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It's been nearly ten years since they had okonomiyaki together, but Eri Natsuhara still recalls how he prefers to whisk his egg before adding the cabbage. Toshiro Kasukabe was always meticulous, methodical to a fault. "It's better to make sure the egg is fully whisked," he would insist. "You get the best egg-to-toppings ratio that way."
Eri doubted it then, and she doubts it now, sitting across from the youngest elected member of the National Diet, and the youngest to resign.
"I haven't been here in ages," he remarks while making quick, efficient strokes to mix together the remainder of his batter.
"Neither have I," Eri says. "Not since last time."
A single fan sits atop the tatami mat in the corner. Sometarō never had air conditioning before, and it probably never will given that it's one of the oldest okonomiyaki restaurants in Japan. The breeze beats against her back like a constant reminder of that last time. She wonders if his last visit here was that same one. He spent an inordinate amount of time whisking his batter then too, though Eri chalked it up to nervous excitement after the confrontation with Nakabachi.
She shifts her cane to the side, leaning over the hot plate with her bowl. Toshiro raises an eyebrow. "Shrimp?"
"Always. Pork?"
"I felt like a change."
His own pancake follows shortly after, and for a moment everything sizzles, smells, and sounds like ten years ago.
"I'm sorry."
He breaks the silence first by throwing out quite possibly the heaviest remark in his arsenal, coupled with that look. Oh, Eri knows that look. It's a pained one he used to wear when the weight of the world rested on his shoulders as he attempted to solve every single woe that crossed the threshold of the student council's office.
Eri grins and nudges his pancake with the blunt side of her spatula. "Don't be. I don't expect you to order the cuttlefish okonomiyaki every single time."
"No, that's...that's not what I meant."
She knows that, of course.
"After...everything that happened." His mouth draws in a firm, thin line, and Eri watches his throat work at shaping whatever words he plans to say next. "I truly thought you hated me. I hated me. You had every right to."
"Hate is a really strong word."
"I wouldn't blame you in the least."
"We did the right thing." Eri asserts. She pauses to take a sip from her glass of water and her ears prick at the sound of tourists two spots away mulling over the menu. She quickly deduces this is their third attempt at seeking a place for dinner, and they're on their honeymoon. "You did the right thing. I said it then, and I'll say it now."
He draws a sharp breath. "I'm sure you saw the news."
"I kind of am the news these days," Eri can't resist. She flashes him a crooked grin and delights in the way his eyebrows shoot up. Nearly ten years later and catching the great Toshiro Kasukabe off-guard is still one of the most rewarding activities.
His surprise melts away to a genuine smile. One that makes something between her rib cage flutter. It's been a long time since that happened, too. Eri chooses to ignore it. "I travel a lot, meet a lot of really interesting people. It's everything I could've hoped for. It just took me a little while to work my way up to it. I needed to recover."
Eri doesn't specify what kind of recovery she needed. Toshiro might be a dolt at times, but he's sharp enough to understand not all her wounds following Nakabachi's murder attempt were physical. One doesn't simply bounce back after being pushed into an oncoming train. She peels back the edge of her okonomiyaki. Still cooking. "I don't take the train anymore."
"I..."
"I fly. I fly all over, actually."
He leans forward. That curious spark in his eyes makes it easy to keep talking. "Journalism isn't what I thought it would be. Interviewing people is just the beginning. There's the research and the writing and the editing. And the deadlines. They're the worst part. But there's something exciting about telling a story."
"You have a gift. You always have."
Eri ducks her head and feels the tips of her ears turn red. She can't miss the chance to take a shot back at him. "Yeah, well I've been working on my current story for a long time. I think I've reached a breakthrough now though."
Toshiro's rise in the ranks through the Diet and subsequent whispers about securing the spot of prime minister were no surprise to her. Not only because of his strategic mind and intelligence, but also because he had a tendency to throw himself headfirst into any challenge he was presented with. Even losing battles. In fact, the man always seemed to err on the losing side so long as it meant standing up for what was right.
She doesn't mention how long she's followed his political career. Nor does she mention the shady dealings her investigations have turned up. The Toshiro she knew would never have gotten tangled up in a web of corruption. But his father would. The more she dug, the more she was certain of this.
There's nothing more to hide at this point though. After Toshiro's resignation and the indictment of his father, the whole world knew. So she doesn't mention any of it because what's the point?
And she absolutely does not mention anything about how he called off his arranged marriage to the conglomerate heiress Marie Anto.
Eri spent a great deal of time convincing herself it wasn't stalking. Of course not! It was all done in the name of journalistic integrity - following every speech, every shred of news and every press conference involving Toshiro after they went their separate ways years ago. 'Besides, we were friends!' She would tell herself this regularly. 'Friends keep tabs on each other, and he's just unlucky enough that I'm thorough.'
Friends also keep in touch, which neither of them did. Not until now.
Toshiro flicks his wrist and slides his spatula under the okonomiyaki, plating hers first followed by his own. It's a gentlemanly action, an old habit from their school days. He probably doesn't even think anything of it. Without saying anything the two share the mayonnaise.
She's not sure when the change happened. Maybe sometime around when he started showing up in televised press briefings after his engagement was announced and looked like he swallowed a lemon. But at some point Eri began involving herself on social media channels, dropping a comment here and there about him. All innocuous statements, often highlighting things he'd done that were positive and overlooked. Quiet, measured actions to benefit his public image. It felt like the only way she could reach him. 'I'm here to help,' they seemed to say.
Now that the cat is out of the bag though, Eri can't keep up with the online discourse. Sure, there are plenty of negative sentiments, but the positivity is gaining traction. Partly thanks to her. But none of it would be possible if he weren't doing good in the first place.
"How do you like the shrimp?" Toshiro asks.
"It's good." Eri takes a large bite and hums. "It always is. You'll have to forgive me though, I'm stunned you actually ordered something else."
"It was time for a change. And I don't know, making the jump from cuttlefish to pork is a pretty big change."
"Mighty. A leap, even. Courageous of you."
Toshiro turns his chopsticks over between his fingers, and the wood slides against the rough scarred patch of skin marring his hand. "For a long time, I thought you were my courage, Eri."
It's not the first time he's said something like this. Usually in school it was said with a layer of begrudging humor, and it was often Eri who made the claim. It is, however, the first time in a long time, and the way he says it now...it's different.
"I finally found it though," Toshiro continues. "And I'm not letting fear hold me back any longer. Even if I have to rebuild myself from the ground up, I'm doing it on my terms this time."
"It sounds like you have a plan."
"I'm hoping I can enlist the help of a journalist I know."
Eri's chopsticks still, and she raises an eyebrow. A mischievous grin unfurls across her lips. With an air of casual grace she pushes back the hair from her right eye.
The effect is immediate. Toshiro's breath hitches, his jaw goes slack, and the way he stares at her, unabashed, makes Eri feel powerful and invincible. Not ashamed, not damaged. "It's glass, if you're wondering."
He opens his mouth to say something, but Eri continues. "Do you have any idea how long it took me to come up with a name for it? 'The Glass Eye' sounds like a really cheesy detective noir film. Glass Eye, reporting for duty. Definitely wasn't going with that one."
There it is, that playful spark she hoped to coax out of him. "I'm thinking... 'Seeing Eye of Justice'?" He offers.
"I like it, but it's missing a certain je ne sais quoi ."
"I don't speak French," he retorts, and it's not fair the way his voice is pitched so low. "Come on, 'Seeing Eye of Justice' is great. You'd have an amazing logo. I can picture it now."
"I'm going with 'The Observant Eye'," Eri declares.
Toshiro chuckles. "That works. I think you've earned the right to a moniker."
"I'm working on my next article as The Observant Eye." She can't help but emphasize the name, savoring the taste of the title on her tongue. "I'd like to do a piece about a certain politician who just uprooted his whole lousy corrupt life because he grew a heart. Think you can help me?"
"I can do better than that," he replies. "There's a lot to cover though. Do you...want coffee after? I know a great place. They serve curry too."
"Coffee and curry?"
"I know, it seems weird, but it works. Trust me."
"Sounds kind of familiar, actually. It's perfect."
They finish the meal just as dinner rush begins to pick up. At some point during the walk to the cafe Eri slips her hand in his, and Toshiro doesn't let go this time.