Innocent World: Chapter 12

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Despite putting all his energy into visiting one client in the morning and two in the afternoon, Yamamura ended the day empty-handed. It wasn’t unusual to go without securing a contract, but on days when he got nothing at all, it felt especially draining.

Just past 7 p.m., on his way back to the office, Yamamura received a message on his phone. It was from Nishida, who had already wrapped up his work for the day after securing a contract of his own. The message read: “I have something I’d like to discuss. Could you come to ‘Mame Mameya' (a small izakaya) after you finish work?”

Yamamura didn’t mind going, but Nishida was a notorious heavy drinker. If he went, he’d be out until the early morning. Yamamura quickly typed out a message to Ochiai: “I have a client dinner tonight and will be back late. If Hiro comes by, send him home at a reasonable time.”

After receiving a bit of sarcastic criticism from the section chief for not securing any contracts, Yamamura left the office. He arrived at the izakaya just before 8 p.m., where Nishida introduced him to a man named Kataoka. The guy looked to be around twenty-five, wearing a sharp, dark-colored suit and carrying himself with a calm, composed demeanor. Apparently, Kataoka was a partner in the company that Nishida was setting up. While Yamamura was eager to be part of it, he was a bit bewildered by how fast the conversation was progressing without any solid confirmation from his side.

“I’m still working at my company, you know,” Kataoka said, handing Yamamura his business card. It read: "Toseido, Systems Department, Section Chief." Even Yamamura had heard of Toseido, a major firm. Despite working at such a prestigious company, Kataoka was planning to leave and start his own business. It must mean he was confident in its success.

As they spoke, Yamamura realized Kataoka was a sharp guy. He came across as serious but not rigid, and his passion for the new business venture was palpable. When they got into the details of insurance, though, some of the technical terms flew right over Yamamura’s head. Still, he could sense Kataoka’s enthusiasm.

The more Yamamura talked with Kataoka, the more he wondered if this guy really needed someone like him. Kataoka was clearly capable—probably very capable—whereas Yamamura was a high school dropout who had been working in borderline scammy door-to-door sales. Surely Kataoka had better connections than someone like him. Yamamura couldn’t hold back his doubts and spoke up frankly.

“I’m sure Nishida’s told you already, but our kind of sales… well, it’s not exactly what you’d call ‘clean.’ Are you sure you’re okay with that?”

Kataoka blinked a few times before smiling.

“Well, yes… I’ve heard all about it, and even so, I think you’re the right fit for this. To be honest, I’m not looking for someone who talks about ideals—I need someone who can deliver results. I don’t care about educational background. To put it bluntly, I want someone who doesn’t say, ‘I can’t,’ and will get the job done by whatever means necessary.”

Kataoka’s explanation made sense, and Yamamura could tell he had high expectations for him.

Yamamura often felt a sense of self-loathing, knowing that he was good at selling because he was good at deceiving people. But hearing Kataoka evaluate his sales record alone, without judgment, made him feel genuinely happy for once.

As Yamamura’s trust in Kataoka grew, so did his enjoyment of the drinks. He let the sake flow, and by the time he was pleasantly buzzed, the conversation naturally shifted to something more serious.

“By the way, Kataoka-san, what’s the situation with the startup funds?” Nishida asked. He had been drinking as much as Yamamura, yet didn’t seem the least bit drunk.

“My side’s all set. What about you, Nishida?”

“I’m getting some help from my parents, so I should be able to scrape it together. Oh, speaking of which, I haven’t told Yamamura-san about this yet.”

Kataoka’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Wait, you didn’t mention that? That’s kind of important.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m getting to it now. So, Yamamura-san, to get this company off the ground, we need an initial sum of money.”

“Money?” Yamamura asked, confused.

“Well, yeah. We need to rent a place, buy equipment, and there’s a lot of paperwork involved. So, the founding members are going to pitch in. According to Kataoka-san’s calculations, it’ll take about ten million yen.”

“Ten million yen?!”

Yamamura shouted in shock, but Nishida, completely unfazed, just shrugged and said, “Apparently, that’s on the cheaper side.”

“Sixty percent of that, six million yen, will be put up by Kataoka-san,” Nishida explained. “So, the remaining four million… I was thinking maybe you and I could split it.”

Yamamura sobered up immediately. If they split the four million, that’d be two million each. There was no way he could come up with that kind of money, especially with his existing debt. Even without the debt, two million yen was an enormous sum to cough up out of nowhere. Yamamura was dumbfounded, his mouth hanging open.

“Why didn’t you tell me something this important earlier?” he snapped.

“Well… I figured if I mentioned the funding upfront, you might back out. I know you’ve got debts. But still, I really wanted to work with you, Yamamura-san.”

Before Yamamura could even voice his frustrations, Kataoka, sitting across from him, cut in, visibly angry.

“What the hell were you thinking? Something like the investment requirements is a critical detail. You should’ve discussed that with him from the start and gotten his agreement! This is serious business—we’re not doing this for fun.”

“I-I wasn’t trying to be careless…” Nishida, who usually managed to glide through life avoiding any major conflicts, hung his head, wilting under Kataoka’s reprimand.

Kataoka turned to Yamamura and bowed deeply.

“Yamamura-san, I’m truly sorry. If this is too much for you, feel free to decline the offer.”

Hearing Kataoka’s apology made Yamamura’s initial instinct—there’s no way I can come up with two million yen—start to feel like a missed opportunity. Then Kataoka added something else that piqued Yamamura’s interest.

“It’s a big initial investment, I know. But I think we’ll be able to pay it back within a year. I’ve been working on securing contracts in advance with Ounishi Taxi Union and Nitta Trucking. I can’t say much yet, but it’s through some family connections of mine… I know it’s not the most impressive way to do it, but we’ve got potential clients lined up.”

Yamamura was surprised. He had assumed they’d have to hustle from day one, scrambling to find clients. But here was Kataoka, already securing potential deals before the company had even launched. Yamamura was impressed—this guy’s really got his act together, he thought. Unlike Nishida, who could be a bit too laid-back, Kataoka seemed like someone Yamamura could trust.

“I don’t want to push you, but after talking today, I really think I’d like to work with you, Yamamura-san.”

The next day, Yamamura contacted Arisawa. “I need some money for a new business venture I’m working on. Is there any chance I could get an advance on part of my inheritance?” he asked. Arisawa thought it over for a while but eventually agreed, transferring the two million yen to Yamamura’s account.

It might sound bad, but Yamamura hadn’t expected Arisawa to refuse. To Arisawa, Yamamura was the ideal "guardian" for Hirokuni. If Yamamura got fed up and abandoned Hirokuni, Arisawa would be stuck taking care of him until a new guardian could be found. And since Arisawa didn’t like Hirokuni, Yamamura figured that to him, it was money well spent—after all, it wasn’t even Arisawa’s money, but Hirokuni’s future inheritance, and it wasn’t like Yamamura was using it for anything shady.

Yamamura immediately handed the two million yen over to Nishida. The company wouldn’t officially launch until next year, but they needed the funds now to secure a location and cover various other costs.

“Sorry again about not telling you sooner,” Nishida said cheerfully. “I just really wanted to work with you, Yamamura-san. And when I heard about your inheritance, I thought maybe it would work out after all.”

Yamamura was stunned at how casually Nishida said this.

“Kataoka-san’s on board too, so you won’t regret it. We’ll make sure you see a return,” Nishida continued, completely unfazed.

Yamamura sighed, shaking his head at Nishida’s carefree attitude. What would you have done if I couldn’t get the advance? he wondered, but all he said was, “Well, I’m counting on you.”

As they parted ways, Nishida suddenly remembered something and turned back.

“Oh, by the way… I heard the Jaguar died.”

“Jaguar?” Yamamura asked, confused.

“You know, that thing Hirokuni used to talk about. He said something about the Jaguar last time, remember? My girlfriend dragged me to the zoo again, and there was a sign on the cage. Looks like he really can talk to animals or something.”

On the way back to his apartment, Yamamura wondered whether he should mention this to Hirokuni. In the end, he decided against it. Whether Hirokuni knew or not wouldn’t make much difference, and if it was only going to make him feel bad, Yamamura figured it was better left unsaid.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The last day of August was marked by clear skies and oppressive humidity. Just stepping outside, the harsh sun pricked at Yamamura's skin, and sweat began to bead on his forehead. The clouds didn’t start gathering until much later in the day, as the sun had already begun to dip toward the west—too late to matter.

That day, Yamamura managed to secure one contract from a seventy-five-year-old woman living alone. Her only son, who worked in real estate in Tokyo, rarely visited, so Yamamura had patiently listened as she rambled on about her daughter-in-law and grandchildren. In the end, she was so pleased that she bought one unit from him. Normally, someone her age wouldn’t qualify for a loan, but the credit company allowed her to shorten a five-year loan to three years, approving it anyway. Elderly people living alone, without meddling children, often made for good clients even when the deal seemed a little reckless. When Nishida heard about it, he laughed and said, “Man, you’re still a heartless bastard.”

As Yamamura left the station and entered the busy shopping street, he immediately noticed the festive atmosphere that set the scene apart from usual. Strings of bulbs hung between the streetlamps, and colorful paper lanterns swung overhead. Posters advertising the “Summer Festival” were plastered on the windows and doors of the shops. Last year, Yamamura had glimpsed the festival briefly on his way home from work. Despite being organized by the local shopping district, it had been quite lively. Stalls had lined both sides of the riverside promenade, and people had swarmed between them like ants. Festivals had been exciting when he was a kid, but he wasn’t at the age where they held any appeal anymore.

He stopped by the Ishizaka Store and picked up a few side dishes. He’d been eating less convenience store bentos lately. These days, he always ate dinner at Ochiai’s place, and the old hag next door would occasionally press homemade dishes on him. Because of this, Yamamura had come to realize that these homemade foods tasted far better than convenience store meals.

For the past two days, Ochiai had been out of town. Although his clinic was always dead and he spent most of his time drinking or playing with Hirokuni in the middle of the day, he had the nerve to call this trip a "research conference." So Hirokuni was probably waiting at home for Yamamura to return with dinner.

“Ah, there you are.”

Just as Yamamura was about to unlock the door, the old hag from next door poked her head out. As always, she was wearing something eye-catching—a glittery leopard print outfit and a T-shirt that could knock you out. Over time, though, Yamamura had grown used to it. It was just her “character,” and he’d learned to take it in stride. The human capacity for tolerance was impressive.

“Did you go the Ishizaka Store?”

For a second, Yamamura thought she might be psychic, but the answer was simple: the place’s name was printed on the plastic bag he was carrying. Sharp eyes.

“Oh, yeah. By the way, thanks for the simmered eggplant you gave me the other day. It was really good.”

The old hag snorted proudly.

“I’ll return the Tupperware next time.”

“That’s just from the 100-yen store, so don’t worry about it,” she replied.

A faint sound of festival music floated in on the breeze from the direction of the river.

“There’s a festival tonight, huh?” she muttered.

“Seems like it,” Yamamura agreed.

“I love festivals, you know. The festivals themselves aren’t much, but I enjoy wandering around the stalls. Especially the candy apples—I can’t resist them.”

“You should go then.”

“Don’t be silly. It’s no fun going by yourself. Oh, I’ve got some leftover mapo tofu. Take it with you.”

With the mapo tofu in his left hand and the Ishizaka bag in his right, Yamamura awkwardly managed to get the door open, only to be startled by the sight of Hirokuni standing right in front of him. Maybe he had heard Yamamura’s footsteps or the conversation with the old hag. Either way, it was a shock to the system.

“Uh, I was just talking to the old hag about food, that’s all,” Yamamura explained, feeling the need to clarify. But Hirokuni’s expression didn’t change. He simply held out his hand. Yamamura handed over the bag from the Ishizaka Store, and Hirokuni turned and headed straight back into the apartment. It seemed his infatuation with the old hag had faded, and now all that mattered was his hunger.

They laid out the plastic trays on the table and began eating. Hirokuni had switched to using a fork, which had slowed down his eating compared to when he used his hands, but he still ate quickly. On top of that, he would focus entirely on whatever he liked, meaning that if Yamamura didn’t keep an eye on him, there’d be no side dishes left by the time he picked up his own chopsticks. As a result, Yamamura had started setting aside what he wanted on his plate before they began eating.

A breeze blew in through the open window, carrying the distant sound of festival music. Every time the music grew louder or softer, Hirokuni would glance toward the window, as if drawn to the sound.

“Is the music bothering you? They're having a festival by the river tonight,” Yamamura said, though he doubted Hirokuni would understand what a festival was. He opened the notebook that Ochiai had made—a labor of love, a dictionary of Hirokuni's unique language. Despite being called a dictionary, it was just an A5 notebook with five or six pages, not even in alphabetical order, reflecting Ochiai’s careless personality. It was hard to use and frustrating, but Yamamura vaguely remembered seeing the word for "festival" in there somewhere. After flipping through the pages, he found it. For Hirokuni, festival was "Reaho."

“Reaho. It’s Reaho,” Yamamura said.

Hirokuni’s eyes widened in excitement. He quickly stood up, placed his fork on the table, and went to the front door, slipping on his shoes.

“Hey, wait. Where do you think you’re going?”

“Reaho… see,” Hirokuni said, his eyes sparkling like a child’s. Yamamura scratched his head.

“I’ll take you, but you gotta wait until I finish eating. Going to a festival without any money is just gonna feel empty.”

Though Hirokuni stopped from heading out immediately, he stayed by the door, not moving an inch. Feeling the pressure of his gaze, Yamamura hurriedly shoveled the remaining food into his mouth.

When they stepped outside, it had grown noticeably darker. The air was thick with humidity, as though it might rain at any moment. Yamamura considered grabbing an umbrella but decided against it out of laziness. Hirokuni, unusually, was walking fast. Yamamura, with his overstuffed belly, was struggling to keep pace. As they neared the main street leading to the river, the crowd grew thicker. He saw a few people in yukatas, both children and adults, catching Hirokuni’s attention. Each time they passed someone in traditional clothing, his eyes followed them, fascinated.

By the time they reached the riverside promenade, the place was packed with people. Everywhere you looked, there were crowds. The heat from the bodies, combined with the humid air, was stifling, making Yamamura sweat just from walking.

The enthusiasm Hirokuni had earlier seemed to fade as they pushed into the dense crowd. Maybe he was intimidated by the sheer number of people. His pace slowed dramatically, and Yamamura, grasping his hand, guided him forward through the sea of bodies. They finally reached the open riverside plaza, where a group of people in yukatas danced to the sound of flutes and drums blaring from speakers. Hirokuni tugged hard on Yamamura’s hand.

“Reaho… woman… dance,” he said, his face anxious.

“Yeah, women dance at festivals. Is something wrong?” Yamamura asked.

Hirokuni looked like he had something more to say but eventually just turned his gaze back to the dancers. The music shifted to a different tune, and the dance movements became more energetic. At first, the sight of the dance brought back a sense of nostalgia, but after watching for a while, it grew repetitive and dull. Still, Hirokuni was watching intently, so Yamamura couldn’t bring himself to suggest leaving. Instead, he stepped back and found an empty bench to sit on, lighting a cigarette and letting himself sink into the lively atmosphere. It had been years since he’d been in a setting like this, he mused, feeling oddly detached from it all.

Hirokuni was glancing around, his body swaying slightly in an odd rhythm.

“Hey, Hiro, over here,” Yamamura called.

At that, Hirokuni ran straight toward him.

“Where… Nyapoli?” Hirokuni asked, out of nowhere.

“What’s Nyapoli? Are you talking about a cat?”

“Reaho… no Nyapoli… here,” Hirokuni said, clearly puzzled.

It seemed that, in the festivals Hirokuni was familiar with, there was something called Nyapoli, and it was missing from this one.

“In Japanese festivals—Reaho—there’s no Nyapoli. We just have stalls and people lazily doing the Bon Odori. That’s all we need,” Yamamura explained.

Hirokuni didn’t look convinced. His expression was one of deep dissatisfaction.

“Yamui… god… see?”

“…First Nyapoli, now gods?” Yamamura sighed.

“Yamui village… god… see,” Hirokuni insisted.

“There might be gods, sure, but it’s not like they show up whenever you want. They’re more… reserved,” Yamamura replied.

Hirokuni fell silent, his expression stern as he continued to watch the dancers. Then, the rumble of distant thunder echoed across the area. People began to look up, scanning the sky. The moon, which had been visible between the clouds earlier, was now completely hidden.

“Rain,” Hirokuni said, glancing upward. But the rain hadn’t started yet.

“Looks like it’s going to rain. Let’s head home before it starts,” Yamamura suggested.

“Okay get wet,” Hirokuni said, matter-of-factly.

“No, it’s not okay to get wet.”

“Clothes… wet… dry.”

Sure, clothes dry, but why get wet when you don’t have to? Yamamura thought it was absurd, but Hirokuni refused to budge, and so they stayed.

After a couple more songs, the Bon Odori music finally stopped. It seemed to be a break, as the people in yukatas who had been dancing scattered into the crowd. Only then did Hirokuni finally say, “Go home.”

Feeling both relieved and bored, Yamamura jumped up from the bench, eager to leave.

"You want something to eat?" Yamamura asked.

“No… want… eat,” Hirokuni replied.

“You’re no fun. I’ll buy you anything,” Yamamura said, scanning the bustling stalls lining the street. It seemed Hirokuni had gotten more used to the crowd on their way back because his eyes were darting around with curiosity now.

“What that?”

Hirokuni was pointing at a stall with rows of masks on display.

“That’s a toy for kids,” Yamamura explained, but Hirokuni’s eyes remained glued to the masks. Even when Yamamura tugged at his hand, he didn’t budge. “Do you want one?”

“Yes.”

“…Which one?”

Hirokuni pointed at a red mask of a Power Ranger. When Yamamura bought it and handed it to him, Hirokuni grinned, his face lighting up with a childlike, innocent joy that Yamamura found oddly endearing.

As Hirokuni tried to put the mask on, Yamamura quickly spun it around to his back.

“That’s how you’re supposed to wear it,” Yamamura said, convincing him. Hirokuni tilted his head but accepted it. Other kids were wearing their masks on their heads or backs, so Hirokuni listened, thankfully sparing Yamamura the embarrassment of walking around with a grown man wearing a toy mask on his face.

The mask seemed to spark something in Hirokuni, who began pointing at things left and right, asking “What’s that?” over and over again. He was drawn to anything that moved or made noise, stopping and staring intensely at toys he liked, pleading with his eyes for Yamamura to buy them. Wanting to see that grin again, Yamamura’s wallet began to open more easily.

By the time they were done, Hirokuni was happily carrying his mask, a balloon, and a pinwheel. Yamamura hadn’t bought anything for himself, except for one candied apple.

As they neared the end of the riverside promenade, where the stalls thinned out, they came across a lonely bug vendor. The main attraction was beetles and stag beetles, but there were also fireflies for sale. Three of them were in a small plastic bag, along with a piece of wood. Hirokuni crouched down, staring intently at the fireflies. The vendor, a man in his sixties with gray hair and yellowed teeth, grinned and pitched his product.

“Hey there, how about some fireflies? You don’t see them much anymore. They’ve got that special old-world charm.”

Hirokuni was gently poking at one of the fireflies perched on the branch. The fireflies were cheaper than the other bugs, just 500 yen, so Yamamura decided to buy a bag for him.

As they left the stalls and walked into a dimly lit area, the fireflies inside the bag glowed faintly, their pale blue light flickering. Hirokuni pointed at them and murmured, “Small.”

“In my village… bigger,” Hirokuni added.

“There are fireflies in the jungle?” Yamamura asked.

“Firefly?”

“This thing that glows… it’s called a firefly,” Yamamura explained.

“Firefly,” Hirokuni repeated, shaking the bag lightly and raising it high.

“Falling stars,” he whispered.

The fireflies inside floated lazily around, crossing paths. Yamamura found himself staring at the glowing insects too. Hirokuni usually seemed more like a wild animal than anything else, but seeing him compare fireflies to stars made Yamamura realize there was a sensitive side to him, too.

By the time they made it back to the main road, the rain finally started to fall. Without thinking, both of them broke into a run. After a few moments, Hirokuni suddenly stopped. Yamamura turned to see a silver balloon floating up into the dark sky, drifting away like a jellyfish.

It took only two or three minutes to reach their apartment, but by then, their shirts were soaked through. Yamamura was about to knock on the door of the apartment next door but felt strangely embarrassed. Instead, he hung the plastic bag with the candied apple on the door handle.

Still dripping wet, he flicked on the hallway light. As soon as he stepped out of his shoes and into the apartment, a flash of lightning lit up the sky outside the window. A moment later, another flash followed by a deafening roar of thunder shook the glass, and the lights went out. The apartment wasn’t the only place affected—the entire neighborhood had gone dark. The only sound was the heavy downpour, amplified by the sudden silence, and the occasional flash of lightning.

“Light… gone,” Hirokuni said from the darkness.

“I didn’t turn it off. It’s a blackout. Lightning must’ve hit something,” Yamamura explained.

In the dark, faint flashes of pale light flickered from the bag with the fireflies. The rain continued to pour down, and the thunder rumbled ominously in the distance. Yamamura had thought the power would come back quickly, but there was no sign of that happening. It seemed like the lightning had hit one of the power lines.

There was no flashlight in the apartment, and Yamamura couldn’t even locate his phone in the darkness. A shiver ran down his spine. His wet clothes clung to his skin, making him feel cold.

Yamamura felt a chill creeping up his skin and realized that if he stayed in his wet clothes much longer, he’d catch a cold. He stripped off his shirt and slacks where he stood. His towel and dry clothes were in the room. Groping along the walls so he wouldn’t trip, he cautiously made his way inside. The darkness was suffocating—complete, absolute blackness. It was unsettling how the loss of light could make him feel so disoriented, like his sense of self was lost along with the illumination. As Yamamura took another step forward, something strange crossed his mind, but just then—

Sudden, sharp pain shot through the sole of his foot.

“Gah!” Yamamura cried out, collapsing to the floor. His foot throbbed as if it had been stabbed by needles. He must’ve stepped on something, but in the pitch dark, he couldn’t see the wound.

Soft footsteps approached him.

“Hiro, stay back! There’s something on the floor. You’ll hurt yourself if you step on it,” Yamamura warned.

Despite his words, Hirokuni came closer until Yamamura could feel his breath near his face.

“Light… turn on.”

“I told you, the power’s out! It’s a blackout!” Yamamura snapped.

He felt something warm and wet trickling down his foot. Dread gripped him as he touched the wound. A sharp, burning pain radiated from the injury, and his fingers slipped on something wet. Blood.

“Unbelievable. Of all times for me to be bleeding…” he muttered, frustrated. He couldn’t even find a tissue in this darkness, and the thought of blindly fumbling around the room, stepping on something again, terrified him.

“Foot,” Hirokuni’s voice came from beside him.

“Yeah, my foot hurts.”

Suddenly, Hirokuni grabbed his injured ankle and lifted his leg. Without support, Yamamura toppled backward, caught off guard by the sudden movement. Before he could protest, Hirokuni brought the bag of fireflies close to the wound, seemingly trying to use their faint glow to inspect it.

“That’s not going to work,” Yamamura said, shaking his head.

Hirokuni must’ve realized it too because he gently lowered Yamamura’s foot. Despite the darkness, Hirokuni seemed to be able to move around without issue. He didn’t hesitate as he gripped Yamamura’s foot again, this time more carefully.

The bag crinkled as Hirokuni fumbled with it. Soon, one of the fireflies blinked out, and Yamamura heard a faint, unsettling pop. A dim glow appeared, not from the bag, but from Hirokuni’s fingers.

What the… Yamamura thought, stunned.

The other fireflies’ light gradually flickered and disappeared, leaving only the eerie glow from Hirokuni’s hand. Hirokuni lifted Yamamura’s foot once again and, without hesitation, pressed his lips to the wound. A sharp sting shot through Yamamura, followed by a strange sensation of discomfort mixed with something almost pleasurable as Hirokuni’s tongue licked his foot repeatedly, dog-like.

Just as suddenly as the power had gone out, the lights flickered back on. The bulb in the entryway blinked a few times before flooding the room with light. The motors of the various appliances whirred to life, and the tension of the darkness evaporated, replaced by the harsh brightness of the room.

Looking down, Yamamura saw the culprit of his pain: a fishbone from the salmon he’d eaten the previous night. Nearby, three squashed black bugs lay on the floor. The rain continued to hammer down outside, though the sound of thunder had faded into the distance.

After applying a bandage to his foot, Yamamura got dressed. Hirokuni, still completely naked, stood by the window, watching the world outside as it returned to normal.

“Hiro,” Yamamura called, and Hirokuni turned to face him.

“Why did you kill the firefly? I get that you wanted light, but that’s just cruel,” Yamamura said.

Hirokuni tilted his head, showing no sign of guilt or remorse.

“Dark… trouble.”

“Sure, the dark is inconvenient, but it was only for a little while. The lights would’ve come back on if we’d just waited.”

“Night… no moon… firefly light,” Hirokuni murmured.

Yamamura sighed. In the jungle where Hirokuni had lived, maybe it was normal to crush fireflies for light. Yamamura could understand that, but this wasn’t the jungle. This was Japan, and here, you didn’t have to resort to such cruel measures to get light. Even if Hirokuni had done it for Yamamura’s sake, he couldn’t accept it.

Hirokuni had once described fireflies as “falling stars.” It was a poetic thought, and yet he crushed them without hesitation. That contrast gnawed at Yamamura. The memory of the fireflies flickering in the sky, their soft glow like pale stars, mixed with the blue-white light of Hirokuni’s glowing fingers—it all left him feeling unsettled.

As Yamamura brooded, lost in his thoughts, he stumbled upon a harsh truth. He didn’t look at a living cow and think of beef. Likewise, seeing beef didn’t make him think of the cow it came from. Even if he left meat uneaten, he might regret wasting food but felt no guilt over it. He knew his meal depended on the death of a cow, but he simply chose not to think about it. Hirokuni's fireflies were just an unfortunate example of seeing too much too clearly. Yamamura was only confronted with the reality of death because it happened right in front of him. What Hirokuni did consciously wasn’t so different from what Yamamura did unconsciously every day.

He could hear the soft whirring sound of the pinwheel. Hirokuni, still completely naked, had put the red mask on his face and was sitting by the window, spinning the pinwheel, looking quite entertained. The scene felt absurd to Yamamura, almost surreal.

With Hirokuni playing nearby, Yamamura crawled into bed. About thirty minutes later, Hirokuni seemed to tire of his toys. He placed the mask and pinwheel on the table and crawled into bed, snuggling up next to Yamamura, who lay on his back.

“You’re freezing,” Yamamura muttered. Hirokuni seemed oblivious to it, pressing his body closer. Maybe he was trying to warm himself against Yamamura’s body heat. His hair was still damp, and when Yamamura ran his fingers through it, his fingertips came away moist.

Holding the cold body close, Yamamura let his thoughts drift. He had borrowed two million yen from Arisawa. And once you’ve borrowed money like that, you can’t keep going back for more. Arisawa would surely grow suspicious. The grand plan of taking the money and leaving Hirokuni behind in six months had already fallen apart the moment he handed the money to Nishida.

Not that it mattered… Yamamura had completely forgotten about that six-month plan anyway.

“Hiro,” he called.

Hirokuni lifted his face from Yamamura’s chest.

“Hey, are you going to stay with me forever?” Yamamura asked, offhandedly. Hirokuni’s feelings were hard to read, even after all this time together. No matter how much sex they had, it didn’t offer any real insight into Hirokuni’s emotions. Still, Hirokuni wouldn’t cling to someone he disliked like this, so Yamamura figured Hirokuni must like him at least somewhat.

“Together,” Hirokuni answered, a simple, cute reply. Yamamura was about to kiss him when Hirokuni added, “Until… back to village.”

Yamamura’s face stiffened. He hadn’t misheard. Hirokuni had said he would stay with him until he returned to his village. Hirokuni had probably thought everything through—once he learned enough, got a job, and saved up some money, he’d go back. Sure, returning wouldn’t be that easy, but in Hirokuni’s mind, Yamamura was just someone to leave behind when the time came to go home. A sharp pain stabbed at Yamamura’s chest.

“What do you even think I am to you?” Yamamura suddenly snapped, raising his voice. Hirokuni frowned, annoyed by the outburst.

“Am I just your jerk-off buddy or something?”

“Jerk-off?” Hirokuni repeated, clearly not understanding the word. Ochiai hadn’t taught him vulgar language, after all. Yamamura sat up halfway.

“You don’t really care about me, do you? As long as someone feeds you, you’d be fine with anyone, wouldn’t you? You’re just a promiscuous slut who’ll take anything you can get,” Yamamura shouted, his voice growing louder. Hirokuni furrowed his brow, sitting up slowly. Then, with an exasperated sigh, he responded.

“Yamui… angry.”

“I’m not angry! I’m just… fed up with you,” Yamamura muttered. Hirokuni placed his hands on Yamamura’s shoulders and leaned in to kiss him. Still frustrated, Yamamura deliberately turned his face away, but Hirokuni followed him, licking his lips with a playful swipe of his tongue.

“I love you,” Hirokuni whispered.

Whenever Hirokuni wanted sex, he would say “I love you.” The word could be used to refer to sex, but it had much deeper, more nuanced meanings. Hirokuni didn’t know that. To him, “I love you” was just another word for sex. But then again, it was Yamamura who had taught him that.

“Hiro, what do you really think of me?” Yamamura asked, placing a hand on Hirokuni’s chest. “You wouldn’t let me do all this stuff with you if you didn’t like me, right?” he continued, searching Hirokuni’s eyes for an answer.

Hirokuni tilted his head and then replied, “Whatever.”

Something in Yamamura snapped. His head flushed with frustration, and in a sudden burst of anger, he roughly shoved Hirokuni off the bed. Hirokuni fell onto his back with a thud, and Yamamura stepped over him, grabbing his cigarettes and lighter from the table. The sound of rain outside was still loud and heavy. Yamamura lit a cigarette while standing, but his irritation wouldn’t fade. He could feel Hirokuni’s gaze on him, but Hirokuni didn’t move any closer. Even the usually oblivious Hirokuni seemed to sense that he had made Yamamura really angry.

Irritated, irritated, irritated… Yamamura scratched his head violently. Then, an annoying whirring sound reached his ears. Hirokuni, sitting cross-legged on the bed, was blowing into the pinwheel, spinning it. Instead of showing any remorse, instead of displaying the "regretful expression" Yamamura had expected, Hirokuni was just playing, totally oblivious. His face was flushed from blowing so hard, determined to make the pinwheel spin faster.

Yamamura couldn’t stand it anymore. He snatched the toy and hurled it against the wall. The flimsy plastic pinwheel shattered instantly. The stem broke, and the plastic blades splayed out, irreparable.

“I bought it, so I can do whatever I want with it. The mask, the fireflies, I bought them because you wanted them! So what the hell, huh? You could at least show some gratitude. Read the room! You could at least pretend to like me, say something that’d make me happy. Is that too much to ask?” Yamamura shouted.

Hirokuni gathered the broken pieces of the pinwheel and threw them at Yamamura.

“Don’t care if you’re mad. Serves you right, you bastard,” Hirokuni spat.

Yamamura cursed under his breath, grabbed his wallet and an umbrella, and stormed out of the apartment. He didn’t even bother locking the door. Part of him wished someone would break in, rob him, maybe even kill him. He honestly wouldn’t have minded.

The rain had let up a little, but it was still coming down hard. There was a dark satisfaction in having made Hirokuni angry, but now that Yamamura was outside, with no real plan, he didn’t know where to go. His feet were soaked after just a few steps, so he ducked into a nearby convenience store for shelter. He wandered aimlessly through the aisles before deciding he’d head to a gay bar. If Hirokuni had wanted his dick, he’d give it to someone else.

“Well, well, Yamamura-kun!” a familiar voice called.

Yamamura turned around to see none other than Ochiai, dressed casually in shorts and a T-shirt, looking as sloppy as ever.

“Fancy seeing you here, of all places!” Ochiai said, grinning. He was holding a shopping basket with two bottles of beer inside.

“Back from your trip, huh?”

“Just got back a little while ago. I bought all these great snacks to go with the drinks, only to realize I was out of beer. I was away for two whole days—wasn’t Hiro-chan lonely without me?”

“How the hell should I know? I don’t care about him,” Yamamura muttered.

Ochiai cocked his head. “Hmm, sounds like someone had a fight with Hiro-chan.”

“So what if we did?” Yamamura snapped.

Ochiai burst out laughing. “Haha! Well, fights happen, especially when you’re young! Good to have them, I say!”

“A fight? No, the guy’s got no sensitivity. His thought process is like an animal’s, not human at all,” Yamamura grumbled.

“Could be, could be,” Ochiai replied, nodding absentmindedly.

“He has no concept of empathy, no gratitude,” Yamamura continued.

“Yep, yep, I can see that,” Ochiai responded, giving vague affirmations without much engagement.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I am! You’re upset because Hiro-chan doesn’t have any sensitivity, right?”

“Don’t just sum it up like that!” Yamamura snapped, getting even more frustrated. Ochiai showed no signs of getting involved, and Yamamura started regretting complaining to him in the first place.

“You know, I don’t think Hiro-chan is completely lacking in sensitivity. It’s just that the ancestral tribes like his didn’t have a wide range of experiences, and their vocabulary is limited. I remember reading in a book once that societies without written language tend to be less emotionally expressive compared to literate ones. Hiro-chan grew up in a world without writing, so I think that’s where our sense of disconnect with him comes from,” Ochiai explained, scratching his head as he thought.

“So, what, you’re saying he’s a lost cause?”

“I don’t think so. I think Hiro-chan is fine just the way he is. You, Yamamura-kun, might want Hiro to have more refined emotions and awareness, but that kind of thing isn’t necessary in his world,” Ochiai said casually.

“Not necessary?” Yamamura frowned.

“Think about it. He spent his life running around naked, sleeping on the ground, eating when he wanted, without any concept of time or age. In that kind of society, do you really think subtle emotional awareness is needed?”

Yamamura fell silent.

“Of course, now that he’s living in Japan, he’ll need to learn how to be more considerate, but his language skills are still lacking. Just watch over him and help him out when he struggles. That’s enough for now,” Ochiai said, scratching his crotch absentmindedly despite the serious tone of the conversation.

“Oh, and by the way, if it’s too awkward to go home after a fight, you’re welcome to come to my place for a bit,” he offered with a grin.

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