Sei Ni Mezameru Shojo -otokotachi To Hito Natsu... <2026>

That night, I drew myself—naked, not sexually, but anatomically, like a Da Vinci sketch. I labeled every part: collarbone, sternum, iliac crest, longing . I hid the drawing under my futon. It's still there, in my parents' house, waiting to be found.

"You've got sap on your cheek," he whispered. Sei ni Mezameru Shojo -Otokotachi to Hito Natsu...

Before that summer, I existed in translation—my feelings filtered through textbooks, my body a thing to be hidden under uniform pleats and cotton socks. But when the town's grown-ups whispered about seinaru mezame —that sacred awakening—they never warned you that it arrives not as a gentle sunrise, but as a splinter. Sharp. Unbidden. Beautifully, irrevocably painful. That night, I drew myself—naked, not sexually, but

That was the first time someone looked at me and didn't see a child. His gaze traveled—not lecherously, but curiously, like I was a book in a language he was still learning. He taught me how to hold a senko hanabi (sparkler) without burning my palm. "The fire's prettiest right before it dies," he said. It's still there, in my parents' house, waiting to be found

I stopped breathing.

This is the part I do not speak aloud.