“What have the knightly virtues to do with this situation?” Garius drawled.
He doesn’t know. He really doesn’t know.
“The nobles who stake their names as knights for the glory of the Holy Eldant Empire are thoroughly schooled in etiquette and their own military duties. That is a knight’s virtue.”
So apparently, humbling the strong and protecting the weak didn’t enter into it around here.
Now that I thought about it, bushido, “the way of the warrior”—a system of ethics often compared with the ways of knights—was said by some to have been developed in the Edo era, starting in the seventeenth century. Some people claim it didn’t exist during the time when the samurai were actually fighting. Supposedly it wasn’t a practical battlefield philosophy, but a sort of armchair samurai-ism developed by warriors trying to feed themselves in a time when the fighting arts were in decline.
From that perspective, given that the Eldant Empire was currently facing border skirmishes with its neighbors, it might simply be that hard-eyed realism was the order of the day; there was no room for ideals of defending the defenseless.
“It looks to me like you’ve misunderstood what it means to be a knight,” Garius said. “Listen to me. A knight protects this state, the Holy Eldant Empire; he is the embodiment of its laws and principles. If something threatens those principles, he will of course give himself in the fight against it, but he has no right to intervene when things are as they should be.”
“As they should be?!”
“She isn’t even an elf—she’s a half-blood, a mixed-breed, and Petralka is the empress of the Holy Eldant Empire. Her Majesty holds the power of life and death.”
I didn’t say anything immediately, but boy was I pissed. The people here swallowed that kind of thinking hook, line, and sinker, without sparing so much as a thought for how much the objects of their indifference would be hurt.
Ah. Now I see it. I got a bit dizzy as the thought hit me.
It was all about the labels we gave things.
That’s just the way it is.
He’s just that kind of guy.
Labels cause us to see something, or someone, from only one angle.
He’s just an otaku. He’s just an off-worlder. She’s only a half-breed.
Simple, symbolic words like that pigeonhole a person; make us feel as if we understand them. And I hated that. There are all kinds of different otaku, for example. Good guys and bad. Even the “lolicon” crowd, who are often broadbrushed as practically criminals, isn’t a group you can boil down to a single word or idea. Yes, there are those nut jobs who kidnap children in order to sexually torment them. But there are also loli fans who would give their lives to keep children from getting hurt.
And yet people find the lowest common denominator and then stop trying to learn anything else.
It’s okay to make fun of him because he’s an otaku.
It’s okay to discriminate against her because she has mixed blood.
It’s okay—
Petralka was still shouting. “How can you expect us to drink tea made by a half-elf, anyway?! We heard even the elves wouldn’t take the likes of you! We heard you had to crawl off and live in a swamp! Stay back—We don’t want the stink of mud to get on us!”
There was no way any of that could be true. Myusel must have been paralyzed by fear and despair; I could see her jaw hanging open as she lay on the ground.
I saw... myself.
I thought back to the time I had tried to confess my love to my old friend and she had shot me down, saying, “You’re an otaku, right?” Her judgment had been based on what the world thought about otaku; she hadn’t considered me for me.
And what about me? At the time, I told myself something like, Girls these days just don’t care. I’d put my friend in a box just like she’d done to me. It was how I tried to cope.
She hadn’t had any real rationale for the way she’d insulted me, yet I couldn’t answer back. I simply told myself that that’s how the world works and gave up. It left me to dream of that moment again and again, pathetically howling the words I hadn’t been able to say.
I wanted to become one of those admirable main characters of a manga or anime or game or light novel. Let them say I was hung up on the weirdest things—I wanted to be one of those awesome people who would dropkick injustice wherever he found it, boldly proclaim what he believed, even if it made enemies of everyone around him.
My textbooks. Manga and anime and games and novels. This was what they’d taught me.
“Petralka!”
Before I knew what I was doing, I had grabbed her wrist. It was an impulsive action. Garius jumped up from the sofa in shock.
Everything froze, the atmosphere in the room practically icing over.
I had meant to yell at Petralka. To make her understand the pain of being shouted at like she was doing to Myusel. I suspected no one had ever yelled at her before. Yeah, yeah, not very mature. I didn’t care!
That was my plan.......................................................................................... But.
“...Shinichi...?”
Petralka looked back at me, her arm still raised to throw one of the cream puffs—or cream runto or whatever—at the cowering Myusel. She didn’t look angry, just completely baffled. I took the expression for surprise. Maybe even a bit of fear.
She looked so young, like a scolded child. I felt the anger drain out of me like the air from a popped balloon. I gently took the pastry from the wide-eyed child and tried to smile.
“Ahem. Well, er... How do I put this...?”
Crap. I needed some really cool line, and I wasn’t getting anything.
What would a main character say at a time like this? I did a high-speed search through my mental library, but came up empty.
As I stood there dumbly, Petralka’s expression began to change. She frowned, then glared at me.
“Shinichi, you cur! What do you mean by trying to take the part of such a base creature?!”
At a loss for anything better, I spoke from the heart. “What do you mean, what do I mean?! It was too painful to watch anymore! I know what it’s like to be taunted just because of some dumb label.”
“Label? What are you talking—”
“Petralka, listen,” I said quietly. I wasn’t lecturing. I was practically pleading. “In my culture, we don’t have social differences like this, okay?”
“Hrm?”
She looked at me, puzzled. She really didn’t know what I was talking about. Honestly, I could feel myself turning hot with embarrassment—but I told myself to just deal with it and kept talking. “Our culture is built on, you know... Liberty and equality and fellowship.”
You know, I’d heard Japanese otaku culture had made particular headway in France. Maybe it was because those were precisely the principles that country was built on? What a random thought. Never mind.
“If you’re going to enjoy the culture I’m bringing here, you have to learn from it, too... Er, I think. Maybe you don’t. But anyway, you have to at least understand it.”
Petralka was looking at me as though I had broken into an even foreign-er language than the one I had already been speaking. I glanced around the room to find Garius and even the much-abused Myusel staring at me wide-eyed.
The room was full of silence. Whether it was a heavy silence or light one, I couldn’t tell. But then...
“Shinichi...” Petralka was the first to open her mouth. “What is this ‘equality’ you speak of? Is it the name of a philosopher?”
I didn’t say anything, but just stood there, one hundred percent flummoxed.
I guess sometimes there are words even a magic ring of telepathy can’t help the other person understand. Sometimes translation fails when two languages simply don’t share a particular concept. But... Wait. Did Petralka really not know what equality was? Or had she just never been taught, having been brought up as the empress?
I felt an odd shudder go throu
gh me. Garius was giving me an incredulous look.
“Freedom means to be unbound or without limits—Do you, Kanou Shinichi, speak of being not held accountable to the law for your actions?”
Wait, wait, wait, where’d he get that idea?!
“Um...” Myusel spoke up hesitantly. “Is ‘fellowship’... Is it some kind of romantic feeling...?”
“That’s what you’re worried about?!” I said desperately, and more loudly than I meant to.
My initial angry outburst had been because of the bald discrimination I’d witnessed, but this went beyond a question of who was right or wrong about what. Myusel was one thing, but even the authorities here, Petralka and Garius, were completely trapped by their fixed views of the world and made no effort to see any other possibility. Their consciousness was pervaded by the notion of class structure—in fact, their own self-concept was built on it, so that they couldn’t so much as question it. It’s like how a frog in a well can’t imagine the ocean.
“Aw, for cryin’ out loud,” I groaned, holding my head. I had expected we would need to establish an infrastructure before bringing in otaku stuff—electricity, literacy, that sort of thing. But now I was finding I would have to teach them the simplest philosophical concepts, too?!
Really, though, otaku stories were products of modern Japan, meaning things like individuality and equality were fundamental to them. A lot of them were hostile to things like totalitarianism and discrimination. But as a result, if the reader had no understanding of individuality or equality, they were likely to find it hard to sympathize with a lot of main characters.
I was just starting to give in to despair when Garius spoke up.
“Most interesting.”
Interesting? Did he just say interesting?
“I believe you were about to let your anger lead you to criticize Her Majesty,” he said. “Was that also a product of your so-called liberty, equality, and fellowship? Whatever the case, it is most intriguing to see Her Majesty’s anger abate on account of a few words.”
This reaction from Garius was completely unexpected.
“Truth be told, the culture here in our Holy Eldant Empire has been stagnant for nearly half a century. Some even claim we’ve reached a cultural nadir. As the war drags on, it leaves us with scant opportunity to enjoy new culture or gain anything from beyond our borders.”
I didn’t speak, but I thought that that made sense. Culture, especially a robust and diverse one, is only possible if you have the spare resources for it. Culture does develop during wartime, of course, and it can even become quite mature, but it will always be more limited than in peacetime—only certain things will be permitted. That’s obvious enough from looking at the likes of Japan during World War II, or China during the Cultural Revolution.
“For some time now, the literati have conjectured that this impedes the ability of the common people to live full lives. But because the problem is effectively an invisible one, we’ve put off dealing with it time and again.”
“Yeah, I guess I could see that.”
I knew this knight was a sharp one. In a really broad sense, he was practically talking sociology. He had a bird’s-eye view of the world, and yes, it might be a borrowed way of thinking, but for a basically medieval place like this, I couldn’t blame him.
“It’s precisely the reason Prime Minister Zahar and his cohort encouraged trade with your delegation. I was skeptical of his thinking—but I may have to reconsider.”
The handsome knight stood and walked toward me. He stopped almost nose-to-nose with me. If I’d been a woman, I probably would have just swooned.
He’s close! He’s way too close! What’s the deal with standing right there?!
And he had this little smile on his face. Garius took my hand, like a valiant knight taking a maiden’s—guuuhh?!
“You seemed an effete and untrustworthy boy to me, but then you risk your own reputation in order to intercede for a worthless servant girl. I must say, I’m rather interested in your culture.”
Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Is he saying he’s interested in me?!
“I shall cooperate with you. You may yet break through the barrier that lies between us.” He was whispering. Somehow, it was almost sensual. A chill passed through me and all the hair on my body stood up, but then—
“Garius!” Petralka’s voice scattered the rose petals. “You shouldn’t be so forward!”
“...Ah.” Garius dropped my hand and bowed. “My apologies, Your Majesty.”
“Such things are not for you alone to decide,” Petralka said, angry once again. “You should go through us, as is proper.” Then she looked at me and said, “Shinichi. As Garius said, today you risked your own dishonor to remonstrate with us. In deference to your boldness, we forgive both you and that servant.”
“Th... Thanks.”
“However, we have another order for you.” She narrowed her eyes. “Teach me your so-called ‘Japan-ese’ as well. We find it unbearable that a serving girl should possess knowledge the empress does not. We shall become the most adept at your Japan-ese, and then we shall judge whether or not the culture you bring shall save the culture of our own nation!”
...In other words, she was trying to dress it up, but she pretty much just wanted to hurry up and read some manga, right? Not that I was about to voice a thought that could lead to my immediate and gruesome demise; I only nodded.
“Garius,” Petralka said, “we’re going back to the castle. Call Zahar. Inform him that we will henceforth be visiting this mansion every day as part of our duties of office!”
...So she was sneaking out of the castle all this time.
“Starting tomorrow, Shinichi, make sure you have time in your schedule for us!”
“Erm, about as much as today...?”
“Starting tomorrow”? You’ve been coming here every day!
“That will suffice!” Petralka nodded in satisfaction, then eyed Myusel. The maid shrunk away from her. “In addition. Myusel, was it? We shall not permit any laxity from you,” the empress said haughtily.
“Eh? O-Of course, Your Majesty.” Myusel nodded so quickly that I couldn’t imagine she’d even had time to really absorb what Petralka had said.
“And you and Shinichi shall not take it upon yourselves to study Japanese together.”
“...O-Of course not, Your Majesty.” Still nodding emphatically.
It looked like Petralka had given up insulting Myusel—but instead, she’d developed a strange hostility toward her. I had a very bad feeling about this, but I was terrified that if I tried to clarify the situation here and now, the conversation would spiral off to places I really didn’t want it to go.
“We shall see you tomorrow, then. Garius, let’s go!”
“Your Majesty. I wait upon you.”
And then the Empress and her knight whirled out of the room like a departing tornado.
They left an uncomfortable silence behind them.
“Ahem...” Myusel and I looked at each other. I scratched my cheek in embarrassment. “Myusel. I’m really sorry, but could you make some more tea? This stuff must be cold by now. You went to all the trouble of making these snacks, so I’d like to enjoy them with proper hot tea.”
“Oh, yes, sir.” Myusel stood up, smiling happily. “I’ll bring it right away, Master.”
I watched her push the cart out of the room, and let out a sigh of relief.
But at the moment, there was something I still didn’t know—what did the Holy Eldant Empire make of what I was doing there?
Chapter Four: Thy Name Is Invader
I was on a hill not far from the mansion, basking in the warmth of the setting sun. Across from the hill was pasture land, and sheep that looked like big balls of wool were munching contentedly on the grass. I could just look out and enjoy the sight. It was completely idyllic. I wouldn’t have been surprised to hear someone yodeling in the background.
All I had to do was look up a little, though, and all t
hat changed. Why? Because a school of fish was flying overhead.
“What’s the deal with that?”
Fish! I mean... I think. They definitely didn’t look like any birds I knew, at least. These creatures looked more or less like cutlassfish. They were covered in silver scales that glinted in the sunlight, their bodies roughly the shape of swords. Slithering among the clouds, it was impossible to take them for any kind of earthly avian. They did have a gossamer membrane that hung elegantly down from their backs and tails; it was the one thing that looked remotely like something you might find on a normal flying animal.
“Those are called heshifu ikusu, or skyfish,” Myusel said from beside me. “They’re a kind of wind sprite. They always travel exactly the same path. The wind always blows wherever they pass, so we plant windeater grass along their routes. That’s why we’re able to use this area to raise sheep.”
“Hmm...”
Wind sprites and windeater grass, huh? That’s a fantasy world for you, I guess. The things Myusel was telling me were probably blindingly obvious to people from this world, but to me it all sounded as believable as an ancient legend.
“Where I come from, grass takes sunlight and water to grow, and nutrients from the soil.”
“Do you not have windeater grass in your home country, Master?”
“I sure don’t think so...”
“Windeater grass feeds on the sprite power released by the wind sprites. If you go to the desert, you can even see it floating on the wind.”
“............Desert.”
Did that mean the desert had turned green? But these weren’t dandelion puffs we were talking about. Grass floating on the wind...? I couldn’t imagine it from anything in my experience. I guessed that made sense. I mean, we didn’t have “sprite power” or whatever on earth. Another way of looking at it would be to say that the presence of sprite power was precisely what led organisms in this world to evolve this way.
Come to think of it... I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that if the color of the sun were slightly different, plants wouldn’t be green, but more like red. Something to do with the color of the chloroplasts. Maybe this was similar.
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