Chapter 7: The Star of the Magpie (7)

I opened the front door and muttered to myself, “I’m home.”

It would have been nice if this were a world where a heroine greeted me with an “Okaeri” in a Sekai-kei style.

[ TL Note: Okaeri = “Welcome home.”

Sekai-kei = A story where love affects the whole world.]

Unfortunately, there were no heroines, not even a girl in my house.

My sister isn’t a girl, is a gentlemanly way of putting it.

Additionally, I am not a girl, is a declaration of my will.

Nevertheless, even though it doesn’t feel real at all, I – or rather, my body – is now projected as a girl to anyone who looks at me.

My aesthetic standards are perfectly normal, so this body was objectively quite beautiful.

This isn’t a hidden camera prank or an April Fool’s joke.

Clearly, undeniably, I – no, my body – has become that of a girl, so vividly that I can’t continue my escapist delusions.

It’s a thought common enough to appear at least once per chapter in a novel, but I love Umi-chan, Sonoda-san, more than anyone.

[TL Note (Short): Umi-chan / Sonoda-san = Refers to Sonoda Umi, a character from the anime Love Live!. She’s known for being serious, shy, and traditional — often called “Umi-chan” affectionately by fans.]

I admire her, so much so that I can’t even bring myself to say I love her.

I have a narrow-minded belief.

A beautiful girl should exist in an untouchable, otherworldly realm.

I like Yamato Nadeshiko type girls.

[TL Note: Yamato Nadeshiko = A traditional ideal of the perfect Japanese woman — graceful, modest, kind, loyal, and elegant. Often seen as embodying classical feminine virtues in Japanese culture.]

And if she’s also humane, cherishes her friends, and faces the world with righteous confidence, she’s my ideal.

So, while I don’t care about how others see me…

While I expect nothing from the world… still.

The word “girl” is the epitome of otaku fantasies, so the fact that an insignificant person like me is moving this beautiful body feels incredibly alien.

Disgusting, even.

TS, especially into a beautiful girl, is enough to enjoy in fiction, where you can turn your brain off and just watch.

My love-hate relationship with myself.

My doubts about the direction of my life.

It would be a lie to say it doesn’t bother me that things have changed.

My short life has been a series of worries, and I don’t want to agonize or suffer anymore, so…

…I inevitably, almost hypnotically, muttered to myself:

What defines me isn’t my body.

Only my mind proves who I am.

Still, delusions don’t become reality.

A person’s identity is formed through socialization.

Even a social outcast like me, rejected by society, grew up amidst contempt and hatred.

Others judge and act towards me based on countless outward identities like appearance, physique, and even minor behaviors.

I do the same.

Therefore, all I can say is that my identity is ultimately formed through social interaction.

Naturally, people act differently towards girls, middle-aged men, and the elderly.

Even within the same set of “girls,” people treat unattractive girls differently from pretty girls.

And even among pretty girls, people act differently towards friendly girls and cool girls.

A tall, gloomy, and unpleasant man, versus a small, cute, and charming girl with slightly sharp but pretty eyes.

Can they be the same person?

No matter how much I think about it, I don’t want to be a girl.

No, I don’t want to become a different person, even if it’s not a girl.

My DC Inside signature perfectly captures me.

I no longer want to fight against the countless things outside.

I ran away in fear.

No Longer Human. Dazai Osamu’s despair is too heavy for me to even face.

[TL Note: Dazai Osamu = A famous Japanese author known for dark, introspective works. “No Longer Human” is his most well-known novel, exploring deep despair, alienation, and depression — themes reflecting his own troubled life].

I have lived a shameful life.

Grandiose talk like being the antithesis of human life is just burdensome, but it’s clear that my life is full of shameful things.

For example, I’m like a lukewarm carbonated drink.

Like a machine that works but doesn’t function properly, a defective product.

I have a vague understanding of human life and a warped, but existing, understanding of others.

I’ve grown, both physically and mentally.

Once, I hated the world, and another time, I loved it, and today, surely today, I no longer have any expectations.

The expression “grown” doesn’t necessarily mean the commonly referred to “matured.”

I want it to end now.

In my dark, lightless room, I erased my form and screamed silently.

“Unni… I mean, oppa, are you home?”

My sister looked at me with an exasperated expression as I shuffled into the living room and threw off my clothes with a blank look.

“I got you some clothes. I stopped by the supermarket and bought you a few things to wear at home.”

“Ah… thanks.”

I shifted my gaze from my reflection in the mirror to where my sister was pointing.

There were a few pairs of pajamas, the kind young girls typically wear at home.

They were mostly girly designs, but not to the point of being unwearable.

Anything comfortable enough to relax in and that fits me is fine.

It’s all the same to me.

My father wasn’t in the living room; he was probably working on his laptop.

My sister was preparing dinner.

Since I’d been cooped up in my room, it felt like it had been a while since I’d seen her cooking.

By the way, actually putting these on is… more awkward than I thought…

I should tell her not to buy clothes that are open at the bottom next time.

Do I have to buy a new school uniform too?

The girls’ uniform has a skirt, but I often see girls at school wearing pants.

There’s no reason for me to wear a skirt.

What are those TS novel protagonists thinking, willingly wearing something as stupid as a school uniform skirt?

“Pay more attention to me now that I’ve become this cute?”

“It’s embarrassing and burdensome to be the center of attention, but I still want to show myself to you?”

Something like that? That’s weird.

I needed some healing. I decided to watch the Love Live 5th Live concert.

I turned on my desktop and played the 5th Live video.

Ah, I want to see Love Wing Bell.

I want to see cute Riko in a wedding dress.

I want to see the cutest Rin-chan in the world… I love Rin-chan so much… RinPana, get married!! Love Wing Bell is a god-tier song, right? Right. Wow, she knows her Love Live.

The video on the monitor was about to start.

To get in the mood, I fiddled with a blade I took out of my drawer and sighed.

Suddenly, the thought that even my breathing sounded like a girl’s made me feel hollow.

In this vast world, I had become even smaller.

I unconsciously turned around, and my upper body was reflected in the mirror.

Suddenly feeling down, I ripped the mirror off the wall and shoved it in the corner of the balcony.

Correction. I carefully placed it in the corner so it wouldn’t break.

I’m petty by nature, so I don’t act violently just because I’m in a bad mood.

I don’t have any particularly troublesome hobbies.

Kicking furniture or throwing things around just because you’re angry is something only abusive parents do.

The live video had moved on to member introductions.

It was Hoshizora Rin, voiced by Iida Riho – or Rippi –’s turn.

Ah, Rippi is so cute.

Healing.

– “Nyan~ nyan~ nyan!”

Rippi bent her hands, making cat paws, and opened and closed them to the beat.

I’ll take this opportunity to explain myself in advance.

Any Love Liver would have done the same.

Because it’s a character response call.

It’s a gesture anyone does, from female fans to fat, middle-aged men.

“Nyan~ nyan~ nyan!”

“Oppa, dinner’s…”

My eyes met my sister’s.

A few seconds passed.

My sister gave me the kindest smile I’d ever seen, closed the door, and left.

I looked down at my hands.

They were curled up just like Rippi’s.

Ugh.

Unable to contain the sudden surge of anger, I stood up and kicked my chair.

Then, unable to bear the pain, I grabbed my foot and rubbed it, lost my balance, and fell.

“Aaargh!”

…I’ve fallen down a lot today.