His anger faded with the dunk he had made right in front of Hanamichi Sakuragi.
Kawamoto Kazuki calmed down.
Regret filled his face.
What was the point of getting worked up over Sakuragi?
He was clearly a simple guy.
Whether happy or disappointed, he had an innocence about him.
Every emotion showed on his face.
Kawamoto unconsciously squeezed the old wristband on his left wrist.
That momentary loss of control.
Perhaps it had not been directed solely at Sakuragi.
It was more as though the complicated emotions long suppressed in his heart had suddenly found an unexpected outlet.
Too childish.
He let out a soft breath.
His feet carried him on toward the restaurant.
The dishwashing room was as hot and damp as ever.
Kawamoto tied on his apron, put on rubber gloves, and plunged his arms into the hot, sudsy water.
Like a precision machine, he worked efficiently.
Mechanical, repetitive movements could let a person empty their mind for a while.
By the time he finished his restaurant shift, it was completely dark.
He headed to his usual convenience store, thinking he would give it a try.
Luckily, the employee scheduled for the night shift had something come up.
The manager was worrying about finding someone to fill in.
Kawamoto was well known for being dependable, and the manager gave him the night shift almost without hesitation.
The bustle of the day faded away.
Kawamoto changed into the blue store uniform.
He began the job that demanded the utmost patience.
"Welcome."
Whenever the automatic doors slid open.
Kawamoto offered that standard greeting.
His work involved many tedious tasks.
Restocking missing items on the shelves...
Checking the expiration dates on boxed meals and bread...
Carefully wiping down the checkout counter and hot-drink machine...
Ringing up purchases, making change, and cleaning...
He even had to deal with the occasional troublesome customer.
He did everything meticulously.
Sometime after ten, rain began pattering down outside the windows.
Soon, it became a curtain of rain.
Customers in the store immediately grew few and far between.
The world seemed shut away beyond the sound of rain.
And the convenience store became a quiet, isolated island.
Whenever there were no customers.
Kawamoto did not rest.
He took out his schoolbooks and homework and bent over his work in an inconspicuous corner below the checkout counter.
The manager had given him permission to do this.
He wrote extremely quickly, hardly needing to think.
Japanese reading comprehension, mathematical formulas, social studies essays...
His pen rustled across the paper.
So smoothly that it seemed he was merely copying down the answers.
In just over an hour, all his schoolwork was finished.
He looked up at the digital clock on the wall. It was already past midnight.
Late-night convenience store clerks were the city's lonely watchmen.
He took a sip of hot water, then pulled several books from his bag that were clearly beyond the high school curriculum.
They were old books on basic accounting and business management.
He read with great concentration, occasionally frowning slightly when he came across something he did not understand.
Time slipped quietly away as he turned the pages.
At six the next morning, it was time to change shifts.
The manager arrived on time.
He saw that the store had been cleaned until it was spotless and the shelves were fully stocked.
He nodded in satisfaction.
"Kawamoto-kun, thanks for your hard work. Here's today's pay."
The manager handed him an envelope containing yen.
He glanced outside at the rain, which had yet to stop.
His gaze finally settled on some boxed meals left over because of the rainy weather.
After a moment's hesitation, he spoke.
"Kawamoto-kun, these... we're supposed to throw them away under store policy. If you don't mind... you can pick some out."
Kawamoto was surprised. Strictly speaking, these meals had not expired yet; their actual expiration time was midnight tonight.
He looked at the beautifully packaged meals and the cake decorated with bright red strawberries.
He really did not have much money, but he was unwilling to accept a gift for nothing.
He found a calculator.
Kawamoto carefully calculated the cost at the prescribed seventy-percent discount.
Then he handed the money to the manager.
"Manager, thank you very much, but please let me pay."
His manner was humble yet firm, guided by his principle of not troubling others.
The manager smiled and did not insist, accepting the money.
"You really are something... all right, take this umbrella for now."
He handed over one of the clear, long-handled umbrellas commonly used at convenience stores.
"Thank you very much for looking after me."
Kawamoto took the umbrella and bowed solemnly.
Such etiquette, etched into his bones.
It was a product of his circumstances, as well as the wisdom for survival that life had taught him.
Holding the clear umbrella, he walked along the morning streets washed clean by the rain.
Kawamoto carefully sheltered the bag of boxed meals and cake in his arms and quickened his steps home.
He stopped in front of an old, two-story detached house.
He pushed open the slightly worn front door.
The aroma of miso soup greeted him.
His mother, Kawamoto Kazuko, was already up and had prepared a simple breakfast.
Rice, miso soup, toasted nori, natto, and a small dish of pickled plums.
Simple and warm.
"I'm home, Mom."
A barely perceptible warmth entered Kawamoto's voice.
"Welcome home, Kazuki. Thanks for all your hard work! Hurry and change so you can eat."
Mom Kazuko's voice was gentle.
Though her face was still somewhat pale.
She seemed to be in good spirits.
Only at home, in front of his mother, did a genuine smile appear on Kawamoto Kazuki's face.
He also talked a little more than he did outside.
He quickly changed into his house clothes, washed up briefly, and sat down at the dining table.
Putting his palms together, he quietly said, "Thank you for the food."
As they ate, he took out the three pay envelopes from yesterday's part-time jobs and pushed them toward his mother.
"Mom, this is for you. I kept a little spending money. The rest is for living expenses."
Seeing the faint bluish shadows beneath her son's eyes, Mom Kazuko sighed in heartache.
But she did not refuse, merely putting the envelopes away carefully.
"Thank you, Kazuki. But don't push yourself too hard."
It was Saturday, and as usual.
Kawamoto had not scheduled any part-time work during the day.
He would stay home to cook and clean.
If the weather was good, he would take a walk around the neighborhood with his mother.
After breakfast, the rain gradually stopped.
Sunlight spilled through gaps in the clouds.
Kawamoto accompanied his mother to the nearby shopping street to buy groceries.
At the fish stall, his mother picked out some fresh Pacific saury.
Kawamoto used the spending money he had kept to buy a small discounted pack of wagyu.
"Let's have something nice today."
He spoke softly to his mother.
After buying some fresh vegetables as well, mother and son headed back with their modest amount of groceries.
On the way home, they ran into several elementary school children in sportswear.
Carrying basketballs, they ran past Kawamoto and his mother, laughing and joking.
They were discussing where to go play basketball.
Watching the children's retreating figures, Mom Kazuko's eyes suddenly dimmed.
She stopped and gently took Kawamoto's hand, her voice a little choked. "Kazuki... I've been holding you back."
"If it weren't for this useless body of mine, you... you would surely have become an excellent basketball player by now."
"Just like when you were little..."
"Back then, you spent every day on the court, all covered in dirt, but you smiled so happily..."
"And that boy who always played with you, his name was... Eiji, wasn't it?"
"I wonder how little Eiji is doing now..."
Little Eiji?
The image of a childhood playmate who loved basketball just as much flashed through Kawamoto's mind.
But those memories were already very distant.
He shook his head, casting aside those unrealistic thoughts.
He turned to face his mother, his gaze clear and firm.
"Mom, compared with your health and your smile, basketball... is nothing more than a speck of dust in the sunlight."
Those words.
So calm.
Yet so heavy.
They held maturity and sacrifice beyond his years.
Mom Kazuko finally could not hold back her tears.
Not because of sadness.
But because of heartache and guilt.
Seeing his mother cry, Kawamoto grew a little flustered.
He deliberately adopted a lighthearted tone and began recounting an embarrassing incident involving a drunk he had encountered at the convenience store last night.
He tried to make his mother laugh with it.
Mom Kazuko wiped away her tears and smiled through them.
She took a deep breath, looked at her son, and said very seriously, "Kazuki, there's something I need to tell you. The doctor came for a follow-up a few days ago and said my condition has become much more stable. I can gradually stop taking those very expensive medicines."
"So... you don't need to work yourself so hard anymore."
Kawamoto froze, unable to react for a moment.
His mother continued, her eyes full of encouragement. "If... if it's not too late, go do what you want to do."
"I want to see you happy, just like when you held a basketball as a little boy."
What I want to do...
Kawamoto's mind went blank.