The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 16

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Even when they arrived in front of the apartment, the man didn’t ask where they were. When Kawase told him to come inside, he followed without protest. Once inside, he stood there, glancing curiously around the room.

"Just sit wherever you like. I need to make a call."

Clutching his phone, Kawase stepped outside. Worried that his voice might carry in the hallway, he walked down the stairs and stopped near the bike racks, where he could still see his apartment door. Checking the time, he saw that it was nearly 11 PM.

He assumed Arisawa was still out drinking somewhere, but to his surprise, the call went unanswered. He sent a message, labeling it urgent, and waited. No response. He was at a loss—without getting through to Arisawa, there was nothing he could do.

After lingering outside for a while, Kawase finally decided to head back in. As he climbed the stairs, he saw his apartment door swing open. The man was stepping out.

"Where are you going?"

"The last trains will stop running soon."

The man spoke as he walked toward him.

"I asked you where you're actually going!"

"A hotel."

"You never booked a hotel in the first place, did you?"

He meant it as a final blow, but the man just let out a quiet sigh.

"I can still find a place to stay if I look. And if not, I’ll sleep in a park somewhere."

For someone who had lived in that garbage-strewn house, the idea of him actually sleeping in a park didn’t sound like an exaggeration.

"You don’t have to leave now. Just stay here for the night."

"Spend the night next to you? Spare me."

Heat rushed to Kawase’s head. That was his line. No one wanted to put up with this guy. His desperation to stop the man from killing himself cooled in an instant, and suddenly, he had no idea why he was even trying. If he wanted to die so badly, he could do as he pleased.

A siren blared as an ambulance rushed past. The piercing sound stole his attention for a moment, and when it faded, the boiling anger inside him dulled.

Kawase recalled that this was a man who knew exactly how to push people’s buttons. Maybe that comment had been a calculated move to provoke him—make him angry enough to back off. Words. It was always his lies and truths, twisted together, that sent Kawase spinning.

Fine. He wouldn’t listen anymore.

Without a word, he grabbed the man’s arm and pulled him back inside. The man remained standing in the entryway, unmoving, until Kawase ordered, "Hurry up and take off your shoes."

When he still didn’t budge, Kawase stepped up into the apartment, turned around, and lifted the man like a sack of luggage.

"Wh—hey!"

Ignoring the startled cry, he carried him down the hallway and dumped him onto the living room sofa. Then he grabbed the man's shoes, chucked them toward the front door, and watched as they clattered loudly against the metal frame.

Kawase walked into his bedroom, pulled a guest blanket from the closet, and tossed it onto the man's lap.

"Sleep there. It’s better than a park, at least."

Then he changed into his T-shirt and shorts, grabbed his own blanket and pillow, and sat down in the hallway in front of the kitchen.

If the man wanted to leave, he would have to pass through here. Kawase would be waiting.

His phone, still silent, lay beside him. He wrapped himself in the blanket and lay down.

The man remained seated on the sofa, motionless like a doll. He neither spoke nor made a move.

Just before midnight, he finally stood up. The blanket on his lap slid to the floor, forgotten.

He stepped forward, trying to walk right past Kawase.

Not a chance.

Kawase grabbed his leg, and the man toppled forward, landing hard on his stomach. Even then, he crawled, dragging himself toward the exit.

Kawase yanked him back, but the man kicked and thrashed, fighting for escape. One of those kicks sent Kawase’s phone skidding across the floor toward the sofa.

He had never resisted like this before—always slipping away, dodging confrontation, never outright struggling. But now, he was fighting.

Kawase straddled his back, grabbed both of his wrists, and tied them together behind him with the kitchen hand towel.

“Ah…”

The man let out a frail sound, as if only now realizing what had been done to him.

“Untie my arms.”

“No. If I let go, you’ll run out and die.”

“I won’t die. I promise.”

“I don’t trust your promises.”

“Enough of this,” the man muttered.

“You put me in that taxi. That should’ve been enough for you. Now let me go already.”

“Is ‘let go’ for you just another word for dying?”

“I don’t have time to waste talking nonsense with you. If you don’t hurry, today will end.”

For the first time, the man’s voice wavered.

“Please, I’m begging you. Untie me.”

Kawase ignored him. Then the man stuck out his tongue.

At first, Kawase thought he was joking. But he wasn’t. Panicked, he grabbed the man’s nose, cutting off his breath. He shoved the edge of the blanket into his mouth. The man tried to spit it out, but Kawase pinched his nose shut, forcing him to open his mouth wider. He shoved the fabric in deeper, sealing his lips shut.

A cold sweat ran down Kawase’s back. He had been about to bite off his own tongue. Only now did the weight of the man’s words—his determination to die—start to sink in. This was beyond something Kawase could handle alone. He needed to call an ambulance.

But his phone was still under the sofa, too far away. He couldn’t let go of the man’s mouth, and climbing off his back felt too dangerous. Yet if he didn’t move, nothing would change.

Keeping his right hand firmly pressed against the man’s face, Kawase used his left to pull off his own T-shirt. Wrapping it around the man’s mouth, he tied it securely behind his head as a makeshift gag.

Now with both hands free, Kawase unbuckled the man’s belt and tied his legs together. He was completely immobilized—there was no way he could kill himself now.

Kawase stood up from his back. The man, seeming to have resigned himself, lay still, unmoving.

Walking over to the sofa, Kawase picked up his phone and flipped it open. Midnight had already passed.

“The day’s over,” he muttered. “Just like you wanted.”

The man didn’t even lift his head. Kawase started dialing for an ambulance, but suddenly, the man’s complete lack of movement gnawed at him.

Something felt off.

“…Hey.”

No response.

“Hey, come on.”

Kawase turned him onto his back. The man’s glasses clattered to the floor. His head, without support, lolled limply like a doll’s. His eyes remained shut—so eerily still, it was as if he were dead.

“Hey… hey!”

He shook the man’s shoulders, slapped his cheek. Still, no reaction.

Panicked, he untied the T-shirt gag and pulled the wet blanket from his mouth. Even with it gone, the man didn’t close his lips. A string of white saliva dribbled from the corner of his mouth.

“No way…”

Did he die? From just that?

Frozen before the unmoving body, Kawase clenched his phone tightly, staring down at the man in disbelief.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Kawase was left waiting endlessly on the long bench in the general hospital corridor. Inside the ambulance, the paramedics had told him the man's breathing and pulse were normal, but his unease refused to fade. If he was breathing, if his heart was beating, then why wouldn’t he open his eyes? Why wouldn’t he wake up?

He had been careful not to block the man’s nose when covering his mouth. But what if, in the struggle, it had slipped and suffocated him? What if it had caused brain damage? Would he regain consciousness? And if he didn’t, would it be Kawase’s fault after all?

But if the man hadn’t resisted so much, if he hadn’t tried to bite off his tongue, Kawase wouldn’t have had to restrain him. He hadn’t done it on purpose.

If only he hadn't asked which country in the north the man was heading to at the izakaya. If only he hadn't chased after him after they left. If only he had pretended to believe the man when he said, after descending the pedestrian bridge, "I won’t die," and let him go. If only he hadn't demanded to know which hotel he was staying at. If only he hadn't brought him back to his own apartment. If only he had let him leave when he tried to go. Whether the man died or not was his own business. It had nothing to do with Kawase. Nothing at all...

The door to the examination room clicked open, and a young nurse peeked out.

"Is there someone here accompanying Shibaoka Yasuhiro-san?"

Kawase shot to his feet as if yanked by a string. He was ushered into the room, where a doctor, who looked to be around thirty, about Kawase’s own age, sat at a desk.

"Are you Shibaoka-san’s son?" the doctor asked.

"No, I’m a subordinate from his company," Kawase replied.

"Then, can you contact any of his family members?"

"I heard his parents have passed away. Whether he has siblings, I’d have to ask him."

"Any other relatives?"

"That, too… only he would know…"

Unable to hold back any longer, Kawase asked, "Uh, what… what’s his condition? I-Is there any brain damage because of me…?"

The nurse had already asked him what had happened. He had explained that the man had tried to bite off his tongue, and he had restrained him to prevent it.

The doctor glanced down at the chart.

"The test results show no abnormalities in the X-ray, MRI, or brain waves. His breathing, heartbeat, and blood pressure are all within normal ranges. The preliminary blood test results also indicate nothing unusual. In conclusion, we believe Shibaoka-san has simply fainted."

"…Fainted?"

The doctor gave a small nod.

"We won’t know for sure until he wakes up and we reassess his condition, but that is the most likely scenario for now."

"So… he’s okay?"

"If he wakes up and has no complaints, then yes."

Relief washed over him, but at the same time, his ears burned with embarrassment. He had caused such a commotion over something as trivial as fainting. And when he had called emergency services, the operator had asked, "Is he breathing?" "Does he have a pulse?" His hands had been shaking so much that he couldn’t even check.

After the conversation with the doctor ended, Kawase was taken to the treatment room where the man was sleeping. A narrow space partitioned by curtains, a small bed—the man lay there on his back. Now that Kawase knew he had only fainted, his sleeping face even looked peaceful, which felt strangely absurd.

At least nothing serious had happened. Kawase sat down on the folding chair the nurse had prepared, staring blankly at the man’s face.

…Was he relieved that he hadn’t injured the man? Or was he relieved that he hadn’t had to face the regret of having injured him?

With his tension finally breaking, Kawase dozed off in the chair while keeping watch over him.

“…Do you feel nauseous? Any dizziness?”

A quiet voice stirred him from sleep. It seemed morning had come; the floor around him was bathed in faint light. He lifted his head. The man had pushed himself halfway up in bed, with a nurse standing opposite him.

“No… I don’t feel anything like that. Um… where am I?”

The man asked in a low voice.

“This is a hospital. You were brought here last night in an ambulance. Do you not remember?”

The man ran a hand through his gray hair.

“I don’t remember. I don’t remember anything.”

The chair creaked softly as Kawase shifted, drawing the nurse’s attention. Their eyes met, and she immediately offered an apology.

“Sorry, I was trying to keep my voice down…”

Before Kawase could respond, the man answered instead.

“It’s fine. I can hear everything just fine even at that volume.”

Kawase and the nurse exchanged glances.

“And could you turn on the lights? It’s too dark in here—I can’t see anything. I’ve always had trouble with dark places.”

It wasn’t that dark. Dim, sure, but not so much that one couldn’t see. The nurse, puzzled, replied with a quick “Ah, sure,” and flipped the switch for the overhead lights. The room lit up in an instant.

“Um… did you turn on the lights already?”

Under the harsh, white glow of the fluorescent lamps, the man was asking her that with complete seriousness.

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