Pygmalion is planting seeds 02

The school building was dyed by the light of dusk.

My heart was pounding with anticipation.

Then it got shattered.

I remember the bewildered, hazy smile she gave me in response to my confession.

“I appreciate your feelings, but I never saw you in that way, Mamesaki.”

Hearing her response, I realized that my love had been utterly destroyed.

The bittersweet twilight memories of my freshman year of high school.

Not long after that, I learned that Misaki and Isezaki had started dating.

 ‎ ‎ ‎

***

 ‎ ‎ ‎

Fifteen minutes later— after crossing three stations by train, the townscape began to become noticeably deserted.

Before the development of the new city center, this place was the heart of the town. But now, not a single trace of its past remains. The bustle of the high street that I had just left now seemed like it was from an entirely different world.

As I got closer to home, I started to notice the figures of women wearing heavy makeup and carrying nylon tote bags— they were heading for work. Wearing skinny jeans while walking through the streets, their fat bottoms swayed suggestively.

Meanwhile, a drunk geezer was sleeping loudly on a foldable stool in front of a liquor store. The numerous empty bottles strewn around him indicated how much he had already consumed tonight. Seeing an older man comfortably drinking from daytime until late in the night was hardly an uncommon sight in this area.

My place was in the red-light district, or simply put, the place where the obscene ambience of prostitution pervaded. Back in the day, this area used to be a thriving and well-known licensed red-light district throughout the country— it was even considered as the holy land for pleasure seekers. But now, it has devolved into a haven for filthy, disreputable women and old men reeking of booze— a rundown district that has been left behind by the passage of time.

Windows of erotic tea houses along street buildings lined up with dazzling lights. I caught a glimpse of a well-dressed “flower” kneeling down on the floor through the half-opened door of one of them.

“This is the new girl— she only started yesterday. she may look quiet, but once she’s stripped, she’s rather wonderful. Listen, 18000 yen— what do you say?!”

A middle-aged woman was standing next to her, bargaining with the new client, whereas the flower remained silent.

Men, entranced by the bewitching beauty of the girls inside, willingly open their wallets to pay.

People who are seeking lust and depravity gather every night in this place, exactly like how summer insects swarm around a bug zapper. There are those who seem to be at loss and are going back and forth in the same alley. Those who intimately exchange greetings with the old maids of the street. Night bargainers and dead drunkards chased out from stores. Various human relationships would unfold in this district where impure flowers would insatiably bloom in profusion every night.

Despite being used to this area, myself, the uncomfortable sense of being in the wrong spot wouldn’t cease to follow me around. It was a bit too stimulating of an atmosphere for the diligent youth of society.

As I left the main street and walked a short distance before a shopping arcade, there was an old geisha house that stood silently. That building, which had retained its strong, unsavory image without any renovations, was my place, or more accurately, Haruhito’s house.

“I’m back!”

As I removed my shoes in front of the door, a lively and young looking man descended the stairs and came up to greet me.

“Hey, welcome back! You’re pretty late, aren’t you?”

“I stopped by somewhere on my way back. What about you? You came back rather early, Haruhito.”

“Oh, that old man. He called me again right before I was going to depart. For goodness sake, doesn’t he know the company doesn’t cover my transportation expenses?!”

Haruhito, as a freelance writer, is often away from home for long stretches of time to gather material. Just a few days ago, he left a message saying he would be away for three weeks and headed to Tokyo, but unfortunately, his appointment with the information provider was canceled at the last moment.

“I’ll be making dinner now, you can relax in your room in the meantime.”

In this house, Haruhito is responsible for the cooking. Initially, I felt guilty doing nothing as a freeloader and I attempted to cook once, but after Haruhito took a mouthful of my dish and revealed a painful expression, I never entered the kitchen again.

Eating Haruhito’s meals brings me great happiness and relief. After all, the woman, Yurina, he hires when he goes away for work, doesn’t even know how to use a knife properly let alone cook. I’ve never seen anyone in my life who washes rice with detergent.

I walked up the stairs and entered my room.

There are four rooms in the hallway on the second floor. The wall between the first two has been removed and is used as a workspace for Haruhito to organize all of his documents. The third room is Haruhito’s bedroom, and the fourth and innermost room is mine.

This house was previously used as a temporary nest for prostitutes and customers to get all over each other in harmony, which left off many unwanted impressions lingering, but by driving out these sorts of thoughts, it merely feels like an old-fashioned wooden house.

I was quite exhausted. Perhaps because I was nervous earlier while speaking with Misaki.

Completely overwhelmed by drowsiness, I was out like a light as soon as I hit the pillow.

 ‎ ‎ ‎

I had a dream.

A dream I’ve been having since the day I graduated from middle school.

My mother would draw my hand and lead me down a dark path.

She would face straight ahead the entire time, as if she had forgotten how to bend her neck.

Every time, I would want to see my mother’s face and would spin around her like a satellite, but strangely, I was never able to see it no matter what angle I looked from.

Where are you going?

Looking as if she had been possessed, my mother wouldn’t answer my question.

With hasty steps, we would continue walking in the dark.

Her steps would gradually get faster, making it harder for me to keep up.

I would try my best not to be left in the darkness, all alone.

With only that goal in mind, I would chase after her back.

Suddenly, a ray of light appears in front of our path.

My mother would sprint at full speed towards it.

Wait, mom! Don’t go!

I desperately reach out my hands to the ray of light.

 ‎ ‎ ‎

“Hey! Dinner’s ready!”

The calling voice of Haruhito drew me back to reality. I noticed my hand was raised to the ceiling, just like I was doing in the dream.

Less than ten minutes have passed since I entered my room.

I opened the kitchen door and dinner was already set up. The main dish for tonight, a large plate of twice cooked pork, was placed in the center of the table, along with Haruhito’s special spicy miso soup made from frying cabbage and meat in garlic oil.

In the Mamesaki household, meat is added to every dish without exception, and the refrigerator always contains a generous portion of it. I believe we’re the only regular family who keeps this much meat in the house.

“It’s an instinct from ancient times to fulfill the desire of eating meat,” Haruhito would always say. “Ancient people ate meat regularly and as a result, they had stronger bodies than modern people do today. The main reason why we shifted away from meat-based diets and towards more plant-based diets is due to the cost increase. It has nothing to do with health. Therefore, to achieve both a healthy body and mind, one should eat meat whenever the opportunity arises.”

He might overdo it by inserting meat into every meal he prepares, but I believe he is just concerned about my health. My body is exceptionally small for someone my age and I lack any sort of manly sturdiness.

Due to my baby face, I often get questioned by police officers when I’m walking around in shopping centers.

I finished dinner and walked back to my room.

I opened my reference book on top of my desk, but Misaki’s face kept coming to mind, preventing me from making any progress in my studies that night.

 ‎ ‎ ‎

“Misaki went missing.”

I received this shocking news from a messaging app, one week after our coincidental encounter.

The sender was Isezaki.

According to my old classmates, they lost all contact with her three days ago.

Misaki’s parents work overseas and only come back home once or twice a year. She even refuses the housemaid they arrange for her, making her the only one living in the house.

“My parents rarely keep in touch with me, so I get the privilege of coming home whenever I want,” she once said while laughing. Little did we know, her neglect and carelessness would ultimately lead to this outcome.

It appears that Isezaki was skipping his university lectures to devote more time to searching for her. I could imagine his mind was consumed with thoughts of Misaki to the point where nothing else mattered to him.

“If you have any information, no matter how trivial, please let me know!”

The desperate message he sent me made it clear that Isezaki was at his wit’s end. In the chat group, everyone was brainstorming ways to find her, pretending to be detectives and coming up with their own theories about the situation. They were all deeply affected by the fact that their former classmate had gone missing.

As I scrolled through the infinite messages, a thought suddenly occurred to me.

I want to find Misaki.

The idea that Misaki may have been kidnapped took hold in my mind, and with it came a foolish hope that if I were to rescue her and bring her back safely, she would see me in a new light and forget about Isezaki. It was a baseless fantasy— one that anyone would likely scoff at, but my lingering unrequited love for Misaki prevented me from letting go of such thoughts.

From that day forward, my mundane routine of simply going to and from the library was enlivened by the challenging task of searching for Misaki. I would finish my study sessions earlier than usual to scour the streets for any clues or information— it gave me a sense of purpose and fulfillment.

Needless to say, I felt compassion for Isezaki, who was also doing his best to find her, but deep down inside my heart, I thought he deserved it.

Despite my gloomy and enthusiastic efforts, I wasn’t able to uncover any information about her. It was a reasonable outcome. There was a limit on how far a penniless Ronin, without any personal connections, could investigate. Furthermore, I hadn’t the slightest clue of where she could have possibly gone.

I also kept tabs on Isezaki’s progress every day, and from the tone of his messages, it was clear that he was growing increasingly frustrated with the lack of leads. It seems that he was unable to establish contact with Misaki’s parents, as well.

A week passed and Misaki’s whereabouts were still in the dark.

Isezaki’s persistent search for her was still ongoing, and like him, I couldn’t bring myself to give up, and continued to roam the town, searching for her silhouette. The sense of hopelessness and exhaustion intensified by the day.

“Hm? Kuuya! It’s Kuuya!”

One evening, after yet another fruitless search, I was making my way down the old dimly lit street when a young woman called out my name. She was stuffing a lollipop in her cheek.

“What’s a high school student like you doing at this time? Wait, Kuuya is still in high school? Oh, right, I forgot you’re still in middle school.”

“I told you I already graduated high school! What about you, Sally— what are you doing here?”

“I was given a day off yesterday, but I totally forgot about it and ended up going back to work,” Sally replied with a carefree grin on her face, like an innocent child.

She is a sex-worker, and while her looks were average, her memory was quite poor, often forgetting conversations after just a few moments from having them. However, when it came to remembering people’s names and faces, she was unparalleled, able to commit every single one of her clients to memory.

“By the way, Sally, have you ever seen this girl? She’s a former classmate of mine.” I brought up a graduation photo from my phone and showed it to her.

She tilted her head while looking at the photo and replied, “Dunno— never seen her.”

Her answer almost confirmed to me that Misaki was nowhere around this vicinity.

“I’m sorry Kuuya, I don’t understand what’s going on, but it looks like I couldn’t be of any help to you. Want some candy?”

She pulled the dripping lollipop from inside her mouth and handed it to me— I politely declined, “Thanks, but I’m fine. Don’t let it bother you— everything is okay.”

“Oh, yeah? I don’t know what’s the matter, but keep your chin up. Perhaps you want me to comfort you, no?”

The sound of the word ‘comfort’ coming out from her had an awfully mature ring to it.

I once again dodged her question with a noncommittal response and left the place. As I turned around, I saw her standing in the same place, waving goodbye. By now, she had probably already forgotten about the picture of Misaki I had shown her.

Sally would always let her guard down around me— not because we are friends, but because she loves me. However, I always pretend not to notice her feelings. It’s not like I was being faithful to Misaki or anything as such, but rather, I just didn’t feel like opening my heart to anyone except her.

A woman who has feelings for me, and a woman who once dumped me in the past.

Sometimes, I wonder which one’s warmth I should seek.

Another layer of exhaustion was added to my already burdened shoulders. 

I returned home just as Haruhito finished preparing dinner.

“You’ve been returning home late lately.”

“Yeah, I’m beginning to feel uneasy with my current studying pace, so I decided to spend as much time as possible in the library.”

I put on a facade of calmness and lied my way from Haruhito’s question. 

I kept my search for Misaki a secret from him, as I knew he would scold me for wasting my time, given my failure in entrance exams, on playing detective.

Tonight’s dinner was a simple dish of pan-fried meat and vegetables, seasoned with just salt, but it goes perfectly with rice.

“It’s fine to work hard and all, but try not to stay too late. You don’t want to end up having your skin peeled off by ‘the skin ripping old maid,’ you know.”

“What’s this skin ripping old maid?”

“It’s some urban legend common among the local kids. The skin ripping old maid who emerges in the middle of the night with a knife and peels the skin off children she catches.”

As Haruhito’s job often involved working for true-story and gossip magazines, he had a wealth of knowledge about such matters. In the past, he had even found himself dragged in many dangerous situations.

Nevertheless, an old woman who rips off raw skin.

It was a pretty disturbing story, but had too many details to be true.

“To be honest, I’m not sure where kids nowadays get these kinds of ideas.”

“Well, where there is smoke, there is fire. I recall the mouth-ripping woman incident— the bizarre murder case that occurred near the city three years ago.”

“What’s that?”

“It was about a child’s body that was discovered in the mountains. It was covered in the media and caused quite a stir— even here.”

Now that he has brought it up, I recalled something similar happening.

A five-year-old orphan child vanished while the nurse was distracted, only to be found dead a few days later, with his right arm missing and his back skin brutally stripped off. The case captivated the attention of the entire world, but three years have now passed without any news of the perpetrator’s arrest.

“An urban legend is a creative interpretation of reality. By tweaking the truth slightly, adding some embellishments here and there, and creating a backstory, it becomes a popular modern-day fairy tale. So yeah, it’s not entirely fabricated. In fact, having a kernel of truth gives it a sinister appeal. Especially for those with a high sense of self-awareness and a tendency to jump to conclusions like yourself. They would be easily fooled by such stories.”

“Pft—!” I coughed and almost spit the cabbage out of my mouth.

“Do I appear to be someone who frequently jumps to conclusions?”

“If you make a decision, you stubbornly cling to it— you refuse to change your mind no matter what others say. Whether it’s for better or for worse, you recklessly forge ahead in your own way. Even if you realize that you’re on the wrong path, you’re not going to admit it, and you’ll keep running until you fall off the cliff. That’s dangerous, you know. Listen here…”

Before I knew it, the conversation had turned into Haruhito lecturing me. I promptly interrupted him and tried to change the subject.

“By the way, what are the variations of an urban legend?”

“Hm? What do you mean? Urban legends are the product of people’s interests and imaginations colliding, so…”

I was able to change the course of the conversation.

“The themes may vary, but the story patterns are often similar. The specific theme doesn’t matter as long as it piques your interest. It could be about night taxis, unsolved murder cases, fast food, popular anime series, forbidden entry to certain ruins or abandoned coal mines, or even a little girl selling matches in the winter.”

A little girl who sells matches! 

As Haruhito spoke, a sudden realization struck me like a bolt of lightning.

I found it! 

The crucial piece of information that could lead me to Misaki’s whereabouts.

The memory of the young street vendor selling flowers instead of matches flooded my mind, and I couldn’t believe I had almost forgotten about her.

They both know each other. By some chance, she might know something about Misaki’s current whereabouts.

I quickly finished my dinner.

“I’m going to borrow a book from a friend.”

Ignoring Haruhito’s calls to put it off until the next day, I left the house. 

The clock had already struck nine-thirty when I arrived at the shopping district. 

I wandered the night town while praying to evade the watchful gaze of any patrolling officers.

Finding her was akin to searching for a needle in a haystack, yet it was my only hope. 

I remembered her shop being quite large, and thus unlikely to be located on bustling streets. I thus focused my search on expansive areas and public parks, where a florist shop could find space to set up.

As I searched, the sky grew darker with thick, black clouds blocking out the stars and moon. The forecast had said it would rain in the middle of the night. My feet ached from all the walking. There was no guarantee she was even in this town, but I couldn’t shake the feeling of restlessness as I wondered where I could find her.

Around half an hour later, minutes before the clock struck midnight, I finally caught sight of the flower vendor’s stall, hidden away in the shadows of the alleyways.

The little girl, with no customers to attend to, was engrossed in a book, bathed in the glow of the streetlamp. 

I rushed towards her, like a traveler who had finally stumbled upon an oasis in the desert.

“Oh, you’re the boy from back then. What’s the matter with that tired look— are you alright?”

“I was looking for you.”

I responded to the little girl who was staring at me blankly, without giving myself a chance to catch my breath.

“The girl you were with the last time… Misaki— she’s been missing for almost two weeks now. Nobody can get in touch with her, and she didn’t leave a letter behind. Her boyfriend and I are frantically searching for her, but we’re coming up empty.”

“What does that have to do with me?”

“You are her acquaintance, aren’t you? I thought you’d know something and was looking for you this whole time. Could you please tell me if you happen to know anything on the matter?”

“That is an unusual move to conduct for the sake of a friend. Couldn’t you just leave it to the cops?”

“She lives alone, distant from her parents. Her boyfriend refuses to involve the police. I am aware that my actions alone may not resolve the situation, yet the thought of her possibly being caught up in some incident drives me to take action.”

“Your enthusiasm is quite striking, would you say it’s only rooted in your friendship— or is there something more?”

Her teasing remark pierced right through my heart.

I couldn’t help but feel exposed, as if she could see through my carefully concealed, innermost feelings for Misaki. I was at a loss for words. 

The little girl looked at me with a curious expression, and with a graceful movement, she rose to her feet.

“Looks like it’s going to start raining.”

As if prompted by the little girl’s words, a raindrop fell on my cheek.

“I’m closing the shop today. I doubt there will be any customers, anyway.”

The young girl began loading her vehicle, an eight-seater parked nearby, with her flower pots. She quickly finished her task before the rain began to fall heavily, and with a graceful leap, she settled into the driver’s seat as if it were nothing special.

“Come with me to my shop— I will explain everything once we get there.”

The once-dry asphalt gleamed under the falling rain, now dark and polished.