The salt and umami of the pickles from Kōnozō lingered on the back of her tongue even now. She'd bowed her head. Chosen her words carefully. That alone was enough for Dōmae Yoshiharu to say, "Well, come on up." One bite of the pickled Chinese cabbage, and her honest reaction had shown on her face—and he'd said, "I can trust someone who makes that kind of face." (Trust, huh.) Reina chewed over the word as she stepped on the stone path toward Tsukishirado. She hadn't moved to earn trust. The pickles were just genuinely delicious, and her body had answered first. But to the eyes of a merchant with decades of experience, that had registered as "the real thing." She passed under the noren curtain. The faded characters of "Tsukishirado" looked slightly different this morning. From the kitchen came Sumie's presence. The sound of her finishing nerikiri—the Tsukishirado technique of shaping wagashi by hand alone, without molds or tools. That quiet sound of white bean paste taking form under fingertips. At the wooden-framed glass display case, yesterday's Tsukishirado-yōkan sat in silence. White bean paste floating inside transparent agar. That single piece born where Sumie's hands and her own had overlapped. "You remember things." That first thing Sumie had said now rang clearly inside her this morning as her own words. The customer ledger—the record book Tsukishirado had kept for generations, with the names of regulars, the weather, and a single line of notes—held as many names as the people they'd remembered. That was the kind of business it was. Reina pulled out her memo pad. Pages and pages of invitation wording for the shopkeepers, written and accumulated over the past few days. Different phrasings, carefully folded, prepared for today. Sumie appeared from the kitchen. She glanced over without stopping her hands as she finished the nerikiri. "I already called the neighborhood shopkeepers for this afternoon." "…What?" "Dōmae from Kōnozō, Takeuchi from Hanabi. I think they'll all come." Before she finished speaking, Sumie had already disappeared back into the kitchen. Reina looked at the memo pad in her hand. The carefully folded words seemed to lose their meaning quietly. She couldn't bring herself to be angry. Couldn't—and that frustrated her, made her want to laugh. Reina put the memo pad away with a complicated expression. --- That morning, Reina went around the neighborhood shopkeepers near Yanaka Ginza shopping street. The first place she visited was Kōnozō again. Dōmae kept his hands moving through his prep work as he looked at her. Just as Reina was about to open her memo pad, Dōmae spoke first. "Already heard from Sumie." "…What?" "You're coming to Tsukishirado this afternoon, right?" Reina's hand stopped. The memo pad, carefully folded, had lost its meaning. The words she'd spent days writing had been preempted by Sumie's single line. She couldn't bring herself to be angry. Couldn't—and that frustrated her, made her want to laugh. Reina put the memo pad away with a complicated expression. --- Afternoon at Tsukishirado. The shopkeepers gathered in small groups in the koagari—the four-and-a-half-mat customer seating area. Dōmae from Kōnozō, the proprietress Takeuchi Kayo from the restaurant Hanabi, a couple who sold incense near Jōshōin, and a few other familiar faces. They'd all been invited by Sumie, and they sat on the tatami with something like the mood of a school outing. Reina sat before each one. "How are you feeling today?" Dōmae, asked first, moved his white eyebrows. "…Feeling?" "Sweet or bitter, bright or calm. Anything is fine." Dōmae thought for a while. His face showed he was thinking seriously. "Bitter." One word. Reina nodded. She burned into her eyes Dōmae's thick brows, his solid jaw, the salt scent of Kōnozō from this morning. Holding that person's "today" in her mind, she headed to the kitchen. She stripped away almost all the sweetness from the nerikiri. White bean paste with just a hint of salt. A simple oval shape. One piece that answered that person's "bitter" by removing everything unnecessary. When she brought it, Dōmae took a bite. Silence. Then he nodded quietly. "…Properly bitter." It was unclear whether he was moved or exasperated. But the back of his eyes had softened slightly. Reina noticed it as she was turning to the next person. He wasn't angry. He was impressed. Her interpretation, taken at face value, had been exactly right. She almost burst out laughing and covered her mouth. Dōmae glanced at her. "What?" "Nothing." She swallowed the laugh and sat before the next person. That laughter eased the air in the room just a little. The stiffness of the koagari thinned by one layer. She listened to each person. Asked how they felt. From their words, expressions, and timing, she decided the color, shape, and sweetness of the nerikiri. It wasn't about technical precision. The very act of "seeing this person's today" slowly changed the air of the space. Sumie watched Reina go back and forth between kitchen and koagari only once. Just as Reina thought she'd retreat, she murmured something low and brief. "Not bad at all." Then she vanished back into the kitchen. Reina's hands stopped for a moment. It was the best thing said all day. She knew it. Not the shopkeepers' smiles, not Dōmae's "properly bitter"—but Sumie's short words. The weight of being recognized by someone spread slowly and warmly through Reina's chest. What she'd been thirsting for was here, today. --- Evening, after the shopkeepers had left and silence returned to the koagari. After confirming Sumie had withdrawn to her living space, Reina stepped outside Tsukishirado. At the bottom of Rengekazaka—the stone stairway, forty meters long, thirty-two steps—Rikuto stood waiting. Black hair with red mesh streaks, deep azure vertical-slit eyes. In a suit, a leather bracelet gleaming on his right wrist. In the twilight before the streetlights came on, orange light fell on the stone path. That time just before the streetlight on Rengekazaka—where Reina had photographed the Tsukishirado-yōkan—began to glow. Neither said anything. For a moment. Reina spoke. "I can't accept Zuikō Foods' proposal." It wasn't an apology. Not an explanation. She said it quietly, as her own reason. Rikuto didn't argue. He listened. Whether that silence meant "I expected that" or "I accept it," she couldn't tell in the light before the streetlamp. Reina realized she couldn't tell. Realized she was trying to read Rikuto's expression carefully. Since when had she started doing that? A strange heat kindled in her chest. "But," she continued, "if it were equal terms, things might be different." Rikuto couldn't answer immediately. After a pause, he sat down on the stone steps. In his suit, on the moss-covered stone. Halfway down the thirty-two steps. Reina started to say, "Hayama, your suit—" and stopped. This person too was someone whose speed slowed in Yanaka's alleys. Like when Sōta had spent over twenty minutes photographing the moss on Rengekazaka. Yanaka had something that made people stop. This slope had it. These stones had it. She swallowed the words. If Rikuto didn't mind, it wasn't her place to say. Rikuto, his hand on his suit's knee, looked at the stone. Then he raised his face. "This proposal and my desire to protect Tsukishirado don't contradict each other." The words carried the full weight of corporate reality. He wasn't hiding his conflict. "Protect." The object of that word might not be only Tsukishirado—Reina received that duality. Received it, and felt something move slowly inside her chest. When she tried to grasp what it was, it slipped away. But it was definitely there. She'd never before repeated the words of someone she'd refused so many times in her own heart. "…Please, give me a little time to think." "I'm not rushing you." Rikuto stood up. There was a faint moss stain on his suit's knee. Reina saw it. But she still said nothing. Rikuto went down the slope first. Reina began climbing up alone. One step, then another. Her footsteps on the stone path became only her own. (Protect, huh.) That word made waves again inside her chest. She was quietly unsettled. Alone, so no one would notice—but definitely unsettled. Yanaka's twilight cast long shadows on Rengekazaka's stone steps. --- Back in her room at Yanaka-sō, a notification came to her smartphone. A data file from Seō Sōta. She opened it. Several documents were attached. A list of SNS accounts for each shop in the Shōwa-kai. Tourist flow analysis—the physical break in the route from Yanaka Ginza shopping street to Tsukishirado was marked on a map. And a draft of communication strategy that would transform Tsukishirado's geographic weakness of being "deep in an alley" into the strength of being "a place with a story." Specific methods for presenting Rengekazaka's stone steps not as "just a slope" but as "an experience of arrival" were organized in bullet points. The attached message contained only one line. "I'm not sure if this is right, but I tried to make a modern version of the customer ledger." Reina stared at the screen. A modern version of the customer ledger. Not numerical analysis. Remembering. Sōta had arrived there. That natural Sōta, who'd stood motionless for twenty minutes photographing moss on stone—he'd quietly, in his own words, stood in the same place. Something warm spread through Reina's chest. Once, her hands had trembled at the number of 32,000 likes. A different trembling was in her fingertips tonight. Not trembling. Steady. But definitely moving. Between calling and remembering, a place had been born where she could stand on her own feet. That sensation, tonight for the first time, she understood as the feeling in her palm. From the room's window, the tile roof of Jōshōin—the Pure Land Buddhist temple built at the top of Rengekazaka—sank into the night. In the distance, the light of Tokyo Skytree glowed through the haze. Knock, knock. A light knock at the door. Reina stood up. She opened it to find Sumie standing there in a thin haori. Silver-white hair, clear pale blue eyes. Stains on her fingertips as always. "I wanted to talk about something." Reina invited her in. Sumie glanced out the window for a moment, then looked at Reina's face. "Everyone was pleased with today's nerikiri." "Dōmae said bitter, so I just made it bitter, and it turned out really bitter." "That's fine. You received that person's words." A pause. Sumie, looking toward the window, continued quietly. "You made the Tsukishirado-yōkan last night." "…Yes." "I've been thinking about it ever since. Tonight, one more time." Reina looked at Sumie. Sumie was looking at Reina. Her silver hair glowed quietly in the room's light. "Tomorrow, want to make it together?" Something slowly dissolved inside Reina's chest. The complete method for Tsukishirado-yōkan hadn't been passed down yet. It would take more time for Sumie's fingertip memories to dwell in Reina's hands. But that question was a signal that "the path forward is open." "Yes." One word. Sumie nodded slightly. That was enough. There was no need to add more words. As Sumie left, she stopped at the door. "That person came to the bottom of the slope again. The one from before." Reina didn't answer. Instead of an answer, she paused. "…Makes a good face, but also looks troubled." "Yes." "It's difficult." Not a judgment. Not sympathy. Just a fact, placed in Yanaka's night. Sumie left. The door closed quietly. Reina looked at the light of Tokyo Skytree beyond the window. It continued to glow unchanged through the haze. Rikuto's words—"protect"—and Sumie's words—"tomorrow, together"—sat quietly side by side in the night room. Both unresolved. But tonight, Reina carried a different temperature than last night. She still couldn't make Tsukishirado-yōkan alone. Rikuto's position within t