The scent of the sea brought him home. The scent of sweet bean paste brought him back to him.
Ten years ago, Minato left the sleepy seaside town of Shiomi-cho with a camera in his hands, three words caught in his throat, and a roll of film he never developed. He made it in Tokyo—his photographs are flawless, published, praised. But flawless isn't the same as alive, and lately his camera feels heavier than it should.
Now he's back, ostensibly on assignment. Really, he's back for the boy he left
Scent of Sea Breeze and Sweet Bean Paste - Tide Manjuu — A Ten-Year Blank and Sweet Silence
The scent of the tide had crept into the heart of the town overnight.
Minato lay on the bed with the hotel's small window still open, staring up at the ceiling. Yesterday he'd made it all the way to the front of Matsubaya, seen Yuuma's figure beyond the noren curtain—and still couldn't make himself step forward. The sound of the wooden spatula from deep inside the shop was still lodged at the bottom of his ears.
*Ten years, and what exactly am I afraid of?*
He muttered it to himself over and over. In Tokyo he'd made a name as a photographer, been featured in magazines, even published a collection. On the job he'd photographed hundreds of people. And yet, to look an old childhood friend in the face, it was taking him this long.
Outside the window, the harbor lights were going out one by one. Dawn was close. Minato slowly sat up.
The hotel room was cramped—a bed, a small desk, and a built-in television, nothing more. On the desk sat a film canister he'd taken from his camera bag the night before. Film from a summer ten years ago, shot at the Shiomi Cape lighthouse, still undeveloped.
Minato picked up the canister and rolled it around in his palm for a while. It was light. Why did a single roll of film feel so heavy?
*Today. Today I'll look him in the eye and talk to him properly.*
He set the canister back on the desk and hung the camera around his neck. An old film camera. Its metal body was cold against the chilled morning air.
---
When he stepped out of the hotel, the town was still wrapped in a thin blue light.
June mornings come early. Two old taxis sat in the rotary in front of the station, just as they had yesterday, and one of the drivers had gotten out and was stretching hugely. As Minato passed, the man gave him a slight bow. Minato nodded back.
He walked down the slope toward the Shiomi Ginza shopping street. The shops on either side still had their shutters down. But by the time he reached the middle of the street, that sweet scent came drifting toward him.
The fragrance of red bean. Sugar, and just a touch of salt.
*He's already started the batch.*
Minato's feet quickened of their own accord. His heart was pounding absurdly loud in the morning quiet. Yesterday that scent had drawn him in, and he'd fled from the shopfront anyway. Today was different.
He stood before Matsubaya.
A two-story wooden building painted black. The indigo-dyed noren swayed softly in the breeze off the sea. The white characters on the curtain glowed, translucent in the morning light.
From inside came a light *kotton*—the sound of a wooden spatula striking the rim of a copper pot. Then a *shuuu*, the hiss of escaping steam.
Minato closed his eyes once.
*It's fine. I'm just going to see him.*
One deep breath. Then he pushed up the indigo noren with his hand.
"Excuse me."
His own voice came out hoarser than he'd expected. There was no one in the earthen entryway. From the kitchen in back, the sound of someone folding bean paste continued.
"Excuse me."
Again, a little louder this time.
The sound stopped.
A stretch of silence. Then a man in a white kappougi apron appeared from the back.
His soft chestnut hair was still slightly mussed from the morning rush. His almond-shaped, light-brown eyes caught sight of Minato standing in the entryway and went wide.
"...Minato?"
Yuuma's voice echoed through the quiet shop.
Minato felt his throat tighten. That voice, heard for the first time in ten years. The same as ever—slow, low, and gentle.
"It's been a while."
That was all Minato could manage.
Yuuma stared at his face for a while. Then his expression softened. A small dimple formed, only on his left cheek.
"Want some anko?"
At those words, something deep in Minato's chest grew warm.
Ten years ago, on the way home from the photography club, Yuuma had always said that. *Want some anko?* In the back of the shop he'd spoon freshly made bean paste into a little dish, and the two of them would share it. Not a single word had changed since then.
"...Yeah."
Minato fought to keep his voice from shaking.
Yuuma smiled that soft smile again. Then he set down the wooden spatula in his hand and walked toward the entryway. On the cuff of his white kappougi, a few drops of red bean broth had spattered into faint brown stains.
"Come on in. The anko's just finished cooking."
With that, Yuuma led Minato into the back of the shop.
---
A small sitting room at the rear of the shop.
Across a wooden table, Minato and Yuuma sat facing each other. The room was filled with the sweet scent of bean paste. An old calendar hung on the wall, and a pillar clock ticked away the seconds.
"Hang on a minute."
Yuuma stood and disappeared toward the kitchen. After a while he came back carrying two white plates, steam rising from them.
"Shiomi manjuu. Just steamed."
On each white plate sat two plump, round Shiomi manjuu. Steam curled up lazily.
"Try one."
Yuuma smiled, a little bashful.
Minato picked up one of the manjuu. Still warm. The white skin was soft and fluffy, a faint heat passing into his fingertips.
He took a bite.
The gentle sweetness of white bean paste spread through his mouth. But it wasn't only sweet. There was the faintest taste of salt. A perfect balance, the kind only a wagashi shop near the sea could achieve.
"It's good."
Minato said it honestly.
"Good. I've been worried people might say the flavor's gone downhill lately."
Yuuma laughed and picked up his own manjuu.
"Are you running the shop alone?"
Minato asked the question that had been on his mind since yesterday.
Yuuma's hand stopped for just a moment.
"...Yeah. Well, that's about the size of it."
Yuuma brought the manjuu to his mouth, his gaze dropping slightly.
"I've been posting job listings, but no one ever comes."
"Is that so."
Minato couldn't say anything more.
"My old man died five years ago. I've been doing it alone ever since."
Yuuma's voice was matter-of-fact. But Minato could tell. Yuuma was forcing himself to act cheerful.
"That must've been hard."
"Well, there's no such thing as an easy job. You're a photographer too, right? I saw it in the magazine. The photos were beautiful."
Yuuma said it looking straight into Minato's eyes.
In those light-brown eyes, Minato's own reflection.
"...You saw them?"
Minato felt something tighten deep in his chest.
"Of course I did. If a childhood friend's photos show up in a magazine, anyone would look."
Yuuma grinned, teasing.
That smile was exactly the same as ten years ago, and Minato felt like he might cry.
*I want to say it—let me help you.*
*But I can't.*
Minato had to go back to Tokyo. He had work. He couldn't stay in this town.
And yet he found himself wanting to be at Yuuma's side.
"...Yuuma, I—"
Just as Minato started to speak, Yuuma shook his head.
"Thanks. But your place isn't here, is it."
Yuuma smiled, looking lonely.
Those words sank deep into Minato's chest.
*That's right. My place isn't here.*
*I know that. I know it, and yet—*
Minato couldn't say anything more. He fell silent and put the rest of the manjuu into his mouth.
It should have been sweet, but it tasted a little bitter.
---
Leaving Matsubaya, Minato walked along the Shiomi Ginza shopping street toward the station.
Before noon, the arcade had a few more people than in the morning. Elderly folks carrying shopping bags, elementary schoolers on bicycles. Time moved slowly for all of them.
Before heading back to the business hotel by the station, Minato felt like walking a little. He turned his feet toward the harbor, toward the smell of the tide.
When he reached the middle of the street, a woman standing in front of a shop called out to him.
"Oh my, aren't you Minato-kun?"
He turned. It was Maruyama Masako, the owner of Marushou Butcher Shop. She wore a white apron, her short hair pinned back. She must have been past seventy. Ever since Minato was a child, he'd bought croquettes from this shop.
"It's been a long time, Maruyama-san."
Minato gave a slight bow.
"It really is Minato-kun! Ten years, is it? I hear you became a photographer in Tokyo? That's wonderful!"
Maruyama clapped him on the shoulder, delighted.
"Well, something like that."
Minato gave a wry smile.
"More importantly, did you stop by Matsubaya? How's Yuuma-kun doing?"
Her voice turned a little serious.
"Yes, I was there until just now."
"I see... That shop's in trouble these days."
Maruyama lowered her voice.
"Trouble?"
"Have you heard about the redevelopment? This whole Shiomi Ginza area is about to be bought up by a big developer. Matsubaya's on the list too, from what I hear."
Minato's heart gave a heavy thud.
"Redevelopment..."
"It's a town revitalization plan. They're going to build a marina and commercial facilities on the east side of the harbor. This shopping street is part of it. There are people for it and against it, but the young folks are all in favor. They say it beats letting the town wither away."
Maruyama sighed.
Just then, Ootsuka Mitsu, the owner of the neighboring Shiomi Bookstore, poked her head out from the back of her shop.
"Oh my, isn't that Minato-kun?"
Ootsuka Mitsu was a woman about the same age as Maruyama. She wore silver-rimmed glasses and a thin stole around her neck.
"It's been a long time, Ootsuka-san."
Minato found himself caught between the two of them.
"You went to see Yuuma-kun at Matsubaya, didn't you? Did he say anything?"
Ootsuka Mitsu looked at Minato with a worried face.
"No, nothing in particular..."
"I hear the shop's land and building have a mortgage held by some real estate company."
Ootsuka Mitsu lowered her voice even further.
"A mortgage?"
Yuuma's face from a moment ago surfaced in Minato's mind.
"I don't know the details, but apparently Yuuma-kun's father borrowed money years ago to renovate the shop. The rumor is he put up the land and building as collateral."
"Yuuma-chan doesn't say a word about it, but we're all worried the shop might be in danger."
Maruyama Masako's brows drew together in distress.
"There's even talk that if he agrees to the redevelopment, the debt would be wiped clean..."
The two women's words settled heavily on Minato's chest.
*Yuuma was carrying all of that alone?*
Minato thought of the smile he'd seen in the shop. That lonely smile, the one that had said, *your place isn't here.*
*Behind that smile, all of this was going on.*
Minato clenched his fist.
"Minato-kun, you were close with Yuuma-kun, weren't you? Do something to help him."
Maruyama Masako placed her hand gently on Minato's arm.
"...I will."
That was all Minato could manage.
---
Back at the hotel, Minato took a small plastic case from the bottom of his camera bag.
Inside was a single old roll of film.
Film from ten years ago, shot at the Shiomi Cape lighthouse, undeveloped.
Minato opened the case and took the film in his hand.
In the dark room, the film reflected a faint glimmer of light.
*Yuuma is on here.*
*And the words I couldn't say that day are locked inside it too.*
Minato laid the film gently on his palm.
Outside the window, the harbor lights blinked slowly on and off.
The sound of the tide had been there all along, far in the distance.
Just then, the smartphone on the desk gave a short buzz.
Minato set down the film and picked up the phone.
A message was displayed on the screen.
The sender was Hatayama Kento.
*Kento...*
Minato's fingers stopped for a moment.
Hatayama Kento. The other childhood friend—his and Yuuma's. A man his own age who had taken over the local real estate company.
Minato opened the message.
*"Minato, it's been a while. Let's talk tomorrow. About Matsubaya."*
A short, businesslike message.
Minato stared at the screen.
*About Matsubaya.*
The words repeated in his head over and over.
Kento had to be the point man for the redevelopment. Hatayama Real Estate handled sixty percent of the property transactions in this town.
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