The crowd's murmurs solidified into a wave of curiosity. Villagers peeked from windows and doorways, drawn by Aya's proclamation and the sheer oddity of the crowds. Some villagers are curious, some fearful, some amused. A shopkeeper saw an opportunity, waved. A child pointed at him and asked her mother. "Why is that guy weird?"
While others gathered around Marisa, showing off the roomba on her hand like a museum display but in the crowd she had gathered, her face plastered with smug pride.
"Over here, Mister Artisan! A slight glance toward the camera please! Perfect!" Aya's shutter clicked. "Now, perhaps a thoughtful look at that pottery stall? We can call it 'Appreciating Local Craftsmanship'!"
Nowa ignored them and her. "Can't read what that sign is." He mumbled as looked at a shop with Japanese banner symbols. "Can't read that either." another one with the unrecognisable symbols for him. Then his focus locked on a building further down the street from which the unmistakable, heavenly scent of baked yeast and sugar came from. He began walking toward it.
"Ah! He's drawn to the aroma of our fine local bakeries!" Aya narrated for her imagined readers, darting ahead to get a shot of him approaching the door. "A man of simple, refined tastes!"
Marisa gleefully glanced over them then ran towards them, happily bouncing on her feet while seamlessly escaping the crowd she had gathered. "Wait for mee!"
Reimu kept pace at his side. "If she writes one word about you having 'refined tastes,' I'm billing you for the increased donation box scams this will inspire."
"Just a guy," Nowa murmured, his hand reaching for the bakery's door handle. "Remember? A guy who's about to buy some bread."
He pulled the door open, triggering a bell chime. The warm air of the bakery washed over them. For a moment, there was peace. Then Aya zipped her way in behind them, camera already raised.
The elderly baker behind the counter, a woman with kind eyes, looked up from her loaves. Her smile, initially warm for Reimu and Marisa, faltered for a second as she took in the tall, strangely-dressed man, and then widened with confusion at the sight of the rapidly-focusing tengu reporter.
Nowa met the baker's gaze, his own cynical edges soften slightly in the face of wholesome environment. He completely ignored Aya, who was now crouching by a rack of rolls for a "candid" low-angle shot.
"One loaf of whatever is the warmest," Nowa said, his voice quieter. Then, without looking, he jabbed a thumb toward Reimu. "The bill is on hers."
The elderly baker, along with Marisa, burst into giggles. "Oh my," the baker who'd chuckled, wiped her hands on her apron.
Reimu shot a laser-sharp glare at the back of his head. In response, he leaned toward her, his voice dropping to a whisper meant only for her. "Now's your chance to check your suspicion about those conjured coins. Consider it a live test. Everything after this purchase is my responsibility." He pulled back just enough to give her a quick, knowing wink.
Reimu held his gaze for a long second, the glare melting into a look of sheer, exasperated intuition. She sighed, not in annoyance, then she stepped forward, pulling the rune pouch he'd given her from her sleeve.
"Right," she said loudly, for the benefit of the watching baker and the ever-clicking Aya. She pulled out a few of the local coins. They felt solid, real, and unnervingly permanent in her hand. She placed them on the counter. "For the bread. And..." she added, shooting a look at Marisa, who was already eyeing a tray of melon buns, "...two of those as well."
The transaction was completed. The coins were accepted without a second glance. The conjured money was, as he had promised, real. It did not disappear.
As the baker handed Nowa the warm, crusty loafs, its heat seeping through the paper wrapping The remaining tension in Reimu's shoulders eased a little. Aya, sensing a quiet in the drama, began interviewing the baker about her "reaction to the international client."
Nowa tore off a piece of the warm bread and took a bite. A small, simple nod of approval to the baker before turning to leave.
"Satisfied?" he murmured to Reimu as he passed her.
Reimu didn't answer immediately, her thumb finger brushing against the rune pouch in her hand, before tucking them into her sleeves. Finally, a tiny, reluctant smile touched her lips. "The bread is. We'll see about the rest."
He pushed the door open, the bell chiming his exit. He took another bite, and a genuine, unforced smile spread across his face. A familiar, long-forgotten feeling of comfort washed over him, and he closed his eyes, savoring it. Reimu, Marisa-who were eating her melon buns, and Aya followed after him.
"Amy.." he muttered, He was smiling, the comfort so palpable his usual guarded persona had completely vanished.
Reimu noticed the transformation instantly and held her gaze on him, analyzing this rare, unarmored version of the man. Aya, sensing a goldmine, was already circling him, the shutter of her camera clicking from every conceivable angle. Marisa could only stifle a laugh at the sheer absurdity of their personal paparazzi documenting a spiritual moment over a loaf of bread.
"Alright, time to buy some shrine stocks as well as potatoes," Reimu announced, walking ahead and expecting them to follow, deliberately breaking the spell.
The moment shattered. Nowa's smile tightened, retracting back into the familiar, dismissive smirk.
"Alright, Miko Ribbon," he said. "A girl has her needs, and she's gonna crash the local economy by spending a lot of my donated goodwill." He took another bite of the bread.
Reimu flinched, stopping in her tracks. "I-I'm not!" she retorted, her cheeks flushing slightly. It was a half-truth, and they both knew it; the weight of the suddenly-full donation box was a temptation she hadn't felt in years.
Nowa caught up to her, his smirk now shown again. "Relax. It's what it's for. Just try to save some for next week's groceries. Unless you plan on hiring a full-time chef with that haul."
"Don't give me ideas," Reimu grumbled. She was too busy mentally cataloging the shrine's long list of needed repairs and supplies.
As they walked further into the market only to stop by in each store, one after another, as Reimu bought some stocks and shrine essentials, the dynamic had subtly shifted. The mission was the same, but the undercurrent had changed. Nowa had, for a fleeting second, shown a piece of his past. Reimu had seen it, and in her own pragmatic way, had acknowledged it by letting the moment pass without comment or interrogation. It was a silent agreement: his vulnerabilities were his own, but they were no longer a threat to be met with suspicion.
Aya, meanwhile, was already scribbling in her notepad, muttering potential headlines. "'Mysterious Artisan Finds Solace in Simplicity!' No, too soft... 'Bread of the Gods: A Culinary Review from Beyond the Border!' Yes, that's the one!"
Marisa, having finished her melon buns, looped her arm through Nowa's free one, grinning up at him. "See, Old-timer? Told you you'd like it. Now, about that dango I mentioned..." Nowa didn't shrug her off. He simply let his arm be taken, a faint sigh escaping him, not of annoyance, but of resignation.
"Dango, huh? Lead on, then. But if it's not as good as the bread, I'm holding you personally responsible."
"Psh, it's the best in Gensokyo! The old lady who runs the stall gives me an extra stick if I—"
"—tell her a good rumor," Nowa finished for her. "Yeah, remember the briefing. Let's not give her anything too good. I'd prefer my stay here to remain 'reclusive,' not 'notorious.'"
Then he stopped dead. A familiar presence, a ghost of a feeling he thought forever lost, was pulling at him from behind the crowd ahead. His entire body went still.
Marisa instantly noticed the change, her grin vanishing as she looked at his suddenly grave expression. "Old-timer?"
Reimu with her comically large haul from buying stuff, hearing the drop in Marisa's tone, stopped and turned. "What is it?"
Nowa didn't answer. He walked forward with a new, urgent purpose, letting go of Marisa's arm. He devoured the rest of the bread in two large bites, his focus laser-locked on someone in the distance. "Amy?" he muttered, the name a desperate question.
He pushed past the crowd, his movements sharp. Reimu and Marisa exchanged a worried glance and hurried after him, with Aya following, her camera clicking away, capturing the sudden shift in drama.
Nowa broke through the last of the crowd and his hand shot out, grabbing the arm of a woman with silver hair styled in twin braids, dressed in an impeccably clean maid outfit.
"Amy?" he asked, his voice laced with a hope so fragile it was painful to hear.
The silver-haired maid woman stopped.