Chapter Seven: The Spinning Cannon of Seven-Spice Powder

"Is this an audition letter?" Ye Zhao turned the sheet of paper over in his hands, examining it twice. "I don't recall ever sending out anything like this."

Natsumi Fujii pressed her palms together apologetically. "I'm sorry, Ye-kun. I saw the audition ad in a magazine, so I sent in those photos I took of you last time, without asking you first."

Now that she mentioned it, something of the sort had happened. A month or two ago, Natsumi Fujii had brought a camera to the convenience store and snapped a few photos of him during a work break. She'd even asked him questions about his height, birthday, and blood type. So she had been using that information to fill out an audition form.

What Ye Zhao didn't know was that, in another timeline, Natsumi Fujii had gone to his apartment to hand him this audition letter. After waiting four hours in vain, a neighbor told her no one had seen Ye Zhao for a week. Concerned, she contacted the real estate agency, who then notified the police, leading to the discovery of a body.

"Um… Ye-kun," Natsumi Fujii interrupted his thoughts cautiously. His silence made her anxious, as if she feared he'd taken offense. "If you don't want to, you just don't have to go to the interview."

"Before that, could you explain exactly what this audition is for?"

"Of course! NTT DOCOMO started a nationwide search in January for a new spokesperson for their latest pager. The requirement is a male between fifteen and twenty with a good image. The winner not only gets to appear in a TV commercial but also receives a one million yen prize."

One million yen? That little detail instantly captured Ye Zhao's full attention. In the end, it was just an audition—if he failed, he'd only lose a bit of time. With nothing to lose and a bit of curiosity, Ye Zhao agreed. "Since I've already received the audition letter, I might as well go and see what it's about."

"That's wonderful!" Natsumi Fujii cheered. "With your qualities, Ye-kun, you'll definitely win first place!" Her certainty was reminiscent of a devoted fan’s faith in her idol.

Infected by her enthusiasm, Ye Zhao smiled. "If I really do win, I’ll treat you to a feast."

At the mention of food, Natsumi Fujii’s stomach gave a perfectly timed grumble. Embarrassed in front of the one she liked, she covered her face and murmured, "How embarrassing..." Even her delicate ears turned a soft shade of pink.

"Are you hungry?"

She nodded shyly. "I came straight here after work."

"I'm hungry too," Ye Zhao admitted with a laugh. "Let’s go. To thank you for bringing me the audition letter, dinner’s on me tonight." With that, he stood up first from the tatami mat.

"Eating out would be too extravagant. If you don't mind, why don’t I cook something?" Natsumi Fujii offered.

Ye Zhao hesitated. "But I don’t have any ingredients here."

"Then let’s go shopping for groceries together!" Natsumi Fujii said, her spirits high. "You come too, Ye-kun!"

At the nearby convenience store, Ye Zhao followed with a shopping basket while Natsumi Fujii skillfully selected vegetables and meat. By the time they checked out and left, dusk had already given way to full night. Walking side by side on the way back to the apartment, Natsumi Fujii glanced at his profile. "Ye-kun, what do you think strangers would assume our relationship is?"

Here it comes, Ye Zhao thought. If this were a romantic visual novel, he’d see three choices flash before him: lovers, siblings, or nothing at all. Pick "lovers," and her affection would soar, her cheeks flushed with a suspicious blush. Choose "siblings," and she’d answer with a hint of disappointment, "Oh, is that so?" But if his finger slipped and he clicked "nothing at all," the chance to win her heart would slip away forever.

After this brief time together, Ye Zhao found her to be a fine girl, but he was still some distance from wanting anything to happen between them. Besides, the person she truly liked was not the current him, but the young man who had died. He had no wish to take advantage of that.

After a moment’s thought, he replied tactfully, "People would probably just think we’re two hopeless cases. After all, everyone else has already finished dinner and is out for a stroll, while we’re only just now shopping for groceries."

Natsumi Fujii giggled. "Ye-kun, you really are sly."

Back at the apartment, Ye Zhao had intended to help in the kitchen, but after glancing at the cramped space—barely enough for one person to turn around—he wisely stayed in the living room, lest his help turn into hindrance.

Despite her gentle and considerate appearance, Natsumi Fujii seemed to awaken a second personality in the kitchen. From behind the sliding door came a stream of dramatic exclamations: "Take this!" and "Taste my Yawataya Shichimi Pepper Spiral Attack!" Such embarrassing lines made Ye Zhao quietly turn up the television volume—it was simply too mortifying.

For all her theatrics, she was just making everyday home cooking: kelp miso soup, ginger pork, and pea rice. Once the food was set out, Ye Zhao followed local custom and, together with Natsumi Fujii, said, "Let’s eat," before picking up his chopsticks.

"How does it taste?" Natsumi Fujii watched him expectantly.

He took a bite of the meat, chewed, and praised her, "It’s really good." Compared to the endless ramen and convenience store meals he’d been eating, it was a feast.

After dinner, Natsumi Fujii cleared the dishes. They chatted for a while longer, and when the clock struck eight, she got up to leave. "I should be heading home."

"I’ll walk you," Ye Zhao said. The neighborhood’s safety left much to be desired; letting a young woman wait for the bus alone at night was out of the question.

After seeing her off and returning to his apartment, Ye Zhao bumped into Mr. Fukano, his neighbor, just coming home. Like most Japanese salarymen, even if he finished work early, Mr. Fukano would stop by a street stall for a few drinks and only head home when well and truly drunk. His petite, frail lover helped him inside, pausing to apologize to Ye Zhao, "Sorry for the trouble."

"It's nothing," Ye Zhao replied. Even if he objected, nothing would change—after all, this was simply part of salaryman culture.