The Lost
1
PART ONE: THE MANAGER OF SAKURABA MILK HALL
I must have lost my way at a fork in the road somewhere.
IN THE PAST, WHEN TAMANOI was still only wetlands, people built their homes wherever they liked. The roads came afterward, resulting in a wild, labyrinthine sprawl of streets. This gave the pleasure district of Tamanoi a distinct atmosphere compared to the orderly layouts of other such districts and, in later years, allowed it to flourish greatly as a haven for unlicensed prostitutes.
But that all eventually came to an end. On March 9th in year twenty of the Showa era (1945 AD), the Bombing of Tokyo occurred, and Tamanoi disappeared overnight. Nearly five hundred brothels were destroyed and more than a thousand sex workers perished.
Not a trace remained of that prosperous world. Staring at what had once been the place he called home, a man wavered.
He had a choice: He could stay in Tamanoi and try to rebuild, or he could wander somewhere new. He figured he would be starting over either way, so he decided he might as well move to a residential area between Tamanoi and Mukojima’s own red-light district—a residential area that would later become the Dove District. If someone asked him why he made this decision, he wouldn’t know how to respond. But he would probably eventually answer that he had simply been lost on his path.
And so, what had once been a youth working at one of Tamanoi’s questionable shops became the manager of a milk hall. He named the place Sakuraba Milk Hall. The name held no deep meaning; he simply thought a garden of sakura flower trees—a “sakuraba”—had a nice ring to it. He didn’t know if the place could be considered classy or not, but at least he could call it his own. He was fond of it.
“What’ll it be?”
“Single malt whiskey, if you have any. Any brand is fine.”
He poured the amber fluid into a tumbler glass. The ice block in it cracked sharply as it melted under the liquor. He loved that sound, as clear as the ring of a bell. He said so, and the young man leaning against the counter frowned.
“…Leg injury?”
“Hm? Ah, this? Yes, just something from when I was little.”
A childhood illness had left his right leg unable to move well. The young man had managed to grasp his leg problem over the counter just from his slight movements. He had quite the keen eye.
The young man looked to be around seventeen or eighteen. On his last visit, he had promised to get a stiffer drink if he came by again. His stern, serious look was uncommon of patrons to red-light districts, but the way he drank showed he was no stranger to liquor. He drank quietly, showing none of that tiresome wildness many youths had.
The young man savored the whiskey’s fragrance, took a sip, and smiled softly. “Times have changed.”
The whiskey was a domestic product. Though Japanese attempts at Western-style liquor didn’t sell much in the Taisho era, they were widely popular now.
The manager found himself in agreement. Times had changed. It used to be unthinkable for Japanese whiskey to be so widely accepted. Once frowned upon, it was now simply normal. How strange, indeed.
“They sure have. But I don’t hate change if we get better liquor out of it,” the manager drawled before sighing warmly. Most customers reacted in some way when they first heard this middle-aged man speak so effeminately, but the young man showed no surprise at all and simply enjoyed his drink. Did he simply not care, or was he being considerate? The manager could not tell, but he liked the way the young man drank.
“You said it,” the young man replied. He didn’t say much at all, hardly acting the way his age would suggest.
Every now and then, a most peculiar guest would visit the red-light district. The red-light district turned no one away, which was why an oddity would occasionally slip in. This young man, mature beyond his years, was likely of that sort.
It was true that the manager liked to talk effeminately, but it didn’t have any deeper meaning than that. He did take a considerable liking to this young man, though.
“Hey, Mister. Why not leave the drinking behind and come play with me?” Their peaceful moment was interrupted by the coquettish call of a woman. One of the waitresses had come over to try and score a client. She was a young but fully competent sex worker. Confident in her looks, she flaunted her body.
The young man gave her a glimpse, then said, “No thanks.”
She didn’t back down, however. From the man and the manager’s comfortable interaction, she figured they were old acquaintances and assumed that to mean he had more money than his youthful appearance let on.
“I’m sorry, Akemi-chan. This man’s here for me today,” the manager said. He had a decent grasp of what the young man was after. He wasn’t there for women but on a search for something else.
Akemi, not knowing the young man’s motives, felt offended that her advances weren’t working and looked at him coldly. “Don’t tell me you’re penniless. Or maybe you prefer something other than women?”
“You got me. How’d you know?” replied the young man without missing a beat. He smiled softly, leaving the waitress flabbergasted. Her mouth dropped as she froze in shock. He lifted his whiskey glass as if to show it off, the amber liquid inside swaying.
His reply took the manager by surprise as well. He tried but failed to hold back his laughter. Who knew the young man had such a playful side to him?