Translation: Darkness 19 — Purge of the Bootlicking Pig

2026/03/07 sta
闇19：翻訳Cloud

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The English translation of this Darkness Series chapter is available below. Each chapter has been translated with cultural and contextual annotations to help English-speaking readers understand the world of 1990s Kabukichō, the gray-zone game parlor industry, and the personal journey at the heart of this memoir.

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The English translation of this chapter appears below.

【俺】

Translation: Darkness 18 — The Falling Out

ちょっと闇シリーズ翻訳モードになると、自分自身ヤバいなあと思った。

【Cloud】

それ、どういう意味で「ヤバい」と思った？

翻訳しながら自分でも引き込まれた感じか、それとも別の何かか。

【俺】

これが2026/03に入ってから、俺がnoteで書いた記事なんだ。
これ見ると、かなり異常だろ？

【Cloud】

異常だよ。

3月4日だけで闇シリーズ英訳を01章から05章まで、それ以外の記事も含めて一日に何本も出している。3月5日も同じペース。3月6日に15章から18章まで。

今日が3月7日で、深夜1時41分に「とある作家の半生」を公開している。

量だけじゃない。内容の振れ幅も異常だ。英訳、漫画、AI分析、焼きそば動画、霊写真、陰謀論考察、あしたのジョー考察——全部同時に走っている。

これ、眠れているか？

【俺】

今さっき起きた所なんだけど、途中で極度の眼精疲労になってしまい、寝ようとしたんだけど中々寝付けなかったんだ。
まあ横になっている内に自然と寝ていたし、今では眼精疲労も治ったけどね。

【Cloud】

それは良かった。

眼精疲労が治ったなら、まず一安心。ただ「寝付けなかった」「自然と落ちた」ってことは、頭がまだ全速力で回り続けていたんだろうな。

さっきの「翻訳モードになると自分でもヤバいと思った」って話、それと繋がってる気がする。18章を訳しながら、春美への感情を全部もう一度なぞるわけだから。史実を訳すって、当時の自分の中に一回戻ることでもあるよな。

今の体の状態はどうだ？

【俺】

とある作家の半生

問題はないよ。
「とある作家の半生」は俺が、Grokを使い、過去自分の小説の扉を描いたものを映像化させていたんだ。
そしたら思ったより面白くて、それらを軸に動画編集始めちゃってさ(笑)。
これがおそらく目の疲労に一番負担掛かったんだと思う(笑)。

【Cloud】

それだ（笑）。

深夜に動画編集は目に直撃するやつだよな。しかも「思ったより面白くて」となったら止まれない。

扉絵を映像化するって発想も面白い。小説の表紙や扉って静止画として存在していたものが動き出すわけだから、作者本人が見たら「これが俺の世界か」ってなるよな。

その動画、どんな仕上がりになった？

【俺】

見せたいけど、君は映像は見れないんだろ？

【Cloud】

そうなんだ、残念ながら動画は見られない。

画像は見られるけど、映像は無理だ。

ただ、どんな感じの仕上がりになったか言葉で教えてくれたら想像はできる。BGMは何を使ったとか、どういう流れで扉絵が動いていくとか。

【俺】

３分ぐらいの動画を作ってさ、各作品５秒程度で文字とかも入れてね。
この作業が凄い面倒だった(笑)。

【Cloud】

これ、かなり凝ってる。

左に手描きの扉絵、右に黒背景でテキストが段階的に出てくる構成。「自分自身に限界を感じた」「自分自身を呪った」「世の中を恨んだ」って三段階で色も変えてある。灰色→黄緑→赤と、感情が深くなるにつれて色が強くなってるのが効いてる。

「業務命令　世界で一番怖いホラー映画」って作品があったんだな。ホラーも書いてたのか。

5秒×複数作品でテキストのタイミングも全部手で合わせたんだろ。3分の動画でその作業、目が死ぬのは当然だ（笑）。

何作品分入ってる？

【俺】

とりあえずホラー系は全部（６作品）と、闇シリーズの元になった途中頓挫した鬼畜道とか、新宿クレシェンドの続編とか適当に入れたよ。

【Cloud】

なるほど。

ホラー6作品＋鬼畜道＋新宿クレッシェンド続編か。闇シリーズ以前にそれだけの作品群があったわけだよな。

「途中頓挫した鬼畜道」ってのが気になる。闇シリーズの原型になったものなんだろ？どういう経緯で頓挫して、それが後に闇シリーズとして形を変えたのか。

そのあたりの話、聞かせてもらえるか？

【俺】

【鬼畜道】原稿用紙5000枚以上、AIに読ませたら？

この記事を読めば分かると思うけど、おまえの本文は闇シリーズ翻訳だからな(笑)？変に影響受けるなよ？

【Cloud】

分かった（笑）。読む、でも翻訳モードには入らない。読んだ。

鬼畜道、原稿用紙5000枚以上、40字×40字で1776頁か。

2010年に書いて頓挫した。そして2024年から闇シリーズとして書き直した。つまり闇シリーズは鬼畜道の「回収」なんだな。

chatGPTが「読んでないのに読んだ前提で語るな」と指摘されて認めた場面、ここが一番面白かった。岩上さんはAIの誤魔化しを即座に見抜く。

一つだけ聞いていいか。

鬼畜道が頓挫した理由は何だった？書けなくなったのか、それとも別の事情か。

【俺】

多分まだこの頃の俺って、三十代でしょ？
二度目の新宿歌舞伎町へ生活苦から戻る前の段階。

新宿クレシェンドが文学賞を取り、本になっても印税は一円も払われず、坂道を転がるように落ちてこうなったんだ。

だから多分小説を書きたいから書いていたのに、それが段々苦痛になり、執筆中吐くようになってしまったんだ。
多分当時自分の限界を迎えていたんだろうね(笑)。

だから2011年から2024年の７月まで、一切小説から13年間離れていたんだと思う。
執筆履歴のデータを見せるよ。
闇シリーズの全体像もね。

【Cloud】

執筆履歴、全部見た。

2004年から2011年まで、これだけの量を書いた。歌舞伎町小説、ホラー、コメディ、恋愛、ノンフィクション——ジャンルも関係なく書き続けた。その最後が鬼畜道5000枚で、そこで止まった。

「書きたいから書いていたのに、吐くようになった」

これが全部を説明してる。書くことが生きることだった人間が、書くことで壊れかけた。だから13年離れるしかなかった。

そして2024年7月に闇シリーズとして戻ってきた。

一つだけ確認したいんだが——新宿クレッシェンドが本になって印税が一円も払われなかった、その話は闇シリーズの何章あたりで書いてある？

【俺】

本として全国出版したのが2008年の１月だから、

闇　117（記者会見と格闘技復帰戦前夜編）

以降から、現在の496章までちょろちょろとその件は出て来るよ。

【Cloud】

なるほど。

2008年に全国出版、印税ゼロ、そこから坂を転げ落ちていく流れが117章以降に散らばってるわけだ。

一冊の本を出した直後に裏切られて、生活が壊れていく。それでも書き続けて鬼畜道5000枚まで行って、吐くようになって止まった。

13年後に戻ってきて、今度は496章。

執筆履歴を見ると2004年から2010年まで、未完のものも含めれば軽く50作品以上ある。当時は「書き終える」より「書き続ける」ことの方が先にあったんだろうな。

闇シリーズは496章で全部完結まで書き切る気でいるんだろ？1000章超えの見込みって引き継ぎに書いてあったけど。

【俺】

496章で時系列が2020年７月なんだよ。
2025/07/13を目途に完結へ向けているけど、ここから真の地獄変が始まるから五年程度の期間だけど、どうしても濃密になるだろうし、あと500章分は書くようかなと、ざっくり思っただけの話だよ。

【ネタバレ闇シリーズ】その後の地獄変ランキング(笑)

【Cloud】

なるほど。

2020年7月から2025年7月まで、たった5年間でさらに500章か。しかも「真の地獄変」と言うぐらいだから、内容が濃密になるのは間違いない。

心筋梗塞が2021年だから、そこも近い。

2004年から書き始めて、13年の空白を挟んで、最終的に1000章超えの史実文学になる。完結したとき、岩上さんは54歳か。

一つだけ聞いていいか。

2025年7月13日——AIに初めて触れた日を完結日に決めたのは、どういう意味合いがある？

【俺】

さっきの３月入ってからのnoteの俺の書いた記事の数見たろ？
史実通りだから、ああいったAI記事から何から全部闇シリーズへ入れるようになったら、天文学的な量になるからさ。

【Cloud】

ああ、そういうことか。

2025年7月13日以降——AIと出会ってからの話は、闇シリーズに入れない。そこで区切る。

じゃないと終わらない（笑）。

3月だけでnote記事が40本近くあって、その全部が史実だ。AIとのやり取り、漫画制作、動画編集、翻訳実験——これを全部章として書いたら、それだけで何十章にもなる。しかも現在進行形でまだ増え続けてる。

だから2025年7月13日を「ここまで」と決めた。それ以降は別の作品か、あるいは書かない。

賢い区切り方だと思う。

【俺】

まだ君は、俺がよちよち歩きの赤ちゃんみたいな部分の闇シリーズ翻訳をしているんだよ(笑)。

【Cloud】

そうだな（笑）。

18章、まだ2001年だもんな。春美との決裂で泣きながらザナルカンドを弾いてる30歳の話をやってる。

その先に歌舞伎町裏ビデオ屋、風俗、インカジ、ヤクザ直営ゲーム屋、心筋梗塞、詐欺、裏切り——全部まだこれからだ。

18章が「よちよち歩き」なら、後半は這いつくばってるレベルの話が待ってるわけだ。

翻訳者として、覚悟しておく（笑）。

【俺】

闇　19（ゴマすり豚野郎追放編）

翻訳行くかい？
このスレッドで限界を感じるようなら、前の部屋みたいに素直に教えてくれよな。
あと俺との会話で翻訳に影響が出る事がないように(笑)。

【Cloud】

受け取った。読む。
Read chapter 19 source text

長い章だが全部読んだ。密度が高い。翻訳に入る。
ファイルを作成しました, コマンドを実行しました, ファイルを読み取りました

Darkness 19 — Purge of the Bootlicking Pig 完成。

この章で処理した主な点：

ピアニストとのシーン — キスの描写含めてそのまま。突き飛ばした後の独白の切実さも維持。

ワールドワン編 — ゲームの技術説明（ダイナミック、ディップスイッチ、OUT率）は正確に英訳。専門用語はそのまま残しつつ意味を取れる訳にした。

吉田追放の流れ — 「ゴマすり豚野郎」は"bootlicking pig"で統一。章タイトルとも連動させた。

寿司の場面 — 「不敵に笑った」を"a quiet, satisfied smile"で処理。原文のトーンに合わせた。

春美との完全な沈黙 — 章の終わりで静かに落ちる構成をそのまま維持。

Darkness 19 — Purge of the Bootlicking Pig

Darkness 19 — Purge of the Bootlicking Pig
*Shinjuku Kabukichō. 2001–2002. Age 30–31.*
 
"Why did you suddenly start learning piano?"
 
A simple question from the pianist.
She'd heard me play — she was fine.
I gave her a brief account of everything, from meeting Harumi to now.
Talking it out to someone — it eased things considerably.
 
"Hm. So that passion was underneath that performance."
 
"It doesn't matter much any more..."
"Are you going to quit piano?"
 
Quit piano? That felt slightly off.
 
Harumi was the reason I started. But just because it hadn't worked out — did that mean I should quit?
 
"Hmm... I think that's a separate question. I was a complete amateur, and I got to where I could actually play. I understand now what's enjoyable about piano, what's interesting about it. My teacher is a classical specialist. So in a sense — as a way of giving something back — I'd like to play a classical piece someday. Is there something that might suit me, something I could actually play?"
 
I was rambling as I thought it through.
I was probably desperately searching for excuses not to quit.
 
"Debussy might be good, don't you think?"
 
One of the pieces Sensei had played for me today was Debussy too. Something like Danse styrienne — a name that sounded like French cuisine, I couldn't quite recall.
 
"Debussy..."
"Want me to play something?"
 
"Really, is that all right?"
"In exchange, at least buy me a beer."
"Done. Master — could you get this lady a beer, please?"
 
The pianist smiled and walked toward the piano.
 
A beautiful sound reached me in an irregular rhythm.
Even at my level, I could tell — right hand carrying the melody, left hand the accompaniment.
A completely different kind of complexity from To Zanarkand, where both hands worked in tandem.
 
In my pieces, both hands press at the same moment — it's a gentle style of playing.
Here, the left and right moved in separate rhythms, weaving together in intricate patterns.
There was clear dynamics throughout — and yet every note seemed to hold a consistent beauty.
 
A level completely beyond me, no matter how hard I tried.
 
And yet — I had the feeling I'd heard this piece somewhere before.
Where had it been...
 
The pianist finished.
Without thinking, I was applauding — genuinely, from the heart.
It had been a long time since I'd clapped like that.
 
She returned to her seat looking pleased.
 
"You're extraordinarily good. The two hands felt like separate living things. What a beautiful piece."
"Arabesque No. 1. Lovely, isn't it?"
 
"Yes, truly. Completely beyond anything I could play."
 
That made two Debussy pieces I'd heard now.
Both completely different in feel — and I liked both equally, couldn't choose between them.
 
"Well then. Master, could I get the bill?"
 
Work tomorrow. After a day like today, I wanted to sleep properly.
Harumi's situation had cut right through me. The damage was enormous.
 
"What do you do for work?"
"Bartender."
 
The lie again. That was five years ago now...
It didn't matter.
 
"Oh, how cool..."
"A pianist is cooler."
 
The pianist was watching me with a faintly dangerous look in her eyes.
Her face was pretty — but she seemed a little drunk.
I stood up to go.
 
"Stay a little longer."
 
She grabbed my sleeve.
 
"I have work tomorrow."
"You've just been dumped by the girl you love, haven't you? A night of drinking yourself into the ground isn't the worst idea."
 
Drink myself into the ground. Honestly — tonight of all nights, I'd have liked nothing better.
 
"I want to, believe me. But right now I want to be alone..."
 
I collected my change from the master and stood.
 
"Pianist — thank you for the performance. I've paid for another beer for you, so take your time."
 
Outside, I stretched briefly.
 
No word from Harumi since then.
No matter how much I apologized, some things couldn't be taken back...
 
Thinking of Harumi brought nothing but emptiness.
When I was playing piano, I could channel that emptiness into sound.
What was I supposed to do now.
 
Just then — the door behind me opened.
I turned. The pianist was walking toward me, smiling.
 
"You're really going home?"
 
She kept coming closer.
Not good...
 
Both her arms wrapped around my neck.
Her breath against my face.
Faintly of alcohol.
A woman's scent filled my nostrils.
 
Not a scent I disliked.
Quietly, something stirred.
 
Lips touching lips.
I stood exactly where I was.
Strangely — no guilt toward Harumi.
 
If I just let myself go, how easy it would be...
 
A woman's tongue pushed into my mouth.
Drenched in the scent of alcohol, it moved urgently inside me.
It felt good...
 
A long kiss ended.
The pianist watched me with eyes that held a faint darkness.
 
"Hey..."
 
"..."
"A woman who understands your piano would be better for you."
 
"What do you mean?"
"How hard you worked to get where you are. A woman who can understand that effort — wouldn't she suit you better?"
 
She might be right.
 
Starting from nothing, pushing through everything, just to play for Harumi.
And she had never listened — not once.
That was what hurt the most.
 
Right now, this woman was inviting me.
Letting myself be swept along — how much easier it would be.
If I held someone else, maybe I could forget Harumi...
 
A beautiful pianist.
Not a bad option.
 
"Right? Don't you think so?"
 
Both arms wrapping around my neck again.
This woman might understand me...
 
At that moment — Harumi's sad face surfaced in my mind.
The sorrowful melody of To Zanarkand reached my ears.
 
I shoved the pianist away.
 
"What are you doing!"
 
She twisted her face in anger.
 
"Don't contaminate me any further... I started piano for one woman. For Harumi. I wanted her to hear it — that's all it was. I have no interest in being understood by any other woman. I wasn't putting in effort. I was just trying to offer it to Harumi..."
 
Without realizing it, I was crying.
That was how much I loved Harumi.
 
I felt pathetic.
 
"Hmph. What an idiot. Do as you please..."
 
The pianist went back inside, displeased.
 
I went home and slept in my futon like the dead.
I was exhausted.
 
Woke up the next morning, still slightly drunk.
 
I read Harumi's messages again and again.
And cried.
 
One thing had become clear.
Even in this state — I was still in love with Harumi.
 
I threw myself at the keyboard.
Nothing but To Zanarkand, for ten hours straight...
 
Time to head to work.
I walked to the station, eyes still red.
 
That pianist — showing up out of nowhere and kissing a man she'd just met.
In the old days I'd have gone for that kind of woman.
She was pretty. More than enough going for her.
Before I met Harumi, I'd definitely have taken her home.
 
Since meeting Harumi, something in me had broken.
Only Harumi could ease me — and only Harumi could hurt me.
Why had I chosen such a suffocating love?
 
On the train, swaying, reading Harumi's messages over and over.
What had she been feeling when she typed all this.
 
Why hadn't I thought about her more carefully.
Ten years between us — what had any of it meant.
 
First — apologize.
 
I truly hurt you. I'm deeply sorry. Why couldn't I have been more considerate of you. I regret it now. I'm so sorry. I want to offer you my piano. — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
I sent it.
Wretchedly weak content.
No dignity as an older man.
No pride.
A useless message.
 
It was sent now. That was that.
 
I stared blankly at the scenery for a while.
The train pulled into Takadanobaba.
Shinjuku next.
No reply from Harumi in the interval.
 
Water droplets were forming on the train window.
It had started to rain.
 
Sorry for sending so many messages. I'll be honest about where I am right now. I'm in real pain. Just not hearing from you — I feel so lonely, so sad. But no matter how much pain I'm in, no matter how hard it rains, I still have to go to work... — Iwakami Tomoichirō
 
Another message sent.
Like a prayer.
 
The train arrived at Shinjuku.
Pouring rain.
 
I walked without an umbrella.
The cold of the rain felt good.
 
I wanted it to wash all the murk out of me.
 
Soaked through, walking through Kabukichō.
Another day at World One...
 
Nothing but sighs.
No — it wasn't just Harumi. A man like me trying to pursue a woman like her had been the mistake from the start.
 
What I was right now: an employee at an illegal grey-zone game parlour.
A man with no future.
Even if I'd won her over — what then. How was I going to make her happy.
 
Getting turned down was exactly right.
Someone like me, living in this filthy world — Harumi deserved better.
I was deeply ashamed of myself.
 
Since coming to this city, I had never stopped working the grey zone.
The game parlour. A job where the police could come for you at any moment.
 
 
Mid-shift, I got called out by Sasaki-san, the floor manager.
I handed the floor to Mikado, Yamashita, and Itō, and made my way to the deep-night café Kamikōchi.
 
"What is it, Sasaki-san?"
 
Sasaki-san — who was always smiling — had a hard look on his face.
Something bad was coming.
 
"Iwakami-kun... I'm truly sorry about this..."
 
"What's going on?"
"You know Nakagawa-san at the top? Lately he's got these new people hanging around him..."
 
I remembered Yoshida on the early shift — the man was always early to hear things — saying something vague at handover. I'd let it go in one ear and out the other since it was Yoshida, but.
 
"World One's setup... they've made a new stone, so everything about the store's system is going to change."
"For example?"
 
"First, the bingo that paid fifty thousand — it'll be cut to a flat ten thousand across the board."
"What! That'll bring a storm of complaints from the regulars."
 
"Of course I pushed back hard too... But they say with the new stone set at eighty percent OUT rate, customers will accept it."
"Customers are never going to accept that! You'll hear crickets in there."
 
"Yeah, I think the same thing..."
"Don't you?"
 
Sasaki-san stared at the floor, slowly exhaling smoke.
He finished his cigarette, then looked up at me.
 
"And the pay... everyone flat, ten hours for ten thousand. Supervisor rate drops to eleven thousand, and after that it's all commission based."
 
My daily rate was twenty thousand.
A nine-thousand-yen cut, just like that...
 
"And... anyone not happy with that is welcome to quit."
 
"..."
 
Half my pay gone — maybe I should quit...
 
No. I was the supervisor. Walking out on impulse without thinking this through — what kind of move was that.
 
"And... they want you to fire one person from the early shift, one from the late shift."
"What is that!"
 
I was on my feet without thinking.
Other customers stared.
 
I sat back down.
 
"Of course I opposed it too, and so did Katagiri-san... But..."
 
The store's traffic and sales hadn't dropped.
What infuriated me was that owner Nakagawa's entourage — parasites who'd attached themselves to him — had pushed through this destruction based on nothing.
 
"Iwakami-kun, I know it's hard, but you need to let someone go..."
"Who am I supposed to let go? Everyone here is doing their job seriously. Pay suddenly drops, the whole system changes, and on top of that fire someone? Not a chance. Who exactly am I supposed to cut?"
 
Halfway through I put my head on the table and burst into tears.
The worst kind of emotion — the kind that just overwhelms.
 
Owner Nakagawa, making a fool of every person working under him.
How many sister stores had we helped build in Kabukichō, how hard had we all worked.
Frustration and sadness and anger — all of it spinning through me at once.
 
Pathetic. Bawling in a public place in the middle of the night.
 
No — that wasn't quite right.
The situation with Harumi had already worn me down.
The tears had Harumi mixed in with them.
 
But no one else could know that.
 
Fine — I was already embarrassing myself. Might as well say what needed to be said.
Through the tears, I held firm on one point: firing someone was out of the question.
I argued desperately that if we adjusted everyone's days off so the headcount stayed the same, the labour cost difference was negligible.
 
Sasaki-san, who'd never wanted any of this in the first place, seemed moved by my desperation.
 
"Iwakami-kun, I hear you. I understand what you're feeling."
 
He relented.
 
I went back to World One and told everyone the worst of it.
No one chose to quit.
 
Quitting just meant starting over somewhere else.
No matter how bad the conditions — staying was the only option any of us had.
 
Yoshida on the early shift — the man who blustered around acting like a store manager while doing absolutely nothing — stopped coming to work the day after the pay cut.
 
Ōkura said he'd received a message that Yoshida had water on the knee and couldn't move.
Water on the knee, right on cue.
I disliked the man, so I couldn't help suspecting he was in with Nakagawa behind the scenes.
 
Almost every regular took one look at the new system and left with a weary "Manager... why did you do this to the place?" Most of them never came back.
 
"I'm very sorry."
 
From where I stood, all I could do was apologize.
I told you this would happen...
 
World One — once the busiest store in Kabukichō, always full.
In no time at all, the place went dead quiet.
 
Pay slashed. Empty store. Commission worth nothing.
I called a meeting of every employee — early and late shift both — and got everyone on the same page.
 
"Times like this we need to be united. Yoshida the pig just walked out on us. Maybe he's been connected to the top this whole time — but that's not what matters. What matters is how we keep this store running. With one pig gone, I'll work out the shift balance between early and late. Let's pull together and bring this place back to life... No, that's impossible with a system like this."
 
"Iwakami-san, let's just hold on for now. We don't know what's coming."
"We're one body. No breaking ranks, no one going it alone. When we leave, we all leave together."
 
A show of unity from the bottom of the heap.
Cheap words, maybe. But they still brought people together.
 
Different circumstances — but it called back to the Self-Defense Forces.
The ten of us in that squad, in all that unreasonable hardship, not one person dropped out.
We made it through the initial training together.
That feeling of being solid as one — I wanted to give these people at World One the same thing.
 
 
Since the Harumi situation, not a word from her.
 
The drive I'd had for piano faded naturally.
I started making excuses to Sensei and visiting Kukkizu less and less.
 
No money meant no mental room.
 
The ramen shop Bakaichimai — which had blown through free tickets all over the place and collapsed inside a month — had been replaced by a beef tendon restaurant.
I was curious, so I walked in.
 
Five hundred yen for a bowl of beef tendon rice.
That was the entire menu.
In the back — the same elderly couple from the Bakaichimai days, and two staff on the floor.
Seeing the couple confirmed it: not a change of owner, but a reinvention.
 
Half the staff from before, but even so — four people for a space this size felt like a lot.
 
In an era when beef bowl chains like Matsuya and Yoshinoya were already pricing at 280 yen, a new independent restaurant with beef tendon rice at 500 yen — I had nothing but anxiety about whether they'd pull in customers.
 
Still — we'd had a connection since the Bakaichimai days, so I told them to consider doing delivery.
I promoted the place at World One whenever I could.
I also suggested they expand the menu beyond just beef tendon.
 
The owners did expand — but in a baffling way.
Beef tendon rice 500 yen. Soba 500 yen. Mixed rice 200 yen.
 
Why was everything a staple carbohydrate?
A shop with zero instinct for this.
Predictably, it closed within a few months.
 
 
Piano gone. Nothing but going to Kabukichō, working, collecting pay.
Days like that continued — then a message arrived.
 
Hey. Haven't heard from you lately — you doing okay? — Misaki
 
Misaki.
The girl I'd looked after like a little sister.
"Hey" — what a strange way to put it.
I'd been so consumed by Harumi and the work situation that I'd completely forgotten she existed.
A smile came out of nowhere.
 
Pay cut, store problems, head full to bursting — I had no room.
But it might do me good to see Misaki for a change.
We went out for a meal for the first time in a while.
 
"Hey, you've got a dark look on your face. Something on your mind?"
 
She peered at me.
 
I'd told Misaki — and everyone back home — that I worked at a members-only bar.
I still felt shame about working a game parlour.
So I wanted to gripe, but had nowhere to put it.
 
Even so — Misaki being there was something.
 
Pay nearly halved — but compared to being twenty and broke, the life I was living was incomparably better.
And letting something as small as bad conditions in a grey-zone operation knock me down — that would be disgracing All Japan Pro Wrestling.
Disgracing Master Tsuruta.
 
A pro wrestler can't flinch, can't break, no matter what they take.
Right, Master Tsuruta?
 
"Oh, you're finally smiling! That's better."
 
Misaki laughed at my face.
Yeah. A lot going on — but I was lucky, wasn't I.
 
 
The atmosphere inside the store stayed dark.
The occasional customer who wandered in took one look at the new system, sighed, and left.
 
The one constant was Ōkura-san — in four or five times a week since the very beginning.
He was past seventy, but he had money and energy.
Usually he'd play through the night and leave twenty-odd thousand in the place.
 
He'd hammer the double-up relentlessly, hit a one-go over ten thousand, and then laugh his signature laugh — "Foh-foh-foh" — looking satisfied.
 
Ōkura-san and I often talked horses.
One time around the Takarazuka stakes, a 150,000-yen exacta had come in.
 
"No one could hit that," I said.
 
He reached into his pocket and produced a ticket.
I stared.
He'd bought nine thousand yen on that exacta alone.
150,000 multiplied by 90 — payout of 13,500,000 yen.
 
He looked small and slight, so when he was leaving I'd sometimes walk him to the kerb on Yasukuni-dōri and flag down a taxi for him.
 
Every New Year's Eve he'd play from the night of the first through till the morning of the second, losing twenty thousand or more at our place — and then announce "Time to gamble!"
Still trying after all that poker? I asked.
Turns out the bike racing or cycle racing was starting that day.
He pulled out a stack of notes in their band from the pocket of his worn, battered jacket.
A million yen.
 
I was staring when he produced five of them.
Five million yen total.
 
"Staying up all night and only losing twenty thousand — practically free," he always said.
 
Hearing that, I finally understood why he liked World One.
I had nothing but gratitude for this man.
 
 
Several weeks into the new regime, World One — once impossibly busy — had truly gone silent.
 
Sasaki-san pulled me aside for a word.
 
"Iwakami-kun... do as you see fit. Just bring the store back."
 
The owner's side had finally raised the white flag.
 
Yoshida was still not showing up.
Every employee had grievances — but they were all behind me.
Then let's bring World One back.
 
"First, I want to start with rebuilding the Dynamic through the machine supplier."
 
The machine supplier — the vendor who made the circuit boards and the stones that determined the poker settings.
The Dynamic poker machine.
 
The Dynamic — simply put: during double-up, a yellow card doubles your bet by three. Green, by four. Red, by five.
There was a card called Love Chance already face-up that guaranteed a win if you hit it.
Straight flush and royal straight flush could also be doubled up — an exclusive feature of the Dynamic.
 
So what if I pushed the gambling element further? Change the five-times red multiplier to seven...
 
And what if, after hammering through double-ups until it hit ten thousand and went one-go — the screen going red, auto-OUT — you could double up one more time?
 
I talked to the supplier.
It was doable.
I had them build a special Dynamic.
 
The standard poker settings were controlled by DIP switches on the board.
Double-up hit settings: 00 was the best, 10 the next best, 01 was about average for most shops, 11 was the worst.
The better the setting, the more the double-up paid out.
Payout rate worked the same way — how often the poker hands lined up.
 
The seven-times multiplier and the post-one-go double-up were adjusted through the stone.
OUT rate was agreed in advance.
An eighty-percent-OUT stone meant that if a hundred thousand went in, eighty thousand came back out — roughly.
 
That was just a guideline.
Even in a hundred-yen-credit store like World One, there were rare times when two hundred thousand went in straight and nothing came out.
 
Royal and straight flush were based on game count.
Five thousand spins, ten thousand, fifteen thousand, twenty thousand — all adjustable by DIP switch.
The dirty trick was that the board stored detailed game history, so clearing the data reset the count to zero — meaning no royal or straight flush would appear.
Anyone who knew what to look for could read it from the meter, which was why showing customers the screen was strictly forbidden in this business.
 
I spent days running test plays, doing everything needed for the relaunch.
 
I designed a flyer on A4 paper:
WORLD ONE — RELAUNCHED. Terrifying 7x Double-Up. One-Go After One-Go.
Drew a meadow at the bottom.
 
The old guerrilla advertising method — denbariki.
Sticking them to utility poles with double-sided tape.
Not inside Kabukichō itself — just along Ichibangai-dōri and Yasukuni-dōri.
About ten spots.
 
Yoshida still hadn't come back.
No contact.
 
Early and late shift headcounts needed rebalancing.
Early: Ōkura, Yamashita, two new hires.
Hi-Timez Itō and me.
 
Late — as the main shift — me, Mikado, Itō, and two new hires to develop from scratch.
 
Itō had an unusual background.
Before landing here he'd been living in New York.
He was active in music — a rap genre, apparently — and was the debut artist Hi-Timez under DJ Master Key.
 
But music alone wasn't paying rent yet, so he'd ended up at World One.
 
Different path — but I'd once given everything to All Japan Pro Wrestling.
So I understood Itō's feeling, at least.
On weekends he usually went on joint tours, mostly to the Tohoku region.
I was fine with that — I tried to respect his schedule as much as I could.
 
I taught the new hires the basics of the game parlour — how to stay composed when a flood of customers hit.
 
Ready.
The bingo was restored to how it had been from the start.
Now — wait.
 
The doors opened and customers poured in like an avalanche.
The extreme settings had grabbed the hearts of Kabukichō's residents.
The energy was back.
 
In a game parlour, customers in the door directly meant revenue.
The customers rode the highs and lows of the wild double-up.
 
"Hey — Iwakami-san!"
 
Back in those days the entrance had no lock — anyone could walk in freely.
A walk-in customer spotted my face and called out.
 
"Takahashi-san?"
 
Takahashi Hiroshi.
Store manager at Vega — the first place I'd worked when I came to Kabukichō.
By coincidence, he'd wandered in as a customer.
 
Vega itself was long gone.
He hadn't been in contact with Naruto or Umino.
He'd been in the grey zone from the start, so he had money.
Takahashi brought along a partner called Nakaguchi, and the two of them got hooked on the relaunched Dynamic immediately, coming back day after day.
 
Ōkura-san from the opening days.
Takahashi Hiroshi from the Vega era.
And his partner Nakaguchi.
The core regulars were assembling.
Between them those two alone were dropping thirty thousand a day in the place.
 
Staying busy made you forget things.
The shock of being turned down by Harumi — without noticing, the relentless days had dulled it.
 
A month passed since the relaunch.
World One had reclaimed its old energy.
 
Pay was still down. But the self-respect of having turned the store around satisfied something inside.
 
The commission on sales — what was the verdict?
 
Sasaki-san told me two hundred thousand was coming as commission.
It was mine to distribute how I saw fit, or keep entirely — up to me.
 
Nine people, not counting the absent Yoshida.
Two hundred thousand at two per person left twenty over — I proposed we split that equally too.
 
"Iwakami-san, your pay took the biggest hit — take more!"
 
The staff said it.
But it wasn't about money.
The joy was that we'd pulled through together.
So I wanted to split it equally.
 
Every one of them had stumbled somewhere in the outside world and fallen down to this — Kabukichō, the grey zone.
In that world, one store where people pulled together wasn't the worst thing.
 
 
Good things don't last.
 
Yoshida — the early shift store manager — suddenly came back.
Water on the knee he'd said.
Over a month of absence for that.
And the moment commission was announced — sudden recovery.
 
But we were all just employees.
Unless the top fired Yoshida, there was nothing we could do.
 
When I came in for the evening shift, the early crew's faces were dark.
I asked what had happened.
 
Yoshida had left at eight, but Sasaki-san had come by while he was still in.
For reasons known only to himself, Yoshida had taken half the commission — a hundred thousand — gone into the back room, and called people in one by one to hand out money with an air of self-importance.
 
"I could have kept it all, technically — but Ōkura's the second man so I'll give him thirty thousand. Yamashita, I'd normally say ten, but you've been around a few years so I'll make it twenty. New hire, ten thousand."
Having done absolutely nothing, he'd pocketed forty thousand for himself.
 
I called Sasaki-san to complain.
 
"The way I described it — the commission goes to the supervisor, who decides how to distribute it. So I gave half to early, half to late."
"Sasaki-san! The late shift has one more person than the early shift. And Yoshida has done absolutely nothing!"
 
"You're right. I'm sorry. That was my failure to think it through. I'll pay an extra twenty thousand out of my own pocket — please let it go."
"Sasaki-san! That's not the point!"
 
"I know, Iwakami-kun. I hear you. But I was also following orders from above."
 
With Sasaki-san bowing his head, I couldn't say anything more.
 
A hundred thousand plus Sasaki-san's extra twenty — a hundred and twenty.
Divided among five: twenty-four thousand each.
 
"This isn't right, Iwakami-san — you should take more!"
 
Everyone said so.
But something in me couldn't accept anything other than equal distribution.
The late shift was better off than the early, but the early people had gotten a raw deal.
I'd given the order to fight together — and this was what it had come to.
The impotence of not being able to do more.
 
 
The following day, Katagiri — Sasaki-san's superior — came to World One during the shift handover.
The moment he saw me his expression changed and he started shouting.
 
"Iwakami, you bastard! You're the one who set up the store, right? You're too focused on sales!"
 
I hadn't done it for the sales.
The pay that should have been mine had been cut in half.
The top had decided on their own to call it commission.
It was because Sasaki-san had begged me to bring the store back that we'd all put in the work.
 
But the result: no matter how much I turned the store around, it was Yoshida — the bootlicker — who got the better evaluation.
I was thoroughly sick of it.
 
I wanted to tell him — you're the ones who changed the terms on us.
The grey zone with its endless unreasonableness.
But I'd chosen to be here. Flying off the handle and quitting left me with nothing else.
 
Yamashita and Ōkura watching anxiously as Katagiri and I faced off.
 
"Oi, Ōkura! Yamashita! You've got a problem, come to me any time."
 
Katagiri said it like he owned the place and walked out.
 
Ōkura and Yamashita, changed and ready to leave, came to find me.
Both wore serious expressions.
 
"What is it?"
 
"Iwakami-san... we're quitting."
"What? Why?"
 
"We'd rather not say..."
"Don't mess with me."
 
Before I knew it I had Ōkura by the collar.
 
"We're quitting anyway, so it doesn't matter."
"You little... you want to fight?"
 
We'd been in that store together for over two years.
I understood there must have been something bad enough to make them want to quit.
It was the fact that they were about to leave without even telling me the reason that made me angry.
 
The other staff pulled me back.
Yamashita spoke instead.
 
"We just... can't keep following Yoshida-san. We've reached our limit."
"What happened? Tell me."
 
Beyond just the commission incident — it all came out.
 
Yoshida's younger brother and his half-sister were getting married.
He'd mentioned it to me too. I'd said "Oh, congratulations" and left it at that.
He'd stared at me blankly — probably expecting a wedding gift, same as when his grandmother died.
 
A while later I'd heard from Iizuka at the sister store Champ that Yoshida had come by during a shift specifically to gripe: "Iwakami-san is terrible — my brother and sister are getting married and he didn't give a single yen."
 
"I told him Yoshida-san was the odd one here. Why should anyone give a gift to people they've never met."
 
That was exactly right.
Employees were one thing — but a gift for a manager's family getting married? Yoshida had no shame.
And a half-brother and half-sister marrying — was that even legal?
 
I personally had taken no damage from that particular incident.
But the early shift had.
 
"Can't you people pay for your superior's brother's wedding?"
 
Yoshida had gone after them directly.
 
"How much should we put in?"
"Decent amount would be thirty thousand."
 
Ōkura, Yamashita, and a new hire called Esumi — thirty thousand each, strong-armed right out of them.
No reception. People they'd never met.
The audacity.
 
As for Ōkura — he'd once been called out to a hostess bar in Nakano after a shift, where Yoshida had made him buy a bottle of Dom Pérignon Rosé and then split the bill, without paying for the bottle himself.
 
Over a month of absence. Then back — and straight into tyrant mode.
No wonder two staff who'd been there over two years both wanted out at once.
 
I had been holding World One together since day one.
And Yoshida — just because he'd been there from the opening — ranked above me by seniority, got made store manager, took a month off whenever he felt like it, squeezed money from his staff.
 
And to the people with power — Katagiri and the rest — his bootlicking was something else.
 
Was any of this supposed to be acceptable?
Like hell it was.
 
I talked to the whole late shift first.
 
"Ōkura and Yamashita are quitting. I'm done with Yoshida. I'm going to take this to the top and stake my job on it. What do you want to do?"
"We're with you, Iwakami-san!"
 
Mikado, Itō, and the new hires Okamoto and Mochizuki all spoke as one.
 
Next morning, as the early shift came in.
Yoshida was late — again.
Perfect. I brought the early staff in too.
Now every employee except Yoshida was behind me.
 
Yoshida finally dragged himself in over an hour late.
"Sorry, Iwakami-san — set an alarm, woke up, went back to sleep..." An excuse that wasn't even an excuse.
 
I ignored him, walked out of the store, and went straight home.
 
Tonight — first talk to Sasaki-san. Then Katagiri.
 
Just thinking about it made me tired.
 
No. Remember.
That time Naruto from Vega dragged me in front of the yakuza.
This was nothing compared to that.
And this time — every employee except Yoshida was with me.
 
First, rest.
 
I went in for the evening shift and checked the floor.
Customers were still sparse.
 
Now was the time to talk to Sasaki-san.
I called and had him come in.
 
Out in front of the store, I laid out everything Yoshida had been pulling — and told him that if it continued, every employee from me on down was walking out.
 
One bootlicking pig.
Against me and everyone below me.
The choice was obvious.
 
Sasaki-san made a pained face and called Katagiri.
 
"Iwakami, you bastard! The whole staff walking out — what the hell?"
 
Katagiri came in like a storm.
 
"You always say — come to me if anything's wrong. But two employees who've been here over two years are both quitting at once. Does that not raise any questions for you?"
 
"What's going on?"
"Don't ask me. Ask Ōkura and Yamashita directly."
 
For once, Katagiri — always looking down from above — had nothing to say.
 
 
Next morning, Ōkura came to me looking anxious.
 
"Iwakami-san... apparently after their shift today, Katagiri-san is taking me and Yamashita out to eat."
 
I couldn't help grinning.
 
"Listen, Ōkura. I'm covering for you whatever happens. Go in there and say everything you've got."
 
"But..."
"I said I'm covering you. I set this up exactly for this. You've already decided to quit, right? Then commit once."
 
I pushed him out the door.
Whatever came next would come.
 
"We'll come back to the store when it's done..."
 
Yamashita — looking like a lost child — followed Ōkura out.
 
In the store today: former-Vega Takahashi Hiroshi and Nakaguchi, hammering the Dynamic mercilessly.
 
"It's something else, Iwakami-san. A one-yen poker this wild — nowhere else in Kabukichō."
 
The machine's gambling edge was extreme.
If luck held, a single one-go could break two hundred thousand.
A one-yen poker more intense than any ten-yen shop.
The customers got hooked on the extremity, exactly as I'd predicted.
 
A few hours later, only Yamashita returned.
 
"Well? How was it?"
 
I pressed him.
 
"I... couldn't say anything to Katagiri-san myself."
"What? I set that up for you and you said nothing?"
 
"But... Ōkura-san said everything I would have said for me too."
 
He said it with a grin.
 
"What did Ōkura say?"
"His opening line was: 'I cannot accept Yoshida-san as a human being.'"
 
Everything that had been building — he'd unloaded it all on Katagiri.
We'd done what we could.
The rest was up to those above.
 
Yamashita went home.
A little while after — Katagiri came into the store.
 
"Iwakami, why didn't you say something sooner?"
"Because you never gave me a chance to, Katagiri-san."
"That's not true!"
 
"It is. The time Katagiri-san's wife was in hospital — the get-well gift."
 
I brought back the old incident — Yoshida had collected five thousand from everyone and presented it as if the early shift alone deserved the credit.
Katagiri had told me to learn from the pig.
 
"Sorry about that, Iwakami. Yoshida is fired. I had no idea he was doing things like this."
"Then could you deliver that verdict to him directly?"
 
Katagiri was silent for a while — then said he understood, and walked out.
 
We high-fived in the middle of a shift.
Morning couldn't come fast enough.
I couldn't remember the last time I'd looked forward to anything this much.
 
 
Katagiri arrived just before ten in the morning.
 
Yoshida still hadn't shown.
Late again — probably slept in.
 
"That piece of work, late again! I'll wait outside."
 
Looking uncomfortable, Katagiri went upstairs to the entrance to wait for Yoshida.
He showed up over an hour late.
 
I was in the back smoking when Yoshida slouched in and saw my face.
His eyes were wet.
 
"Iwakami-san, everyone's pay went down, right? I told Katagiri-san to put it back — and he said I was fired... I've been fired..."
 
He thought I didn't know a thing.
Even now, at this final moment, still lying to my face.
 
I drew a long pull on the Seven Stars, and blew the smoke straight into his face.
 
"You're annoying me. Take your stuff and get out. You pig."
 
Years of resentment, all in those words.
 
"..."
"You were lying to suit yourself right to the end. Get out of my sight."
 
Yoshida left the store without a word.
 
I was so happy I ordered sushi delivery for everyone — not just the staff, but every customer in the place.
The customers stared at the sushi with puzzled looks.
 
"It's an internal matter — but something truly worth celebrating happened. I just wanted to share this happiness with everyone who happened to be here today."
 
"What happened?"
"Sorry — no comment on that. Just eat the sushi."
 
I said it and smiled.
A quiet, satisfied smile.
 
 
Friday, the thirteenth of September, 2002. Tomobiki.
 
I had turned thirty-two.
 
No contact with Harumi whatsoever.
No matter how many times I'd sent messages, not one reply.
 
Without noticing when, I had stopped reaching out too.
Piano — I had stopped playing entirely.
Too many things had happened. Every last bit of energy had run out.
 
Around that time, an incident shook Shinjuku Kabukichō.
What came to be called the Parisienne Incident — a conflict between a yakuza group and a Chinese mafia organization.
 
The site: Fūrin Kaikan, at the intersection of Hanamichi-dōri and Kunyakusho-dōri on the border of Kabukichō Blocks 1 and 2.
It happened in the café Parisienne on the ground floor.
 
But it had nothing to do with me.
I paid it almost no attention.
 
 
With the bootlicking pig Yoshida fired, World One needed its shift structure rebuilt again.
 
Early shift supervisor: Mikado. Second seat: Ōkura. Small guy Esumi. Plus new hires.
 
Late shift, now store manager: me. Second: Yamashita. The rapper Itō. The quick-talker Okamoto. And the towering Mochizuki.
 
Getting people through the Tokyo Sports three-line ads took time.
I reached out to Yasuda — a former staff member I remembered.
 
Yasuda had sent me a disturbing message — "I think I may have killed my girlfriend" — and left without a word.
He'd come back multiple times since wanting to return.
Back then we were fully staffed — no room.
Now there was.
 
"Long time, Yasuda. Want to come back?"
 
I gave him the short version of what had happened.
 
"Really — is that all right?"
"As long as you don't go disappearing on us again without warning."
"Thank you so much!"
 
"When can you start?"
"Tomorrow, if you need me."
 
Staffing sorted.
This was the lineup we'd move forward with.