Night Whispers

The surrealism of Kamishirai’s return to class the next day surprised me. Much like she’d been cut out of a dream and pasted back into reality, she strolled into homeroom with the same distant composure—as if the night before had been a scene from someone else’s life entirely.
     I couldn’t wrap my head around it.
     Presumably, anyone else would have been rattled after witnessing what happened last night.
     Traumatized even.
     Maybe even curled up in a nurse’s office somewhere with tea and a sympathy slip.
     Apparently, those rules didn’t apply to my white-haired classmate.
     If anything, the fact that she was playing the part of a perfectly ordinary, introverted student was the most unsettling part of all.
     The moment the final bell rang, Kamishirai slipped out of the classroom in her usual haste.
     Bag over shoulder, wasting no time at all, I trailed after her down the corridor and caught up near the stairwell.
     “Kamishirai, wait!”
     She paused mid-step and turned around, her usual expression betraying nothing.
     “Yes?”
     “I saw you last night…” I began. “You know, at the intersection near the convenience store.”
     Her eyes flashed with something along the lines of caution.
     I had her attention now.
     “…What exactly did you see?”
     “How you were just standing there watching like none of it mattered. I saw everything.”
     Her composure slipped—just a fraction. The first real crack in the marble façade.
     “What was that all about?” I pressed.
     Kamishirai hesitated, like she was measuring how much I’d already figured out. When she finally spoke, her voice was flat, but the edge beneath it was impossible to miss.
     “…It’s none of your business.”
     “Fine, maybe not. But why are you acting like nothing happened? Someone died, for goodness sake!”
     She made an expression as though she’d made a blunder or something.
     “Forget what you saw. Don’t get involved any further than you already have.”
     You know that’s impossible, right? I’m already involved.”
     Her voice iced over, each word sharp enough to frost glass.
     “I’m saying this for your sake.”
     “But—”
     “It doesn’t concern you.”
     “You don’t get it—I can’t unsee it. I can’t pretend it didn’t happen. So don’t act like I should.”
     That’s when she looked at me—really looked.
     Not the passive kind of glance people toss around in hallways.
     For a second, I thought she might finally say something that made sense.
     Instead—
     “Your understanding won’t change anything.” Her words landed with the finality of a lock clicking shut. “It’s better if you moved on with your life and forgot what you saw. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
     And just like that, she turned and walked away, leaving me stranded in the stairwell with nothing but questions and the bitter aftertaste of being dismissed.
     How frustrating.
     I was certain there was something more sophisticated beneath the surface I just skimmed.
     I raked a hand through my hair, still reeling from our groundbreaking, paradigm-shifting exchange. But as I was thinking—
     “Was that Nozomi you were talking to?”
     I turned around.
     Kotoha stood nearby, hands behind her back innocently, wearing the kind of look that said I wasn’t eavesdropping, but I heard everything.
     “Were you spying on me?” I asked.
     Kotoha gasped theatrically like I’d just insulted her family.
     “How rude! I was looking for you. I just happened to see you talking to her.”
     Rare.
     For someone to be looking for me? .
     Was I about to strike the lottery? Get hit by a truck?
     Statistically, those felt equally likely.
     “Looking for me, huh? What’s up?”
     Kotoha reached into her skirt pocket and, with the kind of flourish usually reserved for magicians or people with way too much time, produced a small card.
     “This.”
     I took it, flipping it between my fingers. Lavender cardstock, neat black lettering.
     Minimalist. Mysterious. Mildly suspicious.
     “I told you about my aunt who runs a tea shop, remember?”
     It had totally slipped my mind.
     “Oh… right.”
     “That’s her address, in case you’re interested.” Kotoha said with a grin that could only be described as playfully conspiratorial. “Just… don’t tell my parents. They’re still pretending she doesn’t exist.”
     Tea shop aunt with parental disapproval? Sounds like a side quest if I’ve ever heard one.
     “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks.”
     “Well, I’ve got to run now, council duties calls. Catch you later!” She winked, pivoted, and took off with the urgency of someone late to three things at once.
     “See you,” I muttered, turning the card over again.

Fujimiya Chiyo
Resident Psychic & Consultant, Midnight Alley
For both your supernatural and non-supernatural distresses.

     The address and phone number were printed in tiny, unassuming text. The card looked generic enough to belong to a scam.
     I mean, seriously—who even calls themselves a ‘resident psychic?’
     Normally, I would’ve laughed it off and shoved the card into the depths where it would never see light again.
     But after last night, even the absurd felt strangely plausible. Which raised the oddly intriguing idea of making a visit.
     I couldn’t quite make up my mind either way.
     I’d barely made it out the school gate when a sudden gust yanked the card from my fingers.
     Before I could react, a black blur darted across the pavement.
     A black cat.
     Its golden eyes locked into me, like it was sizing me up.
     Then with my card clamped neatly between its teeth, it bolted.
     “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
     Without thinking, I gave chase.
     Chasing cats through the streets wasn’t exactly on my afternoon itinerary that day. But there I was, dignity out the window—possessed by the spirit of every cartoon character who’s every lost a hat in the wind.
     For someone whose exercise routine peaked in P.E., I did think I was holding up alarmingly well against my feline adversary, which probably hadn’t even considered me a worthy opponent.
     Just when I was about to give up, it stopped dead in its tracks and dropped the card on the ground. It looked back at me with a lazy flick of its tail and let out a meow that sounded suspiciously like a “later, loser.”
     Then it casually trotted off as if our great marathon had never happened.
     “That little sh—” I bit back a curse, still trying to catch my breath.
     I bent over, picked up the card—now slightly mangled—sporting a few tooth marks.
     Could’ve been worse—at least the card was in better shape than me.
     As I straightened up, wheezing like a punctured balloon, I finally took in my surroundings—and realized I was somewhere unfamiliar.
     Narrow streets. Cobblestone alleys. Low-traffic, high-atmosphere.
     Quaint cafés sat nestled between antique stores and secondhand shops. Lace curtains and rusted signage peeked through old glass windows. The air smelled faintly of incense.
     Directly in front of me was a shop so inconspicuous I would’ve missed it if not for the black veil hanging over its doorway. A wooden sign creaked gently above it, faded letters just barely spelling out the name: Midnight Alley.
     No way.
     I looked at the card. Then at the shop. Then back at the card.
     Either I’d just been guided here by divine coincidence, or the universe had a sense of humor.
     I stepped closer, peering through the curtain... curiosity, recklessness, destiny, take your pick—compelled me further.
     This was that part in a horror movie where the audience screams ‘don’t go in there’ and the guy goes in anyway.
     I mean, really.
     What could possibly go wrong?

A wind bell chimed softly as I stepped inside, threading the room with a thin strand of calm and something just a little uncanny. Despite the welcoming sound, no one appeared to greet me.
     I took a moment to survey the space. The décor was a curious blend of traditional elements—low tables, neatly arranged cushions—except the atmosphere didn’t quite match the aesthetic. It had the cozy kind of vibe—the kind of space that was built for secrets and not crowds.
     The walls were stranger still. Antique shelves displayed everything from foggy old mirrors to neatly stacked tarot decks, nestled between trinkets that looked one séance away from coming to life.
     It didn’t feel like a teahouse.
     More like a fortune-teller’s den that had taken up part-time work as a vintage showroom.
     The mix of nostalgic charm and esoteric clutter lent the space an uncanny allure—one steeped in curated mystique.
     A low murmur tugged at my ears.
     Toward the back of the room, a curtain and another sheer veil sectioned off a more secluded space. I peered through it just enough to glimpse the back of a middle-school girl in uniform, her posture prim and voice hushed. She was speaking to someone just out of sight—an older woman, judging by the gentle but grounded tone in response.
     What’s a youngster doing in a place like this? I wondered, conveniently ignoring the fact that I was only a few Guugle results older.
     I couldn’t make out much—just scattered syllables and pauses that hinted at something private.
     The temptation to eavesdrop loomed large, but I restrained myself. It felt a little too close to peeking behind the curtain in someone else’s play.
     Their exchange wrapped up a minute later.
     I pretended to be fascinated by a crystal ball as the girl drifted past, her thoughts seemingly miles away. She didn’t so much as glance at me.
     Maybe I was just that good at blending in.
     In another life, I might’ve been a ninja.
     In this one, I settled for being a nosy civilian with decent self-control.
     “Curiosity often reveals things best left unseen.”
     I flinched. The voice came from behind me.
     Stepping through the veil with immeasurable poise, the woman from the convenience store emerged. Her presence carried a similar gravity, her violet eyes half-lidded with interest.
     “You’re that woman from the store last night!” I blurted.
     The faint crescent of a smile curved her lips.
     Her violet eyes mirrored the soft wisteria hue of her kimono, which was complemented by an intricately patterned obi. Draped over the same shoulder-cut black turtleneck, it traced her figure with understated allure—like something borrowed from two different eras and made to work. Her long, dark hair was tied near the ends in a low ponytail that trailed down her back like a silk ribbon.
     “Convenience store or tea parlour, it seems out paths were destined to cross again,” she mused. With a graceful dip of her head, she introduced herself: “Chiyo Fujimiya. Proprietor of this humble establishment. And, on occasion, an observer of life’s peculiarities.”
     “I suppose that makes you Kotoha’s aunt then?”
     Her eyes lit up in amusement.
     “Hmm? You are acquainted with my darling niece?”
     I straightened instinctively, as if posture alone could match her presence.
     “Kaoru Kurokawa. We’re classmates. I’ve known her since we were kids.”
     She regarded me thoughtfully, then gave a small nod as if confirming a private theory.
     “Mmm… I see how it is.”
     Before I could press her for clarification, she pivoted with a grand gesture of her sleeve.
     “Come along. I’ve been expecting you,” she said. “Let’s not let the tea grow cold.”
     Still trying to recalibrate from the déjà vu, I stepped through the veil after her.
     A low table awaited us, set with porcelain cups and a gently steaming pot. Chiyo moved like a woman born for ceremony, pouring the tea like a master who’d performed it over a thousand times.
     “Miss Chiyo—” I began.
     “Just Chiyo will do,” she gently corrected, without looking up.
     “Right. So… you said you were expecting me. But I didn’t even know I’d end up here until just now.”
     She placed a cup in front of me and smiled.
     “Life often works in strange ways… People arrive when they’re meant to, not a moment sooner.”
     The tea was warm, surprisingly fragrant. I took a sip, feeling the heat trace its way down my throat and settle somewhere between clarity and caffeine.
     “I saw you talking to someone earlier,” I ventured, settling the cup down. “Who was that?”
     Chiyo’s expression didn’t change, but her voice grew smoother masking a warning beneath.
     “Curiosity is natural,” she said, folding her hands in her lap with the patience of someone who’d waited through far worse questions. “But the matters discussed behind that veil are not for stray ears.”
     A polite way of telling me to mind my business.
     Hard to argue with logic that sounded like it came steeped in sage leaves and smugness.
     I shifted in my seat—part guilt, part defiance—then gave up on pretending I wasn’t dying to know.
     “So what do you actually do here?”
     She tilted her head, just slightly, like the question amused her more than it should have.
     “People visit me for their troubles. Over tea, I listen.”
     “Is that really… all you do?”
     “Listening,” she said, her voice dipping to a softer note, “is rarely just listening.” Her smile barely curved, but it lingered like the warmth of the tea she’d prepared. “Some come seeking advice. Some want comfort. A few arrive carrying burdens so dark, they’ve forgotten what light looks like.”
     “Sounds ominous.”
     “Some are—shall we say, more complicated than others,” she said, her voice low, veiled with intent. “For the right price, I indulge them all.”
     I swallowed, unsure if I liked where this was going.
     “And you’re saying that you’ll help them?”
     “Help is subjective,” Chiyo replied, raising a finger. “Most people already know what’s wrong. I just hand them the mirror.”
     “But if you’re not solving anything, what’s the point?”
     “Direction.” Her reply came without hesitation, like she’d answered that question a hundred times. “People don’t need a map. They need a sign that says: this way.”
     “You sound like a guide of sorts.”
     Her soft laugh was like a breeze stirring paper charms.
     “That’s generous. I’m more like a suggestion.”
     The lady was strange. But not in a repelling way.
     The kind of grown-up I might’ve thought was cool—if I had a working definition of one.
     Not that my sample size was impressive.
     “I’m no saviour, Kaoru,” she added, lifting her cup again for another sip. “I’ll point you toward the cliff. Whether you jump, walk, or turn back—that’s entirely your choice.”
     As she poured me a refill, I stared down into the tea, watching the faint swirls settle.
     Her violet eyes narrowed slightly, studying me with an intensity that could unravel every innermost thought I never thought I’d have.
     “You seem… burdened,” she pointed out. “Perhaps by someone?”
     “Why are you so interested in me?” I challenged lightly.
     “Oh, I simply enjoy watching people’s stories unfold. Especially those touched by death’s shadow.”
     Her words struck a nerve. My grip on the cup tightened.
     “You’ve had a close brush with death before, haven’t you?”
     I stiffened, deer-in-the-headlights style. Images rushed in uninvited.
     The man. The robbery. Azusa. The gun.
     “I... watched someone die,” I admitted quietly.
     “Is that so?”
     Her serene expression didn’t change.
     “I was the one who killed him.”
     She nodded as if I’d confirmed something she already knew.
     That unnerved me more than any shock or outrage could’ve.
     “…Does that mean I’m in danger?”
     “Not exactly,” Chiyo murmured, running a nail around the rim of her cup like she was drawing circles around a secret. “Death is a whimsical creature. It likes to toy with the ones who catch its eye. Consider yourself someone Death is rather fond of.”
     “That sounds… really unpleasant.”
     “Oh, it can be. But I imagine Death—like me—has a taste for stories. Keep yours interesting, and you’ll be just fine.”
     “And if it’s not interesting?”
     “Then you’ll be someone else’s cautionary tale,” she said cheerfully.
     I grimaced. She probably didn’t need to reminded that it would suck to be me regardless.
     “Great. That’s reassuring.”
     Chiyo giggled behind her hand, visibly entertained.
     “You’re asking the wrong question,” she pointed out. “It’s not about what’s going to happen to you. It’s about what you’re going to do next.”
     I wanted to say something clever, maybe even profound. Instead, all I managed was a sip of tea and a half-formed thought about how weirdly comfortable this place was for a den of cryptic dialogue.
     “You do say some useful things.”
     “I always do,” she chimed. “I’m a professional, after all.”
     “Resident psychic, huh.”
     A crisp chime rang out from beneath her sleeve, and Chiyo’s eyes flicked downward—to the pocket watch she’d kept hidden until now.
     “Ah. Nearly time for business.”
     “Business?”
     “A consultation,” she said, rising to her feet. “One that requires my attendance.”
     “I guess that’s my cue to leave…”
     But before I could stand, she waved me back down like I was getting ahead of the script.
     “Why not stay and observe? You were curious, weren’t you?”
     “I was, yeah. You’re making it sound weirdly suggestive.”
     Her lips curled into a smirk that was pure mischief and zero apology.
     “That’s just your imagination, my dear Kaoru.”
     I gave her a long look. Half sceptical. Half resigned. A hundred percent sure I was being roped into something.
     “Are you sure it’s alright?”
     “Of course. You’ll be my assistant.”
     That’s funny. I was referring to myself.
     “Assistant?”
     “A fitting role, don’t you think?” she replied, pouring one last cup.
     “Interning at a haunted tea shop wasn’t on my career plan, but sure. Let’s add that to the résumé.”
     “Splendid,” she said, eyes gleaming. “Now, finish your tea. We begin soon.”
     I drank the last of the tea without protest.
     Truth be told, I wasn’t even sure what I’d signed up for.
     This had all the signs of a side quest I’d regret by the next cutscene.
     Terms and conditions be damned—I’d already hit the ‘accept’ button the moment I walked through the curtain.

On the far side of town—past shuttered izakayas, sleeping pachinko parlors, and vending machines doing their best to look nonchalant—Chiyo led me into a warren of alleyways I hadn’t even known existed.
     This wasn’t the charming kind of forgotten street either. It was the kind of place where GPS signals go to die and horror movie protagonists get told “you should turn back now” by the locals.
     If there had been any locals. Which there weren’t.
     A ripple of anxiety crawled up my spine. I could practically feel the horror movie BGM starting in the back of my skull.
     Then I bumped into a trash can.
     It clanged like a war crime, spilling garbage across the sidewalk. My soul briefly left my body.
     “Oh crap—” I spun around, already half-crouched like a vessel of condensed panic. “Do I clean this? Should I—?”
     Chiyo, ever the epitome of composed elegance, didn’t even bat an eyelid.
     “Leave that alone. We don’t want to be late,” she said, cheerfully humming some tune like we were on a stroll through the botanical gardens and not, y’know, plunging headfirst into crime drama territory.
     I glanced back at the trash, then up the empty alley.
     No witnesses. Probably.
     Muttering something halfway between a prayer and a swear, I scurried after her—fussing with my uniform like that might smooth out the anxiety currently trying to claw through my ribcage.
     Eventually, we arrived at a run-down multipurpose building with a lot barely big enough to park a confession in. The walls looked like they were held together by stubbornness and nostalgia.
     My skin prickled with unease. Something about this place felt… fundamentally wrong. Like the drywall had heard things.
     Bad things.
     “This is the place. Now, make sure you stay close to me,” Chiyo said casually, as if we were about to buy artisanal jam, not enter the set of a yakuza negotiation.
     “Right,” I muttered. I wasn’t exactly brimming with confidence. If anything, I was brimming with please-let-me-survive.
     Inside was worse.
     The lighting was dim and artificial. Plush furniture filled the room with an uncomfortable opulence that didn’t match the peeling exterior. Everything smelled vaguely like expensive smoke and desperation. A handful of sharp-eyed men loitered near the walls, wearing suits that looked like they’d walked out of a gangster film and tattoos that confirmed it.
     The moment we entered, their attention shifted.
     You ever walk into a lion’s den wearing a T-bone steak costume?
     Yeah, it was a bit like that.
     Chiyo, to no one’s surprise, was completely unbothered. She moved with the grace of someone who knew exactly where not to step in a minefield.
     She exchanged a few hushed words with a tall man in a sleek suit—the kind of person whose handshake probably included a threat. After a brief nod, he gestured for us to follow. We were led deeper into the building, down a long hallway that felt like it hadn’t seen daylight since the Meiji era.
      Eventually, we stopped in front of a plain looking door. The man muttered something to Chiyo before turning and walking off.
     She opened the door—then stopped me with a subtle shake of her head.
     “This door,” she said, her tone dipping with ceremonial weight, “is not one you’re meant to cross. What lies beyond isn’t for your eyes.”
     One step in, one step out. A perfect metaphor for my entire decision-making process.
     “You’re telling me to wait out here—for my own good?”
     “Afraid?” she teased, wearing the kind of grin that made me feel I’d walked into an emotionally wrapped booby trap.
     “If I said no, I’d be lying,” I admitted. Pathetically.
     “Safety, like trust, is fragile. Stay where the light touches, and you’ll be safe enough. But stray too far into the shadows…”
     She didn’t have to finish the sentence.
     “Got it. Light good, shadows bad. Message received and internally filed under ‘nope.’”
     She beamed, sing-songy and just a little too pleased with herself.
     “I’m glad you understand~ Besides, it’s best you don’t hear what goes on behind these doors. It spoils the mystery.”
    That line sounded suspiciously familiar. Kamishirai had said something like that too. Maybe I was just collecting cryptic women at this point.
     A few agonizingly long minutes passed.
     Then I heard footsteps—two sets. One I knew. The other carried itself like it had seniority over the floorboards.
     The man in the black suit returned, flanked now by a second figure.
     This new guy?
     Tall. Broad-shouldered. Radiating the kind of charisma that made you instinctively sit straighter—or consider jumping out the window.
     A jagged scar cut across his left eye like a souvenir from a life that didn’t offer refunds.
     “Madam Chiyo,” he said, polite enough to pass for civil.
     “It’s been too long. I trust today’s session will offer the clarity we’ve been waiting for.”
     Chiyo brushed something like dust off her kimono. “Clarity is not something everyone is ready to receive, Mister Yamada.” Her tone stayed pleasant, but her words hid barbs. “The winds are shifting,” she went on. “And those unready for the storm will be swept away.”
     A trace of tension crossed his face—just enough to make the hallway feel ten degrees colder.
     Mr. Yamada clicked his tongue. A tiny sound that carried opinions he chose not to air in that moment.
     Instead, he turned his gaze to me.
     “And this is?”
     “My assistant,” Chiyo replied with the enthusiasm of someone labelling personal property.
     He looked me over like I was a knockoff handbag.
    Hmph. The sound he made wasn’t even a full grunt—just a punctuation mark made of contempt.
     “Let’s begin then.” Then he turned and entered the room without another word.
     Chiyo followed after flashing me a small wink—equal parts reassurance and good luck surviving.
     The door clicked shut.
     And just like that, I was alone.
     Standing in a hallway that may as well have been refrigerated.
     Every few minutes, someone darted past—some murmuring in low tones, others trading items or glances that definitely wouldn’t hold up in court. A few gave me the kind of look you'd give an exotic animal in an enclosure.
     No one spoke to me. No one even came close.
     It was like I had an invisible forcefield around me.
     Which, given the vibes, meant only one thing:
     Chiyo Fujimiya.
     Just who was she?
     What kind of sway did one woman in a kimono have over these men that they’d treat her guest—me—as untouchable?
     Maybe I was just radioactive.
     Time ticked by. I tried not to fidget.
     I failed.
     I’d probably stood there long enough for me to stare at the floor tiles and start assigning personalities to them.
     Then—
     A hand on my shoulder.
     I flinched hard enough to nearly break orbit.
     “Whoa—!”
     Chiyo stood behind me, perfectly composed, as if she hadn’t just reassembled out of thin air to scare the life out of me.
     “I see that you didn’t wander off,” she commented sweetly.
     “I nearly died,” I muttered, brushing my bangs back into place. “Of boredom. And fear. But mostly fear.”
     “Are you okay, dear? You look like you’ve had a rough time,” she asked in concern that could easily pass off for mischief.
     “Are you done with your business?”
     “Very much so,” she said, casually disregarding my question and trauma.
     “I’d say you built a bit of character today.”
     She patted my head like I was a cat who survived the washing machine.
     I gave her a look. The kind that said: I don’t get paid enough for this.
     Except I didn’t get paid at all.
     Maybe not yet.
     I might’ve been hoping for too much.
     Mr. Yamada emerged next. He looked… worse.
     His scar didn’t move, but the rest of his face had tightened like a man who’d read the fine print of his own misfortune.
     “Madam Chiyo,” he began slowly, “about what we discussed—should I be expecting worse?”
     Chiyo’s smile softened, but her eyes told a sharper story—one written in veiled warnings and silk-thread civility.
     “A reckoning—no, a maelstrom—is coming,” she said. “Those who fail to prepare will find the storm far less forgiving.”
     Yamada stiffened. Just for a moment. But in a place like this, where people didn’t flinch much, it was telling.
     “I wish you well, Mr. Yamada,” she said, turning to me with a soft nudge. “Come along. Our work here is done.”

We left the building behind like it was a bad dream we’d briefly checked into.
     None of us said a word until we arrived at a small restaurant Chiyo insisted on. It was one of those quietly tucked-away places, one that probably had a five-year waitlist if you didn’t look like her.
     I slid into the seat across from her, still half-wired from earlier. Chiyo, on the other hand, was absolutely in her element, backlit by lighting like this was a photoshoot and not a debriefing.
     “So,” she said, “how was it?”
     What, the brush with organized crime? The potential kidnapping? The moment where my soul tried to move out of my body and into a different zip code?
     I glanced out the window. The street outside looked deceptively peaceful. Like it had no idea what kind of nonsense we’d just survived.
     “…Man, I’m hungry,” I muttered absently instead.
     “I’d like to think your appetite’s a good sign of how hard you’ve worked today,” Chiyo pointed out in high-spirits.
     The food arrived in perfect sync with her statement, like it had been summoned by plot convenience: premium steak, sushi that sparkled with freshness, and a cup of what looked suspiciously adult.
     “How delightful~!” Chiyo remarked, as she sipped her sake like a woman without regrets.
     I stared at my plate. I had questions—existential ones—but steak was steak.
     “Please,” Chiyo said, catching my hesitation, “don’t hold back. You’ve earned it.”
     Say no more.
     I dug in.
     Halfway through the steak, something shifted in the atmosphere.
     Chiyo noted, her eyes doing that thing where they see more than they should.
     She wasn’t wrong. My unease had melted into the sauce along with my appetite satiated.
    As she poured herself another drink, that’s when it struck me: Chiyo wasn’t just magnetic—she was anchoring.
     People gravitated toward her, not just because she listened, but because she heard. Not because she talked big game.
     She didn’t bulldoze her way into your head—she waited, patiently, until you realized the door had already been unlocked… by you.
     Maybe that’s why even people like Mr. Yamada listened.
     Maybe that’s why… I found myself talking again.
     “There’s someone I want to understand better,” I began carefully. “But it feels like they’re keeping me at arm’s length.”
     Chiyo paused mid-sip, her gaze softening with recognition.
     “Distance often reveals more about the one keeping it than the one trying to close it,” she said, voice smooth as ever. “Not everyone builds walls out of mistrust. Some build them out of fear.”
     A very Chiyo-esque answer.
     I nodded slowly, attempting to absorb the meaning in her words.
    “Then should I just… wait?”
    “Not quite.”
     Wait, what?
     “Waiting implies pressure. What you need is presence. Bridge the gap on their terms. Being non-intrusive is key.”
     That advice… sounded suspiciously like the strategy she’d been acting on with me from the start, now that I thought about it.
     The food was almost gone by now.
     Apparently, Chiyo was just responsible enough of an adult to not ply a minor with alcohol. Specifically, me.
     That said, the sake turned out to be non-alcoholic—just dangerously smooth amazake masquerading as scandal.
     Chiyo leaned back, dabbing her lips leisurely with the edge of the tablecloth.
     “Now, if you’re done pondering life’s intricacies… what do you think about working for me?”
     I nearly choked on air. “You must be joking.”
     She casually flashed a wad of ten-thousand-yen bills, like she was showing off a coupon for half-price enlightenment.
    “I pay my staff well. Give it a thought.”
     There goes my rapidly dissolving sense of judgment.
     “You’re something else, you know that? Can I just get a private tea session instead?”
     She chuckled, clearly amused.
     “Well, if you ever find yourself lost, my doors are always open. For tea… or otherwise.”
     Somehow, I believed her.
     And just like that, my first meeting with a certain eccentric psychic left me with a full stomach, a racing mind, and the creeping suspicion that my world had shifted—just slightly—off its axis.