Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 2 - Part 1

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Albert Irving scrubbed the tiled floor with a mop soaked in disinfectant, humming a tune as he worked. His slightly off-pitch singing echoed lightly in the sterile, silent room.

The treatment room of the embalming facility, attached to the funeral hall known as the "Old Memorial Center," was about the size of a high school classroom. The white tiled walls encircled it, giving it the feel of a basement. In the center, four stainless steel embalming tables were lined up at equal intervals, reflecting the bright bulbs above and emitting a dull glow, creating a unique atmosphere.

Embalming involves treating a corpse with preservatives, disinfectants, restorations, and makeup. In Al’s homeland of America, it’s a common practice. The benefit of embalming is that it can restore bodies damaged by accidents or illness to a state resembling their healthy appearance. Moreover, the process sterilizes the body, halts decomposition, and ensures cleanliness.

Unlike in America, where burial is common, Japan predominantly practices cremation, so the demand for embalming remains low. There are also prejudices, with some people believing that embalming is tampering with the body since it involves draining blood and injecting preservatives. In the past, most clients were foreigners living in Japan, but now more Japanese are choosing the service.

Al worked as a cleaner at an embalming facility where a friend was employed. Despite the higher-than-average pay, Matsumura from the office often complained about how difficult it was to find workers. But for Al, it was an ideal job—flexible hours and a pleasant work environment.

The air conditioning ran continuously, making the treatment room a bit chilly. Even cleaners were required to wear the same light blue surgical gowns and boots as the embalmers to prevent infections. Though April had brought warmer days, the temperature dropped quickly at night, and since Al reverted to his human form from that of a bat, the cold was felt directly on his skin.

“Why don’t we have a little hanami soon, to welcome Muroi-kun?” Koyanagi had suggested earlier in the day. After returning to human form, Al had asked Akira, “What’s a hanami?” With a frown, Akira had replied, “It’s when you drink under the cherry trees and make a fool of yourself,” clearly displeased. Apparently, it was similar to an outdoor party. Akira seemed to dislike hanami, but since all party planning was left to Koyanagi, he didn’t complain openly.

Back when he was human, or even now, Al loved parties and socializing, but Akira was different. Akira spent his days off at home reading, with only his friend Nukariya visiting occasionally. Al suspected that Akira wasn’t very good at having fun. Reading wasn’t bad, of course, and as an adult, Akira might find it bothersome to be told what to do, but Al thought he should get out more.

Leaning on the mop like a pole, Al rested his chin on the handle and sighed. If only he could maintain his human form during the day, he would take Akira out to different places. Though, without a driver’s license, they would be limited to places accessible by train. On top of that, Al had a terrible sense of direction and often got lost, even as a child…

A sweet, cloying scent filled his nostrils. Al’s eyebrows twitched. He smelled blood coming from beneath the embalming table to his right.

“Disinfect, disinfect~” he murmured rhythmically as he scrubbed with the mop. Even if the bloodstains weren’t visible, his keen sense of smell could detect every trace of it. This ability made him perfect for the job.

Glancing at the clock, Al exclaimed, “Oh!” He had been lost in thought and realized that more time had passed than expected. If he delayed any longer, Akira, waiting in the break room, would have to wait even more.

“Gotta hurry, gotta hurry,” he urged himself, scrubbing the tiles with renewed vigor. His humming grew more spirited as well.

“…Excuse me, sorry to interrupt while you’re working.”

Startled by the hesitant voice, Al turned quickly. Tsuno, the assistant, was peeking in from the CDC room, just one door away from the treatment room. It had been quite some time since the body had been processed. Staying this late likely meant Tsuno had been chatting with Akira.

“What’s up, Tsuno?” Al asked. Tsuno looked puzzled.

“Uh, do you... know my name?”

Oops. In bat form, Al was often in the break room with Akira, and Tsuno would frequently play with him when Akira wasn’t around. Al had grown comfortable around Tsuno, forgetting that they had rarely met when Al was in his human form. Today was the first time Tsuno had spoken to him directly.

“Akira talks about Tsuno,” Al explained. Tsuno awkwardly rubbed the strap of the bag slung over his shoulder, his expression a mix of a forced smile and discomfort.

“Is that so…? Well, your Japanese is really good,” Tsuno remarked, trying to change the subject.

“My Japanese, not good yet,” Al replied, moving closer to Tsuno with his boots clacking on the floor.

“No, I think it’s very good.”

“Akira always hits me,” Al said, causing Tsuno’s expression to twist in confusion.

“What?”

“When I wrong words say, Akira hit. ‘Remember with body,’ he say,” Al added with a shrug. For some reason, Tsuno’s face grew tense.

“Is Akira-san always like that with you?”

Al pondered what Tsuno meant by “like that” but couldn’t figure it out.

“Like what?” Al asked, tilting his head. Tsuno looked uncomfortable, his lips moving uncertainly.

“I mean, does he hit you often?”

“Akira... always mean,” Al replied.

Although his vocabulary had improved, his grasp of Japanese grammar was still shaky. Akira often corrected him, pointing out that he should use “wa” instead of “de” in certain contexts. Japanese was a complex language with many nuanced differences. Seeing Tsuno’s tense expression, Al realized that his wording might make Akira seem like a terrible person in private, so he quickly added, “Sometimes nice. I like him.”

Al smiled, and Tsuno responded with a stiff laugh. Japanese people often had this peculiar way of laughing. Once the laughter faded, an awkward silence settled between them.

Tsuno cleared his throat and spoke up. “I know it might seem rude, especially since we’ve barely talked, but I have a favor to ask. Could you spare a moment after you finish your work?”

Al was rarely asked for favors, though he often asked Akira and Nukariya for help. The fact that it was Tsuno, who was always kind and playful, made Al curious.

“Now is okay. Talk.” Al offered.

Tsuno glanced at the mop in Al’s hand. “But, um, aren’t you busy with work?”

“No problem,” Al assured him, eager to hear the request.

After a brief moment of hesitation, Tsuno finally asked, “Um, would you be interested in working as a model?”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Al's home was on the 18th floor of a 24-story apartment building, about a 15-minute drive from the Old Memorial Center. He lived in a small apartment with Akira Takatsuka, a 31-year-old embalmer. It was more accurate to say he was a freeloader rather than a roommate since he didn’t pay a single yen in rent.

As a freeloader, his space in the closet was only about one-tenth of the total, and his bed was the sofa. But he was perfectly satisfied with this. Compared to the days when he aimlessly spent time in a filthy boathouse near a hunter’s house in the woods, he now felt much more alive.

Sitting on the living room sofa, Al silently watched Akira eat his meal. Even with an angry expression, Akira was handsome—his face was clean and well-defined, with almond-shaped eyes, a high nose, and deep-set features. The overall impression he gave was oriental and exotic. Al often thought that if Akira stood still in silence, he could rival any actor. But Akira didn’t like his own face, and when Al complimented him with, “Akira, you’re so cool,” he would purse his lips in annoyance.

Al glanced again at the dinner he had eagerly prepared for Akira. The meal was simple and disciplined: rice, miso soup, and a microwaved steamed vegetable salad. Conservative by nature, Akira disliked anything too innovative. Even when Al put effort into creating a new side dish, Akira would dismiss it as “disgusting.” Al suspected that Akira’s sense of taste might be a bit dull because, in Al’s opinion, the food was quite delicious.

Sure, the miso soup had boiled over while he wasn’t paying attention, and the wakame seaweed had become softer than expected, but that couldn’t be helped. Despite some minor mistakes, Al was proud of how the meal turned out and wanted even a little bit of praise. Yet Akira ate in silence, mechanically spooning the food into his mouth, the only sound being the faint noise of his chewing.

“Akira, is food tasty?” Al finally asked, unable to contain himself any longer.

“It’s terrible,” Akira replied, without missing a beat.

“No way. I tasted, it’s good,” Al pouted, sticking out his lips. Akira slammed his tea cup onto the low table.

“The vegetables are only half-cooked. They’re hard, and chewing them makes a gritty noise that pisses me off. The miso soup is a sludgy mess with the wakame dissolved like mud, and there’s no flavor to it. You forgot to add the dashi, didn’t you?”

Al averted his gaze.

“Don’t look away when you’re in the wrong!”

“No dashi, but still good,” Al protested in a small voice.

“You didn’t even rinse the wakame, did you? Do you want to give me high blood pressure with this overly salty miso soup?”

“I try hard every day,” Al said, hoping Akira would at least acknowledge his efforts, despite the occasional mistake.

“I know you cook every day. I do. But how can you keep making the same mistakes over and over? People are supposed to improve, you know. Or is your head just full of sawdust?”

“My head has things. You know that, Akira,” Al shot back.

“You idiot!” Akira snapped.

“The sawdust was just a metaphor for how bad your memory is. Don’t make me explain every little thing!” Akira shouted before running his hands through his tousled black hair.

“You and Muroi both… Lately, everyone around me has been talking back to me,” he muttered, but still, he continued eating the undercooked vegetables.

In March of this year, Maruyama, the only woman among the associate embalmers training at the embalming facility, had successfully completed her training and graduated, securing a job at an embalming facility in her hometown of Fukuoka. Maruyama was a bit rough around the edges despite her cute appearance, but she had been very fond of Al in his bat form, so saying goodbye was hard. Al had even shed a few tears when Maruyama teared up.

Tsuno, who had been in the same cohort as Maruyama, had also completed his training and graduated. He then joined the Old Memorial Center as an embalmer. Tsuno’s family ran a funeral hall, and they were in the process of building an embalming facility, though it wasn’t finished yet. Tsuno had expressed a desire to continue learning under Akira’s guidance for a bit longer.

The Old Memorial Center usually had only two embalmers. A third would be overstaffed. However, during the winter, Koyanagi’s wife fell ill, causing him to take frequent absences from work. Akira had quietly taken on Koyanagi’s workload without a single complaint, but no matter how fast Akira was, handling multiple bodies during the day and being called in at night took its toll. Dark circles appeared under his eyes, and he often looked exhausted.

Fortunately, Koyanagi’s wife recovered, but she was still unable to fully resume her duties, so Koyanagi occasionally took days off. The facility had considered this and hired Tsuno on a one-year contract. With Koyanagi’s situation, only one associate embalmer was accepted from the mortuary school this year instead of the usual two, and, naturally, Akira was responsible for overseeing him.

This year’s associate embalmer was a 23-year-old named Ikumi Muroi. After graduating from university, he enrolled in mortuary school, much like Tsuno. Muroi was as tall as Akira, with long, slender limbs. Akira had once looked at Muroi’s hands and quietly remarked, “He seems like he’d be good with his hands,” a comment that stuck with Al.

As Akira had predicted, Muroi was indeed skillful with his hands and had a good intuition. However, Akira didn’t seem to get along with Muroi, who was cheerful, bright, and open. Then again, Akira wasn’t the type to chat happily with just anyone.

Despite complaining about how terrible the food was, Akira ate everything on his plate. Al washed the dirty dishes, still wondering if maybe, just maybe, the food had actually been good. After folding the laundry he had dried the night before, he sat cross-legged at Akira’s feet, where Akira was reading an English magazine on the sofa.

“…What is it?” Akira asked, looking up from his magazine.

“I practice massage,” Al said.

Akira rolled onto his stomach on the sofa. Al placed his hands on Akira’s shoulders, gently applying pressure as he began to massage.

Late at night, when Akira worked alone embalming bodies, Al often helped with the massage. The massage was necessary to ensure that the stagnant blood in the veins was drained properly and that the embalming fluid circulated throughout the body. Though Al didn’t have a license, he was allowed to help with this task as a special exception. For Al, it was a way to show respect and gratitude to the bodies from which he received blood.

At first, Akira complained during these practice sessions, saying, “Don’t press too hard,” and “Don’t rub the skin.” But over time, as Al’s skills improved, Akira’s corrections became fewer.

Akira’s skin, unlike the bodies or Al’s own, was warm. The resilience of his flesh, the texture of the muscle underneath—it all reminded Al that Akira was alive. Partway through the massage, Akira started to breathe softly, as though he’d fallen asleep, but as Al finished the full-body massage, Akira drowsily opened his eyes.

“I need to talk.”

Half-asleep, Akira groggily propped himself up, yawning.

“Are you going to ask for more allowance?”

“Allowance, five thousand yen per month, okay.”

Though Al earned some income from his cleaning job, it was only about two hours of work a day, and it added up to less than 40,000 yen a month. Al gave all his earnings to Akira, and in return, he received a 5,000-yen monthly allowance. Akira saved the rest for him. When they had saved enough for rent, deposit, and basic living expenses, Al planned to move out and live on his own. That had been the arrangement from the start.

"You’re not after more weird clothes, are you?" Akira asked.

Just the other day, Al had found a T-shirt with cool kanji at a nearby shop and begged Akira to buy it for him. Since they were about the same size, Al had said, “Akira can wear it too if you want,” but Akira hadn’t even touched it. Maybe he was hesitant because it was Al’s.

“I want to be a model.”

Akira let out a nasal “Huh?”

“What are you talking about?”

“Tsuno asked me. He wants me to model.”

“Why is Tsuno’s name coming up here?”

“Tsuno’s sibling runs a modeling agency. Foreign model got hurt, and they’re in trouble. I want to help.”

“Maybe Tsuno’s family asked for help, but you’ve been arrested twice. You’re using a fake name even for your part-time job. You can’t just do something where your face is out there for everyone to see. Think logically.”

“Makeup will change my face.”

“It’s still a no.”

Akira shot down the idea without hesitation.

“I want to help people.”

"I’m not saying helping people is bad. The problem is that it’s dangerous for you to show your face."

No matter how much Al insisted that he wanted to help, Akira wouldn’t budge. Al had been arrested twice in the past and put in detention. He’d escaped both times by turning into a bat, but since he hadn’t been formally released, it was technically considered an “escape.” That’s why he used his maternal grandfather’s name, Kane Roberts, instead of his real name, Albert Irving, for his part-time job. According to Nukariya, because his charges were for “trespassing” and “public indecency” and his identity hadn’t been thoroughly confirmed, he hadn’t been put on a wanted list yet.

“It’s fine. Makeup will change my face. They won’t recognize me.”

Akira raised his hands in frustration, clearly irritated.

“No matter what you say, the answer is no. Don’t ever mention modeling in front of me again.”

Akira buried his face back in his magazine, signaling that the conversation was over. No matter what Al said after that, Akira wouldn’t even respond.

Despite trying to please him with a thorough massage, it had no effect. Even when Al tried a cute, pleading approach—“Are you sure I can’t?” or “I really want to do it”—Akira just ignored him. As Al stared at Akira’s cold profile, anger started to bubble up.

“Akira, you’re so stubborn!”

Akira, always sensitive to insults, glared at Al instantly.

“Why are you so obsessed with modeling?”

“Tsuno’s in trouble.”

“Is that the only reason? You’re not just thinking about dressing up, getting fawned over, and making easy money, are you?”

Al stood up, snatched the newspaper off the table, and threw it at Akira.

“You’re an idiot, Akira!”

The newspaper smacked Akira square in the face.

“What the hell is that weird Japanese?! You idiot!”

Al pouted, stomping out of the apartment without even grabbing his keys. He crossed the street in front of the apartment, headed south, and turned left. After about five minutes, he reached the riverbank. The dimly lit path along the river felt cold, and Al shivered a little in just a shirt.

He understood why Akira was worried. But when Akira shut him down with “no, no, no” without even considering his feelings, Al couldn’t help but resist.

“Akira, you stubborn devil, jerk,” Al muttered, venting his frustration. But no matter how angry he got, no matter how much he complained, he had no intention of leaving Akira’s side.

Al was—though no normal person would believe it—a vampire. Eight years ago, he’d been half-turned by a crazy female vampire, leaving him as an incomplete version of one. By day, he had no choice but to transform into a small bat. On top of that, although he needed blood to survive, he had no fangs, so he couldn’t even bite and suck blood the traditional way. These two issues—"transforming against his will" and "unable to bite to suck blood"—had caused him countless troubles.

He had died once, and when he came back as a vampire, his family treated him as a monster and drove him out. Because he turned into a bat during the day and back into a human at night, he couldn’t blend into human society like other vampires. In his wandering, he ended up living in a boathouse near an old hunter’s secluded cabin in Nebraska, leading a lonely and quiet life.

Last autumn, he was living like a ghost, licking the blood from animals the old hunter killed to stave off his hunger. Then, by a strange twist of fate, he ended up frozen among the meat being processed, and was exported. He woke up in the bathroom of a Japanese food processing plant, stark naked, and was arrested by the police as a suspicious person while wandering around.

When he was arrested, he was in human form, but by morning he had turned into a bat. Since normal people don’t expect a person to turn into a bat, they assumed he had escaped, causing a bit of a stir in the station. The bat-Al was captured as evidence, which is when he met the kind-hearted detective Nukariya. Nukariya brought Al to Akira Takatsuka, a lover of bats and an embalmer, and after a series of events, Al ended up staying with him.

At first, Al found Akira’s blunt and foul-mouthed nature repulsive, but now he knows Akira is just clumsy but kind. If it wasn’t for that, Akira wouldn’t bother cooking meals, cleaning, or doing laundry for him. Al tries to do what he can in return, within his limits, but Akira doesn’t seem particularly pleased. He never says "Thank you, Al." He just silently eats the food Al makes. Al wishes Akira would praise him more.

Thanks to Akira’s consideration as an embalmer, Al gets a small amount of blood from the waste fluids drained from the bodies, which keeps him from starving. In exchange, Al helps massage the bodies being embalmed. By sharing in the "life" being removed from these people, Al has finally managed to regain a semblance of human life.

When he first came to Japan, Al was shocked, confused, angry, and eventually, despairing. But since he started living with Akira, he’s been given a place to belong—a spot on the sofa, a corner of the closet. He can get blood to stave off his hunger without hurting anyone or having to drink from animals. And most of all, he’s happy to have contact with people. When he’s in bat form, everyone dotes on him, and when he’s in human form, he can talk to Akira and Nukariya. There are people who know him, who understand him. He’s far happier than he was before, he’s content, and yet... he still feels strangely unsettled.

Even when lying on the sofa that’s become his designated spot, he feels uneasy. He knows that, unlike the boathouse in Nebraska, he won’t be attacked by intruders in the middle of the night and tossed into the river, but still, he’s restless.

Since he started getting used to living with Akira, his feelings have become increasingly unsettled. When he thought about why, the only thing he could come up with was the uncertain future.

Things are good now, but how long can this state of affairs continue? As an incomplete vampire, he doesn’t even know how long he’ll live. But one thing is certain—he will outlive Nukariya and Akira.

Because things are good now, the uncertainty of the future scares him. No matter how good he gets at Japanese, no matter how much money he saves from working, he knows that one day, he’ll be alone. No matter how much he dreads it, everyone else will die before him, leaving him behind.

So, because of that, he wanted to cherish the people who are with him now. Not just be taken care of and doted on, but also be cherished and relied upon. When Tsuno reached out to him, Al was happy. Despite his shaky Japanese and his inability to do much, he was wanted and felt like he could be useful to someone.

Of course, he’s concerned about the police situation. He knows it would be bad to show his face. But Tsuno had been truly desperate, and Al had caught a hint of the hesitation in his voice when he asked for Al’s help. If the chance of getting caught was lower than the chance of staying under the radar, Al wanted to help Tsuno by all means.

Besides, he had some confidence in his posing abilities, having worked as a model in rural America. He was interested in Japan’s modeling industry too, but it wasn’t just about "getting dressed up and being pampered" as Akira had said. He sincerely wanted to help Tsuno out of his predicament.

"Al?"

A voice called from behind him, and Al turned around. Standing by the bridge he had just passed was Nukariya. Al stopped in his tracks, and Nukariya quickly approached him.

"What’s going on at this hour? Out for a night stroll?" Nukariya asked with a gentle smile. Nukariya, the detective who had taken Al out of the police station and brought him to Akira, was someone Al owed a great deal to.

Though Nukariya used to visit Akira’s apartment frequently, lately he only dropped by about once a month. When he was with Al and Akira, he was a kind and gentle man, but as soon as he switched into work mode, he became fiercely committed to his sense of justice. This often led to him acting on his own, much to the annoyance of his junior partner, Yanagawa, who was always grumbling about it.

"Nu-Nukariya... lately... not come much," Al mumbled, echoing Akira’s words that "this is how it used to be." Apparently, Nukariya had been checking in frequently until the half-vampire got used to his life in Japan and with Akira.

"Is Akira at home?" Nukariya asked kindly.

"Yes," Al replied curtly. Sensing the tension in the air, Nukariya tilted his head and peered at Al’s face. "What’s wrong?" he asked.

"Akira... fight," Al confessed.

"I see," Nukariya said, putting his hands on his hips. "Why don’t we talk for a bit?" he suggested, starting to walk ahead. After about twenty yards (approximately eighteen meters), they reached a low embankment along the riverbank, reinforced with concrete. Nukariya hopped onto the edge of the embankment, and Al sat down beside him.

Even though Nukariya had said they should talk, he didn’t ask any questions. It seemed he was waiting for Al to start. After hesitating for a moment, Al decided he wanted to talk and honestly explained the reason for the fight.

He told Nukariya that Tsuno’s sister, who ran a modeling agency, was in trouble because a foreign model had been seriously injured. There were very few male foreign models in Japan, so it was difficult to find a replacement with the right look and height. Al closely resembled the injured model in both height and appearance…

“I want... to help... Tsuno... is in trouble,” Al said, his speech halting.

Nukariya stroked his chin and let out a small hum. "I understand why Akira is worried, and I also understand why you want to do it, so it’s a tough situation. In reality, your case hasn’t blown up into a big deal. The incident was too minor, and there was practically no harm done. It seems like the higher-ups are trying to sweep the whole 'escape from custody' thing under the rug. From the police’s perspective, they just want you to quietly return to your home country without causing any more trouble. If they catch you again, it would expose their mishandling of the situation, leading to criticism of the police for their cover-up."

“Then... I can... model?” Al asked, his face full of hope.

Nukariya frowned and remained silent for a moment. "The job you’re being asked to do is modeling for a magazine, right? Unlike helping out at a restaurant or something, being a model means your image will remain in print for a long time. That’s what worries me. The police might not be checking fashion magazines, but it’s not impossible for someone to notice. Like Akira, I think it’s best if you don’t do it."

“Why... not? Makeup... change face... look different,” Al insisted, looking up at Nukariya with wide eyes.

Nukariya pressed a hand to his forehead, clearly struggling with how to respond.

“It’s not guaranteed... but... don’t tell Akira,” Al pleaded, his words jumbled.

Nukariya’s expression remained conflicted.

"Akira isn’t the type to read fashion magazines, so if you don’t tell him, he might not notice... But does it really have to be you for this role?"

Al fell silent.

"Well, if it were easy to find a replacement, they wouldn’t have gone out of their way to ask a random person they saw at the workplace, would they?" Nukariya reasoned.

Tsuno had said, "I really hope you can do this for me," but then quickly added, "If it’s not possible, feel free to turn it down." There was an option to refuse. But despite the risks, Al wanted to help Tsuno.

“I think it’s safer to avoid it this time. It’s unfortunate for Tsuno’s sister, but risking drawing police attention or getting caught isn’t worth it, Al,” Nukariya advised.

Al hung his head, and Nukariya, noticing his dejected posture, gently patted him on the back.

"I’m only advising you to avoid jobs where your image would be recorded on paper or in video. For anything else, I wouldn’t oppose you helping out."

The cool scent of the waterfront was suddenly tinged with the faint smell of blood. It wasn’t strong, but it had that distinctive scent of blood mixed with chemicals—the scent of Akira. Al lifted his head and sniffed the air like a dog. Noticing this, Nukariya asked, "What is it?"

"Akira... coming," Al replied.

Nukariya turned to look past the dim streetlights. After squinting into the darkness for a moment, he murmured, "You’re right."

"He must be worried about you and came to get you," Nukariya said.

"No... not that," Al quickly shook his head.

"I think that’s exactly what it is. Remember last year when you got stabbed? He regretted leaving you alone. He told me he was mad at himself for losing his temper and leaving you behind."

This was the first time Al had heard that story. As Akira approached, he stopped in front of the embankment where they were sitting and bluntly asked, "What are you two doing here?" His face betrayed no effort to hide his irritation.

Akira’s unruly hair swayed in the cold wind. "I was on my way to the apartment when I ran into Al. We started talking," Nukariya said with a smile.

"And here, I’ve got something for you from Sakeiri," Nukariya added, pulling a postcard from his jacket pocket and handing it to Akira. After reading the card, Akira frowned and said, "A class reunion?"

"Sakeiri’s organizing it. We ran into each other at a bar recently. He didn’t know your address, so I offered to pass this along. I could have given him your address, but I thought I’d check with you first."

Akira folded the postcard in half, somewhat carelessly.

"I don’t even remember this Sakeiri guy."

"We were in the same class in both second and third year of high school."

"If I don’t remember him, I don’t remember him."

Nukariya sighed. "Sakeiri was a pretty distinctive guy, but what I remember most is him getting in trouble during our school trip. He spent the entire night sitting in the teacher’s room as punishment for vandalizing a building."

Something finally seemed to jog Akira’s memory, as he narrowed one eye and sniffed dismissively. "That guy with the glasses? He was noisy wherever he went."

"That’s right," Nukariya said, nodding in agreement. "He’s a TV producer now. When I mentioned your work, he seemed interested and said he’d like to talk to you."

"I’m not going. There’s no point in meeting people whose names and faces I barely remember."

"Don’t be like that. You should show your face at least once. Everyone’s grown up now; it’s not like back then."

"I have no interest in rekindling old connections that never existed. If he wants to know about my work, tell him to go through the proper channels."

Nukariya shrugged, giving up. "Stubborn, as always," he muttered under his breath.

"What... is reunion?" Al whispered to Nukariya, who explained, "It’s when former classmates get together, have a meal, and catch up.”

Al thought it sounded similar to the gatherings in America, where high school or college graduates would reunite every ten years or so.

“You should go, Akira," Al suggested.

A frown formed on Akira’s face. "I don’t need you telling me what to do."

His words were sharp, as if they were bristling with spikes.

"I’m not ordering you. I just... I’m jealous," Al said, spreading his arms wide. "I don’t have friends to meet..."

Akira clamped his mouth shut, his mood clearly souring.

“I’m jealous... you have friends to meet,” Al repeated.

"They’re not friends, just acquaintances," Akira snapped.

"Talking to acquaintances is fun, too," Al insisted.

Nukariya patted Al’s shoulder lightly. "See, even Al thinks so. Why not consider it? You might find you get along with people you didn’t talk to back then. It could widen your circle a bit."

"I’m perfectly satisfied with my life as it is. I have no complaints," Akira declared firmly. Then he turned to Al and said, "Come on, we’re leaving," before briskly walking back the way he had come. Nukariya sighed softly, muttering, “Stubborn as ever.”

"Well, I’ve completed my mission of delivering the postcard, so I won’t be going to Akira’s place. I’ve still got some work to finish."

“Really? Then... bye-bye,” Al said, waving to Nukariya before hurrying after Akira’s lone figure. As he got closer, he noticed Akira’s shoulders were tense, swaying left and right as if he was still angry. Al tilted his head, wondering why Akira had come to the riverbank in the first place. It didn’t seem like he’d been out shopping since he wasn’t carrying anything.

“Akira... did you come... to pick me up?”

The angry figure turned around.

“I was on my way to the convenience store!” Akira snapped.

Al pointed east, the direction opposite from where Akira had come. “Convenience store... that way.”

Akira’s expression grew even more furious. “I forgot my wallet!” he yelled, and his pace quickened even more as he stormed ahead.

Maybe he really did come to pick me up... Al thought, but with Akira’s angry back in front of him, he couldn’t bring himself to ask anything more.

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