𝐎𝐁𝐑𝐀 𝐌𝐀𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐀 ➤ sanzu haruchiyo.

One.

01. BEAUTIFUL STRANGER

——

Her sweat trickled down on her temple to her chin, then dropping on her lap. She cautiously looked at the wall clock near her bed and was surprised to see it ticking slowly, its hand pointing at 3 o'clock.

Wiping down her sweat she laid back, forcefully closing her eyes, muttering a 'let's sleep' for a hundred times. Y/n already lost track of how many times she woke up that night.

Every time her body relaxes, her mind keeps waking up and jolting her awake.

When counting sheep still didn't work, she stood up and grabbed her last resort. Sleeping pills.

Chugging down a few tablets, she went back to bed and painfully shut her eyes close, wishing she'll be allowed to take even a single wink of sleep. God knows how much she needed sleep.

If we were to count how many hours she spent sleeping for the week, it would only be six hours. There are days that she doesn't sleep even for a second, her bed left untouched.

She calls it a complete miracle when drowsiness visits her now and then. But that's rarely, often not.

As the pills took effect, her consciousness drifted away from her preoccupied mind, and slowly ever so peacefully, she was lulled to sleep.

—

The new employee almost shut her eyes close when y/n raised her voice a little. She was mad at how incompetent the new cleaner was.

"I told you. I specified that you needed to clean even the frames. didn't the other janitors teach you how to do it?"

It was unusual for y/n to be mad at anything, and she doesn't easily get pissed, but when she did, it's completely terrifying.

People who met her for the first time will have the impression of someone very kind, appealing, full of empathy, and has a very gentle personality. They view her as the person who doesn't know how to shout but in reality, her attitude betrays all positive conceptions about Y/n.

"I'm so sorry," fear and embarrassment mixed upon the employee's face, skin almost pale white.

"Do you think a simple apology will make you do a better job? Quit dawdling around and move your hands."

"I'm sorry!"

She rolled her eyes as she watched the employee almost trip as she ran.

Above all kinds of people, Y/n hates incompetent people and those who don't know how to work for themselves. She hates idiots. She hates uneducated living beings.

As she began walking and surveying the whole art gallery which she owns, her metal heels created an intimidating sound against the tiled floor.

Click, clack, click, clack.

All of the workers in the gallery know this sound. Once it's heard echoing all over the place, it means they should move their hand, move their feet, move even if they weren't tasked to do anything, just move. Fast.

"Hey, Ms. yamaka."

Abruptly, the person who owns the name Yamaka dashed towards her, bowing the moment she was standing in front of the boss.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"An art exhibit will be conducted here in two weeks, I'll leave the preparations in your hands. I only take yes for an answer."

"Of course. Leave it to me."

Her eyebrows furrowed, "When you say 'leave it to me' i do hope you do a great job."

and so sudden, like a waterfall, all of Ms. Yamaka's confidence fell on her toes, being replaced with nothing but unease.

After her business in the gallery, she went straight to her office, removing her coat with a sigh. As expected, the pills only lasted for a couple of hours, it wore off too fast causing her to be awake too early.

She stretched her arms and feet under the table while her eyes surveyed her mini-office. The only furniture inside was her small glass table adorned with a tiny name bar and a cute calendar with a stand, then a little couch on the side, other than that the whole place was trashed with different canvas and paintings— mostly unfinished and empty.

Being sleep deprived, her senses were quite heightened rather than weakened, and her eyes spotted a clean canvas right beside a painting of a bridge.

She went to pick it up and placed it neatly on her table. In all honesty, she hasn't finished any artwork ever since sleep became too much of a work.

Y/n owns a multi-millionaire art gallery, known for having hundreds of artworks that cost no less than a hundred thousand. They've been subject to stealing, conning, and even arson due to insecurity.

But Y/n, being an artist herself, was in a slump lately. She's been questioning her creativity which contributes to her stress and anxiety.

To start with, her dreams— nightly dreams are her source of inspiration to paint new things, but having lost the ability to sleep and produce dreams, it was tough for her.

She already consulted the best doctors in the town to look for her condition and sadly, they only prescribe her sleeping pills or tell her she's stressed and caused insomnia. And that doesn't reassure her a bit.

She's tired and needs rest, but if resting isn't even something she could do easily, then what could make her regain all her strength? When she could already feel the veins in her eyes about to burst?

A knock on her door almost made her jump, "Come in."

"Y-you asked me to make your milk earlier." Her eyes raked the girl from head to toe before she dismissed her, letting out a scoff when she saw a stain on her cloth.

I just want to sleep, she thought, staring into the empty canvas in front of her, and while she does so her visions start to get blurry then darker and darker, and before she knew it, she already fell asleep.

—

Numb and tired from running miles, her feet gave up, knees landing on the soft mud. She looked back and noticed how her pursuers were already gone.

She doesn't know why someone was running after her so she runs with no mind, and her feet lead her to an open field with nothing but corn plants.

A huff escaped her lips as she tried to stand up again but failed with her shaking legs.

"Here, take my hand," a voice ever so soothing made her lift her gaze, and what met it was a pair of blue sapphire eyes, staring right into her soul, a hand offered at her.

With hesitation she took the offer and raised to her feet. "Thank you," she thanked the stranger.

He looked quite young in her perspective but they were just around the same age. His peculiar pink mullet hair shadowed his forehead making him a lot more attractive, it emphasized his well-sculpted jaw. Though the shape of his eyes and lips made him look like some adonis. Added the fact that the scar near his lips pasted like an accessory.

"Are you hurt?"

"You're funny," Y/n chuckled upon hearing such a silly question from the gentlemen. But as far as the stranger knows there wasn't anything rather funny on his question, so he finds her intriguing.

"What?"

"It's funny, I have never heard that phrase before. No one even cares if I was hurt or if I'm dying... so hearing it from a stranger sounds so... amusing."

And with that, the man's face contorted with sadness, looking at Y/n as if she's a puppy drenched in the rain. He was sad for her. He felt emotions for her.

"So... are you okay?"

It took her a moment to answer. "I am," she smiled.

And he smiled back, bewitching the woman in front of him.

Ah, he's beautiful, she thought, completely unaware that the stranger is a product of the creative dream she's been waiting for.