Akiko stepped out of the bathroom, her face burning with a mix of embarrassment and relief. The world outside was still overwhelming, the sheer number of people moving through the halls making her uneasy.
She peered through the crowd, searching for Kazuki. She had no idea where to go, and this building was enormous—far larger than anything she had ever seen, save for the imperial court of Emperor Ichijō in Heian-kyō. That place, too, had been filled with people—over fifty at least, many of them concubines and their attendants. But here? Here, it seemed every room could hold twenty or more people at once. The thought made her stomach churn.
A mild panic set in, her instincts screaming at her to find safety, to escape the pressure of unfamiliar faces. She darted forward, weaving between students, but her erratic movements must have looked strange. Akiko forced herself to slow down, trying to mimic the casual confidence of those around her. Just as she was steadying her breath, a voice called out to him.
"Class starts in two minutes. I expect you to be seated with your books by then."
The voice belonged to an older man, perhaps in his fifties. He stood slightly hunched, like her grandfather had in his later years, his short grey hair neat but showing signs of age. A strange cloth covered his mouth, held up by thin strings that looped around his ears—silk, perhaps? No, it was rougher, less refined, almost like a stretched wool.
He knew Sora. This must be one of Sora's teachers. Akiko quickly fell in step behind him, trusting that following would be the wisest choice. They entered a larger room with sliding doors, though they were made of an unfamiliar material, neither wood nor paper. As she stepped inside, her gaze darted across the room—ten, fifteen, no, perhaps more than twenty students sat within, all around Sora's age.
Girls.
Her breath caught. Girls and boys being taught together? This was unheard of. In Heian-kyō, noble daughters learned in private chambers, far from the eyes of men. Yet here they sat side by side, sharing the same lessons. It was... unorthodox.
A sharp tap drew her attention. Near the back of the room, Kazuki was grinning and patting an empty seat beside him. Akiko hesitated only for a moment before swiftly making her way over, eager to avoid any more scrutiny. She sat down, keeping her head low.
"You look like you're walking to your execution," Kazuki muttered under his breath, smirking. "Come on, it's history class. Your favorite, right?"
Akiko gave a small nod, unwilling to risk drawing attention. She straightened in her seat, eyes shifting toward the front of the classroom as the teacher cleared his throat.
"Good morning, class. Before we begin today's lesson, we will take attendance."
Before she could process what that meant, he was already calling out names, each one consisting of two parts. Akiko stiffened. Two names? Did people always have two names? Back home, family names were rare, reserved mostly for nobles. Commoners often had only a single given name. But here, everyone seemed to have both. Did Sora have one too?
"Sasaki Kazuki."
"Present," Kazuki answered lazily, leaning back in his seat. Sasaki... was that his family name? Did it mean something? Akiko turned the thought over in her mind, but before she could come to a conclusion, the next name was called.
"Ishikawa Sora."
Her—him.
For a heartbeat too long, she hesitated. Then the teacher's voice snapped again, sharper this time.
"Stop sleeping and respond, Ishikawa."
Akiko jolted. "Ah… eh… uh, Present," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. A few students chuckled, and she felt her face turn red. The day had barely begun, yet she already felt exhausted. How did Sora manage this every day?
As the teacher finished calling names, he sat down, opening a thick book on his desk.
"Everyone, bring your homework to the front. Then open your textbooks to page twenty-five—The Heian Period."
A ripple of movement swept through the room as students stood to deliver their assignments. Kazuki reached into his bag, pulling out a stack of papers, flipping through them with ease. Akiko remained frozen. Homework? Did Sora do his homework? She thought back to the morning—Kazuki had copied Sora's assignment, which meant it existed… but it was back in that room. Scattered among the mess she had left behind. The book… the one she had thrown at his reflection in the mirror.
Her fingers twitched against the desk, her thumb pressing against her palm in silent frustration. What now?
Just as she started to panic, a soft voice beside her spoke.
"Forgot your book, Sora? We can share mine if you'd like."
Akiko turned to see a girl with striking blonde hair and warm amber eyes. She looked Japanese, but her features were unusual—golden freckles dusted her cheeks, and a faint pink hue sat beneath her eyes, almost like delicate brushstrokes. Was it makeup? Akiko frowned slightly. Makeup was rare in Heian-kyō, reserved for noble ladies and courtesans. Yet here, it seemed natural, effortless.
The girl wore the same uniform as everyone else, though tailored for her form—modest, but fitted. The material was of decent quality, similar to what a well-off commoner might wear. No intricate patterns, no embroidery, nothing extravagant.
"That would be… great," Akiko murmured, careful to keep her voice neutral.
The girl smiled warmly and pulled the book from her bag. A small tag was affixed to the cover—Maruyama Asuka.
"Thank you, Maruyama-dono" Akiko hesitated, unsure if an honorific was appropriate. Did Sora normally use them?
"Just Asuka is fine," she said cheerfully. "No need to be so formal, Sora."
From the corner of her eye, Akiko caught Kazuki grinning, making strange gestures with his hands—his fingers extended in an odd motion. She frowned in confusion. What was he doing? Some kind of code? Whatever it was, it only made his grin widen.
The lesson began in earnest, and soon, the chaotic noise of the school quieted. As the teacher spoke, Akiko listened carefully, her mind racing.
It was strange, hearing her world described as history. Her home. Her time. Yet, as she listened, frustration bubbled beneath her skin. Some of the facts were wrong—small details, misinterpretations. The Heian Period wasn't like that. But how could she argue? To them, it was ancient history. To her, it was life.
Slowly, a new thought began to form.
This wasn't a foreign land. It wasn't a dream.
It was the future.
The realization settled over her like a brick wall. That was why they spoke of her world as the past. Why everything was so advanced yet still unmistakably Japan. This wasn't magic. This wasn't a curse.
She was in Japan.
Her grip tightened around the book. If this was truly the future, then the biggest question remained:
Would she ever return home, to her own body?
Suddenly, a shrill, metallic shriek pierced the air. Akiko flinched—it sounded like a demonic version of the tsurigane (temple bells) that marked time in Heian-kyō. Students surged toward the door.
"Lunchtime!" Kazuki grabbed her arm. "Let's hit the cafeteria before the udon's gone!"
Kazuki tugged her toward the cafeteria, shooting her a knowing smirk.
"Ohhh, 'forgot' your bag, huh? Smooth move, dude—Asuka's totally buying it!"
Akiko could only respond with a confused look.
Kazuki dragged Akiko into the cafeteria. The loud noise of students hit her like a storm. Trays clattered, voices overlapped, and the air smelled of fried grease—nothing like the incense-scented silence of Heian meals.
"Grab a tray! The katsu curry's gonna run out!" Kazuki urged.
Akiko stared at the stainless-steel counter. Servants always brought her meals on wooden zen trays. Why were these peasants serving themselves?
"Sora, you okay? You look lost." Asuka's voice pulled her back.
Akiko mimicked Asuka, piling rice onto her tray. The portion sizes horrified her—nobles ate small, artful dishes. A boy nearby slurped noodle loudly. So vulgar, she thought. Even merchants had more decorum.
"Mind if I join you guys? I brought mochi… to share," Asuka hesitated, holding up a small pastel-colored box tied with ribbon—a gesture that reminded Akiko of Heian gift-giving, though the packaging was garishly modern.
Kazuki grinned.
"Hell yeah! We're hitting that café again tomorrow, right? Its Sunday after all, and Sora's obsessed with their bitter coffee."
"Ah… yes. The café." Akiko had no idea what "coffee" was.
"I'd love to go!" Asuka said.
Kazuki whipped out his phone. "Cool, let's meet at 4." His thumbs flew across the screen. Akiko's pocket buzzed—a sound she mistook for an insect until Asuka pointed at Sora's jeans.
Kazuki's Text:
Kazuki: Dude, I'll "get sick" last minute. U owe me ¥500 for this wingman gig.
Akiko stared at the glowing rectangle, eliciting a snort from Kazuki.
"Play along. This is your chance!" he whispered.
Asuka blinked. "Everything okay?"
"Yes! I… appreciate your kindness, Maruyama-dono."
"Asuka!" she corrected, giggling.
Kazuki muffled a laugh. "Yeah, dono. Real smooth."
After lunchtime ended, they went back to the classroom, the rest of the day flowing smoothly without much trouble.
The final bell's scream tore through the classroom, jolting Akiko from her focus. Students erupted into chatter, slamming books and scrambling for the door. She lingered, staring at the chalkboard's smudged remnants of the day's lessons—crude timelines of emperors she'd once glimpsed in silk robes, now reduced to dates and footnotes. Emperor Ichijō, the teacher had called him. She'd bitten her tongue to keep from correcting them—Ichijō was a boy of twelve when she'd last seen him, his reign still cradled by Fujiwara regents. Now, he was a paragraph in a textbook, his concubines and courtiers erased into a single sentence: "The Heian aristocracy prioritized aesthetics over governance."
"Yo, zombie! Lockers. Now." Kazuki's voice snapped her out of her daze.
She followed him numbly through halls thrumming with students. Locker 227—its number glared in chipped red paint, the cartoon cat keychain dangling like a shrine amulet. Her fingers fumbled; the lock resisted. Click. The door swung open, revealing Sora's scuffed indoor shoes and a crumpled history essay titled "Fujiwara Manipulation: A Timeline." Akiko traced the grade—B-—and a scribbled note: "Too speculative. Stick to facts."
Kazuki smirked. "Dude, your 'mysterious scholar' vibe's getting too real. Blink twice if you're possessed."
She forced a laugh, swapping shoes under his watchful grin. Outside, spring sunlight stabbed her eyes. Asuka waited by the gate, her blond hair haloed by the setting sun.
"Sora! Don't forget your book tomorrow—Mr. Takamatsu looked ready to spit fire."
Akiko bowed stiffly. "I… will not forget, Maruyama-dono."
Asuka giggled. "Asuka! You're so weird today."
Kazuki snorted, miming a courtly flourish. "Maruyama-dono? What's next, composing her a waka?"
The walk to the station blurred into a cacophony of honking cars and flickering screens. Akiko's head throbbed. In Heian-kyō, dusk meant lanterns and shakuhachi melodies, not this relentless neon pulse.
A billboard loomed—a woman in a kimono sipping neon-blue liquid. Poison? Akiko recoiled before recognizing the logo: "Pocari Sweat: Recharge Your Soul!"
"You're walking like you've got geta stuck up your ass. Chill, it's just Asuka," Kazuki teased.
The metal machine swallowed them whole. Akiko wedged herself into a corner, strangers' elbows jabbing her ribs. A salaryman snored beside her, his tie loosened like a noble's dishevelled eboshi. The carriage rattled, and she gripped a strap, imagining it the silk tassel of a palanquin.
Her pocket buzzed. She flinched, fumbling Sora's phone. Kazuki had texted her from the other side of the train:
Kazuki: Don't blow it tomorrow. Asuka's into your "mysterious scholar" act.
Kazuki: And STOP CALLING HER DONO. You sound like a samurai drama.
Akiko stared at the screen, still wondering at its existence, but too exhausted to question it further. She tapped it cautiously. The brightness flared, burning her retinas with a flood of symbols.
As they stepped out of the metal monster's mouth—what she now realized people called a train—she followed Kazuki until he stopped in front of a concrete building.
"See you tomorrow, Sora. Go to bed early, you were off all day!" Kazuki waved before disappearing into the distance.
Alone, Akiko navigated alleys choked with vending machines and tangled wires, relying purely on memory from the morning. Sora's apartment loomed—a concrete box among thousands. She opened the door, realizing only now that it had a lock, just like Sora's locker at school. Had she forgotten to lock it in the mornings confusion?
Inside, silence. She slumped against the door, sliding to the floor. Shadows stretched across the cluttered room: ramen cups piled like temple offerings, a cracked laptop glowing faintly, the naginata history book she'd hurled at the mirror that morning. Her gaze snagged on a framed photo—Sora and Kazuki at a shrine, frozen mid-laugh. His laugh, she realized, was nothing like hers. Fuller, louder… freer.
Her fingers brushed Sora's wrist—no calluses from brush or blade, just smooth skin.
Outside, Tokyo thrummed—a beast of steel and light. Somewhere beyond the smog, cherry blossoms wilted unseen, their petals trampled underfoot. Akiko pressed her forehead to the cold floor as her booming headache took over.
Completely exhausted, she collapsed onto his bed. She didn't bother to eat. She didn't bother to clean—neither herself nor the floor. She fell onto the mattress, eyes shutting, and almost immediately fell asleep.
A warm stream barely missed his leg. Frantically glancing around to ensure no one saw, Sora buried his face in his hands. Never in his life had he imagined he'd have to experience this. Eventually, the stream ceased, and he carefully stood up, still holding his clothes high. As he stepped away from the tsuitate, his gaze fell upon his legs—smooth, devoid of hair. This whole being-a-girl thing was proving harder than he had expected. At least the worst part was over. Or so he hoped.
Taking a few more steps, he met the steady gaze of the retainer who had been assisting him. He realized he had never asked the man's name. Without a word exchanged, the retainer met Sora's eyes, nodded almost imperceptibly, then turned to retrieve the privacy screen. These retainers were incredibly efficient. Almost too good. Embarrassed by the lingering smell, Sora stepped further away but made sure not to move within Tsukasa's line of sight. He waited, watching the retainer work in silence. When the task was done, the man approached, prompting Sora to speak.
"Thank you for helping me—…" he said, attempting to imitate Akiko's composed manner. He had no idea how well he was doing. Likely not well at all. He hesitated slightly, hoping the pause would prompt the retainer to introduce himself. No response. Sora swallowed his hesitation and took a more direct approach.
"What's your name?" This time, he asked it less like a question and more like a command.
"Yasuhiro," the retainer responded, his voice void of emotion. A man simply doing his duty. Sora could respect that.
"Thank you, Yasu," Sora said proudly. Yasu and Tsuka. He was getting somewhere. Maybe, one day, they'd even open up to him. Or so he hoped.
Yasuhiro offered no reaction to the nickname and simply turned, walking back toward the road where Tsukasa was waiting. As Sora followed, he caught a brief exchange of glances between the two men—silent communication that he wasn't privy to. If he had to guess, they were probably thinking the same thing:
This lady is starting to become quite the.. work.
With renewed energy, Sora pressed on, climbing further up the mountain. The steep ascent made each step a challenge, but the views grew more breathtaking with every passing hour. By midday, the sun hung at an angle above them, casting long shadows across the rugged terrain.
"Lady Akiko, I suggest we take a short break," Yasuhiro said, gesturing toward a patch of grass that looked like it had been used for rest before.
Sora nodded, grateful for the suggestion. As Yasuhiro and Tsukasa set down their bags and began unpacking, he wandered toward the edge of the clearing. Peering down, he saw just how far they had climbed—sheer cliffs plunging into the valleys below, winding mountain passes threading through the landscape like veins. The air was crisp, the temperature barely above ten degrees, he estimated. His gaze wandered further, past the immediate ridges and valleys, and down into the vast stretch of land beyond.
Japan had never looked like this in his time. There were rice fields, yes, but not nearly as expansive as the ones he was used to seeing in modern maps. Instead, the land was lush, untouched, and unspoiled by urban sprawl. And then his eyes locked onto something in the distance—a city, glimmering under the afternoon light. It was the most beautiful sight he had seen since arriving in this body.
Heian-Kyö. The heart of this era.
The capital sprawled across the landscape in an organized grid, its wooden structures bathed in golden hues. The rooftops of noble residences shimmered with lacquered tiles, while temple pagodas pierced the skyline. Smoke curled from chimneys, blending with the thin veil of mist that still clung to the valley floor. It was a living painting, a masterpiece of history, untouched by modern hands.
"Lady Akiko, food is served," Tsukasa's voice called.
Sora turned back to see the retainers had worked swiftly. Before him stood a makeshift table, crafted with wooden planks and draped with a fine cloth. Three bowls sat upon it—one filled with white rice, another containing cold miso soup, and the last holding leftover fish from breakfast.
Nothing extravagant, but at least there were no sour plums this time.
Sora sat down on the cloth-covered rock, eyeing his chopsticks—or hashi, as he needed to start calling them. Then, he noticed something odd.
"Yasu? Tsuka? Aren't you going to eat?" he asked, attempting to sound polite, though he still had no idea what Akiko was supposed to sound like.
"My lady, as your retainers, we will eat after you have finished," Yasuhiro replied.
Sora frowned. That wasn't fun. He had read all about hierarchy in this era but experiencing it firsthand was different. He didn't want to eat alone.
"For efficiency," he said, thinking quickly, "I want you to eat at the same time."
Tsukasa looked uncertain, glancing at Yasuhiro for guidance. After a brief pause, Yasuhiro gave a reluctant nod. They retrieved cloth satchels from their packs, unwrapping them to reveal large balls of brown rice, wrapped in leaves to prevent sticking.
Acting without thinking, Sora used his hashi to scoop a portion of the cold fish onto each of their rice balls. Almost immediately, he realized that might have been an unladylike thing to do. Scrambling to justify it, he hastily added, "The road is long, right? We all need energy. Please eat up—it's too much for me anyway."
He quickly dug into his rice, pretending not to notice the puzzled expressions exchanged between the two retainers. A pause, then—
"Thank you, Lady Akiko," they said in unison, and they began eating.
The meal passed in silence, though Sora suspected that Yasuhiro and Tsukasa appreciated the food more than he did. When they finished, Yasuhiro pulled out a leather flask.
"Shrine water, my lady. It is best to stay hydrated."
Sora took the flask and drank, the earthy taste foreign yet oddly refreshing. Probably something people in his time would pay ridiculous amounts for.
Stretching his arms—her arms—Sora felt himself settling more into this body. His feet still ached from the long trek, but he was ready to continue.
After packing up, they resumed their journey, setting their sights on the next inn, which Sora guessed must be near the mountain's peak. It would mark the halfway point in their journey. Or so he hoped.
Hours passed. The further they climbed, the more Sora's legs burned, each step a test of endurance. But he pressed on, eager to see what lay beyond.
Then, as the sun began to set, a rustling sound came from the left side of the road.
Yasuhiro and Tsukasa were instantly on alert.
"Stand behind me, my lady," Tsukasa ordered.
Yasuhiro dropped his bag, his hand reaching inside. When it emerged, he held a short, curved blade—a kodachi.
Sora's pulse quickened. His eyes widened with both fear and exhilaration. This felt like something straight out of a historical drama. But this wasn't a film set. This was real.
Before he could fully process it, an arrow whistled past his head, severing a few strands of his hair in the process.
Excitement vanished. Only terror remained.