TACO Run

Chapter 6

'…and so I found myself uncomfortably seated upon a metal sculpture whose function I have yet to determine,' Cyrus concluded, waving the parfait spoon for emphasis. He'd worked his way steadily through the parfait, and through his unbelievable story, over the course of the past two hours. Admittedly, a good chunk of that time had been spent in digressions into the history of various places and people Keigo had never heard of, but at least he'd managed to get out a coherent story in the end.

Coherent, but crazy. 'Cosplayer' seemed about right, because Cyrus' story came right out of a light novel. Magic, monsters, world-ending gods of evil and destruction sealed behind ancient ruins…

And the worst part was that Keigo almost believed him.

Crazy, but coherent. Cyrus's story was too detailed, too elaborate, and all of those details tied together perfectly. And the way the people in his story acted towards each other…

That's what friends are actually like. Comfortable, casual, but not hesitating to poke fun at each other's bad habits. Willing to indulge each other's eccentricities, and familiar enough to buy meaningful presents.

The only inconsistency Keigo could find was with Cyrus himself. "You're really thirty-three?"

'Why, yes,' Cyrus said, scooping up the last bit of melted soft-serve with an expression of delight. 'I know that is a bit young for an assistant headmaster, but with Yvon's passing there really were not too many options among the senior staff—'

"No, I meant, you're really thirty-three." Keigo gave Cyrus an almost incredulous look. "You don't look that much older than me."

Cyrus blinked down at the phone, and then up at Keigo, baffled. 'You flatter me sir, but to say I look half my own age is surely an exaggeration.'

"Not much of one." Keigo shrugged his wings. "I mean, okay, I'd've put you closer to mid twenties, not nineteen, but you do not look like you're in your thirties. Not even early thirties." Which was a good chunk of why those maids were shipping them—if they'd thought Cyrus was that much older than Keigo, they probably wouldn't have jumped to that conclusion.

Well… maybe, maybe not.

At least they'd gotten to order actual food, eventually. Cyrus had been absolutely charmed by steamed buns shaped like fat little birds, or cat heads, or pandas, and gone off on a little spiel about how food that could be carried and eaten with one hand, such as sandwiches or filled rolls, were one of humanity's more marvelous inventions, along with book-binding and the wheel.

The steamed buns were pretty good, too.

"So, I've been meaning to ask," Keigo said, talking over Cyrus' demurrals that he looked as young as Keigo claimed. "What's with the jewelry?" He leaned forward to tap a finger against one of the dark crystals Cyrus wore on a thin gold chain. The chain seemed to be attached to the clasp of his cloak on both sides, and draped around the shoulders of the cloak's mantle.

Cyrus glanced down at the gem, and smiled slightly, fingers brushing against its polished surface. 'Lovely though these are, they aren't merely an ornamentation,' he said. 'These are—the program stuttered over the next word—specifically, Shadow—unknown term—as that of all elements comes least easily to me.'

Keigo blinked, and sat back. The translation program didn't know what to make of the word Cyrus had used, but the 'is this a good translation?' options were interesting. It seemed to give a choice between kokoroseki and hoshi-no-tama. 'Heartstone' and 'Star Ball', as in the thing that held the soul and power of a kitsune in ancient myth. "You're going to have to explain that," he pointed out, "Because I have no idea what those are." He tapped the phone's edge to draw Cyrus' attention to the word in question.

'Ah. I see. It is a matter of incompatible vocabularies.' Cyrus sat back slightly, one finger raised in a lecturing manner. 'Humanity, and indeed all mortal creatures, exist within the material plane. However, outside of our commonly perceived plane of existence exist other planes, those of the six elements—Fire, Ice, Wind, Lightning, Light, and Dark. Within those places exist creatures we call Elementals, spirits which embody the elements which make up their plane, giving form and self-awareness to these fundamental forces. When such an Elemental finds its way to the material plane, it no longer has the primal energies of its plane to draw on, and would swiftly fade out of existence if it did not create a physical core for itself. Such cores house the essence of the plane from which the Elemental hails, and allow it to persist and act within the material plane. Should such a creature be defeated in battle, it is cast back into the plane from which it hailed, but the physical core it created is left behind. That core still contains the essence of the Elemental's home plane, and can be used to cause damage of that elemental type even by someone without personal access to such magic. We call these items—.' And of course the translator still hadn't figured out what to do with that word.

"Huh. That's interesting." Keigo picked up his phone, thumb-tapping for a few seconds. "Gonna go with 'Heartstone' for that one." It seemed to fit. "Okay, so you're wearing these Shadow Heartstone things because you have trouble using magic of that type?" He'd long since decided to just roll with Cyrus' story.

'I would not say 'have trouble',' Cyrus disagreed, 'but it comes less easily to me than others. Fire, Ice, and Lightning, those elements most easily seen and touched and understood, are the ones I and other scholars wield most easily. Wind is more difficult, and mastering it would take time studying the merchant's ways, as they are most attuned to the winds of fortune. Light and Dark… well. I was most eager to be tutored by so great a dancer as Primrose, and so pious a cleric as Ophilia, but I fear that I am vastly unsuited to either profession, and thus did not truly master those three final elements until we faced Dreisang himself within the Shrine of the Archmagus.'

…okay, that sounded like a story and a half, but unfortunately Keigo didn't have time to indulge his curiosity. "Well, we should probably clear this table, so other customers can use it," he said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking up briefly at the ceiling. From the way the air vibrated against his feathers, the afternoon-evening crowd was starting to pick up, and the café would soon be busy. "Miss! The bill!" He raised one hand to flag down Moru. As she hurried over, he looked back at Cyrus. "So where are you staying tonight?" he asked curiously. "I've got to get back to Fukuoka, but I can at least make sure you get where you're going first."

Cyrus paused, looking up towards the ceiling as if trying to find whatever Keigo had been looking at earlier. 'Do you know, I have not the slightest idea of where I could stay,' he said, as though it were a delightfully tricky logic puzzle.

"You…" Keigo sighed, as Moru set the bill on the table. "Right, of course, why did I even ask… Thank you, miss."

"Um…" She fidgeted with her order pad, cheeks pink. "If, um, if it's not too much trouble…"

Cyrus made some inquiring sounds in her direction, and Keigo looked down at the phone.

'Why, whatever troubles you, my dear?' he'd said. 'If there is anything I might do to assist, feel free to ask.'

Keigo hesitated for one long second, and then gave in to temptation. Picking up the phone, he held it up so Moru could see it. "Sorry," he said wryly, "I've got a voice-to-text translator going, but it's the only way to communicate with him."

"Oh!" Moru's flush brightened, and she leaned forward to look at the text on his phone for a second, before standing back up, head ducking shyly. "I, well, um… photo!" she blurted out. "We, um… we do commemorative photos with our maids, and, well, if this is his first time in Japan, he should get some souvenirs, right?"

Keigo turned the phone towards Cyrus, who read the text and then blinked curiously at Keigo before asking a question.

Keigo looked at the phone himself.

'What does light have to do with memories, and is Japan the name of the country?'

…right. Pre-industrial society doesn't have photography. Keigo gave Cyrus a brief rundown of what a photograph was—the digital version anyway—but when Cyrus started pestering him with more and more detailed questions, frankly admitted that he didn't know all of the specifics himself. "Anyway, miss Moru wants to know if she and the other girls can take a picture with you, to commemorate your visit," he concluded.

'I see!' Cyrus turned a dazzling smile on Moru, rising to his feet. 'Miss, I would be delighted.'

Keigo found himself stuck taking the pictures, as the majority of the maids crowded around Cyrus near the store's entrance, giggling as they fought over who got to stand closest to him, and taught him how to make various photo-gestures like a peace sign or a hand heart. Cyrus took it all in stride, as though he either had girls fawning over him every day, or didn't even realize that was what was happening.

Or both.

Keigo considered that, snapping another photo.

Probably both.

"Alright, ladies, I'm sure your manager wants you to get back to work," he said, handing the last phone back to a bespectacled maid whose sky-blue hair was twisted into coils around the short horns protruding from either side of her head. "And we need to get going, too—got a bit of a commute."

"Aw…" came the collective sigh. But the maids let them go easily enough after that, even if a few of them pouted and demanded that they come back to visit again sometime.

"I dunno," Keigo chuckled. "It's kind of a trip from Fukuoka. But maybe I'll come for a visit again, once I'm a Pro Hero."

That led to squeals and chatter, as the girls exclaimed about having an incipient Pro Hero in their café, and Keigo took the opportunity to grab Cyrus and escape. And if he used a little bit of his Quirk's ability to up their speed, well… who was going to tell on him?

Cyrus was huffing when they finally slowed down.

"Sorry," Keigo said ruefully, pulling his own phone back out of his pocket and reopening the translation app. "I need to get on my way home soon, but I'll try to find you a place to stay first."

Cyrus straightened, peering at the phone's screen. 'I see. You have my thanks, and my apologies for troubling you so.'

"Don't worry about it." Keigo waved that off. If he'd left Cyrus alone, he had a feeling that the scholar would've gotten mugged. Someone would've realized that the jewelry was real, instead of plastic, and he didn't exactly look capable of defending himself. "You probably don't have local money, so…" They needed a place that would let someone stay overnight, no questions asked, for cheap. A place that would provide food, drinks, and amenities. A place that also wouldn't drag a clueless foreign cosplayer into shady nightlife shenanigans because he was too pretty for his own good. And preferably, some place that would give Cyrus access to some kind of translation service like the app Keigo had been using.

…I think I've got just the thing.

So this is a 'Net Kaffe', Cyrus mused, looking around curiously as he followed Hawks through the door. The kind young man had explained the concept on the way, although each explanation had led to ever more questions. First there was the idea of the 'Net', which was short for 'Interconnected Network', referring to a system of devices which collected, collated, and shared information with relative freedom between locations. Then came 'computer', which was a device that could perform several different tasks, not the least of which was accessing the 'Net'. Computers came with multiple parts—a metal box called the 'tower', which housed the device's artificial brain, the monitor, which displayed images and the work the computer did, a keyboard, which allowed the user to enter text, and a 'mouse', which allowed the user to select various areas visible on the monitor.

A 'Net Kaffe' was a place where individuals lacking access to the 'Net' in their homes could go to access it for a minimal fee. According to Hawks, they provided food and drinks of low, but acceptable quality, as well as access to a privy and what Hawks called a 'shower'—apparently a common form of standing bath in these parts, in which water was pushed through an overhead spout in a way that simulated heavy rainfall.

It sounds wonderfully refreshing.

One could also sleep at a 'Net Kaffe'. Although they had no beds, some provided floor-mats, or exceedingly comfortable chairs that could be bent backwards into an incline that would allow one to rest. According to Hawks, the one he'd chosen to bring Cyrus to allowed one to pay for a night's full services and utilities, much as an inn or hostel would, although the poor accommodations meant such a stay was less expensive.

As Hawks continued to speak, almost rambling in a manner Cyrus was intimately familiar with, Cyrus frowned slightly. "Are you intending to pay for my lodging?" he asked, once Hawks had paused for breath.

Hawks blinked down at his translation device, nonchalantly stepping out of the path of an exiting patron as he took in what Cyrus had said. Once he'd made his reply, he held the device out for Cyrus to read.

'Well, yes. It is not like you have local money.'

Cyrus straightened, frown deepening. "Young man, I am a professor, and you are a student, even if you aren't one of mine. It isn't right that I allow you to pay for my accommodations." Cyrus had never suffered unduly himself, but he was well aware that not all students had an excess of disposable income. In fact, while he primarily taught the children of the wealthy, the noble, and the elite, there were several students in his classes who could not afford the parchment and ink they needed to take notation. He had taken to providing the materials for all of his students, so as not to embarrass those in financial difficulty.

When Hawks read his reply, his wings widened just slightly in surprise. Was he unused to others worrying about his financial well-being?

Hm. Cyrus peered at the translated reply. 'I have wealthy backers paying for my education, as well as my parents' upkeep. They would not even notice this expense added to that—and they would approve of it if they did.'

"Be that as it may." Cyrus reached into his coin-pouch and stirred the coins within with one finger, until he located the ones he wanted. "I will not allow all of your assistance to go uncompensated," he said firmly, holding out six silver leaf coins. "While they may not be valid currency here, they are good silver. Even if you cannot exchange them for local coin, they can be melted down and the silver sold."

Hawks stared at the translation device for a moment, reading that, and then looked up at Cyrus with an incredulous expression.

Cyrus waved the coins once, indicating that the winged young man should hold out his hand. Once he did, Cyrus set the coins firmly in his palm. "There," he said. "That should pay for the meal earlier, as well as a few days' stay at an inn."

Hawks blinked down at the coins in his hand, and then up at Cyrus, muttering something unbelieving.

Cyrus leaned forward to read the translation upside-down. 'Yes, I think that is definitely enough.' Did they not use silver coins in these parts? Based on the good health of the common folk, and the general quality of their clothing, he would have assumed that the society as a whole was wealthy enough to use silver coinage. Ah. Hawks paid the serving girls with paper bills earlier. It's possible that, due to the use of bills for larger currency, heavier coins equivalent to silver leaves have fallen out of use.

As Hawks gathered himself again, Cyrus looked around the 'Net Kaffe's' interior, fascinated by how different it was in comparison to the land outside it.

The front area was well-lit and very clean, with rows of bookshelves slightly shorter than eye level fully stocked with books. Several individuals—mostly youths such as Hawks—sat in chairs, at small tables, or even on the floor reading. Of those, approximately three in five wore some kind of odd accessory on, or even in, their ears, from which a cord of some kind hung, often connected to a device not unlike the one Hawks used for translations.

The translation device itself appeared before Cyrus' nose, Hawks holding it around from behind him. 'They're reading cartoons,' Cyrus read silently, and paused, considering. "Do you mean children's picture books?" he inquired. "I would be delighted if so many of your fellow youths studied pictographic political discourse, but I find it unfortunately unlikely that there are so many books dedicated to the subject."

'Some of them are children's books, yes,' Hawks reply came with a thoughtful tilt of his head. 'And there are some people who think all cartoons are for children. But most of those books are drawn with young adults in mind.'

"Ah! I see. So your country uses picture books as a common form of literature. Fascinating!" Perhaps he couldn't read the local language, but the use of pictures would make knowledge much more accessible.

An uncomfortably cleared throat caused Cyrus to turn and look at Hawks directly, to see him rubbing the back of his head and looking a little awkward. Surprising, for a young man who carried himself with such aplomb even when dealing with an unusual visitor such as Cyrus knew himself to be.

Hawks muttered into his translation device, and then held it out for Cyrus to read, looking away.

'A lot of it is probably, uh, not meant for polite company. You know, adults only.'

Cyrus frowned, and then had to laugh a little. "Young man, erotic literature does exist in my world too," he said, baffled as to why Hawks would think otherwise. Though the presence of such works here would explain why the storefront had none of the seemingly-ubiquitous large glass windows other shops used to display their goods. "Why, one of my fellow professors has an entire room dedicated to the subject in his residence; he claims they're research materials for a paper he's writing, but everyone knows it's a polite fiction." An eloquent shrug. "I've never really understood the appeal myself, and it isn't my preferred choice of literature, but so long as there is a market for such things, well, they will be produced and disseminated."

Hawk's faint flush faded as he read that, and he scrubbed the back of his neck with one hand. 'Right. So… this is the front part of the Kaffe, where people can read. The back part, where it is darker, is where people use computers.' He pointed out what looked like a bank of tall, narrow closets made from thin sheets of metal. 'Those are coin lockers. You can rent their use for a day with a hundred-yen coin—' he held up a silvery coin, showing that one side was stamped with three blossoms, and the other with what appeared to be the denomination. 'You insert the coin, and then the key can be removed for your use for a full day. If the locker is left alone for three days, the staff will remove anything left inside it using their own copy of the key. You will probably want to keep all of your valuables in one—especially that coat.'

At that, Cyrus frowned, puzzled. "I suppose it is quite valuable, and not matching to the local fashions," he allowed, "but do you really believe it to be such a detriment?"

'Cyrus, you are obviously very wealthy,' Hawks explained with a sigh. 'People do not use Net Kaffes because they want to; most of the people here cannot afford any better. Maybe their parents kicked them out. Maybe they have fallen on hard times. Maybe their apartment got destroyed by a villain attack and they have got nowhere else to go for a few days. But even if most people here are trying to avoid interpersonal contact out of a combination of politeness, exhaustion, and shame, they are going to notice a wealthy foreigner sleeping in a computer chair. Especially if he is covered in shiny things.' One finger reached out to tap one of Cyrus' Shadow Soulstones again. 'It would be a good idea to not flaunt how well-off you are.'

Cyrus stroked his chin, considering that. "You're right," he said at last. "It would not do to act carelessly or without consideration, as I am a stranger in this land." A flourishing bow. "Please, teach me how best to comport myself."

Hawks' wings fluffed out in startlement, and then he smiled wryly. 'Not a problem.'

There followed a quick, concise explanation of the basic rules for using a Net Kaffe. One, do not disturb others unless they speak to you first. Two, take up as little space and make as little noise as is practical. Three, inquire of the staff if you need assistance. Four, clean up any messes you make. Five, keep track of your personal belongings. Six, do not look over other patrons' shoulders to find out what they're doing; what they are up to is their own private business. Seven, do not remove anything belonging to the store from the premises, except perhaps the locker key, and return it when you're done with it. And finally, eight—try not to break anything.

Once Cyrus made it clear that he understood the rules, Hawks led him to the front counter, explained the situation to the staff member on duty—or at least, an edited version of it—and paid for seven days' accommodations. He also gave Cyrus a small handful of the hundred-yen coins to use for the coin locker or other such purchases. The coins, as Cyrus had thought, were not silver, but an alloy of some kind—their ring was dull, rather than clear. Perhaps nickel and copper, then, if the warm undertone was any indication. He walked Cyrus through the process of accessing one of the coin lockers—in which Cyrus stored the Robe of the Flame that Therion had gifted him, as well as his coin pouch, spell book, and the few other expensive accoutrements he carried about his person.

Cyrus' writing kit remained with him, as it was never far from his person, as did the journal of Viatrix of the Seventh Hill, whose scholarly pursuits had gotten them all into this mess in the first place.

Once that was settled, Hawks helped Cyrus pick out a 'station' in which to work. Such stations seemed to involve a student's desk enclosed on three sides by short walls for privacy, with a marvelously padded chair that almost set Cyrus to giggling in delight, and one of the computers Hawks had mentioned.

There followed a brief, intensive session of 'how to use a computer properly', including cautions on believing what one read—after all, most anyone with the basics of what Hawks termed 'computer literacy' could 'post' articles 'online'. Hawks suggested that Cyrus stick to using a 'website' called Wikipedia, which had been created almost two centuries ago by two individuals with a vision for an all-encompassing, easily-accessible encyclopedia.

Cyrus' admiration for those two men, and the fact that the website was incredibly multilingual, and maintained by individuals throughout the world via donations, rather than requiring a fee for access…

Well, he might have found the single greatest proof of the overarching goodness of mankind.

Would that I could meet such men, and shower my praises upon them! I would hold them up to so-called scholars such as Yvon and Lucia as examples of what they could have been, had their selfishness not turned them away from the calling to teach.

A hand on his shoulder caused him to look up at Hawks, whose brown eyes were very wide. The winged young man held up his translation device. 'Are you crying?'

Cyrus wiped his eyes with the end of one sleeve. "My apologies," he said from sheer habit. "It is only that, to a scholar such as myself, such a creation is the greatest accomplishment of mankind."

Hawks blinked at that, and then relaxed slightly, smiling as he rubbed the area between neck and shoulder. 'I never thought of it that way.'

And the fact that he hadn't, that he took such a wonder for granted… well. That said more about this world than anything else Cyrus had experienced. "Now then, you were going to show me how I might translate any text I come across into the Scholar's Tongue… I believe you call it Latin, here?"

Hawks nodded, and leaned over his shoulder to do something involving the mouse and the 'web browser', opening up what appeared to be two copies of the same page and settling them one above the other, filling the right half of the monitor. 'So this is how you use the translator…'

There followed yet more explanations, for how to use a 'search bar', how to 'copy and paste', and how to use the keyboard to enter inquiries—they had a bit of difficulty with that, until Hawks left momentarily to retrieve a different keyboard from the staff, this one with Latin lettering rather than the pictographs used in the local language.

'So if something pops up on your screen without prompting?'

"Click the X in the corner to remove it. Or if no such symbol appears, remove the page upon which it popped up entirely."

'And if a site doesn't cite its sources?'

"Be very skeptical of their assertations, as I would any such from a scholar who refused to reveal where he came by supposed facts."

'And when all else fails…?' Hawks prompted, a hint of humor in brown eyes.

Cyrus felt a smile tugging at his own mouth. "Activate the Google," he recited dutifully. That was another of this world's astounding creations—a way to near-instantaneously search for and find whatever subject one wished, even possibly the answers to the most basic or inane of queries. The veracity of the answers one obtained was subject to intense scrutiny, as the search function only sought out similarities in text, but it was still quite valuable in its own way.

'Alright.' Hawks stood back, stretching arms and wings mightily and then shaking himself. 'I think you're as set as I'm going to get you in an hour—and I really do have to go now, or my backers will start asking all kinds of questions I don't feel like answering.' He rocked back on his heels, an easy smile on his face as he held the translation device out for Cyrus to read. 'Good luck, Cyrus. Meeting you was an experience.'

"And good fortune shine upon you as well, Hawks," Cyrus stood and gave one final, flourishing bow. "As the merchants would say—fair winds and fine weather, my friend, and if we meet again, may it be in as agreeable of circumstances."

Hawks smiled, reading that, and then turned and strolled out of the Net Kaffe, one hand raised in a casual wave.

Once he was gone, Cyrus sat back down and stroked his chin, eyeing the monitor before him. He would start with the history of computers and the 'Net', so that he might better understand the device he was using.

Leaning forward, Cyrus smiled eagerly. He regretted his decision to read the incantation aloud. Truly he did. And he would make very earnest apologies to his fellows once he found them again. But in the meantime…

A world of knowledge awaits!

A/N: The word 'manga' gets translated into Latin as 'viverra', meaning a political cartoon or caricature, which is the basis of Cyrus' confusion. And about the money… Since the size of a silver leaf coin appears to be only slightly smaller than a US Silver Dollar (~38 g, and we'll go with 35 g for the leaf coin), then by modern values, six silver leaf coins at assumed 90% purity would be equal to ~$90, or 9770 yen. If one full day/night at a Net Café costs ~1400 yen, then six silver leaf coins is juuuust under the amount needed for a full seven days' stay. Now, since neither Hawks nor Cyrus actually knows the melt value of silver coins, and in Japan specifically they don't have any coins actually made from silver anymore, both of them truly believe that Cyrus is being generous with how much money he's giving Hawks, rather than slightly underpaying. A modest inn from Octopath Traveler (meaning 4 characters with levels 20) costs around 80-160 leaves, depending on whether or not you got the discount. Since Cyrus is one of the characters capable of getting the discount, I'm using the lower price. One silver leaf can be assumed to be worth ~25 copper leaves (the smallest possible coin), meaning it would take ~3.2 silver leaves for four people to stay one night. Times seven divided by four… that's just under six silver leaves for one person to stay seven nights at a modest inn. And since Net Cafés are supposedly cheaper…