TAP BAR 10: The Color Bartender <6. Copper Rauch and Lost Memories (Part 2)>

6. Copper Rauch and Lost Memories (Part 2)

A navy blue jacket and a white shirt.
It wasn't flashy, but it was clean, and his posture was perfectly straight.
He looked to be in his mid-forties. He could have been a corporate employee or a civil servant. Yet, he seemed slightly different from either.
His hair was neatly trimmed, and his eyes behind his glasses were calm. But there was something strangely impenetrable about him.
Makoto reflexively straightened her back.

“Welcome.”
“Good evening.”
The man bowed quietly and scanned the interior of the bar.
His gaze stopped at the center of the counter. It was as if he had decided to sit there from the very beginning.
“Just one.”
“Yes. Please, take any seat you like.”
The man sat down gently in the center seat he had been eyeing.
His movements were composed. The way he pulled out the chair, placed his bag, and arranged his hands—everything was perfectly measured.

As Makoto handed him an oshibori towel, she glanced at his face once more.
I feel like I’ve seen him somewhere before.
Was it at the stadium? A customer from when I was a beer vendor. A regular on the third-base side. Behind the backstop.
I try to recall those days, but nothing connects.
If not that, maybe work-related? An izakaya, a supplier, an acquaintance of Cho-san... no, that’s probably not it either.
But I definitely recognize those neatly groomed, thin eyebrows. Yet, when I reach into the drawers of my memory, my fingertips grasp at nothing.

“Do you like beer?”
When she asked, the man narrowed his eyes slightly.
“Yes. I do.”
The moment she heard that voice, a dull ache throbbed deep in her temples.
It wasn't a sharp pain, but rather the sensation of the hinges of an old door creaking.

“I heard that this place chooses a beer that suits the customer.”
“...Huh?”
Makoto was slightly rattled by the sudden question.
“Oh, was I mistaken?”
“No... it’s just, that’s more of a special menu, or rather, a whim of mine.”
“I see. I heard it in a rumor, so I assumed it was a standard offering.”
“It’s not even written on the shop’s website... were you referred by someone?”
“No. But it’s well-regarded. They say there is a color bartender here.”

At that title, Makoto’s fingertips paused slightly.
The dull pain remaining behind her eyes began to throb.
She straightened her back to quiet it, and once again met the man’s expression head-on.
It seemed to be a serious gaze.

“If you would like.”
“I would appreciate that. Please, by all means.”
Watching the man bow politely, Makoto let out a soft breath.
“Understood. Please wait a moment.”
Makoto nodded slightly and turned to the taps.


She looked at the ten handles that Go had carefully polished last night, one by one from the left.
Perhaps because her body wasn't in top form, or maybe she just wasn't in the mood, she didn't feel that sharp spark of inspiration.
Usually, the moment she saw a color, a line would suddenly connect. A sensation where her fingertips moved before she could even reason why—this is the one for this person.
But today, that feeling was still far away.
She was uncharacteristically hesitant about which one to choose.

That was when it happened.
Her eyes suddenly stopped on the second tap from the right.

Rauch.
It was a slightly unusual beer made with smoked malt.
A beer originating from Bamberg, Germany, with a smoky aroma like the scent of firewood left after a bonfire.
In particular, the one in the shop today was a Rotbier, or red beer, infused with the smoky scent of berry chips.
It’s a polarizing beer, but once you fall for its charm, it’s impossible to forget.

The copper-colored liquid reminded her of the embers left at the end of a bonfire. Even though the fire was gone, it still held heat if you got close.
A color that quietly, yet surely, held heat within.

Behind the man, a pale blue-gray was swaying quietly.
It wasn't anger. It wasn't sadness. It was the color of smoke left on a schoolyard after the rain had stopped and everyone had gone.
Something that should have ended, but was still smoldering somewhere.
The moment she thought of the smoky aroma of the Rauch, it connected smoothly with the blue-gray swaying behind the man.
Red and blue. Even though the colors were different, they strangely smelled the same.

A beer of smoke, wearing the scent of smoked malt.
A person carrying smoke that wouldn't disappear would surely suit a beer that smelled of smoke.

Makoto took out a small tulip glass and placed it upside down on the rinser.
A sharp sound of water echoed.
She tilted the chilled glass and pulled the tap toward her, and the copper-colored liquid poured into the glass in a thin stream.
It was a somewhat nostalgic color, as if it had captured a sunset.
Finally, she swirled the glass just a little.
Behind the rising white foam, a faint smoky aroma opened up quietly.

“Thank you for waiting. This is Rauch.”
As she slid it in front of the man, he narrowed his eyes with interest.
“Oh. So it’s a red beer.”
“Yes. I thought the mature, smoky aroma would suit your image.”
The man lifted the glass and narrowed his eyes as if to confirm the rising smoky scent.
“It’s strange.”
“Strange?”
The man tilted the glass.
As the smoky scent passed his nose, he narrowed his eyes nostalgically.
“Yes. Places like this... they don't change, do they?”
It was a small voice, like a monologue.
The man stared at the copper color in the glass for a while.
“...You’ve always been good at choosing things like this.”
Makoto’s fingertips, as she was cleaning the counter, stopped dead.

“When you choose a beer, you really look at the other person’s expression. Just like when you look at colors.”
The man laughed softly.
“I was helped by that quite a lot.”
Then, before taking another sip of the glass, he looked up at her slowly.
Calm eyes. Deep within them, there was a light that seemed to hold another strong, heavy will.
“...Don’t you remember?”

Clack, the swing door of the counter swayed.
The air in the shop changed in an instant.
She felt Go, who had been wiping glasses in the back of the kitchen, look back.
Makoto breathed in quietly while staring at the man.

“I apologize. Have we met somewhere before?”
“Yes.”
The man took a sip of the Rauch.
His throat moved slightly as he swallowed.
The sound of him placing the glass down was gentle and very quiet.

“It was about ten years ago.”
Her temples throbbed deeper than before.
She tried searching her memory again in her head, but found no clues.

“Makoto Tachibana.”
At that moment, a sensation like being traced by thin, icy fingers ran down her spine.
It wasn't unusual for customers to call her by name. She had appeared in articles about the shop, and regulars knew it too.
But this resonance was different.
It wasn't that her name was being called; it was a clinical sound, like her identity was being verified. A voice that felt no emotional temperature, like extracting only the necessary information.

“There is something I would like to ask of you once more.”
It was just as the man said that.

“Get out.”
A low voice flew from the back of the shop.
Before Makoto could turn around, Go let out a surprised “Huh?”
Kanzaki was standing with his arms crossed in front of the swing door leading to the backyard.

How long had he been there?
His flashy aloha shirt and grown-out beard were the same as before, but his expression was stiff, as if he were a different person.
It was extremely rare to see the owner not smiling.

“...Owner?”
Makoto called out, but Kanzaki didn't turn around, his gaze fixed steadily on the man.
The man didn't seem surprised by this and slowly placed his glass down.
This time, the clack sound echoed loudly.

“Long time no see, Kanzaki.”
“I said, get out.”

Silence fell over the shop.
Only Go’s eyes darted busily between the two.
“Uh, are you... acquaintances?”
“Acquaintances from an old job.”
Kanzaki answered only that. There was anger mixed into his tone.
The short words rang out as cold as ice dropped on the floor.

“I only came as a customer today.”
The man replied quietly.
“Don’t lie.”
“I came to drink beer. Don’t you know? It’s well-regarded, the beer Ms. Tachibana crafts.”
“...You have business, don’t you.”
There was none of the usual lightness in Kanzaki’s voice.
Makoto felt her heart beating faster and faster.

She knew this man too. She must know him. And yet, she couldn't remember.

Behind the man, a pale blue-gray, almost colorless and transparent, was waving quietly.

“Am I still hated by you, as always?”
“It’s not about hate or anything like that. I just... don’t trust the righteousness of you people.”
The man started to reach into his chest pocket.
Noticing there was an e-cigarette there, Kanzaki said lowly.
“Hey, this is a non-smoking area.”
“Ah, my apologies.”
The man, without looking guilty, smoothly returned the e-cigarette to his chest pocket. He loosened his tie slightly and turned his chair to face Kanzaki.

“...The police haven’t given up yet.”
When the man said that, a red like sparks popped behind him.
She heard Go, watching from behind, gasp.

“Police...?”
The moment she heard that word, Makoto’s vision flashed white for an instant.
Fluorescent lights. Disinfectant. Shocking pink.
Her chest was gripped tight.

“There is a case where Ms. Tachibana’s power might be needed.”
“Cut it out.”
Kanzaki took a large step forward.
Behind him, a color Makoto had never seen rose up. It wasn't orange. It wasn't gold. It was a dark reddish-brown, like scorched iron.
It was the color of the owner’s quiet, characteristic anger.

“She has nothing to do with it anymore.”
“That is not a situation I can say for sure.”
“I can say it. I’m saying it.”
“Ms. Tachibana,”
“Don’t call her name.”

The air grew tense.
Go, with a more serious expression than usual, took a half-step toward Makoto as if to shield her.
Makoto just stood there, looking down at her hands. Her fingertips, resting on the counter, were trembling slightly.

“Please wait. I... what are you talking about right now?”
When she managed to squeeze out the words, Kanzaki and the man looked at her almost simultaneously.

“You really don’t remember, do you.”
A pale light blue jumped behind the man. As if he were suppressing a slightly lonely emotion.

“Don’t remember?”
Go repeated it quietly.
Something creaked deep in Makoto’s chest.
(Forgotten? What... what have I forgotten?)

This sensation wasn't the first time. It had happened from time to time until now.
There was a strangely white blank space in her memories from high school to college. Around the time she was hospitalized. An unknown hallway. The voices of unknown adults.
But neither her parents nor the owner had ever asked deeply.
Thinking about it now, she should have known something was wrong just from that.
Had she been looking away? From what? Not forgotten, but something she had been able to live by forgetting.

“Was I... involved in some kind of incident?”

The man didn't answer, keeping his glass tilted slowly.
Instead, Kanzaki opened his mouth.
“Makoto.”
His voice didn't have the coldness or the accusing heat from before; it was surprisingly calm.
Just like the first time they met at the stadium.

“You weren't involved in anything. It’s okay.”
Saying only that, Kanzaki turned his gaze back to the man.

“That’s enough for today.”
“But,”
“...Please.”
She could see the owner’s back.
Makoto gasped.
He was always a carefree person. She never knew what he was thinking, he was selfish, he would suddenly disappear, and suddenly come back.
That owner was now bowing his head with a serious expression.

The man let out a quiet breath and drank the remaining beer in one go.
He took a business card from the inner pocket of his suit jacket and slid it onto the counter.

“I don’t intend to force you to remember.”
The man bowed deeply toward Makoto.
“I just want you to know, someday, that there were people who were saved by you.”
Kanzaki’s eyebrows moved slightly.

The man said nothing more and stood up from his seat.
He took a small black wallet from his pocket.
“The bill?”
“Not needed.”
Kanzaki answered immediately.
“I don’t treat you as a customer.”
“Then, I will come as a customer next time.”
“Don’t come again.”
Hearing that, the man smiled bitterly with an expression that looked strangely relieved.
“Thank you for the meal. The beer was very delicious.”

—Ding.
When the doorbell rang, the man slowly disappeared toward the stairs leading to the ground level.

◇

Even after the man left, the three of them didn't open their mouths for a while. The silence seemed to say that the event that had just occurred hadn't happened at all.
Only the empty beer glass remained in the shop.
The copper-colored drops gathered at the bottom shone faintly under the lights.

Go, comparing the two’s expressions fearfully, finally opened his mouth.
“Um... Owner.”
“What.”
“What was that about an old job?”
Kanzaki didn't answer.
“What did you mean by the police?”

Makoto dropped her gaze to the business card placed on the counter.
Metropolitan Police Department, First Investigation Division, Reiji Saeki.

Even seeing the name, she couldn't remember anything.
Not just the name, she felt like she couldn't even find the puzzle pieces that would trigger a memory.

“I have met that person before, haven't I.”
When Makoto muttered that, Kanzaki slowly turned his body toward her.
“...Yeah.”
“When was it?”
“A long time ago.”
“If the owner knows, it would be strange if it wasn't after we met. But that’s not it, is it?”
“...”
“Why won’t you tell me anything? What... what did I do?”
Kanzaki’s eyes wavered ever so slightly.
He lowered his eyes as if to escape, so Makoto wouldn't realize it.
“You saw a color.”
“Whose?”
Deep silence fell again.

I shouldn't ask any more.
That would protect myself better.
Her instincts were telling her that. But she couldn't stop anymore.

“Whose color did I see?”
Kanzaki slowly lifted his face, looked up at the ceiling, and let out a long breath.
“Makoto.”
“Yes.”
“In this world, there are memories that are better left unremembered.”
Those words were as terribly gentle as before.
She knew painfully well that the owner was trying to protect her.
But now, that gentleness felt like a blade sharply piercing deep into her chest.

“Is that for my sake?”
“Yes.”
“Or... is it for Mr. Kanzaki’s sake?”
Kanzaki held his breath and didn't answer.
Only the low hum of the refrigerator continued quietly in the shop.

Makoto took her eyes off the business card and picked up the empty glass.
I have to wash it. A glass left by a customer shouldn't be left on the counter forever.
For some reason, she wanted to cry at the cool sensation of the glass that still remained.

“...So that’s the owner’s answer.”
After spilling just that, Makoto went to put the glass away in the washing area without meeting Kanzaki’s eyes.

Behind her, Kanzaki called out quietly.
“I’m closing the shop today.”
“We just opened.”
“I’m closing it.”
“...That’s tyrannical.”
“Because I’m the owner.”
Go, who had been pacing back and forth, let out a breath as if relieved to hear that.

Makoto said nothing and turned to the washing area with her back turned.
A copper drop spilled from the rim of the glass and fell onto her fingertip.
As it dissolved into the water of the washing area, it immediately became transparent and flowed away.
As if it had never been there from the beginning.

(Memories better left unremembered.)

Kanzaki’s words sank quietly into the depths of her chest.
Is there really such a thing? Things that are happier to remain unknown. Things that are better left forgotten. Is it herself who gets hurt by remembering, or someone else?
She turned off the faucet. The sound of the last drop falling into the sink echoed in the quiet shop like a reverberation.

—Sting.
Suddenly, the depths of her chest stung.
She didn't know the reason.
The smell of burnt smoke, the coldness of the asphalt after the rain, and then—

Vivid shocking pink.
Only that color emerged from the bottom of her memory with a contour.

Makoto definitely knew that color.