I do not own Oregairu. One-shot.
What happens when two worlds come in contact with each other?
"Fake people have an image to maintain; real people don't care." Hachiman Hikigaya
The bells hanging above the entrance door jingle as the door is pushes open, notifying the employees as each one glances towards the door. Knowing full well who I am, they continued with their task since they know I don't need much attention.
Emptier than usual. I thought. Despite it being dusk with the sun setting, Saize is not always this empty. A single family of four stashed away in the corner of the restaurant enjoying their dinner, a couple in their early twenties and probably in university sitting in a booth near the window, and a lone man in a suit sitting at the counter with his back at me is all the clientele I can see. Walking past the register, I head towards the counter, seating myself on the stool and dropping my school bag next to me on the floor with one seat between me and the lone man. Oxygen fills my lungs to top capacity before I exhale all my frustration in one big sigh.
The universe really did take me out for a joy ride today. Thanks to my body taking its sweet time to wake up, I overslept and was late to class, which rewarded me with one of Hiratsuka-sensei's lecture about punctuality. Seeing that I never learned how to shut my big mouth, I made one too many snarky comments, and found myself curled up on the floor in pain, hands over my stomach, seeing only the high heels of my martial-arts teacher. As I lay on the floor, she expresses that I'm the second-most troubled person she has ever met. Coincidently, I was also left with cleanup duty with some random classmate, but she didn't bother to show up, so I had to shoulder all the burden. And after all that and with club, the day was not done wiping the floor with me for everything before was just a precursor. I am, of course, talking about my meeting with the devil herself Haruno Yukinoshita just twenty minutes ago. I do my best to avoid her at all cost, but today felt like Thunderdome for I persevered through her malicious teasing and ploys. I can still feel the phantom of her hand gently placed on my cheek, causing my body to let out and involuntary shiver every time my mind becomes preoccupied with that. Nonetheless, I survived seeing I'm not dead, and what better way to ease away the burden of the day than having a quick drink at my favorite restaurant.
I never speak with the staff all that much, but they do recognize me and generally know what I want unless specified otherwise. The waitress comes and places a hot cup of coffee right in front of me before she tends to the other customers. I'd usually buy something like MAXX Coffee, but I wanted something a bit stronger. I take the handle and bring the cup towards my mouth and sip, allowing for the blistering hot, bitter drink to go down my throat, burning everything the liquid touched.
"Sweet." I place the cup down and wait for it to cool off before going in for another. A straighten myself out for my loner senses are tingling. To be more specific, it's one of my 108 loner skills: awareness. In the corner of my eye, I notice the man a chair away looking in my direction. I can't see him every well, but I could tell he is looking at me, so I turn to face him. I didn't pay much attention before because I only saw his back, but I was surprised to see he was a foreigner—an American to be exact. He wore glasses, looks kind of stocky, just about my height, perhaps shorter, but his main feature is his balding head as the remaining hair can be found around his cranium. Now that I think about it, and I'm not trying to be insulting, but he kind of looks like Humpty Dumpty.
"Can I help you?" I inquire. The man reorients his glasses and gingerly points at my coffee.
"I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but notice you are drinking black coffee."
"Yes."
"And you called it sweet." He continues, puzzled by my description as I notice he too is drinking black coffee.
"Yes. Life is bitter, so coffee should at least be sweet." I impart a bit of my philosophy onto him. The man reclines back into his chair, entering a pensive state as he stares out into space as if he is recollecting the entirety of his life. His face contorts into various expression, each one becoming more dramatic and comical than the last, seemingly forgetting he was out in public. Then, as if sideways lightning strikes him upon realizing an epiphany, his eyes widen, and his mouth slightly drops.
"You're right… Life is terrible, and it has always been terrible. Handicapped people have it better than me, so coffee should be sweet." He shares as he looks at his coffee with determination, grabbing the handle, and finishing it off in one huge gulp with his head cringing down towards his right with his facial expression contorting into strained ones as he endures the bitterness and heat of the black coffee, finishing the whole experience with a large exhale. "That's sweet." His voice is raspy as sand paper.
Never in my life have I seen an individual agree with my philosophy and act accordingly. Such twisted notions forged in the fires of my mind, who champions solitude and loathes society, are usually ridiculed by the likes of Yukinoshita or punished by someone like Hiratsuka-sensei. But this man who I just met 3 minutes ago didn't reject or refute it but accepted it without reservations. I've had my shares of bad experiences, so that makes me wonder what kind of experiences this man had to make him except my logic.
"Thank you *cough**cough* for your advice, Mr…" he chuckles under his breath. "I don't even know you name." After taking my own sip, I turn to face him.
"Sobou high, second year Hikigaya Hachiman. Pleased to me you." I introduce myself, adding a slight bow.
"Oh, a full introduction." The man pauses, looking at me and thinking about how to introduce himself… at least, that is what I think since the pause before continuing seemed off to me.
"Well then, I'm George Costanza…. I'm an architect." Costanza-san reveals, showing a smile that seems all too familiar. The kind where you put up just for appearances like a certain someone I know.
"An architect? Have you designed any buildings?" he continues to smile as he ponders my follow-up question.
"Have you seen the new addition to the Yukinoshita Construction building?" How ironic that he brings up that company since I just got done escaping from the CEO's elder daughter just 25 minutes ago, but there is no need to inform him about my relationship with both the CEO's daughters… yet.
"You designed their building. That's impressive. The Yukinoshita's stand at the highpoint of society."
"Yeah. They wanted the best, so they reached out to the best… I got to tell you, but it didn't take me that long actually." Costanza-san causally drops. Whoever said you can't judge a book by its cover is just a giant prick. People always judge things based on first appearances and first impressions. There doesn't seem to be anything noteworthy of Costanza-san, and I'm inclined to believe those notions despite him telling me his profession, and yet there is something I can't shake about him. Its not quite the same impression like when I met Yukinoshita Haruno, but there something there I cannot overlook.
"But I got to ask. How can someone your age have such insight? I heard Japanese people are efficient. I mean real efficient. Always working day-in and day-out without so much as a break. Compared to you guys, we look like we're always taking breaks. Perhaps you guys have already figured how to maximize time that you can experience thirty-something years of life in 16-17 years." I take another sip of my black coffee. Its hard to tell if his comment about Japanese people compressing their life is supposed to be a compliment. I suppose in the grand scheme of things, being able to compress the max amount of activities into a set amount of time is impressive and taxing, but I would be hard press to stretch that logic to say we mentally live twice as much in the same amount of time. It is very possible Costanza-san may have a skewed view on Japanese people, or perhaps even on people in general.
"Thanks… I guess." I hesitate, before I take up my coffee one final time.
"Speaking of working without breaks, I've also heard that you guys sometimes work yourselves to death."
"Yeah. Companies expect a lot from their employees and to always 'put in the work,' less they be branded as incompetent or lazy. The goals of the company always take priority over the individual. It's called Karoshi, and it considered a national epidemic." In today's Japanese society, you put the team's goals ahead of yours, and that usually takes the form of working unreasonable hours just to stay afloat. I can't tell you how many times I've watched my parents return home, wiped out from their jobs. I usually wake up with them already gone off to work.
"Wow. Some people are just that committed to their jobs. I don't think I can ever commit to a company where I work myself to death. At least they're making money, right."
"Actually, a lot of the overtime goes undocumented." I reveal.
"What?!" Costanza-san blurts out, surprise and irritation dripping in his tone. Of all the times he can show emotion, he does so when I mention people are not receiving the money they are owed. "You're telling me these people work themselves to death; put their blood, sweat, and tears into their work, and they don't even receive a nickel?"
"They do log in overtime, but only some of it. Working about 80 hours a week here is considered normal." Costanza-san shakes his head.
"Its inhumane! Might as well go grave robbing because that's what's going on! Has nothing been done about this?"
"There has been legislation but not enough enforcement."
"This is almost borderline corporate slavery if these companies are working their employees to death!" I say nothing and continue listening to his tirade; arms flailing around, facial expressions rapidly changing, and changes in tone.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to quiet down." The college-looking-aged waitress suggests in a polite and understanding voice. I look around and see all eyes trained on us. Not noticing their gazes, Costanza-san looks at her from head to toe, taking in every detail before looking into her eyes.
"You've been working a lot, haven't you?"
"Excuse me…."
"You have the whole life to look forward to. Don't spend it working yourself to death for meager pay. You're young, attractive. Go and do something with your life." He advises, voice echoing throughout the restaurant. The waitress mumbles various words, unsure as to how to responds to his suggestion. Her hands are near her chest and she has gained bit of distance from Costanza-san. Eventually, she does find the courage to respond.
"Sir… you s-see… could you please be c-considerate of the other c-customers." She finishes as she scurries away.
"I don't think they were working her too hard." I chime in.
"No, something is clearly wrong. I can sense it. Can't you?"
"Sense what?" her discomfort.
"That's why I'm different. I can sense the slightest amount of human suffering. Plus, I can always tell when someone is uncomfortable at a party. It's a superpower, I tell you."
Okay….
"Well, I got to get going. I'm supposed to meet up with a friend later. It was a pleasure meeting you, Hachiman." He extends out his hand.
"…Likewise…" I shake his hand. Costanza-san walks towards the register, pays for his coffee, and leaves.
I would say that was quite the interesting experience. Looking back at it now, if I would have talked more with him, there is no doubt I would loathe his very existence.
"I had an interesting experience today."
"Really?"
"Yes. I was minding my own business, drinking black coffee, and up comes this high schooler who also orders black coffee. He takes one sip and says it was sweet."
"Black coffee sweet?"
"I know, so I ask him why, and you know what he said?"
"What?"
" 'Life is bitter, so coffee should at least be sweet.' I tell you, Jerry. I was very impressed by him that I drank all of my steaming-hot coffee in one gulp. It was the sweetest thing I have ever drank."
"Why? Because he managed to describe your entire life in one sentence?"
"I finally meet somebody who knows exactly what its like. I don't know what his life is like, but you can see it in his eyes. He's been through the ringer, Jerry. I can sense it; almost like a connection."
"So are you saying that you might have encountered someone like you? I doubt there is someone as troubled or more troubled than you. It already hard enough for me to tell others I know you."
"I don't know, but I do know he is insightful, perceptive if you will, but insightful."
"Alright, enough about this high schooler. Let's get a move on. We got to meet her near the train station soon."
"I heard she became a school teacher. Good for her. Couple years go by, and she is already more successful than me. Maybe I should have become a school teacher. I have a lot to offer for the youth."
"Like what? How to beat a lie detector, or how to keep your worlds separate?"
"The knowledge and dementia I have will benefit those who learn. You should know how my brain works, and things have always gone smoothly."
"Until everything blows up in their faces."
"Alright, alright! Let's just go and meet Shizuka."
"Alrighty then. I'm curious to learn more about her after her time in New York."
"How do you live with yourself?"
"Its not easy." -George Costanza
"You know I always wanted to pretend that I was an architect." -George Costanza