“The man had extremely bad luck today. During his fourteen-day stay in Italy, he had already been pickpocketed twice. Both times happened at the same station, on the first two consecutive days.

In truth, he wasn’t that careless. People around him said, ‘There’s no one who likes people as much as he does.’ He liked making new friends and approached others with the mindset that even strangers could become friends anytime. But that didn’t mean he blindly accepted every stranger who came near him.

Especially not if a group approached him in the usual way—carrying a bundle of newspapers or bouquets of flowers. Without hesitation, one gypsy girl suddenly thrust a bouquet near his face as if to hit him, then tried to slip her hand into his pocket. He caught her wrist and politely sent her away. When several adults and children approached like a family, he subtly moved aside before they could surround him. But he let his guard down for a moment when a young man with a neat face came up to ask for directions.

He kindly studied the map together with the young man who looked troubled and lost, despite not knowing the area well himself, then sent him off satisfied. Only then did he realize his wallet had disappeared along with the young man. That was how it happened. Similarly, the next day near the station, he was pickpocketed again.

After that, the man became cautious and decided to be wary of strangers whenever he went out. He regretted that the kindness people show to others with pure intentions was decreasing in this way.

After going back and forth between two cities for fourteen days, finishing his business in Italy with satisfactory results, he boarded the train leaving Italy. Although he could have taken a plane, he had decided to give himself a week’s vacation as soon as his business in Italy ended.

At that time, a music festival was being held in Salzburg. It seemed nice to stop by Austria leisurely, stay for a few days, then slowly return to his home country.

The train, which departed just before 11 p.m., was scheduled to arrive in Salzburg around 4 a.m. Having barely finished a busy schedule late at night on the last day and feeling clean and relieved, the man boarded the train exhausted. Even when the person in the neighboring seat spoke to him friendly, usually he would have enjoyed talking and could have stayed up all night chatting, but after about half an hour of conversation, he grew too sleepy and closed his eyes. Suddenly, he realized he hadn’t reserved a hotel, but figured he would find a place to stay after arriving.

He gradually fell into a deep sleep as the train left pickpocket-infested Venice behind. After some time, someone shook him vigorously until he struggled to open his heavy eyelids. When he finally looked up, blinking repeatedly, it was the conductor. It seemed they were crossing a border. Nodding at the request to show his passport, the man, still drowsy, almost closed his eyes again as he searched his pockets.

Suddenly his eyes snapped open wide, fully awake. Something that should have been there was missing.

Before the curious conductor, the man frantically turned his empty inside pocket upside down. Only dust fell out. He searched other pockets, although he had no memory of putting anything in them. Nothing that wasn’t there could appear.

He thought maybe it was in his bag, maybe he sleepwalked and put it there without knowing, so he looked for his bag. But the bag was gone too. The conductor, seeming to roughly understand his situation, looked at him with a pitying expression. Then, suddenly muttering “Ah,” the conductor picked something up from the floor, as if hidden under the bed. It was the passport.

“Here is what you were looking for.”

After examining the passport, the conductor politely returned it to the man. The man accepted it still in shock, habitually murmuring “Thank you.” Then he bent his head deeply under the bed and checked near where the conductor had just picked up the passport to see if anything else was lying there. Only dust again.

Worried that the person sitting next to him might have seen something, the man turned his head to the neighboring seat. It was empty.

The conductor said to the man with a knowing look.

“They say a method of slipping a sleeping pill into a drink and then stealing belongings while the victim sleeps has been spreading recently. If you want to file a loss report, I can help you. Are the lost items important?”

The man shook his head in a daze. Nothing was that important. Of the things he had, the only thing he couldn’t afford to lose was the passport, and thankfully, despite everything else being stolen, the passport was left behind.

He sighed remembering the young man next to him before falling asleep, who had kindly offered him juice. Others would probably laugh if they heard. Three incidents in less than two weeks.

He had never been deceived or betrayed by others while working. He could recognize those things well. But sometimes, he was tricked by petty pickpockets like these. Each time, his friends teased him, saying, ‘How can a guy with such sharp judgment be fooled like that?’

“By the way, sir, do you have a ticket?”

The conductor asked the man lost in thought. The man looked at him blankly. He searched the pockets he had checked once more, but had to shake his head. Soon the train stopped at the next station briefly, and the man had to get off and walk weakly toward the police box inside the station.

The man had remarkably good luck today.

At the police box, he filed a loss report and waited until dawn, dozing in a corner. The sun was already shining even though it was still early and shops had yet to open, because it was summer. The situation wasn’t so desperate. Fortunately, he hadn’t lost his passport, so he was not stuck.

But the problem was still money.

Even if his feet were free, he needed money to go somewhere. Although he could verify his identity at the bank and withdraw money, the village he had gotten off in after crossing the border was a very small rural town. It took less than 15 minutes to walk from the station to the downtown, and the downtown was only a small shopping street.

There were a few banks, but most were local banks. He did not see the sign of the bank he dealt with. After wandering around the streets, he finally asked at a nearby bank. A kind employee called somewhere and said that his bank would be near a large station six stops away.

Six stops. Not far, but too far for a man without a penny.

He thought about opening an account at this bank and calling his company to send money collect to this account, but overseas transfers would take several days. What could he do to stay in this town for several days while waiting for the money?

Maybe wash dishes. A cleaning job would probably not be given to someone staying just a few days. Or maybe, though it might cause some complaints later, he should ask James to come here directly. But James had a meeting with the Tyler management today.

The man pondered seriously.

As he often did when thinking, he aimlessly wandered.

The town was small. Cozy and peaceful. Only a few trains crossed the border a few times a day, and it was not noisy but spacious and looked like a good place to live. Come to think of it, his parents had moved out of the city to the suburbs because they wanted to live away from the city. His father still had a strong work ethic and often went to the company, but his mother quietly enjoyed life gardening in the suburbs.

“Maybe when I get older, I’ll build a house and live in a town like this,” the man was slowly taking a walk, lost in thought. Small pretty houses had low fences beyond which flowers grew messily. The streets, though old, were clean and cozy. Occasionally, a bird chirped somewhere far off. Between the quiet residential houses, small shops were nestled one by one: a bakery, a vegetable store, a clothing store.

Though the shops didn’t look like they would prosper, they seemed to run comfortably without rushing business, adding color to the street scattered with houses.

Then a shop caught the man’s eye. It was a secondhand bookstore.

The entrance was so narrow that at first he hadn’t even noticed it was a shop. Going to the door, he saw that inside the shop stretched a narrow corridor-like space no bigger than a few pyeong (roughly 10–13 square meters). The shelves were so full that it looked even smaller. Only one person could barely pass between the shelves. Next to the shelves, piles of books stacked like mountains seemed about to collapse if one moved carelessly.

At the back of the shop, an old man with a head full of white hair sat basking in the sunlight shining through the window. He occasionally nodded off, perhaps pleasantly dozing. The shop seemed to gather dust all day, yet surprisingly, there was already one customer inside—a young man wearing a hat and carrying a bag. He stood in front of a bookshelf, turning pages as if searching for an interesting book.

The man felt strangely pleased. A shop like this was even open at this hour.

He loved books. Not just casually, but to a maniacal degree. The greatest joy he knew was getting hold of an old book he desperately wanted to read from ancient literature but was too rare to find. So, at one point, he had even started a company that reprinted rare old books, but as he had expected from the start, the company failed spectacularly. A business cannot run on affection and hobbies alone without generating profit.

Ultimately, he now ran a company his father had handed down that made a profit, but on a personal level, he still dealt with rare books.

That was why he liked used bookstores, and when he saw a small shop like this that was not profitable, he hoped it would prosper.

“Let’s see, what books are here...”

He looked over the bookshelves outside the shop door that were lined up along the wall. Seeing books left exposed to direct sunlight made him click his tongue. He gently dusted the books, feeling sorry for them. Used bookstores in such quiet rural corners usually had their books tossed about carelessly. Ideally, books would be organized by subject then by author, but the best these places managed was grouping books by similar themes.

This store had no classification at all. It was a total mess. Cookbooks were next to novels, and next to those were sheet music. The man sighed. He had no expectations seeing books left under the sun like this, but still felt sorry seeing them rot away. These books would become precious in about a hundred years.

He stroked the spines with pity as if he were looking at an abused child. If it were a child, he could at least report it to the police, but with books, he could do nothing.

At that moment, his hand paused. Under his fingers was a tattered old book. The man’s eyes grew wide as if they would pop out. His mouth fell open involuntarily.

“730 Days of Solitude — Holt Rumpfels.”

With trembling hands, he pulled out the book. Its pages were worn and frayed. Carefully, he flipped to the back to check the edition: 1994 edition, published by Hartenhardt.

He couldn’t believe it. The 1994 German edition of Rumpfels’ book had been banned and burned at the time. Only a few copies survived, and years later a small number were published in other countries. Even those were soon out of print and hard to find overseas.

But this was a 1994 edition — and in German.

His hands trembled. To find such a treasure in a rundown used bookstore in a remote rural village.

He sincerely thanked the pickpocket. Had it not been for that pickpocket, he wouldn’t have gotten off at this station, and he would never have encountered this treasure.”

“I want it. No, I absolutely had to get my hands on this. The man stroked the worn leather-bound book repeatedly. What should he do? He returned to the original problem: he had no money. Moreover, even if the book’s condition gave reason to haggle, he would still have to pay at least five thousand euros.

If he hadn’t lost his wallet, he would have gladly handed over thousands of dollars and walked out clutching the book, but now he didn’t even have five euros, let alone five thousand.

What to do? Should he call James and ask him to finish up quickly and come here as soon as possible? Then he might arrive tonight. But what if someone bought the book in the meantime? It was such a treasure that it wouldn’t be surprising if someone took it right away.

Clutching the book, the man paced back and forth, even feeling the urge to run away right then and there.

“What to do, what to do,” he muttered, lingering near the bookshelf when suddenly his eyes widened again as if about to pop out.

“Ensemble — Henry Machi.”

“Gasp…”

His breath caught. Ensemble by Henry Machi. According to records, all the leading philosophers of the late 19th century had praised it highly, and he had once frantically searched for it, but it was so elusive that he doubted if it even existed.

The man hastily pulled the book out. His heart trembled. At one point, he felt it wouldn’t be surprising if he collapsed from a heart attack. At that moment, his vision flipped. Money, reality, all took a backseat. He decided to thoroughly search this crumbling treasure trove.

He first scanned the bookshelves set up outside along the street. There were no books as precious as the two he’d found, but he did find one more that could fetch a good price at auction. Since he already owned it, he reluctantly let it go.

He entered the cramped shop. Just thinking about moving through the narrow, crowded space made his head spin briefly, but thinking of it as a treasure trove, he gladly bore the discomfort. Inside, the bookstore was as disorganized as outside. He had no choice but to go through the jumbled books one by one. Starting with the bookshelf closest to the door, he moved inward, finding several precious books on the way. Only one of those was worth immediately grabbing, but any other book-loving friend would have been ecstatic to pull out book after book.

Today was truly a lucky day. He tried to recall another day in his life when he had been this happy, but none came to mind.

Almost dazed, bending low, he thoroughly checked every bottom shelf without missing a single one, stepping backward hesitantly as he went. Suddenly something bumped his hip, and he snapped out of his trance. Turning his head, he saw the young man with the hat again—the same respectable young man who had been reading in the secondhand bookstore so early in the morning. He was still reading.

The man said shortly, “Sorry.” Then turned his head away again. He had no time to look at a stranger. Although he loved people, these treasures were incomparable. He felt the calm gaze of the young man on him as he feverishly scanned the books, but he didn’t look back. He had apologized, after all. …Ah, that book is hard to find too. I have it.

He wondered how a treasure trove like this bookstore had no reputation. Or rather, how it was possible that such treasures had gathered in one place. Could that ordinary-looking old man dozing there be some legendary dealer…?

Soon the young man’s gaze drifted away. The sound of turning pages resumed. Having almost finished scanning the entire bookstore, the man hugged five books to his chest, clutching them as if he wouldn’t let a single one be taken. He stood in front of the last remaining bookshelf.

“Excuse me, could you please move aside for a moment?”

Still standing where he was and reading, the man politely asked the young man wearing a hat. Although the hat obscured his face, the structure under his nose and his skin suggested he was East Asian. The young man looked at him blankly, apparently unable to understand. Wondering which language to use, the man glanced at the English book the young man was reading. He repeated the same request in English, and then the young man obediently moved aside.

The man took the spot and began scanning the last bookshelf from the top shelf down. The books were randomly placed; some lay horizontally in the leftover space atop the shelves, and some paperback editions were double-stacked, so it took a long time to sift through.

By the time he finished that shelf, quite some time had passed, and his body was soaked with sweat. From the last shelf, he found one more book, and with great satisfaction wiped the sweat from his forehead. It had been about ten years since he last felt such fulfillment. Looking around the bookstore with pride, he resolved to come here often.

Only then could the man calmly face reality again. Wait a moment. But he had no money. What to do? Groaning, he suddenly glanced at the young man standing nearby. The young man was still reading. So absorbed that he hadn’t glanced back once. Bookstore owners hate customers like that—those who read without buying.

Thinking this, the man tilted his head slightly and glanced at the book’s cover. The red leather-bound book looked quite old. The title seemed to be embossed in gold letters, but his finger covered it, so it wasn’t clear.

The man quickly lost interest and returned his attention to his money worries.

Then, having read enough, the young man closed the book and headed toward the counter where the dozing old man sat.

At that moment—

The book’s title flickered across the man’s eyes.

“Wait!”

He grabbed the young man’s wrist suddenly. Startled, the young man turned to look, his mouth tightening under the hat. Regardless, the man nearly snatched the book from his hands and inspected it.

No way.

Milow Kabli.

That book was a legendary rarity, so talked about yet never actually seen that it was practically a running joke. The ✧ NоvеIight ✧ (Original source) very book the man had searched for over twenty years without even a clue.

His eyes widened and he frantically flipped through the pages. The old yellowed book was in poor condition, even with a bit of mold on the back cover. But it was an incomparable treasure. Even if he laid all six books he held on the table, it might barely compensate its value. It was a treasure he would risk his life to possess.

“Will you buy this book?”

His voice was hoarse, tense, almost like he was issuing a fierce challenge. The young man was stunned and didn’t reply for a moment. Then, slowly, he spoke, and the man fixed his gaze on his lips, tense.

Would he buy it? Would this coveted book vanish from before his eyes…?

“I don’t understand what you are saying. If you speak English, please speak English.”

The man fell silent, then, realizing his mistake after a moment, apologized politely and repeated.

“Excuse me, will you buy this book?”

The young man nodded with an “Ah, yes” expression.

“Weren’t you just reading this book? Haven’t you roughly finished it?”

The man pressed anxiously, and the young man, startled by his intensity, hesitated a moment and murmured:

“I skimmed it, and it seemed interesting… I was going to buy it and read it properly.”

The man felt like he was about to faint. It was like watching treasure vanish into sand in front of him. But recovering from his pale face, he reasoned that the young man must be a rookie who didn’t know the book’s value. This wasn’t a casual “I picked it up and thought it looked fun” kind of comment.

“Ah… actually, that book, I’ve wanted to see it for a long time but it was so rare. Since I found it here, I’d like to read it too. Could you please let me have it?”

He spoke politely, not lying but also not revealing everything directly. The young man seemed to consider, flipping through the pages again regretfully. Then he nodded graciously and handed the book over.

“Yes, go ahead. Here.”

“Ah, thank you.”

The man rejoiced quietly, but also clicked his tongue feeling sorry for the young man. Beyond enjoyment, this book had a value impossible to put in money. “You lost a treasure because of ignorance,” he thought. Though he felt a slight guilt for deceiving the innocent young man, he had no intention of profiting from the book. Moreover, things are happiest when they go to someone who knows and cherishes their value. Thinking that such a lucky day would never come again, tears welled inside him. He felt as if he could go without food for a year.

The poor young man, unaware of the unfortunate event he’d just experienced, glanced at the man’s clutch of books with a calm expression and said,

“Rumpfels, Henry Machi, Heinz… you found some rare books.”

The man paused at the young man’s words and glanced at him sideways. It didn’t seem to be said with any special intention. But knowing the correlation between those names and rare books meant he wasn’t an ordinary passerby. This young man also loved books and had interest in rare ones. Still, he gave up Kabli so easily… The man was suspicious but spoke to him kindly.

“Yes, I happened to notice them… you seem to like old books.”

But the young man shook his head indifferently as if not really interested and turned to leave the bookstore.

“No, I just borrow them. There are some people around me like that… By the way, this bookstore has many unusual things. Just the other day I bought Aires here and was amazed.”

“――――!!!”

As soon as he heard ‘bought Aires,’ the man reflexively grabbed the young man’s arm. The young man turned, startled.

“Ai, Aires…”

“Pablo Aires, right? …You want to see that too?”

When the young man asked hesitantly, the man nodded vigorously. Pablo Aires was another book he desperately searched for. He feared this might be a dream, hoping not to wake up.

The young man, the only angel left on earth, nodded graciously once more. He said he left his copy at his lodging and invited the man to come with him to fetch it nearby. The man thanked him repeatedly.

He couldn’t believe it. This young man knew the book’s value and was generously willing to yield it to him. There were very few people sharing this hobby, and even fewer as kind-hearted as this young man. If Helena hadn’t married, he would have introduced them.”