November’s burgeoning chill gave way to a bitterly cold December, and still nothing had come of her run-in with those other hosts. This did nothing to quell her anxiety, however; feuds could fester below the surface for a long time in the underworld, and the longer it did so the uglier the retaliation usually ended up being. She kept aware of her surroundings at all times, even in broad daylight, but despite the feeling of being watched she never had any proof other than her instincts.

Nothing more came of her encounter with Michiko over the next month, either. It wasn’t so surprising given the turn their discussion had taken at the end, and so she resigned herself to the fact that life would go on in the same chaotic pattern until she was either discovered and dealt with or she gave up and turned herself in. It was a great surprise, then, when Michiko paid another visit to the club a week before Christmas. She was dressed much closer to what Tora had expected the first time: a form-fitting pastel pink cashmere turtleneck with a grey knee-length skirt and grey and pink argyle leggings, complete with sensible pumps that fit the color scheme. What was perhaps an even bigger departure from last time was her hair. She’d gotten a perm, and wore it tied up into two little poofy pigtails with her bangs hanging freely across her forehead. It was an adorable look. The host was thankful Ms. Mole wasn’t here tonight; he pictured her going ballistic with envy at the mere sight of such perfection.

Tora had been deep in conversation with a client when she felt a kind of tug on her attention toward the door. The sight of Michiko standing nervously in the entryway incited the host to find an exit from her table as soon as possible, but it was more than 15 minutes before she was able to join her at the booth the woman ended up sitting at. If only Tora could have seen herself in this moment, she probably would have mocked herself for the lovesick display she was no doubt putting on. If nothing else, the telltale heat on her cheeks gave her away.

“Michiko, you came back,” Tora stammered.

“I didn’t want you to forget me,” she teased with a smile. Her demeanor was much different from the night they met; more relaxed.

“I didn’t think I’d ever be seeing you again after the way we parted,” the host said as she took a seat beside her.

“To be honest, I didn’t think so either. But you gave me a lot to think about. I appreciate your different perspective on life, but it is...very different from the way my family thinks.”

“Oh? How different could we be?”

“I’ll give you a hint which might explain a lot: my last name is Tanabe.”

“That’s a very common name, Michiko.”

“You can call me Micchan. And no matter how common the name is, who does your mind recall first when you hear it?”

“Hmm...Tanabe Biomechanicals? The company that’s pioneering Japan’s “bionic age,” or so they call it?”

“That would be the one. My father is the CEO,” she said with an apologetic smile.

“You don’t look at all pleased to reveal your lineage,” Tora needled.

“Well, it’s just - I mean - “ she stammered, increasingly more embarrassed.

Tora understood perfectly; her father’s company was hellbent on “upgrading” Japan’s workforce so each man could perform well enough for three people. The reasoning went that if everyone could do the work of three, even with a dwindling population the need for foreign employees would go down, and Japan could return to being a homogeneous nationonce more. More radical government officials called for the deportation of first-generation Halfs, too - which would include Tora. She often wondered if the bionics industry wasn’t creating more problems than it was solving, but she wouldn’t dare say that to her guest.

“Your father is a brilliant man,” Tora fibbed to save Micchan from further embarrassment. It seemed to work; she eased further into the cushion with a barely audible sigh.

“My father is indeed brilliant, but he also has some...extreme ideas, and enough sway with the right people to promote those ideas. I’m always afraid people will think I share these thoughts by association.”

“Do you?”

“No! Hell no. Although I love him dearly, I believe we as a country are only as good as our treatment of our most disenfranchised members. Everyone deserves a chance to make a living, a right to be treated with basic human decency,” she said, glancing around as if to make sure her words didn’t reach the wrong ears.

Tora wasn’t sure how to respond to that - not even the most outgoing clients were so blunt about their honne, true feelings, so soon. She chose the regular host response: flirtation. She took Micchan’s hand and gently rubbed the flesh between thumb and pointer finger with her own thumb. The chemistry was undeniable. A pleasant bolt of warmth ignited in the host’s hand, up her arm, and on down her body. “You don’t need to worry about anything here except enjoying herself, darling. Everyone is too intent on their own conversation to eavesdrop.”

Micchan’s smile lightened and her regal posture returned. “Thank you, Tora.”

“Don’t even worry your pretty little head about it. There’s no need to thank me. Now why don’t we put this nonsense behind us and get on with the merrymaking?”

Encouraged by Micchan’s nod, Tora scooted closer and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close. Another flash of electricity jolted the host momentarily, and it took all her professional training to keep from losing her head.

“You’re so cute, do you realize that?” Tora whispered in her ear. Kitchen wasn’t the only one blushing at those words; the host’s own cheeks grew hot, causing her to wonder briefly if she really meant the words just uttered. Even if she did, Tora assured herself, there was nothing wrong with believing a client was cute. It was just a simple observation, after all.

A couple hours later, after far too many drinks and several intermissions at other clients’ tables, Tora returned again to Micchan. Her cheeks were vibrantly rosy and a goofy smile was plastered across her face.

“I got a secret to tell you!” she slurred.

“If it’s a secret, why would you want to tell it to me?” the host teased.

“Because I’m drunk, silly! Now listen! D’Arisu is going to play a secret live on Christmas Eve, and I got us tickets! You’ll go?”

“D’Arisu? You know I’d love to, but...” Tora trailed off sadly.

“Oh, I see,” Micchan replied with obvious hurt. “I’m sorry to have been so presumptuous.”

“No, it’s not that, not at all! It’s...well, the club always has a big client appreciation event that we are all supposed to be here for. But...I’ve never missed one before, so I’ll try?”

“Why don’t you tell your boss I am paying for your time? I don’t know what the pricing is like for this sort of thing, but money is no object.”

Tora was about to say she didn’t feel comfortable accepting the usual host exchange for a night out with her, but that would be career suicide. So instead she squelched down the queasiness and accepted.

“Now, how about another round of three questions?” she suggested. “I’ll start this time, since I never got my turn to ask you anything before you ran off on me that first night.”

“O-ok, what do you want to know?” Micchan asked, suddenly anxious.

“Hmm... First, what’s your bra size?”

“TORA!” she shrieked, punching her in the arm. Although it felt as if she gave it her best shot, her fist glanced off Tora’s bicep harmlessly.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding! Being serious, what do you do for a living?”

“I work at an advertising firm on the creative end. It’s good money, but they sometimes work us to the bone! I think I have it easy because they don’t want to risk getting on my father’s bad side, but many of my colleagues spend the nights in the office because of the backbreaking workload.”

“That must be tough,” the host said as gently as possible without sounding insincere. Empathy went a long way with most customers, but over-the-top sympathy came off condescending and fake. She let go of Micchan’s shoulder and nudged her upright. Tora looked into Micchan’s eyes with a twinkling smile, and the latter averted them with a blush before looking back in earnest.

“It is. Sometimes I wonder if my work is meaningless because we are just trying to sell unnecessary things to people who probably can’t afford them, but it’s a job. I had wanted to join a non-profit but my father objected rather strongly. He said you can’t trust their motives - as if helping others is something to be suspicious of.”

Micchan suddenly stopped talking, ending her sentence with a bitter tone. Then, as if realizing she’d said too much, she took a long, desperate swig of her cocktail.

“It’s all right,” Tora comforted her. “Now, for my second question.”

“No way! You wasted your first question with that “joke” - this is your third and last, buddy!”

“All right, all right!” the host said with a laugh. Then, in a more serious tone, added: “my third question is: do you believe in the Gods?”

“Which one?” she asked suspiciously.

“Any. Ours. Shinto kami, Bodhisattvas, Buddha, or any others. Do you believe in anything at all besides what is in the here and now before you? I don’t care what you call it.”

Silence. Then, “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“It should be easy! Yes or no. Isn’t it as simple as that?”

“Well, not really,” Micchan said thoughtfully. “Like most other families these days, we go to shrines every New Year to pray for health and happiness for the next year and we go to the local matsuri and all that, mostly out of a sense of tradition. But when put to the test, I can’t say I really believe the Gods actually exist. Why do you ask?”

“I don’t share this with many people, but I’m a very spiritual person. Sometimes I feel like I’m one of the only people left around here who believes.” This part was true. “I like to ask everyone whether they believe. It’s something of a personal survey, if you will.” This part was less true; she had no idea why the question popped out of her mouth - this new habit of blurring the lines between personal life and work persona around Micchan was getting dangerous. “But anyway, it’s hard to explain. Being in a shrine just...recharges me. I get this feeling of serenity that settles into my very bones. If that’s not real, I don’t know what is.”

“What gives you such faith?” she asked.

“It isn’t faith, it’s belief,” Tora stated matter-of-factly. “Faith is believing something without a morsel of proof as to whether it might be true; belief is paying attention to the proof that is all around us every day. I know the Gods exist because the sun still shines, and the rain pours down on cloudy days - even in our tech-filled world, we can’t control the weather yet. Although I also subscribe to the scientific method of explaining the phenomena around us, there is something powerful about the old explanations. Our ancestors respected the world, and they lived their lives with a certain level of awe for nature. That worldview has a certain alluring charm that science tends to lack.”

“Give me an example,” she said dubiously with a narrow of her eyes.

“Certainly, my lady. Although this tale doesn’t involve the gods per se, it’s certainly up there as far as fantastical events go. You’ve heard the tale of Urashima Taro, I’m sure?”

“Of course, dummy. We all learn it in school.”

“Right. So here you’ve got a kindly fisherman, Urashima Taro, who rescues a poor defenseless turtle from a group of awful children who were beating on it. In return, he’s whisked away to the bottom of the ocean where he meets the king and princess of the sea. As a reward for his good deed he’s treated to three days of banquets and entertainment beyond anything a humble fisherman such as him could have expected, until finally he grows homesick.

“His otherworldly hosts intuit his yearning for home and send him back - but with a gift as their final show of gratitude. Except, as you know, it’s a beautiful lacquer box that he can’t open. As long as he keeps it closed, they promise, happiness will be his. So with this in his care, he returns home. Except, it’s not home anymore; he’s been gone for so long only the elders have even heard of his family! He’s not happy at all - everyone he loved is gone. So he opens that box, hoping there’s some happiness inside it - AND DIES. All the time he spent under the sea was inside, and it returns to him now, aging him 300 years. The. End. Incredible, right?”

“I don’t follow,” Micchan said quietly. “It’s just a story to pass time.”

“But think about the meaning behind this story. It is full of lessons, and someone’s take on it reveals a lot about them. Urashima Taro’s source of unhappiness all began when he accepted that ride to the bottom of the sea. So a cynical person might conclude that helping others leads to personal misfortune and unhappiness. But a more optimistic person might say that the source of his misfortune was accepting rewards for his good deeds. Maybe we should just help others, for no other reason than to help. Kindness with expectations of reward is not true kindness.

“The other lesson at the end is even more interesting. Otohime, the princess, explicitly told him never to open the box, but he did so anyway in his pursuit for happiness. Is this a message that one should obey all orders, even if they don’t understand the reason behind it? I personally don’t think so, but others might.”

“So, what do you think it means?” Micchan seemed to be gaining interest at last.

“For me, I think the whole story is about the journey, and how it changes you. I think that once you decide to embark on a grand adventure, one that takes you far from home and outside your comfort zone, you will be forever changed. Whatever spurs your decision to jump for it is less important than the decision itself, for to accept adventure is to accept sacrifice and loss, but also wonder and knowledge. You can never go back to the person you were before that journey, and you will never see your home or the world in the same way again. Even if the world remains the same, your eyes have changed. The box and the consequences of opening it teach us that looking backwards brings only heartbreak.”

“That’s...very interesting,” Micchan said. Tora wasn’t able to discern the emotions behind the twinkle in her eye, the crooked smirk, her slightly tilted head.

Unfortunately, the host didn’t have much time to ponder it, either. Maria and her two friends Yui and “Kuma,” as she called herself, had skulked up behind Micchan with arms crossed, cold drinks in hand. Maria was another of Tora’s regular clients - Yui and Kuma only came with her, although Maria often came alone - and her capricious nature usually had Tora walking on eggshells around her. It didn’t take more than a glance to know she, and by extension her friends, were furious.

“You thought you could just ditch us, leave us with Hajime all evening, did you?” Maria spat, staring Tora down. Her body was rigid and her knuckles were white from gripping her cocktail glass. Tora half expected it to shatter in her hand any moment.

Tora stood slowly, her palms out and down before her as if she were facing down a feral animal. “Maria, I’m sorry. I just can’t promise you all of my time. I would love to give all of my time to everyone who wants it, but I only have one body,” she carefully enunciated, hoping she could still salvage things.

The cold shock of having an icy rum and coke thrown into her face was Tora’s only answer from Maria. As her friends looked on in disbelief, Tora calmly mopped up the liquid from her face and clothes. Takashi and Hajime rushed over to escort the angry trio into a private room, where Tora assumed they would be engaging in some serious damage control.

“Next time, you’d better make a little more time for me!” Maria shouted between angry outbursts directed at her escorts.

Tora excused herself to clean up, and by the time she returned Micchan was staring down at her hands, clearly uncomfortable.

“I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time,” she apologized.

“There’s no need to apologize. Needless to say, I lost track of time. I’m sorry you had to witness that.” Tora really was sorry, for more than one reason. This was a major rookie mistake for a host.

“I must be going anyway, Tora. Could you call me a cab?”

The two exchanged phone numbers while they waited on the sidewalk for the taxi to arrive. Afterwards, Tora went back to the break room to clean off the stickiness of Maria’s thrown drink. Takashi’s hardened face was boring into her through the mirror as she looked up from washing her face. She flinched, barely, but it was enough.

“Explain yourself.” This was not a question; Takashi was issuing a command. It had been so long since his dangerous side had been directed at her that she’d forgotten how terrifying he could be.. HHer innards seemed to liquefy where she stood.

“I owe it to you not to make excuses,” Tora said quietly. “I don’t know what happened. She gets to me.... She gets into my head, and I lose track of all this that I’ve worked so hard to build,” she said, motioning to her image.

Takashi’s face softened, and Tora was able to relax slightly. “I never thought it would happen to you. You’ve been the perfect host all this time; you knew what they wanted without wanting them back. But even monkeys fall from trees, as they say.” Takashi sighed.

Tora didn’t know how to respond, so she remained silent and turned to face him.

“We had to offer Maria and her friends a lot of freebies to get her to shut up, you know. That’s going to come out of your pay. C’mon, let’s go have some ramen. You’ll just upset the girls if you come back tonight. I’ve already put Ryohei in charge of closing up.”

Tora was back to being nervous; she hadn’t heard the last of this if he was taking her out for a meal. But this was her boss and benefactor after all, so there was no refusing. “All right, yeah. Let’s go,” she responded.

Not even the fragrant steam rising up from each of their bowls could mask the displeasure on Takashi’s face as they sat across each other in a small ramen shop near work. The gang often went here because the owners didn’t ask question - probably another yakuza-run business, Tora realized. She hardly realized she was being rude until Takashi scolded her for poking at her egg idly with her chopsticks. More alert - and on edge - she set about doing justice to the giant bowl of noodles, broth, pork cutlet, and bean sprouts down to the last slurp of liquid. The pair finished eating without a word, and then Takashi held up a finger for hot sake to be brought over. Once they each had a full cup in front of them, he began to speak quietly and reverently.

“Long before you came to Tokyo, I’m sure, I myself was a junior host at another club. I thought I was the king, unstoppable - I was consistently ranked #1 at my club, and I even won the national host award once or twice.” He waved his hand dismissively as if these accomplishments were trivial, even bothersome, but Tora knew how proud he really was - his champion’s belts and trophies were still displayed in his office.

“I’ve lost count of how many women professed their eternal love for me - how many said they’d leave their husbands for me, that they’d die for me. You know how it is, you’re at the top now. It all gets so confusing, so you have to shut your feelings and your conscience away into a little chest and throw away the key, otherwise it will drive you mad. But eventually, someone always comes along who picks that lock. Or maybe you’re so tired of clutching that little chest that you just hand over the key - who could say, really?

“That person will turn you inside out, exposing all the smoke and mirrors you use to fragment yourself, to separate the host from the man, until you’re no longer sure which persona is the real you. And if you’re not careful it will mess you up irrevocably. My crucible was a woman named Ayame. God, she was beautiful. Mischievous as hell, too. Whatever the acceptable level of interaction was, she wanted to take it up another three notches. It didn’t take long for me to be in over my head because she was definitely calling the shots. She threw wads of cash at any obstacles in our way long after the idea of taking her money started to make me feel a little sick.

Takashi paused a moment, lost in thought, before snapping back to his monologue. Tora noticed a slight tremor in the hand that held onto his sake cup. “Anyway, as I’m sure you could guess, things quickly soured. She started picking fights with my other clients and generally tried to buy all of my time - she even rented out an apartment for us to meet for sex. With all that cash flying around you’d think I’d have caught a whiff of how dirty the money was, but I had no idea she was a mob boss’ wife until I showed up to our little honeymoon suite one day to find her tied up to a chair, beaten within an inch of her life. The pleading look in her eyes as I opened the door haunts me to this day. They gave me a thrashing too - I’m surprised they let me live, really. ’I’m a forgiving man,’ her husband said. ’You didn’t know the slut was married. All the money she threw at you, you’d be stupid not to put out.’ If my mouth hadn’t been swollen shut I’d have talked back, but of course I couldn’t - my jaw was broken. So he said, maybe with my new face I’d never be able to go back to being a host, so maybe I ought to work for him instead. I had no choice. Luckily I healed nicely. The rest you know of course, but anyway, I was fucked up for a long time. To be honest I still am. Ayame opened that chest and her husband blew it up. I don’t feel a goddamned thing for anyone anymore. And I don’t want you to make the same mistakes.”

Tora knew their chat disproved that he didn’t care about anyone, but she wasn’t about to point that out; she had bigger issues with his speech. “You know I’ve only met with her a couple of times, right? This hardly seems necessary.”

Takashi stopped mid-sip and set his sake cup down a little too hard. “That’s where you’re wrong. I saw the way you looked at her. You think feelings always develop along a predetermined timeline? They don’t, and you’re going to get burned by that one if you’re not careful. Listen to senpai, he’s made all these mistakes so you wouldn’t have to.”

Another bout of silence stretched between the pair. Tora didn’t trust herself to speak for quite some time, not until the anger and indignation that was seething in her mind calmed down. Takashi had been her boss and friend long enough that she knew compassion lay at the heart of his warning. It would be wrong to repay such a kindness with the ungrateful words swimming through her mind, no matter how difficult the message had been to hear. Even so, however, the host knew she would continue seeing Michiko, even if not at the club.

It was Takashi who eventually broke the silence. He asked her to take two days off - to “rest” - which she knew was supposed to be her punishment for poor crisis management. Once the bill was paid, she accepted his offer to escort her home, and the short journey passed in a more comfortable silence than their earlier pauses at the restaurant. Takashi placed a firm but gentle hand on her shoulder as they neared the entrance to her building.

“Use this time to think about what I’ve told you tonight, would you? For your own sake.”

“I will, Takashi,” she said with a polite smile. She patted the hand on her shoulder and turned to head in. “Good night,” she said quietly as she walked inside.

That night, Tora had a dream that shook her to her core.

A young woman dressed in a luxurious, silken version of a Shinto shrine maiden’s hakama appeared trapped in a large cage. She repeatedly bashed her body against the bars imprisoning her, eliciting thunderous booms with each impact. The woman was indescribably, inhumanly beautiful in a wild, almost feral way. Her features were all sharp and her untamed black hair cascaded down her back. Although it appeared she was yelling out for help, the words were not audible. The dreamlike vision sharpened and revealed that the cage - and its bars - were not made of metal but of what seemed to be pure, bright energy. As the woman continued her futile efforts to escape, her visage began to change wildly. Her silhouette rippled and the woman shifted into an elderly man hunched over a cane; then the man became a giant fox that stretched the boundaries of the cage; just as soon as the cage had accommodated the new size, the fox sprouted a maternal looking passenger. The being screamed soundlessly then as if being struck, and with an explosion of dust disappeared. Once the dust settled, the beautiful woman was back, but unconscious on the floor.

Tora now saw herself in the dream, crouched by the cage without moving - waiting, it seemed. After what seemed like hours, the woman awoke. As she rose to her hands and knees, however, her features began to twist until the beautiful, free spirited face was replaced with an air of viciousness complete with red glowing eyes and sharp, gnashing teeth. She stayed on her hands and knees and appeared to be sniffing about for something like a hunting dog would seek the trail of its quarry. Suddenly her eyes locked on Tora and she growled primally, nostrils flaring. The monstrous woman’s arms grew in length as they shot out through the cage to settle firmly around Tora’s neck. Dagger-like claws sprouted from where once there had been dainty fingernails, and their razor points tore several shallow gashes into her neck. Tora was weak, so weak - she was unable to react as the beast lifted her from the ground and proceeded to crush and cut into her throat. Her real body felt like it was having difficulty breathing as her dream self continued to be crushed - it felt as if the woman aimed to pop her head from her shoulders.

Her life began to flash before her - she was dying in her sleep, goddamnit, with no one to miss her, no accomplishments in life to serve as her legacy. NO! came the booming voice within her mind. Not like this, please! You were once human, please remember that! I don’t know what’s happening to you, but you must fight it! You can’t just go invading people’s dreams and killing them - I don’t even know you!

As that deep part of Tora’s subconscious began to talk, the monster’s eyes began to change, the red orbs receding back into only slightly dilated pupils. The woman seemed to be fighting to return to herself, and to Tora’s relief she was released as the woman began her struggle anew. Her dream self slammed back into the ground and lay there a moment, clutching at her neck.

Once she had regained her breath she chanced a look at the cage. The beautiful woman the dream had opened to was now standing there once more, looking worse for the wear but stable for the moment.

“You were wrong about two things, spirit walker,” her voice boomed in Tora’s mind. It was at once beautiful and terrifying, the intensity of it painful. “I was never human, and you most assuredly know Me even if you think you do not. Indeed, you have known Me since childhood. But enough; I do not have much time before My battle begins anew. They are changing Us, defiling Our holy domains for their own disgusting purposes. I am resisting better than some others, as you will see.” The woman motioned to her left, and as she did so at least a dozen other cages were revealed each with their own battles taking place. “I lay this task upon you, mortal: you must put an end to this before We must take dire actions. If you fail, the toll on human lives may be severe. Now go! Do not disappoint Me!”

Tora jolted upright from her futon drenched in sweat and gasping for air. “I have GOT to cut back on my drinking!” she rasped to herself. A quick look in the bathroom mirror, however, was enough to prove that the dream wasn’t quite so ephemeral as the host had thought. Her neck was covered in the very same scratches she received in her dream and ugly, purple, finger-shaped bruises bloomed around the scratches in a ghastly ring of violence. Tora felt gingerly around everything and was relieved to find nothing broken or seriously damaged. She was also glad for the cold weather that would allow her to cover up with a scarf, for she knew she had to go out in search of answers to this nightmare vision. She was fairly certain, from what she knew of the old myths and religious studies, that she had somehow encountered the deity she felt most closely linked with for most of her life: Inari, the deity of foxes, rice, fertility, prosperity, and any number of other related domains depending on who one asked and which period of history one considered. It only made sense, she reasoned, to begin her search for answers at a shrine.

Although she usually went to the small Inari sub-shrine at Hanazono Shrine in Shinjuku nearly every day before work, she opted for a destination a bit further out and more strongly devoted to her favorite deity. It was almost two in the afternoon by the time she managed to get ready and made the hour and a half trek from her apartment to Ueno Park.

Although all of Ueno Park was beautiful and a peaceful trip for her, Hanazono Inari Shrine was naturally her favorite refuge in the park. She had found it quite by accident with her brother in their first month of exploration after moving to Tokyo from Kyoto. They’d gone to the zoo but found the small cages and unhappy animals depressing so had instead wandered around the park. Tora still missed Fushimi Inari Shrine fiercely and had bolted off at full speed upon the first sight of Hanazono Inari’s pathway of red torii. It wasn’t as monumental as Fushimi Inari, but her heart had swelled with relief to know there was a shrine comparable to her favorite place.

Tora often made the trip out to Ueno on days off when she needed to recharge her batteries. Today, however, she went with new purpose. The host took her time walking down the torii path today, grazing her outstretched fingers against the red wooden beams as she passed. Once she had cleansed her hands and mouth and reached the main shrine for prayer, she found herself unable to focus. She stood there with head bowed for several minutes just reliving the dream she’d had before a prayer finally came to her. Help enlighten me, help me figure out what this all means, she prayed at last, ending with a final clap and standing straight. After finishing her prayers she found a bench on the grounds and let her mind empty of all thoughts and worries. It was ironic that meditation came as a hard laborious process within the silence of her apartment, but in the peaceful bustle of a shrine it was as simple as breathing. Tourists and shrine visitors walked past her every few minutes, but her mind barely registered the motion before her, nor did it complain when her butt began to grow numb from the cold stone seat. All was peaceful, all was still for her. And so she remained, sitting calmly, even as delicate flurries of snow began to flutter down on her. This was the best way to let answers come to her, she had found.

Day had given way to dusk and still Tora sat in her trance until she gradually became aware of a warm presence next to her on the bench. It was the old lady who always seemed to stop in to say hello whenever Tora happened to visit the Ueno shrine. She’d always assumed the crone lived somewhere nearby and came here every day as part of a daily stroll - nothing else could truly explain why she always saw her here. The woman had a kindly face weathered by time - it was impossible to guess just how old she was - and always walked hunched and with the assistance of a gnarled wooden cane that looked about as old as its owner. She was always dressed in traditional Japanese garb, and today was no exception. To arm her against the cold, the old woman had a thick overcoat over her wool kimono.

“You’ve come back again, young man? My, you are a diligent one,” she croaked in a voice that sounded as if it had been worn down from years of smoking.

“Yes, ma’am, I’m here again on another of my days off. It’s a pleasure to see you again. Thank you for always paying me a visit when I am here,” Tora responded brightly and in her most polite Japanese - it took a special effort, given how informally and often crassly she spoke to clients and coworkers. For this gem of an old lady, however, Tora was all smiles. It amazed her to meet someone as traditional as she was who was not also judgmental of Tora being a Half.

“Why, of course, young man. You sure are a strange one - most youths have no interest at all in our culture these days, they’re too busy playing at the arcades or shopping for Western clothing. It’s nice to see someone who still remembers our traditional values,” she repeated the same lines she did every month.

“Thank you for your kindness, ma’am. Please receive me kindly next time as well,” the “diligent young man” said before turning back to gaze straight ahead. It was common during such visits for the pair to share a bench in silence.

Something small and circular was being placed in Tora’s upturned palm minutes later. Startled, she looked down to see the old woman had given her a clear tub filled with some kind of balm, but she had kept her hand over Tora’s. She hesitated a moment, then curled Tora’s fingers over the container and gripped her hand tightly. The woman was staring at her intensely once more.

“This should help with your injuries, young man,” she explained with a gesture toward Tora’s neck. The scarf was still firmly in place. Goosebumps prickled up along her arms - how could this granny know? “Whoever hurt you like that must be very sorry for what they did,” she continued, eyes boring into Tora’s in an uncharacteristic show of eye contact.

“Thank you, granny,” Tora said, fidgeting with discomfort. Her scarf was still firmly in place! How could she know?

The woman’s grip on her hand remained firm, however. “You should go on home and put it on immediately,” she said cryptically. Tora nodded numbly, trying to disentangle their hands as gently as possible. “It’s nearly dark, young man, and the snow is expected to keep on coming,” the old lady continued. There was an odd quaver to her voice and a pleading look in her eyes. “Won’t you call it a day? Such a fine young man, I’d hate to see you catch cold. You should go straight on home - you never know what kind of ruffians will come out at night.”

“Thank you for your concern, ma’am. There’s no need to worry about me, though. I have the constitution of an ox!” Tora smiled at her, trying to comfort her. But even as she said this she noticed the flurries had ceased and the air lacked that heavy, pregnant feeling that indicated heavier snowfall - granny was either mistaken or lying.

“Please, young man, please consider it.” She stood now and started to dance nervously from foot to foot even as she shivered from the wind nipping at her exposed skin. Tora was about to insist once more that she was fine when a young couple rounded the corner of the shrine with a medium-sized dog tugging insistently at its leash toward the shrine’s exit. The dog’s excited barking tore Tora’s attention away from her awkward conversation for just a moment; when she looked back the woman was out of sight. The only sign of her presence was a warmth on the bench and her forgotten cane. Tora mused that the cane must have just been for show, but she decided to take it to the shrine’s office anyway so they could place it with other lost items.

Something felt different in the shrine after Tora returned from the office. For starters, the handful of visitors she had passed on her way from the bench to the office had vanished. Although nothing was visibly out of place, it felt as if something had stirred up the shrine’s sacred air with some foul presence, dispersing the feeling that the shrine existed in some separate reality. Out of curiosity she investigated further, walking around the shrine building for a sign of anything amiss.

Something was rustling around in the bushes to the left of the building near the fox statues by the time she circled back around to the front of the building. It sounded too big for any of the small number of wild animals still able to survive in Tokyo’s hostile environment. That meant it was a someone, not a something. A shrine robber or a homeless person seeking refuge was, sadly, a more likely possibility than a late-night pilgrim, so Tora carefully crept toward the shrine building, senses on high alert. As she passed by the left fox statue, something glinted discreetly in the corner of her eye so she turned – too late. Someone was already on her, grabbing her around the chest to pin her arms and pressing something cold against her throat.

“Well, well, Kitten. Who knew you were so old fashioned?” growled a familiar gruff voice.

“Come on now, Jun, is it really so surprising?” said Kyoya, the other half of the arrogant duo from the rival host club that she had chastised the night she met Michiko. Kyoya emerged from behind the other statue. His smug grin made Tora want to go berserk.

“What do you assholes want? How did you find me here?” she rasped, careful not to move too much despite her rage for fear that whatever was against her throat was indeed a blade.

“Obviously we’ve been following you, moron. We want payback for your intrusion on our business the other day. We’ve seen the girl going to your club since then, you customer-stealing shit stain! Did you really think your actions would have no consequences, that you could get away with it?” Kyoya shouted in her ear.

Tora struggled mildly against Jun’s grasp, but without knowing what he was armed with she was unsure of how to proceed and gave up for the moment.

“That’s right, little kitten, don’t try to resist,” Kyoya continued. “That night, you ruined our credibility as hosts; word got around somehow and we got put on probation for supposedly harassing the girl because YOU chose to make an issue out of it. So we’re gonna make sure you’re never an issue for us again.”

“You’re really gonna kill me for that? A bit of an overreaction, don’t you think?” Tora objected weakly. Her anger was about to boil over - she needed to find a way to deescalate this, and quickly. Images of the parts she could remember from that fateful day she became a runaway flashed through her psyche - she could not have a repeat episode under any circumstances. The effort of holding back both the flashbacks and the rage made her knees buckle, every pore of her body oozing foul sweat.

“If we were going to kill you, it wouldn’t be an overreaction, you dirty halfbreed.” Kyoya threatened. “You shouldn’t even exist, let alone be allowed to stay in Japan. But nevertheless, your life will be spared. Your face, however, is about to become worthless. You can’t be a host if your face is slashed to ribbons, now can you? I don’t think even the nicest of girls would take pity on you then. Pin him!”

The last thing Tora saw was Jun tossing the knife that had been against her throat over to Kyoya before he tackled her to the ground. Her vision slipped away and she felt an immense wave of heat surge through her body and pulse outward. She thrashed wildly where she lay and felt a sudden lifting of weight from her body as her assailants went flying backwards. The sound of stone cracking told her they had probably hit the statues. Tora was paralyzed by an overwhelming weakness and so despite being free of her restraints she could only lay prone while they recovered and doubled back for round two. The hosts were back too soon and lost no time in tying her down. It took the searing pain of a knife dragging across her cheek to snap her back to action, but even then all she could do was scream as consciousness threatened to flicker out.

“What the fuck was that? The bastard didn’t move and he flung us away with, like, his mind or something! Kyoya, c’mon man, maybe we should stop,” Jun hissed, dumbstruck.

“Shut up, idiot, just cut him open - all over, not just his face. Maim him so bad he can never make money off his body again! Make him look like that ghost - you know, the one with the slit-mouth” Kyoya spat.

“I dunno, man, isn’t this a little too far? We were just gonna scare him. I didn’t sign up for this.”

In his moment of hesitation Jun released his grip on Tora and she heard the rustle of clothing as he stood. Kyoya pounced on him, pinning him hard against the fox statue. Tora heard the sickening crunch of punches landing on Jun. The snap of bones breaking crackled through the chill air; it was probably Jun’s nose, Tora guessed.

“Well, now you’ll have to give up hosting for a bit too, huh? What a shame. Better yet, maybe you should just retire. Our club doesn’t need any pussies besides the ones our clients bring in anyway.”

Kyoya was about to continue, but Tora experienced a surge of strength return and leaped to her feet. At this point her better judgment was clouded by anger so instead of making a run for it she tackled Kyoya from behind. His grip on the knife slackened as his head slammed into the statue and both he and Jun stumbled backward.

A trancelike fury boiled over in Tora. She could hardly believe the words that spilled from her mouth - it was like something was borrowing her body to speak. “Anyone who not only believes it’s acceptable to prey on the innocent but seeks to persecute those who dare to stop you from spreading injustice does not deserve to continue on in this world. In the name of justice I demand you pay your karmic debts!”

The fox statue began to rumble. The ground shook beneath them as well, but it didn’t feel anything like an earthquake - it was too localized. A flash of light illuminated the shrine as the statue exploded into rubble. Tora recovered her wits quickly enough to cover her face against the debris, and by the time she looked up there was a third person standing between her and the other hosts. Without a word, this mysterious person lashed out in a knife strike to Jim’s throat. As the host dropped to his knees gasping for breath the newcomer whipped around with lightning speed to deal with Kyoya.

He blocked savagely just as Kyoya brought his arm down to slash at the man’s shoulder, deftly disarming him. In retaliation he jammed two fingers behind his collar bone, swiftly bringing Kyoya to his knees. Once he had him prone the statue man jammed a thumb against his opponent’s forehead.

“You are extremely lucky I dont have the authority to cull you, vermin,” the man growled with undisguised contempt. Despite the harshness of his words Tora could not help but admire the musical lilt to his speech. “However, it is within my power to show you what you have coming to you.”

The man began chanting in ancient Japanese that Tora couldn’t make out. A blaze of light snaked down his arm and into the thumb against Kyoya’s head. The light continued to grow in size and intensity until it encompasses them both completely. No sound escaped the shell of light, so Tora would never know what was said exactly, but Kyoya looked to be in excruciating pain, alternating between begging and screaming until he lost consciousness.

The man pushed his unresponsive form over onto Jun and barked “get him out of here. I’ve spared you the same torture, Junya Wakabayashi, in the hopes that you will use this second chance to turn a new page. I can tell your heart really wasn’t in all the suffering you caused. Don’t let me see either of you causing trouble again.”

Jun did not need to be told twice. He shouldered Kyoya clumsily and left the shrine as quickly as possible.

The stranger turned to face Tora. He looked like the male version of the woman in her dream: tall for a Japanese man, he had a small but sturdy frame with finely toned lean muscle; his jet black hair hung down in short jagged edges around his face and a bright red streak swept across his right temple; his sharp jawline and bold eyebrows were offset by heart-melting buckwheat brown eyes - the embodiment of a classically handsome face. Tora was so shocked by his good looks she didn’t think to react as he ripped off the sleeve of his t-shirt and pressed it to her bloody cheek.

She shrank away once her senses returned to her, partially because she was still caught in the vestiges of fight-or-flight mode and partially because she had no idea if he was friend or foe. As if reading her mind, he gently wrapped an arm around her waist so she couldn’t run.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Are you all right?” His voice was so gentle and calm that it erased Tora’s flight instinct and coaxed her into abandoning her escape plans.

“It seems you stepped in just in time,” her trembling voice uttered. “Besides the cheek, I’m unharmed. Thank you.”

“Good. I don’t know what I would have done if you’d been seriously hurt, Mia.”

Hearing her given birth name jolted her out of her shock, and she nearly fell down again from the force. The man grabbed her arm to steady her and she winced; the other hosts no doubt gave her a bruise there when they restrained her.

“HIRO?!” Tora clamored, the name sounding ridiculous even as it passed her lips. Her brother died on that awful night she’d lost control. To have him before her now would have been impossible.

“I’m afraid not, little Mia,” the man replied sadly.

“Then how do you...?”

Tora saw the glint of bright white teeth smiling in the dark.“You’ve been praying to Inari and her kitsune for a long, long time, haven’t you? If I recall, you would stop by Fushimi Inari every day on your way home from school when you still lived in Kyoto, hmm? Even on days when you were sick, you’d somehow manage to drag yourself out of bed and come to pray for health,” he chuckled.

“I don’t... what? Are you some sort of stalker?” she said, unconsciously stepping away from him.

“You tell everyone you believe in the old ways, that the Gods are undoubtedly real. Yet here you are, face-to-face with a real kitsune who has just performed a miracle to protect you, and you’re choosing this divine moment to freak out and begin doubting the convictions you’ve held dear?”

“A...kitsune? There’s no way,” she stammered. Her hand unconsciously went to her heart in surprise.

“Yes, Mia. A kitsune. My given name is Mamoru, but I hear that’s not such a fashionable name right now so you can call me...Kota. I’ve been assigned as your personal protector since you were in diapers.”

A real kitsune. Tora could hardly believe it, but if this man was telling the truth then she knew she was caught in the middle of something spectacular. Her heart racing, the host approached him again and dared to look into his eyes. Good looks beyond what should be reasonably possible, and just minutes before he’d displayed feats which only the strongest fighters should have been able to accomplish. Tora knew she had to give this guy a chance.

“I don’t think this is the right place to go asking questions, but I’d like to give you a chance to prove you are who - no, what - you say you are before I write you off as some crazy creeper with a hero complex. Will you come with me?” she asked. “I think you and I have much to discuss. And I go by Tora now; the part of me that went by Mia might as well be dead. You should know that, if you’ve been watching me as closely as you say you have been,” she challenged.

“Of course, Tora. But you were so adorable as Mia, and my memories of those days are still recalled fondly, so I couldn’t help but call you by your true name. I’ll go with you, but are you sure you really want to invite a strange man who just exploded out of a statue and has the power to kill you with his bare hands into your home?” he answered with a toothy grin.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, but after we get a few of the more important details ironed out in a public place” she smirked back.

“Lead the way then, my little spirit walker.”

That term again… spirit walker. Tora’s head was swimming with the possibilities - could it be? Could all of the strange events over the last few months have been real and not the delusions of a drunken host? She hoped Kota had some answers.