continuing listing obligations
oshitari + atobe, pg
1415 words
Oshitari works at a hospital in Shiodome - he stays in Tokyo for middle school, then high school, and then of course one thing leads to another. Now he thinks he might never move back home. Things are always a little rough during the weeks for which he’s stationed at A&E, but otherwise he usually takes alternate shifts with the cardiology department. He doesn’t have too many complaints - he loves what he’s doing, and someone like him doesn’t need too much free time to himself. It all adds up.
There’s a buyout of the healthcare group that manages the hospital where he works, sometime in his third year there. Oshitari isn’t surprised; healthcare is fast becoming a hot commodity and rumours have been making their way around the departments lately anyway, so it was really a matter of time. Now one particular Kirizaki Group has a newly-acquired flagship healthcare business to flaunt. It’s a smart move and a complicated one, involving the sale of a number of healthcare and medical companies that hold shares in one another and the restructuring of the ownership structure such that Kirizaki doesn’t fall foul of anti-competition regulations. It’s a huge, complex transaction, but big businesses have a knack for circumventing loopholes like that. Oshitari doesn’t think too much of it, however, since it’s not exactly illegal, and what matters more is that he still has a job after management changed hands. In the grand scheme of things, the opinion of somebody with a degree in medicine and a four-year internment at Keio probably doesn’t matter.
At a hospital, of course, is the last place where Oshitari expects to see Atobe again. But he does, and Atobe is flanked by the director on one side and the head of paediatrics on the other. He doesn’t look like he’s there for a checkup, but even if he needs one, he probably has his own army of private doctors anyway. It’s most likely a tour of the hospital for business reasons. They pass each other in a corridor when Oshitari is heading for a meeting. Atobe still looks the same, coiffed hair, cold eyes, set jaw, dressed to the nines, more or less an older version of the person whom Oshitari used to know. Oshitari himself, on the other hand, now just past thirty, has cut his hair and lost those glasses that he never needed in the first place, looking wildly unlike his younger self in scrubs, with a stethoscope around his neck and a clipboard in his hands. If Atobe recognises him, he doesn’t say anything.
It’s days later that they swap his afternoon A&E shift with another doctor’s. “Satoshi will be taking over for you today,” the head nurse tells him. “Takeda-san said that someone on the board wants to see you. Is everything okay?”
“We’ll find out,” Oshitari tells her.
Someone on the board, apparently, refers to Atobe, and wants to see you, similarly, refers to lunch. “I thought I recognised the wrong person the other day,” Atobe says as the chauffeur opens the door to the limousine, inviting Oshitari in. “But I had someone check the list of employees at this hospital, and your name was on it.”
“It’s been a while,” Oshitari says, going into the car. Its insides smell like fresh, clean leather, and the texture of the seats beneath his palm is smooth. He feels almost guilty, almost disgustingly capitalistic just by stepping in. “I’m not sure I should be doing this at work, though. Isn’t this a dereliction of duty?”
“We’ve merged with your new owners,” Atobe replies curtly, looking coolly at him. His attitude is still the same as it was twenty years ago, equal parts respectful, dignified, and haughty. “It’s been in the works for years, but the name change will only be announced next month, so I’m not surprised you don’t know. Anyway, I think that makes me one of your direct superiors, and if I say it’s not a dereliction of duty, it isn’t.”
It’s a clear abuse of power, but Atobe doesn’t usually take no for an answer, and he’s probably taken care of the nitty-gritty. Even more likely, someone else has taken care of the nitty-gritty for him. Oshitari tries to make himself comfortable in the plush leather seats in the twenty minutes it takes for them to reach their destination.
Atobe still plays tennis recreationally, and Oshitari guesses that he may still be as good as he used to be (he’s all but abandoned the habit himself). They haven’t met each other since the last alumni reunion seven years ago, and in that time, Atobe has become the chief executive of his own securities firm (albeit a subsidiary of a much larger group of similar companies, owned by the family), manages a portfolio of unit trusts and real estate investment trusts across several industries, sits on the board of a dozen listed companies, and is engaged to the scion of a hotel chain owner. It’s nothing to disparage about, and Atobe’s always been ambitious and focused even if he can seem frivolous at times, so Oshitari isn’t in the least bit surprised.
“We’re thinking of privatising the business,” Atobe explains over filet mignon. “Not in the sense that we’re going to make it any less public - it’s a privately-owned medical group, after all - but we want to branch out into providing high-quality services for high net worth individuals. A niche area in the market, if you will.”
“I’m sure your target audience will bite,” Oshitari parries, “if they haven’t already got their own private medical staff, just like you.”
“What makes you assume I have my own medical staff,” Atobe huffs. “Anyway, just think about it - short of the exceptionally privileged, anyone just outside of the bracket and who earns more than what the upper-middle class can afford is in a prime position to utilise such services. The hospital where you work is in a good location for development. We don’t know if we want it to be part of the plan, or to create another offshoot altogether.”
“I’m a doctor, not a businessman. I don’t manage hospitals, I administer treatment,” Oshitari tells him after listening to what he has to say. “Is this why you invited me for lunch? To ask me for my expert opinion?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” is Atobe’s brisk reply, brief and to the point.
Once, when they were teenagers, Oshitari invited Atobe to watch a romcom with him. In typical fashion, Atobe booked the entire cinema so that they wouldn’t have to share the theatre with anybody else. Oshitari wanted to tell him that he was missing the point of a true cinematic experience, but decided that it was okay to take it one step at a time with someone as capricious as Atobe. In the darkened theatre, on the screen in front of them, a bicycle messenger romanced an ex-career woman, to hilarious results. Dismissively, Atobe said, “I never knew why you insisted on watching things like this, but at least now I know it’s completely unwatchable,” so Oshitari told him, half-joking, “You know, it’s not entirely dissimilar to what Goethe writes. You could try looking at it that way.” For weeks after that Atobe launched what he called a private study of Japanese romance movies and looked for “postmodern parallels to classic romanticism”, spending hours of his free time watching film after film in one of the school’s numerous AV rooms. Of course it was mandatory for all the other regulars to attend, snacks and drinks inclusive (none of the cheap cinema junk, only hors d’oeuvre and sparkling water), and of course Shishido and Gakuto made fun of him behind his back. Ohtori turned up obligingly, making the effort to at least sincerely pay attention to and appreciate what he was watching. Oshitari, however, was perhaps the only one who felt strangely touched by the entire project and the lengths Atobe took to complete it, even though the conclusion he reached was the same as what he had thought in the beginning - that romantic comedies were trash.
These days, Oshitari catches the occasional romantic tearjerker whenever he can, and if he’s in the mood, he invites one of the more attractive (and single) nurses to go with him. They hardly ever turn him down. Atobe, he thinks, looking at him now, probably doesn’t have time for Goethe, or even time for remembering how to be young, young as he is.
1415 words
Oshitari works at a hospital in Shiodome - he stays in Tokyo for middle school, then high school, and then of course one thing leads to another. Now he thinks he might never move back home. Things are always a little rough during the weeks for which he’s stationed at A&E, but otherwise he usually takes alternate shifts with the cardiology department. He doesn’t have too many complaints - he loves what he’s doing, and someone like him doesn’t need too much free time to himself. It all adds up.
There’s a buyout of the healthcare group that manages the hospital where he works, sometime in his third year there. Oshitari isn’t surprised; healthcare is fast becoming a hot commodity and rumours have been making their way around the departments lately anyway, so it was really a matter of time. Now one particular Kirizaki Group has a newly-acquired flagship healthcare business to flaunt. It’s a smart move and a complicated one, involving the sale of a number of healthcare and medical companies that hold shares in one another and the restructuring of the ownership structure such that Kirizaki doesn’t fall foul of anti-competition regulations. It’s a huge, complex transaction, but big businesses have a knack for circumventing loopholes like that. Oshitari doesn’t think too much of it, however, since it’s not exactly illegal, and what matters more is that he still has a job after management changed hands. In the grand scheme of things, the opinion of somebody with a degree in medicine and a four-year internment at Keio probably doesn’t matter.
At a hospital, of course, is the last place where Oshitari expects to see Atobe again. But he does, and Atobe is flanked by the director on one side and the head of paediatrics on the other. He doesn’t look like he’s there for a checkup, but even if he needs one, he probably has his own army of private doctors anyway. It’s most likely a tour of the hospital for business reasons. They pass each other in a corridor when Oshitari is heading for a meeting. Atobe still looks the same, coiffed hair, cold eyes, set jaw, dressed to the nines, more or less an older version of the person whom Oshitari used to know. Oshitari himself, on the other hand, now just past thirty, has cut his hair and lost those glasses that he never needed in the first place, looking wildly unlike his younger self in scrubs, with a stethoscope around his neck and a clipboard in his hands. If Atobe recognises him, he doesn’t say anything.
It’s days later that they swap his afternoon A&E shift with another doctor’s. “Satoshi will be taking over for you today,” the head nurse tells him. “Takeda-san said that someone on the board wants to see you. Is everything okay?”
“We’ll find out,” Oshitari tells her.
Someone on the board, apparently, refers to Atobe, and wants to see you, similarly, refers to lunch. “I thought I recognised the wrong person the other day,” Atobe says as the chauffeur opens the door to the limousine, inviting Oshitari in. “But I had someone check the list of employees at this hospital, and your name was on it.”
“It’s been a while,” Oshitari says, going into the car. Its insides smell like fresh, clean leather, and the texture of the seats beneath his palm is smooth. He feels almost guilty, almost disgustingly capitalistic just by stepping in. “I’m not sure I should be doing this at work, though. Isn’t this a dereliction of duty?”
“We’ve merged with your new owners,” Atobe replies curtly, looking coolly at him. His attitude is still the same as it was twenty years ago, equal parts respectful, dignified, and haughty. “It’s been in the works for years, but the name change will only be announced next month, so I’m not surprised you don’t know. Anyway, I think that makes me one of your direct superiors, and if I say it’s not a dereliction of duty, it isn’t.”
It’s a clear abuse of power, but Atobe doesn’t usually take no for an answer, and he’s probably taken care of the nitty-gritty. Even more likely, someone else has taken care of the nitty-gritty for him. Oshitari tries to make himself comfortable in the plush leather seats in the twenty minutes it takes for them to reach their destination.
Atobe still plays tennis recreationally, and Oshitari guesses that he may still be as good as he used to be (he’s all but abandoned the habit himself). They haven’t met each other since the last alumni reunion seven years ago, and in that time, Atobe has become the chief executive of his own securities firm (albeit a subsidiary of a much larger group of similar companies, owned by the family), manages a portfolio of unit trusts and real estate investment trusts across several industries, sits on the board of a dozen listed companies, and is engaged to the scion of a hotel chain owner. It’s nothing to disparage about, and Atobe’s always been ambitious and focused even if he can seem frivolous at times, so Oshitari isn’t in the least bit surprised.
“We’re thinking of privatising the business,” Atobe explains over filet mignon. “Not in the sense that we’re going to make it any less public - it’s a privately-owned medical group, after all - but we want to branch out into providing high-quality services for high net worth individuals. A niche area in the market, if you will.”
“I’m sure your target audience will bite,” Oshitari parries, “if they haven’t already got their own private medical staff, just like you.”
“What makes you assume I have my own medical staff,” Atobe huffs. “Anyway, just think about it - short of the exceptionally privileged, anyone just outside of the bracket and who earns more than what the upper-middle class can afford is in a prime position to utilise such services. The hospital where you work is in a good location for development. We don’t know if we want it to be part of the plan, or to create another offshoot altogether.”
“I’m a doctor, not a businessman. I don’t manage hospitals, I administer treatment,” Oshitari tells him after listening to what he has to say. “Is this why you invited me for lunch? To ask me for my expert opinion?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” is Atobe’s brisk reply, brief and to the point.
Once, when they were teenagers, Oshitari invited Atobe to watch a romcom with him. In typical fashion, Atobe booked the entire cinema so that they wouldn’t have to share the theatre with anybody else. Oshitari wanted to tell him that he was missing the point of a true cinematic experience, but decided that it was okay to take it one step at a time with someone as capricious as Atobe. In the darkened theatre, on the screen in front of them, a bicycle messenger romanced an ex-career woman, to hilarious results. Dismissively, Atobe said, “I never knew why you insisted on watching things like this, but at least now I know it’s completely unwatchable,” so Oshitari told him, half-joking, “You know, it’s not entirely dissimilar to what Goethe writes. You could try looking at it that way.” For weeks after that Atobe launched what he called a private study of Japanese romance movies and looked for “postmodern parallels to classic romanticism”, spending hours of his free time watching film after film in one of the school’s numerous AV rooms. Of course it was mandatory for all the other regulars to attend, snacks and drinks inclusive (none of the cheap cinema junk, only hors d’oeuvre and sparkling water), and of course Shishido and Gakuto made fun of him behind his back. Ohtori turned up obligingly, making the effort to at least sincerely pay attention to and appreciate what he was watching. Oshitari, however, was perhaps the only one who felt strangely touched by the entire project and the lengths Atobe took to complete it, even though the conclusion he reached was the same as what he had thought in the beginning - that romantic comedies were trash.
These days, Oshitari catches the occasional romantic tearjerker whenever he can, and if he’s in the mood, he invites one of the more attractive (and single) nurses to go with him. They hardly ever turn him down. Atobe, he thinks, looking at him now, probably doesn’t have time for Goethe, or even time for remembering how to be young, young as he is.