Ascendance of a Bookworm

Dunn! Dunn! and the place where I slept swayed about, along with the sound of me slamming something on the floor or on the table. Every time I vibrated, my head ached as if I was being punched in the head, and I frowned with a small groan.

Shut up...... Seriously, shut up.

That annoying noise and wobble doesn't seem to end immediately, followed by a constant rhythm, which makes me very sleepy.

When my consciousness awakened to the vibrations that resonated in my head, I blocked my ears and tried to overdo the noise.

And yet, my body doesn't move the way I think it does. He has high fever and joint pain all over his body like he also had the flu.

"Ugh..."

I need glasses to understand the current situation. I kept my eyes closed and searched for the glasses I had always kept on my pillow. The whole body seems twitchy and paralyzed, and the movement of the hands is dull.

In the first place, it sounded like something like paper or grass could rub under the scissors and my body as my moving hands moved.

"... what noise?

A high, young voice came out of my mouth, though it should be blurred because of the heat. I don't care what you think. It's not my voice I'm used to hearing.

I want to sleep because I have a high fever and my whole body is weak, but I cannot ignore any more the anomalies surrounding me, and I slowly opened my heavy eyelids.

There seems to be a fairly high fever, and my vision is moist and distorted. I wonder if the tears also act as eyeglasses, which looked much clearer than my usual vision.

"Huh?"

What got into my eyes was a black thick pillar and a huge spider's nest combined with a coal-fired, black, dirty ceiling, which was probably white in the beginning.

None of this was at all in my memory.

"... here, where?

If I looked around with my eyes alone, careful not to have zero tears from my moist eyes, I would soon know only that I was clearly not the Japanese I was born and raised in.

The architectural style we perceive from the shape of the ceiling is not Japanese, but Western. That doesn't belong to modern steel either, it looks like an old one.

The bed I am put to sleep in is stiff and has no mattress. And unusually stinging materials are used instead of cushions. It also smells weird from the thin dirty cloth hanging as an upper hanging, and itches all over your body if you have fleas or dandelions.

"Wait, wait..."

The last thing in my memory is that I was crushed by a ton of books, but it doesn't seem that I managed to get rescued either. At least, a filthy hospital that puts patients to sleep in such a thin dirty cloth, to my knowledge, does not exist in Japan.

Fear I have tried to put my hand in front of my eyes. It was the hands of skinny, thin, little children that showed up in my sight.

I was basically pulling indoors and reading a book, so it's the same where I'm not tanned and it doesn't look healthy. But my hand, which was 22 years old, was a proper adult hand. It's not like the hands of such malnourished little children.

The hand of a child who grips, opens, or moves at my will. It's not my body I'm used to seeing that I can move on my own volition. It teases me like my mouth has dried up to too many shocks.

"... what, this?

Is this possibly reincarnation? Has God, who has heard my wish, reincarnated me so that I can read the book again?

I don't know why.

I want some information, I raise my heavy head and slowly wake up my feverish body. I looked around the room, even though my hair was sticking to my neck with sweat.

I just have a bedlike table and a few thin dirty top hangings over it and crates to keep things in, and I don't see any bookshelves.

"Books, no..."

There was an entrance and exit where the door was left empty. Soon, there was no more noise in my head, but someone was there, and I was walking around in a bumpy footsteps, and I could hear him doing something.

I have no idea what the situation is.

If you look at the columns, the walls, the furniture in the room, I think it's the old western style. It's just not modern. Is it a less civilized country or have you even timeslipped in the past? How the hell can I know the current situation?

"You mean you're even having weird dreams at death?

Troubled with a high fever and blurry head, one woman appeared whether she noticed the sound of my movements or heard a voice.

She's a shameful beauty in her late 20s with something like a triangle scarf on her head. My face is beautiful, but it's dirty. I wish I could wash my clothes and face, be clean and petite, too bad.

If I am not clean and ugly, I do not attach much importance to myself or to others. If you return the back, I want you to spare me as much beauty as it is unclean and ugly.

"Mine, % & $# + @ * + # %?"

"No!?

At the same time as I heard the words of a woman who didn't know what they meant, memories that were not mine at once poured in like they cut a weir.

A few years' worth of memories were pushed into the time to blink a few times, and I accidentally held my head to the discomfort of my brain miso scratching me in a mess.

"Mine, are you okay? I was worried because I wouldn't wake up at all."

"... Mother?

A woman stroking her head slowly and peeking into her face complains that she is her mother, and that Myne is her name, a memory that has poured in.

I didn't know what to say until earlier, but suddenly I get a lot of information, and my head is in a terrible state of confusion. Honestly, I want you to consider your health, even if you are passing on information.

I'm the one who wanted to read the book and wanted to be reincarnated, but when I do, I can't do it right away, such as honestly accepting the woman in front of me even if I recognize her as my mother.

"How are you feeling? You're going to have a headache."

Fingertips stretching towards my forehead are stained with spots in yellow or green. Does this mother make dyeing her job? I remembered that the blue-dyed artisan's fingertips I saw in Japan were stained like this.

I fell asleep in a stinking futon, avoiding stretched hands, not wanting to be somehow touched by a mother who existed in my memory and knew but did not.

And by keeping your eyes closed, you refuse to make contact.

"... yet, headache. I want to sleep."

"Yes, get some rest."

I wait and think about my mother leaving the bedroom-like room with a bed lined up in the cucumber.

I have a high fever and my head is jerking off, but I can't sleep quietly while I'm so confused.

"Definitely... dead, right?

What floated behind my head was the figure of my own mother. Apologize in my heart to my mother who will never see me again.

You must be angry. "So I've told you over and over again to reduce the number of books!" You must be crying and angry.

I lifted my weak, heavy hand and wiped my eyes tears.

"Mother, I'm sorry..."

After grunting apologies that did not arrive, I consciously switched my thoughts and slowly began to refute the many memories of the young mine that had just poured in.

Mine's most recent memory is that he was bitter, bitter, and irresistible with fever.

Somehow, but I think that Mine, the original bearer of this body, died and I was possessed. Or did it bring back memories of the previous life because of the high fever?

"Either way, right? It doesn't change that I have to live as Mine from now on..."

Then suddenly my family will be suspicious if I don't understand the situation around me at all from Mine's memory as far as I can remember.

Desperately in retrospect, Mine's memory is that of a young girl whose words have not yet developed, so I cannot clearly understand the words of her father or mother. I don't know what that means. Inevitably, there are few vocabularies to use, and the majority of my memories don't make sense.

"Wow, hey, what are we gonna do with this..."

What I was convinced of from the memory I saw from the perspective of the young Mine was that it was a family of four and that the woman earlier was the mother. That I have a sister, a touri. That Mine's father is in a soldier-like profession.

And the important thing is, this isn't the planet.

In Mine's memory, there was also the figure of the mother who took the triangle scarf, but what a emerald-green color her hair was. Really green, not an unnatural color like the one you're dyeing. It's the kind of color that makes me want to grab a surprise and see if it's a wig.

It would be more realistic to think of the world as different than to think of thin dirty cosplayers who always live with wigs as their mothers.

By the way, my sister's hair is blue and green, my father's hair is blue. Mine's hair is blue. Should I be glad I was close to black, or should I mourn being a fellow Cosplay family member?

For now, there seems to be no mirror in the house, and no matter how many memories I explore, I don't know about my detailed appearance other than the color of my hair. Well, I don't think the original is so bad to tell from the faces of my parents and my sister. And it's definitely thinly dirty.

"Oh, I want to take a bath.... but do you have one?

In fact, it's not that much of a problem to look at yourself in life. The biggest problem is that we are so poor that we are going to live a new life.

If you look around you, even if you don't like it, you'll see, the cloth you're wrapped in, being a sick person, is rubbing off and thinning, and it's already a blur. It's too bad for my sister to back off.

At first I thought they were harassing me, but my mother's clothes in Mine's memory are also commonly attached, and my sister's clothes are similar. I guess this is our new standard.

Only the father seems relatively sturdy and seems to be wearing less jointed clothes, but this seems to be because he is paid once every few years for his soldier's work clothes.

Neither does this house seem to be a whole house, and you can hear footsteps and neighbor-like people climbing stairs from beyond the brick stone walls closest to you. Maybe it's like a collective home?

Hey, reincarnation, like a normal nobleman... not born anywhere you can't live?

I sighed unexpectedly into the environment. Even though it was a very normal general family in Japan in the past life, there is a lot of difference in its ability to live.

Japan was a good country, although I don't know where this place is in my time right now. There was an overflow of good things, of course. Touchy cloths, soft beds, books, books...

"Ha, I want to read a book. I feel the fever go down when I read it."

No matter how harsh the environment, I can tolerate a book. I gently lay my finger on my head, searching for the book in my memory. Where in the hell is there a bookshelf in the house?

"Mine, are you awake?

A toddler, about 7-8 years old, came in lightly with footsteps as well, so as to disturb her thinking. This is my sister Tulli, who I remember.

The blue-green hair knitted in three unconstructed pieces is not well cared for. I want you to wash your thin, dirty face, just like your mother. It's a waste to have a pretty face.

Is it because I see it from the perspective of the Japanese, who are said to be morbidly clean lovers from abroad, that I will stick to it?

But if you're poor, all the more so if you're not careful about hygienic environments, it should cost you more to get sick and get a doctor.

But I don't care about that. Right now, there's only one thing that matters most in this situation.

"Thuri, bring me the 'book'?

I have this many sisters, so there must be about 10 books of paintings in the house. I can read about a book even if I'm sick and asleep.

I was reborn. It is above all decided to indulge in books from different worlds.

"Touri, please"

To her pretty sister's favorite, Touri tilted her neck with a decent face.

"Huh? What's a 'book'?

"What... uh," picture "or" letter "is" written "..."

"Mine, you don't know what you're talking about, do you? Talk properly?

"So, 'Book'! I want a picture book."

"That, what? I don't know, do I?

Apparently, words that are not in Mine's memory become Japanese pronunciations.

No matter how hard I explain it, Touri just leans his neck wonderingly. There is no way it would make sense to say "get the book out" in Japanese. I just have to learn the words.

"Oh, already!" Translation function, get to work "!

"Mine, why are you angry!?

"I'm not mad. My head just hurts."

Hitting eight kids like Tulli that words don't make sense is just too stunning. I already did.

First of all, we must do everything in our power to clear our ears to people's voices and remember a little more words. If Mine's flexible brain miso, a young child, is joined by my reason and intelligence as a 22-year-old graduate of college, it's easy to remember the words...... I hope so.

At least not a great deal if you recall struggling to learn the language to read books from other countries in your previous life. The passion and love I put in my book was at the level that those around me pulled for disrespect.

"... are you angry because you still have a fever?

I guess you're going to measure the heat, Touri's dirty hands stretching out towards you. I grabbed his hand by accident.

"It's still hot, you know?

Make them look worried and run away from things that are unpleasant to you. With a technique unique to adults I avoided being touched with Touri's dirty hands.

"Right. Be careful."

Safe.

You'd be a good sister if you cleaned me up, but I don't want to be touched right now. When this happens, we just have to do something and slap the hygiene concept. I feel like I can't live without improving the environment.

As far as I can remember, apparently Mine was a weak kid and often had a fever and fell asleep. Too many memories in bed.

For me to read the book without concern, I and my surroundings must be healthy. He seems poor, so I don't feel like he can do anything to doctors if he gets sick, and I don't want to take care of the medical practice I imagine from this environment's standard of living.

"Touri, help me with dinner."

"Yes, Mother"

Apparently, there's a mother's voice coming from somewhere, and Thuri runs with a pat.

Given the inclination of the sun outside the window, we'll probably be preparing dinner from now on. Touri still feels like he's in his junior year of elementary school, but he seems to be helping out well.

This poor situation. Definitely think of children as one of the workforces. Definitely.

"Wow, I don't like it..."

I feel depressed considering when I grew up. Whatever you think, there's no way only one person can spare you help. I'm sure I'll have less time to read.

Even the easy chores of using Japanese appliances were troublesome, and I wanted to use my time to read. Would I be familiar with the life here?

Dunn! Dunn! and the sumptuous sound sounds intermittently. He said he was going to prepare dinner, so maybe it sounds like he's cooking, but what the hell is going on? I don't see it from this place where I'm sleeping, but I also honestly don't want to see it.

I could have reincarnated because of this, so I can't think more positively. You can read books that weren't on Earth, so for that, let's get fit first.

With that in mind, I slowly close my eyes.

"I'm home."

"Welcome back, Dad."

By the time my father got home, he seemed ready for dinner, making a rubbing noise of gasha gasha and metal.

I found my consciousness slowly dropping as I felt a little farther away from the family regiment except for the high-fever mine, where I still couldn't eat rice.

While consciousness falls into the dark, there is only one thing to think about.

Oh, whatever. I want to read a book.