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“You were supposed to be in Kobe that day,” he said.

Outside, the air was thick with yakisoba smoke and the distant thrum of a train crossing the Yodo River. Chiharu walked south. Somewhere, a karaoke bar was playing an Enka song from 1989. She almost laughed.

She stubbed out her cigarette. The room smelled of soy and old secrets.

Chiharu smiled. The Kansai in her came out — not loud, but sharp. Like a blade wrapped in a kansai-ben drawl.