Empty bowls decked the table as Ichiro helped Kumiko to her feet and breathed a sigh of relief that the redness in her face had faded. "Are you feeling better now?"

Kumiko smiled at him. "Yes. Turns out I really did just need to get some food in me." She turned to Izumi and Mrs. Konno. "Well, this is goodbye. I hope we can meet another time."

Mrs. Konno waved her hand before Izumi bolted out of her seat. "Wait, you two! You've forgotten something!"

Ichiro and Kumiko spun around as she caught up to them. Her well-kept hand stretched out in their direction, holding a card with kanji and so-called numbers printed on it.

"My business card." Izumi's finger slid to the bottom. "Please call this number to be connected to my store. State your name and tell the person that you're a friend of mine. They should give you a day to come in."

Ichiro could barely understand these instructions, but one thing stood out. Izumi was apparently a store owner, meaning she was of the same class as him.

He remembered the strange greeting from earlier and replicated it to the best of his ability. "What a surprise. I would never have taken you to be a merchant's wife. My parents-"

"Ichiro." Kumiko grabbed his arm with haste and gave an embarrassed laugh. "I think we should go. It's getting late."

She accepted the card from Izumi, then started leading him out of the bar to his confusion.

"What did I do wrong?"

"You can't tell a woman that she's a merchant's wife. It makes you seem like a really old man."

"Old man?" Ichiro questioned before realizing what she meant. "Never mind. What's become of merchants?"

The ensuing seconds of silence from Kumiko made him anxious.

"Class boundaries have blurred over the years," she explained after recollecting her thoughts. "Samurai are mostly extinct, and so are peasants. Merchants became so integral to society that they elevated in status."

Ichiro remembered the history lesson that Kumiko had given him a few days earlier and began to speculate how something so unprecedented could happen. He'd already heard of samurai losing much of their privilege, but he still didn't know how a country could function without the work of peasants.

Fortunately, Kumiko soon enlightened him on this matter. "To put it briefly, the advent of farming machines left many peasants out of work. They ended up with no choice but to move to cities, where they were employed in factories or as builders."

Ichiro looked at the lofty buildings around them. "Are you saying that this was all the work of such folk?"

"Pretty much."

"Incredible. Tell me more."

Kumiko took a deep breath. "Well, the demand for factory workers and builders eventually fell too. Of course, by then, most of the former peasants had forgotten how to farm. So, they had to find yet other ways to support themselves. You can guess what happened next."

"What?"

"They flocked to work for companies and became salarymen. Or started their own businesses in the hope of getting rich."

They reached their apartment building and crept in through the glass doors. As they ascended the stairs, Ichiro pondered all that he had been told. It finally occurred to him how this society worked, and a strained smile formed on his face.

"If that many people are trying to become merchants, then the competition must be fierce beyond belief."

"Exactly," Kumiko muttered. "That's capitalism for you."

"Capitalism?"

"Privately owned businesses and companies support the country these days, and the market has become so large and diverse that a term like 'merchant' isn't adequate anymore."

"Then, what words are used?"

"Shopkeeper, salesman, businessman, entrepreneur, tycoon, and many more."

"What a lot of names," Ichiro could only remark while feeling proud and horrified by his people. They had become the new backbone of society but at the cost of centuries of tradition and rustic simplicity. "I don't think I want a part in this madness..."

"You don't have to," Kumiko said in response. "You can choose your own path."

Ichiro thought of the vocation thrust upon him and supposed it would suffice until he found something more fulfilling. At the very least, he was helping to keep something sacred alive. He nodded at Kumiko right before they arrived outside their apartment, and she froze.

"Ichiro, something isn't right," she whispered. "I turned off all the lights when we left."

He followed her gaze and noticed the faint glow beneath the door. "Heavens. What does this mean?"

"Either my memory is failing me, or someone got in while we were out." Kumiko stepped ahead with outstretched arms and pulled the door handle. "Stay behind me in case something happens."

Ichiro crept after Kumiko into the apartment hall. Anxiety came over him as he remembered the time when she had burned an assailant with foxfire. He hoped such an action wouldn't be necessary tonight since the sight of a charred corpse would be bound to haunt him for weeks.

He hung back as Kumiko approached the living room door and opened it cautiously. A couple of seconds passed before she stiffened. "Hideo."

"Huh?" Ichiro found it challenging to make out anything distinct from where he was standing. "He's not back, is he?"

Kumiko turned on the living room light to prove her point. Immediately, Ichiro noticed the figure slumped on the couch as if this home belonged to them.

"All right, Mr. Shinigami," Kumiko raised her voice while storming across the room. "What gives you the right to sneak in here and lie wherever you want? Answer me!"

Hideo awoke and sat up hurriedly, just short of her grabbing him by the hair. "My apologies. I was hit by exhaustion soon after arriving here, so I had to take a nap to replenish my energy."

"On my couch?" Kumiko interrogated further.

"Yes," Hideo said calmly.

"Well, that ends now. Get up."

The shinigami rose to his feet and sighed. "You're not very hospitable, are you? I thought a warmer welcome would be in store after the trouble I went through."

"What trouble are you talking about?" Kumiko asked as Ichiro finally found the courage to enter the living room as well.

"Do you think it was easy to escort that jorōgumo to the Underworld and present her to the Queen? All she wanted was to be some kind of whore, and I had to make false promises to convince her to go along with my plans."

Ichiro could imagine what said promises had entailed but reminded himself that it wasn't important when the moment of truth had arrived.

"I see," Kumiko replied in a monotone. "Tell me how it went."

Hideo ran a hand over his slick hair and adjusted the collar of his suit. "Better than expected. The Queen took a liking to her in no time and gave her a job."

Kumiko appeared stunned by such news. "Really? As what?"

"An overseer of torture in the Hell of Black Rope, as befitting of her character."

"Well, I can't say I'm surprised," Kumiko commented. "She always loved herself some bondage, and now she gets to practice it to her heart's content."

"Exactly." Hideo retrieved his case from the floor. "It was lucky that you had her in your grasp. This exchange wouldn't have been possible otherwise."

"So, Ichiro can stay?"

Hideo paused, which fed Ichiro's unease. "In short, yes. But I must broach the subject of his sister, the esteemed Lady Misaki."

Ichiro found it absurd to hear his younger sister being referred to in this manner, so he voiced his disapproval. "Don't call her that. Her name is Isa."

"Not anymore." Hideo's voice did not waver. "She chose that identity to leave her old life behind. After all, what slave doesn't dream of becoming something greater?"

"If so, then why does she want to know about me? I'm a fragment of her past too."

Hideo sighed and shifted his head. "There comes a time when one finds the courage to stop hiding and face it head-on. I daresay that is the case for your sister."

This made enough sense to Ichiro, but what Hideo said next attracted his pity.

"I only wish my daughter could do the same. It isn't right for her to renounce me like this."

"True," Kumiko agreed. "But you didn't make it easy for her, showing up alive without explanation. Which brings me to this, how come you don't look like a corpse?"

Ichiro found himself stunned by her bluntness, and it seemed like Hideo felt the same way. The shinigami stared at her before holding up his hand. "If you really want to know, this isn't my original body. It was constructed so that I could interact with this world like I used to."

"However, that is beside the point." Hideo focused on Ichiro again. "After the business with that jorōgumo was settled, I remembered the book I had on loan and decided to bring it tonight."

Hideo unlatched his case, prompting Ichiro to crane his neck with interest. Inside was a set of bound pages, with the cover depicting a young woman whose ears and tails made it clear that she was a kitsune like Kumiko.

"Behold," Hideo announced while lifting the book out. "The most recent biography about Kumiko. It includes information from as little as ten years ago, thanks to the painstaking research of one of her biggest fans."

"Fans?" Kumiko's smile faltered as she glanced at Ichiro. "I'm not some celebrity..."

"You are considered one by many of the permanent residents of the Underworld. When someone is doomed to spend their whole existence in a dark and desolate land, they need a special figure to bring them hope. You provide that as one of the most beautiful and loyal kitsune around."

Ichiro couldn't argue with that description of Kumiko, but the blush that formed on her face worried him nonetheless.

"Oh, don't say that," Kumiko murmured in a breathy manner. "I may be pretty, but I simply don't compare with the venerable Aki. She's as beautiful and wise as a goddess, or at least that's how I remember her..."

"Ahem," Hideo cleared his throat. "I'm afraid we're straying again. My reason for bringing this book was to show Ichiro that what I told him was true. He became famous due to his connection to you, and here are the pages to prove it."

The shinigami flipped to the middle of the book and held it up again. Ichiro blinked at the painting of none other than himself. It was rather stylized, with the artist giving him slanted brows, shadowy eye makeup, and an elongated face.

"That looks nothing like me," Ichiro grumbled. "What were they thinking?"

"They've never seen you in person, so all they could do was rely on their imagination," Hideo explained with a dismissive wave before turning the page and reading aloud. "One cannot tell Kumiko's story without also telling the story of her ill-fated lover Ichiro. He was born in the fifth year of Tenshō to a poor merchant couple and, as such, should not have been blessed with looks befitting of a prince. However, fate is said to work in strange ways, and perhaps this was a cruel joke by the gods..."

Ichiro clenched his jaw as Hideo continued to read the account of his life that had evidently been written in spite.

"And so, Ichiro breathed his last and died unremarkably in his bed, leaving Kumiko single again. For that, we celebrate. A being of such beauty and purity cannot be reserved for any one man, and it is our belief that she belongs to all of us. Our collective muse."

Kumiko's eyes and mouth widened. "All right, that's enough. Whoever this person is, they sound obsessive. I'm anything but pure."

Hideo looked up from the accursed history book. "That's because they don't know the real you. Only rumors and legends."

"Oh. I hope never to meet them, then. Their disappointment would be immeasurable."

The shinigami turned to Ichiro. "So, tell me what you thnk of your biography. Is it to your liking?"

Ichiro realized he had been spoken to and choked in his rush to answer. "It... It was all right. The writer clearly held some bias, though."

"My opinion as well. While some wish to be with you, many more see you as the one who almost tainted their precious idol."

"Idol?" Ichiro gaped at Kumiko as the implications dawned on him. "Why didn't you tell me? Do you know how much that changes things?"

Kumiko frowned. "I'm not a literal idol. That's just the aptest comparison."

Ichiro remembered more of what she had told him days earlier and allowed his shoulders to relax. "Oh. I suppose you mean it in the sense of being seen as chaste and virtuous."

"Exactly. I couldn't become a famous singer if I tried." Kumiko remarked, bringing a smile of amusement to his face before she returned her attention to Hideo. "Is there anything else you plan to tell or show us?"

"No, that's all for tonight." The shinigami placed the book back into his case before locking it shut. "However, I'm willing to come back another day with further evidence. Let me know if you have any requests."

Ichiro thought once more about his sister and raised his hand. "Hear me out. If Isa is really who you say, then why can't she come to meet me herself?"

"Because she's a lady-in-waiting forbidden from venturing out of the palace. Like the concubines, she must always be present and ready to attend to Izanami's needs should the occasion arise."

This answer caused Ichiro's hopes to fall. Whether Hideo was telling the truth or not, such an excuse seemed too convenient. He would need to ask for something that could well and truly prove Isa's existence, but nothing came to his mind.

He resigned himself to requesting something less credible. "I see. If she can't be here, then I would at least appreciate a letter. Can she write?"

"Of course," replied Hideo. "She's had years to practice."

A deep sense of inadequacy permeated Ichiro's mind. He was aware of how much he had yet to learn about this world, but the idea of being surpassed by his younger sister was another thing entirely.

He turned to face Kumiko in determination. "Did you hear that? You simply must begin teaching me tomorrow!"

"Uh..." Kumiko blinked at his sudden request. "That's quite a responsibility, but I suppose it's worth a try..."

Ichiro found her lack of enthusiasm somewhat disappointing, but he tried to focus on the good. She had agreed to help him despite her busy lifestyle, and for that, he couldn't complain.

His only hope now was that he wouldn't let Kumiko down or cause her patience to finally run thin.

******

Cultural Note: The Hell of Black Ropes/Threads comprises the second of the eight levels of Hell. People who killed and stole are beaten with ropes as well as dismembered.