1.5 五月病 Gogatsubyō - May Sickness Part 2

One thing about Tokyo, compared to the small villages and remote temples and shrines Junna had traveled through the past two years, was that there was always something open. Someone was always awake, someone was always nearby—whether alive, or dead. After being chased out of their apartment by a ghost, they weren’t exactly in the mood to hang out with another. They pointedly turned their back to the closest cemetery, despite most of their drinking buddies occupying the place.

The closest available safe spot would be a convenience store.

One benefit of wearing kimono instead of more modern clothes was they could keep their phone in their sleeve and have it on hand more often than not, as they thankfully did before evacuating their apartment. The average Tokyoite wouldn’t necessarily know this particular kimono was one they usually only wore around the house, and their neighbors had mostly gotten used to the stranger who wandered the neighborhood in the twilight hours wearing traditional clothing no matter the time of year.

They had scared a few drunken salarymen who thought Junna was an actual ghost on their walk back home after drinking with coworkers. Their skin wasn’t quite as lifeless as a ghost, though staying out of the sun and sleepless nights had kept them as pale as a sheet of printer paper. The eyebags didn’t help. The long, loose black hair was a ghost signature, but putting it up was more of a pain than keeping it down. And of course, the wafuku made them look straight out of another time period if they didn’t accessorize properly.

Thinking about this, Junna looked down at their feet. They'd been wearing socks, but in their dash to escape Ibuki’s vise-grip, they hadn’t bothered to put on shoes. They not only looked like a ghost to the untrained eye, but the ghost of someone who had committed suicide.

“Nailed it,” they muttered as they rounded the corner and the convenience store came into view. As far as they knew, it wasn’t illegal to go into a store without shoes. Incredibly strange and probably rude, but legal.

Before entering, they sent a quick message to Nana on LINE, assuming she was probably sleeping. Her last message to Junna had come around 10pm and hinted at it being her bedtime.

>you got any protection charms laying around? to ward my TV?

>Help me ghost-proof my new place for real tomorrow if you got time

They considered their message before adding:

>sorry for asking for a favor before we’ve even met up again

>coffee or lunch on me

Satisfied, they walked into the 7-Eleven like it was normal to be there after 2:00 am without shoes and nothing on their person but their phone. The fluorescent lights and automated bell filled them with instant comfort, as if they’d just sat down in the shade after running full speed for a kilometer or two.

“Welcome~” the nasally, pitched-up greeting of the cashier welcomed them as they squinted and examined the limited aisles. The 7-Eleven in this part of Yanaka was a hole in the wall, narrow and compact, but with the promise of quality snacks and bottled beverages no matter what time of day or night it was.

Junna shifted their eyes to the cashier, who was staring with wide eyes over his crinkled disposable face mask. They didn’t recognize him. Well, it wasn’t like they knew every staff member. They bowed their head in the briefest of nods and dragged themselves to the refrigerated displays stocked with bento, sushi, and rice balls.

Convenience stores weren’t something they associated with Ibuki, although the two of them had met in Tokyo. The Isshiki family’s real home was a more remote village in Gifu prefecture. Junna was born and raised in Tokyo. Everything about the city was beyond nostalgic to them—it was foundational, something that shaped their identity before they realized they had one. They watched their reflection in the glass doors of one of the drink-filled refrigerators. A career exorcist who looked more like a ghost, a city child that used to fancy themselves as someone who walked on the borders of the spirit realm in untouched corners of the wilderness of Japan… they inhaled deeply through their nose and huffed out an exhale that actually blew their bangs sideways enough to reveal the right half of their face.

“I wish I could climb into this fridge and stay there.”

“Um… can I help you with anything?”

Shouldn’t have said that out loud. Took him long enough, though. The cashier had finally worked up enough courage to address them. Good on him.

“Pardon the intrusion, I’ll only be a minute.” That might be a lie, but it would placate him and buy them some time to browse aimlessly.

They weren’t hungry. They weren’t often hungry in the first place. Maybe their stomach was growling, but it was hard to muster up the desire to actually put something in their mouth, chew, and swallow it. Eating had too many damn steps sometimes. Even so, a living human body demanded food. They wouldn’t win this battle. Nothing looked appealing but they’d never gone wrong with onigiri and they definitely wanted some cold tea. Maybe oolong. What were they going to do if this 7-Eleven didn’t use phone payments? They almost always had some cash on them when they went out, but they usually weren’t evacuating because of a visit by their dead ex-girlfriend.

Ex-girlfriend, huh… It wasn’t like they’d broken up. Did you call someone your ex because they had died?

Trying to prevent themselves from staying on that train of thought, they instead remembered the strange variety show that had been on right before Ibuki’s appearance. It was hard to say from the other side of the TV screen. Originally, Junna was leaning towards the hosts being yōkai, some kind of living apparition. Who could make shikigami that human-like? Junna had never been a fan of strictly labeling anomalies. They could deal with any type but their specialty was spirits of the dead. Yōkai were alive for the most part. They messaged Nana’s younger brother as a tip in case he and his business partner wanted to take care of the problem.

>saw a weird cursed game show on TV, hosts might be yōkai, maybe

>you and Takuto might want to look into it

Hachikuji Shigoro hadn’t ever started working at Benihime Inari Shrine like his sister, despite it being a family venture. Instead, he’d taken a different route and studied Shingon Buddhism and onmyōdō alongside Takara Takuto, the oldest of the Takara triplets. Ever since they came back to Tokyo, the Hachikuji siblings and the Takara triplets had returned to being recurring characters in Junna’s life, for better or worse.

Shigoro and Takuto were definitely worse, somehow without even seeing them in person yet.

The status of the message changed to “seen” but after two whole minutes, no sign of a reply. Whether Shigoro wasn’t interested or was doing his own research didn’t matter. Junna had passed on the lead like they intended. Those two weren’t the only ones that handled living supernatural entities in Tokyo or even the current special ward they lived in (was it Shinjuku or Shibuya, Junna had never been to Shigoro and Takuto’s place and didn’t intend to go in the future).

The weight of the cashier’s gaze grew heavier.

“You know, one thing I love about Tokyo is that people here mind their own business. Everyone just lets you go about your life without asking invasive questions or trying to give you advice you didn’t ask for. It’s great, I missed it when I was traveling.” Junna opened one of the refrigerators and pulled out three bottles of oolong tea as they spoke, let the door slam shut and grabbed one rice ball. Tuna mayo would do.

“Every auntie wants to know what you’re up to out in the inaka. A city kid like me had a hard time with that kind of country living. Seemed pretty rude to me. Did they even actually care about what was going on in the lives of others, or were they just being nosy as hell?”

With an exaggerated sigh, partially from being out of breath, they put the four items they’d picked up on the counter, realized four was an unlucky number in their line of business, and added a pack of fruit-flavored Calorie Mate to make five.

It was then they remembered that not only was their appearance ghostly in general, they had the marks on their neck. It would be better if this guy thought they were a ghost because otherwise he probably assumed they were mentally ill and had failed an attempt to hang themselves. They suddenly felt sympathy for this convenience store worker stuck on the night shift.

“You really got this job down, working at a conbini late at night and only reciting the usual script. I appreciate that.”

Seeing the cashier (whose name tag read “Satō” in kanji and romaji) had not made a move to pick up and scan any of their items, Junna flatly added.

“My girlfriend kicked me out of the house.”

Sato looked towards the ceiling for less than a second, seemed to find that reasonable, and replied with a mumbled “soudesuka” before scanning everything and neatly bagging it. It took Junna a whole minute to figure out how to use their phone to pay.

“I’m going to sew a thousand yen into every one of my kimono,” they promised themselves after leaving. Once back outside with the bright interior lighting behind them, they realized it would still be at least another three hours before Nana would even think to check her phone. They were about to go back inside and buy some extra food and drink to use as offerings so they could hang out in the cemetery when a chill swept through the air and they caught a whiff of rot in the breeze...

The distinct drop in temperature and scent of decay that followed the dead.