Chapter 99

BLANKMIND WORDS 2 Suddenly, my mind focused on the blurred sunlight on the other side of my eyelids. I opened my eyes and blinked a few times, as the senses in my previously sleeping body gradually stirred and awoke. That body, afloat and bobbing among the soothing waves of sound like a clear plastic bag, slowly regained its plodding weight—forcing me to feel the full shape of my form as it remained sunken in bed. “Oh man,” I said, lowering my eyebrows. “I wish I could’ve slept a little longer.” But it was too late. I was a light sleeper to begin with. In a state like this, I had no way of making a return to that realm. Resigned to my fate, I removed my earbuds. My ears were relieved of the pressure, and gradually blood flow returned. Turning off the music, I lay there while my eardrums were instead rattled by all the “sounds” that composed the real world. The hateful, blunt, pounding sounds of the outside world. I sighed and propped up my heavy body. In the hopelessly ornate full-length mirror placed in front of me, I could see an equally extravagant canopy bed reflected back. The bleary-eyed, worn-out-looking person seated in the middle of it looked into the image. “…Morning.” The image’s mouth moved in tandem with mine. Another odious morning began. I stretched out my arms and looked toward the window. The bright, cheerful light of spring was working its way through the flowers of the dogwood tree outside, displaying a constant flicker. There was still a crispness in the air, but this tree always bloomed early, and it was showing signs of going into full flower soon. The wavering light-pink petals brought the term “delicate flower” to mind. Delicate flower. Truthfully, I liked the way the words sounded, but I had always associated a negative image with the phrase. If anything, it provoked me to anger a little. My name was “Tsubomi.” It was a word that, in Japanese, referred to a flower bud that hadn’t bloomed. I once asked my mom why she used a word like that for my name. I think she had said it was because “it’s a sign of all the potential you have—the potential to grow into your own delicate flower.” I suppose a normal girl would jump up and down and shout, “Wow! That’s such a cute name! Thank you, Mother!” And that was how everyone reacted whenever they heard my name. Every single one. They always said, “What a lovely name that is” or whatever. A word that the entire world loved. Delicate and filled with potential. “…And what the hell’s so delicate about you?” The image in the mirror defiantly glowered with a half-asleep glare. This was no budding flower. If anything, it was more like some kind of noxious weed. There was nothing at all about the name Tsubomi that suited me. Every time someone called me that, I felt like they were sneering. Like, “What’s so cute and bud-like about you, huh?” I hated to say it to my mom, but to be honest, there wasn’t much about the name that I liked. As my mind filled with gloom, I could see delicate little Tsubomi in the mirror clouding up her face in tandem, expression as dim as a burned-out bulb. I decided to finally get out of bed. Putting on the slippers I had thrown off to the side the previous night, I began to walk toward the door. The place was fully air-conditioned—a comfortable temperature, not too warm. I trod along the carpet, decorated with symbolic patterns of some kind or another, and just as I almost reached the door, I heard knocking sounds. “Ee…?!” I instinctively let out a languid yelp, wholly unprepared. It wasn’t hot in that room, but I felt an uncomfortable sweat begin to form across my whole body. My mind began to race. Mentally diagnosing how to correctly handle the knock, I immediately opened my mouth. And kept it there. It stayed open…But no matter what, I just couldn’t get the words to come out. “You’re awake, aren’t you, Tsubomi? If you’re awake, why don’t you answer me?” It was a cold, ringing voice on the other side of the door, as meticulously crafted as a high-quality obi, and it had strength behind it. I froze, like a frog in the sights of a snake. No doubt about it. She was on the other side. I’d have to give the correct words in response, or…or… But the more I thought about it, the more my mind began to jumble. Time passed. “…All right, I’m opening up,” the voice said curtly as the door whirled open. There was my older sister, Rin Kido, the owner of the voice that froze me. Her hair, which had a little red to it, was tied back, her back straight up as she stood there. This early in the morning, and yet her posture didn’t reveal a single weakness. Rin in Japanese could mean “dignified,” but also “cold” and “bitter,” and I didn’t think anyone had ever been given a more suitable name. She was great at everything—intelligent, beautiful, physically active. Nobody in this nation bore the name Rin better. And here was this girl with a killer case of bed head, fresh from putting herself on the same level as weeds, trying to make her mouth work. “Uhh…hhmmm…good, good mor…” My sister sighed at the barely comprehensible syllables I uttered, forehead wrinkling in a show of pity, I assumed. “Tsubomi, you know I’m not here to try to scare you or anything, okay?” I knew that, of course. I knew she wasn’t the kind of person to get off on scaring me, and I also knew why that graceful face of hers was pouting at me. But even though I did, I just couldn’t connect my head to my mouth. No matter the reason, I just couldn’t say more than: “Yes. Yes, I do.”