“All right.” Now that the rough outline was clear, Tamuramaro had determined their strategy for moving forward. “Let’s make it a story of heroism,” he declared, grinning like a devious salesman.
“How?”
“I know a journalist who writes influential articles. We already have the evidence to corroborate most of the account you just gave us. Let’s have the Diet take the fall, not the roadside station. I’ll have the journalist write about misappropriating the funds from IR, but the people’s opinion of IR is largely negative right now. So people will take it as a hero’s story.”
Tamuramaro explained the general structure of the article, since he had already prepared the materials that would serve as a springboard for it.
“I think that’s the best way forward, too. There won’t be any lies in that,” Natsuki agreed with a deep sigh.
“Ms. Koudera, if we could have a comment from you as consulting tax accountant A, who’d been concerned about Chairman Odajima, that would be helpful.”
“Of course. That’s not a lie, so I’m happy to talk.” She nodded earnestly. “Even today, I was so worried I downed a shot of bourbon earlier.”
“You know, when Mr. Yamagata asked me to take on that investor relations project, I had no intention of embezzling the funds to build the roadside station. I just figured, if no one else was going to do IR, I’d do it. Though to tell you the truth, I thought they’d be better off getting some foreign capital, since Japan doesn’t have much money right now,” Odajima explained. He seemed anxious that everything was getting arranged so neatly. “IR’s funds are the country’s money, too, even though national sentiment doesn’t want them.”
“The nation is merely a box,” Tamuramaro said. “In a hundred years, everything in it will be replaced. We simply deal with what’s right in front of us—but who can say whether that’s going to make the box stronger or weaker?”
As always, he left much unsaid and didn’t assert any opinion of his own. Tamuramaro had learned the important lesson of not knowing long ago, Sora recognized.
“Never done time before. This’ll be a first,” said Odajima.
“You’ll have to stay in detention for a while, but as for the term, I’ll do my very best to secure a suspended sentence for you. All that remains is to decide who should be obligated to repay the debt.” Tamuramaro lost no time working out the next steps, suggesting that the subsidiary company could be the one to repay, since they were likely to yield a steadily growing profit.
As Sora gazed at Odajima, who would probably step down from the front line now, he couldn’t help but see him as a good leader of his people. “Wouldn’t you have been a good politician?” he asked suddenly.
“What’s gotten into you, young Sora? I did my own work, that’s all.” Odajima laughed. “You might look at me now and think I’m an old man who’s done a good deed. But I only did what I did because of the special measures law after the disaster, and I saw the places where everyone’s lives had been destroyed. That aftermath… Just one look at it would change anyone’s life.”
Odajima’s life had changed, and he didn’t consider it anything of his own doing.
“I’ve been doing this work for more than half a century now,” he went on. “I’ve let others take my shit, and some hanged themselves down the line. It doesn’t feel quite right to have things tied up in a neat bow, here at the end. I figured I wouldn’t be allowed in the Pure Land anyway, so I’ve done many deeds I’m not proud of in my time.”
“‘Even a virtuous person can attain rebirth in the Pure Land…,’” Tamuramaro told the obstinate Odajima, “‘…how much more easily a wicked person.’ Words from Shinran, a Buddhist monk from the thirteenth century. Most people are basically wicked. Virtue and evil live side by side in us. Is there anyone in the world who has only one or the other?”
“You talk like an old man for one so young, Mr. Tamura.”
“Buddha will take care of the rest. There’s only so much humans can…” Tamuramaro trailed off without finishing his sentence. “Well, you’ve done enough. I’ll call the journalist now,” he said instead, asking for Odajima’s confirmation to put his plan into action.
“Hmm.” Odajima twirled his fountain pen and looked around at the three of them. “I do think I’d better go to prison. If you ask me.”
“That’s up to Mr. Tamura’s abilities, so I’m sure you could do some time if he plays his cards right,” said Sora, just to comfort Odajima, though he expected that any penalty would be mitigated by extenuating circumstances. It was a half lie. Sora found it extremely difficult to lie, and that hadn’t changed, but he did his best.
“Virtue and evil live side by side in us. Is there anyone in the world who has only one or the other?”
“You could’ve told me that earlier…,” Sora muttered at Tamuramaro with a sigh.
“Hmm?”
Tamuramaro grinned as if he knew perfectly well what was on Sora’s mind, and Sora decided that he was as irritating as ever.
“Hmm…,” said Odajima.
“Is there anything else you’re worried about?” asked Natsuki. Her tone was gentler than any of them had ever heard from her.
“Hey!”
“It makes me uneasy when you’re so sweet to me, Natsuki.”
Natsuki laughed at Odajima’s quip, but Tamuramaro and Sora did not.
In late September, two days before the article about Odajima Construction and the post-disaster region was to be published, on the Saturday when North Station officially opened its doors, Fuuka’s dinner was authentic-style ramen, by his own request.
“Ramen’s always so yummy. I love it so much,” Fuuka said, savoring the aftertaste as he took out his notebook for his writing lesson with Tamuramaro. Sora was full of guilt as he listened, washing their bowls and porcelain spoons in the kitchen.