“Are you sure that we’re allowed outside the village?” asked Wiki.

“Look, it says so right here.” Arnold showed him the event schedule. “‘For the purposes of the Q and A, all humans are considered escorted outside the village.’”

“Yeah, but… do you really trust a piece of paper?” It would take a brilliant or stupid assassin to try to kill us that way, but in Gensokyo, you couldn’t necessarily rule out either. I politely asked another group for their schedule, and saw that it was the same.

“Writing it twice doesn’t make it more trustworthy,” said Wiki.

Arnold threw up his hands. “Look, man, I know where that line of thinking ends. We can practice Cartesian doubt or danmaku, it’s up to you!”

“‘Cartesian doubt?’” I asked. Arnold pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I meant ‘hurr durr, let’s walk into danger.’ Like everyone else.” He pointed at other humans who were already on their way into the trees for the event.

“If all your friends jumped off a bridge, would you?” asked Wiki.

“Yeah–what if they can’t swim? They might need help!”

“Then why would they jump off a bridge?”

“I don’t know, for good reasons? This was your thought experiment, dude!”

“I see no good reason to hold a Q and A outside the human village, instead of at the public square or through an anonymous suggestion box.”

Wiki had a point. If you wanted honest feedback, you made a safe space. You didn’t drag people into danger, first–unless you only wanted honest feedback from the brave? It made me wonder about the societal and cultural values of Gensokyo, and whether you’d have to prove yourself to ask a question.

However, there was another obvious explanation.

“What if they are having a Q and A where they can execute dissenters?” I asked.

“A legitimate concern,” said Wiki. “Let us not dissent first. Instead, we’ll see what happens to the first person who speaks up.”

“I didn’t expect pushback on this,” said Arnold. “I thought you guys would jump at the chance to leave the village.”

“No,” said Wiki, “I agree that it’s probably fine, I’m just thinking as we walk.” Indeed, none of us had refused to come along with Arnold. Sasha was there, too, but instead of yammering she was looking around for potential danger.

I was in a bit of a foul mood. Keine was hosting this event, according to the schedule. She had set up a time for us to leave the human village, then failed to tell us about it.

Waiting really would have solved our problem! I tried not to agonize over it.

Perhaps working with Sekibanki would provide me a benefit above and beyond whatever lessons would commence at the schoolhouse. I couldn’t really trust the official lessons, could I? No, I couldn’t, not after all the effort I spent finding my own way to practice.

“Keine can’t be incompetent, can she?” I asked.

“She is the only teacher in a town of five hundred,” said Wiki. “If she’s the smartest person, her IQ is in the 140s, or thereabouts.”

“I deny that IQ has anything to do with competence,” said Sasha.

“She didn’t tell us about this event,” I said. “A big oversight.”

“She was distracted,” offered Arnold. “Everybody makes mistakes, even teachers.”

“I suspect it was intentional,” said Wiki. “Her IQ probably really is in the 140s.”

“That’s assuming Gensokyo residents fall on the same scale,” said Sasha. “A pretty dumb assumption.”

“No, IQ is relative,” said Wiki. “So it’d still be the 140s, because you’d use Gensokyo as the basis for ranking! On the other hand, when you consider the IQ of the average Touhou fan, and the fact the human village is now mostly fans…”

“IQ means nothing here–or in the Outside World for that matter.” They went back and forth for a bit. Wiki said they kept using it for studies, Sasha said they kept using it to disprove those studies.

“If I had the internet, I’d prove you wrong in ten ways,” she said.

“Well I can prove you wrong just fine without it, and nine of your ways are probably mistaken anyway.”

“How many fairies are there in the human village?” asked Arnold, suddenly. “Do you count them?”

“I do,” said Wiki. “That’s the easiest way to gain an IQ point–invite Cirno to town, drag down the average. Except Cirno can read, so you should consider inviting the Three Fairies of Light instead.”

“That’s a big brain plan,” I said. “Hey, I think we are almost there.” Up ahead there was a small wooden stage set up at the edge of a copse of trees. There was an arena of sorts next to it. Someone had brought in the sand and made a sand pit, a sort of volleyball field without the net, except extra long. It was a hundred feet across.

The stage stood right next to the sand with a little stairwell leading down. I could see Keine standing there. She was shouting out at the crowd, telling them to remain orderly. Reisen was there as well; she was shooing people back from the not-a-volleyball-court. On the stage there were two youkai sitting in steel folding chairs. It was Miko and Hijiri. The setup looked like nothing so much as a panel at a convention.

“Welcome to the Quest and Attack,” said Keine to widespread murmurs. “Our guests have prepared some opening words, then we can get started. Hijiri?”

"Thank you,” said the Buddhist nun, as she stood to some scattered, hesitant applause. “Greetings, everyone. In the spirit of Buddhist inquiry, let us explore the endless questions of our minds through the art of danmaku, just as we seek enlightenment during our daily lives. That is all."

“Kicking it with friends,” Arnold said, and Sasha shushed him. Miko stood up next.

“Welcome, welcome! In our pursuit of the Taoist way, let us question and challenge each other in the dance of danmaku, seeking balance and understanding in the rhythm of conflict. It is such balance that Hijiri struggles with, because–"

“Thanks for keeping it civil, Miss Toyosatomimi,” said Keine. Miko frowned, but sat back down. “Well. Friends and students, we are here to answer your questions and to take feedback. Don’t forget that both the English and Japanese words for ‘question’ have their root in ‘seeking’ and ‘fundamental essence.’ Quests, if you will. I can admire how you are here to seek answers; that is the essence of danmaku. But remember: in English, although ‘request’ shares an etymology with question, it comes from the Old French requeste which meant ‘to demand’. And, in Japanese we have youkyuu, which is seeking the essential: demanding that your needs be met. Both the Japanese and the French are forceful in their demands, are they not?”

“But what language is she fucking speaking!” hissed Wiki.

“The Quest and Attack is about your needs,” she said. “You may choose any of the three of us to petition; you may make your demands. We will battle with danmaku. And if you win, we will answer.”

“What if we lose?” called someone. The blue haired teacher gave a small smile.

“See for yourself. Now, please form a line next to the arena.”

A silence fell. Nobody moved, except for a few people who stepped away from Reisen and the human side of the arena. Hijiri and Keine frowned. Miko laughed. The crowd began to murmur. I heard other humans complaining.

“This is a farce, how do they expect–”

“-there’s no chance I’ll go near–”

“-this is bullshit is what it is–”

“Hmm,” said Arnold. “Reminds me of my dad.” We all stared at him. “Once, he offered me ice cream if I could beat him in an arm-wrestling contest.”

“And?” asked Sasha.

“I won, obviously, and got some delicious ice cream.”

“Musculature is probably genetic,” said Wiki, “So that makes no sense.”

“And what, everyone clapped?” asked Sasha.

“What? No, it was just us. I was eight.” He rubbed his beard. “He let me win, of course.”

“That’s… actually brilliant,” I said. “How hard they fight might depend on the sort of request we are making. They might not fight at all.” I was trying to be optimistic.

Arnold sighed. “Hijiri is the prettiest, isn’t she? I have a request for her.”

“Have you lost your fucking mind?” asked Sasha.

“Doesn’t matter,” said Wiki. “Even if all I wanted to do was to say hi, I’m not going to rely on their mercy.”

I tended to agree with him. I was enraged at this little pogrom; I had no voice here, and they were pretending otherwise. But I also wouldn't forget that I had no voice. I was trying to acquire one, after all.

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

The murmuring quieted as Miko began to laugh harder.

“This was a good idea!” she said to the other two. “They want all sorts of things, I can tell, but they are so afraid to ask! I told you, Hijiri, these humans learned your first lesson too well.”

Hijiri closed her eyes. “All the same, lessons must be taught. Perhaps another is in order.” She then shouted to address the crowd. “I swear that you will not face repercussions for challenging us today. This really is a peaceful gathering–that is the point of danmaku!”

“Good!” said a voice from the crowd. It was Raghav. He walked forward to Reisen, who positioned him at one end of the arena. He was dressed in his finery, and confident; perhaps he’d gotten new underwear. “My request is for Miko. Tell me, Miss Inaba, do I ask it before or after we fight?”

“It’s up to you,” said Reisen. She was making a note on her paper. “It doesn’t really matter.”

“I can already tell what you want,” Miko called out. “The answer is no!”

“Well, I’ll state it for the others, then. I would request from Miko that I receive my own living space. Not a dorm, a domicile. By myself, and bigger than the hovels we currently live in, as well.” There were an equal number of boos and cheers from the crowd.

“A greedy request, to be sure,” said Miko.

“Weren’t we to decide it by battle?” he asked. The Taoist leader and administrator of the human village laughed at him again.

“Very well!” She walked from the stage and took her position opposite Raghav. “Fire away, kiddo.”

Raghav looked to Reisen, who nodded. He took a martial artist’s stance and stared at Miko. She hefted her scepter in one hand, slapping it into the other, and smiled warmly. Raghav took a hesitating step forward.

“Performance anxiety?” asked Miko. “Don’t worry, it happens to the best…” But she stopped speaking when Raghav gestured with his hand and four yellow spheres emerged from it. They spun around themselves and drifted forward.

There was a collective gasp. Raghav had just cast danmaku.

“How!” cried Wiki and I at about the same time. I just couldn’t believe it. Had he found time outside the village? More than us? Had he practiced against the rules? Was he just better than us?

Maybe danmaku really was something that only a tenth of humans could do, and fuck everyone else.

Raghav’s danmaku rotated around itself faster than it moved forward. Miko straightened and watched it approach. If she stepped to the left or right, it would miss. Instead, she opened her arms.

“I am glad to see that at least some of the humans have potential,” she said as she absorbed the danmaku. “Hmm… you lied about your motivations, Raghav. But very well, I will consider giving you your own place to live!”

Raghav bowed, apparently satisfied. “Thank you, Administrator.” He left the field. The crowd was excitedly murmuring, and the scattered claps eventually grew to full applause. I joined in, but my hands started to burn because I was slapping them so hard.

I couldn’t cast danmaku. Before, it was because the system was arranged against me. Now my emotions roiled; now it was because I wasn’t good enough. I stopped clapping before the others. I felt nothing but an overwhelming desire to step out and prove my worth. Nothing but that, and the certainty that if I stepped out now I’d only embarrass myself.

Sometimes, trying harder just leads to failure. It was a lesson I’d learned in the Outside World through many fruitless years. That didn’t change just because I was whisked away to a fantasy land. It didn’t change just because I wanted it to.

I hadn’t yet cast danmaku; the earliest I could try a stunt like this would be next week. I looked around and saw dismay on many faces. Others were having the same thoughts. My face was burning. I hoped the others couldn’t see my shame.

“Any other requests?” asked Keine. People were speaking, but nobody stepped forward. “Come now, students, you’ve seen it is possible.”

“Possible for at least one human,” murmured Wiki. “Assuming he isn’t a youkai in disguise.”

“Fucking Raghav,” I said. Arnold patted me on the back.

“He’s a pretty cool dude,” he said. He stepped forward and shouted. “I have a question for Hijiri!” The crowd parted to let him through. Reisen situated him in the arena as we murmured, then made a note on her clipboard.

“What is your request?” asked the Buddhist nun as she took her place opposite Arnold.

“I prefer to save that for after,” he said. He had his hand on his ax like a cane. “It’s a bit private, a little embarrassing.” There were some jeers, but a glare from Hijiri silenced them.

“Very well.” She adopted a fighting stance. “Let us converse.”

“If he throws that ax he’s gonna die,” said Sasha. “Do you think he knows?”

“I have no idea what he’s thinking,” I said. I really didn’t. Arnold might have been lustful, but he wasn’t that stupid–was he? Hijiri’s boobs were big, but she’d killed a man!

“Arnold, don’t throw your ax!” shouted Wiki. The crowd was getting louder, but our friend nodded.

“I’m not at that level yet,” he said. “Not yet!” Then he stuck out his other hand and growled. The crowd grew still.

Nothing happened.

Arnold bared his teeth and put his hand out again. Hijiri didn’t move a millimeter. No danmaku appeared. Arnold’s fingers flexed. The crowd laughed.

Then Arnold straightened up and put his hand behind his head, his cheeks red.

“Yeah, I’m not quite there,” he said. “I just wanted to try.”

Hijiri nodded and dropped the fighting stance. “Acceptance is a virtue. You do well to cultivate it, even if it’s a plant that grows in darkness.” She bowed. The crowd politely clapped. Arnold came back to us.

“Why’d you do that?” asked Wiki, his face burning in sympathy. “That was mortifying to watch.”

“Yeah well…” said Arnold. “You miss every shot you don’t take, you know?”

“Were you trying to seduce her?” asked Sasha.

“What? No! I just wanted to grab a drink some time!”

Wiki laughed hysterically. “Buddhists don’t consume alcohol,” he explained. “There’s a lot of things they don’t do, Arnold!” But I ignored them.

I went to join the line that had formed–and after Arnold’s failure, a lot of people were stepping up. Sasha followed me. Wiki remained behind with Arnold, perhaps to discuss some tenets of Buddhism.

–

One-by-one I watched the others fail. Nobody else could cast danmaku, nobody except that bastard Raghav. My heart sped up as I neared the front of the line. It didn’t matter whether I would fail; I’d soon have eyes on me. I could see that people were getting bored and leaving, but it did little to alleviate my nervousness.

“What are you going to ask for?” asked Sasha. She was in line right behind me.

“I–I’m here to practice danmaku,” I said. I really should be thinking of requests I could make, and things I cared about. “You?

“Same thing as Raghav,” she said.

“Huh.”

“Er, well, not that you guys are bad roommates or anything,” she added, causing my eyebrows to rise. “I just want more space. Maybe a house in the woods. I’d invite you over for dinner and stuff.”

“Sure.”

“People exhaust me, it’s not your fault, shut the fuck up.”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous, though? A house in the forest of magic?” It reminded me of Kirisame Marisa, who admittedly liked to live dangerously. “You’d have to be powerful enough to protect yourself.”

“Bingo, butthead.” Sasha shrugged. “I don’t think I’ll get that right away or anything. I’m willing to wait for now.”

“And yet you are asking right away.”

“There are different kinds of waiting,” she said. “Active waiting. C’mon, this is your wheelhouse, right? Doing things ASAP?”

I laughed. “Thanks Sasha. Yeah, let’s try now, even if we won’t get what we want.” I was next in line. Reisen wrote my name on her list and set me in the arena.

“Who is your question for?” asked Reisen. The moon rabbit seemed bored with the entire operation.

“I…”

I looked at the three youkai we were allowed to petition. Miko, the sneering administrator who refused to name things. Keine, the frustrating teacher who refused to communicate. Hijiri, the Buddhist murderer who loved monsters more than humans.

“Hijiri,” I said, uncertain of where my certainty came from. She was the scariest; perhaps fear would help me.

“And your question?”

“I don’t know,” I said, honestly. “I’m just here to practice.” I looked around, but nobody was paying much attention anymore. After a dozen failures, the spectacle had worn off. Perfect, I thought. I could have my try in peace.

“Purposeless action is anathema to enlightenment,” said Hijiri. I frowned. She took up the exact same fighting stance she had before, with one arm raised. She was ready to leap through the air. I’d seen it a handful of times by then, but it still made my muscles tense.

I calmed myself. I thought about why I wanted to use danmaku; to protect myself, and convince the youkai to spare me. Hijiri was perfect for that. Even after her promise, I was terrified. I tried to make that terror take form, so that she could feel the same. So that she might empathize with my fear and spare me.

And for a moment, I thought it really might work.

Nothing happened. I sighed, and felt my jaw clench. Maybe Raghav really was better than me, after all. Whatever. I wouldn’t give up.

“Continue striving,” said Hijiri, dropping her stance. “Even failure can teach us lessons, if we listen closely.” But failure wouldn’t save anybody’s life, I thought. Not mine, nor other humans in Gensokyo. The point wasn’t to fail or not; Hijiri didn’t get it. My blood began to boil.

I didn’t give a shit about being better than Raghav, not really! That asshole just wanted some status symbols. I wanted the power to protect people! Myself, yes, but also others! Hijiri here had killed a man because it was convenient. Gensokyo wasn’t a place for humans, the signs were all around–and it was true–because the powerful people here didn’t care about them.

But I did! Why was it always like this? Why did I always have to be the adult in the room, the only person who faced danger, who tried to change things? Sekibanki had said it herself, I was the human who felt fear more than the others. I was also the only person who tried to do anything about it, and it was bullshit. I’d been an alignment researcher to try to save humanity, because I was the only person who gave a fuck!

It was then that I was enlightened. I took up my stance again.

“You’ve had your chance,” said Hijiri.

“Give him another!” said Miko. “He’s trying way harder than you’d think! It’s pathetic, but I like it, let me watch for a while.”

“Very well,” said the nun, adopting her form once more. “Stubbornness can serve growth. You may have one more attempt.”

I stuck out my hand and tried to release danmaku in the form of “Why don’t you protect humans instead of youkai, you bitch?” I gasped, and so did the crowd; the danmaku had appeared.

My danmaku was blood red. It was shaped like an arrow, or a vector, dark with red lines of lightning in it. It was pointed, like an arrowhead, and angular, like a bad render. It spun in place on its axis for a moment before taking off and piercing Hijiri right in the chest, over her heart.

It passed through, doing exactly no damage, but hopefully it made the point I wanted it to make.

Humans were important. We weren’t just youkai food–we weren’t just here to be servants or sustenance. Youkai were stories we had made up. It was backwards to make Gensokyo about them. The world existed for us, not for ghosts. Powerlessness did not suit us; subservience was not our place.

Hijiri had been human, and powerful, but at some point she’d become confused. She should switch sides, from youkai back to human. If she did that maybe we wouldn’t fear for our lives.

And even if she didn’t, I wanted to become powerful. When I did, I’d protect the others in the human village. That was the emotion I could make others feel. The desire to do something in the face of obvious, overwhelming danger. Humans should at least stand together in protecting themselves!

I smiled and laughed. It was obvious, really. In the outside world I’d tried to reign in the AI without the support of basically anyone. Here, I’d try to reign in the demons and monsters. Whether I failed or not, that was my nature; to fight for safety even if everyone else was content with the spectacle.

“Ah…” said the Buddhist nun. She touched the scroll at her hip and drew it out, activating it. “You are filled with misapprehensions, Mister Thorne. Another lesson is needed.”

Byakuren Hijiri leapt through the air and straight at me, faster than the crowd could scream. I saw her laced boot approaching like a meteor.