Translated and Edited by: luccayn.
-san: A polite suffix, but not excessively formal.
-kun: A common suffix among friends and younger people.
-chan: A common suffix among people you’re close with, mostly used for feminine nicknames and girls, since it’s cutesy and childlike.
-senpai: A common suffix and noun used to address or refer to one’s older or more senior colleagues in a school, workplace, dojo, or sports club.
TL Note: I’m translating names as if they were western, meaning the first one you’ll see is the first name, and the other one is the last. I’m doing that for intuitive reading, but forgive me for any mistakes. I’m just another humble MTL translator.
It was an early spring morning, 7 AM when I was hit on the head with a bottle by my sister. I was in a corner of the living room, cold by the time of year when it happened.
She cuffed me with enough force to shatter that bottle into little pieces; they clinked onto the ground, brittle. Was it something so easily broken? I mean, this isn’t a normal girl’s strength.
As I bowed my head in deep apology, staring at the mess on the ground, I felt someone come up behind me.
“Hey! What’s that noise? So loud!”
My other sister woke up with a loud crack. She went up to us in a half-sleep state but looked objectively lovely regardless. Unlike her beautiful older sister, she was cute… However, lately, she’s been shifting her makeup style into that of a “gyaru,” and her bright pink nails were intimidating, to say the least.
Truthfully, I’d like to see her go back to how she was. I mean, I’m afraid of them… Gyarus are scary to a gloomy nobody like me.
“This guy was making fun of me for going through my period! He was just standing there, cooking with this annoying straight face! …Aaargh! That pissed me off!” The older one barked, pointing the sharp part of the half-bottle at me.
Though, I was just making breakfast. I didn’t laugh, I thought to myself. As I repeated my apologies to her, trying not to stand out too much, more people showed up at the scene.
“Calm down, Kanae. This bloke isn’t even worth hitting, so let’s just have a meal and switch the mood,” my mom woke up as well. She mediated the situation while humiliating me as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
She had a body unbefitting of a woman who birthed three times. Objectively, she’s beautiful as the daughters she brought into this world, having features barely any woman her age had. In fact, she had so few wrinkles and signs of age, she could be passed as a nineteen-year-old.
Hearing such youthful appeasement from her mother, my older sister gradually calmed down.
They just minced me down with words and didn’t hit me further… Phew, that’s great. I’m glad. I’m really glad it was only this bad, I thought to myself. As I patted my own chest in sheer relief, my younger sister called out to me.
“C’mon, get ready to leave.”
“What’s with your face? Get your a*s in gear and let’s eat breakfast.”
This is unusual. I wonder what could it be. I feel like I’ve been spoken to for the first time in months, so is she perhaps in a good mood? Oh well, you can never be too careful. Even if she is in good spirits now, she boils quicker than water. The next second, I’m sure she’ll snap out of it.
I replied I’d prepare myself right away, and quickly made some breakfast so as not to spoil her good mood.
“Oi, Kasu, what is this?”
Pointing at the breakfast I laid out on the table, my younger sister’s temple bulged in anger. She was obviously in a foul mood… Who was the guy that said my sister was in good mood again? Ugh.
I wonder if I did something wrong again. Shifting my gaze, I looked at her plate. there was an orthodox breakfast of rice, grilled salmon, miso soup, and pickles. Grilled salmon in particular is her favorite. Even with it in the dish, was it impossible to appease her?
“I’m asking you what this is all about!”
She raised her voice even more, and I winced. Are you really a teenager? I mean, I don’t even know why she’s angry in the first place! Was the presentation really that bad? Perhaps unhappy due to my loss for words, she slammed the table as hard as she could and hollered at me.
“Why. Not. Bread?! Are you retarded?!”
B, bread?! Sh*t! Did I make a mistake? I scrambled a glance at the calendar. We have a set breakfast menu at home, with rice on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. Conversely, Tuesdays and Thursdays have bread as a staple.
Any mistake I make is met with absurd anger. It’s dangerous. So dangerous in fact, the last time it happened I ended up in the hospital.
Oh no, oh no! I thought I checked the calendar before cooking, but did I actually read it wrong…? Shaking, I checked the dates once more. Today is Friday, a normal food day.
Not satisfied I looked away, then at the calendar again.
It was Friday, not bread day. I was right all along.
“Ugh, shut your trap! I woke up this morning in the mood for bread! Bread! Pay attention, dumba*s!” She wailed as soon as she saw my confusion.
It didn’t matter what she wanted. If I had made bread on my own, she would’ve still gotten angry at me. And unfortunately, whenever she gets angry, she doesn’t stop. In a fit, she threw my hard-made breakfast at me. Salmon and rice flew through the air, hitting my face.
The miso soup! Feeling myself burn, I ran to the kitchen and covered myself with water. Fortunately, it was all it took for the pain to subside. Wasn’t it too much? I asked myself. It was so unreasonable I felt like breaking down in tears.
It was impossible for me to guess what she wanted based on appearance alone.
“Enough! Useless piece of sh*t!” She then walked out of the living room as if she had run out of things to say.
“…Hurry up and die,” my other sister followed suit. Apparently, she was offended by all the noise.
Isn’t it all a bit too brutal…? I woke up early today to get ready in time, but I still got messed up. I was a baffled mess, covered in warm miso soup and thrown food.
“I regret having you,” my own mother muttered as she walked away. I felt like crying. Mom, you should console me even if a little…
Surrounded by scraps of breakfast, I stood there alone, thinking of the fifteen minutes I had left. I could only stare at the mess, lost, wondering if I could clean it up on time.
T/N: Damn, his life is miserable.
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