u/dulduine

Hey, you.

At what age does something become okay?

Alcohol has a legal age. Movies and games have age ratings.

What about social media?

Sixteen?

Does that mean it’s dangerous the day before your birthday, then suddenly fine the moment you turn sixteen?

Clink-clank.

I walked into Aoi to find Taka staring at his phone with his head tilted to one side.

Mama placed my usual Harper in front of me.

The ice gave a small clink.

“Kenichi, what age do you think social media is okay from?”

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“I was reading about Australia. People under sixteen can’t have accounts on certain social media platforms.”

“Oh, yeah. I heard something about that.”

More precisely, Australia requires age-restricted social media platforms to take reasonable steps to prevent Australians under sixteen from having accounts.

As of 2026, that includes platforms such as Facebook, Instagram, TikTok, X, YouTube, and Reddit, among others. Many services whose main purpose is messaging or online gaming are treated differently. eSafety Commissioner+1

It isn’t the kid who gets fined for having an account.

The obligation is on the platforms. eSafety Commissioner

“Is there some special reason for sixteen?” Taka asked.

“Hell if I know.”

“Like your brain finishes developing or something?”

“If our brains were finished at sixteen, the world would be a much more peaceful place.”

“Good point.”

At the far end of the counter, Tom tapped some ash from his cigarette.

“It’s to protect kids.”

“I understand that.”

Taka put his phone face down.

“But are fifteen and sixteen really that different?”

“Fifteen years and eleven months versus sixteen? Probably not.”

“Then why sixteen?”

“Hell if I know.”

I knew absolutely nothing tonight.

But when I thought about it, there was something strange about the whole thing.

Human beings age a little every day.

Nothing suddenly switches inside you between yesterday and today.

And yet society draws lines everywhere.

“Games have age limits too, right?”

“Ratings, yeah.”

“Movies too.”

“Sure.”

“So maybe sixteen for social media isn’t that strange.”

I took a sip of Harper.

“But what exactly becomes okay at sixteen?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you do on social media?”

“Post things.”

“What if you only look?”

“Only look?”

“What about talking to strangers?”

“That’s social media too.”

“Posting photos?”

“Yeah.”

“Getting messages from adults you don’t know?”

“That feels a little different.”

Different?

To me, it all seemed to happen inside the same apps.

In fact, Australia’s rules don’t prevent under-sixteens from viewing publicly available social-media content that doesn’t require an account. The restriction is principally about having an account on an age-restricted platform. eSafety Commissioner+1

“It’s kind of like kids fighting.”

“What do you mean?”

“If two kids are fighting, an adult steps in, right?”

“Of course.”

“When?”

“When?”

Taka tilted his head.

“If one hits the other?”

“Stop them.”

“Grabs the other by the shirt?”

“Probably stop them.”

“Arguing?”

“Well... depends.”

“Leaving someone out of the group?”

“Depends.”

“One kid saying, ‘I hate you’?”

“That much, maybe you let them sort it out themselves.”

Tom exhaled smoke.

“What if there’s an adult you don’t know mixed in with them?”

“Stop it.”

Taka answered immediately.

“Why?”

“What do you mean, why? That’s dangerous.”

“How old does the adult have to be?”

“That’s not the point.”

Tom smiled.

So did I.

“But then—”

Taka folded his arms.

“It all depends, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why can’t social media be ‘it depends’ too?”

Nobody answered immediately.

In a real park, maybe an adult could watch and decide.

That’s dangerous.

This is still okay.

Let the kids handle this one.

Stop that one now.

But how many people were on the other side of the internet?

Tens of thousands?

Millions?

Nobody was standing there looking at every single case and deciding, It depends.

“The law probably can’t run on ‘it depends,’” I said.

Taka looked at me.

“So they have to draw the line somewhere?”

“Probably.”

“But they don’t know whether that line is right.”

“Probably not.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“Maybe that’s just how the world works.”

The moment I said it, I realized how sloppy that sounded.

Mama was polishing a glass behind the counter.

“But that doesn’t mean adults can simply decide children don’t need protecting, does it?”

“Probably not.”

“Then I suppose adults have to decide.”

“The problem is whether those adults can be trusted,” Taka said.

“You’re an adult too.”

“Oh.”

Apparently he’d only just noticed.

“Right. I guess I am.”

“How old did you think you were?”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Tom stubbed out his cigarette.

“So adults are deciding how much failure children are allowed to have.”

“That’s an ugly way to put it.”

“Is it wrong?”

“...I don’t know.”

Letting a kid get punched before stepping in didn’t seem right.

But holding their hand forever so they could never fall didn’t seem right either.

Fight with someone.

Be disliked.

Say something stupid.

Regret it.

If adults removed every chance to make those mistakes, when would a kid learn how to fail?

But if one of those failures could leave a wound that couldn’t be undone—

then adults probably couldn’t just stand there and watch.

“This is difficult.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.”

“Have you?”

“No.”

Taka laughed.

“So when are you old enough to decide for yourself?”

“We’re back to age again?”

“Because that’s what it comes down to, right? Under sixteen, you’re a kid. At sixteen, you can have your own social media account. So when are you old enough to take responsibility for your own mistakes?”

“That isn’t something age decides.”

“But the law decides it by age.”

“That’s why this is difficult.”

Taka thought for a moment.

“Then when did we become adults?”

Hell if I knew.

I’d never really thought about it.

I remembered turning twenty.

I didn’t remember becoming any wiser than I’d been the day before.

I still made mistakes at thirty.

Still made them at forty.

I probably always would.

“You’re over fifty, Kenichi.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Being over fifty automatically makes me a respectable adult?”

“No, I didn’t mean—”

“Age discrimination.”

“What?”

“Discrimination against people over fifty.”

“That’s not a thing.”

Mama laughed.

“Adults, huh?”

I lifted my glass.

Through the amber whiskey, Taka’s face bent slightly out of shape.

“Well, I’m definitely not a respectable adult yet. None of us are.”

“Don’t include me.”

“You started this.”

“I think I still have potential.”

“And I don’t?”

“You’re over fifty.”

“There it is again. Age discrimination.”

Tom snorted.

Mama said nothing.

She simply added a little more Harper to my glass.

Hey, you.

I think protecting children is part of an adult’s job.

But how long do you protect them?

How much do you stop?

When do you let them fail?

Sixteen?

Eighteen?

Twenty?

It probably can’t be divided that neatly.

And still, we draw the line somewhere.

Even though we haven’t exactly figured out how to be proper adults ourselves.

...Anyway.

I’d appreciate it if we could stop discriminating against people over fifty.

See you again at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Hey, you.

Taken any pictures lately?

The bell over the door went clang-clang.

Hearing that sound always makes me feel like the end of my day can finally begin.

I took my usual seat, and without asking, Mama set down my Harper on the rocks. The ice gave a small clink.

Taka was sitting beside me with his phone turned sideways, looking through some photos.

“What’re you looking at?”

“Pictures from a stakeout the other day.”

“You drink while looking at work photos?”

“No. I took these while I was waiting.”

He turned the phone toward me.

A red sun was sinking between two buildings.

I’d always imagined stakeouts as something a little more grim than this.

“Huh. That came out pretty good.”

“What do you mean, ‘pretty good’? You don’t take pictures, Kenichi?”

“Not much anymore.”

“You used to?”

I was about to take a sip of Harper when I stopped to think.

Come to think of it, I hadn’t told anyone about this in years.

“I was in the photography club.”

“Seriously?”

Taka looked up from his phone.

Was it really that surprising?

“What did you take? Landscapes and stuff?”

“Buddhas.”

“Buddhas?”

“Buddhas sticking their heads up over the horizon.”

Taka went silent.

Good reaction.

“…Where do you find a Buddha like that?”

“You don’t. You make one.”

“Weren’t you in the photography club?”

“I just said I was.”

Across the counter, Tom’s shoulders shook.

Back when I was a student, film cameras were all we had. You couldn’t check a picture the second you took it, much less cut something out and paste it into another photo with a fingertip.

“First, you make a normal print of the Buddha.”

“Make a print?”

“Develop it. Then you cut the Buddha out of the finished photo.”

“Cut the photo?”

“Yeah. With scissors.”

Taka frowned.

We hadn’t even gotten to the good part yet.

“Then you put the cutout Buddha on the photographic paper and expose the ocean shot.”

“Wait. I already don’t understand.”

“The Buddha isn’t even coming out of the ocean yet.”

“It doesn’t need to.”

Yes, it does.

First you block the light with the Buddha-shaped cutout and expose the ocean. Then you use what’s left of the original photo as a mask and expose the Buddha into the empty space.

After that, you put the photographic paper into the developer.

Slowly, an image begins to appear on what had been a blank white sheet.

I loved that part.

I knew better than anyone exactly what was going to appear. But watching the ocean slowly emerge, then seeing that giant Buddha poke its head up beyond the horizon—

I don’t know.

It made me happy.

“You went through all that just to make a Buddha come out of the ocean?”

“I wanted him out there.”

“Why?”

“No idea. It was fun.”

Mama laughed quietly as she polished a glass.

“Sounds like a lot of work.”

“It was. Stank, too.”

“Stank?”

“The chemicals. Acetic acid, I think. The darkroom smelled awful.”

For a moment, I could almost smell it again.

Nostalgic?

Sure.

Would I like to smell it again?

Hell no.

“It’d be easy now.”

Tom set down his glass.

“Probably.”

“You could just use an editing app,” Taka said. “Ever tried one?”

“…No.”

Taka looked at me.

“You were in the photography club.”

“Oh, shut up.”

I take pictures with my phone.

Mostly records, though. A screen I need for work. A number I want to check later. The price tag on something I’m thinking about buying.

Nothing I’d ever bother editing.

“Then let’s try it.”

“Here?”

“It’s easy.”

Taka installed a free photo-editing app on my phone.

The second I opened it, an ad filled the entire screen.

“This is an ad.”

“Close it.”

“Which one?”

“The X in the top right.”

“There are three Xs.”

“The faint one.”

“Why the hell do I need detective skills to close an ad?”

Tom snorted.

Eventually, I reached the photo selection screen.

I picked something at random and did what Taka told me.

Cut this out.

Put that on top.

Change the brightness.

Change the color.

“…Hey.”

“What?”

“This is ridiculously easy.”

“That’s what I’ve been telling you.”

If I didn’t like something, I could undo it.

I could start over without wasting a single sheet of photographic paper.

No acetic acid, either.

“Wait. I can stack as many pictures as I want?”

“Pretty much.”

“Huh.”

I picked another photo.

“What’re you making?”

“A Jizo statue.”

“A Jizo?”

“I’m going to give him some Umaibo.”

Taka leaned over to look at my screen.

“Why?”

“No idea.”

I put one Umaibo in front of the statue.

Duplicated it.

Two.

Four.

Eight.

Easy.

“Isn’t that a lot?”

“It’s an offering.”

“There are like thirty of them now.”

“Not enough?”

“The opposite.”

I added a few more.

Soon the ground around the Jizo was covered in Umaibo.

Not bad.

“They’d better not all be the same flavor.”

Tom had leaned over now too.

“That’s what you care about?”

“They’re offerings.”

“Fine. I’ll add mentaiko flavor.”

“Is that really the issue?”

I mixed in a few different packages.

When they were all lined up in the same direction, they looked too artificial. So I tilted some of them, overlapped a few, and leaned one against the Jizo’s knee.

“…Yeah. That’s good.”

“What’s good about it?”

“No idea. It just is.”

At some point, Taka had stopped looking at his own phone.

Now he was staring at mine.

Even Mama was leaning over the counter to see.

“Are you sure about the background?”

I looked again.

“Let’s make it evening.”

I changed the sky to sunset.

Too red.

Dialed it back.

Now the Jizo was too dark.

“Need a little more definition from the sunset…”

I adjusted the brightness.

Raised the contrast.

Deepened the shadows a little.

There he was.

A Jizo in the evening light, surrounded by a mountain of Umaibo.

Maybe it was the way the light hit his face, but he looked almost embarrassed.

“Ahh. This is where Tri-X would have you covered.”

Taka looked at me.

“What would?”

“Tri-X.”

“What’s that?”

“Film.”

“You’re not using film.”

“I know.”

Taka looked at me, then at my phone, then back at me.

“Then why Tri-X?”

“No idea. That’s just what came into my head.”

Tom raised his glass.

“Didn’t you just say you never wanted to go back to a darkroom?”

“I don’t.”

“Want to use film again?”

“Nope.”

“Then what about Tri-X?”

“Tri-X has you covered.”

I was starting to lose track of what I was saying myself.

Mama was laughing.

“You look like you’re having fun, Kenichi.”

My finger stopped.

“…Do I?”

“Mm-hm.”

I looked at the screen.

The Jizo stood in the sunset, surrounded by a ridiculous mountain of Umaibo, looking slightly embarrassed by the whole situation.

“Nah. It’s this guy. I can’t get his face right.”

I adjusted the shadows again.

“Kenichi.”

“Yeah?”

“There are more Umaibo now.”

“It’s about balance.”

“Didn’t you just remove some?”

“I removed too many.”

Taka laughed.

“Photography club, huh?”

“Shut up.”

I took a sip of Harper and looked at the screen again.

…Three more.

Hey, you.

When was the last time you did something completely pointless just for fun?

See you again at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Hey, you.

Is more explanation always more helpful?

At work, I hear the phrase not enough explanation more often than I'd like. Why did you make that decision? Are there any gaps in the logic? What are the risks? What other options did you consider, and why did you choose this one in the end?

You're expected to lay out the logic, make the reasoning reproducible, and explain things clearly enough that anyone looking at the same information can follow how you got there.

And that's fair. In systems development or project management, you can't move millions of dollars around because someone says, "I don't know. This setup just felt better." Reasons and evidence are the minimum currency required to get work done.

But take that same kind of correctness into an ordinary human relationship, and something strange happens. Sometimes, the more carefully someone explains themselves, the more irritating they become.

Why is that?

The bell above the door went clang-a-ling.

Friday night. I stepped into Aoi, my usual bar, and Mama set a bourbon on the counter without asking. The ice gave a quiet clink.

"Kenichi, you've got to hear this."

Taka was sitting at the end of the counter, looking unusually annoyed as he turned his glass in his hand.

"What happened?"

"I asked a friend out for drinks today."

"Okay."

"He turned me down."

"People have plans."

"That's not the part that bothered me." Taka set his glass down with a small thud. "It was the explanation."

"The explanation?"

"He said, 'My stomach's been acting up since this morning. Fifteen points.'"

"...Points for what?"

"'Looks like rain. Five points.'"

"What are you calculating?"

"'Laundry's piling up. Eight points. Didn't sleep much last night. Seven points.'"

"All right, that's enough."

"'Total: thirty-five points. My threshold for canceling an outing is thirty, so I've decided to stay home today.' That's the message he sent me."

I said nothing for a moment and took a sip of bourbon.

"...Maybe stop inviting this guy."

"Right?!"

"He could've just said, 'Not feeling it today.'"

"Exactly. I didn't ask for the full decision logic."

"If somebody gives you thirty-five points' worth of parameters, it starts to feel like he's been working awfully hard to build a case for not having a drink with you."

"Yes! That's exactly it!"

Taka jabbed a finger at me, then paused.

"But isn't that weird?"

"What is?"

"If this happened at work, you'd say the exact opposite."

My hand stopped halfway to my glass.

"What do you mean?"

"Suppose someone on your team said, 'I don't know, I just don't think we should do this task today.'"

"I'd ask why."

"And if they said, 'No reason. Just a feeling'?"

"I'd tell them not to screw around."

"See?"

Taka gave me a smug little grin.

"So what if they said, 'Stomach trouble, fifteen points. Resource shortage, ten. Bad weather, five. Total: thirty points, so today's release is canceled'?"

"...I'd want to know what the weather has to do with the release, but if the criteria are clearly defined, at least we have something to evaluate."

"That's the exact opposite of what you just said."

I couldn't argue with that.

At work, data and reasoning are useful. The more clearly something can be measured, broken into variables, and examined by someone else, the better. An explanation that lets another person follow the same reasoning is generally considered a good explanation.

But when someone does the same thing in private life, I want to say, Enough already.

"...Maybe explanations serve different purposes at work and in private."

"Different how?"

"I'm thinking."

"You can't explain it?"

"Shut up."

Mama, polishing a glass farther down the counter, gave a quiet laugh.

At work, an explanation is a way of handing the structure of a decision to someone else.

Why did we choose this architecture? Why this product? Why this schedule? "Because I thought it was best" isn't enough. You leave a trail so that even after you're gone, another engineer can follow the thinking behind the design. Give someone the same information, and they should at least be able to examine how you reached your conclusion.

That's what an explanation is supposed to do at work.

"So what's it supposed to do with a friend?" Taka asked.

"If somebody shares a personal variable like 'stomach trouble: fifteen points,' what am I supposed to do, debug him?"

"Will you please let the stomach thing go?"

I laughed.

Still, it was strange. If a friend simply told me, "I'm just not feeling it today," I'd probably say, "All right. Another time."

I wouldn't demand evidence. I wouldn't ask him to disclose his decision algorithm. I certainly wouldn't need the decision to be reproducible. In fact, somehow the relationship almost felt healthier if he didn't explain everything.

"Maybe it's because you trust him," Taka said.

"Trust what?"

"If you can accept 'I'm staying home today' without asking for anything else, doesn't that mean you don't need to verify whether his decision-making process was valid?"

That made me stop.

At work, you verify things even when you trust the person. Verification itself is part of the job. In private life, though, sometimes not verifying is part of trust. You don't need every detail. You can leave part of the other person as a black box and simply say, "Yeah. Some days are like that."

Maybe being excused from explaining yourself is a kind of trust too.

"...So, Kenichi."

Taka was grinning at me again.

"You came here tonight because you felt like it?"

"Hm?"

"Can you explain why you're here?"

I opened my mouth, then stopped.

I looked at the ice in my glass. Because it was Friday. Because I'd finished a week of work. Because I wanted bourbon. Because I figured Taka might be here. Because I wanted to see Mama. Because I didn't feel like going straight home. Because this was simply what I did on Friday nights.

All of those were true. But if you asked me which one was the reason, none of them felt quite decisive enough.

"...I don't know. Maybe I came because I wanted to. Or maybe I came because if I didn't, I'd feel like the week hadn't ended properly."

"So you're minimizing negative points."

"Don't turn this into a point system again."

Taka laughed, and so did I.

But the idea stayed with me.

Come to think of it, whenever someone asks us why we did something, we're remarkably good at building a clean piece of logic after the fact. Why did you choose that career? Why do you spend your time with that person? Why do you keep creating things? Why are you here, right now?

Ask us, and we'll give you a story that makes sense. But did we really make the decision by following that logic?

Maybe countless little feelings, vague discomforts we couldn't put into words, even the weight of our own bodies on a particular day all tangled together and moved us first. Then afterward, we looked back at where we'd ended up and paved a beautiful road behind us so we could tell ourselves how we got there.

"Maybe we just make up the reasons afterward," Taka said.

"Not make them up, exactly. More like... edit them into language."

"So explanations are lies?"

"That's not it."

His stomach really could be bothering him. It really could look like rain. The laundry really could be piling up. Every single fact could be true.

But putting true facts in a neat row doesn't necessarily give you the true reason. There are such things in this world as beautiful lies made entirely out of truths.

"Who are explanations really for, anyway?" Mama said quietly as she returned a glass to the shelf.

Taka and I both looked at her.

Mama said nothing more. The glass settled into place with a soft click.

Who are they for?

At work, they're for the client, the team, and sometimes for ourselves, so we can manage risk and account for the decisions we've made.

But when we explain ourselves to someone in our private lives, who are we really talking to?

Because we want them to understand us? Because we don't want them to dislike us? Because we feel guilty about saying no?

Or because we need to convince ourselves that we're reasonable people who make reasonable choices?

I took another sip of bourbon.

I'd always thought explanations were tools for helping other people understand us. But maybe they're also stories we tell so we can accept choices we don't completely understand ourselves.

If that's true, then being good at explaining yourself and actually understanding yourself are two very different things.

The ice in my glass gave a clear clink.

Hey, you.

Did anyone ask you "why" today?

Think about the reason you gave them.

Was that really what moved you?

Or was it an explanation you carefully built afterward, just to make this strange, incomprehensible person called you make a little more sense?

Well, it's all right if the answer disappears the moment the wind touches it.

See you again at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Hey, you.

If you could choose your last meal, what would you want?

Clink-clink.

The bell over the door rang as I walked in and took my usual seat.

Without asking, Mama set a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me. The ice gave a quiet clink in the amber whiskey.

Beside me, Taka was picking at the potato salad Mama had served him.

“Kenichi-san.”

“What?”

“What would you want for your last meal?”

I stopped halfway to picking up my glass.

“Where the hell did that come from?”

“Nowhere. Just wondering.”

Don’t casually ask a man what he wants to eat right before he dies.

“Well…”

Since he’d asked, I gave it some thought.

“Steak, maybe.”

“Ooh. Good choice.”

“If it’s my last one, I want the best.”

“Kobe beef?”

“Sounds good.”

“What about sushi?”

“Definitely.”

“Uni. Fatty tuna.”

“Eel would be good too.”

“Then let’s have all of it.”

I looked at Taka.

“Just because I’m dying doesn’t mean my stomach doubles in size.”

Tom, drinking a little farther down the counter, snorted.

“What exactly are the circumstances of this last meal?”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re about to die, right?”

“Well, yeah.”

“Are you really going to be in good enough shape to eat a steak?”

Taka and I went quiet.

He had a point.

“…Depends on the cause of death.”

“You’re starting there?”

“The requirements are too vague. Am I dying in an accident tomorrow? Am I sick? Is it old age?”

“You might be the first person in history to do requirements analysis on his last meal.”

“What I can eat depends on the requirements.”

“A death-row inmate would still be healthy enough,” Tom said.

“Then steak works.”

“Kenichi-san, are you planning on getting the death penalty?”

“No.”

Mama laughed quietly as she polished a glass.

“How about old age?”

“Old age, huh…”

Suddenly the steak seemed much farther away.

“My teeth might be shot by then.”

“You could still eat fatty tuna.”

“Too rich.”

“Eel?”

“Sauce would be too heavy.”

“Soba?”

“Could I still slurp noodles?”

“Just how weak are you planning to be?”

“It’s my last meal, isn’t it?”

“Being on your last meal sounds exhausting.”

What the hell were we talking about?

Tom took a sip of his shochu.

“Just have rice porridge.”

Taka and I both looked at him.

“Rice porridge? For my last meal?”

“Better than not being able to eat anything.”

“Hold on.”

I put my glass down.

“It’s my last meal.”

“So?”

“There should be something more… you know.”

“You just said you can’t eat anything.”

Sometimes a perfectly reasonable argument has absolutely no sense of romance.

“Then let’s figure out the best rice porridge in the world,” Taka said.

“What makes rice porridge the best?”

“Egg?”

“Pickled plum.”

“Salmon’s good too.”

Tom cut in.

“At that point, isn’t it basically zosui?”

“Where’s the line between zosui and okayu?”

“Doesn’t it depend on whether you cook the rice in the broth from the beginning?”

“Is that actually true?”

“No idea.”

Then why did you say it?

“There’s Chinese congee too.”

“Ooh.”

“Cook it in chicken stock, add scallions and ginger…”

“Isn’t that a bit much if you’re on death’s door?”

“Then plain rice porridge?”

“It’s my last meal.”

That seemed to be the only argument I had left.

Mama gave me an exasperated look.

“Plain is fine.”

“Come on.”

Taka leaned forward.

“Mama, this is his last meal.”

“Exactly.”

“What do you mean, exactly?”

“The best thing is whatever you can actually eat.”

Taka and I looked at each other.

“…I’d still want some flavor.”

“Kenichi-san, you really don’t know when to give up, do you?”

“It’s my deathbed. When else am I supposed to give up?”

Tom burst out laughing.

Even Mama was laughing now.

“Fine. One umeboshi,” she said.

“From Kishu?”

“Who cares?”

“It’s my last meal. At least make it a good umeboshi.”

“Now you care where the plum came from?”

“Low-sodium would be better,” Tom said.

“For your last meal?”

“Gotta watch your health.”

“Little late for that.”

And so our grand last supper, which had begun with the finest steak money could buy, was gradually reduced to a bowl of plain rice porridge with one slightly fancy pickled plum on top.

A remarkably modest way to go.

“Mama.”

“What?”

“Can you make rice porridge?”

“Of course.”

“Make us the best one.”

Mama looked at the three of us in turn.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“You’re all still perfectly healthy.”

Fair enough.

I finished my Harper.

“Thanks.”

Outside Aoi, the night air was a little chilly.

On the way to the station, I stopped at a convenience store.

I wasn’t hungry.

I’d had my drinks. I’d had something to eat.

Still, for some reason, I stopped in front of the fruit section.

Sliced apples.

Oranges.

Kiwi.

I stared at them for a moment, then picked up a pack of apples.

My last meal could be plain rice porridge with an umeboshi.

That was fine.

Preferably not for a while, though.

“…Maybe I should stick around a little longer.”

I muttered it to no one in particular and headed for the register.

Hey, you.

What would you want for your last meal?

Well.

I guess you don’t have to decide just yet.

See you at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Hey, you.

Have you done something good for someone lately?

Maybe you stopped to help someone who was struggling, picked up something a stranger dropped, or stepped aside to let someone pass on a narrow street. You gave up a little of your own time and effort for someone you didn't even know.

It feels pretty good afterward, doesn't it?

It's not that you want anyone to praise you. You just want to give yourself a small nod and think, Maybe I'm not such a bad guy after all.

But here's the thing.

How far do you have to follow a good deed before you can really say it was good?

Clink.

I pushed open the heavy wooden door of Aoi. Something about crossing that threshold always made the noise of the city—and all the useless clutter I'd accumulated over the course of the day—start to fall away.

I took my usual seat at the counter. Mama set a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave another quiet clink.

"Kenichi-san, you've gotta hear this."

Taka was sitting at the far end of the counter, looking thoroughly annoyed.

"No."

"I haven't even said anything yet."

"When you come at me with that face, it's never a story worth hearing."

"That's harsh."

Tom grinned from the seat beside me.

"Humor him, Kenichi. I've already heard the same story three times."

"Then we're cutting him off. Too much of anything is bad for you."

"Kenichi-san!"

I sighed. "Keep it short."

Taka leaned forward as if he'd been waiting for exactly that.

"So today, I tried to help an old lady at the station."

"Good for you."

"She was carrying this huge bag. Anyone could see she was struggling."

"And?"

"I asked if I could carry it for her."

"A model citizen."

"Right?"

Taka immediately looked pleased with himself. I gave him a flat stare.

"But she said no."

"End of story. Finish your drink and go home."

"No, listen. The thing looked way too heavy for her, so I said, 'Come on, don't worry about it. Let me carry it.'"

I looked at him.

"You really haven't changed."

"What does that mean?"

"You get pushy when you're trying to be kind."

Apparently, the bag contained something important to the woman. She told Taka she wasn't comfortable handing it over to a stranger. Taka assured her he wouldn't drop it. She refused again.

"So we went back and forth like that for maybe thirty seconds."

"Uh-huh."

"Then this guy behind us yelled, 'Get out of the way!'"

I put my glass back on its coaster.

"Where exactly were you having this little debate?"

"Just past the ticket gates. You know that narrow passage?"

"What time?"

"Maybe six-thirty?"

"You're the worst."

"Come on, that's a little much."

"You stood in the middle of a bottleneck during rush hour for thirty seconds."

"I wouldn't say we were in the middle—"

"You were blocking it."

"...Yeah."

Tom laughed and took a sip of his drink.

"And then this guy comes in here complaining, 'I was only trying to help. Why should I get yelled at?'"

"Well, shouldn't I be annoyed?"

Taka still looked genuinely baffled. I took a sip of my Harper.

"Fine. I'll give you this much. You didn't mean any harm."

"Exactly."

"But you were still in the way."

"Ugh."

"How many people went past you in those thirty seconds?"

"I don't know. A hundred?"

"So you took thirty seconds from a hundred people."

Taka frowned.

"Who does math like that?"

"Three thousand seconds."

"Fifty minutes," Tom said immediately.

"What is wrong with you two?"

"It's just arithmetic. A hundred people, thirty seconds each."

"It was only thirty seconds!"

"Someone might have missed their train because of those thirty seconds."

"...Maybe."

"Someone might have been late for an important appointment."

Taka said nothing.

"Could've been a job interview."

"Marriage proposal," Tom added.

"Why are we suddenly talking about marriage proposals?"

I shrugged. "Lives split off in different directions over stupid little things like thirty seconds."

"So if some guy got dumped, that's my fault?"

"Who knows?"

"Who knows?!"

I laughed.

Of course I didn't really think Taka should be held responsible for something like that. If we had to answer for every life changed because we happened to stand in someone's way for thirty seconds, none of us would ever dare leave the house.

But then something occurred to me.

"What about the other way around?"

"The other way?"

"You stopped that old lady for thirty seconds. That gave her a chance to catch her breath."

"So?"

"What if she'd kept walking, slipped on the stairs, and broken her hip?"

Taka frowned. "...I mean, I guess that's possible."

"Then you saved her from a serious injury."

Tom laughed.

"Look at that. Taka the lifesaver."

"No, come on. That's a huge stretch."

"Why?" I asked.

Taka hesitated.

"Because we don't know she would've fallen."

"We don't know anyone missed their train either."

"Oh."

There it was.

When something bad happens, we're quick to draw a line and say, That's not my responsibility. But when something good happens, we hesitate to claim that too: I can't really take credit for that.

Either way, the reason is the same. We can't see that far.

"This is getting way too complicated," Taka muttered.

"That's why I said I didn't want to hear it."

"You're the one who made it complicated, Kenichi-san."

Tom quietly set down his glass.

"You never know how things are going to turn out."

"That sounds heavier coming from a former cop."

"That's how it is in the field. Should you stop someone? Let them go? In the moment, all you can do is make a call based on what you know."

"Were you ever wrong?"

"Plenty of times."

"Did you regret it?"

"Of course."

Tom's eyes narrowed slightly.

"But judging the person you were back then with everything you know now? I don't think that's fair."

"The person you were back then?"

"You know things now that you didn't know then. Doesn't make much sense to put your old self on trial for not knowing the future."

I looked down at my glass.

What we could see at the time and what we knew at the time—that was all we had. We thought about it as best we could, and then we chose.

Maybe that's all any of us can do.

But was that really enough?

"So if you meant to do something good," I said, "does it still count as good when the result is bad?"

Tom went quiet. So did Taka.

"Take it far enough. Does saying 'I only did it for their own good' excuse anything?"

"No," Taka said. "That's different."

"Why?"

"Because if you don't care how the other person feels about it, you're just forcing your idea of what's good on them."

"The old lady said no."

Taka stopped.

"You thought you were helping her. She said she didn't want your help."

"...Yeah."

"And you kept going."

"Yeah."

"So who was the good deed really for?"

Taka had no answer.

Neither did I.

Helping someone who's struggling is a good thing. At least, that's what I'd always thought. But what if they don't want your help? What if helping them causes trouble for somebody else? What if you can't see what happens after that?

How far are you supposed to think ahead? Everything? That's impossible. So only as far as you can see?

And where, exactly, does as far as you can see end?

The more I thought about it, the less solid the phrase good deed seemed.

"That's a difficult one."

Mama had stopped polishing the glass in her hands.

"What do you think, Mama?" Taka asked.

She thought for a moment.

"Maybe the problem is thinking you're the one who gets to decide whether it was a good deed."

None of us said anything.

"What do you mean?"

"You wanted to help that woman, didn't you, Taka-chan?"

"Yeah."

"That was your feeling."

"Yeah."

"But whether she was actually helped—that's for her to decide, isn't it?"

Taka stared down at the counter for a while before letting out a quiet breath.

"So the most I can really say is... not 'I did something good,' but 'I tried to do something good'?"

Mama didn't answer.

She placed the glass back on the shelf.

Clack.

"When you first spoke to her, I'm sure that's true."

Taka looked up.

"First?"

"You wanted to help her."

"Of course I did."

"Then what about after she said no?"

Taka froze.

"...What?"

"The second time. When you told her not to worry about it."

Mama said nothing more. She simply reached for another glass.

Taka fell silent.

So did I.

At first, it probably was kindness. She looked like she was struggling, so he wanted to help. Simple enough.

Then she said no.

And he reached out again.

Was it really the same feeling the second time?

Did he still just want to help her? Did he think she was only being polite? Did he want her to accept because he'd already gone to the trouble of offering?

Or did he want to be the kind of person who helps people?

I looked at the ice in my glass.

Well, hell.

Forget the consequences. Maybe I didn't even understand my own motives.

When I teach a junior colleague something at work, when I tell someone in my family, "I'm saying this for your own good," or when I give a friend advice they never asked for—was any of that really for their sake?

I'd like to think so.

But could I honestly swear there wasn't something else mixed in? A desire to be needed. To be right. To think of myself as a good person.

Could I really say none of that was there?

"...People are exhausting," Taka muttered.

"You're just figuring that out?"

"Did you already know all this, Kenichi-san?"

"Not a chance."

Tom snorted.

"Anyone who's figured people out isn't sitting in a bar like this brooding over whiskey."

"Can't argue with that."

The three of us laughed. Mama smiled a little too.

And that was the end of the conversation.

Or rather, we decided to let it end there.

I finished the rest of my Harper. The ice gave one last clink.

We'll probably never know how far the things we do actually reach. Something we say might save someone, hurt them, or leave no trace at all. Whatever happens after that, we can't follow every consequence to the end.

So you'd think the least we could do is know what was in our own hearts when we reached out.

I'd like to know that much, at least.

...Or so I thought.

Do I even know that?

Was it for someone else?

Did I want to do the right thing?

Or did I want to be the kind of person who does the right thing?

I got up from my seat and opened the door. The night air was colder than I'd expected.

Hey, you.

That kindness you offered someone today—you'll probably never know everything that came of it.

But where did that kindness come from?

Do you really know?

I'll see you at Aoi again.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Hey, you. If there were a hundred penguins standing right in front of you, could you kill just one of them? I know?I know how absurd that sounds coming out of nowhere. Just humor me for a minute.

The door chime rang as I opened the door to Aoi, finding Taka behind the counter staring at his phone.
"Evening, Kenichi-san."
"Hey."
"Kenichi-san, do you know what the DEATH NOTE is?"
"Sure. The notebook where if you write someone's name, they die, right?"
"Have you watched it?"
"Nope."
"Read the manga?"
"No."
"The anime?"
"Haven't seen it."
"Then you don't really know it, do you?"
"Write a name, they die?that’s it, right?"
"Well, technically, yes..."
"Then I know it."
Even I had to admit my logic was terrible. Mama set down my usual bourbon without a word. As I clinked the ice in my glass, something suddenly snagged in my mind.
"Hey, Taka."
"Yeah?"
"What happens if two people have the exact same name?"
"You have to picture their face while writing the name. So even with identical names, it works fine."
I see. Clever.

...Wait.

"Then what if you can't tell their faces apart?"
"Huh?"
"Like twins, for instance."
"Well... as long as you can tell them apart..."
"And if you can't?"
"...Then I guess you can't kill them?"
That was strange. A notebook belonging to a god of death, and yet apparently it was only as good as the human using it could recognize.
"Useless, isn't it?"
"What is?"
"The God of Death."
"Could you please not turn the entire fandom against us?"
Mama laughed quietly as she wiped a glass. I took another sip.

"Alright, let's say it works on non-humans too."
"You're just changing the rules now."
"It's a thought experiment."
"You sure love using convenient words."
Look who's talking.
"Say there are a hundred penguins in front of me."
"Okay."
"I decide to name one of them Pochi."
"You're naming a penguin Pochi?"
"Doesn't matter what the name is."
"Kind of hard to ignore, honestly."
"Fine. Point is, I want to kill Pochi."
"What a dark thought experiment."
"I know the name: Pochi. But to me, all hundred penguins look identical."
"Then it's impossible, isn't it?"
"Why?"
"Because you can't picture its face."
"Conceivably, a Shinigami should know. Probably."
"'Probably'?"
"It's a God of Death. The least it could do is tell a few penguins apart."
"Your expectations of a death god are completely out of line."
I set my glass down on the counter. It started as a joke, but the deeper I dug into it, the stranger it became.

"So I can't kill it, but a zookeeper could?"
Taka paused to think.
"If the zookeeper can tell them apart, I suppose so."
"Even though it's the exact same penguin?"
"It's not the same, though. It's Pochi, right?"
"Looks the same to me."
"Not to the zookeeper."
"Then where exactly is Pochi?"
"Right there in front of you."
"No, that’s not what I mean."
Is it Pochi because its name is Pochi? Is it Pochi because its face is distinct? Or is it Pochi simply because the zookeeper recognizes it as Pochi?
"Kenichi-san," Mama chimed in gently. "Is a name really something that belongs to the creature itself?"
"Hmm?"
"Humans gave it that name, didn't they?"
She was right. When Pochi was born, it had no idea it was a 'Pochi.' Humans just decided to call it that.

"Then what is a name, anyway?"
"Just something we use to refer to things, right?" Taka answered.
"What if the name is wrong?"
"What do you mean?"
"What if everyone called me something other than Kenichi? What would you write in the DEATH NOTE?"
"Whatever people call you, wouldn't it?"
"Even if it's different from what's on my official registry?"
"...I mean, who knows?"
"Does a Shinigami check government records?"
"How should I know?"
"My ID card?"
"Please stop dragging government paperwork into this."
Mama burst out laughing. But once the gears in my head started turning, I couldn't stop them.

"What about a typhoon?"
"Huh?"
"Typhoons have names, right?"
"Sure."
"Could you kill one?"
"It's not a person."
"Just pretend it counts for today."
"Your setup is getting lazier by the minute."
Typhoons have names. If you look at satellite photos, you could even argue they have a 'face'?a swirling vortex of clouds, a massive eye.
"Then you could kill it, right?"
"Maybe you could."
"Where does it end?"
"Where does what end?"
"Where does the typhoon actually begin and end?"
Taka went quiet.
"This cloud right here?"
"Part of the typhoon, right?"
"What about the cloud right next to it?"
"...Also the typhoon?"
"What about rain falling a thousand miles away?"
"Ask a meteorologist."
"What about moisture rising from the ocean?"
"Seriously, take it up with the weather bureau."
That's just it. We call it a 'typhoon.' But there isn't a line drawn anywhere in the sky saying, this is where the typhoon starts and ends. Humans simply observe it, set parameters, and draw a boundary around it called a typhoon.

"What about earthquakes, then?"
"Not again."
"Could you kill an earthquake?"
"If it has a name?"
"Except major earthquakes usually don't get named until after they happen."
Taka froze.
"...Oh."
"What's the point of writing it in the DEATH NOTE after the shaking stops?"
"Useless."
"Right?"
"That's exactly it?the DEATH NOTE really is just for humans!"
"What about war, then?"
"We're still going?"
"Wars have names too."
World War II. The Pacific War. The Attack on Pearl Harbor. We learn those names from history textbooks.
But what did it look like to the people living right in the middle of it? Looking back, history groups it under a single name. You can pinpoint the start and end dates, and list out dozens of causes. But to the people living through those days, it was just an unnamed 'tomorrow.'

"Hey, Taka."
"What now?"
"If you wrote 'War' in the DEATH NOTE, what would actually die?"
Taka fell silent for a long moment.
"...I have no idea."
"Neither do I."
Would the soldiers vanish? The weapons? The orders? The hatred? The borders? Or would it be humanity itself?

War has a name. But whose face are you supposed to picture?

"Just because something has a name doesn't mean we actually understand what it is."
When I said that, Mama smiled quietly.
"Or maybe it's the other way around."
"How so?"
"Maybe we give things names precisely because we don't understand them."
Maybe she was right. Typhoons, earthquakes, wars, justice, evil, happiness, love. We draw boundaries around things and give them names. Without names, they're hard to talk about. Maybe even hard to think about. And once something has a name, somehow it feels like we understand it a little better.

"...Hey."
"What is it this time?"
"What even is a Shinigami?"
Taka pulled a face.
"We're going all the way there?"
"Think about it. A human writes the name. A human pictures the face. A human decides, 'This one.' Without that, the notebook doesn't know where to go."
"I guess..."
"So maybe the Shinigami isn't looking at our world at all?"
The ice shifted softly in my glass.
"Maybe it only exists inside the world we've managed to recognize."

A quiet settled over Aoi.

Taka knit his brows. Mama stayed silent. Having said it out loud, even I felt a little creeped out.

Eventually, Taka let out a small sigh.
"Kenichi-san."
"Yeah?"
"Can I ask one thing?"
"Go ahead."
"That first penguin... was it Pochi?"
"Yeah."
"Which one was it?"
"..."
I tried lining up a hundred penguins in my mind. I felt like it was the third one from the right... but then again, that one waddled away halfway through.
"No idea."
"Then I guess you can't kill it."
"Guess not."
"Good for Pochi, then."
"Yeah."
Mama laughed. I laughed too.

The world is full of things we've given names to. And surely there are plenty of things that don't even have names yet. How much of it are we truly able to distinguish?

That thing you think you "understand" right now?

Could you really pick it out from a hundred others?

See you at Aoi.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Hey, you.

Is there someone you don't really have a reason to dislike, but somehow just do?

They haven't done anything to you. You can't remember them saying anything particularly nasty. They've never caused you trouble at work.

And yet, something about them rubs you the wrong way.

Maybe it's their voice. The way they talk. Their face. You try to pin it down, but nothing quite explains it.

You just don't like them.

Is that such a terrible thing?

Clink.

When I pushed open the heavy wooden door to Aoi, Taka was sitting at the counter staring at his phone.

Mama set down my usual I.W. Harper without asking. The ice gave a soft clink.

"Kenichi-san."

"No."

"I haven't even said anything yet."

"Whenever you're sitting there staring at your phone like you're waiting for me, it's never good."

"Isn't that prejudice?"

"Experience."

Tom laughed beside me.

"So what is it?"

"Well, there's this guy I just don't like for some reason."

"Not my problem."

"And there goes my consultation."

I took a sip of my Harper.

"Did he do something to you?"

"Not really."

"Say something you didn't like?"

"Nope."

"Then why don't you like him?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"Don't ask me."

Taka frowned and set his phone face down.

"Come on. You don't have anyone like that?"

Well.

Sure I did.

Not a bad person. Not somebody everyone else disliked. Usually the opposite, actually. People seemed to like them just fine.

And yet, for whatever reason, I didn't.

There are people like that.

"There's probably a reason," Tom said. "Maybe it's the way he talks. Maybe he reminds you of somebody you used to hate."

"I thought so too. That's why I went looking."

"For what?"

"A reason not to like him."

I looked at Taka.

"You went looking for one?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Do you look for reasons to like someone?"

Taka went quiet. So did Tom.

I thought about it.

When we come to like someone, do we really go looking for reasons?

Sure, if somebody asks, we can usually come up with a few. They're kind. We get along. I can relax around them.

But I couldn't remember ever checking those reasons one by one and thinking, Good. This proves I'm justified in liking this person.

You like someone because you like them.

Apparently, that's enough.

"So why do we need a reason when we don't like somebody?"

Taka nodded.

"Exactly. That's what I was wondering."

"Self-defense, maybe," Tom said. "Something about the guy feels dangerous, so you start looking for what the danger is."

That made sense.

If aversion is an alarm, of course you'd want to know what set it off. An alarm is a lot more useful when you know what you're supposed to be watching out for.

Though there was something odd about setting off your own alarm and then searching the room for smoke.

Still.

Maybe that wasn't the only kind of self-defense involved.

"Could be the other way around too," I said.

"The other way?"

"Maybe what you're defending is yourself."

Taka looked at me.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't want to think you're the kind of guy who dislikes somebody for no reason."

"Oh."

"So you start looking. He does this. He said that. Look at the way he acts. And once you've collected enough of it, you can tell yourself, See? Of course I don't like him."

Tom put down his glass.

"So you're not looking for the reason you started disliking him."

"Maybe not."

"You're looking for a reason that makes it okay to dislike him."

"Maybe."

Taka folded his arms.

"That's not very cool."

"What isn't?"

"Punching somebody to defend yourself."

I frowned.

"Nobody's punching anybody."

"Same idea, isn't it? You don't want to feel like the bad guy, so you start finding things wrong with the other guy."

"I didn't say it went that far."

"But that's where it leads, isn't it?"

He was strangely serious about this.

Then again, Taka used to be a professional wrestler.

"You used to hit back when somebody hit you."

"Well, yeah. It was pro wrestling."

"What about defense?"

"Of course you defend yourself. But if you dodge every move, there's no match."

"You'd dodge in a street fight," Tom said.

"Exactly. Because that's a fight."

Taka smiled.

"Someone told me when I was wrestling: a guy who won't take a move never looks strong."

"Seems stronger to dodge it."

"That's because you're still thinking about a fight."

"What's the difference?"

"You take the move, and you get back up. That's what looks good."

I watched the ice turn slowly in my glass.

Take it.

Then get back up.

"So I'm supposed to stand there and take whatever somebody I hate throws at me?"

"No."

Taka answered immediately.

"Not from them. From yourself."

"From myself?"

"Just take this once: Man, I really don't like this guy."

"Even if I don't have a reason?"

"If you don't have one, you don't have one."

"That makes me sound like an asshole."

"Maybe you are."

"You're supposed to disagree."

Tom burst out laughing. Taka joined him.

But there was something to it.

We don't choose everything that rises up inside us. Anger. Fear. Envy. Affection. Aversion.

Sometimes a feeling simply arrives, and once it's there, pretending it never happened doesn't make it disappear.

So maybe instead of digging through somebody else's faults to prove that my dislike is justified, I could start somewhere simpler.

I just don't like this guy.

Take that first.

Maybe then I could keep what I felt about someone separate from what that person had actually done.

"But what if there really was a reason?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Say somebody did something awful to you. You got angry. You started hating them. That's a real reason."

"Sure."

"But sometimes you keep hating them long after that."

Tom nodded.

"Even after you've forgotten why."

"Exactly."

Sometimes the original reason disappears completely. Other times, it just gets buried under all the new ones you find afterward.

He broke a promise. He's always late. I hate the way he talks. He treats people differently depending on who they are. Even his apologies don't sound sincere.

One by one, the reasons pile up, and every new one tells you the same thing.

See? I was right about him.

Eventually, whatever started the whole thing barely matters.

"It starts as, 'I hate what he did,'" I said.

"And then it becomes, 'I hate him.'"

"There's another step," Taka said.

"What?"

"'I hate whatever he does.'"

I didn't like the sound of that.

Mostly because I knew exactly what he meant.

Once you hate someone, the same action starts looking different when they do it. If they apologize, it's too late. If they stay quiet, they're running away. If they argue back, they haven't learned anything. If they help somebody, they're just trying to look good.

Anything can become another reason to keep hating them.

At some point, you can't tell whether you're judging what they did or just looking at your own hatred reflected back at you.

"That never ends," Tom said.

"No," Taka said. "It doesn't."

"So what do you do?"

"About what?"

"You hate them. They hate you. You say something, they fire back. They fire back, you get pissed off again. How does it end?"

Taka thought for a moment.

"You end it."

"That's what I'm asking. How?"

"You stop."

"You stop hating them?"

"Why would you have to?"

I looked at him.

"You can still hate them?"

"Sure."

"Still be angry?"

"Sure."

"Even if they're still talking shit about you?"

"Let them."

"What if they take another swing at you?"

"I dodge."

"You don't hit back?"

Taka smiled.

"The match is over, isn't it?"

For a while, nobody said anything.

Behind the counter, Mama put a glass back on the shelf.

"In wrestling," I said, "does being angry suddenly stop when the bell rings?"

"Not necessarily."

"Does it stop hurting?"

"Of course not. Pain's pain."

"Then why is it over?"

Taka looked genuinely puzzled.

"Because the bell rang."

Like I'd asked him why nighttime was dark.

"That's enough?"

"It doesn't just end by itself."

Taka lifted his glass.

"You end it."

That stayed with me.

It doesn't end.

You end it.

Come to think of it, we do that all the time.

A graduation ceremony doesn't erase the years you spent at school. A funeral doesn't make grief disappear. Leaving a job doesn't mean every relationship you had there vanishes the next morning.

Maybe we don't draw a line because the feeling is over.

Maybe we draw one because it isn't.

A way of saying:

From here on, this is a different time.

"Like a ritual," I said.

Mama turned around.

"What is?"

"Ending things."

"Hmm."

She thought about it.

"Closing time might be like that."

"Closing time?"

"People might still want to drink. I still close the bar."

"Mama, was that aimed at me?"

"Who knows?"

Tom laughed. So did Taka.

I checked the clock.

Still plenty of time.

Close one.

But Mama had a point.

I still want to talk. I haven't said enough. They still don't understand me. They're still wrong. They still haven't understood that I'm right.

So just one more thing.

They answer.

So I answer back.

Just one more thing.

At that rate, the bar never closes.

At some point, somebody has to shut the door.

Even if the other person isn't satisfied.

Even if you aren't satisfied.

Even if you still hate them.

I finished my Harper.

"Alright. I'm heading home."

"You're leaving early."

"I'm getting out before the bell."

"Isn't that called forfeiting?"

"Shut up."

I got up from my stool.

Taka grinned.

"Kenichi-san."

"What?"

"You don't hate me, right?"

"I'm still looking for reasons."

"So you do!"

Tom's laughter followed me as I opened the door.

The night air was a little cool.

Dislike doesn't always disappear just because we want it to. Sometimes it comes without a reason. Sometimes it stays after the reason is gone. And sometimes, just to convince ourselves that the feeling is justified, we go looking for new reasons to keep it alive.

But maybe I don't have to make myself like someone I dislike.

Maybe I don't even have to forgive them.

I just don't have to keep swinging.

The bell doesn't quiet everything inside you. The pain can still be there. So can the anger.

And you can still step out of the ring.

Hey, you.

Is there someone you still can't stand?

Something you still want them to hear?

Then ask yourself one thing.

That match.

Is it really still going?

Or are you still throwing punches after the bell?

I'll see you at Aoi again.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Hey, you.

Is there someone you don't really have a reason to dislike, but somehow just do?

They haven't done anything to you. You can't remember them saying anything particularly nasty. They've never caused you trouble at work.

And yet, something about them rubs you the wrong way.

Maybe it's their voice. The way they talk. Their face. You try to pin it down, but nothing quite explains it.

You just don't like them.

Is that such a terrible thing?

Clink.

When I pushed open the heavy wooden door to Aoi, Taka was sitting at the counter staring at his phone.

Mama set down my usual I.W. Harper without asking. The ice gave a soft clink.

"Kenichi-san."

"No."

"I haven't even said anything yet."

"Whenever you're sitting there staring at your phone like you're waiting for me, it's never good."

"Isn't that prejudice?"

"Experience."

Tom laughed beside me.

"So what is it?"

"Well, there's this guy I just don't like for some reason."

"Not my problem."

"And there goes my consultation."

I took a sip of my Harper.

"Did he do something to you?"

"Not really."

"Say something you didn't like?"

"Nope."

"Then why don't you like him?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"Don't ask me."

Taka frowned and set his phone face down.

"Come on. You don't have anyone like that?"

Well.

Sure I did.

Not a bad person. Not somebody everyone else disliked. Usually the opposite, actually. People seemed to like them just fine.

And yet, for whatever reason, I didn't.

There are people like that.

"There's probably a reason," Tom said. "Maybe it's the way he talks. Maybe he reminds you of somebody you used to hate."

"I thought so too. That's why I went looking."

"For what?"

"A reason not to like him."

I looked at Taka.

"You went looking for one?"

"Wouldn't you?"

"Do you look for reasons to like someone?"

Taka went quiet. So did Tom.

I thought about it.

When we come to like someone, do we really go looking for reasons?

Sure, if somebody asks, we can usually come up with a few. They're kind. We get along. I can relax around them.

But I couldn't remember ever checking those reasons one by one and thinking, Good. This proves I'm justified in liking this person.

You like someone because you like them.

Apparently, that's enough.

"So why do we need a reason when we don't like somebody?"

Taka nodded.

"Exactly. That's what I was wondering."

"Self-defense, maybe," Tom said. "Something about the guy feels dangerous, so you start looking for what the danger is."

That made sense.

If aversion is an alarm, of course you'd want to know what set it off. An alarm is a lot more useful when you know what you're supposed to be watching out for.

Though there was something odd about setting off your own alarm and then searching the room for smoke.

Still.

Maybe that wasn't the only kind of self-defense involved.

"Could be the other way around too," I said.

"The other way?"

"Maybe what you're defending is yourself."

Taka looked at me.

"What do you mean?"

"You don't want to think you're the kind of guy who dislikes somebody for no reason."

"Oh."

"So you start looking. He does this. He said that. Look at the way he acts. And once you've collected enough of it, you can tell yourself, See? Of course I don't like him."

Tom put down his glass.

"So you're not looking for the reason you started disliking him."

"Maybe not."

"You're looking for a reason that makes it okay to dislike him."

"Maybe."

Taka folded his arms.

"That's not very cool."

"What isn't?"

"Punching somebody to defend yourself."

I frowned.

"Nobody's punching anybody."

"Same idea, isn't it? You don't want to feel like the bad guy, so you start finding things wrong with the other guy."

"I didn't say it went that far."

"But that's where it leads, isn't it?"

He was strangely serious about this.

Then again, Taka used to be a professional wrestler.

"You used to hit back when somebody hit you."

"Well, yeah. It was pro wrestling."

"What about defense?"

"Of course you defend yourself. But if you dodge every move, there's no match."

"You'd dodge in a street fight," Tom said.

"Exactly. Because that's a fight."

Taka smiled.

"Someone told me when I was wrestling: a guy who won't take a move never looks strong."

"Seems stronger to dodge it."

"That's because you're still thinking about a fight."

"What's the difference?"

"You take the move, and you get back up. That's what looks good."

I watched the ice turn slowly in my glass.

Take it.

Then get back up.

"So I'm supposed to stand there and take whatever somebody I hate throws at me?"

"No."

Taka answered immediately.

"Not from them. From yourself."

"From myself?"

"Just take this once: Man, I really don't like this guy."

"Even if I don't have a reason?"

"If you don't have one, you don't have one."

"That makes me sound like an asshole."

"Maybe you are."

"You're supposed to disagree."

Tom burst out laughing. Taka joined him.

But there was something to it.

We don't choose everything that rises up inside us. Anger. Fear. Envy. Affection. Aversion.

Sometimes a feeling simply arrives, and once it's there, pretending it never happened doesn't make it disappear.

So maybe instead of digging through somebody else's faults to prove that my dislike is justified, I could start somewhere simpler.

I just don't like this guy.

Take that first.

Maybe then I could keep what I felt about someone separate from what that person had actually done.

"But what if there really was a reason?" I asked.

"What do you mean?"

"Say somebody did something awful to you. You got angry. You started hating them. That's a real reason."

"Sure."

"But sometimes you keep hating them long after that."

Tom nodded.

"Even after you've forgotten why."

"Exactly."

Sometimes the original reason disappears completely. Other times, it just gets buried under all the new ones you find afterward.

He broke a promise. He's always late. I hate the way he talks. He treats people differently depending on who they are. Even his apologies don't sound sincere.

One by one, the reasons pile up, and every new one tells you the same thing.

See? I was right about him.

Eventually, whatever started the whole thing barely matters.

"It starts as, 'I hate what he did,'" I said.

"And then it becomes, 'I hate him.'"

"There's another step," Taka said.

"What?"

"'I hate whatever he does.'"

I didn't like the sound of that.

Mostly because I knew exactly what he meant.

Once you hate someone, the same action starts looking different when they do it. If they apologize, it's too late. If they stay quiet, they're running away. If they argue back, they haven't learned anything. If they help somebody, they're just trying to look good.

Anything can become another reason to keep hating them.

At some point, you can't tell whether you're judging what they did or just looking at your own hatred reflected back at you.

"That never ends," Tom said.

"No," Taka said. "It doesn't."

"So what do you do?"

"About what?"

"You hate them. They hate you. You say something, they fire back. They fire back, you get pissed off again. How does it end?"

Taka thought for a moment.

"You end it."

"That's what I'm asking. How?"

"You stop."

"You stop hating them?"

"Why would you have to?"

I looked at him.

"You can still hate them?"

"Sure."

"Still be angry?"

"Sure."

"Even if they're still talking shit about you?"

"Let them."

"What if they take another swing at you?"

"I dodge."

"You don't hit back?"

Taka smiled.

"The match is over, isn't it?"

For a while, nobody said anything.

Behind the counter, Mama put a glass back on the shelf.

"In wrestling," I said, "does being angry suddenly stop when the bell rings?"

"Not necessarily."

"Does it stop hurting?"

"Of course not. Pain's pain."

"Then why is it over?"

Taka looked genuinely puzzled.

"Because the bell rang."

Like I'd asked him why nighttime was dark.

"That's enough?"

"It doesn't just end by itself."

Taka lifted his glass.

"You end it."

That stayed with me.

It doesn't end.

You end it.

Come to think of it, we do that all the time.

A graduation ceremony doesn't erase the years you spent at school. A funeral doesn't make grief disappear. Leaving a job doesn't mean every relationship you had there vanishes the next morning.

Maybe we don't draw a line because the feeling is over.

Maybe we draw one because it isn't.

A way of saying:

From here on, this is a different time.

"Like a ritual," I said.

Mama turned around.

"What is?"

"Ending things."

"Hmm."

She thought about it.

"Closing time might be like that."

"Closing time?"

"People might still want to drink. I still close the bar."

"Mama, was that aimed at me?"

"Who knows?"

Tom laughed. So did Taka.

I checked the clock.

Still plenty of time.

Close one.

But Mama had a point.

I still want to talk. I haven't said enough. They still don't understand me. They're still wrong. They still haven't understood that I'm right.

So just one more thing.

They answer.

So I answer back.

Just one more thing.

At that rate, the bar never closes.

At some point, somebody has to shut the door.

Even if the other person isn't satisfied.

Even if you aren't satisfied.

Even if you still hate them.

I finished my Harper.

"Alright. I'm heading home."

"You're leaving early."

"I'm getting out before the bell."

"Isn't that called forfeiting?"

"Shut up."

I got up from my stool.

Taka grinned.

"Kenichi-san."

"What?"

"You don't hate me, right?"

"I'm still looking for reasons."

"So you do!"

Tom's laughter followed me as I opened the door.

The night air was a little cool.

Dislike doesn't always disappear just because we want it to. Sometimes it comes without a reason. Sometimes it stays after the reason is gone. And sometimes, just to convince ourselves that the feeling is justified, we go looking for new reasons to keep it alive.

But maybe I don't have to make myself like someone I dislike.

Maybe I don't even have to forgive them.

I just don't have to keep swinging.

The bell doesn't quiet everything inside you. The pain can still be there. So can the anger.

And you can still step out of the ring.

Hey, you.

Is there someone you still can't stand?

Something you still want them to hear?

Then ask yourself one thing.

That match.

Is it really still going?

Or are you still throwing punches after the bell?

I'll see you at Aoi again.

---

Want another night at Aoi?

Step back inside. We'll help you find your next story.

→ Welcome to Bar Aoi

Hey, you.

Have you ever thought about becoming someone who isn't really you anymore?

I don't mean dying.
You're alive. You eat, you walk around, you talk to people.
And yet, the person you were yesterday and the person you are today start drifting apart, little by little.

If it changes for the better, I guess people call that "growth."
So what do you call it when it changes for the worse?

Clink.

I opened the heavy door to Aoi. Taka was at the counter eating something.

"What are you eating?"
"Chocolate."
"This isn't a place to eat stuff like that."
"You're one to talk, Kenichi-san."
"Why?"
"You brought your own rice crackers in here the other week."
"I got Mama's permission for those."
"I never gave you permission," Mama said from behind the bar.

"See?"
"Shut up."

I sat in my usual spot, and a glass of I.W. Harper appeared as always.
The round ice cube gave a quiet clink.

Tom walked in a little later.
What were we even talking about?
Someone at work getting reading glasses. How we used to be able to pull all-nighters. How taking the stairs leaves us winded now. The kind of conversation you can hear anywhere when a bunch of guys over fifty get together.

"It's been happening more lately, hasn't it?" Taka said.
"What has?"
"You forgetting things."
"Shut up."
"Is your brain holding up okay?"
"If it were okay, I wouldn't be complaining."

I raised my glass.

"I can't place names as fast as I used to. Takes me forever just to remember what I ate yesterday."
"That's just old age," Tom chimed in.

"Can't you guys deny it just a little?"
"It's true, isn't it?"
"Well, yeah, but..."

Laughter broke out. I laughed too.
It wasn't anything unusual. Once you hit fifty-four, your body starts falling apart in places. You can't run as fast. Staying up late hurts. Small print gets hard to read.
None of that really matters.

The real problem is what comes after.

"Look," I said, rolling the ice in my glass. "My body giving out... I can accept that."
"Getting heavy all of a sudden, aren't we?"
"Shut up."
"Then what is it you hate so much?"

I started to answer, then stopped.

Losing the ability to think. Making bad judgments.
Not even realizing when I'm wrong.
Failing to do what I could easily do yesterday, while still believing I'm doing just fine.

And eventually... forgetting who I even am.

What was the point of dumping all that on them?

"...I just don't want anyone wiping my ass," I finally said.

"That's it?" Taka laughed.
"It's important."
"Well, yeah, it is, but..."
"I'd rather close my eyes out in the freezing cold than make Masato do something like that."

Tom let out a snort.

"You think you can just die that conveniently?"
"It takes willpower."
"Don't waste willpower on dying."
"Grit, then."
"Same difference."

Mama chuckled. "Wouldn't you just catch a cold?"
"That'd be the most embarrassing way to go."

We laughed again. I laughed too.
And that was the end of the topic. Just another ordinary night at Aoi.

It was colder outside than I expected.

I thought back to that joke.
Closing my eyes out in the freezing cold. If I actually tried it, I really would just end up catching a cold.
I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and headed toward the station.

Getting old and frail doesn't scare me. Probably.
If I can't walk, I'll use a cane. If my eyes go bad, I'll wear glasses.
As long as I know what's broken, there's a way to deal with it.

So what if the part that does the thinking breaks?
With a failing brain, how do you judge your own decay?

I stopped in my tracks.
I was thinking stupid thoughts.
There was no guarantee the mind doing all this thinking was working properly right now, either.

The lights of a convenience store caught my eye.
Before I knew it, I was inside, standing frozen in front of the liquor shelf.

I.W. Harper.
I almost never drink it outside of Aoi. It wasn't something I kept at home.
Still, I bought a bottle that night and took it back with me.

"I'm home."

No answer. Of course not.
Without even changing out of my clothes, I sat in front of Kaori's framed picture.
She was smiling, same as always.

"Want a drink?"

I asked a foolish question, pulled out a small glass, and poured some Harper. No ice.

I took a sip.
It was supposed to be the same whiskey I drink at Aoi, but it tasted terrible.

Another sip.
And another.
I wanted to get drunk. I thought it'd be fine if I just drank until I couldn't think about anything anymore.

Scared of losing myself, yet actively trying to break myself down.
I caught the contradiction and let out a dry laugh.

"What am I even doing?"

Kaori just kept smiling. I couldn't get drunk at all.

If I couldn't get drunk, maybe taking a hot bath would make my head go hazy.
So I set the bath to fill up.

I sank my body into the tub.
It was warm. I closed my eyes.

What if everything just ended right here?

The thought flickered across my mind for a split second.

No needing anyone to take care of me. Not Masato, not Ami, not the guys at work.
Clean and simple. Right here.

"...Are you an idiot?"

I spoke out loud and opened my eyes.
Through the steam, there was the familiar ceiling of my bathroom.

I climbed out of the tub.
I wiped myself down like I was running away from something. My spine felt ice-cold as I realized where my mind had almost drifted.

Drying my hair, I walked back into the room. Kaori was still smiling.

I sat back down in front of her picture.
The bottle of Harper and the untouched glass.

Masato's face popped into my mind. Ami's face too.
Where will the two of them go from here? What kind of life will they build? From now on, there will be more and more moments in their lives that I'll never know about.

And that's fine.
Echizenya and the others are already pushing my hands away and running things themselves. Work, home, everything moves along smoothly even without me.

It's not a bad thing.
I worked my whole life to make it this way.

And yet.
The more everything fell neatly into place, the more it felt like the warmth was quietly being drained from under my feet.

What the hell is this?
Did I spend all this time getting everything in order just to end up like this?

"...Is it still a no?"

I asked the picture. Naturally, there was no reply.

I reached for the glass.
And that was when it happened.

"Not yet."

I heard my own voice out loud.

I froze with the glass in my hand.

"Still not enough."

Enough of what?
I had no idea.
Money? Work? Masato? Tomorrow's dinner?
Nothing came to mind.

All I knew was that this raw weight of "not enough" was sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach.

I looked at the picture.
Kaori was still smiling, same as ever.

"...What?"

I let out a small laugh.

"Is that how it is?"

I downed the rest of the Harper.
The whiskey that tasted so terrible a moment ago tasted a little closer to normal now.

I got into bed.
The alcohol never really hit me, not even in the end.

Hey, you.

I thought I'd lived my whole life trying to have enough.
Turns out, I still don't.

Enough of what?
Who the hell knows.

Until I figure that out...
I guess I'll keep struggling along a little longer, uncool as it is.

I'll see you at Aoi again.

---

The bar is still under construction—but it's open.

Welcome to Bar Aoi → https://www.reddit.com/user/dulduine/comments/1wajikq/welcome_to_bar_aoi/

Hey, you.

Have you ever thought about becoming someone who isn't really you anymore?

I don't mean dying.
You're alive. You eat, you walk around, you talk to people.
And yet, the person you were yesterday and the person you are today start drifting apart, little by little.

If it changes for the better, I guess people call that "growth."
So what do you call it when it changes for the worse?

Clink.

I opened the heavy door to Aoi. Taka was at the counter eating something.

"What are you eating?"
"Chocolate."
"This isn't a place to eat stuff like that."
"You're one to talk, Kenichi-san."
"Why?"
"You brought your own rice crackers in here the other week."
"I got Mama's permission for those."
"I never gave you permission," Mama said from behind the bar.

"See?"
"Shut up."

I sat in my usual spot, and a glass of I.W. Harper appeared as always.
The round ice cube gave a quiet clink.

Tom walked in a little later.
What were we even talking about?
Someone at work getting reading glasses. How we used to be able to pull all-nighters. How taking the stairs leaves us winded now. The kind of conversation you can hear anywhere when a bunch of guys over fifty get together.

"It's been happening more lately, hasn't it?" Taka said.
"What has?"
"You forgetting things."
"Shut up."
"Is your brain holding up okay?"
"If it were okay, I wouldn't be complaining."

I raised my glass.

"I can't place names as fast as I used to. Takes me forever just to remember what I ate yesterday."
"That's just old age," Tom chimed in.

"Can't you guys deny it just a little?"
"It's true, isn't it?"
"Well, yeah, but..."

Laughter broke out. I laughed too.
It wasn't anything unusual. Once you hit fifty-four, your body starts falling apart in places. You can't run as fast. Staying up late hurts. Small print gets hard to read.
None of that really matters.

The real problem is what comes after.

"Look," I said, rolling the ice in my glass. "My body giving out... I can accept that."
"Getting heavy all of a sudden, aren't we?"
"Shut up."
"Then what is it you hate so much?"

I started to answer, then stopped.

Losing the ability to think. Making bad judgments.
Not even realizing when I'm wrong.
Failing to do what I could easily do yesterday, while still believing I'm doing just fine.

And eventually... forgetting who I even am.

What was the point of dumping all that on them?

"...I just don't want anyone wiping my ass," I finally said.

"That's it?" Taka laughed.
"It's important."
"Well, yeah, it is, but..."
"I'd rather close my eyes out in the freezing cold than make Masato do something like that."

Tom let out a snort.

"You think you can just die that conveniently?"
"It takes willpower."
"Don't waste willpower on dying."
"Grit, then."
"Same difference."

Mama chuckled. "Wouldn't you just catch a cold?"
"That'd be the most embarrassing way to go."

We laughed again. I laughed too.
And that was the end of the topic. Just another ordinary night at Aoi.

It was colder outside than I expected.

I thought back to that joke.
Closing my eyes out in the freezing cold. If I actually tried it, I really would just end up catching a cold.
I shoved my hands into my coat pockets and headed toward the station.

Getting old and frail doesn't scare me. Probably.
If I can't walk, I'll use a cane. If my eyes go bad, I'll wear glasses.
As long as I know what's broken, there's a way to deal with it.

So what if the part that does the thinking breaks?
With a failing brain, how do you judge your own decay?

I stopped in my tracks.
I was thinking stupid thoughts.
There was no guarantee the mind doing all this thinking was working properly right now, either.

The lights of a convenience store caught my eye.
Before I knew it, I was inside, standing frozen in front of the liquor shelf.

I.W. Harper.
I almost never drink it outside of Aoi. It wasn't something I kept at home.
Still, I bought a bottle that night and took it back with me.

"I'm home."

No answer. Of course not.
Without even changing out of my clothes, I sat in front of Kaori's framed picture.
She was smiling, same as always.

"Want a drink?"

I asked a foolish question, pulled out a small glass, and poured some Harper. No ice.

I took a sip.
It was supposed to be the same whiskey I drink at Aoi, but it tasted terrible.

Another sip.
And another.
I wanted to get drunk. I thought it'd be fine if I just drank until I couldn't think about anything anymore.

Scared of losing myself, yet actively trying to break myself down.
I caught the contradiction and let out a dry laugh.

"What am I even doing?"

Kaori just kept smiling. I couldn't get drunk at all.

If I couldn't get drunk, maybe taking a hot bath would make my head go hazy.
So I set the bath to fill up.

I sank my body into the tub.
It was warm. I closed my eyes.

What if everything just ended right here?

The thought flickered across my mind for a split second.

No needing anyone to take care of me. Not Masato, not Ami, not the guys at work.
Clean and simple. Right here.

"...Are you an idiot?"

I spoke out loud and opened my eyes.
Through the steam, there was the familiar ceiling of my bathroom.

I climbed out of the tub.
I wiped myself down like I was running away from something. My spine felt ice-cold as I realized where my mind had almost drifted.

Drying my hair, I walked back into the room. Kaori was still smiling.

I sat back down in front of her picture.
The bottle of Harper and the untouched glass.

Masato's face popped into my mind. Ami's face too.
Where will the two of them go from here? What kind of life will they build? From now on, there will be more and more moments in their lives that I'll never know about.

And that's fine.
Echizenya and the others are already pushing my hands away and running things themselves. Work, home, everything moves along smoothly even without me.

It's not a bad thing.
I worked my whole life to make it this way.

And yet.
The more everything fell neatly into place, the more it felt like the warmth was quietly being drained from under my feet.

What the hell is this?
Did I spend all this time getting everything in order just to end up like this?

"...Is it still a no?"

I asked the picture. Naturally, there was no reply.

I reached for the glass.
And that was when it happened.

"Not yet."

I heard my own voice out loud.

I froze with the glass in my hand.

"Still not enough."

Enough of what?
I had no idea.
Money? Work? Masato? Tomorrow's dinner?
Nothing came to mind.

All I knew was that this raw weight of "not enough" was sitting heavy in the pit of my stomach.

I looked at the picture.
Kaori was still smiling, same as ever.

"...What?"

I let out a small laugh.

"Is that how it is?"

I downed the rest of the Harper.
The whiskey that tasted so terrible a moment ago tasted a little closer to normal now.

I got into bed.
The alcohol never really hit me, not even in the end.

Hey, you.

I thought I'd lived my whole life trying to have enough.
Turns out, I still don't.

Enough of what?
Who the hell knows.

Until I figure that out...
I guess I'll keep struggling along a little longer, uncool as it is.

I'll see you at Aoi again.

---

The bar is still under construction—but it's open.

Welcome to Bar Aoi → https://www.reddit.com/user/dulduine/comments/1wajikq/welcome_to_bar_aoi/

Hey, you.

Have you ever heard about someone failing and felt just a tiny part of you was glad?

It’s not like you were gloating. It wasn’t someone you hated.
In fact, it was the exact opposite. You wanted them to succeed. You rooted for them. If they were in trouble, you wanted to help.

And yet.

The moment you heard they failed, a tiny part of you was glad.
What do you make of a feeling like that?

Clink.

I opened the heavy door to Aoi. Taka and Tom were sitting side-by-side at the counter.
Without asking a word, Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me.

"Hey," I said.
"Yeah?"
"Today, I kind of disgusted myself."

Taka turned to look at me.
"That’s rare."
"What is?"
"You actually noticing it."
"I’m going home."

Tom let out a low laugh.
"So, what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything."
"Then what were you thinking?"

Always poking where it hurts. That’s an ex-cop for you.

I took a sip of my Harper.

"There’s a guy I used to work with. A junior colleague, I guess."

For a while, young guys kept getting dumped on my team.
I wasn't a trainer or an HR guy. If they asked questions, I answered. If trouble broke out, we worked through it together. If they messed up, we looked at what went wrong. That was it.

Yet before I knew it, people started calling it the "Tanaka School."
I hated that name. It wasn't a school, and I wasn't a teacher. We were just colleagues working together.

"So, a graduate from the school?"
"I told you, it wasn't a school."
"Right, right."
"Anyway. He got assigned to run his own project for the first time at another site."

It was a small project. But he had to make the plan, talk to the client, and lead the team himself. If anything went wrong, he had to make the call.

And he blew it.
He missed a detail, work ground to a halt, and he had to go explain it to the client. It wasn't a catastrophe, but for him, it was a real failure.

"When I heard about it..."

I stared down at the ice in my glass.

"I felt a little glad."

Taka visibly frowned.
"That's pretty nasty."
"I know."
"Did you dislike the guy?"
"Opposite. I liked him."
"Then why?"
"I don't know, and that's what makes me feel sick."

I never wanted him to fail.
When I heard he was managing projects on his own, I was genuinely happy for him.

And yet.
The moment I heard he messed up, somewhere inside me gave a tiny smirk.

?Ah, of course. Figures.

It felt something like that.

"So, what did you do?" Tom asked.

"I went to check on him. I was nearby."

When I got to the site, he was sweating bullets, just as I expected. Glaring at his monitor while talking on the phone.
I peeked over his shoulder at the documents. I instantly got the picture.

"Ah, if it's this?"

Just as I was about to step in, a hand tapped my shoulder from behind.

"Tanaka-san, got a second?"

Makoto Echizenya. Forty-two years old.
He’s a section manager now, and I heard he took the department head exam. He and I worked together through a few brutal projects years ago. He's another one of those... "graduates" of the Tanaka School, as people call it.

He led me a short distance away, glanced back at the kid, and turned to me.

"He's at a crucial moment right now. Don't go interfering."
"Huh? He’s struggling over there."
"He is."
"Then you help him out. Obviously."
"Why?"

This guy always had a knack for saying things that rubbed me the wrong way.

"A colleague is in trouble."

When I said that, Echizenya made a strange face.

"Tanaka-san, you're still saying that?"
"Saying what?"
"He’s thinking through it on his own. Don't get in his way."
"He's gonna fail."
"He already failed."
"It could turn into a bigger mess."
"If it does, I’ll step in and stop it. Not you."

Echizenya shoved his hands into his pockets and walked back to the floor.

"See?" I looked at Tom after finishing the story. "When a teammate is in trouble, you lend a hand. That's standard."

Tom didn't answer right away.
He raised his glass, took a sip, and set it quietly back on the counter.

"Did he ask you to help?"
"...No."
"Did he ask Echizenya?"
"How should I know?"
"Did he have a look on his face that said 'save me'?"
"He looked overwhelmed."
"That’s not what I asked."

Tom looked straight at me.

"So, who was the one in trouble?"

I stayed silent.

"Was it him? Or... was it you, unable to stand watching a teammate struggle?"

My throat felt dry.
Without a word, I knocked back a gulp of Harper.

"Helping people feels good, you know," Tom said, gently clinking his ice.
"What?"
"Makes you feel useful."

I had no comeback.

The moment I heard about his failure, something inside me smiled.
And suddenly, I knew exactly what that ugly little feeling had been.

Ah, of course. He can't manage without me.

I just wanted to feel that way.

"So?" Taka asked.
"What?"
"What happened to the guy?"
"...He resolved it himself."

Because I didn't step in, he took a massive detour.
He bowed his head to the client, tracked down the root cause himself, and wrapped it up on his own.

"Then everything turned out fine," Taka said.
"I guess."
"Weren't you happy?"
"...I was."
"Which time more?"
"Which time what?"
"When you heard he failed, or when you heard he fixed it himself?"

I tilted my glass, but there was nothing left but melting ice.

"That Echizenya guy," Taka said, as if remembering something.
"What about him?"
"Was he your subordinate?"
"No. We just worked together back in the day."
"So now he's raising subordinates of his own."
"Looks like it."
"Well then. Sounds like he graduated just fine."
"I never enrolled him in the first place."

Mama smiled quietly behind the bar.

The round ice cube in my glass had shrunk a little.

I never intended to raise any of those guys.
We worked together, I shared what I knew, and we figured out what we didn't know together. Eventually, they could do more on their own, and they moved on to other places.

I’m not cut out to be a teacher.
And they weren't my students.
We were colleagues.

That’s what I thought.

"Kenichi-san," Taka said.
"What?"
"Are you lonely?"
"About what?"
"Because you're not needed anymore."
"Hey."
"Am I wrong?"
"Yes."

...Probably.

"Then why were you glad when he failed?"

I glared at Taka.
"You're awfully talkative today."
"Hit a nerve?"
"I'm starting to dislike you."
"Look at you, looking for excuses again."

Tom burst out laughing. Even Mama's shoulders shook.

I drained the last drop of my Harper and stood up.

"Check, please."

The night air felt a bit chilly when I opened the door.

Teaching someone something is a strange business.
When they learn to do what they couldn't before, you're happy. When they can do it on their own, you're even happier.

Or at least, that's what you tell yourself.

Then one day, they really can do it without you, and it feels like a small hole has opened under your feet.

I wasn't glad he'd failed because I wanted him to fail.
I was pathetically hoping my turn had come again.

But knowing my turn never came made me far prouder.

Failing. Struggling. Fumbling your way through it. And still getting back on your feet.
If someone can do that, they probably don't need a teacher anymore.

Well.
Not like I ever thought I was one.

Hey, you.

There's probably someone who you always want to help.

If they trip and fall on their own for the first time...
Can you stand back and let them?

And when they get back up on their own...
Can you smile and think,

"Guess they don't need me anymore."

I'll see you at Aoi again.

Hey, you.

Is there anyone you hate?

Sounds like a pretty dangerous question, doesn't it?

You shouldn't hate people. Holding a grudge only hurts you. Forgiveness is how you set yourself free.

We've all heard things like that, and I don't exactly disagree. I'd rather spend my life laughing than spend it hating someone.

But that leaves me with one strange question.

If hatred is really such a bad thing for us, why did we end up with it in the first place?

Clang-clink.

The sound of the door chime always makes me feel like my day is finally over.

Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave a quiet clink. At the far end of the counter, Taka was staring into his glass for once, his phone nowhere in sight.

"Kenichi-san."

"No phone tonight?"

"Hey, I think about things besides my phone sometimes."

"My apologies."

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"Not at all."

Taka gave me a suspicious look.

"About what we talked about yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"About how it's okay not to forgive someone."

"Ah."

"I kept thinking about it after I got home."

"Look at you, being serious for once."

"The 'for once' was unnecessary."

Taka poked at the ice in his glass with his straw.

"You said not forgiving someone and continuing to hate them aren't the same thing, right?"

"Tom said that."

"Right. And I still don't really understand the difference."

"Ask him."

"He'll just say, 'Beats me. I'm not a monk.'"

Beside us, Tom frowned over his drink.

"What exactly do you think I am?"

"An ex-cop."

"Annoying when you're actually right."

I couldn't help laughing.

"So what don't you understand?"

"Well, if you don't forgive someone, that means you still dislike them, right?"

"Sometimes, I suppose."

"Then aren't you still hating them?"

I opened my mouth to answer, then stopped. He had a point.

Yesterday I'd acted as though I understood it perfectly. Asked directly, though, it wasn't so simple. Not forgiving, disliking, hating—the words seemed to live awfully close together.

"...Tom."

"Don't drag me into this."

"You started it yesterday."

"Beats me. I was talking on instinct."

"A cop shouldn't talk on instinct."

"I'm retired."

Convenient status to have.

I took a sip of my Harper.

"All right, Taka. Anyone you dislike?"

"Of course."

"Do you think about them every day?"

Taka considered it.

"...No."

"When you woke up this morning?"

"Nope."

"At lunch?"

"No."

"Right now?"

"Honestly, I'd forgotten about them until you asked."

"Exactly."

Taka fell silent.

"Disliking someone doesn't mean you spend all day thinking about them."

"True."

"Maybe someone you haven't forgiven can be the same."

"But what about someone you hate?"

That stopped me. Tom spoke before I could answer.

"You keep remembering them."

"Remembering what?"

"The person."

Tom slowly rolled his glass between his fingers.

"Something happens and there they are again. What's that bastard doing now? Living happily, maybe? Have they already forgotten what they did to me?"

Taka nodded.

"Yeah. I can see that."

"Get deep enough into it and you start hoping they're miserable."

"Okay. That's definitely hatred."

"Yeah."

I turned Tom's words over in my head.

Strange thing, hatred. When you dislike someone, you put distance between you. You don't want to see them, talk to them, or have anything to do with them, so you walk away.

But someone you hate? You never want to see them again, yet somehow you keep meeting them inside your own head.

"...Maybe hatred means the relationship never really ends."

Taka tilted his head.

"Relationship?"

"Yeah. You can cut every tie in the real world and still keep living with them up here."

"Ah..."

What are they doing now? Are they happy? Are they suffering? Do they remember me?

Just saying it left a bad taste in my mouth. Why the hell should I spend my days worrying about the life of someone I can't stand?

"Pretty damn conscientious, when you think about it."

"What is?"

"Spending your own time on someone you hate."

Taka blinked.

"Wait. That's a terrible return on investment."

"You really do turn everything into cost-benefit analysis."

"I'm a private investigator."

"Convenient profession."

Still, something bothered me.

It's a waste, so stop.

If it were that easy, nobody would struggle with hatred in the first place. Let it go. Forget about them. Move on. The person carrying the hatred probably knows all of that already and still can't put it down.

So why do we hate people at all?

"Because they did something awful to us?" Taka said.

"Well, sure, but..."

I looked at the ice in my glass.

"If hatred is such a useless emotion, why are humans capable of feeling it?"

Taka blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Why do we get hungry?"

"To tell us to eat."

"Pain?"

"To tell us we're hurt."

"Fear?"

"To tell us to run?"

"Then what's hatred telling us to do?"

Taka stopped.

"...What is it telling us?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"You don't know?"

"I'm not a philosopher."

Tom snorted.

"You're one to talk."

"Shut up."

The three of us laughed.

But when I thought about it, a creature that easily forgot whatever had nearly destroyed it probably wouldn't survive very long. Get hurt by someone yesterday, forget it completely today, then turn your back on the same person again. Hard to imagine a creature like that lasting long.

Stay away from that person. Don't trust them. If it happens again, run.

Taka leaned forward slightly.

"So hatred makes sure we remember?"

"Maybe."

"By making us hate them?"

"I don't know. But if you forget, you might end up in the same place again."

Tom set down his glass.

"Then maybe it's like pain."

"Pain?" Taka asked.

"Yeah. Pain sucks, right?"

"Obviously."

"So would you want to get rid of it completely?"

"No... that'd be dangerous."

"Touch something burning hot without pain and you don't pull your hand away. Break your leg without pain and you might keep walking on it. Pain is miserable, but without it, you might not even notice you're destroying yourself."

I looked at Tom.

"So hatred works the same way?"

"Beats me."

"You can't come that far and quit."

"I told you. I'm neither a monk nor a philosopher."

Taka laughed.

Still, it made a strange kind of sense. Just because an emotion hurts doesn't necessarily mean the emotion itself is wrong. Fear makes you run. Pain makes you pull your hand away.

Maybe hatred, too, has some job to do.

"So it's okay to hate someone?" Taka asked.

I thought about it.

"At first? Maybe."

"At first?"

"Yeah. Someone hurt you. You're furious. You hate them. You never want it to happen again. Maybe hatred is an alarm going off inside you."

"An alarm?"

"Fire breaks out, the alarm rings."

"Right."

"You don't stand there while the building burns and say, 'That alarm is annoying. Somebody shut it off.'"

"Well, no."

"First you get out. Put out the fire. Find where it started. Then make sure it can't happen again."

I stopped. As I said it, I could suddenly see where the thought was going.

"But..."

Taka waited.

"What happens if the alarm keeps ringing after the fire is gone?"

Neither Taka nor Tom answered.

"All day. The next day. A year later, it's still ringing."

"That'd wear you down."

"Yeah."

"Then why not turn it off?"

"Could you?"

Taka thought for a while.

"...Maybe not."

"Why?"

"Because if you turned it off..."

He went quiet again.

"...it might feel like the fire never happened?"

I looked at him.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe people don't hold on to hatred only because they refuse to forgive. Maybe they're afraid that letting go of the hatred means forgetting what that person did, how badly it hurt, and the fact that it was wrong. If the alarm stops, perhaps it feels as though the fire itself has been erased.

So you let it keep ringing.

"...That brings us back to yesterday."

"The part about not forgiving?"

"Yeah."

I put my glass down.

"You can remember the fire without keeping the alarm on."

"Right."

"Where it started. What burned. How you got out. What you'll do if it ever happens again. You remember all of that."

"But you turn off the alarm."

"Yeah."

Taka slowly nodded.

"So that's what it means to not forgive someone, but stop hating them?"

"...Maybe."

He thought about it for a while, then gave another small nod.

"I think I kind of get it."

"Only kind of?"

"You're always telling me there aren't any absolute answers to this stuff, Kenichi-san."

"You only remember my advice when it's useful to you."

"I'm your apprentice."

"When the hell did I take you on as an apprentice?"

Tom snorted beside us.

"He's starting to sound like you."

"Don't say that. I'm not taking responsibility for him."

"That's cold."

Taka laughed.

That was when Mama, who had been quietly polishing a glass the entire time, finally spoke.

"Then maybe hatred..."

We looked toward her.

"...is an alarm saying, Don't forget."

Nobody said anything.

Mama held the glass up to the light.

"The pain. The fear. The fact that what happened was wrong."

The cloth moved slowly around the rim. Then she returned the polished glass to the shelf.

Click.

"If you've truly remembered what it needed to teach you, maybe it doesn't have to keep ringing."

I stared at the ice in my Harper.

If you've truly remembered.

Not forget it. Not forgive them.

Remember.

Maybe the alarm can stop without erasing what happened.

If that's true, perhaps throw away your hatred is the wrong way to put it. You don't throw it away. You let it finish its job, and you keep what it taught you.

That hurt. That scared me. That was wrong.

I won't go back there. If it happens again, I'll protect myself.

Once you've learned that much, maybe the alarm doesn't have to keep ringing. You haven't forgiven them, and you haven't forgotten.

You just don't have to keep hating them.

I tilted my glass. The ice gave a quiet clink.

Hey, you.

Is there an alarm still ringing inside you?

If you've already learned what it was trying to tell you, maybe it's all right for it to finally fall silent.

I tilted my glass again.

If it's that kind of alarm.

I'll see you at Aoi again.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

Hey, you.

Is there anyone you hate?

Sounds like a pretty dangerous question, doesn't it?

You shouldn't hate people. Holding a grudge only hurts you. Forgiveness is how you set yourself free.

We've all heard things like that, and I don't exactly disagree. I'd rather spend my life laughing than spend it hating someone.

But that leaves me with one strange question.

If hatred is really such a bad thing for us, why did we end up with it in the first place?

Clang-clink.

The sound of the door chime always makes me feel like my day is finally over.

Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave a quiet clink. At the far end of the counter, Taka was staring into his glass for once, his phone nowhere in sight.

"Kenichi-san."

"No phone tonight?"

"Hey, I think about things besides my phone sometimes."

"My apologies."

"You're making fun of me, aren't you?"

"Not at all."

Taka gave me a suspicious look.

"About what we talked about yesterday."

"Yesterday?"

"About how it's okay not to forgive someone."

"Ah."

"I kept thinking about it after I got home."

"Look at you, being serious for once."

"The 'for once' was unnecessary."

Taka poked at the ice in his glass with his straw.

"You said not forgiving someone and continuing to hate them aren't the same thing, right?"

"Tom said that."

"Right. And I still don't really understand the difference."

"Ask him."

"He'll just say, 'Beats me. I'm not a monk.'"

Beside us, Tom frowned over his drink.

"What exactly do you think I am?"

"An ex-cop."

"Annoying when you're actually right."

I couldn't help laughing.

"So what don't you understand?"

"Well, if you don't forgive someone, that means you still dislike them, right?"

"Sometimes, I suppose."

"Then aren't you still hating them?"

I opened my mouth to answer, then stopped. He had a point.

Yesterday I'd acted as though I understood it perfectly. Asked directly, though, it wasn't so simple. Not forgiving, disliking, hating—the words seemed to live awfully close together.

"...Tom."

"Don't drag me into this."

"You started it yesterday."

"Beats me. I was talking on instinct."

"A cop shouldn't talk on instinct."

"I'm retired."

Convenient status to have.

I took a sip of my Harper.

"All right, Taka. Anyone you dislike?"

"Of course."

"Do you think about them every day?"

Taka considered it.

"...No."

"When you woke up this morning?"

"Nope."

"At lunch?"

"No."

"Right now?"

"Honestly, I'd forgotten about them until you asked."

"Exactly."

Taka fell silent.

"Disliking someone doesn't mean you spend all day thinking about them."

"True."

"Maybe someone you haven't forgiven can be the same."

"But what about someone you hate?"

That stopped me. Tom spoke before I could answer.

"You keep remembering them."

"Remembering what?"

"The person."

Tom slowly rolled his glass between his fingers.

"Something happens and there they are again. What's that bastard doing now? Living happily, maybe? Have they already forgotten what they did to me?"

Taka nodded.

"Yeah. I can see that."

"Get deep enough into it and you start hoping they're miserable."

"Okay. That's definitely hatred."

"Yeah."

I turned Tom's words over in my head.

Strange thing, hatred. When you dislike someone, you put distance between you. You don't want to see them, talk to them, or have anything to do with them, so you walk away.

But someone you hate? You never want to see them again, yet somehow you keep meeting them inside your own head.

"...Maybe hatred means the relationship never really ends."

Taka tilted his head.

"Relationship?"

"Yeah. You can cut every tie in the real world and still keep living with them up here."

"Ah..."

What are they doing now? Are they happy? Are they suffering? Do they remember me?

Just saying it left a bad taste in my mouth. Why the hell should I spend my days worrying about the life of someone I can't stand?

"Pretty damn conscientious, when you think about it."

"What is?"

"Spending your own time on someone you hate."

Taka blinked.

"Wait. That's a terrible return on investment."

"You really do turn everything into cost-benefit analysis."

"I'm a private investigator."

"Convenient profession."

Still, something bothered me.

It's a waste, so stop.

If it were that easy, nobody would struggle with hatred in the first place. Let it go. Forget about them. Move on. The person carrying the hatred probably knows all of that already and still can't put it down.

So why do we hate people at all?

"Because they did something awful to us?" Taka said.

"Well, sure, but..."

I looked at the ice in my glass.

"If hatred is such a useless emotion, why are humans capable of feeling it?"

Taka blinked.

"What do you mean?"

"Why do we get hungry?"

"To tell us to eat."

"Pain?"

"To tell us we're hurt."

"Fear?"

"To tell us to run?"

"Then what's hatred telling us to do?"

Taka stopped.

"...What is it telling us?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out."

"You don't know?"

"I'm not a philosopher."

Tom snorted.

"You're one to talk."

"Shut up."

The three of us laughed.

But when I thought about it, a creature that easily forgot whatever had nearly destroyed it probably wouldn't survive very long. Get hurt by someone yesterday, forget it completely today, then turn your back on the same person again. Hard to imagine a creature like that lasting long.

Stay away from that person. Don't trust them. If it happens again, run.

Taka leaned forward slightly.

"So hatred makes sure we remember?"

"Maybe."

"By making us hate them?"

"I don't know. But if you forget, you might end up in the same place again."

Tom set down his glass.

"Then maybe it's like pain."

"Pain?" Taka asked.

"Yeah. Pain sucks, right?"

"Obviously."

"So would you want to get rid of it completely?"

"No... that'd be dangerous."

"Touch something burning hot without pain and you don't pull your hand away. Break your leg without pain and you might keep walking on it. Pain is miserable, but without it, you might not even notice you're destroying yourself."

I looked at Tom.

"So hatred works the same way?"

"Beats me."

"You can't come that far and quit."

"I told you. I'm neither a monk nor a philosopher."

Taka laughed.

Still, it made a strange kind of sense. Just because an emotion hurts doesn't necessarily mean the emotion itself is wrong. Fear makes you run. Pain makes you pull your hand away.

Maybe hatred, too, has some job to do.

"So it's okay to hate someone?" Taka asked.

I thought about it.

"At first? Maybe."

"At first?"

"Yeah. Someone hurt you. You're furious. You hate them. You never want it to happen again. Maybe hatred is an alarm going off inside you."

"An alarm?"

"Fire breaks out, the alarm rings."

"Right."

"You don't stand there while the building burns and say, 'That alarm is annoying. Somebody shut it off.'"

"Well, no."

"First you get out. Put out the fire. Find where it started. Then make sure it can't happen again."

I stopped. As I said it, I could suddenly see where the thought was going.

"But..."

Taka waited.

"What happens if the alarm keeps ringing after the fire is gone?"

Neither Taka nor Tom answered.

"All day. The next day. A year later, it's still ringing."

"That'd wear you down."

"Yeah."

"Then why not turn it off?"

"Could you?"

Taka thought for a while.

"...Maybe not."

"Why?"

"Because if you turned it off..."

He went quiet again.

"...it might feel like the fire never happened?"

I looked at him.

Maybe that was it.

Maybe people don't hold on to hatred only because they refuse to forgive. Maybe they're afraid that letting go of the hatred means forgetting what that person did, how badly it hurt, and the fact that it was wrong. If the alarm stops, perhaps it feels as though the fire itself has been erased.

So you let it keep ringing.

"...That brings us back to yesterday."

"The part about not forgiving?"

"Yeah."

I put my glass down.

"You can remember the fire without keeping the alarm on."

"Right."

"Where it started. What burned. How you got out. What you'll do if it ever happens again. You remember all of that."

"But you turn off the alarm."

"Yeah."

Taka slowly nodded.

"So that's what it means to not forgive someone, but stop hating them?"

"...Maybe."

He thought about it for a while, then gave another small nod.

"I think I kind of get it."

"Only kind of?"

"You're always telling me there aren't any absolute answers to this stuff, Kenichi-san."

"You only remember my advice when it's useful to you."

"I'm your apprentice."

"When the hell did I take you on as an apprentice?"

Tom snorted beside us.

"He's starting to sound like you."

"Don't say that. I'm not taking responsibility for him."

"That's cold."

Taka laughed.

That was when Mama, who had been quietly polishing a glass the entire time, finally spoke.

"Then maybe hatred..."

We looked toward her.

"...is an alarm saying, Don't forget."

Nobody said anything.

Mama held the glass up to the light.

"The pain. The fear. The fact that what happened was wrong."

The cloth moved slowly around the rim. Then she returned the polished glass to the shelf.

Click.

"If you've truly remembered what it needed to teach you, maybe it doesn't have to keep ringing."

I stared at the ice in my Harper.

If you've truly remembered.

Not forget it. Not forgive them.

Remember.

Maybe the alarm can stop without erasing what happened.

If that's true, perhaps throw away your hatred is the wrong way to put it. You don't throw it away. You let it finish its job, and you keep what it taught you.

That hurt. That scared me. That was wrong.

I won't go back there. If it happens again, I'll protect myself.

Once you've learned that much, maybe the alarm doesn't have to keep ringing. You haven't forgiven them, and you haven't forgotten.

You just don't have to keep hating them.

I tilted my glass. The ice gave a quiet clink.

Hey, you.

Is there an alarm still ringing inside you?

If you've already learned what it was trying to tell you, maybe it's all right for it to finally fall silent.

I tilted my glass again.

If it's that kind of alarm.

I'll see you at Aoi again.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.
Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

Hey, you.

When you're heading to work, does that time count as work?

You leave the house in the morning. Walk to the station. Go through the ticket gate. Get packed into a crowded train. Transfer, then walk some more. An hour later, you finally reach the office, and that's when "work" actually starts. Same thing on the way back.

Two hours a day. Ten hours a week. And yet, none of that time shows up on your paycheck.

Well, it makes sense, in a way. From the company's point of view, where you choose to live is your own business. Still, we're using that time specifically so we can do the job.

So who does that time actually belong to?

Clink-clonk.

I pushed open the door, and the familiar air of Aoi wrapped around me. Without a word, Mama set down my Harper. The ice gave a soft clink against the inside of the glass.

Tonight was unusual—it wasn't just Taka at the counter; Tom was there too.

Taka was frowning at his phone and his paper planner, jotting down numbers.

"What are you up to?"

"Sorting out expenses."

"Look at you, working hard even though it's not fiscal year-end."

"If I let this stuff pile up, it'll be the death of me." His voice sounded desperate. "I had to go to Yokohama for a job yesterday, but I forgot to log my train fare and travel time."

"You can figure out the train fare, can't you?"

"Well, yeah, but I took care of some other stuff along the way."

"Personal stuff?"

"About half of it."

"Then just write off half as a business expense."

"If accounting were that casual, I wouldn't be losing my hair over this."

Taka clutched his head.

When you think about it, being a private detective is mostly just moving around. Going to meet people. Heading to a stakeout location. Following a subject. Going to government offices. Checking out a scene. Some days, he spends way more time riding trains and driving cars than sitting at a desk.

"I've been thinking lately," Taka said, closing his planner. "When I'm moving from place to place, how much is that one hour actually worth?"

"How much?"

"I mean, I'm selling my time for a living, right?"

"Fair enough."

"I travel for an hour, investigate for an hour, and travel an hour back. The investigation itself might only take sixty minutes, but three hours of my day are gone."

That made sense. It was a perspective I didn't think about much as an office worker.

Even if I spend an hour commuting every morning, my salary doesn't go up by an extra hour of pay. So I've basically accepted commuting as something like the weather—you just deal with it. But for Taka, that hour is a direct cost of doing business.

"That's why I've been appreciating local jobs much more lately."

"A detective with no romantic ideals, huh?"

"You can't run a business on romance alone, Kenichi-san."

"I never thought the day would come when I'd take business advice from you."

"Hey! That's harsh."

Tom was quietly listening to our back-and-forth, tilting his glass.

"I used to be the exact opposite."

"Opposite how?"

"I used to hope the hour I spent moving around would end up being completely wasted."

Taka knit his brows. "What does that mean?"

Tom thought about it for a second, then set his glass down.

"Back when I was in the juvenile division."

It turned out Tom used to spend a lot of his nights walking the city streets back then. Entertainment districts. In front of train stations. Parks. Around arcades.

Not in uniform. Just a tired-looking guy in plain clothes, wandering the city night after night. He'd call out to the kids hanging around.

"Do you know what time it is?"

"Shut up, old man."

"Are you going to school?"

"None of your business."

"Are you hungry?"

"...Not really."

The same exchange, over and over.

"So, there wasn't an actual crime happening, right?"

"Nope."

"Then what were you doing it for?"

"To see if nothing was happening."

Taka fell silent for a moment. Tom rolled an ice cube around with his fingertip.

"In the juvenile division, if you only start running after a crime has already happened, sometimes it's already too late."

There are kids who don't want to go home. Kids who stopped going to school. Kids being targeted by bad adults. Kids who were messing around with their friends yesterday, but are sitting alone on a park bench today.

It hasn't become a crime yet. So no one calls it in. No reports come across your desk. And yet, something is off.

"When you walk the same streets every day, you start noticing things."

"Like what?"

"A kid who's usually there suddenly isn't. Or a face you've never seen before gets mixed into the group. Or a kid who's usually loud is acting strangely quiet."

"And you talk to them?"

"Yeah. I ask them what's wrong."

"Do they answer you?"

"Hell no. 'Screw off.' 'Mind your own business.' 'Get lost.' That's ninety percent of what I got."

"Sounds exhausting."

"It was the job."

A few days would pass. You run into them again.

"Hey."

"You again?"

A few more days.

"You heading home tonight?"

"Shut up."

You repeat that enough times, and every once in a while, they're the ones who speak up first.

"Hey... old man."

"Whether you're there to catch that single phrase or not... that's where a kid's life can bend in a slightly different direction. That's why I walked. So that when something did happen, I was already close by before it was too late."

I stopped halfway through raising my Harper to my mouth.

What a strange kind of work.

Taka wants to cut down his travel time. I'd be more than happy to get rid of my commute, too. Working from home means skipping the morning rush-hour train, giving me an extra hour of sleep.

Generally speaking, travel is better when it's short. If you can make it more efficient, you should.

And yet, Tom deliberately kept walking through a city where nothing was happening.

"That sounds insanely inefficient," Taka said.

"Yeah. It was," Tom admitted plainly.

"If you walk around all night and nothing happens, your results are zero, aren't they?"

"That's right."

"And you were fine with that?"

Tom smiled, just a little.

"That was the best-case scenario."

Taka went quiet.

"I walk around all night, some kid tells me to screw off, and then everyone goes home without a single incident. It's the best kind of wasted effort."

I couldn't help but laugh softly. "What kind of logic is that?"

"Can't be helped. That's what the job was."

Still, it stuck with me.

The best kind of wasted effort.

In a corporation, that phrase would never get you a compliment.

We reduced travel time.

We switched to online meetings.

We cut down on business trips.

We streamlined our operations.

If the result is the same, it's better to achieve it in less time. It's better to achieve it with less money. When I'm at work, I think the exact same way.

But what happens if you apply that logic directly to the job Tom was doing?

"Just call us when a crime happens."

You could just sit at the station and wait. Travel time goes to zero. Labor costs for wandering the streets at night go down. Efficiency undeniably goes up.

Instead, when the phone finally rings, something has already happened.

"...So you end up arriving at the scene with maximum efficiency, right after it's already too late?"

When I muttered that, Tom looked at me.

"Yeah."

That was all he said.

Taka didn't say anything either.

I thought about my own morning commute.

The packed train. The transfers. The walk from the station to the office. I've walked that path thousands of times. To be honest, I've thought it was a waste of time more times than I can count.

When remote work became common and that commute vanished, I was genuinely grateful. And honestly, if travel can be eliminated, it should be.

But as the way we work continues to shift, maybe we'll see more people like Taka. Instead of gathering at a central company building every day, you move to where you're needed, when you're needed.

And every time, you ask yourself:

Is this travel worth it?

How much is this hour worth?

Who's paying for this transit fare?

Is there a more efficient way?

And surely, that logic is correct.

But...

If we measure every journey using efficiency as our only yardstick, maybe we end up dropping something along the way.

Reaching the destination isn't the only point of moving.

Because you walk the usual path, you notice things. Because you're in the usual place, people can call out to you. Because you showed up when you had no real reason to, there are words you manage to catch.

"Hey, Tom."

"Hmm?"

"When you were doing night patrols, what was the most common part of your job?"

"The most common?"

"Like... calling out to kids and stopping a crime before it happened?"

Tom thought about it for a moment.

"It wasn't anything cool like that."

"Then what was it?"

"I was just walking."

"And that was the job?"

"Pretty much. Walk, look, say something. Then walk some more."

"And if nothing happened?"

"I went home."

"And the next day?"

"Walked again."

Taka smirked. "Man, that really is terrible efficiency."

"Told you so."

"If I were looking at those expense reports, I'd cry."

"Well, you're a detective."

"And yours came out of the public budget, Tom-san."

"That doesn't mean I was allowed to waste it."

"But if nothing happened, it was a wasted trip, right?"

"Yeah."

"That's a tough one."

That was when Mama, who had been quiet the whole time, spoke up.

"Still, Tom-san..."

"Yeah?"

"To those kids, maybe the time you spent walking out there was time you spent coming to see them."

Tom didn't answer.

I stayed silent too.

Even Taka, for once, didn't have a witty comeback.

Mama didn't say another word. She simply returned the glass she had finished polishing back to the shelf.

Click.

The small sound echoed in the quiet bar.

Time spent coming to see them.

I see.

Even for the exact same sixty minutes, the meaning changes depending on who's looking at it.

To me, it's a commute.

To the company, it's time an employee uses to bring themselves to the office.

To Taka, it's time he agonizes over whether he can bill a client for.

To Tom, it was time spent closing the distance to someone before it was too late.

And to a kid sitting in a dark park at night...

It was the time a noisy old man spent walking all the way out there just to bug them.

It's the exact same sixty minutes. The hands on the clock move at the same speed for everyone.

And yet, humans go around giving it their own labels.

Commute.

Expense.

Work.

Patrol.

Wasted effort.

And maybe...

Time spent going to see someone.

I took a sip of my Harper. The ice gave a soft, quiet clink.

Come to think of it, my being here right now is no different.

If the goal were simply to get from the office back to my house, Aoi isn't my destination. I'm deliberately going out of my way.

Paying money to drink booze, talking about useless things, and then heading home afterward. If you measure it purely by efficiency, it's a ridiculous detour.

And yet, I came here again tonight.

Taka is here.

Tom is here.

Mama is here.

So maybe this, too...

Is time I spent coming to see someone.

Hey, you.

That time you spent heading somewhere today...

Was it really just "travel time"?

See you at Aoi.

If you'd like to come back to Aoi for another night, there's an open stool waiting.

Bar Aoi Stories: Human Nature, Vol. 1 is linked in my profile.

[Other Stories(wiki)]

Hey, you.

When you teach someone something, what are you actually teaching them?

The right answer?

How not to fail?

Or...

A way of looking at things when the answer stops being obvious?

Clang-clink.

Hearing the door chime always makes me feel like my day is finally over.

Mama set my usual glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave a small clink.

At the end of the counter, Taka was staring at his phone with that serious look on his face again.

Here we go.

Whenever this guy starts thinking about something, it shows immediately. Pretty funny for a private investigator. He makes a living watching other people, but when it comes to himself, he's ridiculously easy to read.

"Kenichi-san."

"What is it today?"

"When you teach someone something... what are you supposed to teach them?"

"You brought a pretty big question with you tonight."

"Well, I have to teach people things at work sometimes."

"Investigation stuff?"

"Yeah. How to run a background check. Stakeouts. Interviews."

"Then teach them."

"Teach them what?"

"How to do it."

"But what if the way I teach them doesn't stay right forever?"

I put my glass down.

"You've stumbled onto an annoying question."

"I don't want to hear that from you."

Tom snorted beside us.

"Old methods stop working faster than you'd think."

"Speaking as a former cop?"

"Yeah. When I was young, there weren't security cameras everywhere. We didn't even have smartphones."

"So if you taught somebody the old detective methods now?"

"Some would still work. Some wouldn't."

"How do you tell which is which?"

"Beats me."

"That's what I'm asking!"

I laughed.

"But that's pretty much the problem, isn't it?"

"What is?"

"My job's the same."

When I was new, the older guys taught me all kinds of things.

If there's an outage, check here first.

Look at this log.

If you see this symptom, suspect this component.

Always take a backup before you touch that.

Those lessons saved my ass more times than I can count.

But the machines I worked on back then?

You'd probably have to visit a museum to find one now.

The commands are different.

The architecture is different.

Hell, these days you might not even know what country the physical machine is sitting in.

Back then, it was right in front of you.

Now it could be running somewhere across the ocean.

And somehow, I'm still an IT guy.

"Do you still use what they taught you back then?" Taka asked.

"Sure."

"But isn't it outdated?"

"Sure is."

"Which is it?"

"Both."

Taka frowned.

"Say somebody taught me, 'If you get this error, run this command.'"

"Okay."

"Change the environment, and that advice might become completely useless."

"Right."

"But if they taught me, 'Figure out why the error happened'..."

I took a sip.

"That still works."

Taka was quiet for a moment.

"So not the answer. The way of thinking."

"Maybe."

Tom tilted his glass.

"Give a man a fish versus teach him how to fish."

"Yeah. That one."

"Then isn't that the answer?" Taka said.

I shook my head.

"Not necessarily."

"Why?"

"What happens when the fish disappear?"

"Huh?"

"Maybe the only fish left can't be caught the way you were taught. Maybe the river itself dries up."

"If you take it that far, you can't teach anybody anything."

"That's what makes it annoying."

Mama smiled.

"So you taught them how to fish, and then the river disappeared."

"Bit extreme."

"You're the one who made it extreme."

"Was I?"

I took another sip of my Harper.

Come to think of it, when I started working, all I had to do was follow what the older guys told me.

No.

Maybe that wasn't really true.

Maybe that's just how it looked from where I was standing.

They knew more than I did.

They had experience.

They knew where the dangerous spots were.

So if I walked in the direction they pointed, I usually wouldn't go too far wrong.

This way.

Don't touch that.

Do this first.

If you don't know, ask.

So I walked that road.

But now?

I'm not so sure I can point at the same road and tell some young guy, This way.

I've got more experience than he does.

I've screwed up more times.

I know plenty of places where you can get hurt.

But none of that guarantees the direction I'm pointing will still be the right one ten years from now.

Something that took me ten years to learn might take some kid a day with a new tool.

Something I once would've called a terrible way to work might be standard practice a few years later.

And it goes the other way too.

What looked like progress gets abandoned.

Yesterday's wrong way becomes tomorrow's right way.

"Right" moves around a hell of a lot more than we'd like to admit.

"So if showing them the road isn't enough," Taka said, "what about teaching them how to read a map?"

"A map?"

"The road might change, but if they can read the map, they can find their own way."

"Huh."

Tom nodded.

"More reusable."

"Except..."

I looked at Taka.

"How old is the map?"

They both went quiet.

"What if it's outdated?"

"...Get a new one."

"How do you know the new one's right?"

"You're a pain in the ass, you know that?" Tom said.

"Can't help it. That's the question we're talking about."

Mama was smiling.

I slowly turned my glass between my fingers.

Show them the road.

Give them a map.

Teach them how to read it.

Every answer just seemed to open another question.

Then...

"Maybe a compass."

"What?"

"If there's something we can actually give them."

I took my hand off the glass.

"Don't give them a direction. Give them a way of seeing."

"A way of seeing?"

"Look at what's happening. Look at where you are. Look at what's around you."

"And that's the compass?"

"It's a metaphor."

Taka thought for a moment.

"So you teach them how to use the compass."

I almost said yes.

Almost.

Something still bothered me.

Think for yourself.

Question conventional wisdom.

Look beneath the surface.

I'd heard those things a thousand times.

But if I tell someone to think for themselves, then say, No, not like that the moment they reach a different answer...

If I tell them to question conventional wisdom, but never let them question mine...

Then haven't I just handed them a new map with my name written across it?

"No."

Taka looked at me.

"No?"

"Give them the compass."

"Okay."

"And teach them to question the compass too."

He stared at me.

"The compass too?"

"Yeah."

"Then what's the point of having a compass?"

"Beats me."

"Now you're just talking nonsense!"

Tom laughed.

"I kind of get it."

"You too, Tom-san?"

"If somebody can only do what you taught them to do, they'll never get past you."

I looked at Tom.

"That's it."

"What's it?"

"No... I think that's what I've been trying to say."

We teach people what we know.

Where we failed.

Where the dangerous spots are.

What worked for us.

At first, that's fine.

Throw somebody who knows nothing into the middle of nowhere and tell them to find their own way, and they won't even know which foot to move first.

But eventually, you have to let go.

And if you keep saying Do it my way right up until that moment...

The farthest they'll ever get is somewhere you've already been.

"Say you teach somebody how to run a stakeout," I said.

"Okay."

"You tell them: wait as long as it takes. Don't move until the target moves."

"That's pretty basic."

"Then they tell you, 'I can get the same information without sitting here all day.'"

"Depends how."

"It's safe. It's legal. And it's faster than your way."

Taka paused.

"...Then their way's better."

"You happy about that?"

"Sure."

"Really?"

He stopped.

I grinned.

"Wouldn't it piss you off just a little?"

Taka gave me a crooked smile.

"...Maybe a little."

"Yeah."

For some reason, I liked that answer.

You spend years learning something.

Failing at it.

Getting better.

Then some younger guy comes along and jumps right over the whole damn thing using an approach you never even imagined.

Of course you're happy.

If you taught him, you're probably proud.

But it still stings.

If it were me, it'd sting like hell.

"Is that bad?" Taka asked.

"What?"

"Being frustrated when somebody I taught passes me."

"Why would it be?"

"I don't know. If you're the teacher, aren't you supposed to be happy for them?"

"Then be happy."

"Even if I'm frustrated?"

"Why not both?"

Taka looked at me.

"I'm not noble enough to sit there smiling and say, 'Nothing makes me happier than watching the younger generation grow.'"

Tom laughed.

"Petty."

"Shut up."

"Can't say I disagree, though."

"See?"

I took another sip.

Maybe frustration just means you're still in the race yourself.

If you've already decided,

I'm done running. The rest is up to the young guys.

Then maybe being passed doesn't hurt.

But if you're still running?

Of course it does.

So there's no time to sulk.

No time to sit around muttering about "kids these days."

Look.

Where are they looking?

Why did they go that way?

What did I miss?

How did they find something that wasn't even on my map?

Think about it.

And if it looks interesting...

Maybe go see what they're looking at.

"You know," Taka said with a laugh, "we started out talking about teaching, but somehow you're the one learning by the end."

"Looks that way."

"Is that okay?"

"Why wouldn't it be?"

I raised my glass.

"Who decided you can't learn from someone you taught?"

Taka smiled.

Tom tilted his glass.

Mama said nothing. She just kept polishing a glass, like she always did.

Hey, you.

What are you teaching people?

It's fine to show them the road.

It's fine to hand them a map.

You've walked roads they haven't.

You know where some of the holes are.

You know which hills are steeper than they look.

Tell them.

There's value in that.

But...

That road might not go on forever.

That map might not stay right forever.

So.

Don't just show them the direction.

Give them a way of seeing.

Give them a compass.

And then...

Teach them to question the compass too.

Someday, they may walk off in a direction you never pointed to.

Be happy for them.

And...

Let it sting a little too.

Because as long as it still stings, you're not just somebody who teaches.

You're still somebody who can watch them disappear down a road you never saw and think,

Damn it.

I didn't know you could go that way.

And then open your own map again.

I'll see you at Aoi again.

Hey, you.

Ever have one of those moments?

You hear about something somebody did, and you just think:

"Yeah. That sounds like them."

It's not like you saw it coming.

You can't even explain why.

And yet, somehow, it makes perfect sense.

So tell me.

What the hell is that "sounds like them" thing, anyway?

Clang-clink.

Hearing the sound of the door chime always makes me feel like my day is finally over.

Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave a quiet, small clink.

At the end of the counter, Taka was staring at his phone with that serious look on his face again.

There he goes.

Whenever this guy starts thinking about something, it shows immediately. Pretty funny for a private investigator. He makes a living reading other people, but when it comes to himself, he's ridiculously easy to read.

Then again.

Maybe that's only the Taka I know.

For all I know, when he's working, he wears a completely different face.

"Kenichi-san."

"What is it tonight?"

"This news article."

"No."

"I haven't even told you what it is yet."

"When you're looking at the news with that face and then call my name, it's always something troublesome."

"Isn't that prejudice?"

"Experience."

Beside me, Tom snorted.

"So? What is it?"

"It's about a crime."

Taka lifted his phone.

"They interviewed some people who knew the suspect."

"Pretty standard."

"Yeah, but something bothered me."

"Don't start enjoying crime stories."

"That's not what I mean."

Taka ran a finger down the screen.

"One person says, 'I can't believe he'd ever do something like that.' But someone else says, 'I always thought he'd do something eventually.'"

My hand stopped halfway to my glass.

"They're talking about the same guy?"

"Same guy."

Tom chuckled.

"Happens all the time."

"What's the former cop's take?"

"Happens all the time."

"Why?"

"Dunno."

"That's what I'm asking!"

"Cops aren't mind readers."

"But isn't it strange?"

Taka put his phone face down.

"They both knew him, right?"

"Probably."

"But one says, 'He'd never do that,' and the other says, 'I knew he'd do something someday.' Complete opposites."

"Yeah."

"So which one is the real him?"

I didn't answer right away.

The me at work.

The me here at Aoi.

The me at home.

They're probably all a little different.

At work, maybe some people think I'm a helpful old guy. Others probably think I'm a fussy pain in the ass.

At home, I'm someone else again.

The me my family knows probably isn't exactly the same me Taka and Tom know.

So which one is the real me?

...All of them, obviously.

At least, that's what I think.

But if that's true, it only makes things more confusing.

"Maybe they're both real."

"But they're complete opposites."

"So?"

"Can the same person really be 'someone who'd never do something like that' and 'someone who was bound to do it eventually'?"

"Depends who's looking."

Taka thought about that.

"You mean he acts differently around different people?"

"Could be."

Tom cut in.

"You do it too. The face you show clients isn't the face you show us here."

"Is it that different?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Dunno."

"You're saying 'dunno' a lot tonight for a former cop."

"Caught it from Kenichi."

"Don't blame me."

Mama smiled quietly.

I took a sip of my Harper.

Come to think of it, I barely know Taka when he's working.

The Taka I know is the guy who sits here at Aoi, stares at his phone with a serious face, finds something interesting, and immediately goes, "Kenichi-san."

What kind of face does he make in front of a client?

What do his eyes look like when he's following someone?

What goes through his head when he catches somebody in a lie?

I don't know.

And yet somehow, I feel like I know Taka.

Funny thing, that.

"Okay, then."

Taka looked at me.

"What kind of person is Kenichi-san?"

"Where did that come from?"

"Let's test something. See whether the Kenichi-san I know is the same one Tom-san knows."

"Don't use me as a lab rat."

"Come on."

"Stubborn," Tom answered immediately.

"I don't need to hear that from you."

"Worries too much," Taka followed.

"I don't need to hear that from you either."

"Can't say no when someone asks him for something," even Mama joined in.

"Mama?"

"And you spin your glass when you're thinking."

I looked down.

I was spinning it.

I quietly took my hand away.

"...We already did this the other day."

"That's a habit."

"I thought we were talking about personality."

Taka laughed.

"So if we put all those things together, does that make up your individuality?"

I thought about it.

Stubborn.

A worrier.

Can't say no when someone asks for help.

Spins his glass when he thinks.

None of them are exactly wrong.

At least, that's how these guys see me.

But put those four things on a page, and somehow I don't feel like I'm there.

It's like the personality section of a résumé.

None of it is necessarily a lie.

But reading it doesn't mean you know me.

"Feels like something's missing."

"What's missing?"

"Dunno."

"It's your own personality!"

"Can you explain yours?"

"Sure."

"Go ahead."

Taka opened his mouth.

Then stopped.

"...I'm curious."

"You lost to Risa on that one."

"That was the game we played the other day!"

"Says the guy who lost his own self-proclaimed title."

"Fine. I'm a good listener."

"You stick your nose into other people's business."

"I'm proactive."

"Restless."

"Why do you turn everything I say into a flaw?!"

Tom burst out laughing.

So did I.

"See?"

"See what?"

"The second you try to explain someone's individuality, it turns into some cheap personality test."

"But there are people you'd call unique, right?"

"Sure."

"So what are we actually seeing when we think someone's unique?"

I started to answer.

Then stopped.

He's right.

There are people I'd call distinctive.

A few faces came to mind immediately.

But ask me what exactly makes them distinctive, and suddenly it's hard to say.

Their clothes?

The way they talk?

The way they think?

Some strange hobby?

They're all parts of a person.

But transplant those things onto somebody else, and they don't become that person.

If some guy is known for always wearing red, and I put on red tomorrow, I don't become him.

I'm just me wearing red.

"Beats me."

"Right?"

"Why do you look happy about that?"

"Now I'm not alone."

"Don't drag me into this."

Tom tilted his glass.

"Maybe individuality isn't something you can put into words that easily."

"But that feeling of 'that's so like him' definitely exists, doesn't it?" Taka said.

"Yeah."

"Then maybe if you collect enough of those moments, that's what individuality is."

"How do you collect them?"

"The things someone does?"

"Alright."

Tom looked at me.

"Say Kenichi suddenly quits his job, moves to some island down south, and opens a bakery. What would you think?"

"Why a bakery?"

"It's an example."

Taka folded his arms.

"...I'd be surprised."

"Right?"

"But if I heard his reasons, I might understand."

I looked at him.

"What does that mean?"

"Kenichi-san isn't the type to do something completely out of nowhere for no reason."

"Probably not."

"So if you spent an hour explaining, 'This happened, then I thought about this, which led to that...'"

"I wouldn't talk for an hour."

"You would," Tom said.

"I wouldn't."

"You would," Mama said.

"Mama too?"

Taka continued.

"Once I'd heard the whole thing, I think I'd probably go, 'Yeah. That's very Kenichi-san.'"

"It's a bakery."

"Doesn't matter."

"I've never baked bread in my life."

"That's not the point."

"Seems pretty important if I'm opening a bakery."

"That's not what we're talking about!"

I lifted my glass, laughing.

But something stuck with me.

Taka couldn't predict that I'd quit my job and open a bakery on some island.

Hell, I couldn't predict that.

And yet he says that if he heard the reasons afterward, it might somehow feel like me.

That's strange.

If this thing we call "identity" really exists inside me, you'd think it could tell people something about what I'll do next.

But apparently it can't.

I don't even know what I'll be doing ten years from now.

And yet after I do something, people can say:

"Yeah. That's so Kenichi."

Then maybe identity isn't a spec sheet for predicting the future.

Maybe it's context for making sense of the past.

"Then why don't we reverse it?" Mama said.

"Reverse what?"

"Try predicting what someone will do first."

Taka's eyes lit up.

Bad sign.

"That sounds fun."

"We're actually doing this?"

"Okay, Kenichi-san. You find a wallet on the street."

"Take it to the police box."

"That's boring."

"What's wrong with boring?"

Tom grinned.

"You'd look inside."

"No, I wouldn't."

"To figure out who owns it."

"Don't invent a noble reason for me."

"But I could see Kenichi-san checking the cards and trying to figure out some way to return it directly."

"Nope. Police box."

"So we were wrong."

"What exactly were you expecting from me?"

Taka thought for a moment.

"Okay. Tom-san. An unknown number calls you."

"I answer."

"You answer?"

"Yeah."

"Really? I thought you'd look up the number first."

"I can look it up after."

"Why?"

"Faster to ask whoever's calling who they are."

Taka and I looked at each other.

"...That's very Tom."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know. It just is."

The moment I said it, something felt strange.

My prediction had been wrong.

I'd assumed Tom would be suspicious and check the number first.

But the moment I heard his answer and his reasoning, it felt completely right.

I'd predicted wrong.

...And yet afterward, it made perfect sense.

What kind of system is that?

"Next. Taka."

I looked at him.

"A woman you don't know is crying on the side of the road."

"I'd talk to her."

No hesitation.

"Thought so."

"Why?"

"Because you're you."

"That's not an explanation."

"But you'd talk to her."

"Yeah, but..."

"See?"

"Then how did you know?"

I opened my mouth.

Then stopped.

Why did I know?

Because he's curious?

Because he's a detective?

Because he can't leave someone in trouble alone?

Or because he simply wants to know what happened?

They all sound plausible.

But none of them quite gets it.

A woman he doesn't know is crying by the side of the road.

Taka walks past.

Put those two things next to each other in my head, and I can already see him stopping.

Talking to her.

Probably getting himself dragged into whatever trouble she's in.

I can see the whole thing.

I just can't explain why.

"...Because you're Taka."

"Again?"

"Can't help it."

"That doesn't explain my personality at all."

"Then you explain it."

"Well..."

Taka went quiet too.

Tom laughed.

"You two have spent this whole night saying nothing but 'that's like him' and 'that's not like him.'"

"Pretty much."

I looked into my glass.

We know people.

At least, we think we do.

That's like Taka.

That's like Tom.

That's like Mama.

That's like Risa.

That feeling definitely exists.

But what exactly do we know?

Everything Taka has lived through?

Everything Tom saw when he was a cop?

Every word Mama has chosen over the years?

If we gathered all that information into one giant database, would it become them?

Probably not.

And yet I'd never confuse one of them with another.

I'm not talking about faces or voices.

There's just this sense that Taka is Taka.

Tom is Tom.

Mama is Mama.

That much feels certain.

"Weird."

"What is?"

"Maybe we don't actually know how to recognize individuality at all."

Taka frowned.

"But you know when someone's unique, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then we are recognizing it."

"Recognizing what?"

"...Their individuality?"

"And what's that?"

"...What makes them them?"

"And what's that?"

"...Their individuality?"

Tom burst out laughing.

"We're going in circles."

"Like Kenichi-san's glass."

"I'm not spinning it."

I looked down.

I was spinning it.

"...Shut up."

Mama laughed.

So did I.

Come to think of it, I understand myself even less.

I've never done something and thought, That's very Kenichi of me.

Of course not.

I'm just living as myself.

When I make a choice, I have my reasons.

When I say no, I have my reasons.

Even when I can't say no, I probably have some reason that makes sense to me at the time.

To me, none of that is "individuality."

It's just a desperate accumulation of choices.

Someone watching from the outside is the one who takes those choices and says:

"Yeah. That's so Kenichi-san."

So is individuality something I carry inside myself?

Or is it the shape of me left behind in somebody else's mind?

I don't know.

"But going back to that crime story..." Taka spoke again.

"Yeah?"

"The person who said, 'He might do something someday,' and the person who said, 'He'd never do something like that' both had their own idea of what that guy was like, right?"

"Seems that way."

"But they came to opposite conclusions."

"Yeah."

"So maybe individuality isn't really something inside the person."

Nobody answered.

It seems to be inside a person.

But it changes depending on who's looking.

It's hard to put into words.

It can't reliably tell you what somebody will do next.

And yet after something happens, you hear about it and think:

"Yeah. That sounds like them."

What the hell is that?

I looked at Taka.

Tomorrow he'll probably find something else interesting and call out, "Kenichi-san."

Tom will probably let us twist ourselves into knots for half the night and then knock the whole argument over with one sentence.

Mama probably won't give us an answer at all. She'll just keep polishing glasses until we've talked ourselves out, worried ourselves out, and finally gone quiet.

That's what I expect.

But will they actually do that tomorrow?

I don't know.

Maybe Taka will sit there all night without saying a word.

Maybe Tom will talk more than anyone.

Maybe Mama will suddenly say something that leaves all of us speechless.

And even then.

I'd probably look at them and think:

"Yeah. That's so like them."

...What the hell?

If anything someone does can feel "like them" afterward, isn't the whole thing just hindsight?

A convenient way of pretending we know someone?

Part of me thinks it is.

And yet.

In my head, Taka, Tom, and Mama never blur into one another.

I'm not talking about their faces or voices.

There's something solid about each of them being who they are.

I can't put it into words.

But I can't believe it isn't there.

"Maybe..." I said.

"Maybe identity isn't something you can see ahead of time."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you only see it after someone does something."

"After?"

"Your prediction can be wrong. But once you hear what happened, it makes sense."

Taka thought about that.

"Is that useful for anything?"

"What?"

"Knowing someone's identity."

I thought about it too.

"...Dunno."

"Back to that again?"

"But..."

I took another sip of my Harper.

"Even if it isn't useful, it's interesting."

"What is?"

"People."

Taka smiled.

Tom said nothing and tilted his glass.

Mama kept polishing one, just like always.

Looking at them, I found myself thinking:

Yeah. That's so like them.

I still couldn't explain why.

Hey, you.

What's your individuality?

Kind.

Stubborn.

Careful.

Curious.

You can line up as many words as you want.

They still won't add up to you.

And yet someone who knows you well might hear about something you did and smile.

"Yeah. That's so like them."

Someone else might say:

"No way. They'd never do that."

And someone else:

"I always thought they'd do something like that eventually."

They were all looking at the same you.

We meet someone distinctive and think they're interesting.

We casually say, "They've really got a personality."

But maybe none of us actually knows how to identify what that individuality is.

We can't quite put it into words.

We can't predict what the person will do next.

And yet once they've made their choice, somehow we know.

"Yeah. That's so like them."

So tell me.

Hey, you.

Someday, someone might hear about the road you chose, or something you went and did, and smile.

"Yeah. That's so like them."

When that happens...

What will you be doing?

I'll see you at Aoi again.

Hey, you.

Ever have one of those moments?

You hear about something somebody did, and you just think:

"Yeah. That sounds like them."

It's not like you saw it coming.

You can't even explain why.

And yet, somehow, it makes perfect sense.

So tell me.

What the hell is that "sounds like them" thing, anyway?

Clang-clink.

Hearing the sound of the door chime always makes me feel like my day is finally over.

Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave a quiet, small clink.

At the end of the counter, Taka was staring at his phone with that serious look on his face again.

There he goes.

Whenever this guy starts thinking about something, it shows immediately. Pretty funny for a private investigator. He makes a living reading other people, but when it comes to himself, he's ridiculously easy to read.

Then again.

Maybe that's only the Taka I know.

For all I know, when he's working, he wears a completely different face.

"Kenichi-san."

"What is it tonight?"

"This news article."

"No."

"I haven't even told you what it is yet."

"When you're looking at the news with that face and then call my name, it's always something troublesome."

"Isn't that prejudice?"

"Experience."

Beside me, Tom snorted.

"So? What is it?"

"It's about a crime."

Taka lifted his phone.

"They interviewed some people who knew the suspect."

"Pretty standard."

"Yeah, but something bothered me."

"Don't start enjoying crime stories."

"That's not what I mean."

Taka ran a finger down the screen.

"One person says, 'I can't believe he'd ever do something like that.' But someone else says, 'I always thought he'd do something eventually.'"

My hand stopped halfway to my glass.

"They're talking about the same guy?"

"Same guy."

Tom chuckled.

"Happens all the time."

"What's the former cop's take?"

"Happens all the time."

"Why?"

"Dunno."

"That's what I'm asking!"

"Cops aren't mind readers."

"But isn't it strange?"

Taka put his phone face down.

"They both knew him, right?"

"Probably."

"But one says, 'He'd never do that,' and the other says, 'I knew he'd do something someday.' Complete opposites."

"Yeah."

"So which one is the real him?"

I didn't answer right away.

The me at work.

The me here at Aoi.

The me at home.

They're probably all a little different.

At work, maybe some people think I'm a helpful old guy. Others probably think I'm a fussy pain in the ass.

At home, I'm someone else again.

The me my family knows probably isn't exactly the same me Taka and Tom know.

So which one is the real me?

...All of them, obviously.

At least, that's what I think.

But if that's true, it only makes things more confusing.

"Maybe they're both real."

"But they're complete opposites."

"So?"

"Can the same person really be 'someone who'd never do something like that' and 'someone who was bound to do it eventually'?"

"Depends who's looking."

Taka thought about that.

"You mean he acts differently around different people?"

"Could be."

Tom cut in.

"You do it too. The face you show clients isn't the face you show us here."

"Is it that different?"

"Yeah."

"How?"

"Dunno."

"You're saying 'dunno' a lot tonight for a former cop."

"Caught it from Kenichi."

"Don't blame me."

Mama smiled quietly.

I took a sip of my Harper.

Come to think of it, I barely know Taka when he's working.

The Taka I know is the guy who sits here at Aoi, stares at his phone with a serious face, finds something interesting, and immediately goes, "Kenichi-san."

What kind of face does he make in front of a client?

What do his eyes look like when he's following someone?

What goes through his head when he catches somebody in a lie?

I don't know.

And yet somehow, I feel like I know Taka.

Funny thing, that.

"Okay, then."

Taka looked at me.

"What kind of person is Kenichi-san?"

"Where did that come from?"

"Let's test something. See whether the Kenichi-san I know is the same one Tom-san knows."

"Don't use me as a lab rat."

"Come on."

"Stubborn," Tom answered immediately.

"I don't need to hear that from you."

"Worries too much," Taka followed.

"I don't need to hear that from you either."

"Can't say no when someone asks him for something," even Mama joined in.

"Mama?"

"And you spin your glass when you're thinking."

I looked down.

I was spinning it.

I quietly took my hand away.

"...We already did this the other day."

"That's a habit."

"I thought we were talking about personality."

Taka laughed.

"So if we put all those things together, does that make up your individuality?"

I thought about it.

Stubborn.

A worrier.

Can't say no when someone asks for help.

Spins his glass when he thinks.

None of them are exactly wrong.

At least, that's how these guys see me.

But put those four things on a page, and somehow I don't feel like I'm there.

It's like the personality section of a résumé.

None of it is necessarily a lie.

But reading it doesn't mean you know me.

"Feels like something's missing."

"What's missing?"

"Dunno."

"It's your own personality!"

"Can you explain yours?"

"Sure."

"Go ahead."

Taka opened his mouth.

Then stopped.

"...I'm curious."

"You lost to Risa on that one."

"That was the game we played the other day!"

"Says the guy who lost his own self-proclaimed title."

"Fine. I'm a good listener."

"You stick your nose into other people's business."

"I'm proactive."

"Restless."

"Why do you turn everything I say into a flaw?!"

Tom burst out laughing.

So did I.

"See?"

"See what?"

"The second you try to explain someone's individuality, it turns into some cheap personality test."

"But there are people you'd call unique, right?"

"Sure."

"So what are we actually seeing when we think someone's unique?"

I started to answer.

Then stopped.

He's right.

There are people I'd call distinctive.

A few faces came to mind immediately.

But ask me what exactly makes them distinctive, and suddenly it's hard to say.

Their clothes?

The way they talk?

The way they think?

Some strange hobby?

They're all parts of a person.

But transplant those things onto somebody else, and they don't become that person.

If some guy is known for always wearing red, and I put on red tomorrow, I don't become him.

I'm just me wearing red.

"Beats me."

"Right?"

"Why do you look happy about that?"

"Now I'm not alone."

"Don't drag me into this."

Tom tilted his glass.

"Maybe individuality isn't something you can put into words that easily."

"But that feeling of 'that's so like him' definitely exists, doesn't it?" Taka said.

"Yeah."

"Then maybe if you collect enough of those moments, that's what individuality is."

"How do you collect them?"

"The things someone does?"

"Alright."

Tom looked at me.

"Say Kenichi suddenly quits his job, moves to some island down south, and opens a bakery. What would you think?"

"Why a bakery?"

"It's an example."

Taka folded his arms.

"...I'd be surprised."

"Right?"

"But if I heard his reasons, I might understand."

I looked at him.

"What does that mean?"

"Kenichi-san isn't the type to do something completely out of nowhere for no reason."

"Probably not."

"So if you spent an hour explaining, 'This happened, then I thought about this, which led to that...'"

"I wouldn't talk for an hour."

"You would," Tom said.

"I wouldn't."

"You would," Mama said.

"Mama too?"

Taka continued.

"Once I'd heard the whole thing, I think I'd probably go, 'Yeah. That's very Kenichi-san.'"

"It's a bakery."

"Doesn't matter."

"I've never baked bread in my life."

"That's not the point."

"Seems pretty important if I'm opening a bakery."

"That's not what we're talking about!"

I lifted my glass, laughing.

But something stuck with me.

Taka couldn't predict that I'd quit my job and open a bakery on some island.

Hell, I couldn't predict that.

And yet he says that if he heard the reasons afterward, it might somehow feel like me.

That's strange.

If this thing we call "identity" really exists inside me, you'd think it could tell people something about what I'll do next.

But apparently it can't.

I don't even know what I'll be doing ten years from now.

And yet after I do something, people can say:

"Yeah. That's so Kenichi."

Then maybe identity isn't a spec sheet for predicting the future.

Maybe it's context for making sense of the past.

"Then why don't we reverse it?" Mama said.

"Reverse what?"

"Try predicting what someone will do first."

Taka's eyes lit up.

Bad sign.

"That sounds fun."

"We're actually doing this?"

"Okay, Kenichi-san. You find a wallet on the street."

"Take it to the police box."

"That's boring."

"What's wrong with boring?"

Tom grinned.

"You'd look inside."

"No, I wouldn't."

"To figure out who owns it."

"Don't invent a noble reason for me."

"But I could see Kenichi-san checking the cards and trying to figure out some way to return it directly."

"Nope. Police box."

"So we were wrong."

"What exactly were you expecting from me?"

Taka thought for a moment.

"Okay. Tom-san. An unknown number calls you."

"I answer."

"You answer?"

"Yeah."

"Really? I thought you'd look up the number first."

"I can look it up after."

"Why?"

"Faster to ask whoever's calling who they are."

Taka and I looked at each other.

"...That's very Tom."

"What the hell does that mean?"

"I don't know. It just is."

The moment I said it, something felt strange.

My prediction had been wrong.

I'd assumed Tom would be suspicious and check the number first.

But the moment I heard his answer and his reasoning, it felt completely right.

I'd predicted wrong.

...And yet afterward, it made perfect sense.

What kind of system is that?

"Next. Taka."

I looked at him.

"A woman you don't know is crying on the side of the road."

"I'd talk to her."

No hesitation.

"Thought so."

"Why?"

"Because you're you."

"That's not an explanation."

"But you'd talk to her."

"Yeah, but..."

"See?"

"Then how did you know?"

I opened my mouth.

Then stopped.

Why did I know?

Because he's curious?

Because he's a detective?

Because he can't leave someone in trouble alone?

Or because he simply wants to know what happened?

They all sound plausible.

But none of them quite gets it.

A woman he doesn't know is crying by the side of the road.

Taka walks past.

Put those two things next to each other in my head, and I can already see him stopping.

Talking to her.

Probably getting himself dragged into whatever trouble she's in.

I can see the whole thing.

I just can't explain why.

"...Because you're Taka."

"Again?"

"Can't help it."

"That doesn't explain my personality at all."

"Then you explain it."

"Well..."

Taka went quiet too.

Tom laughed.

"You two have spent this whole night saying nothing but 'that's like him' and 'that's not like him.'"

"Pretty much."

I looked into my glass.

We know people.

At least, we think we do.

That's like Taka.

That's like Tom.

That's like Mama.

That's like Risa.

That feeling definitely exists.

But what exactly do we know?

Everything Taka has lived through?

Everything Tom saw when he was a cop?

Every word Mama has chosen over the years?

If we gathered all that information into one giant database, would it become them?

Probably not.

And yet I'd never confuse one of them with another.

I'm not talking about faces or voices.

There's just this sense that Taka is Taka.

Tom is Tom.

Mama is Mama.

That much feels certain.

"Weird."

"What is?"

"Maybe we don't actually know how to recognize individuality at all."

Taka frowned.

"But you know when someone's unique, right?"

"Yeah."

"Then we are recognizing it."

"Recognizing what?"

"...Their individuality?"

"And what's that?"

"...What makes them them?"

"And what's that?"

"...Their individuality?"

Tom burst out laughing.

"We're going in circles."

"Like Kenichi-san's glass."

"I'm not spinning it."

I looked down.

I was spinning it.

"...Shut up."

Mama laughed.

So did I.

Come to think of it, I understand myself even less.

I've never done something and thought, That's very Kenichi of me.

Of course not.

I'm just living as myself.

When I make a choice, I have my reasons.

When I say no, I have my reasons.

Even when I can't say no, I probably have some reason that makes sense to me at the time.

To me, none of that is "individuality."

It's just a desperate accumulation of choices.

Someone watching from the outside is the one who takes those choices and says:

"Yeah. That's so Kenichi-san."

So is individuality something I carry inside myself?

Or is it the shape of me left behind in somebody else's mind?

I don't know.

"But going back to that crime story..." Taka spoke again.

"Yeah?"

"The person who said, 'He might do something someday,' and the person who said, 'He'd never do something like that' both had their own idea of what that guy was like, right?"

"Seems that way."

"But they came to opposite conclusions."

"Yeah."

"So maybe individuality isn't really something inside the person."

Nobody answered.

It seems to be inside a person.

But it changes depending on who's looking.

It's hard to put into words.

It can't reliably tell you what somebody will do next.

And yet after something happens, you hear about it and think:

"Yeah. That sounds like them."

What the hell is that?

I looked at Taka.

Tomorrow he'll probably find something else interesting and call out, "Kenichi-san."

Tom will probably let us twist ourselves into knots for half the night and then knock the whole argument over with one sentence.

Mama probably won't give us an answer at all. She'll just keep polishing glasses until we've talked ourselves out, worried ourselves out, and finally gone quiet.

That's what I expect.

But will they actually do that tomorrow?

I don't know.

Maybe Taka will sit there all night without saying a word.

Maybe Tom will talk more than anyone.

Maybe Mama will suddenly say something that leaves all of us speechless.

And even then.

I'd probably look at them and think:

"Yeah. That's so like them."

...What the hell?

If anything someone does can feel "like them" afterward, isn't the whole thing just hindsight?

A convenient way of pretending we know someone?

Part of me thinks it is.

And yet.

In my head, Taka, Tom, and Mama never blur into one another.

I'm not talking about their faces or voices.

There's something solid about each of them being who they are.

I can't put it into words.

But I can't believe it isn't there.

"Maybe..." I said.

"Maybe identity isn't something you can see ahead of time."

"What do you mean?"

"Maybe you only see it after someone does something."

"After?"

"Your prediction can be wrong. But once you hear what happened, it makes sense."

Taka thought about that.

"Is that useful for anything?"

"What?"

"Knowing someone's identity."

I thought about it too.

"...Dunno."

"Back to that again?"

"But..."

I took another sip of my Harper.

"Even if it isn't useful, it's interesting."

"What is?"

"People."

Taka smiled.

Tom said nothing and tilted his glass.

Mama kept polishing one, just like always.

Looking at them, I found myself thinking:

Yeah. That's so like them.

I still couldn't explain why.

Hey, you.

What's your individuality?

Kind.

Stubborn.

Careful.

Curious.

You can line up as many words as you want.

They still won't add up to you.

And yet someone who knows you well might hear about something you did and smile.

"Yeah. That's so like them."

Someone else might say:

"No way. They'd never do that."

And someone else:

"I always thought they'd do something like that eventually."

They were all looking at the same you.

We meet someone distinctive and think they're interesting.

We casually say, "They've really got a personality."

But maybe none of us actually knows how to identify what that individuality is.

We can't quite put it into words.

We can't predict what the person will do next.

And yet once they've made their choice, somehow we know.

"Yeah. That's so like them."

So tell me.

Hey, you.

Someday, someone might hear about the road you chose, or something you went and did, and smile.

"Yeah. That's so like them."

When that happens...

What will you be doing?

I'll see you at Aoi again.

Hey, you.

How much can you handle doing alone?

Eating ramen alone. Going to yakiniku alone. Traveling alone.

Those are all pretty normal these days.

But how about this?

Friday night.

An izakaya packed with students celebrating the end of the week and office workers already several drinks deep after five days on the job.

You walk straight into the middle of all that noise.

Alone.

You order alone. Eat alone. Drink alone.

You don't exchange a single word with anyone except what's absolutely necessary to order and pay.

Then you settle the bill and walk back out into the night.

I've done it.

And the moment I stepped outside, I thought:

I won.

Clang-clink.

Hearing the sound of the door chime always makes me feel like my day is finally over.

Mama placed a glass of I.W. Harper in front of me without asking. The ice gave a small, hard clink.

"So."

Taka reached for his glass.

"What exactly did you win against?"

"What?"

"That solo izakaya thing you were just talking about."

"...Oh."

"You said you felt like you'd won."

"I did."

"Against what?"

I picked up my glass and watched the amber whiskey move inside it.

"...Beats me."

"You said you won, but you don't even know who your opponent was?"

"All I know is that I felt like I'd won."

"Against who?"

"Don't know. But I won."

Tom gave a small snort beside us.

"Yourself."

"What?"

"You beat that stupid little bit of pride that made you hesitate to walk in alone."

"Don't turn this into some inspirational life lesson."

"It's not inspirational. It's what happened."

"No. I crossed some kind of... invisible barrier."

"What barrier?"

Taka grinned.

"So basically, Kenichi-san, your solo power level is pretty high."

"What the hell is a solo power level?"

"Your resistance to doing things alone. Or maybe your independence level."

"...How high am I?"

Tom looked thoroughly uninterested.

"How high is what?"

"My level."

Taka folded his arms and stared at the ceiling.

"Friday-night solo izakaya... maybe 3,000?"

"Is that high?"

"We don't have a scale."

"Then make one."

"Why do I have to make it?"

"You started this."

Behind the counter, Mama let out a quiet sigh.

She had probably realized another pointless argument was underway.

"Alright," Taka said. "Eating ramen alone."

"Fifty," Tom answered immediately.

"That's low."

"If it's mostly counter seating, make it ten."

"Solo beef bowl."

"Five."

"Solo café."

"Three."

"Solo movie."

"One hundred."

"You don't talk to anyone during a movie anyway."

"Fine. Thirty."

"Stop changing the numbers that easily."

"Solo karaoke."

"Five hundred."

"Solo karaoke is normal now."

"Then three hundred."

I frowned.

"So the numbers change depending on the era?"

"Of course. There are restaurants specifically designed for solo yakiniku now."

"Fair point."

"Years ago, maybe eight hundred. Today, three hundred."

"Now we're applying historical adjustments?"

This was ridiculous.

Which was probably why I was starting to care about the accuracy of the numbers.

"Solo travel."

"Depends where you're going," Taka said. "Sightseeing and staying at a business hotel? Two hundred."

"What about a hot-spring inn?"

Taka stopped for a moment.

"...Two thousand five hundred."

I put down my glass.

A hot-spring inn.

Alone.

You sign the guest register at the front desk.

Someone shows you to your room.

You soak in the bath alone.

You change into your yukata alone.

So far, no problem.

The real challenge is dinner.

At the next table, a married couple chats over a hot pot.

Across the room, a family takes pictures of their children.

And there I am, sitting right in the middle of all that concentrated togetherness, silently lifting a slice of sashimi to my mouth.

Alone, I watch the little blue flame beneath the tabletop burner slowly go out.

...

Strong.

That definitely requires a high level of solo resistance.

But I have my Friday-night solo izakaya.

Groups of students.

Office drinking parties.

Laughter loud enough to qualify as shouting.

Glasses slamming together in endless toasts.

And right in the middle of all that noise, I drank quietly, paid my bill, and walked away alone.

"Two thousand," I said.

"What is?"

"Solo hot-spring inn."

"You just said twenty-five hundred."

"I'm lowering it to two thousand. It's below my solo izakaya."

"Why do you get to set the market value?"

"Comparative analysis."

"Of what?"

"Solo tolerance."

Tom laughed.

"He's using his own life as the baseline."

"Shut up."

I took another sip.

"Alright. What about going to an amusement park alone?"

Taka thought about it.

An amusement park.

Alone.

A strange dimension populated entirely by families and couples.

You stand in line for a ride.

The couple in front of you leans happily against each other.

Behind you, a parent asks their kid what they want to ride next.

And between them stands me.

Alone.

Facing straight ahead.

Eventually, it's my turn.

A cheerful employee smiles.

"Just one?"

"Uh... yeah."

Strong.

Overwhelmingly strong.

Then I ride the roller coaster alone.

At the drop, the automatic camera takes a picture.

A screaming family.

A terrified couple.

And at the edge of the photo, me, expressionless, taking the wind directly in the face.

"Would you like to purchase your photo?"

...

This is...

"Three thousand eight hundred," I muttered.

"That's high."

"So it beat the izakaya?"

"There's evidence."

"Evidence?"

"Photographic evidence that I rode a roller coaster alone."

"Who are you planning to show it to?"

I went silent.

"...Beats me."

Tom snorted.

"You lost."

"I did not."

"What lost?"

"The value of my solo izakaya."

"So you were making them fight!"

Ridiculous.

But now I needed to know what stood at the top of this completely imaginary ranking.

"Standing alone on a seaside cliff," Tom said.

"Why would I go there?"

"To look at the ocean."

"Why does it have to be a cliff?"

"Because it looks dramatic."

A terrible reason.

Still, I ran the simulation in my head.

One man standing alone on a desolate cliff.

Salt wind blowing against him.

Waves crashing below.

Seabirds calling somewhere in the distance.

Nothing but the horizon filling his view.

And there I stand.

Alone.

...

Wait.

"Wouldn't being alone actually look more natural there?"

Taka stopped.

"...Actually, yeah."

"If two people are standing on a seaside cliff together, it starts looking like the climax of an old Japanese murder mystery."

"You'd start wondering what happened between them."

"But one person?"

"Deep in contemplation. Maybe a poet."

"Exactly. He fits the scenery."

"Then the score should be low. One hundred fifty."

Tom frowned.

"It's still a cliff."

"Being alone fits the scenery too well."

"But it's a cliff. The words alone are intimidating."

"Fine," I said. "Four thousand nine hundred eighty."

"Why did it suddenly jump that high?!"

"Because it's a cliff."

"That has nothing to do with being alone anymore!"

Mama's shoulders were shaking.

Apparently, this had finally gotten to her.

"Anything else?" I asked.

Taka folded his arms.

Tom played with his glass.

A few seconds passed.

Then I said it.

"...Solo hot pot."

Both of them stopped moving.

"At home?"

"At a restaurant."

Silence.

I closed my eyes.

A table for four.

In the center sits a clay pot.

Facing it:

Me.

Alone.

The server brings over plates of ingredients.

"Once the broth starts boiling, you can add everything in."

"Ah. Thanks."

I sit there alone, watching the steam rise.

The broth begins to bubble.

At the next table, four young people are noisily sharing their own pot.

"Think the meat's ready?"

"The cabbage isn't done yet!"

"Hey, that's my tofu!"

They're having fun.

But I am alone.

I don't have to negotiate with anyone.

The meat.

The cabbage.

The tofu.

The entire ecosystem inside that pot is under my absolute control.

...

Strong.

This is overwhelming.

Inside my head, my Friday-night Solo Izakaya rises to its feet.

The warrior that once drank alone in the middle of roaring crowds.

Facing it:

Solo Hot Pot.

Occupying a four-person table alone, silently lifting cooked cabbage from the broth.

Absolute solitude.

Solo Izakaya steps forward.

Solo Hot Pot doesn't move.

Solo Izakaya unleashes its ultimate argument.

No effect.

Solo Hot Pot quietly raises its ladle.

And my Solo Izakaya drops to its knees.

"...Five thousand," I whispered.

"What the hell just happened in your head?" Taka asked.

"I lost."

"What lost?"

"My solo izakaya."

"So you were making them fight!"

"Solo hot pot is too strong. It's in another league."

"What about the cliff?" Tom asked.

"Four thousand nine hundred eighty."

"Hot pot wins?!"

"By twenty points."

"What are those twenty points?"

I thought about it.

"The conceptual weight of the word 'sharing.'"

"What does that even mean?"

"You don't just say you 'eat' hot pot. You say people 'gather around' a hot pot, right?"

"Sure."

"And I'm alone."

"Yes."

"Yet I'm still gathering around it."

"By yourself?"

"I'm gathering around the concept."

"What does that even mean?!"

"That's why it's five thousand."

"That explains absolutely nothing!"

"But it's stronger than the cliff."

"The cliff being 4,980 doesn't make any sense either!"

Tom burst out laughing.

Mama dropped fresh ice into the ice bucket.

Clang.

"Hey."

Mama finally spoke.

"What exactly are those numbers measuring?"

The three of us went silent.

"...The psychological barrier to doing something alone?" Taka offered.

"But you said being alone on a cliff was perfectly natural."

"That one was a hundred fifty."

"Four thousand nine hundred eighty."

"Tom-san, please stay out of this."

"Then maybe it's about other people's eyes?" Mama said.

We looked at her.

"Other people's eyes?"

"If you go to a ramen shop alone, there are lots of other customers eating alone too, right?"

"Yeah."

"What about an amusement park?"

"Mostly families and couples."

"Solo hot pot?"

"Those places usually assume people are sharing the pot."

I nodded.

"Okay."

Taka nodded too.

"So the more you stand out from the people around you, the higher the number."

"That makes sense."

Tom snorted.

"But did any of those people actually care about you?"

I thought about it.

That izakaya years ago.

The students were too busy making noise with their friends.

The office workers were too busy complaining about their bosses.

What I ate.

What I drank.

The fact that I was sitting there alone in the first place.

Not one of them had probably cared for even a second.

"...No."

"Then whose eyes were you worried about?"

"...Your own, I guess," Taka said.

I lifted my glass.

"Don't turn this into some inspirational life lesson."

"That's what we've been saying from the beginning."

"I won."

"Against who?"

"Don't know. But I won."

"We're right back where we started."

Mama laughed.

"Then what about Aoi?"

"What about it?"

"What's the power level for coming here alone?"

We looked at each other.

I come alone.

Taka comes alone.

Tom comes alone.

"...One," I said.

"That's way too low."

"I feel absolutely nothing."

"Same."

"Then one."

Mama smiled.

"But all three of you come through that door alone, and then you always end up talking together."

We went quiet.

"...Does that still count as solo?"

"You came alone, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I'm not spending the night alone."

"So it doesn't count?"

"Beats me."

Tom tilted his glass.

"Actually..."

"What?"

"We've been talking about levels and numbers this whole time."

"Yeah."

"But if you're doing something solo..."

He looked at us.

"...there was never anyone to fight in the first place, was there?"

Taka and I froze.

Even Mama stopped polishing her glass.

Inside my head, Solo Izakaya had defeated Solo Hot-Spring Inn.

It had been overwhelmed by Solo Amusement Park.

The Seaside Cliff had somehow evolved all the way to 4,980.

And finally, Solo Hot Pot had taken the throne as absolute champion.

But in reality...

Every one of those people was simply eating alone.

Traveling alone.

Going to an amusement park alone.

Standing on a cliff alone.

There had never been a fight at all.

"...He's right."

Taka burst out laughing.

Tom followed.

Mama laughed out loud.

And eventually, so did I.

Seriously.

We'd spent nearly an hour running an imaginary tournament where none of the competitors even had opponents.

Hey, you.

What's your solo power level?

Solo yakiniku.

Solo travel.

Solo amusement park.

For the record, tonight's provisional champion is Solo Hot Pot.

Power Level: 5,000.

Seaside Cliff: 4,980.

Disagreements are welcome.

Actually, disagreement is probably the only reasonable response.

But there's one thing I think we can say for sure.

If you're doing something solo...

there was never anyone to fight in the first place.

So who the hell did I think I'd beaten that night?

I'll see you at Aoi again.