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Alright, shall we begin?
I stand before her room.
Let's change this inorganic door from something that obstructs to something that connects.
Taking a deep breath.
Placing my left hand beside my mouth, silently apologizing to the neighbors in my heart for the disturbance I'm about to cause.
As if turning my stomach inside out, I let out a loud voice.
"Maa-chaan, le-t's pla-ay!"
"Mii-kuun!"
"Ngh!"
Not again.
Mayu, who came rushing out instantly, slammed the opening door into my face, and my vision turned bright red.
Have you ever heard of 'learning from experience'? No, at this point, is it just a running gag?
And then, staggering from the impact of the inconsiderate body slam that immediately followed, I slammed my back hard against the wall and crumpled down. Only then, feeling the weight of her against me, did I finally relax my shoulders in relief.
We can never redo things. Not even once, not for a second, not even for an instant can we turn back the clock of life to the past. That's why I'll lie to you again. Every time we meet like this.
To make you happier than you've ever been.
"My name is Mii-kun."
The story of the lying boy and the broken girl is, once again, stirred up from here.

"...Mmmph."

**Epilogue: From All That Has Been, To All That Will Be**

"Welcome, good afternoooon."
A couple (probably) in different school uniforms came through the automatic doors, so my mouth moved on its own, even without conscious thought. My experience as a convenience store clerk, which I've been doing for ages after thinking for months about quitting at a good stopping point, makes me act automatically. Day by day, only my aptitude as a clerk improves.
I wonder if this is okay, I worried as usual, my eyes following the uniformed customers. Around what age does a person's way of life become fixed, making it impossible to turn back? I, in my late twenties, don't have a steady job and am just a part-timer at a store that's about to go under, losing customers to the new convenience store across the street. In contrast—well, not exactly in contrast, but—dazzling teenagers in uniform are wandering around the store, circling inside as if to kill time. Another customer appeared at the register to pay, and as I put the steamed meat bun they also ordered into a wrapper, I stewed in my thoughts. Every time those uniformed kids come in, my mood sours.
"Thank you very much!"
Still, my mouth moves. As if just the part for greetings has been replaced by a machine, I handle it dispassionately, yet reliably. I sometimes think this might be the reason I haven't been fired from this part-time job.
"Mmmph," I sigh, exasperated with myself.
But who would be happy hearing a greeting like this? Since I just mumble it gloomily, I think it probably makes people feel down instead. In fact, listening to my own voice made me feel depressed. Perhaps because I usually have my mouth half-open and look dazed (as I'm often told), I'm sometimes thought of as an airhead. It's not really like that, I think, and though I have counterarguments, I don't really express them much.
How should I put it... it's just too much bother. Getting people to understand me is a lot of work, and being bad with words, I always take a step back from that kind of self-assertion. When the uniformed girl strongly pulls the hand of the boy who looks like her boyfriend, that kind of strong will—while I envy it, it also seems like a hassle.

But I can't just keep saying things like that, can I? I thought, looking up at the ceiling as if worried about a leak. Even though it was past noon, the high-lux, glaring lights dazzled my eyes. What poured down from there wasn't rain, but something like a flood of light. My forehead, exposed to the light, grew hot with a searing sensation. I'm not good with bright places.
I pouted my lips a little more firmly than before. I checked with my finger if my brow was furrowed, and it was smooth, which pleased me regarding my skin's condition. On the other hand, I wondered if I couldn't manage a slightly more serious expression, though I didn't really want to dwell on it.
In another five years, I'll be in my thirties. And in less than five years, this convenience store will probably go out of business.
Both my age and my workplace... I keenly feel this sense of life's deadlines approaching.
Maybe it's about time I stopped spacing out and set some kind of goal in life.
For example, yes, if I were to set a very immediate goal.
"Like, conquering all the types of frankfurters or oden here... or something."
That was a bit too close.
Besides, I already did that with last week's meals, I thought, my shoulders slumping.
It was about five years ago that I started living alone in an apartment. At the time, I was a university student, and talk of how tough job hunting was had spread across campus, but I was just lazing about. The toughness didn't rub off on me.
I won't deny that I thought, 'Even if I tried seriously, someone like me probably wouldn't land a good job.' I didn't particularly have anything I wanted to do, and time just idly dragged on, so I graduated without any prospects. Of course, I didn't have a job lined up, and though I started a part-time job, that didn't last long either.
My path as a hopeless, slow-moving person hasn't changed since I was a child. I wonder if I have a talent for being a hopeless person, or if I lack the talent for being a normal person. But perhaps it's like they say, 'the more hopeless the child, the more...' or something, because my parents haven't abandoned me and provide me with a fair amount of support. And so, I've been blankly depending on that for three years, still a freeter.
After my part-time shift ends and I switch with the night person, I wander unsteadily along the sidewalk by the road.
January is cold. I suppose it would sound intellectual if I could say something more overflowing with emotion or scenic description, but 'cold' is all that comes to my mind. It's not snowing, nor is it raining. There aren't any interesting buildings along the road, nor do any eye-catching luxury cars speed by. The town maintains its usual route home, with its small roadside trees, rolling empty plastic bottles, a rusty painted sign, and a picture of a sad-looking dog on a defunct pet shop.
And there I am, the same as always. I'm easily overtaken not just by bicycles coming from behind, but also by students with downcast faces, looking like they're on their way home from club activities. My plodding footsteps sound more sluggish than others'. Is it because I'm not walking with any energy? I sniffled loudly, zu-zuuut, and groaned like an old man, "Ughhh." The air is so cold, I almost start to worry that the inside of my nose will get frostbite.

"There's nooothing here, but, well, that's better than haaaving something, right?"
Just being able to walk peacefully on the night road is relatively good around here.
The combination of my breath and the night sky is beautiful, so I do it over and over. Shivering, I look at the stars. Like a lost child.
The town has become peaceful before I knew it, but I myself haven't changed at all. Even if there are heroes of justice, they can't improve the lives of every single person, nor do they try to.
That also feels like my starting point.
What's the difference between the me of yesterday and the me of today?
Coming to that conclusion quite simply, I returned to my apartment. It's not like anyone is waiting for me, but when I stand before that gloomy-looking building, the weight that had been clinging to my shoulders lifts.
Planning an energy-saving happiness of curling up in the kotatsu and sleeping for about fifteen hours when I get back, I enter the apartment grounds and look for my key. When I was in elementary school, I often had trouble forgetting where I put my key.
"Oh?"
Near my room's door, there was a rectangular red box. Ah. No, looking closely, it wasn't as formal as a 'box,' and the 'red' was the color of the wrapping paper. On a wine-red background, silver created a polka-dot pattern, like scattered stars. It looked just like a Christmas present that had arrived a month late.
Hmm, hmm, I crouch in front of the box. I sniffle while I'm at it. Being nearsighted, I bring my face closer to the box than necessary. A red present box... does that mean if I open it, there might be cookies, a hamburger, or maybe a beat-up baseball bat inside? "Mmmph." I pinch the wrapping ribbon. Gently, I tug at the bow, just enough not to undo it. I still don't know if it's for me, so I can't carelessly check what's inside. In the first place, I have absolutely no idea who it could be from.
"Ah, it says 'Small Gift'."
It also added, 'Housewarming Gift'. It seems they came to my room, and since I wasn't here, they left it. They could have come to give it to me later, I thought, but then reconsidered, 'Is it too much bother?' If it were me, based on the conclusion that it's bothersome, I'd leave the small gift behind. I see, I thought, picking it up.
"Moving in?"
Lifting my head, I look at the door of the room next to mine. There are four rooms, and light is leaking from inside two of them. Both of those are people who've been living here for a while. Though I've hardly ever seen them.
Brrr, as my body shivered from the cold, I heard the sound of footsteps crunching on the gravel of the grounds. Straightening my knees and turning around, I saw two figures approaching, huddled close together. It being nighttime and me being nearsighted, I can't make out their faces until they're close, but it seems they're headed for the room next door. The room next door was definitely vacant until yesterday, so these people must be the ones who moved in. Understanding this, I peered at the figures who had come closer, and it was the uniformed kids who were at the convenience store earlier. The boy also seemed to remember my face, showing the same 'Ah' reaction. The girl standing beside him was silent, her expression unchanging. The two of them bought tea at the convenience store and left; I wonder if they were wandering around somewhere after that.

The boy had slightly long hair, and perhaps because it was night, his face had a shadowy feel to it. His well-defined nose was red from the cold, and his cheeks were also flushed red as if chafed. I wonder if his bangs hanging over his eyes aren't annoying. His shoulders were slender, making him look taller than he actually was. He looks like a high school student, apparently.
"Hello. We came by to greet you earlier, but you weren't in."
The boy bowed his head, being reasonably polite. I also, "Ah, well, hello there," hesitantly bent at the waist. It could hardly be called a bow. More like a damp bean sprout bending.
"A greeting... um, for moving in?" I said, recalling what was written on the small gift. By the way, I wonder what's inside. I'd be a little happy if it's food.
"Yes. It's nice to meet you."
"Come on, say hello," the boy with a gentle impression urged, as if supporting the girl's back.
The girl had sharp eyes and the features of an adolescent who seemed to be asserting, 'I'm very sensitive.' She seemed prickly overall, and there wasn't the slightest hint that she had a favorable impression of me, who was facing her. Rather, I was being glared at so intensely it felt like she might declare, 'I've disliked you since the moment I first saw you.' A little scary.
And then, the girl, still sullen-faced, gave a truly tiny nod. I'm not the kind of person who's liked from a first meeting, so it's fine, but I did wonder what she was angry about. I rarely get angry. There aren't many stimulating events that would make me angry. Maybe just when convenience store customers make a pointless fuss.
"Sorry, she's just shy."
When the boy tried to cover for her, the girl stomped on his foot. Ooh, that looks painful. I was quite sensitive to pain. Or rather, painful things should be painful for everyone, so what's with the '-gari' (sensitive to) part?
Setting aside such questions, now that I have new neighbors, it means that when I bang my shin on the leg of a desk, I can no longer scream 'Angyaaa, angyaaa' like a baby and roll around. I'll have to be careful. I'll have to curl up like a shrimp, stifle my screams, and just endure it silently.
Somehow, that seems just like my everyday life, continuing as an unmotivated convenience store clerk out in the world.
"I-I'm much obliged."
I definitely thought my use of Japanese was strange, but those were the words that came out without thinking. I'm not good at prolonged conversations, so I quickly retreated into my room. There's no difference in temperature between outside and inside.
High school boys and girls renting an apartment... sounds like there might be some rather complicated circumstances.
I thought about my new neighbors for just a moment, but that thought quickly froze over from the cold.

Stepping on the heels of my shoes, I hastily kicked them off messily and jumped into the chilly kotatsu room. I tossed my bag into the darkness and turned on the light. Then I immediately dove under the kotatsu and turned on the switch. "Uuuuh," I shivered for a while, teeth chattering, hands clasped between my thighs. It felt like I was warming the chilled blue kotatsu futon with my own body heat. I rolled onto my side and closed my eyes.
As I counted my pulse, throbbing intensely at the boundary between my chin and neck, the inside of the kotatsu gradually warmed up. By the time a comfortable temperature was reached, my heavy eyelids wouldn't lift anymore.
I was so hungry, I ate sand. ...I had a dream. And before my stomach got full, my throat became too dry to swallow, and I withered away. ...After that ending, I woke up.
It seems I had fallen asleep just like that; I was drenched in sweat. Maybe because I'd been lying on my right side the whole time, my shoulders were stiff. I crawled sluggishly out from under the kotatsu futon and collapsed face down right there. Without knowing what time it was, I realized I was starting to snore softly, guu guu. But if I sleep outside the kotatsu, even if it's warm now, I'll gradually cool down and end up shivering from the cold. So I should get up.
"Uuuugh," I groaned, lifting my sleepy head and eyelids. After standing up, I plodded, thud, thud, heavily around the room. There's no meaning to it. I'm just waiting for myself to wake up. During those ritual-like movements, my body completely cooled down, and my still-drowsy consciousness also froze.
"Nnnnngh..."
"It's cold, it's cold," I grumbled, diving back under the kotatsu futon, this time shaking my legs restlessly while sitting. Checking the black clock hanging on the wall, the short hand pointed to 9. I wondered if it was afternoon, but when I checked outside the window, it was clearly morning. Wow, and my part-time job starts again at ten.
I rubbed my eyes, conflicted. Gradually, I started to feel less sleepy. This isn't the time to be sleepy—or rather, the part-time job I was supposedly doing reluctantly had, I realized, become the center of my life.
I decided to just grab breakfast at the convenience store too, so I made up my mind to leave.
That was the only place I ever went out to. Other than that, at most, I'd go on a little trip on my days off to visit bookstores. My apartment, the convenience store, and bookstores were enough to make my week go round and round. A life like a waltz. Though not nearly that elegant.
It's not like I have any memories from when I was sleeping, so it feels like I'm leaving the room right away. I put on one jacket, then, wondering if it wasn't enough, I tried layering another one. It's so bulky it's hard to move my arms. Maybe it would be warmer and better if I just wrapped myself in a futon. I actually considered it for a moment.
After putting on two pairs of socks as well, I plodded slowly down the dim hallway and put on my shoes. I was wearing too many layers of outerwear, so I struggled to bend over. If I bent forward, it felt like I might just roll away.
Wincing at how ice-cold the doorknob was, I went outside. Outside, in contrast to that coldness, dazzlingly greeted me. When the light hit my cheeks, it felt like being caressed by a smooth hand. But that palm, though soft like silk left out in winter, was also chilling.
After locking the door, I noticed the voices of my neighbors coming from beyond the wall. I heard a lively girl's voice. She had a bad attitude towards me, but with her boyfriend, I wonder if she's so 'kyun kyun' that she's past swooning to death and about to give birth to his children or something. So this is the 'gap moe' rumored on the streets, huh? How educational.

While accumulating only such useless knowledge that's hard to find a use for, I toddled along and arrived at the convenience store. Inside, the unmotivated-looking middle-aged male clerk who worked before my shift was looking for cigarettes according to a customer's order.
When I quietly entered the store, he glanced at me, even though he was in the middle of serving a customer. We weren't close enough to talk much, so after a light nod, I headed to the bento shelves at the back. Wandering around. Since it was a time when other customers hadn't gathered yet, I roamed left and right as I pleased. And after agonizing for many minutes, I wandered over to the register and bought oden. For someone who works at the store to hand money to the same middle-aged part-timer colleague feels somehow incredibly awkward, and I find myself looking down for some reason. I bought it and quickly left the store.
Outside the store, next to the trash can, I operated my cell phone while munching on konnyaku that had nicely absorbed the broth. When I checked, there was a new email that had arrived in the middle of the night. Opening it, there was an image attached, which looked like a game screen or something. The counters for funds and playtime were composed entirely of 9s.
Completely dumbfounded, I slowly moved my fingers to send a reply email.
Even someone like me has friends. NEE-tomo, though. Ah, NEE-tomo is short for NEET friend. We only interact through email, but she's a woman in her thirties, and apparently, she's also a NEET. Ah, not 'also.' Because I'm not a NEET. I hear her family is suuuper rich, and she continues a life of playing games every day and occasionally running errands. I don't know her name, but I was quite envious of her. Incidentally, after about three days, I mustered up my courage and sent an email saying, 'Let's meet up,' but I was rejected with, 'Goooing outside is scaaary.'
I thought, 'She's the real deal.'
And then I swallowed the konnyaku. Well, today's another day beginning.
After gazing at the scene of the thriving convenience store next door, I went inside my store to work.
"Welcome~"

Even though this convenience store is on the verge of closing, we have regular customers. For example, the customer who just came in. She's a woman with a baby face, but it's like only her breasts borrowed ten years of growth from the future. Her overall figure is petite, yet that part alone makes a self-assertion comparable to the covers of magazines in the adults-only section. That's why even people of the same sex tend to have their eyes drawn there. She herself doesn't seem conscious of such gazes from those around her, and there's not the slightest sign of her trying to hide them. ...But why do people get hurt or worry over the size of their breasts? If they're small, do people associate it with not having matured as a person, or things like that? I've never particularly worried about it, so I didn't really understand.
That 'new' woman (my little pun) trotted like a small animal towards the general goods shelf, and seemed to be checking the items by moving her head up and down. That woman often buys notebooks and pens. I can't imagine a daily life that uses so many notebooks, so maybe the woman is simply a notebook collector. They exist, they exist. Or do they not?
As the woman tried to take some product, she snagged her clothes on the shelf. Moreover, while trying to unhook it, she flusteredly scattered products all over the floor. How clumsy.
I said, "Could you cover the register, please?" to the older female clerk sitting listlessly at the back of the store, and then briskly walked over to the woman. I crouched down next to the woman, whose eyes were darting about in panic, and picked up the products. "Ah, u-uh," the woman started to say something to me, but then closed her mouth. The two of us moved sluggishly, our movements far from what anyone would call brisk, but we somehow managed to pick everything up. What she had dropped were stationery items like loose-leaf paper reams and staplers. How can one drop such a variety of things, so spectacularly?
"Ah, I'll take care of it, so it's okay."
I take on the role of returning the products one by one to the shelf, even for the woman who was trying to do it. Because that's the job of a store clerk. I really want to say, 'You dropped it, so you do it!' but I can't. I want to imitate the older female clerk who slacks off because the manager isn't watching, but I can't do that either. Since I have nothing else to do, I have no choice but to do this job.
The woman, looking up at me with downcast eyes, looked like she might cry if I prodded her even a little, but she rustled around and took out a light-blue notebook from her jacket pocket. It was the one she bought the other day.
For some reason, in this situation, she opened that notebook and flipped through the pages with practiced ease. Then she opened it and pointed to the words 'Thank you' written in the corner of the page she showed me. Hm? Hmm? While I was tilting my head in confusion, she ended up leaving the store as if fleeing, without buying anything.
"Hmm... I wonder if her throat is shot because of a cold?"
It's not like she can't speak. I've heard her speak normally once before. It was a really raspy-sounding voice, completely different from her youthful appearance, and it surprised me. Maybe it's the curse of the breasts, I thought for a moment.
I listlessly returned the products I was holding to the shelves. The older female clerk looked displeased at being made to stand at the register even though no customers were coming. But we've been told not to leave it unmanned. Pretending not to feel the gaze emanating from her garish makeup, I did my work. As soon as I finished and returned to the register, the older female clerk retreated. I have a vague memory of hearing her name, but I've forgotten it. Just greetings like 'Good mooornin'' and 'Good work todayyy' were the entirety of my conversations with the older female clerk over several months. That's the kind of relationship we had.

"Nothing to dooo," I grumbled internally, gazing at the warmly heated Chinese steamed buns. Standing around blankly with unfocused eyes isn't hard, but when it continues, I can't help but think about what I'll do for work after this place closes, and I end up feeling gloomy. And my thoughts also circle around the fact that I'm working at this convenience store.
How should I put it... even that regular customer from before only buys things she could get at any other convenience store. Is there really any incredible value in this store being here, and in me working as a clerk? I wonder.
Because it's all such a bother.
For example, when I'm working, I'm not happy by any stretch of the imagination. If anything, I feel unhappy. But if my being bothered can serve as a springboard or backdrop for someone else's happiness, then there's value in it. Unhappiness becomes value for someone. Happiness is born from unhappiness.
Has such a thing ever happened before?
The time when I was happy.
Just remembering it makes my mouth want to fall half-open. And now, I have no money. I don't have a boyfriend right now either. My future prospects are also astonishingly nonexistent.
For someone like me to become happy, how much 'unhappiness' is necessary?

Things like, 'Static electricity makes a 'bachin' sound when it sparks, so it's not 'static' (quiet), is it?' or 'Waishou (trivial/dwarfish) and kaishou (resolution/dissolution) are only one character different, but the difference between the feeling of withdrawing inwards and bursting outwards is so extreme,'—I thought about such things all through my work hours. I also thought that 'metronome' sounds like a name related to subways (chikatetsu). Still, my hands do their work properly. Maybe it's my calling. If this job disappears, maybe I'll move to the convenience store next door.
And so, after enough time had passed without me speaking to anyone that you'd think a nearby parrot talked more, in the early afternoon, my new neighbor who had just moved in yesterday came by. It was just the boy, but he was in casual clothes, his hair still long as ever. I couldn't help but want to give him a short, Western-style zangiri haircut.
Unaware of my inner thoughts, the boy, whose eyes met mine, gave a small nod. He picked out his bento in three seconds and brought it to my register. He seems to be a different breed from those who dither for fifteen minutes before choosing oden. Whether he's quick at making decisions or just not very interested in food, I couldn't tell.
"Hello. Nice to meet you... though I said that yesterday."
The boy spoke to me. "Ah, yes, cough, yes," I said, clearing the hoarseness from my unused throat before giving an awkward nod. I'd never worried before about what kind of distance to keep with an apartment neighbor. Though I was acting a bit suspiciously shifty, my arms carried out the work on their own. One way or another, I'm definitely accumulating skills as a convenience store clerk. I'd been getting carried away thinking things like, 'In the future, when they introduce robot clerks in convenience stores, they should just use me as a model, right?' so when I faced the boy to tell him the price of the two bentos, I was thoroughly flustered. My eyes, as if wanting to escape, started to drift to the right.
"Oh, what about the girl?"
For the time being, that was the only thing I could think of to talk about. The boy said, "Oh," and scratched his cheek. "She's probably sleeping right now. She didn't sleep much late last night."
That was a story unrelated to me, who had slept for over ten hours. By the way, I vaguely wondered if today was a weekday, but that was overwritten by a different worry: 'Is it worse not to have a sense of the days of the week?'
"Would you like chopsticks?"
"Eh?"
"Then two pairs, please."
I put them in cheerfully. Then the boy put the two yen change into some donation box I didn't recognize.
"Thank you very much!"
I bowed my head as I saw the boy off. I'm not usually this polite, but he's an acquaintance, after all.
And then, after that boy left, as if immediately following him, the man who had been loitering around the magazine corner until just a moment ago also left the store. Mmm, the scent of a case! As I was turning a coincidence—something I might see about ten times on some days—into something fateful, a person who looked like they genuinely handle cases stood before the register.
"Hello, you're working hard again today, aren't you?"
She spoke to me familiarly with a beaming smile. By a beautiful woman with whom, in reality, I wasn't that close.