The silence in the room was absolute.
Rory, on the desk, had her halberd in hand but hadn't moved. Her red eyes were fixed on the shelf, on the figure that was no longer a figure, on the woman in the purple kimono who stood there, one hand still gripping the shelf above for support, as if the floor beneath her feet might give way at any moment.
I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. I could only watch.
Tamamo's sapphire eyes, the same eyes I had seen dissolve into light hundreds of times, were wide open. But they weren't looking at me anymore. They were fixed on the monitor, on the frozen image of the cutscene menu, on the title that still glowed there: "Chapter 47: The Light That Fades Away."
Her lips moved. The sound that came out was barely a whisper, but in the absolute stillness of the room, it was as loud as a scream.
"So that's how it happened."
Her voice. It was her cute voice. The same one from the game. The same softness, the same warmth, the same cadence that had spoken her last words a thousand times in my headphones. But now it was real. Now it was here. Now it was really her.
"Tamamo..." My voice came out cracked, a broken whisper.
She flinched.
Her blue eyes tore away from the screen and found me. And in them, for the first time, I saw something I could recognize: confusion. Absolute, total confusion, just as myself.
"You..." she started, and her voice trembled.
"I know you. I think I know you. But I can't..."
She brought a hand to her head, pressing her temple with delicate fingers. Her kimono rustled with the movement, the fabric shifting in a way that shouldn't have been possible because it was made of painted plastic, but it was happening. It was all happening, again.
"I was..." she continued, her voice searching for words the way a lost hand searches for a wall in the dark.
"I remember...."
"I was holding a lantern. There was a hot spring. There was... there was someone. I was going to tell him something. Something important."
Her eyes widened.
"And then..." She stopped. Her whole body tensed.
"The light."
She looked at the screen again. At the menu. At the proof.
"I died," she said. Not a question. A statement. Flat. Hollow.
"I died there."
"Tamamo—" I tried to stand, but my legs didn't respond. I was stuck to the chair, a prisoner of my own shock.
Rory moved before I could.
With a leap that defied or ignored the laws of physics, she jumped from the desk to the bed, from the bed to the shelf, landing on the edge with the precision of a cat. Her halberd was still in her hand, but she held it low, non-threatening. Her red eyes met Tamamo's sapphire ones.
"Hey," Rory said. Her voice was firm but not harsh.
"Look at me. Breathe. Do you know how to breathe? If not, watch me."
She exaggerated an inhale and an exhale.
"In. Out. In. Out."
Tamamo tried it, first one, then two, then three times, then a little time. Enough time for Rory to get back to me.
After finishing, she opened her eyes again, and she saw me; she truly saw me. A normal-sized man sitting in a computer chair, with a twelve-centimeter goddess on his shoulder and an expression of absolute shock on his face.
Her eyes went wide as two full moons.
"Why... why are you so big?"
Rory, the traitor, burst out laughing.
"Oh, this is incredible! Her first question is about your size!" She doubled over on my shoulder, laughing with that lack of divine decorum that characterized her.
"César, you've traumatized her with your mere existence!"
"Rory, please... This is not the moment," I tried to say, but my voice came out hoarse, broken.
Tamamo took a step back on the bookshelf, but there was only more shelf behind her. Her hands sought support on the spines of books, on the other figures watching her with their glass eyes.
"Where am I?", she asked, and her voice trembled.
"I... I remember... I remember the hot water. The lantern. The... the attack..."
She brought a hand to her chest, right where in the scene the light had pierced her.
"I remember the pain," she whispered.
"And then... nothing. And now..."
Her gaze drifted to my computer monitor. The screen still showed the menu of recalled scenes, with the title "Chapter 47: The Light That Fades" glowing in golden characters.
Tamamo froze.
"That," she said, pointing with a trembling finger.
"That thing there. What is it?"
"It's nothing," I lied, instinctively moving the mouse to close the window.
"Wait!"
Her cry stopped me. The cursor froze over the close button.
Tamamo stepped forward, then another, until she reached the very edge of the bookshelf. From there, she could see the full screen, the menu, the image of the scene from chapter 47 where a woman with her face, with her kimono, with her lantern, smiled before disappearing.
"That's me," she said, and her voice no longer trembled. It was flat. Empty. As if someone had turned off all the emotions inside her.
"That's me, but... how?"
"Tamamo..."
"I just saw that," she continued, not listening to me.
"A moment ago. In that... that thing." She pointed at the monitor.
"I was watching how... how she... how I..."
Her voice broke at the end. The emotions all returned at once, and her face twisted into an expression of confusion and pain that broke my heart.
Rory sat up on my shoulder. Her playful attitude had completely disappeared.
"She saw her own death," she murmured, more to herself than to me.
"Literally. Live."
"I... I didn't know this was going to happen," I said, feeling guilty without really knowing why.
"I was just... I just wanted..."
"Wanted what," Tamamo asked, and her golden eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that hurt.
"Did you want to see me die? Over and over again?"
"No!"
The denial burst from my throat with a force I didn't know I had. I stood up from the chair, and the movement made Rory have to grab my shirt to keep from falling. I took a step towards the bookshelf, then another, until I was close enough to see the tiny details of her kimono, the threads of her hair, the tears beginning to form in her sapphire jeweled eyes.
"I didn't want to see you die," I said, and my voice, the voice of someone who had spent years, decades, obsessed with a story he couldn't change to do it.
"I wanted... I wanted to save you. I wanted it not to have happened."
Tamamo blinked.
"Save me?" she repeated.
"In the game," I explained, pointing at the monitor without looking away from her.
"In Star Fantasy. You... you sacrifice yourself. You die to protect the protagonist. And I... I've seen that scene hundreds of times. I've tried everything to change it, but you can't. It's written. It's fixed. No matter what you do, you always end up..."
I couldn't finish the sentence.
"Game?", Tamamo asked, and her confusion was so palpable it hurt me.
"Protagonist? What are you talking about?"
Rory sighed from my shoulder. A long, theatrical sigh, from someone who has had to explain complicated things before.
"Okay," she said, jumping from my shoulder to the desk with her characteristic agility.
"This is going to be a bit confusing, so try to follow me."
Tamamo looked at her, and for the first time seemed to really register the presence of another person in the room who had just talked to her before. Her eyes ran over Rory from top to bottom: the gothic dress, the black hair, the halberd now resting against the keyboard.
"You... you're...", Tamamo began.
"Rory Gremory," the aforementioned introduced herself with an exaggerated bow.
"Goddess of war and death, a thousand years old, and apparently also a permanent resident of this room for a week now." She pointed a finger towards me.
"My husband, César. The giant."
"Rory!"
"What? It's the truth.....For us"
Tamamo looked back and forth between us, first at Rory, then at me, then at Rory again. Her expression was that of someone who has woken up in the middle of a play without knowing their role.
"Wife...", she murmured.
"Goddess... room... What are you talking about? I was... I was in the Empire. In the year 1100. And then the rock, the imprisonment, and when I woke up..."
She brought her hands to her head, as if thinking hurt.
"When I woke up, everything was different. There were ships. Space empires. People traveling among the stars." She lifted her gaze to me, and her eyes were full of a silent desperation.
"I went from being a legend in feudal Japan to a curiosity in a galaxy I didn't recognize. And now... now I'm here. In this room. With you. What happened?"
Rory and I exchanged a glance.
"Wait," said Rory, raising a hand.
"Let me see if I understand. You... you remember your history, right? Your origin. Your legend. Everything."
"Of course I remember it," Tamamo replied, and in her voice there was a hint of wounded pride.
"I'm a nine-tailed fox evil goddess. I was a villain, a threat, a heart-eater. Until..." Her voice softened.
"Until someone freed me from the rock I'd been trapped in for millennia. And then..."
She stopped. Furrowed her brow.
"Then... what?", asked Rory.
"Then..." Tamamo blinked. Again. Once more.
"Then... I don't remember."
"You don't remember what?"
"The one who freed me," said Tamamo, and her voice sounded strange, as if she were doubting of her own mind.
"I remember the rock. I remember the confinement. I remember the new freedom. But the person who freed me... their face is blurry. Their voice has no tone. Their gestures... I can't see them."
She looked at her hands again, as if she expected to find the answers written on her palms.
"I remember their actions. I remember what I felt for him... or her... I'm not sure. But their identity... it's like it's made of mist."
Rory was silent for a moment. Then, slowly, a smile began to form on her lips. Not a mocking smile. An understanding smile.
"Oh," she said.
"Oh, that's clever."
"What?" I asked.
Rory turned to me, her ruby eyes gleaming with that light that always appeared when she was about to explain something important.
"César. Think about it." She gestured towards Tamamo with her halberd.
"Where do we come from? You and your games, your stories, your figures." She pointed at herself.
"I come from an anime. Well, from a light novel, technically, but the anime is more well-known"
"A specific story with a specific ending. And she..." She pointed at Tamamo.
"She's from a video game."
"I know that, but—"
"But in your video game, the protagonist is customizable, isn't he?" Rory interrupted.
"You told me once. You can choose his appearance. His gender. His name. He can be a man, a woman, tall, short, handsome, plain. Whatever you want."
I felt the pieces clicking into place in my mind.
"So if she remembers the scene..." I started.
"She remembers the scene as it happened," Rory continued,
"But the face of the person she was talking to? That's variable. That changes with each player. Her mind can't fix on a single image because there isn't one. There are thousands of possibilities."
Tamamo had been listening to us, her blue eyes moving from Rory to me and back again like she was watching a tennis match. When we fell silent, she spoke.
"I don't understand half of what you just said," she admitted. Her voice was still shaky, but there was Curiosity now.
"But... are you saying that my memories are wrong?"
"Not wrong," Rory said quickly.
"Incomplete. The important parts are there. The feelings. The words. The moment. But the details that could vary depending on who was playing? Those are fuzzy. It's like..." She searched for the right words.
"It's like your story is a book, but someone erased the name of the protagonist so any reader could insert themselves."
Tamamo considered this. Her brow furrowed in concentration, and for a moment, she looked exactly like she did in the game when she was trying to solve a puzzle or understand a complex situation.
"So the face I can't remember," she said slowly,
"Could be anyone."
"Anyone who played the game," Rory corrected.
"Anyone who reached that moment with you."
Tamamo was silent for a long moment. Then, very softly, she asked:
"Whose face was it when you played?"
The question was directed at me.
I felt my throat tighten. Rory, from her perch on the shelf, watched me with an expression of anticipation.
"My character," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.
"I created her. An android at first; later I changed her to be a slime, well not exactly a slime, but something like a robot made of only water to explain it more simply. From an alien race."
"A girl?" Tamamo asked.
I nodded.
"And when I... when I died. When I stepped in front of the light. What did she look like?"
I closed my eyes. The image was burned into my memory. My character, my pride, the one I had spent hundreds of hours perfecting, reaching out towards Tamamo as she dissolved. Her face, frozen in an expression of horror and loss.
"She looked like he was losing everything," I said.
"She looked like she would never be whole again."
When I opened my eyes, Tamamo was watching me with an expression I couldn't name.
"That's... good to know," she said quietly.
"That someone mourned me."
"That's at least I could change my fate at the end and be remembered with care instead of the joy of an evil being slayed"
But I do not feel any sense of relief from that, just panic and total sadness.
Rory cleared her throat. The sound, tiny as it was, broke the moment.
"Okay," she said, her voice returning to its usual playful tone.
"Existential crisis: addressed. Memory issues: explained. Now. Practical questions." She turned to Tamamo.
"Can you move? Can you walk? Can you jump off that shelf without breaking your new legs?"
Tamamo looked down at herself as if noticing her body for the first time. She raised one hand, watching her fingers flex and extend. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, testing. The wooden shelf creaked slightly beneath her.
"I... think so," she said.
"It feels strange. Like wearing clothes that don't quite fit, but also fit perfectly."
"That's the adjustment period," Rory said with the authority of someone who had been through it.
"It passes. Give it a day or two."
"How do you know?" I asked.
Rory looked at me with an expression of exaggerated patience.
"César. I've been alive for over a week now. I'm basically an expert."
I couldn't help it. A laugh escaped me. It was hoarse, broken, more a release of tension than genuine humor, but it was a laugh. And somehow, that broke something else in the room.
Tamamo smiled.
It was small, tentative, like someone trying a new expression for the first time. But it was a smile. Her first real smile in this new existence.
"You laugh," she observed.
"That's... nice."
"Wait until you hear him snore, like a truck," Rory muttered, and I felt my face flush.
"I don't snore."
"Three hours, César. I watched you for three hours. You snore."
While Rory and I bickered, Tamamo took her first steps.
She moved carefully, one hand still touching the shelf for balance, her bare feet (when had she lost her sandals?) testing each step as if walking on ice. The Bluish Purple kimono swayed with her movements, the fabric catching the soft light of the galaxy lamp in ways that made it seem to glow from within.
She reached the edge of the shelf and looked down. The drop to the desk was perhaps thirty centimeters. For her size, it was a significant distance.
"Can you..." I started.
But before I could finish, Tamamo jumped.
She landed on the desk with a grace that surprised even her. Her legs bent slightly to absorb the impact, and for a moment she wobbled, arms outstretched. Then she straightened, and a look of wonder crossed her face.
"I did it," she whispered.
"Good landing," Rory commented from the shelf.
"Seven out of ten. You'll improve."
I stood up from my chair, finally finding the strength to move. As I approached the desk, Tamamo watched me with those Blue eyes, and I realized with a start that I had no idea what to do next. How did you greet someone who had just come back from the dead? What were the protocols?
My hand, without my permission, reached out towards her. I stopped mid-motion, suddenly aware of the size difference. My hand was bigger than her entire torso.
Tamamo looked at my extended hand. Then, slowly, she raised hers and placed it against my fingertips.
Her touch was warm. Real. Solid.
"Thank you," she said.
"For what?"
"For..." She hesitated.
"For mourning me, I suppose. For remembering. For... crying for me, a being destined to die alone and forgotten." She looked around the room, at the shelves full of figures, at the galaxy lamp projecting stars on the ceiling, at Rory watching us from above.
"For all of this. I don't understand it. But I'm here. And I think... I think that's because of you."
I didn't know how to respond. So I just let her hand rest against mine, feeling her warmth, her existence, her impossible reality.
Time passed strangely after that.
Tamamo explored the desk with the curiosity of a cat in a new home. She examined my keyboard, my mouse, the stack of notebooks I kept for handwritten notes. Each object received her full attention, as if she were cataloging a new world.
"What's this?" she asked, pointing at a pen.
"A pen. You write with it."
"And this?" A notebook.
"Paper. You write on it."
"And this?" The coffee mug from this morning, still half full.
"That's... coffee. It's a drink. It's cold now."
Tamamo leaned over the edge of the mug, peering into the dark liquid within. She sniffed delicately, then pulled back with a slight wrinkle of her nose.
"It smells... strong."
"It's an acquired taste."
"Like sake?"
"Different. But also similar."
She nodded, filing away the information. Then she turned to the shelves.
Her eyes found the other figures. The warriors, the mages, the bunny squad, the fairy. And finally, she found herself.
"Does that mean... they could become like me? Like us?" She gestured at herself, then at Rory, who had jumped down from the shelf and was approaching.
I opened my mouth to answer, but I didn't know what to say. The truth was, I didn't know. Rory had woken up because... why? Because I touched her? Because ten years of love had finally reached a critical mass? Tamamo had woken up because I had played her death scene while her figure was nearby? There was no pattern. No logic. No explanation.
"We don't know," Rory answered for me. She had reached Tamamo's side and stood next to her, a tiny figure in gothic lolita next to a slightly taller figure in an blue and purple kimono.
"At least, I don't know. And César definitely doesn't know."
"You don't know either?" Tamamo asked.
"I've been alive for a little over a week. I'm still figuring out how to use the remote control." Rory shrugged.
"The mysteries of our existence? Above my pay grade."
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"Your... pay grade?"
"It's a mortal expression. I'll explain later."
I watched them, these two impossible beings, standing on my desk like they belonged there. Rory, with her red eyes and mischievous smile, her halberd never far from reach. Tamamo, with her sapphire eyes and gentle expression, her kimono glowing softly in the artificial starlight.
My girls. My impossible, wonderful girls.
And then my phone buzzed.
I glanced at it. A message from Luna: "Session tomorrow at 4. Bring ideas. And maybe that novel of yours? :)"
The smiley face felt like a threat.
"What is it?" Rory asked, noticing my expression.
"Luna. Confirming the session tomorrow." I put the phone down.
"She wants to see my novel."
"And?" Rory tilted her head.
"Are you going to show her?"
"I don't know."
Tamamo, who had been watching this exchange with obvious confusion, raised a hand tentatively.
"Who is Luna?"
Rory grinned. "Oh, this is going to be fun to explain."
.......
Night fell, and with it came the question of logistics.
"Where will she sleep?" I asked Rory, as if she were the expert on cohabitation.
Rory considered the problem with the gravity of a general planning a campaign.
"The bed is big enough for all of us," she said finally.
"I mean, we're tiny. You take up most of it. But there's good space."
"All of us?"
"Unless you want her to sleep on the shelf. But that seems rude, considering she just came to life today."
Tamamo, who had been listening, spoke up. "I don't want to intrude..."
"You're not intruding," I said quickly. Too quickly. I felt my face flush.
Rory's grin returned. "César's right. You're not intruding. You're..." She searched for the right word.
"Right where you should, where you are needed"
"Like Family. I think."
"Family," Tamamo repeated, testing the word.
"Yeah. Weird, impossible, probably nonsensical family. But family."
"Our cute, small harem of goddesses, family."
Tamamo looked at me. At Rory. At the bed, the shelves, the galaxy lamp projecting stars on the ceiling. At this strange new world she had woken up in.
"Family," she said again, and this time she smiled. A real smile.
"I think I'd like that."
Later, after Rory had claimed her usual spot on my chest and Tamamo had settled carefully on the pillow beside my head, her blue eyes watching the artificial stars spin slowly above us, I lay in the darkness and tried to process the impossible.
Two of them. Two living, breathing, impossible beings, born from plastic and love and something I still didn't understand. Two sets of eyes that looked at me and saw... what? A savior? A friend? Something more?
I was just glad there was someone at all, close to me in any way.
"Tamamo," I whispered into the darkness.
"Yes?"
"Are you okay? Really?"
A long pause. When she spoke, her voice was soft, thoughtful.
"I died," she said.
"I remember dying. I remember the light, the pain, the dissolution. And then I woke up here, in a world I don't understand, with memories that feel like someone else's." Another pause.
"But I'm also here. Alive. Breathing. Existing. And there's a part of me, a big part, that thinks that's enough. That being here, with you, with... Rory, is worth the confusion."
Her hand reached out from the pillow and found my arm. Her touch was light, tentative.
"I think," she continued,
"that I'm going to be okay. Eventually. As long as I'm not alone.....again"
"Has long as someone else is beside me"
"You're not alone," I said.
"I promise."
"I know."
From my chest, Rory's voice emerged, thick with sleep. "If you two are going to have a moment, can you have it more quietly? Some of us are trying to sleep."
Tamamo giggled. A soft, musical sound for me
"Goodnight, Rory."
"Goodnight, Tamamo."
"And Cesar? Stop thinking so loud. I can hear you from here."
I smiled in the darkness.
"Goodnight, both of you."
The galaxy lamp continued its slow rotation, projecting constellations that had never existed in any real sky. My girls breathed softly beside me. And for the first time since Tamamo had opened her eyes, the silence in the room felt peaceful instead of terrifying.
........
The morning started with a logistical problem.
"Are you sure you want to stay alone?" I asked for the fifth time, while stuffing my notebooks into my backpack. Rory, already settled in the front pocket with her usual impatience, rolled her eyes.
She was sitting on the desk, legs crossed and hands resting in her lap, watching me with those golden eyes that I still found hard to believe were real.
"I prefer to explore this new world at my own pace," she replied in her soft voice.
"I want a moment for completion for myself, as Rory likes to say, boring, typical philosophical stuff and poems."
"Although I'd like to know why you have to leave for almost 10 hours? Do you really have to go yourself?"
"Yes," I replied, fumbling for my backpack in the dark. The alarm had gone off five minutes ago, and Rory, the traitor, had turned it off and gone back to sleep on my chest with no regard for my mortal obligations.
"University. I can't miss it, although I really want to......"
The bus ride was, as always, a two-hour-long minor purgatory. But now, with Rory in my backpack commenting on every person who got on and off, time passed faster.
"That man looks like he's seen things.... Bad things."
"He's the driver, Rory. He has already seen things. He always has that look."
"Ah. That makes sense. Driving this thing must be hell."
"Also, that guy's wearing a very serious suit for such a hot day," she whispered from her hiding spot.
"You think he's a spy?"
"He's an office worker, Rory."
"That's what they want us to believe."
"You still watch too many series."
"You're the one who showed them to me. It's your fault."
"And that lady, is she carrying a cake? Won't it fall?"
"She's been making this trip for years; she probably knows how to hold it."
"And that guy? He's wearing work overalls, where's he going?"
"To work, Rory. People go to work on the bus."
"Oh."
Silence. Then:
"It's all so... ordinary."
"Welcome to the real world."
I smiled, leaning my head against the window glass.
"What about her, the one in the exotic Chinese dress, she's definitely a real professional assassin for sure!"
Amidst the bus crowd, leaning against one of the side windows, there was a girl who looked like she stepped out of a dream. Or a painting. Or both.
She was Chinese, you could tell from her features, from the delicacy of her face. Her hair was black, straight as silk, gathered into two traditional buns on the sides of her head, held with ornaments that looked like tiny porcelain flowers. Her clothing was a fitted qipao, of dark blue silk with gold embroidered dragons and clouds, that clung to a body that seemed sculpted by an obsessive artist: the exact curves, the impossibly small waist, the proportions of a collectible doll. But she wasn't a doll. She was alive. Her skin was porcelain, her lips barely rosy, her eyes... her eyes were the most striking thing. Large, black, deep, with an expression that seemed to hold oceans of knowledge and, at the same time, a disarming innocence.
She looked like a doll. Too perfect to ever be real.
And yet, there she was. Leaning against the window, watching the urban landscape with an expression of serene contemplation, completely oblivious to the chaos of bodies around her.
My brain, trained by years of solitude and fantasy, started working immediately.
Assassin, I thought. Has to be. That assassin's gaze. That poise. The way she leans but is ready to move at any moment. They probably trained her since she was little. A secret organization. Maybe Chinese. Maybe international. They created her to be the perfect weapon, but she... she's different... she seems more like she wants to escape than to keep living.
"César."
Rory's voice, sharp as a dagger, snapped me out of my daydream.
"What?"
"Stop staring at the porcelain doll like she's a piece of cake."
"I wasn't..."
"Your eyes were about to pop out of their sockets. And your mouth... slightly open. Almost drooling."
"I was not drooling!"
"You were close."
I glanced sideways at the girl in the qipao. She, as if she'd felt my gaze, turned her head slightly. Our eyes met for a fraction of a second. Hers, black and deep, looked at me expressionlessly. Then she looked back out the window, as if I didn't exist.
Rory, from the backpack, let out a muffled giggle.
"She annihilated you with that look. Literally. I think she just killed you in fourteen different languages."
"She didn't annihilate me. She just... looked."
"She annihilated you. I saw it. I'm a war goddess; I recognize a killer stare when I see one."
Then, the bus braked at a stop, a group of people stepped in between us, and when I could look again, her seat was empty.
She had disappeared.
......
University, as always, was a swarm of students rushing here and there with that urgency only those who still believe being late for class is the end of the world possess.
I sat in my usual spot, at the back of the classroom, and took out my notebook. Not to take notes, but to keep working on the chapter I had going. Rory, from the backpack, watched in silence.
Class began. The professor, an older man with a monotonous voice and a superhuman ability to make any topic sound boring, started rambling about information systems. I nodded occasionally, pretending to be interested, while my mind wandered through the territories of my novel.
"Hey, César," Rory whispered from the backpack, about an hour later.
"Mmm."
"That girl. The one who pays you. Luna."
I looked up without meaning to. Luna was sitting three rows ahead, impeccable as always, taking notes in handwriting that probably looked like it came from a printing press.
"What about her?"
"Why is she here?"
"What do you mean, why is she here?" I whispered, frowning.
"She's in class, like everyone."
"No, that's not what I mean." I felt a little movement in the backpack, as if Rory was settling in to talk more comfortably.
"I mean... she's Japanese, right? By her last name. Hoshikawa. And from how she talks about her family, their companies."
"What's a Japanese heiress doing studying here?"
I blinked. It was a good question, actually.
"I hadn't thought too much about that," I admitted quietly.
"You're a terrible writer. Writers should notice things like that."
"You're a terrible goddess. Goddesses should be less annoying."
"You're right, but still. Explain."
I sighed, resting my cheek on my hand while pretending to look at the board.
"Well... it has to do with the Ark Engine."
"The what?"
"The Ark Engine. It's a project by a local scientist. A guy named... I can't remember his name, just that he's a genius. He's developing a special engine. Something that, they say, could make real space travel possible. Not rockets, not conventional ships. Something completely new."
"And why would that explain a Japanese corporate princess being here?"
"Because the scientist is... how should I put it... a jealous nationalist. He wants the engine to be a bargaining chip for the country. Something Costa Rica can use to negotiate from a better position with the rest of the world. So he only accepts assistants from national universities. Foreigners, he won't even consider them."
Rory was silent for a moment, processing the information.
"Ah," she said finally, with a tone of understanding.
"So she's here to..."
"Not Luna. Her family. The Hoshikawas. CosmoWave Industries, Amanogawa Corporation, Hoshikawa Heavy Industries... all those companies depend on space exploration and satellite communications. If the Ark engine works, it will revolutionize the industry. And they want to be the first to have it."
"So they sent her here."
"So they sent her here. To study, to get excellent grades, to catch Dr. Ark's attention so he selects her as an assistant. And then, when the engine is ready, the exploitation rights could end up in her family's hands."
"How twisted."
"That's how the world works, Rory."
"Just because it works that way doesn't mean it's right."
Another moment of silence. Then:
"They won't accept her."
"What?"
"The scientist. He won't accept her."
"He's a nationalist, you say. Jealous of his invention."
"It won't matter how good she is. He'll see her as a foreigner first, and as talent second, if he sees her that way at all."
"You might be right," I admitted. "But that doesn't make her university degree any less valuable."
"She studies here, she graduates here, she has a degree from here. That's something already. Besides..."
"Besides?"
I looked at Luna, so perfect in her seat, so focused, so... alone, in a way.
"Besides, it's probably not even her decision to be here. It's her family's plan, not hers. She's just... complying."
"So like a real princess sent abroad to live far from her family to fulfill a political mission?"
"I guess everyone lives their own personal hell."
Rory didn't respond. But I felt her little hand pressing softly against the fabric of the backpack, like a gesture of understanding.
......
Classes ended without further incident. I gathered my things with the speed of someone who'd been wanting to be elsewhere for two hours, and headed for the exit. Rory, already more animated, was commenting on every step.
"I learned something new today," she said.
"What?"
"That teachers can talk for two hours without saying absolutely anything interesting."
"That's practically stealing a salary."
"Welcome to higher education."
"In my day, if a teacher didn't teach something useful in the first hour, they'd banish them to the plains of the damned."
"Did that really happen?"
"No, but it sounds good, right?"
"Definitely more interesting than that class."
I smiled as I walked through the main university gate. The afternoon sun was warm enough to make the short walk to the bus stop pleasant. Thirty minutes home. Thirty minutes of peace before seeing Tamamo, before confirming that last night hadn't been a dream, before...
"César!"
The voice froze my blood.
I turned slowly, with the irrational hope that I'd imagined it. But no. There was Luna, walking towards me with that determination of hers that always made me feel like a deer in a hunter's sights. Behind her was a sleek black car and her driver, but she dismissed him, almost scolding him not to follow her in any way.
She wore her impeccable uniform, as always, but also a backpack that looked new and an expression I couldn't decipher. Excitement? Nervousness? Both?
"Luna!" I said, trying to make my voice sound normal.
"What are you doing around here?"
"I came to find you," she replied, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"We have our first session today, remember?"
"Yes, but..." I looked around, searching for an excuse.
"Didn't we agree you'd send me the details?"
"I changed my mind."
"It's more efficient to do it in person."
"And where were you planning to do it?"
Luna smiled. That smile she used when she'd already planned everything and was just waiting for others to catch up.
"At your place, of course."
My brain froze.
From the backpack, I felt a small movement. Rory, no doubt, holding back laughter.
"At my place?" I repeated, like an idiot echo.
"Yes."
"That way I can see your workspace, your collection, your creative environment." She counted the points on her fingers.
"It's important for understanding your process."
"My process is sitting in front of the computer and writing until my eyes hurt."
"Perfect. That's how you start the demonstration."
"Luna..."
"César." She crossed her arms.
"We're going to spend several hours together each week."
"Would you rather we do it in a crowded café, where anyone could overhear our conversations about imaginary worlds and fictional characters?"
No. Definitely not.
"Besides," she continued, and her voice softened a little.
"I'm curious."
"I want to see where the mysterious proofreader who's always right lives."
"You're not always right."
"Almost always. And that's enough."
I sighed. Rory, the traitor, had started laughing silently. I could feel it in the small vibrations from the backpack.
"Okay," I gave in.
"But I'm warning you, it's not much."
"It doesn't matter."
The bus ride was... awkward.
Luna sat next to me, so perfect and out of place in that vehicle full of ordinary people that several passengers couldn't help but stare at her. She, for her part, observed everything with an almost childlike curiosity.
"Is it always this crowded?" she asked.
"Always."
"Actually, there are fewer people compared to peak hours."
"And is it always this hot?"
"Always."
"Fascinating."
From the backpack, Rory whispered: "Tell her her family's personal assistant probably earns more than this bus driver."
I ignored the comment.
"Luna," I said quietly.
"A question."
"Tell me."
"Why did you really come? I mean... couldn't we have started next week?"
She looked out the window for a few seconds before answering.
"I needed to get out of my apartment."
"You needed to?"
"Yes." She paused.
"Is... too cold, not like cold of freeze, but cold of ......nothing...."
"Supposedly my father was to come today, but something happened, so I intended to do something productive with the new free time"
"You are okay with it?
I didn't know what to answer. But for the first time, I saw something in her eyes that wasn't confidence or ambition. It was... loneliness.
"Yes, there was no problem, " I finally said.
We arrived at the building. A four-story concrete block, with a neglected facade and an elevator that hadn't worked for years. Luna observed it all with that same mix of curiosity and bewilderment she'd shown on the bus.
"It's..." she began.
"It's not your family's corporate tower. I know."
"I was going to say it's cozier than I imagined," she completed, with a small smile.
We climbed the stairs in silence. With each step, my anxiety grew. Tamamo was up there. Tamamo, the newly awakened fox goddess, who had no idea how the world worked, who was probably watching TV or exploring the kitchen or... anything that could give her away.
And Rory, in my backpack, ready to comment on every disaster.
This was going to be chaos.
I opened the door.
The apartment was silent. Too silent. The TV was off. The kitchen empty. My room, with the door ajar, showed no movement.
Where was Tamamo?
"Come in," I said, trying to make my voice sound normal.
"It's small, but... well, you'll see."
Luna entered with the caution of someone visiting a museum. Her eyes scanned every detail: the tiny kitchen, the living room with one armchair and a small table, the hallway leading to my room.
"So… this apartment complex is yours?" she asked while looking at the building with curiosity.
"No," I replied with a small, timid smile.
"I just live here."
Luna observed the walls of the small apartment, the low ceiling, the tiny kitchen. She walked around a bit, measuring the space with her eyes.
"Hmm…" she murmured.
"It's… cozy."
"Although I think if you knocked down that wall over there, you could have a more decent space. Maybe widen the window too. More light would come in."
I let out a short laugh, now nervous and apprehensive.
"Sure. Let me just call the architect."
Luna looked at me, not quite grasping the tone.
"You don't have one?"
I sighed, scratching the back of my neck.
"My fault."
"I forgot where you come from."
"Did I say something wrong?" she asked, genuinely confused.
"No, it's not that," I replied calmly.
"It's just that… not everyone can make changes like that. I don't even own the apartment."
Luna blinked.
"You don't own it?"
"I rent it."
"You rent?" she repeated, as if testing a new word.
"Wait… so you don't own the land either?"
"No."
"Oh…"
A brief silence fell as Luna looked around the place again, this time with a different expression.
"Well…"
"....."
"I guess if you save a little… one or two years of austerity should be enough to buy a small piece of land, right?"
I shook my head gently.
"One or two years…"
I leaned against the wall.
"With the salary I have, living in this city… I'll probably never own anything."
Luna frowned, not with contempt, but with a kind of sincere bewilderment.
"That… sounds unfair."
"Yeah, I know."
I sighed.
"Look, let's leave depressing stuff for another day. Weren't you supposed to come for fantasy tutoring?"
Luna nodded, regaining some of her composure.
"Yes, that's right. So… what will the first lesson be?"
"Oh… "
"......."
"Ummmm…"
"Yes?"
"I really have no idea what to do," I admitted.
"I was planning to plan something over the weekend, but you came early."
"Sorry."
"It's okay, you're here now. Let me see what I can come up with."
Right at that moment, I felt movement in my backpack. Rory, impatient, had decided it was time to participate. Her little head poked out through the opening of the front pocket, right behind my shoulder, where Luna couldn't see her.
"Tell her to invite you to her mansion," she whispered.
"She probably has a bigger home theater than this whole apartment"
I ignored the comment.
Luna, meanwhile, had started exploring with her eyes. They landed on the ajar door of my room.
"Can I?" she asked, pointing.
"Uh… yeah, I guess."
She entered before I could change my mind.
My room was, as always, an organized chaos. The bed was unmade, the desk covered in papers, and the shelves… the shelves full of figures. Dozens of them. Knights, wizards, warriors, fantastic creatures, all lined up in their positions, all staring with their glass eyes.
But my attention wasn't on the shelves. It was on the corner of the desk, where Tamamo, tiny in her blue kimono, was sitting cross-legged, watching a video on my phone.
Our eyes met.
She raised a hand and gave a small wave, as if nothing were strange.
Rory, from my backpack, stifled a laugh while signaling her to hide from the intruder.
Luna, luckily, was too absorbed looking at the shelves to notice my panicked expression.
"Wow," she said, approaching the shelves.
"You have a lot."
"Yeah," I managed to articulate.
"I've been collecting… for a while."
Luna stopped in front of one particular figure. A knight in black armor, sword raised, in an eternal battle pose.
"This one is impressive," she commented.
"What series is it from?"
"Actually…" I approached, trying to keep Tamamo in my peripheral vision.
"I don't know."
Luna turned her head towards me, confused.
"What do you mean you don't know? But if you collect figures, you must have watched tons of series. You have to know where each one comes from, right?"
I shook my head.
"Not really. I collect figures because they look nice, more than for the series."
"As you can tell, most are girls in revealing clothes for that same reason."
"I like getting them and creating my own story for them, instead of watching the original story."
"You create stories for them?"
"Yeah." I shrugged.
"Besides, from what I've heard… a lot of the series they come from have pretty horrible endings for the characters."
Luna looked at me intently.
"Horrible?"
"Tragedies, deaths, betrayals… You know, dramatic stuff."
"A lot of authors like that; they call it being deep and adult, always showing that everything is horrible and not worth it, like real life."
"I call it not having the guts to write a story that gives hope to continue."
"Ah."
"I'd rather not know." I looked at the lined-up figures.
"This way I can imagine something better for them."
Luna nodded slowly, processing the information. Then she looked back at the shelves, with a new expression. Less of superficial curiosity, more of genuine interest.
Meanwhile, from the desk, Tamamo had put down the phone and was watching the scene intently. Her golden eyes moved from Luna to me, evaluating, learning.
I picked up one of the shelves, right next to where Tamamo was, and pointed at a random figure to divert attention.
"Look, for example, this elf knight lady."
Luna approached. It was the figure in black armor.
"In my version,"
"This girl doesn't die betrayed by her own kingdom or anything dramatic."
"What happens to her then?"
"Nothing especially terrible."
Luna tilted her head.
"Nothing?"
"She wins some fights, loses others, complains about her job… You know. A normal life."
Luna looked at me for a few seconds.
Then she let out a small laugh.
"That sounds… strangely comforting."
"Exactly."
"Not everything has to be about saving the world from tragedy after tragedy."
"If everything is tragedy and saving the world, it doesn't make it epic; it just makes it a Thursday."
She scanned the room again with her eyes, observing the shelves full of figures.
"So… does fantasy tutoring consist of inventing stories for these figures?"
"It could be," I said.
"It's a good exercise for the imagination."
Luna nodded thoughtfully. Then she pointed to another figure. A bunny girl with a sniper rifle, leaning against a small plastic rock.
"What about this bunny girl," she said.
"She's quite pretty."
"Ah, yes. That one…"
"What's her story?"
I opened my mouth to answer, but Luna interrupted me.
"No, wait. Let me try."
"You?"
"Yes. That's why I'm here, isn't it? To learn."
I crossed my arms, a smile appearing on my face.
"Go ahead."
Luna carefully took the figure, as if it were a valuable object. She observed it from all angles, studying every detail: the long ears, the rifle, the expression on its face, the pose ready for action.
"She's a mercenary," she finally said.
"Too classic."
"But she doesn't work for money."
"Now that doesn't sound very mercenary-like."
"She works out of curiosity," she corrected.
"She takes missions just to see new places. Places she'd never visit if she stayed home."
I raised an eyebrow.
"That sounds more like tourism with weapons."
"Exactly," she said proudly.
From the backpack, Rory whispered: "I like her. She's original."
Tamamo, from the desk, slowly nodded, as if agreeing.
I couldn't help but laugh a little.
"You know, Luna… you might not know much about the real world…"
She looked at me intently.
"…but for fantasy, I think you have potential."
Luna smiled, clearly satisfied.
"Then you'll be a good teacher."
"I don't promise anything."
"You don't need to promise," she replied calmly.
"Just teach me."
"Just this is already better than that boring Hollywood director mentioning things like settings, hero's journey, payoff, or Chekhov's gun."
"He just wanted me to write Star Wars but with a medieval setting."
She paused and looked around the small apartment once more. This time, her gaze lingered on details she had overlooked before: the cracks in the wall, the worn floor, the small lamp lighting the desk.
"Although…"
"I think I'm going to learn other things here too."
"Like what?"
Luna hesitated for a second before answering.
"How normal people live."
I let out a small laugh.
"Get ready for a huge disappointment."
"I don't think so," she said softly.
"Everything I've seen today… is already more interesting than many things I had before."
I was quiet for a moment. There was something in her voice, in her gaze, that made me forget for an instant that she was the heiress to a corporate empire. She was just a girl. A girl who, for the first time, was seeing a world different from her own.
Then I pointed to another figure on the shelf. A small dragon, emerald green, with a white apron tied around its body and a spatula in one claw.
"Alright, Miss Armed Tourist," I said, regaining my tone.
"Second attempt."
"Yes?"
"Explain to me why that dragon is wearing an apron."
Luna blinked.
"…Oh."
She moved closer to see it better. The dragon, with its serious expression and culinary attire, seemed even more absurd under her scrutiny.
"I think I already have a story for that," she murmured.
"Go ahead."
"He's a chef."
"But not just any chef. He's the chef of the sky."
"Of the sky?"
"Yes. He works in a floating restaurant, above the clouds. The diners arrive on magic carpets or private clouds."
"Sounds exclusive."
"It is. But there's a problem."
"What?"
"The restaurant is going bankrupt."
I laughed.
"A celestial restaurant going bankrupt?"
"People don't eat out anymore," Luna explained with complete seriousness.
"They prefer to order food delivery, even in the sky. So he has to innovate."
"And how does a dragon chef innovate?"
"He opens a small diner on the street. No luxuries. Just good food at a good price."
"And does it work?"
"I don't know yet," she admitted.
"I'm learning."
Tamamo, from the desk, nodded again, with a small smile on her lips.
Luna invented stories for half a dozen more figures. An elf warrior who was actually a retired accountant ("After three centuries of adding numbers, she needed a more relaxing activity, like killing dragons"). A wizard who had lost his powers but kept his title ("Now he gives motivational lectures. 'How to Succeed Without Magic' is his most famous seminar"). An amorphous creature that turned out to be an interdimensional food critic.
Each story was more absurd than the last, but also more genuine. Luna wasn't trying to be epic or dramatic. She was just playing. For the first time.
Rory, from her hiding spot, made occasional comments that I mentally translated into nods or internal laughter. Tamamo, for her part, had moved from the desk to a closer shelf, where she could see and hear better.
When the sun began to set, Luna looked at her watch and sighed.
"I have to go," she said regretfully.
"That late?"
"My driver has been waiting for me for two hours." She smiled.
"I sent him a message saying I was in a 'prolonged creative meeting.' I don't think he'll believe me, but he can't complain either."
"Driver?"
"We live in different worlds, remember?"
"Ah, right. Yours has drivers."
"My fault for expecting anything else."
"And yours has dragons with aprons." She stood up, stretching.
"I think I prefer yours."
I walked her to the door. Before leaving, she turned to me.
"Thank you, César."
"For what?"
"For this." She vaguely gestured at the apartment, the figures, the mess.
"For teaching me that fantasy doesn't need to be perfect to be good. It just needs to be honest."
"I don't know if that was teaching or just shared rambling."
"Both." She smiled.
"See you next week."
And she left.