Episode Twenty

So, on Sunday, we headed to a bedding specialist shop in Tokyo called ‘Night Harmony’.
We were there to have a custom-made pillow made for Ibara, one where the height and softness could be adjusted.
Being custom-made, it was quite pricey, but even after hearing the cost, Ibara looked perfectly unfazed.
Just how much do agency-affiliated idols earn, I wonder? Perhaps she’s far wealthier than I am.
　Even so.
On the way to the shop, I took another look at Ibara.

“How can I put it… you’ve transformed, haven’t you?”

“Right?”

Ibara snorted smugly.

“I practised properly back in the day. Today, I’m going all out.”

Today’s Ibara was even more unrecognisable than last time.
　The sporty outfit was the same, but today she wasn’t wearing a cap.
Instead, her hair colour and length were different. And glasses.
Usually, it was loose, wavy, light brown, semi-long hair, but today it was medium-length wolf hair. Black too.
She even had earrings in her ears, and it was… well… absolutely gorgeous. If she played bass, she’d probably be insanely popular. With girls.

“So, is that… a wig?”

I ask in a low voice.

“Yep. Oh, right. Make sure you’ve thought about the cover story too.”

“Cover story?”

“What would you say if you bumped into someone you knew? How would you introduce me?”

“Ah…”

True enough, I couldn’t exactly blurt out, “She’s a high school girl I’m sort of living with for reasons.” Social death. I’d be finished.

“Like sisters, or a cousin who’s come up to the city… or, uhh, a girlfriend?”

I immediately dismissed that last option.
Before even considering gender, it’d make me an adult woman obsessed with a teenage idol. Game over…….

Wouldn’t a woman letting a former teenage idol stay at her place be pretty much the same thing…?
I stopped thinking about it too deeply.

“Well, I suppose sisters would be fine. Making it too complicated risks things falling apart. I haven’t told anyone at work about my family anyway.”

“…If it’s alright with you, Shigure-san, sisters is fine.”

Why does she look dissatisfied…?
Well, admittedly, me and Ibara being sisters would be unnatural.

“Maybe sisters is weird after all. Our faces are completely different.”

“Hmm, as long as you carry yourselves confidently, it should be fine, right? There are loads of sisters who don’t look alike.”

“Really?”

“It’s fine. Right, big sis!”

Along with that unfamiliar word, she threw herself at me and clung to my arm.

“B-big sis⁉︎”

“You see, with this sort of thing, it’s important to really get into character. For today, Shigure-san is my kind big sister. Also, ‘Ibara’ is forbidden.”

Eeeeeh.
Seriously, you, with that look, calling me big sis?

“Forbidden? Then what am I supposed to call Ibara?”

“I-I-Iba… Huh? Isn’t it hard to rearrange my name?! What’s wrong with you?!”

“Puff.”

Unexpectedly, she snapped back. I couldn’t help but laugh.

In the end, no coincidences arose to make use of this forced ‘setup’ before we reached the shop, and we didn’t run into any acquaintances. Thank goodness.
Actually, come to think of it, I could’ve just introduced her as a friend normally.
What an idiot I am.

†

“Got some great shopping done!”

“That’s brilliant.”

Having successfully purchased our custom-made pillow, we stopped by Starbucks on the way back.
　I ordered the new latte hot, while Ibara went for the seasonal Frappuccino.
Seriously, Frappuccino? It’s November now. You’ll catch a chill.
But then again, that’s the thing about being teenagers, isn’t it? Not caring about such things.
Sitting on the sofa seats, snapping photos of my latte cup alongside the Mont Blanc I’d ordered on a whim, Ibara piped up, straw clenched between her teeth.

“Big sis, do you use social media?”

“Are you still going on about that? Yeah, I do. IsoSta and Zex.”

“Come to think of it, I never asked for your account details.”

“True, now that you mention it…”

There hadn’t been any particular reason to tell her, so it had just stayed that way.
Well, it wouldn’t matter if she knew my account anyway, I thought, picking up my fork. My eyes met Ibara’s, which were shining brightly.

“I want to know. Tell me your account.”

“Ehh…”

“Let’s follow each other back.”

“Now, now.”

You know how they check who’s following who, don’t you? Keep it in check.
Just as I thought that, she waved her hands, saying no, no.

“It’s not my old account, obviously. I changed the password ages ago and can’t log in anymore.”

“Huh, so you do have one after all.”

“My main account? Yeah, the agency checked everything.”

Well, that makes sense.

“What kind of posts does my sister usually make?”

“Normal stuff. I could tell you, but I doubt you’d find it interesting at all.”

Photos of eating out, work complaints, thoughts on books I read. Truly ordinary.
Even so, Ibarara wouldn’t give up, pleading “Tell me, tell me!” so I ended up giving in.
　Soon, one follower and one following increased.
Since I was at it, I checked Ibara’s posts.
Her icon was the default, and her tweets were all trivial chatter. No hinting at anything, just a pure wall-punching account. She followed a fair number of accounts herself, so that must be her goal.
Surprisingly, she rarely posted late at night. When I asked why, she said, “Smartphone blue light isn’t good for sleep.”
　In her own way, she was seriously confronting her illness. On sleepless nights, she apparently just lay in bed listening to music.

Not that it was an afterthought, but I did take a look at her main account too.
　This one, unsurprisingly, has a different order of magnitude in followers.
However, (as expected) it hasn’t been updated for quite some time, and the last post was an announcement of her hiatus.
Over a hundred reposts trail behind a tweet featuring an image of her apology letter.
I decided not to look at the content.
Both the affirmations and denials directed at Ibara felt equally unsettling.

　Instead, scrolling through past posts, photos with girls who seemed to be members of ‘Charles’ appeared in droves.
Each one sparkled on the screen, giving the distinct impression, ah, this girl was properly doing the idol thing.
The reason every photo looked so incredibly fresh was surely because Ibara’s eyes didn’t have those dark circles in them.
There seemed to be a lot of two-shots with the girl with the short black hair, in particular.

“Ibara, are you close with this girl?”

“Which one? Ah—Hime, right? Yeah, I suppose so. She’s the Cinderella girl.”

The members of ‘Charles’, the group Ibara belonged to, each took their motif from a fairy tale written by Charles Perrault.
Fittingly cast as Cinderella, probably the most famous of the Charles tales, this girl was exceptionally pretty.
　Unlike Ibara, who’s all about cuteness, she has this perfect blend of sweetness and coolness – the very picture of a proper singing and dancing idol.
Actually, it’s not just her and Ibara; everyone in ‘Charles’ is ridiculously good-looking. No wonder they’re so popular.

“Ah, the stage costumes are here. Wow, they’re cute. You dance in these?”

“Would you like to try it on, sis? Shall I lend it to you?”

“No, no, no, absolutely not!”

What a terrifying thing to say at twenty-four.

“It would definitely suit you, sis.”

“That’s impossible…”

Glancing at her hands, I saw she was doing the same thing as me.
That is, scrolling through my past posts. Even though I keep telling her there’s nothing interesting in them.

“──Ah”

Ibara let out a rather abrupt cry.

“What is it?”

“I forgot to buy the pillowcase. I meant to get it together with you.”

“Oh…”

I’d forgotten too.

“I’ll pop back to that shop.”

“Shall I come with you?”

“Nah, it’s fine. I’ll just pick something out and be back. You look after the bags.”

“Right.”

I downed the last of my Frappuccino and stood up.
Ibara left the café straight away.
Well, given how much she’d had, she’d be back in no time.
　I was left alone.
Somehow, it felt like it had been ages since I’d had a moment like this, all by myself.
Thinking about it calmly, that couldn’t be true. I had moments alone on the commuter train, or on weekend afternoons – I had quite a bit of time to myself.
But weekend afternoons were spent chasing after accumulated housework, and commuting time was a given. Time like this, where I could just switch off and think of nothing, might actually have been surprisingly rare.
Put another way, it meant I’d been dedicating that much time to…
　To a girl named Shinomori Ibara.
I look down at the custom-made pillow for Ibara inside the carrier bag.
This brings Ibara one step closer to a good night’s sleep, does it? I can’t be sure how effective it will be.
But I don’t think it’s a bad thing.
Perhaps this pillow alone could help her sleep.
It suddenly occurs to me.
If that happens, will I be out of a job?
　Not long ago, I wished for that.
I hoped Ibara would recover and peacefully return to her old life, or so I thought.
But now?
Do I wish for days without Ibara?
I take a sip of the latte in my hand.
The white chocolate-flavoured coffee has grown lukewarm without me noticing.

　—No, no.

There’s no point dwelling on it.
Besides, however cheerful she might appear on the surface, Ibara is still suffering.
If she’s going to university, next year she’ll be a student preparing for entrance exams. Things can’t stay as they are.
There’s no use thinking about the future. First, Ibara needs to be able to sleep.
I finish the last of my latte and casually glance around the floor.

Time stands still for an instant.

　A woman on the floor stopped in her tracks and was looking at me.
There was no mistaking it; it was a face I knew.
Her lips, painted with a pale shade of lipstick, moved.

“──… Ame?”

“Ame” from “Ame” no Umi Toki (Rain Sea Time).
My close friends from art college days called me that.

The girl standing before me now, Hinata Haru, was one of them.