The excitement of resurrecting Ichiro and then showing him the wonders of a modern bathroom had left her unable to sleep for what must have been at least a few hours. The usual remedy of imagining green pastures and bounding rabbits had proved ineffective, which meant that she'd had little choice but to pass the time by replaying the day's events in her mind and thinking about the next step.

She realized that Ichiro wouldn't settle for anything less than four different dishes at breakfast, which daunted her greatly. In the distant past, the responsibility of cooking had always been one she'd shared with his mother, and now that she had gotten used to taking care of only her own needs, she wasn't sure if it would be possible to live up to his expectations.

With difficulty, she got up before sunrise and shuffled to the kitchen to assemble ingredients. There was still some rice leftover from yesterday, so she placed it all into a pot then turned her attention to the cupboard.

Aside from her stockpile of two-minute ramen, there were also a few cups of instant miso and several packets of dried seaweed. While nothing could compare to that which was made from scratch, she had to take shortcuts in this situation. She grabbed one cup of miso and two seaweed packets before placing them on the kitchen bench for later.

The next things she needed were fish and vegetables, which, unfortunately, were also the most challenging parts of a meal to prepare. Still, this was no time to slack off, and despite her desire to get some more sleep, she soon frantically forced open the fridge doors to make some selections.

Regarding fish, it was a choice between tuna, salmon, and mackerel. She couldn't remember which one of the three he favored most, so she settled for the one that might compliment everything else appearance-wise.

As Ichiro's mother had once shown her, she seasoned the mackerel fillets with salt and left them for around twenty minutes to focus on trimming green beans and peeling and slicing carrots.

Once that procedure was over, she placed a spoon of oil in her frying pan and sauteed the vegetables as evenly as she could before pouring them into a small bowl and frying the mackerel fillets lightly on each side.

When they were ready, she shifted her pot of rice over and then lit another fire to boil water for the miso soup. Both tasks were relatively easy compared to what she'd been doing prior, and she got through them with little hassle, thus successfully cooking a breakfast that comprised five separate dishes.

She carried each dish to the living room afterward and set them down on the table as she thought appropriate while hoping that Ichiro would also be pleased with the arrangement.

She soon took a step back to admire her hard work and considered what she might do on the off chance that he didn't like a single thing present. As the more powerful being, she supposed that it wouldn't be unreasonable to guilt-trip him into eating everything since she wasn't about to tolerate ingratitude after all her efforts.

He emerged from the bedroom at what must have been some time after seven, judging by the brightening sky outside. Kumiko rubbed her tired eyes and tried to look happy for his sake, but he walked past without a word and headed into the bathroom.

A few moments passed before she heard the toilet flush, and upon remembering the events of last night, she expected him to scream again. However, he came back out with a stunned look on his face and sat quietly at the coffee table.

"I don't understand..." he muttered without even paying attention to the food. "How does none of it impress you?"

"I've been here longer than you have," she answered truthfully. "I've had plenty of time to get used to it all."

"That makes little sense."

"In what way?"

"I died first, so how could you have arrived here before me?"

"I don't know. They must have missed you a few times, I guess."

"Who's 'they?"

"The God of this realm. It's difficult to count everyone here, even for them."

Ichiro's expression became more pensive. "And how do you know that?"

Kumiko swallowed before giving a fairly straightforward explanation. "I asked about you, and that was the answer I got."

"Oh..." he quietly uttered before gazing upon the food on the table. "So, did you cook all this for me?"

"Yes. I did."

"Well, I'm glad. It looks good..."

"Thank you," she replied, hoping that his bright mood wouldn't fade when he tasted her cooking.

He continued to smile as he clapped both hands together and expressed his appreciation of the meal. Afterward, he picked up his chopsticks and went first for the rice, at which point she realized in disbelief that he'd never once asked if she were hungry.

She couldn't recall him being this inconsiderate, and as a result, she wondered if grief had caused her memories of him to become heavily idealized. So far, his behavior suggested that he wasn't quite the considerate gentleman of her dreams, and she was beginning to feel like a fool for letting love cloud her judgment.

It seemed like he was treating his food with more care than he'd shown her. Each movement of his arm was measured and restrained as he placed things in his mouth and savored them as if there was all the time in the world.

"So, Ichiro. How's the food?" she found the will to ask after spending about a minute watching him in disappointment.

He swallowed and carefully placed his chopsticks down before speaking up. "Wonderful. You really are a great cook..."

"I'm glad to hear that," she could only say in response, as hunger and tiredness overwhelmed her to the point that she could no longer stand to watch him eat.

She had to get out of here soon, or else she'd give him a piece of her mind. As he continued to eat breakfast, she hurried out of the room to go about her morning routine and change into her work uniform, then make herself invisible so he wouldn't have a panic attack over her attire.

He didn't notice her leaving until she had opened the front door, and even then, she managed to walk out and lock it before he could catch up to her.

******

Ichiro retreated into the living room and sat down on the floor to contemplate what he'd do with the dirty dishes.

It was clear now that the time spent cooking must have made Kumiko late for her important business, and as a result, she hadn't been able to clean up after him.

She'd probably felt rather ashamed, and he guessed that was why she had made herself invisible. Although, if her job really was as demanding as she'd claimed it to be, then she didn't need to behave like that in his presence. He considered himself to be the understanding sort, and he was perfectly willing to forgive her for neglecting a task if she made up for it later.

He gazed upon the dishes again and reminisced about the days when she'd stay in the house with his mother while he assisted his father with business out in the streets. All four knew exactly what their roles were and adhered to them without fail, right until the day that mysterious illness had struck down him and his parents.

Therefore, it was hard for him to come to terms with Kumiko being formally employed, even with her possessing capabilities that most women lacked.

He continued to sit in the same position, trying to accept this notion before a terrifying realization struck him.

Good heavens... he thought to himself, bowing his head in despair. Have I become the wife now?

A tear welled up in his left eye, and he hastily wiped it away as a wave of anxiety swept over him. No. It's not what I was born to do...

Unable to deal with this predicament any longer, he rose to his feet and trudged through the apartment towards that place Kumiko called 'the bathroom.'

Like the room which contained the giant chamber pot, almost everything in this one was the color of plain porcelain.

Such sights could only exist in the afterlife, and remembering the previous night, he tried using the 'sink' on his own.

It took a bit of trial and error to figure out which direction to turn the left tap, but the result was no less spectacular.

Here was a seemingly never-ending supply of clean water, and despite Kumiko's claim that it was purely for washing, he couldn't resist lapping some of it up to quench his thirst.

It was the best water he'd ever tasted, and the fact that it was warm also filled him with satisfaction. Unfortunately, it soon became too hot for him to even touch, and he hurriedly turned the tap in the opposite direction.

The water ceased to flow, and feeling elated, he repeated the procedure with the tap to his right.

Ichiro was promptly reminded of his aversion to cold water, but the effort was still worth it. He reached for the left tap and twisted it again with more confidence. "Hot." He turned it off before grasping the right tap once more. "Cold."

He continued to entertain himself by alternating between them until a loud knock sounded from down the hallway.

"Kumiko?" he responded loudly upon returning to his senses and turning to face the open doorway. "Is that you?"

The lack of a reply made him suspicious, so he reluctantly stepped out into the hall to investigate.

He looked toward the front door just as a key being turned put him on edge. "Who are you? Answer me!"

The door swung open with a click, and he gaped, for there was nobody there.

******

Futoshi had sensed a conspicuous spiritual presence the night before. Because he wasn't sure of its source, he'd approached the door of Kumiko's apartment with caution in case something formidable lay within.

Therefore, it came as a surprise to him when, after using his trusty leaf to turn invisible, the only entity he came across was a young man in traditional clothes.

The first thing he noticed was what a fine specimen the young man was. In his sixty-three years of life, he had never come across a male with such perfectly shaped eyebrows or flawless skin. It was enough to make him feel deeply insecure about his own human form, and at that moment, he deeply regretted not giving himself a handsome appearance when he'd had the chance.

The second thing he picked up on was the young man's aura. It was cold and dull, two characteristics that usually meant someone was either on the verge of death or had already crossed it.

The only explanation he could think of was that this young man was a ghost, and the outdated attire lent much credibility to that notion. Unfortunately, this also led to many other questions springing up in his mind, the most intriguing of which was how this otherworldly being had ended up in Kumiko's apartment and if it went some way towards explaining her recent behavior.

Aside from that, she was lucky to have such a desirable male ghost haunting her home, and Futoshi could only hope that someday, he'd meet his own sexy spirit of the opposite gender.

Afraid of staring for too long, he decided to put his previous plans to rest and take a different approach to get Kumiko evicted.

He slammed the door shut on the ghost and strode through the corridor while taking the odd glance back to ensure he wasn't being pursued. He reached the stairs leading to the first floor and walked down them while planning his next step.

It seemed like he no longer had to worry about uncovering dark secrets. The only necessary action would be to scare Kumiko into moving out by letting her know of the supernatural presence that lived in her apartment.

He'd probably have to make that ghost out to be more malevolent than they were, but the process was undoubtedly going to be straightforward. All he had to do to set things in motion was call a spiritual medium to this address while Kumiko was away and then lie about the outcome when she returned from work.

It was a genius plan, in his opinion, and he stopped to rub his hands together in glee.