The Deceiving Read online

  YOBANASHI DECEIVE 0

  “…No, no, it’s true. What reason would I have to lie about it?”

  The girl looked at me dubiously in response.

  She must have doubted me from the outset.

  …Which would be the smart thing to do.

  When you considered the ability I had to deceive people’s eyes, that was the most prudent path for anyone to take.

  “Don’t believe me, huh…? All I’m trying to do is lead you back to your original body.”

  The girl stubbornly refused to nod at me.

  Well, I figured as much.

  Who’d say yes to such a blatantly fishy tale? Nobody. Of course not.

  And I have good reason to talk like this, too.

  It’s not like I’m seeking to make her dislike me.

  I just want people to keep wondering about me. Doubting me. Doubting someone who can’t even trust himself.

  I don’t understand myself at all.

  What do I like? What don’t I like? What do I want to achieve? Why am I here?

  What am I, really, on the inside? I still had no idea.

  I wouldn’t want anyone to believe anything a guy like that told them.

  They should doubt it. Deny it. Tear it down to pieces, for all I care.

  Then, from the rubble, the real me might pop its face out. I’d like to see that for myself again.

  …Though, maybe even that’s a lie.

  Thanks to the lies piled atop lies, I’ve become completely unable to say what I really mean any longer. It’s irritating.

  However, she really is a good girl.

  She’s got this amazingly strong, refined sense of self. And the ability to doubt people. I’m practically jealous.

  “Okay, well, how ’bout we do this? I could tell you some stories and stuff on the way there; how ’bout that? You won’t get all bored that way. You’re free to go if you do, though.”

  The girl’s expression still oozed suspicion.

  Yes. That’ll work for me.

  “I mean, it won’t be weird stories or anything, right? I’ll just tell you about my life and stuff. It’s nothing too exciting, but at least it’ll keep you occupied, y’know?”

  “…Here, how ’bout I give you a little taster?”

  ONE DAY, ON A ROOF

  “So then, like, Haruka ate the entire thing! His doctor told him to knock it off and stuff, but he was all, like, ‘Oh, it’s fine, it really tastes good, so…’”

  Takane paused to sigh, obviously still in a huff over it.

  The breeze felt good up here, on the roof, in the early afternoon.

  The concrete floor beneath us was slightly warm to the touch, under the bright midspring sun.

  It had been around ten minutes since I had sat down and begun talking to Takane.

  “Ha-ha-ha! He’s always a handful for you, isn’t he, Takane?”

  Takane furrowed her brows at my innocent reply. “Ugghh, just talking about it makes me angry all over again.”

  She was a sophomore at this high school, part of the special-ed program.

  Her favorite food was simmered yellowtail with radish. Her least favorite was tomatoes.

  She was a gifted gamer, too. That served as both her regular hobby and her daily addiction.

  She was an only child, living with her grandmother; her parents were apparently working overseas somewhere.

  But among all of those unique personality traits, the one that always stuck out the most was how constantly irritated she was.

  Even now, although her complaint was hardly anything serious, her body language indicated extreme annoyance.

  If it irks her that much, why does she even have to talk about it? That was my honest take.

  But I suppose it was the way she stuck to that habit that made her…more innocent—girlish, if you will—than she would’ve been otherwise.

  There was no hiding the fact that Takane had a thing for Haruka, a guy she went to class with.

  She hadn’t officially declared that herself yet, but picking up on it was easy when she started nearly every conversation with “I can’t believe what Haruka did!”

  From that, I had to surmise that Takane’s constant moaning was her way of expressing her affinity for the boy.

  If I found myself saying something like, “Oh man, that dude Haruka’s the worst,” who knows what kind of wrath that could trigger. That was drama I didn’t need in my life.

  That’s what I always strove for: a life without drama. One where I never got in the way of anyone.

  And that was always what I had to keep in mind during conversations like these. Going to this school, it was a must.

  “He’s incredibly late, though, isn’t he? Geez. How long does it take for someone to go out and buy lunch?”

  “Well…maybe the cafeteria’s really crowded or something.”

  “Yeah, suuuure,” Takane snorted. She never accepted anything at face value. It was vicious.

  Well, not that I have much right to judge.

  As she stared at the metal door separating the roof level from the stairway leading up to it, Takane opened her mouth, as if suddenly remembering something.

  “…Oh. Hey, while nobody else is around, I wanted to ask you something.”

  “Sure. What is it?”

  “Well…um, maybe this is kinda weird, all of a sudden…”

  Takane’s eyes drifted into space.

  What was it? More of her mindless complaining?

  “…Is there anyone you…like, or whatever, Ayano?”

  The question threw me a little. From her, it was surprising.

  I didn’t think Takane was even sensitive to that sort of thing, really.

  “Anyone I like? That’s kind of sudden.”

  “Huh?! Oh! Is it? I mean, you don’t have to say if you don’t want to! Ha-ha-ha!”

  Takane flailed her hands a little, her voice ratcheting up in tone.

  Why was she in such a panic over my response? This is ridiculous.

  “No, no, it’s totally fine,” I replied. “I don’t…really have anyone, so…”

  Her hands stopped in midair, and her eyes opened wide.

  “Wh-what? Is it that weird to you?” I hedged.

  “N-no, no…”

  Takane followed that up with a distracted giggle or two. From that act, it was pretty clear what kind of response she wanted from me.

  She probably wanted me to say that I liked him.

  …Pondering over that depressed me a little.

  I almost wanted to stand up and head home right that moment, even. Not that I could. I tried my best to change the subject.

  “He is pretty late, though, isn’t he? Hopefully he’ll be back soon…”

  “Oh, totally!” Takane took the bait. “What the heck is he doing? I’m, like, super-hungry!”

  …How much longer do I have to wait for them to bring lunch back up for us?

  Then I would have to watch every word I uttered to this girl. What a bother…

  And his face, in particular. I didn’t want to see it, if I could help it.

  Ever since the first time I met him, in fact. Something about it just made me want to smack him.

  Just then, we heard the door latch clank open.

  “Hey! Sorry we’re so late ’n everything! Bet you’re hungry, huh?”

  “Well, what do you expect? It was a madhouse down there.”

  Two voices boomed out from the doorway.

  They were quicker than I expected, but oh well. Just keep enjoying the day. No roadblocks, no obstacles. No interference.

  With a light breath, I gave the brightest smile I could and said:

  “Welcome back, Shintaro.”

  YOBANASHI DECEIVE 1


  “…Hmm. Kinda hurts a lot, actually.”

  My face instinctively twitched at the stinging pain.

  I brought a hand to my right cheek, the source of the discomfort, only to feel a burning sensation run from my cold fingertips to the center point of my head.

  I was punched sometime around eleven in the morning.

  Several hours had passed since then, but the pain showed no sign of fading away. In fact, my cheek was warmer than ever and starting to swell up.

  “Man, what a pain this is.”

  There should be a cold compress of some sort in the fridge. It came with the cake my mom had brought.

  That would probably help keep the swelling down a bit.

  If this left a bruise, that would be some serious trouble.

  Last time, the women around the neighborhood pelted me with questions like, “Why are you hurt?” and “Who hit you?” It was pure hell, really.

  If a bunch of weird strangers showed up at our front door this time, too, I didn’t know what I’d do.

  Why can’t they just mind their own business? Why do they just have to stick their necks into every stupid little thing that happens around here?

  Besides, to me, this really wasn’t a big deal at all.

  Compared to the pain of worrying about things, it was practically a breeze.

  I let out a soft sigh, attempting to get my brain out of the doldrums, and leaned back on the bench I was sitting on.

  The boiling heat of the day was starting to let up, and at this hour of the late afternoon, the park was starting to empty out.

  The blue sky above me showed no indication of transforming into dusk, but the sun was masked by a thin sheet of cloud cover, its fiery anger several measures lower than previously.

  The children who occupied the slide and ran around the sandbox a few times earlier were nowhere to be seen.

  Now, except for a girl feverishly twirling around on one of the horizontal bars, things were easing back across the landscape.

  Like I would’ve expected.

  I took a glance at the park’s solar-powered clock. It was beating out the first few seconds of the five o’clock hour, and the echoing of the sirens that accompanied this moment in time had just about faded into obscurity.

  It was a signal for children to return home, one invented by God knows who for God knows what reason, but the ones in the park faithfully followed the order.

  Grown-ups have a knack for picking up on children who break the rules. Thinking along those lines, I marveled at how the children, holding hands as they crossed the street, showed remarkable intelligence in their decision.

  The world we live in is built up out of millions of those little rules. Rules that were all created by the grown-ups.

  Attempting to rebel against that was akin to suicide.

  Even if children like us, unable to take care of ourselves, began to cry and resist the grown-ups, it would change absolutely nothing in this world.

  And for someone like me, enjoying my own world, just letting the day float by with barely a passing thought, nothing seemed ready to change at all.

  …Or maybe not.

  There was one thing. The pain that seared into my left cheek yesterday had moved to my right cheek today.

  It seemed inconsequential enough, but maybe it was worthy of being called “change.” It was still stupid, either way.

  Even I thought I was being needlessly cranky about this. Maybe I thought it was some kind of earth-shattering discovery.

  But I was friendless, usually at home alone drowning myself in all kinds of low-class media.

  I had a level of knowledge one step above the children of my generation. With that in mind, it was nothing that unusual.

  Either way, I joined the children today, as I always did, letting my immature thoughts convince me to protect the “rules” laid out by my mother.

  My mingling with the children in this park all day was one of those rules.

  In the morning, my mother would come home from work, put me in the bath, cook me some food, then take me to this park, like always.

  I would while away the day here until evening, when it was time for my mother to head to work. If she needed me to buy anything, I’d do it. Then I’d clean my room and go to bed.

  Living up to that hodgepodge of rules was both my duty and my everything.

  Thinking over them, they were all ridiculously simple rules to keep. But I never quite seemed to get the hang of them all, and that’d always anger my mother.

  She was angry at me yesterday over forgetting to buy the toilet paper, for example. Today, I broke a cup, which made her fly into another rage.

  Whenever she was angry, she would always start punching at me. I’m sure it made her hands hurt as much as it did my cheeks.

  The worst of it always came afterward, when I’d have to look at my mother’s face as she apologized to me, crying.

  But the more I tried to get everything right during the day, the more I wound up swinging and missing.

  Even when I tried to make my mother happy, the results were always the exact opposite of what I intended. It was uncanny.

  Come to think of it, a bit ago, when the TV remote in the living room broke, my mother fumed and tossed it into the trash, calling it a “defective piece of crap.”

  That was when I learned what “defective” meant. Someone who couldn’t stick to the rules. Something that was no use to anyone.

  The scene made the “defective” remote feel remarkably similar to…myself.

  The only thing I could do for my mother—so tired from work already—was make her (a) erupt, and (b) cry. There was nothing nondefective about me.

  So why didn’t my mother ever throw me away?

  Shouldn’t she be able to throw away a failure like me, just like the defective remote, and replace me with something new?

  I don’t get it.

  Why was I incapable of anything but causing my mother grief every day?

  If all I cause her is grief, why was “I” even born?

  Why, in the first place, did my mother even bother to…?

  Thinking over it, I was caught unawares by something deep in the pit of my stomach contracting painfully.

  The physical pain didn’t make the tears flow any longer, but now, despite all my requests not to, that feeling made them start to pool deep from behind my lashes.

  Oh, crap. I can’t cry here. Better think about something else.

  If I let someone see me, she might say something again.

  I’d be a pain to my mother again. We might not be able to be with each other any longer. What if that happened…?

  That would be terrible. I’d never be able to stand it. I couldn’t even imagine a world without my mother.

  One more hour.

  I just needed to sit here, quietly, for another hour until my mother woke up and headed out for work.

  Then I’d buy a cup to replace the one I broke, go back home, and just play it cool.

  As long as I follow those “rules,” I can get through today without saddening my mother any further.

  Then I’m sure tomorrow will…

  …Will turn out how, exactly?

  The question, along with a small “Gehh” that was ejected from afar at the same time, brought me back to reality.

  My eyes darted around, only to find the girl spinning away at the iron bar was now sprawled out on the ground.

  I stared at her. She showed no sign of trying to get up, her arms spread wide as she stared at the heavens.

  What happened to her? How’d she wind up like that?

  Even a total failure like myself didn’t need much time to figure that out.

  “Hey! You!”

  There was no reply to my command as it echoed slightly across the park.

  The eerie silence that followed sent a shiver down my spine that was difficult to describe.

  “Oh, is she…?!”

  Unable to stand it any longer, I stood, leapi
ng off my post on the bench.

  Faced with this all-too-sudden emergency, my head—something no one should ever have to rely upon—was, as I expected, blowing a gasket.

  Every inch of it was plastered with the worst-case scenarios I heard or saw on TV or the radio, a torrent of images running across my head.

  What if this thing I was seeing before me was the same as what they did on TV recently? That tragic murder scene? The one they had to use a big blue tarp to cover up?

  So much seemed to weigh me down at this moment, this second.

  The iron bar the girl was gazing at wasn’t that high in the air. The problem was how she fell.

  I heard there were people who became wheelchair-bound simply because they fell off a chair funny.

  Even with playground equipment, if you fell off of it the wrong way, just about anything could happen to you.

  “Oh, why is this happening to me…?”

  I took another look around. As far as I could see, there wasn’t a single grown-up around.

  This huge duty of mine, thrust upon me with no advance warning, made me feel like my heart was going to explode.

  But I had no time to fret over things, no leeway to sit and worry.

  I took another stride, leaping over the sandbox the kids from earlier left in a fairly trashed state. The girl, still on the ground, was now right before my eyes.

  Please don’t be anything serious, at least.

  The hope crossed my mind as I took another all-too-challenging leap.

  And just as I did, the girl, completely immobile up to now, whirled herself upward.

  Her deep black eyes, a fair match for her medium-length black hair, were dewy as she absentmindedly sized me up.

  Ah, thank heavens. It wasn’t fatal, then. There was no blood to see, and there was still a healthy pink to her face.

  She had a very refined face, actually. No doubt it’d bring her a well-qualified man and a fulfilling family life in the future.

  I was just so happy that nothing was serious about—

  With an ominous crack! a spark of electricity shot into my right ankle.

  Given that I was still a mere wisp of an existence, capable of counting my age on two hands, I wouldn’t really know what being electrocuted felt like. But it seemed a fair way to describe the pain that stabbed into the very apex of my head.