The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 22

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Matsushita had jokingly told him, "You've got a work demon clinging to your back~." Kawase was annoyed but didn’t even have the time to get angry. His eyes, mouth, and fingers were all working at full speed.

He skimmed through the proposal from the development team for the new product, ‘(Temp) Crab-Flavored Cheese’, and checked the progress chart. The package design and tagline had been assigned to Enoki. That guy had a good sense for these things, so there shouldn’t be any issues leaving it to him.

"Ugh…" Kawase groaned, clutching his head in frustration. Four days from now, there was a joint meeting with the development team—but it overlapped with a section chief meeting. This time, the national sales data for Crab Heaven was supposed to be released, and as the planner behind it, skipping that was out of the question. Should he let the Crab-Flavored Cheese meeting proceed without him? No, that wasn’t an option. He had no choice but to ask the development team to reschedule, either earlier or later in the day.

He called over Wada, explained the situation, and asked him to coordinate with the development team. Wada readily agreed with a simple "Got it." Within the Crab-Flavored Cheese team, Wada was the calm and patient one—unlike the strong-willed Enoki and the utterly useless Matsushita. At least Arisawa had put some thought into the team’s composition.

He checked the memo at his right hand. Had he finished everything that needed to be done today? It felt like he had. He glanced at his watch. Either way, he was at his limit. He couldn’t stay any later. Gathering his belongings in a hurry, he called out, "I'm heading out," and rushed out of the office.

"Huh? Kawase-san, you’re leaving?!"

Matsushita’s voice trailed after him, but he ignored it. It was already past 9 p.m. For an ordinary office worker, the workday would have ended long ago, but more than half of the Planning Department was still at their desks. Workloads came in waves, with busy periods and slower stretches, but right now, they were in the thick of it. When things got worse, they’d end up staying overnight.

Three minutes running to the station, twenty minutes on the train, five more minutes running home, then picking up the man and taking the train again—he didn’t even want to calculate how much time it would take. He sent a quick message to his uncle, saying he’d be late, and the reply came back, Anytime is fine. Even so, he didn’t want to arrive past eleven. He’d already had to postpone the appointment once because work had kept him too busy to take the man.

Kawase ran back to the apartment, picked up the man, and returned to the station. No matter how much he hurried, the man couldn’t walk fast. He knew he had to accept it. He’d gotten used to walking with someone who couldn’t see, but lately, it had started to irritate him again.

The man held onto his arm as they walked. Kawase had thought about getting him a cane, but it was expensive, and if his sight returned, he wouldn’t need it anyway. But no matter how much time passed, the man’s eyes weren’t getting any better. Without a cane or even a pair of glasses that suggested visual impairment, it just looked like two grown men walking arm-in-arm. The stares thrown their way were openly intrusive, and the thought that people might be misinterpreting them as a couple made Kawase want to crawl into a hole.

Since the elevator was far away, they took the stairs down to the platform. The man's steps were slow and careful. Even knowing he was blind, Kawase had to fight the urge to tell him to hurry up. A train arrived midway, but they couldn’t run down in time, so they had to let it pass.

Finally, they made it to the platform, standing behind the white safety line at the door position. Kawase took a moment to catch his breath, only to notice the glances being thrown their way again. He wasn’t even letting the man hold his arm while they waited, so why was everyone still staring? Tilting his head in confusion, it took him a moment to realize—he had brought the man out as is.

The man had no clothes other than the suit he had worn when he came to submit his resignation at headquarters. Kawase had bought him a short-sleeved cut-and-sew shirt and a pair of cotton pants, and had him rotate those along with a dress shirt. Since the man never complained about wrinkles, he just dressed him in whatever had been washed at home. On days they went to the hospital, Kawase at least made the effort to iron the shirt properly, but today, he hadn’t had the time.

His hair, streaked with white, was a disheveled mess, untouched by a comb. His unshaven stubble stood out. Even though Kawase had told him he could use the razor freely, the man almost never shaved. Since it wasn’t that noticeable and he figured as long as the man shaved before going out, it didn’t really matter, he had left him alone. But looking at him objectively now, eight out of ten people would probably assume he was homeless. Just standing next to him was embarrassing.

Since there was no need for his support while waiting for the train, Kawase took a few steps away and pretended to be a stranger. Perhaps because the man's shabby appearance made people wary, those standing behind him kept a slight distance. This created an odd, empty space around him.

Kawase joined the ranks of onlookers, observing the man as if he were just another passerby. The man spent his days at Kawase's home, repeatedly waking up and dozing off on the sofa. If Kawase didn’t speak to him, he wouldn’t say a word. He had assumed the man must be watching TV during the day, but the remote was always in the same place, untouched. He let others take care of him, neglected his own appearance, and simply continued to breathe. What was the point of his life?

The man had wanted to die. Kawase had stopped him. Since then, the man had made no further attempts, merely existing. But in this state, whether he was alive or dead hardly seemed to make a difference.

Amid the station's noise, the sound of the approaching train grew louder. The man, who had been standing motionless like a doll, staring straight ahead, suddenly moved his left hand up and down in an unnatural motion. He might have been searching for Kawase.

The man's head wobbled slightly. The clattering of the train grew louder. As its headlights appeared from the tunnel, the man took a step forward. He had been so cautious on the stairs, yet now he stepped forward without a moment’s hesitation. Before he could take a second step, Kawase caught up to him, grabbed his arm, and yanked him back roughly. The man lost his balance and staggered in place.

With a thunderous roar, the train pulled into the station. Kawase clenched the man’s arm so tightly his fingers dug into it. The man’s right shoulder twitched slightly, but he didn’t say anything—not even a word of pain.

Still gripping his arm, Kawase dragged him onto the train. The entrance area was crowded, so he pulled the man toward the middle of the car before finally letting go.

The train lurched into motion, swaying violently. The man's body tilted right, then staggered three steps backward. Unable to steady himself, he collapsed to the floor with a dull thud, landing on his rear.

Eyes flickered toward the fallen man. The stares were sharp, judgmental—pathetic, a nuisance—Kawase could almost hear their thoughts. He looked down at him with the same expression as the other passengers.

Slowly, the man stood back up. The train swayed to the right, and his body tilted again. A high school student in uniform standing nearby frowned and subtly inched away.

Kawase approached and grabbed the man's left hand, forcing it onto a hanging strap. The man's fingers moved, feeling it out before gripping it tightly. A small sigh escaped his lips.

“…Just now,” Kawase said.

The man turned his face toward him, but their eyes didn’t meet.

“You tried to jump onto the tracks, didn’t you?”

The man denied it. “You’re mistaken.”

“I got a little dizzy and lost my balance, that’s all.”

His lips curved slightly, almost in a smile. Seeing it made something in Kawase boil over. He was spending his precious time taking this man to the hospital, yet the man had the audacity to try killing himself right in front of him. The very thought made Kawase sick. He stepped away, unwilling to stand beside him any longer.

That day, after the man's appointment, Kawase was, as always, called into the consultation room alone. His uncle said, “No major changes.” Kawase let out a deep sigh and ran a hand through his hair.

"Did something happen with Shibaoka-san today?"

"Why do you ask?"

His uncle scratched his cheek with a fingertip.

"Well, usually, he looks a little more put-together."

Kawase let out a wry smile.

"Today, I just forgot to tidy him up. I mean, if I don’t take care of it, he won’t do anything himself."

His uncle peered at the computer screen.

"It’s been almost four weeks since he started staying with you."

"I’ve done so much for him, but he hasn’t gotten any better at all. And today… the moment I took my eyes off him, he tried to jump in front of a train."

His uncle's eyes widened in surprise.

"That happened?"

"When I asked him later, he brushed it off, saying he just felt dizzy or something, but there’s no way that was the truth."

"He hasn’t done anything dangerous lately, has he?"

"That’s true, but…"

Kawase tugged at his uncle’s sleeve.

"Uncle… how much should I involve myself with him? But if I let go… I feel like he’ll die for sure."

His uncle called his name, "Fumito."

"You can’t stop someone who truly wants to die."

The words hit him like a heavy weight in his chest.

"If someone is really determined to die, the only way to stop them is to lock them in a cage and tie down their hands and feet."

The sheer helplessness in those words made Kawase feel as if the ground beneath him was crumbling away.

"You don’t have to keep holding onto Shibaoka-san anymore. If he has no relatives, there are facilities near your home that could take care of him. You don’t need to involve yourself to the point of exhaustion. Leave it to the professionals."

Would it be okay to let go? Could he really walk away now? He had done enough, hadn’t he? No one would blame him, would they?

"…I’ll think about it."

His uncle gently patted Kawase’s shoulder, his touch soft and reassuring.

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