The dull tapping of Miori's heels echoes faintly along the uphill dirt path that runs through the hilly area behind Zenkō-ji Temple, in the center of Nagano. Although it's only about a twenty-minute walk from the busy avenue where the American fast-food joint and Cordesol Meat are located, this place feels completely isolated from the world — silent, evocative, barely lit by the small shrines scattered along the path.
«In the end, that Wagyu Tataki Fusion wasn't anything special. What a disappointment…» Miori remarks aloud, as if talking to someone beside her, even though she's walking alone — as if raising her voice on purpose keeps her from hearing her own thoughts.
She briefly glances back, her glossy sapphire eyes drifting toward the brightly lit center of Nagano, still buzzing with nightlife. She lets out a deep sigh, then turns forward again, toward the steep slope where the path ends — each step growing shorter and slower the further she goes.
