It was the first time in his life he had seen an auto-locking door.
The air surrounding the white marble entrance was cooler than outside. It was mysteriously quiet. He felt as though he were being watched.
He felt so out of place that his eyes took on an imposing and dreadful look as he glared at the mysterious machine before him. It was in a marble stand at about hip level. It had a button, a keyhole, and something that looked like a speaker. There was an automatic door that continued to lead inside, but when he stood in front of it, it made no sign of opening. On his immediate right was the management office, but a note saying “cleaning in progress” indicated that it was deserted. He was sure that he needed to do something with the machine in order to enter the Palmtop Tiger’s pen, but he didn’t know what. Then a voice interrupted his silent pondering. “Good morn…ing…?”
A young woman opened the door. Even while greeting him, she watched him with a suspicious, questioning look.
“G-good morning.”
Ryuuji uneasily lowered his head and slipped through the cracked door. He felt apprehensive entering this way, but no one challenged him.
He went into the elevator and pressed the button for the second floor. When the door opened, he found a carpeted hallway like the one he’d seen in a hotel during a school field trip.
As he wondered what the rent for this must be like, he realized he’d forgotten to ask for the room number. But his anxiety immediately dissipated.
There was only one door in the hallway ahead. It seemed that the Aisakas’ place took up the entire second floor.
“She’s rich. Maybe the rumors are true, then… Her dad might actually be a mobster.”
Deep in thought and just a little nervous (even if it were Aisaka, it was still a girl’s house), he rung the doorbell. But there was no sign of anyone coming to answer, and after a second ring, there was still no response.
There was still time to get to school, but time wasn’t infinite. Remaining hesitant, he gently tried to open the door.
He inhaled sharply. It opened.
“G-good mornin-ng…Aisaka! It’s Takasu!” He peeked inside and called out, “Heeyyy,” but of course no one answered. “Heyyy, heyyyy,” he called again, trespassing through the marbled front entrance.
“…Excuse me…I’m coming in! Is that okay? I-I’m coming in now, okay?”
She’d told him to come—and so he had, out of coercion. Why was he just standing around? Although he was afraid of running into anyone else, especially her father, Ryuuji timidly took off the loafers he had just shined and stepped up onto the hallway flooring in his socks.
As Ryuuji continued inside, he looked around and breathed out a gasp, “Whoa…” From the white wallpaper to the beige flooring and recessed lighting, everything possessed an elegance completely divorced from ordinary rentals. Ryuuji, who actually rather liked interior design, was enthralled. He quietly opened a clouded glass door.
“Ooh! Ooh?”
First, the admiration. Then, the stench.
His admiration was for the living room, over twenty tatami mats in size. The white rug, the light gray sofa, and then the white table and refined chairs, probably hand-picked by a designer. The south-facing window opened up to a striking view of the park trees—a view that had originally belonged to the Takasu household. The muted colors of the furniture enhanced the openness of the living room, while still maintaining a personal touch. It displayed the taste of a professional. Although the glass chandelier showed modern style, it was exquisite. But strangely, there was only a sofa and a chair for one. For a living room this big, it would have been normal to have five or six people’s worth of furniture.
And then the stench—
“It has to be that…”
It was coming from the refined island kitchen.
Although the sink was large, it was piled high with what might have been a fixed installment of dirty plates, bowls, and other dishware, all submerged in filthy water. Just imagining what was going on inside the drain made his body shiver. On top of that, the stainless steel in the kitchen was clouded, but that wasn’t the worst of it.
“Whoaa!”
Here and there were patches of black mold. It was so widespread that he couldn’t help but feel like collapsing in agony. He was drawn in. As he stumbled forward, he made the mistake of swiping the kitchen counter with a shaking pointer finger. Naturally, the sensation he felt could be described as slippery, or slimy, or…
Unforgivable.
Something like this was completely unforgivable. It was a desecration of the kitchen. It was a desecration of daily life. How could it be that while some people put in the effort day in and day out to keep a narrow, terribly tiny, totally dark kitchen like the one in his two-bedroom apartment clean enough to eat off the floor, she had this amazing streamlined kitchen and let it get so… so…!
“AISAKAAAAAAAA!”
Almost flying, Ryuuji started to run. After seeing a sight like this, he couldn’t stand idly by.
“Let me…somehow… Just let me…CLEAN THIS KITCHEN!”
Ryuuji felt as though something inside him were about to burst open. Veins popping, he stalked around the living room like a bullet, but he couldn’t find Aisaka. Then, eyes sparkling dangerously with excitement, he discovered a sliding door.
“This is it!”
He forcefully threw open the door and…
“…Oh.”
He had been completely right. But somehow…it was a complete failure.
Aisaka Taiga was there.
With things so placid, Ryuuji instinctively shut his mouth and held his breath.
It was a quiet room with a high ceiling, and curtains hung from the north facing windows. Frilly dresses were strewn about here and there on the pure white carpet. In one corner of the room, there was a desk and a chair, which were naturally also pure white, and at the center of the room was a bed with a canopy of white lace.
It was Aisaka Taiga’s bedroom.
Aisaka herself was curled up, sleeping quietly alone in the middle of the bed. Her long hair was scattered over the sheets, and she seemed to be sinking into the mattress, guarded by lace.
The phone receiver was at the head of the bed, and the Takasu household’s window was just visible through a crack in the curtain.
“…You fell back asleep.”
Only the susurrations of her even breathing quietly reverberated through the bedroom.
Unable to come closer, Ryuuji just watched Aisaka as she slept. It wasn’t like he wanted to watch her, but he just couldn’t take his eyes off her.
She was bundled in baggy pajamas, which made her already thin and dainty limbs seem even more petite. Her high cheekbones were currently at peace and seemed transparent, as though they had been shaped from water that could evaporate at any moment. Her small nose, her half-open small mouth, her long closed eyelashes… Aisaka Taiga quietly sunk into the ocean of sheets with only her breathing to indicate that she was alive.
This wasn’t his lively classmate gone to sleep, but a scene from a made-up fairy tale world.
She’s like Sleeping Beauty, he thought, somewhat girlishly, but then corrected himself.
No, this wasn’t a princess.
She wasn’t a princess—she was the doll the princess had forgotten. It would open its eyes if it were just lifted up, but because it was forgotten, the small doll continued to sleep.
The bed the doll was sleeping in, this room, this house, they too belonged to the princess, not the doll. That was why everything was too big. That was why nothing was the right size for her.
But Aisaka was a person, and this house was Aisaka’s house—wait a minute, what had happened to her family?
Ryuuji spun around, looking at the house that had once again fallen silent. He squinted his eyes. A single chair. One sofa. Aisaka was the only one here. Your family? he asked silently, and Aisaka seemed to shake her head from side to side as she slept alone.
He looked at his wristwatch. There was still time before they needed to go to school.
Somehow managing to avoid waking her, Ryuuji quietly left the room. He closed the door without making a sound. If she weren’t awake to go to school at the last minute, he would get her up then.
Once he had put some space between him and the quiet bedroom, Ryuuji slowly took off his school jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
“Right!”
The grungy, custom-fitted kitchen towered before his sharp gaze. He had fifteen minutes. Man versus filthy stainless steel. The best-of-one match began in earnest…