Chapter 84: Pseudo-Human

No one knows what tomorrow holds. But I do.

“I can’t take it anymore…”

I’m definitely going to be sore! Even though tomorrow’s a weekday, my legs are totally stuffed! Ugh, it feels gross. Not only am I nauseous, but the lactic acid building up in my legs is unbearable.

“Where does it hurt the most?”

“Every part of me, but for now my arms don’t seem like they’ll ever be able to lift again. My grip strength is probably down to single digits.”

I’d be better off without these arms. They’re so dead tired that I start having deranged thoughts.

What did we do? You know that thing called “four-handed wrestling”? I think it’s sometimes called “yottsu-te.” You know, like when wrestlers or sumo fighters push each other? It shows up in battle manga all the time. Every time I see it, I think, “Aren’t their groins completely exposed?” But, well, that doesn’t matter.

Anyway, I had a full-force four-handed contest with Shiro.

“You’re at an advantage in terms of gender, height, and weight, you know? Aren’t you ashamed?”

“Even if you say that…”

This person—she has an unbelievable amount of strength. Here I am, lowering my hips and bracing myself, while she only gives a slight bend to her knees. I’m gritting my teeth and risking my molars, and she’s just chatting away effortlessly.

“Well, not getting knocked over is something. I’d call it a barely passing score.”

Barely passing, huh… For me, it was a perfect score. Hell, I’d even want a hanamaru.

I’m at my absolute limit. So much so that I could sit on the ground without worrying about getting my pants dirty. I’m more “genkai shūraku” than a limit village.

“I thought I gave it my all…”

“In a real match, you’d be getting headbutts and kicks, you know? Can you even train your nose and groin?”

What’s with the “real match”? Are you trying to turn me into a grappler?

“My arms and legs are totally done…”

Lowering my hips so far has left my legs trembling. Makes me realize how light gym class really is.

“What are you whining about? Next, you’re going to carry me like a princess during shuttle runs.”

It’s tough even under normal conditions, and you want me to do it like this? Besides, shuttle runs are brutal enough on their own.

“But you said your arms are at their limit.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll cling to you as much as I can.”

She’s taking in all my whining so generously—so kind of her. Though it’s nowhere near the amount of kindness I crave.

“My legs are also at their limit…”

“They say that in fights, internal organs usually burst from being stepped on… and look, your guts are practically on the ground.”

“I can still go! I can run!”

With my private parts held hostage, I was forced to stand up. I feel so pathetic.

Ugh… I forced myself to stand up so suddenly, and now my legs feel heavy…

“See? You’re still standing. As long as you’ve got energy left, you mustn’t sit down.”

What a relic of outdated fieldwork. You should sit when it’s possible or when you must.

“Hey, at least let me cool down. Moving around in this blazing sun could be life-threatening.”

It’s considerate enough to let me rehydrate, but the risk of heatstroke is ever-present. I’m pretty sure this temperature is one where you’d be warned to avoid exercise at all costs.

“What are you complaining about? Today’s only going to get hotter.”

“Then how about at least doing indoor training…”

“Indoor training is always an option, but when you can train outdoors, you should do it outdoors.”

That may be true, but isn’t now a bad time for it? If you’re going to break a sweat over something like this, you’d be better off working a part-time job.

“Even Shiro wouldn’t like it, right? Getting a princess carry from sweaty me.”

“Do you really think I’m so narrow-minded as to care about that? I’m so offended I could lose it—for once!”

Not once—the truth is, you’re the narrow-minded one. You’re as petty as a cat’s forehead.

Ah… and to think, she actually loves getting all sweaty and tangled up!

“I really don’t like it, you know? But I’ll put up with it for your sake.”

Ugh, what an ingratiating pain—just like a toxic parent’s cliché.

“But what about the smell…”

“And yet, coming from someone who never even cares about body odor, what are you talking about?”

I do care! I take a bath every day!

“Why would you think that? Just out of curiosity—why?”

“Because I’m not pseudo-circumcised. I stink way more than you think, you know?”

Why would you say something like that? You’re making me feel all menhera. Why do I have to get teased about my lack of foreskin by a flat-chested girl? I wouldn’t normally even have a chance to stink, yet you go out of your way to strip me naked. You’re practically asking for trouble.

“It can’t be helped. Most Japanese guys are pseudo-circumcised, after all.”

Is it around seventy percent? I mean, as infants we’re all wrapped up for infection control—pseudo-circumcision is really normal. It’s like a removable cover you take off when cleaning.

“Shut up, pseudo-human.”

Why must I be ridiculed like this? Isn’t this sexual harassment or discrimination? I think it’s wrong to mock someone’s physical traits.

“Just leave me alone. I’m not planning to do anything that would get me an STD, and being pseudo-circumcised isn’t a problem.”

Even if you don’t intend it for me, there’s always a chance someone else might do it to you.

“Why do you talk so harshly? I’m just looking out for your hygiene, yet you call it meddling.”

Why do you flip into full menhera mode over such a trivial matter? It’s a problem that should be resolved quicker than the whole pseudo-circumcision issue—if you’d just be a yes-man.

“Even if you say that, surgery is scary… and over-the-counter correction gadgets are dangerous too…”

I could never use one of those corrective rings—if I ended up with a defective one, I’d probably get necrosis!

“No one said you had to get treatment. It’s not considered a disease, medically speaking.”

So you suddenly say I smell, and now you expect that argument to hold up? I’m not completely unconcerned about it, you know.

“Even the doctor on my insurance told me to work on my peeling habit…”

“Just ignore it—what would someone that old know?”

Old? Really? Sure, compared to a high schooler you might be older, but seriously—how old are you anyway? You look both mature and youthful. Whether you’re in your mid-twenties or in your thirties, it’s not all that surprising.

“But Momiji says it’s better if you peel too.”

“Huh? Why is Kumanokyo’s name coming up? I already told you not to peel!”

Oh crap, did I just dig my own grave? I mean, did you even tell me not to peel? I feel like you only said treatment wasn’t necessary.

Seriously, why are we having this conversation on a day off? It might be acceptable on a weekday, but still.

“I don’t really want to peel either, but according to you, I should…”

“You don’t need to peel. This conversation is over.”

“Huh? But what about the smell…”

“Stop peeling. Quit stalling and just give me a princess carry already.”

I don’t know why you’re so adamant about refusing, but I get that digging any deeper is dangerous. Honestly, I’d rather end this vulgar chat altogether.

“Work up enough sweat that you could wring out your clothes like a rag. Unless you sweat until your limit, the training isn’t over.”

The criteria for finishing this training are just gross. You judge it by how much you sweat instead of the exercise itself? “Sweat enough to wring out a rag” is so vague—just your own estimation, like “until the sun sets” or “until tomorrow’s sunrise.” I really hate that kind of ambiguity.

“…Okay.”

Training, huh… I still can’t figure out how curse removal and muscle training connect, no matter how much I ask. And it’s not just that you won’t answer my questions—you flip out with, “Don’t you trust me?”

Well, no matter how much I complain, you’re not letting me off the hook, so I guess I’ll just keep on working hard. At least everything but my spirit has recovered while we were babbling. Everything except my spirit.