He chuckles as I list off an assortment of rap songs we both might know as we head back to our table. I’m glad for the subject change. Thoughts of secret basement dungeons and torture chambers wash from my mind with the tide of people we wade through in this giant restaurant Zaniel has brought me to. On the speakers and on the stage, someone is now singing the Sailor Moon theme song. “I know this! ‘Moonlight Dentetsu,’ right?”

Zaniel bursts out laughing. “‘Densetsu’!” he corrects me.

“All right, all right. Sorry.” I make a face at him, but I’m smiling. “You’re not perfect, either, you know!” I hum along, leaning back against the soft leather cushion of our booth. I’m so full and tipsy I can’t sit upright anymore. The ceiling glistens with its star lights, people continue to shout above the restaurant commotion while servers run back and forth with trays of food and drinks. Up on the stage, a drunk salaryman has the mic and is surrounded by rambunctious co-workers. The crowd below the stage sings along. And here in the middle of all this mayhem is me, sitting across from this attractive young man I just met this morning. If he had told me this is where we’d end up tonight, I would have laughed in his pretty, doe-eyed face. But he’s a nice guy — too nice to be sick of my gaping and squeeing by now. He just smiles and refills my sake cup.

“There you go. The rest is all yours. Give it a good home.”

“It’s finished, already? How are you going through them so fast?”

“Stop nursing it. If this were a drinking contest, we’d have to sew you a special ‘LOSER’ sash.”

I empty the last of our second bottle of hot sake into my mouth and pretend to splash him with my cup. Our waitress offers to bring us a third bottle and takes away a giant plate that once held a lavish display of ohagi arranged around a bowl of adzuki and vanilla ice cream. I tell her we’re still working through it. She nods and takes away the dishes that once held our “fall futomaki” sushi, lemon-ginger fried chicken, wara-yaki salmon, and banana tempura drizzled with jasmine honey. She also offers to take away the box I got from the kitsune guy, but I still have one bite of lemon manjuu left inside. I pop it into my mouth and give her the box.

“So. Lady Cybelle,” Zaniel stretches like a cat, “how happy are you that you took me up on my offer?”