January 4th, 2044
08:05 AM
Central Ward
Iron District
Yamato Kenji
The walk to work was a breath of fresh air, despite the rainstorm. Strolling down the street with an umbrella in his hand, ignoring the wind as it tried to knock him down, Yamato absently wondered what people must think of him, seeing him like this, but he quickly decided it didn’t matter. Today was an important day. Another beginning, in a sense.
His neatly combed and parted hair was becoming unstuck under the downpour, despite the protection of his umbrella. The glasses he wore were a seamless piece of transparent plastic, almost invisible. Despite all their modern protections against scratches and cracks, his corrective lenses were far from hurricane proof, requiring Yamato to continually wipe them in order to see. The lower half of his face was obscured by a black silk mask, thoroughly soaked by the rain. Yamato was a tall and lean man, dressed in a black suit reminiscent of the archetypal Japanese office worker, though his clothes were the product of modern technologies.
His jacket, shirt, and slacks were machine printed and nano-laminated, making them almost seamless and resistant to wear and tear. He wore a pure white dress shirt with a short circular collar that hugged tight to his neck. The shirt didn’t have buttons but was instead sealed by a magnetic strip that traveled down the left side of his collar all the way to his waist. His tie was a black rectangular ten-inch strip of cloth decorated with diagonal silver stripes.
His jacket was without labels or collar, leaving an open circular space around the sides and back of his neck. The sleeves hugged tightly to his arms and became a pair of gloves that concealed his fingers. A small, silver control device about the width of Yamato’s palm was affixed to the left-hand side of the jacket up near his collarbone, connected to countless dark grey wires that threaded themselves through the rest of the shape-shifting cloth. Through it, Yamato could alter the absorbency and texture of the fabric with a single touch. His pants were much the same, tapering down and melding seamlessly with his black shoes. Another control device was strategically placed at the top of the waist, imitating the appearance of a belt buckle with the same dark grey wires circling his beltline and descending down the sides of his legs.
He walked down the familiar route to work, using his umbrella to hold off as much of the storm’s fury as he could. Though it seemed a vain and desperate struggle, the FAIR Insurance Agency Office Building was in sight, and nothing would stop him from getting there. He held a smile on his face until he finally reached the office doors. Readying himself to get out of the rain, Yamato unfolded his umbrella as a distant rumble sounded from the nearby parking garage.
A black car sped out of the garage like a bat out of hell, driving right past the curb where Yamato was standing. A wave of muddy water flew up and drenched Yamato as the car went by. He stood there for a moment, taking a deep shuddering breath as he watched the car disappear into the city streets. The splash of water had done more than leave Yamato sopping wet, it had also dampened his spirits.
He’d seen cars like that before, zipping up and down Yo?gai-shima with no regard for public safety or traffic laws. A “Bureau” vehicle, to be sure. But what was it doing here?
Shaking off the ill omen, Yamato tapped the buttons on his collar, instructing the coat to begin drying itself and slough away the mud. As he approached, the automatic doors of the office building opened for him. Despite getting out of the rain and the wind, his sunny disposition had vanished. He stalked across the empty lobby, not bothering to look around as he headed for the elevator. The lift opened with a jingle and Yamato stepped inside the empty car. His fingers hovered over the wall panel, hesitating with indecision before he remembered the third-floor button. When the doors opened again, Yamato stepped out into the third-floor offices, following the sound of voices echoing down the halls.
The floors were coated with an ugly grey tile, slashed through with bits of stony blue and red while the walls were a boringly neutral white. The same talentless music that filled the elevator seemed to radiate from a loudspeaker somewhere in the ceiling, which was somehow only improved by the rhythmic squeal of Yamato’s polished shoes against the floor. As he rounded a corner, his eyes fell on the familiar door into FAIR Insurance Agency’s leased office space. Next to the door, the company’s logo was emblazoned, an orange sun within a sky blue circle bordered by white clouds.
A few paces ahead of him, a young, dark brown-haired man dressed in a black jacket and a pair of slacks, opened the door and stepped into the front lobby of FAIR. Yamato paused and stepped to the window to the left of the door, peering inward to watch the stranger. FAIR’s small lobby featured the same blue-sky colors as the sign, with bright blue walls and white tile floors, which clashed heavily with the assortment of dark colored chairs in the waiting room and the worn desk the receptionist sat behind. Yamato watched the young man through the glass window as he greeted the female employee at the desk, bowing respectfully as he introduced himself. The two exchanged pleasant conversation and the woman at the desk led the young man to a door into the office’s interior.
Who was that? Running through a mental list of his coworkers, none of them had matched the appearance of the stranger that had gone on ahead. Something was off. Yamato couldn’t place it, but a strange foreboding seemed to dominate the back of his mind. It seemed this wouldn’t be a good day after all.
He entered through the front door, leaving dirty footprints behind him as he strode toward the desk. Out of the rain, Yamato unhooked his mask and squeezed it between his fingers, wringing out the water. His umbrella dangling from his left arm with his right in his pocket, Yamato unconsciously scowled as his surly mood leaked out.
“Kenji-kun?” the secretary stepped back out into the lobby of the insurance agency’s sub-office, and she paused in surprise, her eyes wide with alarm. The front desk employee was a black-haired slender girl with freckled cheeks and large glasses, wearing a white blouse and a floor length brown skirt.
“Good morning, Sakura-chan,” Yamato, recognizing his more aggressive posture, flashed a toothy, practiced smile and lowered his shoulders by several inches, hunching down so as to appear smaller. “Is everything alright?”
“No, I’m fine. It’s just, for a moment there, you had a scary look on your face,” the girl gave a light chuckle to disarm the tension.
“Oh,” Yamato ran a hand over his wet hair, opting for an embarrassed look before replacing his mask. “Some crazy driver peeled out of the garage as I was walking across the street.” Yamato used a gloved hand to flake away some of the mud sticking to his jacket to emphasize his story.
“I’m so sorry,” the girl commiserated, appearing genuinely sympathetic. “You really need to start car-pooling.”
“No, no,” Yamato looked away bashfully. “I enjoy my privacy.”
“Are you seriously telling me that your solitude is so important you’d rather walk face first into a hurricane than give it up?” Sakura put her hands on her hips as she challenged him.
“I am who I am,” all Yamato could do was shrug.
“There’s just no saving some people,” the secretary shook her head as she sat down at the desk.
“I suppose not,” Yamato agreed, glancing past her to the door. “Say, Sakura-chan, tell me something.”
“What?” the young woman glanced up at him, the lights of her computer screen reflected on her glasses.
“Who was the young man that came in here just before I did?” Yamato nodded in the direction of the door while maintaining eye contact with the receptionist.
“Oh, him?” Sakura looked over her shoulder at the door. “He’s a new hire. He was interviewed only a couple days ago, but I guess Adachi-san must have taken a liking to him.”
“I see,” Yamato murmured.
“Speaking of,” Sakura turned back around to Yamato. “You’ll probably want to get inside and freshen up before Adachi-san sees you. He’s already in one of his moods today.”
“Ah!” Yamato realized he’d stalled a little too long. “Thanks for the warning. I’ll see myself in.”
Yamato gave her a courteous bow before stepping past her into the office interior, where the rest of the employees had their desks. FAIR’s proper workspace, tucked in one corner of the larger office building, had much the same décor as the reception area: white tile floors and light blue walls.
FAIR’s rented space comprised one large squarish room, subdivided by nests of cubicles, while a dozen smaller offices for the high-ranking employees lined the exterior walls. However, deafening silence told Yamato that most of the company seemed to be out today, likely held back on account of the rain. Maybe they wouldn’t even be in at all. He ignored the empty cubicles on his left as he stepped passed them, tracing the outer wall of the insurance agency, and headed toward the office with his name on it, pausing awkwardly as his eyes fell on the young man sitting in a chair next to the door.
It was the same young man that came in before him, wearing a sleek black laminated jacket over an old-fashioned white dress shirt and slacks. He had messy, black-brown hair that was actively fighting against whatever hair gel he used to try and tame it. As he watched, the newcomer sat slouched in the chair that had been propped up next to Yamato’s open office door, staring at the wall of the cubicle across from him with an intense set of amber eyes.
Yamato cautiously crept closer, slowly plodding step by step. He wasn’t certain exactly what he was doing or why. The stranger was bound to notice him, yet Yamato couldn’t help but be suspicious. There was definitely something off about him. After only making it a mere five paces forward, the new hire turned his head left, perhaps catching Yamato’s movement out of the corner of his eye. Immediately, the young man bolted to his feet, revealing that he was nearly as tall as Yamato, but clearly built much broader.
“Uh, Yamato Kenji-san?” the young man asked, his voice seemed uncertain. Yamato felt as though he’d been caught in a trap. The stranger knew his name. How?
“Yes, yes, that’s me!” Yamato flashed his practiced awkward smile after a moment of hesitation. “I’ll be with you in just a moment. I just need to get myself cleaned up.”
Without waiting for a response, Yamato stepped passed the young man and into his open office door, hastily closing it behind him.
“Hey, just a minute!” the young man tried to call out to him as the door shut, but Yamato ignored him.
Yamato’s small office space was a desk with a computer on it and two chairs on either side of it, along with a small wardrobe against the wall. A pile of reports and paperwork was immaculately placed on the desktop, with no less than three pens neatly waiting at hand, ready to be used for a fresh day’s work. Yamato Kenji was the fastidious sort, always making sure he was neat, tidy, and most importantly, prepared.
He checked the desk drawers, finding a small handheld metal brush designed to peel away hair and dirt that refused to let go of his laminated jacket. As he ran the device up and down the arms of his coat, removing the remaining layer of caked on mud, he glared daggers at the door. Somehow, he knew the young man was still waiting anxiously for him outside. It was an entirely reasonable thing to guess, but Yamato found his reasoning based on something more primal. It felt as though the storm had followed him into the building for a moment and it was perched outside his office, waiting for him to come out so it could rain on him again.
The thought occurred to him that he’d spent too much time talking outside with Sakura and the stranger had been able to walk right into his office unsupervised. Had Yamato left the office door open yesterday? No, that wasn’t like him. Perhaps Adachi had opened it, then. Still, the thought that the foreboding stranger had been in his office for any length of time unsettled him. Hastily, Yamato checked to make sure his computer was powered off and the papers on his desk hadn’t been touched. His eyes flitted to the wardrobe against the wall, and he crept toward it.
The wardrobe was a metal vacuum sealed container designed to be practically idiot proof. Like so many modern inventions, it was made with unforeseen disasters in mind, and it was therefore built to endure anything short of a bomb going off. The outside of the wardrobe had a faux-wood laminate across the exterior, though the fa?ade was betrayed by the square digital lock where the handles would’ve been.
Yamato let his gloved fingers slowly trace the touchpad, pondering whether or not to open it. No, he decided. There was nothing in there that needed to be seen. Just old uniforms and mementos. The man outside couldn’t have gotten in, anyway. Yamato took a deep, steadying breath and pressed both hands against the doors, leaning his weight against the cabinet.
“It’s a panic attack,” he chided himself. “Just run of the mill anxiety. Calm down. Everything is fine.”
He took three more deep breaths, feeling better with each exhale. However, the sudden sound of someone banging on the office door immediately ratcheted his tension back up.
“Kenji-kun? Get out here, will ya? I got someone I want you to meet,” it was the voice of his manager, Adachi Toru, barking from the other side.
Yamato hastily opened the door, peering out at his boss, a heavyset man in a bulging, white shirt whose buttons strained to hold him. With his top few buttons undone, his sleeves rolled up, and the rough brown beard to contrast his stringy, thinning hair, Adachi hardly had the same look as the rest of his male employees. While some companies still held to the time-honored aesthetic of the Japanese businessman, that era had begun to fade since the advent of the second millennium and the utilitarian lifestyle that Yo?gai-shima demanded had only sped the cultural shift further along. Yamato still clung to the penumbra of the Japanese kaishyain, but only out of a sense of tradition.
“The hell took you so long to get in this morning?” Adachi scratched the fuzz growing on the underside of his chin, his already small, dark eyes squinting and nearly retreating into the folds of his fat, dark-skinned face.
“The storm happened,” Yamato answered, hastily drawing a comb out of a pocket in the inside of his jacket, before using it to brush down his messy hair. “It’s a miracle I made it in at all.”
“I’ve been hearing that excuse all morning,” Adachi grumbled and rolled his eyes. Not like he’d ever had time for his employees anyway. He turned to look at the young man beside him, patting the newcomer on the stomach with the back of his hand. “We got a newbie, today, Kenji-kun. His name’s Nanbu. Introduce yourself.”
“Pleased to meet you,” the young man bowed deeply, though there was something unmistakably awkward about him. “My name is Nanbu Naoya.”
“Ah, yes,” Yamato bowed, though not as deeply. “Yamato Kenji. I’m pleased to meet you as well.”
“Good, good,” Adachi grunted, fanning himself with one hand. “Now that we’ve got the pleasantries out of the way, the two of you can get to work. Starting today, Kenji-kun, Mr. Wise-ass here is going to be your trainee. Make sure you work him hard, you hear?”
“Wise-ass?” Yamato glanced at Naoya, who hastily shoved his hands in his pockets and looked away.
“I’ll have you two going door to door,” Adachi looked over his shoulder at Naoya, giving the young man a stern look. “You take the lead, Kenji-kun.”
“Door to door?” Yamato stammered. “You want us working in this weather? On foot?”
“Of course I do!” Adachi barked, slapping Yamato on the shoulder with nearly enough force to knock him over. “The rest of the city is still hard at work, y’know? Every capable man and woman on Yo?gai-shima is pulling their weight, storm be damned. FAIR has a reputation to protect, Yamato. We can’t be seen taking it easy. Besides, this kind of weather makes it the perfect season to sell a little insurance, right?”
“Eh. . .” Yamato looked downward to avoid eye contact as his objection slowly died away, turning into a long, breathy rattle. “Right.”
“That’s what I like to hear,” Adachi snorted, flashing a broad toothy smile. “Don’t come back to the office until you’ve found ten new customers, y’hear?”
“Of course,” Yamato agreed again, and the hefty Adachi finally left, leaving the two men alone in the hall.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” Yamato said after an awkward, quiet moment. “You looked a lot like one of my old coworkers. I didn’t mean to be rude.”
“It’s alright,” Naoya said with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s one of those mornings, right?”
“Well, Nanbu-san,” Yamato gave an airy sigh as he adjusted his glasses. “Tell me, have you ever sold insurance before?”
“Uhh,” Naoya’s awkward smile told Yamato everything. “No.”
“It looks like today’s going to be a learning experience for both of us, then,” Yamato tried to flash a reassuring smile, though he already felt his patience being tested.
“Adachi-san isn’t the type to hold grudges, is he?” Naoya lowered his voice, looking in the direction Adachi had gone as he scratched his cheek with a finger.
“No,” Yamato lied with a subtle shake of his head. “Why do you ask?”
“Ah, it’s just,” Naoya ran a hand through his hair as an embarrassed look crossed his features. “My girlfriend told me to compliment my boss’ hair, first thing, and I just kinda let fly as soon as I saw him. I think he felt I was being sarcastic.”
“Well, all the more reason for us to get to work and give Adachi-san some space,” Yamato reasoned, wearily. “Nothing will win his respect more than doing a good job.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” Naoya agreed, though he was clearly reluctant.
“Did you bring an umbrella?”
“No,” came another awkward admission.
Finally, the reason he’d felt such trepidation all morning had become crystal clear. It was him. Nanbu Naoya.
“This kid’s nothing but bad luck.”
January 4th, 2044
09:00 AM
Central Ward
Bureau Sub-district
Human Calamity Response Bureau Headquarters
Deputy Inspector Atarashi Shin
The office of the Chief Inspector was much like the rest of the Bureau’s Headquarters, dark and oppressive. Black, polished marble with white veins made up the walls and the floors were carpeted with a rich and aggressive blood red color. The color combination gave a sense that the building was closing in on you, making you feel unwanted. The Chief Inspector’s desk, a well-kept and immaculately crafted piece of mahogany furniture, was seated halfway down the room and facing the only entrance. The far wall was a set of three glass floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out on the Central District, the panes now streaked with endless falling rain.
The Chief Inspector’s office seemed more like a storage for trophies and objects of his own vanity than a workspace. Immediately to the left and right of the doors were two sets of ceremonial Japanese armor, and more display cases were set up against opposing walls. Some had well-used and time-worn weapons, others had trophies for competitions Shin had never heard of.
The Chief Inspector himself was a tall man with a lean, athletic frame. He had a handsome, naturally youthful face mixed with the unmistakable wear of age, making it impossible for Shin to put a number to him. A razor thin scar ran across the older man’s features from the left side of his forehead, across his left eye, to the corner of his mouth where it ended. Chief Inspector Kajima kept his sable hair perfectly pomaded and brushed back, with countless thin golden lines running through the black, the largest of which was perfectly aligned with the scar running across his face. Even his left eyebrow had a touch of gold where the scar cut through it.
The Chief’s Bureau uniform was nothing but black from the neck down: black shirt, black tie, black waistcoat, black leather gloves, black belt, black slacks, black socks, black shoes. If not for the cloth of gold trim on his waistcoat and its gold rimmed buttons, Kaiji would have looked as though he was wearing a black bodysuit from a distance. Even his coat, draped over the back of his brown leather chair, was the same: a black suit jacket with a dash of opulent fur lining across the lapels.
Chief Inspector Kajima Kaiji had scarcely looked up at Shin and Takeyoshi since they’d come in. Instead, he sat behind his desk, his chair angled away from them ninety-degrees to their left. In his hands, he held a magazine with a bright red cover depicting a man in a karate gi, fist thrust toward the viewer. From his perspective, Shin could see the title was “Martial Arts: Myths, Legends, and the Facts,” and the issue Kaiji was reading had an advertisement for an article inside: “The Okinawan Soul-Crushing Fist: Is it real? Ancient manuscripts expose the truth!”
“To call what happened this morning an accident would be an understatement,” Chief Inspector Kajima Kaiji’s words lacked any bite, despite the situation. In fact, he almost sounded bored. “We lost two patrol cars and had one fatality, alongside the near death of two dozen commuters and the destruction of a city bus. Would either of you care to explain how this situation got so out of control?”
Shin was standing before the Chief Inspector’s desk. He only half listened; the rest of his concentration fixated on the spinning patrol car in his mind’s eye. He remembered the last time he made eye contact with the two men inside. The screams of panicking commuters replayed in his ears. He felt his hands tighten into fists and opened his mouth to speak, but the man next to him beat him to the punch.
“Poor management,” Senior Inspector Asahi Takeyoshi answered without batting an eye. Shin, standing next to the blood-covered man, felt the tension in the room suddenly skyrocket. Every hair on his body seemed to stand on end as though he was about to be struck by lightning.
“Oh, Takeyoshi-kun,” Kaiji clicked his tongue as he idly flipped through his magazine. “You just don’t quit, do you?”
“Couldn’t even if I wanted to,” the Inspector gave a nonchalant shrug.
“True enough,” Kaiji admitted with a slight smirk on his face. He turned to face the pair, finally, and tossed the magazine down on the desk.
“And you’re right about management being at fault for what happened today. Specifically—,” Kaiji interlocked his hands and pointed both forefingers at Takeyoshi, “—your time management, Inspector. If you’d have shown up to work on time this morning, you’d have been here to receive your new trainee, and you would have been able to handle the Casualty without any problem. As it stands, Deputy Inspector Atarashi was forced to handle the situation without the guidance of a superior officer. Your negligence, Inspector, is what caused this situation.”
Inspector Takeyoshi didn’t say anything, simply staring at his superior while Kaiji looked back at him with a slight, amused smile. Shin glanced back and forth between the two men as the tension began to build again, uncertain what was going to happen next.
“Are we done here?” Takeyoshi asked, bluntly.
“Nothing to say in your defense?” Kaiji spread his hands. “Not even an official apology. No bow? You really must think you’re invincible.”
Takeyoshi frowned and opened his mouth, clearly about to say something, but the disheveled man clearly thought better of it and remained silent.
“Well, then,” Kaiji shook his head, it becoming clear he wasn’t going to get a rise out of the other man. “You two are back on Emergency Patrol for the rest of the day. You’re on the road until you get a call. No personal time, you understand?” Kaiji fixed Takeyoshi with a more serious look. “You stick to the job. And if I hear that you’ve been doing any independent investigations, on or off the clock, you’re going to get a harsh reminder about how vulnerable you really are. Clear?”
“Understood,” Takeyoshi said the word slowly and irately.
“Go get a new uniform,” Kaiji waved the man away. “And a shower while you’re at it.” Kaiji’s eyes turned toward Shin and the young man felt a sense of pressure bearing down on his shoulders.
“I’m going to have a little talk with your new mentee.”
Shin felt Takeyoshi clap one hand on his back before walking away, a gesture he assumed was meant to be reassuring. He kept his eyes on the Chief as Takeyoshi made his exit, his footsteps on the carpet growing more distant. Kaiji in turn watched him, clearly not intent on speaking until the third man was fully out of the room.
“What does he want to say to me?” Shin asked himself. “He’s probably going to demand an explanation for what happened this morning. If I have to take the heat, so be it. It’s what I deserve.”
He waited until he heard the sound of Takeyoshi leaving the room, resolving to speak as soon as the door clicked shut.
“I—!” was all Shin managed to get out.
“It must be weird,” Kaiji didn’t have to raise his voice, but the surety and confidence of his words ran over Shin’s without effort.
“Eh?” Shin caught himself, halfway into an apologetic bow. “I, um. What?”
“It must be weird,” Kaiji said again, leaning back in his leather chair. There was something in his black eyes. Mischief, maybe. “You came in here this morning after months of hard work and training, with who knows what kind of expectations, and here you are again, right back where you started an hour later. It must be a weird first day you’re having, right?”
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“I suppose so,” Shin answered slowly, caught off guard by the conversational tone of his superior.
“Not what you expected?” Kaiji questioned.
“Honestly, I don’t think I really know,” Shin admitted, rubbing the back of his head. “Even when I was riding shotgun on the patrols during training, the Bureau always seemed so. . . intimidating and otherworldly.”
“That’s only natural. The Bureau isn’t like any other government agency or emergency service. Every organization has its own mission statement and set of principles, but ours is far-wider-reaching and more important than any other. After all, we’re here to stop the world from ending,” Kaiji rested his elbows on the arms of his chair, laced his fingers together and stared upward toward the ceiling as he considered. “For that reason, the way the Bureau governs itself is unlike anything else you might have encountered. Our methods are inscrutable to those outside our ranks.”
“Methods like the game you made me play this morning?” Shin gently rubbed a spot over his left eye, still feeling the pressure of the duct tape that the Chief Inspector used to force his eyes open before spinning him around in an office chair.
“Exactly!” Kaiji pointed to Shin with both index fingers. “Chance is the true equalizer, you know? Where you’re born, what you look like, whether you’re rich or poor, smart or dumb; it’s all a matter of luck. Even the universe itself, all the way back at the Big Bang, had two possibilities: explode and create everything, or remain solitary and inert. It was all up to chance.”
“I see what you mean,” Shin felt the need to agree with whatever his boss said, regardless of whatever sense it made.
“No, you don’t,” Kaiji wasn’t fooled. “But you will. There are truths to what I’ve said that you’re not able to appreciate yet. Whether or not you eventually do depends on how well you commit to the responsibilities placed on you. Speaking of, two men have been forever impacted by the choices you made this morning.”
Shin straightened up, feeling a sense of tension run down his spine and settle in his stomach.
“One of those officers may never walk again because he followed your orders and the other is dead,” Kaiji spread his hands. “How does it feel?”
“Awful,” Shin bowed his head, looking at the floor, remembering the faces of the two peace officers and the last look that passed between them when the patrol car raced by in the middle of the pouring rain. “It’s eating me up. If I’d just followed orders, maybe they’d still be alive. And then, there were the people in the bus. I nearly screwed everything up and all those people could have—”
“Well, you’ll get over it,” Kaiji cut him off abruptly, waving a hand through the air with dismissiveness.
“What?” was all Shin could think to ask.
“People die in this line of work, Inspector,” Kaiji’s voice took on a soft, lecturing quality as though he was talking to a child. “Innocent people will die in spite of your actions. In fact, innocent people will die because of your actions. It’s the unavoidable calculus of we privileged few that hold the lives of so many in our hands. Who lives? Who dies? That’s a choice you’ll become accustomed to making, and the guilt that comes with it?” the Chief gave a light shrug. “You’ll become numb to it.”
“I’m not sure I can think like that,” Shin spoke each word slowly and carefully, as though he didn’t know precisely what he was saying. “I chose to join the Bureau because I wanted to save lives.”
“Did you?” the Chief asked as he leaned forward to plant his elbows on his desk. “Who scouted you? Inspector Sumitomo? All the good Inspectors make it seem like new recruits have a choice.”
“I did choose!” Shin insisted, taking an argumentative step forward. “And that choice cost me dearly. I had to sacrifice time with my family that I’ll never get back. I had to give up my career. My dreams. No one gets to take that away from me.”
“No, no,” the Chief leaned back and folded his arms. “Your old life ceased to be relevant the moment you became a Human Calamity. You think you had a choice, but you didn’t. Tell me, Shin, when the Inspector that recruited you gave you the sales pitch about our work, did you ever wonder what the consequences of saying ‘no’ were?”
Shin stood and stared in defiant silence, even as his mind travelled back to that turbulent time. He thought about his siblings. About the funerals. The medical bills piling up. He had weighed the prospects of becoming an Inspector night and day, but somehow, the personal price of turning down a position at the Bureau never occurred to him.
“Do you think that someone with the power you have now can just be allowed to walk free?” Kaiji continued to question him. “Remember that old man this morning? Imagine, instead, if he could control his power. Rather than lashing out at random, he decided instead to pursue some personal vendetta. Maybe he uses his power to flood an entire building and drown a hundred people. Maybe he breaks a few levees here and there and an entire district falls into the sea. A man with that kind of power needs to be caged. Or killed.”
“And that’s what the Bureau’s for then?” Shin grappled with the idea. “To kill the Human Calamitys that can’t control their powers and make prisoners of those who can?”
“Yes and no,” the Chief smiled broadly. “It’s the great dichotomy of our position. The Bureau exists to protect society from Human Calamitys through controlling them. We join the Bureau, we follow the rules, and we get to live. But the excess of power that the Bureau’s accumulated through us means that, well, our organization has become a super-power in its own right. One that doesn’t need to heed the rules of ordinary men.”
“So, what does that mean for me?” Shin asked, trying to understand the lesson that the Chief was attempting to teach him.
“What it means, Deputy Inspector, is that you are a ‘prisoner’ of the Bureau, as you put it. It’s a job you can’t refuse. There’s no retirement, or resignations, either. But it also means that you’ve stepped beyond the moral and legal constraints of ordinary men. As long as you have the right permissions and file the proper reports, you can burn half this city down, Shin. There isn’t a law or a court that can touch you. Not while the Bureau protects you.”
“And if I don’t follow the Bureau’s rules?” Shin asked. “What then?”
“If you’re lucky, you’ll get shipped off to Siberia to hunt Casualties; the Russians love airdropping their problems into the frozen tundra and letting them get out of control,” the Chief scratched his chin. “That, or we’ll send you back to Honshu to watch Tokyo burn for a while.”
“And if I’m not lucky?” Shin’s question brought a toothy smile to the Chief’s face.
“Well, then you and I will have another private meeting,” the Chief informed him, oozing menace from behind his black eyes. “One you won’t like very much.”
“I’m not certain I like this one, to be frank,” Shin glared across the desk at his superior.
“Found your backbone, have you?” the Chief chuckled, clearly not blind to Shin’s insubordination. “A few minutes ago, you were practically tripping over yourself to apologize.”
“There’s no point in apologizing over what happened to someone who doesn’t give a damn about the lives of his own men,” Shin shot back.
“You’re right: there is no point,” the Chief spread his hands as though he were submitting. “I don’t want an apology, and I don’t care that those men got hurt.”
He raised his left hand and pointed at Shin.
“But what I do want, is to impress on you the nature of our work and the inevitable collateral damage that will result. My sage advice, from someone who’s been at this for over a decade, is to learn to compartmentalize. Detach yourself from your coworkers and the countless faceless civilians scurrying underfoot and focus on the job. Don’t get bent out of shape for their sake.”
“Sorry, but I’m not too keen on taking your pearls of wisdom, sir,” Shin shook his head. “I don’t see what happened today as having been ‘inevitable.’ And if I have any say about it, I’m not going to let it happen again. Not to the rest of my patrol or the countless people in this city that look to the Bureau for protection.”
“Be the savior, then,” the Chief implored with tangible sarcasm. “Play at being a messiah. See what good it does. People died this morning, and they’ll die this afternoon, and tomorrow, as well. If you let yourself drown in guilt over what can’t be helped, inevitably, you’ll turn to something else to dull the pain. Either you’ll take to the bottle, or throw yourself in bed with whoever’s willing, or you’ll find one of a thousand other vices to distract you from the entirely avoidable anguish of your childish hero complex.
“Mark my words, Shin,” the Chief wagged a finger at him. “One day, you’ll find yourself staring down at the body of someone you could have saved, and the thought will dawn on you that you don’t care anymore. At that moment, you’ll realize that you took the long, hard road to the wisdom I offered you this morning and you could have spared yourself a bevy of heartbreak had you listened.”
Shin let the Chief’s words hang in the air, choosing not to say anything. The silence deepened between them as Shin considered the nature of the lesson offered. Were the Chief’s words born of experience; he wondered. Had Inspector Kajima tried to be a hero in his own right? Standing across the desk from the veteran Inspector, Shin could scarcely believe that the Chief’s words were born of anything but cynical contempt.
“Are we done here, sir?” Shin broke the silence, his voice monotone and uncertain. His eyes fell, searching empty space for the answers to the many questions bubbling up inside him.
“Is that all?” the Chief gestured at him with an open hand. “No more self-righteous rejoinders or declarations? I’m disappointed. I hoped for more.”
“I think we’ve made our positions clear,” Shin answered.
“Then, you may go,” the Chief gestured toward the door, the bored tone returning to his voice. “But keep in mind, I’ll have my eye on you, Shin. I’d love to see you prove me wrong.”
Shin bowed, mustering what respect he could, and then turned, heading for the door, chased out into the hall by the countless doubts the Chief Inspector had whispered into his ear.
January 4th, 2044
09:22 AM
Central Ward
Sunset District
Nanbu Naoya
“So, as you can see, Mrs. Yamashita—” before Yamato could continue with his sales pitch, his prospective customer interrupted him again.
“Yoshimoto!” the stern woman corrected him for what must have been the third time. “Are you sure you’re even at the right apartment? I have no idea what you think you’re selling, but if you can’t even read names, how am I supposed to believe anything you’re telling me?”
She was a woman in her mid-thirties with auburn hair tied up in a bun, wearing an ankle length yellow skirt and a light blue cardigan. She stared at the two men with narrowed suspicious eyes, her lips pressed together in a thin, disapproving frown. Naoya and Yamato stood outside her apartment on the third floor, their backs to the railing while the woman waited just beyond the open door. Ms. Yoshimoto stood with her arms crossed, chin held high, whilst somehow staring down at the two tall men in her doorway as if they were children.
“Yoshimoto, Yoshimoto!” Yamato repeated, fixing a toothy smile to his face as he knocked on the side of his head with one hand. “I’m so sorry,” he apologized, using his first excuse again. “We just got done having a lovely conversation with a Mrs. Yamashita, didn’t we, Nanbu-san?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” Naoya agreed on cue as Yamato turned to look at him, standing off to his right. The younger man rubbed the back of his head, flashing an awkward smile as he patted the back of his neck, careful not to further ruin his already wet and messy hair.
“As I was saying,” Yamato returned to his pitch, his black silk mask dangling from his right ear. “FAIR Insurance is there for you whenever you need it, fair weather or not. We’ve provided long-lasting service to the people of Japan since Yo?gai-shima was put down in the sea and not once have we failed to provide our customers a safety net against the constant dangers of the modern world. Just take the storm, for instance.”
Yamato gestured behind them, to the howling storm that whistled overhead, whose clouds swallowed up the towering heights of the city’s spires.
“The damage this kind of downpour can do might surprise you. Not only are you at risk of erosion, burst drainage pipes, but many kinds of dangerous mold thrive on the dampness created by rainfall.”
Yamato held up a finger as the woman behind the door opened her mouth to say something, cutting her off.
“You might think that your landlord and the bog-standard renter’s insurance would already take care of things like this, but I assure you, that’s not true,” Yamato went on, finally finding some rhythm. “It’s all too easy to think that life here on Yo?gai-shima is just like it was on Honshu, but that just isn’t the case.”
Yamato leaned forward, lowering his voice conspiratorially as he did.
“The truth is that with how quickly many of these prefabricated structures were put down, they’ve developed a series of common faults that many real estate companies and landowners are well aware of. If you were to really go through all the fine print on your renter’s agreement, you’d likely be shocked at just what your landlord can hold you accountable for.”
“Is that so?” Mrs. Yoshimoto asked, seeming a bit nervous. Naoya recognized that the pitch was starting to work, building up that sense of concern in addition to a certain curiosity.
“Oh yes,” Yamato gave an awkward chuckle. “You’d need a lawyer to really unpack all of it.”
“I see,” the housewife said, looking away as she considered. “I’ll have to talk to my husband about this.”
The H-word, a big no-no when selling to married women by themselves. Invoking the man of the house could very well sink the entire sale and Naoya readied himself for the housewife to dismiss the both of them while she called her husband. Yamato, however, pressed forward.
“Can you afford to wait that long?” Yamato called her attention back to him. “Even at this very moment, this building is being worn down by the rain. Waiting for your husband to come home while he’s likely very busy at work could make all the difference in allowing a preventable disaster to occur.
“FAIR Insurance is made for people just like you, Mrs. Yoshimoto,” Yamato went on, having neatly sidestepped the husband for the moment. “Countless hard working, everyday people like you and your family have proven themselves loyal tenants and capable stewards, only for them to be held accountable when calamity strikes. FAIR Insurance puts an end to that. We have many different affordable plans, designed for both the long and short term, along with a free inspection of your household by our certified technicians that can help show you danger areas where wear, tear, and mold accumulates. If you’d like, the two of us could come in and discuss your options.”
Slowly, the opened door widened slightly, and Mrs. Yoshimoto seemed on the verge of inviting them in. Naoya found that he had a knot of apprehension in his stomach, a tangle of anticipation. Was this finally going to be their first sale of the day? If they even got past the opening pitch, that would be an improvement.
“How about it, Mrs. Yamashita?” Yamato egged her on, a smile on his face.
In short order, the two men found themselves back out on the sidewalk. The start of the day had seen an hour of the pair walking around, after which the rain had slowed to a soft, slow drizzle. The storm still howled distantly, its roaring punctuated by the occasional clap of thunder. Naoya and Yamato had taken a bus down south toward the Arcade Ward, a part of the city known for its middle-income housing in addition to its extensive specialty shops and markets. It seemed like the perfect place to start their rounds for the day, but almost as soon as they stepped off the bus, Naoya had a feeling in the pit of his stomach that things weren’t going to go their way. He hated that he’d been right.
Yamato, the “seasoned” salesman had taken the lead as they went through a list of cold calls and new renters across several apartment blocks provided by some kind of algorithm from the main office. It hadn’t worked out. With each lead, Yamato had stumbled through his pitch, forgot his lines, and then had to apologize when he got names and addresses mixed up. Naoya had stood at arm’s length, watching in silence as his mentor made mistake after mistake, leading to him botching every single opportunity, even those marked out as being likely buyers.
The two men ducked into a busy bus stop and the metal shelter stretched itself outward to accommodate the two new arrivals. While Yamato pushed himself back further among the throng of commuters, vying for a space near an overhead heater, Naoya hesitated. Countless people pressed together to protect themselves from the downpour, but the crush of bodies sent a wave of trepidation through Naoya as he looked on from outside. Reluctantly, Naoya decided to pull the semi-transparent hood out from the collar of his jacket to shield himself from the rain and he squatted down near the edge of the bus stop, placing his back against one of its corners. He sat in the rain as people came and went for several long minutes, his mind drifting away to other places and times as he spaced out.
“What a bitch.”
It was a statement uttered so quietly that Naoya barely heard it. The bus had come and gone, emptying the small shelter, and leaving Naoya and Yamato alone. Naoya cautiously shimmied into the now empty back and looked at his mentor, leaning up against the other side of the bus stop with his left foot braced against the wall, his right shoulder sticking out from under the roof above them as he stared into the street. For a moment, Naoya almost thought he saw a different person.
The man he’d met this morning, Yamato Kenji, seemed like a perfectly ordinary middle-manager, probably somewhere in his thirties, too awkward and bumbling to approach a woman. Very expected, somehow. Looking back, Naoya wasn’t sure why he’d come to that conclusion about Yamato. It was just something about his mannerisms, his body language, his word choice, his expressions: all of it seemed perfectly tailored somehow. But there were other times when Yamato seemed to forget how to act.
Naoya had noticed it early in the morning after their first rejection: as the two of them headed back down to the street, Yamato had stridden ahead of his trainee, momentarily forgetting his umbrella. For the first few steps, Yamato stood straight backed as he walked, forcing Naoya to realize the older man was a few inches taller than himself, and he’d had his hands shoved into the pockets of his slacks, adding to a sense of an irate swagger. But then, when Naoya had called out to give him his umbrella back, Yamato seemed to remember himself and he stooped down again, flashing that awkward smile.
He'd appeared time and time again throughout the morning: Thug Yamato, Naoya thought of him at first. Or Punk Yamato, maybe. He’d settled on just Kenji, now. No matter which way you sliced it, he was back. It was the first time Naoya had gotten a good look at the other man’s face when he was acting like this, as he’d forgotten to hitch his mask back up after leaving the last apartment. What he thought of as an older man at first was clearly a person much younger, closer to Naoya’s age: why had he thought Yamato was so much older than him? Beneath his head of dark hair, also messed up by the wind and the rain, was a man of pale skin with dark, heavy bags under his eyes. Aside from that, Yamato was almost handsome, though his face was a little long, his chin and cheeks stretched down a little too far for him to be considered truly good-looking. Looking out through his glasses with wine red eyes, Naoya’s mentor stared into space with an odd intensity.
“Lonely housewives, am I right?” Naoya broke the silence, trying to be amicable. Kenji shifted his eyes over to Naoya and there was a slight hint of irritation in his expression. Naoya wondered whether or not the other man resented his presence, or maybe it was the fact that Naoya had seen him breaking character.
“Well,” Yamato stopped leaning against the bus stop, choosing to stand and awkwardly hunch beneath the heater above him as he put his mask back on again. “You’ll find that they’re some of our best buyers. It’s easier to pressure them sometimes, when a man might have the instinct to barter or dig his heels in.”
“Oh yeah?” Naoya asked with a wry smile. “Clearly you’ve never met my girlfriend.”
If she were a stranger, would Suzume even have given the pair the time of day? He couldn’t imagine any warnings about the lease or the landlord expecting her to pay damages would make any headway. She likely knew the renter’s agreement by heart and had already picked out an insurance agency that fit her needs meticulously. No, the conversation wouldn’t have lasted two minutes with her on the other side of the open door.
She was that kind of woman. Someone who prided themselves on being as close to perfect as possible. Perfect grades, perfect attendance, perfect preparation, perfect execution. The worst part about it was that she expected the people around her to feel and act the same way she did. That was the hardest part. But at the same time, how long had Naoya relied on her excellence to support himself? As long as he’d known anything, really.
He couldn’t help recalling the argument this morning. He looked back on Suzume’s accusations that he was sandbagging the relationship and not doing his part. He resented the idea: he was trying his hardest; it’s just that a lot of things were harder for him than they were for her. Why didn’t she get that? Still, he remembered his childish and desperate attempt to get in a parting shot in the parking lot.
“That was definitely a self-own,” Naoya muttered as he squatted down under the shelter’s heater and stared up at the gloomy sky.
“What was?” Yamato asked, innocently.
“I called my girlfriend ‘mom’ this morning,” Naoya explained before he could stop himself.
“Oh, did you?” there was a little mirth in Yamato’s voice. Naoya glanced at his mentor, who hid a smile as he looked away. Was Yamato laughing at him?
“I did it intentionally, okay?” Naoya went on, feeling provoked.
“I don’t think I need to hear this,” Yamato waved a hand between them, still nurturing a grin.
“I was trying to make fun of her for how much she babies me!” Naoya insisted, his face reddening in embarrassment as the words left his mouth.
“Oh,” Yamato agreed, unable to hide his laughter. “Well, I guess you did play yourself.”
“Man, screw you!” Naoya pouted, shaking his head in frustration.
Silence returned between them as their clothes dried. A rumbling sensation passed through the street beneath their feet as Yo?gai-shima remembered it was built to weather storms. Naoya felt his stomach turn as the vibrations intensified, and slits seamlessly appeared in what had seemed like concrete, sucking down the rainwater that had pooled in the road. Storm drains opened where the street met the sidewalk, hastening the drying of the roadway. A curious refraction appeared in the sky above, the daylight appearing to break away into indistinct rays of black and white streaks. Naoya had seen it countless times before, but he never knew what caused the light over Yo?gai-shima to change so starkly. Whatever it did, it seemed to hold back most of the downpour.
After several minutes went by and no new commuters appeared, there was a whirring sound from the bus stop. The shelter began to contract as the machine returned to its original size and as the walls closed in, Naoya felt a jolt of fear. The collapsing machine pressed against Naoya’s back and he stumbled forward. The world cracked. The sidewalk, the street, the bus stop, they all cracked. Yamato cracked, too, becoming a jumble of human glass on the verge of breaking apart.
Naoya darted out of the small bus stop and onto the open sidewalk, back into the rain. He walked away, trying to put distance between himself and the sound of groaning metal and rumbling machinery. He squatted down at the edge of the street, leaving his back to Yamato, and put his hands to either side of his head.
He breathed in deeply through his mouth and out through his nose. As he did, he began focusing on the world around him; everything he saw and felt. The color of the grey clouds. The smell of the rainwater mixing with the oil on the street. The sound of thunder somewhere in the distance. The feeling of his damp hair against his scalp. He thought of everything except the sound of groaning metal and the rumbling beneath his feet. Slowly but surely, he censored out the sensations that bothered him and he began to feel better.
“Are you alright?” Yamato asked from inside the bus stop and Naoya turned to watch the cracks running through his body seamlessly seal themselves back up, the hallucination passing.
“I’m fine,” Naoya lied as he slowly stood. “The sound just startled me, is all.”
“I see,” Yamato said slowly, looking surprised and sounding more than a little confused.
“Hey, let’s get back to work, huh?” Naoya floated the idea, his voice slightly shaking, hoping to find something to focus on and forget his fears. “Why don’t I try the next one?”
“Are you sure?” Yamato asked, reluctantly stepping back out into the rain as he opened his umbrella. “I thought you didn’t have any experience working in sales?”
“Can’t do any worse than you have,” Naoya cut back the bitter retort and decided to say something more flattering.
“I’ve learned a lot just watching you,” he told his mentor.
“Mostly what mistakes to avoid.”
“Well, if you’re sure,” Yamato said, adjusting his glasses before pulling out his Augur. Scrolling through it, he brought up a list of potential clients and handed it to Naoya. The young man thumbed through the list, looking for the names and addresses closest to the street they were on. Looking over the names, Naoya picked out one that seemed like a good pick: Gamo? Rei, married, moved in recently, thirty-five years old, apartment number 202. With another tap of the screen, Naoya brought up a map pointing him to the address.
“Here’s the plan,” Naoya said, handing Yamato back the device. “I’ve picked up most of the elevator pitch by watching you, but I don’t have the details pinned down. So, I’m going to talk us inside and you’ll fill in the gaps once we get the buyer to agree to a sit down.”
“Well, we can give it a try,” Yamato sounded less than positive about their chances. “Don’t go thinking what we do is easy, now, and don’t get feeling down when a door gets shut in your face.”
“First time, Yamato-san,” Naoya insisted on remaining positive. “We’ll get it in one.”
To that, his mentor simply sighed.
“Lonely housewives, huh?” Naoya considered his approach as he took the lead, following the directions on the map he’d seen. “Man, Suzume would kill me if she saw me doing this. Still, if she wants me to pull my weight, well then, she doesn’t get to complain about how I do it! I’m just gonna flirt with some older women and, maybe, sell some insurance.”
The next apartment building was much the same as the last, a five-story building made out of the dark grey cement of Yo?gai-shima, each individual unit having a door facing outward. A white pick-up truck sat parked on the grounds, its engine running. Cables ran from under its hood down into an open basement window, the rumbling sounds suggesting it was powering a dehumidifier. Naoya ignored it and the duo made their way up the staircase to the second floor, Naoya feeling a sense of tension as they got closer and closer to their destination. Was he ready for this, he asked himself? How long had it been since he seriously talked with a woman? One that wasn’t Suzume. He tried not to think about that.
“Hello, young lady, is your mother home?” Naoya rang the doorbell of apartment 202 as he tried to think of what to say. “Oh, you’re Mrs. Gamo?? I thought you were her daughter- no, no, that’s a terrible line.”
Naoya turned to look back at Yamato, gesturing for the other man to move further away. In a few moments, Naoya heard the sound of footsteps behind the door.
“Alright, lucky tie,” Naoya prayed to the object as he adjusted its fit around his neck. “Do your thing.”
A woman cautiously opened the door, looking out at the two men. She was of average height, barely reaching the top of Naoya’s collarbone, and she was dressed in a light-yellow sweater with a thick, long green skirt. She had a short, black bob-cut and a round girlish face atop a slender body. Her eyes, large and curious, stared up at Naoya.
“Well, she’s kind of cute,” Naoya thought. “I guess that makes this easier, somehow.”
“Excuse me, ma’am,” Naoya flashed a smile. “But I’m looking for the Gamo? residence. Is Mr. Gamo? here?”
“No,” the woman answered with a slight shake of her head. “He’s at work.”
“Oh, I see,” Naoya tried to make himself seem disappointed.
“Why are you looking for my husband?” the woman asked, instantly intrigued by the look on Naoya’s face.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Naoya apologized, affecting an abashed demeanor. “It was rude of me not to introduce myself.”
Naoya promptly bowed and pulled out a business card from a card holder given him by Yamato, handing it to Mrs. Gamo? with both hands.
“My name is Nanbu Naoya, and my partner is Yamato Kenji. We’re here from the FAIR Insurance Agency.”
“You’re both insurance salesmen?” she asked, looking down at the card.
“Yes, but not just that,” Naoya lied as he straightened back up. “You see, part of our services includes a free inspection for property damages that you might not know you’ll be held accountable for by your landlord or typical renter’s insurance. Your husband set up a meeting last month for us to conduct an inspection and to see if our business would be a good fit for your family’s needs, but it seems some wires must have been crossed if he’s not home.”
Naoya watched as the woman’s eyes flicked to the card and then to Naoya, and then to something behind him. He became aware of how off-put she was by Yamato lingering near the rail and Naoya, too, felt his presence like a heavy weight on his back. As soon as Mrs. Gamo? looked back down at the card again, Naoya gently slid to his right, blocking the other man off from her view.
“Do you normally sell insurance in the middle of a storm?” she asked abruptly, turning her eyes back to Naoya. She was suspicious of him. She had a right to be, he realized. He wasn’t a very convincing liar.
“Can you think of a better time?” he challenged her with a friendly smile.
“Before the storm hits,” she told him bluntly, though Naoya saw a slim smile on her face.
“They say that insurance is one of those things you pay for and pray you don’t need,” Naoya shrugged, casually. “But, at FAIR Insurance Agency, we like to give everyone that last-minute chance to be protected.”
“It sounds to me like your company is just desperate for sales,” Mrs. Gamo? hit the nail on the head.
“I wouldn’t have been out walking the streets since eight-o-clock if I didn’t believe in what I was doing,” Naoya kept his voice soft, not trying to sound confrontational.
“Maybe you’re desperate, too,” she said, leaning against the open door, considering him with her eyes.
“Desperate for what?” he asked, resting his elbow against the doorframe as he continued to smile at her. She smiled back as they held eye contact for several seconds.
“I don’t know,” she said finally and looked back down at the card. “To tell the truth, this doesn’t sound like something my husband would have been interested in.”
As Naoya listened, he could almost feel the opportunity slipping away but he fought against the urge to try and say something to keep her interest. He had to remain calm and unflappable.
“But. . .” she cocked her head to one side, still looking down, and Naoya let the word linger for a few more seconds.
“But?” he prompted with a warm smile and a soft voice.
“I guess you can come inside,” she gave him a soft smile. “At least to get out of the rain for a few minutes.”
“That’s very kind of you,” he told her, trying not to seem too eager.
She slid the door open wide and invited Naoya in, barely remembering Yamato’s existence. The two of them stepped inside and Mrs. Gamo? slid the door closed behind them.
“I’ll go make some tea,” she told them and swept away into the interior of the small apartment, turning around the corner and going into the kitchen.
“Well, you got us in the door,” Yamato lowered his voice when the two were alone. “But she doesn’t seem very interested in buying.”
“That’s where you come in,” Naoya punched Yamato in the arm, feeling a momentary rush from the success. At this point, he didn’t even care if they made the sale or not. “Now that we’ve got her to sit down, you just need to lay things out.”
“Even if I can offer her a deal, things could get messy when her husband finds out,” Yamato rubbed his sore bicep, insisting on being dour.
“Isn’t that what always happens with this kind of customer?” Naoya insisted, his voice a hissing whisper.
“A wife buying something her husband doesn’t want isn’t so unusual,” Yamato explained. “But you brought the husband into it first. Now, the wife thinks there’s some preexisting relationship. At the very least, if the husband decides to cancel the insurance, things aren’t going to go well when he brings up the fact you lied to his wife.”
“I improvised, okay?” Naoya glanced around, looking to make sure the woman wasn’t listening. “This is the furthest we’ve gotten all morning; let’s just try and make the sale, alright?”
“From now on, be sure to remember that twisting the truth is one thing, but outright lies can get us in real trouble,” Yamato continued his attempts to rain on Naoya’s small victory in imitation of the storm outside.
“Yeah, yeah,” Naoya brushed away the advice, determined to keep pushing forward. “Look, you just do your thing from here, okay?”
The two men took off their shoes and went to sit down at the small table in the cramped living space. In a few minutes, Mrs. Gamo? appeared, bringing three cups and a kettle, serving both men freshly brewed tea before seating herself. Naoya went into the background role as Yamato took over, opening his briefcase and pulling out several different pamphlets about different insurance plans and coverages. Whenever Mrs. Gamo? seemed overwhelmed by the information Yamato was pouring on her, or looked close to losing interest, Naoya would interject, simplifying things as best he could and engage her in small talk as she made eyes at him. Everything seemed to be going well and Naoya reached out to take another sip of his tea, fingers tightening around the cup.
Suddenly, there was the sound of a revving engine and tires squealed outside. Naoya looked back toward the door as he heard men shouting in alarm, their words too muffled to understand. All at once, something hit the apartment building on the first floor and the entire structure shook. Naoya felt the ground beneath his feet tremble, and he shuddered as the glass rumbled in the windowpanes. His stomach lurched and before his eyes, Mrs. Gamo? cracked, becoming a pile of human glass with fissures snaking through her body. He squeezed his eyes shut, clamping down on his reactionary terror.
Dimly, he became aware of the heat in his closed right hand and as the adrenaline subsided, the heat turned to pain. Looking down, Naoya realized the cup he’d been holding had cracked and the hot tea was running all over his fingers. Reflexively, he pulled his hand away, clutching it to his chest and the cup fell apart without his hand holding it together. Mrs. Gamo? gasped as her eyes fell on the broken shards and hot tea running over Naoya’s fingers and she hastily stood up.
“I’m so sorry,” she apologized profusely. “I must have grabbed a broken cup.” She went into the kitchen to look for something to mop up the tea now spreading all over the table.
“Hey,” Yamato nudged Naoya in the ribs as he cradled his fingers, his mind still far away. “Hey!”
“What?” Naoya asked in a low whisper.
“How did you do that?” Yamato glanced down at the cup, making it clear what he was talking about.
“Do what?”
“You shattered that cup without even squeezing it,” Yamato told him, his voice wary.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Naoya hissed as he held his scalded hand.
“No,” Yamato said firmly, pulling away with blatant suspicion. “I know what I saw.”