The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 15

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The place Arisawa took them was a yakitori izakaya near the station. It was a narrow, elongated establishment, with about eight seats at the counter in the front and a tatami seating area in the very back. Since there were three of them, they were led to the tatami section and seated at a four-person table, with Arisawa and the man sitting across from each other while Kawase took the seat beside Arisawa.

The menu slips pinned to the walls were yellowed with age, and the ceiling had darkened to a tea-stained hue. It wasn’t a particularly clean establishment, but judging by how every seat was occupied, the food must have been good. Several customers peeked inside, only to be turned away by the staff, their faces tinged with disappointment as they left.

The menu was reasonably priced and easy on the wallet, though for a farewell gathering for a branch president, it felt somewhat… cheap. Yet neither Arisawa nor the man seemed the least bit dissatisfied.

They started with a toast of beer. Kawase, taking the role of the junior, placed the initial order, kept an eye on the level of their glasses, and called for refills at the right moments. Though the two occasionally drew him into their conversation, most of it revolved around reminiscing about old times. Sitting across from a man he found difficult to deal with, yet not having to talk much himself, was actually a relief.

From their conversation, Kawase learned that the man had been behind the company’s hit cup noodle “Kanshoku-Oh” from fifteen years ago. Product development was a team effort, and the official credit always went to someone in upper management, so unless one was directly involved, it was hard to know who had truly come up with the idea.

The man drank with impeccable manners, never overindulging, and laughed readily at Arisawa’s silly jokes. It was the same composed demeanor Kawase remembered from their shared meals back when he was in sales. His suit was neatly tailored, and his tie and shirt were coordinated well.

Watching him now, Kawase found himself more perplexed by the memory of that hoarder’s house in Hokkaido. The word “camouflage” surfaced in his mind. Was this polished exterior just the man’s way of blending in, as he himself had said?

Suddenly, the noisy atmosphere of the izakaya dulled as a hush spread through the room. When Kawase looked up, he saw everyone staring at the television mounted near the ceiling. The news was reporting that a suspect had been caught in a series of violent sexual assaults and murders that had been stirring public outrage. The brutality of the crimes had dominated the news cycle for days.

“He was young and well-educated, yet he still did something like this… What the hell was he thinking?” Arisawa muttered. The suspect was a twenty-three-year-old employee of a major corporation.

“Maybe he had everything in life but still wasn’t satisfied… Sounds like one of those ‘darkness within the heart’ things,” Kawase commented idly, going along with the conversation.

“There’s no such thing as darkness within the heart,” the man interjected.

Kawase blinked.

“There’s no darkness inside people,” the man continued. “You are who you are, and that’s all. It’s just that those who don’t understand label what they can’t comprehend with convenient terms.”

“…Yeah, maybe so,” Arisawa agreed with a nod.

Kawase suddenly felt embarrassed by his shallow, news-fed remark and fell silent.

Arisawa emptied his beer glass. Just as Kawase was about to ask what he wanted next, Arisawa leaned forward on the table, still holding his glass.

“I think it’s about time we get real here. Why the hell did you quit?”

The man smiled coolly.

“I already told you. I thought it was a good time for a break.”

“You’re way too young to be retiring. And the way I remember you, you always seemed mild-mannered and sensitive, but you sure knew how to play dirty when it counted.”

One of the man’s eyebrows twitched in amusement.

“That’s a harsh way to put it. You always did have a knack for balancing praise and jabs just right.”

He took a sip from his glass and continued, “I’m almost fifty, you know. In the old days, that would’ve been considered elderly.”

“The hell era are you living in? We’re forty-eight. We’ve still got two years to fifty,” Arisawa scoffed.

“Does one or two years really make a difference?”

Finding Arisawa’s insistence amusing, the man laughed.

"You’re planning on doing something else, aren’t you? Starting your own company or something? Just fess up already."

Arisawa wasn’t about to let the conversation drop until he got a proper answer. The man, however, simply ran a loose hand through his gray-streaked hair and said, "That’s a problem," though his expression showed no real concern.

"I just felt like traveling abroad," he said.

"Traveling?" Arisawa echoed like a parrot.

"I wanted to see places I’ve never been before. Up north, maybe."

"The place you live now is already plenty north," Arisawa pointed out.

The man’s eyes drifted into the distance for a moment.

"Farther north. Somewhere the sun never sets, even at night."

"Alone?"

The man shrugged. "Of course. I’m on my own."

His glass was empty now. Seizing the pause in conversation, Kawase ordered drinks for both of them.

Arisawa let out a long breath, bracing his hands behind him and stretching his back.

"Traveling abroad at your age, huh."

"It’s something I’ve wanted to do for a long time."

Their new drinks arrived. Though Arisawa had already had plenty, he downed half his fresh glass as if he were a weary traveler discovering an oasis.

"Now that I think about it, for all the attention you got, I never heard a single rumor about you being with someone," he mused.

"I wasn’t as popular as you make it sound," the man said mildly. "And I was too caught up in work to think about anything else."

"Still, you must’ve dated a woman or two."

"Not really."

"Don’t give me that—I saw you," Arisawa said, leaning his elbow on the table and pressing a finger to his temple as he searched his memory.

"It was a long time ago, in Kyoto. You were walking with a woman. I was on a business trip, but I still remember she was wearing white."

A small, breathy chuckle escaped the man’s lips.

"That was my mother."

Arisawa’s eyes widened in surprise.

"Your mother?"

"We took a trip to Kyoto together once. I imagine that’s when you saw us."

"But she looked too young to be your—"

"My mother had me when she was young. She also had a baby face, so people often mistook us for siblings."

"Well, that’s boring," Arisawa muttered, clicking his tongue before lighting a cigarette.

"Come to think of it, you always were close to your mother. I never met her, but I guess I did see her back then."

"When she passed away, you helped me a lot," the man murmured.

"Ah, don’t mention it. That’s life—things happen," Arisawa replied, brushing it off.

The conversation trailed off, and the man stood.

"Is the restroom in the back?"

"Yeah, just down that hallway."

As soon as the man disappeared from view, Kawase couldn’t hold back any longer. Leaning toward Arisawa, he whispered, "Didn’t the branch president lose a lover when he was younger?"

"Huh?" Arisawa’s response came out as a baffled snort.

"What the hell is that? First I’ve heard of it."

"Everyone in sales used to say that. That he never got over his dead lover, which is why he never married."

"I started out in the same department as him, and I never heard a word about that. Sounds like some dramatic tale someone made up for fun."

"…Unless he was the one dropping hints about it himself," Arisawa added with a wry smirk. "Wouldn’t put it past him—he’s always been sneaky like that."

So the tragic backstory that the entire sales department had believed was a lie. But more than that, it was Arisawa’s sharp-tongued assessment of the man that stuck with Kawase. This person seemed to know his true nature.

"…He’s sneaky?" Kawase asked cautiously.

"You’re so naive," Arisawa scoffed, clapping him on the back.

"He was once considered a candidate for vice president. You think you get there without a sharp mind and the ability to maneuver? He’s always been smooth about these things. You must’ve seen it in sales, too."

"Well… yeah, I guess."

"Despite all that cunning, he had a sensitive streak," Arisawa mused. "Especially after his mother died…"

He trailed off, as if reconsidering his words, and fell silent.

"The branch president took some time off because of health issues, didn’t he?"

"You already know about that?"

"Of course I do. I was working with him around that time."

Arisawa exhaled a thick plume of smoke. "Oh yeah, that’s right. I was away on a business trip, so I couldn’t attend his mother’s funeral. I went to his place after I got back, though..." He trailed off just as the man returned to his seat.

"I think I’ll head to the restroom too," Arisawa muttered, crushing his cigarette into the ashtray before standing up and walking off.

Now it was just the two of them. An awkward silence settled over the table, thick and oppressive. Kawase reached for the last piece of fried chicken on the communal plate and transferred it to his own, thinking that keeping his hands busy might help. His gaze flickered toward the man’s plate. He had been eating, but as always, only small portions.

Arisawa was taking his time. The silence stretched on, becoming unnatural. As Kawase helped clear some of the empty dishes, their eyes met.

"Do you have any concrete plans for where up north you want to go?" he asked casually, trying to steer the conversation onto neutral ground.

The man gave a faint smile.

"I’m not going anywhere."

"What? But you just said..."

"I’m not going anywhere," the man repeated.

"But earlier, you told Arisawa you were going overseas—"

"I lied."

He said it as if it were the most natural thing in the world, taking a sip of beer. There wasn’t even the slightest flicker of guilt in his expression.

The realization that lying came so easily to him made something rise, hot and unpleasant, in Kawase’s throat.

"Aren’t you and Arisawa friends?"

"We are. He’s a smart man, but clumsy in his own way. A good guy."

"Then why lie to him?"

The man let out a soft sigh.

"He kept asking why I was quitting. It was getting annoying."

"Then you could’ve just told him the truth."

"He doesn’t actually care that much about my future. He just wanted his curiosity satisfied. So I gave him a reason he’d accept."

"That’s not very sincere."

"Telling the truth isn’t the same as being sincere," the man said simply.

"That’s just your excuse," Kawase shot back.

The man met his gaze head-on.

"If I told him I was settling my affairs because I planned to die soon, that would only make him uncomfortable, wouldn’t it?"

The restaurant was still noisy, but for a moment, all the sound seemed to drop away. It felt as if they were the only two people left in the world.

Kawase had the distinct sense that he had just opened a door he was never supposed to touch.

"That’s a lie," he said, forcing the words out.

The man chuckled. "You’re amusing. When I lie, you tell me to be honest. But when I tell you the truth, you call it a lie."

Images flashed through Kawase’s mind—of the man standing on the edge of a cliff, or perched on a windowsill, moments away from jumping.

Was he serious? Or was he just toying with Kawase, spinning another lie to throw him off?

He had a history of deceit. There was no way to tell.

"If you really mean that, then you’re the worst," Kawase said at last. "Throwing your own life away so easily—it’s disgusting."

The man placed a hand over his chest.

"This is mine. What I do with it is my choice."

"I can’t understand that way of thinking."

"See?" The man pointed at him. "You call me insincere, but this is something you would’ve been better off not knowing."

Kawase was left speechless.

In that empty space where words failed, Arisawa returned. He plopped back into his seat, took a sip of his now-warm beer, and stretched.

"So, what were you two talking about while I was gone?"

There was no way Kawase could answer.

"Just reminiscing about the business trip to Hokkaido," the man said smoothly, without missing a beat.

"Ah, yeah. Hokkaido’s got great food."

"That’s true. Every time I eat uni or hokke here, it just doesn’t taste the same."

"Your palate’s gotten too refined. Must be nice," Arisawa chuckled.

As Kawase watched the man's lips weave together lies and truths, he tried to determine whether the earlier words—"I'm going to die"—had been genuine or just another fabrication. But there was no way for Kawase to grasp the truth buried within the man's chest.

When they left the yakitori bar, Arisawa suggested going to another place, but the man declined with a polite smile. "My flight is early tomorrow morning," he said, and Arisawa didn't press the issue.

"Well then, Kawase, let's go for another round," Arisawa said, throwing an arm around his shoulder and starting to walk. Kawase glanced back, catching a glimpse of the man’s retreating figure in the distance.

If that man went back to the countryside and died, it probably wouldn’t make the news unless there was something suspicious about it. And now that he had resigned, there would be no reason for Kawase to ever find out.

It wasn’t his business. He had no obligation to care. Even knowing that the man might die, it wasn’t his responsibility. It could have been a lie anyway. It wasn’t his job to take responsibility for every action the man took.

Arisawa was speaking, but Kawase wasn’t listening. His thoughts were elsewhere.

I’m not at fault. He told himself that, but the unpleasant feeling inside his chest only grew.

Kawase came to a halt and suddenly bowed his head toward Arisawa.

"I’m sorry."

"Huh? What’s up?"

"I just remembered something urgent. I have to go."

Arisawa let out a shocked "What?"

"Come on, you can’t just leave now!"

"I’m really sorry," Kawase said, turning on his heel before Arisawa could stop him. The man's figure had already disappeared, but Kawase knew which direction he had gone. He took off running.

What was he doing? He was looking for the man, trying to find him—but then what? Would he be satisfied just by telling him, Don’t die? Did he only want to tell himself later, I tried to stop him, so that if the man really did die, he could use it as an excuse to absolve himself?

No matter how far he ran, the man was nowhere to be seen. There were too many intersections—he could have crossed to the other side of the street by now.

His pace slowed to a walk, then stopped altogether. As he caught his breath, he realized it was impossible to find him. But maybe, just maybe, the fact that he had even tried meant something.

After standing still for a moment, he turned toward the subway station.

It was only two stops from the office, yet he had rarely ever come this way. Large trucks rumbled down the main road in an unbroken line.

Just before the station entrance, a pedestrian bridge loomed ahead. Clicking his tongue in irritation, he climbed the stairs. He was already out of breath from running, and now the effort made his lungs burn.

There was no one else around.

As he reached the top, he saw someone standing by the railing. His steps came to an abrupt halt.

Under the dim glow of the streetlights, the man stood with his bag at his feet, head bowed slightly as he gazed down at the busy street below.

Kawase had been searching for him, had turned back just to say Don’t die. He had found what he was looking for—so why didn’t he feel relieved?

Not even a little.

The man placed both hands on the railing, leaning forward slightly as he peered down at the road below, where the endless hum of engines filled the air.

Just keep walking. Get off the bridge and go home.

As if responding to Kawase’s silent plea, the man finally moved. Relief washed over him for a brief moment—until the man took a few steps to the right and suddenly leaned forward, further over the railing.

He’s going to fall.

Before the thought had even fully formed, Kawase's body was already moving.

He dashed forward, grabbing the man’s suit jacket and yanking him backward with all his strength. The man’s hands slipped from the railing, and he collapsed onto the concrete with a heavy thud.

Blinking in surprise, he looked around, disoriented. Then, when his eyes met Kawase’s—he laughed.

"I seem quite drunk. I got dizzy while looking down," the man said, answering a question that hadn’t been asked.

"I almost died just now. Thank you."

If Kawase hadn’t already heard the man say he wanted to die, if he didn’t know that he was a habitual liar, he might have believed those words.

The man stood up, gave a small nod of gratitude, and crossed the pedestrian bridge. His figure disappeared down the stairs.

Kawase had stopped a man from dying. Wasn’t that enough? If he went looking for a second or third place to die, was it really Kawase’s responsibility to stop him again?

Unable to suppress the unease gnawing at his chest, he ran after him. The man descended the stairs and turned right.

"Where are you going?"

The man stopped and turned back slowly.

"I'm going home."

"Home? Where is that?"

"My hotel."

…Maybe this was where he should let it go. The man said he was going to his hotel—whether that was a lie or not, maybe it was fine to just let himself be deceived.

"You’re not planning to kill yourself after this, are you?"

A small laugh rumbled in the man's throat.

"I’m not going to die."

"But you were just about to jump off, weren’t you?"

"I told you, I was just drunk and got dizzy."

For a moment, Kawase almost believed him. But something felt off. He couldn’t tell what.

"…You’re lying, aren’t you?"

"It’s fine. I won’t die."

That was the exact answer Kawase had been waiting to hear.

"You don’t have to worry about anything. Sorry for dragging you into my life," the man said, turning away and walking again.

This should have been the end of it. And yet, Kawase couldn’t relax. A restless unease stirred in his chest. He couldn't take his eyes off the man's back.

If he was going to quit the company, fine. If he was going to die, fine.

…But if he was going to disappear, Kawase wished he had done so without ever showing up in front of him again, without exchanging words, without being seen.

He had opened a box he shouldn’t have. And now that he had seen what was inside, he couldn’t pretend otherwise.

I’m such an idiot… he muttered, chasing after the man once again, falling into step beside him.

"Which hotel are you staying at?"

"Who knows?"

"Don’t mess with me. Just tell me," Kawase demanded, grabbing the man’s arm.

Finally, the man stopped.

"A business hotel near the station."

"Which one?"

"What does it matter?"

"Just tell me!"

The man gave a hotel name. Kawase, still gripping his arm, pulled out his phone and searched for it. He called the front desk.

"Do you have a reservation under the name Shibaoka?"

"I’m sorry, but we have no reservation under that name."

I knew it. The realization spread like dark ink through his chest.

"The hotel says you’re not booked there."

Kawase had expected the man to at least flinch. But he remained perfectly composed.

"Oh, I must have gotten it wrong," he said nonchalantly.

"This time, it was actually the Chris Hotel."

Kawase called that hotel too.

"I’m sorry, but we have no reservation under that name."

The same response.

"You’re messing with me, aren’t you?!"

Kawase yanked his arm violently. The man furrowed his brow, muttering, "That hurts."

"When you get older, you start forgetting things. Oh, right… I was torn between the Chris Hotel and the Ikeya Hotel, and I ended up choosing Ikeya instead."

Holding back the urge to punch him, Kawase searched again. There was indeed an Ikeya Hotel—but it was in Gifu Prefecture.

"There’s no such hotel in Tokyo!"

"There is. A small, privately owned one."

The man exhaled and smiled faintly.

"…Can we be done now?"

The man shook off Kawase’s grip. Undeterred, Kawase stubbornly walked beside him. He knew that if he let the man go now, he would just spend the rest of the night agonizing over it at home.

The man ignored him and kept walking. About five minutes from the pedestrian bridge, he bought a ticket and boarded the Yamanote Line. Kawase trailed behind, telling himself it was pointless, that this wasn’t going to lead anywhere, but he still couldn’t bring himself to stop. What would it take for him to feel at peace? He had no idea.

The man sat down in an empty seat. Kawase stood a few steps away, watching. The train rattled along the tracks. The man tilted his head slightly and gazed out the window, occasionally glancing at his wristwatch as if checking the time.

He rode the train for half a loop around the Yamanote Line before getting off. After passing through the ticket gate, he came to a halt. He stood there for a while before turning right and walking forward, only to stop again and look up, as if searching for something.

Kawase noticed the subtle movements. The man had originally claimed he was staying in Tokyo for the night. Most people would assume that meant he had a hotel booked in advance. But would someone planning to die go to the trouble of making a reservation at a hotel they had no intention of actually staying in?

The man hadn’t just avoided telling him the name of his hotel—he simply didn’t have one.

Kawase strode toward him and grabbed the hem of his suit jacket.

"What is it?"

Ignoring the question, Kawase led him toward the guardrail. He raised his hand, and a taxi immediately pulled over. He pushed the man inside and slid in after him, giving the driver the address of his apartment. The taxi pulled away smoothly.

As the car moved through the city, Kawase turned his thoughts inward. What was he even doing? Bringing the man to his apartment, keeping him somewhere he could watch him—what was the point? He didn’t want him to die, but he had no illusions about being able to talk him out of it. If it were Kawase trying to reason with him, the man would never even admit he had attempted suicide in the first place.

Maybe the best course of action would be to let someone else handle it. Someone like Arisawa. As his old colleague and friend, Arisawa might be able to get the truth out of him.

…The man, for his part, didn’t ask why he was being put in a taxi. Just like on the train, he sat quietly, checking the time every so often, staring absently out the window.

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