Hiro stared at his phone screen, ignoring the countdown timer as he waited for his Companion to reply. “I want to speak to the Doom System,” he said again, after it had been a minute or so. “I have a complaint.”

Hiro bit his lip.

There were so many things he wanted to say at that moment, so many ways he wanted to rage at the mysterious Doom System and what it had done to so many people. But he had to keep his cool.

Three years on a stone, Hiro thought, reminded of his grandfather’s words that called for patience and understanding before taking action. Ask the right questions. Those were the words of his father, the words he hoped to emulate in his decision-making, even if it didn’t always work out this way.

Hiro decided to try a different angle: “Would I be able to pass a message along to the Doom System?”

<...A message?>

“A suggestion for…” Hiro’s eyes darted left and right as he thought of a way to frame this. “For the Second Interim. First, will there be an update? I should start there first.”

“Alright, then here is my message: as part of this update, you, err, the Doom System, should have the bodies of Survivors fade away after their Soul Essence leaves them like the Hunters and Sentries do. Humans revere their dead. This shit, this game, is already hard enough without having to see about the dead.”

“No.” Hiro said, startled at how quickly the reply had come. He got this strange sense that his Companion, whom he assumed was the Doom System itself, was contemplating what he said in the minute or so that passed. Finally, the text appeared:

Hiro reached for his backpack and stopped as the hairs stood to attention on the back of his neck. “Wait. There are no catacombs beneath Central Park. If I use the teddy bear, I’ll be crushed by the dirt.”

Fuck you. Hiro stuffed his phone away and he bounced back up to Central Park. It looks like I can get a message to the Doom System, but it might not work out the way I want.

It became clear in his mind as he took a look around that he needed to be careful with this little discovery, especially in the not-so-clever way the Doom System had just tried to murder him by offering him access to Chronokuma.

Figuring he would sacrifice some followers, Hiro turned back toward Hell’s Kitchen, where he had met the merchant named Love. She has vape cartridges and energy drinks. Seems like a good enough destination, and I can see what I run into along the way.

His phone buzzed.

Hiro hesitated.

It buzzed again.

He gave in and read the text.

“I don’t need to visit the past right now,” Hiro said as he naturally moved into a crouched position, his senses tingling. He placed his phone on the ground, swiveled his backpack around, and put his Hyottoko mask on, something he’d meant to do before engaging Atlas.

Hiro glanced down at his phone to see more text scrawled across the screen.

A bolt of purple lightning struck the ground about thirty feet away from him. A plume of fire erupted, producing a deep crimson smoke that mirrored the small rowboats that hovered over the city.

Hiro placed his hand on the hilt of his katana as he saw the form of a masked man appear in the red smoke, his silhouette entirely black.

Description: The story of infamous samurai-turned-future-fashion-mogul Taira no Masakado truly began when Emperor Suzaku placed his severed head on public display in Osaka’s marketplace, condemning his spirit to wander the mortal realm, forever denied salvation.

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

Years later, Louis Vuitton, with characteristic French disdain for superstition, crafted a trunk made of poplar wood and canvas to hold the cursed head and embarked on a journey to Japan to retrieve it.

Upon arrival, the Issey Miyake clan warned him that Masakado’s head had brought ruin to Osaka through its terrible gaze and rumors that the head murdered at night. Unimpressed, Vuitton approached the staked head, the eyes of which immediately bulged at the sight of his nicely made leather trunk.

“It needs a monogram logo,” Masakado hissed, his breath so foul it brought instant death to those that had joined Vuitton. Sensing an opportunity, Vuitton returned to Paris with Masakado’s severed head, where the two established the Louis Vuitton brand, debuting the damier pattern.

For years, Vuitton and Masakado ruled the designer clothing market until fast fashion, spearheaded by brands like Zara, H&M, Urban Outfitters, and ironically, Japan’s very own Uniqlo, threatened the sanctity of their overpriced luxury goods empire.

After a secretive board meeting it was decided: Masakado’s head would be reunited with his body and he would purge the world of fast fashion.

You, Survivor, are standing in his way.

Masakado stepped out of the red fog, the samurai covered in head-to-toe monogrammed armor, including his mask, which were adorned with large golden teeth. His health bar formed and a red Sphere of Influence took shape, preventing Hiro from escaping.

Masakado drew an enormous odachi from the air above his head, and charged at Hiro.

Hiro dodged left, and called his phantom demon cats to his aid.

With a single swipe from his enormous sword, Masakado disintegrated the cats, who disappeared in a puff of smoke.

Needing a moment to get his bearings. Hiro quickly sat and crossed his legs beneath him as Masakado approached. Casting {Sacra Limina} spawned a protective barrier around him, one that would prevent Masakado from attacking him.

Hiro kept his katana in his lap, his hand trembling slightly as the intimidating samurai paced back and forth in front of the barrier.

After a distasteful grunt, Masakado spoke in what Hiro recognized as archaic Japanese: “Dost thou not deem thyself a foe fit for display? Why dost thou skulk in the shadows?” Masakado asked.

“I do not want to fight you,” Hiro responded in modern Japanese, which made the samurai recoil with disgust.

“Thoust speakest with the tongue of a cur! From which province dost thou hail? The north? Answer, cur!” The samurai struck Hiro’s shield with his odachi. “Disarm thy shield, onmyoji, and meet your fate in honorable combat!”

“Onmyoji?” Hiro asked, not familiar with the world.

“Sorcerer! Face me with honor!” Masakado hit the protective barrier again, which caused it to spark in a way that made Hiro feel as if it wouldn’t hold much longer.

He had to believe that it would hold. Yet the Doom System controlled everything, including the sanctity of the protective barrier he had summoned.

As cautiously as ever, Hiro reached around and removed Bianca’s Fuzzy Pink Shield. He positioned this in his lap as the shield naturally attached itself to his arm. He had just been given a mimic, and he had yet to try Kiss or Slap or his Edging power.

There were still options.

If Hiro was going to die, he didn’t want his death to be by the blade of a samurai in Central Park.

He thought back to the description, if there was something he could pull from it like he had with Art Deco Atlas.

Is Masakado… vain?

The Doom System paired the samurai with Louis Vuitton.

Had this been for a reason?

Even now, as he paced in front of the protective barrier, the samurai wore designer clothing, the kimono beneath his monogrammed armor also with its own monogram, everything tied together by red silk cords. His helmet had the armor’s monogrammed design, the LV logo like a hood ornament on top.

Hiro figured it was worth a try. “You look stupid.”

Masakado stopped dead in his tracks. “Repeat thy words.”

“Your clothing looks stupid.”

“Thou wearest the mask of a clown and the rags of a beggar, yet thou hast the audacity to question my attire?” Masakado pointed his odachi at Hiro. “Cur.”

“The quality is poor. The design is terrible,” he said in Japanese. “You are a shame to your…” Hiro was about to say family, but then he remembered something about samurai: “You are a shame to your daimyo.”

“You dare?”

Hiro grinned as a word they used at maid cafes in Japan came to him. It was outdated, but it would do: “A disgrace to your goshujin-sama. By coming here, you have brought dishonor to your clan, your goshujin-sama, and your future generations.”

The samurai stopped pacing at the mention of being a disgrace to his lord.

Hiro knew he had hit the sweet spot once Masakado dropped his massive odachi. The samurai fell to his knees and drew a short, tanto blade.

“I have brought dishonor!” Masakado drove the blade into his stomach, quickly disemboweling himself.

He lurched forward, and hit the ground.

No Soul Essence poured into Hiro. This should have been his first indication not to dissolve his protective barrier. Yet Hiro was so surprised that his plan had worked that he did so anyway.

He stood, only then realizing that Masakado’s health bar was at the halfway point.

With a sudden jerk Masakado’s head detached from his body, pulling a long spine with it, one that quickly grew in length until there was something serpentine about it. A clawed arm tore from the spine and picked up the samurai’s massive odachi.