In some parts of the town, the streets were lined with stone buildings, while in others there were nothing but wooden ones. The cobblestone street twisted and turned, making it hard to see far ahead. Next to the wide road there was an aqueduct, with water flowing through it that was mostly pure. At times there was a foul odor, likely of excrement, but as they walked onwards, it stopped bothering them.
Hiyomu led the group of twelve men and women into the town beyond the hill. From what she had said, this town was called Alterna. There were people living here, as might be expected from something called a town, and though it was early morning, they passed no small number of people who seemed to be residents. The residents all stared at the twelve as if they were an unusual sight. But the twelve found themselves staring right back. After all, the people were all dressed weirdly.
Wait... weird how? Compared to the twelve, their clothes were simple and shabby, not showy at all.
“So, like, this place...” started Playboy, “is it, like, you know... a foreign country or something...?”
“Uh...” Curly turned his head, trying to come up with an answer. “...A foreign country? A country? Come to think of it, what nationality am I, anyway? Huh? Weird, I can’t remember... Actually, I can’t remember my address and such either. Huh?”
“What, you hadn’t noticed?” Gangster said in a low voice. “My name is about all I still know.”
The phrase still know caught his attention. It probably meant something different than just not having known at all. Maybe Gangster had been hit with that feeling of trying to trace his memories back only to feel them vanishing, too.
“My name...” Curly thumped his chest. “My name is... Ranta. Other than that... Yeah. No clue. Whoa. Seriously? I’ve got memory disappearance...”
“I think you mean...” He broke in without meaning to, and then immediately regretted it. Still, he couldn’t very well stop now. “...memory loss, right?”
“Listen, buddy...” Curly said with a sigh. “If you’re going to be the smart guy, can’t you do it better? It requires a certain spirit, you know. When you half-ass it like that, it’s awkward for me as the guy playing the fool for you. It kills the mood. Well, whatever. I’ll overlook it this once. So, who’re you?”
“You’ll... overlook it...”
In what way had Ranta been playing the fool? What a horrible attempt at humor. He wasn’t fully convinced but...
A name.
What was his own name?
“...I’m Haruhiro. I think?”
Curly, a.k.a. Ranta, made an exaggerated tripping gesture, like a pratfall. “You think? Hold on, buddy, you don’t even know your own name? Okay, I know we’re talking about how my name’s all I know, but...”
This guy’s pretty annoying, Haruhiro thought, glancing over at Gangster, who was walking behind Hiyomu. He wondered what Gangster’s name was. He kind of wanted to ask, but he was too scared of the man. Though he didn’t intend it as a replacement for asking Gangster, he turned to the slender man with silky hair and asked, “How about you?”
“Oh,” replied Silky with a smile. He was a rather eloquent man. “I’m Manato. Do you mind if I call you Haruhiro? No honorifics, or anything?”
“Oh, sure, that’s fine. Then can I call you just Manato, too?”
“I’m fine with that, of course.”
When Manato smiled at him, he couldn’t help but smile, too. He looks like a good guy. I can probably trust him, he thought.
Ranta was annoying. Gangster scared him, and Buzz-Cut had a scary face. Flashy felt like she came from a world far removed from his, and it was hard to approach an intelligent-looking guy like Glasses. Braids, Timid, and Tiny. What about those three girls?
Timid he had talked to a little already, and she was close by. He figured he’d at least try to get her name. But, when it came to actually asking, he was a bundle of nerves.
Haruhiro cleared his throat. “Uh, hey.”
“Y-Yes...?”
“N-Now, it’s not anything important, but, uh...”
“I’m Kikkawa, yesh!” Playboy suddenly exclaimed, striking a weird pose. “Hey, hey! Forget the guys, let’s hear from the ladies! You want to shoot off some introductions, or not?!”
Braids shook her head. “Not.”
“No way!” Playboy, a.k.a. Kikkawa, looked pathetically shot down.
Haruhiro couldn’t help but feel a little gleeful. Still, Kikkawa’s attempt had given him the momentum he needed.
“Um,” Haruhiro tried to ask as straight as he could. “What’s your name? It’d be easier to address you if we knew. Well, compared to us not knowing, at least.”
“Ah...” Timid looked down, pulling at her bangs. Was she trying to hide her face? Her eyes, nose, and lips were modest, but she was pretty cute. There was nothing she needed to hide, at least. “...I’m... Shihoru. That’s my name, I mean. More or less. Sorry...”
“No, you don’t need to apologize.”
“Sorry, it’s a habit. I’m sorry, I’ll try not to...” Shihoru was trembling like a newborn fawn.
Was this girl going to be okay? He was worried just looking at her. It stimulated a protective instinct in him.
“You’re a big guy,” said Manato, who was talking to the gentle giant. “How tall are you?”
“Huh?” said the big man, blinking absently. “My height? I’m 160 cm...”
“160?!” Ranta interjected. “That’s smaller than me, the guy who’s a self-proclaimed 170 cm, you know?!”
“I got it wrong. It was 180... 86? Around there. I think. Ah. My name is Moguzo. Probably.”
“Give me 10 of your centimeters, right now, Moguzo!” Ranta demanded, jabbing Moguzo in the side. As if that were possible. “If I get 10 centimeters from you, I’ll be 178! You’ll be 176! What a turnaround! That’d be wonderful! Wouldn’t it?!”
“If I could give them to you...” replied Moguzo.
“Hold on...” Haruhiro could only curse himself as he started to correct Ranta again. “In that case, your height isn’t over 170: you’re really 168.”
“Oh, shut up. So-rry! You look like you’re about the same height as me, anyway!”
“I’m just barely 170.”
“You’re a piece of work, you know that?! You’re a fiend who discriminates against people over a measly two centimeters!”
“This guy is such a pain,” Haruhiro muttered.
“Huh?! I didn’t hear you quite right. Did you say something?! You did, didn’t you?! You said something!”
“Nothing, nothing. I didn’t say a thing, honest.”
“You liar! You lying, perverted, deviant bastard! Don’t underestimate my devilishly good hearing! This is what you said: ‘You and your natural curls can go to hell, you bastard!’”
“No, I seriously did not say that.”
“You called me ‘Curly’! That’s the one thing you can’t call me! That word is banned, damn it!”
“Yeah, and I didn’t say it. Listen when people are talking...”
“I was listening! I was listening so well, I’ve got callouses on my ears! Anyway, I don’t forgive anyone who calls me ‘Curly’! That’s an executable offense! Don’t you forget it!”
“Curly,” Gangster turned around and said, “you’re annoying. Shut up.”
“...Yes, sir,” said Curly, a.k.a. Ranta, in a tiny voice. “...Sorry. I’ll shut up now.”