Nito showed up just as I was finishing my cleaning, having woken up at some point. She watched wide-eyed as I wrung the cloth out in the bucket.
“Morning, Nito,” I greeted.
“Good...morning. What are you doing?”
“Cleaning.”
“I can see that. Why are...” she began asking, but then trailed off as she looked around the temple hall.
Charolles was sitting down and the old woman was getting up from where she’d been scrubbing the floor. Nito’s eyes shot open and she stared at the woman. Her ears started to vibrate, showing her distress.
“K-Keisuke! Th-The ghost! The old woman’s ghost!” she babbled.
She’s still hung up on that? She was acting so scared that it just made me want to laugh. To be fair, though, I hadn’t actually explained to her about the woman yet. Maybe I could have a little more fun with this.
I looked where she was pointing and tilted my head.
“Huh? Where...? I don’t see any old woman.”
A stifled yelp made its way out of Nito’s throat. Her lips tightened and her face paled. Timidly, she gave the woman a closer look. The woman in question unfolded her cloth and started walking toward us. Nito let out another cry and hid behind me.
“Keisuke! She’s coming! The ghost! She’s coming!”
Nito’s panicking had gotten the woman’s attention. She was looking doubtfully at us.
“What’s that racket about?” she asked.
“Sh-She spoke?!”
“Well, yeah,” I answered with a laugh, finally unable to contain myself. “She’s not a ghost.”
Nito looked up at me with an almost exhausted expression, before hesitantly looking past me again toward the woman as if peeking her head out from behind a corner.
“She... She’s alive?”
“She’d hardly be cleaning if she weren’t.”
My words, along with the fact that the old woman was clearly a physical being, had gotten it through to Nito that she wasn’t a ghost. Nito tugged and twisted at the back of my shirt while angrily mumbling to herself.
“Um, Miss Nito, you’re stretching out my clothes,” I said, trying some exaggerated politeness to smooth things over.
“You were teasing me?” she asked after a moment.
“Made your heart pound, huh?”
“It made me worry it’d stop beating!”
She smacked me in the back a couple more times before moving away. I knew she’d be all prickly and sarcastic with me even if I apologized. That was part of her charm, though.
Sighing at our antics, the old woman picked up her bucket.
“You three haven’t eaten this morning, have you?” she asked, turning to Charolles.
“Ah, no, we haven’t,” Charolles answered.
“Come with me, then. It’s nothing fancy, but call it my thanks for helping with the cleaning,” the woman said.
She started to walk off without waiting to hear our answer. I glanced over at Nito to see what she wanted to do about the sudden invitation, only to find her doing exactly the same. Even our questions came out at the same time.
“What’ll we do?” “What shall we do?”
Then Nito seemed to abruptly remember she wasn’t happy with me. Her expression stiffened before she turned away with a hmph and trotted over to Charolles.
“Shall we go, Charolles?”
“Right,” Charolles answered after a moment. “Let’s.”
She stood up and Nito immediately tugged at her hand to encourage her forward. She was really sulking, huh? Charolles looked toward me with a tilt of her head, giving me a look that seemed to be saying, “How sad.” I felt like I’d failed somehow. Hrmgh, I grumbled internally.
I ended up following the two of them out of the temple. The old woman wasn’t loading her things onto any vehicle. She was just walking down the hill. The slope was significant enough that it probably took a fair bit of effort to climb. The three of us had no trouble making our way down it, though, following the old woman.
Our path swung back and forth, passing between houses again and again. I got a sudden feeling that I’d seen someone off to the side, but when I stood still and looked around, all I could see were houses with shut-up windows and doors, no people. I tilted my head thoughtfully and turned to face forward again. Nito and Charolles had stopped as well and were looking back at me; they must have been waiting for me. I waved at them, and Nito—of course—turned away again and started walking, holding Charolles’s hand. She must have just dropped her guard for a moment. I smiled at the sight of them walking together, then jogged after them.
About halfway down, we reached the old woman’s home. It was situated midway up the slope, made of bricks like the other houses, and had some kind of sign above the door.
“What’s it say?” I asked.
“It says ‘no ghosts allowed.’”
“Seriously, I’m sorry,” I apologized with a contrite smile, spreading my hands out in a placating gesture.
Unfortunately, she just pouted at me.
“It says ‘Fago’s Shoe Workshop,’” Charolles said from off to the side.
I thanked her, and Nito let out a sharp, betrayed gasp before looking up at the taller girl.
“What are you doing? Hurry up and come in,” came a sharp voice from inside the house.
Flustered, Nito opened the door in a rush. The area directly inside was a small display room. Shelves lined the walls, holding countless shoes with thick, bulky heels. The slightly sweet scent of leather and shoe polish drifted through the dim space.
Two doors led farther in, and the right-hand one was open. I followed Charolles through it to find a living space on the other side. A low table and a sofa covered with a large quilt stood in the center of the room, with shelves and cabinets arrayed around them. The room wasn’t huge, but it was set up with everything you’d need for an easy lifestyle, so it felt warm and comfortable.
Nito plonked herself down at the end of the three-seater sofa and Charolles sat next to her. After a moment of hesitation, I sat down in the remaining spot on Charolles’s other side. There was also an empty armchair, but that was probably where the old woman would sit.
We could see the kitchen from the sofa. The woman had put a steaming kettle on the stove, and was now walking toward us with a tray holding a pot and teacups.
“We drink green tea ’round these parts. You might not enjoy it, but give it a try anyway,” she said.
“Green tea?” I blurted, leaning forward eagerly.
Nito and Charolles both seemed completely unfazed, though, which made things a little embarrassing for me, so I sat back gently. The old woman glanced at me as she set the tray down on the table.
“Oh, they have this drink where you’re from?”
“They do, though I don’t know if it’s exactly the same thing...”
The pot and cups sitting on the low table looked like what we’d use for black tea back home, but the liquid she poured from the pot definitely had the same color as green tea.
“People generally mix in these spices when they drink it. Some people add sugar too.”
She put out two jars. Nito and Charolles added the spices, but I took a sip of it as it was.
“Hmm?”
“So, is it the same?”
“It’s...slightly different. Maybe a bit sweeter...?” I mused.
It didn’t stir up any sense of nostalgia. While this drink had the same name and appearance as one I knew, it was still a beverage from this world, not my own.
“Ah, it’s good,” Nito said, light-brown flecks of spice floating on the surface of her tea as she sipped it.
I took the jar of spices and used a teaspoon to add some to my own cup before taking a sip. The spices had a cool taste, almost like mint. It made each sip more refreshing than the last, and it kept the distinctive taste of the tea under control. It was definitely a better way to drink it.
“Finish your drinks while you wait. I’ll be done soon,” the old woman informed us, before returning to the kitchen.
A soft breeze blew through the half-open window, fluttering the thin curtain that hung across it and letting more light into the room. We all just stared absently out of the window, not really talking. Every so often, one of us would take a sip of tea as if we’d just remembered our drink. It felt like that time of morning that just carried you away with it.
Each of us had refilled our emptied cups by the time the woman returned with a plate in each hand. She placed them in front of Nito and Charolles before doubling back to bring over mine and her own. The plates were round, with a ring of yellow along their rims. On top of each one sat two slices of semicircular toast, what looked like boiled dark-red beans and onions, a serving of something that looked like yellow mashed potato, and an orange-colored jelly that held its shape.
I glanced at Nito and Charolles to see their reactions. Neither of them seemed particularly taken aback, so it must have been a common breakfast.