The place sat tucked between two aging storefronts, smoke curling from a vent and carrying the scent of sweet marinade with it. The moment Toma entered, cold hit him from the building's AC unit. Wooden tables darkened by decades of smoke along with grills built into them scattered about.
A woman from behind the counter looked up, her eyes widening.
"Oh! Mr. Hosho! It has been too long," she said with a bright smile, bowing her head to both him and Toma.
"You flatter me too much. I hope business has been kind," he replied, inclining his head.
"As kind as Aokabe allows. Please, please, same table?"
"If it is available."
"Always," she said before her eyes flicked to Toma, her gaze curious but kind. "Is he a guest?"
"Yes," Mr. Hosho replied calmly. "If you'll have us."
"Of course," she said before guiding the two of them towards a corner booth near the back. The grill was already clean.
Toma slid into his seat with widened eyes as he took everything in. Plates arrived quickly where in them laid thin slices of marinated red beef and pork belly layered like pale ribbons. All supported by little dishes filled with pickled veggies dressed in sesame oil.
Mr. Hosho ignited the grill with a low woomf and Toma didn't wait a minute before grabbing the tongs and laying the meat down with barely contained urgency. The smell of it made his head spin and he shoveled rice into his mouth between flips. He barely paused to breathe, humming low as the sweet, salty, and smokiness of the beef overwhelmed his senses.
"Mmm…" he hummed before catching himself with embarrassment. Though he didn't shy away from immediately taking another bite.
"It has been quite some time since I have seen someone eat with such sincerity," Mr. Hosho commented with open amusement.
"S-sorry, sir, I… I didn't realize how starved I was until–" he said, his voice muffled. He then gestured vaguely at everything. "This."
The old man let out a laugh before sipping his drink, seemingly content to let the young man feast. Toma slowed down by the third plate, letting out a low groan. He leaned back while rubbing his stomach with a sheepish grin.
"Damn… forgot food could do that to a man…" he said.
"Do what?" Mr. Hosho asked while turning a slice of meat with steady, slightly shaking hands.
"Make you feel… fat," Toma said.
Then there was a moment of silence which was broken by Mr. Hosho.
"You work at the docks, correct?"
Toma gave a reluctant nod. "Yeah. I clean, scrub… pretty much anything my supervisor asks of me. Been doing this for a while, actually."
"And how long is 'a while'?"
"Since I was fourteen," he said with a small shrug.
Mr. Hosho's expression was unreadable as he looked at him. Then, he said, "That is… quite young."
"I wasn't really given a choice. The bills don't wait and neither does my, uh… landlord."
Mr. Hosho gave a small nod. "Still. To harbor such responsibilities so early… you have my respect, young man," he said before setting the tongs aside.
"…Thanks."
Then the old man folded his hands together, leaning forward. "If I may, can I ask something more… delicate?"
"Sure."
"Why are you not in school?"
Toma felt his stomach churn at that, his eyes watching the fat drip and flare into brief flames in the grill. "Couldn't keep up, so… I dropped out. This curfew fucked everything up. Teachers told me that I was 'wasting potential'," he said with a snort. "I guess they didn't need their floors scrubbed."
Mr. Hosho didn't laugh, instead regarding Toma in silence. "Potential is a strange word, often used by those who have the luxury of time."
"I tried," he snapped, a little more defensively than he meant to. "I really did."
"I believe you, friend, I do," Mr. Hosho said at once before leaning back slightly, his gaze drifting towards the ceiling. "When I was young, I also worked instead of studying. Circumstance has a way of narrowing one's options."
"Really?" Toma asked with a furrowed brow.
"Mmm," the old man said with a firm nod. "Though my work was… different."
Different? He echoed in his head before wiping grease from his lips. He hesitated before speaking up.
"So… what kinda work was it? When you were younger, I mean," Toma asked.
Mr. Hosho's fingers paused around his cup. He cleared his throat and straightened in his seat. Something in his posture was… different from the old man he met earlier.
"That… is partly why we are here."
"Here as in… dinner?"
Mr. Hosho turned his gaze to him fully now, his smile gone.
"Toma Del Cid."
He felt his heart freeze at that.
"What… did you say…?" He asked slowly.
Mr. Hosho continued calmly. "You are seventeen years of age. You have no living parents. No inheritance. You are currently carrying an outstanding debt–medical, housing, informal loans… you have an aunt, Maribel Del Cid in the southern wards and a cousin by the name of Jonah. Neither is in a position to assist you."
Toma stood halfway up, his chair scraping against the floor. His heart was slamming now.
"Woah, woah, woah, hold on! What the hell is this?" He snapped.
"Please, Mr. Del Cid. I understand how this sounds," Mr. Hosho said with both hands open.
"How this sounds? You follow me home, buy me dinner, and now you're listing my life like a report?" he asked with narrowed eyes. "Who the hell are you?"
Mr. Hosho inclined his head deeply. "I must apologize, truly. I should have explained myself before speaking so plainly. I assure you that I have no interest in taking advantage of your hardship, Mr. Del Cid. Nor do I benefit from your desperation."
Toma's breathing came hard and he was stuck between bolting and yelling.
"Then how the hell do you know all that about me? You some kinda cop? A data broker?" He demanded sharply.
"My work," he said calmly, "involves watching the city."
Toma scoffed at that. "What's that supposed to mean?"
Mr. Hosho leaned forward and whispered.
"I assume," he said, "that you've heard of the Global Maestro Association?"
Toma's eyes widened, his pupils snapping into focus like he'd just been splashed with cold water.
"The… the G.M.A.?" He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
Mr. Hosho nodded.
The radio report from earlier repeated in Toma's head.
A neutralization in the Kogane Sect.
"You… you can't possibly be serious…"
"Very."
Toma let out a shaky breath. "So what, you're… scouting? Because if this is some kind of test, I–"
"It is not, Mr. Del Cid. Nor am I here to recruit you against your will."
"Then… why me?" Toma shot back. "I scrub docks for a living. I don't fight Witches. Hell, I've never even seen a spirit up close–" he stopped himself, seeing a flash of red-and-black tiles flickering. "I'm… not special."
Mr. Hosho nodded. "Correct. But, my organization does not exist to reward the exceptional alone. We help where help is needed. You scrub the docks so disease does not spread. So that trade may continue."
Toma let out a snort. "Never really thought of it like that."
"The G.M.A. does much the same. We rid the streets of the filth."
Toma leaned back with a small grin. "So what, you need someone to mop up after demons now?"
Mr. Hosho let out a tired sigh. "The news does not show it," he said. "But day by day, Witches and dark spirits grow stronger. More numerous, more… bold. Entire streets lost for hours at a time. Our people are stretched thin, Mr. Del Cid. Far thinner than the public is aware of."
"…And you think I'll fix that?" he asked with a scoff, tapping his own chest. "I'm a dock boy, man. I get pushed around by kids on a daily. You really think tossing me into that mess changes anything?"
"At the very least," Mr. Hosho said, "we are prepared to compensate you. An upfront fee. Enough to ease your immediate burdens."
Toma's heart skipped. Rent… food… a key… he imagined it all for a second before shaking his head.
"I… I'm sorry. Look, Mr. Hosho sir, I appreciate the food. And the honesty. But I don't think that's for me."
Mr. Hosho studied him further before nodding.
"And I shall respect your choice. But, just in case…"
Mr. Hosho reached into his coat and pulled out a small card. "Take this, please."
Toma hesitated, then took it. It was simple, cream-colored, and a name was printed neatly in black and a number beneath it.
Renkai Hosho
"If you ever change your mind," Mr. Hosho said, smiling softly, "please don't hesitate."
Toma slipped the card into his pocket, unsure why his hand trembled a little.
"I'll… I'll think about it," he said.