Chapter 49: Silver Soul (Earth Chapter)

Yesterday, she had treated the Odd Jobs crew to dinner, and along the way, she’d encountered all their various friends—each with their own peculiarities. She had spent a lively evening with them, playing the role of the unwitting benefactor; that crowd could really eat and drink. Okakura Take felt as though ever since she’d met that curly-haired fellow, she’d been leaking money like a sieve.

She remembered that among them was a female ninja named Little Monkey who was absolutely infatuated with that curly-haired Sakata. Rubbing her groggy head, Okakura Take wondered what on earth was so good about him, aside from those beautiful eyes...

She froze. The man she thought had such beautiful eyes was now lying right beside her, surrounded by a heap of empty beer bottles. She glanced at their clothes—thank goodness, everything was in order. It seemed nothing irreversible had happened.

She gave the curly-haired slacker a sharp kick to wake him up.

“Ugh, my head… Where am I?” Gintoki mumbled, clutching his head in confusion.

“My place,” Okakura Take replied crossly.

He turned his gaze to her, thought for a moment, and it all came back to him. Last night, this woman had gotten drunk and clung to him, refusing to let go. Though not terribly wild, she had laughed and cried while hugging him, her grip surprisingly strong. So he’d ended up bringing her home.

Then, she’d dug out more beer from her fridge and insisted on another round.

Funny—something like this had happened before, Gintoki mused. Back then, he’d thought she was just a brat, and that brat had also clung to him, crying and laughing as she stripped him of his clothes, before hugging him to sleep.

“What are you thinking about, Gin-san?” Okakura Take leaned closer to him.

Gintoki looked at her absentmindedly—and then was struck dumb.

In the sunlight, Okakura Take’s skin looked porcelain fair, with a faint blush lending her an extra touch of color. Her pitch-black pupils sparkled as she gazed at him, and her crimson lips parted slightly, revealing white teeth.

This is bad! Since when did this woman become so beautiful?! Gintoki told himself it must be a man’s early morning delusion—at this hour, even if a sow were lying next to you, she might seem pretty. Besides, the one next to him was more like a Godzilla.

“Are you still drunk? You look so silly.” Okakura Take stood up, went to the kitchen, and brought back a glass of milk.

“Drink this,” she said, handing him the glass.

Gintoki took it and downed it in one gulp, then got up and headed for the bathroom.

She paid him no mind and began tidying up the room. By the time she had most of the mess cleaned, Gintoki emerged, looking refreshed.

“Ah, waking up in a fancy apartment really does feel different. It even gives you the illusion of being someone important,” he said, sprawling on the sofa like a lord, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Get off my couch. Go sit on the little sofa over there.” Okakura Take came over and nudged his leg, signaling him to move.

Gintoki grumbled but shifted, folding his tall frame onto the smaller sofa, which made Okakura Take want to laugh. She was tired herself, so she flopped down on the main couch and lay back.

It was the weekend; she could finally rest for a while. Curled up on the sofa, Okakura Take slowly drifted off to sleep.

After she fell asleep, Gintoki walked over and gazed at her sleeping form, smiling. She’d curled herself up into a perfect ball. He went to the bedroom, fetched a thin blanket, and gently covered her.

Just as he was about to leave, his stomach rumbled. Being shameless came naturally to him—he went straight to her fridge, raided it, and left, patting his now-round belly in satisfaction.

Before leaving, he scribbled her a note.

“I’m off. Thanks for your hospitality. Next time, drink less—you really can’t hold your liquor.

Sakata Gintoki.”

Okakura Take didn’t wake until the afternoon. Rubbing her eyes, she glanced to the side—Gintoki was gone. Unexpectedly, a pang of loneliness rose in her chest.

What?! Lonely! She quickly shook her head. It had to be an illusion, just a trick of the mind.

Suddenly, her phone rang. It was Sasaki Isaburō. When she opened her inbox, she found dozens of emails—when would this guy ever stop? He was like an email maniac.

The first one: “Take-chan, did you get home safely? Having dinner with a bunch of old men tonight is such a hassle, but the food’s delicious. (Sushi photo) Do you want some, Take-chan? (▽`). Little Saburō.”

“Take-chan, after dinner we went singing with the old guys—they all love Momoe Yamaguchi’s songs. I prefer instrumental music, though, and I can’t sing. What should I do, Take-chan Σ(っ°Д°;)っ? Little Saburō.”

“Take-chan, I just sang off-key, and the old guys laughed at me. Ah, keeping company with seniors is such a pain ╮(╯▽╰)╭. Little Saburō.”

By now, Okakura Take counted—there were more than a dozen emails below. She scrolled to the last one and opened it.

“Take-chan, why haven’t you replied? Are you asleep? You must be, right? Otherwise you’d definitely text me back. Good night, Take-chan. You have to reply tomorrow. Lonely little animals will die of sadness (●′w`●). Little Saburō.”

“…,” Okakura Take muttered.

Enough already! The guy had sent her so many emails like he was talking to himself. He was nothing like his in-person self. How attached to his phone could he possibly be?!

Just as she was preparing to dash off a perfunctory reply, Sasaki sent another email.

“Take-chan, why haven’t you replied yet? I’m so sad. Aren’t we email buddies? You must not have seen them. I just know it ╰(￣w￣o). Little Saburō.”

Know what, exactly?! This guy was unbelievably annoying—completely self-soothing.

Okakura Take sighed and replied.

“Yes, I just saw your messages, Mr. Sasaki.

Okakura Take.”

A few seconds later, an email arrived—an absurdly long one. How had he managed to type so much in so short a time?!

“Take-chan, you’re so cold. I sent you so many messages and you just replied with one line. I’m so heartbroken qaq. Little Saburō.”

Okakura Take imagined that guy on the other end, probably typing with a blank expression. The thought alone gave her the chills.

They’d only met yesterday—why was he so enthusiastic about emailing her? She suddenly regretted exchanging addresses with him.

“Take-chan, would you like to have dinner with me tonight? Little Saburō.”

She thought for a moment and agreed.

“Sure, as long as you’re treating. Okakura Take.”

“I’ll come pick you up, Take-chan. Send me your address. Little Saburō.”

She sent him her address.

“Take-chan, get ready. I’ll email you when I arrive. Little Saburō.”

Couldn’t he just call? She thought, but still replied with a simple “Okay.”

She turned off her phone, washed up, changed into casual clothes, and waited, growing impatient. Finally, Sasaki’s email arrived.

“Take-chan, I’m downstairs. Come down quick o(*≧▽≦)ツ. Little Saburō.”

She glanced out the window—sure enough, there he was, still wearing that white uniform and standing by a black sedan, phone in hand.

Probably sending an email… she guessed.

After taking the elevator to the ground floor, she walked straight up to him.

“Good evening, Mr. Sasaki,” she greeted.

He finally slipped his phone back into his pocket. “Good evening, Miss Okakura.”

Did this guy have a split personality…?

“Come, Miss Okakura, let’s be off,” Sasaki said, opening the car door for her. She climbed in.

“What would you like to eat?” he asked as he started the car.

She thought for a moment. “Barbecue.”

“Sure, I know a club that serves excellent barbecue,” Sasaki replied.

“Then please lead the way, Mr. Sasaki,” she said.

For a while, the car was silent. Neither knew what to say. Okakura Take couldn’t tell if it was just her imagination, but she kept feeling Sasaki was stealing glances at her. He was so chatty over email, but face-to-face, words seemed precious as gold.

Amidst this silence, they arrived at their destination—a club that looked rather high-class. Okakura Take thought that if she were to dine here on her own salary, a single meal would cost more than a month’s wages.

“Come, Miss Okakura. The barbecue here is excellent, and all the Japanese-style dishes are superb,” Sasaki said.

“Ah, okay. Please, Mr. Sasaki, lead the way.”

The club was tucked away in a secluded alley, looking at first glance like an ordinary stately home.

As soon as they entered, an attendant came over to guide them. The attendant seemed familiar with Sasaki and, without asking any questions, led them forward.

Okakura Take glanced around the corridor. Just two words came to mind: money speaks. She began to feel uneasy—the extreme silence and oppressive atmosphere were stifling.

At last, the attendant showed them into a private Japanese-style room, sliding the door open and kneeling to invite them in.

Once seated across from each other, a server came to ask for their order.

“Barbecue,” Sasaki said.

The attendant bowed and retreated. A few minutes later, a group of women in kimonos arrived, setting down a grill, plates of high-grade marbled beef, vegetables, and various sauces.

The beef sizzled on the grill and was soon cooked. Using serving chopsticks, Sasaki placed the first piece of meat into Okakura Take’s bowl.

“Please enjoy, Miss Okakura.”

“Th-thank you. You too, Mr. Sasaki,” she replied. For some reason, being with Sasaki made her uncomfortable, as though she were being watched, a chill running down her spine.

She glanced at him. Sasaki dipped a piece of grilled meat lightly in the sauce and savored it with delicate bites. It was just eating, but he exuded that inimitable elite, aristocratic aura.

This was bad—she felt terribly awkward. Eating with someone like this was pure torture.

Her favorite way to eat barbecue was to wrap grilled meat and onion slivers in lettuce with sauce and take a big bite, but it could be messy.

She eyed the lettuce. Eventually, she gave in—who cared? She grabbed a leaf, added onions, dipped the meat, rolled it up, and took a hearty bite. The sweetness of the vegetables and the savory beef blended perfectly—a moment of bliss.

Across from her, Sasaki spoke.

“Do you like eating grilled meat wrapped in lettuce, Miss Okakura?”

Her mouth was still full, so she just nodded.

“Could you make one for me?” Sasaki smiled. His tone was polite, but it was impossible to refuse.

Chewing, she quickly made a wrap and handed it over. Sasaki took it, his fingers brushing hers, making her frown.

Unlike her, Sasaki didn’t stuff the whole roll in at once. Instead, he ate it in small, refined bites.

“Delicious. I really like your taste, Miss Okakura,” he said after finishing.

Okakura Take glanced at him in confusion—why did he pause at “taste”? She regretted coming to dinner with Sasaki even more. This man was as baffling as his barrage of emails.

Let’s just eat and get out of here, she thought, bowing her head and quickly finishing the food. Sasaki kept piling more cooked meat and vegetables into her bowl.

“You don’t have to serve me—please eat for yourself, Mr. Sasaki,” Okakura Take said.

“No, watching you eat is a pleasure,” he replied.

A shiver ran down Okakura Take’s spine—his tone was just too creepy. She quickly stood up. “I’m going to the restroom,” she blurted, and darted out before Sasaki could react.

Sasaki only smiled, continuing to load her bowl with meat and vegetables.

Okakura Take actually did need to use the restroom. She stepped out, looking for an attendant to ask for directions, but wandered for ages without finding one, getting herself completely turned around.

“This place is huge. Why isn’t there anyone around?” she muttered, rubbing her head.

Suddenly, the sound of a musical instrument drifted toward her—crisp and pleasant.

Someone’s there! Delighted, Okakura Take walked toward the sound.

The door of the Japanese-style room was ajar. Inside stood a small table, set with a flask of sake, a cup, and a plate of snacks. By the window sat a man playing the shamisen, wholly absorbed in his music.

His hair, black with a violet sheen, fell gently over his bandaged right eye. The left eye, perfectly intact, was a striking green. His face was sharp and handsome.

Governor Takasugi! Okakura Take was stunned—her longtime idol!

Seriously, Governor, couldn’t you at least close the door while playing music? If she remembered correctly, both the Governor and Mr. Katsura were wanted men these days, yet both always behaved as though nothing were amiss.

“Governor Takasugi,” she called.

Takasugi looked up, fixing his good eye on her. Under the light, that emerald gaze flashed with a dangerous glint.

Danger! Okakura Take instinctively took a step back, staring at him in alarm. The Governor felt different from before.