Original Translation
Haruma-1
And he saith unto me,Seal not up the words of the prophecy of this book;
for the time is at hand.
He that is unrighteous, let him do unrighteousness still:
and he that is filthy, let him be made filthy still:
and he that is righteous, let him do righteousness still:
and he that is holy, let him be made holy still.
Behold, I come quickly;
and my reward is with me,
to render to each man according as his work is.
Revelation to John (Johannes) 22: 10-12, ASV
Haruma-1
There’s a thought that always comes to mind whenever I read light novels: “The illustrations count for everything.”
When you have insufferable dialogue saturated with crappy moe clichés, a masturbatory power fantasy setting, characters ripped off various works by other talentless hacks, and boring prose even a middle schooler could read—no, even an elementary schooler could write—the illustrations quickly become the sole redeeming feature. Light novels are excruciating to read, but the illustrations make them readable.
The basis for pleasure lies in the eye of the beholder. In other words, what you see is what you get.
It’s a lie when they say surface appearances count for ninety per cent. They count for everything, I tell you. One hundred and ten per cent.
I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one thinking that. Plenty of others must think so too.
The Ugly Duckling, an assigned reading in the integrated elective unit “The World of Hans Christian Andersen’s Fairytales”, is pretty much one of those stories. Basically, the story goes like this: “Life is on easy mode when your appearance changes for the better. At the very least, you won’t get skinned for a Chinese gourmet dish. Those cheap foie gras bastards knew what they were doing!”
That’s the message Hans Christian Andersen conveys through the story. Ugliness is a sin. Well, not that I really know if he meant that. It was certainly the message I took away from Andersen’s work, though. I could feel the pathos in that tale as keenly as if it were my own. It made me wonder if I was Andersen. I was totally Andersen. So much so that I’d clutch my bayonets and say amen.
Maybe, just maybe, one could assume The Ugly Duckling is a story that gives hope to the unattractive.
The truth, however, is a different matter. Only an obnoxious Brothers Grimm fanatic could pull such a shallow reading out of thin air (lol).
There is no hope in that tale. It is nothing more than a revenge fantasy against the destructive power of beauty, which denies the existence of ugliness. The duckling takes revenge by becoming even more beautiful than those that reject him. At no point does friendship or hard work come into it; victory comes entirely through pedigree. You don’t really see protagonists like that even in Shonen Jump these days.
For argument’s sake, let’s say that fairytales are the foundation of human philosophy. The cold truth is that Andersen wrote a story in vague fear that the ugly will never be accepted for who they are.
So that’s what I wrote in my book report after the lecture.
Of course, I regret it now. Why didn’t I write something safer? Why didn’t I come up with some half-assed flattery that would make the teacher happy, just like the other students did? I knew that the strange, peculiar and unusual are readily excluded from the crowd. Andersen didn’t have to tell me that.
“Hey, Haruma…” Kusaoka Amane, the teacher in charge, called out my name with a soft sigh. It was lunch time, and the two of us were in the nurse’s office, where the smell of antiseptic assailed my nostrils.
Kusaoka Amane made me sit on the bed while she dragged over a chair and sat in front of me. Gingerly, she crossed her long and slender legs, causing her lab coat and tight skirt to make a rustling sound. When she leaned over to peer down at my face, hugging those legs of hers, the shape of her chest came into view through her blouse. Once again, Amane-chan let out a sigh as if to say “come hither”.
Thin curtains cut off my bed from the outside world, and the two of us sat unusually close. It was always like this whenever she called me over.
It was early in the afternoon and I was sitting on the edge of a bed in the nurse’s office, alone with a beautiful female teacher in a lab coat. Not to mention the teacher was sighing in a “come hither” way. If you ask me, I bet that would perk a pubescent boy’s interest right off the bat.
But this could not be further from reality.
This room was no porno set, nor was it the product of a fevered adolescent boy’s imagination. It was merely a confessional. Or, you might say, a room for sermons.
Amane-chan flicked her hair, causing a fluffy perfumed scent to attack my nostrils. Did she change her perfume again? Her last one was better. As those pointless thoughts ran through my mind, Amane-chan glared daggers at me.
“Hey, Haruma. Have you ever thought about my position here?”
“Your position… Well, you’re the health teacher, I guess.”
“That’s right.” Amane-chan nodded eagerly. “I’m the young and pretty health teacher.” She repeated what I just said with some rather superfluous additions.
Then suddenly, her bobbing head movements came to a jarring halt.
“Oh, and I’m also your big sister.” She pointed at me with a flourish.
“Mm, yeah, I guess.”
This should go without saying, but Kusaoka Amane and Kusaoka Haruma are siblings bound by blood, and for whatever reason they also go to the same school and have a teacher-student relationship. Thanks to that, there was no way I could entertain carnal desires, even inside a room resembling a porno set. In fact, I could do nothing but marvel at what my idiotic sister was saying for the umpteenth time.
My sister being who she was, I made it my business to stay as far away from the nurse’s office as I could. Unfortunately, there were numerous exceptions, like whenever she wanted a maid or a punching bag for her stress. Today, it was probably the latter.
Amane-chan pulled out a non-tobacco pipe from the breast pocket of her lab coat and stuck it between her teeth. “If you get it, then quit being a pain at school, you moron. Whenever you do something stupid, I’m the one who gets a talking-to in the staffroom.”
“Isn’t that just because they don’t like you? It’s not like I do anything wrong.”
“Yes, you do! Like, you know, that report you wrote today, or whatever it was? You wrote some weird stuff in it.”
She leered at me, prompting me to search my memories. The search retrieved only one result.
“You’re not talking about… how ugly people have no human rights?”
“Yeah! I don’t get it, but it’s probably that! You write so much crap! Don’t act so cocky! You need to look in the mirror! You always have this miserly look on your face!”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “If you’re a guy, you can buy human rights.”
Amane-chan didn’t look as if she disagreed. “Well, yeah. You can do anything if your assets and income are high enough.”
Heh, so she agreed, huh? You see, if guys actually do have a high income, they can always manage to get by. Long ago, in the days of yore before the bubble burst, the so-called Three Hs were what it took for a person to be popular: High Education, High Stature, High Income. Any blemishes related to one’s face were not part of the deal, so there was probably no such thing as facial discrimination against a man. But geez, women from that time were certainly something. Did they judge people solely based on those three categories? Equivalent exchange is supposed to be the foundation of alchemy, so if they want to create such an ideal boyfriend, they ought to give up an arm or a leg.
Well, my sister was one of those types. She had a nice enough face and figure, but her personality was trash by her own admission.
Amane-chan had a subdued look in her eyes, and after a while, she coughed uncomfortably. “Well, anyway, even if you’re technically right, from an education perspective we can’t have that. They really didn’t like your answer—I mean, they even complained to me. The old hag in charge of the subject isn’t exactly a looker, so what you did was really annoying. Think before you act, geez.”
“Didn’t you just majorly discriminate against her looks? Not to mention you were ageist on top of that.”
“I’m not saying it to her face, so it’s fine,” Amane-chan chuckled as she stuck out her chest with pride.
Yep, today the world remains at peace because of someone’s “unspoken kindness”. I’m a kind soul as well, so I practice my “unspoken kindness” by never speaking to my classmates. And yet even though everyone is so used to my kindness these days, the sparks of conflict still rise to the surface here and there. How very peculiar.
“Even though you aren’t saying it to her face, you’re the one who gets a talking-to, so isn’t that a problem with your own personality, Amane-chan?”
As soon as those words came out of my mouth, Amane-chan waved a hand fervently in denial, her face completely straight. “Nope. It has nothing to do with my personality. Got it? When you’re the young and pretty health teacher, it’s stupid how low your standing in the staffroom is!” She prattled on and on. “My colleagues sexually harass me and belittle me right in the open! And to top it off, I have boys pretending to be sick at the nurse’s office every day, and a bunch of jealous bitches glare at me like I’m their enemy! I want to hurry up and get married and quit this job!”
Her voice got a bit choked up at the end there.
Being a teacher sure is tough. As those pointless thoughts went through my head, the curtains partitioning the bed began to shake.
“Excuse me, Sensei?”
A small, timid hand pushed the curtain aside. Large, trembling eyes peered at us uncertainly through the gap. The girl who had called out to us probably still had a fever judging by the redness of her cheeks and the puffiness of her eyes.
As soon as our eyes met, she scurried into the curtain’s shadow like a small animal. Then, as she trembled in alarm, she peered in my direction once again. That helpless gesture was adorable as hell. Judging from her uniform, she appeared to be a student from the middle school division.
Amane-chan came to her senses when the girl called out to her. Scraping her chair around, she turned to face the owner of the voice.
“S-Sooorry, Misa-chan. You know what my little brother’s like,” she said, giggling.
“Nonono, I’m the one who should be sorry! I didn’t know whether I should speak up, but, um, I was just wondering about where the fever medicine was…? Was that bad of me to ask?”
The girl named Misa-chan stroked her pigtails anxiously and looked from me to Amane-chan. It seemed she was worried about interrupting our conversation. Having guessed that, Amane-chan stood up and patted Misa-chan lightly on the shoulder.
“No, no, not at all. If something is bothering you, it’s best if you speak up straight away. Look, you know how the saying goes: speak now or forever hold your annoying little brother.”
“That’s not how the saying goes,” I said. “Does my family hate my guts or what?”
What, did Amane-chan hate me? Even though I was quite fond of my older sister? Well, I dunno about my parents or my sis, but my gramps sure loves me. He gives me Werther’s Originals and stuff. Grandma pretty much always gives me Rumandos or Elises. I’ve gotten sick of eating Elises, so whenever she whips them out, I get melancholy. The melancholy of Elise… (1)
Amane-chan only smiled, though, unruffled by my vehement arguing. Misa-chan, who was left watching our exchange from the sidelines, cracked an awkward and uneasy smile. Well, it’s hard to know what to do when people you don’t know very well have a conversation filled with in-jokes. At times like these, it was best to smile and nod.
“’Kay, I’m off now.”
At this rate, I’d be forcing this cute girl to smile insincerely the same way I did in the classroom. I waved casually in Amane-chan’s direction and made my way past Misa-chan.
Right then, just as I passed her, Misa-chan ducked her head and bowed. Her hair tie, which was wrapped around her faint black hair, bobbed up from the movement. She had a diminutive figure, in a charming sort of way, coupled with thin shoulders and a flat chest. Her cheeks were bright red and her eyes were watery. The sight of her pressing her slender fingers against her tiny lips as she let out a muffled little cough added to her charm. She had a weird sort of sex appeal.
The word “angelic” fit Misa-chan like a glove. One could also interpret that to mean she was too good for this sinful earth.
“Oh, right. Haruma.” A voice assailed me from behind as soon as I put my hand on the door of the nurse’s office.
“Yeah?”
“The landing in front of the roof has been dirty these days. See, they told me a lot of stuff in the staffroom. They said clean the landing after school. They also told me to tell my little brother to reflect on his actions,” Amane-chan said with a wink, even though that was all probably her job to begin with. She probably got busted smoking on the rooftop or something.
Unfortunately, a little brother exists to serve his sister as a slave. Alternatively, you might say that an older sister exists to carve trauma against women into her brother’s heart. If you were to call older sisters a scourge on this earth, that would be an entirely accurate statement. On a whim, they’d flip from cute to fire-breathing monster in the blink of an eye. At times, they’d come to you with crocodile tears. I’ve built up tolerance for women (in a bad way), and I know way more about their biological cycles than I ever wanted to know.
“…Yeah, I’ll do it,” I answered, putting my hand on the door to leave the nurse’s office for real. That caused the door to creak open.
At that moment, my feet stopped in their tracks.
A lone girl stood before my eyes.
Sparkling sunlight streamed through the corridor window, and a hazy breeze carried the subtle, sweet scent of Anna Sui perfume.
Her black hair was long and straight, her pale skin seemed to shine, and her delicate limbs were slender and lithe. Her large eyes and alluring lips widened in surprise.
The word “goddess-like” fit this girl like a glove. One could also interpret that to mean her beauty could wipe out this earth on a whim.
I knew this girl’s name. Of course, she couldn’t say the same for me. Mind you, I didn’t have to go out of my way to dig it up or anything. I just happened to know it naturally, as part of the common knowledge shared by many students at this school.
Chigusa Yuu. It was my first time seeing this girl, one year my junior, up so close.
This momentous encounter with Chigusa almost ended with us literally butting heads, and the two of us took a step back accordingly.
For her part, her expression took on an air of surprise, but I was pretty sure my face looked completely idiotic. The only one frozen to the spot, though, was me. She instantly produced a bashful smile and lowered her head courteously, passing me from the side. My gaze followed her instinctively.
“Oh, Onee-chan! I’m sorry!” Misa-chan called out, having noticed for herself that the girl in front of her was Chigusa. “You came even though you’re so busy…”
“There’s no way I could have something more important than Misa-chan. Are you feeling okay?”
The sight of Chigusa gently pressing her hand against Misa-chan’s forehead was like something out of a painting. I see, so Misa-chan was Chigusa Yuu’s sister, huh? That would explain why she was so cute.
As I glanced furtively at the pair of sisters, angel and goddess respectively, I closed the door behind me. The door banged against the back of my head.
If I was just a little bit more like Amane-chan, I would have had quite a nice face. How did I end up with such a miserly mug? When you look at it through another perspective, if I have one defect or two or three or four… well, however many defects I have, that in itself is proof that I am human. Which meant that girl was something else altogether.
This world really is unfair, and as a result, it reeks with discrimination.
It’s not a matter of being special or unique—that’s common sense which anyone with half a brain would grasp.
Even knowing that, I could not help but think: Chigusa Yuu… has a nice face. A really nice face!
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TRANSLATOR’S NOTES
(1) Werther’s Original and Elise are popular candies. They are also sex jokes. The Japanese dubbed version of the Werther’s Original commercial turned into an internet meme because the awkward translation made it sound like the grandfather had sexual interest in his grandson. “The melancholy of Elise” is a reference to one of the Sexy Commando techniques from the cult 1998 anime Sexy Commando Gaiden: Sugoi yo!! Masaru-san. “The melancholy of Elise” involves pulling down the flyer of one’s trousers while making orgasm sounds.
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Haruma-2
As I left the nurse’s office behind, loud voices clamored around me. Lunch break was just about to end, and the rush of footsteps echoed through the hallway and classrooms.
I hate the Japanese word for crowds: hitogomi. I don’t like people (hito) and I don’t like trash (gomi), so I can see no reason to like the two things put together. In comparison, I love the Japanese word for “a cold”: kaze. It’s made up of the characters for “wind” and “evil”. It’s totally overblown and that’s why I love it.
To be fair, I did try my hardest at one point to like crowds.
When I was little, I attempted a lot of things: junior baseball league, swimming school, mental arithmetic tutoring, calligraphy class, piano lessons. Almost all of them were things that, well, Amane-chan dragged me to. Either that or it was for her benefit. I never really took a liking to them. Thanks to that, I got surprisingly little bang for my buck. I demand a refund.
There was only one lesson I took to heart.
“You should think of humans as pumpkins!”
That’s what my piano instructor said when I was nervous before a piano performance. Rather well-worn words, but since the old hag was the one saying them, I had to give them a whirl. Gotta respect your elders, right?
As it turned out, though, there was a kernel of truth in the old hag’s words. Indeed, when you think about them in terms of water levels, humans and vegetables are not so different. When you consider their common trait—they’re both sacks of water—they’re on a nearly equal plane of existence. Good old hag. The older the wiser, or however it goes. She said some good stuff. Thanks, granny.
Thanks to her, I’ve been under the assumption ever since that humans are vegetables. Well, not that the old hag’s words helped with my nervousness—I still screwed up my piano performance and quit soon afterwards. Sorry, granny.
Right then, I looked up at the sky through a window in the hallway. There, I could see slightly unusual clouds in the shape of temple bells at midnight. Internet denizens would be performing their hot takes at this very moment: Whoa! Are those earthquake clouds?
What idiots. Honestly, this world is full of pumpkin heads. Whenever signs of an earthquake appeared, the clouds themselves would turn into omens. The majority of them, it seemed, were actually just regular clouds. People just arbitrarily linked them to earthquakes, fooling others with their ignorance.
There are positives to twisting logic to one’s own convenience. If you can allow it, you can kid yourself into believing that humans and vegetables are the same because they have similar water levels. Anyone saying that is a complete moron.
Well, for now.
How about I give you another similarity between humans and vegetables?
I’ve already said that I hate vegetables. However, I exclude strawberries and melons from that list.
Yuu-1
The girls’ changing room after gym came to life like a paddy field after a shower of rain. There was hardly any room to breathe, not only because of the scent of perfume and powder that pervaded the room, but because of all the soft drink bottles and sweat towels being thrown around. Meanwhile, the chatter simply refused to die down—a croak here, a croak there, almost like a chorus of frogs.
Not that we had any real inkling of what frogs sounded like. In this day and age, a good deal of high school students living in the city have probably never seen a frog in the flesh.
As such, I took the liberty of using my imagination. Concealing my body behind an open locker door, I basked in this silent entertainment exercise.
Frogs peeling off layers one at a time.
Frogs spraying deodorant on themselves.
Frogs discussing love with their friends.
Whenever I mentally exchange my classmates for frogs, the changing room becomes quite a humorous scene. Ribbit ribbit ribbit. It always makes me smile to myself.
I am quite certain that in the world of the paddy field, a frog going out of its way to avoid you would be no cause for concern. Frogs are blunt. Frogs are strong. Frogs are free. All humans ought to become frogs.
If the Earth was a village of a hundred frogs, there would be no frogs with an unhealthy admiration towards swans. Undoubtedly, they would never notice their own blemishes and thus live forever in peace.
In my palm, I gripped a small white flower, the name of which I did not know. I don’t believe this flower has ever considered that it might become anything other than a flower until the day I plucked it. That must certainly be the definition of happiness.
A sigh slipped out my mouth, unbidden.
Spiral-shaped clouds coiled in the sky through the window I was gazing at, like an omen warning of an earthquake. Startled, I swallowed the sigh that had just escaped my throat.
There are people out there who would qualify as the fruits of that sort of twisted logic. When they see everything as an omen, nothing has meaning. People who believe that rubbish are pumpkin heads or identical to vegetables, just to give an example.
Yes, that is how they are.
But that is the logic of a strong-willed person. There is no sin in a delicious pumpkin.
In this world, people are somewhat more cowardly. Unless someone pushes them, they will not budge an inch.
Like me, for instance.
Omens and fortune telling might just be a catalyst for people without courage. Written prophecies and revelations are passed down through generations precisely because they offer guidance to people in doubt. I wonder if it really is such a bad thing to cling to some kind of invisible fate.
“Yes, no, yes, no, yes, no, yes…” I murmured as I plucked the petals from my flower.
Of course, I was hiding in the locker’s shadow as I did it. I am quite aware that flower fortune telling is old school to people of my age. I could easily imagine how I would be treated if my classmates spotted me in such a precarious position.
“Yes…”
The last remaining petal formed a wrinkle in my palm. Somehow, it felt like Misa’s smiling face to me. My angelic little sister. Whenever I think of her, I feel like doing everything in my power for her.
Encouraged by that petal, I touched my smartphone and opened the messaging app.
Maria-san, I have a favour to ask of you…
From now on, I would have to interact with a very frightening individual.
For the sake of regaining something that had been stolen so unfairly from me—something dearly precious.
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