“But…,” Suzui protested.
“It’s just the nature of our relationship.”
“Huh?”
“It’s not really her fault. She acts that way because of how things are between us. Really, it’s fine.”
“It is?”
Jin had no obligation to defend the chief, and Suzui told him as much, yet the older man remained adamant.
“It’s not her fault.”
“Maybe it’s because you’re too nice to her.”
“You think so…?” Jin stared down at Suzui.
Dusk was coming.
The setting sun was more orange than before, and Jin’s face became too dark to make out when rimmed by the glow. A long, narrow shadow extended from his feet.
“Everyone has words they long to hear,” Jin began abruptly. His voice was so gentle.
“Huh?”
“They want people to say things to them like ‘It’s not your fault.’ They hunger for others to tell them, ‘You did the right thing.’ And when you satisfy that for them, they’ll relinquish anything you want to know. They place themselves in your hands.”
Yes. He was right.
That’s why everyone relied on Jin—the current chief and the previous one.
The current chief said the previous one had had a dependency problem with Jin. She was right. Other than Jin, the last boss had no one to accept and support him. Sato indulged in Jin’s approval, telling his superiors, subordinates, and even partner companies that he was always right. He became incapable of acting any way but superior.
It was wrong.
I want Jin to hear what I have to say, they’d think. And whatever it was, no matter how selfish or abusive, Jin took it all in like a black hole. He never criticized anyone. He never pushed people away or told them they were being repulsive.
Telling the previous chief those things might have been better for him. But Jin couldn’t because he was too kind.
It’s their fault. They don’t speak to him like an equal, Suzui reasoned. When Jin listens to me, we’re on an equal footing; it’s an actual conversation. But the section chiefs just blab at him nonstop. How can they keep talking about the most inconsequential things?
Mutsumi had raised this same complaint to Sato, so she ought to understand. Her falling into the same kind of relationship with Jin would be terribly ironic.
Mutsumi and Sato probably operated under the same mistaken assumption that Jin actually liked them. All he did was agree. In that sense, the section chiefs were kind of pitiful.
“Let’s go. We need to hurry,” Jin said. His face was still dark from the sun at his back. Suzui could discern only the frames of Jin’s glasses.
As he examined what little detail there was, Suzui couldn’t help but wonder, Did his face always look like that? What does he actually look like, again?
“Speaking of presentations and explanations, I think Section Chief Maruyama is quite capable at them, too. Her skills differ from yours, of course, but she can instantly recognize when people have trouble understanding, then addresses it with pinpoint accuracy.”
“Oh… Really?”
Something clicked into place in Suzui’s mind.
Aha. I see. Jin’s never been in the planning department, so he doesn’t know. Frustration surfaced in Suzui, and he had to dispel it.
“Sure, she seems capable of explaining things, but it’s only because she doesn’t understand the products. For example, knowing all the ingredients in an item means I know what not to say. Someone with a sales-only background might say anything to close the deal, which could cause issues later down the line.”
“What? Is that true?”
“Yes, it’s true. There are things I never say, specifically because I know them to be true.”
“I see, I see.” Jin nodded deeply. Although the sun behind him still masked his features, Suzui could tell he was smiling. “That must be why your presentations are so honest and forthright. Well, I can’t wait to see where you wind up. Whether you get sent back to planning or continue to rise in sales, I’m positive you’ll become one of the company’s elite workers.”
“Oh, I’m really not that special…”
Behind Suzui’s protest, his heart grew soft and warm. He regretted speaking ill of the section chief in Jin’s presence, though.
Jin was amazing. He hadn’t agreed with the insult or completely taken Suzui’s side, and he’d still managed to move the conversation forward without criticizing or contradicting anyone.
“Let’s go, Jin— Oh!” Suzui stopped as he got to his feet. Looking sheepish, he said, “The chief’s going to scold me if I keep calling you Jin all the time.”
It was Chief Sato who’d started calling him Jin around the office, claiming that it would help the much older man fit in with the rest of the team. Suzui thought it was stupid. A single nickname wasn’t going to make someone popular automatically. And Chief Maruyama had already made her opinion on the matter known.
“It’s not good for us to call him Jin forever.”
It seemed silly to try removing the nickname long after it had stuck, and Suzui was annoyed with the chief’s micromanagement. You’ve got the same values as the last guy. You’re just as old-fashioned as he was.
“Come on, Mr. Kanbara, let’s go,” Suzui said. Kanbara turned slowly, pointing his back away from the setting sun, which restored contour to his profile. His expression was visible again.
“It’s fine, you can continue calling me Jin,” he replied.
“Kan just sounds a bit awkward. What if we call you Jin instead?” the previous section chief had suggested with a laugh. That was how he’d come up with the nickname, by changing the reading of the first kanji in Kanbara to its alternate form. The memory of that moment made Suzui feel strange. He never liked Sato’s laugh, but considering how nasty and snide he became, the idea that he could chuckle at all felt distant. It nearly seemed fake. How was that ever the case?
Kanbara took a step in front of Suzui. “I’m very, very lucky to have the chance to work with you, Suzui,” he stated. “I don’t know anything about the planning division, so I’m sure I’ll learn a lot from you. You’re good at sales presentations and teaching people.”
If only he were the section chief instead, Suzui mused. Rather than a chief who goes home right on the hour, we could have someone who’s the proper age for the position and pays attention to my strengths. It should be him.
The setting sun was such a beautiful color. Suzui peered down at his feet and the shadow that extended sharply behind him. Then he took a step forward while watching his own shadow.
Beside him, Kanbara’s silhouette stretched, growing longer and longer still. It wavered, too, yet no one around them noticed.