1

Izumi woke up in the middle of the night to witness a scene of murder. Her own. Sensing weight on her, she regained awareness to find Iris straddled on her midriff, holding up a knife. It was a fruit knife from the kitchen, sharp, the blade about four and a half inches. Made on order by the local blacksmith. Izumi had an eye for quality. Killing a person with an instrument as sharp was child’s play. The girl held it high in her right grip, poised to strike, but there was no malice or determined bloodthirst in her rounded eyes—only boundless terror and doubt.

Izumi had given Iris her own bedroom upstairs. Though the bed was newly replaced, it wasn’t much of a sacrifice. After all those months on the road, a normal bed felt awkwardly soft to Izumi, stifling. Instead, she preferred the wooden living room bench. It was just long and wide enough for her to lie down on, with stable arms and a solid backrest. Folding a woolen blanket on the bench made it soft enough to sleep on. She needed little more.

Yet, only a few hours into the night, Iris had left the bedroom and sneaked down into the kitchen under the cover of the dark. She had to have spotted the fruit knife during dinner and seized her chance. Izumi had known it was a bad idea to leave sharp tools out in the open, but she didn’t care enough to hide them either. Now, she played victim to the predictable outcome of her oversight. It didn’t appear to be one of those romantic tales, where the slave fell for her new master at first sight. Knowing the slavers expected her to return with profit, Iris had chosen the safest path for herself.

Alas, killing a person was not actually child’s play.

Clearly enough, someone had instructed the girl on the fundamentals. Seal the victim’s movements, get in a position where you can use your full weight, and hack away. Yet, judging by the considerable struggle with the execution, Iris had not much field experience. She retained yet that something, that inexplicable, intangible something, a sense of holiness, inborn reverence for life, which only the disturbed mind of a practiced killer, or one thoroughly mad, could lack.

You might call it innocence.

The tip of the knife wavered but wouldn’t come down.

The arm holding it trembled, stiff.

Observing several flaws in the picture, Izumi saw it best to offer her expert advice.

“You’re not going to kill me like that,” she said, trying to sound calm.

“Ha—!”

Realizing her victim was awake and aware, Iris tensed further, the fear and agitation in her nearing the threshold to open panic.

“You’re aiming right at my sternum,” Izumi continued. “You’re liable to hit bone and won’t have enough strength to pierce through, skinny as you are. It’ll just hurt like hell. Also, you’re gripping much too hard. It’ll spoil your aim. Going for the heart might seem like a surefire way to kill a person, but it’s not really a very good target, unless you know what you’re doing. You should try this instead.”

Reaching up, Izumi gently took hold of Iris’s trembling knife hand. Slowly but irresistibly pulling, she guided the blade down to the side of her neck.

“Here,” she said. “The jugular vein and the carotid artery are side by side. No bone there, no resistance, doesn’t take a lot of force. A quick thrust in. Twist a bit and cut out sideways to open the wound. I should bleed out in a minute. No hope whatsoever. And it’s quiet. No screaming. A lot better, isn’t it?”

Instead of following the instructions, Iris pulled away with a startled cry, her dread making way for revulsion. She fell off Izumi in a great hurry and tumbled onto the floor, dropping the knife in the process.

“What is wrong with you!?” she screamed at the woman, holding back tears and nausea.

Izumi sat up on the bench and scratched her head, drowsy.

“I don’t know how to answer that one,” she said. “But becoming a professional killer might be a bit too much for you, if something of this level freaks you out.”

“So what!?” Iris retorted. “Maybe I never wanted to be one!”

Hiding her face in her hands, the girl started to sob. Izumi sat for a while leaning on her knees, too sleepy to come up with anything profound to say. She had one brother, six years younger, but had never been particularly close with him. Her limited personal experience didn’t tell her the ideal way to handle a teenage girl. Never mind one forced into slavery in another world. There weren’t even any video games she knew on the subject.

“Look. For now, why don’t you just go back to bed?” she suggested. “I can’t think of anything else right now, if you don’t feel like stabbing me anymore.”

“That’s it?” Iris asked through her tears, laughing out of disbelief. “I just tried to kill you!”

“Yeah. What do you want, a spanking?” Izumi replied. “You thought it was the only way, right? To survive. I told you this: you’re free. I meant what I said. Free to do whatever you please—and yes, even attempting to kill me was included in the deal. It’s not like it coming to this was a massive surprise to me. Well, had you actually been capable of murder, I would’ve had to kill you instead, so I don’t have a lot of room to judge. I won’t mention this again, so you can just forget it ever happened. If your guilt grows unbearable, or you hate me too much to cope with it, you can leave too, I suppose. Still, if you want my advice, at least wait until morning before making any big, life-changing decisions. I dare say things will look different in daylight.”

Iris sat still for some time without a word, without moving, only staring at the floor, a marionette with her strings cut. Then, quickly wiping her face, she got up and ran upstairs.

Hearing the bedroom door slam shut, Izumi laid back down as well. But as tired as she was, her head was like the rush hour of Shibuya, allowing her no more rest that night.

No matter how many times it happened, it was never too nice—having a close brush with death.

2

Iris wouldn’t try to kill Izumi again. Neither would she leave. The next morning, the girl came down for breakfast, looking tired and spent, but the madness and despair had left her gaze. She didn’t talk about her plans for the future, or about much of anything at all, she simply was, and Izumi let her be.

Over the following days, properly fed, bathed, combed, and clothed, Iris transformed into a proper peasant lady, although the hardness of her countenance and the lingering shadow of terror would still betray flashes of her grim history. Fortunately for Izumi, Iris was very low-maintenance, and appeared at most times practically invisible, keeping to her room when not otherwise needed. While she didn’t talk much, she did have some common sense and seemed to hold, if not love, then at least a modicum of necessary respect for her host.

Meanwhile, the summoned champion resumed her usual daily routine, issuing no requests, asking no questions, demanding no responsibility, in this roundabout way providing the freedom she had promised. Or was it only negligence?

Either way, little by little, seeing as nothing dangerous was happening, Iris gradually got over her fright and grew slightly bolder. One morning, while Izumi was tending to her garden plot, the girl strode out to her with a defiant look on her face.

“Give me something to do,” Iris demanded.

“Something?” Izumi looked up, raising her brows. “Like what?”

“Like, what you’re doing there now,” Iris said, pointing at the ground. “What is it?”

“Weeding?”

“Yes. Teach me how to do it.”

“Why?” Izumi asked. “It’s not like you need to work. That’s not why I bought you.”

“Whatever. But I’ll go crazy in that house if I have nothing to do.”

“I see. Well, it’s not like I don’t get where you’re coming from…”

Izumi gave up on arguing. For someone as lazy as her, it was a little difficult to believe someone would be willingly looking for work, but it was true there weren’t many other ways to pass time either.

“Look here,” she said, pointing at the little light green leaves sticking up from the dirt. “This is a beetroot sprout. Think you’ll remember what it looks like? You’re supposed to remove anything that doesn’t look like a beetroot from this row, so that the plants we want to eat can grow in peace. Think you can do that?”

“I’m not an idiot,” Iris informed the woman with an annoyed look. She crouched and got to work right away, pulling out the weeds around the beetroot sprouts, not afraid to dirty her bare hands.

“Ah yes,” Izumi said, watching her work, “you’re already sixteen, a splendid adult by this world’s standards.”

“That’s right,” the girl replied.

“Come on, how old are you, really? Twelve?”

With a look even more annoyed, Iris answered,

“I’m fifteen. In two months.”

“So fourteen…” Izumi mumbled with a sigh.

“What does it matter?” Iris scowled at her. “Age is just a number.”

“Have more dangerous words ever been spoken? It’s a pretty big deal where I’m from. Especially in the liquor store.”

“So? They don’t care much over here.”

“I suppose not. How long have you been a slave, anyway? Not very long, going by that attitude.”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” the girl muttered.

“Fair enough,” Izumi said. “It’s not like I want to talk about my own past much either. You keep to yourself and I’ll do the same. It may not be a very healthy or balanced relationship, but we should get along that way.”

“No kidding?” Iris gave her a bit of a snide glance. “What are you, anyway? Some fucking assassin? A pirate?”

“Uh-uh, language. None of that in this house.”

Iris rolled her eyes.

“I’ll have you know I was a reputable adventurer and nothing too shady,” Izumi continued, a bit miffed. “Do I look like a shady person to you? Though I’m such a cute young lady?”

“The heck’s with that?” Iris made a little laugh with an incredulous look.

“Ha! A smiley face!” Izumi pointed.

“You’re pretty fu—weird, that’s for sure,” the girl said and continued to pick out the weeds.

“What were you about to say?” the woman asked.

“Nothing.”

“Didn’t sound like ‘nothing’ to me.”

“So, you were saying you’re some kind of a hero then?” Iris changed the subject.

“Was,” Izumi corrected.

“If you wanted to impress me, you could’ve made up something a little easier to believe.”

“It’s not like I meant to brag. It’s a simple fact. I did my fair share of adventuring in my time, alright. Saved a few lives too, on the way.”

“Uh-huh?” Iris nodded. “And that's called bragging. Looking at your ‘adventures’ these past days, I’d say you’re plain jobless.”

“I’m not unemployed, I’m retired,” Izumi corrected again, with emphasis. “And rich. Did I mention rich? Fabulously rich.”

“Now you’re messing with me,” Iris retorted.

“I’m sure not,” Izumi insisted. “It’s true!”

“If you’re so rich, how come you're living in such a dirty little shack in the middle of nowhere, instead of a real house in some place civilized?”

“I do think it’s an exemplary residence, even if I say so myself, for someone—oh, look out!” Izumi suddenly cried out and grabbed Iris’s hand, stopping her from reaching for the next plant.

Iris shook her hand off with a start and fell backwards onto the lawn. Terror had reflexively returned to her eyes, unable to see what she had done wrong.

“Ah, I...Sorry,” Izumi apologized, scorched inside by guilt over her thoughtless reaction. “Y-you were about to pick up a nettle. It’ll burn your hand if you don’t hold it the right way. Like this…”

She took the little nettle sprout from below, by the stem, avoiding the barbed leaves, and showed it to Iris. The girl wouldn’t make a sound, but stared back at the woman with alarm and suspicion.

“I...You won’t need me at this,” Izumi said and threw the nettle away. “Here are my gloves. They might be a bit big for you, but better than nothing. I’ll go chop up some firewood in the meanwhile. Let me know when you’re done. We’ll see what else is there after that...If you’re still up for it…”

Mumbling without much confidence, Izumi tossed her work gloves onto the lawn, and left the garden, avoiding Iris’s stare. She wandered across the front yard to the wood shack in the opposing corner. Like a motion-captured video game character, exaggeratedly conscious of each move, she picked up an axe from the shed, grabbed a log from the pile she’d bought from the town and got to work.

When she next dared to glance in the vegetable garden’s direction, she saw that Iris had returned to weeding the plants on her own. Though the way the girl moved her hands seemed somewhat unprofessional and aggressive.

Lifting her axe, Izumi felt like a child herself, insecure and scared to death of failure. She could only escape that haunting feeling by focusing on the grip of the wooden handle.

The family thing really isn’t for me…!

Roughly half an hour later, Baler drove past the house with his two-horse carriage again, on his way to Mescala for business. Like Izumi, he had been stockpiling on firewood this week, in anticipation of the winter and its storms. As usual, he slowed down by the fence and Izumi also interrupted her log-splitting, moving closer to hear what select words the man had to trade with her this time.

Although, the day’s topic was rather predictable.

“She’s not your daughter, is she?” Baler asked, nodding towards the garden with his chin.

“Why, the resemblance is simply uncanny, isn’t it?” Izumi replied.

“Well...There may be some of that,” the man forced himself to agree.

“In all seriousness,” Izumi continued, “I’m looking for a new home for the princess. Know anybody nice, who might be able to take her in? She can be a hard worker, if she wants to. By the looks of it.”

“I could ask around,” Baler courteously answered. “But I can already tell you they will all say ‘no’.”

“And why’s that? She might have more than the average dose of teenage angst, but I believe there’s a good reason for that.”

Baler looked around, as if to check if anyone else was within the earshot. A needless gesture, seeing how the cape land remained devoid of life as ever. There weren’t even any birds, and the northwestern gale was hard.

“You’ve seen that mark, I take it?” he asked, bringing his voice down.

There was only one marking he could mean. A bit below the ear on Iris’s neck, the tattoo, that simple black image depicting a crawling spider, unpleasantly life-like. Of course, Izumi had seen it.

“That means, she’s them corsairs’ property,” the man explained. “And having something of theirs is not healthy in these parts. I don’t know how you ended up with the girl, but you have been fooled. She will steal what you own, cut your neck in the dark of the night, and make a run for it. Such is their business.”

“I got the gist of it,” Izumi replied. “But it doesn’t seem things went quite as they planned in this case.”

“All the worse for you,” Baler said. “Sooner or later, they will come for the girl. For your own good, you had best send her on her way before it happens.”

“Is that a fact?” Izumi asked.

“You think I jest?” he asked back.

“No,” she admitted. “I already figured it was going to be like that.”

“Yet, I don’t see much fear in you?”

“Oh, I’m plenty nervous, alright. Just, not much I can do about it.”

“I just told you the way,” Baler said. “Tell her to leave. Cruelty? Yes! But such is life. Better one tragedy than two.”

Izumi exhaled a frustrated sigh, glancing in the garden’s way.

“…That’s not an option,” she said. “Not unless she goes by her own will.”

“I see.” Straightening himself on the driver’s perch, Baler gazed ahead, lifting the reins, but wouldn't yet give his horses the signal to go on.

“You are strong,” he said. “I have treated enough soldiers of fortune in my time to tell who pulls through and who does not. But if you mean to stand up to Loyd’s people, I can only tell you to beware. They have this mage with them, Larch, they call him. He is a legitimate wizard who earned his staff at the College in the south. But he threw away his order’s teachings, and cast his lot with the villains. Sheltering the girl will mean making that man your enemy. See that you are prepared.”

“Alright.” Izumi nodded. “Thanks for the heads-up, old-timer.”

Finished with his business, Baler urged his horses on and soon his carriage was only a dusty spot in the distance. Meanwhile, Izumi returned to splitting logs, thinking about what the man had said, feeling her peaceful retirement days begin to unravel at the seams.

Was there any other choice? Throwing away a young life, one who had yet to succumb to evil, only to make her own time a little easier—it would have surely made for the most unforgivable of all her unforgivable deeds so far.

“—You really think so? And here I thought you got over the hero thing already.”

On the shallow fence ahead sat Riswelze, watching Izumi’s work with a cynical smile.

“It’s each man for himself in this world—or, each woman,” the girl lightly added. “Surely an ‘old-timer’ like yourself knows as much? There’s no place for love or brave ideals in this land. You fight for yourself, for your own good, your own way—that’s the only hope you have of getting by. You’re not some invincible superhero, after all. Just a little old lady.”

“But where’s the point in living just for the heck of it?” Izumi asked, stopping her axe.

“Because the only other option is to not live at all?” Riswelze replied, stretching her neck. “I mean, look at me! I was doing just dandy, ‘til I started getting all noble, pulling special favors for a certain someone. And what did I get for my heroic sacrifice? I’m dead now! Whether my stunt actually paid off or didn’t, I wouldn’t know even that! So where’s the satisfaction? Where’s the love? I had to die to prove what I knew all along—that playing the hero is simply not worth it. Isn’t that funny?”

“If you hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t be here now,” Izumi said. “And if I weren’t, many others would’ve suffered a fate worse than death. Would you still say it wasn’t worth it, if you knew? Would you choose otherwise, if you could try again?”

“Oh no, all’s right with the world!” the assassin replied. “My valiant ashes nourish new life at the bottom of the jungle, the bugs are happy, the circle of life goes on—Oh, please! Don’t make me laugh! You think I'd be happy with that? All those neverheard nobodies living on in peace without me? Being fondly remembered ever after? Having my legacy survive in your heart—does that make me immortal, somehow, in some bizarre, philosophical sense? Hello? I’m beyond all care! None of that means shit to me now!”

“Nobody forced you to do it. You chose it yourself. Because—”

“—Because I loved you? Ahaha!” Riswelze let out a bright laughter. “Aren’t you just flattering yourself if you believe that? Maybe I didn’t really think it through? Maybe it wasn’t love at all, but just a little girl crush? Maybe I would’ve changed my mind about you by next week? I never had a relationship that lasted more than six months tops, you know? What did I really even know about you? Nothing! Of course, I’ll never have the luxury of choosing again, being dead. No much point in what-ifs.”

Izumi looked down, biting her lip, unable to argue back.

“And what’s she then?” Riswelze asked, nodding towards Iris. “You bailed the lass out because she reminded you of me? Aww. Is this to be your way of atonement then? Maybe I’ll find peace in the mythical afterlife, if you drag her back to the upside of the society? Nurse her into a reputable, productive, working-class citizen with your care? Is that what you’re thinking? Or is she just a quick replacement? A fun little toy? Think she’ll fall for you too, given enough time? Maybe she’ll keep you company in your lonely retirement days, eh? Stockholm syndrome is a thing, sure.”

“Of course not,” Izumi said. “I wasn’t thinking about anything like that. I was only—”

“—Only what?” the girl interrupted her. “Do you even know yourself? You never actually thought things through. You’re not a real hero, or anybody too smart. Everything worthwhile about you comes from your magical video games. The actual you is just a piece of flotsam thrown around in the sea of emotion, like all these other meat sacks, struggling to keep on the surface, yet dreaming about drowning at the same time. When will you learn your lesson? There’s nobody you can save, as you are; a terrible, hideous person. You let me die, distracted by blind lust at a crucial moment. You abandoned our naive princess at the time she needed you most, because she saw you for what you really are, instead of worshiping the ground at your feet. Dang! You murdered poor Benjamin, destroyed his second chance at life, never even trying to understand his reasons, because he wasn’t a cute girl. Talk about shallow?”

“That’s not the full story.”

“Speaking of shallow,” Riswelze went on, not listening, “you knew Naliya was doomed from the start with that boy, yet you let her go because ‘it was the path she chose’? Yeaaah, sure. Weren’t you secretly hoping for it to go wrong all along? Because it wasn’t you she decided to orbit? A way of karmic justice; nobody says no to a hero!”

“That’s not right,” Izumi insisted.

“No? Could’ve fooled me. Oh, but I especially loved how you dumped lovely lil’ ‘Nue’ like a sack of potatoes, after all but butchering her brother. Because she got to see a glimpse of the real, honest you up close. What a shame, you hid it so well too, right up until that point! But how could anybody love a person as ugly as you are? It'd have to be someone no less ugly, real peas in a pod.”

“Kh——!”

In a blink, Izumi cast her axe at the assassin girl with a rage-assisted twist. Not that there was anyone sitting on the fence to be hit, in actuality. The axe continued to spin over the desolate earth, before landing in a batch of grass on the far side of the road. Izumi was better than aware that she was only arguing with imaginary entities, though it didn’t make the words any easier to tolerate.

Panting, short of breath, Izumi stared at the sealine in the distance, reason slowly suppressing the rampaging emotion.

The past was past.

What was done was done.

Whipping herself over old mistakes wasn’t going to change the present.

Then, regaining her situational awareness, she happened to glance to her left.

“…”

A short distance away stood Iris, staring at the woman, looking rather stunned.

“…Um...The handle was loose,” Izumi hurried to explain, pointing after the lost tool. “Poor balance. I was thinking of…getting another…”

“I’m done,” Iris reported, her expression shifting into one of deep doubt and unease. Not waiting for additional instructions, surrounded by a most forbidding silence, she turned around and strode back into the house, not showing her face again that day.

“Gosh, I’m really not cut out for this,” Izumi lamented, only silence for company.

3

Izumi woke up unusually late in the following morning. She stretched her arms, feeling lethargic and unwilling to rise, though it was already bright outside. Reminding herself that she didn’t live alone anymore and had to set a proper example, she got up and found a change of clothes. Iris showed the tendency to get up earlier than Izumi did, but there was no noise coming from the kitchen yet.

In fact, the whole house was dead quiet and lifeless.

Thinking she could get a headstart with breakfast for once, Izumi took her blankets out to the porch to air, and headed to the kitchen, yawning wide, scratching her stomach. True enough, there was no sign of Iris yet. Izumi could sense no one’s presence on the second floor either. To make sure if the impression weren’t only her imagination, she went up the creaky stairs to the bedroom and knocked cautiously on the door.

“Um, Iris? Are you still asleep?” she asked.

There came no answer.

By now, Izumi was fairly certain of her hunch, but she knocked once more.

“Everything alright?”

There still came no word, so she opened the lockless door and saw that her assumption had been correct too. The bed was empty and made, and there was nobody in the room.

“Ran away, huh…?” Izumi noted with a sigh. “Can’t say I’m surprised.”

Who would want to live with an insane old woman anyway, if given the freedom to leave? She’d expected it—yet now that it had actually happened, she did feel slightly let down on the inside.

“What was I expecting, anyway…?”

No use crying over spilled milk, as appeared to be our heroine’s favorite saying. Without the option to load an earlier save file, she could only accept her failure as a step-parent, and returned downstairs.

Upon discovering Estuan coffee beans at the market of Mescala, Izumi had soon slipped back to an uncannily accurate re-enactment of her Earthly routine. She would make a fire in the stove, set a pot of water to boil, measure enough beans for a cup, grind them with a mortar, and prepare herself a cup of coffee, before doing anything else.

It was going to take more time and work before the local product would reach the quality of its otherworldly counterpart, but it was still a lot better than nothing. Somehow, demand for this “coffee” had started to spread in the Imperial territories like wildfire, starting among army officers and soon reaching through infantry the civilian population, showing no sign of stopping.

Explosively increased profits made Estuan farmers hurry to expand production—although, they weren’t quite sure yet what to think of this new, foreign name slapped on their local specialty. What did “coffee” even mean? Was it Old Tongue, or what? Agents of eastern Oferion had stolen plant samples from Estua and were planning to start competition, although it would likely take a few years before they could enter the markets—provided the world didn’t end before then.

Ignorant of the terrible chain reaction she had triggered, Izumi enjoyed her coffee in peace, black, without sugar.

“Hm?”

Then, she noticed the note on the kitchen table.

There was a slip of paper under the little flower vase in the middle. Izumi was fairly certain she hadn’t left it there herself. It couldn’t have been from the previous resident either, seeing as Izumi had brought the vase. Lifting the flowers, she took out the paper and found that a very recent message had been written on it.

I broke a plate.

Please don’t be angry, I’m going to buy a new one.

I took the copper you had left in the cupboard.

-Iris

“Ha——!?”

Izumi had to read the note many times over before she could make heads or tails of the contents. Finally, the words sank through the heavy filtering of disbelief and self-loathing, allowing her to grasp their actual meaning. And, as soon as she did, a sense of cold dread flooded her heart.

“That dummy!”

Forgetting all else, she leapt off her chair and ran for the door.

4

Iris didn’t know how to ride a horse, so she walked. A healthy young person walked six miles in a couple of hours, although the sandy, uneven road was tiresome to step on. They’d had better roads at home.

What a stupid accident. A plate had slipped from her hand, only lightly knocking against the edge of the table, but that had been enough to split it clean in two. The quality was terrible. They’d had better plates at home.

Iris met old Mrs Wafcher on the way and said good morning. The old woman made no response and seemed extraordinarily creepy in general. She also walked dreadfully slowly, so Iris gave up on having travel company and passed ahead. She knew going to the town wasn’t a good idea. But she had to. She had been given free food, free shelter, free clothes, her own room, and there was nothing at all of value she could give in exchange. She only caused trouble and broke things. Her landlady clearly had enough problems of her own.

What if Izumi changed her mind and threw her out? Iris had seen her talking with the neighbor. They’d been talking about her, she’d seen their looks. It couldn’t have been anything good. Left alone, she would have no money, no food, not enough skill to steal, no power to defend herself.

And she would die.

Guaranteed, she was going to die.

But she could get a new plate. A better one. Something as simple as shopping—she could do that much. It had to make her at least a little useful. Though they had better shops at home.

In a couple of hours, Iris reached the west gate of Mescala.

The gates were wide open and there was a steady line of people passing in and out already this early in the day. There were guards too, men in brown scale armors, clutching spears, giving unpleasant looks. But one glance at the girl and they’d look away without a word.

It was not her they dreaded, of course.

Iris touched the mark on her neck. It felt no different from normal skin, perhaps slightly smoother, yet she knew exactly where it was. She was acutely conscious of it every waking moment. It was drawn on her mind, her soul, in indelible precision.

Trying to forget about the tattoo, Iris headed to the marketplace and sought out one of the shops on the east side. She’d been around long enough to have a rough grasp of what was where, though this was her first time actually inside the general goods store. Before, merchants would shoo her away whenever she got too close to their stalls at the plaza, and straying anywhere near the more reputable shops would result in a barrage of threats and curses. But the clothes Izumi had bought Iris were tidy and handsome, her hair was properly combed and done, and her face clean. This superficial do-over earned a reaction worlds apart from the old.

Still, the locals knew her face and it was useless to try to hide the tattoo. She would never be free again. She had merely gone from an unwanted slave to a slave with a master, and any respect shown was for the owner and not her.

Accordingly, the male shop clerk spared Iris no words of greeting, but met her with a furtive scowl of suspicion. She had better finish her business quickly. Iris passed to the back of the store, where she saw the kitchen equipment loaded, picked up a clean plate similar to the old from a pile, and headed to the register.

“Can you pack it up for me?” she requested the merchant, laying the copper on the counter, her heart beating unpleasantly hard. “Keep the rest.”

The man took the plate without a word, wrapped it up in a sheet of brown paper, handed it back, and swiped the copper off the counter, his eyes never once leaving her hands. Hugging the package against her chest, Iris turned around, the unvoiced animosity practically chasing her out, and only dared to breathe normally when she heard the front door close behind her.

Success. It had been a lot easier than expected. Now, all she had to do was get back home.

Iris started past the marketplace when two men stepped forth from the sidelines to block her path. She knew their faces. One was called Felix, the other was Halfrek. Both worked for Mr Loyd, of course, and his shop was where she had met them.

“Well, look who’s here!” Felix said, his tone quivering. He was one of those perpetually anxious people, who appeared to expect the sky to drop on him at any given moment. Perhaps it was due to the stress, but he was also rather skinny and sickly, looking closer to forty despite being barely twenty.

“Hardly recognized ya!” he said to the girl, forcing a smile that showed his bad teeth.

“What do you want?” Iris asked the men.

“I think you know,” Halfrek told her. “You need to come back.”

Though they were close to the same age and height, Halfrek was built of sterner stuff than Felix, his criminal presentation likewise a level more composed. This was why the latter would often recruit the former as his partner-in-crime, to handle the more forceful parts. There was no brain in this team, but at least there was some muscle. His size usually allowed Halfrek to joke around, but no humor could be seen on his harsh face today.

“The boss was furious when you didn’t show up,” he said. “He killed Daisy.”

“Yeah, that he did, pox on it,” Felix concurred. “Was pretty damn close things didn’t turn ugly back there! What’d you do that for, anyway? And what’s up with those rags? Did they make you a noble while I wasn’t looking?”

“I got bought, okay?” Iris told them, taking a step back. “I’m not with the company anymore.”

“Now, now,” Felix said, taking a step forward. “You know that ain’t how it works, lass. Mr Loyd doesn’t sell to commoners, not part of our 'clientele'. You were supposed to run with the money, get it?”

“Well, things changed!” the girl insisted, backing away. “He got a lot of money already. Leave me alone!”

“Listen, kid,” Halfrek told her with a calming gesture. “This doesn’t have to get any more painful than it needs to be. You come with us, nice and easy. Mr Loyd said he’ll let you off the hook, if you come back of your own will.”

“No, he didn’t,” she guessed.

“Okay. You’ll have to be punished,” the man admitted. “Rules are rules. Can’t say you didn’t know. But you’ll get to keep your life. We were told to take you back if we saw you, so either way, you’re coming with us now. You’ll just make your case that much worse.”

Iris bit her lip. She wasn’t going to outrun two grown men on open ground. Maybe she had a chance, across the markets, using the stalls and customers for cover. But as she thought about it further, hope left her. What meaning was there in running? They knew where she lived. Even if she got away today, she’d only mix Izumi deeper in her problems.

Iris looked down at the package in her hands. She’d bought the plate for nothing, after all. She should’ve thrown it away, yet the thought alone seemed impossible.

“Come on,” Halfrek said, beckoning at her. “We’ll talk to Mr Loyd for you. It’ll be alright.”

“Aye,” Felix nodded. “Come on, girl. You’re lucky you’re a rare specimen. Were it anybody else, it wouldn’t end so nicely for ya. Mr Loyd can be harsh when he gets like that.”

Squeezing her eyes shut, cursing her awful luck, Iris took a step to follow after the men.

Then the noise of a galloping horse interrupted them.

Along the crowded west lane came a gray gelding at full speed, forcing the pedestrians aside, bearing a rider, who had been in too much hurry to even saddle her mount. Bringing her horse around the marketplace in front of the arguing trio, Izumi halted and jumped off, an unusually stern look on her face. Coming to face the two men, she forced a smile on her lips, though it failed to hide her obvious anger.

“Top of the morning to you, gentlemen!” she said. “Might I know what is the problem here? Since it rather looks to me like you have an itty-bitty problem with my friend, as much as I hope it’s only my imagination. Admittedly, the young lady can be a little challenged when it comes to basic communication, but it’s nothing a parental guidance session won’t fix. So why don’t you leave it to me and hurry on your way now?”

“This doesn’t concern you, lady,” Felix told her, thinking he could scare the woman away by raising his voice a little. “Back off!”

“My, my!” Izumi’s smile widened in response, even if it made her expression only seem more menacing. “What do you know, there really is a problem, isn’t there? Oh, that won’t do! That won’t do at all! I want no clouds over my sunny slice-of-life sitcom! No way, what should we do? It seems the gentlemen themselves are experiencing communication trouble too—with listening comprehension, to be precise! Didn’t I just tell you, in no difficult words, to take a hike? I’m nowhere near old enough to play a foster parent to manchildren like yourselves, so you’re going to have to find the solution to this one on your own.”

Felix and Halfrek traded glances, and then sought counsel from Iris as well, but were left without an elaboration. It seemed the woman was quite out of her mind. Giving up on trying to understand her, Halfrek, as the stronger of the two, stepped over to drive home the message.

“You need to leave!” he told Izumi, reaching to grip her arm and help her get started on her journey. But before his fingers reached her, Izumi caught his hand instead. She flipped his palm around and bent the fingers towards the elbow to lock the wrist, securing the hold firmly against her shoulder.

“AARGH…!” A sharp pain flared down the wrist, through his whole arm, and Halfrek dropped down on one knee with a cry. The pain shortly stopped and he tried to get up again, but found that he couldn’t. As soon as he raised himself even just a little, the agony shot through his limb again, forcing him back down.

“What the shit is this!?” he exclaimed, dumbstruck.

“This?” Izumi asked. “Why, it’s nikyo. The second technique of Aikido.”

“What—?”

“And this is security takedown!” she continued and moved, manipulating his arm to bring the man on his face in the dirt. “This is an elbow drop!”

Izumi slammed down elbow-first on Halfrek’s neck with her full weight and whacked him again for added effect, and the man fell limp with a brief jolt. She bounced quickly up and marched straight on to Felix.

“This is an uppercut! This is a haymaker! This is a Spartan kick! This is a kakato geri!” she continued to call out, while pummeling the skinny man into the ground without mercy.

Seeing that neither of the goons were getting up, the woman then turned to Iris.

Iris looked back at her, instinctively retreating another step, unsure of what was to come.

But there was no trace of wrath left on Izumi’s visage. In a blink, all the tension was gone.

“Are you done playing with your friends now?” Izumi asked Iris in a relaxed tone, brushing the dirt off her pants. “Shall we go home then? Next time, don’t skip out on breakfast before you go out, okay? It’s the most important meal of the day.”

“Ah...Sure,” Iris replied, squeezing the plate in her arms.

And took a small step forward.