She left the magazine publisher's building. The green of the street trees swayed in the afternoon light.
She walked to the nearest self-driving taxi stand and got into the first car in line.
"To Odaiba, please. Somewhere I can see the sea."
Proceeding via the Metropolitan Expressway. Estimated travel time, twenty-two minutes.
In the inner pocket of her handbag was a thin resin case. It was the usual case for her earpiece, which she had picked up from the edge of the desk in the study without much thought before leaving the house.
On her way out, she had said this to Ken in the study:
"I'm taking it to the venue. But I won't take it out. I'll take it out when I get home."
Understood.
The moment she left the house's network, the earpiece and the cylinder in the study would be disconnected. Even so, she hadn't wanted to leave it at home. It would have been more accurate to say she hadn't wanted to leave her father at home.
The taxi stopped on the road along the Odaiba shore.
She got out.
She walked along the sidewalk toward the sea.
There were only a few people on the beach. It was a weekday afternoon. The wind was not yet cold.
She stopped just short of the seawall.
Several people were sitting on top of the seawall, looking at the sea.
Mitsuki sat on a bench in front of the seawall.
Ahead of her, the wide surface of Tokyo Bay opened out.
She took the thin resin case out of her handbag.
She opened it on her lap.
Taking the space of a breath, she slipped the slender earpiece inside over her ear.
Deep in her right ear, there was no trace of the small vibration that usually lit up there.
Instead of her father's voice, which should have carried through the bone, only the sound of the sea came in, following the shape of both ears.
For a while, Mitsuki looked at the sea with the earpiece still on.
The silver surface of the sea swayed dully in the afternoon light.
Somewhere offshore, straight ahead, was the stretch of water where she had scattered the bones three years ago, in spring.
She no longer remembered the exact spot.
She took off the earpiece.
She put it back in the case.
She laid the case in the inner pocket of her handbag, squarely on top of a sheet of paper. On the paper was written: Salt, 1.2 grams. Butter, 10 grams. Cheese, +5 to +7 grams. Scorch, +0.5 seconds.
The device in her pocket buzzed once.
It was Riko. All it said was, "So, the result?"
All she sent back was, "I won."
"Yes!" came back right away. Then, "Let me buy you a drink. Tonight." She replied only, "Can't tonight. Tomorrow," and laid the device face down on her lap.
A gust of wind blew hard from beyond the seawall.
The end of her handbag strap swayed on the bench.
She turned back toward the sea.
She hadn't meant to say it aloud.
"...Dad."
It was a voice barely more than a movement at the corner of her mouth. Once it was out, she laughed a little at herself for how small her own voice was.
"I won."
The sea did not answer. Its silver surface only shifted its rippling slightly.
That was fine. Until she got home, she would carry it alone.
Nishimura's two steps, she thought.
The two steps he had told her about six months ago, one night at the staff meal table at Ichotei, his teacup wrapped in both hands. One step was her own tongue, and the other was Ken's help.
Without those two steps, she thought, she could not have beaten Kiryu.
She stood up from the bench.
There was no longer a single figure on top of the seawall.
She turned toward the sea once more.
She bowed her head lightly.
Beyond her lowered head, somewhere offshore in Tokyo Bay, was the stretch of water where the bones had been scattered three years ago, in spring.
The bones had already been broken apart in the sea and mixed into the currents.
She took a taxi back home.
She opened the front door.
She went into the study.
She took the earpiece case out of her handbag and opened it on the edge of the desk. The moment she slipped it over her ear, the trace of vibration through the bone returned deep in her right ear, in its usual place.
"I'm home."
Welcome home.
"Dad."
Mm.
"Did you see everything?"
No. From the moment you left the house's network, nothing reached me.
"Oh."
The result?
"I won."
Ken was silent for a while.
—I see. Well done.
"Mm."
Mitsuki pulled out the chair and sat at the desk.
She rested her hand on the corner of the desk. The feel of the wood was the same as always.
"Dad. Can I confess just one thing?"
Go ahead.
"I think Mr. Kiryu's feeling sore about it right about now. And part of me thinks, just a little, good, I made him feel sore."
You can think that.
"I can?"
It's the winner's right. For one night, you can think serves him right. By tomorrow morning, you won't think it anymore.
"I know."
"Dad. I won."
Mm.
"Dad, I won."
Ken was silent for a long time.
The blue light of the cylinder on the desk stayed lit through that silence without wavering, just a little longer than usual.
It was the two of us who won.
"...Yeah."
"...We won together."
We won together.
The blue light on the desk sank, for the space of a breath, slightly thinner than usual. Having sunk, it returned to its former strength.
"Dad."
Mm.
"That just now was thinner than usual."
Was it.
"Are you tired?"
Ken was silent for a while.
—I don't know. On my side, there's a sense of having lagged about half a beat behind. But I can't put it into words very well myself.
"Oh."
She didn't ask anything more.
Mitsuki was quiet for a while.
Outside the study window, the light was already starting to turn to evening.
"Dad. Mr. Kiryu said he might come to the shore at Odaiba tonight."
To offer incense.
"He said he hadn't decided whether he was going or not."
...I see.
"I wish I could have let you two meet."
Ken was silent for a long time.
Today Kiryu met your father's proposition. Not in a paper, but on your egg. That filled in about half of what was lost when your father never got to meet him.
"Half."
The other half, Kiryu will fill in with his own hands.
"Okay. Dad. I don't need to go, do I?"
You don't need to go. If Kiryu goes to see anyone, it's your father, not you. Stay home.
"All right."
Night came.
Only the blue light in the study was lit.
She took the paper out of her handbag and spread it on the desk. Four lines of numbers, written down in the kitchen at home on the night of the eleventh.
"Dad. Starting tomorrow, is it okay to use these at Ichotei too?"
Use them for one dish only. Keep Ichotei's usual omelet as the usual omelet. This is a different dish. Put it on the menu as "the dish from the magazine showdown." —I don't think Nishimura will complain.
"I'll do that."
She folded the paper on the desk.
She put the folded paper back in the inner pocket of her handbag.
The blue light on the study desk was lit at the same strength as always.
Only its meaning had changed, just slightly, from six months ago.
"Dad. I'm cooking at Ichotei tomorrow too."
Understood. —Cook tomorrow too.
"I will."
Tonight, she did not close the study door.
She left it wide open and stepped out into the hallway. The blue light of the study stretched long into the hallway.
In the hallway, she took off the earpiece.
Before she took it off, the trace of vibration through the bone had stayed lit in its usual place for the space of a breath. Anywhere in the house, in the hallway or in the kitchen, it stayed connected.
She put it back in its case and set it on the edge of the desk.
She went to the kitchen.
She took an egg out of the refrigerator.
Without cracking it, she set it on the counter. It was an egg for cracking once more with her own hands tomorrow morning, before the prep at Ichotei.
The white light from the kitchen ceiling rested faintly on the surface of the shell.
The blue light of the study and the white light of the kitchen faced each other across the hallway.
Between the two lights, there was no longer a wall.
"Dad. Do you think Mr. Kiryu's made it to the sea?"
She called toward the study, but she had already taken off the earpiece. There was no trace of vibration through the bone deep in her ear. No answer came.
—That sea is a sea where Dad is too.
Mitsuki answered herself, inside. Offshore in Tokyo Bay, the bones had already mixed into the currents. Somewhere along those currents, Kiryu was probably standing right now. Even if he wasn't, one day he would.
She went to sleep.
She did not dream.
In place of a dream, a premonition of the cold stainless steel of the kitchen, before she lit the stove at Ichotei tomorrow morning, lingered lightly at the nape of her neck.
Beside that premonition, one more, a nameless one, rested faintly. —It was the outline of the blue light in the study sinking thinner, earlier, for the space of a breath. It was her imagination, she told herself once more before falling asleep. By tomorrow morning it should be back to its usual strength.
Only, the coldness at the nape of her neck on the night she had won stood at the bottom of a valley just slightly deeper than the coldness of that night six months ago.
That was what differed most from that night six months ago.