What in the hell? Futoshi thought as he sat in his armchair and rubbed the spot where she had kicked him. The attack seemed surreal, and he still couldn't believe that it had happened, despite the bruise above his waist being damning evidence to the contrary.

He'd been a fool to think he knew Kumiko well. She'd always seemed sweet and polite, so her behavior last night had shocked him beyond belief. No respectable or kind-hearted woman would go around kicking animals for fun, and even though he'd been in disguise, there was no way she could have known it was him.

In other words, she'd chosen to abuse him purely out of the evil of her heart.

He was considering evicting her for such a heinous deed. Regardless of how responsible she was with rent, he couldn't allow such wickedness to keep living on his property. It just wouldn't be right and, not to mention, a great insult to those of his kind who had suffered at the hands of people like her.

He needed to act promptly and could no longer afford to let her beauty affect him, for it was just a mask to conceal the monster within. Unfortunately, he didn't have any valid reasons to force her out in this case. She had complied with all the terms in the rental agreement, which meant that he'd be the guilty party in the eyes of the law.

At a loss over what he could do, he forced himself to think long and hard about alternative ways to achieve his goal. Inviting Kumiko out for drinks and getting her drunk wouldn't be possible since she claimed to have an aversion to consuming alcohol.

He spent another minute in deep thought before the answer hit him. If what Kumiko had done hours earlier was any indication, then there had to be other secrets that would ruin her reputation.

It would still be difficult for him to write up a notice or warning without arousing her suspicion, but he had to start somewhere. Sunday was her day off, so he'd have to wait until tomorrow to snoop around in her apartment.

In the meantime, it was only fitting to try relaxing with the help of the magazine he'd bought the previous night. It was an issue of Hustler, and the busty, tanned blonde on the cover was about as far removed from the average Japanese woman as he could get.

Truth be told, he found her facial features a bit mannish, and he'd feel sorry for American men if such an appearance was the norm among women in their country. Nevertheless, he wasn't here to admire a pretty face. Instead, he wanted to focus on the model's other womanly attributes: her large breasts and full hips.

He reached for his belt and unbuckled it to pleasure himself properly. Pants could be so restricting, and it felt good to take them off occasionally.

Whoever had made pants and briefs standard must have been out of their mind. He couldn't imagine why anybody would want to abandon something as convenient as the fundoshi, and he thought it a shame that he had to miss out on a more enlightened age.

He let his belt drop to the floor, making a satisfying thud. Feeling liberated already, he took another look at his magazine while knowing that this afternoon would be a stimulating one indeed.

******

Kumiko awoke in confusion to the smell of smoke and the sight of her tiled bathroom floor, then remembered the ritual that must have sapped her energy until she'd passed out from exhaustion. Ashes! Ichiro!

Without even thinking about how long she'd been asleep, she anxiously sat up to see if her efforts were successful. Her focus fell on the dirt-encased figure sitting still in the bathtub, and after staring for a long while, she finally found the courage to wash her subject clean.

She carefully laid him out supine before turning on the cold-water tap. Then, with ease, the dirt came off his torso, and unable to contain her excitement at how smoothly things were going, she ran all four of his limbs through the water with gusto.

The rest of his body was exposed within minutes, and she felt her heart soar at how perfectly he had turned out. His skin looked so very smooth, and his shapely lips seemed to beg for her kiss.

She took a deep breath to restrain herself, then felt her longing grow even more intense at the sight of his lean and toned chest. Gorgeous...

Her gaze fell further still, settling on his junk. She stared for a long while before finally getting up to fetch a towel from the nearby closet. She draped it over Ichiro's privates, knowing that such a measure would have to suffice in the meantime. There wasn't any men's clothing in her possession and, as a result, she would need to go shopping for some later.

She stood up to leave the room, only to have second thoughts about how much of him needed concealing. She didn't know why, but she had a strange feeling that someone would enter her apartment and stumble upon him by chance.

If such a premonition was correct, leaving him in the bathtub wouldn't be safe. She would have to hide him somewhere less accessible and hope the measure would suffice.

She lifted his naked body out of the tub and dragged it toward her bedroom, intending to stow him away in her wardrobe.

******

The sky had darkened by the time her shopping trip was over, prompting Kumiko to wonder exactly how long she'd been asleep to have woken up in the middle of the afternoon.

It had to have been at least ten hours, judging by how energized she felt. Although, bringing her late husband back from the dead was also exciting.

Inside her shopping bags were a vintage kimono ensemble, two shirts, two pairs of pants, one winter coat, and some briefs she hoped Ichiro would find comfortable. If he could acclimate to his unfamiliar environment, she'd buy him more clothes next week.

If not, she would have to put him out of his misery. But, now that she'd seen his face and felt his skin, such a task would be easier said than done. She'd forgotten how hard it was to hurt someone she cared about, and the thought of subjecting him to any pain was already frightening.

She clenched both of her fists and willed herself to hurry so she'd arrive home before night fell. Other preparations needed to be made before she revived him with Mr. Higuchi's soul, such as redecorating the apartment and hiding anything that looked remotely modern to ensure that he wouldn't have a mental breakdown as soon as he woke up.

She would then introduce him to things one at a time, thus feeding his curiosity and gradually building up his courage until he was no longer afraid.

This process would likely take months, and she'd have to sacrifice some personal comforts indefinitely. Watching television had become an integral part of her life, and it would be challenging to resist taking it back out of the cabinet to relieve her boredom or catch up on some popular show.

As for her appearance, she'd have to make herself look like she had when they'd first met, which wouldn't be too difficult if it weren't for her recent efforts to look like a trendy young city woman.

She stopped to study her reflection in a shop window while considering the time it would take to straighten her hair and then pin it up in a more traditional style. Pretending around strangers and colleagues was easy but fooling the only person who'd ever known her secret would be different. She wouldn't just need to give an award-worthy performance; she would also have to keep it up for weeks.

You'll be fine, she tried to reassure herself. Acting isn't as hard as it looks...

******

She had to give props to those who dressed unresponsive people as part of their job because getting Ichiro into his kimono was quite the struggle. Wrapping it around his body while he flopped around was the most challenging part, and by the time it was over, she felt just about ready to curse and throw a tantrum.

Fortunately, she'd calmed herself down by sitting and breathing steadily for a few minutes before getting up to perform the easier task of dressing herself. There was just one kimono in her possession that dated to the Taisho period, and although the black and indigo striped design wasn't characteristic of Ichiro's time, it was the best that she could do.

After putting it on with little trouble, she prayed that he wouldn't notice such a glaring difference, then moved on to brushing aside her bangs.

Demureness was vital, and it was for that reason that she wore no makeup at all in his presence.

She left the bathroom and took soft, graceful steps into the living room where Ichiro awaited, resting against the sofa in a seated position.

She kneeled on the floor in front of him and, as if she were partaking in a solemn ceremony, presented the sacred jar before unsealing it with great care.

Her following action was a departure from such restraint. She strode right up to Ichiro and forced his mouth open to tip Tsutomu's soul inside by hitting the base of the jar with her palm. "Hurry up and get in, I say!"

A sudden wheeze sounded from his lips, and she quickly withdrew the jar, then retreated to observe what happened next.

Please, let this be a success...

His breathing grew steady before his eyes abruptly opened. The look in them was vacant at first, but they gradually filled with aggression as she continued to stare.

Oh, dear, this isn't good...

He crossed his arms in what could only have been a show of disapproval, then uttered his first words in this unfamiliar environment. "I don't know who you are, but you have some explaining to do, young lady!"

******

Notes:

- A fundoshi is traditional form of male underwear that sort of resembles a loincloth.