Bad∞End∞Night Vol 1 Chapter 7

Chapter 7: The Library

The Butler and I returned to the living room and went out into the hallway. Opening the door in front of us on the backside of the grand stairs and heading down a short stairwell, we entered the semi-underground wine cellar. 

Three sides of the small, chilly room had wine bottles lined up with hardly any space between. When I took one out, something strange happened: the liquid in the bottle didn’t move at all. While I was at a loss for words, the Butler explained. 

“This world is just a play, strictly speaking. Plays contain many things which have no purpose beyond being mere background elements, and they remain so here… They need not fulfill any greater purpose than that.” 

That made me suddenly recall something. When I was searching the study with the Master, I casually tested the fountain pen on the desk, and despite there clearly being ink on the tip, it didn’t put any ink on my hands. I thought that just meant it didn’t work anymore and didn’t dwell on it. 

But in truth, it didn’t function at all because it was just scenery for the play… If I’d tried to write something with it on a piece of paper, it wouldn’t have fulfilled its normal purpose as a pen. In fact, if the paper also only existed as scenery, maybe neither of them would fulfill their usual purposes. 

Yet there were definitely items like tea and pots that worked as expected… I asked what the difference was, and the Butler said there were objects which could only be used by those who would “naturally” use them, as well as inaccessible rooms. This wine cellar, for instance, could normally only be entered by the Butler, and not by anyone else without good reason. 

So the characters did have certain principles acting on them to preserve order in the play. And perhaps I too, as the lead role, had limits on my thoughts and actions that I couldn’t even perceive. Though for right now, it seemed like I could help the others out and move around freely, moreso than they could… 

I looked to the Butler beside me and saw him carrying a single one of the many bottles, with only about a single glass’s worth of wine left in it. I noticed the liquid in it was moving. 

“Oh, that wine…” 

“I’ve never actually had wine before… But the people who like it really seem to love it.” 

“I know wine has a reputation of being more valuable the older it is, but is wine that’s been left to ferment for decades really tastier…? I mean… than the newer stuff…?” I aired my naïve doubts to the Butler. 

“Who can say? People’s tastes will differ. There are a wealth of kinds, with different flavors, dryness and sweetness, even smell and kick. But, I suppose that’s not much of an answer. Well… Many will say that wine fermented for longer has that much more of a depth to its taste… The same as with people. With the passing of time, life experience will show on their character, and as if not satisfied with "plain”… they will form habits, like a hidden taste. Whether they’re desirable or not, though, is a matter of preference. 

“And not to mention, time is always moving forward. Wine can be made with the greatest technology of its time and then fermented for decades, but once it comes time to open… Often times, in that advanced future, it will be easier to make more delicious wine than that without spending any time for it to ferment.” 

The explanation reminded me of my conversation with the Master in the collection room. He said he dedicated himself to protecting the wonderful relics left by great ancestors of the past. 

“…Mr. Butler, which do you prefer?” 

“Wine made with the diligent effort of past masters, ripened to the ultimate vintage over long years of fermentation… Or wine that can be easily be made in no time at all with future advancements, but is still perfectly tasty…?” 

“…?” 

“Ages pass, people grow old, and values are ever-changing. What was regarded as supreme in the past will not necessarily merit the same opinion in the present. It is for those who live in the current age to pass that judgement. To become so seized with protecting past relics that you forgo living in the present is but nonsense… So some think.” 

“Nonsense…?” 

Finishing with the wine cellar, we proceeded to do the guest rooms on the south side. The Butler had already checked his own room and guest room #4 by himself, so we went to guest room #1. 

“Huh…? Was I here before…?” 

My hand stopped before opening the door to the guest room. Finding this to be a familiar sight, I took a look around, and noticed the layout was just like the south side of the second floor which I explored with the Master. Both floors had the exact same carpets, walls, and even ceiling ornaments in their hallways, so I was briefly uncertain which floor I was on. 

“Ah, so you were searching upstairs with the master. Yes, this is right underneath. The layout of the first and second floors is largely identical. We often do get lost. Certainly, a visitor who only just arrived would… But yes, even we do quite often.”

“Exactly the same one…?” 

“Let’s say you were blindfolded and taken to witness the two scenes depicted in these paintings. Which one is dusk, and which is dawn…? Do you think you would know?” 

“Huh…?” 

“…!” 

Reality…?! Was the Butler aware that this world was a fake, and that his real self existed in a separate one? Though when I called everyone’s names in the living room earlier, no one showed any reaction at all… 

“The world is made by our awareness. And that is a highly fragile and ambiguous thing. The thought of being makes the world aware of your existence. The existence of something other than you is what allows you to be aware of yourself. To be cognizant of the past, there is the present and future. You think you are alive, so you live… Thus, people can only live in the world they recognize. Because "living” can be said to be when you recognize your existence here and now. If you deny that, it’s the same as death…“ 

“The artist painted the girl within almost exactly the same way… But if you take repeated close looks at the colors, you’ll start to notice slight differences.” 

“Dusk and dawn… They look similar, but they’re completely different. One’s about to get darker, and one’s about to get lighter… Their following scenes are complete opposites. Is the similar layout of the two floors meant to say that similar-looking things can be completely different, too…?” 

“Hm…?” 

"So it’s used more as a measure…?” 

“Yes, precisely. Language is no more than a tool to communicate ideas. Well, at least that was how it originated. At times, we mistakenly think that language came first. We believe that, behind the words a person speaks, we can see every aspect of their true intent expressed in those words.” 

“The epitome?” 

“That’s very true…” 

Indeed, some customers would repeatedly buy special seats for long-running plays by the Burlet Company. Like the Butler said, they could watch the same story repeated over and over, and enjoy them as new worlds brought about by slight differences in the performance. 

“Now then… I’ve gone on rather long. We should return to our search of guest room #1.” 

“Well, THANK you.” 

“…THIS is Dolly’s DREAMing and AwaKENING. The PERfect song for ME, right?” 

“Huh? Dream?” 

I flashed back to the dream I’d had this morning. A woman… Maybe an actress, dying at a theater. 

“I do, sometimes…” 

“…?” 

“A-Ah…” 

“Funny, ISN’T it! YahahaHA! Hey… Do you WANT to hear MORE? I’ll PLAY lots for YOU.” 

As she said this, the Doll Girl’s eyes seemed to turn a bit lonely. 

“Umm… But I still need to help everyone look for the page…” 

‘But…“ 

“But you CAN just STAY here…” 

“It’s oKAY. ToDAY will go ON, so…” 

“…Well, I don’t know either…” 

I was so certain this was the letter I picked up then, but nothing was written on it. I definitely remembered reading that letter. It was just the important part - what it said - that I couldn’t remember anything about. I had definitely read an actual message then. 

So what was this letter, then? It must have been the prop I used in act one, wasn’t it? So it had a use sometime after the start of act two. But currently, the next page of the script was missing, so everyone forgot everything from the next scene on. Unfortunately, I’d completely forgotten what this letter had written on it, and what role it played. 

This letter was a prop that would later be essential in the play. But was it lacking its contents because of the missing next page…? I looked closely at the neatly-folded paper, and it was just paper. The color was greatly faded from it. 

“AH! This is ABOUT the same SIZE as the SCRIPT!” 

“But THERE’s no TEAR on it… Too BAD!” 

I’d have to check to be sure, but my rough judgement was that yes, it was the same size as the script pages. But also the paper was perfectly clean, no signs of any tearing. 

“UnTIL the End roLL has LOST its coLOR… ∞?” 

Perhaps this was the “End roLL” - in other words, the ending - the last page of the script. If that were the case, then I could understand why this would be blank. The removal of the next page made the story unable to progress. So the conclusion was undecided, thus a blank page; that seemed plausible. 

If the missing page and the following scenes remained unfound… would it be possible to skip right past them to the ending using this page, I wonder? If that were doable, then we could make the story end. But right now, it was still just a blank page. I threw around all sorts of ideas and suppositions to myself, but I couldn’t get my thoughts in order. They were all nothing more than predictions. No point in going in circles with myself; I would discuss it with the others. 

“I think I’ll show this letter to everyone later, and ask their opinion…” 

“Huh?” 

Without waiting for a reply from me, he took my hand and led me in the opposite direction of where I wanted to go, to the north side of the second floor. He stopped in front of a door, then turned around to face me. 

“Do YOU know where THIS is?” 

The door was shut fast, so I didn’t know what kind of room was inside. I told him that I didn’t know, and he replied that he’d show me and took me in. The power relationship was just the same as in reality; once again, he had me in his hands. Even though I had to hurry to the Master and tell him about this letter… I heard the Doll Boy shut the door behind me. 

It was a library filled to the brim with books. With an exception made only for the door, every wall had bookshelves along it reaching up to the ceiling. Four small chandeliers hung from the ceiling, bathing the room in light. Around the middle of the room were three tables, and beside them were sofas and armchairs of varying size. It was an orderly, refined, and peaceful room which readers would surely love. 

However, for some reason, large teddy bears sat in the chairs, and there was a toy teaset on the table, as if put there for the bears. It was made to look like they were relaxing while reading books. Whose hobby was this, I wonder? Though a bizarre sight, the fancy stuffed animals helped add a bit of relief to the crushing feeling from the sheer amount of books. 

“Wow… There are so many books…” 

I didn’t necessarily like reading that much, but I loved calm and quiet places like libraries. I’d often go to the library on my days off to bask in that mood ideal for thinking, open up a favorite script, and imagine the play in my head. 

“Do you LIKE it? These SHELVES are the BEST part, right?” 

“If you READ the BOOKS here, you NEver KNOW what you MIGHT find…” 

The books here…? I glanced over the shelves. There were too many to know where to start. And checking all the shelves now would no doubt use up all the remaining performance time. 

“Don’t you WANT to KNOW? The SEcrets of THIS world?” 

“Then READing the BOOKS here will BE fastEST, I think…” 

Secrets of this world? Maybe such things as the reason we had been trapped here, and a way to get out, were written in these books? But the Doll Boy had forgotten his past of “being Len” and became a doll here, hadn’t he? And he was a cruel, prank-loving doll. Maybe he had simply seen me hurrying in the corridor and decided to stop me to play a prank. 

For the time being, I decided I’d pretend to pick out a random book and read it, and watch for my chance to get out of here. As I reached for a book on the nearest shelf, he said “Not THAT; the FIRST shelf is HERE,” indicating the top-left book of the bookcase to the left upon entering. It was high up toward the ceiling… I couldn’t even tell how many of myself would need to be stacked to go that high, and I couldn’t reach it no matter what I did. Then the Doll Boy, demonstrating unexpected strength, brought over a long, worn stepladder from the corner. 

“SurPRISED? If you THOUGHT I was WEAK because I’m a DOLL, you’re VERY wrong! AhaHAHA!” 

With a cocky laugh and boast, he grinned. I’d underestimated his small doll body. But now I was shown how if he put his mind to it… no, without really even having to do that, he had strength on part with a human. The doll laughing in front of me without budging an eyebrow was scarier than ever. 

“I’ll HOLD it from BELOW… Be CAREful, it’s HIGH!” 

He claimed he’d hold the stepladder, but I felt unsure considering his size. And this was quite long looking at it up close… About five meters, at least… Leaning it against the shelf, I slowly went up step by step. It creaked with each step, making me anxious about its age. 

Finally, I reached for the dusty book in the top-left. Just as I did, I saw the book give off a pale light. Surprised, my right foot went a step back, and my weight shifted to one side. The wood under my feet creaked. 

“Huh…?” 

I threw my right foot back forward to re-establish my balance and placed it down on the step. A moment later, I heard a cracking sound, and my footing lowered. Oh no - I felt myself slowly falling back. Bracing for an impact, I closed my eyes. 

Bfft - the impact was much softer than I expected, and didn’t hurt at all. 

“…H… Huh…?” 

“…I’m FINE. Dolls ARE STURdier than HUmans. You’re JUST kind of HEAVY…” 

“Oh, you’re right…” 

The book I’d risked my life to get lay near my feet. There was no title on the binding. I picked it up and looked at the cover; there was something written on it, but thick dust covered it, so I couldn’t make it out. 

“How incredibly dusty… Is this a rather old book?” 

I blew on the cover and the dust flew up. So much dust scattered that it got in my nose and throat. I started coughing, and the Doll Boy sighed with disgust. 

“First nighT…?” 

The moment I spoke the title that finally appeared from behind all the dust, I felt a strange unease coming up from my feet, like an unknown darkness enveloping me. You shouldn’t read this book - a warning from another self seemed to echo in the back of my subconscious. My hands, prepared to open the book, froze in place. Was this intuition…? Or was it the odd causality of this strange world acting on me? There was no doubt that something important was written in this book. 

A worst-case scenario crossed my mind. What if this book said that once we were trapped in the world of Crazy ∞ nighT’s script, we would never be able leave for all eternity…? Just imagining it made me sweat. But on the other hand, what if it had a hint to solving the mysteries of this world…? Maybe it could guide us to a way back to reality. Equal parts hope and unease began to swirl around in my head. 

If only, when presented with a strict two choices, I had the chance to try again if I messed up; then I’d be able to advance without hesitation… But I was always unable to actively advance with such decisions. I’d immediately start thinking about what if it was the wrong one, cowardly refusing to muster up any courage. Even the reason I left the village, and the circumstances of joining the troupe… When faced with important choices, I had to have someone pushing me ahead to move forward. 

“…” 

Suddenly, a small right hand touched my left, frozen on the book’s cover. I looked down and to my left in surrpise. I only saw the back of his head wearing a little silk hat; he wasn’t looking at me. What kind of expression did he have? His doll hands were cold as ceramic. But in that cold warmth, I thought I found the awkward kindness of the real him, Len. I had to return him to normal - and I wasn’t alone here, so I wasn’t scared. 

I took a deep breath to calm myself. Feeling slowly returned to my left hand. Like opening an iron door, I lifted open the heavy cover, and put my hand on the first page. 

[End of Volume 1.] 

Chapter end