Two days after the meeting had taken place, some of the elderly villagers were gathered at the Yumoto residence again. The sky was a clear blue, signaling the coming end of the rainy season.
“Oh my, was there something happening today?”
Yumoto’s wife, Machiko, instructed the guests to set the vegetables they had brought with them near the front door. Then, she began to make preparations for tea time. The visitors were shown into the nearby living room.
Yumoto was the first to speak. “So, what is it? Anything I can help you old folks with?”
Tea was served, and one of the elders replied, “Yumoto, what’s the deal with those chickens?”
Yumoto shrugged. “Beats me. Shohei’s pets, I guess?”
“Pets, you say? With that size?”
“Must be a mutation or something, then?” Yumoto replied dismissively. Truth be told, Yumoto himself was unable to glean the truth behind Sano’s chickens, and he could only come up with conjectures—none of which he felt inclined to share with the elderly villagers.
“I see... I thought it must’ve been something a god around here left behind.”
Yumoto was slightly fazed by the elder’s suggestion, but he narrowly avoided showing it. The mountains in the vicinity were still home to various gods. Although they never revealed themselves, the locals could vaguely sense their presence.
“A god, you say...? Sure, I guess there’re a few of ’em in the mountains around here...”
“Where did Sano-kun get the chickens from?”
Yumoto paused for a moment, then replied, “Says he bought some dyed chicks at a festival stall back in spring.”
The elderly villagers let out muted breaths, as if that was enough to ascertain the facts. The villages in the area were occasionally home to mysterious happenings, which the villagers understood as a natural part of life here.
“Who was it that suggested the spring festival again...?”
“I forget...”
The villagers shook their heads.
Generally, only the summer festival was held at the local Inari shrine, while festivals in other seasons had not been held for approximately a decade. Yet this year, someone had inexplicably suggested that they hold a festival in the cold of spring. Even more inexplicably, no one could remember who had suggested it.
“Maybe...it was one of the gods’ ideas, and they did it for Sano-kun’s sake,” one of the villagers suggested jokingly. Yumoto actually found that to be a reasonable suggestion.
“Let Sano-kun know we’re sorry, will you? And give him the vegetables we brought.”
Yumoto snickered. “Hey, hey, you can just go and apologize yourselves, y’know.”
“Bah. Too late for that. It’s good to have someone play the bad guy, you see. And you can leave that to us.”
The elderly villagers were prone to such behavior—their selfishness served to prevent others from being even more unreasonable. It was a thankless role, to be sure, but they were quite content with it.
“Well, you know... That’s why all the young folks keep leaving,” Yumoto pointed out.
“Hmph. All we need is someone young who can take us head-on. That Sano-kun looked pretty ordinary, but I was impressed he held his stance.” The villager took a sip of his tea.
“Nothing like some tea on a hot day.”
“Eh, I don’t really get it,” said Yumoto, who also—despite his words—took a sip.
“Let us know if anyone’s giving Sano-kun trouble! Got it?” The elderly villagers excused themselves, leaving behind a large number of vegetables.
“Say, is that geezer one of those ‘tsunderes’ or something?” Yumoto asked his wife.
“There’s no demand for tsundere old men. All these vegetables... What are we going to do?”
Machiko seemed troubled by the prospect of finding a place to store the vegetables. The idea she settled on was pickling whatever could be pickled before giving them to Sano at a later date.