Editing Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko:Mini Stories 04

== After the Main Story of Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko ==
''Note: This is a mini-story that was posted on the author’s blog (no longer existent).
''
-----
I opened the front door and called out a greeting. I could hear the familiar sound of footsteps striding from the back of the house. Her appearance, and the fact that she was wrapped in a futon, hadn’t changed a bit. Even though spring had arrived and the weather was warming up, she never seemed to get tired of that routine. She’d probably be the same in summer too. Was that really okay?

“Cousin, welcome back.”

“I’m home… Huh?”

Only Erio came out.

Wondering where the other one was, I peered down the hallway. Just as I tilted my head in confusion at her not being there…

“I’m right here!”

She boldly announced herself from inside the futon and burst right out. My small and adorable daughter came scrambling out from the top of the futon. Like a kangaroo and its joey. She kicked off Erio’s chin and leaped toward me, shouting, “Bayoeen!” What a reckless kid. I somehow managed to catch her just in time.

As the impact shook her hair, pale blue particles drifted up lazily, as if just waking from a nap.

That’s right. As one could expect, my daughter’s hair was light blue too. She was the spitting image of Erio, like a miniature version of her, and I couldn’t find a single trait inherited from her father.

Well, she was a girl, so her looks should be fine as they were. She was super cute, after all.

“You’re home.”

“Mako-kun.”

“…Hmm.”

A bad friend (aged 50) heavily influenced her, and it’s got her dad worried. Not long ago, she used to call me “Daddy”. My daughter, who used to be clinging to me, was nimbly using my arms as a foothold to climb up onto my head. She settled into a piggyback position, sitting on my shoulders, looking absolutely delighted. She seemed to love clinging to my head like this. But she gets heavier every year, and my shoulders were aching; I could feel her growing.

“What about the souvenirs<ref>In Japan it is customary while on a trip to buy ''omiyage'' (“souvenir” for lack of a better term), usually local specialities, and gift them to friends and relatives upon returning.</ref>?”

“Oh, I’ve brought some. I’ll give them later.”

My daughter squealed with glee and kicked her legs about. Her movements made my head jerk violently from side to side.

She was just so adorable. Her innocence was truly something to be admired.

Everyone started out with a pure soul like that, didn’t they?

But in another ten years, would she plunge right into a rebellious phase and start running away from her dad’s laundry? Makes me want to cry. I’d like to believe my child would never do that, but I knew better.

Musing on the fleeting nature of things, I handed the mail from the front box to Erio. Or rather, I shoved it into the gap between her body and the futon. The futon promptly swallowed up the letter.

“Any letter saying ‘Erio-san, you’re so cool’?”

“Not a chance.”

She asked that every time, what could she be expecting?

It had been about ten years since we met, and yet she had hardly grown up at all. Her face had matured a bit; she was starting to resemble Meme-tan (50 years old), but her childish behaviour remained unchanged. She was still a bit shy around strangers too. My daughter, on the other hand, was so trusting and friendly that it actually worried us as her parents. But perhaps that was the difference between a child and an adult.

With my daughter still on my back, I struggled a bit to take off my shoes and stepped into the hallway.

“What did you do today?”

“I played with Yachii.”

“She came over here again?”

A bad friend (the alien). I went into the living room, figuring she’d still be there, and sure enough, there she was sprawled out on the floor. She seemed to be asleep, lying flat on her back with her arms and legs spread wide. Lately, she rarely wore her spacesuit, as if she had gotten used to Earth. Aside from eating and sleeping, I never saw her doing anything else at all. Though she did make sure to keep her helmet on even when dressed in normal clothes.

Since I started working, I’ve found myself intensely envious of the way she lived.

At the same time, I also wondered just how she even managed to exist.

She hadn’t changed a bit in ten years. It was a different kind of stagnation than the one I could observe with Meme-tan (50 years old). Her hair length, hairstyle, and height remained exactly the same. I was tempted to suspect that she was actually a stuffed animal suit with some bizarre lifeform inside, but the sight of her casually munching on someone else’s rice crackers made me realise that it wasn’t the case. In short, she was just plain weird inside and out.

“She got tired playing and fell asleep. Ku ku ku, Yachii is such a baby.”

My daughter was acting as a grown-up. That was fine, but couldn’t she do something about that laugh of hers?

“Ku ku kuuuu.”

She was starting to make that strange laughing sound, imitating Yashiro. It sounded like someone rushing through the syllables of kukkukku. With Meme-tan (50 years old), Yachii (the alien), and Smakin (Erio) constantly around her, I wondered what kind of girl my daughter would grow up to be… Well, she would certainly be full of energy, so I probably didn’t need to worry too much.

“I’m going to change clothes, so why don’t you go over to Mom?”

I set my daughter down, who had been clinging to my head like a koala. She ran off, her arms raised, and pounced on the futon wrapped around Erio. She dived in from below, skilfully scrambled up, and popped her face out from the front of the futon. Then she circled round to Erio’s back. A piggyback ride? It was taking shape.

Erio twisted her neck to look back and flashed a cheerful smile.

“Oh, my daughter.” “Oh, Eri-chan.”

Erio froze in place. Our daughter tilted her head, super cute. Yup, she looked good no matter what she did.

“You should call me Mom.”

“Why?”

“Because there is a ‘san’ in it<ref>“Mum” in Japanese is ''Okaa-san'', the ''san'' being a suffix of respect.</ref>. Plus, I’m cooler than Cousin.”

That was hardly a proper reason. Our daughter stared intently at her mother. Her round eyes darted about for a moment.

“Eri-chan, you’re mega-laaaame.”

Erio stiffened, looking as though she’d been struck by lightning.

Relieved by my daughter’s taste, I decided to go change my clothes.

When I returned, Smakin was in the living room. She was hiding her face in the futon and kicking a small ball against the wall. Our daughter was playing nearby, wobbling around while wearing Yashiro’s helmet.

I grabbed the creature by the scruff of its neck, which was twitching its legs in a sulky manner, and forced it to show its face.

“Don’t sulk.”

“Ugh. I’m worried about our daughter’s future, mofu.”

“I am relieved, though.”

As I had fun shaking Erio while she flailed her legs, I heard the sound of the front door opening.

Our daughter was the first to react to the sound.

“It’s Meme-tan! Meme-tan, Meme-tan, Me-me-tan!”

She tossed the helmet aside and ran happily toward the entrance. The sound of her bare feet pattering against the floor was heartwarming. While part of it was likely because there was an adult who played with her at her own level, I couldn’t help but think that her deep attachment to her grandmother was simply because she was Erio’s daughter. I also suspected and glared at the thought that Grandma was slipping her treats when we weren’t looking. I’ve warned her that it wasn’t good because it made her stop eating her meals properly, but she was a (50-year-old) naughty girl.

“Oh, granddaughter.”

“Oh, Meme-tan.”

Was that kind of exchange trending or something? I peeked at the entryway to see Meme-tan (50 years old) lifting up my daughter and rubbing her cheek against hers. Even in her old age, well, I couldn’t tell if she aged at all; Meme-tan (50 years old) remains unchanged. Her hair and skin kept their lustre, and she was defying the flow of time head-on. Watching her made me worry about whether the world was actually heading in the right direction. I wondered if space-time itself had gotten twisted.

“Gijuju.”

“Ujuju.”

Please don’t make weird noises while rubbing your cheeks against one another.

“Aww, why are you so cute? At this rate, your Mom will drop to third place for cuteness on Earth.”

She appeared humble, but the way she casually placed herself in third place showed her cunning.

As I marvelled at this with a touch of sarcasm, Erio came up beside me.

“Erio-san is so cool!”

She shot a glance at me as she sought agreement. By the way, she was still wrapped up in her futon.

“Not really.”

“Cousin, that kind of attitude is exactly why you’re giving our daughter the wrong idea.”

She kept slamming her body against me. What part of my appearance could possibly be misleading?

While I was brushing off Smakin, our daughter, still held by Meme-tan (50 years old), looked over at me. Seeing her act so affectionate made me wonder if Erio had been like that when she was little.

“Mako-kun is a cousin?”

Our daughter had asked a philosophical question.

“Hmm… well, not exactly quite equal<ref>Unstranslatable play on words. ''Itoko'' is “cousin” and ''ikooru'' is “equal”.</ref>, but they’re both me.”

“I don’t get it!”

My daughter dismissed me in a single word<ref>“I don’t get it” is a single word in Japanese.</ref>. She was the one who asked, yet she gave me no time to explain. Huh, what impressive decisiveness. Words like “fickle” or “half-hearted” simply didn’t suit my beloved daughter at all.

“Oh, right! Mako-kun, the souvenirs! The souvenirs!”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll show them to you right now.”

“Mako-kyuuun.”

“You, shut up.”

She tried to throw her arms around me, so I pushed her back by the forehead. One would d think her reactions would have matured at least a little by now.

“How can you say that to your dear Mama-rin? *Ukyoi!*”

I really didn’t hate having to call “mother-in-law” someone who made these kinds of weird noises.

Once everyone had settled into the living room, I placed souvenir number one on the table. Everyone tilted their heads at the medium-sized machine. It looked like a heavy-duty pencil sharpener cluttered with all sorts of extra attachments.

“What’s that?”

“It’s a prototype. Watch what happens when I flip the switch.”

I flicked the power switch up. After a brief pause, *bwaaah*.

Light blue particles erupted and swirled into the air. Bursting from the machine’s outlet, they looked like fairies startled out of a hollow in a tree trunk. Erio and our daughter looked up at the dancing particles, their mouths hanging agape.

“Ooh.”

“I’ve seen this somewhere before.”

Said our daughter as she glanced around. Yeah, she could see it every time she moved her head.

“Cousin, is this your research project?”

“Yeah. I gave one to an acquaintance who wanted it. And I got this in exchange.”

I placed souvenir number two on the table. It was a plastic bag filled with a huge amount of snacks.

“''Shiruko''<ref>''Shiruko'' is a kind of sweet red bean soup.</ref> sandwitch!”

Our daughter read the name of the snack aloud. As if reacting to that, Yashiro suddenly sat up.

“Hmph, I can sense the presence of sweets.”

She crawled over on all fours. She had a real nose for sweets and snacks, that one. And yet, she had absolutely no common sense.

Yashiro unceremoniously tore open a package and popped a ''shiruko'' sandwich cookie into her mouth. As she saw this, my daughter reached out eagerly, too. She showed more interest in snacks than in my research. I gazed up at the ceiling, thinking it didn’t matter.

Light blue particles drifted upward, hovering unsteadily before vanishing, only to be born anew.

I built this playful little machine with one modest hope: that if it were ever accepted by the public and used for lighting or interior decor, perhaps my daughter and Erio wouldn’t be looked at with such strange curiosity anymore. Wanting more happiness for my family was only natural, of course, but I was already happy enough simply wishing for our peaceful days to continue.

To the light resting on my fingertip, I prayed: “May happiness not vanish as fleetingly as these particles do.”