The Dragon and the Freckled Princess

Translator: Lemon

Editor: Lovable Translation

 

Suzu

 

*Gasp!

I rose abruptly, pushing the thin blanket aside, and took in deep breaths.

 

I almost bumped my head against the low ceiling, the seedy attic of a countryside location, with rafters supporting the roof almost touching.

 

“Hagh… agh… hagh.”

 

It’s morning, and the sunlight is bright.

 

The sensation from the dazzling world I was just in still lingered. I closed my eyelids, attempting to grasp onto the fragments. 

 

I distinctly remember. I was surely, standing on the tip of a whale’s nose, singing with a sense of tranquility, adorned in a splendid outfit.

 

When I opened my eyes, all that lay in front of me was a phone with a dark, lifeless display. The sun’s rays illuminated my reflection on the dark screen.

 

 Wearing pajamas that had grown stale since middle school, bed hair in disarray, eyes half-closed, and freckles sprinkled across my cheeks.

 

Those freckles weigh on me, bringing a sense of melancholy and unease, causing an involuntary sigh to escape my lips.

 

“Sigh.”

 

Suddenly,

 

“Suzu?”

 

My father’s voice drifted up from the first floor. “Is something the matter?”

 

I felt flustered.

 

Could he have heard the sounds earlier? After all, this room isn’t soundproof; it’s just the unremarkable chamber of a seventeen-year-old girl. The only way to muffle sound was to huddle beneath the covers. 

 

Was my voice louder than usual? If that’s the case… a tinge of regret brought a clammy sensation to my skin.

 

“N-Nothing…!!!”

 

I answered hastily, still on all fours.

 

What if he suspects something and decides to come up? Realistically, I doubt he would, but what if he did…

 

‘”Ah!!”

 

My hand slipped, and with a thud, I clumsily fell onto my face.

 

 

 

 

After changing into my uniform, I descended the stairs.

 

There were no signs of my father; he was likely preparing for work.

 

I opened the porch door to let Fuga out and allow the refreshing morning breeze to waft in.

 

 I quickly wiped down the living room and kitchen floors, tidied up the magazines strewn across the table, placed a garden flower into a vase next to a picture frame in the kitchen, put a teabag in a mug, and poured hot water. Steam swirled upward, carrying the fragrance of black tea.

 

 In the photograph, Mother was once again smiling.

 

I fed Fuga, who waited patiently in the backyard. Due to faint streaks of brown within the white fur, Fuga appeared slightly discolored from a distance, resembling a neglected dog. The right front paw had been lost due to an injury, severed in a trap intended for wild boars. 

 

Fuga ate with a precarious balance, one pink-skinned leg raised in the air. Had Fuga been seen as a pitiable creature until we rescued him? As I sipped tea on the porch, I observed Fuga.

 

My father, his tanned skin concealed by a navy shirt, emerged from the garage, a backpack of work tools slung over his shoulder.

 

“Suzu, do you need a ride there?”

 

I responded without setting down the mug, still keeping an eye on Fuga.

 

“…I’m fine.”

 

“Dinner?”

 

“…I’m fine.”

 

“…Alright then, I’ll be on my way.”

 

My father’s expression must have been troubled. I didn’t need to see it. The engine of the four-wheel drive roared to life. Gear shift, then descent down the slope. The sound of tires crunching gravel faded into the distance.

 

How long had it been since we exchanged glances? How much time had passed since we had a proper conversation? How long ago did we last share a meal together?

 

*Ping*, a notification chimed.

 

A bubble popped up.. 

 

“Belle is the most beautiful woman U created.”

 

Suddenly, all the words of the world transformed and became comprehensible in an instant.

 

“Extremely Unique and Rare Music” 

 

“Belle’s song exudes confidence”

 

 “The most noticed among 50 million accounts”

 

Word bubbles appeared one after another, as if racing to be the first, surrounding Belle’s icon. However, I didn’t experience any happiness or pride. What ever attention Belle received, was none of my business. I retreated into my shell, my lips still pressed against the chipped mug.

 

One particular comment bubble was noticeably expanding. This feature allowed the most popular comments to grow larger, highlighting them. Among the multitude of comments, the most prevalent was,

 

“Who is Belle, really?”

 

Hum, Fuga raised its head, as if sensing my contemplative mood.

 

 

 

 

Most people probably don’t realize, but the Shikoku/Kochi prefecture boasts a climate enriched by steep mountains overlooking crystal-clear streams, creating a charming, radiant blue. 

 

Over 150 years ago, a number of individuals from here ignited a radical revolution in feudal society, something we also take pride in. We rank high nationally in terms of daylight hours and alcohol consumption. Whether due to that or not, we are often described as frank and cheerful. However, even in such an environment, there are children who dwell in darkness, perpetually looking downward. 

 

I am one of them.

 

Nestled in the corner of the village, surrounded by approximately 30 houses on sloping terrain, stands my house. Beneath my gaze flows the Niyodo River, linked to the opposite bank by an underwater bridge. This bridge lacks columns, constructed to withstand swelling waters and prevent it from being washed away. As long as this bridge remains, I will cross it every day. Today, the Niyodo River appeared calm and blue as ever.

 

Occasionally, travelers arrive in rental cars, exclaiming, “Oh, it’s so pretty!” or “Look at that blue!” as they snap countless pictures on the bridge. “What a picturesque village,” they say, striking poses. These individuals are unaware of the reality of this region.

 

Descending the stone steps with my school bag hanging at my side, I make my way down a steep slope, the sound of my loafers echoing. A grandmother who used to sweep and clean would greet me with a cheerful “hi,” “good morning, Suzu,” or “good luck.” But not anymore.

 

 Most of the storm shutters are tightly closed. The deceased have departed, moved to larger cities, leaving this village with a dwindling population. Similar villages abound in the Niyodo River basin. 

 

I’ve heard that the term “marginal village” was coined by a sociologist in the 90s around here. Since I was young, adults have repeatedly told me that we’ve lost a significant number of people compared to our golden age. This region leads the country in terms of depopulation, aging demographics, and declining birth rates. That is an undeniable reality.

 

Reaching the highway, I ascend the slope to the bus stop. The rusted timetable only displays morning and evening schedules. If I miss this bus, I’ll be more than just late.

 

After a while, the bus arrives. I take my usual seat at the back. No one else is on the bus. I pass numerous bus stops, yet no one boards. Gently swaying on the bus, I absentmindedly gaze at the bulletin board near the driver’s seat.

 

“This bus route will be discontinued on September 30th. ○○ Transportation.”

 

I reside in a place where eventually no one else will. I stand on the precipice, the tumultuous sea closing in. Finally, there’s nothing left, and I feel powerless, as if at the end of the world.

 

I disembark from the bus and pass through the ticket gate of JR Ino Station, transitioning from bus to train (specifically a diesel locomotive fueled by light gas). 

 

The morning light dances on the train floor, casting reflections. A few individuals in uniforms from other schools join at each station. As the train approaches the town center, the light on the floor begins to fade, and the two-car train becomes increasingly crowded.

 

The in-car announcement reminds me of the station I need to leave on. Along the path to school, I encounter numerous students in the same uniforms as mine. Together, we ascend the gentle slope. I’m part of this group, and that reality grants me a sense of ease. The summer sunlight casts a bright glow.

 

 

 

 

Last autumn, the courtyard was alive with the sound of the brass band playing beneath the symbolic tree. A throng of students gathered to listen, captivated by the band’s performance. The brass band’s displays are always a hit. It’s more than just playing music; it’s a dance performance, each musician synchronized in dynamic movements. Despite the choreography, the music remains unimpaired and clear.

 

Hiro-chan—sometimes Hiroka—and I stood on the second-floor gymnasium veranda, listening intently. As the first song concluded and the second began, a statuesque girl with a graceful presence stepped forward, alto saxophone in hand. With vivacious grace, she executed her bewitching dance steps, her long, softly waved hair swaying as she flawlessly played her solo.

 

“… she’s adorable,” I remarked without much thought. The vibrant beauty of Ruka-chan—whom I’ll call Watanabe Ruka—captivates me to the point of sighing.

 

Other girls on the veranda chimed in, conversing among themselves.

 

“Ruka-chan is our school’s princess, you know.”

 

“Her legs are so slender and long.”

 

“She looks like a model even in her uniform.”

 

“Yeah…”

 

They nodded in agreement. In a voice only I could hear, Hiro-chan said, “Girls who aren’t tall or thin must envy her,” then turned a page of her book.

 

I continued to overhear their conversation.

 

“It’s only natural for Ruka-chan to become our leader, huh?”

 

“Probably because everyone gathers around her like a princess.”

 

Hiro-chan furrowed her brow behind her silver-green glasses.

 

“Talk like that is irritating. That’s where Suzu is nice; no one gathers around her because she’s like the far side of the moon.”

 

“Heh…”

 

I turned my bewildered expression toward Hiro-chan, who had just hit me with a stray remark.

 

“H-Hiro-chan…”

 

“Hmm?”

 

“Could you please tone down your sharp tongue, at least around me…”

 

“Sharp tongue? Who?”

 

Just then, a booming voice interrupted the brass band’s performance and echoed across the courtyard.

 

“Interested in joining the canoe club—?”

 

All eyes turned to the source.

 

“Chikami Sinnjirou is here!” 

 

“Chikami has arrived!”

 

Chikami Sinnjirou—canoe paddle in hand and a “CANOE” banner draped across his back—began energetically appealing to everyone. He seemed like a foot soldier storming an enemy camp.

 

“Hey, upperclassmen, how about joining the canoe club?”

 

“Whoa, Chikami, cut it out.” 

 

“I’m not interested in a club like that.”

 

Just as I thought he was playfully chasing after senior students, he abruptly spun around and approached a group of girls.

 

“Hey, hey, want to try canoeing?”

 

“Aaaaaaaah!”

 

Real screams erupted from the girls as they hurriedly ran away.

 

“Hey, you, let’s go canoeing!”

 

“Yikes, let’s get out of here!”

 

Chikami himself was earnest, but the reaction around him made him appear eccentric, like a wild creature stirring up a flock of beauties.

 

“Hey, canoe…”

 

“Aaaaa~”

 

I felt an urge to defend Chikami’s effort as I watched the girls scatter.

 

“Chikami is amazing; he started the canoe club all by himself.”

 

“Yeah, but he’s the only one in it.”

 

“I wonder why?”

 

“Why, you ask—”

 

Hiro-chan shifted her gaze toward Ruka-chan, who was still performing but seemed intrigued by the commotion.

 

Ruka-chan appeared tense, deliberately facing away as if avoiding Chikami’s sight.

Hiro-chan wasn’t about to let that slide.

She closed her book with a firm snap and stared intently at Ruka-chan.

 

“Mildly put, he’s looked down upon.”

 

 

 

 

We left the gymnasium and wandered around the school premises. Various clubs—choir, biology, band, dance—were showcasing their unique activities. Walking along the glass corridors, I could hear the applause and cheers of girls.

 

On the outdoor basketball court, a one-on-one demonstration was taking place. It was a demonstration by the boys’ basketball club. The ball was thrown into the court for the next play. A boy wearing a parka caught it with a fluid motion.

 

“Oh…”

 

It was Shinobu-kun.

 

The game began. 

Shinobu-kun—whom I’ll call Hisatake Shinobu—dribbled the ball slowly, a rhythmic sound accompanying each bounce, as he assessed his opponent’s movements.

 

His opponent—a senior—raised his right hand to challenge a potential jump shot while keeping his stance low. As Shinobu-kun attempted to slip past with a low dribble, the opponent’s defense remained tight, causing him to step back.

 

Just when I assumed that was his strategy, he abruptly executed a short jump shot. The motion was swift. The senior extended his hand in a rush, but he couldn’t reach in time. The earlier actions had been a feint. The ball traced a graceful arc and smoothly swished through the net.

 

Enthusiastic applause erupted from the girls lining the third-floor corridor. However, Shinobu-kun’s expression remained devoid of a smile. That air of composure captivated the attention of all the girls in the school.

 

Before the applause had even died down, the court transitioned into the next game. Dam, dam… Shinobu-kun dribbled with an assertive force, as if warding off the defense. It was as if he was proclaiming, “I won’t yield in strength either.” Powering past all his senior teammates in an instant, he executed a confident layup. The pleasing sound of the ball slipping through the net resonated.

 

Applause rang against the walls of the school building once more.

 

I shared with Hiro-chan in a manner that almost felt like I was speaking to myself, “I never imagined Shinobu-kun would grow so tall.”

 

“Oh yeah, weren’t you two childhood friends?” Hiro-chan inquired.

 

“Ahem, he even proposed to me once.”

 

“Really? What did he say?”

 

” ‘Suzu, I’ll protect you.’ “

 

“When did this happen?”

 

“When we were six.”

 

“I don’t know what to say, Suzu. That’s quite an ancient story,” Hiro-chan responded with a sigh of exasperation.

 

Another goal was scored. Amidst the applause, Shinobu-kun, having just completed a game, left the court surrounded by his senior teammates, his countenance void of even the faintest smile.

 

Shinobu-kun, my childhood friend. Now beyond my reach.

 

Upon returning home from school, I made my way across the underwater bridge with a slight wobble. Shinobu-kun and I were together from kindergarten to early elementary school, until he moved closer to town and we were separated. In high school, we ended up being classmates. However, things couldn’t revert to how they used to be.

 

Back then, I never envisaged that I would become someone who perpetually looked downward. But I have a reason for being this way.

 

I gazed at the tranquil flow of the Niyodo River.

 

Yes, that ancient tale.

 

A white bird glided low over the stream.