My honor is stained. Not by the blood of my enemies, nor by the mud of the battlefield, but by the scathing words of the woman known as Aoi.

  "Masa," she said, pinching her nose with two fingers as if holding a poisonous beetle. "You smell like a dumpster fire that rolled into a gym locker. Get in the bath. Now."

  I stood rigid in the center of her tiny fortress (which she calls a '1K Apartment'). I attempted to explain that a shinobi’s natural musk is a tool of intimidation, a pheromonal signal to potential rivals that a predator is near.

  "It’s a signal that I’m going to kick you out if you don’t scrub," she countered, pointing a ruthless finger toward the small white door. "Use the soap. The good soap."

  Defeated by her logic—and the realization that stealth is impossible when one smells of yesterday’s garbage disposal incident—I bowed.

  "As the Lady commands."

  I approached the white door. I did not know then that I was stepping into a torture chamber designed by a sadistic water sorcerer.

  The Chamber of Porcelain Nightmares

  The room was impossibly small. It was a tactical nightmare; no room to swing a blade, no shadows to hide in. Everything was smooth, white, and slippery.

  Aoi had instructed me to strip and cleanse myself. I placed my garments in a neat pile outside, keeping only my broken black goggles on my forehead—one must never be fully unarmed.

  I stepped into the tub. It was deep and narrow, like a coffin for a dwarf. Above me loomed a chrome head attached to a flexible metal hose.

  A Metal Serpent.

  I eyed it warily. It hung limp, dormant. I reached out and turned the silver dial on the wall, expecting a mechanism to open a secret passage.

  HISSSSS!

  The serpent awoke! It spat a barrage of icy needles directly into my face. I stifled a scream, backflipping—or attempting to—but my foot slipped on the treacherous white floor. I crashed against the wall, my hand flailing and hitting the dial again.

  The water turned instantly from freezing to boiling.

  "Fire Style mixed with Water Style?!" I gasped, shielding my eyes. "This dungeon is rigged!"

  I grappled with the serpent, wrestling the hose until I directed its venomous spray toward the drain. I scrubbed my skin raw with the "Body Wash"—a slippery alchemical gel that smelled of artificial flowers—and rinsed the shame away.

  But the true trial awaited me outside the tub.

  The toilet.

  It was a porcelain throne, far too comfortable for a simple waste receptacle. On its side was a panel of buttons with cryptic runes. One depicted a gentle fountain. Curiosity, the ninja’s oldest vice, took hold of me.

  Perhaps it flushes the evidence away, I thought.

  I sat. I pressed the button.

  There was a mechanical whirring sound beneath me. A vibration. A presence.

  Killing intent?! From below?

  Before I could leap, a precise, high-pressure jet of warm water shot upward, targeting the most vulnerable, unguarded gate of my physical being.

  "GAAAH!"

  It was a sneak attack! A Kappa assassin hiding in the pipes!

  My reflex was instantaneous. I engaged my core, pushed off the porcelain rim with my hands, and launched myself vertically. I slammed my feet against the ceiling, clinging there like a gecko, staring down at the bowl in horror. The jet of water continued to arc through the air, splashing harmlessly against the opposite wall.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  "Masa?!" Aoi’s voice came from the other side of the door. "What was that crash? Did you slip?"

  "Do not enter!" I shouted, my voice trembling with adrenaline. "There is a water demon in the bowl! It utilizes a piercing lance technique! It sought to impale my... dignity!"

  "It’s a bidet, you idiot! Just press the 'Stop' button!"

  I stared at the panel. Stop. The red square. I dropped from the ceiling, wary of the demon's range, and jabbed the button. The water retreated. The mechanical whirring ceased.

  I stood there, dripping wet, heart pounding against my ribs. The future is a terrifying place where even the latrines fight back.

  The Temple of 7-Eleven

  Thirty minutes later, clothed and smelling of "Floral Bouquet," I followed Aoi out into the night. She claimed we needed "supplies."

  We arrived at a brightly lit structure on the corner. The sign bore the number "7" and the word "Eleven," likely referencing the hours of prayer or the number of guardians within.

  "Listen, Masa," Aoi said, adjusting her scarf. "Don't cause a scene. It's just a konbini."

  I nodded, adjusting my goggles over my eyes to filter out the overwhelming colorful lights of the city.

  We approached the entrance. I tensed, preparing to slide the heavy glass doors open with my strength. But before I could touch them, they parted. Smoothly. Silently.

  I froze.

  "Did you see that?" I whispered. "I did not touch them. My spirit pressure... it forced the gates to yield."

  "Automatic doors," Aoi sighed, walking through. "Come on."

  I stepped across the threshold and gasped.

  The air inside was cool, conditioned by unseen wind spirits. The light was blindingly pure—no flickering torches, no oil lamps. It was the "Eternal Light" the legends spoke of, illuminating every corner so that no shadow could exist.

  And the wealth. By the gods, the wealth.

  I walked down an aisle, my knees trembling.

  "Rice," I murmured. "So much rice."

  Rows and rows of Onigiri, wrapped in pristine, crinkling armor. Salmon. Tuna. Plum. Kelp. In my time, a single ball of white rice could incite a duel between starving ashigaru. Here, they sat in disciplined formation, hundreds of them, awaiting a master.

  "Pick one," Aoi said, grabbing a basket.

  "I... I can take one? Is this the Emperor's personal granary?"

  "It’s 150 yen. Grab a tuna mayo."

  I took the triangle with trembling hands. It was cold and firm. A perfect ration.

  I turned the corner and faced the counter. My eyes widened behind my goggles.

  There, inside a glass case heated by magical embers, lay the golden treasure. Pieces of fowl, fried to a crisp perfection, glistening with oil that caught the fluorescent light like diamonds.

  "The Hot Snacks..." I breathed.

  "You want a Famichiki?" the clerk asked. He looked tired, likely from guarding such treasures all day.

  "Is it... is it the flesh of the Phoenix?" I asked seriously.

  "It's spicy chicken," the clerk deadpanned.

  "I will take it. And I shall consume it with honor."

  The Sorcery of Suica

  We approached the merchant to finalize the exchange. The total was displayed on a glowing slate: 850 Yen.

  I reached into my sash and withdrew a small pouch. I poured the contents onto the counter—three heavy iron coins from the Sengoku era and a small gold nugget I had sewn into my lining for emergencies.

  "I hope this suffices for the Phoenix meat," I said proudly.

  The clerk stared at the rusty iron. "Uh..."

  Aoi’s hand shot out, sweeping my currency back into my pocket. "Put that away! You’re going to get us arrested for antique theft or something."

  She pulled out a thin, green card. A talisman.

  "Watch," she said.

  She held the talisman over a glowing panel near the merchant. She did not hand over gold. She did not barter. She simply tapped it.

  Ping-Pong!

  "Transaction complete," the machine announced.

  I stared at the card. "Sorcery," I whispered. "You transferred the value of your labor through the ether?"

  "It’s a Suica," Aoi said, grabbing the plastic bag. "Let's go. People are staring."

  The Countdown

  We sat on a bench in a nearby park. The night wind was cool, blowing through the leaves of the perfectly manicured trees.

  I unwrapped the Onigiri according to the complex numbers printed on the plastic—1, 2, 3. A puzzle that rewarded intelligence with sustenance.

  I took a bite. The seaweed was crisp, the rice fluffy, the mayonnaise... confusing, yet delightful.

  Then, the spicy chicken. Grease coated my lips. It was salty, savory, and incredibly tender. It tasted of peace.

  "Aoi-dono," I said, looking at the glowing vending machine across the park. "This era... it is soft. The water attacks you, yes, and the doors are ghosts, but... no one is starving."

  Aoi took a sip of her canned coffee. "Plenty of people are struggling, Masa. Just in different ways. But yeah, we aren't starving tonight."

  She looked at me, her expression softening just a fraction. "You really act like you've never seen a chicken nugget before. You commit to the bit so hard."

  "It is not a bit," I said quietly. "It is a miracle."

  I looked down at my left forearm. The faint blue bioluminescent bruise pulsed beneath my skin.

  98.

  Two days gone. ninety-eight remain.

  I had conquered the Metal Serpent. I had survived the attack of the Porcelain Kappa. I had feasted from the Treasury of Eternal Light.

  I clinched my fist. I would survive this strange world. I would protect this woman who controls the magic green card. And I would return home to change the fate of my clan.

  "Come on," Aoi said, crushing her can. "We have a gig tomorrow. Window washing."

  "Window washing," I repeated. "Excellent. I shall prepare my grappling hooks."

  "Please don't."