Chapter 37: Green Tea And Trouble

Kane shifted uncomfortably under the tailor’s scrutinizing gaze. The man circled him slowly, measuring tape dangling from gnarled fingers.

"White fox spirit," Mr. Hoshino murmured, his voice like rustling paper.

"Slender build. Active lifestyle."

Kane flicked his ears in surprise. "You can tell I’m a spirit?"

"My family has served the spirit community for generations." Mr. Hoshino replied, his weathered face crinkling with amusement.

The elderly tailor gestured to the walls of his small shop, where photographs showed him fitting various beings—some clearly not human despite their attempts at disguise.

"Mr. Drakhal has been a valued customer for decades," Mr. Hoshino continued, measuring Kane’s inseam.

Mr. Hoshino stepped back, squinting at Kane thoughtfully.

"For you, I recommend a light muted blue. It will complement your coloring while maintaining professional dignity." He gestured toward several fabric swatches laid out on a nearby table.

Kane ran his fingers over the material. "Not bad. What do you think, Cyrus?"

Cyrus, standing by a rack of completed suits, barely glanced over. "It’s acceptable."

The tailor turned to Cyrus with a knowing smile. "And for you, sir? The usual black, I presume?"

"Of course." Cyrus’s tone left no room for alternatives.

Mr. Hoshino nodded, unsurprised.

"Mr. Drakhal has ordered the same style in black for as long as I’ve known him. Some creatures of habit never change."

Kane rolled his eyes. "You could try a little color."

"I’ll stick with black."

Mr. Hoshino chuckled softly as he jotted measurements in a small notebook.

"The contrast between you two is quite striking. Like night and day working together."

Kane caught Cyrus’s eye in the mirror.

"Yeah," he said. "Striking is one word for it."

"I’ll have your suits ready in thirty minutes, gentlemen," Mr. Hoshino said, gathering his measuring tools.

"Please make yourselves comfortable while you wait."

Kane stretched, his back cracking after hours in Cyrus’s car.

"Actually, is there anything around here? I’d like to stretch my legs a bit."

Mr. Hoshino’s expression softened. "Two doors down, you’ll find Sweet Frost—an ice cream shop. My son Takeo runs it."

A wistful smile crossed his face. "He refused to take over the family business. Three generations of Hoshino tailors, and he chose to make desserts instead."

"Ice cream sounds perfect," Kane said, turning to Cyrus.

Cyrus looked between Kane’s hopeful expression and Mr. Hoshino’s patient one. "Fine."

As they stepped toward the door, Mr. Hoshino called after them.

"Takeo may seem gruff, but his green tea ice cream won awards three years running."

Outside, Kane bounced on his heels as they walked down the street.

"An ice cream break is just what we need after all that temple-crawling and near-death experiences,"

Sweet Frost was a tiny shop with a minimalist aesthetic—white walls, pale blue accents, and a glass counter displaying rows of colorful ice cream.

Behind the counter stood a young man with Mr. Hoshino’s same serious eyes, though his hair was styled in a modern undercut.

"Welcome," he said, voice flat. "What can I get you?"

Kane pressed his nose against the glass, eyes widening at the selection. "Green tea for me—your dad said it’s award-winning."

Takeo’s expression softened slightly. "Dad’s still bragging about that, huh?"

Cyrus stood back, arms crossed, looking distinctly out of place among the pastel decor and cheerful bell chimes.

"Nothing for me," he said.

Kane nudged him. "Come on. Even dragons need to cool down sometimes."

Takeo raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

"You know what? Make that two green tea ice creams," Kane said, pulling out his wallet. "My friend here needs to experience your award-winning creation."

Cyrus’s eyes narrowed. "I don’t need—"

"My treat," Kane insisted, sliding cash across the counter before Cyrus could object.

"Consider it payback for the suit."

Takeo’s eyebrow inched higher as he scooped the pale green ice cream into two waffle cones.

He handed them over, his gaze flickering between them with newfound interest.

"Enjoy," he said, the hint of a smile playing at his lips.

Kane took both cones, passing one to Cyrus, who accepted it with visible reluctance.

"This is unnecessary," Cyrus muttered.

"Just try it," Kane said, already licking his cone enthusiastically. "Oh wow, that is good."

Cyrus stared at his ice cream as if it might attack him. Finally, he took a taste.

Kane watched expectantly. "Well?"

For a moment, Cyrus’s expression remained unchanged. Then something shifted in his eyes—the barest flicker of surprise.

"It’s... acceptable," he admitted.

Kane grinned triumphantly. "High praise coming from you."

"His, ’acceptable’ means it’s absolutely delicious," Kane stage-whispered to Takeo, leaning across the counter.

"He’s emotionally allergic to expressing enjoyment."

Takeo’s serious expression cracked into a genuine smile. "Is that so?"

Cyrus shot Kane a withering look but continued eating his ice cream with measured precision.

"See?" Kane gestured toward Cyrus. "He’s not denying it."

"The flavor balance is... well-executed," Cyrus admitted reluctantly, examining the cone with newfound interest. "The matcha is high quality."

Takeo straightened, pride evident in his posture. "I import it directly from Kyoto."

"Your father mentioned you chose this over the family tailoring business," Cyrus said, surprising both Kane and Takeo with his interest.

Takeo nodded. "Dad wanted me measuring inseams; I wanted to measure ingredients."

He shrugged. "We compromised eventually."

"By you doing exactly what you wanted?" Kane asked, grinning.

"Essentially." Takeo’s eyes crinkled. "However, I still assist him during the busy seasons."

Kane finished his cone with a satisfied sigh. "Well, your rebellion against family tradition was humanity’s gain. This was fantastic."

Cyrus had finished his cone too, though Kane hadn’t even seen him eat the last of it.

Kane gave Takeo a quick bow. "Thanks for the ice cream."

"Come back anytime," Takeo replied.

They stepped outside, Kane still riding the sugar high.

"See? Even you enjoyed it. The world doesn’t end when Cyrus Drakhal experiences pleasure."

Cyrus’s retort died on his lips as they rounded the corner toward Hoshino & Sons. His posture stiffened, eyes narrowing to crimson slits.

"Something’s wrong," he murmured, quickening his pace.

Kane felt it too—a prickle of unease crawling up his spine.

The shop’s door hung slightly ajar, the bell that should have announced their return eerily silent.

As they approached, Kane noticed scuff marks on the threshold and a faint, acrid scent in the air. His fox senses tingled with warning.

"Mr. Hoshino?" Kane called out as he pushed the door fully open.