Chapter Thirty-One: Stealing Your Script

The woman sitting opposite picked up her handbag and bid YUKI farewell. “I’ll be going now. Take your time with your meal.”
“Goodbye,” YUKI replied with a smile, waving her hand.

After seeing the woman off, Ye Zhao unceremoniously took the vacant seat. Noticing this, YUKI teased, “Weren’t you the one who left so coolly last time? What’s changed that you’re willing to sit down now?”
“You remember me?”
“Of course I do. After all, you rejected me so heartlessly,” YUKI replied with a slightly aggrieved look.

Ye Zhao rolled her eyes. “Don’t make that face—it’s as if I dumped you or something.”

A server came over with a small plate of boiled edamame. Though it was brought without being asked for, it was not a complimentary dish—this, too, was part of izakaya culture: a way to welcome guests without undue expense. If you don’t want this “welcome,” you must tell the staff as soon as you enter. Ye Zhao picked up the menu and swiftly placed her order: “One serving of shrimp tempura, one of agedashi tofu, ten chicken skewers, ten meatball skewers, twenty pork belly skewers, two hundred grams of grilled beef tongue… And a big mug of draft beer. Oh, and one bowl of ochazuke to finish.”

YUKI looked surprised. “Can you really eat all that by yourself?”

“As a young person who’s still growing, this is nothing,” Ye Zhao boasted shamelessly, completely forgetting that deep down she was nearly thirty at heart.

“How nice, to still be growing.” YUKI pouted, then asked curiously, “By the way, just how young are you?”

“Nineteen…” Ye Zhao began, but suddenly remembered that drinking under twenty was illegal, and quickly stopped herself. Unfortunately, YUKI had already caught the slip. She grinned mischievously. “Coming to an izakaya alone while underage? You’re pretty bold.”

Ah… she’s got something on me now.

Just then, the server arrived with twenty pork belly skewers and a mug of beer. “Here you are. The rest will be out shortly.” An idea struck Ye Zhao. She picked up a skewer and used her chopsticks to slide the meat off, then casually struck up a conversation. “By the way, what day is it today?”

“You’re trying to change the sub—” YUKI started, but Ye Zhao quickly popped a piece of pork belly into YUKI’s mouth.

“Now that you’ve accepted my bribe, you’re sworn to secrecy,” Ye Zhao said, pouring herself a glass of beer and taking a triumphant sip.

YUKI chewed and swallowed, clicking her tongue. “You really are childish,” she said, reaching for another skewer from Ye Zhao’s plate.

“That’s mine,” Ye Zhao protested.

“It’s hush money,” YUKI replied with righteous indignation. “Did you really think you could buy my silence with just one piece of pork belly? You underestimate me!”

“…You win,” Ye Zhao conceded, resigning herself to the fate she’d dug for herself.

Beer and skewers are the perfect recipe for breaking the ice. If it doesn’t work, you simply haven’t eaten enough. After twenty skewers of pork belly, the atmosphere between Ye Zhao and YUKI grew increasingly congenial.

Whether it was from seeing her on television in a past life, or from their meetings in this one, YUKI always struck Ye Zhao as forthright and lively. Perhaps it was this easygoing attitude that made the years so kind to her. Far from showing signs of age, she had only grown more captivating. Even twenty years later, when she appeared on the music show “MUSIC STATION,” a male singer sharing the stage blurted out his admiration: “She’s so adorable!”

“By the way, who was that woman who was just here?” Ye Zhao asked offhandedly.

“No idea.” Seeing the skepticism in Ye Zhao’s eyes, YUKI explained, “As you saw, most people at izakayas are middle-aged salarymen. Two women sharing a table is better than sitting next to some strange old men, don’t you think?”

“True.” Ye Zhao nodded, then caught herself. “So you called me over just because that woman was leaving and you needed someone to fill the seat?”

YUKI laughed heartily. “Surely you didn’t think I was hitting on you?”

“Of course not. In fact, I should thank you for not flirting with me,” Ye Zhao grinned, casting a mischievous glance at YUKI’s chest. “After all, my type is—well-endowed women with great figures.”

YUKI’s expression froze instantly. After a moment, she replied coolly, “Would you like to experience what death feels like?”

“No, thank you,” Ye Zhao answered quickly. “I’ve already experienced it once.”

The ochazuke arrived. Ye Zhao, feeling rather full, realized she had seriously underestimated the portion sizes at the izakaya. As she prepared to stand, slinging her bag over her shoulder, YUKI, ready to leave, noticed Ye Zhao’s troubled expression and teased, “Thanks for dinner. I’ll be off now. And remember, as a young person still growing, eating a bit more is nothing. Go on, don’t waste food—it’s bad karma.”

“…So annoying.” Ye Zhao picked up her bowl, bent her head, and quickly shoveled in the rice. By the time she raised her head again, the bowl was empty. She burped, wiped her mouth with a napkin, and left the izakaya in high spirits—the bill had already been paid when she ordered.

Humming a tuneless song on the way back to her apartment, she passed a three-way intersection. From the right-hand alley came a drunken voice: “Hey, little girl, out so late by yourself? Want to have some fun with me? Uncle will treat you to something nice…”

In an instant, the memory of her first encounter with Yuko Takeuchi flashed through Ye Zhao’s mind. She couldn’t help but grumble internally, “Is it really this easy to run into lecherous men and drunks in Japan…?” But still, what should she do—help, or not?

Of course—Ye Zhao shrugged and turned down the right-hand alley.

Under the yellow streetlight, a man dressed like a typical salaryman—white shirt, black slacks, hair neatly parted—stood, looking harmless at first glance. He had his jacket slung over his left arm and was leaning against the wall with his right hand, blocking a woman’s way. Because of the angle, Ye Zhao couldn’t see the woman’s face.

“So, what do you say, little girl? Come with me?” the drunk repeated, cackling lasciviously.

Instead of the cry of alarm Ye Zhao expected, the woman replied in a calm tone, “Are you calling me ‘little girl’?” The voice was very familiar—Ye Zhao was certain there was only one person among her acquaintances with such a voice, and only ten minutes ago they’d shared a meal at the same table.

The drunk spoke again. “Of course I’m talking to you. You’re a high schooler, right? Out so late—pretty bold, aren’t you? Come on, if you hang out with me, I’ll even give you some pocket money…” His right hand reached for YUKI.

Seeing this, Ye Zhao hurried forward to intervene. “St—”

But before she could finish, a scream like a pig being slaughtered echoed through the alley. The drunk dropped his jacket, clutching his right foot and rolling on the ground, wailing, “It hurts—it hurts, it hurts, it’s killing me!”

Freed from danger, YUKI remembered hearing a brief shout when the drunk tried to get handsy. She instinctively looked around, and her gaze met Ye Zhao’s, who stood two meters away, half petrified.

Ye Zhao was completely stunned. She’d expected a classic hero-saves-the-damsel scene, but now all she could think about was YUKI’s slender high heel grinding down on the drunk’s foot, and her elbow driving into his chest. Was this delicate, fragile-looking YUKI really capable of such courage and explosive force? Ye Zhao realized she’d have to see her in a whole new light.

Meanwhile, recognizing her would-be rescuer as the young man from dinner, YUKI felt reassured—her fear that the drunk would attack again eased. She took a few steps forward, first flashing a relieved, grateful smile, then reverting to her playful self. “Sorry, looks like I stole your spotlight.”

Ye Zhao looked into her sparkling eyes, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall silent. No, not just a moment—three, to be exact.