Translated: Sei, MTL-sensei-tachi
Edited: Sei, Grammarly no Danna
Thank you for your support Saylesma, La Fayette, Jeffery, That's Pretty Mint and Joshua Berry
Prologue | Evening Monologue | Remake our Life!
Part 1
It was 2014. It was December, and the year was about to come to a close.
Late at night, I was riding my bicycle on a dark night road.
Iruma City, where I lived, had a fairly large population and wasn’t exactly a rural town. There was a large multiplex cinema near the station, and Tokorozawa, with its department stores, was nearby. Even if I couldn't find something in a particular place, I could always go to Ikebukuro.
In terms of its functionality as a city, there was nothing particularly noteworthy.
However, even so, once you strayed from the central area around the station, there were many places that became pitch black at night. Unlike the city center, many families lived there, so few people went out at night; it felt as though consideration for those who were out and about late at night was an afterthought.
And I was exactly the type of person who was out and about at that late hour.
"I wish they’d at least put up some streetlights."
My bike light provided only a barely adequate field of vision.
The bishoujo game company I work for, naturally, couldn’t secure a prime location like one right in front of a train station; instead, it was situated right in the middle of an area that turned pitch black at night.
My salary was, as expected, low, so I rented an apartment in an even more remote area than where the company was located. Right now, I was riding my bike along the road leading there.
An old-fashioned dynamo light, the kind you attach to the wheel and spin, hummed with the sound of its motor as it cast a small beam of light ahead.
The bike was secondhand. It was one that had been left in a bike rack and sold off cheaply by the local government at a disposal sale; everything about it, including the light, was nearing the end of its life. But of course, I couldn’t afford to buy a new one.
I didn't think about anything in particular along the way. Thinking about it wouldn't solve anything, and the events of the day were far too painful to reflect on.
Besides, once when I was riding my bike while lost in thought, I didn’t notice a bike coming from the front without its lights on, and I nearly had a head-on collision.
Ever since then, I’ve made a point of concentrating on riding.
But the more I try to clear my mind, the more painfully I realize just how far my days are from being fulfilling.
"Phew..."
My mind had wandered off again.
Realizing this, I hurriedly check ahead.
"That was close..."
I shake my head and pedal on. The motor lets out a brief screech, and the light starts flickering.
"Whoa, did I break it?"
For a moment, I worried it might be broken, but after a while, it started making that grumpy noise again and began performing at its usual level. Relieved, I pedaled on.
No matter what I do, negative thoughts just start swirling around in my head.
They gradually took shape and grew larger, to the point where I wished I could just put them through a juicer and flush them out.
——— read on seireitranslations.blogspot.com ———
Part 2
And even when I finally get home, there’s nothing there to make me feel at ease.
It’s a 30-year-old apartment with a single 6-tatami-mat room, a small kitchen, and a combined bathroom.
I know the walls and floors are thin, so the only things I can do at this late hour are quietly eat convenience store food and play video games with my headphones on.
I even stopped taking showers late at night after someone complained that the noise was too loud, so now I only shower after I wake up in the morning.
"Haa."
I let out a huge, deep sigh and lay down on the bed. All I could see was the dingy ivory-colored ceiling.
The ticking of the alarm clock’s second hand sounded unnaturally loud. When it blended with the sound of my heartbeat, I felt an overwhelming sense of the futility of being alive.
I rolled over in bed and thought back on the day.
"Somehow, today felt like another day with no real sense of accomplishment..."
The development situation wasn’t looking good. The president who wouldn’t budge, no matter how many proposals I made. Staff members are quitting one after another. Users are lashing out with heartless words.
Rather than recalling any one specific thing, it felt as though all of these issues had converged into a whirlpool and were crashing down on me.
"Uwh...Uuuuwh..."
Suddenly, for no reason, tears began to flow.
If I let my guard down, this darkness creeps right into me. They come without warning, make me cry until I’m spent, and then leave.
It was infuriating beyond belief, but there was nothing I could do.
"This won’t do."
Shaking my head, I sat up in bed. If I fell asleep with these thoughts, I could already see myself having terrible dreams and waking up exhausted.
From the bookshelf, which wasn't particularly full of books, I picked up the art book that was easiest to reach. Holding it in both hands, I gazed at the cover, tracing the title, so deeply etched in my memory, with my finger, and just that made me feel like crying again.
"How nice..."
But that feeling was not sadness, but longing.
The first time I became aware of that name was when I saw it on the ferry we took to visit my father’s family home in Kagoshima.
The large sun motif painted on the hull and the name associated with it. That name, etched in my memory along with the joy of the journey, later became the title of a book I came across.
"Sunflower". It is Akishima Shino’s signature art book.
The cover features the smiling face of a girl wearing a straw hat against a strikingly clear blue sky. The illustrations, which vividly depict various seasons and the expressions of the girls connected to them, became an instant sensation after the book’s release.
A book that helps me. A book that always gives me warmth.
Even though I’m supposed to be in a somewhat related industry, her presence felt very distant. Knowing it was futile, I still found myself asking a question.
"Will there ever come a time when I, too, can create something like this?"
It moves people’s hearts deeply and lifts them up from the depths of despair. Creative works possess such a divine power.
For me, this “Sunflower” was precisely that kind of presence.
Since I’m in the creative field, even if only tentatively, I’m determined to get closer to that place someday.
It’s selfish to wish for that, but it was also true that simply wishing wouldn’t get me there.
I opened the art book and lay back down on the bed. Even in the dimly lit room, the spot where the book lay seemed to be bathed in the strong summer sunlight.
"What kind of... person are they?"
What kind of person is this, who gives hope to someone as insignificant, grimy, and empty as me?
Even though I know the creator isn’t the same as the work they created, I still can’t help but wonder.
"It has nothing to do with me, does it?"
But even if I’m curious, I have no way of finding out, and in my life from here on out, I’ll probably never even get the chance to know.
In this tiny room where no one ever visits, a place where even I only return to sleep, I felt a distance within this art book that seemed as vast as eternity.
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