Day 22

  A warrior is defined not by his victories, but by how he rises from his defeats.

  I, Hattori Masanari, have suffered a grave defeat. Not on the battlefield, where steel meets flesh, but in the treacherous domain of economics. The "Spoon Incident"—a tactical blunder where I acquired five hundred plastic scoops in a misguided attempt to prepare for a soup famine—has left a stain on my honor. Though the debt is paid, thanks to my servitude as a Traffic Guardian, the shame burns hotter than a branding iron.

  Lady Aoi has been gracious, yet I see the doubt in her eyes. She looks at me not as the Demon Hanzo, but as a man who cannot distinguish between a weapon and a utensil.

  I must redeem myself. I must prove that I can navigate this modern era with the sharp instinct of a master strategist. I require a victory. I require... better equipment.

  My current attire—the black gi I arrived in—is tattered, smelling faintly of the soy sauce from the "Fortress of Rotating Fish" and the exhaust fumes of the traffic outpost. It offers zero protection against the hazards of this world. If I am to protect Lady Aoi from the shadows, I need armor.

  I sat in seiza upon the tatami, the "Oracle Slate" (smartphone) resting before me like a map of enemy territory.

  "Amazon-dono," I whispered, invoking the name of the Invisible Merchant who rules the cloud. "Show me your wares."

  I opened the shopping application. My finger hovered over the search bar. I typed with deliberate precision: [ FULL BODY ARMOR ].

  The results flooded the screen. My eyes widened.

  "By the gods..."

  There were suits of steel, tactical vests, and helmets that looked capable of deflecting a matchlock bullet. But the prices! Ten thousand yen? Twenty thousand? These merchants were bandits! They sought to bleed the common soldier dry.

  "Do not take me for a fool," I muttered, narrowing my eyes at the glowing screen. "I know your tricks. You place the overpriced baubles at the top to entrap the gullible lords."

  I located the tactical filter: [ PRICE: LOW TO HIGH ].

  I pressed it. The screen refreshed.

  There it was.

  [ LEGENDARY DRAGON KNIGHT ARMOR SET - SILVER EDITION. ￥2,980 ]

  I gasped. A full suit of plate mail—chest piece, pauldrons, greaves, and gauntlets—shimmering with the luster of polished mercury. It was magnificent. The shoulders flared out like the wings of a dragon. The chest was sculpted with the abdominal muscles of a demigod.

  And the price... less than three thousand yen?

  "A pricing error?" I theorized, my heart racing. "Or perhaps a 'Warrior's Discount' meant only for those with the patience to scroll to the bottom? Yes... the merchant must be desperate to offload this legendary gear. He does not know its true value."

  I felt a surge of triumph. This was the steal of the century. I would acquire a suit of armor worthy of a Shogun for the price of a modest meal.

  "I have robbed you blind, Amazon-dono," I declared, a sinister smirk playing on my lips.

  I tapped [ BUY NOW ] with the force of a killing blow.

  Two days later.

  The "Yellow Courier"—a servant of the great transport clan Yamato—delivered a large box.

  I accepted it with solemn dignity, signing the digital tablet with a flourish. As the courier retreated, I carried the box into the living room.

  "Strange," I noted. "It is... light."

  Suspiciously light. A full suit of iron should require the strength of two men to lift. I held this box with one hand.

  Had I been deceived? Had the merchant sent me an empty crate?

  I retrieved a pair of scissors and sliced the tape—the "Seal of the Cardboard." I opened the flaps.

  Inside lay the silver armor. It shone under the fluorescent lights of the ceiling.

  I reached in and pulled out the chest piece. It weighed nothing. Less than a summer breeze. I pressed my thumb against the silver surface. It yielded, sinking inward like fresh dough, then slowly bounced back to its original shape.

  "What sorcery is this?"

  I examined the material. It was not cold iron. It was warm, soft, and smelled vaguely of chemicals—a scent I associated with the "New Car Smell" air freshener.

  "Soft armor..." I whispered, a realization dawning on me.

  I had assumed, in my Sengoku ignorance, that the future would still rely on heavy steel plates. How foolish! Rigid armor transfers the shock of impact directly to the bone. If a war hammer strikes a steel breastplate, the ribs underneath still shatter.

  But this... this material absorbed the force!

  "It is 'Memory Metal,'" I concluded, awe washing over me. "Or perhaps 'Air-Weave Steel.' It mimics the properties of a sponge to disperse kinetic energy, rendering the wearer immune to blunt force trauma. It is genius! It weighs nothing, allowing for maximum agility, yet offers absolute protection!"

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  I stripped off my gi and began the ritual of donning the armor.

  The strapping system was revolutionary. No complex laces or buckles. It used "Velcro"—a magical fabric that bound to itself with the strength of a thousand tiny hooks. Rrrrip. Stick. Rrrrip. Stick.

  I attached the greaves. I secured the gauntlets. I placed the chest piece over my torso.

  Finally, I stood before the full-length mirror in the hallway.

  I looked like a god. The silver shoulders extended a foot outward on each side. Fake spikes protruded from my elbows. The abdominal muscles on the armor were far more defined than my own naturally honed physique.

  I struck a pose, crossing my arms.

  "I am the Iron Fortress," I announced to the empty apartment. "I am the Silver Ghost. Let the enemies of Lady Aoi come forth. I shall bounce their blades back into their own faces."

  Aoi was currently at her university, attending lectures on subjects I could not comprehend. She would not return for hours.

  "I must test this," I decided. "A weapon untested is a weapon useless."

  But where? I could not strike myself; the paradox of the unstoppable spear and the immovable shield would surely destroy the universe. I needed a worthy opponent.

  I looked out the window. Down in the small park across the street—the "Training Grounds of the Green"—I saw them.

  The Stray Cat Clan.

  They were a fearsome unit. Five of them, led by a scarred Ginger Tabby with one ear. I had observed them before. They moved with silence. They had knives on their feet. They were the apex predators of this concrete jungle.

  "Perfect," I said, grabbing my sunglasses (The Mask of Focus) and sliding them on. "En garde, beasts."

  The park was quiet, save for the chirping of sparrows who fled at my approach.

  I marched into the sandbox, the silver foam of my greaves crunching softly against the gravel. The Ginger Tabby was lounging on a bench, licking its paw with the arrogance of a daimyo.

  It stopped. It looked at me. Its vertical pupils narrowed.

  "Ho," I said, raising a silver-clad arm. "You recognize the aura of a challenger, do you not, Tiger of the East?"

  The cat yawned. A psychological tactic! It was feigning disinterest to lower my guard.

  "Your mind games will not work on me!" I shouted. "I am clad in the finest alloy of the 21st century! My defense is absolute!"

  I stepped closer, presenting my leg. The shin guard—bulky, silver, and covered in decorative swirling patterns—was the perfect target.

  "Strike me!" I commanded. "Test your fangs against the Future!"

  The Ginger Tabby stood up. It stretched, arching its back. Then, slowly, it walked toward me. It sniffed the EVA foam. The chemical scent seemed to offend it.

  "Do it," I goaded.

  The cat raised a paw.

  Now! I braced myself for the impact. I expected a dull thud. I expected the claws to skitter harmlessly off the miraculous Air-Weave Steel.

  Scritch.

  A sound... like fabric tearing?

  Scritch-scratch-rip.

  I looked down.

  The cat had sunk its claws deep into the silver greave. With a casual tug, it pulled back.

  Three long, white gashes appeared in the silver surface. Chunks of white sponge flew into the air like snowflakes.

  "N-Nani?" (What?)

  I froze. The cat, finding the texture agreeable—perhaps similar to a scratching post—attacked with renewed vigor.

  Shred. Tear. Rip.

  "IMPOSSIBLE!" I screamed, stumbling back.

  The cat leaped. It latched onto my thigh armor. Its claws sank in like hot knives through butter. It hung there, its weight tearing a massive chunk of the 'armor' away from the Velcro strap.

  "It penetrated?!" I gasped, swatting at the beast. "This alloy was designed to withstand the impact of a falling star! And this beast... this beast shredded it like tofu?!"

  The Ginger Tabby dropped to the ground, a piece of silver foam stuck to its claw. It shook its paw, discarding the debris, and looked at me with hungry eyes.

  The other cats, awakened by the commotion, began to approach. They saw the white, fluffy interior of my armor exposed. They saw a giant, walking scratching post.

  "Ambush!" I yelled. "Retreat! Tactical Retreat!"

  I turned to run, but a black cat leaped onto my back. It dug its claws into the shoulder pauldron.

  CRUNCH.

  The entire left shoulder piece snapped off. It was not metal. It was... solidified air?

  "Their claws..." I wheezed, spinning around to dislodge the attacker. "They are harder than diamond! Are these the genetically modified killing machines of the West?! Has science gone too far?!"

  I fell to my knees in the sandbox. The cats surrounded me. They were not attacking my flesh—they were obsessed with the foam. They clawed at the chest piece. They bit the fake spikes.

  "My armor!" I wept, shielding my face. "The legendary defense! Ruined!"

  "Masa?"

  The voice cut through the chaos of battle.

  I looked up. Through the scratched lenses of my sunglasses, I saw Lady Aoi standing at the edge of the park. She was holding a bag of groceries.

  She stared.

  She stared at me, kneeling in the sand.

  She stared at the silver chunks of debris scattered around me.

  She stared at the Ginger Tabby, which was currently sharpening its claws on my detach chest plate.

  She stared at me, wearing nothing but a black t-shirt and shredded foam leggings that looked like Swiss cheese.

  "Aoi-dono!" I cried out, shame flooding my face. "Do not approach! These beasts... they are monsters! They possess adamantine claws! They destroyed the Air-Weave Steel in mere seconds!"

  Aoi walked over. She kicked a piece of the 'armor' with her sneaker. It skittered across the pavement, light as a feather.

  "Masa," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "That is EVA foam."

  "Eee-Vee-Ay?" I repeated. "Is that the name of the God of Destruction who forged these cats?"

  "No," she said, pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's sponge. It's cosplay armor. People wear it to dress up as anime characters. It’s basically a yoga mat with spray paint."

  I blinked.

  "A... yoga mat?"

  "You bought a costume," she explained, looking down at me with a mixture of pity and exhaustion. "You tried to fight street cats wearing a sponge."

  The world spun.

  It was not a high-tech alloy? It was... floor padding?

  "But..." I stammered. "The price... it was a steal..."

  "It was cheap because it's garbage," she said. She reached down and pulled the remaining velcro strap from my arm. It made a pathetic riiiip sound.

  "Come on," she sighed. "Let's go home. You're scaring the children."

  I looked around. Indeed, several mothers were ushering their children away from the 'Mad Samurai of the Sandbox.'

  I stood up, the remnants of my legendary armor falling from my body like withered leaves.

  "I have failed you again, Aoi-dono," I whispered, head bowed. "I sought to become an Iron Fortress. Instead, I became a scratching post."

  Aoi looked at the cats, who were now happily sleeping on the pile of silver foam.

  "Well," she muttered, cracking a small, weary smile. "At least the cats are happy. And you didn't buy five hundred of them."

  "Next time," I vowed, clenching my fist, "I shall buy Kevlar. I have read of this 'Kevlar.' It is the skin of the yellow turtle, yes?"

  "No," Aoi said, shoving me toward the apartment. "No more shopping. Move."

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes

  ? Amazon (The Invisible Bazaar): A terrifying marketplace where gold flows like water and goods appear from the void. I suspect they employ ninja couriers, for I never see them approach until the doorbell rings.

  ? EVA Foam (The Traitor's Sponge): A deceptive material that mimics the visage of steel but possesses the durability of a wet rice cracker. Beware its allure.

  ? The Stray Cat Clan (The Feline Warlords): The true rulers of the neighborhood. Their claws are honed on the bones of their enemies. Do not engage without plate mail.

  ? Velcro (The Hook-and-Loop Seal): A fastening technology superior to any knot. If samurai armor had possessed this, we could have dressed for battle in seconds rather than hours. A tragic loss for history.

  Next Episode Preview

  Episode 23: The Alchemist of the Kitchen and the Fire of Hell

  Masanari attempts to cook "Curry" for the first time. He misreads "Medium Spice" as "Warrior's Challenge" and adds secret ingredients to "fortify the constitution." Aoi may need a fire extinguisher.

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