My era, 1979!

Chapter 184 Midnight Diner (1.3 words)

The itinerary for this trip to Japan was very tight.

Today is the last day of rest.

After all, the team members are all quite old.

Tomorrow morning, the delegation will travel to the Prime Minister's Official Residence in Nagata-cho to meet with Japanese Prime Minister Masayoshi Ohira.

Therefore, in the afternoon, in the conference room of the New Otani Hotel, Secretary-General Lin Lin gathered all the members of the delegation and gave a serious and detailed briefing on the formal activities for the next day and the diplomatic etiquette to be observed when meeting with Japanese dignitaries in the coming days.

"Dear teachers, Comrade Chengjun," Lin Lin adjusted her glasses, her tone solemn, "we represent the image of China. When shaking hands, the pressure should be moderate, and eye contact should be at eye level; at banquets, observe dining etiquette and avoid making loud noises; during conversations, be neither arrogant nor servile, discuss friendship and literature, and be cautious when touching on sensitive political topics..."

Linlin explained in great detail and even demonstrated a few movements herself.

Xu Chengjun listened attentively.

In his previous life, he worked in the cultural sector.

I was seconded to WLB for a period of time and worked in foreign affairs reception.

Therefore, these etiquettes are not unfamiliar to them.

However, he still showed a humble attitude towards learning, and occasionally he could ask precise questions about the differences in etiquette details, which made Linlin look at him a few more times with a hint of appreciation in her eyes.

However, this scene takes on a different meaning in the eyes of some people.

During the break, Du Pengcheng strolled over to Xu Chengjun, holding a teacup in his hand. His tone carried that lingering scrutiny of an older man towards a younger one, and he spoke with a hidden meaning:
"Comrade Xiao Xu, you must listen carefully to what Secretary-General Lin said and remember it well."

He took a sip of tea, his eyelids drooping. "When visiting foreign countries, it's not just about learning literature; the etiquette of dealing with people also represents the dignity of the country, so we must learn it well. We can't let young people act on their whims."

Xu Chengjun originally didn't want to pay attention to such veiled barbs.

But Du Pengcheng repeatedly pressed his rigid standards and inexplicable sense of superiority onto Xu Chengjun, and even with his good mentality, Xu Chengjun felt it necessary to make the other party wake up.

He raised his head, his gaze calmly meeting Du Pengcheng's, a faint smile playing on his lips. His tone was unhurried, yet each word was clear:
"Teacher Du is right. However, I think the premise of learning is to recognize the current situation. Whether it is economic development, social etiquette, or even literary creation itself, we must first admit that we are lagging behind. There is no way out if we are complacent and stick to the old ways."

He paused, and under Du Pengcheng's suddenly changed gaze, continued gently yet sharply, adding the last sentence:
"As people get older, their experience becomes invaluable, but it's even more important to accept that we're getting old. Accepting old age doesn't mean admitting defeat; it means knowing where we should give younger people room to explore. If we keep living in the past and expect it to magically produce results that are suitable for the new era, that's probably a bit unrealistic. This trip to Japan is perfect; it's also a chance to see where the world has come to be."

"you……!"

Du Pengcheng's face flushed red instantly, and his finger trembled slightly as he pointed at Xu Chengjun. He wanted to refute him and use reason to intimidate him, but he found that Xu Chengjun's words had precisely hit the sore spot that was common to him and many other intellectuals of his generation.

Faced with a rapidly changing era, there is a deep-seated sense of powerlessness and fear.

He hesitated for a moment, but under the subtle gazes of those around him, he couldn't utter a complete and powerful retort. He could only let out a sullen "humph," turn around, and walk away, his back view revealing a somewhat disheveled appearance.

Du Peng's novels "Defend Yan'an" and "In Peaceful Days" are actually famous works.

Leaving aside the intrinsic value of the text itself, it does possess literary value.

However, this generation shares a common characteristic: they tend to feel somewhat uncomfortable in an era of frequent changes.

These discomforts will then translate into a desire to solidify their own position by suppressing young, emerging forces.

Xu Chengjun's words were not loud, but they were enough for the nearby writers to hear clearly.

Ai Wu shook his head, unsure whether he was lamenting Du Pengcheng's self-inflicted embarrassment or surprised by Xu Chengjun's sharp insight.

Deng Youmei secretly gave Xu Chengjun a thumbs up, her face beaming with barely suppressed joy.

That evening, after obtaining permission from the accompanying officials, Xu Chengjun prepared to go out for a stroll alone, to personally experience Tokyo in 1980, a city on the eve of economic take-off and experiencing the "boiling oil" of prosperity.

Just as I walked into the hotel lobby, I unexpectedly ran into Song Liangxi.

At this moment, Song Liangxi was not as radiant as she had been on the plane. Instead, she seemed somewhat listless, with a rare look of confusion and... lack of confidence between her brows.

She certainly has reason to be proud.

She comes from a privileged family, is a talented woman from Peking University, a reporter for the Wenyi Bao (Literary Gazette), and has outstanding looks.

Back home, she was practically a star, getting whatever she wanted. But after arriving in Japan, the sheer scale of the airport and the flashing lights that made her uneasy made her instinctively want to hide.

And what about Xu Chengjun?
He was so calm and composed, as if he was born to stand in the spotlight.

When checking into the hotel, she could ask for directions in English, albeit haltingly, while Xu Chengjun could communicate fluently with the hotel manager in English. Even when a member of a Spanish tour group had a minor disagreement with the Chinese staff during check-in due to a language barrier, Xu Chengjun was able to step forward and easily resolve the misunderstanding in equally fluent Spanish!

All of this was like tiny needles, piercing through her long-held pride.

She wasn't insecure; it was the first time she had so clearly realized that there are always higher mountains to climb and more capable people to reach. The things she was so proud of seemed insignificant in the face of a wider world and more outstanding peers. This realization made her pride feel somewhat unbearable.

"Xu...Chengjun." She greeted him softly, her voice not as clear as before.

Xu Chengjun noticed that she was in a bad mood and casually replied, "Reporter Song, didn't you get enough rest?"

Song Liangxi looked up at Xu Chengjun's eyes, which appeared exceptionally deep and calm under the hotel lights, and suddenly, as if possessed, asked, "Are you...are you going out? Can...can I go out for a walk with you?"

As soon as she said it, her face flushed, and she felt that her request was too abrupt.

Xu Chengjun hesitated for a moment, then nodded: "Okay."

As soon as the two reached the hotel entrance, a young man wearing a Zhongshan suit and glasses approached them with a smile.

"Comrade Xu, Reporter Song, are you going out? Perfect timing. Secretary-General Lin was worried and asked me to come along, so I can keep an eye on things. My name is Wu Lei, and I'm an accompanying staff member from the Asian Division of the Ministry of Magic."

Alright, three people together.

The three of them were indeed among the few young people in the entire delegation.

It just so happens that Wu Lei is a Japanese translator.

Of course, a 27-year-old Ministry of Magic translator doesn't seem quite right either.

Stepping out of the New Otani Hotel, the dazzling nighttime scene of Tokyo immediately overwhelmed Song Liangxi and Wu Lei.

The hotel is located in Akasaka, one of the core areas of Tokyo.

What you see.

Skyscrapers stand side by side, and huge neon billboards flash "SONY," "National" (Panasonic), and "Toyota," painting the night sky with a hazy hue. A steady stream of cars flows by, mostly boxy sedans, their taillights casting red streaks on the wet asphalt. Well-dressed office workers hurry along, while young women in fashionable skirts and high heels chat and laugh. Shop windows along the street display a dazzling array of goods, from sophisticated electronics to the latest fashions…

All of this stands in stark contrast to the domestic situation, where people are still struggling to make ends meet and the landscape is monotonous.

Song Liangxi and Wu Lei watched intently, occasionally letting out soft exclamations of amazement, as if they were Liu Grandma visiting the Grand View Garden.

Song Liangxi glanced at Xu Chengjun again, as if possessed.

He simply swept his gaze calmly over the dazzling display, seemingly without much awe, and with a sense of familiarity mixed with detachment.

He came here?

Song Liangxi admitted that she was a little curious about this young man who was her age or even a little younger than her.

I've never been here before.

But Xu Chengjun knew that this was just a facade, the last and most magnificent chapter before the peak of Japan's economic bubble.

How strong was Japan's economy in 1980?
It was so powerful that its number one rival, or rather its mastermind behind the scenes, America, felt unprecedented fear and pressure, and was even once considered to be replacing America as the world's largest economy.

In the physical realm, its cars and electronics have outperformed American-made products.

Japanese automakers, represented by Toyota, Honda, and Nissan, have surpassed the United States to become number one, while home appliances from brands such as Sony, Panasonic, Toshiba, and Hitachi are popular worldwide.

Technologically, its semiconductor industry once put the United States at a disadvantage.

The US has a global market share of over 50% in the semiconductor industry, and in the DRAM sector, its quality and cost control are superior to those of American products. Companies in Silicon Valley are suffering a steady decline.

In finance, its capital seems capable of buying anything in the world.

Land prices in Tokyo's Ginza district are staggering. A widely circulated claim is that the land valued around the Tokyo Imperial Palace exceeds the total land value of the entire state of California.

At the time, American media exclaimed: "The Japanese are going to buy up the whole of America!"

Psychologically, it instilled a strong sense of crisis and frustration in the United States, its former teacher and hegemon.

Fear and misunderstanding of Japan permeated American society. Books like "Japan as Number One" were published, and numerous arguments emerged viewing Japan as an "economic enemy." The US, through the Plaza Accord, forced the yen to appreciate in order to weaken the export competitiveness of Japanese products, which also contributed to Japan's economic bubble.

And the lost twenty years.

The three strolled along the streets of Akasaka, wandering between towering buildings and corners that still retained the charm of traditional townhouses.

Tokyo's nights are dazzling with lights. The bright lights of convenience stores, the noisy music of pachinko parlors, and the hurried figures of office workers in suits create a vibrant and materialistic ukiyo-e scene that is completely different from that in China.

Around 9 p.m., Song Liangxi glanced at her watch and, though still reluctant to leave, reminded him, "Shouldn't we head back now? I'm afraid Secretary-General Lin will worry if it gets too late."

Wu Lei reluctantly turned his gaze away from an appliance store window, looking at the latest Sony Walkman on display, and clicked his tongue: "Yeah, it's time to go back."

He subconsciously touched the meager amount of foreign exchange certificates in his pocket. In this city with its astonishingly high cost of living, their meager funds were barely enough to make ends meet.

Seeing the two of them looking eager to explore yet hesitant, Xu Chengjun laughed: "What's the rush? The nightlife is just beginning. Come on, I'll take you to experience the real street life of Japan."

Upon hearing this, Song Liangxi quickly grabbed Xu Chengjun's arm and whispered, "Don't go. Foreign exchange is too precious; we'll need it later!"

Xu Chengjun shook his head, his tone relaxed: "Let's go, I have some yen."

A hint of surprise flashed across Wu Lei's face, and he even suspected that this kid was just putting on a brave face in front of the beautiful woman.

Seeing their skeptical expressions, Xu Chengjun explained, "Don't overthink it. When I signed the Japanese copyright agreement for 'Red Silk' with Iwanami Shoten, they gave me an advance in yen as part of the author's operating expenses."

Song Liangxi's big eyes lit up instantly.

Wu Lei rubbed his hands somewhat embarrassedly: "This...this is so embarrassing. The cost of living in Japan is too high. Looking at this dazzling scene, my annual salary probably wouldn't be enough for just one night."

Xu Chengjun put his arm around his shoulder and laughed heartily, "Let's go, Lei-ge! Don't be shy, when we get to Beijing, you'll treat me to braised pork offal and fried liver to make up for it!"

Neither of them could resist being coy.

The three of them bypassed the main road of Akasaka-dori and turned into an area called "Akasaka 7-chome". Here, the narrow alleys were lined with all kinds of izakayas, and the noren curtains swayed gently in the night breeze, exuding a strong nightlife atmosphere belonging to Tokyo's office workers.

Xu Chengjun observed for a moment and chose a shop with the most customers at the entrance, where bursts of laughter and cheerful voices could be heard.

As soon as you lift the noro curtain, a wave of heat, a mixture of the aroma of grilled food, soy sauce, and tobacco, hits you.

"Welcome! (Welcome!)" The clerk wearing a half-matori (はんてん, a Japanese short coat) greeted him energetically.

The shop is small, with warm, dim lighting. The wooden bar and tatami seating areas are almost full of people. Most of them are male employees who have just finished get off work, their ties loose, their faces slightly flushed, talking and laughing loudly or clinking glasses with their companions.

The walls were covered with handwritten menus and yellowed posters, and an old television was playing the evening news, with the background music being a slightly melancholic enka melody.

The entire space was filled with a lively and genuine atmosphere.

With Wu Lei, who understands Japanese, around, ordering food became much easier.

Xu Chengjun looked at the densely packed menu on the wall and picked out a few representative Japanese snacks:

Grilled bird, sashimi served with り合わせ, たこわさ (wasabi octopus), えび天ぷら (fried shrimp tempura), だし巻きtamago (Japanese egg roll)
Xu Chengjun also ordered a pot of "Otter Sacrifice".

Contrary to popular belief, Dassai is still considered a regular sake brand. Although it has a long history, its high-end product lines, such as "Moki Niwari Sanbu," had not yet been launched in the 80s, and its prices are moderate. I had planned to have a drink with Wu Lei.

Unexpectedly, Song Liangxi proved to be just as capable as any man, pouring herself a glass as well.

As the three enjoyed the food, their conversation gradually warmed up.

From the cars and electronics seen on the streets of Japan to the hectic schedule of the trip, and then to our respective thoughts on the future.

We were all young people, and without the constraints of our home countries, we quickly grew closer in this late-night eatery in a foreign land.

Song Liangxi and Wu Lei were both from the same family in the Beijing compound and knew each other's backgrounds. But to their surprise, Xu Chengjun was indeed from an ordinary family, just as rumored, and had risen from a rural village in northern Anhui to where he was today through his own talent.

Is it ordinary?

Actually, he wasn't exactly ordinary. If it weren't for Xu's father, he wouldn't have been able to even get past Wang Chu when he first transmigrated.

But who are you comparing yourself to?

As Song Liangxi watched Xu Chengjun calmly narrate his profile, and observed him skillfully using chopsticks to pick up sashimi and leisurely savoring sake, her large, watery eyes gradually revealed a complex expression. This expression was a mixture of admiration, curiosity, and some inexplicable feelings that she herself couldn't quite explain, feelings that were more likely to arise in vulnerable moments in a foreign land.

After a few cups of sake, her fair cheeks flushed, and her eyes became increasingly unfocused.

Looking at the Japanese office workers around her, chatting and laughing freely, seemingly without any pressure in their lives, Song Liangxi couldn't help but feel a pang of envy and confusion. She whispered, "Chengjun, Wu Lei, when do you think... when will our city, our people, be able to be like them..."

Xu Chengjun swirled the clear liquor in his glass, his gaze seemingly piercing through the wooden walls of the izakaya, looking into the distance. He murmured, "Catching up in all aspects... might take a generation, or even longer. The road is long, but someone has to start walking it."

No sooner had he finished speaking than the Japanese office workers at the next table, who were enjoying their drinks, began to hum a melodious, slightly melancholic enka song in unison, led by a chubby middle-aged section chief.

It is Saburo Kitajima's "The Woman of Hakodate".

The melody itself carries an aesthetic quality of mono no aware (the pathos of things). The prelude is melodious and gentle, while the overall tune is desolate and affectionate, filled with longing and sorrow for a distant lover and for the passing of time.
The singing wasn't exactly beautiful, but it was full of the release from the pressures of life and the warmth between colleagues, blending wonderfully with the noisy and warm atmosphere of the izakaya.

This exotic scene captivated Song Liangxi, leaving her somewhat mesmerized.

She rested her chin on one hand, while unconsciously twirling a small porcelain cup on the table with the other. Her gaze slowly shifted from the strangers indulging in revelry to Xu Chengjun's calm profile. The alcohol had slowed her thinking, but it had also stripped away her usual proud facade, allowing her inner emotions to flow more openly.

"Let's start walking..."

She murmured Xu Chengjun's words, her eyes unfocused, "But where should we go? Like them?"

She furrowed her beautiful brows slightly, as if asking Xu Chengjun, or perhaps herself, "Is having so much material wealth really a good thing? But why... when I look at them, they seem happy, yet also... so empty?"

A perceptive girl~
Her question was somewhat naive, yet it hit the nail on the head.

Even Xu Chengjun, who was discussing with Wu Lei which beer, Kirin or Tsingtao, tasted better, couldn't help but be drawn to her.

Xu Chengjun turned his head and met her eyes, which were glistening with moisture due to intoxication and seemed to be covered by a thin mist.

Under the dim light, her striking features lost some of their usual sharpness and gained a softer, more fragile quality, making her exceptionally captivating.

Even the Japanese men at the next few tables couldn't help but steal glances at this uniquely elegant and beautiful Chinese girl.

"Material abundance is fundamental, but spiritual fulfillment and a sense of direction are perhaps even more important."

Xu Chengjun's voice wasn't loud, but it clearly reached Song Liangxi's ears amidst the background music and the surrounding noise. "Their happiness is real, and their emptiness may be just as real. What we need to catch up with is not just neon lights and television sets, but also to find our own way of life that is both grounded and gazing at the stars."

His words were like a pebble thrown into Song Liangxi's somewhat chaotic heart, creating ripples.

She looked at him, and felt that the certainty and clarity in his voice, so different from the slightly tipsy atmosphere around them, possessed a fatal attraction. She suddenly recalled his sharp yet restrained demeanor during his exchange with Du Pengcheng that afternoon, his composure beyond his years when facing the Japanese reporter, his fluent foreign languages, and his incisive commentary on foreign cultures at this moment…

A mixture of intense curiosity, heartfelt admiration, and a sense of dependence that arose involuntarily in an unfamiliar environment grew wildly in her heart.

From childhood to adulthood, she has never lacked outstanding peers, whether they are children of high-ranking officials or classmates from Peking University, but none of them have ever made her feel so...unfathomable, yet so reassured, as Xu Chengjun.

"A way of living that belongs to oneself..." Song Liangxi repeated softly, her eyes somewhat unfocused.

She suddenly leaned forward, her arm accidentally brushing against Xu Chengjun's hand on the table. A slightly warm touch came over her, but she seemed not to notice. She just stared straight at him, her drunken dazedness and almost worshipful earnestness making her ask, "Xu Chengjun, have you found your own way of living? Is it... writing?"

Her approach brought a sweet fragrance mixed with the scent of wine, and her large eyes, at such close range, seemed to draw one's soul in.

Xu Chengjun could clearly see his reflection in her eyes, as well as the undisguised, ardent emotions within them.

He was a man, so Xu Chengjun's heart skipped a beat almost imperceptibly.

But he quickly regained his composure, subtly withdrawing his hand, taking a sip of his wine, and using this to conceal the momentary flutter in his heart.

He smiled, not directly answering the overly personal question, but cleverly changing the subject, pointing to the plate of exquisite Japanese omelet rolls on the table and saying, "Try this, tamagoyaki, it's quite authentic, with just the right amount of sweetness."

Seeing his evasive answer, Song Liangxi was not disappointed at all. Instead, she felt that this man was even more mysterious and made her want to explore him even more.

Even if he has a girlfriend.

She was about to speak.

Just then, the curtain of the izakaya was lifted again, and a middle-aged man with round-framed glasses, slightly disheveled hair, and a rather unique demeanor walked in. He seemed to know the place well, greeted the owner, and scanned the room before finally settling on Xu Chengjun and his group of three obvious "outsiders."

He stared at Xu Chengjun for a few seconds, a thoughtful look in his eyes, then walked straight over and tentatively asked in accented but understandable English:

"Excuse me... Are you from the Chinese delegation?"

He looked specifically at Xu Chengjun, his face showing a look of sudden realization and excitement: "I thought I recognized you! You are that…'Chinese Oscar'! From the magazine!"

Xu Chengjun and the other two were all taken aback.

"Oscar?"

"Yes, your name has spread throughout Tokyo by newspaper reporters~ The mysterious Chinese nobleman appears as a literary envoy!"

Wu Lei was the first to react, responding in Japanese to confirm his identity and also translating a few words for Xu Chengjun.

It made him incredibly embarrassed.

Song Liangxi, on the other hand, was giggling uncontrollably.
The middle-aged man seemed very happy and immediately introduced himself, revealing that he was Shotaro Ishinomori, a well-known figure in the Japanese manga industry.

He was as famous as Osamu Tezuka in this era.

He's also a workaholic and a night owl.
He had obviously seen the report about Xu Chengjun in Weekly Shincho.

The famous cartoonist casually picked up an unopened bottle of Kirin beer from his table, enthusiastically filled the glasses of Xu Chengjun and the other two, then raised his own glass high and said loudly in broken but sincere Chinese:

"Come! To...lasting friendship between China and Japan! Cheers!"

Xu Chengjun smiled and raised his glass.

But inwardly, I just scoffed. Friendship, you think?

Friendship can only exist within the east wind.

But no matter what, the ten years of friendship between China and Japan are real.

Although many people later became unaware of this period.

His actions touched the Japanese guests at the surrounding tables. Although they didn't understand why, they smiled in a friendly manner, and some even raised their glasses.

At the next table, a group of Japanese "salarymen" (office workers) who had just finished work were drinking enthusiastically. They heard that the writer was a well-known author from China and were filled with curiosity.

They started singing a familiar enka song in unison, though they were off-key, it was full of enthusiasm for life and indulgence after exhaustion.

The proprietress of the izakaya, a kind-hearted middle-aged woman, smiled and brought Xu Chengjun and his group another small dish of pickled vegetables, saying "surprise" in Japanese, and explaining:

"Many regulars from the neighborhood stay here until late at night. It's like their 'late-night diner,' where they can take off their daytime masks, confide their troubles, and share their joys."

So, are you happy eating at the Midnight Diner right now?

How long has it been since we celebrated and drank to our hearts' content?
Xu Chengjun was somewhat dazed.

Shotaro Ishinomori's enthusiasm, the off-key singing of the surrounding salarymen, the landlady's gentle smile, and Song Liangxi's eyes, which became increasingly hazy under the influence of alcohol and the lamplight, almost overwhelming people...

All of this, mixed with the smoky aroma of grilled fish, the coolness of sake, and the clamor of another era permeating the air, gently enveloped Xu Chengjun like a warm and sticky net.

However, beneath the seemingly harmonious and bustling atmosphere of this foreign land, a deeper sense of alienation quietly rises, like sediment settling at the bottom of a cup.

hapiness?

Maybe it is.

But more than anything, it's a feeling of floating.

All of this before us—the economic boom, the material abundance, even this seemingly intimate toast to "Sino-Japanese friendship"—is like the dim light in this izakaya; it seems warm, but it cannot illuminate the road ahead, nor can it lead us back to our true homeland.

Japan in the 1980s, in an almost replicating manner, reflected a vague silhouette of a future in his memory—prosperous and exquisite, yet also exuding an indescribable weariness at its core.

The undisguised adoration and dependence in Song Liangxi's eyes, this seemingly natural feeling that arose in a foreign atmosphere, is it not just another kind of "illusion"?
The sounds of toasts to "friendship" around him, to him who knew the turbulent and unpredictable course of history that would unfold in the coming decades, took on a tinge of absurdity and ridiculousness.

Politics, you know~
When we are weak, we must develop, but we must not forget history, nor dare we forget it.

Various emotions.

The sadness of the misalignment of time and space, the alienation of the emotions before one's eyes, the insight into the seemingly solid but actually fragile relationship, and the loneliness deep in one's heart that cannot be spoken to outsiders.

They intertwined, fermenting and swelling in his chest cavity, almost overflowing.

He suddenly felt that he had to write something to ease his complicated and indescribable feelings.

"Sorry, excuse me."

Xu Chengjun whispered something to Shi Zhisen and Song Liangxi, tore a page from his notebook, and borrowed a pen from the landlady.

Amidst the surrounding clamor, the lingering melancholy of the opera, and under Song Liangxi's bewildered and lost gaze, he turned slightly to the side, leaning over a corner of the small table, his pen gliding rapidly across the paper.

Wu Lei glanced at it curiously, saw that it was Chinese characters, and read it aloud in a low voice, his voice somewhat intermittent amidst the noise:
Izakaya (Japanese pub) - 1944

Author: Traveler
The lights of the izakaya floated and swayed in the rainy season.
The warm curtain hangs down three inches, a sense of loneliness.
The silver scales of the saury on the porcelain plate gradually darkened.
Like some promises that cooled down before we could say goodbye.

The shouts of sumo wrestlers on TV collapsed into snow.

Dissolves gradually in the beer foam
The drunken man's waka poem at the next table stopped in his throat.

Transformed into the lingering shadow of a half-moon in fermented rice wine
The chopsticks gently rested like railway tracks leading to the old year.

The platform was filled with unfamiliar local accents.

When the proprietress added the third pot of Kikumasamune

I saw my own back as I passed through the paper sliding door.
In the Showa night when the neon lights faded...
Besides the lingering heat of the collapse

No entry allowed.

No entry allowed.

"It's yours, boss lady~"

(End of this chapter)