I Have Become an NPC at the Tower’s Used Bookstore

The clattering sound fills the room packed with books.

The equipment she had prepared despite not knowing how to make coffee provides a certain aesthetic pleasure.

The sound of boiling water and the sweet yet bitter aroma of coffee create a calm but heavy atmosphere.

The books visible wherever one turns emit a strange sense of pressure.

What could be the reason for collecting so many books?

Ber sat quietly waiting to hear the answer.

After the wait, a cup of steaming coffee is placed on the table.

The coffee that slides down the throat spreads gently, clearing the mind.

“How do you think skill books are made?”

Lib asked after taking a sip of coffee.

How should I answer? It was a topic I had never thought about before, so an answer didn’t come easily.

“Do you think they’re made just like ordinary books?”

“That can’t be right. The people who make skill books are called creators, not authors.”

At Ber’s words, Lib smiled softly. There seemed to be a subtle bitterness lingering at the end of her smile.

Was it because of the bitter aroma of coffee remaining? Or was there another reason?

Lib rarely shares what’s inside her.

Even if I wanted to talk over drinks, it was difficult because she would pass out after just one glass.

So this might be the only opportunity to know what’s on Lib’s mind.

As a friend, I wanted to know the concerns this child has.

“That’s right. Skill books are written in a different form than ordinary books.”

Unlike her usual self, Lib began explaining with a face devoid of any playfulness.

“Before that, what is a skill?”

“A skill?”

Again, it was a topic I had never seriously thought about.

From Ber’s perspective, not being a player, there was no need to be interested in skills that she couldn’t acquire.

It wasn’t that she didn’t have skills, but without a status window, she couldn’t check them.

Since they were naturally acquired through living, it seemed more appropriate to call them by a name other than “skill.”

I’m not sure what the appropriate word would be, though.

I’m knowledgeable about skill grades. Since I sometimes procure skill books from technicians within the Tower to sell to players, I was confident in categorizing grades.

Since prices vary dramatically depending on the grade, I had to be thorough about this.

I had never seriously delved into the skill itself.

I am a person who sells things. I wasn’t a creator who creates skills, nor was I a consumer who directly uses those skills.

There was no need to know, that’s what I mean.

“I’m well-versed in grades though.”

“I asked about the definition of a skill.”

“Isn’t it a function that helps in combat?”

“That’s also correct. Most people know it that way.”

Lib seemed to have so much to say.

She had so much to say that they seemed tangled around her throat, preventing anything from flowing out.

She’s lived a different amount of time. She had existed before I was in the Tower.

For so long that it was impossible to guess how many years she had spent.

The emotions accumulated over those years were so dense and deep that one couldn’t dare to look inside.

Why do people share what’s inside them?

It was because of capacity limits. The heart that holds emotions also has a capacity, so it can’t accumulate so many emotions.

That’s why one needs to periodically empty what’s inside.

But I had never seen Lib do that.

Far from sharing what’s inside, she seemed adept at hiding it. Just concealing it with a playful expression.

So Ber chose to wait calmly rather than urging Lib.

Because compared to the time she had been waiting until now, this wait was relatively short.

* * *

“If you directly translate ‘skill,’ it means technique.”

For words that came after a long deliberation, they lacked much substance.

Nevertheless, Ber nodded and waited for the next words.

Ber is always full of composure. That composure seems to make Ber appear more mature.

Living longer doesn’t necessarily make one wiser. The time one has lived means they have accumulated more experience, but how that experience accumulates within each person differs.

In that sense, Ber is someone for whom the word “adult” fits better than anyone else.

She never rushes the other person and always waits leisurely.

Even when showing anger, that appearance, which seems to exert silent pressure, sometimes feels more chilling than any curse.

“I believe there’s no better word to express skill than ‘technique.'”

It was partly because it was a direct translation, but it was also true in reality.

“Skills don’t just exist for combat. There are various skills in various fields like cooking, crafting, cleaning.”

Most of these skills are unrelated to combat, so they’re not very popular.

They don’t enable you to do things you couldn’t do before, but rather make you more proficient at things you could already do.

It’s good to have them, but there’s no need to spend money to collect them.

“Grade is ultimately the value of a skill. Skills that no one seeks don’t even receive a grade.”

What happens to skills that haven’t been granted a grade?

They simply vanish. They don’t remain as skill books to be passed down, and they slowly, pitifully disappear without being remembered by anyone.

“You probably can’t understand why I’m this emotionally invested in mere skills.”

Ber didn’t show any particular reaction but just leaned forward as if curious.

She was saying through her actions that she was calmly ready to listen.

“You know what? Those who die inside the Tower leave nothing behind.”

Literally. They vanish without leaving anything or any trace behind.

The equipment they had, the clothes they wore, the shoes they had on, and even their corpses are not left behind.

The reason there are no graves in the Tower is not because death has become familiar, but because there are no bodies to bury.

Then how is a player’s death made known?

In the case of rankers, their names disappear from the rankings. The records themselves are completely erased.

For players who haven’t made it into the rankings, their names disappear from the friends list.

If they didn’t interact with anyone else, no one would know they had existed.

“Memories without any form are easily forgotten. Moreover, since the records of the paths they’ve walked also disappear, it’s even harder to remember them.”

It’s a cruel story. Both for the dead and for those left behind.

Even if you want to remember, the memories that gradually fade eventually become bland memories.

And ordinary memories that are no longer cherished gradually erode with the passage of time until they disappear.

“How should those left behind remember them? I’m the only one who knows them, and if even I forget them, there would be no one to remember them.”

Even their faces are blurry. Their voices, their speech patterns, even the words they spoke just shimmer like a distant mirage, wavering without being properly captured.

Nevertheless, the emotions remain to torment me. Bitter emptiness, hollowness, helplessness—these emotions take turns slashing at me.

I wet my throat by taking a sip of coffee.

My mouth is bitter. Whether it’s because of the coffee’s aroma or for some other reason.

And yet it was sweet. The refreshing sensation, the sense of liberation that comes from sharing such stories with someone else is intensely sweet.

“People, whether they like it or not, have their own techniques.”

Even people who are disregarded have things they could express as techniques.

“It’s just that those techniques might seem trivial and small compared to others.”

In the end, everyone has techniques that could potentially turn into skills.

“They don’t say they write skill books, they say they create them. Even though the name explicitly tells us it’s a ‘book.'”

Why is that?

Ber’s expression changes as if she’s realized something.

Though I’ve been watching her for a long time, this was the first time I’ve seen such a dramatic change in her expression.

It was quite satisfying, making me smile.

“Highly refined techniques are incorporated into the Tower’s system under the name of skills. And the Tower creates skill books to convey those skills to others.”

There are cases where people write skill books themselves. But most of the time, the Tower reads that person’s memories and uses them as clues to create skill books.

“Whether they like it or not, skill books bear traces of their authors.”

This is the only thing to commemorate the dead. It’s the only memento left by those who can’t leave any other trace.

“It’s my own way of commemorating, I suppose.”

This place is not only a used bookstore but also a place to commemorate countless individuals.

Lives contained in each book.

Of course, the amount is extremely brief to express their lives as books.

Nevertheless, it was enough. To not forget.

“That’s why I don’t want these to be discarded. I also have a desire to accumulate knowledge for myself. I don’t deny that.”

But if that had been the only purpose, I wouldn’t have bought skill books from the Tower that hadn’t even received a grade assessment.

The reason I bought books that were to be disposed of was for that reason.

I took in the sight of hundreds, thousands of books that might have been handled but weren’t dusty.

“You asked. Why I collect skill books, why I classify books by author. Is this reason enough?”

“Th-then the reason you were always short on money…”

The Tower isn’t a scammer, so it didn’t sell skill books that couldn’t even be graded at high prices. In fact, some of them were received for free when receiving subsidies, so it didn’t cost much.

The lack of money was purely due to the books I collected as a hobby.

“Well?”

I evade the answer with an ambiguous response.

Ber’s gaze is filled with apology.

Honestly, I feel a bit guilty, but I didn’t lie.

“Lib!”

Ber pulls me into her arms.

Although I was suffocated by her ample bosom, I still felt a sense of comfort within it.