The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 7

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Kawase spent the entire day in bed, barely eating or drinking. Staying still, he hardly felt hungry. Morning came, marking the passage of another day.

Every morning, he called the office, telling them, “My fever hasn’t gone down.” Nunomiya and his supervisor only expressed concern, asking if he was okay. No one accused him of faking his illness.
…No one accused him of shoving the department head into the street.

Each time his phone vibrated, he flinched. The sound of the doorbell nearly brought him to tears. But no call of resentment ever came from the department head, nor did the police show up at his door.

He wanted to run. Anywhere—anywhere would do. But if the police came and he wasn’t at his apartment, they would go to his mother’s or his uncle’s house, dragging them into this mess. That thought kept him frozen in place.

Another night passed, then another morning.

For three days, he lay trembling beneath the sheets, his only awareness of time marked by the changing angle of sunlight streaming through the window.

On the fourth morning, he finally crawled out of bed.

Even just walking around his tiny apartment made his limbs feel heavy, as if filled with lead. After forcing himself into the shower, he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Sunken eyes. Gaunt cheeks. He looked like a man who knew the world would end tomorrow.

He put on his suit and stepped outside. The walk to the station felt impossibly long.

Swaying in the packed train, nausea gripped him. His vision blurred, and he clung desperately to the overhead strap. The moment he arrived at the station near his office, he dashed to the restroom and vomited. The acrid stench made him retch again and again until his eyes stung with tears.

By the time he reached the office, it was just barely before work started.

His eyes flickered toward the department head’s desk. Of course, it was empty.

“Oh, you actually showed up. Thought you were taking another day off.”

Nunomiya’s voice made Kawase jolt.

“G-good morning…”

He couldn’t look him in the eye. Being looked at was just as unbearable. Did Nunomiya know? Could he tell what Kawase had done?

“You look like hell. You sure you’re okay?”

“I-I'm fine. My fever’s gone now…”

He busied himself, shuffling through the stacks of papers on his desk and adjusting the sea of sticky notes cluttering his monitor. As long as he looked occupied, Nunomiya wouldn’t ask anything else.

After a while, Kawase stole a glance at him.

…His expression was the same as ever.

“Oh, right!”

Nunomiya suddenly smacked his desk, as if just remembering something.

“Yesterday, some guy named Kurume from Kawamoto Trading called for you. I forgot to leave a note. Told him you were out sick, so he said he’d call again today.”

“I see. Thank you.”

Nunomiya’s gaze was normal.

Just the same as always.

He didn’t seem to know.

The nightmare of being surrounded and accused by his coworkers—he had still forced himself to come in, clinging to the possibility that the department head wouldn’t talk.

If he admitted that Kawase had pushed him, people would start asking why.

And he couldn’t exactly say it was because he had demanded his subordinate’s body in exchange for a department transfer.

A competent professional. A man of integrity.

Even for him, having that image shattered must have been unthinkable.

Divine punishment had struck him down.

His injuries were the price of violating his subordinate, the cost of his lies.

Calling it 50/50 was far too generous.

So Kawase simply chose not to think about it.

By the time he finished clearing his backlog of paperwork, it was noon. He had no appetite, but if he didn’t eat something, he wouldn’t last until evening. Grabbing his wallet, he stood up—

“Hey, Kawase!”

His coworker, Yukawa, called out to him.

"I heard you were out sick. You doing okay? Looks like you lost some weight."

Kawase forced a strained smile.

"The fever’s gone now."

"Don’t push yourself too hard, man."

Yukawa gave his shoulder a light pat before continuing.

"Hey, since you’ve been out for a while, you probably don’t know this, but department head Shibaoka got injured and was hospitalized."

His heart pounded violently.

"I know… Nunomiya-san told me."

"Crazy, right? I was shocked too. Seems like they still haven’t found the guy who did it."

A flash of black—The image of a van speeding away flickered through Kawase’s mind.

"He was in the ICU until now, so no one could visit. But starting today, they’re moving him to a general ward. That’s why the department’s planning to send him a get-well gift. You wanna pitch in?"

"How much?"

Kawase pulled out his wallet.

"A thousand yen per person."

He handed over the money, and Yukawa nodded. "Got it."

"Actually, we’re planning to go see him after work today. You coming?"

Kawase said nothing.

Yukawa peered into his face. "What’s up?"

"I’ll pass. Still not feeling great."

"Ah, right. You just got better. My bad for not thinking about that."

"Don’t worry about it. See you."

Slipping past Yukawa, Kawase stepped out of the office.

Outside, the sunlight was blinding.

For a moment, he felt dizzy. Then it passed.

…Of course, no one knew. How could they? No one had seen him.

But what if—?

What if someone from the department visited him today, and he finally talked?

What if he told them the truth? That Kawase had punched him, sending him staggering into the street—right into the path of an oncoming car?

Even if he didn’t admit to why, he could make up any reason he wanted. Maybe he’d say it was because Kawase held a grudge over a past reprimand. Maybe he’d say they got into an argument over work.

Lies were easy to fabricate.

A nagging dread clung to him like a shadow.

Annoying. Disgusting. He was sick of it.

Maybe he should just quit.

If he had to live in constant fear like this, maybe it would be easier to just walk away.

But even if he did, it wouldn’t change anything. If he decided to demand accountability, Kawase wouldn’t be able to escape.

He could be branded a criminal.

Dragged into court.

Before he knew it, he was standing at a crosswalk.

The light was red, and cars streamed past, one after another.

If he stepped into that rushing current of steel and glass, it would all be over.

No more fear. No more thinking.

People would murmur, Such a shame. He was so young.

His mother and uncle would cry.

His friends, too, maybe…

The light turned green.

Then red again.

Kawase remained frozen at the edge of the sidewalk, unable to move.

He wanted to escape.

But the thought of dying terrified him even more.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Exactly one week after the department head’s accident, on November 1st, a new department head named Higashino was transferred in.

He was in his late fifties, short, stocky, and balding. His thick, reddish, glossy lips stood out in an oddly noticeable way.

He didn’t give off the impression of someone particularly competent, but no one wanted to judge based on appearances alone. So, at first, they decided to wait and see. But within less than a week, it became clear—he was exactly as incompetent as he looked.

His work was unbearably slow. Unless they explicitly marked documents as “urgent,” he would leave them sitting on his desk for two or three days without a second thought. Even when he did review them, his checks were so sloppy that papers were constantly being sent back for corrections, creating extra work for everyone. Compared to the previous department head—who would review, process, and submit documents the same day without fail—it was a complete disaster.

At first, the female employees had been polite, but once they got a better sense of his personality, their attitude grew more dismissive. In the break room, they openly gossiped, calling him that gross tarako pig. Conversations inevitably started with "The department head Shibaoka  was so much better," before turning into a long list of complaints about the new department head.

Kawase had flinched whenever he heard that man's name in passing, but lately, he had started to get used to it.

Days passed as if nothing had happened.

The day after a few members of the sales department had gone to visit him in the hospital, Kawase had lunch with Yukawa. He had invited him out under the pretense of needing work advice, but in truth, he just wanted to hear about him.

"We thought it wasn’t that serious since they said he wasn’t in critical condition," Yukawa said, taking a bite of his food. "But thinking back, the fact that he was in the ICU should’ve clued us in. When we went to see him, man, he was covered in bandages. I couldn’t even speak. His face was still swollen, and both his arms and legs were in casts—it was painful to look at. But he was talking like normal. Oh, and they still haven’t caught that bastard hit-and-run guy. The department head says it was his own fault for crossing the road without checking, but normally, if you hit someone, you stop and help them, right? If he’d died, it would’ve been murder."

A casual, everyday conversation—yet the words pierced straight into Kawase’s chest.

"Normally, you help."

That was true, wasn’t it?

But he hadn’t helped.

He had called an ambulance, sure—but that was all.

And he… had never told anyone that he had pushed him.

On the contrary, he had even lied to protect him.

Maybe, after getting hurt, he had finally learned his lesson. Maybe he realized that messing with younger men could have serious consequences. Maybe the reason he hadn’t said anything was because he wanted nothing more to do with Kawase.

He wouldn’t be arrested. No one would blame him.

That thought alone eased something inside him.

And for the first time, he felt sorry for what he had done.

As time passed, the year came to an end, and a new one began.

When a person disappears from sight, no matter how much influence they once held, their presence quickly fades.

Even seeing the tarako pig sitting in the department head’s chair had become routine.

Then, at the end of February, during a heavy snowfall—

Kawase returned to the office after a two-day business trip with his supervisor.

As soon as he walked in, Yukawa handed him a small box of sweets.

"Here, this is for you."

"Huh? What is it?"

A decorative ribbon marked the package with the words "With Thanks."

"It’s from the department head Shibaoka. A thank-you for visiting him in the hospital."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut.

"He… got discharged?"

"Yeah, he stopped by yesterday during lunch. He was using crutches, but he looked fine. He’s leaving for Hokkaido today."

For the first time, Kawase truly felt relieved that he had been out of the office.

Yukawa lightly tapped the box in his hands.

"It’s from Chubby’s. The women were saying Shibaoka has better taste than someone when it comes to souvenirs."

Yukawa’s gaze flickered toward a nearby desk—toward him.

The tarako pig’s usual business trip souvenirs were always the same—cheap, mass-produced manju, and everyone in the department was sick of them.

"Yeah… I see what they mean."

"Right?"

Yukawa gave a wry smile before heading back to his desk.

It was over.

Really, truly over.

There was no reason for them to ever cross paths again.

Kawase let out a long, quiet breath.

Just past ten in the morning, he was preparing to head out for external sales. As he grabbed his bag—

"Kawase-kun, hold on a moment."

The tarako pig called out to him.

"I need to talk to you. Can you come over here for a moment?"

Couldn't he see that Kawase was just about to leave? Could this conversation really not wait until he got back? Holding back his irritation, he approached the desk.

"What is it?" His voice came out lower than usual.

"Over here, over here." Even though he was already close enough to have a conversation, tarako pig kept motioning him closer. Reluctantly, Kawase stepped around the desk and moved near his chair.

"You know..." Up close, the man’s breath was unbearable.

"The official notice should be out tomorrow, but you’ve been assigned to the Product Planning Department starting next month."

Kawase blurted out a confused, "Huh?" before he could stop himself.

The tarako pig jutted out his thick lips in a bored expression.

"The Product Planning Department. Didn’t you put in a request for it?"

"Ah… Yes… I did. I’m happy." But more than happiness, it was sheer shock that hit him first. It felt like being tricked by a fox—utterly surreal.

The man folded his arms and let out a slow sigh, looking up at Kawase.

"There’s a long waitlist for that department. Some employees have been waiting five, even six years. You’re young and don’t have much of a track record, but apparently, the former department head, Shibaoka, gave you a strong recommendation. Well… looks like you played your cards right."

Kawase’s ears refused to believe the words they had just heard.

"The official announcement will be in two days, so keep it to yourself until then."

After hearing the news, he headed out for his client visits. Even on the train, tarako pig's words kept looping in his head.

"You’re young and don’t have much of a track record, but the former department head, Shibaoka, gave you a strong recommendation..."

A bitter taste spread in his mouth, like the dregs of a bad cup of coffee. He had thought he’d been lied to, deceived. But he had kept his promise. He had recommended him.

Even though it was freezing outside, the heating on the train was cranked up so high that sweat prickled at his back. He started feeling nauseous.

He had wanted to go to Product Planning. When he couldn’t, he had blamed bad luck, had told himself the people in charge just didn’t have an eye for talent. But the truth was, he simply hadn’t been good enough. That was all.

If back in November he had just said it—"You weren’t transferred because you have no track record." Would that have been enough for Kawase to accept it? Would he have believed him? No. He wouldn’t have.

Shame wrapped around his entire body, tightening its grip. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He couldn’t see himself clearly. He was the one who understood himself the least. A sharp pain throbbed in the back of his skull. He didn’t want to think anymore. Not now. Not after all this time.

And yet—

A voice whispered at his ear.

"You went a little too far, didn’t you?"

Even if that were true—what was the point of apologizing now? Digging up the past wouldn’t change anything.

He was going to the Product Planning Department. The place he had dreamed of—wanted so badly that he saw it even in his sleep. And yet, the moment it became real, everything seemed to lose its color, like looking through a faded filter.

He was ashamed. Pathetic.

That’s why—

He couldn’t be happy. There was no way he could be happy.

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