by Shin Towada
His response, however, was not what Misato had been expecting to hear. “He’s not here?”
“No. Mr. Shinohara wanted him for something, I guess? He’s out in the 8th Ward now,” Juzo said, speaking in his rather unique cadence.
“Oh , I . . . I see. When will he be coming back?”
“When? Hmm . . . I’m not really sure.” Juzo rubbed a finger against his forehead and craned his neck. Either he didn’t know, or he’d been told and had just forgotten.
How could Amon not be in the 20th Ward? Misato couldn’t help but be disappointed. She’d wanted Amon to try her freshly made doughnuts, and she didn’t have enough time left today to go to the 8th Ward.
“I see. Well, I guess I don’t have much choice,” Misato said, taking out the doughnuts and handing them to Juzo. “Here’s a little something from the 13th Ward, Juzo Suzuya. I hope you’ll all enjoy them.” She didn’t want anyone to know she’d made the doughnuts for Amon, so she invented a quick little lie.
Juzo took the doughnuts, his nose sniffing audibly before he smiled and said, “Maybe I’ll go give these to Seidou or something.”
Several days later, Misato heard that Seido Takizawa, a rank 2 investigator from the 20th Ward, was out sick due to some health issues, but she couldn’t be concerned about that right now.
She’d come to the station near the 8th Ward branch office, where Amon was working temporarily in order to help with a shortage of personnel. Misato checked her map as she headed to the office, taking side streets in order to get there as quickly as possible. Today she’d be sure to give her doughnuts to Amon. Her emotions were running high.
She wasn’t prepared for what she ran into en route, however. She gasped. “Th-that’s . . .”
It was a man, 191 centimeters tall, with a broad, well-honed frame. There was no mistaking it: there, just up ahead, was Kotaro Amon. Did this chance meeting perhaps mean that fate had bound them together? All at once, Misato’s daydreaming went into overdrive, but she came back to reality when she heard Amon speaking to someone.
Looking more closely, she saw a man next to Amon looking back at her curiously, and a woman who appeared to hand something to Amon. Misato’s eyes naturally fixed on the woman. Now just who is that?!
She pressed herself flat against the wall as if hiding were even an option at this point. The man was still looking right at her, his expression increasingly more perplexed.
The woman was young, fair-skinned, and gorgeous, the kind men went crazy over. And she was talking to Amon.
“You said that you wished the cake I gave you before was sweeter so … here.”
Wham. The shock hit Misato like a kokaku Quinque blow to the head. This woman had just given Amon one of her homemade cakes. And this wasn’t even the first time, apparently. She couldn’t get a good look at Amon’s face, but she did see him accept the cake, so clearly the prospect didn’t bother him much.
Misato’s legs began to wobble on the spot. Just what kind of relationship did these two have?
Listening closer, she heard the woman call Amon “Kotaro.” Misato’s vision went dark.
She could only assume that these two were courting one another before marriage.
“Ngh . . .” Misato turned and ran from the cruel reality before her. She’d just seen their relationship end before it even had a chance to begin. Covering her face to hold back her tears, she bolted through the side streets at a speed befitting a track star.
However, someone came walking around the corner from the station, and Misato plowed right into them, hard enough to bowl the average person clean over.
Apparently they were able to take it, however. “Oof! Whew, you hit me like a shot from a gun right there!” they said, looking down at Misato in astonishment.
It was Taishi Fura, the Ghoul investigator in charge of the 7th Ward. Misato was pretty sure he was currently on the Ghoul restaurant case.
He wasn’t alone, however.
“Hey, aren’t you that girl who works for Investigator Kuroiwa? Miss Gori, right?”
“Yeah, that’s her. What’s she doing in a place like this?” It was the ever-itinerant Yanagi and his junior partner, Toujou.
What were these guys doing here? Misato was understandably curious, but she was in no emotional state to have a conversation now. She was certain she’d burst into tears before she got even a single word out.
Still, knowing that she owed them an apology, she took the doughnuts out of the bag. “I’m so sorry!” she said as she pressed them into Fura’s hands.
These doughnuts were a gift that could never be given to their intended recipient now. Better that they should eaten by someone than go unappreciated.
Misato bowed her head to the other three investigators, and then ran off again.
II
Misato was down in the dumps after catching sight of Amon’s fiancée. She channeled her sadness into her work, and her Ghoul extermination rate went up, but work couldn’t fill the hole that was in her heart.
She’d heard that the junior investigators from the 7th Ward had all come down with severe abdominal pains, but their suffering was probably light compared to Misato’s own heartbreak.
Amon had been called back to the 20th Ward and was hard at work, she’d heard. Were things going well with him and his girlfriend, she wondered? Was he working so hard in order to make a happy home for the two of them? The more Misato thought of it, the more her emotions ran rampant.
But there was someone who’d noticed how she’d changed.
“Misato?” It was Special Class Investigator Kuroiwa, whom she deeply respected. He called out to her at the end of his shift.
Misato gazed into his bulging eyes, and then hung her head. “Oh, Mr. Kuroiwa, you can see how troubled I’ve been, can’t you?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Misato bit her lip hard. “I’m so ashamed of myself, Mr. Kuroiwa. I lost my composure in the face of a fearsome enemy, and I just ran! I’m so powerless!” she wailed, memories of the days she spent working her heart out making doughnuts for Amon flashing through her mind.
Flour scattered about, eggs with the shell mixed in, doughnut batter that refused to set no matter how hard she worked it and worked it . . .
A splatter of oil, licks of fire leaping forth from the pan, a kitchen ablaze … and then finally, the thing that made it all worth it—her own homemade doughnuts.
She was crying so hard she couldn’t speak. Tears actually welled up in her eyes. Kuroiwa looked down at her. “Misato,” he called out.
Misato looked up and saw his bulging eyes looking back at her. She stiffened. “Mr. Kuroiwa, you’re always telling me not to give up without a fight, not to cry until the battle is done.”
“Mm-hmm,” Kuroiwa replied with a nod.
“And that you never know until you try, and to not set limits for yourself, and if you do have limits to just smash right on through them . . .”
“Mm-hmm.” Kuroiwa’s tone resounded, stirring the despondent Misato’s spirits.
“That someday you’ll have to depend on yourself, that the one thing you should never do is run away, to not let yourself regret things, to take whatever comes your way, to keep moving forward!”
“Mm-hmm,” murmured Kuroiwa as he headed off.
Kuroiwa’s words resonated in Misato’s heart. That’s right! Just because her competition was some gorgeous young woman who was probably good at cooking, she wasn’t about to give up on her feelings for Amon. The light flared back into Misato’s eyes. “I’m going to make some doughnuts and go to the 20th Ward!”
And then, with an invincible fervor, Misato marched right back home to make doughnuts. It was a process she was quite familiar with by now. With a roaring oil fire that barely even scorched the ceiling, she had her doughnuts.
With those in hand, she rushed from the house, h
eaded for the 20th Ward and Kotaro Amon.
But there was something she hadn’t considered.
“Inspector Amon’s already gone home.”
It had taken Misato some time to get home from work, make the doughnuts, and then travel to the 20th Ward branch office. By the time she arrived it was past eight, and Amon had gone home after his shift.
Misato’s spirits plummeted from the height of exultation into a pit of despair. “How … could this … happen …?” She dragged herself wearily out of the 20th Ward branch office. Why couldn’t things go well for her? Was there no God?
“Huh?” Misato suddenly heard a gentle voice off somewhere, singing.
She looked to see a young man in front of the 20th Ward train station, somewhere around twenty years old, strumming a guitar and singing. Probably he was a street musician. The tones drew her into the crowd of onlookers, the gentle melody soothing Misato’s heart.
God is there, yeah, don’t lose sight …
As soon as Misato heard those lyrics, tears began to stream from her eyes like tiny waterfalls. The other people listening to the song were quite bewildered as to why someone else in the audience had burst out crying.
More people had turned their attention to her than to the musician by the time a man happened to exit the station, stopping to look at Misato. “Say, haven’t I seen you before, miss?”
Misato forcefully wiped away her tears and looked back at this person who’d spoken to her, but she had no idea who he was. She was dubious, but the man then looked up with a burst of recognition on his face. “Oh, that’s right! Don’t you know Mr. Amon?”
At that, Misato flinched bodily. “Wh-wh-wh …”
“You might not remember me, miss, because you were looking at Mr. Amon the whole time. It was on those backstreets in the 8th Ward. I think when Mr. Amon got that little present. I was with him then.”
He had to mean when that young woman had given Amon the cake. Misato’s memories finally placed the man. He must’ve been the guy who’d been staring at her in confusion.
“I’m a detective. Name’s Morimine. So do you live here in the 20th Ward, miss?”
“No, I … I don’t, I …”
“You don’t? Well then what are you doing here? Looks like you’ve been crying,” Morimine said, before stopping short. “Ah,” he muttered. “Did something happen with Mr. Amon?” he asked brazenly.
Misato was felt her heart skip a beat, steam nearly about to burst forth from her head. “Ah! N-n-no, I …” she stammered, shaking both her hands and her head in denial.
“Mr. Amon strikes me as a bit oblivious,” Morimine continued regardless.
“Nothing happened between Kotaro Amon and I! I merely came here to give something to him!”
“I see. And were you able to give it to him?”
Misato couldn’t muster up the words to respond.
Morimine regarded her with a sympathetic gaze. “I’ve got an idea,” he suggested. “Why don’t you come with me? I’m on my way to see Mr. Amon right now.”
“What?! You’re going to see Kotaro Amon?!”
“Yep. I made some plans to go out for drinks with him.”
It was an opportunity she hadn’t dared ask for. But Misato was scared now. What would she do if he wound up not liking the doughnuts?
But then, in the back of her mind, Misato remembered Kuroiwa. His figure, and his kind words. He was right. She couldn’t cry until the battle was done.
Misato fixed her gaze on Morimine. “Yes, please!” she cried.
They went to a pub that was less than a five-minute walk from the station.
“Oh. Hey! Mr. Amon!” Morimine called out.
Amon had been waiting outside the front door, and he turned to look at Morimine. “Hey there. Sorry to make you come out all this way.” He then noticed Misato, standing next to Morimine. “Huh? Gori, from the 13th Ward? What’s she doing here?” he asked, eyes wide with surprise.
“Oh, I ran into her over at the train station. She said she had something to give you,” Morimine explained. “Well, here he is, miss,” he prompted. There was no turning back now.
“Kotaro Amon!”
“Uh … yes?”
Misato thrust her hand into her bag and took hold of the wrapped-up doughnuts.
Oh, Investigator Kuroiwa, I’ve finally come this far. All I have to do now is just hand him the doughnuts. Please, somehow, give me the courage I need, Investigator Kuroiwa! Investigator Kuroiwa … Investigator Kuroiwa …!
“Investigator Kuroiwaaa! Homemade doughnuts!” She shoved the doughnuts hard against Amon’s chest.
“H-homemade?” he stammered in confusion. “Investigator Kuroiwa wanted me to have these?”
“Yes! He told me to give them to you!”
“B-but why?”
“Because you’re special, Kotaro Amon!”
“I … I’m special? I mean … thank you, but … why?”
Morimine muttered to himself. “These two aren’t on the same page, huh?” But neither Amon nor Misato heard him.
Amon opened the bag to check its contents, the scent of Misato’s special doughnuts making him recoil as it hit him all at once. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead. “Uh, these are a bit …”
“Investigator Kuroiwa ate them happily enough!” Misato said, jabbing a finger at Amon.
Amon peered inside the bag, drawing his lips back hard. He was thinking. Maybe he wasn’t good at handling spicy things, and was trying to get past his own taste preferences?
“All right, Gori. I’ll have these all right now!” With that, Amon shoved his hand into the bag, and crammed the contents into his mouth all at once.
“Whoa!” Morimine stiffened, watching from off to the side. Harsh crumbling sounds resounded from Amon’s mouth, but rather than hurriedly choking them down, he chewed them up nice and thoroughly before swallowing with an audible gulp.
He then clapped both hands together and bowed his head. “Ah, delicious!” Misato looked on, eyes welling up with deep emotion. It had been a long road, but at long last, she had reached her goal.
“Uh, hey? Miss?”
Misato trembled with joy, Morimine’s words not even reaching her, and she darted off. Amon had accepted the doughnuts she’d made for him. And he’d eaten every last one right in front of her eyes. She was sure he’d gotten a glimpse of her feminine side. She rushed through the nighttime streets. Oh, she was so, so happy!
Several days later, when she arrived at the 13th Ward office in the morning, Kuroiwa called out to her. “Misato!”
“Yes, what is it?”
“I got a thank-you note from Kotaro Amon from the 20th Ward, but I have no idea what for.”
He held out the note, on which had been written, “Thank you so much for everything.” For a while, the two of them stared at the letter in silence, and then Kuroiwa nodded. “Mm-hmm.”
Misato looked a while longer, and then it hit her. “He probably wanted to express his appreciation for some trivial thing you did for him that you didn’t even notice. Amon’s a very nice young man, wouldn’t you say, Investigator Kuroiwa?”
“Mm-hmm.”
Amon was a man with a strong sense of duty. He’d surely remember to thank Misato for the doughnuts she’d given him, too. She nodded back at Kuroiwa, already thinking up what she might make as a gift for Amon next time.
Later that day, a message was sent out from HQ to all branches, telling all staff to be careful about an unexplained stomach illness that had been making its way through the CCG as of late.
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