Chapter Seventy-Seven: Foam

Ueno Tsuhisa found it hard to believe that the seemingly delicate girl before him actually lived alone in this cold world. He had assumed her separation from her parents was only temporary. “How can this be? How could your parents be so irresponsible?” Ueno’s voice betrayed his anger. He could not imagine the life Kuroba Neko led, nor how her parents could treat their own child this way. Kuroba Neko was not a pet to be discarded at whim—she was a living, breathing human, a girl not yet of age. Ueno could almost picture her, in those cold, empty nights, terrified in a room with no one else.

“Didn’t the government assign a relative to be your guardian?” Ueno took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

“To be precise, my mother has always been my and Akiko’s guardian. But she doesn’t have much free time; she has her own family now. After Akiko’s accident, my mother did visit once. She cried for a while, then left. It couldn’t be helped—she had to prepare lunch for her own child for the next day.” Kuroba Neko’s tone was utterly devoid of sorrow, as if she were reciting facts without emotion.

Ueno stood silently, gazing seriously at the pitiful girl for the first time. Kuroba Neko remained as quiet as a cherry blossom blooming in secret. After a long pause, he abandoned the thought that had crossed his mind. At last, he resolved: rather than hand her over to some faceless social institution, he would take responsibility for her himself.

“Miss Kuroba, may I ask you to do something for me?” Ueno spoke slowly, after some thought.

“What is it?” Kuroba Neko stopped and looked at him.

“I hope you’ll return to school. That’s more important than helping me with this case. Miss Akiko wouldn’t want her sister to give up on her own future, to drop out and be unable to support herself.” Ueno decided that, however long Akiko’s case might take, Kuroba Neko must put her own future first.

To Ueno’s surprise, Kuroba Neko didn’t hesitate. She nodded and replied, “If possible, I’d like you to come with me to handle the paperwork for returning to school.”

He nodded again, checked his watch, and quickened his pace, explaining as he went, “I have to get back to the station or my pay will be docked. But don’t worry, I’ll be back soon.”

Kuroba Neko murmured assent, then pointed to a bench nearby. “I’ll wait for you over there.” With the air of someone setting off for an appointment, she walked toward it.

Watching her go, Ueno suddenly understood: Kuroba Neko did not truly care for nothing. She was simply a girl so afraid of loneliness that she closed herself off, hoping to avoid being hurt by the world.

When Ueno finally slipped away from the station, it was already 2 p.m. This time, Kuroba Neko was holding a book—Yasunari Kawabata’s “Snow Country.” When she saw him approach, she tucked the half-read novel into her bag.

“I found out about Takeda Takahiro’s family. There might be something to uncover if we investigate,” Ueno began, but then recalled there were two other matters to settle first.

By the time they left the bank and the school, it was nearly five. Ueno joked self-deprecatingly, “It seems every time I investigate, it’s always at dusk. It feels awful, disturbing people at this hour.”

Kuroba Neko looked up at the sun still high in the clear sky. The light was less harsh than at noon, but not yet the dimness of twilight. She spoke softly, “Perhaps it’s better this way. Disturbing people in the beauty of morning or the warmth of afternoon would be worse.”

Takeda Takahiro’s family home was not far; there was no need for the expensive bullet train. After a short subway ride and half an hour’s walk, they reached their destination.

Ueno knocked. An elderly woman with white hair answered. When he explained their purpose, she muttered, “That fellow has nothing to do with us anymore. Whatever he’s done, no matter how much debt he’s in, it’s none of the Takeda family’s concern.” She moved to close the door, forcing Ueno to show his police badge. Only then did the woman, Takeda Mito, grudgingly let them in.

While taking off his shoes, Ueno noticed there were only pairs for two people on the rack. A quick survey of the house confirmed it: the Takeda couple must have been living alone for quite some time. Perhaps Takeda Takahiro truly had no ties left to them.

No sooner had the old woman set down their tea than she began to complain, “You police are always like this. I’ve told you there’s no connection, but you keep coming back. And that fellow’s already dead—what use is coming to us?”

Ueno could only apologize awkwardly. After a short conversation, he left with Kuroba Neko. “Why did we leave so quickly?” she asked, surprised; she had expected him to stay and probe like a detective on TV.

He smiled wryly. “I looked at the furnishings—there’s no sign a third person ever lived here. And do you think any mother would refer to her son as ‘that fellow’? Only someone with no feelings would say that. There’s no point staying when there’s nothing useful to learn—why make ourselves more unwelcome?”

Kuroba Neko nodded. Ueno continued, “Most importantly, there are other things we need to do with our time.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“Takeda Takahiro has more than just two close relatives. He has a younger sister, and she handled his funeral. He was probably closer to her than to his parents.”

When Sasaki Yui, in her apron and busy with housework, opened the door to these two unexpected visitors, she looked a little lost. This pair was a strange sight. “May I help you?”

Ueno handed her his badge, startling her. “Is something wrong? Has something happened?”

“I apologize for troubling you. I’m here to investigate your brother, Takeda Takahiro.” Ueno bowed his head.

Relief washed over her. She invited them in.

“So, Officer Ueno, you and this...” “I’m Kuroba Neko, Officer Ueno’s neighbor. My parents are away, so he’s kindly looking after me for a while. Once his work is done, he’ll take me home,” Kuroba Neko interjected smoothly, concealing her true identity.

Yui nodded. “What would you like to know?”

“I’d like to hear about Takeda Takahiro’s life—please tell me everything you can.”

Just then, the door opened. A tall, thin man entered with a little boy. Seeing the guests, the man paused. Ueno quickly introduced himself and Kuroba Neko, and explained their reason for coming. The man, Sasaki Haruma, nodded. “No problem. Actually, I know quite a bit about Takahiro myself. I grew up next door to Yui.”

A lifetime, lived slowly, can stretch on endlessly. But when recounted by others, even the longest life becomes a brief tale.

“Believe it or not, Takahiro was actually a good kid up until his second year of junior high. It was all that woman’s fault. Love is a strange thing—it changes people. That woman was a delinquent, and Takahiro, to get close to her, turned into a delinquent himself. He made a lot of bad friends, and eventually, after repeated thefts, he landed in juvenile detention. His parents gave up on him and cut him off...” Ueno’s heart stirred, though he said nothing and let Yui continue.

“...When Takahiro was released, it was already 1979. He had no skills, so he went back to the old ways, became a hoodlum. Over the years, he borrowed money from me a few times. At first he always paid me back, but later he kept delaying, and I lost patience. I have my own family. After I refused him a few times, we lost contact. The last time I saw him was a long time ago.” Yui sighed, as if genuinely regretful. “If only he hadn’t followed that girl into delinquency, maybe he’d have a steady job and a family by now.”

Ueno finally asked, “What was that woman’s name?” Yui spat out the answer with loathing: “Chiba Maki.” Ueno’s instincts told him this woman was still connected to Takeda Takahiro—perhaps even to his death. Maybe it was unattainable love or some unknown guilt that drove him to suicide. As if remembering something, Yui found an album and pointed to a funeral photo. “That’s Chiba Maki.” In a sea of black suits, the woman she indicated wore a ladies’ hat and dark glasses.

After this, Yui glanced at the clock on the wall. “Sorry, I have to start dinner.” Ueno quickly got up. “Thank you for your time.”

As Ueno was putting on his shoes, Sasaki Haruma suddenly spoke up. “Takahiro still owed my family a lot of money, but never mind that. I don’t know why you’re investigating him, Officer Ueno, but if it’s about his death, I hope you find what you’re looking for. He achieved little in life, but at least he was a good brother... When Yui was bullied at school, after Takahiro became a delinquent, no one dared bother her again. In that sense, he did make a small contribution to this world.”

Ueno and Kuroba Neko said goodbye to Haruma. As they were leaving, Haruma glanced back at Yui in the kitchen, hesitated, then quietly murmured an address: “Kabukicho, Ichiban Street.”

Ueno nodded, then realized Kuroba Neko was still with him. He hesitated, then said, “It’s late. Would you like me to take you home?”

But Kuroba Neko shook her head. “It’s only six—hardly late. Besides, I know what kind of place Kabukicho Ichiban Street is.”

No one knows how Ueno spent those three hours on the bullet train. He felt awkward: to insist on going seemed suspicious, but sending Kuroba Neko alone into such a place was unthinkable.

In the end, he decided to take her with him. As long as he behaved professionally, there should be nothing to worry about.

By day, Kabukicho was little different from any bustling Japanese street. But at night, it bloomed like a flower of vice. Even on weekdays, the streets were full of drunks near midnight. Salarymen in suits stumbled out of tiny bars, supporting one another. It was less prosperous than during the bubble era, when taxis were easily hailed; now, even the most intoxicated rarely took a cab, instead mustering the strength to rest briefly at the curb before dragging themselves to the train station for home.

Walking the streets of Kabukicho Ichiban, Ueno noticed the curious glances thrown their way—perhaps because of Kuroba Neko’s presence. A man bringing a high-school-aged girl into such a place was rare. After slipping a tip to a local, Ueno got information about Chiba Maki. The man, cigarette in mouth, even offered unsolicited advice. “If you’d been born a decade earlier, you might’ve had your wish. But Chiba Maki’s retired long ago. Sure you don’t want to visit my place instead? Lots of cute girls there.”

Waving him off, Ueno was about to call Kuroba Neko over when he saw, for the first time, an expression on her face befitting her age. She looked like a frightened rabbit, desperately trying to appear stern. “Get lost!” Ueno barked. The sleazy middle-aged man harassing her slunk away.

“Are you alright?” Ueno asked.

“I’m fine.”

He did not expose her forced bravado. Instead, he moved a little closer and spoke softly, “Let’s go.”

Kuroba Neko nodded and trailed behind him, clutching his sleeve. Ueno pretended not to notice.

In Shinjuku’s Kabukicho Ichiban Street—a place awash in desire, where people moved like marionettes—two pure souls, who did not belong here, walked side by side.

All around them, in stark contrast, men and women, driven by lust or by necessity, wandered the night like migrating reptiles.