A Journey to Kagoshima

This was Zhao Tianxing’s first time driving alone to a place a thousand miles away. At Deer Academy, there was certainly no class dedicated to long-distance travel, so he hadn’t realized he needed to plan for rest breaks. Last night, after mapping out his route, he busied himself gathering travel essentials and checking the car. So when he realized he’d made a rather laughable mistake, he immediately took action to address it.

“Miss Minami, I’m afraid your happiness is a bit premature. Did you know that in rally racing, there are always two people to a team?”

Minami Junka tilted her head, not quite understanding, anxiously awaiting his next words.

“Besides the driver, there’s always a navigator in the passenger seat,” Zhao Tianxing said, eyes fixed on the road, face impassive.

Only then did Minami Junka realize what he meant. She let out a soft sigh of relief. “You mean I need to be your navigator?”

Zhao Tianxing nodded. “I’ll be counting on you, Miss Minami.”

Minami Junka didn’t take offense; instead, she nodded. To her, mutual need, not pity or sympathy, was the true bond between companions.

She eagerly opened the map on her phone, and Zhao Tianxing let out a subtle breath. If Minami Junka had decided to sulk, he’d have had to pull over at a rest stop and replan everything, wasting precious time.

He hadn’t forgotten that he hadn’t come to Tokyo alone by plane. As the group’s adviser, he was entrusted by Irina to look after his juniors. Though he suspected that Ji Ning and the others were probably safe, the long silence had left him worried.

“Skyline-kun, you’ll be entering the Tōmei region soon. We can rest there and grab lunch,” Minami Junka interrupted his thoughts.

He nodded. As an adviser, he wasn’t technically responsible for anyone’s actions, but after so much time together, he had come to see them as friends.

At the service area, Zhao Tianxing sat at the table, gazing at the pale buckwheat noodles before him. The egg yolk—like a full moon floating in the clear broth—gave this soba its name: “Moon-Viewing Soba.”

He took a bite, then looked up to see Minami Junka press her palms together and murmur, “I’m starting now.” After spending so much time with her, Zhao Tianxing had learned a few of her habits.

If it was Western fast food—KFC or McDonald’s—she never said that phrase. But at Japanese-style meals—sushi, eel rice—she always did, as if a necessary ritual before eating.

Zhao Tianxing didn’t understand the point of this phrase. Was it to psychologically prepare the food to be eaten?

“Before nightfall, we need to at least reach the Sanyō Expressway service area,” Minami Junka said, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear and sipping her broth.

“If you want to return to Tokyo, you’ll have to wait a few months, maybe longer,” Zhao Tianxing said, glancing out the window just as a car pulled up, a family of three stepping out for what looked like a road trip.

“No, I don’t want to go back to Tokyo anymore,” Minami Junka replied, following his gaze, her eyes lingering on the child whose hand was held by his mother.

“What’s happened to you these days isn’t really your fault. Once it’s all resolved, you can still live safely in Tokyo,” Zhao Tianxing said, though it wasn’t convenient to explain everything about the Flesh Cult. Minami Junka didn’t press further.

“No, it’s not that. Even if none of this had happened, I wouldn’t want to stay in Tokyo anymore,” she said, twirling her soba with her chopsticks.

Zhao Tianxing didn’t ask why, just as Minami Junka didn’t ask him why these things had happened to her.

By the time he finished his last bite of noodles, Minami Junka had already paid the bill and returned.

Zhao Tianxing wasn’t the type who insisted a man should always pay when eating with a woman to prove his generosity. He was long used to treating everything with calm indifference.

They returned to the car, one after the other. After Minami Junka had fastened her seatbelt, Zhao Tianxing didn’t hit the gas. He noticed her gaze lingered on the place where they had just eaten, now occupied by the family of three.

“Do you still have relatives in Kagoshima?” he asked, not sure why, but the question slipped out.

“My grandmother lives there,” Minami Junka replied, withdrawing her gaze and giving him a gentle smile. She was about to see her only living relative, a sense of security washing over her heart. At the thought of her grandmother, her mood grew as bright as the weather outside.

Zhao Tianxing pressed the accelerator, and the somewhat old black Infiniti slipped forward once more through the sunlight.

“Skyline-kun, do you ever get homesick?”

For a moment, Zhao Tianxing hesitated, then answered softly, “Yes.”

“Then why do you do such dangerous work?” Minami Junka wasn’t foolish. She had realized from his bearing and actions that he must be involved in some dangerous line of work—maybe even a world-saving secret agent.

“Because I’m looking for someone. I have to find her,” Zhao Tianxing said quietly after a pause, his cool voice rebounding from the car window, echoing in Minami Junka’s heart.

“The girl who looks like me?” Minami Junka pressed her lips together, a complex emotion welling up inside her.

“Yes.”

She said nothing more, gazing silently at the scenery rushing past her window. Time seemed to crystallize on that highway, seeping away along the composite roadbed of reinforced concrete and high-performance asphalt.

Neither spoke, the hush as deep as that of a solitary journey. The afternoon slipped by, silent as drifting clouds in the sky.

By the time dusk fell and the headlights flickered on, they had reached the Sanyō Expressway service area.

Minami Junka stretched languidly after getting out, her graceful silhouette causing Zhao Tianxing to avert his eyes reflexively.

“Ah! Skyline-kun, you really are shy,” Minami Junka said, her cheeks tinged pink, though she tried to disguise her embarrassment with a nonchalant smile, then headed toward a restaurant called Miki.

Zhao Tianxing checked the fuel gauge and called after her, “I’m going to fill up at the station ahead. If you’re hungry, don’t wait for me.”

She waved back to show she’d heard, disappearing from his view.

Zhao Tianxing aimed the fuel nozzle at the tank, then looked up into the black night. Suddenly, he remembered his last Mid-Autumn Festival in China: lanterns flickering, a world of illusion and splendor, familiar faces growing strangely distant in his memory.

At last, he understood why he’d driven this old Infiniti back, why he’d agreed to accompany Minami Junka on this journey. After she left that night, a voice kept repeating in his heart.

Everyone deserves to go home.

After a night’s rest and a good breakfast, the two set out again. The weather was beautiful, and the lively chatter of the girl beside him was equally lovely.

When Zhao Tianxing arrived at the East Exit of Shimonoseki Station, at the “Toyoko INN,” it was already nine in the morning.

“From Shimonoseki, get on the expressway, cross the Kanmon Bridge into Kyushu, and keep following the Kyushu road. Exit the Kyushu highway at Hirokawa after Kurume, then head south on Route 3. After passing through Yame, you’ll be in Kumamoto Prefecture,” Minami Junka said, lowering the car window. Zhao Tianxing slowed slightly, letting the wind become more gentle.

He’d thought this journey would remain tedious but easy. But when he stopped the car to gaze at the endless sea, he turned and stared at Minami Junka for a while. Unless this car was from Cybertron, there was no way they’d be crossing that stretch of water in it.

Minami Junka, embarrassed by his gaze, explained, “The map shows there’s a ferry.”

Zhao Tianxing pulled out the key and asked several ferrymen. At first, things went well, but as soon as he pointed to the car, every one of them politely refused.

“Sorry sir, only the big ferries can carry a vehicle that size. Please try further ahead.”

Minami Junka blinked. “Should we go across first and rent a car on the other side?”

Zhao Tianxing shook his head. “With my current status, I can’t rent a car. And since you’ve already rented one under your name, we probably couldn’t get another one anyway.”

As he was preparing to cross first and figure out transportation later, a thunderous roar caught his attention, and he instinctively shielded Minami Junka.

A gang of bōsōzoku, dressed in Yokosuka jackets, silver skull necklaces on their chests, sunglasses glinting, roared past on their heavy bikes, shouting and howling with abandon. Everything about them screamed: We’re the type to shake down elementary schoolers at arcades for their lunch money. Before you mess with us, you’d better know how to handle fools like us—otherwise, you’ll find there’s no talking sense to us at all.

At their head was a silver-and-white beast of a motorcycle, its exposed engine like the rippling muscle of a steel monster, radiating an irresistible allure in every detail and design—a machine no man could resist.

Zhao Tianxing was no exception.

Only after the bōsōzoku vanished in a cloud of dust did he turn to find Minami Junka watching him with interest. “So men really do love these cool machines. Skyline-kun, you’re no exception.”

He nodded, then observed the road nearby. Unsurprisingly, these bikers had chosen this stretch for a reason: the ferry port, with no billboards or trees to obstruct the view, offered a long, straight run where they could test their top speeds with relative safety.

He stared at Minami Junka until she looked utterly confused, then beckoned her over. “Stand next to me in a moment—they’ll come by again.” He looked around and casually tore a large piece of pale blue metal from a nearby rusty drum.

“Hold this up,” he said, handing it to her.

Minami Junka took it, bewildered. “Why?”

“Just hold it up, Miss Minami. Then we’ll have a new ride.” A faint smile flickered across his refined features, no longer cold and aloof but, for a moment, almost divine. Minami Junka’s heart fluttered as if she’d received a blessing from the gods.

She didn’t ask further, sneaking glances at him while holding the dirty metal like a sign.

As expected, the bōsōzoku thundered back the way they’d come.

With Minami Junka standing out with her makeshift sign, the pimply boys on their motorcycles whistled as they passed.

Only after the last bike disappeared did Zhao Tianxing shake his head. “You can put it down now.”

Just as Minami Junka was about to demand an explanation, the gang returned, as if they’d forgotten something.

All the motorcycles stopped a short distance away. The boy riding the silver Kawasaki H2 at the front held his phone, comparing Minami Junka to a photo over and over.

“You’re Minami Junka, aren’t you?” he asked, unable to hide his excitement. It had to be her—the girl from the photo. If he handed her over to the Yamaguchi-gumi, he’d finally become a full-fledged yakuza.

A barely perceptible smile played at Zhao Tianxing’s lips. He stepped forward and stood before Minami Junka. “If you’re sure, then come and get her.”

Ten minutes later, Minami Junka picked her way through the groaning bōsōzoku on the ground. “Do we need helmets?”

Seated on the Kawasaki H2, Zhao Tianxing thought for a moment, then removed the key and walked past the fallen bikers. He remembered a girl in a miniskirt and smokey makeup had tried to hit him with a helmet. Though she missed, that helmet stuck in his mind—it was the only one among twenty bikes. If the Metropolitan Police’s Traffic Division heard of that ratio, they’d be delighted: at least there was one.

“Hey, you probably won’t need this anymore. Mind if I borrow it?” he asked the girl, who, despite showing no restraint when she threw the helmet, was the only one still standing—he didn’t like hitting women. At his words, she hastily shook her head, and the boy with shoeprints on his face pushed the helmet toward him.

“Thanks.” Zhao Tianxing picked it up and handed it to Minami Junka, who hesitated, wiped it off with a tissue, and put it on, her excitement barely contained. “Skyline-kun, you’re amazing! Just like Jackie Chan in the movies! So it’s true—all Chinese people know kung fu.”

She hopped and struck a pose, making “hiya!” sounds.

Zhao Tianxing didn’t explain. He strode over to the machine that started it all, mounted the silver Kawasaki H2, and turned to Minami Junka. “Hop on. I’ll take you home.”

Looking at him—so like a high school boy taking his girlfriend for a joyride—Minami Junka felt a strange sense of time slipping backward. She blushed slightly, but she was never the type to play coy when it mattered.

She wasn’t wearing a skirt but shorts, so she swung her long, bare legs over the bike. Zhao Tianxing turned the key, twisted the throttle, and started the engine. The four-cylinder, four-stroke beast roared to life, the exhaust blowing against her legs, power surging through the steel monster. No bike would ever let a young man down.

“I’ll return the bike here in a few days,” Zhao Tianxing said, exhilarated by the wind and speed that only a man could fully appreciate.

Minami Junka waved behind her. “We’ll bring back the helmet too!” She hugged Zhao Tianxing’s waist without hesitation—only that way could she avoid being thrown off.

She breathed in his scent, her cheeks flushed with thoughts she dared not voice. Her hands lingered on his abs, sculpted by years of training, and she couldn’t help but squeeze them.

Zhao Tianxing said nothing. He could guess what she was thinking—her curiosity akin to a boy’s fascination with the differences of the opposite sex. As long as her hands didn’t wander further, he had no intention of breaking the silence.

Adrenaline surged, igniting his blood. As the motorcycle howled toward the horizon, Zhao Tianxing twisted the throttle.

“Where are we going? Aren’t we supposed to cross the strait?” Minami Junka shouted in his ear, the wind snatching away her words and the scenery behind them. She felt an unprecedented freedom.

Zhao Tianxing, unwilling to admit he’d gotten carried away, simply said, “I’m just giving it a test run. If it doesn’t work out, we’ll get another one.”

Minami Junka poked his shoulder, laughing like a little fox. “Liar!”

Zhao Tianxing didn’t argue. Only now, riding into the wind and sunlight, did he truly look his age—a young man in his twenties, smiling at the world.

Hours later—“Slow down!”—Minami Junka called as they crossed the Kanmon Bridge on the expressway.

Zhao Tianxing slowed down, puzzled. “Do you need a restroom?”

Minami Junka pinched his waist in mock anger. “A beautiful girl doesn’t need the restroom!”

He didn’t dispute that obvious fallacy, thinking any debate was pointless—the moment you open your mouth, you’ve already lost.

When he nodded, Minami Junka took off her helmet and pulled out a red bean bun from her bag. The wind was strong, so every bite was half bread and half air, but at least half was something.

The Kanmon Strait separated Kyushu from Honshu, sunlight glinting off the waves. Even in his peripheral vision, the endless blue sea stretched on, the salty sea breeze caressing his face like a whisper from the gods.

Zhao Tianxing’s scant knowledge of this strait came from his kendo instructor. This was where Sasaki Kojirō and Miyamoto Musashi had dueled on Ganryū Island—a battle for the ages, victory and defeat decided, but the legend enduring.

As he pondered how to improve his swordsmanship, Minami Junka poked him from behind.

“Skyline-kun, are you hungry?”

“No.”

“I have half a red bean bun left.”

“Thanks, but I’m driving.”

“I can feed you.”

“Thank you, but I’m not hungry.”

Minami Junka fell silent. Zhao Tianxing was about to return to his thoughts when she poked him again.

He waited, but she said nothing, only a muffled voice reaching him. “I have half a red bean bun.”

In the end, Zhao Tianxing relented. Minami Junka, attentive as ever, tore the bun into small pieces and fed them to him bit by bit. Chewing the sweet bread, Zhao Tianxing thought it was actually pretty good. “Is there any more?” he asked offhandedly.

“Didn’t you say you weren’t hungry?” came the muffled, playful reply from behind him.

Zhao Tianxing didn’t respond, but a moment later another piece of red bean bun appeared at his lips. He accepted it without hesitation.

By nightfall, they had entered the outskirts of Yatsushiro City.

Thanks to the red bean bun, Zhao Tianxing wasn’t hungry, so they stopped only once at a service area. But as night deepened, the rider finally pulled to a halt—Minami Junka couldn’t bear the hunger any longer. Because of someone’s appetite, she’d only eaten half of the two buns she’d prepared for dinner.

She had hoped Zhao Tianxing would stop of his own accord and find a place for a hearty meal. Surely, at his age, he’d always be hungry? But she didn’t know he came from Deer Academy—unless he spoke first, he’d never suggest stopping for dinner.

To him, this trip was an escort mission; unless necessary, he wouldn’t do anything that wasted time while on duty.

An academy that trained students to handle supernatural affairs would never neglect combat training. Retired officers from West Point, Sandhurst, Frunze, or Saint-Cyr never showed mercy to students—fasting training was, of course, essential.

Zhao Tianxing stopped under the banner of an old-style izakaya. He pulled out the key and looked up, his gaze resting on the slightly dust-covered sign. The warm yellow light within spilled a gentle glow into the night. Two lanterns, inscribed in a classic hand, hung at the entrance. The handwritten menu and the smiling, middle-aged proprietress exuded a bygone Showa charm that gave Zhao Tianxing, a wanderer in a foreign land, a rare moment of nostalgia.

“Welcome, can I help you with anything?” she asked.

Sitting at the counter, Zhao Tianxing took a bite of grilled chicken skewers—yakitori, as it was called in Japan. He never understood why they called it "grilled bird" when it was always chicken, but as long as it tasted good, who cared about the name? The succulent chicken burst with juices, interspersed with a mushroom that perfectly offset any dryness. If not for the journey ahead, he wouldn’t have minded a few beers.

He glanced at Minami Junka. She sat sideways, taking dainty bites of golden fried pork cutlet. Each move of her delicate lips made the crisp coating crackle, the breadcrumbs fried to perfection—neither hardened by overcooking nor sticky from undercooking. Every bite filled her mouth with a gentle aroma of toast. If Zhao Tianxing weren’t beside her, she’d probably have abandoned all propriety and devoured it with abandon.

Their appetizers finished, but the main course—eel rice—was slow to arrive. Zhao Tianxing and Minami Junka waited patiently, ordering chicken and scallion skewers, miso-braised beef tendon, tamagoyaki, grilled spicy cod roe, and wasabi octopus. Time ticked by; even Zhao Tianxing began to wonder if someone might leap out of the eel rice with a dagger, but at last, the glossy, ruby-sauced dish was served.

Minami Junka’s eyes sparkled as she tugged his sleeve. "This place is amazing! I thought the eel rice would be just another fast-food version, but they actually serve the real thing!"

Zhao Tianxing paused with his chopsticks. "I didn’t know Miss Minami was such a connoisseur. I’m learning something new. But… can we eat while we talk? Otherwise, it’ll get cold and that would be a waste."

Minami Junka nodded, savoring a small piece of eel.

Authentic eel rice was rare because it was so complicated to prepare. The process—kill, skewer, grill, steam, baste—took over forty minutes and years of practice for each step. In Japan, there’s a saying: three years to kill an eel, eight to skewer, a lifetime to grill.

"For eels, meeting you is truly three lifetimes of luck," Zhao Tianxing said, swallowing a bite. The delicate meat melted at the touch of his teeth, its flavor lingering on his palate with the pure white rice.

It was delicious, but not worth a lifetime spent perfecting. There had to be more important things in life, Zhao Tianxing thought.

Minami Junka didn’t pick up on his humor. "For example, the killing—you have to do it fresh. It’s cruel, but that’s how it tastes best. Since they’re destined for the table, making them delicious is a kind of respect."

He looked at the earnest girl beside him, and after another bite of eel rice, felt a twinge of guilt. Sorry, Mr. Eel—they really did make you taste good, so who am I to argue?

She continued, "Skewering is an art, too. You can’t break the skin or flesh, only pass through the fat layer. Easy to say, hard to do—without practice, the pieces look awful and cook unevenly. The grilling is tricky as well—the fat needs to be rendered without burning the tender meat."

She was just warming up, but when she looked up, she saw Zhao Tianxing sipping soba tea and watching her. He nodded politely. "I’m full."

She was too exasperated to speak—he’d spent her whole lecture on the greatness of eel rice just battling with the food. But after one taste, she forgot about Zhao Tianxing entirely, eyes closed in bliss, waging a decisive battle with her meal.

When they had finally finished every dish, Zhao Tianxing led her out of the unassuming little restaurant. Those foodies who loved to haunt alleyways might talk too much, but they were right about one thing: the best food was often found in the most unlikely places.

"Skyline-kun, I think we might have been a bit rude," Minami Junka said, cheeks flushed.

Zhao Tianxing stopped, puzzled. "We paid, and we didn’t do anything wrong. Maybe we just ate a bit too much." He recalled the proprietress’s look of surprise at the bill.

"In Japan, even if you’re not full, you shouldn’t order too much food. It’s troublesome for the staff. You’re supposed to go elsewhere for a second round," she explained, chagrined—he wasn’t Japanese, so it was natural not to know, but she should have reminded him.

"Are you full? Should we go for a second round?" Zhao Tianxing, as always, focused on different things. Maybe she hadn’t eaten enough, so this was her hint.

Minami Junka gave him a playful kick. "I’m not a glutton. Of course I’m full."

"It’s alright. Actually, I’m not full either." Zhao Tianxing was never one to waste time on trivialities; he just thought saying so would put her at ease.

Ignoring him, Minami Junka walked straight to the Kawasaki H2 and patted the seat. "Once we get through Minamata, we’ll be in Kagoshima."

Zhao Tianxing watched her don her helmet. "Aren’t we resting tonight? It’s already late."

"I want to go home. With this kind of anticipation, there’s no way I could sleep." She rose on tiptoe under the streetlight, peering at the distant, shadowy buildings.

He said nothing more. He was a man of his word—if he’d promised to take her home, he would do it, even if she turned out to be Ultraman and he had to buy a ticket to NASA headquarters to send her back to M78 Nebula amid explosions.

Fed and content, they continued their journey. By Minami Junka’s calculations, they’d reach their destination in three hours at most—she could already make out some buildings from her childhood memories.

Unlike most people, Minami Junka didn’t feel sleepy after a meal; on the contrary, she was excitedly telling Zhao Tianxing about the time she’d come here for the fireworks festival as a child.

"I remember in my second year of middle school, my deskmate invited me to the festival—well, a female deskmate, of course, since it was a girls’ school. I was so excited, wore a yukata, and we met here—on this very street. But after a while, we ran into her childhood friend from another boys’ school. They started chatting, and just as you’d expect, I, the third wheel, quietly slipped away. That night this street was packed, but I felt strangely alone. Even the fireworks in the sky couldn’t cheer me up. I remember riding home on the train by myself, feeling so lonely I could burst…"

"Lonely? How strange, I too feel lonely right now. Why not become one with me?" A sudden, eerie voice seemed to echo in both their ears. In the foggy darkness, a bizarre figure was suspended from the traffic light at the intersection ahead.

Suspended, because the figure was nothing human: a bloated abdomen, eight long, sharp legs sprouting below, and a bare, alluring upper body. Despite her monstrous appearance, neither Zhao Tianxing—expressionless as ever—nor Minami Junka did more than gasp softly before staring at the half-woman, half-demon spider with curiosity.

Thanks to the thriving anime industry, even though Minami Junka had never encountered a spider-woman in real life, her appearance alone wasn’t enough to overwhelm her with fear.

Zhao Tianxing didn’t even brake, just slowed down as if he were driving Minami Junka through a wildlife park—she saw a lion and exclaimed, "Wow, what a big lion!" and he simply nodded, slowing the tour car and agreeing, "Indeed, quite large."

"Did you ever run into things like this at the fireworks festival?" he asked.

"How could I? If I had, I wouldn’t be here now! Skyline-kun, this is no time for questions—turn around! Once we’re safe, ask me anything you want, just hurry!"

But Zhao Tianxing didn’t let up on the throttle. Instead, like a rebellious teenager fighting with his girlfriend, he parked, set the kickstand, and pulled out the key. "Trust me. Stay behind me, don’t run off. My guess is, this is a type of yokai called a Jorōgumo. They seduce men and then devour their heads. But it’s clear this Jorōgumo is lonely—she probably won’t bother to tempt me."

The lion bared its teeth, the spider spun its web. The road ahead was blocked by silvery threads, nearly invisible in the moonlight, but Zhao Tianxing had no intention of testing their strength.

Minami Junka glanced at him as he calmly recited details from "Night Parade of One Hundred Demons." Her eyes lingered on his tranquil expression, her panic miraculously fading. She truly believed in this man, but couldn’t help but wonder—what if he was wrong?

"Well, if I die with Skyline-kun, it wouldn’t be the worst thing. But if possible, I hope I’m eaten first—maybe he’ll have a chance to escape…"

Just as she was lost in thought, Zhao Tianxing, to ensure she wouldn’t say "yes" but run off in terror, reached out and grabbed her hand.

He gripped her tightly! In that instant, Minami Junka trembled all over. Zhao Tianxing thought he’d startled her and softened his voice. "Don’t be afraid. It’s me."

For all his intelligence, Zhao Tianxing could never guess what Minami Junka was actually thinking: "He held my hand—he took the initiative!"

The moment he grasped her right hand, she knew at once it was his—no one else in the world could give her such warmth and reassurance. All her fear and anxiety vanished, and under the streetlight, her world shrank to the calm man standing beside her.

She had not a single doubt left, just one thought in her heart.

"Miss Jorōgumo, please, hold out a little longer."