My Little Sister Can Read Kanji: Volume 2

by Takashi Kajii

  He told us that he had been away because he’d been in TOKYO at a get-together for writers.

  “Yeah, it was quite a scene...” he went on.

  He said that there’d been some girl high school student there, and when he’d told her he wrote moe novels, she’d really started to hate him.

  “What kind of girl was she?” I asked.

  “She goes to some high school out west in some place called Okutama, and is the president of their literary club or something.”

  A high school in OKUTAMA... President of the literary club... Rings a bell, maybe?

  “‘I hate moe with a passion,’ she told me. Just recently, some weird boy who loved moe had caused her a lot of trouble, it seems. He had barged into the club room and yelled at her about how she had no taste in literature, and that she should flash her panties at someone. Crazy stuff like that.”

  “Wow, what a jerk! When someone like that causes trouble, it can give a bad reputation for all of us! I wish he would cut it out!” I replied.

  “Yeah... And in the end, he even asked for her name. It was like he wanted to curse her or something. How scary.”

  “Ugh... That guy’s trouble, no doubt about it,” I agreed. “I’m worried he might end up turning into a stalker.”

  Here in the Heisei era society was still immature, so there were still a lot of dangerous people around, it seemed.

  “Thanks to that boy, that girl has made moe her ultimate foe. Her contempt for me was so strong, it felt like it would extend all the way to my grandkids.”

  It sure would be a problem if a grudge started between the Choumabayashi family and that girl’s family that lasted for generations! ...There was something about this story that bugged me, but I figured it just must have been my imagination.

  After continuing to have light conversation with Naotaro-san and Saitou-san, they told us they had to go back and continue with their writing. As we watched Saitou-san head out with his huge back of his, Odaira-sensei whispered to me quietly.

  “Gin-kun. Saitou-kun likes simple books that capture a maiden’s heart, and he doesn’t like stories that are complicated at all. Also, Yuzu-kun is exactly his ideal maiden.”

  “It’s quite rare that you would talk so much about a man, Sensei.”

  “Hahaha... Well, this is him we’re talking about. Saitou-kun seems to be writing novels for girls right now. But when he gets in a slump he just might take an entirely different direction.” Odaira-sensei spoke of Saitou-san as if he knew about him, for some reason. “This has been such a meaningful time for me, being able to meet a god... But it seems like we are out of leads. What should we do now?”

  The professor had predicted correctly that Mr. Bedhead would visit Naotaro-san. But we didn’t have any more leads to where he had gone... Then, the professor spoke up.

  “I guess we’ll have to read that and see if we can’t find some clues-noda.” She put her hand in her bag and pulled out an old notebook. The notebook was clearly much larger than the little bag.

  I know I’ve already thought this, but how does that bag work?

  On the cover of the book was written in kanji “我輩録 (Chronicles of Myself).” I could not read it.

  “That’s my brother’s diary. It’s written using a ton of kanji, which is just like my brother’s hyper intellectual style-noda.”

  “Yes, that’s it! If we read that we might get a clue as to where he’s gone! Please, let me read it!” I yelled excitedly.

  “Nii, you can’t read kanji,” reminded Miru.

  Oh, right. Damn it.

  But the professor smiled and laughed, taking off the goggles she was wearing on her head and handing them to me.

  “Imose-kun, use those-noda. My ‘Meguri Goggles’-noda!”

  The goggles were a translating device, it seemed. I was happy to make use of them. I put on the goggles and began to read Mr. Bedhead’s diary.

  Entry for March 26th, 2199

  This incident has enraged me.

  My parents suggested that I allow my little sister to read the work that I, Myself, have struggled to write. What a theater of the absurd!

  It is wholly inconceivable that Myself and my sister shall ever be of same mind. And that is made even yet more difficult due to the countless times that she has run amok upon Myself.

  Myself and my little sister have turned our backs to each other and have steadfastly walked in opposite directions in our relationship. In the world as it is today, I expect it not an uncommon phenomenon to encounter.

  Entry for December 10th, 2200

  It has come to my attention that my sister has created another successful invention. And yet I have not been able to make my own debut in this world.

  What is this distance which exists between Myself and my sister? It cannot be a gap in our level of genius.

  My sister does not question this vile culture of “moe” which has permeated the world as it is today, and rather wholeheartedly accepts it. Because of that, she has numerous supporters. That is the only reason that her work is taken notice of.

  Yet I, Myself, carry the burden of this minuscule hope of reviving true literature in this world. The foolish readers cannot comprehend my noble ambition. Thus, they pay me no heed.

  Does one stand on the side of the oligopoly of this world, or does one not? It is nothing but a matter of tyranny by numbers.

  If the world were not as it is, it would be inane to consider that I would follow in the wake of my little sister.

  I paused in reading to think, It seems like Mr. Bedhead and the professor didn’t get along. More specifically, that Mr. Bedhead really hates the professor.

  I wonder if Mr. Bedhead wrote something about his writing? He might like different genres than me, but I’m also a fellow aspiring writer. I wish he wrote something where we could see eye to eye.

  Entry for August 29th, 2201

  I am engulfed in wrath. I seethe with rage, like heaven’s judgment.

  When I allowed the work Myself had written to be read, they all gathered around and jeered at me. They spouted such slander as, “A novel without moe is so gloomy!”

  These readers had the nerve to tell me, “Go read some orthodox literature!”

  In this world of ours, as the name implies, the “orthodox style” is the “correct” type of literature, and anything which does not fit into its proclivities is deemed heresy.

  How mortifying.

  Why must the works of literature of my great ancestor be looked upon as of such low value?

  Why can they not recognize this?

  Why do they jeer at me?

  This world has gone rotten! It has gone mad!

  Orthodox style, hear this. Enjoy your time in the sun, basking in the light of the world. Because one day, I will end you.

  And to my great and honorable ancestors, I swear that I will fulfill your wishes. I will make this a world that will recognize your great works of literature, and allow you to finally rest in peace.

  That was not the only diary entry. There were many other entries on many other days, all proclaiming his hatred for the orthodox style.

  The most common phrases used were “will not accept” or “will make to accept.” For a time being, I didn’t feel like saying anything.

  It was true that the various factions within the orthodox style would not recognize the literature that Mr. Bedhead loved so dearly. It was not very long ago that I would have counted myself a member of them.

  It was not as if my feelings toward the orthodox style of literature had wavered at all, but yet I felt conflicted. What is this feeling like I’ve done something wrong?

  “Imose-kun.” The professor was sitting next to me, and I must have seemed to her like I was struggling with something. “You seem like you’re thinking really hard.”

  “I guess Mr. Bedhead felt really strongly about no one accepting him,” I said, handing the goggles back to the professor.

  “So you are thinking that it’s the orth
odox style’s fault that my brother was never accepted-noda?”

  “Yeah, a little.”

  “Ahahaha!” she burst out laughing. “My brother just has no talent, and he’s blaming it on those around him-noda. The reason no one has recognized him is his own personal problem-noda. No need to feel sorry for him-noda!”

  “I wonder, though...” Perhaps in a world painted in the single color of the orthodox style, Mr. Bedhead’s talents were crushed...

  Odaira-sensei had once told me, “Isn’t it better to have a variety of things?” If that were the case, wouldn’t it be better if, instead of changing the future back to the Oniaka route, that we changed it to one where literature other than the orthodox style could be accepted?

  In my head, I started to merge our 2D prime minister Nyamo-chan with the old man who seemed like the prime minister in the world of Seishin. Any way I think about it, Nyamo-chan is way better.

  But...

  I looked over at Yuzu-san, who was happily eating a Caesar salad. Yuzu-san noticed my gaze, tilted her head a little bit, and gave me a smile. It was the same smile as the heroine of Oniaka, Homyura. I felt a pang in my heart.

  ...That’s right. What am I fretting about? I’m going to get back Ani MAJI Mania and turn the future back into the Oniaka future! I made a promise to Yuzu-san!

  I had once been saved by Oniaka, and it had given me my dream of becoming a writer. It wouldn’t be overstating it to say that Oniaka had made me who I was.

  I believe... I believe in the work of literature called Oniaka! I’m going to return the future to the way it was, no matter what!

  However, if I did that, it would not become the 23rd century that Mr. Bedhead wished for. It would be one where he would struggle. If there were only someone who could understand him, even if it was just one person...

  “Didn’t Mr. Bedhead have any friends that would read his novels?” I asked.

  “No, my brother’s been screwy since he was little-noda. It seems like he forced people to read them many times, though. I dunno the details myself-noda.”

  It seemed Mr. Bedhead had felt the distance between himself and those around him and avoided interacting with other people. Recently, he had been spending the majority of the day in their home’s library.

  “Is there a TV or the internet in your library?”

  “No-noda.”

  “Then, how did he hear about what was happening in the world?”

  “He didn’t-noda! So he really doesn’t know anything-noda.”

  When Mr. Bedhead had had a health issue and had needed to go to the hospital, he’d apparently been super angry when the 2D receptionist character hadn’t been able to recognize his name when he’d written it in kanji.

  This was quite a shock to me. Of course a proper civil institution like a hospital would have a 2D receptionist, and there was no way that they would be able to understand kanji!

  “So you see, a novel that a person like that would write can’t be understood by normal people-noda. He generally looks down on everyone else, and he doesn’t listen to what other people say.”

  “Well, that’s just no good,” I said. “I write novels, but I listen to other people’s opinions.”

  Truth be told, most people’s reactions to my novels are “I can’t follow it!”

  “Oh yes, have you read any of his novels, Professor?”

  “Yes, I have-noda! But it was really hard to keep myself interested in them-noda,” said the professor, raising her hands in a “I give up” pose.

  When I went silent after that, the professor spoke to me as if she could tell what I was thinking.

  “...Now I’m curious-noda. Does Kuro-chan read your novels, Imose-kun?”

  “Yeah. Without a doubt, the person who understands my novels the best is Kuroha.”

  “It’s nice that you get along-noda!”

  Yes, that was right. I had Kuroha there as someone who understood me. But Mr. Bedhead didn’t have anyone like that.

  For example, if Mr. Bedhead was a lonely island in the middle of the vast ocean, his only wish would be to somehow pull himself to the continent where the rest of us were...

  Ah!

  There’s a way! I have a good idea!

  I clutched both my hands into fists and stood up. “We just need to teach Mr. Bedhead what’s so great about moe!”

  Exactly! If we could just awaken Mr. Bedhead to the wonders of 2D, then we could all get along! However, the professor poured cold water over my revelation.

  “Imose-kun, there’s no use. I’ve tried already-noda,” said the professor, her eyes looking off into the distance. “I captured my brother, bound him hand and foot, held his eyes open with clamps, and forced him to watch all 12 seasons of SUPER KNEESOCKS WARS, both seasons of LILSIS LLLICK, and the theatrical version of WOMAN? SIBLING? BECOME A GIRL AND GROW BIGGER THAN THE EARTH-noda!”

  “Each and every one a classic anime,” I agreed.

  “And then afterward I captured him, tied him up hand and foot, and while he was unconscious, I dressed him up in a sailor suit and a wig and set him up in front of the train station-noda. A bunch of people gathered around, and he caused a lot of commotion-noda.”

  “There are stores that sell sailor uniforms just for guys, after all.” I nodded.

  “And then I just had to capture him again, tie him up hand and foot, and forcibly read to him works of orthodox literature of the various fundamental attributes-noda. Little sister, big sister, childhood friend, mother... Mother in this case meaning actual birth mother-noda.”

  “So you’re into birth mother literature, Professor?” I asked.

  “But even after all that, my brother did not awaken to moe-noda. In fact, he stopped listening to me-noda. It’s difficult for brother and sister to get along when our tastes are so different-noda.”

  “Oh, really...?” It seemed to me that making Mr. Bedhead see the light would be difficult.

  “Zahts no gooooood!!!”

  Suddenly a loud voice rang out. Wh-Wh-What? What’s no good?

  “Nopes! Abzaolutely no~ uway~!”

  We all turned to where the voice was coming from. It was Kuroha. A Kuroha where her head right down to her neck were bright red.

  “Looky heere... You arenn’t gonna make up wid your brother like that, proffffessor... You’re shiblings, riiight?!”

  Kuroha’s eyes were watery, and she jutted a finger out at the professor. Looking carefully, I could see that her eyes weren’t properly focused, and her finger was wavering back and forth slightly.

  Something was clearly the matter with her.

  “This must be the effect of my ‘WATER THAT GETS YOU TIPSY’-noda!”

  I wasn’t convinced, and I looked at the professor sitting next to me. “But no one else seems to have been affected like this?”

  “It seems like Kuro-chan is pretty susceptible to its effects. I’m sure everyone else will start to feel like that soon. Does your head feel kind of warm-noda?”

  The professor touched my cheek. It was so sudden that I was taken aback a little. But then...

  “Hmph!”

  Kuroha immediately stood up from her seat on the other side of the table and wedged her butt in between the professor’s and mine on the booth seat we were sitting in. The professor ended up teetering, having been summarily bounced aside.

  Kuroha hugged my right arm tightly, glared around the table at everyone and bellowed, “He’s muy Onii-jaan! No touchy!”

  Her enunciation was clearly off.

  ＊

  On a certain day in the 23rd century, in Kuroha’s room...

  “Kuroha, it’s this month’s edition of Literary Gal. There’s another translation of the Man’yoshu.”

  “Another one? I hope it’s a serious translation this time...”

  Original Text: 7th-8th century

  籠毛与　美籠母乳　布久思毛与　美夫君志持　此岳爾　菜採須児　家吉閑　名告紗根　虚見津　山跡乃国者　押奈戸
手　吾許曾居　師吉名倍手　吾己曾座　我許背歯　告目　家呼毛名雄母

  komoyo mokomochi fukushimoyo mibukushimochi komowokani natsumasuko ihekikan namerasane soramitsu yamatonokuniha oshinabete warekosowore shikinabete warekosomase warekosoha norame ihewomonawomo

  Bascat, bascat-faire, spade, spade-faire weld, pack thee erb, maid. Wah fram thy, priva nem? Yamato lond alle, catre ma. Vist brood rul ma. Nem eh hom tall, maid tall nem yee?

  Modern Japanese Translation: 20th century

  籠もまあよい籠をもち、ふぐしもまあよいふぐしを持って、この岡に菜をつまれている、娘子よ、家がどこにあるか聞きたい、名を言って下さい。大和の国はすべて私が治めている。広くゆきわたって私が治めている。私こそ家をも名のるから、娘子も家をも名をも言って下さい。

  Kago mo maayoi kago wo mochi, fugushi mo maayoi fugushi wo motte, kono oka ni na wo tsumareteiru, musumego yo, ie ga doko ni aru ka kikitai, na wo itte kudasai. Yamato no kuni ha subete watashi ga osameteiru. Hiroku yuki watatte watashi ga osameteiru. Watashi koso ie wo mo na noru kara, musumego mo ie wo mo na wo mo ittekudasai.

  What a nice basket you have there, and a nice trowel as well, young lady picking herbs on this hill. I ask of you where you are from, and what is your name? I rule over all of this country of Yamato. All the vast and wide land is under my control. I shall tell you who I am and of my house, so now you shall tell me your name and where you are from.

  “Huh? But that’s exactly the same translation there was last month,” I said.

  “You’re right.”

  “There’s a different anonymous translator doing the current-day translation this time,” I noted.

  “How much do you want to bet it’s gonna be another ‘Ammoni Ahh’ level translation again...” she said.