Volume 1 Prologue 3: Jinguji Naori’s
Monologue
I ‘m truly an ugly
human being.
Not ugly in appearance, but ugly on the inside. When I heard
that my sister and Jun had broken up, I said, “That’s too bad,” with sympathy
in my voice, but inwardly, I felt relief. Now I could finally move forward in
my own way, without having to tiptoe around my sister’s feelings. Holding
myself back wasn’t healthy, after all.
But I’m not twisted enough to think, “Servers her right.”
I’m not that terrible.
When the two of them first started dating, I cried the
entire night. Literally, the entire night. Afraid my sobs would reach my sister
sleeping next door, I buried my face deeply into my pillow. I wondered vaguely
if this was what people meant by “a handful of tears,” though I was certain I
had shed more than just a handful. It was the first time I’d realize a human
being could produce such an endless flow of tears.
They say crying makes you feel better.
They say shedding tears brings relief.
That’s a lie. All of it is a lie.
Eli, Eli, lama sabachtani.
[TL/N: “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”]
Just when I thought I had calmed down, my eyelids would
disgracefully collapse again, tears flooding forth anew. This repeated
throughout the entire night. By dawn, I realized I couldn’t face my sister or
parents with such swollen, tear-streaked eyes. Quietly, I opened my bedroom
door, crept softly past my sister’s room, and carefully descended the stairs,
gripping the railing tightly, placing each footstep gently. I soaked a towel in
cold water, returned to my room, lay down, and placed the wet cloth over my
eyes to soothe their burning heat.
Lying alone in my small room like that, my situation felt so
absurd that a bitter, dry laugh escaped my lips.
This was my punishment for hesitating.
Now, I had to endure this humiliation.
I had known for ages that my sister liked Jun. Despite
knowing this, I reveled selfishly whenever I saw Jun immersing himself in his
studies and books, driven by a competitive spirit towards me. Secretly, I told
myself with pride that his motivation was inspired by me, that something of my
essence lived within him. Yet, even if that were true, I had no proof
whatsoever that Jun felt anything special toward me.
Because when Jun argued playfully with my sister, he looked
truly alive.
Knowing this, I couldn’t bring myself to express my
feelings.
Yet, I wanted to. I desperately wanted to. I wished Jun
would look only at me, not my sister.
But if I ever said something like that, the comfortable,
ambiguous relationship the three of us had nurtured since childhood would
crumble. It was a relationship built on not making choices – easy precisely
because no one had to decide anything.
We were childhood friends living next door to each other,
our families were close, and there was no escaping awkward encounters; neither
family was going anywhere.
Caught between reason and emotion, I sought something
external to help me decide.
That’s when I decided to make a wish.
People usually say things like, “If I get first place on
this exam…” But that’s boring. If I seriously tried, I knew I’d easily come
first anyway. It wouldn’t be much of a wish.
Then, while watching a quiz show on television, I had an
idea. I found a wish-worthy condition.
Speed – that was it. A race against time would be a worthy
challenge.
I’d aim to finish each exam faster than anyone else, racing
to the top without looking back to review my answers.
Perfect. It was a nice balance of luck and skill. If I
reached the top that way, I would confess my feelings to Jun.
But in truth, there was no time for such leisurely games.
All I’d been doing was waiting forever for something
improbable.
To be more honest, I was merely finding excuses to delay
facing the problem. It was nothing more than cowardice.
All those fantasies about shared interests or academic
rivalries were illusions. My arrogance, misunderstanding, and fragile affection
were effortlessly swallowed whole by the undeniable reality that Jun had chosen
my sister, with her short hair reminiscent of those girls from idol groups.
Swallowed whole, as if by a whale’s enormous mouth.
From a young age, I was raised surrounded by countless books,
various films, and diverse music.
Let me be clear – this is entirely because of my father. Noticing
my early fondness for picture books and movies, he immediately set his sights
on me, believing himself to be imparting some form of elite education.
As if I’d follow your plans, you sci-fi geek.
Feigning compliance, I methodically devoured my father’s
entire collection of books, DVDs, and CDs. Deceiving my father was a trivial
matter for a daughter like me. Never underestimate your child, Dad.
Rejected by me, my father shifted his focus to Jun. Far from
dismissing my father’s eccentric teachings, Jun earnestly absorbed every word.
Day after day, he listened attentively.
Thus, a disciple emerged, fully inheriting my father’s
eccentric tastes.
Jun had fallen to the Dark side of the Force. Unforgivable,
my dear father. Lord of the Sith indeed.
So let me say this clearly – Jun is the real subculture
fanatic here.
After all, we’re talking about someone who took my sister on
dates to symposiums at JAXA, who solemnly declares space to be the “final
frontier,” who casually insists Kraftwerk is an essential part of any music
discussion. How exactly does someone like that have the audacity to label me as
“subculture”? Jun is the embodiment of subculture itself.
Yet, annoyingly, no one ever calls Jun “subculture.” It’s
truly outrageous.
Is it a matter of persuasiveness? Is it because he always
ranks first academically?
Well, I’ll proudly mention I’ve never slipped below fifth
place myself.
Let me reiterate: Jun is undoubtedly an exemplary subculture
jerk.
Oh, and this is my first love we’re talking about here.
Putting first love aside, Jun is essentially a companion, a
comrade, someone who shares my passions. I’ve never felt bored around him.
And precisely because of that, I often wonder.
What did my sister and Jun talk about?
What kind of communication did they share?
How exactly did she date and flirt with that boy, the
walking encyclopedia himself? Their private time is something I’ll never truly
know.
I can vaguely imagine, but imagination is all it ever will
be.
My sister was always ahead of me.
Making friends, outgrowing clothes, wearing bras.
Getting a boyfriend, experiencing a first kiss.
She always leads the way.
I simply follow the path she has already paved. As her
younger sister, I’m just walking the Penguin Highway.1
But I don’t feel inferior. I am who I am.
I have my own ways of winning.
My test scores are significantly better, and now my breasts
are bigger too.
I have my own style. Just wait and see how brilliantly I
finish things off.
Penguin? Not at all. I’m not flightless.
I’m a nighthawk. Ugly only at first. Eventually, I’ll become
a star. Isn’t that right?
Gaze upon my brilliance with narrowed eyes. From hup high, I
can see everything clearly, you two.
There’s no use hiding.
1 Penguin
Highway is a sci-fi
coming-of-age story about a curious fourth-grader named Aoyama who investigates
a bizarre phenomenon: penguins appearing mysteriously in his landlocked town.
His search leads him to a mysterious woman with strange powers who seems to be
connected to the penguins. As Aoyama delves deeper, he uncovers a surreal
mystery that blends science, childhood wonder, and the complexities of growing
up.
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