First, we are introduced to the main character. The protagonist is the viewpoint character, or, alternatively, the Watson. In other words, they shall share all information they possess with the reader. They cannot be the culprit.

 

First, we are introduced to the main character.

The protagonist is the viewpoint character, or, alternatively, the Watson.

In other words, they shall share all information they possess with the reader.

They cannot be the culprit.

“It doesn't matter what I say now. By the time I realized it, my hand had already moved.”

Kazuo said this into the receiver, then emptied the sake is his glass.

For what must have been the dozenth time, he let out a sigh full of his regrets.

“But seriously, it's like something out of a drama, you know? Some sort of hot-blooded businessman's story.”

His friend on the other end of the line sounded amazed.

Two old friends from their school days, one working in advertising, the other at a government office. It was only natural for them to complain to each other about work.

“Being a reckless, hot-blooded type isn't in fashion these days, though. It's an anachronism, like being a monk.”

“I wouldn't say I'm particularly monk-like.”

“That was Soseki, dumbass.”

“Ah, right... that guy...”

“Man, you're hopeless.”

His friend was flabbergasted.

“I know guys like that are common in novels and dramas, but I've never heard of one in real life. I can't believe you.”

“Neither can I.”

Kazuo spoke in disgust and lay back on the floor. He once again poured sake from the five ounce bottle into his cup. As he was raising it to his mouth, his friend once again spoke in a perplexed voice.

“I seriously can't believe you did that.”

“He was just an assistant manager.”

“It doesn't matter who he was. You punched your boss.”

“I told you, I didn't punch him. I just gave him a little shove.”

“The result's the same either way. The consequences aren't any better.”

“Yeah, well... that's true.”

“And it wasn't some drunken stunt, either. It was in the office in the middle of the day.”

“It was after dark.”

“Well that didn't change anything. You're a crazy bastard, you know that?”

“I told you, it couldn't be helped, it just happened on its own. By the time I realized, it was already over.”

“Is that really the sort of thing that 'can't be helped'? You aren't exactly an untouchable big shot, you know. And you're already twenty-eight.”

“Seven. I'm twenty-seven.”

“Whether you're twenty-seven or seven, it doesn't make a whit of difference. That was reckless. You aren't some kid who just started working there yesterday.”

“I know that. That's why I'm so depressed.”

Kazuo took another sip of sake and slumped his shoulders.

“That's why I asked you to listen to me.”

“That's fine, but don't completely fall apart on me. You're already spending a weekend night alone in your apartment, getting drunk and having long phone calls with another man.”

“What, is my complaining bothering you?”

“No, not at all. It's your drunkenness.”

“I listened to you when you were dumped by that lady from General Affairs.”

“It wasn't General Affairs. It was Residence.”

“That doesn't matter.”

“Alright, I'll listen to you as long as you want.”

From the other end of the line, his friend sounded like he was straightening his back.

“So what are you going to do now?”

“That's part of what I wanted to complain about. I don't know.”

“That's not a good answer for a question about yourself.”

“That's why I'm so depressed. This is really, really bad.”

Kazuo's speech was growing slurred, and he held his sake cup clumsily. The scene from that evening replayed itself in his mind against his will. It was bitter as a clump of herbal medicine stuck in his throat, the taste rising in his chest.

The assistant manager fell backwards. He looked up at him as though he'd seen an alien. He landed flat on his side on the office floor. His tie fluttered in the air.

His coworkers' jaws dropped. Everyone was taken aback by Kazuo's sudden burst of violence.

The world seemed to be moving in slow motion.

All sound had disappeared. The Production Department was normally as noisy as a battlefield, but nothing could be heard at all. His ears rang. All sound was blocked off, and silence clung to his body like a living thing.

At first, he hadn't felt much.

He'd just thought “Oh, I did it” as though it didn't involve him. Of course, he couldn't afford to feel good. A drop of sickeningly lukewarm sweat ran down his back, as though the discomfort he felt was trying to tell him how serious the situation was.

“But I guess he didn't say anything at the time.”

At his friend's voice, Kazuo picked the receiver back up. The sweater and jeans he didn't remember taking off lay in a crumpled heap at his feet on the thin floor. Kazuo thought about how long it had been since he last cleaned. It was an unrelated thought from a mind longing to escape from reality.

“What was that?” he asked.

“The assistant manager you hit didn't say anything... if you ask me, you got off easy.”

“I was on my way out. I had to meet with a client to give them a presentation, so I just left, went to the meeting, then went straight home.”

“I'm surprised he didn't stop you on your way out.”

“Well, he seemed really shocked.”

“Of course he was.”

“The others seemed even more shocked.”

“That's understandable. So you have no idea what happened next?”

“Well, I briefly saw everyone helping him up.”

“Oh, so you left immediately.”

 “Yeah, I couldn't stay there. That would have been bad.”

“I get that, but now you don't know if you hurt him or not.”

“I didn't hurt him, he just fell over.”

“That's all well and good, but it's hard, waiting to find out what the consequences will be.”

The voice from the phone was somber.

Kazuo remembered how cold it had been as he made his way to the station after leaving the office. It was hard to believe December was only just beginning. The chill wind blew as though it were mocking him. Despite that, the cool, brisk air felt good on his cheeks, upturned with excitement. At the time, he couldn't have imagined how depressed he'd grow over the issue. It was just an office dispute, it wasn't the end of the world. He couldn't imagine some trouble at the office would weigh so heavily on his mind. It had been five years since he entered the work force, and, to his surprise, he realized the company had become a major part of his life.

“I wonder if I'll get fired.”

Kazuo sighed and gulped down his sake. His friend sounded unsure.

“I don't know. I work for the government, so I have no experience with corporate offices... What do they usually do in cases like this?”

“I don't know. There's no precedent for this.”

“I doubt that.”

From his tone, it was obvious Kazuo's friend had just shrugged.

“But Sugishita, what will you do? In dramas, when something like this happens, you write a resignation letter and slam it down on the guy's desk in a cool way.”

“I don't think I can do something so crass.”

He couldn't help but blush as he said so. His eyes fell on the envelope next to the five ounce bottle on the table. Of course, it bore on the front a word: “Resignation”. After he'd returned, he realized that he was more upset than he'd expected, so he'd written that in order to calm down. But writing something like that had only upset him further. He'd drank himself into a stupor, and now he was calling people to whine at them. He was disgusted with himself. He felt worthless.

“Well, anyway.”

Kazuo picked up the glass.

“At least it's Friday. I have the next two days off anyway.”

“Yeah, well, that gives everyone two days to cool off... The question is, what happens next week?”

“Yeah, the day after.”

 “Well, I actually think it's a safe bet they won't fire you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, there are extenuating circumstances. Because you were protecting a junior coworker, weren't you? You aren't the only one to blame.”

“But no matter how you look at it, I'm the one at fault.”

He appreciated the words of comfort, but he didn't feel any better.

“I'm the one who got violent.”

“I know, but violence... I wish you had at least kept it to verbal complaints.”

“Ah, I just thought of something else.”

“What?”

“I'm due for a bonus this month. I should have waited until I got it.”

“This is no time for jokes. Well, if you can joke around like this, I guess you'll be okay. Try to be a little easier on yourself.”

He said that, but it seemed the other party knew that Kazuo's light talk was just a bluff.

After he hung up, he became even more depressed.

It was strangely cold that night. According to the news report a few minutes ago, cold air from the continent was rushing in, and winter was officially coming to Tokyo. The first snow in the mountains of the Kanto and Kōshin'etsu regions had been observed much earlier than usual.

 The cold weather made him miserable. Kazuo pulled up the futon and sat down, wrapping himself in the blanket. The he poured himself some more sake.

The question is, what happens next week... His friend's question echoed in his head.

 He wished next week would never come. He felt like an idiot, like a child before a test he knew he couldn't finish. He didn't think he was the sort of person who'd react to work troubles like this. When an advertiser yelled at him because the deadline was in danger of not being met, he'd gotten down on his knees and begged the head of the printing shop to work through the night. When he made a miscommunication with an illustrator, he'd made three round trip flights from Tokyo to Yokohama and back in a day, working up a sweat as he carried the heavy bundle of color samples. No matter what challenge he'd faced, he always kept a positive attitude.

That was how he spent the night. He couldn't stop thinking about the complexity of human relations.

Kazuo reached for his glass and kept mechanically pouring sake down his throat. It would be a while before he sobered up. He was thankful he wasn't bad with alcohol. Sleep refused to come for him.

Then...

The Earth kept spinning, no matter what you did. Naturally, the rotation of a celestial body didn't adjust itself for the sake of Kazuo's circumstances. When the Earth rotates, the sun rises and sets. In short, the date changed.

On Monday morning, Kazuo entered the office, barely conscious from sleep deprivation. He was driven almost entirely by inertia.

Kazuo was relieved to see the assistant manager at the heart of the issue hadn't arrived yet. The female employee wiping down a desk looked at him a bit stiffly, which bothered him, but for the most part the Production Department was the same as usual, full of hustle and bustle. However, his relief was short lived. He'd received a message from the company president earlier that day summoning him, and now, Kazuo stood in front of the president's office.

He took a deep breath, unconsciously fixed his hair, and knocked.

“Come in.”

The voice came from the back. Kazuo opened the door, feeling nervous as a schoolboy summoned to the principal's office.

“Excuse me.”

When he entered the room, the president was sitting at his desk looking at some documents. There was nobody else there, which made him a bit relieved. The president glanced up at him and briefly held up a hand, signaling for him to wait a moment. Kazuo had no choice but to stand there, still as a scarecrow. An awkward silence filled the room.

Even though it was called “the president's office”, it wasn't that luxurious a room. It had a simple structure with an emphasis on functionality, appropriate for a medium sized advertising agency. The computer terminal was housed in a steel case, and the paintings on the walls were lithographs from an unknown artist. The president's management policy, driven by a rationality unusual in the soft industries, was quite effective.

For a time, Kazuo looked absentmindedly at the president's head, where a black substance had been rubbed in. The president's habit of constantly covering the top of his head with pomade had led all his employees to affectionately dub him “Cockroach Head”.

He wondered if the president would take his head... Naturally for someone who'd been called to the president's office first thing in the morning, he felt uneasy. Since they were a one-man company, there weren't unionized, and production peoples' heads were flying left and right every day. Kazuo thought that if he were fed up with him, he should just say so. Those documents could wait. He'd heard that committing seppuku without a second was painful. He wanted to get it over with already. Or was his head lighter than a single document?

The moment Kazuo thought that, the president raised his cockroach head. He couldn't help but feel nervous. He shrank back. President of Century Ad, Yoshihiko Ikegaya. He was sharp, strong willed, and emanated vitality from every pore. Although still in his 40s, he was recognized as one of the greatest talents in the industry.

After observing the nervous Kazuo for a while, the president looked down again and scribbled some notes on the document. Then he put down his fountain pen and turned to Kazuo.

“Sugishita, is it?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

Kazuo forced the words through his parched throat.

“I've heard the general situation.”

“Ah, haa...”

“You did something quite bold, didn't you?”

The president slowly got to his feet. He was slender, but tall. Moreover, he had a presence backed by confidence and achievement. If he went to a store in Ginza, he'd be quite popular. The president's mouth relaxed slightly, as though he were a younger man. He seemed to be enjoying himself.

“Every year, I tell Human Resources to hire more unique people, but to be honest, I'm surprised they were able to find someone as unique as you.”

“I-I'm very ashamed of myself.”

Kazuo bowed at a perfect 45 degree angle. The president's eyes looked surprised, then amused, and he smiled, making Kazuo feel like he was missing something.

“Well, to be frank, I hear you and Yanagida have a lot going on between you.”

The president's eyes softened. Yanagida was the name of the assistant manager he'd pushed.

“However, there is a limit to these things, and I think we need to abide by the rules to the minimum extent.”

“I-I'm so sorry.”

“So, what is it you're planning to do?”

The president looked Kazuo dead in the eyes as he asked. It didn't seem like he was trying to intimidate or pressure him, and his tone was genuinely curious. Apparently, Kazuo's disadvantaged position hadn't reached the man before him. Either the person who'd given him the report hadn't been accurate, or he had something against the assistant manager. Either way, it wasn't a bad development for Kazuo.

“Sir, I would like to continue working here if possible.”

He said his honest feelings. It felt like the letter of resignation in his pocket was growing warm. Last weekend, he'd tried writing something like that, but of course, he didn't actually want to quit. He liked his job, and moreover, he found the president himself impressive.

He admired the skill it took to leave a major agency and start his own company at a young age. He was an inexhaustible force. He disliked the high costs that came with outsourcing, so he'd successfully created a company that focused on creating the sorts of complete commercial packages that medium sized agencies didn't normally do. He was a multi-talented individual who also managed a restaurant and a bar. He used this to shrewdly cut down on entertainment expenses by hosting all company events at his own restaurant. It was also due to the president's savviness that several years ago, he'd expanded the company's business into real estate and, after failing to escape the recession and bringing the company to the edge of total collapse, rallied his efforts and restored their good fortune. Kazuo had always thought his energy, his business acumen, and his stoic way of life that led him to devote himself fully to his work and never get married were “cool”. That as why he wanted to work his way up the ranks and eventually work directly under President Cockroach Head. That reason not to quit came from the depths of his heart.

“I see. Yes, I can't bear to let go of such a young, vibrant employee either.”

The president nodded.

“If you say that, then I don't think there's a problem.”

“Um, is it really okay if I don't take any responsibility?”

Kazuo cried for joy without realizing, and the president nodded at him.

“Well, it isn't really a question of responsibility, it's just...”

“It's just...?”

“You know things can't go on like this. Yanagida has his own reputation to maintain, and things will be difficult for you as well. Relationships in an organization are difficult.”

“I see.”

“That's why I'm going to have you sent to another department while things cool down.”

“Another department?”

Kazuo had a bad feeling as he looked back at the president. His cockroach head reflected the morning sun.

“There's no need to look so worried. When the time is right, I'll have you returned to Production.”

“I understand. So what other department did you have in mind?”

“I'm having you sent to the Culture and Creative Department as a manager-in-training.”

The president said it so casually he didn't even have time to be surprised. It seemed Kazuo's “punishment” had already been decided on.

 

Previous Chapter                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Next Chapter