At dinnertime, Ms. Tono had brought a guest to Nightlight. Ms. Nagumo, a well-known food coordinator. And the moment Ms. Nagumo took a bite of the nikujaga I'd served, she pressed me in a trembling voice: wasn't I the legend who had vanished from the spotlight?
Ah. I see.
It finally made sense to me. She was probably confusing me with someone.
Smiling, in my usual way, I tilted my head.
"You must have me mixed up with someone else."
Ms. Nagumo froze.
"I'm just the house manager."
"B-but..."
"Nikujaga tastes about the same no matter who makes it. It just happened to suit your taste, I think."
I glanced at her nearly empty plate and smiled.
"Oh. There's seconds, if you'd like."
With that, I took the ladle and walked briskly back to the kitchen. When I lifted the lid of the clay pot, steam billowed up again.
Four plus one frozen stares were stabbing into my back.
For a while, nobody in the living room said a word.
"...Huh...?"
The first to come back to her senses was Ms. Makabe. Her sharp manga artist's eyes were staring hard at my back in the kitchen.
"Just now... I feel like I heard some pretty wild words."
"She said 'legend,' right? That lady," Ms. Odagiri whispered, pointing at Ms. Nagumo.
"And 'important figures from all over the world,'" said Ms. Nanase.
Ms. Tono had gone pale.
"...I thought Mr. Manager was just, you know, a manager... Yesterday he had a little drink with me... He looked like he could really hold his liquor, and his face didn't change color at all... It can't be..."
In the four women's heads, all sorts of dots were starting to connect into a single line.
A man without a smartphone. A life with nothing but a landline. A well-worn knife and a single-handled pot, quietly excellent. A wristwatch, no cheap one, peeking out from the sleeve of a plain shirt. The casual way he lifted a heavy bag of rice with one hand. The skill with which he'd fixed the wobbly leg of the dining table before anyone noticed.
And nikujaga that was supposed to taste the same no matter who made it.
"...What is he, really?" Ms. Nanase whispered.
"She just said 'important figures from all over the world,' didn't she? I didn't mishear that, right?"
"Yeah. I heard it too," said Ms. Odagiri.
"...This Mr. Manager of ours," Ms. Makabe murmured.
"Who is he...?"
In the end, Ms. Nagumo had seconds of the nikujaga, two helpings in all, before she went home. As she was leaving, in the entryway, she clasped my hand in both of hers and bowed deeply.
"...Thank you for the meal. It's been a long time since food made me cry."
"You're exaggerating. It's only nikujaga."
When I said that, Ms. Nagumo smiled softly once again.
"Yes. Yes, you're right. I'm sure I just had you mixed up with someone else."
As if she'd sensed something, she said nothing more.
"But... may I come back to eat again? As an ordinary guest."
"Of course. Anytime."
I bowed and saw her off. On her way out, Ms. Nagumo turned around just once and looked up at the lights of the house as if they were dazzling.
"I'm glad you're here, in a place like this... Truly."
I didn't really understand what she meant by that. She seemed like a kind person, I thought. People who love cooking and can genuinely taste things are often good people. I didn't think about it any further than that.
When I went back to the kitchen, the four of them were huddled by the dining table, watching me. They had looks on their faces like they were seeing a ghost.
"...Is something wrong?"
When I asked, the four of them glanced at each other with a start.
"Um... Mr. Manager..." Ms. Tono began timidly. "Before, um... what kind of work did you..."
"Warehouse management, for a bit."
"A-and before that?"
"...Oh, this and that, I suppose."
Clearing away the teacups, I gave a vague smile.
I'd rather not talk much about the past. When I remember it, I feel like I can hear notification sounds ringing deep in my ears. It's over and done. That world has nothing to do with me anymore.
The glittering soirées, the phones that rang second by second, the impossible demands flying in from all over the world. I'd left all of it behind, across the sea.
Now I was just a "middle-aged guy who's good at cooking." Lighting up the nights of girls who've been hurt with warm meals. That alone, the job Tomi left me, was my job.
That was enough. No, that was what I wanted.
"That nikujaga, steaming and tasting like home, just happened to strike a chord with someone. There's no deeper meaning to it."
The four of them still looked like they couldn't believe it. I gently let their stares slide past me and clapped my hands.
"Oh. Right. The bath is ready."
"Huh?"
"The water should be just right. Go on ahead. Before you get chilled."
I said it in my usual middle-aged-guy voice.
The four of them looked at each other, all the fight gone out of them. Then, without anyone starting it, they burst out laughing.
"...Seriously, what is with you," Ms. Odagiri grumbled, laughing.
"This guy is way too much of a mystery."
That night, as the four of them went upstairs, their backs looked much lighter than on the first day. Almost none of their wariness remained. Instead, it was as if a little "?" had lit up in each of their hearts.
Washing the dishes, I tilted my head.
Everyone's been looking at my face a lot lately.
Maybe they weren't feeling well. Tomorrow, I'd make something to build up their strength.
At my feet, Komugi wagged his tail contentedly.
Tonight, too, the black landline in the manager's room kept its quiet silence. This house's number, which no one in the world knew. That someday a night would come when that phone would ring... I didn't know that yet.
I just stood in the steaming kitchen, thinking only about tomorrow.