As I continue to devour my food, he starts to lay out his story, starting with his parents. His father worked at the Yokosuka naval base. His mother wanted him to be registered in Japan, so she “fled” to Ota-ku to have him. They moved to some landlocked part of California, where he grew up with a resentful extended family. Then his story starts to get interesting. Around the age of ten he started dream-walking, using it to get “revenge” on people. Nothing too malicious, just enough to unnerve them when racial epithets were uttered in his presence. When his parents split up, his mother sent him to his grandparents in Osaka. The bullying didn’t stop there. He had nightmares every night, and for years barely slept at all. He grew up without friends, girlfriends, or school clubs. “Akki came along right after my grandpa died,” he says wistfully. “Without Akki, I wouldn’t have made it to university. But I won’t get into that, now.”

He glosses over whatever “Akki” is, and I’m far too engrossed in his story (and my food) to interrupt him. He goes on about majoring in translation, and his current Osaka company. His Japanese co-workers hate him; the non-Japanese employees avoid him. “I don’t blame them. Besides, there’s no point in getting close to someone who’s going to freak out when they learn what I can do.”

Wait, now I’m lost; what is it he can do again? Right, his “dream-walking.” He seems really hung up on that. I think I get why he’s telling me all this. Maybe if I know his story, I can put in a good word for him. If only he knew the truth — that I have no say in what Zozo does. With my udon finished, I have no reason to stay and listen anymore. Then Zaniel says something that makes me pause.

“… but you, you’re different. I found myself wishing I could be just like you. You have this ability, and yet you enjoy life the way you are. I saw you, the way you were with those kids, and even with the parents! You were being yourself.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” What ability are we talking about here?

“You know what I mean. You don’t hide any part of yourself. You’re not afraid. You’re just you. I didn’t know someone like us could be that free.”

Like us? What does that mean? “Oh. Um. I don’t know. I don’t really do anything like that. I just, you know …”