Tokyo Puts on Fake Smiles

SEVENTH ACT: Cowards Isolate

The Principle of the Devouring Time

At the beginning of my cohabitation with Kazuhiro, I wasn't really interested in his life. I greeted him, scolded him, and, above all, avoided him. Like someone observing their predator and studying them meticulously from a distance, I tried to understand his way of thinking. I sought a reason that would explain his unusual behavior.

Unlike Makoto, Kazuhiro seemed driven by the most impure, polluted, and vicious hedonism. He enjoyed everything being exciting, vivid, and precious. It's possible that a part of me envied that carefree philosophy and, as a result, my scorn for him became more pronounced.

After all, I was still a coward, a lamb that, once lost to the wolf, trembled without daring to decide, to act, or to speak. Time was running out; there wasn't much left before being devoured.

Ironically, the devourer was none other than time itself.

☻☻☻

During that week, for some reason, Miyazaki retreated into his rebellious shell, resisting every one of my questions: he dodged them, avoiding our meetings and forcing me to play board games through deceit and blackmail. Each time I promised myself I would go complain to my boss, Yamada, and ask for a replacement, fear and embarrassment would take over, and unable to, I would swallow my frustration and try again to get Miyazaki to cooperate, without success.

I also couldn't turn my back on my other responsibilities, and, both tormented and exhausted, I stayed up one, two, even three hours longer each night. Megumi tried to cheer me up, excited about Friday's festival, but only managed to stress me out more.

Fortunately or unfortunately, Thursday arrived, the prelude to the big day. Yes, it arrived. After hours trapped in my office, I was finally able to return home around 8:00 p.m. It was early compared to how late I usually stayed at Cinderella's building, but it was late considering how tired I was.

After taking off my shoes at the entrance, I walked with half-closed eyelids, entered the living room without even turning on the light, and threw myself onto the sofa. The hallway was also dark, so I assumed no one was home and decided to take a nap before taking a shower.

"Ayumi!" I heard. Abruptly, the bright ceiling light struck my eyelids, and struggling not to burn my corneas, I slowly opened my eyes. Rubbing my eyes, I managed to sit up and tried to focus on the person in front of me.

Purple hair, hard, defined yet feminine features, a straight nose, and full red lips. She wore a large, loose t-shirt. Her huge star-shaped earrings sparkled. "Miyo..." recognizing her, I jumped, "¡¿Miyoko?!"

I recognized the t-shirt she was wearing, black with the phrase Rock and Fest embroidered in red; it was one of Miyazaki's pajamas, I was sure of it. "No, it can't be..." I swallowed, "what are you doing here?"

"Well..." the whine in her voice betrayed her nervousness. Her hands gripped the end of the t-shirt, trying to cover her bare legs, "Kazuhiro and I had plans, and when I arrived..."

"Enough!" I exclaimed. "I don't want details, thanks" I sighed.

I felt my anger grow and grow until I felt a burning stab in my neck. Overwhelmed, I let my hair down and, in an instant, stood up, avoided Miyoko's gaze, and headed towards Miyazaki's room.

Without even knocking on the door, I stormed in and slammed it shut behind me.

Shirtless and disheveled, he turned towards me, "What are you doing here?"