Free Book Girl and the Corrupted Angel by Mizuki Nomura Page B

tension melted, and I sighed with relief. I was starting to head back to the classroom when I saw Omi at a table in the reading area reading a book.
    My heart leaped into my throat.
    What now, what now? Thoughts tearing at my belly, I held my breath and drew closer.
    I peeked at his open book from behind, and instantly a spasm of horror shot down my spine.
    My entire body was chilled immediately, as if someone had dumped cold water over my head.
    It was a hardcover edition of Miu Inoue’s book…
    Why was he reading Miu’s book of all things?!
    Camellia’s profile flashed before my eyes with perfect clarity. Could Omi know something about Mito? No, I was overthinking things.
    I choked down a hard lump in my throat and called out to him.
    “That’s by Miu Inoue, right?”
    Omi turned around. He saw my face, and his eyes narrowed behind his glasses’ frames, as if disgusted by who had come visiting.
    At first glance, he looked like any other modern boy, but there was unusual power in his gaze. My belly cramped, and sweat broke out on my palms. Calm down. He wasn’t much bigger than me. He was just a regular boy who was younger than me, right?
    “You like stuff like that?”
    Omi answered in a frosty tone, “No, I hate it. This book and Miu Inoue, too.”
    His words sliced my chest open and slammed me against the floor of an abyss.
    I couldn’t move a muscle. He kept his sharp, venomous gaze fixed on me and went on spitefully. “It’s tripe with nothing but amateur phrasing, like something an elementary school student would write, and there are sickeningly sweet word choices dripping all over every page. The main character’s idiotic optimism and hypocrisy remind me exactly of a certain someone, and it pisses me off.”
    His eyes glinted like a feral dog’s. His words were heavy with scorn.
    They were the same as the words I’d spat out in front of the girls from my class once.
     
    “What’s so interesting about that book? The writing is bad, the composition is sloppy—it’s like being forced to read a not-too-bright middle schooler’s shallow poetry. It’s laughable.
    “Don’t you think everyone just made a big deal out of it because a fourteen-year-old girl won the award?
    “I hate Miu Inoue.”

    Yes, I thought the way you do absolutely. That a book like this is terrible and has no value whatsoever. That it was some kind of mistake that everyone was making a fuss over someone like me.
    That I hated Miu Inoue more than anything in the world.
     
    “I dunno how she wasn’t ashamed to write about a pretty little world that’s bright in every last crevice and spilling over with all this benevolence. The stuff this book talks about is nothing but lies. People like this— like Miu Inoue or Mariya or you—who can only see the surface of things or of other people’s hearts, who believe the sun shines for them and that they can walk brazenly down the middle of the street, hurt people and force them into corners naively.”
     
    I’d never had Miu Inoue criticized to my face by another person before. I’d had no idea it would stab into my heart like this and hurt so unbearably. That it would affect me so much…
    My steps faltered, and I almost fell over. Then I said, “Sorry for interrupting,” and fled the library.
    Even if it was pathetic, even if it was ignoble, I couldn’t stand to be the object of his hate-filled gaze anymore, to be cut apart by the knives of his black words.
    I knew better than anyone that Miu’s book was nothing but lies.
    Reality wasn’t that kind or that beautiful; prayers and promises were nothing but dreams that passed by in a moment.
    A peaceful life would be shattered all too easily, the couple who smiled at each other and interlaced their fingers would go their separate ways, and memories were nothing more than poison that dredged up turmoil.
    I didn’t know how to handle the fever and pain coursing through my body.
    I hate Miu Inoue! The fact is, Miu Inoue and her