The stubby manager sat on his rotating office chair with his ogre like hands on his wide desk. He did not have an office of his own but rather a section of the open floor styled office dedicated to him, he enjoyed the setup as he could watch every employee with his beady little eyes. His toupee clung to his round head for dear life as he shifted his position, leaning on the desk and giving an intense stare. In front of him stood the salaryman, bowing so low his forehead almost tapped on the auburn desk.
“I apologise for my absence yesterday, sir, thank you for allowing me to see to my appointment. I will make sure that this does not become a regular occurrence!” The salaryman belted out without raising his head.
“I hope not. In any case, I sent a letter to head office; I will have my eye on you from now on.”
“Yes, sir.”
The salaryman sat at his workstation, it was part of a larger octagonal light brown desk and each side was its own station. He worked in the PR Department and all eight members of the work area made up the team. He turned on the desktop and glanced at the small clock on the bottom left on the screen; 7:54. He had a long day ahead of him once more, and what’s worse, it was Friday – meaning that after work he would be required to spend even more time with his colleagues, drinking and sucking up to the manager whilst pretending not to.
His day always started with searching for the latest news, making sure to note anything that may affect the company’s image, and then he would begin to put proposals together for ad campaigns. He began by firing up the search engine and gazing at the local and national news, a notification popped up, it so happened to be the day of a lunar eclipse. For a moment he remembered how he used to gaze up at the moon as a child, a sense of warm nostalgia gleamed over him but was quickly subdued as he caught the beady eyes of his manager staring at him.
He sighed; “It’s a shame that the Aizen Matsuri festival has just ended, combining the festival and the eclipse may have made for a good campaign.”
He scribbled some notes on a notebook beside him.
“Perhaps next ye-“
Next year, huh? He thought.
I wonder if I’ll even be here next year…I’ll probably have my last breath here, with any luck it will be right on the manager’s desk.
Memories of office politics flooded his mind; when he was the bud of the manager’s unfunny jokes, sent on fools’ errands for his amusement or berated for the slightest of errors.
No. He’d probably consider that a victory.
Lost in thought once again, he missed the moment at which the manager stood from his desk and made his rounds around the office like a warden stalking his prisoners. The manager was surprisingly light footed for such a round human being; he crept behind the salaryman and watched him for a moment, then looked at his wristwatch and then watched him again.
-Suddenly, he slammed his palm on the desk, sending a jolt through the salaryman’s body. He snapped around, facing his senior, who now stood with his arms crossed and a fierce frown. He lived for these moments; there was nothing more enticing for the chubby man than catching his employees doing something wrong. The manager knew exactly what would happen next, it had happened so many times before, every employee had the same expression – fear; then the apologies would ensue and he would make them work for it, squeezing every drop of remorse from their terrified souls.
The salaryman turned and bowed his head in apology, but there was a sluggishness to his response. A tiredness that the manager picked up on immediately, and he was not pleased!
“I’m sorry, sir.”
“What? Is that all?” the manager bellowed out angrily.
“After yesterday’s antics – and now you refuse to wor-“
“-I’m sorry sir, I was just thinking abou-“
“And on top of that, you dare to interrupt your superior! Huh?! And only to offer useless excuses! I knew I should have just fired you on the spot! Have you forgotten who has given you everything? Huh?! And you dare to treat me this way? You’re worthless! A loser! A nobody!”
Maybe it was the alcohol still flowing through the salaryman’s system, maybe it was the manager’s poor grammar – or perhaps it was the news he had received yesterday – but he could no longer bow, it was tiresome, so he decided to stand instead. Looking down at his manager he thought;
What am I even doing here?
“What’s this?! Huh? Are you going to bite the hand that feeds you? I’ll make sure you never find work in this ci- no, in Japan, ever again!” the manager continued to shriek.
“…I don’t…” the salaryman sniggered one last time before throwing his life away, “I don’t care. I’m tired.”
“I knew it! It’s as I said, you’re worthless! Usele-“
“I!” the salaryman interrupted, “I-My name…is Kuroko JUROU!”
As the words flung out of his mouth, he puffed out his chest, connecting with the manager and causing him to stumble back. It had been a while since Jurou was in a fistfight but he hoped muscle memory would save him once again.
He pulled his fist as far back as he possibly could, winding it up whilst eyeing the fat man’s face, and then SWUNG! – Jurou’s stomach churned! He bent; his fist completely missed its mark as a force surged from his centre and flew out of his mouth decorating the manager’s white shirt in last night’s festivities, turning it into a Jackson Pollock painting.
A moment passed.
“I quit.”
Two security guards tossed a man onto the pavement outside of a skyscraper in the Umeda district. Jurou stood up and dusted himself off, he turned back to the building he had spent the past 5 years slaving away in, contemplating whether or not he should go and request for his personal items to be handed over to him.
Forget it. He thought as he turned around and headed for Ōsaka Station.
The salaryman was dead. Jurou had no use for his belongings.
The door to his modern apartment silently slid open and Jurou entered carrying groceries he acquired from his local convenience store and a six pack of beers in the other hand. He placed the grocery bag on the marble counter of his stylish kitchen and sat on his beige couch placing the six pack on the low black table.
A few hours later, the sun had set but the city was still alive. Jurou finished off his final can of beer and looked out of his glass door past the balcony and out towards the glittering city. A knock came at the door. When he opened it, he saw a scene he could not have expected.
The lanky figure stood before him once more.
“You going to let me in?” a voice came from behind the mask.
“I don’t know you!” he responded.
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The tall man pushed his way past Jurou and made his way to the sliding door on the other side of the apartment. He opened it and stepped out onto the balcony. Jurou stood in the doorway, his mouth agape. He closed the door and timidly crept closer.
“Who…are you?”
“Hmm…I wonder…” the figure pondered, “who are you?”
“I’m…Kuroko Jurou.”
The figure turned around to face Jurou, leaning on the balcony’s steel railing.
“Oh? So you remembered?”
“Wha-“
“You can call me Sol. Nice to finally meet you Kuroko-san.”
Jurou understood what he meant, it had been years since Jurou had known himself to be anyone other than ‘a salaryman.’ …but how did the lanky man know this?
“Now that you’ve remembered, what is it that you plan to do?”
“I…well…I haven’t thought about it.”
“Then, what about right now? What will you do right now?”
Jurou was hesitant to answer, “I…I don’t know.”
“Well then,” Sol replied, “why don’t you go out there and find out?”
“Go where?”
“Anywhere!” the masked man said gleefully, raising both hands to the night’s sky before pointing down at Jurou. “Kuroko-san, you already know what you want to do, I can tell. Go.”
Sol was right, Jurou didn’t have a clear idea, but he knew he wanted to be out in the city.
“A-Are you going to follow me?” Jurou asked raising a suspicious eyebrow.
“Worry not; some things have to be done on one’s own.”
After the man left the apartment, Jurou hopped into the shower. He stared into his cabinet to find only work clothes, however, tucked deep into one of the shelves he found a shirt from his youth. It was an awful thing, he actually didn’t like it at all but it reminded him of where he had come from and even after graduating from university and becoming a salaryman, he could not let go of it. He did not buy it himself – it was given to him; a pale red t-shirt that had been washed to death, with a faded moon in the centre that was crumbling away. He shrugged and put it on with black suit pants. He took himself in through the bathroom mirror, he wasn’t satisfied; he took his comb and brushed his standard fringe over to the side revealing more of his face and letting his mole take the centre stage.
There. He thought before heading to his doorway, putting on a pair of sneakers and heading out into the city.
The Dōyama-chō district came alive at night. The nightlife hub of Ōsaka sparkled even more brilliantly on this night for Jurou, there was something in the air that he tried to inhale as he stepped out of the train station. He walked into the busy district; nightclubs, karaoke bars, izakaya and restaurants were bustling all around Jurou. Every place looked inviting until he stopped at the izakaya he used to frequent with his former colleagues and manager.
“Better not.” He muttered to himself.
Only then did it occur to him that he had instinctively wandered to the area that he was most familiar with, meaning there was a chance his colleagues may also be in the area. He shuddered at the thought of having to confront them after that morning’s happenings.
“In fact, I should go as far away as possible!” he whispered to himself and proceeded to power-walk through crowds of people.
He didn’t have a set destination in mind but eventually the destination called out to him. Far more quiet than the rest of the izakaya’s around, was a wooden, double story building with a deck on the second floor. He turned around to gain his bearings - to no avail - he was lost;
Well, no matter. At the very least I won’t bump into anyone I know here. He thought.
He drew nearer; the doorway’s lanterns’ light glimmered on the red and white nobori, the character’s written in black giving the establishment’s name: ‘Ketsugetsu’ – Blood Moon.
How fitting. He thought as he entered.
A lady dressed in a black t-shirt and skirt met him at the door, he expressed his wish to be seated on the upper floor and she led him through the establishment.
The interior was all wooden, the tables and chairs matching the general aesthetic. There were only a few groups of customers at the seating areas on the bottom floor and there was the faint sound of the music playing on the top floor. They climbed the wooden staircase and entered the top floor.
It was spacious; on the left was a bar, the centre was open as a dance floor and booths with red leather seats formed an L-shape around the dance floor. On the further end was the wide deck where a few customers stood, smoking and drinking the night away.
“Any preferences?” asked the waitress.
“Over there,” he pointed, “near the deck.”
He sat at the booth, the deck on his left and she handed him a menu. He scanned it, the whiskey jumped out at him.
“Whiskey please,” he said, handing the menu back to her.
“Single or…” she asked invitingly.
Usually I wouldn’t even try something this strong…screw it, I no longer have anything to fear!
“D-double!”
What an embarrassing delivery! He screamed internally.
She smiled, “It’s going to be a good night.”
He sat, grasping the glass with both hands whilst looking at the smokers on the deck.
As if I have the confidence to talk to a whole group of strangers…or even one…
He turned his attention to the empty dance floor, maybe it was the alcohol he had started consuming earlier in the day, but his body wanted to move to the sweet tunes of the music blasting through the large speaker.
No way! He thought to himself, taking a sip from the glass. That’s way too embarrassing. What’s with this place in any case, it’s so well lit, no one would go and dance in such a well lit room.
Black leather entered Jurou’s peripheral. His eyes jolted to the staircase beside the bar.
Black short hair intertwined with pink strips of hair and a braided tail coming from the back of the hair and resting on the left shoulder. The leather jacket opened in the centre to reveal a black fishnet top. White, tight jeans climbed the stairs and black calf-high boots stepped on the top floor.
-But it wasn’t any of that that caught Jurou’s attention; perfectly matching the rhythm of the music, the shoulders rolled back and forth, the open hands twirling in front of the chest. The girl whimsically strutted onto the dance floor, her eyes closed, feeling the reverberations resonate with her soul.
“Whoa.” Jurou said out loud, his voice, fortunately, muted by the music.
“Incredible.”
As she moved, alone in the centre of the dance floor, her eyes slit open, just for a second.
Crap! Jurou thought, having been caught staring. He quickly averted his eyes to the ceiling, searching for something meaningful to pretend he was looking at.
“AH, YES, OF COURSE! I THOUGHT IT LOOKED FAMILIAR!” he yelled for everyone to hear whilst pointing at nothing in the top corner of the room.
His eyes drifted down. She was gone.
Crap! Crap! Crap! I’ve been branded as a creep forever! He thought, whilst slapping his palm to his forehead.
“Smooth.” A sarcastic voice called out over the loud music.
He jolted up. Pink lips slid to the side to reveal a cheeky smile and just below it a small mole. In his booth, opposite of Jurou, the dancing beauty sat with her arms stretched across the top of the seat, dominating the space.
“Speaking of…” She reached out across the table in between them and with three fingers slipped the glass out of Jurou’s hand, finished it in a single gulp and placed it right in the centre of the table.
Jurou was stunned, “Uh, I, Uh…Uhm”
She turned her head to her right, looking out at the deck. Out of the corner of her eye she looked at him and tilted her head – gesturing to the deck.
“Uh…I…”
She got up, looked at him for a second and then walked outside to the deck.
W-What the heck?! What do I do? She’s way too confident, I can’t-
Jurou’s thought was caught off by a momentary glimpse of the girl leaning on the wooden railing of the deck; she was looking up, at the blood red moon.