Six years into the arrangement, Toshiharu Oda [Katsuo Nakamura] took Yuko Kano [Keiko Takahashi] as his mistress, a relationship defined by a notable age gap (she is 34 years younger) and a charged, almost ritual closeness. They refer to each other as Toshi and rabbit, and their meetings crackle with desire whenever Oda can spare a moment. Yet the dynamic remains unequal: Yuko often has to wait, and the only consistent thing about Oda’s involvement is the steady flow of living expenses rather than steady companionship. The tension between longing and dependence threads through their encounters, imbuing every moment with a quiet ache as Yuko clings to the brief windows when he appears.
When Oda reveals that he is nursing a sick wife, Yuko’s loneliness swells into desperation. She takes sleeping pills, and the shock of her collapse jolts the room into a new, unsettling balance. Oda rushes to her side, carefully laying down plastic on the tatami to protect the floor, and tends to her with a calm, clinical efficiency—washing away fear with water and attentive care. Under his steady hands, Yuko begins to recover, and the moment intensifies the ambiguity of their bond: care mixed with control, protection mingled with possession.
Later, a park-side conversation with Murai [Noboru Nakaya]—the estranged husband of Tayo [Mariko Kaga], a prostitute living in the apartment next door to Yuko—tangles the web even further. Murai openly lusts after Yuko, and Oda’s suspicions flare when he hears what sounds like a threat to their arrangement. In his misreading, he believes Yuko has betrayed him. In a stark, misdirected act of punishment, Oda tattoos Yuko’s inner thigh. What begins as a punitive gesture quickly reveals itself as a possessive registry—Oda realizes, with a sharp, jarring clarity, that he has effectively made Yuko his wife in a symbolic, binding way. He swiftly removes the tattoo, and Yuko forgives him, insisting that his presence beside her is all she wishes, a plea for unwavering companionship rather than just protection.
The narrative expands to include the wider circle around Tayo, as students who visit Tayo’s apartment taunt Yuko for her relationship with the older man. She endures their jeers with quiet dignity and remains steadfastly faithful to Oda, choosing to weather the whispers rather than sever the bond that defines her days.
Eventually, Yuko’s life takes another drastic turn: she becomes pregnant with Oda’s child. Oda, however, strongly opposes the pregnancy and pressures her to terminate. The conflict deepens Yuko’s frailty, tipping her into a mental-health crisis that lands her in hospital care. The road to recovery is slow and uneven, but she makes progress. On the day she is slated for discharge, she is confronted with the sudden death of Oda, a blow that redefines the meaning of their relationship and casts a long shadow over the life they shared.
In the days that follow, Yuko visits Oda’s family, a ritual that feels both ceremonial and intimate. She lights incense in memory of the man who shaped so much of her years, and when she sees his photograph, tears spill down her cheeks. The film leaves her at a liminal point—carrying the memory of a complicated, all-consuming bond, seeking a way to carry on after the man who defined so much of her world has passed away.
This portrayal blends intimate drama with a measured, observational tone, inviting reflection on love that is powerful, possessive, and emotionally sprawling. The characters—anchored by the performances behind Toshiharu Oda, Yuko Kano, Murai, and Tayo—drift through a story that examines dependence, fidelity, and the fragile line between care and control.
