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Chapter 7: Contact
The following night, I asked an acquaintance to let me reserve a small bar. Well, “reserve” was an exaggeration. It was only for a short period after the bar's regular business hours had ended.
The narrow bar, squeezed between two buildings, had shelves lined with glittering bottles of liquor. Several counter seats were arranged along the aisle. Its owner, a friend of mine with an unparalleled love for alcohol, had started the place as a hobby project. It had become one of Erakton's hidden gems among local drink enthusiasts.
“Allen, just who exactly is this person you invited?” Zen asked.
“You'll find out when she gets here... assuming she comes at all.”
Although Asphial lacked entertainment and its food culture wasn't especially developed compared to Earth, its alcohol was somehow on par with Earth's—possibly even superior. This fantasy world was filled with strange items: ponds that continuously produced cheap liquor, honey so alcoholic it could be ignited, and countless other oddities.
W̃е̇ bñо́ vе̃ l̄ Е n̆ u_m а
The drink I was currently enjoying was called Fire Dragon Wine.
Its vivid reddish-pink color was beautiful, and it was said to possess such an overwhelming alcohol content that even dragons—the strongest creatures in the world—could become drunk from it. Whether a dragon could actually get drunk from it was another matter entirely.
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Despite my last-minute request, Zen, the bar owner and my acquaintance, cleaned up his shop while asking about the guest I was expecting. As he carefully polished glasses and smoked a cigarette, he waited. I drank alcohol, but I didn't smoke. Still, there was something undeniably cool about Zen's manner, and I admired it a little.
The girl known as the Black Princess—whose real name was Shizuku—was a transmigrant from Japan. She was now a famous adventurer whose name was known throughout the kingdom and even in the royal capital itself. In the Kingdom of Cainliese, where I lived, she was among the strongest individuals alive. She was probably the most successful transmigrant in the entire country.
Unlike me, who had simply drifted through life, she had carved out her own path with her strength and made a name for herself. And as someone who had been transported to this world without any prior connections, her journey must have been especially difficult.
Ring-a-ling.
Еn̄ ú m а
“Welco—”
At the appointed hour, well past midnight when Erakton had already gone to sleep, the bell above Zen's door rang. Zen, who had finished cleaning and had been idly smoking while waiting, dropped his cigarette the instant he saw who entered.
“Come on... just what kind of connections do you have to know her?”
“I don't know her.”
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“Are you Allen?”
Ën̈ um а̀ .і̆d̃
Zen looked at me as if asking what sort of insanity I had gotten myself involved in. Meanwhile, the Black Princess, Shizuku, ignored his astonishment and fixed her gaze on me.
“Have a seat. Zen, can you get her something to drink?”
“...I'm definitely not serving her alcohol.”
Shizuku sat one seat away from me. The tall stool, designed for adults, was a little too high for her small frame, leaving her feet dangling in the air. Before getting into the actual discussion, I asked Zen to bring her something to drink. Though still visibly confused, he served her a glass of juice made from a fruit called Pohn, a popular local beverage in Erakton.
“...Now then, I'd like to hear your story.”
“Sorry, Zen. Could you leave us alone for a bit?”
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“Sure. Just make sure you lock up afterward.”
Ignoring Shizuku's attempt to get straight to the point, I first sent Zen out. This conversation concerned people who had been reincarnated or transported from another world. It wasn't something I wanted an ordinary resident of Asphial to overhear.
Zen left without complaint. Normally no one would hand over their establishment to someone else, but this was a trust built over many years.
“Sorry for ignoring you. This is a conversation between two people who lived in Japan. I didn't want him hearing it.”
“You're Japanese? Despite looking like that?”
“I'm reincarnated. Only my memories are Japanese.”
Ѐ n um a
Trying to calm the black-haired girl, who looked unable to contain her excitement, I answered her questions at a relaxed pace.
Who was I? Why had I contacted her? I started with harmless topics to ease the tension.
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Even when facing someone from the same homeland, she clearly wasn't lowering her guard. That surprised me. Shizuku was the first other reincarnated or transported person I'd ever met. Apparently, even people from the same world couldn't automatically be trusted.
“What's your name?”
“I'm Saioji Shizuku. I'm eighteen this year.”
Eighteen? I'd assumed she was still in middle school based on her appearance.
Е̄ ǹǔ m.а̂ . і d
“And you?”
“Me? I'm Allen. A twenty-year-old unemployed man in this world.”
“...Not that. In the original world.”
“Oh. In Japan, I was Shinjo Masato. If my memory is correct, I was an ordinary twenty-five-year-old man when I died.”
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I told her the truth about who I used to be. Though I now looked like a native of Asphial, I had originally been Japanese.
“I see...”
W̆е.b̃ n̊оvе̃l̄ Е̄ nǔ m ӓ
My honesty didn't reduce her wariness at all. Judging by her reaction, she'd probably met other people from Japan before.
“The transported people I've met always seemed shocked when I told them my family name was Saioji. Since you weren't surprised, you might be from an earlier era.”
“Huh? Were you famous or something? An idol?”
The way she said it made it sound as though every Japanese person should recognize the name Saioji.
“Well, considering my age, you can probably figure it out. About twenty years have passed since I lived in Japan. Though, the place I'm based in Japan is like something out of the Showa era.”
Even if my base in Japan was a place that felt stuck in the Showa era, time there had continued moving forward while I'd lived in Asphial.
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Nowadays, when I visited convenience stores, I saw magazines and manga I didn't recognize. Even talking with Kida, the cheerful part-time worker, often resulted in a huge generation gap. Fortunately, he thought I was a foreigner, so he never questioned why our conversations sometimes didn't line up.
“Your base... I see. So you really can go to Japan.”
“Yeah. Everything I gave you this time was bought there. It wasn't easy to get, either.”
I pointed to the magazine and manga sitting on the counter—items purchased with money I'd earned through hard work under Japan's scorching summer sun.
“Then—”
“But I can't send you back to your original world,” I cut her off before she could finish. “I'm not saying that to be cruel. It's simply impossible. Nothing alive except me can cross between worlds.”
Ёn̂ǔ m̊ӓ. і́ ď
I felt bad for her, but it was better to crush that hope immediately than let it grow.
“...I see.”
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“Still, there are plenty of other things I can do. I can bring back items you want from Japan and so on. Though I'll charge you for them.”
That was my real objective. I wanted to earn money with Shizuku's support. With her influence and reputation, doing business would become far easier. And in return, she could obtain Japanese magazines, manga, and other forms of entertainment unavailable in this world. Naturally, I phrased it more gently than that.
“...Fine. I'll become your sponsor. In exchange—”
“Yeah. I'll obtain whatever items from Japan you request. Just don't ask for the impossible, okay? I don't have a family registry there, so I can't get a proper job.”
Ẃе bnо̄ v̀е̊ l Е num а̌
Buying magazines and manga was manageable while helping out around Akane Village. But if she suddenly wanted a game console or a computer, that would be another matter. I wanted to make my financial limitations clear beforehand.
“...That won't be a problem. I'll write a letter. I think that will solve everything.”
“A letter? Well, if that's all...”
Even after I explained that I was essentially a poor foreigner unable to hold regular employment in Japan, Shizuku seemed to have some sort of plan in mind.
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