Matthew's voice carried the quiet gravity of a man who had already died once.
"I was born in the US… California, to be precise. I moved to Japan after I met the love of my life here. My wife was Japanese. After she died, my daughters and I needed a fresh start…"
---
The memory unfolded like faded film.
Matthew walked through the bustling train station, holding the small hands of his two daughters. The girls looked up at him with wide, hopeful eyes as they stepped off the platform into the quiet embrace of Mizukiri Town.
"So… we moved here. Mizukiri Town."
He gazed at the modest wooden houses and narrow, peaceful streets, a small, determined smile touching his lips.
"I thought… maybe, just maybe, we could start over."
---
Days bled into weeks of quiet desperation. Matthew went from office to office, CV clutched in his hand, forcing a polite smile at every rejection.
"Thank you for your time. We'll give you a call," another HR manager said without ever looking up.
His qualifications were solid. It didn't matter.
"They didn't want a foreigner taking their jobs."
He kept applying anyway, clinging to the fragile hope that one place would eventually call back.
In the background, he often overheard the whispers:
"Not him…"
It was hell. He tried every news broadcasting company in Mizukiri, then every other kind of job he could find. Door after door slammed shut.
---
Until one ordinary afternoon, fate stepped in.
Inside a small shop, a young girl suddenly cried out, "Somebody help! He's choking!"
Matthew didn't hesitate. He rushed forward and performed the Heimlich maneuver with steady, practiced hands. The elderly man coughed violently, then drew in a deep, grateful breath. Matthew slipped away quietly before anyone could thank him properly.
One week later, as he passed the same shop again, the old man spotted him and hurried over.
"Please, come have dinner at my place tonight," the old man insisted with a warm bow.
At the old man's modest home, the elderly shopkeeper bowed deeply in gratitude.
"No, no! Please, old man, stand up—" Matthew said, embarrassed.
The old man straightened with a soft chuckle. "Idiot, I'm not that old…"
He studied Matthew for a moment, eyes softening. "You remind me of my son… What's your name?"
"I'm Matthew. Nice to meet you."
"Arigato, Matthew-kun."
A brief flashback flickered in the old man's mind—his young son, Renku, excitedly showing him a handmade gift.
"Old man, check this out!"
"What's that?"
"I made it for you, Dad."
The old man had smiled warmly back then.
The memory faded as his daughter brought food into the room.
"So, what do you do for work?" the old man asked.
"I'm still searching for a job," Matthew replied. "It's been hard since I moved here."
The old man nodded knowingly. "I know how hard it can be for foreigners here. People are greedy… they don't want to share opportunities."
Matthew gave a small, bitter laugh.
"How about you come work for me?" the old man offered.
"What?!" Matthew nearly spat out his food in surprise.
From that day on, Matthew started working at the old man's small shop. The elderly owner treated him and his daughters like family. Matthew watched with quiet gratitude as his girls smiled while helping around the store.
"Old man?" one of his daughters asked shyly one afternoon.
The old man's eyes softened with affection. "Haruko…" he thought fondly.
"Thank you… for everything," the girl said.
The old man smiled, deeply touched.
Matthew's voice echoed in the present, heavy with regret: "If only it stayed that way…"
---
The old man's own daughter began watching Matthew too closely—cheerful at first, then curious, then far too interested.
"We were too close," Matthew narrated bitterly. "She… liked me. I didn't see it at first."
She lingered in doorways, brought him small gifts and homemade lunches, asked increasingly personal questions, and grew visibly jealous whenever he mentioned his late wife or his daughters.
---
On Matthew's birthday, he was about to close the shop early so he could go home and spend the evening with his girls.
The old man's daughter stepped inside just as he was locking up.
"Let me celebrate with you… Just one drink, okay?"
"I should've said no," Matthew thought later.
She poured the drink with a sweet smile. Minutes later, dizziness washed over him. His vision blurred.
"She drugged me. I didn't know…"
Matthew collapsed into a nearby chair, barely conscious. The girl moved closer, pulling him toward her.
*SLAM.*
The old man burst through the door.
"…Matthew…?"
The girl froze.
The old man clutched his chest, face twisting in sudden pain—then collapsed to the floor.
Matthew's voice cracked in the present: "That moment… what he saw killed him. Sometimes I think about it. Did he believe I betrayed his trust? He saw me as his son… didn't he trust me? It's not his fault… It's mine."
---
Police lights flashed outside the shop. Handcuffs clicked around Matthew's wrists while his daughters cried helplessly in the background.
A reporter's voice blared from a nearby television: "Foreigner arrested for attempting to assault a minor—"
Matthew sat alone in the cold cell, head bowed.
"I didn't touch her… Why won't any of you believe me?"
"They called me a monster. A threat. A two-faced coin—someone who gains trust only to harm others."
---
New evidence eventually surfaced: a bottle with the girl's fingerprints and traces of the drug inside. Matthew was released on bail.
But the damage was done.
He was drained. Broke. Deeply in debt. Neighbors crossed the street to avoid him. Every company slammed their doors in his face.
"I lost everything. Money. Reputation. Friends. My daughters suffered the most."
Matthew stood alone in his empty house one night, staring at a noose hanging from the ceiling.
"So… I planned to end it."
---
Instead, he found himself sitting alone in a dimly lit bar, staring into a half-empty glass. Broken. Empty.
A man wearing a cap sat down beside him, face mostly hidden in shadow.
"Why don't I get you another drink? My treat."
Matthew didn't respond.
The stranger smirked. "How about two drinks?"
Matthew slowly turned his head to look at him.
To be continued…