He blinked. “Was I supposed to be?”
“Maji de dekai,” I’d mutter, watching him squeeze through the train doors sideways. People stared. Kids pointed. He’d just shrug, pull his hood lower, and keep walking. uchi no otouto maji de dekain dakedo mi ni
I’d measure him against the doorframe every birthday, pencil marks climbing higher each year—first my shoulder, then my ear, then the top of my head. By middle school, he already looked down on me. By high school, he had to duck under every lintel in our grandparents’ old house. He blinked
That’s the thing about my little brother. He’s huge—absolutely, undeniably dekai . But the part that matters, the part that fills a room? That’s not his height. ” I’d mutter