Early morning, June 22.
Sunlight squeezed through a gap in the curtains, drawing a thin golden line across the foot of the bed. Kashimo lay facedown, his whole body sunk into the bedding like a rice cake melted by the heat. Who knew where Kenjaku had found this bed? It was absurdly soft, and the blanket was so light and warm that being wrapped in it felt like being held. He did not want to move at all.
He had been awake for ten minutes.
To be precise, he was awake, his eyes closed and his mind clear, but his body refused to obey any order to get up. He had never had this problem four hundred years ago. Back then, he had slept either on hard boards with bedding or with the sky as his blanket and the earth as his bed, and he had naturally woken before dawn. Nothing like now, when a single bed could utterly destroy his willpower.
He could not help it. This bed was just too warm.
Kashimo buried his face deeper in the pillow and let out a muffled groan. Two little figures were fighting in his head. One said, Five more minutes. The other said, You've already been lying here for fifteen.
But he still had to get up.
He had not bought his daily necessities yet. Yesterday, he had been so focused on buying clothes that he had not picked up a toothbrush, towels, slippers, or anything else. After his shower last night, he had used the emergency kit Kenjaku had bought at a convenience store. That toothbrush had been so stiff it felt like a pot scrubber. He had made do for one night, but today he absolutely had to replace it.
As for Kenjaku...
Kashimo rolled over and stared