“Did he say what type of fun?”
He didn’t answer right away, but his eyes shifted enough to tell me he’d heard the question and knew what I was really asking. He had to know what had happened when Ginji entered my room late last night. He was always there, standing guard outside my door.
“You will attend a show,” he said at last. “Dress nicely.”
As I got ready, wild thoughts ran through my head. A show at a festival whose only point seemed to be bloodshed. Would I be just a witness to those horrors, or worse, the star of some axe-beheading demonstration?
Akiko had told me what had happened during her apprenticeship. The Sakamotos put them through hell for their own entertainment. I’d be stupid to think Ginji was any different.
I slipped into a black cocktail dress and heels, then caught my reflection in the mirror. Normally I’d be kicking up a heel, snapping selfies, over the moon to be playing dress-up on someone else’s dime. Instead, it felt mechanical—like I was dressing someone else’s body.
At exactly 6:00 p.m., the Chopman asked me to follow him. The house was empty on the way out. Where were the dancers? The DJ?
The cart was parked out front. Gini was nowhere to be seen. The Chopman climbed into the driver’s seat and waited for me to join him.
It looked like we were headed to the arena, taking a back path that avoided the village and all its noise. I could still hear the crowds and music in the distance, muted by the trees we passed.
The sun dipped toward the cliffs, shadows stretching long across the road. The air had cooled, and I was regretting the dress. A faint floral scent drifted past—wisteria growing wild along the slope. For a moment it almost felt peaceful, like a garden stroll.
Then a tanuki darted across the path, its fluffy tail vanishing into the brush. I almost squealed—it was that cute. Out of habit, my hand went for my phone. Of course, it had been taken long ago. I leaned back in my seat.
The Chopman steered one-handed, focused on the path. I don’t know what came over me. Maybe it was the calm of the moment, maybe the fact I had no control. But before I realized it, I was talking.
“Do you know my friend Akiko? She’s about my height, short black bob. Really sweet, and an amazing chef.”
I waited, hoping for an answer. Nothing. He just kept driving, eyes fixed on the path ahead.
“You don’t talk much, do you?” I tried again. “That’s fine. I get it. You don’t know me. But if you did…” I forced a laugh. “I used to be fun. Goofy, even. Doesn’t look like it now, I know.” My voice cracked. “Not anymore… Have you been working for Ginji long?”
The Chopman stayed cold and focused.
I tried a different angle. “Do you have a girlfriend? Or someone you see?… No?” I laughed, this time from nerves. “Yeah, I’m single too. I used to love being on my own. Until I didn’t. Until I wished I had someone to waste Sundays with—eating junk food and acting stupid.”
I held out my fist, half joking, half testing. “Partners—can’t live with them, can’t live without them, right?”
To my shock, he bumped it. A real fist bump. My chest tightened. I was breaking through.
I swallowed and continued. “You’re outside my room all day and night. If you ever get hungry or thirsty, you can help yourself to whatever’s in there. I won’t tell Ginji.”
And then it happened. The smallest thing. He nodded.
I froze. He was actually listening.
“Any idea what’s in store for me tonight, Mr. Chopman? Is that what I call you? I’m not sure about titles.”
“Tonight is the welcome reception,” he said. His voice was deep.
My head snapped toward him. He’d actually answered. For a second I just stared, waiting, hungry for more.
“Tomorrow the games start.”
“What games?” I pushed, trying my best to sound casual. “Like Olympic games?”
“Something like that.” His eyes stayed fixed on the road. “Don’t worry, you’re not competing.”
I must’ve looked relieved, because he quickly added, “But your friend isn’t so lucky.”
We pulled up at the rear of the arena. It was quiet and empty—the service entrance, I guessed. With the cliffs pressed right up against the walls, it felt darker here, colder too. Two carts sat neatly off to the side beside a row of dumpsters with their lids clamped shut. A stack of metal crowd-control gates leaned against the wall, ready to be wheeled out front when needed.
