Chapter 19 At the Dining Table

— Really quite the coincidence.

Ma En closed the fashion magazine and set it aside. He'd been in Japan for a single day, and already the coincidences he'd stumbled into — this teenage model Terahana being only the latest — had exceeded what most people encountered in a year.

First, the Red Party's contact man, Kamishima Kousuke. Then an apartment straight out of an urban legend. After that, a steady procession of people who seemed to know things — as though everyone he met had done their homework on this particular ghost story. Under normal circumstances, urban legends spread wide precisely because people were afraid of them: believers and skeptics alike would trade the stories, exaggerate the details, pass them along. That was how these things worked. But the people who actually dug into the specifics — who followed the threads and pulled — were vanishingly rare.

Things that couldn't be explained, shouldn't exist but might, that occupied the queasy space between impossible and what if — most people didn't want to look too closely. That was simple human psychology.

Ma En understood perfectly well that his own compulsion — chasing the bizarre despite being able to imagine exactly how badly it could end — wasn't unique in the world, but it was, proportionally speaking, a sliver of the population. And because he understood this, he could see with unusual clarity just how theatrical his first day in Japan had been. The coincidences weren't random. They stacked up like a script being performed, with every relevant character taking the stage on cue.

The theatrical intensity had grown too strong to dismiss as mere chance.

Ever since he'd obtained the Seven Transmutations of the Profound Mystery Records, he'd become something like a magnet — drawing toward himself, piece by piece, secrets that normally stayed hidden within the ordinary.

Personally, he welcomed it. In terms of human relationships, though, this sort of magnetism brought its share of complications.

"So you're going to Katsura-sensei's school." Hirota Masami's surprise faded into understanding. "Terahana-san is Katsura-sensei's daughter. I heard she's transferring because of her father, actually."

She ate a piece of meat, looked at Ma En, and complained: "You're not even a little surprised?"

"Not particularly. I had a feeling." Ma En picked up the long strip of meat Hirota Masami had grilled for him, glanced at the interior — still pink — and shoved the entire piece into his mouth without hesitation. He chewed in large, working bites, jaw moving like a man who hadn't eaten in days. Hirota Masami couldn't look away.

She'd seen plenty of people eat without refinement. But whether crude eating could actually be attractive —

"...In the end, it all comes down to looks," she murmured under her breath.

"Hm? What was that?" Ma En pretended he hadn't heard, his expression perfectly innocent.

"Oh — I was asking if it's good." Hirota Masami recovered quickly. "Compared to grilled meat back home, how is it?"

"Mm —" Ma En tilted his head. He considered for a moment, then said, with a note of hesitation he clearly thought was generous: "Very fresh taste."

"Fresh?"

"It's decent, I suppose." He said this with finality. "Having meat is better than no meat."

"What kind of answer is that?" Hirota Masami couldn't hold it in anymore. The hesitant face he'd been making had led her to expect something at least slightly more enthusiastic. Instead she got this — this lukewarm, noncommittal half-response.

"You really can't read a room at all." She fixed him with a completely serious expression. "At a time like this, there's only one correct answer: delicious."

"Oh." Ma En nodded. "Delicious."

Hirota Masami flung a freshly grilled piece onto his plate. None of his answers landed where she wanted them to — not a single one. And yet it was precisely this feeling, this freedom to say anything and gripe about anything, that made her feel natural and relaxed. None of the strained pressure of having to manufacture conversation with someone you'd just met. So even though he hadn't praised the dinner she'd arranged, it didn't dampen her mood in the slightest.

"How old are you, Ma-kun?" she asked.

"Twenty-four."

So much for the model boyfriend. More like picking up a dopey kid brother.

Hirota Masami said it as if the thought had barely crossed her mind: "Then I'll just call you kid brother from now on."

"Why?" Ma En nearly choked. He grabbed his ice water.

"You're three years younger than me." She said it while looking down at her plate, avoiding his eyes.

"Ah — that's genuinely troubling." Ma En could feel the distance between them shrinking again, and it made him uneasy. But a woman's freely offered warmth wasn't something you could carelessly refuse without causing harm.

"Troubling my ass." Hirota Masami laughed as she said it, already snatching up the menu and rattling off several more dishes — the most expensive ones very much included. Ma En heard her tell the server clearly: "And two bottles of sake to start."

He didn't care about the price and couldn't tell one sake brand from another, but he could see the bottles when they arrived — each one a size larger than a Mainland beer bottle. When he checked the alcohol content, that was higher too. He shot Hirota Masami a look. You're sure about this?

"Fair warning — if you get drunk, I'm not carrying you home." Half-serious, half-bluff.

"Drunk? From this much?" Hirota Masami scoffed, looking every bit the seasoned campaigner.

"Seriously, what kind of editor are you?" Ma En eyed her with suspicion.

"The fashion-related kind."

"Liar."

"Then tell me — how do you think I know so much about Terahana-san's personal life?"

"Maybe you're a tabloid editor who plies people with drinks and trades favors for access. What kind of 'feature coverage' are we talking about here, exactly?" Ma En muttered.

Hirota Masami only gave him a disdainful sidelong glance. A faint "Heh" was all she offered.

"Honestly, I don't think you kicked the door tonight because you thought some kid was playing pranks either." She pivoted the topic toward the apartment — deliberately, like someone laying cards on a table one at a time. "What a terrible excuse. You're not the type to kick a door down over a child's prank. If it really were a kid, you'd never be that rough — you'd be worried about hurting them. Right?" She paused, then leaned in, dropping her voice to something conspiratorial. "So — did you actually see something?"

Ma En's hand, reaching for his ice water, paused for just a beat. If Hirota Masami hadn't been watching him the entire time, she might have missed it. Bullseye, she thought. She didn't care much for urban legends as a rule, but this feeling — the sense that something was actually happening, right here, involving someone sitting across from her — sent a small, guilty thrill through her. Even if the story turned out to be fabricated, the proximity alone gave it a strange immediacy.

She didn't like scary things. But situations like this — the kind you'd only ever seen on television, never experienced firsthand — those, she had to admit, made her curious.

"Your room has been in the newspapers, you know. Magazines too — a certified haunted house. And the timing of your move-in is almost too perfect. Don't tell me you'd already heard about the hauntings and moved in on purpose?"

Ma En weighed his options. Deflect the topic, or give her enough of a warning to leave herself an exit? Telling her too much might draw her into the vortex on a wave of excitement — but saying nothing wouldn't protect her either. They were neighbors. The probability of her getting pulled in was high regardless.

"I was just looking for cheap rent. This room had the best value in the area." He organized his thoughts before continuing. "But there are some things that concern me. Hirota-san — how long have you lived in the apartment? How much do you know about the rumors surrounding my room?"

"I'm local. Lived in that building for three years." Hirota Masami tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, took a careful bite of meat, and said: "I'm not great with scary stories and rumors — never went out of my way to dig into anything. But..." She hesitated, then pressed on. "More than the haunted Room 4, isn't Room 5 the strange one? It's never had a single resident — how is that possible? There's no way a unit goes unrented that long. I've heard Room 5 is the only unit in the building that someone actually purchased. But who's the buyer? Why buy just the one room and then never so much as set foot in it? Doesn't that deserve more attention than a ghost story?"

Ma En wasn't surprised to hear about other rooms. He'd already anticipated that when the murder occurred, every tenant on the thirteenth floor would have been questioned by police. But the materials Kamishima Kousuke had passed along contained no corresponding investigation reports. Maybe Kamishima's reach had limits. Maybe the police investigation had gaps. Maybe someone had hidden something. The possibilities were numerous, but the intelligence gap was real — and any gap was something worth filling.

Hirota Masami had lived there three years. It was entirely plausible she'd picked up things no report contained.

"That is concerning. Room 5..." Ma En paused. "It's truly never been occupied?"

"I'm in Room 6 — right next door. Three years, and I've never once sensed any sign of life from that unit." Hirota Masami set down her chopsticks. "Even if our schedules didn't line up, if someone actually lived there, you'd bump into them once or twice in three years. We're right on top of each other."

"What about Room 3?" Ma En asked.

"Room 3..." Hirota Masami's expression shifted — open disgust. "There's a revolting person in Room 3. Always clammy, always shut up inside, never comes out."

Clammy and never went out. Ma En's interest sharpened. But Hirota Masami's description was too vague to sketch a concrete picture.

"How many times have you actually seen this person?" he asked.

"Once a month, roughly. I genuinely wonder how he's still alive." She spoke about the Room 3 tenant the way someone would discuss food that had gone off — reluctantly, but unable to stop. She put her chopsticks down. "Let me tell you something. Every time I've seen him, he's wearing the same clothes. Three years. Three years of the exact same outfit."

"Build?"

"Obese. Looks like he could drop from illness at any moment."

"But living in a building that expensive, he must have some money. What does he do for a living?" Ma En pressed.

"Who knows? I'm practically broke myself — everything goes to rent." Hirota Masami went back to eating. Her mouth said the neighbor was detestable, but she kept talking. The disgust stayed on her face, yet she made no move to change the subject — as though some part of her wanted to keep going.

"You said he's clammy. What does that mean, exactly?"

"He's obese, perpetually wiping sweat, his clothes are always damp, and even the money he handles comes away wet." Hirota Masami wrinkled her nose. "You have to give the building manager credit — she takes his rent money without batting an eye."

"You said the clothes are always the same, but there must be seasonal changes. Spring, summer, fall, winter —"

"That's the strange part. It doesn't matter what season it is — he looks drenched in sweat regardless. Always the same black shirt and white suspender trousers." Hirota Masami leaned forward, her voice picking up speed. "And I've heard that he was already like this before I moved in. Everyone else in the building seems to have just... gotten used to it."

"Sounds like an odd person," Ma En said mildly.

Hirota Masami was not satisfied. "Just odd?"

"When the murder case happened, the police came to investigate, didn't they?" Ma En shifted the topic away from the strange neighbor. Hirota Masami's description nagged at him, but without seeing the man in person, he couldn't draw any conclusions. And if the tenant truly was something worth worrying about, the more he discussed it here, the more likely the woman across from him — who claimed not to care for frightening things — would start digging into what she'd already noticed. Ma En understood exactly how dangerous that kind of curiosity could be.

People had a remarkable talent for walking toward their own destruction.

"Yes, the police came." Hirota Masami nodded, glanced at the nearly empty plates, and said, dissatisfied: "Let me order more."

"Go ahead." Ma En nodded. While she flagged down the server and reordered, he organized his thoughts. Everything Hirota Masami had described — the police would know about it too. If the situation was genuinely abnormal, then the fact that it had been suppressed pointed to problems within the police themselves. Kamishima Kousuke hadn't managed to extract the full file. As a newcomer, Ma En certainly couldn't obtain internal police intelligence through any legitimate channel. He'd have to visit these information gaps in person — but this was nothing new.

Back home, pursuing the bizarre had never been convenient either. He was a post office civil servant. He had ways of finding money, but the moment you stepped into another department's jurisdiction, you were treading on toes. When necessary, he'd had to use unconventional methods.

Japan's political landscape was a thing unto itself — a spider's web that draped over every aspect of daily life. Politics, civil services, public safety, national security — everything here was more tangled and more sensitive than back home. Even the local police bureau was almost certainly a battleground where competing political ideologies and interests clashed. He could see it clearly in the way Kamishima Kousuke had gone out of his way to inflate the standing of someone like Ma En — an International Party Member already flagged for re-review — just to insert him into the construction of a single new school.

Back home, one party meant one hierarchy. However many factions existed, they all answered to the same command structure. Japan was different: two parties in open opposition, locked in coexistence. And from an international relations perspective, maintaining the current political equilibrium mattered enormously. Too many constraints prevented religious reform from being completed. Forcing one-party rule through heavy-handed measures wasn't an option.

How to use unconventional methods. How to walk the edge of what was permissible while keeping his Party Member status intact. These were questions that demanded serious thought.

"I hear your country has quite a lot of religions?" Ma En said.

Hirota Masami hummed as if this were the most obvious thing in the world. "We have eight million gods."