Denpa Onna to Seishun Otoko Chapter 2

The unmoving Chikuwa lay there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“……Waah?”

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

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

“That’s good; my target is to achieve a ‘gap-moe’ character – do you know what ‘moe’ is? [1]

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

“For example, a “she could defeat Rikidouzan[2], even though she’s my aunt!” kind of character.”

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

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

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

The light gla.s.s reflected my face – my eyelids looked very heavy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a stream of refres.h.i.+ng words, I brushed over my wavering heart.

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

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

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

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

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

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

… But something else was also being prepared.

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

“….Oh.” I stole a glance to my right.

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

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

“Ahaha! As expected of a boy~”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“My, are you proposing?”

“I'm not talking about the bulb of a hyacinth[3]!”

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

“Meme-san, you lied.”

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

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

“Lie? “Makoto Exposes a Lie!” looks pretty cool on paper!” [4]

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

“...You don’t live alone.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Can you prove it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then, please tell enlighten me.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I slapped the roll instead of the table.

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

And thus, the blanket roll retaliated.

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

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

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

“EEEitsalevelfourcontactttselfdefenseinitiated!”

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

“Pardon?[5]” I stuck my ear closer to the source of this voice, hoping for a repeat.

“EEeyaa…”

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

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

“MissingEEEsentientttobeservationeasilydisallowedtoUUUme.”

I couldn’t comprehend. I couldn’t even tell what she was saying. Though it is anybody’s freedom to talk through sheets of blanket, I still wish she could at least use a translator. Just eat a Translate Jelly![6]

“Irresponsiblecarbonbasedorganisminotherwordsyou.”

“……”

I stared at the futon; the migraine that subsided came creeping back from my neck. I give up. If I try thinking about this, my boundlessly-developing (yes, it is) frontal lobe[7] may be mysteriously slaughtered by aliens.

“Please translate.”

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

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

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

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

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

“What the h.e.l.l is a daughter??”

“My Daughter.”

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

“And You are a virgin.”

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

Even though that was kinda just an excuse!

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

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

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

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

“Is there a problem?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I’m not some famous person printed on the old bills: there is no way I’d remember any of this brainless topic[8]. Rather than making a discussion, Meme-san sounded like she was just making conversation.

“The man’s name was George, the woman’s name was Maria." [9]

“Please don’t casually tell stories like Junichi Yaoi would.” [10]

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

‘Don’t a.s.sume every topic works with people who are twelve years younger!’ <- what="" i="">

“Yeah!” <- what="" i="" actually="">

A little lie can’t be helped, especially when living in j.a.pan.

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

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

“Aha~ Makoto and I are already besties!”

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

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

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

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

“Please do a recount.”

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

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

“Hm… Ah, you mean that? Ignore it.” My aunt’s refres.h.i.+ng smile overruled any objection.

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

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

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

“ConscienceanddesireinflatedDDDprograminjected!”

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

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

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

Sigh, it’s time to cut the losses.

Organisms evolve to overcome gravity.

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

And so, they welcomed the destined fall.

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

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

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

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

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

As for later that day, I have no recollection.

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

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

I don’t need fire, neither am I mysterious, so I guess I will just be a carefree person![11]

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

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

I put on a s.h.i.+rt, and then wore the new uniform prepared by Meme-san. It’s a bit bigger – could it be her antic.i.p.ation for my future growth?

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

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

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

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

“……Whoa.“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Quickly escaping to futon-roll and the room, I jumped down the last two steps of the stairs and landed with a solid thud. The house surrounded by silence digested the refres.h.i.+ng motion, and the gla.s.s doors sighed gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“She never waste a single moment in life!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

This bike may have been the futon girl’s.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being able to enjoy indubitable facts – to an extent.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes, I’m a transfer student!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, are you a transfer student?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Properly ignoring the stares, I looked for my last name on the seat a.s.signment table written on the black board in Gojuuon-order[12]. Incidentally, I sit in the center of the cla.s.sroom.

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

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

"She had scary eyes emitting a standoffish aura, and a head of bobbed hair."

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

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

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

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

Concisely, I finished my mundane introduction.

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

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

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

Then, after an a.s.sembly with nothing worth noting, school ended before noon.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stood to leave the cla.s.s, prepared to recreate my old room in my new home. I walked properly through the empty hall, despite of my desire to lie down and monopolize the dusk sun s.h.i.+ning on the floor; I have yet to give up on all aspects in life. From the shoe locker devoid of love or duel letters, I took out my shoes and headed toward what looked like a bicycle parking lot made of temporary homes[13].

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

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

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

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

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

“Yo! Transfer~ student!”

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

Talking with a city girl, the country boy fl.u.s.tered… This is bad!

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wha.s.sup with the mystery? You are Niwa-kun, right?”

“Yeah, and you are… Catha…”

“Me? I am Ryuu…ko, Mifune Ryuuko.”

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

Ryuuko, Ryuuko[14]. I see, then her name should be Ryuuko (流虎)! How’s that? Though it does sound like an acronym for an Out-of-body experience[15].

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

“Nope, nothing.”

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

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

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

“So, where did ya move to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmmm, mmm~”

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

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

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

“Mmm~ let’s see~”

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

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

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

“Anyhow, we are now com~rades~!”

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

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

“Com~rades (sure)!”

Everything is going where I am.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Normally, no one would a.s.sociate head with nudity.”

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

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

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

“Well, it’s not like I ride fast!” I jumped onto my bike and began chasing Mifune-san’s skirt. [16]

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

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

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

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

A smug that could never upset her opponent.

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

“C’mon, just do it~ Come on~!”

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

“Come here~ let’s talk!”

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

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

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

“Ahahah! You’re the best! Awesome~!”

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

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

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

Perhaps her first time surpa.s.sing anyone else, the girl teased me ceaselessly. An eleventh grader drenched in sweat chasing a girl to see her teasing face, but let’s not delve in too deeply. I don’t want to open the door to that world.[17] Students from our school stared at our commotion (percentage-wise, about 80% Mifune’s doing). There may be some reaction in the cla.s.s tomorrow. Since when have I ascended to the level of a potential protagonist?

But my Youth-Points remained negative.

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

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

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

“Good job~ But ya seem really tired!”

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

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

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

“………..”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm? What's up?”

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

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

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

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

“We hafta say bye here!”

“Seriously!?”

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

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

“Besides, ya don't look so good!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks!” I grabbed the can.

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

“Well~ Not as much as c.o.ke, but its good.” Then Mifune-san must likes orange juice! She does look very sweet.

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

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

We chugged the drink simultaneously. No one played food taster. The slight bitterness of Oolong tinged my throat, piquing a refres.h.i.+ng pleasure. Memory of misreading a light novel t.i.tle as Oolong-gosou came rus.h.i.+ng back into my brain.[18]

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

“So, why did ya transfer here?”

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

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

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

“Then would we still be talking right now?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah, the light’s green.”

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

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

“Um…”

“?”

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

“Hm?”

“I hope you make lottsa friends!”

“Hahahahah.” What are you, my sister?

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

“Oh~! …Oh, whatever. Oh~!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A pair of Geta[19] sat at the entrance, and a pair of modernistic shoes a girl my generation would wear next to them.

I proceeded to the stairs through the hall. What to do for lunch? I thought as Oolong-tea swiveled at the bottom of my stomach; I don’t even know where the convenient store is, and I’m just an ordinary guy who can’t cook… Then should I try the Onigiri[20] store I saw this morning?

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m home.”

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

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

She changed from pajama to long-sleeved s.h.i.+rt and square-pattern skirts, something semblance of a messily-worn school uniform.

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

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

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

“Earff is in denner.”

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

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

“Uh, so Earth is in danger….. Is it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“….Kousin…”

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

“Child of the serbling of parents – neese. Also yused merterphorically with people of approximate who are not related by blood. Example: ‘The guy in front of me resembles a Tardigrade[21] kousin.’”

“Don’t insult people while pretending to be a dictionary.” I understood the