I believe these kids will understand if they spend enough time with her. Or rather...
"...They're in place, but there was a construction failure. Some interference, you see."
I don't usually like talking about someone's past without permission.
But somehow, I felt I couldn't leave it as it was.
I revealed a bit of our past to strangers.
"Mayu's parents were killed right in front of us."
I stated without emotion. Or rather, I couldn't put any into it. What emotion is suitable for such a statement?
"Maybe that's when our screws got loose. The obvious malfunction seems to be more on Mayu's side... but I guess I'm also a bit off."
That's because I don't blame Mayu for her actions. I don't even feel guilty.
In that sense, my heart is asleep.
I observed the two's facial expressions. Kouta looked a bit startled, while Anzu remained unresponsive. Given their usual reactions, I decided to wrap up the conversation normally.
"So, that's the story. If you're going to badmouth Mayu, I'd prefer you start with me. No, no, not in any twisted sense. I just think it's better to hear bad things about myself. Yeah, just that."
I finished hastily. I wanted to cringe in embarrassment. What's with "I'd prefer you start with me"? After the story ended, I wasn't intending to have a Q&A session, but Anzu, now slightly more alert, posed a simple question.
"Why do you defend that older sister so much?"
Because I like her, love her, super adore her. It's a lie, but it's hard to say that.
"She's precious, Anzu."
Kouta was the first to respond.
Feeling the conversation was veering into a troublesome direction, I subtly shifted the topic.
"A long time ago, someone asked me something similar."
"...Who was it?"
Kouta asked. Without using any specific names, I answered.
"Someone's mother. A woman who was killed in place of her child. Despite trembling, she clearly answered."
I paused for a moment, then repeated the exact words I had heard back then.
"Because I'm a mother."
Both of them furrowed their brows. Maybe they thought it was a tall tale.
But this isn't a lie.
I clearly remember her, Mayu's mother, saying those words.
It's one of the few memories that can't be falsified,
And that is the primary reason I protect Mayu.
Suddenly, heavy metal music blared from beyond the door at full volume.
The peaceful daytime scenery viewed from the waiting room window on the ground floor was in stark contrast to the blaring background music. I was the only one grimacing because I was the only person nearby. This building, located further from the village at the foot of the mountain and with a faint smell of disinfectant, is a mental hospital.
The painted door, now peeling, swung open. Mayu, who left the room slamming the door loudly, wore a look of discontent. She slumped into the chair next to me.
"Tired? How was it?"
I spoke louder than usual, deliberately so, to be heard over the music.
"I'm not coming back. I hate liars."
She vented her frustration without hiding her childlike side. Today, Mayu was wearing the clothes I had washed for her, along with a deep beret.
"What lie were you told?"
"I don't remember. There's no point in remembering a liar's words."
Yet for some reason, she remembers mine. I don't understand why.
After adjusting Mayu's hat, which had shifted when she sat down, I stood up.
"Wait here for a bit. It's my turn now."
"I really don't want to."
She stomped her foot like a petulant child. For a moment, her skirt lifted slightly, revealing a prominent long scar on the outside of her thigh. I hadn't realized it was still so visible. Not a pleasant memory.
"We're going on a date tomorrow, right? There's no point in being here."
Her brown boots made consecutive thumping sounds on the floor, but the noise was swallowed by the loud music in the background.
"Today is a check-up day. Please, just bear with it a little."
I pleaded, almost praying. Whether she heeded my prayer or not, Mayu begrudgingly nodded.
"Tomorrow's a date."
"Okay."
"And the day after too."
"If it's in the school science room or gym, then sure."
After some back and forth, I sought and received permission to enter the room from the girl, who wasn't even the room's primary occupant.
I opened the loose door. From the entrance, a woman with a ponytail, seated by the window, turned her gaze to me.
Wearing a pristine white coat and a blue mini-skirt. She carelessly kicked off her slippers and stretched out her legs without restraint.
"She's still the same, isn't she?"
That was her first remark.
"She hasn't changed since she was a child. Ah, but she went from 'where's Mi-kun?' to 'Mi-kun is here.' Not a good change though."
She threw the medical record she was holding onto the desk and yawned. Why does this doctor start to relax as soon as I enter? Does she mistake me for a tea buddy? "Then, after forcibly discharging from this hospital, what business do you have bringing that cheeky girl back, 'Mi-kun'?"
"That nickname is exclusive to Mayu."
"Yes, yes, lovebirds."
She rubbed her eyes and finally faced me after making herself comfortable.
Dr. Koidate Sakashita. A psychiatrist in her early thirties, single, and an adult whose only reading material is manga.
"So, what brought about this change of heart? You've revealed yourself to the garden."
She crossed her arms and legs, sizing me up with a scrutinizing gaze. It was a pose that suited her intellectual beauty.
If only she weren't barefoot.
"Can we just stick to answering the initial question?"
"Sure. You're just going to lie anyway."
She saw right through me. Thanks to our relationship since elementary school, she seemed to have a perfect grasp of my character.
"Suddenly, in the middle of the night, Mayu started complaining of a headache. So, I brought her here to see you. That's all."
"You're living together?"
Dr. Sakashita narrowed her eyes, grilling me with her questions. As a psychiatrist, I wished she would focus on the word 'headache.'
"We just share meals and live in the same place."
"So you're cohabiting."
"In the limited environment of Earth, and especially in the cramped region of Japan, we thought it best to maximize our space by living together."
"Sure, sure."
"...Are you angry?"
"Very much so."
She tapped her temple in time with the music and tapped her foot on the floor.
"It's a lie."
She mimicked my style. But her voice, full of resentment, made the lie obvious. After a moment of silence, she sighed in exasperation.
"I predicted it. That you and Mayu would show up together."
"Do we look like a married couple?"
"Are you an idiot?" She looked at me with disdain and then sighed, holding her forehead.
"It feels like a thief cat stole my pet dog."
"What kind of whirlwind development is that?"
"When we first met, instead of 'doctor', she was more like 'doc'. Always close and clingy..."
She sighed, muttering, "Maybe this is how parents of teenagers feel."
"Anyway, your personal life isn't my jurisdiction. You can fall apart if you want. But I question if it's good for Mayu's mental state."
She regained her composure and really twisted her neck, making a satisfying crack.
"Just having you around might not be entirely beneficial for her. Overfeeding can be toxic."
"But isn't love the most precious thing for the soul?"
"Doubt."
"Correct."
I don't even believe that.
She knocked on the desk with her fingertips, her expression a mix of disbelief and bitterness.
"You've made lying a habit. Show some restraint."
"Do you think telling a person not to lie is like telling a soccer player not to kick or a mountaineer not to climb?"
"I agree with you completely. But it doesn't apply to you. Soccer players and mountain enthusiasts have a small difference from you. Soccer players choose what they kick - primarily the ball, maybe occasionally a person or a vending machine. Mountaineers don't try to scale every mountain they come across. In short, they have moderation. That's the difference between them and you. You want to push through your entire life with lies. You can't use logic meant for normal people."
In short, she was telling me I wasn't human. Was this an insult? It's a fine line. I decided to return to the main topic, leaving the issue of her comment for later reflection.