The carriage had settled into its rhythm: humming stabilizers, low conversation, the occasional sigh from someone whose call had dropped. Mira let the noise pass through her like static. The case rested against her shins, chain cold against her wrist, and she kept one hand on it as if it might decide to walk away without permission.
The boy two rows up had finally turned back to his toy car. The office worker opposite jabbed at his tablet, cursing in whispers when the signal lagged. Students laughed too loudly at the back. Across the aisle, the sloppy man in the wrinkled suit — the one who'd smelled of plum liquor since boarding — slouched lower, flask dangling between his knees.
He'd been quiet for almost ten minutes. Mira had counted. She almost believed she'd been spared.
Then his head tipped toward her, his grin too wide for the state he pretended to be in. "So," he said, voice bright, breath plum-sour. "Where you headed?"
Mira didn't move. "Forward."
He chuckled like she'd told a joke for his benefit. "Good answer. Practical. You and me, forward together."
"Wrong."
"Don't be like that." He swayed, flask wobbling. "Trips are boring. Gotta have company."
"I already have company." Mira raised her wrist, chain glinting. "This thing and me? We're inseparable."
The man blinked at the case, then back at her face, then grinned wider. "Lucky case."
She rolled her eyes and turned back to the window. Outside, floodlit farmland blurred into streaks.
He leaned farther into the aisle, too close to her armrest. "Name's Jin."
Mira sipped her jasmine tea without looking at him. "Unsolicited information."
"You don't wanna share yours? That's fine." He wagged his flask at her, voice pitched in mock secrecy. "Mystery makes you interesting."
"I'm aiming for unapproachable."
"Not working."
The steward glided up the aisle, smile polished, trolley humming softly. She paused at their row. "Would either of you care for something? Snacks? A drink?"
Before Mira could answer, Jin lifted his flask like a trophy. "We're good. She's with me."
Mira snapped her gaze sideways. "I'm not."
The steward hesitated. Her eyes flicked once — case, chain, Mira's hand. Then she smoothed her voice back into professional calm. "Of course. Enjoy your journey." She pushed on, leaving behind a faint citrus-cleaner scent.
Mira lowered her tea bottle onto the foldout table with a sharp clink. "Stop doing that."
"Doing what?"
"Claiming me."
He spread his arms, nearly hitting the office worker's tablet with his elbow. "You looked lonely."
"I wasn't."
"You are now, though, but with company. Balance."
Mira considered hefting the case into his shin. Instead she said, "I could chain it to your neck. Balance that."
"See?" Jin said brightly. "You're funny. We'll get along fine."
The boy two rows up had turned again, staring. "Daddy, that man's drunk."
His father gave Mira a weary half-smile. "Don't mind him. Salarymen drink too much."
Jin clutched his chest like he'd been insulted. "Salaryman? Cruel stereotype. I'm sales." He raised the flask, then fumbled deliberately, letting it wobble near his knee.
The boy giggled. His father turned him around with a mutter about manners.
The train dipped into a curve. Luggage shifted above. Jin's flask slid sideways off his palm — and his hand snapped upright, precise, catching it before a drop spilled.
Too fast. Too sharp.
Mira's gaze locked on him. He caught her watching. He winked.
"Natural talent," he said.
She leaned back, chain pressing her wristbone. "Drunk my ass."
Jin reclined like a man who'd just scored a private joke. His flask dangled again, wrist loose, posture wobbling, but Mira had already seen it — the reflexes under the act. He wasn't drunk. Not even close.
Which meant he was performing, and performances were for audiences. Mira wasn't in the mood to clap.
"Go bother someone else," she said, voice flat.
"Why?" Jin tilted his head, grin stuck like a bad sticker. "You're the most interesting thing in this car."
"That's not a compliment."
"It should be. Everyone else is scrolling or sleeping. You're..." He gestured vaguely at her wrist. "Accessorized."
The case thunked against the floor as if to underline his point. Mira sipped her tea and ignored him.
"Hey, no judgment," Jin went on, cheerful. "I like a woman with style. And your style screams dangerous luggage chic."
From behind, a woman's voice sliced through: "Excuse me."
Mira turned. A passenger with lacquered hair and a handbag the size of her ego loomed over the aisle. Her face had that pinched look of permanent disapproval. "You're blocking the walkway."
Mira looked at the inch of space between her knees and the passing lane. "No, I'm not."
"Yes, you are," the woman insisted, voice rising. "People can't get by with that thing in the way."
Jin covered his grin with his hand like a child hiding behind glass.
Mira looked at the inch of space between her knees and the passing lane. "Lady," she said, voice dry, "a fucking tank can pass through and you can't?"
Jin covered his grin with his hand like a kid caught laughing at the wrong funeral.
The woman flushed, clutched her bag higher, and marched off as though she'd won something.
Mira pressed her palm against the case. "Next one who complains is getting run over by that tank."
Jin's laugh burst out, loud enough to earn a glance from the office worker. "Oh, you're my new favorite."
Mira pressed her palm against the case. "You're next if you don't shut up."
"Worth it."
The office worker across the aisle finally looked up from his tablet, eyeing Jin with tired suspicion. "Some of us are trying to work."
"Work? On a train?" Jin leaned sideways, mock-incredulous. "Buddy, live a little. Buy some squid chips."
The office worker frowned at Mira as if expecting her to intervene. She didn't.
The steward reappeared, drone trolley in tow. "Sir," he said carefully, "we do have a quiet-car policy."
"Sure, sure," Jin said, wobbling upright like a puppet with one loose string. "I'll quiet down." He put a finger to his lips and made an exaggerated shhh that absolutely wasn't quiet.
The steward's eyes flicked to Mira again. "Are you with him, ma'am?"
"No," Mira said.
"Yes," Jin said at the same time.
The steward's practiced smile twitched, then repaired itself. "Enjoy your journey." He moved on quickly, as if escape were part of the job.
Mira exhaled. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why latch onto me?"
Jin tipped the flask as if considering. "You don't blend. Everyone else does the commuter shuffle. You sit like you're waiting for a storm."
"Maybe I am."
"Then I should be nearby." He winked. "I'm great in storms."
Mira rolled her eyes so hard it almost hurt. "You're insufferable."
"Not the first time I've heard that," Jin admitted cheerfully. He tipped the flask to his lips and let liquid slide down. His throat worked once. Then he let his head sag back as if the effort had broken him.
The boy up front turned again, whispering to his father. "Daddy, he's pretending."
The father shushed him with the urgency of a man not ready to admit what he'd noticed too.
The train swayed through another curve. A drinks can rolled off a seat and clattered across the aisle. Without lifting his head, Jin stretched his leg and caught it with the tip of his shoe, stopping it dead. Smooth, perfect control. Then he nudged it back toward the passenger, smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
Mira watched. He watched her watching.
His flask wobbled again, deliberate this time. "Still think I'm drunk?"
"I think you're an idiot," Mira said.
He laughed. "Close enough."
Jin tipped the flask again, throat moving in a swallow that might've been for show. Then he sighed, leaning back as though the seat had betrayed him. "You ever notice trains make everyone pretend? Office guys pretend they're working, students pretend they're not drunk, I pretend I'm drunk..."
Mira shifted her grip on the case. "And I pretend I care."
"Exactly." He pointed at her, sloshing plum liquor perilously close to the floor. "You get it."
Across the aisle, the office worker muttered again, "Some of us are working," without looking up from his frozen tablet.
"Sure you are, champ," Jin said, still smiling at Mira. "That document's totally gonna save the world."
The office worker glared, then returned to prodding the screen like it owed him money.
Mira let the silence sit. The train hummed, a mechanical heartbeat. Jin rocked gently with it, almost convincing again as the wasted salaryman. Almost.
"Seriously, though," he said after a beat, voice lower, "what's in the box?"
Mira blinked once. "Your business card, apparently."
He grinned. "Touché. But really—"
"Really," Mira cut him off, "it's not your concern."
Jin tilted his head, flask spinning idly in his fingers. "Everything's someone's concern on a train like this."
Before Mira could answer, a steward passed through again with a tray of drinks. Jin flagged him down with the enthusiasm of a man ordering a final round. "Two coffees," he said, then turned to Mira. "You like it black, right?"
"I like it nonexistent."
"Perfect," Jin said cheerfully. "Two blacks."
The steward hesitated, gaze flicking between them. Mira started to protest, but the tray already clicked and dispensed the steaming cups. Jin tipped a credit chit into the scanner with a flourish. "See? Travel buddies."
Mira pushed the second cup back across the foldout. "You're wasting your money."
"Company expense," he said with a wink. "Don't ask."
The coffee steamed between them. Mira ignored it. Jin sipped theatrically, then hissed as if it burned. "Still worth it."
He leaned forward suddenly, elbows on his knees, grin sharpening. "You know, if you want to keep something secret, chaining it to your arm isn't subtle."
Mira met his gaze. "If I wanted subtle, you'd be dead already."
For the first time his grin faltered, just a fraction. Then it returned, wider. "See, this is why I like you."
The train lurched into a tunnel, windows blacking into mirrors. Their reflections sat across from each other: Mira with her chain, Jin with his flask. Passengers blurred in the background, their faces ghost-lit by lenses and tablets.
A can clattered again somewhere down the car. Someone laughed too loudly.
Jin raised his flask in a mock toast to their reflections. "To chance meetings."
Mira didn't raise anything.
Jin clinked his flask against the untouched coffee like it was crystal. "To chance meetings," he repeated.
Mira didn't answer. Her reflection just stared back at him, expression flat, chain glinting like a second set of teeth across the glass.
The tunnel ended; farmland spilled back across the windows in a smear of sodium light. Jin sighed, leaning back with exaggerated drama. "Tough crowd. You'd think I was hitting on you."
"You are."
"Not true." He wagged a finger. "I'm assessing compatibility. Big difference."
Mira gave him a long, expressionless look. "Do I look compatible?"
He raised his flask, then his coffee, weighing the options. "You look caffeinated."
The office worker across the aisle groaned and shoved his dead tablet into his bag. "I'm never getting this report finished. My boss is going to kill me."
"Same," Jin said brightly, and the worker blinked in confusion.
Mira hid her smirk behind her tea bottle.
The steward returned, this time carrying a basket of neatly wrapped rice balls. Jin flagged him down with a dramatic wave. "Three of your finest, my good man. And some chopsticks for the lady."
"I don't want any," Mira said.
"She's shy," Jin stage-whispered, handing one over anyway.
The steward hesitated, caught between service and awkwardness, then deposited the bundle on Mira's foldout. "Please enjoy."
When he left, Mira slid the parcel back across. "Stop wasting money on me."
"Not wasted. Consider it research." Jin tore the wrapper open with his teeth. "Gotta see how people react when you shove food at them."
Rice grains clung to his tie. He didn't notice. Mira stared until he noticed her staring, then shrugged. "What? Hungry guy's a messy guy."
Her fingers tightened around the case handle. "Messy isn't the word I'd use."
"Slip of the tongue." He grinned, mouth full. "Or was it?"
The boy two rows ahead peered over the seat again, whispering, "Daddy, he's scary now."
His father hushed him quickly, eyes darting toward Mira's chain, then down again.
Jin chewed, swallowed, and licked his thumb. "Relax, kid. I'm everybody's friendly neighborhood drunk. Ask your dad."
The father stared resolutely at his seatback.
The train hit another curve. The rice ball Jin had balanced on his knee rolled sideways, but his hand shot out, lightning fast, catching it before it hit the floor. No wobble, no hesitation. Perfect balance.
Mira's eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face. He caught the glance and let the silence stretch a beat too long.
Then he grinned again, leaning back like nothing had happened. "Still think I'm drunk?"
"I think you're playing a part," Mira said quietly.
Jin's smile thinned. "And you're not?"
Before she could answer, the PA chimed overhead, voice smooth and detached: "Approaching Shizuoka. Estimated arrival: ten minutes."
Passengers stirred, stretching, packing bags tighter. Jin drained his coffee, grimaced, and shoved the cup under his seat. "Terrible brew," he muttered.
Mira leaned on her case, chain rattling faintly. "Then stop ordering it."
"Can't. It's tradition now."
The steward passed once more, collecting empties. Jin gave him a sunny wave. Mira kept her hands still, eyes closed as if napping.
But she wasn't. She was counting. Every movement Jin made, every too-precise gesture, every slip that wasn't a slip at all.
When she opened her eyes again, he was watching her, flask spinning idly between his fingers.
"Long trip ahead," he said softly. "Better get comfortable."
Mira shifted the case against her legs, the metal heavy, the chain colder than it should've been. She met his gaze head-on. "Don't tell me how to travel."
The train surged faster, farmland peeling away into streaks of light.
Jin's grin returned, infuriatingly casual. "Suit yourself."
The train swayed again. Jin leaned too close, grinning, flask wobbling.
Mira had endured enough. She stood, the case dragging a heavy clang against the floor.
"Where are you going?" Jin asked, too quickly for a drunk.
"To get comfortable," Mira said.
The steward glanced at her, then at Jin, and politely stepped aside to let her pass. She moved three rows down, slid into an empty window seat, and set the case back between her knees.
Two seats over, a woman with a sleek bob and a slim folio looked up from her notes. She offered Mira the kind of polite smile office neighbors give in elevators, then went back to her pages.
Mira pressed her wrist against the chain, feeling the bruise deepen. At least the drunk was behind her now.
For the moment.