“See you later!”
“Bye-bye!”
Once again, after being roped into playing with the children until evening, Inari waved to them as they left with their parents before heading out of the park herself. Parks guarded by awakeners were among the safest places in modern times, and one such awakener, noticing Inari, gave her a small smile.
“Good work today. Please take care on your way.”
“And to thee as well, good work.”
Exchanging greetings, Inari recalled what she had meant to buy today. Yes… she had come here intending to try something new, and this shopping trip was for that very purpose. Though it was already past 5 p.m., Satou Mart was open until 10, so there was no rush.
Yes—Satou Mart, conveniently located near her home, was a supermarket where one could find everything from groceries and daily necessities to clothing, small electronics, and even tools.
Anytime, anywhere, as many times as you want♪ If you want it, Satou Mart’s got it♪ Satou Mart, right here in your town, always ready to hear you say, “This is what I wanted”!♪
The familiar jingle, heard often enough, had begun to sound to her like undeniable truth. With its locally rooted presence, boasting a staggering 152 stores in the Tokyo area alone, Satou Mart was now expanding nationwide. Employee benefits were plentiful, with a complete two-day weekend despite shift work, no pointless company trips, but instead special vacations or travel catalog gifts for employees and their families… and so on. In these harsh modern times, the company firmly captured the hearts of its workers. With its sparkling staff smiles providing cheer, it was, as Akai had once explained to Inari, a supermarket that energized its customers.
That aside, Inari headed straight for the fresh food section.
“Oh, here it is after all. Let us see…”
What Inari had come looking for today was, surprisingly, a nukazuke set. As the name implied, it was a starter kit for making pickles in rice bran, typically including a container, the rice bran bed, and seasonings—sometimes already mixed in—everything one needed to start pickling. Such sets were recommended for both beginners and more experienced pickle-makers alike.
Some products included extra gadgets to make the process even easier… but the one Inari picked up was a relatively simple set.
“Fufu, this dost bring back memories. Indeed, that village also made nukazuke…”
Of course, she herself had never eaten them back then. But the idea of homemade nukazuke held for Inari an air of refinement, of cultural sophistication. Yasuno or Hikaru might well make a dubious face upon hearing that, but such things were personal perception. If Inari deemed it refined, then refined it was.
Indeed, Inari had come here today to practice what she thought of as a “cultural lifestyle.” Professional flavors sold at pickle shops, or the household flavors passed down in families—nukazuke were said to embody both. In the modern age, anyone could easily create what was once a secret, treasured taste. It was, in short, the taste of culture itself, the taste of history nurtured through generations.
And since guests had begun visiting her home with some frequency lately, Inari had thought it stylish to be able to serve such things.
Placing the nukazuke set into her cart, she began adding cucumbers and other vegetables for pickling. It was, truly, an enjoyable time… for even to Inari, trying something new was exciting.
“There is rice aplenty, and pickled plums remain… there is still enough furikake, but…”
Despite saying that, she pushed her cart toward the furikake aisle. Her expression was as bright as a child heading toward the candy shelves. If asked what she would take to a deserted island, she might answer, “Rice and furikake.” If forced to choose only one, she would no doubt wear a look of agony before reluctantly saying, “Rice.”
And so, Inari arrived at the furikake shelves.
“Hm, is it mine imagination, or hath the furikake section grown larger…?”
It was likely no illusion. If something sold well, expanding the section was only natural. And recently, with the explosive hit of “Inari-chan Furikake,” several awakener-collaboration furikake varieties had appeared to ride the wave.
“Oh? This is…”
“Professor’s DHA Furikake.”
A furikake said to be packed with DHA, the nutrient found in fish, of which only one package remained. Without hesitation, Inari picked it up.
She had only just met Tsukiko—Professor—the other day, but the package’s deformed chibi illustration of her was undeniably cute.
“She seemed like the type to dislike such things… yet mayhap not so?”
Another top-ranker, Shion, also seemed like the type to dislike such collaborations, and indeed, there were none of her products in sight. Meanwhile, Inari-chan Furikake was still in short supply, with only one left even here.
“There it is.”
“Mm?”
“Huh?”
A girl hurried over—not quite running—and grabbed that last Inari-chan Furikake. Her eyes met Inari’s squarely. There was no need to ask who. They had met not long ago, and had just cleared a dungeon together.
“…It’s the real Inari. Long time no see.”
“Real…? If not the real me…”
“Yes.”
“Indeed, that wouldst not be the real me… nay, not me at all, in fact…”
With a distant look, Inari nodded at Shion, who was holding up the Inari-chan Furikake. Having once mistaken a collaboration fried chicken box for a funeral meal back when she first arrived from the abandoned village, Inari found it hard to offer any sharper (supposedly funny) retort.