“You know, that guy! You were both in the same training group. You were obsessed with him! Come on, you remember! Super tall, all the chicks wanted him … you know who I’m talking about, right?”

Yup. He’s definitely spitting in my face. “You know what? I think you have me confused with someone else.”

“Nah, nah, it was you! Had to be, you were the only one with a weird name! Fuck, this is going to kill me, hang on.” He pulls his smartphone out of his back pocket. “I’m still friends with the guy on LINE, I’m sure of it. Say, while we’re on the subject, what’s your number? Are you on LINE? What’s your nickname?”

“Uh … hey! I see a friend of mine! Excuse me.”

I shove through the crowd and almost throw myself at Misaki when I see her. She gasps, scared to death. Then she relaxes. “Ah, Shibelle-sensei! Bikkuri!”

“Misaki-sensei, tasukarimashita!” I’m saved.

“Heeeey!” a Japanese salaryman with his arm around another man steps in front of me. “Can you speak Japanese?! Nihongo shaberu no?!”

“Uh, not really, no. Sumimasen —” I try to walk around him. Misaki is already distracted by the group of guys that have ensnared Yoshino.

“Sugoi! You speak very good Japanese!”

“Thank you,” I put on my serious teacher voice. “Could you take a step back, please?”

“Oh, sorry!” They jostle around a little but we are still stuck together. My glass still can’t reach my lips. “How long you stay in Japan?”

“Wait, do you mean how long have I stayed in Japan, or how long will I stay in Japan?”

“Eh, difficult. English, difficult! One more, one more time!”

Fuck, I really don’t want to do this.

“Oh, wow!” The other guy shouts, even though I haven’t done anything special. “Ah, English teacher?”

“Yeah, I work for an eikaiwa. But it’s kids only!” Who knows, maybe Lieko’s cockblocking techniques will work on these two long enough for me to drink.

“Eikaiwa? Sugoi! Sore ja, please! Teach us English!”

“Ugh.” I give up. “Misaki, how’s it going?” I edge my way past the two drunks to return my attention to her. She jumps again, but her presence seems to repel the eager salarymen away to a more comfortable distance. However, they don’t go away.

“Hey!” one of the salarymen asks me. “Together … teachers?”

“Yeah. This is Misaki. Misaki, this is … uh …”

They don’t need me. They introduce themselves to one another in Japanese and even exchange cards. In fact, they start a whole conversation about what companies they work for and how their card designs are so similar. That would be nice; to have the same small, perfect laminated Zozo business cards with my name and the stick-figure children holding hands on the front and the date and time of their trial lesson printed in tiny, neat kanji on the back. I wonder how Misaki got hers so fast. Oh, well. I can wallow in self-pity about it over this drink.