by Ao Jyumonji
For those who’ve died, they aren’t able to do anything about the bodies they leave behind. It falls to the living to do something about it for them.
Did we manage to handle things right? Are we handling things right? What do you think, Moguzo? Isn’t there more we could be doing? Like, some way you’d wanted us to do things? Or were there things you wouldn’t have wanted us to do? We’re not doing anything wrong, are we?
I can ask, but he won’t answer. Moguzo’s gone. Choco’s gone, too. They’re dead.
It doesn’t feel real, but they’re dead.
That’s no lie.
It’s the truth.
“We never should have gone...” he murmured.
The order. We never should have accepted it. Neither should Choco and her party. It was too much for us.
“Who was it who brought up the idea...?” he asked himself.
It was Ranta. Damn him.
“...But I was the one who made the decision.”
If Haruhiro hadn’t voted in favor, they might not have accepted the order. No, there was no “might” about it. They probably wouldn’t have.
If he hadn’t talked with Choco about how her party was going to accept the order, Haruhiro probably wouldn’t have convinced himself to do so. Back then, he should have done whatever it took to stop Choco. He should have told her that it was dangerous. It was reckless. That she couldn’t go.
If her party hadn’t been willing to change their minds, she could have left them. He should have persuaded her to. Haruhiro should have voted against. No matter how much of a fuss Ranta would have kicked up about it. They couldn’t handle what they couldn’t handle. It was too dangerous. The risk was too great.
But, at the time, Haruhiro had thought the risk wasn’t that high, so he’d voted in favor.
I know, he thought bitterly. Hindsight is always 20/20. Once something like this happens, it’s natural to think that everything I did was a mistake. I want to blame someone, even if it’s myself. Even though that’s pointless.
No matter what I do, Moguzo’s not coming back.
Haruhiro looked up to the sky.
What time is it now? Around three o’clock in the afternoon. It’s awfully sunny. I dunno what to say. It’s a sunny day, Moguzo.
“I just have to keep looking forward, don’t I?” he asked himself. “There’s nothing else I can do...”
The sky’s so beautiful, it almost seems like a joke.
Haruhiro covered half his face with his right hand. It stung his eyes.
2. Feelin’ Funya-funya
Yume was feeling real funya-funya.
What was funya-funya?
Yume didn’t really know that herself, but she was feeling funya-funya, so funya-funya was all she could call it.
Because she was feeling funya-funya, she didn’t even want to get up. That was why Yume was lyin’ face down in the bottom bunk of the bed in her room at the volunteer soldier lodging house.
Once in a while, she’d roll over. But because she was feeling funya-funya, even turnin’ over was a chore.
In fact, for a long while now, she’d needed to pee and had been holding it in. She knew she should go to the bathroom. Actually, she had to. That was something she knew for sure, but because she was feeling funya-funya, she couldn’t motivate herself to go.
“Yume,” Shihoru called out to her.
Yume wanted to respond. But she was feeling funya-funya, so even raisin’ her voice took a lot of effort.
In the end, she just went, “...Mmm?”
“...Are you hungry?” Shihoru asked.
“Nnnn...”
Yume wonders about that, she thought. Yume doesn’t think it’s that she’s not hungry at all. If Yume was gonna eat, she could probably eat a whole lot, y’know? She just doesn’t really want to eat. Well, if Yume doesn’t eat, Yume’s fine with not eatin’, I guess.
“...Nnnn,” she said.
“You have to eat,” Shihoru protested. “Not eating’s bad for your health, I think...”
“Nnnn...”
“Yume?”
“Mmm?”
“Are you listening?”
“Mmm...”
This’s no good, Yume though to herself while feeling funya-funya. Yume needs to give her a proper response. Yume knows that, but she just can’t do it.
Yume’s not doin’ this to mess with her. Yume just doesn’t have the energy. It’s not just her body, y’know. Yume’s feelings are all funya-funya, too.
“...Give me a break,” Shihoru muttered, in a real tiny voice. It was a real tiny voice, so it was hard to be sure if she’d meant for Yume to hear it or not.
Either way, Shihoru was definitely irritated. She sounded angry, the way she said it. It was the first time Shihoru had spoken like that. At least, Yume had never heard her do it before.
Yume rolled over to look at Shihoru, who was sitting on the bed next to her. Shihoru was looking downwards, hanging her head.
“...Sorry,” Yume said.
Hearing the apology, Shihoru shook her head back and forth. “...No... I should apologize.”
“But you’ve got nothin’ to apologize for, Shihoru,” Yume said.
“But....”
“Shihoru, you’ve done nothin’ wrong.”
“That’s not... true.”
“You haven’t.”
“I can’t say... I agree.”
“Oh, yeah?” Yume asked.
Shihoru hesitated. “...From here on... what are we supposed to do?”
“Hmm...”
Yume tried thinking. But she couldn’t think straight. Her thoughts would just suddenly stop.
Still, she kept thinking. Yume was thinking desperately, at least by Yume’s standards. She tried to find the words.
“Hey, Shihoru.”
“Yeah?”
“Yume, she’s not good at handlin’ this sort of stuff,” said Yume. “What do you call it...? Hard stuff, painful stuff, she really hates it. Everyone does.”
“...Yeah.”
“Well, listen, this is just an example, but imagine it rained really hard.”
“Okay,” Shihoru said slowly.
“So, it’s rainin’ real hard, and you can’t walk around outside, so you’ve gotta stay indoors, y’know. Well, the thing about rain is, even if you ask it to stop, it’s not gonna.”
“Yeah,” said Shihoru.
“It’s like, who would you even ask?” asked Yume. “So, at times like this, there’s really no helpin’ it, y’know?”
“There’s no helping it...” Shihoru murmured. “You think so?”
“Hmm, well, you could say we couldn’t help things turnin’ out like this, and now that they have, there’s no helpin’ it. That’s what Yume meant. It all feels like it’s gotta be a lie, though. Yume never thought things’d turn out like this, y’know.”
“Yeah... same here,” Shihoru said sorrowfully.
“Why didn’t Yume think of it?” Yume asked. “It’s not weird at all that it happened, y’know. Yume should’ve known that.”
This wasn’t the first time it’d happened. It was the second.
But, still, she hadn’t even imagined it, that they could lose a comrade.
That Moguzo would die.
“Yume’s so stupid.” Yume lay on her front. Her whole body felt funya-funya, and awfully heavy. “...Yume, she’s too stupid, y’know. Because Yume’s too stupid, that’s probably how things ended up like this.”
Shihoru didn’t say anything.
Yume was gettin’ kind of tired. But she was sure she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep. Yume tried lyin’ on her back. Her body felt even more funya-funya than before, and heavy.
She didn’t want to move. She didn’t think she’d be able to move for a while.
3. Unlimited
“Hey, Pops! Add another order of soruzo!” Ranta shouted, spraying noodles and broth from his mouth as he did. He raised the index finger on his left hand, too.
In the
village of stalls next to the craftsmen’s town in the southern district, there was a stall that was the only place in Alterna where he could get a noodle dish called soruzo.
Soruzo was a dish of meat thrown into a salty broth with yellow noodles that were made by kneading wheat flower and then cutting it thinly. If someone were to ask him if it was delicious, he’d’ve had a hard time saying definitively that it was. It was the sort of dish that tastes would probably be divided on. Especially for that first mouthful.
However, every time he ate it, it became more and more delicious to him. Once some time passed, he’d begin to crave it again. After all the times he’d eaten it, he was completely entranced with the stuff. Once every ten days—no, every five—no, no, if possible, every three days—he wanted to eat it.
There was a pile of large bowls stacked up in front of Ranta.
Seven, in total.
Ranta was about to polish off his eighth bowl of soruzo. The ninth bowl that he had just ordered would be coming out soon.
Freshly-made soruzo was hot. Damn hot, in fact. But Ranta didn’t want to waste time blowing on it, so he dug right in.
He’d burned the inside of his mouth. Honestly, he couldn’t even tell what it tasted like anymore. His belly was hurting, too. He was starting to look like a pregnant woman.
At this point, eating was nothing but suffering, but Ranta didn’t stop. This last sip would finish his eighth bowl.
“—Bwahh....! I sure ate!” he exclaimed.
At that same moment, the ninth bowl arrived. When the heavy steam from it washed over him, he got dizzy.
The scent from that perfect harmony of chicken bones, pork fat, onions, and carrots should have whet his appetite for more, but it only gave Ranta heartburn now.
“Kid, are you okay?” The old man running the stall peered at Ranta’s face.
Ranta gave him a nod, wiping his face off with one hand. It was a mess of sweat, and snot, and more sweat. He must have looked awful. But, damn it, he didn’t care.
“—Okay!”
Ranta got to work on his ninth bowl. With each noodle he slurped down, he felt a little nauseous. When it felt like it was all going to come back up, he quickly covered his mouth.
—I’m not gonna puke.
I swear I won’t puke.
Like I’d let myself do that.
I’ve gotta eat. I’ll eat, and eat, and eat some more. I’ll eat everything.
“Someday, let’s do it. Open a restaurant.”
Ranta’s comrade’s—no, his partner’s face came to mind.
That time, Moguzo... he thought. Seriously... seriously, he had a better look on his face than I’d ever seen before.
“But, me, I don’t want to open a soruzo place, I want to make ramen. I’ll save up money, study, and when I can make ramen that tastes just right, let’s do it, let’s open that restaurant.”
“...Sure.”
Ranta could respond all he wanted, but it wouldn’t reach his partner.
All I can do is eat. Right now, I’ve just gotta eat. I’m gonna slurp away like crazy at the soruzo my partner loved. I’ll eat all I can eat. I’ll eat even once I can’t eat. Even if I’m full, even if I don’t want to eat anymore, I’ll just keep eating. Eat. Eat, damn you.
“Urrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgh!”
Because, man.
Because.
—Because.
“Becaushe shyou can’t eat anymorshe...!” Ranta wailed.
Right, partner? he thought, grief-stricken. No matter how much you want to eat, you can’t eat anymore.
Ranta was going to eat his partner’s share. What was the point in that? Like he cared. He didn’t know what the point was. It didn’t matter. Ranta just thought it was what he ought to do. He couldn’t help but think it, and so he couldn’t bear not to do it.
“Gwehhh...! Pops! One more bowl!”
“B-But, come on, kid,” the geezer protested.
“It’s fine! Just hurry up and give it to me!” Ranta shouted.
“O-Okay.”
“Bowl number nine!” Ranta screamed.
Just a little more, and he’d be done with his ninth bowl. Ranta spurred himself to go faster. He was trying to speed up, but for some reason the amount of noodles just wasn’t going down. His hands stopped. A dark wave of nausea struck. He couldn’t breathe. He felt like he was going to suffocate.
Then, he suddenly realized. There was a lot of noise around him. When he looked, there were craftsmen and volunteer soldiers all around him.
What? They’re all staring at me. What for...?
“Hey, that guy, his next bowl’ll be his tenth, you know?” someone pointed out.
“Whoa... Seriously...?”
“No way.”
“Is that normal?”
“I couldn’t do it...”
“Awesome...”
“I mean, isn’t that crazy?”
“Still, he’ll start struggling soon.”
“You said it.”
“Of course he will. Ten bowls? I don’t think he can do it. I just can’t see it. Not ten bowls. That’s tough.”
“Yeah, that has to be too much.”
“Not ten bowls.”
“Hmph...” Ranta snorted. He felt something weird when he did. Was there something caught in his nose? He went fishing for it, and it turned out to be a soruzo noodle. He considered throwing it away, but his partner never would’ve done that. Ranta threw the chunk of noodle he’d excavated from his nose back into his mouth.
“Hey, take a good look, guys,” he said proudly. “Ten bowls? That’s not even an obstacle to me. It’ll be easy. This is nothing.”
—I’m going for it.
Getting himself back in gear, Ranta rapidly polished off his ninth bowl. The tenth was coming. He felt dizzy, but that was no big deal.
“Bring it on!” Ranta stood up and brought the bowl to his mouth, pouring the damn hot noodles and broth together into his stomach. The crowd roared. Encouraged, or egged on, by those cheers, Ranta finished that tenth bowl in a little over ten seconds. Not just the noodles and other ingredients—every last drop of the broth, too.
“How do you like that, huh?!” he screamed. “Pops, get me the next one!”
“Comin’ up!” the old man called.
“Wooooo!”
“He did it!”
“This guy’s incredible!”
“That’s ridiculous!”
“Keep going!”
“Go as far as you can!”
“Go!”
“Do it!”
“Damn straight!” Ranta shouted, giving the thumbs up. “I’m Ranta! All of you, shout my great name!”
“Ranta!”
“Ranta!”
“Keep it up, Ranta!”
“Ranta!”
“Ranta...!”
“Pops, hurry it up!” Ranta bellowed.
“Righto! One bowl, ready to serve!” the old man called.
“Wahahahahaha! Eleven bowls!” With a laugh, Ranta started on his eleventh bowl of soruzo. For a moment he wondered why he was doing it, but what did he care at this point.
Eat. I’m gonna eat.
Watch me, partner.
Even if this is all I can do.
“Bwuh!” Ranta suddenly choked on something. A noodle shot out of his nose, and the crowd burst out laughing. He nearly snapped at them, but Ranta let out a big laugh instead.
Just how much can I eat? I’ll take this to the limit. I’m eating ’til I drop.
Because someday, I’m gonna open up a restaurant. It’ll be a ramen joint, not soruzo, just like my partner wanted. I’ve already decided on the name. It’ll be Ranta & Moguzo’s Ramen Shop.
No, make that Moguzo & Ranta’s.
4. The Conditions for Being the Worst
—Don’t you think you’ve had enough?
It felt like someone had said that to her. Who? Probably the man next to her. She had no idea who he was supposed to be. Or what his face lo
oked like.
She squinted her eyes and looked at him. He was too blurry. What was with this guy? Why was he sitting next to her? She didn’t get it.
“...Who are you?” she asked.
“Huh? What do you mean, ‘who’?” he asked.
“What are you doing there?” she asked.
“No, don’t ask me what I’m doing here, we came here together, remember? To this place.”
“You and who...?”
“Me and you, Merry.”
“Why?” she asked.
The man looked exasperated. “Somebody’s had too much to drink...”
“Who has?” she asked.
“You, of course.”
“Have I...?”
Merry paused for a breath, then lifted her cup. She tried to take a swig, but it was empty.
—“This place”? What kind of place is it? She looked around. Oh, it looks like a place that serves alcohol. It’s small and cramped, and the only seats are at the bar. It’s an unfamiliar place, one I don’t recognize.
When she thrust her cup out towards the man on the other side of the counter, who seemed to be the proprietor, and was about to say Give me another one, the man next to her grabbed her by the wrist.
“I’m telling you, it’s time to stop.”
“...Leave me alone,” Merry murmured.
“Like I could,” he shot back. “Do you have any clue how much you’ve drunk?”
“I don’t know,” she mumbled. “So what...?”
“No, not ‘so what.’”
The man looked at her like he was fed up. What right did some guy that she didn’t even recognize have to act like she was being a bother to him? It made her mad.
“...Fine, I don’t need it, then.”
Merry stood up. She stumbled a little, and the man caught her, but she brushed his hands away.
“Don’t touch me!” she screamed.
“You looked like you were gonna trip,” the man explained.
“So what?” she snapped. “If I trip... what’s wrong with that?”
“It’s not good.”
“Don’t try to push things on me like that.”
“Like what?” the man asked.
“The way you think... I don’t care what you think about me...”