Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko:Volume2 Chapter1
Chapter one: Kyaah— I’ve turned forty. Forty! Kyaah~ Eeyaah~ Gyaah~! Forty — a demonic number capable of bringing down a corrupt government; it’s a number encapsulating the bounty and depth of not just life, but of history. People lose their immaturity here, and step onto the stairway to adulthood. Kyaah, what smooth skin! I’m so jealous! Dammit, even if she’s my own daughter, that look is just too damn much!
“Don’t steal my monologue!”
And what the hell is up with you replacing the chapter title with screaming? …I don't know what I'm saying either, but it's like my mouth was possessed by a necromancer.
…Alright, start over. Hi, I’m Niwa Makoto. At the moment, the room is about forty times noisier.
Today – Sunday, June sixth — a certain forty-year old child was yelling her afternoon away. It was annoying. She came into my room, riled up the dust and crawled around on the bed like a beached shrimp. It would appear to be a futile struggle against the changing of her age.
As a side note, there’s some medicine patch on her feet. It looked kinda depressing.
“What a cruel world~ uwooo~wuu. If time and story could stop, I could be forever thirty nine. My dream of spreading 'thirty-nine year old business card' in the town is over.” (TL Notes: as in those cards with giant 39 written on them in the first volume)
Sniffle~ Touwa Meme-san spat out an absurd wish. She’s my aunt (おばさん), and there is no way a ‘ka’ is between the two kana’s. Since her name might begin to appear in the examples of the definition of forty-years old, my peaceful life has been threatened. (TL Notes: with か added, 叔母さん oba-san becomes お馬鹿さん obakasan idiot)
“Ahh~ Wuu~ Forty… Elliot is also forty, Hoshimimi is also forty. Onii-san is also forty two… Ohohohoh!” She buried her face into the pillow, an eerie smile crept up on her face. This way, she wasted her move. But in the time of each of my moves, she has triple the amount of action – What energy. Well, not like I know what’s going on!
“Meme-san, just go back!” Shoo~ Shoo~ I put out my stance of eviction. It, however, has never worked.
“If you don’t call me Meme-chan or Honey, I’m not going to listen! Hmph!” Just as the sound effect suggested, she looked to the side.
Change your brain-smothered-in-honey behavior, ya forty-year old! I’m the one who wants you out of the house!
“Honey~ (the hell’s wrong with me)”
“Rejected! You sound perverted!”
She just grew up in some unnecessary direction, compare to before. Sigh… I guess it’s pretty impressive, growing at all at her age.
“Don’t give me that look. My skin is actually so good that some people call me the smooth-skinned sensei! Don’t be shy, come here… Come here~”
I wanted to silently leave her alone, but Meme-san talked like she won’t accept a second of pause: “My~ Don’t be shy! Even though loving your dad’s sister is just as bad as falling in love with your own dad, but endearing names are completely fine!” Her raving bloated like marshmallow, pressuring the air and my stomach.
She’s done; she's not at all mature, and it’s going to be terrible if nothing is done. Looks like I have to speak now. If this goes on, misunderstanding will occur between us and the neighbors, and there will be no more weekends.
“…Meme-chan.”
“Badump~ (star)” Crap.
I’m going to kick her. And not just her shadow. (TL Notes: Kicking of the shadow is a reference to 蹴りたい背中, a book by 綿矢りさ. The meaning of the name is “A back/shadow asking to be kicked”)
“Please stay in your room quietly.”
“Am I not~?”
“In your room… Quietly. What you just said isn’t true, but it isn't a lie either, so I wanted to point out one of the problems, but neither way works!”
“La~La~ I can’t understand your tirade~”
Slip~ Meme-san, who gave up on talking, slid closer and pounced me. “Heeyaw~!” She carefully closed the novel I was reading and tossed it toward the bed. Oh no, Kikkawa Eiji flew off… Not that I’m passionate enough for this author to exclaim like that. I’ve read a few of his books, but his style is still too wordy. His wordiness is, however, pretty popular in a lot of places. In the end of the book that just flew off, the main character defeated the weapon-wielding killer with a shoe. There should always be a limit to fickleness. Maybe it’s a mutant of the phrase “Pen is mightier than a sword”? “There are bigger things, Mako-kun. Comfort your aunt whose Happy-point is dropping because of sadness!” She shot me a smile that begged for kindness. Ugh, listen; people who are traumatized shouldn’t smile like that. That aside, what the hell is this point that scales inversely with mine? “For the sake of convenience, I will name it 'an unbelievable feeling that strikes my heart, warms my skin, and depresses me when it’s gone.'” “Don’t read garbage and use it as explanation.” “C’mon! Licking, touching or crying, whatever you like!” My kind aunt especially told me activities that would lead to the loss of Youth-points. “Then I choose to back off.” Omiting the specific actions, I dodged the oncoming danger. Keeping the point-sum as zero when dealing with Meme-san is actually considered as great fortune. “What a shocking coldness. You must have been raised in a fridge!” “It’s better than a certain aunt who’s like an onigiri in the summer sun.” “Why did I have to be forty? Thinking carefully now, wouldn’t my age and Erio’s add up to fifty five? That’s like Area 51, isn’t it? Creepy. Or better yet, Erio 51. (TL Notes: Area 51 in Nevada) “It’s a bit of a pain to think about what you’re talking, so can I not?” “Of course not~” From that fresh tone, I failed to sense the necessity for consultation. “I see… The numbers don’t add up though. Shouldn’t Erio be sixteen now?” She’s my age. “I’m thirty nine~!” Meme-san violently raised her hand. If there was a short-legged table there, she would definitely flip it merrily. “Don’t tell me, your birthday has a reentry point?” “Birthdays are special occassions. What’s so wrong about being thirty nine for that day anyway~?” She rolled around, exhibiting an act of groveling that was obviously carefully deliberated. Judging from how she didn’t hope to be twenty nine, I could see her modesty. But I wished that she wouldn’t ask for my agreement. How in the world do you want me to response? “Uh, hm. Anyway, happy birthday.” ‘You are a negative jerk, Mako-kun! Just as I thought!” Meme-san bolted out of the room after leaving those words. How rude — I have +1 point right now. I counted again back in May when I was bored in the hospital, so I should be right. By the way, because it was too troublesome, I didn’t calculate the points when people came to visit me. But those points were probably canceled out by Ryuushi-san and Nasukawa-san’s attack. (TL Notes: Maekawa) Bam bam~ Unlike her name suggests, Meme-san ran downstairs valiantly, and then ran back up humming ‘Lalala~’. She quietly peeked inside in the hallway. Every time she does something like that, bad feelings and memories surface in me. This kind of sensation is like seeing a single black spot on the radio exercise attendance card. (TL Notes: Meme is written as 女女, which is women. Radio exercise is a sort of callisthenic performed in the morning as broadcasted by radio) “I forgot to tell you, Mako-kun – No, Mako-chan!” “What?” Changing my name was definitely pointless. “The blanket is covered with my smell, so you can sniff it all you want!” “Wha~ahhh~!” My reaction was supposed to be filled with a mountain of exclamation marks, but this topic is filled with too much cringe, so I could only scream. “Wuhaha! Ah~ It’s great to help someone!” Meme-san rolled her shoulders, this time disappearing into the hallway and down the stairs with a demeaning smug. Look at you – so you are worried about being forty. I didn’t even have the strength to make a retort to her back. Are human really capable of doing things they will never regret? I shifted blame to the difficult ethics in life, wanting to lament on many things. I made the decision to never lie down on that bed today. …And then – A person rolled through the hallway — as if trading place with Meme-san — from the neighboring room. She was the futon-wrapped mini crazy girl, the daughter of that person earlier. Speaking of which, would Touwa Erio end up like that in twenty years? No, think of it the other way – Meme-san was Erio twenty years ago. Hm~ it should be registered as one of the world’s Seven Wonders. In Ryuushi-san’s words, this is the mystery exists around us. With a cartwheel, Erio invaded my room, moving toward the target that was the center. She staggeringly stood up, almost sending the feathers out, and slid. Her legs seemed to be numb from kneeling down. “Heheheh…” Erio laughed cockily… Wait, maybe the numbness made her moan, 'Wuwuwu...’ sounding like the laughter of a merciless antagonist with flu behind a futon. Her right leg twitched, and the left maintained a subtle arc. That must be the afflicted one. She lifted the blanket… Or rather, her body; but gravity had the upper hand, and she filled the space between her and the floor. I’ll give you three minutes. I watched, yet Erio didn’t move. She seemed to have given up. “Idiot.” People who are free 24/7 are annoying because of this: It’s habits like ‘what a pain, let’s just lie down here’ that are the worst. Yet, is is enviable, being allowed to do just that. I helped Erio – or the blanket – up. The lady was, naturally, unhurt and indifferent. “Stick your head out.” And so, I commanded her as if summoning the Genie. Swoosh~ Pah! Her head drilled upward, revealing only the face from the futon. Though expressionless, Erio — the embodiment of a pretty girl — was surprisingly earnest. This is like describing an apple, for example. Some people will emphasize on the redness or the size of an apple, but other than food novels or manga, no one will describe the species of apples in tremendous detail. Just like when writing about apples where most people would think of a red, palm-sized fruit, Erio’s appearance faithfully reproduces the hazy image that people have of a pretty girl. Most men would probably think, ‘she’s super cute; I’ll take care of her.’ but I’m not one of them: I care more about the inside of a person. Well, not like I can assert that without a shard of doubt, but who cares? I changed my attitude arbitrarily: “Why are you wearing the futon again?” Didn’t Denpa Onna end in the last volume? “I’m the most comfortable like this.” “You wanna decorate that hole in the wall? Whatever. You got something for me?” Her dialogue didn’t stray to space, but was instead guided toward me, saving all the trouble of communication. However, I’m still not used to it.. Or rather, I feel embarrassed to her answering me normally. Why did her first impression have to be so intense? Erio, who should be at her most comfortable, was squirming around restlessly, her gaze darting left and right. "Today is Mom's..." Hearing something like that came out from her mouth was bizzare to me: sort of like something that looked wooden, but actually metalic. My days exchanging with Earthling Erio is still quite shallow. "Birthday." "Mmhm." "...And?" She seemed to think that a single phrase would be enough to convey her intention: "...Everything else in the middle too." My comprehension isn't that good, so give me the accepted answer. With a tinge of trouble on her face, Erio bit her lower lips and mumbled the missing link: "The pastry." "The pastry." I regurgitated pointlessly. For some reason, even the young high school guy with an overactive imagination found it difficult to picture Erio chowing down on snacks. Even though I could picture her eating mochi, and stretching it out because the toughness. (TL Notes: a common rice-based, soft snack eaten all year round, but also on special occasions like New Years for celebratory purposes) “Mom likes dango.” (TL Notes: another traditional Japanese snack, similar to the mochi, but smaller and often skewered) ...Oh, I see. So we're celebrating? It should be fine if it isn't cake, then, since it's what she likes. So, summarizing what Erio just said, I understood the purpose of her bringing this topic up… Hm. “You want me to bring you there?” “Mhm.” “Ah—...Sure, whatever.” Like sunlight reverting from dusk to noon, rays shot out from Erio. The particles of light sensed her reaction, and gathered on specific spots of her skin. Perhaps recovered from numbness, Erio successfully stood up this time and hurried to the doorway. “Oi, take the futon off first.” “Guu!” Though dissatisfied, she looked away as if remembered something. “What's wrong?” “Cousin.” Erio gazed at my eyes. Even the color of her irises was deep as if refined by extraterrestrial means. Water in her eye gleamed chrome and clear; drinks filled with solvent are incomparable to it. “What?” “The futon has my smell. Do you want it?” “You two got something wrong — I am not a sniffer.” (TL Notes: Originally something like smell-con, but I figured it's to understand this way) The answer opposite of your thought is so wrong, yet so right.
The new bicycle showed me worlds that I almost forgot. Wheels that will actually follow the chain, handles that don't feel sandy, frame with no rust or shedding, basket with perfect paint, and the Erio inside of it — the last one was extra! After my forceful removal of the futon (as a side note, her struggle, 'hng~ hng!', was cute) Erio obediently went out with me. She didn't sit behind me, but instead stuffed her butt into the basket naturally, waiting for the delivery. According to her, 'this is more comfortable.' My cousin who always prioritizes comfort dismissed the white line that labeled sidewalk. Looks like rigorous effort is required to change her life for the better. Since this mission was not obligatory, I want to take good care of all of my bones — including my healed right arm. That certain someone who made me waste all the calcium is now considered my nemesis. Sun shone high on the Saturday two week after raining season, ensuing the weather of May. The wind and light were pleasantly dry, ridding off of only the extra moisture on skin. The end of spring is the best time to ride a bicycle to enjoy the breeze. As I followed along the dike, as per Erio's direction, I saw the open ground below with a group of adults and children playing baseball. How nostalgic! Baseball was something of a football substitute back in elementary school, when all the footballs in the gym storage have been taken. Because we only had a total of six people from both sides, once three people land singles consecutively, we would have the outfielder come and bat. The result was ambiguous win/loss, but looking back now, isn't it pretty good to be able to kill time without arguments? Kids tend to argue over the smallest things like winning or losing; though most are able to make up in weeks or months, there are cases when they will never speak again. Well, most people lose touch with their friends after graduating, but a happy farewell is always appreciated. Since there wasn't any oncoming traffic, I had an overlook of the game. The batter was a red yukata-clad, ukon geta-wearing, construction helmet-donned, bat-wielding, tiny girl…girl? Female? Anyway, her age was unknown. But the girl dressed in all that was batting, and she sent the ball flying to the left field. The batter herself stumbled because of the recoil at first, but immediately dropped the bat and sprinted forward. She made it to second base through the first, triumphantly raising her right hand. It looked like a mischievous Zashiki Warashi playing baseball. (TL Notes: Yukata is a tradition clothing. Geta is a type of wooden sandal. Zashiki Warashi is a yokai in folklore that are a sign of wealth) If that's so, then this might not be the little league, but the yokai league? Maybe it's more enjoyable than a field day in the grave yard? I came to my own conclusion despite of facts. (TL Notes: A reference to the opening of the classic anime Kitaro) “Baseball...” Erio, who was stuffed int the basket, mumbled. The words unfiltered by futon sounded like notes played on a piano in staccato: they were clear, but vague in meaning. “Do you like it?” As I asked, Erio wildly shook her hair that were long enough to be a carpet. The game watching was declared finished when I began looking at her hair. I rode across the bridge; the dyke disappeared. “Were you ever in a club when you were still in school?” Having a normal conversation with a girl riding on your bike — isn't this the promised land of Youth-points? Yet, the numbers showed no sign of changing due to her way of riding. Things are never as expected. “Club… Astronomy club.” “Ah, the quiet kind?” Just as I thought, space. So you do like that stuff. “...I'm part of the go-home club that thinks 'I should have joined' with a smirk on my face.” “...Is that so?” You'd still look like a painting with a creepy smile like that, right? I followed Erio's instruction and entered what looked like the shopping district. Old shops that would treat shopping centers as enemies stood on both sides, and few with the shutters closed scattered here and there. Without fail, people standing by the stores and those in uniform riding on bicycles all turned their heads to gaze at the pretty girl in the basket. I felt awkward — I was definitely not worried about stupid things like 'I don't fit in this picture.' On the southern part of the district, I parked in front of the pastry next to the bicycle shop. Through the glass, the scenery inside the store seemed to emphasize the color white. Written on the signboard outside was the introduction of strawberry daifuku and the new Dorayaki mochi. (TL notes: Daifuku is like a mochi, and are usually filled with red bean paste. Dorayaki is like two pancakes with red bean paste in between) As a side note, the shop's name appeared to be 'Mars Globe.' As expected of the greedy town that want to grasp not only the locals, but also a different planet: even the naming has something to with space! “This is the only shop I know.” “Really…? Well, I don't really care where we're going. Meme-san should be happy as long as you bought it for her.” Maybe she'll even feel that her tears shed for the lamentation of being forty 'what a waste~' and moved to tears again for two different reasons. No, not a chance. She shouldn't be the type to honestly accept a gift. Sigh, the thing Meme-san talked about before, the — uh, Happiness-point might rise? Erio seemed embarrassed, her cheeks flushed pink. She covered her face with her hands, as if trying to hide the fact of her blushing. We went inside the gorgeous shop decorated like a refurbished pachinko parlor, with flags and hand-drawn advertisement. “Welcome… Eh, aren't you two my somewhat acquaintances?” The white, round object that was initially wiping the display case greeted us cordially. “...” (illustration) Hah? I have to describe? But, uh, it's just Maekawa-san wearing a daifuku skin! “Hm~? Why are you just standing there, transfer student… And the futon-roll, whoa! It's been a while since I've seen the content!” “...Mm.” Was Erio's calmness out of maturity? Or simply seeing the other person as a fellow cosplayer? Faced with the gaze of an old classmate, she actually realized her disgrace and hid behind me. “Oh man, you are shy now! And so chummy with the transfer student, too, with this and with that~” “N-no, our relation isn't based on love; it's mostly just familial! So, what is Lady Daifuku doing then?” “Watch it there, this isn't a daifuku — it's a shiroko of a hanami dango. Dango, not shirako!” (TL Notes: Shiroko しろこand Shirako しらこ are both written as 白子. Shiroko is a white dango, while shirako is a certain part of a fish… Look it up) She protested; her cheeks swelled as if stuffed with dango. I see, so that's a dango on her head. “The two have totally different chewiness. You get me, transfer student?” “Really? But you got powder on you.” “It's just the paint falling off — this isn't anything expensive.” She stopped wiping the window and turned to face us. Maekawa-san was unfazed even when wearing this outfit that decreases both defense and coolness to minimum, standing tall with her back straight. Indeed, she's really lanky. Rather than calling that a dango, isn't her outfit better suited as a yam? Let's keep this thought a secret. “As you can see, I work here. A mascot is indeed a must-have in this time and age!” “Right.” You just look like a ball for a game of pushball though. “There are two more outfits for the Mugwort and red bean flavor, do you want to try? Let's all be a skewer!” (TL Notes: a hanami dango 花見団子 has three color: white, green and red. It's often skewered in trio)
