Chapter 85. The Eel Hot Springs Must Have Their Purpose (Tenth Update)

Nagoya, Atsuta Ward.

Evening.

Inside “Houraiken,” a traditional restaurant tucked away in a residential neighborhood.

Four people sat in a private room, waiting for their meal.

“This place has been around for a hundred and forty-six years, apparently. It’s really popular on review sites,” Ayano Fujiwara said, peering at her phone, her face full of anticipation.

Ariko Asano sat beside her, curiously taking in the ambiance of the restaurant.

“You’ve never been here before, Shrine Maiden Asano?” Qiao Qiao asked, a little surprised at how Ariko’s eyes wandered about. He had assumed that a trainee shrine maiden from Atsuta Shrine would have surely visited such a famed Nagoya eatery by now.

“No, this is my first time,” Ariko Asano replied, turning her gaze to him with a smile before earnestly studying the menu.

“It’s just eel rice, after all. No matter how well they make it, it’s still just eel and rice,” Masato Kōtokuji remarked dismissively, flipping through the menu with a hint of disdain.

Qiao Qiao glanced at the menu as well. As Masato had said, the restaurant specialized in eel dishes, with the signature being eel rice. There were also other eel-based delicacies, such as grilled eel liver and rolled eel omelet.

Nagoya’s cuisine, compared to that of Tokyo, was distinctively bolder in flavor. Whether it was miso pork cutlet, miso oden, or even red bean paste coffee, everything seemed to shout, “You can’t eat this without some extra kick.”

Much like how the Mexicans believe anything can become a taco—be it insects or, well, other things—so long as it’s wrapped in a tortilla, it can be eaten. Nagoya’s devotion to miso seemed to follow the same philosophy.

The four quickly made their selections.

Four portions of grilled eel liver, a sashimi platter, one rolled eel omelet, a serving of peony hamo, and, of course, the famous triple-style eel rice, finished with dessert.

The eel liver, a Nagoya specialty, was prepared with a rich glaze that soaked deeply into the meat, imparting a whiff of the sea and a contrastingly delicate, sumptuous texture—quite unlike its plain appearance.

Sashimi needed no special mention; with Nagoya’s proximity to the sea and its bustling port, the seafood was bound to be fresh and flavorful.

Qiao Qiao had imagined the rolled eel omelet to be the sort of golden, crispy dish that would make any child next door drool with envy. He was surprised to find instead that the egg and eel were cooked together, resulting in a subtly sweet flavor that was unfamiliar to his palate.

Across from him, however, Ariko Asano and Ayano Fujiwara ate with evident delight.

As for Masato Kōtokuji, he had begun with a bored poke or two at his food, but after tasting the eel liver, his entire demeanor changed.

“This is amazing,” he couldn’t help but keep reaching for more.

“By the way, what exactly is peony hamo?” Ariko Asano asked halfway through the meal, her gaze drawn to the menu on the wall.

“It’s a kind of eel too, isn’t it?” Masato answered offhandedly.

“Hamo is a type of sea eel, considered a delicacy in the Kansai region—especially near Kyoto, where eating hamo in summer is almost a tradition. The Manyoshu even mentions that eel can ease the misery of the summer heat,” Qiao Qiao explained after a moment’s thought.

“There’s also a legend that eels are messengers of the Bodhisattva Kokūzō, and they bring good fortune,” he added.

“My, Qiao-san, you really do know a lot,” Ayano Fujiwara remarked in admiration, then shot a sidelong glance at Masato.

“Unlike a certain someone who only talks big, but ends up eating his words—literally.”

Masato, caught off guard, momentarily hesitated to take another bite.

Qiao Qiao smiled quietly.

What he hadn’t told the others was that his knowledge about hamo came from a book chronicling the strange folklore of the Kansai region. According to legend, a giant sea eel once lived in the Seto Inland Sea. It had survived for centuries, amassing great power, and stirred up storms in the sea—so much so that the fishermen were forced to offer a maiden every year to appease it.

The three goddesses who ruled the sea eventually heard of this and came to challenge the monster. The youngest disguised herself as a sacrifice and let the eel carry her to its lair; once the two older sisters learned its location, they joined forces, and together they defeated the beast.

The eel had countless offspring. As punishment, the sea goddesses stripped them of their power, shrank them down, and told the fishermen to catch and eat them from then on.

Thus, hamo became a specialty of the Seto Inland Sea, and to commemorate the goddesses’ triumph, the fishermen built a shrine on Itsukushima—now known as Itsukushima Shrine.

The most distinctive feature of Itsukushima Shrine was its torii rising out of the sea. Since it was dedicated to the sea goddesses, it stood to reason that the goddess’s dwelling would be in the midst of the waters.

If the three exorcists knew that the hamo they were about to eat was actually the descendant of a monster, Qiao Qiao wondered what they’d think.

For that matter, he had never tasted the flesh of a youkai before. He wondered if, after being infused with spiritual power, it would taste any different.

There was a legend in Yamato about gaining immortality from eating ningyo flesh, but that, too, was surely just a myth.

While they chatted, the peony hamo was brought to their table.

Peony hamo was not a variety of eel, but rather a traditional Yamato preparation. The fish was deboned, cut into small sections, and blanched in hot broth until just cooked, then served immediately.

Because the bones were finely chopped but the skin left intact, the high heat caused the skin to contract, curling the fish into flower-like shapes, resembling blooming peonies.

This was exactly how it was done at this restaurant.

Accompaniments included plum vinegar, vinegared miso, and wasabi soy sauce.

This dish stirred a sense of nostalgia in Qiao Qiao. There was a similar way of eating sliced fish in China. He picked up a piece, dipped it lightly in soy sauce, and tasted it.

The fish skin was crisp, the flesh bouncy and tender, with a distinctive charm all its own.

Finally, the triple-style eel rice: enjoyed plain, with nori and scallions, or as ochazuke with tea poured over.

Even Masato Kōtokuji couldn’t help but have three bowls, a testament to how delicious it was.

Truly, human nature is to succumb to good taste.

Sated and content, the four briefly discussed plans for the next day.

They had to inspect two sites.

In the morning, a high school near Mizuho Ward, where a week ago the skeleton from the biology lab had reportedly been seen running down the corridor—a strange incident indeed.

In the afternoon, the television station in Showa Ward, where a vengeful spirit had appeared ten days prior and been exorcised.

Both were routine cleanup jobs.

According to what they’d heard from most sources, there was still no sign of the Kusanagi-no-Tsurugi. The divine sword seemed to have vanished completely from the world, leaving not even a trace.

Night.

Qiao Qiao soaked in the hot springs, then donned a yukata, clothes folded in his arms as he left the bath.

This inn’s baths were not natural hot springs, but artificial, and judging by their structure, the public bathhouse resembled more a Chinese bathhouse than a traditional Japanese onsen.

Even in early summer, a soak could wash away much fatigue.

Outside the bath, there was a lounge where guests could rest, chat, or find entertainment.

He saw several exorcists sitting together, chatting idly.

Some had even started drinking, cracking bawdy jokes.

Wasn’t it risky to drink when they had work the next day? Qiao Qiao wondered, but chose not to interrupt them.

By late June, Nagoya was already in full summer. The guest rooms felt stuffy, and Qiao Qiao disliked the draft from air conditioning.

The lounge, with its open windows, let in a pleasant breeze at just the right temperature.

He considered bringing his textbooks there to study later. The background chatter would be good practice for his concentration.

As he walked past several tables, about to leave the lounge, he noticed someone seated by the window.

It was Ariko Asano, dressed in a yukata patterned with pear blossoms.