…
The Lotus Store was already busy when Murakami arrived the next morning.
He didn't enter through the main floor, but from the side entrance, a narrow door off the eastern alley that the store's delivery staff used, and opened with a standard key rather than a seal, deliberately unremarkable.
It was the kind of entrance that invited no attention from anyone who didn't already know it existed.
He slid through it, moved up the interior staircase, and arrived at Hina's office without passing through the main floor at all.
Hina was already at her desk.
She looked up when he entered, took in his appearance, and said nothing for a moment.
The person in front of her was Murakami, yet, not Murakami.
He looked… older, by about 5 years?
He wore a plain charcoal outer layer that sat heavily on the shoulders. His posture carried more weight than usual, even his expression, already default-neutral on an ordinary day, had settled into something with slightly more years behind it.
Hina had seen him do this before. She still found it quietly unsettling.
"He's downstairs," she said. "Private meeting room, first left off the main corridor."
"How does he seem?"
"Capable." She picked up her brush. "And aware of it."
'Confident then.' Murakami nodded once and left.
…
The meeting room was a modest space featuring a low table, two cushions, a single window overlooking the alley rather than the main street.
It was customized to be functional and private. The kind of room that communicated "this is a business transaction" without needing to say it.
Ryouta was already seated when Murakami entered and took in the sight of him.
Ryouta appeared to be in his mid-twenties, built the way people got built from years of field work rather than deliberate training; lean through the shoulders and thick through the forearms.
It was the particular kind of physical economy that came from a body that had learned to conserve effort over long distances.
He had the weathered look of someone who spent more time outdoors than in, and the settled, unhurried posture of a man who had decided before arriving that he wasn't going to be impressed by anything this meeting produced.
As Murakami took in the sight of Ryouta, the hunter's assessing gaze also moved over Murakami the moment he stepped through the door.
It was quick and practiced, cataloguing without appearing to catalogue.
Whatever he found, he kept to himself.
Murakami settled onto the cushion across from him with the measured ease of someone who had sat across negotiating tables before, and set a scroll on the surface between them.
"Ryouta-san." He kept his voice level, unhurried. "Thank you for making time."
"The message said Grade Four." Ryouta's voice was direct without being rude, the cadence of someone who preferred to establish what the conversation was actually about before spending time on pleasantries. "That's what we're here to discuss."
"It is." Murakami responded calmly, undisturbed by his directness. He very much preferred it this way.
He unfolded the scroll with the Lotus Store insignia at the letterhead, the commission outlined in clean, unambiguous terms.
"The Store requires a consistent supply of high-grade wild beast meat. Grade Four minimum, with Grade Five as an aspiration once the arrangement is established. We're looking for a dedicated hunter rather than purchasing through a trader."
Ryouta's eyes moved to the scroll, then back to him. "By consistent supply…define consistent."
"One Grade Four beast per delivery cycle. Delivery cycle to be determined by hunt availability." Murakami said, gazing calmly at the hunter.
"We understand field conditions aren't predictable, and we're not interested in a supplier who overpromises and underdelivers." He took a brief pause. "Quality over schedule."
That earned the faintest shift in Ryouta's expression, it was not quite an approval, but the subtle relaxation of someone who had walked in expecting to spend the meeting managing unrealistic client expectations and had just been told that wouldn't be necessary.
"Specimen condition requirements?" he asked.
"As fresh as field conditions allow. Full carcass preferred, we have processing capability on our end." Murakami kept his eyes on Ryouta's.
"The higher the specimen's physical grade within the tier, the better. We're not looking for the easiest Grade Four available. We're looking for the strongest."
Ryouta was quiet for a moment, studying him with the particular attention of someone recalibrating a first impression.
"That narrows the field considerably," he said. "Peak Grade Four specimens aren't common. Taking one down cleanly, in a condition worth delivering, requires preparation and the right conditions as you've already pointed out."
His tone was factual rather than discouraging. "It takes time to locate the right target."
"How much time?"
Ryouta's eyes held his steadily. "For a peak specimen? I'd want a week minimum to scout properly."
Murakami looked at him for a moment without expression.
"Three days," he said.
The room was quiet.
Something moved across Ryouta's face, he wasn't quite offended, however, as a hunter, there was a particular disrespect that came with their judgement being questioned by someone totally unfamiliar with their field of expertise.
There was a particular tightening on his face, his professional judgment had just been reduced to a number by the very person sitting across a table from him.
"You're telling me how long my hunt takes?" His voice stayed even, but only just.
"I'm asking if three days is sufficient," Murakami said, without adjusting his tone. "There's a difference."
Ryouta held the look for a moment as the gears turned in his head.
Then something shifted.
He couldn't back down now.
There was an unhurried certainty of a man who had just decided that doubt was less comfortable than confidence carried with him, and that confidence was something Ryouta happened to have in considerable supply.
"Three days," he said flatly. "Peak Grade Four. Full carcass, field-dressed." He leaned forward slightly, forearms settling on the table. "I'll have it at your door before the third evening."
"Good." Murakami reached into his outer layer and produced a second scroll. This was a payment breakdown, prepared in advance. He set it on the table without ceremony.
Ryouta leaned in and picked it up, unfurled it and looked at the figures.
His expression didn't change, which, in Murakami's read, meant the number was satisfactory and he was deciding whether to let that show.
He decided not to.
"Per delivery?" Ryouta asked, taking his eyes off the scroll.
"Per delivery." Murakami nodded. "With a standing bonus for Grade Five procurement, should that become viable."
Murakami leaned back and folded his hands. "We pay on delivery, not in advance. If the specimen doesn't meet the grade, the delivery is declined."
"And if I bring a Grade Five?"
"The bonus is listed further along." Murakami gestured to the scroll.
Ryouta returned his gaze to the scroll and read through it and was quiet for a moment longer than the first figure had required.
"Lotus Store runs a tight operation," he said finally.
It was neither a compliment nor an observation, but somewhere between the two.
It was the feeling a person feels when they want to acknowledge competence without appearing to be affected by it.
"We try," Murakami said calmly.
Ryouta picked up the first scroll, folded it once, and tucked it into his vest with a decisive motion of someone who had made up their mind and saw no reason to extend the process further.
He rose, and Murakami rose with him.
"Three days," Ryouta said again at the door, as though the repetition were a signature on the agreement rather than a reassurance.
"We'll be ready to receive," Murakami replied.
Ryouta left without further ceremony.
Murakami remained in the meeting room for a moment after the door closed, looking at the space across the table where the hunter had been sitting.
He would be expecting a peak grade four delivery in three days.
He'd believed Ryouta the moment he'd pushed back, not because the pushback was confident, but because the confidence hadn't wavered when it was challenged.
A man who inflated his capabilities got defensive when pressed.
Ryouta had gotten precise.
That was the difference.
He picked up the remaining copy of the commission scroll, folded it once, and left the room.
Hina would want a debrief before he left.
…
"How'd it go?"
As soon as Murakami stepped into Hina's office, the question was already waiting for him.
He slid the door shut behind him and crossed the room, settling into the chair across from her.
The shift back to his original appearance was slow, and Hina watched it happen the way she always did.
"We'll be receiving a delivery three days from now," he said.
Hina's brow lifted slightly. "You managed even that."
"You said he was confident." Murakami set the scroll of the commission scroll on the desk between them. "Confident people like rising to meet their capabilities. I questioned his, and he rose to meet them."
He took a small pause, and then, "You could say you were the key player in getting this done."
Hina looked at him for exactly one second.
"Nice try," she said flatly. "Don't think you can get away with that easily."
Murakami chuckled. "I see you've been putting my lessons to good use."
"If I couldn't pick up on obvious flattery, I wouldn't last a week running this establishment." She picked up her brush and made a note on the scroll without looking at him again. "Mu-chan."
His brow twitched at the tone and form of address, but he let it go.
"Aiko," he said, shifting the topic without preamble. "The growth path I've pointed her toward will require resources beyond what the village can provide. When she reaches out—" he held Hina's gaze briefly, "—support her. Whatever she needs."
Hina set her brush down and looked at him for a moment with an expression he couldn't immediately categorize.
"I understand," she said, in a tone that confirmed she did. "I'll see to it that she grows to her fullest potential."
Murakami held the look for a half second longer than usual, reaching for whatever was sitting underneath those words.
He found nothing he could name, and let it go.
They exchanged a few more words after that, nothing of substance, and when he finally stood to leave, Hina was already reaching for the next item in her stack.
"Mu-chan," she said, without looking up.
He paused at the door.
"Eat breakfast before you train."
He had, in fact, already been thinking about food.
He said nothing and left. It was time to see how much experience his clones had farmed.
-_-_-_-_-_-_
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