An Unexpected Visitor

It’s been six months since I graduated from Bunka Fashion College and three months since I started working at this fashion company. It’s growing, and since last year it’s become quite popular among young people, including several of my classmates. I’ve always had a passion for fashion and dreamed of being part of my generation’s new trend. I thought I was finally on the path to my dream; however, I was wrong.

My first week goes by quietly. Although I’m anxious and unsure about measuring up, everyone treats me kindly. My superiors help with what I find difficult and praise my progress; it doesn’t take long for me to feel more confident. At the end of the last workday of the week, the floor manager invites the whole team to a restaurant to celebrate my joining.

But when Monday comes, everything changes. With the catalog deadline breathing down our necks and multiple delays stacking up, the company’s true colors begin to show. Our floor supervisor sets out to lash out verbally at those who don’t show the performance that’s expected—or rather, the performance the CEO demands. Those standards are, of course, ridiculous.

His anger grows if someone dares to answer back. At the end of the day he insists we stay to finish what remains undone. It’s always the same: he starts by sweetening things with dry compliments about how important and indispensable we are. If that doesn’t work, he resorts to guilt—like right now:

“Guro, Guro, Guro, why are you doing this to me?”

“I don’t understand what you mean, Mr. Minamoto.”

“A clock won’t work unless every gear does its job.”

“I’m not a piece of metal, sir, I’m a man—and I’m exhausted. I haven’t been home in over three nights because I’ve been stuck here doing other people’s work so they can meet their deadlines. I’ve mostly been helping Souta, and he himself told me I’d done enough.”

“You’ll have done enough when I see his documents on my desk,” he finally says, dropping the pretense.

“Sorry, but I’m not staying to do work that isn’t mine. Besides, Souta can manage on his own.”

“He’d finish faster with your help. Come on, do it for the company. You’re not the only one putting in extra hours so everything is ready by the end of the month.”

I turn my back on him and head for the elevator.

“Well…” he sighs. “What a pity, such a pity that you’re not as strong as I thought. I’m disappointed. I thought you wanted to grow in this company.”

At his words I turn around. Although I try to hide it, I can’t mask the indignation rising inside me.

“What do you mean? Of course I want to grow in this company—I told you that on my first day.”

“And I want to help you reach that goal, but… there’s only so much I can do if you don’t prove you’re fit for a more important position,” he says, his tone dropping from energetic to almost a whisper. “I don’t mean to belittle the noble work on this floor; however, let’s be realistic: it’s nothing compared to what’s demanded of the designers. If you can’t handle the demands of your current post, I’m sorry, but… doors don’t open for mediocrity.”

“‘Mediocre’?! Me?!”

“Oh, excuse me—did I offend you? Don’t get me wrong, I know you’re not. You work hard—I can see that—but I fear you may come to be seen that way if you keep walking this path: doing the minimum, the average. If you don’t start standing out now, I’m afraid you’ll never belong to this company’s elite. You must prove you’re… special.”

I really hate that word.

I clench my fists, but I know if I pick a fight now I’ll be the one who looks bad. Minamoto’s smirk says he already feels victorious.

“I…!” My voice shoots up, drawing the attention of some nearby coworkers. I inhale deeply and unclench my fist. “I can go far without being special.”

My ideal… I say it without meaning to.

The supervisor bursts out laughing.

“I’m sorry, kid. I know you’re still taking your first steps into adult life and I shouldn’t—” he begins.

“‘Naive’… or not; at least I can spot a threat when it’s spat in my face.”

“A threat?” He tries, but he can’t hide his indignation.

“You plan to block my chances of promotion, I suppose—badmouthing my performance to your superiors if I refuse to do the extra work, isn’t that it?”

“How dare you accuse me of such a thing?! You arrogant brat!”

“I am arrogant, but I am not wrong. So fine: I’ll be… special, if that’s what it takes to get what I want.”

“Then prove it, damn you! Go back to your place and be an efficient cog!” he snaps, pointing to my station like a master ordering his pet.

It’s inevitable; from the start I know I won’t be going home tonight. Maybe I really am naive. I return to my desk, resigned to another sleepless night. Fortunately—or unfortunately—I’m not alone in this. To my right, undergoing the same ordeal, is my colleague and best friend, Souta.

“A rabid dog, but always obedient and submissive.”
“You know me,” I say—there’s no point arguing the obvious.
“And because I know you, I know you’re better than this. Find something better; quit this disgrace.”

“And then what? What do I do if no other company wants to hire me? I wouldn’t be surprised. I will be young and promising, but inexperienced. Besides, quitting after two months won’t look good on my résumé; they’ll think I’m lazy or a problem.”
“And as always, you’re overthinking everything. I pity the brainiacs.”

“Besides, if I manage to earn my place here, I could be part of the future of fashion.”
“If the company doesn’t go bankrupt first. You saw how badly we did this summer.”

“I know, that’s why we’d better finish on time, or the winter catalog will be the last nail in this company’s coffin… or it could be the company’s salvation.”

“Sometimes your optimism disgusts me.”
“Me too.”

Two days later I finally manage to leave the office with Souta, who invites me to a bar. And even though my body begs for rest, my mouth craves alcohol, so I accept.

Our glasses clink and my throat rejoices at the warmth of tequila running down.

“Bless Mexico and its blue agave.”

“It’s like tasting the sun. One day I’d like to share a bottle with a woman.”

“And what’s stopping you? Well… besides your looks.”

“Hey! You’re right, but don’t rub it in.”

“You’re good at socializing despite being reserved; I don’t think it’d be hard for you to woo a girl.”

He overestimates my charm; I’ve never made it past a first date.

“Maybe, but… when do I have time? I spend all day working and the little free time I have goes to resting, trying to recover for the next shift. How am I supposed to date like that?”
“Well, maybe you don’t need to… for what really matters.”

“What do you mean?”

“I think you know."

“I’m not against casual encounters, but that still requires flirting.”

“Not necessarily. Come here.”

I lean in toward him; I have a bad feeling.

“…What?”

“Have you heard of… rental girlfriends?"

“Yeah… so? Why would I pay a girl to pretend to go on a date with me?”

“No, I mean… luxury girlfriends.” He arches his eyebrows.

“Luxury? If you mean what I think, you’re talking about some shady agency of…” Shame keeps me from finishing the sentence.

“That’s right, and as it happens, I know one. In fact, let’s just say I’m something of a VIP client.”

“Honestly, I’m not surprised—you’ve always been a pervert. Still, I can’t believe you’d waste your money on something like that.”

“Better than spending it on manga and action figures like a certain friend.”

Yeah… he means me.

“Anyway… where are you going with this?”
“Well, if you wanted, I could use my position to arrange a special service for you.”

“A…?” I swallow. “Special service?"

“That’s right. Believe me, there are gorgeous girls with huge—”

I quickly clap a hand over his mouth and scan the room. There’s no one here but us and the bartender, who keeps wiping the bar with a rag.

Souta shoves my hand away.

“Hey, calm down—you’re acting like a pubescent kid.”

“You’re insane, man. How could you think I’d be into something like that? It’s illegal.”

“The best things in life are.”

“Thanks for your indecent offer, but no. I want nothing to do with a dark company.”

“Come on, what are you afraid of?”

“Let’s see… I’m afraid of getting fined or arrested, of someone I know finding out and my reputation going to the drain.”

“Overthinking again.”

“That’s what you call being cautious? Besides, you know I don’t like breaking rules.”

“I know, and I respect that you want to live like a sheep. But just for one night… daring to be more than a good obedient boy won’t ruin your life; it’ll free you. It might even help you recover the vitality work has taken from you. Just imagine: a beauty at your door willing to do whatever you want—even—” he leans in and whispers, “she could cosplay as your favorite waifu.”

“Stop it! I already said no!” I push him away, my cheeks burning red.

I decide to leave before the alcohol makes me change my mind.

“I’m tired already. I need to sleep.”

“Fine. I’ll stay a while longer. My body wants more fun.”

“Don’t overdo it. Don’t wake up in the park again.”

“Whatever you say, big brother,” he mocks in a childlike voice. “Call me if you change your mind.” He winks.

The walk home feels like an odyssey, even though it’s only an hour. My body sways with exhaustion and my vision blurs. I stumble and fall several times; my keys slip from my fingers each time I try the lock.

After several tries, I finally get inside, drop my bag, and collapse onto the couch. I don’t even have the energy to make it to my bed. My eyes start to close, but my sleep is short; after two hours the creak of the front steps wakes me.

I lift my head and glance over my shoulder. Shadows of a pair of feet slip out from under the door.

*(Knock, knock).*

Someone’s knocking. Don’t they see there’s a doorbell?

“Who could it be at this hour?” I whisper to myself.

“Who’s there?” I call out.

No answer.

With effort I haul myself to the door, undo the lock, smooth my hair, and open it.

A yellowish glow blinds me for an instant—the sun rising to the north reflecting off the windows across the street. When my tired eyes adjust, I can finally make out who stands before me.

Her silhouette sharpens: a woman, she doesn’t look a day over twenty. The most striking thing about this stranger, without a doubt, is her outfit: a long, heavy brown fur coat that reaches her feet. Far too warm for this weather; winter is just starting and there’s only a slight chill in the air. Wearing only my office suit, I can see just her mouth and part of her nose; the rest of her face is hidden beneath the coat. Her skin is as white as snow and her lips are painted black, as dark as the midnight sky.

“Are you Guro Suzuki?” her voice is somber.

“Yes, I am. And who are you, miss?”

“May I come in? It’s very cold out here.”

It isn’t.

“Could you answer my question first?”
“I’ve come to deliver a gift from… an acquaintance.”

A gift? I hope it isn’t what I’m thinking. Either way, I don’t want this woman lingering on my doorstep any longer. I glance around—luckily my neighbors seem to be asleep.

“Come in.”

Once inside, the girl exhales a sigh of relief.

“Excellent. This dwelling gives off a depressive aura. The perfect hiding place so the forces of corruption won’t be drawn here.”

“I don’t understand what you mean, but I can’t deny this place does look depressing,” I say, scratching the back of my neck.

She looks ashamed
“I’m sorry, my lord, I meant no disrespect,” she says, bowing in reverence.

“My… lord?”

“Oh, right. I think it’s time I introduce myself…”

She unties the gray sash around her waist that keeps her coat closed. She slides one arm at a time out of the heavy brown fur coat and, almost theatrically, lets it fall to her feet. What’s revealed makes me stare.

Her long rebellious mane, like magma, cascades over her rosy cheeks and thick neck, down to her broad shoulders. Her pale, rounded face looks almost doll-like. She wears armor both strange and striking: a crimson breastplate and a skirt of maple leaves that shimmer with her movements, with pauldrons adorned with black feathers. Beneath, a grassy-green jacket resembles reptilian hide; her black trousers and boots seem to be made of the same dark ultramarine leather. Nothing like anything I’ve seen in all my years of sewing and design.

She plants her fists on her hips and holds a heroic pose, ridiculous and impressive at once.

“My name is… Vanily! Daughter of Tyr, the First of His Name, Duke of Rosand. I am the Ultimate Nightmare Eater of the Nocturnal Squad,” she says—what an ostentatious… and cool title!—. “I am here…” —she bows with a fist to her chest— “…to serve you as your guide, squire and companion in your noble crusade until you can be reunited with your father, King Inmelvalth.”

It’s obvious she’s doing a roleplay in which I’m a sort of authority figure, apparently of noble caste, and she’s my loyal, submissive servant.

This confirms my suspicions: that idiot really did it. Even though I told him I didn’t want it… now what do I do? She’s already here, and although the context is way beyond a mere erotic game, I can’t help but respect how she gets into character; she really puts effort into her work. To make matters worse, damn Souta picked exactly my type of woman, and on top of that she’s doing the Viking-warrior cosplay I love. Damn… how tempting. Am I really that desperate to accept this?

“I see… Vanily, nice name. So… what kind of service are you offering me?”
“From now and until I complete my mission, my life belongs to you,” she says, extending her arms toward me, taking my wrist in both hands and drawing it to her until it meets her chest, “and I will faithfully carry out anything you order me.” She says it with total certainty, her eyes burning with passion.
“Anything…?”

No way. This is like living one of my most indecent puberty dreams. I’d have to be an obstinate idiot to refuse.

“Sorry, but I’m not interested. I’ll tip you for the trouble, but you have to go.”

…And indeed, I am that.

“What do you mean, a tip?”

“You can’t be serious… that stingy! So you expected me to pay?” My face goes from red with embarrassment to red with fury.

“Well… since you mention it…” I pull my wallet from my pocket. “How much is it?”

“My lord, please don’t mistake me for some kind of bandit; the payment for my service is the honor of my family and the Nocturnal Squad.”

“Yeah. Yeah, bravo, bravo,” I say, giving sarcastic applause. “Three-star performance, but enough with the act. You’re attractive, but this is illegal and I don’t want trouble…”

“Wait… wait…” Her cheeks, already flushed, turn bright red; veins begin to bulge on her forehead as she quivers between shame and fury. “Do you think I’m some common whore?!”

“Well… I wouldn’t use such a disrespectful term, but—”

Before I can finish, her knuckles smash into my jaw and send me flying; I hit the ceiling and then crash to the floor.

“Die a thousand deaths, you piece of scum!”
“How dare you confuse a Nightmare Eater with a commoner?! I don’t care if you’re the son of the great Inmelvalth… I will strip you of your manhood!”

Without giving me time to react, Vanily brandishes a dagger with her gaze fixed on my crotch. I immediately drop to my knees and press my forehead to the floor.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to dishonor such an honorable warrior! Please, forgive me!” I decide to play along with the lunatic armed in front of me.

Vanily hesitates a few seconds with her arms crossed; little by little she calms down.

In the blink of an eye, the dagger vanishes from her hand as if it had dissolved into air.

I struggle to stand. I’m sore, but there are no serious injuries; how strange.

Vanily bows again.
“I apologize for my outburst of violence… although you deserved it,” her tone isn’t entirely sincere. “If because of this you decide to reject my service, I understand. However, at the moment I cannot offer you an alternative, since I am the only survivor of my team; the others succumbed to the vile forces of corruption sent to eliminate them. Therefore, there is no one else who can escort you to the lunar gates.”

I don’t understand what the hell this weirdo is talking about; I don’t get why she insists on never breaking character.

“Lunar gates? Forces of corruption? You can’t just spit out incomprehensible concepts and expect me to go along with it. If you want me to play along with this roleplay, fine, I’ll try—but give me some damn context, please!”

“Oh, right, what nonsense of mine. How didn’t I realize? Obviously you can’t understand what I mean,” she says, tapping her head and making a foolish face, acknowledging her mistake. “After all, it seems I still haven’t gotten used to the idea of being in another world.”

“So you’re from another world? Well, then this is that kind of plot… interesting.”

“Plot? I don’t understand, but… yes, I come from Spilleplade, the realm of your father.”

“My father… the king…?”

“Inmelvalth!”

“Yes, Inmel… that. Anyway, if you’re not some… woman of easy virtue—”

“I am not!”

“I know, I know! Please don’t hit me!” I cover my face with my arms, fearful of once again receiving the wrath of the fierce Vanily. “Just… tell me, who are you? What is your purpose?”

“I already told you—”

She presses her palms together, begins to rub one hand over the other, and suddenly something appears between her hands. It’s small, emitting a shine like polished metal. She lifts one hand and hides it by closing the other fist around it; then she extends her fist toward me, waiting for me to take what it holds. I extend my hand to receive it. Then...

“No… no way…”

What lies in my palm is a watch. Not just any watch—the watch my father wore the night he disappeared without a trace ten years ago.

“Where did you get this? Do you even know what it is?”

“I do. Your father gave it to me.”

“My father…? My real father?!”

“Yes. King Inmelvalth.”

“That’s not his name!”

“I know. Here he was called Ichiro Suzuki, an ordinary man. But in my world—Spilleplade—he is much more: a king, a savior… a hero.”

I push myself to my feet, unable to keep my composure in the face of such… ridicule.

“I’m sick of hearing your stupid lies! Stop playing around and tell me the truth! Why do you have my father’s watch and what do you want from me?!”

“I am telling the truth. Your father gave me this ten years ago, when the cosmos aligned and the barriers between realities opened. He was chosen to bring hope to my world, which had been consumed by a two-hundred-year war that threatened to wipe out all life there. Thanks to him, Spilleplade regained hope… and that hope grows nearer every day. But he cannot succeed without your help. You must go to him—for he needs your power."

“My… power? What power?”

“Every ten years, the stars choose a warrior of strong will and a golden heart, destined to wield the most powerful weapon of all and become the protector of Spilleplade. Before, it was your father… and now that responsibility and honor have been passed on to you.”

Vanily’s eyes lock with mine, blazing like twin crimson gems. I could swear they were black before.”

“You are… the Warhammer Hero.”