On a midsummer afternoon in July, clouds like steaming cages floated in the clear blue sky. Heat waves rolled like silver surf, overlapping the distant mountain ranges, resembling stone flowers on island reefs.
The sun poured excessive light and heat onto the earth. Sweating profusely, I dragged my large suitcase under the scorching sun, glancing at the navigation to see my destination was 15 minutes away, and kept walking.
"Uncle Cui, I've arrived. Yes, I'm standing at the entrance right now."
"03-3341-7718, that's Mr. Kuroki's contact number. Write it down, and knock on the door as soon as you arrive."
After getting off the subway, I followed a narrow, winding path and saw a fairly tall apartment building. It was decorated in a very elegant and chic style, with snow-white wall paint and dark wood with gold threading that looked quite expensive.
Hiss... Even the door of this apartment was exceptionally exquisite. On a small side door to the left, there was a video intercom. With a nervous heart, I carefully pressed it.
The video connected quickly. It was a man with a buzz cut wearing black traditional clothing. He had thick eyebrows, big eyes, and a piercing gaze. He looked to be in his 50s and possessed an air of natural authority.
"Hello, Mr. Kuroki. I am Mizuki. I'm sorry for the trouble during this time."
I bowed to the video. I had long known that in Japan, one must strictly adhere to the etiquette of seniority and hierarchy.
"Miss Nozawa, please don't be so formal. Let's take care of each other during this time." Mr. Kuroki signaled for others to bring my suitcase in and gave me a pair of unique straw-woven slippers.
Standing beside him was a kind-looking woman who smiled gently at me. She looked very young and must have been his wife.
"Miss Nozawa, these are your slippers. Other daily necessities are in the room and the bathroom. If you need anything else, just let me know." Mrs. Kuroki spoke slowly, accommodating my poor Japanese. "Go upstairs this way, turn right, and that's your room."
"Thank you, Madam." I bowed again. Her demeanor was truly like the legendary Japanese woman—dignified and gentle.
The room was on the fifth floor and had a balcony facing Tokyo Tower. Anyone who could own an apartment in this area was either rich or noble.
I let out a breath, still feeling nervous. The room was not big, only a few square meters, with no TV, but it had a wardrobe, a desk, and a chair. It was much better than I had imagined.
Today is my first day in Japan.
Last year, I was admitted to a medical surgery major at a university in Tokyo. My family exhausted all their efforts to cover the tuition for a few years, but everything else depended on me.
Because I couldn't afford the huge daily expenses, I almost gave up on studying abroad. Fortunately, my dad had a distant relative who ran a travel agency in Japan and happened to have a friend in Tokyo, so through his connection, I was able to board at Mr. Kuroki's house.
Uncle Cui had told me in advance that this was no ordinary Japanese family.
Mr. Kuroki ran two sizable entertainment media companies in Tokyo: Rainbow Media. They had produced many popular Japanese albums and were a famous local family business. He also had a daughter in high school.
She was usually at school and only returned on weekends, so for most of the time, only the Kuroki couple was at home.
No wonder the Madam was observing me; perhaps it was because my age was similar to her daughter's, and she felt a subconscious affection for me?
I tidied up the room, organized my clothes and shoes, took a paper bag from the innermost part of my bag, held it in my arms, and walked downstairs.
"Mr. Kuroki, Madam, please, you must accept this." I insisted and shoved the paper bag into the Madam's hand. It contained 50,000 yen, all the money I could currently scrape together.
A look of surprise appeared on Mrs. Kuroki's face. "Miss Nozawa, it is a wonderful thing that you can come to our home. Please don't feel burdened."
"Please, Miss Nozawa, settle in with peace of mind. Don't worry about money." Mr. Kuroki said the same, folded the paper bag, and tried to push it back to me.
A man in his fifties has quite a strong grip. I couldn't overpower him, so I just shook my head, refusing to give in: "Please, Mr. Kuroki and Madam, you must accept it!"
Seeing they still intended to decline, I simply dropped it and left, leaving the two of them looking at each other in bewilderment.
Mrs. Kuroki squeezed the paper bag in her hand, smiling warmly. "Mizuki, what a good child."
That was how I began my study abroad life in Japan.
In the following weeks, I registered at the graduate school, met with my advisor and professor, used navigation to learn the way to the laboratory, and enjoyed the exotic summer scenery I had never seen before along the way.
It happened to be the Summer Festival. Many office workers were still wearing black suits in the hot weather. It truly is a magical country—wearing suits in summer and skirts in winter. No wonder medical science is so advanced here.
My advisor, Yamashita, was a very strict person with students. He had a brilliant resume, not only with a very high social status but also an alarmingly high annual salary.
Fortunately, my qualifications met his standards: N1 in Japanese and over 85 in TOEFL. Plus, I was quick-witted, so I soon became familiar with him.
We were divided into several groups. The medical program lasts 4–6 years. Japan implements a model based on core modules of medical education. From the first to the fourth year, we will study professional subjects such as human organ structure and function, medical treatment, and basic knowledge of diagnosis. Before clinical practice, we will take a unified national exam, and after passing, we will advance to the higher grades and enter the clinical internship stage.
There aren't many theoretical foundation classes in a week, which leaves me just enough time to work part-time.
Mentioning part-time work gives me a headache. During the interview, my advisor Yamashita once mentioned: "Miss Nozawa, you are very good in all aspects, but your spoken language needs more practice."
I have congenital hearing impairment. Even when speaking Chinese, I sometimes have trouble reacting, let alone in Japanese or English. Therefore, it is indeed a bit difficult when conversing in Japanese.
Sure enough, because of the speaking problem, I was politely rejected several times during interviews for part-time jobs. Either the hourly wage was too low, or even if I did it, I couldn't make ends meet, leaving me feeling disheartened.
I couldn't find a part-time job, and I couldn't ask my family for money again. I might not have enough to eat every day, and I couldn't ask the Kuroki couple for help again; they had already helped me so much.
Sigh, you know, in Tokyo, Japan, the monthly rent can be as high as 70,000 yen. Even if I sold myself, I couldn't afford it.
"Sigh, what should I do?" I threw a few coins into the machine under the scorching sun. With a clatter, a bottle of tea drink fell out. Drinks in Japan are also very expensive; one bottle is worth two back home.
No, I can't be discouraged. Finding a job is the priority. Regardless of how much money I make a month, finding a part-time job near my residence is the best strategy.
On the other side of the Tokyo moat stood an iconic building, with flying eaves and pavilions, white walls, and black tiles. The exquisite structure, combined with the rich Japanese style, was partially hidden and partially revealed, adding to a mysterious, misty atmosphere.
Opposite was a bookstore that looked very old, [Mikura-mae Shobo]. Outside, there was a poster for the 15-year-old movie "Our Little Sister," and upbeat music was playing.
I planned to buy a few books to improve my spoken language and decided to get an interpretation qualification certificate, so I walked in to browse slowly.
An elderly man of about 70 was sitting at the entrance, wearing reading glasses and quietly reading with his head down. Seeing me come in, he didn't greet me, letting me search on my own.
I didn't find any Japanese learning books, but I saw a small notice posted on the wall that read: Hiring shop assistant, hourly wage 750 yen.
Just a few words, with no requirements listed.
I looked at The elderly man on the side, looked around, and couldn't help but gather my courage to step forward, asking as fast as I could: "Hello, are you still hiring a shop assistant? If possible, please consider me!"
The elderly man took a long time to take off his reading glasses and squinted at me.
…He sized me up like goods on a shelf waiting to be picked.
I straightened my back nervously.
"Just come every Saturday and Sunday, at 6 in the evening."
Just like that, I didn't find a single part-time job that I had carefully selected online, but instead, I inexplicably got a pretty good part-time job so close to my residence. Although the hourly wage was relatively low, I was already very satisfied.
I took a big gulp of the drink in my hand, feeling that I was truly the luckiest person.
By the time I found the part-time job and got home, it was already 9 p.m.
Today is Saturday. The door next to my room is still tightly closed, showing no signs of anyone having been there. Next door is the room of Mr. Kuroki's daughter, but I've been in Japan for several weeks now and haven't even met her once.
The Kuroki couple lives on the second floor. The first floor is a large public area. The third to fourth floors are rooms and meeting halls, as well as a dining room and pantry. The fifth floor has two rooms, a bathroom, and a spacious, bright balcony.
It's better if she doesn't come back; it saves the trouble of socializing when we bump into each other.
Thinking about finding a part-time job today, I excitedly video-chatted with my family to share the good news, and then fell asleep full of anticipation.
The courses were a bit easier than expected, and my spare time was quite abundant, so I started working hard to get the interpretation qualification certificate, busy as a spinning top.
I discovered that the bookstore where I worked was near a school. The elderly man usually required me to organize books, handle the cash register, and receive Chinese tourists, working until 10 p.m. No wonder he agreed without asking anything; it turned out it was because I was Chinese. I actually thought I was something special.
Night fell, and the nearby school started ringing the dismissal bell. The street outside the bookstore gradually became noisy. High school students in JK uniforms began to come by after school to buy various books, materials, and magazines.
Male high school students preferred to buy pornographic magazines, while female high school students preferred to buy fashion magazines.
I stared at the cover of a pornographic magazine. The girl printed on it was pure and sweet, yet she had an alluring and lewd expression.
"Miss shop assistant?" The male high school student interrupted my thoughts, confused.
"Ah, I'm sorry, it's 2,530 yen in total." I came back to my senses and quickly said the price in a low voice, a slight blush appearing on my cheeks.
The coins made a crisp clinking sound as they collided in the money tray.
"The shop assistant is as beautiful as the adult actresses." The male high school student threw this sentence and immediately walked away quickly.
…Was I being complimented or insulted? I held my forehead. It seems learning Japanese needs to be on the agenda as soon as possible.
I had no experience with part-time work, and I hadn't eaten dinner. I have thin skin, so I was too embarrassed to tell The elderly man I was hungry, so I had to endure it until 10 p.m. Exhausted physically and mentally after a long day, I went to a nearby convenience store and bought the cheapest rice ball. After hesitating for a long time, I gritted my teeth and grabbed a pack of cigarettes and beer.
If an adult doesn't have cigarettes and alcohol, it's uncertain if they can even live to 40.
I comforted myself like this. Oh well, spiritual food is also food; it doesn't count as spending money recklessly, it doesn't.
"So no shokuhin o atatameru, this is the heating button, right?" The rice ball needs to be heated, but I didn't know that the convenience store could help heat the rice ball, so I had to bite the bullet and use the microwave at home. Because I didn't understand the words on the Japanese microwave, I successfully heated the rice ball into mush.
The rice ball lay miserably in the microwave, already out of shape.
"Sigh…" I let out a long sigh. My stomach had already gone past the point of feeling hungry.
The rice ball couldn't be eaten, so I had to stand on the balcony, open the beer, and light a cigarette. The beer fizzed and bubbled. I took a sip. It was my first time drinking Japanese beer, and it felt pretty good.
My hair had reached my shoulders, curling and looking lazy, with no energy at all. I started staring blankly at the street opposite. The cigarette in my hand burned quietly. Japan is exceptionally quiet at night. Most of them are detached wooden houses, and the soundproofing is relatively poor, so everyone defaults to being light-footed at night and won't speak loudly.
The balcony was quiet, and it seemed like I was the only person left in the whole world.
What should I do tomorrow? I want to go to an Izakaya. I wonder if the skewers there are delicious? Conveyor belt sushi is also good, cheap and fresh.
So quiet...
I replied to the messages from home, telling my family that everything was fine and not to worry. I would spend a few years here, feeling a faint sense of anticipation and melancholy.
I was lost in my own thoughts when the quiet balcony suddenly lit up. From behind me, a cold and crisp questioning voice abruptly came: "What are you doing?"
Startled by the sudden Japanese, I hurriedly turned around and subconsciously raised my hand. The golden beer was accidentally knocked over, and with a "splash," it spilled all over the floor.
I just wasn't destined to eat dinner tonight; even the beer was against me.
I scrambled to pick up the beer bottle, turned my head, and said in a low voice: "I'm sorry, I'll clean this up right away."
After finishing, I kept my head down and started to clean up the mess. However, out of the corner of my eye, I noticed it was a young girl wearing shorts, revealing snow-white thighs, with her arms crossed, staring at me unhappily.
She was about 1.65 meters tall, which is considered quite tall in Japan. She had fine, curly short hair that shimmered with amber and black luster, softly wrapping around her small, white, and tender ears.
When I turned my head, the expression on her face changed from unhappy to confused, and then to interested as she sized me up.
Ah, it's Mr. Kuroki's daughter, Miss Kusanagi.
"Hello! Nice to meet you. Just call me Nozawa." I was extremely embarrassed, stumbling over my poor Japanese, "I am an international student boarding at your house."
I never expected that my first meeting with Mr. Kuroki's daughter would be in such a scene. They say first impressions are important, but under these circumstances, this image could never be salvaged.
"Mizuki? Why did you take a man's name?" Her gaze was misty, falling with interest on the cigarette in my hand, "Because you like smoking?"
Her voice was very special. A few short sentences sounded like ice shattering on the ground, the tone very crisp.
The characteristics of the Japanese language amplified this advantage, making it sound cold and hoarse. However, calling me by my full name on the first meeting felt a bit offensive.
My Japanese vocabulary only allowed me to understand the word "smoking." Thinking she hated smoking, I quickly extinguished the cigarette in my hand and said awkwardly: "I don't smoke, I don't smoke."
Perhaps my appearance was too funny. She looked at me from head to toe again and said: "What's wrong with smoking? I also smoke at night."
I understood this sentence. I wondered for a long time. In Japan, minors are not allowed to smoke, and Kusanagi is still in high school. Could she be a rebellious girl?
The girl in front of me exuded a feeling of coldness and arrogance. It seems that is very likely the case.
"Can I smoke a little? Your cigarette."
The girl leaned in. This time, I saw her appearance clearly: on her palm-sized face, two black grape-like eyes, black and white clearly defined, dotted on her fair skin.
"No, no! Minors are not allowed to smoke in Japan." If Mr. Kuroki knew I let his underage daughter smoke, he would kick me out. I quickly refused her.
"I'm already an adult. Give me one." The girl didn't take it to heart and reached out to grab the cigarette from the pack, very familiar with it.
"..." Are Japanese people all so familiar? How is this completely different from what I saw in books? And she even tried to bluff that she was an adult.
Seeing she was about to succeed, a bright idea occurred to me. I held the cigarette pack high above my head, the meaning very clear: if you can't reach it, you can't smoke it. I was half a head taller than her, and the height difference when I raised my hand was nearly a meter. This cigarette was destined not to appear in the underage girl's hands tonight.
But I forgot that this method is used to tease children, and usually, while teasing them, one says: "Can't reach it, can't reach it~" then the child gets angry with puffed-up cheeks, stomps their feet, and cries.
I held it up with a straight face.
The expression on Kusanagi's face became subtle.
Seeing that I wouldn't let her smoke and held the cigarette pack so high, she crossed her arms again and said meaningfully: "Then, please take care of me from now on, Miss Nozawa."