Planet: Chapter 1 - part 1

The content warning is in the footnotes⁰.

While you may already be familiar with these terms, I’ve provided their English definitions for those who may not be.

1. さん (san): This is a general, respectful suffix used to address or refer to someone. It's similar to "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Ms." in English. It's commonly used for people of all ages and social statuses in both formal and informal contexts.

2. 君 (kun): This suffix is often used for addressing younger males, or in a more familiar or casual setting. It can be used with people of the same or lower status, and it's commonly used among friends, students, or in professional settings where there is a clear hierarchy (like between a superior and a subordinate). 

T.N: Although the title 惑星 (wakusei) translates to "planet," the author frequently uses the word 星 (hoshi) within the text, which can mean both "star" and "planet" or even a "heavenly body." In this translation, I have chosen to render 星 as "star," capturing a poetic, dreamy quality that aligns with the narrator's childlike perspective.

P.S. This is not your typical BL—don’t expect to find solace here~

TOC Next

I open my eyes, but it's dark. Still completely dark. Maybe my eyes aren't really open, I think, blinking again. Nope, still dark.

There's a thick, damp smell in the back of my nose. Stagnant water. Ah, it's the smell of rain. But… there's no sound. No sound of rain. Just a tiny, chirping noise… cheep, cheep, cheep, cheep… somewhere nearby. I bring my watch up in front of my face, feeling for the rough button on the side with my fingertip and pressing it to stop the sound. There's another button below it, and when I press that, the watch lights up. It’s too bright; I close my eyes. Ah, missed the time. Gotta try again. This time, I keep my eyes open and brace for it.

04:30.

After a long yawn, I hear a rustle behind me. The sound startles me, and I jerk like I've been scolded. Close by. What was that… a cat? Could be a cat. There’s a black one and a brown one around here. The brown one meows a lot. The old guy over there fed them once. It looked good.

No cat where the sound came from. It’s hiding somewhere. Past the mountain of stacked supermarket carts and upturned plastic chairs, I can see the sidewalk. There’s a black shape slowly swaying back and forth. Under the streetlight, it turns into an old man. A shadow follows him, swaying, swaying, sticking close behind.

I’ve seen something like that on TV a long time ago. In an anime, I think. What show was that again? The defeated enemy, or a robot, walked like that. I thought it was funny, so I kept copying it.

In the streetlight, the wet road glistens black. Between the rooftops, a narrow strip of sky stretches, pitch-black and empty. I shuffle forward on my hips, reaching my palms out ahead of me. No raindrops. It’s not raining. Guess I’ll go to work.

I haul my backpack, which I’d been using as a pillow, up to my chest with an "oof." I rummage through it for the crinkly bag. There it is. Huh? It’s flattened. Bread’s squished. Ah, man.

I grab the corner of the bag and tug. It won’t tear. It usually rips like this… it's tough today. I press my fingers hard, and with a grunt, yank with all my might. It rips with a “brrrip!” and the bread pops out, dropping onto the concrete with a little "plop." Pop! Just like that. I laugh. Ha ha… ah, that was loud. Hope I didn’t bother the old man over there. But it’s funny. I want to laugh. I bring my hand up to cover my mouth, laugh softer. Ha ha.

I grab the bread, brush it off with my fingers, and take a big bite. It’s sticky and sweet inside my mouth. Strawberry flavor, delicious… wait, there’s a gritty feeling. My tongue hits something scratchy. Gritty, gritty… yuck… what’s that? Sand? Did it have sand on it? I mix it with saliva and spit it out. The grittiness is gone. Phew.

The bread’s gone, but the bag still feels a little heavy. I reach down and feel the bottom—it’s sticky. I crinkle the bag inside out and lick up the gooey stuff. Sweet. Jam bread, delicious. But the more I lick, the less sweetness I taste. My tongue just feels dry and rough now. No sweetness left. Good things always disappear so fast.

I get up, pull my sleeping bag closer, roll it up, and tie it with string, then attach it to the top of my backpack. I laid a cardboard down, thanks to the old guy who gave it to me, but my back and the undersides of my arms are sore and aching. I wish I could sleep in a bed. There’s an awning here, but if the wind picks up, the rain will come in. Last time, I got soaked. I was shivering the whole time. If only I had a blue tarp like the old guy over there. I used to have one, too. Where’d that thing go?

I sling on my backpack, yawning with a “haaah, haaah” as I step onto the street. When I reach the sidewalk, I start doing my robot walk, swaying, swaying as I go. It’s fun. An old guy passes me, his black back filling up my view. He’s in the way… so annoying. I pick up my pace and pass him. I look back. He’s staring at the ground. Yes! I win. Ha ha.

The edge of the Center comes into view. There’s a scattering of older men, clustered here and there. In the dim light of the parking lot, I spot black, white, and blue cars. I stroll slowly past the cars, pretending to read the papers on their dashboards. Hurry up and call me already. The recruiter standing by one of the cars stays silent. He doesn’t call out, “Hey, bro.”

I hear voices behind me. An old man’s talking to the recruiter. He sounds elderly. I wonder if he has any certifications. Dad used to say, “Get your heavy machinery license while you’re young.” But I hated studying for that. The old man and the recruiter laugh. Maybe they know each other.

“Hey, bro! Bro!” A recruiter in front of a white van down the row is calling. He’s waving his hand, beckoning me over. Finally, he called me.

“Got any experience with demolition?” he asks. He’s a short recruiter with a red shirt.

“Yes.”

“Any certifications?”

“No. I’d like a contract.”

“Alright, alright. Get in the back.” He points to the van, looking pleased. People always look happy when I say, “I’d like a contract,” which makes me happy too.

Now I’ll get into the dorms. I’ll have food, a bed, and won’t have to worry about the rain. Thank goodness. I open the heavy sliding door on the van with a grunt, but then—bang! I hit my head. That hurt. I’ve done that before. The pain throbs, and I press my hand to my head.

There are already two other people inside the van. I sit in the seat closest to the door and hold my bag against my chest. I let out a sigh. Even though it’s morning, the air in here has that thick smell of dirt and sweat, like the end of a workday.

“Hey, you!” A voice calls from the back seat.

“Hey! You can hear me, right?” The voice has an angry edge that prickles down my spine. Is he talking to me? Strange. I haven’t done anything. I just sat down. I turn to look, and there’s an older guy with a red cap glaring at me.

“You’re the one who messed up that job at the housing construction site, aren’t you? Do you have any idea how much of a hassle it was to clean up your mess?”

He’s talking fast, his words clattering together until I can’t understand them. I can’t understand them, so I face forward again. Behind me, his voice keeps going, angry and relentless. I feel a lingering unease.

After all, I’m an alien, so I don’t really understand human language all that well.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

After one more person got on, the recruiter moved to the driver’s seat. The engine revved to life with a rumble. As the car began to move, it rattled and shook. The vehicle was noisy, but everyone was silent. Good.

I felt sleepy. Closing my eyes, I drifted off, only to be woken by the bumps, then fall asleep again, over and over. We weren’t getting there anytime soon. A far-off place is no good. If the dorm is out in the mountains without a convenience store nearby, that’d be the worst.

“Where are we now?”

A voice came from the back. Though it wasn’t angry, my chest throbbed. I pressed my bag tightly against my stomach.

Outside the window, rows of houses suddenly disappeared. In the distance, low on the horizon, there was a faint blue line. That’s water. Maybe it’s the sea, or a river. Just a sliver of it was visible before it vanished behind overlapping tall and short buildings.

Trees lined both sides of the road, their branches tapping sharply against the window. The car kept rattling. There was a sudden squeal of brakes, and I lurched forward a little.

The man in the back walked by in front of me. I heard a sharp tsk of his tongue, and it scared me. But he didn’t hit me. He just got out of the car. Thank goodness. The recruiter in the driver’s seat turned to me and said, “We’re here. You get out too.”

As soon as I stepped outside, the heavy, damp air hit my face. The gravel at my feet was dark, wet. It must’ve rained here too. At the far end of the gravel lot was a building—a large, two-story wooden structure, gray as if someone had thrown watered-down concrete over it. It looked about fifty years old, maybe even older. There was a wooden sign under the eaves that read “Kinoshita.”

“Oh, this used to be an inn,” muttered the older man in front of me. Lots of companies turn old inns or hotels into dorms. I prefer that over prefab buildings, which are too hot in summer and too cold in winter.

“You go inside and handle the paperwork. There’s still time,” said the recruiter in the red shirt, pointing to the building. So, I entered the old building. From the spacious entrance, which looked like it was around ten tatami mats, a hallway branched off in two directions. While I was wondering which way to go, I heard a voice.

“Hey, you.”

A young man with dark skin and droopy eyes, holding a helmet, was looking my way.

“What are you doing here?”

“Where’s the paperwork?” I asked.

“Go straight down this hallway and turn right.”

“Thank you.”

I thanked him for his kindness. The droopy-eyed guy asked, “Are you here to sign the contract?”

“Yes.”

“The work here is tough, and the food’s bad.”

“What?”

The droopy-eyed guy said, “Better be prepared,” and walked outside. Ugh, I want good food. At my last dorm, the rice was dry and smelled weird, and everyone got mad, demanding decent food. I hated it too, so I got mad with them.

… As I walked down the hallway, I reached the end, where it branched off again. Hmm, which way from here? I took the path with pictures on the wall, but it ended in a dead end. Turning back, I went the other way and found a room with a sign that said “Office.” I peeked through the door crack and saw a woman inside. This must be the place.

“Excuse me, I’m here to sign the contract.”

The woman looked at me and said, “Come in, please.” A middle-aged woman placed some papers on a small table, handed me a ballpoint pen, and said, “Please fill this out.” I plopped down on the sofa in front of the table with a little “oomph,” and leaned forward. A sharp pain shot through my back. My back hurts. It’s been a while since I’ve written my name and address. Huh, I think I wrote it quite neatly this time.

Suddenly, the sound of hurried footsteps came, followed by a man barging into the room, bringing in a small gust of wind. He was younger than me, judging by the gray work clothes he wore. His eyebrows were messy.

"Are you the new hire who arrived this morning?” The man with the scruffy eyebrows had a high-pitched voice.

“Yes.”

“Could you fill this out too?” He handed me two more sheets of paper. More to write. It was a pain, but no helping it. For the blood pressure section, I wrote "120" and "80." Dad had taught me that those numbers were fine to use anywhere.

I handed the completed forms back. Scruffy Eyebrows glanced over the papers and said, “I’m Sugita, the team leader. Murata… you’re forty-two? That’s about twelve years older than me. We’ll be at the same site today, so I’ll be counting on you.” He nodded slightly and left before I could reply with “Thank you.”

The dorm room will be ready by the time I get back from work. There’s a TV and refrigerator in the room, free to use, but the air conditioner costs 300 yen a day. My stuff can go in a free locker across from the office. It’s pretty much the same as any other company.

Starting today, I can eat breakfast in the cafeteria. I can also grab a bento from there to take with me, which is nice since some places don’t offer that.

I pulled a pair of gloves from my bag. They had holes and were dirty, but they’d do. Once I get paid, I’ll borrow some cash and buy new gloves.

After putting my stuff in the locker, my stomach growled. I’d eaten some bread, but I was still hungry. I wandered around, looking for the cafeteria, when a good smell wafted over from the entrance. I followed it and found a room with the door left open.

Inside, tables about the size of plasterboards were lined up, with round stools scattered around them. People sat here and there, eating.

I saw someone washing dishes behind the counter. Must be someone who works here. I called out to their rounded back, “I’d like to have breakfast.” The person turned around—an old woman with a face full of wrinkles.

“This is self-serve. Help yourself,” she said in an irritated tone, making my chest jump with nerves. Scary. I backed off, feeling relieved. There was no need for her to get that mad over a simple question.

Self-serve is common. The good part is you can eat as much as you want. Self-serve is good. Against the wall, a long narrow table held a large rice cooker, with grains and bits of soup spilled all around it.

I grabbed rice, miso soup, and pickles, then brought them to a table. The rice was hard and had a weird smell, and the miso soup was bland. Tasted terrible. Total miss. I poured the miso soup over the rice, stirred it with my chopsticks, and gulped it down. Oh, the old man across from me was doing the same thing.

Even if it’s bad, it fills you up. Happiness is being full. Now then, I looked around for where they kept the bentos when suddenly, a hand grabbed my shoulder, hard. It hurt—the grip was so strong, the fingers dug in. Nervously, I turned and saw an old man with a towel wrapped around his head.

“Clean up.”

The voice was as scary as his grip.

“Clean up?”

“Take your dishes to the shelf when you’re done eating.”

I looked in the direction he pointed with his chin and saw a sturdy-looking silver shelf. Stainless steel, maybe. Stacks of dishes were piled on it. A shaved-head guy had just placed his dishes there. So, the rule here is to take your dishes to the shelf after eating.

“I’m really sorry about that,” I said, bowing my head slightly. The grip on my shoulder gradually relaxed.

“Be more mindful next time.”

The scary tone had gone, and the old man wandered off. I was glad he wasn’t someone who hit people. Really glad I wasn’t hit. But my shoulder still felt the grip, and my chest throbbed a bit from the nerves. Once that eased up, I took my dishes to the shelf.

Next to the shelf, there was a clear container filled with bentos. People were putting them into plastic bags with handles to carry. So I did the same, copying them and slipping mine into a bag.

At a new place, you get scolded a lot until you get used to the rules. It can’t be helped. Hoping there wouldn’t be any unpleasant people at today’s site, I stepped outside. Suddenly, everything around me brightened, and my head felt light as my body swayed a little. It was different from before. The sun was out; the gray clouds had cleared away. Ah, the sky’s brightening up. It’s a sunny day.

Right in front of me, there was a straight road stretching out. In the distance, I could see a thin glint of light. That must be the sea. I didn’t notice it on the way here—maybe because it was behind me. This is nice; we’re close to the ocean. At night, you can see the stars. A strong, salty sea breeze suddenly blew in, carrying the damp, briny scent of the ocean.

On the gravel lot, there were plenty of older men and younger guys, all waiting for the vehicles to take us to the site. I went over to stand downwind from an older guy smoking, letting the smoke drift my way. Ah, that smell.

The old guy in the black and yellow hat looked up at me and casually greeted me with a “Hey.” So I replied, “Hey.”

“Need something from me?” His bearded mouth moved as he mumbled.

“No, not really.”

“You just came close, so I wondered.”

Smoke rose between his fingers. Yep, cigarettes smell nice. I took a big whiff.

“Trying to quit or something?”

“I can’t afford to buy them,” I answered. I’d wanted to buy some, but after getting bread last night, I didn’t have enough left for cigarettes. Cigarettes are expensive. People complain they’re more expensive than they used to be. The old guy pulled a fresh cigarette from his chest pocket, lit it, and handed it to me. “Here, take it.”

“Thank you very much.” What a kind man. Such a nice, generous person. I hope I end up on the same site with him. I smoked alongside the kind old man until he left in the first car that came. Still no one called my name when the next car arrived. The man in the red hat got in, and I was relieved—it was that guy I didn’t like, the one who’s always mad at me. He’s the type to mess with you if you’re at the same site together. One time, some guys who didn’t get along were on the same site, and one pushed the other in a dangerous spot, causing an injury. It was obviously on purpose, but they called it an accident. I heard someone got mad about that.

Wandering around the lot as I smoked, I took in the mix of cigarette smoke and the damp ocean scent. It was a nice blend, putting me in a good mood. Just as I was finishing up, down to the filter, the team leader with the scruffy eyebrows called out, “You there—uh, Murata. Can you come over here?”

I dropped the cigarette and crushed it under my foot, grinding it thoroughly. Gotta make sure it’s out, or it could start a fire. They’re always telling us to smoke only in designated spots.

I got into a small wagon. The driver was a guy with a crew cut, and in the back, besides me, there was another guy with droopy eyes. The wagon started moving, bumping and jolting down the rough road. The seat was hard, and my back started to hurt.

“The company van’s engine wouldn’t start, so we had to split up. They told me to drive last minute,” the crew-cut guy grumbled. “They said I’d get an extra allowance, though,” he added with a sour tone. He kept talking, and the droopy-eyed guy just nodded along, saying, “Uh-huh.” After a while, he went quiet.

“So, you went for the contract job, huh?” the droopy-eyed guy asked me.

“Yes.”

“I’m doing daily cash.”

I always do contract work. With a contract, I can stay in the dorms. If there’s no work or I can’t work, they deduct the dorm fees and meal costs from my wages, leaving me in debt, but it’s still better than cash work.

Some people hate the dorms so much that they just take cash, saying it’s worse than prison. I’ve never been in prison, so I wouldn’t know what that’s like.

“I used to live in the dorms, too,” the droopy-eyed guy said, scratching his nose repeatedly.

“Oh, really?”

He leaned closer, dropping his voice to a whisper.

“…It’s haunted, you know.”

“Haunted by what?”

He lowered his hands in front of his chest, letting them dangle. I wondered what he meant. At my last job, we had a dog in the dorms. A light-brown Shiba Inu named Maron. If you showed him a chikuwa fish cake, he’d do a begging trick. I gave him chikuwa so many times because it was so funny. Could it be a ghostly version of that dog?

“Maron?” I asked.

The droopy-eyed guy’s voice rose angrily, “A ghost! A ghost!” So, it’s a ghost, huh. He could have just said ‘ghost’ from the start instead of going around in circles.

“Oh.”

“Creepy, right?”

“No.”

The droopy-eyed guy tilted his head.

“You’re not bothered by it?”

“I’ve never seen a ghost myself.”

The droopy-eyed guy turned away, letting out a big sigh and muttering, “What a downer.” I’ve heard people say “downer” a few times—usually when they’re feeling annoyed. That unpleasant feeling, like bugs squirming around your stomach. The van came to a stop. We’d arrived at the site, and when I looked outside, the view hit me.

Wow, this place is huge. It’s like a mountain made of concrete. The building was silent, still. Its white and pink exterior was stained black, and the signs posted here and there on the walls were rusted, turning a rust-colored. In the back, there was a ramp leading up to the multi-level parking garage. The scaffolding around the building was low, so you could see everything.

“This place… it’s Sakura Town. I used to come here with my girlfriend a while back,” the droopy-eyed guy said, leaning toward the crew-cut driver to chat.

“It’s still a usable shopping center, but they’re tearing it down.”

“It hasn’t even been around that long. Come to think of it, there was that incident where part of the ceiling collapsed, and a few customers were killed.”

“After that, inspectors came and found all kinds of illegal modifications and cheap material. One of the subcontractors was apparently doing really shady stuff. That company’s gone now, though.”

“Yeah, those cockroach-like companies always pop up again with a new name, never learning their lesson.”

“It’s a common story in this industry.”

Even though we’d entered the site, the van wasn’t moving. The entrance was jammed with cars lined up. The crew-cut driver clicked his tongue, and it grated on my ears, each click piercing. After a bit, he stopped when the car finally started moving again. We parked in the lot at last.

Three people were standing around the team leader who had arrived before us. We joined them, and together we descended the building’s staircase. It led down into an open underground plaza, crowded with people.

There was a morning assembly to explain the work. The speech was long and incomprehensible, but it didn’t really matter. Once on-site, the higher-ups would tell us what to do. Beside me, the droopy-eyed guy stayed hunched over his phone the whole time.

The voices faded, and when things got quiet, I heard the opening notes of Rajio Taiso, the radio calisthenics. I don’t like exercising. I was always slow at running, and I was never good at kicking a ball. But the calisthenics we do at the site are okay. Just watch the person in front and mimic them, and no one gets mad if you mess up.

Finally, the work started. My area was the second floor. Down the wide corridor, there were rows of empty stores without doors.

Interior demolition is always dark. With the electricity cut off, the lights don’t work, so we have to bring lights in from outside. Here, though, the corridor had a skylight, so some natural light came in, making it brighter than other sites.

Our group split in two, each side tearing down stores from the back, with the corridor in the middle. I was assigned to the team leader’s group to gather debris.

The team leader pried open a hole in the wall with a crowbar. He pushed the crowbar in through the small opening, lifting the wall with a scraping sound. Then he slipped his hand into the gap, grabbed the wall, and tore it off with a loud rip. Dust billowed up, turning the air whitish. The dust tickled the back of my nose, and I let out a big sneeze. Demolition work is always dusty. Even with a dust mask, your throat hurts later. I hope it doesn’t happen tonight.

The team leader dropped the torn-down wall on the floor. I gathered it up and piled it in the middle of the room. I put the smaller pieces into a box.

Rip-rip-rip-rip... The rooms were getting destroyed from all sides. There were cute drawings of a cat and a rabbit on the walls. Rip-rip-rip... Ah, the cat’s face was split in half. Poor thing. If they’re going to destroy it, they shouldn’t have painted it to begin with. The team leader glanced back at me.

“Could you gather other people’s debris too? Stop following me around like a little duckling,” the team leader said.

Is he mad? His voice has that unpleasant edge to it.

“Understood.”

I moved away from him and went over to the crew-cut guy who’d been driving. He was tearing apart a wall with a dog painted on it. As I went to pick up the dog’s head, something black darted past my face. I let out a yelp, stepping back—only to trip and fall straight onto my butt. A dull, deep ache shot up through my lower back. Ouch. The crew-cut guy stopped prying with the crowbar and looked over.

“Did I hit you?”

“No, you didn’t.”

I stood up, dusted off my hips, and heaved a sigh of relief. The crew-cut guy looked relieved too, but then shouted, “You were too close! Stand a little further back!” His voice echoed painfully in my ears.

I’ll leave his cleanup for later. Sticking around angry people only gets you caught in their crossfire. So I went back to the team leader’s side and continued gathering debris. The team leader was faster than the crew-cut guy. The box filled up so quickly it was packed tight.

“Could you grab a new box from the entrance?” the team leader instructed. I saw an empty box off in the distance, grabbed it, and headed back to the site.

When I returned, a tanned guy, looking like he’d been soaked in soy sauce, barked, “Hey, hurry up and pick up the stuff on the floor! It’s in the way!” He kicked a peeled-off vinyl tile across the floor. I chased after it and gathered it up with the others, setting it in the area where the concrete foundation was already exposed. These pieces couldn’t be mixed with the wall debris. I’d learned that the hard way after getting scolded once.

The tanned guy kept grumbling in his irritated tone, “Pay attention to your surroundings! You’re useless, aren’t you?”

Not helpful. Slow. Out of it. I hear that a lot. But it can’t be helped. I’m an alien, after all—just a little different from humans.

TOC Next

Footnotes

I want to thank D for the Ko-fi and for purchasing the raw for this novel 😍

0. Content warning: This novel contains descriptions of explicit sexual content, r*pe and ableism. I will not be adding a trigger warning to each chapter with graphic content, so please consider this a general warning.