B.L.T: Chapter 01

While you may already be familiar with these terms, I’ve provided their English definitions for those who may not be. I’ve also changed the name order to First and Last, rather than the Last and First order used in the original Japanese text.

1. さん (san): This is a general, respectful suffix used to address or refer to someone. It's similar to "Mr.," "Mrs.," or "Ms." in English. It's commonly used for people of all ages and social statuses in both formal and informal contexts.

2. 君 (kun): This suffix is often used for addressing younger males, or in a more familiar or casual setting. It can be used with people of the same or lower status, and it's commonly used among friends, students, or in professional settings where there is a clear hierarchy (like between a superior and a subordinate). 

Content warning: This novel contains descriptions of sexual content. I will not be adding a trigger warning to each chapter with graphic content, so please consider this a general warning.

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A young female clerk led Masato Kitazawa into a room with a sign on the door that read “Office.” Inside the room there were two desks and an indigo sofa set. Along the walls, piles of weekly magazines were heaped carelessly. It gave off the unmistakable air of a bookstore.

“The manager will be here shortly, so please have a seat and wait,” she said.

As soon as the clerk left, the man standing beside him, also here to interview for a part-time job, let out a sharp “hah” of breath and dropped heavily onto the sofa. His shirt was covered in a garish print, and he shoved back his long bangs with a look of irritation. He didn’t need to say it aloud for Kitazawa to hear the thought: What a drag this interview is.

Standing there alone seemed pointless, so Kitazawa also sat down at the far end of the sofa, putting some distance between them. He glanced down at his own clothes, a khaki T-shirt and jeans. Just your typical college student look, but at least it should make him seem more serious than the guy next to him.

The sign outside said only one position was available. If it came down to either him or this man, he figured he had a small advantage so far.

Kitazawa, for his part, very much wanted this job. The pay was low, but the store was close to his apartment. Considering he’d been fired from his last part-time job for repeated tardiness; the five-minute walk was appealing. Even if he overslept, he could make it in three minutes by running, within an acceptable margin.

Until recently, he hadn’t even known this bookstore existed. It was in the opposite direction from the university and the shopping street, and this side of town was crowded with junior and senior high schools, overflowing with students, too noisy and annoying for him to bother coming here. He’d only heard about the job opening from a junior in his club.

Last year, soon after entering university, he had gotten his driver’s license. He’d wanted a car right away but couldn’t afford one. He’d started working part-time, but student jobs didn’t pay enough to save quickly. Even so, he’d set a goal: to buy a used car by this summer. He wanted to go somewhere, anywhere, once summer came. The sea, he decided. Definitely the sea.

A faint click made him turn his head. The man next to him was lighting a cigarette. There was an ashtray on the table, and it wasn’t as if smoking had been forbidden, but still, couldn’t he wait just this once? Kitazawa thought irritably, even though it wasn’t his business. If this guy ended up getting the job, it would be hard to accept.

The female clerk had said the manager would come soon, but he didn’t appear. Wondering about the time, Kitazawa pulled out his phone. Bored, he started tapping out a text to a friend. Then hurried footsteps came pounding down the hallway. The blond man quickly stubbed out his cigarette. At least he had enough sense not to attend an interview with a cigarette in his mouth.

The sight of him flustered was amusing, and Kitazawa let out a quiet laugh, only to be met with a sharp, unpleasant glare. He returned it in silence. He had disliked the man from the start, because of his attitude.

He wondered what kind of reaction he’d get if he coolly said, “That golden hair of yours is pretty. Like a monkey’s.”

The door swung open, and a man who looked like the manager came hurrying in. He wore a long-sleeved dress shirt with a tie, and an apron printed with the bookstore’s name. Kitazawa and the blond man stood from the sofa almost at the same time.

“Nice to meet you. I’m Omiya, manager of Kouchido Bookstore,” the man said.

He was clutching a thin file, speaking in between rough breaths. After drawing in one deep breath, he looked straight at the two of them here for a part-time job interview.

“Ah, hello,” the blond man said, bowing his head.

Kitazawa, however, forgot even to return the greeting. He simply stared at the man’s face.

“Thank you for coming all the way here today. The interview won’t take long, so I appreciate your cooperation. You’re Yokota-san and Kitazawa-san, correct? Please, have a seat.”

Feeling the blond man move to sit, Kitazawa snapped out of it and awkwardly bent his knees. Omiya, the manager, also sat down across from them with the table between them.

“First, thank you for your interest in working here. We’re looking for someone who can stay with us long-term. The work itself isn’t particularly difficult, but we place special emphasis on customer service…”

There was no mistake, the man sitting across from him was that Omiya.

The instant he was certain, Kitazawa found himself unable to lift his downcast gaze. Yet Omiya continued speaking in a perfectly composed manner. There was no way he hadn’t recognized him. Kitazawa’s résumé clearly had his name and photograph attached.

If he had seen that, recognized him, and could still act like nothing had happened, then… was this his way of silently declaring that what had happened back then was ancient history to him?

“Kitazawa-san.”

The sudden sound of his name in that familiar voice made his heart leap so violently it felt like it might burst from his chest.

“Forgive me, but are you listening to what I’m saying?”

“Ah, yes.”

The blond man cast him a knowing, mocking smirk. Kitazawa bit his lip. Omiya went on speaking in an even tone, eyes on the file in his hands.

Kitazawa stared intently at the man’s face. He looked exactly as he had five years ago at twenty-eight.

The memory rushed back, like a muddy current breaking its dam. It was the summer of his second year of junior high…

◇:-:◆:-:◇

—July. The packed commuter train was nothing short of hell. Salarymen and students were crammed into the narrow steel box, jolted along in mutual discomfort.

Sweat trickled down Kitazawa’s back beneath his short-sleeved shirt, and the mingled scents of perfume and body odor from the young woman beside him made him want to vomit. He forced himself to swallow it down.

Today marked the start of final exams. He had planned to head to school early to study, but staying up late last night had made him oversleep. Even though he had told his mother to wake him up early, she had completely forgotten.

Right now, the word make-up exam loomed in his mind as a more urgent problem than the test in front of him. If it came to that, his summer break plans would be ruined.

As soon as vacation started, he was supposed to head to Miyazaki, where his paternal grandmother’s family lived. His older and younger cousins, both college students, had promised to teach him diving this year. When they’d met last summer, one cousin, skin tanned to a deep brown, had grinned and said, “Once you can dive deep, it’s seriously awesome.”

But if he failed and had to take a make-up exam, his mother would never let him go to Miyazaki. She didn’t get along with his father’s mother and wasn’t fond of the idea of her child going to the countryside. Lately, she and his father had been fighting constantly; she would complain to her son over and over, “That man has no common sense.”

He wanted to review what he had memorized yesterday, unwilling to waste even the time spent swaying in the train, but in this packed crowd, with barely enough room to lift his arms, there was no way he could take out his notebook. Four more stops until the station near his junior high.

When the train jolted and started moving again, the unpleasant smell drifted away, someone else had stepped between him and the woman. His personal space shrank even further, but he was relieved to be free from that stench.

Then, suddenly, he felt something warm against the nape of his neck, not the stuffy heat of the train, but the unmistakably damp warmth of human breath. He realized what it was instantly. At the same moment, a creeping sensation stirred at the waistband of his school trousers. At first, he thought he imagined it, but then a hand began to stroke him, crudely, insistently, across his backside.

It wasn’t the first time. He knew immediately: a groper. And a man at that.

He wanted to see the bastard’s face, but with all the shoulders and faces pressed in around him, he couldn’t turn. The fingers kept moving, caressing his waist, his groin, persistent and shameless.

Before disgust could take hold, anger flared up first.

He endured the obscene hand until the next stop. When the train halted and the doors opened, a rush of students poured out, this being the station nearest to the private high school.

The moment space opened up, Kitazawa grabbed the wrist pressed against his groin and threw himself into the stream of disembarking passengers. The man behind him stumbled into the station platform as well.

“Somebody catch this guy! He’s a groper!”

Still holding his wrist, Kitazawa shouted in a voice that rang with fury. People froze, turned to look.

“S, stop—”

The man jerked hard, trying to break free.

When Kitazawa turned to face him, he saw his groper’s face clearly for the first time, not an old lecher, not some lascivious creep wearing his lust on his face, but an ordinary, nondescript man in a business suit.

His resistance was too strong. Kitazawa lost his grip, and the man bolted like a startled rabbit.

“Get back here, you bastard!”

He shouted and gave chase. The man was fast, weaving through the crowd and pulling farther ahead despite colliding with people along the way.

At one point, the man dropped his bag and Kitazawa almost caught up, but not quite. The man darted through the ticket gates, disappeared into the throng, and was gone in seconds.

In the end, all I got for my trouble was being groped, humiliated, and left with nothing but a foul mood. Clicking his tongue over and over, Kitazawa returned to the platform, only to notice a brown wallet lying where the man had dropped his bag earlier.

He picked it up. Inside were two ten-thousand yen bills, four one-thousand yen bills, and a handful of cards. No proof it belonged to the groper, but if it did...

The thought of dutifully handing it over at the police box only for it to wind up back in that man’s hands made his stomach churn. He wasn’t stealing it, he told himself, shoving the wallet into his schoolbag with just the faintest prickle of guilt.

Thanks to the morning’s “incident” and his half-baked studying, the test went about as disastrously as he’d expected, no need to wait for the results to know that. School ended at noon, and instead of hanging out with his usual friends, he went straight home.

Once inside his room, door locked, he pulled the wallet from his bag and emptied the contents onto his desk. Cash. Bank cards. A few business cards. The bank card bore the name “Yusuke Omiya” in block katakana. There was no guarantee this “Omiya” was the groper. Could be a complete stranger. And how was he supposed to prove whether they were the same man? …It seemed hopeless.

But letting it drop didn’t sit right with him either, so Kitazawa shoved the brown wallet into the back of his desk drawer.

The next day, and the day after, there were still final exams. Every time he tried to study, his mind wandered back to the morning’s humiliation, and he couldn’t focus. Even when he gave up and decided to sulk in bed, that man’s face, seen only for an instant, would surface and vanish again, laced with irritation.

Somewhere in the middle of stewing over it, a foolproof way to confirm whether the groper and Omiya were the same person came to him. He actually chuckled under the covers, half-amused, half-smug. Maybe I’m a genius.

Friday afternoon, with finals finally over, Kitazawa sat cross-legged on the living room floor in front of the phone. His father was at work, his mother wouldn’t be back from her patchwork class until evening. He cleared his throat a few times. His voice had deepened recently, but he still needed to keep his tone steady so as not to sound suspicious.

Taking a deep breath, he dialed the number printed on one of the business cards from the wallet.

“Thank you for calling Miyamae Transport, this is Takemoto,” came a brisk, pleasant male voice.

“Huh? That’s strange. Isn’t this the residence of Yusuke Omiya?”

The instant the man realized it was a wrong number, that pleasant voice hardened.

“This is not. Good day.”

Before Kitazawa could get another word in, the line went dead.

If someone had a business card, they had to know the man personally, so Kitazawa had figured they’d give him Omiya’s number without fuss. But it wasn’t that easy. Every card he tried got the same sort of reaction, until he was down to the last one. If this failed, that would really be the end of it.

After ten minutes of deliberation, he dialed the final number. The middle, aged, sounding man on the other end reacted no differently from the others, until Kitazawa, in a deliberately solemn tone, sighed, “That’s a problem…”

“It’s a bit awkward to ask, but… do you happen to have any connection to an Yusuke Omiya?”

A pause, then: “He’s a business associate of mine…”

“Maybe his number got written down wrong somehow. In that case, could you give me his phone number?”

The middle, aged man hesitated, murmuring, “Well, the thing is…” and Kitazawa, acting on a sudden inspiration, deliberately softened his voice into something somber.

“Actually… a friend of Omiya’s died in an accident. The funeral’s tomorrow, but we haven’t been able to get in touch with Omiya, and it’s… causing problems.”

The words death and funeral had a devastating effect. The man, after a brief pause, said, “Ah, well, in that case…” and gave him Omiya’s phone number. The moment Kitazawa hung up, he clenched his right fist in a silent victory pump. Now he had Omiya’s number. All he needed to do was call the guy, say he’d found a wallet, and arrange to meet, then he could confirm whether Omiya and the groper were one and the same. If he was, Kitazawa would go to the police. If not, he’d simply hand back the wallet.

He immediately dialed the number he’d written down. Three rings, and “Hello, Sanbayashi Trading.”

“…Huh?”

Why was it connecting to a company? Kitazawa tilted his head in confusion.

“Um, is there something we can help you with…?”

The puzzled female voice in his ear made him realize the number he’d been given wasn’t a home phone at all, it was Omiya’s workplace. Scrambling to recover, he asked, “Could I speak to Yusuke Omiya, please?”

“Do you mean Yusuke Omiya from the sales department?”

“Yes.”

“May I have your name, please?”

Before he could think, he blurted, “Kitazawa.” The regret came immediately, but it was already too late. All he could do was wait through the light, mechanical beeps.

Then, “Omiya speaking.”

Omiya had picked up. Kitazawa felt a strange jolt of tension, his voice on the verge of shaking.

“Uh… my name’s Kitazawa. The day before yesterday, I found your wallet on the train platform. That’s why I’m calling.”

“Oh, is that so?”

The cool, composed voice changed instantly, his delight coming through loud and clear.

“I had no idea where I’d dropped it, so I’d already given up. I never thought it’d turn up. There wasn’t much cash, but there were a lot of cards, so I was in a bit of trouble. Thank you. By the way, how did you even know my company?”

Of course he’d ask that. Sweat broke out all over Kitazawa. There was no way he could admit to lying his way into it. He scrambled for a plausible excuse.

“Oh, uh… there was a business card in the wallet, and I knew someone on it, so they gave me the info…”

“I see.”

Omiya seemed satisfied with the flimsy explanation.

“Sorry for the trouble of calling. I can come by your place to pick it up, so could you tell me your nearest station?”

That threw Kitazawa into another bind. If Omiya really was the groper, he planned to report him to the police, but giving his home address risked trouble if the guy decided to retaliate.

“Would it be possible to meet somewhere instead?”

“I don’t mind either way, but if we meet up, I’d feel bad making you go out of your way…”

“Oh, it’s no problem at all. Do you know the McDonald’s in front of KouTaka Station on the subway line?”

He could hear Omiya mutter, “McDonald’s…” under his breath.

“If you don’t know it, we can pick somewhere else.”

“No, I think I know the one. What time should we meet?”

“How about six in the evening? Also, since I don’t know what you look like, could you bring something I can recognize you by?”

“Something recognizable… alright, I’ll carry a yellow file. And if you have something distinctive, it’ll make it easier for me to find you, too.”

“Then I’ll bring a green bag.”

“Got it. Sorry for the trouble and thank you in advance.”

After hanging up the phone, Kitazawa’s heart pounded with excitement. Maybe, just maybe, he was about to take down that groper bastard. The thought of becoming a champion of justice made him almost giddy… though, on the flip side, if it turned out to be just a case of lost property, well… that would be boring, he thought quite seriously.

◇:-:◆:-:◇

Even as the sun tilted toward the horizon, the sidewalk still shimmered with heat. Kitazawa quickened his pace and reached the meeting spot fifteen minutes ahead of schedule.

The McDonald’s in front of Kotaka Station was crammed full of students in the uniforms of a nearby private school. Dressed in a Nike T-shirt and jeans, Kitazawa walked with a stretch to his stride. At only 150 centimeters tall (4’11”), if he skulked around too much, someone might mistake him for an elementary schooler.

With a Coke in hand, he headed up to a second-floor window seat and waited for the man with the yellow file to arrive. Ten minutes past the agreed time, while slurping down the now watery Coke, he spotted a man in a business suit weaving through the crowd of students below, running toward the store. In his right hand, a yellow file. Kitazawa pressed his face against the glass.

The man stopped in front of the store. It was the same face as the one that had groped him and then bolted.

“Bingo,” Kitazawa murmured, grinning.

After tossing the paper cup away, he went downstairs to the counter. There, amid the sea of school uniforms, stood the man with the yellow file, glancing around nervously.

“Hey. You’re Omiya, right?”

The man spun around. The moment his eyes landed on Kitazawa’s face, all the color drained from his own. He turned to flee, but Kitazawa barked at his back:

“Run, and I tell the police.”

The man froze, staring at him as if he were looking at something terrifying.

“Run, and I’ll tell your company what you did to me. On the crowded train…”

The man approached, trembling, his face so pale he looked like he might collapse at any moment.

“P–please… don’t raise your voice.”

He was tall, had to be at least 180 cm (5’10”). Not exactly movie-star handsome. With his narrow face and slightly drooping eyes, he looked timid. Up close, he really did seem like just an ordinary guy. A groper who didn’t look like a groper. …Somehow, that felt unfair.

“You thought you’d gotten away with it, didn’t you?”

The man lowered his head slowly, silently. There was no way he could deny it.

“Hey, I’m thirsty.”

The man stood frozen, still pale.

“I said I’m thirsty. Go buy me a shake.”

“Ah… yes…”

As he moved off, Kitazawa called after him without hesitation:

“Oh, and fries and a Big Mac too.”

◇:-:◆:-:◇

The man slumped, shoulders drooping. Without a word from him, Kitazawa put on a show of hearty appetite. It wasn’t often he could eat to his heart’s content on someone else’s dime. He kept adding to his order, sending Omiya to the register over and over again.

“Here, take this back.”

Still eating, Kitazawa tossed the man a brown wallet. The man opened it, glanced inside, and muttered softly.

“…There’s no money…”

“I took it as compensation for my emotional suffering.”

The man said nothing more about the money.

“This time… I, I really am sorry. Please forgive me.”

It was the first time Kitazawa had heard him apologize. His lips trembled as he looked down, the corners of his eyes reddened, as if he might burst into tears at any moment. Seeing the man’s meek, pitiful attitude, so much weaker than Kitazawa had imagined, made him feel a sudden, irresistible urge to toy with him.

“Hey… you gay?”

The question came out of nowhere. The man hurriedly glanced around the restaurant.

“Please… just don’t say things like that out loud.”

No denial. So he was gay. Kitazawa had heard of such people, but this was his first time meeting someone who actually was.

“So… you’ve done all sorts of naughty things on the train before, huh?”

Kitazawa saw the man bite his lip.

“Putting on that serious face… you’ve been feeling up junior high students like me all the time, right?”

“N–No. That was the first time I ever did something like that.”

Finally, the man looked him in the eye. His fingers, laced together on the tabletop, trembled as if frozen solid, even in the middle of summer.

“That time… I really don’t know what came over me. I can only say I was… tempted by the devil.”

Kitazawa shrugged. Whether this bastard had touched one man or ten, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that he had touched him.

The man fidgeted, glancing around the restaurant again, then checked his watch.

“Well… I should probably… um, head home now, right?”

“Do what you want.”

Relief washed over Omiya’s face as he stood up.

“Oh, before that, gimme three thousand yen.”

Kitazawa extended his right hand. The man stared at his palm.

“There’s a CD I want to buy.” Kitazawa smiled sweetly.

“If you do as I say, I won’t tell the police.”

Without a word, the man took three folded thousand-yen bills from his slacks pocket and set them on the edge of the table.

“By the way, what kind of work do you do?”

With a stiff, guarded expression, the man replied, “That’s none of your business.”

“Fine, if you don’t wanna say. I just wondered what kind of face a dirty adult like you makes while doing his job.”

The man said nothing. …And really, there was nothing he could say.

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