Chapter 21: A Bowl of Udon

Ma En's ears had been noisy for a while. He couldn't make out what anyone was saying — couldn't even be sure they were human voices. Some slow, slithering friction rolled through the sound, like a snake passing through grass, punctuated by the occasional drip of water. Something slender and rough wound around his ankle, crawled to his waist, circled his neck. Yes, like a snake — but Ma En knew, at a level beneath thought, that this wasn't how a snake felt. A snake's body was smooth and cold. What coiled around him carried the temperature of a human body. Even the smell. In that blur — that half-waking state where consciousness reaches for the surface and keeps sinking back — he felt himself going under again.

Warmth. Warm air, warm light.

Brightness pressed through his eyelids. The cells in his body seemed to stir from hibernation. He shuddered and jolted awake. He was slumped facedown at his desk. He'd been researching too long last night, lost the fight against exhaustion, and fallen asleep right there. As the memory resurfaced, sharper ones followed immediately behind.

He remembered clearly what had happened to his body while studying the Seven Transmutations of the Profound Mystery Records. He was definitely injured — yet now he felt nothing at all, as if last night's agony had been pure hallucination. Speaking of hallucination: the half-dream sensation of something snake-like coiling around him surfaced again. But when he looked down at the floor, looked around the room, searching for the source of those blurred sounds and images, he found no trace of anything.

Ma En rubbed his temples. He folded the Seven Transmutations of the Profound Mystery Records and his research materials neatly, returned them to the drawer, and went to the washroom. The strange experiences of last night and the dream, set against this morning's perfect normalcy, felt like something he might have imagined entirely. He checked the mirror. No marks on his body. A sense of disorientation churned through his head. Even so, he set the questions aside. He'd prepared for exactly this kind of thing — situations designed to make a person paranoid — long before he'd decided to pursue the strange.

Just last night, he'd completed the relevant psychological adjustments. If those long-prepared methods couldn't prevent abnormalities at the level of consciousness, then worrying further was pointless. He was already doing everything he could. He used the time spent washing up to run a rapid self-cognition check, comparing his current answers against the ones he'd stored. The changes were negligible.

The abnormal impulse that had surfaced while studying the Seven Transmutations had also vanished without a trace. He still remembered how he'd recognized it: blood sacrifice.

But by the results of his self-check, he'd developed neither the urge to harm others nor any thoughts that violated universal values. He was still Ma En. A Mainlander who'd fled to Japan carrying something dangerous and bizarre. A disgraced Party member facing re-review of his qualifications. On his second day in Japan, as if heaven itself were looking out for him, he'd found not only a preliminary foothold but a series of strange events he'd dreamed of encountering.

All of which he set aside.

Ma En remembered clearly: he'd arranged with the ramen shop's assistant girl that as long as he kept coming to eat, she'd share the materials she'd collected about Room 4. From this moment on, new schedules, new plans lined themselves up in his mind one by one. A packed timetable meant a full life. Wasn't that something to be glad about?

Ma En faced the mirror, smoothed his hair, straightened the cuffs of his dark formal suit, and pushed the knot of his deep red tie up snug. He pressed a finger to the corner of his mouth and nudged it upward, producing a warm smile. His days at the post office had taught him the importance and variety of smiles — and which kind suited him best. Working or not, carrying this smile was never wrong.

On his way out, he took the large black umbrella as usual. He hesitated only before the deep red fedora, hanging on the same rack. But he took it down and put it on. It was somewhat conspicuous, and the Hirota-san who'd given it to him seemed to carry secrets that weren't entirely proper — but he had no intention of spurning her kindness. He trusted his judgment from last night. At the very least, Hirota-san's reactions during dinner and their evening out hadn't been an act. If that judgment proved wrong, the consequences would come for him. He was willing to bear them.

He wore the fedora with that resolve. The deep red, in his eyes, was the harshest test of his own judgment.

Ma En stepped into the hallway and confirmed the mechanism behind his door was functioning normally, then glanced left and right at the neighboring units. Hirota-san would have left for work long ago. Room 5 showed no activity. The tenant in Room 3 gave no sign of emerging. Rooms 1 and 2, compared to last night, carried more signs of life — still silent, but the traces of daily comings and goings were easy to spot.

In the daytime, this floor was entirely normal.

Ma En took the elevator down to the first floor and confirmed the status of the lock repair with the building manager. When he'd reported the issue last night, the relevant repair shop had already been notified. If he couldn't be present when the locksmith arrived, he'd need to sign a delegation agreement so the manager could supervise on his behalf. These procedures were reportedly quite strict under local rental apartment regulations. What interested Ma En was the variety of repair shops in Japan — not limited to home renovation. Even house planning and construction could be fully delegated to them.

Three repair shops held contracts with the apartment building, all well-known local establishments. Two operated only within the district; the third had expanded to other prefectures, ranking nationally. How great their reputations truly were, someone who'd just arrived in Japan couldn't appreciate.

Contract limitations meant no private customization — but as long as the door lock got fixed, that was all that mattered.

Clean streets, clean sky, as bright as the day before. Ma En walked along the road and again felt a few pedestrians' eyes land on him, but the gazes withdrew immediately. Most people wore the look of someone rushing somewhere — quick steps, no interest in anyone else's outfit. Ma En suspected his appearance might draw attention, but he quickly spotted people dressed far more conspicuously. Some had hair in every color of the spectrum. A few men wore garishly patterned tight pants or glossy leather. Mixed in with a crowd of formally dressed office workers, a deep red hat didn't make him especially remarkable.

Ma En sniffed the air lightly. A hint of humidity. The temperature had risen slightly from the day before. Summer was closing in.

When Ma En reached the ramen shop called Ichiraku, a number of regulars had already settled in, same as yesterday. He recognized several faces. Their seats hadn't changed much either. But the shop wasn't full — also the same as yesterday. Supposedly, busier restaurants had customers queuing outside for ten minutes or even an hour before getting in, and if your luck was bad, what you wanted might be sold out by the time you sat down.

Ichiraku's traffic wasn't that intense, but walking in to find an open seat right away was still uncommon. Ma En figured his luck today was decent enough.

"Good morning." Ma En sat down at the bar counter and addressed the busy owner. "Any ramen recommendations today?"

"Had the pork bone yesterday?" the owner asked without looking up.

"I did."

"Then try the udon with fried tofu." His voice was as loud and steady as ever, the rhythm easy, the kind that made a customer feel, without quite meaning to, that they were being taken care of.

Asuka, the part-time kitchen assistant, was still busy on the other side.

"Asuka is a high school student, right?" Ma En asked casually.

"Just graduated," the owner said.

"Never considered university?" Ma En asked. "She could keep drawing manga in college. And if the manga career doesn't pan out, a degree makes finding work easier."

"Asuka's no academic star." The owner didn't seem concerned. "Girls these days — even with a university diploma, finding satisfying work isn't easy. If the manga thing doesn't work out, helping in the shop is fine. At least nobody's going to push her around."

Ma En shrugged. He didn't know enough about Japan's situation to argue, and the owner clearly had his own reasoning.

The words had barely left them when the owner set the udon with fried tofu on the counter. Ma En examined the bowl. The broth was brighter and clearer than yesterday's pork bone. The noodles differed in color and width. The toppings looked more refined, more generous — one glance was enough to stir appetite. But given yesterday's pork bone ramen, Ma En didn't set his expectations too high for flavor.

He took a sip of broth. As expected, the seasoning was mild. At that moment, the owner slid a bottle of soy sauce across the counter. "You seem to prefer stronger flavors."

Ma En was certain — yesterday and today alike — that he hadn't shown the slightest dissatisfied expression. The owner's attentiveness caught him off guard.

As if reading Ma En's look, the owner smiled. "I've been making ramen for a lot of years. I'm still pretty sensitive to what my customers want."

"What gave me away?" Ma En touched his cheek.

"Your tongue." The owner's tone was warm. "When you drink broth — the way your tongue moves, your mouth, your eyes — it all tells me whether the customer's satisfied. Half guessing, half reading, I can usually tell which flavors they lean toward."

"That's genuinely impressive," Ma En said, and meant it.

"Nothing special. Do anything long enough, you pick up a few things." The owner set down his work and called toward Asuka, who was still washing dishes: "Didn't you promise to bring materials for the customer? Go get them."

"Got it." Asuka shook the water from her hands, pulled out a towel to dry them, and disappeared into the back.

Ma En removed the deep red hat, set it between his knees, grabbed his chopsticks, and slurped noodles with abandon. Two or three mouthfuls eliminated a third of the bowl. The piping-hot food drilled into his throat, straight down to his stomach, and he felt his body warm slightly. Every physiological function was running in sync. Which made last night's pain seem even more like something he'd imagined.

"If Asuka ever tells you she wants to visit your room, please refuse." The owner spoke softly from behind the counter. "Maybe you don't believe in that kind of thing, but we adults — we worry."

"Don't worry. I've never once considered bringing her there." Ma En's tone was so matter-of-fact that the concern in the owner's eyes eased visibly.

"Actually, I know a few things myself. You know Sanchoumoku Park?" The owner paused before continuing. "If you're interested, walk straight in from the main entrance, keep going past where the formal paths end, into the deeper area — you'll find a shrine. I've heard every tenant of Room 4 has been to that place."

"Every one of them?" Ma En already knew about Sanchoumoku Park. Yesterday at the fountain plaza, two elderly residents had mentioned it.

"That area of the park used to be a cemetery. The shrine was built to memorialize the people buried there — supposedly has the power to ward off evil." The owner's tone turned guarded. "I'm someone who tends to believe in that sort of thing. But when that shrine was built, nobody knows — not to this day. It should be quite old, by all appearances, yet absolutely no records of it exist."

"Not even in the local chronicles?" Ma En asked.

"Nothing," the owner said. "If there were, newspapers and magazines would've reported it years ago. The Room 4 urban legend was enormous back in its day. Supposedly even the police, when they went to investigate cases, would privately stop by the shrine — pay their respects, pick up protective charms, that sort of thing."

"But the shrine isn't exactly a secret, is it?"

"Not many people know about it, but anyone who wants to find out can." The owner thought for a moment. "It's actually a well-known supernatural spot too — people use it for courage tests, TV programs, things like that. But nobody goes there for no reason. And yet every single Room 4 tenant did. Doesn't that strike you as strange?"

"Every one of them went without a clear reason?" Ma En pressed.

"That part I don't know. But so many people, every last one making the trip — that alone is bizarre. Coincidence can't stretch that far."

"Not every tenant died, though."

"Right — some who went were perfectly fine. But when it comes to coincidence, it still nags at you." The owner nodded with a thoughtful expression. He clearly wasn't entirely averse to the subject. It was only when Asuka emerged from the back that he immediately assumed the air of someone who hadn't been discussing anything at all, turning to stir the broth in the pot.