Pathway to Japanese Literature

Preface

Until just recently, that district had been bustling with life.

Even so, there must have been about ten shops in total.
At least as far as I can clearly remember, there were first a bag shop, a Western goods store, a general store that also sold stationery, a shoe store, a sanitary equipment shop whose dim storefront by day would suddenly light up at night with a neon sign reading "Sacks and Skins of All Kinds," a small charcoal shop, a billiard hall that stood as the only two-story building in this district, and beneath it a small bar occupying the corner lot along the main street.
Next to that stood a small tobacco shop, then further along a Chinese restaurant, and between the tobacco shop and Chinese restaurant ran an alley about three feet wide where passersby would hear pretentious cello music playing. If you peeked in on impulse, there sat what they called a "pure coffee shop"—as thin and small as one of those marquetry souvenir boxes from Hakone.
Moreover, its name was unmistakably written as “Le Monde.”
I nearly burst out laughing, but then, taking an unexpected liking to that very grandiosity, I started to rush inside when—peering in on impulse—I caught a glimpse of a man coiled like a serpent in the corner.
I knew his face but not his name.
He was a guy who edited a third-rate entertainment rag specializing in extortion stories, and when this bastard got drunk, he'd inevitably start with "The left wing's gone to hell, I tell you! Back when I worked metals in Koto—" then launch into some nonsensical spiel that made no logical sense whatsoever, effectively driving people away.
In the end, when completely plastered, he’d come out with "Let’s drink to all the youth of the world, ××!"
If you refused, he’d narrow his eyes into triangles and press closer, snarling “Then you’re a counter-revolutionary!”, making him impossible to handle.

I turned on my heel in fear and, for some reason, found myself rushing into the Chinese restaurant. It was probably due to panic. However, when I thudded down onto the filthy stool in that cramped, shabby Chinese restaurant and sighed for no particular reason, I suddenly felt hungry—which was strange. I ordered a plate of shumai. Then I needed to pee.

When I asked the waitress—with her sullen, Buddha-like face and inexplicably baggy fat—to let me use the toilet, she didn't crack a smile as she said, “We don’t have a toilet inside. The communal one is outside, so please do it there.”

When I looked where she pointed, beyond the shop's noren curtain at the alley's edge stood something like a communal water tap against the concrete wall, its base forming a dipper-shaped concrete slab with a small hole drilled through the center. There wasn’t even a single plank of fencing. In other words, there existed a fully open-air communal toilet right in the center of this town. Having no choice but to go about my business, I was mid-stream when a man emerged briskly from the dim alley's depths. His gaze traveled upward from my feet—knees to waist, belly to face—in a manner akin to licking up someone's body from the bottom up, all while keeping that very inspection fixed on me as he approached.

He said “Well, well!” and grinned—mortifying me.

They probably didn't know, but I did.
This was Gyūtarō.
He dabbled in moneylending too.
He must have been returning from some loan-sharking business that time as well.
Clutching a small black bag under his arm, he vanished down the alley without pause.

With nowhere else to look, I stared at the concrete wall before me. What obsessive care someone had poured into this masterpiece - the kind of crude artwork typically found on communal toilet walls - executed here with solemn precision.
Directly above the drawing, right at nose level, sat the Chinese restaurant's kitchen window where a cook shaped shumai.
The grime-caked youth sang a pop tune through his blocked nose.
The dumplings' aroma reached my nostrils.
Of course, the stench from the communal toilet beneath my feet rose up too. My gorge began to rise.

Though I'd finished urinating, I couldn't bring myself to return to the shop. Leaving without paying after ordering felt cruel to that bloated, sallow-faced waitress, and I worried getting caught might mean a beating—but then again, eating that shumai might kill me! Trapped in the exaggerated panic only cowards know, I faced an utterly impossible situation. Resolving to apologize to the waitress next time, I dashed from the alley at nearly full speed—yet when I finally glanced back after some distance, finding no one in pursuit struck me as utterly absurd.

After that, every time I passed near that place, there wasn’t a single moment when I didn’t think of stopping by to give that waitress the ten-sen silver coin.
But I felt so awkward about it, and while I kept putting it off, there ended up being no way left to give it to her even if I tried.

Not limited to that shop and Le Monde alone, almost all the stores that had clustered together operating in that district suddenly shuttered and vacated.

Memories still linger in abundance.

Like the profusion of freckles on the face of the girl who always sat in that small tobacco shop.
At the shoe store was a twelve- or thirteen-year-old apprentice perpetually sniffling with a runny nose.
The fingers of both hands bulged from frostbite - when repairing shoes, he'd likely smashed them by accident with his hammer more than once.
Blood oozed through their crumbling flesh.
Just recently, I'd gone into the Western goods store to buy some collar buttons.
There sat the fortyish proprietress who usually hunched over the two-tatami storefront space, idly watching street sunlight through half-lidded eyes as she minded shop. But that day she fumed inexplicably - snatching the payment I offered without a shred of courtesy, she turned toward her husband slumping dejectedly in the back room (a man I recognized) and spat words in a biting tone.

“But that’s exactly how it is, isn’t it?! Setting up this shop and finally getting steady customers was no small feat! Skipping meals and working like this for nearly four years—what have we been slaving away for?! To think they’d demand we vacate right now for just three hundred or four hundred yen in key money! And as eviction compensation—a measly five hundred yen?! Hmph! No matter how much money they’ve got—whether they’re building a restaurant or department store or whatever—how can they make such an outrageous demand?! If we leave this place, how are the six of us supposed to survive?! Four hundred or five hundred—it’ll vanish in the blink of an eye! I don’t care if they’re loaded—that’s gangster talk! Do they think gangsters rule this world?! They’re making complete fools of us!”

Startled by the proprietress's extraordinary fury, I immediately left the shop, so I couldn't make sense of anything beyond that. Then it occurred to me that someone must be acquiring properties around here, but not even ten days had passed since then when this Western goods store too vanished completely. Its remains either had their shutters lowered and nailed shut or were left gaping open, now utterly devoid of life.
Presumably, what the proprietress called "gangsters"—or rather, the authorities—had prevailed.

About ten shops had become completely vacant.
It was unclear whether they were actually operating, but in any case, the only two establishments remaining open as they were were the corner bar and the Asahi Billiard Hall on its second floor.
This was what they meant by being left dumbfounded.

That this cluster of wooden buildings in the backstreets of the entertainment district suddenly fell eerily silent felt less a matter of loneliness than something downright uncanny.

Even so, during the day and early evening, when the area remained teeming with people and noise, it was still bearable—but come late night, it fell utterly silent, transformed into an unbearable scene like that of ruins.

However, tonight, the second-floor Asahi Billiard Hall was unusually lively.

Act 1: Inside the Asahi Billiard Hall

The hall filled with music—a fast-tempo dance piece from an accordion.
In time with the rhythm came the sound of tap dancing—tap-tat, tatta-tat, tat—striking the floor.
Soon began a male tenor’s song.

Curtain up.

An echoingly empty, desolately dilapidated billiard room.
Surrounding it were dirty chairs, benches, game tables, and cue racks.
At the far end of the front wall stood three windows, their curtains long gone, through which the neon lights of the late-night entertainment district peered dimly.
On the lower side sat a door leading downstairs.
The upper section of the room rose into a tatami-matted area partitioned by curtains that hid its depths from view. To the right corner stood a closet, between which and the curtains ran a narrow passageway leading to the back stairs. Of the two billiard tables, only one remained in its proper position near the lower end while the other—either broken or unusable—had been pushed aside to the upper rear.
In the wide space left behind, three young dancers clad only in swimsuits—their naked bodies drenched in sweat—were vigorously performing a tap dance.
One of them—who occasionally shouted “Heights! Heights!”—was Chiyo, known as Miru, daughter of this Asahi Billiard Hall. A young man in Western clothes named Tadokoro Osamu sat perched on the rear billiard table, playing an accordion and singing while occasionally glancing down through the windows at the world outside.
He served as tenor singer for the same theater troupe as the three dancers.
Cross-legged on the tatami area sat a thirty-four- or thirty-five-year-old woman with wheat-colored skin—Otsuji, mistress of this establishment—who occasionally raised a sake cup to her lips while smirkingly observing the four figures to her right. The tap dance and music continued unabated.

The accordion and dance rhythms faltered slightly and fell out of sync.

Miru: “No good!
Do that part again!”

Osamu: “My bad—let’s rewind four measures.”
(Resumes playing and singing)

Miru (dancing): “That’s it!
Put more power into those kicks!
Heights!”
(The three dance in unison) “Faster! Pick up the tempo!”

“Uh…” Osamu made another mistake.

“What are you spacing out for?!” Miru snapped. “You’re really off tonight, Osamu!”

“My bad! My bad!” he said hurriedly. “I won’t mess up again.” He hesitated. “It’s just…”

“Idiot!”

Otsuji smirked from her corner. “You turn into a complete maniac during practice.” Her dry laugh echoed through the hall.

“Miru-san’s always like this,” Dancer 1 chimed in, “even back at the troupe shack.”

“She once bit the choreographer’s hand,” Dancer 2 added with nervous laughter.

“The teacher said it himself,” Dancer 1 continued. “Masamune’s terrifying—makes people lose their minds around him.”

Otsuji: “Oh please, it’s hereditary.”
“She’s the spitting image of your old man.”

Miru: “You don’t need to say unnecessary things.”
“What’s wrong with you, huh?”
(Closing in) “You planning to ditch us?”

Osamu: “N-no! That’s not true!”
“But… you—”

Miru: “You’re supposed to be a professional too, aren’t you?”
“You’re doing your job, right?”
“This isn’t some game we’re playing here!”
“If you’re a performer, this is about your art—you should be dead serious!”

Otsuji: “Osamu, please don’t take offense.”
(Turning to Miru) “Miru-san, even if you’re close, you ought to watch your mouth.”
“After all, you’re the ones who begged him to come here.”
“Besides, Osamu’s been here since they wrecked the hut—he’s exhausted! What time do you think it is anyway?”

“Please don’t butt in, Ms. Otsuji—you wouldn’t get it.”

“Oh really? Hmph, that’s about right, ain’t it? After all, I’m just some leftover from the game—a clueless woman who don’t understand nothin’. Yeah, a mistress.”

“What of it?”

“I call myself a mistress because that’s what I am—though I suppose a mistress who can’t even squeeze out a single penny must be rare enough. You think I chose this life willingly? I don’t know if he’s some leftover from the Santama Freedom Party or what, but Miru-san—your father here…”

“Let’s wrap it up for tonight.”

“I’m beat.”

“Oh?”
“If you want to go home, then go home.”
“I won’t stop for anything until practice is properly finished.”

“I was wrong.”
“Alright, I’ll start over from the beginning.”
(Starts playing.)

“Alright, one, two, three!”

The three began dancing again, but almost immediately Osamu messed up his steps; startled, he stepped down from the billiard table and looked toward Miru.
Miru stood glaring at Osamu—abruptly grabbed a cue from the cue table, raised it, and advanced toward him.
Startled, the two dancers held her back.

“What are you doing, Miru?”

“Stop this nonsense!”

The two dancers wrench the cue from Miru’s hand.
Miru glared at Osamu with glittering eyes.

Osamu: “…Cut me some slack!”
(Pointing downward beyond the window) “There’ve been strange figures loitering around the front street since earlier—that’s why I got distracted and—”

Otsuji: “Oh? What’s all this?”
(Stood up, slipped into her slippers, and headed toward the window)

Dancer 2 (returning the cue to the cue stand): “There are two more standing at that corner over there. Oh, they’re looking this way.”

Dancer 1 and Miru also went to the window.

Osamu: “I can’t see clearly, but there are definitely over ten people.”

Otsuji: “Oh, those are just vagrants from around here. Walking at night to scavenge leftovers.”

Osamu: “But if that’s true, they wouldn’t be loitering only around this house.”

Dancer 1 felt uneasy. I should go home early, she thought.

“Hey, Taka-chan!”

She hurriedly put on the dress that had been discarded on the billiard table.
Dancer 2 also hurriedly prepared.

“You can’t! We’re not done yet!”

“But I can’t take this anymore! If we keep dawdling here, who knows what they’ll do to us.”

“What do you mean?! You think you can live around here cowering at every vagrant? Absurd.”

“Well, Miru, you can talk tough since you don’t have to go home…”

“Then I’ll put you up,” said Miru. “We’ll see this through properly first.”
Dancer 2 muttered, “If they’re just regular vagrants, maybe…”

“Then what?” Miru peered out the window again. “I’ll go chase ’em off for ya.”

“Cut it out—it’s dangerous!” Osamu protested. “Besides, whatever they are, you can’t just yell at folks walkin’ down the street to scram outta nowhere!”

“He’s got a point!” Dancer 1 snapped. “I’m gettin’ outta here!”

Dancer 2 wrung her hands. “But I hate the idea of just us two headin’ out…”

“See? Chicken!” Miru stuck out her tongue. “Nyah!”

“Don’t say such mean things,” said Dancer 2. “Then come with us, Mr. Tadokoro—please? You’re going home anyway.”

“Ah,” said Osamu.

“No way,” Miru shot back. “I still need Mr. Osamu to play.”

Dancer 1 snorted. “So you’re planning to get cozy alone with him later? Everyone knows.”

“I’ll scratch you!” Miru threatened, though her ears turned red as she laughed self-consciously.

“Not fair!” Dancer 1 protested.

“Just get lost already,” Miru snapped.

Dancer 2 sighed. “This is such a hassle. Mr. Osamu, could you please just play up to that part?”

“Chie-tsu, it can’t be helped. I’ll take you to the station,” said Miru as she quickly pulled on her dress. “If I leave Mr. Osamu here, he’ll just make up some excuse and drag me along again.”

“Miru’s gonna burn!” Dancer 1 shouted before darting away.

“You damn idiot!” Miru yelled, yanking her dress down with one hand and pouncing like a puppy.

“Come on, let’s go,” Dancer 1 urged. “Bye.” She opened the door and vanished.

Miru and Dancer 2 linked arms and went outside while fooling around.
When the door opened, the music and song from the record playing in the bar downstairs suddenly became clearly audible.

Osamu (looking down from the window at the street below) "...Oh, they're here!"

Otsuji: "What was that?"
(Moved to the window)

Osamu: "Right now, someone just darted out from under the eaves over there."

Otsuji: "A vagrant. You're being paranoid." She glared at Osamu sidelong. "Heh heh. Some fine young man trying to get romantic."

Osamu: "Don't you think something's about to start happening with this house?"

Otsuji: "Oh please. There must be over ten vacant shops around here already. They're probably waiting to sneak in and sleep there once the place empties out."

“So I hear this place will be demolished soon, is that right?”

“Yeah, right after they tear this place down, some guy called Matsumoto’s gonna build a big cafeteria here,” Otsuji said. “Three stories of reinforced concrete, they say. When money talks, you don’t stand a chance.”

“That’s true enough,” Osamu replied, “but it still seems downright reckless.”

“What’re you on about? If everyone gets their key money and eviction fees in one lump sum, they come out ahead in the end. These rotten little shops got no business hogging prime real estate like this anyway.” She snorted. “Not like any of ’em were making ends meet anymore—department stores saw to that.”

“But there’s got to be some trust they’ve built up through years of struggling to keep their shops going and bring in customers—and anyway, that’s how they’ve been making their living…”

“Becoming confrontational only hurts you—our master’s living proof of that,” Otsuji cut in. “When all thirteen shops in this building first agreed they wouldn’t vacate unless certain demands were met, they just went and told him, ‘Please be our representative and handle the negotiations.’ That went straight to his head, so now he’s stubbornly holding out—deliberately lying low and playing sick. Meanwhile, the very folks who asked him to lead grabbed their compensation money and cleared out ages ago! What a pathetic joke!”

“But I understand how the old man here feels.”

“Oh please—he’s just being stubborn. To put it bluntly, he’s gotten into that mindset from his troublemaking days. He’s practically a ghost of the Santama Freedom Party at this point.”

Osamu: “I don’t see it that way. To put it bluntly—if they get thrown out of shops they’ve been running all this time, how’re they supposed to eat right after? Miru-chan hasn’t gotten much yet either—”

Otsuji: “Why should I know about such things...?”
(While speaking, she’d been edging closer to Osamu but suddenly took three steps toward the tatami area, glaring at the curtain) “...G’night. Hmph.” (Lowering her voice) “...Hey there, Mr. Osamu.”

“Wh-what is it?”
(startled by the sudden shift in her tone)

“Do you really like Miru?”

“Huh? Wh-what is it?”

Otsuji swayed her ample hips as she approached Osamu. “Well now, if I stay like this, I suppose I’m something of a mother figure to Miru, wouldn’t you say?... Can’t help wondering.”

“Th-that’s… what do you mean? I-I... I like her very much...”

“Heh heh heh. Very much, huh? Is that so? Very much?”

“Man, I’m in trouble.”

“Yes, the mother figure was a bit pitiable, wasn’t she? Sister. I’m still young, you know. How old do I look?”

Osamu: "...(Flattening himself against the wall in distress) I’m no good at guessing a woman’s age..."

Otsuji (rubbing against Osamu): "You said it first! Oh sure, I’m just some old hag anyway!"
"Miru’s barely nineteen—arms and legs still firm and springy… Hmph."
"Still looking pretty, aren’t we?"

“Huh?”

“They’re saying it’s a beautiful match, you know.”

“Th-that’s… Of course. I was thinking—I’ll ask Chiyo and the old man here soon, and—”

“Ah—I’m drunk,” Otsuji declared.
(Raising one hand and scratching her hair—revealing up to her upper arm—she drawled) “Ahh… itchy… You see… Mr.Osamu—”

Osamu was nearly paralyzed with fear.
A snickering voice emerged from behind the curtain; Otsuji started slightly, looked toward the curtain, but without any visible fluster, walked away from Osamu.

Otsuji: "...You were still up?"

A voice grunted in response.
"...Yeah."

Otsuji moved up to the tatami area and opened the curtain.
Masamune Hikoroku, lying on his futon, looked up at the woman and grinned.
A fifty-six- or fifty-seven-year-old man, with personal tools and such by his bedside.

“If you were awake, you should’ve said so, shouldn’t you?”

“Hahaha~... Ah, no need to hold back on my account.”
“Haha…”

Otsuji darted a glance at Osamu and vigorously scrubbed her hair roots with a comb under the pretense of hiding her embarrassment.

“Oh, come here.”

“Ah, good evening... How are you?”

“Thank you. I’ve been like this from morning till night. You’ve been working hard every night too. That Chiyo keeps making nothing but unreasonable demands.”

“Not at all. Miru’s so passionate it gives me drive too—and doubles as practice for myself.”
“We could use the shed, but if we get too lively, the rules say they’ll boot every last one of us out…”

“Call this operating if you like—five or six customers a day at best.”
“The racket does us good.”
“Drill her proper.”

“Fine—then what’s your plan?”
“Only our place and old Tetsuzō’s dive downstairs still dig in their heels.”
“And even that sot’ll scram tonight if we budge! So what’s your grand scheme?”

Hikoroku: "Even if you ask me that, I wouldn't know—it's all inside me, which is why I'm still here like this."

Otsuji (irritated): "Tch. I'm gettin' sick o' this."
"And on top o' that, these debts keep pilin' up!"
"As for me—"

At that moment, from the left door, Ibuse Tetsuzō—a forty-seven- or forty-eight-year-old man with a ruddy complexion—hurriedly entered while looking around frantically.

“Tetsuzō: ...Ms. Otsuji, um, just a—”

“What’s wrong?”
“The demolition crew with Mr. Matsuda’s authorization’s come, y’know. They’re sayin’ t’expect ’em start wreckin’ from th’corner ’cross this house.”

“Huh?” Otsuji stared at Tetsuzō. “At this hour of the night?”

Tetsuzō wiped sweat from his brow. “They say daylight work’d trouble the neighbors, see? Hey Master—” he turned to the bedridden man, “—what’re we s’posed to do?”

A dry chuckle rasped from the futon. “Huh?”

Hikoroku: …Well.
…This is troublesome.

Tetsuzō: This is a real mess, I tell you! The other side’s laid everything out clear—why not evacuate with us without a fuss!
"You’ve dragged things to the very last moment like this, and now…" (his voice wavering)

Hikoroku: Yeah, that’s right… But why are you so fixated on staying here? Wouldn’t it be better for you to evacuate instead?

“Th-th-that’s it! Right now—that’s it! N-now, at this late hour, to do such a h-heartless thing—please, just once, consider evacuating together with us even early tomorrow morning. I’m begging you. To put it bluntly—you’re acting all calm ’cause you don’t know the real deal about this Shiraki they sent after being repeatedly petitioned! Shiraki Gunhachirō’s got his own newspaper, a whole pack of underlings, and he’s a fixer who’s made his name in these kinds of messes! If you fall into that man’s hands, everything’s finished. Look here—those eleven small shops in this building that had all agreed to stay put? Once Shiraki stepped in, didn’t they all clear out without putting up a fight?”

Hikoroku: “He seems like such a quiet man.”

Tetsuzō: “That’s exactly what makes him dangerous! Among Yamanote’s land brokers, that one’s called ‘the Viper’—all sweet talk till he strikes.”

Hikoroku: “Mr. Tetsu, you’re laying it on thick with the threats, hahaha. So Mr. Shiraki put you up to this, didn’t he?”

Tetsuzō (in an angry tone): “Now, don’t you go making jokes like that.”
“Wh-why would you go after someone like me, who’s been this loyal to your side—”

Hikoroku: “Oh, that’s just a joke.”
“Haha—either way, as long as I’m just sprawled out here by myself like this, I suppose no one’ll find fault with it.”
“If I’m driven out, I’ll have to die in destitution—unlike those sparrows stealing from someone else’s field, I won’t get startled by a scarecrow and run off.”

“Scarecrow? What do you mean by that?” Tetsuzō pressed. “Then Master—what I’ve been doing—”

“It’s just a figure of speech—don’t dwell on it,” Hikoroku deflected. “All I’m saying is you should clear out without worrying about me. Truth is, with this sickness, I couldn’t move even if I tried. Pathetic, really.”

“Th-that’s pure stubbornness!” Tetsuzō stammered. “Mr. Masamune—I’m only trying to look out for you—”

The waitress Asa from the downstairs bar hurriedly entered.
A wild woman of twenty-four or twenty-five.

Asa stood blocking the doorway, her eyes fixed on Otsuji with a piercing glare. "...The contractor guys are raising hell asking where Master went."

Tetsuzō groaned. "Aah—damn it."
"Hey, Ms. Otsuji!"
"...And the shop?" he asked Asa.

Asa: “Those two customers from earlier are still here.”
“They’ve been stomping around there so much that dust’s falling from the ceiling—the drunk one got all pissed off… Just hurry up and come down already.”
(Disappears toward the stairs.)

Tetsuzō (to Otsuji): “Ms. Otsuji—just a moment—your face…”

Otsuji briskly descended.
Tetsuzō also hurried out after her.

Osamu, unable to settle down, kept looking alternately at the window and at Hikoroku.
Hikoroku lay silent on his futon, as though listening intently to the music rising from downstairs—.

“...Um, I—”

Hikoroku: “…Osamu… Do you… truly care for Chiyo?”

Osamu (stammering): “W-well, it’s… I—once I can sing a bit better and my income increases a little more—I’d like to ask for your permission to marry…”

Hikoroku: “…Now, it’s not my place to say—but that girl’s got a temper like split bamboo.”

Osamu: “Y-yes!”
(He scrambled the keys of the accordion)

Hikoroku: “Ahaha....”
(looking at Osamu for the first time) “But compared to her, that brother of hers—now there’s a hopeless layabout.”
“I mentioned Hikoichi, but he might have died somewhere by now.”
“To put it bluntly, whenever I, his father, say even a little something, he’s the type to say he doesn’t like it and silently try to jump at me.”

Osamu: “Uh...”

Hikoroku: “…But really now—you’ve got to watch out for Otsuji here.”
“That one’s no good. Honestly, she’s like a man-eating spider.”
“Even though I treated her as my wife—not that it’s right to say—I’ve given her a clean break and driven her out more times than I can count.”
“When she runs out of money and gets dumped by some man, she always comes crawling back.”
“Just the other day, she ran off with that garage driver over there and made off with every yen we had.”
“Just when I thought, ‘Good riddance!’—not two months later, she came shuffling back in what might as well have been pajamas.”
“Hahahaha…”
“That I let her stay when she first came here as a game-taker—call it a moment’s weakness—that was the blunder of my life.”
“Hahaha.”

Footsteps sounded on the stairs as Miru came running up.
Outside echoed the blast of a Chinese noodle shop’s vendor trumpet.

Miru: “What’s this? There’s no such thing as ‘anything goes’!”
“They claim back alleys are too dangerous so we must take main roads—forcing everyone on some ridiculous detour! Nothing but trouble!”
(While speaking, she began stripping off her Western clothes again.)

“Did you go all the way to the station?”

“Yeah.”
“Oh, Father, you’re awake.”

“Hmm, I’ve slept my fill.”
“…What’re you laughing at?”
“Got something stuck on my face?”
“Well then, what’re you grinning about like that for, Father?”
“…Oh, where you going?”

The father stood up and walked toward the passage between the curtain and the closet.

Hikoroku: “Haven’t had one in ages—suddenly want a drink.”
“I’ll get some snacks.”
“Perfect timing—the noodle cart’s coming by.”
“Man’s gotta step out now ’n then—staying cooped up’s no good.”
“Hahaha…”

Miru: “Then I’ll go get ’em! No need for you to go, Father.”
“First off—why’d you suddenly take a notion to drink?”

“Now now—don’t say that,” said Hikoroku. “It’s a personal celebration.”

“Personal celebration?” Miru shot back. “Heh—and here we are getting evicted from our own home? I kept quiet earlier on purpose, but those guys lurking outside are definitely Shiraki’s lackeys—you never know when they might come bursting in!”

“Is that so… Well, fine then.” Hikoroku chuckled. “No need for you to understand—right, Osamu?”

“...Thank you very much.”

“Huh?”
(Looking between them) “What’s this?”
(Hikoroku grinned and headed toward the back stairs) “If I say I’ll go get it myself…”

“You go practice.”
(He exited)

Miru... (sulking).
(Eventually looking at Osamu) "What the hell is this?"

Osamu: "Your father's a good man, isn't he?"

Miru: "Going off making grand decisions by themselves... How presumptuous!"

Osamu: "Hahaha, you're prettiest when you're angry."

Miru: "What nonsense!
"You've suddenly grown a spine—color me shocked.
"Something wrong with this place?"

Osamu: "Let them bring arrows or guns!"

Miru: "You should watch yourself with Matsuzawa Village so close.
"Hmph—what was that 'thank you very much' earlier really about?"

“I thanked your father.”
“I don’t care! Do whatever you like!”
“Let’s practice.”
“Wait—where’s Ms. Otsuji?”

Osamu: “I don’t really grasp the situation, but what does your father actually intend to do?”

Miru: “I’m not home all day, so I don’t know details—but all sorts keep coming nonstop, one after another. Persuading, coaxing, threatening from what I hear.”
“Just these past ten days, even a town association lawyer showed up—with their smooth talk about ‘preserving neighborhood peace’—saying they want us to compromise already.”
“I don’t know if they’re building some big dining hall or what—thinking money lets them bulldoze through anything! The gall of them preaching ‘neighborhood peace’ makes me sick!”

“Eventually, the landlords and new operators must have struck some deal with the town association too?”

“Maybe. Who knows? And isn’t it maddening? Even that old man from the bar downstairs! He’s supposed to have been Father’s acquaintance since way back—when he was opening his shop, Father scrounged up money for him and went through all sorts of trouble to help him out!”

“How infuriating—if only I had money!”

“If only Brother were here right now...”

"But didn't you say he's a violent person? Father just mentioned that—said he doesn't want to meet him."

"Even if he talks dirty and lies—he truly wants to see Brother. That's just how Father is. After Brother stabbed his gang's leader in a fight four years ago and had to leave town, for months afterward, he'd mutter 'Hikoichi, Hikoichi' in his sleep every night."

“Where’s he now?”

“As if I’d know…”

Osamu: “…That being said, I do think Ms. Otsuji’s been acting a bit strange lately.”
“I was just thinking earlier…”

“Huh?”
“Strange?...” (She startled slightly and stared at him.)

At that moment, Otsuji wearily entered through the door.

“...Well, well, you two!”

“Did you come back?”
“That Shiraki bastard!”

“It’s not Shiraki. Demolition workers came for this stall… Ugh…”
“Your father?”
“The toilet?”

“Hmm… He said he went to buy soba.”

“Outside?”
“Right…”

She had been glancing around her surroundings, then nodded to herself, dashed toward the door, and disappeared down the stairs.

Miru wondered what was going on.
What a strange one.

“...I’ll practice harder, you know,” said Osamu.
“By autumn I’ll properly sing ‘Kitsu’ and handle solos too.”
“Then my pay should reach about eighty yen.”
“With that much, if we economize... I think we could manage together.”
“Hey Miru!”
“Miru!”

(Embrace.)

Miru snorted but did not resist.
In the pause... Suddenly, from the door that had been left open, five men clattered in—wearing hanten jackets, tattered corduroy clothes, or slightly better Western-style attire—neither clearly vagrants nor yakuza.
They stopped at the sight of Osamu and Miru standing embraced, but immediately stepped up to the tatami area, opening the closet and laying hands on the meager furniture.
Miru and Osamu stood frozen, but after a moment, Miru began to move toward the five men.

“What do you think you're doing?!”

The five men paid no heed; one of them grinned as he ripped the curtain with a vicious tear.
Miru leaped forward and lunged at the laborers.
At that moment, Hikoroku appeared from the back staircase beside the closet.
Holding a one-gō bottle in his right hand and a plate of shumai in his left, he stopped to survey them wordlessly before quietly moving to his bedding and sitting down.
All eyes gathered upon him.
……Eventually, Hikoroku reached out, took a sake cup from his pocket, poured himself a drink, and began crunching dryly on the shumai.
He didn’t utter a single word.
The surroundings had turned to stone…… Tetsuzō’s face peered from the door.
Next came Otsuji.

Tetsuzō: “Oh damn! They’re not here?”
(Trembling violently) “What in blazes is this—”
“What’re you lot scheming to do?”
“This must be Mr. Shiraki’s doing, but—”

Hikoroku snorted…

Otsuji (darting glances around before suddenly shouting): “The hell you think you’re doing, storming into people’s homes?!”
“Hey!”
“Get the fuck out already!”
“You mocking bastards!”
(Her fury was no performance.)
The five intruders gaped at her, stunned senseless.
(Utterly bewildered) “Go on—try throwing us out!”
“The master’s right here, damn you!”
“Quit screwing around!”

The five men trailed off toward the stairs. Though they remained silent throughout, as they were leaving, a voice from among them could be heard: “The hell? This ain’t what we were told.”

“Damn them!” Miru snorted, then turned to Otsuji. “Ms. Otsuji—where’d you rush off to earlier?”

“What’s it to you? Master went alone to buy soba,” Otsuji retorted. “Got worried and stepped out… Got a problem?”

Tetsuzō interjected, “But things’ve reached this point.”
“We gotta think ’bout this too.”
“Mr. Masamune?”

Hikoroku rasped, “Can’t move—that’s the trouble.”
“Even if they tell me to leave… Nowhere to go.”

“...I’ll be taking my leave now.”

“Yeah, thanks to you, practice is shot.”
“I’ll walk you there.”

“It’s fine. Really.”

“But you’re scared, aren’t you?”
“Even though you’re scared.”

Hikoroku: “Ha ha.”
“I’ll walk you there.”
“Osamu, one.”
(Offers a cup)

Osamu: "Er..." (troubled, looked around at everyone’s faces)

Miru: "Cut it out. You can’t handle a drink."

Hikoroku: "Now now, just one—I’ll pour it myself."
"Okay?"

“Haa...” (half-rising to take the cup)

Hikoroku (pouring): There, it'll spill. Ha ha...

Osamu’s cup was trembling.
Osamu (drinking): “Thank you... I did.”
Miru: “Let’s go.”

Tetsuzō: “But having Ms. Miru return alone would be dangerous.”
“I’ll accompany you.”

Miru: “No thanks—I’m perfectly fine alone.”

Tetsuzō: “Now now, none of that—I’m coming with you regardless.”
“Wouldn’t want any mishaps causing trouble.”

“How kind of you.”
“……Hmph.”

Hikoroku: Then I’ll have you come along.
(Miru, Osamu, and Tetsuzō leave.)
(Hikoroku pokes at the shumai while watching Otsuji.)

Hikoroku: ……Let’s have one.
(Offers a cup)

“I’ve been thinking Tetsuzō’s acting shady,” said Otsuji.
(She took the cup)

“What?” Hikoroku responded.

Otsuji: “No—it’s about those laborers who came earlier.”

Hikoroku (while pouring sake): “I thought it might’ve been you.”

Otsuji: “Huh?”
“What’re you saying?”
“……So you think I’m scheming with Shiraki or something?……”

Hikoroku: “Wasn’t that the case? Ha ha ha ha ha.”

Otsuji: “Enough already. This isn’t funny.”
“You’ve truly gone senile.”
(drinking, returning the cup, and pouring) “But really—now that things have come to this, isn’t it time we threw in the towel?”

“Once they pay properly down to the last yen, I’ll step aside anytime.”

“Oh? You still clinging to that?”

“There’s no clinging involved—we’ve been negotiating meekly from the start. For shops around here, even stalls fetch two or three thousand in key money as standard rate. Pricing this place at five thousand—that’s us bleeding ourselves dry.”

“But they say others settled for under a thousand.”

“Those bastards—at first, they were all united, saying they wouldn’t budge an inch for less than five thousand yen per shop,” Hikoroku said. “Even when it’s money worth less than a tenth of what they demanded—the moment they finally see actual cash, they tuck their tails and sneak off furtively.” He snorted. “They’re not worth spit.”

Otsuji took a measured sip. “But everyone’s struggling financially—they have no choice.”

“That’s how it is,” he acknowledged. “That’s all the more reason.” His fingers tightened around the cup. “The reason I’m staying here like this isn’t because I’m only thinking about myself.” The shumai grease glistened on his chin as he leaned forward. “It’s because I want to secure even a little more for those who’ve already vacated.”

“Are you still talking about demanding more?”
“Unbelievable!”
“Even if you try making such outrageous claims, we’ll lose regardless.”

“Then shall we try surrendering completely?”

“Hmph. That’s it.”
“Are you a survivor of the Santama Freedom Party?”
“That’s your old trick.”
“Whether it’s the Freedom Party or Unfreedom Party… Back when you cut down three or four men in that party incident, things got settled in two years or so—but times have changed.”

“Nobody’s talking about that.”

Otsuji: "And what becomes of us then?"

Hikoroku: "That’s why I’m telling you to leave me behind and go somewhere else, aren’t I?"

Otsuji: "What about Miru?"

Hikoroku: "……I’ll marry Chiyo off."

Otsuji: "Oh—?"

“......Ha ha.”
“Mr. Tadokoro’s quiet, but isn’t he an honest, manly sort?”
“That type would be good for Miru.”
“No harm in that.”
(Voice shouting/singing from downstairs) “What’s that?”

“At Tetsuzō’s place, customers are getting drunk.”

“I see. Ha ha ha! How about another one? Ah—none left.”
(Shakes the sake bottle.)

Act 2: The Downstairs Bar

The bar, scheduled to close soon, had become completely desolate. To the right rear was a counter; from its side, one could access the inner living quarters. On the left was a partition wall; at the very front stood a swing door. Beyond its eaves hung the pillar sign for Asahi Billiard Hall, with stairs leading upstairs further back on the lower side.

In the impenetrable darkness of the late-night street (lower rear), shadowy figures occasionally loitered.

Inside the bar were two customers.
One was a thirty-four- or thirty-five-year-old man in a suit, thoroughly drunk and singing.
The other faced the back wall, resting his cheek on his hand at the table as he drank.
The man’s back view suggested a somewhat refined laborer—dirty suit jacket, shorts, black wrapped gaiters, and shoes.
Small paper tags covered every piece of furniture in the bar.
A record played.—Waitress Asa leaned against the entrance pillar facing the drunk customers, peering through the door at the street outside.

Customer 1: (Singing nonsense along to the record) “La-dee-da-dee-da—Hey you! Why you keep lookin’ outside?”
“So your lover boy’s here now?”
“Let me see, what’s goin’ on here?”
(Peering) “Ah… What the—it’s just a vagrant.”
“So your lover boy’s a vagrant?”

“Stop makin’ such a racket. It’s already past closin’ time.”

“What—the one who says your eyes are too damn shifty?”
“Heh heh heh, can’t handle this no more.”
“Feeling a bit of a craving here, eh?”
“Sake, damn it!”

“Why don’t you just go home already? If we get caught, it’ll be trouble again.”

“You don’t need to be so obstructive, do you?”
“Hey you, hey—ain’t that right, Teku-chan?”
(In a strangely lewd manner, he presses closer with suggestive persistence.)

Asa: "Shut up already."
(Steps away)

Customer 1: "Oof, whiskey!"

Asa wordlessly moved toward the counter.
Miru returned from the direction of the street.
Tetsuzō came chasing after her.

Miru: “……It’s fine. I know.”

The two of them stopped before the outside staircase.

“But you see, that Ms. Otsuji isn’t the kind of fool you think she is…”

“But the old man shouldn’t have to worry about that sort of thing.”
(With that, she attempted to climb the staircase.)

(stopping her) “Oh, oh, Miru! There’s still important business left.
I’m begging you—can’t you spare me a moment?
I’ll treat you to coffee or something.”

“Coffee? At this hour?”

“Now now, don’t say that—there’s something you absolutely must hear me out about, I’m telling you.”

“Right—I don’t know what this is about, but hurry up because we can’t have them worrying upstairs.”

The two went inside and sat down at an empty table.
Tetsuzō ordered coffee.

Tetsuzō: “I know I’m being repetitive, but I’m saying this for your sake and master’s.”
“To put it plainly, Mr. Masamune—whether he’s brave or just reckless, I can’t say—is a terrifying man.”
“He says he wants to take on Mr. Matsuda and Mr. Shiraki and pick a fight with them.”
“Someone like me has no idea how many times I’ve been caught up in the crossfire and suffered because of this.”

“Is that so?” Miru retorted. “Then go ahead and tear down my place or whatever—just leave the old man out of it.”

“Th-th-that’s…” Tetsuzō stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. “You can’t possibly say that now!”

Asa slammed a whiskey glass on Customer 1’s table. “Last one.”

Customer 1 peered at the liquor’s surface. “Bravo.” His laughter rattled empty bottles.

“And besides,” Tetsuzō pressed, lowering his voice, “you never know what that Ms. Otsuji might do.” He leaned closer, the café’s single bulb casting shadows under his eyes. “You might’ve missed it, but this concerns Mr. Tadokoro.” A bitter chuckle escaped him. “Once that woman sets her sights on a man—any man—she’ll make him hers in the end.”

“What about it?”

“That’s why you’ve got to stay alert.”

“Hmph—so you’re the one sweet on Ms. Otsuji?”

“Well... you could put it that way.”

“But isn’t she cozy with you?”

“N-now hold on! Don’t go making wild claims! I’m only thinking of your—”

“Osamu’s crazy about me. Tough luck for you.”

“But... you’re up against Otsuji here. Mr. Tadokoro’s got that timid greenhorn side showing through, see?”

“That’s right. That’s exactly why I like him.”

Tetsuzō (wiping sweat from his forehead with his palm): “No—he’s too naive to leave unattended, I tell you. So I’m saying—once a snake’s marked its frog, who knows when it’ll… wouldn’t you say? So I…”

Miru: “Hmph, if Osamu likes Ms. Otsuji more than me, then Ms. Otsuji should just take him, shouldn’t she? I’m not worried one bit, I tell you. Honestly—you keep saying you’ve got something important only to spout nonsense… I’m leaving now. Utterly ridiculous.”

Leaving Tetsuzō behind, she stomped up the stairs.
Tetsuzō rushed outside but didn’t make it in time.
Waitress Asa also followed Tetsuzō outside and stood behind him.

Tetsuzō (turning around): “Oh… What is it?”

Asa: …(After staring at Tetsuzō’s face) “If Otsuji and Mr. Tadokoro get together, you’d be in trouble. That’s why you said those things to egg Ms. Miru on.”
“Hmph! Ain’t hard to see who’s shady here—that hag’s been sniffin’ round that ass stink—”

“What are you saying, you—”

Asa grabbed his collar. “What’re you gonna do about me?!”
“You think you can just trick me like some damn fool, don’t ya?!”
“You…!”

“Hey now—what’s this? Here of all places—what are you doing again—”

“Then let’s go inside ’n have a proper talk!” Asa pulled him along, shoved open the door, and barged into the shop. “What’d ya promise me at first? Huh? You’ve got that solid promise to handle all the liquor for the new cafeteria yourself—so once that’s set, you’ll make me your proper wife ’n put me in charge of managing the waitresses!”

Tetsuzō glanced around the shop in panic. “What’re you—?!”
“Hey!”
“Hey now—!”

Asa: “Don’t ya think I know exactly what you lot are plotting, colluding with that Otsuji bitch?! You just want the bar’s stake and commission fees, don’t ya?! As for Otsuji—if she manages to evict the master upstairs, Shiraki’s promised her five hundred yen out of it! You think I don’t know that much?! What a nasty little scheme you’ve got brewing in that gut of yours!”

Tetsuzō: “This is bad—hey! If we talk, you’ll understand! Look—just come here!” “If we just talk—” He pushed aside the customers, holding Asa by the back as he led her from the counter toward the back.

Customer 1 (dumbfounded but regaining his senses): “Heh heh heh.”
“Like talking would make them understand!”
“Like talking would make them understand, you idiot!”
“Hey you!”
“That’s how it is, huh?”
“I don’t have any money, I tell you.”
“Wait—might have more after all.”
(Rummaging through his pockets and pulling out a Batt box) “What the hell’s this?”
“An empty Batt box…” (sang a nonsensical Golden Batt jingle: “Golden Batt, batta-batta-batt”)
Amidst that song, from the back came the sounds of a fight and Asa’s screams.
Customer 1 (noticing this and stopping his song): “Hoh, they’re at it…” (He glanced around nervously, then gulped down the remaining whisky with a glug and fled out the back while muttering “Golden Batt, batta-batta-batt…”)

Customer 2 was smirking as he watched this.

However, suddenly came a shout from the front—a suited gentleman in his mid-forties with a small bag (Shiraki Gunhachirō), hurrying toward the shop from the thoroughfare, had collided head-on with Customer 1 and let out a shout as he nearly stumbled back. Customer 1, however, fled without uttering a sound even as he seemed about to fall. Startled, Shiraki briefly watched his retreating figure; but evidently flustered too, he looked toward the stairs as if to head that way before changing his mind and bursting through the bar’s door.

Shiraki: “Mr. Ibuse!”
“Mr. Tetsuzō!”
(Looking at Customer 2) “Ah—er—Mr. Ibuse!”
“Aren’t you here, Mr. Tetsuzō?!”
(Tetsuzō emerged from the back—shirt disheveled, face welted, wiping blood from his palm with a hand.) “What on earth happened to you?!”
“Huh?”

Tetsuzō: “Mr. Shiraki?”
“Oh… it’s nothing, heh heh heh.”

Shiraki: “This is troublesome—taking it upon yourselves to send laborers upstairs… You and Ms. Otsuji need only do precisely what I instruct.”
(Gesturing upward with his head) “Given who we’re dealing with—if they betray us again, what do you suppose will happen next?”

Tetsuzō: “Oh…”

Shiraki: “Don’t ‘oh’ me! I just got a call about this—do you think I enjoy being startled? I won’t tolerate you pulling some half-baked scheme on your own.”
“The laborers move in under our orders alone.”
“You’ve got no right shifting them around!”
“What if you stir up a hornet’s nest?”

“I’m terribly sorry,” said Tetsuzō. “But I figured if we handled the eviction ourselves here, it’d spare you the hassle, see? And then Ms. Otsuji came down earlier saying he wasn’t around now, so I just... acted on impulse!”

Shiraki clicked his tongue. “That’s precisely your mistake—taking sneaky initiative. Let me make this clear: unless we resolve things tonight, I can’t face Mr. Matsuyama as mediator anymore. That’s why I came ready for a final showdown.” His cufflinks gleamed under the bar lights as he leaned forward. “We’ve already filed all necessary paperwork to implement... stronger measures if they refuse compliance.” A muscle twitched near his eye. “And then that damned phone call came as I was leaving.”

Tetsuzō: I'm sorry.

“Anyway, let’s go upstairs—I won’t have them saying no tonight.”

The two started to leave.
Just then，Otsuji—having descended the stairs in disheveled attire—scratched and scratched at her scalp with her fingers and pushed open the door.

Otsuji: "Ah, Mr. Shiraki."

Shiraki: "Well now, you've gone and done something troublesome."
"Just because you people had to go meddling unasked—if Hikoroku plants his ass and starts twisting again, all that earnest agreement goes up in smoke. Cancelled outright."

Otsuji: (flustered) "But Mr. Tetsuzō said that about your proposal too—"

Tetsuzō: "Hey, hey—let's not get into stingy talk here. If we trace it back, you're the one who——"

Shiraki: "Enough already—let's just go."
"Is he here?"

“He’s here,” said Otsuji. “Just how far he means to dig in his heels—even I’m shocked, honestly.” She scratched at her scalp through disheveled hair. “This’s got me too jittery—hand over a brandy bottle, Tetsuzō.”

Tetsuzō fetched a liquor bottle from the shelf behind the counter. As Otsuji accepted it, she caught sight of Customer Two’s retreating back and shot Tetsuzō a warning glance with her eyes.

Meanwhile, Shiraki stepped outside and gestured sharply toward the far end of the street. A man in corduroy clothes materialized at once, bowing repeatedly like a broken automaton. Keeping his voice low, Shiraki pointed up at the second floor and issued terse instructions.

“...Understood?”

“Hey, Asa! I’m leaving the shop to you.”

Otsuji headed outside toward the stairs, Shiraki likewise toward the stairs, while the corduroy-clad man vanished into the thoroughfare.
From the back room emerged Asa in disheveled disarray, sulking sluggishly.

Customer 2: "...Hey. Another one."

Asa poured him a drink.

A beat.

Customer 2: “…What’s wrong?”
(Asa stood with her legs spread apart and sobbed) “What’s wrong?”

Asa: “Damn it!”
“Pervert!”
“Leaving me… leaving my situation neglected… Otsuji’s just being her damn self!”
“Can’t get even a crumb of attention from the billiards old man—go starve, damn you!”

(She cried.)
(Still crying yet noticing something amiss in the shop, she turned her tear-streaked face around.) "...Waaah... They ran off, damn it! Dine-and-dashers!"
(She rushed outside but soon gave up and came back.)

Customer 2: (suppressing a rising laugh) "That’s what you get for starting fights... By the way, what’s up with the billiards joint upstairs?"
(When she didn’t respond) "Getting kicked out?"

Asa: ...(nodding) The master upstairs... Pitiful. They’ll end up devouring him down to the bone. "The scariest one’s Shiraki—they say he always carries a pistol."

Customer 2: ...Did they go up just now?

Asa: Yeah," (Customer 2 began drinking silently) "he’s what they call a fixer—hired by this building’s owner, Mr. Matsuda—went and drove out over ten shops one after another. Why, everyone was bawling their eyes out. “The charcoal shop granny on the corner went clean off her rocker from how rough he pushed her out… Who even knows how many folks he’s made cry with his shit.” “But that Shiraki bastard—does all that cruel crap then slithers right through the cracks.” “Even clueless saps like us gotta find that piss-poor aggravating, right?!” “Ain’t that so, sir?”

Customer 2: “Yeah... Pour me another one.”
“Ah ha ha, I’ve got money.”

Asa (pouring a drink): “That’s right!”
“If I were God, I’d beat all those bastards to death and dump ’em in the gutter!”

Customer 2: “You gonna beat the old man here to death too?”

“Huh? The master?”
“The master, well… Yeah… He’s all tangled up right now… But deep down, he ain’t a bad sort.”

“Ha ha ha ha.”

From the direction of the thoroughfare emerged two men—one around forty, the other mid-thirties—who exchanged glances before approaching the shop door.
The younger wore a double-breasted suit, the elder a draped kimono—when abruptly, a man in corduroy clothes closed in on them.

Man 3: "...Hey, you lot—?"

The pair jerked back and spread apart, facing each other in silence for a moment.

Man 1: ...(in a suppressed voice) "Hold your position... You are?"

Man 3: "I'm Shibata from behind these buildings."

Man 1: "I am Kugayama from Kudanmachi.
This is my younger brother."

Man 3: "Your name has reached me before now.
What brings you here?"

Man 1: "No mystery—hearing there's been favorable developments at Mr. Tetsuzō's establishment lately, and considering we're not complete strangers either, we deemed it proper to pay our respects.
This matter doesn't require courtesies to Mr. Shiraki."

“Then go through,” said Man 3.
Having spoken, he melted into the darkness.

Everything unfolded with swift precision, nearly instantaneous.
Men 1 and 2 pushed open the door and entered the shop.

Asa: “It’s no use—we’re past closing time.”
(Man 2 silently pushed Asa aside as she spoke) “I told you it’s no use!”

Man 1: “Tell the old man that Kugayama of Kudanmachi wishes to have an audience with him.”

Asa: “…He’s… He’s not here right now.”

Man 1: “There’s no way he’s not here.”

Asa: “What business do you have?”

Man 1: “Tell him I came to discuss matters regarding this house.”

Man 2: “Hey, missy, hurry it up already—be a good girl now.”
(reached for Asa’s waist)

“What the hell?!” Asa snapped.
“Tch. Not a damn bit funny.”
“I said he ain’t here—”

Mid-sentence, Man 2 suddenly swung his stick.

Customer 2 growled, “...Hey, what’s the racket?”
“The hell’s your deal?”

“You’re packin’ heat there, ain’tcha?” Customer 2 drawled, eyeing the weapon.

“The fuck you say?!” Man 2 barked.

“Now now—no call to get so riled up, I’m telling you.”

The man who had been staring fixedly at Customer 2 let out a low “Ah!” and tugged at Man 2’s suit hem.

Man 2: “What the hell?”
“…(Man 1 whispers)… ‘Huh?’”
“Hiko?”
“Hiko?”
“That’s bad.”
(Glanced at Customer 2.)
(Turning pale.)

Man 1: “My apologies—I must’ve failed to recognize you earlier…” (Bowed obsequiously.)
Man 2 also bowed obsequiously.
(The two men sneaked away furtively.)

Customer 2: “…What the…?”
“Ha ha, what’s wrong—did they get you?”

Asa was flustered and left speechless，her eyes fluttering rapidly.

Customer 2： “You gotta be careful—all sorts of things come out at night…”
（He licks his cup.
（Just then，a little girl enters，saying， “Mister，please buy some flowers.”） There we go.
（Asa jumps up） “Ha ha，don’t need any.”

“We’ll set ’em all for ten sen if you buy ’em now.”
“M’gettin’ sleepy here—gonna knock off some.”
(Eyes looked ready to glue themselves shut.)

“That tired already?”
“Tch... Fine then—here.”

Little Girl: (Receiving the money) Thanks... (Handed over the flowers and exited with unsteady steps)

Customer 2: Ha ha.
(Stuffed the flowers into his pocket) "What time is it?"

Asa: ...It’s... past two, I think—

Customer 2: She should be sleepy... But I thought it was past three.

Suddenly, voices shouted from upstairs (primarily Shiraki, Tetsuzō, and Miru).
Then came a commotion of stomping and a heavy thud.
Customer 2 looked up at the ceiling.

Customer 2: Damn, dust had the nerve to fall into my drink.

Amidst the upstairs commotion, Miru’s voice—“Damn you!”, Shiraki’s voice—“Look out! Hey!”, Otsuji’s voice—“Miru! Mr. Shiraki! Aren’t both dangerous?!”—was the only phrase that cut clearly through the noise.
Next came a bang!
A sharp reverberation, like that.
Asa flinched and looked up at the ceiling.
Customer 2 also flinched and stared fixedly at the ceiling.

―― CURTAIN ――

Act III (Same as Act I) Billiard Room

Five people—apparently right after some commotion—stood glaring at each other with murderous expressions: Hikoroku and Miru were on the tatami mats. Shiraki, Tetsuzō, and Otsuji were by the floor. Miru, having apparently been swinging the sword until now, raised it still unsheathed in her right hand, breathing heavily through her shoulders as she glared at the three on the floor. Her left hand was being grabbed by Hikoroku. Shiraki used the billiard table as a shield, gripping a black object in his right hand. Tetsuzō was shrinking up by the sofa.

——PAUSE——

Otsuji: "...They'll hear the racket!"

Miru: "You bastards!"
(snarling like a leopard cub)

Shiraki: “Ah! Someone’s coming up!”
(Glancing rapidly between the staircase and the room, he shoved the object in his palm under the billiard table) “Mr. Masamune, I’m begging you!”
“Trying to bring in the cops—even you wouldn’t consider such a cowardly move, would you?”

When addressed, Hikoroku gave a bitter chuckle while briefly considering, then immediately bundled Miru’s body as if embracing her and shoved her behind the torn curtain hanging down before flopping onto his bed and pulling the blanket over himself.
Shiraki signaled to Tetsuzō, took two cues, and made Tetsuzō hold one.
Footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Otsuji brought the ball sack and scattered the balls across the table.
Shiraki suddenly struck a ball.
A stifled, brief moment.

Otsuji: “…Three.”
“…Five.”

Customer 2 pushed the door open and slipped in.

Otsuji: “…Oh, welcome… Seven.”

Customer 2 (looking around the room): “What was that just now?”

Otsuji: “You mean just now?”
“Nine.”
“Nine here.”

The game board clacked sharply.
Shiraki looked at Customer 2 out of the corner of his eye.

Customer 2: “Wait—that sound just now?”

Shiraki: "...Ah—" (realizing it was the customer he'd seen downstairs) "Since I knocked over a cue earlier, that must've been it."

Customer 2 (looking at Tetsuzō): "You're shaking something fierce, eh?"

Otsuji: "Care for a game?"

Customer 2 smirked without answering.

Otsuji (seeing the smile, suddenly recognizing him, springing up): "Ah! Hikoichi!"

Shiraki: "Huh?"
(looking between Otsuji and Customer 2)

Tetsuzō: "It's Mr. Hikoichi!"
(staring blankly)

Hikoroku, who had been sleeping facing away, jolted—"Ugh!"
He turned this way with a grunt and shot upright upon seeing Customer 2.
Father and son gazed at each other in silence.

PAUSE.

Tetsuzō: "...He's changed."
"...I hadn't noticed until just now."

Miru came flying out from behind the curtain, holding a bare blade.
She stood at the top of the stairs staring at her brother.
Her face was sullen as if angry.
The sword fell from her hand.

“Ah, Brother!”

“…You’ve grown up, Chiyo…” Hikoichi noticed Miru’s left hand. “Ah damn—you got cut.”

“It’s nothing. Just a graze.”

“Let me see,” said Hikoichi. He tore a hand towel from his waistband. “This is what happens when you play with worthless junk.” He bound Miru’s finger.

Tetsuzō kept whispering to Shiraki.

Hikoichi: "Does it hurt?"

“It doesn’t hurt at all.”

She’d been standing stiffly while having her bandage tended when suddenly she burst into loud sobs.

“...What’s this? Out of nowhere?”

“Why didn’t you come back sooner? Brother, you idiot!”

“What’re you going on about?”

“Uun...” Miru sobbed, jerking her shoulders up. “They keep ganging up on Father and tormenting him—even shooting pachinko at us! Who gives a damn about being scared? Bring it on, you bastards!”

Otsuji cut in: “...But I mean, when she suddenly starts swinging a blade around, it’s dangerously impossible to handle, isn’t it?”

“...Just empty threats,” said Shiraki.
“That first shot’s nothing but blanks anyway.”
“Hah.”
“Let this drag on and people’ll get hurt—you know that.”

“In any case, it’s late tonight—you’ll have to take your leave now.”

“Well now—I’d meant to get this settled proper tonight... Anyhow, since we’ve gone and laid all our cards on the table...”

“I’ve said everything I had to say.”

“That’s exactly what we’re discussing here. Show some consideration for our position too.”

“Consideration? We’re the ones who deserve consideration here. Look at me—I’m a sick man. Where exactly are we meant to go if you throw us out?”

Shiraki: Well now.
"This is exhausting."
"Given that you yourself were originally with the Liberal Party—a man who did rough work for his principles, even taking the blame for others' crimes and winding up in dark places—you ought to grasp this much logic."
"It's not like we're in this purely for profit either."

Hikoroku: So you're handling this out of the goodness of your heart?
"And who exactly skimmed thirty to forty percent off the blood-soaked eviction fees from the dozen-plus shops you've already driven out?"
"Hahaha! Anyway, why don't you go scrub that mug of yours and come back with a clean slate?"

“What did you say?!”

“...What exactly are we supposed to do here?” Hikoichi asked.

Shiraki adjusted his collar. “...All would be settled if you’d simply vacate promptly.”

Otsuji turned to Hikoroku, her voice sharpening. “Enough of this stubbornness.”
“This might satisfy your pride,” she added, “but what about me—?”

Hikoroku cut her off with a dry chuckle. “Tell me again—who stands to pocket five hundred yen once they’ve properly evicted me?”
He tapped his temple. “Senile I may be growing... but not blind yet.”

Otsuji: ...(turned pale but soon retaliated fiercely) “So what’s wrong with that? It’s because you stubbornly insist on having your own way alone—never thinking about me or Miru-chan—”

Miru: “Don’t talk about me.”

Otsuji: “First off—even if I took money—if that much comes into this place—there’s no reason for you to get so worked up about it!”

Hikoroku: “Haha—you’ll get complaints if you forget your deal with Mr. Tetsuzō! In that new cafeteria going up here—he’ll run the bar side—and you’ve neatly arranged things to become supervisor of the waitresses—haven’t you?”

Tetsuzō: “M-Master, that’s not— You’re the one who—”

Hikoichi: “They’ve got some deal going to make that downstairs waitress a supervisor too.”
“What—we’re supposed to have two supervisors now?”

Shiraki: “Enough about that! Listen here, Mr. Masamune—you’re getting all worked up thinking Matsuda’s side’s got money to burn over there.”
“But where exactly would there be idle cash lying around these days?”
“Between rising land taxes and everything else piling up, we’re watching a fortune slip through our fingers every single day.”
“That old fool Matsuda comes sniveling to me two, three times daily bawling his eyes out.”

“Your side might get by with crying, but for us here, it’s a matter of life and death.”

Shiraki: “That’s precisely why we’ve taken care of things properly now! Hey!”

Hikoroku: “I might accept that much myself. But the eleven households you drove out won’t settle for that! Even if everyone swallows their tears over it—Masamune Hikoroku won’t let it stand!”

Shiraki: “Don’t fuck with me! You come here with that saintly face demanding five thousand yen—double what we’ve paid? Hah! Do you even know whose pockets this money fills?”

Hikoroku: “If the money’s yours—then this house is ours.”

“You haven’t even been paying rent properly!”
“You—since when did you start managing this house?”

“Y-Y-You…!” Shiraki made to grab him.

“Hey now—none of your slick maneuvers,” said Hikoichi.

“What stands before you is our complete ruination,” said Hikoroku.
“Beat me dead and all you’ll harvest is bile.”

Shiraki demanded:
“Then what becomes of every yen we’ve pressed into your palms till now?”

“It won’t amount to anything,” said Hikoroku. “You handed it over on your end—we just took what came our way.”

“There’s nothing to be done,” Shiraki replied. “If that’s your stance, we’ve got arrangements of our own.”

Hikoichi cut in: “So what’s that s’posed to mean?”

“I don’t give a damn about the old days,” Shiraki said to Hikoichi, “but Shinjuku’s changed plenty since you were running with that gang of layabouts.” He jabbed a finger at the air between them. “You’d do well not to come sniveling about it later.” With a final glare, he turned on his heel and stalked out.

Tetsuzō—his face pale, mouth working soundlessly—stood frozen until growing uneasy; he chased after Shiraki and left.

Otsuji: “…(to Hikoichi) Having Mr. Shiraki say such things causes nothing but trouble!”

Hikoichi: “Was I wrong?”

Otsuji: "Coming back out of nowhere without knowing a damn thing about what's going on... What the hell are you thinking?"

Miru: “Brother—you mustn’t go anywhere else anymore.”

Hikoichi: “Nah, I just dropped by to see how things were.”
“Can’t have it that way.”

Otsuji hurried downstairs and left.

The parent and child trio remained looking at each other.—A beat—

Hikoichi: “Dad... It’s been a damn long time.”

Hikoroku: (snarling) “Where’ve you been skulking off to?”

Hikoichi: “Things’ve gone to complete shit.”
“Ha! Got some objection?”

Hikoroku: “You bastard—lurk round here again, I’ll smash your shins!”
(Stamped his foot stepping forward.)

Hikoichi: “Still, you held out pretty good till now.”

Hikoroku: “Quit that know-it-all chin-tapping!”
“Heard ’bout this house’s mess somewhere and came to muscle in, didn’t you?”

“What the hell are you saying!” Hikoichi snapped. “I came from Fuchu in the evening, but feeling awkward, I was loitering around downstairs when I first heard about this whole mess.”

“What nonsense are you spouting, you good-for-nothing!”
“…Brother… why didn’t you come back sooner?”
“You think I could come back to a house where some shabby hag’s putting on a motherly act?”
“What?!”
“You almost got caught in a delinquent crackdown, yet you had the gall to run away!”

Hikoichi: “That was part of it too. But the real reason I started goin’ off the rails was your damn womanizin’.”

Hikoroku: “So what? I’m a lech.”

Hikoichi: "This goes back to when Ma died in the charity hospital."
"'Dad—you keep yourself steady now. Once that man gets his stubborn streak going, he can't even make sense of his own notions anymore."
"'Truth is, Dad does care about me deep down—it's just his nature makes things turn out that way.' That's what she said. Never could shake Ma's face from my eyes that time she said it."

“Hmph. What kinda nonsense you spoutin’ there, you bastard?”

Hikoichi: "When your lovely wife got sick and we ran outta money, she wasted away to nothin' in that charity hospital. Just 'cause it ate at you don't mean you get to take up gamblin' and whorin' around—that's takin' it too damn far, ain't it?"

Hikoroku: "So you couldn't stomach the old man's women, went around cuttin' folks down and sold off the land—that's reasonable to you?" (Father and son both couldn't help but grin.) "What’re you up to now anyway?"

“Nothing much—just day laborer stuff.”

Hikoroku: "In Fuchu?"

Hikoichi: "Fuchu's just where I live—I'm walking around all sorts of work sites here and there."
"I go all over, but mostly around Santama."

Hikoroku: "Oh, that area—I often ran wild there myself around age twenty."
"The Santama Freedom Party had a real bunch of firebrands gathered back then."
"I see."
(Apparently growing heated while recalling his Freedom Party days) "Back then, there were groups called the Poor Party and Republican Party—we'd raise straw-mat banners with slogans like 'Long Live the Republican Party,' march around those temples, and go about giving speeches about overthrowing the clan-dominated government."
"That sword's a leftover from those days too."

“That area’s always had that spirit, hasn’t it.”
“When you say ‘always’—does that mean it’s still around now?”
“Yeah, they’re nothing like your Freedom Party types, but there’s some lively folks keeping it alive.”
“What’s this ‘folks’ nonsense?!”
“Just folks, y’know? Broke as hell but burning bright.”
“People sneer ‘day laborers this, ditch diggers that,’ but we stick to our code.”
“Right’s right, wrong’s wrong—once we circle up and decide something together, ain’t nobody shifting us.”

“So what—some kind of *mushiro* flags?” [straw-mat protest banners]

Hikoichi: “Yeah, well... somethin’ like that, I guess.”

Hikoroku: “So they still got those types in Santama nowadays?”
“But I hear there’s been more Koreans ’round those parts lately?”

Hikoichi: “Plenty of ’em. But when we’re all breakin’ our backs same way, ain’t no difference ’tween Koreans an’ mainlanders. Hell, there was this Korean fella who damn near dragged me here after I’d been loafin’ round Osaka’s Tamatsukuri—stuck to me like glue near two years an’ beat my rotten nature straight.”
“Guy’s one helluva man.”

“Huh, that actually happened?”

“When we were walking up the Tokaido together—couldn’t get a decent meal anywhere—so I’d collapse—”

“What?! You walked the Tokaido?”

“Then that guy carries me on his back.”
“Looked just like a Buddha.”
“Don’t know how many times I cried on that guy’s back.”
“Thanks to those days, I turned into a man who can put in honest work.”

“Hmm... Is that so...”

Hikoichi: “How ’bout it, Pop? Clear outta here and come with us to our place.”
“You’ve pushed this to the limit—ain’t that enough already? Pointless from the start.”

Hikoroku: “What?”
“Futile?”
“How’s what I’m doin’ futile?”

Hikoichi: “But the others all ditched you and scrammed, didn’t they?”
“Keep this up and you’ll get yourself cut down.”

Hikoroku: “You think you can lecture me now?”

Hikoichi: “I’m just saying—if one of our comrades strikes someone down, they wouldn’t run off.”
“First off, even workin’ to make ends meet—if you ain’t livin’ among comrades who labor same as you, what’s the point in tears or laughter?”
“Wouldn’t Father’s Freedom Party have been the same way?”

Hikoroku: “What’re you bellyachin’ about?”

Hikoichi: “Ain’t I right?”
“Pop turned into this stubborn mule ’cause nobody tried to understand his way o’ thinkin’ since them Freedom Party days.”
“I ended up a bum back then ’cause there wasn’t nobody around who got how I felt.”
“Leave a man alone too long, he’ll bend crooked—I’m your son too, Pop... Sure we got hardships over there, but it beats stickin’ round this dump dealin’ with trash.”
“Ain’t it better? There’s real livin’ to be done.”
“Livin’ and dyin’—they’re two sides o’ the same coin.”
“Comrades look after their own—that’s how it goes.”

“Comrades look after their own, huh?...Hmph. And this house—what’ll you do about it?”
“Just leave it rot.”

“Hmph, what about me?”
“I’m a theater dancer.”
“I’ll study till I drop and become Japan’s top actress someday—I won’t quit the theater for anything!”

“Just ride the train then.”
“Could be number one in Japan—hell, the whole world.”
“But look at Chiyo—all grown up now. Proper modern girl, ain’t ya?”

“That’s right—we’ve even got a proper groom lined up already, haven’t we, Chiyo?”

“U—un, no—! No way!”

“I see. That’s good.”

“By the way—you still single?”

“A baby was born five days ago.”

“A baby? Whose baby is that?”

“It’s mine.”

“Hmph—so you took yourself a wife, Bro?”

“I’ve kept house this past year. A boy.”

“Well, so I’ve got a grandchild now—this is amusing. What’s the name?”

“The name ain’t been decided yet. It’s just so damn strange there’s no dealing with it.”

“There’s no such thing! It’s only natural, you dummy.”

“It’s ’cause it’s damn strange—ain’t nothin’ to be done about it.”

“Then isn’t it your child?”

“It’s definitely my kid, but it’s damn strange. So when I saw Pop’s face, I thought it might settle things—’cause I actually came back, but…”

“So, how about it?”
“Heh.”

Hikoichi: "...I feel like I’m startin’ to get Pop’s feelings too."

“So now I’ve become a proper aunt, huh? How about that!”

“And where’s this woman from?”

Hikoichi: “Yeah, she’s a comrade’s kid sister. Bit spacey, but good-natured through ’n’ through.”
“She’s been working regular at a knitwear mill lately.”

Hikoroku: “Then why’n hell didn’t you bring the brat to show me?”

Hikoichi: "It's no good—it's still all floppy and unmanageable."

Hikoroku: "Hmm... A grandchild? You're joking."
"You damn fool."
(He wiped away flowing tears with a rough sideways swipe.)

Hikoichi: "Hey Dad—why don't we make up our minds and move the whole family out?"
"There's a house ready, comrades who get along too."

Hikoroku (pondering): "But me going there... Hands in pockets every day? Too late for that now."

Hikoichi: "But Dad—you're sick, aren't you?"

“It’s not that I’m sick and lying in bed!” Hikoroku retorted. “I only look sickly ’cause I’d been lying around too much.”

“Oh! Oh!” Miru interjected sharply. “Now he’s saying such nonsense!”

“Ahahaha! Then there’s no problem. There’s work to be had—searching or bookkeeping or whatever... So that’s settled, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“...Then, Chiyo—I’ll settle things here. Go call those guys from earlier.”

“Okay,” said Miru.
(She started running off)

A pause—the father and son remained silent.
From a spot slightly removed in the back right came a crash and a violent rending noise.
With each noise, the chandelier trembled.
This noise continued intermittently until the very end.

“...Anyway, they said downstairs earlier that they’re starting demolition from the far end.”

“Hmph.”
“…Hikoichi… Well then, maybe I’ll give your baby a name.”

Hikoichi: “Yeah, do me one favor, Dad.”

Miru returned.
From the opened door came the sound of Otsuji and Asa arguing violently downstairs.

Miru: "Shiraki and Tetsuzō aren't downstairs either."

Hikoichi: "What's that?"

Miru: "Asa-san and Otsuji are fighting.
Both of them say they'll become Mr. Tetsuzō's wife—they're grappling by the bar counter."

Hikoichi: "Hah... So that's how it is... Dad—you're taking Ms. Otsuji along too, right?"

Hikoroku: "Just leave her be.
Once she gets her hands on the money, that woman was already trying to run off to their side anyway."

“Don’t hold back now, Dad. Still need it, don’t you?”

“Ahaha, no need to mind me.”

“Don’t need it anymore—all squared away.”

“You don’t need it?”

“You don’t need it? Dad?”

“You damn rascal!”
Miru (fleeing): “You don’t need it?”
“Whoa!”

The three family members exchanged glances and burst out laughing.

Hikoichi: "...But what about that five thousand yen you said you'd take from them?"

Hikoroku: "Now that things have come to this, it doesn't matter anymore."

Hikoichi: "But that's..."

Hikoroku: "Don't worry—I got two thousand five hundred yen ages ago like this."

Hikoichi: "Oh... I see how it is."

Hikoroku: "I've taken that much already—don't you look down on me, ahahaha! I'll take from this and send shares to those who already left. A hundred yen per shop—eleven shops makes eleven hundred yen. This should help them all a bit. Truth is, I'd planned to take another hundred from each of them, but seems like the tide's turned."
"...But I didn't lose to some punk like Shiraki!"
"There's no way I'd lose to that brat!"
"Well, if I had to say I lost... Hikoichi, maybe I lost to you."

Hikoichi: “Ahaha.”
“So, are you ready?”

Hikoroku: "No preparations or any such nonsense."
"I’ve got only the essentials packed tight against my skin."

Hikoichi: "What about this billiard table and gear?"

Hikoroku: "Leave ’em."
"They’re just junk held for rent collateral anyway."

Hikoichi: "You able to walk, Dad?"

Hikoroku: "Well now... Reckon I’ll leave some cash for Ms. Otsuji."
(Noticing the brandy bottle Miru brought) "How ’bout a drink?"
(He takes a cup)

Hikoichi: "Suits me."
"C’mon now, Dad."
(He pours.)

Hikoroku (gulped it down in one go and glared ahead, then suddenly boomed in poetic cadence): “Now drink!”
(He passed a cup to Hikoichi, poured, and burst into laughter.) “Ahahaha!”
(He continued laughing.) “Ahahaha...”

Miru: “Bravo!”

Hikoichi (downing his drink in one gulp): “Hahaha... Toast’s done too.”
“Let’s move!”

At that moment, Otsuji barged in—hair disheveled, face flushed crimson.

Otsuji: “Damn you—I’ll kill you!”
“You country bumpkin who crawled up from Gunma... (Her wild eyes didn’t even register them.)”
(She scrambled onto the tatami and grabbed the travel dagger) “Stealing another woman’s man? The hell’s wrong with you!”

Hikoroku: "...What's wrong, Otsuji?"

Otsuji: "Ah... (She stares blankly for a moment before jolting upright) Wh-what is this? What's...?"

Hikoroku: "That's enough already."

Hikoichi: “Come on, Dad—the night’s over.”

Miru (taking the bouquet from her brother’s pocket): “What’s with this?”

Hikoichi: “Got forced to buy these earlier downstairs.”
“Here, you can have it.”

Miru: “Right.”
“Ah, how beautiful!”

In her left hand hung a pair of shoes and a cloth-wrapped bundle; in her right hand, she held the bouquet aloft.

Otsuji (sitting): "...What're you gonna do about this?"
"So you're all ganging up to shame me, huh?"
"Fine! I'll die then!"
"I'll fucking die!"
(Twisting the dagger wildly)

Hikoroku: "...Go ahead and die."
"For old times' sake—I'll watch you do it."
"Go on and die."
"...Hey—what's wrong?"

Otsuji stiffened momentarily, then abruptly flung the dagger aside and threw herself facedown on the tatami, her wails punctuated by hiccuping gasps.
Hikoichi retrieved the blade, slid it into its sheath, and kept it in his grip.

Hikoroku: “How about it—better to have money than die, right? There should be three hundred yen. Well, take care of yourself.”

Otsuji received the money and began counting frantically.
With Miru at the head, the three of them—father and children—walked toward the doorway.
Miru: “Eat shit! Such a house!”

Hikoroku came to a halt, looked around at Otsuji and the room, then let out a loud, hoarse laugh.

All around, it was already morning.

—CURTAIN—