Chapter Twenty-Eight: Bone Broth

Sitting in the bland, windowless conference room, Ijuuin felt his phone buzz for the third time that morning and wondered if he dared sneak a glimpse at it to determine the identity of the texter. Sure, he was interested in the production team's plans for overseas marketing–he wanted to see the movie sell well as much as any of them–but did they really have to go into such elaborate detail for their plans for each subregion of each of the many countries they had lined up licensing partnerships with? And even if they did, did he really have to be in attendance for the duration of their presentation? It wasn't as if he would suddenly leap up and say, "Yes, I have an insightful and precise suggestion for advertising in the East Kalimantan region of Indonesia!" He didn't even know where the East Kalimantan region of Indonesia was; maybe he ought to Google it later. Hmm, maybe he could Google it right now and that would be his cover for looking at his phone.

"Sensei?" a voice interrupted the formation of his secret plan and forced his eyes to unglaze themselves. It was the room's youngest member, an enthusiastic intern who had been more than eager to pepper him with questions during the earlier part of the meeting, when the movie management had asked him to outline the movie's plot to open the discussion and bring everyone onto the same page.

"Yes, what can I help you with?" he replied, hoping it wasn't obvious his thoughts had been elsewhere.

"I'm gathering the lunch orders and I was wondering if you had a specific request?" she asked. Luckily, it didn't sound like a repeated question.

Ah, he thought, the usual misunderstanding: people thinking that I have exacting culinary specifications because I'm a food writer. It wasn't something he minded as much recently, he realized, guessing his association with a certain promising young chef had given him a greater appreciation for a truly well-cooked meal.

"I can't say I'm exceptionally knowledgeable with Yokohama's best lunching, so I'll defer to the local advantage," he replied, passing the buck back to its giver with his usual reply. "Something warm though, please." He would love a five year old Yamazaki on the rocks, too, but judged it more prudent to keep his mouth shut on that request. Not many outside the professions of writer or artist would accept drinking so early in the day, even if he maintained that, in this case, he was only looking to pass the meeting in a more enjoyable way. The intern beamed as if he meant it as a compliment, which he chose to allow her, and stepped out of the room to make the order.

When the lunch order finally arrived, he found she had chosen a meal of kushikatsu with rice. Seeing the bamboo skewers piercing through the fried food, he was reminded of another impaled meal: the fateful dinner where Mikari had confessed his intentions for their friendship. He felt guilty at the memory of his chef friend, ashamed he'd lazily whiled away so much time without answering the looming, nerve-wracking question the boy had posed. Reminded of Mikari, he dug out his phone, guessing one of that morning's texts might be from his charming young admirer. Intriguingly, he found the name Aikawa doubled on his notification screen–there were communiqués from both his dinner companion and the boy's persevering editor cousin. He opened Mikari's text first, assuming Aikawa's text would most likely be about her cousin, who she had taken under her wing with the protectiveness of an older sister.

Am ill. Dinner canceled.

Ijuuin's heart sank below his stomach and he suddenly lost all hunger for the previously delicious smelling kushikatsu before him. Ill? Ill how? It had to be bad if he'd only been able to get out so little: usually Mikari's missives seemed oddly long for the medium of text. Double checking Aikawa's message, he learn Mikari was resting at home (what a relief to learn he wasn't in the hospital) and quickly resolved to pay him a visit as soon as he could. It was the least he could do, and Mikari would have probably done double, cooking him up a feast of the most healthful and immune-fortifying of his vast array of delectable recipes. Making short work of half of his kushikatsu (he might as well fortify himself while it was before him, after all), he cautiously approached the meeting's leader. He wasn't sure how well a request to leave early would go down–these people all seemed very serious about their work, and it was pretty clear from the level of detail of this morning's presentation that they were very thorough with it as well.

"Asano-san?"

She politely broke off her conversation with two of her employees, "Yes, Sensei? What can I do for you?"

"I'm deeply sorry to have to ask you this, but would you mind restricting this afternoon's discussion to the bare essentials and leaving discussion of the rest for a later date? I just received word that a very good friend of mine is rather sick, and I'm anxious to visit them as soon as I can."

Her face morphed from irritation to concern at his reasoning, and she turned to beckon the employees she had just been speaking to, who had been making their way back to their lunches. "Goodness, I hope your friend's malady isn't too serious. Just yesterday, my nephew went to see the doctor for what they thought was a flu and turned out to be meningitis! You never know these days. I'll talk to Hirayama and Hishikawa and have them slim down what they can."

"Thank you so much, Asano-san," he replied gratefully, bowing. Returning to his seat, he tried to keep his face calm, though internally his mind was roiling. What if Mikari had meningitis? He didn't know much about the illness, but he knew it was serious, resulting in inflammation in the brain. No, he told himself, that was something that would land a person in the hospital. If Mikari was still at home, it couldn't be that bad. But what if he thought it was a just an ordinary headache and fever mix?

He wrenched himself away from the nervous whirlpool beginning to form in his head and focused on making it through whatever now remained of his meeting.

Three hours of surreptitious pen twiddling, chair shifting and wondering what the full length version could have been if this was the "slimmed down" version later, Asano stood to bring the meeting to an early close.

"Thank you everyone for your contributions today and a special thank you to Ijuuin-sensei and the representatives from Marukawa Shoten. On that note, I also want to thank everyone for their cooperation with the shortening of our presentation to help Sensei be on his way to see his dear sick friend."

Kirishima, across the room, shot Ijuuin a confused, suspicious glance; he hadn't overheard the conversation between the mangaka and Asano earlier and had been wondering what Asano had meant when she had said, upon reconvening the meeting after lunch, that they would be "keeping the presentation short and sweet as someone unfortunately must leave early".

"Please don't neglect to ask myself, Asano Sayuri, or my two second-in-commands: head of sales Hirayama Tomoya-san and film production head Hishikawa Tsugumichi-san, if you should have any questions beyond the further material we will be distributing to supplement this meeting."

She gestured to the two employees she had been speaking to when Ijuuin approached her, and he realized with a start as she did that he had been mistaking the two for each other the entire meeting. Really he ought to be focusing on something that important, he thought, and hoped Kirishima would make sure he was up to speed later.

Dark blue eyes locked on his phone moments later as he stood on a subway platform researching when he could next get a train to Tokyo. Fifteen minutes, it seemed–if he could manage to be at the right station in time for the right train.

Luck was on his side, and seventy-six minutes later he again stood on a subway platform, eyes locked on his phone, researching again. This time, thought, it was what food was most effective as a general immune booster. After a quick stop at the supermarket (why were there so many types of bone broth available?), he headed towards the flat Mikari and his editor cousin shared. The university student had divulged the address rather begrudgingly at one of their previous dinners and now Ijuuin was glad he had pressed for it: it would have been rather tricky to obtain it at that very moment. Briefly, he thought about calling the young man to let him know he was coming–surprise wasn't exactly the best medicine–but decided against it: he didn't want to disturb any hard-won slumbers.

Bone broth carton in one hand and grab-bag pharmacy medley in the other, he mustered up his courage, donned his best let's-get-you-better smile, and knocked.

A/N: Hey, I'm back! On a related note, this was supposed to be up middle of last week but I got sick. What an unfortunate coincidence :(