I don't recall what I dreamed about. Nothing at all – just an emptiness in my mind. And that's probably for the best because regardless of the dream's content, the first thing I had to do early in the morning was to strip the bedsheet and duvet cover, and toss them into the washing machine with my underwear. Right, and rush into the shower immediately.
Being young again is undoubtedly fantastic. But some aspects of a young body's hormonal play can cloud the mind excessively and interfere with rational thinking. No, not again! Imagination, shut down! I turn the shower's water to the highest temperature I can withstand. It helps. I endure the scalding streams for five minutes before abruptly switching the water flow to icy cold.
It's a startling transition. I dart out of the shower, muttering under my breath and chattering my teeth. Wrapped in a towel, I head to the kitchen and brew, as is my habit, a strong green tea. I can't envision my morning without this beverage, even though I detested it in my past life.
As I sip my tea, I dry off after my morning water rituals. I glance at the clock, and there's still ample time before I have to depart. I sit down at the computer and open the news portals.
Well...
It seems I woke up famous. All the newspapers featured front-page articles about the Break Knights' arrest of dangerous criminals. It was specifically noted that the raigs acted with the authorities' consent. Yes, and they referred to me as a registered raig, an official Knight, seemingly highlighting that the authorities were involved in the arrest. Although this was never explicitly stated, the overall sentiment when reading these articles suggested this. They're saying, "we've united them, provided them with the means to act, and as a result"... Why am I not surprised by this tactic? Probably because people are the same across all worlds.
I've repelled Breakthroughs, both at Wilflaes and Orpheidos; the public is aware of it. Those were actual threats to dozens, if not thousands, of people. But nobody seemed to care. Of course, they acknowledged and wrote articles about it, but it was something routine and commonplace. But as soon as I saved a single girl from a rapist, I became a folk hero overnight. Indeed, my projection's art was present everywhere in the newspapers and news. I'm already weary of seeing these illustrations.
That's what I forgot! I should have asked Maya to claim credit for this arrest and for saving Yuki. But it didn't even cross my mind. What a scatterbrain I am - smart thoughts, unfortunately, come to me only afterward!
Of course, nothing dreadful occurred. There aren't any photos of Izao or even the vaguest descriptions anywhere. And I'm indifferent about my projection's image, as everyone already knows it. You can easily find it on any site dedicated to the Knights of Break.
Indeed, with the aid of "Purity," I managed to save the girl and apprehend the sought-after maniac. By my own ethical code, it was a virtuous act. This much is indisputable, yet why did it stir such an uproar among journalists? Halting any Breakthrough is exponentially more hazardous and challenging. However, the clamor around this case surged tenfold compared to when I participated in countering the Breakthrough at Orpheidos.
It seems to revolve around the intricacies of human psychology. Naturally, Breakthroughs are feared, but they are regarded much like plane crashes. They are treated as tragic events that, once they occur, are deemed to be acts of fate. On the other hand, a child molester is a more immediate, personal threat, which likely accounts for the heightened response to this incident.
Nonetheless, the more society holds a positive attitude toward all Knights, the better. After all, the collective perception of a society can influence the self-image of individuals within it. Meaning, the more people envision raigs as gallant defenders clad in shining armor, the higher the likelihood that a newly initiated raig will endeavor to live up to this public image.
I dedicated the entire morning to poring over the computer, analyzing a wide array of articles and searching for the details that piqued my interest. I'm not sure who their sources are, or how much these journalists pay them, but it's evident that they have informants embedded in every stage of the investigation. I found out that Yuki was released to her parents almost immediately; the girl didn't even spend an hour at the station. The police were able to keep her full name confidential, which is undeniably beneficial for the mental health of both Yuki and her parents. Interrogating her proved unnecessary because, as soon as he came to, the rapist was all too eager to confess. His violence, as it turns out, was racially motivated. He exclusively targeted mixed-race girls. In his twisted logic, he claimed that since their mothers were "whores" for sleeping with "narrow-eyed" men, their daughters should learn to be promiscuous from a young age. He's a profoundly sick individual, absolute scum of the earth.
My training took a backseat as I was preoccupied with other matters, but I intended to make up for it later. I donned my motorcycle suit, slung a backpack filled with discardable items over my shoulders, and tucked some money into a pocket on my sleeve. The phone I had purchased the previous day found its place in the next pocket.
I departed from my home about half an hour earlier than usual. My first destination was the waste processing plant. Naturally, this required a significant detour, but it was a necessary one. After ensuring no onlookers were around, I tossed packages containing clothes and shoes onto the conveyor belt leading to the incinerator. From a safe distance, I observed as the 'evidence' was reduced to ashes. My next stop was the bay. But there was one final task to accomplish before meeting up with the Padawans...
"Good morning, coach!" the boys greeted in unison.
From my perch atop the mast of a small yacht, I swayed gently with the motion of the boat and gazed down at them.
"Morning, lads. Are we ready?" I replied.
"Master, is it true that you..." Dobrynya began, faltering.
"That you apprehended the child rapist?" Baenre finished for him.
While I was reluctant to delve into this topic with them, it seemed I had no choice. Of course, I could sidestep the issue and put them straight to training. I could stay silent. However, they would remain restless and distracted internally. It seemed more pragmatic to take a little time to address the matter. During a standard training session, I could exhaust my students to the point where all extraneous thoughts would naturally flee their minds, but that approach wouldn't work with projections.
"Yes," I replied, leaping down from the mast. "Let's do it this way. I'll recount the events in sequence. You'll not interrupt, and afterward, we'll quickly get down to business!" They nodded in agreement. I'd have to be succinct and avoid unnecessary detail. "As you know, in Novilter, there's an official organization uniting the Break Knights - BKDW. This association has a website..."
Skipping over contentious points, I briefly laid out my side of the story. I omitted any mention of Yuki or my encounter with Maya, framing the information to pique the Padawans' interest in BKDW. A teacher, even a simple coach, holds a position of higher respect than an employer in their local ranks. Having informants within the organization wouldn't hurt. Although, if my assumption that they're temporary residents of Novilter holds true, my hints may be in vain. Considering I'd said enough, I confirmed with the guys whether they'd completed their home workouts before sending them off into the waves.
Their falls and stumbles were fewer today. Their progress was even quicker than mine had been. Perhaps I'd been too quick to belittle myself, as my advice and training seemed to be bearing fruit.
When the Padawans were down to their last quarter of prana, I concluded the session and beckoned them closer.
"Remember this emergency number," I began, dictating a series of digits. I trusted they wouldn't mix anything up. "Fair warning: I won't be checking messages every day. There may be intervals of up to five days, or even a week. Don't send anything to this number to verify the connection or to check up on me. This is strictly for emergencies - use it only if something happens and a meeting is required. Understood? Good. Now, have you bought your phones yet?"
"No," Dobrynya admitted quietly, lowering his gaze. "We haven't managed to secure funds for such a purchase yet."
That was okay. I had anticipated this.
"Don't fret. Over that hill," I gestured in the direction, "there's a small grove hidden from the yacht club's view. There, you'll find a tree with a forked trunk," I mimed the shape with my hands for added clarity, "and at its base, there's a flat stone about the size of a typical frying pan. Beneath the stone, you'll find two plastic bags filled with money — enough for phones and SIM cards. After I leave, you can retrieve it. There's no need to repay me."
It was customary here for teachers to assist their students, even financially, so my offer met with no opposition. They simply bowed in gratitude.
Before I took my leave, I assigned them homework. They could practice on their own, which certainly wouldn't be to their detriment. Then I bid them farewell and moved away towards the city in Sliding.
I had no specific plans for the day. So, after hiding the emergency phone about two blocks away, I returned to my apartment.
Having changed into comfortable clothes, I attempted to practice a bit, but was unable to spark any inspiration and ended my session after half an hour. As soon as I stashed the mop handle in the far corner, my stomach started demanding attention, reminding me that I had skipped breakfast.
I wasn't in the mood to cook, and even making a simple salad seemed a chore. Glancing out the window, I noted the pleasant weather: the sun was masked by an abundance of clouds and a gentle breeze stirred the tree branches. Most people were already at work, and cafes were still serving breakfast. Decision made! I dressed casually in a T-shirt, shorts, and robot-print sandals. I clipped my music player to my belt, donned my headphones, and headed out.
I bypassed the nearest cafes on my street, in search of something new to try. My search led me into the adjacent neighborhood, which was a relief given that the heat had subsided somewhat today. The air was easy to breathe, making the stroll quite enjoyable.
Despite checking out various signs, nothing seemed appealing. Sometimes, you crave something specific, but you can't pinpoint what it is. Like opening a refrigerator filled with food and finding nothing you want to eat. As I walked around, I observed my surroundings and thought to myself, "No, not this... This one is dull... Sushi in this heat, ugh..." and similar thoughts.
I had just decided to settle for the first cafe whose name contained a third "E" — a random choice dictated by my increasing hunger — when I spotted a small group of young people, three guys and two girls, dressed unusually. They were each outfitted as characters from various animated series, comic books, or manga, displaying a type of simple, inexpensive, yet stylish and heartfelt cosplay. The group, engaged in a lively debate over popular voice actresses, ducked into a narrow alleyway and slipped through an inconspicuous door, which I spotted in the reflection of a shop window.
I followed them and indeed found a cafe. Its sign was faded with age, the door worn but clean, and the windows shielded by thick, light curtains emblazoned with various digital studio logos. The name, "Toi-Toi," was initially cryptic, but Izao's memories quickly provided the context: it was the title of the first anime series that had gained popularity both in Japan and worldwide.
Intrigued, I pushed open the door and stepped inside. The interior was dimly lit, prompting me to pause in the doorway to adjust to the stark contrast in illumination. The hum of human conversation enveloped me. At eleven in the morning, it was an unusual time for a cafe to be this bustling, yet the place was nearly at full capacity.
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A dozen tables, each accommodating six seats, lined the walls. Dominating the center of the hall was a bar counter that doubled as an open, oriental-style kitchen, extending nearly the length of the room. The staff — three chefs and two waitresses — were engrossed in their duties. The cafe's walls were adorned with vintage advertising posters, at least two decades old, featuring animated characters. Additionally, large screens were mounted in every corner, each broadcasting an episode of the Toi-Toi series.
About a third of the tables were claimed by cosplay-attired youngsters, with another third occupied by more casually dressed individuals who still bore recognizable hallmarks of anime fandom. The remaining tables were filled with wide-eyed tourists, occasionally sneaking a photograph when they thought no one was looking.
I approached the counter. The menu was unexpectedly diverse, not solely Japanese as I had presumed. The enticing display of the chefs' culinary skills stirred my appetite to the point where I didn't want to seek out another cafe. However, I realized that I might need to, given that all the tables were claimed by groups of young people, and joining strangers wasn't really my style. Of course, I could opt for a quick meal at the counter, but after my lengthy walk, I yearned to rest my legs. It was unfortunate — I liked it here.
It was truly astounding. In my previous life, I would have avoided such places. And yet, now, standing at the counter, I felt strangely at ease despite the noise, the chatter, the sizzle of the stovetop, the waitresses' shouts, and the blare of the televisions. It seemed Izao's personality had a deeper influence on me than I'd originally assumed, but it didn't invoke fear or resistance. On the contrary, I found myself invigorated by his youthful spirit. I felt as if I had, in some way, recaptured a piece of my own youth.
Heck, I admired these young folks sitting at the tables in their whimsical outfits. Unbothered by the judgement of others, they were living a life they relished, unafraid of ridicule or disapproval.
Perhaps, I decided, I would stay, even if it meant sitting at the counter. Now, what to eat? All the dishes' names were clever references to specific titles. The menu, hand-drawn and teeming with warmth, was a marvel of creativity, even if it wasn't particularly luxurious.
"Hey?"
Was he addressing me? Yes, indeed. A guy from the nearest table was gesturing at me. His companions were not cosplayers, but unmistakable manga and anime enthusiasts. Their outfits bore a striking resemblance to Izao's wardrobe, albeit with imagery reflecting their own distinct tastes. Three guys and a girl, all radiating friendly smiles. The one who had called out to me was a fair-haired youth, his shirt emblazoned with a massive logo from a new superhero series. Beside him sat a young man of clear Japanese descent. His shirt was formal yet dotted with an array of badges dedicated to magical girl anime. Across from them by the window, a girl with white hair and a strong-willed face wore a slight, self-conscious smile; if not for her broad chin, she would've been strikingly beautiful. Her figure was hidden under a light poncho adorned with an image of Maya — or, more accurately, her projection. As far away from the girl as possible sat a boy, who in his normalcy was a mirror image of Izao. The kind of face you'd forget instantly upon seeing, yet he was easily distinguishable from the crowd due to the paper crown from the "Phantom King of Robots" series perched on his head. Despite the series' outstanding animation, its immensely flawed and illogical plot had prompted me to abandon it after just three episodes.
"Yes?" I replied.
"Join us!" The young man offered, moving aside to create room.
Hmm... Why not, indeed? Holding the menu, I took a seat at their table.
"Hello!" I am greeted and shake the proffered hand. "I'm Alex. This is Kazuki, the incomparable Jeanne, and Lucas."
"Izao," I introduced myself in return.
"First time here, huh? Don't answer - it's evident," Alex chuckled. "Can't decide what to order?" Before I could interject, he continued, "No problem! We have a tradition here!" Everyone around the table began to grin, but their smiles weren't malicious, they were warm and anticipatory. "Who's your favorite character?"
As he asked this, he gestured toward my chest. Of course, my shirt bore an image from the manga "Tech-Priest." Who stood out most there? As always, a villain. I appreciated the depth of his character and the charisma instilled in him by the author.
"Rantar!" I blurted out, knowing a delay might seem odd. And the "Word" wasn't against such an answer.
"Wow!" The guy in the superhero t-shirt glanced around the table triumphantly. "You definitely belong here! Manoka!" He yelled across the room, summoning the waitress.
A girl in a striking uniform immediately rushed over to us: a white apron over a black blouse, a short skirt that stopped mid-thigh, and dark stockings. Yes, quite stylish and eye-catching.
"Third page, dish number four, for him," he directed, pointing at me.
"Understood, Alex-sama," the attractive waitress acknowledged with a bow before scurrying off to place the order.
"Don't worry!" Alex, sensing my unease at someone else making my food choice, quickly reassured me. "If you don't like it, it's on me." He winked.
"Is this part of the 'tradition'?" I quirked a left eyebrow.
"Yes," the lone girl at the table piped up from the window. "The 'Toi-Toi' specialty is creating dishes from manga, comics, and anime that the characters loved."
Her voice, a touch raspy, somehow made her even more endearing, despite her overly masculine face.
"Yeah," Alex confirmed, nodding. "Exactly! And the dish I ordered, the shrimp funchoza..."
"Oh! Rantar ordered that dish in the seventh episode of the first season, the third episode of the fifth season, and the twelfth episode of the third season," I recalled. My memory did not fail me this time.
"That's right!" Alex affirmed, snapping his fingers in response.
I ended up enjoying the funchoza. The salad of vegetables, shrimp, and thin "glass" noodles, prepared by the local chefs, was light, succulent, and flavorful. I found myself immersed in casual conversation with this group for nearly an hour. Following the locals' recommendation, I sampled miso soup, which I found slightly less appealing than the salad. To wrap up, I ordered the café's signature black coffee.
These were ordinary young people with unique interests, not the "crazy" or "strange" characters often portrayed by the media when depicting this subculture. I found myself particularly intrigued by Jeanne, not just because she was a girl, though that played a part, but because of her poncho. Several times, I attempted to steer the conversation toward raigs and specifically Maya, but the topic quickly meandered elsewhere. I was careful not to insist or conspicuously display my interest.
However, all good things come to an end, including our engaging chatter. Each of my new acquaintances had somewhere to be. Alex told me that if I wanted to reach him, I could leave a note at the counter. We left the café together, chatting for another five minutes on the street before parting ways.
Instead of heading home, I walked to the nearest park and found a shady bench to sit on. This interaction... It was pleasant, amusing, and outright fun. I hadn't laughed so hard at simple, sometimes crude, jokes in a long while. Why did I always believe that I wouldn't enjoy the company of young people, considering my soul felt over forty? I found that assumption to be utterly wrong. Moreover, watching shy Lucas's humorous attempts to court Jeanne was delightful. I couldn't help but laugh out loud. The funniest part was that nobody seemed to notice his efforts, not even the girl herself or his friends. Despite this, Lucas seemed like a good guy, albeit overly shy, so I found myself silently wishing him luck.
After a brief moment of solitude in the quiet park, I stood up and leisurely began my walk home. Pleasant music flowed through my headphones, and my legs carried me along a winding path that kept me in the cool shade of the alleyways. While this route was longer, I was in no rush. I wanted to savor the lingering "aftertaste" of our aimless café chatter.
Just how lonely was I that I found such joy in simple conversations with strangers? Izao might have been content sitting at home, consuming manga volumes and binging on television, but I wasn't like that at all. It was remarkable how I had been thrust into the body of a young man so different from me.
About a block away, humming along to my music, I paused at a street-side ice cream stand. It wasn't so much that I desired it at that moment, but Izao's memory informed me they sold a particular delicacy here, which I decided to indulge in later that evening.
As I stood in the small queue, I found myself humming along to my music, staring up at the sky. Clouds heavy with moisture had gathered above. A rain shower would be welcome; the oppressive heat was becoming unbearable.
Just as there was one person left before me in line, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning around and pulling off my headphones, I recognized the person standing there.
"Hello again!" Was that Jeanne?
Indeed, it was her. She had removed her poncho and stowed it in her purse. Without it, you wouldn't expect her to be a patron of a cafe like "Toi-Toi." Her hair was neatly done, she wore a tailored blouse, simple trousers, and shoes with rather high heels. She looked like an exemplary student, hardly someone you'd peg as a manga and anime enthusiast. I found it hard to guess her age — she could be anywhere between sixteen and twenty-one.
"Hello!" I replied automatically, unsure of how to interact with her. She seemed entirely different on the street compared to how she was in the café.
"Do you live nearby?" she asked.
"Yes, just on the next street. Do you live nearby as well?"
"No, I'm visiting my sister. Since you're in line, does that mean the ice cream here is good?"
"Yes, especially the banana flavor. It's the best in the area."
"It's good that I wasn't shy about approaching you then," the girl responded, smiling awkwardly. "I was just thinking about what to bring, I didn't want to show up empty-handed."
"You won't be disappointed." I responded, giving her my most welcoming smile, one I had practiced several times in front of the mirror.
"We didn't scare you, did we?" She attempted to wink, though it came off a bit awkward. "Especially Alex."
"No, not at all. I'm glad I happened to meet you all in that unusual café," I replied honestly.
"Well, that's wonderful. Alex tends to intimidate many people with his assertiveness."
"He's a good guy," I shrugged. "And the rest of you aren't scary, rather endearing." She seemed to overlook my compliment, either not noticing or choosing to ignore it.
When it was my turn, I ordered three types of ice cream, requesting they be packed for me to take home. Jeanne followed my advice, also ordering ice cream and purchasing a bag with the company's logo to avoid staining her purse.
"Which way are you heading?" she asked.
"Over there." I gestured towards my house.
"Oh... I'm going in a different direction." She smiled, looking slightly guilty. "It was nice to meet you."
"The pleasure was mine, Jeanne." I bowed, not in an Eastern style, but more like a gentleman to a lady.
She noticed this detail and blushed charmingly.
"I hope to see you again, young man in the robot T-shirt named Izao." She waved her hand and started off, her heels clicking against the pavement.
"Goodbye."
Without turning around, she waved her hand once more.
What an odd farewell! Why had she called me "young man in the robot T-shirt"?
But this thought quickly left my mind. True to the local climate, rain arrived unexpectedly and without warning, descending as if poured from a bucket. I sprinted towards my house, a seven-minute dash that left me soaked to the skin.