The Moon’s Ship That Crosses The Night: Chapter 6

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Kawase arrived at the restaurant where the farewell party was being held after eight o’clock. The tatami-floored private room of the Japanese-style izakaya was packed with nearly thirty people—almost everyone from sales had shown up. Scanning the room, he spotted an empty seat next to Nunomiya. It was far from him, and that alone brought a quiet sense of relief.

“You’re late,” Nunomiya remarked, his face flushed red from drinking.

“The client took forever to finish talking,” Kawase lied. The truth was, he had deliberately arrived late to avoid being in the same space as him.

“I even sent you a message on your phone.”

“Sorry, I left it at home,” he admitted. That part wasn’t a lie.

Nunomiya let out an exaggerated groan, shrugging his shoulders. “Dude, that’s unacceptable for someone in sales.”

“I’m dreading checking my missed calls when I get back.”

As he spoke, Kawase settled into his seat. He was sitting at the head of the table, chatting idly as a female employee poured him beer. Kawase didn’t want to hear his voice, yet somehow, the voices of people you despise always manage to cut through the noise. It grated on his ears.

He shoved his right hand into the pocket of his suit, fingers finding the cheap folding knife inside. His one and only, albeit meager, ally. He ran his fingertips over it over and over, as if tracing the edge of his thoughts.

“Here, have a drink,” Nunomiya said, holding out a beer bottle.

Kawase hastily grabbed his glass.

“You know, this whole thing with Shibaoka’s transfer happened so suddenly, right? Apparently, Inasaka from the Procurement Department was supposed to be the one moving to the Hokkaido branch, but he ended up quitting the company out of nowhere, so Shibaoka was chosen instead.”

Watching the foam rise in his glass, Kawase gave a halfhearted “Oh, really?” in response.

"This is something I heard from a guy in another department, but apparently, headquarters didn’t want to let department head Shibaoka go. But he insisted on transferring. He’s from Hokkaido, and his maternal grandmother lives there, so he had already put in a request to move for some time. Seems like she hasn’t been doing well, and it was the perfect opportunity for him."

A transfer for caregiving… On the surface, it made him sound like a kind grandson who cared about his family. But that man wasn’t so noble. He was the lowest kind of person—someone who used his position to prey on the weak. Kawase drained his beer in one go, the glass filled to the brim just moments ago.

"Shibaoka has been in sales for a long time, hasn’t he? The Hokkaido branch mainly handles raw material imports. Can he even work in a completely different field like that?"

Throwing out a subtle jab, Kawase watched as Nunomiya blinked in surprise and tilted his head. "You didn’t know?"

"Shibaoka started in the procurement department when he first joined. He was so competent that upper management rotated him every two or three years—manufacturing, logistics, product planning—he’s worked in almost every department we have. He was a fast-track executive candidate from the start."

“Ah… I see.” That was all Kawase could say. After his first drink, he paced himself carefully—he didn’t want to make any mistakes with alcohol clouding his mind.

The man drank in good spirits. During the farewell speech, some of the female employees even broke into tears. Kawase, however, watched the entire scene with cold, detached eyes.

The first party wrapped up past nine o’clock. There was talk of a second round, but the man politely declined, saying he still had to finish packing. There was less than a week left before the end of the month—his official transfer date.

Arms full of bouquets, he started walking with a few people from the department. Kawase let some distance grow between them before following behind. When they reached a crosswalk, the man separated from the group and headed east. The others continued toward the subway station, but Shibaoka didn’t seem to take that train line.

He strolled leisurely down the well-lit night streets. A small park came into view, with only two or three pieces of playground equipment. He stepped inside and came to a sudden stop.

One by one, he tossed the bouquets into a trash bin, the flowers rustling as they fell.

Kawase stood frozen in disbelief.

For someone living alone and moving in a few days, flowers might just be a nuisance. But even so, did this man lack even the smallest bit of consideration to take them home? That glimpse of his true nature—the one hidden behind his amiable façade—felt revolting.

Exiting the park, he turned onto a back street where the streetlights were sparse. Past the convenience store, there were barely any pedestrians, and cars rarely passed by.

Kawase closed the distance in one stride.

The man didn’t turn around. Maybe he was aware of someone approaching from behind, but he didn’t seem to care.

Kawase stepped right up to him and grabbed his thin shoulders.

The man stopped and turned, eyes widening as he recognized Kawase’s face.

"You…"

"Apologize!"

Kawase shouted.

"Get on your knees and apologize!"

The man blinked a few times, his mouth slightly open. Then, his eyes narrowed, and he pressed a hand to his lips, stifling a chuckle.

The laughter spread. Gradually at first, then growing louder, shaking his shoulders. No excuses, no pleas—just laughter.

Before anger even took hold, the sight of him laughing like a demon made Kawase feel sick.

"What the hell are you laughing at?"

"Oh, nothing. I just thought—if I get on my knees, you’ll forgive me?"

His voice carried the remnants of laughter, light and mocking.

The moment Kawase realized he was being ridiculed, his vision turned red.

He grabbed the man's collar and struck him without mercy.

A dull thud rang out. The man’s head jerked violently to the right, and he staggered backward, heels catching on the curb that separated the sidewalk from the road.

What happened next was like watching a series of slow-motion frames.

The man toppled backward into the street.

The roar of an approaching car.

Blinding headlights.

"A—"

Kawase’s voice was drowned out by the sharp screech of brakes. A dull thud rang out as a human body bounced like a rubber ball and was flung all the way to the opposite sidewalk. A black van came to a stop. After a brief silence, the engine roared to life once more. The black vehicle began to move.

“Huh? Wait—”

Ignoring Kawase’s voice, the car sped off at full throttle. Now that only them remained, an unnatural stillness settled over the scene, as if nothing had happened at all. The man who had been hit and Kawase. The man lay sprawled by the roadside across the street, utterly motionless.

…He might be dead.

Thump, thump. His own heartbeat pounded in his ears, unbearably loud. He clenched his molars together, but his teeth chattered violently.

This… this wasn’t his fault. He wasn’t to blame.

He glanced around. No one was there. His legs moved. He ran. Ran. Ran away, fled, escaped—he had to get away before anyone saw him.

He had no idea how far he ran. But before he knew it, a private railway station loomed ahead. Kawase stopped in front of a vending machine, panting, breath ragged. The department head—he’s dead, dead, dead. After getting hit, he hadn’t moved an inch. He hadn’t even groaned. Blood… was there blood? He had been too far away to tell.

It wasn’t like he meant to kill him. He had hated him enough to want him dead, but he hadn’t planned on actually killing him. The knife had only been for intimidation.

He shoved a hand into his pocket and pulled out his frail little partner—the blade he had carried for threats alone—and tossed it into the vending machine’s trash bin.

He wasn’t necessarily dead. Maybe he was just injured. If so… then instead of running, shouldn’t he have stayed and called an ambulance?

Panicked, he fumbled for his phone. It wasn’t there. The more he searched, the more frantic he became—until he remembered. He had deliberately left it at home today.

He sprinted toward the station and grabbed the public phone outside.

“…S-Someone got h-hit by a car… p-please, send an ambu—”

His voice shook.

“We understand. Can you tell us your location?”

The operator’s voice was calm and composed.

“I-it’s… on a back street sidewalk…”

“Do you know the address?”

“How the hell should I know that!?”

His voice cracked.

“Please try to remain calm. Do you see any address plates on nearby houses or utility poles? If there’s a convenience store nearby, that could serve as a landmark. Otherwise, is there anyone around who might know the location?”

Kawase slammed the receiver down and rushed toward a middle-aged woman passing by. He grabbed her arm.

“Wh-what!?”

Her eyes filled with fear as she glanced between her arm and Kawase.

“I—I need to call an ambulance! Down that road… w-what’s this place called?”

“That area’s Karatsu.”

The moment he heard that, Kawase dashed back to the payphone and pressed the receiver to his ear.

“It’s—it’s called Karatsu! Just past the convenience store, a little ahead—”

“I understand. Can you provide your name and a contact number?”

Kawase froze.

“Who cares about me!? Just get there now!”

The operator hesitated for a beat, then continued.

“Can you tell us the injured person’s condition? If you call out to them, do they respond?”

How the hell was he supposed to know? He had abandoned the man after he got hit.

“J-just get there already!” With that, he slammed the phone down, cutting the call short.

He stumbled back to the vending machine and collapsed onto the ground, his whole body shaking. He couldn’t stop thinking about the man who had been hit. But going back was terrifying. Time stretched on, passing without meaning. No ambulance had passed down the road in front of him yet.

“Oi, what the hell is taking so long?!” He lifted his head and shouted into the empty night. Did they think it was just a prank because he had hung up so suddenly? But so much time had passed—someone else must have found the man by now. They must have called an ambulance.

…But that street was nearly deserted. Hardly any cars or pedestrians passed through.

He didn’t want to go back. But he couldn’t go home, either. There was nowhere to go.

He had no idea how long he had been sitting there. Eventually, the trembling stopped, and sluggishly, Kawase got to his feet. The road he had run down in a blind panic—he now walked back along it at a crawl, as if dragging himself forward.

As he neared the scene, flickering red lights came into view. A single patrol car sat at the edge of the road. A uniformed officer was speaking with a young woman in a suit. Cars crept by at a slow pace, their drivers peering at the scene before moving on. The man who had been thrown onto the street was nowhere to be seen. He had no way of knowing if he was alive or dead.

Kawase turned on his heel. As he fled, cold sweat dripped down his back.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Even after making it back to his apartment, he couldn’t do anything. He just sat on the bed, staring down. He might have killed someone. Even if it wasn’t intentional, there was no denying that he had played a part in it.

Maybe he had killed him, or maybe he hadn’t. Was the man dead, or was he still alive? His thoughts spun in endless repetition.

Unable to take it anymore, he grabbed his house keys and stood up. He would turn himself in to the police. There was no way, after what had happened, that he wouldn’t be held accountable.

Images of his family and friends flashed through his mind before fading away. If he got arrested, he’d only cause trouble for them. His friends—would they be shocked? Disgusted? Would they scorn someone who had slept with a man just to get a department transfer, and when that failed, resented him so much that they ended up killing him?

He clutched his head, fingers digging into his scalp. He didn’t know what to do. He really didn’t. Maybe he should just die instead. If he did that, he wouldn’t have to think about anything anymore. Maybe that would be easier.

Before he could get a single moment of sleep, morning arrived. Sunlight streamed onto the bag he had tossed aside.

Past nine o’clock, his phone—left on the table since yesterday morning—began to vibrate, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. It had to be the police. The thought alone terrified him too much to pick up. The call stopped once, and just as he let out a breath of relief, it started ringing again five minutes later.

If someone was calling, that meant they had already tracked him down. The police were probably on their way to arrest him right now. Steeling himself, he answered.

“H-hello… K-Kawase speaking.”

For a moment, silence.

“What’s up with you today? You planning to take the day off?”

It was Nunomiya. Relief or tension—he wasn’t sure which, but sweat poured down his forehead.

“I-I… I’m n-not feeling well…”

“Your voice is shaking. You got a fever or something?”

“Uh… y-yeah.”

Lying through his teeth, he gripped the phone so tightly his knuckles turned white.

“If you’re sick, then fine, but at least call the office and let them know. We’ve got work to cover for you.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m so—”

Between his frantic apologies, he heard Nunomiya sigh.

“Just go to the hospital already. Also… not the best timing since you’re sick, but I figured I should tell you. It’s about department head Shibaoka…”

The last name he wanted to hear right now. Kawase almost screamed.

“He got hit by a car last night.”

His fingers, still gripping his phone, trembled like he was stricken with fever.

“He was heading home with Kuwata and the others after the drinking party, but they split up along the way. It must’ve happened after that. Broke his leg and some ribs—he’s gonna be in the hospital for a while.”

“I… I see.”

The department head wasn’t dead. He was alive. Kawase exhaled shakily.

“It was a hit-and-run. The bastard who did it still hasn’t been caught. Seriously, what kind of scumbag just drives off like that.”

Nunomiya’s anger seeped through the phone. Kawase muttered an empty, “Yeah, that’s awful,” and quickly ended the call.

The man hadn’t died. He was alive.

Good.

At least, for now, that was good.

As relief settled in, he realized how hungry he was. He devoured a cup of instant ramen, and as soon as he finished, the exhaustion he hadn’t felt before came crashing down on him, and he collapsed onto his bed, still in his suit.

…Even though he had been in his apartment, somehow, he found himself back in that alleyway. It was dark, the dim glow of the streetlights barely illuminating the surroundings. The man who had been hit was gone. So was the patrol car.

He didn’t want to be here. That thought alone pushed him forward, made him hurry out of the alley—but as soon as he reached the end, the scenery changed.

White walls. A single black plastic bench placed against them. The corridor ahead was shrouded in shadows, the end of it out of sight.

He had been here before.

Tilting his head in confusion, he searched his memories. Then, it clicked—this was the hospital where his grandmother had been admitted long ago.

“Over here, over here.”

A sliver of light spilled from an open doorway down the hall.

He felt drawn to the voice calling from within, his feet moving on their own. Stepping inside, he froze.

It was a small, brightly lit hospital room. At its center, a single white bed.

Sitting on it was a man, wrapped head-to-toe in bandages like something out of an old horror movie.

“It hurts, Kawase-kun.”

That voice—

Panic seized him, and he spun around—only to crash into someone.

Nunomiya.

“This is your fault.”

Kawase sucked in a sharp breath.

Nunomiya was supposed to be shorter than him. And yet, somehow, he was looking down on him.

“I… I…”

Before he knew it, he was surrounded.

The entire sales department was there, their eyes filled with scorn, pinning him in place like sharpened blades.

“S-sorry…”

His voice barely made a sound.

Someone pointed at him.

“He slept with the department head to get into the Product Planning Department. Can you believe that?”

Snickers echoed through the room.

“A guy, doing something like that? Disgusting.”

The laughter swelled, twisting and curling around him like a living thing, seeping into his very core. He crouched down, clamping his hands over his ears.

Humiliating. Shameful.

I want to die. I want to die.

“Aaaaahhhhhhh!”

His eyes snapped open.

The sun had sunk low in the sky, casting long orange shadows across the room.

His suit was crumpled, his body slick with sweat. His gaze dropped to the floor, where the fading light stretched toward his feet in uneven streaks.

That dream…

No.

It wasn’t just some baseless delusion.

Something like that could very well happen in reality.

His stomach twisted, a sharp pain cutting through him.

Then, nausea.

Overwhelming, unbearable nausea.

Stumbling to the bathroom, he barely made it before vomiting.

Tears streamed down his face, unstoppable, no matter how much he wished they would end.

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