Lying Low
Nafa, Ryukyu - August 23
On paper, it could be concluded that Ryukyu had once again triumphed over its far larger enemies. Since last November, Jerusalem and China had run roughshod over their neighbors, consuming everything in their path like an unstoppable flood. Yet Ryukyu had managed to stop the flood, like Yu the Great calming the waters, and survived the tempest. After all, it was still around as an independent nation. Although China had overrun every other of its targets, it had failed in Ryukyu. In light of its ongoing internal issues, it likely wouldn’t be able to try another invasion anytime soon, even if it hadn’t signed that ceasefire.
Ryukyu’s survival, despite being the smallest nation in the world and bordering one of the largest, showed the remains of the free world it was possible to stand up to the superpowers. They might have been reduced to ashes, but their foes hadn’t emerged unscathed either. And that allowed hope to return after so many years of darkness and despair. They would need that hope going forward.
That being said, they couldn’t rest easy just yet. There was much they had to do before things could return to normal. Mitsuha sat in her office, looking over casualty results from the battle. It was still surreal to be sitting here, after what she had witnessed in the battle. It didn’t feel real at all. But the reports on her desk told her otherwise. The Three Mountains Defense Force had suffered an almost fatal blow. Over sixty percent of all active duty military personnel were dead or injured, and most of the latter were so injured that they would not be able to serve again once they recovered. Most of their ground vehicles were destroyed or out of fuel, and most major roads had been bombed to pieces. The construction equipment that could have repaired those vehicles and roads were also largely destroyed or out of energy. Every bit of the Ryukyuan supply chain had been hit hard.
There was no better demonstration of that than the fact that the office was lit by candles. Although Shuri Castle was structurally intact, China had destroyed all of Ryukyu’s ocean thermal energy conversion and biofuel plants. Electricity blackouts still covered nearly all of Uchinaa. Gas-powered emergency generators had been distributed to the most affected areas, with Shuri Castle giving up its own generators to the civilian neighborhoods around it. Due to all of the bombing and fighting, most of Nafa also lacked running water. Most of the comforts of civilized society had been lost. They were teetering on the brink of anarchy.
Calm down, Mitsuha, she thought,
We have contingency plans for this.
The Ryukyuan government knew that any direct conflict with China had a high chance of disrupting supply chains and destroying infrastructure, and so it had set aside a large stockpile of food, water, and machine parts to keep things going until repairs were finished. It would be very expensive, but it had to be done.
Shikata ga nai. It couldn’t be helped. They would rebuild, no matter the cost. Otherwise, they might as well have lost the war.
---
It didn’t feel right for Iwato to wear her royal robes in these times. So when she left the castle today, as she did every day since the battle ended, she merely wore the same bloodstained regular priestess attire she had worn that day, and instead of bodyguards she had her sword and a handgun. She had never seen downtown Nafa so lifeless before. Everywhere she looked, she saw reminders of that brutal battle. Not a single wall remained free of bullet holes. The streets and sidewalks were torn up by artillery impact craters and crushed by the treads of Chinese tanks too heavy for them to carry. Severed power lines hung limply from the few utility poles that hadn’t been cut down. Although they had already recovered most of the bodies, there were still many more rats scurrying around in the open than Iwato was used to. Her parents had told stories of missiles falling on Ryukyu during World War III, and her grandparents had talked about air raid drills conducted during World War II, but surely what they were going through now far surpassed everything they experienced.
Tida rose in the sky as always, regardless of what happened below. Its light filtered through the few clouds in the sky, casting light shadows over the city. She heard the chirps of cicadas around her, reminding her of her childhood summers. But she also felt the cool breeze of an abnormally early
mīnishi brushing over her skin and going through her hair. This could never be an average summer’s day, not like before.
She arrived at her destination. Naminoue Shrine once stood on this cliff, before it was razed to the ground in China’s ferocious aerial bombardment. Where once an old wooden structure stood, there were now only scorch marks and broken bits of charred wood, and she could clearly see the waves of the Pacific crashing against the beaches below. Reviewing the security camera footage, she had learned it was caused by a single Chinese firebomb strapped to a little girl. Part of her wished she hadn’t watched that footage. That haunting look in the girl’s eyes still bore deep into her soul, especially as she stood near the site of her death. There were many more like her dropped and killed across Nafa. How could people be so cruel that something like this actually happened? And where were the gods, too? She couldn’t fault others who decided to renounce the gods, since they hadn’t protected Ryukyu in its darkest day. As
chifi-ufujin, she would never do that, but she knew that the gods didn’t help them at all. Still, they had survived the battle on their own merits, without needing divine intervention. That was something worth celebrating, she felt. And there was still something the
chifi-ufujin could do today.
Iwato took out a set of
hira-ukō incense—a set of two bundles of six sticks and a third bundle of three sticks. She lit them and stuck them into a crevice between two rocks in the middle of the ruins, allowing the
mīnishi spread the smoke around. Next, she took out several clumps of
gushichi. For generations, priestesses like her, as well as regular Ryukyuans, used
gushichi to ward off the
yanamun. An odd number of leaves were cut from the ground and tied together at the cusp to form a talisman called a
san in Uchinaa, though other islands had their own names for it. Iwato set down four
san down at the corners of the old shrine, with a fifth placed in front of the
hira-ukō. Next to it, she placed a box containing some uncooked rice, mochi, pork, and a cup of liquor, as her offering to the gods.
She put her hands together to offer
ugwan to anybody listening above.
Please, gods in Niraikanai, come down from your palace just this once. I’m begging you, grant this poor girl the release she deserves and guide her to the next life. Once she was done, she set down three sheets of paper money—
uchikabi—and three sheets of folded calligraphy paper—
shirukabi—and burned them with a lighter, letting the
mīnishi once again blow away their smoke.
Usually, a
san would have been placed on top of a prepared offering to the gods like food. In the context of a funeral, it would have been placed inside a tomb and on top of a coffin. That wouldn’t be possible here without a body, a coffin, or a tomb. She had also changed the prayer a lot from what she usually did, as this was anything but usual, but she hoped that this would be enough to put the girl’s spirit to rest. She would do this for the rest of those who had died in the battle, making no difference between friend, foe, or civilian.
The gods had left Ryukyu’s fate in its own hands, sure. But perhaps that was a test. Ryukyu had grown very confident in its own abilities since the end of World War III, and five decades of peace had lulled them into a false sense of security. They had earned that peace fifty years ago, but they had forgotten that since then. Thus the gods, who kept the people of Ryukyu alive with fire, water, and wind since time immemorial, worried that they had become too self-centered and arrogant, believing they could take on the entire world. They had committed
ugan busuku. Perhaps this battle was a way of reminding them to remain humble and pragmatic. They wouldn’t return to their next generation society for many years, and by then, the next generation would have become current.
A loud horn echoed across the city, startling Iwato. She recognized it as a ship’s horn, which drew her attention south to the Kokuba River. Or more specifically, the next generation battleship that had been beached there since the battle ended.
Once her job at the shrine ruins was done, she headed off for the
Tsuruhime. It looked just as it did when she had fought there alongside the Ryukyuan Marines and her brother in the final stages of the battle. Speaking of which…
“Ah, there you are, Sister,” Taki said as she climbed onto the stern deck. Since the battle, the
Tsuruhime had been used as an improvised bridge to deliver goods across the Kokuba while the bridge was still being repelled. Stairs and ramps had been set up to allow personnel and vehicles to cross over via the flight deck, with the crew and other soldiers helping out when needed. Iwato even saw men and women dressed in the uniforms of other Ryūgū Alliance member states.
“About time you showed up.” Arms crossed, Kazari was noticeably less impressed. “We’ve been here all morning while you were doing…whatever priestesses do.”
“A simpleton like you Class of 2025 graduates would never be able to comprehend the duties and responsibilities of the
chifi-ufujin.”
“Say that again?!” Both women reached for their blades, causing a panicked Taki to raise his hands and step between them.
“Ladies, the battle’s been over for a while now!”
Cooler heads ultimately prevailed, and Kazari and Iwato relaxed. Not that Iwato was seriously planning on fighting at all. She was out of practice, while Kazari had more battlefield experience. But Iwato had to at least put on the appearance of parity.
“Anyways, what are you guys doing here?” Iwato said.
“We’re helping with cleanup efforts,” Taki said, “Me since I’m still a crewman—unlikeyouwhobailedoncethebattleended—and her because she’s a Marine.”
“Unfortunately, my Kamenuku took quite the beating near the end of the battle, no thanks to your lack of support.” Kazari sighed, gazing wistfully at the other Marines carrying equipment with their power armor. “So I’ve been assigned to logistics for now. Thanks for that,
chifi-ufujin.”
“Says the Marine who kept charging ahead of us to close into melee range, forcing me to bail you out every time.” Iwato remembered Kazari doing this all the way back in the academy. One time they did a drill where they were supposed to secure a building and neutralize the target deep within. While Iwato was planning a surgical strike via aerial drop from above to take out their target with minimal casualties, Kazari crashed through the front door and fought everybody inside with a sword. The classmates making up the enemy team spoke in hushed tones about the “Sword Demon” for months afterward. “Bet you’re just itching to get back to fighting something. Though it’s not like we have anybody to fight now.” She couldn't imagine Kazari as an instructor.
“That’s where you’re wrong, Miss Class of 2024.” Kazari grinned. “I’ve got a new assignment. Something I’ve been waiting to do for a long time.”
“Why do I suddenly feel terrified?” Nobody could tell who Kazari really was from just looking at her. They’d just see a regular mother in her late thirties, but that was only one facet of her.
“Now before you get nervous—though I know you already are—let it be stated for the record that this isn’t an assassination or combat mission of any kind. If anything, I’m incentivized to not cause a ruckus or destroy an entire city.”
“I thought the reports were exaggerating!” While Taki looked as calm as usual, he didn’t know Kazari as well as Iwato did. He coudln’t comprehend that she was responsible for laying waste to 80% of downtown Isfahan and singlehandedly reversing its Constantinopleization…while also making most of that city uninhabitable for years to come.
“Don’t worry, I won’t cause another Isfahan,” Kazari said, “Because I’m going after Ruiko.”
“Ruiko?” That was the name of Kazari’s daughter, if Iwato remembered correctly.
“You know her name?” Kazari raised an eyebrow. “Looks like you do know something other than stabbing and praying.”
“Say that again, I dare you. But yes, I learned about it from the Three Mountains Defense Force reports on their disappearance in Japan when Sakamoto took over. If they’re not dead, they’re probably still trapped in Japan.”
“I know they’re not dead,” Kazari said confidently.
“How do you know?”
“Call it a mother’s intuition.”
“Japan’s an intel black hole. We know next to nothing about what’s going on over there. Intuition tells us nothing.”
“Which is why my team and I are going there,” Kazari grinned.
“You’re WHAT?!” Knowing Kazari, Iwato feared she’d quickly rack up a high body count there.
“Calm down, Iwato,” Taki finally spoke up, “I was just discussing this with her. This is actually a good time to begin infiltrating Japan. We can gather intel and also search for Ruiko and the other Ryukyuans who’ve disappeared there.”
“What do you mean?”
“The war’s over, and Sakamoto signed his own separate treaties with China and Goryeo. The Japan of today is not the Japan it was last week, as crazy as that sounds. Now that he no longer has to worry about fighting all of his neighbors, he’s declared Japan open for business. He’s sent out messages over the remaining global communications networks inviting surviving corporations and investors to set up shop in Japan.”
Now that he mentioned it, Iwato had heard something about this in the Foreign Ministry’s reports that Taki and Mitsuha had sent her. Sakamoto had emerged from the war with much of his country, aside from the recently conquered northern regions, spared nuclear hellfire or direct fighting. That not only put him in a good position to thrive in the new era of peace that had dawned but also gave him the opportunity to shape the new rules of the game before they were fully established. If he played his cards right, Sakamoto could build Japan into the economic leader of the world. The very thought of that man controlling the world economy worried Iwato.
“That means he’s relaxed his security measures,” Taki continued, “He won’t be as paranoid about foreign spies as before, with all those foreigners coming in. If anything, he’ll focus his scrutiny on certain groups like ex-Jerusalemites. His men won’t care too much about someone like Kazari, who just needs to get rid of her accent to perfectly blend in. But I’m sure you guys trained for that.”
Jerusalem’s total collapse into multiple warlord states and regional nationalist regimes, each fighting over the burnt-out ruins of the old Reich in a bid to secure as much leverage as they could before the dust settled, had set off yet another large wave of refugees, dwarfing even that which had accompanied the rise of Jerusalem earlier that decade. As the people who once considered themselves Romans cast aside that name and adopted far older and more regional ones, they turned on each other as Jerusalemite sympathizers or ancient rivals in revived nationalist grudges. The unity and brotherhood that had brought Christian Europe together was rent asunder by tribalism and rage as the people sought to oppose themselves to everything about Jerusalem and the Reich it took over. Many of those who still considered themselves Romans had now fled east, to where Thea Tesla, the former Princess Wilhelmina, and many Roman refugees from the previous wave had declared a safe haven in a new settlement they had founded just outside Astrakhan.
But there were still those who considered themselves Jerusalemites and remained loyal to the long dead Holy Regents, in spite of the total irreversible annihilation of their regime. Surrounded on all sides by millions of hostile Europeans eager to find an outlet for their reawakened rage, the Romans outside Astrakhan refused to let them take refuge among them. After everything Jerusalem had done to the entire world—its nuclear rampage; its Purifications of Rusia, Lithuania, Nordenland, and India; the Herem Doctrine; the gutting of Goryeo by chemical weapons; and the unstoppable Pesah epidemic that was on track to killing 90% of all Eimericans by the end of the year, among other horrifying atrocities—nobody had any sympathy left over for those deluded Christofascist fanatics.
Nobody except Sakamoto, who was more interested in their pocketbooks than their ideology. Many of the remaining Jerusalemites were wealthy individuals—CEOs, corporate executives, investors, and magnates who had prospered under the old Roman economy but wanted far more, so they joined Jerusalem and gutted the entire country to fill their pockets under the excuse of “render unto Caesar.” Many of these elites had lost their money when Jerusalem’s economy collapsed under the weight of its own contradictions and were subsequently purged by either the Regency or the mob, while the smarter among them had converted their wealth into gold, museum artifacts, artwork, or other easily moved financial assets that wouldn’t lose value even as much of Europe returned to a barter system. They and that wealth now moved to the last place on Earth where they could not only live in peace and safety but also return to “business as usual”—Japan. The Ryukyuan government’s assessment of Sakamoto was that he pursued extreme deregulation and corporate patronage as part of his techno-futurist policies—inviting anybody and pursuing anything that could benefit the Japanese economy and clearing away all obstacles in their path, no matter what they were. Of course, he would still keep an eye on the new arrivals, especially the Jerusalemites, since they had a proven track record of destroying the countries they had set up shop in. Most of his attention would probably be focused on making sure the money kept flowing and the Jerusalemites didn’t get any funny ideas.
It was that new focus that would give them a chance to infiltrate Japan and figure out just what was going on in there.
“Sounds interesting,” Iwato said, “I’m all for it.”
“You just want to kick me as far from Uchinaa as you want, do you?” Kazari retorted.
“Oh, no. Rivalry aside, I think it’s great that you can both gather intel on Sakamoto for us and search for your daughter.”
“I can’t think of anyone more suited for the job,” Taki said.
Iwato probably could, but she decided against saying anything. “If anything, I know you’ll either get it done…or take down many of Sakamoto’s men before you go.”
“I honestly hope it doesn’t come to the latter,” Kazari said, “I don’t want Ruiko to see me the way you do.”
“That’s understandable.” If getting Ruiko back meant Kazari was a doting mother instead of a bloodthirsty sword demon, then Iwato was all for it. “We’ll ensure you have all of the tools you need for your mission.”
“Make sure you’re ready to go before you leave,” Taki added, “The Three Mountains Defense Force has granted you as much time as you need to complete it, but we can’t guarantee that you’ll be able to get back into Japan if you come back to Ryukyu for any reason. Prepare to be there for many years.”
“Oh, believe me, I’ve been preparing for the long haul,” Kazari said, “Me and my team. We all know this won’t be over in a week. If anything, I’d like to go as soon as possible, to get more time over there for the search. The more time we waste here, the more likely Ruiko and our fellow Ryukyuans could die over there.”
“Patience,” Taki said, “We’re still getting the needed intel to give you a route of infiltration and a cover story over there. But once we have it, you’re clear to go whenever you want.”
Kazari smiled. “You have no idea how much that means to me.”
Iwato patted Kazari on the shoulder. “My misgivings about your behavior aside, you did good over the last few months. I know you’ll do well in Japan. Make us proud, Class of 2025.”
“Just who the hell do you think I am?” Kazari flashed another smile at Iwato. “Let me show you what we can do, Class of 2024.”
---
Teera Nobumasa was still getting used to walking instead of flying. Every step he took, his mind thought he should be several blocks away. Every intersection he passed, his eyes darted around, trying to find hidden rocket launchers, troops, or anti-aircraft guns. His fingers still unconsciously curled up in a grip as if holding a joystick.
Damn…the war’s over, but my body still thinks it’s flying.
He arrived at his destination and looked up. The three floors of Kuninda Municipal Public School’s high school building, designed in the traditional Ryukyuan style, loomed before him. Two stone shisa flanked the main entrance. Although he wasn’t a native of Kuninda, this was his alma mater, and he had taught history here before the war. Now that the war was over, he would be teaching history again once school started back up.
“NOBUMASA-SENSEI!”
The loud voices completely started him. He instinctively dropped into a crouch and leaned back, his fingers typing in the air as if inputting a command into his HUD.
“Prepare
utchin dose for five seconds—” Wait, what was he saying? He froze mid-crouch, and it took one hand moving to brace himself from falling backwards to bring him back to his senses. Now he was surrounded by students, all wearing Kuninda’s high school uniform. They had snuck up on him so quickly that if this was a dogfight, a missile would have been exploded in his face already.
“Wow! He’s still ready to fly!” one boy said.
“So cool!” another boy said. “I’d expect nothing less from our hero!”
Nobumasa got to his feet. “Uh…pardon me. I am Teera Nobumasa. I’ll be your history teacher once classes resume.”
“We’re going to be taught by a war hero!”
“I can’t believe it!”
“Tell us your war stories, Nobumasa-sensei!”
“I want to hear all about how you fought off those evil invaders!”
Frankly, he was overwhelmed by the energy coming out from these children. It was quite different from the ferocity of the battlefield. Enemy pilots could be predicted and dealt with if one knew the rules of battle well enough. But children were unpredictable. He knew that much from his time teaching before the war started, though it felt different now. Different things would be taught, and they had all gone through so many different experiences. Things could never be as they used to be. Maybe his old experience wasn’t applicable anymore, or maybe it got overwritten by his time flying. Even though he spent more time lecturing than flying, it felt like flying was now his “original” job. He realized he no longer knew how to teach his students.
“This long war is over…” he said. “I just want to go back to teaching…” But the students didn’t hear him. They continued pelting him with questions about his service so quickly that he couldn’t hear a single one.
In the midst of the cacaphony, his ears honed in on what sounded like music. His eyes followed, focusing on a monk walking down the street, easily identifiable from his red and orange robes. He waved around a stick of incense, letting the early
mīnishi spread its smell around the block.
“
Nāmó āmítuófó…Nāmó āmítuófó…Nāmó āmítuófó…May all those souls who perished in the battle find peace in their next life…”
The memories came rushing back to him like a whale shark had fallen on him.
Tagomi…Ishigami…Shinonome…Amane…Makishi…Satsuki…they’re all gone…I’m the last one… Tears poured from Nobumasa’s eyes, and he fell to his knees and cried. “I’m the last one…”
The students quickly noticed his distress, but in their excitement they couldn’t hear anything he said.
“What’s wrong?”
“You okay, Nobumasa-sensei?”
“Why are you crying?”
“We should get the nurse, should we?”
“Is he sad it’s over?”
Some students ran off to get the nurse, but others came even closer to him. He felt small hands gently patting his back and shoulders.
“Don’t worry, Nobumasa-sensei! You know another war’s gonna start soon! And when it does, you’ll have plenty more stories to share with us! It’ll be great!”
That just broke Nobumasa even more. Cooped up in their bunkers for the entire battle, there was no way these kids could have possibly known what he had gone through.
---
Higa Ryunosuke entered the interrogation room and took a seat at the table. He took out his notebook and a pen.
“Morning, Admiral,” he said.
Liu Shaokang nodded back. “Morning, Admiral Higa.”
“How are you today?”
“Alive.”
“That’s a good start.” Higa wrote down “still deadpanning.”
“I suppose so.”
“You were expecting to die?”
“Upon returning to China, yes. Han Xianyu hates losers. For me, someone who failed him not once but twice, I’d be executed on the spot.”
“A waste of talent, if I do say so myself.”
“That’s the difference between China and Ryukyu. In China, talent is cheap and disposable, beacuse there’s 1.5 billion of us.” As opposed to Ryukyu, which had only 1.5 million and was required to find and make full use of everybody’s talents just to survive. “Han may talk big about meritocracy—not the old Roman kind, mind you—but don’t be fooled. He only likes winners and their results.”
Higa wrote down “only cares for winners.” “Which is why you surrendered and requested asylum.”
“Truth be told, it wasn’t out of any grandiose ideal of opposing Han. It was mere survival. The opposition came after that. Since I’m here, of course.”
“Yes, I get that,” Higa said.
“But tell me, Higa. You won this battle and a ceasefire, but do you think it’ll last?”
“What do you mean?” Higa replied. “Are you concerned Han will return to finish the job?”
“I’m not concerned, because I know it’s inevitable,” Liu said, “It may take years, or even decades, but I know Han. He will avenge insults to his honor, and you’ve dealt his honor a big blow. All your ceasefire has done is buy yourselves time. And not enough time, at that. I’ve seen how much damage this island has suffered. No, I
know how much damage this island has suffered, because I inflicted much of it. I know you can’t recover that quickly. China will be ready to invade before you reach prewar capabilities again.”
“You think we don’t know that?” Higa said. “That comes with the territory. Ryukyu has lived in China’s shadow even before it was a country. We knew something like this would happen if we ever directly fought China. Han won’t be satisfied. Even if we deal with him, there’s no guarantee his successor won’t follow in his footsteps. Or anybody else with ambitions of world hegemony. We’re that thorn in the side of any conqueror, a prize to be won.”
“What do you plan to do, then? Keep fighting?”
“Just who the hell do you think we are? We’re Ryukyuans. That was never up for debate. We’ll keep fighting no matter what.”
Liu nodded. “I see. So that’s the spirit that turned back my fleet in the end. That’s the reason I’m here in this room.”
“You can join us,” Higa said, “Help us prepare for the inevitable onslaught.”
Liu thought for a moment. “I suppose I could. Not like I have anything else to do, now that I’ve fully burned my bridges back home. I heard my good colleague Hong Wuchang did that, correct?”
“He was a good comrade.” Higa still couldn’t believe Hong was gone, even though his final words still resonated in his head. “And a true Ryukyuan by the end.”
“Can I even match up to an old veteran like him?” Liu said. “He sounded like a hero. Me? I’m the man who laid low your country for years to come. Can my negative karma really be overlooked just like that?”
“That’s for you to decide, in the end,” Higa said, “Your future is something you choose, just like all of us chose to keep fighting.”
“I…I’ll have to think about it, then,” Liu said.
“Very well,” Higa said, “I won’t force the choice upon you. But you know who to contact once you’ve made it for yourself.”
They both got up from the table and shook hands. Not as a victor and vanquished, but as equals, despite their pasts.
“Thank you, Admiral Higa, for everything,” Liu said.
“It was the least I could do, Admiral Liu,” Higa replied.
Fujisawa, Japan
Just west of Kamakura, the capital of many shogunates, and southwest of Edo, the former capital of a certain Japanese regime that had recently fallen, lay a small fishing town called Fujisawa. Known mainly for the island of Enoshima and its shrine to Benzaiten, the goddess of music, not much happened in this city. Most people passed through its train station on the way to more important destinations in Kamakura and Edo. When Sakamoto’s Japanese National Liberation Army marched through the Kanto Plain on its way to conquer Edo, the people of Fujisawa barely noticed a thing, as the army merely sent a few small units to secure the train station. The town was one of the few east of Mount Fuji that were spared direct fighting. It seemed as if Fujisawa was completely irrelevant to Sakamoto’s ambitions of a Japan firmly united under his rule.
“Now arriving at: Fujisawa. Fujisawa. Doors open on the left. Please mind the gap.”
That irrelevance was precisely why Tetsuya ended up here. As the train doors opened before him, he looked down and tugged on his hand. A little girl named Yuki lightly tugged back, her other hand clutching a stuffed rabbit plushie.
He stepped onto the platform first, his eyes quickly assessing the area for potential threats while his hand reached into his pocket in case someone decided to attack. But nobody did. All he saw was a regular train station that could be found anywhere in Japan. His assessment of this town had been completely correct. After a few seconds, he relaxed and withdrew his hand. “Come on, Yuki. We’re holding up everybody behind us.”
Still holding onto his hand, Yuki hopped off next and looked around, while other commuters got off the train behind her. To them, they probably appeared like a regular father and daughter. Which was exactly the image Tetsuya had carefully crafted in the outer wards of Edo before getting on the train to Fujisawa.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“We can’t really tell from here, can we?” The station was built in such a way that it was elevated over the tracks. They took the stairs up into the station, where Tetsuya scanned his burner phone to get through the electronic turnstiles. With any luck, he wouldn’t need to use the trains again for a while.
Outside the turnstiles, they entered the main lobby of the station. It was pretty simple, just a large square room with a few shops in the center and on the sides. The pastries coming from one of the bakeries smelled delicious, but he had no time or money for them. The north entrance would take them into downtown, which would put them closer to Sakamoto’s people, so he took the south entrance instead. That led to the old town. Outside the entrance was another station, this one for Fujisawa’s ancient light rail network. The line could take him all the way to Kamakura, but that city was crawling with more of Sakamoto’s people. Not that they were going there.
At the light rail station, Tetsuya paid for two one-way tickets in cash. Pretty cheap, compared to subway tickets in his hometown of Yokohama. They didn’t have to wait long for the train to come. It was an old one, the kind he had only seen in old movies. Kind of nostalgic. The doors slid open with a slight creak, revealing old wooden seats inside. Not many got on the train with them before the doors closed and they were off.
Tetsuya surmised that the many of the riders would have been day-trippers from Edo or Kamakura who wanted to go to the beach but didn’t have the money to go to the more popular ones elsewhere, or students coming from the northern neighborhoods to attend schools in the south.
Students, huh? He would have to plan for that soon. Yuki was almost school aged, which meant he had to figure out what to do when she had to go to school. The usual stuff parents worried about, like uniforms and backpacks and notebooks, but also security concerns. Hayabusa would never forgive him if somethign happened to her at school.
Also, I’m going to have to come up with a full name for her, since “Yuki” alone won’t cut it.
“Wow!” Yuki’s face was pressed against the windows. “Look! The houses are so close to us!”
Leaving the station, the light rail route weaved through a neighborhood quite close to the houses, leaving little to see other than those houses. Something like that wasn’t possible in Yokohama, since most of the lines were underground, of course.
“I guess they squeezed out as much room for houses as they could,” Tetsuya answered, “Though they also did that to the houses. They don’t look that big.”
“Are we going to live in one of them?” Yuki asked. “Pleasssssseeeeeee?”
“Patience, Yuki,” Tetsuya said, “But not here.”
“Why not?” Yuki said.
“Because I found a better place. We’re almost there, so keep watching…”
After passing several stations, the track abruptly turned to the left, and suddenly the entire town opened up. The houses fell away, and ahead they saw deep blue ocean and Enoshima to the right. Yuki’s jaw dropped.
“Wow! The sea! I love the sea!” Yuki said. “We get to go to the beach every day?”
“If you’re a good girl and do your homework,” Tetsuya said.
“We’re really living here?” Yuki asked.
“Not far away,” Tetsuya said, “We’ll get off at the next stop.” That was where the safehouse Hayabusa left him should be.
They got off at that station, and Tetsuya finally inhaled deeply, breathing in the salty ocean air.
“I’m gonna to like this place!” Yuki beamed, jumping up and down. “I’m gonna really really really really really like this place!”
“Glad to hear it,” Tetsuya said, “Welcome to Fujisawa. Our new home.”
---
There were some inspirations from various sources like Gundam and 86, which I won’t specifically say because of spoilers.
Mīnishi (新北風, ミーニシ) is the Okinawan name for the north wind that foretells the coming of winter.
Hira-ukō (線香, ひらうこー) is as explained above.
Gushichi (グシチ) is Japanese plume grass.
Yanamun (ヤナムン) is the word for evil spirits and demons in Okinawa.
Ugwan (ウグヮン) is to offer worship and prayer to the gods.
Ugan busuku (ウグヮン不足) is literally “lack of
ugwan” according to my source, which I interpret as lack of piety.
Uchikabi (打ち紙, 打ちかび) is paper money burned in offerings to ancestors or gods so they may use it, similar to practices in the rest of East Asia.
Shirukabi (白紙, しるかび) is calligraphy paper burned like the paper money above, said to be used as clothes by ancestors and gods.
I'm rendering it as Niraikanai without the space now.
Constantinopleization is the in-universe term for
Brusselization. I chose Constantinople because my internal image for the city had the entire city east of the Bosphorus and outside of the historic center being turned into skyscraper-filled Manhattan with little regard for historical buildings, so I decided to reflect that in the story itself.
I’ve switched over to Definitive Edition names for every country now—Korea to Goryeo, Scandinavia to Nordenland, Russia to Rusia (although that one’s been around for a while now).
I couldn’t resist adding in that Gurren Lagann line.
The Buddhist monk recites the nianfo (南無阿彌陀佛) in Mandarin since he is in Kuninda.
Fujisawa/Enoshima is my favorite place in Japan, so I gave it a shoutout here.
