The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 12

Previous TOC Next

Since the branch's factory was located on a hill, both cars began their slow descent down the slope. The road had two lanes, but there wasn’t a single oncoming car in sight.

"Sorry, but could you take me back to that hotel?" Kawase asked.

The man glanced at him. "The one that caught fire?"

"Yeah."

"Did you forget something there?"

"They've opened up the dining hall for guests who can’t stay in their rooms anymore. I figured I'd rest there for the night."

"You already checked out, though. And got a refund."

The man's words were blunt, and Kawase had no retort. The moment Taguchi had offered to pick him up, he had settled the bill and checked out.

"Isn't that a little shameless?"

It was exactly what he had been dreading someone would say, and hearing it out loud left him speechless. At the bottom of the hill, Taguchi’s SUV turned right, while the man's sedan veered left. As soon as the SUV disappeared from view, an unexpected wave of unease washed over Kawase.

"It’s just for one night. Bear with it."

The man's voice was soothing, almost coaxing, and that alone confirmed it—he knew. He knew full well that Kawase didn't want to be here.

Six years’ worth of memories, long buried, came rushing back. The coerced sex. The accident in the back alley. The ugly, twisted history between them. Just sitting in this car together felt fundamentally wrong.

Kawase didn't want to talk. Didn't want to be involved. He kept his eyes fixed on the darkness outside the passenger window, deliberately avoiding looking at the man beside him. The man, too, remained silent. The air in the car was taut, like an invisible wire stretched to its limit.

The road was dimly lit, with only the occasional streetlight to break the darkness. Kawase shifted his right foot, and it knocked against something. He nudged it absently with his toes, realizing in the faint light that it was an empty plastic bottle. There was another bottle rolling near his feet, along with a crumpled plastic bag. …Disgusting.

Back at headquarters, the man had always worn high-quality suits with effortless elegance, his shirts immaculate, not a single stain in sight. Kawase recalled how the female employees used to whisper about how even his nails were meticulously groomed. But if this man was the kind who could blackmail a younger subordinate into sleeping with him, then maybe beneath that polished surface, he had always been this crude, this messy.

The turn signal flicked on, and Kawase flinched. He thought they had arrived at the man’s house, but instead, the car pulled into a convenience store parking lot.

"I don’t have any food at home. If you need breakfast or anything else, buy it here. There won’t be any stores past this point."

Kawase stepped out of the car. The man didn’t follow. He wandered the aisles, grabbing a loaf of bread, a bottle of tea, a fresh pair of underwear, and a towel. Just being out of that car, away from that suffocating tension, was such a relief that he stalled for as long as he could, pretending to browse. But then, the store’s speakers began playing Auld Lang Syne. It was almost midnight. He had no choice but to head to the register.

After leaving the convenience store, they drove through the city for a while, but eventually, the road led to the coast. The dark ocean stretched out beside them, its waves barely visible under the pale glow of the moon. The sand shimmered faintly in the dim light.

The scenery blurred past the window, and Kawase thought the car felt fast. He glanced at the speedometer and felt his stomach drop—110 kilometers per hour (68m/h). This wasn’t a highway.

He didn’t want to speak. He had been trying to endure it, but when the needle crept past 120, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

"You’re going too fast," he said.

The man didn’t respond. The speedometer climbed higher. A chill ran down Kawase’s spine, and he snapped, "Slow the hell down!"

"Hm? Oh… yeah."

The absentminded response irritated him even more, but at least the speed started dropping. Even then, it only went down to 90.

"Follow the speed limit," he said sharply.

Finally, the car settled at 60. The scenery outside moved at an almost sluggish pace, making it feel unnaturally slow, but that was just an illusion. This was normal.

"Sorry," the man murmured. "I always drive like this when I’m heading home."

Kawase didn’t bother responding to the excuse. More than just excessive speed, the man was, quite frankly, a terrible driver. His braking was always delayed. Even on this rural road, there were traffic lights, their red glow visible from far away, yet he never started slowing down until the last possible moment. As a result, Kawase was thrown forward multiple times, only saved from slamming into the dashboard by his seatbelt.

By the time they reached the man’s house, Kawase was half-convinced they would crash and die before arriving. Just then, a brightly lit sign appeared to the right, outlined in fluorescent light. HOTEL America – Turn Right 50m Ahead. The letters flickered in his peripheral vision.

Given the man sitting beside him, even seeing a love hotel sign made Kawase deeply uncomfortable. Just as he was thinking that, the right turn signal clicked on, and his stomach clenched.

HOTEL America came into view. The man switched his signal—this time to the left. He was turning in. No mistake about it, he was trying to pull into the hotel’s parking lot.

Before Kawase could even think, his body moved on instinct. His hand shot out, grabbing the steering wheel and yanking it hard to the right.

Tires screeched violently against the pavement. The car spun sharply, crossing into the opposite lane, stopping just short of crashing into the guardrail.

Breathing heavily, Kawase clutched the steering wheel, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The man sat there, eyes wide with shock, but Kawase didn’t wait. He glared at him before throwing the door open and bolting outside.

He ran, retracing the road they had taken. The dimly lit sidewalk was lined with rusted guardrails, the streetlights sparse. He sprinted blindly through the darkness, his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Why the hell am I thirty years old, running through some rural town in Hokkaido, in the middle of the night? The sheer absurdity of it all made tears well up in his eyes, and before he knew it, he was sobbing, sniffling like a lost child. A crushing loneliness seeped into his bones.

His legs eventually grew tired, his pace slowing until he was merely walking. He had no idea where he was. His phone and wallet were still in the car, left behind on the passenger seat. He should have at least grabbed his belongings, but at that moment, he hadn’t been thinking.

The distant hum of an approaching car made his pulse jump. He didn’t need to turn around to know—it was him. He kept walking, not stopping, not acknowledging the vehicle that crept alongside him at a crawl.

“There aren’t any taxis around here,” the man’s voice finally came, low and even.

Kawase ignored him.

“You need to stop this nonsense.” The exasperated tone made his blood boil.

“That’s my damn line!” Kawase spun around and shouted, though his voice shook.

“You always resort to reckless actions,” the man said, his voice unnervingly calm. “Did you really think I was going to do something to you at the hotel? Even if I had taken you there, without your consent, I couldn’t do anything. …You’re stronger than me.”

Kawase stopped walking. The car also came to a halt.

“I thought you’d rather stay there,” the man continued. “You don’t want to come to my house, do you?”

Kawase let out a breath, lowering his gaze. “…Then you should’ve just said that from the start.”

“You seemed too tense. It was hard to bring up.”

Being made to feel like it was his fault was unbearable. It sounded like he was the one being unreasonable.

“If there’s a room available, you can stay,” the man said. “I’ll come pick you up in the morning.”

Spending the night alone in a love hotel was ridiculous, but spending it alone with him was worse. Without a word, Kawase gave a shallow nod.

“Get in,” the man said.

Kawase slid back into the passenger seat, and the car turned around, retracing the very road he had run down in desperation just moments ago. Watching his own misplaced rage from a detached perspective was beyond humiliating—it was torture.

The hotel entrance had a low archway leading to an attached parking area, with staircases connecting directly to the rooms above. It was a typical system—if there were no open parking spots, it meant the hotel was full. Judging by the lack of empty spaces, there were no available rooms.

The man circled the parking lot before pulling out again.

“Not everyone here is staying overnight,” he muttered. “If we wait an hour, a room should open up.”

He parked along the roadside beside the hotel.

They waited.

Thirty minutes passed. Not a single car left.

Instead, several passing vehicles slowed down, their drivers peering into the car with blatant curiosity. Two men sitting outside a love hotel—it was an obvious spectacle.

Kawase gritted his teeth, ran a hand through his hair, and yanked at it in frustration.

"Is your house close from here?" Kawase asked, his voice unusually stiff.

The man turned his head slowly. "About ten minutes."

"If it's just to sleep, your place is fine," Kawase muttered.

A brief silence took over the car.

"My place is a mess," the man finally said.

It was hard to tell if he was telling Kawase not to come or if he was just being modest. His face betrayed nothing.

"I don’t care about that," Kawase replied.

That seemed to settle it. The car started moving again, retracing its path back to the intersection before turning onto the coastal road. After a while, it veered left onto a smaller path. A few meters in, another left turn brought them before a faintly visible single-story house, where the car finally came to a stop in what seemed to be the front yard. For someone holding the title of company president, the house was small and run-down. Then again, with the surrounding darkness, it was hard to make out clearly.

"I need to tidy up a bit. Wait in the car for a moment," the man said before stepping out.

The moment Kawase was left alone, he let out a deep sigh. Maybe he should have just stayed at a hotel. But waiting there had been its own kind of hell.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. The man never came back for him. Growing impatient, Kawase got out of the car. The shadows of trees swayed under the moonlight, the wind rustling through the branches. It was a little cold. The rhythmic crashing of waves told him the sea was close, though buildings blocked his view. He took a few steps through the dimly lit yard when the sliding door rattled open. The man finally appeared.

"Sorry to keep you waiting. Come in," he said.

As Kawase pulled his bag from the car, he suddenly realized how dry his throat was. He was tense. If anything happens, I’m stronger. I can handle it. He had been trying to convince himself of that, but the moment he laid eyes on the dimly lit entrance, his confidence vanished.

"It’s messy, but don’t mind that. I cleared a space for you to sleep," the man said.

When a woman invites you over and says, It’s a little messy, it’s usually just a modest excuse, and the place turns out to be spotless. But in this case, the man wasn’t exaggerating. Not even a little.

The tiny entryway was buried under layers of stacked cardboard boxes and old newspapers, leaving only a narrow gap just wide enough for one person to pass through. The piles reached up to his waist. Is this… a storage room? Kawase thought in disbelief as he watched the man step onto the hallway still wearing his shoes, only to remember belatedly and kick them off—placing them on top of yet another heap of boxes.

And it wasn’t just the entrance. The hallway beyond was just as bad. Newspapers, plastic bags, old magazines—somewhere between garbage and not quite garbage—covered the floor, making it completely invisible. The only reason there was any kind of path was that the middle had been trampled down over time, while the sides had built up into mounds, forming a sort of trash corridor.

Kawase stood frozen in the doorway. He couldn’t step in. No, more than that—he didn’t want to.

"If your things are wet, don’t worry about it. As you can see, this place is already a disaster," the man said, seemingly mistaking Kawase’s hesitation as concern for his luggage.

That wasn’t it. His own place wasn’t particularly neat either, but this was beyond messy. It was sick. Still, maybe the filth was limited to just the hallway and entrance. The rooms themselves might be better. The man had said he cleared a space.

Steeling himself, Kawase removed his shoes and carefully placed them atop a pile of boxes. Leaving them on the floor felt like an invitation for them to be swallowed by the abyss.

"This is the living room," the man announced.

The moment Kawase laid eyes on it, he felt his last hope shatter.

The place was no different from the hallway. No, it was worse.

In the center of the room was a sofa set, but the floor was nowhere to be seen. Layers of crumpled paper, plastic bags, newspapers, and clothes had built up, raising the ground level noticeably. The only part of the furniture visible above the filth was the seat cushions.

Looking at the sheer volume of accumulated trash, Kawase had the eerie realization that if someone told him there were a couple of corpses buried under there, he might actually believe it.

“There should be another futon somewhere, but as you can see, I haven’t been able to find it. Would you prefer the sofa or the futon I’m using?”

“…The sofa is fine.”

“Alright then. I’ll try to find a blanket for you. The toilet is next to the kitchen, and the bath is further back. If you find a dry towel, feel free to use it… Oh, and if you need to do laundry, the washing machine is in the room next to the changing area.”

The man spoke as he walked, but his foot got caught in the pile of trash, and he nearly lost his balance. He barely managed to regain his footing before toppling over.

“I’ll be sleeping in that room over there.”

He pointed toward the adjoining room, where, in the only spot untouched by the encroaching piles of trash, a thin futon was spread out.

“There’s a partition between this room and that one, but there’s too much stuff piled up for the door to close. I’m afraid I’ll have to leave it open.”

Saying this, the man shuffled into the next room and stood in front of a closet. He tried to slide the door open, but it only moved halfway. Trash wedged into the tracks was blocking it. Realizing this, he crouched down and began clearing away the garbage. With the obstruction gone, the door finally budged—only for an avalanche of clutter to come tumbling out.

Buried beneath the pile, the man had fallen flat on his back. Amidst the chaos, Kawase spotted the corner of a futon. Slowly, the man stirred, digging himself out and grabbing the blanket before making his way back to the living room.

“This should do. The nights can get pretty cold here, so it’s better to have something thick.”

“…Th—thank you…”

The blanket handed to him was yellowed and carried a faint but distinct musty smell. The man exhaled lightly.

“I’m going to sleep now. I’ll leave the light on in the other room, so it might be a little bright, but you’ll have to bear with it. You can do whatever you like in here.”

With a small yawn, the man walked back to his futon—his little oasis in the sea of trash. Without hesitation, he shrugged off his jacket, unbuckled his belt, and stepped out of his work pants. He tossed them onto the mountain of garbage at his feet, leaving himself in just his undershirt and boxers, then slid under the covers. The only thing he handled with care was his glasses, which he placed neatly beside his pillow. Meanwhile, Kawase, left alone in the ruins of the living room, struggled to process the reality surrounding him.

Was he really expected to sleep here? Apparently so.

He had seen TV specials about people who couldn’t clean up after themselves, and this house was exactly like that. At work, this man maintained a perfectly normal appearance, carried himself with dignity, and got his job done. But outside of that—his driving, his home life—everything was a complete mess.

The only reason Kawase could tolerate this level of filth was because it was just for one night. It was late, and he was exhausted. Still, he had to take a shower.

The man had said to use whatever he needed, and at this point, it seemed ridiculous to be considerate in a hoarder’s den. So, without hesitation, he headed for the bath. Given the state of the house, he wasn’t expecting much. But when he stepped inside, he found the bathroom surprisingly clean—or at least, clean by comparison. The walls and floor were stained from years of neglect, but there was no trash piled up. It was a small relief.

…The bath mat, however, was another story. It was a dull brown, though the lighter areas around the edges suggested it had once been a cream color. Disgusted, Kawase resolved not to step on it, even though he knew it was a pointless struggle. He dried himself while standing on tiptoe.

After showering, dressed in just a T-shirt and boxers, he returned to the living room. The thought of walking barefoot across the trash-covered floor made his skin crawl, but there were no slippers, so he had no choice.

He retreated to his designated safe zone—the sofa—and sat down. The clock showed it was nearly 2 AM. Letting out a breath, he lay down and pulled the musty blanket over himself. He didn’t bother turning off the light. He was used to sleeping with it on during overnight shifts at the office.

For all its horrors, the hoarder’s den wasn’t entirely unbearable. The one saving grace was that there was no overpowering stench. At the very least, it seemed the man was diligent about disposing of food waste.

As soon as he lay down, sleepiness washed over him. Drifting in and out of consciousness, he was suddenly jolted awake by the rustling of something nearby. His eyes snapped open just in time to see the man—still dressed in a wrinkled dress shirt and underwear—shuffle past him like a ghost. It seemed he was just heading to the restroom.

The man sluggishly rubbed his eyes as he made his way back, but just as he reached the room, he wobbled, lost his balance, and dove face-first into the pile of trash. At first, Kawase found it almost comical, something out of a slapstick routine, but when the man remained completely still, he started to worry.

“Hey,” he called out.

No response. Kawase sat up on the sofa.

“Are you feeling sick or something?”

Finally, the man lifted his head, let out a deep sigh, and simply sat there on top of the garbage. Realizing he had been ignored, irritation bubbled up inside Kawase.

“When someone calls you, the least you could do is answer.”

The man slowly turned to look at him, his eyes bloodshot.

“It just felt like too much effort,” he murmured. “I figured I’d just sleep right here.”

There were certainly people who didn’t care about anything, but this man took it to a whole new level. Kawase couldn't hold it in any longer.

“You should clean this place up a little. I know I’m the guest here, but this place is disgusting.”

The man lazily scratched his graying hair.

“That’s why I thought you’d be better off staying at a hotel,” he said.

Kawase fell silent. So he was at least aware of how bad the situation was. He just didn’t care enough to do anything about it.

“I’ve always been terrible at cleaning,” the man continued. “My mother used to take care of everything for me, so I never really learned how.”

“You’re not a kid. You know throwing things out will clean the place up, don’t you? This is beyond messy—it’s abnormal.”

The man’s shoulders shook—he was laughing.

“You’re right. I am abnormal.”

Without another word, he pushed aside the pile of garbage and returned to his futon. He had brushed off Kawase’s frustration as if it were nothing, choosing instead to label himself as "abnormal" and move on. Anything Kawase said would just be deflected, leaving him seething. Snorting in frustration, he yanked the blanket up to his chin.

Anger kept his nerves on edge, preventing him from falling asleep. But exhaustion from the long day eventually overpowered it, dragging him under.

In his dreams, a kitten rubbed against his legs. He reached down to pet its small head, but suddenly, it bit his foot.

“Ugh—what the hell?!”

A sharp pain shot through him, and he jolted upright, eyes darting around the room.

In the dim light, a small gray creature stared at him from the corner. The moment their eyes met, it scurried away, rustling through the piles of trash.

He looked down at his foot—small red bite marks dotted his skin. For a moment, he was too stunned to speak.

…A rat.

A rat had bitten him.

Unbelievable.

Furious, Kawase kicked the trash aside and stormed toward the entrance of the adjacent room.

“…What’s wrong?”

The man looked at him with sleep-clouded eyes, barely open.

“Give me the keys.”

The man blinked. “Keys?”

“The car keys.”

“At this hour? What for?”

He let out a short, bitter laugh through his nose.

“I’m going to sleep in the car. I have no intention of dying from a rat bite. And you—stop hiding behind your whole ‘I’m just abnormal’ excuse and clean up this damn place for once!”

The man, watching Kawase’s tirade with a vacant expression, finally gave a sluggish nod.

“…The car key? It’s by the entrance. To the left as soon as you walk in, hanging on the wall hook… don’t lose it.”

That was all he needed to hear. Kawase turned on his heel, grabbed a musty blanket, and stepped out into the hallway.

With the backs of his shoes still crushed under his heels, he headed outside and climbed into the car. He tried to recline the passenger seat, but the bags and junk piled in the back got in the way. Frustrated, he grabbed half the mess and threw it out onto the ground.

Finally, the seat lay flat. Bundled in the blanket, Kawase regretted not doing this sooner. If he’d just moved to the car from the start instead of putting up with that trash heap, he wouldn’t have had to deal with getting bitten by a damn rat.

The old car’s seats were too soft, and his back would probably ache in the morning.

But it was still infinitely better than that filthy room.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

His body didn’t quite fit, making it impossible to get comfortable. Whether because of that or something else, his sleep was shallow, and each time he turned over, he woke up. He drifted in and out of sleep until just before dawn, when he finally slipped into something deeper.

By the time he woke up, the sun was nearly overhead. The harsh sunlight pressing against his face pried his eyelids open. As he squirmed, wondering why everything felt so cramped, the memory of last night—the miserable night when a rat had bitten his toe—came rushing back.

Wanting to check the time, he instinctively raised his wrist to his face.

…He had forgotten that he’d taken off his watch.

Looking around, he spotted the car’s analog clock: 11:30 AM.

He sat up and glanced outside. That man had stepped out onto the front porch. A dress shirt, an undershirt, and sandals—straight out of bed, just like that. Kawase wanted to tell him to at least put on some damn pants. It was his own yard, sure, but that didn’t mean no one else would show up.

The man set a large garbage bag down in the yard before heading back inside.

Taking a closer look, Kawase noticed nearly twenty semi-transparent garbage bags stacked outside. It had been too dark to tell last night, but had all of that been there yesterday?

Today was the day they were moving to the next event venue. Leaving on the day of the event itself would mean they wouldn’t make it in time for setup, so they were scheduled to gather at the branch office at 2:00 PM before departing.

He had mocked the pants-less man plenty, but he himself was in nothing but a T-shirt and boxers. He had no desire to set foot back in that rat-infested house, but his pants were in there. He also needed to wash his face.

Resigned, Kawase made his way toward the entrance—only to stop short, eyes widening at the sight before him.

The front entryway, which yesterday had barely been wide enough for a single person to squeeze through, was now completely cleared. But what truly shocked him was the hallway—he could see the floor. It was grimy and darkened with age, but he could tell the parquet flooring had a checkerboard pattern.

For a moment, he wondered if the horrendous trash-filled house from yesterday had all been a hallucination. In disbelief, he hesitantly stepped up into the hallway, still clutching his bedding, and peeked into the living room. The towering piles of garbage that had once reached the height of the sofa had thinned, as if a massive vacuum cleaner had sucked them away.

He heard rustling sounds. Peering into the back room, he saw the man crouched in the corner, hunched over, grabbing random objects and shoving them into a garbage bag without any discernible method.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Kawase demanded.

The man's hands froze. Slowly, he turned around.

“Ah… good morning.”

His red-rimmed eyes met Kawase’s before darting away, wandering around the room until finally settling on the clock on the wall.

“We’ll be leaving here by one o’clock, so make sure you’re ready.”

“I asked you what the hell you’re doing!!!”

The man lifted the garbage bag in his hands slightly.

“Cleaning.”

“...I knew it.”

Kawase muttered under his breath, only to be met with, “You can see what I’m doing, so why bother asking?” The offhand remark made his temper flare.

“When did you start doing this?”

The man rolled his shoulders and shook his head lightly.

“I don’t remember. I just suddenly felt like I needed to do something about this room.”

“No matter how much it bothered you, this isn’t something you had to clean up so obsessively overnight. Is this some kind of passive-aggressive dig at me?”

The man blinked at him, seemingly taken aback.

“I’ve always thought I should clean up. I even had garbage bags ready.”

Kawase stopped talking and stormed off toward the washroom. He splashed water on his face and brushed his teeth aggressively. That amount of trash… there was no way the man had done all this in the morning. He had to have been up all night cleaning. Because I called it disgusting.

Disgust churned in his stomach. He hated it—hated everything about this. If he wanted to clean, he should’ve done it after I was gone. Instead, it felt like some kind of twisted display, like he was silently declaring, See? I’m trying. But only because you said something. It was sickening.

Since the man was still in the living room, Kawase changed in the laundry room. He hesitated, wondering if the shirt from yesterday reeked of sweat, but he had no choice. He stepped back slightly to check his upper body in the mirror.

“You can wear casual clothes,” a voice said behind him.

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest.

“It’s just a travel day, after all.”

How long had he been standing there? Had he been watching him change? A cold shudder ran down his spine. Grabbing his things in a hurry, he bolted from the laundry room, hastily stuffing his belongings into his bag before escaping outside.

The yard was small, separated from the neighboring house by a low hedge. Beneath it was a flowerbed bordered by bricks, though he couldn’t tell if the small flowers blooming there were planted intentionally or just weeds.

A laundry pole stood at an oddly low height. It didn’t seem designed for the man’s stature. Its metal frame was rusted and half-collapsed. Kawase vaguely recalled hearing that the man had returned to Hokkaido to care for his grandmother, but standing here now, he couldn’t sense any trace of another person living in this filthy house.

The sun was shining, but the wind was dry and crisp. Standing in the shade sent a chill through his skin. As he wandered the yard, his stomach growled. Checking his watch, he saw that it was already past noon. He retrieved the bread and tea he had bought the night before from the car. Sitting down on the brick ledge, he started to open the bag but froze mid-motion.

The sound of waves.

A steady whoosh, whoosh echoed in the distance. The sea was close.

Stepping onto the narrow street in front of the house, he finally noticed what had been hidden in the dark the night before—a seawall, just beyond the neighboring house, with a set of stairs leading up to it.

The concrete steps were weathered, their edges rounded and darkened with age. He climbed them quickly, and as he reached the top, the view of the ocean spread out before him.

…It was vast.

The sand below was not quite white but more of a dull gray, stretching endlessly along the shore. The sky was clear, yet the sea itself had a muted, almost somber color.

Having grown up along the coastline of Yokohama, Kawase had always been familiar with the sea. But compared to the waters there, the northern ocean seemed somehow… faded.

…Maybe it was just his own mind projecting loneliness onto this place, convincing himself it was melancholic.

Kawase sat on the seawall, eating his bread as he gazed out at the dull-colored sea. Despite the vastness of the ocean before him, the beach was completely deserted. Nearby, there was only the man’s house and two others beyond it, while on the other side of the seawall, a dense thicket of trees stretched into the distance. The sea was wide, the wind carried the salty scent of the tide, and the air felt pleasant. But with nothing but the sound of wind and waves, he felt as if he had been abandoned here alone, a quiet loneliness settling in his chest.

“Kawase-kun.”

He turned around to find the man standing behind him. His graying hair was neatly combed, and he wore a clean, light-colored shirt and well-fitted trousers. It was almost hard to believe this was the same person who had spent the night cleaning in nothing but a wrinkled shirt, living in a house buried under trash. He looked like a creature from an entirely different world.

“People really can change their appearance,” Kawase muttered.

The man tilted his head slightly. “Change their appearance?”

“When you're dressed like that, no one would believe you live in a hoarder's den.”

It was meant as a jab, but the man simply smiled. “It’s just a habit I’ve had for a long time. As long as what’s visible to others doesn’t offend them, most people will tolerate anything. So, I adapt—like camouflage.”

A strong gust of wind blew past, tousling his white hair, making it almost translucent in the sunlight.

“If how you present yourself outside is just camouflage, then does that mean that filthy house is your true nature?”

The man let out a laugh, loud and unreserved. “You’re amusing.”

“What’s so amusing?”

He pressed his thumb lightly against his cheek, considering. “Explaining what I find amusing would take time, and even if I did, I’m not sure you’d understand.”

“I already don’t understand a damn thing you’re saying.”

“I’ve always liked that about you—your ordinary way of thinking.”

It felt like they were having a conversation, yet at the same time, they weren’t. Talking to him never led anywhere, never reached a conclusion.

“It’s a little early, but we should get going soon. There’s a bit of trouble.”

“Trouble?”

“I’ll explain in the car.”

The man descended from the seawall first. Kawase followed and got into the car. As soon as he settled into the passenger seat, the man started the engine without another word.

The sea had looked like a murky shade of blue from the seawall, and through the car window, it was the same color still.

Previous TOC Next