Can she see them?
Coarse fellows hiding none too subtly in the lantern light, animated umbrellas and their unsuspecting owners, food vendors with sharp eyes and sharper teeth... the lower yokai are ruthless this season. The Blue Death Hideo, once as renowned as the grit on the devil king’s sole, feels downright royal among them. Still he holds his head down. Winds of secrecy gust through nighttime Shinjuku, carrying the rain along with it. The oni stops amid the crowd where his feet lock in place. He sees her.
There, beneath the waning neon sign that promised tea and sanctity in a unholy land--never had anything appeared so welcoming, and so ironic. The beast’s roar thunders in his head from recognition. Several beats pass where he hopes to idle here long enough to have this city swallow him whole. Then she would have one less burden to trouble her; that fateful day could be forgotten.
But he steps forward until he matches her pace, and, bowing hastily, he holds the umbrella above her head. “I’ve found you yet again--” Hideo appears to contend with a memory, with her name at the edge of consciousness “--Miwa Kurosawa.”
