MEMBERS
PROFILE
Meiji Gahata
Height 170
Birth 8/8
Age 16...?
Deep, deep within the forest of sleep,
sent adrift in a coffin like a boat,
at the edge of some distant dream,
a single girl was sleeping.
While Meiji slept,
little Frill stayed by her side all along.
With a blue flame flickering on its head,
then softly turning pink,
Frill would mimic Meiji’s presence
and give a tiny spark to let the world know.
――This is the story
of a witch who returned from sleep,
with a single drop of dream
brushed through her hair.
When she sings,
the forest wakes.
The steam from her tea
twirls and dances.
With dreams still resting behind her eyelids,
the witch shares a little wonder again today.
Ah,
there was a sign that she was waking.
The lid of the coffin opened,
slowly, slowly.
The girl who should have been inside a dream
was still halfway dreaming
even after she opened her eyes.
If a prince is coming for her someday,
she wants him to call her name properly.
And tomorrow morning,
she wants to be woken with a kiss.
If true love really exists,
she wants to see proof of it.
If he touches her cheek,
she wants him to break the curse.
If he says he loves her,
she wants him to take her all the way
to a happy ending.
When Meiji says things like that,
Frill’s flame suddenly flickers.
The tea has gone completely cold.
The magic ink has blurred just a little.
Meiji pretends not to notice
and turns back toward the dream again.
She takes a small breath,
chats with Frill for a while,
and starts walking somewhere again.
Her name was Meiji.
She loved fairy tales,
found comfort in the scent of tea,
and was a gentle witch.
She likes dreams
a little more than the wind of this world.
But even in a dream,
being all alone feels a little lonely.
That is why Meiji is whimsical.
She smiles lightly,
then falls softly silent.
She seems to be standing in reality,
but one foot is still left
on the pages of a dream.
Her voice is
the very scent of dreams
left behind by the forest of sleep.
It floats softly,
and the moment you try to touch it,
its outline begins to come undone.
Each time she sings,
the boundary between reality and dream
grows a little more unclear.
Bibi Jyougasaki
Height 172
Birth 12/14
Age 26
There is a woman
more striking than any storefront display,
sparkling more freely than neon light.
With pink and lilac curls swaying,
she chooses her outfit by the mood of the day
and walks through the city
to her own rhythm.
Her theme is always this,
“My strongest self is the me I am right now.”
She likes designer brands,
and of course,
she keeps an eye on what is in style.
But in the end,
what matters is not the logo,
or whether something is trendy.
What matters is whether
the person she is right now
can feel cute in it.
The cool check-patterned inner top,
the bell-bottoms with a deep slit,
the pink rider jacket over her shoulder.
All of it was brought here
by Bibi’s mood that day.
Some days, she wears sweet colors.
Other days, she walks the city
in something a little stronger.
A single shine from an accessory can change the air around her.
A single color she chooses can change the mood of the entire day.
Whether she is cute or not
is not something for someone else to decide.
Whether it suits her,
whether it is right,
the final answer always belongs to her.
More than what she is going out to do,
she cares about
who she wants to be when she goes.
She does not need to be number one.
She is not trying to win against anyone else.
In the end, everything looks good on her,
and if it is cute,
that is enough.
She knows better than anyone
how to keep herself in a good mood.
She goes in her own color.
That phrase suits her so well
because Bibi already knows
how cute she is.
No matter where she is in the city, Bibi is always Bibi.
Straightforward, honest, and cute.
Sometimes she sighs, but even that is completely true to who she is.
She may look strong,
but even the softness she lets slip
shines vividly through her voice.
――A woman who colors this city
with effortless lightness.
She lives by choosing her mood
one piece at a time,
as if styling every single day.
“My strongest self is the me I am right now.”
With those words as her motto,
she walks lightly through the city.
Not carrying someone else’s idea of what is right,
but carrying her own kind of cute.
Wistaria Toujoh
Height 177
Birth 6/10
Age 29
There is a woman
who only has to stand there quietly
to feel somehow not quite human.
Her hair carries the shadow of an ancient statue,
curling in slow spirals
and flowing down to the floor
like the long hem of a dress.
Whenever she moves,
the air cools just a little.
Beside her,
it feels as if time itself
has changed its pace.
The golden hand sewn to her chest
is said to have belonged to her late sister.
Not because she cannot forget.
Not as a symbol of grief.
To Wistaria,
it is simply a matter
of placing the proper form
in the proper place.
Her values are
deep and cold enough
for no one else to truly understand.
She is faithful only
to her own sense of beauty.
Cute things,
eerie things,
broken things.
Deep inside her,
she aligns them all
along a single line.
Even things
that others might look away from,
Wistaria quietly picks up
and decorates
where they belong.
It is not so much bad taste
as it is something closer
to what feels correct to her.
She never exposes her feelings
as they are.
She processes them quietly
deep within her chest,
then places only the beautiful form
outside herself.
She does smile.
However,
it is hard to tell
who that smile is meant for.
At times, it seems warm.
At the very same time,
it can feel as if there is
no temperature in it at all.
And yet,
Wistaria herself
is not trying to frighten anyone.
She is only showing
what she wants you to see.
She is only offering
what she finds beautiful,
still beautiful.
Because that sensibility
is so perfectly complete within her,
there are moments
when only our common sense
is left behind.
Wistaria’s voice is like a bell
ringing at the end
of a quiet corridor.
Beneath its sweet resonance,
there is a coldness
she allows no one to touch.
She sings as if tracing emotion,
yet leaves behind a temperature
that feels somehow detached.
Before you know it,
the air in the room
has cooled just a little.
And it feels as if something
has passed by your feet.
――A person who wears
a single work of art upon her chest.
She quietly gathers beautiful things
and loves even broken things
while leaving their forms intact.
Today again,
following a sense of beauty
no one else can read,
she walks forward without hesitation.
Momo Kissme
Height 190
Birth 9/2
Age 25
There is a young man
who walks with his pink hair lightly swaying,
his asymmetrical wide slacks fluttering as he moves,
wearing vivid colors like they are on his side.
A tall figure in sweet colors.
A body that looks strong,
and eyes with a soft, melting gaze.
That mismatch
keeps him from looking
like just another flashy man.
He is good at saying theatrical lines.
He can act cool, joke around and lift the mood,
or step forward as if he belongs beneath a spotlight.
But no matter
how well he plays the part,
there is always a little honesty
left at the edge of his voice.
When he is happy, his voice turns soft.
When he is embarrassed,
his rhythm slips just a little.
And the more he tries to act strong,
the kinder his voice becomes.
If someone calls his name,
he will probably turn around right away.
If someone makes a selfish request,
he may look a little troubled,
but in the end,
he will give in.
He knows, himself,
that this sweetness
is not something he means
to give to just anyone.
He does not mind
if this feeling never receives an answer.
If he can add even a little more sweetness
to the girls’ everyday lives,
that is enough.
It may look selfless,
but perhaps
that is his strongest selfish wish.
So the girl who woke from dreams
will not lose her way in reality.
So the girl who chooses cute
can love herself more than anyone else.
So the person walking deep into beauty
will never be touched
by careless hands.
Dreams, cuteness, and beauty.
The girls carry them
in shapes that feel fragile,
untamed,
and impossible for anyone else to handle.
That is why,
every time he looks at them,
his heart is stolen all over again.
He will not let them
walk on the side of the road closest to traffic.
On an escalator,
he gets off first and offers his hand.
If they look at their phones too much,
he calls them back a little more firmly.
If they seem about to let go,
he pulls them close with a laugh,
saying they will get lost.
If he can see the girls smiling,
that is enough.
Even so,
if even the smallest shadow
crosses the faces of the girls he adores,
he wants to be close enough
to notice it first.
If they lower their eyes,
he wants them to look this way.
If they want to be spoiled,
then they can come even closer.
He can feel fulfilled just by loving them.
And yet,
he still wants the role of making them happy.
So that his love does not seem too heavy,
he always smiles with a slightly languid air.
When he says that, he may sound like he is joking,
but not a single part of it is a lie.
“My princesses are cute, aren’t they?”
Her voice holds
the heat and humidity of late night.
One moment, she laughs and pushes you away.
The next, a hidden warmth
quietly seeps through.
――He wants to watch
the girls he adores
from closer than anyone else.
Today again,
he stands beside
their irresistible charm
as if it were the most natural place to be.
As if saying that cute things are cute.
As if saying that he wants to treasure every part of them.
Keeping his hand where he can always offer it.
His singing voice
falls close to the ear
while holding a quiet heat.
He pretends to be composed,
yet he is unbelievably sweet
to those he holds dear.
His voice feels close enough to touch you,
but it never forces itself on you.
Just by being beside you,
it settles in so naturally that leaving becomes difficult.