Chapter 57: Late Summer Cicadas

Part One

Four in the afternoon.

The sky glows with the hues of sunset, visible through the air-conditioned room’s window. Across the street, a mall’s giant billboard looms, and cars occasionally zip past the intersection.

Cola curls up in a corner, one Bluetooth earbud in her left ear, the other lost somewhere on the tatami. Faint music loops through the earbud—a song on repeat.

Maebashi’s summer festival is about to start, but Cola’s in a foul mood, not wanting to leave the house.
It’s not a big deal, really—just a dumb online spat. She made a joke on a forum post about “being annoyed by women,” saying something like, “If you can’t beat ’em, join ’em—I’m a girl now.” Some guys played along, joking, “Bro, let’s see pics.”

Then some hothead latched onto her comment, tearing into her. First, they accused her of gloating, then of “betraying men,” followed by a barrage of personal attacks. The worst jab: “Used to be a man, now a woman—thinking you’re a woman just because you’re one now? You’re neither man nor woman, and you’ll never be a man again, but women won’t see you as one either.”

The insults that followed didn’t sting as much as that line.
It hit so hard she uninstalled the forum app and spent the whole afternoon sulking in a corner.

“I’ll change back. I’ll be a proper man again… But can I really? If I stay a girl too long, will I turn into some effeminate guy? Will people call me a ‘neither man nor woman’ freak forever…?”

The frustration is unbearable.
She wants to lash out but can’t, wants to cry but feels it’s too pathetic, wants to laugh it off but knows pretending not to care is just lying to herself.
It’s like a splinter lodged in her finger—impossible to pull out. Or like drinking without getting drunk, out of booze, craving release but held back by rationality.
A suffocating, pent-up irritation.

Her phone buzzes, the earbud blasting an annoying ringtone.
It’s one of her favorite songs, but right now, she wants it gone.
She yanks out the earbud, tossing both into their case, and checks her phone.

It’s a LINE call from Mahong Byakuya.
She means to hang up and text back, but her thumb slips, hitting accept.

“Cola, Cola, I’m downstairs! You coming down, or should I come up?” Byakuya’s bubbly voice bursts through, not soothing but somehow making Cola even more irritated.
Maybe it’s just that seeing someone so cheerful when she’s this down feels grating.

Cola knows she’s unfairly taking it out on Byakuya but can’t rein in her emotions.
“Got it… I’ll come down,” she says curtly.

“Yay! Waiting downstairs! Did you shower? Change clothes?”

“Changed earlier… Be right there.” She takes a deep breath, trying to sound calmer. Byakuya seems oblivious, but Cola feels a twinge of guilt.
The girl downstairs doesn’t deserve this.

She drags herself up, hesitates, then peels off the wrinkled white shirt. Digging through her closet, she pulls out a “pain shirt” from her guy days—a T-shirt with anime art.
It’s oversized, but summer short-sleeves can be loose without looking off, as long as it doesn’t slip off her shoulders.
It’s one of the smaller ones from her old wardrobe—bought in high school, brought to Japan on a whim.

On her, it’s still comically big.
But there’s a strange comfort in it, a sense of security.
The black shirt features a graphic of Dome-chan in a dress from Yosuga no Sora. Part of why she came to Japan was to visit the show’s real-life locations, but a year in, she still hasn’t.

Checking her reflection in the window, she makes sure the shirt doesn’t look too weird, and her mood settles slightly.
The black bra underneath blends with the shirt’s color. Adjusting the straps, it merges seamlessly with the outfit.

“Phew… It’s a rare fireworks festival. Don’t let this crap ruin it. That’d be so childish, like some grade-schooler…” she mutters, mocking herself. For her, self-deprecation works better than self-soothing.
Maybe it’s a guy’s pride—she doesn’t want to lean on lies or avoidance for comfort.

“Be a man. Whatever happens, suck it up. That’s what makes you a man.”
That’s how she’s always seen it.
Part of her afternoon sulk came from realizing she was upset over something so trivial—was she becoming like a girl?

“Be a man. Stop thinking about it. Step out and forget it!”

She swings the door open, takes a deep breath—then slinks back to the bathroom.
“Better change my pad first… Damn it.”

Part Two

Cola steps out, heading downstairs to the bare, greenery-less apartment entrance.

There stands a girl in a fancy dress—curly blonde hair, a vibrant red gown, and a pure white pearl necklace.
She looks less like she’s going to a festival and more like she’s headed to a high-society gala.

“Bit too fancy, no…?” Cola’s mouth twitches.

“It’s a festival! Gotta dress up!” Byakuya beams. “Cola… you’re good with that?”

“I just need to be comfy.”

“Eh, not like most girls in that way.”

“That’s perfect, then,” Cola scoffs.

“You’re different today!”

“How so?”

“Dunno, just… you’ve got this cool ‘what I say goes’ vibe!”

“…What kind of cool is that?”

“Like… unwavering?”

“That’s just manliness.”

“Manliness? Yeah, kinda! Super cool, anyway!”

“Really.” Cola coughs, looking away.

“Let’s grab Little Liuli! Yuki said she’s got something to do, so she’ll meet us at the fireworks spot. We can head there now.”

“It’s four. Liuli’s probably ready,” Cola nods, shoving her hands in her pockets and deliberately walking with an exaggerated, bow-legged swagger.

A few steps in, a click sounds behind her.

“Cola, you walked like a yakuza boss! I got a pic! Can you do it again? I wanna film it!”

“…Cough.” Embarrassed, Cola scratches her head, her swagger faltering. “Stop messing around. Let’s get to Liuli’s.”

“Liuli’s room is so cool—all vampire merch. You’ve been there, right?”

“Duh.”

“I bet her lyrics will be super dark!”

“…Probably super cringe.”

Part Three

Under the fiery red clouds, the cicadas’ wails sound like a funeral dirge.
Cola shakes her head uncomfortably, glancing at a message from Liuli on LINE.

“I’m coming out…?”

“Come on out.”

“Don’t laugh at me…”

“Why would I laugh?”

No reply. Cola knocks on the door.

Liuli’s youthful-looking mom answers. “Oh, it’s Little Cola! And… Mahong Byakuya, right? You came over last time.”

“Yup, hi, Auntie!” Byakuya chirps.

“We’re here to get Liuli for the fireworks. Where’s she at?” Cola steps forward, leaning against the doorframe.

“Odd, she was just downstairs. I’ll call her. Wait a sec!”

“No rush, plenty of time…” Cola waves her off.

Liuli’s mom hurries upstairs, and faint voices drift down, too muffled to make out.
Cola looks up, staring blankly at the sky.
She can’t stop thinking about losing her “manliness” since becoming a girl.

As her worries spiral, light footsteps descend the stairs.
Her gaze shifts downward, landing on Liuli at the door.

A girl in a black yukata stands before her, adorned with blood-red floral patterns that make her pale skin almost glow.
Her usually messy short hair is neatly combed, pinned with a crimson flower, its pearl accents swaying gently in the breeze.

It’s unmistakably Liuli—but not the Liuli Cola knows.
If her usual vibe is a cute, slightly timid girl-next-door, today she’s a flower blooming only at night—stunning, yet distant, untouchable.
That distance, always there, feels sharper now.

Cola instinctively steps back, as if pushed by an invisible aura.

“H-How… do I look…?” Liuli bites her lip, shyly lowering her face, her voice soft.

“Super pretty! Like a Japanese doll—I wanna take you home to cuddle!”

Byakuya’s voice shatters the moment. Liuli’s poise crumbles, and in her fluster, she’s back to the approachable, slightly distant girl-next-door Cola knows…