Chapter 65. Smoking, Drinking, Tattoos, and Permed Hair

June.

The weather in Tokyo had begun to grow hot.

Clouds were gathering in the sky, and now and then, there would be a sudden downpour.

The television stations had started reporting news about the rainy season; laundry no longer dried easily.

They said this year’s rainy season would be a long one.

That would be troublesome.

Qiao Qiao was already considering whether to buy a dryer.

Because of the unpredictable showers,

Qiao Qiao had started wearing a raincoat every day when leaving the house.

Just in case, there was an umbrella in his bag as well.

Today, once again, it was drizzling.

As a model student, Qiao Qiao naturally lacked the idle whims to skip class and wait for a mysterious older girl at the pavilion in the park.

He donned his raincoat, rode his little scooter, and made his way to school.

At the gate, the hall monitor, Shiika Natsume, did not greet him with a peculiar smile, nor did she fix him with that intense, unblinking stare.

Everything had returned to its usual calm.

After school,

Qiao Qiao declined Sakamoto Kazuya’s invitation to a group date.

He rode his scooter alone to the Shinjuku branch of the Exorcists’ Association.

“Miss Sakura, I may not be able to come here for the next half month or so,”

Qiao Qiao said as he handed in the report he’d written to the receptionist, Miss Sakura.

“Ah, it’s time for your final exams, isn’t it, Qiao-kun? Good luck!”

Miss Sakura made a little gesture of encouragement.

“Oh, and even though exams are coming up, don’t forget to bring Suzuka in for her physical checkup,”

she added.

“I heard from Suzuka that you seem to have some rather strange plans for her. Qiao-kun, I know it’s hard for boys your age to restrain themselves, but you mustn’t!”

“?”

Qiao Qiao tilted his head in confusion.

Was she talking about his research?

“I understand, that’s why I’ve decided to be self-reliant and look for resources elsewhere,”

he replied.

“Elsewhere?”

A blush suddenly crept across Miss Sakura’s face.

“That—that’s not allowed either, Qiao-kun. You’re still very young.”

“Don’t worry, I find them through official channels.”

“There are such resources through official channels?”

“Yes, lots of them. Next time, maybe I can take you to see, Miss Sakura.”

“No—no need, thank you.”

Miss Sakura looked at Qiao Qiao, wearing an awkward yet polite smile.

He seemed to be growing up a bit too quickly.

With most of his business settled, Qiao Qiao didn’t plan to linger and bother Miss Sakura any longer.

He left the reception hall.

Just then, he spotted a boy about his own age coming out of another room.

It was Mikoto Hoshikawa.

Dharma name Eisei, the highest-ranking monk among his generation at Sensō-ji Temple.

He was also Qiao Qiao’s schoolmate.

But Mikoto Hoshikawa was a senior, set to enter Mine City University next year.

When he saw Qiao Qiao, Hoshikawa nodded in greeting, but didn’t chat; he left with a grave expression.

“Could something have happened?”

Qiao Qiao was a little curious.

But as the saying goes,

Curiosity killed the cat.

Qiao Qiao knew that, in the world of the uncanny, excessive curiosity could bring disaster.

So he didn’t pursue the matter.

He waited until Mikoto Hoshikawa disappeared around the corner

before quietly taking the same path out.

No sooner had he descended the staircase than his phone buzzed.

It was Suzuka on Line, asking him to buy a few magazines on his way home.

So Qiao Qiao turned into the supermarket downstairs.

He bought several, including manga and gaming magazines.

As he left the store,

Qiao Qiao felt a sudden, inexplicable sense of unease.

He glanced at the alley nearby.

Inside the alley,

someone was standing, cigarette in hand.

He took a long drag, exhaling a hazy cloud of smoke.

There was a certain world-weariness about him.

His rolled-up sleeves revealed tattoos on his arms, giving him a fierce appearance.

Qiao Qiao should have pretended not to notice and walked away.

But on instinct,

he spoke up.

“Hoshikawa-san, what are you doing here?”

...

In a café near Shinjuku Station,

Mikoto Hoshikawa had returned to his model monk demeanor.

His hair, still unshaven, was long and silky, his features striking.

Paired with a crisp, white school shirt, he was the very image of a campus drama leading man.

Since entering the shop, he’d caught the eye of the waitresses more than once.

Who would have guessed

that beneath that shirt, there were fearsome tattoos?

And the way Hoshikawa had handled the cigarette just now—he was obviously no stranger to it.

So thought Qiao Qiao, who had observed his boss for a long time.

Smoking, drinking, tattoos—yet still a good monk?

Admittedly, the sons of great families these days were surprisingly down-to-earth.

Was this really all right?

“Forgive me for making you laugh, Qiao-san,”

Hoshikawa began, adopting a monk’s cadence, as though sensing Qiao Qiao’s confusion.

“Whenever I’m troubled, I instinctively reach for one of those.”

He mimed taking a drag from a cigarette.

“I’ve been at the temple for so long, but I still haven’t managed to break the habit. Truly, I’m ashamed of failing my master’s teachings.”

Adulthood in this country began at twenty; before that, one must not smoke, drink, or handle a number of other things.

Hoshikawa, smoking, was definitely defying the rules.

As for whether monks were allowed to smoke, Qiao Qiao wasn’t sure—probably not.

“So, Hoshikawa-san is troubled about something?”

Qiao Qiao asked.

Just from Hoshikawa’s few words, he could tell:

this was someone with a story.

He had looked it up on Google before.

Qiao Qiao found that Hoshikawa had not been born in a temple, but had become a monk later in life.

Almost all reports about him focused on events after he took orders.

For example, how Hoshikawa had become the strongest of his generation in less than three years, even rivaling the best of the previous one.

How he had struck with a single palm, flooding the world with Buddha’s light and causing the cherry blossoms for miles around to fall in disarray.

How he had traveled overseas, delivering a hundred-year-old vengeful spirit from this world.

But as for his life before ordination,

very little was ever mentioned.

Even the most unscrupulous gossip magazines, those that dug up celebrity scandals,

never breathed a word about it.

Listening to Hoshikawa, Qiao Qiao’s mind was already filling in the blanks with tales of epic adventure before his subject’s monastic life.

“Yes, it’s about worldly matters,”

Hoshikawa sighed.

His fingers unconsciously formed the shape of holding a cigarette,

though what he held was a coffee spoon.

“An old friend suddenly contacted me, caught up in some kind of supernatural incident.”

“I didn’t want to get involved, but my master entrusted the matter to me, calling it ‘training for the mind’.”

“Still, I didn’t expect that even after three years apart, I’d remain unable to control my emotions.”

As he listened,

Qiao Qiao translated internally.

Roughly: a friend from before Hoshikawa became a monk had encountered something strange. Hoshikawa’s master had passed the request to him, but facing the past was difficult and troubling, which was why Qiao Qiao had caught him smoking.

The monastic tradition held truly high standards for inner peace.

Qiao Qiao could understand his master’s thinking.

If you can’t face your past, it would become a demon in your heart forever.

Perhaps, in the future, it could even lead to something worse.

“Was it an old flame?”

Qiao Qiao speculated—then reconsidered. Monks in this country could marry; a lover was hardly a big deal.

“No, nothing so shallow as a lover,”

Hoshikawa said with a bitter smile.

“A comrade-in-arms.”

“A comrade-in-arms?”

Qiao Qiao’s interest was piqued.

Could it be

that, before taking orders, Hoshikawa had been a mercenary in some war-torn region?

Raised as a warrior from childhood, mastering every skill,

only to renounce the world and become a monk in the end.

Now, his former companions had fallen into crisis, but Hoshikawa was unwilling to take up violence again?

Or had years of war left him with PTSD, making him unable to face the past?

Just as Qiao Qiao’s imagination was racing,

Hoshikawa spoke again.

“I used to be a biker punk.”