"Bring Kumiko along?" Ichiro repeated back to Mrs. Konno. "Are you sure about that?"

"Why, yes." Mrs. Konno continued to smile in a genial manner. "She's your special girl, isn't she?"

"Yes, but she always returns home late from work. I don't know if she can come on the day you've mentioned."

"Oh, that won't be a problem. We'll move our meeting to another date if she can't make it."

Ichiro felt reluctant to accept the invitation when he remembered what had once happened to Kumiko after drinking wine. She'd become unusually amorous and foxlike in behavior, prompting him to usher her out of the inn before others could realize what was happening.

Of course, he'd had the advantage of understanding his surroundings back then. If something similar were to happen now, he would be even more helpless than his wife as her secret was revealed to the public.

He met eyes with Mrs. Konno and tried to decline her invitation as gracefully as possible. "I appreciate your consideration, but I must speak with Kumiko first. I'll seek you out when I have an answer."

Mrs. Konno appeared crestfallen by his response. "Is that so? Well, take your time. I only want to get to know you better."

The door to apartment one clicked shut, and Ichiro felt a sense of victory while turning to observe Futoshi's reaction. Unfortunately, the old man did not look pleased at all.

"Why did you say that? A chance was staring you right in the face."

"Because Kumiko is a busy woman," Ichiro defended. "I can't simply add to her burdens like that."

Futoshi did not let his frown falter. "What are you on about? I know her just as well as you do, and what she needs most is a chance to have fun and let loose."

Ichiro fired back despite barely understanding the old man's words. "Yes, but drinking isn't the way to achieve that. Sake makes her unruly."

"You know what?" Futoshi refused to relent. "It's been four hundred years, so maybe her alcohol tolerance has improved. You can't be sure until you ask."

Ichiro hated to admit that Futoshi was right, but he didn't have much of a choice. "Fine, I'll approach her tonight for an answer. Does that make you happy?"

Futoshi shrugged. "I don't know. Are you?"

"What?"

"Never mind, let's just move on to Mr. Suzuki."

"So, we aren't finished here?" Ichiro asked. He had hoped that speaking with Mrs. Konno would be enough trouble for the day, but this was evidently not the case.

"No way. One reference just won't cut it."

Once again, Futoshi was using a phrase Ichiro had never heard before. He decided to express his lack of understanding. "I'm sorry. What does that mean?"

"I'm saying that Mrs. Konno won't be enough to get the word out. We'll need a few more."

Ichiro sighed and gave up. "All right. I'll do what must be done. Please lead the way."

******

Any hopes of Mr. Suzuki being helpful were dashed when the eighty-year-old made a point of ignoring all of Ichiro's questions and coming up with his own about Kumiko's physical attributes.

"So, you are moving in with Miss. Takahashi. Tell me, is she as beautiful up close as she is from afar?" the elderly man asked in a creaky voice while tapping at the pieces of framed glass that covered his eyes.

Ichiro blinked in surprise at such directness but offered an answer out of a desire to avoid being perceived as rude. "She is, indeed. I'm glad to be her husband... no, lover."

"As one should," Mr. Suzuki replied with a subtle smile. "I have lived a life of hardship, and seeing a woman like her every few days is enough to make it all worthwhile."

"I certainly understand that sentiment. My life hasn't been easy either, so being in her company always fills me with relief."

Mr. Suzuki wheezed all of a sudden, then stared at Ichiro directly. "Your life hasn't been easy? What poppycock!"

Ichiro recoiled a little at the change in demeanor. "I beg your pardon?"

"Your hands are soft, and your eyes shine with innocence. You cannot tell me that your suffering compares with mine!"

The urge to retort with his true thoughts overwhelmed Ichiro for a moment, and he barely managed to conceal his distaste while countering Mr. Suzuki's claim.

"Perhaps, but that shouldn't mean that my experiences amount to nothing. I'm far from what you think I am."

"And what would that be?"

Ichiro saw an opportunity to steer the conversation in his favor. "An aspiring spiritual medium. I can see ghosts, and with the right references, I'll be able to help people deal with them too."

Mr. Suzuki continued to stare at him like he was crazy. "So what? You can't make a living from that sort of thing anymore. People aren't as gullible as they used to be."

It was then that Ichiro realized Mr. Suzuki was a non-believer in the supernatural, which was ironic when Kumiko and Futoshi were a kitsune and tanuki, respectively. Nevertheless, he could not think of a proper argument and decided to withdraw for the time being.

"I suppose you're right," he said with a bow of his head before standing up from the floor. "Thank you for talking sense into me. I'll try to rethink my choice of occupation."

He left the apartment and soon found himself near the stairway where Futoshi was waiting. The landlord stepped forward with arms crossed in expectation. "So, how did it go?"

"Not well," Ichiro replied in shame. "Mr. Suzuki doesn't believe in ghosts."

"I figured as such. Who needs made-up beings when real life is far scarier?"

The implication of those words struck Ichiro, causing him to seethe. "Wait, you knew all along?"

"Of course." Futoshi flashed him a grin of amusement. "I wouldn't be a good landlord if I wasn't familiar with my tenants."

"So..." Ichiro's voice trailed off.

"I just wanted you to struggle a bit."

"You bastard. No wonder Kumiko finds you annoying."

Futoshi gave a lazy shrug. "I can't help it. Being a trickster is in my nature. But I can make it up by giving you the rest of today off."

"Off what?"

"Work."

Ichiro began to grasp the meaning of that expression. It seemed to refer to the act of retiring or withdrawing from something, so he felt reluctant to accept Futoshi's proposal.

"I'm not sure. Would you really have me idle away for hours?"

"That's the thing about this job. I never needed an assistant in the first place because there's only so much work to be done around here," Futoshi explained. "That's why I'll wait until tomorrow to hear from you and find another reference."

The landlord appeared serious enough about such a promise, so Ichiro took a chance and nodded. Afterward, he was returned to apartment five, where he would struggle to do anything productive until evening.

******

In Kumiko's absence, Ichiro tried to remedy his hunger by searching the fridge for food. He found a tray filled with rice, seaweed, and salmon before eating it all cold because he dared not use the stove.

To his surprise, the flavors were appealing enough that he was reminded of a distant summer day when he had visited his uncle's family in Osaka. They had introduced him to a dish known as namanare, comprised of fermented rice and raw fish.

He hadn't cared much for the regional dish at the time, but now this memory was driving him to find out what had become of his hometown in the centuries since. In addition, he still didn't know much about the history and significance of this city called Tokyo, so he resolved to ask Kumiko when the chance came.

With little other choice, Ichiro lay on the couch and took a nap to compensate for his lack of sleep the previous night.

He was eventually woken by the front door creaking open and the already familiar sound of Kumiko's shoes tapping against the floor. Then, a burst of light made him shield his eyes as he clumsily tried to rise from the couch.

"Oh, Ichiro," Kumiko said in good humor after allowing herself a quiet laugh. "Did Futoshi let you off early?"

"You could say that." He slid his feet toward the floor while looking up at her. "How was your day?"

Kumiko sighed before making her way over to sit beside him. "It was tiring as always. At this point, I just want to quit and find another job."

These words gave Ichiro hope for the future. Perhaps, they would indeed enjoy more time together soon.

"But I probably shouldn't bother you with news like this. There's something in my handbag that I want to show you." She unzipped it, then produced an object covered in shiny black paper. As it caught the light, Ichiro noticed a series of katakana printed in gold.

"That looks splendid. What is it?"

"Meiji black chocolate. A coworker bought it for me as a present."

Ichiro leaned forward for a better look. "So, what's inside? Jewelry, makeup, or something else fancy?"

"It's nothing of the sort," Kumiko replied, tearing the wrapping open on one end. "Behold..." To his surprise, she pulled out a dark brown block and snapped off a piece. "Here, try it."

Ichiro didn't think such a thing looked edible, but he complied by taking it from her fingers. As soon as he had done so, Kumiko broke off a piece for herself and bit into it with a smile.

Her reaction encouraged him to follow suit. He brought the morsel to his lips and inhaled its fragrant scent before taking his first bite. A rich sweetness flooded his mouth, causing him to choke for a second.

"Are you all right?"

"Mmff, intense..." Ichiro managed to say with his mouth full. A slight bitterness began to offset the previous flavor, making it more bearable as the strange treat melted on his tongue. He eventually swallowed and licked his lips to cleanse himself of the taste before expressing his thoughts. "This sweet is quite potent. What's it called again?"

"Chocolate," Kumiko repeated. "Made by the Meiji company. It's a revolutionary food that has changed the world, and not always in a good way."

"How so? Have wars been waged for its sake?"

"Not quite. It's more like companies building themselves into empires by selling the stuff."

"Ah," Ichiro said as his stomach filled with discomfort. "So, it hasn't come to that point yet..."

Kumiko forced another smile. "I know. But, on the bright side, we could both survive now that you have a healing factor. It might sound morbid, but it will be interesting to see which life forms thrive after most humans are gone."

Ichiro gaped. "You're not saying that wars these days can destroy mankind, are you?"

"That's exactly what I mean," Kumiko insisted. "The most powerful nations possess weapons that only need to be dropped in the right places for maximum effect."

Ichiro remembered the most dangerous weapons from his original time and took a guess. "Are these things made of gunpowder, by any chance?"

"No. Something much worse."

"Like what?"

"I don't know. I'm not a scientist," Kumiko admitted with a nonchalance that worried him.

"You sound awfully calm about something so horrible."

"Well, it's better not to care about these things when you're immortal. Everybody will die and leave you behind in the end."

"Yet, you cared enough to bring me back."

Kumiko's eyelashes fluttered. "Good point. I often forget that I also have a heart." She leaned closer toward Ichiro, and he instinctively drew himself back.

"Not right now. I've just eaten."

"Oh," Kumiko whispered as her cheeks became flushed. "Of course. I'll save the kiss for bedtime..."

The expression on her face left Ichiro amazed as always that she was smitten with him of all people. He remembered Mrs. Konno's invitation and figured it was a good time to bring it up.

"By the way, there's something I must tell you about. I met the other tenants today, and Mrs. Konno wants us to drink with her. Are you up to the task?"

Kumiko cast her gaze down as if in deep thought, then looked up again seconds later. "Drinking? I could do that."

"You can? Are you sure?"

"I can handle a glass or two, but anything beyond that is a gamble. If I come with you, we'll have to find an excuse to leave early."

Ichiro nodded. He had been right to feel wary, which led him to wonder if Futoshi was really on their side. The man seemed well-acquainted with Mrs. Konno, so perhaps those two were in leagues to undermine Kumiko somehow.

Nevertheless, Ichiro supposed it was best to comply until one found a chance to gain the upper hand. There had to be a weakness of Mrs. Konno's that he could use to his advantage, and as the seconds passed, he began to have an idea of what it was. It brought him a sense of unease, but it could be a necessary evil to achieve what he wanted.

"I'll keep that in mind," he said in response to Kumiko's statements. "Is there any day you'd prefer?"

"This Saturday."

"When will that be?" Ichiro asked since he still hadn't grasped how calendars worked in this era.

"Three days from now. There'll be no need to worry about getting up early the next morning."

With this confirmation of Kumiko's support, Ichiro was ready to make his next request. "I'm glad to hear that. May I ask something else of you?"

"Yes?" Kumiko tilted her head to one side.

"Do you remember when my mother would regale you with stories of my childhood?"

"I do. Well, vaguely, at least."

Ichiro took a deep breath inward to steady his nerves. "I want you to retell the most embarrassing ones to Mrs. Konno and her friends. It should make me less appealing in their eyes."

"I wouldn't count on that working, but I guess it's worth a try."

The coy smile on Kumiko's face made her intended meaning abundantly clear. There was a chance that a tale of his worst blunder would have the opposite effect, but he didn't want to entertain this outcome just yet.

After all, he wanted to believe that it took an exceptional woman to remain attracted to him in those circumstances, and people like Mrs. Konno were too base to exhibit such devotion.

******

Historical Note: Namanare was a dish invented between 1573 and 1603 CE. It is believed to be one of the precursors to modern sushi.