"You broke my new glasses!" Adashino dropped his teacup. He ignored the mess, scrambling over the table to snatch the frame from Ginko's hands and exclaim over the cracked lens. "At least only one side broke."
"I didn't know you were short-sighted," Ginko protested, and his eye fell on a slip of paper in the spectacle case. "Mushi-seeing glasses?"
The other boy glared at him through the surviving lens, then squinted and blinked. "Is something moving over there?"
Ginko obligingly followed the line of his pointing finger to a spot on the wall, ignoring the glowing spider-like bit dangling off the fingertip by one leg. The tiny mushi waved several other long appendages wildly and fell to the tatami mat, where it wriggled between the straw weave and vanished. He shook his head. "Sorry."
Adashino visibly deflated, and looked through the lens again at a cracked bowl that had once been haunted by a mushi. "Hey, I can see details really clearly with this."
"Not a total loss, then," Ginko agreed, watching Adashino as he fiddled with the damaged frame, trying to remove the side with the broken lens. Another spider-mushi climbed up and tentatively plumbed the depths of Adashino's left nostril with a leg. Ginko resisted the urge to reach out and pluck it off. "You don't really want to see mushi anyway."