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"My clumsiness is... inherited from my sister." My sister wasn't blessed with nimble fingers either. When she cut her nails, she'd cut them too short, and the edges would end up trapezoid-shaped. Neither of our parents were like that, though.
Back when he was alive, he'd often see me struggling with pull-tabs and open them for me. The sweltering heat after summer vacation ended, and me, sulking about school starting. The vending machine in the dimly lit hallway of the old lecture building, where the university fans weren't even running. Gazing up at another lecture building visible in the distance, and the blue sky in the gap between, he and I would drink juice and talk. When I bite down on the memory of that peak happiness with my molars, strength naturally flows into my fingers, and I was able to pull the tab. The juice can has been warmed by my palm; it's lukewarm now.

Putting the can to my lips, I grab the remote lying on the bed and turn on the TV. If I move even a little away from the screen, the faces of the people on it become featureless blurs. From the colors of their clothes and hair, I could tell it was probably a woman.
My eyesight has gotten a lot worse compared to when I was a kid. But I don't wear glasses, and I don't put in contacts. I don't need to force myself to see so many things.
What I can see on my own is enough for me. You don't need to be vast, world.
I gulp down the orange juice, and a burning sourness and sweetness mix as it passes down my throat. It feels like it'll just make me thirstier. Hotels are convenient, but unlike at home, I can't bring myself to casually drink tap water, which is a pain. The prefecture I live in is a rural place whose only redeeming feature is its clean water. We don't have what you'd call a local sea, just rivers. But I was always taught it was dangerous to swim in those rivers, so I've never worn a swimsuit other than the one for school. If he were alive, I wonder if we would have gone to the sea someday.
I place the juice can on the bedside table. Before letting go after putting it down, I tried squeezing it with all my might. The can caved in on the side by my thumb with a dull *thwump*. The nutrition facts printed on the surface became useless.
I toss my wallet onto the bed and slowly, heavily get up. I decided to tidy up my scattered luggage. It feels more like a premeditated suicide if things are neat and organized. I want to put on a show, to make it seem like a decision made after careful consideration, not one driven by impulse. Even though I'll be following the same path as my sister.
Come to think of it, I wonder if that old guy stole anything from my luggage. Oh well, it doesn't matter. What's the point of worrying about material possessions when I'm about to die? That's how it feels.
Carefully folding clothes is also quite a pain. At home, I usually left it to Mom, so I don't even know the right way to fold things. Either way, even if things stay as they are, I'll probably graduate from university and become a shut-in at home, my fate unknown—I vaguely predict. Yeah, it's better to die.
For sisters to both end their lives with suicide, I wonder what that's like from a parent's perspective. Is it unfilial? My parents, who rejected my sister, telling her they wished she wouldn't come back, yet wailed at her funeral when she actually killed herself. I, ten years old at the time, watched them with somewhat detached eyes. It seems likely something similar will be repeated at my funeral. The fortunate thing is that the probability of me witnessing it is zero.
Something so complete that you can state it with certainty is incredibly precious.

A cell phone is ringing in the hallway outside again. I wonder if it's that person who seemed about my age from before. I haven't chatted with anyone lately, so I'm just a tiny bit envious. I mean, the last person I talked to was some strange old guy, you know?
I wonder if he was a fitting conversation partner for someone like me. I wonder if my sister was able to have a meaningful conversation with someone at the hospital in the end.
I finish putting away the clothes. I also folded the used bath towel and put it back in the bathroom. Then, I gulped down the rest of the orange juice, and it went down the wrong pipe, making me cough, "Gohack!" I wanted to die, so it all worked out. After wiping my mouth, I threw the can in the trash, and now, I approach the window.
The window had been left wide open ever since that old guy visited. I imagine it. Myself, kicking off the window like a little bird and taking flight. In my dreams, I've fallen headfirst from skyscrapers I've never even been in, plummeting towards the city, through a sky where the air isn't even replicated, countless times. There's no need to be scared.
Maybe it's because of the orange juice, but I force myself to swallow sticky saliva. *Sister.* When I focus my thoughts, what comes to mind is that model of a useless human being. There's no way she could do something that I can't.
A younger sister who surpasses her older sister is allowed to exist. I'm gonna fly! "I'm gonna fly!" I'm gonna fly!
I grab the window, shaking my body back and forth, *wobble, wobble*, to build momentum. Remembering the standing long jump from my school days. Shaking back and forth to build momentum. Remembering the standing long jump from my school days.
"Oooooone,"
While still gripping the frame, I place my feet near the wall and pull my hips back. Then I thrust my body forward, repeating the pull and thrust to get the timing right. The fact that I can't just jump out in a flash, that hesitant part of me, is so like me—I've got my excuses ready.
As I count, I realize I'm doing it wrong. It's probably easier to jump if I count down from three. If I count up, I have to decide for myself when to jump. "Aaaand twooooooooooo,"
When I get to three, I'll die. I set the finish line and gather even more momentum. If I jumped maintaining this momentum, I was worried I might not fall but actually leap to the building across the street and survive. That's a big lie. I don't have that kind of ability. It's hopeless. But, because I'm a living being, I will definitely die. That's my only hope.
Precisely because the premise exists that all living things must die.
I'll do it, I'll die.
*Splat.*
I have the right to choose the option of suicide here.
I'll die, straight down.
*Gasp!* Leaning far out, I let out a cry from my throat.
My heart too, as if to crush the fear, screams, *Uuuuuh oooooh oooooh aaaaaah aaoaoaoaoao aaoaaoaoaoaaoaaoaoao aoao aoaaaa Hurry up and go!* A wheezing sound from my throat, and then—
"Here I gooooooooooo—" " "Uoghyaaaaaaaa!" " "
Partway through, another scream overlapped mine.
That old guy from before suddenly poked his head in from outside, and our noses almost smashed into each other.
More than that, we almost kissed. On top of that, I slammed my knee hard against the wall again.
Stars rained down before my eyes, and the world spun a full circle inside my eyeballs.
"Don't mess with me!" I hurriedly pull my head back in.
Naturally, my body was once again away from the window I was supposed to jump out of. I landed on my butt, a miserable failure.
It felt like, forget an attempt, forget giving up, forget a rain check—it's indefinitely postponed, just wait until my lifespan runs out, aaah, everything's a complete mess. *Snap!* The unwavering resolve that had been taut in my heart broke and scattered.
The tips of my swaying bangs, dangling loosely, stir unease in my heart and in the palm of my hand pressed against the floor. I haven't even done much exercise, but my breathing is ragged, and I'm taking in oxygen with exaggerated gasps, it's really noisy.
"What the hell..." Hugging my knees, I finally feel like bursting into tears.
It hurts. It super hurts. I myself am a super painful person, aren't I?
And yet, the old guy seems to have his hands full with his own problems, having fallen headfirst into the room and collapsed with an "Ugeh!" He's in a state like all the life has been drained from that Whatever-Frog sticking to his shirt. The old guy, as if writhing in pain, scrapes his shoulder on the floor as he rotates onto his back. And then, he lies there.
Spread-eagled, with the same lack of reserve as a child who'd been fighting by a riverbank, now sprawled out as dusk settles. This is *my* room, you know!
The old guy has a tear-streaked face, but the puffiness of his cheeks and his ragged breathing are keeping the tears from overflowing. It was a pathetic face. He's probably similar to me, wiggling my toes so much I wish I could detach my knees. In the end, both the old guy and I have ended up back in this room.
Solidifying the resolve to jump is more tiring than sprinting a hundred meters at full speed. That's why yesterday, too, I couldn't bring myself to jump, got tired, and fell asleep, and I'd been all fired up for today.
With my knee hurting so much, I'm in no state to die; I can only think of myself as an even bigger idiot than my sister. *Guuuuuu,* a sound rumbles from the back of my throat. If the old guy weren't here, I'd be wailing *boo-hoo*.
What pisses me off is that old guy's relieved face. It's like he arbitrarily took on some hardship, overcame it on his own terms, and is now basking in self-satisfaction.
His whole body is radiating a feeling of "Aaah, I'm alive."
Seriously, what is with this old guy?
Don't come back from the past tense!
If he's some angel sent to stop my suicide, that's just too awful. Send *him* instead.
If you did that, I could live without having to commit suicide.
The half-dead old guy slowly gets up and closes the window. "I'm never... using this route again..." he mutters, complaining about the inconvenience of the path, and even locks it.
And yet, this unimpressive old guy, unlike cowardly me...
...Aah, damn it. I can't help but be jealous.
Why could this old guy go outside the window so easily, so earnestly? I wanted to yell, "Don't screw with me!"
"I-I'm back...?"
Letting out ragged breaths, the old guy greeted me painfully. "W-welcome... home?"
I hate myself for stirring up the surface of my emotions with an awkward greeting, muddying them.
What is this relationship?

**Hanasaki Tarou**
**(Detective)**
**&**
**Touki (Girl)**
**3:20 PM**

When I returned to the room, Touki was leaning out the window. "That's dangerous," I first cautioned her.
Touki, still gazing to the right, lifted a foot as a substitute for a greeting to me.
"Welcome back. Work finished?"
"It's just getting started. But, word's gotten out that I'm a detective."
I tried reporting it as if that failure was some clever trick, an extra step to improve the quality of my work.
"Ahaha, you sure love your tropes, Luigi."
It's not like I need to consciously protect my pride when I'm with Touki. That's because the fact that I'm in love with her underpins my pride in "not faking it." Humans have to live honestly.
And yet, here I am, the one saying this, calmly using the alias "Hanasaki Tarou." Well, this is a playful lie, stemming from a yearning for the detective profession and an adherence to stylistic beauty I've cultivated since childhood, so it's permissible.
Such is Hanasaki Tarou the Third, adjusting the angle of his hat in front of the mirror, fixing his disheveled clothes before his date with Touki. "Take your hat off indoors," the Chief drones on and on—incidentally, his body odor also tends to be sour, though that's unrelated. However, I refuse to comply, letting suspicions that I'm bald grow within the office.
It's not like I have a clear reason for not taking it off. But, I have the kind of personality that finds it hard to swallow what others say whole. I've decided to go with "doubting is a detective's job," something the Chief also says. Though his actual mantra is "Don't be late."
"Shall we go to the coffee shop? You want cake, right?" After tidying myself up, I invite Touki.
While I'm at it, I walk around the room and grab my forgotten cell phone and duralumin case.
"Oh, leaving already? That's quick for you, Luigi."
Saying this, Touki is still plastered to the window, not even trying to turn her face towards me.
Is there something outside the window that's caught her interest, like an animal, perhaps?
Come to think of it, she did say the cat went out the window.
"Hey, Touki. Is there a cat walking around outside the window?" I ask, without much expectation.
"A cat? What, Luigi, have you been thinking about lolicons so much that now anything small will do, even a cat?"
"I'd appreciate it if you didn't lump friendship and sexual preference together. I was asked to look for a cat."
"Oh, Luigi's main job, huh. What about the infidelity investigation?"
"I plan to do both. It's a white cat, they said, with a long tail."
"Heeeh, eh, eh, eh... Too bad, looks like there's a black cat, though."
As she says this, she quirks her lips up in a strangely mischievous way. That kind of expression is also charming.
"A black cat, huh. They say it's bad luck if one crosses your path."
"Yeah, that black one is surely no good, no good."
Our conversation isn't quite connecting. Touki's words are results that skip the process, and then leap even further across space-time, so even if my understanding can't keep up, there's no need to worry about it.
"...Hm?" Hmm. Where does a cat that went out the window intend to go? Can it just casually enter other people's rooms? Hmmm... Well, now I have a pretext to go see Tachibana Eiji later.
"Let's go," I say again, ringing the bell attached to my phone. At that, Touki finally moves away from the window. As she was closing and locking the window, she made a gesture like waving at something, so I guess it really was towards the black cat outside.
I'm not impulsive enough to get jealous, but I tilt my head, wondering if Touki was a cat lover. Assuming, of course, that the "cat" Touki mentioned means just that. For example, she might have just described a six-year-old, dark-skinned girl who clings to walls and jumps around lithely like a cat as a "cat."
Though that's probably heavily mixed with my own wishful thinking.
"Luigi, do you waaaant to go on a date with me thaaat much?"
After coming over to my side, Touki looks up at my face and acts mischievous.
"Weren't you the one who invited me to go?"
"But you're prioritizing our date over your work, aren't you?"
"Are you talking about the cat search? Or the infidelity investigation?"
As we talk, Touki opens the room door. While I hold the door open with my hand, Touki slips out into the hallway. She spread her arms, spun around once—perfect score. A feast for my eyes.
"Neither the cat nor the affair are urgent jobs, but you and the coffee shop have business hours, you know."
After pulling out the card key, I close the door. Once I confirm it's fully closed, I start walking down the hallway.
I was intentionally walking slowly to match Touki's small stride... but ever since she noticed, Touki started puffing out her chest and walking with big steps. It seems to have become quite a habit, and that way of walking, which includes a bit of stretching herself tall, makes anyone who sees it grin.
"Come to think of it~" Touki begins, swinging her arms exaggeratedly.
"After three years, are you going to be cold to me, Luigi?"
"Of course I will."
"He actually said it with certainty, this guy." She looks up at me and glares sharply. I shivered with a thrill.
I trembled in a good way, and pleasant goosebumps quickly covered my skin.
Not keeping secrets from a girl who sees through people's true nature too well gives rise to a perverse pleasure.
"I don't have the confidence to fall in love with a you who has grown up any more than you are now."
Don't underestimate the "value" of my values.
"You're a horrible guy."
Touki pouts her lips and turns away with a huff. Gazing at her profile, a rather tame desire to poke her cheek, *puni*, welled up in me. Her skin still retaining that lingering feel of a child's is just irresistible, you know. Once, when I passionately and one-sidedly expounded on this sort of topic, a colleague almost handed in his resignation.
I was young back then, too. Now, I've completely lost my passion and come to know reality.
"Lolicons are apparently the enemy of mankind, you know."
"Hey, hey, who fed you that prejudice?"
"What they call common sense in society."
"People become biased because they call judging the whole picture by looking at only one side 'common sense.' It's true that bad lolicons resort to force. But good lolicons rely on passion."
"Pervert."
"What, now? It's a bit much to say, but you know, I'm trying so hard to suppress the urge to hug you right here, right now—an urge that hits me every two seconds—that I feel like my intestines are about to twist."
The fingers of both my hands wiggle eagerly, accurately expressing a creepy desire. Touki, as if returning the averted gaze she'd been holding to the wall, stared at me with an exasperated look. Those sharp, slender eyes, carrying a gaze of contempt, are irresistible. Well, from Touki's perspective, my very existence might be what's unbearable, though.
"I want to grow up fast, me."
"Then how about tonight?"
"Go die with flower seeds planted in your brain, you pedo bastard."
And this is our usual banter. Since I'm conversing with a lady, I sometimes reflect that I can't call myself a gentleman unless I engage in slightly more sophisticated conversation. But, I make no progress whatsoever.
Humans just go ahead and advance through the stages of their bodies on their own, don't they. I lamented the absurdity of the world.
Midway down the hallway, the cleaning lady... I mean, woman—well, yeah, gender-wise—was bringing a cart and vacuum cleaner in front of room 1707, where I'd been until a little while ago. I wonder if Tachibana Eiji also went out after that.
I remembered the job that had been suddenly added, and decided to at least carry out my main profession.
What they call "making inquiries," that is.
"Excuse me."
"Hah? ...Yes, what is it?"
When I spoke to the cleaning staff member, she seemed irritated about something, and her attitude was terrible. Her brow was furrowed, and she looked like she was about to polish my face with that rag at any moment.
But her quick change, immediately putting on a smile and reverting to her customer service demeanor, was admirable.
"Have you seen a cat?"
"Animals are prohibited from staying at this hotel."
"Right, of course."
I backed down easily and started walking again. Touki's gaze was fixed on me, and not in a good way.
"Is that how you usually do your job?"
*Thwack, thwack,* she hammered the nails of her gaze with the mallet of her words. It was an emotionally rich scorn that implicitly criticized, "No wonder you can't get ahead."
"No, I forgot to consult the boss. I have to get his approval first."
Suddenly remembering, I hold my cell phone up towards the ceiling, play its ringtone randomly into the hallway, and wait a short while to see if a cat might pop its head out. The only reaction was Touki making a sour face and saying, "That's annoying."
I temporarily call off the search and lower the phone.
Arriving in front of the elevator, I open my cell phone's address book and call the number registered as "Hida Gyuu." I put it to my ear and wait for the other person to pick up. Touki was leaning against the wall, seeming to enjoy the vibrations from the elevator's movement on her skin. After a short while, the call connected.
"Ah, Chief. Good afternoon."
"Hey, hey, didn't I teach you that not failing is the secret to success?"
"Those are words one can deeply agree with if they knew the state of your head, sir. Please don't talk on the premise of failure."
"Then what is it? Got arrested for being misunderstood about laying hands on a girl?"
"Nah, if it were just a misunderstanding, that'd be fine." "Exactly. If you get caught, you're fired from our agency, so report it early." "Just kidding. So, actually, the target of my investigation asked me to do a job for them instead." "I don't get it." "They asked me to find a cat." "Good luck with that." "Yes. Also, I need you to ask our current client something." "What's that?" "If they're lying about their relationship with the investigation target." "Ooh, that's a good, detective-like question. Leave it to me." "Leaving it to you. Well then—"
The call was cut off. I tried ringing the bell on my phone. "Annoying." The desired response came back.
While waiting for the elevator to arrive, a mushroom-hating man came running down the hallway and skidded to a halt at the corner. The college student-like guy was awfully flustered, clutching his phone preciously. While showing a brief sign of noticing our gazes, he hunched over and answered his phone.
I paid attention to my surroundings, wondering if a cat would react to the electronic sounds he was scattering and show itself, but there were no signs of it. A momentary doubt flickered across my mind: was Tachibana Eiji's information correct?
Also, the boy and woman (not girl) couple I'd met on the bullet train and at the front desk came walking by. Though, to be precise, only the boy's feet were touching the ground. His older-looking high school girlfriend had her arms wrapped around the boy's neck, dangling and covering his back like a cloak made of leaves. What's more, their pinky fingers were connected, pierced by a red string. Talk about an overload of idiot couples.
As those two approached, and the elevator still hadn't arrived, I blatantly averted my eyes and then greeted them with a "Hey."
"Thanks for before. ...Er, are you going out?"
The boy gave a noncommittal reply, while giving Touki's back a once-over.
"Yeah, Touki... this kid said she wanted to eat cake, so we're just popping by the coffee shop."
"Huh. So are we, actually."
What a coincidence, ahaha, I finished with a dry laugh. After putting some distance between us, just in case.
Just as the elevator was arriving, the college student-like guy finished his call and came jogging over in high spirits.
"Oh, it's here, it's here. Let's get on, let's get on." He pushed past us, taking the lead to get into the elevator.
Next, Touki leaped lightly into the elevator. With Touki's weight, the elevator didn't even try to sway when she jumped in. She looked back at me and beckoned with little gestures. "Come on, Luigi, hurry up. You never press the B button to jump in life, that's why you can never lead a soaring existence."
She hurries me with a sarcastic remark alluding to my nickname. For some reason, I exchanged glances with the boy next to me, and we both gave wry smiles mixed with a sense of camaraderie. It looked like we both had our hands full with our respective partners.
While the elevator descended, I looked up at the descending numbers and let my dreams swell, thinking, "It'd be nice if people's ages could be adjusted this easily too."
When it stopped on the third floor, where the front desk was, the college student-like guy got off first. His footsteps were cheerful, as if he were scattering musical notes in the air as he walked.
Pressing the "Open" button to let the young couple go first, I lowered my eyes at a minor failure, thinking, "Ah, come to think of it, I should have quickly asked them about the cat." But then I reconsidered that it's not good to mix work and private matters, which served as an excuse, and my mood brightened.
While I was holding the button, a total of four people got off the elevator, and as if trading places, a man got on. He was a man with blond hair who looked good in a blue suit. When our eyes met, his expression softened, and a somewhat friendly smile appeared on his lips. He has the kind of handsome features that would be popular with older women, I thought, a sentiment free of any need for jealousy.
When I exited the elevator area into the lobby, that student-like guy was surrounded by old ladies in their early and late twenties... or rather, to put it plainly, women.
Guessing his state of mind, as he exuded the same aura as me, it must be the height of misfortune. I couldn't help but feel sympathy, but I slipped past him and headed for the coffee shop. Just take it as an ordeal.
The coffee shop was quite bustling, with staff members rushing around busily with quick steps. The smoking section in the back left was shrouded in a grayish-white haze, and guessing Touki would dislike it, I glanced at her face.
Sure enough, she was expressing her aversion with her eyes and the scowl etched between her brows. Touki can't stand smoke. Though I don't know the reason why.
A staff member who had just finished delivering an iced tea approached us, still holding their tray, and asked for the number of people and if we smoked. I explained it was two, non-smoking, and we were shown to our seats. In the indicated seats on the right side, there were two pairs who looked like mothers and children, and Tachibana Eiji. He was wolfing down curry. I twisted my neck, trying to pretend I hadn't seen him, but the seat the staff member recommended with a "This way, please" was right next to Mr. Tachibana Eiji, wouldn't you know it. The young couple who came in with us sat two seats over, with the flip-flop guy between them.
"What should I get~" Touki says, picking up the menu on the table and focusing her gaze on it. "What should I get~" I say, while observing the lovely girl at the next table out of the corner of my eye.
She was a girl with blue hair. What an amazing color; if it were natural, my surprise would be squared. Her mother also had bluish hair, though a slightly darker shade, so it was probably genetic. They were a mother and child pair who exuded an otherworldly air, such that if they were explained as immigrants from outer space and the details were omitted, I'd be reasonably convinced.
She was around ten years old, that prime, succulent age. The girl darted her eyes, *kyoro-kyoro*, which were the same color as her hair and shone as if polished with soap. The two small fists resting on her lap condensed more value than a lump of pure gold. I'd love to entwine my fingers with those soft, perfectly formed hands and savor their gentle warmth.
I've been bothered partway through this description that her hair color is, indeed, not very Earthling-like, but her features and figure possess all the necessary elements of a beautiful young girl. It creates the illusion in the viewer's eyes of light particles being emitted from her hair. She's like the highly transparent sea you sometimes see on TV, gathered together to form a human shape. If I were to confess my true desire to lay her down and lie on top of her as if diving into the water's surface, I might very well end up sunk in a neighborhood ditch. Is this what they call a harsh world?
I also feel her nose shape resembles Elliot, the foreigner working at our office. If one aims for features created by gathering beauty from an alien's perspective, do they inevitably end up similar?
But it's a shame. Even a child who embodies such perfection will eventually turn sixteen or so.