I had long given up on setting an alarm to wake myself up. Not because of sleeping through each one, but due to the fact something else always wakes me up before my alarm even has the chance to. The flapping wings of commuters who missed their trains, the congregating of the nymphs and dryads of the community garden under my window, and the jingling of fairy bells as they went about their morning travels.

All things that I would most likely be sent to a shrink for hearing and seeing, which is why I keep it a secret. I’ve kept it a secret since I was a child.

My name is Watanabe Kio, and I can see things that are “unusual”. I like the word unusual more than monstrous, so that’s what I use instead when referring to the distinctly not human members of our society. And considering how much work they’ve put into not being seen as such, I’ve never actually asked one of them about their daily activities. So instead, I observe whenever I have the chance despite the many questions I have.

When I make my breakfast in the morning, I leave sugar and fruit scraps out for the little family that lives within the apartment walls. Are they just tiny humans or do they have other defining characteristics?

One of the baristas at my favorite cafes has a particularly long neck that stretches all around. Do they get neck pain if it stretches out too far? What’s the length limit of their neck?

On my train to school, there’s a businesswoman with the full lower half of a horse. Where does she buy her clothes? Does she make them herself? How does she not affect the train car’s weight limit? Because horse parts.

However, the biggest question I’ve come across has been rather arbitrary.

How can someone with red skin blush?

I’ve seen it, on multiple occasions. All from the same unusual. Although I still have not figured out what to classify him as. My classmate, Shiba Manabu, is perhaps the tallest high school boy I’ve ever seen. Him having two shiny black horns that stretch upwards from the sides of his head isn’t helping his case. Shaggy dark purple hair hides his eyes. Crimson skin. Oh, and a pointed tail. So far, I’ve assumed he’s a demon of some sort, but as I haven’t seen many unusuals that look anything like him I can’t make a good comparison.

“Good morning, Shiba-san.”

I greet him like that every morning, as we’re usually the first two people in the classroom every morning. He, who barely fits on his desk chair, bows his head down and nods back at me. Even from under his hair I can see how his face gets darker around his cheeks and pointed ears. We usually don’t talk to each other after that. And so raises the question that may never be answered.

Is Shiba Manabu socially awkward, incapable of talking to girls, or just has a crush on me?

I’m banking on the first one.