That day, I slept the whole day through.
I ate food someone else had made. I let someone else cool my forehead. Drifting in and out, I sensed someone coming to check on me again and again. The cool towel was changed over and over. Beside my pillow, Komugi's warm body was always pressed close.
In the evening, when the fever had dropped a little, I opened my eyes blearily.
On the small tray by my pillow were a fresh feeding cup, some cooled boiled water, and a single note. In four different hands.
Get better soon, okay
Rest up and take it easy!
Don't push yourself. We'll be right here.
Not welcome home this time—good night, Mr. Manager
I held the note to my chest.
Outside the window, the snow had stopped at some point. Through a break in the clouds, a pale winter moon was shining in.
Tomi. It seems the day has finally come when I can lean on someone.
I murmured it in my heart. And I fell into a deep, deep sleep once more.
Three days later, when the fever was completely gone, the doorbell at Nightlight's front entrance rang.
When I opened the door, a distinguished old gentleman was standing there. A well-tailored but never flashy gray coat. Polished leather shoes, snow brushed off. He had to be past seventy.
The moment I saw him, I caught my breath.
"...Pierre."
"It's been a long time, Kashiwagi."
The old gentleman smiled softly, his face deeply lined. Back when I was in the spotlight, he was the legendary general manager who'd moved from one of the world's great hotels to the next. The one and only mentor I'd ever had.
"How did you find this place?"
"I sent a single telegram, and one of your old friends told me. A parting gift from the proprietress of that ryotei, the one who passed away."
Pierre narrowed his eyes fondly.
"At the funeral, this address turned up among her belongings. I simply had to see you. So I came all the way to Japan."
I was at a loss for words. This man, who knew the very top of the world. Coming to visit someone like me, who'd thrown it all away and run.
"...Please, come in. It's a modest place, but."
I bowed my head and invited him inside.
The four of them were in the living room. When they saw the old gentleman, they looked bewildered.
"Everyone. This is my mentor, from way back."
When I introduced him, Pierre bowed deeply to the four of them. It was the flawless, beautiful bearing of a man who'd spent his life attending to the world's most important people.
"How do you do. Thank you for looking after Kashiwagi."
The four hurriedly bowed back.
I went into the kitchen.
"I'll make tea right away. And something light."
"No, Kashiwagi."
Pierre stopped me.
"Today, won't you let me make it? ...No, that's not quite it. You're still not quite yourself, are you? I can tell by your face."
With that, Pierre looked at the four of them.
"Young ladies. Might I tell you a little story from the old days? About Kashiwagi here."
The four of them froze.
I started to say something. Yume stopped me with a look. A look that said, let us hear it.
"Kashiwagi, you see,"
Pierre began slowly.
"in my fifty years of service, of everyone I saw—he was without a doubt the finest concierge of all."
The living room went silent.
"There was a royal from a certain country who was never satisfied with any first-class hotel in the world. A difficult man; no one could make him smile. And the dish Kashiwagi set in front of him,"
Pierre closed his eyes.
"was nothing more than rice porridge."
The four of them caught their breath.
"Rice... porridge," Mahiru repeated softly.
"Yes. Perfectly ordinary, plain white rice porridge. But that royal took one spoonful of it—and wept. 'This tastes like my mother's,' he said. No one knew what his mother's cooking had tasted like. Only Kashiwagi saw through to the loneliest place deep in the man's heart."
Pierre opened his eyes and looked at me.
"He isn't simply a good cook. He's a genius at seeing the hunger in people's hearts. Not what they want to eat, but what they're starving for. That was the kind of man he was."
I stood in a corner of the kitchen, looking down. It's nothing so grand as all that.
"With one phone call from him, the world moved. Myself included, the most renowned people in the world would lend him a hand with anything, if it was for him. And the reason this house can be kept up so peacefully now—"
Pierre glanced up at the ceiling.
"is this old man's small attempt at repaying him. Long ago, when I'd been driven to the point of thinking it was all over for me, he saved me with a single dish. With this much, I haven't paid back even half that debt. Though I've had him pretend not to know about it."
"...Huh?"
Yume's eyes went perfectly round.
"W-wait. So that means, Mr. Manager is, like, a seriously amazing person?"
"Amazing doesn't begin to cover it."
Pierre gave a wry smile.
"Hotels all over the world tried to poach him. With enormous salaries. I asked him to come back many times myself. But not once did he say yes. He chose to be the manager of this little house."
Pierre's eyes softened.
"I always wondered. Why a man who could stand at the very top of the world would choose such a—forgive me—such a humble place."
I was making tea. My hands were trembling a little.
"But having come here today, I understand."
Pierre slowly looked around the living room. The creaking hallway. The warmth of the fireplace. The big dining table of solid wood. And the four girls.
"Here, there is what he wanted all along," Pierre said quietly.
"In that other world, he made millions of 'guests' happy. But no one ever worried about him. Even when he was tired, no one noticed. A 'handy tool' doesn't need rest, after all."
My hands stopped.
"What he needed was something much, much smaller. Just four people would do. People who'd worry about him. People who'd say 'Welcome home.' —A place to come home to."
Pierre looked at me.
"You found that here, didn't you, Kashiwagi."
I stood rooted to the spot, still holding the tray.
"...Why did she," Yume asked quietly.
"Do you know why the old lady—Tomi—chose Mr. Manager?"
Pierre nodded.
"I never met her. But I'm sure that she—took one look at Kashiwagi and understood. 'Ah, this is someone who knows nothing but how to give.' That's why she entrusted this house to him."
Pierre narrowed his eyes.
"Because the ones who can heal the hurt most gently are those who've been hurt the same way. That old woman understood that."
The four of them all looked at me at once.
There was no fear in their eyes. Knowing everything—who I really was, the legend—they just looked at me with warm, steady eyes.
In the kitchen, the water came to a burbling boil. When I poured it into the teapot, the green scent of unfurling tea leaves rose up.
But there was one question the four of them were holding, deep behind those warm eyes, one they couldn't bring themselves to say aloud—and I hadn't noticed it yet. Nor did I know that, now that this man who knew the very top of the world had come calling, someday someone would end up saying it.