Not a Hero’s Journey

The city was loud. Not just "cars honking" or "people shouting" loud—it was chaos-as-a-lifestyle loud. Every street corner pulsed with life, like someone had cranked the volume on existence itself and forgotten how to turn it down again. Salarymen in identical suits marched past like an army of clones programmed for maximum efficiency, their briefcases swinging in perfect synchronization. High schoolers loitered outside convenience stores, laughing too hard at jokes no one would remember by tomorrow. And then there were the tourists—poor souls clutching maps upside-down, looking around with expressions of growing panic as if they'd accidentally stepped into some alternate dimension instead of central Tokyo.

Owen hated every second of it.

He shoved his hands deeper into his pockets, glaring at a vending machine as though it had personally offended him. Which, considering its glowing promise of overpriced soda, maybe it had.

"Six months," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. "Six whole months, and she still doesn't get it."

A memory surfaced unbidden—a conversation from earlier that week, replaying in his mind like a bad sitcom rerun.

"You've been here for six months," Owen had said, crossing his arms. "Have you even tried to understand the culture?"

Lilith blinked at him, her crimson eyes wide and unreadable. "I was busy."

"Busy with what?"

She tilted her head slightly, as though pondering whether honesty might actually kill him. "...Waiting for the hero to awaken?"

Owen froze mid-step.

"That's not a valid excuse," he snapped after a beat. "That's insanity."

Her lips twitched—not quite a smile, but close enough to make him want to throw something. "And yet, here you are, awake."

Back in the present, Owen scrubbed a hand over his face, trying—and failing—to erase the image of Lilith, who was now standing beside him, staring at a row of vending machines like they contained the secrets of the universe.

"These small houses with glowing signs..." she murmured, pulling out her notebook—an actual, physical notebook, because apparently interdimensional royalty hadn't discovered smartphones yet. "Are they temples?"

Owen blinked. "They're... vending machines, Lilith. They sell drinks."

"Ah," she nodded sagely, scribbling furiously. "So they're gods that require worship in the form of loose change."

"That's not what I—" Owen sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You know what? Sure. Vending machine are some kind of temples. Let's go with that."

He gestured toward the supermarket across the street, their original destination before Lilith had been distracted by literally everything. "Can we please just buy groceries? Like normal people?"

Lilith straightened, tucking her notebook into a pocket that seemed to materialize out of nowhere. "Of course. Your cultural expedition guide is ready."

"It's not an expedition," Owen muttered, but she was already marching toward the crosswalk, her posture so regal it made the other pedestrians unconsciously step aside.

"This is why I can't have nice things," he sighed, following her.

The supermarket was chaos incarnate. Shoppers bustled through aisles like bees swarming a hive, grabbing items off shelves with ruthless determination. Children whined about snacks they couldn't have, elderly women haggled over produce prices, and somewhere in the distance, a cashier shouted about loyalty cards.

Lilith moved through it all like an anthropologist dropped into an alien civilization. She paused in front of the vegetable section, tilting her head as if deciphering hieroglyphics carved into the cucumbers.

"The produce…" she murmured, pulling out her notebook again. "It's arranged strategically."

Owen groaned audibly. "It's called marketing, Lilith. Not a war strategy."

She didn't respond, already scribbling furiously. He caught a glimpse of her notes: Strategic placement of carrots suggests hierarchical structure within agricultural society.

"Are you serious right now?" Owen hissed, leaning closer. "Carrots aren't royalty. They're just vegetables."

Lilith glanced up; her expression serene. "Everything has meaning, Owen. Even root vegetables."

Before he could argue further, a store employee approached them, bowing politely. "Excuse me, sir," he said, gesturing toward Lilith. "Could you ask your girlfriend to move? She's blocking the aisle."

Owen froze. Somewhere deep inside, a part of him died.

"She's not my—!" he started, but Lilith cut him off with a cheerful smile.

"Oh, of course!" she chirped, stepping aside. "My apologies!"

Owen turned to glare at her, but she just beamed back, clearly delighted by the misunderstanding.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" he accused, voice low.

"Of course," she replied sweetly. "It makes people happy."

Owen muttered something under his breath that involved several creative uses of the word "monastery."

They finished their shopping in record time, mostly because Owen physically steered Lilith away from anything that might trigger another anthropological dissertation. By the time they reached the checkout counter, he was carrying a basket full of instant ramen, microwave dinners, and a suspicious number of energy drinks.

"Couples' discount?" the cashier asked with a wink.

Owen's eye twitched.

"We would love—" Lilith began.

"We're not a couple," Owen cut in, his voice flat enough to iron shirts with.

The cashier looked between them, clearly unconvinced. Lilith just smiled enigmatically, which did absolutely nothing to help the situation.

By the time they left the supermarket, Owen was starting to think that maybe throwing himself into traffic wasn't such a bad idea after all. They headed toward the train station, grocery bags in hand, Lilith pausing every few steps to observe something new with the wide-eyed wonder of a toddler at an amusement park.

"Why do people bow when the train arrives?" she asked, watching a group of commuters perform synchronized bows as the doors slid open.

"They don't," Owen corrected wearily. "They bow when they miss it. Out of shame."

Lilith nodded thoughtfully, jotting this down in her notebook. "Ah, I see. Ritualistic penance for tardiness."

Nearby, a salaryman missed the train and immediately dropped to his knees, muttering apologies to no one in particular. Lilith pointed at him triumphantly. "Exhibit A!"

Owen pinched the bridge of his nose. "That guy's just having a bad day."

Another commuter passed by, giving Owen a knowing look before nodding toward Lilith. "You're a lucky man," he said with a wink.

Owen's eye twitched.

Lilith grinned brightly. "I know, right?"

They boarded the next train, Owen managing to find two seats together despite the crowd. As they sat, Lilith's knee brushed against his, and he immediately scooted as far away as the narrow seat would allow.

"Personal space," he muttered. "Look it up."

Lilith just smiled, unfazed. "In Elarion, sitting close is a sign of trust."

"Well, in Tokyo, it's a sign that the train is packed," Owen replied. "And I don't trust you as far as I could throw you."

"You couldn't throw me at all," Lilith pointed out helpfully. "I'm quite skilled in combat."

"That's... not the point."

The train pulled into their stop before Owen could further explain the concept of metaphors to someone who took everything literally. They exited into a different part of the city, this one filled with specialty shops and cafes.

"Look," Lilith said suddenly, pointing at a storefront. "That establishment has warrior manuscripts!"

Owen followed her gaze and groaned. It was a bookstore—but not just any bookstore. It was one of those massive multi-floor affairs with an entire level dedicated to manga and anime merchandise.

"No," he said firmly. "Absolutely not."

But Lilith was already moving, drawn to the colorful displays like a moth to flame. Owen considered just letting her go—maybe she'd get lost among the shelves and he could finally have some peace—but his conscience (the traitor) wouldn't let him abandon her in the middle of Tokyo.

With a resigned sigh, he followed her into the bookstore.

If Owen thought the supermarket and train station were bad, the bookstore was where everything went spectacularly off the rails.

The moment Lilith stepped inside, her entire demeanor changed. She stopped dead in her tracks, eyes widening as she took in the rows upon rows of manga, light novels, and figurines. For a second, Owen thought she might faint.

"What… is this place?" she whispered, awe-struck.

"It's a bookstore," Owen replied dryly. "You know, where people buy books?"

But Lilith wasn't listening. She darted toward the manga section, picking up a volume with trembling hands. Her eyes scanned the cover, then flipped to the first page. When she finally looked up, her expression was nothing short of reverent.

"Owen," she breathed, holding the book aloft like Moses presenting the Ten Commandments. "This… this is historical documentation of the warrior class!"

Owen stared at her. Then at the book. Then back at her.

"No," he said slowly, enunciating each syllable. "It's not. It's fiction. Made-up stories. For fun."

Lilith waved him off, already engrossed. She flipped through the pages, muttering excitedly. "This protagonist… he's clearly a samurai reincarnated in modern times! And these powers—he must be channeling ancient spirits!"

Owen sighed deeply, rubbing his temples. "You're going to need therapy after this."

Undeterred, Lilith continued her analysis, occasionally quoting lines from the manga with dramatic flair. At one point, she struck a pose and shouted, "BANKAI!!!" loud enough to draw stares from every customer in the store.

Silence fell. Absolute, deafening silence.

Owen closed his eyes, counting backward from ten. When he opened them, Lilith was grinning ear-to-ear, completely unfazed by the collective judgment radiating from the other shoppers.

"I swear," Owen growled, voice dangerously calm, "if you yell Bankai one more time, I'm leaving your sorry ass here."

Lilith smirked, tucking the manga under her arm. "Don't worry," she said breezily. "I'll just summon a portal back to Elarion."

Owen stared at her, torn between laughter and despair. Finally, he threw up his hands. "…Fine. Whatever. Let's go."

As they checked out, the cashier gave them a sly grin. "Couples' discount?"

Owen's soul officially departed his body.

By the time they left the bookstore, Owen was convinced he'd aged ten years in the span of two hours. Lilith, meanwhile, was practically skipping, clutching her newly purchased manga like it was a sacred artifact.

As they walked home, she suddenly stopped, striking another dramatic pose. "One day, Owen," she declared, pointing dramatically at the sky, "you will embrace your destiny as the hero of Elarion!"

A random passerby slowed down, giving her a thumbs-up. "Keep chasing those dreams, kid!"

Owen buried his face in his hands. "I hate my life."

But despite himself, he couldn't help the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Because as annoying as Lilith was—and she was annoying, make no mistake—there was something almost endearing about her unfiltered enthusiasm for the mundane.

Not that he'd ever admit it. Not even under threat of death.

Which, considering Lilith's original plan for him, was still very much on the table.