"What?"
Ikeda Shigeru wasn't trying to play dumb—he truly hadn't expected the manager to open with that line.
But the manager didn't answer. He just started talking to himself.
"When I was a student, I used to get bullied by delinquents all the time."
Ikeda's heart instantly sank. He stood there, at a loss, unable to say a word.
The manager blew a smoke ring and went on.
"There was a time I wished every last one of those delinquents would just drop dead. I even thought about grabbing a knife and taking one down with me to settle the score. You guys... you're absolute trash. The worst of the worst."
Ikeda didn't know how to respond. He could only murmur, "I'm sorry."
If this had been the old him, he wouldn't have cared one bit about being scolded like this—he might've even laughed, punched the manager in the face, and told him that this is how the world works: the weak get stomped.
But now, guilt gnawed at his heart. He felt as if he'd been one of those very delinquents who had once bullied the young manager.
"Why are you apologizing? This wasn't your doing," the manager said flatly. "And besides, I was speaking in the past tense."
Hope flickered in Ikeda's chest. "So… you've forgiven them?"
"No. Not a chance. Don't say dumb stuff like that." The manager took a long drag from his cigarette, exhaling a dense cloud of smoke.
"It's just that there's no one left to hate. Some got killed in gang fights, some ended up broke and desperate, losing everything along the way. Others drank themselves to an early grave. And I'm still alive.
"Looking back now, it was stupid of me to harbor so much hate for a bunch of short-lived punks—and to even think about trading my life for theirs? That would've been the biggest loss of all.
"Look at me now. I don't have any shining moments. When faced with some cocky little thug earlier, all I could do was call the cops. If he'd tried to threaten me, I probably would've begged for mercy, maybe even licked his shoes... I've done that before when I was younger.
"But here's the thing: I'm going to keep living. I'm now a full-time employee. I don't need to be a hero—just by staying with the company, my salary will naturally increase over time.
"I'll probably marry an okay woman—maybe through an arranged meeting. One day I'll own a little house somewhere in Tokyo and have a couple of kids. You know what that is? That's the future. It's something I can see and touch.
"And that's exactly what neither that baseball kid nor you have."
The manager stubbed out his cigarette, grinding it underfoot with several forceful twists. Then he stood and turned, flashing a grin at Ikeda.
"Now tell me—do you have even a shred of a future ahead of you?"
Ikeda had no rebuttal.
Back when he'd been a delinquent—a gang leader—his future had seemed clear: he'd pictured himself decked out in full yakuza style, proudly wearing his gang's crest.
But now? The path ahead was a blank void.
"I don't know what made you decide to turn your life around," the manager said, patting Ikeda on the shoulder.
"And I'm willing to give you a chance. But after what happened today, if I don't fire you, the head office will come down on me. After all, I hired a former delinquent who could cause trouble."
"I..."
Ikeda wanted to argue—that he had truly changed.
But the manager cut him off.
"I might listen to your side of the story, but the head office won't. In their eyes, once a delinquent, always a delinquent.
"Only some NGO might be willing to hire someone like you. But to get into one of their programs, you'd have to serve time first. Without doing time, you wouldn't even be eligible for their help."
He paused for a while, then put it bluntly so Ikeda couldn't avoid the truth.
"You're fired."
Ikeda had prepared himself mentally for this moment. But when the words actually came, a surge of anger welled up inside him.
"I'm fired, just like that? What about the money I covered for that unreasonable customer's bento yesterday?"
"The records show the customer bought a full-price bento. If you don't like it, you can take it up legally." The manager grinned.
"That's how us 'good people' handle things."
Even Ikeda knew that taking legal action meant hiring a lawyer—and lawyers were expensive.
He was furious—he wanted nothing more than to punch the manager in the face.
He glanced over, only to find the manager watching him with a look of contempt.
That look seemed to say: See? A delinquent is always a delinquent. Turning over a new leaf? That's a fantasy.
Ikeda thought back to what the manager had said earlier. If he hit the man now, the manager would probably drop to his knees and beg—but even if Ikeda beat him to a pulp, it wouldn't erase that contempt.
Because the manager had a future.
Slowly, Ikeda unclenched his fists.
He looked the manager in the eye.
"Thank you... for everything you've said. Right now, I can't see any future for myself. But I'm going to keep trying."
The manager studied him for a few seconds.
"Why bother? You could go back to being a gang leader—you might even end up running a third-tier yakuza group someday. That'd probably look a lot more glamorous than my life."
Of course I know that, Ikeda thought. That was the future I used to see for myself.
"But now... I want to be a good person."
Ikeda smiled.
"One day, when I can stand tall and proudly say I've become a good person, I'll come back and have a drink with you."
With that, he bowed deeply.
Then he turned and strode away, without a hint of hesitation.
"Wait," the manager called out suddenly.
"Take this—your half of the bento money."
"I... I can't..."
"Take it! Damn it, if you don't, I won't be able to sleep for a month!" The manager shoved the money into Ikeda's hand.
"And this is your pay for yesterday. Just think of it as a day's work."
"But..."
"Consider it my thanks for not punching me earlier." The manager sighed.
"Honestly, I was already bracing myself for a beating. Good luck, kid. Try not to mess things up at your next job. Look for places where the boss seems like they've been through some stuff—might get lucky."
"Thank you!"
Ikeda bowed again, then took off running, long strides full of purpose.
The manager remained where he was, lighting another cigarette.
"A delinquent trying to turn over a new leaf... hope he makes it." He muttered. Then, with a wry smile, added:
"If it were really that easy, there wouldn't be a saying like 'Turning over a new leaf is worth its weight in gold.'"
(End of Chapter)