Telephone Man Junior ~The Man Searching for a Public Phone~
Kagurazaka Denwa, 24. Unemployed. NEET. Professional freeloader. His life changes when he finds a single telephone card among his late father's belongings—a deep green card belonging to the legendary hero who once protected the Kanto region during the Showa era: the Green Telephone Man.
There's just one problem. To transform, he needs a public phone. In the Reiwa era. When smartphones rule the world and phone booths are vanishing faster than heroes' reputations.
Armed with his father's card, a
Telephone Man Junior ~The Man Searching for a Public Phone~ - Paper Scrap Hero — Father's Recording and Zenitani's Electronic Money Encirclement
"What the hell! Why won't it work?!"
In front of the register at a Kagurazaka convenience store, Denwa was tearing into the clerk. He kept pressing the green telephone card—wedged into the wristband on his left wrist—against the card reader, over and over. The card's corners were dark with finger grease.
"I'm telling you, sir, that card can't be used here."
The young clerk repeated the same words with a troubled look, his voice shrinking smaller each time.
"It's a telephone card! There's still balance on it! It worked just a little while ago!"
"I'm very sorry. As of today, we've discontinued handling telephone cards."
"Hah?!"
Denwa looked at the sweet bread and bottled tea sitting on the counter. Barely two hundred yen worth of stuff. But his wallet held only twenty-three yen in change. He probed the bottom with his fingertip, and a coin's edge caught his nail.
"The card's unusable now... seriously?"
He groaned. His stomach growled back. He hadn't eaten anything since morning; the inside of his gut felt plastered to his spine.
"Sir, payment must be cash or electronic money."
"I don't have electronic money either..."
Denwa's shoulders slumped. He put the sweet bread back on the shelf. The chill of the plastic wrapper lingered on his fingertips. The clerk's gaze stung. The salaryman in line behind him was glaring, his face saying hurry it up. Denwa heard a tongue click.
"...Sorry."
He left the store.
Outside, the sky was overcast. A damp wind carried the smell of old Showa down the alley. A man in a rumpled tracksuit trudged over the stone paving, his soles catching on the seams between the stones.
"Telephone cards don't work anymore... why?"
He stroked the wristband on his left arm. The green card still gave off its inorganic gleam.
(I can still transform. But the card's value is gone.)
(Even as a hero, I can't even buy groceries.)
Pathetic. Utterly pathetic.
That was when it happened.
"Oh, Kagurazaka-kun."
He turned. Akane Hikari stood there. Black hair to her shoulders—even under the evening's overcast sky, it looked faintly vermilion. A white blouse and a deep-red long skirt. Today, too, she was dressed in that retro-Showa style.
"H-Hikari-san."
Denwa's voice cracked.
"What's wrong? You look glum."
Hikari tilted her head.
"It's just... my telephone card stopped working."
He held the card out.
"Your telephone card?"
Hikari's eyes narrowed.
"Yeah. The convenience store said they stopped handling them today."
"...That's strange. I've never heard of telephone cards being discontinued."
Hikari pulled out her smartphone and started searching. Her scrolling thumb stopped dead. The pad of her thumb went white against the screen.
"...Kagurazaka-kun, look at this."
She turned the screen toward him. There was the Hardbank logo, and beneath it:
"Hardbank Fully Abolishes Telephone Card Payments at All Member Stores Nationwide."
"What..."
Denwa was speechless. The back of his throat went bone dry.
"Hardbank shut down the entire telephone card payment network. Convenience stores, kiosks—they all run on Hardbank's payment system."
"That's... they can't just..."
Denwa's fist trembled. His nails bit into his palm.
"This is obviously aimed at us. They intend to erase the value of telephone cards at the root."
Hikari's voice was quiet. But her eyes burned with anger.
"If the card doesn't work, what's the problem?"
"I can still transform. But my worth as Telephone Man disappears. The card becomes just a scrap of paper."
"A scrap of paper..."
Denwa looked at the card in his hand. His father's keepsake. Proof of a legendary hero. Between his fingers, the card's edge bent slightly.
And now.
Just a scrap of paper.
"...Damn it."
Denwa clenched the card. He gripped it so hard it warped.
Then, applause sounded from behind him. Three dry claps echoed down the alley.
"Well now, how satisfying. Truly, truly satisfying."
He turned. A man in a suit stood there. Early thirties. Neatly turned out, like a banker. Behind his glasses, his eyes were laughing.
"...Who the hell are you?"
Denwa glared at the man.
"My name is Zenitani. I'm a financial operative for Hardbank."
The man bowed politely. The smell of starch drifted from his collar.
"Hardbank...!"
Denwa took a step back. His heel caught on a rise in the stone paving.
"Oh my, no need to be so wary. I merely came to pay my respects."
Zenitani smiled pleasantly and pointed at the card in Denwa's hand. His fingertip aimed right at it.
"That card's useless now, isn't it? What a shame. The proof of an outdated hero, reduced to a scrap of paper."
"...You did this on purpose."
"On purpose? Whatever do you mean? We simply optimized our payment system to suit the times. Nobody uses telephone cards these days, after all."
Zenitani's smile deepened. His teeth gleamed white in the alley's dim light.
"Besides, telephone cards have no value anymore. Even if you can transform, what meaning does that transformation have? Stop a crime, and instead of gratitude, you're treated as a suspicious person. You can't even shop. Your worth as a hero is zero."
"...Shut up."
Denwa's voice dropped low.
"Whoops, my apologies. I was merely stating facts. Well then, I'll be going. I have another payment network to overhaul."
Zenitani spun on his heel.
"Ah, yes. One word of advice. The cards you hold can't be used anywhere now. Best to give up quietly."
Zenitani vanished into the depths of the alley. The sound of his leather shoes lingered a while.
"...That bastard."
Denwa clenched his trembling fist.
"Kagurazaka-kun, calm down. Provoking people is their job."
Hikari placed a hand on his shoulder. Her palm was warm.
"But... I couldn't say anything back. I couldn't argue that the card isn't just paper."
Denwa hung his head. The hem of his tracksuit swayed in the wind.
(Even if I can transform, it means nothing.)
(Even as a hero, no one will acknowledge me.)
(My old man's card, just a scrap of paper...)
"...Hikari-san, what should I do?"
His voice was shaking.
Hikari thought for a moment, then said:
"Hey, Kagurazaka-kun. Do you know about the 'Outdated Heroes Exhibition' that Hardbank is hosting?"
"The Outdated Heroes Exhibition?"
"Yes. It's an exhibition of Showa-era hero goods, and apparently there's a Telephone Man section. There might be some kind of clue there."
"A clue... about my old man?"
"Your father's belongings might be on display. The fact that Hardbank is hosting it bothers me, but... I think it's worth going."
Denwa lifted his head.
"...Let's go. I want to know more about my old man."
Hikari smiled brightly.
"Then it's settled. But it's dangerous for just the two of us. Let's call the others too."
"The others..."
Three weirdos' faces floated through Denwa's mind.
Aoi Ritsu. A staff-officer type, a former Self-Defense Force washout. Taciturn, argumentative, cool-headed.
Kikawada Genki. A muscle-brained charge-first idiot. She rushes in before she thinks.
Shiratori Shizuku. A scheming, calculating little devil. She uses people as decoys with a smile.
"...Those guys."
Denwa sighed.
"It can't be helped. The more hands, the better."
Hikari started sending messages on her phone. The tap of her thumb on the screen rang out briskly.
A few minutes later, three weirdos gathered in the Kagurazaka alley.
"I heard. We're infiltrating Hardbank's exhibition."
Aoi Ritsu leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. Black shirt, black pants. Short black hair. Sharp eyes. She looked barely twenty, but carried herself with composure.
"Yeah. My old man's belongings might be in the Telephone Man section."
"Infiltration! Sounds fun! Leave it to me!"
Kikawada Genki thrust her fist up. A girl who looked about high school age. Spiky blond hair. Absurdly energetic. Her yellow hoodie stood out bizarrely under the overcast sky.
"Genki, you're not suited to infiltration. You stand out no matter how you look at it."
Shiratori Shizuku giggled. A white dress with a white cardigan. Long black hair. Despite her prim appearance, her eyes weren't smiling.
"What?! Where do I stand out?!"
"Everywhere. Your hair, your clothes, your voice."
"Shut up! You're one to talk—if you went to a nighttime exhibition in those white clothes, you'd look like a ghost and stand out!"
"Oh, I'm not going. I'll leave the dangerous stuff to you all."
"Hah?! You're pulling that again?!"
"Genki, calm down. Shizuku has a point. She should stay in rear support."
"Even Ritsu! You're all trying to make me the decoy!"
"Now, now, everyone. Don't fight. This time, let's all work together."
Hikari stepped between them.
"...Fine. So when do we go?"
"Right now. The exhibition runs until night."
"All right, let's go!"
Genki took off running.
"Ah, wait, Genki-kun! Wrong direction!"
"Eh?! It's not that way?!"
"...It's the Legacy Hall in Koto Ward. This way."
"You should've said that from the start!"
"I did say it. Weren't you listening?"
"...Let's go."
Ritsu strode off.
"Ah, wait up, Ritsu-kun!"
"...Sigh. Everyone's too free-spirited."
Denwa sighed and followed after them. In his tracksuit pocket, the card's corner bumped against his thigh.
(But even with weirdos like these, just having them along...)
(Makes me feel a little braver.)
Denwa gripped the card.
"Just you wait, old man. I'll find your belongings, no matter what."
Koto Ward, Legacy Hall.
Under the evening sky, a massive exhibition hall loomed. At the entrance, a sign read "Outdated Heroes Exhibition." Posters of Showa-era heroes were plastered up in faded colors. Their corners were peeling.
"So this is it..."
Denwa looked up at the hall.
"What a crowd. Showa heroes are still popular, huh."
Hikari said, looking at the line at the entrance.
"Nostalgia sells. Especially that kind."
Ritsu pointed at a flyer being handed out in front of the hall. It read: "A Grand Gathering of Beloved Heroes! Relive the Showa Memories!"
"But Telephone Man's apparently stuck in a corner."
Genki said, tapping at her phone.
"...You looked it up?"
"Of course! If you're infiltrating, gathering intel is basic!"
"Well, color me surprised—you actually did something useful."
"What do you mean, surprised?!"
"Come on, let's go. We don't have much time before closing."
Hikari started toward the entrance.
The five of them entered the exhibition hall.
Inside, it overflowed with Showa-era hero goods.
Old soft-vinyl figures. Faded posters. Rusted transformation belts. Video tape packages. The air smelled of old paper and plastic.
"Whoa... this takes me back..."
Denwa stared at the displays of the heroes he'd watched on TV as a kid.
"Kagurazaka-kun, over here."
Hikari waved from the back.
When Denwa ran over, there was a small section.
"Telephone Man — The Phantom Hero of Showa."
The section was at the very back of the hall, beside an emergency exit. Dim, and sparsely visited. The carpet underfoot was more worn than in the other areas.
"...So this is the Telephone Man section."
Denwa looked at the display case.
Inside were a faded telephone card replica, photos of old public phones, copies of newspaper articles from the time.
"This is way too tucked away..."
Denwa gave a wry smile.
"But there might be something here. Let's look around."
Hikari began examining the area around the display case.
Ritsu was gazing at the wall panels.
Genki was peering under the display case.
Shizuku was fiddling with her phone.
Denwa went around behind the display case.
And then he found it.
In the gap between the case and the wall, a single notebook had fallen. Its leather cover was cracked.
"...This."
Denwa picked up the notebook.
A leather cover. Rough to the touch. When he opened it, page after page was crammed with fine handwriting. The ink had bled in places.
"This is... my old man's handwriting."
Denwa clutched the notebook.
In it was written:
"Please, leave the pu
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