One day in August, the weather was clear and dazzling.
Upon waking in the morning, Yukino Ritsuko opened the window of her room, the leaves glimring in the morning light. The weather forecast said today would be sunny, with a cool breeze.
After a simple wash, she rode her ladies’ bicycle to the bread factory.
The early morning in Tokyo was a Tokyo gradually beginning to bustle. Trains continually entered and exited stations, well-dressed office workers hurriedly commuting, crows leaping among treetops. n lay sprawled in wicker chairs reading newspapers under eaves, the figures of apron-clad housewives flickered inside, and children’s loud voices sliced through the space like shards of glass.
Like visiting a zoo, Yukino Ritsuko enjoyed observing the life of the world in this way.
Stopping at a red light, she waited. In the roadside greenery, the sumr cicadas were still singing fervently.
Ten years ago, when Yukino Ritsuko first ca to Tokyo from Hokkaido, she discovered many surprising things, one of which was the cicada song. Of course, Hokkaido also had cicadas, but in the forested mountains where she was born, covered half the year with ice and snow, cicada calls were balanced with bird song, the sound of the wind, and such. But in Tokyo, cicadas seed to assert their presence, their calls full of explosive force, even overpowering the sound of traffic on the streets.
Thankfully, sumr was almost over... Yukino Ritsuko sighed lightly.
The red light turned green, and she rode her bicycle away. Tokyo was still brightly sunny, the silver ladies’ watch on her slender wrist reflecting light.
For her, whose true form was the Snow Woman, sumr was sowhat unbearable.
Hiding indoors was fine, with air conditioning, and she could also use demonic power to cool down. But on the streets, she couldn’t use her demonic power. Exposed to the sun for a while, her skin would beco like lting snow, oozing a lot of water, and her skin’s color would beco increasingly transparent.
To avoid ordinary people noticing anything unusual, even in the sweltering sumr, Yukino Ritsuko would choose clothing that covered her body as much as possible when going out. As a result, every ti she returned ho, her clothes were sopping wet, completely soaked through.
Yet, despite this, Yukino Ritsuko did not dislike sumr.
Perhaps due to being overly familiar with the harsh winter, in comparison, she found sumr more relaxing, her mood more serene.
Having picked up bread from the bread factory and returned to the shop, she gave the storefront a quick clean, put the bread on display, and was ready to open for business.
The [Lemon] bread shop was decidedly small, with only five sets of sofa seats in the dining area, and a row of high stools by the street-facing floor-to-ceiling window. There was no precisely calculated layout, no well-trained staff, only gently flowing music and a young woman often seen reading behind the counter.
Today was no different.
Beneath the morning’s already scorching sunlight, Yukino Ritsuko sat in the air-conditioned shop, reading.
Outside, the world was on sumr vacation, boys heading to the beach to embrace the sea. She still wore a white vest layered with a light blue cardigan, a black pencil skirt and black stockings on her lower half, and wedge sandals on her feet. Expecting to be quite leisurely, it was surprising that there were quite a few custors coming to buy bread today. From the morning onwards, custors ca in one after another, out-of-town tourists with their baggage, students holding sketchbooks, couples strolling hand-in-hand.
It was not until around nine in the morning that only one custor remained in the bread shop.
A young woman with long black hair carrying an old shopping bag.
Her expression was cool, wearing a smart black suit, exuding a dangerous aura for so reason. Contrary to her smart appearance, she was painstakingly slow in selecting bread, carefully placing a fried pastry bread and a jam-filled pastry onto a shallow plate, but did not imdiately proceed to the register, instead comparing it with other bread.
Yukino Ritsuko watched her from behind the counter.
After a few comparisons, she shook her head, put the jam-filled pastry back on the shelf, her expression suggesting that she shouldn’t choose this bread because it was too sweet.
After so consideration, she gently picked out two whole wheat breads and ca to the counter to pay.
"That will be 1600 yen." Yukino Ritsuko said with a smile.
The smile, like an iceberg faintly showing, sunlight in spring streaming down through the clouds.
The woman took out her phone and wallet, extracted bills from her wallet to pay. During the transaction, she opened her phone and browsed several pages.
"Here’s your change." Yukino Ritsuko handed over the change.
"Thank you." The woman, holding her phone, placed the change into her wallet, then gracefully turned and walked out the glass door, her neat black hair gleaming under the lights.
Yukino Ritsuko furrowed her brow slightly.
On that woman’s phone just now, there was a docunt open with so information about Asakusa Shrine. After briefly thinking it over, the foolish woman left the bread shop and quietly followed the woman.
In the sunlit alley, filled with the vibe of midsumr, many people were dipping their feet in the shimring waves of the Sumida River to cool off.
The alley was filled with oppressive sumr heat as Yukino Ritsuko pushed through the heat, moving forward, her body quickly becoming sticky and clammy.
Walking toward Asakusa Shrine, she arrived at the uphill in front of the torii gate. The woman’s figure disappeared behind the gate.
Yukino Ritsuko clearly felt the fluctuation of demonic energy, as if sothing was waiting ahead. She cautiously entered the shrine’s courtyard, where traces of demonic energy still lingered. In the insect-chirping, bird-singing courtyard, sothing hidden in the depths moved slowly forward.
A crow quietly followed her.
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