Chapter 21: E
The shrine was modest, lit by the cool glow of a single monitor. Ren placed a can of high-caffeine soda before it, alongside an offering of salted chips. He bowed deeply, his long hair sweeping the floor.
“O mighty rig,” he intoned, voice thick with sacramental gravity. “Processor of my victories, guardian of my rankings. I go into the wilderness of… not you. Keep my login credentials safe. May my absentee penalties be minimal. May my guildmates not plunder my treasury.”
From the doorway, Yuna watched, one sharp-nailed finger tapping against her folded arm. “Are you quite finished? The car is here in ten. We need to make the Shinkansen.”
“This is a spiritual undertaking!” he shot back, rising from his knees. The black lace of his casual ‘Rena’ outfit—a compromise Yuna allowed for travel—felt foreign against his skin. “You’re severing me from my divine instrument. I’ll get withdrawal. The shakes. I’ll start seeing health bars over people’s heads.”
“Perhaps that will help you strategize our next move,” Yuna said, unmoved. She glanced at the shimmering, neon-lit battle station with something akin to disgust. “Your patron deity is a dust-magnet. Now move. Your real party is waiting.”
The station was a cathedral of steel and echoing announcements. When Ren saw the sleek, bullet-nosed train on the platform, a cold sweat immediately beaded at the base of his spine.
“‘C4’s Countryside Heartache Tour’,” Mina read aloud from a hastily printed itinerary, her twin tails bobbing. “That’s what Akira’s promoting manager is calling this? We’re not on tour, we’re on a rescue mission!”
“Perception is everything,” Yuna said smoothly, shepherding them towards the first-class carriage. “A private working retreat to support our beloved Suki during a family emergency. It’s compassionate. It’s cohesive. It sells.”
Hikaru fell into step beside Ren, her voice a low murmur only he could hear. “You look pale. And not your usual, tasteful foundation kind of pale.”
“Trains and I have an understanding,” Ren muttered, adjusting the strap of his overnight bag. “I ignore their existence, and they don’t make the contents of my stomach revisit me.”
“A weak constitution. Noted.” A ghost of a smile played on her lips.
Once aboard, the world began to slide past the window. Tokyo’s dense matrix of buildings slowly unraveled into flat stretches of distant suburbs. Ren focused on a fixed point on the horizon, a technique that had never worked before.
Mina pressed her face to the glass. “Wow, look! Actual fields! They’re so… green and rectangular.”
“That’s generally the shape of fields, yes,” Hikaru said, scrolling through her phone. “Kyoto prefecture law firm, ‘Yamato & Associates’… old, prestigious, specializes in land and inheritance disputes. Very traditional.”
“So she’s, like, clan royalty?” Mina asked, wide-eyed.
“More like a prisoner of succession,” Ren grumbled, immediately regretting it as the train took a gentle curve. A familiar, greasy unease churned in his gut.
Yuna was across the aisle, tapping rapidly on a tablet. “The narrative is building beautifully. ‘C4, bound by sisterhood, journeys to the ancient capital in solidarity.’ The engagement metrics are already spiking. Hashtag FindSuki, hashtag C4Family.”
“Is any of this actually about Suki?” Ren snapped, immediately clamping a hand over his mouth as a lurch sent a wave of nausea through him.
Yuna looked over, her gaze cool and assessing. “It is now. Because we are. Your little eyewitness account made it personal for the fans. That’s leverage. That’s modern knight-errantry, powered by likes and retweets. Now, try not to vomit on your merch, dear. The blazer is limited edition.”
The greasy unease solidified into a rising, acrid tide. Ren’s fixed-point strategy failed spectacularly. The countryside, a peaceful blur of green and brown to the others, became a nauseating smear. His inner ear staged a full-scale rebellion against his eyes.
He fumbled for the sickness bag in the seat pocket with a desperate, groping panic.
“Oh no,” Mina whispered, spotting his greenish hue.
The first heave was a dry, painful protest. The second was more productive. He hunched over the pale blue bag, his elegant facade utterly demolished by the violent, undignified reality of motion sickness.
“And there it is,” Hikaru observed, not unkindly. She handed him a bottle of water from her bag. “Here. Small sips.”
Ren took it, his hand trembling. “I hate everything,” he moaned, voice rough and utterly un-Rena-like.
For the next hour, the journey became a rhythmic cycle of dreadful calm and sudden, jarring crisis. Yuna watched with clinical detachment, occasionally taking a photo of the scenic window view for social media, carefully framing out her incapacitated ‘colleague’. Mina offered upbeat, useless advice like “Think of calm clouds!” Hikaru simply provided a steady supply of water and bags, her silence more comforting than any platitude.
During a brief respite, Ren slumped against the window, damp with sweat. “This is hell. This is my punishment for a lifetime of button-mashing and trash-talking.”
“Probably,” Hikaru agreed. She was looking at him again, that penetrative stare cutting through the illness. “You know, for someone who professes to not care about any of this, you got very upset when Suki was taken. You followed her. You ran back to tell us. You’re currently expelling your soul into a bag for her.”
Ren closed his eyes. “Don’t read into it. I just have a… a gamer’s reflex. You see an NPC getting dragged off, you intervene. It’s basic quest logic.”
“Mmm.” The sound was non-committal. “Well, your ‘quest logic’ has us on a train to Kyoto. So perhaps less ‘NPC’ and more ‘party member’.”
As the urban sprawl of Kyoto finally appeared, ancient pagodas mingling with modern concrete, Ren’s stomach began to settle into a queasy truce. The train slowed, its smooth glide becoming a manageable crawl.
Yuna stood, flawless and unrumpled. “Alright, everyone. Masks on, please. We’re being met at the platform by a local affiliate. Remember the narrative: concerned colleagues, personal retreat.”
Ren staggered to his feet, a collection of used bags clutched in one hand. He felt hollowed out, frail. Hikaru took the bags from him without a word and disposed of them.
On the platform, the air was different. Softer, laden with the subtle scent of old wood and distant moss. The weight of centuries felt palpable after Tokyo’ electric buzz.
A young woman with a professional smile and a ‘C4 Local Support’ badge greeted Yuna. As they were led towards the exit, Hikaru nudged Ren’s shoulder with her own, a brief, solid contact.
“The battlefield has changed,” she said quietly, her eyes scanning the station crowd, the exits, the waiting town cars. “No more screens. Real-world rules apply. You got us here, Rena.” She stressed the name, just slightly. “Now let’s see if your kind of strategy works off-line.”
Ren looked out at the waiting city, ancient and inscrutable. His computer felt a galaxy away. Somewhere in this maze of tradition and shadow, Suki was waiting. And for the first time, the challenge ahead didn’t feel like a game he could simply quit.