She was a gorgeous girl.
Pamil Terrill Karl Bergmann. Her name alone made it clear that she wasn’t Japanese. Her falsified records didn’t indicate as such, but her appearance blatantly exposed her Northern-European origins: her perfect, porcelain skin, her sparkling eyes like clear sapphires, and her long, straight, and silken gold-colored hair.
There was no fault in her elegant features; she looked like an antique doll crafted by an artist. Her youth made her charming looks stand out, and in a few years, she would undoubtedly become a beauty capable of stealing anyone’s breath.
Actually, even now, her still-growing curves and golden hair engendered a sense of indescribable fascination. Her slight body was on the verge between childhood and adulthood, creating a careful balance—a marvel of precious youth.
Oh, how lovely she was!
Her dainty figure brought virgin snow to mind; untainted, unknowing of whether it would remain so, captivating all that beheld—
Anyway, Kyouhei Nanbu had frozen. He was holding the box containing the clothes and towels he was going to wash first thing tomorrow, on his day off. He’d frozen in the middle of the changing room.
“Oh, Kyouhei, you’re doing the washing?” Pamil nodded in satisfaction.
She had settled into the role of Kyouhei’s younger sister, and the name of Harumi Nanbu on paper, but you couldn’t let your guard down around her. She introduced herself as a princess’ body double android, and her small stature could fire off flames, lightning, and beams.
“The magazine I was reading the other day,” she continued, “had an article about how guys that can do housework are really popular with girls lately, according to their surveys...”
Kyouhei silently left the changing room and shut the door.
The rooms may have been called a bathroom and changing room, but in the Nanbu household, that just signified spaces with those functions, partitioned off and made of huge concrete blocks. The construction was amateurish and plain as well.
“Hngh... We were in the middle of a conversation, Kyouhei,” Pamil protested.
“...Pamil,” Kyouhei groaned. He had leaned against the door so she wouldn’t just thoughtlessly open it. “I know I’m always going on about it... but try and get a little more common sense,” he implored her.
“Hm? Is something wrong? I was just getting into the bath—”
“That’s not what I’m talking about!” Kyouhei yelled with a twitching cheek at Pamil’s questioning from behind the door. “Girls... um... have things they shy away from, yeah?! Why are you happily standing there nude?!”
“Hmm? Shy? I had heard that Japanese culture put an emphasis on shame and modesty, but I didn’t think it went that far.”
“Ah, you get it,” Kyouhei said in relief.
However...
“But it sure is strange that you wear clothes in the bath; what an odd country.”
“That’s not it!!” he yelled, stamping his foot.
● ● ●
“Jugemu Gokou-no Surikire Kaijarisuigyo-no Suigyoumatsu...!”
Kyouhei had his head in his hands. He was leaning on the table with his elbows as he recited the rakugo Jugemu from memory.
The reason was obvious: he was trying to remove the earlier event—or rather, happening, from his mind.
The clock hanging on the wall showed 10:30 p.m. The two of them were alone in the house. And Pamil... Pamil was dozing off on the sofa, with the TV remote still in her hand. The pajamas she was wearing were originally Kyouhei’s, so they hung loosely on her small frame. They had bought more nightclothes in her size, but she said Kyouhei’s were more comfortable and nice to sleep in, so she used them more often.
The comfort was good for her, but... the collar was too baggy, and so was liable to fall open and show off her collar bones, so it wasn’t as good for the observer, or Kyouhei in this case.