---

---

Mayu straddles my bicycle, staring straight ahead, showing no signs of nervousness. Today, I made sure she wore a heavy long-sleeved shirt and sneakers.

After all, taking a nasty spill is pretty much guaranteed. And it’s just as inevitable that I’ll get dragged down with her. (The physical bond between our pinkies is alive and well today—we promised not to take it off on holidays), so we’re in this together, in sickness and in health, and even when tumbling head over heels. Looks like it’ll be a day of returning to childhood, complete with endless scrapes and bruises. Not that I’m not already covered in bruises from my sister kicking the crap out of me recently.

Bathed in the pale light, taking in the smell of asphalt, I lightly support the bike from the left.
"Okay, try pedaling."
Mayu obediently follows my instructions and starts turning her feet, rotating the pedals.
Timidly, almost hesitantly, the wheels turn. The bike moves forward slower than walking speed.

Her face is blank, but maybe she’s panicking inside? Only her eyes dart around frantically.
"It’ll be more stable if you go a little faster."
Mayu’s feet speed up slightly. The bike reaches about walking pace.
We stop once at the edge of the parking lot, in front of the rice polishing station. I turn the bike around, and we head straight again.
"Okay, I’m going to let go for a second."
Once we’re about halfway across, I decide to give it a try. Mayu nods, her shoulders rigid with tension.
I let go. Instantly, she starts wobbling like she’s drunk.
Mayu loses her balance to the right. She twists her body trying to recover, which only makes her crash harder, sending me sprawling over the bike too. The shoes in the basket tumble onto the ground.

Yep, a spectacular fall. So much for the faint hope that she possessed some rare, innate athletic talent.
Rubbing where I hit the ground, I right the bike. Then, I take the unresponsive Mayu’s hand, help her up, and brush off her knees. Mayu says nothing about the fall and just gets back on the seat.
I check just in case.
"Want to keep going?"
Mayu nods firmly. I simply brush her messy bangs aside.
"Okay, got it."
*Alright then, guess I should brace myself for another thirty falls.*

Well, I tried to sound cool about it, but needless to say, that was rather insulting to Mayu. She finished her practice for the day after only twenty-three falls. Impressive, Maa-chan!
Though I expect she’ll throw a tantrum once we get back to the room, yelling "Grr! It’s too hard and annoying!" After all, she ultimately couldn’t even manage to go three meters straight on her own.

"It’s always like this at first."
I pat her head, comforting her. Mayu doesn’t show any outward disappointment, at least, and just nods in agreement… before kicking the front wheel. Taking out her frustration on it, she bends the frame slightly. *About as bent out of shape as I am, huh?* The thought, unclear whether self-deprecating or something else, surfaces.
"'Want to practice tomorrow after school?' 'Not going to school. Going to ride bike.'"
A flat, somber declaration. I agree, saying, 'Okay,' to this ambitious Mayu.

But since she hasn’t had her usual afternoon nap today, whether she’ll actually be able to wake up by evening is anyone’s guess.
"Let’s call it a day and head home for now."
So I end up walking home on my own two feet, leading both the bicycle and the beautiful girl.

Since my right pinky and Mayu’s left pinky are linked (no magnetism required), the picture-perfect youthful option—riding home together on the bike, bathed in the sunset glow like some kind of stunt performers—is completely out of the question.
"Oh, want to stop for donuts on the way?"
It’d mean a detour to the station, though. "'No. I’ll go buy them once I can ride.'"
Mayu stubbornly refuses, marching straight ahead without a sideways glance.
*Kids basically hate losing, don’t they?* I give her head a "good girl, good girl" pat.

The streets are empty; no sign of children rushing home at the end of the holiday, trying not to be overtaken by the encroaching night. Only the distant sound of the evening chime rings out. As long as I keep my head fixed forward, no signs of life enter my field of vision. I’m not enough of a poet to find the 'sparkle of life' in rhythmically bobbing shadows, so I glance sideways at Mayu next to me. Our eyes meet, and I briefly consider the possibility that one of us might turn to stone.

We walk on for a while until the shrine that was on our left on the way there now spreads out to our right.
This is a different shrine from the one I visited before, touting different blessings. It’s earnestly rumored among the locals to be effective against warts. Apparently, acne is outside its area of expertise. How oddly specific. You’d probably have better luck with a hot spring for that kind of thing.
"'A festival,'" "'Huh?'"
I react slightly to Mayu’s murmur.
"'I want to go to the shrine festival again.'"
The bike’s front wheel starts spinning erratically. The bent frame, combined with the gravel path, makes the going unsteady.
*A festival, huh... I went once, just with my sister. Whose idea was it to go again?*
"'Maybe we can go together this summer. I’d like to see you in a yukata, Maa-chan,' I add."
"'I want to see Mii-kun in one too,' Mayu replies. I figure Mayu, having forgotten how to enjoy herself in crowded places, probably can’t enjoy a festival like she used to. Something wells up inside me, amplified by the sunset glow. But that sentimental feeling dissolves almost instantly."

Something flickers at the edge of my vision, and I look straight ahead.
The shadow of a living creature stirs up ahead.
Its surface is stained by the setting sun, as if caught in headlights. My eyes sting, and a dull ache spreads through me.
That silhouette triggers a powerful sense of déjà vu.
My pace naturally slows. Mayu takes a step ahead, and the thread connecting our pinkies digs into my flesh from the inside.

By the time I could make out who the figure bathed in the twilight was, I had stopped walking.
I catch my breath. Sensing my abrupt, uneasy stop, Mayu looks back questioningly.
: "
My sister was walking towards us.
She drags the tip of a metal bat along the shrine wall, the scraping sound marking a distinctive rhythm as she walks. The sight reminds me of Ichinomiya Kawana back then... and it also overlaps with the image of my sister herself from *that night*, her clothes stained red as if with blood spatter.

*...Blood spatter? Cloth... and blood... Right.* But now’s not the time for that. I file the thought away in my head for later.
For now, my sister keeps coming straight towards us. She clearly has no intention of giving way, nor of deviating for some other purpose. Her eyes are fixed on me, registering Mayu and the utility bike as mere extras. *How dare she treat Mayu like an afterthought?* I refrain from voicing my indignation. Judging by the object clutched in her left hand, it’s hard to imagine her intentions are peaceful.
Furthermore, if she were to call me something familiar like 'Anii-chan' (is 'familiar' even the right word for her?), who knows how Mayu would react. Worst case scenario, my sister and I could both end up lying in pools of our own blood, bringing our family line to an abrupt end.

My sister stops about a meter away from us. As if *I’m* some kind of red light. Mayu’s stare drills into me. How am I supposed to explain this?
And then... "'Good afternoon.'"
She greets me straightforwardly. Her right hand even lifts to shoulder height, as if in a sign of friendship.
I’m taken aback, but Mayu interprets the situation differently.
*Mayu doesn’t know anyone like this. (Besides, she doesn’t need anyone other than Mii-kun).*
Which means, by process of elimination, this must be an acquaintance of *mine*.
Therefore, Mayu’s eyes narrow dangerously. Is her anger directed at me, or my sister?
"'Who?' Mayu demands, her voice flat and icy, tormenting me."
"'Ah, uh...' I can hardly answer, *'The person who’ll become your sister-in-law,'* so my eyes dart around nervously."
"'Ah, my mistake. It's 'Good evening,' isn't it?' my sister rattles off, gripping the bat with both hands—"
—I grab Mayu’s hand forcefully and pull her along as I beat a hasty retreat from the spot. Mayu also grabs onto something—her bag strap?—and pulls.
The metal bat swings through the air right in front of us, missing.
My vision whites out; my mind goes blank.
Instinctively, Mayu kicks the forlorn-looking bicycle towards her attacker.
The utility bike blocks her legs and her attack, allowing us to put some distance between ourselves and her.
My sister gets tangled up with the bike, using it to stay upright(?), its front wheel spinning uselessly in the air.
"・ "
Given her identity and various other circumstances, I hesitated to call out the attacker’s name and question her right then and there.
*Because Mii-kun doesn’t have any siblings.*
*Besides, the person next to me isn’t exactly the type to stay quiet if I speak familiarly with another girl.*
She kicks the bicycle handlebar aside, then points the tip of the bat at Mayu like she’s calling a home run, and spits out one word.
"'Nuisance.'"
Apparently, she’s furious that the bike and Mayu interfered with her attempt to bludgeon me to death. Still, that last swing was unacceptable; Mayu could have easily gotten hurt. *Was her motive really just about me?*
*Is she really prepared for the exhaustion that follows such actions?*
Even if I wanted to find out, the distance between us is blocked by her weapon and can’t be closed.

Somewhere out of sight, a bird cries.
"'*You’re* the nuisance.'"
Even facing an enemy who’s clearly younger than her, Mayu doesn’t drop her usual facade.
She unties the bow connecting our pinkies herself and steps forward as if to shield me. When the hand she pulls from her shoe(?) is revealed, I see she’s tightly gripping a petty knife.
*So she had no intention of keeping her promise.*
A surge of static seems to prickle just beneath my skin.
Seizing the moment when my sister flinches, her entire focus shifting to the knife, I grab Mayu’s hand and run for it with all my might. I abandon the bicycle. *My uncle would prioritize my life over the bike, right?* Based on this conceited assumption, I don’t even consider retrieving it later and just sprint flat-out towards home.
There’s no sign of my sister pursuing us.
I’m matching Mayu’s pace, so we’re moving at a speed she could easily catch.
Fighting for breath, I risk a glance back. She’s just standing there, looking discontented.
She looks like an abandoned puppy, and also just like I imagined Fushimi Yuyu might look someday.
*You’re standing there way too brazenly! You’ll get caught, you idiot!*
Apparently, my words reached her even without needing a megaphone.
My sister hurls the bat towards us.
It has no chance of reaching me and quickly loses altitude.
Eventually, it bounces off the gravel path, the echoing metallic clang piercing my eardrums.
The memory of the day I gave up on being a baseball kid stirs in my hippocampus.
*Just stay asleep.*

---

Once we’re through the apartment door and inside the entryway, I immediately check the lock and chain. Can’t have it broken down from the outside on the third try, after all—twice is the limit. Just kidding, though.
I turn on the heat in the living room. I’d considered getting a kotatsu, but decided against it this winter. Next winter, if I get the chance and remember, I’ll set up a place for Mayu to curl up.
Anyway, back from that winter daydream, we're currently in the middle of a debriefing session. Sitting on the floor, the one being singled out for criticism is Misono Mayu-chan, her cheeks puffed out adorably. She’s currently looking a little sulky.
"'Who was that girl earlier?'"
Though for some reason, *I’m* the one being interrogated.
"'Just some kid from the neighborhood. She kind of pesters me sometimes. More importantly, Maa-chan, you shouldn’t break your promise to me, right?'"
"'I didn’t do anything wrong! And this isn’t a kitchen knife!'"
She brandishes the petty knife she’s refused to let go of, waving it around with her narrow-minded logic.
"'Besides, we only got away because Maa-chan had this!'"
"*...Hmph.* She talks like Okada Izō. Since she *did* get results, it’s hard to argue."
*Then again, while it wasn’t exactly cheating, I *did* spend time amicably reading manga with Biwashima. Does that fall under the same logic as Mayu’s excuse? Maybe we’re both guilty here, huh?*

"'Mmmmph…' 'Mmmph!'"
We just glare at each other up close, making grumpy noises. Maybe the heater has finally woken up, as the chill gradually leaves the room. As it warms up, my earlier desire—to resolve this issue quickly and crawl into my futon—starts to fade. The 'debriefing session' is inevitably devolving into a simple staring contest.
"'Mmmmph—' '—Smooch?' Mayu, why do you always do this?"
Resting my chin on my hand, I observe Mayu, her eyes closed, waiting for a kiss from me. Looking again at her puckered face, I realize just how much she lets her guard down, how vulnerable she looks.
Mind you, since there’s still an imposing blade resting in her right hand, her level of 'vulnerability' is rather contradictory.
Mayu cracks open one eyelid, peeking out at the world. Seeing me just watching, she explodes.
"'Where’s my smooch?!'"
A heel kick slams into my knee as punishment. If this escalates, that knife in her right hand looks ready to wreak havoc.
"'After we finish talking, okay? ...Alright, fine. Carrying a knife is okay. And I’ll concede using it to threaten enemies. But you absolutely cannot stab or cut anyone with it. How about that?'"
"'Mmm, okayyy. Smooch.'"
*Seriously, why does it always come back to this?*
"'Can you keep that promise this time?'"
"'Got it! Smooooch!'"
Such a flippant promise, made so easily. And then, as if losing patience, she sinks her teeth into the side of my neck and sucks.
We didn’t even seal it with a pinky promise this time. The thread reconnected on its own earlier, and cutting it again felt like too much trouble.
"'...So, tomorrow, I guess we have to start by buying a new bicycle.'"
Continuing the lecture felt like too much effort, so I decided to change the subject.
"'Afwahffuffuwafuwa ufufu.'"
Still attached to my neck, Mayu runs her tongue over my skin, asserting something incomprehensible.
"'You’re absolutely right,' I agree randomly."
Just hearing that, Mayu detaches her mouth from my neck and beams at me with a "Nihee?"
*What on earth did she think I agreed to?*
*What exactly are we even communicating most of the time?*
My completely inadequate, one-sided interpretation is somehow enough to satisfy Mayu’s mood.
"'I’ll go make dinner, so just wait here, okay? Let’s hurry up and make it tomorrow!'"
Still gripping the knife, Mayu skips off towards the kitchen. Finally, the blade is returning to a place where it can be useful without breaking the law. I should just be thankful if she doesn't come back accompanied by the color red.
Watching her go, I collapse onto the floor.
Even though the room is regaining a warmth and brightness reminiscent of the vision seen by the Little Match Girl peeking through a window, the floor maintains its coldness, persists in it, refuses to yield. It’s truly unpleasant.
Even so, I can’t muster the willpower to sit up.
Lately, something inside me feels worn out. It’s like mud is circulating through my veins; my joints feel heavy and sluggish.
*Probably just lack of sleep. Yeah, that must be it.*
I try blaming it on my physical condition, but I don’t even yawn. The Sandman doesn’t visit to claim his prey’s consciousness.
I take three deep breaths.
I look up at the ceiling. There’s no darkness lurking anywhere in it.

I run my fingertips over the side of my neck.
I feel the faint indentation of teeth marks and the lingering dampness of Mayu’s saliva.
...Should I go back to my sister’s place again, or not?
*Am I going to get answers? Or am I going to get myself killed?*
Even if it involves lies, I have to reach some kind of conclusion.

---

In the end, the next day, we wound up buying a new utility bike that Mayu picked out.
Turns out Mayu’s insistence yesterday ('Not going to school. Ride bike.') was just her way of proposing we spend the weekday going bike shopping together. I really overthought it and made things harder than they needed to be. Now she's even complaining about the worried look on my face.
And so, a day passes without me fulfilling my duties as a student.
All day long, I felt like my throat was parched.

And then, the day after that. Weekday Off, Part 2—another day I feel guilty towards my aunt and uncle. We promptly went out practicing in the morning, putting the first scratches on the brand-new bike frame. We had lunch, and then sometime after 3 PM, Mayu, having fallen over one too many times, went to sleep in a huff.

"'A blood test?' 'Yes. For example, we can identify specifics even from areas that have been washed or have other substances adhered to them.' 'Since that’s possible, you *can* bring your sister to the police, then?' 'You expect that level of high-grade spirit mediumship from a mere apprentice like myself...?' *Click.* The call ends. 'Right then.'"

Suppose I should pay another visit to my sister’s 'residence'.
Since it’s debatable whether I’ll make it back to the apartment afterwards, I won’t take the bike.
"'So, what am I walking into this time...?'"
Though it’s certain there’s a pile of issues there that need to be dealt with.
Putting my feelings aside, I don’t get lost on the way.
At the entrance to the shack, the water wheel is turning just as gloomily today. If it spun cheerfully, you’d think it could generate hydroelectric power, but in its current state of lazy indulgence, it serves as nothing more than eye-candy.
I slide open the poorly-moving door. There’s no piped-in music today; the interior is wrapped in silence.
"'Excuse me.'"
I make the greeting, focusing on clear articulation. Not that there’s any point.
Unlike the other day, the shoji screen behind the door is closed. It’s slid open by thick fingers, veins bulging, revealing the old man from within. His attitude and expression are openly suspicious.
"'You again... Whaddya want this time?'"
*'I came to see your wife.'* I’m so unwelcome here that the mischievous urge to declare that with a straight face next time bubbles up. Technically, he's my grandfather too, but we share no blood relation.
"'I came to spend some quality time with my sister, and while I’m at it, to hear what you have to say.'"
"'Talk? Got nothin’ I can say, and no intention of sayin’ anything if I did.'"
A blunt refusal from the suspicious old man. Assuming he isn't just shy, I conclude he genuinely dislikes me.
"'First off, I don’t get why you’re comin’ to see that girl in the first place. What’s the point now, this late in the game? Can’t ya just leave us be?'"
Even being told off like that, I still don’t understand why he’s so vehemently opposed to me being here.
*Even if I had known she was alive and where she was, would I have come to see her sooner...? Nah, probably not unless she summoned me first. I can't imagine I have that much lofty humanity left in me—the kind that actually values sibling bonds.*
"'If you’ll just tell me what I want to know today, I’ll never visit here again.'"
I state it plainly. There’s no lie in that statement anywhere. If I don’t have a reason, I have absolutely zero desire to meet my sister or this old man.
That’s probably the most convenient choice for both of us.
"'What is it you want to hear so badly?'"
The old man is hooked by the favorable condition and at least agrees to talk.
"'It’s about my sister.'"
The old man’s wrinkles deepen, his eyes narrowing. I’m tired of arguing any further, so I decide to resort to threats. "'Did you know? The police currently suspect my sister might be a murderer. Mind you, since she’s officially considered dead, they don’t seem to have figured out her location.'"
The old man’s sharp gaze doesn’t waver, but his complexion changes, turning pale. Still, it seems he won’t give in easily.
"'You… what d’ya mean by that?'"
"'Oh, nothing. Just thinking that if I leave here around this time, I’ll have some free time to drop by the police station.'"
*That's a lie, though.*
The old man’s right hand clenches into a fist, purely out of indignation. He looks fully prepared to smash my face in, but actually doing it would be extremely difficult. If he wants to protect his sister and maintain the current situation, he has no choice but to answer my questions. And if he *were* to raise a hand, he’d have to be prepared to finish me off completely.
"'Treatin’ your own sister like that… don’t you think there’s somethin’ wrong with you?'"
"'You didn’t think I was strange already?'"
I rudely throw the question back at him. I’m not sure if the effect actually snapped a fragile blood vessel in the old man’s head, but perhaps because his anger has passed some critical point, he starts railing against me, rattling off insults shamefully fast.
"'Aah, I get it now. Every last one of your family’s got personalities like that. No wonder that girl suffered so much, and Iruka had such a rotten time of it too, huh?'"
"'I won’t particularly deny that,' I reply, setting aside a few points that slightly bother me."
The old man in the *samue* seems to have exhausted his sarcasm. Looking thoroughly annoyed, he beckons me inside with a curt, 'Get in.'"

Finally invited, I take off my shoes and step up into the room.
There’s no sign of that civilized convenience known as an air conditioner, but there is a small kotatsu placed beside the sunken hearth.
Had the old man been warming himself there? Mikan peels and several drops of orange juice are scattered on the low table.
"'Well now...? Just sit there for now.'"
Following the old man’s clearly reluctant suggestion, I put my legs under the kotatsu and immediately kick something soft deep inside.
"'Huh?' Something deftly pulls off my sock— 'Gyah!'—and bites my toes. *Is there a cornered rat under here?* I think, indulging in a moment of escapism even though it’s perfectly obvious my sister is hiding under the kotatsu. Apparently, she was eating mikans with her grandfather just moments ago and somehow sensed my arrival, prompting her to hide. What is *wrong* with her?"
"'Owowowow.'"
She keeps gnawing on my toes—*gaji gaji*. It’s definitely more than a playful nibble, but still less forceful than, say, a young boy fighting off an old man attempting neighbor-extermination with a folding chair, so it’s not quite painful enough to warrant countermeasures.
*...Still, though.*
*I have roughly the same thought when kissing Mayu, but damn, people’s mouths are hot. It’s not the heat of a clean fire, nor does it contain the indifferent warmth of a space heater.*
*The closest thing might be the warmth of the kotatsu itself. Spend too long immersed in it, and your thoughts start to melt away—that part’s similar too.*
As I conduct this internal critique, I seriously consider the dark horse possibility that the old man’s wife might suddenly crawl out from under the kotatsu, butさすがに that would be too much of a shock. The bite pattern is familiar, it matches my sister’s teeth... I rally myself with this thought, trying to burn away the fear.
"'Her shoes aren’t here either… Did she go around to the back room…?'" (Old man muttering).
The old man returns to the room, presumably after checking for my sister’s shoes outside. He settles into the kotatsu directly opposite me, still oblivious to her presence. And then, for some reason, my sister shifts over to my side. She proceeds to half-climb onto my lap as I sit cross-legged, acting just like a cat.
The blanket bulges into a sister-shaped lump. When I stick my finger under the kotatsu blanket, she spits out my foot and bites my finger, just as I’d hoped— ...Er, excuse me, correction. Just as I’d *predicted*.
*Still, for my own sister, she’s one unstable individual. Two days ago, she was demonstrating the incorrect usage of a metal bat, and today she’s a little kitten (is that term obsolete now?) curling up on the lap of her sworn enemy. It’s like there are two of her.*
*Could this be the sudden reveal of a secret twin plotline? Not that I need two of them.*
"'Uwah!' 'Huh?' 'N-Nothing.' She just licked the saliva off my fingertip with her tongue. It felt rough."
"'So? Are ya gonna get on with this important talk—the one important enough to threaten people over?'"
The old man pushes, hurrying me along. I try to sound contrastingly calm as I reply, 'Yes.' That’s a lie, though.
"'You know why my sister started living in this house, don’t you?'"
The old man’s face twists slightly. Beneath the kotatsu, my sister digs her nails(?) into the sole of my foot.
"'Well, yeah. ‘Cause I let her stay here.'"
The old man rolls a mikan around in his palm, merely leaving finger marks on it before returning it to the basket on the table.
"'The reason was ‘cause she had nowhere else to go, right?'"
"'What I’m asking is *why* she needed to leave her parents’ home in the first place.'"
*Because her motive for trying to murder me seems like it might stem from around there.*
*I can’t bear the thought of dying without knowing. I won’t wait to be given a souvenir story for the afterlife; I’ll acquire one myself.*
The old man snorts, 'Call *that* place her home?' then falls into deep contemplation. The wrinkles etched into his face—maybe one for every year of his life, maybe not, I can’t be sure—shift, creating a landscape of deep mountains and valleys as he glares at me.
"し "
While waiting for the old man to speak, I take one of the mikans resting quietly in the basket. I start peeling it, then begin the task of meticulously removing the white pith with one hand. It’s surprisingly difficult.
"'Don’t ya think this ain’t the kinda thing that should come outta my mouth? Prob’ly not, someone like you wouldn’t…'"
"'If I try asking the person concerned directly, all I get is the sole of her foot flying at me.'"
My sister under the kotatsu seems to agree—or maybe signals me to stop—by pinching(?) my index finger twice. Or perhaps she’s telling me to give up the inquiry?
"'It’s more efficient to get the explanation from someone else, rather than forcing the person involved to dredge up unpleasant memories. Well, granted, the person herself will be listening in from under the kotatsu anyway. Speaking of which, my sister herself shows no sign of desperately trying to obstruct this conversation. Quite a contrast to her sympathizer here, the old man.'"