Tuesday, March 31, 2015

Yahari Ore no Seishun Rabukome wa Machigatte Iru Volume 03

Chapter 1: And Thus, Hiratsuka‐sensei Sparks a New Conflict 

I slammed a sheaf of papers against the table. Its contents were as eyebrow‐ raising as the Dead Sea Scrolls. “…what the hell is this?”

It was early morning. As my eyes fell over the words on the page, a strange chill ran down my spine. The cause of this uncomfortable sense of déjà vu was, of course, the outline for the next volume of Zaimokuza Yoshiteru‐sensei’s story, which he had put excruciating detail into. Would it have killed him to finish the first volume before starting the next one?

The story made no sense whatsoever, and there were glaring plot holes just from the outline. The only thing I liked about it was that the protagonist was a lone swordsman.

Those who are above everyone else are, by definition, alone. True heroes are loners. To be a loner is to have strength. Having no attachment to others means having nothing to protect. The urge to protect is basically nothing but a weakness. Achilles, the Ancient Greek hero, and Benkei, the most powerful warrior monk, were both defeated precisely because they had a weakness. If only they had no weaknesses, they would undoubtedly have gone down in history as the victors.

It stood to reason that someone who has no weaknesses, no burdens protect and no attachment to others is the strongest for those exact reasons. In other words, I am the strongest. The trashy setting Zaimokuza came up with revolved entirely around his overpowered swordsman, to the extent that he came off as a hack. Everything else was crap, so I wrote it in red. This. Is. Crap. …there, all good.

Just as a feeling of blissful satisfaction came over me from doing my job, my little sister Komachi finished preparing breakfast. Since both our parents had already left for work, only Komachi and I remained in the living room.

An apron‐clad Komachi set down two servings of breakfast with a clatter. If you ask me, wearing an apron over a tank top and shorts is really not a good idea. It looked like she was wearing a naked apron.

She set down the golden brown scones and coffee right in front of me. Oh, and a jar of jam was propped up next to them. The appetising scent of perfectly cooked scones and the aroma of well‐made coffee resounded beautifully, playing a musical suite. The various kinds of jams were suite (get it?) as well ‐ it was a Pretty Cure breakfast1 .

“Itadakimasu,” I said.

“Yep yep, it’s chow time,” Komachi sang. “Itadakimasu for me too.” The two of us clapped our hands together and then crammed scones into our mouths. “I went for something a bit more exotic for breakfast today. Scones are Ingrish, aren’t they?”

“…what’s ‘Ingrish’ supposed to be? Some new killer move?”

“Nope, it means super English‐y.”


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