The words were almost a prayer.
When Odoro heard that, for some reason, he fell silent. He opened his mouth to say something but promptly shut it again. Then, abruptly, he tsked.
“…Indeed?” he said, almost whispering. His hand tightened around Seiji’s throat, the nails digging in deep enough to draw blood. “Tell me this, then: If that half-breed’s missing, exactly where and how did you learn what ‘Shiroshi thinks’?”
Oh. Seiji’s expression gave him away. Not good. He’d planted his foot solidly in his mouth.
“I thought it was strange all along. Would that devious schemer really behave and turn to ash for a mere forest fire? It seemed far more likely that he’d feigned his disappearance and was plotting something in the shadows. And you see, just as I was beginning to suspect that, you appeared.”
…Who’d have thought he’d pick up on that possibility on his first try? In a way, maybe this guy was on the same wavelength as Shiroshi.
“All right. You will stay with me until you confess. Fortunately, I have nothing but time, and the lack of entertainment has left me in low spirits. Crushing one arm shouldn’t soil the floor too badly.”
Oh, crud. Saying he was going to get killed would have been a severe understatement. Seiji shuddered, sweating bullets. His gaze was wandering this way and that, when…
Odoro’s cheek twitched.
Huh? Seiji cocked his head, and then his ears caught a low buzzing noise. It was the flip phone in Odoro’s pocket. This exquisite timing—could it be…?
“My apologies for the interruption. I have an urgent notice regarding Master Seiji.”
Just as he’d expected, it was Takamura. Wordlessly, Odoro shoved the phone right in front of Seiji’s nose. It held a Line chat screen showing an ongoing call.
“After receiving a declaration from Master Shiroshi and conferring multiple times, we of the Enma Ministry have decided to officially acknowledge Master Seiji as a member of Sanmoto Gorouzaemon’s faction. Therefore, please note that if you intentionally harm him, you will be considered in violation of the agreement and lose by default.”
As an aside, apparently this decision had been an exception among exceptions.
“After all, modern pets are practically members of the family.”
…Okay, tough it out. If I comment on that one, I lose.
“I’m also told that he’s currently imposing on your agency. I will come to retrieve him tomorrow, so please look after him there for today.”
A vwoop issued from the screen.
The stamp he’d sent showed a cartoony, bowing Shiba Inu carrying a bundle on its back, along with the words Thank you for your hospitality.
“…What do you suppose this is?” asked Odoro.
“Um, I’ll ask him to read the room a little better when he uses stam—”
“That isn’t what I meant.”
“Of course it isn’t!”
Finding himself hauled up by his shirtfront and sensing genuine murderous intent, Seiji’s voice cracked.
Then the phone vwooped again.
“Parenthetically, as long as Master Seiji accompanies you, you may go out whenever you wish.”
Apparently, outings were permitted if he had a guard. When Odoro put his flip phone away, he looked as if he’d aged a decade all at once. “In terms of compensation, that’s quite…” He seemed to swallow the word cheap.
Just then, the room appeared to rock, as if an earthquake had struck.
“Huh?”
Seiji’s knees gave out, dumping him on the floor.
Huh? What?
He hastily tried to get up, but his legs were too weak to support him. He recognized these symptoms: He’d ended up like this in the past, when he’d gone three days without eating before payday at his part-time job and his blood sugar had dropped too low. Basically, he’d collapsed from hunger.
But it’s not like I’m hungry or…
Just as he was starting to puzzle over it, a shocking realization hit him.
He couldn’t remember eating once during the past three days. He’d made trips to the convenience store daily to get food for Beniko, but he’d completely forgotten about his own meals.
“Hm. When the useless mongrel act is taken this far, it’s almost intimidating,” Odoro said, stroking his chin. He looked genuinely impressed.
Leave me alone!
Seiji would have dearly loved to scream those words at him, but if the guy actually did leave him alone, he was pretty likely to die in a ditch.
Just then, the flip phone in Odoro’s pocket vibrated, and Seiji heard a powerful Tch! It was Takamura again. Odoro disappeared downstairs, then returned with a brown paper bag.
“Lower your head and move one step back.”
“Whoa, wait, what are you going to do?” Seiji growled, but Odoro hit him with a threatening look, so he grudgingly lowered his head and backed up.
And then—
“Ow!”
The bag fell from Odoro’s hand, scoring a direct hit on the back of Seiji’s head with a solid clonk.
“Beg pardon. I meant two steps,” Odoro said calmly, with a deliberate shrug. He’d absolutely done that on purpose.
Dammit, go get your throat chewed on by a nue again.
Seiji glared at him resentfully. Then, realizing the paper bag held a can, he blinked in surprise. The label was written in English, but he managed to make out the words “sardines in oil.”
Poison, huh? he thought, feeling like one of Tsuchiya’s Faithful Elephants. He glared at the can for a little while.
“If I intended to kill you, I would just snap your neck.” Odoro gave him a rather disgusted look from beneath half-lowered lids.
True, Seiji thought. Deciding to accept the handout gratefully, he picked up the can.
“…Why did that convince you?”
Ignoring Odoro’s grumbling, Seiji tried to open the lid, but it was apparently the sort that needed a can opener.
“Um, can opener…?” he asked timidly.
The only response was a surge of murderous hostility.
Right.
Perhaps he could make like an otter and whack it open against something. He was looking around for a pointy object, when…
Hm?
He’d noticed that there was a leather upholstered chair by the window.
It was probably an antique. Its delicate cabriole legs were as slim as high heels; in contrast, the armrests had a royal dignity about them, and their leather upholstery was as lustrous as polished wood.
If Shiroshi had been here, he probably would have curled up there and read for hours.
Um, maybe if I pinned this under one of those legs, I could punch a hole in the top, Seiji thought, in an extremely ridiculous brainstorm.
“Don’t touch it,” Odoro snapped, shooting him a piercing glare. His voice was icy cold. Apparently, he was very attached to that chair.
However…
…Hm?
Odoro cast a quick glance at the piece of furniture, then averted his eyes, as if running from it. His expression was odd; there was sadness in it, or maybe irritation. It was as if he were fighting the pain of an old wound.
Just maybe…, Seiji thought.
Did that chair also hold memories of a former owner? Had it been someone’s regular seat, like Shiroshi’s Queen Anne chair?
Then, ever since that person went away, he’s…
Had he been unable to touch it or even look at it properly, simply keeping it near him as a trace of someone who’d once been there, and as proof that they were gone?
There’s something a little weird about that chair, though. Seiji tilted his head, puzzled.
He’d spotted something very unnatural. Normally, it wouldn’t have seemed odd at all, but if this chair were as important to Odoro as it seemed to be…
“…Hm?”
Abruptly hearing the sound of machinery from the floor below, Seiji gulped. The elevator was in motion. Someone was on their way up.
Is it a client?
From the dubious look on Odoro’s face, though, this was an unexpected guest.
There was a ding as the elevator reached their floor, and then…
“Hello? Excuse me… Oh my. I’m sorry for coming in without permission. I looked, but I didn’t see a bell.”
The visitor was an elderly woman of around seventy, carrying a folded raincoat over one arm. She wore a thick cardigan in a genteel way, and her thin white hair was pulled back in a small bun. She was pushing one of those combination chair-walkers. Her back was a little bent, but her plump cheeks had a healthy glow to them, and there was a Shiba Inu–like charm in her cute, round eyes and the crow’s feet at their corners.