スタッフブログ | 京成成田駅東口より徒歩5分・成田空港に好アクセス！
リッチモンドホテル成田

"A plan with a bottle of locally crafted sake and personalized engraving service, huh? You really came up with that idea. But it seems like not many people have booked it yet."

I twirled the cheap three-colored pen that the company provided and looked over at the female manager who had come up with the plan.

There were plenty of izakayas around Narita Station, and you could already buy decently good sake at any convenience store.

I thought, there was no real need to offer it as part of a hotel stay.

"The plan itself is still pretty unknown. The content is attractive, though. Once people know about it, there should be enough demand."
The female manager casually glanced at the screen of cameras in the lobby and parking lot, then nonchalantly picked up an energy drink can with a straw, twirling it between her fingers.

"Besides, what we're offering isn't just any beer or wine bottle. It's locally brewed sake. Our hotel tends to attract some discerning guests, and I’m sure those kinds of people will be intrigued."

I wasn't so sure. People who appreciated the finer things would likely not be swayed by the word "locally brewed sake" itself. They'd care more about what kind of sake it actually was. If it turned out to be bad-tasting sake, having your name engraved on it would almost feel like a "stigma" — quite literally a brand burned into your skin.

"Moreover, it’s not just any sake. The sake we're offering, 'Jin'yu,' is made by the Nabe-ya brewery, a well-established family-owned business in Narita with a history spanning over 100 years. True, 'Jin'yu' itself isn’t considered a top-tier sake, but the level of expertise that comes from a century of brewing sets the bar high. The ginjo aroma, the body, and the sharp finish are all the result of generations of know-how."
It seemed like she had read my thoughts clearly. Whether she had predicted what I was about to say or read my expressions and tone, I couldn’t be sure.

"Also,"
she continued, her elbow resting on her desk as her chin rested in her palm, moving the mouse in rhythmic intervals.

I expected more words to follow, but for a moment, her lips were sealed. Looking back now, I believe the motion of her mouse traced out a triangle on her PC.

How long I waited, it felt like either ten seconds or maybe ten minutes — it was hard to tell.

"Also?" I prodded.

"Where do you think would the proof of the lives be etched?"

"Legacy... is engraved in alcohol and blood. When we're reduced to dust, it's our epitaph that gets carved into marble. This isn’t a cheap metaphor from some cellphone novel, nor a lofty quote from medieval English nobles penned on parchment. I believe this plan offers at least one form of 'engraving' to our guests."

"But what about those who don’t drink?"

"The truth is, the alcohol itself isn't that important. One day, you'll understand. At least, most of our guests who stay at this hotel should be able to grasp that."

It’s the question of life’s fleeting nature and the thrill of existence. Few people know what it's like to feel a tremor of emotion that shakes their very core, but everyone without exception leaves their mark on life with their blood and passion. Though I had only lightly touched the essence of marking something with alcohol, it felt like I was still too far from truly grasping it.

In the distance, I heard the sound of the employee entrance door opening. The sound of autumn rain, cooling the last heat of summer, echoed in a swirl that seemed to entangle those coming and going. The brief moment the door had been open was enough to release that tension. I decided I’d take the bus home today.

This story is a work of fiction.