Tokyo’s night, for some, is a champagne tower of flowing lights.
For others, it is a swamp mixed with the smell of cheap tobacco, scorched grease, and the sour stench of vomit.
Amuro Kazuhiro belonged to the latter.
“Hey! Amuro! Is that table not clean yet? Faster! Don’t act like a dead man!”
The manager’s rough roar pierced through the noisy air of the izakaya, lashing across the back of the forty-something-old man like a whip.
“Yes! I am very sorry! It will be ready right away!”
Amuro Kazuhiro hunched his back, frantically grabbed a rag, and vigorously wiped the oil stains remaining on the tabletop.
Because his movements were too large, his ill-fitting work uniform pinched painfully under his armpits.
Several months ago, he was still a Department Chief at a trading company, wearing a neatly ironed shirt.
Though his performance was mediocre, he was considered a decent member of the salaryman class.
But the cold wave known as “Economic Restructuring” had easily blown down a middle-aged man like him who had no foundation.
Unemployment, hitting a wall while job hunting, and then unemployment again.
To maintain the household, to keep the wife who was already cold toward him from becoming even more disgusted, and to support his daughter who was currently in middle school, he had to work as a handyman for low hourly wages in this Shitamachi izakaya, far from home.
He straightened his back and felt a wave of dizziness.
In a trance, he remembered his stepson who had left home about six months ago — Yuki Asahi.
That youth was always taciturn, keeping his head down and trying his best to minimize his own existence.
Amuro Kazuhiro was actually a kind person, or rather, a weak but good man.
In this blended family relationship, he had tried to play the role of a good father, but he was too clumsy and too fearful of the moods of his wife and biological daughter.
He remembered that time when Yuki Asahi had very calmly stated his decision as if it were a formal notification.
There was no argument, no farewell, only a heart-wrenching determination.
At that time, his biological daughter, Amuro Funae, still had the smile of a victor on her face: “He’s finally gone, that eyesore.”
Amuro Funae had always hated Yuki Asahi.
‘He’s clearly a parasite, yet he acts so noble.’
‘Dad earns money for me, not to raise an outsider like you!’
Did Amuro Kazuhiro know about all this?
He knew.
But he chose silence, chose the illusion of “family harmony,” and chose to let his sensible stepson bear it all until Yuki Asahi actually left.
However, strangely enough, in the six months since Yuki left, the house had not welcomed the expected “peace.”
Amuro Funae had changed.
She was no longer as loud as before; she had become more gloomy and sensitive.
She would often daze off while passing by Yuki’s empty room late at night.
When she heard others mention the word “brother,” she would show an expression as if she had been bitten.
That emptiness after victory seemed to drive her more mad than her previous hatred.
“Welcome — !”
The electronic chime from the door interrupted Amuro Kazuhiro’s memories.
He subconsciously wanted to shout the welcome greeting, but when he saw the figure at the door, his throat felt as if it were choked.
It was a middle school girl wearing a long skirt.
Her hair was a bit messy, and her face carried a faint weariness and panic.
“Fu… Funae?”
Amuro Kazuhiro hurriedly put down the rag, walked over quickly, and lowered his voice.
“Why are you here? This place is…”
“I’ll come if I want to.”
Amuro Funae stared with eyes filled with red veins, her voice somewhat hoarse.
“Mom didn’t come back again today.”
“There’s nothing in the refrigerator.”
“Dad… I’m hungry.”
The last sentence carried a hint of grievance and a sob that was hard to hide.
Amuro Kazuhiro’s already bent spine felt even heavier.
His wife had recently become obsessed with Pachinko and so-called “investing,” often staying out all night.
As for himself, because it wasn’t payday yet, his pockets were cleaner than his face.
“Funae, you… you sit down first.”
Amuro Kazuhiro led his daughter to a small table in the corner and helplessly felt through all the pockets on his body, only finding a few coins.
It wasn’t even enough for a bowl of the cheapest ramen.
“Hey! Amuro! Is that your daughter?”
The manager noticed the commotion and walked over, looking at Funae with an unfriendly gaze.
“This is a place of business. If you don’t have money to spend, don’t take up a seat! What time is it? Why haven’t you taken her home?”
“Sorry! Manager, she… she’s just too hungry. Could you…”
Amuro Kazuhiro bowed humbly, offering a forced smile.
“Could you give me an advance on…”
“An advance? You broke two plates this week and haven’t even finished paying for them yet!”
the manager hissed in anger.
Amuro Funae lowered her head, clutching the hem of her skirt tightly.
Shame, anger, hunger — countless chaotic emotions intertwined.
She bit her lip, tears welling in her eyes, yet she stubbornly refused to let them fall.
At this suffocatingly awkward moment —
The sliding door of the izakaya was suddenly pulled open.
The night wind poured in, carrying a high-end perfume scent that was completely out of place with this greasy little shop.
The originally noisy izakaya instantly quieted down.
Everyone’s gaze turned toward the door.
Two people stood at the entrance.
“Is there really good food in a place like this?”
Yuki Asahi asked doubtfully.
“Let’s try it.”
Jiang Jian Yue had long wanted to experience the izakaya culture.
The two, dressed in formal attire, looked like VIPs who had come to the wrong destination.
Especially the young lady.
No matter where she went, she was enough to draw everyone’s attention.
Anyone’s first reaction would be — she shouldn’t be here.
Facing the well-dressed pair, the manager was dazed until the two walked toward the cleanest table.
Only then did he react, instantly putting on a fawning face to greet them.
“Welcome! You two! Please sit, please sit!”
However, the boy did not sit down.
His gaze passed over the flattering manager and landed on the middle-aged man with the hunched back in the corner, as well as the middle school girl who was currently looking up with a blank expression.
The air seemed to freeze.
Amuro Kazuhiro looked at the dazzling youth before him, his lips trembling.
This… was this Yuki?
Was this the silent stepson from his home?
Now, he was confident, powerful, and radiant, as if his whole body were emitting light.
And he himself, wearing an apron stained with oil, was being humiliated by his boss because he had no money to buy his daughter a meal.
This massive disparity made Amuro Kazuhiro wish he could find a hole to crawl into.
“…Yuki?”
He squeezed out the name with difficulty.
Yuki Asahi’s eyes flickered.
He hadn’t expected that when Jiang Jian Yue wanted to bring him to experience “Shachiku life” and fill their stomachs, they would encounter this scene.
He looked at his stepfather’s face, which had aged significantly, and Amuro Funae’s expression, which was so shocked it was almost distorted.
There was no imagined anger, nor was there the pleasure of returning home in glory.
There was only a faint… sadness in his heart.
“Mr. Amuro.”
Yuki Asahi nodded slightly, greeting him with a polite yet distant manner.
He didn’t call him “Father,” nor did he call him “Uncle.”
This single form of address was like an invisible wall, completely severing the past.
Amuro Funae stared fixedly at Yuki Asahi, her fingernails almost digging into her flesh.
Her inner thoughts were like a war zone under heavy bombardment, chaotic and violent.
Her gaze subconsciously flicked to the girl beside him.
She had seen this older girl before.
Once, she had lied to herself countless times that Yuki Asahi wanting to have a relationship with her was undoubtedly a toad lusting after swan meat.
And now, that swan was holding Yuki’s arm, looking at her with a gaze as if she were looking at trash.
“Who is that?”
Jiang Jian Yue asked, knowing full well who they were.
Then, realizing she was being a bit sharp, she coughed a few times and pressed Yuki Asahi’s shoulder, tucking him into a seat.
“Just now! Just now! You almost acted like some kind of wicked female antagonist,”
Meiguan complained.
‘Wicked?’
‘I’m not wicked at all!’
Jiang Jian Yue did not sit down.
Instead, she walked straight toward Amuro Funae in the corner.
Funae wanted to run, wanted to scream, and wanted to throw a tantrum like before, but in the face of Jiang Jian Yue’s powerful aura, she was like a frog pinned by a snake’s gaze, unable to move.
Jiang Jian Yue walked up to her, looking down at her from above.
“You look… very hungry?”
“What… what does it have to do with you?”
Funae’s voice trembled, but she still tried to hold her ground.
“Yuki.”
Jiang Jian Yue placed a stack of money on the bar like a magic trick, then turned back to look at Yuki Asahi, who was still silently staring at Amuro Kazuhiro.
“You talk?”
She raised her finger and pointed at Amuro Funae, who was curled into a ball and trembling.
“We’ll talk.”
“That… Yue…”
Yuki Asahi was a bit worried.
‘I don’t eat people.’
Jiang Jian Yue grabbed Amuro Funae’s wrist, ignoring her struggles, and pulled her right up from the chair.
“Let’s go. I’ll take you to get something to eat.”
Jiang Jian Yue dragged Amuro Funae out of the izakaya as easily as dragging a rag doll.
Inside the izakaya, the two men looked at each other.
The manager tactfully hid in the kitchen; he felt the atmosphere here was even more stifling than a gang fight.
Yuki Asahi pulled out a chair and sat down.
“Sit down, Mr. Amuro.”
Amuro Kazuhiro sat down tremblingly, his hands placed awkwardly on his knees, not even daring to look into his stepson’s eyes.
Silence spread between the two.
“Want a drink?”
Yuki Asahi picked up the menu on the table.
Without even looking at the price, he randomly pointed to a type of shochu.
“Ah… okay, okay.”
The alcohol was served quickly.
Yuki Asahi poured a glass for his stepfather and then one for himself.
Amuro Kazuhiro picked up the glass, his hands shaking so violently that a few drops of liquor spilled out.
He downed it in one gulp.
The spicy liquid made him cough repeatedly, even bringing tears to his eyes.
“Yuki… I’m sorry.”
With the help of the alcohol, this sentence that had been held in his heart for over six months finally rushed out of his throat.
“I… I am a useless man.”
Amuro Kazuhiro covered his face, his voice choking.
“I failed to protect you… and I failed to educate Funae…”
“I know you suffered a lot of grievances in that house… I know what Funae did… But I… I’m just a coward…”
“I thought… as long as you endured it, the family could be maintained…”
“In the end, I drove you away… and the family didn’t stay together anyway…”
He babbled on, seemingly in confession and partly in venting.
Yuki Asahi listened quietly, swirling the glass in his hand.
He didn’t have any resentful thoughts toward this man.
As said before, his heart was already dead regarding the concept of family.
Moreover, his horizons were no longer within this narrow, broken home — he had seen a wider world, found someone he wanted to protect, and gained the qualifications to be protected.
“I have never hated you, Mr. Amuro… Really.”
Yuki Asahi reached for the stack of banknotes.
After setting aside the money for the drinks, he gave the rest to Amuro Kazuhiro.
“Take it. Buy Funae something good to eat, or change your job.”
“It’s not for you, nor is it for that home.”
Yuki Asahi stood up and straightened the collar of his suit.
“It’s just to thank you for the allowance you gave me all those years, so that I didn’t starve to death. Thank you.”
After saying that, he didn’t look at Amuro Kazuhiro again and turned to walk out of the izakaya.
Brutal