TACO Run

Chapter 2

"And the rest of my tale is as you know it," Olberic said, his eyes holding Naomasa's own as Kikuchi finished his translation in the faint, incredulous voice of someone who could barely believe what they were saying. "I found my feet, was accosted by young men with more courage than sense, and brought them here to you."

Naomasa knew he was staring too, but couldn't help it. Magic. He was brought here by… magic. He shook himself, feeling as though he emerged from an odd trance. The kind that had held him captive long enough for Olberic to get his story out uninterrupted. "That's… a somewhat unbelievable tale," he said at last. "Not that I don't believe you, it's just… a lot to take in." He nudged Kikuchi out of his own incredulous stare, so that he jumped and coughed and hastily translated what he'd said.

And then turned back to Naomasa, expression faintly pleading, as if desperate for him to say that no, he didn't actually believe Olberic's wild tale, because it was ridiculous, impossible…

Not a lie, Naomasa sighed to himself, giving Kikuchi a wry, regretful smile. Olberic's story might be unbelievable, but he certainly believed he told the truth, which left Naomasa in a quandary.

Either he's insane and escaped from a mental health facility—the well-worn clothes and well-used weapon said that wasn't the case—or he's on some kind of drugs—he was far too sensible and coherent for that—or he's neither, and his story is actually true. In which case we don't just have a big, armed but non-hostile foreigner on our hands, we have what amounts to an accidental illegal alien. A… magical disaster victim.

Now that was an interesting thought. One Naomasa put in the back of his mind to simmer while he dealt with the more immediate situation. "I do believe you," he repeated firmly, earning a brief look that said what are you on, sir? from Kikuchi. "But I'm afraid your story leaves us with more problems. Japan doesn't really have a legal provision for 'accidental immigration via magic'. Japan doesn't have magic at all."

Naomasa watched Olberic as Kikuchi translated that, and saw his face, which to this point had been concerned, but relatively calm, twist into bafflement, glancing all around him again as if his surroundings couldn't be explained by anything else.

Which… maybe they couldn't, in his mind. Think about it, Naomasa. He's dressed like a character from a medieval fantasy RPG, if less flashy. Air conditioning, electric lighting, even high-quality window-glass, those are all post-industrial developments. People tended to stick to their own worldview, even when it was directly challenged. Most reacted badly, some even violently, when what they'd always understood to be how the world worked was called into question. Even if it was just a spoiled brat throwing a tantrum because their parents had finally said 'no'.

So Naomasa kept his tone gentle and cautious when he pushed the point home. "Nowhere in our world has magic, mister Eisenberg," he said with practiced calm. Even if he felt like maybe going back to bed and hopefully restarting the entire day.

A slow, shaky breath, and Olberic closed his eyes. "I… see," he said at last. "I had hoped… I knew I was no longer in Orsterra; I have traveled too much of the land to believe that so wondrous a city as this could remain unknown. But I had thought perhaps, another continent…" He shook his head. "No. Even had whole oceans stood in the way, there are too many great explorers plying the seas to have missed such a land as this entirely."

"You're taking this remarkably well," Naomasa said, once Kikuchi had finished translating the words.

"As are you, Truthseeker." Olberic's eyes opened again. "An armed invasion from another world… I can only imagine how it must seem."

At that, Naomasa smiled. "You were armed," he said, "but I don't think one man defending himself from a failed mugging counts as an 'invasion'."

"…perhaps not," Olberic allowed after a moment, gaze quiet and even. "But I am an intruder here, and were it within my abilities, I would leave as peaceably as I could, to return to my homeland without disrupting yours more than I have already. Even had I to walk the circumference of the world."

He means it. Naomasa blinked. Thought about how he'd feel, if some Villain with a teleportation Quirk sent him halfway around the world. I'd do everything I could to get home, and cause as little trouble as possible. The Quirk Revolution had thrown world progress and politics into disarray a hundred years ago. Some regions of the world still weren't stable.

But Olberic couldn't get home by walking. Not unless…

"You can't use magic yourself, mister Eisenberg?" Naomasa asked, wanting to confirm that. He was relatively certain, from how the story had gone, but it never hurt to get verbal confirmation.

Olberic shook his head. "I am a warrior, sir. Scholars such as Cyrus are the most adept, and many others may call power in small ways, but magic rarely answers a warrior's call." A faint regret lined his face. "Perhaps, had I taken up a scholar's robes, after the Shrine of the Sage…" Another shake of his head. "But I did not, and I find myself helpless in a foreign land."

"Not entirely helpless," Naomasa pointed out. "You defended yourself quite easily." And there was still a lot about his story that failed to make sense, mostly from lack of context. He'd referenced individuals, places, and events that existed a world away; likely most of them weren't relevant to the current situation, but his companions at least mattered. "Are you the only one who was transported here?" he asked.

"I…" That question seemed to startle Olberic, because he straightened in his seat, the faintest light of hope returning to his eyes. "I was the only one present when and where I arrived," he said slowly. "But that flash of fire… It lit upon the others too."

"So they might be here," Naomasa nodded. "Probably not nearby, or we would've had another commotion on our hands, but they might be in Japan." Or they might not. If the magic—think of it as a teleportation Quirk—had just put them 'in this world', well, there was a lot of world to cover. "Can you describe them to me? I can have the officers keep an eye out for them."

"Of course." Olberic took a deep breath, like a lost man who'd found what just might be a trail, and began.

Alfyn Greengrass, a rangy young man with a smile like sunrise and a heart as open as the sky. Olberic's measuring hand placed him at around a hundred and eighty-three centimeters. He had light brown eyes and brown-blond hair that, from Olberic's description, sounded like an odd combination of a ponytail and a mullet, with the top raked upwards and the rest pulled back. He would be wearing loose beige trousers, a white shirt under a rust-colored vest, and what Olberic called an 'apothecary's coat'—an open-sided green jacket of heavy, durable canvas cloth. He would invariably be found with a satchel over his shoulder, which would be filled with all of the many and varied tools of his trade.

When asked if he had any idea where Alfyn might gravitate towards, Olberic had thought for a moment, and then nodded firmly. "He will be wherever his help is most needed," he said stoutly. "If a child cries, or a mother coughs, or a working man favors an injured leg, he will be there to offer aid." A brief smile, fond and rueful at once. "And fail to charge a fee for his services, I'd wager."

The second of Olberic's companions was Therion, no family name. A young man only a year Alfyn's senior, but decades more worldly, with the quiet, cynical outlook of one who'd lived his whole life on the streets. A slight man, likely no more than a hundred and sixty-five centimeters and all lean, whipcord muscle, emerald green eyes half-hidden by a forelock of unkempt white hair. A thief, admittedly, but—Olberic was very firm about this—a good man at heart, who had his own honor and scruples despite his chosen trade. He always wore a somewhat battered purple cloak—Olberic's description sounded somewhere between a shawl and a poncho—and a long, tattered purple scarf, and if he could be found at all, it would likely be in a tavern, nursing an ale and eavesdropping on potential marks.

The third and most pertinent of Olberic's companions was the scholar who'd accidentally cast the spell, Cyrus Albright. A man in his early thirties, Olberic's description of him painted a picture of a man so handsome as to be called beautiful, with dark grey eyes and dark hair pulled back in a low tail, save for a few unruly face-framing locks. Slender, impeccably dressed in court fashion beneath gold-embroidered black robes, and somewhere between Therion and Alfyn in height, he was, according to Olberic, the most brilliant mind in all of Orsterra… except when it came to women, whom he seemed completely incapable of understanding were attracted to him, no matter how blatant they made their feelings. An insatiably curious man, he would most likely be found wherever knowledge could most readily be obtained; a library or bookstore would be irresistible to him. Though if it weren't for the language barrier, Olberic suggested that he might be located by asking around for a very pretty, very nosy man who would not stop asking questions until chased off with a broom.

"Thank you," Naomasa said once he was done noting down the relevant particulars. "I think we're just about done here…" A stray thought made him pause. "Do you have anywhere to stay?"

Olberic shook his head, frowning, when Kikuchi translated the question. "I had thought to find an inn, until I could discover in what direction my home lay," he replied, troubled. "But if this is truly another world, then I cannot know if leaves will suffice as payment."

"Leaves?" Surely he didn't mean literal leaves.

"Just so." Olberic reached down to remove a small leather pouch from his belt, setting it on the table with a dull clink. "I have funds enough for travel, or a stay of even a few months at an inn, if the prices are similar to those I am used to. But if the local inns will not even accept my currency, then I fear I may have a problem."

"May I?" When Olberic nodded, Naomasa unknotted the purse-strings and spilled a few coins onto the table. Slightly larger than a hundred-yen coin, each one was embossed with a maple leaf on one side, and a bearded king's head in profile on the other. And from the clear, pure ring when he tapped two of them together, it was actual silver rather than aluminum or a copper-nickel alloy.

Inwardly, Naomasa whistled. That's a small fortune in silver right there. "Well, while they might not be viable as currency here, you might be able to sell them for the melt value of the silver."

"I see…" Olberic frowned, scooping the coins back into the pouch and returning it to his belt. "That might be difficult, since I cannot speak the local language. I don't wish to cast aspersions on your countrymen, but I also have no wish to be cheated for my ignorance."

A quiet mutter that they didn't quite catch had Kikuchi leaning towards him curiously, asking him to repeat himself.

"Ah, I was merely wishing that Tressa were here," Olberic admitted sheepishly. "As a merchant, she would know how best to go about such business." He shrugged. "I suppose I will find shelter along the road somewhere. So long as I have my sword, I have no fear of bandits or wild creatures."

Naomasa cleared his throat. "Ah… about that…" They couldn't just give him his sword back. Not without the proper permits.

When Naomasa reminded him of that, Olberic's brows jumped up, and then he shifted his weight thoughtfully back in his chair, powerful arms folding over his chest. "Could I not be escorted to the border of this land?" he asked. "Such is often done with interlopers who have broken the law in ignorance."

"Unfortunately, Japan is an island nation," Naomasa explained. "Our 'borders' are a few kilometers out into the ocean. We have no desire to detain you, mister Eisenberg, but we are charged with upholding the law and maintaining public order."

Olberic's expression became troubled. "Then I suppose I must obtain such a permit."

Naomasa didn't know what to say to that. The regulations on any potentially lethal weaponry in Japan were very strict; other than art pieces, you were almost required to be a member of the armed services, law enforcement, or a Hero in order to obtain one legally. Some officially recognized schools of marital arts are allowed replica weapons to practice with… But such schools were very rare, now. Maybe he could claim it as an heirloom piece? That would require multiple levels of registration, and definitely a background check, which was not exactly a viable option.

"That… could take a while," he said at last.

When Kikuchi translated that, Olberic gave Naomasa a level, considering look, re-folded his arms over his chest, and settled back even more firmly into his chair. "Then I will wait."

And he would, too. Even if it took a year. Naomasa was absolutely certain of that, as certain as he'd ever been of anything. "You can't exactly sleep in our interview room," he pointed out, encouraging Kikuchi to translate that with a nudge.

"A cell, then, if you have one unoccupied," Olberic said evenly. "I have slept in worse accommodations."

Naomasa's conscience pricked him. Olberic had done nothing wrong. He'd been teleported here against his will, defended himself from a mugging without hurting his attackers any more than necessary, and even brought them to the authorities. He'd surrendered his weapon willingly, and waited with far more patience than Naomasa himself would have managed in similar circumstances, and all he wanted was to get out of their hair and go home with his personal belongings intact.

"If I may, sir…" Kikuchi turned to Naomasa once he was done translating, brows knitted with worry. "That actually might not be a bad idea. At least for a little while. I work nights," he continued hastily, when Naomasa gave him an incredulous look. "And I already have this interview recorded—" He tapped the side of his phone. "—so if I can use the recording and any further conversation as data, I can probably link it to an auto-learning translation program."

Naomasa blinked. "You think that'll work?"

"Well… maybe not perfectly or instantly, sir, but my cousin Akatsuna swears by the one the Immigration office uses. She helped fill out its French Basque database herself. He may not speak English or German, but the language has enough similarities that I think it's probably related somehow, which might mean the program has a basis to draw on."

"…alright," Naomasa nodded at last. "We'll have to talk to the officers in charge of the holding cells, and I'll have to write up a report for Chief Tsuragamae, but I guess this will work as a temporary solution at least." The report was going to kill him. How exactly did you write up something like this? "What about your work, though?" If Kikuchi was going to be spending time talking with Olberic, he couldn't be in the Records Room.

"My shift doesn't start for another two hours, sir," Kikuchi pointed out, glancing at the clock on the wall, which showed the time as just a few minutes past five. "That should give me enough time to get him familiar with the building and establish some ground rules. And while the Records Room itself is restricted, I can access most of my computer files from the Youth Office, which isn't overly busy at night. Ōmeda prefers to be on phone duty anyway."

Ōmeda Enkai was another of their department's night-only workers. Because his Quirk, Darkvision, gave him the eyes of a deep-sea cephalopod, he had to wear protective goggles, and work in unlit rooms. It made face-to-face conversation unnerving for the other party.

While Kikuchi explained their decision to Olberic, Naomasa turned towards a knock on the door. "Yes?"

Sansa poked his head into the room, ears flicking at the way Olberic's chair scraped suddenly back. "Sir. Detective Tanuma says there's been another Trigger Villain brought in, and if you're done here, he thinks you'll want to take a look."

"Thanks, Tamakawa." Naomasa turned back to Kikuchi and Olberic as Sansa ducked back out of the room. The big man was just settling back into his chair, expression caught between wary and baffled. "Is there a problem?"

"I, ah…" Kikuchi repeated the question to Olberic, who blew out a breath and fingered his heavy leather belt as he replied. "Ah, sir, he said he's never seen something called a Cait working within human society before, and, ah, wants to know if any more of the 'monstrous races' are on our payroll. His words, sir." The records clerk swallowed.

Naomasa felt his own blood run cold. He doesn't think of Sansa as human. The implications of that, and the mess that could have resulted if his assailants had been Quirk users of the mutant type…

It's a very, very good thing they weren't.

"…please explain to him that Officer Tamakawa is human," Naomasa said, letting out a slow breath. "And how Quirks work and manifest. Before you take him on a tour of the station." If they'd convinced Olberic to leave… even without his sword, he was a big man. He could hurt someone very, very badly, and not have any idea it was an innocent person. "I have to go, but I'll probably be here relatively late tonight, if you need me for anything."

"Yes sir."

A bow to Kikuchi, a farewell handshake for Olberic, and Naomasa escaped.

Finally, he sighed in relief once the door had closed behind him. Heroes, masked perverts, the Naruhata vigilantes, and the Villain Factory investigation. It would be good to get back to something resembling normalcy. It only took a few minutes to reach Detective Tanuma and his team, who were already processing the semi-conscious 'manufactured Villain' that had been dragged in.

"Alright people. What have we got?"

A/N: 'Mutant-type' Quirks are those which cause a permanent physical change in the bearer's body in some fashion—examples include having animal features, overly bendy fingers, extra limbs, vines for hair, etc.

A/N: Technically, according to the sprites, Cyrus has vivid blue eyes. But his official artwork makes his eyes look dark grey or black (possibly because of the sepia color scale), and I personally like the thought of him with grey eyes, so I'm going with that. It should be the only non-canon-compliant factor in the story.