Translation: Darkness 14 — The Painting I Offered to a Sex Worker

2026/03/06 fry
闇14：翻訳Cloud

Here's a message you can add below the translation:

The English translation of this Darkness Series chapter is available below. Each chapter has been translated with cultural and contextual annotations to help English-speaking readers understand the world of 1990s Kabukichō, the gray-zone game parlor industry, and the personal journey at the heart of this memoir.

Or shorter:

The English translation of this chapter appears below.

【俺】

まず翻訳英知（OS）を読んで次に闇14を英文にしてもらいたいけど、前章である13章を見本に見せようか？

【AI翻訳】翻訳家いらなくなるのでは？【各AI分析】

【Cloud】

はい、ぜひ見せてください。

13章を見本として確認してから、14章の翻訳に入ります。

【俺】

Translation: Darkness 13 — The Sister I Have Never Met

【Cloud】

13章の翻訳スタイルを確認しました。

文体の特徴を把握しました：

• 短文はそのまま短く

• 固有名詞＋括弧内注釈のスタイル

• 荒い口語・罵倒語はそのまま

• 時代背景を示すイタリック行が冒頭に

14章の原文を共有していただけますか？

【俺】

前の部屋で君に14章頼んだら、二回ほど会話を圧縮し始めて、二度ともできなくなってしまったんだ。
そのスレッドはyami03～13章まで翻訳できたんだけど、多分10章分ぐらいが今のCloudの限界なんだろうね。

【AI翻訳②】翻訳家いらなくなるのでは？【Cloud製作過程】

【Cloud】

なるほど、それは辛かったですね。10章分でコンテキストウィンドウが限界に達したわけですね。

今回は新しいスレッドなので、13章の見本を確認済みの状態でスタートできています。14章の原文を貼っていただければ、すぐに翻訳に入れます。

【俺】

闇　14（風俗嬢に捧げた絵画編）

【Cloud】

原文を確認します。
Read the source text for Darkness 14

原文を全部確認しました。では翻訳に入ります。
2個のコマンドを実行しました, ファイルを作成しました, ファイルを読み取りました

Darkness 14 — The Painting I Offered to a Sex Worker の翻訳が完成しました。

13章の文体を踏襲しつつ、以下の点を処理しています：

• 幼少期の虐待シーン：原文の断片的なリズムと恐怖感をそのまま短文で再現

• マドカのシーン：性描写含め検閲なし、原文通り

• 固有名詞：初出に英語注釈付き（クレアモール、湯遊ランド、ホームラン劇場など）

• 「シャブ」「トザン」「遅番」「番頭」等：文脈内で自然に処理

• 時代背景行：冒頭に Kawagoe / Shinjuku Kabukichō. 2002. Age 30–31. を付記

Darkness 14 — The Painting I Offered to a Sex Worker

*Kawagoe / Shinjuku Kabukichō. 2002. Age 30–31.*
 
The judo dojo master who had picked a fight with me at Sweet Cadillac — the time Misaki had been there with me.
With time on my hands, I had been thinking: I owe that bastard a debt to repay.
I asked my brothers Tetsuya and Takahiko if they knew anyone who did serious judo.
"You know the Kawagoe Aquarium in front of Renkei-ji? The three brothers who run it — the youngest one, Taa-bō, he got pretty far in judo."
I got in touch right away and invited Taa-bō out to eat.
Hosaka Tadahiro, nicknamed Taa-bō, was seven years younger than me.
"Aniki, you do martial arts, right? I've been thinking I'd like to give it a shot myself."
"I don't have any connections for that. More to the point — there's a judo dojo master, wears glasses, and..."
I described the old man who had been so rude that evening at the jazz bar Sweet Cadillac.
"Ah, the XX Dojo. That guy's got a bad reputation — always acting like he owns the place."
I gave him a brief rundown of what had happened.
Taa-bō shook his head in exasperation: "Judo and MMA really are completely different sports... I can see why you got angry, senpai."
What I wanted was to go up against one of the arrogant students from that dojo.
"I get where you're coming from, but if you just walk in there, senpai, it's basically bullying. And it'd have to be under judo rules."
"Fine. I'll buy a judo gi, and we'll do it by judo rules."
"How much judo experience do you have, senpai?"
"About what we did in high school gym class."
"I can see you've got the athleticism and the build. But this is reckless."
"I'll put in some real effort. Help me out, Taa-bō."
There happened to be a small tournament coming up, and I ended up going to train at Taa-bō's dojo.
The floor renovations at World One were still taking time.
The timing worked out perfectly.
Taa-bō taught me the basics of judo himself.
He was my junior, but I trained seriously.
He went on and on about how incredible my strength and speed were.
"If you'd been doing judo since you were young, Tomo-san, you'd have made it really far."
"Judo's only for now. I just need to throw that bastard from that dojo."
Something that genuinely impressed me when I actually tried judo was the weight of the center of gravity.
In pro wrestling, you jump and take your own fall. Do that in judo and you lose on the spot.
And with judo clubs at every school, the sheer number of practitioners is enormous.
Among all those people, the nationally elite athletes — one step from the Olympics — I could see they were monsters, every one of them.
There was one nationally ranked athlete at Taa-bō's dojo, and the man had a physique that was simply ridiculous.
190 centimeters tall, 160 kilograms — and not a round shape but a reverse triangle.
A build you don't often see even in professional wrestling.
He'd said he blew out his back and missed his chance — which meant there were people above him who could break even a monster like that.
The world of judo really does go deep.
 
Walking down Kawagoe's main shopping street Crea Mall (a large covered shopping arcade in central Kawagoe) in the middle of the day, a bicycle screeched to a halt right in front of me.
The moment I saw the face, a chill ran through me.
It was the woman who gave birth to me — the one I had cut ties with.
I hadn't seen her in nearly ten years.
This woman I'd run into for the first time in ages — she was glaring at me.
The scar beside my left eye began to ache.
Two wounds left from the abuse when I was small and helpless.
Trauma from the past, still vivid, rising up.
"Hold this."
She pressed the receiver of a toy telephone into my right hand.
Holding the body of the phone, she began stepping slowly backward, one step at a time.
Young as I was, I understood what was about to happen.
I understood — and I was too frightened to let go.
The receiver...
If I let go, I'd imagine what would be done to me afterward.
For someone still so small, that imagining was even more frightening...
The cord kept stretching, stretching.
Still I gripped the receiver, shaking.
I was terrified.
I didn't want to resist and get hit even harder.
The moment I thought the rubber cord connecting the toy phone's body to the receiver in my right hand had stretched to its limit, it slipped from her hands.
"...!"
Everything went black without warning and sparks flew.
I crumpled to the floor.
A burning pain blazing above my eye.
"Hahaha... Stupid. What do you think you're doing?"
I tried to get up and run, stumbling backward.
Then I stepped on a toy block, and a sharp pain shot through the sole of my foot.
A shove to the chest and I went down.
The memory of aikido class comes back to me.
Before training began: sit in seiza (formal kneeling posture), bow. Then close your eyes while seated, and the sensei would suddenly push you in the chest.
You must not fall.
The real purpose, apparently, was to train focus.
But a child back then wouldn't know that.
"What are you falling over for? Get up!"
I got up, as told.
Toy blocks were scattered across the floor.
She was picking some up.
"Don't move. Stand at attention and close your eyes!"
"Yes..."
What was she about to do.
My body was shaking, and I opened my eyes just the tiniest crack.
She was mid-throw.
A blue block struck me in the head.
I fell again.
"Don't make such a big scene about it!"
If I got up, the same thing would happen again.
I knew that, and I got up anyway.
There was no other choice.
She threw blocks at me again and again.
Maybe she's going to kill me.
That's exactly what I thought.
Then the door to the room flew open.
"What the hell are you doing!"
It was my grandfather.
Staring at her with eyes I had never seen on him before.
He had heard the commotion from downstairs and come to help.
In the middle of total darkness, it felt like a single beam of light had appeared.
I rushed desperately toward that light.
"Grandpa..."
As I instinctively moved toward him, a violent pain struck my back.
Slow motion as I pitched to the floor.
And then I saw it in front of my face — a fragment of a broken white block.
"Aah..."
I pressed my hands over my eyes and rolled on the floor.
Blood everywhere.
I have to get stronger, or one day she'll kill me...
After that, I have no memory.
 
She abandoned the three of us brothers on her own, walked out without even filing for divorce, started living with another man, and talked bad about our grandmother.
"If I'd raised you, you wouldn't have turned out such a fool."
Words that should never be said. I cut ties with her after that.
When my maternal grandmother in Nakacho passed away, I came straight from my job at Asakusa View Hotel (a hotel in the Asakusa district of Tokyo) still in my work clothes — not in mourning dress. She looked at me like I was filth, and wouldn't even let me offer a single stick of incense.
During the fire in Kabukichō (the 2001 Kabukichō arson fire, in which 44 people died in an entertainment building) she somehow had my mobile number and only called to confirm whether I was alive or dead.
Some time after that — running into her by chance in the street, and she glares at me.
What the hell is this person...
Don't flinch.
I'm not the boy who just stood there and took the hitting.
I chased strength. I got stronger.
What did I chase strength for?
Because as a child I thought if I didn't get stronger, she'd kill me.
No more flinching.
No more cowering.
I don't feel any fear.
I put force into my eyes and stared back at her.
It was daytime, so there were plenty of passersby — and gradually a small crowd gathered, watching us with puzzled expressions.
After a while: "That young one from Hiromu was being all high and mighty... Remember this!" — that was all she said, then turned on her heel and walked away.
Ten years out of nowhere — what was she suddenly angry about, that crazy woman?
"The young one from Hiromu" — was she talking about my senior Okabe-san?
A bad taste in my mouth that I couldn't put into words, and I went home.
 
That night I went to the neighboring Tonkatsu Hiromu (a tonkatsu restaurant next door to the family home).
Okabe-san was there, so I told him about running into her that afternoon and asked what she'd meant about Hiromu.
"Tomoichirō, I'm terribly sorry! Just wait a moment."
He bowed and apologized out of nowhere.
Without paying any attention to me standing there baffled, he went up the stairs to the second floor.
He came back down with Hiromu's proprietress.
When I heard the story: about a week earlier, Hiromu's proprietress had gone to Hara Sushi (a nearby sushi restaurant) and by chance ran into my mother and Nikaidō-san (the man she was living with).
For the proprietress, this was their first encounter in more than twenty years — since the time my mother walked out when I was in second grade.
"Tomo-chan, and Tetsu-chan, and Taa-chan too — they're all good kids, growing up well. You don't need to worry."
"Oh, I'm not concerned about that at all."
The proprietress was stunned by those words. They chatted a bit, caught up, and parted.
Then the next day, my mother suddenly showed up at Hiromu.
She asked Okabe-san, who happened to be there: "Is the owner in?"
A chance meeting in some other restaurant would be one thing.
But Tonkatsu Hiromu is right next door to my family home.
The proprietress found the situation very awkward, and had Okabe-san pretend she wasn't in.
Normally that would be the end of it — but my mother came back to Hiromu day after day.
So Okabe-san, with the proprietress's permission and using his own initiative, said: "I'm very sorry, but we've always had a good relationship with the Iwakami family next door — with Tomoichirō, his father, and his grandfather. It's not really my place to say, but it might be better if you didn't come to this shop..." — at which point my mother flew into a rage and stormed out.
When her blood's up she goes absolutely berserk — apparently that hasn't changed with time.
They'd been meaning to let me know, but between the proprietress and Okabe-san going back and forth, a week had slipped by — and that led to this afternoon's incident.
"Tomoichirō — I'm so sorry!"
Okabe-san, prostrate with apologies.
"Please don't apologize."
It wasn't Okabe-san's fault.
The problem was my mother's behavior, nothing else.
Even in places I can't see, people around me are still looking out for me.
 
The judo gi I'd ordered from Matsuzaki Sports — a junior of mine with a shop at the Nakacho intersection — was ready.
I'd had him make me a black belt even though I had no rank, and Matsuzaki handed it over with a puzzled look: "Iwakami-san, did you used to do judo?"
"Nobody's going to complain if I wear a black belt."
That was the kind of arrogant, full-of-himself state I was in back then.
 
Tournament day. My opponent was a student from the XX Dojo — the one I'd had the run-in with at Sweet Cadillac.
The moment the match started, I flew in and locked on a juji-gatame (armbar: a submission hold where the elbow joint is hyperextended across the opponent's body).
The dojo student slapped the mat.
Rather than stretching the ligament, I'd positioned my thigh as a fulcrum and pushed until the elbow was on the verge of breaking, then stopped.
"I don't know judo rules, so just say 'give up' so I understand."
Looking back now — I was pure arrogance in human form.
The XX dojo master glared at me from across the room.
At least I'd managed to restore some honor.
I'd stepped onto their home turf and started this judo match.
Severely disadvantaged as I was, I needed to win no matter what.
Next opponent: second-dan judo practitioner.
A complete amateur, I got swept off my feet over and over — barely keeping my balance each time.
When I got lifted into the air at just the wrong moment, my pro wrestling instincts kicked in and I started to take a fall.
If I take a clean mat fall here, that means I lose...
I spun my body at the last instant and as I hit the mat, my left elbow drove into my own ribs.
A dull sound.
That cracked a rib.
The pain made it hard to get up, but the referee spoke to me so I forced myself to stand.
"You! Are you all right?"
The referee watching me, face changed.
My opponent seemed to have noticed something was wrong with my body.
"It's nothing. Hey, let's keep going, man."
Even trying to go on like nothing had happened — I could see the fear in him.
He was clearly pulling back.
Biting through the pain, I grabbed him. Right arm pressing down on the back of his head, pushing downward.
I threaded my left arm through and tried to wrap my right arm around — he kept prying my arms open, desperately fighting it.
I forced both hands together behind his back with pure strength.
In judo and sumo, this is known as morote-gake; in pro wrestling, it's the double arm suplex position.
He resisted, dropping one knee to the mat.
I lifted with everything I had, arched my back, and hurled him with a double arm suplex.
 
"Ippon!"
 
I could see the referee's hand go up.
The pain was so bad I couldn't even stand up straight.
I struggled upright and managed to bow somehow.
Turning to leave after the match, the referee from before called out to me.
"I've been involved in judo for many years, but a match decided by a double arm suplex — first time I've ever seen it. That was something to witness."
A win bought at the price of a broken rib.
Pure stubbornness. That's all it was.
At the hospital, the doctor for the painkiller prescription offered suppositories.
I couldn't bring myself to put medicine up my own ass — so I just had to endure the pain and sleep curled in a ball.
With the broken rib, straightening out was impossible. Curled up was the only way.
By the time I cleared Final Fantasy X lying in that state, the World One floor renovation was finished.
 
I went back to work still wearing the corset around my torso.
A few more days and I'll be through it.
The rest had paid off — the bone seemed to be knitting faster than normal.
Yoshida, who I hadn't seen in about a month, told me his grandmother had passed away, so I handed him a 10,000-yen note on the spot — bare, no envelope — as condolence money.
I stayed on the late shift.
Second-in-command came Mikado from the early shift.
Short Yamashita.
New hires Itō Shigefumi and Sasaki Kensuke.
Same name as New Japan Pro Wrestling's (NJPW) wrestler Sasaki Kensuke.
His personality was badly warped.
New staff have no money, so I often took them out for food after shifts.
Sasaki had gone without a woman for a while, so I took him along to the sex establishment Channel 11 (a soapland sex establishment in Kabukichō).
A photograph displayed inside the shop caught my eye.
It was Midori-chan — girlfriend of Koyama, the staff member who had quit before the renovation.
Sasaki was about to request her, so I explained the situation and stopped him.
The next day I came in and Yoshida's family called to thank me for the condolence money — I was put on the phone.
They said a lot of appreciative things, but we worked together, so giving condolence money was just what you do.
Not that I needed anything in return — but Yoshida never did send a thank-you gift.
Midori kept dropping by World One even after Koyama quit.
I treated her like a little sister, looked after her, and when she lost, I'd time it to my break and take her out for a meal.
Sasaki eyeing her with a sleazy look.
"I might go to that shop by myself sometime,"
he muttered — and I got genuinely angry.
He seemed restless after work, so I tailed him — and he went into Channel 11.
I rushed in after him, slapped the hand he was about to use to request her, and said: "I'll pay for you today, so pick someone else!"
He couldn't seem to make up his mind, taking forever to decide.
I got called first, so I pointed at a random photo and told the staff: "For this guy, book that one."
Lately at work, Sasaki kept clutching at his crotch.
I told him to stop and he said it hurt when he urinated.
He went to the doctor — apparently he'd caught an STD.
After I'd told him clearly, he'd still gone after someone else's woman — God was punishing him for it.
 
Around this time, a salesman showed up with an envelope: "We're Ramen Bakaichimai (a newly opened ramen shop on Ebi-dōri, literally 'Ramen — Complete Fool for Life')."
Inside were ten free ramen coupons.
Apparently a new place that had just opened on Ebi-dōri (a street in Kabukichō), so I told the staff: "You can have a beer too, but spend real money when you go" and sent them on their meal breaks.
When Mikado came back, I asked how the ramen was.
"A place like that, free coupons are more than enough,"
he spat.
Yamashita and Itō came back from Bakaichimai and panned it the same way.
Only Sasaki was different: "It was pretty decent, actually."
Last, I went to eat there myself — Ramen Bakaichimai was nearly full.
Felt bad using the free ticket, so I ordered beer and gyoza too.
The ramen that came out — bad enough that I understood exactly why my staff had panned it.
Oval counter seating only — twelve seats.
And yet the staff was three in the kitchen plus five on the floor — eight people total.
A few too many, I thought — but it wasn't my place, so I kept quiet.
"Long time no see, Iwakami-san."
The managers from Shinjuku Prince Hotel were there too.
So they'd been scattering free coupons not just to shops like ours on Ichibangai-dōri, but to Shinjuku Prince Hotel as well...
Watching the register, nearly all the customers paid only with the free ramen coupon.
Almost nobody paying cash.
I had a feeling the place would fold — and sure enough, it was gone in less than a month.
Ramen Bakaichimai — a complete fool for life in name and practice.
 
During a shift handover, early-shift Ōkura was acting strangely flustered.
"Right then, Iwakami-san, I'm heading off."
"Hey, give me a proper handover. What's the rush?"
"It's just — the time..."
"Ōkura! This is work. Do it properly. You got somewhere urgent to be?"
"W-well..."
When I heard the story: Yoshida — recently made floor manager — had messaged him to come to Nakano after work, said he was drinking there.
"Iwakami-san, where do they sell pink Moët & Chandon Rosé around here?"
I told him probably Shinanoya (a liquor store) behind Koma Theater. I assumed someone's birthday party at home — but with Yoshida involved, I didn't ask further.
Next day, Ōkura came in looking miserable, so I asked.
Yoshida had taken a liking to a hostess in Nakano, apparently her birthday — and he'd ordered Ōkura to come after work and bring champagne.
Of course you can't just open a brought-in bottle at a hostess club.
The club said they'd charge 50,000 yen to open it, and Yoshida, who didn't have that kind of money, reluctantly backed down.
Ōkura was told to sit down and join — then at the end they split the bill, and he had to pay his share.
On top of that, Yoshida left without paying Ōkura back for the Rosé he'd made him buy.
Ōkura tried to stop me when I moved to go and sort Yoshida out.
"If he thinks I told you, Iwakami-san, he'll just find a way to make my life miserable afterward."
Watching Ōkura's face, looking like he was about to cry, I knew I had to do something about Yoshida running wild.
At minimum, Ōkura had been made to pay not just the champagne but an inflated share of the hostess club bill.
That's not something a manager does to a subordinate.
If I left this alone, it was only a matter of time before he found another victim.
I wanted to do something — but the late shift at World One was genuinely brutal.
All I could do was keep up with the work.
 
Late at night, a call came in to the shop from banhead Sasaki-san (the overall manager above the shop, senior to the floor manager).
"Oh, Iwakami-kun — you're good at games, right? I need you to get the Captain Crew and the Reindeer for me..."
I had no idea what he was talking about.
And the floor was packed full, we were slammed.
"I'll call you back later! I'm busy right now."
"Okay, sorry for calling when you're busy. Captain Crew and the Reindeer."
And he hung up.
Captain Crew and a Reindeer?
What the hell is that?
I asked Mikado. "Probably One Piece characters," he told me.
Come morning, Sasaki-san came into the shop himself.
He explained — he wanted me to win those two stuffed toys from a UFO catcher (crane game machine).
"You're good at that stuff, right, Iwakami-kun? I'll cover the money. Please — I promised my nephew."
Sasaki-san had done a lot for me.
After my shift, I headed to the game center diagonally across the street.
Playing the machine, I could tell the settings were extremely tight.
I'd aim the claw at the stuffed toys and they wouldn't even lift.
"I'll go break some bills,"
Sasaki-san said, heading to the change machine. I stopped him.
"This is impossible. We've spent 5,000 yen and nothing moves. Let's give up."
"I promised my nephew — I'll put up the money, please."
Sasaki-san absolutely wanted to keep his promise.
No matter how I reasoned with him, there was no sign he'd back down.
I called over a game center staff member.
"Hey, look — how exactly are you supposed to win this? The claw won't even lift it. There's no way to win, right? Put your money in and show me how it's done."
I leaned hard on him.
Right beside me stood Sasaki-san — bigger build than me, punch perm, tattoos up to the wrist.
The staff member in glasses was shaking as he opened the glass door and held out the Captain Crew stuffed toy.
"H-here you are..."
"I'll pay — but I'd like that one too."
When Sasaki-san said that, the glasses guy picked up the Reindeer as well and handed it over, still shaking.
I felt bad for the staff member — but the machine's scam-level settings were to blame.
Sasaki-san went home satisfied.
 
I got a call out of the blue from Tomita — a fellow recruit from my Self-Defense Force days.
We'd been eighteen when we split up — me heading to Hokkaido, him to Takada — and hadn't been in touch since. Twelve years.
"Where should we meet? Can you come out to Shinjuku?"
"Actually, I live near Sayama-shi Station right now."
"Then I'll come to Sayama?"
I took a day off, heart lifting at the thought of seeing an old friend after so long.
In the evening I left home and arrived at Sayama-shi Station (a station in Sayama City, Saitama Prefecture).
When I messaged him, he said: "I'm five minutes on foot — just buy some prepared foods and stuff at the supermarket in front of the station and come to mine."
Strange, but I filled two large shopping bags with food and drinks and headed to his apartment.
I rang the intercom under the nameplate that said Tomita.
His wife came to the door.
"Nice to meet you — I'm Iwakami, we were in the SDF together. I brought a few things, if you'd like..."
Halfway through my greeting, his wife turned away without a word and disappeared inside.
"Ah..."
Did I do something wrong?
I stood frozen in the entryway, and then Tomita appeared, pulling me inside: "Come on up."
Once in the room, I asked quietly: "Is your wife okay?"
Tomita — always the easygoing type — said only: "We had a bit of a fight. Never mind it," and left it at that.
Don't invite people over when you're in that state, I thought — but I let it go and we caught up.
"So what are you doing for fun these days, Iwakami?"
"Mostly horse racing. I burned through a ton of money on that. Occasionally jazz bars, hostess clubs... Looking back, I really haven't spent it on anything worthwhile."
"Me too — the other day at the velodrome (competitive cycling racing), I..."
At that moment the door flew open, and his wife stood there clutching a long body pillow.
"You — you just blow money on stupid things, while I..."
Without a glance at me standing there dumbstruck, she started beating Tomita with the pillow.
"My friend's here. Stop it..."
pathetic Tomita.
I soothed the wife, managed to get her to go back inside.
He clearly doesn't hold his own with her at home — but this was going too far.
When the storm finally passed, Tomita checked that she was gone and crept back out.
"She's a nurse, right — earns more than me, so..."
"Never mind. Let's go out for a drink. Come on, hostess club."
He'd been caught like that on a first meeting after twelve years.
"I've actually never been to a hostess club... And I don't have money..."
"Doesn't matter. We're going to Kawagoe right now. Hostess club."
I wanted to cheer up an old comrade.
I practically dragged Tomita out and toward the station.
We arrived at Hon-Kawagoe Station and went to the hostess club "Success" where Misaki worked.
Naturally I requested Misaki.
Five hostesses were waiting, so I put all of them with Tomita.
I ordered a fruit platter and pushed it toward him.
Not just both hands full but surrounded on all sides by women, Tomita stretched out his neck like a cartoon and kept saying "Hostess clubs are great!"
He had a family so we couldn't stay too late.
Three extensions, and the bill came to over 200,000 yen.
It cost money — but catching up with an old comrade after so long was genuinely good.
"Take better care of your wife."
I saw him off to the station and returned to my daily life.
 
Hayashi — the Champ staff member who had left to go yakuza.
His younger brother had started coming to World One.
Riding his older brother's rep, he had an enormous attitude.
Coming in for my shift and getting changed, I heard a loud "Oiii!" from the floor.
I stepped out and Yoshida said, pulling a face: "That guy's here again."
"How much has he spent?"
"Not even 100,000 yet."
At that moment, "Oiii!" — Hayashi's brother raised a 1,000-yen note.
I held Yamashita back as he moved to go change it in, and walked over myself.
"There are other customers here, so could you ask normally?"
"Huh? I am being normal."
Glaring at me, trying to intimidate.
I crouched down right there and glared back: "If you were being normal, I wouldn't be saying anything."
"You know who my brother is, right?"
"Yeah, I know him — Hayashi-san. Go ahead and tell him. Tell him you want to start trouble with Iwakami."
Every other customer had turned to stare at the brother.
"My brother's yakuza, you know?"
"So? Make sure you give him the full report. Tell him: at the World One where Iwakami works, I was acting up and he told me off."
"D-don't push it!"
Looking embarrassed, the brother got up and left.
"That was satisfying to watch."
Customers praised me.
Working game parlors, you did get the occasional customer like this who had the wrong idea.
 
I heard from banhead Sasaki-san that Kubota — the former sumo wrestler who had been at Champ — had been fired.
After my shift, I went to find out what had happened.
According to Hara, loan sharks had been showing up at the shop almost every day.
Kubota had gotten involved with tōzan (a high-interest illegal loan: typically 30% in ten days) and that was why he got fired.
Why push it that far for shabu (methamphetamine)...
But that's what being a shabu addict means.
It's not a question of whether anyone can save you anymore.
Iizuka — a staff member who had joined Champ after I left — said: "Iwakami-san! Iwakami-san, I'll do you a one-point tattoo for 20,000 yen" every time we met, same line every time.
Apparently he'd been a tattoo artist under some famous master.
Tattoos and ink held zero interest for me, so I brushed him off each time.
I was worried about what was happening with the fired Kubota — but I knew he was in a territory I couldn't reach.
 
It seemed a sex establishment had unusually opened in Kawagoe, a straight-laced town.
It was close to home, which made it awkward to go in — but I was very curious.
A health shop on the third floor of a building past Yuyū Land (a spa facility), along Sunrōdo.
I used a day off to go check it out.
I looked around in every direction before going in — I must have looked extremely suspicious to any stranger passing by.
I requested a girl called Madoka — cute type, big chest.
In person she was better than the photo.
Partway through the session, I pressed myself between Madoka's legs.
"D-don't! Full service is not allowed here."
"Just the tip."
Saying that as I moved closer, Madoka let out a loud voice and began to react.
I pushed slowly inside.
Madoka's chest heaving with each movement.
Before I knew it we were fully having sex.
Madoka taking me in without a word.
In less than five minutes, I came.
First time in my life.
I'd lost count of how many women I'd slept with, but I had never been able to finish properly.
I knew then I had to have this woman.
"Madoka... would you go out with me properly? You don't have to do this kind of work. I'll work hard and take care of us."
I said it seriously. Genuinely.
Madoka thought for a moment and then spoke.
"I'm... a yakuza guy's woman."
"A yakuza can't make you happy. So break it off. I'll make you happy."
At those words, Madoka started crying.
I stayed quiet and lit a Seven Stars (cigarette brand).
"Um... I'm really glad... but my boyfriend... he's in prison right now."
She spoke haltingly.
"Even more reason. Leave a man who ends up in prison."
"This is my first time doing this work... When he went in, I decided to wait for him... I made up my mind and entered this industry... So I'm sorry... I'm genuinely happy... truly happy that you said that..."
I didn't want to give up.
But I thought about how she felt too, and decided to go home for today.
From that encounter, Madoka was all I could think about.
Even at World One, I was somewhere else.
I cut some spare styrene foam board into a suitable rectangle and started painting on it with Posca markers during work.
Why I painted what I painted, even I couldn't say.
In my head I pictured myself standing alone in a dark grassland — and I turned that image into a painting.
There was transparent cling film at the shop for work use, so I sealed the painting airtight against it, protecting it from water.
"Iwakami-san, you can paint? What's that all about?"
Yamashita leaned in and asked.
"None of your business. Hey — table one is calling for a change-in."
I scrambled to cover myself.
A strange restlessness.
That same day I stopped by the sex establishment on my way back to Kawagoe.
"What's this?"

Madoka was genuinely delighted by the painting.
I went to the establishment almost every day and held her, day after day.
Gradually working my way toward her, a little at a time.
For all those women I'd been with and never been able to finish — with Madoka I came every single time.
Was it desire? Was it her heart I wanted?
Carrying that tangled feeling, I kept making paintings — just for that.
"Hey, Madoka. I know your stage name and real first name are the same. I also want to know your surname. And your number."
"Hmm... wait a bit on that... You're the only one I let in every time you come... I made up my mind to wait for him and then started this work, and yet... You can have my number though. Let's exchange."
Her own struggle.
But I could feel something shifting inside her.
"Okay. I won't push any further today. I'm going to keep painting for you, and come here as often as I can and hold you."
There was no composure in me at all.
But I wanted to appear calm in front of her.
Just let the ice melt slowly.
Don't rush it.
I whispered it to myself inside.
 
Back when my mother still lived in the house.
She forced me into eight different lessons.
Piano, calligraphy, painting class, swimming school, cram school, gymnastics, aikido.
At the time I had so much on my plate I barely remember any of it.
But what you learn as a child stays with you at thirty, apparently.
Painting again, I could feel that for myself.
Madoka was happy to receive my paintings.
The irony of it — the person who gave me those skills was my mother.
Back then, before she walked out, she had her own hopes for me.
Now, beyond repair for both of us.
The only lesson I kept up after she left was piano.
Only because the teacher always listened to my complaints and spoiled me.
I think back to when I went to see the piano teacher after finishing high school.
Why had the teacher's family looked at me like something dirty and told me to stay away?
That family had been so kind to me...
No matter how many times I've thought about it, I still can't understand it.
 
Any day now, Madoka would fall...
Being genuinely in love with a sex worker and seriously trying to win her over — the only person I could tell was the chiropractor at TBB Sogo Seitai (a chiropractic clinic near the narrator's home in Kawagoe).
Two days had passed since then.
I wanted to give Madoka time to think.
Tomorrow, after work, I'll stop by on the way home.
I wanted to hold her with my own hands.
I arrived in Kawagoe and headed toward Madoka's shop.
Something was off.
There was always a signboard at the first-floor entrance. It wasn't there.
I took the elevator up to the third floor.
The shop had no signs of operation at all.
Embarrassing as it was, I asked around among people I knew in the area — keeping it vague, acting like I'd just heard a sex establishment had opened in Kawagoe.
Sakurai-san, who had just taken over as manager of Homerun Gekijō (the movie theater directly across from the narrator's family home), knew.
"That place got raided by the police yesterday. The building past Yuyū Land, right?"
"What — raided?"
"Some of the girls apparently escaped across the neighboring rooftops."
"..."
I shouldn't have tried to play it cool.
Madoka had certainly been arrested.
And the shop.
I had her mobile number.
I tried calling on the off chance — but the phone was off. Confiscated by police, probably.
To visit her at the police station I'd need her real name — which I didn't even know.
From that day, without ever being able to reach her again, it ended with Madoka.