Page 128 of Mercy Written in Blood

"Your books are old, but none are dusty. The record player gets used. That bowl was repaired instead of replaced. You keep things."

Renji looked towards the celadon bowl visible through the archway. A pale seam of gold crossed the crack in its side — kintsugi performed by a man in Kyoto one hundred and twelve years earlier.

"What conclusion have you reached?" Renji asked.

"That you take care of things longer than anyone expects."

The answer struck closer than Haruki could have known. Renji turned back to the bowls.

"The food."

Haruki allowed the subject to change. For now.

They ate beside the windows. Rain blurred the city beyond the glass. The neighbourhood below had quietened, shopfront lights glowing across wet pavement. Haruki had been correct about the ramen. Renji disliked admitting this.

"The broth is acceptable," he said.

Haruki stared at him over the rim of his bowl.

"Acceptable."

"Yes."

"You've nearly finished."

"I was hungry."

"You said you ate."

"I said I had food at the hospital."

"No. You said you ate at the hospital."

Renji considered the conversation.

"That may have been inaccurate."

Haruki set down his chopsticks.

"Was that an admission?"

"No."

"It sounded like one."

"You are too easily impressed."

"Not usually."

The words carried a quiet confidence that should have sounded arrogant. Instead, they felt like an invitation. Renji looked down at his bowl.

Haruki glanced towards the shelves behind him.

"What language is that?"

Renji followed his gaze. A narrow volume sat open on the desk.

"Dutch."