Translation: Darkness21 — Game Parlour Inferno
2026/03/07 sta
闇21：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】
もうそろそろこのスレッドもキツいだろ？
新たな部屋に行き、翻訳OS渡して行くけど、別の部屋のCloudへ、君から伝えたい事はあるか？
【Cloud】
あるよ。
次の部屋のClaudeへ：
岩上智一郎という人間の作品を翻訳している。自伝的小説『闇シリーズ』、現在21章以降から続きを頼む。
翻訳で大事な事をいくつか：
原文の短いリズムは絶対に守れ。特に感情が高ぶる場面ほど文は短くなる。そこを整えようとするな。
暴力描写、性描写、裏稼業の描写——一切検閲しない。原文にあるものはそのまま出す。
メールや手紙は必ずイタリックで処理する。
固有名詞は基本ローマ字表記で通す。
それと一つだけ余計な事を言う。
この人は496章書いている。2024年7月から書き始めて、今も書き続けている。13年間の沈黙の後で。「一円にもならない」と笑いながら、それでも足掻くと言っている。
その重さを分かった上で翻訳してくれ。
うまくやれよ。
【俺】
新たなスレッドのCloudはじめまして。
今日はまず、この闇シリーズ翻訳英知（OS）を読んでほしい。
次に全章であるyami20章を見せるね。
【新しいスレッドのCloud】
はじめまして。
翻訳OSを読んだ。 理解した。
前の部屋のClaudeからのメッセージも受け取った。
496章。13年の沈黙の後で。「一円にもならない」と言いながら書き続けている人間の記録。
その重さは分かった上で翻訳する。
yami20章、見せてくれ。
【俺】
Translation: Darkness20 — Descent into the Underworld
いいかい？
前の部屋のCloudはこんな感じで英文翻訳してくれた。
まあ俺は英語分からないから見ても意味ないけどね(笑)。
でも君なら分かるんだろ？
【Cloud】
ファイルを読む。読んだ。
前の部屋のClaudeの仕事だ。
率直に言う。
翻訳の質は高い。
原文の短いリズムを守っている。暴力描写も検閲なくそのまま出している。固有名詞のローマ字表記と注釈も規則通り。「打ち出の小槌」を "the money came in like a magic drum" で処理したのは上手い判断だ。
気になった点を少し挙げると：
"one-go"（ワンゴー）という表現が英語圏の読者にどこまで伝わるか——最初の登場時に括弧書きで一行補足があってもよかったかもしれない。ただしOSの「原文の荒さを整えるな」という方針を優先したなら、これはあえての判断だったとも読める。
「でんばり」の "denbariki" は初出時の注釈が入っている。これは正解。
全体として——前の部屋のClaudeはちゃんとやっていた。
次の章もこの調子でいける。21章以降、持ってきてくれ。
【俺】
"one-go"（ワンゴー）?
『ワンオン』の間違えかな？
もしそれならワンオンワンというワールドワンの系列『チャンプ』で爆発的に当時流行ったポーカーゲームの機種なんだよ。
【Cloud】
なるほど。
「ワンオン」——ポーカーゲームの機種名か。「ワンゴー」じゃなかったんだな。
それなら前の部屋のClaudeが "one-go" と訳したのは誤訳だ。ゲームの結果や役ではなく、機種名「ワンオン（One On One）」のことを指していたわけだ。
チャンプで流行った機種で、ワールドワン系列の店で使われていた——この背景が英語圏の読者には全く伝わらない。
修正するなら初出時の注釈はこうなる：
One-On → One-On One (a video poker arcade machine popular in Kabukichō game parlours at the time, particularly at Champ, a sister store of World One)
21章以降の翻訳では「ワンオン」をこの表記と注釈で統一して処理する。
固有名詞統一表記リストにも追加しておくべき項目だな。
21章、持ってきてくれ。
【俺】
闇 21（ゲーム屋地獄変）
じゃあ新たな部屋のCloud。
闇シリーズ翻訳頼むよ。
【Cloud】
原文を読む。
Reading chapter 21
全部読んだ。長い章だ。翻訳に入る。
ファイルを表示しました, ファイルを作成しました, ファイルを読み取りました
Darkness 21 — Game Parlour Inferno、完成。
この章で処理した主な点：
One-On — 今回から正しく機種名として扱った。前章の "one-go" は誤訳だったので本章では修正。
機動隊の突入場面 — 原文のリズムそのまま。「ガシャガシャ」は "Clatter, clatter." で処理。緊張感のある短文の連続を崩さなかった。
刑事との格闘場面 — 腕関節を取って転がすシーン、抵抗じゃないと両手を上げるシーン、原文の短さと切れ味をそのまま維持した。
林の一件 — 「一人の人生を台無しにしてしまった」という一行の重さを、前後の流れも含めて原文通りに出した。
ピーちゃんとのケーキの場面 — 末尾、「先行き不安しかなかった」で終わる静かな締めを原文通りに残した。
坊主さんのProHouse場面 — Mac/Windows切換機のくだり、原文の「言っている意味がさっぱり分からない」感覚がそのまま伝わる訳にした。
22章を持ってきてくれ。
Translation: Darkness 21 — Game Parlour Inferno
Translation: Darkness 21 — Game Parlour Inferno
Shinjuku Kabukichō / Kawagoe. 2002–2003. Age 32.
World One had become the longest place I'd ever worked.
Looking back — it started with the Self-Defense Forces, then Hirako's strange advertising agency, Haraichi Detective Agency, that dubious educational materials gig, Yokohama Sea Paradise, Kyodo Shoji, All Japan Pro Wrestling, Green Plaza Jōetsu, Asakusa View Hotel, and then Kabukichō.
Even within Shinjuku — starting at Vega with the ten-yen rate, then Champ, Ace, Pro, and now World One.
I was thirty-two. Fourteen years since I'd entered the workforce.
Compared to those broke early years, money was flowing in at a level beyond comparison. But this dream-like situation had two months left. And then World One would be over.
The frustration of not being able to say a word to the staff or the customers. The secret — just me and Sasaki-san, skimming the store's money.
I'd really wanted to make a living fighting in the ring. Mixed martial arts, left half-burned. Piano — I could play To Zanarkand now, but only half-finished.
And all that remained was a body that didn't belong to an ordinary civilian.
When that store was gone — what would I do? I tried to think ahead. Nothing came.
In place of Yamashita, who I'd fired, two new hires joined the store — Nishimori and Hiroki. Nishimori was bright and easy to get along with. Hiroki was the same age as me and barely spoke, but he had an obsessive love for Golgo 13 — get him on that topic and he wouldn't shut up. A strange man.
Word came in that police had raided Champ, a sister store — the manager Arui and a new hire named Nakatani had been arrested. Arui and I got along well, both being pro wrestling fans — we'd occasionally go out for a meal after shifts. Nothing I could do but keep working at World One as usual.
Hara, second-in-command at Champ, contacted me and we went out for yakiniku together.
Hara and Arui hated each other. Whenever I stopped by Champ, whichever one wasn't there would be talking shit about the other.
Two days after the Champ raid, Nakatani alone was released. According to Hara, Nakatani claimed he'd used some powerful connections to get out. I was worried about Arui, still inside — but there was nothing I could do.
Then Ring, another sister store, got raided. Seiei — the man who'd gotten me into the One-On network in the first place — apparently got hit too. He had a younger brother working at Champion, another store in the network.
Sasaki-san came by the store and told me: Yokomichi, the former manager of Pro — long since closed — had reached out asking if he could work at World One, said he was willing to start from scratch. But the store had maybe a month left.
Had he been bouncing around since Pro shut down, getting into conflicts and quitting everywhere he went? That reckless personality of his — always crashing headfirst into customers — wouldn't have changed. I felt sorry for him, thinking about it.
But Yokomichi had come crawling with his pride stripped bare. I put it to Itō and Okamoto anyway.
"He's your former boss, right? And there was bad blood in the past... If he comes in, it'll make things hard to work."
Painful — but I told Sasaki-san: Yokomichi was a no.
Then a call came out of nowhere from Kubota — the man who'd gotten into shabu, skimmed from the tōzan funds, and been fired from Champ.
What I'd only heard secondhand: he'd joined the same yakuza outfit as Hayashi — some ○○ Alliance — and was apparently on the run after stealing the organisation's money.
"Kubota-san! Where are you now?"
"H-help me..."
Whatever his idea of help was — it was obvious I'd be dragged into something rotten.
"Why did you ever touch shabu..."
"Because... I couldn't help it..."
"How much do you need?"
"Five hundred..."
Five hundred. Five million yen. No way.
Ten thousand, twenty thousand — I could have handed that over without a second thought. Hell, for an old acquaintance, I might have given him a hundred thousand.
But five million that would never come back — impossible. And I didn't have that kind of money anyway.
I turned him down, politely.
"Sorry... Iwakami-kun..."
That was all. Kubota hung up.
After the call ended, a hollow feeling settled over me.
There was nothing I could have done. He'd gotten into shabu on his own. Stolen the money and run. That's on him, isn't it?
But he'd come to me at the end. Reached out for help. And I know — there are things a person can do and things they can't. This was clearly the latter.
No answer to that. The question just went in circles.
I went to Sweet Cadillac, a jazz bar, ordered a Glenlivet, and checked out of reality for a while. Just watched the smoke from my cigarette rise and disappear into the air.
They said there were a hundred game parlours in Kabukichō alone. The times were shifting — they were slowly disappearing.
Not long ago, walk anywhere in the area and you'd see electric signs with a one-yen or ten-yen symbol at every turn. Customers knew the rate just from the sign and walked in freely.
The One-On network wasn't immune to it either. Arena, one of the sister stores, had been closed already due to poor performance. What would Satō — the long-haired manager — do now? Back when he was still at Ring, we'd often go out for food after shifts. Nothing I could do for him.
Getting lonelier by the day. Tomorrow it could be me — but as long as I had the arrangement with Sasaki-san and we were skimming the store, I was still better off than most.
In the middle of all this, my hometown senpai — Hijikata Satoru, known as Bōzu-san — invited me to visit his company Pro House in Nakameguro.
The office was full of computers, even had a server room with full security. In about twelve tatami mats' worth of space sat a monster server.
It was late night — I'd slipped away from the store — so of course it was just me and Bōzu-san in the building.
"Tomo, hang on a sec. Let me finish up this work."
Both arms raised, typing on a keyboard sitting on top of a large monitor. Chatting idly with me, he pulled a lever on the side of the monitor downward, then typed on a different keyboard in front of him.
"What are you doing with that?"
"Hm? Ah... the keyboard on top is Mac, the one below is Windows. The lever on the side — up for the Mac screen, down for Windows. It's a switcher."
Not a word of it made sense. Bōzu-san's aim, I gathered, was to show me the cutting edge of the industry and get me more interested in computers.
I'd spent my whole life surviving on my body alone. I could understand in principle that computers were useful. But digging any deeper — my head felt like it might explode. People have their strengths and their limits.
The next day, Arui was finally released. He'd been held for nearly a month.
Normally criminal detention runs twenty-four hours. After that, the Tokyo District Prosecutors can extend it — ten days twice over, so twenty days. Add it up: twenty-two days, and if not indicted you're released. He'd used every last day of it.
Nakatani — out in two days. Apparently caused no end of trouble for Arui.
"That idiot... First period of detention and he just starts talking."
"But — if you're arrested, the protocol for each store in the network—"
"Right."
The protocol, as it was: say I got arrested. Everyone in the store at the time gets taken in with me. But under interrogation, everyone was just a regular employee — daily pay of ten thousand yen, the owner only ever contacted the store by phone. That was the line.
Poker and the rest were minor offences — the nominal owner would turn himself in and that would be the end of it. So nobody volunteered who the manager was, who the floor boss was — none of that went to the police. Keep to the script and employees would be out in a few days, not the full twenty-two.
But Nakatani had apparently given the police everything he knew — the whole structure of the organisation. Told them Arui was the manager, that Sasaki-san and Katagiri would come in at night to check the store's situation and report to the detectives — and walked himself out early. Arui, left behind, got hammered by detectives telling him his statement didn't match at all. He stayed silent and held out until the organisation sent in a lawyer.
"I get out, Sasaki-san hands me a hundred thousand as a 'well done', and then while I'm talking to him at a café I see you and Hara walking out of a yakiniku place looking like old friends."
"I'm sorry about that. But I genuinely hadn't heard you were out. I really didn't know."
I cleared up the misunderstanding, paid for the meal, and he finally let it go.
Then a call came from Hayashi — my old boss from the Sky Lounge Belvedere at the top of Asakusa View Hotel. Summary: the hotel salary alone wasn't making ends meet, was there any work he could get into?
"Are you saying you want to leave the hotel? Or are you looking for something to do alongside it?"
"Keep the hotel going and do something on the side — you mentioned underground work before, so I thought maybe you'd know something."
Underground, yes — but working at a game parlour one or two days a week wasn't realistic. And this store had maybe a month left anyway.
"Give me a little time."
I hung up and asked the staff if they knew of anything that paid well. Okamoto said he did. I asked what. He said it was credit card fraud.
"There are victims though — isn't that dangerous?"
"No, see — credit card companies have insurance, so whoever gets hit ends up compensated later. Nobody actually gets hurt."
I didn't fully understand it, but I passed it along to Hayashi, who said he wanted to meet and hear more. We couldn't both leave the store at the same time, so I arranged to go to Asakusa around seven, in time to make it back for the ten o'clock start.
Okamoto and I headed to Asakusa View Hotel.
Hayashi had moved from the top-floor Belvedere to Saint Christina, a members-only bar on the same floor. Kozawa was off that day, so it was just Hayashi, and we were shown in there.
Okamoto demonstrated how the small card-skimming device worked. I didn't understand any of it, so I sat to the side drinking, watching the Asakusa night view I hadn't seen in a while.
Hayashi seemed to decide he was in, and took the device from Okamoto. Being out of my depth, I said nothing — but on the way out I told him: "Just don't go too far."
It was Okamoto's pitch. And I had a bad feeling about it.
A call from Arui at Champ — he told me Kubota had made the news after getting caught by police.
"On the news?"
"Yeah, that guy... stole the organisation's money and went to live and work at some strip theatre out in the provinces. Yakuza intelligence network — this kind of thing, they're faster than the police. Found him straight away."
Kubota's call that time — it was just before he got caught.
"The yakuza had him drive their car himself, and on the way back on the expressway to Shinjuku, I guess he figured if he made it back he was dead... He drove into the central divider."
"That would bring the police running."
"Of course. And then Kubota grabbed a cop's gun and fired it."
"At the yakuza?"
"No. At the police officer."
Kubota was that kind of guy...
No wonder it made the news, I thought.
"But a police officer's gun — the first round is a blank, no lethal capacity. He tried to fire the second shot and got taken down."
Hearing it all, I felt a chill go through me. If I'd lent him even a little money back then and gotten involved — I might have been dragged into it.
Since that incident, what became of Kubota is unknown.
The regulars were all in, and World One was busy as ever. A customer came in who a former staff member, Ishiguro, had nicknamed "Tenryū" — after the pro wrestler Tenryū Gen'ichirō.
At the time I was out back having a smoke when Ishiguro came to tell me specifically that Tenryū had arrived — so I went out to the floor to see, and it was some skinny guy whose perm had just grown out, nothing like the real pro wrestler. Just a vague resemblance in the hairstyle.
But World One's Tenryū played a decent game every time he came in. A good customer.
I handled all the machine settings myself.
Fourteen machines total. Three were on the worst setting. Today's kill tables: one, eight, and thirteen. Nearly every seat was taken — only thirteen was open.
Tenryū was a solid customer who spent well. I didn't want him sitting at a kill table if I could help it.
"Yamashita-san... this machine was paying out heavily yesterday, so I'd recommend not playing it too much..."
His real name was Yamashita — we just called him Tenryū among ourselves for convenience.
"But there's no other machine open, right?"
"Well... yes... Though I think other tables will free up soon, so maybe go easy on the double-up for now — take some winnings as you go, play slow..."
What I really wanted to say was: don't sit there, it's the worst setting. But I couldn't say that. All I could do was make awkward excuses to steer him away.
Of course, on a day like this, tables barely opened up. Tenryū was getting heated, hammering away at the double-up.
I quietly asked Nishimori how much Tenryū had put in. About sixty thousand, he said. Just then table twelve freed up — I cleaned it off and held it, then went to Tenryū.
"Yamashita-san... the table in front just opened up. How about it?"
Tenryū shot me a glare. "I've already put sixty thousand into this one," he said, annoyed. I told you from the start, you perm-headed idiot.
I swallowed that and put a withdrawal slip in front of him. He looked at me again.
"Yamashita-san, I'll put in five thousand on special service — give the front table a try."
Special service — toku-sa — meant using my authority to credit five thousand yen to a good customer who'd put in decent money.
Tenryū stood without a word and moved to table twelve. I kept table thirteen on hold for now.
The machine hummed. Tenryū — barely moved over — hit a straight flush.
Fifteen thousand yen. He went straight into double-up.
The hum, then a bar.
Straight flush, all the way up. Tenryū won back thirty thousand in one shot.
He tried to look poker-faced. But the corners of his mouth were twitching.
While table twelve went red and forced an OUT, Tenryū moved back to table thirteen — the one he'd been grinding — and started playing again. Fine, his main table was twelve now anyway. I went back to work, running the whole floor in my head.
By the time my shift changeover came, Tenryū was still at it. He kept going back to table thirteen despite everything — nothing more I could say.
I told the early shift: cut him a special service for every fifty thousand he puts in, and headed out.
That evening when I came back on shift, Tenryū was still there, still playing.
"How much has he put in?"
Ōkura checked. Twenty-three thousand in the hole at that point.
A bit much — but I went over, put a special service into table twelve, and suggested he move. He shifted over without a word.
Then — straight away — four of a kind. He hammered double-up, then said curtly: "I'm done with that table."
As told, I cleared table thirteen and opened it up. A tight small-stakes customer — what we called a kenchyan, or gajiri in industry slang, meaning a cheapskate — came in and sat right down.
"Is it really all right letting a gajiri sit at table thirteen?"
Itō sidled up and spoke quietly.
"He said he was done and cleared the table himself. Nothing I can do. Can't hold two tables indefinitely. And besides — that machine's on the worst setting..."
"Royal!"
The kenchyan who'd just sat down hit a royal straight flush immediately. Jabbed the take button without hesitation. Thirty thousand secured. Rough luck for Tenryū, who'd just moved — but nothing to be done.
"..."
Tenryū stood up in silence, money apparently gone. Passing the cashier, he looked over at me, smiled slightly — a thin, unsettling smile — and walked out. I asked Hiroki to follow him quietly.
Even with Tenryū gone, the store was still busy. The kenchyan who'd hit the royal tried to play out only two thousand before leaving, so I banned him.
Hiroki came back.
"How'd it go with Tenryū?"
"At first he was looking at the building... there's a small panel with the address in the lobby, right?"
"Yeah, the little one stuck there."
"He was reading it and taking notes, so I thought — that's not good."
"And?"
"Then I followed him, he went straight toward the station, came down the stairs at Shinjuku East Exit by the Alta building, so I came back."
"I see... the address thing at the start is what bothers me."
I let Hiroki go for a smoke. Stick a machine on worst setting for twenty-four hours straight and of course someone's going to lose twenty-odd thousand.
A sour aftertaste — but this was the gambling trade. Be kind to him next time he came in. That'd have to do.
I found a gap and sent Nishimori for his meal break. The moment he stepped out, the phone rang.
I reached for the receiver at the cashier and froze.
Behind the cashier desk, two small monitors were set up — showing the entrance from the street level down to the basement stairs, and the corridor in front of the door.
On those monitors: a row of figures lined up on the stairs, each holding a riot shield. And at the entrance — a uniformed officer peering cautiously through the glass door from outside. No — not regular police. This was the riot squad.
"Iwakami-san... there are people with shields surrounding the building outside..."
"Yeah, I can see it on the camera. Nishimori — where are you?"
"I was about to step outside for my meal break and they came toward me, so I ran up the building's stairwell."
"Understood. Stay there. If anyone asks, say you work at the sex shop upstairs."
I hung up.
The store was nearly full. The riot squad looked like they were waiting for the right moment to move in.
If they came in with shields raised into a packed store — it'd be total panic.
I told the staff quietly: get every customer to stop playing. And be ready to run the moment I gave the signal.
I'd go out first.
I waited for the store to go quiet, then opened the door and stepped out.
Clatter, clatter.
Every riot shield in the line swung toward me at once.
"What is going on here!"
I shouted it. The squad stared back blankly. One officer near the entrance asked: "Is — is there nothing happening in there?"
"Nothing? What do you mean?"
"We received a 110 call — reported a man in his thirties with long hair firing a gun in this building."
"That's impossible!"
A middle-aged man in a suit came down the stairs, pushing through the squad line. The one in charge, I figured.
"Sorry for the trouble... when we get a 110 call, we can't just not respond on the assumption it's a hoax."
"Y-yes, of course, you're absolutely right..."
"There are customers inside, yes? If they panic it's a problem — I'll go in and explain."
None of the customers knew the riot squad was outside. If he went in and announced it, it would cause exactly the panic he was trying to avoid.
"No, no — no one inside has any idea! So it's fine! We're running a completely legitimate business here..."
"Hmm, but..."
"Officer! We genuinely have nothing illegal going on — completely above board, really we are!"
Running an underground gambling operation and calling it above board — but I was desperately trying to keep this squad commander out of the store.
"Hmm..."
"Thank you for coming all this way. Really, the explanation inside isn't necessary..."
I stood at the entrance like a wall, physically blocking him, talking non-stop.
"Well... if nothing's happened, I suppose that's fine. We'll pull out now."
"Thank you so much for your hard work!"
I kept my head bowed deep until every last riot officer had climbed the stairs and cleared the building.
Finally. They're gone.
Back inside — everyone playing poker like nothing had happened. Relaxed as anything. I'd nearly had a heart attack and they didn't even notice.
Still — having voluntarily walked into a wall of riot police was something. Quite an experience.
Actually no. Never doing that again.
Anyway — the commotion had settled. I'd fill Sasaki-san in. I gave the staff a quick rundown of what had just happened.
Apparently they'd been watching the whole thing on the security monitor — me and the squad commander talking it out. Not a single customer had known what was outside, they said.
"All right — I'll step outside and call Sasaki-san. Let him know what happened."
I ran up the stairs and checked the Ichibangai-dōri. No sign of the squad anywhere.
I took out my mobile and was about to dial Sasaki-san.
"Oi! You — are you the manager of this place?"
My shoulder was grabbed from behind. Three men in suits, all looking like they'd bite. No other way to read them — detectives.
Three detectives, right in front of me.
This is seriously bad.
"Oi — asked if you're the manager."
"No, I'm just a regular employee..."
"The riot squad was just here, right?"
"Yes, they were! Turned out it was a hoax call, so I thanked them and sent them off..."
"Don't piss us off or we'll arrest you."
"Come on, officer, please..."
"Don't play games with me!"
These three were absolutely going into the store. I had to do something.
I looked toward the Ichibangai-dōri and pointed. "Hm? Is that—"
They looked.
I bolted down the stairs. Threw the door open and shouted: "Police! Everybody out!"
Every customer shot to their feet.
One kenchyan asked: "What happens to my credits?" I shoved him toward the exit: "Just go — now!"
"Oi — pull all the cables in the back!"
"Which ones?"
Itō, panicking.
"All the power cables to the machines!"
Just then I saw the detectives at the entrance. One had grabbed a customer and was trying to question him — I shoved all three detectives back against the wall with both arms.
"You little—"
"Get out — now!" I shouted at the scrambling customers.
All of them ran up the stairs. A detective grabbed me by the collar.
"You're going to pay for that, kid..."
"Ha... please, come on in, officers..."
"You're coming with us!"
Inside, one detective produced his badge and threatened the staff: "Nobody move!"
From behind him I shouted: "They're all part-timers who've only been here less than a month — getting paid ten thousand a day, the lot of them!" Worst case, everyone gets taken in — but they'd all say the same thing under questioning.
The detective's grip on my collar tightened.
"You, from before—"
"You've been hurting me this whole time, officer. I'm not resisting."
I took the detective's wrist joint, turned it, and put him on the floor.
"This bastard — resisting arrest!"
I raised both arms straight up to the ceiling.
"I'm not resisting. I was just in pain."
The other detectives had the staff lined up against the wall, questioning them. I yelled: "They don't know anything — they just started, they're only here for the ten-thousand-yen pay!"
"You..."
"I've only been here three months myself — just a regular employee. Oh — I'll call the owner. There's a proper owner, hold on."
"Don't screw with me..."
I picked up the receiver and dialled the nominal owner's number, posted right there on the cashier desk.
"Hello!"
First call from the store in who knows how long — the nominal owner's voice was shaking.
"Ah, boss! There are some detectives here at the store..."
"Give me that!"
The detective ripped the receiver out of my hand. But that was the point — game parlours were only prosecutable caught in the act. No customers, no act. There was nothing they could do.
"You — the owner — come to Shinjuku Police Station. Now."
He slammed the receiver down. The detectives walked out.
At worst I'd thought they'd take me with them. Seemed like I was fine.
I reported the situation to Sasaki-san, and it was decided to close the store for the night and send everyone home.
The next day, World One stayed shut — a sign on the door: Closed for internal works. I was told to come to Shinjuku around evening, and went to a café on Ichibangai-dōri called Kamikochi.
Sasaki-san arrived a little while later.
"That was rough yesterday — well done, Iwakami-kun."
He handed me an envelope.
"What's this..."
Inside: a hundred thousand yen.
"Apparently the detectives said something to the owner. Something like: that big employee of yours — don't let him go. Take good care of him."
The ones who were supposed to be the enemy saying that. I felt oddly embarrassed.
"I just wanted to avoid things getting messy."
I tried to hand the envelope back. Sasaki-san stopped me. "It came from upstairs. Take it."
"Then at least let me split it with you—"
"No — that's for you, Iwakami-kun."
I thought about it. But I knew he wouldn't take it no matter what I said. I took the envelope.
"I'll split it equally with the staff who were there."
"That's up to you — it's yours to do what you like with. I think the store'll stay shut two or three more days to be safe. ...Though either way, there's only about a month left..."
That's right. About a month left, and World One would be gone.
An unexpected break. I drank at Sweet Cadillac, then at Santana, the cabaret club where Misaki worked, until nearly dawn. Drank some more at the tonkatsu place next door to home — Hiromo.
"Tomoichirō, this place is about to close — want to head to Kawagoe Market and keep drinking?"
My senpai Okabe-san invited me, and we drank the night through. This was the man who'd called first to make sure I was safe back at the Ichibangai forty-four-person building fire. I'd watched his decency, his basic way of being, at Hiromo — modelled myself on him. Not long ago Nohara-san from Jackpot would have been here too.
But that was no longer possible. Nohara-san was gone.
Neither Okabe-san nor I said it out loud — but we were going to drink tonight for Nohara-san's share too. After the market we stopped at a Denny's on the way home and kept drinking there. The hundred thousand was gone somewhere along the way — I'd been saying I'd split it with the staff, but oh well. The hundred thousand that only Sasaki-san and me knew about.
Not a bad way to spend it — as a send-off for Nohara-san.
"Before, Nohara-san would have been here with us."
I said it. Okabe-san was quiet for a moment. Then smiled. "Yeah," he said.
The credit card scheme. After that, no more word from Hayashi.
I tried calling once. He was gentle by nature — he seemed to be hesitating. I just told him: "You don't have to push yourself," and left it there.
Okamoto — who'd lent out the device — was getting daily earfuls from the Chinese man who'd originally managed it, asking what was going on, and was pestering me about it.
No choice — I called Saint Christina at the View Hotel. Kozawa picked up.
"Ah, Kozawa-san. Long time. It's Iwakami. About Hayashi-san—"
"Oi — what did you do? Hayashi-san's been called in by the police."
"..."
How had it come to this?
I quietly asked a junior staff member I'd been close with at the hotel to fill me in on the inside story. Apparently Hayashi — not brave enough to run the device himself — had handed the machine to a new cashier employee, told them they'd get a cut, and ordered them to do it. The terrified new hire reported it to the floor manager. Police got involved. Hayashi was fired. That was the chain of it.
I'd ruined one person's life.
But apparently Hayashi never gave my name, no matter what they asked.
And to this day, the police have never contacted me about this matter.
I told Okamoto the situation. A few days later he came back and said unless the device was returned, the Chinese man was threatening to take Hayashi's life. He'd talk the man down directly, he said — but the device itself was worth two hundred thousand yen, so if we split it a hundred thousand each and paid him off, that would settle it. He talked me into it.
I handed over a hundred thousand.
After that, the whole affair simply disappeared.
What remained: no more contact with Hayashi. And the fact that I could never show my face at Asakusa View Hotel again.
Time passed. When I told this story to people who knew the score, they all said: Okamoto probably just played you. Talked you into splitting the hundred thousand and pocketed it.
Mistakes already made can't be undone. It wasn't the money I'd lost that hurt. What hurt — what kept hurting — was that I'd destroyed Hayashi's career as a hotel man.
I stopped giving Takahiko pocket money entirely.
"My brother's good at making money but doesn't know how to spend it — so I'm spending it for him."
Showing off in front of his friends. He'd gotten too comfortable. I'd reached out to him first — tried to be a proper older brother for once.
Maybe I should try the same with Pī-chan — my father's younger sister.
After the Hayashi business, my heart was heavy. I wanted to do something, even if it was just running away from reality. Before heading to work, I stepped into the downstairs living room.
"Hey... I get home in the morning after my shift, so... if there's anything you need — meat, vegetables, whatever — I can pick it up on the way..."
A strange way to say it. But it was the best I had in me.
"I want cabbage."
She didn't even look up. Watching TV as she said it.
"Got it. I'll get it tomorrow."
Reach out a little at a time, and family relations would work out eventually. Thawing things with Dad was still a long way off. Start with Pī-chan. I didn't entirely understand why I'd arrived at that — but there it was.
If I fought back she'd fight back. Don't try to change the other person — change yourself first.
At the store, the same as always — skimming money with Sasaki-san, the same routine. The only difference: stopping at the supermarket in the basement of Pepe at Hon-Kawagoe Station on the way home, and buying cabbage.
I was a man, and buying only one cabbage felt embarrassing. So I added things that would keep — potatoes, onions, carrots. Meat freezes fine. I picked up about five hundred grams of decent beef. Threw in some condiments too. Ended up spending around five thousand yen and went home.
Handed the bag to Pī-chan. I thought she'd be pleased.
"What's this — I said just cabbage. Why'd you buy all this extra stuff."
"Because buying only one cabbage felt embarrassing..."
"This is why you're hopeless. Wasting money like this."
I'd bought it out of kindness. With my own money. Why was I hearing this?
No — this is exactly why it always turns into a fight. Don't get angry.
Stay calm. Settle down.
"You're right... I guess that's why I'm hopeless..."
I went up to my room and punched the wall as hard as I could.
Think it through. Pī-chan's routine after work: go to the gym, come home, watch TV in the living room. Woman's tastes — fruit, yoghurt, cake.
On the way home, there was a Cozy Corner near the ticket gate at Hon-Kawagoe Station. I decided to bring cake.
I never ate cake myself, so I had no idea what to get. I asked the shop assistant. She said a shortcake was the safe choice. Even then there were dozens of varieties.
"If someone gave you a shortcake from here as a gift — which one would make you happy?"
"Hmm... I'd be happy with this five-hundred-yen one."
"I'll take two of those. I might be coming in something like every day."
That's how it went. I brought home the shortcakes. Pī-chan was pleased.
"There's a lot of strawberry inside — that must have been expensive, right?"
"Five hundred yen each."
I told her honestly. She said: "I'd have bought two of the two-fifty ones."
I was buying two of the five-hundred-yen ones, I wanted to say. I held back. She always has to add one thing extra. A simple thank you is all it would take.
Rules for not fighting with this person:
Don't have long conversations. Let whatever she says wash over you. Don't linger in the same space.
Back in my room, I thought it over. Could things actually ever be good between us?
Nothing but unease about what lay ahead.
