Editing Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko:Volume1 Chapter2

==Chapter 2 - Perverse Observation==

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[[image:Dts_0032.jpg|406px|Chapter two]]<br>
The unmoving Chikuwa lay there.

Maybe it's a robot that ran out of power and (Skip). Sigh, despite my efforts, things still aren't less complicated. It’s not like I could deny it, but this is probably the limit of my Japanese skill. I am, after all, a successful student who summarized an entire essay into “the author’s self-comforting behavior” and still managed to score a barely solid check mark on the exam.

“Okey-Dokey~ The house isn’t too messy, please come in. I even cleaned up yesterday, but the house is still small, so I hope you don’t mind~”

Meme-san waved drolly at an astonished me. My legs, however, seemed to resist moving toward the trap lying by its master’s feet. The bumpkin’s aspiration for the city sunk – as it fell, something felt as if it would explode any second.

The torso of that object – the arms and the head – was rolled up into the futon as it lay on the ground capriciously. Rope for drying laundry completed the bundling process, and the rest of its body was exposed like a piece of Burdock in Chikuwa. No, this is without a doubt abnormal. By the way, Calamus-pattern covered the entire roll – obviously it knew about its own calamity.

The person buried in this futon should be completely blind, for the sheet was its world. Of course, I couldn't see its face. It remained motionless, almost at the level of furniture.

But looking closely, the toes on those slender legs moved ever-so-slightly. A girl…? I spotted the corners of a shirt and a skirt – it’d appear to be a living organism.

The delicacy her figure emits appears serious – a joking kick may end up being an assault. “Hmm?” Meme-san smiled cutely with tilted head. Led by her vague countenance, a twitching smiled cracked from my face.

“My, still being so polite? It’s not good to be a stranger~!”

She suddenly flung another line at me. By the way, the words were paired with a flirtatious gaze. 'Dry-eye beam, fire!' The words appear with the devilish act.

“……Waah?”

“Oh? Was that out of character?” My aunt, who played dumb shamelessly, inquired.

“No… Uh…” If it were fifteen years ago, I probably would have fallen for it!

“That’s good; my target is to achieve a ‘gap-moe’ character – do you know what ‘moe’ is? <ref>In otaku culture, used to ascribe a form of passion for something</ref>

“For the sake of my future development, I refuse to know.”

“For example, a “she could defeat Rikidouzan<ref>Iconic Japanese pro-wrestler during the 50’s</ref>, even though she’s my aunt!” kind of character.” 

“No!” I shouldn't have played along: “Who cares about that kind of niche? Does a pitcher who only throws sliders sound interesting??”

Basically someone whose dream is doomed from the get-go due to a terrible pitching stat.

At this point, I decided to pretend to have never seen that 'thing.' “Whoa~ What a beautiful house...” I tried my best complimenting the house while crossing the wooden hallway. “It feels very exotic~” My fingers felt everything I saw.

The light glass reflected my face – my eyelids looked ''very'' heavy.

“Your room is upstairs, second floor. The closer of the two is yours.”

“Got it.” I turned toward the entrance as I listened; mysterious object X remained motionless. If she’s the type of relative who dresses up for practices jokes, she should be chasing me for my negligence; yet nothing of the sort happened. Mom and Dad told me my aunt lives alone – what happened to that??

Judging from current situation, I think the seeds of Youth-Point will remain fallowed in this house.

“If there is anything, you're welcome to tell me~”

Really? Then I will skip the honorifics, and begin the machine-gun talk!

“No. I am more than happy to have a place to live.”

With a stream of refreshing words, I brushed over my wavering heart.

In the end, I tenuously climbed up the stairs without looking back.

The shady omen crawled from the entrance hall and entwined me.

And so, I slept in a room full of unopened boxes for about two hours.

I’d be lying if I say I didn’t mind the bamboo-shoot bacon roll downstairs, but once decided that I shouldn't care, a burning, defiant sense of “I want to be in a futon too!” drove me into slumber.

Somehow, the raw honesty of the above statement and conclusion depresses me.

Just like my perturbed mind, the bed (currently made of softened wood planks) felt terrible. Repeated Stage 1 Sleep’s even gave me a headache. As I went down stairs, sloppily sweeping away the cold sweat from my forehead, dinner was served.

… But something else was also being prepared.

“I gave it my all today~!” The thirty-nine year old woman hopped energetically in front the myriad of dishes.

“….Oh.” I stole a glance to my right.

“Starting tomorrow, we won’t have much chance to eat dinner together! Makoto, can you cook?

“Uh, dishes without using the knife, maybe…” Cold sweats dripped.

“Ahaha! As expected of a boy~”

She clapped twice – my answered satisfied her, for some obscure reason,.

“How come you’re all fidgety? Is there something wrong?” Nothing is wrong? Are you Buddha himself? How many enlightenment and molting does it take to be so nonchalant? We aren't in reality anymore!

The futon-roll sat upright next to the table, its exposed protein in the form of legs pointed outward.

“Should I not see this? Shouldn't I? Something from my right is bothering me.”

“The so-called spirits apparently will appear only from the left side...”

“I don’t want to discuss the investigation between science and the super natural over dinner… Fine, I get it. I am not good at being circuitous, so I’ll just say it.”

“My, are you proposing?”

“I'm not talking about the bulb of a hyacinth<ref>Proposal has the same pronunciation as bulb of a plant in Japanese</ref>!”

I blew up, intentionally making that pun. I didn’t get adopted here as a son-in-law, right? I released my legs from the proper sitting posture, flinging these trivial doubts out.

“Meme-san, you lied.”

I pointed my finger rudely at my aunt. Was I lied to? The fire of rage in my heart burned, like a happy college student introduced to a two-roomed apartment for only 37,000 yen a month, only to be disappointed by a run-down, crappy room, giving me all the rights to resort to such audacity.

Meme-san rested the chopsticks she just picked up, altering her facial muscles and smiled:

“Lie? “Makoto Exposes a Lie!” looks pretty cool on paper!” <ref>Makoto in kanji is 真, which means truth</ref>

“Oh yeah, you are right...” The tension almost tuned out. Detective does sound pretty cool… Hold on!

“...You don’t live alone.”

“N-no way~” She couldn't be any less convincing.

“...How is this possible? Can a hungry person really be this angry?”

“Oh dear, I heard stomach cramp comes from working too hard~”

Just like that, Meme-san struck down my complaints.

Well, no; I just didn't sound serious enough.

“Can you prove it?”

“Proof…?” I smacked the futon-roll with the back of my hand: “This is proof.”

Wham! The roll fell back like a punching bag and immediately balanced itself with its toes. She appears to be unrelated to turtles.

“Arara~” Meme-san looked at the evidence’s movement and spat out a banal reflection. 

“I'm not good with being circuitous, so what is this?”

“To explain, I'd have to be quite euphemistic.”

I feel provoked by her continuous joke even after my accusation. It's quite petty, but I feel that I should probably be able to intimidate a woman.

If my opponent was someone named “Gyuu Saburou,” a muscular man with a size matching his name (and secretly likes dolls, if possible), I’d probably give a courtesy laugh while avoiding eye contacts, muttering “Sorry, I'm so sorry,” and be crowned the class’s king of cowards.

“Then, please tell enlighten me.”

I smacked the futon again. The roll didn’t tumble this time, but its innards remained motionless—whoever is inside could be a mannequin.

If that’s the case, I doubt my aunt’s sense of decoration.

Hence my 'independent life' became 'dark days after a nuclear war with an outlandish family.' This year’s disbursement rate on my Points is guaranteed to double.

“In the early 1900’s, a dark shadow covered a small country town in rural America...” Meme-san cleared her throat. 

“How about without the preface?” I immediately requested an omission. 

“It’s great to be young~” But Meme-san did not waver:

“Even the word 'impatience' sounds good next to 'youth.' If I were to fight for a time-sale in a crowd, people would just give me the eyes.”

“I think the problem is with your bloodshot eyes...” Due do her looking away, it suddenly became my job to corroborate with her. Wait, the conversation is straying again. What kind of crappy, easily derailed structure is this conversation made of?!

“Hold up, it doesn’t matter to me if a bag of eggplants is only 150 yen or if minced meat’s on sale. My problem is—” Like knocking on a toilet stall, I slapped the futon-roll. 

“Oh, the dishes will get cold! Herry erp end ert, Merkerto (Hurry up and eat, Makoto)~” 

“What language was that last part spoken in?!”

I slapped the roll instead of the table.

It became a cathartic motion, and I even tried to add rhythm to it.

And thus, the blanket roll retaliated.

“Ow! Ow!” Someone ambushed me from below, kicking me swiftly in the shin. My knee jerked upward and slammed right into the table; I moved backward,bent down, and saw the 'face' of my perpetrator. 

“Whoa!” I pulled back. A leg flew over in aim of my forehead. It was from the futon, and it was a willful attack.

“You've got to be kidding…” Not a mannequin: I was careless because the skin didn’t look organic.

“EEEitsalevelfourcontactttselfdefenseinitiated!”

“Hah?” A grumble came from within the roll. Frankly, the Japanese in those lines was abbreviated to mere bones.

“<b>Pardon?</b><ref>All bold text is spoken in English</ref>” I stuck my ear closer to the source of this voice, hoping for a repeat. 

“EEeyaa…” 

“Agh, nevermind.” I gave up. Words spat out with a kick don’t matter anyway; the point though is the realization that 'this things speaks.'

A pair of angry legs swung like a certain pirate ship ride somewhere in Chiba. Presumably from her lack of sight, she could only lock-on to a general direction. She's missing out on a lot of things. Like life.

“MissingEEEsentientttobeservationeasilydisallowedtoUUUme.”

I couldn’t comprehend. I couldn’t even tell what she was saying. Though it is anybody’s freedom to talk through sheets of blanket, I still wish she could at least use a translator. Just eat a Translate Jelly!<ref>A gadget from the manga Doraemon that allows for people with different language to communicate</ref>

“Irresponsiblecarbonbasedorganisminotherwordsyou.”

“……”

I stared at the futon; the migraine that subsided came creeping back from my neck. I give up. If I try thinking about this, my boundlessly-developing (yes, it is) frontal lobe<ref>Located in the front section of brain. Responsible for restraining impulses and advanced planning)</ref> may be mysteriously slaughtered by aliens.

“Please translate.”

I sought help from my reliable and beautiful aunt (a combination of three propitious words).

“She said ‘nice to meet you.’ She’s my daughter: Touwa Erio.”

Your translating prowess may be professional, knowing that you didn’t listen to a single word!

“…Daughter?” Relative; family, not single.

My mood was slaughtered like blue sky painted with water-color scribbled by a permanent marker. My fist trembled as I spoke:

“What the hell is a daughter??”

“<b>My Daughter.</b>”

“It’s hard to complain like this: could you elaborate?” No, that’s not the point!

“And <b>You are</b> a virgin.”

“Shuddup!” There’s not many opportunity in the country; it’s not my fault!

Even though that was kinda just an excuse!

“What happened to you living alone??” Like a torrent, I demanded an explanation for the crucial part of my dream.

“Didn’t I act like I lived alone ever since meeting you?”

With neither guilt nor a joking smile, Meme-san answered vaguely.

“Ah, uh…” I was speechless. Lightly and effortlessly, Meme-san turned the tide of the atmosphere and further pursued:

“Is there a problem?”

“No, like… For example, your reasons for ignoring the—That's it, now you've done it!”

The automated defense system far more unreliable than plastic-bottle-cat-repellants kept attacking me under the table. I pressed the roll-with-legs down; it crashed backward, exposing its panties.

I, however, felt no temptation. As a healthy high schooler, I can’t even stay calm looking at the pink underwear on the displayed model in stores. Yet the panties of the futon roll merely looked like an extra piece of cloth. The color was solar yellow, by the way.

But all I saw was a field of copper (it sounds like a secret move, so I remembered).

“Uwah…Uun!” The roll that tipped over, a.k.a Touwa Erio muttered something. I couldn’t understand a word; it sounded the same as the shattering cry of a child who wasn’t allowed to buy a toy.

“Dammit… this is wrong. What is going on??” Dreams are only beautiful when peered from afar, a voice whispered, breathing the air of despair into my ear drum. Youth-Points: negative two.

My crumbling torso could collapse on the table at any time. My solitary life shouldn’t be this rowdy. No, I'm not alone... I almost sung these words out, remembering a song with similar lyrics. But since I can’t remember the rest of the song, I'll just hum it.

“Hey~ Makotocchi.” “’Chi…’” You should give up on the whole gap-moe thing –
keeping forcing it and you will get a cramp!

“Can I keep explaining?” “...Explain what?”

I’m not some famous person printed on the old bills: there is no way I’d remember any of this brainless topic<ref>Reference to Prince Shoutoku, who was purported to be able to listen to ten people at once and respond with the correct answers. His face was printed on the older 10,000 yen bills</ref>. Rather than making a discussion, Meme-san sounded like she was just making conversation. 

“The man’s name was George, the woman’s name was Maria." <ref>With the “Beginning of 1900” earlier, this is a reference to the Nintendo game Mother released in 1989, which is about aliens; also known as EarthBound in US)</ref> 

“Please don’t casually tell stories like Junichi Yaoi would.” <ref>Japanese TV producer and super natural investigator</ref>

“Eh? Makoto’s generation doesn’t know this game anymore?”

‘Don’t assume every topic works with people who are twelve years younger!’ <- What I thought.

“Yeah!” <- What I actually said.

A little lie can’t be helped, especially when living in Japan.

From my look of anguish, Meme-san smiled even brighter – her teeth looked at least three times brighter.

Those enamels still look twenty, I thought. This is still irrelevant.

“Aha~ Makoto and I are already besties!”

“For realzies!” With just the bare-bone of speech, my desire to speak politely has completely diminished.

“Umumumu~” Brandishing her legs, the thing (since she’s my aunt’s daughter, wouldn’t she be my cousin?) with hope of getting the world’s backstroke champion kept giving the new resident an over-the-top panties service.

But she is just a roll. No one’s getting excited, and her speech is just alarming. Even now, what vocabularies she managed to squeeze out consists of atoms or essence – some seriously chaotic content indecipherable from the words themselves.

“From now on, let’s live happily together as a family of two!” Meme-san’s brain remains fried.

“Please do a recount.”

I can’t deal with the infinitely growing numbers of questions and complaints, so I resorted to responding to the latest one like a frog an insect flying about its front. Even though my headache inconceivably disappeared, my tired throat burned as if hot sand were poured in.

“Basically, that croissant-like thing is… your daughter. Right?”

“Hm… Ah, you mean that? Ignore it.” My aunt’s refreshing smile overruled any objection.

What sort of mother-daughter relation is this?! Even if I asked, she’d probably brush me off with a “don’t mind it~” so I didn’t even try. A daughter whose existence is unknown to her relatives: isn’t this situation a bit delicate? Why hide this from my parents? Questions like these proliferated.

“Ah, is my uncle also here?” I scanned around.

“Ara~ My husband’s name is George.” Since when is your name Maria?

“ConscienceanddesireinflatedDDDprograminjected!”

Like a worm traveling on its cilia, the blanket-woman wriggled her entire body, waving her two legs around. Meme-san and I stared piteously at the blanket comedian whose futile attacks were as if attempting to step on some air-pedal. I firmly grasped the feeling of a pilot overlooking at villagers attempting to shoot down the jet with dart guns.

“Hiya-!!” However, when her toes caught onto the side of the table and lifted upward with all her might, the situation changed.

The figure of a lonesome fisher – I could almost see the splashes.

Sigh, it’s time to cut the losses.

Organisms evolve to overcome gravity.

Meme-san’s dishes, likewise, attempted to fly with imperfect wings.

And so, they welcomed the destined fall.

Food splashed about; the cacophony surpassed even the pointless chimes hung in front of restaurants during summer time.

“EEEEYAAAAAAAH!!” My aunt screeched an unknown noise as she witnessed the crash.

The roll’s self-defense mechanism shriveled from her pained toes, completely unaware of her own folly.

“Waaaoooo!” She cried in pain and struggled dramatically.

I earnestly hoped that someone would pull the curtain and dim the entire world.

As for later that day, I have no recollection.

Perhaps an excellent scientist erased some of my neurons with a machine – I relied on the nonsensical imagination to explain reality. My Youth-points inexplicably dropped by three more points; I felt sorrowful for some reason.

Even though there remain too many unsolved problems, I am becoming a transfer student starting tomorrow morning. 

I don’t need fire, neither am I mysterious, so I guess I will just be a carefree person!<ref>Fire refers to the manga Honou no Tenkousei, or Blazing Transfer student, by Kazuhiko Shimamoto. Mystery refers to Nazo no Tenousei, a light novel by Taku Mayumura</ref>

All I have left after giving up living alone is a healthy high school life.

At least compared to this house, the school offers more chance for points.

I put on a shirt, and then wore the new uniform prepared by Meme-san. It’s a bit bigger – could it be her anticipation for my future growth?

I tugged lightly at the collar, grabbed my brand-new backpack; it gleamed brightly, but today is only the opening ceremony, so it was rather flat. As for textbooks, I’d have to ask the home-room teacher.

Pinching the pack under my armpit, I scanned the room. The luggage which I planned to sort out last night was untouched, even my casual clothes for days-off were unorganized.

“…Lets just forget about yesterday.” At the same time, I again sealed away any aspiration for a solitary life. 

With anticipation for the future, I arrived at the faucet to take care of my hair. Jaunting on the fir-wood hallway before going downstairs, I glanced into the open door to the room on the left. 

“……Whoa.“

A hand-made mini-planetarium on the table and an extravagant telescope on the corner of the room—a room where a cosmos enthusiast inhibits. Wow… Amazing – a ball chair! This is the first time I’ve seen such a treasure, but isn’t that chair worth at least a couple hundred-thousand yen?

Initially I pictured the room to be “lacking femininity while permeated with the smell of incense” or some such smoke-filled room, but now I am quite surprised. 

Yet the books lined up on the shelf, E.G “Laws of Motion,” “Subconscious and Nature,” are items indefinitely disparate from the everyday life and disturbed me a bit. A map of some town hung on the wall in the back – at least there wasn’t anything pointing to the revival of some cult.

Naturally, the blanket-entwined person lied on the floor.

Like a deep-sea eel lurking in corpses, the creature with its torso stuck within the futon boldly displayed its feet without moving.

Her clothes were, however, changed: purple polka dot pajama concealed her legs. Personally, I wanted to tie a rope onto her exposed feet and drag her around the street while madly laughing “Wahahaha!” Out of concern of the feminist group, however, I have to unfortunately give up on that notion. Speaking of which, must be quite difficult to identify her gender from afar. 

Even the pattern of the blanket was humbly changed from Calamus to Plum Blossom and Oriole.

How old is she? Does she go to school? There’s an ironed uniform on the wall. Well, that’s not important.

“Hm…” Come to think of it, this does count as living under the same roof as another girl.

From some perspective, this is the final stop of all pubescent boys’ delusion. Compared to the girl-falling-from-sky scenario, this is slightly more realistic and even messier. I can’t let go of this idea, and it won’t go away from my brain.

“But…” Getting more points is still rather difficult in this situation – Chikuwa doesn’t have gender! Even though I don’t know what they are made of, hahahah… I should leave. The blanket girl might wake up if I mess with her. 

After all, she was giant swung by an insane mother, mistaken for a rocket by the neighbor and forced to practice the art of sumo – how tiresome… Crap, the memories are coming back. Must eliminate those other-dimensional delusion...

In layman’s term, the distinction between fiction and nonfiction is that of the three-dimension and two-dimension. The raucous uproar last night (raucous refers to the sound effect most heard during the certain commotion) on the level of a third-grade comedy novel made an imaginative me create a brilliant and delusional motion picture that lasted about five minutes before getting cut short.

Quickly escaping to futon-roll and the room, I jumped down the last two steps of the stairs and landed with a solid thud. The house surrounded by silence digested the refreshing motion, and the glass doors sighed gently.

If Meme-san is home, I’d like to greet her before going to the faucet. So I began searching. First stop is the kitchen – to be honest, I was just grasping at the vague hope of breakfast being there.

Yet the kitchen remained looking ravaged by the Red Tornado. It was a mess – the local gang may even demand an entrance permit if I were to walk in there. Wherever did clean-up time go?

In the center of the dining table, where the wreckage of food and plates were forcefully pushed away, two pieces of notes and a paperweight frolicked. I feel sorry for bothering them when they are playing, but I pulled the paper out from under the weight and glanced at the note.

One of the notes was a map from home to school. It didn’t have any drawing, and instead all the directions were written – quite original, actually. 'Veeeery long~' she wrote, visually trying the best to demonstrate the long road near the residents. The level of her navigational skill is slightly more useful than the unfriendly hints in RPG’s.

In addition, the other note written in scarily rigid fonts (with at least two parts of the finishing and the outlines being completely straight) was mainly message left for me.

‘Take care of your own needs. The peace of tomorrow rests on the efforts of today~★’

I crumbled the paper to test my grip strength. Doing everything so logically – as expected of my aunt!

“She never waste a single moment in life!”

Since I do not intend to plant the flag for her, my aunt probably won’t show up too many times from now on.

Alright, for the sake of a good first impression with classmates and others, let’s go tidy up at the mirror!

“Mm~” Not bad… In terms of good-looking. Standing in front of the mirror, I rated my appearance.

Not too shabby from an objective view, though the judgment was likely mixed with my own subjectivity.

For the next seven minutes and thirty seconds, I ceaselessly sorted my bangs, and desperately tried to cover the reddened pimple on my forehead with makeup. I have returned to being a high school freshman.

Following the direction Meme-san wrote on the paper, I dragged out an unlocked bike stuffed in the outdoor storage room and pat the dust off it. Every part of the bicycle was rusted, as if soaked in water; swarms of raging insects like rag worms living in capes poured out when I rung the bell. Ugh, I averted my eyes.

This bike may have been the futon girl’s.

“…Mm?” I think I’ve this bike somewhere before… For example, that red-white paint covering the back of the rust mark. Hm, whatever. Probably not a big deal.

I tried sitting on it, and after checking that the two wheels could barely turn, I pedaled hard without much expectation. I noticed from a long time ago that, basically, the degree of disappointments from reality scales positively with the level of expectation. Let's be wise. We'll be myopic. Live a gloomy, musty life. That's it.

Every now and then, I glanced at the diagram (or is it a map?) and rushed through the ‘veeeeeery long~’ road all while emitting that screech noise. This map, upon closer inspection, with “Obligatory Cheat Route” and “Portal to World 4-1” doesn’t really have much credibility – but I’ve already decided to not hold any expectation: as long as I get there, all is well.

I passed through an alley narrow enough to almost pinch the sides of my bike and traversed the trees near the residential, and finally to the big road. The amount of bicycles and pedestrians increased exponentially, and I even had the illusion of a germ bomb exploding.

Buildings more than three stories high stood naturally on both sides; though the road is more than wide enough, the wave of people still cramped the entire walkway. Also within the crowd were students in the same uniform as I, as well as high school girls in different attires (of course).

There were even some scattered students eating with their friends at the sushi stores and Mister Donut midway – completely different than in the country where everyone finishes the breakfast prepared by his mom. Rest assured: this is the city~ I immersed myself in my rustic ways.

Besides, other students flung looks of bewilderment as they easily bypass my rusty utility bike that lacked gear shift or any superior function. Due to the direction of the sun, their expressions were unclear to me.

I felt paraded. Thus, I lowered my head and pedaled my hardest.

About half way, I met a group of high school girls with the same uniform that was hanging in the room of that futon girl. It seems like that is the girl uniform of the school I’m going to. 

In about fifteen minutes later, I successfully reached the destination something-something Second High School without getting lost. See, this is what I meant by not having expectation:

Being able to enjoy indubitable facts – to an extent.

A tiny, opened school gate, with the pathway leading inside glamorously carpeted by the fallen pedals from the cherry blossoms that grew on the sides. When the trees bud in May, caterpillars will probably dominate the flowery highway. And so I poured a bucket of cold water at the scenery. To the left was a rather open field, with some guys in track suits racing on the runway. Are they training in the morning? Just looking was satisfying: their contribution to raise the youthfulness of the setting.

I stood by the fences for a bit, squinting in envy at the sports club member who frolicked as they sprinted.

Obtained one Youth point – after all, the scoring guide is rather loose on the first day. 

I shook my head lightly to fling the drowsiness away, and headed toward a man who appears to be the security. 

“Excuse me, where is the parking lot for bicycles?”

“New student?” He sounded surprise, probably because I was walking with my bike.

Should I start walking to school tomorrow? I proposed a debatable topic to my brain.

“Yes, I’m a transfer student!”

“Oh, I see. Then head back to outside first, circle around the school and you’ll see another gate. A lot of bikes are parked to the left of it.”

“Thank you!” Security of the city was very kind. Starting today, you are ‘Mister Security’ in my heart!

“Beep – Beep – backing up.” I murmured to myself as I pulled the bike back to the road in front of the entrance. I begin stepping on the weighty pedal to follow the lazily-moving bikes ahead of me.

Amongst teachers handing out class distribution sheets like newspaper, I traversed the flocking students and successfully reached my shoe locker. In any case, heading to the staff’s faculty has to be the first step!

“……” Speaking of which, where is the administrator’s room? Looking up, I hoped to see maps on the ceiling like those in the station, yet all I got was a pair of exhausted eyes blinded by the florescent light.

I’m also hesitant to ask one of those teachers handing out sheets with professional precision. Without an alternative, I decided to find my target by walking around. I’m not without some sense of direction; I’ll find it eventually. Brand new indoor slippers squeaked on the floor. I proceeded down the hallway, away from the raucity. 

Perhaps due to the campus being ventilated by the smell of people, the hallway corner exuded a smell like unopened mint-flavored gum, emanating a clean and fresh scent. Paired with the morning rays seeping in from the window, it was very comforting.

Strolling aimlessly, I easily located the Staff’s Room. After passing through the hallway into another building, I found the office sign hanging welcomingly there; I walked up without hesitation.

Just as I began pacing suspiciously outside the door like a first grader, the savior arrived.

“Ah, are you a transfer student?”

A thirty-some year old man with short, gravity-defying hair saw and walked toward me. Upon closer inspection, his hair was sharpened with gel; it may even jab those who dare to touch. Tragedy awaits for any lady who offers her laps to him. 

“Let’s take a look…” The teacher altered between the picture and my face. It would be rather dreadful if he were to somehow deem the two different. “Niwa, Makoto. Is that how you say it?” “Yes. Nice to meet you!” “Hm… Ah, I’ve never heard of this place.” “Hahahah, it ''is'' pretty out there!” Now I’m not bragging, but I have absolute confidence of hitting the fifty-two point mark with that cheery response. Even the teacher chuckled awkwardly:

“I’m your homeroom teacher in class 2, so remember my face… Alright, I’m heading to the classroom; follow me. Since this is the beginning of a new semester, just think of it like an extension to new class division!”

To ease some tension, the teacher prattled while walking me to the class. His appearance exudes a subtle athletic atmosphere, full of ambition to get popularity amongst the female students.

After leaving the Staff’s room, the teacher didn’t speak much on our way to the class. Instead, his attention fell on the stack of paper in his hands, instead of the speechless space between us. Even my gaze drifted around the skirts of passing girls, as should any healthy high school student.

We returned to the building with shoe lockers and climbed upstairs. Judging from the sign, second-year class rooms are on the second floor. Third-year on third floor, and held-back on the rooftop… And if that were true, the school board will definitely be issued a strict probation order – and that’s just ridiculous!

For starters, the rooftop on which the chances for amassing Youth Points are significantly higher has restricted access in every school campus. People won’t fight for food in the cafeteria and campus stores, and the nurse in the infirmary won’t be a hottie in white uniform. Even if one were to fight tooth and nail with reality, the most he could accomplish is just having somewhat different activities with friends; and even those are rare, outlandish exceptions.

“Class instruction is in just a bit, and then you can introduce yourself to everyone.” My homeroom teacher spoke swiftly. I couldn’t help but feel this is the first time speaking to an adult in the city; after all, the woman I met yesterday is someone more worthy of the title ‘Thirty-nine-year-old Child.’

“Morning!” Releasing a salutation like an air freshener, the teacher yelled with full throttle as he entered the room. I followed without a sound, and roughly fifteen people beamed their gaze on me at once. Perhaps because the seating hasn’t been decided, everyone casually stood between the tables and chattered, and only a few sat.

Properly ignoring the stares, I looked for my last name on the seat assignment table written on the black board in Gojuuon-order<ref>Ordering of the kana, which are characters for sound. Think Japanese alphabet.)</ref>. Incidentally, I sit in the center of the classroom.

People naturally moved out of my way, and thus I swiftly reached the spot. Even in the city, school desks are made of wood like in the country. As for the reason, well, probably because metal ones could cause some serious toe-tribulation for students in tantrum.

My neighbor was busy reading pages of a book. She had scary eyes emitting a standoffish aura, and a head of bobbed hair (this is irrelevant, but until now, hearing the word bob only make me think of foreigners). But even from the side, her cuticles looked quite smooth. The hair was so thin, if it were a man’s, it’d be seen as a sign of balding. Even her makeup was right on the mark. Her eyelashes are so long… and so I stole glances of her side face to pass time.

[[File:Dts 0059.jpg|thumbnail|"She had scary eyes emitting a standoffish aura, and a head of bobbed hair."]]

…… Thinking of which, this person is really tall. No, way too tall – like one-eighty centimeters?

Though her height is menacing, she still managed to give off a frail air – impressive.

When the bell rang, I thought about the empty shelf in my new, dusty room all while resting on my arm.

Somehow, the thought of having to take care of my luggage when I get home saddens me.

Concisely, I finished my mundane introduction.

Even though I just transferred in, this is the month of April, when the new semester starts and everyone advances one year. New faces in class are but normality, so no special attention was given to me.

I conservatively introduced myself with the standard “name-and-home” procedure; playing the clown before confirming the tolerance level of this new environment could lead to ostracization by my classmates, and I do not want to transfer again – in tears.

Thus during class meeting, I sat duly and looked for cute girls around the class. Disregardful of the result, I noticed the differences between city and country girls. Namely, the makeup they wear. Country girls either have too little or too much; city girls have just about right, or a bit on the heavy side.

Then, after an assembly with nothing worth noting, school ended before noon.

I brought up my problem regarding new text books to the teacher who quietly drifted out of the class (though in an awkward manner). After getting “buy new ones; the bundle will have to wait a few days,” I returned to my seat.

Other classmates left one by one with their friends, perhaps they plan to shop before head home, or complain about the class distribution.

Sigh… I don’t even know anywhere to go; I have yet to establish a life-enriching environment.

…… But shouldn’t there be a special encounter on the first day in a city school?? With resolve no one can see, I sat in the class, resting my head on one hand and effectively radiating a melancholic air. 

…… Not a single soul in the room, and neither were there people who left their things in the class.

Rather than feeling empty, I felt more dejected. I will never let people know that I’ve done something like this.

I stood to leave the class, prepared to recreate my old room in my new home. I walked properly through the empty hall, despite of my desire to lie down and monopolize the dusk sun shining on the floor; I have yet to give up on all aspects in life. From the shoe locker devoid of love or duel letters, I took out my shoes and headed toward what looked like a bicycle parking lot made of temporary homes<ref>As the name suggests, house that can be taken apart and rebuilt easily</ref>. 

The only thoughts in my head as I lazily walked over were about the warmth of sunlight and such.

Fortune tends to flee like wild animals when it smells the expectation of a human being.

… At that time, it must have been the lack of expectation that allowed me to pinch the tail of fortune!

In the lot, I met eyes with the owner of the bike next to mine; our eyes clashed, like bowling ball to pins. We each froze and waited for the other to look away – the air between us distorted.

The rust on my bike scattered as breeze passed by, taking the role of fireworks and sprinkled in the air.

“Yo! Transfer~ student!”

She has a hair of cute, wavy hair (I arbitrarily categorized the hair that is wavier, softer, and more importantly, cuter to the same as the curly hair of old woman. There are so many types, I just can’t remember them), and a wool sweater with sleeves enough to cover half her hands. Just when was this encounter with a girl foreshadowed today? In just a second, my lung stopped moving.

Talking with a city girl, the country boy flustered… This is bad!

If she knew I’m a transfer student, we must be in the same class.

“What kind of pronunciation is that? It’s like ordering me to transfer in a different dialect.”

Anyway, I have to respond in a wacky way that would least repulse the other person.

“Pff!” In the moment of what seemed to be her slip of laughter, we were finally able to relax. Our locked gaze was released and we returned to our casual attitude.

I was so relaxed! She seems the type that spreads a calming aura. Since a long time ago, I’ve always liked girls with brown or blonde-dyed hair – including this girl in front of me.

I tapped away at my mind-calculator, tallying the total amount of Youth-points increase in my little world.

“Whassup with the mystery? You are Niwa-kun, right?”

“Yeah, and you are… Catha…” 

“Me? I am Ryuu…ko, Mifune Ryuuko.”

Though her hesitation seemed esoteric, I still accepted the lady’s name.

Ryuuko, Ryuuko<ref>Ryuuko’s name in Kanji is 流子. The second mentioning of her name was written as 龍虎, which literally means dragon tiger. In Japanese, the pronunciation of both is identical</ref>. I see, then her name should be Ryuuko (流虎)! How’s that? Though it does sound like an acronym for an Out-of-body experience<ref>Again, pronunciation pun here</ref>.

“Oh yea! Didn’t you call me something else?” 

“Nope, nothing.”

“Well, I’m not Catherine nor Jackson~”

Hahah ~ Mifune-san smiled candidly while I chuckled dryly.

As she unlatched the lock on her bike, she continued talking with me:

“So, where did ya move to?”

“Hm, it’s hard to describe! I haven’t explored the town enough.”

“Really~? Just a general direction would do~”

She asked me to imitate the role of a compass. I really want to reply her smile, but I am just a literary boy who doesn’t know north from south.

As a person who doesn’t know which side the sun rises from, I live my life hazily as if in a forest.

“Ah!” Right, I still have one thing. Though it has stuff like teleportation point written on it, I hope she can turn a blind eye. “My house is where the star symbol is.”

I ripped out the map stuck on the bicycle basket and handed it to Mifune-san. “Ah, I don’t have a free hand~” I feel guilty: she was just about to get her bike out, and now she is in complete disarray.

“Uu… Ugu~” Perhaps due to her confusion, Mifune-san held the map with her mouth, franticly turning her eyes read the paper. Rather than a beauty making an ugly face, it was more like a beauty casually showing off an unsightly expression. Nice, as expected of the city.

Being able to talk insouciantly with a girl like this, I couldn’t help but wonder if I squandered away three weeks’ worth of luck. Could this be the opposite of yesterday’s terrible fortune? That’d be great.

“Hmmm, mmm~”

She seemed to comprehend it, nodding her heads between what sounded like lines of a toothless person. Since she stopped making the silly face, I assumed that she was done and drew the paper from her mouth. “Pwah!” Her breath and the way her tongue stuck out – virtuous perversion (Isn’t that an oxymoron?).

Of course, the balm on her lips slightly moistened the paper’s edge. It may even be saliva, but so what? So what if it was? I guess I’ll preserve it.

How can the clueless me ever lose the important map given by my aunt?

“Mmm~ let’s see~”

“Yep, yep.” I answered arbitrarily. Like I said, I’m a guy who doesn’t listen to people… (ignore rant).

“We share the same route home from here, all the way to the crossroad at the train station!”

“Really~” I stuck my chin up cockily, despite not having a clue of what she said. Like I said, my grade is (ignore).

“Anyhow, we are now com~rades~!”

“Come~aid!” What does that mean again? I realized Mifune-san meant comrades after a bit of thinking. 

“In that case, why don’t we go halfway there together? It’d be like hanging out after school!”

“Com~rades (sure)!”

Everything is going where I am.

“But, why me? No, I mean, this is great, I don’t mind at all.” I returned to my senses; I am aware that I do not have the quality to mesmerize people on the first meeting. 

“Mmm~” Mifune-chi (A nickname I just thought of, probably something no one would use) pressed her index finger (with brown nail polish) on her lips and groaned:

“If you go home alone, wouldn’t it be embarrassing if rumors about you not having friends starts to spread?”

“Why, thank you for the concern.” How tear-jerking. If she were a dude, I would probably spray him with rust dust for her nosiness. 

I followed Mifune-san out with my rusty ride. Honestly, nothing sounds better than leaving this scrap metal here and steal one of those bicycles parked there.

Looking forward, I saw Mifune-san making a preparation no other high schoolers would do.

“What’s that...?” I asked without thinking.

The transportation responsible for bring her around doesn’t appear to be a motorcycle. If anything, it looks like a human-powered bicycle. Naturally, Mifune-san took out from the basket a helmet – an artifact that high schoolers, nay, grade schoolers have long abandoned.

“Mm?” She looked back and squealed an adorable response: “This is a safety helm. It’s ouchie if you fall!”

She lightly put on the hard-hat like object and adjusted the belt. People from my old school’s Bicycle Club also wore helmet and kneepads, but there is a decisive difference between this and that. What is this discrepancy? The outpouring substance of cuteness? Her helmet seems to match with her hair style, but what about about hat hair?

“Now I don’t have to worry about hurting my head or hair… Helmet, equiped!”

She shook the helmet’s side with her tiny hands to check the tightness, and asked me with an abashed smile:

“Niwa-kun, are you going to leave your head in the nude?”

“Normally, no one would associate head with nudity.”

Besides, it was an obvious attempt to rhyme. But I didn’t make a big deal out of it.

“My friends don’t wear helmet either, but it’s so scary. Bicycles are kind of fast… Well, my friends are…”

Mifune-san mumbled a few complaints. Her every move is just flawless. As I thought, a person born with good qualities are able to effortlessly bring ideal and reality together.

“Well, it’s not like I ride fast!” I jumped onto my bike and began chasing Mifune-san’s skirt. <ref>Originally, the literal translation is “I began chasing Mifune-san’s butt,” which implies his focus…</ref>

I gracefully stuck my finger out to press the bell, but with the possibility of a second or third insect platoon inside, I gave up on the reckless act and instead brushed my bangs.

Mifune-san isn’t short, but the height difference between us still means that she has to look up to me. The pimple on my forehead is really bugging me. What if she sees it~? Keep in mind, I ''am'' an adolescent boy.

I almost lowered the standard for the Youth-Point scoring guide.

“Really? I’m super fast though. I hopecha don't mind the dust then~”

A smug that could never upset her opponent.

“Even if you say that, I can't go any faster.”

“C’mon, just do it~ Come on~!”

The wheels spun smoothly, and Mifune-san pointed next to herself:

“Come here~ let’s talk!”

The power of a girl’s natural expression blooming into a radiant smile is just as effective as a right hook after three jabs.

Even if I lose my pride and masculanity right here, nothing beside a room modeling a devastated world (Not my business, but why do authors always imagine a destroyed future? Stuff like world-domineering computer losing control, meteor-induced climate change or great wars between human, etc is just too depressing) and a futon cousin who temps people to pour cold tea onto her head await me if I ditch Mifune-san and go straight home.

I, Niwa Makoto, have zero experience when it comes to being hit on. I can’t resist, and so I dumbly followed her. 

“Ahahah! You’re the best! Awesome~!”

“Ahahah~ Hold up, dammit!” Just as she said, I couldn’t catch up.

Mifune-san’s delicate legs didn’t bulge twice as big; neither was she stomping to crush the pedals. In fact, she was quite composed. It’s impressive how she didn’t fall.

A madly-cycling idiot chased a construction helmet-wearing girl. I guess bicycling is, in a way, similar to a three-legged race. If one person gives up, the other would have too. The pedals whirled like a hand mixer, yet the most crucial part – the wheels – spun slower than the brain of a dead cow. I know you are a rusty piece of junk, but you aren’t dead yet! Stand up!

Perhaps her first time surpassing anyone else, the girl teased me ceaselessly. An eleventh grader drenched in sweat chasing a girl to see her teasing face, but let’s not delve in too deeply. I don’t want to open the door to that world.<ref>A phrase that refers to discovering a person’s S&M attribute. S being sadist, M being masochistic</ref>
Students from our school stared at our commotion (percentage-wise, about 80% Mifune’s doing). There may be some reaction in the class tomorrow. Since when have I ascended to the level of a potential protagonist?

But my Youth-Points remained negative.

I’m having a blast, but I still feel unnerved. Please, I don’t want to be picked on for this!

Anyway, what the hell is wrong with this bicycle?! I'm pedaling super hard, but the speed is the same as this morning's; it's starting to feel like a parting time job. “The wage is the same for those hard-working, and those hardly working” the cocky bicycle seems to say.

We stopped at the third traffic light after crossing the bridge, and I finally caught up to Mifune-san.  The previous lights were very observant, in a way, as they didn't dare to stop the girl, being the pro-cute girl-ist they were.

“Good job~ But ya seem really tired!”

“Just… a little…!” It isn't if I can see the side of your smiling face.

“One day, this will definitely make a great memory~!” She spread her arms freely and leaned back.

… So this must be puberty, I glanced at her body and thought. As of what I mean, you are welcome to interpret. Is this what the city really is? Since earlier, Mifune-san's been talking louder to avoid being covered by the sounds of passing cars.

“………..”

City is definitely different than the country. Though the cars are pretty much the same ones, I could only surrender to the car-wave assault in front of me. Just from seeing so many people is enough to give me experience possible only overseas.

“But that's a pretty amazing bike. Is it custom made?”

She poked at the bike's basket, as if asking where this thing came from.

“I don't think there is a market demand for professional garbage making...”

Amateurs can try making these too, in a sense. Just charge into a river and voila. Even shiny bicycles gifted by dads to celebrate graduation can't withstand the damage.

Seawater would likely give similar result, but those environmentalist probably won't be too happy.

“Ah, um...” Mifune-san sounded reluctant when she changed topic.

“Hm? What's up?”

She straightened her back, placing both hands on her thighs.

“Y'see… I don't actually need to cross this street.”

“Ah… Oh. I see.” She did say her house is on the way to mine, but I forgot to where.

“I live over there.” Mifune-san pointed to the left. Dizzying amount of cars and white buildings on the sides drew out the scenery. A similar sight fanned to the right as well. <b>Symmetry</b>. Yep, I'm at the age to use words that I don't fully understand.

“We hafta say bye here!” 

“Seriously!?”

“But we didn't even get to talk on the way~!” Puu! Sounds like she could burst out in laughter anytime. 

“Hah… Hah...” I heaved heavily, leaning onto the bicycle's handlebars.

“Besides, ya don't look so good!”

“…. Haah~ Haahh~” I am definitely not trying to sniff her.

“Oh well, I guess I'll have to wait till tomorrow!”

“… Cough, cough!” I choked for some other reasons. Is this what the city really is?

Ring ring, Mifune-san rung the bell twice. Following the sound, I looked up to stare. “Mm~ mm~ Oh!” But the girl only looked around as if searching for something. “Gimme a sec.” She seemed to have located her target and jogged away after shoving the bicycle's handlebars into my hands.

I thought about switching our bikes and leaving for home, for the sake of her own youth development. But I quickly recalculated: time spent with a girl is ''way'' more precious than a stupid bike.

The traffic light turned green, as if mocking me who waited there. Just then, as if by some meticulous calculation, a familiar person deftly crossed the streets – the girl sitting next to me in class whom I have observed quite closely. Of course, she didn't look this way. Probably doesn't know my face either.

When Mifune-san returned, the traffic light had turned yellow. She was probably looking for a vending machine earlier, what a great girl.

“Here ya go.” She handed over a drink.

“Thanks!” I grabbed the can.

“I thought you'd like Oolong tea, from how you looked. Ya like it?”

“Well~ Not as much as coke, but it's good.” Then Mifune-san must likes orange juice! She does look very sweet.

By the way, she took the drink money without missing a cent. What a clever and able girl. (← starting to become blind)

“Only a hundred and ten yen for a drink! Too bad ya don't see those vending machines anymore!”

We chugged the drink simultaneously. No one played food taster. The slight bitterness of Oolong tinged my throat, piquing a refreshing pleasure. Memory of misreading a light novel title as Oolong-gosou came rushing back into my brain.<ref> Referring to “Torikagosou No Kyou Mo Nemutai Juunintachi” by Kabei Yukako. Torikagosou's kanji is written as 鳥籠莊, which looks similar to 烏龍, Oolong tea's kanji</ref>

“Puwahh~!” Mifune-san downed her drink and took a satisfying breath. She kept staring at me as she groomed the hair outside of her helmet. Just a little, my heartbeat raised.

“So, why did ya transfer here?”

“I'll give you a hint: do you think there's some romantic reason?”

I answered with a question. “Uu~” The tolerant girl earnestly thought about it. Ding! A light bulb popped out, and she answered vigorously:

“You were a notorious delinquent who did something terrible in your last school!”

“Then would we still be talking right now?”

“Yeah, you're right~” She grinned. The drinks were finished by now.

“My parents are working overseas, so they sent me to my aunt's.”

“Wow, that sounds great~” A scenario all girls look forward to made Mifune-san's eyes glitter.

“I know, right? I think so too… Scratch that, I ''thought'' so.”

I looked away, eyes following the cars that seem to pursue the Mercedes ahead.

And so I successfully avoided the trauma from the repercussion of last night.

“Ah, the light’s green.”

Mifune-san reported. I don’t remember how many green lights it has been since the tall girl passed. However, the short time we spent here is all about quality over quantity.

“Well, it’s about time for me to head home anyway!” To be honest, I want to talk to her for another hour.

“Um…” 

“?” 

Mifune-san tipped on her toes slightly: “Niwa-kun!”

“Hm?”

“I hope you make lottsa friends!”

“Hahahahah.” What are you, my sister?

“Get along with everyone~ Oh!” With toes still tipped, she cheered.

“Oh~! …Oh, whatever. Oh~!”

She left after declaring something I can’t agree with.

I stood and watched Mifune-san’s silhouette leave. She turned back and waved her left arm; her bike wiggled left and right, looking really perilous.

She adjusted her helmet with her left hand after the bike stabilized. Evidently, she’s very conscious of her hair.

After seeing her off, I feel an overdue sense of fulfillment tingling. I stretched my shoulders:

“…In any case, that’s one less issue.”

For the chance of saying “what a coincidence! Let’s go to class together, ahahah~” to her at the bicycle lot, I decide to continue biking to school. It’s final.



It was still noon when I got back to Meme-san’s house, because I didn’t go anywhere else. It was just half over twelve, a sufficient amount of time remains till tomorrow.

I parked the bike into the storage with its imaginary lock. Rubbing my hands together, I tried to get rid of the reddish-brown powder off before going into the house. Even if the residents are people who should be censored like profanity on TV, the house they live in is still innocent! I figured I may as well keep the place clean if I’m living here.

“I’ve been thinking: do things have heart too?”

I had something weird as a pet in first grade. It’s a bit of a complicated past that’s been sealed away. It could be a touching story with a bit of wording, but I’m likely to be crushed by shame halfway through recounting.

It has to be kept secret. I opened the door.

“…I’m home~” I quietly greeted. The room desirous of movement swallowed the feeble noise; like a drop of water on gauze, it dissipated without a trace.

Meme-san was of course still working at the company (probably, but I don’t even know what she does), but her daughter… Did Erio run out somewhere with her futon?

“…………” The image could be part of a heartwarming anime.

I don’t know the neighbors yet, but what if rumors (especially the kind people whisper) were to spread? I will be treated as the same!

I am not a cogwheel bound by the rules of society, and I refuse to follow fate! But now’s not the time to work the fallow field of my mind with silly jokes. I took off my shoes and rearranged them after stepping inside.

A pair of Geta<ref>Traditional Japanese wooden sandals</ref> sat at the entrance, and a pair of modernistic shoes a girl my generation would wear next to them.

I proceeded to the stairs through the hall. What to do for lunch? I thought as Oolong-tea swiveled at the bottom of my stomach; I don’t even know where the convenient store is, and I’m just an ordinary guy who can’t cook… Then should I try the Onigiri<ref>Rice ball</ref> store I saw this morning?

Checking my purse, I reached the stairs. Just then, I heard noises from the living room that was untouched since yesterday. I stepped off and turned toward the living room. Could it be a thief?! If it is, would he be kind enough to clean the kitchen? Optimistic wishes popped up in my head.

Unconsciously, I hid in the shadow and peeked into the room. And so, a futon-roll (shoo, shoo, go away) sitting in the living room entered my vision. As if imitating some scientist inspector, she kneeled in front of a TV screen filled with snowy noise. What a surreal sight.

“The kosmos is mersderrected…” She muttered, quite loudly for talking to herself, at the TV. Something about the cosmos.

Ignoring her is easy, but I’m not just a hotel guest either. Let’s at least try to figure out a way to live with this person!

“Hey~” A cautious call. We didn’t properly introduce ourselves, and we’re also the opposite gender. I have to take in consideration that she may be upset that a guy had suddenly moved in.

Futon girl twisted her body to face me. But since there’s that cotton in between, I didn’t think we’re really interacting.

“I’m home.”

“…….” She remained silent, but the top of the futon moved slightly, reflecting the inner movement.

I put my pack on the table and sat down on the tatami floor in front of the futon girl. I stared at her rudely, but there’s wasn’t much I could ogle anyway.

She changed from pajama to long-sleeved shirt and square-pattern skirts, something semblance of a messily-worn school uniform.

…. Though I tried to speak, what should I ask? I need an inspiration for topics… I know, I’ll try what I did at school!

“Oh, my name is Niwa Makoto. We are cousins. Pleased to meet you.”

An introduction on our second meeting. Just like in a classroom, we’ll start with this!

“Earff is in denner.”

“Huh?” Her answer was obviously not ‘pleased to meet you.’

Once again, the girl with cotton in her mouth spoke unclearly. This time, I understood what she said:

“Uh, so Earth is in danger….. Is it?”

Aren’t the people polluting this planet already a threat to Earth?

Perhaps as retaliation to my lackluster response, she extended out her right hand from below the futon, grabbed the remote and dialed the volume up. White noise swarmed, so did a feeling of brow-frowning discomfort in my head.

“I get it, I get it. I don’t know what to get, but I get it. Forget about the cosmos, just drop the remote.”

I reached for the remote, but she dexterously blocked me with her futon body. But since she lowered the volume, my words were not unheard.

As the wobbly futon girl sat down, I asked the long-overdue question; this is something I find difficult to ask Meme-san:

“One question: are you really my cousin? Meme-san’s daughter? Is it true?”

I said one question, but it’s more like a sentence full of questions meant to suffocate this stifled-looking person.

“….Kousin…”

Futon-girl relaxed her kneeling legs and mumbled. 'Kousin' sounds like you're talking to someone else!

“Child of the serbling of parents – neese. Also yused merterphorically with people of approximate who are not related by blood. Example: ‘The guy in front of me resembles a Tardigrade<ref>A microorganism</ref> kousin.’”  

“Don’t insult people while pretending to be a dictionary.” I understood the muffled speech, maybe because I’m getting used to it.

And you haven’t even seen my face...

Neither have I her. I’m not disinterested, since people in manga tend to be rather beautiful.

In reality, however, only people with ulterior motives will try to hide their intent.

“What else?  You seem to be avoiding my questions.”

Then I’ll ask you with my fists! Just kidding. I’m not curious enough to use violence, but what’s important is the fact that this thing lives with me.

The futon girl doesn’t seem to have much to say though. Sigh, fine.

“Anyway, I’ll be a guest here for a while, meaning we’ll be living together.”

I want to see her reaction, so I stepped down and explained.

“….Oo…Oo……..Oo….”

Futon girl whispered something, but under the TV noise and her muffler, it’s quite unclear. I wanted to turn off the TV, so I stood to grab the remote place on the table.

Probably detecting my movement, the Futon girl hid the remote in her body with unexpected speed. I clawed at the air, wondering if I should just beat the remote out of her. But harassing someone whose face I don’t even know doesn’t seem like a good idea, so I stopped.

Even if we are acquaintances, the punishment and despise I would get for touching a girl’s body wouldn’t be any different.

“What are you doing?” I asked without letting the screen into my sight.

“Awaiting for a telerportation from Spaes.”

“…. Are you ok upstairs?” I finally expressed freely the concerns a relative should have.

“Lerng range telerportation compleet. ETA T minus onehundredandtwentyseven seconds.”

“Uh?” A hundredandtwentyseven seconds…. Two minutes and seven seconds? She’s just making this up!

As expected, thirty seconds after she said it, the so called “teleportation” is complete. Looks like the aliens have quite the earthly manner, ringing the doorbell. From the futon girl’s reaction, that’s what she’s being waiting for. 

“It hasn’t even been a minute!”

“The report was inaccurate. Unfortunately, the result must be recalculated.”

“...I’m actually happy that you answered, but are we really talking here?”

The futon girl ignored my protesting and strode out. Her steps were impeccable, as if telling me “even my ears are stuffed with cotton.”

“…. I guess I should go.”

Letting that person answer the door doesn’t seem smart. Common sense tells me to follow her; the futon girl said nothing to her follower.

I came back to the entrance I was just at.

Perhaps the process of teleportation is carried out with man power; the door’s glass distinctively mirrored the shadow of a person.

Looks like a delivery man.

“Hold it.” I pulled the futon-roll back as she walked down with bare feet.

“……..” I felt her strong dissatisfaction even through the sheets.

“You a cat? Don’t just walk around with no shoes.” I pushed her back into the hall, put on my shoes and opened the door.

Since I’m lounging here, might as well make it a habit to take care of the family.

The alien standing outside wore a green-and-white striped uniform and carried something tantalizing.

“Thanking for using ooo Pizza delivery!!” A young man who could charge people for his smile appeared.

“Huh? What pizza?”

“ooo Pizza.” His pronunciation is flawless, but I couldn’t comprehend.

Could he actually be...? …No way.

It mattered little, whether if he’s from D*minos, P*zza Hut or Papa M*rphy.

“Thank you, enjoy!” Somehow, I ended up paying the bill. 

The delivery bro didn’t realize the existence of the futon girl, and dashed off on his scooter. Those are so good; my bike just kinda drains its user.

Close the door, lock it. Arrange the slippers nice and neatly, put my wallet back.

What remains in my hands is a bacon and onion pizza, German style, size small. One thousand and four hundred yen.

“The kousin’s evaluation score raises to two on the x axis.”

“Mm...” Summarizing it wasn’t easy, but to put it simply, she meant ‘thanks?’

“Speaking of, the universe is pretty small! We have something like this in the country too!”

“The universe is hermernity’s clersest hope.”

“Wha? The universe is humanity’s closest hope? Can’t you just give me a straight answer??”

Futon girl didn’t heed to me, simply returning to the room holding on to the pizza box. I followed mindlessly. She appears familiar with the way of her house, carefully dodging the cabinet and vase placed in the hallway without tripping on or breaking anything.

We walked into the living room and, for some reason, sat next to each other. Normally sitting next to a girl in public places would be embarrassing enough to skyrocket my pulse and heartbeat – a sign of imminent Youth-Points — but sitting next to a mattress just makes me sleepy. I'd like to hug it, but I am not about to commit a crime. I’m serious, she was just a futon! No one is gonna listen to an excuse like this — even if it’s true!

She wiggled in the futon and found four hundred yen in coins and a wrinkled thousand yen bill. With an arm that could barely move above the wrist, she handed the money to the middle of nowhere. Seems like the crazy girl still know the concept of money.

At least knowing how to order deliveries places her closer to being social animals. 

“Thanks.”

I took the money and put it back to my wallet. All right, my mission and screen time is over. Should I just head back to the second floor? Looking at others eat may reveal how deprived young people look nowadays... But I do want to see how she eats.

Even if everything out of her mouth is space-related, I know she actually likes gravity. There is no way she would eat with the futon on. In other words, she will take off her cover. 

This is an opportunity to steal a peek of her face; curiosity fixed my feet on the ground.

I'm too hungry to even ask “why do you dress like that?”


Futon-girl opened the box. Aroma of the pizza intensified, exacerbating the growling of my stomach. Maybe I'll call a pizza too? Hunger demanded so, but after considering the price, the thinking bits rejected the notion. Someone who doesn't work just can't afford to spend a penny.

She grabbed a corner of the pizza with two hands. Still clothed with futon, she kept the look of a tube.

“Huh?” She ripped the pizza in half and tossed it into the front of the futon. A hole in one.

“………..” This is the first time I've ever opened my eyes so wide in silence for something so outrageously negative.

I was shocked and wordless, impressed yet confounded. I couldn't pretend that I didn't see something that looked like it came straight from a circus.

Like the ball toss game on field days, toppings falling off the pizza made a mess of the futon. Eventually, the pizza flew toward the mouth of Erio. Does it taste good without half the ingredient? Her ridiculous way of eating even sparked some nonsensical concerns on my part.

I tried imagining the inside of the futon; a disgusting picture terrified me.

She put the other half of the pizza back, probably meaning that she's not eating it.

“What about the rest?” Though there is a mountain of questions, hunger isn't losing out either.

“Based on the Kousin's evaluation, he can have it.”

She seemed to say “go ahead.” What a great development. I already decided to ignore whatever happened in the futon.

“Then we'll split the money!” I shoved seven hundred yen into he dangling hand.

“….” Whoa. Holding her hand, I realized this ''is'' a girl.

Her pale and slender fingers were like five silver fishes.

Her faintly warm finger tips had a softness like a premium cake dough, warping around my skin. I felt as if the hand would simply melt if I keep holding on to it.

Since I know no one would do it, I cleaned the kitchen. After that, I went and unpacked two of my luggage.  Just a bit after seven, the phone rang.

The neighboring Futon girl remained motionless on her ball chair, so I rushed downstairs. Not only do I have to help with expenses, I have to pick up the phone too.

“Hello, Niwa residence.”

“Oh my, you are home already? But I made reservation for our crystal anniversary!” 

“Good luck on your golden anniversary then.”<ref>Crystal is fifteen years of marriage; golden fifty years</ref>

“Didn't you say Niwa residence? How else could that be unless we're married?”

“Oh… That's right.” I should have said Touwa residence: “Sorry, my bad.”  Kadda.

I hung up. But the demon returned. Like human history, the ringing repeated itself.

“Shin-chan, you are terrible~” Needless to say, the person nagging me with the cutesy voice was none other than Meme-san.

“Shin-chan?! That sounds like Cr*yon Shin-chan, don't call me that!”

“But you were just like him when you were a kid”

“Yeah, right! I don't even think we've met before!”

“We met in the hospital when you were born.”

“Good to know! ...So what do you need?”

“Did you have dinner yet?”

“Nope.”

“I can't go home yet, so dinner's up to you.”

“Got it. What about your daughter?”

“Well… I don't know, but you should just pretend she doesn't exist.”

“I can't do that!” I tapped with my toes loudly.

I looked away. Night enveloped the sky outside; in contrast, lights from the residences shone brightly. Perhaps because of the incorrect space or angle, the moon was invisible.

“Then it's up to you! I don't care anymore~”

Her sense of responsibility is as palpable as helium.

“… Are you really her mother?”

I asked the response-less telephone. To be frank, what exactly happened if there is a daughter that no one in the family knew about? If she's letting me stay, my aunt probably doesn't mean to hide her forever.

One more mystery lingered in my mind; I rested the handset. Something I don't care about may just end up giving me insomnia tonight. I slouched in dejection.

I went upstairs to grab my wallet, visiting my cousin's room on the way.

“Hey, um...” What do I call her? She seems to have named me the cousin, but what about me? Calling my cousin by her last name is weird too.

“What are we eating for dinner? Ah, what do you usually get?”

Without using any subject nouns, I asked. We'll discuss about that later.

The cousin-and-futon half-buried in the ball chair stood up steadily. I want to try sitting on that too if I have the chance.

“Userlly nutrient from spaes that can pervide ample energy for night operation.”

The transcribed sentence would be “Usually nutrient from space that can provide ample energy for night operation.”

“So you insist that pizza is space food, huh…?” Fine, I'll pretend it's space pizza!

She still smelled like pizza. Why not just wash or change the futon?

“But the nutrient was divided to the cousin today. Active time has thus been shortened.”

“…Oh~ You don't have dinner cuz you gave me the pizza. I get it.” I could almost be a translator at this point!

The pizza is divided for lunch and dinner. That's futon-girl's daily diet. But since I ate half, she doesn't get dinner tonight.

What a nutritionally unbalanced diet. Well, I only had a variety of food because I lived with my parents, but I'm likely to stuff myself with junk food if I live like the futon-girl (I deliberately didn't describe her with this particular word).<ref>Refer to the word NEET – not in education, employment or training</ref>

“Then we'll cook...” I swallowed the dumb question back halfway. Doesn't Erio-san emits an aura that says “I only know how to sleep”? Her sense of fashion says just that. The only thing I can't win against her is her unique style.

Thought I still can't deny that she isn't exactly dignified as a human being.

“Want me to get something for ya, Nee-san?”

I tried laying low, before anything worse happens.

Something tells me the terrible development that is being forced to go outside with this futon ball awaits me if I don't say anything. It's a sort of six sense – an omen, even. Like mother, like daughter.

“The kousin has yet to pass everluation – it is unknern whether he could pervide satisferctory results.”

See? I knew it.

After translation, I think she definitely meant “I'm going too.”

The refreshing night breeze blew over my shoulder.

Passion and freedom filled my chest, as I looked up at the waxing moon.

Yet obstacles (and pedestrians) were plenty on the night street.

As expected of the city.

Ahhh~ They're all looking. Everyone's staring. My dark history is growing by the second… They wouldn't think I'm out to dispose a dead body, right?

I want to immerse myself in the atmosphere of a night walk, but the object in front of me would always drag me back into reality.

The futon-girl who sat butt-in in the basket, feet swaying, is not a pleasant sight.

We'll definitely be lectured by some dedicated policemen if we keep riding the way we are. Riding double isn't trending anymore, but for her, it must be a rare occurrence. 

Her reaction was the same as a kindergartener making a racket on a shopping cart.

I'd like to hope that I'd be mistaken for a mattress deliveryman, but the futon-girl simply doesn't have the technique or ability to retract her legs. How should I put it? it's pretty damn hard to ride the bike, especially not being able to see the front; I couldn't see without tilting my head. Things were looking bleak as the bicycle's center of mass changed and the wheels started to tremble.

The thing that should be dealt first is that futon, but she was stubborn to not take it off. I tried to rip it off before heading out, but she ran away; looking at her struggling on the floor somehow made me feel guilty. I did help her up, but I lost a point on the X axis.

I lost two Youth-points too, so we'll call it even.

But since I don't know where the convenient store is, I needed to compromise with her.

Besides, since we went outside, the futon-girl's rate of tripping increased exponentially. Her maneuverability seems to only apply in the domain of her home; even walking on flat ground proved impossible without falling. The plan of walking to get food was thus discontinued, and we switched to using a bike.

This is a Itasha (not mentally, but physically painful). This would be the second headache today.<ref>Itasha 痛車— a car painted with anime or manga characters. Literally means 'pain car”</ref>

Though she gave out some vague hints to my crude road report, we still managed to reach the closest store before bumping into any policemen. In any case, anyone could tell her innocuity, despite appearing suspicious. For example, she won't be able to tell the direction or keep herself balanced if she wants to catch someone. If this was an RPG, she'd be a monster that gives one exp. 


“Here we are… What should we get~?”

I want to stick my face to the window and ogle at the things inside, but since I'm in the city, and I care about morality and shame, I gave up on the thought. Also, I didn't actually want to do any of that.

Clank, clank. The protest of “don't leave me here” in the sound of ankles kicking the basket came from behind me. She may be dense in terms of reading the atmosphere, but her hearing is pretty sharp.

“You have to take that thing off if you want to come in. I won't let you go in like that.”

Though not as intimidating as a person wearing motorcycle helmet, the futon-girl would still rouse some sort of fear in human beings. Maybe a collective body of cotton, from afar.

“As a secernd-rate envestigator, I must not reveal my identerty to the public, for it may affect the intergrity of the everluation.”

“Is that so? I admire your professionalism, so just stay there and be good!”

“But aderptability is also the prerf of a first-rate enverstigator.”

“Oh~? So in other words...” I looked back with slightly malicious eyes and listened to her plea.

“Hernce, I must extract my posterior from the bersket.” Are you the giant turnip from a certain folklore?

I originally wanted to play tug of war with her legs, but considering her being a girl, I princess-carried her out. I rested her legs on the parking lot's asphalt ground, releasing her only when she regained balance. I genuinely felt that her legs, not just her fingers, were that of a girl's.

Then, as if trying to become a human compressed-image, she struggled in the little space inside of the futon trying to untied the clothesline. She almost tipped backward because of her arms' awkward angle.

“You could have just asked for help.”

I couldn't stand to watch. Does she go through this much hassle everyday to tie herself up?

I released the tightly wrapped rope. Futon-girl, A.k.a Touwa Erio finally reveals her true form under the night sky and the light of the convenient store.

Even though I have no interest, I gawked at her face.

“…...”

My first impression was…

She looks like an extraterrestrial creature. 

“What are you? Alien? A princess in bamboo?”

Anxiety washed over my mind, wavering it. I don't know if I finished the sentence without stuttering. Blood vessels pulsed under my wrist, rendering me breathless, and my eyes bleared.

Touwa Erio without her futon is an alien… Oh, I mean alien in comparison to how I look.

If I'm Earth, then she is celestial.

The stock for Touwa Erio exploded in my mind, like witnessing Kaguya-hime<ref>Referring to Taketori Monogatari, a classic Japanese literature, in which a bamboo-born woman ascended to the moon. Some say Kaguya-hime, the woman, is an alien</ref> being born from a Durian.

An unbelievably beautiful girl born from that unbelievable aunt stood there.

Amazing. Her hair was emitting particles; that's not the hair of an earthling. 

Her hair can absorb even dandruff! I won't go as far as saying that. But even the bits of dry pizza ingredients were nullified by it.

“Alien…?”

“Hm?”

Erio widened her eyes to my reflexive comment. What's the matter?

I don't mean anything else: it's just to describe her as a different entity. But this may be what she likes to hear. 

Erio strode forward, but her right foot tripped on her left.

“Me…? I… I am an alien!”

She closed her distance with wobbling steps, grabbing onto my upper arms before regaining her balance. Her nails stabbed into my flesh, bringing a nonnegligible pain.

“What are you – hey!”

[[File:Dts_0093.jpg|thumbnail|"'What are you? Alien? A princess in a bamboo?'"]]

I nudged Erio away and stepped back; she followed.

The reason being our hands.

I let go of her hands and cast my head aside, glancing sideways at Erio.

She loosened her fists, despite her heavy breathing.

As if to calm herself down, she caressed her eyelids and muttered:

“This is the facade I use to avoid attention.” She nonchalantly described herself, looking away.

A voice as clear as the ring of a triangle, proving herself to be a girl. Shock settled in, but I still couldn't look at her.

“It doesn't seem to work very well!” I answered without looking. If someone of my gender hears this, he'll definitely beat me up.


Probably because of being relieved from a stifled condition, Erio ignored my dissent, and took another deep breath. I somehow remembered the times during middle school, when bullies shoved their victim under sheets of cushion and sat on top. Though I wasn't involved.

The reason being that Erio looks like a bullied kid, despite having a ray-emitting appearance. What should I do? If I ditch her, I'd feel pretty guilty… Well, frankly speaking, I won't deny having ulterior motives such as casually interacting with girls.

“…...”

I wanted to at least get rid of the crumbs on her hair, and sifted my finger through the strands to clean them. The dehydrated pieces separated from the hair, falling like dirt.

My fingers felt tingly, and they shook slightly. Wuah, I'm nervous. I mockingly assessed, trying to calm myself. Not that it worked.

It's not like I've never touched a girl, but this is the first time my fingers have felt a beautiful girl.

And so my torso was so stiff to the point that it might hurt later.

Erio let me groomed her hair, all while staring into my eyeballs. It was kinda unsettling.

Thanks to that, my nervousness receded. My shoulders relaxed, and my breath eased. 

I took my finger back to see there are particles there, only to see the remains of bacon. I dust them off and awaited for Erio's reaction.

“…...” Silence. She poked at her ribs, as if wanting to say something. Even I'm hesitant to speak fist.

Her presence even made me lose the words I had in mind.


I didn't want to break the silence; I wanted to be engrossed in the view.

She isn't the banal, adorable type: she has the exotic beauty of an untouchable art.

Thanks to the futon she held with her right hand, I could at least keep her in my sight.

“I plan to unveil my secret to the cousin, for you have the potential.”

She finally spoke, and with varying pitch and eye movement, looked much more human. The monocular view finally developed into a binocular one.

“Mm… What kind of secret?”

Since she showed me her face, she must trust me to some degree. However, I don't want to know you.

Feels like I will be brought to a different universe.

Erio flicked her greasy hair, expressionlessly but solemnly declared:

“The Earth is in danger.”

“I've heard of this one!” How come she knows about stuff like this?! Aren't we the same age?

Not again. ''This'' is your secret? This is worse than compromised national security… If it was ''real''.

Of course, I won't seriously consider it. Aliens are losing their habitats because of human's technological advancement.

Occasionally, I'll meet with one of these people, who believe that highly-civilized aliens have already integrated themselves into human society. Right... Is that so?

Do these people want to live like they did during the Muromachi-jidai?<ref>An era of Japan spanning from year 1336 to 1573. A time of chaos, but also of agricultural and industrial progress.</ref>

No. Ridiculous.

I can't admire theories on mysteries that are too close to the daily life.

Alien may exist, but where are they?

… Sigh. This is the thought of a dreamless, half-baked and pretentious philosopher: me.

A dead-serious Miss Cousin began chattering, with more vigor and color than ever before:

“I'm a conciliatory investigator of alien origin. My assignment is to evaluate the citizens of both this city and Earth, and to erase the trace of any alien contact. There is also a testing ground for aliens to break free off of earth's gravitational field.”

The night wind swallowed her hysterical cry. The particles from her hair also ceased to emit.

This must be God's punishment, I thought.

It must be a penalty imposed on her for her out-of-worldly appearance.

This is exactly what I meant by over-anticipation.

Everything she's been saying has been neatly put into a single phrase.

Then I'll say it out loud!

No B.S, I'll say it! One, two… three!

“...Is that so?”

And so, I met Touwa Erio.

[[File:Dts_0101.jpg|406px|Dream of independent life ruined by futon-girl: -2 Witnessed a nightmare on the first day of moving in: -3 Seeing a morning practice on a sunny day: +1 The combination of going home, drinking and riding with Mifune-san: +2 Touching futon-girl's hand, the feeling of a boy-meets-girl scenario: +1 Riding with futon-girl in the basket during the night: -2 Seeing Touwa Erio's: + 3 Hearing Touwa Erio: -4]]

* Dream of independent life ruined by futon-girl: -2
* Witnessed a nightmare on the first day of moving in: -3
* Seeing a morning practice on a sunny day: +1
* The combination of going home, drinking and riding with Mifune-san: +2
* Touching futon-girl's hand, the feeling of a boy-meets-girl scenario: +1
* Riding with futon-girl in the basket during the night: -2
* Seeing Touwa Erio's: + 3
* Hearing Touwa Erio: -4
'''Youth-Point Total:''' -9

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==Translator's Notes and References==
<references/>

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| Forward to [[Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko:Volume1_Chapter3|Chapter 3]]
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