Tokyo: The Manga Begins with the Funeral of Frilian

Kenichi Shirakawa pursed his lips and remained silent; he already knew perfectly well what was going on.

"Your problem right now isn't that you're short of 500,000 yen. It's that your fixed monthly expenses exceed your income. I'll lend you this money, and you'll come back in three months. By then, you won't have finished paying off your mortgage, and your aunt's hospital bills might need to be increased, so Shiori will lend you the money a second time. And then a third time. This isn't lending money; it's pouring water into a leaky bucket."

Kenichi Shirakawa gripped the teacup tightly with his fingers.

"So what do you want me to do? Sell the house?"

"right."

Yuma Kamiya's voice was calm.

"Sell the house now before prices hit rock bottom. Use the money to pay off the mortgage, and use the rest for your wife's medical treatment, and rent a smaller apartment. Once you find a new job, then we can consider buying a house again."

"Sell the house?"

Kenichi Shirakawa's voice rose.

"Do you know how much I spent on that house back then? 120 million! Now, I can only sell it for a maximum of 80 million. You want me to lose 40 million?"

"It wasn't you who gave in, it was the market."

Yuma Kamiya gripped the TV remote tightly.

Then he walked over.

The button was pressed.

The screen is scrolling through information about the latest quotes for that area.

The crimson arrow continued to fall downwards.

"Do you think this is just a temporary correction? Mr. Shirakawa, you're a bank employee; you know better than I how loans have been going on these past few years. Land prices have risen by 42 percent in a year, and companies are using borrowed money to buy buildings in the US. The price of a single building in Ginza 4-chome has exceeded 100 million yen per tsubo (approximately 33.3 square meters). Do you think these figures are reasonable?"

Kenichi Shirakawa's lips moved.

"I've worked at Sumitomo for 23 years and seen countless loan applications. Back in 1974, an izakaya (Japanese pub) owner came to me for a loan to buy land, saying that land prices would rise by 30% the following year. I approved it. Last year, he came back, saying he wanted to take out another loan to buy a second plot of land. I approved that too."

He lowered his head.

"He called me yesterday and said the izakaya (Japanese pub) went out of business. He couldn't sell either of the two plots of land."

Shiori Shirakawa was kneeling beside him.

Her hands were placed on her knees.

She saw that her uncle's shoulders slumped, as if all the strength in his body had been drained away.

  

"If we don't sell now, we might not even be able to sell it for 70 million in six months."

Yuma Kamiya said.

"That's all I have to say. Whether you lend the money or not is up to you. But if you decide to lend it, I'll cover the 500,000."

Shiori Shirakawa turned to look at him.

"Kamiya-kun?"

Keep your savings for emergencies. My royalties will arrive next month.

Kenichi Shirakawa stared intently at the neatly folded sticky note on the table.

"Let me think about it."

He stood up and slowly moved a few steps toward the door.

Then, he turned his body back.

"Shiori, the young man you found doesn't speak very nicely."

Shiori Shirakawa looked up at her uncle.

"But he's right about everything. Last time he said trees couldn't grow to the sky, and not long after, the trees really did start falling down."

Kenichi Shirakawa remained silent for a moment.

"What exactly does he do for a living?"

"A comic book artist."

"...Do comic book artists even know this?"

He said it was because he had a vivid imagination.

Shirakawa Ken paused for a moment, then laughed.

This was the first time he had smiled since he came in.

The smile looked somewhat bitter.

"Okay. I'll go back and discuss selling the house with your aunt."

After the door was closed, Shiori Shirakawa took the now-cold tea to the kitchen.

When the tap was turned on, her hand remained under the water flow and did not move.

Yuma Kamiya walked to the kitchen door.

"What are you thinking about?"

I'm thinking about what you said.

Shiori Shirakawa turned off the tap.

Then she turned around and looked in the direction he was.

"You're saying if we don't sell now, we might not even be able to sell it for 70 million in six months. Will the price really drop that much?"

"meeting."

Shiori Shirakawa lowered her head.

Her fingers twisted uncontrollably along the edge of her apron.

"What are you worried about?"

"Our unit had a meeting this morning. They said that the finances of all districts in the capital are being tightened, and personnel expenses may need to be cut."

"What does that mean?"

"Layoffs are possible. Even civil servants aren't safe."

Yuma Kamiya leaned against the kitchen door frame.

"What would happen if you were laid off?"

"I don't know. I might be transferred to a different department, or I might be transferred to a district that's very far away."

She paused for a moment.

"It could also lead to job loss."

After she finished speaking, she looked up at him.

His expression was quite calm.

"Kamiya-kun, what if I really lose my job..."

"Then you'll have more time to help me expand my sales network."

Shiori Shirakawa was stunned.

"What?"

"You're currently earning 1200 yen per hour, and you can only help me for two or three hours a day at most. If you didn't have to work during the day, you could help me for at least eight hours a day. Calculate the standard hourly wage for an assistant at Shueisha, and see how much that would be per month."

Shiori Shirakawa lowered her head and did some calculations.

"It's more than my salary as a civil servant."

"So you see, losing your job isn't such a big deal."

Shiori Shirakawa raised her head.

There is some redness around my eyes.

But the corners of his mouth kept turning upwards uncontrollably.

"Can't you say something normal and comforting?"

"Everything I said was perfectly normal."

"What's normal about it?"

"Everything is normal."

Shiori Shirakawa turned her body around and then turned on the tap.

The sound of flowing water filled the entire kitchen.

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

Kamiya Yuma turned around and walked back towards the master bedroom.

He sat down in front of the drawing table.

Just then, Shiori Shirakawa's voice came from the direction of the kitchen.

"Kamiya-kun."

"Um?"

"You just told my uncle that the royalties will arrive next month. Which volume's royalties are for?"

Volume One.

How many?

"Come in and see for yourself."

Shiori Shirakawa turned off the tap and then wiped her hands.

As she reached the door of the master bedroom, Kamiya Yu took an envelope from a drawer.

The envelope was printed with the Shueisha company seal.

Shiori Shirakawa took the envelope and opened it.

There was a bank remittance slip here. When she saw all the numbers on it, she froze at the doorway.

"This is—one, ten, hundred, thousand, ten thousand, hundred thousand, million, ten million—"

Her voice was stuck in her throat.

Thirty-two million yen.

Yuma Kamiya read it aloud for her.

"The first volume sold out its initial print run of 30,000 copies, followed by a reprint of 50,000 copies, and then another 80,000 copies last week. Total sales have exceeded 150,000 copies. The royalty is 10%, based on a price of 600 yen. After deducting taxes, that's how much I'll receive."