I Was Kidnapped by a Book and Ended Up Saving the World - Chapter 4

Once again he was hugged. Mizutani Hikaru truly didn’t know how to respond to such kindness. He had never shared such intimacy with him before—perhaps only when carrying out an assassination mission, but even that was a memory from long ago.

The young child was like a cat covered in spikes, utterly unaccustomed to being embraced. In Oda Sakunosuke’s arms, he squirmed restlessly, unable to adapt. Seeing this, Oda quickly let go.

Hikaru felt the need to stress this point. Even if he could finish the task soon and leave, at least during this brief period of cohabitation, it would be best if they didn’t get so close.

Perched on the tall stool, the child’s legs swung in the air. His hands rested on his knees, brows furrowed in a strangely mature way. On a child’s face, such an expression had an oddly adorable contrast.

“I’m a very mature person, so I don’t need hugs,” Suzuki Yuu declared seriously.

The night had grown deep, the shop’s warm yellow light streaming over him, making him look like a slightly worn-out doll. Even his voice carried none of a lively child’s energy.

Oda thought for a moment, then said, “I understand. From now on, I’ll treat you in a more mature way.”

The boy, with gauze still stuck to his face, nodded primly, seemingly satisfied with Oda’s response.

Hikaru mused that Oda was indeed a very easy man to communicate with. Maybe they could soon take the photo together, and then the strange “Book’s” task would be complete. He could return to his normal life. Even if the mafia’s work drove him mad with overwork, at least his life wouldn’t be squeezed in the palm of some incomprehensible thing.

Though the Book had not yet shown a forceful attitude, possessing such power meant it could crush him like an ant at any moment.

He let his legs dangle and swing lightly in the air. The one piece of good news was that while his consciousness rested here, his real body seemed to be recovering too. At least when working overtime, it wouldn’t be as painful as before.

His thoughts drifted aimlessly, and even the air itself seemed quieter than usual.

“Want to go upstairs and have a look?” Oda suddenly asked.

Jumping off the stool, Hikaru followed behind him. Upstairs, the mingled voices of children rose and fell like a miniature amusement park.

Like Kousuke had before, Oda introduced each child one by one. When the last name was spoken, Hikaru asked, “Where’s Sakura?”

Oda took his hand and led him toward another room. The other children scattered without resistance, and soon they reached the source of faint breathing.

The smell of milk powder lingered in the air. Oda carefully guided his finger into a tiny palm.

The warmth was delicate, the hand so small it clearly belonged to a baby in a cradle. Feeling his touch, Sakura instinctively clenched her fist around his finger and let out a gurgling laugh.

“This is Sakura,” Oda whispered. He gazed at the laughing child, eyes bending gently, the blue irises shimmering faintly with light.

She couldn’t speak yet, only laugh. For once, Hikaru froze. After a long hesitation, he didn’t pull his finger away. Instead, he used his other hand to poke her cheek.

The baby’s face was as soft as fresh pudding, easily dented under his fingertip.

Softness, innocence, vitality, and laughter.

In that instant, Hikaru understood why Oda would choose to raise so many children. Perhaps someone like him was always able to perceive the light of humanity.

“Hello, Sakura,” he said earnestly to the little girl gripping his finger.

If Oda really was a killer, then he must be the most unusual killer in the world. Hikaru had heard the rumors that he never killed. A young, healthy man with no physical illnesses would normally join the Special Division—pay there was at least two or three times higher. But Oda rejected all offers, staying at the bottom rung to do miscellaneous work.

Curiosity flickered in Hikaru’s heart. Even without sensing the cold sharpness unique to a killer, his instinct leaned toward that answer.

After all, the man who had once carried him and dodged bullets with lightning speed possessed reflexes far beyond the average Special Division soldier.

Stretching slightly, Hikaru relished the child’s body’s suppleness. Even big movements didn’t bring the creaks of adult bones.

A man who clearly had a story—but what did that matter to him? Once he got the photo, Hikaru planned to give Oda an anonymous bank card, enough for him to raise the children in better conditions. It would also settle the debt of having his life saved.

“Where’s your family?” Oda suddenly asked, sitting beside him in a voice soft and careful, as if afraid to disturb him.

Hikaru hesitated, unsure how to answer.

At last, after a pause, the curly-haired child said: “No family. But they left me an inheritance, with distant relatives.”

He chose this identity carefully: an orphan with inheritance. That way, he wouldn’t need to produce fake parents later and would have a reason to eventually leave Oda.

Oda didn’t press further. But as a grown man, he thought of things beyond a child’s claim. No loving relative would leave a child alone in Yokohama, nor allow him to appear amid gunfire. Still, he couldn’t break a child’s innocent illusion. He only ruffled Hikaru’s fluffy hair and said, “I’ll wait with you until they come.”

Hikaru nodded, then added primly, “Don’t worry. I’ll pay for food and lodging. It’ll be a huge sum that will surprise you.”

“Mm.” Oda nodded, taking the chance to pat his head again.

Night deepened. Oda turned off the lights, the children’s voices faded, and Suzuki Yuu quickly slipped into sweet sleep.

———

Opening his eyes, Mizutani Hikaru awoke in his own body after the other fell asleep.

Rubbing his eyes, he realized he’d only snatched a brief nap. His night’s work wasn’t finished—he still had tasks to handle.

After two hours, he nearly wrapped things up before speaking in his mind: “Book?”

【I’m here.】

The mechanical voice answered briefly.

Hikaru rubbed his fingertips together. His face was a classically handsome one, refined but forgettable—only the twin moles beneath his eyes left a lasting impression.

A faint smile tugged at his lips. His expression radiated innocence, though his words carried sharpness: “Oda Sakunosuke really is an interesting man. He just told me why he stopped being a killer. Truly, a man with a story.”

【Anyone chosen as a protagonist has a story.】

The mechanical reply was calm as always.

But Hikaru realized something: the Book truly didn’t know what happened while he inhabited that other body. Casually, he tested further: “Can you talk to me in that body?”

【No. Only in your original body can I communicate freely. I exist in your body, Mizutani Hikaru.】

…Why did the second half sound oddly phrased? But considering the Book had slammed itself onto his face before vanishing, its explanation wasn’t implausible.

“How do I submit the photo?”

【Once you’ve taken it, let your original body touch the borrowed one. At the moment of contact, I can reclaim the photo.】

What strict conditions. He’d assumed the Book could just retrieve the picture automatically. Apparently, he had to take it himself.

At least now he knew the method.

He picked up a black pen from the holder and sketched a chibi detective on scrap paper. It was the hot drama’s male lead he’d been watching—a sharp-eyed private investigator. Suzuki Yuu’s name had come from him.

Hikaru wasn’t worried about anyone noticing the coincidence. After all, who would believe a book could create a living, breathing person?

“And if I don’t complete it?” His lips curved in a gentle smile, but his words held barbed sharpness. “Or what if I simply don’t want to follow your instructions?”

【Then I will punish you.】

The black pen twirled lightly in his fingers. “How heavy would the punishment be?”

【I would either send you into the Book’s world or cause part of this world to enact the Book’s plot.】

Both options sounded equally disastrous. Hikaru twitched his lips but was surprised the Book’s temper was so mild. No matter what he said, it never showed any emotional fluctuation.

But then again, since it wasn’t human, lacking human emotion was natural.

The pen spun again, like a weightless black butterfly at his fingertips.

“Your Book doesn’t have me in it.”

Inside, there was only the two-meter-tall Nakahara Chuuya, the reborn-hero Oda Sakunosuke, and his terrifyingly ambitious boss.

【I’ll give you a new identity—say, a top-class omega with a milk-sweet scent. And many, many men who love you.】

Hikaru nearly lost control of his expression. Having read far too much ABO literature, he refused to imagine himself as a milk-scented omega. And what was with “many men who love you”? He certainly didn’t need a crowd of inexplicable suitors.

Struggling to maintain his composure, even while choking back the urge to mock, he pressed the probe: “If you enact the plot in reality, how far could you go?”

【For example, in the mafia, everyone would speak in the voices of the Book’s characters. Wouldn’t that be fun?】

The voice even lifted slightly at the end, as if it truly found the idea amusing.

But Hikaru fell silent. If that really happened, he couldn’t imagine the humiliation their organization would face. Mori Ougai’s carefully cultivated aura of ruthless menace would be destroyed overnight.

No one would be laughing then.

Except perhaps for the suddenly two-meter-tall Chuuya and the superhuman Oda Sakunosuke.

Now, Hikaru had yet another reason to finish the task: to protect the dignity of his mafia colleagues. Thinking that way, he suddenly felt his own image grow taller, nobler.