Utsukushii Koto: Volume 1 - Part 2

Previous TOC Next

About a week after returning the shoes and money, Matsuoka happened to share an elevator with Hiromatsu. Just the two of them. He was on edge the whole ride, worried Hiromatsu might somehow realize that he was the woman who couldn’t speak. But the man didn’t so much as glance at him, his eyes fixed on the panel displaying the floor numbers.

Matsuoka, glancing casually down, felt a sudden surge of joy.

Hiromatsu was wearing the shoes he had given him.

The deep, rich black leather made it obvious they were high quality at a glance. His suit looked rather worn and old, but just his footwear alone gave a sharply polished impression.

“Fifth floor,” Hiromatsu said out of nowhere.

The words startled Matsuoka so badly he thought his heart might leap out of his chest.

“Aren’t you getting off?”

Matsuoka gave him a stiff nod and stepped out of the elevator. The way he fumbled and panicked all on his own made even him want to laugh.

Come to think of it, Hiromatsu hadn’t looked well. Even inside the elevator, he’d kept sighing. It weighed on Matsuoka’s mind—but there was no way for him to ask about it.

The reason behind Hiromatsu’s downcast expression—stuck like a fish bone in his throat—was revealed later that same day. On his way out after work, Matsuoka happened to run into Fukuda in the lobby. Unusually, he invited him out for dinner himself. After all the complaining from their last outing, he’d told himself to avoid eating with him for a while—but he wanted to ask about Hiromatsu.

Their usual spot was full, so they had no choice but to duck into a nationwide izakaya chain nearby.

“By the way,” Matsuoka began, trying to ease into the subject, “I heard someone mid-level in Sales is quitting.”

Fukuda, mouth full of rolled omelet, answered with a muffled, “Aramaki-san, right?”

“You knew?”

“What’re you talking about? He was our trainer when we first joined. He’s taking the fall for the Sankyō contract falling through.”

“How the hell do you know about the contract stuff?”

Fukuda gave a smug snort through his nose.

“I’m dating Okayabayashi in Sales. So I hear things.”

Matsuoka wasn’t surprised. Okayabayashi was exactly the type Fukuda would go for—pretty-faced, no warmth, sky-high pride. She’d go to the bathroom and not come back for fifteen minutes, but her makeup would be perfectly redone when she returned. She had been dating Yoshida in Sales until recently, or so he thought. He hadn’t realized they’d broken up.

Or maybe she’s seeing both of them, he thought—but he had no intention of saying so. Stirring up the office relationships for no good reason was stupid. Staying quiet and watching from the sidelines was a smarter move.

“There’s someone in my department who might be getting cut too.”

Something in Fukuda’s offhanded tone gave Matsuoka a bad feeling.

“Who?”

“Hiromatsu.”

“Hmm,” Matsuoka murmured, draining half his beer in one go.

“Did he mess up?”

“It was a disaster. He submitted a financial report for an internal meeting and the digits were wrong.”

Matsuoka tilted his head.

“But don’t you, as the section chief, have to check those reports before they’re sent up?”

At that, Fukuda’s face tightened with guilt.

“Sure, but it was one of the guys working under him who made the mistake. And I’ve got tons of stuff to process every day—I don’t have time to scrutinize every damn number. When I reported it to the higher-ups, I might’ve… embellished things a little. Said it was submitted without going through me. I mean, it’s the assistant’s job to check it in advance, isn’t it?”

No matter how he tried to justify it, it was obvious Fukuda had shoved the responsibility that should’ve been his onto Hiromatsu. He’d always had that manipulative side, but as long as they didn’t work together, Matsuoka had looked the other way with a wry smile. This time, though, he was genuinely pissed off.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda messed up what you did to Hiromatsu?”

When Matsuoka finally called him out, Fukuda looked awkward at first. But then, as if deciding there was no point in pretending, he leaned back in his chair with a smug air.

“Look, when someone gets taken advantage of, isn’t that partly their own fault? I pinned the responsibility on him, and he didn’t make a single excuse. Some people might call that noble or whatever, but I say it’s just another form of running away. If he disagreed, he should’ve spoken up and fought back.”

The sheer self-centeredness of it all made Matsuoka sick just listening.

“But hey, thanks to that screw-up, he got demoted from assistant section chief, and now HR’s got their eye on him. I hope he just gets quietly laid off and disappears somewhere I don’t have to see him anymore. Or like, I dunno—transferred to a subsidiary would be fine too.”

Matsuoka forced out a chuckle, going along with the mood as he raised his beer to his lips. The carbonation hit his mouth with a brutal bitterness that stung all the way down.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

That day, Matsuoka notified the office that he’d be returning home directly from a client visit, and took the train straight back to his condo. It was around 7 p.m.—a time when the train was awkwardly crowded. The press of bodies and the damp smell of sweat made him weary, and he turned his eyes to the window in an attempt to distract himself.

When the train stopped at the station nearest to his office, he happened to spot Hiromatsu on the opposite platform. Was he waiting for someone? He was sitting on a bench, staring up at the staircase leading to the exits.

Two days later, Matsuoka had to rush back to the office from a client site to finish a document that needed to be submitted first thing the next morning. As he stepped off the train and headed toward the exit, he saw Hiromatsu again—seated on the same bench as before.

Even after returning to the office, he couldn’t get Hiromatsu off his mind.

About an hour later, he finished compiling the necessary materials, printed them out, and placed the file on his manager’s desk. He left the office around 9 p.m. At the station, as he passed through the ticket gates and started descending to the platform, a sudden impulse made him stop and head to the opposite platform instead. He walked slowly down the stairs.

Their eyes met midway.

Just like an hour earlier, Hiromatsu was sitting there, gazing up at the staircase—waiting.

Matsuoka turned on his heel.

Was Hiromatsu… waiting for him, dressed as a woman?

When he had asked for his email address, Matsuoka had sensed that the man might harbor feelings for him. But he’d thought that if they didn’t see each other again, those feelings would fade easily enough.

From across the way, he could still see him—sitting there alone, eyes fixed on the stairs.

Even after Matsuoka boarded the train, Hiromatsu didn’t move.

The train began to roll forward, and Hiromatsu’s figure gradually receded into the distance. If you’re waiting for that woman, Matsuoka thought, no matter how long you sit there, she’ll never come… He wished he could tell him that.

Since giving Hiromatsu the shoes, Matsuoka hadn’t dressed as a woman again. He’d intended to stop completely after that.

How long does he plan to wait? The woman who couldn’t speak was never going to show up again. Just imagining that man sitting there day after day, waiting on that bench, stirred an aching loneliness in Matsuoka’s chest.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

That morning, Matsuoka had been energetic, walking briskly from one client visit to another. He finished his work at the remarkably early hour of 5:30 p.m., turned down a colleague’s invitation to drinks, and rushed straight home. After a quick shower, he changed clothes. A light blue dress, paired with a white scarf. He finished his makeup swiftly, slipped on his white heels, and stepped outside.

He was dressing up again to see Hiromatsu one more time. He had already worked out a scenario in advance: if Hiromatsu said he wanted to see her again or suggested they date, Matsuoka would reply, “I’m getting married next month.” If he said he was moving far away, Hiromatsu would surely give up.

It was a mess of his own making, and he would take responsibility and end it himself. That way, he wouldn’t have to imagine Hiromatsu waiting endlessly on that station bench for a woman who didn’t exist, and be crushed by the guilt of it.

At 7 p.m., nervous but determined, Matsuoka arrived at the station near the office. Even when he got close, Hiromatsu didn’t notice—his eyes were fixed on the staircase leading to the exit. Matsuoka couldn’t bring himself to call out. Just act natural, he told himself, walking past Hiromatsu. He started climbing the stairs. No voice called after him. He exited the station—and with that, all the tension drained out of him.

Maybe he wasn’t waiting for me after all.

Maybe he had been waiting for someone else entirely. Or maybe he was just sitting there. The thought made Matsuoka feel incredibly foolish for going so far as to dress up just to let him down gently.

He turned to head back, planning to catch a train from the opposite platform—and nearly gasped aloud.

Hiromatsu was standing right behind him—so close they almost collided.

“Um, hi.”

The man, breathless, murmured the words. Matsuoka didn’t have time to compose a smile and simply gave a vague nod.

“I’m really happy to see you again.”

Hiromatsu moved his hands strangely in front of his chest. Matsuoka tilted his head, unable to understand what he was doing. Seeing his confusion, Hiromatsu looked troubled.

“You don’t… remember me?”

His hands kept moving strangely. That’s when Matsuoka realized—it was sign language. Since he couldn’t speak, Hiromatsu had assumed sign language would work.

Matsuoka pulled out his notepad from his handbag and thought for a moment before writing:

I lost my voice due to illness last year. I still don’t really understand sign language.

Hiromatsu read the note and mumbled, “Ah, I see.”

“I’m sorry,” he added, looking down.

The sight of him looking so dejected made Matsuoka feel guilty. He’d never intended to blame him for anything.

Your kindness means a lot to me, he wrote.

When Hiromatsu read it, his shoulders eased and he smiled with quiet relief.

“About the shoes and the money… I’m sorry for that too. When I got home and opened the bag, I was surprised—they were really nice shoes. I felt bad for making you go to such trouble. I really just wanted the chance to say thank you again.”

Hiromatsu laughed a little and tapped the heel of his shoe on the ground.

“They’re actually super comfortable. I’ve been wearing them every day.”

Matsuoka smiled. I know, he thought to himself.

“Um… I guess saying ‘thank you for the thank you’ is kind of weird, but… if you don’t have plans, would you maybe want to grab a bite to eat?”

He was about to refuse when his stomach gave a loud growl.

He blushed in embarrassment. Hiromatsu, who had looked nervous a moment ago, broke into a more relaxed expression.

“I don’t know any fancy places, but I do know somewhere tasty… would that be okay?”

If he agreed to go eat, it might give Hiromatsu the wrong idea. But if he rejected him flat-out, he’d probably hurt him. Matsuoka couldn’t figure out what the right choice was—and in the end, without giving a clear refusal, he followed along.

Hiromatsu brought him to a slightly grimy little izakaya—hardly what you’d pick for a date. If Matsuoka had really been a woman, he might’ve turned right around after seeing the outside of the place. If you’re bringing a woman and not a guy friend, he thought, couldn’t you at least pick somewhere a little nicer? But of course, there was no way he could say that out loud.

When asked what he wanted to drink, Matsuoka chose beer. He briefly considered that maybe he should stick to something more “ladylike,” like oolong tea—but since they hadn’t gone to a fancy restaurant or anything, he didn’t hold back.

His first impression of the place had been awful, but just as Hiromatsu had said, the food was actually good. It was light, homemade-style fare, and perfect for someone like Matsuoka, who preferred Japanese food.

They didn’t talk much during the meal. Every now and then, Hiromatsu would ask, “Is it good?” and Matsuoka would simply nod in reply. At one point, a whole grilled fish was brought to the table, and Matsuoka found himself unsure of where to start. Just as he was hesitating, Hiromatsu offered, “Would you like me to serve it for you?”

Either option was fine, really, but he couldn’t quite figure out how to say that, so he gave a vague nod. Hiromatsu immediately began breaking down the fish. By the time he was done, the bones were picked clean, leaving only the glistening, flaked meat. The finesse of it made Matsuoka instinctively reach for his notepad and write: You’re very good at this.

Hiromatsu gave a sheepish smile.

“I’m from a port town. We pretty much had fish at every meal growing up. My mom’s a pretty rough person, but she was always really strict about table manners. So when it comes to eating fish, I’ve got more confidence than anyone.”

The proud look on his face was kind of adorable. He wasn’t exactly handsome, and he’d brought Matsuoka to a shabby little place, but he wasn’t a bad guy. Being with him felt warm, comforting.

Matsuoka took a bite of the fish Hiromatsu had prepared for him. It was savory and delicious. When he looked up, their eyes met—and Hiromatsu quickly looked away. The way he did it was so awkward and deliberate that Matsuoka instinctively looked down, waited a bit, then raised his gaze again… and sure enough, their eyes met again.

That awkward silence during the meal—he realized then—it wasn’t indifference. It was because Hiromatsu had been watching him.

Suddenly flustered, Matsuoka began to worry. He naturally had light body hair and only needed to shave every other day, and he’d taken care to shave before coming out—but now he was worrying whether he’d missed a spot. Whether he’d accidentally made any overly masculine gestures.

That awareness made him tense up. He stopped eating after finishing the fish Hiromatsu had served and set down his chopsticks. When he looked up again, Hiromatsu was no longer looking at him. He was focused on his meal, and the way he used his chopsticks—precise and graceful—was oddly captivating.

By the time they finished eating, it was past 9 p.m., and the restaurant had gotten crowded, so they stepped outside. Hiromatsu offered to pay, and Matsuoka accepted without protest. The bill had been cheap anyway, and in situations like this, he knew from experience that letting the other person treat made things easier. He didn’t argue. Instead, he waited outside the restaurant and held up a note that read Thank you very much, smiling as he showed it.

Naturally, their steps began to carry them toward the station. Hiromatsu grew quieter the closer they got.

If they parted at the station like this, without Hiromatsu saying anything, it would end cleanly—no need for Matsuoka to lie about being engaged or moving away.

And even if this was the last time they met like this, Matsuoka found himself thinking—he wanted to see Hiromatsu again. Next time, he’d go in his suit, as himself, and speak to him.

Since General Affairs and Sales didn’t have much overlap, it wouldn’t be strange to run into him at that little restaurant he seemed to frequent. He’d start a conversation casually: Hey, don’t you work at the same company as me? No ulterior motives. No games. He just wanted to have a calm, simple chat with this man.

“Um…”

Just before reaching the station entrance, Matsuoka heard a voice call out to him. Here it comes, he thought, bracing himself. He turned to face Hiromatsu.

“Um…”

Nothing followed. Matsuoka grew increasingly anxious with each passing second that Hiromatsu couldn’t get the words out.

“Uh…”

As he kept stammering, Hiromatsu’s face went pale and he suddenly crouched down by the roadside. Matsuoka rushed to him, pulled out his notepad, and wrote: Are you okay?

“Ah, I’m okay. Sorry.”

Hiromatsu stood up again, though his footing was still a little unsteady.

“I haven’t been this nervous since middle school, when I had to recite an English speech for a school contest. My heart was pounding so hard I thought I’d pass out…”

He looked straight at Matsuoka.

“Can I know your name?”

His voice trembled with the question. Matsuoka, under that gaze, felt his chest flutter in a strange way.

“…Is that not okay?”

Refusing outright—without even giving his name—felt far too cruel. But of course he couldn’t give his real name. Still, the desperate look in Hiromatsu’s eyes cornered him. He pulled out his notepad.

Yoko Eto.

He ended up giving his mother’s name—and even used her maiden name.

“Yoko Eto-san… I’m Motofumi Hiromatsu.”

Hiromatsu, still watching Matsuoka’s hand, raised a bent finger to his lips and smiled.

“This is the fourth time we’ve met, and I’m only now learning your name. Kinda funny, isn’t it?”

He’s right, Matsuoka thought, smiling faintly in return.

“Would you be my friend?”

It came out suddenly, just when things had started to feel more relaxed.

“Someone as beautiful as you… I figured you might already have someone. But if not, and if it’s not too much trouble…”

Matsuoka couldn’t bring himself to nod.

“Not even as a friend?”

Friend. The word was painfully ambiguous. It wasn’t quite asking to date, but it still implied closeness. And now that Matsuoka had decided not to cross-dress anymore, he didn’t want to keep seeing Hiromatsu in this form.

He made up his mind to say no and gripped his pen tightly.

“Then… would it be okay to just exchange email addresses?”

His hand froze.

Email… meant he wouldn’t have to speak. And they wouldn’t have to meet face-to-face.

Matsuoka looked intently at Hiromatsu. Like a loyal dog waiting on the platform day after day for someone who might never come. Was it that he was just slow and naive, or was he that sincere?

Matsuoka turned a page in his notepad and wrote down his smartphone’s email address.

It was easier, after all, to end things over email than to see that sad expression in person. He had simply chosen the easier path—but Hiromatsu looked genuinely happy.

“Thank you so much.”

He folded the small slip of paper like it was a treasure and tucked it into his bag.

They parted ways at the ticket gate. Matsuoka descended to the opposite platform. Across the tracks, Hiromatsu stood and waved his right hand high. Embarrassed, Matsuoka returned a small wave.

Hiromatsu kept watching him until the train pulled away—until Matsuoka disappeared from view.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. An unknown address. Curious, Matsuoka opened the message—it was from Hiromatsu.

Thank you for spending time with me today.

He scrolled down.

I couldn’t say it to your face, but… I’ve never seen anyone as beautiful as you.

Still holding his phone in the train, Matsuoka turned bright red. It was clear there was no attempt at humor—he really meant it. Imagining what kind of face Hiromatsu had made while typing that message made heat rise across Matsuoka’s entire body.

He quickly typed out a reply.

No, thank you. You’re such a gentle and warm person, Hiromatsu-san. Talking to you made me feel at ease.

After sending it, Matsuoka let out a small smile.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Summer passed, and on an early autumn morning when a slight chill had crept into the air, Matsuoka stopped his alarm clock and curled up under the sheets, covering his head. Eventually, his smartphone started ringing. He stayed still for a while, but he knew that was the last call. Reluctantly, he picked it up.

“Good morning.”

A voice tinged with laughter echoed softly in his barely-awake mind.

“Ten rings—might be your personal best. If you keep dawdling, you’ll be late for work. I’m heading out now. Talk to you later.”

The line cut off with a click. Matsuoka sluggishly got out of bed and brushed his teeth while typing a message.

“Wasn’t it really cold this morning? Honestly, I still wanna stay in bed.”

He hit send. While he was making coffee, a new email arrived.

“It was cold. Are you making sure not to catch a cold at night?”

He replied as he sipped his coffee.

“Not to brag, but I haven’t caught a cold in years. You know what they say—fools never catch colds.”

After sending it, he changed into his suit, fixed his hair, and grabbed his bag. Just then, another email came in.

“Not many people would say that about themselves, you know. From what I’ve seen, you seem like a pretty capable office worker.”

As he left his apartment, he typed back while walking.

“What makes you think I’m capable? All I ever send are dumb emails.”

He passed through the station gates and boarded the train. In the packed car, he heard the email notification, but he couldn’t even move a finger. He wasn’t able to check it until he got off the train.

“I don’t think your emails are dumb. I just get the impression you’re a sincere person. I’m about to arrive at the office, so I’ll message you again tonight. Do your best at work.”

Matsuoka put his phone away in his bag. The earnest Hiromatsu never sent emails from the office. Of course, it was common sense not to send personal emails or use chat apps during work, but there were always people who couldn’t stick to the basics no matter how old they got. He himself, back when he had a girlfriend, would sometimes sneak a message or two during work hours.

It wasn’t something that needed to be taken so seriously—if you didn’t bother anyone and didn’t get caught, it was fine. But somehow, watching that uptight guy made him feel like he ought to stay on the straight and narrow too. It was strange, really.

Since exchanging email addresses, Hiromatsu had been sending messages frequently. At this point, it was more than just once a day. At first, Matsuoka had planned to reply a few times and then say, “Please stop contacting me,” but the exchanges were surprisingly fun, and without meaning to, it had already been nearly a month.

One reason he hadn’t been able to bring himself to cut things off was that Hiromatsu never sent anything suggestive—nothing like “I like you” or “I want to see you.” The emails were just casual, friendly in tone, and that casual connection filled a certain void for Matsuoka, who had recently been dumped by his girlfriend and grown distant from his college friends. It was just enough to ease the loneliness.

Also, Hiromatsu never sent more than one message if Matsuoka didn’t reply. Everything moved at Matsuoka’s pace, and he liked that.

The morning calls had started about two weeks ago. He’d emailed one day saying, “I’m terrible at waking up in the morning. I almost got to work late again today.” Hiromatsu had replied, “Shall I give you a morning call?”

Half-jokingly, Matsuoka had written back, “Then call me at seven tomorrow morning.”

To which Hiromatsu replied, “I’d be happy to, but I don’t know your phone number.”

They had already been exchanging emails for three weeks by that point, so Matsuoka had assumed he knew it already. He debated for a while whether to give out his number. He hadn’t intended to let things go beyond email. But given Hiromatsu’s consistent politeness, he figured even if he gave him the number, he wouldn’t use it frivolously—and he was right. Other than the 7 a.m. morning call, Hiromatsu never called at all.

These days, they exchanged emails three or four times in the morning and again at night. Things like what they had for dinner or how they stopped by a bookstore on the way home from work—trivial conversations, really. But even so, Matsuoka found himself looking forward to every message.

Even through a screen, without seeing the other’s face, he could feel Hiromatsu’s gentleness and thoughtfulness in the casual tone of his words. Just reading them made Matsuoka smile naturally, and warmed his chest.

Aside from occasionally using feminine sentence endings, Matsuoka mostly wrote just as he was—unfiltered. Part of him wanted to crack the overly idealized image Hiromatsu seemed to have of “her.” Maybe that was working, because as their exchanges piled up, Hiromatsu began to loosen up. Sometimes, he even started slipping in corny jokes that made Matsuoka chuckle and roll his eyes.

And whenever that happened, Matsuoka didn’t hesitate to reply with something blunt like “That wasn’t funny,” chalking it up to a form of social education.

Hiromatsu would then reply, “Was it really that bad?”—sounding genuinely deflated, which made Matsuoka burst out laughing in front of his phone every time.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The moment Matsuoka arrived at the office, he was essentially kidnapped by Hayama from General Affairs. Tearfully, she begged him to help—she said she wouldn’t be able to get the materials ready in time for the morning meeting no matter what. Technically, it had nothing to do with him, but he couldn’t just ignore a colleague from the same year, not when she was on the verge of tears.

The copier in their department wasn’t enough to handle the job, so he went down to the second-floor copy room with her.

Inside the copy room—used by all departments—was Hiromatsu. Normally, Matsuoka would have taken a moment to enjoy watching him unnoticed, but there was no room for that kind of indulgence now. They commandeered four of the five copiers and started running batches all at once. They had to make fifty sets of thirty-page packets in just thirty minutes—something that felt utterly impossible.

“This one just freed up too,” Hiromatsu said, stepping aside.

They took it. Since the files weren’t digital, they couldn’t prep the sets in advance. All they could do was wait and stack them as they printed. Hayama stood beside one of the machines, eyes misted over.

“How did it end up like this? You’re supposed to have materials like this ready the day before.”

“I don’t know.”

Her response was blunt and dismissive.

“What do you mean, you don’t know? That’s so careless.”

“The careless one is Okayabayashi-san!”

Hayama snapped.

“Yesterday I told her—'We need fifty sets of these, thirty pages per set, by tomorrow morning.' And then this morning she acts like she never heard it. When I got mad, she started crying, and then the manager was like, ‘Are you sure you really told Okayabayashi-san that?’ and started doubting me…”

Come to think of it, there had been trouble before involving Okayabayashi. Something about whether or not she’d taken a client order. That time, it had been resolved because the client followed up in advance, but Okayabayashi had insisted she hadn’t taken the order. The person in charge said they had given it to her, and in the end, responsibility was left ambiguous.

“She’s always been like this—careless, and when something goes wrong, she just dumps all the blame on someone else…”

Hayama wiped her eyes with her fingertips and sniffled hard.

“Um…”

A voice called out hesitantly. They turned to see Hiromatsu standing there.

“If it’s urgent, there’s another copier in Development on the second floor. Also, I think the small meeting room on the fourth floor isn’t being used right now. You could assemble everything there. The door probably isn’t locked.”

Before he could even finish speaking, Hayama had grabbed the originals and dashed out.

“These materials are for the morning meeting, right?”

Matsuoka nodded.

“Well, the first fifteen minutes of the morning meeting usually get eaten up by the president’s announcements, so even if the materials arrive a bit late, it should be okay.”

Hiromatsu glanced over the finished copies.

“I’m from General Affairs, so I’ll be heading back up to the seventh floor. I can drop these off at the meeting room on the way and start laying them out if you’d like. Just in order of the page numbers?”

“Ah, but…”

“It’s no trouble at all—don’t worry.”

Smiling, Hiromatsu gathered up about ten completed sets and walked out of the room.

It was a huge help, but honestly, Matsuoka was surprised. Sure, they worked at the same company, but they weren’t in the same department, and barely even knew each other. It would've made sense to keep his head down and stay out of it. Matsuoka caught himself in that thought—and suddenly, the way Hiromatsu treated kindness like second nature made him think: He might actually be kind of amazing.

Just as Hiromatsu had predicted, they missed the start time, but the materials still made it to the meeting in time. Matsuoka barely had a moment to breathe before Hayama was summoned to the department head’s desk.

Despite her protests, the story was already being accepted: “She didn’t tell Okayabayashi.”

Matsuoka could only watch as Hayama bit her lip, fighting back tears. It was painful to look at.

The root of all this—Okayabayashi—sat nearby with an insolent look on her face, watching without a shred of guilt. She was Fukuda’s girlfriend, and normally Matsuoka made it a point to stay out of her messes, but this time, he couldn’t keep playing the bystander.

He rose from his chair and casually walked toward the department head’s desk.

“Um… I heard Hayama-san ask Okayabayashi-san to ‘make copies of the documents.’”

A ripple of tension spread through the office. Hayama looked at Matsuoka in shock. The department head—forty-five this year, though his thinning hair made him look five years older—asked in a grave tone, “Is that true?”

“Yes.”

“That’s a lie.”

Okayabayashi stood up. Her cheeks, normally flushed, had turned completely pale.

“But I really did hear it.”

“That’s a lie! You weren’t even in the office at the time—you were out doing client visits!”

Matsuoka exhaled quietly and gave a small shrug.

“Even if I wasn’t physically there at that exact moment, it still means there was a situation where Hayama told you she needed the copies, doesn’t it?”

Only then did Okayabayashi seem to realize that she had just dug her own grave in front of everyone.

“Th-that’s not what I meant…”

“What’s not what you meant? You just said ‘at that time.’ Doesn’t that imply a moment when something was said to you?”

Okayabayashi crouched down beside her desk and began to cry. Honestly, it was annoying.

“What’s the point of crying? You’re an adult. Crying to escape responsibility when something goes wrong isn’t going to fix anything. And trying to dump your mistake onto someone else? Did you think it’d be fine if Hayama got blamed?”

One moment she was sobbing loudly, the next she stood up abruptly and bolted from the room.

…No one went after her.

Previous TOC Next