Yoshio Sasaki

The Emperor

The weary Professor of Chemistry, Yoshio Sasaki, finally finished his evening office hours. Seminars and meetings had left him drained. He yearned for takeout and sleep. But fate, as it often does, had other plans. Locking his office door, he turned to find a student, her fiery red hair a mess mirroring the dirt on her dress.

"Office hours are over," Yoshio announced curtly, "Back on Tuesday at two.”

“I am not a student,” She remarked, her voice stressed and tense, her verdant eyes worn with a sense of panic.

Yoshio, however, was in a rush to leave. An early flight to a New York City conference loomed tomorrow, and his presentation on chemical genomics remained unedited. Academia, teaching basic, unchallenging graduate-level courses on Bioinorganic Chemistry, wasn't his dream job, nor did he see himself staying at the university forever. His ultimate goal was a Nobel Prize, a prestigious title to add to his ever-growing list of credentials. Yoshio craved lasting recognition, a legacy built on groundbreaking discoveries. A hunger for knowledge, to constantly learn more, and to shatter the headlines with revolutionary findings that left a lasting impact on the world, far surpassing his lifespan, consumed him in constant nag.

Despite countless hours spent buried in textbooks, he perpetually felt one step behind. Yoshio yearned for innovation, a spark that mere effort or knowledge couldn't ignite.

Startled by a sudden movement, Yoshio nearly bumped into the woman. She had cut in front of him, her silence a powerful plea for attention. "Ah," he stammered, "then why are you here? Visitors need to check in at the front desk first. They can point you in the right direction." Unless, he thought with a glance at the clock, they were already closed for the night.

Ignoring his attempt to brush her off, the woman pressed on. "I need to see you, Yoshio Sasaki," she said urgently. "I spent all day chasing rumors of you across different colleges. Finally, I found you. You teach chemistry here?" Her voice held a inflection of disbelief.

Yoshio's brow furrowed. Judging by her disheveled appearance and hurried speech, she wasn't a colleague or a reporter seeking an interview about his latest groundbreaking article on metabolomics published in ChemiSphere last quarter. A flicker of annoyance crossed him – who was this woman, and why was she wasting his time?

"Yes, I teach bioinorganic chemistry here," he admitted, a hint of impatience in his voice. Hopefully he won't be teaching chemistry much longer. Stagnation wasn't an option for Yoshio, nor was a salary pathetically shy of six figures.

"Shit," she spat, shoving a stray strand of hair back into the growing mess that mirrored her wild words. "Don't you even recognize me?"

"Nope," Yoshio replied flatly. The rest of his response hung heavy in the air, unspoken but clear: Now get the hell out of here. He continued his walk down the hallway, reaching the front foyer. But she stepped in his path once more, like a pesky fallen tree branch blocking his way.

“But you do know me. Maybe this version of you doesn’t, but in the dimension I am from, you and I are good friends. It’s me, Katia Esmae. I am helping you write a book about Quantum Multiverse Theory. I have lucid dreams and astral project often. You’ve done quite a few studies on my brainwaves. You did an EKG…or was it an EEG? What is the one that tests brainwaves? I don’t recall. Hell, it’s probably called something stupid in this world anyway, like a QXR, or something ridiculous. Anyway, you told me all parts of my brain lit up like a fireworks display. You said—”

“Excuse me, I must be going,” Yoshio responded, cutting her off. Katia, clearly unhinged, wasn’t a story he had time to entertain. When she cut in front of him once more, Yoshio found patience wearing incredibly thin. “Look, Ms. Esmae, I am not sure who put you up to this, if this is your idea of a joke, or if you are simply delusional, but I need you to step out of my way so I can leave.”

Katia gave an exasperated sigh, shaking her hands before retreating to stand beside him, which further irritated Yoshio. He really didn't want to call campus security and humiliate the woman by having her removed from the grounds. They were rapidly nearing such a point.

"I know how this looks, I know it looks crazy!" she claimed frantically. Yoshio thought she might start begging for money to feed a habit next, which would explain a lot. "But we do know each other in this other world, and the other you would have helped me. You would help me understand what the bloody fucken hell is going on."

Her constant obscenities bothered him, unpleasant like good tea spoiled by sugar or cream. "There is only one version of me, and he's standing right here in front of you, asking to be left alone. If you need medical help or a mental evaluation, I can call 977. Either way, if you don't leave me alone, I will be calling Campus Security to escort you away, Ms. Esmae."

The takeout he'd ordered would have been ready for pickup by now. He envisioned it wilting under a heat lamp, each passing minute making the food soggier.

"977!? It isn't 911 in this world? How far off the branch did I fall!?" Katia began to hyperventilate softly. But before he could interject, she stopped, her composure rapidly changing with fiery intensity. "Whatever, if you won't help me, then I'll... I don't know, I'll figure something else out!"

"Yes, please do, Ms. Esmae." He neared the exit, freedom from the insane only a threshold away. A quick glance confirmed Katia wasn't following. The automatic double glass doors whooshed open with his approach, bringing in the scent of wet rain on pavement. It must have just started pouring. He didn't remember seeing rain in the forecast this morning. A sigh escaped his dry lips, which he moistened with his tongue.

With his car parked in the west lot, Yoshio had intended to walk to the Italian restaurant for his food, then drive home. The rain threw a wrench in those plans. Now he had a choice: brave the downpour and walk across the entire front yard to his car, or turn around and head down the hallway to a different exit. And he knew if he turned around, there she would be.

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Rain it was, then. Yoshio braced himself for the downpour, the discomfort of a wet shirt a lesser evil than another minute with Katia.

"Don't leave!" pleaded Katia, her voice rising. "I can prove I know you – well, a version of you. Ugh-" she stammered. "You belong on the show 'Worst Cooks in America' because you somehow find a way to butcher anything involving a stove, an oven, or an open flame. I bet you're on your way to pick up takeout now, in fact, probably from that Italian Eatery down the street since they use non-dairy cheese. Let me guess, eggplant parmesan?"

She had to be connected to the restaurant somehow, a degenerate employee, maybe a deranged regular customer, or simply a manic eavesdropper. She could have been standing outside his office door for quite some time. Before Yoshio could respond to her about overhearing his takeout order and making a probable conclusion about the rest, she continued speaking.

"Your parents moved to America when you were two after your father's job relocation to New York. You're not a coffee drinker, but you consume pools of tea a day, and it's loose-leaf herbs, never cheap pre-bagged sewer shit.” She took a step forward, and like an orchestrated dance, Yoshio retreated a step back, creating distance.

"Ms. Esmae, with all due respect, your frequent use of profanity makes it difficult to believe any version of myself would be close friends with someone who communicates in such a vulgar manner.” Although her assumption was correct, Yoshio considered it to be a sign of having a stalker. Because the alternative, the insane babble Katia sprouted about alternative versions of himself, simply couldn’t be true, now could it?

Finally, he made it to the double doors which parted, vestibule flooded with the humidity of the rain. What Katia said next, caused him to instantly stop on heel.

"If you're not going to help me, then at least tell me where I can find Ayumi. Maybe your sister will believe me, if you won't. Or at least yet, explain why you've become such an asshole in this reality."

That name. It had been twenty-nine years since it last graced his ears. His parents had slowly silenced it, then demanded the same from him. He'd conceded, never meeting the sister he'd glimpsed only in their fleeting joy. A four-year-old couldn't grasp much, and confusion had shadowed his early childhood. His parents returned from the hospital, a hollow shell of their former selves, a different person in place of the baby they'd so eagerly awaited.

Yoshio often pondered what life might have been like had Ayumi not passed away during childbirth. He imagined the companionship of having a sister, wondering if it would have alleviated the loneliness that had characterized much of his upbringing. With a father renowned in epidemiology and a mother deeply immersed in pharmaceutical research, Yoshio found himself mostly in the care of nannies. Before Ayumi's untimely demise, their household had been filled with pancake towers in the morning and bedtime stories told by his father. Afterwards, the unpleasant robotic voice of the books on tape replaced his father's comforting expression.

In the aftermath, Yoshio felt a shift. A coldness had settled within the house, mirroring the frozen winter now resided in his parents' hearts. Nothing he did seemed to meet their expectations, a saddened contrast to the encouragement he once received. The once proudly displayed pictures on the fridge now lay scattered on the floor, forgotten like fallen leaves in late autumn. Even his efforts, such as the Valentine's Day card he proudly colored with markers in first grade, were met with dismissal. "Focus on your studies, Yoshio," they'd chide, their voices devoid of the warmth a child craved. They saw his creativity as a frivolous childish pursuit, demanding he grow up faster in preparation for the harsh world.

He craved answers. Why were his parents, once a source of laughter, love, and attention, now perpetually shrouded in sadness, their lips forever refusing to say Ayumi's name? It wasn't until he was eight did he finally understand.

Ayumi had been born stillborn, a fact he unearthed only through relentless questioning of his Aunt.

The thing Yoshio couldn't wrap his head around was the fact that the birth and death certificate listed only his parents' surname. No one knew her name, Ayumi, except his parents, him, and his aunt. How Katia knew it was an unsettling enigma.

“I went to the hospital, but the cardiology department said she doesn’t work there. I Googled her name, but I can’t find her anywhere. Is she practicing medicine in this world? If she-”

Yoshio reached his breaking point, his emotions simmering. With a swift spin, his dark eyes narrowed into a disgruntled glare, involuntarily energetically emanating his intense desire for Katia to cease speaking and vanish into thin air.

This had to have been a disgusting prank.

"Miss Esmae, I am officially deeming this harassment. I strongly advise you to cease speaking. Should you persist in bothering me, I won't hesitate to escalate matters. I'll involve not only campus security but the police as well, leading to your arrest."

The words finally silenced Katia. Her lips formed a tight line, eyes quickly darting away to the cold floor.

With his left hand clenched tightly into a fist, his nails digging half-moon marks into his skin, Yoshio abandoned Katia in the school foyer, leaving her to become someone else's concern.

In a state of frustration, distress, and confusion, Yoshio experienced a lapse in memory, completely forgetting to collect the food he had ordered until he reached home and received a phone call from the restaurant. He politely requested them to donate the food to Howard, a homeless man who resided in the alleyway behind the restaurant. However, they refused to comply, citing some ridiculous rule, which only served to heighten Yoshio's irritation.

The immaculate townhouse, meticulously cleaned by a professional every week, provided a pristine environment for Yoshio's attempt to unwind. With a deep exhale, he consciously endeavored to release some of the day's frustrations, hoping to disperse the memory of his encounter with Katia like dissipating clouds. Yet, her abstract presence lingered, taking up the entire blue sky, completely obscuring his vision.

How did she know so much about him?

Inquiring at the Italian Eatery about her, they denied employing any woman with ginger hair.

How could she possibly know about Ayumi? His parents had passed away a decade ago in a car accident while en route to an opera. There was no way she could have heard it from them, and his Aunt Mika had relocated to Kyoto over fifteen years ago.

If, by some improbable twist of fate, Katia spoke the truth, did it imply that, against all odds, a semblance of his sister still existed? Alive and evidently working as a cardiologist.

With considerable hesitance, after a prolonged and introspective moment, Yoshio yielded to the gentle nudging of his intuition. Approaching the laptop perched atop the dining room table, he abandoned his travel plans and delved instantly into research on Quantum Multiverse Theory, or Many-Worlds Interpretation.

In this theory of belief, every quantum event triggered a branching of reality, giving rise to a multitude of divergent timelines and possibilities. Each decision, no matter how trivial, spawned an infinite array of alternate universes where every potential outcome is realized.

Central to this theory was the concept of superposition. Imagine a particle existing in multiple states at once, a blurry haze of possibilities. Only when observed does reality collapse, solidifying into a singular outcome. But Many-Worlds flipped this on its head. It proposed the other possibilities didn't vanish. Instead, they branched off, each one a separate universe where a different outcome held sway.

Was this a legitimate explanation, or merely a fantastical escape hatch for those clinging to the ghosts of loved ones l, what ifs, and failed dreams?

The implications were staggering. If Katia wasn't entirely delusional, then somewhere out there, in a universe splintered from a past choice, Ayumi might be very much alive. A spark of hope, fragile yet persistent, ignited within Yoshio. The dull ache of grief, a constant companion for years, seemed to flicker for the first time. Yoshio knew he couldn't be with his sister, but knowing she lived a fulfilling life somewhere, in a different quantum universe, might be enough for him to accept her death in his reality.

But a nagging skepticism remained. The theory itself was controversial, existing on the fringes of accepted physics. Yoshio needed more. He combed through research papers, listened to lectures by prominent physicists on the topic. The more he delved, the more he discovered the theory's complexities and its lack of experimental verification. It was a potentially possible hypothesis, precise in its explanation of certain quantum phenomena, yet frustratingly untestable.

The hours of research ticked by, time losing all meaning. Somehow, through various searches, he kept ending up on the same poorly designed, half-baked, eye-sore of a website. Starving, dehydrated, and sleep deprived, Yoshio decided to call the number listed.