Short Story | The Secret of 'Wacoal Braji' | Shirokuma Literature Club

Seeing the string of katakana printed on the receipt, I couldn't breathe.

It has been seven years since my husband started living away from home for work.




When living apart, not being together is the norm, and the few days we do spend together feel like special events.

It's not that we don't get along. But the scenery we see has started to diverge.

My husband is someone who can take care of himself properly, so
I'm not worried about him in that regard.

However, for some reason, I had a bad feeling today, so
I came to his apartment at his work location without telling him.

It's still the time of day when he's at work.

This is the first time I've used the spare key. Until now, even when I visited, I was with my husband, so there was no need to use it.

I slowly insert the thin, plain key, which has no keychain or anything attached to it and was machined in an inorganic way.


I try turning it to the right.

"Click."

In contrast to my feelings, a light sound rings out. At the same time, the sensation of the lock disengaging travels to my fingertips.

I repeat the same process for the other keyhole below it. This sound and sensation feel strangely fresh and pleasant.

As his wife, I have the right to enter this room, yet I feel somewhat hesitant.

I even feel something like guilt.

When I turn the doorknob and open the door,
a short "creak" sound rings out.

The moment the door opens, the air trapped in the room, filled with humidity and mixed with the scent of artificial lavender, unpleasantly brushes against my nose.

I close the front door and lock it in the order of top, then bottom.

I take off the three-centimeter heels I'm wearing by skillfully twisting my feet without using my hands.

In this reasonably tidy room, there is the daily life of my husband, who does not live with us.

Nikujaga, simmered chicken and vegetables, ohitashi, seasoned eggs, and karaage.

I quickly stacked the pre-made dishes I had cooked at home and packed into Tupperware containers inside the refrigerator.

Japanese-style dressing with flaxseed oil

I find it on the back of the refrigerator door.

He uses something like this...

Was he the type of person to choose such health-conscious products?

I feel a sense of unease somewhere.

Once I tidy up the room a little, I'll leave without seeing my husband.

I'll leave the Tupperware containers of pre-made food in the fridge before I go. I don't know what that is supposed to speak for on my behalf, though. I casually open a few crumpled receipts in the trash can.

"Huh?"

"Wacoal??"



"Braji???"

I can't breathe. Perhaps due to the character limit on the receipt, the product name is cut off there. Gift box 200 yen... he had it wrapped as a gift. Ah, White Day is coming up soon. A story starts to assemble itself in my head.

Did he buy it for me...? No, no... I've never received lingerie before, and there's no way my husband would know my bust size. He probably knows I wouldn't be happy if he gave me something like this as a present.

Then, who on earth is it for...?

Everything in this room feels like it's treating me like an outsider, asking, "Who is that person?" I also get the feeling that the Tupperware containers I just put in the fridge are being treated as if they don't belong there. No tears come. Just a sense of resolve, calm and steady, begins to sprout. I shouldn't have come here, should I...?

Just as I stood up to take the Tupperware out of the fridge, I spotted a paper bag inside the slightly open closet door. I lock eyes with the Shirokuma logo, the same one on the receipt. After a glance at the Shirokuma, I opened the refrigerator door.

I bathed for a little longer than usual in the clear, cold air emanating from the refrigerator, which is rarely stocked with much food.

"SLAM!"

Have I ever slammed a refrigerator door that hard before?

I closed the door without retrieving the Tupperware, biting my lip.

I decided to take the Shirokuma down with me. I opened the closet door and picked up the Shirokuma paper bag.

Inside, there was a single gift box, carefully tied with a ribbon.

Strangely, I feel calm.
There is no anger, no sadness, nothing like that.


I just felt that I couldn't move forward without seeing what was inside.


I know... I shouldn't be doing this.
But... I'm prepared for everything to fall apart now.


I pull on one end of the red ribbon.
It's tied too tightly to come undone.

This time, I hold the box down with my left hand and pull firmly once more.

The ribbon, which had been clinging to the box with such dignity, comes undone and lies there limply.


And then, as I reach for the wrapping paper,

I tear it all off in one go.

"Riiip!!"

In the apartment where only the humming of the refrigerator could be heard,
the sharp, dry sound echoes like a solo performance.

If I don't keep up the momentum, I won't be able to do this.

Without hesitation, I open the gift box, careful not to lose the tempo.

What appears is thin, white wrapping paper.

Carefully wrapped in white paper, it is
smaller than I had imagined.


My rapid heartbeat sounds like a timpani right next to my ears.


I take one deep breath.


As I lift the white paper, it makes a pleasant rustling sound.


"It's light."

"Lighter and smaller than I imagined."


A sense of unease takes hold of my fingertips.

I took it out of the paper bag, untied the ribbon, tore the wrapping paper, and now, here it is, wrapped in its final veil.

The matryoshka game ends here.



As I open the white paper, colors race through my mind.

Pink... white... red...

No matter what color it turns out to be, I will not be shaken.

I steel myself and open the white paper...

"Huh?"

"What is this???"

My voice echoed in the empty room.

"It wasn't a bra?!"

Wait, hold on.

This pattern is... a national flag... the Brazilian flag.

Could 'Wacoal Brazi' actually mean...

"Wacoal Brazil Flag Pattern Briefs"

Is that what it was?

I couldn't move while holding the briefs.


What is this, anyway...

Who am I supposed to give this to...

I don't get it...



For some reason, tears started to fall.


Released from the tension, I cried like a child in the empty room.


After crying for a while,
it seems I fell asleep...

When I woke up,
my husband was standing there, stunned, holding a pair of briefs.


Perhaps because he saw my swollen, tear-stained face, or perhaps because he sensed something, he didn't scold me for the briefs I had carelessly torn open.

"Do you still have time today?"

my husband asked.

"I've already told the kids I might be late."

Upon hearing that answer, my husband closed his eyes for a moment, as if piecing something together in his mind,

"Let's go out for a bit."
he invited me.


My husband put the set of torn items and the briefs into a paper bag from the Polar Bear Mall.

Not knowing what was going on, I had no choice but to follow him in silence.


In the car, we didn't say a single word until we arrived at the Polar Bear Mall parking lot.


Since it was the weekend, as we passed through the automatic doors at the entrance, the voices of people of all generations overlapped inside the mall, reaching my ears as a unified hubbub.

I followed a little behind my husband.
The floor was carpeted, making it feel more upscale than the other floors.

My back straightened naturally.

The scene that unfolded where my husband stopped was beyond my imagination.

~Supporting you, from your undergarments~

World Cup Year Kickoff! Support Fair

National Team Color Collection

In a corner lined with glamorous lingerie, there was a special section that was clearly different, decorated in primary colors.



Argentina, Germany, Spain, and Japan. Briefs boldly designed with the flags of each country were displayed proudly on mannequins.


Excuse me, my child opened this by mistake... could you wrap it up again?

My husband was acting so naturally.

The Wacoal sales clerk kindly re-wrapped it for us.

I watched my husband's back as he paid for the gift box at the register.

His practiced manner made me feel small, as if he were a boss covering for a clumsy subordinate's mistake with a casual 'don't worry about it'.

As I stood there feeling awkward at the boundary between the bra section and the special section for flashy flag-patterned underwear, my husband, having received the Shirokuma Mall paper bag, beckoned to me from across the way.



I walked through the mall, again a little behind my husband.
The carpeted floor absorbed our footsteps, making the silence stand out and feel awkward.

My husband stopped in front of the elevator and asked.

Do you remember Kenta Sasano?


He turned his face toward me, but without looking me in the eye.


Sasano, Kenta... oh, he's your colleague, right?
The super cheerful guy who loves soccer and came to our wedding.


Kenta Sasano's face came to mind.


I haven't seen him since the wedding, so the Kenta Sasano I know is still 29.


Didn't everyone call him 'Kentucky,' and wasn't he the guy who considered Ronaldinho his life mentor?


Perhaps because I remembered Kenta Sasano surprisingly well,

Oh, yeah, that's the guy.


He looked like he was smiling a little.


He's quitting the company this month. Changing jobs. To a health food company. Apparently, they make some famous local dressing or something.

Oh, I see...

Various words floated through my mind. And those dots began to form a line.

That flaxseed... dressing... Ronaldinho... soccer... Brazil...

!!!!!!

Could this be for Mr. Sasano?


Everything connected in my head.


You haven't changed, always jumping to conclusions.


I had no words to reply.


From my series of actions, my husband seemed to have read my entire thought process, and rather than getting angry or mocking me, he seemed to be enjoying it as if I were a character.


But the sound of 'you haven't changed' felt comforting to me right now.

Before I knew it, I realized I was walking side-by-side with my husband.

When we reached the parking lot, it was completely dark outside.
The Shirokuma on the roof looked down at us,
and I felt like it was smiling somehow.

I have participated in this here👇