Chapter 18 Subtle Distance

The long street curved gently upward, its lights dotting both sides like earthbound stars reaching for the real ones above. The roadway glittered too — headlights weaving through the vast city in ribbons of moving light. Pedestrians wore every kind of expression, drifting past in no particular hurry or rushing as though late for something that mattered. Just watching those faces through the taxi window gave Ma En the sense that countless stories were unfolding at this very moment, right alongside his own. A thin layer of condensation clung to the glass. He reached up and wiped it with the edge of his hand, and the cleared surface threw his own reflection back at him.

Hirota Masami sat beside him, her head turned toward the opposite window.

An arm's width separated them. The easy familiarity they'd built before leaving had taken on a different quality in this small space — something charged, something that paradoxically pushed them further apart rather than drawing them closer.

Neither spoke. The driver sat motionless as a stone Buddha, apparently having forgotten his passengers existed, concerned only with the steering wheel.

Ma En found the distance between them — the physical distance, the emotional distance, whatever unspoken thing held that gap in place — precisely right. If he were honest with himself: if he weren't someone who pursued the bizarre, if he hadn't brought danger with him like luggage, he would certainly have wanted to close that gap. Hirota-san was beautiful, whether you considered her as a professional woman or simply as a woman. They hadn't known each other long, but even their brief interactions had been enough for him to sense the many qualities she possessed.

Setting aside the premise that no one in this world was perfect, what Hirota Masami had shown across their handful of conversations was already enough for Ma En to consider her a good woman. Girlfriend, wife — there was nothing to object to, and if anything, he might be the one who fell short. As a normal man, he knew he'd want to close the distance.

But he couldn't. Precisely because she was a woman worth knowing — he couldn't.

Then again, if he'd never found the bizarre things he'd found, if he'd never thought to lead danger away from his family, he would never have come to Japan at all. He would never have met her.

These threads of cause and effect — Ma En had always been keenly aware of them. In this strange fate, this improbable meeting, he felt as though he were already walking a tightrope. The slightest inattention and things he didn't want to see would begin happening. He didn't oppose human connection. But he was a hedgehog. Absolutely, absolutely could not get too close.

One arm's width. Their gazes fell on their respective windows. Hirota Masami was also watching the young man beside her — through the faint reflection in the glass, studying him at close range without having to look directly. At some point she couldn't quite identify, she'd stopped thinking of him as something frightening, or as a stranger she'd only just met. Maybe it was the shock of their first encounter. Maybe it was his absurd behavior. Maybe it was the subtle strangeness of his outfit, or the expressions that crossed his face when he thought no one was watching. Without her noticing, this young man's presence — as a man, roughly her age, breathing the same air in this small space — had already slipped past her defenses.

Whether she liked him — Hirota Masami couldn't say for certain. There was something there, warm and indistinct, but what he felt, whether he felt anything at all, remained impossible to read. She could only say this: if things kept going at this pace, or if some small moment tipped the balance, she would probably want someone like him beside her. The thought alone made her face grow warm.

She was perfectly aware she was fantasizing. Their relationship was nowhere near what her imagination was constructing. Their positions right now — sitting side by side, bodies angled slightly away, a careful distance maintained — said everything.

The silence in the car wasn't empty. It held a taste she didn't want to break by speaking first. Within it, she sensed something she'd never felt before — not since adulthood, not even in her student days. If "first love" was something she'd only ever known secondhand — from novels, from friends' stories, from movies and television — then was this, right now, what it actually tasted like?

She didn't dare say for certain. She felt like a small quail tucked into the corner of this tiny taxi. The night scenery outside — the same streets she'd seen a thousand times — looked more beautiful than usual, more worth lingering over. She even caught herself thinking: Why did I suggest yakiniku? Why not somewhere with atmosphere — a proper restaurant, candlelight, the whole production?

Hirota Masami. Twenty-seven years old. Still dreaming in pink.

Time moved strangely fast. Her thoughts circled and circled, and just when she wanted them to keep circling, the taxi stopped. She assumed it was a red light — until the driver announced, without inflection: "We've arrived." She didn't register whether his flat tone ruined anything. She only felt that the ride had ended too soon.

A thread of regret trailed after her as she sat up straight and waited in silence for Ma En to pay the fare. She let him get out first, then followed.

His hand was already resting on the open car door. The deep red tie shifted as he leaned forward in a slight bow, and the image stamped itself into Hirota Masami's mind one more time. In all her years, no man her age had ever offered her a hand getting out of a car. It was the kind of thing that happened in films. She took his hand, and it felt like the quiet warmth that had settled inside the taxi was continuing — carried forward through his palm, refusing to end just because the ride had.

Their hands touched. Hirota Masami's pulse kicked, but underneath the nerves there was something that felt like relief. As if this was exactly what she'd wanted.

The restaurant Hirota Masami had reserved didn't call attention to itself from the street. Dark wooden slats wrapped the exterior in the old Japanese style — restrained, considered. Decorative wall sconces cast clean columns of light downward, each one falling precisely into an evergreen planter at the building's base. The plants and the light alternated in neat rows, forming something like a fence made of warm light. None of that quiet elegance, though, could outshine the sign above the entrance. Pale yellow illumination picked out each character — all calligraphy, each one brighter than the surface beneath it.

The whole building had the feel of a place where a professional designer had calculated every detail, where even the grandest gesture carried a kind of refined restraint. Ma En had been in Japan for one day. This was the first time he'd tasted what this country felt like at night.

How did it compare to home? He could only say that much of what he saw here was fresh and strange, the kind of thing that made you stop and think: So this is Japan.

Judging by the exterior, Ma En grew even more doubtful that his twenty-thousand limit would hold up. But he wasn't worried — he'd brought a multi-currency credit card.

He'd already steeled himself: when the menu arrived, he would not flinch. The exchange rate between Japan and the Mainland ran at roughly ten-to-one. He'd sent most of his savings home before leaving, and things were tight, but he still had over a million yuan in reserve.

"Ah." Just before the entrance, Ma En sensed he'd made a mistake.

"What's wrong?" Hirota Masami caught the quiet sound.

"The twenty thousand I mentioned earlier..."

"Too much?" She frowned, though in truth she didn't particularly care.

"No — the twenty thousand was in yuan." Ma En paused. "But we'd be paying in yen here, wouldn't we?"

"Obviously —" Hirota Masami's eyes went wide. She covered her mouth, dropping her voice. "Twenty thousand yuan? What's that in yen? The rate's high, isn't it?"

"Roughly three hundred thousand yen." Ma En nodded.

"You absolute idiot." Hirota Masami stared at him, mouth slightly open. "No matter how much we eat, it won't come to three hundred thousand yen. I thought you meant twenty thousand yen this whole time. The best cut at this place is a thousand yen per piece — ten thousand per person covers ten pieces easily."

"Ten pieces? Is that enough?" Ma En was genuinely unimpressed. How could anyone sit down to yakiniku and eat so little? "Relax. Three hundred thousand — if each thing costs a thousand yen, just order whatever you want."

Hirota Masami was struck speechless. She coughed twice. It had never occurred to her that this odd new neighbor might be wealthy. No — even setting that aside, treating someone you'd just met to three hundred thousand yen worth of food defied all common sense. It was enough to make a person wonder about ulterior motives.

Then again — had this man ever done anything that wasn't beyond common sense?

The headache that had visited her several times at the apartment throbbed at her temples once more.

Hirota Masami drew a deep breath. If they kept standing here, more things demanding a retort would keep appearing. She grabbed Ma En by the arm and pulled him inside. A server guided them to their table at once. Ma En drew her chair out himself, then removed his hat, set the black umbrella beside his own chair, and stopped the server from taking it elsewhere. When the menu landed in front of him, though, he looked lost.

"You order," he said.

"Why?" Even as she said it, Hirota Masami was already reaching for the menu.

"I've never ordered from a menu before." Stated as simple fact.

Hirota Masami shot him a look. Something rose to the tip of her tongue — she bit it back. A few seconds passed. She still couldn't help herself. "You really are a moron, you know that?"

"I'll take that under advisement." His expression didn't change at all.

She wanted to say more. Held back again. But now she was certain: despite all the startling things about this young man, his many flaws made him unmistakably, reassuringly ordinary. It was precisely because of those flaws that she felt at ease. She wasn't annoyed. Beneath the restraint of not saying everything she wanted to say, there was a quiet thread of happiness.

"Fine. I'll order." The words left her mouth, and it was as though every reservation she'd been carrying dissolved at once. Her whole body felt lighter. She rattled off several mid-range cuts in quick succession, then told the server: "Same for him."

After the server confirmed and left, Ma En turned to her. "That's it? Nothing from the top of the menu?"

"What are you talking about? This is just round one. We're going several rounds tonight." She said it as though it were the most obvious thing in the world.

"Oh — oh." Ma En shrugged and picked up a magazine from the corner of the table.

"You read women's fashion magazines?" Hirota Masami glanced at the cover. It was a magazine she'd subscribed to for years, and what Ma En held was the latest issue. Why this particular restaurant stocked it, she had no idea — this was her first time here, booked on someone's recommendation.

"Just flipping through. This is specifically for women?" He was looking at the photos. The text held zero interest for him.

"Mm. I'm a magazine editor too — when I first started out, I wanted to work for a fashion publication, but they turned me down. The reviewer said my aesthetic sense wasn't up to standard." A note of old grievance crept into Hirota Masami's voice. "How could my aesthetic sense possibly be lacking? Look — the hat I gave you fits perfectly, doesn't it? What do you think?"

Ma En raised his eyes with an expression that said, plainly, Why are you asking me? He genuinely did not want to weigh in on this. Experience — other people's experience, specifically — suggested that no matter what a man said in this situation, there was a ninety percent chance it ended up being his fault. Silence, of course, wouldn't save him either.

Hirota Masami's gaze stayed fixed on him. He had no escape. After a moment's careful thought, he said: "The magazine's style just didn't align with your aesthetic. It's a mismatch issue. You applied to work at this magazine?"

"No — the one you're holding is the only magazine I didn't apply to. They weren't hiring at the time. But my work overlaps with some of their models, and I assist with feature coverage now." She tapped the cover girl casually — a young woman whose age was hard to pin down. Ma En suspected the mature look was makeup and that she was actually just a high schooler.

"This person?" He closed the magazine, studying the cover girl again. "You assist with coverage?"

"Mm. My most recent assignment, actually. She's famous — you just got to Japan, so you probably wouldn't know. Products tied to her have generated over a billion in revenue to date. The number-one face young women dream of having, several years running." As Hirota Masami spoke, the server began bringing food. Once the plates were down, she waved off further assistance, reclaiming the table for the two of them.

"Can you grill?" she asked.

"Not in Japan." Still honest. "Back home, our grilled meat is cooked all the way through."

"Then I'll grill for you." She'd stopped expecting useful answers from him. The words came out naturally, without a second thought. She picked up the tongs, laid meat slices across the already-hot iron plate, and continued the conversation. "This model looks quite mature in photos, but in person she's just a kid."

Ma En said nothing.

"Goes by Terahana — I won't mention the given name." Hirota Masami flipped the sizzling meat as she talked. "Likes visiting supposedly haunted places. She's not even an adult yet — second-year high schooler. The mature look? Just makeup."

Liked visiting haunted places. That piqued Ma En's interest. He glanced at the magazine again. Nothing in the photo suggested the girl had that kind of personality.

"Lively type?" he asked.

"How to put it... Even at school, she'd be considered an oddball. She's gorgeous, sure, but I don't think she's the most popular type." Hirota Masami transferred a finished piece to Ma En's plate and continued. "Rumor has it she's been bullied at school, though the details are unclear. Word is she's transferring soon. Didn't you say you'd found work at a school? You might run into her."

"Katsura-sensei's new school," Ma En replied. He already had a feeling.

Sure enough, Hirota Masami wore exactly the expression he'd anticipated.

"That's the one!" Her tongs froze mid-flip. "Seriously — it's that much of a coincidence?"