Sometimes, in order to appear clever, one must tell a few lies.

When one’s spirits are low, he becomes especially fond of watching the sunset.

Tsukimi Jinguuji closed his book and looked up at the dazzling August twilight outside his window. He rose and drew the curtains, shutting out every trace of the evening glow.

It was the last day of summer break, the age when high schoolers sing of youth—and just recently, Tsukimi Jinguuji had become single again.

Once more.

At first, when he saw a girl’s tears, he would feel a wretched sense of cowardice and shame for his actions. But now, he could hardly suppress a smile.

That smile was tinged with misery and bitterness, like a carefully brewed coffee that ends up spilled, leaving traces of sorrow with the shattered cup fragments upon the floor.

Host has completed all tasks, acquired all skills, and may upgrade to version 2.0 or uninstall this system.

The boy closed his eyes and let out a sound of release.

“Uninstall.”

Upon uninstallation, all targets will have their memories of the host erased, but the host retains all acquired skills. Confirm uninstallation?

“Confirm.”

System uninstalling, please wait…

Uninstallation complete. Farewell, and may you enjoy your life.

Tsukimi Jinguuji sat in silence, lifted his right hand and swiped through the air as usual. The familiar pale blue transparent panel did not appear. After a vacant moment, he let his arm fall, drained.

He lay back in his chair and exhaled deeply.

Unable to resist, he raised his hand several more times, finally convinced the system was gone.

In the quiet of his bedroom, the closed curtains before him seemed to serve as a projection screen, and memories from the past three years unfolded like a lantern parade across its silvery surface.

Reclining in his swivel chair, Tsukimi Jinguuji gazed at the grid-like ceiling, lost in thought. That intricate ceiling resembled the bones of a giant tuna, piercing straight through his throat from the nape.

When did that bone first lodge in his throat?

Whenever he closed his eyes, thoughts of the ceiling replayed over and over in his mind, like a broken tube television looping the same channel.

In any case, Tsukimi Jinguuji had finally broken free from the accursed system’s restraints. He no longer needed to worry about being assaulted by strangers in the street.

Those girls who told their boyfriends they had club activities, but secretly met other boys in the alleys of Shibuya.

The sweet-faced girls who sang with their year-long boyfriends at karaoke, only to slip out, claiming to use the restroom, and dash excitedly into another boy’s embrace.

He had experienced such things countless times.

From initial shock to final numbness, this transformation had opened a gap in his heart.

It was obvious: someone like him could never have friends.

…Yet.

Tsukimi Jinguuji once had a friend in middle school, after he gained the system.

When everyone branded him a scoundrel playing with women’s feelings, only that person stood by him, convinced Jinguuji would someday meet a girl he would treasure for life.

He once considered Jinguuji his dearest friend.

Until one day he discovered his so-called best friend secretly kissing his most respected sister in the living room.

And so, Tsukimi Jinguuji lost his only friend.

It was truly a sad affair, no joking.

…

…

“Tsukimi, are you home?”

The voice pierced the glass, cloaked in a hazy texture, yet remained clear and lively, brightening the mood.

Tsukimi Jinguuji stood and opened the freshly closed curtains, peering out at the girl standing on the street. She spotted his silhouette and waved vigorously, like an otter patting its belly.

He didn’t open the window to speak with her. Instead, he left his room, went downstairs, slipped on his shoes, and petted the cat that butted his hand with its head. His palm was covered in fur; he realized he hadn’t brushed the cat today.

He opened the door. The girl stood smartly before him, her amber eyes wide, her short hair brushing her shoulders, her healthy tan skin glistening with beads of sweat rolling from her bangs to her brow. She wiped them away carelessly, smiling with radiant charm.

Jinguuji observed her outfit: a slightly loose white T-shirt and red school gym pants. The ensemble was haphazard, a pity for such a lovely face.

On the T-shirt, bold black letters in a wild script proclaimed: “Mountains.”

Though it might seem rude, Jinguuji felt the girl wearing those words was even more disrespectful to the term “mountains.”

Her name was Sakura Sakujiro, Jinguuji’s neighbor.

For teenagers like them, the world liked to call neighbors who had known each other for over a decade “childhood friends.”

If one must use that term, it wasn’t wrong.

“Hello, Tsukimi!”

“Oh, Sakura.”

It was neither dawn nor deep night, so “good morning” or “good evening” felt odd. Yet for two who’d played in the mud together since childhood, saying “hello” was unbearably awkward.

“Were you napping? Your hair’s a mess.”

“I was reading,” Jinguuji replied, running his hand through his hair.

The girl looked incredulous. “Who reads at home on the last day of summer break?!”

“What about you?”

“Can’t you tell? Training. Heading home for a shower, just dropped by to see if you were in.”

She mimed running in place. The “Mountains” T-shirt lay flat as a plain, its emptiness almost evoking sympathy. She grinned and flashed Jinguuji a peace sign.

“Do you need something?” Jinguuji asked.

“Can’t I drop by if there’s nothing? Why aren’t you out with the student council president? That’s not like you.”

“We broke up.”

His expression didn’t change.

“Oh, broke up again, huh.” The girl was utterly unfazed, a hint of resignation in her demeanor.

Jinguuji shook his head, lying, “Our personalities didn’t match.”

Sakura Sakujiro stroked her chin in mock wonder. “You really are a playboy.”

“The playboy is going to study now. Goodbye.”

“Wait, wait!” She grabbed his sleeve.

“What now?”

Sakura pouted, her amber eyes glinting with a peculiar light, glancing shyly at him. “Since you broke up, you must be free.”

“School starts tomorrow. I need to study…”

“Can’t hear you, can’t hear you, can’t hear you,” Sakura covered her ears, pretending ignorance.

“…………”

“Let’s go to the fireworks festival tonight.”

“Fireworks festival?”

“Yeah!” She looked at Jinguuji with excitement.

“No.”

“Why not!”

“You know I don’t like crowds.”

“Bold words, considering you were the one kissing a pretty girl in a yukata amid the crowd at last week’s summer festival.”

She saw that… Jinguuji felt regret.

“Just ask your boyfriend to go with you—the one you’ve been dating for three years.”

Sakura Sakujiro had a boyfriend, or so she claimed.

A handsome guy from another school, or so she claimed.

His family ran a construction company, or so she claimed.

They often went to karaoke and the cinema during breaks, or so she claimed.

Yet Jinguuji had never seen this supposed person.

“They’re all vacationing in Hawaii.”

“But school starts tomorrow.”

“Private schools don’t start until October.”

He had never heard of such a thing.

Well… Jinguuji had never attended a private school; maybe there really were schools that started in October. He decided to accept it, lest further questioning lead to trouble.

Jinguuji hated trouble.

“So, just keep me company tonight! Please~”

Sakura pressed her hands together, closed one eye, and wore a look so adorably pitiful no high school boy could refuse.

But he refused.

“I have important plans tonight,” he lied, Tokyo-style.

“What plans?”

“I’m thinking about that now,” he answered honestly.

Tsukimi Jinguuji, wavering between lies and truth, might not qualify as a true Tokyoite.

Childhood friends typically wield certain privileges, leveraging their history to threaten or pester until the other yields.

Yet Sakura Sakujiro never did such things. She knew all of Jinguuji’s embarrassing past, and knew that if she acted spoiled and persistent, he would eventually give in.

Especially since they had experienced that incident.

Despite it, she never exercised such privilege.

They were different from ordinary childhood friends; their closeness wasn’t such that they could disregard everything. If anything, it was as if they wore a “childhood friends” label on their foreheads, making them constantly aware of it.

“Tsk! Heartless!”

“I say… If you have time, it’s better to finish your summer homework first.”

“You! How did you know I haven’t finished?”

“How many years have we known each other? If I can’t guess that, what kind of childhood friend am I?”

Sakura seemed struck at her weak spot, hands behind her back, toe circling on the ground, cheeks flushed, eyes avoiding his.

“Well… If you go to the fireworks festival with me, I’ll finish my homework tonight. Deal?”

“Not my problem. I won’t get scolded.”

“Jinguuji!”

“What is it, Sakujiro?”

Faced with his childhood friend’s gritted teeth and glare, Jinguuji remained calm and fearless.

In the end, his stubbornness prevailed. The girl turned away with a huff, leaving him a dazzling view of her back as she entered the Sakujiro house next door.

It was only logical—they were neighbors.

…

…

Night fell. After his evening routine, Jinguuji read in his room, pressing his fingers to his temples as if counting the words entering his mind.

Outside, brilliant fireworks rose and burst into scattered stars.

Annoyed by the noise, Jinguuji looked up at the window. The fireworks continued for ten minutes, and when the last exploded, the sudden quiet felt as if everyone else in the world had died, leaving him alone at its center.

After the festival ended, rain began to fall, fine and persistent, making the room as chilly as an aquarium.

He tightened the curtains, thinking tomorrow would usher in the new semester, and went to bed early, letting the autumn rain drum against the window.

Perhaps it was the realization that he’d never again need to seduce, deceive, or kiss women he didn’t love.

For the first time in ages, the boy did not have nightmares.