“Oh. My. God! This is still so good! The broth is perfect! You get the oil-ness of the pork fat drippings, but it’s not bleh-like! And the noodles! Perfect texture and mouth feel. The way they hold the broth! I just… can’t! You should move to So Cal!”

  “Sir, a little pushy.”

  “You’re right, junior Grandpa. Sorry, Hiroki-san.”

  A different night, the same two diners.

  Out of all the foreigners, he liked Lake and Grandpa the best.

  The latter was a soothing presence that didn’t say much, but reminded him of the old oak in his neighborhood’s park that he had daydreamed under more times than he could count.

  The former’s gregarious nature was discomforting, but he couldn’t help but be drawn into it as though it were a magnet.

  “How do you make this so good?”

  Lake said between slurps of ramen noodles.

  “Am I slurping right?”

  He smiled.

  “Seven out of ten.”

  She gave him thumbs up.

  “Hear that, junior Grandpa? I’m catching up to you.”

  It was true, the old man slurped nearly like a proper local.

  “It’s not like we don’t have ramen back home, sir,” Ranger Grandpa said. “I’ve been eating it since before the spires.”

  “Yeah, but not authentic like this and not this specific kind. Hiroki-san’s the only one that makes it this way in the city.”

  He wasn’t quite sure that was true.

  From the sounds of it, Lake couldn’t venture much further out than the surrounding streets.

  “It’s a specialty from another region. To the south. I lucked out and got a secret recipe from clearing an encounter challenge. Before… well, before I had to change my plans.”

  His smile was strained.

  “Oh yeah? What did you want to be before becoming a ramen master?”

  Ramen chef, actually.

  His eyes drifted up to the government HQ.

  “I didn’t have a specific class in mind.” He sighed. “I just wanted to contribute.”

  “You’re built like a fighter,” Ranger Grandpa said. “Strong, but athletic. You move pretty well when accounting for…”

  “Junior Grandpa!” Lake poked the old man.

  “It’s okay, Lake-san. Grandpa-san only speaks the truth. Yes. I do try to keep up with my training, but I know it won’t ever be good enough for the JSDF.”

  “Did they even let you try? It’s weird that they’d turn down a willing fighter. It’s not like you guys couldn’t use more. I still don’t get it since I’ve seen literal rooms filled with cyborg legs.”

  “Maybe if I had tried to join before my loss. I did after, but I failed the test.”

  “Why? What’d they say?”

  Hiroki shrugged.

  The memory was a painful one.

  He had, perhaps naively, thought as Lake did. That his effort and heart would show the JSDF that he had value as a potential fighter. That all he needed was a limb and the opportunity to prove himself.

  “Nothing that matters anymore.”

  “So, what do you do during the day? I asked around and you only do dinners. Never lunch.”

  “This ramen is meant for the night. The colder the better. As for my days? I stay busy. I always train and I have my responsibilities as one of my neighborhood’s civilian safety officers. It is a simple duty.”

  Ranger Grandpa shook his head.

  “Don’t sell yourself short, Hiroki-san. We got those back home too. They play an important role at organizing their blocks in an emergency and getting them to shelters if it’s bad enough.”

  “And we’re last line of defense.”

  Ranger Grandpa nodded.

  “That too.”

  “Why are men always so grimderp?” Lake said. “Just kidding! I can do grim too. Go ahead, ask me a question about my past?”

  “Um…”

  “Kidding again!” Lake’s laugh reminded him of music. “Okay, Hiroki-san! Thank you for the meal!”

  He bowed as he accepted the empty bowl.

  “Back to standing around the ambassador’s office.” She rolled her eyes. “Oh, we won’t be coming over tomorrow night. Someone,” she darted her eyes at Grandpa theatrically, “wanted to try that tempura place down the street.”

  “Sorry, Hiroki-san. It’s nothing on your ramen. I can’t ever get sick of it, but I keep hearing about this magical tempura.”

  “I take no offense, Grandpa-san. You wouldn’t be speaking of Tempura-ing Through the Ages?”

  “Yeah! That’s the one!” Lake said.

  “Ah! Then you are in for a treat both for the presentation and the taste. Ask for Aimi-san and tell her that I sent you. We all take care of each other around here.”

  “Till next time, Hiroki-san!” Lake actually came around the counter and gave him a hug.

  Grandpa settled for a manly handshake.

  The night drew on.

  Cool to cold.

  A few more weeks and he’d need a thicker jacket and more supplies.

  His ramen was meant for the cold.

  He had told no lies.

  The line would grow longer and the workers and soldiers would begin taking their orders to go, which meant more work.

  That was one aspect of the government he had no complaints.

  They covered most of the cost of his ingredients.

  Which left him more than enough points and yen to cover his living costs comfortably.

  That was one aspect of the government he had complaints.

  Their continued clinging to the yen, which meant higher taxes on points.

  They had dedicated classes to tax collectors that could accurately track points exchanges despite it being done person to person through the spires’ instinctive system.

  No tax on transactions using the yen.

  Fifty percent when they used points.

  He decided to ask Lake and Grandpa for a comprehensive breakdown of the taxation system their home used.

  A regular customer tromped down the street, pulling him from his thoughts.

  Her head hung low, hidden by a dark hood.

  A blue scarf covered all but her grim eyes.

  He had never gotten a name despite thrice weekly encounters.

  Always take out and the barest conversation to maintain politeness.

  What was strange was that she always got four orders, which was three too many for such a petite woman.

  He supposed she could have been picking up for roommates? Or perhaps family?

  He would’ve asked, but she gave off a very intimidating aura.

  “Welcome!”

  She always arrived at the lulls between the early diners and the late diners.

  “Same order? Four?”

  “Yes, please.”

  Her voice was a whisper, but somehow he always heard her clearly.

  She stood motionless, staring at the ground while he hurried to put her order together.

  His nervousness kept him so focused on the work that he did notice a pair of women approach.

  “One moment! I’ll be right with you!”

  “Take your time, ramen master-chan!”

  The voice sounded familiar.

  He glanced up and saw a pretty face.

  What was with all the pretty young women lately?

  Not that he was complaining.

  It was just that it gave him false hope and daydreams that he could never reach, such as he was and would always be unless Lake’s promise was truly possible.

  No, Hiroki, he thought, don’t dream too high.

  He had learned that bitter lesson.

  It was enough to bring smiles and warm, full stomachs to those that lived that dream.

  The hooded woman’s eyes darted to the two newcomers.

  The first, the one that had spoken, bounced with a child’s energy.

  Her hooded jacket had fuzzy ears like a tanuki.

  The second looked a handful of years older.

  She was tall for a woman… no, she was just tall.

  Taller then him.

  But, he noticed with relief, she wore thick-soled combat boots, which somehow worked with her very tight jeans. So tight as to look painted on.

  He glanced away from her strong, athletic, shapely, but still feminine thighs before she could notice.

  At least he hoped so.

  She had a fighter’s eyes.

  Her black jacket was as light as his.

  Interestingly, the hooded woman, he couldn’t tell her age, stiffened as the bouncy one kept darting glances over.

  The tall, model-like one simply watched him work with mild indifference.

  At least, that’s what he felt.

  Who was to say how accurate he was?

  He could always ask, but to talk to the goddess seemed like an affront to existence in his humble estimation.

  Mercifully, he finished putting together the first woman’s order.

  She handed over paper money, which he appreciated.

  She had asked the first time and never forgot.

  “Thank you for the meal. Keep the change.”

  As always.

  He smiled as he placed the containers into her insulated bag.

  “Enjoy and come back!”

  If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  The hooded woman quickly strode back the way she had come.

  He lost sight of her past the other outdoor stalls and the milling people.

  “How may I serve you?”

  “Two bowls please, ramen master-chan!” the bouncy one said.

  The intimidating one sat down at the counter and continued watching him work.

  “That woman comes here often?”

  He almost jumped at her melodious voice.

  How can one’s voice be just as attractive as her entire physical being?

  “Several times a week, but never on repeat nights.”

  “And she’s always like that?”

  Hiroki shrugged.

  “Yes?”

  That seemed to satisfy the model and she nodded before turning to the cute, bouncy one.

  “Told you, Sparkle-sama! They have a tight leash around her like the vicious dog she is.”

  “I just wanted to see for myself. And please don’t call her that. Cal says she’s for real. He wouldn’t make a mistake.”

  “I guess,” she pouted, “but I don’t think you can make up for what she did. No matter how good she is now and forever.”

  “Agreed, but Cal says she knows that. That repentance is a lifetime’s work.”

  “Then why scare her?”

  “I told you, I wanted to see and I wanted her to see me.”

  “Ah! The big scary tiger to remind the small, scary dog that she’s watching. A clever tactic. That’s Sparkle-sama for you!”

  “Excuse me, sir, we’ll take it to go,” the model goddess said.

  He tried not to blush, but from the heat in his face… well… he could always blame the steam.

  “Of course!” He smiled and moved the hot broth into the insulated containers. The noodles went into their own. As did the pork belly slices. He had prepared packages for the rest of the garnishes. “If you aren’t going to eat them right away just reheat the broth. That should be enough to make everything else hot. And you can return the containers to any government collection site or kiosk. Or, better, you can bring them back here the next time you decide to grace me with your presence!”

  The smile froze on his face like the dead’s rictus.

  Kill me now, he thought.

  Could he be anymore lame and awkward?

  The cute, bouncy one giggled.

  The goddess in human form merely regarded him with a blank look.

  “Thank you for the meal,” she said after what felt like eternity.

  He took payment.

  Universal Points, but much more than he charged.

  Enough for ten bowls instead of two.

  “Um… there must be a mistake…”

  “Oh, sorry!” the cute, bouncy one said as she dug her arm up to the elbow in her dainty bag. “Not enough? This should cover it.”

  A glossy photo.

  A mahou shoujo wearing a mask and ears like a tanuki surrounded by tanuki plushies in colorful costumes and heroic poses.

  Some appeared to be flying.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Uh… Ando Hiroki…” he answered in a daze.

  What was even real anymore?

  The mahou shoujo, apparently, whispered as she wrote on the photo with a black marker.

  “To Hiroki-chan, ramen master. Thanks for the noodles! X.O.X.O. From your favorite mahou shoujo, Dashing Bandit Celebration-sama!”

  He accepted the autographed photo gingerly.

  “Uh… thank you… mahou shoujo-sama…”

  “I better not see that for sale!” She smiled as she wagged her finger. “Oh and if that girl with the blue scarf offers you a ride on her motorcycle. Don’t accept. She’s reformed or whatever, but why risk being eaten, you know?”

  He did not, in fact, know.

  The two walked away and he only remembered to breathe when he had lost sight of them.

  “This has been the strangest week,” he muttered.

  Singing Sea, ?a?p?ra?l, Janarch, 9158

  Orulon stared at the board.

  Captain Ealal’s white-painted army outnumbered his black-painted one as it had often over their week of daily games.

  He stared at his dwindling force carefully considering his next move.

  To their side, Adjutant Singer Pavoron waited patiently in his role as the impartial referee.

  Impartiality wasn’t always taken for granted.

  There were variations on the rules which allowed for the bribing, cajoling, intimidating or outright threatening of a referee.

  He had wondered if the captain and the adjutant weren’t working together, but decided that he was simply the poorer player.

  “Ten seconds,” Pavoron said.

  Orulon glared at the icons painted on the back of his pieces.

  Strategy and tactics had given way to unhappy petulance and the continued inability to grasp what lessons the ancient captain sought to teach him through daily trouncings.

  He touched his Secret Dagger piece.

  It could eliminate every other piece except for the Young Spear, which was the lowest ranked piece.

  One square in front of his piece held the captain’s piece, which he was certain wasn’t a Young Spear.

  Orulon had a very good memory and he recalled five turns ago that piece had eliminated his Three Sword General, which meant it could only be one of three pieces. A Five Sword, Four Sword or a Secret Dagger.

  He moved his piece forward and awaited Pavoron’s judgment.

  The adjutant singer relished the dramatic pause before and after he checked both pieces.

  With a flourish Pavoron removed the captain’s piece off the board.

  Captain Ealal eyed Orulon with that slight smile that never seemed to leave her face.

  “How have you found your stay on the venerable Akuthan?”

  Despite the constant defeats, Orulon found the games largely enjoyable due to the captain’s lack of obsequiousness.

  It was rare to be treated just like another person and not a worshiped Benedine.

  “Enjoyable,” he answered honestly.

  “Truly?” She eyed him before moving her piece to take one of his. “Some say that I’ve not shown you the proper deference owed a Benedine.”

  Pavoron cleared his throat as he removed Orulon’s piece off the battered wooden board.

  “Truly. I have no complaints about my time on this honored ancient.”

  “But some complain that to treat a Benedine as one of the simple crew is… unseemly.” Captain Ealal's smile grew and he could’ve sworn her eyes twinkled in mischief like a young child rather than the revered ancient that she was.

  “I can’t speak for another Benedine, but I prefer to be treated as one of the crew. And I take issue with the term ‘simple’.”

  He heard an audible gulp from Pavoron.

  He wondered if, perhaps, he could pursue this unintentional intimidation to encourage the adjutant to, perhaps, lend him a hand.

  He moved his Secret Dagger forward to contest a square.

  His dwindling army left him little choice but to press forward toward the captain’s end of the board and hope to take her Banner piece and the victory.

  The very rare victory.

  Twice in nearly twenty games.

  Alas, Pavoron was a man of integrity despite his visible discomfort.

  The Secret Dagger left the board, vanquished by what could only be a Young Spear piece.

  Orulon marked it in his memory.

  There was another path to victory.

  The rules of the game was a tangled, variable mess.

  Cheating was often encouraged.

  Including, but not limited to agreeing to one set of rules, but actually playing by another.

  If he could prove it without being so crass as to reach out and flip over the captain’s piece then he could take the game.

  “Although, I feel an obligation to encourage caution. Not for you, Captain Ealal. You’re shielded by your age, rank and the Akuthan, but for others.” He nodded at Pavoron. “Many of the Benedines I’ve acquainted with would take offense at the lack of unctuous displays.”

  “The Akuthan would take most unkindly to any threats against his crew regardless of the source,” Captain Ealal said.

  “I’ve been made aware. As have all my kind.”

  Pavoron had gone pale and Orulon felt bad about scaring the young Lume.

  “You have nothing to fear from a Benedine as long as you don’t spit in their food or such. Rumors of death and dismemberment are just that. We are all on the same side and it is a poor sort that harms their own.”

  Captain Ealal snorted.

  “I saw a Benedine gut one of my lieutenants when I was an eager, young gunner on my first ship.”

  Orulon’s eyes widened.

  “Benedine Bloodwrath, may the songs continue to guide her on her final journey.”

  “That was… a long time ago.”

  “It was a different time,” Captain Ealal agreed. “Threats attacking from all over. Different lands, different worlds. A Bountiful Decade courtesy of the spires. All those world events.” She shook her head. “Everything together created a different sort of Benedine.” She nodded at Pavoron. “Take it from me, adjutant, you have it easy these days. And that’s just not an old sailor being a cantankerous curmudgeon.”

  Pavoron instantly objected.

  “You aren’t—”

  “I am.” The captain nodded sagely. “And I’ve earned it.”

  Orulon remembered the histories.

  Benedine Bloodwrath had been her chosen name to put it mildly.

  Although, he couldn’t recall anything about her gutting a lieutenant of her own navy.

  As if reading his thoughts, the captain sighed.

  “It was his fault. The other lieutenants kept warning him, but he just wouldn’t listen.”

  “Captain?” Pavoron said.

  She pointed to her chest and moved her finger down to her stomach.

  “It was the attire.”

  “I don’t understand?”

  “Everything she wore went all the way down to here. And the lieutenant couldn’t help but look… every time.”

  Orulon nodded.

  That did track with the pictures and holos of the most violent Benedine of the last half millennia. Violent and effective, if one used monster and enemy deaths as the only metric.

  The captain shrugged.

  “It was a different time. Cherish this time of peace, adjutant.”

  She said that to Pavoron, but her eyes held his.

  Orulon nodded.

  As a student of history he was well aware that things had been much worse as little as a century and a half ago.

  Steel pieces clinked on the wooden board.

  Their paint was chipped from who knew how many years and how many games.

  They talked of many things, but never of their Quest.

  That was unnecessary.

  Orulon was a professional.

  He had immersed himself in the details as he expected the captain and her crew did. Studied the intelligence provided by their allies of convenience. Read the reports. Watched the recordings.

  Thus, they spoke of other things.

  Stories of their deeds, mostly.

  Venerable Akuthan had a long storied history.

  The breakout from the Jagged Maw through the Miseron Ascendancy blockade and straight into the heart of the fleet to sink the flagship and somehow escape into the depths with near catastrophic damage.

  That had lead to ascendancy’s eventual eviction from the world.

  Orulon regaled them with the tale of his battle with a high level Ignis demon that had conjured a firestorm to consume an entire island continent with its mere presence.

  So many had perished in pain and suffering to fuel its unnatural fire, but he had vanquished it utterly. He had called a hyperdeluge to drench the entire landmass with a torrential downpour that lasted the entire seven day battle.

  He left out the part where he had thrown the entire world’s weather into chaos for nearly three years as he had been too injured and weak to fix it.

  The less said about the multiple once in a generation hurricanes, floods, droughts, dust storms and others the better.

  By the time he was strong enough to do anything the problem had largely fixed itself.

  One hoped that this Quest would be as successful as that battle without the unfortunate consequences.

  …

  On a different world.

  The time had arrived.

  The Quest was on.

  Orulon had failed to improve his win rate against the captain, but that was a game.

  This was real.

  Lives would be ended by his hand.

  Some would be innocent.

  Such was existence in the spires worlds.

  Better them than his own people.

  He stood atop the Akuthan’s dark, rough skin.

  The half-living ship was an island in the ocean.

  “Captain Ealal. I’m ready to begin.”

  An island nation loomed in the distance.

  Well, technically four main large islands and countless tiny ones.

  “On your authority, Benedine. The Akuthan is ready. May your song remain harmonious.” The captain’s voice echoed her words.

  She had explained the ways the bond between her and the Akuthan tightened when the need arose. Where two became closer to one. Akin to an orchestra working together to create one glorious song.

  It had been an enlightening talk.

  Truly, he was surprised that she had been so forthcoming.

  He had assumed that captains of Ranmerbalaen ships guarded that secret like jealous lovers.

  Granted, Captain Ealal was the only captain that he had played dozens of games and spent many hours conversing with.

  He called on his power.

  This world was no different from the others.

  Weather was weather, not counting unnatural phenomena created by Skills, magic or those like him.

  Thus, it answered him.

  Wind swirled across an immense area as he turned day into night.

  Clouds darkened while the ocean rose as rain falling in reverse.

  He allowed a small smile to grace his perfectly symmetrical dark and bright halves.

  To do what he did required a deep understanding of the natural.

  He respected it, but he couldn’t help but take a measure of pride in holding the unnatural power in his hands to bend that natural to his will.

  Water and wind sang at his gestures.

  Conductor and orchestra.

  He felt a song of excitement run through the Akuthan’s skin beneath his bare feet.

  Within minutes the waves crashed violently against the Akuthan, forcing it to move its broad wings and long tail to stay stable for him.

  Wind howled in his ears, buffeting him.

  A lesser being would’ve been hurled into the dark, roiling ocean.

  Rain fell in great curtains to shroud everything in wet darkness.

  The harsh drops crashed against his bare back like the storm of metal from an entire artillery group and would’ve soaked his pants had they not been made to be waterproof as well as nearly indestructible.

  “It is done.”

  The massive storm moved faster than naturally possible toward the islands in the distance.

  The Akuthan rose out of the water and took flight with the same ease that it glided through the deepest oceans.

  The natural magic in a Ranmerbalaen remained as strong in his half-life as it had been in his full.

  “Benedine?” Pavoron said.

  “Yes?”

  “The captain’s fully in the joined song with the Akuthan. I’ll be your contact.”

  As detailed in the battle plan, but Orulon saw no need to remind the young adjutant singer.

  The crucial battle would create enough stress that he wouldn’t add to.

  “We’ll engage the skyship, while you proceed.”

  “Understood. Wait for my call to deploy the Secret Daggers.”

  “We’ll be ready to deploy them in an instant.”

  Orulon called for the wind and it answered, carrying him into the storm and toward the flickering lights.