(Is it really that good?)
A thought from one of the Tomies rippled through the [Tomie Network], carrying with it a surge of intense curiosity.
(Grilled meat, sake, honey — I want some!)
Unlike Amamiya Rin's deep-seated aversion, Kawakami Tomie had absolutely no qualms about consuming her own imposters.
Especially now that she had picked up from Amamiya Rin's thoughts the information that Kawakami Tomie tasted delicious — the lot of them were growing positively eager to try.
(Absolutely not!)
Amamiya Rin's thoughts bristled with resistance.
Two of those three counted as cannibalism — the honey was the only exception!
(It's like biting your nails! Eating something that came off your own body is the same as chewing your own fingernails. Who hasn't nibbled their own fingernails before?)
(Absolutely not! I am exercising my right of absolute veto — I refuse!)
Amamiya Rin's thoughts fired back with one enormous red X.
(Hehe! Refusing doesn't help! I'm doing it anyway!)
Kawakami Tomie's capacity for decisive action was remarkable. Frighteningly remarkable.
Back at the izakaya, the ramen Amamiya Rin had ordered arrived at the table — steaming hot, fragrant, and ready.
He picked up his chopsticks. Before he had even taken a single bite, a clean, lightly sweet sensation spread across the tip of his tongue, followed by the rich, mellow warmth of sake.
The flavor was more refreshing than any drink he had ever tasted — though it was not his own experience. It had synced directly through the [Tomie Network].
"..."
Across the city, at an upscale restaurant.
Kawakami Tomie sat alone by a window table, dressed in a black evening gown. Before her were several exquisitely arranged small dishes, and a glass of crystalline liquid that caught the light and rippled gently.
She lifted her wine glass. A mischievous smile played at the corners of her lips as she took a slow, deliberate sip.
The taste hit Kawakami Tomie's senses like a force of nature.
No — "taste" was not the right word. "Bewitching" came far closer.
The Tomie Brew carried within it a quality impossible to put into words — as though Kawakami Tomie's own supernatural allure had been distilled and poured into the liquid itself, producing even a faint hallucinogenic effect.
The corners of Kawakami Tomie's eyes curved upward. That bewitching, otherworldly face of hers bloomed into a seductive, languid smile.
Back at the izakaya, Amamiya Rin's chopsticks froze in midair.
(How does it taste? Delicious, isn't it?)
(Mm-hmm! As expected of me! I'm going to buy a bottle tomorrow!)
(Wait — why are we paying money for something that came from ourselves?)
(Oh, you're right! Let's find out which poor soul they used to brew this, then take over the distillery!)
The Tomies' thoughts streamed through Amamiya Rin's mind one after another. Not a single one of them treated the act of drinking the Tomie Brew as anything remotely significant.
(As I suspected... I cannot afford to relax around all of you for even a minute.)
Amamiya Rin pressed his index and middle fingers together against the center of his brow and rubbed in a slow, gentle circle. The expression on his face defied easy description.
His instinct was to retch — but he had not actually drunk anything. He had simply been the unwilling recipient of a Tomie sharing the experience of what her own body tasted like.
The grimace plastered on his face caught the attention of the owner, who was bringing over the pan-fried gyoza. The man looked visibly put off and asked: "Something wrong, sir? Not a fan of the ramen smell?"
He had not even touched his food yet, and already he looked like that. It was, frankly, a little aggravating to witness.
(What's with that face? Do I really taste that awful?)
At the same moment, Kawakami Tomie's voice came through the network — teasing, playful, unhurried.
"No, the food looks wonderful," Amamiya Rin said, drawing a slow, measured breath. "I just thought of something unpleasant."
He composed himself, let his eyelids sink closed, pressed his fingertips gently to his brow before releasing them, and formed a simple Dhyana mudra.
(Form is not separate from emptiness; emptiness is not separate from form. Form is itself emptiness; emptiness is itself form. Sensation, perception, volition, and consciousness — all are the same.)
The cadence of the Heart Sutra flowed slowly through his sea of consciousness. The uncanny sweetness of the Tomie Brew, its bewitching, lingering aftertaste — all of it began to dissolve before the rising tide of meditative clarity.
The discomfort of having perceived the taste of Tomie's flesh was, in the end, nothing but a manifestation of Form — a phantom woven from sensation and attachment.
Flesh, blood, skin, and bone are all temporary convergences of cause and condition, possessing neither permanence nor true substance.
That he could still feel unsettled by this at all revealed the limit of his cultivation: he had not yet truly attained the state of dwelling in no-sign, no-abiding. He could not yet genuinely perceive the human body as an empty assemblage of the Four Great Elements — the medical knowledge the Tomies had accumulated through their studies in the Dream World made it impossible for him to regard the body with a purely idealist eye.
Yet beneath Amamiya Rin's meditative observation, the discomfort and nausea arising from within him gradually dissolved — flesh and blood are not real; bodily fluids are not substantial; they are nothing but projections of deluded attachment.
The warm amber light of the izakaya fell across Amamiya Rin's face, smoothing the crease from between his brows, softening the cast of his features.
(Boring man.)
(Men who are this serious never attract women, you know.)
(Sigh. If it weren't for us, it'd be hard to imagine you ever finding a soulmate in this lifetime.)
(Since Rin-kun doesn't seem to care about that anyway, I'll just go buy a bottle myself.)
...
Amamiya Rin had acted too decisively — dissolving his inner discomfort through his mastery of Dhyana — and the Tomies who had simply wanted to tease him were left thoroughly disappointed. Reluctant to concede, they made a few more halfhearted attempts to disturb his composure.
(Drinking is prohibited.)
Amamiya Rin lifted a chopstick-full of ramen to his mouth and ate, his expression perfectly calm. The thought that followed carried the quiet, unassailable authority of a standing order.
(Your drunkenness transfers to me as well. If you would rather not spend another few decades trapped in the Dream World, stop engaging in conduct that harms others without benefiting yourselves.)
The [Tomie Network] flooded with waves of disappointed thoughts — not because Amamiya Rin had banned drinking, but because his prohibition had not come from any genuine aversion to the Tomie Brew itself.
Which meant they had absolutely no way of using it to get a rise out of him.
Soon, the rest of Amamiya Rin's order arrived.
The piping-hot ramen sat in a rich, milky-white broth; the pan-fried gyoza were golden and crackling-crisp; the cocktail sausages gleamed with a slick of oil; the tempura had been fried to a light, perfect crunch.
The hunger gnawing at his stomach swept every remaining distraction from Amamiya Rin's mind. He picked up his chopsticks and gave himself over entirely to eating.
When the last of the food was gone, he paid, took up his cane, and walked out of the restaurant.
The cool night breeze brushed away the warm, lingering smell of the izakaya, and sharpened his thoughts a little.
He walked along the street to the nearby business hotel and checked in.
He stepped into a narrow but clean single room, set his backpack and sword case beside the nightstand, leaned his cane against the wall, and then let himself drop heavily onto the bed.
He was exhausted. Profoundly, bone-deep exhausted.
Every cell in his body was screaming for sleep — but Amamiya Rin knew, with absolute certainty, that he could not allow it.
He closed his eyes, relaxed his body completely, let his consciousness sink down into Dhyana, and reduced his bodily functions to the barest minimum — conserving both physical and mental energy.
Outside the window, the city's neon signs flickered and pulsed. Inside the room, there was absolute silence. Amamiya Rin's breathing became nearly imperceptible — only the slowest, faintest rise and fall of his chest proved he was still alive.
Outside, the sky shifted from deep black to pale grey, then gradually brightened.
Amamiya Rin held that near-Tortoise-Breath state of Dhyana all the way through the night, until brilliant morning sunlight pierced through the gap in the curtains and fell against his eyelids — and only then did he slowly open his eyes.
The exhaustion in his body had not lifted in the slightest. If anything, it had settled overnight, growing heavier. His mind was slightly foggy — but not as severe as the day before yesterday. He could still think clearly.
____
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