-1-
Banshee.
...He didn't know what it was.
-2-
When this name sounded in his ears, he couldn't help but shudder - was it because of the hand on his shoulder, or because of the man's whispering -
Although he didn't dare to look up, he knew that man was his father... the man who always towered over him, the man who could use his big hands to beat the women who bullied him into screaming like animals, the one at the top of the food chain...
The one he feared the most and also admired the most.
-3-
"That's good. You're getting curious."
The man seemed to smile. He had a very pleasant voice.
The pleasant voice is clearly in the bass range, not soft or brisk, and sounds like a traditional handsome man.
Perhaps it was because of the harmless, gentle, and innocent student I had met earlier? Or perhaps it was because of the contrast with the student with such a weak aura?
He was extremely sensitive to the man's words, which naturally revealed a kind of confidence cultivated by the upper class, as well as an aggressiveness that made him extremely afraid.
...He almost felt that this man was the most powerful and terrifying being he had ever met.
-4-
"So, tell me. You want to know? How to kill a banshee?"
The hand was still on his shoulder, and he couldn't stop shaking.
"As long as you want, as long as you are willing... I have a job here. Anyone who wishes to kill the Banshee is welcome."
Facing this man, he couldn't say no.
"……please……"
"please?"
"Banshee... please tell me..."
The man laughed. It was a laugh that was clearly meant to express joy, and even someone as sensitive as him couldn't detect any hint of mockery.
-5-
"Very good. You'll love it. Killing her will bring you much more satisfaction than killing a stray cat."
Will he?
"The Banshee, let me tell you, she is the most powerful, terrifying, and tragic... masterpiece in the world."
-6-
masterpiece?
Could it be that this masterpiece was something that even the most powerful man he had ever met had to put aside his arrogance and praise—
-7-
"I don't know where you heard that."
[A few days later, in this world, at 1:07 AM, in a bar]
Miss M poked the olive in her cocktail with disdain: "The Banshee is just an ordinary, weak, shameless monster."
Mr. P cautiously pushed the cocktail in her hand a little further away. The glitter that Ms. M favored began to shake in the liquid as he pushed.
"I think you've had too much to drink."
Even the information about the Banshee's identity was casually revealed to an ordinary human being.
"What? What for?"
Miss M snatched back her cocktail, which had been pushed away, and glared at him, "Don't think you can do whatever you want just because you're my boyfriend. Take my drink! You can break up after a relationship, and you can get married after a divorce!"
Mr. P: “…”
-8-
Oh, he forgot.
He has now been upgraded from a "one-night stand partner in the sustainable development sense" to a "boyfriend" and is no longer an "ordinary stranger who can be thrown anywhere."
-9-
"…Just, meow, this is the wine I bought."
Miss M: "Don't call me meow! If you call me meow again, we'll break up!"
Mr. P: “Okay.”
It’s okay. Call her once this time and once next time. She will forget it every time anyway, so if you round it up, it will be “I never called her.”
-10-
And she would get used to it sooner or later - Mr. P had wanted to call her Meow Meow since they met in prison. After all, she really meowed when she banged her head against the wall, bit people with her teeth, and ate pudding with her knees.
It's also meow that every time he is warned that "if you kill a guard or cause trouble again, you will be put in solitary confinement", he still kills them.
But Mr. P had witnessed her knocking off the head of a guard who had been banging a stick and teasing her by saying "Meow Meow," so he silently endured the name and didn't call her.
One day I'll have the right to call my friend that—one day I'll be the only one who can call her Meow Meow without getting ripped off—
Mr. P once made a wish, "Calling my good friend Meow Meow" was one of the various dreams he had in prison.
-11-
...As Miss M had complained about him countless times, "You have a lot of free time, don't you?"
I like this and that, and for some unknown reason I listed "calling my friends 'meow'" as my dream.
But Mr. P would always refute her seriously:
"No, I'm not idle. My position represents the most demanding work in the prison. I just like to have a wide range of hobbies outside of work."
...In fact, each of his answers follows a subtle style, avoiding the important issues, cleverly ignoring the questions raised by the other party, and raising new questions and content.
I asked him a question and seemed to get a very detailed answer, but when I thought about it carefully, I found that I didn't understand any of the information he gave at all, and he didn't answer any of the questions I asked.
With some men, the more you get to know them, the more you can reveal their inner selves. But with Mr. P, the more you get to know him, the more you feel that his essence is a mystery.
Can't be peeled off.
If you look at him from a distance, he seems to be simpler and more straightforward.
-12-
Miss M would be fooled by his rhetoric at first, but later, she had been in that prison for too long - she had been with this guy for too long and knew too much about him.
So she gradually developed the ability to tell whether the other person was just being perfunctory, and she also realized the inherent abnormality of people like him.
In the end, the conversation between them often turns into the following:
"...I've never seen you in jail like this. Are you sick?"
"I've never seen you in jail like this, Meow Meow, and I don't think you're sick."
"...Just wait, if it weren't for this broken wall...tsk, and the restraint belt on your body...next time you let out some fresh air, I'd come over and rip the top of your head off..."
"Okay, meow."
"...Just wait! Just wait!"
-13-
...Yes, even though she was keenly aware of the diverted topic and the evasive questions, she still couldn't ignore the "meow meow".
As long as Mr. P said "meow meow", Miss M would ignore any abnormality, and her mind would be filled with thoughts of smashing through the wall, pinching his face tightly and sneering at him.
[Meow, meow, meow, do you still dare to meow? Try meowing again.]
...Fortunately, she never broke through that wall, otherwise, she would have been met with a series of extremely happy "meows".
-14-
Meowing at cute creatures is a disorder that can become ingrained.
So far, there is no cure.
...At least, that's how it is for Mr. P.
-15-
——Miss M that day was just like Miss M when she was in prison. She was also a little unhappy. She might have forgotten everything that happened in prison, but she definitely did not forget her resistance to "Meow Meow".
"Shut up."
She fiercely pinched the pink wooden stick with the olive stuck in it and said, "I'm not a meow, I'm a banshee."
Mr. P: “…”
-16-
She really drank too much.
You're so drunk, let alone going to the hotel, will you be able to walk straight later?
If he drank any more, there would be no night out, just a drunken cat staggering back to his apartment on his back.
...carry it back to the apartment.
Mr. P was a little distressed.
Because, his apartment never welcomes alcohol, sex or any women.
-17-
Perhaps it was a habit he had developed in the past, but he didn't like to make the place where he lived dirty or messy.
His apartment is not actually pathologically clean or extremely tidy.
It is unlikely that a young man living alone would have an apartment like that unless he is a mysophobe.
Mr. P never thought that his mysophobia had reached a pathological level. When others pointed out his "mysophobia", he would say that he was just a little "clean-minded" and liked to wash his hands and take a bath frequently.
But otherwise, he could walk briskly into any novelty shop with unsanitary conditions and sink his boots into the mud.
He didn't even like sweeping, mopping, or cleaning the furniture. He didn't get any satisfaction from the act of "cleaning" itself - and he really didn't know how to do housework. He held the broom cautiously and carefully, as if he was holding some expensive and fragile musical instrument.
And he still can't learn to cook.
He hates cooking.
Therefore, Mr. P’s requirement for “cleanliness” is never about the external environment, but about himself.
-18-
He "himself" remains absolutely clean.
Clothes, pants, shoes, bags, and even guitar straps are as clean as students who have just entered society, without any sense of dirt.
Even in his apartment, his bedroom was as clean as it was before he moved in, neat and white.
The pillows were filled with the scent of laundry detergent, and the corners of the quilt were as smooth as if they were folded with cardboard, without a trace of hair, crumbs, or small snack packets.
...There was no sign that the owner had slept there.
It's like a hibernation chamber for robots.
-19-
So, Mr. P's apartment is not extremely tidy.
It's just too quiet to be popular.
...So Mr. P never invites friends or colleagues into his apartment. He knows that this will attract strange looks.
Although, well, to Miss M, all the rules don't matter.
Mr. P thought, I don’t really want to go to a hotel with her. In fact, I hate going to a hotel with her, and I’m looking forward to taking her to my apartment…
But the problem is, if Miss M is so drunk that "she can be taken to her apartment by a strange man instead of going to a hotel."
...What kind of big thing happened?
-20-
This time it was a bit unusual.
What on earth had happened? She had drunk much more than the previous times, and actually said this to him directly - what on earth was she - today?
Uh, is it because of the relationship?
Because this time they became boyfriend and girlfriend?
...Is having a partner worth celebrating in such a grand way? Probably not, right?
Even if I'm her boyfriend, to her, I'm just a stranger she's known for less than 24 hours, right?
...That's impossible. M isn't the type to be shaken by a [relationship].
Besides, well, Mr. P thought that what she called "dating" was just an invitation to a one-night stand, a trial voucher given only once.
-twenty one-
After all, whether it was a one-night stand or a boyfriend, she would leave before the next morning and pack him up and throw him into the trash.
So, it can't possibly be because of [dating].
She was so drunk today, and her words were so abrupt and blunt, more like... more like...
What to do is a huge decision.
-twenty two-
"Shut up. Don't bother me. Buy me a drink...a drink, the next one..."
“I didn’t…”
"You're staring at me blankly. The way you stare at me blankly is very noisy. So shut up."
“…”
Since it’s the eyes that bother you, how do you shut up?
Mr. P had no choice but to look away, turned around, and whispered to the bartender if he could be served a glass of hot juice the next time he ordered "tequila".
Behind him, Miss M stared at his back silently and took another big gulp of liquor.
-twenty three-
All right.
Just as my sister once said.
After all, my sister taught me...
Miss M was unhappy, but also eager to try——
She thought: As my first boyfriend, my first date, why not keep the memory of this guy for one more day?
——The strong liquor burned through the throat, and the stimulating taste was transmitted to the nerves.
-twenty four-
OK.
It’s decided.
It's just... remember him... for one more day.
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