MUNDANE HURT: Chapter 13

Previous TOC Next

Making a phone call in the dead of night was wildly inappropriate, but Round Face didn’t seem to mind. Nishizaki hadn’t thought to wait until morning—he’d been too desperate to free himself.

Waiting near the shuttered ticket machine at the station for about thirty minutes, he spotted a black Benz slowing as it approached. It came to a smooth stop right in front of him. Nishizaki had assumed handing over the SD card would be the end of it, but he was pulled into the car. The plush seat in the back felt like it was swallowing him up as Round Face wrapped an arm around his shoulders, grinning. “I was in a rush, so I didn’t bring my laptop. I’ll check it at home,” he said cheerfully.

The car drove for about twenty minutes before entering the basement parking lot of a four-story building. They took a cramped elevator—small enough that five people would fill it—to the third floor. Nishizaki was shown to a reception room with a black sofa set. Round Face went into another room, presumably to verify the SD card’s contents. Guarding the door was Sukajan Jacket, the same guy who had punched Nishizaki and dragged him out in front of Nagano. He stood there yawning, looking half-asleep.

The clock read past 4 a.m. Nagano must still be sleeping. Through the window, Nishizaki noticed white flecks fluttering outside. Snow. He remembered that Nagano’s closet had only one heavy coat, the one Nishizaki was wearing now. What’s he going to do this morning? There was a down jacket, but it was too casual for commuting.

When Nishizaki had lied about going to a job interview, he had worn a thin black cotton coat with a scarf wound tightly around his neck. Nishizaki had thought it wasn’t warm enough, but then realized Nagano had left his own coat behind for him. That coat had a slim fit and a concealed button design—so polished that Nishizaki had decided against wearing it, fearing it might draw attention from security guards.

He pulled his phone from the coat pocket and set it on the table. He didn’t need it anymore. The only thing he had left was an IC card with about 3,000 yen of credit.

I just wanted to survive, Nishizaki thought bitterly. He had taken the original video, but what if he had only copied it and handed over the duplicate? Maybe Round Face wouldn’t have noticed. …No, he would’ve figured it out, and that would’ve been the end of it. Round Face specifically wanted the original. But then, could he have left the copy with Nagano? Even if it was revealed to be a copy, Nagano wouldn’t have known when or by whom the swap had occurred.

Why am I thinking about this now? Did he want to go back to Nagano? Even if he left this place, there was nowhere for him to go. Nobody was waiting for him. Maybe Nagano would’ve waited… but Nishizaki had thrown his kindness back in his face and run off.

His thoughts spiraled into chaos, and he forced himself to stop thinking about the future. I want coffee. Sweet, with marshmallows, like the kind Nagano makes. For someone who didn’t even like coffee, Nagano sure had a lot of it stocked. Weird guy. Then it hit him. Of course. It’s obvious if you think about it.

Nagano’s ex. She must have liked coffee. That’s why he kept a coffee set around even though he didn’t care for it. She probably mocked him—“Childish taste,” or “Ruins the natural flavor.” Nishizaki’s stomach churned. I should’ve smashed those coffee cups before I left. That idiot would probably use them with his next partner without a second thought. Insensitive jerk.

An hour after Nishizaki had been shown into the reception room, he heard a knock at the door. Sukajan Jacket cracked it open, spoke briefly with someone outside, then turned to Nishizaki. “Come with me,” he said, jerking his chin.

Nishizaki stepped out and was directed to a staircase leading down. Finally, the verification process was done. It had taken so long that he’d wondered if they’d forgotten about him. The narrow staircase forced Nishizaki to go first, with Sukajan Jacket following behind. Will they dump me outside from the basement parking lot, or drive me to some random spot and let me go…?

At the bottom, Sukajan Jacket pointed to a door. “Go in.”

Thinking it led outside, Nishizaki pushed it open forcefully. Inside was a room about 20 tatami mats in size, with green wallpaper and white linoleum flooring. It resembled an abandoned factory space, stripped of machinery, with six pairs of long fluorescent lights overhead.

In the otherwise barren room, a single sofa sat against the wall. Round Face was lounging on it, looking utterly at ease. Standing beside him, arms crossed, was a familiar grotesquely fat, almost pig-like man—someone Nishizaki recognized immediately.

Sukajan Jacket gave Nishizaki a forceful shove from behind, sending him stumbling three steps forward.

"You really thought you could fool me with that?" Round Face’s voice boomed, reverberating through the empty room.

“Fool you...?” Nishizaki echoed, stunned.

“The video of the safe you brought? It’s a clip some amateur uploaded to a video-sharing website. A magic trick where the cash in the safe turns into pigeons. They really edited the original footage well, though—polished it up real nice.”

What is he talking about? Nishizaki’s thoughts scrambled.

“That was definitely the video Nagano had. He even told me he was using it for an inheritance case,” Nishizaki said, his voice tight but insistent.

Round Face leaned forward, resting his cheek on his hand, staring at Nishizaki intently.

“I swear it’s true. It’s not a lie. Please, believe me.”

The silence stretched out, suffocating and terrifying.

“If what you’re saying is true,” Round Face said at last, his tone slow and deliberate, “then your lawyer friend must have realized you were after the video of the safe and deliberately handed you a fake.”

Deliberately? What does that mean? Nishizaki’s heart clenched. Does that… mean Nagano tricked me? No way. That couldn’t be true. But—

Last night’s events replayed in his mind. Nagano had come home unusually late. For the first time ever, he’d brought work home. Until then, he’d been rigid about keeping confidentiality, but he’d casually mentioned something about inheritance litigation. He’d said the document was on a USB stick, and the video was stored on an SD card… Now that I think about it, he was oddly specific.

The suspicion grew into near certainty, and a cold sweat broke out on Nishizaki’s forehead.

“I knew something was off,” Round Face continued, scratching at a zit on his chin with a forefinger until it popped and bled. “If that video had been real, you’d have been dead the moment it was exposed as a fake. But you brought it here so confidently, like it was no big deal. If you were tricked as well, then it all makes sense. Your lawyer friend outplayed you.”

Nishizaki’s stomach twisted as Round Face’s grin widened, his mouth pulling upward and his eyes narrowing in mockery.

"You're useless now," Round Face said, his voice dropping, as though announcing a verdict.

“Die.”

At that word, the two men—Sukajan Jacket and the fat man by the door—stepped forward, closing in on Nishizaki like a tightening noose.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

His head throbbed. His arms ached. His stomach burned. His legs screamed with pain. There wasn’t a single part of him that didn’t hurt. The taste of blood danced mockingly in his mouth. The ceiling above him was blindingly bright.

The fat man’s face swam into view, and a sudden, brutal kick landed in his gut. Nishizaki doubled over, gasping a strangled “Oughghh,” as a spray of blood erupted from his mouth like mist.

“Haven’t felt this little resistance in a long time,” the fat man sneered.

Sukajan Jacket and the fat man took turns pummeling him—punches, kicks, relentless. Round Face had been watching at first, but at some point, he disappeared. Sukajan Jacket grew bored after a while, muttering, “What a hassle. You handle it,” and retreated to the door to smoke a cigarette. That left the fat man to continue his savage assault.

The pain had long since passed its threshold. Nishizaki’s head swam in a hazy fog. I’m going to die. I’m pretty sure I’m going to die.

"I’ll… do… anything… please… help me…" he croaked.

The fat man responded by stomping on his head, the sole of his shoe grinding into Nishizaki’s skull. His eyes bulged as he let out a choking, guttural noise. Feels like my skull’s going to shatter.

“Don’t kill him, just mess him up a bit,” Sukajan Jacket said casually, exhaling a puff of smoke.

“What? We’re not finishing him off?” The stomping ceased.

“Last time, this guy lost control when we kicked him—shit and pissed himself all over. It was a nightmare. This room doesn’t have any windows, so the smell just stuck. Had to clean it up, and Doten-san was pissed. Told us no more killings indoors after that.”

“Oh, I see.” The fat man gave a dull response, but his face twisted into fury as he pressed his boot harder against Nishizaki’s head, rolling it across the floor like a ball. His neck twisted, and blood dripped from his nose.

“Great, now you’ve dirtied my shoe, you idiot,” the man growled, landing a sharp kick to Nishizaki’s face.

"That’s enough for now. Get him prepped," Sukajan Jacket ordered.

The fat man stripped Nishizaki of his blood-soaked sweater, yanked off his jeans, and left him completely naked. His underwear was balled up and stuffed into his mouth, sealed in place with duct tape. More tape went over his eyes, plunging him into darkness. His hands were forced behind his back and bound tightly.

Then something cloth-like was wrapped around his body. Strips of fabric were cinched tight at his arms, his stomach, and his legs. He was lifted, his feet dangling, and dragged across the floor. His head slammed into bumps and ridges along the way, pain shooting through his skull, but he couldn’t make a sound.

Finally, the dragging stopped. He was hoisted and then dropped with a jarring thud. His knees were bent awkwardly, his back pressed uncomfortably against something rigid. The space around him was confining. A loud clang followed, and the world went eerily silent.

A coffin? No, they wouldn’t bother with something so elaborate. The vibrations beneath him, coupled with the rumbling sound of an engine, clued him in: he was crammed into the trunk of a car.

Chichibu Mountains. Round Face’s voice echoed in his mind. I’m going to be killed.

They were going to drive him to the mountains, bury him next to Tsubame. He couldn’t scream; his mouth was sealed. He couldn’t see; his eyes were covered. His hands were bound. There was no way to call for help.

I’m going to die. They’ll kill me and bury me.

Images flashed in his mind: a cold, dark hole in the ground, heavy dirt piling onto his lifeless body. The horrifying visualization left him trembling uncontrollably. I’m scared. I’m scared. I’m scared.

The car began to move. The engine roared louder, and the trunk jostled violently with each bump in the road.

I don’t want to die. I don’t want to die. Please, no.

A warm trickle spread between his legs as he lost control. His thighs and groin were wet with shame.

This is all Nagano’s fault.

If that bastard hadn’t prepared a fake video, Round Face wouldn’t have been angry. If not for him, Nishizaki wouldn’t be here, about to be killed. He’s a murderer. Even if Nagano hadn’t physically done it himself, this was all his fault. It’s your fault. Yours, yours, yours…

Tears spilled uncontrollably beneath the tape, seeking any gap to escape.

He thought of the past. I used to be happy. Life used to be fun. I was cool. Women liked me. I felt like the world was mine to control.

How did it come to this?

There could have been… there should have been a better life for me.

I don’t want to die like this. But… even if I lived, wouldn’t it just be the same? Alone. A worthless existence. If I die, no one will cry. No one will mourn me…

…Nagano might cry. Sure, he had deceived him, set him up to die—but somehow, Nishizaki felt like Nagano might actually cry. It’s still all his fault. The reason I’m going to die is because of him.

Dying was lonely. Being alone was unbearable. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to suffer. Please. Someone help me. Help me, help me, help me—Nagano! Help me! The words screamed in his head, growing frantic. I don’t want to die! I don’t want to die! Not like this, not like garbage!

The car continued its relentless journey, heedless of Nishizaki’s turmoil. Despair crept over him like an inevitable tide. I know. No one’s coming to help me. No one knows I got beaten to a pulp by the yakuza, tied up like a rolled mat, and stuffed into the trunk of a car. Life isn’t a drama. Miracles don’t happen.

That’s why Tsubame had died. He must have wanted to live too. But no one came to save him. No. He must have cried for help. But no one came. Maybe they didn’t hear him. Maybe they didn’t know. If they had known, surely someone would have tried to help. At least one person would’ve.

If I’m going to die, I want to die now. Right this second. If I have to endure this until they bury me alive, just kill me already. I want to die. I want to die. Just get it over with. I don’t care anymore. I don’t want anything anymore.

In the hollow void of his mind, Nagano’s face floated up like a solitary fragment. He grabbed at it, tearing it to shreds. Nagano ripped apart as easily as a sheet of copier paper. But then, looking at the torn pieces, Nishizaki frantically gathered them back together, trying to tape them back into place. Desperately, frantically.

What the hell is this? I’m losing my mind. Nothing makes sense anymore.

His heart ached, as though it was being gripped in a vice.

I’m scared. I don’t want the pain. I don’t want to be alone. I don’t want to feel this empty. Please, be kinder to me. Can’t you see how much this hurts? My life is awful. I’m pathetic. Just be kind to me… kiss me, stroke my head… please…

A piercing screech of brakes tore through the air, followed by a sickening grind of tires against the road. Nishizaki’s body was yanked sharply to the left, then flung violently as a bone-jarring impact sent him spinning. The car’s engine sputtered and fell silent.

What’s going on? Did we arrive? Are they about to toss me into a hole and bury me?

The engine roared back to life with a guttural dorrllll.

Thank goodness, the car’s still moving.

But something was off. The engine groaned, grinding and sputtering, dorrlll, dorrlll, before another violent jolt slammed through the car. It felt like being tossed in a blender; his body was whipped around and suddenly felt weightless, like he was flying.

Am I dead?

Before he could process the thought, he slammed into something hard. The impact knocked the wind out of him.

Darkness swept in, but it only lasted a moment. When Nishizaki came to, muffled voices overlapped around him, faint and distant, but unmistakably human.

“What the hell is this?”

A man’s voice.

“Did something fly out of that wrecked car? It looked kind of like a person. Hah, no way…”

A woman’s voice.

Nishizaki bent his knees slightly, eliciting a shrill scream.

“Eek! It moved! What the hell is this?”

He arched his upper body in desperation. Notice me. Someone, anyone. Free me from this. Help me. Please, help me!

“It really is a person, isn’t it? Holy crap, this is bad.”

Someone touched him, and the bindings around the fabric covering his body started to come undone. When the cloth finally came off, cold air hit him directly, sending a wave of goosebumps over his skin.

“Oh my god, this is awful…”

Muttering under their breath, one of them moved to untie the restraints holding his arms behind his back. His fingers, numb from being immobilized for so long, refused to work. Someone peeled the duct tape off his mouth, and Nishizaki gagged, spitting out the gag—a wadded-up piece of underwear.

He clawed weakly at the tape covering his eyes, but his fingers were too stiff to do much. A hand reached out and pulled the tape off for him. He blinked against the sudden brightness. Above him was the open sky—blue and endless.

“Uh… are you okay?”

A college-aged man in a green hoodie stood over him, looking down with wide eyes.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but, uh… should I call an ambulance?”

Nishizaki sat up. He was lying on the sidewalk. About 20 meters (65ft) ahead, a black car had crashed head-on into a utility pole, a crowd of onlookers gathering around it. The car’s trunk, likely forced open by the impact, gaped wide.

“An… accident…” Nishizaki murmured.

“That car,” the guy said, pointing. “It hit a motorcycle and slammed into the guardrail. It stopped for a second, then started moving again and crashed into the pole. Uh… do you know the driver?”

“Hey! Where’s that ambulance already?” a middle-aged man near the car bellowed.

“Hurry up, this is bad!”

Nishizaki swayed as he got to his feet. The cold bit into his skin, and he realized belatedly that he was nearly naked. Wrapping the wet, piss-smelling cloth from before around his shoulders, he tried to cover himself as best he could.

“Hey.”

He turned back to the guy in the green hoodie.

“Where’s the closest police box?”

The guy pointed down the road. “About a hundred meters (328ft) that way,” he said hesitantly.

“Thanks,” Nishizaki mumbled, stepping forward. Pain flared in his left thigh. He gritted his teeth and took another step. His right ankle screamed in protest. Faster. I need to go faster. But I can’t.

Even so, he walked. He had to walk. Walk to survive. Walk to escape.

People he passed gave him sideways glances, their brows furrowing before they quickly turned their eyes away.

The police box came into view. Almost there. Come on. You can do this. He whispered encouragement to himself, each word a lifeline.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, he collapsed, sinking to the floor in a heap. From the back room, a police officer emerged, his crisp blue uniform stark against the dull surroundings.

At the sight of him, a single thought cut through Nishizaki’s fog of exhaustion: I’m saved.

Tears burst forth, unstoppable. He cried out loud like a child, his voice breaking with relief, pain, and despair. Wailing, unrestrained, and raw.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

A small ice pack pressed against his swollen face, now misshapen, Nishizaki lay on a sofa tucked into the corner of the police box. The young officer there had been kind, giving him a damp towel to clean himself and lending him some clothes and shoes despite the stink of urine clinging to him. The gray trousers had three small moth-eaten holes, and the yellowed white shirt was plain but too tight—so tight, even Nishizaki’s slender frame couldn’t button it all the way. His chest remained exposed, but the warmth of the heated room meant he didn’t feel the chill. The sandals were a drab beige, the sort an old man might wear, but they were infinitely better than being barefoot.

I could’ve been buried in a hole by now. The thought made his current situation feel like paradise—warmth, no beatings, and most importantly, being alive.

He’d told the officer that a group of strange men had assaulted him last night. They’d dragged him into their car, stripped him of all his belongings, taken him to an unknown location, and dumped him there. The officer recorded his story without much comment, typing away at the computer. When asked to describe the perpetrators, Nishizaki claimed he couldn’t remember due to drunkenness. He could’ve mentioned the Sukajan jacket guy and the fat guy, but even recalling their faces made him tremble uncontrollably. The officer didn’t press him further, perhaps noticing the winces of pain each time Nishizaki spoke, as his mouth wounds throbbed.

After snapping some photos of his injuries, the officer asked if he wanted to file a formal report, but Nishizaki deferred. Instead, he requested they contact a “friend” to come pick him up. He gave the officer the number for Nagano’s office. The officer called, but Nagano wasn’t there. A secretary promised to get in touch with Nagano and call back, but no word came no matter how long Nishizaki waited.

Each time the officer picked up the phone, Nishizaki reflexively glanced over, hope flickering briefly before fading again. He’d fled to the police box around 10 a.m. The call to Nagano’s office was made after 1 p.m. Now it was past 2.

It wasn’t until just before 3 o’clock that Nagano finally called back. The young officer gave Nishizaki a quick glance while speaking, confirming it was him. The conversation was brief, and when the officer hung up, he explained, “Your friend says he’s very busy, but he’ll stop by after work.”

You’ve got to be kidding me. Nagano’s workday wouldn’t end until 7 p.m. at the earliest. He’s going to leave me here until then?

A black fog unfurled in Nishizaki’s chest. He knows I’m injured. They told him. Why isn’t he coming? After everything I’ve been through, after almost dying— because of him—

By 4 p.m., the sunlight filtering into the police box had turned to the dusky hues of evening. The shift in the light only deepened his unease.

The sliding door clattered open, letting in a sharp gust of cold wind.

“Excuse me, I was told this police box contacted Masayuki Nagano.”

The voice was unfamiliar—hoarse, not Nagano’s.

The young officer turned to Nishizaki. “Your ride is here,” he said.

As if Nishizaki couldn’t tell.

The man wasn’t Nagano. Dressed in a gray coat over a black turtleneck sweater, Kitao glanced at Nishizaki slumped in the corner before bowing to the officer.

“I’m here on behalf of Masayuki Nagano,” Kitao began. “Nagano asked me to relay the following message: from now on, neither Tatsuya Nishizaki nor anyone else should contact him or his office under any circumstances.”

The young officer blinked in confusion, glancing between Nishizaki and Kitao.

“Additionally,” Kitao continued, “I have here 20,000 yen in cash.” He pulled an envelope emblazoned with a bank logo from his coat pocket and placed it on the desk.

“Nagano asked me to deliver this to Nishizaki-san. It’s not to be returned. Furthermore, he requests that there be no further contact. Should this request be ignored, he is prepared to pursue legal action.”

The words came out rapid-fire, devoid of warmth. With a curt bow, Kitao concluded, “That’s all. Good day,” and walked out of the police box.

Wait a minute. What… is this?

Nishizaki scrambled to his feet and chased after him.

"Hey, wait!"

Kitao stopped in his tracks and turned around, his gaze colder than the wind biting at Nishizaki’s open collar.

"…What a sorry sight."

Realizing that Kitao was referring to his disheveled appearance, Nishizaki hastily pulled his shirt together, trying to cover himself.

"I had a feeling it would come to this. I warned Nagano from the beginning to stay away from you, Nishizaki. But he doesn’t listen to people’s warnings, and this is what he gets." Kitao spat the words out, dripping with contempt.

"W-Why isn’t Nagano here?" Nishizaki stammered.

Kitao let out a bitter laugh. "Why? Isn’t that something you should understand better than anyone?"

The shout struck him square in the chest, a heavy blow that left him standing, stunned.

"Take the money and get lost, you piece of trash."

The words slapped him across the face, leaving him paralyzed. He watched as Kitao’s angry silhouette faded into the crowd, disappearing. What… is this? This doesn’t make sense. He should be here—this isn’t right. He should be apologizing to me… I nearly died… I really almost died… This is definitely wrong.

I won’t believe it—not until I hear it from Nagano himself, telling me to stay away. He raised his head and looked around. Where am I again? Which way to Nagano’s place? He didn’t have money, his feet hurt, but maybe he could make it there on foot.

He glanced up at the big blue road sign and recognized the name of the river listed on the right. It was near Nagano’s place. Gritting his teeth, Nishizaki took a slow, resolute step forward.Bottom of Form

◇:-:◆:-:◇

It wasn’t supposed to be that far, but by the time he made it to the familiar bridge, Nishizaki felt like he was on the verge of collapsing. He’d remembered halfway that Kitao had left the cash back at the station, but by then, he no longer had the strength to turn back. He tried asking a friendly-looking middle-aged woman he passed on the street, “I left some money back at the station—could you fetch it for me?” She only glanced at him, suspicious, and walked on.

He crouched on the side of the road countless times. Still, the thought I have to keep going kept his legs moving. Sleepiness crept in. I’m going to fall asleep standing up. That’s bad, isn’t it? he thought, stumbling a few steps down the gentle slope from the sidewalk to the riverbank and finally sitting down. It was less annoying than being crouched on the roadside and having strangers stop to ask if he was okay.

The wind blowing along the river was ice-cold, chilling him to the bone. His fingers had gone pale and numb, and occasionally, a fierce gust hit him, so strong it felt like it might lift him off the ground.

People came and went along the riverbank—a student passing by on a bike, someone jogging in a tracksuit. To his right, to his left, they went. Then he noticed someone walking toward him. Not a student, not a runner. This person wore a scarf wrapped thickly around his neck, and the hem of his dark coat flapped in the wind.

No way. 

But it wasn’t his imagination. It was Nagano.

Nishizaki tried to stand, but his knees shook, refusing to support him. He struck his knees with his fists, like some old man, and stumbled forward, hunched over, making his way up to the sidewalk. Nagano, looking down, hadn’t noticed him.

“H-Hey.”

He tried to shout, but all that came out was a hoarse whisper. Nagano stopped and looked up, eyes wide, his face tightening in shock. Then, almost instantly, his expression turned blank.

Not a word. No reaction to seeing a battered friend. Nothing. Just silence.

The lack of even a simple Are you okay? made anger rise within Nishizaki.

“Don’t you have anything to say?”

Speaking made his mouth throb painfully.

“I ended up like this because of you!”

He shouted, and the taste of blood filled his mouth.

“I nearly died out there. I’m serious.”

The memories came flooding back—the green walls, being tied up, the low rumble of the engine against his side. His body started to tremble as tears poured down his face.

“I was terrified, you know. Don’t you get that?”

Nagano finally moved, and for a moment, Nishizaki thought he was going to say something, maybe even apologize. But instead, Nagano brushed past him and kept walking, as if he weren’t even there.

“W-Wait a second!”

Panicking, Nishizaki chased after him, wincing with each step as pain shot through his right ankle and his thighs throbbed.

“I said wait, damn it!”

Nagano’s back grew smaller in the distance, and Nishizaki, hobbling along, couldn’t keep up.

“Why won’t you listen? At least hear me out, you bastard!”

He tripped over his sandals, nearly falling. Putting his weight on his right foot to stop himself sent a jolt of electrifying pain from his ankle straight to his skull.

“I’m hurt, okay? My ankle’s killing me, and you’re making me chase you!”

Nagano showed no mercy. As he kept walking, Nishizaki stumbled and finally crouched on the ground. The dull ache in his stomach, still bruised from being kicked like a sandbag, flared up again. In a fit of rage, he grabbed a small rock and hurled it at Nagano.

Nishizaki wasn’t good at sports, and his aim was terrible, but the anger seemed to guide the rock. It struck Nagano’s right shoulder with a sharp thud.

Nagano stopped dead in his tracks and turned around, his face twisted in a look so fierce it could scare off a demon.

“H-hey, it’s because you wouldn’t listen! You tricked me with that fake video and set me up—”

Nagano began walking back toward him, slowly, his cold, glassy eyes fixed on Nishizaki.

“You tricked me too,” Nagano said, his voice quiet but firm. “You think you’re in any position to accuse someone?”

His tone was flat, devoid of emotion.

“You’re tied up with the yakuza, aren’t you?”

There was no accusation in his words, only a cold statement of a fact.

“You worked with them to steal the video footage.”

“I didn’t team up with anyone! I-I was framed by an acquaintance. I’m the victim here! But when I said I knew you, they threatened me—said they’d kill me if I didn’t get that video of the safe. Just look at me—I almost got killed because of that fake video you gave me. I’m not working with him!”

“Then why didn’t you say that from the start?”

Nagano’s sudden shout made Nishizaki’s back stiffen with fear.

“I knew there were yakuza involved behind the case I was handling. They’d harassed me before. And when I started suspecting you might be connected to them, I realized the video might be involved. They’d been demanding the original video through their lawyer for a while.”

How? How did Nagano figure out I was connected to them? Nishizaki hadn’t left any evidence. All their contact had been through his phone. Wait… could it be?

“You… looked through my phone without permission, didn’t you?”

“I couldn’t trust you.”

Nishizaki felt a lump form in his throat, words caught tight.

“You were always someone who cared about appearances, but suddenly you’re in terrible shape, covered in bruises. When you came to live with me, you brought no luggage. Not even a wallet. You didn’t seem to be looking for an apartment or a job. You barely left the house, yet somehow, you kept getting injured. Your phone wasn’t locked, and there was only one number saved in it. All the calls were from that same number. I tried calling it from a payphone, pretending it was a wrong number, and some guy answered, speaking like a yakuza. It was obvious.”

Hearing it all laid out like that, Nishizaki couldn’t deny how suspicious his actions had been.

“Why didn’t you just kick me out if you knew?”

“Because I wanted to help you. That’s why I kept asking if there was something wrong, if you needed to talk. I told you, over and over, that you could trust me. Even if you were being threatened by the yakuza, we could have found a way out. But since you wouldn’t talk to me, I couldn’t do anything to help.”

Nishizaki dropped his gaze, unable to meet Nagano’s eyes.

“I’ve known for a while that your family was going through a lot. This industry is tightly connected; we hear about these things. And since I’ve handled clients arrested for drug possession, I suspected you might be using from the moment I saw your condition. Drugs often come with tangled relationships and trouble, so I assumed at first your injuries were related to that.”

Nagano knew. He knew… he suspected… and he stayed silent.

“I thought it was fine as long as you weren’t causing trouble for others. Even if I noticed you might be connected to the yakuza, I couldn’t be sure if you were a member or just an acquaintance. But when I heard an intruder had targeted the office and my camera, I knew it had to be connected to that inheritance case. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. Not when the office was involved. If anything happened, it could hurt the client’s case.”

That was when Nagano had created the fake video—to test Nishizaki and see what he would do.

“…So, you’re the kind of guy who can lie without hesitation to someone you supposedly love, huh?” Nishizaki’s chapped lips trembled slightly.

“You don’t have feelings for me, do you? You’re the one who said at the start we should just enjoy the vibe and not make it serious.”

“That was just talk. You were serious about me, weren’t you? Or what, were you so sexually frustrated after being dumped by that airheaded girl that even a guy’s ass seemed good enough?"

Nagano’s right hand swung upward, and Nishizaki braced himself, expecting a punch. Instinctively, he flinched and shut his eyes, but the blow never came. When he cautiously opened them, Nagano stood there, fist clenched tight, his whole body trembling.

"Don’t insult her. Even when we broke up, she was honest with me. I still respect her. She’s the one who showed me that I could love someone again." His voice was low and steady, but his words hit like a slap. "You… you’re the worst."

Nagano turned on his heel and started to walk away, each heavy step pounding with anger. Nishizaki sensed, somehow, that he’d gone too far.

“Maybe I… went a bit overboard…”

Nagano stopped and turned back, his face on the verge of tears but twisted into a bitter smile.

“You’ll never understand what I felt when I realized you’d stolen the SD card. You’ll never know what it’s like to pour out your heart and words for someone, only for them not to trust you. …Or how scared I was, too scared to tell you I loved you. And you don’t need to know… you probably wouldn’t care to, anyway.”

His words were swept along with the cold wind. Facing forward, Nagano took a step, his stride long, putting distance between them with each step. Only then did Nishizaki realize that Nagano hadn’t been walking away at his full pace—until now.

"Hey, wait!"

Each step hurt.

"I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, okay?"

As he forced himself forward, dragging his injured leg, he heard a snap—the strap of his right sandal had torn. He couldn’t wear it anymore, so he kicked it off into the grass on the riverbank, stumbling along barefoot. His left thigh was twitching with cramps, and his legs felt unsteady. But he had to keep moving or he’d never catch up. I can’t lose him now. I can’t let him go.

“Wait… I said wait!”

His bare foot stepped on something sharp, sending a shock of pain through him. His shirt flapped in the cold wind like a flag, and he felt frozen all the way through. Somewhere along the way, tears had started to fall, warm at first, but quickly turning cold in the icy wind and swept away.

“I love you, too—I really do love you!”

The kisses were a bit too much, but the sex felt good. Being cared for, pampered—that made me happy. When you looked at me with those eyes that said you loved me, it made me feel safe. I’ve got nothing to my name, nothing to offer, so I always wondered what you saw in me.

Is it too late? Even if I told you now that I was thinking of you, even when I thought I was going to die, would it make any difference? Would you even believe me if I finally said I love you now?

There had been so many chances to say it before. But he’d always held back, afraid. Because once he played that card, he’d have nothing left. No way to maintain even the smallest shred of control. Even if I’m a loser, a worthless piece of trash, I wanted to hold on to at least that much pride.

Nishizaki broke down, sobbing loudly. Tears poured as he limped after Nagano, dragging his injured leg, until he could no longer walk. He collapsed, sitting down on the ground.

. The vivid, almost unnervingly red sunset seemed to signify the end of everything. Slowly, it sank behind the bridge, leaving the world dim and heavy

Now that he had stopped moving, Nagano’s figure had vanished from view. All that remained was the eerily blood-red sunset, sinking slowly beyond the bridge, as if signaling the end of his life.

THE END (Main Story)

Previous TOC Next

The EPUB version is available at the Ko-fi Shop.