TIL

“This isn’t actually the most embarrassing thing I’ve worn,” Chouji remarked. Considering what he was wearing was a hospital gown and only a hospital gown, that was quite the statement.

“O-Oh?” Morty said.

“One time, at a convention, I played truth or dare with my friends. Things escalated pretty quickly, and the next day I had to forgo the cosplay I packed and instead wore a skimpy maid outfit.”

Morty choked on air, but the two kept walking along the side of the road. Since it was still dark out, they could hide in nearby bushes or behind benches whenever a car approached, indicated by their headlights in the distance. 

“Since this was an anime convention, I didn’t actually attract that much attention. A few people stared, but most just laughed and thought it was funny. I even took a few photos with people who asked.”

Morty’s face remained perfectly stoic, except for his ears which were burning red. Chouji noticed but didn’t say anything.

“Still,” Chouji said. “I thought it was pretty embarrassing overall, even if I did have fun. I made sure to get my revenge on my friends, so it evens out. Who knows, maybe I’ll wear another skimpy maid outfit in the future.” 

The red of Morty’s ears inched its way down towards his face, which Chouji found eternally amusing. Before it could spread any further, Morty pointed further down the road.

“Car!”

Both of them sprung for the tall grass nearby. Morty peaked out through the blades to see the lights move towards them and then away from them. Once the car had passed, they resumed like nothing happened.

“This is the worst,” Chouji said. He brushed away any bugs that were flying about or crawling up his legs. His bare feet ached as their tender soles ground against the asphalt. And worst of all, his ass was cold.

“I’m sure we’ll find you some clothes. Somehow,” Morty said.

“How? I look homeless. And technically I am homeless, since I can’t go back without endangering my parents or clueing them in on my situation.”

Morty said nothing.

“I know that you’re not the strategist that I am, but I think a little bit of planning would do us some good,” Chouji said. 

“Okay. Here’s the, uh, ‘plan’ I guess. Step one is to find you some clothes. You need them. Step two is to then get some disguises. Maybe sunglasses or a face mask. Both would be good actually, since we need to hide you from the cops.”

“And then? What’s step three?”

Morty took a sudden and profound interest in the gravel they were walking on. All Chouji could do was sigh.

“Five days, huh. Five days until my… what was it you said? My ticket gets elevated? And then the whole Soul Society is going to be hunting me down like a rabid dog.” Chouji’s chest was so tight he barely registered the pain from his bruised soles. “There’s no hope here. I’m as good as dead. Why am I even trying to do anything? I don’t know what I’m doing. And you certainly don’t.”

Morty whirled around. “Hey! I’m trying to help you!”

“How? By having me walk along the roadside for two hours?”

“W-We’ll figure something out.”

“Admit it, you’re completely clueless here.”

“You said you trusted me!”

“That was before you tossed me out of a window!”

Stealth was out the window. Both parties were screaming in each others faces. So much that they didn’t notice a car pull up in front of them. 

They both turned their heads and winced as the bright headlights burned the backs of their eyeballs. Goodbye night vision. They stood frozen and dumbfounded like deers. Neither Chouji nor Morty was athletic, so they knew that even attempting to run away would be a futile effort.

Because they were temporarily blinded, they also couldn’t see what kind of car it was. Was it a cop car? Just a regular civilian car? The engine hummed as they all remained unmoving.

The car door opened and someone stepped out.

“Chouji Mizuhara?” the person says. They stepped forward until the headlights were blocked. The two blinked away the pain and examine who this was.

Chouji gulped and felt his palms leak sweat.

~⚔~

The inside of the castle remained pristine, a stark contrast with the outward-facing, publicly accessible walls. These bricks shone proudly in the new day’s light, unmarred by any crudely painted penises. The inner courtyard was green, but not the deep green from vast forests or the earthy green of swamps and bogs. The grass here was closer to chromakey green, almost fluorescent. It reminded me of some fields of turf that I’ve played on. Knights decked from head to toe in polished armor stood at every corner.

All in all, it was incredibly boring.

Every other location in this game was captivating. Compelling. There was something about it that drew me in, even the squareness of Tyro Town. But this gave me nothing. It was an empty castle in more ways than one. Clean for clean’s sake. 

The dude (cloaked, scarred, abducted me and Gina) shoved me forward. I guess I was admiring the scenery for too long.

“Move,” he grumbled. “We must see him.”

The king, I guessed. We kept on moving forward, through winding passageways and narrow corridors, each as boring and monotonous as the last. After a couple of minutes, we stood before a large pair of rosewood double doors. 

The dude clamped his hand on my shoulder in a gesture that was supposed to be friendly.

“Be polite,” he said. Then he raised his meaty fist and knocked it against the door thrice.

Brass fanfare blared through the wood, which grew sharper and clearer as the doors were opened. A great hall stood before me. Again the walls were made of a pretty boring white brick, but that was made up for by the austerity of everything else. Enormous ceiling to floor stained glass windows painted the room with a nauseating amount of color. Every square inch of the floor was covered by some ornate rug or carpet, all of them laid haphazardly overlapping each other, like someone dumped all their clothes on the ground during a rushed laundry day. At each side of the hall were long tables overflowing with cakes, fruits, pints, and everything else that could be considered medieval junk food.

“Well,” said a voice, “if it isn’t Mr. Mizuhara.”

The voice, despite being the only one in the room, would have been easy to ignore. It wasn’t a very commanding one, nor a very loud one. In fact, it wasn’t remarkable in any way. Back on Earth, I wouldn’t have even ignored the voice; it just wouldn’t have registered.

But the cavernous hall provided enough echo to get my attention. I squinted at the far end of the hall, which was entirely occupied by a throne. And I do mean entirely. The ornate gold backing stretched the entire length and height of the back wall. It was full of detailed radial patterns, overall making the metal half-disc look like a rising sun. 

The throne itself was occupied by a fleshy blob thing. I guess the king was putting those tables to good use. But as I got closer, I squinted. The blob of flesh became many blobs of flesh; a legion of barely-clothed women surrounded all sides of one plain-looking Japanese guy, who sat on the throne. He even had a little crown on his head.

This guy was pretty skinny, wearing glasses. About my age if I had to guess. His face was unassuming. Not particularly handsome, not particularly ugly. But the corners of his mouth were pointed down, like a father watching his favorite baseball team perform poorly. His outfit was strangely casual, the kind I could easily find on earth: jeans and a T-shirt. The T-shirt had some anime stuff on it.

I got about five meters away from the king, the dude still in tow. I suppressed a wince; being so close I could smell the sweaty bodies of all these women and probably the king. But I remembered the dude’s words to me: be polite.

I bowed.

“Good morning, Your Highness. I—”

The dude’s hand chopped the back of my neck like a guillotine. I crumpled onto the ground, coughing.

“Your Majesty for the king!” the dude bellowed. “Your Highness means prince.”

The king barely raised a hand.

“Take it easy, Peter,” the king said in his plain voice. “He’s new here. He doesn’t know about these things.”

I got to my feet, brushing myself off and massaging the back of my neck. The king looked at me with bored, empty eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Peter isn’t the most nuanced person, but he always means well. We made sure to ingrain in him strong social values.”

“Yeah,” I said. “I can see that. As I was saying Your Majesty, my name is Daisuke Mizuhara.”

“I know.”

The room was silent except for the cooing and (sometimes literal) mewing of the king’s servants. Surrounding him I wasn’t sure how affective having that many servants show that much skin is. Or having those servants crowd around the throne instead of helping out around the castle. But hey, I was still new here. Who was I to judge?

I coughed.

“And, uh, you’re name would be? Your Majesty?” I asked, only barely remembering in time to add those last two words, lest the dude (now named Peter) beat my ass.

The king sniffed.

“Hinata Oninomiya,” he said. “But you should refer to me as Your Majesty, as you have been doing already.”

“As you wish, Your Majesty.” The words were easy to say than I thought they’d be. It was still a bit odd though, considering I had never been in the presence of royalty. I was basing my actions solely on what little roleplay Chouji forced me to do with him when he was like ten. Before I could interject with funny things that rich, stuck-up aristocrats say, a question came upon me.
“Where’s Gina?”

For the first time, King Hinata’s eyes focused, and he actually looked at me. All that came before felt like gone-through motions, empty gestures and platitudes. But now I had gotten his attention.