Chapter 008: Midnight Diner

When she opened her eyes, Jinguawa Yui found herself lying across a table. Looking around, she realized she was in an izakaya. Had it not been for the menu, which listed nothing but a few types of beer and the pork soup set meal, Yui might have believed time had rewound itself.

“You’re awake?” A stranger’s voice came from beside her, and a glass of water was pushed in front of her.

She turned her head and saw a young man in a school uniform. It was Qiao Qiao.

“Mm...” The headache had eased considerably, and Yui felt unusually clear-headed.

“Where am I?” she asked first. This boy seemed trustworthy, she thought. Yet, a high schooler bringing her to an empty izakaya in the dead of night—it all felt rather odd.

“The owner calls this place ‘Midnight Diner.’ The menu only lists pork soup, but if you want something else, he can probably make it,” Qiao Qiao explained earnestly.

Yui couldn’t help but laugh—did he think she hadn’t seen that late-night drama? But she kept it to herself. Somehow, sitting at the table, her heart felt tranquil, more lucid than ever.

“Boss,” Qiao Qiao called out, and the proprietor lifted the curtain and stepped from the kitchen. He looked every bit the typical izakaya owner, though without a scar, and certainly not Kaoru Kobayashi.

Yui hesitated, then spoke. “I’d like some tofu miso soup.”

“Alright,” the owner smiled gently, nodded, and returned to the kitchen.

Watching his busy figure, Yui felt a little dazed. Her fingers traced the rim of the glass, and she spoke softly, almost to herself.

“My mother died when I was in elementary school—lung cancer. Everyone said she worked herself to exhaustion.

“At that time, my father couldn’t cook at all. Other kids laughed at my lunch box because the food inside was either burnt or so salty from too much soy sauce it was barely edible.

“Later, somehow, my father learned how to make a dish. For the first time, I tasted something normal.

“It was tofu miso soup.

“I remember him watching me gulp down the soup, smiling so happily.

“For a whole month after, we ate tofu miso soup every day.”

As she spoke, Yui’s voice was wistful but dry-eyed, filled with endless longing rather than tears.

She glanced at Qiao Qiao and asked, “The first movie I saw with Tomo had a line: ‘Is life always this hard, or only during childhood?’ In the film, the answer was ‘Always.’ So, tell me, how long will these difficult days last?”

Qiao Qiao didn’t reply.

The owner set a steaming bowl of tofu miso soup in front of her. The tofu was pale and tender, scallions fresh and green, bonito light and fragrant, the aroma rich and inviting.

Yui seemed utterly absorbed by the soup; she picked up her chopsticks and took a delicate sip.

“It tastes just like Dad’s,” she said, eyes wide, taking mouthful after mouthful, unable to stop.

“It’s getting salty...” she murmured as she neared the end, then finished the bowl in one long drink.

Watching Yui set the bowl down, Qiao Qiao let out a gentle sigh.

“In my country, there’s a proverb,” he said. “Tomorrow is another day.”

“Mm.” Yui smiled.

Indeed, she looked lovelier when she smiled.

A faint light emanated from her, dispersing into particles, until finally her entire form vanished and only shimmering motes remained, like a rainbow.

“In our line of work, we often encounter things like this, Qiao Qiao,” the owner said, lighting a cigarette.

Yes, Yui Jinguawa was dead.

Shortly after boarding the subway, she had collapsed on her seat, felled by exhaustion and alcohol—an abrupt death that occurred before Qiao Qiao even got on the train.

Yet her spirit, perhaps driven by lingering regrets, had somehow influenced those two delinquent youths.

If Qiao Qiao hadn’t intervened, news reports might have described two mysterious deaths found in Nakano the next day.

Moreover, Yui’s spirit could easily have become a vengeful ghost, haunting the world because of tonight’s ordeal.

“What a nuisance. Now there’s no last train, Tokyo taxis are exorbitant, and I’m already short on cash. Looks like another big expense—should’ve minded my own business. If she’d turned into a vengeful spirit, maybe I’d have gotten an extra commission out of it,” Qiao Qiao muttered, sounding slightly disgruntled.

“To be honest, I was surprised. You rarely bring spirits to me for purification. In my experience, your methods tend to be more straightforward and forceful,” the owner remarked, exhaling smoke.

He, too, was a registered exorcist.

Unlike Qiao Qiao’s direct approach, the owner’s methods were unique. This “Midnight Diner” could only be seen by lost souls and those with spiritual power.

Once spirits entered, the owner would prepare the dish most deeply tied to their earthly regrets.

After the soul enjoyed the meal, it would be released.

That was the owner’s way—clean, graceful, with a certain dignity.

Far superior to Qiao Qiao’s more violent methods.

Qiao Qiao admired this hidden, gentle, and serene style.

“My abilities are limited. I can drive out anomalies, but can’t guide them on. Consider this a thank-you for the equipment I bought from you earlier,” Qiao Qiao replied.

Sometimes, he encountered spirits like Yui, newly formed, not yet transformed.

He would bring them to the owner.

At least, in the end, let them dream a happy dream.

“Well, I’m heading home. Got school tomorrow,” Qiao Qiao said, slinging his backpack, sliding open the paper door, and stepping out into the night.

...

Ultimately, Yui’s body was discovered by the last train’s cleaning crew. After the cause of death was confirmed, the police contacted her relatives, and her body was cremated, her ashes returned to her hometown.

Remarkably, from Nakano Station to the terminus, several people shared the carriage with Yui’s corpse, yet none noticed she had passed away.

As one witness later described it:

“She just looked like she was sleeping. It was such a beautiful dream, nobody wanted to disturb her.”

It’s said that those who rode that carriage all experienced some form of good fortune.

Over time, it became one of Tokyo’s famous legends.

They called it “The Lucky Carriage of the Nakano Line.”

Qiao Qiao learned of all this from the newspaper, a week later.

“Is there no gentle spirit in this world?” he wondered.

Perhaps, if one were to search earnestly, such a spirit might truly exist.