Chapter 45: I Am Expecting Great Things, You See—From Our Future Friendship
After hearing the details of this so-called Light Job—which sounded, by every conceivable metric, exactly like an illegal black-market operation—I proceeded to interrogate Aoba-senpai thoroughly.
At first, he tried to hide behind claims of confidentiality agreements and nondisclosure obligations.
Unfortunately for him, I had spent enough of my life dismantling people’s arguments to know how to close off every avenue of escape.
Step by step.
Question by question.
By the end of it, I had managed to piece together the rough structure of the so-called Light Job.
- Somewhere at the top existed a mysterious individual, corporation, or organization that funded and directed everything.
- Beneath them were intermediaries who cooperated with this unseen leadership and coordinated work assignments.
- Those intermediaries contacted people like Aoba-senpai, who acted as field leaders for individual operations.
- Once a job was announced, Aoba-senpai gathered workers.
- The intermediary then conducted interviews.
- Applicants underwent identity verification, background checks, social relationship screenings, and various other evaluations.
- Those who passed were hired.
- Workers were guided to each assignment by people like Aoba-senpai.
- After completion of the task was confirmed, payment was deposited directly into their bank accounts by the intermediary.
I folded my arms.
Then asked the obvious question.
“This is a black-market job, isn’t it?”
“No.”
Aoba-senpai shook his head vigorously.
“It’s a Light Job.”
That was the one point on which he absolutely refused to budge.
Then again, it wasn’t difficult to understand why.
The moment he admitted otherwise, several legal complications would immediately arise.
“Then tell me about the organization at the top.”
“I don’t know.”
“The intermediary?”
“Don’t know.”
“Where the money comes from?”
“No idea.”
“Who actually finances these operations?”
“How would I know?”
The lack of transparency was breathtaking.
At this point, the entire arrangement had surpassed suspicious and entered the realm of absurdity.
Any ordinary university student would smell danger from a kilometer away and avoid involvement altogether.
The only people who would willingly approach something like this were either:
People desperate for money.
People with nothing left to lose.
Or people like me, whose hallucinations insisted on supplying bizarre supplemental information.
“What kind of person passes these interviews?” I asked.
“Well…”
Aoba-senpai began counting on his fingers.
“Someone who’s short on cash. Someone with family, relatives, friends, a girlfriend or boyfriend—people they genuinely care about. Someone who can keep secrets. Someone who follows rules. Someone without any criminal history involving bank accounts or phone contracts…”
“That’s enough.”
I raised a hand.
I had heard plenty.
The moment an employer became more interested in a candidate’s personal circumstances than their actual abilities, the operation had already wandered far outside the boundaries of normal employment.
“And the actual work?”
“Depends on the assignment.”
“Examples.”
“Delivering designated packages.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Cleaning designated areas and reporting local conditions.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Meeting designated individuals and collecting money from them.”
“Mm-hmm. How have you embraced the darkness this completely?”
“BECAUSE IT’S NOT DARKNESS!”
Aoba-senpai shouted.
“IT’S LIGHT!”
Pitch black.
That was my honest assessment.
Not merely black.
The sort of darkness that existed beneath black.
And yet—
Despite all appearances—
The hallucination continued presenting information like this:
────────────
Job Description
- Deliver letters of gratitude from orphanage children to sponsors.
- Participate in community clean-up activities and observe conditions in public parks.
- Spend time conversing with elderly residents living alone before collecting neighborhood association fees.
Illegality Level: 0
────────────
What exactly was this operation trying to accomplish?
I couldn’t see the objective at all.
Nothing connected.
Nothing made sense.
At this point, it would honestly be more comforting if the hallucination were lying.
That possibility would be easier to accept than whatever reality seemed to be unfolding.
────────────
Job Description
Whether you believe it or not is up to you.
────────────
“Shut up.”
I muttered under my breath.
The hallucination wisely offered no response.
In the end, I made a decision.
No matter how strange the job appeared, if the illegality level truly was zero, then the correct course of action was simple:
See it with my own eyes.
Besides, setting aside all other concerns, the job offered a very obvious benefit.
Money.
“Fine.”
I sighed.
“For now, I’ll refrain from reporting you.”
“R-Really?”
“It’s true that I’m short on money.”
That was the heart of the issue.
The fundamental reason so-called black-market jobs continued to exist.
People wanted easy money.
Everyone did.
Given a choice between enduring abuse from supervisors, exhausting labor, and stress in exchange for five thousand yen—
Or receiving fifty thousand yen while doing almost nothing—
Most people would at least be tempted.
Common sense dictated that opportunities that sounded too good to be true generally were.
Yet human beings were not creatures of pure logic.
Occasionally, outliers existed.
Occasionally, unbelievable opportunities really did appear.
And throughout history, there had always been people willing to chase them.
Still.
One question continued to bother me.
“Then why did the others quit?”
Aoba-senpai grimaced.
“Basically…”
He scratched his cheek.
“The pay was too high compared to the work.”
“Understandable.”
There it was.
The difference between the sort of people recruited by actual black-market operations and the sort apparently gathered by these Light Jobs.
The workers who fled had looked at the situation and concluded:
This is suspicious.
The fact they had walked away suggested they were, fundamentally, decent and sensible people.
Which, given the nature of the tasks shown by the hallucination, was probably exactly the kind of screening process being conducted.
“In that case,” I said, “I am willing to consider the offer positively.”
Aoba-senpai blinked.
“Um.”
“Yes?”
“I’m the one who explained all this, but…”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Are you seriously willing to trust something called a Light Job?”
“There are aspects that concern me.”
“Only aspects?”
“However, desperate circumstances permit flexibility.”
More importantly—
Even setting aside my financial situation—
I possessed a perfectly valid justification for wanting to trust Aoba-senpai.
“Friendship,” I declared solemnly, “does not demand compensation.”
“…”
“I genuinely wish to help you.”
“…!”
“My friend.”
Aoba-senpai’s eyes widened.
For a brief moment he looked genuinely moved.
“Gouto-kun…”
“Yes?”
“I’m really glad we became friends.”
As long as no obvious illegality was involved, friends were supposed to help one another.
And if our friendship remained intact, then this was precisely the moment when I should lend him a hand.
That was what an utterly ordinary university student would do.
“In that case,” I said, “I assume I’ll be taking the interview now?”
“Ah.”
“Hmm?”
“About that…”
Aoba-senpai suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“The job starts today.”
“I see.”
“Like… very soon.”
“I see.”
“So there’s not really time for an interview.”
“I see.”
He truly was desperate.
Ordinarily, allowing an unvetted stranger to join an operation would be unacceptable.
Yet there was also a longstanding tradition among ordinary protagonists.
When a shop became overcrowded, they jumped in to organize lines.
When someone struggled to hand out flyers, they accepted stacks out of sympathy.
When a restaurant kitchen became overwhelmed, they ran out to purchase missing ingredients.
When a delivery operation suffered a manpower shortage, they solved it through effort and ingenuity.
Such things were common.
Entirely ordinary.
Naturally.
“I understand.”
“You do?”
“For now, contact your intermediary.”
“O-Okay?”
“If there are objections, I will assist free of charge today.”
Aoba-senpai froze.
“Wait.”
“Yes?”
“You’d do that?”
“I told you already.”
I straightened slightly.
“Friendship expects nothing in return.”
“…”
“Once I have decided to help a friend, that decision is final.”
“…”
“There will be no revisions.”
“…”
“Today, you shall simply receive my assistance.”
“Uh-huh…”
“You will engrave our friendship into your heart.”
“That’s a strong way of putting it.”
“And never forget it.”
“…”
“I have high expectations for the future.”
“Future?”
“For your selfless friendship toward me.”
“…”
Aoba-senpai stared.
For several seconds.
Then he cautiously asked:
“Gouto-kun?”
“Yes?”
“Bit late to ask this, but…”
“Yes?”
“Are you kind of… weird?”
“…”
“Like, maybe you’ve done black-market jobs before?”
“No.”
“Underground gambling?”
“No.”
“Shadow games?”
“No.”
“Cult?”
“No.”
“Secret society?”
“No.”
“Then what are you?”
“An utterly ordinary university student.”
For some reason, Aoba-senpai looked slightly frightened.
Perhaps my excessive ordinariness was difficult for people to process.
◇ ◇ ◇
After contacting the intermediary, Aoba-senpai somehow succeeded in forcing me into that day’s assignment.
The interview would be conducted afterward.
Which suited me just fine.
After all, I was becoming increasingly curious about the Light Job system itself.
An opportunity to speak directly with one of the intermediaries would likely prove useful.
The destination turned out to be an orphanage.
Or, using modern terminology, a children’s welfare facility.
A place where children whose lives had become difficult due to abuse, death of parents, divorce, or other circumstances could live until they were ready to become independent.
The facility Aoba-senpai guided me to primarily housed children younger than ten.
According to him, most eventually left after being matched with foster parents, provided no unusual circumstances interfered.
The fact that the facility consistently succeeded in finding foster placements was notable in itself.
Those kinds of matches depended heavily on luck, timing, and circumstance.
Not something easily achieved.
“Helloooo!”
“Hey there! Hello!”
Aoba-senpai walked confidently through the grounds.
Whether because he was familiar with the place or simply because of his personality, he greeted every child who approached him without hesitation.
The sun was beginning to descend toward evening.
It was nearly five o’clock.
Yet summer days were long, and the grounds remained bright beneath the golden light.
The children ran and played energetically despite the heat.
What struck me most was how cheerful they looked.
Far brighter than I had expected.
I returned a few greetings of my own while following Aoba-senpai deeper into the facility.
Eventually we arrived at what appeared to be the director’s office.
Aoba-senpai knocked.
The door opened.
Inside sat a gentle-looking middle-aged man whose relaxed demeanor made him seem incapable of malice.
“Thank you for your time, Shiroza-san.”
Following Aoba-senpai’s lead, I bowed as well.
The man called Shiroza smiled warmly.
“Thank you for coming, Aoba-kun.”
His gaze shifted toward me.
“And this young man is today’s courier?”
“Yes.”
“Where are the others?”
“Ah… well…”
Aoba-senpai immediately began stumbling over his explanation.
After several failed attempts, he looked toward me for rescue.
I sighed.
Then took over.
“Excuse me.”
“Yes?”
“My name is Kirishiro.”
“A pleasure.”
“Due to Aoba-senpai’s negligence, three couriers assigned to today’s operation are absent.”
“…Oh dear.”
The director’s expression immediately clouded.
Not dramatically.
Not theatrically.
Just genuine concern.
The straightforward sincerity of it was almost enough to catch me off guard.
Still.
Whether it was genuine or an act made no difference.
I intended to make my proposal regardless.
“There is no problem.”
“Hmm?”
“I shall perform the work of all four missing couriers myself.”
“…Pardon?”
Whether this was a Light Job or a Dark Job, work remained work.
And when it came to accomplishing assigned tasks, there were very few things beyond my capabilities if I applied myself seriously.
Four ordinary university students?
That hardly constituted a challenge.
I could easily cover that amount of labor alone.
After all—
I was an utterly ordinary university student.