MUNDANE HURT: Chapter 8

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The lawyer’s apartment was a typical one-room setup that a student might rent: a narrow entryway barely half a tatami mat in size, a cramped hallway, and a single room at the end. Nishizaki, weak-legged and wobbly like a newborn fawn, hobbled along with the lawyer supporting him from the side. Once he was laid out on the bed, nausea surged again, and he dry-heaved, clutching at his throat until someone pressed a plastic bag into his hands.

From the vent of the air conditioner came a steady roar, blowing warm air into the room. It wasn’t cold anymore, and the people who hurt him weren’t here. The chill outside, the violence—it was all gone. This place was safe. That realization brought relief, but also an acute awareness of his pain. The ache came roaring back, coursing through his body—his kicked stomach, his back, his thighs, his anus, the inside of his mouth—every part of him screamed.

Even lying down, his head spun as if being shaken, nausea washing over him in relentless waves, receding and then returning to crash down again.

"Are you okay?"

The voice, however well-intentioned, was just noise to his strained mind.

"You should really go to the hospital. It’s not too late; I can call a taxi—"

"I said no!" he shouted, the sharp motion sending a stab of pain through his mouth. His irritation flared.

"You got any painkillers?"

"I don’t keep any at home—"

"Useless," Nishizaki spat, his breathing ragged as he left his mouth slightly ajar. Even the worst withdrawal symptoms from drugs hadn’t hit him this hard. Tears welled up in his eyes.

I wish I could shed this body and toss it away somewhere. If I could just lose consciousness, I wouldn’t have to feel all this pain, all this sickness. But I’m awake, and so it clings to me. This—this has to be hell.

The annoying voice came back after a while, grating on his nerves once again.

“Do you think you can take some medicine?”

Nagano’s face appeared as he carefully lifted the sheet wrapped around Nishizaki.

“I went to the pharmacy. This is supposed to be the strongest painkiller available over the counter.”

Nishizaki snatched the pink pill from him, taking a gulp of water from a bottle. As he drank, he realized how parched he was, like water soaking into desert sands. He drained the rest of the bottle in one go. Despite swallowing the pill, the gnawing pain showed no sign of letting up.

“Still hurts… Give me another.”

“It doesn’t work instantly,” Nagano replied, glancing down at the pillbox and extracting the insert.

“It says it takes about fifteen minutes to start working.”

That was a lie. Real stuff worked immediately if you took more when the pain was bad.

“Just give it to me!”

“No. You have to wait six hours between doses.”

“I told you it’s not working!”

“You only just took it. Give it some time to kick in.”

Nagano’s face hardened, showing the kind of resolve that wouldn’t bend to someone else’s demands. Nishizaki clicked his tongue in annoyance and shut his eyes. Anger and pain swirled through his head in a messy, spiraling knot. Why did he have to suffer like this? Ultimately, it was all Tsubame’s fault. That filthy dealer. If the yakuza found him and hacked him to pieces, buried him in a mountain somewhere… good riddance.

Lost in the comforting fantasy of beating Round Face and Sukajan Jacket to a pulp and dumping them in trash bins, Nishizaki noticed the pain had finally dulled a bit.

“How’s the pain?” Nagano asked.

Nishizaki didn’t answer, pulling the sheet over his head. Nagano left him alone, though he puttered around the room quietly for a while before finally saying, “I’m going to rest now too. I’ll leave the light on. I’ll be right here, so wake me if you feel worse.”

The room grew silent. Through the thin walls, Nishizaki could hear the occasional sound of a passing car or a faint voice from the street below. An ambulance’s siren rose in the distance, drawing close and then fading away.

Suddenly, a dull ache started to stir in Nishizaki’s stomach, growing sharper. I’m going to have to go. Damn it. He didn’t want to move from the bed, but he couldn’t let himself dirty the bed. Unsteady, he forced himself to climb out of the bed.

Every step felt like ten, each one dragging him through hell, until he finally reached the bathroom. The moment he sat on the toilet, a sharp pain shot through his ass, leaving him cold and clammy. This is bad. Those foreigners… they probably tore something up in there. His body tensed at the thought. What’ll happen if I try to go? But his stomach twisted painfully, leaving him no choice. Holding it wasn’t an option.

Unable to bear the stomach pain any longer, he felt himself open up. A piercing agony, as if his flesh were being torn apart, made his teeth chatter, and he felt himself lose control, wetting himself. He nearly blacked out, but his consciousness stayed stubbornly with him. After sitting there for nearly thirty minutes, he finally gathered the will to wipe himself. The toilet was filled with a deep red, and the sharp scent of blood hung in the air. Unable to stand, he crawled back to the bed on all fours.

The soft, steady sound of breathing reached him. The man lay curled up in the comforter, sleeping peacefully on his side, safe in his world of wealth and security. A fierce urge to strangle him rose within, but he knew he didn’t have the strength for that in his current state.

He dragged himself up onto the bed. His raw flesh throbbed painfully, as if a heartbeat were pulsing in it. He wanted more painkillers, but he didn’t know where they were, and he doubted Nagano would give him any even if he asked—six hours hadn’t passed yet.

He glared at the man, who slept on with rhythmic breaths. Die, bastard. Just die already. Die. Die. I want to die. I want this to end. The ticking of the alarm clock on the bedstand seemed unbearably loud. Tick… tick… A drowsy heaviness began to settle over him. He felt, perhaps for the first time in ages, the faint pull of sleep. Maybe… maybe I can finally sleep. Finally… finally…

Letting go of everything, Nishizaki allowed himself to drift into the world of sleep.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The dazzling sunlight hit his face. Several strings with white pompoms hung from the ceiling, along with dangling bits of dust swaying slightly in the air. He let out a small yawn and reached for his smartphone from its usual spot by the bedside. Below the large numbers displaying 8:30, the date read July 15.

“...Ah, crap.”

He washed his face, shaved, and pulled on a pair of jeans. Reaching into the body bag tossed carelessly on the floor, he fished out his wallet and peeked inside. Only two 1,000 yen bills remained. Opening the top drawer of the pink chest with heart-shaped handles, he found a jumble of necklaces, receipts, sunglasses...bras. A chaotic mix of items shoved inside without care.

“Oh, Tat-chan.”

Miyu, still in her underwear, flashed a wide grin.

“You’re up early today.”

Brown hair, nails sharpened into lethal weapons from over-decoration...a woman who looked every bit a club hostess. Her face, almost comically plain without makeup, had become something he’d grown used to after living together.

“I need some cash.”

“How much?”

“Thirty thousand...no, forty thousand.”

“You found something you want to buy? If you’re going shopping, take me along, will you?”

She pulled forty thousand yen out of her heart-adorned wallet but hesitated to hand it over.

“You’ve been ignoring me a lot lately. You’re not spending money on another girl, are you?”

He snatched the money roughly.

“I’m going to see my brother.”

“Oh, right. Sorry!” Miyu clasped her hands together in apology. He stuffed the cash into his pocket, slipped on his scuffed sneakers, and left the apartment.

...The crowd buzzed around him. Wait, where is this? The announcement of a departure time echoed nearby as people flowed out from the ticket gates before him. On a poster plastered to the wall, the words “Nagoya Bookstore” stood out. That’s right—he had left the apartment and taken the Shinkansen to Nagoya. But for what?...

“Excuse me…”

A voice called from behind. A man in a white shirt and green tie stood there—a businessman. His neatly trimmed hair and stylish, intellectual glasses gave him a cool, polished appearance.

“Hey, are you...Nishizaki?”

His name being called made him flinch. As he studied the man’s face, a collage of old memories slid into place over the present features.

“You don’t remember me? It’s me—Yuzuki.”

Yuzuki, a high school classmate who had gone to the same university, now stood before him. The former playful aura was completely gone, and Nishizaki hadn’t recognized him at first.

“How many years has it been? Five? Six? Are you living around here?”

“No...just here for something,” Nishizaki muttered, stepping back slightly.

“I’m here on a business trip. One-day trips are a killer. So, what are you doing now?”

Yuzuki’s gaze shifted to Nishizaki’s stretched-out T-shirt collar.

“...I used to work in customer service, but I got sick and had to take a break.”

He’d dropped out of university, hopped from job to job, and ended up as a host. Within six months, heavy drinking had wrecked his liver, landing him in the hospital. A host who couldn’t drink was useless, and he was fired immediately. There was no way he could admit to Yuzuki that he was freeloading at a former customer’s place, living idly day by day.

“Take care of yourself, man. I’m doing sales at Eito Corporation now. The work’s tough—I really get what ‘corporate slave’ means.”

Yuzuki downplayed himself while subtly boasting about landing a job at a top-tier company everyone knew.

“The pay’s decent, and I get enough time off to travel abroad for fun. I even picked up surfing after I started working.”

He laid it on thick about his fulfilling life. Beside Yuzuki stood another man in a pale blue shirt, who caught Nishizaki’s gaze and smiled warmly.

“Hello, I’m Suzuki, Yuzuki’s subordinate,” he introduced himself cheerfully. He was probably another Eito Corporation employee.

Nishizaki felt worse with every passing moment. Being subjected to all these overt boasts and feeling the sting of his own inadequacies—being nothing more than a kept man—gnawed at him relentlessly.

"I’m heading out," Nishizaki said, turning away from the cheerful pair.

“Oh, give me your contact info! I’ll let you know if there’s a class reunion or something.”

“I’m in a hurry. Sorry.”

He disappeared into the crowd, practically fleeing. The worst. He didn’t want to meet anyone who knew his past. Getting to his brother’s place would still take some time, requiring transfers between the subway and a bus. His stomach growled as he stepped out of the station and into a nearby convenience store. While eyeing the pastries, a voice reached his ears.

“I’m useless without caffeine.”

His breath caught. He peered through the shelves in the direction of the voice. There they were—Yuzuki and his subordinate, standing at the coffee machine near the register. The store had only one entrance, meaning he’d have to pass them to leave. I’ll just wait until they’re gone. He lingered in a blind spot, pretending to examine some detergent he didn’t want.

“By the way, Yuzuki, you were talking to that old classmate of yours earlier, right?”

“Oh, yeah. That guy in the lame T-shirt.”

Yuzuki laughed, and Nishizaki’s ears burned.

“His clothes are awful, but he’s pretty handsome.”

“Yeah, he’s just a face. He didn’t used to dress like that, you know. His family was rich, and he had great taste in clothes. We even went to the same university, but I think it was at the end of the first year… there was this huge scandal.”

“A scandal?”

“A murder. His older brother killed someone.”

A chill ran down Nishizaki’s fingertips. Stop it. Stop it. Don’t say anything more.

“For real?”

“Yeah, totally real. After the incident, he stopped coming to university and dropped out.”

“Being a relative of the murderer, that’s... heavy. Tragic, even.”

“I didn’t like him, but I couldn’t help feeling bad about what happened with his brother. The story was all over the news since his brother was a medical student. It’s hard to defend someone when their sibling is a murderer. And it wasn’t just the murder—the man his brother killed had reportedly raped their mother, been engaged to their aunt, and embezzled money from the hospital. The whole situation was a chaotic mess. I’d wondered what became of him after he dropped out, but I never expected him to end up unemployed. He always had a lazy streak, so who knows if the whole ‘health issues’ excuse is even true.”

His subordinate laughed. “Sounds like a plotline for a TV drama. Pretty over the top, though.”

“I’m serious!” Yuzuki insisted, trying to convince him.

“Unemployed because of a family scandal... At his age, that’s basically game over.”

“Looking back, his peak must’ve been in high school. Knowing how good he had it back then makes his fall from grace look even sadder. Like a washed-up idol.”

“Honestly, you should stay away from him. Being the sibling of a murderer is bad enough, but he probably doesn’t have any money either. What if he asks to borrow some? Total hassle.”

“Good point. Dodged a bullet not exchanging contact info with him.”

Darkness seemed to close in around Nishizaki. In the shadows, their faces floated, grinning.

"Oh, the murderer’s little brother."

"His life’s already over, huh?"

"This is what rock bottom looks like—so pathetic."

Their laughter rang in his ears, taunting him in turns. No matter how far he ran, their sneering faces pursued him.

"Admit it. You’re not just unemployed—you’re freeloading off some woman."

"Your mother was raped and killed herself, didn’t she?"

He ran blindly. Leave me alone. I listened to your bragging, didn’t I? You got your nice job, your fat paycheck. Isn’t that enough? Mocking me was fun for you, wasn’t it? Made you feel superior, right?

You don’t have to tell me. I already know. I know I’m pathetic. I know better than anyone. I didn’t finish college. I have no money. My clothes are lame. I can’t hold down a job. My body is trashed.

A hand gripped his right wrist tightly. The hand was dark. Not Yuzuki’s. A black man was smiling at him, his grin unnerving. His left wrist was grabbed next, this time by an Arab-looking man. They were holding him down...

“I… I don’t want this!”

It felt as though he’d been thrown into thick mud, resistance weighing down his entire body, making movement impossible. No more pain. I can’t take it anymore.

“No! Stop it! Somebody… help me… aaaaahhh!”

The mud vanished. His hands moved again. His throat quivered with the aftershocks of his scream. Above him, a pale ceiling came into view. He tilted his head from side to side. The black man, the Arab-looking man, Yuzuki—they were all gone. Thank god. Covering his face with both hands, he let out a shaky breath. It had been years since he’d lived with Miyu, years since he’d run into Yuzuki. And now, why now of all times? Somehow, the nightmarish memories had all blended together into one hideous dream.

The room was dim. Was it morning or evening? How long had he been asleep? Can I even get up?

He rolled onto his side and used his arms to push himself upright. His upper body rose, but dizziness struck, and he crumpled back onto the bed. Even moving his shoulders sent a dull ache rippling through his back. His head felt heavy, and a faint throb accompanied every small motion. His unfocused gaze wandered around the eight-mat-sized room. Against one wall stood a large bookshelf and desk. His sluggish brain struggled to piece together fragmented memories. A wild orgy. The yakuza. Wasn’t that all just another bad dream?

He wanted to pretend it hadn’t happened, but his body, screaming with pain every time he moved, made escape into denial impossible.

The rattle of a key turning in the lock broke the silence. The door creaked open, letting a faint breeze disturb the room’s stagnant air. Footsteps creaked, paused, then approached. Nagano, wearing a gray hoodie and jeans, loomed over him.

Unlike Yuzuki, his eyes weren’t judgmental, yet Nishizaki instinctively turned his gaze away.

“You’re awake?” Nagano asked, crouching down to match his eye level.

“More or less.”

His voice came out hoarse. His throat was parched.

“Do you need anything?”

“Water.”

Nagano handed him a sports drink. Lying down, Nishizaki drank it greedily, downing the 500-milliliter (16oz) bottle as if it were a shot glass. Surprised by his own thirst, he barely registered when Nagano passed him another bottle. Outside the curtains, the light dimmed steadily, second by second.

“Is it evening?”

“Yeah. You’ve been sleeping for almost twenty hours. You wouldn’t wake up, and I almost took you to the hospital, but you resisted whenever I tried. Think you can eat something?”

“No.”

Ignoring his refusal, Nagano held out a jelly-based supplement.

“You need to get something in your stomach, even if it’s just a little.”

When Nishizaki didn’t take it, Nagano opened the cap and pressed it to his lips. The forcefulness annoyed him, but he gave in, taking it in his hand. Despite his lack of appetite, the cool, smooth jelly went down surprisingly easily. Sipping at it, he noticed Nagano let out a long, heavy sigh across from him.

“Was the guy who hit you yesterday someone you knew?”

The face of the man in the Sukajan jacket flickered briefly in his mind before fading away.

“…No. He just came at me out of nowhere.”

“I see,” Nagano murmured, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.

“This is a case of assault. It’s not too late. We can get a medical report and file a police report.”

“No. I don’t want to have anything more to do with that.”

He finished the jelly drink, draining it to the last drop. Yesterday, he’d been consumed by exhaustion, thinking only of escaping the pain. Now that his mind was calmer, his attention shifted to the man across from him.

Nagano. They had dated briefly, years ago. It had been nothing serious, and Nishizaki had grown tired of it quickly. Back then, Nagano had been poor, too broke to afford a school uniform. And now? He was a lawyer. Meanwhile, Nishizaki was unemployed.

A storm cloud spread in his mind. He’s probably laughing at me inside, mocking how far I’ve fallen.

“Do you want to call home? Someone might be worried about you.”

Home. Family. Things that no longer existed in this world. It was almost laughable.

“No.”

“Shouldn’t you at least inform your workplace?”

Work? There was no job. There was nothing. I’ve got nothing. My life is over. Completely finished. Why was he even here? The fog of lingering medication clouded his memory, making it hard to recall. And then, it hit him. That Round Face yakuza had told him to get the video footage of the safe from Nagano.

What a hassle. Maybe he should just run away. But the Round Face guy had figured out his real name, even though not even Tsubame knew it. Their investigative skills were no joke. Just bending his knees slightly sent a dull pain through his thighs. Even if I tried to escape, I’d need to be able to move better than this.

“I got fired,” he said, closing his eyes to avoid looking at Nagano.

“My boss messed up, and I got the blame. I had to leave the company dorm…”

It had been years since he’d been kicked out of that dorm—back in his host days.

“That must’ve been tough,” Nagano said.

Does he know I’m lying? Nishizaki still couldn’t meet his gaze.

“Do you have anywhere to stay?”

No answer.

“You’re still not well. If you don’t mind staying in a cramped space, you could crash here until you’re back on your feet.”

He’d been waiting for Nagano to say that. Everything was going according to plan, and yet, it left him feeling inexplicably uneasy. Being here, around him, felt awkward.

Money. That’s what he needed. With money, he could stay at a manga café or a capsule hotel. And Nagano had money. All he had to do was say, “Can you lend me some cash?” Simple words. But they wouldn’t come out. He didn’t even need to be dramatic about it—a casual “I’m short on cash right now” would do. He wasn’t asking for a handout, just a loan.

My life’s already over, so what’s the harm? Even as he thought that, he couldn’t push aside the feeling of shame. Pride—something he had no business holding onto—kept him from asking Nagano for money.

“If you’re looking for a place, I know someone at a real estate agency who could help,” Nagano offered.

No savings, no job—renting an apartment was impossible. And even if Nagano introduced him to someone, it wouldn’t make a difference. “I’ve got a buddy in real estate, too,” he lied, brushing off the offer.

No money, and he couldn’t bring himself to ask. And right now, he couldn’t even move properly. Unless he found some kind of work, he’d never have money again. But everything hurt. He was exhausted. He had no idea what to do.

“I’m tired. I’m going back to sleep.”

He didn’t want to think anymore, didn’t want Nagano digging into his life. Nishizaki pulled the sheet over his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

A man with a shaved head stood on the other side of the acrylic partition. His gray, drab prison uniform gave him an air of anonymity. His back was turned, obscuring his face. But… could it be?

“Brother?”

The man turned. It was him. Nishizaki ran toward him but was stopped short by the acrylic barrier. He couldn’t get closer. His brother’s eyes, like those of an abandoned dog, filled with sorrow as he began apologizing.

“Tatsuya, I’m so sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

There’s no need to apologize. That wasn’t what Nishizaki wanted to say. He had something else, something important to talk about. But… why couldn’t he speak? Why can’t I get the words out? Panic surged as he realized he had to say it, now, before it was too late. His brother’s figure began receding, further and further away. Nishizaki banged desperately on the acrylic. Open this. Please… if you don’t, I won’t be able to… apologize.

“Nishizaki!”

The sound of his name jolted him awake. Someone loomed over him, blocking the dim light of the room.

“You okay? You were thrashing around in your sleep.”

Sweat trickled down his forehead.

“Are you in pain anywhere?”

He tried sitting up. His body ached dully in every joint, but it wasn’t so bad that he couldn’t move. When he touched his neck, his fingers came away sticky.

“Can I borrow your shower?”

There was a brief pause before Nagano responded.

“Yeah, but are you sure you’re okay?”

Sitting on the edge of the bed, Nishizaki slowly stood up. A wave of dizziness hit, but he steadied himself. His hips ached, forcing him to walk hunched over, eyes fixed on his toes as he shuffled toward the bathroom.

In the cramped unit bath, he caught his reflection in the mirror and flinched. Hollowed eyes, gaunt cheeks, a lifeless pallor. His scruffy beard only emphasized the unkempt state of his face. His hair, greasy and clumped, looked like it belonged to someone sleeping on the street. As he undressed, the stench of his clothes—a rotten, fishy odor—made him gag.

He crouched under the spray of the shower, letting the water pour over him. Am I crying? He wasn’t sure. His brother had appeared in his dream for the first time in a long while. But he hadn’t wanted to see him. Not at all. Because I’m the one who killed him.

…He’d run into Yuzuki on the way to visit his brother in the Nagoya prison. That encounter at the convenience store—being insulted, listening to things he hadn’t wanted to listen to—had shredded his mental state. All that frustration had been dumped on his brother.

Inside the prison, after the formalities, Nishizaki waited in the visitation room. About fifteen minutes later, his brother appeared. He rubbed his shaved head and smiled at Nishizaki.

“Long time no see.”

Separated by the transparent acrylic barrier dividing prison life from the outside world, his brother—the criminal—spoke.

“Hot outside, wasn’t it?”

“…Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s hot in here, too.”

His brother smiled, and Nishizaki thought, How can you smile like that? Nishizaki’s life was in shambles. His brother had painted a target on him, branding him as the “murderer’s family.” Couldn’t he have thought things through a little better? This isn’t my fault.

Still, Why did Yuzuki have to call me a washed-up idol? Why did I have to drop out of university? All because of you.

“You’ve lost some weight, haven’t you?”

“Not really.”

Noticing Nishizaki’s surly demeanor, his brother flashed a placating smile. That smile reminded Nishizaki of their mother.

“Thanks for coming all this way every month. I know it’s expensive. Just seeing your face puts me at ease.”

His brother kept talking, even though Nishizaki didn’t respond. Pointless small talk—how the persimmons served at a recent meal had been delicious. Information Nishizaki didn’t want or need. Seriously, who cares? Even the prison officer sitting in on the meeting looked bored, yawning in his chair.

Nishizaki had considered skipping the visit entirely, but the thought of enduring Yuzuki’s ridicule for no reason—spending time and money just to be humiliated—had been unbearable. So he’d come. But his brother, oblivious, just kept repeating, “You must be tired.”

“Five minutes left,” the prison officer finally said, breaking his lethargy.

Every visit ended with Nishizaki buying his brother a small gift from the prison shop. He would ask what his brother wanted, make the purchase, and leave it with the staff. His brother was undoubtedly expecting the same today. But he never explicitly asked, acting like the model prisoner who didn’t want to impose. Of course, he wants something. But I won’t ask. Not this time.

A pencil, even something as small as that, was beyond his brother’s reach unless someone gave it to him. But that’s the price you pay for committing a crime.

“Thanks for coming today.”

Nishizaki let out an exaggerated sigh, loud enough to make a point.

“I shouldn’t have come at all.”

His brother’s face, already awkward and uncomfortable, grew rigid.

“Why are you even alive?”

There was no reply.

“Because of you, my life is completely ruined!”

The words spilled out before Nishizaki stood abruptly, spitting the final syllable with venom.

“Tatsuya! I’m sorry—”

His brother started to say something, but Nishizaki didn’t look back as he left the visitation room. Leaving the prison, he refused to wait for the bus, hailing a taxi to take him to the station. On the Shinkansen back to Tokyo, he couldn’t stop himself from glancing around nervously, half-expecting Yuzuki to show up in the same cabin.

When he returned to the apartment, the irritating woman he lived with asked, “How was your brother?” He ignored her, flopping into bed to sulk.

The next day, guilt crept in. Maybe I went too far yesterday. His brother was kind, and he was probably dwelling on Nishizaki’s harsh words.

Going back to visit wasn’t an option—it was too far and too expensive. Instead, he went to a convenience store and bought some stationery. He sat down to write a letter. He couldn’t admit the truth—that running into Yuzuki had infuriated him, and he’d taken it out on his brother. That would have been too pathetic to write. So he filled the page with trivialities: the weather, the last meal he’d eaten. At the end, he tacked on: “Sorry about last time. Next time, I’ll bring you something.”

After mailing the letter at a postbox near the station, a weight lifted from his chest. Back at the apartment, he dozed off on the sofa until Miyu shook him awake.

“Your phone’s ringing.”

Still groggy, Nishizaki answered with a vague, “Uh, yeah.”

“This is Takachiho from ○○ Correctional Facility. Is this Tatsuya Nishizaki?”

“Uh… yeah,” he muttered, still half-asleep.

“This afternoon, Masaya Nishizaki was found collapsed in the bathroom of the workshop. He was rushed to the hospital but was pronounced dead shortly after.”

The TV in the background was blaring, and Miyu let out a shrill laugh.

“We have determined, based on the circumstances, that it was a suicide.”

“Oh my god, this is hilarious,” Miyu giggled, rolling onto the floor with laughter.

The man on the phone kept talking, but Nishizaki couldn’t hear him anymore. His ears rang with silence.

“Hello?” the voice on the phone asked, trying to get his attention.

“This… can’t be real…” His voice trembled. We just talked yesterday. What did we even talk about? The heat? That stupid thing about persimmons being good?

“My condolences. May I proceed with explaining the process for claiming the body?”

Dead. Dead. Dead.

“Haah… haah… haah!” His breath came in ragged gasps as the memories rushed back. I keep doing the same thing. I ignored my mother’s cries for help, and she died. I pushed my brother with my words, and now he’s gone too.

His brother had been so much like their mother—smart, sensitive, and… kind. I knew that, but I still lashed out and hurt him.

Why? Why does it have to be them? Why couldn’t it be someone else?

But he already knew the answer. It’s my fault. It’s always my fault. I… I…

Water spiraling down the drain filled his mind. If I plug it, fill the tub, and sink into it… will I die too?

No, it’s not my fault.

No, it’s not my fault. The one who pushed my mom was Dr. Aisaka, and the one who drove me to lash out at my brother was Yuzuki. They’re the ones to blame. Not me.

I can’t think like that. If I do, I’ll sink.

A loud, insistent pounding on the bathroom door snapped him out of his thoughts. Nishizaki slowly lifted his face from his knees.

“There are toiletries in there. Use whatever you want.”

When Nishizaki didn’t respond, the door to the unit bath swung open with a bang. He flinched, his breath catching. Through the curtain, a shadow swayed into view.

"Can you hear me?"

"Huh? Don’t come in here!"

"At least answer. I’ll leave a towel and some clothes on the upper shelf."

The presence lingered for a few seconds, then disappeared. The sudden intrusion startled him, scattering his spiraling thoughts. He’d dreamt about his brother again. The thought of seeing that dream repeated kept him from wanting to sleep. A shower seemed like it might wake him up. The sweat that had clung to him washed away, but his hair still felt greasy, unpleasantly sticky.

It took three rounds of shampooing to finally work up some suds, as if it’d been coated in oil. His arms felt heavy from the effort, leaving him utterly drained. The underwear Nagano had left was new, tags still attached. The long-sleeve T-shirt and sweats looked freshly washed, soft against his skin.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, Nagano was standing diagonally in front of him, making him jump.

"You took your time."

"Yeah, sorry."

The apology slipped out reflexively. A droplet fell from his wet hair, splattering on the floor.

"I was worried you’d collapsed in there. You’re still not fully recovered, are you?"

"…You’re overreacting."

He brushed past Nagano quickly, moving into the room. Suddenly, the world spun around him. He couldn’t stay upright and slowly sank to the floor, leaning against the bookshelf until he slid all the way down. Lying down eased the dizziness somewhat. Nagano hurried over, reaching out to help, but he twisted away.

“Don’t touch me. I’ll just sleep here.”

“That’s the floor. Use the bed. I changed the sheets, too.”

“Here is fine.”

“Then at least dry your hair. You’ll catch a cold.”

His wet hair was annoying, but holding up a hair dryer was too much effort. Ignoring him, he stayed still until a gust of warm air began blowing over his head. Fingers were working through his hair, tousling it as it dried. The pressure was rough but felt good, and he stretched out instinctively. The fingers moved persistently across the back of his head and along his hairline, then traced the back of his neck before pulling away, leaving a lingering sensation. The dryer shut off. He opened his eyes, tilted his head, and stared at Nagano, who quickly looked away with an awkward expression.

“Thanks.”

Nagano looked back, meeting his gaze.

“Just sleep on the bed, will you? I’ll probably end up stepping on you otherwise.”

“Stepping on me would be bullying.”

“I’ll try to be careful, but when I’m half-asleep... I can’t be sure. I stepped on my laptop and broke it once.”

“No way.”

After a pause, Nagano replied in a low voice, “Yeah... way.” It felt oddly out of character, like he was trying to match the tone awkwardly. That attempt to fit in felt so reminiscent of high school that he laughed out loud, feeling a sharp, tugging pain in his stomach.

“You’re still kind of funny, you know that?”

To avoid getting stepped on by the man who once destroyed his laptop, Nishizaki dragged himself over to the bed. The sheets smelled clean and dry. He pulled the blanket over himself and curled up, though he kept his eyes open. He didn’t want to sleep. Didn’t want to dream.

“Tell me something interesting.”

He figured Nagano would hate that kind of request but asked anyway.

“It’s the middle of the night. Just go to sleep.”

“Just something small, come on.”

“I have work tomorrow.”

Nagano had only stated the obvious, wanting to sleep because he had work in the morning. Normal. Ordinary. It shouldn’t have felt like a rejection, but he felt a sting of hurt.

“Oh, right.”

He turned his face down into the sheets. Maybe Nagano was just a good person, a responsible guy who couldn’t abandon a classmate in shambles. But inside, maybe he found him annoying, a nuisance, like his uncle had. Of course, he’d be a burden to anyone.

Being in the same space felt suffocating. He wanted to put some distance between them or go outside for a breather, but his body wouldn’t cooperate. The thought that he couldn’t even get away because of his injuries sank his mood further.

Maybe he should die here while Nagano was asleep. Wouldn’t that be funny? Nagano would be shocked, inconvenienced, and would probably regret not telling him one last interesting story. Serves him right.

He pictured Nagano apologizing, crying, regretting. The faint sense of satisfaction from this kept him going over it, again and again, until eventually, at some point, he drifted off to sleep.

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