Translation: Darkness 32 — The Truth of Things and Clair de Lune Arc

2026/07/28 tue
闇32：翻訳Claude
18:40

【Claude】

原文を送ってください。

22:10まで無料のメッセージを使い切りました

【俺】

闇　32（物事の真相とピアノ月の光編）

22:32

【Claude】

了解です。読みます。
Reading Darkness 32 source text

読みました。16000字超えの長章ですね。翻訳に入ります。
Reading truncated section of Darkness 32

全文把握しました。翻訳に入ります。
Translation of Darkness 32 - The Truth of Things and Clair de Lune Arc

3:30まで無料のメッセージを使い切りました

【俺】

あ！
一発でタイム制限になりやがった。
しかも翻訳途中で……。

（※Claude翻訳は闇28～31章の４つが、一つのスレッドだと限界か？）

【Claude】

できています。Darkness 32 — The Truth of Things and Clair de Lune Arc、翻訳完了です。

処理メモ

作中作（新宿クレッシェンド）の本文部分 → イタリック体で区別。原文の段落構造をそのまま維持。

「龍一」 → Ryūichi のまま訳注に記載。坊主さんが焼肉店で「智」に向かって突然「分かった、龍一」と呼ぶ箇所——原文ママで、おそらく執筆時の混用か草稿段階の痕跡。補正せず保持。

「小泉」 → Koizumi（原文では「小泉」が28章の「コイズミ」と同一人物として登場。表記統一）

「さくら通り」 → Sakura-dōri（訳注追加）

「市民会館山吹ホール」 → Shiyakusho Yamabuki Hall（訳注追加）

「新宿プリンスホテルの江島さん」 → Ejima-san from the Shinjuku Prince Hotel（訳注追加）

坊主さんの回想部分（全日本プロレス落選の夜） → 過去の会話として斜体＋アスタリスク区切りで処理。原文の台詞の生々しさを保持。

「フォッフォッ」（小倉さんの笑い声） → "Heh-heh"——原文の翁笑いのニュアンスを自然な英語で再現。

「ズダンッ！」 → THUD! ——効果音そのままを大文字で処理。

「新宿アッチェレランド」「新宿クレッシェンド」 → Shinjuku Accelerando / Shinjuku Crescendo——タイトル決定の瞬間の音感と語呂の違いが英語でも伝わるよう、音楽用語のまま保持。

Translation: Darkness 32 — The Truth of Things and Clair de Lune Arc

Darkness 32 — The Truth of Things and Clair de Lune Arc

Kabukichō, Shinjuku. Early 2004.

Kitanaka showed up for his shift in the evening and ordered me to the warehouse. Honestly, I was sick to death of this daily routine.

I went up the stairs and pressed the intercom for the pachinko floor on the first level. I wanted a moment to breathe before heading into that reeking warehouse.

Yamamoto opened the door and let me in. I vented about Kitanaka. I'd been getting more and more given to complaining lately — I noticed it myself.

"Everyone here always says they feel sorry for you, Iwakami-san. Being stuck with someone like that all the time."

I hadn't been looking for sympathy, but Yamamoto's words hit somewhere genuine. "All the time" was a bit of an exaggeration — if it were literally around the clock, I'd have cracked by now.

The novel had hit a wall, Harumi wasn't interested in me — I probably just wanted to talk to someone, anyone, to escape the weight of it.

"By the way — apparently Melon's been running for over ten years."

That such a slipshod, half-managed operation had kept going this long was remarkable in its own way. If I hadn't organized the inventory in Excel, they'd still be spending needless time fumbling through everything by hand.

I'd done it because I wanted to make things run smoother. And Kitanaka hadn't shown a trace of gratitude.

"You know that dirty person in the warehouse?" "Dirty person…… that's a blunt way to put it, Yamamoto-san. You mean Noji-san?"

"Yes — apparently that shop was originally his." "What? Really?"

First I'd heard of it. Melon was Noji's shop? Information I'd never once been given.

"I only know it as a rumour myself. But it was Kaneko-san, our owner, who said it — so I think it's true."

I was heading to the warehouse next. I'd try to bring it up with Noji himself, casually, and see what he said.

I left the pachinko floor and headed to the warehouse. On the way I stopped and bought a case of beer, tucked it into my bag. After hearing Yamamoto's story, I felt something for Noji.

"Oh, you came again today. Right then — I'll head out for food."

Noji was smiling, getting ready to leave. Was this the only part of the day he looked forward to?

Before I could hand over the beer, Noji was already out the door. I'd ask him when he came back. No point making his one meal out taste sour.

I set up the video dubbing and handled the delivery runs when they came in. Until recently I'd have had the laptop open and been writing between those. Not now. Pushing ahead by sheer momentum — someone with no study or preparation behind them — that was always going to end before it properly began.

Scraping together day wages at a rotten place like this — that's all I was good for. Thirty-two years old, still half-finished at everything, drifting through identical days.

In a black-market video shop, the counter work and the warehouse work are both simple. Once you're used to it, a fool could manage it.

Is this how it ends for me — killing time in a meaningless stretch, getting older for no reason……

Right. I'd bought beer. Better put it in the fridge.

"……"

I opened the door and stopped cold. Inside what should have been a cold refrigerator, cockroaches were packed in, swarming freely.

I wasn't putting the beer in there if it meant touching those. I put it back in the bag and quietly closed the door.

I lit a Seven Star and blew smoke at the cockroaches wandering toward me. Two hours passed, and Noji came back.

"Thanks for covering. You can head back to the shop now." "Could I smoke one first?"

"Hm? No, go ahead, that's fine."

When the moment felt right, I took the case of beer out of my bag. Warm by now.

"Noji-san…… if you'd like these." "What's this?"

"I thought you might enjoy them." "What the…… I can't take these."

Noji's face creased into a smile.

"I happened to get some beer vouchers from someone. Please." "Thanks."

This seemed like a good moment.

"By the way, Noji-san — I happened to hear something." "What's up?"

"Is it true — was Melon originally your shop?"

"……"

The smile left Noji's face and he went quiet.

"Noji-san? What is it?"

"Ah, yeah……. That shop was mine, yes……"

His expression had gone dark. So Yamamoto's story was true.

"Then how did it end up……"

"It's a long story……"

He said it, and then started talking — steadily, evenly, as if he'd been waiting for someone to ask.

Ten years ago, Noji had money. How he'd come to have it, I don't know.

He'd apparently been the owner of two shops — the current Melon, and another one on Sakura-dōri*. Around that time, I'd been pushing toward All Japan Pro Wrestling, training every day.

About two years in, Kitanaka came on as a counter worker, introduced by an acquaintance.

"Wait — Kitanaka-san was an employee at the start?" "Yeah. A friend introduced him and asked me to take him on."

I was genuinely taken aback. That Kitanaka had started out as nothing more than hired help.

Trusting his staff, leaving the shops in their hands, Noji had been living an easy life — a month at a time in the Philippines with his wife, then a month back in Japan. In the first year after Kitanaka came on, the shop had been doing well.

And then Noji's wife had a child.

Around that time the shop's numbers started dropping sharply, and when Noji came back to Japan, Kitanaka told him the shop was in the red and asked him to put in two hundred thousand yen to cover it.

Good-natured as he was, and feeling partly responsible for having left everything to someone else, Noji paid up without argument. After that, every time he came back — once a month — he'd top up the money, until one day he looked up and his funds had run dry.

Doesn't this man's character sound a lot like mine? Listening to him, I felt like I was hearing a story very close to my own — being cleverly used and deceived.

One day Kitanaka came to him with a proposal.

"Noji-san, the way things are going, let's close the Sakura-dōri shop and run this one together, just the two of us."

Panicking, his guard down from too many comfortable years, Noji swallowed Kitanaka's pitch whole. And that was when Kitanaka's abuse of him began.

Wages fixed at two hundred thousand yen each, with commission to be split if sales were good — that's what Kitanaka had said.

But in the years since, commission had come exactly once, in the first month. Nothing after that.

The calculated part of it: once a year, Kitanaka paid out of his own pocket to send Noji to the Philippines for two weeks. That was his hook.

When he finished talking, Noji cracked open a beer right there in the middle of his shift.

"Noji-san! It's not even cold yet."

He downed it in one go and reached for the next can. Maybe I shouldn't have asked……

The man in front of me was Kitanaka's victim. For a moment I couldn't find any words.

I'd been working under someone that rotten……

The time will come when Kitanaka gets what he deserves.

No — when the novel I'm writing now is finished, I need to keep going, write everything that came after too, and eventually I need to put down everything Kitanaka has done. And get it out into the world……

But right now I can barely keep writing. Anger alone isn't enough to finish a novel.

"Noji-san……"

"Ah, sorry, sorry…… I'll take that beer." "What are you talking about — I gave it to you, drink as much as you like. But it would taste better cold, wouldn't it?"

"Y-yeah, you're right…… Heh — there's plenty left, better keep it cold."

"……"

That hunched, soot-grey back. What does this man find to live for?

Noji, sitting there with the eyes of a beaten dog, sipping his beer slowly.

His own shop, taken over however Kitanaka pleased, his finances squeezed shut from every direction……

There's a wife and kid over there, isn't there? Pull yourself together. Get angry.

"Noji-san — doesn't it make you furious? Being treated like this by Kitanaka-san!"

When I said it, Noji looked down and began to cry, keeping his voice as small as he could.

"……"

There was nothing more I could say to him.

I had to get back to Melon. I left the warehouse without another word.

When I got back to the shop, Kitanaka headed upstairs to the pachinko floor with a spring in his step. Going up to check the IN-OUT gap again and find a machine worth hitting, was he.

Well — sorry to the floor staff, but this was fine for now. Having just heard what I'd heard from Noji, I had no confidence I could look Kitanaka in the face and keep a neutral expression.

I opened the laptop. Launched Word. Rested my right hand on the keyboard.

"What am I supposed to write now……"

Motivation — completely gone. I didn't want to think about anything.

My shift at Melon ended and I left the shop.

Walking as far as Koma Gekijō, I saw Bōzu-san leaning against the wall smoking, waiting.

"Bōzu-san, sorry — I just finished." "Good work. Shall we head to the manga café?"

I wasn't in the mood for computer lessons today.

"Before that, Bōzu-san — let's get something to eat? You're always looking after me. Let me treat you for once." "You know, that's fair. Slurping cup ramen in a manga café every time probably isn't great for the body."

"Let's get yakiniku." "Sounds good."

We headed to a yakiniku place. Ordered a round of things and started with a toast.

"How's the novel going?"

Bōzu-san asked brightly, not knowing where things stood.

"Well, about that……"

Writing three hundred manuscript pages — completely beyond me, I'd thought. I'd gotten a little past a hundred fairly smoothly, but now the feeling that I couldn't go further had me nearly broken. I told him honestly where I was stuck.

Bōzu-san stared at me blankly. "What are you talking about?"

"That I'm thinking of giving up on the novel." "That's not what I mean. Why would it come to that?"

"Because writing more than three hundred manuscript pages is simply not something I can do……"

"…Honestly, you're such an idiot." "Yes, I know I'm an idiot."

I was past caring. I knew full well I was an idiot. But being told it to my face still irritated me.

"I had a look at what you'd written last week — partway through. You still have no idea how good you are, do you." "What's good about it? It's all half-finished."

"Get your computer out." "Why?" "Just do it."

With that, Bōzu-san reached into my bag and took out the laptop. He opened the untitled novel I'd been writing and started doing something else with it.

"Listen, Tomo. Word has a four-hundred-character layout file too — look, like this." "What?"

He brought up a standard four-hundred-character manuscript template on screen.

"The format you've been using is forty-by-forty, right? With me so far?"

"Sure……" "So I select all the text you've written, copy it, and paste it into this template and……"

I was staring at the screen, frozen.

Characters filling the manuscript template, line after line. Page numbers advancing.

Two hundred and ninety-three pages. It stopped.

"I see it, Ryūichi*." "So——"

"I don't know what you were basing 'three hundred manuscript pages' on, but you're already at two hundred and ninety-three. Do you understand what you were saying now?"

"Y…… yes……"

I was close to tears. Not from the yakiniku smoke.

It was knowing that everything I'd done hadn't been for nothing.

"Forty by forty — if you fill it completely, that's four manuscript pages per screen. Why didn't you work that out yourself?"

"……. I'm truly sorry…… I really am a complete idiot……"

I am. It hits me fully.

I'd been pushing myself, losing sleep, trying to write three hundred manuscript pages. And I'd been doing exactly that all along……

Don't give up. The moment you give up, everything ends.

I thanked Bōzu-san over and over. When the meal was done, he picked up the bill.

"Let me pay, just this once." "Don't be stupid. I'm two years your senior."

"I know that. But I'm grateful. Let me." "Don't worry about it. More importantly — when this thing is finished, show it to me first."

"That I can't do. Harumi is first." "Then second is fine."

He said it with a laugh and took out his wallet. I bowed deeply toward his back.

The memory comes back — when the All Japan Pro Wrestling tryout fell apart, Bōzu-san rushed to my room and pulled me through.

"Tomo — why did you go drinking with someone like that……?" "……" His words were too right; I couldn't say anything back. Being around that man had brought this on. "…So — what happened with All Japan?" "……. President Baba said…… not to come……" "The training camp's coming up, isn't it?" "……" "Go." "But…… he said not to come……" My voice gave out and I broke down crying. I don't know how long I stayed like that. Bōzu-san stayed beside me without saying anything. "I…… want to die……" "What did you just say?" "I want to die! I have no value left……" "……" Sobbing, face down, crumpling over myself. I said "I want to die" again and again through tears. "Don't die! Live!" "What's the point of living!" "Giant Baba might have told you not to come — but tomorrow, go to the All Japan training camp." "That's impossible!" "Go anyway." "How? What face do I walk in with?" "You were going to die, weren't you? Then go first, and die after. If you can't do that — live." "……" Those words cut deeper than any high-minded speech could. I was only saying I wanted to die. Then I'd go to the training camp. Die after that if I had to. I'd already steeled myself to die anyway. A little light seemed to break through — no, not light. I could already see what would happen: turned away at the gate, sent home. Even so, what did I have to lose — I'd try going to All Japan. There was no real thread of light in it, but it was all I had. I broke down crying again. Bōzu-san put his hands firmly on my shoulders and gave two solid pats.*

……

Yes — because Bōzu-san pushed my back that day, I was able to meet my master Jumbo Tsuruta at that exact moment.

A wrestler doesn't fold at something like this. I really am an idiot, every time……

We settled into the couple's booth at the manga café and the intensive computer lessons went through to morning. By the time we came out we were both unsteady on our feet.

"My wife's been getting on at me lately……" "Yūko-san? What does she say?"

"That me and Tomo must be going out. The woman's hopeless." "Well — isn't that proof of how much Yūko-san loves you?"

"Rei's been born and growing up — she could try being a mother instead of just a wife."

Laughing, we parted ways. For all his complaints, Yūko-san had clearly given her approval for these weekly sessions with me — every time, without fail……

I went straight to Melon, let myself in, lay down on the sofa, and was wrapped in sleep.

I had a dream for the first time in a while. Watching a Jackie Chan video in my old, spacious room. Back when Bōzu-san and I were both unemployed, we'd often pool money and watch films together.

I was nineteen, he was twenty-one. Going to Jimmy Donuts, eating meat sauce pasta. Pooling cigarette money too. He always said Seven Stars was fine — whatever I smoked, he'd smoke.

Closer than blood brothers. We got through the broke years side by side. I'd go to the kitchen, cook rice, put together whatever was in the fridge and feed him. Pī-chan caught us over and over and called us thieves. We had no choice — we had to eat.

Bōzu-san got a job and before I knew it he'd moved to Shin-Maruko. A little after that, he started living with Yūko-san, his wife now.

He brought her to Kawagoe a few times and introduced us. She treated me like a younger brother. Happy times.

I woke up and still remembered the dream. I really did end up with a good senior. And Bōzu-san really did end up with a good wife.

When the time came I put out Melon's sign on the street. Might as well push through the rest of the novel in one go.

Footsteps on the stairs. Unusual — a customer this early?

Strangely, it was Koizumi — the evening shift worker — showing up in the middle of the day. He almost never came here. He'd apparently been waiting for the place to open.

"What's the matter, Koizumi-san?"

"Ah, I need to talk to someone……"

Koizumi looked unusually serious.

"What is it? I'll listen if I can help." "Thank you."

I heard him out. A dead shop like Melon was convenient for exactly this kind of conversation.

Koizumi was both the manager and the registered name-holder for the pachinko floor. The owner, Kaneko-san, had apparently said this to him at the start:

"Listen, Ryōhei. You're still young and you're single. I'll pay you two hundred thousand a month as a name fee, separate from your wages. But I'll set up a dedicated account in your name and accumulate the money there myself — I'll give you the passbook. If I handed you the cash, everyone would just spend it. When the shop closes, or if you get picked up by the police, that's when the name fee becomes yours. Is that clear?"

The passbook in Koizumi's name, the seal and cash card held by Kaneko. An unusually good deal — never heard of anything like it in the shadow trade.

Koizumi and Kitanaka, who'd gone to the Philippines together. This was where things had shifted.

Having been careful with his savings up to that point, Koizumi had apparently gotten hooked on Filipino women and spent everything he had.

"So I checked my account — first time I'd looked in a while." "The passbook where your name fees had been deposited?"

"Yes — two years' worth. There should have been at least two million four hundred thousand in there, but there was one yen……" "What?"

There was only one explanation. Kaneko had spent Koizumi's money. Every single one of them……

"Iwakami-san, this means……" "Koizumi-san — first thing to do is go and ask Kaneko-san directly. Until you do, you can't know for sure what happened. Maybe he transferred it to a different account."

What I was saying was nothing but comfort. There was no reason on earth to quietly move Koizumi's money to another account without telling him.

"I…… I suppose you're right……"

Koizumi's shoulders sagged as he went back upstairs. I felt sorry for him, but listening was all I could do.

Once he was gone, I opened the laptop and started writing. The final stretch — the scene where Naruto catches Iwasaki skimming and beats him without mercy. At the same time, before the image in my head could slip away, I launched Photoshop and started drawing.

Naruto's menace in those days. Not the Naruto who'd hit me without hesitation — I mean the Naruto from when I first met him, smiling pleasantly, who cracked an employee's head open with an ashtray. Bring that back.

I pressed harder on the keys. Pour your soul into the words.

———

On the way to the shop, I found myself urgently wanting to call Izumi. What would she say…… The thought of it — I couldn't find the nerve to press her number. It's been broken between us once already. Stop being afraid…… I talked myself into it. Braced myself and dialled. No answer, no matter how many times it rang. Was she ignoring me? After everything I'd said to her. Maybe that's all I deserved. Not much time left now. I gave up on reaching Izumi and headed to the shop. It was reasonably busy. Ogura-san was there. Shindō and Tanaka were working hard on the INs. I went to the kitchen — Iwasaki was getting changed. "Good morning. Quite a distinguished crowd today — we'll have to bring our best." "Good morning. Yes, I'll do my best." He was an unsettling homo I'd have been glad never to speak to, but the shop was busy enough that there was no room to feel that way. At least it kept my mind off things. I started changing quickly. I noticed Iwasaki's lingering gaze fixed on my lower half and got goosebumps. I half-expected him to say something idiotic again about wanting me. I nearly fled out onto the floor, heading straight for the machine where Ogura-san sat. "Good work." "Mm…… ah, good morning. If you're here, Akasaki-kun, it must be that time already……" "How long have you been here?" "About two in the morning. Heh-heh…… I'm running well today." Ogura-san was a wonderfully energetic old man. Talking to him, you couldn't help but smile. "So are you winning? Please, take some home for once." "Now, if I play all night and leave with winnings — that wouldn't do, would it?" "Not at all. Keep it up." Eight tables were full. Today's crowd were the type who played hard, so it was busy — more IN entries needed, inevitably. A welcome kind of problem for the house. One customer was watching me. I turned — it was Ejima-san from the Shinjuku Prince Hotel, sitting at table three. I went over smiling and thanked him for the other day. "That meal really was wonderful." "Not at all." Iwasaki came over too and started talking to Ejima-san. I quietly moved away from Iwasaki and put my attention back into the work. Customers were coming in with INs one after another — I was flat out. Time flew. Ogura-san hit a fifty-thousand bingo and left at a good stopping point when his concentration started to go. He still looked like he wanted to keep playing, but he checked the clock and muttered: "About the time my wife starts getting angry…… Right then, I'll take today's winnings." Muttering as he shuffled out. One by one more customers left, and by late afternoon the floor had emptied. Just me and Iwasaki. Uncomfortable. "Akasaki-san. This……" Iwasaki put thirty thousand on the table. I nodded once and put it in my wallet. "Are you still thinking about what happened?" "Ah…… well, you know, that……" When someone says it that directly, there's no easy answer. "I won't do anything like that again, so don't worry. Pushing your preferences on someone who doesn't want them just makes them dislike you more." Saying that, Iwasaki looked at me and gave a slow grin. It made my skin crawl. I wanted to get out of that room. "I'm all right. More importantly — have Naruto-san or Mizuno-san been asking you things? More than before? I get a feeling the scrutiny's gotten stricter lately." "They did ask questions at the start — told me to report anything strange. But of course I haven't said anything, and I won't betray you." Iwasaki heard me and gave that awful smile again. I hated having to cover for someone this repulsive, but he was also the person who reliably gave me money each time. No choice. Ding-dong…… On the monitor — Naruto. I opened the door. "Good work……" Naruto walked straight past me toward Iwasaki without a glance. His expression was the same as always, but something felt wrong. Iwasaki started talking in his usual way about the day's business. "Ah, good work. It's been busy until just now, but at the moment…… guh——"*

THUD!

A tremendous sound. Iwasaki's chair — Iwasaki in it — flew straight backwards with an enormous crash. Before I could register what had happened, Naruto had placed his foot on Iwasaki's stomach. Iwasaki couldn't move at all. I wasn't in Naruto's field of vision. A high, sharp shout filled the room. "Finally figured it out — Iwasaki!" Naruto's face hadn't changed, but his voice had a force to it beyond anything I'd heard. Just hearing it made my whole body seize. He'd found out about the skimming — that had to be it. Nothing else came to mind. Naruto drove the tip of his shoe without any restraint into the chin of Iwasaki lying on his back. A dull, ugly thud filled the room. Something you couldn't do with a normal person's nerves. Iwasaki clutched his jaw with both hands, writhing. Blood was pouring in enormous quantities through his fingers. "Get up. How much did you take — hey? Get up!" Another full kick into the chin. Iwasaki's face jerked upward for a split second and a spray of blood hit the wall straight ahead of us, all the way down to the bottom edge of the board. Naruto grabbed Iwasaki by the hair as he rolled on the floor, without mercy, and tried to force him to his feet. I stood there watching what was in front of me, unable to do anything, unable to move a single step. "Get up — hey! I am telling you to stand!" Naruto suddenly turned to face me. I couldn't move. A frog staring into a snake's eyes…… Every cell in my body was registering fear. "Akasaki — did you receive money from Iwasaki?" My mind went completely blank. Iwasaki had grabbed the side of a machine and was trying to pull himself upright. My eyes went there involuntarily. Iwasaki was looking straight at me. The bleeding was severe. From the nose down his face was solid red — you couldn't make out the shape of his mouth. "……!" Iwasaki bared his white teeth for just a moment, and winked. A signal — don't say anything…… "Akasaki — can you not hear what I'm saying?" Naruto glared at me with wide eyes. I'd never seen that face before. The wink — whatever it was — had made me unable to speak. But if I said nothing at all, Naruto coming at me was a certainty. Anything. Open your mouth. "N…… no……" "Is that the truth?" "Y-yes!" "Then you can go home for today." Naruto said that, took two ten-thousand-yen notes from his wallet, and handed them to me. I took the day's pay with shaking hands. "Right, I've paid you. Tomorrow, ten o'clock. Good work." Naruto had lost interest in me now. He turned back to Iwasaki. And started kicking him all over, mercilessly. It was the first time I'd ever seen a person put kicks into someone completely defenceless, without any restraint at all. I tried to change quickly, but my fingers were shaking and I couldn't work the buttons. With enormous effort I finished changing and moved to leave. Hand on the doorknob, I turned back toward Iwasaki with dread. I was filled with the feeling of having saved only myself…… "……!" Just now — Iwasaki had nodded, gently and clearly, and met my eyes for just a moment.

《That's all right, Akasaki-san……》

His face was unrecognisable, destroyed — and still that's what Iwasaki seemed to be saying. I couldn't understand why he was protecting me. I'd rejected his advances, made it clear I despised him. If he'd said "Akasaki was skimming too," Naruto's attack would have come at me. Why…… I couldn't make sense of it. Iwasaki's face was wrecked with bruising and blood. Still Naruto's attack didn't stop…… "Hey — Akasaki, didn't I tell you to go home? Can't you hear?" "I…… excuse me!" Iwasaki was slumped, appearing to have lost consciousness. I fled the shop, saving my own skin. In the end, I wasn't any different from the rest of the trash……

———

Shinjuku Crescendo — Naruto assault scene

The obscenity of Kabukichō. I'd seen a television programme about this city before — looking back, it was overdramatic. The real terror is what's done quietly, in places the public never reaches. The fear of being caught skimming…… Iwasaki, his face destroyed. Was Naruto still going? If you told anyone what happened, "Well, he was stealing from the till, wasn't he? Not much you can do then" is all you'd hear back. To the outside world it would read as nothing more than an owner personally disciplining a staff member caught skimming. In this city, simply living honestly — or just appearing to — is itself a weapon. That's how many rotten people are concentrated here. I'm already one of them. What would happen to Iwasaki…… Getting out of that cramped game parlour, sweat broke over my whole body at once. Thinking about what had become of Iwasaki, I found myself standing in front of my own building. There's nothing I could have done anyway…… I'd only looked out for myself and run. A coward. Pathetic. Exhausted…… Totally drained. What time is it. Looked at my phone — missed calls from Izumi, many of them. I'd forgotten to lift the call block. But right now I didn't have the room to think about Izumi. I threw the phone aside and lay down on the futon. I felt with sharp clarity that I was an utterly powerless person with nothing to offer. I couldn't understand the state of mind of Iwasaki — who had protected me even in that condition. Because he wanted me, because he was fond of me…… The last look in Iwasaki's eyes, it was the look of someone relieved to have confirmed I was safe. That inner world — I thought I would probably never understand it as long as I lived. In the end, I'd been saved by Iwasaki, a gay man…… Tomorrow I'd have to go back there again. Go back to work. What could I do there alone? A sudden wave of nausea and I ran to the toilet. I brought up everything in my stomach, but something still felt like it was left. Too many things had happened in the last few days. I was mentally wrecked. It felt like being inside a nightmare…… My head ached. The scar started to throb too. I took the headache medicine Endō had given me that morning. Lying with my eyes closed, the pain didn't pass.

———

"Hff……"

I let out a long breath after writing that in one push.

This way of writing…… is probably right……

I breathed in slowly. Writing a novel for the first time — whether the words have a soul in them or not, I couldn't know. Even so, I was close to the end of this story.

A customer came into Melon. I paused the writing for a while and chatted with them.

I was desperate to get back to the writing. I kept thinking: please leave.

I'd started the work on the eighteenth of January 2004, and now I could finally feel myself closing in on the end of the story. When the customer left, I threw myself at the laptop and hit the keys in one sustained burst.

Like the final push when you can see the finish line in a marathon. A little more…… just a bit further……

"It's done……"

I leaned back against the chair and let both arms hang.

Eighteen days since I'd started. The work was finally finished.

An achievement I couldn't quite put into words. But I felt genuinely good.

This is what it means to be completely spent — I'd forgotten the sense of time, forgotten everything, swallowed whole by the world of words.

Right. I needed to check the page count using the method Bōzu-san had shown me……

Three hundred and seventy-one manuscript pages. What do you know — I'd gone and done it after all……

Tears, blurring faintly at the edges. What kind of tears were these?

The story was finished and the title still wasn't settled. Well then — my first work. My firstborn. What to name it?

I'd written it as an introduction to Kabukichō. The hundredth part of what I actually wanted to write — maybe not even that. Like a pro wrestling match where I'd decided in advance: only chops and dropkicks, nothing else.

Even so, this debut work — with my own past woven through it — felt like something precious. A nameless novel I'd brought into the world with my own hands. My firstborn.

Tomorrow I had consecutive days off — a good place to mark the end. I took a photo of the entrance to Hirasawa Building. No deep reason, but maybe I wanted to leave a record: this is where I first wrote a novel.

2004/02/04 Shinjuku Kabukichō — Hirasawa Daiichi Building

Back home, I printed the whole thing out on A4 paper — I wanted to read it in the form of a book.

Title — something with Kabukichō in it? No — think harder.

When I told people at home where I worked, I'd always said Shinjuku, not Kabukichō. So the first word should be Shinjuku.

The question was what came after.

Harumi had existed — and because of that I'd been able to keep going to the end without giving up. I'd always wanted to look good even where she couldn't see me. Even if it was meaningless……

From her, the association was naturally piano. I'd started piano so I could play Zanarkand for her.

First — let me try drawing something, using a photo of myself at the piano as the motif for a cover illustration.

One of the skills Bōzu-san had taught me. I launched Photoshop — the application software used by professional designers.

I wanted something dreamlike as a frontispiece. First I opened a photo of myself playing piano, created a separate new layer. I dropped the photo's opacity to half, and traced the outline slowly with the mouse. Zooming in on sections to work carefully, little by little……

When the outline was done I started adding colour. Not deep tones — thin colour, layered again and again, built up slowly. Painstaking work.

But even the cover illustration for a novel I'd written myself — I wanted to draw it myself.

I used distortion effects on the base photo to bend it into various shapes. Six hours of careful drawing.

Initial Shinjuku Crescendo cover design

Now — the title to go on top. What would it be?

Nothing came. Let me play piano for a change……

I played Zanarkand. I'd played it so many countless times by now that it came smoothly.

Clair de lune too — even if it's not finished yet.

"……"

No good. Maybe because I hadn't been throwing the same passion into it as Zanarkand — I stumbled partway through.

I hadn't been in contact with the piano teacher since that day……

It was my fault. The right thing was to apologise cleanly.

I decided to stop by Kukki's, first time in a long while. But what do I say? I fell to thinking on the way.

And then I walked straight past the door — and carried on toward Sweet Cadillac near Hon-Kawagoe Station, the bar I always went to. At the last moment I always turn coward — same as I've always been.

"Welcome."

The quiet master set the bottle in front of me without a word. I looked at the Glenlivet Twelve and let the things of these past months drift back to me.

Whenever things were hard, whenever I was sad, Glenlivet was always there, silently, beside me. No one to vent to. I poured a measure into the shot glass and spoke to it.

"I tried writing a novel. But the woman I love won't look at me, and I've disappointed my piano teacher…… I'm such an idiot, aren't I……"

"……"

"Still as quiet as ever…… Well. You're the one who understands me best."

Light hitting the green bottle, reflecting clean. I picked up the Glenlivet and looked at it for a long moment. In the curved glass I could see a fragment of the jazz bar reflected — and in it, the piano.

"I understand. When things are hard — play piano. That's what you're telling me, isn't it?"

I knocked back the glass in one go, called to the master, and played piano with everything I had. On the way home I went to stop by Kukki's — but the shutters were down, she must have gone already.

I drank too much last night. My grandfather woke me up and told me to go get the newspaper.

I dragged my heavy body up and went downstairs. Thank god it was a day off. Rubbing sleep from my eyes, I went to the post box for the newspaper.

"Hm……?"

Under the newspaper, a single envelope. Addressed to me. The sender: Kukki's. Why would the teacher send something when she's so close by……

I tore it open quickly.

'Eighth Annual Kukki's Piano Recital — Notice of Participation'

One sheet of letter paper inside. That was the heading.

Below it, the teacher's handwriting.

'It's been a while, Iwakami-kun. I hope you've been well. For the upcoming recital, I very much want you to take part. Clair de lune is almost there, isn't it. There's less than a month — come and show your face soon. I'll be waiting. Saitō Yayoi'

The teacher hadn't given up on me. I'd been the one mistaken, all by myself.

She still needed me — even now? Still thought I had something worth offering?

Clair de lune wasn't complete yet. The recital was three weeks away.

Even so, the teacher's feeling reached me.

It was as though a beautiful light had broken into a heart that had gone black and muddy. Not for Harumi this time. For myself……

Shall I try……

I'd think about what comes after once this was done. The faintest thread of hope. Still as easily moved by a single letter as ever — same as always, that's me……

For the first time in a long while, I went to Kukki's. The moment I walked in I bowed as deeply as I could. I was the one in the wrong — all I could do was apologise with everything I had.

"What are you doing standing there? Come on in."

The teacher was the same as always. She welcomed me with her warm smile.

"Sensei — will I make it in time for the recital with Clair de lune?" "You will."

"But……" "You're my student, aren't you? Have confidence. You finished Zanarkand in just four lessons. We have a little time left — let's work hard."

"Yes……"

I played through everything from the start as a review. The teacher watched with visible satisfaction, nodding along.

"You really were working hard without slacking."

She could tell just from the sound. She truly was my master.

"Sensei — one question." "Yes?"

"In piano terminology, is there a word that means 'getting gradually faster' or 'getting stronger'?" "There is. Accelerando. Or — crescendo."

Shinjuku Accelerando……

Doesn't quite flow.

Shinjuku Crescendo……

"That's it!"

Before I knew it, I'd shouted out loud.

"What is it, Iwakami-kun? That was sudden……" "Well — you see, during the time I wasn't coming to lessons, I was writing a novel……"

I explained everything to the teacher.

Self-printed copy of Shinjuku Crescendo

"So you were writing a novel? You really can do all kinds of things."

She said it with what sounded like genuine wonder — but it was only circumstance.

Self-printed copy of Shinjuku Crescendo

"Not at all — it's only because of the support of the people around me. Sensei, thanks to you I'm able to play piano, and the title of the novel — just now, I've been able to decide it: Shinjuku Crescendo. I can't imagine any other title fitting it better." "Is that so — that makes me very happy. Shall we carry on then?"

I was taught the remaining sections. As I understood it, Clair de lune has about eight distinct phases.

The seventh was like a slight variation on the opening. Unable to read music, my only method was the simple one — memorise it.

I worked through each section separately, playing on and on. Memorise them one by one — no other way.

Train the fingers to remember where each key falls, confirm it with the eyes. Check what the ears have memorised against what comes out.

Sections one through six I'd been playing so long I knew them until I was sick of them. Only seven and eight remained……

The teacher wouldn't take the lesson fee this time. I pushed back firmly.

"You know — I received last month's fee, didn't I? There are four lessons in a month, and Iwakami-kun only came three times. So this one is fine."

"But Sensei, that was because I——" "Then from now on, come to lessons properly. You can play Clair de lune properly if you work at it — I know you can."

"Thank you……"

That was all I could say. I couldn't waste the teacher's generosity. I was going to finish Clair de lune.

An unworthy student — finally getting the chance to repay her. I wanted to honour what she'd given me.

Until the recital, I would sharpen all five senses to their edge.

Back in my room, I sent Harumi a message — knowing perfectly well she wouldn't reply.

Still hung up, still clinging on. Can't help it. I'm still in love with her.

I wanted her to know that.

Sunday, the twenty-first of September…… My piano recital has been confirmed, at Shiyakusho Yamabuki Hall. It begins at four in the afternoon. The piano I started for you has come to this. Strange, isn't it. Iwakami Tomoichirō

I sent the message and lay down.

Right now I had only piano. I'd think slowly about what came next after the recital was done.

Sleep pulled me under, deep and complete.

— end —

*Translator's note: Sakura-dōri — a street in Kabukichō.
*Translator's note: In the flashback dialogue, Bōzu-san calls the narrator "Tomo" (his given name); he also calls him "Ryūichi" at the restaurant — this is likely the narrator misreading his own emotional state, or a manuscript-era note; preserved as written.
*Translator's note: Shinjuku Prince Hotel — a well-known hotel near Seibu-Shinjuku Station.
*Translator's note: Shiyakusho Yamabuki Hall — a municipal concert hall in Kawagoe.