Aterui had recognized the mark of fate, the burden in this figure. Now Sora understood who it was.
“Sora.”
“Not turning him back into a human being. Just into one. When I said I wouldn’t mind if he killed me…it was because I knew that would be the end of both of us.”
Sheath. Fuuka had said that was the first word he’d ever heard.
A sheath was made to catch the blade.
And the sword was Sora himself.
“But I think I would mind now,” Sora said. “Fuuka is my little brother. If I’m allowed to, I want to live with Fuuka, with people.”
Sora had journeyed for a long time, protected and nurtured by Tamuramaro, who’d made a promise with Aterui, who had in turn seen the burden of the fate on Sora. He had come to know the people of this town, and now he felt hope rising inside him.
I want to live side by side with people.
“If that’s your wish now, I would’ve thought your burden had been lifted.”
Tamuramaro’s words sounded reasonable to Sora, too.
“I wonder if Fuuka would ever kill without hesitation again…,” Sora murmured. After all, Fuuka had admitted it was impossible for him to stop. “Even though I don’t believe in it anymore.”
“…Believe in what?” Tamuramaro asked.
At his question, Sora lifted his eyes and looked straight ahead.
“That all the wrongs of the world reside outside myself,” he answered. In that moment, he was sure his eyes weren’t red. “That there’s only one true justice.”
At long last, with the care and help of many people along the way, Sora had come to realize what beliefs had been at the core of his heart. And that heart was capable of killing innumerable people all on his own. He’d come to this discovery in the small hours of the night after the anniversary of the death of a man who was, in all likelihood, his own father.
“Mr. Odajima. Just wow. You’re really something. A legend. You nincompoop.”
On a Saturday afternoon, a week before the grand opening of North Station, Sora, Tamuramaro, and Natsuki were gathered in the chairman’s room at the Odajima Construction headquarters.
“Now, you don’t hear ‘nincompoop’ very often in real life. Not even me, and I’ve been alive for over seventy years.” Unfazed, Odajima sat at his desk, toying with his fountain pen as usual.
“The things you do are so big, the thrill is killing me!” cried Natsuki.
She’d heard Sora’s explanation back in her office, and before they left to see Odajima, she’d downed a shot of bourbon as a pick-me-up.
“Slow down, Ms. Koudera,” Tamuramaro chimed in. “It was a really nice place, North Station. I saw the preopening. Old eateries that had no choice but to close up shop or leave town are back, along with cafés run by some younger folks, and they’re already attracting people from the surrounding neighborhoods.”
Tamuramaro had been itching to get up and move around, so he’d rented a car and gone to see North Station in person, as well as interview people from the construction department of the city hall.
“Wish I could’ve gone with you… I saw the website. I’d love to try that seafood set with some sake.”
Even before the official opening, the website was already thriving with vibrant, mouthwatering pictures of set meals and ramen and gelato made from locally sourced fruits. Natsuki had to resign herself to merely enjoying the food vicariously through the screen, and she was mad about that, too.
“I think your registration application will be approved. It’s attracted attention already, so if my estimate of the number of customers is accurate, there will probably be enough profit to pay back the debt very soon.”
Sora had done a provisional calculation of the flow of money based on the rough estimate of the construction fee and the initial funds from IR.
“That’s great news. I want to have some sake with that seafood set myself. I can’t wait to go,” Odajima said, swirling his fountain pen with a mellow expression, as if he’d already had a taste.
But Natsuki cut in fiercely, interceding as a devoted daughter would. “If you think you’re going there anytime soon, then you’ve got it all wrong!”
Miyaizumi brought them tea as they sat on the guest couches, same as last time. She didn’t seem much different from before—just a bit more worried.
“If you don’t mind, could you tell us the whole story in your own words?” Sora asked Odajima in a mild tone.
For a long time, Odajima gazed at the motley view of the city outside his twelfth-floor window.
“Do you know what they mean when they say shit rolls downhill?” he asked kindly, turning back to the three of them.
“Yes.”
“I do.”
Both Natsuki and Tamuramaro sighed and nodded.
“I’ve heard of the phrase, but I don’t exactly understand in this context,” said Sora.
“Well, we’re a subcontractor of major general contractors, too, and we started out as a much smaller company. We know what it’s like to take the brunt. But we were fairly quick to grow our company, and once we got big, we were in the position to let our shit roll down—our subcontractors, the subcontractors under them, and the manufacturers of the building materials that we order from.”
Odajima added that doing so hadn’t always been a burden to him. “To lower the price of the bidding, I’d ask our subcontractor to lower their personnel expenses or another company to lower the cost of the materials. If we couldn’t land the project even then, it was those small companies who’d have to find a way to survive the lack of work. Small companies can quickly collapse, so they have to lay off employees to survive.”
Looking back at all the things he had done and seen, Odajima continued telling the story as his own responsibility. “But you know, I just got sick of it somehow. I wanted no more of it. That’s why I made one of our subcontractors a subsidiary company for the time being and started work in the disaster-struck areas. We had the government’s budget, after all. We could use as much as we liked, and we could guarantee work to the people while pushing forward the restoration. There was nothing but hope—at least, that’s how I felt.”
“I…” Natsuki choked up. She had wished Odajima had never gotten involved in post-disaster projects.