May p.24-27That's why I became an "ethnic rebel", and I intended to thoroughly betray the "ethnicity" that I belonged to. However, even though I decided to take up a Japanese name, I did not intend to hide that I was a Zainichi South Korean, but I did not particularly intend to show it off either. Yes, I did not intend to show it off. However, since it was a school with a low level of deviation and the teachers also seemed to have a low level of deviation, it is no wonder that the name I used normally in society, Sugihara, was lined up with the name of the school I came from, which included the word "Korea", and was listed that way in the student register. Three days after the entrance ceremony, the first "challenger" appeared before me. I think that, since a long time ago, Korean schools were seen as "a horribly exclusive Karate dojo where tough guys gathered", and its style, of course, was full-contact. Naturally, that was just an image, but in Korean schools, there were also other kinds of guys: the gentle kind of guys who would spend the day in the meadows knitting poppy seed necklaces. Conversely, there were also the kind of aggressive guys who found no better delight than in scrambling in a torrent with brown bears and salmon. I think that even for Japanese schools the ratio of both doesn't change, but, unfortunately, for the latter, those salmon that are full of meat, called discrimination, were provided in Korean schools. As those guys continue to eat the salmon, their bodies keep gradually getting bigger, and they become even more aggressive; and, the horrible image of those guys is instilled in the Japanese, and it is established as the average image for Korean people. In short, for the hoodlums in the Japanese school, I'm a Karate dojo sign with "Korean person" written across it. If one breaks the dojo and succeeds in knocking me out, that person would be seen favorably by their peers. It's a terribly vulgar story but I am going to a vulgar school so it can't be helped. However, I don't dislike that vulgarity. To win or to lose, that's easy to understand. It's not theoretical. The first challenger was Katoh. Katoh was a real hoodlum, whose father was the head of a wide-spreading gang. Since it was my first match and I was all pepped up for it, I broke Katoh's nose using an ashtray. The outcome was easily determined but I was worried that it would turn into a sticky situation since the father's henchmen were there. However, there was nothing to worry about. Katoh took the treatment for his nose, whose shape he did not like anyway, as a prompt, and decided to venture to fix it with plastic surgery. While Katoh, whose face I hadn't seen in a long time, rubbed his entirely better shaped nose, he said, "I'm grateful to you," and laughed shyly. His father, who also seemed to be glad, said, "You made my kid more handsome" and invited me to dinner once at a high class restaurant in Ginza. Katoh's dad didn't have a pinky finger on his left hand. Katoh became the first friend I had made in high school; and, so far, he was the sole person that I could call a friend. Katoh stopped rubbing his nose and said as if remembering, "Today's my birthday." "I'm not gonna give you anything, man." "I didn't expect you to from the beginning" So saying, Katoh took out from the pocket of his school uniform a thin, long strip of paper and handed it to me. "It's a ticket to my birthday party." "It's unlike you to have a party, isn't it?" "Well my dad told me he'd give me the money." "And, how much are you gonna try to get for it?" Katoh chuckled and said that it was a secret of the trade. Putting the ticket in my pocket, I told him that I'd go if I felt like it. "Lots of cute girls are coming, so I think you'll have a good time," Katoh said and got up from his seat but clicked his tongue and added, "I forgot. My dad said come to our house and hang out." "No thanks," I said, "I don't like Yakuza. They bully weak people." Katoh then made a face like he was about to cry and said, "Please don't discriminate. My old man is doing his best to live. And he really likes you. He's always saying, 'That guy is going to become a great man.'" "Alright, I'll think about it," I responded. Katoh took on a seemingly relieved expression, said "See you later", and left the side of the table. I called out to his back, "Say 'hi' to your dad for me." Katoh turned around, smiled very happily, and raised his hand as if to say "Okay". After school… Since I didn't have friends to hang out with, and what happened with the basketball club I belonged to lead to my expulsion from it, all I could do was go home. Since I also didn't like going straight home, I stood around in a book store, reading books on anthropology and archeology. Among them, I bought one copy and went home. When I got home and went to the dinning room to drink milk, Dad was sitting at the table with a sour face and with his arms crossed. There was no indication that my mom was inside the house. "Again?" I said while opening the refrigerator door. "She said she wants to go to Phuket with her friends," said my old man in a sullen tone of voice. "Wouldn't it be good to let her go?" "You know that we're having trouble lately, don't you?!" Dad spit out. Some years ago, Dad ran four prize exchange stations at a pachinko parlor. Then, they were reduced to two. The reason for this reduction goes like this: One day the police visited the store, which was dealing with my dad, and told the shopkeeper that my dad had a deep connection with the Yakuza and that the money he made was being put into the Yakuza's funds and that money was going to become an important resource for them. Additionally, he also said, "If you are going to associate with those kinds of people, it'll be necessary for the police to keep a strict eye on your shop." The shopkeeper knew that my dad didn't have a deep connection with the Yakuza, but since he knew very well what would happen if he defied national authority, he had no other choice but to obey and do what he said. Then, out of the blue, my dad was cut from a twenty year long deal and the chief of police came to run the new price exchange station. The business of "prize exchange" was a profitable one. No wonder the police are nicknamed "dogs", since they develop their sense of smell and sniff out the scent of money very well. When the two exchange places were taking away in a row, my mom expressed her feelings of helplessness by saying things like "How cunning!" and "How dirty!" and "Unforgivable!" and "That's discrimination!" Then, dad said, "There are two left, aren't there? There was nothing at first. We started from nothing. Math's my weak point but, I at least understand which is more," and grinned. At the time when he was a pro-boxer, my father, in the record of all his 26 fights, didn't get knocked out even once. Not even just once did his knee touch the mat. From his toughness he got the nickname "reinforced concrete." Incidentally, his ring name was "Sugihara Hideyoshi," the "Hideyoshi" of Toyotomi Hideyoshi. It was apparently arbitrarily given to him by the gym's chairman. Naturally, among his Zainichi North Korean peers, this was disreputable. Mom was hooked by dad's smile, and she grinned. Shortly after, tears started to spill out of her narrowed eyes.
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