Though there was no stretch of the imagination which could paint me as an educator, I was pretty confident in my belief that, if you wanted to learn a way of life other than your own, there were few better ways to begin than by getting to know how those others went about having fun. My first exposure to Kosuke Himichi’s manga was made possible because of the foundations laid by the Monimega games of my childhood; they’d whet my appetite, so to speak. And once I’d gotten hooked on Catamander Brave, the doorway to contemporary Munine media had been opened to me, and, once I’d stepped through it, I’d never looked back. Games, manga, animé—the whole shebang. Textbooks could only get you so far. My interest in the native culture of our quasi-beneficent corporate overlords over at DAISHU taught me many things, the kinds of things that, just a generation or two ago, would have gotten a Trenton like me branded a degenerate, or even a heretic.

I learned much. Pel would say too much. I learned salaryman etiquette. I learned what happened when your hair wasn’t black, or when your nose ran bloody red. I learned how auspiciousness could take forms beyond birds, and why you should never, ever submerge yourself in a bath without having first scrubbed yourself clean, and why DAISHU refused to sell rotary fans for domestic use unless they operated on a timer, so as to automatically shut off after a certain period of time.

And I learned of dogeza.

The differences between society in Mu and in Trenton were as subtle as they were stark. The Munine attitudes toward authority and interpersonal power dynamics were most similar to what you could see in Trenton on the Trueshore coast—at least outside of the big cities—but even that didn’t quite match up properly with the Munine way. The only parallels we had to the myriad honorifics that peppered the Munine language were in the arcane honorifics that used to get thrown around among the nobility before their official disestablishment in the Concordat.

In Munine culture, the dogeza was the posture of ultimate submission. It was extraordinarily self-effacing, the kind of thing you did when trying to convince a person of superior status that you were so worthless that killing you would be an affront to their dignity.

The ceasefire brought about by my dogeza had lowered the emotional temperature of the room from boiling down to a mild scald. As the initial shock-value of my dogeza wore itself out, the three Munine men broke out into vigorous conversation, and though I only understood a few words—and those, almost always from Suisei—the tones of their voices and the fluctuations in their body language let me know that their discussion was a wild ride, careening between calm and chaos. On multiple occasions, Dr. Horosha had to repeat himself, and whenever that happened, our patients would significantly slow their speech, emphasizing the syllables and moieties one at a time, as if they were addressing a child, and I could tell the shame and frustration that it made Suisei feel. He frequently made minor bows and often averted his eyes, keeping them low. The biggest roars of all broke out when Dr. Horosha made the Bond-sign during one of his deeper bows. The young man nearly charged at Suisei after that. Only a stern word from the middle-aged fellow up in the bed kept things from getting violent.

Many minutes passed—it felt like hours—before Dr. Horosha finally turned to me and started filling me in on the details.

He pointed at the young man. “Our combative young friend here goes by the name Ichigo. The older man, on the other hand is Yuta—”

Ichigo slammed the IV stand’s pronged base onto the floor and barked. “—Uramaru-sama!” He glowered at both of us.

The “sama” honorific had the approximate meaning of “Lord”. Historically, it was most commonly used for nobles, though it could also be used by a subordinate as a way of referring to their superior with (obsequious) reverence while emphasizing the asymmetrical nature of their relative standing, unlike honorifics such as sensei, shisho, or senpai, all of which carried implications of bidirectional relationships—student-teacher, master-apprentice, veteran-newbie, and so on. You could also use “sama” to refer to yourself, but that would be like me referring to myself in the third person as “Lord Genneth”, with all the attendant social awkwardness.

Dr. Horosha closed his eyes and sighed. He said to Ichigo something to the effect of “Please do not yell again, I will use ‘Lord’, which is the chalk-man word meaning ‘Sama’, and I will now tell him this.”

It helped that he spoke the words slowly.

I think he also explained that Trenton and Munine name orders were the reverse of one another (First-name Last vs. Last-name First).

As expected, Dr. Horosha turned to me and then said, “Ichigo prefers we use the noble title of his lord: Lord Yuta Uramaru.” he added, emphasizing ‘Uramaru’.

“His lord?” I asked.

“Yes. Yuta Uramaru, first of his line.”

“—Sama!—” Ichigo said.

—Dr. Horosha ignored him, choosing instead to close his eyes and quietly snort. “But, yes,” he continued, “Lord Uramaru. The title was bestowed on him by no less than Shigeru Sakuragi, Chief Suzerain of the Trenton Colonies of Soran Mu. Ichigo is Lord Uramaru’s loyal retainer.”

“Sak…” I snorted. “Sakuragi!? But that’s…. that was four-hundred years ago!”

Jonan’s words from the day before yesterday came roaring back through my mind:

You don’t graduate from Fitchtide Medical School by going off half-cocked when it comes to something like time travel.

And lo and behold, Dr. Derric hadn’t.

Shigeru Sakuragi was one of the handful of people who’d broken the surly bonds of history and leapt into the popular consciousness, where he would live forevermore. He was the last ruler of Munine Trenton, and in terms of fame, only Kenji Uminokami—the Sea-Crosser, and the first Chief Suzerain—or Oda Yamamaki—the Conqueror. Most people in Trenton knew him as Nighttouched Sakuragi. According to history, he was an aesthete; a man of impeccable taste, unshakeable bearing, and supreme conviction. His contempt of Lassedicy was absolute, and his penchant for retaliation was as legendary as it was brutal. The most famous story of Sakuragi’s wrath was the retribution he enacted following a failed assassination attempt in the early 17th century. In retaliation, Sakuragi saw to it that all the priests in Elpeck had their eyes lanced with red-hot spears, so as to forever deny them the sight of holy Light.

And then, my breath got stuck in my throat.

“Genneth?” Suisei asked.

“How could I have missed it!” Shaking my head, I pulled my console out from my hazmat suit pocket, not noticing Suisei’s eyes widen in alarm.

“Wait, Genneth, do not—”

—Ichigo started pointing and screaming the instant he saw my console turn on in my hands. He brandished the IV stand, and a fresh bout of yelling in Munine broke out before Dr. Horosha succeeded in calming things back down.

“Can I look something up on my console now?” I asked.

The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

Dr. Horosha groaned. “If you insist.” He looked awfully winded. His cocoon of snow-drift motes undulated, as if turning unsteady.

Tapping my fingers on the screen, I did a net search for Sakuragi Assassination; that took me to the Flying Cloud article about the same, and after about ten seconds of skimming, I found it.

I tapped the link.

Yuta Uramaru

The picture at the top of the article was an illustration in the traditional Munine style—a highly stylized watercolor, but with several drops of truth. The figure’s skin was painted in a yellow-brown hue that stood out against the off-white paper’s background. The cross-hatched hairs of his beard were also true-to-life.

The article wasn’t long.

“What was the reason for this?” Suisei asked. He turned to our patients. “It is not conducive to further dialogue to persist provoking them.” He turned back to me. “They are not exactly fond of the thought of trusting us.”

I held up my console.

“I think they might be exactly who they claim to be.”

Suisei blinked. “But that would mean…”

Nodding, I turned to Lord Uramaru and took a deep breath. “Somehow, we’ve got two time-travelers on our hands.” I sighed, and then muttered under my breath: “I can’t believe I just said that.” I sighed again. “Still, listen to the evidence.”

I read the key part of the Flying Cloud article aloud.

“Despite his unknown——presumably lowborn——background, Uramaru rose through the military on sheer merit. In 1604, his success in suppressing Trenton nationalist rebels in Lightsbreath drew the attention of Shigeru Sakuragi, who subsequently had Uramaru serve as one of his handpicked retainers. Uramaru declared his surname upon his ennoblement by Sakuragi in 1608, a boon received in gratitude for his role in foiling the infamous assassination attempt on the Chief Suzerain’s life in that year. Uramaru wed Sukuna Yamamoto in 1612, and was recorded having two children——a daughter and then a son. Uramaru and his family, along with his retainer and servants died of darkpox in 1624, in the first wave of the Sparking.”

Yes, the fact that Yuta and his family had died did poke a hole in the time travel theory,

“Raitsuburetsu?” Ichigo said, staring at me in shock.

“Sukuna?” Yuta said.

Another conversation broke out for Dr. Horosha to helm, though this one was far less fraught than its predecessors.

“What is it this time?” I asked, after the commotion had settled.

“They want to know how you know of the city of Lightsbreath, and the name of Lord Uramaru’s wife.”

Well, fricasse me!

“What’s wrong, Mr. Genneth?” Andalon asked.

I answered her question through my next words to Dr. Horosha.

“Well, that settles it,” I said. I pointed at our patients. “Somehow, they traveled through time.” I scrolled up to the picture at the top of the article and showed it to Dr. Horosha. “I mean, look at it. It does kind of look like him, doesn’t it?”

But Dr. Horosha did not react to this information like I’d expected; though, to be fair, I’m not sure what I’d been expecting. Maybe it was just the suddenness with which his expression turned grave. For once, our resident tall, handsome, unflappable international man of mystery seemed genuinely nervous. His eyes darted about with his thoughts.

“No,” he said, “there is a missing piece here.” He looked me in the eyes. “If this was mere time travel, there would be no record of House Uramaru’s fall.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“Think about it: suppose a time-traveler kidnapped you as a child and took you into the future. You would leave no body behind. To those who knew you, it would be as if you had simply disappeared. There would be no record of death, merely one of disappearance. It would be a startling anomaly, a gaping wound in the middle of history.”

Holy Angel, he was right!

“These past few days have been one big crash course in the relativity of normality. Today, it’s time-travel.” I snorted. “Last night, I was a pangolin dragon,” I muttered.

Andalon nodded. “Yeah yeah, and it was super cool!” Her eyes positively sparkled.

Thank you, Andalon, I thought, as politely as I could as I closed my eyes and sighed.

Out of the blue, Ichigo yelled something at me, gesturing angrily.

Dr. Horosha translated for me: “He says we must be demons, intent on torturing them. He says we can’t be trusted.”

“He wouldn’t be the first to accuse me of that,” I muttered, chuckling sadly.

The retainer replied to our words with what sounded like a pithy comment.

“What did he say?”

“I believe he just called you a eunuch.”

I blinked. “What…?”

“The bowtie. He finds it to be in very bad taste.”

I sighed.

Andalon tugged at my arm. “Mr. Genneth, what’s a yew-nuck?”

I’ll tell you when you’re older.

“Andalon is pretty sure she’s really, really old.”

It’s better you don’t know.

While Andalon pouted at me, Yuta spoke up, apparently asking a question of Dr. Horosha, only for Ichigo to go on an angry tirade, repeatedly jabbing his finger toward the two of us before Dr. Horosha could tell me what it was that Yuta had actually said.

Suisei replied with a word I recognized as a Munine insult. Ichigo’s eyebrows twitched, and then he crossed his arms and turned his head up and to the side, pouting.

“Why’re they all talkin’ funny-like?” Andalon asked.

Not everyone speaks the Trenton language, I explained.

I stepped toward my colleague. “What’s going on?”

“Our friends demand to know the whereabouts of Yuta’s family,” Dr. Horosha said. “Also—on the off chance you care to know—Ichigo believes the two of us are mischievous spirits. His position is that we are holding them hostage in a Spirit World, or the Netherworld. Ichigo also believes you might be a false face in the body of a kaokui-oni trying to deceive him, though he cannot understand why the demon would have chosen a face such as yours.”

I blinked. “He thinks I’m a face-stealer?”

“Is there an impasse?” I asked.

Ichigo barked something.

Suisei nodded. “Lord Uramaru’s young ward refuses to be swayed.”

Yuta gazed over at his retainer, and said something in a stern voice that was surprisingly calm, all things considered. And, then—of all things—Dr. Horosha smiled before turning back to me.

“What is it?”

“I believe Lord Uramaru has just ordered his retainer to dispense with pointless superstitions.”

I just stared at Dr. Horosha, not understanding his point. The good doctor sensed this, and responded accordingly.

“The word he used for superstition—meishin,” he explained, “both in the present and in times past, it has borne a connotation of rationalistic skepticism on the part of the speaker. It is frequently used in scholarly circles, expressing doubt in a given hypothesis.”

Yuta spoke again. And this time, he looked Dr. Horosha and I in the eyes.

Suisei continued: “He recognizes that he and Ichigo are recovering from Darkpox. If darkpox truly were supernatural,” he argues, “then mortals could do nothing to stop it. I believe his argument is that we are either gods or mortals, and since no god would ever willingly bow to a mortal, he is inclined to think we are men, no different from him.”

“Fashion notwithstanding,” I mumbled.

Tears ran down the uneven stubble of Lord Uramaru’s brown-skinned face as he spoke in Old Munine once more. I did not need to understand his words to grasp the depths of the emotion that stirred within him.

“What did he say?” I had to know.

“I do not care what you are, so long as there is a chance my family might live.”

I gulped.

“What’s their status? His family?” I asked.

Dr. Horosha made sure not to make any tell-tale movements. “His wife and son are dead; she, from darkpox; he, from injuries sustained in the crash.”

“And the daughter…?”

Instinctively, I held my breath.

“Her arm is in a cast—broken humerus. But, otherwise, she has responded very well to the monoclonal antibody regimen.”

I couldn’t help breathing out in relief.

From his bed, Yuta watched me like a hawk, his hazel eyes gleaming bright in the room’s fluorescent ceiling lights.

“If we try to tell him—”

—Yuta spoke up of his own accord. He pointed at Ichigo, who nodded resolutely.

“He knows we know something,” Dr. Horosha said, “and I am confident he will happily sic Ichigo on us if we do not immediately tell him what we know.”

“Hmm…”

And then a thought occurred to me.

I took a deep breath—and then gagged on the stale, sweltering hazmat suit air. Meanwhile, Ichigo watched me like a hawk.

“Are you alright?” Dr. Horosha asked.

Sighing, I nodded—and then shook my head. “No… but what else is new?”

I slowly walked up to Yuta’s bedside; it was anyone’s guess as to which of us was more uncomfortable. I lowered to my knees, folding my dead legs beneath me, in the Munine style. And then, I extended my arm, offering my hand to him, palm up.

His eyebrow raised in suspicion.

With another sigh, I let go of the eternal sunshine that habit had carved into my face. I didn’t need to practice sympathy, empathy, or heartbreak; I knew them all too well, myself.

Hesitantly, Lord Yuta Uramaru put his palm in mine. The skin of his palm was thick with banded calluses.

“Suisei,” I said—without looking away, “please translate for me as best you can.”

Then, slowly—gently—I placed my other hand atop Yuta’s.

“Lord Uramaru,” I said, calmly—gravely—“there’s something I have to tell you.”

Dr. Horosha translated for me.

I kept my eyes locked onto Yuta’s as I told him news that no person would want to know.