Jiro pulled aside the sliding glass door and stepped out onto the warm stones of the outdoor bath. He stretched and yawned. The morning sun felt good on his naked body.

Despite the busy events of the day before, Jiro had slept well. Too much had happened, and the exhaustion had won over all else. But now that he was awake, it was time to think. About the bathhouse, its finances, and whether, as Kaori had said the night before, it was still too early to give up on the business. What better place to do it than an outdoor bath?

Jiro washed carefully with soap, shampoo, and hot water (just as Kaori had taught him), and then stepped into the steaming bath. The edge of the water was lined with large, smooth stones. At the far end, perched on a pedestal, was a stone lion that spat a constant stream of steaming spring water. Farther out, rising above a battered wooden fence, Jiro could see the peak of the mountains behind the bathhouse. Even in the Summer, there was snow on their jagged peaks.

He found a nice spot near the steps and leaned back into the tiles of the bath wall. Ahhh. He could feel the weariness leaving him. There was nothing better than a hot bath to make one’s worries go away.

As the heat seeped into him, his thoughts wandered to the events of the day before. To Aya, the terrible misunderstanding in the cave, the kaiju woman named Sheena, and, of course, the night walk with Kaori and her questions about Misha.

He had made it clear to Kaori that he did not want to talk about Misha, and she had not pressed the subject. In fact, he did not want to talk about anything related to his past, to Canada, to anything that had happened before he had arrived here in Japan. But it seemed clear that he could not run away from this anymore. He would have to come to terms somehow. But how? How to deal with a woman that kept haunting his dreams?

Jiro’s whole body had warmed up now, and he could feel a cool breeze from the ocean blowing. A few cars honked in the distance, making their way to or from Koko Town, the nearby village. The breeze smelled of salt and seaweed. The smell reminded Jiro of Aya. He had caught a similar scent, when, in her panicked scramble, she had pressed the sole of one foot to his face.

Surely, Yui or one of the others had returned her drawstring bag. Did she believe it was Jiro that had kidnapped her, torn off her bikini top, and buried his face between her legs in the dark, musty cavern? This was all that blue woman’s fault. That blue kaiju woman with the terrible tongue.

“Sheena … That bitch …” Because of that fish woman, Aya would never look him in the eyes again. She would never squeeze her arms together to flaunt her cantaloupe breasts, breasts so perky and firm that they defied the demands of gravity. And she would certainly never run a finger under her bikini bottom and pull it aside, to give Jiro a flash of her well-trimmed pubic hair, and the coppery secrets that lay beyond ...

With these thoughts of Aya, little Jiro had begun to prick up under the water’s surface. God, thought Jiro, she is so hot. He imagined he was back again in the cavern, with Aya’s legs splayed out in front of him. He imagined himself crawling over between her legs, right there in the pool of seawater, and putting his tongue to her stomach. He would trace the outline of each individual ab, tasting the sweat and exertion in the grooves of her muscles. He would go slowly, build up the tension. He could almost hear her moaning, moaning just like she had in her poison-induced dreams.

Jiro slowly lowered a hand into the bath and began to stroke. It had become a ritual, to soak in the bath and do this every morning. To imagine the faces, mouths, breasts, legs, and feet of the women he knew. Women like Kaori, Yui, Aya, and yes, even Misha. To imagine all the things he could do them, and they to him, if it weren’t for his allergies …

Suddenly, something grabbed hold of Jiro’s ankle. Jiro jerked his leg back in surprise, but the grip under the water was too powerful. It wrenched at him, and all at once, pulled Jiro underwater, knocking his head against the rough-hewn rock at the bottom of the path. He tried to pull himself up or swim to the surface, but the pull was too strong. It pressed him down into the stone floor of the bath. What was going on? What had pulled him under? Was this how he was going to die?

Amidst the chaos, little Jiro stood strong.