The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 8

Previous TOC Next

As Kawase stepped out of the conference room and walked down the hallway, he overheard a second-year employee from the Second Planning Section chatting with a new hire about something or other related to cherry blossom viewing. He glanced at them out of the corner of his eye and walked past, feeling a bit sorry for the junior employees—they really had it tough. Incidentally, his own section, the Third Planning Section, was scheduled for the day after tomorrow.

Back at his department, he immediately powered up his computer and glanced at the clock. Three o’clock sharp. There was another meeting scheduled at four, so he wanted to get through his emails before then.

The Third Planning Section of LEMIO's headquarters was a twelve-tatami-sized office tucked away in the back of the fifth floor, where the sunlight barely reached. Including the department head, there were eight employees, and nearly every desk was a disaster zone—if an earthquake hit, there was no doubt everything would come crashing down in a landslide of paper. That was how messy it was. Once, a technician who came to install the copier had asked, “Is this a storage room?”—a comment that had since become legendary.

When Kawase first joined the company, he had undergone hands-on training at a food processing plant, but he had never been allowed near the Planning Departments. Because of that, he had always imagined the product development and research sections as dazzling and glamorous spaces where new products were born. The reality, however, was a battlefield—gritty, intense, anything but elegant.

He had only been away from his desk for two hours, and already, five sticky notes in various colors had been slapped onto his monitor. He peeled them off one by one, checking them as he quickly discarded them.

"Section Chief Kawase."

He turned around to find his junior colleague, Sakuragi, standing there. Three years younger than him, she had been assigned to the Third Planning Section of the Product Development Department two years ago. She was smart, but there was always something absentminded about her.

"Sorry to bother you when you're busy, but about the package design proposals for ‘Shala’—the designer came up with ten variations, and I just can’t seem to narrow them down. Could I get your opinion?"

"Which ones?"

Kawase took the file from Sakuragi and flipped through it.

"One, three, four, six, seven, and ten are a no-go for me." He handed the file back.

"Huh? Even six?"

"Six looks cool, sure, but it’s too similar to B Corp’s ‘Cacao Rhythm’ packaging. ‘Shala’ is supposed to have a luxury concept, so if it ends up looking like a cacao product, that’s a loss. Their product is cheaper than ours, so people will definitely compare them. Besides, the target audience for ‘Shala’ is teenage to twenty-something girls, right? Wouldn’t something cuter work better than a sleek design? But hey, if you really believe in that package and are ready to fight for it, you can keep it in the final selection."

Sakuragi lowered her gaze. "Got it," she murmured before returning to her desk.

Kawase had eliminated six out of ten designs, but to be honest, none of them really stood out to him. He figured others in the department probably felt the same, and once they brought it up in the internal meeting, all the proposals would likely get scrapped. That might actually be for the best. Everyone went through this process at some point.

A loud clank rang out next to him, followed by a frustrated outburst.

"Damn it!"

Kawase turned to see Nunomiya at the neighboring desk, collapsed over his workstation with his head in his hands.

"What happened?"

At Kawase’s voice, Nunomiya tilted his face slightly in his direction.

"The development team just told me they can’t get the prototype for ‘White Maaru’ done in time."

"…Wait, wasn’t tomorrow the final decision deadline? If they don’t finalize it, the release is going to be delayed."

"I know that!" Nunomiya clicked his tongue in frustration.

"After the last tasting session, when the department head tore the prototype to shreds, the lead developer totally lost it. He suddenly started saying, ‘I’m no good’ and all that crap..."

Kawase rubbed his chin.

"Wasn’t Kirigaya in charge of ‘White Maaru’?"

"Yeah."

"Then that’s just his usual game. He pulled the same thing on me once. Stick to him like glue, put the pressure on, and he’ll come around. Trust me, it’ll work."

Without hesitation, Nunomiya grabbed his phone and laptop and bolted out of the office.

Nunomiya had been Kawase’s senior back in the Sales Department, but Kawase had transferred to the Planning Department two years before him.

Kirigaya from the Development Department had a great instinct for formulations, but he was notoriously difficult to work with. His “I can’t do it,” “I’m no good” routine had nearly given Kawase an ulcer more than once. But in the end, the product they had developed together—while slow to take off—had gradually gained traction and turned into a moderate hit.

The Product Planning Department at LEMIO was divided into two main sections: the Planning Section and the Development Section. The Planning Section handled market research, sales promotion, and product planning—essentially, they were a jack-of-all-trades, juggling multiple projects simultaneously. On the other hand, the Development Section was split into four specialized groups—fundamental research, applied research, commercialization research, and production technology research—where employees focused purely on research. Generally, product development progressed through close collaboration between these two sections.

The Planning Section itself was divided into three teams. The first team was the company’s star player, responsible for the development of its flagship cup noodle products. The second team handled frozen foods, while the third team, to which Kawase belonged, focused on confectionery.

When people thought of LEMIO, the first thing that came to mind was "Yonaki"—an instant ramen product so popular that it had become synonymous with the brand. The secret to its long-running success lay in the perfection of its powdered soup mix. The soup was exceptional. And that was entirely thanks to the Development Section’s technical expertise.

Recently, alternative recipes using Yonaki Ramen’s powdered soup had gone viral online, boosting sales even further.

It was this renowned spice-blending technology that had led to the creation of the Third Team, which focused on confectionery. Three years ago, the company had launched the team in hopes of applying their expertise to snack foods. However, LEMIO's strong association with cup noodles made it difficult to break into the fiercely competitive confectionery market.

Even so, products like Ebi Taiko and Marine Snack had achieved moderate success. But they hadn’t sold as well as the company had initially hoped. In the cup noodle industry, LEMIO was a market leader, driving trends. But in the confectionery business, they were nothing more than a small player filling in the gaps left by the major brands.

Kawase figured that was just the way things were, but upper management wouldn’t stop nagging about making bigger hits.

"If you want a real hit, give us more marketing budget."

That was Kawase’s stance. The reason their confectionery products weren’t selling well was simple—there wasn’t enough shelf space for them in stores. And that was because, as a snack brand, LEMIO had little recognition.

If they had just invested in proper advertising from the start—maybe hired a popular magazine idol, a young actress, or a trending actor to promote the products on TV—people would have associated LEMIO with snacks. Then, they could have gradually introduced more products. But upper management had slashed the advertising budget right from the beginning. They were hesitant about the risks of entering the confectionery market and were trying to minimize potential losses.

To make things worse, the snacks LEMIO specialized in were rice-based, utilizing their flour-milling and seasoning technologies. Even among major brands, new rice-based snack products rarely received dedicated advertising. The ones that got prime-time commercials were always the best-selling chocolates, gums, or a few select potato chips. Kawase understood this reality, but it was still frustrating. No matter how good a product was, their low brand recognition meant they struggled to gain traction.

When he brought up the lack of marketing budget in a meeting, the Purchasing Department’s director had casually replied,

"Oh, well, you can just advertise on the internet, right?"

As if an obscure product could become a massive hit through online word-of-mouth alone. That was nothing but a pipe dream. The odds were lower than winning a hundred-million-yen lottery.

Kawase barely held himself back from saying as much.

"Oi, Kawase!"

From the far end of the room, at the window-side desk, the department head Arisawa waved him over with a ballpoint pen in hand.

"What is it?"

The distance made it hard to hear, so Kawase had to raise his voice.

"Just come over here for a second."

Hopefully, this wasn’t going to be about some dumb invitation to play mahjong tonight.

Suppressing his irritation, he walked over to the forty-eight-year-old man, who, despite only just turning that age, already exuded the presence of someone nearing retirement. His face was ruddy, his nose round and bulbous.

As Kawase approached, Arisawa sniffed the air.

"Hey... don’t you smell like crab?"

Kawase sniffed his own hand.

"Maybe because I was tasting the prototype for ‘Crab Heaven’ in the meeting earlier?"

Someone in the office had once said, "That guy's basically a wild animal." It was true—Arisawa had an insanely sharp sense of taste and smell. He could detect and distinguish countless flavors and scents… but that was about the only remarkable thing about him. In terms of actual work, he barely did anything. His leadership style was mostly hands-off—to the extreme.

"I knew it. Man, I hate crab."

Arisawa scratched the thinning spot on the back of his head and shrugged. Even though his subordinates were struggling with the development of the crab-based rice snack, he showed no signs of concern. Kawase rather liked that about him—he was easy to get along with because he never pretended to be anything he wasn’t.

"About that test marketing for your ‘Crab Something’ product—what do you think about Hokkaido?"

Kawase blinked, caught off guard.

"Hokkaido?"

"Yeah, Hokkaido~"

Arisawa leaned back in his chair and grinned. Test marketing itself wasn’t unusual, but it was typically done in major cities where sales were high. It wasn’t unheard of in regional cities either, but Hokkaido? That was unexpected.

"Hokkaido is a bit… different. Personally, I think the original plan—Tokyo and Osaka—should be enough. We’ve already secured spots at relevant events."

"But that’d be the same as always, wouldn’t it?"

Arisawa pursed his lips like a sulky child.

"If I remember correctly, the core concept behind ‘Crab Something’ was a ‘local specialty’ theme, right? But higher-ups are saying—why not take it a step further and market it as ‘authentic crab’? Local specialty foods tend to have longer-lasting appeal."

"But calling it ‘authentic crab’ would be misleading. The crab for the ingredients is coming from Korea, and the product is being developed in our Tokyo lab. That’d be a clear violation of the labeling laws."

As Kawase objected, Arisawa waved his right hand lazily, almost like a handkerchief fluttering in the wind.

"Just handle it… appropriately. If we get someone from the Hokkaido branch to taste-test it, we can call it a joint development."

"Even so, we still can’t use ‘authentic crab’ as a selling point."

"You’re so nitpicky."

What he really wanted to say was, “You’re just too sloppy”, but he bit his tongue.

Then, Arisawa’s expression softened slightly.

"You don’t seem too keen on the idea, but I actually think Hokkaido is a good call. I mean, it’s the place for crab, right? The people there have refined palates. Wouldn’t it be useful to know what they think of ‘Crab Something’? Their opinions might help refine the flavor into something that feels more like a true local specialty."

Kawase fell silent. Annoyingly enough, he had a point.

The team had been struggling to figure out the right direction for Crab Heaven’s flavor. After countless taste tests, their senses had dulled, and doubts had crept in—Is this really good enough?

Test marketing was something he had automatically associated with big cities. But was his thinking getting too rigid for someone working in the Planning Department, where flexibility was key?

"…Alright, I get it. I’ll consider the Hokkaido option. But it’s far, so travel expenses will add up. Will upper management even approve it?"

"It’ll be fine. Since they’re already skimping on advertising costs, we’ll just squeeze them for this instead. Actually, I know someone in the Hokkaido branch—I can set things up in advance."

"Oh, that’d be a huge help. Thanks."

Arisawa scratched his head again with the back of his pen.

"The guys over there know way more about the local event scene. I’ll have them email you later with the details."

"I appreciate it."

"Hokkaido has a lot of events in May, so the timing is perfect. Oh, and take Matsushita with you on the trip."

Kawase’s face twitched involuntarily at the mention of the name.

"Don’t make that face so obviously. Looking after a troublesome subordinate is part of your job as a senior."

Arisawa’s instincts were sharp—like a wild animal. Or maybe Kawase’s facial muscles were just too honest.

"I’m sure you already know, but Matsushita can’t even tell the difference between a pear and an apple. His sense of taste is catastrophic. I seriously doubt he’ll be of any use on this trip."

"Yeah, his taste buds are useless, but it’s the customers who’ll be doing the actual tasting, so it doesn’t matter. Besides, the guy used to be a football player—he’s got stamina. He’ll be handy for heavy lifting."

Kawase returned to his desk, feeling a deep sense of gloom. He checked that his laptop was fully charged before shutting it down, then stuffed it into his bag along with a spare battery. It was almost 3:30. If he didn’t leave now, he wouldn’t make it in time for his appointment.

Just as he dashed into the hallway, he collided with someone and was promptly sent flying.

"Whoa—sorry!"

He reflexively apologized, but the moment he saw who he had bumped into, his lips pressed into a tight line. Matsushita.

Kawase had landed on his rear in an undignified heap, while the absurdly lucky first-year employee—who had somehow managed to get assigned to the Planning Department straight out of university—stood there completely unfazed.

"Are you okay?"

As Matsushita crouched down, something light and crisp rained down onto Kawase’s head. A thin, reddish-orange, three-centimeter-square rice cracker with the distinct smell of crab…

"Ugh—what the hell? Oh crap, I’m really sorry!"

There was no mistake. The bag in Matsushita’s hand was full of Crab Heaven test samples.

Kawase suddenly recalled the end of their last meeting, when Matsushita had asked the development team, "Mind if I take the leftovers?" The developers had chuckled, calling him enthusiastic, but there was no way that was true. For Matsushita, test samples were nothing more than emergency rations to curb his hunger.

"Matsushita, you little—!"

Matsushita, his broad back hunched over like a scolded puppy, shrank down.

"S-Sorry, Kawase-san!"

The way he dragged out the apology made Kawase bristle with irritation. Even if it wasn’t intentional, it was infuriating.

And on top of that—short sleeves? In early April? Are you seriously planning to meet clients dressed like that? Look around you, for god’s sake.

Young, energetic, and utterly useless—that was Matsushita in a nutshell. Not only was he completely tone-deaf when it came to taste, but he also had zero awareness of his surroundings. He was clumsy beyond belief, constantly dropping or breaking things. Nunomiya had once nicknamed him a giant baby, and it was painfully accurate. The worst part? He had absolutely no idea.

Kawase wanted nothing more than to drag him into a separate room and lecture him thoroughly on all his past screw-ups. But there was no time for that. Shaking his head, he brushed the Crab Heaven crumbs off his hair and snapped,

"Clean this up yourself!"

"Oh, sure! Uh… but—where’s the vacuum?"

People who lacked basic social awareness had a knack for pressing all the wrong buttons. There was no doubt about it.

"Check the break room or something! Ask someone!"

Even Matsushita, as dense as he was, seemed to pick up on his boss’s anger this time. "Y-Yes, sir!" he yelped before bolting down the hallway.

Between dealing with Arisawa and getting held up by Matsushita, Kawase had run out of time. He ended up taking a taxi.

This time, Crab Heaven’s ad campaign was using an external copywriter—one who was both highly sought after and extremely busy. As a result, Kawase usually had to go to them for meetings. They were also notoriously punctual, meaning that under no circumstances could he afford to be late.

He checked his watch. It looked like he’d make it in time. As that realization sank in, the frustration and agitation from earlier slowly began to fade.

"Hokkaido, huh…"

Work often took him on business trips, but this would be his first time in Hokkaido. A certain man’s face flickered through his mind—the one who had been transferred to the Hokkaido branch years ago.

I wonder if he’s still there.

If someone was transferred between headquarters and a regional office, HR would send out a company-wide email. But internal moves within a branch? Those didn’t get announced.

It had been six years. Six years since then. Surely, enough time had passed for everything to be water under the bridge.

Even if he did go to the branch office, it wasn’t like he’d have any reason to meet with the branch president. Maybe he’d exchange a polite greeting, at most. That would be it.

Even so—his chest felt heavy.

He kept telling himself it was all in the past, but deep down, there was one thing he knew for certain.

“If possible, I never want to see that man again.”

Previous TOC Next