Hey, you.
Have you ever heard that someone failed and felt just a little bit glad?
Not serves you right.
Not because you hated them.
The opposite, actually. You wanted them to succeed. If they were in trouble, you’d want to help.
And yet—
the moment you heard they’d failed, some small part of you was pleased.
What do you make of that?
A little bell chimed as I opened the heavy door to Aoi.
Taka and Tom were sitting side by side at the counter. Mama set down a glass of I.W. Harper without asking.
“You know,” I said.
“Yeah?”
“I didn’t like myself very much today.”
Taka looked over.
“That’s unusual.”
“What is?”
“You noticed.”
“I’m leaving.”
Tom gave a low laugh.
“So what did you do?”
“Nothing.”
“Then what did you think?”
Straight for the unpleasant part.
Former cop.
I took a sip of Harper.
“There’s this guy I used to work with. Kind of like a junior colleague.”
For a while, young engineers kept getting sent my way.
I wasn’t an instructor. Wasn’t HR. If they asked something, I answered. If trouble came up, we worked through it together. If they screwed up, we looked at what had gone wrong.
That was all.
Somewhere along the way, people started calling it the Tanaka School.
I hated that name.
It wasn’t a school, and I wasn’t a teacher.
We were people working together.
“So one of your graduates?”
“It wasn’t a school.”
“Right, right.”
“Anyway, he got his first project to run on his own.”
It was a small one.
Still, he had to make the plan himself, talk to the client, keep the team moving. If something went wrong, he had to be the first one to make the call.
And he screwed up.
He missed something. Work stopped, and the client needed an explanation.
Not a disaster.
But for him, it was plenty bad enough.
“When I heard about it...”
I looked at the ice in my glass.
“I was a little glad.”
Taka frowned.
“That’s pretty awful.”
“I know.”
“Didn’t you like the guy?”
“Other way around. I was fond of him.”
“Then why?”
“That’s what bothered me. I didn’t know.”
I’d never wanted him to fail.
When I heard he’d been trusted with a project of his own, I’d been genuinely happy for him.
And yet, the moment I heard he’d screwed up, something inside me smiled.
Yeah. Thought so.
That was what it felt like.
“So what did you do?” Tom asked.
“I went over. It was nearby.”
When I got there, he was exactly as I’d expected—staring at a screen while talking to someone on the phone.
I glanced at the documents beside him. Took me about a minute to get the shape of the problem.
“Ah, this one’s—”
I was about to step in when someone tapped me on the shoulder.
“Tanaka. Got a minute?”
Makoto Echizenya. Forty-two.
He was a section manager now. I’d heard he’d taken the exam for department manager.
We’d worked together several times years ago. We’d been through some brutal projects together.
Which apparently made him another graduate of the so-called Tanaka School.
He led me a short distance away, glanced back at the guy struggling with the problem, and said,
“He’s right in the middle of it. Don’t stick your hand in.”
“What? He’s in trouble.”
“Yeah.”
“So we help him.”
“Why?”
He’d always had a talent for saying things that pissed me off.
“He’s one of us. He’s struggling.”
Echizenya almost smiled.
“You’re still saying that?”
“Saying what?”
“He’s thinking it through himself. Leave him alone.”
“He’ll screw up.”
“He already did.”
“It could get worse.”
“If it does, I’ll stop him. Me. Not you.”
Then Echizenya put his hands back in his pockets and returned to the floor.
“See?”
I finished the story and looked at Tom.
“If someone you work with is in trouble, you help. That’s normal.”
Tom didn’t answer.
He raised his glass, took a sip, and set it back on the counter.
“Did he ask you to help?”
“...No.”
“Did he ask Echizenya?”
“How would I know?”
“Did he look like he wanted someone to rescue him?”
“He looked like he was in trouble.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Tom looked straight at me.
“So who was having trouble?”
I said nothing.
“Him? Or you, because you couldn’t stand there and watch someone struggle?”
My throat felt dry.
I said nothing and took another drink.
“Helping people can feel pretty good,” Tom said.
He turned his glass slightly, and the ice shifted inside.
“You know you’re useful.”
I had nothing to say to that.
The moment I heard the guy had failed, something inside me had smiled.
Now I knew what that ugly little feeling had been.
Yeah. Thought so. He still needs me.
That was all I’d wanted to believe.
“So?” Taka said.
“So what?”
“What happened to him?”
“...He figured it out himself.”
Since I hadn’t stepped in, he’d taken the long way around.
He apologized to the client, found the cause himself, and cleaned up the mess himself.
“Then that’s good, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Weren’t you happy?”
“...I was.”
“Which made you happier?”
“What do you mean?”
“Hearing that he failed, or hearing that he fixed it himself?”
I tilted my glass.
Only ice remained.
“That Echizenya guy,” Taka said. “Did he work for you?”
“No. We just worked together years ago.”
“So now he’s training people himself.”
“Looks like it.”
“Huh. Sounds like he graduated just fine.”
“I never enrolled him in anything.”
Mama smiled.
The round piece of ice in my glass had grown a little smaller.
I’d never thought I was raising those guys.
We worked together. I told them what I knew. When neither of us knew, we thought it through together.
Eventually, there were more things they could do on their own.
Then they went somewhere else.
That was it.
I wasn’t a teacher.
They weren’t students.
They were people I worked beside.
“Kenichi.”
“What?”
“Are you lonely?”
Taka asked it without smiling.
“What are you talking about?”
“They don’t need you anymore.”
“Come on.”
“Am I wrong?”
“Yeah.”
Probably.
“Then why were you glad when he failed?”
I glared at him.
“You’re talking a lot tonight.”
“Did I hit something?”
“I’m starting to dislike you.”
“There you go looking for reasons again.”
Tom burst out laughing. Mama’s shoulders shook behind the counter.
I swallowed the last drops of Harper and stood.
“Check, please.”
The night air was a little cold when I opened the door.
Teaching someone something is strange.
When they learn to do something they couldn’t do before, you’re happy.
When they can do it on their own, you’re even happier.
At least, that’s how it’s supposed to work.
Then one day they really can do it without you, and it feels as if a small hole has opened under your feet.
I wasn’t glad he’d failed because I wanted him to fail.
Some petty part of me had simply thought, Here we go. My turn again.
But the fact that my turn never came made me far prouder.
He failed. He struggled. He worked through the mess the hard way.
And he stood back up by himself.
If he could do that, he didn’t need a teacher anymore.
Well.
Not that I’d ever thought of myself as one.
Hey, you.
There’s probably someone around you who makes you want to lend a hand.
If they fall for the first time when they’re out there on their own—
can you keep your hands to yourself?
And when you watch them stand back up without you,
can you smile and say,
Guess you don’t need me anymore.
See you again at Aoi.
---
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