Yumi and the Nightmare Painter(23)

The townspeople stayed behind as Painter was led to some nearby hills. Close to the top, his attendants and he entered a secluded alcove where a pool of water filled a natural basin perhaps fifteen feet across. It looked to be only about waist-deep, and no steam rose from it. That was a good sign. Painter was already sweating. How did these people live here with that giant ball of fire in the sky constantly glaring at them?

His attendants drew to a halt outside as he stepped up to the edge of the pool. Yes, this part should be nice. He looked to Yumi, who had followed him past rocks that provided privacy. She was blushing furiously. Why…

Ah. Suddenly it made sense. She couldn’t get more than ten feet or so from him, but he had to take a bath.

“It’s all right,” he whispered to her. “Just go behind those rocks over there and sit down.”

“Hero?” she said. “That wouldn’t be appropriate.”

Then she began to disrobe, undoing the bow on her dress. She was some type of ghost, but it seemed her clothing was part of whatever she was, because she was able to remove the overdress and set it down, leaving her in an underdress akin to a thin nightgown.

“Wait,” he said. “That wouldn’t be appropriate? But this is?”

“I may be in spirit form,” Yumi explained, “but I am still the yoki-hijo, and must follow the directions of the spirits. I must do my ritual cleansing. If we’re going to figure out what it is they have sent you to do, then I must be pure before their eyes.”

Painter tried to forcibly stifle his blush. He figured that heroes didn’t blush. Unless they…what, had just slain their fourth dragon and had too much to drink?

“Well then,” he said, “we could simply bathe in clothing.”

“You can’t be ritually cleansed that way,” she said. “Besides, Chaeyung and Hwanji would think that very strange.”

She nodded to the side, where his two attendants were walking up to join him. He’d assumed they were staying behind to give him privacy, but in fact they’d stopped to gather some soaps. And evidently to disrobe.

Because neither was wearing a scrap of clothing.

For a moment, Painter was rooted in place. Naturally it wasn’t out of embarrassment, as he was a mighty hero or some such rubbish. It was probably something far more heroic. Like indigestion.

“At least they see you as me,” Yumi said, “so you will not embarrass them.”

Embarrass them.

Right.

That was what he was worried about.

The two set aside their soaps and began to undress him, because of course they did. Now, if you should ever find yourself in a similar position, this would be the place to call a stop to it. It doesn’t matter if you’re in a story, or if the fate of the world is at risk, or if it’s merely the result of a few stupid decisions. You never need to let someone undress you if you’re against the idea.

Painter, however, was determined to help. To not mess up this chance like he’d messed up his real life. So he tried to play it off as nothing. He did so poorly, mind you, but one might admire his gumption. You could have assumed his blush to be due to the heat, and he almost managed to look stoic. Until he glanced at Yumi, who had pulled off her underdress but clutched it awkwardly to her chest. Her long, shimmering black hair falling over her shoulders and around her arms.

“You…must have done this hundreds of times,” Yumi said to him, her eyes lowered. “Been…in situations like this. With women. A hero like you would be revered and lauded.”

“Uh…” Painter said. The attendants glanced at him. “I’m talking to a spirit,” he said to them. “Please, um, ignore me.”

They frowned at this, but pulled off his own undergarment.

“It’s…something very new to me,” Yumi said. “Do you suppose maybe you could…avert your gaze?”

Oh. Right. That was an option, wasn’t it?

Now, you might be a little upset at Painter for not realizing this earlier, as it was the obvious gentlemanly thing to do. Please do remember, this had all come upon him rather unexpectedly. It’s hard to be gentlemanly when the world isn’t being particularly gentle with you.

But if you can’t be a gentleman, you can at least not be a creep. Painter closed his eyes.

The attendants led him into the water, which he found warm. This was the cold spring? They began bathing him with the ritual soaps, and didn’t exclaim or run screaming at the discovery of certain unexpected bits, so Painter assumed that the illusion—or whatever it was—worked absolutely, even to those touching him.

He did his best to relax. They didn’t see him as him, so there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He figured that Tojin, back home, probably would have been thrilled to be in a situation like this. It would give him all kinds of opportunities to flex his muscles for everyone. Or who knew; maybe Tojin bathed with women all the time. He did always have Akane hanging off him.

Yes, Tojin would probably relish the experience. Painter wondered if he shouldn’t try to do so as well. Wasn’t that what a great hero would do? He could put his back to Yumi and enjoy looking at the other two.

But that idea disgusted him. The attendants didn’t know who he was. It wasn’t right.

You’re a coward, a part of him thought. This might even be a dream. Enjoy it.