Innocent World: Chapter 15

Previous TOC

After seeing the note on the clinic door confirming that Ochiai’s house was empty, Nishida ordered the yakuza to break the sliding door's lock. He then forced Yamamura and Hirokuni into the house. Despite the circumstances, the electricity was still running, and the lights flickered on. Nishida, without bothering to remove his shoes, climbed into the house and used some towels and shirts he found lying around to bind Yamamura's hands and feet. He then dumped him on the living room floor like a piece of luggage.

"Hiro has nothing to do with this. Let him go home," Yamamura pleaded, desperation creeping into his voice.

Nishida didn’t bother to respond. He sat at the low table, tapping away on his phone, and then, with a jerk of his chin, he ordered the younger yakuza, "Tie him up too."

This was a side of Nishida that Yamamura had never seen before—cold and ruthless. Hirokuni stood his ground, glaring defiantly at the younger yakuza. Though he didn’t fully grasp what was happening, he seemed to sense that the situation was bad.

"You better behave if you don't want to get hurt!" the younger yakuza growled, his voice laced with menace.

"You’re doing it all wrong," Nishida said, closing his phone with a click. "You gotta be more efficient with these things." He walked over to Hirokuni. "You should’ve listened when Yamamura-san told you to go home. I didn’t need you here, but now... well, too late."

As he spoke, Nishida punched Hirokuni in the stomach. "Guh!" Hirokuni groaned, doubling over in pain, his body collapsing into a crouch. Moving quickly, Nishida tied up Hirokuni’s hands and feet while he was still reeling from the blow. By the time Hirokuni began to recover, his limbs were already bound.

"Yani... share," Hirokuni snarled, his face twisted with a feral expression as he glared up at Nishida.

"What the hell is he saying?" the younger yakuza grumbled, stomping on Hirokuni’s back, making his body writhe in pain.

Nishida glanced at Hirokuni with complete indifference, not even bothering to respond, and returned his attention to his phone, leaning against the pillar.

"Who the hell do you think you are, you rookie?" the younger yakuza shouted at Nishida, frustration evident in his voice.

Nishida narrowed his eyes in irritation. "I may be new, but I outrank you, remember? If you don’t watch your mouth, I’ll report you to the boss."

The younger yakuza clicked his tongue in annoyance, then lashed out by kicking the defenseless Hirokuni, who let out a strangled cry as he curled up in pain. Yamamura couldn’t stand to watch any longer.

"Nishida, make him stop! Hirokuni doesn’t understand what’s happening. Let him go home. He’s not a threat to you!" Yamamura begged.

Without even glancing up, Nishida continued typing on his phone. The younger yakuza lit a cigarette, then approached Yamamura, grinning as he took a long drag.

"Aaaargh!" Yamamura screamed as the burning cigarette was pressed against his wrist, the pain searing through his skin like fire. "Yamu... yamu!" he heard Hirokuni’s voice calling out in a panic.

"Ah, the flame’s gone out," the younger yakuza said nonchalantly, lighting the cigarette again. The thought of that burning tip touching him again made Yamamura’s whole body shake uncontrollably.

"Hey, stop messing with him before Himeto-san gets here," Nishida said, a hint of a warning in his tone. "We don’t want him screaming the place down."

But the younger man just kept grinning, ignoring the caution. Nearby, Yamamura could hear Hirokuni's voice again, closer this time. Despite being tied up, Hirokuni had somehow managed to wriggle across the floor like a caterpillar, dragging himself over to Yamamura’s side. He looked up at Yamamura with a worried expression.

"I’m sorry, Hirokuni. I’m so sorry. This is all my fault," Yamamura said, his voice breaking. "Just stay still, okay? If you stay quiet, they won’t hurt you."

"Hurt? What is... hurt?"

"Nothing, nothing. Just be still and quiet, okay?" Yamamura said, forcing a smile.

He couldn’t shake the thought that when the yakuza named Himeto arrived, he might be killed. And if he died, no one would really care. His parents were missing, and the man he thought was his friend had betrayed him. His coworkers were nothing more than casual acquaintances at best.

But Hirokuni? Would Hirokuni feel even a little bit of sadness if Yamamura were gone? He was a strange man, dry and detached, who had asked bluntly about death when Ochiai was in the hospital. Maybe Hirokuni wouldn’t even cry. But Yamamura knew that if he were gone, Hirokuni would struggle. He wouldn't have anyone to take care of his meals. He was so naive about the world, so lacking in basic social understanding and language skills—he needed someone to guide him. Hirokuni wasn’t like anyone else; he was different. And because of that, Yamamura had to survive... for Hirokuni.

The front sliding door rattled open, sending a jolt through Yamamura’s chest. Heavy, unrestrained footsteps stomped closer, and the young yakuza immediately straightened his posture. As Yamamura craned his neck to see, a man in his forties, wearing a suit, walked in with his shoes still on. He wasn’t particularly tall, maybe around 170 centimeters, and his appearance wasn’t overly striking. He wore a black suit, his hairstyle was ordinary, but his tie was a bit flashy, and his shoes gleamed. Despite his unassuming look, the sharpness in his eyes made Yamamura instinctively shrink back.

"Himeto-san, thank you for coming," the young yakuza said, bowing at a sharp angle.

"Which one of these rats was running around?" Himeto asked, giving a brief glance at Yamamura and Hirokuni huddled together, then nodding in their direction.

"The one with the long hair," Nishida answered.

"Is that so," Himeto murmured before suddenly kicking Yamamura’s face from below.

"Guh!" Yamamura’s body flew back, crashing onto the floor in a heap. The metallic taste of blood filled his mouth, and he felt a warm trickle run down from his nose.

"Yamu!" Hirokuni screamed, glaring at Himeto with intense fury.

"And who’s this one?" Himeto asked, looking at Hirokuni.

"Oh, he was just with him, so we brought him along for the ride," Nishida said casually.

"Don't do unnecessary things," Himeto growled, and for the first time, a hint of tension crossed Nishida’s face. He quickly slipped his phone back into his jacket pocket.

"Move that one out of the way. He's in the way," Himeto ordered.

The young yakuza grabbed Hirokuni by the collar and started to drag him aside.

"Yamu, yamu!" Hirokuni shouted, his voice panicked.

"H-Hiro! I’m... I’m okay, so just stay quiet," Yamamura said, terrified that Hirokuni’s outbursts might redirect Himeto’s anger towards him.

"Yamu, hurt, no good," Hirokuni said, his words struggling to form, his face twisted in pain.

"Shut that noisy one up!" Himeto barked at the young yakuza, then crouched down next to Yamamura’s head.

"Do you even understand why this is happening to you?" Himeto asked, his voice low and cold.

Yamamura nodded shakily, his entire body trembling.

"You conned an honest citizen, tricked her into buying an outrageously overpriced water purifier. If it had been a regular person, they might have let it go, but this time you picked the wrong target."

The irony of being lectured by a yakuza about morality didn’t escape Yamamura, but he was in no position to argue. He knew defiance would only lead to more pain, and so he muttered a quiet, "I’m sorry."

"Oh, so you do realize what you’ve done," Himeto said with a smirk, straightening up before driving his foot into Yamamura’s stomach.

"Guhh!" Yamamura retched, bile rising from his stomach, and he vomited on the floor. Himeto responded by kicking him in the face again. "Disgusting," Himeto muttered, his blows relentless. Blood poured from Yamamura’s nose, mixing with the fresh cuts and scrapes on his face. As Yamamura curled up, instinctively protecting his stomach, Himeto stomped down hard on his back. For a moment, Yamamura couldn’t breathe; the thought flashed through his mind that he might actually die here.

"Agh! Damn it!" the young yakuza suddenly screamed, clutching his right hand. A shadow passed in front of Yamamura, and the next thing he saw was Himeto being knocked off his feet, tumbling to the floor. Hirokuni, still bound at the wrists, had launched himself at Himeto. The shirt tying Hirokuni’s legs was torn, leaving only the remnants wrapped around his ankles.

Hirokuni, with a speed that seemed almost unreal, headbutted Himeto as he struggled to get up. Then, with his hands still bound, Hirokuni wrapped them around Himeto’s throat, squeezing tightly.

"Ugh! Gah!" Himeto gasped, clawing at Hirokuni’s grip. Nishida, clearly shocked, lunged to pull Hirokuni off, and in the chaos, Hirokuni’s hold slipped, allowing Himeto to shove him off to the side. Himeto rolled onto his stomach, hacking and coughing violently.

Nishida grabbed Hirokuni’s arm, but Hirokuni countered with another headbutt from below, sending Nishida sprawling to the floor.

"You bastard!" the young yakuza yelled, charging at Hirokuni. But Hirokuni leapt sideways like a frog, dodging him, then grabbed a beer bottle from the corner of the room. With no hesitation, he charged at the young yakuza, smashing the bottle over his head.

"Aaaargh!" The yakuza’s scream filled the room as he clutched his bleeding head and collapsed to the ground, his face a mess of blood. Hirokuni, without a hint of mercy, twisted the broken bottle’s jagged edge and drove it into the young man’s thigh.

"AAAAHHH!" The yakuza’s howl of agony echoed through the room. There was no hesitation, no restraint in Hirokuni’s actions. Watching him, Yamamura felt a chill of fear creep up his spine. It was like witnessing something beyond human rage.

Hirokuni grabbed another beer bottle, this time turning his gaze towards Nishida, who was cowering in the corner. With a face as pale as a sheet, Nishida reached into his jacket and pulled out something small. He held it with both hands—a compact handgun, its black barrel pointed directly at Hirokuni.

"Don’t come any closer! I’ll shoot if you do!" Nishida shouted, his voice trembling. Yamamura felt like ice water was running through his veins. Even with the barrel of the gun pointed straight at him, Hirokuni didn’t show the slightest hint of fear.

"N-No, stop! Nishida, please don’t shoot Hiro! Hiro, Hiro, put the bottle down. Listen to me! If you don’t, he’ll shoot you! You’ll die!" Yamamura’s voice broke, tears welling up in his eyes. He was on the verge of crying, desperate to get Hirokuni to listen, but Hirokuni seemed oblivious. Yamamura suddenly realized that maybe Hirokuni didn’t understand what a gun was. If he didn’t know, then he wouldn’t understand its danger, its lethal power. That’s why he wasn’t afraid.

"Hiro, listen to me!" Yamamura pleaded, his voice cracking with desperation. He wanted to rush over and grab Hirokuni, to physically stop him, but his hands and feet were still tied, leaving him writhing helplessly on the tatami like a worm.

"Please, please... Hiro..." he whispered, his voice choked with tears. Through his blurry, tear-stained vision, Yamamura saw Himeto leap onto Hirokuni from behind. Himeto wrapped his arms around Hirokuni’s neck in a chokehold, and the beer bottle slipped from Hirokuni’s grasp, clattering to the floor. But Hirokuni’s reaction was swift; he slammed his head backward into Himeto’s face, breaking his grip, then spun around and punched him in the face with both fists. He hit Himeto two, three times in quick succession, weakening his opponent, before launching himself at Nishida, who was still sitting on the floor.

"Dammit!" Nishida screamed just as a dull "thud" echoed through the room. Hirokuni's body jerked violently, and his knees gave out beneath him. "Gwahhh!" he cried out, falling forward onto the tatami with his hands pressed to the floor.

"You shot him!" Himeto roared in rage. Yamamura's mind struggled to grasp what had just happened. Had Hirokuni been shot? It all happened so quickly. The acrid scent of gunpowder hung in the air like the aftermath of fireworks. Nishida, still holding the gun, kicked Hirokuni as he continued to crawl toward him, his determination unbroken.

When Hirokuni finally rolled onto his back, Yamamura saw the reality of the situation—Hirokuni’s left thigh was soaked in blood, a steady stream pulsing from the wound. He had been shot. There was no doubt now. Hirokuni ripped the torn shirt still hanging around his ankle and, with a beast-like growl, began to shove the fabric into the wound to staunch the bleeding. Watching him, Yamamura felt faint, the sight almost too much to bear.

"Are you okay, Himeto-san?" Nishida asked, looking for reassurance. In response, Himeto lashed out, backhanding Nishida across the face.

"You idiot! You shot a damn civilian! It was supposed to be just a little roughing up, and now look at the mess you’ve made!" Himeto shouted, hitting Nishida again, then again, with growing fury.

"I never should’ve given you that gun, you moron!" Himeto yelled. "You don’t even know how to handle it properly!" He stomped down on Nishida’s shoulder with enough force to elicit a scream.

"You’re out! You hear me? You’re done! And you’ll clean up this mess you made yourself," Himeto spat, his voice filled with contempt. He hoisted the younger yakuza, who was still groaning on the floor, onto his shoulder and stormed out, leaving Nishida behind.

"Th-this can’t be happening," Nishida muttered, slowly pushing himself up from the floor, his face twisted with pain and disbelief.

"This isn’t fair," he whispered, his voice cracking with frustration. Meanwhile, Hirokuni was letting out guttural growls, like a wounded animal. He tried to stand up again, straining against the pain, but his injured leg kept giving out beneath him. As he struggled to rise, Nishida raised the gun, pointing its barrel straight at Hirokuni once more.

"There’s no way this is happening. I’m a top guy, you know, a real executive. It’s because of you making a mess of things that it turned out like this," Nishida muttered, his eyes filled with a cold determination. He was serious—he truly intended to kill Hirokuni. Yamamura, trembling with fear, crawled desperately towards them.

"Nishida, listen, Nishida, please," Yamamura pleaded, his voice cracking. "Just stop, okay? I won’t tell anyone. I promise I won’t say a word to anyone. Just get out of here. Run to some place where the cops can’t find you. Please, it’s over. Let it go..."

Nishida walked over slowly, staring down at Yamamura, who was still writhing on the floor like a caterpillar. He pressed the barrel of the gun against Yamamura’s temple.

"...You’re so annoying," Nishida said.

This is it... I’m going to die, Yamamura thought. His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would explode. This was it—he was going to be killed. It was all going to end here. So, this is how my life ends? Pathetic. What a miserable way to go. Maybe that’s just how it is at the end. He stared down at the blood-stained tatami, the shattered beer bottle on the floor. He couldn’t see Hirokuni’s face. He wanted to see his face. Would Hirokuni cry if I die?

"Aaaargh!" The sound that roared through the room wasn’t a gunshot; it was Nishida’s scream. Hirokuni had clamped his teeth down on Nishida’s calf like a crocodile, biting with all his might.

"Let go! Aaah! It hurts! It hurts!" Nishida screamed, firing the gun wildly, but the shot went off in a completely different direction, piercing the ceiling. He lost his balance as he tried to shake Hirokuni off, and crashed onto his back. The impact knocked the gun out of Nishida’s hand, sending it skidding across the floor. Yamamura crawled toward it, grabbing the weapon with his bound right hand.

He aimed it upwards and fired repeatedly into the ceiling. Bang! Bang! The sound echoed as holes appeared in the ceiling, and the recoil made his fingers tremble. After the fourth shot, all that came was a hollow click, click, signaling the gun was empty.

Nishida, furious, finally pried Hirokuni’s mouth off his leg by hitting him repeatedly. As soon as Hirokuni let go, Nishida snatched the gun back from Yamamura. He pointed it at both Hirokuni and Yamamura, squeezing the trigger over and over, but only the empty clicking sound echoed in the room—there were no more bullets.

"You’ve got to be kidding me!" Nishida roared. Realizing what Yamamura had done—emptying the gun deliberately into the ceiling—Nishida threw the now-useless weapon aside and began kicking Yamamura mercilessly. Over and over, he stomped on him, fury driving each blow.

The wail of sirens drew closer, their piercing sound filling the air. Nishida paused for a moment, then gave Yamamura one final, brutal kick, sending him sprawling. Limping on his injured leg, Nishida turned and fled, dragging his foot as he disappeared into the night.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Hirokuni had been quiet inside the ambulance. But the moment they arrived at the hospital and he saw the doctor in a white coat leaning over him, he started thrashing about with a violent energy no one could have imagined from his earlier limp state.

Blood poured from his thigh, his face was pale as death, and yet he fought so fiercely that Yamamura had to pin him down, practically throwing himself over Hirokuni to restrain him.

“Hiro, Hiro, calm down. Please, I’m begging you, calm down! They can’t treat you like this!” he pleaded.

Then, bowing his head toward the doctors standing nearby, he asked, “I’m sorry, please take off your white coats. He—he can’t handle it. He can’t even look at them. Please!”

Yamamura kept holding him down, gripping his hand tightly, calling out to him again and again, until Hirokuni finally fell asleep under the anesthesia. He kept at it until Hirokuni stopped resisting.

When he saw Hirokuni being taken into the operating room, Yamamura sat down in a chair in the waiting room, staring blankly at the ceiling. Before Hirokuni had been wheeled away, a doctor had told him, “There’s a lot of blood loss. He’s in shock. It’s possible the femoral artery is damaged. You need to prepare yourself.”

The whole day had been a blur, so chaotic it was driving him mad. They had been chased by yakuza, managed to escape once, only to get caught and beaten.

Why, why did it all come to this? Yamamura thought. It had started when he sold a water purifier to the mother of a yakuza. That’s how he got noticed, marked for violence. They were going to lynch him. So, he’d tried to run, tried to take Hirokuni with him, but they both got caught.

That’s how things unfolded. But something… something felt wrong. Wait… why am I sitting here like this? he wondered. He’d been kicked and punched; his face still hurt, but here he was, sitting comfortably. He wasn’t badly injured. In this kind of situation, shouldn’t he have taken the brunt of it? He was the reason all of this had happened, after all. So why was it Hirokuni who had to go through something so terrible?

Why…? At that moment, tears poured from Yamamura’s eyes. He hadn’t been seriously hurt because Hirokuni had protected him. That wild, brutal man, who couldn’t even speak proper Japanese, had put his body, his life, on the line to protect him.

A friend, a lover, a family member, a friend-with-benefits—Yamamura didn’t know what kind of feelings Hirokuni, a man who lived in a country without a word for love, held for him. But he felt loved. He couldn’t think anything else.

Still seated, Yamamura cried loudly like a child. Don’t let him die, don’t let him die… God, God… whether it’s Christ or Buddha, anyone, please. Save him. Please save him.

I don’t need anything else. Really, nothing else. If you save Hirokuni, I don’t care if I die in his place. So, please, please save his life. I’m begging you, I’m begging you…

With his hands clasped tightly together, Yamamura sobbed uncontrollably, praying with all his heart.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

While Hirokuni was in surgery, Yamamura underwent a medical examination. He vaguely felt like he was being asked various questions, but it all seemed as though he was speaking in a dream, none of it feeling real. They took X-rays and a CT scan, but the doctor told him it was just bruises and scrapes, nothing serious.

After the examination, Yamamura was questioned by the detectives. He told them everything that had happened, honestly. He hadn’t intended to lie, nor did he have the energy to do so. It seemed that Nishida, who had initially escaped, quickly turned himself in, likely due to pressure from the organization, claiming the entire incident was his personal crime alone.

While Yamamura was being questioned, Hirokuni’s surgery was completed. The bullet that had gone through Hirokuni’s leg had shattered his femur. More severe, however, was the damage to his blood vessels. The doctor explained that the heavy blood loss meant he would have died if they had arrived just a little later. On top of that, because of the damage to the blood vessels, circulation to his foot had been cut off, and if the procedure had been delayed any longer, they might have saved his life but would’ve had to amputate his left leg.

The surgery was a success, but given Hirokuni’s extreme aversion to doctors and white coats, they decided to keep him lightly sedated until his condition stabilized. They couldn’t risk him waking up halfway and getting agitated, which would make it impossible to ensure his rest.

Details of the incident made the late-night news and were published in the morning papers, with names included. Arisawa, the lawyer, had left multiple messages and emails on Yamamura’s phone, but Yamamura had left his phone behind at the hotel and stayed at the hospital. Arisawa managed to track down which hospital Hirokuni was admitted to and came to visit two days after the incident.

Yamamura was exhausted from staying by Hirokuni’s side all through visiting hours. When Arisawa came to see him, Yamamura didn’t have the energy to talk. He had been repeating the same story to the detectives over and over. With his head lowered, Yamamura replied simply with “Yes” when Arisawa asked, “Is what’s written in the newspapers true?”

Hirokuni continued to sleep, lightly sedated, for a full week after the surgery.

“His condition has stabilized, so perhaps we’ll wake him up tomorrow,” the doctor said shortly after Yamamura heard the news. That was when Arisawa visited Hirokuni again. After a brief glance at Hirokuni’s face, he said to Yamamura, “There’s something I need to discuss with you.” Since it seemed like a long conversation, they headed to a nearby café.

In the quiet, mostly empty café, they took a secluded seat at the back. Once seated, Arisawa placed a “background investigation report” on the table, his expression stern. Yamamura felt like he’d just been cornered from the very start.

“I’m sorry, but I had a private investigator look into your background and behavior. I was shocked to find that almost everything you told me was false. Your education, your job, all of it was a lie. I’m speechless.”

“Well, um…” Yamamura scratched his head. It was pointless to deny it when the report from a private investigator was right in front of him. Despite it being October, the daytime was still quite warm, and Yamamura hadn’t bathed in three days. The last time he went home to change clothes was three days ago. Since then, he had been staying in the hospital’s waiting area. The doctor had told him, “His condition has stabilized, and as long as we can contact you, you don’t need to stay here except during visiting hours.” But it wasn’t Hirokuni’s condition that made Yamamura unable to leave. It was… something like a sickness of his own.

“I have to say, I’m amazed at how well you can lie,” Arisawa said, sounding almost impressed. “This whole incident was caused by trouble from your work, wasn’t it? You dragged Hirokuni-san into it.”

“I feel really sorry for Hiro,” Yamamura admitted.

Arisawa pressed his lips together tightly, saying nothing for a moment.

“The two million yen you borrowed from the inheritance, saying it was for your business... that money was swindled from you by Nishida, who tricked you into a fake venture, correct?”

The newspaper hadn’t mentioned this level of detail, only referring to it as a conflict between the yakuza and a door-to-door sales company. Arisawa must have gotten the information from the private investigator, or perhaps from someone at the company—maybe Tsuboi or the section chief had talked.

“That’s about right, I guess,” Yamamura said.

Arisawa sighed dramatically, making sure Yamamura noticed. As if on cue, their coffee was brought to the table. Yamamura had nothing left to say, and Arisawa remained silent, so the quiet stretched on.

When they finished their coffee, Arisawa gathered the investigation report from the edge of the table and tucked it back into his bag.

“To put it bluntly, I have determined that you are unfit to continue as Hirokuni-san’s caretaker,” Arisawa said, his voice cold and clipped. “The living expenses that were paid on his behalf and the inheritance payments made to you so far will remain as they are. However, I must ask that you repay the two million yen you borrowed in advance. I’m sure you have your grievances, so if there’s anything further, please go through my office. And from here on, I ask that you do not involve yourself with Hirokuni-san anymore.”

With those words delivered swiftly, Arisawa stood up.

“I doubt we’ll have cause to meet again after this,” he added.

“W-wait a minute,” Yamamura stammered.

“What is it?” Arisawa narrowed his eyes and looked down at Yamamura.

“You can’t just dump all that on me and expect me to know what to do. I’ll repay the two million yen. It’ll take time, but I’ll pay it back. The money doesn’t matter, but what about Hiro? You don’t know what it’s like taking care of him. His Japanese is still barely understandable, he talks like a child. Even now, when he gets frustrated, he eats with his hands. He’s got no common sense, and the way he thinks is… it’s not like normal people.”

“I will take care of Hirokuni-san for the time being. If we can’t locate any family, we’ll make arrangements to hire someone else to assist,” Arisawa said firmly, leaving no room for argument.

“Take care of him? But you said yourself you don’t like him,” Yamamura shot back.

Arisawa’s eyebrow twitched slightly.

“This isn’t about like or dislike. It’s a job I’ve been entrusted with.”

“But I’m the one who knows how to handle him. If you’re going to leave it to a stranger, you’d be better off letting me do it. He’s already attached to me.”

Arisawa’s eyes widened in surprise.

“After everything that’s happened, there’s no way I can trust you with him. Use some common sense.”

“Look, I know Hiro got hurt because of me. I’m not denying that. I’ll quit my current job and find something more respectable. Once Hiro gets better, I’ll look for work. I don’t need the inheritance anymore. I’d be happy to have the living expenses for Hiro, but if you don’t want to provide that either, fine,” Yamamura said.

Arisawa tilted his head slightly, looking puzzled.

“What are you even saying?”

“I’m saying I’ll keep taking care of Hiro, just like before.”

“There’s no way I can leave him in your care.”

“I’m saying I’ll do it for free!”

“This isn’t about money. There’s no way I can entrust someone like you with Hirokuni-san.”

Yamamura clenched his teeth hard. “Someone like me? What the hell does that mean?”

“To put it simply, it means you are not worthy of trust.”

Yamamura slammed his hand on the table. “I’m telling you, I’ll change my job, and this time, I’ll take proper care of him!”

Arisawa’s gaze as he looked down at Yamamura was chillingly cold.

“On what grounds should I believe that this time you will ‘take proper care’ of him?” he asked, his voice icy.

A tense silence fell over them. Still expressionless, Arisawa sat back down and pulled out the investigation report from his bag once more.

“You dropped out of high school in your second year. For the next six months, you jumped from one part-time job to another, often only lasting a few weeks. Many of your former employers described you as ‘unreliable’ and said you frequently missed work without notice. You were often fired rather than quitting on your own. You’ve been with your current door-to-door sales job for four years, which is unusually long for you. The company has faced multiple complaints from consumers, though they were all settled out of court. You’re fond of gambling—horse racing and pachinko—and you have outstanding debts with consumer finance companies. Is all of this correct?”

“I’m paying off the debt bit by bit every month. Since Hiro came into my life, I’ve barely been to the races or pachinko at all. And as for the job… you wouldn’t understand, but it’s tough when you drop out of high school. All you get is hard, low-paying work.”

“There are plenty of people working tough, low-paying jobs who don’t resort to deception and work honestly. If you’re under the impression that a lack of education is what’s holding you back, it’s never too late to learn. I’ve also been informed that despite your lack of qualifications, you were earning well above the average salary for someone your age at your current company.”

Yamamura felt a raw discomfort deep in his chest, as if someone had carelessly run their hand over an open wound.

"What the... hell is that supposed to mean? Don’t give me all this sugar-coated bullshit!" Yamamura spat.

"I’m aware that you had to drop out of high school because your mother ran away. That must have been an incredibly unfortunate situation," Arisawa began, his voice as calm as ever. "But using that as an excuse to engage in a career where you deceive housewives and the elderly for years? How does that justify your actions?"

"What are you trying to say?" Yamamura demanded.

"Your past misfortunes don’t excuse your present laziness," Arisawa said firmly.

A sharp pain pierced through Yamamura’s chest, and he barely managed to squeeze out his next words, sounding almost like a scream.

"You’ve never come home from school and found your mom gone, have you? No money left behind, no clue where she went. No relatives you could turn to for help. You’ve never been abandoned like that, left completely alone!"

He clenched his fists tightly on the table, his knuckles white.

"You get hungry. There’s no money, so you can’t eat. But everyone else around you is eating. They’re eating like it’s nothing! And all I could think was, why am I the only one going through this? You think you can understand what that feels like?"

"When your mother disappeared, you were seventeen. There are people who start working straight out of junior high. At that age, you were capable of working, capable of knowing right from wrong. I understand that your circumstances were unfortunate, and I can only imagine what you must have felt at the time. But not everyone who faces hardship chooses the path you did."

"Yeah, sure," Yamamura shot back. "There are people who stay straight, who do the right thing. But the ones who can do that are the strong ones. Not everyone’s that strong, you know. Not everyone can do it! There are people like me, who are stupid, weak, and pathetic! Don’t you dare deny that!"

Arisawa sighed, and the sound was like being stabbed in the chest with a needle.

"No matter how much you want to tell me about your life, it doesn’t change the facts. Here are the facts: You are not suitable to be Hirokuni-san’s caretaker. I believe your influence on him is harmful, so I’m asking you to stay away from him. Permanently."

A feeling of emptiness began to swallow Yamamura whole, like falling into a bottomless pit. No matter how much he tried to grasp for something, there was nothing to hold on to, nothing but the deep, sinking sea of despair. His breath became ragged as the weight of all the loneliness and sadness he had carried for so long was dismissed as garbage. Everything about his life, his very existence—Arisawa had just thrown it all away.

"In the report, there was a note stating that you’re homosexual," Arisawa continued.

Yamamura’s hollow chest pounded violently at those words.

"It also suggests that, although it’s unclear without confirming with Hirokuni-san, it cannot rule out the possibility that the two of you had such a relationship."

"...And what if we did? It wasn’t rape, it was consensual!" Yamamura shouted, his voice trembling uncontrollably.

"It could be argued that you took in Hirokuni-san, someone who didn’t even understand the language, for that very purpose."

"I told you, it was consensual!" Yamamura slammed his fist down on the table.

"I’ll confirm that directly with Hirokuni-san myself," Arisawa said.

"So, you're not gonna listen to my side at all?" Yamamura demanded.

"I don’t mind listening, but it would be a waste of time. I simply don’t trust you."

"Don’t trust me, don’t trust me, that’s all you ever say!" Yamamura shouted, his frustration boiling over.

"You seem upset that I’m saying it’s pointless to listen because I can’t trust you. But even if our roles were reversed, I believe you’d feel the same way. After learning about your past and seeing how easily you deceive people and lie, how am I supposed to trust you? You might not like hearing this, but I think your way of living reflects who you are as a person."

With that, Arisawa stood up, picking up the check.

"I ask that you no longer try to see Hirokuni-san. You’re not allowed to accompany him at the hospital either. If you attempt to contact him without my permission, I’ll be forced to take appropriate measures. Now, if you’ll excuse me..."

As he turned his back and walked away, his footsteps growing fainter, Yamamura couldn’t help but chase after him. He grabbed Arisawa’s arm just as he was about to pay.

"W-wait! Just... wait a minute. I... I..."

Yamamura was in a panic, the words tangled up inside him, refusing to come out.

"Let go of me," Arisawa said icily, his eyes cold and piercing. Yamamura quickly let go, startled by the intensity of that gaze.

"I... because... I... I love Hiro," Yamamura stammered.

"I see. Well then," was all Arisawa said in response before he left the café, his indifference stinging like a slap in the face.

Yamamura stood there for a moment, frozen in place. Eventually, the voice of the waiter snapped him back to reality, and he slowly made his way out of the café.

Outside, despite it being October, the sun was glaringly bright, hurting his eyes. The air was dry, carrying a faint scent of dust. He took a step, but his feet wouldn’t move any further. There was nowhere to go. He had no place to go. Tears welled up in his eyes. They were tears of self-pity. And no one would be there to comfort him. The pain, the sadness—it was his alone to bear.

Standing there on the sidewalk, under the judgmental stares of passersby, Yamamura cried until his voice was hoarse.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The bare, dark brown branches stretched out toward the gray sky like spears. The sound of the wind was dry and cold against Yamamura’s cheeks. He glanced around cautiously as he slowly approached the bench in the hospital courtyard from behind.

He’d checked from a distance yesterday and the day before, confirming Hirokuni was always in the same spot. The only reason he’d finally decided to speak to him was because Ochiai’s son had mentioned Hirokuni was being discharged tomorrow.

Just a few meters away now, maybe Hirokuni heard Yamamura’s hidden footsteps—he turned around. At that moment, any chance of a casual reunion was ruined. Hirokuni squinted, staring intently at Yamamura’s face. Yamamura froze like a kid caught playing “Red Light, Green Light,” before awkwardly closing the last few meters with stiff, jerky steps.

To Hirokuni’s left was an aluminum crutch. His bones had been reinforced with metal, and his blood vessels had been repaired, but he still couldn’t let go of the crutch.

“Yo, long time no see,” Yamamura greeted as he sat down beside Hirokuni, placing the crutch between them.

“You’re looking pretty good.”

Hirokuni, who had been staring at him intently, suddenly slapped Yamamura’s arm.

“Ow! What the hell are you doing?” Yamamura protested, but despite his complaint, Hirokuni hit him twice more.

“You… sick… die,” Hirokuni said, looking up at Yamamura with a serious expression.

“I’m not dead, obviously. I’m right here,” Yamamura replied, exasperated.

“Arisawa… say… you sick, die,” Hirokuni insisted.

Yamamura clicked his tongue in frustration.

“Arisawa told you I died? What a lying bastard.”

It had been almost two months since Hirokuni got injured. It was the beginning of December, and there were only a few people scattered around the chilly courtyard. Hirokuni wore a long-knit cardigan over his hospital pajamas.

“Oh yeah, I finally paid off my debts. The loans from the consumer finance companies. Turns out if you really try, you can get things done. Though, I worked myself to the bone these past two months, day and night.”

Hirokuni didn’t respond.

“Not that you’d understand anything about debt. You don’t even know the value of money. Oh, and there’s still the two million yen I owe Arisawa. That’s next on the list. He’s a big shot, though.”

Yamamura’s fingers were cold, so he shoved both hands into the pockets of his coat.

“It’s freezing out here, huh? …Hey, don’t you wanna go somewhere warm? Down south or something?” Yamamura asked, still not looking at Hirokuni, staring straight ahead instead.

“South?” Hirokuni echoed.

“Yeah, down south in Japan. Somewhere without snow.”

“Snow?” Hirokuni asked, confused.

“When it’s cold, white fluffy stuff falls from the sky. It’s cold when you touch it. You’ve been here since last year, so you must have seen snow.”

Hirokuni tilted his head slightly, looking uncertain. Yamamura couldn’t tell if Hirokuni didn’t remember or just didn’t understand the explanation.

"I really like you, you know," Yamamura said, covering his mouth with both hands.

"Will you come with me?"

Hirokuni didn’t nod, didn’t answer. Yamamura, feeling pressured by something he couldn’t name, rambled on.

"I mean, I can’t promise you luxury or anything, but... well, you don’t even know what ‘luxury’ means, do you? But I’ll make sure you’re never hungry, I swear."

He stared straight ahead, avoiding Hirokuni’s gaze out of embarrassment, but now fear was keeping him from looking into Hirokuni’s eyes.

"So, uh... you’d rather be with a woman, right? I never actually asked you about that before. But, hey, I wouldn’t recommend going for older women. I’m telling you, there’s no such thing as an old lady with good moves. I’m way better at it."

Sweat formed on his forehead, and his throat felt strangely dry.

"Well... yeah. If it’s a no, it’s a no, I guess. That’s fine, too."

The bench creaked as Hirokuni stood up, grabbed his crutch, and without a word, headed back into the hospital.

I’ve been dumped, huh? Yamamura thought. It was fine if Hirokuni didn’t want him, but he wished Hirokuni had said something—just a simple "no" or "sorry." The silence left Yamamura unable to say the "thank you" he had meant to.

He had wanted to thank Hirokuni for protecting him. He wanted to express how much it meant to him, knowing he’d been cared for, that he was important to someone. That’s why, at the very least, he wanted to say thank you properly.

"But, well, that’s just how he is, I guess. He’s always in his own world," Yamamura mumbled with a forced laugh. Yet, the laughter quickly gave way to the sadness he couldn’t hold back, and he began to cry, tears falling one after another. Deep down, he had wanted to take Hirokuni with him, even if he had to drag him. He wanted to keep the one thing he loved so much all to himself. He loved Hirokuni, and because of that, he wanted Hirokuni to love him back. He wanted to be loved in return.

Yamamura sniffled loudly. It hurt, but it didn’t feel unbearable. Meeting someone who would protect him, even risking their own life—it wasn’t something that happened often, maybe not even once in a lifetime. That was why, in some way, it was okay. Still, the tears wouldn’t stop. His vision blurred with tears, and the ground seemed to sway beneath his feet.

Then, his shoe was kicked. Startled, he looked up, expecting Hirokuni to have already gone, but there he was, standing in front of him, staring down at the crying Yamamura. Hanging loosely around Hirokuni’s neck was the red mask from a festival, one Yamamura had brought from his apartment to brighten up Hirokuni’s hospital bed when he had been sedated after surgery.

"South… which way" Hirokuni asked, glancing around the courtyard.

"Snow, see," Hirokuni added, pointing.

"That doesn’t even make sense!" Yamamura replied with a teary, half-laughing smile as he wiped away his tears.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

"Yamamura-kun? Oh, yes, yes, he used to come over to my place a lot, with Hiro-chan. Hiro-chan is the kid who lived with the ancestral Indigenous Peoples, and he struggled to learn the language, poor thing. Hmm, how do I explain this... 'ancestral Indigenous Peoples' refers to tribes that still live a self-sufficient lifestyle, without accepting modern civilization. You see, nowadays, even in the Amazon region, development has advanced, and there are fewer Indigenous Peoples living that way... Ah, right, Yamamura-kun, you were asking about him. Hmm. How should I put this... he was a good-hearted young man. Kind, and a bit naive.

It was last year, I think? Out of the blue, some money was sent to my son. He said it was to apologize for causing trouble at our house before. You see, after I had surgery, I suffered a mild stroke and lost the ability to move freely. So, I ended up living with my son, and we decided to demolish the old house. My son tried to return the money, but he absolutely refused to take it back. I felt sorry for him.

I’m sure he’s doing well. I still have his address, you know. It was Ishigaki Island or maybe Taketomi Island, somewhere around there in Okinawa. He’s working as a tour guide. My grandson went on a tour with him this year. I saw some pictures—it's a beautiful place. The sea is so clear, and the weather’s warm. Yeah, it’s truly a beautiful spot.

You’ve got something you want to give to both of them? And you’ve been looking for them for almost five years? That must have been tough for the lawyer too. Just a moment, let me ask my daughter-in-law to find the address book for you."

THE END

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