On the paper under the magnet on the refrigerator door, she rewrote the number.
The number she rewrote it to was "23."
The tip of the pen she rewrote it with was the same thickness as always.
Written with a pen of that same thickness, the "23" was shaped just slightly rounder than usual. At the moment she wrote it, the strength in her fingers had loosened for two breaths' worth.
From beyond the hallway, the blue light of the study was repeating, once more, a breath half a beat late.
She picked up her smartphone.
On the screen of the smartphone she had picked up, she opened her chat with Toru, one breath's worth.
In the input field she had opened, she typed this, one breath's worth.
Toru. About the house—before the wedding, there's something I want to talk about.
She gazed at the words she had typed, one breath's worth.
Over the very last word of what she gazed at, "about," the nail of her index finger hesitated, one breath's worth.
At the very end of its hesitation, the nail pressed the send button.
Above the button she had pressed, the message on the screen rose, one breath's worth, into Toru's side of the chat.
Just below the risen message, Toru's read mark lit up, one breath's worth.
Just below the lit read mark, Toru's reply lit up, one breath's worth.
The reply that lit up said this.
Understood. I'll come tonight.
Just below the very end of "I'll come tonight," one more line lit up.
Any time is fine.
Over the word "fine," Mitsuki let her eyes fall faintly shut, one breath's worth.
At the very back of her closed eyes, for one breath's worth, a faint smile of a kind she didn't usually let out lit faintly.
Inside her own head, Mitsuki held the lit smile down, one breath's worth.
Still holding it down, she turned the screen face down.
She set the face-down screen on the dining table.
During Ichotei's afternoon break, on the chair at the very back by the kitchen's rear door, Sudo turned a page of a magazine, one breath's worth.
At the very back corner of the page she turned, Sudo murmured this, one breath's worth.
"That Kiryu guy was in here again."
Mitsuki did not stop the hand chopping the onion.
"At the hair salon?"
"Nope. This time I picked it up at the station kiosk. An interview."
"I see."
"You've heard of him, Mitsuki? That guy, these days?"
"I have."
"It wasn't his usual 'We don't need chefs anymore.'"
"...It wasn't?"
"It wasn't. It said something about, like, stopping in your tracks. Even after reading it, I can't really put it into words. But that man's voice felt different from usual."
Mitsuki let the breath of the hand chopping the onion stop faintly, for just one breath's worth.
At the very end of that stopped breath, her hand returned to the onion at its usual speed.
"I see."
"Yep. That's all."
Sudo didn't press any further. She folded the magazine, straightened the front of her apron, and went back toward the dining room, one breath's worth.
At the very last of Sudo's retreating back, inside one of Mitsuki's breaths, the two syllables of Kiryu's name rose faintly, for just one breath's worth.
Beyond the two syllables that rose, the "23" on the paper under the magnet on the refrigerator door came back, faintly, one breath's worth, to the inside of her head.
At the very end of the "23" that came back, Kiryu's two syllables drifted faintly, one breath's worth, to the outside of her head.
Even after she got home, Mitsuki did not ask the blue light of the study about those two syllables.
"Dad. Toru's coming tonight. I'm going to tell him everything about the house."
Everything?
"About you, Dad. About the Notice of Dismissal. About you stopping the day after the wedding."
You can tell him everything. You could have kept it hidden, but you don't have to.
"Okay. Dad, are you going to introduce yourself to Toru?"
For two breaths' worth.
"Two breaths?"
"Nice to meet you," and "Look after what comes next." Two breaths.
"Is 'Look after what comes next' something you say now?"
It's something that can only be said now.
"There isn't long left, you know?"
Then the "what comes next" that isn't long is what I'll ask him to look after.
"Okay."
In the afternoon, Mitsuki stood in the kitchen.
From beside the sink of the kitchen where she stood, she took out a bowl, one breath's worth.
Into the bowl she had taken out, she cracked a single egg.
The shell of the cracked egg was kept outside the bowl; not one piece got mixed in.
She gazed at the yolk of the egg in the bowl, one breath's worth.
To the yolk she gazed at, she added nothing.
Adding nothing, she stood for one breath's worth, then two.
At the very end of the two breaths she stood, Mitsuki laid plastic wrap over the bowl, one breath's worth.
She smoothed the wrap she had laid over it with her palm, one breath's worth.
With the wrap still smoothed over it, she put the bowl on the middle shelf of the refrigerator, one breath's worth.
The egg inside the bowl she had put away sat there under the refrigerator light, the outline of its yolk held intact, one breath's worth.
"Dad. Just now I cracked one egg, didn't do anything with it, and put it in the fridge. Dad, were you watching?"
I was watching.
"It wasn't an egg for the last move."
It wasn't the last move.
"Right."
"A practice egg. Maybe not even practice."
Not even practice? Then what egg is it?
"I don't know."
An egg you don't know.
"I don't know."
Not knowing, you put it away.
"I put it away."
Mm.
"Throwing it out was something I couldn't do, as a cook."
Mm.
Ken let one breath's worth of pause pass.
At the very end of the breath he let pass, Ken went on like this.
Mitsuki.
"Yes."
After the wedding, a morning will come when you crack four eggs.
"It'll come."
It'll come.
"Okay."
You'll crack four, and you won't hesitate, not even one breath's worth.
"I won't hesitate."
That you won't hesitate—I was able to confirm it just now, with the first one.
"Did I need to hesitate with the first one?"
You did.
"Okay."
"Dad, that answer's a little too kind."
Kind?
"Kind."
Mm.
"Dad, you're too kind this last month."
I'm always kind.
"Usually you're unfair."
Unfair and kind.
"Okay."
At night, the doorbell rang. Toru's footsteps were one breath more careful than usual.
When she opened the front door, Toru was standing there. Under the entryway light he looked at Mitsuki's face, lowered his eyes for one breath's worth, raised them again, and said this.
"Mitsuki."
"Yes."
"Just one thing, first. Tonight you'll tell me everything—is that all right?"
"...It's all right."
"Aren't you pushing yourself?"
"I am."
"I see."
"I am, but since you came, Toru, I can do it."
"All right."
Toru stopped for one more breath's worth, just short of the step up into the house.
Beyond the breath he stopped, he went on like this.
"Mitsuki. Is your father home?"
"He is."
"I still haven't said it properly to your father, have I."
"You hadn't said it."
"I'll say it tonight."
"Okay."
"May I say it?"
"You may."
Toru took off his shoes and set them side by side next to the shoe cabinet. They pointed one breath straighter than Aoi's shoes had.
At the very end of the hallway, the blue light of the study swayed one breath, half a beat late. Beyond the half beat that swayed, Ken was waiting.
Toru started walking toward the very end of the hallway. The blue light of the study glowed one breath at its ordinary strength.
At the step up from the entryway, Mitsuki listened closely, one breath's worth.
To her listening ears, from the very end of the hallway, Toru's voice reached her, one breath's worth, like this.
"Father. This will be the second time, since the night of our engagement. —I know this way of saying it is old-fashioned these days. Even so, it's the only way of saying it I have. Before the wedding, once more. Please give me Mitsuki."
At the step up from the entryway, Mitsuki almost smiled faintly, one breath's worth. Almost smiling, she didn't smile. If Toru knew it was old-fashioned and chose it, old-fashioned as it was, then those were the words Toru had chosen.
Beyond the very end of "Please give me," Ken's blue light repeated, for two breaths' worth, a breath half a beat late.
Beyond the repeated half beat, Ken answered like this.
...Yes. But I can't answer "give me." Mitsuki isn't mine, so I can't hand her over to you either.
At the very end of the hallway, Toru fell silent for one breath's worth.
At the very end of that silent breath, Toru's voice went on at its ordinary strength, like this.
"Yes."
Look after what comes next.
Beyond the one breath of "Look after what comes next," the blue light at the very end of the hallway swayed one breath as its ordinary blue.
Beyond the blue that swayed, the "23" on the paper under the magnet on the refrigerator door was lit faintly, one breath's worth, by the light of the night.
At the step up from the entryway, Toru put his shoes back on.
Mitsuki raised her voice, one breath's worth, toward the very end of the hallway.
"Dad. I'm going to walk Toru to his car."
Go on.
The blue light at the very end of the hallway glowed one breath at its ordinary strength.
At the step up from the entryway, Toru had his ear turned, one breath's worth, toward the very end of the hallway.
Beyond the breath he had turned it, Toru said this, at his ordinary strength.
"Father, I'll be taking my leave."
Mm.
The silver ring on her left ring finger was lit faintly, not by the usual blue of the study, but by the pale orange of the hallway light.
She closed the front door lightly from the inside. The air of the house went quiet, holding the hallway's orange and the study's blue as one continuous whole. Tomorrow morning, the number on the paper on the refrigerator would be rewritten to "22."