I just… couldn't do it.

Why? What was the reason?

The answer is simple: Because I am a hikikomori.

Currently, the hottest, most popular new social phenomenon— hikikomori. That's me. A recluse.

They say that there are now approximately two million hikikomori living in Japan. Two million is a tremendous number. If someone threw a rock on the street, they would hit a hikikomori…. Of course, that wouldn't really happen. Hikikomori don't go outside, after all.

Anyway, I was one of the hikikomori currently so popular here in Japan. Not to mention that I was somewhat of a veteran hikikomori. I left my apartment only once a week, and then I'd just to go to a convenience store for food and cigarettes. My friends numbered zero, and I slept sixteen hours a day.

This year would mark four full years of living as a hikikomori. My lifestyle had caused me to drop out of college.

Seriously, I was such a frightful hikikomori that I should have been approaching professional status. No matter whom I might be up against, I really doubted I'd lose easily to other hikikomori.

In fact, I was confident that if an “International Hikikomori Olympics” were to take place, I would score pretty well. I was certain I would beat out other hikikomori regardless of country, whether it was a Russian hikikomori who escaped through vodka, an English hikikomori whose escape was through drugs, or an American hikikomori who found escape by randomly shooting guns indoors.

Right! The famous founder of kyokushin karate

Well, it was worth a try. I decided to set up a beer bottle and try to break it with a chop of the hand.

“Hiii-ya!”

***

While wrapping my bloodied right hand in a bandage, I sat back down at the kotatsu.