Toshizō would have liked to say they had been apprehended without incident, but it proved less difficult keeping furies quiet than these four men. They had apparently been so drunk that they did not recognize the streets they walked in on, so chasing them into the path of the night patrol had taken all of twenty seconds. But they just wouldn't shut up about it. Souji insisted they were nuisances that ought just be offed; Kondō-san was, of course, against the idea.

Besides, Sanosuke was right . . . there was just something about them that was intriguing. The way they interacted with each other was fascinating in itself, and though they spoke in the same grammar, much of their vocabulary was wildly unfamiliar. And while very little of what they said mapped to reality, they had thus far easily corroborated one another's stories—every single crazy one of them. Either they had rehearsed their fiction with immeasurable intensity and depth, or they had all been conditioned over a long period of time to believe what they were saying.

A third option niggled at Toshizō's brain as he watched his final interviewee, the man who called himself Hijikata Tōshirō; his arms were crossed, eyes closed, a pensive expression on his brows. "I think we're from another universe."

They may be telling the truth.

In their own interrogations, the man's companions had stopped just short of hypotheses, but here was Tōshirō with the touchstone theory, behind which everything they had said fell neatly in line. It was absolutely ludicrous . . . and yet it was difficult not to believe in him. He had been the most vocal of the four and appeared to be the acting ringleader, though it could hardly be said that his comrades showed him respect, Sougo in particular. Still, there seemed to be a bond between them all—something that transcended authority—and Toshizō felt a twinge of resentment at the sight. Men who didn't necessarily like Tōshirō still chose to stand with him, and that was its own kind of evidence.

He rubbed around his mouth, working out the imprint a gag had left behind. They did so enjoy running their mouths, and as they seemed to speak in code it was most unwise to allow them to talk to one another at all. Yet the situation was so unique that Toshizō didn't want to involve anyone who wasn't already privy to their existence. So he and his skeleton crew of three witnesses were working overtime in staggered shifts to guard their prisoners, bound in a single remote room and gagged so as not to confirm further false stories with each other.

Now separated from his comrades, Tōshirō looked every inch serious and spoke with unbearable lucidity, considering what he suggested. "That's the only explanation I have, at least."

Toshizō sighed heavily. Where to begin. "Where indeed."

"Nn?"

"If that's your only explanation, then please." He held out an open palm. "Do explain."

Tōshirō made a defensive noise and frowned. "Don't get me wrong. It's just the only answer that makes any sense. It's not like I know the mechanics—although Kondō-san did find a pretty gnarly-looking banana. . . ."

Toshizō stared, half-lidded and fully unwilling to engage. Oddly enough, their Kondō had also mentioned a spoiled banana. What bearing this had on their situation, if any, was unclear. But Toshizō had resigned himself to hearing him out. The guy was at least attempting to draw conclusions; until he could say anything substantial, he was just going to let him think out loud.

"I mean, I sure as hell believe you," said Tōshirō.

He raised a sardonic brow. "That's . . . generous."

"I get it. I don't exactly have the advantage here. I have three people siding with me, where you have a whole houseload of them."

"And several cities to vouch for us."

"Sure. Whatever. Which is why I think we were the ones dropped into your world. Besides this place being so. . . ." He faltered with words for several seconds before shrugging it off.

Determined to force every relevant reason, comment, or opinion: "What?"

Tōshirō narrowed his eyes. "Rustic?" He shrugged again. "Rustic. It's definitely not our city."

That was unexpected. Sougo too had previously used the word "quaint", but it didn't soften the impact. "You do realize that this is among the most cosmopolitan cities in the country."

"Yeah yeah. But where's the giant terminal tower—ugh." He sat back, indignant. "Never mind. Just—the world as we know it is much different."

Toshizō was very curious in spite of himself, but refrained from biting. It was too early to be indulging in the fantasies of a man under questioning. "How, then, have you come to this inferior place?"

"I never said it was inferior. We have all this stuff too. We just also have . . . additional stuff." He patted absently at his yukata, presumably for the device in his sleeve which had provided a small flame with seemingly no effort. Admittedly, Toshizō did find such technology difficult to explain.

"That didn't answer my question."

"Huh?"

"How you came to be here. Assuming, of course, you aren't lying off your ass."

"I don't know."

"You don't know."

"Nope."

Toshizō exhaled. "A normal person would say, by boat. Walked here. Got kidnapped and thrown into a cart of produce. You can't even manage an excuse?"

"Well . . . we are kind of abnormal."

This was starting to piss him off. He was so fucking cooperative, why wasn't this getting anywhere?

"Look, man. I wish I could tell you what was going on. All I know is, I'm me, and you're you, and we're probably not supposed to have met."

"And why is that."

"Come on. You don't talk to your doppelgänger, right?"

"Is that what you are?"

"It's what you are, far as I'm concerned. You don't talk to your doppelgänger, and you don't talk to yourself when you travel time or to alternate universes."

Toshizō's lids lay closed but he could feel his eyes crossing. "If you could limit the commentary."

"Sorry. It's not like you guys have a handle on what happened last night either."

"Pardon?"

"You forget? Your boy couldn't explain why he had a goddamn spear in a teahouse. And how about it, can you explain how we all ended up passed out in the same room?" Toshizō said nothing. "Yeah. So I don't think you should talk quite so big."

He chose to ignore this perfectly reasonable observation. "You'll be paying for property damages, by the way."

"I can give you 300 yen."

"Is that supposed to mean something to me?"

"Guess not. But it's all I have. Without the money to pay for it, I got no problem repairing walls and shōji personally."

"I'm sure you know I can't allow you out of our custody."

"What then, gonna send the troops out to do it? Or are you footing the bill after all?"

Shut up, he managed not to say aloud. I'm thinking.

"Um. . . ." Tōshirō was looking nervously at the sliding door facing the courtyard, glowing with daylight.

"Don't even think about running."

"What year is it?"

Toshizō blinked. "Excuse me."

"The year. Because—ah, nope. No—no, I've seen this one, and I'm not about to take your place because we sorta look alike and you want to bounce. But if this is like an AU history there's no way I'd have the right textbook, how could I—oh. Wait, no, I didn't finish that anime. Shit." Finding the light of patience slowly fading from Toshizō's eyes, he added, "Come on, is it really that strange a question? Coming from me."

Fine. "The third year of Keiō. Nearly the fourth."

This information only seemed to trouble Tōshirō further, as if it had opened a whole other set of questions rather than making sense of something. "And what is it . . . that you do?"

"Me?"

"Your group. The Shinsengumi."

"Why are you asking me? Hijikata should know."

"Just answer the question."

He bristled at being ordered around (much like he himself might order others around, he was loathe to admit), but decided to humor him. "We are a militarized police force dedicated to protecting to shōgun."

Toshizō actually felt uncomfortably scrutinized under Tōshirō's gaze. "Didn't I hear some chatter about a shōgun relinquishing power?" he asked gently.

If he really weren't from around here, he didn't miss much. "Indeed, we are in the throes of a . . . an identity crisis, at the moment."

Tōshirō nodded once and dug into his sleeve. "Seems like you guys have it rough. I think for us, most of the wars are behind us by now. We've sort of resigned ourselves to alien influence."

"How so?"

As his first example he held up a cigarette between two fingers. "We trade. We learn. We take advantage of the technology. Even the joui can be questionably friendly with aliens. Or, well—what we assume are aliens. It might just be a guy in a fursuit." He lit the thing with a tiny burst of flame as if to punctuate some sort of universal mystery. "Thanks for letting me keep these, by the way."

Toshizō rested his cheek against a fist; he was really starting to feel worn out. "Sometimes it amazes me how you can be both coherent and incomprehensible at the same time."

"Ah. Well." He took a long drag, and exhaled away from Toshizō's face. "Your aliens probably don't come from outer space, huh."