Pygmalion is planting seeds 01

TL notes:

[1] Term referring to students who graduated high school but failed to enroll in any university and are waiting for a new chance. 

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 ‎After a slant glimmer, the red-purplish blossom wilted, silently.

At the top of the pot, overflowing with dirt, she sat with her knees to her chest, gazing at the empty space with crystal clear eyes.

I gently leaned down and reached over her bare and smooth skin. Based on the temperature transmitted through the palm of my hand, I could tell that the time for her awakening had already arrived. By peeking at her face, I could only feel that she was imploring me to wake her up.

Just a little longer and the daylight will completely fade, leaving this space in full darkness.

I had to act properly before the evening was through. 

I took the dagger and carefully put its edge between the soles of her feet, cutting off the root.

Despite its look, the root was as soft as a finely spun silk thread and provided no resistance to the dagger’s blade.

But despite being released of her yoke, the hollow gaze she was roving seemed unaffected.

Five minutes, ten minutes, twenty minutes.

I swallowed my saliva while nervously waiting for her to speak, much like a child anticipating the opening of a circus.

However, she remained silent throughout, resembling a carefully crafted sculpture. The root that was keeping her down had already been removed, but she showed no sign of rising up and remained roaming her empty sight straight ahead.

I started grinding my teeth.

Why?

Once again— a disappointing outcome. No matter how hard I tried, it always seemed to be ineffective.

Just why!?

Where did I go wrong? Is there anything I’m missing?

I had no actual clue.

Even after putting up all of my effort, time, and every other resource for her sake, it’s always the same outcome.

“Why the hell!?”

My seething rage erupted in a loud scream from my mouth, yet she showed no signs of fear.

I struggled to my feet, leaning on my desperate legs, and glanced down at her.

My throat felt parched, and pain raced through my eyes.

The sensation of my hand had vanished, and I no longer could sense the smell floating around the house.

This place is what some would call hell.

And I would most likely be the devil.

No— I was no devil.

I was a child who picked up stones in vain. The stones I painstakingly put up would be savagely demolished by the devil, time and over.

I was forever acting in a pitiful, absurd, and pathetic scene.

But despite everything, I had to keep piling those stones, hoping she’ll come and save me from this terrifying wasteland one day.

After all, it was the only thing I could do.

I slid the knife blade over her outstretched neck and drew it out in one motion.

Fresh streams of blood began to flow in the dimly lit space.

 ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ 

***

‎ ‎  ‎ ‎ ‎

A flower that evokes memories of graduation ceremonies— cherry blossoms are frequently the first thing that would come to mind. In the town where I live, however, cherry blossoms are not very popular, as they tend to wilt and lose their light pink color before fully blooming. Therefore, when I think back on my graduation ceremony, it is the image of the apricot flowers, which bloom at the perfect time, that makes the strongest impression on me— not cherry blossoms.

Either way, the graduating students who gathered in the front yard of the school did not seem to care about which flower was blooming— they were filled with regret at the thought of having to say goodbye to their friends and the familiar routine of their school life.

“We’re already graduating! Three years sure flew by in the blink of an eye.”

My classmate Akira Isezaki was filled with emotion as he gazed at the gleaming white school building in the spring sunlight. He enrolled in a prominent private university early in the new year and was currently enjoying his final days of school. A far cry from me, who failed all of my first-term exams and was now quivering in anxiety as I waited for the final test results.

“True— they’ve flown by in an instant.”

My quiet words were drowned out by the clatter.

My attention was drawn to some girls who entered the classroom and presented the homeroom instructor an autograph collection.

My name, Kuuya Mamesaki, was not written on that autograph. I had no idea what to write and couldn’t bring myself to simply pen some generic words like “thank you for everything this year, take care.” 

“Everyone, gather over here— we’re taking a photo!”

The girl who called us with a smartphone in her hand was yet another classmate of mine, Misaki Iruse. Many male classmates have fallen in love with her because of her model-like form and sweet personality. But, of all of them, Isezaki was the only one who remained in the position of her boyfriend for the whole three years.

“Isezaki and Iruse, sit in the center. Ah, and everybody— move a little bit to this side!”

A dozen students were crammed into one spot under the direction of a male student who volunteered to take the photo. Making my way through the crowd, I took the seat directly behind Misaki and Isezaki.

Thinking back about it, Isezaki and Misaki were in the same class for three years straight— they would flaunt their intimacy to others around them on a daily basis. Misaki enrolled in a local college, thus it was evident that their relationship would last for much longer.

“Alright, I’m taking it!”

A spring breeze carried Misaki’s hair odor to my nose as soon as the shutter was pressed.

As a result, my face was half tense and half slack in the shot, revealing a mortifying expression.

My eighteenth spring— the frame of my youth.

A few days later, I failed to get into university, and my new Ronin^[1] life began. 

‎***

My parents divorced during my sixth year of elementary school. I haven’t been told the reason.

My mother and I were the ones that fled the house. Since then, we spent two years together before she passed away. It has been more than six years since the last time I’ve seen my father.

After my mother passed away, my uncle Haruhito— the younger brother of my father— offered to take care of me and I now reside with him under the same roof. Even though my father may have been unaware of my mother’s passing, he continued to send 50,000 yen every month as child-rearing expenses to my bank account. I would give all of it to my uncle Haruhito as rent.

I was advised to attend a prep school, however, I decided to forgo that option and pursue the Ronin path, primarily due to the exorbitant cost of the concentrated courses and mock exams.

“You’re just a kid— no need for you to think about trivial matters. If it’s about money, I’ll figure it out— just go!”

While I appreciated his sentiment, I couldn’t shake off the feeling that accepting tens of thousands of yen in financial support for an entire year was not right. So after a lengthy conversation, my uncle Haruhito ultimately conceded.

Thus, my Ronin life had begun.

I began frequenting the city’s library as a means of studying, as being cooped up in the house all the time was causing me to feel depressed. My primary motivation for going out was to improve my mood, rather than solely focusing on increasing my studying efficiency.

The library I visited was three train stations away from my place and located in the city center. Every time I stroll through the traffic, I feel forced to observe the working salarymen passing by and the energetic faces of teenagers strutting and chattering through the streets. I would have a hard time pretending that being around these people didn’t irritate me.

I would leave my home early in the morning around 9 am, spend the entire day immersed in my studies at the library, and return home after the sun had set, leaving behind the city, drowning in the allure and desire of people’s nightlife.

My daily routine has devolved into the recurrence of these days.

As I kept on with my ups and downs, running across Misaki again was purely coincidental.

On the night when the official start of the rainy season was announced, I decided to take a less crowded route to the station.

As I walked towards a small park wedged between buildings, I came across a flower stall set up under a streetlight. The stall was adorned with a beautiful array of cut flowers in simple pots, adding a touch of elegance to the otherwise sorrowful street corner.

… a flower stall at this time of night?

Curious by this unique street combo, I focused my attention on the client who was inspecting the flowers while crouching. 

It was Misaki.

Seeing her in regular clothing was a first for me, still, it didn’t take me a moment to recognise her— we’ve been classmates for the past three years, after all. Not nearly two months have passed since I’ve last seen her at the graduation ceremony, and she has already matured into a lovely young woman.

The person running the stall was a little girl dressed in a black summer knit. Perhaps her parents left her to guard the store— that is what I thought at the time.

Looking at her petite frame, I could only conclude she was in middle school.

Inadvertently, the little girl turned toward me.

What caught my attention even more was her alluring beauty, standing out amongst the brightly blooming flowers that surrounded her. Her untouched snow-white skin, her black irises that reflected a melancholic sense and her well-proportioned face, starting from her small nose down to her youthful lips that resembled flower buds. She was a different type of beauty compared to Misaki, but equally as captivating. If Misaki was like an elegantly blooming dahlia in the sunlight, then this little girl was like a night-blooming Cereus, silently basking in the moonlight and waiting for the dawn.

However, somewhere deep inside those flawless looks of hers, I felt a somewhat frigid vibe. Her beauty was as if she had stepped out of an illusory painting, created by an artist who had poured all of his heart and soul into it— it was an unrealistic comeliness. That was how exquisite and stunning her appearance was.

“How can I help you?”

It was a soft voice, like a gentle bell chiming, but the echoes of it seemed to linger in my ears.

It took me a moment to realize she was actually speaking to me. I couldn’t react naturally and I wouldn’t blame myself— my mind, after all, was so preoccupied with how to address Misaki while I was standing like a fool in front of both of them.

“Hm? Is that you, Mamesaki?” Misaki lifted her gaze, and I immediately noticed the subtle makeup she had applied to her originally pretty face.

“Yeah— I mean, I happened to pass by here then I saw a familiar figure… So…” I did my hardest to smile despite my nervousness.

“Oh, so you’re on your way back home?”

“Yeah, I was studying in the library.”

Despite knowing that putting on airs was pointless, I still somewhat concealed the fact that I was a Ronin.

Behaving as if she was not even interested in my reply, she answered, “I see.” 

She then stood up after grabbing a plastic bag containing a potted plant.

“I’d love to take my time and talk with you, but I’m now quite busy, so maybe another time.”

Swinging my hands while chasing her leaving figure with my eyes, I started contemplating what I will do next. I wasn’t intending to buy flowers from the start, I just happened to recognize someone I knew and stopped by to say hello.

“You are acquaintances?” asked the little girl right when I was about to come up with an excuse and leave the stall.

Naturally, I couldn’t simply ignore her and go on my way.

“She was a classmate of mine back in high school. Does she visit here often?”

“Yes, she is a regular customer who comes here from time to time. Many people come and talk to me without even intending to buy anything, so visitors like her are very valuable.”

Given her beauty, I wouldn’t be surprised if she had many admirers who stopped by just to look. It’s only natural for men to be drawn to a beautiful woman, after all.

With such thoughts going through my mind, I checked the price tags and got taken aback. All of them were absurdly expensive.

“Perhaps, it’s not that they don’t intend to buy, but rather that the prices made them lose the intention of buying.”

“In spite of the high pricing, some individuals continue to buy from me. As an example, consider a drunk customer who lost control of his wallet, or a salaryman going home in the morning and forgetting his wedding anniversary. Even after noticing that the prices are greater than those in the market, they would still be willing to pay the price if it meant they could have it.” The young girl abandoned her innocent demeanor and began speaking in a mature way, living up to my initial mysterious impression of her. Perhaps, this change in attitude contradicting her pure and innocent appearance is a result of her many interactions with different people at this kind of place and time.

I didn’t want to buy anything from her in the first place, so I would be obstructing her job by remaining here any longer. I added a few words at random and left the place.

“Please let me know if you have a particular flower you no longer need, I can purchase it from you.”

… A flower vendor, buying flowers from a customer?

The weird remark the little girl had directed at me lingered in my ears as I walked back to the train station.

During my ride on the train, I recalled the gossip I once heard back in my high school days.

A rumor about a flower vendor on street corners.

An enchanting little girl who appears in the night streets and sells her flowers to the passing people.

Aside from the fact that she opens her stall at night, no one knows how or from where she comes up.

Appearing and disappearing like a phantom, it is said that whoever happens to encounter her is blessed with good fortune.

A silly story intended to pique the interest of young folks. I never heard a mention of someone encountering her during my entire high school life.  

“A little flower vendor girl carrying happiness wherever she goes, huh… ”

Who knows, maybe she’s the girl in the rumor.

As I thought about the little girl, Misaki’s face came to mind, as well. 

Not the mature face of Misaki that I had just seen earlier, but the one that still held a hint of innocence from our high school days.