Volume 1 - CH 4

Guess the Name of the Sleeping Beauty (4)

Translated by LyraDhani

Edited by LyraDhani

He was probably still in his early teens.

The boy was wearing a white shirt, a light-blue vest and pants, and dark brown leather shoes. The collar of his shirt was loose, and the end of his untangled dark red ribbon tie rustled in the wind as if in an occasional flash of remembrance.

A white cushion was propped up on the boy’s chest, and a German book, probably in the process of being read, rested open on the boy’s chest.

Masato picked up a light-blue jacket curled up under the couch, which had probably fallen to the floor while he was sleeping. Then he saw the boy’s face up close.

His black hair, cut a little long, swayed in the wind. His small, egg-shaped face, which still retained an innocent look, was framed by a small but well-shaped nose and light red lips.

His eyes, framed by long eyelashes, were closed, but they looked so pretty that he could be mistaken for a girl.

If he was a beautiful woman, it would be like a scene from a fairy tale.

The sunroom, fragrant with roses, was an ancient castle covered with thorns.

The boy was the Sleeping Beauty who had been asleep for a hundred years.

Then, Misato was a prince who had come to rescue the sleeping princess.

As he let out a chuckle at his märchen imagination, the boy on the couch noticed his presence and leaned forward slightly. In his peaceful sleep, a small crease wrinkled between his smooth eyebrows.

The boy’s white eyelids quivered slightly and slowly opened.

What appeared were dark eyes like a wet fawn. The eyes blinked into focus and caught Masato.

“Hey, good morning.”

When he called out, the boy looked up silently with dark round eyes.

His startled expression was young and defenseless, and Masato was suddenly tackled with a sense of mischief. He bent down with his hand on the back of the couch, put his own face close to the boy’s, and whispered.

“Princess of Thorn Castle, would you like a kiss to wake you up?”

The boy’s rounded eyes blinked wide as Masato asked with a smile of the highest quality that would make any woman fall in love with him. A slight red color flashed across the white cheeks.

At first, the boy blinked his eyes in confusion, but his expression soon became calm.

His dark brown luster and black eyes lit up with the light of understanding, and his lips formed a gentle smile.

“If you were my prince, and the curse could be lifted, I’d be happy to oblige.”

Masato, expecting to see the boy’s impatience and dismay, was taken aback by the unexpected reaction.

The boy’s knowledge of the Sleeping Beauty, as well as his unique turn of phrase and quiet gaze, were surprisingly mature.

He was going to make fun of the kid, but it was him who get cheated on instead.

Masato laughed and sat up. The boy also tried to get up from the couch, so he reached out and the boy took his hand obediently. The lightness of a slender hand was transmitted into his arm.

He handed the jacket he had picked up, and the boy accepted it with gratitude. His clear, high-pitched voice, characteristic of a child, was calm and collected.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“By the way, who are you?”

The boy asked after he had put on his coat and sat down neatly on the couch. Masato cowered lightly as the boy tilted his head.

“I guess I’m not your prince after all.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

The boy was quick to turn the tables.

One could take the quick-thinking either as cocky or funny. Misato was the latter.

It would be a good way to pass the time while waiting for Mrs. Otogi.

Masato put his Western book on the table and sat down in the one-seat wicker chair across from the boy and crossed his legs. He looked at the boy, loosely interlacing his fingertips.

“Then, can you guess my true identity?”

“…Okay.”

The boy did not seem puzzled and readily took up the offer of play.

He closed the Western book that was left open and stared at Masato. He could feel the gaze on him for ten or twenty seconds. After a short silence, the boy opened his mouth.

“Gender is male, age is mid-twenties. Height is about 6 feet and one inch, quite tall. The suit looks good. That one was tailored at Mitsuboshido in Ginza, wasn’t it?”

Mitsuboshido was a well-known dressmaker in Ginza.

The company had a lineup of skilled tailors trained abroad, and had a reputation among the upper class for making suits that were both functional and dignified.

“Correct answer. You understood it very well.”

“It’s very carefully tailored and the star-patterned buttons are unique.”

The small silver button on the left cuff of the upper garment had three five-pointed stars embossed on it.

It was one of the buttons that were always attached to clothes tailored by Mitsuboshido. “I have an acquaintance who is a regular customer of Mitsuboshido,” the boy added.

“Single three-buttoned with a peaked collar. The color is brown. The fading color of the fabric indicates that it is at least two or three years old. Given your age and build, I’d say it was made within the last five years when fluctuations were minimal.”

‘Well, I suppose so. But it’s the story of the suit, not me.”

He pointed out, and the boy just smiled lightly.

“Not really. It’s just that a few years ago, you had the financial ability to have a fine suit made for you at Mitsuboshido. Your own words, actions, and mannerisms indicate that you were brought up in a well-to-do family. You also seem to be accustomed to wearing Western clothes. …But you have not been able to afford to wear it in recent years. In the suit, you can see areas that have been mended with slightly different colored threads and buttons of a different type. Normally, you would have to ask for repairs at Mitsuboshido, or at least have a new suit tailored for you. So I can guess that you don’t have the financial ability to do that now. …Well, if you are not a kimono wearer, but just a person who have good hands and takes good care of things, then you are looking in the wrong place.”

“…I see.”

It was quite an observation. Masato crossed his legs and looked at the boy, urging him to continue with his answer.

“It is no ordinary working person who visits Mrs. Otogi’s salon during the daytime on weekdays. Those who enter here are art dealers and favored visitors, but you are not one of them.”

“Oh, and why is that?”

“Because you don’t seem to have the same commercial nature or the same passion for artworks. And if I’m right about the suit, you probably don’t have the financial resources to buy them either.”

“You’re hurting me.”

“My apologies. The rest are the artists who were allowed to come and go by Mrs. Otogi. If you are a painter, sculptor, or potter, you won’t come here in such a neat outfit. You will get dirty while working. Your hands do not look dirty with pigments or soil, nor are they rough. That would make you a writer or a poet.”

Masato listened to the boy’s words, which came close to the correct answer, with a thin smile on his face and a feeling of freedom.