“You wouldn’t happen to be for sale, would you?”
The voice came from above my head. The man I saw there was well-dressed, looking out of place in the icy February dawn at the construction site. He stepped into the dirt—more mud than dirt given the weather—in his fine leather shoes. I couldn’t even begin to guess at the price of his black slacks, yet he knelt down to meet my gaze. I had no real reason to care about him, but for some reason, I worried about the mud sullying his pristine white blazer.
Considering our surroundings, his careful movements felt awfully arrogant to me. His handsome face bore a fitting confidence. Completely unbothered by the wary stares pointed at him (mine included), he continued in a clear voice.
His gaze, now much closer than before, caught mine with its tactless frankness.
“I’d like to buy your—”
I thought his eyes looked like jewels. Those moonlike eyes, unblemished and striking, watched me with an intensity that made me want to flee.
His penetrating eyes, his voice, his smile, his very nature—I had always hated them, fearing them from that moment onward.
It was my first time seeing a three-story house.
That was all I could think about that day as I stood in front of his mansion. I didn’t want to leave room for anything else in my head, so I abandoned all other thoughts. I mean, his place had a larger footprint than my entire apartment building.
With completely white walls and a roof of the same hue, its beautiful appearance seemed totally unconcerned with potential maintenance costs. Somewhere far above, it seemed to have a spacious terrace... Or was it a porch? I noticed a table set above the wooden area, which jutted out from the large window on the first floor. Considering the footprint, there must have been a garden in the back.
Through a gap in the two-meter-tall front gate, I could see the front yard and its stepping stones that mapped a path to the building. Just getting to the front door was an entire journey of its own. Why? It was just the entrance to a private home. Who needed so much space?
I didn’t want to press the intercom button. Would a maid or butler come out to meet me? Having come in my dirty overalls from my construction job, I worried they’d shoo me away to keep me from ruining the white interior. But I had no choice but to press onward.
Even if this was a scam—or some human trafficking operation—this was the only hope I could cling to.
The man—or rather, the boy, since he had said we were in the same grade, meaning he had to be either sixteen or seventeen—had first appeared in my life that very morning. I had been working the graveyard shift, sitting on the side of the road with a few coworkers, taking a break while having my breakfast, when he’d walked up to me without hesitation. I had thought he wanted to ask me for directions, but he’d looked me straight in the eye as he asked me a question.
“You wouldn’t happen to be for sale, would you?”
When I sat there, too stunned to respond, he continued, “I’d like to buy your time—for two hundred thousand yen a month.”
It took me a while to process what he’d said. Even once I had, the meaning eluded me. It had to be a scam. Or perhaps he wanted me to sell something illegal.
Unconcerned by the fact that I had frozen in place or that my coworkers were steadily walking away—as if they were dissolving away—he simply said, “Do what I tell you and I’ll give you two hundred thousand yen a month.”
What does that even mean?
He continued explaining, unaware of his own incoherence as he thrust a piece of paper into my hand. On it was an address and the instruction to go there after work to speak with him.
It was beyond suspicious, but I wasn’t in a position to ignore it—not if there was a chance I’d make a killing.
Inhale, exhale. I steeled myself and pressed the button on the intercom. The response was immediate.
“Sakata Fumihiro-sama, we have been waiting for you. Please come in.”
I had yet to introduce myself, but the voice on the other side somehow knew my name.
I already hate this.
I got my loudly protesting heart under control and entered through the gate once it automatically opened. After twenty-three steps to cross the stepping stones and my ascent of the stairs, a set of double doors slowly opened in front of me.
Standing there wasn’t exactly the maid I had imagined; she was wearing a suit.
“Thank you for coming.”
A young woman with a kind smile curtsied at me. I recognized her voice as the one from over the intercom. Her polite mannerisms and gentle tone of voice invited me into the mansion without inspiring a drop of animosity in me.
I stepped into a pair of impossibly clean white slippers, wishing I could go home already.
After walking through the three-meter-long entrance hall, we passed through a hallway with paintings on both walls. It really did resemble the sort of “rich person house” you’d see on TV. Then we passed through a room that might have been the living room, judging by its size, and arrived in front of a closed door. When the maid opened it after a knock, the air carried the stirring sound of a piano.
I was no music critic, but I found the complex melody beautiful.
The grand piano had been placed in the center of the room. It wasn’t the sort of simple black piano you might see at school—it, too, was white, and it featured carvings of intricate patterns. The legs curled into snail shells, and the details extended to the piano lid.
On the piano stool sat the reason I was here at all.
“You really came!” he said with a big smile. He turned to me briefly, his fingers continuing their dance along the keys. I was impressed he could play without looking. He thanked the maid, told me to wait, and turned back to the piano so that he could focus on his performance. I sensed the woman exit the room, leaving us alone with the sophisticated melody filling the space. Not knowing what to make of this, I couldn’t help standing as stiff as a board.
He must have changed out of his clothes from earlier this morning into a white shirt. His perfectly ironed shirt was so pristine that it practically shone bright enough to hurt my eyes. Paired with his strange beauty, it was a sight out of a commercial for laundry detergent.
The man who had introduced himself as Nishikawa Kadzuki much earlier that day now sat there with the expression worthy of a carefree high school kid. Every time he glanced my way, he seemed genuinely happy to see me. Was he actually? I cast a suspicious gaze his way. The happiness was real at least, but its origins...?
Surely, he stood to gain something.
Ignorant of where my thoughts had led me, his performance continued. Suddenly, I heard something familiar in the melody. Searching my mind for what it might be, I frowned when I found my answer.