"Well?" Michael asked, retrieving his shinai.
He received no reply. Mei stood frozen for a few seconds, then stumbled backward, collapsing onto the floor.
Michael scratched his head. Had he used too much force?
Mei wasn't that fragile. She gritted her teeth, removing her men, her face contorted in pain as the movement aggravated her injury.
Michael, feeling guilty, dropped his shinai and rushed to her side. He brushed aside the hair on her forehead, which was only slightly reddened. But the area around her left collarbone was a mottled mess of yellow bruising and purplish-red marks.
"This is bad…"
Seeing his troubled expression, Mei assumed he was worried about his job. Clutching her shoulder, she said breathlessly, "Don't worry, I'm fine… I underestimated you. I won't tell my father. And I have to admit, your swordsmanship is excellent. You're certainly qualified as a bodyguard."
Michael shook his head, pulling a small green bottle from his pocket and handing it to her. "I'm not worried about that. But injuring my boss's daughter on my first day won't look good for future employment. Ah, well. Apply this to the bruise. It'll help. I can't really reach that spot myself."
"Hmph! As if I'd need your help!" Mei snatched the bottle, examining it under the ceiling light. The liquid inside had a faint green tinge. Three Chinese characters were written on the label:
"Feng you jing? You sure this works?" (Translator's Note: Feng you jing is a Chinese medicinal oil, similar to Tiger Balm.)
Michael, putting the shinai back on the rack, scratched his head. "Not entirely sure. But I had these two friends from Shenzhou, one of them studied medicine. They used this for everything—headaches, colds, bruises… So I always considered it a panacea."
Mei puffed out her cheeks, skeptical.
She opened the bottle. Before she could even sniff it, a pungent odor assaulted her nose. She frowned, then her expression relaxed as an invigorating coolness washed over her, dispelling her lingering frustration.
"This is… amazing…" She inhaled deeply, the sharp, refreshing scent rivaled only by a mouthful of wasabi.
Seeing her unexpectedly captivated by the feng you jing, Michael was at a loss for words. Still a child, huh…
He stepped out into the courtyard, glancing at the sky. Only a sliver of crimson remained in the west. The moon, impatient, had risen well before the sun had fully set.
He stared at the crescent moon, his eyes unconsciously mirroring its curve.
The air grew colder. He stamped his feet, jumping lightly. Barely enough to qualify as a warm-up.
Mei, trained in kendo since childhood, would know how to treat bruises. He turned to go back inside, only to be met by a figure filling his vision.
A gust of wind brushed his fingers, but he didn't react. Mei's shinai tapped him lightly on the head.
"Tsk! Feel better now?"
"Hmph!" Seeing his lack of resistance, Mei lost interest, returning the shinai to the rack. She had already removed her armor.
"Let's go, I'm hungry. Take me home!"
No reminder was needed; her stomach had been rumbling loudly. She was too embarrassed to admit she'd only eaten one korokke at lunch, leaving the rest for Kiana.
Michael tilted his head. "Want to grab something nearby first?"
Mei's eyes widened slightly. The idea was tempting. Her stomach demanded appeasement, but that wasn't the only reason. As the Raiden heiress, street food was a rare indulgence.
Her father employed a top chef, whose culinary creations were impeccable. There was no need to eat out. Hygiene aside, street food could hardly compare to her chef's dishes.
But taste wasn't the point.
It was the experience she'd often dreamt of, an experience most of her classmates took for granted: strolling through the city at dusk with her parents, the distant lights blurring, the aroma of street food beckoning them into a hidden alleyway… Of course, reality wasn't so smooth.
Popular stalls always had long queues. But she wouldn't mind. She'd chat and laugh with her parents as they waited, the vendor silently focused on their craft.
Sadly, such scenes had never played out in her sixteen years… Well, perhaps she was being too pessimistic. Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but maybe… maybe it was a forgotten memory. When she was very young, her father wasn't this busy…
No, impossible. Her mother had died when she was two.
But her father was still here, wasn't he?
"Hmm, let's scout the area today. Next time, when Father's free…" Mei smiled and nodded, accepting Michael's offer.
She didn't realize her true motivation was a yearning for normalcy and freedom.
Perhaps she agreed so readily because he seemed close to her age, echoing her desire for a peer. Or perhaps his unexpectedly skilled swordsmanship intrigued her, prompting her to learn more about him.
Or perhaps… it was that suffocating loneliness he exuded while gazing at the moon. "My wife's dead. Daughter too. Just me to feed now." She remembered his words. Given his age and casual tone, she'd dismissed it as a lie, but… looking at his back then, she'd felt a strange sense of truth to it.
It didn't matter. He'd passed her father's screening, so his loyalty was assured. And he'd proven his strength. It was like having a bodyguard while enjoying street food.
In any case, having decided to savor this experience of "ordinary," it wouldn't be a mere snack. They understood this unspoken agreement as they walked out, Michael texting Raiden Ryōma in the near-darkness, Mei offering no objection.
If they were eating out, they needed to inform the household staff.
"By the way, do you know this area?" Michael asked after checking the car for any tampering.
Mei shook her head. She only came here for kendo practice, leaving immediately afterward.
Then she froze, glaring at Michael.
He rubbed his nose, brazenly deflecting. "My lady, you're the one who doesn't know this area. What are we supposed to eat? The scenery?"
"Don't play dumb! You suggested it, you lead the way!" Mei put her cap back on, leaning against the car with her arms crossed.
Michael chuckled, tugging her sleeve. Mei, without thinking, followed, only to find him waving down an elderly woman with a child.
Mei's attention was immediately drawn to the steaming dorayaki in the child's hand.
Michael greeted the woman with excessive enthusiasm, startling her. "Hello there, Granny!"
"Ah… hello… Can I help you?"
Michael pointed at the half-eaten dorayaki. "Where did you buy that? I'm not familiar with this area. Is there a street food market nearby?"
The woman relaxed. Seeing a tall young man in a suit and tie, she'd assumed he was a salesman or, worse, a gang member.
Just asking for directions…
Before she could answer, the child blurted out, "The dorayaki is from the street behind us!"
"That's right. Go back the way we came, turn right at the second intersection. Lots of food stalls there."
"Thank you!" Michael beamed, bowing slightly with his hands clasped together.
The grandmother and grandchild smiled back.
As they walked away, Michael turned to Mei. "See? Simple. Let's go, my la—wait, what are you…?"
Mei had put her mask back on.
"No need to be so cautious."
"It's not about caution!" Mei glanced around, lowering her mask. "It's embarrassing… You're supposed to be a skilled fighter. Why do you act so… goofy?"
Mei had been just as startled as the old woman by his sudden shift in demeanor, almost as bad as Kiana.
"Hmm? Don't you like it?" Michael raised an eyebrow, his expression suddenly blank, his eyes unreadable.
Mei felt a strange, unsettling aura emanating from him in the dim light.
What was it? The same loneliness from before? The pressure of a skilled fighter? Or… killing intent?
She didn't know, but she didn't like it.
Thankfully, Michael smiled again. "Come on, let's go! Your stomach's rumbling. Time for food!"
The streetlights flickered on, revealing his smile clearly.
Mei finally understood why the old woman had been startled. It wasn't just his attire and sudden enthusiasm, but…
…that smile. Bright and beautiful, yet upon closer inspection, utterly empty and insincere. Perhaps that was too harsh, but she couldn't sense any genuine joy in it. It wasn't necessarily empty or insincere, but certainly… fake.
"You…"
"Let's go." The fake smile vanished, replaced by a faint, polite one, his tone almost a command.
"Mm…" Mei nodded stiffly.
Following the old woman's directions, they easily found the street food haven.
Just as Mei had imagined, the aroma of countless dishes hit them after only a few steps. Her stomach protested even louder, and she quickened her pace. Michael subtly slowed down, staying half a step behind.
However, the reality of the street differed from her fantasy.
It wasn't bustling with people, just a few figures stretched long under the streetlights.
The gleaming kitchenware she'd envisioned was also a fantasy, a projection of her own privileged kitchen. Here, pots, pans, spatulas, and knives were coated in grime, making her slightly regret her decision.
With few customers, the vendors weren't busy. They huddled around small fires, rushing back to their stalls as they approached, shouting loudly.
"Hey! Handsome! Beautiful! Anything you'd like? We have everything!"
Immediately, a rival vendor chimed in, "Yeah, yeah, Doda, you got everything. Corn rice balls, pineapple rice balls, strawberry rice balls… every rice ball except pickled plum and salted rice balls! And of course, your specialty—the air rice ball!"
Laughter filled the street.
"What does that mean?" Mei turned to Michael for help.
He sighed, whispering, "He's saying this guy puts weird things in his rice balls, but can't even make the basic ones."
"And 'air rice ball'?"
"More rice, less filling."
"Pfft—" Mei giggled.
The laughter seemed to break her reserve. Hands clasped behind her back, she marched to a taiyaki stall, inquiring about the price.
Michael watched, a wry smile tugging at his lips.
He inhaled deeply. The greasy air stung his nose, evoking unpleasant memories.
Mei smelled only delicious food, but he was more sensitive to the smell of cooking oil…
He looked up at the sliver of moon framed by the towering buildings.
"Hey! Is the moon that interesting?" Mei nudged him.
Michael shook his head silently. Mei hadn't really been asking. She held out her hand. "Pay up!"
"Huh?"
"You think I carry cash?"
"…Fine, the boss will reimburse me anyway."
They strolled through the short street several times, emerging with Michael's arms laden with takoyaki, assorted snacks, three flavors of taiyaki, and a classic dorayaki.
Mei held a nearly finished taro-filled dorayaki.
"Hey! Aren't you having any?" She nibbled at the remaining portion like a hoarding hamster.
"I'm not hungry."
The bland reply didn't satisfy her. "Really? But you suggested this street food detour."
"That's true." The fake smile returned. "But I meant as a snack for you, my lady."
Mei brushed her bangs aside. That was indeed what he'd said.
"If you're not eating, put these in the car. I'll save them for Father."
"Me? What about you?"
Mei swallowed her last bite. "That dorayaki vendor recommended a ramen place, just a block or two from here. I'll go there first. Don't worry, I won't mistreat my driver. Ramen's on me. Tell me what you want, I'll order for you."
Michael instinctively wanted to refuse, but then nodded. "Sure. I've… always wanted to try Nagazora ramen."
Mei frowned, sensing something off about his words.
But he was already walking back towards the dojo. She tilted her chin and headed in the opposite direction.