toilet and poop with pee finding used toilets were called？ …A…？
Kaisei Sabi looked at En’yō and thought, Maybe he’s just the spitting image of someone else. Nice. An only child, he stayed glued to a computer-like device, listening through the reverberations, echoes, and frequencies that formed the ability of his trajectory manifestation.
There were laws against the act of listening to such sounds. And when a manifestation became so powerful that it could no longer be stopped, measures were taken: drug treatment, recuperation in facilities, training to not listen, self-meditative conversion, or placement in small communities where people could live quietly.
But the boy named Kaisei Sabi had moved from place to place since he was fairly young, and he had learned to give up early.
“That might be my dustpan.”
“That might be my vacuum cleaner.”
“That might be my asshole.”
He joked like that, kept the sounds at a distance, and went on with his days.
His grandfather had explained those sounds he never wanted to hear. He had told him it was not an illness. Together, they would play around with it.
“Was that what we just heard?”
“Or was it this?”
Because of that, Kaisei had never thought of himself as having some disease of the mind.
Then, with entrance exams closing in, he became a good-for-nothing who had abandoned reality. He listened to wailing, kept repeating some saying about being alive meaning you were already profiting, and looked down on the world.
On top of that, from conversations between his now-dead grandfather and his grandfather’s acquaintances, he had picked up the assumption that even if he did not go to university, or a school for improving manifestation abilities, or an internship trial-selection academy, there would still be some kind of work waiting for him.
So more than before, he began inclining his ears toward things like wailing, vulgar talk, neighborhood gossip, operations, and urban legends. He spent his days on a digital screen with the eros he loved, two-dimensional eros, youth messaging systems, and games.
Without realizing it, all of that became training for his manifestation ability.
And once he did realize it, he felt secretly proud.
Randomly tuning himself to frequencies he liked, he spent day and night enjoying what was, to him, the best possible life.
Kaisei: “Ah.”
A bluff meant for eavesdroppers, maybe. Or some kind of incomprehensible slang. Or the sound of something real.
In his heart, he called that sort of group-chat-like faction “the Orcas,” a private expression no one could laugh at.
Kaisei thought, There’s probably a Houser↔Houser in there, so I don’t want to listen for too long. I don’t even want to hear it. Those noisy pieces of trash. But if there really is a Houser↔Houser, then that’s hard to imagine too.
He fiddled with the desktop-viewing-type digital device and the control device, prepared one of his favorite images, and began a self-performed conversation.
It was training his grandfather had taught him so his sense of self would not be damaged.
By chance, in the flow of what felt to him like a forced live broadcast, the words “die” and “panacea” from his grandfather’s old conversations lined up. He adjusted the sound into a moe-moe voice of peace, and began a form of soothing therapy where he let himself be pampered by the way he perceived the sound.
While wondering, in the forgetful way appropriate for his age, what Houser↔Houser even was, he thought, I’d hate having my mind read, but I guess being listened to would suck too.
Then the sounds started to make him sick again, so he spoke aloud.
Kaisei: “When I think of Orcas, the word Houser↔Houser comes up, but I don’t know what that’s supposed to mean. Did I hear it as a kid and forget it? Anyway, they felt like a dangerous Orca faction, but I wonder if they’re popular now.”
He remembered his husky-voiced grandfather saying it often.
Walls have ears, and paper doors have Mary.
Feeling a little emotional, Kaisei gave a grin that held the fear of an old-headed child. Then he resumed his moe-soothing treatment.
“Death, panacea, and the world getting dragged into it.”
“Multi-ending.”
“I want to kill my past self and escape immortality.”
“If it’s commoners, then a fighting game multi-ending.”
“Aren’t there any other words?”
“The laid-out blue Rimuru of that work.”
“Immortality and the extinction of the world.”
“Photon Belt Nirvana flesh-fusion.”
“Multi-ending?”
“There’s also being sent to a parallel world, or a funeral, or mockery.”
“Then majority, minority, and immortality.”
“Multi-ending, wanna grope some boobs?”
“Tch, that hardware is expensive.”
“It’s turned into a pun, Dain.”
“My private expressions grew too much and now I want to die.”
“It is a multi-ending, young master.”
Kaisei: “If I ignore the backbiting and use my ability after all, it wears me out a little. Or maybe things have just been noisy lately, and my technique name, Moe, My Reverberation, is acting up.”
Kaisei Sabi thought with a broken mind, as if noticing something he had never noticed before.
Maybe the fact that there are all kinds of patterns in moe, private expressions, quiet rage, and therapy through random repetition is what allows my peaceful commoner life to exist.
Someone among the Orcas: “Probably.”
Kaisei: “Huh?”
“…”
Kaisei gathered his strength and began the reverberation treatment he used for sounds when he could not sleep.
It made sense.
When his ability had exhausted him, he would use even more of that ability on top of it.
“There was a legend about the Whale constellation.”
“Yes, young master.”
“Are there other life-forms that feel similar?”
“Bats, dolphins, mimosa plants. Plenty.”
“Then why the Evening Whale?”
“More than plankton or giant squid.”
“Ah, I see. Like mosquitoes, or child-rearing support.”
“Wanna grope boobs? Wanna suck and sleep?”
“Aren’t you an old man?”
“Can the panacea stop sound?”
“I believe it is a multi-ending.”
“A ¥$€ manifestation that’s a little different from Grandpa’s?”
“Chikiu, chitama, chikyu, or jidama it isss. There’s no moneyyy… I’m getting… tired… tha… food… ragged… you…”
Zzzzzz.
Kaisei Sabi slept pleasantly and seemed to have a happy dream.
But the instant he woke, what floated into his head was this:
All of it was pointless.
An echo that violated hope.
vertical trap 嫌いだわ…開業できないのに…
I liked sounds of english in high school.
this will not bothering, because they'll perish or steal everything mine and said were mine.
I liked kanji and Japanese shorter and cooler, I can't consider about hungle...by the way this series shouldn't from me for world researchers or owners either pilot of planet.
mediot所有格 brain said do not care about your big tepodon dick and won honorable resault babies. your bomb amazed for female or females.
but my everything for same falling depth people or nothumanbeing....
