The sun was shining bright, but the weather was cold, well, colder for the month of March. The city of Tokyo was animated, people were going to their jobs, and stores were opening up for the day. And yet, somewhere outside the chaos sat a man at his desk.
Haruki Arai is an aspiring mangaka. He sat in a room that hadn't been cleaned for days, or at least it looked like that. He looked weak and frail, his skin was pale, his eyes looked like they begged the eyelids to shut down.
"C'mon, Haruki, you can't slack off. One more chapter," he mumbled to himself.
But as Haruki was about to start another chapter, he heard a familiar voice outside his door and then came the knock.
"Open the damn door, Haruki," someone yelled in a tone that didn't sound friendly.
Haruki exhaled from his mouth, as if he knew what was coming next.
"Coming," Haruki replied calmly.
Though his apartment was modest, the path to the door wasn't so straightforward, as the entire one-room apartment was filled with manga pages, ink stains, and pencils all over the floor. Which, honestly, wasn't a problem for Haruki as he hardly stood up from his desk, he gave that place his everything.
After a few calculated steps, Haruki reached to his destination, the door.
"What took you so long?" the man outside, clearly exasperated, asked.
"I was wearing my T-shirt, Mister Watashi," Haruki replied with a fake smile and a hand behind his head.
Watashi sighed.
"When are you going to give my money back?" he said while seeing the time on his wristwatch.
"Well...Um...I actually—"
"Don't waste my time, come straight to the point. When are you giving my money back?"
Haruki turned silent, he had no response to be precise. His gaze turned to the floor beneath him. And then, in a low voice, barely audible to even him,
"I don't have any money this month, either."
"Oh, are you kidding me? How long do you wish to live on like a parasite? Get a real fucking job and quit that stupid dream of yours. Honestly, yes, it was my mistake lending your family money for your surgery to begin with."
Haruki teared up a little, his chest felt heavy, and still he wiped off his tears and said,
"Next month, for sure, I will give you at least some of the amount that I owe you."
Watashi, with a grin that suited a villain of a popular series, replied,
"If you don't, I will just take the farms your father has in the countryside."
[Scene: 15 minutes after their interaction]
Haruki lay still on a dusty mattress, not particularly comfortable or soft. He held a page of his manga in his hand, up high, facing the ceiling.
"Pay him up some amount by next month? Who am I kidding, I am barely affording to survive here."
He left the page to fly into any corner of the room and turned over sideways.
"But then if I don't..."
The words of Watashi rang in his head like an alarm.
"I will take the farms owned by your father in the countryside."
Haruki, now sweating, sat upright anxiously.
"I can't let him do it. My parents have suffered enough because of me."
But deep within, Haruki knew that he was barely surviving, and teaching neighbours' kids drawing won't magically make him the money to settle his debt.
Scene: Two days earlier in the neighbour's house
"Wow, Haruki, sir, your skills are super good."
A kid stared at Haruki's drawing with his mouth wide open.
"Your illustration of Boku-man is on par with the mangaka, if not better."
Haruki flickered a pen between his fingers.
"Why wouldn't it be, you're looking at the drawing of the future star mangaka?"
Even though Haruki's drawing skills were great, still he was struggling to break into the manga industry. Facing rejection wasn't something new to him. Someday, because of a weak story, or once because of limited slots, he had seen it all.
But in front of this kid who had no idea about how the real world works, Haruki stood as a role model, a hero whom he wanted to follow in the footsteps of.
Scene: Present
"Future star mangaka, huh?"
Haruki looked at his palm with a faint smile.
Then his gaze went towards his desk, still having multiple manga pages stacked on top of each other.
"People don't believe in my dream, but the readers will."
And Haruki finally gathered the courage to find his new story a publisher, which might help him clear off his debt and, more importantly, fulfill his dream.
[Scene: 7 days later]
Haruki Arai's room was still messy as usual, except for one small detail: Haruki Arai wasn't at his desk, his usual spot. He stood near the railing of his balcony, the night breeze kissing his cheek.
He whispered under his breath.
"Even this story, which I considered my magnum opus, failed. I really am pathetic."
The false reality that he had been feeding himself for three months—that this story would be his break, that he was not afraid of rejection, he was just perfecting the story before it got published—all of that came to a drastic end today.
He looked down at his phone, at one of the final rejection messages:
"We are sorry. It lacks market appeal."
And then looked further down at the ground, and then the cars, which looked like ants from his fifteenth-floor balcony.
"Is this the only way now?" he spread his arms out, inhaling the cold air deeply, hoping that would cleanse the pain in his heart.
"I guess this is it, I hope the life insurance money is enough to save my parents out."
His fingers tightened around the cold metal railing.
"Here I come, God. Though, I doubt you even exist."
Then, with a final gentle push, his body leaned forward into the emptiness.