Episode One Hundred and Ten

It had been quite some time since I’d woken up alone.
Though I had the semi-double bed all to myself and the bed itself wasn’t uncomfortable, my mind felt foggy, as if a haze had settled over it.
My head felt heavy, and an unpleasant sensation, like the onset of a cold, had settled deep in my nose, stinging sharply whenever I drew breath.
　It really might be a cold.
Even if I take medicine, I ought to have something in my stomach first.

My appetite wasn’t great, but seeing the eggs in the fridge reminded me of the rich, cloying sweetness of the French toast Ibara used to make.
I took out two eggs and some butter, warming the frying pan.
It was around the end of February, I think, when I made her a lighter French toast, not soaking the bread right through to the core.
　She’d said she didn’t like it when the egg soaked right through, finding it a bit raw, so I’d just dipped the surface lightly. She’d eaten it with such delight.
That innocent smile she’d show at times like that was like a little girl’s, so adorable it made me want to cry.

“…Ah.”

Blimey.
While I’d been spacing out, the French toast had burnt.
I scrambled to peel it off and stuffed only the seemingly safe bits into my mouth.
　Even so, the burnt sugar mixed in was terribly bitter.

The whole weekend was like that, one thing leading to another.
I couldn’t get anything done, just watching foreign dramas on Netflix, wasting my time.
Monday passed, Tuesday dawned, and even by Wednesday, Ibara hadn’t come back.
We were still messaging on the chat app. But the replies were always the same.

‘Sorry, looks like it’ll take a bit longer.’

I couldn’t tell if the discussions were progressing or not. Pressing for details only led to evasive answers, and phone calls went unanswered.
In short, I was being rebuffed.
I was being told it was a family matter, that it had nothing to do with me.

On Wednesday morning, a message arrived from Shizuku.

‘Ibara hasn’t been to school. Is something wrong? Is she ill?’

After hesitating for a while, I simply replied, ‘She’s gone back to her parents’ place. There’s been a lot going on.’
Truthfully, I don’t know either. What on earth happened to Ibara?
I got myself ready and murmured a quiet ‘I’m off’ into the empty living room.
Naturally, there was no reply.
　Two bespoke pillows lay side by side on the bed. One had a towel-cloth cover that was rumpled, while the other remained perfectly pristine.
I found myself thinking, please.
Please, let that child not be suffering through sleepless nights.

†

There was no way I could work in this state.
　Every day, I think that until I arrive at the office, yet somehow, the moment I sit at my desk, my hands automatically launch the illustration software.
I letter the typed product name, insert the stock photo, type in the text, and adjust the line spacing.
I print the finished design, review it three times with a red pen in hand, yet find not a single typo or mistake.
Even I was impressed by my own efficiency. It was infuriating, really.

“Amami-kun, can I have a word?”

“Yes.”

Moving to the meeting room, Shindo-san projected a PowerPoint onto the display.
The assignment was a straightforward job.
The product name, target audience, concept, and key visuals were all set; it was subcontracted work just to finalise the specific design. Probably wouldn’t take much time at all.
　It was unremarkable, but our work often relied on these secondary and tertiary subcontracts.
Advertising was diverse. Graphic design was merely one part of it.
Web promotions, SNS marketing, SEO strategies, YouTube, television commercials, station advertising…
The familiar company name listed as the client overseeing the entire promotion was one we recognised.

Shirahodo Holdings.

I hadn’t consciously intended anything in particular.
As if continuing a casual conversation, I asked:

“We do quite a lot of work for Shirahodo, don’t we?”

“Eh? Ah, well, we are a small-to-medium design production company, aren’t we?”

“True.”

　Why did I ask that just now?
The moment I thought that, sparks flew in my mind as the threads of thought connected.
The reason Ibara changed her mind.
Could it be…
Could it be… that it’s my fault?
My work is graphic design, essentially advertising.
　So there’s always been a connection with the industry’s two giants, including Shirahodo.
Ibara is the daughter of the founding family, the principal shareholders who’ve owned it since the start.
I don’t know the details, but I’ve heard that a certain Japanese car manufacturer, supposedly the nation’s largest owner-managed company, has appointed many of its successive presidents from the founder’s lineage.
If that’s the case, just how much authority do Ibara’s parents hold over the company?
　For example.
For example - wouldn’t it be easy for them to cut off a small agency from clients, leaving them to completely dry up?

“Bast——!”

I clapped my hand over my mouth on reflex.
Shindo-san gives me a puzzled look.

“Bas?”

“Ba, ba—— Banner! What should we do about the design for this banner?!”

“Eh. No, we can decide that once the main product design is finalised.”

“Right, sorry about that! I’ll rough out some drafts matching the tone and manner.”

Somehow I managed to gloss over it and returned to my desk.
This time, I genuinely couldn’t focus on work.
It might just be my imagination.
But if that sudden change of heart, that shadow of rejection like a thin membrane, stemmed from guilt towards me…

　—Idiot.

I really am an idiot.
She’s younger than me, so why does she try to protect me?
It should be the other way round. I’m the one who wants to protect her.
I want to pamper her, wrap her in care, shield her from unpleasantness and hardship, from cold, relentless rain and long, dark nights, keep her safe forever. That’s what I want.

　†

That day, I finished work on time and dashed over to Sereno.
Seeing my face, Aki-san shook her head slightly.
As expected, Ibara hadn’t returned yet.
The morning after she stormed out of my room, Ibara apparently packed her things alone and left without a moment’s pause.
Both Aki-san and I share the same concern for Ibara.
But.

“Could you take me to Ibara’s house after all?”

When I said that, Aki-san made a bitter face and said, “Sorry.”

“Like I said before, I’ve cut ties with my family. They’re relatives, but I’d be turned away at the gate.”

“But Ibara is…”

Perhaps she’d gone back home for my sake.
Ibara said she’d persuade her parents. But was that even possible?
　If they really are the kind of people who would resort to something resembling blackmail.
A heavy silence descended.
Eventually, Aki-san muttered something I couldn’t tell was a joke or serious: “If she doesn’t come back, maybe we round up some people and storm the place.”

“I’ll come too.”

“Don’t do that. You look like you’d be useless in a fight. And it’s the Miyazono house we’re talking about.”

“Miyazono?”

“Ah, it’s the surname of Ibara. Meaning, it’s my surname too.”

I hadn’t known that.
Come to think of it, I’d never heard Aki-san’s full name.

“Shinomori is her mother’s maiden name. I suppose she thought the Miyazono surname would attract unwanted attention in showbiz. Apart from the agency president and such, she usually kept it hidden.”

“Is that so…”

Immediately after we met, she asked me to call her by her first name.
What must Ibara have been feeling back then?
Even now, looking back, I can’t fathom that girl’s heart. But.
…If we’re storming the place, I suppose it’d have to be a helmet and a metal bat.
The moment I imagined myself in full battle gear and winced at how utterly useless I’d look my phone rang.
An unregistered number. A courier or something, perhaps?

“──Hello, this is Amami.”

‘I’m terribly sorry to call at this hour. My name is Shinomori Kikuno.’

The voice I heard over the phone sounded just a little like Ibara’s.