Surprisingly enough, Totsuka picked a horror movie. We chose our seats and bought our tickets at the counter. Adjacent seats in the back—25E and 25F.
It was summer vacation, but that really only applied to students. For adults with regular jobs, it was just another weekday, so the theater wasn't too crowded. That also meant that most of the customers at this time were students. In fact, all the stupid, obnoxious couples were having a ball screeching to each other about how lucky they were the theater was empty.
I thought I saw someone who could be Miura among the squawking mass of trash, but I figured it was just my imagination. Why do those types all look and dress the same? I can't tell them apart. Are they clones? No one is less unique than people who go on about uniqueness. The more you know.
And then you have the ones who confuse wearing a trench coat in the middle of summer for individuality. The guy sitting in the front row panting like a grizzly was a good example. My instincts were sounding the alarm, warning me not to look, so I obeyed and chose instead to look for our seats. In the characteristic silence and faint tension that occurs before a movie, I walked up the aisle, scanning the seat numbers on each row. Totsuka, who had taken the lead at the entrance, found our seats, waving me over with tiny motions of his hand. I guess he was trying to be considerate and keep quiet in the theater.
I leaned back deeply into my seat and dropped my forearm onto the armrest. I had assumed the stately, calm, and self-possessed posture of a demon king.
Then a soft, light sensation brushed against my hand on the armrest.
"Oh, sorry." When Totsuka apologized, I realized what had touched me. It had been Totsuka's hand.
I've touched an angel! "N-no! I'm sorry!" I said, and both of us jerked our hands away at the same time.
"…"
"…"
We looked away as an oddly awkward silence fell over us. I sneaked a peek at Totsuka from the corner of my eye to see his shoulders hunched. He was looking down in apparent embarrassment.
*However, we are both guys.
In the air-conditioned theater, my arm itched where that faint warmth had touched me.
*However, we are both guys.
We exchanged glances, as if searching for the right moment to speak. "Y-you can use it, Hachiman," Totsuka whispered quietly.
"No, I'm right-handed, so I put more weight on the right side! I'm totally fine! The left hand is just for support!" For some reason, that was my flustered excuse.
Totsuka giggled. "You're so funny," he said. "Then let's share. Half and half." He daintily laid his elbow on about one-third of the available space.
"O-okay…" Timidly, nervously, I laid my left hand on the armrest as well.
Ohh, my left hand… My left hand is so happy! Hooray for world peace!
If the world consisted of one hundred Totsukas, I'm sure there would be no war. Weapons dealers and their ilk would go out of business. Everything stressful would disappear. He's like lavender. The everobnoxious movie thief's wiggly anti-piracy dance didn't get on my nerves that day.
The movie was approaching its climax.
I think. I'm not really sure…
I didn't even know how much time had passed, never mind what was going on on-screen. It felt like an hour, even two, or maybe it was only ten minutes. Time flies when you're having fun. By my internal clock, it wouldn't even be an hour. An observer's perception of time is subjective.
"Ahh!"
Totsuka yelped, clinging to my shirt with his tiny shoulders trembling as a ghost in a white dress emerged from the screen in 3D.
Oh, that startled me. Man, even I felt like my heart might stop just now. He was just so adorable…
Scared Totsuka is cute. Totsucute.
After that, the ghost in the white dress crawled out of the screen again and again. Each and every time, Totsuka would gulp and let out tiny eeps.
Man, this movie really is scary. I'm beyond just stepping off the right path; at this rate, I'm about to clear the entire Totsuka route. Terrifying. If he gets scared enough to wrap his arms around me, I'll be cringing into my seat in terror. Actually, I'd probably need to lean forward.
My heart groaned under the strain, and my blood raged like a torrent of muddy water. They've got to prepare the ATM just in case it gives out. Or wait, or was that thing called an ETC? EVA? Whatever. It looks like it's going to be over soon. Summoning all my willpower not to think about Totsuka's presence, I decided to casually glance around the theater. What I really wanted to do was calm myself down by listing prime numbers, but sadly, as a humanities type, I couldn't figure out if zero counted or not and immediately gave up.
The air-conditioned theater was chilly. Combined with the darkness, it was the optimum environment for watching a horror movie.
By the time the end credits rolled, I still had no idea what happened in the film. Totsuka patiently waited until all the lines of text finished scrolling, and then we stood almost simultaneously. Basking in the afterglow, I walked out of the theater with a leisurely stride.
"That was so much fun!" exclaimed Totsuka. "But I was screaming the whole time, so my throat's a little dry."
"Yeah, I'm thirsty, too." All that weird anxiety had not only made me thirsty, it had made my shoulders stiff.
We joined the flow of people leaving the theater and continued out the exit, down to where it connected to an outdoor staircase. Having finally begun its decent, the sun was blocked from view by a tower, and a breeze blew across the shadow that gently lay over us.
"You wanna go sit down for a while over there?" I pointed at a café nearby at the bottom of the stairs, and Totsuka nodded. A few of our fellow moviegoers were here and there, but there were still seats available for two people. We walked straight in and quickly ordered at the register.
"Um, iced coffee," I said.
"Oh, I'll have one, too, then," said Totsuka.
"Herm. Then I, too, shall indulge in a chilled coffee."
All three of us ordered iced coffee, so there was no wait. We got our drinks and headed over to occupy a nearby table.
First, I drank a few sips while it was still black, enjoying the essential flavor of the coffee. The crisp bitterness woke up my eyes. Then I added some creamer and liquid sugar. I call this stage Black RX. Yep, I liked it sweet! After moistening our throats, all three of us breathed short, relaxed sighs.
All three of us?
"…Hold on a minute," I said.
"Huh?" said Totsuka.
"Herm?"
Don't give me that. I'm talking about you.
The suspicious, bearlike, trench coat–clad individual was sitting with us like he had every right to be there. Yeah, I'd had the feeling he was around. "Um, who are you again?" I asked. "Was it Shinkiba?"
"It's Zaimokuza, Hachiman." Totsuka actually gave me a serious reply…
"Well, I don't care if he's a Zaimoku or a Kimuraya or what. Where did you crawl out from? Are you one of those bugs that are everywhere? Are you a maize weevil or something?" Or perhaps a varied carpet beetle?
Zaimokuza slurped hard from his straw and raised his head. "Herm. I glimpsed you at the movie theater, and I considered calling out to you, but then I started tracking you and just ended up coming here. Mm-hmm, it seems my active camouflage is in good shape today, as usual."
"I think everyone was just pretending not to see you," I said. Well, the reason I hadn't noticed was because I had eyes only for Totsuka, though.
"I haven't seen you in a while, Zaimokuza," Totsuka said to him.
"I-indeed. Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!" Zaimokuza cackled rather anxiously.
Actually, Totsuka's ability to automatically accept him is downright remarkable. Well, he's capable of talking with me, so I guess it's no wonder he can talk to Zaimokuza, too.
"So you saw the same movie?" I asked.
"That I did," he replied. "But this one was a dud. The unique malice of Japanese horror was missing. 'Twas most pathetic garbage. Fwehheh! Though 'twas but a horror movie, I am rather an eccentric. When I enjoy a film, I see it not as what is oft called a 'Hollywoodized' form of mass entertainment but rather as a work of art. I suppose 'tis the influence of Lafcadio Hearn. Ah-hur-hurr! Whoops, I guess I let you see my in-depth knowledge there. No disrespect, oh no, fluherple! While this may appear to suggest I am an otaku, I am most certainly not an otaku. Lulz!!"
There he goes… M-2 syndrome types like him are unusually knowledgeable regarding the occult, which can be awkward. They have a half-baked understanding of literary types like Yakumo Koizumi and Kyouka Izumi and also some figures in the study of folk custom, like Kunio Yanagita and Shinobu Orikuchi, but they also have the unfortunate habit of compulsively flaunting their knowledge in detail.
I had ignored the last half of Zaimokuza's rambling, but Totsuka had listened intently until the very end. He's so kind, I bet he could get away with charging for it. "You think? I like those kind of movies a lot, though," said Totsuka.
"Indeed. As do I," replied Zaimokuza.
"Huh?!"
Zaimokuza's U-turn was quick and slick. He'd changed his mind so quickly, I could almost see the flash. "Wow," I commented. "You flipflopped like a politician."
"You be silent!" he said. "What did you think of the film, Hachiman?"
"It was all spectacle and easy to follow. Doesn't matter how good it was." I mean, I had been watching Totsuka for the whole film, but I'd still gotten a vague idea of the premise.
"Yeah!" agreed Totsuka. "The things coming out of the screen right in your face were spectacular. They got me every time! I thought my heart would stop!"
I feel like my heart is going to stop right this minute. Before Totsuka and his wild gestures, enthusiastically reenacting those scenes, my heart might wear itself out.
"Well, 'twas no botheration for me, since I no longer experience fear," said Zaimokuza as he began trembling like a leaf. "She Who Must Not Be Named is far more fearsome…foy." He was indeed like Malfoy, quivering in terror before the memory of Lord Voldemort. The only person I could imagine inspiring that much dread in him was Yukinoshita.
"Yeah, true. Yukinoshita is scarier," I said.
"Hachiman, that's a mean thing to say," said Totsuka. "It's true that…at first…um…she did scare me a little…but…" His indignant reprimand gradually deflated. "She acts dignified and serious, so she might come off as scary," he finished.
"She's also so honest, it's terrifying," I said.
"You never know what she's going to say to you," Zaimokuza added.
Well, when you go to watch a movie or something with another person, you're not going to experience it the same way as they would. You might hold similar impressions, but the similarity is proof that something is definitely different. Everyone sees only what they want to see. There are as many interpretations as there are individuals—be they of movies or of people.
That's why it's presumptuous to believe you can really understand something. Acting like you do is a sin; it is evil. But even so, you have no choice but to live your life pretending you do. In life, you must both understand and be understood, while both you and those around you minutely redefine what is you and what is them based on vague knowledge that both you and they will disseminate to everyone else. If you don't do that, your identity will vanish like so much mist. That's just how vague and uncertain identity is. The more you think about it, the less you understand it, like Gestaltzerfall. Every time your images crumble, you pick up what little scraps of remaining information you have and reconstruct your image of you and them. But they are merely primitive and crude images you'll interpret however you can, like the simulacrum phenomenon. If you want to talk horror, that's horror.
I suddenly felt a chill in the air-conditioned café. Hunching my shoulders, I willed myself not to shiver. I picked up my glass and noticed it was empty. As I gave up and put it down, Zaimokuza continued the conversation.
"But 'twas a good breather. Now I can go back to concentrating on my book. Oh yeah, Hachiman, d-do you want to…look at my draft?"
Don't give me that blushy little glance. It's not cute. "If it's actually done," I replied. "Wait—do you have it with you right now?"
"Herm, of course," he said. "He who would be a writer is ready to compose anywhere, at any time. I perpetually have my writing devices close at hand—my laptop, Pomera, tablet, and smartphone." He looked so proud.
Yeah, some guys are like that… They think just collecting all the tools is enough to have done the task.
Totsuka faced Zaimokuza, respect in his eyes. "Then you're always working hard on your book, huh?"
"Oh, I don't know about that," I said. I can confidently assure you Zaimokuza is not working hard at all. The more someone plays the writer and expounds upon creativity, the fewer words they've actually put on a page. I needed to hammer this in, both to caution Totsuka and to prevent him from cultivating a weird sense of admiration for Zaimokuza. Maybe I should hammer some nails into Zaimokuza's head, too.
Zaimokuza seemed to pick up on my disdain, as he was visibly offended. "Ha-fumf! How insolent. I do not want to hear that from you. Are you aught but idle?"
"Hmm. I guess not. I'm just going to summer classes. Then I did that independent research project."
"Huh? Was that part of our homework?" Totsuka panicked. From his expression, he had been relaxing in the knowledge that he'd already finished his summer homework.
"No, my sister's," I replied.
"Oh, Komachi's project, huh?" he said. "You're a good brother, Hachiman."
"Not really. If I were really a good brother, I would have made her do it herself."
"What was the topic of this project?" Zaimokuza asked.
"I just threw together random stuff I found on the Internet."
"Huh?" asked Totsuka. "Are you allowed to do that?"
"Herm," said Zaimokuza. "Well, 'tis meant to be an independent effort, so I doubt a trifle like that would bother them. In fact, if you get too serious about the project, everyone else will think you're weird."
"Yep," I agreed. "Especially because Komachi is a girl. I hear it's best not to get too into this kind of thing." The only thing Komachi had requested about the project is that I should keep it unexceptional and down-to-earth. Come on, that's a cruel request for a guy like me—if I have to, I'll fly higher than Dhalsim. I'll launch myself so high above the stratosphere of what is acceptable, you might as well call me her space brother.
But now that he mentioned it, I do remember one time I put all this effort into an independent research project and then everyone giggled at me for it. I really wish the teacher hadn't displayed it over the cabinets at the back of the classroom.
"Those are always so hard, huh? You can never think of anything original to do," Totsuka said, sounding a little nostalgic.
When you're told you can pick anything, rarely can you actually think of something. I'm not Inventor Boy Kanipan. "That's the real test of your IQ," I said. "In my opinion, there's meaning in testing your creativity and stuff, not just your ability to cram in facts."
"You seem like you'd be good at that, Zaimokuza," said Totsuka. "I mean, since you're aiming to be a writer."
"He doesn't seem like he has a very high IQ, though," I said.
"Herm, well," said Zaimokuza, "I have a high EQ. My sensitivity is very robust."
EQ—that is to say, emotional intelligence. This is just my personal opinion, but I think everyone who brings up EQ when you're talking about IQ, without exception, has low IQ. If they bring up E.T., they're Spielberg. And just so you know, if they bring up ED, then they're Pelé.
"Oh yeah," I added. "And there was that guy who brought his Mini
4WD and said he made it himself." The moment I said that, Zaimokuza's whole body twitched, and he started sweating for some reason. Is this guy a toad or something?
"H-huh? Um, H-H-H-Hachiman, did you go to my elementary school?"
"So, you were one of those kids, huh? And don't get out of character over a little remark like that." Actually, I just want him to get out, period.
"I used to have a Mini 4WD," said Totsuka.
"That's surprising…," I commented.
"Huh? Why? I'm a boy, too." He giggled.
I tried to imagine Totsuka as a boy playing with a Mini 4WD, but for some reason an image of him wearing a baseball hat, T-shirt, and leggings popped into my mind. I bet he was cute. Whoops, correction: He's still cute. They should write that he was cute in times past in Konjaku Monogatari and teach it in schools. "Ha-mumph. But none could match my Brocken G," said Zaimokuza. "I had it outfitted with a real hammer. In a head-on collision, it would destroy any opponent without exception."
"That is the stupidest thing you could do… Ugh, I put a box-cutter blade on my Beak Spider, though, so I can't talk…" I also attached the marking pin from a sewing set onto my Ray Stinger.
"That stuff's dangerous, you know," Totsuka scolded us.
Zaimokuza and I looked at each other. "Relax," I said. "I just played with it all by myself."
"Indeed. Loners hurt no one. They hurt only themselves."
"You're not allowed to hurt yourself!"
"Okay…" With Totsuka glaring at me, I was sincerely sorry.
"H-herm… B-but I can do legitimate tune-ups, too!" Zaimokuza said. "I am swift like the wind in every race!"
I was getting sick of his declarations. "…What? You think you can beat me? Me, and my Beak Spider? With its small one-way wheels, reston sponge tires, and torque-tuned high-speed gears inside a slim and lightweight body for added air cooling; a stabilizer ball for handling high-speed turns; and a converted aluminum downthrust roller? It's theoretically as fast as you can get!" I had always played with it alone, so I'd never tested it out. I mean, my parents never bought me a course for it. I used to make my own with cardboard and stuff, but the car just got caught on the tape and didn't work very well.
Zaimokuza smiled boldly and chuckled. "Heh-heh-heh. Converted aluminum? What utter ignorance… That heavy weight will spell your doom."
"Yeah, right. My Beak Spider's low center of gravity makes it stable. That's where the power comes from."
"Oh-ho…then shall we settle this with a duel?"
Zaimokuza and I faced each other, glaring as hard as we could. I was inches from punching the air in front of me and yelling out Go! Maaaaagnum! Wait, that's Galactica Magnum.
We wordlessly exchanged scowls until the silence between us was broken by a rather unexpected statement.
"Oh, that's so nice!" exclaimed Totsuka. "It's been so long since I last raced. I'd love to do it again! My Avante was pretty fast."
""Avante?!""
Why is his from a different generation?! What refined taste, too! So he's not a mainstream Boomerang or Emperor sort of guy, huh?
…But, well, I guess I shouldn't be too surprised that we're of different generations. It's been years since I last played with my Mini 4WD, but the passion of that era still lives within me. I still pretend my umbrella's a sword after it rains, saving the world over and over in my imaginary world. I'll probably still remember it, even as an adult.
No matter your generation, ultimately, at the root, you don't change. That's why my time as a boy will never end.
4
Unfortunately, nobody knows where
Shizuka Hiratsuka's red thread went.
What is the greatest food of all? Is it curry? Shabu-shabu? Sushi? Soba? Sukiyaki, BBQ, or sweets?
It is none of these. Ramen is the greatest. Ramen.
For a solitary high school boy, it's one of the nearest and dearest. When you're pondering what to eat, ramen is the first thing that comes to mind. You can stop by your usual haunt on the way back from school. You can discover a new place while you're out shopping and wander on in. If you get hungry in the middle of the night, you can boil some water and slurp that cup ramen down.
But to all you couples who go to a ramen shop for a date…
…you guys suck.
Don't take forever blathering to each other at the counter. People are lining up to get in. Do all your mushy stuff at the Starbucks, since you guys love that place so much. Don't share how in love you are at the ramen shop counter. Consider all the people you're forcing to watch as they wait in line right behind you.
Ramen is, at its core, a solitary meal. If you chat, the broth gets cold and the noodles get soggy. That's why Ichiran's "flavor concentration system" is the great invention of the ramen world. They have divisions between every seat at the counter, and they even hang up curtains in front of the kitchen so they can't see the customers from in there. They used to have patent pending written on those division things… I wonder if they got that patent.
I'm getting sidetracked.
Basically, ramen is the food most appropriate for someone of my stature. It is a supreme dish that heals the noble souls of those who persist in the principles of isolation.
That is ramen.
As often happens in summer, I woke up at an awkward time and missed a meal. Some may be of the opinion that, at times like these, one who aspires to be a stay-at-home husband should make something to eat himself. But that is sheer naïveté. A real stay-athome wife hands her husband a five-hundred-yen coin for his lunch and then treats herself to an extravagant lunch with his money. You might call this view narrow-minded, but that's the kind of househusband I want to be. Also, when we divorce, I want a huge settlement.
So, since I aspire to be a stay-at-home husband, I played out the ideal and headed out for an extravagant lunch. I've recently received a windfall, thanks to my alchemy scheme of pocketing the scholarship money from prep school. I'm a full-wallet alchemist. And for lunch that day, I settled on ramen. Once I've made the decision, my stomach will hardly accept anything else.
Chiba is a competitive market for ramen. Matsudo, Chiba city, Tsudanuma, and Motoyawata—every station has its hotspots. And lately, the fancier types like Takeoka-style and Katsuura-style tantanmen have gone national. Well-known shops are an exceptionally safe choice, but once you get used to their food, you really do start wanting to find new places yourself.
When you go out to eat with another person, you compromise and go for what they like. It also makes you want to show off. I know a pretty good place, you know; isn't that amazing? Heh-heh-heh. You can't make a proper adventure of it. But when you're alone, you're not concerned with obligations—you can just march into a shop. This proactivity leads you to new discoveries and helps you develop as a foodie. What I'm saying is, a loner is ever overflowing with that pioneering spirit. We are modern adventurers full of the vigorous desire to take a challenge.
That is why, that day, I decided to go to a ramen shop in my own neighborhood, where I had not yet done much trailblazing. It's always darkest under the lighthouse, as they say, so braving my personal blind spots in the local area was a fantastic strategy. It was an intellectual move, overturning the logic that prevents Tokyo residents from visiting Tokyo Tower.
After a long, jerky bus ride, I arrived near my destination at KaihinMakuhari and set forth. My stride was full of determination.
I would wander around this area on my way home from school, so I'd had my eye on a certain shop for a while now with the intent of giving it a try eventually.
Roasting in the rays of the summer sun, I steadily walked along. The humidity and heat were grating on my nerves, but then a clear sound rang through the area to dispel my irritation. It was the sonorous ding-dong, ding-dong of a church bell.
The area was lined with tall hotels and a large number of wedding venues. The church was one such venue, so it was probably hosting a wedding now. Merriment filled the air, and even out in the street, I could hear voices beyond the fence shouting their congratulations. It was the first time I'd ever seen something like this, so I took a little peek. What I saw was a joyous scene like something out of a photograph.
But wait, what was that? Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed something like a black stain… I rubbed my eyes vigorously and gave the area a hard look. I was not preoccupied with a single spot. I saw everything in its entirety…effortlessly. That is what it means to truly "see," or so I hear. Following the teachings of Oshou Takuan, I gazed intently at the black shadow. Whoever it was, was swathed in garments of black, the sole source of negative energy. The darkness was absorbing all the light around it, bending even the rays of the sun. It was the one spot of wrongness, clinging to that happy display like a grudge and quietly muttering, "Drop dead, amen…"
Oh… I definitely know that person…
"I hope you get married soon, too."
"It'll be your turn next, Shizu!"
"Shizu, Aunt, I found another good one! I think it'll go well this time. Why don't you try meeting him, Shizu?"
"I've started saving for grandchildren, Shizu."
With each comment, the black stain twitched and swayed. The spiritual pressure…disappeared…?
I think I just saw something I shouldn't have. I quickly averted my eyes, pretending to be none the wiser, and began walking away. But you must never forget…When you gaze into the void, the void will gaze back at you…
All of a sudden, the one I was watching yelled, "H-Hikigaya!"
The nearby middle-aged couples peered in my direction. I found myself bowing, and they bowed back. What the heck are we doing? Does this count as meeting the parents? Do I have no choice now but to take responsibility, marry her, and have her support me?
The dark blemish on the proceedings turned to the couples and rapidly explained, "Th-that over there is one of my problem kids! Ththis is work! J-just so you know!" Heels clicking on the sidewalk, the shadow ran toward me. "Hikigaya! Perfect timing! What a relief!" said the black stain—who was actually a pretty lady in a black dress, now that I saw her up close—as she grasped my hand, gleefully vacating the premises.
"Huh? Hey, um…" When a pretty older woman grabs your hand, can you do anything besides obediently following along? We walked for a while until we rounded a corner, entered a park, and stopped.
The lady breathed a visible sigh of relief. "I managed to get away for now." Her black party dress hugged the smooth curves and contours of her body, and a fur collar brilliantly decorated the white nape of her neck. Her hair, in an updo, was a glamorous pitch-black that could have been made for that dress. Her hand, grasping mine through black gloves that matched the dress, was surprisingly soft. "Um…," I said.
"Hmm? Oh, sorry to do this out of the blue." The posh beauty gave me a broad smile and drew me to a bench, taking out a cigarette and tapping it to pack the tobacco inside. It was jarring, considering her appearance. Like something an old man would do. The cigarette sizzled as she ignited it with a hundred-yen lighter. Smoke slowly trailed upward from the tip.
I'd been really confused before since she looked so different from usual, but seeing her in this state, there was no mistaking Shizuka Hiratsuka, the teacher advisor for the Service Club.
Whoa. When she gets all dressed up, she's really pretty. "Um, was it okay for you to slip out?" I asked. "That was a wedding, right?"
"I don't care," she replied. "I already gave my gift."
"But won't there be an after-party and stuff?"
"What's gotten into you? You're being surprisingly considerate."
"No, I mean, it's an important event for meeting men—"
Miss Hiratsuka snorted. "It's my cousin's wedding, so it's not like I'm a guest." She averted her eyes sadly and, with her cigarette still in her mouth, muttered, "I didn't really want to go in the first place. My cousin is younger than me, so I knew he'd be walking on eggshells and my aunts would be constantly making a fuss about getting married. My parents won't shut up about it, either… Seriously, paying money to go to a wedding just to have your family rag on you isn't worth it…" She blew out smoke with a long, long sigh and crushed the cigarette in her hand.
I don't really have anything to say to that…
An odd moment passed before she spoke again, as if she was attempting to pull herself together. "What were you doing around here?"
"I was thinking I'd go have some ramen."
"Ramen! Do people do that?" Suddenly, Miss Hiratsuka was sounding enthusiastic, and her dead eyes sparked with life. "Now that I think of it, after I checked in and everything, I totally didn't get a chance to eat… Perfect. I'll go with you."
"Well, if you want, I guess. It's this way," I said, taking the lead at a steady pace. Miss Hiratsuka followed, heels tapping. C'mon, she's dressed way too fancy for this! Everyone's looking!
We came out at a fairly crowded street and encountered a storm of furtive glances from our fellow pedestrians. Miss Hiratsuka's clothing was so fancy, and I mean, she was pretty, so I guess people just couldn't help it. The woman in question didn't seem to care, though, and talked to me the same way she always did. "I've heard you were advising a future Soubu High student," she said. "I'm impressed to hear you've been continuing your Service Club activities during the break. Quite impressed indeed."
"That's not really what happened. And how did you know?" She does the scariest stuff with zero hesitation…
"Your sister told me."
"Since when are you two best friends?" Komachi has encircled me with a net composed of every single one of my acquaintances. It's staggering. Does she have a full ABCD encirclement going on here? Am I gonna be okay? A: Asinine Yuigahama. B: Bonk-to-the-Head Hiratsuka. C: Cute Komachi. D: …Damn, what was her name again? Something-nokawa? In absence of a trade bloc, I must resist them with a mental block.
"She's a good sister," said Miss Hiratsuka. "I almost wish I had a little sister like that. Oh, and I'm not trying to imply anything by saying that, of course."
"Considering the age gap between you and Komachi, she could be your daughter," I cackled.
"Hikigaya…"
Oh, crap. She's gonna punch me! I reflexively closed my eyes shut and braced myself. But the expected fist never came. Curious, I opened my eyes to see a very dejected Miss Hiratsuka. "Those jokes are a little too much right now."
"I-I'm sorry!" Hurry! Hurry, someone! Marry this woman! If someone doesn't do it fast, I'll end up marrying her myself. Someone do something. Please.
August was coming to a close, but it was still too hot to be out and about. The rays of the sun streaming down gradually heated my skin. But the area was facing the coastal road, and the breeze blowing through offered some relief. Even lining up outside the ramen shop wasn't too uncomfortable.
It would probably take a little longer before we could get into the shop, but I had no trouble, since I'm good at wasting time. I'm also good at wasting other peoples' reputations and laying waste to bubble wrap. These facts would probably lead you to predict I would also be good at wasting office noobs once I'm employed, but noobs are cute, so no way am I getting a job.
I started people-watching. Like the guy in front of us who had been chatting at high volume like his life depended on it for a while, or the two guys behind us who looked like university students and reminded me of a guy and a girl on a date. When I got bored of that, I started fantasizing about what would happen if I opened up a ramen shop and it got popular and I ended up on TV, and how I would respond. First of all, when I drained the noodles, I would whirl them around, call the move Tsubame Gaeshi, and then tell everyone it was a family trade secret. When my shop got even more popular, I'd open up a ramen academy and extort money out of white-collar workers dreaming of leaving the rat race. As I was busy zoning out and weaving my ridiculous fantasy, I heard a soft sigh that could have been a chuckle.
"What?" I asked.
When I directed my attention to the source of the sound, Miss Hiratsuka spoke with a wry smile. "Oh, I'm just surprised. I thought for sure you'd hate crowds and lines."
"I do hate them. Chaotic crowds, anyway. Lines, though, they've got a proper system. Some idiots out there like to cut in, though."
I actually don't really mind lines. I think the reason most people hate them is because they feel they're wasting time. When you consider all the urban legends about couples who break up during dates at Destiny Land, you can only presume that frustration with the lines and the ensuing difference in values must have surfaced and driven them to it. But I always have a ludicrous amount of time on my hands, and my abundantly overflowing power of imagination staves off any boredom. Besides, typically, I'm on my own. A steel heart like mine does not waver in the face of a mere queue. But disorderly mobs? They're full of people who can't follow the rules and have no manners. I can't stand looking at them or having them come near me. I just can't.
"You're more fastidious than I imagined," Miss Hiratsuka commented with surprise.
"Not really. I'm not good at cleaning up and stuff." My room is actually pretty dirty. If you labeled it Urbanization or The Future of the World and displayed it at an art gallery, it would be highly valued after my death.
"I'm not talking about cleanliness or hygiene," she said. "I'm talking about your ideals. Though ultimately, they all revolve around you."
"That's just a technical way of saying I'm a selfish, egocentric bastard."
"It is a compliment. Cultivating a proper internal standard of judgment is a good thing."
The amiable gaze she leveled at me was uncomfortable. That hadn't been my intent at all, of course. I turned away from her, quietly muttering, "I just hate rowdy people."
When they're all like, Ohh, this is sooo much fun or This is the best time of our lives! or whatever, who exactly are they trying to convince? To the introvert, who knows how to enjoy himself quietly through reading or gaming at home, their emphasis on fun, fun, fun sounds groundless, in a way. I disagree that the volume of your voice and the number of people in a gathering is a good metric for fun, and I hate people who are deluded into thinking it is. Maybe they see crowds and events as the ideal time to emphasize that belief, since that's when they're at their worst. I can't stand to watch how fake and phony it all is. How come you can't prove you're having fun— prove that you're right—all by yourself?
If they're going to take pride in that attitude, they need that validation because they lack conviction. Somewhere, their rational selves are asking, Is this really fun? And in an attempt to erase that doubt, they deny it verbally. This is so much fun! What a party! This is awesome! So epic! They say it out loud. They raise their voices and yell it.
I don't want to be a part of that crowd. I don't want to turn into a phony hypocrite.
"I guess you won't be able to go to the fireworks show, then," said Miss Hiratsuka, cutting my train of thought short.
"Fireworks?"
"Yeah. You know the one I mean, right? At the Port Tower. You're not going?" she asked.
I remembered, now that she mentioned it. The Port Tower fireworks display was a big event synonymous with summer. I've gone before when I was a kid. I don't think I cared much about the fireworks. I'd totally been in it for the food stalls. They don't feel that important when you live around here, since there's fireworks at the stadium when they do night games, and Destiny Land has fireworks all year long. "I don't have any particular plans to go. Are you going, though?" I asked her in return.
She breathed a long sigh. "It's part of the job during summer vacation. It's more like I'm going there to watch people, not fireworks."
Wondering what she was talking about, I silently prompted her to explain.
"I'm being sent out to keep an eye on the students," she said. "I do it for festivals, too. They always make the young teachers handle that sort of legwork. Well, they got me there! Ha-ha-ha-ha! You know, because I'm a young teacher."
"Someone sure sounds happy," I muttered, but I guess she didn't hear.
Seemingly in a good mood, Miss Hiratsuka continued. "We can't have any of our students getting out of control. It's a municipal event, so a lot of bigwigs attend."
"Oh? Bigwigs?"
"Yes. Yukinoshita's family will probably be there."
Yeah, I suppose you could call the Yukinoshita family regional celebrities, what with her dad being in the prefectural assembly and having a local business. Maybe they're even backing the event in some way or another. It would be natural to invite them, in that case.
"Speaking of which," I said, "was Haruno your student?"
"Hmm? Oh yeah. You guys entered just as she left, huh? She's a Soubu High School alum. I'm impressed you remembered."
If she had left just as we entered, that meant she was three years older, which would make her nineteen or twenty. So she graduated two years ago, huh…?
"Her grades were top-notch, generally speaking, and she excelled at everything she tried. And with those looks, most of the boys treated her like a goddess."
That sure reminded me of a certain someone. Well, that one is more like a witch than a goddess, though. A goddess and a witch… While they were fundamentally the same thing, you'd see one as good and the other as evil depending on your religious view, I bet. The idea fit my image of them perfectly.
"But…" Miss Hiratsuka trailed off, pausing for a moment. With a bitter expression, she continued, "She was not a model student."
"She got good grades, didn't she?"
"She did. But it was only her grades that were good. She was loud in class, she would hike up her skirt and unbutton the top of her blouse, and I'd always see her at fireworks shows and festivals, like I just mentioned. She was always running from place to place looking for fun. Which means she had lots of friends."
Yeah, I could easily imagine her being like that. She was cheerful and willful, and her free nature would most certainly draw people to her.
"But even that was…" Miss Hiratsuka failed to continue, so I finished her sentence.
"You mean that was a mask, too?"
"Oh, so you noticed." Miss Hiratsuka was impressed. Or rather, she was smirking like she was sharing a naughty secret.
"You can tell just by looking at her."
"You're quite insightful."
I guess. It's the boon of my dad's special training for nurturing useless bastards.
"That facade is part of her appeal, though. People who figure out that it's a mask start to like her schemes and stubbornness." "So she's got charisma," I said.
Miss Hiratsuka nodded. "When she was on the committee for the cultural festival, we had the most participants in school history. She didn't just get students involved; the teachers got in on it, too. They dragged me out and made me play the bass." She grimaced as if the memory was unpleasant. Huh, I guess she does have a similar hairstyle as that other bass player. I thought we were talking about something-On for a moment there…
"For sisters, those two really are different, though," I said. If Yukino Yukinoshita was like a graduate student who threw herself into her studies, Haruno Yukinoshita was like some university-going thought leader (LOL). Just so you know, I really hate terms like thought leader and lifespiration and networking guru. Normies (LOL) love words like these. Don't use such strong words. They just make you look weak.
"Yeah." Miss Hiratsuka nodded, but then she folded her arms in thought. "But I'm not saying she should be like Haruno. She just needs to develop her own fortes."
"Fortes?"
"I said it before, didn't I? That's she's kind and generally in the right."
Miss Hiratsuka had indeed appraised her as such in the past. I think she had also said that it would make her life difficult because the world is unkind and full of wrongs. And Yukinoshita is indeed right in most cases. I'm still a little skeptical about the kindness part, but, well, just because someone isn't gentle doesn't mean they're unkind.
I don't need kindness, though. I'd rather be coddled. Maybe strictness is its own form of kindness, but I don't want any of that, no thank you. I guess Miss Hiratsuka is the tough-love type, too, huh? I thought, glancing at her.
She was watching me with a warm expression. "You're the same." She flashed a smile at me, but I couldn't figure out what she meant.
"The same as what?"
"You're also kind and accurate with your judgments. Those qualities in you tend to clash with hers, though."
That was the first time anyone had ever told me that. But I wasn't really happy to hear it. I've always believed in my own kindness and correctness. S-so i-it's not like this makes me happy at all, okay?!
"Two truths running counter to each other? Isn't that contradictory? Like Conan always says, 'There is only one truth,'" I said, in an attempt to hide my embarrassment.
"Unfortunately, I'm more into the future boy than the boy detective." Miss Hiratsuka warded off my remark with a cold smile.
How old is she, seriously?
We finally got into the ramen shop and went to buy food tickets at the vending machine. In the spirit of ladies first, I let Miss Hiratsuka go on ahead of me. When you're going somewhere dangerous or unfamiliar for the first time, you have to let the lady go first to make sure it's safe!
Miss Hiratsuka pushed the tonkotsu button with zero hesitation. It was so manly of her, I almost fell in love right there. After making her purchase, she turned back to me, still gripping her wallet. Come on, hurry up and get out of the way.
"What do you want?" she asked.
Oh, so she was planning to pay for me. Now I even want to call her "Bro." I was flattered, but I felt like it would be a bad idea to accept. "N-no, I'll pay for myself."
"No need to be polite."
"I'm not trying to be polite. There's just no reason for you to treat me," I said.
Miss Hiratsuka tilted her head curiously. "Hmm? I thought you were a rotten, sleazy guy who'd expect the woman to pay as a matter of course."
What a cruel thing to say. "That would make me a leech! I don't want to be a leech. I want to be a stay-at-home husband!"
"I—I don't understand the difference." Miss Hiratsuka was astonished.
Actually, I don't really understand the difference, either. But stay-athome husband sounds better than leech, doesn't it? Besides, it seems unwise for a teacher to buy meals and stuff for a preferred student. Fortune would favor refusing.
I copied Miss Hiratsuka and chose tonkotsu, then went up and took the seat next to her at the counter. No sooner had I produced my ticket than she was specifying to the staff the firmness of the noodles. "I'll take it semiraw," she said.
"Oh, then I'll take mine extrafirm," I added. But, like…do women normally do this cool ordering routing at ramen shops?
There's a deep charm to the image of a modern beauty at a ramen shop. Miss Hiratsuka was receiving an unusual amount of attention, but she didn't seem bothered by it as she cheerfully set up the paper apron provided at the counter and scouted out the black pepper, white sesame, leaf mustard, and pickled red ginger. Whoa, she's getting way too into this.
The boil time for both our noodles was quite short, so the ramen came right away. Miss Hiratsuka took a set of disposable chopsticks and put her hands together.
"Thanks for the food."
"Thanks for the food."
First, the broth. The film of oil floating on the surface was smooth like white porcelain. You could see the creaminess. The seasonings canceled out the stink of the thick, rich broth that defined tonkotsu. Next, the noodles. As thick as the soup was, the noodles were thin and straight. The slightly firm texture gave each bite good balance.
"Yeah. This is good." I voiced my simple impression, and then we both slurped our noodles in silence, drinking the broth with relish. The cloud-ear mushrooms and green onions were a beautiful complement, with the texture of a flounder dancing on your tongue.
With about a quarter of the noodles left, Miss Hiratsuka ordered some more and then spoke to me. "About what we discussed earlier…"
"Yeah?"
"About how you're fastidious." When her extra noodles came, she added some leaf mustard. She was smiling. I guess Miss Hiratsuka was getting excited as her customized ramen approached her ideal flavor. "Eventually, I think a time will come when you'll be more tolerant."
"Uh-huh." I gave her a noncommittal reply as I tossed raw garlic into my bowl.
"It's just like ramen." Miss Hiratsuka proudly showed off her completed Shizuka Special and continued. "When I was younger, I thought tonkotsu was the ultimate. Fat was true flavor, and I wouldn't accept anything but rich soup. But then you grow, and you learn how to tolerate light salt and soy sauce broths."
"I-isn't that just you getting old?"
"Did you say something?"
"No…" She's reeeally glaring at me now…
After a momentary scowl, Miss Hiratsuka caught me off guard with another smile. "Well, whatever. You don't have to tolerate those things right now. If you can one day, that's enough."
I think she understands my conflicts and doubts. But even so, she isn't pointing me toward any concrete answers. Not that I can answer anything right now, anyway.
"Not to say that you'll be able to tolerate everything. I hate tomatoes, so I still can't stand tomato noodles."
"You do?"
"Yeah, I can't stand how squishy they are, and they kinda taste like grass."
What a kid. But I get her point. For people who hate tomatoes, the gooeyness of the flesh and the seedy bits is its own form of torture. It's a little gory-looking, too.
"I hate cucumber for similar reasons," she added.
"I'm not so fond of them, either." Nope, I don't like kyuuri. I do like Kiryuu Bannanchiten, though, and Pepsi Ice Cucumber. "Plus, those damn cucumbers sneak into potato salad and sandwiches and make it all taste like cucumber…" I'm okay with them cut into sticks raw or dipped in miso. If they're by themselves, you can avoid them. But the moment you cut them into round slices, that's when they go on the attack… They marinate every single flavorful item in their cucumbery taste. And they're not even that nutritious, either. They're the predators of the vegetable world.
"They're good as pickles, though," noted Miss Hiratsuka. It was something a heavy drinker would say. "I could go for some right now."
I could agree with that. "Yeah, I'd love a few." Yes, indeed. Pickles are good. Very refreshing. Best of all, you can eat piles of rice accompanied by nothing but pickled vegetables. It's heavenly.
"…"
For some reason, the conversation trailed off there, and silence fell upon us. Confused, I looked at Miss Hiratsuka. Had she misheard me or something? She looked totally dazed. When her eyes met mine, she sucked down her water in a sudden panic. "Oh, right, p-pickles. Mm-hmm. M-me too. I…l-love them."
"Uh, it kind of makes me embarrassed when you stammer like that, so please stop."
"…Wh-what are you talking about? More importantly…what was I talking about?"
Is she okay? Maybe she should do some brain exercises right now, like a multiplication sheet. Time for some antiaging magic! All I remember talking about are tomatoes and cucumbers, though.
Miss Hiratsuka's chopsticks moved with nimble cheer. "I'll give you some char siu."
"Thanks. Then I'll give you my menma."
She chuckled. "Thanks."
"At your age, you need the fiber."
"Part of that sentence was unnecessary."
"Ow!" I rubbed the new bump on my head as I ate.
It seemed Miss Hiratsuka had taken a liking to this ramen. She was smiling with satisfaction. "Now that you've found me such a good shop, though, I feel like I have to show you one, too."
"Any recommendations?"
"Yeah. When I was a student, I knocked out most of the ramen shops in the Chiba city area. But as a teacher, I can't really be going out a lot with a student. I'll show you around once you've graduated."
"Oh, no, I don't need you to come. You can just tell me where it is." Crack.
The sound of something snapping struck me as particularly loud, even in this busy shop.
"Whoops, I broke my chopsticks."
"Please, I'd love it if you took me…" I don't think chopsticks usually break in your hands…
"Mm-hmm. Look forward to it," she said. I think she was the one looking forward to it.
Ramen tastes all right when you're eating it with someone else. It's good when you're alone and with good company.
It's settled: Ramen is the greatest food. You can't convince me otherwise.
5
Komachi Hikigaya considers that one day, her brother may leave.
It was approaching mid-August, about the time when that summer vacation feeling begins to fade. When I counted the days I had left, melancholy washed over me. It gave the words an eerie ring to them as they came out of my mouth, like the ghost in "Bancho Sarayashiki." August fiiiiirst… August seeeecond… I'm short two moooooonths! Frankly, I wanted about three more months.
I crossed off one more day on the fridge calendar with the dismay of counting down the days until the world was destroyed. If I put a circle on the calendar, that would be Takoyaki Manto Man. There were only two weeks of summer vacation left. Hey, did you do a time leap? I put my finger on the calendar one more time to make sure.
Seriously, did I just count it wrong or something? That's when something crawled up to my feet.
"…What?" I looked down to see the family cat, Kamakura, gazing up at me with displeasure.
We stared at each other for a few seconds. Then Kamakura snorted and flopped down on top of my feet. You're in the way, dude. He seemed to be demanding attention.
Come to think of it, Komachi had constantly been with Sablé for the past two or three days. I guess Kamakura wasn't happy about that and was compelled to come to me instead. I sat down on the floor with an oof and started giving him some full-body petting. At first, I slowly stroked him from head to tail in the direction of his fur. After a while, he started purring, so I began rubbing around with my fingers like a gentle massage. Kamakura closed his eyes, huffing in pleasure. He seemed pretty tired.
Well, no surprise there. The entire time Sablé had been with us, he had been chasing Kamakura around. Even here at our house, Sablé ran here and there and everywhere with the unbridled restlessness typical of a small dog. And this seemed to have been his first encounter with a cat. Sablé was extremely curious about Kamakura and charged at him as if to say, Play with me! And every time, Kamakura would run someplace Sablé couldn't reach, like on top of the fridge or behind a dresser.
And to make it worse, Sablé drew Komachi's attention away from Kamakura by bothering her nonstop with one thing or another, leaving the cat with no choice but to come to me. Sorry I'm your only option.
"Well, you know. Just put up with him and let him have his way until the end of the day today… You're the older brother, you know." I gave Kamakura a speech rather like the one I'd received when I was little. I don't know how old Sablé is, but Kamakura has a longer history in the Hikigaya household, so that gives him seniority. Like a younger performer with a longer career might have.
After my attempt at persuasion, Kamakura slapped his tail on the floor: his grudging reply. Sorry.
I continued stroking his fur, smooshing his paws, and fluffing up his tummy. That's when the door to the living room opened.
"Bro! …Oh-ho, what a rare combo."
Hearing my name, I lifted my head to see Komachi with Sablé in her arms. Hey, how is it rare to see a cat with his master? What are you trying to say here? "I've got something of an affinity for cats," I said.
"You do come off as kinda feline."
I don't know what she meant by that. Am I really territorial or something? But I deliberately chose to interpret her remark positively. "I suppose. I am indeed the king of beasts."
"Uhhh… Sure, I guess."
"Why suddenly no comment? Don't give me that pitying look. Didn't you know? Male lions don't do any work at all." "You really are the king of beasts!" she cried.
"Right?" I gave a triumphant snort.
Sablé yipped from Komachi's arms as if in reply. Kamakura snorted a funsu! and stood from where he was sprawled over my feet. He yawned wide like a catbus and wandered off. As he took his leave, he swished his tail back and forth just as if he were waving a hand. I watched him go with a hint of a wry smile on my face.
"So did you want something?" I asked, pushing myself to my feet.
Komachi replied with a start as if just remembering what she'd come here for. "Oh! Yeah, yeah. Lend me your phone, Bro."
"All right, but what for?"
"Hmm, well, I heard there's this app called Dog-lingual? You have your dog bark into it, and it tells you how he feels!"
"Huh. So that's a thing?" Sounds handy. They should come up with a Human-lingual. What people say doesn't necessarily reflect what they actually feel, after all.
"Come on, come on!" Komachi urged me, so I picked up the phone I'd left on the table. My fingers slid skillfully along the phone's surface until the download screen opened. Among the listed apps, there was not only Dog-lingual but also a Cat-lingual.
"Oh, get the Cat-lingual while you're at it," said Komachi.
"Righto." I downloaded the Dog-lingual app and the Cat-lingual app as instructed. "Here." I launched Dog-lingual and handed it to Komachi.
She put down the dog and tried out the app immediately. "Come on! Come on, Sablé! Say something!"
"Yip!" (Play with me!)
"Well, I guess that's it." The message displayed in the Dog-lingual app was about what I'd expected. That was a fairly normal doggy desire.
Komachi continued to keep the app turned toward Sablé. Sablé, like his owner, was good at picking up on what other people wanted, I guess, since he diligently barked into the phone.
"Yip!" (Play with me!)
"Yip!" (Play with me!)
"Yip!" (Play with me!)
"Yip!" (Play with me!)
Huh? What's going on? Is this just copy-paste?
"Maybe it's broken, Bro," said Komachi.
"No, I haven't used that phone enough to break it." Maybe I could bark like a dog to test it. If Dog-lingual displayed something else, it would mean the app was working fine. I promptly began howling toward the future.
"Bowwow!" (I do not want to get a job, that I do not!)
Terrifyingly accurate. Not even an expert could translate that so elegantly. "Looks like it isn't broken after all."
"Yeah, you're what's broken here, Bro." Komachi was beyond exasperated; she had nearly given up. She had the enlightened expression of a high monk.
I would like everyone in my family to know that even I am a little hurt when my own flesh and blood looks at me with such warmth. "…Anyway, he says he wants to play," I said.
"Hmm. I guess he needs to go on a walk, then," she replied.
"Yeah, go on, then." Then I wouldn't have to hear him yipping at me for a while. He's cute, but it's obnoxious when he's running around the house 24/7.
"Then get me the leash. "
"Yeah, yeah." I did as Komachi said, pulling Sablé's leash from the implements Yuigahama had left to us.
"Thanks. Okay, then put it on him. I'll hold him still." Komachi grabbed Sablé and clung to him as if to say, Leave this to me; you go on ahead! While she had him still, I attached his leash.
"Okay, is this fine?" I asked, swinging the hand grip back and forth.
Komachi nodded in satisfaction. "Yeah. All right, then let's go walk this dog!" She pointed at the door with her whole arm.
"You're telling me to do it?" I asked.
"More like I'm walking you. If I don't do this, you'll never leave the house."
Well, that's true. They don't call me Hikki for nothing. I let out a deep sigh, emphasizing with my whole body and soul how much I didn't want to go. But Komachi didn't seem to care one whit, prodding me in the back as she urged me.
"Come on, come on. I'll go with you."
The sun had already descended, and in the wash of ink over the indigo sky, the white moon was drawing its bow. The area I live in is quiet, the sort of residential block with a one-generation-old look you'll find in any city, but you can find a smattering of fields by the river that runs along the main road, and the street is lined with where farmers live and work. A long time ago—when my mother was young, so about thirty years ago, I guess—there were apparently fireflies around here, by the river and fields. In other words, there aren't anymore. Why do the fireflies die so quickly?
As I recalled what she'd told me, I looked out over the paddies, thinking maybe I'd see one.
Something rustled. A passing wind bowed the ears of rice. After a plentiful shower of sun during the day and sucking up water and nutrients from the ground, the rice was full and ripe. It was as if the wind was pushing its way through the field. When I was little, I used to think it looked like the work of something supernatural.
I don't see any fireflies or spirits now.
Why is it that people are so taken in by nostalgia? People claim, It used to be better or The good old days or Oh, this reminds me of the Showa era! The older it is, the more of a positive light people are prone to seeing it in. They think fondly of the past and yearn for olden times, or they lament and mourn what has changed, what has been changed. Doesn't that mean that, fundamentally, change is cause for sadness? Are growth, evolution, and transition really so joyous, right, and wonderful? Even if you don't change, the world and everything around you will. What if everyone is just desperately chasing after the crowd because they don't want to be left behind?
When there is no change, no sadness comes into the world. In my opinion, preventing the birth of something negative has serious advantages, even if it means nothing is born at all. If you check your balance sheet and you're not in the red, then you're heading in the right direction, economically speaking.
That is why I won't rule out the option of never changing. I have absolutely no intention of denying who I was in the past or who I am in the present. Change is, ultimately, about running away from your current situation. If you choose not to run, you should stay the same; you should stand firm right there. There are things to be gained from not changing. It's like how you'll learn moves faster if you cancel evolution with the B button. I answered that question for myself at some point… I feel like it was a long time ago.
Komachi was holding the leash as if she enjoyed the feeling of being tugged along. "Hey, hey, watch out. There's a car." The vehicle skimmed by us.
Sablé snorted and sniffed some grass, then began scarfing it down. Both dogs and cats eat grass like this so they can cough up hairballs, so this is a necessary process on walks. Komachi and I stopped, waiting there for Sablé to finish literally chewing the scenery.
Komachi compared me and Sablé, then gave me a pleased smile.
"Man, it's been so long since we last went for a walk together." "Yeah." It had indeed been quite a while since we had gone out strolling together. I tend to prefer spending my time at home, so unless we have a clear goal like shopping or a pet show, I don't walk around with Komachi very often.
Sablé tugged at the leash, and Komachi smiled at him. "Okeydoke. Let's go." Sablé yipped in response and launched into the characteristic hoppity-hop walk of the miniature dachshund. I followed after them.
So many lights intermingled—the faint afterglow in the western sky, the evenly spaced streetlamps coming on at once, and the sundry lights of each house. In the slowly dimming town, the currents of people flowed in various directions: salarymen heading home, housewives going shopping for dinner, elementary schoolers running alongside their bicycles with friends, middle schoolers chatting at the convenience store on the way back from clubs, high schoolers just going to hang out, and mothers going to pick up their children. The scene was filled with the type of nostalgia and warmth you often take for granted.
"It's a blessing to have someone there to welcome you home," Komachi murmured.
"Yeah, I guess. Not in every single circumstance, though."
"Wow, you really are a killjoy," said Komachi, clearly fed up with me.
But hey, I mean, there are exceptions to every rule. I might be like, Oh, there's no one here to welcome me home…, but if some random hippo suddenly showed up to greet me and recommend me some mouthwash, I would not feel blessed at all.
"You may be a killjoy, but I'm still happy when you welcome me home." Komachi looked away from me toward Sablé.
As her pace slackened, I passed by her. I had to have her behind me, or she'd see my face relaxing into a smile. "I don't really do it for you, though. I just happen to be there, okay?" I retorted, embarrassed, and there was the slightest pause.
"Still. It's nice," she said warmly, and without thinking, I turned around. Komachi closed her eyes and put one hand to her chest. As if to confirm the faint but gradually warming heat, she spoke each word slowly. "That just now was Admirable and Noble Little Sister Komachi showing off her cuteness." Her smile was the fakest one I'd seen all summer.
"Uh-huh…" So obnoxious… I straightened my shoulders out of their droop and started walking again, leaving Sablé and Komachi behind.
Good grief, she's really not cute when it comes to the important stuff. Usually, she's cute. Supercute.
Komachi kicked a pebble with the toe of her sandal and gazed up at the flickering stars just beginning to shine. "While you were away in the hospital, Kaa was there for me, anyway. He actually comes to the door for me."
"He doesn't come to the door for me. He just looks down at me from the veranda."
"That's just him being disagreeable to hide how much he cares," Komachi joked, giggling. "It's a rough life being surrounded by you hinedere types."
"That again? I'm not secretly soft and caring." In fact, I'm not disagreeable, either. On the contrary, there's no one more upright than me. I just seem twisted despite my respectable life because the world is so warped and distorted.
"Well, it's nice to have someone welcome me home, hinedere or not." This time, she was chuckling.
"What? I'm not gonna be around forever. You've gotta let go of your brother's apron strings."
"Huh…? You're gonna move out, Bro?" Komachi stopped in place and turned to look at me. Gone was that manufactured, pasted-on smile. Now, she looked like she'd been shot all of a sudden.
"Of course not. I'd never leave without a reason."
"That's a relief…"
"Living at home is so easy, it's great. I'll take unemployment to the limit. It's just how I roll."
"…or not. I'm anxious about your future…" Komachi held her head in her hands.
I put my hand over hers and gave her head a gentle thump. "I can live at home while I'm going to school, and I plan to pick a university I can commute to. I'm not leaving unless something drastic happens." If I can get into the university in Chiba city, the commute is an hour or so, and that's good enough. Well, if it was the campus in Kanagawa or Tama, I'd have to do some thinking. And Tokorozawa… That place is so remote, I'd need to go in heavily armored.
"I think that's kinda weird for a guy your age. Don't you want to move out at all?"
"Eh, not really," I said. "Our parents are pretty laissez-faire, and they both work, so I get time to myself. There isn't really anything inconvenient about it."
"…Or so he justified it to himself, but in truth, he just didn't want to move out because he'd be too lonely if he lived apart from Komachi."
"What's with the weird monologue?" Ha-ha-ha, don't be so stupid, ha-ha-ha. "There's just no benefit in living on my own. It costs money, and I'd have to spend time and effort doing chores. How can you do chores when you don't get anything for it, anyway? Don't you know the principle of equivalent exchange?"
The Hikigaya family isn't on bad terms. Our dad is completely worthless, but really it's just his ideas and everything he says that's garbage. I don't really have any complaints about him aside from that. I've never seriously considered moving out, so in that sense, I have no real desire for independence. Not without reason, anyway. Well, I guess people who live alone must have reasons for what they do.
"Oh, you!" said Komachi. "We all know you're actually so lonely!"
"Huh? What is this loneliness you speak of? Is it something you'll go check out, something you'll go find in your neighborhood Akihabara?" I don't experience that kind of emotion. I'm the type who loves his alone time more than anything else, so to me, loneliness is my wonderful something.
"I'd be lonely, though."
She totally ignored my joke. Ngh, I guess it was a little forced! Komachi was dribbling the conversation right past me like a pro soccer player, so I dropped the joke and went with it. "Well, maybe you would be, but I—"
"I'm not just talking about you. I mean, Yukino lives alone, doesn't she? I wonder about her… I wonder if she's okay." She seemed to be implying that perhaps even Yukino Yukinoshita experiences a touch of loneliness in her life. Though Yukinoshita conducted herself in an absolutely perfect manner, she occasionally revealed her fragility. Or perhaps you could call whatever it was a sense of transience. Not that I understand what that means yet, though.
"And…," Komachi continued, "I think the people who get left behind feel lonely, too."
…Yeah, that was true. I wonder why I thought the only one who would be lonely is the person who leaves, even though the people left behind would surely feel the same. If Komachi were to get married and move out, I know I'd blubber like a baby.
Komachi tugged the leash to prompt Sablé to get going. I took over the leash as if taking a baton from her.
"Bro?"
"You must be tired. I'll handle it."
She was obviously not going to be tired from walking such a tiny dog. Only an extremely feeble girl would be tired out by that. Komachi gave me a curious look before breaking into a sudden smile. "Yeah, thanks. I'll make sure you don't wander off anywhere," she said, squeezing my hand.
"I said I'm not going anywhere. I'll stay at home until I get married off."
"…Does 'married off' really apply to househusbands, too?"
"Then until I get married on."
"Well, I guess…it doesn't really matter."
It's been so long since we last took this path, and the town has changed from how it used to be. Let's go the long way around and head home.
Right when dinner was just about ready, the doorbell rang. Komachi was standing in front of a pot on the stove, so I decided to get it instead. I could see Yuigahama on the intercom screen, cheerfully adjusting her hair. I figured she was there to pick up Sablé. Once I'd checked the intercom, I went out to let her in.