Ichiro was far away from them. He photographed the engraved, sheathed katana lying on the passenger seat and sent the photos through the Curve, accompanied by the message, ‘I got the item.’ She immediately read the message and sent an animated popular anime character sticker with the English words ‘excellent work.’ A few seconds later, she sent the precise coordinates of the hideout, or ‘her home.’ After that, Ichiro sent a character sticker of the car with the katakana ‘driving’ written on it. Doremi responded with another smiley.

Ichiro increased the volume of the music, tapped his finger to the beat, and enjoyed the drive to Osaka.

***

[3 hours later]

Night approached the horizon. The sky darkened as the orange sun sank below it. The air temperature was dropping, even though it was a clear day. It was about 20°C. It was a pleasant evening.

Ordinary folk were on their way home. Some were seeking entertainment. Countless thousands of typical tourists flocked to popular spots. The beginning of a peaceful night is typical for tourists and city dwellers.

However, in the depth of darkness, ghosts from different pasts emerged. They fed on the various emotions of living creatures, each with their own tastes. Some even set their ghastly sights on living beings. Active members of the Association and other supernaturals set out on a mission to defend their home. It was a typical start for them as well. A never-ending unspoken war.

An armored black truck with the logo seamlessly wove through local traffic on the elevated expressway. If someone listened closely enough, they could hear the engine quietly roaring under the hood.

In the driver’s seat, Ichiro sang along with the music and tapped his fingers on the steering wheel. On his right, a tightly strapped katana lay flat across the passenger seat. He bobbed his head, enjoying the rhythm. The truck’s speed gradually increased as he neared his destination. His current position was less than two kilometers from the hideout. The streetlights he passed briefly illuminated the inside of the truck before fading away, being replaced by new lights.

A few minutes later, he reached his destination. The road leading there was a small one-lane street, with buildings stacked on each other. He parked on the side of the road due to the lack of parking space.

“You have arrived at your destination. Thank you for using Gougle Maps.”

After shutting off the app, Ichiro sat and enjoyed the silence. He then called Doremi’s number on the app. He waited for several seconds before hearing her voice.

“Hello?”

“I have arrived at the coordinates. The item is still with me.”

“Wonderful~. I’ll contact someone to take it from you~. Payment has already been sent~.”

The connection was cut off after that. Ichiro unstrapped the katana and examined it. The engraving was intricate and detailed, and it looked like it could cut through steel. It was a beautiful katana, and he couldn’t help but be impressed by its craftsmanship.

He had seen the documentary about how to forge a sword the traditional way, where the sword maker would spend years making it by himself. The swordsmith had used his own blood to etch the blade. The sword would become more durable and sharper. It was a tradition that would be lost if not done by the swordsmith themselves. This katana looked like it was forged that way, and Ichiro was impressed by it. But that wasn’t the most important thing right now; he saw the sheath was locked with small locks and couldn’t unsheathe the katana.

Ichiro was perplexed. How the hell do you open such tiny locks? He tried twisting the lock with all his might, but nothing happened. Someone knocked on the passenger window after he tried a few times. He rolled down the window and saw a Western-looking man with long hair. He wore sunglasses and was dressed in casual clothes, and he looked like a tourist.

“Ichiro, right? Woah, don’t look at me with those eyes! Doremi told me to go get the ‘Shingi to Giri,’ or whatever the proper name was! Ah, stop!”

The man spoke in clean Japanese, which Ichiro appreciated. The man had a foreign accent, but his speech was understandable.

He lifted his hands and narrowed his eyes with them, as if shielding them from the visible light. Which he was, except the light was coming from Ichiro’s golden-hued eyes, which were glowing faintly. Ichiro sighed and eased his gaze upon him. The glow stopped, revealing pitch-black eyes. Ichiro opened his mouth.

“That’s right, it’s me. The sword is here. The only thing that bothers me is that it is locked.”

The energetic man uncovered his eyes and placed his hands on the open window.

“That’s much better. Nice trick with the eyes. That’s the first time I’ve seen a trick like that.”

He said, sounding genuinely interested. He looked at the sword again.

“Is the sword locked up? Not a problem! I’ll open it somehow!”

Ichiro nodded and threw him the sword. Even with his hands on the window, he easily caught it.

“Man, you have quick reflexes. What is your name?”

Ichiro asked him with a serious face. He didn’t expect a reply, but was pleasantly surprised when the man answered back.

“I completely forgot! Greetings, my name is Dave Enigma! I’ve come from the United States to spend my permanent vacation here! You know how difficult it was to get a second citizenship? I almost died on my way here!”

“You’re fluent in Japanese. Did you learn it somewhere? Or did you grow up here?”

Dave laughed loudly, “Haha! Of course, it’s from anime! Just kidding, my mother is Japanese, so it‘s just natural for me to speak this language!”

“My name is Ichiro...”

The pleasant conversation started, and the mood of the two men changed dramatically. They asked and responded to each other’s questions. Dave had even entered the truck, admiring it from the outside and inside, comparing it to US Army trucks.

Dave was 27 years old and had been a soldier since the age of 18. He had worked in a variety of branches that he did not specify. Dave had been stationed overseas many times for different purposes. He had fought for many countries and had also been involved in countless missions and wars. He was a likable man. His ‘true’ motivation in Japan, he told Ichiro, was to find a wife. Ichiro was skeptical. He wondered, as he looked at the fine man who was oozing testosterone, whether he was serious about finding a mate. Anyway, he had been here for a month and still hadn’t adjusted.

Dave’s phone abruptly rang. His ringtone was ‘Crystallicas’ popular hit ‘Puppets of Master,’ which Ichiro approved of. The ringtone was catchy and was a metal masterpiece. As soon as he picked up the call, a woman’s voice came out. It was very loud and in imperfect English.

“WHERE ARE YOU, DAAAAVE? YOU SAID YOU’D BE QUICK!”

“Ugh, I’m on my way! I had a conversation with a friend; I’ll be right back!”

He hung up the phone. The woman sounded like she would explode any minute.

“Sorry about that! I’m busy right now, so let’s take care of it quickly! My boss will be really mad if I'm late~! I have your phone number; let’s go out for a drink one day!”

He then exited the truck. Ichiro sat there, perplexed. He muttered the first thing that came to his mind a few seconds later.

“I’ve never had a strange conversation with anyone before... It felt good. Like talking to an old friend.”

Ichiro then started the engine and drove away to his home.

Dave Enigma dashed to his hideout. He was tall and robust, with almost golden hair and a pleasant face. He was a man with an easygoing personality and was popular among his squad. Dave held an engraved katana in his hand. It was a special katana, forged by the master, to be his ‘ultimate weapon.’ It was a katana that could cut through steel.

He was a member of the ‘Special Anti-Paranormal Strike Force,’ a secret squad run by the US Department of Defense. ‘Midnight Bear’ was his codename. He was assigned here because several influential organizations in Japan had requested help from the United States government. The request was for them to provide help in the event of supernatural activity in the country. It wasn’t the first time they had received such requests.

Why did he want to be close to Ichiro? His younger brother was studying here and took a picture of him while everyone else was in awe and panic, or didn’t have a phone like him. It wasn’t just any phone; it was a modified version of the ‘SpiritPhone,’ with lenses derived from an old Polaroid camera. Ordinary cameras can only capture a glimpse of the spiritual realm, but this camera could capture it in full.

Returning to the topic at hand, his younger brother had uploaded a picture of the situation using Signals. The photo was blurred because it was taken from a distance, but the detailed silhouettes were visible. The fiery dude was constrained in one hand by the shadowy angel.

At the bottom of the image, there was a man in black armor, similar to Ichiro, doing something to a young man with red hair. When Dave got close to the truck and looked at the armor, he recognized Ichiro immediately.

“But it doesn’t matter. My job comes first, everything else comes second!”

Dave walked into the hideout and put on his stealth talisman, which had been placed on the table by his team leader an hour ago. He then poured his blood onto the locks. The locks broke off and opened, allowing him to remove the sheath and look at the blade. Dave grinned like a maniac, admiring the sword that could cut through steel. But it wasn’t just the quality he was looking at. This blade was packed with spiritual energy, and it could easily purify ghosts.

He wiped the blood off the sword and exited through the wide-open window with his new weapon onto the hidden battlefield.

***

Ichiro was close to his apartment building after twenty minutes of driving. He parked the truck in the apartment’s mini-parking lot, which was only accessible to residents of the complex.

Ichiro took off his motorcycle armor and utility belt, tossing them into the back of the truck. He then put on his hoodie, which had been lying there since morning. He walked down the street, blending in with the pedestrians.

Ichiro strolled through the alleyways. The neon lights, cultural relics from the past, glowed in a rainbow of colors. There were also more modern signs lit by LEDs, which were cheaper to maintain and more efficient.

Ichiro, still wearing glasses, walked down the street, avoiding people, overhearing conversations, holding back his saliva while looking at the food being prepared, looking inside shops, and trying to pet passing cats.

A few blocks later, Ichiro arrived at a quieter alley. There were still people walking, but they were fewer in number. Because there were fewer shops, the lights were much dimmer. He walked through it until he reached his destination.

“Hong Zhū’s Noodle Palace.”

Ichiro muttered the name of the location. It was established on the first floor of an old building. Broken neon lights near the doors blinked, and there was a broken-down car near the building that hadn’t been turned on in a long time. The Chinese characters were calligraphed on the large old yellow papers on the intact windows, which were dimly lit by the light from inside. If it weren’t for the local people wearing modern clothes around, Ichiro would have thought he was in the 1980s just by looking at it.

He approached the door and opened it. The bell rang, the door opened, and he could instantly see what was inside. It was a cramped, wide room with a cooking area behind the counter and bar stools arranged around it. The interiors were brand new, in stark contrast to the dreadful exterior. When he carefully shut the door, fresher air somehow made its way to his nose. Ichiro walked over to the bar stool and sat down, eagerly expecting the master of noodles. Ichiro had given him that name in his mind.

Minutes later, he came. A Chinese-looking old man, around 50 years old, with a beard, wearing traditional white robes and a chef’s cap. It was a bizarre combination, but Ichiro didn’t mind it. He’d seen more weird fashion sense on other people.

“It’s you, I see. Did you have a breakthrough? No, what am I saying, you clearly had it. What would you like to eat today?”

He spoke slowly and distinctly in a heavy accent that was hard for Ichiro to understand. He had a deep voice and looked intimidating, but Ichiro found him friendly.

“Master, good evening. I’d like two udon portions. One for myself and one for my neighbor. I’ll bring both of them to my house. I shocked her this morning, and she collapsed, so I had to bring her back to her house. Then I left her a note saying I would bring her something tasty. She hasn’t eaten your noodles before, so this is my only option.”

While passively listening to Ichiro and thinking, Hong Zhū thoughtfully stroked his beard.

“Oh, I see. I had the same issue a long time ago, but it wasn’t as serious. Okay, I’ll make both of them for you. What’s the name of your neighbor?”

“Renko is her name. She’s a mangaka, or a painter in old-fashioned terms.”

“That’s an illustrious name for her job. Renko. Hmm. Okay, take a seat and wait.”

The elderly man went to the fridge and took out two pieces of already portioned dough. Next, he placed them on a marble countertop. He reached for the surgical gloves and put them on. He dusted the counter with wheat flour and began kneading the dough. After that, the old man rolled it into a tube shape and formed noodles. He rolled and shook it until it was the adequate consistency of thick noodles. That was accomplished with the marvelous dexterity and astonishing precision of a master. Ichiro’s eyes were like those of a child as he watched.

The noodles were left to rest by the old man. He turned on the stove’s heat. One contained pre-made broth that he needed to reheat, while the other was for frying, into which the old man poured the oil. He next took the vegetables and beef meat from the efficient refrigerator and cut them quickly and precisely, each one cut differently, his knife leaving afterimages behind.

Then the old man fried them, first the meat, then the vegetables. He threw them in at precise intervals, stirring them. While doing so, he added various spices at different times, just as he would with the vegetables. The aroma of frying meat permeated the air, mingling with the fresh air, while sizzling and stove sounds created a relaxing atmosphere.

The broth had been heated to the point of boiling, and the prepared meat was ready. The only thing the old man had to do was toss the noodles into the savory broth to cook them. He gently lowered the rested noodles into the boiling broth. He then gave them a light stir to ensure they didn’t stick together. It was ready in two minutes. The old man fished them out and placed them on another standard plate.

He put it all together in two wooden takeaway cups. Noodles first, then meat and vegetables, a little broth and sauces on top. It was varied for both portions. It was completed after all of that. He covered both of them with a wooden lid. He then took a sticky note and wrote both of their names, no, their specific meanings, in Chinese characters. The elderly man then pushed them both towards Ichiro and opened his mouth.

“3000 yen, please.”

Ichiro nodded and handed him the exact amount without imperceptible hesitation. Hong Zhū nodded, and Ichiro took both of them after stacking them and prepared to leave. They both bowed to each other, and after Ichiro left, Hong Zhū muttered to himself, watching a disappearing silhouette into the crowd.

“Wishing you the best of luck with your Dao, Ichiro.”

He flickered and vanished instantly from where he had previously stood. The lights went out, leaving the place in shambles, with shattered windows and graffiti strewn about. Half of the logo on top of a door vanished, leaving only ‘Noodle Palace’ and the broken red neon tubes on the ground. The entire building was in complete disarray, like it was the aftermath of an earthquake.

Ichiro walked back to his apartment with the rare food filled with spiritual energy, not looking back.