Another spike of COVID-19 cases was plastered all over news, social media, and even television. I saw posters on how to prevent coronavirus transmission everywhere, from the train station to the humble takeaway store.
Cases have skyrocketed again with the numbers shown across the large television display on a retail building in Shinjuku. Shops were quiet due to the lack of business. Most shopping was done via the Internet now.
Things were rough for the human world as it was. Kyoko had arranged for yet another dinner with one of our human subsidiary companies.
This is the easy one with nerds in the homework assignment 'help' start-up. They did not like to stay too long in a group. No karaoke, no night clubs and no damn noisy izakaya.
Most of the employees did remote work via the Internet. Some were hikikomori, people who withdrew from social contact and preferred home isolation from society. I don't blame them.
The Japanese society had so many suffocating rules from formality of language in terms of social hierarchy and etiquettes for every damn possible thing, which many cultures have done away with.
We employed the ones over their 40s with a university degree or technical college graduate. Whilst odd in behaviour, they still held a certain pride and ethics in the completion of their selected assigned task.
It is not a charity but social contribution to our critical food chain and their embattled employment rates. A social subsidiary of Shinde Inc. is a worthy cause to support the herd we lived off and fed on.
We paid the employed hikikomori fifty percent commission on the completion. A fair price which all had agreed on in an online negotiation. We also assigned protection to certain employees without their knowledge.
Some had a very unlucky aura, which draws ghosts and yōkai to them like a powerful magnet. Hence, they felt good to be around, despite the temptation to feed on them.
Still, human employees are entitled to welfare and declaring them as part of Shinde Inc. was more effective than an exorcist talisman.
No yōkai or a ghost wanted to fuck around with me. I was their business opportunity.
While waiting for the traffic light to turn, I glanced around the less crowded foot paths during the fading light as people walked past.
Most yōkai did not come out until dark. Ghosts were another story. While humans feared them during night, they were not aware that once a ghost latches onto them, it accompanies them 24/7.
A middle-aged business man in a mask, sullen and looking at his watch, stood near me, careful to keep his distance because of the COVID-19 pandemic. I could see the ghost of his wife tailing him at the back.
Not all ghosts were bad. She was staring at me, sizing me up in preparation to protect her man despite our disparity in strength. These are the protective ones with the whitish auras.
I took a step further away from him and she relaxed with a faint smile at him. Then a couple walked between us and a ghost child grinned at me. Its invisible hand holding the sad looking woman. Innocence taken at an early age. Death did not collect this one.
There were other humans seen with spectres of questionable and sometimes malevolent intentions, glued on their backs.
The annoying sirens and announcements of the police were blaring for all to give way interrupted my survey of the human menagerie.
At least it was better than getting trampled by horses in the past. The traffic light started chirping, and we crossed like a shallow stream of both ghosts and humans, flowing and separating to our destinations.
A few of the amabie were scattered along the narrow alley of restaurants and izakaya which hung their pictures. They bowed, and I nodded in return. Humans are still around and few unknowing customers return the nod. I walked towards a waiting Michiko in her casual t-shirt and jeans, who waved at me.
Michiko is one of the four female kitsune who runs the human companies on my behalf. A shrewd and cunning businesswoman, she was more content to mingle with humans than enter our principal business.
"Shinde-sama, all of them have arrived early," she offered to take my bag.
We went into the small traditional restaurant and its minimalistic decor. Four customers, regular male office workers, were sitting in the far corner before the private rooms, with their coats over the chairs, chatting about their mundane personal lives.
Another two were sitting in the opposite corner, guzzling the large spread before them as though starved for days.
The Japanese loved their private spaces and would often sit as far away from strangers if they are sober. If not, drunk office workers could be found sleeping on the streets after they miss the last train. Or hassling young women with the alcoholic fueled courage.
The young waitress rushed out to take our temperatures with the dreaded thermometer because of COVID-19. I am cold blooded as my mortal snake counterparts.
That was the reason to walk with a heat pad hidden in my pocket to increase my body temperature.
Satisfied with the readings, she lead us into the private rooms where the faint hint of cypress wood wafted from the traditional sliding doors. Along with the summery scent of igusa, straw they used for tatami mat, which I enjoyed.
A genkan, the typical entrance, was awaiting before the platform. Both of us removed our heels at the platform and pop them into the shoeboxes. I could hear noises from the party.
"There's twenty four of them who joined," Michiko whispered as the waitress opened the door and invited us in.
That's not bad for hikikomori turning up.
We have 31 full-time staff and ad hoc casuals. The subsidiary was a small to medium enterprise, a SME, and churning about an average of a million yen daily, helping human students with their homework. With COVID-19, the business is booming with the main demographics in the senior high and university.
All eyes were on the both of us as we stepped in and the talking stopped. Heck, even the two with chopsticks holding the dark reddish basashi, raw horse meat, froze with the food moments from their mouth.
One stood up and everyone followed in conformity. A united bow from rehearsed in their long past school days.
I was almost expecting the morning greetings which the teachers will receive in those Japanese high school dramas.
"Please be seated. No need to be formal," I smiled as the ghosts near seven of my employees vanished in my presence.
Silence pervaded as they slowly got back down to cross legged or the kneeling positions on the tatami mat. I could hear a glass of water gulped down by a nervous employee. Usually, the smell of fear tantalises me, but not on this occasion.
That's why I hate employee gatherings. This is the third time I have met them. Each time, the social hierarchy of the humans comes in and the once jovial environment darkens into that of an awkward moment, like a long extended moment to commemorate the dead.
"Do I have something on my face?" I asked with a smile.
A polite cough from Michiko as the humans looked at one another, a visual nudging of who would like to be first to break the quietude. The first was always in danger of committing an accidental faux pax. If no one was going to volunteer, I am going to pick one.
"How about more drinks around? Boss, which one would you like? The Daiginjo sake is pretty good here," Michiko broke it.
"Not really, the cocktails are better," muttered a bespectacled woman as she sipped hers down delicately with the straw.
"I will have what you are having then," I smiled. "Now what's good to eat here."
Other than a few virginal 40-year-olds in my employment. Too bad, they can't be food.