---

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• That’s a lie, though.
Hmm, I still haven't quite mastered this phrase yet, have I?

Lying Mii-kun and
Death
Broken Ma-chan 7
Echoes are from before death

Self-Introduction: "This humble narrator is female."
I no longer have a real name. Furthermore, I hereby confess that there has been a minor misrepresentation regarding my first-person pronoun.
Now then, how should I go about filling this blank manuscript paper, devoid even of margins, with utter nonsense?
...Hmm, perhaps I shall obfuscate with a smokescreen of words, by way of analogy.
The topic shall be... yes, how about "What is the mind?" How does that sound? It's highly abstract, and honestly, while I'm just spouting pseudo-intellectual nonsense without any real thought, it allows one to feel vaguely convinced, and it fosters an atmosphere where leaving things inconclusive and ambiguous at the end is permissible. Philosophy is so convenient.
Even though one can get by just fine without thinking too deeply, people inevitably crave clear answers about themselves. This rubbernecker mentality must be universal to humankind, surely.
...... 2010
Where in the body does the mind reside? A philosophical question everyone ponders at least once, around puberty or during a rebellious phase.
For instance, if you were to sever your right arm, would a fragment of your divided mind dwell within it? Most people would likely answer no. Yet, immediately after it falls, you would surely still recognize it as "your right arm." This implies that unless it is connected to the main body, even *you* do not possess a mind within it.

Ahem.
This question relates to another: How much of the body constitutes the self?
A severed head, no matter how you look at it, is still the self.
However, it's also true that few people believe a disembodied head possesses a mind.
If the mind has no fixed location within the body, one can only conclude that the body itself *is* the mind.
Ultimately, perhaps the mind is simply "the parts connected to the living self." Is that it? As for the minds of others... that's none of my business. It's something you can only live on believing exists.
Just as everyone lives day by day, unconsciously relying on the air that is invisible to the naked eye.
...Ah, right. This section is supposed to be for my self-introduction.
With only seven lines left, I've finally remembered the original purpose of this space, convenient for filling blanks.
If, in this world, there existed prepared narratives, so to speak, capable of swapping subjective viewpoints...
...it seems I've been appointed to begin playing the role of the "narrative performer" in this particular narrative.
Honestly, my current state of mind is one where a "Good grief" is waiting in the wings.
To those I'm meeting for the first time, hello. To those already acquainted, let's forget.
My name is Ooe Yuna.
I am an eighteen-year-old unknown who knows herself better than anyone. ...Hmm, or was it nineteen?

**Chapter 1: "unknown heroin"**

The man introduced as my older brother was my parents' pet.
A human who would obey any command from our parents, whose brain matter was clearly arranged in a lopsided manner.
And yet, he wouldn't even raise an eyebrow at my commands. He ignored my requests too.
When I scribbled "Dog" (犬) in large letters on his door, he erased just one dot to correct it to "Big" (大).
Incomprehensible. That's why he wasn't my brother, just a pet.

Humans can't truly understand other animals; they just think they do.
Ah... does that mean I, given a similar room, am also this house's dog?

---

3

Evaluating anew what meets my eyes, this town definitely belongs in the "rural" category.
As a whole, it fails to keep pace with the progress of civilization, so points worthy of criticism are scattered about, but to summarize, it lacks contours. That is the difference between places deemed "urban" and lands viewed with a less-than-level gaze as "rural."
Despite the scarcity of man-made structures, the townscape is flat and featureless. No trace of nature's splendor, the kind captured in photographs as an aggregate of global aesthetics, ever sprouts here; it merely clings to the earth like the planet's downy fuzz.
Right now, thanks to the sunrise's appearance, it stands cloaked in some small measure of sentiment... but that's merely a matter of time. Because on summer mornings, the light changes its attire with every blink. Soon, a pale yellow sunlight will envelop the entire town, marking a perfect day for laundry. The chance of precipitation is zero percent. Or rather, it's just hot.
I came outside the apartment to escape the stifling heat that clings like a false accusation upon waking, but the cicadas are already in the midst of their full-blown street concert. When will their extermination by bug-catching boys be published as children's literature, I wonder?
Incidentally, back when our entire family were shut-ins together, the weather forecast was nothing more than a quiz show for us four siblings. We don't have statistics, but based on my gut feeling, the eldest son had the highest correct answer rate.
Digression aside.
That's why, when I was forced to live 'outside' [the estate], I even agonized over whether to settle down in this town. Especially since I already possessed the knowledge that 'That Thing'—something that wouldn't draw attention even if it swapped bodies with me—inhabited this place.
A wonderful harassment from God, brought about by odds akin to an extraordinary miracle. If there are two mosquitoes of the same species flitting about this season, how could you possibly tell them apart just by looking normally? It's a real nuisance for those around, too. Whine whine. Suppose, for example, *he* wasn't just two-timing but was easily juggling five partners—transcending the very word whose origin lies in human anatomy—and suppose I was walking down the street, twisting my ankles *tekyu tekyu*. Isn't it possible I'd be mistaken for the culprit and stabbed by all five? To receive the incredible luxury of experiencing death five times over when a precious human life is but singular—I'd be submerged up to my neck in the sea of desire. Yes, truly. At least, my 'Okaasama' would be.
Another digression aside. My high derailment rate is because my brain cells are sharp like a coral reef. That's a lie, though... Is that the right way to use it? I'm still unused to it, feeling my way.
So, after various twists and turns, setbacks, and compromises, my sister Akane and I settled down in this town.

Around the apartment building we live in, numerous large mansions have been constructed, creating a somewhat decadent atmosphere. Looking up at the exposed reinforced concrete, like blood vessels symbolizing a mansion under construction, is quite restorative for the soul.
Building something akin to the elementary school division of a high-rise residential area in a corner of a rural town is tantamount to forcibly jamming an air purifier into the body of a vacuum cleaner.
Impossible.
That overstretching, guaranteed to result in calf cramps eventually, is truly pitifully endearing.
Yes, yes, truly—in a detached, impersonal way.
"So says I, the newcomer, just rattling on as I please, but what do you think, local Kaneda-kun?"
"Ah-, no, I told you, I'm Kaneko." The boy, who wore a wry smile well, first ignored my question.
A neighbor I occasionally encounter during his early morning walks, Kane...ko-kun. A third-year high school boy living with his family in a wooden single-family house. With the students of the world entering their 'summer vacation' and experiencing an out-of-season springtime of life, opportunities arose to run into him walking his dog early in the morning.
Kaneko-kun possesses looks, personality, and other traits that, while having no specific distinguishing features if asked, are not unpleasant to interact with. ...If I had to say, perhaps his verbal tic is "Ah-." Though it's such a minuscule distortion that it wouldn't stand out unless you pressed down hard enough to pierce through every page of a notebook with a ballpoint pen. As an aside, I did also discover some kind of callus at the base of his left pinky and ring finger, but unfortunately, I cannot determine its origin.
Even I am rather naive about the ways of the world, you know? After all, I was a "haphazardly stuffed" girl. No, that's not right.
He approaches me feigning a moderate degree of familiarity for some reason, so I stop and respond for the sake of basic neighborly relations. Considering my background, I'd rather refrain from actions that might attract negative rumors.
Goodness me, living outside the estate is such a hassle. I'm finally starting to remember.
Including the unnecessary parts, too.
"Today too... or rather, you're always in a yukata, aren't you?"
In contrast to the dog's energy—wagging its tail furiously, its paws tap-dancing as if standing barefoot on a midsummer beach—the owner seems sleepy. Perhaps it would be easier to get around if Kaneko-kun and the dog switched places altogether. Yes, truly. It wouldn't even seem out of place.
"Because yukatas are the only clothes I own." I held my sleeves and spread my arms wide, appealing to my Japanese-ness. While I was at it, I did a quick twirl and tried smiling with a "numeheh." That's a lie.
If I did that, I might drop the package I'm holding. Holding, holding.
"Ah-... It's different from my image, but I guess this type of person is called an 'ojou-sama' too, huh? It's the first time I've seen someone using a traditional Japanese parasol in person."
Oh dear, I've been ejected from the commoner faction. Well, not that I ever belonged to that class in the first place. I've lived at both extremes, haven't I?
My childhood: a wandering journey led by my father (my consciousness, that is). After that, I became the wealthy slave of a certain family. And now, I've gained freedom as if cast out... Looking back, it's the kind of life where I might just set off in search of a red ring and a blue ring. Though with *her* as my companion, total annihilation would be unavoidable.
"Well, I'm used to wearing dogi, though,"
"Oh, are you?"
"I was in the kendo club. Anyway, Jirou, you're too excited." Kaneko-kun tugged lightly on the dog's leash, smiling wryly.
The dog named Jirou continued its pinwheel-firecracker performance at my feet, playfully nipping at the fabric of my yukata. Its mouth isn't quite ripped enough nor its coloring subdued enough to call it a ferocious beast, but it seems I, too, have the makings of a proper monster tamer. This dog acts like this every time it sees me.
"Alriiight, alriiight," Kaneko-kun muttered to himself, as if conversing with the dog, and crouched down. He scooped up the dog, which looked like it was putting its left foot forward before its right one even landed, and entrusted it to my hands with a "Here."
"Oof," I somehow accepted it, despite my indecisiveness, while paying meticulous attention not to drop the thing tucked under my arm.
Round eyes, nearly buried in scruffy brown fur that looked like it had taken an electric shock instead of a morning shower, gazed up at me. Its legs still struggled in my hands. Tail wagging furiously.
• Somehow, it reminds me of Okaasama when she found a favorite toy. The barriers towards others are thin.
Though in this case, the implications are likely opposite. In terms of how one treats humans.
"Since his name is Jirou, this must be a gentleman, yes?" I deliberately attempted the speech patterns of an ojou-sama.
Because I just don't want Kaneko-kun to hate me! *Moooon!* ...To think that just imagining it makes me nauseous means this fabrication surely borders on evil.
It was simply because I felt my voice might crack if I spoke normally, nothing more.
Truthfully, this might be my first time interacting with a living creature other than a human, in a state other than 'ready-to-eat meat.' I'm slightly nervous. Back when I attended elementary school, I dropped out just before my first turn at animal care duty came around. Thanks to that, I have absolutely no connection to preschool or school graduations. At best, the closest analogue I have is running away from home.
"Right, right. He does have an eye for girls, ah-, doesn't he?"
He says this while probing the borderline of whether it counts as a joke with his tiptoes, so Kaneko-kun's remark is shallow in a good way. He seems to have mastered the art of navigating the world while maintaining a paper-thin difference from pure passivity. A minor difference from our eldest son.
But it's strange, isn't it? Others apparently perceive me as a cold-blooded girl who manipulates insect-like attitudes and reptilian gazes with an air of boredom, yet this honorable dog seems to have taken a liking to me.
"Oh, is that so?" Internally, my emotions aren't so much surging as simmering, though. Was this always my character?
"Do you perhaps have another dog? Judging by the name, I presume it would be Tarou."
"Ah-, the first one we had, well, he kinda died. So, since this is the second one, he's Jirou."
You're being treated like a sibling to a kid you share no blood with and never even knew. Pat, pat. Just like me~ I feel such kinship~ Not even remotely funny~ Truly~.
After petting him and letting go, Jirou gave the base of my thumb a lick. The rough tip of his tongue stroked back against my skin. A cheap thrill ran down my spine. Jirou, you terrifying child.
It's far more stimulating than touching a human.
Then, Jirou tried to bring his shiny black nose closer to sniff what I was holding. "Hey, hey," I poked his nose with the pad of my finger, striving to defend this moment of peace.
Perhaps because my eyes were following his movements, my mouth, spinning questions, was guided in that direction too.
"What is that? You've been holding it so carefully."
Kaneko-kun asked about the details of the object wrapped in white cloth, protectively held under my right arm.
"Ah, this? Let's see... It's like a certificate of participation, perhaps? I can't leave it at home, so I have no choice but to carry it." Making sure to estimate the passage of time and apply deodorant spray accordingly.
It's the kind of thing where, if by some chance my sister found it while half-asleep, she might wrongly suspect that I, too, had chosen the same beastly path as the servant of a certain household. While I can't guarantee its afterlife, for the present moment, I must handle it with care.
This little one too, for that matter. I returned the rowdy Jirou to Kaneko-kun, pulling out the surrogate dog slip... just kidding, though.
Ah, how nostalgic. I'm intensely curious about what bizarre fate my library surrogate slip met at the library after that. Gathering dust in a corner of the library prep room, exposed to the scorching summer heat that brings to mind dry white particles floating in the nose, repeatedly suffering damage from the dry winter air that recalls rubbing skin against mouse-grey hallways, only to be smashed to pieces in the end, I suppose. Amen. Not much different from most lives.
And yet, from the perspective of the individual concerned, it's a life full of ups and downs (mainly steep inclines on the suffering side); handling work and private life, providing for others besides oneself if married. The painful part about being human is that life doesn't take shape unless you do all sorts of things.
Are you prepared? I've already resolved, "I still don't want to work."
Surely there must be others in this town who share the same aspiration. No, I just somehow had that feeling.
...It doesn't really matter, but I wonder if library surrogate slips are a nationwide system? Not that your understanding affects the progression of this deceptive tale in the slightest, fuhoho.

"Well then, I should be heading back soon. My sister is lying still with her belly exposed and eyes closed."
In short, she's sound asleep. Even though the little birds are resting their wings on the power lines and chirping away like morning calls, they seem utterly useless as an alarm clock for her.
"Ah-, it's that place, right?" Kaneko-kun glanced back the way I'd come. "That apartment building... lots of people don't hear good rumors... Ah- well, it's not right to speak ill of people you don't know, though. No, it's not rumors, exactly, more like, before... Yeah, but he was a good guy... ah, never mind."
"You're being far too suggestive. I see this as a flag for you telling me all about it next time we meet."
"No, it's not like I have that much to talk about, though."
He concluded with a surprisingly practiced smile of someone who's seen hardship, a quick "Haha," and then let Jirou pull him away with a "Later!" I watched them go for a moment. Then, just as expected, he turned back.
"What was your name again?"
"Payback for earlier?"
"No, it's not that... I just realized I don't think I ever heard your name."
"Is that so? Well, it was intentional."
"So, your name is?"
"My surname is Amano. My first name is still a secret." Out of respect for the source of this alias, I've pixelated the part below. Perhaps the Amano surname is positioned as that of a protagonist passed down to the next generation? That's a lie, though.
Truthfully, it would have been more convenient to remain recognized in his mind purely as Yukata-san (provisional), but since he told me the dog's name, I returned the favor as a formality. I am, after all, a nineteen-year-old with a reputation for reciprocating obligations given.
There isn't much time until I turn twenty, but I wonder if I can correct my personality in time? Not that I need to.
"Amano...? Hmm... I've been wanting to ask for a while, but do you have any twin siblings or anything?"
"I had someone like that, yes. But they're dead now. Well then, goodbye."
Ending things somewhat abruptly, I completed my intersection with Kaneko-kun.
To the backs of Kaneko-kun and Jirou heading off to continue their walk, I murmured a fragment of my identity.
"You can call me Ooe Yuna or Hirabari Sumi, whichever you like."
As long as it doesn't approach my real name.
My self-introduction, drowned out by the chirring of cicadas, failed to reach Kaneko-kun's ears and fell unheard.

---

3

Straightening my previously hunched back, I raised only my left hand and exhaled with a "U-n-n," accompanied by a ringing in my ears. Right then.
Clutching the 'right arm' of a stranger whose wishes I'd never once sought under my arm, my torment entered its chorus.
And so begins Part Two: "Yuna Ooe." Subtitles are currently being solicited from brats nationwide. Regarding the conclusion of Part One... well, does it matter? I dislike looking back at the past. Because the only lesson one can learn from reflecting on failures is simply, "Don't do unnecessary things." Yes, truuuly. Seriouslyyy, like... Ugh, it doesn't suit me.
More importantly, because I wander around even during the day dressed like this, I can't deny the feeling that I'm treated as a modern-day aristocrat (apparently called a NEET in secular terms), but I *can* actually manage all the basic housework.
Skills learned long ago, fufufu... By the way, what is a 'kinezuka'? Judging by the characters (杵柄), it seems like a tool for making mochi. Or, if I blindly follow my intuition, I feel like calling it a 'sea slug' for some reason. Really, I wonder why.
Blatant digression aside, I pride myself on being at least more functional than my housemate, Ooe Akane. "`Senzai`? ...Ah, I know! It's that thing they use between TV show segments! You know, on TV, they often go 'swirly-swirly~' or 'fwoosh~'!" There lies a battle I cannot afford to lose.
No, really, there was a time, around the rainy season perhaps? I tried having Akane cook, mainly for my benefit. But that was a failure. There's no point gaining free time if your lifespan decreases; it defeats the purpose, doesn't it? Where's the lie in that?
After folding my futon and finishing cleaning the bath, I wait in the dim room for the rice to finish cooking. Akane is still fast asleep, having kicked off her futon, so I keep the curtains closed, delaying the arrival of morning. It's still just past six-thirty now; she usually wakes up around seven-thirty. I need to head out before then.
Good grief. I ruffle my bangs, then press my fingers against my scalp. Even if it's for one's own benefit, is there anyone who actually *enjoys* venturing into troublesome matters?
Peeking through a gap in the cloth at the right arm's dark cross-section, I sigh and toss it upwards. Catching it with one hand, it had more substance than I expected. Fufufu... Grasping an arm and getting a 'response' (tegotae)...
It seems my unworldly sense of humor hasn't quite deserted me yet. I feel a little relieved.
"A lie? No, it's the truth, indeed... After all, one needs a catchphrase, doesn't one?"

---

3

As one burdened with the role of the deceptive narrator.
However, simply following in the predecessor's footsteps shows no originality, so I thought I'd deliberately explore the exact opposite possibility. Although, there's no telling how a spoken "truth" is actually being handled on the reverse side of the heart, nufufu. Because humans can utilize their own front and back sides, they aren't like the back of an advertisement, but rather like loose-leaf paper. And the contrast between advertisements, each colorful, and loose-leaf paper, which is blank, also seems symbolic of people.
As I chuckled smugly amidst the passage of time, an illusion pushed aside twenty percent of my eyeballs. A small girl and a large adult, walking side-by-side, in parallel. The hallucination tried to peel back the scab with gleeful pleasure and claw away at my reality, so I had the corpse's right arm deliver a slap, knocking my sanity unconscious.
To be able to work this much even without its main body, what capable handsies. Borrowing it was the right decision. If those past recollections had kept getting endlessly replayed, I would have ended up going mad bright and early, hanging out the 'neighborhood nuisance' shop curtain. This arm (part one) is truly a Savior Hand. What an old reference.
The accompanying phantom images disappear towards the vacant room. Besides the room Akane and I use as a bedroom, there's another identical six-tatami mat room; combined, they're slightly larger than the room I lived in at the estate.
I don't mean to disparage it, so I feel ashamed for the poor choice of comparison, but it's a very nice room.
It wouldn't be wrong to classify it as a mansion (condo building), but for some reason, everyone, including the neighbors, calls it an apartment building. Perhaps for reasons like "Yokai Apartment" having a better ring to it than "Yokai Mansion"? And while "Murder Mansion" sounds like the scene of an incident, "Murder Apartment" gives off the vibe of a serial killer's nest, doesn't it...? Or so the neighbor's son might say.
However, the appeal of this apartment building is, above all else, its cheapness.
A 2DK apartment, fully equipped with a bath and toilet. The surprising rent is a mere seventeen thousand yen. Truly a bargain. However, this is a special price limited to this room, located in the innermost part of the building.
Apparently, it's a 'stigmatized' room. According to the real estate agent who showed it, the previous resident was *not* a suicide victim... or rather, apparently no one has died *in* this room at all. It seems he must have neglected to brush his teeth that day, as he apparently had quite a bit of food debris stuck in his back teeth. Ah, I felt such concern for his future life of dentures. That's a lie, though. ...... Hmm, I still haven't quite mastered this phrase yet, have I? Perhaps it would be wiser to refrain from dual-wielding. Breathing, blinking, and heartbeat. Unless I can make it blend in with these three, the feeling of awkward lumps accumulating at the bottom of my stomach is awful. Eventually, they might band together and eat away at me from the inside.
I'd rather not become 'That Thing.' Don't you agree? Within the realm of premonition, just short of imagination, thoughts overflowing from my brain make my hairline break out in a clammy sweat. Ahh, it's hot.
The drop from my life in the estate, fully equipped with air conditioning and fans, makes my head spin in a bad way.
My palms also partake in the faint coolness of the floor my soles are pressed against. Flatly, fingertips aligned. A coolness quickly consumed. Just before the exchanged heat, like carbon dioxide, increases the discomfort, I lift my hand, leaving only the index finger.
"Ooe Yuna," my fingernail traced on the floor. This surname, and this first name, were given to me by my second Okaasama.
When I learned the origin, and the meaning of the kanji—which even had the flavor of a phonetic equivalent—I could only laugh derisively.
Ah, that was the trigger that led me to learn how to construct a smile, wasn't it? My eerily distorted smile kept mimicking shape-memory alloy no matter how much time passed, so as one measure to fix it, I studied the mechanics of smiling. It did get fixed, but as an aftereffect, I now sometimes find myself laughing.
Next, my index finger proceeds with its practice on its own. Sa, na, i... Hmph, it's like knowing how to ride a bicycle. My fingertip is merely toying with something the mind remembers, ruminating on it before pushing it back down into the stomach.
The one who gave me my real name was my grandmother. The primordial memory, the oldest memory, still exhaling bubbles in the lake of my mind.