Day 18

  War requires supply lines. An army marches on its stomach, but a warrior fights with steel. Since the tragic loss of my newspaper katana—and the Crimson Scepter I was forced to pawn for rice balls—I have been defenseless.

  This morning, the Liege Lord Aoi was incapacitated. She lay upon the floor, groaning, eyes fixed on a textbook.

  "Masanari," she croaked, gesturing to the Luminous Scroll (Laptop) open on the low table. "I need... paper towels. And water. Order them. I’m too tired to move."

  She granted me access to the Grand Archive of A-Ma-Zon.

  I had heard whispers of this place. It is a mystical jungle where invisible spirits gather tributes from the four corners of the earth and deliver them to your doorstep. The speed of their couriers is said to rival the wind demons of the Fuma Clan.

  I navigated the glowing runes with caution. The interface was a chaotic battlefield of colors and temptations. 'Flash Sale'... 'Daily Deal'... Traps for the weak-willed. I bypassed them. I ordered the paper towels. I ordered the water.

  Then, I saw the search bar. The empty void waiting for a command.

  My fingers trembled. I typed: S-W-O-R-D.

  The Archive mocked me with toys. Foam. Plastic. Unworthy of a Hattori. I refined my search. Silver. Blade. Sharp. Lethal.

  And then, I found it.

  [Bulk Pack: Silver Blade Series. High Durability. Perfect for piercing. 500 count. ￥1,500.]

  My breath hitched. Five hundred blades? For a mere 1,500 yen? It was impossible. Even a rusted dagger costs more than that in the Owari province. Unless... perhaps a master smith had died, and his apprentice was liquidating the armory in haste?

  There was a sigil next to the price: PRIME. It was a blue checkmark, the seal of the Swift Wind God.

  "Aoi," I whispered, not wanting to wake her from her stupor. "I shall bolster our defenses."

  With the gravity of a general signing a peace treaty, I moved the cursor to the orange button marked 'Buy Now'. I clicked. The pact was sealed.

  The Next Day

  I did not sleep. I sat in seiza before the Luminous Scroll, watching the map.

  The Oracle Slate (Smartphone) informed me that the package was "Out for Delivery."

  The tracking map was a marvel of modern sorcery. A small blue icon—a chariot of the gods—moved across the gray grid of the city. I watched it turn corners. I watched it pause.

  "He stops at the bakery," I muttered, analyzing the courier's tactics. "He is fueling his mount. Smart. He is three blocks away. Two. He approaches with the speed of a falling hawk."

  Ping.

  [Status: Delivered to Front Door.]

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  I moved before the notification faded. I vanished from the room, sliding the front door open with a silence that would make a cat envious.

  The hallway was empty.

  My eyes darted left. Right. Down.

  Nothing. The concrete floor was bare.

  "Deception?" I hissed. "A phantom signal?"

  Then, movement caught my eye. Further down the hallway, near the stairwell, a man was walking into Apartment 203. He held a cardboard box in his arms.

  He was the neighbor. A man I had seen only once, usually wearing the loose robes of a scholar (sweatpants).

  My blood boiled. A porch pirate. A bandit who lies in wait for the Prime Courier, snatching supplies the moment they touch the earth. He dared to plunder the armory of the Hattori in broad daylight?

  "VILLAIN!" I roared.

  I did not run. I flowed. I performed a forward roll on the concrete, closing the distance in a heartbeat. As his door began to close, I thrust my foot into the gap, wedging it open with a thud.

  The neighbor yelped, stumbling back. He clutched the box to his chest like a hoard of gold.

  "Return the steel!" I commanded, assuming a combat stance in the doorway. My eyes burned with righteous fury. "Surrender the cargo, and I shall leave your limbs attached to your torso!"

  The man turned pale. He looked at me, then at my black gi, then at the box.

  "W-What?" he stammered. "This... this is my protein powder. Strawberry flavor."

  "Lies!" I reached for the box, but stopped. The label. It did indeed say Muscle-Tech.

  "Your package..." The man pointed a trembling finger past my shoulder. "It's... behind the flower pot. The delivery guy hid it."

  I turned slowly.

  There, nestled behind a withered plastic fern next to Aoi's door, was a brown box. It had been camouflaged perfectly. The courier was truly a master of stealth.

  I looked back at the neighbor. I slowly removed my foot from his door.

  "I... see."

  I bowed. A full ninety-degree angle. "Forgive me. The shadows played tricks on my eyes. Enjoy your strawberry powder. It is... good for the glutes."

  I retreated into my apartment before he could call the magistrate (Police).

  The Unboxing

  "I have returned victorious!" I announced, placing the box on the kotatsu.

  Aoi looked up from her instant noodles. "Did you find the paper towels?"

  "Better." I pulled a small knife from my belt—a fruit paring knife I had sharpened on a rock—and sliced the tape. "Behold, Aoi. The weapon that will sever the darkness. Five hundred silver blades of high durability."

  My heart pounded. I ripped open the flaps. The light hit the contents and shimmered.

  Silver. Yes.

  Sharp? Debatable.

  Blades?

  I stared into the abyss of the box.

  They were spoons. Five hundred plastic spoons. Painted to look like metal.

  The product description flashed in my mind: Silver-colored Party Spoons. High Durability.

  "Spoons?" Aoi leaned over, a noodle hanging from her mouth. "You bought... bulk catering spoons?"

  Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

  "You thought these were swords," she accused, a grin spreading across her face.

  "Do not be absurd," I said quickly, sweat forming on my brow. I reached into the box and grabbed a handful of the plastic utensils. "These are... Kunai of the Cloud style. Lightweight. Aerodynamic."

  "They're for eating cake, Masa."

  "They are for killing!" I retorted. To prove my point, I gripped one spoon in a reverse grip and struck a pose. "Behold the 'Silver Fang' technique!"

  I stabbed the spoon into the cardboard box.

  Snap.

  The handle broke instantly. The jagged plastic flew across the room and bounced off Aoi’s forehead.

  Aoi burst into laughter. It was a cruel, hyena-like sound. She laughed until she choked on her noodles.

  "Five hundred!" she wheezed. "We have five hundred of them! We can eat yogurt for the next three years!"

  I stared at the broken handle in my hand.

  I have been defeated. Not by a sorcerer, but by the fine print of the A-Ma-Zon.

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes

  ? A-Ma-Zon (The Jungle): A global merchant guild that employs dark magic to transport goods. Their "Prime" members are clearly high-ranking nobility who have pacts with wind spirits.

  ? Porch Pirate: A specialized class of bandit in this era. They lack the honor to raid caravans, preferring to steal from defenseless doorsteps. Lowest of the low.

  ? Plastic: A material that mimics the look of solidity but possesses the soul of a coward. It shatters under the slightest pressure. A samurai would never wear plastic armor.

  Countdown: 82 Days Remaining

  Next Episode Preview:

  Aoi forces me to "get a job" to pay for the 500 spoons. I find a recruitment poster for a "Guardian of the Traffic." I am given a glowing wand and a helmet. Finally, I shall command the armies of the asphalt!

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