The night air of Shibuya was thick with the chirping of electric crickets and the distant roar of iron carriages.

  I sat in seiza upon the tatami, polishing the Crimson Scepter—formerly known as a toilet plunger—with a rag. A warrior must maintain his weapons, even if said weapon is made of rubber and smells faintly of bleach.

  Suddenly, the heavy iron door of the fortress groaned.

  Clack. Thud. Scrape.

  I tensed. The footsteps were irregular. Staggering. Heavy, yet light. Was it an assassin using the Drunken Fist style? A wandering ronin seeking a duel?

  The door swung open, revealing a silhouette bathed in the harsh artificial light of the hallway.

  "Masa-kuuuuuun... I'm hooooome..."

  It was my Liege. Lord Aoi.

  But she was not herself. Her face was flushed the color of a ripe persimmon. Her eyes were glazed over, swimming in a chaotic sea of confusion. She leaned heavily against the doorframe, sliding down slowly until she resembled a puddle of fabric.

  I rushed to her side, my pink gi rustling. A pungent, sweet odor assaulted my nostrils.

  "My Lady!" I knelt, checking her pulse. "You reek of the Golden Nectar! Have you been poisoned? Did the Takeda clan slip a mind-clouding agent into your tea?"

  Aoi giggled, a sound like bubbles escaping a swamp. "Tea? Nooooo. It was Strong Zero. The Lemon flavor. It hits different, Masa. It hits like a truck."

  Strong Zero. A fearsome name. It sounded like a technique used by a Grandmaster of the Void. To think she willingly ingested a liquid with such a violent title...

  "Water," I commanded, reaching for a plastic bottle. "You require hydration to flush the toxins."

  She slapped the bottle away with surprising speed. "No water! I need... I need fuel."

  Her eyes burned with a terrifying, primal hunger. She grabbed the lapels of my pink gi, pulling my face close to hers. I could smell the chemical lemons on her breath.

  "Meat," she whispered, her voice grave. "I want the Spinning Stick."

  "Spinning... Stick?"

  "The one at the Konbini Citadel," she slurred, pointing a shaky finger toward the window. "The tube of meat that rolls forever. I need it inside me. Right. Now."

  I recoiled. "My Lady, surely you jest. Those cylinders are merely decorative! I have observed them. They have been rolling since the Sengoku period. To consume one is to invite the wrath of the bowel gods!"

  "GO!" She tried to stand but her legs had turned to jelly. She collapsed onto my chest. "Carry me, Masa. Be my steed."

  I sighed, a long exhale that rattled through my chest. I had served Ieyasu-sama on the battlefield of Anegawa. I had infiltrated the impregnable castles of the West. Now, I was a steed for a drunken college student craving processed meat.

  "Very well," I said, turning my back to her. "Board the transport."

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  She flopped onto my back. I hooked my arms under her knees, hoisting her up.

  Technique: Piggyback of the Mountain Porter.

  She was heavier than she looked—dead weight is always difficult to manage—but her body heat was radiating like a furnace. The poison was circulating fast. We had to make haste.

  The streetlights hummed as I sprinted down the sidewalk. I kept to the shadows, scanning for threats. My pink costume was conspicuous, but at this hour, the only other souls abroad were other poisoned salarymen, vomiting into the bushes.

  "Faster, Masa-kun! Mush!" Aoi yelled, slapping my shoulder.

  "Silence, My Lady! We are in enemy territory," I hissed.

  We arrived at the 24-Hour Armory (7-Eleven). The automatic doors slid open with a welcoming chime—Ding-Dong-Ding—a deceptive siren song luring souls into caloric ruin.

  I carried her to the counter, ignoring the bewildered stare of the Merchant behind the register. He was a young man with dead eyes, likely a peasant conscripted into the night watch.

  "There!" Aoi pointed.

  I looked into the glass display case next to the register. My blood ran cold.

  There, on the heated metal rollers, lay the beast.

  It was a sausage. But to call it a sausage was an insult to the butcher's art. It was shriveled. Its skin was wrinkled like the face of a hundred-year-old monk. It was a dark, menacing red, sweating grease as it turned... and turned... and turned.

  "My Lady," I whispered urgently, "Look at it. It is petrified. That meat has seen empires rise and fall. It is a mummy. If you eat this, you will surely perish."

  "One Big Bite Dog," Aoi commanded the Merchant, ignoring my tactical assessment. "And mustard. Lots of mustard."

  The Merchant nodded, grabbing a pair of metal tongs. Click-click. He snatched the mummified log from its eternal slumber and placed it into a paper sarcophagus.

  "That will be 180 Yen."

  I fumbled with the pouch around my waist, retrieving the coins I had earned from fixing the Air Conditioner. I paid the ransom.

  We retreated to the parking lot, the night air cool against my sweating brow. Aoi sat on the curb, unwrapping the artifact. She tore open the mustard packet with her teeth, squeezing a yellow snake across the wrinkled surface.

  Then, she unhinged her jaw like a python.

  CHOMP.

  I flinched. "My Lady! The toxicity levels—!"

  "Mmmph," she groaned, chewing with eyes closed in ecstasy. "Greasy. Salty. Dry. It's perfect."

  She devoured the Petrified Sausage in three bites. Grease coated her chin. Mustard smeared her cheek. She looked like a barbarian warlord feasting on the heart of a conquered foe.

  I watched in a mix of horror and awe. I had trained my body to resist poisons, but Aoi... Aoi was a creature of the modern era. Her stomach was a cauldron capable of smelting iron. The preservatives in that meat would kill a lesser man, yet she seemed revitalized.

  "Another victory," she burped, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. "Let's go home, Masa. I'm sleepy."

  Back in the Castle of Six Mats, the adrenaline faded, leaving only the inevitable crash.

  Aoi face-planted onto her futon without changing clothes. Within seconds, she was snoring—a sound not unlike a wild boar rooting for truffles.

  I fetched a plastic bucket and placed it strategically by her head.

  "Rest well, Princess of the Zero," I whispered, pulling a blanket over her.

  I sat in the corner, crossing my arms. I would not sleep tonight. I had to maintain vigil. If the Petrified Sausage decided to exact its revenge and try to escape her stomach in the form of projectile rebellion, I would be ready with the bucket.

  A ninja's duty never ends.

  Days Remaining: 86

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes

  1. Strong Zero (The Golden Nectar):

  A canned alcoholic beverage (Chu-hai) feared by both livers and social norms. It typically contains 9% alcohol and zero sugar, allowing it to strike the drinker with the force of a stealth attack. It tastes like lemons and bad decisions.

  2. Hot Snack (The Armory's Rations):

  Fried foods kept in heated glass cases near the register at Convenience Stores (Konbini). While the fried chicken (Famichiki) is a delicacy fit for Emperors, items like the roller-grill hot dogs are often ancient relics that test a warrior's constitution.

  3. Onbu (The Piggyback):

  The act of carrying another on one's back. In the Sengoku era, this was used to transport wounded comrades. In the modern era, it is used to transport wounded livers.

  Next Episode Preview

  Narrator (Masanari screaming over fast techno music):

  "IMPOSSIBLE! THE PRINCESS HAS RECOVERED, BUT THE TREASURY IS EMPTY! To replenish our funds, Aoi commands me to sell my skills to the public! But wait—what is this 'Flea Market'? Why are people haggling over my shuriken?! And who is the suspicious hooded figure eyeing the Crimson Scepter?!

  Next Time: Episode 15 – The Merchant of Shadows and the 500-Yen Shuriken!

  PREPARE YOUR WALLETS!"

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