Chapter 4
Edited by: Kanaa-senpai
Tsukasa’s POV
I, Kitaoji Tsukasa, would like to be honest now.
I love my stepbrother, Kitaoji Ren, with all my heart.
I first met him when I was a kindergartener.
I don’t remember his exact age, but I think he was around 4 or 5 years old.
Anyway, I fell in love with Ren’s cuteness―Takkun, whom my mother brought to the house.
Now, he doesn’t look like that, but at that time, he was really cute like a child actor.
The evidence is better than the debate.
I’d like to show his photo, but Takkun hates photos as much as Saigou Takamori does, and he won’t let me take his photo at all.
In his graduation album, he is in the photo, but he hides his face as if he hates it.
Maybe he had some problems before he was adopted.
So, I don’t push it either.
More importantly, Takkun is also my fiancée.
It was in the early elementary school years,
”Takkun, do you have someone you like?”
”Hmm? Someone I like?”
It’s like he doesn’t know what I mean.
After all, Takkun tilts his head.
But he’s so cute, I want to lick him all over.
However, I don’t want to become a s*x offender, so I try my best to restrain myself.
”For example, what kind of person?”
”Umm… Like, someone you’d like to be with.”
”Then, if it’s a girl…”
”!”
”Only sister.”
”Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa…”
I don’t remember anything after this.
According to my mother, Takkun carried me to the infirmary on his back when I collapsed with a nosebleed.
Isn’t it wonderful?
Such a remarkable behavior at a young age.
It made me fall in love with him all over again.
After that, we slept together for a while and tied a red string between our pinky fingers, which is a good memory.
But as we got older, Takkun learned shame and started to run away every time I tried to crawl on him at night.
Seriously, shame sucks.
But, he’s still my fiancée.
And back then, I’m looking at the real marriage certificate that I got from the nearest ward office.
'[Husband-to-be] [Wife-to-be]
[First Name] [Last Name] [First Name] [Last Name]
Kitaoji Ren Kitaoji Tsukasa
…
[Witness].
Kitaoji Satsuki’
All of them are my handwriting except mother’s.
Takkun was too shy to write.
But I like that too.
Actually, I submitted this to the Citizen’s Department at the ward office.
And the lady who accepted it said to me.
”Wait a little longer, okay?”
That’s how I remember it.
After that, there was a newspaper article about it.
The headline was something like ‘Busy City Hall, a moment to calm down.’
Our name was not in the article, but it was a valuable experience to be mentioned in a national newspaper.
”…”
Now, I look at that marriage certificate over and over again.
It’s crumpled and faded now, but it’s still legible.
”You really do love Ren, huh?”
Your mother smiles at me over a cup of coffee.
She looks tired after just finishing her holiday clinic, but when she sees her child happy, she recovers all her HP.
Mother is strong.
I wonder if I can be like her.
”Are you really going to get married?”
”Yes.”
”Actually, I think it’s better to try out different kinds of people.”
Mother hasn’t been in love since father died.
That’s why she wants me to have a lot of love relationships.
”Is that something a mother would say?”
Even though I’m a bit puzzled, I fix the marriage certificate.
It will be done next year.
Until then, it must be kept as safe as the umbilical cord.
”Don’t be too restrictive with Ren. Marriage is not just for one person.”
”I know.”
”And if you really want to marry Ren, don’t tie him down.”
Mother seems to be a neglectful but concerned woman.
She’s always watching.
Even though she’s busy, she attends class visits, parent-teacher conferences, and other events.
”Takkun is kind. He works hard.”
”Really? That’s good.”
As I said so, Takkun comes out of the kitchen.
”Dinner’s ready.”
He may look like a bad guy at school, but at home, he’s a great househusband.
”Thank you for everything.”
”No, mother always pays the bills. So, let me do this in return.”
”As expected, my son.”
Mother hugged him and patted his head.
A high school student would not like this kind of thing, but Takkun does not resist.
It is proof that he respects mother deeply.
Or maybe he is a mother-con boy.
”Eh~, Takkun. Why are you so sweet to mother?”
”Mother is always tired. This should help her heal, right?”
I know he’s trying to be nice, but I’m jealous.
”Yes, yes, yes. Let’s split up!”
I forcibly pull the two of them away from each other and wrap my arms around Takkun.
What mothers don’t have is youth.
””…””
Mother and daughter are staring at each other.
We are at odds with each other over our son (stepbrother).
Needless to say, Takkun was smiling bitterly.
But, sometimes, Takkun becomes mysterious.
It’s like he’s thinking about something.
For example, he suddenly looks distant and blank.
And before he was a sickly boy, but now he has joined a gym, and he is a muscular man.
I welcome it since both mother and I have a muscle fetish, but Takkun didn’t make the most of it and joined a shooting club in the suburbs.
And of all things,
”I want to try clay pigeon shooting.”
”I want to get a hunting license.”
He said that he wanted to get a hunting license.
Clay pigeon shooting is so popular that it is even included in the Olympics.
A former prime minister has competed in the Olympics.
I am also interested in clay pigeon shooting, but I don’t like the sound of gunshots, so I don’t do it.
The same reason applies to the hunting license.
And now, Takkun’s room is filled with model guns that he has collected.
(…I don’t understand.)
I look at the guns on the rack and laugh.
They are all pitch black.
They also look the same.
”Takkun, are you going to be a soldier in the future?”
”Why are you asking me that?”
Takkun, who was lying on his bed and reading a comic book, asked me.
Even looking at him, he’s a cute handsome guy~♡
”Because you collect these, right?”
”It’s my hobby.”
”Then, what are you going to do in the future?”
”I’m going to be a medical assistant.”
”Here?”
”Yeah. Not a doctor, but I’d like to support this hospital as a clerical worker.”
”Then you’re working with me, right? I’m a surgeon.”
”Yeah. I guess so.”
His ears are slightly reddish, though his reply is appropriate.
For what it’s worth, Takkun doesn’t seem to have any intention to be independent.
This means that we will be able to get married.
”How many children do you want, Takkun?
”I don’t know, I’ve never thought about it.”
”If it’s realistic?”
”Hmm… About three?”
”Okay.”
I take note of what Takkun wants.
’Desired number of children: 3′
and so on.
As for me, I would like to have many children, but I have to listen to Takkun’s wishes if we are going to get married.
Love can’t be formed by one person, but it can only be formed by two.
”I’m a little sleepy, I’m going to bed.”
”Really? Then, I’m leaving?
”Yeah, that’s okay. But I have nothing to hide.”
”No erotic books, either?”
”No.”
”Then can I search your room?”
”Sure.”
With his permission, I roll up my sleeves.
Takkun, though he’s at an early age, doesn’t show any sign of being interested.
Well, in this day and age, he can watch the movie on his smartphone, so he may not be troubled even if he doesn’t have it.
Anyway, I would like to know my partner’s s*xual habits since we are going to get married.
I look in the bedroom, behind the bookshelf, and at any other places I can think of, but there is nothing.
”zzz…”
Before I know it, Takkun is asleep, his face covered by a comic book.
”…”
My attention shifts from the search to the sleeping face.
I move closer, closer, and closer.
Takkun seems to be tired and doesn’t wake up, even after I remove his manga.
”zzz…”
He just makes a cute sleeping sound.
(Hehehe… So cute~♡)
I lie down to sleep with him.
As soon as I do..,
”Mmm!”
Takkun turned over and hugged me.
”! …! …!!!”
While I was upset, Takkun whispered in my ear.
”(I love you. My wife.)”
”!”
It’s a native pronunciation I’ve never heard before.
I think he might think he’s an American on the phone.
(He calls me his wife…)
My nose is bleeding and my breathing is ragged.
This could be interpreted as a proposal.
Because of this, I shouted without thinking,
”ME TOO!”
But the reality is harsh.
The next words from Takkun were,
”(I wanna meet you.)”
―I wanna meet you.
The point is that it is not “I wanna ((see)) you.”
If he said “see”, it means that he has met the person (*1).
If he said “wanna”, it means he has been in contact with the person, though he has never met him/her (*1).
When I looked closely, I found that Takkun was crying.
He is crying a lot.
But he does not wake up.
Something tragic must have happened in the dream.
”…”
Who is the person whom Takkun literally wishes to see in his dreams?
In context, a wife would be appropriate.
But of course, Takkun has never been married.
Then, who is it?
”(Don’t worry, I’ll be your wife, OK?)”
I hug him and stroke him.
Takkun smiles reassuringly.
Maybe he is starved for affection because he was adopted.
By convention, I am not told what happened to him in his birthplace.
I do not actively ask him about it too.
If I ask, it might destroy our current relationship.
”(It’s all right.)”
I pat his head gently until he stops crying.
* * *
Main Character’s POV
Ah, this dream again.
I look up to the sky.
In my arms are my beloved wife and child, covered in blood.
Both of their faces are smashed in, shot through the head with precision.
That was me who killed them.
It happened because when I had come all the way back from Japan, they treated me like an intruder.
It made me angry, so I shot them.
And now, I feel their cold bodies.
Damn.
I’m used to touching dead bodies on the battlefield, but what’s this coldness?
Damn it!
Now, sirens are coming.
Tomorrow’s headlines will probably read something like this.
'[Family Murder Case! The Suspect Japanese also committed suicide on the spot.]’
This is what the media would be writing about it.
The victims are a white mother and her child.
And the suspect is me, a yellow man.
They’ll write some things and make up some stories.
Most likely, they will make up a story about me as an assailant or a robber, and the police will say so, too.
It’s my country, but it’s a hard place to live for other than common colored people.
White supremacy in this country is an incurable disease.
It’s cancer, just like the disease that won’t let me give up my gun.
As the article says, I grab the glock that’s lying on the ground and press it against myself.
Yes, I know I’m used to shooting a lot, but when it is done to me, the muzzle of the gun feels very cold.
Is this the countdown to death?
This reminds me of Budd Dwyer’s public suicide that I saw some time ago.
That time it was the mouth, but I prefer the head.
Dwyer’s mouth and head bleeding and crumpled up, it was a miserable sight.
Fortunately, I’m not a Christian.
Suicide is forbidden, after all.
”…”
Now, I hugged them both and pulled the trigger.
At that moment, I lost consciousness.
This is the dream I have sometimes.
［References and Sources]
*1: NexSeed BlogMedia to shift your future => https://nexseed.net/blog/aitai/
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Edited by Kanaa-senpai.
Thanks for reading.