“Life is won by those who enjoy it.” That’s the philosophy of Itabashi, a minor character from Ushijima the Loan Shark. It sounds reasonable, doesn’t it? I am sure that most people would probably agree with it. If nobody is getting hurt, spending your days doing what you enjoy certainly sounds better than spending forty years trapped in an office. But is it really that simple? Does spending your life working to support your family make somebody a loser? Is the salaryman who sacrifices his time, health, and happiness somehow less successful than the person who drifts through life without responsibilities? I don’t think so.
The reason I bring this up is because of my favourite Japanese television drama. Outside Japan, Ushijima the Loan Shark is not particularly well known, especially the TV series. However, the manga has been officially translated into English and is far easier to find than the television adaptation. This article contains some spoilers for the first series of this show. For those unfamiliar with it, Ushijima the Loan Shark, or Yamikin Ushijima-kun in Japanese revolves around Kaoru Ushijima, a ruthless loan shark who lends money to desperate people from every corner of Japanese society. Over the course of the story we meet office workers drowning in debt, hostesses and sex workers trying to survive, unemployed young people, pachinko addicts, aspiring entrepreneurs, NEETs, and countless others.
If it sounds like a crime drama, you are most definitely wrong. In reality, it is one of the most brutal examinations of modern Japanese society that I have ever seen. The loan shark business is merely the excuse, as the real subject of the story is people. Why do people ruin their lives? Why do people stay in jobs they hate? Why do people continue relationships that make them miserable? Why do some people keep fighting while others simply give up? Among all the characters in the series, the story of Kobori and Itabashi has always stuck with me. They only appear in 6 out of 9 episodes of the first series, yet I think they strongly represent something that millions of ordinary Japanese people experience. Loneliness.
Kobori
Kobori is the type of person society tells us to become. He works hard, he follows the rules, he puts up with abuse from his superiors, he tries to be responsible. Yet none of it seems to make him happy. One of the most memorable moments in his story comes when he is effectively told that people like him are replaceable. That there are countless salarymen just like him. If he disappears tomorrow, somebody else will take his place. Despite doing exactly what society asks him to do, he is still treated as a failure, making him feel trapped. The more I rewatch his story arc, the less I see him as an individual and the more I see him as a product of a system that values labour more than people.
A memorable scene shows him standing on top of a building and screaming into the sky. This breakdown seems like the result of years of pressure with nowhere to go. Kobori has spent so much time enduring that he has forgotten how to live.
Then there is Itabashi, who appears content with the life he has chosen. He is Kobori’s complete opposite as he has no real ambitions, he avoids responsibility, and he drifts from one day to the next. There is a scene where he laughs to himself at a coworker’s joke. The people around him react coldly. “What are you laughing at?” “I hate working with you, you do nothing all day. Just go home already.” Yet Itabashi barely seems bothered as he shrugs such things off.
Itabashi
Where Kobori constantly struggles with questions of responsibility, purpose, and what it means to be a respectable member of society, Itabashi appears to feel no need to engage with those questions at all. The things that give meaning to the lives of people like Kobori seem largely irrelevant to him. The unsettling thing about Itabashi’s attitude is that rather than confronting his frustrations directly, he appears to suppress them and convince himself they do not matter. In that sense, Itabashi sometimes comes across less as a free man and more as someone who has quietly given up on life itself.
Despite these differences, Itabashi and Kobori remain childhood friends. The two spend time eating oden together, visiting each other’s homes, and talking about little of any real importance. But I don’t think Itabashi stays by Kobori’s side because they are especially compatible. It is also clear that he does not necessarily find being around Kobori enjoyable. The reason is much simpler. He doesn’t have many other options.
For all his attempts to act carefree, Itabashi understands perfectly well that society sees him as a failure. Deep down, he knows he is the sort of person others look down on. The difference is that he refuses to admit it. One sad scene captures this perfectly. After once again helplessly asking Kobori for 50,000 yen whilst laughing, he is handed some money and told: “Take this. But don’t ever talk to me again.” For a moment, Itabashi’s expression changes. He looks uncomfortable and slightly ashamed, yet he still silently accepts the money. Itabashi understands exactly how pathetic the situation has become.
Itabashi asking Kobori for 50,000 yen
Kobori, meanwhile, is trapped in his own way. He knows his life cannot continue as it is, and that something needs to change. Yet he cannot bring himself to take the first step toward doing anything about it. With few close friends of his own, Kobori continues spending time with somebody whose personality could hardly be more different from his. He would look after Itabashi, pay for his odens, and join him at fuzokus (sex industry establishments). It is an awkward sort of kindness, one that resembles the Japanese concept of “jō“. More than simple compassion, “jō” refers to the emotional ties that bind people together even when those relationships become burdensome. Itabashi understands this all too well. Aside from this, he knows Kobori is not the type of person to cut someone off completely. He understands this weakness and takes advantage of it. In many ways, Itabashi uses Kobori to keep himself from sinking into complete loneliness. As a result, what should have been a genuine friendship gradually becomes a toxic relationship.
Despite appearing to be complete opposites, both have been swallowed by the same system. Kobori is crushed by society because he takes its expectations too seriously, whilst Itabashi appears carefree, yet has ultimately been pushed to society’s margins. Simply put, both characters have had their humanity distorted by the circumstances around them, so in the end neither of them are the “bad ones” here. The fact that their relationship gives them someone to turn to, while at the same time preventing either of them from truly moving forward, functions as a reflection of the social structures surrounding them.
The tragedy here is that social expectations, economic pressures, and limited opportunities gradually narrow the choices available to them. What surprised me while reading Japanese discussions of the series was how rarely people talked about the role society itself plays in these characters’ lives. Despite this, I felt that Kobori and Itabashi are both in their own ways casualties of Japan’s harsh working culture.
Yet when I think back to Itabashi’s carefree smile, especially in his final scene, I can’t help but feel that there was still a small glimmer of hope amidst all the despair. Near the end of the story, Ushijima gives Itabashi one final chance. To repay his debt, all he has to do is ask Kobori for more money. The old Itabashi probably would have done exactly that. Instead, he meets Kobori one last time and finds himself unable to ask. As they part ways, Itabashi simply flashes the same peace sign he once made in a childhood photograph taken by Kobori. For a small moment, rather than a debtor, a burden, or a man looking for another handout, he is simply Kobori’s childhood friend again. Shortly afterwards, he is taken away by the yakuza. He is questioned if he is sure with his decision, and Itabashi says “I don’t want to hate myself anymore than I already do now.” His ultimate fate is left unknown.
Itabashi’s peace sign, his final moment with Kobori
Whether he survives or not is almost beside the point. What matters is that, at the very end, he finally chooses not to use the one person who had always been there for him. For a character who spent much of his life drifting wherever circumstances took him, his ultimate decision was very meaningful.
Revisiting these scenes became more emotional for me as after learning of the passing of Kobori’s in drama actor, Yasuhi Nakamura, in July 2024. I found out over half a year later and was left in shock. Kobori was one of the characters that left the biggest impression on me when I first started watching Ushijima. One scene has always stayed with me. As the piano version of “Sudachi” plays in the background, Kobori slowly walks on alone, in scruffy looking clothes. The emptiness of that moment says everything about his character.
If you’re reading this, chances are you’ll one day understand Kobori or Itabashi more than you do now. One day you’ll work with people you can’t stand. One day you will question the people closest to you. One day you’ll feel trapped. One day you’ll wonder whether all the effort is worth it. And maybe, in those moments, you’ll remember Kobori and Itabashi.
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