It had started to rain. A light, miserable drizzle that soaked Makoto's cheap suit instantly. He stood on the sidewalk and let the rain hit his face.
He felt light and clean. He had kept his dignity.
But then his hand brushed his pocket. His wallet was almost empty. The adrenaline faded, replaced by a cold, hollow pit in his stomach. "I just turned down a paycheck and walked away from a job. I'm an idiot," he whispered to the rain.
The walk home was a trudge of shame. The rain grew heavier, plastering Makoto's hair to his forehead. His shoes squelched with every step.
He stopped at a park bench near his apartment and sat down under the shelter of a tree. He took out the bento Mafuyu had made and opened it. The karaage was cold, and the tamagoyaki was perfectly shaped into little yellow hearts.
There was a note tucked inside in Mafuyu's neat handwriting. "Do your best! We believe in you. - Mafuyu." Makoto stared at the note until his vision blurred. He ate a piece of cold chicken. It tasted like failure.
He stayed there for an hour, dreading the moment he had to walk through the door and tell them he had failed. He had to tell Yuna she couldn't have snacks. He had to tell Mika they had to cut the budget again.
When Makoto finally unlocked the front door, he was soaked to the bone and shivering. "I'm home," he called out, his voice weary.
The house was warm and smelled incredible. It was savory and oily, the smell of grilled mackerel, his favorite, wafting through.
Makoto walked into the living room and found it quiet, too quiet. "Yuna? Mika?" No answer. He walked to the kitchen. The stove was on. A pan of mackerel was sizzling with the skin perfectly crisping, and a pot of miso soup was bubbling gently. But the kitchen was empty.
Then, there was a sudden crash from the hallway.
Makoto dropped his briefcase and ran. He found Mafuyu outside the bathroom door, leaning against the wall and sliding down. Her hand was pressed over her mouth, and her face was a terrifying shade of pale green.
"Mafuyu-nee!" He caught her just before she hit the floor.
Mafuyu's skin was clammy and covered in a cold sweat. "I'm sorry," she gasped, squeezing her eyes shut. "I'm sorry, Makoto-kun. The smell just..." She retched, a dry, painful heave that racked her small frame.
"It's okay, it's okay," Makoto said, panic rising in his chest. "Don't talk, just breathe." He kicked the bathroom door open and helped her to the toilet. She slumped over it with her shoulders shaking.
"Is it the fish?" he asked, rubbing her back. "Did it go bad?"
Mafuyu shook her head frantically. "No, it's fresh. I just suddenly got this headache. And the smell was like rotting metal. It was overwhelming." She flushed the toilet, though she hadn't thrown up anything but bile. She slumped back against him, exhausted.
"Sorry, I ruined dinner," she whispered, tears leaking from her eyes. "I wanted to make something nice to celebrate your interview."
"Shh," Makoto soothed, pulling her into his arms. He didn't care that he was wet and she was sick. "Dinner isn't ruined. I can turn off the stove. You're what matters."
He felt Mafuyu trembling against him. He could feel the tension in her muscles. She had been pushing herself too hard, trying to be the perfect housewife and fill the gaps while he worried about money.
"How was the interview? Did you get the job?" Mafuyu asked, her voice small against his wet shirt.
Makoto froze. He looked down at her hopeful, tired face. He couldn't tell her, not right now, not while she was shaking in his arms on the bathroom floor. "It went okay," he lied, the words tasting like ash. "They're going to let me know."
Mafuyu let out a sigh of relief. "That's good. That's really good." She tried to stand up. "I need to finish the miso soup..."
"No," Makoto said firmly. He picked her up, carrying her bridal style. She felt lighter than usual. "Had she been eating enough?" The thought pierced him.
He carried her to her room and laid her gently on the bed, pulling the covers up to her chin. "Rest," he commanded. "I'll handle dinner. I'll handle everything."
Makoto walked back to the kitchen and turned off the stove. The smell of the mackerel, usually so appetizing, now just smelled heavy in the humid air. He looked at the food meant for a celebration that wasn't going to happen.
Mika walked into the kitchen wearing her glasses and holding a tablet. She looked at the abandoned pan, then at Makoto's soaked suit, and finally at the empty hallway leading to Mafuyu's room.
She didn't ask what happened. She seemed to assess the situation instantly. "Is she resting?" Mika asked calmly.
"Yeah, she got sick from the smell." Makoto nodded.
Mika nodded slowly. "She's sensitive to smells right now. It happens with migraines or stress." Her eyes lingered on him. "You didn't take the job." It wasn't a question.
Makoto slumped against the counter. "How did you know?"
"Your posture, darling," Mika said, walking over to the fridge. She took out a pitcher of water and poured two glasses. "Your shoulders are slumped. You look defeated, not successful." She handed him a glass.
"It was a black company," Makoto admitted, drinking the water. "They wanted me to work 14 hours a day with no overtime. And the guy insulted us and your cosplays!"
Mika's hand paused on the counter. Her eyes narrowed behind her glasses. "He insulted the work we do?"
"He called it playing with dolls," Makoto replied.
Mika took a sip of her water. Her expression didn't change, but the temperature in the kitchen seemed to drop. "Then he is a fool," she said coldly. "His company is trash. You made the right choice walking away."
She looked at him. "But that doesn't help our bank account," she added, her voice practical.
"I know," Makoto groaned. "¥42,350 left."
"¥41,800," Mika corrected. "You took the train." She walked over to him and reached up to undo his tie.
"Go shower to wash off the rain and the failure, darling. I will salvage the fish and make some rice. Yuna will eat it. Ayane will eat anything." She pulled the tie loose and draped it over a chair.
"We will figure this out tomorrow," Mika stated. "What you're doing now isn't working. We need a new plan." She looked him in the eye.
"You aren't a bad engineer, Makoto. You just don't know how to sell yourself. Leave the next step to me." She pushed him toward the bathroom. "Go wash yourself."
As Makoto walked away, he looked back. Mika was standing at the stove, turning on the fan to clear the smell for Mafuyu's sake. She looked small but unshakeable.
He felt a pang of gratitude so strong it hurt. He had failed today, but he hadn't lost them, not yet.
"New plan, with Mika's help this time," he thought, stepping into the warm shower. "Whatever that means, I hope it works."