Accuracy of death 3

“Is it really not a trick?” The girl who sat facing me was still half in doubt. As her voice was hard to hear, I moved my ear closer. It was a Russian restaurant. I had had to pick her up when she lost her composure, and half-forcibly get her to accompany me to the restaurant while her consciousness was faint and her guard was down.

“It’s not a trick. I just want to apologise.”

“Really?” she lost her frozen expression, and her cheeks began to blush instead.

“When you fell down suddenly, I was surprised” There was no way that I could explain it had happened because I had touched her with my bare hands. If I touch a human with bare hands, their lifespan shortens by a year, but as this woman is in all probability close to death, it should not be a problem.

“It was a first for me, my body is usually sturdy.”

If only she would speak more clearly, I thought to myself. Such a quiet voice tires out the speaker and the listener both. In a small voice “Um, what’s your name?” She inquired.

“I’m Chiba.” When we are sent to work, we are given a name. It is always the name of a town or borough. Our age and appearance change every time, but our names are always place names. It must be the management’s signature. “What’s your name?”

“Fujiki Ichikei”

She explained that it was written with the kanji for ‘one wish’. “My parents gave me the name hoping I would be blessed with just one talent. It’s silly, isn’t it.”

“Silly?”

“Surely they can’t have expected to raise a girl without merit like me.” It seemed less like she was inviting sympathy, and more like she was begrudging her circumstance.

She swallowed a piece of egg. “I’m not easy on the eyes.” She ejaculated. I genuinely misunderstood. I squinted my eyes and moved backwards,

“No, I can see you easily” I responded, “you’re easy on the eyes” she burst into a smile. As though there was a light on her face, it became bright for a moment

“Not like that, I mean I don’t make an impact.”

“Ah.” I could not deny it strait away. She does not make an impact. That is exactly right. She asked my age, so I answered twenty two. I had been set the same age as her.

“You look composed for your age.”

“I get told that a lot.” This was the truth. From my colleagues as well, I often get told that I look composed or I look cold. It is just that I do not like pointless playfulness, and I am not good at expressing my feelings, but apparently from another’s eyes I look particular.

She began to talk about her office. Her voice was characteristically difficult to hear, but the conversation appeared to be becoming smooth. Rather than her thawing, it was probably to do with the high pace with which she was drinking beer.

She works in the headquarters of a major electronics company. Apparently.

“That’s a first-rate company. That’s great!” I put on my best envious voice.

“But it’s complaint handling” she drew her eyebrows unattractively.” I’m in the complaints handling department. It’s not a job that anyone would want.”

“Complaints handling?”

“I take calls from customers. Initially they get connected to another desk, but malicious people get passed on to me. So my speciality is troublesome complaints.”

“Sounds depressing”

“Yes” here she dropped her shoulders, and nodded a gloomy head. “It’s really depressing. Because there is nothing but people complaining. They come storming, nagging, being sarcastic and threatening. I only attend to people like that. I think I will go mad.

“Is it tough every day?”

“No” she shook her head “It is too tough every day.”

“That bad?”

“Even though I am like this, when I was on the phone I would put on a very cheerful voice. Because I felt sorry for the customer. But when they keep accusing you, your feelings stagnate.”

Her voice was such a damp little voice, like bubbles bursting on the surface of a murky pond, that I could not imagine her producing a cheerful voice on the phone.

“Recently, there has been an especially weird customer”

“Oh?”

“Some one how specifically requests me to complain”

“Requests?”

“There are five girls in the complaints handling department, and who gets reached is random, but this guy gives my name on the phone.”

“That’s terrible.” Having a stalker-like complainer is nasty.

“It’s too terrible” she drooped, looked at me with lifeless eyes, and with a weak smile; “It’s enough to make you want to die.” She said

I almost said it out loud. Your wish will come true.