‘We are in the venue where the much anticipated end of the year event will be taking place, gladiators. This arena near the neo utopia can seat close to fifty thousand spectators, rivaling the Tokyo dome. The shopping facilities next to it…’
Once I calm down, I take off the dirty sweater and take a bath.
I take a long bath, thinking about how I screwed up, and then I’m given the first sweater I was wearing, that they must have washed in a hurry.
In the living room, I see my parents watching TV. My sister and my brother’s families must have left.
My father turns off the TV, and turns my way.
“…Sorry.”
I apologize for the bother. I showed a moment of weakness, and now I don’t even know what to say.
“Are you feeling calmer?”
“I’m okay.”
“Come on, sit over here. We’ll get you something to drink.”
“Yes.”
I don’t look them in the eyes, instead I face down a little as I sit on the sofa I bought a while back. It creaks, but I’m sure it’ll hold.
“What will it be? We have coffee and black tea.”
“Black tea.”
I always have coffee, but I feel like having black tea.
“Sugar or milk?”
“Neither, thanks.”
I take a sip, and feel it calming me. It feels strange, because I don’t usually drink black tea.
“…We won’t force you to talk if you don’t want to, but what happened over there?”
Asks my father, sounding like it’s hard to ask. He’s probably worried about how bad I looked.
Still, I just laugh it off.
“It’s nothing, I was just a little tired.”
It’s my problem. Telling someone won’t make it any better.
“Haruto, your nose is growing again. Don’t lie, you don’t know if talking about it won’t make you feel better.”
“It’s nothing, it really isn’t a big deal…”
“You’ve always been stubborn. You could…”
“Calm down, Tae. I don’t know what Haruto has on his mind, but talk about it when you feel like it. We’ll always be here for you.”
“…Yes.”
Then my father turns the TV back on.
The news is on, but it’s mostly department store Christmas sales, or previews for end of the year shows.
Seeing something about alcohol in the middle makes me think of something.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“You collect alcohol bottles as a hobby, right? How many do you have?”
“I don’t collect them, I like them as decoration. About two hundred. I try to not display two of the same.”
He has a shelf with alcohol bottles in his room, and quite a lot of them.
Honestly, I don’t get the appeal, but I don’t mean to complain about people’s interests.
“What’s the best one you’ve had?”
“Sixteen year old Yamakiri… But the one that left the biggest impression was the first time I had Maiou with Takato. We were celebrating the day he became an adult, but it was the first time I thought it tasted that good.”
“Hm. I don’t remember celebrating mine.”
“You didn’t come home. I got you something, but we didn’t want to waste it, so your mother and I drank it.”
“Sorry.”
He’s glaring at me a bit, so I apologize.
I didn’t think they were looking forward to it like that. I went out drinking with friends from university instead of coming here when I turned twenty.
Now I think I should’ve come here, but I had fun back then, so I can’t really say anything.
“It’s fine. We’re happy to see you healthy.”
…
His eyes… I generally don’t think he’s reliable, but it’s like he really cares about me. It’s a little embarrassing.
So let’s change the subject a little.
“When did you start that? Right after becoming an adult?”
“No it was… Before I turned thirty? Displaying alcohol bottles wasn’t my thing.”
“Eh… Then what started it?”
“…The influence of someone who looked after me. I started after seeing that person doing it.”
“Hm, someone I know?”
“No, he died before Takato was born. None of you know him.”
He takes a sip of tea, and looks straight ahead like he’s nostalgic.
My chest tightens a little.
“…Then did you start when this person died?”
“Yes. I was just copying it, but I didn’t expect to get into it.”
“…Why?”
“Hn?”
“Why did you take up the hobby of a person that died? To take over doing what that person wanted? To inherit that will? To know more about this person? Something else!? Was there a reason?”
I slowly get more emotional, and I’m yelling by the end.
Maybe he can figure something out from this, but it can’t be helped. I need to know what he was feeling when he took over the hobby of a dead person.
My parents look surprised about me acting like this all of a sudden.
My mother doesn’t say anything. Instead she just listens and leaves it to my father.
“…Why? There’s no big reason. I just didn’t want to forget this person.”
“Didn’t want to forget…”
“That’s right. At this age I’m really coming to understand that no matter how important memories are to someone, they fade with time. Surely there are things I’ve forgotten, but by having a common thread with this person, it naturally comes back.”
“…”
“Well, some would say I’m bound to the past, collecting these bottles has other purposes.”
“What is that?”
“Getting new bottles for celebrations for example. Looking at the bottles is enough to bring back memories of those days. I still have the bottles I drank when you kids were born.”
I see him smile, and face down a little.
“Dad… Do you ever regret not doing something for this person that passed away?”
I ask, and he goes silent. He closes his eyes like he’s thinking.
“…Yes. Or I used to.”
“Used to?”
“I regretted not repaying him for what he did for me. There were times when it hurt, but I forced myself to face forward when I thought it was like I was being cursed by this person.”
“Cursed…”
“Yes, cursed. He was not the kind of person who blamed others, and yet, when I thought about him it was like I was cursing myself. I didn’t like that, so I stopped it.”
“…”
“It’s not like I’ve forgotten. I began to collect bottles to remember him as the kind person he was.”
“Then I…”
I stare at the table, pondering what my father said.
They weren’t the kind of people to be happy about others’ misfortune. What’s driving me to the wall right now is without a doubt what happened that day. That regret I can’t take back.
What should I have done to save them? That question keeps coming back to my mind no matter how many times I try to erase it. It keeps cornering me.
What would they think if they saw me now?
Would they laugh and call me an idiot? Warn me that I’m thinking too much? Get exasperated and tell me it’s enough?
I can’t imagine them chastising me. We only knew each other for two months, but we drank together and weren’t afraid to be real with each other. So I can safely say they wouldn’t.
“Ahh.”
I exhale deeply, and take a deep breath. And as I exhale again, I relax.
If my father’s right, I’m using them as a pretext to paint myself as a tragic hero like an idiot.
He didn’t say all that, but it’s close.
“I’m an idiot…”
I need to stop wallowing in sadness. If I go over there, they’ll be mad for sure.
I need to switch gears. It’s not as easy as it sounds, but I’ll do it here.
And with that decision made, I get up and look at my father.
“You drink something special on special days, right?”
“Y-yes. But it doesn’t have to be alcohol.”
“I see. Then let’s decorate it with this too.”
I take a water bottle with ant queen honey out of my Storage Space. There’s only enough for three cups, but since there’s three people, it’s perfect.
“Do you have cups?”
Both are frozen with surprise because I took this out of thin air. I guess it makes sense to react like that to this magic trick.
They’re baffled, but I tell them it’s the same thing I sent mom before, and pour it into cups.
She remembers the taste, and her eyes shine while my father is still taken aback.
We toast, and drink in one gulp.
“Kuiiii!?”
Suffice to say, the three of us let out the same weird sound.
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