v1c1 (1/2)

Part 1 – The Mask and the Road Sign

1.

Tuesday – April 23, 1991 (Heisei 3)

There’s a certain phrase: “Those with sated appet.i.tes know civility.” Of course, there’s another that goes hand-in-hand: “Poverty dulls the wit.” In other words, the act itself of becoming civil actually comes second to discarding the oft cited tenet of the saintly lifestyle: to never give in to temptation and gluttony. One should instead lavishly gorge himself. Thus, it goes without saying that if an impious man fails to catch for himself a rabbit within arm’s reach, it is truly cruel to request anything of him other than to put more force behind his spear.

Of course, that’s not to say we should completely dismiss that which comes second. Drawing forth from another well-known saying, “man shall not live by bread alone.” All of these maxims are relics inherited from those who lived scattered among the ages of the past—all hopelessly face-to-face with situations of unimaginable variety. These lessons are quite simple in their construction, and it is this very simplicity that leads to easy acceptance, ultimately paving the way for their widespread use today.

Now then, as I personally muse upon this topic, I find that a serious problem arises from within these suppositions. “What is it?” you may ask. To that I respond that this cannot be considered an issue unrelated to the basic concept of happiness. From the moment we are born, do those with sated appet.i.tes seek civility through further satiation? Do they completely renounce said satiation? Ultimately, this question in itself is already birthed from an unnatural, absurd premise. I once read a short science fiction novel that depicted a world in which all needs were satisfied, and its inhabitants, bereft of things to do, as a result become enamored with suicide. In the end, the malady of extravagance is undeniably a malady.

At the time, she told me to talk about something, so this was what ended up coming out of my mouth. Of course, I didn’t honestly think she was paying any attention and, as if on cue, she—the girl I called Sendou—disinterestedly responded with a single word.

“Yeah.”

It was pretty typical of her, so I didn’t feel particularly annoyed.

Her hair was cut evenly, in a style rarely seen these days, and it rested on her gray school blazer. It frequently attracted many stares, and her friends often told her that she should get it cut. According to Tachiarai herself, though: “Ever since I was a wide-eyed kindergartner, I’ve always admired long, flowing black hair. If I were to cut it now, after all the effort I put into growing it, I’m sure it would come back as a ghost to haunt me…” or something like that. She took care of her hair with painstaking patience, so in reality, it already was the flowing ideal for which she strove. She was slim, perhaps to the extent that it stood out, and her features were pensive and stern, containing traces of sharp ferocity. Yet, even after taking all of this into account, she was a figure that stood out among everyone else; her looks and character inspired feelings of inadequacy in those beneath her. She was tall, sure, but still slightly shorter than I—who had an average height for boys my age. It wasn’t like she sought isolation, but there was something about her near-supernatural disposition that made guys crazy about her, and even that mania was dwarfed by how much the girls revered her. And yet, here I was, as average as they come, having a relaxed conversation with her.

Even though April was coming to an end, the cold had not yet receded. The rest of the weather paid no attention to this, and the spring showers still rained down upon us in full force. Today in particular was freezing. It wasn’t pouring buckets, but it didn’t look like it was going to stop anytime soon; everyone beneath it held up their open umbrellas. Mine was relatively simple and plain, and Tachiarai’s was an unsettling crimson. Looking up at the wide street in front of me, a myriad of umbrellas dizzied me with their wide array of colors and designs. Beneath them were monotone blazer-clad carriers: students of our school, Fujimurasaki High School.

At that moment, a girl holding a checkered blue umbrella ran past us at light pace. At about two or three strides ahead of us, she looked over her shoulder and said, “Goodbye, Tachiarai-senpai!” and lowered her head in a small nod.

Tachiarai responded with a small wave. She wore a charming smile as she did it, but as the girl disappeared from sight, her expression followed suit as she muttered, “I guess she didn’t listen to me.”

Although Tachiarai was her real name, calling her as such always put her into a foul mood for some reason. I was the one who gave her the nickname Sendou. Sometime at the start of our freshman year, I watched her drowsily nod off at her own desk—maybe during a lesson or between cla.s.ses—without a care in the world. It almost looked like she was peacefully rowing a boat as her head bobbed up and down, so I teasingly called her “Ms. Ferryman”. 1 Tachiarai became surprisingly fond of the name, and we ended up talking more and more as time pa.s.sed. I say “we talked more and more,” but I was the one doing most of the talking. I figured it couldn’t have been too boring for her considering she had yet to complain about it in two years we had known each other. In fact, there had even been times when Tachiarai herself mentioned a thing or two about life’s esotericisms. I always looked forward to those moments, personally.

A red traffic signal blocked the street in front of us; the students in their school uniforms started to pile up on the sidewalk around us. They were all in our grade or lower. When becoming a senior, one is plagued by the constant reminders of the life-changing tests for which he must prepare, but for me—this early in the year—the looming fear had not yet taken hold. As we stood in front of the crowded pedestrian crossing, Sendou’s crimson umbrella hit the dark green umbrella of the student next to her, and the scattered water droplets. .h.i.t my uniform’s collar. Tachiarai looked at me—or perhaps past me—as I flicked the droplets off. When the light turned green, she asked, “Want to use the st.u.r.dy bridge instead?”

She was probably saying that we could avoid the large amount of students if we took a different route than usual. I didn’t necessarily mind the crowd, but I wordlessly agreed anyways.

We turned onto a small street branching out from the main road, and the crowd around us thinned significantly. Eventually, we were the only two students in the area. The two-way street, devoid of lane markings, was lined by rows of houses on each side. Drops of water that had acc.u.mulated along their clotheslines fell and beat against the top of my umbrella. The wind was unbearably cold. To think the cherry blossoms should be blooming any day now—what strange, annoying weather. Tachiarai hadn’t asked me to continue where I left off, so I stayed silent as we walked. This kind of thing happened every now and then when it was just the two of us, so there was nothing awkward about it. Occasionally, a car would pa.s.s us by on the drenched road, spraying water in its wake. Each time, it would hit my pants and Tachiarai’s socks.

As you might guess, Fujimurasaki High School was located in Fujimurasaki City.

It supposedly had a population of 100,000, but in reality, it felt like there were a bit more than that. The area the city was in was considered the heart of the region—the hub for everything cultural, financial, and political. As a result, though, it was crowded. It didn’t border the coast, and the northern portion was lined with sprawling mountains. It was originally a foresting town, but that business eventually declined—as is wont to happen—and now its primary focus was tourism. The immense prosperity that this industry brought spread all throughout the city. I hear that they may even clear-cut the mountainous region to the north to make way for new golf courses.

A river called the Atotsu ran directly through the center of the city and largely served as a natural boundary—the north side being the old town and the south side being the new town. There were buildings in the old town that were constructed earlier in the century, and they functioned as the lifeline of tourism in Fujimurasaki City. This area was located in a region that was overlooked during the Second World War; we were fortunate to avoid the fires of war started that would’ve scorched the city entirely. The older districts were safely preserved as a direct result.

A scooter sped from out a narrow alleyway. Both of us stopped simultaneously to let it pa.s.s.

Tachiarai suddenly started. “What you were saying earlier…”

“What? Oh, yeah.”

She continued to face forward as she replied: “I get where you’re coming from—you might be right. At least, I can’t say your point is completely farfetched. I don’t think you can necessarily lump everything together, but it’s still an interesting idea.”

“Why, thank you.”

“But I don’t want to accept it.”

“…”

“I’m saying it doesn’t sit well with me.”

She didn’t explain any further. It felt like everything she said was always one part shy of a complete thought. That much I already knew well. I ended the conversation as we continued walking along.

“Is that so? Well, feel free to ignore it then.”

I started to hear the low growl of the flowing river mixed with the sound of the rain. Fujimurasaki High School was not located in the old town or in the new town, but instead in the agricultural region along the city’s outskirts. In order to make the trip to and from the school, Tachiarai and I both had to cross this river. We pa.s.sed through a narrow alleyway like roaming cats, wedged between old houses topped with wood-tiled rooves, and quickly arrived at the “st.u.r.dy bridge.” It was an old thing, skillfully supported by piers of blackened wood—the planks above gratuitously covered in asphalt. The bridge was only meant for pedestrians, so it was narrow in width. The two of us lined up side-by-side, and our umbrellas collided.

We started to walk across it. The name, “st.u.r.dy bridge,” was purely a joke, and that was made clear once it started to sway noticeably from side to side, even though there were only two of us on it. Because of the long-lasting rain, there was considerably more water flowing in the Atotsu River than usual. If I were to lean on the guardrail, it’d likely break clean off. If after getting off the bridge, the entire thing crumbled with a loud roar and was swept up by the river, I wouldn’t find it strange in the slightest. If I were to fall and be swallowed by the waters while crossing it, I wouldn’t even feel cheated as I greeted the great beyond.

I suddenly looked up in front of me.

I noticed there was a person on the opposite sh.o.r.e.

He was in front of the abandoned photo museum, mostly barricaded with shutters, next to the vacant display window. He stood there completely motionless. Although he had a slender frame, I couldn’t tell for sure whether or not he was male. Possibly noticing my stare, Tachiarai raised her head as well and squinted to see what was on the other side. She started to speak, her voice slightly louder than usual to combat the noise of the falling rain.

“Someone’s taking shelter from the rain over there.”

I suppose that would make sense.

This rain was that of a spring shower—a seemingly eternal rain. In addition to that, today was freezing. Yet, it didn’t look as if this person had an umbrella on them.

We reached the halfway point. The person had his back to us, and was neither particularly tall nor short. His black hair stretched to his shoulders. At his feet was a black bag so large that you wouldn’t be able to stretch your arms around it fully. He looked out of place for some reason. As I tried to put my finger on it, I quickly came upon an answer. He wore a navy jacket, pink pants, a warm-colored striped s.h.i.+rt, and a knitted red beanie. His sense for fas.h.i.+on was impressive, to say the least.

“Sendou.”

“Hm?”

“Can you see that person over there?”

“Yeah, didn’t you hear me?”

We reached the three-quarters mark. I had the feeling our eyes met at that moment. Almost as if we were in some sort of fict.i.tious world, there was no one else—not on either side of the river—just that person and the two of us.

My suspicions were confirmed.

“They’re not j.a.panese. Maybe from Central Asia…?”

“They’re white?”

“Looks like it.”

Tachiarai tilted her head in uncertainty. “It’s pretty rash to a.s.sume they aren’t j.a.panese just because they’re white. I mean, whites could be naturalized citizens, right?”

“Yeah, but there’s no way I could know that from just looking.”

Foreigners were not all that uncommon around here. Although Fujimurasaki was located primarily in the suburbs, I often saw people of all races pa.s.s through. What was strange, though, was to see one taking shelter from the rain in an area this far away from the center of the city.

The person appeared to be crouched down, his body shaped like a ball. He was looking up at the sky, likely inspecting the weather.

“Looks like they’re in a tough spot.”

“Sure does.”

“Sendou, sorry, but could you go on without me?”

“Moriya-kun…” she sighed, looking at me, “you’re too nosy. That umbrella wasn’t cheap, right?”

I guess she picked up on my intentions in an instant. This wasn’t the first time I’d done something like this, though, so it didn’t come as a surprise.

“Actually, it was a bargain. I picked it up on sale.” I showed an apologetic smile. “It’s the least I can do.”

Tachiarai didn’t deny it.

In the end, it looked like he was, in fact, a she. Her eyes and hair were black, and her face was shaped in a way that didn’t appear strongly Caucasian: slightly ovular and with a high-bridged nose. Above her large eyes were a set of thick eyebrows, and I found myself strangely attracted to them. I felt like parts of her still retained their childlike qualities. Her face contained the faintest trace of fatigue, but her expression remained firm. She seemed cuter than she did strange, but there was something indescribable about her eyes that softly radiated strength. Those very eyes lowered to face us as I came closer.

It looked like Tachiarai was following behind me. The girl appeared somewhat cautious; she probably didn’t trust us. In order to put her at ease, I put on a smile. I dampened my lips—even though they were already wet from the rain—and asked her a question using the English I have never once put into actual practice.

“May I help you?” I managed to p.r.o.nounce it splendidly, if I do say so myself.

But she didn’t respond; her expression was a jumble of hesitation and confusion. I took another step closer and she changed her stance, as if preparing a counterattack. Her posture seemed to be challenging me, as if to say: “Come, then! I’ll take you on!” She was clearly misreading the situation.

I tried once more, this time with a different expression: “Are you in trouble?”

Nothing was getting through to her, just as I had feared. It looked like she was equally at a loss for how to respond.

Appearing conflicted, she said, “Ko ste Vi?”

“Uh… Do you need any help? What’s the matter?” I kept on trying to ask her what was wrong, adding in gestures for good measure. I ended up shaking my umbrella around without realizing it, and the drops I scattered about caused Tachiarai to scowl irritably. She wiped off her forehead—some of the drops must have hit her—and then let out a shallow sigh.

“It doesn’t look like it’s working.”

As Tachiarai said this, the girl turned to face her. Perhaps it was simply my imagination, but it seemed like her guard lowered somewhat as she did so. I suppose it’s only natural for her to feel more relaxed around someone of the same gender. Tachiarai immediately placed herself in front of me, and without even making the effort to sound courteous, said, “Want to borrow an umbrella?”

The girl’s expression softened in an instant, and she bowed her head. She responded, her voice almost sounding as if it belonged to royalty.

“Thank you very much. If it is not too much of a ha.s.sle, I will be happy to take you up on that offer. I am beyond relieved that one of you can speak j.a.panese.”

…What trickery. Tachiarai looked back at me as I stood there dumbfounded. Her expression changed, looking as if she were stiffing her amus.e.m.e.nt. “Not only was it rash to think she spoke English just because she was a foreigner, you shouldn’t have a.s.sumed she didn’t speak j.a.panese either. Don’t worry though, I won’t hold it against you.”

Tachiarai probably noticed a change in the girl’s expression when I told her the English wasn’t working and deduced that she understood j.a.panese. That’s just not fair…

The girl listened to Tachiarai speak—likely understanding everything—and a smile formed on her lips.

“You can speak j.a.panese too?”

I quickly responded, the irritation seeping out of my voice, “Of course I can. It’s the only language I can speak. English doesn’t make any sense to me.”

“I can’t speak English either.”

“Your j.a.panese seems pretty good.”

“I still have a long way to go.”

She smiled once more as she said this. Every time she did, she appeared several years younger, and the strength she previously exuded was replaced by a childlike liveliness. I felt at peace in the presence of her expression, even amidst the gloom of the soft spring shower. A question slipped naturally from my mouth.

“What’s your nationality?”

“Natio…nality?”

Oh, um…

“Which country are you from?”

She nodded with apparent understanding, but for some reason, there was a slight pause before she responded.

“Jugoslavija.”

“Yugo… what?”

Tachiarai cut into the conversation. “Yugoslavia, right?”

“Da. Socijalistika Federativna Republika Jugoslavija.”

I had never heard of that country before—no wait, I think I have. It would probably be impossible for there to have been a country I had never once heard of in my time here on Earth, but I wondered where it was located.

“You know about it, Sendou?”

Tachiarai was blessed academically—unfairly so. However, her response was surprisingly vague.

“Well, I know about it.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“Um… Eastern Europe.”

“Eastern Europe? Where Finland is?”

“No, that’s Northern Europe. I think it’s around where Bulgaria is…”

I pictured a mental map of Europe in my head. To the west of the Italian peninsula was Portugal, Spain, and then across the Pyrenees Mountains was France, Belgium, Holland, Germany, Switzerland, northern Italy, a bunch of small nations around there, and to the east of that was Austria, Poland… Beyond that was Eastern Europe.

“Hmm…”

That’s strange. I moved on my mental map to the Middle East. There was Israel, Iran, Iraq, Kuwait… I had a basic, fragmented knowledge of the region due the Gulf War earlier this year, but even that memory was shoddy at best. Then where did Greece go, again?

“Eastern Europe, right? Eastern Europe…”

“Uh, Moriya-kun, it might be better if I called it Central Europe,” said Tachiarai, revising it in a way that likely made little difference.

The girl waved her hand dismissively. “I appreciate the thought, but saying it is in the east is fine. I don’t like the west—uh… I don’t really like the west?”

“Are you trying to say, ‘That’s not to say I like the west?’ You want to say you don’t necessarily dislike it, either?”

“Da!”

The girl enthusiastically shouted infantile shorthand for the word “dad.” She looked so strangely happy that it managed to infect me a little as well.

That said…

“I guess you really don’t have anything to do with English, do you? At any rate, here, use this.”

I stuck my arm out, holding the opened umbrella. Naturally, it was still raining, but Tachiarai made no moves to shelter me with hers. Out of options, I stood next to the Yugoslavian girl beneath the eaves. She took the umbrella and bowed again, this time more deeply than before.

“Thank you very much. I appreciate it a lot.” Her eyes then dropped to the umbrella she now held in her hands. “How will I return it?”

“Oh, don’t worry about it; it’s yours. As with books, once I lend out an umbrella, I don’t expect it to come back.”

“That is a very interesting way of looking at things. Well then, thank you again.”

She bowed once more.

I took note of how big the umbrella was as she carried it—naturally, as it was made for men. As I looked at the umbrella, however, and compared it to the large bag at her feet, I had to admit it didn’t seem like it’d provide enough protection. I imagined her carrying that ma.s.sive bag in her thin arms as she braved the full force of the j.a.pan-famous spring shower, and it seemed like a ridiculous prospect. The bottoms of her pink pants had already become thoroughly soaked.

Well, Tachiarai had already called me nosy once. I might as well go a little further.

“So, what’s your destination from here on out?”

She stared at me blankly and didn’t respond. I suppose, like earlier, I used words or phrasing that she found hard to understand. I revised my sentence to make it easier to follow.

“Where are you going now?”

“…”

“Was that still too hard?”

The girl shook her head. I guess people in Yugoslavia also shook their heads from side to side when they didn’t understand something. Or perhaps it was a European export to j.a.pan.

“It’s not that; I understand your j.a.panese, but I’m not sure how to answer that question.”

“Are you lost?” asked Tachiarai, but she continued to shake her head all the same.

“No. Um, it’s a long story… How should I say this?” She was silent for a moment, likely trying to find the best way to say it, and then finally continued, “I don’t have anywhere to go.”

Tachiarai and I exchanged glances: a vagrant from Eastern Europe? The girl must have noticed our expressions since she immediately tried to backtrack, waving her hands in front of her as if trying to dispel cigarette smoke.

“What I mean is, um, I am in a tough situation. I am not sure what I should do and where I should go. I am in quite a bit of distress.”

She knew some surprisingly uncommon words, but I guess that’s what happens when you speak in a language aside from your mother tongue. Not that I was qualified to say that, of course, considering my mother tongue was my only language. But that was irrelevant. What was more pressing was the troubled Yugoslavian girl before us. I lowered my voice so that only Tachiarai would hear.

“What should we do?” Asking this was a mistake, of course; there was only one way she’d respond.

“Do whatever you want, Moriya-kun.”

“I’d lose sleep if we just left her here.”

“That’d be simply awful. I’d just hate for you to not get any sleep.”

“Could you stay here and help me out with this?”

“Oh, what was that? I could have sworn you wanted me to go on without you.”

She wordlessly waved her hand at me and then turned to face the Yugoslavian girl. It goes without saying that her manner towards the girl, one devoid of any kind of courtesy, was, at most, a way to preserve her aloof façade.

“Here in j.a.pan, we have a certain phrase: ‘The s.h.i.+p has already departed.’ “2

“What does ‘departed’ mean?”

Although the girl was clearly perplexed, Tachiarai didn’t answer her question, and instead pointed to a city map next to us.

“I’m tired of talking, standing out here like this. If we go through this street, we’ll reach a shopping district. If you’d like, you can tell us all about your situation over a nice, hot drink.” She then added, “It looks like he wants to help you.”

I couldn’t help but think that hearing this suggestion would make the girl freshly suspicious of our intentions; To my surprise, she nodded vigorously in agreement.

“I would be more than grateful.”

Perhaps we had won her over by giving her the umbrella, but whatever the reason, she picked up and carried her bag in a way befitting a railway porter and accepted us with a beaming smile.

We pa.s.sed through the alleyway and arrived at a café. In all honestly, it wasn’t the kind of place I’d visit more than once. There were far too many pictures of cars, boats, and other random hobbyist themes littered along the walls, making the shop feel somewhat uncomfortable; it didn’t help that the café’s owner was always talking to regular customers in an annoyingly loud voice. Worst of all was the lackl.u.s.ter quality of their sandwiches. They were terrible, to be frank. Unfortunately, though, this place ended up being the closest to the photo museum.

The three of us were the only customers on this rainy evening. The owner gave us some warm hand towels to wipe our faces. While I knew that using it wouldn’t do much to make me look presentable, I couldn’t hold back. The Yugoslavian girl removed her red knitted beanie and quickly wiped the scattered water drops out of her black hair. At a glance, it seemed a bit coa.r.s.e. Tachiarai was the only one who didn’t touch the hand towel and instead used her red handkerchief to lightly brush off her shoulders in its place.

At any rate, the coffee warmed my body up and thoroughly relaxed me. I guess there was coffee in Yugoslavia too, given how readily the girl drank it. Taking a sip, she noted, “Kafa in j.a.pan is a little weak.”

I took another sip after hearing that. “…Seems normal to me.”

“If this is weak to you, I suppose that means Yugoslavian coffee is much stronger,” said Tachiarai.

“Yes, and this is bitter too.”

So Yugoslavian coffee was stronger, yet less bitter than j.a.panese coffee? What on earth? I wonder what kind of coffee it was.

Of course, the coffee wasn’t why we were here, however. As soon as our bodies, frozen by the April rains, were amply warm, the real conversation began.

“Well then, why were you—actually, I guess we don’t know your name yet. What should we call you?”

The girl beamed back.

“Please call me Maja.”

Maja… Maja… I formed the sounds silently in my mouth. That certainly wasn’t a j.a.panese name. I took those sounds and then linked them to the image of the fair-skinned girl sitting in front of me. Yeah, I had to remember this name. I purposefully cleared my throat and began to speak in as dignified a manner as I could muster.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Maja-san. My name’s Michiyuki Moriya. Mi-chi-yu-ki, Mo-ri-ya. Please call me Moriya.”

“I’m Machi Tachiarai. You can call me Machi or Sendou.”

Maja carefully watched us both as we named ourselves, one after the other. She pointed at me and said, “Moriya-san,” and then pointed at Tachiarai and said, “Machi-san. Okay, I’ve remembered them. I won’t forget.”

Great. I sipped my coffee. “Well then Maja-san, what seems to be the problem? If it’s not too complicated, we might be able to help you. If it’s okay, would you mind telling us?”

I tried to keep my words simple, but the more I made a conscious effort to do it, the harder I realized it was. Even then, there was no guarantee that what I was saying was any easier for her to understand. The image of a caterpillar getting its legs all tied up in a knot as it tripped over itself suddenly came to mind. I mean, it’s not like I even need to be that careful in the first place; Maya’s j.a.panese didn’t seem bad at all. But, for now, I guess I’d just do my best. Fortunately, the conversation continued smoothly, which must have been partly due to my efforts in keeping the vocabulary simple.

“Yes. Um… first, I will start by talking about myself,” Maja prefaced. “Yugoslavia is not a rich country. That is why it learns from rich countries and countries with lots of resources. That is my father’s job. When I was young, he would go to many countries and try to learn what he could.

“He also had a friend in j.a.pan. When my father and I came to j.a.pan, I was supposed to stay at his house for two months. However, after I came to this town, I learned that he had died. That is why I am in distress.”

“What happened to your father?”

“Not the country’s capital… Um… He is in the biggest province’s capital.”

If she wasn’t talking about Tokyo, then the second-largest city in j.a.pan was…

“…Osaka?”

“Da! That one.”

“Then why don’t you just go to Osaka?”

It seemed like the obvious answer, but Maja shook her head, “No. While my father is working in another country, I study that country and live normally. This is our promise. I can’t return back, no matter what happens. Only when it is time for me to return to Yugoslavia will I go to Osaka.”

“Hmm… I see.”

After conversing, I could tell that her j.a.panese did have some odd quirks, but I could understand her situation well enough. Another thing I quickly picked up on was her stubborn side. If you’re stranded, aimlessly roaming a foreign land—being pelted by its rain—you should swallow some of your pride and ask for a little help. That said, I had to admit: I do admire her spirit…

What this boiled down to, then, was Maja needing a place to live.

“What was the name of the person who was supposed to look after you?”

“Taizou Ichiya.”

“Isn’t there anyone else in his family that you can ask?”

I took care to keep my words simple. There wasn’t any point in introducing words that might confuse her.

Maja shook her head once more. “Taizou Ichiya did not have a family.”

There wasn’t much that could be done about that.

I reached out to pick up my coffee and whispered to Tachiarai. “Should we help her get her a room at a guesthouse or something?”

“Do you have a cheap one in mind? Judging by her story, I’m guessing she doesn’t have much in the way of money…”

“In the end, it always comes down to money…”

Tachiarai nodded and then got straight to the point. “Maja-san, what’s your limit for how much you can afford, rent-wise?”

“I’m sorry, limit? Rent-wise?”

Tachiarai was tactless as always… I chimed in from the side. “How much can you pay every day for a place to live?”

Maja nodded several times, deep in thought, and then softly pressed the corners of her eyes.

“I do not think it will be enough, but about 1,000 yen.”

Tachiarai and I exchanged glances. No matter how hard we tried, it’d be impossible to find a place that cheap. Even if we were to go through h.e.l.l and high water to find a good price, 4,000 yen would probably be the cutoff for both meals and lodging. Maja’s expression darkened, possibly piecing together the situation from our reactions.

“Is it no good?”

For a moment, I considered the possibility of having her work a part-time job to help pay, but I quickly dismissed the idea. No matter how ignorant my high school self was of the outside world, even I knew a foreigner without a work visa wouldn’t be able to find a legitimate job. Also, even though I’ve heard a bit about it, I didn’t have any actual working experience. Besides, if I understand Maja’s story correctly, her father is related to a government in some way. Getting her involved in some kind of under-the-table work would be beyond disastrous.

“There’s nothing we can do,” muttered Tachiarai promptly.

I wasn’t planning on giving up so easily, however. We knew in reality we were powerless to do anything about it, but I wasn’t going to simply lie down and admit it. The important thing was to figure out if there was anywhere she could stay on that paltry budget. Hotels and inns were out of the question. Guesthouses were cutting it close. How about a youth hostel? But for two months on 1,000 yen a day…

Wait a second. Was any kind of lodging okay?

It turned out there was an easy solution after all. I put on a large smile and turned to Tachiarai.

“Sendou…”

“You have the most revolting face on right now. Is there something wrong?”

Stay strong…

“Does your house have any unused rooms at the moment?”

“Like a homestay?” she started, but then quickly continued, “My house won’t work—and I’m not saying that to be stingy; we simply don’t have enough s.p.a.ce. How about, instead of asking others, you offer your own house first?”

My house, huh? Tachiarai must have known that my house was out of the question, especially since I had to ask her if she could do it first, but that didn’t stop her from bringing it up out of what appeared to be short-tempered irritation. Two or three days were one thing, but two months would be no easy task. My house was a last resort.

But was there any other alternative?

“Hm… Do you have an idea?” said Maja.

“Hold on a second.”

Essentially, we were looking for a place that physically had enough room to accommodate one more person. Furthermore, whoever lived there needs to be willing to take Maja under their proverbial wing. Where on earth could we find someone that ideal?

I could feel the creases in my forehead deepen as I continued deep in thought. I took another sip of the coffee and ended up emptying the cup. I continued to hold onto it, moving it around aimlessly in my hand. Was there really nothing we could do?

Suddenly, Tachiarai muttered something under her breath. “Izuru.”

“Huh?” I said.

Tachiarai responded as if talking to her cup. “I think Izuru could take her in. You know her, right? Izuru?”

I nodded, and at the same time, realized what Tachiarai was getting at. I see; Izuru was a good idea.