so there was no reason for Doug to feel bad about the weather since his body was in good condition.
So my previous analysis wasn’t wrong; it simply couldn’t be applied here.
But, well, at least the silence was broken. It was strange to start a conversation like that, but a topic was a topic.
I tried to think about more things regarding the weather.
[The sky is really beautiful today.]
People often talk about the beauty of the sky and how it brings them mories. There were many popular songs about the sky in my past life, and the religious anings of freedom it carried.
And beyond the sky was space, aning an infinite possibility of topics to talk about.
"Do you think so? It’s a little cloudy outside, and it looks like it’ll rain tonight."
Was the sky cloudy today? My Appraisal was limited to a radius surrounding my body.
Since I lost my senses, I had never truly “looked” at the sky. Maybe I could do it using a telescope or by analyzing pictures.
The lack of information made commit another mistake in my approach. But not all was lost; so people also liked cloudy days, and even in Arican culture, there were many songs about the lancholy of rain.
[I like clouds.]
"I see."
[I also like rain.]
"Yes, I also like it when it rains sotis."
The conversation started strangely, but I was satisfied with the flow. People beco closer when they share things they like.
I rembered that most girls in my class would share secrets about their relationships and talk about their preferences.
In order to obtain the sa results, I tried to incorporate the behavior of those girls in my head.
Their flow naturally included many affirmations, but also useless and excessive questions about trivial details.
In order to have a good conversation, I should also ask questions to enrich our interaction.
[Why?]
"Why, you say?" Doug asked, a little confused about my question.
Maybe I should put more effort into it.
[Why sotis?]
"Oh, so you an that," Doug said, putting his hand on his chin, thinking.
"I work in a water park, so when it rains, things get a little out of control among the children. We usually work twice as hard on rainy days to avoid accidents."
Doug explained so details about his job and his daily routine. I didn’t need to ask questions anymore; he was talking all by himself.
When he was engrossed in his own chatter, a small sound ca from the surroundings.
"Shh!" It was an old woman with a frown, reading a book. She seed a little troubled by Doug’s sudden talking.
"Oh, sorry." Doug imdiately apologized to the old woman, who seed dissatisfied.
When he returned to his seat, a strange silence flowed between us again.
"..."
[...]
This old woman had just thrown all my efforts to create a good atmosphere into the trash.
I looked at my notebook, dissatisfied, and tried to think of topics to talk about again, but nothing ca to mind.
But the conversation needed to keep flowing; I couldn’t lose the timing.
[Sorry.]
"Uhm? Why are you apologizing?"
[For causing trouble.]
"Are you talking about this old woman? Don’t worry about it." he said with an easygoing expression.
But I wasn’t necessarily talking about that.
[Sorry for sleeping in your room.]
"Oh… That? Don’t worry, I also like to sleep on the couch."
This was clearly sothing he said only to avoid making feel bad. I could feel the consideration in his words, and that made feel even worse.
[Sorry for ignoring you.]
"I don’t mind."
[You’re a nice person.]
"I’m happy you think that."
[I’m really sorry.]
"As I said, you don’t need to feel sorry about ."
A series of conversations ensued, with Doug always maintaining his polite and understanding deanor.
But in order to maintain this flow of conversation, I felt my inner thoughts leaking out more and more. This was one of the reasons I hated long conversations.
However, they were necessary to build good relationships.
[Sorry for being adopted.]
And then I had a damn slip of the tongue.
What I ant wasn’t necessarily being an “adopted child,” but rather the fact that I had been adopted by Priyanka.
This was a fact I often thought about. Wouldn’t many problems have disappeared if I had refused her help?
At the ti, I didn’t know her true identity; what I did shocked later, but before I knew it, I was already dependent on her on an almost life-threatening level.
This caused many problems for Doug and potentially created a trendous butterfly effect, and I had no idea how dangerous it would be for this world.
But of course, Doug couldn’t read my thoughts or understand my circumstances.
The mont he read “Sorry for being adopted” from a child like , a thousand different thoughts raced through his mind.
And as for the veracity of those thoughts, they would probably be seriously doubtful.
Doug looked at with a rare serious expression, the coin in his hand skidding across the floor and spinning a few tis before finally landing face down.
The mont I saw his serious face, several troubling images from the past and all sorts of stupid misunderstandings flashed through my mind.
I had just dug myself into another hole.
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