#15: Triple Passion / ep.3
Yokohama, outside-the-shop game, best of three.
Her plan to win early and get one over on Shandy had been neatly crushed by Shandy’s own quick thinking. The first round, self-destruction. The second, betrayed by her own flesh and blood into total humiliation. Mikoto had no room left to lose. The outside-the-shop match would come down to the final round.
“Ha. I did manage to get Kotone-san’s autograph, though. Wonder if it’d sell for much?”
“I’m sure it would…”
The signature, presumably left by actress Kurosu Kotone herself, sat scrawled in huge letters across the bizarre panda toy. Defiled by her rotten little sister, the panda could only mournfully chirp out its tinny electronic rendition of the Lambada. Mikoto felt for it.
“Now then, the moment’s finally here. At this rate, the final round might turn out to be some high-end French restaurant.”
“Yes, exactly that.”
“Oh my, are you quite sure about this?”
For once, Shandy sounded genuinely surprised, asking with a hint of hesitation.
Understandable enough. Even Shandy could probably estimate the toll Mikoto’s household budget took from her nightly visits to Antiqua. Realistically, a high-end dinner would sting badly on Mikoto’s salary.
“I do make a decent living too, you know.”
Mikoto said it anyway — pure bluff, of course.
In truth, Mikoto had won a pair of tickets to Landmark Tower as a side prize from that digital notepad project. With no one to invite, tonight was the only chance she’d have to actually use them.
“Could I trouble you for a little time, then? I’ll come find you in thirty minutes.”
“Oh? Getting nervous about the match?”
“Same to you, wouldn’t you say? Ha.”
Parting ways with Shandy briefly, Mikoto made her way to the decisive battlefield.
The stage for the final round — Yokohama’s very symbol, Landmark Tower.
While Shandy was elsewhere, Mikoto finished the arrangements at the hotel’s cloakroom, erasing every trace of the tickets’ origin. In the lobby she’d designated as their meeting spot, Mikoto steeled her resolve for the final round.
The final game wasn’t a dinner battle in the hotel restaurant. It was an Antiqua-style verbal duel, held in the observation lounge bar. She’d reserved a soundproofed private room in the bar — enclosed, so they could focus entirely on the game without worrying about onlookers.
“Well then, shall we head up, Mikoto-san?”
Catching sight of Shandy arriving in the lobby, Mikoto swallowed her words.
She’d changed. Gone was the relaxed cable-knit look from earlier — now she wore a collared blouse, a cardigan, a flared skirt. An elegant, occasion-appropriate dress code, clearly chosen with a hotel dinner in mind.
Shandy’s opening strike.
“Is something the matter?”
“Ah — no. I was just startled, being spoken to by such a beautiful lady.”
“I wouldn’t want to embarrass my inviting host by showing up underdressed.”
“Well, I think I might be the embarrassed one now. I’m not sure I’ve got the confidence to match your beauty.”
“Oh my. And here I was thinking I still wasn’t quite a match for you.”
A raging battle of flattery, back and forth. Mikoto’s teeth practically ached from the sheer sweetness of it, but Shandy simply let her amber eyes shine and murmured on, effortless.
The game, of course, hadn’t officially begun yet. But losing herself even here would spell certain defeat in the final round. Mustering every scrap of bravado she had, Mikoto took Shandy’s hand and led her forward.
“I’m honored to have invited you tonight, Shandy.”
“Ah — yes… Thank you, Mikoto.”
Shandy’s composure slipped, just for an instant. Mikoto didn’t miss it.
Gently leading her by the hand still, she followed the waiter to their table. The restaurant occupied the hotel’s first floor; through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sky had settled into the magic hour — that stretch between dusk and true night, said to be the most beautiful time of day. Pure coincidence that they’d landed on it now — or, one might say, a small miracle brought about entirely by Shandy’s choice to change outfits.
“The sun’s setting, Mikoto-san.”
“How was our outside-the-shop date today, all told?”
“Ha. Humiliated twice over already, and yet you’re still playing the composed adult, aren’t you.”
“I want to stay like this in front of you. Can’t you understand a girl’s wish to be seen at her most beautiful, Shandy-san?”
“Yes. I understand that very well indeed.”
They toasted with the aperitif served to them, washing down the salt of the appetizer.
Even the finest French cuisine went entirely unnoticed by Mikoto’s tense palate. All she could manage was carefully following the table manners she’d studied beforehand.
A meal alone with Shandy. That was all this was. She’d shared meals like this plenty of times before, with friends, with exes. And yet Mikoto’s heart pounded harder than it ever had on a date with a man — harder, even, than that.
“…Do you come to places like this often, Mikoto-san?”
“Hardly. If I had that kind of experience, I wouldn’t be struggling this much with table manners.”
“True enough. You’re using the wrong utensil for the fish course, after all.”
She’d mixed up her fork and knife — cutting the sole meunière into bite-sized pieces with the knife meant for the main meat course.
Shandy really wasn’t one to let her guard down around. A single moment’s carelessness could prove fatal.
“It’s probably been sick of cutting nothing but meat lately, so I thought I’d let it spend some time with fish for once.”
“Ha. First time I’ve seen someone feel sorry for a fork and knife.”
“Speaking of sympathy, aren’t you feeling some for the vegetables yourself, Shandy-san?”
Shandy’s appetizer — a watercress and arugula salad — sat almost entirely untouched, save for the prosciutto and croutons on top.
“Yes. Both I and the vegetables would prefer to be eaten by someone we’re fond of, in the end.”
Amber eyes shining, Shandy transferred the vegetables onto Mikoto’s plate. A clear breach of table manners — but if she was going to break the rules, Mikoto would break them right back.
“Then — would you care to taste my kiss?”
“Mikoto-san? Not here—”
Playing at “say ahh,” Mikoto brought the forkful of meunière to Shandy’s mouth with trembling fingers. Facing her directly, Shandy flinched, clearly conscious of onlookers, before hurriedly taking the bite anyway.
“…You really would do something like that, wouldn’t you. Though for the record, that’s sole, not kisu — no kiss about it.”1
“Yes, my mistake. Though it seems you were the one who misread it as something else — so I suppose we’re even.”
“You’re unusually talkative tonight. If only you’d put on airs like this a little more often — I’d enjoy myself even more.”
“You can look forward to more of me from here on. I’ll be sure to satisfy you.”
“And if I end up more satisfied than that, whatever will become of me?”
“Care to find out?”
“Just a taste won’t be allowed, you understand?”
“I’ll drain it to the very last drop. That’s the promise I made, after all.”
“…………….”
Shandy set down her utensils and went still. Head lowered. Her face had flushed a deep red, despite having had nothing stronger than the aperitif and a little wine.
“Shandy-san?”
“Ah — no, it’s nothing. Just, all this enjoyment’s caught in my chest a little. Might I step away for a moment?”
“Shall I show you the way?”
“I’ll manage on my own, thank you.”
Without meeting her eyes, Shandy left the table. Alone now, Mikoto turned her gaze out the window. Night had fully settled in. Far off, the illuminated Ferris wheel spun lazily, like a pinwheel. Her focus drifted from the distance back to the glass itself, where her own reflection stared back. She couldn’t tell her own complexion from the reflection, but it wasn’t hard to imagine she’d flushed just as red as Shandy had.
Every drop of blood in her body felt like it was boiling. Just trading words, eyes locked together — she’d never burned like this from that alone before. Her mouth had gone bone dry, and yet her eyes, her breath — and her whole body — had turned damp with a fine, clinging sweat.
She had no intention of admitting it. None at all. And yet there was no denying it any longer.
Even so, for now, she still had to keep a lid on this feeling.
Because Mikoto still wasn’t ready.
“Apologies, Mikoto-san.”
Shandy returned, and the exchange of sweet, loaded words resumed. Through the main course, dessert, and on until the after-dinner coffee arrived, the back-and-forth continued — and each time, both Mikoto and Shandy found their own words catching in their throats.
Even as mere preliminary skirmishing before the actual game, it was a fierce, seesawing battle. A game of love where they whispered surface-level affection back and forth, each trying not to let their real feelings show.
Nothing like the exchange from those first weeks, back when Mikoto had just started visiting Antiqua — this was a genuine clash of real words. Having been defeated by Shandy time and time again, and having been gradually, deliberately handed small pieces of her — enough to give Mikoto some foothold to work with — there was only one way left to repay her for it.
Victory, in the game.
Mikoto had realized it by now. Shandy wanted to be beaten. But being the sore loser she was, she had no intention of letting Mikoto win through mere mercy. Which was exactly why she’d chosen every word, every gesture, so carefully — to help Mikoto grow strong enough, to leave just enough of an opening for her to actually seize.
The fortune teller’s words had been right, after all. A generous, compassionate teacher. Which meant Shandy thought of Mikoto as—
“…Mikoto-san. Shall we begin the game soon? I’m afraid I’ve been dying to win for a while now.”
“Then let’s move, shall we. To the final battlefield.”
“Upstairs, I take it?”
Shandy raised a finger and pointed toward the upper floors. Without a word about the game itself, she’d already understood — the decisive battlefield: the observation lounge bar on the top floor. And the timing, as it happened, was just about right.
Mikoto led Shandy toward the elevator hall. Neither spoke. A strange mix of an athlete’s pre-match excitement and the tension of knowing that letting her guard down, even slightly, might spill her real feelings out — all she could manage was forcing words past her throat at all.
“…This has been fun, hasn’t it.”
“Yes.”
“You’re the first person to ever get me this drunk.”
“The real drinking hasn’t even started yet.”
“No. What I’m drunk on — is you.”
The elevator stopped at a mid-level floor. A passenger stepped off. The doors closed, sealing the two of them alone inside.
“…Mikoto-san.”
“Wha—”
The moment the elevator started moving again, Shandy took her lips.
Nothing like Antiqua’s darkness, nothing like a reward-kiss. Long, deep. Shandy, several centimeters shorter than Mikoto, pinned her against the elevator wall.
Their tongues tangled together inside the joined kiss. A wet sound. The strange sensation of another’s tongue felt almost like a caress, ticklish and aching all at once. Shandy’s mouth was hot, damp. Her breath, her saliva, worked steadily to unravel the careful weave of Mikoto’s reason.
The elevator stopped at a mid-level floor. The doors opened, and Mikoto’s eyes met those of a hotel guest heading upward. Even so, Shandy didn’t stop. She kept Mikoto pinned tight against the wall, arms locked around her.
The passenger, reading the room, chose not to board. Carrying no one else, the sealed box resumed its climb. After a moment, Shandy finally released her lips. Still rising, bathed in the elevator’s orange lighting, Shandy tilted her amber eyes upward, gaze lowered demurely.
“…We got seen.”
“Yes, seems they read the room well enough.”
“Think they took us for a couple of fools in love?”
“You don’t actually mind that, do you?”
“No. I can’t see anyone but you.”
Their lips met again. The sealed box announced its arrival at their destination floor, and only then did the two of them finally part.
Mikoto’s knees were shaking. Her legs wobbled badly enough that she couldn’t have stood without leaning against the wall. The line between herself and everything else had gone hazy. A strange, dissolving sense of intoxication, as if her whole body were melting into the air around her. Only the real, damp cling of her clothes against her skin dragged her back to reality.
“Mikoto-san, there’s something I need to say before the game begins.”
Once they’d stepped off the elevator, Shandy fixed her with a serious look. Making no effort to hide her flushed, pale skin, her amber eyes glowed with a lustrous shine.
Mikoto’s words caught in her throat, but she forced her focus back onto the match.
“Wha— what is it?”
“I’m sorry, but I… don’t intend to lose.”
“Isn’t that always the case?”
“This time’s different, Mikoto-san.”
Shandy wasn’t smiling. Using the hair tie she’d kept looped around her wrist, she gathered her loosely hanging blonde hair back. In an instant, she transformed — from an ordinary woman on her day off into Antiqua’s bartender, Shandy.
The meaning was immediately clear. Shandy was coming at her seriously now.
“…Tonight’s game is a verbal duel at the lounge bar. Am I right?”
“Yes. No need for you to shake a cocktail tonight, Shandy-san.”
“I simply found myself wanting to show you the version of myself I consider most beautiful.”
“I understand. I can see how serious you are, Shandy-san.”
“Thank you, Mikoto-san.”
Shandy drew a quiet breath and continued.
“…Let’s decide the rewards first. Starting with you, Mikoto-san.”
“Yes, um. I…”
Her resolve still hadn’t settled. But she couldn’t bring herself to dodge with some half-hearted answer either. She hated her own indecisiveness.
“…I’m still thinking it over. I don’t want to hurt you with some careless, half-formed choice.”
Shandy’s eyes went damp, and she smiled.
“…You’re very kind, aren’t you.”
—If that’s really what you think, then please, don’t wear a face that sad while saying it.
“And your reward, Shandy-san?”
“I…”
Stepping closer, Shandy whispered into her ear.
“…Make a move on me.”
-
鱚 (kisu, a type of small fish, Japanese sillago) is a homophone of the English loanword キス (kisu, “kiss”). ↩