Short Story | From Investment to the Underground

There was a man who lived by the belief that "numbers do not lie."
He spent his days superimposing his own reflection in the subway window onto the invisible world beneath the earth.
There, he encounters "roots" and "sounds" that no one else can see—.

Chapter 1: "The Opaque Subway"

In his thirty-eight years of life, had Keiichi Kawashima ever stared at his own face this much? His reflection in the subway window flickered every time the lights passed by at regular intervals. Like a pulse.

"The next station is Shinjuku Gyoen-mae, Shinjuku Gyoen-mae."

As the announcement played, Keiichi made eye contact with his reflection. A dull black suit and a blue tie. His hair, cut three days ago, was parted in the same 7:3 ratio again this morning. He lightly pressed his finger against the knot of his tie. There was no emotion residing there.

There was nothing outside the window. Just darkness, and the lines of light cutting through that darkness. That is the reality of a vehicle called a subway. Even though various landscapes spread out above ground, here there is only darkness.

Keiichi put both hands into his suit pockets. Small change in the right pocket. A handkerchief and a business card holder in the left. Everything was in the same position as yesterday. His daily life was supported by such minute order.

It was the same at work. Ten years in the accounting department. Numbers do not lie. Addition and subtraction both have fixed answers. There is no room for emotion to enter.

"That is what makes it easy," Keiichi sometimes thinks.

But lately, he finds himself thinking about it in sudden moments. He wishes there were a "passbook for his own emotions" somewhere. Like a bankbook, where the deposits and withdrawals of daily emotions were recorded, and he could check the balance at any time. What he felt, what he thought, and how much he had accumulated. Or perhaps, how much he had lost.

The subway arrived at the next station. The doors opened, and passengers swapped. A woman who appeared to be pregnant stood in front of Keiichi's seat. Keiichi gave up his seat to her. She thanked him, and he bowed his head. For some reason, he felt tired from just that interaction.

Inside the train as it started moving again, Keiichi held onto the strap and looked at his reflection in the window once more.

There was the face of a man who had fulfilled an "investment" of a small daily kindness. But that face remained expressionless.

Chapter 2: "Quiet Weight"

The accounting department of Kawashima General Accounting was always quiet. The sound of typing on keyboards and the occasional ringing of a telephone. That was all that filled this space.

On Keiichi's desk, rows of numbers lined up again today. Entering numbers into an Excel sheet, calculating with functions, and creating graphs. A task with no emotion involved. And yet, it was important work that could sway the fate of the company.

"Kawashima-san, could you please check these numbers?"

His junior, Sasaki, brought over the documents. Keiichi accepted them silently and looked them over. There were no mistakes. He nodded silently and returned the documents.

"Thank you very much."

Sasaki said that and left. Conversation was kept to a minimum. That was the unspoken rule of this department. In the world of numbers, unnecessary words are not needed.

During his lunch break, Keiichi slurped a bowl of kake soba alone at a noodle shop near his office. The hot broth and cold air mingled in his mouth. Outside the window, people in suits hurried back and forth. Everyone was walking toward their own destination.

The train ride home was more crowded than in the morning. Keiichi leaned against the wall and cast his gaze toward the floor. Various shoes were lined up on the brown floor: leather shoes, sneakers, heels, boots. Each pair of shoes likely held its own story.

When he returned home, his daughter, Kanon, was doing her homework. Ten-year-old Kanon told him about a "secret language" she had recently started using with her friends. Keiichi just nodded along, saying "Oh, really?" or "I see." He felt a sense of regret that he couldn't offer anything more in return.

His wife, Sachiko, was preparing dinner in the kitchen. They exchanged only a "Welcome home," and Keiichi sat on the living room sofa. From the television, the voice of an analyst explaining stock market fluctuations drifted over. Watching the graphs rise and fall, Keiichi thought to himself: the feelings of people who live and die by these numerical fluctuations felt somehow distant.

After dinner, he went to the convenience store in front of the station to buy toothpaste. He thought about buying a coffee at the register, but when he opened his wallet, there was only a thousand-yen bill. His fingers, searching for coins, felt unusually cold.

"That will be 198 yen."

He handed the money to the woman at the register and she said, "Thank you very much." Keiichi just nodded, unable to say anything back. He put the change he received back into his pocket. The coldness of the coins spread across his palm.

On his way back, he saw his own shadow illuminated by a streetlamp. It stretched out long and looked somewhat lonely. Keiichi wondered: perhaps his own life was shaped by some light, just like this shadow. Perhaps he was stretching toward something without even realizing it himself.

The weight of the coins settled quietly in his pocket.

Chapter 3: The Dream of Digging a Hole

In his dream, Keiichi was digging into the ground.

He couldn't identify the location. He could only see brown soil and the plants surrounding it. Keiichi held a shovel in his hands, silently digging up the earth. The shovel was heavy, breaking the soil without a sound.

He didn't even know what he was digging for. But he had a conviction that he was "about to reach something." A sense of mission that something was sleeping underground and he had to find it.

The soil was surprisingly soft, changing shape easily every time he inserted the shovel. As he dug, the hole grew deeper and deeper. Eventually, Keiichi was standing inside the hole, looking up at the sky. The blue sky appeared as a small cutout through the hole.

As he dug further, the color of the soil began to change. From brown to black. Then, he hit something hard. Keiichi set the shovel aside and began to clear the dirt with his hands. A cold sensation on his fingertips. It was a small wooden box.

The moment he tried to pull the box out, he woke up.

6:15 AM. Keiichi was a little surprised that he had woken up fifteen minutes earlier than usual. He sat up and looked at his palms. He felt as if the sensation of the soil still remained there. Of course, in reality, there was nothing on them. Just clean palms.

While washing his face at the sink, he recalled the contents of the dream. Digging the ground. Searching for something. Something that seemed like it could be found, but couldn't.

"What was I digging for?"

He asked his reflection in the mirror. There was no answer. However, the version of himself in the mirror looked a little more lively than usual. Perhaps the act of seeking something had given him a faint sense of vitality.

While eating breakfast, Keiichi thought about his dream again. The act of digging into the ground. What could it symbolize? Searching for something. Digging something up. Or perhaps, burying something.

What is there underground?

Keiichi stopped holding his chopsticks and looked out the window. The morning sun was gradually beginning to illuminate the city. The scenery was no different from yesterday. Yet, it felt somewhat fresh.

The lingering sensation of the dream remained. The feeling of continuing to dig into the ground. The smell of the soil. And the sense of anticipation that he might find something.

Keiichi picked up his commuter bag and headed to the entrance. He said his usual "I'm off" to his wife and daughter and opened the door. The morning air brushed against his skin.

He took a deep breath. Today, too, he would board a train that dives underground.

Chapter 4: The Basement Bookshelf

During his lunch break, Keiichi did something different. He headed to the municipal library near his office. He didn't really know why he did it himself. It was just an urge to find "something," perhaps a remnant of his morning dream.

The library was an old building with a large reading room in the basement. As he went down the stairs, the air turned chilly. Because there were no windows, only the artificial light of fluorescent lamps illuminated the space.

The reading room was surprisingly quiet. Since it was a weekday afternoon, there were few users. A few young people who looked like students and an elderly man were reading books in silence. Keiichi headed to the bookshelf along the wall.

Without any particular purpose, he looked at the shelves. History, literature, science, art. Books from various fields were lined up. Keiichi's fingertips traced over the spines.

Then, his eyes suddenly caught a single book. It was a thin book titled "The Growth and Sound of Plant Roots." He didn't know why he was drawn to this book. But he felt it had some connection to last night's dream.

Keiichi picked up the book and sat in a nearby chair. As he flipped through the pages, he saw photos and diagrams of various plant roots. The structure of the roots was surprisingly complex and delicate. Some roots extended deep into the ground, while others spread out shallowly.

And then, he found this sentence:

"Roots react to sound. They grow toward the sound of water or vibrations."

Keiichi read that sentence over and over. The fact that plant roots react as if they are listening to sound resonated strangely in his heart. In the invisible underground, plants are desperately trying to live. Relying on sound, they are searching for water and nutrients.

As he flipped through the pages, he found a handwritten note in pencil along the way. Someone had written in small letters, "Investment is a root that grows toward the sound of hope." Writing in library books should be prohibited, but these words had not been erased.

Keiichi read those words over and over. "Investment is a root that grows toward the sound of hope." The world of numbers that was his job, his morning dream, and the book he was reading now. He felt as if everything was connected by something.

He closed the book quietly and returned it to its original place. He left the reading room, went up the stairs, and returned to the surface. The bright sunlight dazzled his eyes for a moment.

On his way back to the office, Keiichi thought. Is his own life like a root underground? Is it growing toward something in a place that cannot be seen? And what exactly is that "something"?

The coins in my pocket made a small sound with every step I took.

Chapter 5: "My Daughter, Fallen Leaves, and Raindrops"

On a Saturday morning, Keiichi went to the neighborhood park with his daughter, Kanon. His wife, Sachiko, had plans with a friend, so Keiichi was left to look after Kanon.

The park in early November was covered in fallen leaves. Brown, red, and yellow leaves decorated the ground, making a sound under our shoes with every step. Kanon ran around happily, picking up and collecting the leaves she liked.

"Daddy, isn't this pretty?"

What Kanon showed him was a bright red maple leaf. Keiichi took it and held it up to the light. The veins were visible, looking just like the blood vessels of a small living creature.

"It is beautiful."

Keiichi answered honestly. He felt an unexpected sense of wonder at this small creation of nature.

Kanon was playing by lining up the leaves she had picked. Keiichi sat on a bench a little way off, watching over his daughter. There were a few other parents and children in the park, each spending their time in their own way.

After a while, Kanon started writing something on the back of a fallen leaf. When Keiichi approached, he saw that Kanon was writing characters on the back of the leaf with a ballpoint pen.

"What are you writing?"

"A wish."

Kanon replied, and when she finished writing, she showed it to Keiichi. "Grow up big," it said in a child's handwriting.

"If I plant this, what will bloom?"

Keiichi thought for a moment about Kanon's question. A fallen leaf has already left the tree and its life has ended. Nothing will grow if you plant it. Should he tell her the scientific fact?

However, Keiichi did not do so.

"I'm sure a flower will bloom."

Kanon smiled contentedly and held the fallen leaf carefully in her hand.

On the way home, it suddenly started to drizzle. Keiichi opened the folding umbrella he was carrying, and he and Kanon stepped under it together. The rain gradually grew stronger, and the sound of raindrops hitting the ground began to echo.

Raindrops falling on the soil of the park. Raindrops falling on the asphalt. Raindrops falling on the shrubbery. They all made different sounds. Keiichi was strangely captivated by the differences in those sounds.

The sound of raindrops falling onto the soil, in particular, resonated with a strange gentleness. It was the sound of water soaking into the earth. It might be the 'sound of water' that plant roots listen to.

The fallen leaf that Kanon was holding tightly changed color slightly as it got wet in the rain. Kanon didn't mind and tucked it into her pocket.

Keiichi suddenly remembered his own face reflected in the subway window. Even though it was a face he should see every day, it felt somehow distant now. Instead, his own face, currently wet from the rain, felt much more real.

Returning home and taking off his soaked shoes, Keiichi thought:
Perhaps something is beginning right now, inside the soil wet with rain.

Chapter 6: 'The Piggy Bank No One Can See'

On Sunday afternoon, Keiichi was tidying up the closet. When he reached deep inside for the first time in a while, he found an old, dusty box. When he opened it, he found documents and notebooks he had kept since his college days.

Among them was a notebook. On the cover, it was written 'Investment Plan.' It was something Keiichi had written over ten years ago, just as he was starting his career.

Flipping through the notebook, the names of various stocks and investment trusts, purchase dates, and target amounts were recorded in detail. The younger Keiichi had written that he aimed to build assets of 10 million yen by the age of thirty-five.

The current Keiichi handles numbers every day in his accounting job, but he had hardly made any investments for his own future. Most of his salary disappeared into living expenses and his mortgage, and the rest was put into a savings account with the thought that he 'might use it someday.' Without any particular goal.

Looking at the notebook, Keiichi remembered his grandmother's words. It was from when he used to go play at his grandmother's house as a child.

'Keiichi, wouldn't it be nice if you could save up your feelings, too?'

At the time, he had just let the words pass by, but now they resonated in his heart in a strange way.

What was the 'savings of feelings' his grandmother spoke of? It wasn't just about 'money.' It might have been about 'taking time,' 'storing away feelings,' and 'believing in days when nothing happens.'

Keiichi gently closed the old notebook. This was his dream from the past. A dream that could be expressed in numbers. But now, a different kind of thought about 'investment' was sprouting within him.

Something that cannot be measured by numbers. Something invisible. And yet, something that is certainly there.

Keiichi put the old investment notebook into the trash without hesitation. The feeling he had while throwing it away was surprisingly light.

In the living room, Kanon was lining up yesterday's fallen leaves on the table. Sachiko was helping her. Their laughter echoed through the room.

Watching them, Keiichi remembered his grandmother's words again. 'Savings of feelings.' Perhaps that is what is gradually accumulating in this house right now.

In the evening, while having dinner with his family, Keiichi brought up a topic for the first time in a while.

'Shall we go somewhere next weekend?'

Sachiko and Kanon looked a little surprised, but their faces immediately lit up with joy. The two began discussing their destination, and Keiichi joined the conversation. It was an ordinary family conversation, yet it held a certain warmth.

At night, before going to bed, Keiichi stepped out onto the balcony. He looked up at the starry sky. The stars were far away, beyond his reach, but their light was certainly reaching the ground.

Keiichi put both hands in his pockets. There was loose change in his right pocket. In his left pocket, he found the fallen leaf that Kanon had given him before he knew it.

Chapter 7: The Sound of Roots Spreading

Two weeks passed. Keiichi's daily life remained unchanged on the surface. He woke up at the same time every morning, took the same train, and worked at the same company. However, something had begun to change, little by little.

At work, he started initiating conversations with his junior colleague, Sasaki. Instead of just giving work instructions, he made an effort to listen to Sasaki's thoughts. Sasaki was puzzled at first, but gradually began to express his own opinions. It was a fresh experience for Keiichi as well.

At home, too, conversation had begun to return between him and his wife, Sachiko. The conversations were short, and they didn't talk about anything special. The weather, sales at the local supermarket, programs they saw on TV—very mundane topics. But the conversations were a little warmer than before.

One night, Keiichi was reading a book in the bedroom. It was a book he had borrowed from the library titled "Plant Ecology and Environment." Suddenly, he heard a noise from outside the room and stepped out into the hallway.

Kanon was sitting on the living room floor. In front of her was a small flowerpot—a houseplant they had bought the other day. Kanon was holding her ear close to the bottom of the pot, trying to hear something.

"Kanon, what are you doing?"

"I think I hear a sound."

Kanon answered with a serious face. Keiichi tilted his head and sat down next to her.

"What kind of sound?"

"I don't know. But something is moving."

Keiichi also leaned his ear toward the flowerpot. Of course, he couldn't actually hear a sound. But he could feel the "life" within it. Deep in the soil, where it couldn't be seen, roots were surely spreading. They were absorbing water, taking in nutrients, and growing.

Keiichi closed his eyes. If he listened closely, he felt as if he could hear the "sound of something moving" deep within his heart. It was something welling up from inside him. A nameless emotion. Thoughts that could not be put into words.

"I can hear it too."

Keiichi answered quietly. Kanon smiled happily.

That night, Keiichi had the dream again. This time, he wasn't digging in the ground. Instead, he was standing in a place like a vast field. Standing on the soil and looking down at his feet, he could see the state of the underground through the transparent ground. Countless roots were spread out, moving little by little. As if they were breathing.

When he woke up, Keiichi felt a strange sense of fulfillment. Something had begun. Something was surely growing in a place he could not see.

On the morning commute, Keiichi stared at his reflection in the window for the first time in a while. It should have been the same face as before, but it looked somehow different. He couldn't quite put his finger on what had changed.

When he put his hand in his pocket, his fingertips touched a small fallen leaf. It was the leaf Kanon had given him. Keiichi gripped it as if it were precious.

Chapter 8: "Into the Underground"

On a morning in early December, Keiichi was being swayed by the subway as usual. Snow had begun to fall outside, but as long as he was underground, he couldn't feel the change of seasons.

In his pocket was the fallen leaf Kanon had given him. It was already dry and brittle, but Keiichi couldn't bring himself to throw it away. It was like a modest "savings account of feelings."

Today, too, his face was reflected in the window. It was a face he had once felt was empty, but it was different now. A faint sense of expectation and a quiet confidence resided there.

Keiichi reflected. What had changed within him over these past few weeks? Nothing special had happened. It was just that, in places unseen, something had been growing little by little.

Like the roots of a plant.

The subway arrived at Shinjuku Gyoen-mae Station. Keiichi left the station and headed to the office via a different route than usual. It was a bit of a detour, but it was a path that ran alongside the park.

The park's shrubbery was lightly covered in snow. Spring and summer, autumn and winter. The seasons cycle, and plants continue to live while changing their own forms. Even if the parts above ground wither, the roots remain alive underground.

Keiichi stopped and stared at the shrubbery. Though invisible from the surface, various things were still happening underground. Sleeping seeds and bulbs. Dormant roots. They would sprout again when spring arrived.

Taking the fallen leaf from his pocket, Keiichi gently placed it on the shrubbery. He was returning Kanon's wish, written as "Grow big," to the earth.

The fallen leaf would not return to being a plant. But eventually, it would return to the soil and become nutrients for the next life to be born. That, too, was a form of "investment," Keiichi thought.

At the office, the world of numbers awaited him again today. Facing his Excel sheet, Keiichi began his day's work. An unchanging daily routine. However, its meaning was gradually beginning to change.

While facing the numbers, Keiichi pondered. What is "investment"? Is it merely about increasing one's money?

No, true investment is entrusting one's heart to things unseen. It is nurturing something over time. It is continuing to believe, even if results do not appear immediately.

On his way home from work, Keiichi stopped by the library. He picked up the book "The Growth and Sound of Plant Roots" once again. He wanted to verify that pencil-written note one more time.

"Investment is the root that stretches toward the sound of hope."

Keiichi nodded quietly at those words.

On the subway, Keiichi looked at his reflection in the window again. There was no emptiness there anymore. What was there was the face of a man who believed that something he had entrusted to the underground was surely there, even if it could not yet be seen.

The outside world is being covered in snow. Beneath the white snow, countless lives wait for spring. Keiichi, too, decided to quietly wait for something within himself to sprout.

As he climbed the stairs leading to the surface, Keiichi put his hand in his pocket. His pocket was empty. Yet, that emptiness did not feel lonely; rather, it felt full of possibility.

Until the day the seeds invested in the ground finally bloom.

The End

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