Nine o'clock in the evening, New York's sky has been dark, flooded with a variety of urban neon colors, will be as dark as ink night splashed with a whirlwind of color.
The darkness of the night did not bring silence, but made the streets seem more people, whether it is the brightly lit neighborhoods, or the shadow covered corners, there is a homeless people in the activities.
There were only a few specific areas that were free of hobos, such as some of the upscale restaurants.
As he brought the car to a slow stop, Ichijō Mirai raised an eyebrow and glanced over the street, which was so quiet that the traffic was almost always in the single digits, with only two or three white-collar workers passing by, either in a group or alone, at a time.
The white-collar workers, all well-dressed and appearing to be out for dinner after working late, or couples on a date, are either checking their cell phones or looking at the road ahead, or communicating with their companions, and none of them are looking at Ichijō Mirai.
There were also only a few people in the restaurants and cafes down the street, not many people sitting by the windows, and again no one looking at Ichijō Mirai.
It's interesting.
Ichijō Mirai found it interesting that someone would be traveling alone in New York City at 9:00 p.m., a young man dressed loosely and unarmed, and with a disinterested and unsuspecting demeanor.
He straightened his white suit, took out a delicate snow-white invitation from the passenger seat of his white sports car, and turned it around as he scanned the street before opening the door and getting out.
In front of the restaurant, a messenger greeted him and bowed with an apology, "Hello, I'm very sorry, tonight there is a guest who has made a reservation in advance for the restaurant, the number of people to be received, the restaurant has reached the maximum number of people, and will not be receiving guests for the time being, for the inconvenience caused to you..."
In the middle of his apology and polite reprimand, as if he had just noticed the invitation in Ichijō Mirai's hand, the emissary immediately changed his tone and respectfully reached out his hand, "May I ask if you are Mr. 'Messiah'?"
Ichijō Mirai hands over the invitation, "Uh-huh."
The invitation was sent by Jodie, and it was a very polite invitation to dinner, except that it was signed by [Messiah] for the invitee, and [Ms. FBI] for the inviter.
It's not Jodie's name, it's Ms. FBI. In other words, as long as a person can openly call herself 'Ms. FBI', then anyone, male or female, young or old, can show up as an invitee.
Even if it wasn't a person, but a parrot with a tongue, it could still come to the table with its head held high.
That's why Ichijō Mirai was careful not to use any gender references when he asked, "Has the guest already arrived?"
The messenger made a show of looking over the invitation carefully, and immediately bowed in a more polite 'please' gesture, "The guest has already arrived, sir,"
"Please, there will be a special person to park your car for you."
Ichijō Mirai drove up in a sports car.
A sports car that he had not long ago helped an owner who was so grateful that he couldn't return the favor and had to give it to him as a token of his appreciation.
But while he was at the appointment, the FBI was sure to pull the car out and go through it from top to bottom, putting in all kinds of harmless but FBI-scented stuff. Ichijō Mirai, not intending to use a sports car that was going to be circled by the FBI again, got out of the car without even taking the keys, and just answered the door, calmly following the emissary into the dining room.
The real restaurant is on the upper floors, and can be reached by elevator.
The elevator was a transparent glass elevator, so fragile that it could be broken easily, and through the layers of glass, the elevator rider could easily see himself rising higher and higher, and could see more and more of New York City, and even those who were afraid of heights would have a chance to get weak in the knees and shiver.
Ichijō Mirai is not afraid of heights.
But within seconds of being in the closed, two-person elevator, the messenger seemed to realize with hindsight that the elevator was a rather suitable location for a surprise attack, and tensed his body, his breathing lowered, and his loose-fitting suit pants shook a little at the legs from the over-tightening.
"'Mr. Messiah,'" The messenger's voice was also a little stiff, "your invited guests have made dinner reservations in advance, do you have any contraindications? Would you like to see them again?"
He said, "We can make changes before the meal is served."
So Ichijō Mirai knew: Oh, this was a New York branch FBI, not a headquarters FBI.
"No, I'm sure that guest knows my taboos," He dismissed in a lighthearted tone, and just as he took the words to ease the emissary's tension, he smiled again, "If it's really my taboos, there's nothing to be done about it but to put up with it."
"I'm not going to make a killing."
He laughs.
Messenger: "..."
Almost visibly, the messenger's face turns green, "Yeah, yeah, hahaha, ah! The elevator's here!"
"Please follow me, sir," He reached for the elevator hastily, and waited for Ichijō Mirai to exit before following, "That guest's advance reservation is this way."
The restaurant was warmly colored, the tables were spaced far apart, and the tables were adorned with greenery of various sizes, making it seem like a restaurant that placed great importance on the guest experience, and left room for privacy for conversation.
There are only about a dozen tables in the entire restaurant, and they are spread out so sporadically in the open space that it doesn't feel like there are too many people, but rather that these guests, who now serve the same purpose as the bouquets of greenery, are just the right amount of time to set the mood of the restaurant.
The messenger leads Ichijō Mirai through most of the restaurant to a window seat almost at the very edge.
There was more greenery near the edge, almost blocking the tables and chairs, creating a wall of greenery that wasn't too high, and the tables were arranged in a more empty space, not far from a piano where someone was playing a piece of piano music.
Through the greenery, Ichijō Mirai caught a glimpse of the only other guest in the vicinity, and raising his hand politely against the lower half of his face to hide his raised mouth, he walked over to greet him without needing a messenger to show him the way, "Good evening, Ms. FBI,"
"You're so lovely and beautiful today, your long golden hair seems to shimmer a little in the moonlight."
At the dining table, Akai Shūichi took his eyes off the window at the sound of the voice and looked at Ichijō Mirai.
Instead of casual attire and a hat, he wore a black suit today, his longer black hair tied back loosely, but as unfunny as ever, "Good evening, Mr. 'Messiah'."
"You have a very original way of complimenting people."
"Don't you like it?" Ichijō Mirai sat down, showed a surprised expression, and immediately reflected with sincere apologies, "I'm so sorry, I have no experience in complimenting a lady, this is the first time I've ever complimented a lady with such sincerity, and since you didn't like it, then of course it wasn't a problem with the lady, it must have been my problem,"
He smiled, "Next time for sure."