chapter 3: mackerel sushi

1

sitting in the back of the taxi he’d hailed from kyoto station, tomomi iwakura rubbed his

stomach repeatedly. the bento he’d eaten while taking a business call on the bullet train was still

firmly lodged in his stomach. and yet, here he was, on his way to a restaurant. he slightly

regretted not bringing his usual indigestion medicine.

tomomi got out of the taxi on karasuma-dori, cast his gaze about for a moment, and then

carefully removed his black-rimmed glasses and looked up at the ginkgo tree that stood in front of

higashi honganji temple.

its leaves were all a golden hue. only now did tomomi realize just how autumnal the scenery

was becoming. there was nowhere like kyoto to make you really notice the changing of the

seasons – something that completely escaped him when he was busy with his work in tokyo.

the light turned green. he put his glasses back on and made his way across the pedestrian

crossing, gazing at his feet as he walked. then he glanced left and then right along shomen-dori,

his eyes restlessly taking in the sights. the narrow street was lined with shops selling buddhist

altar fittings and religious clothing, and a mix of other businesses and apartments. just as the taxi

driver had insisted, there was no sign of the restaurant he was looking for.

a black luxury sedan, which had been closely following the taxi, passed by and then stopped at

the side of the road, as though waiting for him to make his move. with a dismissive glance in its

direction, tomomi quietly tutted and set off again at a brisk pace.

an old woman was making her way down the street towards him, hunched over a pushcart.

‘don’t suppose you know of any restaurants around here?’ he asked as she passed.

‘a restaurant?’ replied the old woman, straightening up to look at him. ‘there’s one on the next

street down. the daiya, it’s called. is that the place you’re after?’

‘ah, no, that’s not quite right.’

at this, the old woman pointed to a delivery truck. ‘try asking that young man instead. i’m

clueless about this sort of thing!’

tomomi trotted across the street to where the truck was parked.

‘sorry, do you know if the kamogawa diner is around here?’

‘the kamogawa diner?’ repeated the delivery driver in his blue-striped uniform, screwing up

his face as he sorted through his packages. ‘never heard of it. the address is round here, is it?’

‘yes,’ said tomomi, stroking his moustache as he showed the man the note he’d made of the

address. ‘east of higashinotoin on shomen-dori is what i was told.’

‘ah, i know the place you mean. second building on the right along here. see where there used

to be a sign?’ clutching a large cardboard box, the driver jerked his chin towards a drab,

abandoned-looking building. as tomomi returned the note to his pocket, the driver flashed a

smile, then climbed into his truck.

tomomi walked slowly down the street, then crossed it and stood in front of the building in

question. it didn’t look anything like a restaurant. a hesitant expression briefly passed across

tomomi’s face then, making his mind up, he pushed the aluminium sliding door to one side.

‘hello, welc—’

the woman inside who turned to greet him seemed to freeze mid-sentence.

‘are you serving meals?’

the young woman slowly tilted her head to one side, then peered into the kitchen as if to check

with the chef.

‘all i can serve you is the set menu, but if that’s okay . . .’ said the chef, looking out from the

kitchen at tomomi. his neat appearance seemed at odds with the restaurant’s shabby exterior.

‘oh, that’s fine. a small portion, please.’

looking relieved, tomomi made his way to one of the four-seater tables. a newspaper and

weekly magazine had been abandoned on its formica surface. the previous customer must have

just left.

sitting down on one of the red-cushioned chairs, tomomi took in his surroundings. there were

three other tables like his, plus five seats at the counter by the kitchen. near the entrance was a

shelf suspended from the ceiling on which an lcd television sat alongside a miniature shinto

shrine. there were two other customers: a young man at one of the tables, and an older woman at

the counter. both had their backs to tomomi. from the outside the place had looked a little

sketchy, but on the inside it seemed like a perfectly ordinary restaurant. tomomi unfolded the

newspaper.

‘koishi,’ called the young man at the table. ‘could you pour me that tea?’

‘sorry, hiroshi,’ cooed koishi. ‘i clean forgot!’ she hurried over to the table with a small teapot

and filled his cup.

tomomi couldn’t help thinking that the name koishi suited the young woman. he wasn’t sure

which characters it was written with, but assuming the ko part meant ‘small’ and the ishi part

‘rock’, then she had just the petite build and round face to match.

‘curry was a little spicier than usual today, wasn’t it?’ said hiroshi, dabbing at his forehead

with a white handkerchief. ‘my eyes were practically watering! has nagare changed the recipe or

something?’

‘who knows! dad’s always experimenting. probably just felt like spicing it up today.’

so the chef was koishi’s father, then. the place must be a family operation. and it sounded like

today’s ‘set menu’ was curry?

‘here’s your desser— oops, i mean your mizugashi!’ said koishi, bringing a small tray over to

the counter.

‘that’s right,’ said the kimono-clad elderly lady sitting there. ‘in the west they might call it

dessert, but please, in japanese cuisine the fruit at the end of the meal is known as mizugashi. oh,

this matcha is beautifully brewed. could you clear all this away so i can enjoy it?’ she pointed at a

lacquered wooden tray on which various empty dishes were arranged.

‘i was just about to!’ grumbled koishi as she removed the tray and wiped the table down with a

duster. ‘dad will be glad to see you’ve polished everything off.’

‘delicious as always, nagare!’ called the lady into the kitchen, half rising from her counter seat.

‘thank you, tae,’ said nagare, flashing her a smile from the kitchen. ‘i’m glad it was to your

liking!’

the lady had mentioned japanese cuisine, so it seemed that whatever she’d had, it hadn’t been

the super- spicy curry that the other customer had mentioned. peeping over from behind his

newspaper, tomomi noted the bowl of matcha tea and plate of fruit in front of her.

‘but nagare, i wouldn’t use matsutake mushrooms in that chawanmushi,’ asserted the lady,

who was still half standing. ‘i assume you sourced them from tanba? the aroma is really too

strong, and it overpowers the other wonderful flavours you have going on in the savoury custard.

you know what they say: less is more. if you’re going to use such a delicate stock for your

chawanmushi, the only ingredients you should be adding are lily bulbs, kamaboko, and shiitake

mushrooms.’

‘there’s always something, isn’t there, tae!’ said nagare, wincing as he removed his chef’s hat.

‘duly noted!’

‘i owe you the same as usual, i imagine?’ asked tae, reaching for her purse.

‘yes, that’ll be eight thousand yen, please,’ replied koishi matter-of-factly.

‘thank you for the meal.’ tae handed koishi a ten-thousand-yen note and left the restaurant

without waiting for her change. she was taller than she had seemed when sitting down, and the

tatsuta river design on her obi suited her long, straight back. tomomi watched her leave, a look of

blank amazement on his face.

‘very sorry for the wait,’ said nagare, bringing tomomi’s food over on an aluminium tray.

‘this . . . is the set menu?’ asked tomomi, goggling at the array of dishes being laid out before

him.

‘you’ll have noticed we don’t have menus on the tables. first-time customers always get the set

menu. if it’s to your liking, then next time you visit we’ll whip up whatever you like. well, i hope

you enjoy!’ nagare tucked the tray under his arm and gave a quick bow.

‘erm . . .’ said tomomi as he was walking away.

nagare turned. ‘yes?’

‘this is the kamogawa diner, isn’t it?’

‘if you want to call it that.’

‘then where can i find the kamogawa detective agency?’

‘that’s what you’re after, is it? you should have said so when you walked in here!’

nagare made as if to take away the dishes, but tomomi stopped him.

‘oh, no, i’ll definitely try the food,’ he said, reaching for his chopsticks. ‘but if i could discuss

something with you afterwards . . .’

fried tofu and mizuna leaves braised in soy sauce. simmered herring and aubergine. lightly

pickled turnip. seasoned egg scrambled with sardine fry. vinegared mackerel. taro stem dressed

with ground sesame. the miso-glazed fish was probably pomfret, and the steam rising from it

indicated that it had just been grilled. miso soup with onions and potatoes. tomomi pressed his

palms together in a quick gesture of appreciation then, holding the kiyomizu-ware rice bowl in his

left hand, reached for his chopsticks.

this was his first visit to the restaurant, and yet the array of plates in front of him felt somehow

nostalgic. immediately forgetting how full he’d felt on the way here, he began by sampling the egg

dish.

the moment tomomi tasted the dish, he involuntarily closed his eyes. that sweetness of the

egg, mingling with the slight bitterness of the tiny sardines. the nutty aroma of the sesame oil . . .

it was all just like back in the day. tomomi leaned forward and, in a slight breach of etiquette,

hovered his chopsticks back and forth over the various dishes, contemplating what to eat next.

eventually he opted for the herring. it broke apart effortlessly between his chopsticks, and was

quite strongly flavoured – just the way he liked it. after cleansing his palate with a slice of pickled

turnip, he picked up the bowl of miso soup. ever since childhood, tomomi had believed that

potatoes and onions were the best ingredients for miso soup. the amount of miso was just right,

too. working his way through the dishes, he emptied his bowl of rice in no time at all. koishi

noticed, and chuckled.

‘how about some more rice? there’s plenty more,’ she said, holding out her tray.

‘no thanks. i could keep going, but i’ll stop myself here.’

tomomi wiped his moustache with a handkerchief, then covered the rice bowl with his palm.

his belly felt like it was close to bursting. he slightly regretted eating so enthusiastically.

‘glad to see you enjoyed the food,’ said koishi, pouring him some tea from her pot.

‘koishi,’ said nagare, who had appeared and begun clearing the table. ‘the gentleman is

actually here for the detective service. after he’s finished his tea, show him to the back office,

would you?’

so koishi was the detective, then? tomomi was a little taken aback.

‘oh! well, you could have told us that when you walked in here,’ said koishi as she carefully

wiped the table down. she really takes after her father, thought tomomi to himself, noticing how

much her tone and words matched his.

‘so, you’ll help me track down the dish i’m interested in, will you?’ he asked, looking up at

koishi as he sipped his tea.

‘strictly speaking, it’s my dad who does the real detective work,’ said koishi, leaning in close.

her small build meant that her face was almost level with the seated tomomi. ‘i’m just the

interviewer. sort of like an interpreter. see, i don’t mean to be rude, but the people asking for our

services are liable to be a little . . . peculiar. my dad often has a hard time working out what

they’re after. so my job is to break it all down for him in a way he can understand, and—’

‘koishi, stop chewing his ear off, would you?’ called nagare from the kitchen, cutting her

breathless explanation short.

‘thanks for the meal, nagare,’ called hiroshi towards the kitchen. he had been tapping away at

his phone the whole time, but now rose to his feet. ‘you know, i actually think you got the

spiciness just right.’

‘glad to hear it. especially from a connoisseur like you, hiroshi,’ replied nagare, a smile

spreading across his face.

‘i keep telling you, i’m no connoisseur – i just eat too much.’ hiroshi slapped a five-hundred-

yen coin on the table, then slid the restaurant’s aluminium door open.

‘drowsy!’ shouted koishi at the tabby cat who had been snoozing in the doorway and was now

rubbing himself up against hiroshi’s legs. ‘don’t even think about coming in here. dad’ll only

boot you out again, anyway!’

‘that’s right,’ said hiroshi to the cat. ‘i’d watch out for that nagare if i were you!’ he gave

drowsy a pat on the head, then began making his way east.

‘hiroshi, we’re closed tomorrow, so you’ll have to find somewhere else to eat, okay?’ called

koishi, somewhat regretfully. hiroshi half turned and waved a hand in response.

with tomomi the only remaining customer, the restaurant fell silent. koishi hurried off to the

back office.

tomomi’s phone vibrated in his chest pocket. a new message.

you have half an hour.

looking at the screen, tomomi let out a small sigh.

‘shall i show you to the office, then?’ asked nagare, who had emerged from the kitchen and

was gesturing for tomomi to follow him.

‘the detective agency is at the back, is it?’

‘oh, agency is a bit of a stretch. we just try to help people find whatever dish it is they’re after.

hard to make a living from the restaurant alone these days, you see.’

nagare opened the door by the kitchen and led him down a long, narrow corridor. its walls were

lined with countless photographs of food.

‘are these all your creations?’

‘they’re nothing special,’ said nagare, smiling as he turned around. ‘i just happen to like

cooking food as much as i enjoy eating it.’

‘is this that famous chinese dish?’ asked tomomi, pointing to a photo halfway down the left-

hand wall. ‘what’s it called again?’

‘oh, that,’ said nagare, coming to a halt. ‘yes, that’s fotiaoqiang – “buddha jumps over the

wall”. smells so good that even buddhist monks were said to jump over the wall of their

monastery for a bite.’

‘the ingredients for that must be pretty hard to come by. and – sorry, but at a restaurant like

this? who on earth did you serve it to?’

‘my wife, actually,’ replied nagare. ‘i’d heard it was a cure-all. didn’t seem to do much in the

end, but she did keep saying how delicious it was. so, medical effectiveness aside, i’d say it was

worth the effort.’ a sad smile had come to his lips. ‘this way, please.’

nagare opened the door in front of them. tomomi bowed to nagare, then walked straight in.

he found himself in a small western-style room, with an area of perhaps ten square metres.

two sofas were positioned on opposite sides of a low table. seated on the one furthest away from

him was koishi, who had changed into a black suit. tomomi sat down opposite her.

‘koishi kamogawa at your service,’ she said, greeting him formally this time. ‘would you mind

filling in your name, address, age, date of birth, contact details and occupation here?’ she placed a

grey clipboard on the table.

‘do i have to write everything?’ asked tomomi, gripping the pen as he looked koishi in the

eye.

‘oh, don’t worry. we’re very good with data protection, plus we have a duty of confidentiality.

but if it really bothers you, just go with some made-up name – you know, taro yamada or

something. just as long as you give us your actual contact details.’ koishi’s tone was matter-of-

fact.

after thinking for a moment, tomomi followed koishi’s advice and wrote ‘taro yamada’,

followed by a made-up address, and gave his occupation as a civil servant. then he wrote his

actual age – fifty-eight – and, in the contact details section, the number for his personal mobile.

‘well then, mr taro yamada. let’s get to business. what dish are you looking for?’ asked

koishi.

‘i’d like you to help me with a certain kind of mackerel sushi.’

‘what kind, exactly?’ asked koishi, scribbling away with her pen. ‘the refined type they serve

at the izu restaurant? or something a bit more rough and ready, like you get at hanaori?’

‘oh no, i’m not after some famous restaurant’s sushi. i want the kind i had as a child,’ said

tomomi, removing his glasses, a faraway look on his face.

‘mr yamada, do i know you from somewhere?’ asked koishi, leaning forward and studying

tomomi’s face.

‘no,’ replied tomomi, looking away and hastily replacing his glasses. ‘i don’t believe we’ve

met.’

‘well, if you say so. so, tell me about this childhood memory of yours,’ said koishi, pen at the

ready.

‘it’s almost fifty years ago now, so i’m afraid it’s all a little hazy,’ said tomomi, as he began,

haltingly, to retrace his memories.

he was born in mushakoji-cho, west of the kyoto imperial palace, about five kilometres north

from the restaurant.

‘my father was always in tokyo – i can’t remember him ever being home. it was always just

my mother, my little sister and me around the dinner table. we hardly spoke – our meals were

quiet, sad affairs. and that wasn’t where i ate the mackerel sushi, either.’ a melancholy look had

come across tomomi’s face.

‘then where did you eat it?’ asked koishi, dropping her voice slightly.

‘a ryokan near our house. the kuwano, it was called.’

‘a ryokan? so it was made by a professional cook?’ asked koishi, scrawling something in her

notebook.

‘not exactly. it wasn’t something they served to guests.’

‘if we’re talking fifty years ago, then you were only eight, correct?’ asked koishi, a doubtful

look on her face. ‘i don’t mean to contradict you, but are children that age normally able to make

distinctions like that? you know, between regular food and the kind you’re served at a ryokan?’

‘well, yes, i suppose they might have been serving it at the ryokan too. what i mean was, i

wasn’t eating it as a paying guest,’ explained tomomi, as though proud of this fact.

‘hmm . . . i’m not quite sure i follow!’ said koishi with a wry smile.

‘see, the owner actually lived in part of the ryokan, and i used to play on her veranda. when it

got to about three o’clock, she’d always bring me out a snack. nothing too sugary – it was always

baked sweet potatoes, or sticky rice with adzuki beans – just something to keep me going. but

what i remember most vividly is her mackerel sushi.’

‘so, what was it like, exactly?’ asked koishi, her pen at the ready again.

‘this is going to sound a little abstract, but when i try to remember it, the first thing that comes

to mind is the word “happiness”. if you’re after something a little more concrete, i do remember

that she used yellow rice.’

‘yellow rice,’ repeated koishi as she noted this down. ‘anything else?’

‘from what i can recall, it wasn’t as sweet as people tend to make it these days – it had more of

an acidic taste. almost lemony . . . oh, and i seem to remember the owner of the ryokan saying

something about the ryukyu islands being crucial to the flavour.’

‘ryukyu – as in okinawa? crucial to the flavour of . . . mackerel sushi?’ asked koishi,

mystified.

‘as i say, this is all fifty years ago, so i might not be remembering everything correctly,’ said

tomomi, as though somewhat discouraged by this reaction.

‘maybe she was from okinawa, eh?’

‘well, i’m not sure about that. but she always used to say something about a “living torii gate”,’

said tomomi, tilting his chin back and staring up at the ceiling.

‘a living torii . . . do they have something like that in okinawa? this is all getting pretty

mysterious!’ said koishi, sighing deeply as she tried sketching a picture in her notebook.

‘that’s about all i can remember,’ said tomomi, glancing at koishi’s drawing as he settled

back into the sofa.

‘okay, i’ve noted that all down. but i have to say, i’m not sure this’ll be enough for dad to go

on . . .’ said koishi, flicking through the pages of her notebook, an uncertain look on her face.

‘i trust you’ll do your best,’ said tomomi, rising from the sofa.

‘i doubt we’ll be able to make it just the way you remember it. but we’ll have a go at recreating

it, and then you can come and try it – how does that sound?’

tomomi nodded silently in response.

‘first of all, we’ll need to track down this person you mentioned. then the ingredients. and

we’ll need to work out the flavouring . . . will two weeks be okay? that should give us enough

time.’ koishi closed her notebook and looked up.

‘two weeks?’ asked tomomi, staring back at koishi. ‘i can’t wait that long. can’t you do it in

one? i’ll be in town again next week, you see.’

‘someone’s in a hurry! is there some reason why it has to be a week?’

tomomi closed his eyes and visualized his jam-packed schedule. if he couldn’t eat the sushi the

following week, there was no knowing when he’d next be in kyoto.

‘do i have to tell you that, too?’ asked tomomi, his eyes slowly opening again behind his

glasses.

‘oh, no,’ said koishi, hastily dropping her gaze. ‘i was just curious.’

‘right. well, i’m counting on you,’ said tomomi, pressing both hands to the table as he bowed.

‘it’s all down to my dad, really. but i’ll make sure he gives it his best shot.’

‘i appreciate it.’

‘i don’t mean to be rude, mr yamamoto, but i have to say this is a pretty odd request. this sushi

you’re describing doesn’t sound very tasty at all! there are plenty of kyoto restaurants that serve

incredible mackerel sushi these days – but all you care about is this weird version of yours.’

‘you’re still young, aren’t you? all you care about is eating the tastiest food you can. get to my

age and you’ll realize that nostalgia can be just as vital an ingredient. i want to eat the mackerel

sushi that made me so happy back then, that’s all. oh, and by the way,’ he added with a wry smile,

‘it’s yamada, not yamamoto.’

‘sorry about that. but i don’t know about “young” – i’m well into my thirties! one week, eh . . .

can you give us another day at least? how about next wednesday? the restaurant is closed then

anyway, so it’ll be easier to fit you in.’

today, tomomi had taken advantage of a rare window of free time to visit, but next week he’d

be here on official business. he wouldn’t be able to skip out on his duties for long, but he could

probably wangle an hour or so if he put his mind to it.

‘okay, wednesday it is. i’ll be here around noon. if there’s a problem, please let me know as

soon as you can.’

‘dad is usually pretty quick at gauging these things,’ said koishi, her eyes creasing slightly as

she smiled. ‘he’ll know straight away whether it’s a complete no-go.’

‘i’ll pay now. i owe you for the meal, too,’ said tomomi, getting out his wallet.

‘we only take payment from satisfied clients, so please, pay for the detective service next week.

as for the set menu you had, that’ll be one thousand yen.’

‘all that . . . for a thousand yen? i feel bad paying so little!’ said tomomi, handing her a one-

thousand-yen note.

‘will you be needing a receipt?’

‘oh, no, thank you. ah – actually, if you could write one out to taro yamada, it’ll make for a

nice souvenir,’ said tomomi with a grin.

‘shall i call you a taxi?’ asked koishi as she prepared his receipt. ‘they can be surprisingly

tricky to hail around here.’

‘oh, no. i think i’ll wander around a bit before heading back.’

koishi led him back down the long, narrow corridor to the restaurant, where they found nagare

eating a plate of curry at the counter. he had a newspaper open in front of him, and a grim look on

his face. when he saw that tomomi had returned, he hastily put his spoon down and folded up the

newspaper.

‘oh, please – don’t mind me,’ said tomomi. his shoulders seemed to stiffen as he spotted the

newspaper.

nagare downed his glass of water. ‘koishi, did you manage to find out what the gentleman is

looking for?’

‘oh yes, i found out all about it. the rest is up to you!’ replied koishi, slapping him on the arm

hard enough for a satisfying sound to reverberate around the restaurant.

‘hey, go easy, would you?’ grumbled nagare as he rubbed his arm.

‘well, i’ll be back in a week. until then!’ said tomomi with a slight smile. he gave a long bow,

then walked out of the restaurant.

‘thank you!’ said koishi, bowing in the direction of his retreating figure. ‘we’ll see you soon!’

‘koishi, what did he just say?’ cut in nagare. when she rose from her bow, she found him glaring

at her. ‘a week? how many times do i have to tell you? we always need at least two weeks to get

results!’

‘i know, i know, but mr yamada asked us to make it a week! you’re the one who’s always

saying a detective’s main job is to keep the client happy . . .’

‘and you’re the one who doesn’t know when to keep your mouth shut! well, you’ve told him

now. what are the details? please tell me it’s something i’ll be able to solve in a week.’ nagare

snatched koishi’s notebook and opened it up.

‘oh, it’ll be no trouble for you, dad,’ said koishi, thumping nagare on the back. the sound was

even louder this time. ‘three days would probably do it, i reckon!’

‘but this sushi he’s on about – i have no idea what it could be . . .’ said nagare, a series of deep

wrinkles forming on his brow.

‘well, finding out is your forte, isn’t it? come on, dad, i know you can do it. ooh – you know

what? i feel like curry. after seeing how well it went down with hiroshi . . .’ koishi skipped off

towards the kitchen.

still seated, nagare began leafing through the notebook. his expression was growing more and

more troubled.

‘wow, this curry is good!’ said koishi, beaming over at him from the kitchen. nagare kept his

eyes on the notebook, tracing koishi’s writing with his finger.

‘yellow sushi rice . . . lemony . . . ryukyu islands . . . the kuwano ryokan . . . a living torii gate

. . . that’s all you got out of him? this is going to be tough.’ nagare closed the notebook, folded

his arms, and gazed up at the ceiling.

‘don’t worry, dad,’ called koishi from the kitchen as she started washing up. ‘i’m sure you’ll

solve this one in no time. oh, by the way – why were you scowling at the newspaper like that just

now? something bad happen?’

‘looks like they’re passing that consumption tax hike in ten days or so. things are tough

enough as it is. if the tax goes up any more, every restaurant in japan will be done for,’ said

nagare, throwing the newspaper onto the table.

‘oh, it’s terrible isn’t it,’ said koishi, stacking plates in the cupboard. ‘that prime minister

made all sorts of promises when he started out, but now all he seems to do is mumble excuses.’

‘the guy comes from a family of politicians. he’s probably just doing whatever the people

around him tell him to do. still, i’m hoping he still remembers that thing he said about “sticking to

his guns” . . .’ said nagare, staring intently at the photo in the newspaper.

‘well, whatever the politicians are up to, we’ve got a job to do,’ said koishi, removing her

apron. ‘i’m off to the bank!’

‘you’re right. i’m not going to have any brainwaves sitting here twiddling my thumbs. i’ll head

down to mushakoji-cho – ask around the neighbourhood and see what i can dig up about that

ryokan.’ nagare removed his chef’s whites and draped them over the back of the chair.

‘alright then. you’ll be back for dinner though, won’t you? what are we having? i feel like

sushi all of a sudden . . .’

‘that’d be a bit extravagant. oh, i get it – hoping for a meal at hiroshi’s place, are you?’

‘got it in one. great deductive skills, dad.’

‘hey, it’s no use trying to flatter me. money’s tight right now, so if we go, we’re splitting the

bill, okay?’

‘alright, you old penny-pincher. just as long as i get to eat hiroshi’s sushi,’ said koishi, a slight

blush rising to her cheeks.