“It’s what we came here to learn about. Well, what Hoid came here to learn about. But he turned into a statue the moment we arrived, and I was left to experiment at being a small business owner running one of the most notoriously difficult varieties of startup. Here, have a coupon.”
She actually delivered one to Yumi, who naturally had no idea what to make of it.
“Anyway,” Design continued, “I’ll need time to think. Maybe the shroud and the nightmares are connected to what has happened to you two? I didn’t realize the other planet was involved. That might explain some of this. Regardless, for now I have other customers. And your body, Nikaro, is about to fall asleep in its soup.”
Indeed, Yumi was beginning to droop. She finished a few more bites, then went to excuse herself to Akane and the others—feeling mortified that she’d spent the entire meal apart from them after being invited. She told them that she’d been grabbed by Design and hadn’t wanted to be rude by leaving. They appeared to accept that, but Yumi could tell—as she and Painter walked out—that the group thought she was odd.
“I’ve offended them,” she said softly.
“They’re the popular kids,” Painter said—as if she was supposed to know what that meant. “Everything offends them.” He looked over his shoulder into the restaurant. Then he shook his head and the two of them trudged back to his flat.
Yumi went into the bathroom and changed into the pajamas—which he’d been wearing this entire time in spirit form—then sat down on the ground and began arranging blankets. Painter, seeming pained, said, “We haven’t even been awake six hours yet, Yumi. Can’t you fight it off a little longer?”
She yawned. “I’m at my limit. Besides, we need to return to my world and get to work.”
“Do we?” he said. “I don’t fancy being yelled at by Liyun again. Here, what about this?”
He went to the hion screen and tried to get it to turn on. Oddly, though he couldn’t touch other items, a little zap of light appeared at his fingertip—and the thing activated. “Ha!” he said. “That’s something. See! I’m learning.”
A pair of actors appeared in the blue and magenta. A man and a woman. Holding hands. Yumi’s eyes widened.
“Seasons of Regret,” Painter explained. “It’s quite good. It’s a historical, Yumi, taking place like a hundred years ago. They’re old-fashioned, like you are! You’re going to enjoy this one. Just watch.”
She did so, ignoring her fatigue. It still seemed hedonistic how there were stories on this screen, all hours of the day, played out for anyone to watch. This world was so intoxicating, with its strange conveniences, wonderful flavors, and something even better than either: The dangerous allure of anonymity. Of living a normal life.
“No,” she said, rising and switching the screen off. “No, I cannot have this, Painter. I am a yoki-hijo. I have a duty. And so long as you’re in my body, you do as well!”
He sighed, sitting on the cushioned altar thing.
“We are going to fix this, whatever it is,” Yumi said, doing her best to summon Liyun’s force of will and sternness. “You will travel to my world, and you will learn the art of stacking. When we’re in your world, instead of indulging in frivolity, I will learn your art.”
“Painting?” he said, frowning. “Why?”
“In case you are right,” she said, “and the spirits sent me here to deal with this stable nightmare you discovered.”
“You’ll be no match for a nightmare. It would be foolish to even try.”
“Then I’ll learn your art, so that I can go out in relative safety. There, I will then find a way to persuade others the nightmare is real—so they can deal with it. Either way, this is not a chance for us to relax. No more watching dramas. No more shopping. I am sorry for not listening to you before about going to meet those others.”
“Yumi…”
“Do we have an agreement?” she demanded. “We do this as quickly as possible? You will subject yourself to my training in my world, and I will do the same in yours?”
His expression hardened. “Yeah, sure, fine. Not my fault if you don’t want to take even a single moment to relax.”
“It’s not about what I want,” she said. “It can never be about what I want. This is what must be. You agree.”
He nodded curtly. “I just want my life back.”
I don’t, she thought. Then quashed that thought immediately, instead lying down in the cold bed she’d made on a floor with no heat.
She’d resisted temptation. She felt sick at having to do so. Yet she knew, in this one thing, Liyun would have been proud of her.
Painter stepped up to the cold spring, then turned his back toward Yumi. She, in turn, did the same to him. The attendants removed his clothing, and he entered the water, turning his back once more when he settled.
They bathed in silence. He still wasn’t certain why she insisted on doing this at the same time as him. She was so shy in some situations, but then ridiculously brash in others. Why?
What point is there in trying to understand her? He’d almost felt like they were connecting. She’d almost started to act like a person, instead of some kind of machine. Yet here they were, on her world again—which meant a return to orders and stern curtness.
He finished the formal portion of his bathing, with its ceremonial dunk, and the attendants left him to soak while they dressed. He floated on his back, staring at the strange blue sky, with plants hovering some hundred feet or more in the air. It almost felt like that was the surface, and he’d somehow sunk far beneath it…
“Liyun didn’t come speak to us in the morning,” Yumi said from where she floated somewhere nearby. He didn’t look toward her. “So she’s probably having trouble deciding what to say. We utterly failed at our duties yesterday. She will be humiliated. The thought of it twists my insides.”
“You worry about her?” Painter said. “What about me?”
“You are nothing,” Yumi said, her voice stern. “The yoki-hijo is nothing. When she arrives to speak with us—which she will inevitably do very soon—you will get down on your knees and bow to her in ritual apology.”
“And if I don’t want to?” he asked.
“My world,” she said, “my rules. You will do it.”
He sighed as a flock of distant specks fluttered around the plants. Insects of some sort, like moths, only more colorful.
“This way you act,” he said softly, “won’t get you what you want, Yumi. Not in the long run. You’ll just end up pushing people away.”
“As is appropriate,” she said. “I am set apart.”
He grunted, then righted himself and stalked out of the bath up onto the stones. The attendants rushed in from outside as he called to them—though they weren’t quite ready—and began gathering his clothing for the day. Then, aggravatingly, Yumi proved correct—for Liyun strode up the path a short time later. Painter felt he should have been embarrassed for his state of undress. Even if they couldn’t see him as him, it was awkward.