Chapter Text
Emilia’s breath came fast as she darted through the alleys, silver hair flying behind her. The little blonde-haired thief girl was just ahead — she could see the flash of golden hair weaving through the crowd, the smirk as the thief glanced back once, daring her to keep up.
Then her vision flickered.
For a heartbeat, the world bent sideways — colors smearing like wet paint, sound collapsing into a rush of static. She stumbled, blinked, and the cobblestones beneath her feet were gone.
Instead, light.
Neon signs stacked high into the night sky. Giant screens flashing colors so bright they stung her eyes. All around her, voices overlapped and tangled together.
“Limited edition—only today!” someone shouted from a storefront, waving bright packages.
“Yeah, I’ll pick up the new volume after work,” a man muttered into a glowing rectangle pressed to his ear.
“Line starts here!” barked another voice near the entrance of a shop with a poster covered in wide-eyed faces.
“Two for one, takoyaki fresh off the grill!”
Emilia turned, wide-eyed. The air smelled of smoke and food oil, nothing like the capital. Bright boards buzzed overhead, displaying images in vibrant colors she hadn’t seen before. Sleek, metal carriages roared past on the road, their wheels spinning fast. They had the shape of wagons, but no ground dragons pulled them, leaving her utterly confused.
Emilia’s hand clenched at her chest. Where am I?
She spun in place, trying to find some landmark, some sense of magic in the air. Nothing felt familiar — no spirits whispering at the edge of her senses, no mana flow in the earth. Just… noise. Endless noise.
And people. Dozens of them, dressed in strange clothes — sharp black suits on tired-looking men, bright costumes with wigs and armor that looked plucked from stories, and schoolgirls in uniforms with skirts shorter than she’d ever imagined.
Their gazes slipped over her like water, not even pausing at the sight of her silver hair and pointed ears.
Then she froze.
An elf.
Or… was it? Across the street, a young woman with long ears, long pale hair, and a glittering staff leaned against a storefront, handing out folded papers. She looked up — caught Emilia’s staring — and smiled.
Relief surged in Emilia’s chest. Finally, someone like her. Someone who could explain. She pushed through the crowd, calling out:
“Hey!”
The woman blinked, startled, then tilted her head with an easy grin. “Hey yourself. What’s up?”
“You’re an elf!” Emilia blurted, hope bubbling up as she reached out, voice trembling. “I… I thought I was alone.”
The woman’s brows furrowed, then she laughed lightly. “Uh… yep. Totally an elf.”
She reached up and tugged at her own ear. The tip bent inward, and Emilia caught a glimpse of her actual ear. The disconnect between flesh and the realistic mold of some material that was shaped like the ears of an elf. From a distance, it was indistinguishable.
Emilia’s thoughts twisted in confusion. Why would anyone wear false ears like that? Why would no one look twice at it? In Lugunica, half-elves like herself were branded as monsters. And here was a woman flaunting them as if they were no more than a fashion accessory.
“See?” the woman said, wiggling it playfully. “Cosplay.”
Emilia stared, the word meaning nothing to her. All she knew was that the ears were fake.
Her relief withered into confusion. “…You’re not…?”
The woman tilted her head, eyes flicking over Emilia’s features. “Gotta say though, your getup is amazing. Those ears especially—how’d you make them look so real?” She leaned in slightly, squinting as if trying to spot a seam.
Emilia stiffened. They weren’t made. They were hers.
Her throat tightened. “…Excuse me. Could you at least tell me… where we are?”
The woman blinked at her, then gestured vaguely toward the street. “Chūō-dōri, near the station. See the crosswalk up there?”
Emilia’s confusion only deepened. The names meant nothing. “…No, I mean… where. What city? What land?”
The woman gave her a puzzled look, as though Emilia had asked the color of the sky. “What do you mean, what land? Can’t you tell? We’re in Akihabara.”
The unfamiliar word lodged in Emilia’s chest like a stone. Akihabara. It meant nothing to her, but the woman said it as though she expected Emilia to know what she meant.
The woman just chuckled and straightened again, still smiling as if in on some joke Emilia couldn’t grasp. “Sorry, sweetie, but I can’t really chat. If my boss sees you, she’ll hand you a stack of pamphlets and the next thing you know, you’ll be stuck out here handing them out too.”
Emilia’s stomach knotted. She backed away a step, heart pounding louder than the crowd around her. What is this place? Where have I been sent?
The city only grew stranger as the hours dragged on.
Emilia drifted through crowds that seemed to swell without end, every street bristling with colored lights and signs she couldn’t decipher. The letters were jagged, curling in unfamiliar ways — and though the people spoke the same language she knew, their conversations were laced with words that meant nothing to her.
Anime. Wi-Fi. Smartphone. Limited edition. Each one slipped past her like half-formed spells, familiar in sound but alien in meaning. It made her dizzy just trying to keep up.
Hunger gnawed at her stomach. She hadn’t eaten since morning, back when chasing Felt had still felt important. Now it seemed like another life entirely.
She spotted a stall glowing at the edge of a plaza, the warm smell of food curling out from its brazier. A kindly-faced old man turned round pieces of something on a griddle, steam rising as he brushed them with sauce.
Emilia stepped closer, fumbling at the pouch on her hip. “Excuse me… may I…?”
The old man glanced at her, taking in the silver hair, the pointed ears, the cloak. She placed a few coins on the counter, hoping it would cover it.
He picked one up, turning it over in his fingers. “Hmm… never seen this before.”
Her stomach sank. “It’s not enough?”
He shook his head gently and pushed the coins back into her palm. “Not yen. Can’t take it.”
The old man’s eyes softened. “But don’t worry. First one’s on the house.” He speared a few of the golden balls, placed them in a paper boat, and held it out to her with a warm smile.
Emilia blinked. “…For me?”
He nodded once.
She accepted the paper boat with trembling hands. “Thank you,” she said softly. The old man smiled and nodded.
Clutching the food close, Emilia slipped back into the crowd, letting it carry her until the lights thinned and she spotted a narrow street corner left empty and quiet. She crouched down, setting the tray on her knees.
She brought one of the round pieces to her lips and blew on it before taking a bite. The outer shell was crisp, but the inside burst molten hot against her tongue.
Emilia yelped softly, covering her mouth, then forced herself to chew through the burn. The flavor washed over her — savory, sweet, unlike anything she had ever tasted before. She set the rest down to cool, fanning them gently before trying again. This time, the bite was perfect.
As she ate, her thoughts drifted. Puck would scold me for this… he’d say I should be eating a balanced meal, not just something fried and covered in sauce. But maybe… maybe he’d want to try a piece, just to see what it was like.
Her chest tightened. She pulled her crystal from her pouch, pressing it close. “Puck…?” Her voice cracked. “Puck, are you there? Please answer me…”
The gem remained dark. No warmth. No answering voice.
Emilia set the paper boat aside, suddenly no longer hungry. But the sight of it made her think of Puck again — how he’d scold her for wasting food, how he always insisted she finish her meals.
She picked it back up, forcing a few more pieces into her mouth, chewing even as her throat tightened. I don’t know where my next meal will come from… not if I don’t have any ‘yen.’
The air around her felt wrong. She couldn’t feel any mana, couldn’t hear the whisper of spirits in the wind. Just the flat hum of machinery and neon. Emilia wondered if she could still use magic, but if this city was deprived of mana, it seemed foolish to waste her reserves.
That was the biggest mystery. Mana was everywhere. Atmospheric. Normal people didn't notice, but as a spirit-arts user, she could feel the absence of it. Mana threaded through stone and sky, through forests and rivers—it was the breath of the world itself. And yet here, she felt nothing.
Her stomach twisted as the truth clicked into place. If there was no mana, then this wasn’t Lugunica. Not any corner of it. Not even some distant province beyond the borders.
This was someplace far, far away—so far it lay outside even Od Lagna’s reach. That was the only explanation. And if she couldn’t return to Lugunica, then her insignia was lost forever. No Royal Selection, no Dragon's Blood. Which meant the elves of Elior Forest would stay frozen in ice, their slumber unbroken, waiting in vain for a promise that would never be fulfilled.
Emilia sank onto the curb at the edge of the street, drawing her knees tight to her chest. Her coattails pooled against the concrete, but she was too tired to care. For the first time since arriving, she felt the sting of tears she could no longer hold back.
“Wow,” a voice drawled suddenly above her, cutting through the night. “That is some seriously high-effort cosplay.”
She startled, looking up — and met the gaze of a boy about her age, messy black hair, a plastic bag dangling from one hand. He grinned at her with a mix of curiosity and amusement.
Her throat tightened as she tried to respond. “…Cosplay?” she asked softly. “What is that?”
He blinked, caught off guard. “You don’t… know?”
Emilia shook her head. “I’ve heard the word all day. People keep asking me what character I am. And I told them—” her voice trembled, a flash of frustration cutting through her meekness, “—that these are just my clothes.”
The boy squatted down in front of her, grocery bag rustling against the pavement. His eyes scanned her carefully — the silver hair, the violet eyes, outfit and boots. He let out a low whistle. “Yeah, you’re really committed, huh? Even the contacts. They look so real. And the wig—”
“This isn’t…” Emilia’s hands balled into fists on her knees. “This isn’t pretend.”
He tilted his head. “…What do you mean? You’re literally doing cosplay right now.”
Her patience cracked. “Then what is cosplay?” she demanded, her cheeks heating.
He blinked again, still baffled, then rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s… when someone dresses up like a character from anime. Or manga. Or a video game.”
The words were nonsense to her. “Anime? Manga? Video… game?”
“Yeah.” His smile quirked, as if he thought she was still playing along. “If you’re roleplaying, you’re doing a scary good job. I almost believe you.”
“I’m not roleplaying.” Her voice was tight. “I think I sort of understand now. In this city, people dress up like characters from stories?”
“Uh… yeah. Pretty much.”
“Then I can prove I’m not pretending.”
Before he could react, Emilia grabbed his hand. Her fingers were cold from the night air, but her grip was firm as she pulled his palm to the side of her head.
“Feel,” she insisted. “Go on. Everyone keeps saying my ears are fake. They’re not.”
He hesitated, but her earnestness overrode his doubt. His hand pressed against her pointed ear. It was warm. Softer than he expected. Not rubber. Not foam. Skin.
His eyes widened. “Wait. What the hell… They’re warm. How are they warm?” His fingers traced the edge of the ear, down toward the point where it met her skull. “Where’s the seam? There’s no seam…”
“That’s because it’s skin.”
“No, seriously. I’ve felt prosthetics before. This—” He gave a tentative tug.
Emilia gasped and jerked back, her face flushed pink. She scrambled to her feet, glaring at him with wide eyes. “I shouldn’t have let you do that!”
Sorry! Sorry.” He raised both hands in surrender, looking sheepish. “I wasn’t thinking. I’ve been awake for, like, twenty-four hours straight waiting in line for a new game. I’m running on fumes. That was… yeah, that was rude.”
Emilia’s breath steadied. Her lips pressed into a thin line, but she nodded. “…Fine. Apology accepted.”
The boy’s smile returned, softer this time. He shifted his grocery bag to one arm and extended his free hand. “Name’s Subaru. Natsuki Subaru. Nice to meet you.”
Emilia blinked at the gesture. Just a handshake — simple, open, disarming. For a moment, she hesitated, her gaze dropping to his hand. Back home, when strangers looked at her, they whispered half-witch , she-devil . Silver hair and violet eyes marked her as something dangerous, something less than human. She had gotten into the habit of giving aliases to strangers.
But here? In this strange, noisy world where no one seemed to know or care what she was, perhaps it didn’t matter. Maybe that was… a small blessing.
She placed her hand in his, tentative but steady. “I’m Emilia.”
His grin widened. “Emilia, huh? Pretty name.”
Her cheeks warmed, though she tried to keep her expression neutral. The handshake lingered for a second longer than necessary before she pulled back, folding her hands in front of her.
For the first time since arriving, she felt just a little less alone.
The boy’s grin returned, softer this time. “Okay, so… I believe you. You’re from another world, right? Reverse isekai.”
The word meant nothing, but the tone made her heart skip. “How did you know?”
He shrugged like it was obvious. “I’ve read enough light novels to take a decent guess. Let me try: your world’s got a monarchy. There are knights. Dragons. Monsters. And, uh… magic?”
Her eyes widened. “…That’s exactly right.”
His grin grew. “Figures. That’s the usual package deal.” He leaned back on his heels, watching her with curiosity. “Thing is… that setup? It’s a trope. In media here, we call a world like yours a fantasy . Stories we imagine, write down, and share.”
Emilia blinked, struggling to piece it together. “You mean… my world is something you imagine? Fiction?”
Subaru hesitated, scratching the back of his neck. “I’m… not totally sure. Could be a parallel universe. Could be… something else. But if you were from a story I’d read, I’d definitely recognize you by now. Which means…” He trailed off, eyes widening a little as the words left his mouth. “…you’re probably from another world.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of Akihabara pressed in around them — neon signs buzzing, footsteps echoing, voices rising and falling in a dozen conversations. And yet, in that instant, it all felt distant.
Emilia lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around the crystal at her chest. “Then… do you know any way I can get back?”
Subaru’s expression faltered. He grimaced, looking down at the street. “…Sorry. No. I just work here.”
Emilia’s shoulders sagged. The weight in her chest only deepened.
Subaru scratched his head, let out a low breath, and gave a lopsided smile. “Welp… guess that means the whole parallel worlds thing isn’t just for sci-fi movies. That’s… kinda insane.” He glanced at her, then added, almost sheepishly, “And if you popped into this world recently, I’m guessing you don’t really have a place to stay, right?”
The question caught her off guard. She opened her mouth, then shut it again, fumbling for an answer that wasn’t there. Finally she mumbled, “…No. I didn’t really think that far ahead.”
The boy looked at her, chewing his lip, clearly thinking hard. Then he exhaled and stood, shifting the grocery bag in his hand. “Alright. Crazy or not… you can crash at my place. Just for now. Better than the streets.”
Emilia hesitated, her fingers brushing the crystal at her chest. Then she nodded once, quietly. “...Thank you. That’s very kind of you.”
They left the noise of the plaza behind, walking until the lights opened onto a broad stairwell leading down. Emilia frowned at the sight. “You live underground?”
Subaru barked a laugh. “What? No. My place is a few stops away. The subway will take us there, then we’ll walk.”
She tilted her head. “Sub…way?” The unfamiliar word clung awkwardly to her tongue.
“It’s… public transportation,” he explained, pulling out a slim plastic card from his pocket. “Think of it like a giant carriage that runs on fixed routes. Everyone pays to get on, and it’s faster than walking.”
They descended together, the air filling with the strange tang of metal and oil. At the turnstiles, Subaru pressed the card against a glowing panel. It chimed, the gate clicking open. Then, to her surprise, he did it again, tugging her gently through after him.
Emilia blinked, glancing at the card in his hand. “So people pay with… those?”
“Yeah. A little bit of money gets loaded on, and each ride uses some. Like a toll for carriages, except digital.” He gave her a sheepish grin. “Don’t worry about the details. Just think of it as a ticket that never runs out until it’s empty.”
Her eyes lingered on it, curiosity plain on her face. “…May I see it?”
Subaru held it up, then pressed it into her palm. “Here. Take a look.”
She turned it over carefully, studying the smooth surface and strange markings. “It’s so thin… it looks like a card, but it isn’t made of paper. How does the gate know how much you’ve loaded into it? How can a slip of paper carry money?”
Subaru grinned, spreading his hands. “Simple. It’s magic.”
Her eyes widened a little. “Magic? Then… this world does have mana, after all?” She glanced around the tunnel, almost expectant now, as if spirits might reveal themselves among the humming lights and tiled walls.
Subaru rubbed the back of his neck. “Ehh… not exactly the same kind you’re thinking of.”
As they walked the tiled corridor toward the platform, he added, “Heads up. Might be crowded this time of night.”
Her brow furrowed. “Is it like those metal carriages I saw on the road earlier?”
“Cars,” he said. “They’re like the subway, but smaller — and you can steer them yourself.”
Emilia frowned deeper. “But… how do they move without ground dragons?”
Subaru sighed, scratching the back of his neck. “Engines. Combustion. You burn something, the gas expands, and that force pushes gears that spin the wheels. At least, that’s the dumb version.” He shrugged helplessly. “Trust me, it works. I just can’t explain it without a science class.”
The ground trembled beneath them. A rush of wind blasted through the tunnel before a gleaming metal shape slid into the station with a shriek of brakes. The doors slid open, and the crowd surged forward.
Subaru shouldered his way in first, butting elbows with strangers who barely looked up, already jostling for space. He turned back and waved her in. “C’mon! Hurry, before the doors close.”
Emilia balked at the sight. The car was already packed tight, bodies pressed together, no room to breathe. “There’s no space—”
“You’ll fit. Just come on!”
Heart pounding, she hopped the narrow gap, terrified she might slip through the crevice between the platform and the roaring machine. Subaru caught her around the waist, steadying her as the doors sealed behind them with a metallic snap.
Someone nearby muttered under their breath, “Cosplayers are so dramatic.”
Subaru shot the man a glare. “Mind your own business.”
The machine lurched forward, gliding faster than any ground dragon she had ever seen, but smooth — impossibly smooth. Emilia clutched at Subaru’s sleeve, wide-eyed.
“It’s so fast…”
“Yeah,” he said, bracing against the sway. “Sharp turn coming up. Hold on.”
The car tilted hard. The crush of bodies slammed into them, and Subaru wrapped his arms around her, pinning her safely against his chest to keep her from being smothered. For a breathless moment the weight of dozens pressed against them before the train straightened again, the pressure easing.
When the doors finally opened, Subaru tugged her out with him. “This is our stop.”
They climbed the steps into open air. Compared to Akihabara, the streets here felt hushed — quiet apartments lined narrow lanes, the neon chaos replaced by dim streetlamps. The city still breathed, but softer now, as though they had stepped into another world entirely.
When the doors finally opened, Subaru tugged her out with him. “This is our stop.”
They climbed the steps into open air. Compared to Akihabara, the streets here felt hushed — quiet apartments lined narrow lanes, the neon chaos replaced by dim streetlamps. The city still breathed, but softer now, as though they had stepped into another world entirely.
Emilia hugged her crystal close, still shaken by the ride. “Everyone was so close together… pressed against one another, and yet…” She hesitated, searching for the words. “…no one looked at anyone. No one spoke. It was like they didn’t even see each other.”
Subaru shoved his hands into his pockets. “Yeah. That’s just the commute. People are tired, they keep to themselves.” He gave a crooked grin. “Not exactly friendly, huh?”
After Emilia shook her head, silver hair catching in the lamplight. “In Lugunica, people would never ignore each other like that. It felt… lonely.”
Subaru only gave a small nod, hands stuffed in his pockets, and led the way through the quiet streets.
By the time they reached his home, the lights inside were dim. Subaru pressed a finger to his lips. “Shh. My parents are probably asleep. Dad’s got work tomorrow.”
At the door, he slipped off his sneakers neatly, lining them against the wall. Emilia lifted a foot, balancing on the other, and bent to tug at her thigh-high boots, but the tight leather clung stubbornly. She yanked harder, lost her balance, and let out a tiny squeak as she nearly toppled sideways.
Subaru’s hand shot out, steadying her by the arm before she could fall. “Careful,” he whispered, grinning faintly.
Her cheeks warmed as she wobbled upright again. “S-sorry… they’re just difficult.”
Bracing herself this time, she managed to peel one boot free, then the other, tugging them off with little pops of sound as the leather released her legs. Straightening, she pinched them awkwardly by the long tops that had covered her thighs, one in each hand.
He shook his head, whispering, “Don’t leave them here — bring ’em to my room. I don’t exactly want them finding out I’m sneaking girls home. Dad would never let me hear the end of it.”
Still blushing, Emilia hugged the boots to her chest and nodded. She followed as Subaru tiptoed down the hall. He slid open a closet door on the way, tugging out a folded futon with one arm while still cradling the grocery bag in the other, then pushed on to his room at the end.
Inside, it smelled faintly of paper and old takeout. Subaru set the futon aside while Emilia’s eyes wandered.
The first thing she noticed was the desk, stacked high with books. Her lips curved faintly. “You’re a scholar?”
Subaru froze mid-motion, then laughed too quickly, scratching his cheek. “Not really.” His gaze slid away.
Her attention drifted next to the figures lined up on a shelf, little dolls in brightly colored clothes, frozen mid-pose. She lifted one gingerly, examining the delicate craftsmanship. “What are these?”
“They’re… uh… figurines,” Subaru mumbled, face warming. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Collectibles.”
She tilted the one in her hand, noticing the sharp ears, the long silver hair, the elegant dress. Her brows arched. “This one kind of looks like me.”
Subaru’s ears went red. “Yeah, uh… that’s—don’t worry about it.” He practically snatched the figure back, setting it carefully on the shelf.
Emilia’s gaze swept the rest of the room. A trashcan overflowed with crumpled wrappers, and a stack of dirty dishes perched precariously on the corner of his desk. But aside from that, everything was surprisingly neat — books ordered, bed made, shelves tidy. The walls bore strange posters of painted figures, girls with impossible eyes and hair in unnatural colors.
It was cluttered, odd, but lived-in. A boy’s room. Subaru’s room.
Subaru cleared his throat, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Uh… I can grab you some of my mom’s clothes tomorrow, but for tonight…” He rifled through a drawer, pulling free a plain T-shirt and a pair of shorts. “…these should work for sleeping. You can change in the bathroom just outside. Just, y’know, be quiet about it. I’d let you shower, but the pipes’ll wake my parents.”
Emilia accepted the bundle carefully. “Thank you. You’ve already done so much for me.”
He waved it off, ears faintly pink. “Don’t mention it.”
She slipped out into the hall, changing quickly in the small bathroom, the fabric strange and soft against her skin. Subaru’s shirt hung loose on her frame, the hem falling so low it swallowed the shorts beneath. In the mirror, it looked like she wasn’t wearing pants at all.
Her cheeks went hot. Oh no—if Subaru sees me like this, he’ll think I’m indecent! She tugged at the hem, fidgeted, then finally stuffed it into the waistband of the shorts, the fabric puffing awkwardly but at least making it clear she was dressed.
Still flustered, she smoothed her hair, took a breath, and padded back into his room, where Subaru was tugging a blanket across the futon on the floor.
It took her a moment to realize what he meant — the bed was for her. He was planning to sleep on the ground.
“Wait,” she said, startled. “You’re not—this is your bed. You should take it.”
Subaru shook his head, already settling onto the futon. “No way. You’re my guest. It’d be rude not to offer.”
Emilia hesitated, lips pressing into a thin line. It felt wrong, but his tone left no room for argument.
“Hey, could you hit the switch by the door?” Subaru asked, tugging his blanket up.
She tilted her head at the little knob on the wall. “What does it do?”
“It turns off the lights.”
Still doubtful, she flicked it. At once, the room plunged into total darkness. Emilia gasped, ears twitching at the sudden shift. “Ah—!”
She edged forward cautiously, but without the glow of lamps or moonlight, the world had vanished into pitch black. Her foot caught on something solid, and with a startled squeak she stumbled forward — straight onto Subaru’s futon.
“Wha—hey!” Subaru wheezed as she landed half across him.
Mortified, Emilia scrambled upright, hands flailing in the dark until she found the edge of the mattress. “S-sorry! I couldn’t see!”
He groaned, then chuckled softly. “Relax. You’re not that heavy.”
Her cheeks burned as she slipped under the covers at last, heart still racing.
The room settled into silence, broken only by the hum of the city outside. Subaru shifted on the futon and muttered, “Smooth move, elf-girl.”
Emilia peeked over the edge of the blanket, frowning faintly. “Half-elf.”
That earned another chuckle from him. “Right. Goodnight, Emilia.”
Her voice softened. “…Goodnight, Subaru.”
For the first time since arriving in this strange world, Emilia let her eyes close.
Sunlight pressed warm against her eyelids. Emilia stirred, blinking blearily as she sat up, the sheets slipping from her shoulders. For a moment, the strangeness of the room made her chest tighten — the posters, the shelves, the desk cluttered with things she didn’t recognize. Then last night trickled back, and she exhaled. Subaru’s room.
She glanced to the floor. The futon was neatly folded, the blanket smoothed. Empty.
Her ears twitched at a faint sizzle from beyond the door, mingled with the quiet clink of dishes. Something cooking.
Carefully, she padded out into the hall, the borrowed shirt brushing her thighs. The smell hit her first — savory and rich, unlike anything she remembered from home. She peeked into the small kitchen.
Subaru stood at the counter, a pan in one hand, a spatula in the other. Pink fillets of fish crackled in the oil, skin crisping golden. He wore the same rumpled clothes from the night before, hair sticking up at odd angles, but his shoulders tensed when he noticed her.
“O-oh. Morning,” he said, voice sheepish. “I, uh… wanted to get up before you. Y’know, cook something for you first. And, um… also make sure the coast was clear.”
Emilia’s lips parted. “You… made this? For me?”
He scratched his cheek with the spatula, grinning crookedly. “Don’t get too impressed. It’s just salmon. Pretty basic.”
But the way he said it — flustered, trying to downplay it — made her chest feel unexpectedly warm.
Her gaze lingered on the stove. The pan sat over a smooth black surface, no flame licking at the bottom, yet the fish sizzled steadily. She tilted her head, curious, but kept her expression carefully neutral. She didn’t want to look like some wide-eyed bumpkin marveling at every strange device in his world. Still, the thought ran through her mind as she tried not to stare: How does it cook without fire?
Subaru slid the last piece of salmon onto a plate and began setting the table with a quiet efficiency. He opened the fridge, pulling out small dishes of pickled vegetables in neat portions. Next came a bowl of rice, which he reheated in a squat white box on the counter that hummed and glowed strangely.
Emilia blinked at it, head tilting faintly. The rice inside steamed after only a short wait, as though it had been touched by invisible fire. Another one of his strange devices… no flame, no wood, no coal. I must look like such a bumpkin, she thought, forcing herself not to gape. She just needed to accept that heat didn’t need to exist in the form of flame to heat things up in this world, it seemed.
He laid out two bowls of steaming miso soup and added a small plate of golden rolled eggs, delicate slices of omelette he’d prepared earlier. The spread looked simple, yet colorful — many little dishes instead of a single heap of food. The portions were small, but the variety was dizzying to her eyes.
Emilia found herself pausing, the thought stirring unbidden. This… it’s a little like what I read about Kararagian cuisine. She had never been there, only heard stories and seen passing notes in books, but the way the meal was divided into so many small plates, each with its own flavor, felt eerily familiar. Her gaze lingered on the dishes, a curious thread of connection tugging at her chest. So Kararagi and this world have more in common than I thought…
Emilia sat gingerly across from him, trying to mimic the way he picked up the thin sticks beside each plate. She pinched and fumbled, dropping a bit of rice back onto her dish. Subaru winced.
“Ah — sorry, sorry. Should’ve guessed.” He rummaged in the drawers and returned with a spoon, setting it in front of her.
Her cheeks heated as she accepted it, scooping up a bite of rice with more success this time. She tasted it, soft and fragrant, and let out a little hum despite herself.
Across from her, Subaru closed his eyes, pressed his palms together with a soft clap, and murmured, “Itadakimasu.”
Emilia froze, spoon halfway to her lips. “What… was that?”
He glanced up, a little embarrassed. “Oh. Uh, it’s just something we say. Kind of like… a blessing for the food. A way of giving thanks before eating.”
Emilia looked down at her spoon, suddenly conscious of the bite she had already taken. Heat crept into her face. Hastily, she set the spoon down, pressed her palms together, and imitated him: “Ita… dakimasu.”
Her accent tripped on the syllables, but Subaru grinned.
They ate together in companionable quiet, Emilia sampling each little dish with small, curious bites. She found herself savoring the pickled vegetables more than expected, their sharp tang cutting through the richness of the salmon and eggs. Subaru seemed content to let her try everything, glancing up now and then with a small, pleased smile whenever her eyes lit up.
When they were finished, Subaru stacked the plates neatly and set them aside. “So, uh… figured you might not want to walk around in just my shirt forever. I dug out some of my mom’s old clothes for you. Should fit well enough.”
Her face warmed. “That’s… very kind of you.”
He rubbed the back of his neck, then reached for something on the table. “Also—this.” He slid a small, flat rectangle into her hands.
Emilia tilted her head, ears twitching. “What is it?”
“A phone. Well—cell phone.” Subaru tapped the glass surface, and it sprang to life with light and color. Emilia gasped, nearly dropping it.
The screen shifted beneath her fingers as she brushed it, glowing icons moving like living symbols. Colored glass that obeyed her touch. She looked up at him, wide-eyed. “This… this is magic. It has to be magic.”
He chuckled, shaking his head. “We don’t really call it that here. But, uh… honestly? It might as well be.”
To prove it, he opened an app, swiping with quick, practiced motions. A video appeared: a tiny cat leaping clumsily into a box and tumbling over. Then another, a kitten batting at a dangling toy. Emilia covered her mouth, giggling softly, silver hair shaking with each laugh.
Subaru grinned. “See? The greatest gift of modern civilization: funny cat videos.”
She tried mimicking his motions, but the screen jumped wildly under her fingers. He leaned closer, showing her how to press small letters on an on-screen keyboard. “Here—you type like this.”
Her smile faded a little. “…But I can’t read these. Not your words. I don’t understand them.”
That gave him pause. “Wait. But you’re speaking it just fine. How does that work?”
Emilia blinked, genuinely puzzled. “I… don’t know. I just can. But these symbols…” She shook her head, ears drooping slightly.
Subaru leaned back, his brows drawing tight. He looked like he was puzzling through something, gaze flicking between her and the glowing screen. “If you can speak it but not read or write it… maybe your language just uses different symbols.”
Before she could answer, he rummaged in a drawer and placed a notebook and pen on the table between them. “Okay. Let’s test this. You write something—whatever word comes to mind.”
Emilia stared at the blank page Subaru had slid toward her. The pen felt heavier than it should in her hand. What should I write first? Something simple, something he would understand…
For a heartbeat, she almost wrote home. The shape of the word tugged at her heart, her fingers itching to bring it to life. But the ache behind it felt too raw. She swallowed, pushed the thought down, and instead pressed the pen carefully to the page. With steady strokes, she traced the flowing lines of her script.
When she finished, she looked up. “This one… it means food. ”
Subaru leaned closer, his shoulder brushing hers, peering at the graceful curves of the letters. She felt heat crawl up her neck at the closeness, but she didn’t move away. He nodded once, then wrote beside it: 食.
The sharp, angular marks were so different from hers they almost looked like scratches. “This is Japanese,” he explained, spelling it out slowly for her. “In your world… do you use just one kind of script?”
Emilia bit her lip, tapping the pen against the paper. “Not exactly. We have three. I-script, Ro-script, and Ha-script. I-script is the simplest — children learn it first. Ro-script and Ha-script are harder, more formal.” She smiled faintly. “This word, food, I wrote in I-script.”
Subaru’s eyes widened. “That’s almost the same as here. We’ve got hiragana, katakana, kanji… your I-script sounds just like hiragana.”
Her chest tightened. The gap between their worlds didn’t feel so wide, suddenly.
She tried another, sketching the delicate marks for water. Subaru added 水 beside it, and when he said it aloud, she repeated the sound until her tongue matched his.
Word by word, the page filled. Eat. Sleep. Safe. Danger. Thank you. The notebook began to look like a little bridge of ink between them.
At one point, Emilia paused, then wrote a new word. She couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. “This one means cat. ”
Subaru blinked before grinning, catching on immediately. “Still thinking about the videos, huh?” He jotted down 猫 beside her script.
On impulse, Emilia added a tiny doodle under the word: a round body, pointy ears, whiskers sticking out at awkward angles. It looked more like a lopsided rabbit than anything.
Subaru barked a laugh. “That’s… wow. Beautiful. Truly a masterpiece.”
Her cheeks flared pink. “I don’t usually draw!”
“Sure, sure. Remind me never to commission you for a portrait.”
She swatted at his arm, half-flustered, but the teasing made the air between them lighter, easier.
They bent over the page again, shoulders nearly touching, murmuring sounds back and forth, her silver hair brushing against his sleeve. Emilia felt self-conscious about the closeness, about how her heart thudded faster whenever his hand hovered near hers to guide her strokes — but she didn’t pull away.
Subaru tapped the notebook thoughtfully. “If we can match enough words, maybe we can translate whole sentences. Build an actual system between your scripts and ours.”
Emilia looked down at the mingled lines — her flowing I-script, his jagged kanji — and for the first time since waking in this strange world, she felt like she wasn’t entirely lost. They were building something together, line by line.
After a while, Subaru set the pen down and stretched, rolling his shoulders. “Mom should be back from the grocery store soon,” he said, glancing toward the clock on the wall. “You’ll need to get changed so we can head out.”
Emilia blinked, startled. “Go… out?”
“Yeah. Can’t keep you cooped up here forever.” He stood, motioning for her to follow.
She padded after him into a larger, tidier room — his parents’ bedroom, judging from the framed photos on the dresser and the neatly made bed. Subaru crouched in front of the closet and began rifling through hangers with a faint frown, muttering to himself. “Nothing she’ll miss… nothing too weird…”
Finally he pulled out a few things and laid them on the bed: a plain shirt, a soft dress, a green knit sweater, and a pair of flats. He glanced at her, a little sheepish. “Should fit. At least, close enough.”
Emilia ran her hand across the sweater, the weave springy under her fingers. Clothes from his mother. A strange tightness stirred in her chest, though she couldn’t say why.
Once she was dressed, they left together, the sweater warm against her skin. The morning air carried a brightness she hadn’t felt in some time, full of the hum of passing cars and the murmur of people on the sidewalks.
When they reached the library, Subaru slowed, his shoulders stiffening. Emilia followed his gaze — a small group of boys and girls, about his age, in neat matching outfits. Shirts, jackets, skirts, trousers — uniforms.
As they passed, one of them glanced their way and whispered, just low enough for Emilia’s ears to catch:
“Isn’t that the NEET? Haven’t seen him in months.”
“Who’s the girl he’s with?”
“Cosplaying this early in the morning?”
“She doesn’t look Japanese…”
The words brushed her like nettles. She turned to Subaru, her brows knitting. “Why are they all dressed the same? Those clothes… they’re a kind of uniform?”
“Yeah,” he said shortly. “They go to school.”
She tilted her head. “School? They look the same age as you. Then… why don’t you?”
His jaw tightened. For a moment, he didn’t answer. “That’s… complicated.”
She waited, but he didn’t explain further. Instead, he suddenly exhaled, clapping his hands together like he’d made a decision. “Change of plans. Forget the library. We’re gonna do something fun instead.”
Before she could ask what he meant, Subaru’s hand closed around hers. Warm, insistent. Emilia gasped as he tugged her forward, half-dragging her down the street with a grin she couldn’t quite decipher.
They stopped in front of a building blazing with neon signs, the entrance pulsing with flashing lights and music that thumped even through the glass doors. Subaru pushed them open, and the noise hit her full force — bright colors, blaring jingles, rows of glowing machines filled with people shouting, laughing, competing.
“Welcome,” Subaru said with mock formality, spreading his arms wide. “To the arcade.”
It was chaos, dizzying and loud, but Emilia’s eyes shone as she took it in.
The first machine Subaru pulled her toward was a strange contraption with two glowing panels on the floor. “DDR,” he said, stepping up and scrolling through a list of songs that all pulsed with impossible energy. A torrent of arrows streamed up the screen, and then he started moving — stomping, spinning, arms flailing with theatrical flair. It was utterly ridiculous, but also weirdly in rhythm.
Emilia clapped her hands over her mouth, laughter spilling out at the sight of him hopping around like a man possessed.
Subaru shot her a look mid-spin. “Oh yeah? You think you can do better?” He thrust a hand out toward her, daring her to join.
Before she could refuse, he tugged her up onto the other pad. The arrows came too fast, the music too loud, and she nearly tripped trying to keep up, but her laughter carried over the beat. Each time she missed a step, Subaru shouted encouragement—or mock pity. When the game ended, a stream of tickets spilled from the machine’s slot. Subaru crouched down, scooping them up and holding them like a prize.
“See? Victory spoils,” he said with a grin, draping the strip of tickets over her shoulders like a scarf.
Next came a racing game. Subaru dropped into the seat with exaggerated seriousness, gripping the wheel like a professional driver. Emilia hesitated before climbing into the one beside him, the smooth wheel cold beneath her hands.
“This,” Subaru said, voice low and dramatic as the screen lit up with winding roads and roaring engines, “is what it’s like to drive a car. You know—those horseless carriages we saw yesterday.”
Her eyes widened, remembering the metal beasts rumbling down the streets outside. “You can… control one? Just like this?”
“Yep. Exactly like this.” He winked, then stomped the pedal. His car shot forward, swerving wildly as he leaned into every turn with his whole body. Emilia clung to the wheel, steering far too cautiously, her car lagging behind. By the time Subaru finished, she was still crawling along the track.
When her game sputtered out, he leaned over, grinning smugly. “Driving lesson complete. You’re officially the slowest thing on four wheels.”
She pouted, swatting at him, but couldn’t stop smiling. The machine spat out another cascade of tickets, which Subaru collected with a flourish.
They moved on to a basketball hoop game. Plastic balls rolled down the slope toward them as a buzzer sounded. Subaru scooped one up and launched it toward the hoop, then another, and another. Most clanged off the rim, bouncing uselessly back down.
“Basketball,” he explained breathlessly between shots, “is a sport—real one, not just this. You score by getting the ball through the hoop. Easy.” Another ball sailed wide. “Okay, not that easy.”
Emilia picked one up hesitantly, weighing it in her hands. She glanced at the hoop, threw—too soft, it barely touched the rim. She tried again, harder this time, and the ball arced neatly through. Surprised, she blinked, then tossed another. That one went in too.
Subaru froze mid-throw, watching. “Wait. Wait, what?”
Emilia’s lips curved into a sly little smile. She picked up a third ball, sank it, then looked at him from beneath her lashes. “Like that?”
His ball clattered off the backboard. He groaned. She giggled, scooping up the stream of tickets spilling from the machine while he sulked beside her.
They were still laughing when Emilia’s gaze wandered. Near the back of the arcade, a glass box glowed, packed tight with stuffed animals. Rows of bright creatures stared out with button eyes and stitched smiles. One in particular caught her attention — a round yellow one with long ears and red cheeks, perched just out of reach on the pile.
Subaru followed her eyes. “That one, huh? Pikachu. Classic.” He grinned, slipping a coin into the slot. “Alright, watch and learn.”
The claw descended with a hum, closing around the plush toy. For a moment, it seemed to hold—then slipped free, the Pikachu tumbling back into the heap.
“Damn it. That was close.” Subaru fed another coin in, jaw tight with determination.
The claw dropped again, brushing the toy, missing entirely. “Okay, okay, that one doesn’t count. Next time for sure.”
Another coin. Another slip. “Tch—scam machine. They rig these things, I swear.”
Emilia pressed her hands together, trying not to laugh at how serious he looked. “You don’t have to…”
“No, no, I’ve got it. I definitely got it this time.” Another coin clinked into the slot. The claw descended, gripped, lifted—then let go at the very last second.
Subaru slapped his forehead. “Are you kidding me?! It was right there!”
Coin after coin vanished into the machine as he muttered curses and promises under his breath. Each attempt was almost, nearly, so close—but never quite enough. Emilia’s eyes followed the claw, bright with hope every time, only to sink back into laughter when it failed again.
Finally Subaru stood frozen, staring at the coin slot like it had personally betrayed him. “How much have I spent already…? Ugh. This thing’s bleeding me dry.”
Emilia giggled, silver hair trembling as she shook her head. “Maybe it’s a sign you should stop.”
He groaned, but she could see the smallest curve of a smile tugging at his lips. Even if he hadn’t won, he’d tried—over and over—just because she thought the silly yellow creature was cute.
They left the claw machine empty-handed, Subaru dragging his feet like a man defeated. Emilia walked beside him, still giggling behind her hand.
“You really thought you had it that time,” she teased.
“It slipped,” he muttered.
“And that time?”
“Also slipped.”
“And the other… six?”
He groaned, slumping. “You’re never gonna let me live this down, are you?”
She beamed at him, mischievous. “Never.”
Subaru gave her a mock glare, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him. “Alright then. Plan B.”
He rented a tiny karaoke room, leading her into a soundproof box with couches and a big screen. Emilia blinked around, bewildered. “You… sing here? On purpose?”
“That’s the whole point!” Subaru flipped through the song list with dramatic flair, scrolling past dozens of titles she couldn’t even begin to read. He stopped suddenly, lips curling into a grin. “Ah. Yeah. This one.”
He selected it and grabbed the microphone like he was about to perform in front of a stadium crowd. Emilia tilted her head, unsure whether to laugh or be worried.
The speakers crackled, and a low, mournful melody poured into the tiny room. Subaru gripped the mic with both hands, head bowed, eyes shut. For a moment he stood perfectly still, drawing in breath, and then his voice rose, sharp and strained, as though he were crying out to someone who wasn’t there:
“Oh, won't you tell me
Won't you tell me
This thing I've come to be?
The monster that you see
Is it a part of me?”
Emilia sat frozen as his voice cracked against the high notes. He wasn’t just singing — he was throwing himself into it , body trembling, the words tearing out of him like confession.
“I'm breaking down and shaking 'round in
This world so helplessly
But you just laugh and grin
Completely blind within—”
She laughed at the way he clutched his chest, almost theatrical, but there was something in the sound too—something that made her throat tighten.
Then suddenly, Subaru thrust the mic into her hands. “Your turn.”
Her stomach dropped. She fumbled with the microphone as the lyrics scrolled on the screen, unreadable to her. Subaru kept singing, his voice strong, and she realized he expected her to follow him.
She gripped the mic with both hands, forcing her voice out in shaky bursts, trying to match his words as he belted them.
“There's no point now, broken anyway
I try to stop my breath—”
She stumbled after him, off-key, every note wobbling painfully. It was awful. She knew it was awful. Her voice wavered so badly she winced at her own sound, but Subaru was grinning through the verse, even leaning closer to sing with her, their mismatched voices tangling together.
By the time she trailed off, breathless and embarrassed, he was laughing outright, pounding the couch with his fist, eyes bright not with mockery but with delight.
“Perfect,” he said between gasps of laughter. “Absolutely perfect.”
Before Emilia could bury her face in her hands, the music swelled, and Subaru surged back in, his voice rougher, desperate, filling the tiny room like it was an arena.
“So breakable, unbreakable
I’m shaking but unshakable
The real you I’ve found at last—”
The beat dropped, faster, harder, and he launched into the chorus with everything he had.
“I'm standing alone in this world that keeps on changing
But hiding away, my true self is fading!
I hope you give up
There's nothing left to see
No, don't look at me—”
His voice broke but he forced it louder, eyes closed, face scrunched with intensity. Emilia clapped her hands over her mouth again, torn between laughter and awe.
“I'm standing in this world that someone imagined
I never want to hurt you, so until the end
I'm begging you, please, just to remember me
As clear as I used to be—”
The song ended in a ragged note, the speakers cutting to silence. Subaru collapsed back onto the couch, panting, sweat on his brow.
Emilia couldn’t stop laughing, even as her chest ached. He looked so ridiculous … and yet, she thought, so honest.
When they finally left the karaoke room, Subaru tugged her toward a bustling shopping street. The air was alive with sizzling smells, clattering pans, and the chatter of passersby. Emilia’s eyes darted from stall to stall, dazzled by the variety.
Subaru bought her a fish-shaped pastry filled with something warm and sweet. She bit into it, blinking at the red bean paste inside. “Mmm! What is this?”
“Taiyaki. You like it?”
She nodded furiously, cheeks puffed as she chewed. Next came skewers of grilled meat dripping with sauce, which he called teriyaki, and a thin folded pastry filled with cream and fruit. Emilia licked a bit of cream from her finger, eyes shining. Everything was exotic and wondrous, like stepping into a feast from a storybook.
She tilted her head, ears twitching curiously. “So… you have a food called taiyaki , and another called teriyaki … and earlier I saw a sign for something called takoyaki ?”
Subaru almost choked on his own bite, sputtering a laugh. “Yeah, yeah—we like the ‘yaki’ sound, okay? It doesn’t mean they’re all the same thing.”
Emilia’s lips quirked, clearly amused. “Are you sure? They sound like cousins. Maybe even siblings.”
He groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Don’t make fun of our cuisine naming conventions…”
She giggled behind her hand, enjoying the way his ears turned a little pink.
But then she noticed Subaru stiffen. Up ahead, she caught a glimpse of a building with tall gates and neat windows, a cluster of uniforms walking past. Subaru’s hand clenched at his side. Without a word, he steered her down a side street, away from the gates.
Her ears twitched, but she said nothing. The laughter in his voice when he asked if she wanted another crepe felt a little too forced.
After they finished eating, Subaru suddenly brightened. “Hey. One more stop. You’ll like this.”
They took a bus to a local fairground, the ride rattling through rows of buildings until bright colors and flashing lights filled the windows. Emilia pressed her face to the glass, wide-eyed.
Inside, the air smelled of popcorn and sugar, though the place itself felt oddly quiet. The walkways were mostly empty, games unmanned, rides standing still except for the slow turn of a towering wheel. The attendant slouched at its gate looked half-asleep, his chin propped on one hand. His eyes flicked up when Subaru approached, surprise crossing his face.
“Aren’t you kids supposed to be in school?”
Subaru didn’t even flinch. “Are you gonna let us onto the Ferris wheel or what?”
The attendant snorted, hitting the button to unlock the gate. “Not my problem if the probation officer catches you.”
Subaru just waved him off and led Emilia into one of the carriages.
As it lifted them higher, Emilia clutched the railing, breath catching at the sweep of city lights beneath them. “It’s… beautiful,” she whispered.
Subaru leaned back, watching her expression instead of the view. He laughed softly. “Yeah. Kinda is.”
She caught the way his smile wavered when he thought she wasn’t looking. He was trying—too hard, maybe—to keep her smiling. Distracting her, and maybe himself, from something heavier.
She let the silence linger before speaking gently. “Subaru… this is all wonderful. But maybe tomorrow… we should try the library again. I’d like to be able to read your language soon.”
He blinked, surprised, then rubbed the back of his neck with a crooked grin. “…Yeah. You’re probably right.”