Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko:VolumeSF

Novel Illustrations

These are the novel illustrations that were included in volume 8.

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Prologue

Current XX point total: ±0

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As he boarded the train, Niwa Makoto counted on his fingers. He wondered how many years had passed since he had last ridden a train. One by one, his fingers folded down until only his pinky remained. Staring at the tip of that finger, Makoto’s mouth parted.

“Four years, huh?”

As Makoto murmured, the image of his sixth-grade school trip flashed through his mind. Back then, the exterior of the train and the box seats had seemed so much larger. He gave an awkward laugh, thinking about how he now found himself looking down at the back of those very same seats. Because he had been standing on the platform exposed to the freezing March wind, the surface of his face felt frozen. Every time the warm air trapped inside the train brushed against his cheeks, Makoto was tormented by a stinging itch.

Since it was a train in a rural station during a weekday afternoon, it was devoid of passengers. It was no exaggeration to say that not a single person could be seen. There were no signs of anyone following behind him, and he found himself reflexively looking back before even taking his seat. It made him feel as though he were committing some kind of violation, causing him to shrink back and pull his shoulders in.

Makoto sat down in a double seat, feeling uneasy. Although the seat next to him and all the other seats were empty, he dutifully placed his luggage on the overhead rack. He scanned the train interior restlessly while scratching with his fingertip his cheek, which had flushed from the restored circulation.

The train with its sole passenger aboard drifted with a unique atmosphere, as if a story might begin at any moment. He imagined scenarios, such as a bomb having been planted in this carriage. It was prompted by a movie he had seen the previous month. Though he immediately dismissed the thought, “No way, no way”, his heart remained unsettled.

A slight anxiety also crossed Makoto’s mind: did he perchance mistakenly board a train destined for the depot? He looked out the window toward the platform, which was also nearly deserted, to see if anyone was watching him. The very few passengers present were facing the opposite tracks, and no one was casting a glance his way.

His inability to remain still on a train remained unchanged from four years ago.

With a self-deprecating thought, Makoto readjusted himself in his seat.

He rested his cheek on his hand by the window and waited for the train to begin moving.

Niwa Makoto was set to become a second-year highschooler starting next month. He was of average build and height, with hair that appeared a little long, perhaps due to a lack of grooming. His features were neither strikingly handsome nor so unsightly as to invite malice. His eyes, the bridge of his nose, the shape of his lips… No matter which part one looked at, the description “quite alright” seemed most fitting. In other words, there was nothing noteworthy about him. Compared to his peers, his face had a somewhat youthful appearance, and his eyelids were heavy with drowsiness. He closed his eyes. He pressed his face deeply into the hand supporting his cheek and pursed his lower lip.

His transfer had taken place after a year had passed since he entered high school. His parents, both working, had travelled all over the place since he was a child. Because their lifestyle involved travelling not only within Japan but also abroad, he was well accustomed to the process of transferring schools.

While he had little experience riding trains, he could boast a respectable number of trips on airplanes and the Shinkansen.

He had never spent an entire school year in the same place, even during elementary school. Since that had been his way of life from the very beginning, he had no major complaints, but school trips remained a bitter memory to this day.

During his sixth-grade year, Makoto experienced two transfers. The second transfer happened in September, right at the start of the second term. Furthermore, at his new elementary school, a school trip was looming just two weeks away. Although he managed to settle in with his new classmates to some extent, he ended up participating in the trip without having made any particularly close friends. Being surrounded by classmates with whom he shared a vague sense of distance made the trip an agonising experience.

As for making memories, well…

That was his thought as he posed for a group photo at a tourist attraction.

As he vaguely reflected on those old days, Makoto kept his eyes closed and his body tense. Though he felt sleepy, his consciousness did not drift off into slumber, leaving him to spend the time in a state of restless agitation.

This move had one distinction from the ones before. It meant leaving the care of his parents.

As for high school, it was likely better to settle down and graduate rather than moving around constantly. His parents, being mindful of this, decided that it was unnecessary for him to accompany them on their journey abroad. Since he felt that life in Japan suited him better than life at an overseas school, he accepted the decision. The place where Makoto would be staying in Japan was a town where his paternal aunt lived. He was heading there on this very train.

Between this moment and the train’s departure, only one other person, an elderly woman, boarded. She settled into a corner of a four-person facing seat, far away from Makoto. Then, the train began to move.

A view overlooking the area in front of the station spread out beyond the window, some distance away from the train platform. The grey landscape, centred around office buildings, was nothing particularly moving for Makoto. Not from a train, but while cycling, he happened to look up and saw a high-rising building. It was a familiar sight.

“…Ah, a call.”

His mobile phone in the right pocket of his coat vibrated. Since he had never set a ringtone, it was only a vibration. He pulled his phone out as if pinching it and checked the caller.

The LCD screen on the mobile phone displayed “Hoshinaka”. After a moment of hesitation, Makoto answered.

He had been reluctant to talk on the train, but he thought there were no other passengers nearby who would be inconvenienced.

“Yoooo, hello?”

“Oh, Niwa-chi.”

A voice reached Makoto’s ears that sounded no different from the one he had heard a week ago, on the day the third term ended, and he let out a sigh.

It was a call from a classmate with whom he had been closest since entering high school.

She was the only one who called Makoto “Niwa-chi”.

“Well, I’ve made my fair share of blunders with this girl,” he thought, sticking his tongue out.

“Wouldn’t it be a bit weird to just go ‘Ta-da!’ after calling my cellphone?”

“Ahaha, well, well. I hear loud noises… are you already on the train?”

“Yeah. Are you at home, Hoshinaka?”

“Hoshinaka House.”

“That sounds like a place where there’d be a lot of Hoshinaka around.”

“It’s cold, so I’m not really feeling like going out. Besides, my boyfriend won’t even ask me out.”

“That’s too bad,” he replied, lowering his voice. Meanwhile, Makoto struggled to remember internally whether the boyfriend’s name was Takimoto or Takida. He remembered him having a tough, athletic look, but his name didn’t leave him much of an impression.

“Did you want me to come see you off?”

“Your boyfriend would just punch me again; give me a break.”

“Kyaa! Niwa-chi, you’re so loved!”

“Was that an even more terrifying scene than being punched?!”

When he pretended to shudder from the shock, a small burst of laughter swirled on the other end of the line.

“The distance between me and Niwa-chi is growing further and further apart, yet our connection remains unbroken over the phone…”

“……? Yeah, I guess so.”

“There it is! This is a moment where you can really feel the romance! Try saying an itchy-creepy line!”

“Th-this is a touching moment?”

He instinctively lifted my hips off the seat. He couldn’t respond to her sudden demand immediately and felt a surge of panic.

“You’re all fired up!”

Even now, he found the sensibilities of that girl, Hoshinaka, difficult to understand. He sat back down and turned his gaze toward the window.

The train was just about to cross a steel bridge. Below the bridge, the Kiso River flowed, and he could see people enjoying themselves fishing.

“Niwa-chi! Fight!”

He gave a wry smile at her slightly nonsensical cheer.

“I’ll do my best. For now, I’ll start getting used to this new place.”

“Are you ready to start counting your Youth Points?”

“I’ve wondered for a while, but what exactly are these points anyway? You bring them up all the time.”

Saying it out loud made him feel so embarrassed that his frozen skin almost thawed. He added that and stroked his cheeks, which had now grown quite warm. His fingertips were still cold, and the temperature difference felt pleasant against his flushed skin.

“May the protection of Youth Points be upon you, Niwa-chi.”

He wondered what use there was in receiving the protection of such a mysterious entity. However, a moment later, he reconsidered, thinking that divine protection might be very much the same. Just as he knew nothing of Youth Points, he had never encountered a god either.

Still, he let out a bitter-sweet sigh.

“I’d prefer a slightly more straightforward form of support.”

“That’s quite a luxurious request. Hmm… I hope you get to meet a cute girl!”

“Thanks, that’s incredibly straightforward.”

The two of them shared a final laugh before Makoto ended the call.

After sliding his phone back into his jacket pocket, he gazed down at his empty palm. There had been a time when he had held hands with the person on the other end of that call. It had only happened once, but that was exactly why it felt so vivid.

As if trying to recall that sensation, he curled and straightened his fingers a few times.

After repeating that motion until he felt satisfied, he leaned his elbows against the windowsill. The train’s announcement drifted from right to left, announcing its passage over a railway bridge and its upcoming stop at the next station, and he muttered ironically:

“Swaying alone on a train headed toward a new land… Is this also what they call youth? Maybe,” he added after a brief pause. Makoto, smiling as his tension slightly eased, closed his eyes once again.

Carrying this young boy, the train continued its journey toward the city.

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.”

“Oh, right, I’ll give you my business card.”

“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.

“Is this… your daughter?”

“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.

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.

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.”

“Yeah, yeah, see ya.”

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.

She seemed to be merely pedalling her bicycle.

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?”

Chapter 2

• Contact with a (provisional) alien confirmed: +4
• Tired from running my hardest: −2
• Hungry: −3
• General situation grasped. Minute change in flow detected: +3

Current total XX points: +6

---

“Apparently, this town is known as ‘the land watched over by aliens’.”

“For real? Does that mean Niwa-chi is an alien, then?”

On the other end of the line, Hoshinaka shrieked. Makoto wore a look of bitter frustration as he denied it, “That’s a huge leap.”

It was shortly after ten in the evening, and Makoto’s body was still flushed from his bath. He had been talking on the phone while sitting by the window with it wide open. There was no night breeze, but as he leaned out into the darkness to escape the brightness of the electric lights, the heat subsided just a little. He wiped the droplets dripping from his hair with the towel draped around his neck.

“I only heard it once from my aunt, too. I don’t know what it means.”

A bystander was noisy, complaining that he should call her Meme-tan, but Makoto ignored her.

“Isn’t that exactly it? Like an alien peering into an aquarium, a face is reflected in the sky.”

“That’s creepy. Is this a horror movie or something?”

“The world and us are being submerged.”

“Isn’t this good? Isn’t it?” Hoshinaka kept asking, as if looking for approval on a finished product. Makoto dismissed her with a blunt, “I don’t know.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. You’ve gotten awfully cold since you moved to the city, haven’t you, Niwa-chi?”

“You’ve certainly got a bad attitude since you became a high schooler. Onii-san is worried about your social circle.”

“Oh? Are you jealous? Is that jealousy?”

“I’m joking. Anyway, what were we talking about?”

“So, what did you do after you met that girl? Did you eat dinner properly?”

“Are you my mother?” Makoto gave a wry smile at the way she was worrying about him. “I ate. I had soba on my way home.”

“Was she with you?”

“She was. When I told her there was no food at home, she tagged along.”

The time went back to the evening.

“Oh, okay,” Meme had responded. After he told her that he would be late, a subtle tension drifted between Makoto and Erio. The path leading to the station square at dusk was quite busy, and a group of students in school uniforms, in particular, knit their brows upon seeing Erio. Makoto scratched his cheek as he glanced sideways at the girls who were whispering among themselves. Unable to stomach those stares and the atmosphere of backbiting, he attempted to leave the area.

“I’m going to eat at that soba shop over there, but what about you, Erio?”

“*******”

“…I see. Well, see you later.”

Giving up on trying to understand, Makoto turned back toward the soba shop. Just then, Erio performed a U-turn on her bicycle and began following him. Makoto looked back and faced Erio’s expressionless face.

She lacked even a shred of sociability, yet she looked so much like a beautiful girl that Makoto felt overwhelmed.

“Are you coming too?”

“An order was issued to temporarily designate the subject of observation as my cousin.”

“An order? From where?”

“From a progenitor group in space that is collecting data regarding the possibilities and diversity of humanity.”

“I see. So, essentially, from inside your head.”

While growing weary of Erio, whose every word seemed to emit some strange, delusional energy, Makoto entered the soba shop with her.

The interior wasn’t large, containing about five tables and three counter seats. From the kitchen, where a person who appeared to be the owner stood, one could overlook the entire shop. Since there were no other customers yet, the owner was spreading out a newspaper. Responding to Makoto opening the door, the owner looked up and said, “Welcome.”

An elderly man in a white coat widened his eyes in shock as he was folding his newspaper. He looked toward Erio, who was entering behind Makoto as if recoiling. Makoto pulled a nearby chair toward him while glancing back and forth between the two, wondering if they were acquaintances since they lived in the same neighbourhood. Erio simply stood there, staring blankly, appearing completely indifferent to the shopkeeper.

Makoto almost regretted his decision to come along with Erio. To prevent himself from doing so, he opened his mouth.

“Heeey, come sit over there.”

When Makoto spoke to Erio, she obediently sat in the chair opposite him. The downward motion of her sitting caused the ends of her lush, long hair to sway, sending particles scattering through the air. Makoto rubbed his eyes. He suspected that perhaps some dust caught in his eyelashes was merely making it look that way due to the lighting. However, no matter how much he rubbed, the particle-like things did not disappear.

“Is that your natural hair?”

Since even her eyelashes were light blue, not to mention her hair, Makoto mocked himself for having asked such a foolish question. Erio ignored his question and turned her eyes toward the television mounted in the corner of the shop’s ceiling. On the small screen, which wasn’t much different from the one in Makoto’s room, a professional sumo match was being broadcast. A wrestler whose name he didn’t know was being rolled over by another large opponent. Makoto laughed to himself as he imagined Erio’s daily life, thinking that it would be quite refined if watching sumo was her hobby.

“Are you ready to order?”

The shopkeeper, who had brought over the wet towels and tea, asked for their order while watching Erio with blatant wariness. After Makoto ordered the “Tanuki Soba” that was displayed in the shop window, he prompted Erio. He figured that if he didn’t offer her a lifeline, she would never open her mouth. Makoto suspected as much, and he had a premonition that he was correct.

“Come on, order something.”

“*******”

“If you don’t say anything, I’m just going to order whatever in your stead.”

“Tenzaru.”

Makoto felt a sense of anticlimax as she ordered something normal. It seemed that she wasn’t entirely impossible to reason with.

The shopkeeper cast an unpleasant glance at Erio before retreating into the kitchen. It was not a look of warmth. Considering the way the schoolgirls had reacted outside, Makoto could vaguely discern Erio’s standing in this town.

While he couldn’t help but think it wasn’t particularly wise to be sitting with her, Makoto spoke to her regardless. His motivation was a mixture of curiosity toward Erio’s true self and a sensation similar to seeing a work of art and instantly liking it.

“Where did you go today?”

“*******”

“Hmm, sounds like it was a rough day.”

Makoto leaned back against the chair’s backrest and looked up at the dim ceiling. He muttered an excuse to himself, noting that he wasn’t exactly a patient person. He spotted a spiderweb in the corner of the ceiling and tilted his chin down.

“Do you come here often? To eat with Meme-san?”

“*******”

“Do you not feel satisfied until you’ve said something like that first?”

On a sudden whim, Makoto picked up a wet towel. Leaning over the table, he reached out to Erio and wiped her hair and face with it. It had bothered him that some strawberry jam from lunchtime was still clinging to her. Erio did not resist his hand, remaining perfectly passive. She was like a high-maintenance child. Makoto gave a wry smile.

Once he finished wiping, Makoto settled back into his chair. He didn’t expect words of thanks, but the complete lack of reaction felt a bit hollow. After resting his chin on his hand and sipping the steaming tea, he muttered while still facing the entrance of the shop.

“That bicycle… why is it in such a battered state?”

He had anticipated that she would say something vague again, so he had been careless in the way he framed his question. However, contrary to his expectation, Erio’s expression shifted. Makoto did not notice that change in her face.

“Mistakes were made.”

Her tone was strong, and the denial reached Makoto’s ears in a definite form.

Makoto lifted his face from his hand and blinked.

Erio quickly returned to her usual expression, so Makoto was unable to see it.

However, the words continued to echo in his mind.

Mistakes were made.

And the bicycle had ended up in such a battered state?

He could not grasp the context.

Yet, those words alone felt sincere to Makoto.

The soba that arrived shortly thereafter had a heavy, floury flavour. As he continued to eat, it felt thick in his throat, forcing him to wash it down with tea. The flavour was dense and heavy, and it did not suit Makoto’s palate.

There was no way the conversation could have lived on, and Erio simply finished her meal quickly in silence and left in a hurry. Makoto paid the bill without trying to stop her. As he received his change at the register, he attempted to strike up a conversation with the shopkeeper.

“That girl is a bit eccentric, isn’t she?”

The shopkeeper’s eyes narrowed. The flesh beneath his eyes bunched up, and a bitter wrinkle etched itself near his eyebrow.

“You aren’t from around here, aren’t you, young man?”

“Yeah. I moved here just recently.”

“I thought so. Are you her boyfriend?”

The shopkeeper raised his thumb. Makoto wondered if he would also be shunned if he nodded. He simply tilted his head ambiguously.

Saying they were relatives was also difficult. In a certain sense, a cousin held a position even closer than a lover.

“But you’d better raise that finger to this girl instead.”

The middle finger.

“…Thanks for the meal.”

After leaving the shop, Makoto glanced at Erio riding her bicycle in the distance, and then it struck him.

“She made me pay for the soba.”

Upon checking later, he discovered that Erio was penniless. According to her, she didn’t carry a wallet because “using space currency on Earth would cause unnecessary confusion.” For Makoto, the reason for not carrying a wallet was less baffling than the fact that she had had no qualms about ordering the most expensive tenzaru on the menu. She really ought to consider the person footing the bill.

“But hey, you got to eat with a cute girl, right? That’s plus two Youth Points.”

“You even remember the points from last time?” he asked.

“Minus five,”

Hoshinaka declared with total confidence. Since Makoto himself didn’t remember the topic of points and couldn’t judge whether she was right or wrong, he changed the subject immediately despite having asked.

“Anyway, what I learned today is that particles seem to flutter from the hair of city girls.”

When he reported it jokingly, Hoshinaka bit at the bait.

“Eeeh? So if I go to the city, do you think I’ll be able to emit Hoshinaka waves too?”

“What on earth is that? Like alpha waves or something?”

“Ah, not those, more like a Kamehameha thing.”

“Kamehameha? Oh, like Dragon Ball. The thing where you release energy, right?”

“But if those particles are just glowing dandruff or something, I’m not interested.”

“How uninspiring.”

“I use anti-dandruff shampoo, after all.”

Were people’s dreams released as dandruff? A single yawn escaped him, and Makoto rubbed his eyes.

“Niwa-chi, are you sleepy already?”

“Mm, I’m just tired. Besides, I’ve reached my limit with being ignored, so I’m hanging up soon.”

“Huh? Ignored?”

“It’s my business. Anyway, see ya.”

“Yeah. Goodnight-chi-chi, Niwa-chi-chi.”

“These words don’t even exist.”

He hung up the phone. Then, Makoto moved away from the window and approached Meme, who was sitting in seiza position in the centre of the room. Meme was wearing green vertically striped pyjamas, and her skin seemed more radiant, perhaps due to how damp her hair still was. Makoto felt a sense of wariness toward the freshness of her skin, which seemed far too youthful for her age. He felt that if he let his guard down, he might find himself entranced by his aunt.

“So, you’ve been standing there for a while now. Do you need something?”

“Smiley!”

In addition to a beaming grin, she placed her index finger against her cheek and tilted her head slightly. When Makoto looked her directly in the eyes, he froze.

“I have an early start tomorrow morning.”

Makoto turned his back to Meme and tried to crawl into his futon. However, Meme grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and pulled him toward her knees. Caught off guard by her unexpected strength, Makoto tumbled backward, unable to resist. He landed heavily against her, with his weight resting from the back of his head toward his shoulder blades against her legs. As a result, he ended up with her lap as a pillow.

Makoto’s head rested perfectly upon Meme’s thighs as she sat in seiza position.

Meme’s face obscured his view of the ceiling. Furthermore, he found himself looking up from below at her ample cleavage, which pushed against the fabric of her pyjamas, and his eyes were naturally drawn to it. Even as Makoto pleaded with himself not to stare, his cheeks flushing deep red, he found it impossible to look away. He resented the primal instincts that came with his age.

He tried to lift himself up, but he couldn’t move as Meme held him down, resting her hand against his forehead.

Meme’s scent wafted up from beside his face, and Makoto’s nose naturally inhaled it. After lightly pinching his nose as if to reprimand it, Meme softly caressed Makoto’s cheek. A chill ran through Makoto’s body, starting from his back and travelling down to his toes, causing his lower body to go limp in particular.

His body jolted with the shiver, and as he arched backward, the sensation of softness against the back of his head brought on a sense of guilt, filling Makoto’s mind with static. Like a television failing to receive a signal properly, his perception of what was in front of him became fragmented and broken.

“Good job today. How was school?”

“…Haa, well, I guess it was okay, maybe.”

Makoto was in no state for conversation. Regardless of the form, it was the first time someone of the opposite sex had ever offered him a lap pillow. He pinched his leg, trying to restrain himself from showing the agitation he felt while being cradled by his aunt, who looked as though she were approaching forty. However, if such a small amount of pain could lead to enlightenment, Makoto would have attained nirvana dozens of times by now.

“……Ah.”

The moment the tension around his furrowed brow relaxed, Makoto’s attention shifted to Meme’s face.

The shape of her jaw and the bridge of her nose, visible from below, bore a striking resemblance to Erio’s.

Upon noticing this, Makoto found himself strangely calm. Meme’s following words only served to reinforce that feeling.

“And also, thank you for looking after Erio-tan.”

“…I wouldn’t call it looking after her. I just treated her to dinner.”

Now somewhat more composed, Makoto replied while averting his eyes. Meme beamed, appearing quite pleased with his reaction.

“My Erio-tan is cute, isn’t she?”

“Not when she’s wrapped up in a futon.”

“Our Meme-tan is cute, isn’t she?”

“…Please don’t jump on the bandwagon.”

Makoto felt a bitter taste pooling against his molars, wondering why he couldn’t deny it.

“Actually, I have a serious favour to ask you, Mako-kun.”

“What is it? Please don’t ask for eternal youth or something, ow, ah, ow ow ow!”

With a smile still on her face, Meme pinched Makoto’s cheek. After kneading him, she gave it a final tug before letting him go.

“Do you know that Erio goes out in the middle of the night?”

“Eh? Oh, yes. I thought she was just going out into the garden or something.”

Makoto knew that Erio had gone out at night about four times in the past week. Today, she was lying in the next room, still wrapped in her futon. Perhaps it was because she had left before noon.

“When Erio goes out in the middle of the night, I want you to go along with her, Mako-kun.”

“…Me?”

“Walking alone on the streets at night is dangerous. Even Meme-tan gets terrified when she’s coming home from work.”

“Setting the second half aside, I mostly agree with the first. It would be dangerous in many different ways.”

There was no telling when an accident might occur if she went out on a bicycle whose brakes were questionable at best. For Makoto, that was a greater concern than the fact that a girl was alone.

“You don’t have to force yourself if you don’t want to, but I’d really appreciate it if you could.”

Meme pressed her hands together as if in prayer. Her face and the hair cascading downward cast a shadow over Makoto. Looking up at her attitude, she was pleading with much more seriousness than usual, and Makoto found himself unable to refuse.

And where was Erio heading off to all on her own? He was also very keen to find out the answer.

“I get it. However, that’s only on the condition that Erio doesn’t say no.”

“Thank you. Mako-kun, you are such a good boy.”

Meme threw her clasped hands wide and showered him with praise. Although it bothered Makoto that he was being treated like a child, it didn’t feel entirely unpleasant.

“Do you want a kiss?”

“I—I appreciate the sentiment, but it’s not necessary.”

“Then let’s have a kiss to show that sentiment!”

“What kind of sentiment is that!?”

Makoto sighed, thinking of why his father could never win against his younger sister, and at his own predicament, having inherited that very same blood.

However, regarding the matter of accompanying Erio on her outings, he had accepted it positively.

Since his exams were still a long way off, he wasn’t busy with studying, and he had nothing else to do.

At the very least, he decided that he would go along with Erio for the month of April. That was the conclusion he reached.

“Hey, hey, did you notice?”

“Notice what?”

“Meme-tan got her hair cut during lunch break. Does it suit me?”

She lifted her hair, which was no different in length from the morning, as if scooping it up, to show it off.

Makoto, knowing well what a woman meant when she asked, “Does it suit me?”, chose the path of least resistance.

“It looks like particles are flying out of your hair! I almost mistook it for the ceiling lights!”

There was no mistake to be made; it was just the light from the electric lamps.

“Oh, stop it. That’s just a particularity of Eri-tan and that idiot.”

Meme pressed the base of her hand against Makoto’s forehead, as if trying to flatten it.

As his vision was obscured by her hand, questions began to bubble up in Makoto’s mind like foam.

Was the “idiot” referring to Erio’s father? And could the phenomenon of particles erupting from her hair really be dismissed as a mere “particularity”? Furthermore, why did Erio wrap herself in a futon just to go outside?

Various mysteries swirled in a spiral. He found himself unable to grasp where the questions began or where they ended.

However, for Makoto, the greatest source of distress was the fact that the scent of his aunt after her bath was a most exquisite fragrance, reminiscent of a teenage girl.

The following day, while Makoto was getting ready and heading toward the entrance, he spotted Erio. She was slumped in the spherical chair in her room, staring vacantly at the wall. Her bangs were sticking up, perhaps from sleep, leaving her forehead completely uncovered. Makoto found it somewhat amusing. “Did she sleep face-down with great intensity?” he wondered.

“Hey, good morning.”

When Makoto spoke to her, Erio rotated her chair to face the doorway. The chair she used was what they called a ball chair, shaped like a partially destroyed globe. Once seated, one’s sides were enclosed by the chair, blocking out the background noise. Makoto knew that it was expensive, costing hundreds of thousands of yen.

Erio’s room was larger than Makoto’s, spanning about eight tatami. However, it felt narrower than his, likely because it was overflowing with belongings. A dust-covered astronomical telescope sat in the corner, there were two tall, six-tier bookshelves, and even the bed was quite large for a single person. Instead of writing utensils, a life-sized Dosei-san plushie sat enthroned atop the study desk. Makoto tilted his head, not recognising the character.

He narrowed his eyes as he noticed the top and bottom of a neatly laundered school uniform hanging on the wall where he had been looking.

Makoto did not mention the uniform, opting instead to make a light-hearted remark.

“You haven’t wrapped yourself in a futon today, I see.”

“*******”

“You’re picking up radiowaves in top for this morning, aren’t you? Well, I’m off.”

With a wave, he left the room behind. He went down the stairs, put on his shoes at the entrance, and stepped outside.

When he stepped out into the garden, the iris-patterned bedsheets hanging on the drying pole swayed in the wind.

Looking at them, Makoto muttered, “I see,” and glanced up toward Erio’s room on the second floor.

During lunch break at school, Makoto sat alone at his desk in the classroom, gnawing on a piece of bread. He alternated between bites of a long, slender fried bread he had bought from the school shop and gulps of milk. Contrary to his expectations, the bread was simply fried and lacked the sweetness and cinnamon flavour that could be found in school lunches. Because of this, he couldn’t find much enjoyment in the meal, and the mere act of chewing felt like a chore. He lamented that his jaw was starting to get tired as he sipped his milk through a straw.

The tallest girl in the class, who sat diagonally behind him, was in a similar state. She flipped through the pages of a paperback book while stuffing her cheeks with a rice ball wrapped in plastic. She, too, wasn’t speaking to any of the other students.

Though Makoto felt the mood suggested he might strike up a conversation, he found himself unable to take action.

Ryuuko, who was seated near the classroom entrance, was sharing her lunch with several other girls in a group while they chatted animatedly. Drawn by the noisy voices, Makoto stole a glance to the side. At that moment, his eyes met Ryuuko’s. Thinking it might be rude to avert his gaze without reacting, Makoto gave a small wave, prompting Ryuuko to beckon him over with a wide gesture.

“Hey, transfer student! Why don’t you come eat over here?”

Upon hearing her invitation, the eyes of his classmates converged on Makoto. The stares from the group of girls with Ryuuko were particularly intense. Ryuuko herself simply flicked her fingers in a rhythmic motion, wearing a carefree smile.

“…She really is a natural airhead.”

Makoto gave a wry smile at being invited by the group of girls. However, sensing the atmosphere, he stood up from his seat, holding fried bread and milk in his hands. If he turned her down, his classmates might think of him as “a cold, unfriendly guy”. Makoto had learnt that there was no benefit whatsoever in giving that sort of impression.

Moreover, above all else, Niwa Makoto was an honest boy and not so self-conscious that he would refuse an invitation from a girl.

“Welcome!”

Before Makoto arrived, Ryuuko had already secured a chair and prepared the spot. Three girls, including Ryuuko, were sitting around a cluster of three desks pushed together. A seat for Makoto remained empty, forming a square with the other three.

“Thank you so much for having me.”

With a polite bow and a friendly smile, Makoto took his seat. He didn’t recognise any of the girls except for Ryuuko, so he scanned the group from side to side. The girl sitting to his right pointed the tip of her chopsticks toward her chin.

“I’m from a different class, and I’m Ryuushi-chan’s friend. So, you’re the transfer student, huh?”

A girl with her black hair lightly parted and tied back looked at Makoto with a smile that made her teeth glisten. There was something inexplicable in her friend’s words, and Makoto voiced his confusion.

“Ryuushi?”

“I told ya, it’s Ryuuko.”

Ryuuko, sitting directly in front of him, corrected her as if by reflex. Makoto groaned and glared at the girl.

“Mickey, don’t plant such suspicious knowledge in Niwa-kun’s head.”

The black-haired girl, who had apparently been called by the nickname Mickey, ignored Ryuuko’s remark.

“Ryuushi-chan, you’re so quick, aren’t you? You’ve already laid claim on the transfer student.”

“I told you, spit doesn’t come out the hands.”

Ryuuko offered an irrelevant rebuttal, while the girl sitting in the chair to the left laughed gracefully, covering her mouth with her hand.

“Ryuushi is just a nickname for this girl. It’s just a different way of pronouncing her name.”

“Heh?…”

Makoto’s reaction was dull, as he hadn’t been told how to read the kanji for “Ryuuko”.

“And Ryuushi-chan is a nickname with a pretty plain origin, too.”

“W-Who are you calling plain?!”

As he watched Ryuuko and Mickey frolic, Makoto bit into the remainder of his fried bread. Each time he bit down, the taste of oil coating his teeth became quite palatable when paired with the lively banter of the girls.

“And so, as you can see, the three of us are a close-knit group.”

Ryuuko spoke after concluding her play with Mickey. The contents of the lunch box in her hands were filled with nothing but vegetables and fruits. There wasn’t even any rice.

“Yeah, you certainly seem close. I guess it’s because you’ve been in the same class since last year.”

“That’s part of it, but it’s also because we’re all in the basketball club. Even if you aren’t a regular, Ryuushi-chan.”

“Just you wait until next summer, Mickey!”

“What happened to you this year, hey?”

“Eh, wouldn’t it sound cooler if I said next year? You know, like, I’m not just focused on the immediate future, but I’ve got a solid vision for things as far off as next year. Right?” Ryuuko asked, seeking agreement from Makoto. Makoto merely shrugged as a vague response.

Then, as something suddenly occurred to him, Makoto asked the three of them.

“Come to think of it, there’s some weird graffiti on the back of my desk. I wonder what that is?”

He wasn’t just discovering it since he had seen the actual thing just yesterday, but he feigned ignorance to gauge their reactions.

At that moment, the three girls froze.

Their gazes all fell upon Makoto simultaneously, making him feel an inverted sense of discomfort.

Inside Makoto, something surged like gastric acid during a bout of nausea.

“The graffiti, right? The stuff from before she left school.”

Mickey spoke toward Ryuuko and the other girls. Ryuuko and the girls gave vague nods.

“I wonder which it is? A lunatic message received by the person in question, or some other student’s graffiti.”

“Hmm, mmm…”

Remaining seated, Ryuuko leaned forward to peer at Makoto’s desk in the distance. “It’s from another student,” Ryuuko muttered.

“Maybe they forgot to wipe the underside of the desk.”

Makoto’s eyebrows shot up at the mention of forgetting to wipe it. He turned around to inspect his desk, but the newly replaced surface showed no noticeable scratches. Acting as if he had no idea what they were talking about, Makoto turned his body back toward the front.

“That seat belonged to someone who quit the school last year. And a lot happened back then.”

Since the others were not responding well, Mickey spoke to Makoto instead.

“Quit?”

As Makoto ruminated on those words, he remembered seeing a school uniform hanging in Erio’s room.

“If you live here, transfer student, I think you too will end up running into that person someday.”

“Hmm…”

With an air of feigned indifference, Makoto sipped from the straw in his milk carton.

He wanted to subtly ask why the student quit, but he read the room and restrained himself.

Reflecting on Erio’s words and behaviour, there were plenty of possible reasons that came to mind.

And if he were to cheerfully announce, “I’m living at Touwa-san’s house, ahaha,” it wouldn’t be difficult for him to imagine how he would be treated by his classmates if that became public knowledge.

“Hmm…”

He took the implications of being seen with Erio in town somewhat seriously.

However, Makoto had already promised Meme that he would accompany her on her outing that night.

He couldn’t tell if it was because he was easy to manipulate or if Meme-san was just that good.

The moment he let out a sigh immediately after starting to think, the answer was already as good as decided.

Makoto’s lunch break passed by as he drifted through the boisterous chatter of his three classmates who had reunited.

“Here, Mako-kun, say ahhh.”

“…You’re giving me nothing but broccoli, do you hate it?”

“Mofuu.”

After spending an entirely ordinary dinner time at the Touwa Family residence, Makoto sat in the living room watching television. He had a television in his own room as well, but his interest lay elsewhere. He sat beside Erio, observing her as she sat upright, wrapped in her futon, staring intensely at the static of a television channel that wasn’t receiving a signal.

“The universe has miscalculated a vector.”

Erio poked her face out from the futon just for a moment, muttered those words, and then immediately hid her head again. Makoto was utterly exasperated by her “alien make-believe” routine. He wondered if she was trying to claim she could extract information from the black-and-white static.

He whistled the theme from The X-Files to tease her, but since she wasn’t reacting, he stopped immediately.

After about thirty minutes of such useless time had passed, Erio suddenly stood up. Her legs apparently had gone numb since she fell forward. Makoto watched her for a moment, but since she showed no sign of getting up on her own, he helped her up. After sitting her upright like an ornament, Erio looked up at Makoto with a soft “mofu.”

“W-what?”

“Mofumofu.”

“I don’t understand.”

“*******”

“…I don’t understand.”

Erio pulled her neck back in like a turtle. Then, this time for real, she stood up and left the living room.

Makoto called out to Erio as he chased after her, watching her sumaki silhouette walk toward the entrance.

“Ah, hey, you. It’s already nighttime; are you going out?”

Erio looked back with a “mofumofu” expression and nodded. Then, as if to make clearer what she was trying to convey, she began to sway rhythmically from side to side. It was starting to give Makoto a headache, but Erio seemed much easier to communicate with when she was a sumaki. However, this time, he truly had no idea what she was saying. His face contorted with a different kind of agony, caught between being unable to understand her and finding her too vague.

“So, uh, do you mind if I come along? You know, it’s dangerous out on the streets at night.”

He asked Erio without revealing what Meme had requested of him. Erio tilted her head as if deep in thought, letting out a “mofuuu”, and remained standing still in the hallway for a moment. As he watched silently, Makoto felt uneasy, wondering if she was actually thinking about anything at all. After all, someone who was truly thinking would not go wandering about wrapped in a futon.

“Mofuffuuu.”

Erio twisted her body and then made a motion pointing toward the entrance.

“Does that mean you want me to follow you?”

“Mofu.”

As if to say she wouldn’t repeat it a second time, Erio headed down to the entrance first. She didn’t put on any shoes; she was barefoot.

With the toes of her feet, she clumsily and rudely opened the door and stepped outside.

“Mako-kun, please take care of her~”

From the far end of the hallway, near the kitchen, Meme waved as she watched them go. Makoto turned back with a weary sigh, then put on his shoes, grabbed the key to his bicycle, and followed after Erio.

It was past seven in the evening, and the garden was wrapped in a peaceful spring night. There was no chill; the lukewarm air felt like a spring breath. Makoto, who had run to catch up to Erio as she tried to leave the premises, grabbed the back of her futon to hold her.

“Mofu!”

Erio’s stray hair swayed, as if letting out a protest against his actions.

“If you go out looking like that, you’ll get into an accident. Take off the futon and use your bike.”

“Mofu…”

“Hmm? Whoa!”

Erio crawled out from beneath the futon. Her movements were far more graceful than a mere shedding of skin.

Once she had emerged and stripped herself of the bedding, Erio turned toward Makoto.

“Exposing more than necessary my true alien face to Earthlings constitutes a violation of the Duty Agreement.”

“You seemed perfectly fine with exposing yourself two days ago, though.”

“The other day, an error occurred in the auxiliary device used to maintain my protective camouflage.”

“…So, if I translate that, you’re saying the string holding the futon had snapped?”

“To add to that, Cousin’s careless contact with me also violates Article Seven of the Space Treaty’s protection laws, which means it would be possible to take Cousin to the shirasu and deliver judgement upon you.”

“Whoa, so shirasu exist even in space? Is Oooka Echizen aired in space?”

When he pointed it out, Erio casually kicked Makoto in the shin. While Makoto was hopping around in pain, Erio began to drift away. Clinging to the empty futon, Makoto ran toward the shed. He quickly unlocked the blue bicycle, stuffed the futon into the basket, and hurried outside.

Tracing her trail of particles falling from her hair made the pursuit easy. Although Makoto joked about it, in reality, Erio’s hair was unnaturally bright, as if it were luminescent, making fluorescent paint look dull in contrast.

Makoto and the bicycle skidded in alongside Erio, bringing the bike to a halt. Erio stopped walking as well.

“I don’t know where you’re going, but get on.”

Makoto pointed his thumb toward the luggage rack behind him. Erio looked up at him, her moist, glossy lips moving fluidly from side to side. It was the same way a person’s mouth moved when they spoke while half-asleep, lost in a dream.

“*******”

“Hey now, you alien, don’t you have some kind of high-end translator or something?”

“Cousin, are you saying you will cooperate with my experiment?”

Her eyes, like polished, flawless marbles, questioned Makoto.

“Experiment?”

“Experiment.”

“What kind?”

At that, Erio fell silent. When Makoto tried to peer into her face, she brushed his hand away.

“I am not permitted to reveal the details to Earthlings.”

“Then I have no way to answer you, either. So I won’t be helping with this experiment of yours, but I’ll give you a ride. Otherwise, Meme-san will be worried about you.”

When he mentioned her mother’s name, Erio’s eyes wavered slightly. Noticing that flicker, Makoto spoke.

“Alright, then get on.”

“Hmm.”

Ignoring the direction indicated by Makoto’s thumb, Erio placed her foot on the front wheel. Using it as a stepping stone, she leaped and tumbled straight into the bicycle basket, burrowing into the futon without a hitch.

“Why are you crawling back into the futon?”

“Mofufuuu.”

She seemed to be saying that she had already explained the reason a moment ago. Makoto shook his head with a sigh, but then he turned around, feeling as though he sensed someone’s gaze. However, nothing but the vast night stretched out before him, and no human figure appeared even when he strained his eyes. He remembered feeling a similar presence when he first arrived at the station in this town.

“…An alien? No, no, there’s no way.”

He scratched the tip of his nose, thinking he was being overly self-conscious. Even if there were a suspicious person out there, Makoto felt he wasn’t worth the effort of chasing. Surely there were plenty of other people who would be more fun to pursue.

“Mofu?”

As if reacting to the word “alien”, Erio stirred within her cage. After pressing her head down with a “It’s nothing”, Makoto pedalled his bicycle in the direction Erio’s feet were pointing.

“Hey, are we there yet?”

“Mofu.”

“Are we there yet?”

“Mofufu.”

“Areee weeee theeere yeeet?”

“Mooofuuu.”

Cars drove incessantly along the four-lane highway. One after another, tail lights passed along a road that seemed to have been forced into a straight line through the middle of the fields. Makoto continued to ride endlessly along the side of that long road.

He must have been pedalling that bicycle for at least an hour.

Finally, they reached the next town, and where Erio had led him, there was the sea.

“…Is this your destination?”

Makoto parked the bicycle on a path that offered a full view of the beach and checked his surroundings. Sand had been spread along the edge of the road, and a set of stairs led down toward the shore. Perhaps due to the wind, the scent of the tide was not particularly strong, but he could feel the very texture of the air change. A heavy, humid breeze brushed against Makoto’s skin.

Erio skilfully leaped from the bicycle basket and landed on the ground without stumbling. She then slid down the path, which resembled a small embankment, toward the beach. She ignored Makoto’s question.

The lights from the houses were far away, and despite the ground at their feet appearing like a black marsh, Erio’s movements were precise. Since everything was pitch black whenever she was wrapped in her futon anyway, perhaps the darkness of the night made no difference to her.

After Makoto also locked his bicycle, he headed down to the sandy beach using the stairs. In addition to the sounds of the waves and the rustling of sand entering his ears, the landscape was a mixture of loneliness and a sense of liberation, unlike the crowded summer seas teeming with bathers, and it urged him to quicken his pace.

With nothing but the sea in motion, the scenery before him felt like the pulsation of a living creature. As if the Earth was a single living organism, and the oceans were its limbs. Such a fantasy crossed his mind.

“The season is a little late for anything particularly romantic, though.”

He looked around to confirm that there were no other figures present besides Erio. As he approached the water’s edge, it grew slightly chilly, and he understood why no one else was here. The sound of footsteps pressing into the sand rang much clearer than it did in summer.

The far reaches of the sea emitted a faint, dim blue light. It looked like atmospheric ghost lights.

“So, what exactly are we doing here at the sea?”

Erio stood there, where the incoming waves reached up to her ankles. Makoto watched her from a position slightly behind, but she showed no reaction. Standing all alone before the sea, she looked like a lighthouse that served no purpose.

Makoto glanced toward the right, as if looking back along the path they had taken.

The distance from the Touwa family to the sea was not a journey one could make back and forth on a whim. It would likely take more than twice as long on Erio’s broken bicycle. On foot, it would take even longer. If all of Erio’s nighttime outings were for this same purpose, it meant she had been making these long excursions at least four days a week.

“Denpa-chan, you’re trying too hard.”

He let out an exasperated laugh as he turned his eyes back to Erio. And then, Erio began to move.

Facing the sea, she ran backward with rhythmic steps. She passed by Makoto’s side and retreated until she reached the area near the breakwater blocks buried in the sand. It wasn’t just the mother; the daughter too looked like a youkai.

“Hey, so what are you doing, Rooo…”

As if mistaking Makoto’s question for a cheer, Erio began to sprint. Her lower body, protruding from the futon, kicked up the sand with all its might as she charged toward the sea. She passed by Makoto’s side once again, and just a moment before her feet were about to be swallowed by the incoming waves.

Erio leaped.

To be precise, she kicked off the sandy beach and sprang upward.

Toward the sea, into the shallows.

After completing a jump that lasted about a second, Erio naturally fell.

There was a splash as her futon collided with the shallow surface of the sea. Along with that, there was the dull thud of her body hitting the water-hardened sand. Even after that sound was drowned out by the sound of the waves, there was no sign of Erio getting back up.

“Hey, hey, hey.”

Makoto kicked off the sandy beach and trotted toward Erio to close the distance. After helping her up by hoisting her onto his shoulder, he spoke to the part of her face hidden beneath the futon.

“What exactly are you trying to do?”

“Blub, blub…”

“…You want to be a crab? I see, I see.”

After carrying Erio, who was blowing bubbles from deep within, to a spot beyond the reach of the waves, he set her down. The soaking wet futon hit the ground with a heavier thud than expected. Erio struggled to her feet, stumbling on her knees.

Wet sand clung to the surface of the futon, making the iris pattern look as though it were flickering with static.

“Ah, man… you got the futon dirty. And I just washed it today, too.”

He brushed the sand from the futon with his hands. The clinging grains refused to fall easily, and Erio twisted her body erratically, as if trying to escape from Makoto’s hands. The movement reminded him of bonito flakes dancing on a hot iron plate, causing him to instinctively pull his upper body back. Droplets of water spilt from the edge of the futon onto the sand, only to be swallowed and disappear instantly.

“Was that your experiment right now? Flying out to the sea?”

“Mofu, momofufufumofufumofufumofufu.”

Erio moved violently, as if lodging a fierce protest. Her reaction, which had been indifferent until then, suddenly grew heated, and regardless of the actual meaning, it commanded Makoto’s attention. Erio continued to plead her case, but her words lacked any discernible point.

“I don’t really know what’s going on, but it looks like tonight was a failure.”

“Mofuu…”

Erio shrank back, appearing dejected. However, even through the futon, he could sense the meaning of her following words.

“*******”

Makoto still could not make out the words that Erio was always muttering.

After a moment of silence, Erio attempted to fly once again. She ran toward the sea and leaped out. Then, she fell. As Makoto helped her up, a thought suddenly occurred to him.

Touwa Erio.

E.T.

A self-proclaimed alien.

Was that why she was trying to fly?

“…No way, right?”

Makoto shook his head as if to dispel the thought.

The girl, wrapped in a futon that never seemed to leave his sight, was covered in sand, and he wondered what she was thinking.

On the way back from the sea, Makoto had witnessed a familiar face out and about in a truly bizarre state.

A tall girl from his class was walking beneath the streetlights. However, her attire was that of a sandwich. She was clad in a mascot costume designed to look like a BLT sandwich, with a sign draped over her shoulders. She was far enough away from Makoto and Erio that she didn’t seem to notice them. He wondered if that was also part of her part-time job at such an hour.

He hesitated over whether to call out to her, but after comparing her to the sumaki girl inside the basket, Makoto shook his head.

“I’m carrying something strange myself, after all.”

“Mofu?”

Deciding to pretend he hadn’t seen either of them, Makoto began his journey home.

“Hey, good morning! Thanks for pretending not to notice me yesterday, transfer student!”

The next morning, as soon as he entered the classroom, Makoto was greeted with an energetic outburst.

A tall classmate, who had been standing by the classroom entrance as if waiting for a celebrity, delivered her greeting with great cheer. Makoto was taken aback, and at the same time, his knees felt as though they might buckle under her sheer presence. Being looked from above by girls of his age had not been an uncommon occurrence during his life abroad, but he had never experienced it in Japan.

“Y-your voice is way too loud.”

Several classmates who were already seated turned around to see what the commotion was about. Lately, Makoto had been subject to such gazes wherever he went, and it was far from a pleasant feeling.

“Ha ha ha, people with large builds tend to have large voices, too.”

Rather than large, tall was a more appropriate description for the girl. She had black hair cut into a bob and a slightly pointed chin. Combined with her height, there was a certain dignity to her overall aura.

“So, had you noticed me?”

Makoto gave a wry smile. Since she had noticed him, it meant that she discovered him being with Erio. Although Makoto was smiling, he was incredibly anxious about how the girl would react.

“It looks like you were paying attention. So, transfer student… I have something I’d like to discuss with you.”

The girl stepped out into the hallway, playfully mimicking Makoto’s tone. Makoto had no choice but to follow her.

“That reminds me, before we talk, what is your name? It’s hard to converse if I don’t know it.”

“Me? Everyone calls me Maekawa-san.”

Maekawa answered without looking back.

“Because your surname is Maekawa?”

“I can’t think of any other reason why people would call me that.”

Maekawa let out a yawn. After wiping away the tears welling in the corners of her eyes with her finger, she smiled at Makoto.

“I arrived early today to wait for you, transfer student, so I’m a little sleepy.”

“Well, I’m certainly honoured.”

He wished she had been waiting for some other reason. Makoto did not reveal his true feelings and instead gave an awkward laugh.

“Maekawa-san, somehow following you like that makes me feel like I’m an underclassman being summoned.”

When he expressed his honest thoughts, Maekawa’s shoulders shook as if she were somewhat pleased by the remark.

Deep in the hallway, they reached a point where Maekawa turned back and asked, “I suppose this place will do.” Leaning her back against the wall, her narrowed eyes moved up and down, as if appraising Makoto.

Was he being subjected to her gaze again? Makoto endured it by mocking himself, thinking about how popular he was.

“I’ll get straight to the point, but what exactly is your relationship with Touwa?”

“Ah, so you figured out she was inside the futon after all?”

Since there was no room to play dumb, Makoto shrugged in affirmation. Maekawa crossed her arms.

“There’s nothing to figure out. That outfit is clearly exclusive to Touwa. Even I don’t have a taste for that kind of thing.”

“That kind of thing… so, Maekawa-san, was that sandwich appearance yesterday your actual taste?”

“Exactly.”

It had been a joke in Makoto’s own style, but she had confirmed it with a simple affirmation.

“Uh, like, cosplay?”

“You could call it that. But since I’m usually wearing stuff like that, is it more like my everyday clothes?”

“Heh, what an edgy sense of style… The other day, you were in a French baguette mascot costume.”

“Oh, you saw that too? That wasn’t my hobby but a part-time job.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“I was chosen as the promoter because I was the thinnest and longest among the staff.”

Maekawa looked quite proud of herself. Even from Makoto’s perspective, she was certainly thin. Her limbs looked as if she were cosplaying with pieces of wire. If one were to kick her playfully, it felt as though her ankles might snap easily. Conversely, it was easy to imagine that if Maekawa were to kick someone, her own leg would be the one screaming in pain. That was how slender she was.

“We’ve strayed off topic. Or rather, transfer student, you were the one who diverted it?”

“I didn’t mean to. Ah, and Erio is my cousin.”

Maekawa’s eyes brightened. She looked down at Makoto, showing particular interest in his hair.

“So you’re related to that Touwa. Though, for a relative, your hair colour is quite subdued.”

“Actually, my hair is dyed. My natural hair is all sparkly, as if it had gold dust mixed in.”

“Hahaha, what a coincidence. Actually, I used to be blonde once, too.”

Once again, Makoto’s attempt at a joke failed to land. The student ID photo that Maekawa pulled from her skirt pocket showed a girl with a blonde bob. Makoto leaned forward, comparing the photo to the person standing before him.

“Your natural hair suits you better.”

“Thank you. And black hair looks much cooler on you too, transfer student. Now, where were we?”

Maekawa let out a low groan and glared at the wall beside her.

“We were talking about Erio.”

“That’s right, about Touwa. Just how much do you know about Touwa’s situation? I suspect you probably have more questions than I.”

“Exactly. That is absolutely true.”

Makoto replied, shrugging in agreement. Maekawa seemed to be in high spirits, perhaps because the conversation was proceeding exactly as she had intended.

“In cases like this, just rely on me, Maekawa-san, with full confidence.”

Maekawa struck her own chest. There was a dull thud as she hit bone, and her face contorted in response.

“Ouch, ouch, ouch. My ribs are aching.”

“It might be better to limit your reliance to just your knowledge, then.”

“You are absolutely right. Fu fu fu, just look at this arm. It is quite frail, isn’t it?”

Maekawa rolled up her school uniform sleeve, exposing her upper arm. The only thing Makoto could associate with that arm was a bird’s bone.

“But I think your pale skin is beautiful.”

“Really? You certainly know how to handle women, transfer student.”

Maekawa rolled her sleeve back down. Then, she flashed a bright smile and said to Makoto,

“Alright, transfer student, let’s skip school together today.”

“Hah?”

Makoto’s eyes widened at the sudden proposal. It seemed the decision had already been made in Maekawa’s mind as she began walking toward the classroom.

“Let’s show you around the neighbourhood, transfer student. It’ll make talking about Touwa much easier, too.”

“How can you say something like skipping school so lightly? I was an honour student at my previous school, you know.”

As they spoke, Makoto fell into step beside Maekawa. Maekawa offered a completely half-hearted round of applause.

“Wonderful. Let me drag a transfer student down into the path of evil.”

“Maekawa-san, are you a habitual truant?”

“I’m an honour student, except twice a year. This is the first time this year.”

Maekawa held up a long index finger.

“The first time of, hey?”

“If you had transferred in September, it would have been delayed much longer.”

Maekawa laughed, perhaps finding her own joke amusing.

Makoto tilted his head, wondering if this was really okay, but he didn’t argue.

As far as Makoto was concerned, he felt that turning down an invitation from a cute girl would be inappropriate.

“…Besides, isn’t being youth-like kind of nice?”

Makoto shook his shoulders as he replayed his conversation with Hoshinaka in his mind.

He had repacked his textbooks into his bag in the classroom and hurried out while his classmates had not yet gathered. By then, his heart was already being overcome by a sense of liberation from being exempt from class and a unique thrill from the illicit act of skipping. His steps had lost all hesitation as he descended the stairs with high spirits.

While he was changing his shoes at the shoe lockers, he saw Ryuuko walking from the direction of the gymnasium. She appeared to have finished her club’s morning practice, and her face was flushed as she chatted with the other girls.

“Even that nickname, Ryuushi, was coined by Touwa. Though she doesn’t seem to like it herself.”

Maekawa, who had stood right beside Makoto before he even realised it, immediately began explaining, as if providing a guided tour.

“Ryuushi-san, Ryuushi-san… I see. Were Ryuushi-san and Erio close?”

“Well, I don’t know anything about that. Why don’t you ask her yourself?”

“If I feel like it.”

Makoto couldn’t think of how to bring the subject up, so he gave a noncommittal answer.

As he passed Ryuuko, who was walking from the school building toward the shoe lockers, Makoto gave a small nod of his head.

“Zzhey.”

“Zz? Ah, hey.”

Ryuuko bowed back to him. She continued walking, then turned around after a few seconds had passed.

“Oh, where are you going, Niwa-kun? Maekawa-san is with you, too.”

“Just running some errands.”

“I see.”

Whether she was uninterested or simply not listening, Ryuuko’s reaction felt somewhat out of sync.

Maekawa did not join in the exchange; instead, after stretching upward, she stumbled as if she had been struck by a bout of dizziness. While pressing her hands against her forehead and hair, she glared up as if reproaching the pouring sunlight.

While pressing her hands against her forehead and hair, she glared up as if reproaching the pouring sunlight.

“See you later!”

“Stay in good health, Ryuushi-san!”

“I told ya, I’m Ryuuko! Nwoooo, even Niwa-kun has been infected!”

As Ryuuko’s voice rose in that familiar, indignant tone, Makoto and Maekawa exchanged looks and laughed.

Then, the two of them hurried toward the bicycle parking area, making sure to stay out of the teachers’ sight.

“Riding along this embankment like this reminds me of when I was teased, and I was told, ‘If we tie you to a kite string, you’ll fly away.’”

Maekawa said, sharing the memory with a bright smile.

“Wait, is that really a memory worth smiling about?”

Makoto asked, tilting his head as he followed behind, but Maekawa ignored him. She kept riding, her eyes fixed on the view below the embankment.

After Makoto and Maekawa had slipped out of the school’s main gate, they made their way leisurely through the town. Both were still in their school uniforms, a fact that Makoto noted. Maekawa, on the other hand, pedalled with her back held perfectly straight, appearing so composed that her self-proclaimed claim of only skipping school twice a year seemed suspicious.

Following Maekawa, they descended along the riverbank on the west side of the school, on the road directly opposite the main gate, until they reached the embankment. The path was paved with asphalt, a narrow lane that felt as though it would be filled to the brim by a single passing car. However, looking neither ahead nor behind, there was no sign of any approaching vehicles, and they both rode right down the middle.

“They hold amateur baseball games on the riverbed over there on holidays. I occasionally get drafted to play, too. Why don’t you join us next time, transfer student? It would really bring down the team’s average age.”

Maekawa pointed below the embankment. On the left side of the riverbed, a baseball diamond and foul lines had been carved into the ground. On the right side, two rugby posts were set up, and an elderly person walking a dog ran through them.

“I’m sorry for turning you down, but I don’t even know the rules of baseball.”

“It’s fine; I still don’t understand them myself.”

For some reason, Maekawa puffed out her chest. Makoto squinted one eye, blinded by the light reflecting off the surface of the river.

“Are we just wandering around town aimlessly? Ah… What about what you were saying about Erio?”

“No, we’re heading toward the bridge. We’ll be there soon; let’s talk once we arrive.”

“The bridge?”

When he looked ahead, the tip of a gentle arch could be seen in the distance.

“Once we get there, let’s talk about Touwa. It’s not a particularly interesting story, though.”

Maekawa spoke with an ambiguous tone, leaving her words trailing off. For a brief moment, a shadow passed over Maekawa, whose speech had been brimming with confidence until then, and Makoto felt an indescribable sense of unease. After that, Maekawa remained silent.

Makoto followed in silence, and within five minutes of running, they arrived at the foot of the bridge. The bridge, designed to span the river flowing to the right, saw heavy automobile traffic. The scent of exhaust fumes accompanied the cars, filling the air, so Makoto twitched his nose from side to side to adjust to it. The bones in his nose crunched, and his breathing felt more settled.

From atop the bridge, a male high school student wearing a different school’s uniform came speeding down. Maekawa waited for the boy to pass before approaching a pillar situated at the base of the bridge. There, she stopped her bicycle.

“I think it was around here.”

“What was here?”

“The place where Touwa fell into the river along with her bicycle. Look, right there.”

Maekawa pointed carelessly toward the river flowing beneath the bridge, but the meaning of her words failed to register in Makoto’s mind.

“She fell?”

“Yeah. Touwa tried to fly on her bicycle and failed miserably.”

After dismounting her bike, Maekawa began to climb the bridge without even locking it. She went up a little way and then leaned her arms against the railing, folding them inward. She leaned forward, assuming a posture that looked down upon the river. Makoto also dismounted his bike and moved to her side.

“Flying on a bicycle… what is that even supposed to mean? Was that girl trying to act like the real E.T.?”

Makoto tried to laugh, but he was interrupted by a surge of emotion. He shook his head restlessly from side to side, his toes scuffing the ground. A deep unease stirred in the pit of his stomach, and since he couldn’t think of any way to ease it, he remained in a state of agonising frustration.

“She might have truly intended to do it. Even though she failed spectacularly and ended up breaking her leg.”

As Maekawa spoke, her tone was detached, as if she were reading aloud an essay she had written for a school assignment.

Was that rusted bicycle perhaps a scar left behind by that failure?

“Before we even get into why Touwa jumped… do you know anything about Touwa from last year?”

No, nothing at all. Makoto gave a slight shake of his head and leaned against the railing, just as Maekawa had. The sound of cars rushing past behind him filled the air, making him feel restless. He leaned heavily against the railing to escape the sensation, fearing he might actually tumble over the edge and fall into the river. Makoto followed the flow of the water with his eyes.

“I moved here a week ago, and until then I had hardly any contact with the Touwa family.”

Maekawa nodded, as if acknowledging the fact. Like Makoto, she also stared intently at the surface of the river.

“Until last June, Touwa was perfectly normal. Ah, her hair colour had always been like that, but I mean, her personality was normal. She was cheerful, sharp-tongued, and, on top of that, quick to pick a fight. She was the type of person who was short-tempered and always dragging others along with her.”

“That doesn’t sound really normal to me.”

“Doesn’t it sound more normal than how she is now, though?”

“Fair enough.”

He sighed as he imagined Erio lying there, wrapped up in her futon.

“But then one day, without any warning, Touwa vanished.”

“…Vanished?”

Maekawa nodded. She began counting on her fingers – one, two, three… – and stopped when she reached six.

“In the middle of June, Touwa disappeared from town. She didn’t particularly have a fight with her family, and she wasn’t facing any serious problems at school. It seems she just suddenly vanished from everywhere one morning.”

“…What do you mean, how is that even possible?”

Makoto stood stunned by the completely unexpected news. Maekawa continued in a detached manner, unconcerned.

“Search efforts were conducted along various leads, from a runaway to a kidnapping, but no one could find Touwa. Six months passed without a trace, and by that time, everyone except for Touwa’s mother had given up hope that she would ever return. But then one day, she just popped up. Apparently, she was floating aimlessly off the coast of the neighbouring town.”

At the mention of the sea, Makoto recalled the previous night. Was that coast the place in question?

“When she was found, Touwa was still wearing her June summer uniform, and she had absolutely no memory of the past six months. We investigated her movements, but there were no tracks at all. It was a fascinating and truly quite eerie incident.”

“…………”

“The aftermath of the incident lingered a bit longer. Touwa began claiming that the gap in her memory was the work of aliens. She insisted she had been abducted by them for those six months. Eventually, she even reached the conclusion that she herself was an alien, and after causing a massive scene at school and around town, she ended up being expelled.”

“……Wow.”

When Makoto imagined the sight of a girl wrapped in blankets rampaging around, he found himself unable to suppress a laugh. He thought it strange that even after hearing such a story, he felt no particular aversion toward Erio.

“About two weeks after her expulsion, Touwa jumped into the river along with her bicycle. Perhaps she wanted to prove she was an alien, but since she actually survived the fall, it only served as proof that she was human.”

Having finished her story, Maekawa peered exaggeratedly into the river. Makoto followed suit, gazing down at the water.

The water was deep, making it impossible to see the riverbed. A white heron, having drifted down from upstream, appeared from beneath the bridge and swam leisurely. The sunlight scattered in reflected glints, making the light itself seem to flow through the surroundings.

Even as one followed the current with their eyes, it would eventually vanish, lost among the other ripples.

As if waiting for a single current to pass by, Maekawa opened her mouth, breaking her silence.

“So, after all that, it led to this. And then, transfer student, you arrived.”

Now, what was going to happen from here?

Maekawa added that provocative remark to conclude her story. Makoto closed one eye and scratched the back of his head.

“How was that story about Touwa’s past? I suppose it would have been best if she told it herself, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen.”

“When we run into each other at home, she only speaks of things that make it difficult to react.”

Maekawa’s eyes shifted to the side. Her ears trembled minutely, as if she were determined not to miss a single word.

“Oh my, that’s the first time I hear about it. That you are living with Touwa.”

“I kept it a secret. If the others at school found out, it would cause quite a stir, right?”

“Of course it would. First, they would feel creeped out, thinking you’re a reincarnation of Touwa. After a period of observing from a distance, once they realise that you’re harmless, they might start to bully you. I suppose the one saving grace is that you aren’t a girl. Bullying among boys is relatively less insidious than that among girls.”

Maekawa spoke of these predictions as if they were someone else’s problem. After making her point, she glanced at Makoto.

“I have no intention of spreading rumours, so I hope you can trust me on that.”

“Yeah, I believe you. If you didn’t have that kind of consideration, you probably would have interrogated me about my relationship with Erio right in the classroom.”

“Oh, I’m flattered you’d evaluate me so highly. From now on, I shall introduce myself as Maekawa-san the Ever-Thoughtful.”

She decided on what sounded like a nickname with effortless ease. It was plain, but it seemed like something her peers would appreciate.

“But if you keep hanging around with Touwa like you did yesterday, it’s only a matter of time before you’re caught. There’s no way you won’t keep bumping into classmates who are out wandering the town at night or biking to cram school.”

“You’re right… Ah, there goes my rosy school life, drifting away…”

Makoto pressed his eyes against his arm and lamented, feigning a lighthearted tone. It was a serious problem, but his mind refused to approach it with any gravity. At that moment, Makoto was preoccupied with so many other pieces of incoming information that he had no mental capacity left to spare.

Every single thing that weighed on his mind had something to do with Erio.

“……Hum?”

Suddenly, Makoto noticed an incongruity. It was the presence of an unresolved question.

He felt as though one large problem still lacked an explanation.

“I didn’t dislike Touwa. Though we weren’t close enough that I would have put myself in harm’s way to protect her.”

“…I don’t think I have a friendship that beautiful either…”

However, since he had been asked to look after her, it seemed as though Makoto truly could not abandon the task.

The memory of that night resurfaced, Meme’s face and hair framed against the ceiling and adorned by the light of the electric lamp. The sensation of her thighs softly supporting his back, even the rising scent, was all being reproduced within his mind. He clutched his head.

“…Sadly, it could be interpreted as me being charmed by her allure.”

An invitation from such an eccentric aunt could never be simple.

Makoto mocked himself with a hint of amusement, thinking of how he was perpetually at the mercy of his aunt’s personality.

“However,”

Maekawa said, pressing a finger to her lower lip as if it were nothing at all.

“What would happen if Touwa really was an actual alien?”

“…Eh?”

Makoto lifted his chin from where it had been resting on his arm and looked at Maekawa. Ignoring his gaze, Maekawa continued to stare at the surface of the river. Her thin lips uttered the answer to her own words.

“Even if it were the case, we’ll probably just keep huddling together and end up calling Touwa a human, won’t we?”

“…………”

Makoto was left speechless, and he rested his chin back upon his arm.

The weight of his head pressed his arm against the railing.

The coldness and texture of it sent goosebumps crawling over his skin.

Chapter 3

• Engaging in a territorial dispute with a dog: −3
• Defeat, retreat: −4
• The subject and the (provisional) alien heading towards the sea in question: +3
• Tracking the subject’s future movements: +2

Current total XX points: +4

---

“How does this look? Do you want it a little shorter?”

The middle-aged woman reflected in the mirror checked the finished look while pinching Makoto’s bangs. Wrapped in a cutting cloth like a teru teru bouzu, Makoto gazed at his hair, which was now a size shorter, and shook his head.

“It is fine just as it is.”

“I see. What a pity.”

The woman flashed a mischievous smile. When Makoto questioned the meaning of her disappointment with his eyes, her grin deepened.

It was the face of a bully, with wrinkles swirling at the corners of her eyes.

“And here I thought I’d get to give a young boy a buzz cut for once.”

“…Please give me a break.”

On the third Saturday of April, Makoto was having his hair cut at a hair salon recommended by Meme. He had been chilled to the bone when he nearly ended up with a shaved head, but the hairdresser’s skill was certainly reliable. After his hair was trimmed quickly and evenly, Makoto stood up, satisfied with the result. After having the cutting cape removed, he headed toward the register.

“Still, JoJo-san has great taste, doesn’t she?”

The shop manager, who was also the hairdresser, smiled at Makoto while tapping lightly on the register.

“What are you talking about? Jojo-san?”

“Meme-san.”

“Meme? Oh, Jojo, I see.”

“You’re Jojo-san’s young man, aren’t you?”

“I’m her nephew!”

“Oh? I must have misheard ‘young nephew’ then.”

It was a transparently feigned ignorance. This hairdresser had likely chosen the very misunderstanding she knew Makoto would dislike. Realising this, Makoto reluctantly accepted the reason why Meme had recommended the place, simply because it was her friend’s shop.

“Ah ha ha, you look repulsed. Well, being a high schooler, the age gap must be a bit tough.”

“Is that really the only problem?”

Makoto struck his own temple, cursing the fact that he had, even for a split second, thought that might be the only issue.

“Speaking of which, is that girl doing well?”

The hairdresser asked, as if making casual small talk.

“That girl?”

“The one with the beautiful hair. You know, the one with the sparkly light blue hair.”

“Ah… She’s fine, I suppose?”

“I was actually worried she might have gone bald since she hasn’t come in for a haircut lately.”

The hairdresser offered the change to Makoto with a smile, but it was impossible to believe such a ridiculous statement.

After putting the coins he received into his wallet, Makoto bowed and left the shop.

The moment he stepped outside, a silver humanoid appeared in the corner of his vision. Makoto could not believe his eyes.

“Fu fu fu fu fu.”

The owner of that strangely rhythmic laughter was clad in a spacesuit.

A spacesuit and a helmet enveloped what appeared to be the small frame of a young girl. Makoto instinctively looked up at the sky to confirm that the blue expanse was still there. He even doubted for a moment if he had been suddenly cast out into space.

Why was an astronaut here?

As if mocking Makoto’s very question, the girl’s humming continued without pause.

The girl in the spacesuit was doodling on a poster of a woman posted on the front of the shop. She added eyebrows using a permanent marker. After that, she drew a field of flowers on top of the hair and finally wrote, “Hoshimiya Yashiro was here!” Like a criminal confessing a crime. Was that perhaps the girl’s name?

“A H, F O U N D Y O U.”

With an air of hollow pretence, the astronaut girl looked back at Makoto. Makoto sighed as he listened to her bizarre way of speaking, where each word was punctuated by a rhythmic tapping against her throat. Was this town full of nothing but things like this? The fact that her visor was opaque, hiding her face, only heightened Makoto’s unease.

Makoto recalled Maekawa in her cosplay. However, the girl was far too short to be Maekawa. The astronaut girl seemed to be in the upper grades of elementary school, or perhaps even younger. If that were the case, there was also the possibility that she was Maekawa’s younger sister.

“Z U I Z U I”

The girl stared intently at Makoto. She circled around him, even humming the sound of her own gaze. As Makoto braced himself, wondering what was happening, the girl reached out. She pinched his earlobe.

“What?”

“Hmm… Hmm…”

After she finished fiddling with his earlobe while ignoring Makoto’s question, her hand did not pull away; instead, it reached even further. She grabbed Makoto’s freshly trimmed bangs and, “Ah?”, yanked out several strands. “Ow! That hurts!”

She grabbed Makoto’s freshly trimmed bangs and, “Ah?”, yanked out several strands.

Makoto buckled at the knees while clutching his bangs. Before he could collapse, he steadied himself and yelled at the girl.

“What do you think you’re doing!?”

“S A M P L E H A R V E S T C O M P L E T E”

Makoto’s bangs fluttered helplessly between the girl’s fingertips. He instinctively clenched his fists, but he suppressed his anger by digging his nails into his palms as he asked the girl,

“Are you an elementary schooler from around here? Isn’t there a taller girl with you?”

“D O N’ T M O C K M E Y O U B A S T A R D. W H O A R E Y O U C A L L I N G A N E L E M E N T A R Y S C H O O L E R?”

The girl in the spacesuit raised both hands in protest. That very gesture only served to emphasise her youth.

“You, obviously. What on earth are you doing dressed like that?”

“I A R R I V E D T O O E A R L Y B E C A U S E I G O T T H E T I M I N G W R O N G, I’ M B O R E D.”

“Ah? What do you mean by timing?”

The girl’s voice was, strictly speaking, incredibly difficult to understand due to the way she spoke.

“I A M A M E S S E N G E R O F T H E M O O N.”

The fact that she wasn’t even making sense in her replies was a problem, but it was the content of her statement that caused Makoto to knit his brows.

“The moon? What, some child moon make-believe game? That’s so old-fashioned, hey.”

“W H A T D O Y O U M E A N M A K E - B E L I E V E? *cough*, *cough*.”

The person inside the spacesuit choked. It seemed as though she had been speaking with far too much strain on her throat. Makoto scratched his temple, feeling exasperated. Glancing sideways around the hair salon, he saw that the hairstylist had turned her back to him and the spacesuit, leisurely cleaning the shop. She swept the hair scattered across the floor with a broom and collected it into a dustpan.

“Wait a moment, an error has occurred.”

The girl thrust her palm toward Makoto, requesting time to soothe her throat.

Deflated by her action, Makoto unclenched his fists.

“You’ll hurt your throat if you push yourself like that.”

“Shut up, you fool.”

Her natural voice was high-pitched, fitting for a young girl. She waved her arm in a gesture to shoo him away. Perhaps because the bulky spacesuit created an illusion, her limbs appeared even shorter than they actually were.

“Ugh, mmm… G O O D I A M R E V I V E D.”

“That’s good. Well then, will you go apologise to the shopkeeper?”

“W-A-A-H-H…”

Makoto reached his hand into the gap between the girl’s helmet and her spacesuit and grabbed her by the scruff of her neck. As he tried to drag her into the shop like a kitten, she flailed her limbs in resistance.

“W H A T D O Y O U I N T E N D T O D O, Y O U B A S T A R D?”

“What I intend to do? You have to apologise for scribbling on the poster.”

“I T’ S F I N E.”

“It is not fine.”

The girl swung her elbow, knocking Makoto’s hand away. The momentum of her swing sent her body spinning like a top. After spinning around and frantically scrambling to put some distance between them, she turned back toward Makoto.

“F A R E W E L L F O R N O W, M A K O T O.”

The girl ran away, leaving behind the silly, slapping sound of her footsteps. Makoto rubbed his eyes instinctively as he watched her strange figure proceed through the town with such nonchalance. He had even tried punching his own head, but it didn’t seem to be some kind of hallucination.

Halfway through, the girl began swinging her arms vigorously to accelerate. Her helmet swayed so violently that her running style made onlookers anxious, fearing it might fly off along with her entire head.

“…Huh? How did she know my name?”

He had no memory of introducing himself. There was no way they could have met.

She didn’t exactly give off the vibe of being a friend of someone he had met since arriving in town, either.

If that were the case, then perhaps she had been looking him up on her own.

Was the gaze he had occasionally felt since arriving here actually hers?

Makoto’s thoughts progressed through four distinct stages before he reached a conclusion.

“Wait, isn’t that just a stalker?”

Makoto laughed heartily, brushing off the far-fetched deduction.

Makoto never once considered himself so full of charm that someone would follow him around.

After staring in the direction where the girl in the spacesuit had departed for a while, he quickly hopped onto his bicycle.

“Heh, you cut your hair. Send me a picture.”

“I’m going to refuse, because I feel some resistance toward taking photos of myself.”

“Niwa-chi, you’re a highschooler now, so you should get used to being in the spotlight soon.”

“So what if I get used to it? Besides, it’s dark, so if I take pictures, my face will look like a horror movie.”

“It’s dark? Niwa-chi, where even are you right now? I can hear a heavy splashing sound.”

“The beach.”

Makoto, who was crouching on the sandy shore, answered concisely.

His shortened hair was not tossed by the sea breeze as much as it had been the last time.

The scent of the tide was strong at the coast again today. Since it was the middle of the night, there was no scorching sunlight, but because of that, the coldness of the waves crashing onto the sandy beach felt even more intense. Makoto’s ankles, as he crouched there, were dampened by the occasional heavy waves that washed over them. He wore no socks on his feet, having borrowed a pair of sandals that had been left lying in a corner of the Touwa Family residence.

Erio was not wrapped in her futon today. Perhaps because she had gotten it so messy last time, Meme had stripped it right off her before they left, shouting, “Take it off, take it off!” Erio remained unresponsive to her mother, and Makoto felt a sense of awkwardness at the temperature difference between the mother and daughter. Makoto had always been bad at witnessing such misplaced affection.

“The spring sea, and at night, no less. Heh, heh heeeh.”

“What kind of ‘heh’ is that?”

“I just thought that even Niwa-chi is starting to understand the concept of Youth Points.”

“That one sentence only deepens the mystery.”

Even as he spoke, Makoto’s eyes remained fixed on Erio. For the time being, Erio showed no movement.

Tonight, it was Erio, rather than Makoto, who had initiated the “Mofumofu” invitation. Makoto was initially bewildered by what seemed to be a change in her mindset, but he speculated that perhaps she had grown to enjoy the ease of being carried.

“Well, I have to go. I need to go experience my youth in the spring sea, so I’m hanging up now.”

“Very well. In that case, I shall request about five kilograms of the sands of youth as a souvenir.”

“Don’t make such plain, difficult-to-carry demands. Goodnight.”

He ended the call and put his phone away.

He gazed out at the sea, recalling his conversation with Maekawa.

It was in this very sea that the Erio had been found after missing.

Disappearance. A void in her memory. A series of events that felt distant and disconnected from everything Makoto had known in his life up to this point.

How had Erio faced it, and how had she “fled” to the aliens?

No matter how much Makoto thought about it, it lacked a sense of reality, and no definitive conclusion could be reached.

Makoto straightened his legs and stood up, approaching Erio.

Sensing him, Erio ran toward the sea as if to escape. Then, timing it perfectly with an incoming wave, she leapt. It was a far more picturesque sight than flying while wrapped in a futon, but it remained nothing more than a fleeting image. Within seconds, gravity pressed her down, and Erio sank into the surface of the sea.

She fell chin-first, making a heavy sound as she ploughed through the sand. Makoto crouched beside Erio, who lay sprawled face-down. The incoming waves soaked up to his ankles, and the chill sent goosebumps across his skin.

“It’s about time you learned how to take a fall.”

He grabbed Erio by the shoulders and pulled her up. The front of her clothes was soaked through, and her chin and skin were covered in sand. Erio looked up at Makoto with an expressionless face. However, there was a slight flicker in her eyes, which stirred Makoto’s protective instincts. Brushing his hair back, Makoto turned to face the sea, muttering that he was being ridiculous.

“You really need to at least think about your technique.”

Makoto thrust his fingers into the seawater-soaked sand.

“For example, you could prepare something like a stepping stone. You could pack the sand together…”

He gathered the surrounding sand with his fingers. After constructing something resembling an unstable sandcastle, Makoto spoke.

“You build a platform like this, and then you jump from a height. If you do that, you might be able to jump just a little bit higher than you can now. And, if you stay in the air longer, it increases the possibility that you’ll be able to fly… or something like that, I don’t know.”

In the end, his words became vague. It was because he remembered the time Erio had jumped into the river before. If he were to speak seriously, Erio might try jumping from an even greater height. That was what Makoto feared.

He watched for Erio’s reaction. Erio was staring down at the sandy ledge, her mouth hanging slightly open in a daze. Makoto watched her profile, thinking it was a rare reaction. She appeared somewhat defenceless. Erio tapped the sandy ledge with her hands, as if she were admiring something. She touched it, then stared intently at the grains of sand that had stuck to her palm. After clenching those grains of sand in her fist, Erio looked up.

“Cousin.”

Erio’s piercing gaze struck Makoto. Those light blue circles held more light than the stars in the night sky.

“As an alien, I pity your ignorance and primitive thinking, Cousin.”

“So, you’re an alien in the end.” Makoto sighed, resting his cheek against his hand.

“I don’t want to hear that from someone who’s just flying around without a plan.”

He used his finger to wipe the sand from Erio’s chin. Erio remained passive, staring intently at the tip of Makoto’s finger.

Once the sand was cleared, Erio began digging into the beach with both fingers. She poured more sand into the poorly constructed foothold that Makoto had made. Each time her light blue toes disturbed the earth, they left behind a pale blue trail.

“What, so you talk big, but you’re actually going with my suggestion?”

When Makoto expressed his exasperation with a joyful tone, Erio’s expressionless face fixed him with a glare.

“I have decided to respect the fact that you provided your human perspective to an alien, and therefore, I shall make use of you, Cousin.”

“Hmm. So, basically, you’re saying thank you?”

Erio threw sand directly at Makoto. Makoto leaped back dramatically to avoid it but lost his balance and landed hard on his backside, coating himself in sand. “Aaaah,” Makoto lamented, sounding somewhat amused.

“You can’t fly either way… Well, I suppose you’ll just act as a kid for a change?”

After taking off his sandals and throwing them far beyond where the waves reached, Makoto crouched into a position facing Erio and scooped up some sand. Erio said nothing about Makoto joining in and silently continued piling and packing the sand. The two of them worked together in silence.

Beyond the horizon, a blue light wavered. It was unclear whether it was an illusion or something truly radiant. That light cast a faint glow onto the beach. It turned Makoto and Erio into silhouettes that became part of the shoreline itself.

The receding and advancing waves soaked the feet of both Makoto and Erio. The sound of the waves drew near and drifted away.

Erio, who was sitting on the beach, shivered, perhaps because her backside had grown wet. While feeling relieved that she still had such a human of reaction, Makoto patted the sandy ground with his hand.

The sensation of the sand against the soles of his feet felt as though it were grating against the very depths of his soul.

“Playing in the sand is not exactly a youthful thing at our age.”

Makoto looked up toward the sky, as if gazing at the stars.

There was something shining through the gaps in the clouds, but Makoto had no way of knowing which star it might be.

On the way back from the sea, they passed a noisy group on a four-lane road.

A group of boys, who looked like high school students in casual clothes, came running in three rows while chatting amongst themselves. Reluctantly, Makoto moved to the edge of the sidewalk to make way. The lights of three bicycles cast a faint glow upon Makoto and Erio. In that light, the faces of the three boys also became visible. Makoto’s eyes drifted toward the face of the boy on the far right.

Makoto recognised that face. He believed he had seen him in his classroom before. Although they had never spoken, Makoto found himself glancing at Erio in his basket. The boys seemed so absorbed in their conversation that they passed by without even noticing Makoto and his companion. Even after they had drifted into the distance, Makoto remained frozen, huddling into himself for a while.

As if suspicious of Makoto’s lack of movement, Erio nudged the bicycle basket with her heel. Makoto scratched his forehead, feeling a twinge of anxiety about school life resuming the day after tomorrow, but he pedalled his bicycle forward, knowing there was no use worrying about it.

For better or worse, Niwa Makoto was never good at thinking about the consequences.

The next day was Sunday. Makoto woke up shortly after nine in the morning.

From outside the window, the sound of raindrops bouncing off the roof could be heard. Because the room was dim, it seemed he had slept well. Makoto sat up, pressing his hand against his head, which throbbed with a dull ache from oversleeping. As he licked the inside of his lower lip, he noticed vertical cracks, a sign that he was dehydrated. He hung his head, waiting for the headache to subside a little, when he sensed a presence.

Makoto lifted his gaze. In an instant, he realised exactly what that presence was.

“Mofuu.”

“…………”

“Moomoofufuumomofuumoomoofufuu.”

“Stop invading.”

Erio was in Makoto’s room. She was sitting in a chair, stretching her legs out and swinging them around in circles. One of her legs caught on the leg of the desk, making a hard, clattering sound. Erio tumbled off the chair and began bouncing around while still lying down, as if complaining of the pain. She bounced along with the futon, sending a dull vibration through the room.

Watching that series of actions, Makoto thought about going back to sleep. He had rather wanted to convince himself that he was merely dreaming, but the swirling dust and light blue particles stripped away his drowsiness. It looked as though they were evaporating.

Makoto climbed down from the bed. He spoke to Erio, keeping his distance from her as she writhed.

“Do you need something? Just so you know, we aren’t going to the beach today. It’s raining.”

“Aliens mercifully assert that humans should finally realise that the lazy part of their nature that makes them hesitate to go out due to something as trivial as rain is hindering the progress of the Earthlings.”

Erio countered with an expressionless face, peeking out from the futon. She stopped her jumping and sat down on the floor. Standing there, Makoto looked down at her hair, which seemed to be emitting its own light, and let out a sigh.

“That’s rich coming from someone whose ankle is red from hitting it.”

“There is no causal relationship between my ankle and my refusal to go outside, and furthermore, it is an event that poses no hindrance whatsoever to my investigations of the rain and the universe. Cousin, you lack the intellectual grounds to deny that.”

“Alright, alright, we’ll get to it eventually.”

Makoto left the room, brushing her off with a casual remark. Erio followed. Makoto headed down the stairs. Erio followed. At that point, he turned back.

He felt as though Erio was staring intently at him. Her face was already hidden beneath the blankets.

“Don’t tell me you’ve taken a liking to me?”

Makoto groaned. Erio merely replied with a vague, nonsensical “Mofu”, just as she always did.

“Show your face when you’re giving answers like that.”

He gave a wry smile at the disjointed conversation with Erio. He laughed at himself, realising he was becoming accustomed to situations just like this.

When he headed toward the kitchen, he found Meme dancing. She was stepping to a rhythm while shaking a plastic bottle containing what looked like a milky white liquid with both hands. She was really in the groove, even twisting her hips around.

After punching himself for being captivated by that incredibly assertive backside, Makoto cleared his throat.

Meme turned around. Her indigo hair was terribly dishevelled from sleep, and her pyjamas were slipping off her shoulder.

“Good morning, Mako-kun. Oh my, Erio’s here with you too?”

“Good morning… You’re certainly full of energy considering how early in the morning it is.”

Even during the greeting, Meme did not stop. She continued to shake the plastic bottle at high speed.

“I’m in the middle of making homemade butter. *Shake-shake-shake*.”

Her arms moved violently, as if she were playing a musical instrument. However, she seemed to feel no need to move her feet or hips with such flair.

Makoto sat in his usual chair and rested his chin on his hand. Erio settled into the chair beside him.

Meme continued to dance for nearly five minutes. By the end, she was out of breath, but the butter was finished. She used scissors to cut off just the bottom of the plastic bottle and placed it in the centre of the dining table. Then, Meme moved on to preparing the rest of the meal. She toasted the bread and placed fried eggs on everyone’s plates. Watching her efficiency, Makoto was somewhat impressed, thinking that her experience as a mother certainly wasn’t for show. He could not discern any reaction from Erio.

Once the preparations were complete and Meme had taken her seat, breakfast began. Protruding her hands from beneath her futon, Erio skilfully spread the butter onto her toast. Makoto was impressed once again, thinking that she was quite handy with everything except for her way of life.

Erio then attempted to throw that piece of toast from beneath her futon.

Makoto reflexively grabbed her arm. Both Erio and the futon jolted.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just show your face and eat? In fact, just do it. Otherwise you’ll get the futon dirty.”

“Mofuu…”

Erio groaned from beneath the covers as if expressing her dissatisfaction. Meme paused with a piece of toast halfway to her mouth, watching the exchange between Makoto and Erio. Though her expression remained unchanged, she had stopped blinking.

Before long, Erio returned the toast to her plate and peeled back the top of the futon with both arms. Like a bud bursting into bloom, Erio’s true face emerged, releasing all the pent-up energy she had been holding back into the surrounding air.

“No matter how many times I see it, that face is just unbelievable.”

“That is a tragedy caused by the shallow knowledge of the cosmos held by Cousin, a typical Earthling.”

Erio mocked Makoto with seamless delivery, as if reciting a prologue to a play. Her tone was far too detached and circuitous to sound like a genuine insult. Makoto, in turn, merely brushed it off with his usual unserious attitude.

“Oh, really? Whatever. At least I can eat without getting food on my futon.”

“I shall reluctantly reveal my face, solely to prevent any further multi-dimensional contact with Cousin.”

“Is that so? Sorry for forcing you into a compromise.”

Makoto chuckled, his shoulders shaking.

He felt as though he had taken one step closer to becoming a true inhabitant of Earth.

As Makoto let a smirk curl his lips, feeling that trivial sense of satisfaction, he sensed a gaze upon him.

When he looked up, his eyes met Meme’s.

A bright smile spread across Meme’s face. She seemed to be savouring the sight before her, much like someone slowly chewing on a piece of bread.

Embarrassed by the way she gazed at him with such warmth, Makoto averted his eyes.

“Now, now, now.”

“W-what is it?”

“The ‘ma’ in ‘Mako-kun’ is the ‘ma’ in ‘sex demon’!”

“Are you trying to pick a fight with my parents?!…Good grief, you could have just said thank you like a normal person.”

Knowing full well that such an action would only cause trouble, Makoto grumbled with a sense of satisfaction.

The taste of the bitten bread was deeply flavourful, depending on whether it was the homemade butter or his current mood that dominated.

However, such weekends were always undone by the start of the following week.

The very next day, Makoto found himself exposed as the centre of classroom gossip from early morning.

“Oh my, oh my…”

While he wasn’t gripped by intense fear, the reality he had imagined descended upon him. The content of the rumours was exactly what he feared: “Makoto was carrying Touwa Erio in his bicycle basket.” As fragments of this reached his ears, he grasped the situation by weighing them against the atmosphere in the classroom. A cold feeling filled his heart as he thought that it had spread unexpectedly fast.

There was no doubt that the one who spread it was a boy he had passed on Saturday night. When Makoto looked toward him, the boy stared back at him with a look of bewilderment. As for Makoto, no thought other than “Oh dear” came to mind, and he found himself unable to move.

Makoto rested his cheek on his hand as he watched the unfolding situation. It was rare for him to find the time leading up to morning homeroom feeling so long. He glanced toward Ryuuko’s seat, but she had not yet appeared in the classroom, perhaps because she was participating in morning practice for her club. When he looked behind him, he saw Maekawa, though she seemed absorbed in a paperback book.

Makoto felt a pang of envy when he realised that the book in Maekawa’s hands was the second volume of The Time Ships.

“I wish she would lend me the first volume… even the online stores are out of new copies of that one,” he muttered to himself, closing his eyes.

He reflected on his exchange with Erio, wondering if he had been too reckless. Even though he knew it was a bad idea, he found himself unable to act with true awareness until he had tasted something fatal.

Makoto laughed at his own naive perception, a classic example of human error. He had always believed himself to be quite capable, but this time, that self-confidence had completely vanished.

Perhaps because Makoto kept his eyes closed and his body tensed, no one approached him until the homeroom teacher arrived. Ryuuko slid into the classroom just before the teacher did, and while she tilted her head at the peculiar atmosphere surrounding Makoto, she made no specific mention of it. Makoto felt a slight sense of peace watching her tranquil profile thinking that he could hardly imagine her attitude ever changing so drastically. He also felt a part of him simply didn’t want to know what would happen if she did.

Things began to move during the lunch break.

As he was putting away his textbooks and writing utensils from third period into his desk drawer,

“Hey.”

A boy’s voice spoke. He was addressing Makoto. Makoto realised who it was.

“Here it comes,” Makoto thought, inhaling deeply while keeping his head bowed.

He had already predicted what kind of question was coming; all that remained was to provide the answer he had prepared in advance.

And yet, Makoto could not lift his head, as if finding it an impossible task.

As if losing his patience, the boy threw the continuation of his sentence toward him.

“Are you, like, a friend of Touwa Erio or something?”

The question was exactly as Makoto had predicted.

Makoto lifted his face then. And then.

With a composed expression, he told a lie.

“Huh? What are you talking about?”

Even though it was his own voice, it did not make his ears or his bones, or anything else, tremble.

The moment the words left his mouth, Makoto’s head felt as though it were collapsing.

At least, in Makoto’s own perception, the left side of his brain felt heavy, as if it had been crushed.

The male student standing before him drifted into the distance, and the outlines of the classroom grew blurred. Makoto lost all sense of what kind of expression he was wearing. The boy continued to press him, trying to extract an answer.

“No, I mean, I saw it. I saw Touwa in that basket.”

“Hmm? I told you, what are you talking about? Who even is this Touwa?”

Makoto’s mind went completely blank. The reality before his eyes grew increasingly thin, as if a translucent film had been stretched between him and the boy. His head swam, as if his inner ear had suddenly malfunctioned.

“I just moved here, you know. I don’t really know this town very well.”

The words themselves weren’t a lie. However, Makoto felt, with deep certainty, that he was telling a massive lie to his own heart.

Realising his own limits, he stood up from his seat.

“I have to go buy some food. Well, see ya.”

As if fleeing, Makoto headed toward the classroom entrance, though he took care not to walk too quickly.

Without clearing the suspicion or simply admitting the truth, he left the scene, remaining stuck in a state of half-measures.

On his way, his eyes met Ryuuko’s. However, she didn’t seem to grasp what was happening and merely widened her eyes in surprise. For some reason, Makoto felt apologetic, so he flashed a forced smile before stepping out into the hallway.

As soon as he reached the hallway, Makoto clutched his abdomen.

He felt unwell. He was truly feeling nauseated.

After taking only a few steps down the corridor, Makoto collapsed forward. The students in the hallway, including those from other classes, began to stir with commotion.

As his cheek pressed against the cold floor, his condition improved slightly.

Makoto stood up immediately and began walking again, telling those around him, “I’m fine, I’m fine.”

Once he reached the stairs, Makoto admitted to himself that he was in shock.

Makoto laughed from the bottom of his heart, realising that he had escaped into a lie, just as he had been exasperated by Erio’s lie about the alien.

After school that day, Makoto decided to make a detour to a bookshop.

It didn’t even have to be a bookshop, as long as it helped him kill time. Driven by awkwardness, he found himself refusing to head straight back to the Touwa family. Consequently, he continued to pedal forward aimlessly, without even knowing the route properly.

Makoto eventually brought his bicycle to a halt in front of a bookstore with a red door, located on the first floor of an apartment building. Several bicycles, their rear wheels already adorned with inspection stickers, were parked in front of the shop. Peering through the glass exterior, he saw a boy in a school uniform stationed in front of the manga shelves.

Though he hesitated, Makoto passed through the automatic doors.

Perhaps because of the high outdoor temperature, the air inside the shop felt heavy with heat, creating an atmosphere that made it difficult to linger.

Makoto moved through the store, steering clear of the manga section, and came to a stop in front of the magazine corner. He picked up a magazine featuring the name of a novelist he liked printed on the cover and began flipping through the pages at random.

“……Hum?”

As if following Makoto, Maekawa entered the bookshop. She was in her school uniform, clearly on her way home.

Makoto watched Maekawa, wondering if she lived somewhere nearby.

After picking up a magazine, Maekawa stood beside him, maintaining a slight distance. When Makoto attempted to look up, Maekawa stopped him.

“Keep the conversation going without taking your eyes off the magazine, transfer student.”

“…Why?”

“It sounds cool, like an intelligence officer’s report.”

At Maekawa’s reasoning, Makoto was almost on the verge of agreeing, “Indeed.”

However, the magazine Maekawa had opened was Orange Page, while Makoto’s was Bessatsu Bungeishunju.

It lacked a certain level of sophistication.

“The Touwa matter became public relatively quickly, didn’t it?”

Maekawa remarked as she flipped to a page featuring a “Spring Vegetable Special.”

“It couldn’t be helped; it was out in the open like anything else. We hadn’t taken any precautions or anything.”

“But you did lie, though.”

Makoto’s throat tightened. He glanced at Maekawa but quickly returned his eyes to the pages.

“Are you indecisive, transfer student? Or are you not even thinking at all?”

“As you say.”

“But what left an impression on me was that look on your face, like you regretted it right after you lied.”

This time, he pulled his face away from the magazine and turned properly toward Maekawa. Maekawa turned toward Makoto as well and grinned.

“That’s amazing. You’ve got great powers of observation.”

“You can call me the great detective, Maekawa Conan, if you like.”

“I thought you were supposed to be Maekawa-san the Ever-Thoughtful…”

Makoto gave a wry smile. He flipped a page without even reading it. Maekawa was doing something similar.

“So, what do you intend to do? About Touwa?”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t play dumb, transfer student.”

“Hmm… well, I don’t know. What should I do?”

Makoto flipped another page. Maekawa smiled, as if watching over a sulking child.

“Whether to stay involved with Touwa or to pull away. Whether to continue with a peaceful life with your classmates or to choose Touwa.”

Maekawa voiced the dilemma Makoto was facing. Makoto glanced at the backs of the boys in the manga section and sighed.

“You can’t have both, right?”

“There’s that saying about chasing two rabbits. But I wonder what kind of mindset views Touwa and your classmates as the same rabbit.”

Maekawa narrowed her eyes. Her gaze, fixed on the promotional page for a new jam, grew sharp.

“Touwa is clearly a different species from us, just from appearances alone.”

“…A different species, huh? I guess she is.”

Was that why she kept introducing herself as an alien?

Was her escape route something born from her very appearance?

“Maekawa-san, are you interested in things like aliens?”

“Not really. Though I did used to like those special programmes about dissecting aliens.”

“Then, do you think aliens actually exist?”

“Touwa has been called an alien since a long time ago. Mostly by the girls in class who were jealous of her looks.”

Maekawa provided that information while subtly evading the question. Then, she glanced sideways at Makoto.

“Transfer student, will you join the aliens’ side?”

At Maekawa’s question, Makoto bit the corner of his lip. He feigned sleepy, half-lidded eyes, but internally, he could not remain calm. The scent, like an air freshener drifting through the shop, grated on his nerves.

Even if he had known what he truly wanted to do, putting it into practice would not have been easy.

“Fu fu fu, feel free to agonise over it, young man.”

“…Maekawa-san, we’re the same age, aren’t we?”

Maekawa avoided Makoto’s question with a suggestive laugh.

“I’ll keep my distance and watch to see which planet you decide to belong to, transfer student.”

Maekawa closed her magazine with a fearless smile. It seemed she had no interest in the bookshop from the very beginning.

“You came here just to tell me this? Or rather, did you follow me?”

“Indeed, transfer student. I decided to shadow you as you were running quite erratically. Given that manner of movement, I was certain that you were trying to notice my tail and lose me, but perhaps I was mistaken. I am Maekawa-san, the Ever-skillful spy.”

Makoto scratched his nose, admitting he hadn’t noticed at all. He hadn’t possessed the luxury of being mindful of his surroundings just then.

The reason his running had become so chaotic was simply that he had lost his way.

“Man, it’s pretty wild that just browsing a magazine earns you two new nicknames.”

While it was meant sarcastically by Makoto, Maekawa seemed to take it as a compliment. She looked quite proud of herself.

“Well, since I’m done with my business, I’m going home. I have chores to help with at the house.”

After Maekawa returned the magazine to its original place, she started to wave and leave.

“Ah, wait a moment.”

Makoto called out to her.

He had remembered that he had some important business with Maekawa.

“Um, Maekawa-san.”

“What is it?”

Hiding his face behind the magazine, Makoto mumbled his request.

“…I was wondering if you could tell me the way back from here.”

A few seconds later, Makoto heard Maekawa burst into laughter, seemingly forgetting that they were still inside the bookshop, as if it were happening from a great distance.

“As long as I make it this far, I’ll be fine. Thank you. Heh heh…”

“You don’t have to be so formal, wah ha ha!”

In front of the Touwa Family house, Makoto and Maekawa parted ways. In the end, she had guided him from the bookshop all the way to the front of his house.

“Now then. I wonder if she’s around.”

After parking his bicycle in the shed, Makoto looked up at the Touwa Family house from in front of the entrance. The windows on the second floor were both closed, and the curtains were drawn. He had never seen the curtains or windows in Erio’s room left open. Adjusting the grip on his bag, Makoto placed his hand on the door of the Touwa house. The door slid open without any resistance.

“That means she’s here. She doesn’t give much thought to security.”

He stepped inside and locked the door behind him. He took off his shoes and stepped into the hallway. It seemed Meme had not returned yet. It was a late thought, but he wondered what kind of work she actually did. While pondering this, Makoto climbed the stairs and headed toward his own room.

On his way, he peeked into Erio’s room, but it was empty. After staring at the school uniform hanging on the wall for a moment, Makoto continued down the second-floor hallway toward his room. There, his eyes and feet came to a sudden halt.

“Gah!”

There was another futon on Makoto’s bed. To be precise, a girl was lying there, bundled up in one.

Responding to Makoto’s voice, Erio slowly began to stir. The way she wiggled around, moving along with the futon, made her look like a giant caterpillar. Erio sat up on the bed and let out a sound that served as a greeting: “Mofuu.”

“I’m home. Now, why are you in my room?”

Makoto asked Erio the question after setting his bag down on the desk. He didn’t really want to look her in the face just then, but there was something he felt he needed to say before he ran away.

“Mofufuuu.”

“Sure, sure.”

Makoto sat down next to Erio. Then, he remembered what had happened in the classroom.

“…Mm.”

He closed his eyes, thought for a moment, and then opened them again.

Erio hadn’t been there at that moment. Nevertheless, an apology escaped Makoto’s lips.

“…I’m sorry.”

He stroked the hair that was spilling out from the futon. Erio tilted her body to the left and let out a confused, “Mofu?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Mofumofu.”

It sounded as if she were telling him not to be so unreasonable. While stroking her hair, Makoto posed a question into the depths of the futon.

“Hey, what does space mean to you?”

When he asked that, Erio thrust her face forward as if to push Makoto’s hand away. Then, she answered instantly.

“It is my homeland. The place I will return to once I have finished all my work.”

She spoke of it as if she were referring to heaven. Makoto thought to himself that she was being absurd and shook his head.

“Hmm… Then, is Meme-san an alien too? From space?”

Erio looked away. She seemed to have no intention of answering, keeping her face toward the wall with a composed expression.

“You always do this whenever a question gets too inconvenient.”

Makoto laughed, lightly shaking the hand that still rested on Erio’s head. Erio turned her head back.

“What is space to you, Cousin?”

Her voice was slightly less spaced-out than usual. Makoto sensed this change and turned his eyes toward the window.

Perhaps because they had taken a detour, it was already evening outside, and the setting sun was searing the windowpane. The small birds flying against the sunlight appeared black in the backlight, and every bird perched on the power lines looked like a crow.

“To me? Hmm, space?… It’s like a mikoshi.”

“A mikoshi?”

“It’s too heavy to carry alone, but carrying it with everyone else is worth a romance.”

Whether it was the edge of the universe or the bottom of the deep sea, being all alone was lonely.

Makoto gave that unique response, imbuing it with such a sentiment.

In response to that answer, Erio paused for a few beats and then tucked her chin.

“Sure, sure.”

Erio nodded smallly several times. Makoto, who had been gazing aimlessly at her face, suddenly widened his eyes.

For a fleeting moment, it had looked as though Erio was smiling.

But even as he peered closely, Erio had already returned to a featureless expression, revealing no hint of her emotions. Her beauty was so striking that it felt unnatural for her to even be blinking, as she lay curled in her futon with only her face visible.

Makoto withdrew his hand from Erio’s hair and lifted himself up from the bed. Then, he hurried out of the room.

He felt a sense of frustration toward himself for running away before she could even invite him to the sea.

A week had passed since that incident.

During that time, Makoto had not gone to the sea with Erio. One way or another, he had been avoiding her.

While no rumours from school reached his ears, everyone had, in a sense, begun to keep their distance. Since she was a transfer student from elsewhere to begin with, it didn’t much matter whether she was there or not. Makoto understood this, and he chose to spend his days at school without speaking to anyone as much as possible. He knew he couldn’t possibly feel good or have any fun, but he figured it was better than having the situation escalate into total social ostracisation.

…He had been thinking, but something happened during lunch that day that proved a little difficult for Makoto to bear.

As usual, Makoto was eating lunch alone. He was chewing slowly on a piece of tough twist bread.

Whether it was because she saw him like that, or perhaps she had been waiting for an opportunity, Ryuuko, who sat near the classroom entrance, leaned forward before opening her lunch box with her friends and attempted to beckon to him, calling out, “Heeey…” However, a friend sitting beside her naturally pulled Ryuuko’s hand back, causing her to sit down quietly as if nothing had happened.

Ryuuko, with only her hand dangling aimlessly, looked back and forth between her friend and Makoto. Makoto pretended not to notice her gaze and continued to bite into his bread in silence.

“Hmm… it’s such a waste, isn’t it?”

She narrowed her eyes, as if the things that would be lost if things continued this way were becoming painfully apparent.

Resting her chin on her hand, Makoto swallowed the bread.

His friend’s reaction was so natural that, to Makoto, the atmosphere of the classroom, so accustomed to such behaviour, felt deeply unsettling.

Someone else had been isolated here, just like he had been before.

And Makoto knew exactly why.

“…………”

The one fortunate thing for Makoto was that nothing had truly begun yet. School life had not yet become fully hectic, nor did he share that heavy, almost damp sort of intimacy with the other students.

That was precisely why he had to decide: to start or to take another path.

Makoto remained lost in thought throughout the classes that followed.

Within him, two wheels turned like those of a bicycle.

However, the difference between these wheels and those of a bicycle was that the two were not interconnected.

He could not rotate both at once. The only directions Makoto could move were forward or backward; he had only one choice between the two.

And even then, it meant pushing forward on a unicycle.

It was that time of day, after returning from school and finishing dinner and a bath, when everything felt most peaceful.

Makoto lay stretched out on his bed in his room. Holding a paperback in one hand, he rolled over.

In the next room, Erio remained quiet, as if sulking in her sleep.

Right after he had returned, this exchange had taken place:

“Cousin, sea.”

“…You abbreviated so much that it’s basically just a noun.”

When Makoto entered the Touwa Family entrance, Erio was waiting for him by his side. Her light blue hair had been visible through the glass even from the outside, so it had been easy to anticipate her presence. Makoto let out a sigh as he took off his shoes.

“I’ll pass. I’m a little tired.”

“You said the exact same thing yesterday, Cousin. I feel the shallowness of the human race through your poverty of vocabulary.”

Erio followed behind Makoto’s back. Her hair swayed in time with her slightly rhythmic, side-to-side gait. Particles danced in the air. As Makoto turned around, drawn by that light, his heart felt as though it might falter.

“What is it you want to do, going to the ocean every single day?”

He had failed to fly, time and time again. He swallowed those words and waited to see how Erio would react.

“I explained this before. This is my duty as the Earth Mediator Auditor.”

“Hasn’t your title changed from before?”

Makoto and Erio ascended the stairs. He predicted she intended to follow him all the way to his room, so he stopped once they reached the second-floor hallway. Erio stopped as well, peering intently into Makoto’s eyes.

As they locked eyes, Makoto felt every complaint, every grievance, and everything else melt away in the back of his throat.

“It’s not even about the sea. Going out with you is… how should I put it…”

“The way Cousin explains things is the complete opposite of logical and impossible to understand.”

“You’ll regret it if I actually start being honest with you.”

Makoto narrowed his eyes, though not enough to glare. Erio maintained her expressionless façade, but the frequency of her blinking increased.

Then, noticing that her right fist was clenching as if she were gripped by some anxiety, Makoto averted his eyes.

“Anyway, I’m not going. You should just stay quietly in your room, too.”

As if issuing an order, Makoto fled to his own room.

Makoto did not possess any conviction that what he was doing was right.

Having rejected Erio’s invitation, Makoto’s heart felt somewhat turbulent. However, that was not due to Erio’s attitude but largely due to his own words.

He thought that perhaps he should make his return time much later from now on. The contents of his paperback book failed to register in his mind as he dwelled on such thoughts.

He had become someone who found it difficult to refuse whenever Erio pleaded with him.

It was precisely because he acknowledged that fact that Makoto’s stomach ached from the stress.

Then, around the time the moon in the night sky was hidden by the clouds, there was a loud, clattering sound of someone running up the stairs.

“Mako-kun! Your Meme-tan has arrived!”

“…Meme-san, you don’t belong to anyone.”

Makoto retorted listlessly, extracting a good line he had read in his paperback. However, his words broke off halfway through, losing all meaning. Makoto froze, his body caught in the middle of sitting up.

Meme, who had burst into the room, was dressed in nothing but a single bath towel wrapped around her naked body.

As Makoto leaped up, he folded his paperback without even placing a bookmark in it. Half of what he had read hadn’t even entered his head anyway. He told himself he should probably read it again. But that was merely an excuse; in truth, he was simply shaken.

“W-what is with that outfit!”

Makoto shouted reflexively. As Meme crept closer, he recoiled across the bed.

“Fan service.”

“Who are you even trying to impress?! There’s no one else here but me!”

“Look at you, Mako-kun, having a full conversation with yourself. How impressive.”

“Y-you exshibishionisht.”

In his state of agitation, his tongue failed him. Meme knitted her brows into a pout.

“My, how rude. I usually wander around naked after my bath. If anything, I’m being quite modest today. I’m being considerate of Mako-kun, since you’re under eighteen, even though I’m a Meme-tan suitable for all ages.”

Meme sprawled out across the floor. Perhaps because she had just stepped out of the bath, her feet were bright red all the way to her toes.

“It’s hot. Mako-kun, open the windows all the way.”

Fanning her face with her hand, Meme gave Makoto an instruction. Reluctantly, Makoto opened the windows just as she had asked.

The clouds were thick today, and they moved swiftly across the sky. The wind was strong, so the windows had been kept closed to avoid any disturbance to reading. Soon, however, that wind began to drift inside. The temperature was low for spring, and to Makoto, whose body temperature had settled, it felt quite chilly. Looking back, Makoto felt a sensation akin to dread, fearing that the temperature might suddenly surge.

Taking a deep breath, he turned around. Meme sat with her legs spread wide, leaving even the inner parts of her thighs uncovered. There wasn’t a single wrinkle to be seen on skin that was supposed to be forty years old this year, and Makoto remained on guard, thinking it was utterly suspicious. The only reason his mind could manage to function with even a shred of composure was because he was so preoccupied by that very indecency.

“Um, do you need something?”

“I came to see Mako-kun. Could there be any other reason?”

“Oh, you won’t fool me just by saying something smooth.”

But Makoto was flinching deep down. As Meme sat up, droplets of water spilt from her hair.

“Whoops, my foot slipped!”

Meme lunged at Makoto with a completely monotone voice. In truth, it was her knee that had pushed off the floor, so her foot hadn’t slipped at all.

Makoto was unable to escape the sudden attack and was caught helplessly.

“Guh… guh-geee…”

A sound like a death rattle escaped Makoto’s mouth. Taking advantage of that moment, Meme wrapped her arms around his back and hugged him tightly. He experienced the illusion that his spine wasn’t breaking but melting. A squelching sound echoed in his head.

“Warm and cosy.”

“Ah, weren’t you hot?”

Unpleasant beads of sweat began to form on Makoto’s scalp. Since Meme was wearing nothing but a bath towel wrapped around her body, her heated body temperature was transmitted directly to him. On top of that, the rare, incredible softness pressed against the front of his body made the words “surrounded on all sides” dance through his mind. He didn’t even have the mental capacity to wonder if he was using the idiom incorrectly.

“Something mysterious whispered to me, saying, ‘Please also include a drawing of you hugging Mako-kun right here.’”

She was the mysterious one. Before those words could even be processed, Meme rested her chin on Makoto’s shoulder and breathed into his ear. A pathetic whimper escaped Makoto, and his heartbeat instantly grew frantic.

“So, I want to talk about something a bit more serious.”

“L-like a marriage proposal!?”

His voice cracked so badly it was practically comedic. However, Meme did not laugh at him; instead, she bowed her head.

“I’m sorry for making you worry about Erio.”

The tone of Meme’s voice transformed instantly. Caught up in the change, Makoto’s hazy vision finally regained its focus.

He began to feel the breeze blowing through the window against his cheek. The wind tickled the back of his neck, feeling pleasant against his flushed skin. The tension left Makoto’s shoulders, and his turbulent desires subsided, as if they had been tidily put away.

“…The cat’s out of the bag?”

Makoto relaxed the tension in his arms, his cheeks and the corners of his eyes softening. The arm resting against his back moved with a heavy, kneading motion.

“There is nothing that Meme-tan doesn’t know.”

“…Then you should go ahead and solve your daughter’s problems.”

“Even if I know about them, there are some things I simply cannot change.”

Her words were detached, carrying a hint of resignation that made Makoto sense the weight of her being an “adult”.

“I know I’ve asked you to look after Erio, but you don’t have to push yourself.”

With that, Meme patted Makoto on the back. Makoto let out a light cough and closed his eyes.

Was he pushing himself too hard? The question circled through his mind.

“That was all I wanted to say.”

Is that so? he almost replied, but Makoto swallowed the words instead.

Instead, he let out a complaint about her daughter to his mother.

“Your daughter is quite a coward, you know.”

He said this with a weak, hollow laugh.

“When she’s that beautiful, it’s hard to treat her coldly.”

That was Makoto’s honest, unfiltered thought.

If, for example, Erio had possessed an ugly face, he wouldn’t have tried to involve himself with her more than necessary.

He probably would have been able to cut her off quickly, even if he struggled with the decision.

Makoto did not deny that. However, the reality was that Erio was a complete beauty.

“That’s why I suffer, and why my stomach aches.”

Occasionally, one would come across opinions like this. In media such as light novels and manga, when the protagonist is male, his companion is usually a beautiful girl. Such content criticised this trope, saying, “Another beautiful girl?” or “Write a story without a beautiful girl once in a while; it’s unnatural.”

However, Makoto viewed it from the opposite perspective.

He believed that because she was a beautiful girl, people appeared who wished to save her, and thus, the stories that deserved to be told were born.

“Hmm, so that means Mako-kun will save Meme-tan as well, then.”

I had been talking about a beautiful girl. As if waiting for the perfect moment to interrupt, Meme pressed her chest firmly against Makoto. Makoto found himself unable to even formulate a rebuttal, as if something were welling up in the back of his throat.

“I have to give Mako-kun a reward for that.”

As she said this, Meme released Makoto and rolled dramatically across the futon.

It brought to mind the sight of a wild boar rolling in the mud.

“Roll, roll!”

“What on earth are you doing?”

“I’m going to spread the scent of a freshly bathed Meme-tan everywhere, so make sure to sniff me plenty when you go to sleep!”

“Get, out!”

I chased Meme away. She let out a soft giggle, as if she could see right through Makoto’s flustered state, and left the room obediently.

“Good grief… Ah, the window is open. What a waste… It’s freezing.”

He turned back and closed the window. The airflow in the room grew gentle. Makoto looked down at the bed from where he knelt on both knees. He pressed his hand against his nose to stop it from twitching.

“…………”

Without a word, he moved away and sat in a chair. He opened a reference book at random and cast a glance toward the bed.

“…………”

He closed the book. Creeping toward the entrance of the room, he checked the hallway. Meme was nowhere to be seen.

“…………”

Makoto returned to the bed, silencing his footsteps by walking on his tiptoes. He dropped to one knee and, with the reverence of a knight taking the hand of the one to whom he pledged his loyalty, lifted the edge of the duvet. Then, he released his hold on his nose and leaned his face closer.

“Hey, hey, if you sniff it now, there won’t be anything left for when you go to sleep.”

“Gyaah!”

Meme peeked her head out from the hallway and scolded him. Makoto’s spine and heart both jolted upright.

“A-a youkai! Where were you hiding?!”

“I was lurking beneath the stairs, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.”

“You’re genuinely raring to go, aren’t you?!”

“I believed in you, Mako-kun!”

“Eeeeeeek!”

On this night, a memory was born that Makoto wished he could isolate, even if it meant splitting his brain into three separate parts.

At school the following day, Makoto spent his time until after classes without engaging in any particular conversations with anyone.

The way people treated him like he was walking on eggshells continued, and the strained atmosphere with those around him remained unchanged.

As long as the rumours did not completely clear, this state of affairs would likely persist.

He had become quite accustomed to a silence that was different from the one he had experienced when he was at a school in a country where he couldn’t understand the language. Makoto felt his own adaptability to be both a blessing and a curse.

He knew that if he adapted too much, he would lose the ability to take action.

“Niwa-chi, I wonder if you made about a hundred friends by now?”

“One wrong move and it’s going to swing straight into the negatives.”

Makoto closed his paperback while grumbling about the email he had received.

The sunlight burnt through the windows, making the light and glass appear to melt into one another. The classroom, devoid of any students other than Makoto, sat desolate, like an overturned toy box that had been emptied of its contents. Makoto reached his hand toward the light that dyed the room in scarlet. His fingertips and nails were exposed to a gentle warmth, and the temperature difference sent goosebumps across his skin.

Even after classes had ended, Makoto remained alone, killing time in the classroom. He found it difficult to leave because he felt that if he came face-to-face with Erio, he might end up saying something unnecessary. Having finished two paperbacks, the clock above the blackboard pointed to just past five in the afternoon. Only then did Makoto finally finish his futile struggle and stand up from his seat.

When he stepped into the hallway, orange clouds spread smoothly outside the windows. Shadows like stains were forming in the corners of the walls, looking as if fragments of the night were scattering about. Makoto walked down the stairs and toward his shoe locker, treading as if to crush the parts of the floor that the light failed to reach that day. He braced himself, wondering if someone might have played a prank on the contents of his locker, but his shoes were exactly as he had left them that morning. Feeling relieved, Makoto changed his footwear.

“Gotcha!”

“Humm?”

At the distant shout, Makoto looked up. Ryuuko, dressed in her gym uniform, stood before the entrance to the gymnasium, repeatedly making grand motions as if firing a pistol at him.

“Whoa, you got me… Is it fine like that?”

Makoto leaned back as if he had been shot, letting out a wry smile to hide his embarrassment.

Noticing his expression, Ryuuko ran toward him at full speed and peered closely into his eyes.

Makoto recoiled, trembling under her gaze. Even for someone like Ryuuko, when a classmate suddenly spoke to them like that, it was natural to feel a momentary sense of wariness. As for Ryuuko, she simply laughed as brightly as she always had, showing no sign of contempt toward Makoto.

“Doesn’t it make your heart flutter?”

“Huh?”

“You know, like, a femme fatale striking with a *bang* type of thing?”

“It only looked to me like a child playing with a toy pistol.”

“Not a femme fatale?”

“Hmm, compared to my aunt, you still have a long way to go, in a good way.”

“Is that so? What a shame.”

Ryuuko made a show of being disappointed. However, she quickly pulled herself together and flashed Makoto a smile.

Whether it was because she had just finished a club activity or not, sweat dripped from her forehead, and her hair was damp with moisture.

“Niwa-kun, were you in a club?”

“The go-home club. Ah, even though I’m at school this late, there’s no particular reason for it.”

‘Huuum. So, are you free?”

“I was just about to head home, so I’m incredibly free.”

Influenced by Ryuuko’s smile, Makoto’s guard began to fade.

“Hey, so, want to play a little basketball?”

Ryuuko beckoned to him from below with a “hey, hey” motion. It looked similar to the hand gestures used in the Tankou Bushi dance.

“Basketball, you say?”

“Yeah, one-on-one.”

Ryuuko held up both of her index fingers and crossed them together. She thrust that “X” sign toward him.

“Why?”

“Fu fu fu, what can I say? Ryuuko-san is in the basketball club!”

“I heard that before. Um, so, why play basketball?”

“Mumu… It seems I am failing to communicate to you my true intent, Niwa-kun.”

Ryuuko pressed her finger to her temple as if lost in thought. Makoto thought for a moment, organising his confusion.

“Well, what I’m asking is, what is the reason you suddenly invited me to play basketball?”

“Because I saw you just as you were leaving the gym.”

“…I see. Basketball, huh?”

Makoto gave up on trying to reach a mutual understanding and shifted his focus to whether or not he was going to play basketball.

“Club activities are already over, so the gym is empty.”

she added, perhaps trying to be considerate of him. “I see,” Makoto thought, glancing around the gymnasium.

“The only time I’ve ever played basketball was in class, though.”

“Just leave it to me. I’m going to wipe the floor with you, Ryuuko-san.”

“…Um, I didn’t ask you to beat an amateur to a pulp.”

“But Ryuuko-san is just a benchwarmer. I play the fool. If I don’t play against an amateur like Niwa-kun, how can I secure a landslide victory? Ryuuko-san is a strategist!”

“Yeah, yeah, Ryuushi-san, that’s sneaky.”

“I told ya, I’m Ryuuko. Ok, let’s go!”

Ryuuko urged him toward the gymnasium. Makoto glanced up at the sun hanging in the sky and decided to accept her invitation. He nodded for mainly three reasons: he had not spoken to a classmate in a while, he was not being treated coldly, and it would help pass the time. However, a shadow crossed his face.

“Ah, Ryuushi-san, hey…”

As they walked toward the gymnasium, he spoke to Ryuuko hesitantly. She turned back with a smile.

“Yes?”

“Uh, well…”

She was talking to him so casually, but was she really okay?

Makoto struggled to find the words to ask that. If he became friendly with someone who was being distanced from their classmates, that social standing would become contagious. Makoto was well aware of this, but because he was the very person in question, his tongue felt heavy.

“…No, actually, never mind.”

“Nunu, trying to be suggestive, are you?”

“If I win, give me something.”

“Nununu, how materialistic.”

They continued their playful banter as they moved together toward the front of the gymnasium.

The students who had been working hard at their club activities on the grounds had begun tidying up, with the exception of the track and field club, who were still running around the track. Glancing at them from the corner of his eye, Makoto entered the gymnasium. Since PE classes were being held outdoors at the moment, this was only the second time he had entered the building since the opening ceremony.

Inside the gymnasium, the shadows were even deeper than they were outside. The windows on the second floor were tightly closed with curtains, blocking out even the setting sun, leaving only the doorway they had entered through as a source of light. The empty gymnasium was enveloped in a sense of desolation, as if it were failing to fulfil its purpose, making the air feel somewhat chilly.

That was the impression Makoto received, but Ryuuko, feeling quite the opposite, began to frolic excitedly.

“It feels so good to have the whole gymnasium just for me.”

“Just for you? There are two of us here.”

Ignoring Makoto’s remark, Ryuuko ran off and retrieved a basketball from the equipment shed, which had not yet been locked. She returned while dribbling as she walked, and the sound of the ball bouncing echoed through the empty gymnasium. The sound was thick and dull, carrying a strength that seemed to vibrate the air as it spread into the four corners of the room.

In the meantime, Makoto took off his jacket and placed it in a corner along with his bag. He also took off his socks, fearing he might slip and fall. As he curled and uncurled his toes, which had been cramped inside his socks, Makoto’s mind drifted to Erio. Erio was always barefoot, and only the soles of her feet failed to shine.

She wasn’t floating in mid-air.

Makoto muttered that obvious fact to himself.

“Oh, Niwa-kun, looks like you’re all fired up, too. Fu fu fu, it reminds me of Ryuuko-san when I first joined the club…”

For some reason, Ryuuko looked up at the podium with a distant expression. Makoto smiled vaguely while performing squats as a warm-up.

“Are you not feeling motivated right now?”

“I’m totally pumped!”

Just what on earth had she been remembering? After finishing his leg stretches, Makoto followed up with another question.

“Is basketball fun?”

“Yeah, it’s fun. Especially like this…”

As she spoke, Ryuuko held the ball up in front of her forehead.

“…when I decide to make the shot.”

Completing her sentence, she released the ball toward the hoop.

Following the ball with his eyes, he watched it trace a perfect arc before passing through the net without touching a single thing.

Following the ball with his eyes, he watched it trace a perfect arc before passing through the net without touching a single thing.

“That was so cool.”

“Alright, Ryuuko-san takes the lead.”

“Wait, did it already start?”

Makoto asked in surprise as he picked up the rolling ball. Ryuuko crossed her arms and raised her voice.

“The battle begins even before the referee’s whistle blows!…Or so it said in a manga.”

“It probably had a completely different meaning. But if that’s how you want to do it…” Makoto said, turning back toward the basket under the hoop and preparing the ball. He extended his arm and released a shot aimed at the rim, in his own way. “Ah.” It bounced off the backboard and rolled to the right.

“Whoa, you missed that shoot… you’re such a total beginner!”

Ryuuko, who had circled around to retrieve the ball, gave him a thumbs-up. Makoto couldn’t bring himself to return the gesture.

“I told you, I don’t even know the rules.”

“Well, that’s a relief. I was secretly worried that you might be one of those people. Like imagine Niwa-kun, a famous basketball player before transferring schools, but who is now in the Home Economics Club due to some mysterious past.”

“You’ve been reading too much manga.”

Makoto shook his head as he caught the ball Ryuuko passed to him.

I wasn’t that kind of special person.

“The only thing that was special was my…”

As he muttered that, a shade of light blue flickered in Makoto’s vision. He looked around as if guided by that colour, but the figure he had envisioned was nowhere to be found. As if to dispel a vivid hallucination, Makoto dribbled the ball with force.

While dribbling, he kept a slight distance from the goal.

The path ahead was different from the night; it was shrouded in a darkness that blocked all light, instilling him with an indescribable sense of anxiety.

It felt just like the path he was currently walking.

Makoto felt a sense of relief when he realised that Ryuuko was standing there, waiting for him once he stopped and turned around.

Needless to say, the one-on-one was a complete victory for Ryuuko.

Though they had not established any formal rules, the ball bounced, was thrown, and continued to shake the net for more than enough time to leave Makoto with a profound sense of defeat.

“Ho-ho-i, Uho-ho-i.”

Ryuuko held the ball aloft, laughing gleefully. Makoto and the others sat in a row along the gymnasium wall. Makoto had stretched his legs out; he was breathless, and even the arm he used to wipe the sweat from his forehead was damp with perspiration.

The light streaming in from the entrance on the left had grown even weaker than it had been before they started playing basketball. When Makoto tilted his chin up to check the gymnasium clock, it was past five-thirty. It seemed they had been running around for just under thirty minutes.

“The nectar of victory tastes salty, doesn’t it?”

“…The taste of defeat is salty, too.”

Makoto grumbled as he licked the saltiness he felt at the corner of his lips. The bouncing of the ball ceased, replaced by a ringing in his ears.

A sense of lethargy enveloped his entire body, and his vision grew heavy.

That fatigue, which felt as though it might pull his eyelids shut and lull him to sleep, felt somewhat pleasant to him.

After wiping her sweat with the fabric of her jersey, Ryuuko readjusted her seating position and looked toward Makoto.

With her back pressed against the wall and her legs stretched out, the way she hugged the ball made her look like a stuffed animal.

“What are your hobbies?”

Ryuuko brought up the topic somewhat abruptly. Scratching his nose, Makoto thought it felt a bit like an arranged marriage interview.

“Looking at images of deep-sea fish on the internet, I guess.”

“Do you like fish?”

“More deep-sea creatures than fish. A lot of them have strange appearances, so there’s a sense of romance to them.”

“Is that so? I prefer things like vegetables and fruit.”

There seemed to be a discrepancy in how they evaluated likes and dislikes. While feeling exasperated, Makoto remembered Ryuuko’s lunch box from lunch break some time ago. He decided to ask her about it directly.

“Are you a vegetarian, Ryuushi-san?”

“I told ya, I’m Ryuuko. It’s not exactly that. If anything, I’m more of a fruitarian.”

“…Japanese is such a hard language…”

“I just prefer things like vegetables, but it’s not like I can’t eat meat. Though anything other than chicken or lamb might be a bit difficult for me.”

“So, you’re not a fan of fat, then.”

“That’s right. So why is meat like this!?”

Ryuuko let out a groan and pinched her side. While it didn’t look to Makoto like there was enough excess fat for her to actually be bothered by it, he chose to avoid mentioning it. It was a high-difficulty manoeuvre for a man to bring up a woman’s weight.

“So, what are your hobbies, Ryuushi-san?”

“I told ya, it’s Ryuuko.”

“I see. It’s to say what you just said.”

“Noooo!”

Ryuuko clutched her head as if in agony. It seemed to be a mere pose, as she recovered immediately.

Holding the ball in both palms, Ryuuko lifted it up and spoke.

“That was fun, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, I guess. People in clubs really do move differently, don’t they?”

When Makoto praised her, Ryuuko stroked her cheek, looking somewhat bashful.

“I still have a long way to go.”

“Oh, Japanese people just love modesty, don’t they?”

Makoto joked, though there was a hint of sincerity in his voice. He knew that such modesty wasn’t entirely genuine.

“I hope you make the regular lineup.”

“Oh, you bet!”

“Yeah. I wonder if I would’ve joined the soccer club even now, if I’d had that kind of determination.”

Makoto moved his right leg as if he were kicking something. He thought about whether he should kick a ball around when he got home for the first time in a while.

Despite feeling the heavy weight of fatigue, a smile spread across Makoto’s cheeks as he made such plans.

Ryuuko watched him out of the corner of her eye, then brought the ball down while wearing a bashful smile. And then.

“So…”

“Humm?”

“How should I put it? Niwa-kun, are you friends with Touwa-san?”

The topic was introduced so casually that, at first, Makoto didn’t even react.

Ryuuko bounced the ball between her feet, and at that sound, the thin veil Makoto had been hallucinating before his eyes shattered.

As if snapping back to his senses, Makoto understood the meaning of her words.

“Ah, it was just a rumour. I heard that you and Touwa-san were, like, really close.”

“…We aren’t friends, but, well, we are relatives.”

Makoto nodded, looking somewhat perplexed. It felt somewhat painful to lie to Ryuuko.

He had had enough of lies. What drifted through Makoto’s mind was the exchange that had taken place in the classroom nearly a week ago.

“Relatives, huh? That was it? I see.”

Ryuuko’s smile faded, and she scratched her cheek with a troubled expression. She was pinching the ball between her thighs, and Makoto’s eyes were fixed right there. Even to himself, Makoto felt exasperated by the vast discrepancy between the seriousness of his thoughts and where his eyes were wandering.

“It’s become hard to even talk to you in class, Niwa-kun. Actually, I tried to talk to you, but my friends stopped me. I mean, I understand why Mickey and the others feel that way, though.”

Ryuuko looked up at Makoto with an apologetic expression. Makoto waved his hand dismissively.

“Well, Mickey-san and the others are right. You have good friends.”

“Hmm, I wonder if they’re really right…”

Ryuuko tilted her head, appearing unconvinced.

Makoto understood, though he didn’t say it aloud, that she had likely invited him to play basketball because she wanted to talk about this.

“Were you close with Erio, Ryuushi-san?”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say we were particularly close. I only met Touwa-san after we entered high school, and we weren’t together for very long. She gave me my nickname, though.”

“That last part felt the most sincere.”

“Are you getting along well with Touwa-san, Niwa-kun?”

Ryuuko turned the question back on him. He assumed she meant the current Touwa-san. Makoto hesitated, unable to provide an answer. He couldn’t tell if simply acting together was enough to call them on good terms.

“I wonder if there’s anyone who can actually get along with her as she is now.”

“True, it might be difficult. But Niwa-kun, if word of this gets out, the suspicions surrounding you will be confirmed and you’ll be in trouble.”

“…Yeah. Even just playing basketball will be an ordeal.”

As Makoto shrugged, Ryuuko let out a small laugh.

Glancing at that smile, Makoto blurted out a sudden question, as if in retaliation.

“Hey, Ryuushi-san, are you interested in things like mysteries?”

“Huh?”

Perhaps because the question was so eccentric, Ryuuko’s mouth formed an circle.

“You know, like the mysteries of the universe, or the secrets of the deep sea… stuff like that.”

Makoto turned his face forward, feeling embarrassed by the way she was staring at his reaction.

After a while, Ryuuko’s voice drifted into his right ear.

“Like how you can wiggle your fingers right in front of your eyes.”

“Heh?”

Makoto let out a sound similar to his earlier reaction. Ryuuko was actually curling and extending her fingers right in front of him.

Then, Ryuuko minutely moved her ear.

“Or how your ear twitches if you apply pressure. It’s all so mysterious to me. I’m always thinking, ‘Why does that happen? It’s incredible.’”

“The fact that they move?”

“Yeah. How do I put it? It’s hard to describe the feeling, but being able to move my body feels like something happening to someone else, yet it feels like a miracle. I don’t know where the centre of my being is or what it is, but the fact that my fingertips and ears, which aren’t directly connected to it, can move is just, I don’t know, so mysterious.”

Ryuuko answered regarding her own version of mystery, curling her fingers one by one.

Makoto imitated her, folding his own fingers while feeling a quiet sense of moved emotion toward Ryuuko, who was able to answer such a question.

“I also think it’s mysterious how the wind drifting in from the outside feels so pleasant right now.”

“…I see.”

Feeling as though it were a profound answer, Makoto closed his eyes, satisfied.

He did not perform the tactless feat of digging deeper to test that profundity.

As his vision closed, his skin began to strangely sense the air. The spring breeze was warm, as if lukewarm water were being carried to him in gaseous form.

That wind was sometimes gentle, sometimes eerie, and at this moment, it was likely pleasant.

Makoto thought that if Erio were to cast off her futon and feel this wind too, perhaps something might change.

Enveloped by the mysteries so close at hand, Makoto thought that.

“Niwa-kun! Let’s walk home together for at least part of the way!”

“’Kay.”

The two of them passed through the school gates together.

“Niwa-kun! Bye-bye!”

Their parting happened in the blink of an eye.

“See ya.”

There was no malice in those words. Praying that she truly meant it, Makoto waved with a smile as he and Ryuuko parted ways.

“…If only I could avoid losing things like this.”

Perhaps he might be able to choose. That’s what he thought while looking at Ryuuko’s back.

As the sun began to set and shadows lengthened on the road, signalling the arrival of night, Makoto began to run in earnest. The sweat that had soaked his skin grew cold and began to sap his body heat, making the breeze that had felt so pleasant moments ago feel chilling. Shuddering as if cold claws were scratching at his back, Makoto pressed down harder on the pedals.

Once he was alone, his thoughts, which had been so positive until then, were once again swallowed by a vortex of loneliness.

He was currently burdened with various problems. Acknowledging that, Makoto continued to question himself.

Which of these problems is it that he truly wanted to solve?

No matter how much he thought about it, he could not come up with a way to make everything fit together perfectly.

Problems at school.

His relationship with Erio.

The girl who continued to be an alien.

If he abandoned one, there was a possibility that the remaining part could go well.

There was room for improvement in both.

Makoto was frustrated with himself, unable to decide which of the two to choose.

Inside Makoto, much like a bicycle, the wheels were not spinning smoothly.

Two wheels. A healthy daily life, and Erio. One of them was catching.

The bicycle, having accelerated with unnecessary haste, headed toward the Touwa family at a speed that seemed far too fast to have been hesitating about returning home. His consciousness had been lost in thought, and while Makoto noticed this halfway through and slowed his pace, he could not bring himself to decelerate much.

“Either killing time or rushing ahead. I should be more consistent.”

As he arrived near the Touwa Family estate, muttering to himself with a hint of self-derision, a burst of cheering caught his ears. When Makoto casually glanced in that direction, an involuntary “Ah” escaped his lips. He gripped the bicycle brakes as if they were a lifeline. Setting one foot on the ground, he strained his eyes to see. There was no mistaking it.

Far down the road, Erio was being chased by a group of elementary school students.

“What are you, Urashima Tarou’s turtle?”

Before any other thoughts or impressions could form, that was the first thing that tumbled from his mouth.

The girl, wrapped up like a bundle of fish, came sprinting straight toward him. The elementary students, seemingly on their way home from school, wore their randoseru and chased after Erio while letting out raucous, teasing shrieks. They looked like they were having a wonderful time.

Deciding there was no point in pretending not to notice at this stage, Makoto dismounted his bicycle.

He intended to save Erio.

However, he wondered with what kind of attitude he should intervene among the elementary school students. Makoto pressed a finger to his forehead, lost in thought. He was certain he had read in a picture book how Urashima Tarou had interrupted the children with a specific catchphrase, but he couldn’t recall it. Left with no choice, he raised both hands and charged at the elementary schoolers, feigning madness by shouting, “Uke-keee!”

Once he committed to it, he seemed to find it quite fun himself, and halfway through, Makoto even began letting out genuine, piercing shrieks. The elementary school students, terrified by the dangerous high schooler who had suddenly appeared as if replacing the bundled-up girl, scattered in all directions, screaming and fleeing. They dispersed like a swarm of spiderlings. Internally, Makoto felt a sense of relief that the children hadn’t stood their ground. Since there were three or four of them, he figured that if they had remained calm and stayed, dealing with them would have been a hassle.

After confirming that the elementary schooler had fled, Makoto came to a halt. He suddenly felt ashamed of himself as he stood in the middle of the road with his hands raised and his tongue sticking out, his cheeks flushed with embarrassment, as if being dyed by the setting sun. He lowered his hands and gave a bitter smile.

“……Uke-ke…”

Erio, who had been running away, had stopped by the side of her bicycle. As Makoto approached, she tried to move away from him as if sensing his presence. Whether she had simply run out of stamina or not, she did not run.

“Do you want a ride, Turtle-san? We might not make it to the Dragon Palace, but we’ll make it home. Though, I’m having a hard time understanding why I have to take along a turtle I just rescued.”

Even when Makoto asked while pointing at the basket, Erio ignored him and kept walking. Keeping his hands on the handlebars of the bicycle, Makoto walked after her. He maintained a steady pace, neither overtaking her nor letting the distance between them grow.

“The beach again today? Ah, you don’t even have to answer. I can tell because there’s sand on your futon. How’s that? I’m like a detective, right?”

Erio remained silent, not even offering a “mofumofu” in response.

“Still, you’ve got some stamina. Or maybe it’s just guts. Walking all the way to that beach and back, I couldn’t do that.”

Makoto continued to speak intimately, unconcerned by her lack of reaction.

Even while walking with Erio outside, he no longer felt the need to hide it.

At that point, Makoto already held an answer within himself.

“Elementary school kids are so brave. If I ever saw a Smakin in town, I’d run the other way.”

Makoto’s shoulders shook as he spoke.

And yet, right now, he wasn’t running. He was walking right beside a Smakin.

“Looks like you failed at flying again today.”

As they reached the point where the Touwa Family home came into view past the corner, Makoto brought up the subject.

Erio came to a halt. Makoto and the wheels stopped as well. Makoto stared intently at the futon, waiting for a face to emerge.

The sound of a television leaking from a nearby house was filled with an exaggerated burst of laughter.

“…Huh?”

Erio began walking away with quick, purposeful strides. Even when a deflated Makoto called out, “Hey!”, she ignored him.

“What was that about?” Makoto muttered as he began pushing the bicycle once more.

It wasn’t until they had entered the grounds of the Touwa family that Erio showed any concrete reaction.

After opening the door with her toes, Erio peeked her face out from the house and looked back at Makoto as she entered.

“*******”

“……Hoh.”

Unlike before, Makoto wore a fearless smirk.

He looked as though he had been waiting for that very thing. It was a look of sheer composure.

Erio’s eyes reacted slightly to Makoto’s expression. However, she did not open her mouth any further and retreated into the house. Having watched her go, Makoto let out a small huff.

“That is the very core of the current Erio. In other words…”

Leaving the rest of his words unsaid, Makoto entered the barn.

He parked his bicycle near the entrance. Then, he reached out and gripped the handlebars of another, badly damaged bicycle deeper inside.

It was the first time he had touched it since the day he first arrived in town, yet the uncomfortable sensation of the grip remained unchanged.

“…But…”

By that point, he had a general understanding of what he needed to do.

He knew which wheel he should focus his efforts on spinning.

Picking up a soccer ball that had been rolling in a corner of the barn, he stepped outside.

Then, Makoto kicked the ball with all his might toward the sky.

As if chasing after that ball, he thrust his arms upward.

The twilight, spreading like crimson wings, and the contrails that look as though they might crumble at any moment.

To a football caked in mud with just a little time left before it reached its peak.

He thrust his fist forward.

“Just break through,” he commanded himself.

Makoto’s leg-shaking during class grew more intense by the day.

With his textbook closed, he rested his cheek on his hand, letting the teacher’s voice drift in one ear and out the other. While the suspicions surrounding Makoto had reached a temporary lull, the atmosphere in the classroom was arguably at its worst. His leg twitched with irritation.

This was a reflection of Makoto’s own state of mind.

The teacher’s voice explaining mathematical formulas. The voices of classmates exchanging idle chatter. The voice questioning his own inner self.

Even when he covered his ears, none of it subsided; it all continued to flow into him.

Sunk into a state of closed-eyed slumber, Makoto suddenly had an idea and began operating his mobile phone beneath his desk.

“Would recklessly saving a girl be considered worth it in terms of those so-called Youth Points?”

The mobile phone, which was set to silent mode, immediately vibrated with an incoming message in response to the email Makoto had sent. That was fast. Makoto opened the body of the text with a wry smile at the reliable speed of the reply.

“Youth Frontline. Run, Niwa-chi!”

“…I was an honour student except for twice a year.”

A single resolve escaped his lips.

Suddenly, Makoto’s feet came to a complete halt.

His expression became surprisingly serene, and he took a deep, peaceful breath.

He had made his decision today.

Makoto stood up triumphantly. Despite it being during class, the eyes of those around him gathered on him as he rose without warning. Even the teacher noticed the disturbance mid-lecture and turned around. Everyone gasped at Makoto’s movement, and the classroom fell into a silence that even extinguished all idle chatter. Only Maekawa remained calm, staring at Makoto’s back.

Makoto grabbed the bag hanging from the side of his desk. He stuffed his textbooks and writing utensils inside, then turned his back to the teacher and the blackboard. With long, rapid strides, he headed for the entrance at the back of the classroom.

As he left the room, his eyes met Ryuuko’s. When Makoto smiled, Ryuuko waved back, albeit awkwardly.

Ignoring the voice of the teacher who had chased him into the hallway, Makoto bounded down the stairs. He descended five or six steps in a single leap, yet strangely, there was no numbness in his legs. Using his bent knees like springs as he landed, he continued toward the shoe lockers without losing his momentum. He slipped on his shoes, tossed his indoor slippers aside, and fled the school building.

He ran without pause all the way to the bicycle parking lot, impatiently pulled the key from his pocket, and unlocked his bike. Makoto burst out of the school, a small smile softening his cheeks as he spotted his bicycle, with a yellow helmet rolling around in the basket.

As soon as he passed through the school gate, he brushed past a figure. It was the girl in the spacesuit who had been doodling on the hair salon poster. When Makoto instinctively squeezed his brake lever, the girl looked back as well.

“O H, M A K O T O. W H E R E A R E Y O U G O I N G S O H A S T E L Y?”

“…Is that what you normally wear?”

“It is formal attire, is it not?”

The girl placed her hands on her hips and puffed out her chest. In that moment, Makoto suddenly found himself unable to recall the meaning of formal.

“Well, I guess it’s not wrong, as long as you’re going to space. But that isn’t a real spacesuit, is it?”

“You idiot, I am a real alien. Which means, of course, that my clothes are the real thing.”

“Sure, sure.”

As Makoto agreed with a deadpan voice, the girl nodded with great satisfaction, saying, “Then it’s fine.”

“Well, I’m in a hurry, so!”

“I S E E, I S E E.”

After a brief exchange, Makoto pushed off against the pavement, accelerating his bicycle. He looked back mid-pedal.

“Oh, by the way… How do you even know my name?”

He asked with a sing-song cadence. With her visor gleaming dully, the girl wagged her raised index finger from side to side. As he followed that finger with his eyes, the synergy with her very presence made him feel as though he might fall under a hypnotic trance.

Then, the girl let out a shout, so loud it felt as if she might shatter her own visor.

“Nothing is impossible for an alien!”

“…………”

That cry tore through the air, slashing against Makoto’s cheeks and ears, leaving him wide-eyed.

The girl let out a boisterous, foolish laugh as she walked away.

Makoto muttered a response to that small, retreating back.

“Unfortunately, I’m an Earthling. I’m on my way to prove that impossible wrong.”

With that, Makoto lifted his hips from the saddle and continued to pedal with all his might.

He raced back to the Touwa family and brought the bicycle to a violent halt. The skidding wheels tore up the weeds, leaving behind the faint scent of scorched rubber. He leapt from the bike and ran, swinging his arms wide.

He burst into the house, kicking his shoes off haphazardly, and sprinted noisily down the hallway. He flew up the stairs, skipping steps, and burst into Erio’s room without even knocking.

Erio and the swivel chair both turned around.

The moment their eyes met, his body temperature spiked, and the blurring sweat poured down his face in a single rush.

Makoto reached out his hand to the girl who maintained an expressionless face, and while his breathing remained heavy, he spoke.

“From here on, I’m going to fly through the sky with you. If you can’t fly, then you’ll have to become an Earthling.”

Chapter 4

• Attempted direct contact with the subject: +3
• Succeeded in disguising as an alien: +2
• The subject’s development followed the same pattern as last time, despite some fluctuations: −3
• What a narrow-minded fool you are, Makoto: +1

Current total XX points: +7

---

“Do you think aliens exist?”

Makoto asked without any preamble on the phone. Hoshinaka, on the other end of the line, replied immediately.

“They don’t exist, aru yo.”

“Why are you speaking like a Chinese?”

“Just a habit, I guess.”

“How do you normally talk, anyway?”

“Don’t ya worry about it. So, aliens. They don’t exist, no doubt about it.”

Hoshinaka stated it as a fact. Makoto let out a long sigh at her tone that was so brimming with confidence. Makoto was making the call while standing in the shade, in a corner of the Touwa Family garden. Erio stood motionless beside a rusty bicycle.

“Do you have any proof?”

“Hmm? Because I’ve never seen an E.T.”

“I’ll send you a video next time. Does your house even have a VCR?”

“We do. I watch To○ro sometimes.”

“Oh, nice, ○○ro. I wish I had a To○○ instead of a Smakin at my new place.”

“Niwa-chi, if Big ○○○ flips sides, you will be crushed.”

“Oh, right, by the way, this is about Totoro and… Wait, what were we originally talking about? Right, the evidence for the absence of aliens. Is there nothing else?”

“Niwa-chi, you still don’t get it, do you? I mean, how can you demand something so concrete from me?”

“Ah, that’s right.”

“No, you’re right to demand it. What are you even talking about?”

Hoshinaka laughed cheerfully. This sudden change in Hoshinaka’s attitude was nothing new, but Makoto still hadn’t grown accustomed to it. There was another sound mixed into Hoshinaka’s voice. When he listened closely, he realised it was the clamour inside her classroom. Unlike Makoto, Hoshinaka was likely attending school as usual.

Makoto glanced up at the peaceful sky and roughly estimated the time, wondering if it was almost lunchtime.

“So, about that evidence, well, you know, they might actually exist.”

“Which is it?”

“Well, they might exist, but we can’t meet them? Apparently, there are no aliens in our neighbouring planets at all. No one ever comes to visit us, so aliens aren’t within a distance where we could ever meet them, probably.”

“… kay.”

“If they exist but we can’t meet them, then it’s the same as them not existing.”

Hoshinaka’s opinion made Makoto’s diaphragm shake. The ribs near his lungs creaked.

It brought to mind his parents, who were overseas. They were somewhere on Earth, but he wouldn’t see them for a while. If that was the case, was it synonymous with him having no family?

…Was it the case, though? Makoto wondered, tilting his head. He felt an urge to argue against several points Hoshinaka made.

However, since saying that aloud would likely lead to him being teased as being lonely, Makoto changed the subject.

“Like you and me?”

Upon hearing this, Hoshinaka let out a boisterous, forced-sounding laugh.

“But we can meet, can’t we? It’s just one train ride away, right?”

“…I guess.”

However, if one of them didn’t go to see the other, wouldn’t that be the same as them not being there at all?

Anticipating that Hoshinaka would respond with something like, “Well, then let’s go,” Makoto pivoted to a farewell instead.

“Well, I’m heading out for a bit.”

He let out a quiet laugh, hoping it wouldn’t reach Hoshinaka, thinking that a bit might turn into much more.

“Hmm? Niwa-chi, you aren’t at school?”

“Ah, I’m skipping today.”

“Oh, Niwaru, right?”

He heard Hoshinaka let out a long, drawn-out sigh. It sounded as though she had failed at trying to whistle.

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean.”

“It’s short for ‘Niwa-chi the Scoundrel’.”

“I get the logic, but I still don’t understand.”

“Well, Niwa-chi, your grades in modern Japanese are pretty bad, after all. So, where are you going on this outing?”

“Ah, I’m going to visit some relatives.”

Makoto glanced over at Erio, who was in the garden. Sensing his gaze, Erio turned her back as if to ignore him.

“Relatives? What’s up, Niwa-chi, are you being passed around from one relative to the other? Setsuko? Grave of the Fireflies?”

“It’s not like that… Uh, what do you call it? I’m making rounds of greetings. It’s something I can’t avoid.”

“Hmm. Well, good luck then. Save a girl and earn some Youth Points.”

Hoshinaka ended the call. Makoto stared at the phone’s screen for a moment, as if feeling a slight sense of lingering attachment, before entering the Touwa Family home.

He placed his mobile phone on the shelf for shoes and umbrellas, located next to the entrance.

It would have been foolish to carry the phone with him, considering he was about to head toward the sea.

“Sorry to keep you waiting. Well, let’s go.”

He called out to Erio, who was looking up at the sky by the bicycle.

Erio turned around and uttered those familiar words.

“*******”

“Right, I get it, I get it.”

Makoto had already sensed something about those words. However, without mentioning it, he mounted the battered bicycle. However, without mentioning it, he mounted the battered bicycle. The ride was as terrible as ever. There was no telling when the front and rear wheels might decide to roll off in opposite directions. Even so, Makoto chose this bicycle as his companion.

“This is the same model they used in E.T., isn’t it? I finally remembered it the other day,” Makoto said, looking down at the frame.

Erio climbed into the bicycle basket in silence. She hadn’t wrapped her head in a cloth today. Her hair, dancing in the wind, tickled the tip of Makoto’s nose. As his nose inhaled the drifting particles, he felt a chill settle deep inside. After pinching his nose and shaking it side to side, Makoto placed his foot on the metal part where the pedal had disappeared.

“The usual seaside is fine, right? There was a spot I passed that always felt like a place where I could fly.”

“*******”

“Yeah, yeah, I guess so.”

He gave a half-hearted response, and Makoto and the bicycle began to move. The wheels turned with a strained, screeching grind.

If there truly was such a thing as a Wheel of Fate that governed this world, perhaps it was just as sluggish and obstructed as this. Because it did not turn smoothly, no one could find peace with it. They grew impatient and frustrated, each seeking their own answers. As the heavy movement of the wheels dragged on, Makoto drifted into such a reverie.

Even simply moving away from the Touwa Family home took more than twice as long as usual. At this rate, he wondered if the school day would be over by the time they reached the sea. Though there was no real connection between the two, Makoto burnt with a fighting spirit, determined not to let that thought defeat him, and worked desperately to make the wheels spin. Since there were no pedals, he moved his legs with all his might, nearly sliding the soles of his shoes against the metal parts. However, the bicycle failed to accelerate at all.

Whether he pedalled slowly or gave it his all, the result remained the same. A constant, sluggish pace.

“Good grief, it’s just as lazy as its owner. Or maybe it’s just holding back?”

As Makoto muttered his complaint, Erio glanced back just enough to turn her head. Her mouth moved incessantly in a mutter, her lips turned toward the sky. Makoto followed a small cloud in the sky with his eyes, finding joy in the clear weather.

With this, the excuse that it had been raining would no longer hold water.

As they drove out of the residential area onto a wide four-lane road, every passing driver cast a glance their way. While a futon bundle tucked into a bicycle basket was enough to draw attention, it seemed that the presence of a beautiful girl with striking light-blue hair had only intensified the scrutiny. Perhaps a beautiful girl was simply a rarer sight than a futon.

“I’ve got a fear of heights, you know. I’d be worried if we fly off too.”

Makoto muttered something that sat somewhere between a conversation with Erio and a soliloquy. Although he spoke light-heartedly, beads of sweat were already seeping into the palms of his hands as they gripped the handlebars. It was clear that this was not due to the spring warmth. At that moment, nothing occupied Makoto’s heart more intensely than sheer terror.

Objectively speaking, what Makoto was about to attempt with Erio could be classified as a suicidal leap. After all, he intended to ride a bicycle and fly toward the sea. If he told someone, they would likely scoff and say, “Oh, right, like E.T.” If he emphasised that he was serious about carrying it out, they would question his sanity.

Makoto was attempting just that. Though he could not even organise his own thoughts or understand for whose sake he was doing this, his spine straightened, driven by a surging sensation. His legs moved. His cheeks twitched. The tension born from that feeling served to suppress his terror. That was why Makoto was able to press forward on his rusted bicycle.

The road, flanked by fields on both sides with an unobstructed view, showed no end in sight, as if it were to continue on forever.

Within Makoto, a desire for him to never reach the sea coexisted with a longing for him to arrive quickly. It seemed contradictory, but since both could exist at once, it caused him no trouble.

They continued to act upon him simultaneously, like a plus and a minus.

Contradictions could reside within the human heart, provided they coexisted.

Much like how Makoto kept pedalling his bicycle, even though he knew he could not fly.

Makoto’s eyes followed a small, drifting cloud.

His mouth hung half-open in a foolish gap, revealing his white front teeth. Meanwhile, Erio looked down upon the slope, hugging her knees while nestled inside the bicycle basket. Meanwhile, Erio looked down upon the slope, hugging her knees while nestled inside the bicycle basket.

Makoto and Erio stood at the summit of the slope. Beside them, a thicket of small trees grew so densely that it gave the impression of a mountain path at first glance. However, at the end of the slope that stretched on for dozens of metres, a sea the colour of murky emerald spread out before them. With May nearly upon them, the sea looked calm enough, though the water temperature likely wasn’t very kind.

It was the same slope that Makoto had descended every day alongside Erio to reach the beach. The guardrails, installed to prevent cars from veering into the woods, had patches of peeling paint that were corroding from the sea breeze. The path was narrow, barely wide enough for two cars to pass one another. Sunlight was obstructed by the trees, making the path seem as if it were submerged in shadow.

At the top of the slope, a sign urging drivers to slow down stood embedded in the ground, its edges splintering as if they had been gnawed away. Keeping his mouth closed and his chin lowered, Makoto cast a glance at the sign and stuck out his tongue, thinking how much he hated it. In any case, this bicycle couldn’t even reach much speed, so if he slowed down, he would end up coming to a complete stop.

“Hey, are you mentally prepared?”

Makoto asked Erio. He also thudded his fist against his chest twice, attempting to compose himself.

Erio twisted her waist to look back and gazed at Makoto. Erio twisted her waist to look back and gazed at Makoto. In that state, her light blue eyes took on a perfect shape, much like a full moon, and drew Makoto’s entire attention into them.

“Hmm.”

Erio gave a reply that was not in her usual space tongue, and it was incredibly brief. She gave a small nod and brushed her bangs away with her hand. Such a gesture from Erio was rare, causing Makoto to react with a delay. After a brief pause, Erio looked straight ahead. Makoto slapped himself to clear his dazed mind, blinked several times, and then gave a determined, “Alright.”

He leaned forward and gripped the handlebars tightly. Looking past Erio, Makoto gazed down the slope.

This road descended for most of its length, only to transition into an incline near the very end. Compared to the path leading up to it, the climb was short, resembling the strokes on the right side of the kanji for “fly”. The angle itself, however, was steep.

It felt as though it had been designed specifically for what Makoto was about to attempt.

Makoto closed his eyes. He checked to see if anything would come to mind. He checked to see if anything would come to mind. He could only feel a faint, pale blue light from the outside pressing against his eyelids. That was enough, Makoto thought.

His life in this town had not even truly begun yet.

Everything would start from this slope and from the sea.

Makoto opened his eyes, and then.

Pushing off the ground, the front wheel of the bicycle began to descend the slope.

With a heavy jolt, an excessive impact struck Makoto and Erio. Their bodies bounced violently, and Makoto clung to the handlebars while Erio gripped the basket. Once the jarring subsided, Makoto kicked the pedal area with his leg, which was swollen from overexertion. Though his foot slipped at first, he gradually grew accustomed to it, and the pedals began to turn smoothly.

The wind gathered as it swept through the path nestled between the thickets. The headwind caused Makoto’s cheeks to twitch, and his nose reacted sensitively to the scent of the tide. Erio’s hair fluttered as if it had become a part of the wind, veiling the sky above Makoto.

The bicycle accelerated, yielding to gravity. As if a track athlete were releasing their coiled legs, the wheels meshed together without hesitation. Perhaps the parts that had acted as shackles had been worn away completely by the time he reached this slope. Makoto instinctively squeezed the brake, but the blood drained from his face at the lack of resistance.

The impact from moments ago had snapped the brake cable.

The wheels accelerated as if gouging into the ground, covering half the slope in the blink of an eye. Makoto felt as though he were sitting on the wheels rather than the saddle. The only thing by his side was the sound of the tyres scraping against the earth, like a swarm of hundreds of gnats buzzing around his ears. The thicket blurred in the periphery of his vision, and he grew anxious, wondering if he was crying. A moment later, he corrected himself, thinking that even if he were, it didn’t matter.

It was a straight path, after all.

The bicycle tilted violently mid-descent, and Makoto instinctively thrust his right foot toward the ground. As his toes made contact with the earth, his arched foot screamed in sudden, sharp pain. Gritting his teeth, Makoto leaned his upper body in the opposite direction, pulling both the bicycle and his leg back toward a horizontal position. His shoe, caught by the ground, slipped off, leaving his right foot bare.

The lost shoe rolled forcefully, slipped beneath the guardrail, and disappeared into the thicket.

They had completed seventy percent of the descent. Erio shifted her hand position on the basket to push her body upward. While kneeling uncomfortably within the basket, she tried to lean herself forward. However, the headwind and the sudden acceleration pushed her body back. The basket creaked from the impact of Erio landing on her backside, and something on the bicycle was jolted loose. Makoto paid no attention to it, instead gritting his teeth hard to keep them from trembling.

In the depths of Makoto’s mind, a soccer ball and a goal were born.

Inside his head, which felt as hot as if it were scorched, Makoto sprinted with all his might across a blur of coloured grounds. He wondered how many years it had been since he had focused so solely on pushing forward. The more he ran, the more the world blurred, and in proportion to that, he alone increased his speed indefinitely.

Fear transformed into exhilaration. Each time the real-world thicket vanished, Makoto grew filled with pure ecstasy.

A sound akin to a scream, expressing the frenzy, spilt uncontrollably from the corners of Makoto’s mouth.

Without slowing down even once, he sped down the slope and reached a small valley.

If things went wrong, the bicycle would collide with the uphill slope, throwing both of them onto the road. With neither Makoto nor Erio having even rehearsed, they had no choice but to pray that everything would go well without any struggle.

Pray for what?

Makoto asked himself, and answered instantly.

To those who watch over this town, “It’s obvious, isn’t iiiiiiiIIIIiiiit GaaaAAAaah!!!!”

Shouting from the very depths of his soul, Makoto straightened his back from his forward-leaning posture.

As if in response, the bicycle moved along the steep angle of the valley, narrowly avoiding a collision.

The direction of their bodies shifted as dizzyingly fast as a roller coaster.

The uphill climb was but a fraction of the descent, ending in the blink of an eye.

Beyond the slope lay something blue.

The sky, and beyond the guardrail that stretched horizontally like a pure white boundary, the sea.

It was coming, it was coming, it was coming!

“*******!”

Threading through a gap in the gusting wind, Erio leaned forward and screamed.

Makoto’s brain went numb, and his vision was washed in white. Even his forward view was obscured by Erio’s back.

Then, Makoto himself let out a great shout, so intense that the corners of his mouth split and the taste of blood seeped in.

It was a scream overflowing with a spirit that seemed ready to swallow the sea.

“********!”

I *** ***!

I *a* f**!

“I *an f*y!”

“I can*f*y!”

*******.

I can fly.

I, can, fly!

“”Aaaaaaaaaaaaaay!””

Both arms lifted the handlebars as if performing a wheelie,

“”Kyaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhh!””

The bicycle responded by severing ties with the slope, its front wheel leaping upward,

“To!”

Only Makoto uttered that single, solitary syllable.

“”FlyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyYYYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyyYYYYYYYYyyyyyyyyyyy!””

Niwa Makoto and Touwa Erio soared over the road and the guardrail.

The wheels spun uselessly in the air. They raced through the sky. No matter how far Makoto stretched his legs, there was no ground beneath them.

They were flying.

The bicycle was flying through the sky.

The leap felt as though it would last forever. The sensation of his hands gripping the handlebars vanished, and everything felt weightless.

Light blue particles traced the trajectory of their flight, stretching out further and further into the void.

Makoto caught the sound of a cheer rising from the bicycle basket.

It was Erio’s voice.

Immediately after he strained to hear it, the bicycle lurched forward with a heavy thud.

The gravity pressing down on both shoulders felt as though it might crush his arms.

Makoto’s scream drowned out Erio’s cheer.

The bicycle snapped in two from the centre, and the front wheel, the basket, and Erio drifted away from Makoto.

Particles also descended, heading toward the sea.

Unable to even brace for impact, Makoto and the others slammed into the surface of the ocean.

“Ah?”

By the time he realised it, Makoto was looking up at the scenery.

A green expanse of sea spread out around him, and his vision was hazy, as if viewed through a filter.

He knew he was floating on the surface of the sea, but the sensation of being swayed by the waves was cut off.

Makoto’s head felt light and dreamlike, leaving him unable to even process the confusion of the situation.

As he drifted, a man’s scream drifted down from the top of the cliff ahead.

As Makoto gazed blankly, a boy on a bicycle flew over the guardrail, accompanied by a sumaki girl in the basket. He recognised both the boy and the girl.

They were the same faces and figures he saw every morning in the mirror and around his house.

The boy, who looked exactly like Makoto, clung to the handlebars, while the sumaki girl was a size smaller than Erio and leaned forward, reaching toward the sun. The bicycle was of a different type, and it did not bear the red and white legendary colours. It did not snap in half mid-air; instead, it plummeted headfirst.

“What on earth is this?” Makoto finally jolted from his daze, but it was too late.

A boy who was his spitting image was falling from the sky.

As Makoto gazed blankly, a boy on a bicycle flew over the guardrail, accompanied by a sumaki girl in the basket. He recognised both the boy and the girl.

In that instant, their eyes met, and both were struck with shock.

Then, the two of them collided, as if to crack each other’s foreheads.

“Baa?”

By the time he realised what had happened, Makoto was foaming at the mouth.

His body would not move as he intended, and the ringing in his ears was severe. He swung his arms, but the movement felt heavy. His mind grew confused by his inability to move as he willed, and he could not calmly grasp his own condition.

No matter how much he flailed his limbs wildly, the situation showed no signs of improving.

It was only then that Makoto finally realised he was underwater.

Makoto had been unconscious when he struck the surface of the sea. Fortunately, he regained consciousness after about ten seconds and hurriedly struggled toward the surface. The bicycle that was supposed to have jumped in with him had already been swept away somewhere in the depths.

“Bah… Bobobaga?”

Then, was what he had just seen merely a dream?

Of course it was; there was no way there could be two of him.

Exhaling even his precious oxygen, Makoto remained at the mercy of his illusions.

Once his breathing had steadied, Makoto looked up toward the direction of the light to check the surface of the water. He acted with caution, as he had been tossed about underwater for some time and his sense of up and down had become blurred. It was then that Makoto discovered a foot protruding above the surface.

It was Erio’s foot, floating on the sea. Makoto paddled toward it, straining through the water. Whether there was no air left in his lungs or not, the very act of moving his body immediately brought on a sensation of suffocating distress. His limbs were also numb from the impact of the dive, and if he let his guard down, he felt as though the ocean current might sweep him away. Makoto desperately pushed toward the light.

Just before losing consciousness once again, Makoto broke the surface. Immediately after emerging, seawater sprayed from his nose and mouth. It seemed that water had entered his body while he was unconscious, as it overflowed like a fountain. Tears spilt from his wide-open eyes, and not a single orifice on his face escaped the flow of liquid. Fluid was also dripping from his ears.

In stark contrast to Makoto, Erio remained composed. Her hair, soaked with seawater, hung down to cover her face. Her mouth was twisted in a frown, and her eyes openly betrayed her discomfort. Between bouts of coughing up seawater, Makoto tried to smile at her. But rather than a smirk, his expression was merely contorted.

Eventually, Makoto finished coughing up the seawater, and after several minutes of choking, he regained some semblance of composure. Perhaps because the saltwater had reached deep into his nasal passages, a sharp pain raced through him, centred in his forehead. His spine ached from the excessive coughing, and the intense, direct sunlight felt as though it were scorching his head. Every single one of these sensations was an unbearable, lingering agony, yet amidst it all, Makoto faced Erio.

Observing Erio’s sullen expression, Makoto light-heartedly cracked a joke, feigning composure.

Every single one of these sensations was an unbearable, lingering agony, yet amidst it all, Makoto faced Erio.

“See? I told you it was impossible, didn’t I?”

“Shut up.”

Erio’s lips moved slightly. Makoto was caught off guard by her response but burst into loud laughter immediately after.

It felt as though he were facing Erio for the very first time.

“Uu, uuuh-uu, uh, uuh…”

Erio closed her eyes and let out a low groan. Once the groaning stopped, she hung her head.

At first, it sounded like she was clearing her throat with a series of “ah, ah” sounds.

Or perhaps like a baby.

With her head bowed, Erio let out a slovenly, “Ah, ah, ah…”

Makoto did not interrupt her, even as he felt himself about to be swept away by the waves, and refused to move from in front of her. While everything from his neck up was hot from the sun, the seawater enveloping him below the neck was piercingly cold, making it feel as though his very insides were being pickled in salt. Makoto choked again, spitting out the remnants of saliva and seawater.

“Uaa-uuu-uu-aa-aa-ka-ka-kaa…”

A sound that felt like something halfway between a scream and a newborn’s first cry continued to flow, unstable and uncertain. Makoto felt overwhelmed, unable to even look at Erio’s face. He waited blankly for Erio’s wailing to subside.

Did aliens need to shed tears?

He wondered about such things.

After nearly ten seconds had passed following the end of Erio’s lamentation, Makoto spoke up tentatively.

“Are you alright now?”

“I’m not alright. Nothing is alright. I’m an idiot. You’re an idiot.”

Erio sniffled. It seemed as though she was holding back tears, as the corners of her eyes trembled fiercely.

“You pushed me in the sea. I couldn’t fly to teach me, idiot.”

“You’re starting to mix your words.”

“Shut up.”

Erio raised her fist. She brought it down, striking Makoto’s chest. It didn’t hurt at all.

As Erio tried to pull her fist back, Makoto intercepted her. He caught it and squeezed.

“You have such small hands.”

He pried her fist open, unravelling it until their fingers were interlaced. Erio made no attempt to pull away; instead, she glared at Makoto. As the waves rolled beneath them, their bodies swayed, preventing their eyes from meeting in a direct gaze.

“How could you do this?”

“I was just humouring you.”

“Who asked you to?”

“It just suited my own convenience, obviously.”

Makoto spoke with a defiant air. His words lacked any logical connection and were utterly incoherent, yet they carried a certain strength.

Erio faltered at his sheer audacity, falling silent as if she were unable to find the words to respond.

“Ah, that’s right. There was something I wanted to ask you from the start.”

Makoto let out a boisterous laugh, as if marvelling that he wouldn’t have been able to ask until they had reached this point.

Maintaining that playful facade, he posed the question to Erio as if teasing her.

“Why do you wrap yourself in a futon?”

At that question, Erio’s neck stiffened as she jerked upward.

As her cheek twitched, Makoto felt a wave.

The arrival of a wave.

Erio’s wave, which had been receding, receding, and receding once more.

That very wave, which had been pushing back, finally reached the shore.

It reached the parched, bone-dry surface of her face.

The waves of emotion drenched the entire beach.

Makoto waited for it. He remained silent, swaying with the surface of the sea.

He felt various awakenings and new beginnings within the scent of the tide.

“Uh, khh, h-hic-hic…”

And then, Erio’s composure crumbled.

The tension in her eyes and the bridge of her nose slackened, and everything she had been holding in began to spill out.

“I was just scared.”

Sobbing uncontrollably, Erio could no longer suppress her tears as she bared her true feelings. She sniffled, her shoulders trembling as she gagged with grief. She shook with such intensity that it seemed as though everything shining in light blue might collapse and return to the sea.

Makoto pulled Erio closer and stroked her head as she leaned in. Erio clung to his clothes as if desperate for stability, letting out another series of sloppy, wailing sobs. Through her tears, she spoke haltingly.

“Wh-why. Don’t, I, have, memories?”

“…I don’t know.”

“I for-forgot, I can’t remember, anything. It’s weird, weird, odd.”

“I don’t know.”

“Space, Earth, I, Earthling…”

“I’m sorry.”

Makoto continued to stroke Erio’s head. Apologising as if soothing a small child.

“I’m sorry. Would it have been less scary if you had just stayed an alien?”

Erio nodded. Then, immediately after, she shook her head. Makoto narrowed his eyes, wondering which it was.

“But you see, even if you’re wrapped in a futon and acting like an alien… The other aliens wouldn’t do anything for you.”

Even if Erio continued to wrap herself in that futon, it wouldn’t have provided her any salvation. Makoto let out a frustrated grind of his teeth.

“They really wouldn’t do anything; they would just stand there watching.”

He clicked his tongue toward the sky. Erio’s sobbing had quieted slightly, and she turned her tearful eyes toward Makoto. Without flinching from that pleading gaze, Makoto opened his arms wide.

“So, from now on, you can rely on me, an Earthling.”

“Eh…”

Erio stood there, stunned. Makoto deliberately ignored her reaction and continued.

“Meme-san is here too. In fact, I could even introduce you to some other friends. They’re good girls!” he joked. The images of the two girls flashed through Makoto’s mind.

“So, that’s why you should migrate to Earth as well. We’ll give you a warm welcome.”

Leaving his arms outstretched, Makoto made his proposal.

Earthlings, aliens…

Makoto mocked himself inwardly, thinking about how foolish his words even sounded to him.

Yet, without a trace of ill will, Makoto gazed at Erio with sincerity.

Erio, whose eyes had been wandering with anxiety like a child’s, responded in kind.

With a soft “…Mm.”

Erio had certainly nodded at Makoto’s proposal.

Having witnessed this, Makoto let the tension drain from his entire body. As his strength ebbed away, the pain in his body suddenly rushed back.

After offering a moment of silence for the bicycle as it sank toward the seabed, Makoto spoke jokingly.

“Still, the idea of wrapping yourself in a futon… you’re actually pretty amazing, you know.”

“…Is that a compliment?”

“It isn’t.”

When Makoto replied instantly, Erio puffed out her cheeks. Her tears were washed away by the seawater, making them indistinguishable from the ocean.

“You’re stingy. You’re mean. You’re an idiot.”

“You, you, you… You really haven’t bothered remembering my name, have you?”

“…I-I do know it.”

Her eyes darted around nervously. With a bitter smile, Makoto opened his mouth to fulfil the purpose of his visit.

“Well then, shall we start with introductions? Good grief, there are limits to how much one can beat around the bush.”

Makoto looked up at the sun. As the brilliance burnt a white void into his vision, he stuck out his tongue.

He had come to the sea with a girl. How was that? Wasn’t that youth?

“Hey, Earthling. State your name.”

“…Touwa Erio. I’m Cousin’s cousin.”

“Right. I’m Niwa Makoto. Nice to meet you.”

That was the meeting between Niwa Makoto and Touwa Erio.

Epilogue

Status Report

Distortion confirmed. The subject appears to have made contact with “another one”.

Setting that aside, the accumulated points are completely insufficient.

It prevents my return.

For the foreseeable future, I will continue observation and maintain contact with the subject.

Current xx points: +7

---

“And that’s how I ended up hospitalised. It’s my first time.”

“Niwa-chi, you’re not going to live a long life.”

Makoto laughed, as if drawing in a sharp breath, at the blunt assessment from the other end of the line. A pair of crutches lay discarded on the ground beside him as he sat in the hospital garden, leaning his back against the wall. Tilting his chin up toward the sky, Makoto spoke to the person on the phone.

“Hoshinaka, have you ever seen ‘E.T.’?”

“No, never. But I know about it, the finger-touching thing. E.T.”

“Oh really? That part is famous, too.”

Without anyone actually facing him, Makoto extended the fingertips of his free hand horizontally in front of his eyes.

What his finger pointed toward was a worn-out coniferous tree of an unknown species.

“Fu fu fu. Niwa-chi, you just extended your index finger.”

“Ugh, how did you know?”

“Well, when it comes to you, Niwa-chin, I know pretty much anything.”

A triumphant, “Ne ha ha,” tickled Makoto’s ears. He blushed in silence, embarrassed.

“So, Niwa-chi, why did you decide to call me so unusually today?”

“Is it really that unusual?”

“It’s mezui.”

“I think this every time, but your Japanese is really difficult to understand… Well, anyway, I was just bored.”

Makoto replied with a constricted heart, as if he were making an excuse. While that part wasn’t a lie, there was another reason. The person on the other end of the line remained silent, as if sensing that, and waited for his next words. After coughing and choking a few times, Makoto lowered his voice and muttered it out.

“About me… uh, to put it in terms of your Youth Points, how am I doing?”

His voice faltered as he struggled with the unfamiliar phrasing, no matter how many times he tried to say it. Even so, he finished stating his true business, closing his eyes and looking down. “Hmm, let’s see,” his companion on the phone replied, adding a preamble as if to build a little suspense.

“Let’s make it five points, then? At least Niwa-chi, you managed to survive somehow.”

“…I see.”

Without even bothering to check what the perfect score was, Makoto scratched his nose, looking slightly tickled. Then, he lifted his head, which had been hanging low, to face the pouring light. Makoto accepted the dazzling sensation of something pure white coating his eyelashes and cheeks. “It’s a beautiful day,” he muttered to himself.

“Oh, that kind of comment is actually quite youthful, Niwa-chi.”

“Shut up.”

Makoto wiped his face as if to brush the light away, and his expression turned sour. However, it soon softened again, and a small smile played upon his lips at the sensation of the mobile phone held tightly in his palm.

“Well then, Niwa-chi, I’ll come visit you during summer vacation.”

“Oh? You’re coming? Yeah, sure, I’ll be waiting.”

“Are you ready to eat the Hoshinaka wave, OK?”

“I’ll strike right back.”

With Youth Power.

Makoto regretted it deeply amidst the unending bursts of laughter, having said those very words until the very end.

Lying on a clean hospital bed, Niwa Makoto was counting the time on his fingers. How much longer would it be until lunchtime? In a month-long hospitalisation devoid of any excitement, meals were his only pleasure.

“Ah, there are still more than two hours left.”

Lamenting, he reached for the paperback he had been reading, but after advancing only a few pages, he set it back down by his bedside. The cause was the heat building up in his back from lying flat on his back. The combination of that heat and a friction-like itch made it impossible for Makoto to concentrate on his reading. However, even if he wanted to change his position, his broken leg was still suspended, leaving him without freedom. Glancing down at his foot, Makoto let out a sigh.

“That girl was riding much more dangerously than I was, so how is it that she’s completely unscathed? The god of traffic ethics is unfair,” Makoto laughed to himself. It spared cute girls from harm, yet showed no such restraint toward men. However, that criteria was something Makoto found entirely agreeable.

If he had been in that position, he would have done the same.

A sense of agreement began to sprout within Makoto’s heart.

“God is going through puberty.”

It sounded like a title for a book. Makoto thought as he muttered the words, and then, he sighed again.

He moved his eyes from side to side, as if protesting his boredom. To his right was a window, through which a clear sky, fitting for May, stretched out. Though the shapes of the clouds still belonged to spring, the sunlight piercing through the window was sharp. The low-humidity light acted as a heat ray, searing Makoto’s shoulder. As he ran his palm over the part of the bedsheet that had been continuously struck by the sun, he shuddered at the warmth. Makoto could not understand why a chill had run down his spine, but it was not an unpleasant feeling.

Afterward, when Makoto turned to his left, his eyes drifted to the adjacent bed.

The person hospitalised in the same room as Makoto was a boy who appeared to be in elementary school. Like Makoto, he lay on his back in the next bed with his left leg in a cast. The difference was that instead of a paperback book, he held a brand-new soccer ball in his small hands. The boy was smiling as he tenderly stroked it with his palm.

His face was full of vitality, as if he could not wait to be discharged. Makoto watched the boy out of the corner of his eye, his expression inadvertently clouding. The boy had been hospitalised for about a week, but they had not yet exchanged any words. They had no need to speak to one another. Yet, perhaps losing his battle against boredom, Makoto’s mouth suddenly opened.

“Do you like soccer?”

He felt as if he had read such a line in an old manga once. Although he realised it immediately after saying it, there was no turning back for Makoto now. The boy, caught completely off guard by the sudden approach, widened his eyes, but after a few seconds of silence, he gave a clumsy response to Makoto’s question.

“I like it.”

“I figured, seeing as you’ve got a ball.”

As Makoto laughed, saying it was only natural, the boy’s lips also began to curl into a smile, caught up in the mood.

“I like it too.”

“Is that so? Soccer is great, isn’t it?”

The boy’s voice gradually grew more animated. Much like Makoto, he seemed to have been starving for conversation.

“Did you break your leg from playing too much soccer?”

Makoto felt a sense of kinship toward the boy’s manner of speaking, which was subtly polite yet awkward in his attempt to be considerate of an older person. For his part, Makoto also struggled to figure out how to behave toward his aunt. Though the implications of the two were entirely different.

“It wasn’t for such a cool reason. I just had a little accident on my bike.”

“Ah, me too.”

The boy rejoiced as if he had found a kindred spirit. Makoto averted his eyes and gave a sloppy grin, thinking to himself that the boy wasn’t lying.

“Um, do you want to play soccer?”

The boy asked, holding the ball out horizontally. Makoto spoke with an exasperated sigh.

“We both have broken legs.”

“Then, hand soccer.”

“Huh?”

“Instead of kicking the ball, we throw it back and forth.”

“That is an entirely different sport called dodgeball.”

Or perhaps basketball?

After muttering that, Makoto thought of Ryuuko. Ryuuko had visited him in the hospital about two weeks ago. Perhaps because it was on her way home after after-school club activities, it had been close to six in the evening. Makoto replayed their interaction in his mind. The first thing he remembered was the fluttering hem of her skirt.

“Hey, hey, Niwa-kun, hi. Oh, maybe it’s already evening.”

That day, Ryuuko appeared with her bag and sub-bag swaying against her shoulder, still wearing a helmet despite being indoors. Makoto’s cheeks softened at her lingering innocence as he welcomed his visitor.

To be honest, he hadn’t expected a classmate to visit, so it was a pleasant surprise.

“Oh, Ryuushi-san, hey.”

“I told ya, I’m Ryuuko. Whatever, hey, how are you doing?”

As she sat in the folding chair he had prepared, Ryuuko asked him with the casual politeness of a social pleasantry. Makoto closed the paperback he had been reading without even using a bookmark and sat up. Since he was in front of a girl, he made a show of fussing with his bedhead, but in the end, he gave up and decided not to care.

“I’m doing fine. That’s why being hospitalised is so incredibly boring.”

“Hmm, so what you’re saying is, Ryuuko-san is your saviour, right?”

“*Drumroll and fanfare*!”

“Yah yah, thank you, thank you.”

Ryuuko raised both hands as if responding to a cheering crowd of one. Makoto smiled at her upbeat attitude.

“But, man, you really went and cleanly snapped it, didn’t you?”

“I guess. By the time it’s healed and I’m discharged, it’ll be June.”

Ryuuko stared intently at Makoto’s elevated right leg. Makoto, in turn, gazed at the tip of his leg, which was held in place by bandages, and thought back to the day it happened. He remembered being able to walk on his own after getting up from the sandy beach, so he wondered exactly when it had broken. He narrowed his eyes at the mystery of the human body.

“By the way, have you seen anyone walking around town wrapped up in a futon lately?”

“Hmm? Hmm, now that you mention it, not recently. Maybe Touwa-san just got tired of it?”

“…Hmm.”

Makoto maintained a detached attitude, acting as though he had no interest in the matter. He himself was unsure how effective such a facade actually was.

“I mean, Niwa-kun, wouldn’t you know more about this?”

“I’m in the hospital, so I don’t really understand anything.”

Erio never once visited him in the hospital. Although Meme had shown her face several times.

“But even so, Niwa-kun, you really are quite the mysterious transfer student, aren’t you?”

“Eh, mysterious?”

“Breaking a bone and being hospitalised just a month after transferring schools, that’s certainly a high-speed life.”

For some reason, Ryuuko placed a hand to her chin, evaluating Makoto as if she were strangely impressed. To Makoto, it felt somewhat like being praised, but since he couldn’t find any part of it that warranted joy, he could only offer an ambiguous, wry smile.

“As for Ryuuko-san, who lacks just a teeny, tiny bit of personality, or should I say, an edge, your way of life really strikes a chord, deeply and profoundly.”

What was she even talking about? While Makoto threw a mental retort, he refrained from voicing it to Ryuuko.

“By the way, Niwa-kun, why is your foot in a cast? Was it a car accident or something?”

The way Ryuuko put it, even a broken bone sounded as trivial as snapping a piece of kintarouame.

“What kind of rumours are spreading at school?”

“Niwa-kun has gone crazy.”

“…Well, that’s mostly correct.”

Fearing that a specific explanation might lead to a misunderstanding involving a suicide attempt, Makoto gave a vague answer. In contrast, Ryuuko simply nodded along with an “Yup, yup” expression, as if she had never intended to listen to the details in the first place.

“Anyway, accidents are dangerous, right? So, from now on, you need to be a Helmetter too, Niwa-kun!”

“Excuse me?”

“Since you are Helmetter Number Two, as your Senpai, I shall give you a stylish present.”

Ryuuko rummaged through her sub-bag. After tossing out the neatly packed uniforms and basketball shoes onto the hospital floor, what she pulled out was a yellow helmet that matched her own. However, perhaps because it was an older model, the paint was chipped in several places. Makoto also noticed that the back of it had “Class 2-3, Mifune Ryuuko” written on it. With a grin, Ryuuko pressed the helmet toward him.

“Equip it immediately!”

“Wait, uh, He-Helmetter?”

“It refers to a person wearing a helmet!”

“That naming is way too straightforward. Even a Mettool would be shocked.”

“Come on, Niwa-kun, join the Follow Ryuuko-san Campaign! Bring it on!” Ryuuko chirped, playfully thumping her own helmet and her head. Makoto fiddled with the hand-me-down helmet for a moment but eventually gave in to Ryuuko’s prompting and tried it on.

“I’ve never actually worn a bicycle helmet before.”

“Oh, Niwaru.”

“Is that short for ‘Niwa-kun the Scoundrel’?”

“Mumumu… To see through that without even an explanation, you’re quite something.”

It wasn’t so much that he had seen through it; it was just that someone else said the exact same thing.

With a dubious expression, Makoto put on the helmet and finished adjusting the chin strap. Whether the helmet was too small or not, it sat on his head awkwardly.

“……………………………”

The sight of a high school student wearing an old helmet while clad in hospital clothes, with his leg in a cast, lying propped up in bed, could only be described as bizarre. Makoto felt a wave of relief that there were no mirrors nearby.

“Now I’m really looking forward to your discharge, Niwa-kun! Beautiful!”

Ryuuko gave him a thumbs up. Makoto laughed, though the movement was limited only to his mouth.

“So, you didn’t care about my recovery until now, then?”

“Th-that’s not true at all! Honestly, Niwa-kun, you’re too much.”

She tapped Makoto on the shoulder with a flustered air. Makoto let out another boisterous laugh, though it was again limited to everything except his eyes.

“Come to think of it, why are you here visiting today?”

“Hehehe, there’s no particular reason for my visit.”

“Ah, I see.”

“Just kidding! There actually is a reason. Geez, Niwa-kun, you really are a cool one, aren’t you?”

Secretly, Makoto found himself longing for a reason that implied a somewhat grander leap in their relationship. Meanwhile, Ryuuko smiled carefreeley, uprooting and feeling that adolescent wish entirely.

“I just thought that maybe you didn’t have any friends to come visit you yet. So, Ryuuko-san is acting as the human sacrifice! No, wait, that’s not what I meant. A substitute, a leader, yes, I came here as a representative!”

“…I am deeply moved by your thoughtfulness.”

After that, Ryuuko sang passionately about whether she could make a hundred friends before heading home.

“Don’t tell me you only came here to put a helmet on my head?”

As if to flee from that question, Makoto continued to stare down the wall while still wearing his helmet.

“…Well, your time with Ryuushi-san is only starting. Yeah.”

“Here, catch the ball.”

“Humm?”

The boy tossed a soccer ball toward Makoto, who had been acting a bit dazed for a moment. It wasn’t a lofted arc but a powerful, straight pass. Makoto caught the ball, even as his palm went slightly numb from the impact. He ran his hand over the surface, as if enjoying the prickly texture that was far from smooth.

“Are you on a soccer team or something?”

“Yeah, just a lame local one. They only let me play in a few matches here and there, though.”

“That’s still plenty, isn’t it?”

Comparing the boy to his own past, Makoto evaluated him. The boy gave an embarrassed, vague smile and fidgeted with his hair. After throwing the ball back to the boy, Makoto adjusted his posture slightly.

“I’ve never even played in a single match.”

“You aren’t very good?”

Makoto’s throat tightened at the boy’s blunt question.

“Ah, sorry.”

Sensing his slip-up from Makoto’s reaction, the boy bowed his head. Makoto waved his hand dismissively, telling him it was fine.

“It’s not like I’m playing seriously in a club or anything. But as long as you enjoy kicking the ball, that’s all that matters.”

“I mean, I want to play in matches too. Aaah, because of this injury, my chances of being a regular are slipping away.”

The boy pouted as if sulking. Seeing this, Makoto tried to behave with the maturity of an elder.

“There’s no need to rush. You should be recovered in time for summer vacation.”

“But still. We’ll be fighting the old guys from the amateur baseball leagues for field space during summer vacation.”

“Heh?…”

When he heard the word baseball, Makoto thought of Maekawa. He wondered if his classmate, who claimed to be a mysterious advisor, was out strutting through the town today in her usual eccentric outfit. As he imagined her various appearances, a smile spread across Makoto’s face.

“A-ny-way. I can’t wait to be discharged.”

The boy kicked the bed with his uninjured right foot, the thud of his heel drumming against the frame. Whether the impact reverberated through his left leg or not, the boy began to wail in agony, and Makoto watched him with a wry smile.

He wondered what would be waiting for him once he was discharged.

As Makoto stared into the distance, his eyes filled with half-anxiety about a future he could not concretely envision, a purple shadow cast itself across the entrance of the hospital room. A slender, purple body entered, looking as though it might strike its head against the top of the doorway. Both Makoto and the boy widened their eyes in near-simultaneous shock at the sight of the girl clad in an eggplant mascot costume.

Their expressions of astonishment were so identical, they looked like siblings or twins.

“Hey there, transfer student! Eggplant Maekawa-san came to visit you!”

Maekawa approached Makoto with a bright laugh. Limbs even more flimsy than bean sprouts protruded from the venomously deep purple eggplant costume. And beneath the green stem sat Maekawa’s face. Waddling forward with a cramped gait, tilting her body rhythmically from side to side, she came to a halt beside Makoto’s bed.

By then, Makoto had shaken off his initial shock, though his right cheek twitched slightly.

“Ah, here’s a get-well gift.”

Maekawa pulled two paperbacks from inside the eggplant and handed them to Makoto.

They were the two volumes of The Time Ships.

Makoto grew visibly excited, even pumping his fist instinctively. It was certainly a welcome sight, but…

“Eggplant Maekawa-san… aren’t you missing something important?”

Like this! Like this! He spread his fingertips horizontally, as if emphasising a long vowel.

“Unfortunately, I don’t own a nurse’s outfit. So, I had to substitute it with an eggplant.”

“That’s not even close.” As Makoto fell silent and lamented, the young boy timidly interrupted the conversation. He was clutching a soccer ball tightly in both arms, as if it were a protective charm.

“Are you this onii-san’s girlfriend…maybe?”

“No, I’m an eggplant.”

Maekawa grinned at Makoto, who had replied with a deadpan expression.

“Fu fu fu, responding so instantly… are you feeling a bit shy?”

“Why aren’t you the one blushing… even though you’re an eggplant?”

“If anything, it’s precisely because I’m an eggplant.”

Maekawa looked proud of her retort, which hadn’t answered his question at all. However, Makoto let out a small snort at her confident declaration, and the anxiety that had been building within him began to subside. He couldn’t vent all of his unease, but he was able to push it back deep inside, making his heart feel a little lighter.

“Hey, Maekawa-san.”

Makoto spoke to her with a lighter tone than before. As if sensing the change, Maekawa’s voice softened too.

“What is it?”

“Will you be my friend?”

At first, Maekawa wore an expression as if she had been caught off guard. But she soon nodded with eager agreement.

“I don’t mind at all. In fact, that’s the whole reason I came here today.”

“Whoa, you’re in a great mood. And here I thought you only came here to perform your eggplant and nurse routine.”

Ignoring Makoto’s remark, Maekawa leaned forward as if to peer into the bed. Then, she smiled.

“You can rest easy; I don’t have any of my friend’s cosplay outfits.”

“…Ha ha. Having a friend come visit you in the hospital… that’s a massive amount of Youth Points right there.”

Makoto, Ryuuko, and Maekawa.

And a sky of light blue.

Makoto laughed, feeling that the vague future had suddenly taken on concrete form and hope.

A few days after that incident, another visitor appeared at Makoto’s side.

To be precise, she was attempting to appear, hiding herself at the entrance of the hospital room. She was peeking half her face out, stealthily observing the state of the room. Makoto narrowed his eyes in exasperation, still holding up his paperback book.

“She’s so obvious,” he muttered, scowling as he watched the particles drifting from his thick hair.

“Hey, just come in.”

When Makoto beckoned, the eyelids of Touwa Erio, who was hiding, twitched in response. She then pulled her face back. However, the tips of her hair, swayed by the movement, could be seen peeking from the doorway. Makoto closed his paperback book, placed it on the desk beside his bed, and sat up. He carefully unhooked his suspended leg and lowered his unbroken left foot to the floor. Pushing off the bed with both hands, he stood up. Although moving without using his crutches was forbidden, Makoto ignored the rule and hopped on one leg toward the entrance.

After coming to a halt while leaning against the wall near the doorway, Makoto lightly tugged on that light blue hair.

“Kyau!”

A scream erupted from beyond the wall. Makoto released her hair, laughing carefree like a child whose prank had succeeded. Then, Erio immediately poked her head into the hospital room, brushing her hair back as if to shield it with her hand. As her eyes met Makoto’s, who was standing by the entrance, Erio froze. Her light blue eyes fixed upon him, coming into focus. Being stared at by those peculiar eyes made Makoto feel a strange, ticklish sensation.

“Yo.”

“…Mm.”

Erio gave a small nod. After that, Makoto was unable to say anything to her right away, and an awkward atmosphere drifted between them. It was the first time Makoto and Erio had faced each other like this since they had parted on the sandy beach.

“Well, come in.”

Since maintaining his posture was becoming difficult, Makoto invited her into the room. Though she kept her head bowed, Erio followed his lead and walked in after him. Toward the end, Makoto practically collapsed as he returned to his bed.

“Ow, ow, ow…”

The impact of hitting the bed with his backside reverberated through his legs, causing Makoto to grimace. Reflecting on his unplanned actions, Makoto looked up at Erio. Without even providing a chair for him, Erio stood awkwardly by the bedside. When their eyes met, she immediately looked away and let out a low groan. Seeing that gesture, which reminded him of a child fearful of being scolded, the tension left Makoto’s shoulders. After a single clearing of his throat, he spoke to her.

“Hey, cousin, what was your job again?”

Erio’s shoulders twitched in response. Her downcast eyes caught Makoto’s, appearing to plead, “You’re so mean.” A boyish sense of mischief stirred within Makoto, and he waited for her reply with a smirk. Erio kept her head bowed for a short moment, but eventually, she opened her lips as if she had made a decision. There was nothing resolute about it; she looked like a lost puppy.

“Touwa, Erio… U-unemployed.”

“Don’t put up a futile resistance.”

“Uhhgh.”

Erio groaned resentfully. Makoto laughed, certain that her attitude had changed from before.

Staring at that smile from Makoto, Erio straightened her back, looking just a little relieved.

“Cousin, are you well?”

Even though he had introduced himself, Erio did not call him by his name. Makoto let his eyes wander, thinking, “Whatever.”

“I am, aside from my leg.”

“Right.”

It was an answer as short as one could possibly be. At that, the conversation between Makoto and the others ground to a halt. As if trying to escape the awkwardness that began to cloud the air once more, Makoto scratched his cheek. He looked up at Erio, hoping she might say something since she was the one who had approached him, but Erio directed a similar gaze back at him.

Her previously overconfident attitude, fuelled by her delusions, had completely vanished; all that remained were the fragments of a girl who felt like a lost child, wary of the outside world. Sensing this, Makoto felt he had no choice but to speak again.

“Ah, well, listen…”

“Hmm.”

“Once I’m out of the hospital, let’s play soccer.”

“…Soc-cer?”

Erio tilted her head, looking as though she had heard the word for the very first time. Makoto raised both hands toward the boy sitting on the other side of Erio, as if prompting him. The boy, who had been watching their interaction, specifically Erio’s hair, with great interest, seemed to grasp the meaning of Makoto’s gesture. He tossed the soccer ball he had been rolling in his hands toward Makoto. A satisfied smirk tugged at the corners of Makoto’s lips as he caught the ball.

“It’s a wonderful sport where you kick this around. It’s also a rare type of ball game where heading the ball is allowed.”

“I-I know that.”

Makoto tossed the ball lightly toward Erio. Like a girl having a snake or an insect thrown at her, Erio recoiled violently, nearly slamming the back of her head against the window, but she managed to catch the ball.

It looked as though she had lunged her upper body forward with poor balance, her posture unsteady, and had barely managed to intercept it.

“Th-that was a sharp catch.”

“Was it so graceful that you felt the need to praise yourself?”

“I-it’s fine. Ugh, soccer… will we play it?”

“I’ve indulged your whims plenty; now you’re going to indulge my hobby.”

Makoto let out a small, somewhat apologetic chuckle in his own way. He was well aware that it didn’t quite come across as convincing. Erio looked up, appearing either ashamed by the subject he had brought up or as if she had something to say, but she simply swallowed her words without speaking. All she managed to say was:

“F-fine, whatever.”

That was the only reply she managed to muster. After throwing the ball back at Makoto, Erio ran off with a light, hurried gait.

Makoto did not stop her, watching her leave in silence. After Erio vanished from the hospital room and the hallway, he slumped back onto the bed from his sitting position. He rolled his shoulders up and down, trying to work out the stiffness.

As if waiting for the moment Makoto exhaled, the boy in the adjacent bed spoke up.

“Onii-san, was this girl your girlfriend?”

“Ah? No, no, that’s not it. She’s…”

He wasn’t sure how to put it. The words wouldn’t come immediately, and Makoto’s eyes drifted. An airplane flew leisurely through the sky where his gaze had wandered. After watching the sound and the flight for a while, Makoto said:

“She’s an alien who can’t even fly through the sky.”

After catching a glimpse of the boy’s suspicious expression out of the corner of his eye, Makoto hugged the ball to his chest and closed his eyes.

In the darkness that spread behind his eyelids, Makoto saw light blue particles dancing about.

And then, the day of his discharge arrived, a week into June.

As Makoto’s legs regained their freedom, a girl wrapped tightly in a futon appeared before him like a welcoming committee.

“Mofu.”

“…Why are you wrapped in a futon?”

“Mofumofu.”

“…Hey, lady, lend me your face a second.”

Feeling so drained he might collapse, Makoto looked down at the sumaki before him. The gaze of the people in the hospital lobby converged on Erio and Makoto. Makoto stiffened, pulling his shoulders in to endure their stares. Erio, the occupant of the futon wrap, remained unperturbed; she didn’t even seem to notice.

“For now, just show your face.”

Makoto gave the command, more out of desperation than expectation. To his surprise, Erio obediently revealed her face. Light blue particles spilt from her face and hair, which had peeked out from the spiral of the upper futon. As the particles drifted down toward her mouth, Makoto scooped them up with his finger. They lasted slightly longer than winter snow before they vanished.

“Did you come to pick me up?”

“Hmm.”

Erio replied curtly. Her attitude was more composed than when she had visited Makoto in the hospital.

The cause-and-effect was entirely unclear, but it might be due to the effect of being wrapped in the futon. That’s what Makoto thought.

“Mum asked me to.”

Makoto felt a sense of admiration, though his expression remained unchanged, wondering if she had started having normal conversations with her mother.

“Meme-san did? Knowing her, I thought she would have come to pick me up herself, just as an excuse to skip work.”

“Actually, that’s what happened.”

Someone spoke right into Makoto’s ear. As that breath brushed against him, Makoto shuddered violently. After his hands stiffened and his lower body trembled uncontrollably, he spun around at once.

As if summoned by the mere mention of her name, Meme was standing there.

“Yay!”

“What’s that, yay?”

Makoto exhaled as he stepped back to put some distance between himself and Meme. Meme held up a peace sign, looking quite pleased with herself.

“In response to Mako-kun’s request, Meme-chin has arrived as well!”

“Who exactly asked for this? Ugh, you scared me.”

“I was just about to be admitted to hospital again.” Makoto grumbled, half-jokingly, half-serious.

“As long as Mako-kun wishes it, Meme-chin will appear anywhere, whether in a dream or in reality.”

“Shut up, you succubus. Besides, there’s no need for two people to come pick me up.”

“This is a celebration for Mako-kun’s discharge, so the whole family needs to be together!”

“…F-family?”

Meme smiled at Makoto’s agitation. She pointed to Erio, then to Makoto, and finally to herself, saying, “Fa-mi-ly.”

“No, well, I don’t have a wife and children… I mean, my parents are still around, so it’s a bit much to include you guys.”

“Come now, let’s all go home together as a happy family!”

“…Go to work.”

He gave up on correcting the family comment and pointed out something else instead, but it seemed as though she wasn’t listening at all.

“S-stop!”

Erio stepped in front of Meme, who was trying to forcibly link arms with Makoto to drag him toward the hospital entrance. She spread her arms to the left and right as if attempting to block their path. Both Meme and the being dragged along, Makoto, came to a halt.

“I… I have something to tell Cousin.”

“…Hmm. What is it?”

“L-lend me your face a second.”

“I was the one who just said that.”

Erio dashed toward a corner of the lobby with quick, light steps. As Makoto and Meme followed after her, Erio turned toward Meme. Meme flashed an unnecessarily bright smile. Although she recoiled slightly at that smile, Erio shook her head.

“M-Mom, you’re not allowed to listen. Yaah!” Erio said, pretending to push Meme back with both hands. Meme joked, “Gagann!”, but given how dramatically she recoiled, it seemed as though she had actually lost her balance.

“Eri-tan has entered her rebellious phase!”

“There isn’t a single human being capable of rebelling against you.”

“Waaaaah!”

“There’s a limit to how much one can fake crying.”

Meme let out an unrepentant wail and dashed out of the hospital.

“Hurry and come! Or else I’ll cry!”

Just before passing through the automatic doors, Meme turned back and shouted to Makoto and Erio. Makoto grinned, thinking she really did look like she might burst into tears. Erio, perhaps feeling a pang of guilt, shrank down with an apologetic “Ugh…”

“Is it really alright to be this noisy in a hospital?”

Makoto questioned Erio with a hint of a joke. Still wrapped in the futon, Erio swayed her body vaguely. Makoto readjusted his grip on his bag and gazed at Erio’s face, which protruded from the makeshift sleeping bag.

“So, what was this talk about?”

When Makoto asked, Erio pulled her head back as if shrinking away. However, she did not retreat all the way into the futon but instead straightened her back as if hesitating. Her eyes were weak, yet she gazed back at Makoto.

Then, she parted her thin lips.

“I am, um, Erio, so…”

“Yeah, I know that.”

Makoto laughed, thinking that was a rather crude way to introduce oneself.

“T-that’s not what I mean…”

The sumaki part wiggled. Makoto looked down at the sight and felt awkward, since it made it look as though he were bullying her. At the same time, however, he felt a sense of freshness in his conversation with Erio.

“C-cousin.”

“Hm?”

Makoto remained silent, acting merely as a listener while waiting for Erio to speak. Erio pulled her right arm out from under the covers.

“I’m doing much better than before.”

Erio flexed her arm, as if to show how muscular she was. Before Makoto could say “Regrettably I can’t see a difference,” Erio pulled her arm back and broke into a wide grin.

“T-thank you.”

It was less a matter of her smile being heartfelt and more that it was the first time Makoto had ever looked Erio directly in the face while she was smiling; that left him feeling choked up. He sniffled, though his nose wasn’t even runny, and while trying to steady his racing heart through his breathing, his mouth hung open vacantly. Faced with the smile of a girl who boasted such extraordinary hair and appearance,

“…Oh.”

That was the absolute most he could manage in response.

“T-that’s all!”

With her nose turning bright red, Erio scurried toward the entrance.

Makoto, whose cheeks were also slightly flushed a shade of vermilion, followed after Erio at a light jog, a smile softening his face.

If it meant that from now on, he would spend every day in the company of that smile.

“Maybe it was worth breaking my leg after all.”

From the dim, unlit hospital, Makoto bounded out into the light-filled world with long strides.

He hummed Hop, Step, Dive as he went.

Once outside, Erio was standing by the automatic doors as if waiting for him. Furthermore, Meme, who had already headed out from the hospital, was already waiting at the bicycle parking area. Just like the first time they had met at the station, she was waving so vigorously it looked like her arms might fly off, shouting, “Ma-ko-ku-n, E-ri-ta-n! Having been called out so loudly, Makoto and Erio hurried toward Meme in a panic.

“Yay! You both ran all the way here. Meme-tan’s love really reached you, didn’t it?”

“It came through so clearly, I thought my eardrums might burst.”

Ignoring the jumping Meme, Makoto cast his eyes down toward the bicycle beside him. At the same time, he thought about the bicycle they had abandoned in the sea. After muttering a quiet “Sorry” while recalling the underwater scene, Makoto spoke.

“You said you came to pick us up; what’s with the bicycle?”

“It’s Meme-chin’s beloved ride, the Salamander!”

“What’s with the incredibly cool name?”

Ignoring Makoto’s confusion, Meme sat down on the rear rack. She didn’t seem to have any intention of pedalling. Then, after Makoto placed the bag containing his change of clothes down, Erio hopped into the basket as if it were the most natural thing in the world. It seemed she hadn’t fixed that habit yet. Makoto felt exasperated by Erio, who climbed in hugging her knees despite it being clearly too cramped.

“Forget picking us up; you’ve just increased the luggage.”

“It’s not good to treat people like luggage.”

“When you lecture me on common sense, it makes me want to cry rather than get angry.”

Makoto sighed, pressing a hand to his forehead. He was the only person left who could drive.

“I’m still recovering, for goodness’ sake.”

Without giving much thought to whether that description applied to himself, Makoto straddled the saddle. He carefully placed his right foot on the pedal. He repeated the motion of placing and lifting his foot two or three times, as if checking the condition of his knee. Once the sole of his foot felt properly positioned, he ended the movement and gripped the handlebars.

“Fu fu fu, Mako-kun just achieved an indirect handshake with Meme-tan.”

Meme whispered, wrapping her arms around Makoto’s waist and hugging him without hesitation. The sensation of her breath and the nature of her words sent a shiver down Makoto’s spine, causing him to glance back over his shoulder.

“Why are you saying such creepy, unsettling things?”

“Lesson two: countdown to an indirect kiss.”

“The age difference between you and me is far too extreme; there’s no point in a countdown.”

“Don’t worry, I went ahead and kissed every single corner of the room while you were gone.”

“I’m going home!”

Makoto let out a scream that was far from theatrical. He was haunted by a premonition that, knowing this aunt of his, she might actually do it. Meme clearly found Makoto’s reaction amusing, remarking, “It was just a joke.” Makoto pursed his lips, intending to retort, but since it seemed no words of his could break that smile, he had no choice but to suffer in silence.

“That’s right,” Makoto said, turning his attention forward to Erio, who was sitting quietly inside the basket.

“Erio, take the helmet out of the bag.”

“Huh? Where’s the bag?”

She shook her head and her hair from side to side. Makoto made a grimace, wondering whether she was an airhead or doing it on purpose.

“The one that’s underneath your butt.”

“Oh. This?” Erio responded languidly. It seemed she was a genuine airhead.

Lazily rummaging through the bag while still crushing it with her buttocks, she pulled out the helmet that Makoto talked about. It was the helmet that Ryuuko had handed over. Rather than putting it on himself, Makoto placed it onto Erio’s head.

“Hm?”

Erio placed her hand on her head to check the sensation of the foreign object. After patting it with her entire palm to confirm its identity, she turned back to Makoto. Makoto laughed, noting that it actually suited her.

“If you’re going to sit in that seat, you should keep it on.”

“Mm… feels intimidating.”

Though she grumbled, Erio adjusted the fit and pulled on the chin strap. Once she seemed to have balanced both sides and settled it into a comfortable position, Erio gave a faint smile. Makoto lightly stroked her head as if to praise her.

“Oh, Mako-kun, since when did you start obeying the rules of the road?”

Meme said, resting her chin on Makoto’s shoulder as she peered toward them.

Makoto felt the urge to argue that there was already no regard for the rules, considering she was carrying a person in a bicycle basket.

“I was just recruiting Helmetter No. 3. Like the Idiot Trio.”

“Kyaa! Mako-kun, you’re such a good boy!”

“Please stop clinging to my back!”

With her mouth still pressed against his back, Meme replied with a muffled voice. As if driven by her words, Makoto pressed down on the pedals and began to ride. Immediately after starting, he felt a sensation through the handlebars as if the front wheel had dipped. After the illusion of having crossed a bump passed, the wheels began to spin smoothly.

At first, Makoto hesitated to put strength into his legs, but by the time they were leaving the hospital grounds, he was pedalling with vigour. He looked back repeatedly, bothered by the fact that Meme was still pressing her face against his back, but unable to shake her off, he remained in a state of inner turmoil.

As if to ventilate that haze in his heart, Makoto resolved to look forward and focused on his cycling.

The bicycle continued past the bus stop, turning the corner at the Taiyaki stand open beside the hospital. A few high school girls waiting for the bus cast strange looks at the unusual three-person bicycle, which even had a person riding in the basket. Makoto caught those glances out of the corner of his eye, but without feeling any unbearable shame, he kept pedalling into the scenery that spread beyond his light-blue hair and helmet.

The town appeared flat, offering no sense of the cosmos. Invisible waves passed back and forth above that town. What reflected in Makoto’s eyes were light-blue particles, falling softly as they were buffeted by the wind. Makoto inhaled them deeply through his mouth and nose, tasting the euphoria of becoming addicted to this light-blue world, as he joyfully pedalled on his way back to the Touwa Family.

As they raced across the sidewalk just as the light turned green, Erio murmured innocently, “Vroom.”

Makoto pressed down even harder on the pedals, as if to match the sound of the wind cutting past.

Even today, the bicycle did not fly through the sky.

It simply carried the human boys to somewhere among the stars.

With that, I shall set down my pen for the time being on this observation report of one male and one female sample residing on Earth.

Author: Hoshimiya Yashiro-sama ☆ (nom de plume)

Afterword

This work was essentially a remake of Volume 1 of Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko. You could think of it as something akin to the New Theatrical Edition of E○○○○o○. However, since I have never actually seen the television version, I’m not exactly sure what the differences are, so I’m not certain if that analogy is even accurate.

Regardless, since it was intended to be like a theatrical film, I tried to write with that kind of pacing in mind, though I have no way of knowing to what extent I succeeded. In fact, I suspect I had failed.

Furthermore, there will be no “Ha” nor “Q” after that.

Come to think of it, though it is entirely out of context, I once received an offer to work for a certain publishing company about six months after my début. It was a place that anyone would likely recognise by its name. At the time, I was a clueless, or should I say, pure-hearted young man from the countryside, so I was easily talked out of the job by a charismatic editor (he told me to wait until I had grown as much as Iwase of the Chunichi Dragons in 2007; looking back calmly, he was asking for something quite unreasonable). I find myself remembering about stuff like that occasionally.

Whenever I go outside, people mistake me for a NEET, a comedian, someone working to contribute to Japanese culture, a calligrapher, a dance instructor, or even a judge for the Gunpla King Championship; however, I intended to keep doing my best.

Iruma Hitoma

Iruma Hitoma

Hello there, this is Irukuma’s Diary. Lately, perhaps out of boredom, it seemed as though I was singing and dancing in my own room (my secret base). It was too disheartening to watch, so I planned to stage an Indian make-believe around five in the morning next time I drift off to sleep.

Buriki

I live in the Kansai region. This year, an anime will be based on my work! I will continue to do my best!

Translator's Notes and References

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