Innocent World: Chapter 3

Previous TOC Next

"Sir, we've arrived," the driver said, waking Yamamura from his deep sleep in the back seat.

"Get out first," he muttered.

Even after speaking to him, Hirokuni didn’t move. He was looking straight at him, so he had to have heard, but there was no reaction.

"I said, go!"

Yamamura added some hand gestures, and Hirokuni finally stepped out of the car. Yamamura paid the fare and followed him outside, running towards the apartment. The rain was heavier than it looked. Once he was under the awning, he turned around and saw Hirokuni standing in the rain, even though there had been plenty of time to follow him.

A drop of water fell from the plastic bag Hirokuni was holding in his right hand. He hadn’t been able to salvage anything from the burned-down house, so all he had were a few changes of clothes and underwear that Arisawa had bought for him.

"This way."

Yamamura called out and started climbing the metal stairs. A loud clanging echoed behind him at regular intervals. Even when Yamamura reached the top and stood in front of his door, the noisy footsteps continued. When he looked back, he saw Hirokuni standing in the middle of the stairwell, stomping both feet like a child.

"What the hell are you doing?"

The glee on Hirokuni's face made it clear he was playing. Yamamura couldn’t shake the creepy feeling that something was wrong with this guy’s head.

"Stop messing around and get over here."

But Hirokuni ignored him and kept stomping, even adding a weird song to his antics. People walking down the street below turned to stare, throwing curious and suspicious glances their way. Embarrassed beyond words, Yamamura rushed halfway down the stairs.

"Cut it out already!"

He grabbed the arm of the man who was completely absorbed in his little game and dragged him up the rest of the stairs.

"Don’t play on the stairs. It’s annoying!"

Even though Yamamura raised his voice in anger, Hirokuni just smiled, his expression completely different from the blank look he had at the hotel. The smile felt mocking, and it irritated Yamamura.

If Hirokuni kept this up every time they went up or down the stairs, it would be unbearable. Yamamura crouched down in front of Hirokuni and smacked his legs below the knees. He’d once heard from a guy he used to date that when dealing with a dog or cat, you had to scold them right then and there so they’d learn it was bad behavior.

"Don’t ever play on the stairs again."

Hirokuni just stood there, wide-eyed and confused. Yamamura snorted, pulled out his keys from his bag, and unlocked the door. Then, from beside him, he heard the faint sound of stomping. Hirokuni was stomping his feet again and occasionally slapping his legs, probably mimicking Yamamura’s earlier action. This idiot didn’t think he was being scolded at all. He didn’t understand anything. Worse than a dog or cat.

Yamamura dragged the still-stomping Hirokuni inside the apartment. If the nosy old hag next door noticed him, she’d be a nuisance later.

Yamamura kicked off his shoes and stepped inside. As he scratched his head, the neat hairstyle he’d kept to look good for Arisawa became disheveled in an instant. He waded through the mess of old magazines, plastic bags, and dirty clothes, tossed his fake glasses onto the table, and sat on the bed without even bothering to take off his suit jacket.

He let out a long sigh. If things were like this from the start, the future didn’t look promising. He had thought that as long as Hirokuni didn’t talk and wasn’t in the way, everything would be fine, but now he wasn’t so sure. Maybe he had acted too rashly… Yamamura was already starting to regret his decision.

He heard the creak of the tatami mats. When Yamamura opened his eyes and looked at Hirokuni’s feet, he was shocked.

"Take off your damn shoes!"

Hirokuni was standing in the middle of the room, still wearing his soaked sneakers. Yamamura pointed at his feet, and Hirokuni seemed to understand, staring down at them. Then, for some reason, he started stomping again, shoes still on, right on top of the tatami. Anger bubbled up from deep inside Yamamura.

"I told you to take them off! What the hell have you been doing since you came to Japan? Isn’t it common sense to take off your shoes when you enter someone’s home? Didn’t anyone teach you that?"

Even though Yamamura was shouting, Hirokuni showed no sign of removing his shoes. Furious, Yamamura stomped over to him, making loud, heavy steps of his own.

"Sit."

Perhaps understanding single words, Hirokuni sat down on the spot, hugging his knees. Yamamura grabbed Hirokuni by the ankles, pulled off his sneakers one by one, and theatrically hurled them toward the entrance. The front door echoed with a loud thud, thud as the shoes hit it.

"Take your shoes off at the entrance."

Yamamura spat the words out. Hirokuni stared at the shoes lying by the door, then suddenly got up and started kicking around plastic bags and scraps of paper that were scattered on the floor.

"Don’t kick stuff, idiot!"

Hirokuni wandered around the room aimlessly before heading to the kitchen and opening the fridge without asking. He peered inside, showing no restraint. This was the worst.

Yamamura pulled a lighter and cigarettes from his jacket and lit one. The nicotine slightly dulled his irritation, rising as white smoke.

Hirokuni closed the fridge door, holding two eggs in his right hand. Yamamura hadn’t even known they were there, nor could he remember when he bought them. They might have been from last year. Hirokuni cracked one egg on the edge of the sink, gulping down the contents in one swift motion. He did the same with the second egg, then licked his lips with satisfaction.

"Hope you get food poisoning and die," Yamamura muttered under his breath.

By the time it was past 5 PM, a fierce hunger hit Yamamura as he woke from his nap. Why am I this hungry? he wondered, tilting his head, before remembering he hadn’t eaten all day. He’d overslept in the morning, and during the afternoon, he was so infuriated by Hirokuni’s idiocy that he’d sulked and gone back to sleep.

…When he returned from the convenience store, Hirokuni was stirring from between the bed and the clothes rack. His upper body was bare. Though he had been wearing a shirt during the trip, he’d discarded it at some point.

Yamamura swept the magazines and pens off the table onto the tatami, clearing a space to set down two bento boxes. Hirokuni got a cheap nori bento, while Yamamura had a Makunouchi bento. The obvious difference in quality was meant as a blatant dig, but Hirokuni didn’t seem to care. He eagerly tore off the packaging and started devouring the food with his hands. His eating was more beastly than hearty. Yamamura found himself staring, captivated by the sheer wildness of it, forgetting his own meal in the process.

Hirokuni took a sip from a plastic bottle of tea, grimaced, and never touched it again. In about three minutes, he finished eating, then meticulously licked his dirty hands clean before sticking his mouth under the faucet to drink water. Once he was done, he lay down on his side, avoiding the trash scattered on the tatami, and closed his eyes. He attacked his food the moment he saw it, and now, full, he was going to sleep—just like an animal.

Though Yamamura found Hirokuni’s shaved head exasperating, when he was silent and still, he didn’t look like the kind of guy who’d eat with his hands. He looked like any ordinary twenty-two-year-old man sleeping.

The sound of rain grew louder. Through the window, still open and without curtains drawn, Yamamura could see raindrops pelting against the glass. He went to the fridge and pulled out a beer.

From above, Yamamura could see Hirokuni's small nipples, hard and pointed, and he gulped down his saliva. Even knowing what lay underneath, feeling aroused was inevitable. It was a natural reaction, just like getting turned on by gravure idols or adult videos. If it had been some kid who hadn’t even hit puberty yet, or a middle-aged man with a flabby belly, it would’ve been completely out of the question. But Hirokuni, at least in terms of appearance, was within range. He was skinny, but his body was firm, and his butt was well-shaped.

Realizing he had been staring at Hirokuni’s body like he was devouring it with his eyes, Yamamura walked over to the window and sat down with his back against the wall. He took a sip of beer while staring off into the distance, his gaze unfocused like looking at a gravure model from afar.

He had become aware of his own sexual preferences back in middle school. Like the majority of others with the same inclination, he naturally became conscious of men, and naturally, he began wanting to have sex with men. Of course, he never told anyone. There was one effeminate boy in his grade who was relentlessly bullied for all three years. Watching that kid being dragged to the corner of the schoolyard, Yamamura thought to himself, If I say anything, I’ll probably end up just like him.

At seventeen, he slept with a man for the first time. There was a gay guy at his part-time job who easily saw through his preferences. Once the guy realized Yamamura was inexperienced, he took him to his usual bar. That night, Yamamura hooked up with the first guy who approached him, doing it in the bathroom of the bar. He’d forgotten the guy’s face and name, but the raspy moans and the musky smell of sweat from the man’s neck were still vividly imprinted in his memory.

Once he had a taste of men, something clicked inside him. Whenever he felt the urge, he went to the bar. Being young meant never having trouble finding a partner. Sometimes, guys even approached him and asked for a relationship, and he went out with a few of them, but none of the relationships lasted long. He quickly grew bored of the same person. He always wanted to try someone new. Looking around, he realized everyone else was the same. Short cycles were the norm, and he wasn’t the only one.

From his late teens to his early twenties, he was so obsessed with sex that it felt like he might wear himself out. But around twenty-five, his sexual desire sharply declined. When he absolutely needed it, he’d still go to the bar, but the frequency dropped. He found that gambling on horse races was more exciting than sex, and pachinko was more fun.

Gambling came with both joy and sorrow. When you win, you feel on top of the world, but losing sends you into a deep depression. Watching middle-aged men angrily throwing things around in the stands as their losing tickets scattered like confetti, Yamamura felt a chill run down his spine, as if catching a glimpse of his own future. He didn’t want to end up like that, yet he couldn’t stop buying tickets.

Feeling the need to occupy his mouth, he lit a cigarette and pulled the ashtray closer. Once he got a decent amount of money, he’d clear his debts and live it up for a while. He'd finally be free from his current life—saying goodbye to all the sales talk where he had to constantly gauge people's reactions just to sell water filters.

Hirokuni shifted restlessly and rolled over. The soles of his feet, now facing Yamamura, were grimy and blackened.

Yamamura’s uncle had been smart enough to teach at a university, so he must’ve been much more intelligent than Yamamura’s father. If Hirokuni inherited those genes, he might be pretty smart too. Unfortunately, growing up in the jungle hadn’t given him any chances to use that intellect.

Yamamura had long thought of himself as unlucky—abandoned by his good-for-nothing father and irresponsible mother. But now, after a long time, he’d finally come across someone who seemed even more unfortunate than himself. He thought, What a miserable life, but didn’t feel any sympathy. Even if he did sympathize, it wouldn’t make any difference. Saying "poor thing" and then forgetting all about it a few hours later—that kind of emotion was nothing more than the self-satisfaction of someone looking down on others from above.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The next morning, Yamamura woke up at 8:30 AM, teetering on the brink of being late. He hurriedly changed into his suit, shoving his tie into his bag. As he dashed back and forth across the room, he almost trampled Hirokuni, who was sprawled out on the tatami floor, further irritating him.

Just as he was about to leave the room, he hesitated over what to do about the lock. Would someone who barged into his house with their shoes on even know how to lock a door? Sure, there wasn't anything particularly valuable inside, but leaving the door wide open seemed risky. The fridge still had some bananas and old eggs. There was a toilet and running water too. Locking him in wouldn’t cause any real problems.

Yamamura firmly locked the door from the outside and sprinted to the subway station. It took him ten minutes on the express train, followed by another five minutes of running after he got off. At exactly 8:57, he slid into the office building. There were only three minutes left before the morning cleaning and meeting started. Yamamura washed his face and brushed his teeth in the restroom. He always kept a stash of essentials like a toothbrush and razor in his desk for moments like this.

At exactly 9:00 AM, he left his hair and shaving for later and returned to the office. After the morning greetings, they split up for fifteen minutes of cleaning. The cleaning assignments were based on sales performance. If you’d closed a lot of deals, you got desk duty. If you hadn’t, you were stuck with cleaning the toilets and their surroundings. Once cleaning was done, the meeting began. Participation in both was mandatory for everyone. Skipping out would earn you an after-hours lecture from the section chief and a grueling double dose of role-playing exercises. Yamamura, who was frequently late, had been subjected to this so-called “detention room” many times. Thanks to this hellish system, his tardiness hadn’t disappeared entirely, but it had dropped significantly.

In the twelve-tatami-sized office, fifteen salesmen gathered around the section chief’s desk after cleaning. Yamamura was the last one to join. Nishida spotted him and gave a small wave, as if to say, “Hurry up!” Yamamura, keeping his head low, snuck over to the back and stood there quietly. Just as he thought he’d made it, the section chief’s voice boomed, “Yamamura!”

“Are you planning to go out and meet clients with that scruffy beard?”

He always had a keen eye for this sort of thing. Yamamura scratched at his rough cheek.

“Sorry, I’ll shave before heading out.”

“Your slack attitude is showing in your appearance. May is ending in three days, and you haven’t even hit two-thirds of last month’s sales.”

The section chief, who was in his fifties, had a perfectly bald spot at the top of his head, which would turn bright red when he got worked up. Some of the ruder guys even called him "Bald Spot" behind his back.

“Really, I’m sorry.”

There was no point in arguing, so he just kept apologizing. The chief, seemingly satisfied after getting his apology, grumbled a bit more but didn’t press further. After about twenty minutes, the meeting wrapped up, and everyone headed out to their sales areas by car. Yamamura shaved in the restroom, fixed his hair, and returned to the office. By then, the only person left was Nishida. The other salesmen, including the section chief, were all gone.

“Man, you’re slow,” Yamamura said.

Nishida shrugged and replied, “I was talking to the chief.” Though a bit blunt, Nishida had a smooth way with words and had earned the chief’s favor. Apparently, they even went out drinking together and played golf on occasion. He was all smiles in front of the chief, but behind his back, he’d say things like, “That old guy’s a real pain.” Then he’d laugh it off, saying, “Well, dealing with him is just another part of the job.” Nishida wasn’t exactly what you’d call a nice guy, but his level of social maneuvering wasn’t unusual. Besides, he wasn’t the type to nitpick or make a fuss, which made him easy to get along with.

"By the way, Yamamura-san, you’d better be careful. The section chief might throw some weird appointments your way. He was grumbling to me, saying stuff like, ‘That guy’s getting lazy,’" Nishida warned casually.

Each company has its own approach to door-to-door sales, and at "Eureka," where Yamamura worked, the system was set up so that a woman from the upstairs call center would make appointments for the salesmen to visit.

"We’re currently running a special campaign and would love for you to try out our latest water purifier as a trial monitor. Of course, it’s completely free. We’ll visit you at your convenience."

In her gentle voice, the caller would use the word "free" as her shield, securing appointments. While it wasn’t truly free, this created a foothold to get inside the house. It was far more efficient than wandering from door to door asking, "Would you like to buy a water purifier?" and the chances of closing a deal were much higher.

The section chief’s job was to assign the appointments that the female employees gathered to the salesmen. As Nishida had pointed out, if you rubbed the chief the wrong way, you’d get stuck with the difficult customers.

"Doesn't really matter to me. I’m not particularly good at this, but I’m not bad either," Yamamura replied.

"Is that so..." Nishida mumbled, shoving pamphlets into his bag. Each salesman had their strengths. Some excelled with housewives, while others had an uncanny knack for charming elderly ladies living alone, boasting a deal-closing rate of over seventy percent. Yamamura didn’t have any particular strength, but he didn’t have any glaring weaknesses either.

"Well, Yamamura-san, you always manage to close contracts without much fuss. The section chief said you’ve only hit two-thirds of last month’s numbers, but everyone’s having a rough month. Still, you’re in the top three this month, right? Teach me the secret to closing deals."

Yamamura tilted his head back and gazed at the ceiling. "I guess... just believe that it’s a good product. You know, sincerity gets through to people."

"Sincerity? If they’re signing a contract for a water purifier that’s almost ten times the market price, I’d say sincerity’s out the window at that point."

"That’s why sincerity lasts only until they stamp the contract," Yamamura said with a smirk.

In an industry where employee turnover was high, Nishida had stuck with it for a year, proving he was suited for the job. His way with words wasn’t bad, either. As for Yamamura, who’d somehow managed to keep drifting along for four years, well, he was just another nobody.

Yamamura climbed into his sales car and headed toward his assigned area. As he waited near a park, his cellphone rang with a call from the section chief, assigning him his next appointment.

"Yes, I’m ready to take notes. Please go ahead... The address is... got it. The name is... okay. A housewife in her forties... right. She’s been using her current water purifier for about three years? A bit impatient, huh? Ah, yeah, there are plenty of women like that. Alright, alright... understood."

After hanging up, Yamamura checked the address on his residential map. It was nearby. He started the car, turned on the indicator, and drove off in the assigned direction.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Yamamura returned to the office just before 7 PM. Checking the time cards, he noticed no one else had come back yet. Most of the salesmen finished up between 7 and 8 PM, so he was a little early. Today, he’d secured two contracts—one in the morning and one in the afternoon. He was on a roll. After reporting the second contract, he called the section chief from his car, asking, “Hey, can I head home early today?” The chief hadn’t said no.

As he was quickly packing up to leave, Nishida walked in.

“Oh? You’re early, Yamamura-san.”

“Yeah, I closed two contracts today.”

“Wow, no way. You’re on fire!”

“See you around,” Yamamura said, picking up his bag.

“You heading out? I’m almost done here too. Wanna grab some food somewhere?”

“Sorry, I’ve got some stuff to do tonight.”

Nishida grinned slyly. “Let me guess, a woman?”

“Technically... well, he's got a dick, so I guess that makes him male.”

Nishida frowned in confusion, and Yamamura chuckled.

“My dog. Ever since I got him, it’s been a headache. He’s not the brightest, you know.”

“Oh, really?” Nishida responded lazily, dragging out the words.

“I can’t picture you playing with a dog, Yamamura-san.”

“‘Playing,’ huh? Didn’t know you knew such fancy words.”

“Well, it’s not like you’d be... ‘messing around’ with a dog, right? And wait, can you even keep a dog in that apartment?”

With a meaningful chuckle, Yamamura patted Nishida’s shoulder and said, “See you tomorrow,” before walking out of the office.

Outside, a light drizzle was falling, but it wasn’t enough to warrant using an umbrella. Yamamura walked briskly to the station. The subway was just crowded enough that there were no seats available. A group of high school girls chatting loudly near the door annoyed him, so he moved toward the middle of the car and grabbed a handrail.

Across from him, a high school boy in a short-sleeve shirt sat staring intently at a study guide. His jet-black hair and glasses gave him a serious look, but overall, he seemed a bit out of touch with the world. Definitely a virgin, Yamamura decided, judging him on the spot.

The two contracts he closed today were with a housewife in her forties and another in her thirties. The one in her forties, just as the pre-appointment info suggested, was short-tempered but easygoing enough that once she was hooked, the deal went smoothly. The younger housewife, whose child had atopic dermatitis, had been eager from the start and listened intently to Yamamura’s pitch. Together, the two contracts totaled ¥1,060,000.

People are idiots, Yamamura thought, not for the first time. I’m an idiot for selling this stuff, but the people who buy it are even dumber. Every day, dealing with idiots was exhausting. For your health, to avoid cancer, for your family... It was the same lines over and over again. After repeating them endlessly, Yamamura began to lose track of what he was doing. The more he thought about it, the more tedious it became, until eventually, he gave up thinking altogether. As long as he could get the customer’s stamp on the contract, that was all that mattered. It was a simple answer he gave to himself.

What would I be doing now if I hadn’t dropped out of high school...? Yamamura mused as he looked down at the serious, virginal kid. Would I have landed a better job? When it came to salary alone, his current company was pretty good. Even if he’d graduated high school—or even college—getting a job that paid as well as this one might have been tough. Of course, what he was doing now was practically a scam.

Though his pay fluctuated due to commission-based work, he made a decent income. Yet his lifestyle was always scraping by. When he complained about this to Nishida, his colleague had shrugged and said, “Well, that’s because you spend as much as you earn. On pachinko and horse races, right?”

It was true that Yamamura loved gambling. If someone told him that pachinko and horse racing would disappear tomorrow, he wouldn’t know what to look forward to in life anymore. He knew it was hopeless, but a lot of guys around him were like that too.

Despite having closed two deals and feeling on top of the world, his mood began to sink. He gripped the handrail and sighed, his body swaying as the train started to move again.

I feel like grabbing a drink. It had been a while since he’d had a proper night out. If he got off at the next station, he could go to his usual gay bar. It was early, so there’d be few customers, and he could take his time. He hadn’t hooked up with anyone in a while. It had been two months since he’d broken up with his last guy. One day, the guy had suddenly said, “I don’t want to see you anymore,” and that was the end of it. They hadn’t been particularly close anyway, and Yamamura had found the guy’s constant clinginess annoying. He had no lingering feelings.

Maybe I’d feel better if I drank and got laid. But experience told him that the rush and pleasure of sex were as fleeting as his libido. More often than not, after the moment passed, he was left with an even deeper sense of emptiness. Sure, he’d feel better down there, but up here, in his head, the fog would still linger.

As Yamamura was debating whether or not to go, he suddenly remembered the crucial thing: the reason he had turned down Nishida’s dinner invitation and planned to head home early was because Hirokuni was there. He needed to buy dinner on the way back.

Now that he realized he couldn’t go out, the desire to go to the bar surged even stronger. He hated dealing with that brute. Sure, he was getting around 200,000 yen a month and a good word from the lawyer, but he regretted ever taking Hirokuni in. He regretted it every moment since—the time Hirokuni danced on the stairs, when he ate with his hands… It had been nothing but regret.

When Yamamura reached the sidewalk where he could see his apartment, he noticed there were no lights on. Hirokuni was probably asleep.

Standing in front of the door, Yamamura reached for his key but realized something was off—the door was ajar, about three centimeters. Although he had locked it earlier, Hirokuni apparently had enough sense to unlock it from the inside and get out.

Whether he was still inside or had gone out, leaving the door unlocked was reckless. If Yamamura didn’t scold him, it would just happen again. But explaining everything to someone who barely understood him was exhausting.

With a sigh, Yamamura grabbed the doorknob, and immediately exclaimed, “What the—?”

The doorknob stuck to his hand.

“What the hell is this?”

He slipped his hand through the gap in the door and pushed it open. Right there in the entrance, the half of the doorknob that had come off was lying next to a box about ten centimeters thick. Yamamura bent down to inspect it—an old DVD player. The corners were crushed, and the plastic around the disc slot was shattered. A bad feeling crept up his spine. Did he break the doorknob with this thing?

When Yamamura turned on the lights, the sight before him left him speechless. His room had always been messy, but this wasn’t just a mess—it had been destroyed. The curtains were torn and dangling haphazardly, the table was knocked over, the TV was upside down, and DVDs and game discs were scattered everywhere.

“Why the hell did he wreck the place like this!?”

Yamamura hurled the broken doorknob against the wall and stormed into the room. If Hirokuni wasn’t hiding in the bathroom, there was nowhere else he could be. He must have trashed the room and left, as if it were some twisted form of revenge.

“Goddammit, you bastard!”

Yamamura kicked the overturned table, only to have pain shoot up his leg, making him even angrier. He didn’t care where Hirokuni had gone—he could do whatever he wanted. Go die in a ditch for all I care. It’s got nothing to do with me.

But before he did, he had better pay for the curtains, the doorknob, and the damn DVD player.

Since there was no way Hirokuni could pay for the damages, Yamamura would have to bill Arisawa for it. Arisawa wouldn’t refuse—after all, Yamamura was the victim here. From the still-open door, Yamamura noticed the nosy old hag next door peeking in. No matter how many times he tried to close the door, it would slowly drift open again, and Yamamura found himself developing a meaningless rage toward the inanimate thing.

He fashioned a makeshift latch using a wire hanger, hooking it into the hole where the doorknob used to be, and somehow managed to get the door shut. With a deep sigh, he slumped down on the entryway floor.

After sitting there for a while, Yamamura stood up with a weary shuffle. Grabbing only his wallet and phone, he stepped outside. He needed to track down his collateral. As worthless as Hirokuni might be, without him, Yamamura wouldn’t be able to get any more money advanced. He wandered aimlessly through the streets. Honestly, he had no idea where Hirokuni might have gone.

He circled the nearby park, visited a bookstore with its lights still on, a supermarket, and a convenience store. By the time he’d finished, Yamamura was thoroughly exhausted. Why am I, after working all day, stuck doing this at night too? The sheer unfairness of it gnawed at him.

On his way back, after checking the convenience store across the river, Yamamura retraced his steps to his apartment. As he passed by the drugstore, he suddenly noticed the police box, which he normally just walked by without a second thought. Even if I can’t find him, I could still tell the lawyer I filed a missing person’s report. That would be a decent excuse.

He entered the police box and mentioned wanting to file a report for a runaway. The officer told him he had to go to the main police station and handed him a map. The process of filing the report was surprisingly quick and anticlimactic. The clerk who accepted the paperwork offered no sympathy or even a hint of interest. It was all strictly business, which, while understandable, still irritated Yamamura. He wasn’t particularly serious about finding Hirokuni, but the indifference stung, so he found himself pressing further.

“He can’t speak Japanese at all. If he gets picked up, will I still get notified properly?”

The man at the desk, who seemed to be in his fifties and looked a little too thin, raised an eyebrow.

“He’s Japanese, right? What do you mean he can’t speak the language?”

“He lived abroad for a long time, so he’s not fluent in Japanese.”

“I see. So, what language does he speak?”

“It’s some Indigenous language from Brazil... um, I think I’ve heard the name before, but I can’t quite remember…”

The officer shrugged in exasperation.

“You don’t even know? How are we supposed to help with that? I mean, come on.”

At that moment, someone called for the officer’s attention. He turned around, responding with a quick “Yeah, yeah, I’m coming.”

“Anyway, we’ve got your report, so that’s that,” he said coldly before walking off. Yamamura felt irritated—he’d only come to file a report, yet they left him in a foul mood. You guys live off our taxes, so at least do your damn job properly, he cursed inwardly as he left the police station.

He hadn’t walked more than a few meters when his phone rang. The number was unfamiliar. When he answered, the same indifferent officer’s voice came through the line.

“Is this Yamamura Hitoshi? This is Kuga Police Station.”

Yamamura instinctively glanced back at the station he had just left.

“We’ve apprehended a man at a supermarket in Tachikawa for dine-and-dash. He can’t speak Japanese, and we can’t figure out what language he’s speaking. The description matches the cousin you reported missing—same age and appearance...”

Previous TOC Next