Izakaya Series 5: A Single Seat and a Stool on New Year's Eve

The day before New Year's Eve, I received a LINE message from the master of my usual izakaya.

“Lupin, you’re coming on New Year’s Eve, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there.”

That was the extent of our exchange.

Neither he nor his wife ever send me messages without a reason unless I contact them first.
But at times like this, they reach out gently, at just the right moment.

They know that I am living apart from my family and that I don't go home even during long holidays.
Still, they never ask for reasons or pry into my business.
They treat me just as they always do, as if nothing were wrong.

I am so grateful for that.

New Year's Eve night.
The cold was severe, so I took the bus to the shop for a change.
When I arrived around 8:00 PM, the place was already nearly full.

The only spots left were a single seat at the counter and a stool.

The wife said,

“Lupin, would you mind the stool…?”

The way she said it was strangely natural and kind.
I wasn't treated with awkward consideration,
nor was I given any special treatment.

For some reason, this “rough treatment” felt very comfortable.

A sip of beer.
A bite of pork kimchi.
Another sip of beer.

It was just that, but I truly felt it was delicious.

Before I knew it, the shop became even livelier,
and time moved slowly, but surely.

And then, the countdown.

In reality,
“A year ending alone”
“A year beginning alone”
That was how it was supposed to be.

Welcoming the New Year in a quiet room,
listening only to the sound of the television.

But that night was different.

Thanks to the unspoken kindness of the owner and his wife,
I wasn't just a "customer,"
but was allowed to blend in naturally
as "one of everyone" there.
I was allowed to blend in naturally.

There was laughter,
the sound of glasses clinking,
and the conversations of strangers drifting into my ears.

That alone was enough.

As I was leaving,
I quietly handed over three sheets of paper.

Without saying much,
and without asking for anything more,
I simply said, "Thank you for everything this year," and left the shop.

Outside, it was as cold as ever.

I walked the long way home
all by myself.

Yet, strangely, my heart didn't feel cold.

Welcoming the New Year with everyone,
those encounters and that atmosphere
had certainly warmed my heart.

I think I will surely
remember that night
many times over.

It was a quiet,
gentle,
and unforgettable New Year's Eve.