Nanami didn’t mind business trips.
His employer could cover the expenses, and they gave him a reason to go places he might not otherwise go. That this one was to Hokkaido was all the better.
As a jujutsu sorcerer and an active member of society, the opportunity to unwind away from his colleagues was indispensable. It would be like ventilation for the soul. Without fresh air, he got depressed. The key to working for extended periods of time was taking breathers when appropriate. That was the way he saw it, so he wasn’t pleased to discover that a more experienced sorcerer would be accompanying him on this business trip. The fact that it was Satoru Gojo made his head hurt.
“Nanami, how about a quiz about Hokkaido?”
“No, feel free to do that on your own.”
“Here’s the first question,” Gojo said. “My favorite sweet from Hokkaido is the famous sanporoku Baumkuchen!”
“Try again when you know what a quiz is.”
“Okay, then let’s play the buttered potatoes game. The rules are simple. The one who likes buttered potatoes the most wins. And I win! In all of Japan, there’s only one person who likes buttered potatoes more than me, and it isn’t you!”
“Who then?” Nanami said.
“Chiharu Matsuyama.”
“You lie more often than you breathe.”
“It cuts down on carbon dioxide emissions, no?”
“The amount of CO2 from my sighs cancels it out,” Nanami said. “Two men—two sorcerers—coming all the way to Hokkaido together is kind of sad.”
“It’s all right! It’s like we’re on a variety show.”
“What variety show could be this annoying?”
The expressions on their faces couldn’t have been more different as the two sorcerers walked down bustling Odori Avenue. Like Kyoto, Sapporo’s layout was like a go board; as long as you followed the signs, you couldn’t get lost. Getting the hang of the one-way streets was tricky, but at least sightseeing on foot in the Central Ward was convenient, and checking their location on a map was easy.
“Well, it’s not like everything, as in everything, is in a grid. But it isn’t hard to plot a route from one spot to another.” As he spoke, Gojo produced a folded pamphlet. He opened it, revealing a simplified and easy-to-read map of the Central Ward, marked with several red circles.
“What’s with the map?”
“Huh, huh, huh, Nanami?! Huh, huh, huh? Huh?”
“That’s really annoying.”
“Get your act together, man,” Gojo said. “Think about it, what else could this be but Satoru Gojo’s map of sweets?!”
“Feel free to do that on your own too.”
“I try to conduct myself like a mentor, but you just don’t look up to me.”
“Because you’ve never been someone worth looking up to!” Nanami said.
Nanami sighed so hard his lungs seemed ready to collapse. In personal conversations with Gojo, 90 percent of the things out of the sorcerer’s mouth were nonsense. Gojo could only ever only talk on his own wavelength. Responding in earnest was exhausting, but just letting him ramble on was irritating.
Gojo outranked him, was senior to him, and far surpassed him in strength and skill. Those who knew him well understood the significant inner distress this caused Nanami. For someone like Ijichi, this imbalance would likely have been an explosive problem.
“Anyway, why did you come with me?” Nanami asked. “This situation doesn’t require two sorcerers, so—”
“So the incredibly handsome and strongest known sorcerer Satoru Gojo doesn’t need to put in an appearance, right?”
Nanami’s nerves were fraying, so he ignored that comment. But Gojo kept talking.
“I agree there’s nothing to worry about. It’s a solo investigation, and you’re fully capable of handling it.”
“Then why did you come?”
“To turn a simple job into an utterly simple job,” Gojo said. “One person may be enough for the situation, and a grade 1 sorcerer at that, right? But I’ve heard a nasty curse user or something of the sort could be involved.”
“You’re saying we’re up against a curse user equal to a grade 1 or special grade?”
“It’s just a possibility.”
“You aren’t the kind of person who would come all the way here for a mere possibility,” Nanami said.
“Your perceptiveness is striking. Oh, well. That’s enough for now, isn’t it? Maybe I’m just tired from my busy lifestyle and need a vacation up north.”
“You can say that, but it’s not true.”
“Hey, Nanami. Look over there.”
“Listen to me when I’m talking to you! Though I doubt anything I say matters,” Nanami said, but he looked to where Gojo was pointing.
A bright yellow sign proclaimed BUTTERED POTATOES in massive red letters. The demand for attention couldn’t have been more blaring.
“Now that I think about it, buttered-potato vendors really do adopt a bold style. But they only sell baked potatoes with butter, which aren’t so hard to make at home,” Gojo said.
“They’re not all that different from stone-baked sweet potatoes.”
“Now that you mention it, yes! You never fail to impress, Nanami! You see right behind the sunglasses!”
“Which only reveals where the eyes are.”
“By the way, Nanami, we call potatoes jagaimo in Japanese. The imo means “potato,” but where did the jaga come from?”
“According to one theory, potatoes entered Japan from a port in Jakarta,” Nanami said.
“How did you know that off the top of your head?! Sometimes you scare me, Nanami.”
“Why didn’t you know that? You’re Japan’s second-ranked lover of buttered potatoes, aren’t you?”
“Well, second is merely second. Only first is worth aiming for. Anyway … Greetings, good sir! An order of buttered potatoes, please!”
As they were talking, Gojo had slyly drawn near the vendor, so it was too late for Nanami to take preventive action.
“You’re going to eat?” Nanami said.
“Yeah! After all, I’m the guy who loves buttered potatoes second most in Japan.”
“But we came here to work.”
“Then don’t eat. I’ll savor Hokkaido’s cuisine on my own,” Gojo said.