Chapter

A name is not important.

For now, let’s just call him Hachi, since this dog lives in Shibuya.

Hachi’s favorite things are yakitori and walks, and every day he patrols the streets of Shibuya with his master in the morning and evening.

Due to his master’s aversion to the bustling areas around the station, Hachi’s walking route often takes him along the quiet back streets of the residential neighborhoods a bit away from the station.

Today, too, he is plodding up the gentle slope toward the park in the crisp morning air.

The chirping of sparrows. The rustling of leaves in the trees. The park, visible through the chain-link fence, is bathed in the green hues of spring and sparkles brilliantly in the morning sunlight.

People who gather in the park say it is the most beautiful season of the year.

Of course, Hachi, being a dog, does not think or feel like a human. Depending on the breed, a dog’s intelligence is generally said to be equivalent to that of a two- to three-year-old child. They can understand simple words and have feelings like pleasure and discomfort, but they cannot engage in complex thoughts like humans do.

Still, Hachi knows.

He knows there is a boy he passes by every morning while walking up this slope.

Until about three years ago, that boy rode a bicycle.

He would ring his bell as he raced down the slope toward the station.

In the evenings, he would ride back up the slope from the direction of the station.

The boy’s schedule often coincided with Hachi’s master’s walking time, and before long, Hachi had memorized the boy’s scent.

Changes in the boy’s behavior began about two years ago.

They would always pass each other on bicycles, but around the summer of two years ago, the boy started walking alongside a girl of similar age whom Hachi did not know.

At first, Hachi did not notice.

The girl and the boy did not walk at the same time on the school route.

The girl walked with her back straight, letting the cords of her earphones dangle near her ears, but Hachi noticed that her attention was somewhat focused on the sounds coming from her ears. A dog’s hearing is superior to that of humans; it is said they can hear sounds from a kilometer away. He could even pick up the faint voices leaking from her earphones.

The girl was listening to conversations in a language that was not Japanese.

One day, Hachi saw the boy, who usually rode his bicycle, walking closely behind the girl. They stopped a little apart at an intersection. The sound of the signal changing. A car making a sharp turn without looking, and the shouts warning of danger.

The boy managed to grab the girl just in time as she was about to dash onto the crosswalk, unaware of the car coming at her. Hachi could hear the girl’s ragged breathing as she stumbled back, nearly hit.

“That was dangerous. Hachi, you need to be careful when crossing the street too,” his master said.

Hachi didn’t understand all of his master’s words, but he knew his master was concerned for his safety.

He barked once to signal his understanding.

After a while, the boy and girl began to walk side by side more often.

When they passed by the park, Hachi’s polite master would always bow and say, “Hello.” The boy and girl would smile and return the greeting.

Sometimes, they would come over to Hachi, and after asking his master for permission, the girl would gently stroke Hachi’s fluffy fur.

She petted him so pleasantly that Hachi began to like her.

“What a smart dog. He’s so well-behaved,” the boy said.

“Really. This dog has such intelligent eyes,” the girl replied.

“He greets me every time we pass by,” the boy added.

“Wow. He remembers me,” the girl said, surprised.

“It seems so. Even when I pass by on my bicycle, he looks over at me,” the boy said.

“That’s amazing. You’re a smart one, aren’t you?” the girl said, offering praise that Hachi could only respond to with a bark.

“Thank you,” his master said in response.

And then, about a year ago, the boy and girl began walking closely together, holding hands. Hachi knew that this was a common behavior pattern among pairs of humans.

In other words, those two were in that kind of relationship.

Seasons slowly passed.

Spring would end, and summer would come. Hachi, who dislikes the heat, would have his walks scheduled a little earlier in the morning.

As a result, it became harder to meet the two.

By the time autumn rolled around, Hachi wondered if any changes had come to the boy and girl, thinking in his own canine way.