fictionpage Chapter 357 Two Bowls of Ramen
Chapter 357 Two Bowls of Ramen
6:28 PM.
On the south side of Kitahama, at the end of the Sanjosuji shopping street, there is a ramen shop without a sign.
Yasui arrived at 5:40.
He didn't drive. He walked for about twelve minutes from the Sumitomo Bank Osaka Main Store, across the pedestrian path along the Dojima River, and into Sanjosuji.
He sat at the far end of the bar, with a bowl of soy sauce ramen in front of him, a thin layer of back fat floating on the soup.
The boss didn't ask him why he came.
This shop has been around for over thirty years. Bank tellers, stock exchange employees, shipping company runners—they've seen all sorts of attitudes. The owner just focuses on serving food; he doesn't care why the customers are sitting there.
Yasui eats noodles very slowly.
The chopsticks pick up the noodles, put them in the mouth, chew, and swallow. There are noticeable pauses between each step.
He wasn't thinking about anything, nor was he daydreaming; his movements simply slowed down naturally.
Like a clock that has been unwound, the gears are still turning, but he no longer needs to rush.
I drank half a bowl of soup.
A faint grease mark remained around the rim of the bowl.
At 6:03, Yasui placed his chopsticks flat on the edge of his bowl and reached into his suit pocket for a cigarette pack. He paused after touching the pack, glancing at the no-smoking sign on the wall—a laminated card about the size of an A4 sheet of paper, taped to the side of the range hood with the edges curled up.
He pulled his hand back and picked up his chopsticks again.
At 6:11, a series of hurried footsteps suddenly rang out.
The curtain was suddenly flung open, bouncing twice against the doorframe. The owner didn't even look up, simply pushing a freshly cooked bowl of noodles towards the window.
Mei Chang stood at the entrance.
He was holding a brown paper document bag, the opening of which was not sealed, revealing the edges of several pages of thermal paper inside.
His coat was neatly worn, his tie was tightly tied, and a small patch of sweat had already seeped into his shirt collar. His breathing rate was noticeably faster than normal, but he tried hard to control himself from panting.
His gaze swept around the bar counter and quickly locked onto the back of the person at the very back.
Yasui did not turn back.
Umeba strode over and sat down in the seat next to Yasui. He placed the document bag on the bar counter, pressing his fingers against it as if afraid the wind would blow it away.
"Executive."
Yasui didn't turn her head; she picked up the noodles with her chopsticks and put them in her mouth.
Mei Chang lowered his voice, but spoke very quickly.
"The reference table from Sumitomo Chemical was just delivered. It was copied directly to Sumitomo Chemical's secretariat, and a copy was also received by their legal department."
Yasui continued to chew noodles.
Mei Chang glanced at him and pushed the file bag forward.
"I read it three times, every single column. The reason for return, Saionji Corporation's amendments, the actual date of issuance of the letter of credit, the estimated loss—it's all there. And that last column—"
He paused, pressing his finger on the file folder.
The text reads, "Further confirmation is needed based on your bank's internal review."
Yasui swallowed the noodles and took a sip of soup from the bowl.
The sound in the plum field dropped by half a octave.
"Executive, this is more troublesome than an accusation. It puts the burden of proof back in our hands. If we say we have evidence, we have to produce it. But—"
He didn't finish speaking.
The blank space after the "but" in that sentence stood out clearly amidst the fumes and steam of the ramen shop.
Yasui put down the bowl. The bottom of the bowl hit the bar counter with a soft, dull thud.
He still didn't say a word.
Mei Chang continued.
"Now it's not just Sumitomo Chemical anymore. This morning, Sumitomo Metal, Sumitomo Electric Industries, and Sumitomo Light Metals all issued notices. And—"
He swallowed.
"Not a single one sent the original copy."
Behind the counter, the owner scooped the cooked noodles into a bowl, poured on the soup, and sprinkled some chopped green onions.
Mei Chang's voice began to unconsciously tighten.
"Managing Director, I've done the math. From Ito Man's warehouse receipt financing to Sumitomo Group's manufacturing rejection records, from foreign exchange position holdings to delivery priority—if the legal department's inquiry formally enters into an internal review, every technical review conducted by the Osaka headquarters' financing department over the past six months will be scrutinized item by item."
He paused for a second, his voice trembling slightly by then.
"I handled most of those returned packages."
Yasui picked up her chopsticks, took a piece of char siu from the bowl, and put it in her mouth.
Mei Chang's voice became even lower, almost as if he were speaking in a hushed tone.
"Executive Director, have you considered that if we are deemed to have conducted a 'technical review without reasonable grounds'—this could directly lead to a damages lawsuit! That 7.4 million yen deal with Sumitomo Metals alone involved significant costs for shipping delays and the reopening of the letter of credit—"
Yasui turned his head.
It wasn't because Umeba said anything serious. He just wanted another bowl of noodles after he finished his.
He glanced at the plum field, but still ignored it.
Then he looked at the owner behind the bar.
"Boss, another bowl, please."
The boss nodded, asked no further questions, and turned to boil water.
Mei Chang opened his mouth slightly, then closed it again.
He looked at Yasui. Yasui had already turned her head back, her gaze fixed on the bowl in front of her that was only half full of soup, and it was unclear what she was looking at.
The light from the oil lamp box shone in, dividing his profile in two; the half closer to the window was brighter, while the half closer to the bar was darker.
Meichang suddenly felt that he had said a lot of things, but it seemed that he hadn't said anything at all.
Yasui picked up the spoon, stirred the last bit of soup at the bottom of the bowl, and took a sip.
"Plum Blossom Field."
"……yes."
"Have you got a meal yet?"
Mei Chang was stunned.
Yasui's tone was very casual, as if he were asking him if the weather was nice today.
"not yet."
Yasui nodded with her chin toward the boss.
"Let him make you a bowl too."
The plum orchard remained still.
He sat there, his hand still resting on the brown paper document bag. The paper in the bag was soaked and softened by the sweat in his palms, the edges curling up to reveal the thermal paper underneath.
Yasui did not urge him.
The owner started pulling the dough for the second bowl of noodles. The sound of the dough hitting the board was deep and resonant, a rhythm completely unrelated to the surroundings.
Mei Chang's Adam's apple bobbed once.
"Executive."
"Um."
Aren't you worried?
Yasui didn't answer immediately. He pushed the bowl away a little, took out a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, glanced at the no-smoking sign on the wall made of A4 paper, and then glanced at the boss—the boss was kneading dough and wasn't paying attention.
But Yasui still put the cigarette box back.
"Is worrying useful?"
This was said very softly.
Mei finally removed his hand from the file bag.
When his fingers left the paper, the edge of the thermal paper flicked, making a very faint sound.
"Boss."
His voice was softer than he had expected.
"Please make me a bowl too, even if it's a bit of a hassle."
The boss didn't turn around, but said "Okay".
The dough was slammed onto the cutting board.
Umeba leaned back against the bar chair. The hard wood of the chair back pressed against his shoulder blades through his suit jacket.
He looked up at the ceiling—water stains, an old chimney, a dead fly stuck high on the wall—everything was the same as yesterday.
Yasui finished the last bit of soup in her bowl.
He put down the bowl, his fingers lingering on the rim for a few seconds.
"Do you know what I saw when I came downstairs today?"
Mei Chang did not respond.
Yasui's gaze fell on the wood grain of the bar counter. The wood was polished to a shine by countless elbows, with a deep old crack in the middle, filled with indelible, aged grease stains.
"The young man from the financing department, named Yamashita, was sitting at his desk, staring blankly at a fax."
Yasui paused for a moment.
"He didn't see me when I walked over. I glanced down—it was a notification from Sumitomo Light Metals."
He paused for a few seconds.
"He had a 'Foreign Exchange Position Review Form' next to him. I had him fill out page six of that document; it was a detailed comparison of Ito Man's margin usage."
Yasui pulled her fingers back from the rim of the bowl and placed them on the bar counter.
"I suddenly remembered that I was also the one who signed off on the use of that security deposit."
The water in the ramen pot boiled, and the owner started adding the noodles. Steam rose up, blurring half of Yasui's face.
Mei Chang sat there, saying nothing.
He suddenly realized that Yasui wasn't indifferent after all.
He cared too much. After caring to a certain threshold, all his emotions overflowed like water, flowing silently to a very deep place, so deep that even he himself could not reach it.
The owner scooped the noodles into a bowl.
This time, Umeba didn't wait for Yasui to speak. He reached out and took the bowl, placing it in front of him.
The bowl was very hot. A sesame seed clung to the rim of the white porcelain bowl. The fat on the noodles glistened thinly under the light.
He picked up his chopsticks.
I picked up a mouthful of noodles and put it in my mouth.
The noodles were alkaline, a bit firm, and had a coarse, wheat-like texture when chewed. The soy sauce broth was on the salty side, but had a pleasant aftertaste as it went down his throat. He had never eaten at this restaurant before.
The owner was wiping dishes behind the bar.
Yasui pushed her empty bowl aside, leaned back in her chair, and closed her eyes. It was unclear whether she was resting or thinking about something.
His breathing was even, and his suit jacket lay motionless on the back of the chair, like an old garment forgotten there.
Mei Chang ate the noodles one bite at a time.
The soup was hot, the noodles were salty, and the bowl was scalding. He chewed the noodles for a long time before swallowing. Each bite was slow.
Halfway through his meal, his eyes suddenly stung with tears.
He didn't want to cry; it was a different kind of soreness.
A sudden surge of heat welled up from deep within my nasal cavity, as if something had blocked it.
He lowered his head and buried his face in the steam from the bowl.
The steam from the noodle soup hit my face; it was hot.
He took a deep slurp of noodles, suppressing the sour taste.
Then continue eating.
Yasui never opened his eyes.
The ramen shop was quiet. The owner was washing dishes at the sink, the water from the faucet hitting the stainless steel countertop with a soft hissing sound. The incandescent light bulb above the counter flickered, probably from a truck passing by outside.
The clock on the wall struck 6:41.
The second hand is moving.
Mei Chang finished the last drop of soup in his bowl.
When he put down the bowl, the bottom of it hit the bar counter, making a sound almost identical to that of Yasui's bowl.
Yasui opened her eyes and glanced at him.
Meichang's lips moved slightly, as if he wanted to say something. But in the end, he said nothing.
He pushed the empty bowl in front of him, placing it side by side with Yasui's empty bowl.
Two bowls.
The bottom of the bowl was completely dry.
Yasui took out his wallet from his pocket, pulled out a few thousand-yen bills, and placed them on the bar counter. He stood up, picked up his suit jacket from the back of the chair, and draped it over his arm without wearing it.
"Let's go."
Meichang also stood up.
The boss dried his hands and went over to collect the dishes. He stacked two bowls together and carried them back to the sink.
The bowls were stacked very steadily.
The curtain was lifted and then fell back down.
A wisp of night breeze blew in from Kitahama, causing the thousand-yen bill on the bar to slip slightly.
The boss turned off the tap.
The shop quieted down.
Only the broken lightbox remained, its light shining meaninglessly outside the door.
Or rather, it's not lit up.