The Case Files of Jeweler Richard

Next part’s going to be long so it might take a while before I update.

Senpai had his usual expression and spoke in his usual voice. No, what was “usual”, exactly? It had been more than five years since I’ve been in daily contact with him. I didn’t know what Hase-senpai did since then. I heard at the last yakiniku dinner that he was now working as a salesperson for a real estate company. But I didn’t hear anything about he was trying to sell a gemstone for some reason. No, I doubt he would bother to tell me about something like that. Even if there were no particular circumstances.

Just like how there were people who bought gemstones for no particular reason, there would probably be more people who had no reasons when they were selling them. It was an issue of timing. I was a bit surprised when he told my Grandma’s story, but if it helped Senpai, so be it. But it was painful for me when he showed no signs of being in a difficult situation, even though he might be. I got anxious, feeling that there was something else I could be doing, something more.

“Are you having indigestion? Eat some more kalbi ribs, are you being shy?”

“…It’s not like that at all.”

Where and what do I begin with?

He didn’t seem like it at all, but was him trying to sell a gemstone because he was having some kind of money problem? He was so generous, though. Come to think of it, in the past Senpai bought me juice even though he only had a hundred yen in his wallet.

“Um, I’m really happy just being able to eat with you, Senpai, but…can we split the bill today?”

“Hah?”

“You know, when we have to pay the bill today.”

“Students shouldn’t get cocky.”

A low voice and a gaze as cold as ice. I froze. That was his face when he was in a match. The glare of Hase-senpai, who was called the King of Destruction. Our shihan told us to become a different person when we were fighting. Be more polite than anyone else in our daily lives, and be fiercer than anyone when we were fighting. We had to discover our own purpose in life, but the purpose of fighting was to win. When I repeated those words to Grandma, she had smiled and said that I had a good teacher. Since then, I lived with those words engraved in my heart, or at least I intended to, but I’ve been forgetting them lately. Because I never had to be in a match.

Which one was the current Hase-senpai?

“…I’m sorry.”

“Ahh, don’t be scared. What, I’m just messing with you! It makes me feel weird when you’re acting considerate of me. Dig in, dig in. Eat energetically.”

Thank you, I said and bowed my head. If me eating energetically made Senpai happy, then I would eat as energetically as he liked. But what was this feeling, like I had become a cow on a ranch.

Our conversation wasn’t very lively that day. Senpai changed topics many times, but was dismayed that I didn’t get into them and before long told me about a strange nickname he had been called often recently. It was “Usagi.” When I asked him while laughing who called him that, he hesitated for a bit before answering that it was someone from work. The conversation was cut off there again.

I wondered if it was just my imagination that he looked fiercely tired for a moment. I was probably mistaken. But it soon disappeared and I couldn’t pursue it.

When it was time to pay the bill, Hase-senpai used his credit card to pay, as ever. I remembered him laughing the other day, telling me the reason he didn’t carry cash was that he couldn’t be bothered to keep a household account book. Richard would say that it was because of my creed that I didn’t ask him if that was true. I just didn’t have the courage to.

“Senpai, are you…having any problems right now?”

“Hah? Problems?”

“No, it’s nothing.”

When I somehow managed to make my face smile, not knowing what kind of expression I was making, Hase-senpai’s face softened slightly. His face was so gentle that it made me want to cry.

“You’re still the same ‘Champion of Justice,’ eh.”

“What do you mean by ‘same’?”

“You haven’t changed at all since middle school. Oh, I do have one, a problem.”

“Anything you need!”

“Do you know what’s a ‘Kainoshi’?”

“…Hah? Kaino?”

“’Kainoshi.’ It’s a mystery word. It’s more like something I don’t know rather than a problem.”

Nothing comes up when I search it up, Senpai laughed. His usual face. Frank and straightforward, a little quick to anger—that was Hase-senpai’s face.

When I shook my head and said, “Sorry, I don’t know,” Senpai put his hand on my head and ruffled it like he would a dog. We walked to the station and disappeared beyond the ticket gate.

In the end, I couldn’t talk to him about anything.

As soon as I got on the Yamanote line, I sent out individual emails to everyone from the dojo who I saw for the first time in a long while at the match from before. I asked them if they knew what Hase-senpai was doing lately. It wasn’t something I could ask on the mailing list. I contacted fifteen people, both seniors and juniors, and only three people responded. Two of them said, “I don’t know, but I’m worried.” The third person was Uemura-senpai, who was the same age as Hase-senpai, and apparently they drank together at an izakaya in Tokyo about half a year ago. It seemed to be true that he dropped out of university due to some circumstances, and he had a hard time finding a job. He had heard him grumbling about it.

Stuff like how he found a job as a real estate agent and was supposed to be a real estate broker, but was made to do nursing care.

Stuff like how even though he had never been in a management position before, he was the only employee on site.

Stuff like how he might have joined a black company.

Uemura-senpai concluded by saying that he hadn’t heard anything of him since then, so he assumed he was fine, and then he logged off, saying that it was getting late and he was going to bed.

Half a year ago. He joined a real estate company but he was doing nursing care? I didn’t understand. How did that work compliance-wise? Did he change jobs after that and now he really was a salesman at a real estate company?

As I used “black companies” as a keyword to search, my stomach began to hurt.

There was an awful lot of examples. Too many. What the hell was this? There were countless message board posts, records of people who sued their companies because they claimed that they became depressed because of them, and “survival” records of people who were still working for black companies. I knew they existed, I knew that, but there were enough records that made it seem like there were black companies in every occupation.

If you worked at an awful company, you should just quit. No, of course there was the pressing issue of income, but couldn’t you look for a new job even if you couldn’t quit right away? What was the Labor Standards Bureau doing?

It appeared that I wasn’t the only one who thought that way, as the blogs of people who for black companies were rife with comments saying, “Why don’t you just quit?” Below them, there were replies of “It’s still a good company if you can find time to look for a new job” and “If you’re exploited like a spinning top everyday, all you can do is sleep.” It was a maze with no exits. Was being ground into dust the only thing waiting for them?

I put down my phone and took a shower. I shouldn’t think about it too much. I was always running around and causing trouble for everyone around me. Only Senpai knew his own circumstances. And did he work at a black company if he could treat his junior to dinner every Saturday? That was proof he had free time. Maybe the opal case was something he was asked to do by his family, or maybe there was some other kind of troublesome circumstances. I’ll ask a few lighthearted questions about the drinking party from half a year ago at the yakiniku restaurant next week. He might laugh with an amazed face, saying, I already changed jobs a long time ago! And after that.

“…Kainoshi.”

That mysterious word.

He said nothing showed up even when he looked it up. When I got out of the bath, I took my phone again and resume searching little by little. Kainoshi. Where did that word come from? Was this like a riddle or something? Kainoshi. If it was a historical term, then I give up. But—maybe.

I hesitated for a few minutes, did some muscle training while I was hesitating, and then picked up my phone again because my hesitation still wasn’t going away. I typed up a message. The addressee was Richard. It was the first time I was contacting him for something unrelated to work. And it was late at night.

“Do you know what’s a ‘kainoshi’?”

May he not get angry. May that blond man who’s so skilled in Japanese that it was hard to believe that he was a foreigner, and knew so much about culture and customs, know the meaning of the mysterious word.

As I was squirming while watching videos, I fell asleep. Saturday wasn’t a tiring day for me, but today my stomach and mood were heavy. At four a.m., which couldn’t even be called morning, I woke up from a strange dream.

I got up to drink some water and while I was at it, I peeked at my phone. There was one reply.

Richard.

“Wrong transmission?”

This guy. I half expected that reply. But the time caught my eye. It was fifteen minutes ago. What exactly was he doing at this hour? I didn’t think he had a hobby of staying up late, judging by that face to which the words “bad skin” was completely foreign. I wondered if he was still awake.

For a moment, I hesitated over whether or not to call him, but then hurriedly reconsidered. That was beyond impolite. He was still my boss at my part-time job. He wasn’t a blue cat-shaped robot.

“I made a mistake. Sorry.”

I replied, and feeling somewhat relieved, I went back to sleep. When I woke up three hours later, I remembered that it was Sunday and I could meet him in person at the store.