In the Morning

…Damn it.”

It was 7:30 AM in the morning. The weather was fair, but the room was

dark.

He was on the second floor of a wood-walled, two-story rental. The

south-facing, two-bedroom apartment was a ten-minute walk from a private

rail station. The rent: 80,000 yen.

“I give up. This is useless.”

Resigning himself to his annoyance, he vigorously rubbed a fogged-up

mirror with the palm of his hand. The shabby bathroom was still humid from

the shower he’d taken that morning, so the mirror quickly clouded over

again, right where he’d just wiped it.

But it wasn’t the mirror he was annoyed at.

“What bogus advice.”

“Soft bangs for a softer look!”—those words had frolicked on the pages

of a style magazine catering to current male fashion trends.

Takasu Ryuuji’s bangs were definitely “soft” right then. Just like the

article instructed, he’d pulled his hair all the way out, used a dryer at full

blast to make the bangs naturally stand on end, and then worked them to the

sides with a light-hold hair wax. He had done everything—everything—just

as the article said in order to get it looking exactly like the model’s hair. All

that work was the product of waking up thirty minutes early in the hopes of

fulfilling his desire.

All that work—for nothing.

“It’s not as if I’ll really change just from doing my bangs,” he said. “That

was probably wishful thinking…”

He took that effeminate magazine, the one that he’d swallowed his pride

to buy, and half-heartedly tossed it at the waste bin. He cringed—a miss. The

bin toppled and spewed out its contents, and the magazine he’d just discarded

flopped open to a page of fashion tips, laying there amidst the trash.

It read, “Soft or Wild?! What you can still do to declare your

transformation for the new school year! Our authoritative guide to your

debut!” If he could say one thing in response to that, it would be that he never

wanted a “debut.”

But he did want a transformation. Yet it had ended in failure.

Out of complete desperation, he used a wetted hand to muss the softened

bangs he’d just spent so much effort making until they reverted back to his

usual straight hairstyle. Then he kneeled on the floor to gather the trash.

“Wha—?! Wh-what is this…? There’s mold… it’s growing mold

again?!”

He’d discovered black mold along the wooden baseboard near the bath.

There was mold, even though he was always careful to wipe away excess

moisture. Just the previous week, he’d held a mold-cleaning rally (a

competition for all things water-related) for a whole day. Apparently, not

even that level of effort could vanquish the run-down house’s poor

ventilation. He bit his thin lips in frustration, and as a last-ditch effort, tried

scrubbing the mold with a tissue. Naturally, it didn’t come off; the tissue just

came apart in bits that added even more mess. An exercise in futility.

“Damn it… I just used the last of the mold remover, too. I’ll have to buy

more again…”

Right, then. He couldn’t do anything but leave it as it was. I’ll destroy you

for sure, he thought, fixing the mold with a sidelong glare while he cleaned

up the scattered trash. He took the opportunity to give the floor a cursory

wipe with the tissue. After disposing of the fallen hair and dust, he wiped all

the moisture from the washbasin, lifted his head, and finally took a deep

breath.

“Whew. That’s right, I need to feed her… Inko-chan!”

“Yahh!”

A shrill reply returned the high school boy’s rough call. Good, she was

awake.

After regaining his composure, he entered the wood-floored kitchen, still

barefoot. He prepared the feed and a change of newspaper, then headed to the

tatami mat living room. He removed the cloth covering the birdcage filling one corner of the room and was thus reunited with his beloved pet, whom he

hadn’t seen since the night before. He didn’t know what other owners did, but

at the Takasu household, that was how they took care of Inko. When

sleeping, her face was downright unpleasant, so they hid her until she woke

in the morning.

“Inko-chan, good morning.”

Inko-chan was an inko—a yellow parakeet. He spoke to her while

replenishing her feed, as usual.

“G-good… good morn…” Although her eyebrows twitched creepily—

like she didn’t even understand what she was saying—the ever-clever Inkochan managed to answer in Japanese. She’d just woken up, but she was in

high spirits. This side of her was a little cute, he had to admit.

“Inko-chan, say thank you for the food.”

“Thank—ank—you—thank you for the food! Thank you for the food!

Thank! You!”

“That’s it, that’ll do. Okay, let’s see if you can say that today. Can you

say your own name? Say ‘Inko-chan.’”

“I-In-Ini-In-nnn… Inn.” Summoning all the strength in her body, Inkochan waved her head, contorted her posture, and jerkily swung open her

wings.

“Iii…” Her eyes narrowed, and her ashen tongue peeked out from her

beak. Today might be it—her owner clenched his fists. But…

“…Iiidiot.”

Ah, the intelligence of birds. As expected of a one-gram brain.

With a sigh, he gathered up the dirtied newspaper into a plastic bag. But

as he consolidated it with the rest of the trash and prepared to head to the

kitchen, he heard something.

“Where’re ya goin’?”

It was coming from behind the sliding door, barely ajar. It seemed the

other idiot had woken up.

“Ryu-chan, whaddya wearin’ your uniform for…?”

He quickly closed the trash bag and turned to the owner of the voice.

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