The last time Ma En had seen Asuka, she'd still been helping out at her family's ramen shop. He'd heard she wanted to become a manga artist and was working continuously on her submissions — he didn't know how far she'd gotten. Japan's manga culture was developing at high speed; the topics artists worked with grew more diverse by the year, the readership growing in age range to encompass nearly everyone. In Japan, the manga industry was becoming something the country was genuinely proud of.

In this past month, Ma En had looked through two or three manga, and their detailed brushwork and engaging stories made clear at a glance how much effort manga artists poured in. He didn't need to watch one work to understand that it was an extremely demanding craft.

However much these remarkable panels and stories gave young people enormous sustenance and conviction — and many young people now aspired to become manga artists and join those who provided that sustenance — in terms of the industry's own reality, successful artists were few. Many filed submissions repeatedly and failed, forced to swallow the bitterness of that fact. He didn't know whether Asuka would be among them.

It had been a long time since he'd seen Asuka — exactly how long he couldn't be certain, since his memory was incomplete. This sense of duration was probably partly an illusion. But when he decided to go find her, he felt something he could only describe as the paralysis that comes from being too long away: not fear, not dread, but a hesitance he couldn't shake, the kind that arrives when home suddenly feels unfamiliar. For present-self, this abrupt emotion was strange but impossible to put aside.

Walking among the flow of people, he couldn't help wondering: what would he say when he saw Asuka? Something like how have you been? That would be truly awkward. When past-self had entrusted Asuka with these hidden secrets, had he said anything else to her? In Asuka's eyes, how did past-self and present-self appear? Had the changes between them created emotional distance as well?

This was almost exactly like worrying that an old friend from home wouldn't recognize you after too long an absence. And though it wasn't intentional — he felt a small knot inside, wondering whether seeking her out now, entirely for his own purposes, was somehow calculating. A little shameless.

Whether distancing yourself from someone or rushing to see them — both came from your own angle, with no real consideration for the other.

He still remembered the moment past-self had passed the deep red hat to Asuka — though he couldn't be sure how different that past-self truly was from present-self — and he also faintly remembered Asuka's complicated expression then. As if he'd deceived her. Hurt her.

He didn't know what exactly the hurt had been.

He had no clear sense of how many times the Room 4 Ghost Story had hurt this girl. However unavoidable it was, however much he reassured himself he'd done it to protect her, to keep her from being pulled in deeper — harm was still harm. Especially psychological harm.

He didn't think he deserved to be forgiven for it. He even worried: when she heard the password, would she return the red hat and past-self's secrets along with it, perhaps still carrying resentment? He felt he should apologize — but wouldn't such an apology wound her further?

He felt guilty, believed he deserved punishment, and had already prepared his heart for it.

Even without being able to simply ask for forgiveness, he still walked into a dessert shop and bought the most expensive chocolate cake they had. He intended it as an apology gift. Then an image flashed through his mind: himself with cake thrown in his face. Ma En smiled at himself, inwardly, and accepted that version of things completely. If it came to that, he had no intention of dodging or resisting. He was quite certain he'd bend forward slightly, to make the throw more comfortable for her.

Carrying the cake, carrying the wrapped old clothes, carrying the briefcase and the black umbrella, both hands entirely occupied, Ma En finally stood at the edge of the Ichiraku ramen shop. One step forward and he'd be at the entrance. Maybe pushing the door open would show him the warm, open-faced shop master greeting customers, and Asuka slipping out the back to haul a bag of kitchen waste to the big bin, then stealing a moment's rest to think about her manga.

In his mind, the image was almost vivid: afternoon light slanting in, Asuka standing by the door, wiping her hands dry on her pale green apron, murmuring something about daily trivialities, her hairpin flashing in the sun, her chin-length hair lifting in the breeze.

Ma En found himself slowing. He stopped on the sidewalk and did nothing — stood with his eyes closed, perfectly still. After a moment, a few passersby glanced his way. Then he opened his eyes and walked toward the ramen shop.

As he drew close, the back door opened. A small figure appeared in the alley, wrestling two overstuffed black garbage bags, clearly working against their weight. Bright light fell into the alley at an angle and was swallowed by wall shadow partway through; the small figure stood between the light and the dark.

Even so, Ma En recognized her immediately. That small, straining figure was Asuka.

She was facing away, forcing the black garbage bags into the massive bin, then kicking it once for good measure. The motion had no elegance at all — yet watching it, Ma En felt warmth rise from somewhere inside him.

Just as he'd imagined: she wiped her hands on her pale green apron, murmured something, and the breeze lifted the ends of her hair. Ma En walked straight toward her, and she was already turning — sunlight hit her face, making her squint briefly — and in that instant her hairpin flashed.

The girl seemed to go still, as if a current had passed through her, limbs frozen. When her eyes met Ma En's, astonishment crossed her face. She seemed to be confirming what she saw, blinking rapidly. By then Ma En, tall and long-strided, had already covered the distance and was standing in front of her. She had to tip her head back to take in the familiar formal clothes and that unmistakable red tie.

Ma En hadn't known what to say. But in that moment, he simply knew.

"I'm back, Asuka."

Asuka's eyes widened — still, it seemed, a little disbelieving. But meeting Ma En's calm, apologetic smile, the corners of her mouth gradually curved:

"Welcome back, Ma En-san."

He looked at her expression, her eyes, her smile, the relief that moved through her, and everything he'd been worried about dissolved like smoke. He felt that the hesitant version of himself from earlier had been almost foolish — how narrow his thinking had been. Whatever she might or might not know, whatever he could or couldn't explain — the words welcome back had made his doubts feel unimportant.

The two looked at each other for a moment. Ma En came back to himself first. He set down his things one by one, arranging them neatly against the alley wall. Only then did he pick up the single item he'd kept in hand — the chocolate cake in its gift box — and hold it out to her.

"I'm sorry. Much has happened. This is an apology."

"What's inside?" Asuka took it naturally, without any trace of long-absence awkwardness.

"Chocolate cake." Ma En named the shop. "They say it's their best."

"Ah, I've been there too — it really is delicious." Her whole manner brightened; the stillness that had seized her seemed to dissolve at once.

She didn't open the box immediately, just held it in one hand, looking at Ma En, and asked: "Come inside and sit for a while? You haven't had dinner, have you? I'll ask my father to make something — we've been developing new ramen recipes."

"No, thank you. I've been very busy lately." Ma En shook his head.

A faint regret crossed Asuka's eyes, but she didn't press. She just smiled the way she usually did, swinging the cake box lightly in her hand: "Then I'll have no choice but to eat it all myself."

"I bought it for you anyway." Ma En smiled too.

Since he wasn't leaving, Asuka stayed where she was, showing no intention of going back inside. A quiet settled between them — but it didn't feel awkward. Something warm moved through the silence. Asuka thought: a little longer like this was fine. Just standing here, no one needing to speak, because this quiet was warm, like the afternoon light.

"The earthquake this morning was strong. Your home is all right?" Ma En said.

"Yes, fine. Our house and shop are built very solidly." Asuka nodded, and reversed the question: "What about Hirota-san? She's not with you?"

"Her company called her in. Even with an earthquake, work doesn't stop, apparently."

"Next time you have a chance, bring her too. I'll give you both a discount — twenty percent off." Asuka made the gesture with her hands, energetically.

"If the opportunity comes." Ma En smiled.

"...Ma En-san." Asuka took a breath, looked directly into his eyes, and asked seriously: "Are you just passing through? Is there nothing you want to say?"

Hearing that, Ma En felt everything converge. He breathed in slowly, met her seriousness with equal seriousness, and said: "I am the rabbit that jumped from the magic hat. Asuka, I've come to fulfill our promise — though something happened and I can't quite remember what our promise was."

Asuka's hand stilled mid-motion — she'd been lifting a strand of hair from her temple — then she smiled, a smile of relief: "You finally came, Ma En-san. I've been waiting. Our promise — even if you forgot, I didn't."

"So we truly made one." Ma En let out a breath. "What exactly was it?"

"The Room 4 Ghost Story. Accompanying me to Sanchoumoku Park. Meeting at least once a week."

He nodded quietly. He couldn't remember it — but hearing it now, he wasn't surprised. He only felt: ah, of course. And in that same instant, he connected what she'd said to what he did remember, understanding a little more of what his past self had been doing.

"Your manga is about the Room 4 Ghost Story?" he confirmed.

"Yes — you really don't remember? You even went with me to Sanchoumoku Park to gather material. It was a pity; we had to turn back before we reached the haunted part. I found out afterward that the TV crew filming there actually had Terahana-san on as a guest." A note of lingering grievance in her voice.

Ma En connected more things in quick succession, and understood more clearly what his past self had done. The weekly meetings connected now to the frequency of his nightmares in recent weeks.

Should I say — once a week, exactly on schedule?

A month — meaning at least four past versions of me? The black umbrellas found were three. So there's a fourth somewhere — the very first one, left in a different, more distant direction?

Maybe the first amnesiac self escaped the furthest. Could a different degree of amnesia allow an easier recovery?

That assumption would suggest the very first self was the strongest... no, something's off there.

Ma En refuted his own thought instinctively. Perhaps every nightmare had triggered amnesia. Perhaps every time, that self had noticed something was wrong and made preparations. In that chain, he felt intuitively that maybe the self after the first amnesia held some advantage over the original — easier to recover memory, more experienced. But the specifics were unclear. Too many maybes. And he had no intention of pursuing it in front of Asuka.

"So we agreed — at least once a week—" he began, and Asuka immediately cut him off.

"It was a once-a-week date." She pressed her lips together slightly, arms folded in mild reproach. "And then when you finally show up again, your whole soul's already been hooked by that past-her-prime woman."

Ma En made no move to discuss Hirota-san further — he felt it would be unwise to let the topic go there — and only said: "I'm sorry. It seems I failed to keep our promise..."

"Not seems. It's a fact." Asuka was emphatic.

"Yes. It's a fact. I failed to keep it, and I'm truly sorry. But something really did happen." He said it sincerely. "Recently, I haven't been able to remember things from before."

Asuka showed no skepticism at all — only surprise and worry, asking with concern: "Are you all right? Ma En-san, is it because of Room 4?"

"It's related, but not directly." He smoothly redirected away from Room 4, and said: "In any case — I must have told you that one day I'd come to take back the red hat."

"Mm—" She thought about it. "You hid things in it, very secretively. I didn't look — you told me to keep it secret, even set up a password; you told me even I wasn't allowed to look. Should I get it for you now? The hat."

"You really didn't look?"

"Don't underestimate me — when I make a promise, I keep it." She formed a small fist and waved it in front of him, with performed indignation. "Wait here, I'll get it."

She ran back into the shop, still holding the cake box. A minute later she trotted back out, holding the hat, and pushed it into his arms. "Here, your hat. It suits you — better than without one. Hirota-san has decent taste."

Ma En took the hat and immediately felt along the inside, and quickly sensed something there. He didn't take it out immediately. He only asked: "Any other message?"

"Nothing — you were being very secretive. You weren't going to tell me anything, were you." She muttered with mild complaint.

"Then listen now. I have a secret to tell you." Ma En said it seriously.

Asuka saw his expression and the amusement on her face fell quiet. She felt his seriousness.

"Leave Tokyo immediately. Don't go to Akita either. Stay away from anywhere that was hit by this morning's earthquake. Get far from all of it — go somewhere else, anywhere else."

"What — what's happening?" The fact that he was serious was exactly what made her a little frightened.

"The Room 4 Ghost Story isn't as simple as it seems." He said. "Things may be about to happen here — bad things. Your best option is to leave with your family, and come back after August, after the ghost story's deadline has passed."

"You mean it?"

"Yes. This is a secret — don't tell anyone else. Make up a reason, any reason you like."

"That's impossible." Asuka shook her head. "My father would never leave. He cares too much about the shop. Without a very good reason, the shop can't just close."

"Leave one person at a time. If there's really no other way, you go yourself — take your mother with you." Ma En was firm. "I'm not joking. Things have become serious. I'm working on it, but I don't know how far they'll develop. Leave Tokyo, Asuka."

She hesitated — but nodded. "I trust you, Ma En-san. I'll try."

He couldn't say more than this. What he'd already said was the best he could offer her: get as far as possible from where things were happening. That was the only way to avoid the whirlpool — if it was even still possible to avoid it.

He hoped Asuka's family could leave without trouble.

"The later you wait, the worse. If you can, leave tonight — plane, night bus, train." He said.

Asuka looked genuinely uncertain, but she agreed again. "I'll do my best. Because it's the Room 4 Ghost Story, isn't it. Even if I don't know what's happened — if you're saying this, I'm willing to believe you."

"Thank you, Asuka." Ma En stepped forward and drew her slight frame close in a brief embrace, patting her shoulder once. "Everything will be fine. When it's over — come back. I'll keep our promise."

"All right. It's settled."

Ma En released her and was about to go — when Asuka suddenly remembered something, asked him to wait, and disappeared back into the shop. A moment later she came out again, holding a VHS tape.

"This is the recording from the paranormal TV show they filmed at the ghost spot in Sanchoumoku Park." She said, and held his gaze. She was a little afraid. She had a feeling — she couldn't say where it came from — that he'd run into something very frightening inside the Room 4 Ghost Story. And in the ghost story, the dead always seemed to struggle all the way to the end. So even if it was a small chance, she hoped he'd be able to hold onto it.

"..." Ma En took the tape. He gave her his steadiest, most composed smile. "Thank you. Thank you for trusting me, Asuka. I'll handle it properly."

Then, without another word, he gathered the things he'd set against the wall, turned, and left without hesitation.

He now held a firm conviction. A mission he had to see through. He would protect Bunkyo District — protect all the people here, people like Asuka, who called this place home.