Heinz let out a quiet sigh.
Right now, he was resting his head on the lap of a woman—someone he called his Patron.
Snow-white hair. Eyes that changed color each time he looked. No matter how many times he saw her, he never got tired of it.
Her name was—Beno. A being shrouded in mystery.
They were in a place she called the Infinite Library. Endless rows of bookshelves stretched in every direction, filled with books, books, books...
But these weren't just books.
Each one held entire worlds. Countless stories, infinite lives.
And he—he was someone who had come from one of them.
(...Why did someone like her even notice me?)
Suddenly, his past surfaced in his mind.
—I was a soldier.
The war took my family. My friends. My place in the world.
What stuck with me the most... was that bombing during the ceasefire.
It didn't matter who was on what side. It was just slaughter.
I was the only one who made it out alive.
At the trial, no one really looked at me—not for real.
I stopped going to therapy, and before I knew it, no one came around anymore.
(Was it around then... that the world started looking like data to me?)
Color, sound, even warmth—everything lost its reality.
Next thing I knew, I was in a blank, white space.
"...So this is where I die, huh."
That's what I thought.
I wasn't scared. I just quietly accepted that it was the end.
But then—someone took my hand.
Startled, I looked up.
And there she was. The white-haired woman—Beno.
"...A grim reaper?"
I laughed weakly and asked, half joking.
But she didn't answer.
Something about that made me uneasy, and a sharp ache ran through my chest.
"...No, never mind. It doesn't matter."
Then, Beno finally spoke.
"...I'll fix you."
The moment she said it, everything went black.
When Heinz opened his eyes again, he found himself back in the strange library he had grown so familiar with.
"…Here again, huh."
He muttered as he stared blankly at the ceiling. And then, he felt it—a gaze, watching him closely. It was Beno. Her silvery-white hair swayed gently as she looked at him, eyes filled with quiet concern. She looked like she wanted to say something, but held her tongue.
But Heinz had questions. Too many.
"…Where is this place?"
When he asked, she gave a faint smile and answered vaguely.
"—If you're asking where, that's a hard one. This isn't really a place, per se."
"…Huh?"
He frowned at the answer. It made no sense—sounded like nothing but riddles. Beno floated across the floor, almost like gliding, and reached for a book on one of the endless shelves. She began reading.
"…What are you?"
The question slipped out before he realized.
Beno turned and tilted her head slightly, a gentle smile playing on her lips.
"I'm Beno. "
"No, I don't mean that…"
"—I see. Then, do you want to know the reason?"
She held out the book she had picked.
The moment he took it, Heinz gasped.
Inside was the story of his life. His childhood memories, the horrors of war, the bombing during the ceasefire, everything he lost, all the emotions he'd given up on—every moment, written in black ink.
"…Th-this is… me."
His hands trembled.
So this was… a record? Or… was it fiction?
"…Hey, if this is a book… does that mean I've been a written character all along?"
Beno fell silent for a moment before she finally spoke.
"Heh… That's a good question."
And just like that, their conversation began—an exchange of sharp and searching words.
"—Do the people in your books even have free will? If the ending's already decided, aren't choices just an illusion?"
"Even if it looks predetermined, every action has a reason. People think, reflect, and choose. Free will isn't about where the choice comes from, but who owns it."
"But what if that's just part of the setup? Even emotions might be prewritten…"
"Escaping into 'fiction' is easy. But even 'reality' is nothing more than a string of someone else's choices. The line between reality and story… it's thinner than you think."
She wasn't any taller than Heinz, and yet her presence towered—like a mountain.
"Even if you were a created being… the thoughts you're having now—those are undeniably yours."
"…."
"If you want proof, then choose."
She smiled again and took another book off the shelf. Bound in white leather, trimmed with golden thread, it carried an almost sacred air about it.
Etched on its cover was—
"...Sarasvati?"
Heinz murmured the name softly.
"That book is like a navigation tool. A key, really, for you to travel through 'stories.'
As long as you have it, you can enter any world."
He didn't fully get it, but at this point, he was too used to weird stuff to be surprised. Heinz cautiously took the white book into his hands.
…Lighter than he expected.
He flipped it open—
"...There's nothing written in here."
Page after page of blank white greeted him.
And yet, strangely enough, he didn't feel the need to ask why. It felt… natural. Like, of course it's empty.
"'Sara,' huh…"
He muttered the name, and at that exact moment—
Suddenly, words poured into his vision.
> The boy picks up the book. Slowly, as if testing its weight, he turns the pages.
"—Huh?"
> He is confused. The book that had been blank just moments ago now speaks to him.
Startled, Heinz glanced around, but Beno just smiled calmly.
"Hey, wait, is this…"
> He feels a wordless confusion. And yet, somewhere deep inside, he doesn't mind it.
"...Oh god, it's narrating me."
Was it… writing his actions as they happened?
No—more than that. It was narrating this very moment of his life. Like his now was being written in real time.
> Yes—this is both record and observation. Where he goes from here… even he doesn't yet know.
"…"
"Travel these worlds. See for yourself—are the people living in these pages just characters, or are they something more? Do they have free will… or…"
Her eyes changed color once more. This time, a deep navy blue—like the night sky.
"I'll show you a choice. Because that… is what it truly means to know."
[The present]
"How many is that now?" Beno asked.
Heinz let out a tired sigh. "Thirty-three. Seriously... the recursive worlds are a pain in the ass."
"By the way…" Heinz added, glancing up. "Mind letting me out of this weird position already?"
Of course, he was referring to the current situation—his head resting on Beno's lap.
Beno puffed up her cheeks in mock protest. "Well, excuse me! You were all tense and stuff, so I thought I'd help you relax!"
"…I'm fine now, really." Heinz sat up slowly. "More importantly, I brought you something today."
The two of them sat down at a nearby marble table. Heinz pulled something out of a paper bag.
"Mango tart. You said you wanted this, didn't you?"
"Whaaa!!" Beno's eyes sparkled, and in the next second, her cheeks were puffed out like a squirrel's, full of tart.
"Hey, ever heard of table manners…?" Heinz muttered, exasperated. But Beno just kept happily munching away, clearly in her own little world.
A quiet moment passed, then Beno suddenly noticed something.
Heinz's gaze was fixed somewhere far away, distant.
She swallowed the last bite of tart and asked softly, "…So, no luck this time either?"
"…Yeah." His reply was short. Hollow.
"Don't worry. Next time will go better, I just know it!" Beno said brightly, trying to cheer him up.
"…Yeah." Heinz replied, but his voice lacked energy.
"…Hey, but Beno, you know everything, right? So why don't you just tell me where they are?"
At that, Beno let out a small sigh. How many times had they had this conversation?
"I told you before—finding them yourself is the whole point. Even if I did know, where's the fun in just telling you? It's like with this tart. I could know what it tastes like without ever eating it, but that'd be boring, right? Actually eating it is way better."
…Yeah, sure. Heinz knew it made sense. But that didn't make it easier.
"…Got it," he muttered, finally relenting.
"You're not mad, are you?" Beno asked, a little worried.
Heinz didn't answer. He just stood up and said, "I'm heading out."
Beno watched him go, a touch of sadness in her eyes.
"…Be careful. And next time, bring back something weird, okay?"
Right after she said it, Heinz's figure vanished in a flash of light.