The food comes and goes without another word exchanged. While Akki wolfs down everything that steams and wriggles before him, Hino cannot help but marvel at the voraciousness of his mortal inclinations. Earlier, she had presupposed his attempt at conversation as chauvinistic banter; but, watching him now, she sees there was more to it. Hino always thought yokai were above such earthly desires as food and sex. She has never known another to engage in these fledgling behaviours with such enthusiasm. Then again, she thinks to herself, Akki has always been a bit “unique” and, to be fair, everyone must consume something for survival. Even demons. She decides to keep this rationalization to herself, however, and turns to watch the stage, upon which two human girls appear with a large, ancient-looking woman. They lead her to a stack of cushions and a shamisen in the centre of the stage and, struggling together, help her sit. One puts a large shakuhachi flute in her hands before they bow to the audience and flit back to the wings. The woman’s eyes are white, bulging vacant orbs in her slowly decomposing skull. She sings in a scratchy warbling voice, an ancient song no human would understand. She then brings the bamboo flute to her dry, cracked lips and plays another melancholic tune. During her third song, the woman’s kimono twitches. Another pair of long, craggy arms stretches out from once-unseen sleeves and plays along on the shamisen. Hino finds herself nodding in time with every piece. When the performance ends in a final dramatic flourish, everyone rises to their feet in applause, clapping long after the four-armed creature is guided off stage.

Maybe this place is not so bad, Hino thinks to herself.

Once the woman is gone, human musicians arrive with koto to play for ambiance, and a flood of customers enter the restaurant. Some are as big as Akki, their skin the colour of his ruby bracelet, sporting dark matted hair, horns, and severe underbites. Some are fat, flesh-coloured, and so short they would not be able to stand next to Hino without seeing under her skirt. Others arrive dressed as humans, unzipping their skin and shedding their disguises once seated at their tables. The patrons at the sushi bar greet their long-time friends as they unzip their own uncomfortable facial disguises. Akki pretends to ignore the fact that Hino remains unchanged. She has been stuck-up ever since they met. He does not expect her to relax anytime soon.

“Wow, we really did get here just in time,” Akki says, mostly to himself. “Not late enough to enjoy the slogan, though.”

The bite in his words seems to be directed at a pale-blond man bumping into the tables and guests, escorted by a group of flush-faced red-haired Japanese women, who laugh as he whirls and topples against them. “Oh man, this place is sick,” the man slurs. “Who’s up for some sake, baby?! Whoo!”