“How are we getting away?” I asked Design.
She disappeared behind the counter, then emerged with a large stack of papers. “I have a plan.”
“Delightful,” I said, finding a handful of individually packaged condiments in my pocket. Who had put those in there?
“Yup. You imitate one of their astronauts. We steal their ship. It should be able to get us to Iron Seven Waystation.”
“You need all of that?” I asked, pointing at her huge stack of papers. “To explain such a simple plan?”
“What? This isn’t my plan. These are my recipes.”
“Wonderful.”
“They mostly aren’t. You have no idea how many different combinations of edible ingredients produce something completely inedible! It’s fun.”
“No it’s not.”
“It’s fun,” she said, “if someone else is tasting them.”
I smiled. “Let’s go steal a spaceship.”
“Finally!” she said, grabbing her recipes. “I’m ready.”
“No worries about abandoning your restaurant?”
“Nope! I willed it to someone. Well, two someones.”
“Can they cook?”
“Who cares? Let’s go!”
And so, I escaped that dreadful planet. Such was the actual point of this story, if you hadn’t noticed. Pay attention. And stop encouraging rogue participants to go off script.
I suppose, though, you want some loose ends tied up. Design gets letters from Masaka once in a while with updates, and I was able to send some inquiries to get more details. You should be thankful to her and the others, as this is the type of story I’m only able to tell you because I have the permission of those involved.
You’ll be happy to know the planet, Komashi, survived. （Find it in the UTol system, in dual orbit with the planet UTol—which you might have heard about for other reasons.） The emergence of the sun didn’t cause an utter catastrophe on Komashi, though they did learn the hard way about sunburns.
Turns out, a number of the spirits liked being hion lines, and were persuaded to continue in that service—with proper payment. That kept the heat of the ground down to something manageable. There were plants in the ruins of Torio City they could use to start new strains of crops, and the old ones would still grow by hion, if kept in the shade.
It was difficult for a while, but society didn’t collapse. Evidently the sky can fall and most people will still get up the next day and go to work. I hear the planet is delightful to visit these days. Warm floors. Flying plants. Neon nights. I wouldn’t know, as I’m never going to go back.
If you do go, though, stop by the Noodle Princess. I hear it has some of the best food around. And of course there’s the attached art gallery. Full of paintings and stacked-up stones. Just don’t sneeze.
Painter and Yumi, well, they never told anyone about what had happened to them—though they did eventually manage to convince their friends that she was his secret girlfriend from another city, not his sister. A fact confirmed by his parents when they arrived in a tizzy, worried about what had become of their son during the upheavals.
Nightmares went away forever, at least the living kind. Which meant no more need for painters. Those poor Dreamwatch members had to get jobs at their mommies’ and daddies’ corporations instead. At Painter’s insistence, his friends told everyone that Usasha—the only painter to die in the attack—had been the one to mobilize everyone. She was given the honors.
At the end of it all, Painter and Yumi just wanted a quiet life with each other. Who would have guessed? If you visit, tell them I sent you, as Yumi and Painter do like offworld visitors. Just don’t overstay your welcome, try not to out their story to the locals, and be sure to tip your server well. And if you think of it, point out how humanlike she’s acting. Masaka is increasingly comfortable with others knowing what she is, but she—like all people—still appreciates a compliment now and then.
Oh, and if you’re worried, the planet didn’t end up needing yoki-hijo to appease the spirits anymore. Turns out the things really, really like historical dramas.
To this day, no one on the planet knows what Yumi actually is. They think of her as the eccentric cook of the best noodle place in town—the woman with the odd accent who can stack a hundred bowls on top of one another, with silverware balanced on each tier.
That should cover it.
Oh. Except the kiss.
That first kiss, outside the noodle shop, bathed in sunlight. Lips together, sharing a deeper warmth, her hands to his face, his arms pulling her tight—as if to never let go. Pressed so close their very souls seemed to mix. And in the case of these two, those souls did at least mash together with a blast of abiding warmth.
That said, it wasn’t a very good kiss.
Considering the limited experience of the ones responsible, that won’t surprise you. Yet for two people whose only previous brushes with romance involved some particularly aspirational daydreams, it worked well enough.
Plus, here’s the thing. A kiss doesn’t need to be good to be valuable. It doesn’t serve any real purpose. It’s valued solely because of the person you share it with.
Things only have the value we give to them. And likewise, actions can be worth whatever we decide them to be worth.
And so, to these two, that kiss was priceless.
THE END
Postscript
This is my personal favorite of the Secret Projects. I don’t normally pick favorites among my books, so that’s an unusual statement for me to make. However, this book in particular felt like a special gift to my wife, who is often encouraging me to feature more romance in my novels.
This one also has some fairly personal inspirations to me as well—indeed, ones you might not expect. For example, the biggest inspiration is a video game.
One of my favorite video games of all time is Final Fantasy X, directed by Yoshinori Kitase, which hit me just at the very right time in my life—I love the story of that game. One of the things that has stuck with me all these years since playing it is how the two main characters in it have fantastical jobs. （One plays a cool fantasy sport, while the other’s job is to lay spirits of the dead to rest.） It’s not something we see enough in fantasy—people with jobs that are suited to the specific style of worldbuilding done in the story.
For years, I’ve wanted to write a book focusing on the everyday duties of people who had a job in a fantasy world. A job that—to them—was normal, but which would seem strange to us as readers. This idea stewed in the back of my mind for years, as I looked for the right place to explore it.
The second inspiration actually came from my friend, and editorial VP, Peter Ahlstrom. I don’t read a lot of manga, but he loves it. For years before I hired him, he was involved in the fan translation （then eventually, the professional translation） community for manga. During our time just after college, he was involved in a fan community working on a manga called Hikaru no Go, by Yumi Hotta, with art by Takeshi Obata.
I read that out of solidarity for Peter—and found that I really liked it. That manga focuses on a ghostly master who teaches a young new player to play the game Go. The dynamic is fun because the master, who is haunting the young man, can’t play the game—because he has no physical body. But he loves it. The young man doesn’t really care for Go at first, but through the coaching of the master, comes to love it too.