MUNDANE HURT: Chapter 17

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A rustling sound woke him. The surroundings were pitch dark. It was still night… but what time was it? The rustling sound came again, this time from outside the window. An eerie sensation crept over him. No one else lived in this building but him. The word "thief" flashed through his mind.

Pulling himself out of the dusty-smelling futon, Tatsuya Nishizaki crept toward the window and cautiously pulled back the curtain.

It had been two weeks since he moved here. Thanks to a connection from a high school classmate, he’d been given a room in this decrepit apartment building slated for demolition. Or rather, it had been foisted on him.

“Just go already.”

The voice of a young man came through clearly. A metallic rattling followed, likely someone fiddling with the doorknob.

“It’s locked.”

“Break it. Nobody lives here anyway, right?”

There was a brief silence, followed by a loud thud that shook the building. The voices outside burst into laughter, tinged with nervousness.

Anger began to boil inside him. Who the hell tries to break into someone’s home in the middle of the night? These idiots have no decency. They can go to hell.

Carefully, Nishizaki slid open the window, making as little noise as possible. Two shadowy figures were illuminated faintly under the streetlight by the entrance to the apartment. He considered yelling "Get lost!" at them with a gangster-like intimidation but hesitated. He had assumed they were students, but what if they were actual thugs? Provoking them might lead to them attacking him.

Even without that risk, he’d already been afraid to go outside ever since filing a complaint against the thugs who had assaulted him. The fear of retaliation—some sort of "payback" from their associates—had been gnawing at him.

Taking a deep breath, Nishizaki called out in a high-pitched, nervous voice, “Hey! H-Help! Officer! There are strange people over here!”

His voice cracked awkwardly, completely unheroic.

“Crap!”

“Run!”

The two figures bolted out the gate like startled stray cats. Nishizaki pressed his palm to his forehead, chuckling breathlessly. Just the word "policeman" had sent them scattering.

Switching on the light, he remembered something Masayuki Nagano had said before he moved in: “Abandoned buildings attract troublemakers, so keeping up appearances is important...” At the time, Nishizaki had dismissed it as just a pretext to justify sticking him in this cheap place. But perhaps it was more serious than he’d thought.

He left the room and checked the inside of the front door where it had been kicked. The small entryway, just about two tatami mats in size, featured a wall of shoe cubbies resembling a locker room—like something out of a dormitory.

Fumbling for the wall switch, he experimented with the four options, figuring out which controlled the entryway, the outside light, and the hallway. Finally, he left the outdoor light on. That should deter the two troublemakers from coming back.

Returning to his room, he locked the window and slipped under the dusty futon. As he drifted off, he thought about putting up a sign outside the door that said, “Trespassers will be fined 100,000 yen.” He fell asleep before deciding.

By the time he woke up, it was past nine in the morning. The noise of increased traffic outside had roused him. Sunlight filled the room. The cheap, outdated digital clock sitting on a colorless storage box displayed 9:34 AM in blocky numbers. The logo on it read “Nishiuchi Industrial Union.” It looked so tacky it made him want to throw it in the burnable trash.

While devouring some bread he had stocked up on, Nishizaki sipped tea from a plastic bottle. He liked the simple taste, but after a week of eating the same French bread from the nearby convenience store, he was starting to grow tired of it. After finishing his meal, he idly watched the dust floating in the sunlight streaming through the window. There had been a bit of a commotion last night, but his mornings here were all the same since moving in.

He suddenly wondered about the state of the door that had been kicked the previous night. Slipping on his shoes, he stepped outside. As expected, about fifty centimeters from the bottom, the door was dented in the shape of a shoe.

If those guys come back, I’ll kill them, he thought as he scanned the apartment's surroundings. The building was surrounded by a concrete block wall, with a small garden between the wall and the structure. The garden was little more than a mass of overgrown weeds, with remnants of a clothesline base amidst the mess, giving off a strong air of abandonment.

Scattered among the weeds were empty cans and plastic bags. It was probably garbage left behind by the previous tenants or dumped by intruders like the ones from last night. Filthy places attract filthy people. If this place looked a bit more lived-in… then again, I am living here… Maybe that would deter trespassers.

The path from the apartment’s entrance to the front door was also being overtaken by weeds. Squatting down, Nishizaki grabbed a handful of the overgrowth and yanked it out with a satisfying snap. He spent a while pulling weeds, but eventually, his back started to ache, and he stood up. He had cleared about a meter around the entrance, which looked a little better now, though the rest of the overgrown yard only seemed worse by comparison, making the entire place feel even more desolate.

Hungry, he shoved his wallet into his pocket and left the apartment. His daily routine was simple: once a day, he walked to the nearest convenience store to buy food. Aside from that, he didn’t go out—both because he was afraid of running into the yakuza and because he had no reason to.

This time, though, he walked past the convenience store, wandering further into the neighborhood. The residential area was lined with ordinary houses. He occasionally turned around to check his way back. Without a smartphone, getting lost would be no joke.

Eventually, he found himself near a river. The streets were laid out in a grid pattern, which made it easy enough to navigate. Across the bridge, he spotted the sign for a home improvement store. Intrigued, he crossed the bridge to check it out.

As he approached the store, Nishizaki became self-conscious about his appearance—sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and the disheveled look of someone who had just rolled out of bed. Convenience stores didn’t bother him, but was this acceptable for a home improvement store? His doubt faded when he saw an elderly man confidently entering the automatic doors. The man wore a faded cotton shirt, blue tracksuit pants, and a weathered Giants baseball cap. I look better than that, Nishizaki thought, reassured.

Inside, he browsed the weed killer aisle but found the prices too high. Clearing the entire yard would require a lot, and the liquid options were heavy to carry. Nearby, he noticed some weed-cutting tools, including various scythes. A scythe cost only a few hundred yen, making it the cheapest option. He bought one, picked up a bento for lunch at the convenience store on his way back, and returned to the apartment.

Crossing the bridge on the way back had been tiring. After eating his bento, he collapsed onto the futon and dozed off. When he woke up, it was already past 3 p.m.

Feeling slightly more motivated, he took the scythe and started cutting weeds around the entrance. It was much faster than pulling them by hand, and there was a certain satisfaction in seeing the weeds fall. But his enthusiasm quickly faded when he sliced his hand on a blade of grass that resembled reeds. He dropped the scythe and walked away, his energy completely drained.

The wound was shallow, and the bleeding stopped quickly. It was only when his stomach began to grumble that Nishizaki realized he’d forgotten to buy dinner. Embarrassed to go back to the same convenience store as earlier, he headed down the opposite street, and found another store from a different chain. He bought a fried chicken bento and pocketed the change after paying. His wallet now held only a few thousand-yen bills and coins. This is everything I have. If it’s gone, I’ll be broke.

At least I still have a roof over my head, he thought. There had been times before when he was down to counting his last yen. It could always be worse. But as long as I’m alive, I have to eat. Money dwindles every day, and eventually, it’ll run out. I know it. I’ll have to work eventually.

The thought soured as his mind wandered to the yakuza he had filed charges against for assault. Their retaliation was unpredictable. What if they came for revenge? What if they killed me? Of the two men who had tried to bury him in the mountains of Chichibu, one was dead, the other gravely injured and still hospitalized. The latter wouldn’t come for him, but their boss—the one who had given the burial order—was a different matter.

This neighborhood was unfamiliar and uneventful. He’d never been here before and had no ties to it. As long as the yakuza didn’t randomly pass through the area, he wouldn’t be found. Still, caution was essential.

He hadn’t seen Nagano since the day he moved into the apartment. Though Nishizaki spent nearly all his time at home, except for trips to the convenience store, Nagano hadn’t visited. Probably because he has no reason to.

Their connection was transactional: Nishizaki had hired Nagano as his lawyer to press charges against the men who had attacked him. Beyond that, they had no bond. Nothing. Nagano had made it clear—any hopes Nishizaki harbored for a deeper relationship would be met with firm rejection.

I betrayed him. I know he has every reason to hate me. Nishizaki’s awareness of this fact brought no solutions. What’s done is done. I can’t undo it. Even apologizing wouldn’t bring forgiveness. So what am I supposed to do?

Head down, he walked aimlessly. Lifting his gaze, he saw a glass-fronted shop on the corner of a residential block, bathed in light. Drawn to it like a moth, he approached. Outside, a wooden deck held tables and chairs, where a man in a suit conversed with a young woman. Grass grew wild around the space, but the arrangement gave it a curated, intentional feel.

The sign above the entrance read “Como Cafe.” Inside, staff dressed simply in white shirts, black pants, and aprons—a garçon-inspired uniform that looked effortlessly stylish. One of them served a plate of pasta to the couple outside.

Working at a place like this would be so cool, Nishizaki thought. But as he lingered, the young woman glanced his way. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment before Nishizaki looked down, embarrassed. She must think I’m suspicious, staring like this. He shook the convenience store bag in his hand and quickened his pace back toward the apartment.

He must have been too preoccupied to notice his surroundings. When he looked up again, he was on an unfamiliar street. Despite the grid-like layout of the area, it was nighttime, and he had walked quite far. I don’t know where I am. I’m lost.

Should I ask someone? But then he remembered: he didn’t even know the name of the apartment he lived in. The sign on the building was gone, and he hadn’t memorized the address. Was it this way? Or that way? He wandered in circles, frustration and loneliness swelling in his chest.

Why am I out here at night, hungry, wandering around like this?

The sound of the river reached his ears as he wandered aimlessly. He had come across a river once when walking on the other side of the apartment. Is this the same one? But no matter how much he looked around, the home center he had seen before wasn’t anywhere in sight. Tired of walking, he slumped down on the grassy bank by the river. The streetlight above made the spot faintly bright. Normally, he would have avoided being in such a visible place, but without light, he couldn’t see anything at all.

Opening the lid of his bento, now lukewarm despite being reheated at the convenience store, Nishizaki sighed. The food wasn’t bad but eating it by the roadside made it feel pitiful. It wasn’t an embarrassing meal; it was just a regular bento. If he had been eating it inside his apartment, he wouldn’t have thought twice about it. But here, surrounded by the dim and indistinct landscape, it all felt heavy. As he gazed at the indistinct and dark landscape, he thought, this is just like life. Unclear. Vague. But beneath it all, the water keeps flowing, even if you can’t see it clearly.

Someone called out from behind him. “...Nishizaki?”

Startled, he almost dropped his bento, gripping it tightly with both hands.

“What are you doing here?”

The face he hadn’t seen in two weeks came into view—Nagano, with a black bag slung over his shoulder. Coming back from work? But this area was far from Nagano’s apartment. No, it couldn’t be. It’s too far to walk.

“Eating,” Nishizaki replied shortly. He wasn’t about to admit he’d gotten lost after a trip to the convenience store and ended up eating his bento on the roadside.

“Here?”

“Where I eat is my business.” The wind blew, rustling his hair. It was cold.

“What about you? What are you doing here?”

“I was on my way to your apartment to give you a report.”

Nagano’s gaze lingered on the bento. “I’ll wait here until you’re done eating.”

The idea of having a conversation here, like this, was unbearable. And once we talk, he’ll just leave right away, won’t he? Nishizaki snapped the lid back onto his bento and stood. “I’m going back. You go ahead.”

He waved his hand as if shooing a dog. Nagano stared at his hand with an unreadable expression before silently starting to walk. His stoic demeanor chilled Nishizaki’s heart. Maybe I was too rude. But he couldn’t figure out how to apologize and ended up trailing after Nagano.

Partway along, Nagano stopped. Nishizaki halted a few steps behind him to avoid walking side by side. He should go ahead—he’s the one who knows the way.

“Why did you stop?” Nagano asked turning back.

“You stopped first,” Nishizaki retorted.

“I thought we could talk while walking.”

“Who the hell can talk and walk at the same time, idiot?”

There I go again, Nishizaki thought as the sharp remark slipped out. Nagano turned his back to him and resumed walking briskly, his straight posture radiating irritation. Why does nothing ever go right? He couldn’t seem to stop himself from saying the wrong things.

Nagano’s quick pace forced Nishizaki to rush to keep up. Relief washed over him when they finally reached a familiar street.

At the apartment, Nagano stopped in front of the door, turning as if to silently signal, Open it. He just wants to report whatever it is and leave, huh? Fine, go ahead and leave. Nishizaki jabbed the key into the lock.

The click of the lock and Nagano’s voice came simultaneously. “The door.”

“What about it?”

“The front door—was it always this dented?”

Nagano pointed at the spot where the attempted break-in had left its mark. Feeling the weight of potential blame, Nishizaki blurted defensively, “It’s going to be demolished anyway, right?”

“That’s true, but...” Nagano began.

“Last night, there were two young guys lurking around the yard,” Nishizaki said. “They must’ve thought this place was abandoned, started banging on the door like crazy. I chased them off.”

Nagano’s expression shifted immediately, his “lawyer face” taking over. “Did they do anything to you?”

The sharp tone startled Nishizaki. “No, no. I yelled at them, and they bolted like scared rabbits. Guess empty houses really attract troublemakers.”

Nagano crossed his arms and looked up at the overhang above the entrance. “Maybe we should install a security camera.”

“As if I have money for that,” Nishizaki shot back, opening the door and stepping inside. He flicked on the exterior light for security. Despite stepping onto the hallway floor, Nagano didn’t follow. What’s he doing?

Moments later, Nagano appeared, holding a sickle, and Nishizaki instinctively stepped back. “What the—what are you doing?”

Nagano’s face was unreadable, his calm demeanor somehow unnerving. “I found this outside. Could it have been dropped by one of those suspicious people last night?”

“It’s mine!” Nishizaki shouted, making Nagano tilt his head in surprise.

“The yard is overgrown; it practically screams ‘abandoned.’ I thought tidying it up might help, so I bought it,” Nishizaki explained, annoyed.

Nagano alternated his gaze between the sickle and Nishizaki before nodding in understanding. “It’s good that you’re cleaning up, but leaving it outside isn’t safe.”

“It’s not like I meant to. I forgot, okay?”

Nagano placed the sickle on top of the rusty shoe cabinet near the entrance and removed his shoes.

Inside the familiar, lived-in room, Nishizaki turned on the lights and placed his half-eaten bento on the low table. “So, what’s this about?”

“Why don’t you finish eating first?” Nagano suggested.

The bento was cold now, and Nishizaki had lost his appetite. He could eat later, but doing so would mean extending the time Nagano stayed.

“Fine,” he said curtly, sitting down and pulling the bento toward him. Nagano, meanwhile, approached the window, pulling back the curtain to peer outside.

If I took an hour to eat this bento, would he just stand there waiting the whole time? Nishizaki wondered, stealing a glance at the other man.

A growling stomach broke the silence, but it wasn’t his own. The sound came from Nagano by the window. The tips of his ears reddened slightly.

“You haven’t eaten, have you?” Nishizaki asked.

"I'm not hungry”.

“Why don’t you go buy something?”

“I’ll eat later,” Nagano replied, his stomach protesting audibly again. The contradiction between Nagano’s stubbornness and his grumbling stomach amused Nishizaki, and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Nagano turned back, frowning.

 “Why don’t you sit down?”

His irritated expression didn’t stop him from sitting across from Nishizaki when told. Nishizaki, feeling playful, picked a piece of fried chicken from his bento and placed it on the lid. “Here. A gift for the poor, hungry lawyer.”

Nagano’s expression darkened, his gaze sharp and menacing.

“Fine, if you don’t want it,” Nishizaki mumbled, moving to take it back.

But before he could, Nagano snatched the chicken with his bare hand, stuffing it into his mouth and chewing with almost animalistic ferocity. Watching him devour the chicken was like feeding a hostile stray dog. Afterward, Nagano meticulously wiped his fingers clean with a handkerchief—surprisingly refined for someone who had just eaten like that.

The tense atmosphere weighed on Nishizaki as he finished his meal, tossing the empty container into the trash. “I’m done,” he announced, hoping to shift the focus.

“May I start now?” Nagano asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Reiji Nishiyama has been arrested,” Nagano said without preamble.

“Who?”

“The yakuza boss who assaulted you.”

The image of the round-faced man flashed in Nishizaki’s mind, and a cold sweat broke out across his body.

“The charges include assaulting you, but there’s also suspicion of murder regarding Tomo Hiyama—the man you called ‘Tsubame,’” Nagano said, his tone measured but grim.

Nishizaki’s throat went dry, and his heart began to pound.

“Hiyama’s body was found in the mountains of Chichibu. Right now, it’s just suspicion, but if blood from Hiyama is detected in the basement of the office you described, the charge will escalate to murder. According to Akagawa Haruomi—one of the men who attacked you and is still in the hospital— Nishiyama may also be involved in three other murders. If those are added to the charges, he's looking at decades in prison.”

“Oh… yeah?” A strange laugh escaped Nishizaki’s lips as he pressed his hand to his forehead.

“All of the suspects involved in your assault have either been arrested or are dead.”

That simple summary struck Nishizaki. Did this mean his safety was now guaranteed?

“Your police report seems to have led to a positive outcome,” Nagano added.

I was scared to go outside. Scared of running into them, of retaliation. But now, I guess I don’t have to worry about that anymore. Right? They’re arrested, after all. I’m free. I should feel relieved… but somehow, I don’t.

Nagano suddenly stood up.

Sensing he was about to leave, Nishizaki blurted out, “Is that it?”

“What?” Nagano asked, turning back to him.

“Your report—was that all?”

Nagano stared down at him, his expression unreadable. “That’s all. I thought the arrests alone were significant progress. Hiyama’s body was found, and Nishiyama, one of the suspects, has been identified as a yakuza member. It’s been on the news, but since there’s no TV here, and you don’t have a smartphone, I figured you wouldn’t know.”

Morning comes, night falls. While I’ve been sitting here doing nothing, letting vague fears fill my head, the world has been moving on. Time hasn’t stopped.

“Oh, right,” Nishizaki murmured. He had no reason to stop Nagano, yet the thought of him leaving felt unbearable. He wanted to keep talking, but about what? The past two weeks had been uneventful. He’d already told Nagano about the two guys who tried to break in last night, about cleaning the yard...

“Mo...ney.” His throat trembled.

“I’m running out of money,” he admitted.

“I see. The first payment for the security cameras you owe the Seishu Law Office is due at the start of next month.”

The words hit him like a slap. Sure, we agreed to that, but does he have to bring it up now? It felt deliberately cruel.

“I said I don’t have any money!” Nishizaki yelled.

“That’s because you’re not working,” Nagano replied, the sharp edge of his logic cutting through.

“I was scared of the yakuza! I filed charges, and I kept thinking they’d come for me!”

“I see,” Nagano said flatly. “It’s good that you don’t have to worry about that anymore.”

With those detached words, Nagano turned to leave.

Panicking, Nishizaki stumbled to his feet and chased after him. He grabbed Nagano’s arm just as he was retrieving his shoes from the cabinet. Nagano turned to face him, his expression calm but distant.

Two weeks. Two weeks without a word from him. Nothing. Why?

Nagano didn’t shake off Nishizaki’s grip. What do I want from this man? He’s difficult, impossible to read, frustrating. But...

I’m lonely. Lonely, miserable, pathetic. And I want him to be kind to me.

“I like you,” Nishizaki muttered. The words felt like defeat, but he couldn’t stand the thought of being left behind.

Nagano pulled his arm away, the movement abrupt and cold. It felt as if something inside Nishizaki had shriveled.

“I said I like you,” Nishizaki repeated, his voice trembling.

“I don’t trust you,” Nagano replied firmly.

“What does trust have to do with anything? I’ve got nothing left to hide!” Nishizaki snapped.

“Do you think you’re someone who deserves to be trusted?” Nagano asked, his tone icy.

The words left Nishizaki stunned. He couldn’t grasp their full meaning.

“All you do is make excuses and can’t even clean up the mess you made. You’re not even trying.”

“But…”

Under Nagano’s piercing gaze, Nishizaki’s excuses faltered. With a sigh heavy enough to crush a person, Nagano left. Only when he was certain the man had gone far enough did Nishizaki shout, “Stupid bastard, go die!”

Back in his room, he grabbed a clock in frustration and hurled it against the wall. The shattered pieces flew back at him, one grazing his cheek. The pain stung, bringing tears to his eyes.

“Die, Nagano. Damn it. Damn it all,” he spat, his words like a curse. He cried, imagining Nagano dead, which both terrified and saddened him. His thoughts spiraled: I’m such an idiot. Completely pathetic.

At some point, he cried himself to sleep, and when he woke, it was morning.

His eyes were puffy, his face grimy. Standing at the kitchen sink, he washed his face, the roughness of his unshaven beard making him itch. He remembered there was a mirror in the communal bathroom and decided to check it out. He hadn’t bathed much since moving here—just twice, because it felt like too much effort.

In the tiny, dimly lit changing room, a full-length mirror revealed a scruffy, middle-aged man staring back at him. He recoiled before realizing it was his own reflection. The sagging sweatshirt, disheveled hair like an unkempt dog, sunken eyes, and patchy stubble completed the picture of someone far gone.

“If someone saw me like this, they’d think it’s a horror show,” he muttered, laughing at his own self-deprecation. I’m the worst. Absolutely the worst.

Suddenly, his smell bothered him, and he decided to take a bath. Using a cracked bar of soap and an old, rusty razor left behind in the bathhouse, he scrubbed himself clean and shaved. Feeling slightly more presentable, he ventured to the discount clothing store near the home improvement center and bought new underwear, a cheap white shirt, and black pants for a total of 4,560 yen. His remaining cash dipped below 3,000 yen.

A haircut? Forget it. He couldn’t even afford the cheapest barbershop. Instead, he tied his overgrown hair into a loose ponytail. If I call it a style, maybe I can get away with it.

The filthy man from the mirror was gone, replaced by someone who merely looked unhealthy. The new clothes—though cheap—lent him a semblance of cleanliness. He stuffed his old, grimy sweats into the store bag and decided to explore beyond his usual convenience store and apartment.

Wandering aimlessly, he stumbled upon the café he had seen before. It wasn’t open yet, but he could see people moving inside through the glass windows. The door was slightly ajar, so he pushed it open.

“Excuse me,” he called out hesitantly.

A man in his fifties, with a distinguished look and greying hair, turned and smiled warmly.

“We open at eleven. Would you mind waiting just a little longer?”

The man’s tone was kind, treating him like a customer. Nishizaki found it harder to say what he had come for, and fear gripped him. What am I doing? I don’t want to go to the unemployment office, and I don’t want to write a résumé. I just wanted a cool job. That’s all. But this? Barging in without even knowing if they’re hiring? I must look crazy.

“I… I was wondering if you might let me work here,” Nishizaki said, his voice barely above a whisper.

The man tilted his head, clearly puzzled. Of course, it’s a no. Why would they take someone like me? The place had an air of sophistication, and its employees seemed carefully chosen. He recalled the young, stylish waiter he had seen before.

“Is this place only for good-looking, young guys?” Nishizaki asked bluntly.

“Oh, no, not at all,” the older man chuckled. “But why do you want to work here? Did someone recommend it?”

“It’s close to my place… and the uniform looked cool,” Nishizaki mumbled.

The man burst into laughter. A younger man in his thirties, wearing an apron, emerged from the kitchen, looking curiously at the older man’s amusement. Nishizaki stood awkwardly, his anxiety briefly drowned out by the sound of laughter that felt oddly welcoming.

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