Vampire and His Pleasant Companions: Volume 1 - Extra

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Gossiping with a Bat

Sunlight streamed through the large windows, reaching all the way to the back of the break room. As Al lay sprawled across the backrest of the sofa, the warmth from the soft sunlight and the heater made him feel cozy, almost as if it weren’t the end of February. He was drowsily watching TV when a sharp knock on the door made him blink in surprise.

“Excuse me~!”

The door opened with a cheerful voice, and Matsumura from reception peeked in, looking left and right as if searching for someone. “No one here?” She murmured. “I thought I heard someone talking, but it was just the TV, huh?”

Matsumura walked into the break room, holding a box the size of a thick weekly magazine. She casually grabbed the remote control from the table and switched off the TV with a click.

“Squeak, squeak, squeak!”

Al, who had been enjoying the TV as part of his Japanese studies, squeaked in protest. Never mind that he had been dozing off. Matsumura jumped in surprise at the sudden noise, finally noticing the embalmer’s pet bat lying on the sofa.

“Oh, Al, there you are,” Matsumura said, narrowing her eyes and gently stroking Al’s head with her index finger. While Al appreciated the affectionate gesture, he still wanted the TV back on. He chirped again in protest, but Matsumura just responded with “So cute,” while continuing to pet him. It was frustrating that humans couldn’t understand bat language.

Even though speaking bat was one thing, Al’s ability to understand spoken Japanese had significantly improved thanks to the intense training by Akira and being thrown into a Japanese-speaking environment. He could now grasp most of simple conversations, even if his own speech was still a bit clumsy.

“Oh, Al, when everyone gets back, could you let them know that this is a gift from Shirakawa Kadansan?” Matsumura lightly shook the box. Al tilted his head in confusion. How was he supposed to convey that when all he could do was chirp? Matsumura chuckled at his reaction.

“It really seems like you understand. I guess I’ll leave a note just in case.” It appeared that Matsumura had only been joking. Of course, he thought, realizing it was a silly idea to begin with. Matsumura pulled a notepad and pen from her suit pocket, scribbled something on it, and placed it next to the box. Before leaving, she gave Al’s head one last pat.

After Matsumura left, Al approached the box on the table and sniffed it curiously. A faint buttery scent wafted from it—probably some kind of sweets. He looked at the note Matsumura had left, tilting his head in an attempt to decipher it. Akira had mentioned that Matsumura’s handwriting was very neat, but to Al, it just looked like a bunch of squiggly worms. Apparently, neat handwriting didn’t always mean it was easy to read. There seemed to be an artistic quality to it, something that Al, who had grown up in America, found hard to understand about Japanese aesthetics.

The sound of footsteps approached, and the door opened as the embalmer Koyanagi and his assistant Maruyama returned to the room. They had been working on restoring a body that had been in a traffic accident since early that morning, and it seemed they had just finished. Al glanced up at the grandfather clock on the wall. It was past 4 p.m., later than usual, which likely meant the body had required more extensive restoration. Ever since he started coming to the embalming facility’s break room with Akira, Al had begun to grasp the daily workflow of the staff.

“You must be tired after such a long day, Maruyama-san,” Koyanagi said kindly, offering words of appreciation to his assistant.

“I’m fine! I’ve got plenty of stamina,” Maruyama replied with a small, enthusiastic fist pump. Despite her cheerful demeanor, Maruyama looked more fatigued than Koyanagi did.

“Hmm? There’s something on the table,” Maruyama said, noticing the box first.

“It’s butter sandwiches from Tibe-do. Shirakawa Kadansan sent them as a gift. They said we should all enjoy them together,” Maruyama’s voice rose a tone in excitement. “They look delicious,” she added, eyeing the box with intense anticipation, almost as if she might devour it whole.

“Tibe-do’s sweets are so good. Go ahead and open it,” Koyanagi said with a smile.

“Wait, shouldn’t we wait for Tsuno-kun and Takatsuka-san?” Maruyama asked, hesitating as she held the box.

“It’s not clear when they’ll be back. Just make sure to save their share,” Koyanagi replied.

Maruyama’s face lit up as she cheered, “Yay!” She raised her arms in celebration before heading to the mini kitchen to make coffee.

“I'm back,” Tsuno announced as he entered the room, perfectly timed. Maruyama noticed him and called out, “Tsuno-kun, want some coffee?”

“Uh, yeah, sure,” Tsuno replied as he walked over to the sofa, placing his bag on his desk. He glanced at the box of sweets and murmured, “Oh, snacks.”

“You were at the funeral for the body we processed yesterday, right? How did it go?” Koyanagi asked, turning to Tsuno.

“Oh, yes, everything went smoothly,” Tsuno replied. “I was going to help Takatsuka-san with his work when I got back, but he told me it was almost done and I didn’t need to.”

“When I checked, he only had another 20 or 30 minutes of work left,” Koyanagi said, nodding as he tore open the wrapping paper on the box. The sweets were individually wrapped, with twelve pieces inside.

Tsuno, who had noticed the bat lying on the backrest of the sofa, reached out his hand and said, “Al, I’m back.” Al hopped onto his palm, and Tsuno gently stroked his head, saying, “You’re so cute.” As Tsuno continued to dote on Al, Maruyama returned with a tray of mugs and joined them on the sofa.

The three gathered around the table, enjoying the sweets and coffee. Al perched on Tsuno’s shoulder, blending into the relaxed atmosphere of their post-work break.

“Tsuno-kun, you look so different in a suit,” Maruyama said, munching on her butter sandwiches as she stared at Tsuno from across the table.

“I keep one in my locker, but I’ve only worn it five or six times. I’m still not used to it,” Tsuno replied, loosening his tie slightly and letting out a small sigh.

“For us, it feels like our surgical scrubs are our real uniforms,” Koyanagi said lazily. He added, “I’ll take the rest of these home. My wife loves them,” picking up two of the sweets.

“You know, Takatsuka-san looks really cool in a suit,” Maruyama said as she reached for a second piece. At the mention of Akira’s name, Al’s ears perked up.

“Takatsuka-san has good looks to begin with,” Koyanagi said, taking a sip of his coffee. “When I first met him, I really thought he was some kind of celebrity. He’s got great style and is very handsome. He had this unapproachable vibe, so I was a bit nervous, but after talking to him, I quickly realized he’s a serious and straightforward person.”

Maruyama nodded repeatedly at Koyanagi’s description. “Same here. Takatsuka-san’s face is so perfectly shaped, and because he’s so quiet, I felt this sort of sharp tension around him. I don’t notice it at all anymore, but if he were the type to smile a lot, I think he’d be insanely popular.”

“I think Takatsuka-san is already quite popular, even with his slightly awkward demeanor,” Koyanagi added, rubbing the area under his nose with the back of his hand.

“Whether he’s popular or not doesn’t matter to me, but I just can’t imagine Takatsuka-san being friendly with a girl,” Maruyama mused. Takatsuka never even reacted to pictures of beautiful women, and Al couldn’t help but nod in agreement with Maruyama.

Koyanagi chuckled and said, “It looked like Al just nodded,” his shoulders shaking with amusement.

“Al really has impeccable timing with his reactions, doesn’t he?” Maruyama said, as she reached for her third butter sandwich. “By the way, why does Takatsuka-san wear the same mourning outfit—white shirt, black pants, black socks—year-round?”

“Mourning outfit?” Tsuno asked, puzzled. Maruyama quickly clarified, waving her hands with the butter sandwich still in one piece, “Oh, I just meant his clothes are always in monochrome.”

“Though the material of his shirt and pants does get a bit thicker in winter,” Tsuno added, apparently having noticed Akira’s wardrobe habits as well. The image of Akira’s monochrome closet popped into Al’s mind. At first, the lack of color seemed strange, but now he was used to it. Still, why did Akira always wear black and white?

“Remember that famous person abroad who always wore the same outfit? Maybe he’s into that kind of simplicity,” Koyanagi speculated.

Maruyama, who had been listening intently, pointed to Akira’s desk. “I really don’t think Takatsuka-san is into simplicity,” she said. Akira’s desk was piled with books and foreign magazines, cluttered but not quite messy—just somewhere in between.

“His desk is always like that. The black and white combo gives off a vibe like, ‘If I wear this, no one can criticize my outfit choices for the rest of my life.’ It feels like he’s just given up thinking about it.”

Even though Al couldn’t understand all of the difficult words, he felt a vague sympathy with Maruyama’s opinion. Akira wasn’t the neatest person, sharing even his underwear with others, and his home was often cluttered. Though it was easy to tidy up since he didn’t have many belongings.

“I’m in the camp that believes Takatsuka-san has a philosophy behind his choices. His techniques are meticulous and delicate, and he’s very detail-oriented. I think his shirts and pants are from some designer brand, and there’s a specific design or detail that reflects his personal philosophy,” Koyanagi said.

Al knew that Akira probably didn’t care that much about brands. Tsuno, seeking agreement, asked, “Don’t you think so, Al?” Al couldn’t really respond and just tilted his head slightly.

“Clothing is personal, anyway. I think simple clothes suit Takatsuka-san,” Koyanagi concluded, wrapping up the conversation just as the sound of footsteps approached. As they suspected, Akira entered the break room.

“Good work,” Koyanagi greeted him, to which Akira gave his usual curt response, “Yeah,” and then turned to Tsuno.

“How was the funeral?”

“I spoke with the family, and at first, they weren’t sure what to expect, but in the end, they said they were really glad we did the embalming,” Tsuno replied.

Akira, usually sporting a sullen expression, relaxed slightly. “I see.”

“Takatsuka-san, there’s some sweets as a gift. Would you like some?” Maruyama asked, and Akira glanced at the table. “Looks good,” he murmured before heading to the kitchen. When Maruyama offered to make coffee, he declined, saying, “Tea from the fridge is fine,” as he opened the refrigerator door.

Akira sat down heavily next to Tsuno, grabbed a butter sandwich, and tore open the wrapper before taking a big bite, eating it in a way that showed he was really hungry. Al hopped from Tsuno’s shoulder to Akira’s, but Akira, barely noticing, continued munching on the butter sandwiches.

Maruyama gave Tsuno a meaningful look, and Tsuno, avoiding eye contact, glanced sideways at Akira.

“Um... Takatsuka-san, you usually wear a white shirt and black pants, right?” Tsuno asked, to which Akira responded with an uninterested “Yeah,” without turning to look at him.

“Do you like simple outfits?” Tsuno continued.

“It’s not that I like them. Clothes just need to be clean and presentable enough not to offend people in this era,” Akira replied.

“Era?” Tsuno echoed, trying to process the statement.

“In the Stone Age, people were half-naked, but that wouldn’t work now, would it?”

“Comparing it to the Stone Age seems a bit extreme…” Tsuno muttered.

“Then why do you always wear a white shirt and black pants?” Maruyama pressed, undeterred. Akira fell silent for a moment, slightly annoyed, before answering, “Because with this combination, no one will complain about it for the rest of my life.”

“Oh,” Maruyama said, placing a finger on her cheek in thought. “You just find it a hassle to think about clothes, don’t you?”

“…That’s right.”

In the end, it was Maruyama who accurately guessed Akira’s fashion philosophy.

Later, after completing her training, Maruyama graduated from the facility. On her last day, she gifted Akira a pair of bat-patterned socks as a token of gratitude. Though Akira initially dismissed them as “useless,” Al later noticed him quietly wearing them on a day off.

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