The former nation of Leanbox was no stranger to change, being subjected to a constant parade of influence from both within and without. Yet, there was no mistaking anything that was of Leanbox origin. While a Loweean tourist in Planeptune might only be ratted out from the natives by her complaints about the warm weather, a tourist from Leanbox may as well have been from a different world. Even now, Leanbox was often considered an outlier – a foreign land that engaged in a free exchange of culture and commerce with the "greater" or "major" Gamindustri. The juxtaposition of the island as a separate entity was a point of pride among its inhabitants. Thus, it was not difficult to see why Leanbox had provided no small amount of resistance to being assimilated into the Union of Gamindustri.

Over many years, the differences between Leanbox and its neighbors had pushed toward a happy medium. This was accelerated to an unprecedented degree after the creation of the Union. No longer was Leanbox allowed to carry on with its unique identity. Your hands-off leadership? Dangerous. Your systems of measurement? Obsolete. Your favorite gaming console? Inferior in every way. Even standards for beauty had shifted as Leanbox was bombarded by more and more foreign media, leading to an unexpected slump in domestic food sales and a strange new craze for extra-large contact lenses among those with perfectly normal vision.

Yet, there was one silver lining to it all that a certain Duchess was oh-so-thankful for: the proliferation of the soaking tub. Once considered a curiosity and a luxury for only the most vain, it was now common practice for many citizens of Leanbox to visit a bathhouse during at least one point in the weekly routine. Apartments and hotels now proudly advertised their newly-added communal bathing areas, and even a Loweean-style onsen could be found adjacent to Leanbox Lake.

Relera Natal, who had on at least one occasion been described as "prudish" by an impetuous ex-date, certainly had no complaints about the Basilicom's latest renovations. As long as she could relax in the privacy of her own lavishly expensive bathroom, she couldn't care less how much skin others wished to show in the halls of a sento. She kept the door locked for a reason. And if she fell asleep and suffered the inglorious fate of drowning in the mineral-rich bath because no one knew where she was? Oh well, then – Leanbox would need to appoint another Duchess.

Or maybe a Duke, for once. She always did find the level of estrogen present at summit meetings to be uncomfortably lacking in balance, although she certainly wasn't bringing any less femininity to the table than anyone else. Was it really a problem, though? That fact that it nagged at her pointed to there being an issue, but she couldn't quite place why. Maybe she just wanted someone she could ogle while pretending to listen to the latest disaster tearing the nation apart.

She let out a sigh and propped herself up a little higher, suddenly noticing how close her nose was to the water. Her thoughts always went to strange places during her daily relaxation hour. As it turned out, she was self-aware enough to realize that letting her mind wander on its own for any length of time tended to make her self-aware. And that was just awkward, not to mention confusingly recursive. Had Chika been like that, too?

Okay – time to cut this hour short. She knew her mood would just turn sour if she allowed any further thoughts about the old Duchess of Leanbox.

A knocking came from the door. "Ms. Natal? Your Grace? Are you, perchance, in there? Your presence is requested in the Parliament Room. That is, assuming that you are, in fact, within the room behind this door. If not, then I suppose that I am simply wasting my time, aren't I?"

Relera, who was already halfway out of the tub, sank back down into the water. She held in her annoyed sigh, feeling her mouth twist into a scowl.

The knocking came again. "Ms. Natal? Hello?" Moments later, one could hear spoken more quietly, "I suppose she may have yet to return from her participation in the Festival. Why must Her Grace always take the scenic route when she knows there is work to be done?" A set of footsteps thumped away into the distance along with some unintelligible grumbling.

Now she could let out the sigh. Relera leaned her head back, glad to have avoided an encounter with her assistant. Of course, "assistant" was a generous term for someone whose job seemed to consist of being as useless and annoying as possible, with the least common sense possible, and the worst sense of timing possible. She was a firm believer in the concept of being "kicked upstairs" by this point.

"That would explain how you are now Duchess of Leanbox, would it not?"

Relera snapped upright, head frantically searching around in the dim, atmospheric lighting for the source of the words. Her eyes quickly met those of a familiar face. "Oracle?!"

The overcoat-clad woman laughed in her typical dramatic fashion. "Were you perhaps expecting someone else, Duchess of Leanbox?"

"Y-You…" Relera stared for a few moments, allowing realization to slowly reach her mind. She moved to cover herself as soon as it hit, splashing water onto the floor. "You could've knocked like a normal person, yes, you could have!"

"I could have – but would you have answered?" The Oracle did not bother hiding her mirth as Relera rose to her feet and rushed over to the towels. "Is there need for modesty in the presence of one who can lay bare your innermost thoughts, dear Natalia?"

"That's Natal to you," Relera said, doing her best to secure a towel to her body. She'd never quite gotten the knack of it, not being in the habit of walking around without being properly dressed, but she was satisfied enough with her level of coverage as her gaze moved back to the smirking woman in front of her. "And I'd like you to stay out of my mind, thanks. It's not a pretty sight, anyway."

"Certainly, it is not as pretty as the sight on the outside, hm?"

When Relera just stared, the Oracle burst into more laughter.

"It is a shame that your ascension to Duchess has put a final nail in your dating life. No doubt the men of Leanbox find themselves saddened by this loss." The smirk fell. "But I digress."

"'As our conversations are always wont to do.'"

And the smirk returned. "Yes." And fell again. "There is another who is wishing to meet with you. I believe that you have been acquainted, so we will proceed to a more pertinent topic shortly."

"…You're not trying to set me up on a date, are you?"

That must've caught the Oracle off-guard, as her laughter seemed genuine this time. "Only if you are wishing for fierce competition." With that, she opened the door, stepping through and closing it behind her like a normal human being.

She didn't lock it. Bleh.

"Please, madam – you will be waiting for such a short period that it will seem but a moment to your senses. It is, as you may be aware, not often that a visitor is allowed to see Her Grace without any sort of appointment. You should consider it a blessing from Her Holiness herself that you were even permitted to set foot within this room."

The visitor eyed the rather short man before her with a guarded expression. It was true that she'd come without official invitation to speak with the most important woman in Leanbox, but it was also true that she was accustomed to having a special agreement with the more obstructionist elements of bureaucracy. She moved her gaze around what had been called the Parliament Room, a wide open space with a large curved table placed in the middle. One end of the room ended at a set of elevators, while the other led to a double door that stretched about a quarter of the way to the shadowy ceiling far above. No windows were present – all of the lighting was provided by the LEDs lining the room and its furniture. So this was where the important decisions were made?

Her gaze returned to the bureaucrat. "I'm a representative of the Guild of Lowee."

"I'm sure that you are, madam. But that doesn't make Her Grace ready to see you any sooner. I—" The words nearly choked in his throat when he noticed a new presence in the room. "Your Reverence!" He gave an excessively polite bow, his forehead nearly touching the floor. "How may this humble assistant serve thee?"

"The answer to your query is simple," the Oracle spoke. "You may leave us."

"Y-Yes, Your Holiness." The assistant hurried over toward an elevator without further question, descending to another floor to perform another inane task.

The Oracle turned to the visitor, giving a reasonably warm smile. "Now, then. You shall be permitting me to give a more proper welcome." She made a bow resembling that which a magician or actor might perform. "I am the Oracle of Gamindustri, mouthpiece of the Goddess. Her will is my will, with all the weight that it bears. And you are a guest of Leanbox, no doubt having travelled far and wide to reach the fair Land of Green Pastures. As Oracle, my authority supersedes that of any other mortal – thus, I bid you welcome to this Basilicom. You stand now within the Parliament Room, an inner sanctum for the leaders of Leanbox to discuss issues affecting their land. It has also traditionally served as a place to greet guests of honor – assuming that they were given invitation to do so."

The guest gave a bow of her own, this one more humble in nature. "Then I must apologize, Your Reverence. I had assumed wrongly that—"

She was interrupted with a harsh laugh. "'Your Reverence,' is it? Perhaps it is unwise of me to assume formal pretenses. Of course you are welcome here, Falcom. It was I who summoned you here."

"R-Right." Falcom made an uneasy chuckle. "Sorry. I'm still not used to this kind of stuff. Being in this place makes me all kinds of nervous, like I'm going to breathe the wrong way and break something. Stupid, I know."

"Ah. Then allow me to further your nervousness by introducing you to the Duchess of Leanbox. I believe you have spoken once before, correct?"

"I…ah…think so. Not directly, though." Falcom let out a breath that she'd been holding. "For some reason, I think I felt more confident facing down my first dragon than I do now."

"Then perhaps I will be commanding the Duchess to spit fire. Would this make you more comfortable, guest of Leanbox?"

"Wait – she can do that?"

The question was left unanswered as the Oracle directed Falcom to the oversized set of doors in the back of the room. There was no visible way of opening them, although a holographic interface was present at eye level over the plain metallic surface. It came to life as they approached, displaying a message that asked for identification.

The Oracle cleared her throat. "'I am the Oracle of Gamindustri. I have no need for identification.' With one guest."

A beep – the message indicated that the security system was satisfied. Moments later, the doors swooshed open, receding into the walls on either side. The Oracle directed them to step through, and the doors closed behind them in a similar manner.

Falcom was forced to do a double take at the sight beyond. Far from the ascetic design of the Parliament Room, she now found herself in a single-floor foyer that would not be out of place in a luxury hotel. A warm shade of beige dominated the area, which contained several arrangements of furniture covered in the finest fabrics that money could buy. The wood even looked real. The floor was made of a tile pattern that shined brightly from light cast through shaded lamps, mounted wall sconces, and a brass chandelier overhead, while the walls were covered in grotesques – flowing, plant-like shapes far too delicate to have been crafted by machines. The room was small, but it did its job well.

"Welcome, dear guest, to the private quarters of the Duchess of Leanbox," the Oracle spoke with a dramatic flair. "Do feel free to feast your eyes on the mortal comforts within."

"Wow…from the Neon City to the Duchess' Manor." Falcom took another look around, her expression becoming a questioning one. "But wait – there's no slippers, no floor mat…how does everything stay so clean? Does she hire maids? I-If I'm allowed to ask, that is."

"I would warn you against troubling yourself with such details. But it is a simple thing to confirm that there are no maids involved." The Oracle gave a chuckle. "Ah – I can remember the reports I received from her subordinates. They were very insistent on providing her with a flock of servants to tend to her needs and a network of security cameras to ensure her safety. She refused. They asked that I, the Oracle of Gamindustri, convince her otherwise."

"I'm…guessing it didn't work out?"

As before, her question was left hanging as they stepped over to another door on the opposite side of the room, this one made of solid wood and cut in the shape of an arch. It did not greet them with an interface, sufficing with a decorative brass doorknob. The Oracle waved a hand – the door responded by opening itself with not even the slightest of creaks. Before them stretched a long, narrow hallway with décor similar to that of the foyer, although the floor turned to soft carpet here. Their attention was more concerned with the figure entering from one of the doors in the side of the hall, dressed in little more than a towel and still dripping with water.

"Greetings once more, Duchess of Leanbox. I present to you Falcom, agent and representative of the Guild of Lowee."

The woman must have jumped a foot in the air when she noticed that she was not alone. She clutched at her towel, throwing the Oracle a glare. "Did you become Oracle just so that you can disrespect people's privacy?"

A laugh. "Trust me when I say that I am not requiring the powers of an Oracle to perform such a task, dear Natalia."

"Natal. It's Natal. You know this. I know this. She…probably doesn't know this." Relera took in a breath and let it out as a sharp sigh before turning to the newcomer. "Hello. I am Relera Natal, Duchess of Leanbox. Yes, I am the real Duchess. Yes, the Oracle is a real asshole. Yes, I have the authority to say that. And yes, I am currently standing here in my own personal, private quarters in a towel. Any questions so far?"

"Ah…" Falcom was left speechless, finding this situation more difficult to process than the average life-threatening one. She decided that the best course of action was to make a polite bow. "I apologize. I was not aware that I was intruding on another's privacy. I will see myself ou—"

"Leaving so soon?" the Oracle asked innocuously. "After you have traveled so very far at my behest? This simply will not do."

Falcom made a nervous swallow, nodding.

The Oracle moved her attention to Relera. "Ah, but perhaps it would be best to allow our host another chance to prepare for her guests that she has so rudely slighted. I will allow this lack of respect…this time."

"You barely gave me even a minute to get dressed!" Relera shouted. Then, she closed her eyes for a moment, clearing her throat. When she looked back up, she had a pleasant smile on her face. "I mean, of course. I am a rude hostess, ha ha ha. If you will excuse me, I will take but a moment to make myself more presentable to my guests." She turned to walk away, her posture as dignified as it could be, given the circumstances.

Then, several steps later, her towel fell away to the ground with a soft thump. She simply stood there a moment, her back facing the others, before silently balling her fists and continuing onward with nothing to cover her. The door to her bedroom did not slam when she reached it and closed it behind her.

There was little doubt that Falcom's cheeks were glowing red – she could practically feel the heat from them as she stared down the empty hall, not quite certain that her eyes hadn't deceived her. She blinked several times before saying, "I saw you move your fingers. Did you…?"

For a third time that night, her question went unanswered.