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"Hey, let's go home," Mayu sweetly whispers, pulling at the skin on my neck. "Hmm, sounds good. Super bad and wonderful." The fact that I have no idea what I'm saying or thinking and am just letting go is par for the course, so I'm not strange at all. Or rather, I don't *have* a "normal." That's probably my biggest problem.
That's a lie, though. My footing is as unsteady as one of those music-playing, wood-carved doll machines we made in elementary school arts and crafts.

"Yeah, yeah, good idea," I wholeheartedly agreed to going home, but when I peeked into the nurse's office, it was packed with students skipping class, so let's try the gym. Even if P.E. is going on, the second floor should be empty; it's the table tennis club's territory. Our school isn't rock 'n' roll enough for delinquents to be hiding in the locker rooms smoking or anything, so "It's perfect for you, who wants to go somewhere deserted," my horoscope this morning declared as my lucky item. It's hard to call something you can't hold in your hand an "item," but since that was a lie, there was no problem at all. Ah, I like this. "There was no problem at all." If I just chanted that when trying to handle a handgun with a broken arm, even a weakling like me could probably shoot it, don't you think? Huh? You don't need that?

But, maybe it's *too* deserted, and there might be something like a ghost enjoying a game of table tennis. If there was, I'd definitely protect Mayu—from any ping-pong balls flying way off course.
Be that as it may, we exited the nurse's office through the window. Slithering out. A sleep-deprived, unhealthy-looking girl who was lying on a bed looked at us, surprised for some reason. So much "why." "Hey, we're going home," Mayu protested, choking me. Where exactly does she intend for us to go home to, I wonder? I meant to admonish her with a "Now, now," but because my breathing was about halfway cut off, it came out as "Bah, bah." If I were to say something like that to Koibi-sensei, I feel like she'd brandish an unlicensed doctor's scalpel or something. Ah, I want to see Sensei.

Just meeting her, I feel like, somehow, I'd be saved. Is Sensei some kind of cult leader? Even though I don't have any particular worries that need saving from, I still harbor this extravagant desire to somehow always be rescued.
We cut across the grounds with Mayu, passing right in front of the students running around as part of P.E. and the teacher supervising them. "Nice weather, huh?" "Don't care." Mayu, who seemed equally indifferent to the fact that my complexion was turning the color of the azure sky, was glaring intently straight ahead in our direction of travel.

I open a door in the gym, one located away from the stage. It was then I realized that even though we weren't wearing outdoor shoes, we'd been walking on dirt. To walk on dirt without even using those things given the all-too-obvious name 'feet of dirt'—how rude! But in that case, if we developed something like "pond feet," could we walk on the surface of the neighborhood fishing pond without huffing and puffing and accumulating various things? Ooh, the dreams are expanding-ding!

"Excuse us-ssu!" I said, greeting someone as we entered the gym still in our indoor slippers. Since we weren't wearing "gym shoes," whose purpose is all too obvious (details omitted), we naturally drew stares that seemed to reprimand us for it. Even the basketball that had been thud-thud-thudding on the court seemed to lose its vibrancy. Mayu and I are shy, so we can't stand it when even the ball pays attention to us. You should just be glad we didn't show up with a hunting rifle. So, we decided to quickly head up to the second floor using the stairs on the right. You see, I hate excuses and explanations. I love lies, though. So, if I absolutely feel the need to say something that sounds like an excuse, then: an old lady. I'll have an old lady be on the verge of being run over. I saved her—I'll use that lie to cover up being late. The old lady (Hello from inside my head!) gets saved too. Isn't that just a win-win situation? Alright, a splendid lie.

We went up the stairs, which felt like green rubber, and ignored the table tennis clubroom on the way. I mean, they call it a clubroom, but it's the girls' changing room, and on top of that, it was originally a storage closet. I accompanied the table tennis club's peerless power-hitter in there once, and the smell of dust was so thick it felt like being in my own room.

"Mii-kun, you idiot." Mayu, clinging to me like a burdock burr and toying with the skin on my neck, muttered a complaint softly. "Idiooot," I echoed back meaninglessly. Something, somewhere inside me, was torn off.

In the long, narrow space on the second floor, there were, naturally, table tennis tables and equipment. The tables themselves were just left out, not even folded up and put away. Other than that, there was a crank handle for opening the ventilation window, and some kendo armor—no longer used and too big to fit in the club members' storage baskets—that had been brought here from the kendo hall and abandoned. It was all stuffed into a duffel bag that looked like something a martial artist who likes to go meet strong people would carry on their shoulder, so it looked normal on the outside, but if you opened it, you'd find the kote gauntlets caked with dried sweat—salt, basically—and the men masks covered in mold. Kaneko once told me that was like the kendo club's code, or maybe its destiny. Come to think of it, I wonder if Kaneko's doing okay. He might even be dead, for all I know, but I'd be happy if he were doing well, whether in this world or the next. I really would be happy! Happy to be dead, Hana Ichi Monme.

Stickily, I walked across the varnished floor, passing by a table tennis table. Why am I heading towards the front wall, I wonder? While I was wondering that, the rhythmic sound of a basketball started up again on the first floor. I peeked down from the second-floor railing. Incidentally, there was a green net hanging like a curtain on the second floor, so we weren't very visible from the first floor.

The floor's thud-thud-thudding the ball again... Ah, wait, it's the other way around. Floor thud-thud. "Thud-thud-thud, thud-thud, thud. Right, Mayu, want to play table tennis?" The ball bouncing around inside me gave birth to that suggestion. In a way, this is like laying an egg, too. Ping-pong balls do look like other eggs.

"Tabo tenny?" Mayu tilted her head, showing a hint of her "just the two of us" face.
"Ping-pong!" I declared, all hyped up. It's not like I translated it into English, probably.
But, what's with this cheerfulness of mine? I wonder if it's a rebound effect from lack of sleep.
"I've never played."
"Well, well, let's give it a try." The ghost seems to be away from the table right now, too. I rummaged through a cardboard box located diagonally opposite the armor, and found two rackets. "..." I'll use this racket.
Ooh, special treatment. And a few Metroid-brand balls... or was it celluloid? I grabbed two or three of those ping-pong balls, which are, in short, made from some kind of terrestrial chemical substance, and we borrowed the nearest table. Since Mr./Ms. Ghost had been playing, the net on the table was still up. Good thing even the net wasn't a ghost. "Okay, hold this—and step away—" "No." "Ngh!" It reddened. Stretched super taut. "Do I want to play table tennis *that* badly?" I even started to feel strangely anxious myself.

Reluctantly, Mayu moved away from me to the other side of the table, gripping her racket like a rice paddle. I admire a certain cleanup hitter, so I imitate his grip. If you trace the origin of this, you can go all the way back to me admiring the bob-haired protagonist of a certain table tennis manga, but we'll skip that part.

"You hit the ball back so it bounces once on the opponent's side of the court." I explained the entirety of the rules as I knew them to Mayu. Mayu swung her rice-paddle racket around and around, unimpressed. I tried hitting a high, arcing ball towards Mayu's hands. Mayu swung her racket at the bouncing ball and provided some wind. It was what you call "swinging at air." The ping-pong ball bounced once on Mayu's side of the table, then fell to the floor.

Mayu followed the moving ball with her eyes, like a cat. But her feet didn't move. I ran in her stead to retrieve the ball as it bounced erratically on the floor. It was like trying to catch raindrops falling intermittently from the edge of a roof. It lacked substance. It was empty. Our table tennis was empty tennis.

Come to think of it, Mayu was a kid with no sense of depth perception. And I'm a kid with no memory. Not much learning ability either. That's why I end up repeating, "Alright, here we go again!"
We tried two or three times, but Mayu never managed to hit the ping-pong ball back accurately. Even when she did make contact, she'd curl her wrist as if to cover the ball with the racket, slamming it down onto the table. Never mind whose it was, a ping-pong ball that was definitely someone else's property cracked.

Mayu skillfully distorted her expressionless face into one that looked displeased. The way she produces the best expression with minimal change, Mayu's cost performance is also wonderful. She's a Kintaro-ame of humanity—praiseworthy no matter how you slice her! "Boring." I, on the other hand, was met with a chorus of condemnation. "Ah..." Table tennis is hard. For people like us, even just making contact is. I can't laugh at that cleanup hitter anymore.

Can't Mayu and I have a little more, normal fun, I wonder? Probably impossible, huh? Since all we do is swing and miss.

In the end, after placing the rackets stacked on the table tennis table, Mayu and I "Dock-iiiing!" and collapsed onto the floor. We flopped down, making a grander sound than a bouncing basketball, and went "Kya-kya," "Ufu-ufu." We rubbed our thighs together like usual, and played "knock on the heart." When I got close to the floor, the rubbery smell I hadn't noticed before became stronger. It was a smell that had soaked in precisely because shoes scuffed against the floor. After smelling it, I rubbed my nose against the floor again and again, searching to see if there wasn't some other scent. Wondering if there might be the lingering scent of a girl I knew.

If I swallow my shame and confess, I was, how should I put it, expecting one more thing from table tennis besides just meaningful time-killing. Things like a faint bond with Mayu sprouting through table tennis, or a youthful atmosphere being born, or working up a sweat for beauty and health... we, who can't even hit the ball forward, would never scheme for such positive things, but still.

I had wished for it. That if I held *her* racket, Nagase Tooru might, like, possess me or something.

This is just a hypothesis, but there's a possibility I'm depressed. If I were to express it in a four-character idiom, it'd be *ikishouchin*—dejection. If I were to express it in a long sentence, there are a finite number of ways that are extremely close to infinite, but it can all be unified under "depressed." Why? I have absolutely no idea. Lately, I can't shake the feeling that I'm constantly baffling not just others, but also myself. I'm in a constant state of confusion.

"When did I put on this Hannya mask, I wonder?" I'm from Zipangu, but I don't reside in a cave where lava spouts out. It's not a local tourist spot either. Oh well, it's a solo journey, so it's not a hindrance. In fact, its defense power is top-notch, which means there's no way present-me could be depressed. I can get through anything; no, I don't even need to overcome anything. If I just let myself be carried along, I can get by unscathed. Right now, I'm in top form, like when your nails grow really fast. I haven't contacted Natsuki-san or anything, but I don't mind, and I'm doing fine.

So, as you can see, I'm not depressed. Not at all, seeing as I can leisurely think about this stuff and convince myself. Ahh, the setting sun and the changing patterns of the sky are beautiful. After school, walking down the road while gazing at this kind of evening scenery is so liberating, it makes my heart soar. "...Huh?"

Mayu's not here. She's not by my side. "Where is she, where is she?" I search, looking up at the sky and crouching down to the ground, but I can't find hide nor hair of her. That's weird.

It might be amusing to impose the rule that "Mayu can't survive for more than thirty minutes without stepping on Mii-kun's shadow," but did she really start a solo journey? To leave without even letting me see her off, that's so distant for Mayu. If it were the usual Mayu, she might very well make Mii-kun throw her a farewell party and declare, "Tonight's gonna be a hoooot night! I'm gonna stew you till you're bubbling! Mofu mofu!" So, did she have some urgent business? Like, maybe the real Mii-kun broke out of jail, so she rushed off to celebrate? The town's also being livened up quite a bit by a murderer, so how about piggybacking on that and holding a festival? A bloodbath festival! ......I'm not sure if that was a clever thing to say.

Perhaps because I'm waiting for judgment from my imaginary audience, I feel palpitations rising up to the tip of my throat. A throbbing vitality, like mistaking it for the birth of a new life, pierces through my body. My breathing also grows rapidly harsher due to its influence—harsher, or rather, I've been out of breath from the start. Despite that, I'm using my brain to its fullest, spewing out delusions and such, so I'm not recovering at all. "Urghh—" Imitating a drunkard, I fall to my knees on the ground. The flickering stars of fatigue in my eyes drew a meteor shower.

The fact that I'm so out of breath, does that mean I might have been running? Did I suddenly start running away from Mayu's side? The string on my pinky finger has snapped, and the knot had dug into the hole, even causing it to bleed. I can't help but feel like a pet dog whose head snapped off when it struggled to break free from its collar and chain.
Moreover, that feeling is primarily centered on the torso. I'm assaulted by the fear of not being able to think. To keep maintaining that state—that's just being dead, isn't it? Did the torso die? Then is the head not dead? Which one is the "main body"? Between my body and my mind, which one is "me"? Uwaah, it's "me." Uwaaaaaaahhh... I was chased by that kind of philosophy. Let's just say that's what happened. In reality, it's absolutely not the case that I saw some elementary schoolers walking home in a group, wondered how Nagase Itsuki was doing, and the moment my imagination ran wild, I bolted.

Because, you see, I'm just living out the same old, boring days. Today, by chance, it seems the Earth performed a slide or something, and before I knew it, I was standing in front of a familiar house. It's the house where Nimouto's grandfather lives. And incidentally, Nimouto lives there too. Obviously. By the way, what's a "Nimouto"? I have no idea what the difference is with an "imouto" (younger sister).

Who was the one who started saying that? That person must usually just say things based on the mood of the moment and be called a liar.
Since it's about me, I know it like the back of my hand. Well then, shall I go say hi to Nimouto?

"Excuse me for intruding!" Wow, saying a greeting like this and visiting someone's house, how many years has it been? I miss Takeda-kun's house. But I can't recall Takeda-kun's face at all. Nor the shape of his house, its location, or the distance to it. What exactly am I feeling nostalgic about? Damn you, Takeda! (Unjustified resentment)

I entered the house, whose izakaya-style interior was still the same as ever, and since no one came to greet me, I tried shouting again, "Excuuuuuse meeeeeeeeee!" I meant it to also serve as a present-progressive assertion that "I am now shouting in a voice loud enough to be jarring!" Did it get through, I wonder? ...Ah, someone's coming out.

"A look of anguish and utter annoyance suits you as much as ever," I try saying, words that would surely rank as the worst kind of greeting after several months. The man, who was Nimouto's grandfather and also an old man, took a harsh attitude towards the unwelcome visitor. Because he looked so openly displeased, I, conversely, almost started to like him. Cybernetics, huh!
No, it's just that the "ba-ne" (spring) part is important; I have no clue what the word actually means, though. I just want to say he's perverse, though not rebellious enough to be called defiant. "Where is Nimouto?" I cut off my thoughts and asked the question, interpreting the other party as Villager A.

After gesturing towards the back of the premises with his chin, the old man quickly withdrew. I quickly followed. The old man, turning around at my unexpected action and presence, widened his eyes. The old man, still as dark-skinned as ever.
"You should make sure to lock your doors properly. Even I got in easily." "That hits home now. I'll do that." My advice produced sarcasm from the old man. Who could have predicted that this small stone I cast would later bring about a small-scale miracle for this household... At least one person, please appreciate that lingering sentiment.

Parting ways with the old man who had finished retreating to the back as if fleeing, I left the house. Then I circled around to the building in the back. I wonder if Nimouto is doing well. We haven't seen each other even once since I got out of the hospital in the summer, but I wonder if today too, she's healthy, breathing, blinking, her heart beating. That's a very wonderful thing, so if I may wish, I want her to kick the bucket after I've ended my own life. That's about all I wish for Nimouto. Also, I want her to kick me without using kitchen knives too much. Shall I wish for this too?

I entered the house the old man had indicated with his chin. After taking off my shoes and walking a little down the hallway, Nimouto's room door was ajar, so I tried my best not to make a sound as I snuck into the room. The causal relationship with the door is unclear, but I approached Nimouto, trying not to let her sense my presence. Nimouto had the soles of her feet propped against the drawer part of her desk as if kicking it, and was sipping listlessly at a can of juice while absurdly bending back the backrest of her chair. I didn't even need to check; the juice had to be mikan. Her gaze was directed at the window beyond the desk, and she didn't seem to notice me standing diagonally behind her. Now, what should I do?

I wonder if it'd be fun to surprise Nimouto... No, if I don't know, then anything is worth experiencing, right? In other words, I have to somehow startle this defenseless Nimouto and scare her liver into an oval shape or something. I'm driven by a strange sense of duty. Hmm... If I do it carelessly, she might stab me with a hidden blade without even checking who it is. In fact, she'd probably stab me even *after* confirming it's me; that's just so Nimouto. That's the one quality she's consistently maintained since childhood.

You know, if Nimouto and I were together as, say, two of the Four Heavenly Kings or Six Great Commanders of an evil secret society, we'd definitely not get along.
Even if we're siblings, our directions differ. Nimouto's path is a beast trail. My path is one pioneered by the scent of the earth, for carrying prey to the nest. "*Lick.*" "Hya-aiaiai-aiaiai!" I tried licking the exposed area between Nimouto's shoulder and neck. Nimouto shrieked, jumped up, and tipped over along with her chair. As the juice can flew through the air, scattering droplets of its contents, I struck a pose and reached out my right hand to try and catch it. It was a failure from that very moment. My crappy right arm wasn't granted enough gripping power in its fingertips, and just ended up batting the body of the can away. A dull "thud" was absorbed by the carpeted floor. It seemed she had drunk most of it, as the amount that spilled onto the carpet from the opening was minuscule.

However, judging by where that orange juice ended up, her anger doesn't seem to be minuscule at all. Wincing at the side of her body she'd hit, Nimouto looked up at me. First, she's surprised at that. Then, remembering what was done to her, she blushes.
"You, you, ant, an, ni!" Enraged, Nimouto kicked away the chair rolling on the floor and approached me. "Nimouto-tan, long time no see." I was kicked without a word. Mainly in the head.

"Wow, your leg sure can go up that high. You're flexible, Nimouto. Nimotan for short." I try continuing, undeterred. It's starting to sound like a fish's name. What was it, Findin G...? No, for this Nimotan, one of those common mistakes, "Fighting," would be more appropriate.

"And so, Fighting Nimota—" "Ttaaa-rassha!" Kicked up, kicked down. To commemorate the grand opening of the Masochist-Exclusive Attraction, today the park director herself is specially giving us a parade. A parade over me, lying face down on the floor. The stimulation is more electric than touching a lightbulb. Nimouto's feet, stomping as if to shatter my shoulder blades, are small. Her weight is also surprisingly light. But it hurts.

"Die! Pervert Ant, die! Seriously die, go to the hospital!" Nimouto's attacks, in the vein of "softness overcomes hardness," successively strike my vital spots. Also, dead people usually can't be hospitalized. Even for me, who tends to prefer meaningless things, there's nothing I can do about the impossible. But that shriek of surprise from earlier, for Nimouto, it was novel, like a girl her age. The pain, too, is novelly intermittent: "Diiiiiiiiieeeeeeeeeee!" At least, as long as I have a sense of pain, Nimouto's prayer won't be answered. Paradoxically, Nimouto was demonstrating with the soles of her feet that I was alive.

Just when it was about time to insert the clichéd monologue, "A few minutes, no, perhaps tens of minutes had passed..." Nimouto's revenge came to a temporary end because her stamina ran out. She was, without a doubt, healthy and energetic.

Utterly exhausted Nimouto leaned her back against the refrigerator, sighing wearily. Still face down, I was getting fed up with my hot back, which felt like it had a 36-degree iguana sitting on it, while I gazed at Nimouto's toes. Barefoot, small feet with the bones of her toes showing. "I want to lick them," a desire somehow sprouted.
Apparently, I have a proclivity to want to lick beautiful skin when I see it. I'm sure I wanted to lick the skin of a girlfriend I once had, and I actually did lick it. Licked it all over. Man, her blushing as a byproduct was wonderful.

Nimouto, while suppressing her ragged breathing as if gritting her teeth, said one word to her older brother. "Pervert Ant." "No, I was just moved by your growth." "That's completely random!" "Nimotan, you see—" "You're still saying that?!" Nimouto's charge, headbutt, stomp, round-trip slaps. "Your attack moves are one-sided, so you're not suited for PvP." "Don't. Go. Crazy!"

Nimotan's improvised scream, driven by her emotions, was surprisingly on point. Right now, I feel like I'm about to go crazy because of something. I'm aware of at least that much; I'm calm, after all. Huh, then isn't that okay? If I'm calm even when I'm crazy, would there be any inconvenience? Because that's no different from usual.

Nimouto's attacks didn't stop, and in the end, she almost selected "eat." Please stop. "Mmph, ughgh, ughghui," Nimouto protested, still biting my upper arm. That kind of gesture resembles Mayu, and I can't help but want to stroke her hair. I take her pitch-black hair, like the underside of a shadow, in my hand and enjoy its texture. Between my thumb and forefinger, I especially feel the strands of hair crossing.

"Don't touch me." *Peh*, she said, pulling out the front teeth she'd sunk into my skin, and glared at me with a reproachful stare. "Now, now, it's not like anything will wear out." "My anger is increasing!" Quite right, but I keep touching her. I also try patting her head. "Listen to what people say, pervert!" Nimouto's gaze and voice grew even more menacing. But other than that, there was no noticeable resistance. I figured she was tired. This is a once-in-a-lifetime chance. "Can I lick your toes?" "Shut up, you true-blue pervert!" I got a knee kick to my side.

While I was writhing from that blow, Nimouto moved on to her next action. After stepping on my legs and using karate chops on my torso to adjust my position and angle, Nimouto settled onto my lap, just like at the hospital. She sat hugging her knees, and perhaps due to the sudden exercise (bullying big brother), even her earlobes were steaming and dyed vermillion. I decided to forget the pain in my side for now and focus on her actions.

Yep, forgot it. What a convenient body. And yet, why is it that the only things I can't forget are the ones I've decided don't matter? "Oh?" Nimouto suddenly jumped off my lap, then glared at me with a strangely reproachful look, and came back onto my lap again. Knees-to-chest sit. Flight. Return. She repeats this mysterious rotation. "Is this a new kind of exercise?" Has Nimouto also reached the age where she worries about her figure? In the past, she only cared about figures other than her own, like which neighborhood dog was the plumpest and looked the tastiest.

It was a scene that really made me feel how much time has passed. Everything but the past is a lie, though.

Nimouto, still sitting with her knees to her chest and now leaning forward even more to press her face to her knees, mumbled an explanation for her actions. "I can't stay in the same place for five seconds." "Then you shouldn't be here." As she jumped away, she also kicked me in the side. Her ankle gouged cleanly into my side. After rejecting me that much, she ends up using my lap as a cushion after all.

You don't have to force yourself to make this your reserved seat, you know. It's your room, so it's not like you don't have a place to be. What an incomprehensible Nimouto. She's incomprehensible, but that's how I know she's the real deal.
"What did you come here for?" "I came to see Nimouto's face," I suppose, to venture a guess. Or maybe, I came to get roughed up, or something. Because right now, I'm kinda "emo-tion-ally unsta-ble." Is that because of Naga-something-san? No, no, no way. But when I try writing it in hiragana, I find myself worrying about my own brain more than expected. An unfathomable terror lies dormant in this thing called hiragana.