Jinya received some rather worrying news from the manager of the milk hall.
“Is that true?”
“It is. A man’s been going by several brothels looking for a certain woman. From the sound of things, he seems to be searching for Hotaru-chan.” The manager jokingly added, “Reminds me of a certain somebody, don’t you think?”
“That’s a very interesting tidbit you’ve given me. Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome. I must say, you’re a rather strange man as well,” said the manager, who seemed endlessly amused by Jinya. He wasn’t one to call others strange, however, being a man in his forties who talked effeminately. Jinya questioned the manager with his gaze, prompting him to answer, “You clearly have eyes for Hotaru-chan yourself, but you have no interest in buying her services. Am I wrong?”
“She’s a charming woman, but yes, her services aren’t what I’m after.” Hotaru weighed on Jinya’s mind, not because she attracted him as a sex worker, but because the way they first met was so unusual. “The reason she’s caught my eye isn’t that sort of thing.”
“Then why?”
“It’s just an old habit of mine from a previous job.”
The reason he stepped in when he saw that man hassling her was mostly because of his previous occupation. He couldn’t stand idly by when someone was in need, and he believed he had a responsibility to see things through once he started. The main reason why he came so frequently to Sakuraba Milk Hall and why he continued to search the Dove District, had to do with that man.
“That kind of man will definitely come again. I may not have been asked to work this case, but I’ll lose sleep if I don’t do anything.” That was the way he lived during the Edo and Meiji years.
Handling spirits was a shrine maiden guardian’s duty.
Several days passed. A pale moon hung bright in the sky, casting the night in a metallic sheen.
“Mm, delicious. Freshly made soba is hard to come by, even at restaurants.”
Jinya freeloaded at Aoba’s place, an apartment one street over from many brothels. In exchange for the roof over his head, he took care of the household chores. Having been a caretaker for many years, he enjoyed their living situation, even if most people would say he was no different than a deadbeat sponging off a woman.
At Aoba’s request, he made kitsune soba for dinner, recreating the same dish he made back when he ran a restaurant in the Meiji era. Soba soup broth was generally made thicker in Tokyo than in Kyoto, so Aoba was a bit surprised at first, but she found the taste suited her palate and ate it eagerly.
“I’m glad you like it.”
“I was surprised that the soup was so thin at first, but it’s great. How’d a guy like you get so good at cooking?” she asked. It was a bit odd that a rugged-looking man like Jinya was so good at something so domestic. He could cook, clean, and even do the laundry well. It was all thanks to his past, of course.
“I used to run a soba restaurant,” he answered.
“Ah… So it comes down to experience, after all.” Her expression turned serious. It sounded like she wasn’t very confident in her own cooking skills. Having lived alone, she could handle domestic chores decently well, but when it came to cooking, she could only manage simple dishes that involved stir-frying or stewing everything together; more delicate cooking was beyond her.
Jinya watched Aoba go into deep thought and smiled wryly to himself. He looked like a young man no more than eighteen years old, but she saw nothing strange about his claim to have run a soba restaurant in the past. It was as though she already knew he was more than he appeared to be.
Of course, he wasn’t surprised by her lack of reaction, because he already knew she was plotting something. He was just a little amused that she would give herself away like that. He let it go and started a new topic with her as he prepared their after-meal tea. “Hey, Aoba. Why’d you decide to become a sex worker anyway?”
“Oh? What a surprising question for you to ask.”
He wasn’t trying to fish secrets out of her or anything like that. They’d lived together for a while now and had grown fairly close. He asked his question out of honest curiosity alone. This was just an idle chat over tea. She could deflect if she wanted to, and she was smart enough to know that. He sipped his tea and waited for her to decide if she wanted to talk or not.
“It’s because I didn’t want to inherit my family trade.” She sighed and made a tired, resigned face. Her voice was weak, telling him her words had to be honest. Her usual pep was nowhere to be found, and a frail girl took her place. She looked her age for once. “My family’s been running a certain trade for generations, and my grandfather’s terribly strict about it. He’s the kind of person who demands that everyone put the household first.”
“Is your father not around?”
“No, he is, and he’s doing his best with the family trade. But he doesn’t meet my grandfather’s expectations, so I was picked to inherit things instead of him. I didn’t like that, so I ran away.”
“That must’ve taken quite some guts.”
“Ah ha ha. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, really. But it’s hard to get by on your own as a woman. That was when I read in a magazine about the Dove District and how all the young girls were flocking here to be sex workers. I saw no other option. Kind of silly of me, huh?”