He snaps his fingers and the maître d’ reappears with a young girl holding a large electronic device. Her kimono is gorgeous: a lavender background with pink sakura petals floating over a garden and a pond etched in perfect details at the bottom of her dress. Hino’s eyebrow lifts a little as she watches the petals flow in invisible wind. Akki smirks. “See? I told you this is the place for us. No more waitin’ all year for the one day we can go out in the human world and do what we want.”

“Oh, certainly, if you do not mind people throwing soybeans at you all night.”

“Hino.” Akki cocks his head at her. “They’re just beans. Now, check this shit out.” Akki proceeds to bark his order from the paper menu: “Fugu liver and spike dorian, four plates of each. Aka-chan sashimi, two plates … um, the ground bone gratin, four of those, and two plates of your finest horse.”

The young server blinks in stunned confusion. The maître d’ murmurs Japanese into her ear. After a few moments of quick interpretation, the server nods and taps the screen at record speed to keep up with Akki’s requests. “Hai, kashikomarimashita,” she confirms. “Nomimono wa?”

“A glass of your youngest B-positive blood, and a whiskey sour.” He grins proudly across the table. Hino is not amused. “Oh, come on! That’s the whole reason I brought your skinny ass here! What restaurant in this country do you know that has B-positive blood? Name one! See? You can’t.” She does not respond. Akki frowns. “Fi-ine,” he whines. “Just the whiskey sour.”

“Hai, hai!” The server bows, then flutters to the bar and returns holding a single whiskey sour in both hands as if it is a precious artifact. “Jibun rashiku ite kudasai,” she sings as she bows again and disappears.

“I apologize,” the maître d’ says with a bow. “Our restaurant is still very new; in time, our staff will learn to understand our clients in fluent yumego. If there are any problems, please do not hesitate to talk to management. Jibun rashiku ite kudasai; please be yourselves.” With a final bow she takes her leave to guide new arrivals.

“Yeah, Hino, please be yourself,” Akki grumbles before he downs his drink. The girl removes her sunglasses and places them delicately on the table. They glare into each other’s eyes — in the light, she can see the pulsing, neon-green flames in his eyes, and he can see her crimson irises. Hino turns away to look about the restaurant. She is not in the mood to argue with him. She never is. Akki signals a waitress for another drink and resumes sulking.