Princess Ibara’s Soliloquy

The moment I first met Shigure-san’s eyes, I knew.
This person is absolutely a soft touch. And the type who likes my face, too.
A woman, a good soul, with the potential to fall for me, someone who can sleep soundly when we’re together.
I thought it was fate.
So I decided to take advantage, to use her, to make her my sacrifice for peaceful sleep.

　Her nights belong to me.

…And yet, in the end, I ended up falling for her first.

†

My first impression was as described above.
She was simply an adult convenient for me, Shinomori Ibara.
A bit plain, but I thought she was pretty. Overall, she had a clean, fresh look – mature yet still retaining a hint of innocence.
　Chestnut hair gathered at the nape of her neck, gentle eyes. A modest nose bridge. A soft aura that suited her warm-coloured cardigan, and small lips. Neatly manicured fingertips.
The way she looked at me, the younger one, was intensely serious, her eyebrows slightly lowered, conveying, ‘Ah, she’s genuinely worried about me.’
Even though we’d barely passed each other on the street.
It was painfully obvious she was a kind soul.
　There was no ring on her left hand. Though her earth-toned flared skirt looked new and rather cute, her three-quarter-length top was plain and her makeup light, so I guessed she probably didn’t have a boyfriend.
Whether she had a lover mattered. It determined how much I could intrude into this person’s life.
How much of herself Shinozaki Ibara would offer. That was incredibly important.

　After finishing my visit to the infirmary, I went straight home and staked out the ticket gates at the first station.
From 5pm to 9pm – roughly three hours. I kept searching without taking my eyes off the ticket gates for a single moment. Honestly, I was on the verge of giving up. Overtime is a pain, isn’t it?
But my efforts paid off, and I saw her again.
　But at that point, thanks to my insomnia, I hadn’t slept at all. I’d just spent three hours concentrating intensely, making sure I didn’t miss that one person among the countless faces emerging from the ticket gates. My mind just wasn’t functioning properly anymore.
The result was that “Let’s go to a hotel”. Even I think that was terrible.
Still, somehow it worked out. Shigure-san really was too kind-hearted.

　Thanks to that, I got my first decent sleep in months. Just three hours, but still, three hours. Non-REM sleep is the best, isn’t it?
At that moment, I truly felt saved.
I could finally sleep. If I could just keep sleeping like this, maybe I could get back everything I’d lost.
But in the end, it all depended on Shigure-san.
　I tried to charm her somehow, hoping she’d be drawn to me, but I wasn’t confident there’d be a second time.

Yeah, it’s suspicious, I know.
Yet, Shigure-san came back. She said it was to pay for the coffee, but that was definitely a lie. When she walked into the shop, her eyes were searching for me.
But then she tried to leave, and I just thought, “No way!” and ended up crying.
　I’d had acting lessons once, but this wasn’t performance, it was real. Every word I spoke was my genuine feeling.
I’d been thinking it all along.
Why me? Why only me?
Those words acted like a trigger. Everything before I couldn’t sleep, and everything since, came flooding back in a flashback. My emotions shattered and wouldn’t stop.
　Pain and regret turned into tears that spilled from my eyes, but it was Shigure-san who scooped them up.

“Want to come stay at my place?”

She said.
Honestly, Shigure-san, you’re far too easy to manipulate.
You really shouldn’t be that kind to anyone but me.

　†

Ever since I was little, I’d always admired idols.
I liked pretty, cute girls, so it felt perfectly natural to want to be one myself.
But it was, well, much like a primary schooler declaring, “When I grow up, I want to be a YouTuber and live a fun, carefree life!” – a fantasy that completely ignored reality.
In other words, I wasn’t serious at all. I’d never put in the effort to make it happen.
　But I did want to move to Tokyo early. That wasn’t a dream; it was a realistic goal.
So I auditioned for talent agencies in the city. It feels odd to say it myself, but I was born with a face that was, well, genius-level, so I figured this was probably the quickest route.
Surprisingly, my parents didn’t oppose it. Probably because they just weren’t that interested in me. Ha ha, I knew it.
Starting out as an idol on a whim turned out to be quite fun.
　Charles, well, everyone had completely different goals. Some were as laid-back as me, others were borderline mentally unstable, and then there were the quintessential idols, pure professionalism incarnate.
I was fairly adept at most things and considered myself quite capable. I loved being told I was cute.

　At first, anyway.
It was fun. I loved everyone. The members, the fans, the backstage staff.
My product concept was “Sleeping Beauty”, so I tried my best to embody that.
A sweet-toothed (that’s true) little princess whose hobby was napping, a bit lax but who, when she stepped on stage, revealed a sharp face like a different person.
　Whether it was live shows, radio, television, videos, or private moments – no matter what kind of lens was pointed at me, I was the perfect princess.
Truth be told, I hadn’t actually napped once since moving to the city.

　There was no clear trigger for my insomnia.
It just seems my mind and body weren’t as resilient as I’d hoped. Being a delicate, fragile princess was enough just on the surface.
Charles’ popularity spread at a speed that astonished the agency’s higher-ups. With that came more work, increased attention, and a zero-tolerance for mistakes.
Expectations turned into pressure.
　To overcome the pressure, I resolved to push myself in my own way.
Night after night, I watched and listened to my own live footage and radio talks until the small hours. I also fast-forwarded through well-regarded performances by peers, naturally did running and vocal practice, restricted sweets, and generally crawled into bed around two or three in the morning. Repeating this, one day I suddenly couldn’t sleep at all.

　I’d been warned. Get proper rest, sleep, look after yourself. My manager, bandmates, even the president told me.
But it was impossible. Not pushing myself? Impossible.
Because I had nothing.
Singing, dancing, talking, acting, social media, video uploads – I’d become an idol without any real effort, just coasting along. I’d managed it.
And then, I’d stand before hundreds, thousands of people. Empty inside.
　This is terrifying.
When push comes to shove, there’s nothing to support the solitary self I am. Not a single shred of evidence to say, ‘I worked that hard, after all.’
Effort and setbacks… they really are important, you know. It sank right into my bones.
So for two years, I desperately struggled on, trying to make up for lost time, trying to catch up.
　And then, somewhere along the line, I must have broken.
That loneliness and despair, lying awake alone at night, staring endlessly at the ceiling from my bed – I wish everyone could know it. No, actually. If you can avoid knowing it, that’s better.

So I quit.
Or rather, it was the only option.
But I thought quitting would bring relief. Not at all. Not one bit. Running away isn’t easy either. That’s something I only learnt after seventeen years of life.

I’ve always hated mornings.
Mornings I greet clutching only regret for abandoning everything and running away, clutching that relentless, swishing tinnitus.
But I have to go to school at least, I feel I owe it to everyone.
I drag my heavy body along, stumbling onto the train. Then I put on my noise-cancelling earphones and close my eyes. I can’t sleep, but it makes things a little easier.
　But the ringing wouldn’t stop.
That rain-like noise clung to the inside of my skull, refusing to leave.
Inside my head, it was always raining.

And then I met Shigure-san.
I met someone who held an umbrella over the rain falling inside my head.

†

When did I start liking her?
　Looking back, I can’t really say. It feels like it was always there, yet I also sense a distinct turning point.
Probably when Shigure-san was eating Calbee Fruit Granola with his bedhead sticking up all over the place. Or maybe not.
But every time we slept in the same bed, I felt something like heat slowly simmering and thickening deep in my stomach.
　Not being able to sleep unless you’re in the same bed as the person you like? What kind of torture is that, honestly?
And Shigure-san, she definitely looks at me strangely… well, maybe not exactly strangely, but at the very least she thinks I’m cute, or wants to stroke me, or wants to give me a big hug. Yet she just won’t acknowledge me romantically.
　Yet she lets me stay over, understands everything, treats me like a god with her kindness… it was all just too much.
Thanks to that, I nearly blurted it out.
I mustn’t say it.
If I did, I couldn’t sleep in the same bed anymore.
I don’t want that. Seriously, I might die.

　I trace the moonlight filtering through the curtains, gazing at her sleeping face.
Her hair, usually tied back, is loose. Her lips, bare of lipstick, are slightly parted. Her slender neck and collarbone peek out from the neckline of her pyjamas.
How should I put it… it’s erotic.
Shigure-san is erotic. Her very existence is erotic.
Is this what they call adult charm? I don’t know.
　But I still think Shigure-san is special.
I can’t resist, so I pinch her cheek.
It’s soft and squishy.
It’s the kind of softness that could become addictive.
Even after doing this, there’s no reaction, and her breathing remains steady.
Right now, I feel like I could touch her anywhere, however I wanted. No, I wouldn’t. It wouldn’t mean anything unless she was awake.
It wouldn’t mean anything, but…

“…Haa… So utterly defenceless… I want to kiss her…”

Tonight too, my mutterings dissolve hollowly into the night.
The winter sunrise was painfully slow, and it seemed the night would never end.