Mikami was your average salaryman — the kind of guy who’d entered the space station lottery eight times and lost every single one.
Then, at last, his number came up.
“Hey, I won!” he typed into the company chat at three on a Tuesday afternoon. Nobody reacted. He went ahead and posted a celebration sticker anyway, alone.
The problem was his wife.
“You said we were going to Nasu. The kids have been waiting forever.”
“Sure, but we could always do that next month——”
“Don’t you dare say Nasu isn’t going anywhere, because that’s exactly the kind of thing that gets to me.”
She always had a way with words. Mikami ended the call without quite knowing why, then pulled up the ticket management page again. Non-refundable. Transfer only. Someone who designed this system had clearly never dealt with family logistics.
His coworker Ohno had been moaning last month — “Lost again, I’m never applying again” — though everyone knew he entered every single time. On impulse, Mikami typed into the work chat: “Anyone want a ticket?”
The reply came in three seconds.
“Seriously?? Yes please, how much??”
“Free. Just bring me something from Nasu.”
”…Nasu?”
“Never mind,” Mikami typed, and slid his phone into his pocket.
The following week, at the space station boarding terminal, Mikami was crouching down to fix the zipper on his son’s backpack. His son kept spinning around, eyes wide. This is where you go to space, right? A PA announcement echoed through the hall: the shuttle bus to Nasu was now boarding at Exit 3.
Across the check-in counter, Ohno — boarding badge around his neck — caught Mikami’s eye and grinned.