1

Izumi was doing something unusual in the kitchen. Iris had come down for a glass of water and found the woman kneading some manner of a dough on the table, a stern, focused look on her face. There was flour everywhere. To shield her clothes, Izumi had donned a dark apron, and tied her hair up. Was she going to bake a bread? There was still plenty of old bread left. Overcome with an ambiguous suspicion, unable to immediately glean the answer beyond reasonable doubt only by looking, Iris had no choice but to ask upright.

“What are you making?”

“Pizza!” Izumi answered, continuing to work the dough with firm hand motions.

“Pizza…?” Iris froze and repeated with a disturbed frown.

“Yes, yes, I know,” the woman said. “‘What is that?’ ‘Neverheard!’ ‘Is it bad?’ ‘It’s terrible, isn’t it?’ Well, you’ll have the answer to all your questions, come tomorrow. So until then, patience is the word.”

Izumi’s hands stopped and she broke into excited speech,

“See, I finally have a real, Neapolitan-style stone oven in my house! If I don’t make pizza now, moving here will have been for nothing! Completely wasted! Even should the sky drop on me, I will bake the most delicious Margherita this world has ever known! I absolutely refuse to rest in peace until I’ve achieved this! And now’s a good time, if ever.”

“………..Sure.”

Iris stood staring at the table with the strangest look on her face.

“Just you wait for it!” Izumi said and resumed kneading the dough. “First, we work good viscosity into this bad boy. Then we let it sit nice and quiet overnight in room temperature, until it gets all bubbly and smelly. Then, tomorrow, we’ll go buy some tomatoes and wine, and make a nice, rich sauce, bake the pie with a bit of cheese and voila! Oh, I can hardly wait!”

“Yeah, whatever,” Iris shrugged with a sigh and went past the table to fill her glass from the tank in the cool corner of the room. “If we’re going shopping tomorrow, can we get some real food along the way, in case your experiment goes south?”

“Tomorrow, I will accept your tearful apology, young lady!” Izumi replied. “It’ll be sooo good your cheeks will fall right off!”

Iris rolled her eyes and said nothing.

“My, my, you have no dreams, do you?” the woman said with a pretentious sigh. “Even though you’re still young.”

“Dreams…” Iris quietly mumbled, drinking her water in hesitant gulps while staring out of the window into the darkening evening. “Where's the point? None of it is going to come true, anyway?”

“Aw, I used to say edgy stuff like that too,” Izumi remarked. “When I was sixteen. Having gone all jaded already at thirteen, kids sure grow up fast these days.”

“I’m practically fifteen,” Iris corrected. “And forget it, if you’re just going to laugh at me.”

“Now, now, don’t be upset. See, Iris, life works like this: when you’re young, you spend all your time being miserable, worrying about what others think about you. You think your classmates laughing at you is the worst thing in the world. You do all you can just to try and avoid looking ridiculous to someone else. But that’s nothing but a waste of time. The harder you try, the sillier you’ll look. The trick then is to simply let go. Learn to laugh at yourself alongside the others. You see, if everybody’s laughing, then it stops being funny and gets only awkward, so they’ll leave you alone. And that, my friend, is how you acquire easy living.”

“Do you know a way that doesn’t start with you being everybody’s laughing stock?” Iris asked.

“Uhh, no?” Izumi replied, after quick thought. “I wasn’t all that popular at school, you know, and…”

“Uh-huh?”

“Don’t give me that look! I hate that look!” Izumi wailed, throwing flour everywhere and causing Iris to retreat over a safer distance.

“Everybody’s the same, deep down,” Izumi then resumed, growing more serious again. “There’s no person out there whose life wouldn’t be completely ridiculous. It’s all about whether you recognize it yourself, or don’t. I think it’s the people who deliberately ignore how nutty their own existence is, pretend they’re something so terribly important, and laugh and judge others, who are the most miserable of all. They’ll never know a genuinely happy moment in their lives. Yet, they have no choice but to stick to that screwed-up illusion, even if they know better, or else all they ever did or tried would lose meaning. Don’t you think that’s just sad? Being the slave to your own dream of a dream? Whatever you do, don’t become a lame grown-up like that.”

“As usual, I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Iris commented, before adding after a pause, “Not that I couldn’t know it—just how completely absurd and ridiculous my life is. You can only laugh. Like everybody else.”

“I’m not laughing, though.”

“Eh?”

Steadily folding the dough, over and over, Izumi spoke without a hint of a smile,

“Those who have shed their pretenses and see the absurdity of life—I wouldn’t ever laugh at such people. No. Those are the people I respect most. Though I do think it’s much too early for you to be mulling over heavy stuff like that. Your circumstances aren’t any of your own fault, are they? Then there’s no reason for anyone to ridicule you either. Just focus on living now, one day at a time. You’ll find a dream to call your own, in time. And anyone who would try to bully you on the way there, you can leave for me to deal with.”

“...”

Iris took her emptied glass back to the cupboard and departed upstairs, making no sound, taking great care not to let Izumi see her face.

2

Izumi had bought books from the town, just in case she got bored enough to read, but such a time never came, and she gifted them all on to Iris. It was a miscellaneous selection, including historical chronicles, books on plants and animals, geography, traditional cooking, as well as what could be considered lifestyle guides. There were even a few select works of fiction, fairy tales, and poetry recommended by the shopkeep. Someone with overactive imagination might have assumed the books were bought with educational purposes in mind, but they might as well have been just to kill time. Knowing Izumi and her history as a student, one couldn't quite tell.

Loyd had called Iris barely literate, but she was young and a quick learner. In the lack of better things to do, she kept on reading with the aid of a dictionary, and the effort grew easier by the day. The lonely study did help her get her mind off things and make time pass, sometimes a little too well. In a few weeks, she had gone through most of Izumi’s small collection, some of them multiple times. Through books, she felt she had finally found a solid way to increase her personal value. Considering how Izumi’s answer to most questions regarding the surrounding world were “I don’t know”, Iris had every opportunity to become the top scholar of the household.

In the afternoon of the following day, as Izumi left to buy the remaining ingredients for her ambitious pizza project, Iris volunteered to come along—after firmly establishing that she simply had nothing better to do. Her hidden agenda was to add a few new books to the growing library, although, for some inexplicable reason, saying it aloud seemed too embarrassing.

The girl had grown fond of Masamune over the days, perhaps more so than of the horse’s owner, and had gladly assumed the role of caring for it. They got the gelding before the cart and made the six-mile journey to Mescala like any other day, not talking much, but under a carefree mood.

The weather had turned clouded overnight, parky and gloomy. Strong, sporadic gales blew over the cape from the Bay’s direction. But it wasn’t raining just yet and Izumi stubbornly held onto her planned dinner menu, so the idea of postponing the trip was never brought up.

Nothing was different about the town either.

The vendors at the marketplace were in business, as ever. They knew no Sunday holidays around these parts, if they did anywhere else either, and saw little reason to miss a day's sales. The heaviest traffic tended to focus on early mornings, with an after work wave shortly before sunset. Knowing this, the travelers had timed their visit in the more quiet hours of the afternoon. Not only because the lack of crowds made shopping more pleasant, but also because it made keeping an eye on the surroundings easier, though Izumi took care not to show her concerns on the outside.

Izumi purchased a bag of fresh-looking tomatoes, round and deep red, with the stalks still attached, and paid eight marks of copper for them. She also bought herbs resembling basil, although their taste was closer to spicy parsley, some small nuts, and a slice of hard cheese, with the end goal of making pesto. Purchasing also some milder goat cheese from the general goods store, two bottles of wine from a liquor store, and a variety of other things, they were at last home free.

“I guess that’s about it,” Izumi said, double-checking the shopping list. “Did you need anything, Iris? New books? Have you read all the old ones by now?”

“Oh, no, I’m good,” Iris quickly denied, suddenly feeling rather modest. How had Izumi guessed her actual goal, anyway?

“You sure?” the woman asked again.

“Yeah,” Iris insisted. “You shouldn’t spend any more money on me than you have to.”

“Hm? Why’s that?”

“You know full well why...”

The woman’s oblivious look was vexing.

“Nope. Can I get a fifty-fifty?”

“Since we’re not...” Iris hesitated. “...Since I’m just a slave.”

“That again?” Izumi sighed, her brows slightly furrowing. “I suppose calling us friends would be kind of pushing it, with the age gap and all. We’re not really family either, there’s no denying that. It wouldn’t be all that off to say we’re from altogether different worlds. And I feel it’d be rather self-serving to pretend otherwise, probably. But I do think it’s fine to not try to slap any labels on this arrangement. Whatever we are, I chose to be your ally, Iris. So it’s fine for you to rely on me, as much as you like. You’re not a slave anymore, you’re free. Free to be selfish and greedy. Free to ask the impossible. And it’s my job as the adult here to tell you whether something’s really possible, or isn’t. So don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll never be free,” Iris replied, shaking her head with a pained laugh. “No matter how we pretend otherwise. They’ll never admit it. Even if by some chance of a miracle they let me go, it wouldn’t change what I am. Filthy. Stained, in a way you can't ever wash off.”

“Hey. Listen here, young lady,” Izumi said and seized Iris by the shoulders, gently shaking her. “I’m getting just a bit tired of that depressing way of talking. You are what you choose to be. No one else can decide that for you. I took you in so that you could make that choice, without any extra baggage. If anyone has a problem with that, I’ll send them packing. Do you read me? Don’t think about the past now. Think only about the future. What do you want to be? Where do you want to go? Whatever the answer is, I can help you get there.”

“So you want to save me?” Iris asked her with a crooked smile. “Because you’re an adventurer—a hero? But there are people in this world not even you can help.”

Izumi drew back her hands with a start and retreated a step, perceiving, for a moment, in the girl’s cynical tone and look the spitting image of the deceased assassin.

“...Sorry,” Iris apologized, seeing the woman’s reaction, and was only a young girl without hope again.

“...Me being a hero was only a terrible joke,” Izumi sullenly said, turning away. “I’m nothing, just a nutty old woman. My best before-date is long past now. But you’re different, Iris. You’ve barely started on this journey yet. So don’t go quitting on me before the credits. You’re right in that there are people in reality not even a superhero could save. You know why? Because no one can save those who don’t want to be saved. The only one who can truly save a person is always the person herself. Do keep that in mind.”

Izumi fell quiet and went on to triple-check Masamune’s harness.

“Well, if you insist,” Iris then gave in with a shrug. “Buy me more books.”

3

Finished with their business in the bookstore, the two returned to the horse and the cart, to begin the trip back home. The day appeared to be ending early, with the clouds growing still heavier, creeping over from the west, carrying overbearing darkness together with them. Erratic squalls tore at the hard grass by the road, but the gravel on the path was too damp and coarse to let up any dust.

It looked like there might come a real storm yet.

“Hm?”

In the waning light, Izumi spied an odd group in the distance up ahead. There was a carriage pulled across the road, with several men standing idle around it.

Had there been a wreck? A broken wheel?

Or something worse?

Knowing they had also been seen and there was no other way around on the solitary path, Izumi let Masamune tread on, quietly gripping the reins. By the silent tension in Iris seated beside her, Izumi could tell that they were likely in for some bad news.

As they drew closer, Izumi could see better the large, open-top carriage, painted black as a hearse, with two horses harnessed before it, one dirty brown, one gray, of a hue darker than Masamune. There were six adult men standing about the cart in rough, mismatched clothing. They weren’t fixing the transport, seeing as there was nothing wrong with it, but only deliberately blocking the road, facing the travelers. There was a seventh man, sitting alone aboard the carriage, on the high driver’s perch. The gentleman in question stood apart from the hoodlums in his gray-blue tuxedo and top hat, which also made identifying him fairly effortless, even from a good distance.

It was Mr Loyd.

Seeing as the way was blocked, Izumi stopped the horse and climbed off. Iris also got off but kept close to Masamune’s side, as if to seek shelter from its large frame.

“You guys don’t know holidays either, do you?” Izumi asked the men.

“Good evening, milady,” Loyd greeted her, tipping his hat. “I am loath to intrude upon you on such a windy night, but I’m afraid we have a small problem. And as this problem shows no sign of getting settled by itself, I have been left with precious little choice but to come see to it in person. For as I’m sure you’re aware, you have something in your possession that I would like to have back.”

“So you didn’t get the memo?” she asked. “I’m fairly sure I told your henchmen that I don’t want to see you or your associates anywhere near where I live again. Because it’s a pretty weird business model, where the merchant wants his stuff back after he’s been paid for it.”

“I can see why you would feel that way,” the man replied, standing up. “But I fear there’s been a slight misunderstanding. You see, we do not normally conduct business with common persons such as yourself, milady. The transaction you speak of was a mistake from the beginning, and my earnest wish is to merely rectify this mistake. I freely admit that it was entirely my own misjudgment that is to blame for this and that you, milady, have no fault in the matter whatsoever. Because of this, I am willing to make the rare exception to your benefit. Here. You may have your money back. There is an additional twenty silver included for the trouble, and whatever costs our Iris may have caused you.”

Loyd tossed a small pouch at Izumi’s feet. It made a light, clinking sound as it fell, proving the silvery filling.

“Now, do be so kind as to return the girl without a debate,” the man requested. “Do so, and I shall give you my word of honor that you will never see any of us again.”

Izumi made no move, nor did she spare the coin pouch a look. Crossing her arms, she stood still like a statue in the middle of the road.

“Well, Iris?” she asked instead. “What are you going to do?”

“Eh...?”

Iris stood by the horse, pale, furtive, and trembling, and failed to reply.

“I only just told you, but I’m not a hero,” Izumi continued. “People who have given up the will to live are beyond me. I’m not a shrink, I can’t go out of my way to help those who don’t want help. I don’t know how. This world is a little too hard to take on so much extra baggage. When all’s said and done, the only one who can truly save you is yourself. And if you believe you are beyond hope, then you probably are. That doesn't mean you need to develop amazing powers out of nothing and beat impossible odds by yourself, mind you. It's the thought that counts. A person finds salvation by making the choice to seek it—that's all I'm saying.”

Iris made no reply, but stared down at the ground at her feet.

“I know it’s scary,” Izumi continued. “All choices are. There’s no surefire recipe to success. No guarantee that any of the paths actually lead to happiness. Trying to predict the future with logic and magic is something only a god could do. All we little people can is take the leap of faith. It’s a lot asked of a kid your age. Probably too much. But whatever you do, pick the path that you feel is right. The one you don’t have to regret, even if it ends up being full of pain.”

“Iris?” Loyd called the girl. “What are you waiting for? I am not so sure what is going on, but as far as I can tell, the lady holds no claim over you and has granted you the permission to leave. There should be nothing to deliberate about then. You know what follows if you refuse an order, for both you and your patron. So come over here and be quick about it.”

“I’ll go!” Iris now exclaimed, taking a hurried step forward. “Don’t do anything! I’ll go…”

Iris glanced at Izumi. The woman said nothing more, but remained quietly standing in place. Taking another few hurried steps forward, Iris passed Izumi and headed towards Loyd’s carriage.

Or, she tried to.

After the fifth step, her feet froze against her own will and she halted, as though having run up to an invisible wall, and her lip quivered.

“Iris…?” Mr Loyd spoke her name again. “Do not make me repeat myself.”

“I…”

Despite the command, Iris couldn’t take another step.

No matter how she tried, no matter how she told herself that she had to, that it was the only rational choice, she couldn’t. This was as far as she could suppress her own will and emotions, and not one inch further. Dropping on her knees on the road, she clung to the sand, tears flooding the corners of her eyes.

“——I don’t want to go!” she broke down and shouted. “I don’t want to go! Please don’t make me go back there! Please...!”

A blink of an eye later, Izumi stood between Iris and the black carriage, facing Loyd.

“Well, there you have it,” she said.

“What is the meaning of this?” Loyd asked, shaking his head. “I thought we had your agreement?”

“I’m not qualified to decide for others,” Izumi retorted. “Nobody is. The only one who can tell what she does with her life is the person herself, and she’s given you her piece. I am merely resolved to support her choices, whatever they should be. So the talk’s done. This is your loss, douchebag.”

“You know, I am very disappointed in you, milady!” the man said. “When we first met, I was certain we could come to see eye-to-eye, that you were a person of culture.”

“That’d be your third mistake then,” she told him. “You made me want to puke the moment we first met, and nothing’s changed. So I’d appreciate it if you took off now, posthaste. I really don’t want to look at the face of a creep like you any longer than I have to. It is kind of spoiling the scenery.”

“That is really rather childish of you!”

“Yes, yes,” Izumi said and sighed. “You folks are all about money, right? I don’t care much for getting rowdy at my age, so name your price. How much will it take for you to forget about one slave and never look back? I’ll pay it. You’ll be happy then, I take it?”

“Why, I am shocked if you think so lowly of our establishment!” Loyd replied, spreading his arms. “This is not only a matter of money! It is about what kind of a message this sends to the community! I have the public image of my esteemed sponsors to mind! It is simply not my call to make!”

“Then who’s your boss?” she asked. “I’ll go have a word with him myself.”

“Absurd! That is not how we do things around here! You will return my product to me this very instant, or else face the consequences. As you may see, I have gone to quite extraordinary lengths to keep civil with you, milady, yet I cannot go on like this any further, if you keep turning a deaf ear to my pleas.”

“You think you’ve been the patient one in here?” Izumi grunted, stepping forward. “I’m the very image of Mother Teresa, listening to a villain who can’t take ‘no’ for an answer. How often do you think I do that, normally? Not very, I can tell you! I said I don’t like to get rowdy, not that I ever won’t. I will, if I have to, and you’re not going to love it. Gram!”

Walking up to Loyd’s carriage, Izumi named the Rune of Power. Mana surging in her limbs, she lifted her knee, planted her boot on the side boarding, and kicked. Like a mere matchbox, the carriage was knocked over on its side, and Loyd was cast over into the trench by the road. Startled by the sudden yank and the explosion of magical energy, the horses bolted in panic and left racing towards Mescala, dragging the toppled carriage with them, gradually breaking it into pieces upon the rocky road.

Loyd’s goons backed away from the woman in shock and dread. “Witch!? She’s a witch!?”

“This is my final warning to you, gentlemen,” Izumi said. “Trouble me and Iris again, and I’ll think up a more lasting solution for you lot. Now scurry off, before I lose my temper for real!”

Two of the men went to pick up the slave merchant, who had hurt his arm in the fall, after which they wisely made their speedy retreat, sparing no parting remarks. Loyd’s eyes were pinned on Izumi the whole way as they passed her, and while he spoke nothing, the look on his face was downright haunting. There was no simple anger or vengeance in his eyes—only round, piercing madness. It was the look of a fanatic priest who has just seen a heathen strike the statue of his deity; staggered by the sheer audacity of the act, certain Apollo himself will repay the favor soon with a bolt of heavenly fire. It wasn’t a mere threat, or wishful expectation, but raw conviction upon which hung his whole world view and self-image, impossible for anyone to shake.

But after the villains had vanished into the distance, Izumi forgot about them and returned to Iris and the cart. Iris remained seated on her knees on the road, left dumbfounded by the unnatural performance.

“Congratulations, you’ve set yourself free,” Izumi told her, offering the girl her hand to help her up. “Now let’s go celebrate with some pizza.”

Coming across no further trouble, they rode back to the cottage. Iris took the horse to the shelter, fed and brushed it, while calming her racing heart. Meanwhile, Izumi took the purchases indoors and got started with the dinner. She lit fire in the oven. While the stovetop warmed, she diced the tomatoes with onions and garlic, put them in a pot, added wine, and left it to boil. In the meanwhile, she made the pesto, grinding herbs, a few cloves of garlic, and nuts in her mortar. She added vegetable oil, lemon, grated cheese, and seasonings, and mixed well with a spoon. She then took out the dough from the storage and shaped it into two large, round, flat pies atop the floured kitchen table and left them to rest. Deeming the oven hot enough in a while, she pushed the coals to the sides of the fireplace with a poker, clearing a space in the middle. She added the finished sauce and toppings to the pizzas, and used a long-shafted trowel originally made for bread to bake them one at a time.

Done, she called Iris over and they dined in candlelight.

For a long while, neither spoke a word and only the sound of their utensils disturbed the silence.

“Well, for my first time with these facilities, it’s so-so, I guess?” Izumi finally assessed the result with a critical shrug. “I guess it’s edible, even if it’s not Japanese food.”

The cheese, while good in its own peculiar way, was not quite a replacement for genuine mozzarella, and the wine not up to the 21st century quality standards either, but it was still a fairly successful Italian-style dinner, all-in-all.

“Um...what do you think...?” Izumi asked Iris, slightly worried about the answer, against her earlier bravado.

Iris stopped her fork and knife. She set the utensils aside, her expression effectively veiled by her dark curls. Then, the girl raised her face, brushing her bangs aside, wiping the tears pouring over her reddened cheeks.

“It’s the best thing I’ve ever had,” she said and laughed, laughed aloud, a free, unrestrained laugh.