Day 25

  War is expensive. Peace, it turns out, is even more so.

  I sat in seiza on the floor of the apartment, watching Lady Aoi consume a block of dark, gelatinous brick.

  It was Yokan—a traditional sweet made of red bean paste.

  In my time, such a delicacy was reserved for tea ceremonies hosted by Daimyos.

  "Five thousand yen," Aoi mumbled, her mouth full of the expensive sugar-brick.

  "That’s how much the apology gift cost for the Station Master. Five. Thousand. Yen."

  She swallowed aggressively.

  "Because someone decided to liberate a salaryman from the train and caused a safety delay. We are in the red again, Masanari. Deep red."

  I bowed my head until it touched the synthetic wood.

  "I take full responsibility, my Liege. The rescue mission was... politically ill-advised. I shall replenish the treasury."

  "You better," she sighed. "I found you a temp gig on the app. It's manual labor. Restocking vending machines. You like those metal boxes, right? Go be useful."

  The Iron Altars

  The vehicle was a white box-truck, humming with the energy of a beast of burden.

  My commanding officer was a man named "Tanaka-san," a veteran of the logistics wars with a towel permanently tied around his forehead and a cigarette dangling from his lips.

  "Alright, new guy," Tanaka grunted, throwing me a blue vest. "We got forty stops. Speed is key. Don't drop the cans. Don't mix up the Hot and Cold. Let's move."

  I donned the vest. It was light, breathable. The armor of the supply corps.

  We arrived at our first target: A battery of three white machines standing sentinel outside a pachinko parlor.

  To the layman, these are mere shops.

  To me, they are the Public Altars of Hydration.

  In the concrete desert of Tokyo, where the sun beats down without mercy, these iron silos hold the life-giving elixir that prevents the populace from collapsing.

  To maintain them is a sacred duty.

  Tanaka unlocked the front panel of the machine. Ka-chunk.

  It swung open, revealing the intricate internal organs of the beast. Rows of chutes, springs, and gravity-fed magazines.

  "Load 'em up," Tanaka ordered, pointing to the crates of coffee and tea.

  I nodded.

  I picked up a long, cylindrical cartridge of "Boss Coffee."

  It felt heavy. Balanced. Like a black powder charge for a Tanegashima matchlock rifle.

  I am not stocking shelves, I realized. I am reloading the artillery.

  I grabbed four cans in one hand—a technique I developed for holding shuriken.

  Clack-clack-clack-clack!

  I slotted them into the chute with blinding speed. The sound was rhythmic, percussive, violent.

  Clack-clack-clack-clack!

  "Next magazine!" I shouted, grabbing a crate of Green Tea.

  My hands were a blur. I utilized the Soft Palm technique to ensure no can was dented, yet the speed of insertion created a sonic afterimage.

  Tanaka stopped smoking. He watched me, his mouth slightly open.

  "Kid," he whispered. "You're... you're a machine. You doing this for a record or something?"

  "The thirst of the people waits for no man, Commander!" I replied, slamming the last can of Corn Soup into the 'Hot' chamber. "Reload complete!"

  The Red Clan

  We moved to the next location: A parking lot near a construction site.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  But we were not alone.

  Parked adjacent to us was a massive truck painted in the color of blood and war.

  Red.

  The logo was a white ribbon, cursive and serpentine.

  "The Red Clan," I hissed, narrowing my eyes. "Rivals?"

  "Coca-Cola," Tanaka muttered, checking his clipboard. "Yeah, they got the prime spot next to the entrance. Lucky bastards."

  I watched the enemy driver. He was a large man, laughing as he leaned against his truck.

  In his hand, he held a plastic bottle filled with a dark, bubbling liquid.

  He unscrewed the cap. Fssssh. The sound of escaping gas.

  He raised the black sludge to his lips and drank deeply.

  "By the gods..." I gasped.

  The liquid was boiling! Even cold, it fizzed with a violent, chemical anger.

  It was black bile. Poison.

  Yet he drank it and laughed?

  "He consumes the toxin to build immunity," I deduced, watching him wipe his mouth.

  "He is fortifying his body with corruption. This 'Red Clan'... they intend to distribute this bubbling malice to the civilians?"

  I looked at the vending machine he was stocking. Rows and rows of the red poison bottles.

  If the workers drink that, their spirits will rot. Their insides will turn to ash.

  I must intervene.

  "Tanaka-san," I said, my voice low. "Cover me. I am going behind enemy lines."

  "Huh? Just grab the empty cans from the recycling bin, kid."

  I slipped into the shadows of the trucks.

  I recalled a lesson Aoi-dono had shown me on the Oracle Slate—a scroll titled "Science Experiments Gone Wrong."

  There is a white tablet—a "Mint"—that, when introduced to the black poison, creates a violent chemical reaction.

  A geyser of foam.

  If I can neutralize their supply... I save the city.

  I reached into my pocket. I had purchased a roll of "Mentos" earlier for breath purification.

  I unwrapped the cylinder. The white tablets sat in my palm like pearls of destruction.

  The enemy driver was distracted, laughing at his slate.

  On the bumper of his truck sat an open 1.5-liter bottle of the black sludge. The Master Batch.

  Target acquired.

  I crept forward, utilizing the Stealth Walk.

  I held a single mint between my thumb and forefinger.

  Just one, I thought. A warning shot to show them the volatility of their weapon.

  I raised my hand over the bottle opening.

  Suddenly, the wind shifted.

  Pollen. The invisible dust of the cedar trees—the curse of this era—flew directly into my nose.

  My eyes watered. My breath hitched.

  No. Not now. Suppress it!

  "Hhh..."

  My hand shook. The roll of mints in my other hand loosened.

  "Hhh... CHOO!"

  The convulsion was violent. My arms flailed.

  I did not drop one mint.

  I dropped the entire open roll—ten tablets of concentrated alkalinity—directly into the bottle.

  Time slowed.

  The tablets sank into the black abyss.

  Gurgle.

  "Oh no."

  FOOOOOOOOOOSH!

  It was not a splash. It was an eruption.

  A pillar of brown foam shot vertically into the air with the force of a geyser.

  It hit the roof of the truck's cargo bay, mushroomed outward, and rained down upon me like the sticky blood of a sugar demon.

  "WHAT THE HELL?!" the Red Driver screamed, turning around.

  I stood there, drenched from head to toe in freezing, sticky cola.

  My blue vest was now brown. My hair was plastered to my skull.

  I tasted the liquid running down my face. Sweet. Sickly sweet.

  "It is... a trap..." I wheezed, wiping my eyes. "The demon... was waiting for me."

  Tanaka walked around the corner. He looked at me. He looked at the Red Driver. He looked at the empty Mentos wrapper.

  "You're fired," Tanaka said. "And you're paying for the cleaning bill."

  The Shadow in Shibuya

  The walk home was long and humiliating.

  The cola had dried, turning my clothes into a stiff, sticky carapace.

  Flies—tiny, buzzing spies—followed me, attracted by the scent of failure.

  I had lost the job. I had lost the Yokan money. I was a sticky disgrace.

  "I must perform seppuku," I muttered, trudging through the crowds of Shibuya.

  "Or at least... a very long shower."

  I reached the Scramble Crossing. The beating heart of the city.

  Thousands of people walked past me, ignoring the man who smelled like a movie theater floor.

  Above us, the giant screens flashed. Usually, they showed advertisements for hair removal or pop idols.

  But today, the screen turned black.

  A hush fell over the intersection as the audio switched to a breaking news report.

  "And now, a special announcement from Cyber-Security Giant, 'Fuma Industries'."

  I looked up, squinting through my sticky eyelashes.

  A man walked onto the screen.

  He wore a suit sharper than any blade I had ever seen. His hair was silver, perfectly styled.

  He stood at a podium, radiating an aura of absolute control.

  "Citizens of Tokyo," the man spoke. His voice... it was smooth. Like velvet over gravel.

  "The old ways are dying. Security requires a new vision. My vision."

  The chyron at the bottom of the screen flashed his name.

  [ CEO: FUMA KOTARO ]

  My heart stopped.

  The noise of the crowd faded into a dull roar. The sticky feeling on my skin vanished, replaced by a cold, paralyzing dread.

  Fuma...?

  The Wind Demon Clan?

  I stared at the man’s eyes on the giant screen.

  They were red. Not from contact lenses. Not from a trick of the light.

  They were the eyes of a man who had killed a thousand times and felt nothing.

  They were the eyes of the man who had burned my village.

  "Kotaro..." I whispered, the name tasting like ash in my mouth.

  He smiled at the camera. It was a predator's smile.

  "We are watching over you. Always."

  I stood frozen in the middle of the crossing as the light turned green.

  The crowd surged around me, bumping into my sticky shoulders.

  I was not the only one who had crossed time.

  The Devil was here. And he was the CEO of Tokyo.

  Countdown: 75 Days Remaining

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes

  ? Yokan (The Apology Brick): A dense block of bean paste. It is heavy enough to be used as a blunt weapon. In modern society, it is the ammunition used to de-escalate social conflicts.

  ? Pachinko (The Pinball Casino): A loud, flashing temple where civilians feed metal spheres into machines hoping for a miracle. It smells of smoke and desperation.

  ? Mentos (The Catalyst): Small, innocuous white tablets. Do not underestimate them. When combined with the Black Elixir, they create a reaction rivaling the black powder bombs of the Negoro monks.

  Next Episode Preview

  Narrator (Masanari, voice shaking): "The Demon is here! Kotaro walks among the skyscrapers! I must warn Aoi-dono! But first... I must remove this sticky syrup from my hair!"

  Aoi: "Why do you smell like a walking cola commercial? And why are you trembling?"

  Masanari: "The Wind has returned, My Liege! And he wears a three-piece suit!"

  Next Time: Episode 26: "The CEO of Shadows and the Sticky Ninja!"

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