Innocent World: Chapter 5

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The next morning, Yamamura left his apartment thirty minutes earlier than usual. He took Hirokuni to a nearby park. He couldn’t leave him at home alone. If Hirokuni started acting out or dancing again, there’d be no one to stop him. The park was one of the few public places where, even if he caused a bit of a ruckus, it wouldn’t be a big problem.

Hirokuni showed signs of resistance, but Yamamura managed to get a shirt on him and gave him an old wristwatch. He bought a bento from the convenience store for lunch and handed it to him, but as soon as they reached the park, Hirokuni started eating with his hands. Yamamura didn’t bother explaining it was for lunch—too much trouble. Morning joggers and commuters passed by at a distance, avoiding the sight of the wild man eating with his hands.

Getting him out of the apartment was one thing, but the real issue was whether Hirokuni would actually stay in the park until Yamamura returned around 7 PM. He kept pointing at the watch and repeating, “Seven o’clock, I come to get you.” But Hirokuni’s expression remained blank. Ten hours later didn’t seem to register. That’s when Yamamura realized—of course Hirokuni didn’t understand; in a world where numbers only go up to five, the concept of a twelve-hour clock couldn’t possibly exist.

Still, Yamamura had to make sure Hirokuni stayed in the park until he came back, or he’d have to file another missing person report and go searching all over for him again. He wanted to avoid that nightmare at all costs.

Then a good idea struck him. Hirokuni wanted to go back to his village in the jungle. Maybe if Yamamura told him, “I’ll take you to your village,” Hirokuni would wait here obediently.

“Village. We go.”

The moment Yamamura said, we’ll go back to the village, Hirokuni’s face lit up.

“Village... go?”

“We go. We go.”

Hirokuni grinned widely. It was the first time Yamamura had seen such a big smile from him. Yamamura repeatedly pointed at the number seven on the wristwatch and the hour hand, saying, “Village. We go.” Hirokuni was smiling, cheerful, and it seemed like he was starting to get it, at least a little. Yamamura thought he’d given himself plenty of time, but the explanation had taken much longer than expected. He was on the verge of being late for work.

“Seven o’clock, we go to the village,” Yamamura repeated one last time before running off toward the station.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

As soon as he arrived at the office, his boss asked him with a completely straight face, "You weren't sick with a cold, were you? Did you go to a boxing match or something?"

"No, it was a cold. This bruise is from falling down the stairs," he replied.

The bruise on his face looked unmistakably like he'd been punched, but he stuck firmly to his story about the cold. The boss snorted and ordered, "You’re going to do role-playing training with the new recruits for a while." This was Yamamura's fourth year at the company, and he often handled the training and role-playing exercises for the new employees who joined almost every month. The older staff took turns doing this, and although Yamamura had already done his rotation last month, it seemed a bit too soon for it to come around to him again.

Given the state of his face, though, there wasn't much else they could do with him. When he’d looked in the mirror this morning, the bruises had bloomed into a rich variety of blues, yellows, and purples. What would a peace-loving housewife think if she saw a sales representative who looked like he'd been in a brawl?

Well, it's not like anyone would think, "Oh, those bruises are charming! So wild!" That kind of reaction was out of the question. The likelihood of closing a deal would definitely drop. Considering that he hadn’t been told to go home and was instead put in charge of training, maybe that was for the best.

Yamamura sighed as he looked at the training schedule he’d been given. The program was packed tight with activities until nine at night. He had planned on going out to do some sales despite his bruised face, expecting to be done by seven. Given that he’d already taken yesterday off, there was no way he could say, "I have plans, so please let me leave early." Accepting his fate, he put the program down on his desk. Even if it meant making Hirokuni wait in the park, it couldn’t be helped. There was no way to contact him, and besides, the reason Yamamura was stuck doing training in the first place was because Hirokuni had recklessly hit him without thinking.

As expected, Yamamura didn’t leave the office until 9:30 PM. During the role-playing session, he felt awkward under the trainees' gazes, which were clearly focused on his bruised face.

Outside, it was raining. He hadn't noticed it earlier because the blinds in the training room had been drawn all day. It didn't seem like it had just started; the rain was coming down hard. Naturally, Yamamura didn’t have an umbrella, so he "borrowed" a transparent plastic one left at the entrance by someone.

Feeling a bit guilty for making Hirokuni wait, mixed with the discomfort of the rain, Yamamura walked quickly to the station. Even then, he regretted not running when he ended up waiting three minutes for the train. He reached the park at 10 PM. He went over to the bench where they had parted that morning, but Hirokuni wasn’t there. He didn’t expect him to actually be sitting there in the rain, that would be terrifying. But searching for him in this downpour felt like too much trouble.

"Go to village," came a voice from behind.

Startled, Yamamura turned around and gasped. Hirokuni stood there, drenched to the bone, shirtless, with a beaming smile on his face.

"Wh-where were you?" Yamamura asked, tilting his head as Hirokuni grabbed his clothes with his wet hand.

"I go to village," Hirokuni muttered, struggling with his words.

"Let go of me. You're getting me wet. We're heading home for now," Yamamura said.

He didn’t plan on sharing his umbrella. Hirokuni was already soaked anyway, and holding the umbrella over him would only get Yamamura wet as well. Yamamura picked up his pace, with Hirokuni obediently trailing behind him. When they stopped at a convenience store to buy dinner, Yamamura didn’t tell Hirokuni to wait outside, and they both went in together. But he pretended not to know him—it was too embarrassing to be seen with a drenched man.

Even when they got back to the apartment, Yamamura didn’t let Hirokuni inside. Letting him in as he was would only soak the hallway and the tatami mats.

"Just take off your clothes," Yamamura ordered.

Hirokuni didn’t move, looking sullen. In the dim light of the hallway’s fluorescent bulb, his expression almost seemed angry. If words wouldn’t get through to him, Yamamura figured he’d have to show him how it’s done. He unbuttoned Hirokuni's waistband, pulled down the zipper, and yanked down his work pants. He wasn’t expecting Hirokuni to not be wearing any underwear, and seeing the bare sight in front of him made him freeze, staring in surprise.

There it was, nestled in sparse hair, a modestly sized penis and scrotum. The penis was a light color, still covered by its foreskin. It seemed so unremarkable and innocent, totally unlike the image of a violent man. That contrast, strangely, sent a thrill of excitement through Yamamura.

"Ungh!"

Yamamura was struck across the face, falling onto his rear with a thud. Looking up from the ground, he met Hirokuni's cold gaze staring down at him, expressionless. In that moment, Yamamura was overwhelmed with shame so intense that he wished he could just disappear. Being looked down upon by someone he thought of as beneath him was a bitter pill to swallow.

Hirokuni yanked off his work pants from his ankles and, now completely naked, stomped his feet on the floor with a loud thud. It was different from when he had danced on the iron staircase before; back then, he seemed to be having fun, but now, irritation radiated from his entire body.

"Go back to village," he repeated.

He was angry, clearly frustrated that Yamamura hadn’t kept his promise. Yamamura, realizing he was in a tough spot, ignored Hirokuni and walked to the back of the room to change into more comfortable clothes. Hirokuni followed, repeating "go back to village" over and over.

"You think I can just up and leave at this hour? Besides, no matter how you look at it, it's impossible for you to get back to the jungle. Stop whining and just put on some pants and eat your dinner," Yamamura said.

He knew Hirokuni probably wouldn’t understand, but he still refused to dumb down his words to Hirokuni’s level. Yamamura tossed a bento box at Hirokuni’s feet, then opened his own and started eating, ignoring the angry man.

"Go back to village," Hirokuni kept saying, his voice grating on Yamamura’s nerves, so he turned on the TV. The room was suddenly filled with laughter from a variety show.

Hirokuni moved so fast it was almost a blur. Before Yamamura could react, Hirokuni dashed over and kicked the TV, yanking its cord loose with a sharp "thud." The TV crashed to the floor with a dull bang.

"What the hell are you doing?!" Yamamura yelled, reaching out to pick up the fallen TV. But Hirokuni shoved him aside, hoisted the television up over his shoulder, and opened the window.

"Hey! Hold on! Wait!" Yamamura shouted.

But Hirokuni went ahead and did the unthinkable. He hurled the TV out the window. There was a sickening "crash" as it hit the pavement. Yamamura stuck his head out the window to see the rain-soaked sidewalk below, lit dimly by a streetlamp. Broken pieces were scattered all around like shadows in the night. ...Unbelievable.

The cold rain hitting his cheek snapped Yamamura back to his senses. He stood there, leaning halfway out the window, staring in shock at the destroyed TV getting soaked in the downpour.

A loud bang on the front door made him turn around.

"Yamamura-san, what's all that noise about? I told you yesterday, enough with the racket!" came the shrill voice of the neighbor—The old hag Yamakaji. Yamamura quickly moved to the door and spoke through it.

"I'm very sorry, I’ll quiet down right away. I promise it won’t happen again."

The door shook with a heavy thud.

"‘Sorry, sorry,’ that’s all you ever say! How about showing your face and apologizing properly for once?!"

Inside, Hirokuni was standing there, completely naked. No way could Yamamura let anyone see that. But the old hag wouldn’t be satisfied unless he showed his face. Yamamura cracked the door open about ten centimeters. Immediately, a spotted hand reached in, forcing it open another thirty centimeters. An old, musty floral scent like that of toilet air freshener wafted in.

"Ugh, foreigners are all the same! So many of them have no manners. If this keeps up, I’m going to have a word with the landlord myself—"

The old hag suddenly went silent, her mouth hanging open in shock. Yamamura turned to see why, and there stood Hirokuni, stark naked, right behind him.

"I’m so, so sorry. I promise I’ll be more careful next time," Yamamura said, quickly slamming the door shut. As soon as he did, his hair was grabbed from behind, yanking him backward. Pain shot through his scalp, and he lost his footing, collapsing to the floor.

"Go back to village," Hirokuni said, looking down at Yamamura with a commanding tone. Ever since coming here, Hirokuni had been saying "go back to village" over and over. He’d never expressed any other desire.

"Even if you say that... it’s impossible," Yamamura replied, his voice trembling as he faced the intimidation of Hirokuni’s tyrannical rage.

"I get it, I shouldn't have lied. But I’m telling you, it’s just not possible. You don’t understand, but even if you go back to the jungle now, if you can't do math or read, life’s only going to get more miserable for you. That’s just the way it is. If you go back now, it’s your future that's at stake," Yamamura said, his voice barely a whisper.

Hirokuni narrowed his eyes, pursing his lips in anger.

"Go back to village," he repeated, unyielding.

Yamamura knew that until he could convince him otherwise, Hirokuni would keep repeating "go back to village " endlessly.

"You have to learn the language, Hirokuni. If you do that, then you can keep saying ‘go back to village’ as much as you like. Didn’t Arisawa tell you? Learn the language, get a job, save up money, and take a plane back," Yamamura said.

After saying that, a thought crossed his mind—how on earth was Hirokuni supposed to learn Japanese? He’d need someone to teach him. But who could that be?

"Me...?" he muttered in disbelief.

Hirokuni’s gave him a puzzled look, and Yamamura buried his face in his hands, muttering, "You've got to be kidding me."

◇:-:◆:-:◇

“Oh, Yamamura-san?”

Yamamura, who had stopped by the local bookstore, turned around with a children's study guide still in his hand. Standing behind him in casual clothes was Nishida. Nishida had taken two days off, yesterday and today.

“On your way back from work?”

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t expect to see you even on my day off, Yamamura-san… Wait, what’s up with that face of yours? Looks like you got the stuffing knocked out of you. It’s pretty rough.”

All Yamamura could do was give a wry smile.

“Well, stuff happened.”

“Did you really go out for sales looking like that?”

“They put me on training duty starting yesterday.”

“Ah, figured as much. It’s pretty bad, after all.”

Yamamura knew Nishida wasn’t one to hold back, but being told his face looked bad right to his face still stung a bit. He thought he looked a lot better than two days ago, after all…

“Is it really that bad, my face?”

“It’s pretty bad. Haven’t you looked in the mirror?”

“I have, but still…”

“Well, if you’re doing training, I guess it’s not so bad then. But more importantly…”

Nishida leaned in and glanced at what Yamamura was holding.

“What are you doing with a first-grade Japanese textbook?”

“Oh, um, you know... just some stuff.”

Yamamura put the study guide back on the shelf and subtly tried to move away from the area, but Nishida followed him.

“You’re not, like, planning to remarry with a single mom and her kid or something, are you?”

“Of course not. What about you? What are you doing here anyway? Your place is in Yotsuya, right?”

“Oh, I just dropped off my girlfriend and was on my way back. Thought I’d grab the latest issue of ‘Sparrow Paradise.’”

‘Sparrow Paradise’ was a weekly mahjong manga magazine. Nishida was a mahjong fanatic, and Yamamura had once played along with him, only to end up being a perfect pigeon.

“Didn’t you say you didn’t have a girlfriend?”

“Got one now. Met her at a mixer two days ago. Want me to introduce you to someone, Yamamura-san?”

“Nah, I’m good. Too much hassle.”

More than a hassle, women were nothing but a huge nuisance.

“Yeah, they are a bit of work, but at least you can have some fun for free. It’s cheaper than going to a hostess club.”

Nishida shrugged as he casually let out a line that would’ve gotten him slapped by half the women in the world.

“Anyway, what were you doing with that textbook? Seriously, tell me. I’m dying to know.”

Yamamura let out a sigh.

“Listen, can you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Sure, sure. My lips are sealed.”

“Really?”

When Yamamura pressed him, Nishida chuckled with a hint of disbelief. “Don’t you trust me?” he said. Yamamura pulled Nishida over to the side of the bookstore’s staircase and quickly explained the situation.

“An inheritance over ten million yen? Are you serious?” Nishida said, realizing how loud his voice had gotten. He quickly looked around and lowered his tone.

“Even though it’s inheritance, like I said, it’s split over ten years, so it’s just a little over a hundred thousand yen a month.”

“I mean, it’s not exactly a windfall, but still, isn’t it like getting a pension already?”

“Don’t call it a pension like I’m some old geezer. It’s a legit inheritance, okay?” Yamamura said, getting defensive.

“Still, it’d be better to get it all in one lump sum if you could. Then you could quit your job.”

Nishida looked up at the ceiling and sighed.

“The pay is good, but the business itself isn’t exactly legit. If we ever got busted or taken to court, we’d be in deep trouble. But, well, if that happens, I’ll just make a quick getaway. The best plan is to rake in as much cash as possible while things are good and then set up my own business someday. That’s the dream, right?”

“Even you’ve got some kind of future plans, huh?” Yamamura said, a little surprised.

“Uh, yeah, isn’t that pretty normal? I mean, do you really think our company’s going to be around ten years from now?”

Yamamura didn’t have much love for his current job, knowing it involved deceiving people. But he hadn’t seriously thought about when he’d quit or what he’d do afterward. To find out that Nishida, who he thought lived day-to-day like him, was actually more practical than he’d realized left Yamamura feeling oddly left behind.

“The salary’s good, so it’s hard to leave once you’re in deep. But enough about that, what’s this cousin of yours from the jungle like? I’m really curious now.”

“He used to be a nudist or something—always stripping down, dancing on staircases, eating with his hands. He doesn’t understand a word I say, he’s violent... Honestly, it’s a nightmare.”

Nishida laughed out loud.

“Wow, that’s intense! But hey, if he’s that much trouble, why not just take the inheritance and dump the guy in the Amazon River?”

Yamamura just shrugged and shook his head.

“If I could, I wouldn’t be putting up with all this crap. It’s not like I plan to take care of him forever,” Yamamura said, his frustration slipping into his voice. “I’m thinking of sticking it out for about six months, just long enough to build up a track record of looking after him. Then, like you suggested, I’ll ask for an advance on the inheritance and say goodbye.”

“He doesn’t have any other family or anything, right? Honestly, if he just up and died, you’d hit the jackpot.”

A chill ran down Yamamura’s spine, and he knew it wasn’t just because of the bookstore’s overly efficient air conditioning.

“Uh... did I just go a bit too dark there?”

“Yeah, you went pretty pitch-black.”

“Still, if we’re being honest, haven’t you thought the same thing, Yamamura-san?”

Thinking about it vaguely in his own mind was one thing, but hearing it spoken out loud by someone else made it hit differently. When someone else said it, it sounded so irresponsibly callous. After chatting with Nishida for another thirty minutes or so, they finally parted ways. Yamamura had always thought he and Nishida were similar, but realizing they were alike even in their darkest thoughts made him feel like he was looking into a mirror—one that made him distinctly uncomfortable.

When Yamamura returned to his apartment, he found the front door closed but not locked. He had told Hirokuni to lock the door even when he was home, and while it seemed like he understood, he just didn’t do it. It made Yamamura angry. He imagined what would happen if a burglar broke in—Hirokuni might just sit there and watch silently. But then he thought, if the burglar tried to hurt him, Hirokuni would probably beat them half to death, and that thought made Yamamura chuckle to himself.

As he hesitated at the entrance, the door to the neighboring apartment opened with a click. Uh-oh… he thought, but it was too late. As expected, the voice called out, “Hey, you!”

The old hag Yamakaji stood there wearing a purple T-shirt with a glittery logo that read “GIRL” across her chest, which sagged wearily under the letters. Yamamura couldn't help but avert his eyes, thinking, that’s got to be a crime.

“Are you okay?” she asked.

He’d been bracing himself for a lecture, but to his surprise, she looked at him with genuine concern.

“You’re not being threatened by that strange man, are you?”

“What?”

“I heard noises coming from your place yesterday for a long time after. I was so scared, I almost called the police. And your face—it’s looked terrible recently. You really should go to the police before things get worse.”

Realizing that the old hag was serious, Yamamura quickly shook his head.

“No, no, it’s nothing that serious. Hirokuni just gets frustrated sometimes because he can’t express himself well. It’s just his way of venting, but it’s nothing to worry about.”

“Are you sure you’re really okay?”

“Yes. I’m sorry for worrying you. Good night,” Yamamura said, hastily retreating back into his room. He’d always known she was nosy, but apparently, she was also the meddling type.

When Hirokuni noticed that Yamamura was back, he came running from the back of the room, his eyes fixed on the plastic convenience store bag that held the bento box. Yamamura handed it to him, and without a word of thanks, Hirokuni grabbed it and tore into the food with his bare hands, eating ravenously. Yamamura figured he must have been starving since he got back so late after chatting with Nishida.

He felt a slight sense of relief seeing that Hirokuni was at least wearing his work pants. The day before, Hirokuni had spent the entire night completely naked. Even when Yamamura had placed a pair of underwear nearby, Hirokuni didn’t make any effort to put them on. By the time Yamamura left for work in the morning, Hirokuni was still stark naked. Today, the underwear remained untouched, but at least the work pants were on. It seemed he didn’t mind the work pants, but absolutely refused to wear anything else.

The only sound in the room was Hirokuni’s loud, unrefined chewing. It was so irritating that Yamamura wanted some other noise to drown it out. But the TV, which had been thrown out the window the day before, was beyond repair and now sat abandoned by the entrance. He thought Hirokuni might show a hint of remorse when he saw the ruined TV, but no such luck—Hirokuni didn’t even spare it a glance.

Yamamura wanted to buy a new TV immediately, but he held back, knowing that Hirokuni would just toss it out the window again the next time he got worked up.

On a sudden whim, Yamamura pulled out an old cassette radio from a cardboard box in the corner of the room. It was something his father had bought him back when he was in elementary school. As soon as he turned on the radio, Hirokuni started pacing around the room, clearly restless. His expression looked irritated, so Yamamura quickly put the cassette radio back into the box, trying to avoid provoking him any further.

After his bath, Yamamura took out the first-grade Japanese study guide he’d bought and called out to Hirokuni, who stood there with his usual blank expression. "We’re gonna study," he said. Yamamura pointed at the hiragana chart and started, "A, I, U..." sounding out the syllables.

"Come on, you try saying it after me," he urged.

Hirokuni’s face twisted into an annoyed expression, tilting his head slightly. It took a good fifteen minutes just to get across the idea of “repeat after me.” Finally, when Hirokuni did start to follow along, he gave up as soon as they reached the "na" row, going completely silent. When Yamamura grabbed his arm and shook him, Hirokuni muttered a couple of syllables like a broken machine before clamming up again. It seemed like he was already bored of studying.

“Hey, put some effort into this, will you? Do you have any idea who I’m doing this for? I’m tired from work, but I’m still putting in the time to teach you,” Yamamura said, his frustration spilling out.

In response, Hirokuni just let out a huge yawn. Yamamura threw the study guide aside and lay down on the bed. Nothing felt more pointless than trying so hard when the other person didn’t care at all.

At this rate, Hirokuni wasn’t going to learn the language. But Yamamura told himself that it wasn’t his fault—he had at least made an effort. He had done what he could.

It was only 11 PM, a time Yamamura would never have considered early in his previous life, but now he switched off the lights. Without a TV or radio, the nights were dull, and there was nothing to do but sleep. He hadn’t been to the pachinko parlor or the racetrack in a while. His precious hobbies had been taken away—all because of his troublesome cousin.

Hirokuni curled up on the tatami mat, not once complaining that it was too hard, that he wanted a futon, or that he preferred to sleep in a bed. The room was cramped, so at least Yamamura didn’t have to bother buying a futon for Hirokuni.

He found himself wondering what Hirokuni did during the day. Maybe he went outside, or maybe he stayed indoors all day. Yamamura was curious, but the thought of how much time and effort it would take to ask him made him give up on the idea. It wasn’t worth knowing.

Even though he’d turned off the lights earlier than usual, sleep didn’t come easily. Yamamura was used to going to bed much later, and even on good nights, he had trouble falling asleep. It was common for him to lie awake for an hour, two hours, or even longer, which always led to unpleasant thoughts. He knew that if he were asleep, he wouldn’t hear or understand what was going on around him.

But no, that wasn’t entirely true. Even if he hadn’t listened to the late-night arguments through the paper-thin sliding doors, even as a child under the covers, he would have known that his parents’ relationship was falling apart. They fought during the day, and when his father drank, he would hit his mother.

“If it weren’t for you, I’d have left that man ages ago,” his mother used to say when she got emotional. But when she calmed down, she’d cling to little Yamamura, saying, “You’re the only one I can count on.” Despite their constant fighting, sometimes at night, Yamamura could hear the sounds of his parents together like animals, their grunts and whispers slipping through the cracks in the door. He used to watch, puzzled, at their moments of intimacy through the gap in the sliding door. The next morning, after a night spent together, his mother would curse his father the moment he was out of sight, calling him a “good-for-nothing.”

Yamamura would only realize much later that his mother’s inability to leave his worthless father wasn’t just because of having a child; her own feelings were ambiguous and conflicted, making it impossible for her to break free.

Yamamura’s father was the typical deadbeat who lived off women, freeloading without a hint of self-awareness. He’d worked at times, but his temper was too short, and he always quit soon after starting. Eventually, his bouts of unemployment grew longer, and he sank into a life of drinking, gambling, and chasing women. He would start drinking in broad daylight and spew complaints about other people, the company, and society at large. His catchphrase was always, “One day, I’ll show them!” But that “one day” never came, and by the time Yamamura was in the fifth grade, his father had disappeared without a word.

Yamamura’s mother made a big fuss, insisting that his father must have been involved in some accident or crime, until a helpful acquaintance told her they’d seen him in a neighboring prefecture with another woman. After that, she stopped talking about it entirely. By the time Yamamura was about to enter junior high, his parents were officially divorced.

Yamamura couldn’t remember the last time he saw his father. He hadn’t thought of it as a final goodbye, so the memory didn’t stand out. His father had never hit him; in fact, his father was openly indifferent to anything that didn’t interest him or pose a threat. Whenever he won big at the gambling den and was in a good mood, he’d suddenly remember that he had a son, call Yamamura over, and pat him on the head. He was a whimsical, shallow man, driven only by his fleeting whims.

After the divorce, Yamamura, his mother, and his maternal grandmother lived together for a while. However, his mother didn’t get along with the grandmother, and when Yamamura was in his second year of junior high, they moved into an apartment, starting a life with just the two of them.

His mother worked part-time, but all she did was complain about how tough the job was, how she never got any days off, and how her boss was a jerk. In a way, Yamamura realized that his mother and father were very similar. Around that time, Yamamura was beginning to realize his attraction to men, and he was entirely preoccupied with figuring himself out. His mother, constantly whining about her own struggles, became more of a nuisance to him than anything else.

Whenever they sat down for dinner, she’d inevitably start grumbling about her life. Yamamura found it so annoying that he started deliberately shifting his meal times or skipping dinner altogether. The only time he reached out to her was when it was time to get his monthly allowance, extending his right hand and nothing more. As his mother began to notice him avoiding her, their conversations grew shorter and eventually disappeared. Yet, Yamamura didn’t feel lonely—in fact, he felt relieved. The year after they started living in the apartment, his grandmother passed away, and in June of his second year in high school, his mother left him as well, walking out without a word.

It’s not uncommon for divorced families to be mother-and-child households, but Yamamura’s misfortune lay in the fact that he was abandoned by his mother, too. She didn’t even leave a note, so at first, he didn’t realize that she was gone. When it finally hit him that he had been left behind, he was in shock. His mother had left him behind like another piece of furniture in the room—without even leaving money as a sign of love.

He had never met his father's relatives, so he had no idea where they were. As for his mother’s side, the only one he knew was his late grandmother. At seventeen, with not a yen to his name, Yamamura was thrown out into society. He was tall, and his body looked mature enough that he could pass as an adult; in two years, he’d be graduating from high school. He was no longer at an age or appearance where he could expect anyone to truly sympathize with a kid who’d been abandoned by his parents.

...A rustling noise came from under the bed. Yamamura assumed it was just Hirokuni waking up to go to the bathroom and closed his eyes, ignoring it.

But the sound didn’t stop. On top of that, it seemed like Hirokuni was crawling around on the floor. Yamamura thought he must be half-asleep until he heard a peculiar, rapid breathing—hah, hah, like someone out of breath.

Seriously...? Yamamura opened his eyes, straining to see in the darkness. Hirokuni was crouched in a position like a frog about to leap, his hips moving in a lewd, suggestive way. Well, Hirokuni was a man, after all, and masturbation was only natural, but Yamamura never thought he’d do it right next to someone who was sleeping—and in such a blatant position.

Unable to hold back his curiosity, Yamamura stared at Hirokuni, who continued to move his hips like a frog. He kept at it for a while before letting out a quiet grunt, “Ugh,” and then went completely still. Seemed like he’d finished. The room was filled with a pungent, raw odor. Hirokuni rolled over onto his side and, within minutes, was breathing deeply in the rhythm of sleep.

Now Yamamura couldn’t sleep for an entirely different reason. He crouched forward and headed to the bathroom. In his mind, he imagined himself forcefully thrusting into Hirokuni’s frog-like pose from behind. The fantasy was unexpectedly exciting. He didn’t feel guilty since it was just a thought, just a bit of fuel for his imagination. But the more worked up he got, the harsher the crash back to reality afterward. As he cleaned up and washed his hands, a cold sense of detachment washed over him. He knew he’d never actually make a move on Hirokuni, and even if he did, he’d probably end up getting beaten to death.

The next morning, Yamamura carefully inspected the tatami floor. He wanted to clean up any traces of what Hirokuni had done the previous night. He realized belatedly that he should’ve told him to use tissues when he finished, so that he wouldn’t have to deal with cleaning up every time Hirokuni relieved himself in the future.

But no matter how thoroughly he searched, he couldn’t find any traces. Asking Hirokuni directly would be the quickest way, but trying to explain masturbation or semen to him seemed like an ordeal in itself, so Yamamura stubbornly continued his search. He wondered if maybe Hirokuni didn’t actually release anything, or if he cleaned up after himself during the night. Then, it hit him.

The day before yesterday, Yamamura had neatly stashed away all the magazines at the foot of the bed, but now one of them was lying under the table. Yamamura knew he hadn’t taken it out, and he couldn’t imagine Hirokuni reading a magazine.

Flipping through the pages, he noticed a sticky resistance, a couple of pages clinging together, accompanied by that same pungent odor from last night. It seemed like Hirokuni had been using the magazine as a makeshift aid for his little session. The image of Hirokuni doing that struck Yamamura as so ridiculous that he burst out laughing, smacking the magazine in amusement.

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