When they got back to Tomoya's room, Kanako unleashed a stunning low kick. Her leg, which appeared to be made from resin, was hard as stone. Tomoya clutched his thigh, writhing in pain.
"That's how my heart aches—but worse!"
After spending half a day crammed into a backpack, Kanako was infuriated. Her long hair was a mess.
"Sorry, tomorrow I'll do a better search."
By way of a reply, she delivered an uppercut to the chin.
Within minutes of their return, Tomoya's room lay in ruins. In addition to the shelves that had been toppled that morning, two sets of shelves that had survived the morning were now casualties of Kanako's resin fist. Someone who didn't know any better would have thought the place had been bombed.
"Tomorrow you're going to do it right."
"All right, I will. Don't wreck anything else."
Tomoya collapsed on the floor, arms and legs outstretched. Splinters of wood from the shelves pricked his back painfully, but he couldn't even bring himself to move. He felt like an idiot, the ultimate fall guy. Here he was after wasting a whole day mixed up with a mad doll, and to top it off his room now looked like it had been through an air raid. Closing his eyes, he was aware of a slight headache.
"Can't you get by with one arm?"
As soon as he said it he knew he shouldn't have. Fearing the worst, he peeked over to check her reaction.
Kanako looked as though her own father had stabbed her in the back. She opened her mouth to speak and then closed it again. She did this several times before finally managing to say,
"Very sorry. I'll look for it.
Kanako didn't answer, just turned her back. She picked up something that had fallen on the floor and started playing around with it.
He would have liked to escape into another room, but in a one-room six-mat apartment there was nowhere to go. He rolled over to face away from Kanako, and shut his eyes. Instead of her back, he was confronted with his own guilty conscience.
Copyright (C) Shokichi/Web Japan, English translation (C) John Brennan
Edited by Japan Echo Inc.