Chapter 36: Connection

Night fell. The television ran through its advertisements. Ma En took a cup of instant noodles from the fridge, about to pour boiling water for dinner. He'd just stepped back into the living room when the doorbell rang. His hand paused on the noodles. His first instinct was relief — at least this time it was the bell. If someone had been knocking again, he might have been in for another strange encounter.

Even so, he stayed where he was. He let the bell ring several more times before calling out "coming, coming" and walking to the door. Through the peephole: Hirota Masami from Room 6. Just her. The hallway looked normal — no odd movements in the visible stretch. From her outfit, though, she'd only just come back from work. Still in office clothes.

She carried a large shopping bag. Several green onions poked out the top, and the bag bulged with what had to be a sizable haul of ingredients.

Making dinner herself? Ma En thought, and opened the door.

Their eyes met. Hirota was the first to speak. "Ma En-san, have you eaten yet?"

"...No." He already had a guess about where this was going.

Sure enough, her smile brightened. She shook the shopping bag. "I just picked up some groceries. Want to eat together?"

"You cook, Hirota-san?" Ma En feigned mild surprise.

"I think I'm pretty decent, actually. Compared to last night's yakiniku, though, it's nothing special." She looked a little self-conscious saying it, but he didn't hear much modesty in the words.

Ma En considered it. He couldn't think of a good reason to refuse.

"Give me a minute to get ready." He moved to close the door — but Hirota's hand shot out and caught the edge.

He hadn't been pushing hard, yet the grip that stopped him felt powerful. A forcefulness that didn't leave room for argument.

He looked at her, mildly puzzled.

"You're fine like this. You weren't planning to put that suit from last night back on, were you?" She eyed him with open suspicion. There'd been a moment of hesitation before she said it — they hadn't known each other long, and she couldn't claim to understand him deeply. But maybe last night's date had left too strong an impression, because the moment she saw him now, his image from that evening surfaced unbidden in her mind.

Maybe this man's closet literally has no other style of clothing. The thought arrived and immediately felt like a certainty.

She remembered clearly: back when she used to chat with her girlfriends, she'd said she liked men with a sense of fashion. That hadn't changed. And yet, applied to this young man called Ma En, the standard simply didn't hold. He couldn't be called fashionable by any stretch. She genuinely wondered whether he even knew what the word meant. But even if he wore the exact same outfit every day of the year — she let herself imagine it for a split second — it wouldn't feel like a flaw.

If pressed, she'd rather call it personality.

What was this double standard about? She felt a twinge of self-awareness, a flutter she didn't want to examine. But the professional composure of a working woman kept everything locked safely beneath the surface.

"I don't have other clothes," Ma En told her without a shred of apology.

His friends had given him grief about this too, but he personally saw no issue. He wasn't a secret agent who needed disguises. He was an ordinary civil servant. Wearing the same thing every day posed no obstacle to work or life. And wasn't it more efficient?

Just as she'd thought. The sheer unapologetic conviction in his answer confirmed every one of her guesses and gave her a clearer read on what kind of person this man was. She didn't feel the slightest disappointment. Instead, knowing one more thing about him sent a small thrill through her.

She took a longer look. Right now he wore a white dress shirt with suit trousers — and somehow still looked crisp and clean. Most people left the top button undone when wearing just a shirt. Ma En's was fastened all the way up, every button in place. He carried the scent of a recent shower. Hirota breathed it in, trying not to be obvious about it.

Compared to last night's full armor — the suit, the hat, the tie — he seemed lighter now. Fresher. Last night's version of him had undeniable appeal, but she thought she preferred this one.

"What is it?" he asked, noticing her silence.

"Oh — nothing." She pulled the door open with authority. Ma En let go. "Just come as you are," she told him.

"Like this...?" He felt it might be a little rude.

"We're neighbors. Don't be so formal." She grabbed his hand and tugged him out of the entryway. "Did you bring your key?"

"In my pocket." He said it casually, but noticed that her hand was cold.

He didn't know if that was simply her constitution or if something else was at play. He didn't comment. Instead, as if by reflex, he turned his hand and caught her wrist.

Pulse — also weaker than normal. But her build and her energy are fine. She doesn't seem like someone in poor health.

The observation formed and went nowhere, because in that same moment Hirota seemed to think of something and lowered her head, looking faintly shy. The expression didn't look faked. He thought of the Room 3 tenant's unhinged words from the other night. But watching Hirota's behavior with his own eyes, it was still hard to believe this woman harbored any kind of sinister design.

"If you're sure this is fine, then I won't stand on ceremony." Ma En left it there. No deeper investigation.

"Of course, of course — no problem at all." She lifted her head, beaming with genuine happiness.

Room 6's layout was much the same as Room 4's, except its occupant was a woman, and the difference showed: soft-lined decorations everywhere, an abundance of anything fluffy. Ma En took off his shoes at the entryway. Hirota produced a pair of slippers. They were shaped like rabbits. He hesitated.

A guest follows the host's lead, he reminded himself, and put them on.

Hirota glanced down, clapped a hand over her mouth, and dissolved into helpless laughter.

"Laugh again and I'm going in barefoot," Ma En said flatly.

She nodded, eyes watering — then caught sight of him again and cracked up all over. Ma En was convinced she was doing this on purpose.

Enough already, he thought.

By the time they reached the living room, she was still laughing. Ma En tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, but every time Hirota turned her head and saw him standing there in the rabbit slippers, whatever composure she'd managed collapsed instantly. He genuinely could not understand. Sure, the visual might be a bit awkward, but the reaction seemed disproportionate. What exactly had tripped her switch?

When she finally managed to stop, Hirota switched on the TV, settled Ma En on the sofa, and disappeared into the bedroom to change. She wavered for a moment — with a man in the apartment, what should she wear? This was the first time since becoming an adult that a man who wasn't family had set foot in her home. But the hesitation lasted only a moment. She walked out wearing what she'd normally wear: a T-shirt and leggings.

Ma En found himself suddenly unsure where to put his eyes. This was his first time inside an adult woman's home — alone with her, at that. Even dressed in something this ordinary, Hirota made him acutely self-conscious. Especially when she bent down to adjust the TV and the curve of her back caught his attention, sending a flicker of warmth to his face. He knew perfectly well that in a work setting, he'd never react this way. And back home, he'd never been in a situation like this with any woman.

Maybe it was his imagination, but the air in the living room seemed to carry a quality he hadn't noticed before — something beyond the scent particular to a woman's space.

His discomfort, though — the way he was clearly restless but trying so hard to hold still — gave Hirota the distinct impression that this man was more real than the version she'd met last night. Precisely because she liked him better this way, she kept stealing deliberate glances. Every time their eyes met, his gaze snapped away like he'd touched a live wire.

She found herself getting addicted to the game. Still, she hadn't forgotten that she was the one who'd invited him. That bag of ingredients wasn't going to cook itself.

"Watch some TV for now. Can I get you something to drink?" she asked.

"Just water."

The answer didn't surprise her. It was perfectly in character. Last night at yakiniku, they'd ordered drinks, but he'd barely touched his — not enough to suggest he couldn't hold his liquor, but there'd been a quiet, unbudgeable self-discipline about him that made it impossible to push more on him.

So she poured him a glass of plain water, exactly as he'd asked.

After that, Hirota turned to the kitchen and started preparing. The sight of her in an apron drew a few surreptitious glances from Ma En. A variety show played on the TV, but though his eyes faced the screen, his ears tracked the sounds from the kitchen. Hirota worked in silence, and the TV's noise filled the living room with a hollow quality that made the atmosphere uncomfortable. He wasn't used to this — being together with someone and saying nothing. Actually, back home he'd never felt strongly about it one way or another. It was only here, now, in this particular room, that the silence pressed.

"How was work today?" he asked, grasping for a topic.

"Not bad." Hirota answered immediately.

The moment she spoke, the awkward weight in the room evaporated. Even the sounds from the TV seemed to brighten.

"I went to Sanchoumoku Park today. I heard Terahana-san was there filming." Ma En couldn't find anything else to talk about. He'd only been in Japan two days — apart from what had happened in those two days, he had nothing. And half of what had happened couldn't be shared with Hirota. As for life back in the homeland, he'd already said plenty last night. He didn't want to go down that road again.

Besides, though he'd mentioned Terahana, the truth was he and Asuka hadn't seen her at all. The taxi driver had guessed she was there, and now Ma En was using the guess like loose change, spending it on small talk.

The sound of the kitchen knife stopped. Ma En heard surprise in Hirota's voice. "Sanchoumoku Park? What a coincidence — I was working there today too. Filming with Terahana-san."

The words Ma En had prepared froze on his lips, then retreated. He turned. Their eyes met — hers startled and slightly confused. But the surprise seemed genuine and simple. After a moment's eye contact, she looked down and went back to chopping.

"Really? You went to the park too, Ma En-san? I didn't see you at all. When were you there?" she asked.

"Morning. I was back by noon." He kept his tone casual. "Sanchoumoku Park is really something, though. Deep inside there's actually a supernatural site — an old cemetery, right? When I went, I ran into some crew members. Three of them carrying water buckets. They said they were fetching water for a guest."

"What? I was right there — you didn't come in? I remember a few ordinary visitors showed up around that time and got invited on as guests, but I didn't see you."

"I had to get back for the lock change. Couldn't stay." Ma En spoke as though it meant nothing. "But the area around that cemetery is genuinely unsettling. Do people really go there often?"

"Well, it's a supernatural site. Under normal circumstances, nobody would. But then again, everyone has moments when they want to visit a place like that, don't they?" Hirota's voice went soft. "If nobody were curious, there'd be no point making a show about it."

"And Terahana-san actually went in person?"

"She did. Programs with Terahana-san's involvement tend to get good ratings for the supernatural segments. She's so beautiful — but there's this transparency to her, almost otherworldly, that gives you an uncanny feeling. You know how people say 'an impossibly beautiful woman'? That's her. It's like you can almost see her soul. She never screams or panics the way other celebrities do on those shows, but she has a magnetism all her own. Nobody else can replicate it."

"She sounds impressive."

"She is. And incredibly knowledgeable, too."

"Is she the type who's actually into the supernatural?" Ma En pressed further.

"No. I haven't heard she dislikes it, but she doesn't seem particularly drawn to it either. She just... does the shows." Hirota trailed off, and the sound of oil hitting a hot pan filled the kitchen. The clatter of cookware picked up pace.