I was born 20 years ago and grew up in a town close to the city. It's not exactly central Tokyo, but it's convenient enough—about an hour away by train. Two years before me, my sister was born in the same town. I didn't witness it myself, so to be precise, she "apparently" was born, but according to records, she definitely was. Born 22 years ago, she's two years older—siblings with a two-year gap, girl and boy, growing up side by side. I watched from the front row as my sister gradually transformed from a girl into a woman. Likewise, she must have watched me slowly grow from a boy into a man. Yet, the idea of us being just siblings quietly began to blur in both our minds. As time passed, I moved to Tokyo alone—not to distance myself from my sister, but simply because of the natural flow of life: school, career. My family, friends, neighbors, and of course my sister, all supported me. As proof, she came to my new place to celebrate. For my 20th birthday, she brought alcohol for the first time. Actually, it was a friend of hers, an older woman from the neighborhood, who got carried away and bought all kinds of drinks. That's how our home drinking party started. That woman had terrible drinking habits and was awful at games—but when it came to board games, she was overwhelmingly strong. As punishment, she handcuffed me and my sister together, then after the game ended, she left like a one-hit wonder comedian. She walked out still wearing the handcuffs, stumbling drunk. There was a rumor about her—that couples always ended up together after drinking at her place. Thinking about that, part of me secretly hoped something might happen between my sister and me. In the end, the key was right there all along, but we only realized it after everything had already unfolded. Unable to change clothes, go to the bathroom, or take a shower freely, we had no choice but to cooperate just to survive. And that's how my sister and I truly connected for the first time since we were kids. The last time we bathed together was ten years ago. The last time I saw her changing clothes in a room was ten years ago. I'd never been helped by her in the bathroom. But tonight, the image of my sister from ten years ago, the body I hadn't seen for a decade, the truth I'd pretended not to notice all this time—it all began dissolving into this warm, lukewarm bathwater.