Haruchiro

chapter: 2

I found myself face-to-face with an elderly gentleman outside my door, holding a mochi in his hand and peering at me intently. When I asked who he was, he replied, "I'm your neighbor from the apartment above." After a moment of silence, he casually remarked, "Aren't you going to invite me inside, young man?" Stepping aside, I allowed him entry.

As we sat, awaiting the purpose of his visit, he scanned the room and commented, "You know, Ishikawa seems to have been missing her umbrella lately. Turns out you've been holding onto it." "Ishikawa?" I queried. "Yes, the owner of that umbrella with a tiny cat picture on it. I could tell from that," he gestured toward the umbrella hanging by the door. He went on, "She has peculiar habits, much like you. It's a pity how she wishes for a long life while slowly fading away." Megumi Ishikawa. Her name flooded back, along with memories of the forgotten umbrella.

"What do you want?" I asked. He chuckled slightly and replied. "I'm simply here to give you this mochi. It's been a month since you moved in." Then, lowering his voice, he added almost conspiratorially, "No need to be so guarded here. This isn't like the world you're accustomed to." I was taken aback. Did he know who I am?

He slowly rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo on his arm, leaving me stunned. If I had a gun, I might have instinctively shot him. That tattoo... I had seen it before. Quickly, he rolled his sleeve back down. "Who are you?" I managed to utter. Rising to leave, he replied, "Sorry, young man, but I'm not interested in discussing my past." As he exited, he casually remarked, "It was a pleasure to meet you, I suppose. Yakuza never change, do they?" He left me speechless and shocked, the familiarity of his tattoo haunting my thoughts.

Certain he's a part of the Yakuza, dwelling on it gives me a headache. An umbrella hanging beside the door catches my eye, so I decide to step out for some fresh air, hoping to run into that girl and return her umbrella. As I walk down the road, I ponder what it would be like to live as a civilian. Lost in thought, I reach the bridge where I always seem to accidentally encounter that girl. I stand there, hoping she'll appear, but she never does. I make my way home as it's already getting dark.

Out of the blue, contrary to my expectations, I see her sitting on the corner of the street. I approach her silently and hand her the umbrella. She looks up at me. "Here," I say. She takes it with confusion. I begin to walk away, hoping to avoid further encounters. 'T-h-a-n-k y-o-u?' she shouts as I look back. Once again, disappointment shows on her face as she repeats it, as if she was hoping for me to thank her. I just ignore her and walk away, but she follows me and keeps repeating 'thank you?' I finally snap. I turn around and look at her. 'Thank you,' I say.

She smiles satisfactorily, leaving me to wonder if this is truly someone on the brink of death. But none of this matters to me. I start walking again, and she hurries after me, gasping. "So, how should I address you?" she asks, persistently following me in hopes of getting her questions answered. Suddenly, she rushes in front of me, handing me a card. "I own a small antique shop down the road on Street 35. You should come by," she says before walking away. What would I do in a damn antique shop when there are so many old and dusty books in my apartment anyway?

As the days passed, the old man never returned to my apartment, though I often saw him around. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to approach him. Life in Tokyo remained unchanged, and the investigation continued. My visits to the bridge became routine, now my favorite spot. One day, while reaching into my pocket, I felt something and retrieved it—a card from Ishiwaka. Following a whim, I wandered down Street 35 and stumbled upon an old shop, its sign reading 'Megumi's Antique Shop'. Despite feeling aimless, I entered, the bell announcing my arrival.

Inside, she sat in a chair, her expression one of surprise at my presence despite inviting me. "Oh, you came?" she exclaimed, to which I remained motionless. Slowly awakening from her reverie, she gestured for me to explore. Despite being an antique shop, it lacked any dust, resembling more an old bookstore. She watched me with curious eyes. "So, what should I call you?" she inquired. "Haruchiro," I replied curtly. "Where are you from?" she continued. "Tokyo," I answered, sparking curiosity in her gaze.

Then, unexpectedly, she asked a question that rattled me to the core: "What's the tattoo on the back of your waist?" Shocked, I managed to maintain composure. "It's nothing," I replied coldly. "I'm not stalking you; I just happened to notice it when I lent you my umbrella," she explained. "Are you affiliated with the Yakuza?" she suddenly asked. I froze. "Am I correct?" she pressed eagerly. "I don't know what you're talking about," I deflected, concealing my emotions.

"I've seen on the news and read articles too, I heard a popular detective, Izumi, is dead. The Yakuza are being suspicious," she says, as if the Yakuza are some childish group formed by teenage street punks. I ignore her, but she persists, "Tell me about your story!" I clarify, "I have no story to tell."

"But how could you live and have no story to tell?" she challenges. I look at her, leaving me speechless. Suddenly, something snaps inside me. "How foolish you are," I add, lowering my voice. "Do you think criminal organizations are just some kids' group? Watch what you're saying." She falls silent, motionless.

"You want to know so badly about me? I killed my own brother before I moved to this town," I confess with a cold, calm voice. "The stupid news you've read, Kobayashi Izumi, I shot him." She tries to keep her cool, but I can see her shivering. At that moment, the thought of wrapping my hand around her small, tiny neck and choking her to death crosses my mind. Killing was a daily routine for me. Until I moved to this village, I had been killing every day and had no regret until now. I hated, always hated weak people, people with too much freedom, and those who had a life purpose and lived in peace—all those things I never had.

She's sweating, holding her left arm as if trying to control her fear. But I take a step back and walk towards the exit door, making sure to threaten her before leaving the shop.

That evening, I heard an ambulance siren echoing from Street 35, where the antique shop is located. People around were murmuring, and I overheard them mentioning that Ishikawa had been found unconscious. Oddly, the thought crossed my mind that if she were to pass away, it would bring me a sense of relief, sparing me from any potential involvement. With the relentless downpour of rain in recent days, I found solace in the comfort of my cozy apartment, where I confined myself.

When the rain finally ceased, I ventured outside and made my way to my favorite spot: the bridge. Leaning against the guardrail, cigarette in hand, I found myself lost in reflection, contemplating my past. It was a peculiar feeling, but reminiscing about those days was the only thing that brought me a sense of solace.

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The reason I formed that gang was because of my hero, Izumi Aniki (big brother). I still recall the events vividly, though the accompanying emotions seem to have faded with time.it was May 2001,I remember riding with my brother, perched behind him on the bike, wearing a comically oversized turtle helmet. "Haruchiro!" he shouted over the roar of the engine. "Yeah!" I replied enthusiastically. "How does it feel to ride with your big brother?" he inquired. "Amazing! Next time, I'll be the one riding, and you'll sit in the back," I retorted. He erupted in laughter, "You're too small to handle a bike. Your feet won't even reach the pedals." The Tenma biker gang meant everything to Izumi Aniki. That initial ride with my brother marked the beginning of a ritual; every weekend, I joined him, eagerly anticipating the day when I could take the reins. And finally, that day arrived. I had grown tall enough to ride a bike on my own, with my brother now occupying the passenger seat. Then, out of the blue, my brother dropped a bombshell: "I'm leaving Tenma." I was speechless, too shocked to respond. "Eh! But who will lead Tenma if not you?" I managed to stammer. "You will," he replied, chuckling. "I won't force you, but for now, Tenma will disband, awaiting your revival at any time." "But why? Why leave Tenma when you've always said it's your everything?" I questioned him. "Exactly because of that. I'm leaving it in your hands so I can forge a new path," he explained.Izumi Aniki is seven years older than me. I've clung to him since I was a baby, following him wherever he went. He taught me all sorts of things: how to fight, how to ride a bike, and everything else a man does. He was my hero. Despite his occasional foolishness, he was respected by every member of his gang.He was my hero, and I longed to walk in his footsteps, to understand what it truly meant to be in his shoes.

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Lost in my thoughts, I suddenly realize that I've run out of cigarettes. As I turn around to head back to my apartment, Ishikawa's silent appearance behind me startles me. Has she been watching me this whole time?

As we stood there, wordlessly exchanging glances, I couldn't help but notice her paler complexion compared to our last encounter. Leaning against the guardrail beside me, she approached and unexpectedly handed me a box of cigarettes. Taken aback, I inquired, "Do you smoke?" She shook her head, explaining that they belonged to her aunt, inadvertently left behind in the hospital. "Since I don't smoke, perhaps you'd like them instead of tossing them," she suggested. Accepting the offering, I hesitated, asking, "Is this why you're here, to give me these?"

"No, I come here often, especially when I miss Yuji," she disclosed, leaving me speechless as I lit up a cigarette. Curious, I probed, "Who is Yuji?" Her response hung heavy in the air, "My brother... he jumped from this bridge." Suddenly, her previous actions made sense, yet I struggled to comprehend, "Why mourn someone who's gone?" Silence followed, broken only by her unexpected revelation, "I've been unwell lately. "I don't have much time left. I yearn for a future, though it seems like a mere fantasy. Nonetheless, I am determined to live, to fulfill the promises I made to Yuji." Aware of the seeming inconsistency of her words, she continued, "I may not fully grasp the realities of the world, but I am resolved to experience life in all its facets, just as I vowed to Yuji."

"You don't comprehend the harshness of reality," I retorted, exhaling smoke. As I turned to leave, I couldn't resist one final threat, "Don't be so friendly. I could end your existence at any moment." Yet, her response caught me off guard, "But you're the most intriguing thing in this town. Everything else feels so mundane. You represent the unknown, the unexplored." Despite her brave words, fear lingered in her eyes. With a heavy heart, I walked away, pondering her words as I made my way home.