Autor wraps the blanket around his shoulders with a nod of thanks--and instantly regrets it. The covering smells like artificial strawberry. Like Mirai.

Think on my shoes, think on my shoes, he thinks. He's grateful for her distracting question, and nods again.

He turns away for a moment, and messes with something. When he turns back to her, he presents a plate full of green tea and apricot mochi, pastel balls artfully arranged with mint leaves.