Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko:VolumeSF Chapter1

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Chapter 1

• Setting foot in that land: +3
• Getting lost inside the station. −2
• Target detected. +3

Current total XX points: +4

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By the time the train approached the target station, it had become nearly full. A woman with purple-dyed hair sat next to Makoto, spreading a women’s magazine across her lap. Her hand had stopped mid-page, and she had fallen asleep with her mouth slightly agape. Makoto felt cramped by the weight of her head leaning against his shoulder.

The source of his discomfort was the scent of her make-up that drifted toward his nose along with the air conditioning breeze. Is that the smell of the city? Makoto ironically wondered. He found himself unable to concentrate even on the shougi game on his handheld console that he had been playing to pass the time. On the LCD screen, a real-life meijin was wearing a solemn expression.

The train jolted violently up and down. The vibration caused Makoto’s shoulder to rise, pressing against the woman’s face. The woman’s upper body gave a sudden start as she jolted awake from her nap. Unconsciously wiping her mouth, she seemed to realise she had been leaning against Makoto’s shoulder, and she offered an apology, “I am so sorry.”

Makoto gave a short reply, “No problem,” while rotating his left shoulder, which had felt cramped. He then closed his handheld shougi game and stood up. He reached up to retrieve his bag from the overhead rack and waited for the train to arrive while remaining in a half-crouched position. Outside the window, the buildings grew increasingly taller, their presence becoming more imposing. He thought they looked like grey strands of bean sprouts.

The train arrived at the station three minutes behind schedule. As Makoto stood to leave his seat, the purple-haired woman gave him a slight nod, so he bowed his head in return. Most of the other passengers disembarked at the same station. After the carriage grew as empty as it had been at departure, he stepped out onto the platform. To Makoto, the sight of the other passengers rushing off looked like children scrambling to get a stamp to prove they had participated in morning callisthenics. He wondered what all the hurry was for.

Once he stepped onto the platform, he felt eyes on his back. He looked around, but there was no one noteworthy inside the train. Another train was stopped at a different platform further beyond the doors on the opposite side of the carriage, and there was no sign of anyone standing there. Deciding it was likely just his imagination, he turned to face forward.

A wind greeted Makoto that was no different in temperature from the one he had felt before boarding the train. His somewhat dry skin ached as if it were about to crack. He stroked his cheek with his hand as if to brush the sensation away, then looked around to his left and right. Seeing the flow of people exiting the train leaning toward the right, he identified the location of the stairs.

As he walked toward the stairs, trailing the end of the crowd, he pulled out his white mobile phone. He selected a phone number he had only recently registered. The registered name appeared as “Meme-san”. Looking down as he composed a short message, he irritably brushed aside his bangs which were being whipped into his eyes by the wind.

“I’ve arrived at the station. By Makoto”

Once he sent it, a reply arrived two seconds later. Makoto, who had been about to put his phone away, hurriedly moved his hand back.

“I’m here. By Meme-tan.”

“…Meme… tan?”

He narrowed his eyes suspiciously. Then, he began to recall his conversation with his father.

The place where Makoto was about to be staying was the home of his paternal aunt. Her family name was Touwa, his father’s maiden name. He had heard that while his aunt was not married, she had a daughter who was the same age as him. It seemed her father did not live with them, but Makoto had no desire to pry too deeply and assumed that there were certain circumstances involved. He simply assumed it was a divorce or something similar.

Makoto had no memory of meeting his aunt or her daughter. After all, he had been told that the last time they met was during the New Year when he was two years old. He had apparently played with his aunt’s daughter back then, pulling on each other’s cheeks, but he had no recollection of it whatsoever.

A few days before his departure for overseas, Makoto had asked his father about his aunt. According to his father:

“She’s a good person!”

He was taken aback. Makoto had never witnessed a moment where his father praised anyone other than his mother. He thought his crooked mouth was capable of nothing but extolling his wife. However, he simultaneously noticed that his father’s narrow eyes were wandering conspicuously. He refused to look his son in the eye as he spoke.

He kept his hands tucked under his armpits, as if he were breaking out in a nervous sweat.

“I haven’t seen her lately, but even now, she’s still so youthful… she looks younger than her age!”

“She’s turning forty this year, so she’s into her prime… but she’s someone who never lost her childlike heart, a truly pure soul!”

“*Cough*… as they say, a skilled hawk hides its talons! Though even talentless hawks have sharp claws!”

“The way she dotes on her daughter was actually a bit much… but her affection is boundless, and I found her parenting style quite instructive!”

“There’s a bit of a youkai in her.”

Only the last remark felt like his actual true feelings. And Makoto wondered just what kind of leverage she held over his father.

In truth, his aunt accounted for just under half of Makoto’s anxiety. He had experienced countless school transfers and moves, but he had never lived with anyone outside of his family. He worried about whether they would get along. While his past transfers hadn’t made him the shy type, from everything he had heard, he could only imagine a person who would be anything but easy to deal with.

Because the escalator was crowded, he stepped out of the flow and took the adjacent stairs, skipping a step at a time. He headed toward the ticket gate and pulled the ticket from his pocket. The edges of the ticket were crumpled, but he forced it through the machine anyway.

Beyond the ticket gate, a river of people flowed. A vast crowd of humans moved busily through the station, crossing paths in every direction. People brought with them a variety of scents and a cacophony of noise that stimulated all of Makoto’s senses. He found none of it pleasant, and his face contorted in displeasure. When a particular smell was particularly unpleasant, he made a conscious effort to breathe only through his mouth. Makoto was sensitive to scents.

A classmate had once even described him as having a dog persona.

Directly in front of the ticket gate stood a Green Counter, with several pillars standing nearby. Advertisements for dramas and television programmes starting this spring were displayed there. After approaching a random pillar and leaning his back against it, he picked up his mobile phone. He intended to call his aunt to confirm where she was. However, before Makoto could press any buttons, a voice called out to him from a distance.

“Heeeey, Mako-kuuuuun!”

That voice was loud enough to be clearly heard even amidst the bustle of the station. When Makoto looked up, he saw a woman standing near the ticket office waving her arms vigorously. Her gestures were like those of a teenage girl, yet it didn’t seem strange. Makoto realised that it was his aunt, “Touwa Meme”.

Already calling him Mako-kun without even a proper greeting? Makoto gave a wry smile as he stepped away from the wall.

“Maaaako-kyuuuun!”

“Yes, yes, yes, I get it! I’m coming!”

Makoto hurried toward his aunt, who was waving her arms even more exaggeratedly, to the point where he worried her side might tear. A good person, didn’t look her age, a youkai. What his father told him about his aunt kept turning in his head.

Makoto wove through the crowds until he finally reached his aunt, Meme. Only then did Meme cease her waving and jumping about. Despite being forty years old this year, his aunt gazed at Makoto with the innocent smile of a young child. Makoto inadvertently straightened his posture, feeling flustered by that smile.

“You’re Mako-kun, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I am Niwa Makoto. And you are Meme-san, are you not?”

She had deep, indigo-coloured long hair and rounded eyes. Her skin was remarkably smooth and lustrous, devoid of wrinkles, and her lips were plump. To any casual observer, her youthful features looked no more than twenty, entirely unbefitting her age. Her soft features bore no resemblance to the stern impression his father gave, and rather than an “aunt”, she gave off the image of a “slightly more mature older sister. “ If he let his guard down, a faint sense of longing might almost begin to take root within Makoto.

“That’s right, call me Meme-tan. If you call me Auntie, I’ll stick my tongue in you.”

“W-where exactly?”

“Wiggle-wiggle.”

She poked her unnaturally long tongue out as if to flaunt it. It felt as though it could slip into any crevice.

At this rate, she seemed less like a youkai and more like an alien.

“…Nice to meet you, Meme-san.”

Makoto settled on a middle ground. Meme let out a click of her tongue, her bright smile remaining unchanged.

Around that time, Makoto began to gradually understand what his father had truly intended to say.

“Welcome to the land watched over by aliens.”

“Hah?”

He doubted his own ears when hearing Meme’s sudden remark. Aliens? However, Meme changed the subject immediately.

“Mako-kun, you’ve certainly grown. Ah, but of course, you still remember me, right?”

Meme asked with a wide beaming grin as she placed her hand on top of Makoto’s head. Flustered, he took a step back.

Makoto thought she might actually rather say something like, “I’m sure you don’t remember me, do you?”

“Well, apparently it was when I was two years old, so…”

“Look at your face! Trying really hard to remember the youthful Meme-tan!”

Meme thrust her face toward him without any regard for his personal space. As she drew so close that the tips of their noses nearly touched, Makoto’s pulse began to race. His cheeks grew hot, and he averted his eyes, unable to look directly at the face so close to his.

As he retreated into the crowd, something caught Makoto’s eye. An exceptionally tall girl was walking through the river of people, her head rising well above the rest. She was at least ten centimetres taller than Makoto, who stood around 170 centimetres. That was the first reason she caught his attention. The second was her outfit.

The tall girl was in costume. She wore a French baguette mascot suit and held signs in both hands. The signs displayed an advertisement unrelated to French baguettes that read, “Basement Level 1: Limited-time sale of Krone starting at 2:00!” She did not hold the signs high above her head, but her height was sufficient enough to catch people’s eyes.

A part-timer? Must be tough to be forced to dress like that, thought Makoto as he felt a sense of sympathy for her.

“Nooo, don’t look away!”

With a sharp movement, Makoto’s neck was forcibly jerked into place. Forced to face Meme, Makoto stared at her skin, which was right before his eyes, feeling bewildered. However, he could find no wrinkles that would have been appropriate for her age.

“Meeemeeee-taaaaan.”

Meme circled her index finger in front of Makoto’s forehead. Makoto wondered if it was some kind of hypnosis, but as he followed the movement of her finger, a haze gradually settled over his consciousness. As if a lid on his memories had been pried open, scenes from the past began to resurface in his mind.

Makoto lay there, gazing up at an unfamiliar ceiling.

And then, sliding into view from the side as if to cover the ceiling, appeared a smile, the same smile he was seeing now…

“Mako-kun, why are you staggering and holding your forehead?”

“I just have a bit of a headache.”

Something inside Makoto commanded him not to remember any further. The voice issuing the command was his father’s.

“Oh dear, are you worn out from your travels?”

Meme asked, her concern for him sounding bright and hollow. She pointed toward the station entrance like a child.

“Well, I’d love to say, ‘Let’s go home’… But I’m sorry. I slipped away from work to come pick you up, but it looks like things are turning into a real mess over there.”

Meme crossed her arms, puffing out her cheeks in a pout as if she were troubled. Hearing this, Makoto straightened up obediently.

“I’m sorry, especially since you’re so busy.”

“Don’t worry, it’s for the sake of my adorable nephew, after all. Anyway, my daughter will guide you to my house.”

“Your daughter? Is she already at the station?”

Makoto looked around from side to side. If she were there, she should have been nearby, but he could see no one who looked the part.

“She’s waiting at the bicycle parking lot. You’ll recognise her as soon as you see her, so don’t worry.”

As she spoke, the smile vanished from Meme’s face for a brief moment. Her expression turned solemn, and her gaze sharpened. While calling it mature might have been an exaggeration, Makoto felt a strange sense of dissonance at the sudden shift. However, Meme’s smile returned immediately as she reached into her handbag.

“Oh, right, I’ll give you my business card. First impressions are crucial, after all.”

[IMAGE]

“Ah, how very polite of you.”

Makoto accepted the business card Meme offered with great ceremony. Her name, Touwa Meme, was written modestly in the corner, while the centre featured the text “”39 years old”” printed in thick, powerful brush strokes.

Makoto was rendered speechless by the sheer emphasis of it all. She must have harboured a profound dislike for entering her forties.

Fully understanding what his father had exactly meant, an empty laugh escaped Makoto’s lips.

“Huh? Why are there two pairs of quotation marks?”

“It’s a s-e-c-r-e-t.”

“Ugh.”

Though he said it in a joking manner, he was half-serious. Satisfied by Makoto’s twitching smile, Meme began to lead the way, saying, “The bicycle parking is this way.” As Makoto followed, he called out to her back.

“Err…”

“Yes?”

“I look forward to living with you.”

Meme turned around. As Makoto gave a nod while walking, Meme flashed a smile that perfectly suited the word childlike. Her behaviour, much like that of a young child with no hidden agenda, stirred something deep within Makoto’s heart.

“Likewise.”

Contrary to her demeanour, Meme’s words were full of maturity. Makoto felt a sense of goodwill toward her polite response. He also felt relieved, as it didn’t seem like she had taken him in against her will.

He felt that, under these circumstances, they would be able to get along just fine.

…At the moment, that was the optimistic way he interpreted it.

A few minutes later, Makoto would learn the “true meaning” behind that “likewise”.

“Mofumofu.”

“…………”

A futon closed in. The futon was displayed right in front of Makoto. Something wrapped in a futon began to occupy his entire field of vision.

At the bicycle parking lot where Meme had brought him, Makoto was experiencing a state of pure, utter bewilderment. In the parking area in front of the station, where a silver geometric statue stood facing the business district, those who were parking their bikes or riding away were all blatantly pretending not to notice “it”. Makoto himself did not even have the mental capacity to try and join in their charade.

“Well, I’ll leave the rest to you!”

Meme, having pulled her own bicycle from the mass of others, waved to him with a bright smile.

Like a machine that had run out of oil, Makoto’s neck creaked as he turned his face toward Meme.

“Hah?”

Makoto’s voice cracked completely.

“Mofumofu.”

The humanoid object wrapped in a futon that stood directly in front of Makoto reacted. However, because its voice was muffled by the futon, Makoto could not understand what was being said at all. From the quality of the voice, he vaguely sensed that the person inside the futon was a young girl, and from that, he reached a certain conclusion. Before he could speak it aloud, his temples were tormented by a heavy illusion, as if they were being filled with something like lime, and goosebumps broke out across his upper arms.

“Is this… your daughter?”

Makoto asked timidly, pointing toward the iris-patterned futon. And then, reality proved to be heartless.

[IMAGE]

“Yeah. It’s Eri-tan.”

Meme nodded, her smile remaining bright. To Makoto, it felt as though a black curtain had been drawn over his vision.

“Mofu.”

As if responding to the mention of her name, a voice rose from beyond the futon.

“Eri… tan?”

Come to think of it, this person was calling herself “Meme-tan”. Makoto’s mind drifted, retreating into a hollow escapism.

“Touwa Erio, my daughter. Mako-kun, you met and played together a long, long time ago.”

“No way, no way. I have no memory of playing with a sumaki like this, and I don’t have the confidence for it!”

Makoto shook his head violently in rejection.

Could it be that the past he was not supposed to remember originated from this girl?

As he nearly dropped his bag, Makoto agonised over such thoughts.

An unpleasant sweat, unbefitting the cold March sky, clung to his back and his clothes.

“Eri-tan will be your guide. So, you two, make sure to get along!”

“Wait, just a second, Meme-san, this is…”

Before he could even finish his protest, Meme fled the scene.

“Vroom, vroom!”

Mimicking a motorcycle’s throttle with the handlebars of her bicycle, Meme rode away with a light-hearted grace. The flame-coloured bicycle showed no sign of slowing down, and Meme herself did not even look back.

“That is absurd!”

Makoto shouted reflexively. He felt as though he had been pushed into the depths of a valley.

However, no one responded to Makoto’s lament. Instead, he felt as though he might clutch his head in despair as he realised that everyone was, in fact, actively avoiding him. He even felt a surge of resentment, wondering why he wasn’t on that side of the divide.

“Mofumofuffuu.”

The sumaki girl, Touwa Erio, spoke to him, or perhaps she was just making noise. Makoto remained in a state of shock at the sight of himself alongside a sumaki. Even if she was introduced to him as her daughter, that alone was far from an adequate explanation. He glared at the vivid purple irises on his futon cover, thinking there must be much more of an explanation.

“In the first place, how, where am I even supposed to begin?”

A sumaki girl in the station was something that Makoto’s cultivated common sense couldn’t possibly express. On a sudden impulse, Makoto tried moving to Erio’s side. Erio did not move. Makoto continued to observe her as he was, but Erio did not even change the direction she was facing. It went without saying, but she did not seem to be using her sense of sight at all.

“How did you even make it to the station…?”

Had she been dragged here by Meme, or had she only shown her face when it was time to move?

He wondered if it was even possible to ask this child for directions to get home.

Makoto stared intently, scanning Erio from head to toe. She wore a skirt, and at her feet, she wore neither socks nor shoes. She stood there on the bare ground, seemingly unbothered. Her fingertips were stained a pale black. His mouth hanging open in disbelief, Makoto looked upward. His eyes travelled from the skirt up to the futon until they reached the very top. There, Makoto froze.

He gazed intently at the hair spilling out from the top of the sumaki. Makoto rubbed his eyes twice, but no matter how many times he looked, that hair appeared to be nothing but light blue. Light blue hair. He wondered if such a natural hair colour even existed.

Makoto took a step closer to Erio. As he peered down, a glossy light blue hue, as smooth as pulled sugar, greeted him. He was overwhelmed by the hair that possessed a natural texture, yet bore a shade that seemed impossible in nature. At the same time, a sense of awe, bordering on dread, began to well up within him regarding the contents of the futon.

His father had mentioned his aunt, but he had said nothing about his daughter.

Makoto found himself gazing into the distance for a moment, but faced with that breathtaking hair colour, he finally managed to calm himself slightly. First, he thought about what he ought to do, and then he returned to face Erio. Regardless of her appearance, if she were a resident of the house he would be staying in from now on, so he should exchange proper greetings. Makoto cleared his throat self-consciously and said

“Ah, well, I am your cousin, Niwa Makoto. I look forward to… being in your care?”

Despite it being a self-introduction, the end of his sentence had trailed off into a question.

“Mofuffu.”

“Eh? What was that?”

Ignoring Makoto’s confusion, Erio used the front wheel as a stepping stone to climb into the bicycle basket. Even though she could not use her upper body, she climbed up with great skill and settled her bottom into the basket. She turned her body sideways, kicking her bare legs high into the air. Makoto found himself momentarily captivated by the thinness and paleness of those legs.

“Mofuu.”

Erio let out a voice that sounded like a protest, snapping Makoto back to his senses. Looking directly at the sumaki, he regretted not turning back. Makoto watched the movement of Erio’s legs for a few seconds, trying to deduce what it meant.

“Uh, so you’re saying I should be the one driving?”

“Mofu.”

The sumaki folded vertically. It seemed he was correct. Makoto felt a blatant sense of dismay. He couldn’t understand the point of her riding in the basket, let alone having to navigate through town while carrying something like this.

Makoto felt as though he sensed someone’s gaze again and turned around but then pressed a hand to his forehead, knowing full well that anyone could be staring. Since there was no way for him to identify the owner of that gaze, he turned back to face the bicycle basket and Erio.

“Riding in a basket? Like E.T.? Hmm… E… T… Erio, Touwa…”

If he took the initials of her name, it would become E.T.? Makoto narrowed his eyes as he realised this. He wondered if her behaviour actually stemmed from that. He felt a sense of exasperation, thinking that she was trying to act like some kind of alien.

Looking closer, the bicycle itself seemed to have one or two stories to tell as well.

The red and white two-tone frame was heavily rusted, resulting in a distorted, three-toned appearance. Tiny insects swarmed from the gaps in the bell; the chain looked as though it might snap at any moment. The rubber on the saddle was torn to reveal the stuffing beneath, and one of the pedals was completely missing. There was no way it would pass a school bicycle inspection.

“Did you, uh, pick this bike up from a river or something?”

“Mofuu…”

Erio curled her body inward, looking dejected by Makoto’s question. Makoto assessed her with somewhat cold eyes, remarking that she looked like a poked pill bug. After staying in the bicycle parking lot for what felt like an eternity and dreading being seen in public along a sumaki, Makoto finally steeled himself. He straddled the torn saddle and gripped the bicycle’s grimy handlebars.

When he checked the lock, it had been snapped off right at the base while still inserted. Dark clouds gathered even more heavily over Makoto’s heart. The first impression of this new land was among the worst of all his moving experiences.

Even so, instead of the missing pedal, Makoto placed his foot on the metal part of the crank and pushed off to move forward.

The ride too was terrible. The chain let out a piercing shriek, and the wheels failed to spin smoothly. Perhaps because Erio was riding in the basket, no matter how desperately Makoto moved his legs, he failed to increase his speed at all. He maintained such a sluggish pace that it felt as though walking would have been better.

At that point, Makoto was on the verge of total despair. His energy withered, and his back began to slump.

As if sensing that the bicycle had begun to move, Erio pointed her raised leg toward the right. Was she telling him to turn right? Interpreting it in this manner, Makoto tilted his bicycle as he tried to clear his mind. The bicycle carrying the sumaki girl attracted the attention of passers-by in a bad way, but the fact that they immediately diverted their gazes was the only silver lining in this misfortune.

The decaying, legendary-coloured bicycle continued to emit its murky screams.

This was the encounter between Niwa Makoto and Touwa Erio.

“Hooo, a futon-guruncho?”

“Yeah. Some pretty wild fashion must be trending in the city, ha ha ha.”

“How about Smakin or something like that?”

“What is?”

“The name of the futon-guruncho. Cute, isn’t it?”

It wasn’t cute at all. While swearing into the phone, Makoto opened the cardboard box.

After arriving at the Touwa family home, Makoto slept in the second-floor room that had been prepared for him. Since there were cardboard boxes filled with belongings sitting there, he took it as a sign that this was his room. He had fallen into a deep sleep as if trying to escape a real-life nightmare, and when he woke up in the evening, he called Hoshinaka while sorting through the personal items he had sent before moving.

The conversation was mainly about Touwa Erio, his aunt’s daughter. To be more precise, it was about her futon.

“Hmm, I looked it up online, but it doesn’t seem to be some kind of cosplay. It’s an original Smakin.”

“So, you’ve settled on Smakin, then? Well, whatever, I guess.”

“To sound cool, O.R. Smakin.”

“Your sense of style is way too original. I can’t keep up.”

With a wry smile, Makoto reached into the bottom of the cardboard box. After lifting out a stack of textbooks and placing them together on the desk, he sat down on the edge of the bed. The room assigned to him was six tatami mats in size, furnished with pastel-coloured curtains, a desk, and a television. There was also a bookshelf that, while only about waist-high to him, was empty. There wasn’t a single dusty spot in the room, and Makoto felt grateful to Meme, who wasn’t there.

“At any rate, that brings Niwa-chi’s Youth Points down by five.”

“Ugh, my points dropped…”

He overturned the cardboard box while lamenting in a monotone voice. The contents were the novels that had once adorned the bookshelves in his previous room. Makoto was not well-versed in manga. One of the reasons for this was that, because his life had involved frequent transfers, school changes, and even moves abroad, he hadn’t been able to easily read the continuations of his favourite series. After gathering the novels scattered across the floor, Makoto moved to the front of the bookshelf. As he placed the novels somewhat haphazardly onto the empty shelves, he spoke to Hoshinaka, who was laughing on the other end of the phone.

“Hoshinaka, you used to say you aspired to moving and changing schools, but do you still feel that way after seeing this?”

“It’s fine. It’s mysterious. Like a house mystery.”

“In reality, it’s just surreal.”

“The one who will uncover the truth and the contents of that futon is you, Niwa-chi!”

What kind of mystery novels had this girl been reading? Makoto pressed his finger against his forehead, attempting to follow her line of reasoning. Back in middle school, Makoto had been devoted to Okajima Futari, while Hoshinaka had been an avid reader of Yonezawa Honobu. Although they both enjoyed mystery novels, their tastes didn’t quite align. In the end, Makoto couldn’t pinpoint it.

“The culprit is among us! Hmm, Smakin is quite easy to understand, isn’t she?”

“I have no idea what you mean.”

“Kindaichi-kun used to say things like ‘the culprit is among us’! Even on an isolated island, right?”

“You pointed that out back in middle school, too.”

Makoto pictured Hoshinaka’s face, which had looked incredibly smug back then. He couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Hiiiii, Mako-kuuun! Meme-tan is baaaack!”

Without even a single footstep ascending the stairs, Meme burst into the room with her hands raised high. She then froze in a Glico pose. Makoto watched her in silence, pretending he hadn’t seen a thing, and returned to his phone call.

“Maaaako-kyuuuun!”

“I’ll call you again later. Well, take care!”

“Whut, that’s so sudden…”

The moment he ended the call, Makoto spun around rapidly. As he turned, he shouted back.

“Please stop thinking that just calling my name loudly will make me respond!”

Even as he said it, Makoto felt a bitter pang of resentment, knowing that he had, in fact, reacted. Meme, on the other hand, showed no sign of remorse. She peered down at the phone in Makoto’s hand and let out a smug giggle.

“How can you have a girlfriend when you have someone like Meme-tan?”

“I don’t have a Meme-tan or a girlfriend. No, no,” Makoto said, turning his back on Meme. Without a moment’s hesitation, Meme threw her arms around his back and hugged him.

“Gah!”

Makoto let out a scream, arching his back as if he had been stabbed from behind.

“*Squeeze.*”

“D-don’t ‘squeeze’ me!”

As Meme pressed her cheek against his back, Makoto became violently flustered. In addition to her hands pressing against his chest, she even wrapped her legs around him. Meme clung to him like a spider, her hair brushing against the nape of his neck, making him shudder with a chill.

“Mako-kun, you’re so waaarm.”

“Ugh, wheee…”

Makoto’s entire body went limp. His chin felt as though it might pop right off his face, and he felt as if all his hair might fall out. Haunted by the illusion that he was melting into Meme’s body heat, his vision gradually began to fade to white.

“My, look at you squirming. I’ll lick your neck.”

“Gah! I-I’ll sue you for sexual harassment! I’ll go crying to my parents!”

“Yeah, yeah,” Meme replied, releasing Makoto without a hint of regret. Makoto leaned forward, supporting his forehead with his hand as he struggled against the ringing in his ears. An unidentified impulse was thundering near his heart.

It was soft. That was the very first thought that crossed his mind, and it nearly made him clutch his head in shame.

“Even if you go crying to Onii-san, he won’t do a thing. He’s already Meme-tan’s captive.”

“Your slave, you mean?” Makoto muttered through gritted teeth, covering his mouth with his hand.

“…Have you always had a personality like this?”

Makoto asked, looking at Meme, who stood there composedly without the slightest hint of embarrassment. He, on the other hand, was utterly mortified.

“What do you mean, like this?”

“You’re too… well, you have no sense of boundaries.”

“What did you hear about me from Onii-san?”

“That you were a youkai.”

“Ho, ho, ho.”

Meme did not deny it. Instead, she muttered as if to herself.

“And that the daughter and father were aliens?”

“What?”

Makoto could not believe his ears at the words Meme let slip as she stood up. Meme was about to leave the room. Makoto lifted himself off the ground and followed after her. He remembered that there was something he had to ask.

“Meme-san, do you have a moment?”

“What is it?”

He faltered at the strangely sugary tone of her voice, but Makoto addressed her from behind.

“It’s about your daughter.”

“Ah, Erio? Did she give you proper directions to the house?”

“If she hadn’t, I wouldn’t have been able to find this place. But that’s not what I want to talk about.”

As they descended the stairs, Makoto fell silent for a moment. He couldn’t quite figure out how he should bring it up.

What exactly was that about?

It was quite difficult to ask such a vague question precisely. Makoto scratched his head, wondering if it was because he had only half-heartedly studied various languages from around the world. While he was lost in thought, they had descended to the first floor.

When Makoto timidly cast his eyes toward the entrance, Erio was still lying there. She had been sprawled in that spot ever since they returned home. More precisely, she had tried to step up into the hallway, struck her shin on the step, writhed in pain for a moment, and then simply ceased all movement. Once she had calmed down, Makoto had tried to speak to her a few times, but since she only responded with “mofumofu” and no real conversation could take place, he eventually left her be.

Meme headed toward the entrance. Makoto followed behind her, his eyes still fixed on Erio.

The contents of his question had not yet fully formed.

“Let’s eat out today to celebrate Mako-kun’s moving! Yay, I get to enjoy a meal!”

Without even attempting to hide her true feelings, Meme raised both hands. It seemed that Meme was in charge of the cooking in this house. “Obviously,” thought Makoto to himself, as he looked down at Erio. She looked like a piece of chikuwa, but if she could actually cook like that, she’d be nothing short of a master. It would fall within the realm of supernatural abilities.

“Erio, we’re going out to eat.”

Meme patted the futon. At that, the sumaki girl stirred and sat up with a look of reluctance. Did she actually listen to what her mother said? Realising that Erio did in fact possess some common sense, Makoto breathed a sigh of relief.

However, his doubts had not been cleared. Before preparing his shoes, Makoto finally asked Meme.

“Does your daughter, um, have any particular hobbies?”

“Just ignore it, just ignore it.”

That was simply unreasonable. Makoto felt that he could never ignore the person beside him, who was letting out a muffled “mofu” sound. It felt as though Erio, twisting within the futon, was staring intently at him. Ignore it.

“Um… nice to meet you.”

He remembered having said something similar at the bicycle parking lot earlier, but he felt compelled to say it again. Erio let out a single “mofu” and began walking forward. Using her toes with practised dexterity, she opened the front door and stepped outside.

“Seriously, what was that?”

Makoto once again scanned Meme’s face for a reaction. Meme merely offered a refreshing smile that seemed entirely unbefitting such a question. Furthermore, she continued walking forward at a brisk pace, that smile still intact. Realising she had no intention of answering, Makoto sighed and gave up. He found himself having absolutely no desire to solve this mystery on his own.

When Makoto stepped outside, the sun, on the verge of setting, was caught upon the houses across the street. The glaring midday sunlight had vanished, and the sun was as gentle as a moon floating upon the water’s surface. His eyes did not ache even as he gazed at it without blinking, and Makoto stared vacantly at the solar disc. Blackness was encroaching upon its orange outline.

“Maaakoooo!” “Yes, yes, yes, what is it!?”

He ran at full speed to catch up to Meme. Makoto lamented to himself that his reaction was already becoming a conditioned reflex.

“Are we walking?”

There were no cars on the Touwa Family premises. Meme unlocked the flame-coloured bicycle parked out front and pulled it in front of Makoto. Erio was already nestled inside the bicycle basket.

“Why don’t we just all ride together?”

“I… see.”

He had experience riding with two people, but riding with three was certainly a first.

Makoto cast a glance toward the rusted bicycle he had kept in the shed on the right side. He had been secretly worried that he might be told to commute to school using that thing, but Meme spoke as if she had read his mind.

“Ah, sorry about that. Let’s go buy a bicycle for Mako-kun tomorrow.”

“Ha, thanks.”

“A date with Mako-kun, a date! Tee-hee!”

Meme frolicked like a teenage girl. Although Makoto thought her behaviour was a bit cringeworthy, he felt flustered nonetheless.

“A date? Um, I think that’s a bit much…”

“I don’t Mako-kun’s Japanese!”

It didn’t seem like she even intended to listen to him. Makoto grumbled at her jumping figure before eventually giving up. Then, as if to express her impatience, Erio tapped her heel against the bicycle basket. As if drawn by the sound, Meme hopped onto the bicycle’s rear rack. She tapped the saddle and beckoned for Makoto to join her.

Was he the one who was supposed to pedal? And would he end up entering the restaurant with Erio and share a meal at the same table?

“…………”

His thoughts were in a whirlwind. However, Makoto could not determine which choice was the best.

So, he simply let himself be carried along, straddling the saddle as his feet pressed against the pedals.

Meme wrapped her arms around his waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world, and Makoto pushed off the ground to move the bicycle, trying to ensure she didn’t realise how shaken he was. Despite bearing the weight of all three people, the wheels turned with a heavy sluggishness.

Makoto looked up at the sky, as if trying to avert his eyes from Erio’s figure reflected in front of him. It was the end of twilight, stained in a deepening indigo. The beginning of the night. The wind felt cold, as if pushing back against the spring, and the clouds drifted by swiftly.

The long, trailing gradient of madder red looked like the aftermath of a fire.

After the bicycle had been travelling for a while, Meme began to speak to him.

“Hey, Mako-kun.”

“Yes?”

“Let’s get on along well and have fun, okay?”

Meme gently smoothed down Makoto’s hair.

Makoto’s upper body trembled as he felt a heat in her palm that was different from when she had hugged him. His chin, which he had been holding up, dropped, and this time he felt no chill as several promising replies came to his mind.

“…OK.”

Whatever left his lips was inevitably muddied.

Because the sight of the bare legs stuck in the bicycle basket before his eyes would not leave his vision.

“…That one is a formidable foe.”

He could not, however much he tried, think of a way to get along well and have fun with a sumaki girl.

A week had passed since Niwa Makoto had moved into the Touwa family.

Spring break had ended, and it was the 7th of April, the day of the opening ceremony.

“Here, this is for you.”

In the early morning, as Makoto sat at the entrance tying his shoelaces, Meme held out a folded piece of paper to him.

Over the course of this past week, Makoto had become completely unable to defy Meme. It was different from mere intimidation and more akin to a dog recognising its owner. An irrevocable equivalence had been established between them.

His father surely felt the same way toward Meme. Makoto felt a pang of sympathy in the face of such humiliation.

“What is this?”

“A handmade map to the school, drawn by Meme-tan.”

“Oh, thanks…”

His voice trailed off weakly. The map Makoto received consisted of markings like “→→→→→” and “House, Hearth, Home”. And only the Touwa Family estate was meticulously drawn, with every detail from the land area to the colour of the roof tiles recorded. Makoto looked away from the self-proclaimed map and asked Meme once more.

“What is this?”

“A map. Oh, and the location of the treasure is written here too – how amazing!”

Meme pointed with a high-pitched squeal. Following where her finger led, Makoto arrived at the “Meme-tan’s Room” of the Touwa Family. Makoto refused to check the map any further. He hurriedly put on his shoes and stood up.

He grabbed his thin bag, which didn’t even have any textbooks in it, as if preparing for the opening ceremony.

“If I’m late, I’m going to blame it on the quality of this map.”

“Then if I’m late for work, I’ll just say it was because I was being loved by Mako-kun!”

“Isn’t that incredibly misleading? Or rather, it’s a complete fabrication?”

“Ehh? Don’t you love Meme-tan?”

“I’m just a kid, so I don’t understand things like that.”

Dismissing her with a half-hearted response, Makoto fled outside. He ran toward the barn, trying his best not to be caught.

When he looked back halfway through, Meme did not seem to be following him. Instead, the Touwa Family estate came into Makoto’s view. It was a wooden structure roughly thirty years old, its heavy-looking roof tiles glistening in the morning sun. Japanese holly trees were planted at regular intervals around the walls of the house. Unlike its inhabitants, the house possessed no colourful elements.

The barn was about ten square metres in size, not much different from Makoto’s own room. Despite the frequent coming and going of people, the door had an earthy quality to it. Breathing in the air, which was a mixture of dust and soil similar to a primary school’s equipment shed, Makoto pulled his bicycle outside.

There were three bicycles in the shed. One belonged to Meme, the second was a blue bicycle that Meme had bought for Makoto (though the money had actually come from the living expenses sent to him by his parents). As for the third, tucked away at the very back, it was a bicycle on the verge of rusting into nothingness. Makoto tilted his head at its frame, which bore the legendary red and white colours. He remembered seeing that bicycle somewhere even before he had moved to this town.

However, unable to recall where he had seen it, he closed the shed door.

He set off, straddling his brand-new bicycle while unfolding a map in his hands. He felt a wave of anxiety, knowing he had to determine his turns and gauge distances by counting the arrows. In the week since moving to the town, Makoto had hardly gone outside. He had always possessed a passive personality when it came to going out without a plan.

Besides, there were other reasons. Makoto looked back from the middle of the road, gazing up at the second floor of the Touwa Family house behind him and to the side. The room on the right was the one assigned to him, and the one next to it was Erio’s. Since meeting Makoto, the girl, who was always wrapped in her futon, had never once allowed herself to be seen without it. The pattern on the futon had changed, so she must have changed clothes (?), yet whether by chance or design, Makoto had never happened upon her in the act.

As a result of his persistent attempts to catch a glimpse of Erio’s true face, she had fallen into a state of reclusiveness.

She had done nothing but wander around the Touwa Family house today as well, and there was no sign that she intended to go to school, so he wondered if that was really alright.

“That girl was the same age as me, wasn’t she?”

Reaching the corner, Makoto turned back to face forward. He thought that if he headed toward the main street, he could probably find a student wearing the same uniform as himself and follow them to reach the school. With that in mind, he deliberately held the map level with his eyes to decide on his next path.

Niwa Makoto was not so strong, for better or worse, as to rudely disregard the kindness of a handwritten map.

By following Meme’s map, he arrived at the back gate rather than the front. Makoto slowed his bicycle and craned his neck, peering around the gate. A group of pedestrians, who appeared to be students commuting by train, flowed past the back gate, while students on bicycles passed him by, riding along the perimeter fence of the schoolyard.

A teacher standing by the back gate began gesturing emphatically, instructing them to “head around to the front gate.” Having heard this along with the other incoming freshmen, Makoto gave a small bow and headed toward the front gate.

As he proceeded down the narrow path, with houses on his left and the schoolyard on his right, he soon emerged onto the two-lane main road. To his right, the schoolyard transitioned into soft tennis courts. A large number of bicycles were crawling slowly along the sidewalk. Makoto followed them, blending into the group that appeared to be new students.

There were no students visible practising for morning training, and the tennis courts were deserted.

“…Club activities, huh?”

Makoto muttered, his lips barely moving. Since entering high school, Makoto had not joined any clubs. He had been in the papercraft club during middle school, but there was no such club in his high school.

He had agonised for three days over whether to join the soccer club, but in the end, he backed out.

Recalling his struggles from that time, Makoto arrived at the main gate. Just to the left after entering the gate, there was a bicycle parking area with a corrugated tin roof and a frame of rusted pillars. Makoto rode his bicycle there as well and looked up at the sign posted at a certain distance. The second-year classes seemed to be split from A to D, but there was no way for Makoto to know which class he had been transferred into. Feeling perplexed as he watched other second-years park their bikes with practised ease, Makoto decided to just park his wherever he could. He wedged his bike into a gap between two others and brought it to a halt under the tin roof.

After locking his bike, Makoto followed behind the other second-years. Students from all grades were merging and walking along the central path, and the sheer density of the crowd felt suffocating to him. He let out a sigh, realising that the student population here was far larger than the school he had attended last year. Having to endure such crowds even within the school grounds felt a little depressing.

Along the way, arrows posted on the school building walls served as guides. According to them, the first and second years were to head toward the left building, while the third years were to go to the right. Naturally, Makoto headed toward the left.

Near the shoe lockers, students were crowded together, not even bothering to take off their shoes. Teachers were handing out class assignment papers, and everyone was reaching out as if fighting over them. Keeping his distance from the commotion, Makoto picked up a class assignment sheet that had fallen to the ground and been trampled. The footprint on it was bad, but it was still readable.

“…Huh?”

Makoto tilted his head in confusion. He scanned the names printed on the sheet from top to bottom, but his own name was nowhere to be found. At first, he wondered if he had been forgotten because he was a transfer student, but upon closer inspection, he realised this paper was the class assignment list for the first years. After shoving the paper haphazardly into his bag, Makoto began searching for the second-year class list. However, he could find nothing of the sort. The crowd gathered near the shoe lockers consisted only of first-year students. Moving away from the throng of freshmen, Makoto decided to approach a nearby teacher with a question.

When he asked where the second-year class list was, the teacher replied that there were no class reorganisations by grade level. After speaking, the teacher stared at him with suspicion. His expression seemed to say, “You’re a second-year student; how come you don’t know that?” Makoto explained his situation: “I’m a transfer student.” Once the teacher understood, his stern expression finally softened.

After that, the teacher led Makoto to the staff room. The staff room was located on the first floor of a separate building, connected to the first- and second-year school building by a walkway. While being shuffled around a little bit inside the room, Makoto met with his homeroom teacher and learned that his class was 2-B. After being told that his classroom was on the second floor of the adjacent building, Makoto left the staff room. He thought to himself that the interactions on the first day of transferring were always the same.

He retraced his steps through the walkway and climbed the stairs. The area in front of the shoe lockers was still heavily crowded, and it was clear that the students who appeared to be second-years found the freshmen obstructing their path to be a nuisance.

Upon reaching the second floor, Makoto proceeded down the hallway and quickly found the “2-B” nameplate. He entered the classroom through the entrance at the back. Within the classroom, about seventy percent of the seats were already occupied by students, and the room was bustling with the sound of idle chatter.

A girl sitting in a seat near the entrance at the back interrupted her conversation and turned toward Makoto. As if triggered by this, the other students also turned their gaze toward him. Perhaps because there had been no class reshuffling, the classroom was filled with familiar faces, and as a stranger, Makoto found himself the centre of his classmates’ attention. Being exposed to those stares was not a comfortable experience. Looking downward and fidgeting with his bangs, Makoto moved toward the centre of the classroom.

He looked at the blackboard in front of him, wondering which seat was his. The board read, “Sit in alphabetical order starting from the far left diagonal corner,” but there was no way for him to know his classmates’ names. Even while Makoto stood there with his hand to his chin in confusion, eyes reached him from all directions, making his skin prickle. Just as Makoto was considering whether he should wait for his homeroom teacher outside the classroom,

“Are you the transfer student?”

Someone spoke to him, and Makoto turned around. Upon recognising the owner of the voice, he opened his mouth and let out a soft “Ah”.

Sitting in the seat directly behind him was the girl in the French baguette mascot costume whom he had spotted in the station when he first arrived. Today, instead of a baguette costume, she was wearing her school uniform. It appeared to be too short, since it looked tight and strained across her back.

The girl was pointing toward a desk located one row diagonally ahead of her.

“In that case, your seat is probably right here.”

Makoto obediently followed her instructions.

“Thank you.”

When Makoto expressed his gratitude, the girl gave a small nod and lowered her eyes to the paperback book in her hands. After taking his seat and setting down his bag, Makoto rested his chin on his hand and observed the girl sitting diagonally behind him, making sure not to be noticed.

[IMAGE]

Even from his seat diagonally behind her, the tall classmate stood out by a full head. Perhaps her eyesight was poor, because the girl was hunched over, her face pressed almost against the pages of her paperback. Makoto caught a glimpse of the cover and realised it was The Time Ships. He instinctively leaned forward, pressing his hands against the desk. He had read The Time Machine before, but no matter how much he had searched in bookshops, he could never find this sequel. He almost asked her to lend it to him once she was finished, but he bit his tongue.

He pulled himself back, silently envying the book’s back cover while he waited for the homeroom teacher to arrive.

A few minutes after the bell rang, the teacher entered the room. After giving a brief greeting and expressing his hopes for the new school year, the teacher began speaking about a transfer student. Makoto was beckoned toward the podium and asked to introduce himself.

Standing on the podium, Makoto scanned the classroom. Among more than thirty classmates, that same tall girl stood out, as she always did. She seemed absorbed in her reading, not even casting a single glance toward Makoto on the stage.

“I am Niwa Makoto. It is a pleasure to meet you all.”

After delivering a safe and unremarkable greeting that left no impression on anyone, Makoto quickly returned to his seat.

As he sat down, Makoto noticed something in the corner of his eye and let out a small, puzzled “Huh?”

It appeared that there was some sort of graffiti on the underside of the desk.

With a gesture as if he were picking up something he had dropped, Makoto leaned down to peer at it. Was that transfer student bullying, he wondered, as he felt a flicker of anticipation that he had never encountered before. But the moment he saw the writing, all his optimism vanished, and he stood there agape. Rapidly, the inside of his lower lip went dry.

A light blue chalk left behind a powdery residue on his fingertips.

What had been written on the back of the desk was a drawing of a sumaki girl, looking much like a reclining chikuwa.

Before eleven in the morning, the schedule for the opening ceremony had concluded. Students, appearing sluggish after the spring break, flowed out into the hallways, chatting with their friends about after-school plans or club activities. Makoto remained in his seat, waiting for the crowd to settle, before eventually leaving the classroom. No classmates spoke to him, and he did not speak to any of them either.

It was a great miscalculation to assume that there wouldn’t be a class reshuffle upon moving up a year.

With a sigh, Makoto walked down the hallway. It was difficult to blend into the social circles that had formed over the past year. It seemed like finding a gap to slip into would be a struggle this time. Makoto predicted that things would likely continue like this for at least a week.

When he was in elementary school, even a transfer student drew attention and attracted people, but once one reached high school, that was no longer the case.

After moving from the hallway to the stairs and descending to the first floor, he headed straight toward the shoe lockers without any wasted movement.

Makoto had no plans to wander around, nor did he have any knowledge of the town’s geography. He had no choice but to head directly back to the Touwa family.

He changed his shoes at the lockers and stepped outside the school building. As if lured by the angle of the sun, the temperature was rising, and it felt so humid that he even felt a sense of mugginess despite wearing his winter uniform. Compared to a week ago, the weather had shifted all at once into a pleasant, spring-like climate. Makoto’s pace lightened, and he ran toward the bicycle parking area, stepping with long, energetic strides.

In the area of the bicycle parking assigned to Makoto’s class, a single female student was there.

It was a face he had seen in the classroom, but it would have felt unnatural to exchange greetings. Makoto passed behind the female student and came to a halt in front of his own bicycle. He then put his hand in his school uniform pocket to look for his bicycle key. It must have slipped into the back; he couldn’t seem to get it out.

“Muu, nuu…”

Hearing the girl’s grunts, Makoto glanced sideways to check on her. She was attempting to pull her bicycle out, but the handlebars of the surrounding bikes seemed to be in her way. Inside her bicycle basket sat a yellow helmet, the kind even an elementary school student wouldn’t likely be wearing these days.

Watching the girl’s struggle as if it were someone else’s problem, Makoto found the bicycle lock. After picking it up with his fingertips, he placed his bag into the bicycle basket. As his eyes drifted toward the basket, the image of the sumaki girl flashed through his mind. Makoto shook the thought away and tapped his head, as if to purge the corruption. Then, moments later.

“GYOEEEEE!”

The girl’s sudden scream caused Makoto to whip around. He felt his eyes and mouth contort in a grimace of pure dismay.

To the left of the girl’s bicycle, a domino effect had begun. It seemed she had failed to pull her bike free, and a chain reaction of falling bicycles followed. With a clang-clang-clang, as if some massive machine were transforming, the wave of bicycles surged toward Makoto. He instinctively recoiled, pulling himself back away from the bikes.

Makoto’s bicycle was also swallowed by the wave, falling onto its side. As a result, the bicycles fell neatly all the way to the edge of the prefabricated bike rack, and the chain reaction ended once there was nothing left to knock over.

Makoto found himself impressed by the carnage, thinking it looked just like a row of dominoes.

Then, he glanced toward the schoolgirl.

“…………”

“…………”

Makoto and the girl stared at one another. The girl’s large eyes blinked repeatedly.

She possessed a lovely face that was entirely unsuited to the horrific “GYOEEEEEE” she had let out.

After setting a nearby bicycle that wasn’t his back upright, Makoto spoke to her.

“Let me help you.”

“Hah, that is most kind of you.”

That was the moment he met Ryuuko Mifune.

After they had returned all the fallen bicycles, a conversation began, maintained at a uniquely distant interval.

“You’re the new transfer student, right? Hey, transfer student, hauuu-zuuu-zuuu.”

“Fine, end-juuu?”

“Watcha-name!”

“Eh? You don’t remember?”

“N-no, that’s not true! That was just being playful, boss!”

Facing the girl, who smiled softly while rubbing her hands together, Makoto’s expression brightened. She was so cute that he found it impossible to stay upset.

The girl tilted her head with a “Hum”, her chestnut hair swaying in loose curls. Her cheeks and the area around her eyes were pleasantly plump and rounded, seemingly symbolic of her very personality. Her nose was slightly low, and her earlobes were thin. From Makoto’s subjective perspective, her first impression was that of a girl who wasn’t flashy, but undoubtedly cute.

“If I remember correctly, you are Niwa-kun, right?”

“Oh, correct.”

When Makoto gave a modest clap with just his fingertips, the girl playfully puffed out her chest.

“And what is your name?”

“Eh, you don’t remember?”

The schoolgirl let out an incredulous cry. At first, Makoto thought she was joking, but she seemed to be quite serious. He revised his perception of her. The way she sat there with such bravado suggested she might have genuinely grown quite bold.

“Hmph, even after moving up a grade, I still haven’t escaped this plain girl persona. How strange. I’ve even got a perm and all.”

The girl toyed with the ends of her hair, twisting them. She seemed to think it would accentuate the curls.

“No, it’s just that I don’t know the names of my classmates yet. It’s not that you’re plain or anything.”

“R-Right. Yeah, exactly. Everyone is just plain, I guess.”

Instead of elevating herself, he had inadvertently placed everyone else on the same level. Then, the girl introduced herself.

“I’m Mifune Ryuu… ko. Mifune Ryuuko!”

Ryuuko acted playful, as if trying to cover up the fact that she had stumbled while introducing herself.

“Hmm. Nice to meet you, Mifune-san.”

“Mi, Mifu… ugh.”

Ryuuko began to squirm, her movements becoming suspicious. She reached up to her yellow helmet, stroking it as if to soothe herself.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m just not very used to being called by my surname.”

“Um, then, Ryuuko-san?”

“I-I’m even less used to that!”

Ryuuko twisted her body, covering her face with both hands. Her knees moved back and forth, tracing the shape of an infinity symbol.

Neither her surname nor her given name was fine.

How did people usually call her? Makoto tilted his head, still smiling.

“Which should I use?”

“Hmm, well… Mi… Mifune-san, please.”

While still pressing her hands against her face, Ryuuko peered at Makoto through the gaps between her fingers. Makoto nodded. “Roger that.”

“Should I call you Niwa-kun, then?”

“Yeah. Anything is fine.”

“Then I shall call you Nyuwa-kun. The trick is to purse your lips for the ‘nyu’ sound.”

“…Sorry, I take back what I said earlier. Just Niwa-kun is fine.”

Sensing that if he left things alone, he would end up with a nickname that was unrecognisable, Makoto tried to intervene.

With a smile, Ryuuko let out a thick, wet click of her tongue as she steered her bicycle toward the gate. She then reached for the yellow helmet rolling around in her basket and put it on with practised ease.

“Heh, look at you, being an earnest girl.”

When Makoto commented on the sight, Ryuuko looked back with a slight blush and a shy grin.

“Calling Ryuuko-san earnest… Niwa-kun, you really have an eye for these things. Nice, nice!”

“It’s been a long time since I’ve seen anyone actually wear a helmet while riding a bike.”

“I know, right? I wonder why everyone doesn’t wear them. If you fall down, your scalp will just peel off *scratch scratch*!”

Ryuuko’s eyes widened as she mouthed the intense sound effect. For some reason, however, her movement bore a striking resemblance to the pose of someone being struck by lightning and thrusting both hands into the air.

“And that is just how it is!”

“Is that for certain?”

“*Zubebee*!”

She emphasised it even further. Makoto’s face twitched, wondering if there was even any skin left to peel off.

“So, that’s why Ryuuko-san became part of the Helmet Tribe.”

“Did you, now?”

“So, which way is your house, Niwa-kun? Over there, or here?” Ryuuko swayed her body dramatically from side to side.

“Probably that way.”

Makoto said, pointing vaguely toward the back gate. Ryuuko nodded, murmuring, “Hoh, hoh?” Following the flow of the conversation, Makoto found himself faintly hoping for a suggestion like, “Let’s walk home together.” Ryuuko’s smile brightened as if a light had been switched on.

Makoto balled his hand into a small fist.

“The direction of your house is waaaaay the opposite of mine.”

“…Guheh.”

He failed to relax his muscles properly, resulting in a bizarre sound. Makoto just looked to the side and laughed, thinking, “Well, that’s just how it goes.”

“Oh, right. Wait a second.”

“Humm?”

Ryuuko parked her bicycle and moved away from the bike rack. She dashed past the bushes and the tennis courts, heading somewhere with all her might. While Makoto felt bewildered by her sudden sprint, he remained standing there, following her instructions. A gentle spring breeze drifted by, softly caressing his skin.

Drawn by his bangs fluttering in the wind, he looked up at the sky. Though the sky was always meant to be above him every day, it did not enter his field of vision unless he made a conscious effort to look at it clearly. It was a day with many drifting clouds.

The sound of swirling air continued near Makoto’s ear. He liked that sound. It was subtle, like a distant airplane.

“Nyuwa-kuuun, sorry for the wait!”

“Hey, I corrected you, but you still haven’t fixed it!”

Ryuuko returned, clutching plastic bottles in both hands, sprinting back with the same full speed she had used to go. Makoto noticed that, upon her return, she wasn’t even out of breath. Was she sports-orientated?

“Here, this is a thank you for helping me fix the bikes.”

Ryuuko held one of the plastic bottles out to Makoto. He accepted with pleasure the bottle covered in beads of condensation.

“Thank you.”

“C.C. Lemon was sold out, so I bought some Minewo from the shop next door instead.”

“Mineo?”

“Mineral water.”

“…………”

“Minewo.”

She emphasised the “wo” part with a strange intensity.

Makoto recalled the childish face of a friend who used to shorten Suga Shikao to “Sushio”. Then, he twisted the cap of the plastic bottle, which featured an illustration of a snowy mountain on its label. It seemed to be hard water. When he took a sip, the aftertaste lingered on his tongue more than tap water. And that aftertaste was slightly bitter.

“This really helped me out.”

When Makoto spoke, Ryuuko lifted her face, stopping her hand as she tried to twist the cap.

“Minewo did?”

“Mineo did.”

“Mine… ‘wo’.”

“…Minewo. I can’t drink carbonated drinks.”

“Ah, I see. Well, we should be grateful to the people who bought C.C. Lemon, then.”

He wasn’t so sure about that. Makoto had already begun to suspect, but he realised that the classmate standing before him was truly a natural airhead. Since he hadn’t spent much time with people with that personality, it felt fresh to him.

Perhaps she was thirsty, because Ryuuko tilted the plastic bottle and began to gulp the water down all at once. Midway through, the sound of her swallowing became a loud, drowning splash. After drinking half of it in a single breath, Ryuuko wiped her mouth with her school uniform sleeve. Then, for some reason, she suddenly sprang to life.

“Whoa, the water is sloshing around inside my stomach!”

“Yeah, no kidding.”

For Makoto, the fact that Ryuuko’s chest was looking all dishevelled was far more important.

“Oh, that reminds me, Niwa-kun, you’re a transfer student, right? Did you come here because you did something bad or something?”

Ryuuko asked while bouncing around. Makoto shrugged, thinking there was no way.

“Do I look like I have a face that could do something bad?”

“Well, if I squint my eyes like this. Your face gets all blurry and looks villainous…”

“I’d actually prefer if you looked at me clearly.”

“Hmm, in that case…”

Ryuuko stopped her bouncing and approached Makoto. She leaned her face in closer and closer, staring intently from such a short distance that their cheeks nearly brushed. Frozen by her bold behaviour, Makoto recalled feeling like something similar had happened just a week ago. Ryuuko gazed at him for a while but eventually ended the scrutiny after blinking several times.

“Niwa-kun, you’re a good boy, I’m sure of it.”

“Well… thanks for that…”

Ryuuko guzzled down the remaining half of her mineral water and flashed a bright smile.

“With that, the animosity between us has deepened.”

“Huh?”

“Ah, I got it wrong. I meant, our friendship. These words are written with such difficult kanji, I mix them up sometimes.”

Ryuuko let out a sloppy, sheepish giggle. Makoto thought she definitely needed to correct that mistake.

After placing the empty plastic bottle into her bicycle basket, Ryuuko waved her hand.

“Well then, see you tomorrow!”

“Yeah, yeah, see ya.”

[IMAGE]

As he gave a small wave back, Makoto’s heart was still pounding violently, and he suddenly found himself wondering.

How many Youth Points was meeting such a cute girl worth?

He thought about asking Hoshinaka, but he found himself unable to bring himself to say those words aloud.

Perhaps Niwa Makoto was still, or perhaps already, far removed from his youth.

After parting ways with Ryuuko, Makoto returned to the Touwa family without making any detours.

When he peered into the shed to put his bicycle away, he noticed that the two bikes left behind when they had gone out were gone.

“Meme-san took one… and Erio went out on that old wreck, too?”

He imagined her driving the bicycle while wrapped in a futon. Being hands-free and blindfolded was far beyond a mere part of daily life; it was in the realm of acrobatics. Makoto thought derisively that she should just join a circus.

He stepped out of the shed and opened the front door with the spare key he had been given a few days ago. As expected, the inhabitants seemed to be out, and there was no sign of anyone. After neatly placing his shoes by the entrance, Makoto took a deep breath.

“I’m home!”

His slightly awkward greeting was swallowed by the rectangular hallway. The sound of his footsteps echoed through the corridor, and the resulting vibrations inevitably made Makoto reflect on his life until now. As an only child with both parents working, his parents were rarely home even when he returned from school. While Makoto had never particularly felt lonely because of it, he had never been able to grow to like the vibrations he felt when walking through the house alone.

Makoto did not head upstairs but instead went to the kitchen to have lunch. He had thought he would just pick something at random to eat, but he found a plate covered in plastic wrap sitting on the table. A note was placed on top that read, “For Mako-kun.” Beside it, an empty plate suggested it might have been for Erio. Regardless, Makoto felt grateful that lunch had been prepared for him. When he lifted the note, he saw that a face resembling Meme had been drawn on the surface of the sandwich bread using strawberry jam.

“She’s too skilled at this… I mean, eating Meme-san’s face is a bit much.”

“Don’t eat my face,” Makoto joked in a falsetto as he peeled back the wrapper and took a bite of the bread. The filling was also strawberry jam, and a somewhat excessive sweetness spread through his mouth. When he pulled the bitten bread away from his lips, about half of Meme’s face had been torn away. The remaining portion of the face saw its jam drip toward the bottom.

Makoto felt a complicated mix of emotions, almost as if he felt apologetic. Even though he knew it couldn’t be helped, it was difficult to brush the feeling aside.

“…………”

As Makoto chewed the bread, he looked down at the empty plate.

The thing that had astonished Makoto most upon arriving at this house was Touwa Erio’s method of eating. Erio did not leave her futon even during mealtimes. However, she still made sure to eat properly. So, how did she do it?

The answer was simple: she squeezed herself through the gaps.

Erio grabbed rice and side dishes with her bare hands and tossed them straight upward. She would catch the airborne food within the spiral of her rolled-up futon, letting it trickle through a tiny gap. Then, she would chew and swallow whatever reached her mouth. Erio’s control was so precise that not once did she fail to catch a piece of food and drop to the floor.

When Makoto first witnessed this method of eating, he shuddered. He had even doubted whether he had arrived on an entirely different planet rather than moved from the countryside to the city. Surely, the inside of that futon must have been a disaster, yet Erio showed no sign of being disturbed. It was such bizarre behaviour that he began to doubt whether a human being was even inside.

Who exactly was Touwa Erio?

Was she merely insane, or was it something else?

“Or… what?”

He thought that to himself, but he could find no follow-up to the thought within his own mind.

On the evening of that same day, Makoto was kicking a soccer ball around the garden of the Touwa estate. The ball, which had been rolling around in the barn, was heavily caked in mud and slightly deflated, but it seemed fine enough for casual play.

As he watched the dirt from the ball dance through the air with every juggle, Makoto continued his pastime to kill time.

When he was in the third grade, Makoto had belonged to a local youth soccer club. Due to moving, his time with the club had lasted less than six months, but since then, kicking a ball had become one of his hobbies. He had no intention of joining a soccer club to play seriously and was satisfied just practising juggling or kicking the ball against a wall by himself. Whenever he was lost in thought, he often spent his time playing with a ball in just such a way.

As was often the case, Makoto found himself thinking while chasing the ball. He was mainly thinking about the Touwa family.

There were two residents in the Touwa family. Touwa Meme and her daughter, Touwa Erio. While Touwa Meme’s words and actions were certainly problematic, Touwa Erio’s situation went far beyond that. Makoto could not even begin to imagine having encountered her when they were two years old. As long as that suffocating atmosphere remained, it didn’t seem like life in the Touwa household would ever become any more comfortable.

Meme had not yet returned. An email had arrived on Makoto’s phone saying she would be late today. Thus, he kicked the ball while worrying about what to do for dinner. The ball, which he had nudged with his toe, struck the grey wall and bounced back to him after three hits. Makoto picked it up with his hands.

As he brushed the dirt off with his hands, he glanced toward the entrance of the Touwa residence. There was no sign of Erio returning, either. He wondered what he used to do when his parents didn’t come home until late at night. Makoto searched his memories and found the answer.

He took a decision. He was going out to eat. After putting the soccer ball away in the shed, he pulled his bicycle out instead. Then, he went back inside the house once more to grab his wallet.

While he was at it, Makoto studied the map Meme had made, trying to pinpoint the location of a nearby diner. It would have been fine if there were a convenience store, but no such mark appeared on the map. He left the map behind and headed back outside.

After tucking his wallet into his back pocket, Makoto hopped onto his bicycle. He realised then that he had forgotten to lock the bike, but he decided it didn’t matter and pushed off by kicking the ground. He couldn’t quite remember if he had locked the house either, but he figured it was fine.

The path was the same as the one leading to school for part of the way, but once he reached the main street, he turned in the opposite direction from how he had gone that morning. After walking a short distance down the road leading toward the station, he managed to find a shop displaying a sign exactly as shown on the map. The sign bore the name “Hougetsuan” in rough, jagged lettering. Makoto looked up at the sign as he parked his bicycle in front of the shop.

It looked more like a soba shop than a restaurant. The wax samples displayed in the exterior case had darkened, perhaps due to their age, and the piled-up soba noodles looked almost charred. Makoto felt a flicker of unease at that dark hue, but since he lacked the confidence to find his way back to the station without getting lost, he dismounted from his bike.

After checking the business hours against the current time, Makoto reached out to open the manual entrance.

“……Hum?”

Makoto’s hand froze. It was as if his fingertips had sensed a sudden spark of static electricity, out of place for the season.

In the periphery of his vision, he caught sight of something glittering.

It was not the sun. That was because it was coming from the direction exactly opposite to where the sun was setting.

Makoto released his grip on the door of the soba shop and straightened his back, which had been hunched forward. The bicycle key he had been holding by the tip of his finger slipped downward, letting out a light, metallic chime.

That sound slowly turned the key in the lock of Makoto’s understanding and common sense.

Wrapped in the backlight of the twilight, it approached from across the road.

A heavy bicycle approached, making a rhythmic, grating sound, like something being scraped away with a saw.

The legendary red and white colours were hidden beneath a layer of red rust, leaving behind nothing but the desolate atmosphere of a discarded bicycle. Makoto recognised that “lower part”.

However, even though he was seeing it for the first time, Makoto found himself more captivated by the “upper part”, the rider.

Turning his eyes in that direction felt like an irresistible force, as inevitable as a law of nature.

A light blue hue danced in the air.

Upon the bicycle, a light blue presence was rooted, breathing clearly amidst the orange glow of the sunset.

Countless particles drifted through the void, and at the centre of them all was a perfect humanoid form.

Long, light blue hair reached down to the waist. Light blue eyeballs that seemed to encompass the entire Earth within them. Eyelids that rested halfway closed as if somewhat drowsy, and a youthful beauty that was complete, despite being nearly expressionless.

It was a form that was not merely perfect as a human but one that established the very essence of what it meant to be human.

Clad in an outfit resembling a school uniform, that figure pedalled a bicycle that was on the verge of decay.

Decadence and exquisite craftsmanship overlapped within the light, and looking at it from the front, tears nearly welled up in Makoto’s eyes. She was a beauty that shook his very core, reaching depths that even he could not fathom.

An extraterrestrial intelligent life.

An alien.

That was the first impression Makoto had of the girl.

[IMAGE]

For the girl herself, however, there was no such profound emotion. She seemed to be merely pedalling her bicycle.

As she closed the distance with Makoto and emerged from the backlight, her features and hair grew even more intensely light blue.

Streaks of red liquid had dried and clung to the girl’s face and hair. At first, Makoto mistook it for blood, but he realised its true nature almost immediately.

It was the strawberry jam from her lunch sandwich.

As if spurred by that realisation, Makoto’s legs began to move. He sprinted toward the bicycle. The iris-patterned futon, rolled up and tucked into the basket, strengthened his conviction. In an instant, the distance between him and the girl closed.

The girl did not even glance at Makoto as he approached, and she attempted to keep pedalling her bicycle as she was. Even when Makoto stood directly in front of the bike, she showed no sign of stopping. However, whether due to a malfunction or mere coincidence, the bicycle lost its momentum, and the wheels ceased to spin. Unexpectedly, both the girl and the bicycle came to a halt just before the soba shop.

Makoto swallowed hard before questioning the girl.

“Y-you. You’re Erio… right? Touwa Erio?”

Upon hearing her name called, Erio cast a suspicious glance at Makoto, as if asking who he thought he was. Panicked, Makoto introduced himself.

“It’s me, Niwa Makoto. Your cousin.”

“Cousin.”

Erio’s actual voice, not filtered through the futon, sounded like a musical instrument. It was a series of short notes, like someone striking a carillon haphazardly and trying to force it to be recognised as music. Her pronunciation was otherworldly. She seemed even less accustomed to Japanese than Makoto, who had travelled overseas and to Japan. Judging by her hair colour, she might well have been a foreigner.

However, no matter which country he had visited, he had never encountered a girl with light blue hair.

Erio stared at Makoto in silence. Her swaying eyes were as eerily beautiful as the surface of the sea. Exposed to that gaze, Makoto felt bashful and a little embarrassed and searched for a topic of conversation. When he looked down, he saw the bundled-up futon.

“I guess that when you ride a bicycle, you have to properly take off your futon.”

“*******”

“…Huh?”

Makoto furrowed his brow, unable to make out what Erio was saying. Erio had uttered what sounded like some sort of words, but they were delivered at such a high speed that they lacked any clarity. Erio herself maintained a completely expressionless face throughout.

“Did you actually say something just now? Or did you just mumble randomly?”

“*******”

Erio ignored Makoto’s remark and spoke again with difficult-to-understand pronunciation.

Makoto focused his attention deep within his ears, trying to catch the meaning, but he could understand almost nothing.

All he could vaguely sense was that it sounded somewhat like English.

Then, as if the conversation were over, Erio turned her gaze forward and began pedalling her bicycle. Standing directly in her path, Makoto had to step aside to yield the way. For a moment, Makoto hesitated, wondering whether he should follow her.

Was this girl some kind of dangerous person?

The bicycle moved at a speed that was not much different from walking, just as it had when Makoto rode it. It was easy for Makoto to ride alongside her. Leaving his own bicycle parked in front of the soba shop, Makoto rode parallel to Erio. He decided to follow her.

“H-Hey… Um, well…”

“*******”

“Have you… eaten dinner yet?”

Having been unable to think of anything else, Makoto brought up a topic that had absolutely nothing to do with Erio’s abnormality.

However, because of that, Erio’s movements, which had been treating Makoto as if he were being half-ignored, came to a halt.

Gripping the brakes that felt as though they were broken, she brought the wheels to a stop and turned toward Makoto, who was walking beside her. Just as Makoto thought he had discovered a bright sign of potential rapport with his cousin, wondering if she would at least bite if the topic was food, Erio’s mouth asserted something else entirely. The voice that issued from her lips was, as expected, closer to a musical instrument.

“I am an alien.”

“…Whoi?”

She didn’t speak quickly, but the declaration of being an alien was far too sudden.

If that had been all, Makoto would have nearly muttered, “I knew it.”

However.

“I am a member of a vanguard sent to observe humanity, the indigenous inhabitants of this planet, and I have been monitoring your daily ecology. I remain hidden in order to keep the fact that aliens are in contact with humans as secret as possible, and even while being interrupted by foolish, Cousin-like entities who approach me outdoors, I sent today’s observational data to my comrades. I am constantly in despair over the fact that humans are unaware that this Earth is spinning within the palm of the alien’s hands. Do you understand?”

Makoto gasped at the setting that was delivered with such overwhelming momentum.

Aliens?

An observer?

It felt as though his lungs were being filled by the words that popped out one after another.

It took several seconds for him to vent it all, and as he did, a chill ran down Makoto’s spine as realisation set in.

“*******”

She was every bit of a nutcase woman, as her appearance suggested.

Erio peered into Makoto’s eyes, as if waiting for his reaction.

Holding his breath, Makoto managed to squeeze out a single response.

It was a brief, brutally honest impression.

“Oh, really?”

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