Kumiko had last made tonjiru shortly before Christmas the previous year, and this time, she was cooking for Mr. Kimura and herself. She didn't know what he was doing right now as she sliced the pork belly into thin strips, but she hoped that it wasn't something indecent like using his scrotum as a parachute while he skydived off the top of the shower stall.

It was a sight she'd be glad never to see again, and the lack of shame he'd exhibited afterward repulsed her even more. She felt confident that a similarly brazen act must have led to her fellow kitsune declaring war on his kind because, at the time, she'd been in the right mind to burn him alive and bring an end to his pitiful existence.

She finished slicing the pork and placed it all in a bowl for later, before moving on to the vegetables. As she was cutting and peeling the taro, Mr. Kimura entered the kitchen, looking human once more.

He grinned at her, then plopped the living room radio on to the bench. "I'm starving. What's for lunch?"

"Tonjiru," she replied, clenching her teeth in frustration. "Put that thing somewhere else. The bench is for food only."

Mr. Kimura opened his mouth, and she expected him to protest against her order. However, he appeared to decide against it when she made eye contact, judging by the way he quickly swallowed and relocated the radio to an empty chair instead.

He switched it on and adjusted the frequency until he'd found a news station, at which point he made his way back over to the kitchen bench and leaned against it. "You remember what I said, right? It's best if we stay informed."

Kumiko recalled the advice he'd given her the previous night and nodded in agreement despite the antipathy she still felt toward him at times.

"Thanks for the tip, Mr. Kimura. I appreciate it."

He responded with a smile of pride, then uttered something which made her realize again how accustomed she'd become to pretense.

"You should just call me Futoshi if you're actually my senior."

"Fine," she muttered, feeling a little disappointed in herself. "Thanks for the tip... Futoshi."

"It's my pleasure," he said brightly, craning his neck to look at her cutting technique. "So, is there anything else I can help you with, boss?"

The new unofficial title caught Kumiko off-guard, and she spent a moment coming to terms with it, before thinking of a task for him to do. "Yes. I want you to fill a pot with water and bring it to the boil. Can you do that?"

"Of course I can, boss."

He straightened up and made his way past her to fetch the empty pot resting on the stove. He soon came beside her to use the sink, and as he turned on the cold water tap, an unexpected report on the radio prompted them both to pause in surprise.

"Breaking news. A police station in Shinjuku caught fire at around eleven o'clock today. One of our reporters is currently at the scene, although the number of casualties has yet to be confirmed..."

Futoshi turned off the tap and glanced toward Kumiko. "I don't know about you, but that sounds like foul play to me..."

******

Tsutomu's moment of truth had finally arrived. There was no mistaking that two-story house with the white brick exterior and the walled front yard, and the longer he stared, the tenser he felt about what was to come.

He stared down at his shiny black shoes and took a deep breath while trying to calm himself down with a pep talk. You need to relax. This won't be any different from convincing a client to buy some books. Just smile, and shower her with positive words whenever you see fit.

He took a few hesitant steps forward, then quickened his pace until he was right outside the main gate. Realizing that it would appear suspicious if he opened it with ease, he reached out and feigned difficulty unlatching the gate the way a first-time visitor might.

The sound of his shoes meeting with the stone path was all that he heard, as he walked up to the front door. It was enough to make him fear that nobody was at home, but he took a chance anyway and rang the bell.

Silence fell, and he tried again after counting to ten without receiving any response.

Almost immediately, a familiar set of footsteps took him aback. Even now, more than six months after his divorce, it seemed like his son Tetsuya still ran in the same manner as when they'd gone to the park for games of catch.

The front door abruptly swung open with a click, and Tsutomu's breath caught in his throat.

Seventeen-year-old Tetsuya came to a complete stop and stared at him with puffy eyes that suggested many sleepless nights.

"Who are you? What are you doing here?" the teenager uttered scathingly, leaning an arm against the door frame in an attempt to appear strong despite all that he'd been through.

My poor boy. You... you've gotten so tall...

Tsutomu was briefly overcome by the nagging urge to pull his son into a hug and claim that everything would be all right. Still, ten years of experience working in sales made him a master at suppressing emotions whenever necessary, so he managed to take a step back and maintain an air of professionalism. "Good afternoon, young man. May I speak to the owner of the house, please?"

Tetsuya's frown intensified, and Tsutomu couldn't help but be reminded of the time that Sachiko and himself had gotten into a friendly argument about which of them the boy resembled more.

It had predictably ended with them reaching the conclusion that Tetsuya was a perfect mix of them both, then forming an agreement to never bring up such a topic again.

Of course, that did not turn out to be the case, for he had lashed out at Sachiko in a paranoid rage one morning, shortly after learning of her infidelity.

Guilt and regret arose inside of him due to this painful memory, before Tetsuya's voice sent his mind hurtling back to the present.

"I... I guess you can..." the teenager replied shakily, his previous show of strength fading completely at the mention of whatever adult figures were in his life. "I'll get my Mom..."

Tetsuya shuffled back inside and slammed the door shut. Tsutomu allowed himself a heavy sigh of relief that he had thus far succeeded in his pretense. Unfortunately, the real challenge still lay ahead, and he knew that it would take twice as much effort to avoid slipping up around Sachiko.

He went over such details as his false name and background to prepare himself, but the door was reopened sooner than expected. Sachiko came into view, and he swallowed.

She was undoubtedly still an attractive woman for her age, but it struck him that she must have been crying earlier, for her downturned eyes were dry and a little red.

"What do you want?" she asked him in a breathless voice that further convinced him it was true.

"Pleased to meet you, madam," he greeted while falling right into his fabricated persona. "You're looking lovely today. I'm John Nakamura from Saint Andrew's Church. Have you ever thought about inviting God into your life?"

Sachiko's eyes grew wide, and her bottom lip quivered.

"God?" she murmured, casting her gaze downward and reaching out to grasp the door frame for support. "Are you a Christian?"

"That I am, madam."

"Really? How long have you been one?"

"Ever since I went to America to study abroad. So, for about three years."

"What's in your briefcase?"

"Bibles and pamphlets," Tsutomu forced himself to answer despite knowing that there was, in fact, hardly anything inside. "Would you like me to show you?"

"No," came Sachiko's swift reply. "I... I just want to talk."

"That's alright too. Do you mind if I come inside for a moment?"

Sachiko stepped forward defensively. "No. Stay where you are."

"I understand, madam. What would you like to talk about?

"The... the afterlife. What happens when one dies?"

"That's a good question. It all depends on the deeds that one performed in life," Tsutomu began, as his mind inadvertently shifted toward whether or not his own existence would have been considered honorable enough in the eyes of a true Christian. "If one performs mostly good deeds, their soul goes to heaven. If wicked, then their soul goes to hell."

Sachiko's worried expression showed no sign of fading. "What if someone performs an equal amount of both? What then?"

This question left Tsutomu stumped. He'd always seen Christianity as a religion of harsh extremes, and now it seemed that he would need to make up something that sounded logical on the surface. "They... they go to a place that is neither heaven nor hell, to atone for their sins..."

Sachiko simply nodded, then stared at him in silence. He did the same for several moments before his ticking watch reminded him that he couldn't remain here forever. He opened his mouth to resume speaking, only for her to interrupt him.

"I... I know that this may sound foolish," she said pleadingly as a tear rolled from her eye and smudged her mascara. "But if I could, I would want to atone for such things now, before I die."

Her voice faltered, and a second tear fell down her face, followed by another until she was quite clearly crying again. The sight made Tsutomu's chest ache, and at that moment, he wanted nothing more to run over and pull her into a tight embrace, the way he'd done when she'd first told him of her pregnancy.

Instead, all he could do was stand and watch speechlessly as her emotional state continued to worsen. Sachiko buried her face in both hands for a few moments to compose herself, then looked back up at him in despair. "I don't have time to speak with you anymore. Please leave..."

She reached for the door, and Tsutomu tried to protest, but she slammed it shut without a further word. An ensuing click made it clear that the door had been locked before the gravity of the situation dawned upon him.

He had blundered this reunion, despite saying all the right things. The injustice made him want to scream and kick at the door, but instead, he clenched his fists and slowly backed away, wondering if this was indeed the end.

He didn't want to go on existing if it was the case, and as he shuffled along on the footpath afterward, only one remedy for his pain came to mind.

There was bound to be a bar or similar establishment nearby, and just like during the days following his divorce, he would go in to drink until he could no longer see straight.

******

Notes:

- Tonjiru is a pork and vegetable soup that is flavored with miso