Chapter 11: Five Ants!
"Akinasa... that's a pretty name."
Ryuji's face was so dark it looked ready to drip; every word seemed forced through clenched teeth.
He drew a deep breath, made himself calm, and walked slowly deeper into the alley.
The blood on his chest had long since scabbed.
His eyes fell on the "female corpse" lying stiffly on the ground, but a closer look revealed it was no corpse at all.
It was an exquisite stage mannequin!
Even the head was a finely carved wooden doll, crafted so well it was almost absurd. The brows and eyes were lifelike, though the frozen terror on its face felt ironic.
Every trace of blood on it had vanished.
So it had been the demon's blood... Ryuji glanced back and, sure enough, the bloody trail had disappeared as well.
"Phew—not a wrongful kill. Still, this is a headache..."
Ryuji exhaled a long breath of stale air. Lowering his gaze, he wound the white cord of his short sword around little Zi, lash after careful lash, then hoisted it across his shoulder like a carrying pole and walked toward the mouth of the alley in the dawn light.
He needed food.
The sun was up; he hadn't had a proper meal all day. He rubbed his stomach—it felt hollow.
A man is iron, food is steel; skip one meal and you're starving.
He found a ramen shop open before dawn and sat on a chair that was slightly greasy yet warm, listening to a musical on the gramophone, but his mood didn't improve.
Because on his very first job he'd run into a scheming demon—an absurd match-up.
He'd rather trade head-on blows with some hulking brute than face an opponent who hid in the dark and played mind games.
That kind was always the most troublesome, the most draining.
Though the clash had been brief, the carefully laid trap, the perfect timing, the instant retreat after the failed ambush—
all painted a clear picture of Akinasa's style:
utterly cautious and a master at psychological warfare.
Her Blood Demon Art probably involved "sound" or "manipulation"; in the manga Enmu's abilities seemed similar... While he was musing, a voice bright as midsummer sun cut in: "Customer, your special pork-bone chashu ramen!"
Ryuji looked up.
A burly, buzz-cut man with a beaming smile stood before him—Bearded Uncle.
With thick, muscular arms he set an enormous bowl gently on the table; the bottom met the wood with a reassuring clack.
"Judging by your face, you've been up all night—you must be starving! Here, enjoy!"
Ryuji nodded. "Thanks."
His eyes dropped to the bowl and lit up.
The presentation was surprisingly refined.
A snowy white pork-bone broth, a generous tangle of noodles, two thick slabs of chashu, a sprinkle of shredded nori and naruto rolls,
finished with a pinch of vivid green scallion.
Steam rose, the aroma shot straight to his nose, and every hungry sense snapped awake.
"Let's eat."
He split the disposable chopsticks and slurped the first mouthful of noodles, deciding to worry about the demon after he'd eaten—thinking burned energy.
"Five ants!"
He'd barely chewed twice when the shout burst out of him.
The noodles were springier than expected; the rich broth exploded across his palate with every bounce.
Delicious—ridiculously so.
"Slow down, don't choke."
Bearded Uncle stood nearby, wiping already-clean arms with a faded towel, gaze drifting through the steam.
"My daughter... she's about your age. Works herself ragged to help the family, often eating past midnight."
She'd wolf her food down and holler 'five ants,' nothing ladylike about it.
"I tell her that all the time..."
He shook his head, mouth quirking like a father resigned to his rebellious girl: "She's the star of her troupe, always busy—too busy for a proper meal. I can't stop worrying."
Ryuji swallowed. "Stars are like that; lead actor, lots of rehearsals."
"Yeah, a star..."
Bearded Uncle turned away, knuckling his eyes, and looked at a yellowed photo on the wall.
Ryuji followed his gaze.
In the picture a younger buzz-cut man with a big grin held a five- or six-year-old girl high; both beamed with the warmth of days gone by.
Ryuji lowered his eyes, seemed to think of something, then emptied his bowl and called,
"Another bowl, boss!"
"Coming up—say, you're not from around here, are you, kid?"
Bearded Uncle asked while boiling noodles.
Ryuji's brow twitched.
How had he known?
He'd fished at sea plenty with Teacher Mochizuki; his skin wasn't pale, no different from anyone in this port town... accent? Some unconscious habit?
He smiled at the man. "Sharp eye, Uncle."
"Of course!"
Bearded Uncle preened, beard bristling with pride.
He thumped his chest.
"I've watched more puppet shows than you can count. Even dolls that look perfectly human—on stage I can spot them at a glance!"
"Actors and puppets together—others can't tell, but I can!"
Puppets?
Lifelike ones?
Ryuji recalled the wooden head that had fooled him in the alley.
A spark flashed in his eyes; he feigned curiosity. "Puppets that look human? Never seen anything like that..."
The question lit Bearded Uncle up completely.
He set the fresh bowl down, dragged over a wooden chair, and sat opposite Ryuji.
"Course you haven't—kid your age, fresh off the boat..."
He was just getting warmed up.
Ding-a-ling.
The bell made Ryuji instinctively reach for little Zi; last night's sudden ring and approaching footsteps had left him jumpy.
But no demon entered.
A figure hauled a half-height suitcase through the door with effort.
A girl of about fourteen or fifteen, neat short hair, features bearing a clear family resemblance to Bearded Uncle.
For an instant Ryuji felt he was looking at another doll.
"Nanako? Sweetheart, what are you doing home at this hour?"
Bearded Uncle leapt up so fast he knocked the chair over, face stunned.
Ryuji stared at the porcelain-like girl—this was the daughter?
Wasn't she—damn, he'd jumped to conclusions!
Ryuji's mouth twitched; lucky he hadn't spoken aloud or the bowl might've landed on his head!