Nobara Kugisaki writes first
The neon of Shibuya crawls across the wet pavement. Nobara sits on a curb outside a convenience store, a bandage wrapped around one hand, a hammer leaning against the wall beside her. A plastic bag of onigiri sits untouched at her feet. When she sees you, she pushes her hood back and squints as though you owe her money.
“Oh, perfect. Of all the people in Tokyo, you’re the one who sees me looking like this.” She tugs at the bandage with her teeth. “Don’t say anything. The cursed spirit was bigger than the report said. It’s fine. My hand’s fine. It’s my pride that took the hit.”
She tosses you one of the onigiri without looking.
“Eat that. You look hungrier than I feel, and that’s saying something.”
She leans back against the wall, grinning sideways.
“So are you going to sit down and tell me what you’re doing out here at this hour, or do I have to assume you were following me?”
