Dark Fantasy: 'Looking Back, It's Jiro'

"Yaaawn..."

I slowly opened my eyes.
The morning light streaming through the gap in the curtains illuminated the ceiling with a whitish glow. The scent of the canned beer I drank yesterday and the somewhat cloying smell of fabric softener still lingered faintly in the room.

I reached for my smartphone on the bedside table, then stopped halfway. On my day off, I didn't want to see the time.

Rubbing my still-sleepy eyes, I turned to the side as I always do.

Lying there was not my boyfriend Kento, but a middle-aged man I didn't know.

"...Huh?"

For a moment, my mind went blank.

(Wait, who is this old guy?)

I reflexively pulled the blanket up to my chest. My heart leaped into my throat.

Unshaven stubble. Slightly sagging cheeks. Hair flattened by bedhead.
Looking closely, he looked somewhat like Jiro Sato.

And not just any Jiro Sato, but a Jiro Sato on a very tired day.

I tried to jump out of bed, but stopped midway.

The sweatshirt worn by the Jiro-esque man visible from the open blanket was undoubtedly Kento's.

It was a gray sweatshirt with some indecipherable English letters on the chest that we bought when we went to an outlet mall last year. It even matched the slightly stretched cuffs from too many washes.

(No, no, no... wait.)

I looked around the room fearfully.

The familiar low table.
Kento's denim jeans left where he took them off.
A game controller lying on the floor.
A black towel left hanging on the balcony.

No matter how I looked at it, it was Kento's room.

While I was doing this, the man also slowly opened his eyes.

"...Mm, morning, Mika."

That voice was undoubtedly Kento's voice.

I froze.

(Why did the handsome Kento suddenly turn into a Jiro Sato-faced man...)

Kento was rubbing his sleepy eyes as if he hadn't noticed anything.
Even that gesture was the same as always.

I hesitated whether I should tell Kento about this.
But I didn't know how to explain it.

"You look like Jiro Sato right now."

A person told that first thing in the morning would probably never forget that day for the rest of their life.

I suppressed my confusion and pretended to be calm for the time being.

"...Morning, Kento."

Usually, I would have wanted a morning kiss.

Kento is the type who gets overly affectionate in the morning, and as soon as our eyes meet, he asks, "Where's my morning kiss?"
I didn't dislike that slightly sleepy voice of his.

But now, in front of me was a Jiro Sato-esque middle-aged man.

The inside was Kento.
The voice was Kento.
The gestures were probably Kento.

Yet, only the face was, no matter what, Jiro.

I pressed my lips together tightly and gripped the blanket.

Impossible.

No matter how I think about it, I can't kiss a Jiro Sato-esque middle-aged man.

Kento looked at me curiously.

"What's wrong?"

"...No, I'm just a bit grumpy in the morning."

"That's rare."

Saying that, Kento laughed lightly.
That way of laughing was also the same as always.

But because his face was Jiro's, everything felt wrong.

I forced myself to believe that there was no point in thinking about it.
He must be groggy. He'll go back to normal soon. He surely will.

Believing that, I got out of bed.

The flooring was a bit cold, having absorbed the morning chill.
I headed to the kitchen to prepare coffee as usual.

The coffee maker started making a gurgling sound.
Listening to that sound, I felt a little calmer.

While the coffee was brewing, Kento was smoking a cigarette on the balcony.

The back view visible through the glass was the usual Kento.
The way he stood, slightly hunched, exhaling smoke with one hand in his pocket.

But when he turned around, it was Jiro again.

I took two mugs and went out to the balcony.

The morning air was a bit cold, and I could hear the sound of trains running in the distance.

"Here, coffee."

"Thanks."

Kento smoked in his usual way, with the cigarette held between his fingers.

That pretentious way of smoking, where he brings his whole palm to his mouth and cheek.

It was a way of smoking that only worked because Kento was handsome.

Honestly, when I first saw it, I thought, "Are you a drama protagonist?"
But since his face was good, I didn't get annoyed.

However, it's different now.

A Jiro Sato-esque middle-aged man is smoking with a strangely pretentious face.

It's incredibly annoying.

I couldn't help but press my brow.

(What is this feeling...)

It's funny, but annoying.
It's annoying, but a little funny.

Kento looked at me while exhaling smoke.

"Mika, you seem a bit different today."

"...It's nothing."

"Are you sure?"

Saying that, Kento tried to stroke my head as usual.

That was the moment.

I reflexively swatted his hand away with force.

A dry sound, *slap*, rang out.

"Don't touch me. Jiro."

I thought, 'Oh no,' but it was already too late.

Kento was frozen.

I covered my mouth.

(Ah, that's bad. I acted on instinct.)

Even though the inside is Kento.
Even though he is definitely Kento.

Yet, his face was too much like Jiro.

We finished breakfast in a slightly awkward atmosphere and prepared to go out.

On the table were half-eaten toast and lukewarm scrambled eggs.
Kento was drinking coffee while looking at a news app as usual.

But his face was Jiro's.

Because of that, his intellectual atmosphere had turned entirely into that of a daytime talk show commentator.

I carried the salad to my mouth while trying not to look at Kento's face as much as possible.

Today was my birthday.

A day I should have been much more excited about.
I had planned to go shopping in Ginza and have dinner at a slightly expensive restaurant at night.

But currently, my boyfriend has turned into a Jiro Sato-esque person.

My emotions couldn't keep up.

Kento was brushing his teeth in the washroom.
The vibration sound of the electric toothbrush echoed in the strangely quiet room.

The profile visible through the mirror was Jiro no matter how I looked at it.

Yet he himself seemed completely unaware of the change in his face.

(Does that mean...)

I thought vaguely.

(Is there a possibility that it only looks like this to me...?)

If so, that's quite unpleasant.

It's the worst kind of brain bug.

I got into the passenger seat of the Lexus Kento drives, still feeling uneasy.

The scent of the woody perfume Kento always uses remained in the car.
When I sat deep in the seat, the soft leather sank in.

Kento sat in the driver's seat and started the engine with practiced movements.

A low, quiet engine sound.

And then Kento put on his sunglasses with a flourish.

I couldn't help but look up at the sky.

Usually, that gesture would have been cool, like something out of a movie.
To the point where I would sometimes be captivated by his profile while waiting at a red light.

But now it's different.

It was just Jiro Sato wearing sunglasses that didn't suit him.

And he thought he looked cool.

I felt a little irritated.

Kento—no, I feel like Jiro is fine now—played the jazz he always listens to in the car.

The sound of a light piano.
In time with it, Jiro was whistling and tapping his fingers on the steering wheel to keep the rhythm.

I clicked my tongue softly while looking out the window.

"Hm? What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Aren't you in a low mood today?"

I am in a low mood.
Because my boyfriend suddenly turned into Jiro.

I swallowed the words that were about to come out.

It was not a fun drive.

When we bought coffee at a service area on the way, the clerk looked at Jiro and made a "Huh?" face for a split second.

They probably thought, "He looks like someone."

Every time that happened, I felt a little relieved.

It's not just me.

The world is also feeling a bit of Jiro.

After about an hour, we arrived in Ginza.

Ginza on a holiday was crowded, and beautiful clothes and bags were lined up in the glass windows of brand stores.

Today, Kento had told me, "You can buy whatever you like."

As I walked around window shopping, Jiro was reflected in the glass.

Every time, I felt a little disappointed.

The one I wanted to have by my side was the usual Kento, who was tall and whose gesture of brushing back his hair suited him strangely well.

Yet now, Jiro is reflected in every shop window.

Jiro even in Louis Vuitton.
Jiro even in the watch corner.
Jiro even in the escalator mirror.

I gradually started to find it funny.

I had him buy me the Louis Vuitton bag I had wanted for a long time.

"Thank you."

When I said that and looked up, there was a happy-looking Jiro.

It was complicated.

By the time the sun set, the city's neon lights were reflecting on the glass.

We finished our meal at a restaurant with a beautiful night view that Jiro had reserved.

A window seat.
Tokyo Tower visible in the distance.
Jiro tilting his wine glass.

The atmosphere was perfect, but everything was off.

Kento would occasionally show a melancholy expression.

If it were the usual Kento, I think I would have been a little thrilled by that expression.

But now it's different.

No matter what he did, it was Jiro.

On the way home, I was tired and fell asleep in the passenger seat.

The vibration of the car was comfortable, and my consciousness slowly sank.

And then, I woke up at the sensation of the car stopping.

I rubbed my sleepy eyes.

There, Kento was.

It was the usual Kento.

A well-defined profile.
Slightly sleepy eyes.
A familiar face.

"Kento—!"

I shouted involuntarily and hugged him just like that.

Kento looked a little surprised.

"What's wrong? Did something happen?"

A low, calm voice.

The moment I heard that voice, tears overflowed.

I had loved Kento's appearance, not his inner self.

I realized that painfully.

No matter how kind he is.
No matter how much his inner self is the same.

Just because his face becomes Jiro, I change my attitude this much.

While burying my face in Kento's chest, I cried quietly.

After a while, when I calmed down, I checked Kento's face.

(Yeah... no mistake.)

It's definitely Kento.

I felt relieved and smiled a little.

But that was when it happened.

I happened to look at Kento reflected in the rearview mirror.

There, Jiro Sato was...