“Is it comforting? Anything wrong?”
Fuuka’s childlike quiet made Sora aware of his own anxiety. He tried to trace that anxiety back to its source and found an unpleasant memory there.
“Someone told me at work today, ‘You’re so sure you’re always right.’”
“You are always right, though, aren’t you?”
At Fuuka’s simple answer, Sora let out a long sigh.
“Well, I don’t think I am, Fuuka,” he said, as if he was explaining to a child, and stroked Fuuka’s bangs.
If Fuuka stays with me like this, that’s all I need. As soon as the thought crossed Sora’s mind, overwhelming dread gripped his chest.
“The tenant will be here soon.”
It’s for the best, to have someone else here. It has to be.
If a stranger lived with them, Fuuka might grow up more, and he might even turn into a human. If he did, then he would be sure to stay with Sora, and Sora would have nothing to worry about anymore.
“Why don’t we try living with them for a few days? And if it feels impossible…let’s sell the house,” said Sora. He felt bad for not talking this over with Fuuka beforehand, so he would be sure to do so before making another big decision.
The mediating company had already signed a contract with the new lodger. Sora picked up the unopened envelope with the paperwork. Under ordinary circumstances, he would never have left any documents he received unexamined, but the case at Daitokyo Bank had been unusually rough going thanks to that attorney hired by the opposition. Struggling to reach the stage of preparing a report, Sora had been neglecting his daily chores.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, Fuuka. The suspect who embezzled a huge sum of money brought in this attorney, and he’s been an absolute headache.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. At all.” Fuuka pouted and rolled around on the tatami floor.
Fuuka couldn’t go outside by himself. The only person he could be human around was Sora. So when Sora was at work, he couldn’t go for walks, and all he could do was stay home by himself. For Fuuka’s sake, Sora wanted a spacious house, at least.
“I should’ve picked some countryside town, but what little work I get is mostly from companies in central Tokyo.”
“Why’d you even go into law, Sora? I’m here for you whatever you do, but just wondering.”
Fuuka turned to Sora with a quizzical look. He didn’t understand what Sora did, but he was suddenly curious why his brother had studied law, taken the national bar exam, and chosen it as his profession.
“Who knows?” Sora laughed without answering and opened the envelope. Just as he was pulling out the papers, the doorbell rang. “I see they’re punctual. That’s a good sign.”
The credit company had called to tell him the lodger’s last name and that they would be arriving at six o’clock.
“Let’s say hello and make sure they know they’ll be living here as a lodger, not sharing our living space. Come, Fuuka.”
Sora stood up and prompted Fuuka to join him.
“Say hello? I’m gonna turn into a dog anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter. I’ll still introduce you as my family.” Sora took Fuuka’s hand, and Fuuka beamed.
Sora pushed the button on the door phone, certain that it was the new tenant. “Hi, this is Oushuu. I’ll get the door in a moment, so please come in through the gate next to the office.”
Fuuka got up and hugged his brother like a little boy, and they went to the front door holding hands. Though they were two grown-up brothers now, Fuuka would transform into a big white dog the moment someone else was in their presence.
Sora stepped down to where the outdoor shoes were kept, and after slipping on a pair of wooden geta sandals, he slid open the front door.
“Welcome. I suppose it’s a little too early to say good evening.”
There was a man standing in the doorway—but Sora and Fuuka were still holding hands. Fuuka hadn’t transformed into a dog.
“Hello, I’m Tamura, your thoroughly vetted new tenant.”
The man introduced himself airily, in a deep, calm, but somehow cavalier voice. He wore a well-tailored dark-gray suit, his jacket draped on one arm, and he had a sturdy build, with facial features that matched his physique.
“Tamura…”
Dumbstruck, Sora stared at the man standing there with a black suitcase.
“Aaargh! Tamuramarooo!!”
As human Fuuka screamed, the man gave an amused smile.
“You made somen with ponzu sauce and spicy sesame oil, fried summer veggies, and shabu-shabu pork? And with grated daikon radish, no less. Seriously…why so fancy?”
It was just past seven, and Sora, Fuuka, and Tamuramaro were sitting at the low dining table in the living room, having slippery-smooth somen garnished with everything Tamuramaro had just described.
“I can’t stop eating!”
Apparently, Tamuramaro was relishing every bite of the somen, special summer shabu-shabu style, which Fuuka had rustled up all by himself.
Tamuramaro sat on the front-door side of the living room, drinking a can of beer he’d brought in a cooler bag and enjoying the somen. Fuuka sat on the kitchen side, glaring at the man with a look of discontent, distrust, and disquiet.
“Such a pretty shade of purple, these eggplants. And they’re so juicy with the ponzu, Fuuka. Thanks for cooking, as always,” said Sora, sitting on the office side of the living room.
“I see, the little slits you made helped them soak up the flavor… You’re really something, Fuuka. Can’t get enough of the grated daikon and the chili sesame oil, or that tang of garlic. Since when did you turn into such an impressive cook?”
Though he was the same age as Sora, as his tenancy documents confirmed, Tamuramaro sang Fuuka’s praises like some older uncle. Sora did look younger than thirty-one; meanwhile, Tamuramaro gave the impression of a mature man at ease.
“Well, I don’t have anything else to do. I picked it up ’cause I wanted to make good food for Sora.”
“Fuuka even makes spicy sesame oil from scratch.”
“Wow, you’re all grown-up now… This goes great with beer. It would’ve been perfect after a good bath.”
“Go home when you’re done! Why’re you even eating with us anyway?!” Fuuka barked before Sora could say anything.
As manly as ever—to the point that it irritated Sora—Tamuramaro tugged his shirt open.
“You look like a grown-up, but you’ve got a rude mouth, Fuuka. Funny, isn’t it? You two were born from the same parents, but everything about you is completely opposite. Even your hair, black and white.” He swigged his beer, studying the brothers, and shrugged. “You’re like the black and white stones in a game of Go.”
“Sora’s mature enough for the both of us, so I don’t have to be!”
“Fuuka, what kind of reasoning is that?”
“But it’s true—you are!” Fuuka, still in his apron, tied his silver hair into a ponytail, leaned over the table, and glowered at the intruder. “I’m never gonna live with you, ever!! You’ve got no right to show up at our house! I never wanna see you again!! I thought we’d seen the last of you ages ago!”
“Fuuka, I don’t mind you watching TV during the day, but…” Sora sighed, guessing Fuuka must’ve picked up even more phrases from some violent TV series.
“But I like the drama.”
“If you can, watch some educational programs, too.”
“You think educational programs can teach him manners?” Tamuramaro cut in, looking incredulous. “You’re more like a mother than an older brother now. You studied at school, didn’t you, Sora? Don’t let the TV teach your brother.”
Sora wanted to make a biting retort, but no words came. Instead, he mustered up the courage to share with Fuuka something he should have shared long ago. Something he had failed to mention, even though he’d been meaning to for many years before Tamuramaro arrived at the doorstep that day.
“I have something to tell you, Fuuka.” Sora quietly laid down his chopsticks.
It was a little bewildering to see just how much Fuuka had grown—he wasn’t much different in build from Tamuramaro now.
It wasn’t just the size. Until just now, their first reunion with Tamuramaro in a long time, Sora hadn’t realized just how much Fuuka shouted out things that were completely different from what he himself was feeling.
“Again? What nowww?” Fuuka cried petulantly, facing Sora on his left. He could tell it wasn’t going to be anything good.
Sora knew how Fuuka felt about this man; they had left him behind years ago and never wanted to see him again. But he took the plunge and revealed the truth anyway.
“To tell you the truth, I saw Tamuramaro earlier this afternoon as well.”
In the fourth-floor conference room of Daitokyo Bank’s Mejiro branch, in a dark-gray suit, an attorney had irritated Sora with his display of superior composure. That attorney was, in fact, Tamuramaro himself.
“What?”
“And we met in court several times when I was a prosecutor.” Sora hesitated to go back even further, but he continued. “…And we were in the same cohort at university, too.”
He’d put down his chopsticks so that he could place his hands on his knees, and he sat upright, his legs folded underneath him. “I’m so sorry,” he said as he bowed to Fuuka.
“Whaaat?! You went to that school every day for years—you mean you’ve been together with him constantly all that time?! And even today? What the heck?!” The emotion in Fuuka’s voice was less anger and more sheer surprise.