"Stop, Sensei Rohan. That isn't really what you're thinking, is it?"
She smiled like a little devil, because she knew Rohan was utterly powerless against her. With Heaven's Door no longer working on her, Rohan had been reduced to a perfectly ordinary tool to push around as she pleased.
"I'm exhausted… I want to go to bed. Come back tomorrow."
Rohan rubbed at his dark circles and, for emphasis, let out an exaggerated yawn.
—An excuse. A man in his line of work has to be familiar with all-nighters. There's no way fatigue at this level would actually take him down. And even if he were truly that exhausted, Inori had plenty of ways to keep him awake.
"It's fine. I'll take you somewhere fun. You won't feel tired anymore."
"…You're a really aggravating woman. Didn't I just say I'm not interested in going?"
Rohan was getting genuinely irritated. He hated this kind of sudden, premeditated, fake-friendly cozying-up. That was precisely why he'd come to loathe socializing in general. Otherwise, he'd never have become the do-as-he-pleases manga artist he was today.
"Is that so? Well, I guess there's nothing for it, then."
"I was going to take you to investigate one of Morioh's strange tales, but if Sensei Rohan really doesn't like me, I suppose I'll have to find someone else to come along."
Inori clicked her tongue and turned to leave, but at that moment a hand came down on her slim shoulder.
The hand's owner was trembling. One could only imagine the war going on inside his head. Pride was a heavy load to carry—after the dressing-down he'd taken from this girl yesterday, he wasn't going to roll over and surrender so easily. But the strange tale she'd just dangled was an enormous draw… particularly given that his current manga project was on a very similar theme. Inspiration was practically guaranteed.
"What… kind of strange tale?"
Rohan asked, the words coming out reluctantly.
—He'd caved. For the sake of research material, today he, Rohan Kishibe, was prepared to throw out whatever was left of his pride.
"It's about Ghost Girl's Alley."
Inori turned back around, smug. As if some Northwest Old Man would dare turn me down to my face.
As she pulled away, the soft pink strands of her hair brushed across the back of Rohan's hand. The cool sensation cut through a great deal of his drowsiness in an instant… So this is what a beautiful girl's hair feels like against the back of one's hand. Well, that's another weird thing I know now.
"And what's that?"
Rohan frowned. He didn't want to waste his precious sleep hours on some baseless rumor.
"Don't rush me."
Inori rubbed her hands together and blew on them.
"You're not really going to make a delicate young girl stand at the door and tell stories in the cold, are you? Invite me in for a coffee."
"…"
Rohan could only sigh, defeated. He wanted to refuse, but couldn't find a single valid reason. He'd just have to grit his teeth and let the wolf into the den.
Inori smiled, breezed lightly into the entryway, and stole a glance at Rohan's pinched, hard-done-by face. She had to fight back a laugh. Was this what they called once bitten—no, once chest-grabbed, ten years afraid of Inori-chan? It was almost impossible to believe the canon Sensei Rohan, the proud, defiant artist of the manga, could be reduced to this by her.
Honestly. Was she really that frightening?
—All right. Decided. Today's mission: somehow get this Northwest Old Man to revise his opinion of me!
…
…
"Eh… so clean. I figured a manga artist would be the unkempt-shut-in type."
Her first impression of the inside of Rohan's house caught her completely off-guard.
It wasn't laid out like an ordinary Japanese house—entryway, then hallway, then a kitchen connected to the living room. The moment she stepped past the threshold, she found herself looking down a long, enclosed corridor. The walls met the wooden floor with seamless wood paneling, and the corridor's two long sides were lined with paired classical wall sconces, perfectly symmetrical.
At first glance, it gave off the feeling of a mid-twentieth-century Western middle-class home.
"Hmph. Don't lump me in with those third-rate manga artists!"
"Can you really use this many rooms?"
Inori chattered as she walked deeper inside.
It was the first time she'd ever seen a house this big with no dedicated reception room. The first floor's corridor had five rooms running its length, and the second floor's layout was much the same. Rohan's actual studio was up there.
Inori's curiosity got the better of her. She randomly opened one of the doors and peeked in. Even with the curtains drawn on every side, she could still make out the old sketches hanging on the walls and the neat rows of old drawing boards and other art supplies arranged across the floor.
"Wow, that's incredible. Is this room where you keep your old work?"
"What did you even come here for…?" Rohan sighed, wrung out. "Let's go upstairs. My studio is up there. We'll sit down and talk it through properly."
Inori had only really wanted to gauge his reaction. In her past life she'd studied music theory and knew nothing about painting, nor had any interest in learning. Pushing the joke too far and dragging out the actual business would be a problem.
Rohan emerged from a small upstairs room stocked with various drinks, a tray now in hand. On it sat two elegantly shaped little teacups, white porcelain traced with dark gold filigree.
"Now will you tell me about that strange tale?"
Like an obsequious waiter, he set the hot coffee down on the table in front of Inori, then finally permitted himself to ask.
"No rush. Sit down first."
Inori was settled on the small sofa, two long legs sheathed in black tights crossed at the knee. She wore a wide-collared trench coat in deep khaki, her pale-pink chignon held in place by a deep-red hairpin. The contrast with the casual outfit she'd worn the day before couldn't have been sharper—today's Inori had less of that fresh, girlish quality and a great deal more of the elegance of a poised, mature young woman.
Her fair complexion and delicate features needed no makeup to embellish them. One could have mistaken her for a recent university graduate without raising an eyebrow.
She gave Rohan a small smile, then lightly pinched the cup's handle and lifted it.
"No need to hurry. Let's take this slowly."
"…"
Rohan twisted his mouth, frustrated, and could only swallow his complaints with a sigh.
The truth was that he didn't actually hate Inori. If he had, he'd never have wanted to use Heaven's Door to read her memories the very first time they'd met. He just couldn't stand being the one who got led around by the nose.
"Sensei Rohan, you used to live in Morioh as a child, didn't you?"
"What of it?"
The green-haired youth answered with a frown.
"Do you remember the old place where you lived as a child?"
"What does that have to do with what we're talking about?" Rohan's patience was thinning. He had no inclination to sit through Inori's roundabout questioning. "I was four years old at the time. Do you remember what you were doing when you were four?"
The two of them traded questions like stones, and the conversation grew tenser.
—Ugh! This insufferable Northwest Old Man! I want to dump this coffee straight onto his hair and tell him not to answer questions with questions!
—No, Inori, calm down. You can't keep falling back on barbaric methods. Didn't you decide to improve Rohan's impression of you?
"Mm-hmm. The thing is, Sensei Rohan."
Inori suddenly lowered her voice, peering at him with a conspiratorial air.
"In Morioh, there's an alley that only appears at certain times—just like Platform Nine and Three-Quarters in Harry Potter. And that alley… guess where it is?"
"How would I know?"
Rohan was disappointed. It was starting to sound like nothing more than a rumor cooked up and passed around by schoolkids—some urban legend or another. Tokyo had been awash in this sort of thing lately. After all, it was the end of the century, and every kind of strange tale was in vogue.
He was disappointed—almost annoyed, even, at how shoddy the so-called strange tale was. But Inori's next words nearly made him drop his coffee.
"It's the very place where you used to live as a child…"
Inori looked him dead in the eye and said it flatly, as if it were nothing.