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After that, I always say, "I'm your friend."
That makes the old man look happy, and it makes me smile too.
I talked about all sorts of things with the old man.
I told him about things I liked, and he listened to me complain about things I hated.
The old man said he was Santa Claus, but...
To me, the old man seemed like a present *from* Santa Claus.
"You really are like Santa Claus, mister."
Hearing my words, filled with dependence, the old man narrowed his eyes and smiled.
And then he said,
"I'd like to be, wouldn't I."
The old man looked truly happy when he said that.

***

Four days had passed since my first experience with elder abuse.
That evening, I was in Mayu's room, cutting her nails.
Not my own, but Mayu's flat nails.
I took charge of Mayu's hand—her five fingers and palm clustered unreservedly with bandages and gauze—held over the tissues piled on the bed. I trimmed the excessive nail tips and filed them smooth. If left alone, she's the neglectful type who'd let them grow out, and they might stab me when she hugs me. Even setting that aside, there's a chance Mayu's nails could break in the process and hurt her.
"This feels kinda nice. Like I'm a princess."
Mayu, whose laughter had held a hint of superior composure for a while now, offered this impression.
It's true, Mayu is an otherworldly beautiful girl, so it doesn't seem out of place.
"And, Mii-kun is the prince."
"Rather than a prince, maybe someone like a servant who tends to the princess's fingertips is more fitting."
*Internal thought:* If I *were* a prince, "idiot" would probably be a required epithet.
Enjoying the conversation, free from any danger, I snipped away the blades on her fingers with crisp little *pachin, pachin* sounds.
"A servant Mii-kun devoting himself to me... that's nice too~"
For some reason, Mayu slurped drool. Didn't we express-mail food to her stomach about thirty minutes ago?
"Well, people used to call me a worker ant. Serving suits my nature."
"Ehh? Mii-kun has always, always been Mii-kun."
"Ah, well, yeah, I guess."
Brushing it off casually, I moved on to her toenails.
I supported the heel of her small foot with my fingers, lifting it, and trimmed the nails, which hadn't grown as much as her fingernails. Her toes were round like a young child's and pleasant to the touch. I remembered having the same thought when I was tasked with painting her nails before.
"By the way, where did you go during lunch today?"
Mayu confronted me with a suspicion she couldn't quite hide, wearing a barely apologetic smile.
"I went to your room, Mii-kun, but you weren't there."
"Oh? You didn't take a nap today?"
"I woke up at three!! Stop treating me like a kid!"
Her feet thrashed in preschooler rebellion, and her heel dropped into the pile of nail clippings, scattering them across the bed. I dropped the clippers and scrambled to collect them. Meanwhile, I pondered how to deceive the sullen Mayu.
*Internal thought:* The truth was, like the past few days, I'd been nibbling on rice crackers with the old lady living in a room in the West Wing. And I'd just been 'chatting her up' using fake dialect like "Is that so," "Well now," "Things like that happen, eh." Does this count as cheating, or maybe an affair? My partner *is* a married woman, after all... well, she is, but context is important, right? In Japanese. Even calling her 'my wife' feels like it has too much linguistic air resistance.
*Internal thought:* Now, what should I do? Visiting a friend's house, a memorial service, mushroom hunting, cram school... None of these worn-out excuses could possibly make the 'new human' Mayu beam with a smile so bright you'd want to pay cash. After all, she's the kind of girl whose heart is large in a different sense – her jealousy extends even to corpses.
*Internal thought:* I finished collecting the nail clippings – to brew tea from her dirt, you know. Doesn't matter if it's true or not, but my stalling time is up. Lying about going to the shop is dangerous; Mayu might have checked. Bright and happy dating is just full of troublesome things that make your head hurt.
".........*Staaaare*..." Her reproachful eyes tormented me.
"...Hmph. I went to get *this*."
*Internal thought:* Be prepared, and there is life. I entrusted my life—as thin as human kindness, fitting for a piece of paper folded in four—to this.
*Internal thought:* I never thought I'd have to call it up to bat this soon.
"What's this?"
"A marriage registration form."
Mayu unfolded the paper as hastily as a middle school boy stuffing porn he just received into his bag. She opened the folds so vigorously I worried it might rip in two. As she scanned the paper, her displeasure vanished. And then, as expected, she tackled me.
"Nyu-fufu-kyukukuku."
*Internal thought:* This was the first time I'd seen her beaming like Ebisu. Also, it had been a long time since I'd witnessed the moment a screw came loose in her head.
"Then starting today, I'm Mii-Maa-chan, okay?"
"Ohh, that's great."
*Internal thought:* Yes, I fooled her. My past self, who requested this from Natsuki-san as a get-well gift, is a great man. But the divorce form was excessive. If I showed her that, she'd cry and refuse even though we're not married.
I stopped Mayu as she immediately tried to write her name on it, and finished cutting her nails while savoring the taste of my saved life.

***

Next up was ear cleaning.
The number of times Mayu has done it for me is the same number as adults in the world who have never told a lie.
Mayu rolled around on my lap, not understanding the purpose. I grabbed the nape of her neck and pulled her ear out from under her hair. Her earlobe fluttered, expressing protest at the rough treatment, but I ignored it and inserted a cotton swab into her ear canal. I dug out the ear waste, and Mayu finally powered down.
"Mmph, the village's stores..."
"I wouldn't want *this* as my annual tribute, though..."
Our conversation became completely opposite: Mayu joking around, and me being slightly serious.
"From now on, try to do it yourself sometimes."
"Ehh, no way. Mii-kun will do it for me."
"You're not a kid, right?"
"Maa-chan is six years old, just for now."
As proof, she deliberately crafted the most innocent expression she could manage. The way her claims adapted to her convenience, Mayu really was a girl of that age.
*Internal thought:* More accurate than claiming to be thirty, I concluded, and continued the pokey-pokey.
Mayu entrusted herself to me obediently, like a housewife warming herself at a kotatsu.

A comfortable silence.
As it continued, a memory surfaced unintentionally.
*Internal thought:* ...Ear cleaning, huh.
*Internal thought:* A long time ago, I visited Nagase's house, ostensibly to study. In her room, while exchanging the kind of sweet talk that has now become a deadly curse – a sweet hell of blood – she cleaned my ears. I have a vivid memory of red staining the tip of the earpick afterward. After that... well... I'm aiming to be a shonen protagonist, so I'll skip that part. But who, besides our future selves, would have thought we'd dissolve our relationship the very next Monday?
"...Okay, turn over."
Mayu did a half-turn, rolling over with her arms up in a 'banzai'. Next was the right ear. I flipped the cotton swab too.
"Let's take a bath when we're done~"
The girl, living a hospital life free from rules like bath times or lights-out, made the suggestion without inhibition or shyness. Deciding it could wait until later, I agreed, "Sure, let's do that."
Then, we returned to the silent space.
*Internal thought:* But now, I feel something different.
*Internal thought:* That was a mistake.
*Internal thought:* We weren't just strangers whose ties had been cut yet.
"I always think this, but that's a weird habit you have."
When I stimulate her right ear, Mayu gives a little cough. My father, I recall, had a similar reaction.
"This is Maa-chan's iden-ti-ty."
"If it's that important, clean it regularly."
Mayu ignored me. She pressed her cheek against my thigh and seemed at ease.
*Internal thought:* ...When it comes down to it, I find myself accepting that taking on this role isn't so bad.
"Okay, all done."
"*Guteh~*"
Mayu stretched out, showing not a shred of intention to move.
"Hey, not *guteh*... what about the bath?"
*Internal thought:* Not that I'm expecting anything. Really, truly.
"Mii-kun's thigh did me in."
"You know... normally, that's the guy's position."
"I can't stand up anymore."
"...Well, fine, I guess."
Fine, but...

***

*Internal thought:* ...Humans. The ones who keep getting back up win.
*Internal thought:* A theorem of life believed in by the vast majority.
*Internal thought:* Yes, it's probably the truth.
*Internal thought:* But, to fall seven times and rise eight, you need to fall up to the seventh time. And if you understand that the vast majority lose something irretrievable in the six falls *before* that...
*Internal thought:* However, even so, it's better than falling endlessly.
*Internal thought:* Because we've probably lost even the ground upon which we could fall and crawl.
*Internal thought:* ...Well then. Shall I go cheerfully cook the fish whose expiration date has passed again today?

***

The hospital room I visited before lights-out had become a gathering place for gloom, fitting for the four-character idiom 'dejection' (ikishouchin). An atmosphere so dark you could probably sleep soundly without needing to turn off the lights filled the air.
The cause, of course, was Watarai-san.
For the four days since our chat, he'd been somewhat delirious, either clinging to his futon as if warding off delusional threats or spending all day muttering boasts to himself like a haiku poet. The police, diligently working their jobs while being treated as a nuisance within the hospital, probably found him tiresome every day.
In response to Watarai-san's terminal state, the high school student employed avoidance tactics, and the middle-aged man began to intermittently mutter himself, as if not to be outdone. I've been actively trying to interact with him for the past three days, but I only get weak responses.
The doctors and nurses are also unsure how to handle him, since mental health isn't their specialty. He's estranged from his relatives, and even the other half of the lovebird couple who was admitted simultaneously, just like being on the family register, watches TV with a zero-degree Celsius attitude, saying, "I don't know anything about him." Perhaps the elderly are already losing their mutual connections.
That's why I'm playing the role of his grandson, diligently keeping him company.
*Internal thought:* That's way too much of a lie, though.
*Internal thought:* Well, shall I begin the daily routine that would ideally end after three days?
"Watarai-san, how are you feeling?"
As if to annoy him, I deliberately bent my knees to meet his gaze. At this, Watarai-san, faced with a young punk like me, added ten more wrinkles to his face out of thorough terror and hid behind his best friend, the futon.
*Internal thought:* I'd ruined Watarai-san's effort—mustering his willpower to expose his face to the outside world, trembling with fear. I constantly reflect on this, but since I have a mountain of other things to reflect on, the day I actually act on it will likely be kept waiting for about five years.
"Are you seeing the corpse today too?"
I asked lightly, like a standard phrase in correspondence. No reply comes from my pen pal. So, as usual, I unilaterally spout suspicious words.
"'The corpse you fear is a girl's, isn't it?' *Whisper.* 'You know that girl.' 'You even know the feel of her skin.' *Prayer.* 'What color her blood was.' 'How her dying face crumbled.' *Chant.* 'You experienced it all.' *Think about it.*"
*Internal thought:* Since no noteworthy reaction came back, the extent of the effect is somewhat unclear. But they say persistence pays off, so I optimistically assume it must be having some impact. Two days left until discharge. I'll repeat this until then, and if no further change appears... let the chips fall where they may. In Watarai-san's current state, acting as an obstacle to others would likely be caught between hardship and difficulty anyway.
*Internal thought:* The world stares clearly with strange eyes at the boy whispering something into the ear of the weakened old man. However, the high schooler and middle-aged man with a sense of justice who might take concrete action are nowhere to be found.
"Doesn't the girl say anything to you?"
I tried to pull off the futon serving as earplugs and an eye mask. A hand whose veins bulged so much the wrinkles went unnoticed stopped me.
"Why does the girl come to visit you, Watarai-san?"
"Is she your first love?" I jeered crudely. Watarai-san's reaction was air, so it was an emptiness beyond just blandness.
"Get well soon, so you can go see Itsuki's face."
*Internal thought:* She's your reason for living right now, isn't she?
*Internal thought:* Her older sister, not so much, it seems.
I decided to end today's meddling there. "Goodnight, see you tomorrow." I bid him a respectful yet insolent goodnight, gave a nod only to the middle-aged man, and left the room.

***

In the empty corridor, I stopped once, then set Mayu's room as my destination. For Watarai-san's mental hygiene and my own health, I should doubt the safety of that room right now. I'm not confident enough to doze off next to a clearly visible pitfall.
*Internal thought:* Still, Watarai-san... how long can he keep going like this? The situation ahead is as dark as the jet-black filling the window. Once your foot is on the cliff edge, it's impossible to stand perfectly still forever. There's a good chance the ground beneath his feet will crumble before he does. He talked about dreaming of a stable old age like this corridor... pitiful. *Internal thought:* That's quite a lie, though.
Suddenly, shouts and something similar flew at me from behind. There was no way I could be led by a sudden chill to leap aside. A pipe... chair?
My right shoulder was struck hard without reservation. I dropped my right crutch, crumpled to the floor, moaning in agony, yet my brain could only manage to identify the type of weapon.
Instinctively, I swung the crutch remaining in my left hand, counteracting the next blow. But the impact numbed my hand and burst a blister, causing me to drop the crutch—my means of resistance—to the floor. Before I could pick it up, I found myself looking at the ceiling.
Watarai-san, his eyes bloodshot, was raising the pipe chair. Rather, the old geezer's full swing unreservedly shaved off the side of my face. A blow that felt like my neck alone was about to declare independence. My spatial awareness went blank. There was no time to register the fragmented moments, as the second strike pierced me. Centered on my temple, the side of my head was struck diagonally. The sensation of my ear being seventy percent torn off—that's just an illusion, right?
I was about to let out a scream of agony. My ears picked up some sound, but something else interfered. A flood of blood flow blocked out Watarai-san's bizarre screams, shrieks, radio waves. It was like watching a silent movie; the impact and pain hitting me felt somewhat insubstantial, crushing, twisting, and scraping me. I didn't even have the leeway to raise my right hand.
The back-and-forth slaps with the pipe chair destroyed my body's core, its support. I collapsed forward in an unmanly way. My nose, flattened against the floor, sent out a searing pain.
The blood on my cheek scraped against the floor—an unpleasant sensation. But I didn't even have the energy to grimace.
Watarai-san's onslaught seemed to be taking a brief pause; about 1.6 meters above me, he was roughly gathering oxygen. For someone carrying a voucher for a coffin, he sure was celebrating life. If I just let the floor be my pillow, that free invitation will be transferred to me. But hey, I seem to have ridiculously good/bad luck, so maybe if I just drift off here, someone will row a lifeboat my way.
*Internal thought:* What if I become optimistic like that and actually die this time? ...No, if I die, what can I do? Nothing. That's what dying means.
*Internal thought:* Even if a corpse had a will, it wouldn't be allowed to expose it. You can't talk back if insulted, if you're hit, it's one-sided, confessing to the girl you like is impossible, and stealing someone's girlfriend is beyond a dream. But maybe there's a part of you that can just accept it as only that. Cherishing someone, gaining many things, experiencing separation, walking a wonderful path in life... so what does that amount to? Even if you live exactly as you please until you die, it's not like you can leave anything behind. So why do we live out our days with free will? Isn't it just to kill boredom until death? The value of living is nothing more than sublime, grand time-killing. The meaning of life is killing time, and the reason is postponing the unpleasant. That's all it is.
*Internal thought:* ...But sometimes, I realize that might just be precious. Because if I die, I can't even do lewd things with Maa-chan, you know? Until a little while ago, I wouldn't have minded dying. But now it's different. I want to stay alive just a little longer than 'a little while ago'. Testing whether I live or die... I'm done with that. I'm tired of it. Even if there's no meaning for being born, reasons exist. Even if there's no reason or meaning to live, I have personal goals. To be by Mayu's side—brightly, warmly, comically, falsely. If I die, there's no guarantee Mayu will find the next Mii-kun easily. I don't really want to put her through that trouble. So, I can't die here. Because there are things I forgot to tell Nagase, too.

The only weapon left for me, crawling on the floor, was the same as an animal's. Disregarding the wound on my left hand, I abused it like a spring and leaped horizontally. All that remained was to bite off that athlete's foot-stinking big toe.
*Internal thought:* Crush hesitation. Cast aside reluctance. For me, having lost the shackles of common sense, it was a simple task.
I sank my teeth in. "$#&$&&!" Watarai-san's scream. I twisted my body, scraping the surface of his flesh. "#()&((~)~%&$%$!" A shriek. I bit deeper. Watarai-san's cries were sung out above me. I held absolutely nothing back.
He smashed the chair against the back of my head. It went beyond pain, seeping heat. I felt like a cockroach being swatted with a slipper. But my consciousness didn't fade; it only served to push my teeth deeper into the flesh. Watarai-san's high-pitched voice accelerated as it went further off-key.
*Internal thought:* One hit, two hits, three, four... the interval gradually shortened. Convenient. Shortening the wind-up time meant the power of each blow was steadily diminishing. If I could endure the violence from before, there was no way I couldn't withstand lesser pain. You don't get it, Watarai-san. Go ask my old man for pointers.
My front teeth reached something hard. Bone. On the back of my teeth, the slimy feel of meat. The taste of twitching sinew. And blood. Blood, blood, blood. Smooth blood, sticky blood, refreshing blood. My breathing was obstructed by the bodily fluids pooling in my mouth, so I temporarily halted the exchange of oxygen and carbon dioxide. Reading this as the crucial moment, I put my energy behind it with a 'Heave ho!' and entrusted my strength to my front teeth.
*Internal thought:* Squish-squish-squish, squish-squish-squish, squish-squish-squish the meat, the blood, the nerves, squish-squish-squish! Try with all your might! Stop being human in order to live! Tear, tear, T—E—A—R!
The crisp sound of the pipe chair hitting the floor. Watarai-san's will to attack was sucked away, replaced by self-preservation instincts; he writhed and struggled. He rolled around on the floor, flailing his legs. Desperately trying to shake me off. 'Feels like fishing,' my blood-deprived head could only manage a dimwitted interpretation. After playing 'catch the fish' for several tens of seconds, I finally returned to my senses and realized I should run. Groping blindly, I grabbed one crutch and released my mouth there.
Even after I leaned my upper body back, Watarai-san couldn't get up. Of course, if this were a match decided by count-out, it would have been my loss.
I thrust the crutch into Watarai-san's abdomen, putting my full weight on it as I stood up.
My mouth, naturally, tasted of blood and toe, and bits of flesh clung to the back of my teeth. Thinking it would be a bother to dirty the floor, I swallowed it. This level of unpleasantness wasn't enough to even make me feel nauseous. Just this much.
Through a world tinted by a red filter, I looked down at the convulsing Watarai-san. Perhaps because my ears weren't shuttered closed, the murmuring of nearby patients came flooding in like an avalanche. Onlookers, drawn by the screams of Watarai-san who had attacked me, were apparently watching us from a distance.
"Well, no wonder he didn't need an examination..."
"The old man hustled too hard. The expression 'a candle's final flicker'—I understood it with blood soaking into my skin."
"'Seriously, first the granddaughter, now the grandpa... Is Itsuki the only one hitting the ball back properly?'"
The forbidden groin kick and the frustration-venting crutch beatdown would be skipped due to my poor physical condition. Besides, I don't actually hold a grudge against this person.
Right, time to go request treatment. If my uncle or aunt were contacted about this incident through hospital connections, I'd undoubtedly be subjected to a lecture centered around 'A wise man avoids danger.' But right now, I want to live.

***

I tossed aside the crutch and decided to run on one leg.
Goosebumps gave a passionate welcome to the blood rushing around the back of my neck. With every leap and landing, I marked the floor with red spots. Since Gretel isn't accompanying me, I don't mind getting lost on the path. In fact, it's almost a form of amusement. This corridor is near our rooms, so the ward I should head for is... all over the place, and heaven is... that way? Right, not going there. But, huh? Where did everyone else go? Just kidding, I'm not confused. My perception is just lacking because my head is stirred up by blood and heat—I've already deduced that simple answer, so there's no need for any Q&A.
*Internal thought:* Alright, let's have a blast.
*Internal thought:* Where am I walking right now? Would my aunt forgive me? Will they let me leave the hospital? Is it night now? Am I me? How much of me is the correct me? Ahh, this feels good. Just pretending to worry, not using my brain at all. Do drunk people, lost front-to-back, feel this kind of perverse sense of liberation? I haven't experienced drinking yet, so I don't really get it.
And so, hopping along like a Japanese hopping zombie, I encountered a large pink object in the middle of a corridor—I couldn't tell which building. As I squinted, the blob of color transformed. It was the usual nurse. For some reason, she was doing the 'Gwashi' pose. "It's Trans-san."
"So *that's* what you've been calling me, huh?"
*Internal thought:* I'm losing the capacity to hide my thoughts.
"Putting that aside, you've gotten quite handsome. You alive?"
She waved her hand in front of my nose, then flicked it with her middle fingernail as she pulled away.
"Somehow."
*Internal thought:* This isn't the time for a carefree conversation. Uh... No good. The blood that's supposed to be going to my head is flowing out from my temple and lips, so it's not reaching it. My brain isn't working at all.
*Internal thought:* Seriously, what is this nurse thinking, casually 'checking out' my face amidst this bloodshed?
*Internal thought:* Probably something like, 'Doesn't really matter, but getting involved in trouble is a pa~in,' huh?
*Internal thought:* ...Ahh, whatever, I'll just rely on her. Feels like I'm dying.
"Excuse me, can you help me?"
"Hmm~"
*Internal thought:* She's hesitating?! I can only assume her 'read the room' function is broken.
"From what?"
It was such a meaningful, seemingly philosophical question (though that might not have been her intention).
I got drawn into the atmosphere, and my mouth twisted. As it did, I took some of the dripping blood into my mouth. ...From what, huh.
*Internal thought:* There are lots of things. But they're all things I have to handle myself. Because it's my own fault.
"For now, from the red dripping in front of my eyes."
"Hmm. So you needed to retreat from the danger indicated by that blood."
"You know some old-school references, don't you?"
"Right, hop on."
The nurse crouched down, offering her back. Is it possible she can transport me? She does karate or something, right?