The Yokai takes a deep breath. “All of it.” She dives in: a gyoza here, a scoop of corn there, a click-click-pop of her jaw unhinging to take a bite of burger, and so on. The other yokai slowly return to their own meals but cannot help watching, overwhelmed with fascination at her spectacle of sustenance.

“Wow,” the one-legged yokai says after staring for some time. “So … you can use chopsticks, eh?”

“Oh, don’t start with that. Of course, she can.” The rooster clears its throat. “Basan, from Shikoku. How about you, kid? What are you? Where you from?”

“Um …” the Yokai covers her mouth, still chewing.

“Never mind,” the rooster says before she can speak. “It’s not important, either. You really can eat, huh? Here, would you like to try some of this? It’s good.” It nuzzles a fiery bamboo shoot off its plate in her direction.

“Okay,” says the Yokai with a mouthful. “Thanks.”

“Amazing. She ate it! Um, how about some of mine? Would you like to …?” The one-legged yokai takes a chopstick serving of crab flesh and places it on her plate.

“Sure. Thank you. Mmm, I like it. It’s salty.”

In moments, other yokai surround her. They test her and offer her more and more of their food. Each one the Yokai politely accepts and lifts to her mouth. Now beginning to relax in her presence, the demons start asking her questions: Has she ever eaten this before, is this her first time at Jibun Jishin, how long has she been using chopsticks, does she like the food, where did she come from? She simply nods “yes” to everything, unable to speak with her mouth so full. No one asks many follow-up questions, to the Yokai’s relief, because she is too immersed in the sensations each mouthful brings her: the tart, the crunchy, the sweet, the salty, the gooey, briny, buttery, sweet, firm, rich, decadent food all swim in her stomach and send quivers up her spine. Her voracious appetite shows no bounds. Everything placed in front of her disappears into her mouth. She feels like butter melting in warm sunlight.

The squids on the stage make their final bows, sticks in tentacles, and shuffle off the stage to make way for the koto musicians. By now, the Yokai is high as a kite. She staggers from her chair, following the tanukis’ gestures toward a sake-dispensing machine in a corner of the pit (they highly recommend she try it). Next to the machine, the Yokai cannot help staring at a pile of velvety cushions where a massive red hornet sits in a cloud of smoke. It watches the Yokai with solid dark-red eyes like five garnet mirrors, fingering peach cigarillos in each of its six legs. The scent of them makes the room spin even more.

“Suzumebachi,” the hornet introduces itself with a lofty cloud of smoke breathed into her face. “Here to try the sake?”