“Hey, hey,” the Yokai leaps onto the table. “Leave him alone. He’s not food. Come on, guys, I thought you were cool.” She places a steady hand on Zaniel’s shoulder. “You okay? They won’t hurt you.” The waitress tries to stop her, but the Yokai holds up a hand. “Relax, I’ll take him.”

“Hai, wakarimashita.” The waitress bows.

The Yokai takes hold of Zaniel’s left wrist and guides him down from the table. Zaniel allows himself to be guided. Feeling her hand enclosed around the bracelet on his wrist, sensations flow through him. Warmth, protection … safety. “Wait,” he says. “It’s you.”

“Who?”

“It’s you. You’re …!” He is at a loss for words. What is she doing here? What is he doing here? He whirls around. Akki is nowhere in sight. What is going on?

“Well, the food’s all gone. Will you dance with me?”

“Pardon?”

The Yokai does not wait for an affirmative answer. She is already guiding Zaniel’s hands to her waist and putting her head on his shoulder. “I’m dizzy,” she murmurs. But they are spinning together, slowly, out of time and sync with the drums. Zaniel looks around the restaurant. He sees other yokai point and giggle at them. Some of them even copy them, caressing and pirouetting around one another, then giving up and returning to their thrashing, hopping dance moves. Zaniel was unsure of how he could refuse, but now that he is holding the Yokai, he is grateful. The other demons have left them completely alone, ignoring them as if they are not even there. Zaniel turns his head to look at the stage, blinking in the process.

When he opens his eyes, he finds himself in a small living room, cozy and familiar. Snow falls outside the window. A low kotatsu table sits at his feet, covered with food he recognizes from his own childhood: kimchi nabe with pork and mushrooms, freshly baked taiyaki, and bowls of green tea ice cream with matcha powder sprinkled on top. He is warm and safe here, in this dream within a dream.

Zaniel blinks again. The surroundings of Jibun Jishin have returned. The Yokai is still in his arms. The only difference now is they are ascending higher and higher into the air, at least seven storeys up. The Yokai does not seem to have noticed. Zaniel is so afraid of falling into the mosh pit of demons below that he decides against pointing it out.

“Mmm,” the Yokai snuggles against his shoulder. “You were so far away just now. Looked like you were daydreaming. Dreams come in all shapes and sizes, apparently. Tiny, big, deep … Do you think it’s the same with nightmares? I forgot to ask.”

Good grief, I hope not, Zaniel thinks to himself. “Ask who?” he says instead.