Shinohara Haruki had three goals tonight.
Forget his boss, forget his job, and forget that he had spent the last three months calculating depreciation schedules for equipment that would probably outlive his life.
It was raining when he slumped into the izakaya, dragging his friend into a corner booth. The drinks hit fast. So did the ranting.
"You know what he said to me this morning?" Haruki jabbed his chopsticks toward the grill. "He said—and I quote—'You're not thinking like an asset, Shinohara.' An asset. Not even a human being anymore. I'm a balance sheet."
Yuuta, his childhood friend, nodded patiently. He was already halfway through his second highball, watching Haruki with the same calm he'd had since they were sixteen.
"That's rough," he replied.
"And then—then he made me redo the forecast because apparently I didn't format it in the right shade of blue. I swear he picks Excel colors based on how sad they make your soul feel."
Yuuta snorted. "You're drunk."
"I'm getting there," Haruki said, raising his beer. "But I'm not done. Tell me, Yuuta. When did we decide this was life? That we'd work until our backs break and call it stability?"
A sharp buzz interrupted the moment, followed by another. Yuuta's phone lit up on the table, the screen pulsing quietly with incoming messages.
Haruki glanced down and sighed. "Go ahead."
Yuuta picked it up, brows lifting slightly before creasing into a frown. "My wife," he murmured. "Our kid's got a fever. I should head back."
"Of course." Haruki leaned on one elbow, resting his cheek against his palm, eyes tilted toward him with a hint of envy. "You have a family, a purpose, a home. I have an empty fridge and two baskets of laundry waiting for me."
Yuuta laughed. "Well, at least you don't have a screaming toddler."
"Lucky me," Haruki said dryly.
Yuuta finished the last of his drink and set the glass aside. He shifted like he was about to stand, then stopped. His gaze lingered on Haruki for a few seconds before he leaned in slightly.
"Hey," he said, "remember that last basketball match before we graduated?"
Haruki looked up, blinking. "What, the one we lost by twenty?"
"Yeah," Yuuta said, grinning. "Our opponents were monsters. Everyone else gave up by halftime, but you—you kept going. Still sprinting like we had a shot. Diving for rebounds, yelling at us to move our feet."
Haruki scoffed under his breath. "I just didn't want the score to look too embarrassing."
Yuuta shook his head, a wider smile spreading across his face. "You actually made that three-pointer after the final whistle. Everyone had already stopped playing, and the crowd wasn't even watching anymore. And you—" he broke off, laughing—"you threw your arms up and cheered like we'd just won Nationals."
Haruki pressed a hand to his face, chuckling softly. "Yeah, well…"
Yuuta's smile faded a little, his expression softening. "Even when things seem hopeless, you give it your all. You always do. That's the Haruki I know."
Haruki let his gaze drift back to the table, still silent, though the corners of his mouth still held a faint smile.
Across from him, Yuuta leaned back in the booth with a long stretch and a groan. "You'll figure it out," he said confidently. "Eventually."
He dropped his arms and tilted his head. "Or maybe," he added, eyes narrowing with mock seriousness, "what you really need… is a girlfriend."
Haruki shot him a flat look. "That's your advice? A girlfriend? Who's gonna date some finance geek with a mediocre salary and a half-dead social life?"
Yuuta just grinned. "Then flaunt your strengths." He reached over and ruffled Haruki's hair like they were still in high school. "Remind them you're not just a geek. You're a clutch player. Ice-cold threes, remember?"
Haruki ducked away, half-laughing as he batted his hand aside. "Oi—seriously. Get lost."
Yuuta laughed. "Want me to walk you home? Be your boyfriend for the night?"
"Go away," Haruki said without looking at him, still smiling. "Just go back and be someone's dad."
But Yuuta didn't leave right away. He leaned in again, reached down, and gave Haruki's hair one last tousle—more habit than tease this time.
"Don't overthink it, man," he said under his breath. "You're doing fine."
Then he stood up, tugged on his coat, and gave a lazy salute. "Later."
Haruki raised his hand in a half-hearted wave without looking up. "Yeah."
And just like that, he was gone.
Haruki sat silently, eyes fixed on the empty seat across from him. He picked up his chopsticks and tapped them against the rim of his glass. The soft clink, clink, clink filled the space around him.
Yuuta's smile came to mind, annoyingly perfect as always. The kind of smile made him fit the description of a sunshine boy. It was the same smile he wore the day he said he was aiming for Todai. The same one when he got in. And again, later, when he somehow ended up with the prettiest girl in their year. Haruki still wasn't sure which had been the bigger achievement.
That conversation about Todai had been the starting point. Before then, university hadn't even crossed his mind in any serious way. But the following week, he signed up for cram school and chose the one with the bright red poster that read Pass Todai with Us! just because it felt like the thing to do. Because Yuuta was doing it.
He studied like hell. Told himself he could catch up. But the truth was, he had overestimated his ability and underestimated how far behind he was.
In the end, Yuuta made it. He didn't. He ended up at a decent university, took a standard finance job, and drifted into a life that never quite stopped feeling like the backup plan.
From across the room, laughter burst from another table. A group of college students, still in the "figuring things out" phase, was hunched around a phone, cracking up over something stupid and viral. A minute ago, he might've ignored it. But now it echoed a little too sharply in his ears.
The booth felt colder without Yuuta sitting across from him. A little more pathetic, somehow.
He downed the last of his beer but wasn't ready to go home. What he needed was another drink. So he wandered out into the night, no clear direction in mind, just the vague hope that maybe somewhere in this endless city, a quiet bar was still open.
The rain had lightened to a drizzle, leaving the city's alleys shimmering under the streetlights. The usual crowd had thinned, and the streets were quieter than before. Haruki stumbled through the emptying lanes, his steps heavy and unsteady. By accident, he veered down an unfamiliar path.
That was when he saw it.
A narrow sign glowing with neon light:
漫画BAR
Manga Bar