“My name is Oushuu. Nice to meet you.”
When Sora looked up, he saw a heavyset man in a suit around his seventies, sitting at an old-fashioned wooden desk that brought back memories of a previous era. He was mid-laugh, holding a fountain pen in his hand. And on the guest couch, there sat another visitor. The visitor and Sora had just seen each other that morning.
“Tamuramaro! What are you doing here…?!”
“Hey, Sora.”
There he was, lounging on the couch in a black suit. Tamuramaro had been surprisingly faithful to the contract with the credit company, which stipulated that he should go to work every day.
“You know him?” asked Natsuki. “Mr. Tamuramaro? Or, um, Mr. Maro Tamura?”
Evidently, she wasn’t aware that Tamuramaro was Sora’s lodger, and Sora stood speechless, pinching the bridge of his nose.
“Hi there, Natsuki. This is Mr. Tamura, our prospective consulting lawyer. His name really is Tamuramaro, if you read it all together Japanese-style, isn’t it, Mr. Tamura? It’s quite a name.” Odajima gave a deep, booming laugh. Sora already wanted to go home and escape this chaos in the chairman’s office.
“My parents admired Sakanoue no Tamuramaro.”
“That so. Are they from Tokyo, your parents?”
“They’re from Nara.”
“Indeed. I’ve heard people from the northeast despise the sei-i taishogun,” Odajima joked; perhaps he was old enough to know and have an interest in Japanese history.
But Sora, who knew firsthand why northeastern people would despise the famous commander in chief, said nothing.
“I’m not surprised. It’s only natural they should hate him.” Instead of laughing it off, Tamuramaro answered with a melancholy smile.
“And who’s this? Quite a handsome young man. You look like a Kabuki actor,” Odajima said kindly. “Come—do sit down.”
“He’s my assistant. Still getting his business cards ready. And I can make him perform the Heron Girl dance if you want.” Natsuki laughed. The dance of the Heron Girl was her favorite scene in Kabuki theater.
“I’m sorry; it’s true I don’t have a business card at the moment, but I won’t do any dances. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”
For the first time in a long while, Sora felt like he was getting buried in a forest or carried down a river. Natsuki had struck him as the type to get overwhelmed, too, but he still sat obediently next to her and across from Tamuramaro.
Sora glared at Tamuramaro, silently demanding an explanation, but Tamuramaro went on laughing and pretended not to notice.
“Here you are,” said Miyaizumi, slipping back into the room and offering cups of tea to the newcomers with efficient ease.
“Thanks.”
“Thank you very much.”
Things like this gave a hint of the long history the company had.
“So you found an assistant,” Odajima remarked. “You’ve been dealing with our accounts all by yourself all this time, Natsuki, but it’s a wonder you could pull it off without a helping hand.”
Odajima was rather tall and broad-shouldered for his age, and Sora could guess that he’d started out as a hands-on worker in the construction industry. The fountain pen, which he absentmindedly toyed with as he spoke, looked vintage.
“I do have helping hands, though. I wouldn’t manage otherwise. I share the work with the office.”
“Well, it’s been a great help to us, since I found you just as our previous accountant was retiring. But the laws are changing all the time.” With a slight creak of his chair, Odajima swung around to survey the view from the top floor. “Maybe it’s high time we closed up shop. Oh, not you, Natsuki. My company. Well, me, to be specific.” He turned back to the room with a cheerful laugh.
“What are you talking about?! You’re still young!”
Even if the company was performing well, Sora thought Odajima was old enough to retire. He sighed a little, getting a sense of what kept a man of his generation in this position: encouragement and support from people like Natsuki. It wasn’t uncommon for business managers like him, from the days of the postwar economic boom, to stay in office well beyond retirement age, which often led to illegal practices in their account books. Some people of that era genuinely weren’t aware of more recent changes in the law.
“Oh, I don’t know, Natsuki. Let’s see, your glowing assistant hasn’t come here to dance the Heron Girl. And I bet he’s not a tax accountant. A prosecuting attorney?”
He’d hit the nail on the head. Natsuki didn’t say anything, but her face said, “What gave it away?”
“Why in the world would I bring a prosecutor here?” she said aloud.
“…Ms. Natsuki,” Sora whispered. “Chairman Odajima seems too much of a veteran not to see through me, so I have to confess. I actually used to be a prosecutor.”
“Mr. Oushuu! You should’ve told me that in the beginning!” Natsuki screeched.
“Er, should I do the Heron Girl dance or something…?” Sora suggested the only way out he could think of before her loud outburst made the situation irreparable.
Although he was determined to choose a new path, Sora couldn’t help but think it was an unfortunate turn of events that his first business partner in this fresh chapter should be Natsuki. He didn’t even have a clue who the Heron Girl was. Natsuki was on a completely different wavelength.
Maybe I’m not good with women, he wondered. It was rare for him to spend time with them. That might explain why this was so exhausting.
“I wouldn’t say no to that,” Odajima said with a laugh. “Anyhow, Mr. Tamura made an appointment with me the day before yesterday. Normally, I wouldn’t be interested in seeing any self-promoting consulting lawyers, but he asked me if I had anything troubling me.”
“Oh! Hang on! This handsome-but-totally-not-my-type Mr. Tamura… Gosh! He came to our office two days ago! I thought he was just passing by on his sales route, flirting with Miku!” Natsuki leaned forward and stared at Tamuramaro as her memory rushed back.
“Nice to see you again. I had a nice chat with Ms. Kawaguchi, your excellent tax assistant.”