#58: Cuba Libre / ep. 1
April. A meeting of the board of directors at the stationery manufacturer Meiji Stationery.
The boardroom was a far cry from the image conjured by the words board of directors. Five members of the management team, including the president, sat around a meeting table in a bare plywood room, along with the heads of Accounting and Human Resources. Everyone was wearing masks.
Among them was Managing Director Tsuzuki, the kindly old craftsman who had devoted half his life to making pencils and who oversaw the Next Core Product Development Project, of which Mikoto was project head.
“The reason I asked everyone to gather is because… well, the time has finally come.”
The president of Meiji Stationery looked utterly dejected, his head buried in his hands. The head of Accounting distributed several documents.
Tsuzuki glanced at the carefully printed words STRICTLY CONFIDENTIAL and let out a heavy sigh.
The thing he had feared had become reality.
“We have to decide who to cut, then…”
“Yes. It’s the only way we can save the company…”
“It can’t be helped, I suppose. Pencils are basically luxury goods nowadays.”
People’s lives had changed.
Half a century ago, when Tsuzuki had joined the company, pencils had still played a significant role in the act of writing. Now things were completely different. Even Tsuzuki himself, who continued using pencils out of attachment, almost never saw other people using them. At most, there were his granddaughter studying at an art university and his grandchild who had recently started primary school.
Although he was involved in management, Tsuzuki was a pencil craftsman at heart. Of everyone present, he understood the decline in pencil use most keenly.
Painfully so.
“We can’t cut the craftsmen. They have nowhere else to go. Which leaves…”
They would have to cut employees whom he had cherished almost like family.
It was heart-rending.
Tsuzuki looked away from the third-generation president, who was younger than himself, and lowered his eyes to the documents. The Recommended Retirement List was filled with young administrative employees, all in their thirties or younger, and the names themselves seemed to condemn him.
Then Tsuzuki found the names of two people he knew well.
—Kurosu Mikoto. Shirai Rinko.
“Is the new-product project going to be handed over to Aomi-san?”
“No. We simply don’t have the resources left to put into new products. For now, we’ll continue with the first project Kurosu is developing jointly with Hibiya, but that’s as far as we can go.”
Tsuzuki understood.
That project had been something like their final gamble.
Project head Kurosu Mikoto had somehow managed to produce results under immense pressure. But what the company needed was not moderate success. It needed a smash hit capable of turning everything around.
For Meiji Stationery, which had no choice but to cling to the hope of a miracle, that wasn’t enough.
If only I had been able to do a little more. Somehow.
Tsuzuki was consumed by regret and frustration.
“I’m sorry, Tsuzuki-san. I imagine it pains you to cut the two you’ve taken such an interest in…”
“Yes. But I have no objection to the president’s decision.”
Tsuzuki’s decision was not based solely on business considerations.
“They’re both young, and they have their whole futures ahead of them. Rather than having them go down with a sinking ship like ours, it would be better to let them off early…”
The pain of dismissing employees was beyond words.
Even so, it was better to set them free while there was still time than leave them stranded with nowhere to turn after everything had fallen apart.
That was what it meant to cut someone’s employment.
Tsuzuki quietly savoured the frustration and helplessness of having justified their dismissal with the self-serving excuse that it’s for their own good if we let them go early.
“…Then, regarding the two of them, I’ll leave the matter to you, Managing Director Tsuzuki. We’ll conduct individual interviews with the rest.”
The board meeting ended.
Tsuzuki returned to his desk with heavy footsteps. From the business cards he kept filed away, he pulled out the one belonging to Hibiya Trading’s managing director and made a call.
＊
Meiji Stationery office. Meeting room.
For nearly an hour, Mikoto and Rinko had been struggling with the presentation monitor and laptop in front of them.
In the end, without either of them quite knowing what they had managed to do correctly, Sanae’s face suddenly appeared in close-up on the monitor.
Unlike Mikoto and Rinko, Sanae was working from home.
Toko’s face was visible on the screen as well.
“Ah, Sanae-san’s on! Can you see us?”
“Yes. Perfectly.”
“Kurosu-san looks so cool in her work clothes! And Rinko-san looks great in her uniform too!”
“We finally connected…”
This was what had happened.
The work PCs issued to Mikoto and Rinko had neither cameras nor microphones.
So they went out looking for USB cameras.
But everyone else had apparently had the same idea. Every electronics shop they visited was sold out.
Their next option was to search the office.
What they found was some video-conferencing equipment that had been introduced several years earlier and then apparently never used by anyone.
They had spent the better part of an hour struggling to get it working.
Incidentally, Aomi Shiina, the saleswoman who claimed to be good with technology, happened to be away on a business trip at precisely the worst possible time.
“Sorry to keep you waiting, Sanae-san. It took longer than expected…”
“You could have simply installed a web-conferencing app on your personal smartphone. Something like Zoom.”
“We were told by the company not to use our personal devices for work.”
“If that’s the case, then I suppose it’s the correct decision from a compliance perspective, inefficient though it may be.”
On the monitor, Toko was happily hugging Sanae from behind.
Toko herself presumably had no idea she was doing anything wrong, but to Rinko it must have looked like an extremely potent dose of marital bragging. Rinko fell silent, the corners of her mouth twitching.
“I’m sorry. Toko won’t listen no matter how many times I tell her, so please let’s just continue the meeting like this.”
“But it’s Kurosu-san and Shirai-san! It’s fine, isn’t it?”
“Apparently so.”
“Right…”
Wasn’t having an outsider like Toko participate in the meeting a much bigger compliance violation?
Mikoto had that thought, but Sanae was working from home anyway. The work being discussed was probably completely audible to Toko.
Mikoto decided not to worry about it.
“Then, let’s start with the progress of the new-product development project.”
Sanae asked questions, and Mikoto answered them one by one as they went over the current state of affairs.
The meeting concerned the Next Core Product Development Project, which Mikoto headed at Meiji Stationery.
The first project, Digital Memo, which had been at the centre of the product-theft scandal, was currently being developed under Hibiya’s leadership and had progressed from design into the manufacturing stage. A working prototype was expected to be completed within a few days.
Meiji Stationery was manufacturing the stylus pens as a subcontractor and had already delivered them to the partner company.
“As for the Digital Memo, we’re thinking of approaching the medical sector first.”
“The medical sector?”
“Yes. Our promotional team is looking into whether it might be useful for communicating information in isolated medical settings.”
The astonishing speed with which they had progressed to producing an actual prototype was not solely due to the current circumstances.
In fact, the project thief, Kosugi, was partly responsible.
He had wanted to make the project his own, so he had already gone around making arrangements and placing orders, all while behaving as though he himself had created it.
But Kosugi had fallen from power, and Sanae had inherited everything wholesale.
In a sense, Sanae herself was now the thief of the credit, but for Mikoto, who was good at creating ideas and little else, it was a godsend.
“Did you really do all of that yourself, Sanae-san…?”
“It was just something I did on the side, so don’t worry about it. All I have to do is take the reports, updates and consultations that come my way and distribute it up, down, left and right. It’s an easy job.”
For Sanae, it really must have been an easy job.
Mikoto was dumbfounded by her sheer ability, expressed without even the slightest change in her face.
And Sanae was two years younger than her.
Mikoto had known from the beginning that there was no way she could compete, but this was an overwhelming defeat.
“I don’t think that sounds easy…”
“It’s give and take. My speciality is solving problems, but I’m not good at coming up with ideas from nothing or producing advertising materials.”
“I didn’t realise there were things Sanae-san wasn’t good at…”
“What? There are plenty of things Sanae isn’t good at. She won’t eat green peppers whether they’re boiled or grilled, and although she likes strawberries and daifuku, she hates strawberry daifuku—”
“You don’t need to share things like that.”
“Cough.”
Sanae cleared her throat, cutting Toko off, and the discussion moved on to the second project, Shavings Potpourri.
Unlike the first project, this one was being led by Meiji Stationery.
Hibiya Trading would handle procuring the small bottles and aroma oils used for scenting, as well as distribution and sales.
“We’ve received samples of the essential oils from the manufacturer, so I’ll send them over today. Would it be all right to leave the scent selection to Shirai-san?”
“Sure, leave it to me! It’s a chance to turn my hobby into part of my job!”
“Rinko-san sounds excited! I’ll definitely buy one when it goes on sale!”
Rinko met Toko’s gaze and gave her a firm thumbs-up.
Of all people, Rinko was the one most invested in this project.
For Mikoto, it was a project born from that Harajuku date, and therefore carried some painful memories. But seeing Rinko so motivated was something she was happy about, both personally and professionally.
“Next. Does your company have any plans for a third project? We’re always looking for new ideas, so please don’t hesitate to contact us if you have anything.”
Mikoto straightened at Sanae’s words.
Until then, Sanae had been calling her by name. Now she had switched to language that emphasised their respective companies.
Mikoto assumed that was because what came next would involve management decisions.
“Well, I do have something in mind, but I haven’t asked the company for a decision yet… I’d like to get back to you shortly.”
“Understood. Then, I’ll—”
“Wait! I want to chat!”
Even during this period of self-restraint, when the way people worked had changed dramatically, Toko was almost exactly the same as ever.
After all, her main arena was the home.
Mikoto exchanged an amused glance with Rinko when there was a knock at the meeting-room door.
Rinko hurriedly got up and opened it.
Managing Director Tsuzuki stood there, his face normally marked by deep smile lines.
Today, unusually, he looked grim.
“Ah, sorry. Were you in the middle of a meeting?”
“Yes, we were speaking with Yanase-san from Hibiya.”
“Thank you for your continued support. Yanase speaking.”
Toko immediately slipped out of frame.
She had once been an office worker herself, after all. Apparently she still possessed some degree of common sense as a member of the working world.
The moment Tsuzuki understood that the person on the other end was Sanae, he stepped into the meeting room as though thinking perfect timing and spoke.
“Sorry. I contacted the managing director at Hibiya earlier, but it seems our messages crossed.”
“You contacted them?”
At this point, Mikoto still had no idea what was coming.
She did not yet know that this meeting would bring about a major change, not merely to the Next Core Product Development Project, but to her own life.
“Actually, about this project…”
Tsuzuki hesitated.
“It’s been cancelled.”
“What…!?”
Mikoto and Rinko’s voices rang through the meeting room, followed a beat later by Sanae’s.
“W-what do you mean, Managing Director…?”
“It was a management decision. We simply don’t have the resources anymore.”
“The whole thing is cancelled!?”
Rinko’s question was almost a scream.
On the monitor, Sanae nodded.
“We’ll continue with the first project, but… well, all we’ll be doing is manufacturing the stylus pens, I suppose. As for the second project… I’m sorry. You worked so hard on it…”
“No…”
“…And there’s something else. This next part is a personal matter concerning the two of you…”
Tsuzuki glanced towards Sanae.
Perhaps this was something he could not discuss in front of an outsider.
Mikoto was about to ask Sanae to leave so they could end the meeting, but Sanae spoke first.
Her expression had become slightly strained.
“I apologise. I understand that this may be presumptuous, but I would like to hear this not as an employee of Hibiya, but as a friend of the two of them.”
“But, you see, this is…”
“I can guess what this is about. In particular, Kurosu-san is currently seconded to our company. I don’t believe I’m entirely unrelated to the matter.”
Sanae’s mind worked faster than an ordinary person’s, but Mikoto still could not understand what she was getting at.
What could this personal matter possibly be, if it went beyond cancelling the project?
Tsuzuki looked at Mikoto and Rinko in turn.
“Well, just to make sure… Would it be all right if Yanase-san stayed? The things I need to tell you are the same for both of you.”
“Yes… That’s fine, I suppose.”
Mikoto and Rinko exchanged glances and nodded to one another.
The kindly old man let out a heavy sigh.
His usual smile lines had twisted with pain.
At the very moment Tsuzuki opened his mouth, Mikoto finally began to realise what was happening to her.
“…I’m truly sorry to ask this of you. I tried everything I could, but neither I nor the company were able to do enough…”
“M-Managing Director, what’s wrong…?”
Rinko approached Tsuzuki, who had hunched his back.
But Tsuzuki told them.
“I want both of you to resign voluntarily…”
“What…?”
The ground seemed to give way beneath Mikoto’s feet.
Whether it was physically or emotionally, she could not tell.
＊
Mikoto got no work done that day.
Even though it was still early in the morning, she simply sat staring at the second hand circling the clock mounted on the office wall.
Her mind was somewhere else entirely.
The same was true of Rinko at the desk beside her. Whenever Mikoto caught the scent of peach and glanced at her profile, she found Rinko staring blankly into space too.
—Voluntary resignation at the end of April.
Mikoto understood that the company’s decision had not been aimed solely at them.
The colleagues being called into sudden interviews were all young administrative employees around Mikoto’s age. They went to their meetings wearing puzzled expressions and returned to their desks looking troubled.
According to Tsuzuki, if they agreed to voluntary resignation, the company would process it as a company-initiated dismissal.
Their severance pay would be increased, and they would be able to receive unemployment benefits immediately.
It was the least the company could do.
Mikoto understood that it was meant as a gesture of good faith.
But that did nothing to change the feeling of betrayal.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a young male employee, known for being serious and cheerful, staring blankly at his screen while searching for how to write a resignation letter.
“…Mikoto-san. I think I’m going to take the afternoon off.”
Rinko murmured beside her in a voice devoid of emotion.
Mikoto had actually been thinking the same thing.
There was no point working now, no matter how much she did.
Her motivation to work had collapsed in an instant.
She was about to check how many days of paid leave she had left—
Then realised there was no way she could possibly use them all.
Mikoto took a leave-request form from her desk.
“Want to go somewhere for a drink together, Rinko-san?”
“Yeah…”
Like someone in a daze, Rinko stood beside her as they handed their forms to their supervisor.
Without a word, the supervisor stamped the approval box.
When the lunchtime chime sounded, Rinko disappeared into the women’s changing room first.
“It really can be this sudden, huh…”
Mikoto muttered as she turned her own business card over in her fingers.
She might not have been as much of a workaholic as Sanae, but Mikoto was attached to Meiji Stationery too.
She felt proud whenever she saw the company’s pencils displayed in stationery shops.
And the words she had thrown at Kosugi when she gave him his final warning—
Don’t you dare look down on a pencil company.
Those had come straight from Mikoto’s heart.
Her relationships at work weren’t bad either.
She had no abusive boss breathing down her neck, and even if she had, Managing Director Tsuzuki would probably have reprimanded them.
The pay was poor. The work was difficult.
But that work had finally begun to get on track, and Mikoto had only just begun to find it a little enjoyable.
And then this.
It was a bolt from the blue.
Like having cold water thrown over you before being dropped straight into a pit.
“What am I supposed to do…?”
After changing clothes, Mikoto and Rinko headed from Yushima towards Shinjuku on the Chiyoda Line.
The words Rinko spoke on the train expressed Mikoto’s own state of mind perfectly.
“What are we supposed to do?”
“Yeah…”
The train observed social distancing.
Even though it was the middle of a weekday, there were only a handful of passengers aboard, each carefully maintaining an absurdly large personal space.
It was like the scene along Kyoto’s Kamo River.
The Kamo River’s evenly spaced people.
“So I have to find a new job now…”
Rinko, sitting beside her, was sunk in despair.
The train stopped at Akasaka, the station nearest antiqua.
Apparently Rinko had been thinking the same thing.
She asked in a thoroughly defeated voice.
“That woman’s bar isn’t open, is it?”
“It’s been temporarily closed since yesterday.”
“Of all the times to not be able to drink there. This is seriously pissing me off…”
The stopped train began moving again.
The deserted carriage and stations were deeply unsettling.
The same went for the city as a whole.
With so few people around, it was hard not to feel rather alone.
“…Want to come to my place? Well, technically Shandy-san’s place.”
“Ugh…”
Rinko screwed up her face in undisguised displeasure.
Which was understandable.
Even under these circumstances, there was no way they were going to find many izakaya open for drinking in the middle of the day.
Mikoto sent Shandy a quick message.
Is it okay if I bring Rinko over?
After a sticker of someone grumbling hmmm, Shandy replied:
OK.
“…Can’t we go to my place?”
“Rinko-san, that’s in the opposite direction, isn’t it?”
The train passed Shinjuku and reached Yoyogi-Uehara, where it continued directly onto a private railway line, so there was no need to change trains.
“Well… if it means I get to drink with you, Mikoto-san, I suppose it’s fine…”
The train finally reached their destination, Kyōdō.
There was no need to guess what was going through Rinko’s bowed head as she passed through the ticket gates.
She had weighed her dislike of Shandy against her friendship with Mikoto.
Friendship had won.
Together, they opened the door of the two-bedroom flat she had left only half a day earlier.
Mimosa sat on the entrance mat in a pose that could have belonged to a sphinx.
“Eek! A cat…! Achoo!”
“Oh, right. You’re allergic to cats… What should we do? Do you want to go home after all?”
“N-no. I’ve come all this way. I can’t turn back now…!”
Sadly, despite how adorable Mimosa was, Rinko was allergic to cats.
And the person who had deliberately stationed a sphinx in the entrance was probably none other than Shandy.
It was hard not to admire the silent threat: Shandy would make use of anything available to her, even her beloved pet cat.
Even so, Rinko did not surrender.
She sneezed her way through the entrance, washed her hands and gargled, then finally reached the living room.
As they opened the windows and turned the air purifier up to full power, Shandy’s voice rose from the sofa.
“Oh, my. Skipping work to bring your mistress home for an affair? What a wicked woman.”
Apparently she had been lying on the sofa reading manga. She moved the pile of The Black Moneylender Ushijima-kun volumes aside and smiled.
The slight bite in her words made it clear that she was somewhat annoyed.
But given the circumstances, there wasn’t much to be done.
“Sorry for coming over so suddenly. I just really wanted to have a drink with Rinko-san.”
“Drinking in the middle of the day? Even worse. I don’t recall raising you to be this sort of person.”
“…Shut up and make me a drink already. Something strong enough to make me forget everything.”
Rinko normally did not get along with Shandy.
Even so, perhaps Rinko’s unusually brusque manner made it clear that something serious had happened, because Shandy slowly sat up from the sofa.
Incidentally, Shandy was still wearing nothing but a long-sleeved T-shirt.
In other words, she was still in her pyjamas.
“Something serious appears to have happened. Is it something involving Rinko-san?”
Shandy’s amber eyes fixed on them.
It was difficult to tell her.
If Mikoto told Shandy that she had lost her job in the middle of this crisis, perhaps their newly restarted life together would fall apart all over again.
Mikoto didn’t want things to become unbalanced between them.
Beside the hesitant Mikoto, Rinko removed her mask and muttered:
“We got fired. Both of us.”
Shandy’s eyes flew wide open.