• Abstract and Figures
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DISCLAIMER: The work translated here is the legal property of its original copyright holder. It is translated here without monetary incentive solely for the purposes of promoting domestic interest in the work and improving personal language proficiency. Should the work be licensed for English translation or upon request by the original copyright holders, please stop distribution of this document at once. Please send any and all comments to [email protected] 1‐1 Chapter 1: And Thus, Hiratsuka‐sensei Sparks a New Conflict I slammed a sheaf of papers against the table. Its contents were as eyebrow‐ raising as the Dead Sea Scrolls. “…what the hell is this?” It was early morning. As my eyes fell over the words on the page, a strange chill ran down my spine. The cause of this uncomfortable sense of déjà vu was, of course, the outline for the next volume of Zaimokuza Yoshiteru‐sensei’s story, which he had put excruciating detail into. Would it have killed him to finish the first volume before starting the next one? The story made no sense whatsoever, and there were glaring plot holes just from the outline. The only thing I liked about it was that the protagonist was a lone swordsman. Those who are above everyone else are, by definition, alone. True heroes are loners. To be a loner is to have strength. Having no attachment to others means having nothing to protect. The urge to protect is basically nothing but a weakness. Achilles, the Ancient Greek hero, and Benkei, the most powerful warrior monk, were both defeated precisely because they had a weakness. If only they had no weaknesses, they would undoubtedly have gone down in history as the victors. It stood to reason that someone who has no weaknesses, no burdens protect and no attachment to others is the strongest for those exact reasons. In other words, I am the strongest. The trashy setting Zaimokuza came up with revolved entirely around his overpowered swordsman, to the extent that he came off as a hack. Everything else was crap, so I wrote it in red. This. Is. Crap. …there, all good. 1 1‐1 Just as a feeling of blissful satisfaction came over me from doing my job, my little sister Komachi finished preparing breakfast. Since both our parents had already left for work, only Komachi and I remained in the living room. An apron‐clad Komachi set down two servings of breakfast with a clatter. If you ask me, wearing an apron over a tank top and shorts is really not a good idea. It looked like she was wearing a naked apron. She set down the golden brown scones and coffee right in front of me. Oh, and a jar of jam was propped up next to them. The appetising scent of perfectly cooked scones and the aroma of well‐made coffee resounded beautifully, playing a musical suite. The various kinds of jams were suite (get it?) as well ‐ it was a Pretty Cure breakfast1. “Itadakimasu,” I said. “Yep yep, it’s chow time,” Komachi sang. “Itadakimasu for me too.” The two of us clapped our hands together and then crammed scones into our mouths. “I went for something a bit more exotic for breakfast today. Scones are Ingrish, aren’t they?” “…what’s ‘Ingrish’ supposed to be? Some new killer move?” “Nope, it means super English‐y.” 1 A reference to Suite Pretty Cure, a magical girl anime series aimed at young girls. And if you didn’t get Hachiman’s wordplay, suite = sweet. 2 1‐1 3 1‐1 “You serious? I thought for sure it was British.” “No way, onii‐chan. There’s no such country as British.” “…England is a part of Great Britain, which is known internationally as the United Kingdom. So UK‐style means British. Just a bit of trivia for you.” “W‐whatever! Ingrish is a Japanese word now! Like great‐o g’day‐o!” …great‐o g’day‐o didn’t sound like English or Japanese to me. Ignoring Komachi’s lame excuses, I picked up the condensed milk. That reminded me ‐ you could say putting condensed milk in your cup and drinking it MAX Coffee style is Chiba‐ish, or Chibash for short. While we’re at it, you could call a basketball anime set in the near future Basquash. “You know,” I said, “when you think of English people, doesn’t grey tea come to mind?” “Yeah, I know, but you like coffee better, onii‐chan. I thought that would make my Komachi points go up.” “Mm. I reckon your points went up a bit. When you have a point system, it’s nice when it’s easy to understand.” Even better if the choices “yes” and “no” were displayed clearly, along with her affection levels. There’d be no such thing as misunderstandings if you chose “no” and you could clearly see her affection levels going down, so giving up on her would be an easy matter. That alone would save countless hapless boys, I can assure you. As I uttered my answer, stirring my (fake) MAX Coffee, Komachi dropped her scone with a start. Her face was pale and her shoulders trembled all over. “O‐onii‐chan, you’re acting weird…” “Huh?” 4 1‐1 “It’s strange! Usually, you get annoyed and treat me like an idiot when I say this sort of stuff. I feel your love through your coldness!” “And you call me weird.” Just how sensitive was she? “Anyway, that was a joke.” So Komachi said, but it was scary that I couldn’t tell how much of it was really a joke. If my little sister was a pervert who got off on being given the cold shoulder, then I had no idea how to interact with her from now on. It bothered me. It seemed as if snubbing her every day had made her points go up steadily. What was with this warped sibling love? “Onii‐chan, you’ve been weird lately, you know? You’ve got no ambition…? That’s normal for you, though. I got it ‐ your eyes look off…? But they were like that from the beginning. Uh, your comebacks are half‐assed…? That’s also pretty much inborn. Hm. Anyway, you’re acting weird!” “Either insult me or show your concern for me. Pick one.” I couldn’t decide whether she loved me or hated me. “Anyway, it’s been humid lately. It’s easy for things to go off ‐ your eyes and your nature.” “Ooh, what you said is pretty true!” Komachi’s plain show of admiration kind of bothered me a little. I puffed out my chest and chuckled boastfully, but when I thought about it, she had actually said something fairly mean‐spirited to me, hadn’t she? “But, you know, it’s awful around June,” I went on. “No public holidays, it rains a lot, and it’s kinda humid. They call June the month of joy, but there’s nothing joyful about it. What’s up with that?” “You just suck.” “I‐I see…” 5 1‐1 Komachi was a surprisingly harsh judge. It was strangely alienating for something you said so proudly to be utterly denied. I think I understood Hiratsuka‐sensei’s feelings a little better now. Speaking of Hiratsuka‐sensei, I realised I had to get going to school about now. I’d be subjected to her iron fist as punishment yet again if I was late. I scoffed down the remainder of my scone and slurped down my Chiba‐ish coffee. “I gotta go now,” I called out to Komachi. “Oh, I’ll go with you.” Her cheeks bulging with scones like a squirrel’s face, Komachi eagerly started changing her clothes. I’ve told her this before, but could she please not change in front of me? “I’m going ahead.” As Komachi’s drawn‐out groan sounded behind me, I walked out the entrance and into the outside world, where the distinctive muggy atmosphere of the rainy season wrapped itself around me like a coil. Ever since the workplace tour, I could not recall seeing an open blue sky. 6 1‐2 1‐2 The muggy air lingered inside the school building. The discomfort was further exacerbated by the crowd that had gathered around the entrance in the morning rush to school. The word loner makes you think of someone hiding in a dark corner, but when you reached my level of loner, you’d rather wear your loner qualities on your sleeve. And so, as I stood alone at school, my surroundings formed an air pocket like the eye of a hurricane. It had to be tough on people with friends, what with the humidity from being surrounding by so many people causing the protein in their bodies to rise above 36 degrees. A loner could spend the entire rainy season in summer with abnormal levels of comfort. With good ventilation, they could live a peaceful school life. As I was changing into my indoor shoes at the entrance, I looked up and encountered a familiar face. “Oh…” Yuigahama, who was fitting on a pair of loafers, averted her face. She seemed awfully lost. I didn’t look away. “Yo,” I called out to her in my usual tone of voice. “…um, hi.” And without saying anything more, I slung my schoolbag over my shoulder. Between the two of us, only one set of footsteps sounded against the linoleum floor. And those footsteps were swallowed up by the sounds of everyone else’s footsteps.

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