Innocent World: Chapter 6

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Hirokuni seemed to prefer learning Japanese words as vocabulary straight away rather than starting with the basics like hiragana. Even if he couldn’t read the characters, expanding his vocabulary would at least make communication smoother. He seemed to enjoy using illustrated books because they had pictures and photos, so Yamamura bought him various types of picture dictionaries. Every day, they spent about thirty minutes studying together. But their "study" sessions mostly involved Yamamura saying the names of the objects in Japanese as Hirokuni pointed to the pictures in the books.

"If you don’t learn Japanese, get a job, save up money, and take a plane, you won’t be able to go back home. You can’t drive back," Yamamura had explained to him.

For now, Hirokuni seemed to accept that. He also seemed somewhat willing to learn Japanese, but if the method wasn’t to his liking, he’d flat-out reject it, and his attention span was practically non-existent. He’d quickly lie down on the tatami mat and let out a big yawn.

It was the middle of June. The bruises on Yamamura's face from being punched by Hirokuni had faded after about a week, and he was back to his job as a salesperson. That day, he managed to close a deal, finishing work by 7 PM and heading out of the office. When he got back to his apartment and reached the top of the stairs, he heard a familiar voice waiting for him, calling out, "Hey, excuse me, could I talk to you for a minute?" It was the neighbor, the old hag Yamakaji. Today's outfit was a fake Armani leopard-print T-shirt, and her entire being reeked of a cheap floral air freshener. The visual and olfactory assault was intense.

"I have something to talk to you about. Is that okay?" she asked.

Yamamura had a bad feeling. Nothing good ever came from these conversations with the old hag. But now that she’d spotted him, ignoring her wasn’t an option.

"Uh, what is it?" he replied.

"This isn’t something we should discuss outside. Why don’t you come into my place?" she said.

Before Yamamura could say "yes," the old hag had already retreated into her apartment. When he hesitated to follow, she snapped from behind the door, "Come on, hurry up!" Reluctantly, he stepped into the last place he wanted to be: the neighbor’s apartment.

"Come on in," she urged, despite his intention to handle the conversation at the entrance.

The apartment’s layout was identical to his own. There was a washing machine by the entrance, the kitchen on the right, and the bathroom and toilet on the left. Beyond the narrow hallway was a six-tatami mat Japanese-style room.

Inside, there was a traditional Japanese chest against the wall, two three-tiered shelves, and a TV on top of one of them. In the middle of the room stood a low table, with a floral patchwork rug spread underneath. The walls were decorated with a traditional Japanese tapestry. It was a typical old lady’s room, just like those Yamamura often saw in his line of work.

Yamamura sat on his knees on the rug, feeling like he couldn’t possibly sit casually when he was about to be scolded. The old hag sat across from him at the table and threw a sideways glance at the convenience store bag he had placed on the tatami mat.

"Is that a convenience store bento?"

"Uh, yes."

"You were eating that kind of stuff last time, too, weren’t you?"

"I can’t cook, so..."

"You know, convenience store bentos have all sorts of preservatives that are bad for your health. It might be okay now, but you’ll regret it when you’re older. If you have to eat something, you should get supermarket deli food instead. There’s a place called Ishizaka Store in Minami 3-chome, and it’s open late. All their deli foods are handmade and lightly seasoned. If you’re coming home late like you usually do, you can even get them at a discount."

Yamamura replied with a vague, "I see." He doubted she’d called him over just to criticize his choice of convenience store meals. And he certainly didn’t ask for tips on discount deli foods.

"Oh, but that’s not the real reason I called you over," she said, sitting up straight and patting her messy hair in a strange attempt at making herself presentable.

"Ever since my husband passed away two years ago, I’ve been living alone. I’m not struggling with life, and though I do get lonely sometimes, I’m not looking to date anyone. I’m already fifty-seven, after all."

Yamamura couldn’t quite follow where this conversation was going.

"That’s why I want you to tell that cousin of yours, the young man who’s been living with you—the one who’s spent so much time abroad—not to give me any romantic looks," she said with a deadly serious expression.

"What?" Yamamura blurted out, unable to comprehend her words. She had a stout, squat figure, with makeup that couldn’t hide the large dark spots on her face. Her cheeks and eyelids sagged like those of a French bulldog. He was at a loss for words, stunned by the sheer audacity of her claim.

"Tell him to find someone younger, not an old lady like me," she said, blushing as if she were embarrassed by her own words. Yamamura seriously began to wonder if this woman was completely out of her mind.

"Well, I may be single, but I do have a daughter who’s married. Besides, having a partner that young is just embarrassing for someone my age. People might think it’s indecent," the old hag Yamakaji said.

The only indecency here is what's going on in your head, Yamamura thought, but he forced himself to stay calm.

"Did Hirokuni actually say he was interested in you?" he asked.

"Well, that boy doesn’t speak much Japanese, does he? He didn’t outright say he liked me, but you know, you can just tell by looking at his eyes. At first, he started tagging along every time I went shopping, and he’d carry my heavy bags on the way back. But yesterday, he nearly dragged me into his room," she said.

Yamamura’s jaw nearly dropped. He wanted to shout, "You’ve got to be kidding me!" but the words got stuck in his throat.

"Are you saying that Hirokuni tried to... bring you into his room?" he asked, his voice cracking with disbelief.

"Yes, that’s right. He gave up right away when I resisted, but still. He’s a sweet boy, but the age difference is just too much. I wonder what on earth made him fall for an old lady like me," she said, shaking her head in disbelief.

Yamamura felt like he was trapped in a nightmare. Or maybe it was like he’d downed some terrible drink that left him nauseous and stone-cold sober at the same time...

"Oh, don’t worry. I’m not planning to make this public or anything. If people started gossiping that he got rejected by an old lady like me, that’d just be too sad for him," the old hag said, her face full of misguided confidence.

For some reason, Yamamura felt a crushing sense of defeat in the face of the old hag’s smug expression.

"That’s what I needed to talk to you about," she continued. "Given the delicate nature of the topic, I thought it best not to discuss it outside."

Yamamura stood up, managing to muster a polite, "I’ll make sure to have a word with him about it." He was still reeling from the shock, unable to regain his composure.

"Oh, and one more thing," the old hag said as she headed to the kitchen. She handed Yamamura a plastic container as he stood by the door, now wearing his shoes.

"This is some chikuzen-ni I made. I had leftovers, so why don’t you share it with that boy of yours," she said.

In a daze from the bizarre conversation, Yamamura accepted the container of chikuzen-ni and left the neighbor’s apartment. During the short walk back to his own room, countless theories flashed through his mind, only to be dismissed one after another.

1. The old-hag-has-lost-her-marbles theory.

2. The Hirokuni-has-a-thing-for-grannies theory.

If the first theory was true, then it was no big deal. Just a case of the neighbor letting her age-inappropriate fantasies run wild. But if Hirokuni was actually into older women, then that was a preference Yamamura couldn’t even begin to understand.

By most societal standards, younger women are far more desirable. Sure, some people prefer older partners, but there’s got to be a limit. Could it be that someone like Hirokuni, who’s from a different culture, prefers seasoned, experienced women over the unripe, inexperienced type? But even if he’s into mature women, someone like her is way past childbearing age.

Lost in thought, Yamamura entered his apartment. Hirokuni, who had probably been waiting for dinner, was already at the entrance, but his face immediately twisted into a sulky frown. Without even taking the bento box, he turned and headed to the back of the room. Normally, he would’ve snatched it right away, so this was odd. Yamamura wondered if Hirokuni had overheard the conversation next door, but even if he did, there was no way he could have understood it.

Yamamura considered when to break the news from the old hag, but it seemed like a complicated conversation, so he decided to eat dinner first. He set the bento box on the table, and Hirokuni, who had been sulking in the corner, came closer. His expression was still severe, and Yamamura couldn’t shake the feeling that Hirokuni was glaring at him.

He placed the chikuzen-ni that the old hag made on the table as well. Even though he didn’t like stewed dishes, he moved one carrot piece from the chikuzen-ni to his bento before Hirokuni could touch it. Hirokuni ignored the bento and instead devoured the entire chikuzen-ni with his bare hands. Yamamura ate the carrot last, and surprisingly, it tasted quite good, perhaps because he hadn’t expected much.

Even after dinner, Hirokuni’s strange, prickly stare didn’t go away. Though he might not have understood the words, it seemed like he could sense the rejection vibe coming from the old hag. Meanwhile, in Yamamura’s mind, the possibility of the "the old hag-has-lost-her-marbles theory" was shrinking rapidly. Normally, it would be unthinkable—no way a twenty-something man would find a nearly sixty-year-old woman attractive. But with Hirokuni… he couldn’t completely rule it out.

“Hey, let’s talk,” Yamamura said, trying to catch Hirokuni’s attention. Hirokuni came over and sat down, hugging his knees. They faced each other, but now Yamamura was stuck, unsure how to explain that " that old hag said you’re too young for her, so she’s not interested," a message that would normally take less than ten seconds to convey.

First, what should he call her? How should he even express the idea of “liking” someone? The more Yamamura thought about it, the more tempted he was to give up on the whole conversation. But he couldn’t just leave it. If Hirokuni ended up assaulting the old woman next door and got charged with rape, it wouldn’t be funny at all.

Alright, let’s start with "woman"... Yamamura pointed at the wall separating their rooms and gestured, cupping his hands to mimic breasts. Then he said, “Woman.”

Hirokuni repeated in a stiff tone, “Woman.”

Yamamura pointed at the wall again and repeated, “Woman.” Hirokuni answered, “Woman,” once more. It seemed like Hirokuni had understood that the old hag next door was being referred to as “woman.”

“Woman walk. You follow?”

Using simple words Hirokuni would understand, Yamamura asked if he had followed her. Hirokuni shook his head. So it was all in the old hag’s imagination! Yamamura was just about to relax when Hirokuni added, “Me walk before.” Yamamura sighed in frustration. Whether he walked in front or behind didn’t matter. What was important was if he had followed the old hag or not. And it seemed the woman’s claim was true after all.

Now came the question of whether he liked her. Yamamura had mixed feelings about asking. He kind of wanted to know, but at the same time, he didn’t. Besides, how was he supposed to ask something as abstract as “liking” someone? Hirokuni had learned the names of things he could see, but when it came to emotions or sensations, he was painfully slow to grasp them.

If you boiled it down, “liking” someone ultimately led to sex. So Yamamura decided that if he was going to ask, he’d do it in the most ancestral, blunt way possible. He formed a circle with his left hand, mimicking a woman’s genitals, and used his right index finger to thrust through it. He pointed at the neighbor’s room, said “Woman,” and raised his left hand. Then, he pointed at Hirokuni and said “You,” repeating the thrusting motion with his hands.

He did the same gesture twice. Hirokuni watched intently, then said, “Woman,” while making a vigorous thrusting motion with his hips.

More than the fact that Hirokuni had understood him, Yamamura was shocked that Hirokuni had actually shown sexual desire toward the woman next door. Sure, it was normal to be attracted to women, but why her? With her sagging belly and face, Yamamura just couldn’t wrap his head around it.

Hirokuni kept repeating “Woman, woman,” while pointing at Yamamura.

“What about me?” Yamamura asked.

Hirokuni mimicked the same thing Yamamura had just done, using his right and left hands to simulate sex. But before he thrust his index finger through the circle, he pointed at Yamamura.

“Woman, you eat.”

Hirokuni’s “you” was directed at Yamamura. He was saying, “You ate the woman.” If “eat” meant sex… Yamamura turned pale.

“Me? That old—no, no, no! I didn’t eat her, not a chance!”

There was no way he would “eat” that old hag. Yamamura denied it firmly. But Hirokuni’s irritated stare didn’t soften. He came closer, glaring at Yamamura sharply and repeated, “Woman, you eat.”

Hirokuni began sniffing his own body, his nose twitching like an animal’s. Sniff, sniff… the smell… could it be? When the reason finally hit him, Yamamura was horrified. The floral scent, like an air freshener, that the old woman had been using—it was incredibly strong. Yamamura hadn’t been in her room for very long, but if that smell had clung to him…? They hadn’t hugged or anything, and under normal circumstances, a scent wouldn’t linger from just being near someone. But Hirokuni, who had lived in the jungle for so long, had developed sharp senses. He must have picked up the faint trace of the scent left on Yamamura’s clothes. And now, Hirokuni was jealous. He thought Yamamura had violated the old woman, suspecting that he had laid hands on his favorite.

"I like men! I would never sleep with a woman," Yamamura blurted out, speaking faster than usual, even though he knew Hirokuni wouldn’t understand. Hirokuni stared at him intently, then let out a long, exasperated sigh.

"You eat woman. Me eat woman. Why bad?"

Yamamura could sense that this was what Hirokuni was trying to say. The fact that Hirokuni believed he had slept with the woman next door was a complete misunderstanding, but no matter how much he denied it, Hirokuni wasn’t buying it. Yamamura scratched his head in frustration.

"I told you, I didn’t do anything with that old hag! And besides, she’s not interested in you! The problem is, you’re way too young for her," Yamamura retorted in fluent Japanese that would’ve made sense to any other person. But Hirokuni furrowed his brows again. How could Yamamura explain that the old woman was in her late fifties, when Hirokuni’s world didn’t even have numbers higher than five? Maybe five, repeated eleven times, plus two? No, it was useless—his own head was starting to hurt.

As Yamamura agonized over it, an idea suddenly hit him like a divine revelation. The facts didn’t matter. What he needed was something Hirokuni could grasp, something ethical. This might just work.

"Man." Yamamura pointed to his own crotch. Hirokuni stared at him with a blank expression.

"Man," he repeated, this time pointing to Hirokuni’s crotch. Hirokuni looked down at himself, tilting his head in confusion. Then, as if struck by some idea, he started to unzip his jeans.

"No, no! You don’t need to show me! No, stop!"

Hearing the urgent "No!" Hirokuni let go of his zipper. Yamamura felt relieved, though a small part of him almost wanted to see what Hirokuni had planned. He quickly pushed that thought away. He pointed at both himself and Hirokuni again, saying "Man" one more time—this time without pointing at their groins. He didn’t want Hirokuni to think "man" was a euphemism for a body part.

Hirokuni frowned in deep thought, twisting his neck from side to side, but eventually, he pointed at Yamamura and said, "Man." It seemed like Hirokuni had understood that "man" referred to gender.

"You. No eat woman," Yamamura said. This was the bombshell. As expected, Hirokuni’s expression darkened. He’d been laying claim to the old woman, after all.

"I eat woman!" Hirokuni shot back.

"You can't. Woman has a man," Yamamura insisted.

Hirokuni's face twisted like he was biting into something sour, and Yamamura felt a wave of relief. Hirokuni seemed to have grasped the message.

"Woman has no man," Hirokuni argued. Technically, he was right—the old woman next door lived alone, her husband had passed away years ago. But if Yamamura didn’t invent a story, Hirokuni would never stop pursuing her.

"Man lives far away," Yamamura quickly added. He decided to tell Hirokuni that the old woman’s "man" lived in a far-off village. In reality, the "village" was heaven, but that was poetic enough for now. Hirokuni pressed his lips together in frustration. Even in his own world, it seemed unacceptable to take a woman who belonged to another man. Yamamura let out a sigh of relief, knowing he had averted the crisis.

Hirokuni sulked off to a corner of the room, squatting down with his back turned. No matter how much Yamamura called out, Hirokuni didn’t respond. The fact that he couldn’t have the old woman, that she already had a man, seemed to have deeply affected him. The situation was absurd, but Yamamura couldn’t bring himself to laugh.

Hirokuni wasn’t a bad-looking guy. With a decent haircut, he could even be attractive. At twenty-two, he was young. Why on earth had he become fixated on that old hag? It certainly wasn’t her looks. Unless, in Hirokuni’s culture, her face counted as "beautiful."

Yamamura found himself wondering what romance and marriage meant to Hirokuni. He was curious, but also too tired to dig into it. When he checked his watch, he realized it had taken him twenty minutes just to explain, "She’s not interested in you."

"Look, there are plenty of other women out there," Yamamura said, addressing Hirokuni’s hunched back.

"In about a week, it’ll be payday, and I’ll take you to a place where you can have all the fun you want with young, pretty women," he added after a pause.

After a moment of silence, Yamamura couldn’t help but throw in one more thing.

"…Or do you prefer older women?"

◇:-:◆:-:◇

From the previous day, Yamamura had felt a bit sluggish. He figured it was just some fatigue building up, and that after a good night’s rest, he’d be fine. But when payday came, by early afternoon, a trifecta of chills, nausea, and exhaustion hit him hard.

"Is it really that hot in here?" a customer had asked, tilting their head in confusion. The room temperature was perfectly fine, yet Yamamura was sweating profusely. That's when he knew it was serious, so he returned to the office and explained the situation, asking to leave early. His face must have looked pretty awful, because even his supervisor—normally a stickler for absenteeism—grumbled, “They say only fools catch summer colds,” but then, with a wave of dismissal, added, “Just get out of here.”

Payday at his company meant receiving cash in hand. Yamamura asked for his month’s pay before heading home, but they hadn’t finished calculating it yet. Without his paycheck, his wallet was depressingly light. In the end, he skimped on a taxi and opted for the train instead.

Just sitting on the train was exhausting. His face and head were burning with fever, yet his hands and feet felt oddly cold. He was definitely getting worse. In his foggy state, he remembered his plan to take Hirokuni to a soapland once he got paid. After the rejection, Hirokuni had seemed shaken at first, but quickly returned to his usual self, not appearing too downhearted.

On his way home, Yamamura thought he’d at least buy some medicine, so he headed down a side street toward the drugstore. That’s when he noticed the sign for “Ochiai Clinic.” The building was small, with earthen walls, and the sign was wooden, like something stuck in the 1950s.

The drugstore was out of the way, a bit of a detour from the shortest route between the station and his apartment. Normally, the distance wouldn’t bother him, but today, it felt unbearable.

The clinic specialized in internal medicine. Yamamura vaguely recalled someone mentioning that it was cheaper to get examined by a doctor than to buy over-the-counter meds. Thankfully, he had his insurance card in his wallet. He didn’t want to walk any more, and, despite the clinic’s rundown appearance, it was still a clinic, still a doctor. That thought was enough to push Yamamura toward the door of the Ochiai Clinic.

The waiting room, just as old-fashioned as the exterior, was about the size of six tatami mats, with white walls and wooden-framed windows. The chairs were also wooden. Not a single patient was there. A dying clinic, he thought. But what was really unsettling was the fact that no one was even at the reception desk.

On the window by reception, a yellowed piece of paper said, “Ring the bell if no one is here.” Yamamura considered just leaving, but the thought of walking all the way to the drugstore filled him with dread. Feeling a slight sense of defeat, he pressed the bell.

Ding ding. One minute passed, then two. No response. Annoyed, Yamamura started jabbing the bell repeatedly, ringing it about ten times. At last, he heard hurried footsteps clattering from somewhere deeper in the clinic.

"Alright, alright, no need to be so impatient," came a voice. The person who emerged wasn’t a neatly dressed receptionist, but a man in a filthy lab coat. He looked to be over sixty, short but stocky. His unkempt white hair was far from clean, and his beard, thick and scraggly, gave him the appearance of a bear.

"I was eating lunch while watching TV, so I didn’t hear the bell. Not many patients come by, you know... Anyway, come on in through that door."

A poor, shabby clinic that couldn’t even afford a receptionist. Yamamura was about ready to give up, but having come this far, he figured he might as well see it through. Opening the door, he found himself already in the examination room, which was cramped, no more than four and a half tatami mats. The doctor gestured toward a round stool across from him, and Yamamura wobbled over and sat down.

"So, what’s the matter today?" the doctor finally asked, sounding like a doctor for the first time.

"I’ve been feeling unwell since yesterday, but around midday today, I started feeling really weak. I have a headache, I’m nauseous, and I think I’ve got a cold."

"Hmm. Can you eat?"

"Yeah, sort of."

"Alright, let’s take your temperature."

Despite the clinic’s outdated appearance, the thermometer was a modern ear thermometer.

"You’ve got a fever of 38 degrees (roughly 100F). Open your chest up wide," the doctor instructed.

He listened to Yamamura’s chest and stomach, and then finally checked his throat.

"Just like you said, it’s probably a cold. Go home, eat, and rest for two or three days, and you should be fine."

The doctor scribbled something on the chart, then paused, as if suddenly remembering something.

"What’s your name again? Ah, wait, do you have your insurance card?"

Yamamura pulled out his insurance card from his wallet.

"So, you’re... twenty-eight, huh? And your place is close by."

After returning the card, the doctor said, "It’s a hassle to deal with billing later, so you can pay now," asking Yamamura for the consultation fee. After stashing the money Yamamura gave him into his wallet, the doctor smiled and said, "Take care now." Yamamura, feeling uneasy, blurted out, "Uh, about the medicine..."

"Oh, you don’t need any. Your throat’s not that swollen, and you’re not coughing or anything, right? You might get a fever, but it’ll pass soon enough. But hey, if your fever goes over 39 degrees or you start feeling really awful, come back. Even if it’s the middle of the night, I’ll see you. I’m at home then, so just ring the bell at the back door."

"Still, it’d be nice to have some medicine, just in case..." Yamamura pressed, but the doctor shrugged.

"Cold medicine isn’t some kind of security blanket. No point in taking something that won’t work, and it’s just a waste of money. You’re young, so if it’s just a cold, you’ll recover quickly."

...In the end, after a quick check-up and no medication, Yamamura left the clinic. The consultation fee was about the same as what he would’ve spent on a taxi ride from his office to his apartment. As he exited, he slammed the door behind him, swearing to himself that no matter how bad his fever got, he’d never return to that place.

Despite feeling dizzy, Yamamura made his way to the drugstore, where he bought cold medicine and some instant porridge. When he returned to his apartment, the door was locked. The previous week, Hirokuni had been inconsistent with locking it, but this week, it seemed like he had finally learned. Though Yamamura suspected it wasn’t because Hirokuni understood the concept of “security,” but more likely because he’d been nagged about it.

Hirokuni wasn’t in. Yamamura changed clothes and immediately crawled under the covers. He had bought porridge but didn’t feel like eating. Just thinking about that quack doctor made him angry. The diagnosis had been careless, and he hadn’t even given him any medicine. No wonder that rundown clinic wasn’t popular, Yamamura thought, cursing up at the ceiling before closing his eyes.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been dozing off when he woke to a dim room. He could hear rustling sounds from the corner. Hirokuni had come back and was digging around in the fridge, pulling out one of Yamamura’s bentos and eating it.

Feeling hungry himself, Yamamura reluctantly got up. His whole body was damp with sweat. He changed clothes, washed his face, and heated up the porridge in the microwave.

As Yamamura sat eating his porridge, he felt Hirokuni’s gaze on him. Hirokuni had already finished the bento and was now staring at Yamamura intently.

"Don’t give me that look. You’re not some heartless bastard who’d steal food from a sick person, are you?" Yamamura muttered, ignoring the pressure from Hirokuni’s stare as he silently continued eating. Just sitting there made him feel tired. Once he finished, he headed straight back to bed. His fever was probably climbing again. Even lying down, the room felt like it was spinning.

He felt a shadow fall across his face and opened his eyes. Hirokuni was standing over him, staring down at him. Was he still bitter about not getting any of the porridge? It was annoying. Yamamura waved his right hand like he was shooing away a dog.

"Go away."

Hirokuni said something. "Shower… wire… knee…" or something like that. Yamamura had no idea what it meant, and he didn’t have the energy to try to figure it out.

"I’m not feeling well. Let me sleep... no talking."

Maybe Hirokuni understood the last part because he went quiet. Yamamura closed his eyes and let himself be pulled back into feverish sleep.

...He dreamed. A bad dream, one he hadn’t had since high school, back when his mother had left. He had come home from school that day, and his mother wasn’t there. She often went out and returned late, so he didn’t think much of it.

Hungry, he made himself a cup of instant noodles from the cupboard. Then, he holed up in his room to play video games. Hours later, thirsty, he went to the kitchen, only to realize that his mother still hadn’t come home. It was already past midnight. He thought it was strange, but figured she’d come back eventually, so he didn’t worry too much.

He had fallen asleep playing video games, and when he woke up the next day, it was already past eleven. Seeing the time on his alarm clock, he panicked and rushed out of his room, only to find that his mother still wasn’t home. There were no signs that she had returned. This was when he started to feel that something was really wrong, but he still went to school.

On the way back, he turned down an invitation from his friends to hang out and hurried home. The house was silent as ever. Throughout the day at school, he had felt a vague uneasiness, but now it solidified into certainty. Something was off. Something had changed.

Maybe she’d been in an accident, or got caught up in some kind of incident. Yamamura had a cell phone, but his mother didn’t, so there was no way to contact her. What was he supposed to do in a situation like this? Who could he even ask? Her workplace? But she had quit her part-time job just last month. He didn’t even know if she had another job. Maybe ask one of her friends? But Yamamura didn’t know any of his mother’s friends.

In a panic, Yamamura started searching around his mother’s dresser, hoping to find some sort of address book. When he opened the drawers, they were oddly empty. Even the wardrobe had large gaps in it. Yamamura checked all of his mother’s belongings. Her favorite bag, the one she always used, was gone.

It wasn’t that she had been involved in an accident or a crime. It felt more like she had left. Why else would so many of her personal items be missing? If it was a trip, she would have left a note or something.

“But… she’ll come back, right? I’m still a minor…”

The words slipped out of his mouth before he realized it. He was still a student, still in high school. He didn’t have any money. There was no way she’d just abandon him.

But one week passed, then two, and still no sign of his mother. No messages, no phone calls. Yamamura hadn’t been saving any of his allowance, and now he was struggling to get by. Even if you have no money, your stomach still demands food at regular intervals. It was a strange and miserable feeling. Everyone else could easily buy hamburgers or snacks from the convenience store, but he couldn’t afford any of it. It felt like he was stuck in some invisible bubble of poverty while the rest of the world moved on around him.

To make money, Yamamura started selling his books and video games. He also got a part-time job after school. It was a job just to survive, to eat, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell his friends that his mother had left and he was broke. Without anyone doing the laundry, his clothes started to stink. When things became unbearable, he used the washing machine for the first time. He didn’t know how to iron, so he wore his clothes wrinkled. The garbage started to smell too, but he didn’t know when or how to throw it out.

On his way home from school, he saw a homeless old man sitting by the station. Before, he’d only thought of them as dirty and smelly, but now he couldn’t help but see a reflection of himself in that man. It terrified him. Without money, a person starts to deteriorate. You become dirty, you start to smell. He had always thought his mother was just an annoyance, but it was only now that he realized how much she had protected his life by simply being there.

Four weeks after his mother left, the landlord came to the apartment and told him, “You’ve been behind on rent for six months. You need to pay this month or you’ll have to leave.” When Yamamura heard the amount—390,000 yen—his mind went blank. His hourly wage was only 700 yen, so even if he worked every evening after school, he would only make about 3,500 yen a day.

“My mother left, and I don’t have any money right now,” Yamamura admitted honestly. The landlord, a nervous-looking man with glasses, frowned at him.

“How old are you?”

“Seventeen…”

The landlord let out a long, deep sigh that hit Yamamura like a punch to the chest.

“Do you have any relatives you can contact?”

“I don’t really have any. My grandmother died two years ago, and my mom doesn’t have any siblings.”

“What about your father’s side?”

“My parents are divorced, and… well, I don’t have any contact with my father or his family.”

“Divorced or not, your father is still your father. Give me his contact information.”

“My father went missing five years ago…”

The landlord clicked his tongue in annoyance.

“…I feel bad for you, being left on your own, but I’m not running a charity. If you can’t pay, I’m losing money every month. You should look for somewhere cheaper and move out.”

Yamamura had thought that if he explained how his mother had abandoned him, the landlord might show some sympathy. But the cold response made him clench his teeth in frustration.

"But if you suddenly tell me to move out, I can’t do that," Yamamura said, his voice strained.

"It’s not about what’s convenient for you. This isn’t your house—it’s my rental property. If you can’t pay, it’s only natural that you have to leave. Honestly, I think you’d be better off finding a cheaper place and saving on rent," the landlord replied coldly.

"I don’t even have money to move. And I have school…" Yamamura muttered.

A brief silence hung between them.

"I’ll be blunt. I don’t care that you don’t have money or that you’ve been abandoned. That’s your situation, not mine. What I care about is the fact that if I let you stay here, I’ll keep losing money. Some people start working right after middle school. Why don’t you stop being so reliant on others and get a job? You’ve got a strong build, don’t you?"

That heartless remark sealed his fate. By the next week, Yamamura had been evicted. He sold off all his belongings, which only brought in about 150,000 yen, and 140,000 of that went straight to the landlord.

Yamamura was left with just 10,000 yen in cash, a sports bag, a radio his father had given him, and a few clothes. With nowhere to go, he wandered aimlessly through the streets, feeling as if he had become the same as the homeless man he’d once seen at the station. He was now a dirty, miserable adult-in-the-making. That landlord was heartless. How could he throw out a minor, a high school student? It was unbelievable—no, it was something Yamamura didn’t want to believe. He didn’t want to accept that he had been struck by such a cruel misfortune.

With no place to stay in the city, Yamamura headed for a park. On the way, he stopped by a convenience store and bought a single rice ball. Spending money terrified him, so that was all he could bring himself to buy. If this money ran out, he would truly be penniless. He wouldn’t be able to eat anything. He had to make the 10,000 yen last until his next paycheck from his part-time job.

Sitting on a park bench, he watched as two middle schoolers in school uniforms passed by, eating ice cream. They had homes to return to, beds waiting for them, and meals prepared for them. It was a completely normal scene, but it made Yamamura burn with jealousy. He picked up an empty can lying next to him and threw it at the ground in frustration.

That evening, after finishing his shift, he slept on the park bench. It was a bit chilly. Trying to afford an apartment on part-time wages alone seemed impossible. He’d have to drop out of school. He had always thought high school was a hassle and didn’t mind the idea of quitting, but now that he was faced with the reality of not being able to go, the frustration made him want to cry.

He sobbed quietly for a while, but gradually, the realization that crying wouldn’t change anything sank into his bones. No one was going to sympathize with him or help him. Tomorrow, he decided, he would look for a day job. Since he couldn’t afford an apartment, he’d need a job with housing provided. He also resolved to find work in a town far away from here.

The next morning, as he washed his face at the park’s water fountain, he saw familiar high school uniforms cutting across the park. Just the sight of them made his eyes well up with tears.

On the third day of living in the park, Yamamura was still struggling to find a live-in job. He sat on a bench, eating a rice ball, when one of his school friends appeared out of nowhere. Yamamura didn’t want to run into anyone he knew, but by the time he recognized the friend, it was too late to avoid him.

"Hey, Yamamura!"

It was a guy who always spoke in a drawn-out, lazy tone.

"You haven’t been coming to school lately, have you? Nagakura said your phone’s been disconnected too."

Yamamura had canceled his phone contract. The hunger had been worse than the isolation. But later, when he found out that canceling the contract also cost money, he’d been furious.

"Ah, yeah, sorry. I’ve been turning it off a lot," Yamamura lied, scratching his head roughly. His scalp itched—he hadn’t bathed since leaving the apartment. He’d washed up with some water once, but the itch had returned.

"So, what are you doing here?" his friend asked, casually poking at the real issue.

"Nothing much. School’s annoying."

His friend laughed, the sound as slow and lazy as his speech.

"Yeah, it is, but you could just coast by, you know."

"I’m dropping out. It’s such a hassle," Yamamura said, as if he were casually talking about grabbing lunch or going out.

"For real?"

Yamamura nodded weakly. His friend tilted his head slightly, then shrugged.

"Well, that’s not so bad. No more studying or tests, right?"

As Yamamura watched his friend’s back disappear on the way back to school, a wave of misery washed over him. He had tried to keep up appearances, not wanting anyone’s pity. But the truth was, he wasn’t quitting because he wanted to. He didn’t choose to be stuck in a place like this. Why him? Why was he the only one whose life had fallen apart like this, while everyone else got to live normally? Anger boiled up inside him.

No matter how much he cried or raged, time passed, and eventually, hunger always set in. By the end of his first week living in the park, Yamamura found a factory in the next town that offered a live-in position. He stayed there for six months before drifting from job to job, moving from one cheap apartment to another. As long as he kept working part-time, he managed to survive. But the empty feeling that gnawed at him every time he saw a high school uniform didn’t fade for a long time.

...Suddenly, Yamamura found himself back in high school. He was wearing his uniform, standing in the apartment where his mother had once lived. The door opened, and his mother came home, carrying plastic bags from the grocery store. She headed toward the kitchen, casually calling out, "Sorry I’m late," as she tied an apron around her waist.

It was all a bad dream, Yamamura thought. His mother hadn’t left, and he didn’t have to drop out of school or start working. Everything was okay. He felt an overwhelming sense of relief. Thank god... it was just a nightmare.

"By the way, I’m leaving tomorrow," his mother’s voice echoed in sync with the rhythmic chopping of a knife.

"What?"

The room went dark. Total blackness enveloped them, and only Yamamura and his mother remained, floating in the void. She turned to him, smiling brightly, without a trace of guilt.

"Because, you see, I don’t like you. And you don’t like me either, do you, Hitoshi?"

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