was it. When I took a closer look at the awning, I realized the name of the shop was covered by packing tape in several places. The fabric of the awning, the letters, and the packing tape were all equally worn out, so I hadn’t noticed on that first casual once-over, but this place wasn’t a snack bar anymore. A rusty plate that said K&A PLANNING (LTD.) was secured to a fence by the road’s shoulder, and beside the company name, there was an arrow pointing down. I realized the building had a semibasement, where a narrow set of concrete stairs led down to a door. Apparently, this place actually was a company, but I hesitated, unsure what to do. The building was as sketchy as they come, and it really didn’t look like there was any money around here. “CEO,” my butt. Even so, I didn’t have anywhere else to try. I steeled myself, folded my umbrella, and started down the narrow stairs. They weren’t even three feet wide. Click. I was sure I’d pressed the doorbell, but I couldn’t hear anything. I put my ear against the door, then tried the doorbell again. Silence. Was it broken? I knocked. No response. Just to see, I tried the doorknob, and the door swung open easily. “Excuse me! I’m Morishima; I called you earlier!” I peeked in. When I’d called the number on the business card a few hours ago, Red Shirt himself had told me he’d be waiting, and to come on over. Nervously, I stepped inside. There was a small bar counter just inside the door, but it was surrounded by jumbled piles of books and papers and cardboard boxes, while the floor was strewn with sake bottles and take-out flyers and clothes. It was impossible to tell whether the place was a shop or a home or an office. It was as if the room itself were saying, Meh, it’s not like it really matters. “Mr. Suga, are you here?” I took a few more steps and spotted a sofa beyond a bead curtain near the back of the room. There was a lump on it, curled up in a blanket. “Mr. Suga?” Long, white, bare legs hung off the end of the sofa. As I got closer, I saw toenails painted a shiny sky blue, feet in chunky high-heeled sandals, and a face that belonged to a young woman. Her long, smooth hair hung over it like a veil, and I could hear her breathing softly, sound asleep. Page 21 Goldenagato | mp4directs.com