#yamachi

A good policy, she decides, watching Keisuke cuts across the dining room, more like a shark that’s smelled blood on the water than those big-eyed dolls Hachiro’s grandmother had kept on her hutch. A teary-eyed row, scattered among all the fancy dishes she’d never allowed his mother to use, even for holidays. Collectibles, she’d called them, which Chizuru learned years later meant high lead content.

It's their table he stops at, that sweet smile slung tenuously between Hajime and Yamazaki’s bowed heads, and ah— maybe he’s a little like those dishes too. Dignified, delicate, and hazardous to her health.

His mouth stretches, harmless smile baring teeth to speak, but she doesn't need to hear a single word— not when she's already know: I’m in trouble.

*

“She’s not wrong.”

There’s an unnatural quality to the quiet in the hall; not the stillness of a space rarely used, but the oppressive silence of a place designed to stifle sound. The carpet muffles Yamazaki’s already soft voice down to mutter, and when Hajime halts, sparing him his most quelling glare, it brings his movements down to the barest shush. Enough to keep her from crashing into his back, but only just.

“What?” Yamazaki’s student surveys might call him blunt, or hard but fair, and on one memorable occasion, the sort of bastard that gets off on being withholding, but Chizuru’s never considered him confrontational. Not until now, at least, when he meets a stare so stern that even Souji would slouch beneath it, and says, “Tell me you don’t think this is about to be a problem.”

He may not be a man of many words, but Hajime sighs are eloquent all on their own; an essay made of air and attitude. The one that sloughs out of him now is resigned— long-suffering, maybe— like Professor Hijikata before he swallows down his criticisms of the Provost's latest policies. “There is no need for your concern, Yukimura. We are not receiving disciplinary action; we are being taken to Hallway Time.”

Yamazaki snorts. “Same difference.”

Another pointed stare slings itself over Hajime’s shoulder, but Chizuru barely notices over the rising static, her heart beating harder, louder, entire body braced in anticipation, and—

An elbow knocks against hers, her panicked attention jolting upward, right up to the concerned wrinkle entrenched in Yamazaki's brow. “I’m kidding, Yukimura. No one’s in trouble, least of all you.”

“O-oh.” She hadn’t known he did that. “But then why—? I mean, your friend, he—?”

“It’s a little generous to call that sadist a friend,” he grouses, just barely audible over Hajime’s, “Ootori feels that it would be beneficial for us to have access to additional information that the rest of the players do not.”

“Oh.” Habit buries her teeth in her bottom lip, worrying long enough— hard enough— for the faintest hint of copper to wash over her mouth, quickly masked by wax and vanilla. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”

“Maybe not,” Hajime allows. “However, it is considered germane to sacrifice a bit of fairness in service to the story, so long as it is done within reason. I have never known Ootori or Enomoto to share privileged information beyond what is strictly needed for proper campaign development.”

“Oh! I didn’t mean to imply that they would, um…compromise the game. I just…” Chizuru clears her throat, as if that might jostle the words she needs past the knot that chokes her. “I wouldn’t want them to think I need any, um…”

Special treatment. She may be new to, well, everything here, but she’s studied the rules. Not as much as Yamazaki and Hajime, but enough that she could keep up. Or at least limp along under her own power. But all it had taken was a single glance and Ootori had marked her out as the weak link, a player in desperate need of hand holding if she wasn't going to drag everyone else down, and—

“It’s not about you.” She could count the wrinkles on Father's brow when he took that sour tone with her, each grievance leaving its mark like rings on a tree. But when she glances up, trying to assess the damage she's causes, all that's waiting on Yamazaki is the barest hint of a smile. “Really, Yukimura. It’s about the character you’re playing.”

She doesn't need to speak LARP fluently to know he means: you, but with a costume on. “If there’s a problem, I don't have to play—”

“It’s not a problem. Not for that sadist, at least.” There's that annoyance again, that aggreived clip on his words, as if he were taking a bite out of each one as it left his mouth. But when he looks down, there's not a hint of it in his eyes, only steady reassurance. “I mean it. Sometimes certain characters would know things that the rest of the players wouldn’t. Like if they had a connection to new NPCs the organizers wanted to put in the campaign, or if a plot would pertain to secrets kept by certain clans. And when that happens, the Story Masters like to, er…”

“Do hallway time.” Hajime catches her confused look, and clarifies, “You might be familiar with the concept from high school.”

“Ah…like when a teacher calls someone out into the hallway to talk to them?” It had never happened to her, personally, but the threat that it could haunted her most of high school, just like the fear her period might come early during an exam, or that she’d experience sudden amnesia during passing time and forget her locker combination. The closest she’d come was when her AP English teacher had called out her name at the beginning of class, only to congratulate her on receiving 100% on her essay, the first he’d ever given in twelve years of teaching. The post-confrontation anxiety had made her so dizzy she’d been dismissed to the nurse’s office before second period. “I thought you said we weren’t in—”

“Not like that.” It’s Yamazaki that glares now, for all that Hajime seems to notice. “Well, okay, it is called that, but you’re not being taken out of class because you’re a problem player or whatever. It’s so that the Story Masters can make sure everyone’s on the same page, instead of ambushing us with information in front of everyone else.

Hajime snorts. “Too late.”

“Oh…” It makes sense, but— “What does that have to do with me?”

Chizuru may be small, but even she can see the wearniess in the looks that pass over her head. Concern creases the corners of Yamazaki’s eyes, mouth working as if he's finding the words to speak, but it’s Hajime that answers first. “It seems hime-sama has become…load bearing this session.”

“Load bearing?” It’s not like she doesn’t know what it means, but that’s something that applies to architectural features, like a wall or a pillar, not—

“Toshi! Goro!” Keisuke pops out from behind a door, smile honing to a point as his eyes find her. “Hime-sama. Just the people I’ve been waiting to see.”

*

Hajime might have called this impromptu consult ‘hallway time,’ but it’s not a corridor Keisuke corrals them into. Instead, he waves them through the door to a smaller conference room, meant to house maybe twenty to thirty business professionals rather than a whole convention’s worth. Even still, it’s over-sized for the four people already in it, all scattered on one side of the table, and another three doesn't make it much better.

Yamazaki may have promised they weren’t in trouble, but— this is still an awful lot like being called down to the principal’s office. Or, well, so she assumes. She’d only been called down to the front office once, and that was by mistake— her invitation to join the National Honor's Society was supposed to be in the library, not administration— but that was enough of a taste to confirm that the delinquent life was not for her.

“You met me and Marie at check-in, I think.” Keisuke gestures to the woman sandwiched between the two men next to him, her hair pulled back so tightly from her face Chizuru's temples ache in sympathy. She can't say she recognizes her— she's only met a handful of women here so far, and none of them with a face as sharp or eyes as bottomless at this one. “But I think the rest of us—”

Marie's mouth stretches, pursed lips flattening into a stern seam, and—

And for some reason, the memory of a similar pinched expression presiding over Heisuke's foam swords hits her anxiety like Mentos to a coke bottle. “Oh, wow, I didn’t even recognize you!”

Marie’s too-dark eyes widen— that’s why she looks so different; she has contacts in— and, oh god, it's her talking. Still talking, because once she starts, she never seems to know whent to quit. “I mean, your costume. It’s very good. I, um, didn’t even know it was you on the stage.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to.” Her eyes are so dark— void black, nearly no pupil— that it’s hard not notice them lingering on Yamazaki before they slide back to her. “It’s not like you know me.”

“I, er…” Her fingers knit over her lap, squeezing together hard enough to ache. “Right, of course…”

“But!” Keisuke’s fingers curl, a cascade of movement that starts with the pointer and ends with a clench of his pinky, fist quivering by his too-wide smile. “I think the rest of us are new to you, aren’t they, Chizuru?”

“Oh, um…” Her eyes sweep up the table and back, but her head doesn't hold onto a single face. “I don’t, um, think…?”

It's a broad hand that justs out over the table, one attached to an even longer arm; one she traces up— and up— to a stern mustache. Or, er, impressive, at least. “Takaeki Enomoto. One of the other senior story tellers, along with Ootori. Though I tend to handle the logistics side rather than the, hm…”

“Sadism?” Yamazaki offers, conversational.

“Ooh, I like that.” Keisuke folds his hands under his chin with a flutter of his eyelashes. “I should put it on my business card. Keisuke Ootori: professional—”

“Narrative,” Enomoto replies, perhaps a little louder than the room merits. “I don’t often handle the narrative side of this endeavor. Though I do take on quite a few characters, when called for.”

Keisuke sighs. “Just so long as they aren’t any fun.”

“What I find fun is getting invited back for our next session.” Enomoto is hardly as large as Mr. Shimada— all height but no heft, like Harada— but when he reaches out to give her a firm, businesslike handshake, his hand almost completely eclipses hers.

If a shrug could be called long-suffering, Keisuke’s would earn the distinction twice over. “Critical lack of whimsy.”

“Whimsy has its place,” Enomoto grunts, settling back in his seat. “And it’s not in an excel sheet.”

“If you’re both quite done hogging the young lady…” A fan slaps open, revealing a hand-painted panorama of Mt Fuji— and sharp eyes above it, observing her with the same cool detachment of her junior year calculus teacher when she tried to work out integrals on the board. “Some of us still need to be introduced.”

Habit sends her gaze plummeting to her feet, but it only gets six inches below that fluttering fan before it hauls up short, caught on teal silk and golden waves, and excitement buoys it back above paper. “Oh, you’re the Daisetsu!”

The fan stills mid-flap. “I am Hantei Daisetsu. It is a name, not a title.”

“Ah, yes, of course. That’s right.” Yamazaki and Hajime had told her that before— two brothers, a dying father, a fight for the throne— but she’s too excited to let herself be flustered by it. Not more than she already is, at least. “I just— I hope you don’t mind if I— ah, I mean, I wanted to tell you— your performance was amazing!”

The prince’s fan drops just enough to show his jaw’s done much the same. “I. Well. Thank you, I suppose. I wanted to bring the character to life, even if it was just for—”

“You really did! It was like I was really there in the room with a prince, trying to save his kingdom! And I—” She takes in the wide eyes of the people across from her, even Marie’s pursed mouth hanging open, and drops her voice back into a more controlled register. “Thought it was cool. Even if I, um, didn’t understand most of it.”

The prince’s gaze shifts to where Yamazaki and Hajime sit. “Ohh, I like her. If she’s even half decent at RP, you’ll have to convince her to become a regular.”

“It’s her decision,” Yamazaki snaps, though it doesn’t get far before it gets tangled up in Hajime’s far more confident, “That was the plan.”

Yamazaki swivels in his seat, chair arm knocking into hers as he initiates the sort of roommate-to-roommate conversation conveyed purely in twitches of the eyebrow and micro-movements of the mouth. One that ends with a pointed lift of Hajime’s brows and Yamazaki slumping further into his seat.

“Not that you didn’t do an excellent job explaining things!” Chizuru hurries to add, as if that might take the sting out of her stupidity. “I just must not be very, um, good when it comes to understanding these sorts of things…”

“You’re new to the setting!” Keisuke laughs like the main character on a Saturday morning cartoon, bright and bubbly and so easily that it invites everyone else to join in— or at least it would, if Yamazaki wasn’t too busy glaring at him. “It’s a lot to take in at once.”

“As Ootori says.” The fan tips, snapping shut to reveal a long face with even longer hair swept back from it. Not a wig, like she'd assumed back in the reception hall, but real hair, a sheet of midnight black all the way down to his mid back. He must have really nice conditioner. “My introduction was geared toward the returning players, not to bring new ones up to speed. It’s Itou, by the way. My name— Kashitaro Itou. Though you’re welcome to call me denka—”

“Let’s not complicate things with honorifics.” Hajime casts her a speculative look. “Yet.”

“That’s part of why we called you three in here.” It’s Chizuru that Keisuke angles himself toward, the kind smile and sweet face not enough to hide the great gears churning behind his eyes. “We usually like to stay hands-off when it comes to this kind of stuff, but you’re popping in at a critical point in the plot’s politics as a crucial character.”

Chizuru blinks. “Crucial…character?”

“Hime-sama, of course.” Itou sets his fan fluttering again, but this time, it doesn’t hide his less-than-princely smirk. “My dear Toshi has explained her position, hasn’t he? The Doji daimyo’s eldest daughter, born to a clan reknown for providing imperial brides.”

As accomplished as any Doji daughter before her, with a mind sharp enough to cut through any problem whether made of paper or flesh, the Crane Clan anticipated proposals from husbands of the highest caliber, that’s what Yamazaki had written in her character biography. Though ambitious young men would doubtlessly pay a steep bride price to take her into their house, her true worth would be measured in the advantage her keen mind could create for the Cranes wherever she was placed. Certainly not someone whose whole purpose could be summed up as simply as ‘waiting for an emperor.’

Though perhaps that was what the Crane Clan would like the prince to think. “Ah…I’m not sure he put it quite like that…”

Sweet as he looks, Keisuke turns serious as he leans back in his seat, fingers steepled over the table. “The internal politics of Rokugan are delicate at this point. Two sons looking to inherit the throne, and as of a few days ago, in-game, there’s no one to sit on it. The whole country’s poised to fight the first civil war they’ve had for centuries right as the supernatural threat outside its borders has started to stretch its legs. Everyone’s looking for the one thing that would tip the scales toward one prince or another”— he grins— “and that’s where you come in.”

Chizuru blinks. “Me?”

“Hime-sama,” Hajime corrects, ignoring Yamazaki’s scowl. “As Itou expressed: the Doji have provided more empresses than any other family. Most notably, the wife of the first Hantei. To secure a Doji bride now— especially one from the daimyo’s family itself— would lend legitimacy both factions are severely lacking.”

“So, whoever marries Kaoru…becomes the king? Er, no, I mean…the emperor?” By the humorless stretch of Yamazaki’s mouth, she must have at least gotten that right. “But that’s a problem, isn’t it? She fled the Crane compound after it was attacked. She probably doesn’t even know…”

That the emperor is dead. That she’s gone from potential bride to political prize practically overnight.

Enomoto clears his throat. “This session is supposed to be a summit of the second prince’s supporters. They had been conspiring to approach the emperor, using their positions to pressure him to appoint Daisetsu as his heir, however…”

Keisuke grins, giving her a wink. “Bit of a moot point, isn’t it?”

“So, I’m supposed to marry him.” When his grin widens, she waves her hands. “I mean, Kaoru is, when she arrives at the summit. She’ll just be…bundled up and married off.”

And she’ll be glad she packed Sen’s princess kimono, since empresses don’t wear jinbei and run around with the boys.

“Uh-uh, not quite. They’ll expect hime-sama to marry the second prince.” Keisuke leans forward, practically quivering with cleverness. “Kaoru is arriving in disguise. At least the last you told me.”

“Well, yes.” She has Kimigiku’s jinbei airing in her room as they speak. “But won’t everyone know—?”

“Will they? Doji Hogkyu’s daughter was raised as any good young lady of Rokugan would be— in the ooku. The inner chambers of the clan compound, where only the family and their most trusted servants would be allowed. Not even Daisetsu would know that he has the Doji princess right under his nose.” Keisuke cocks his head, but it’s not curiosity that sparks in his eyes as he says, “Not unless one of you tells him.”

“U-us?” Yamazaki sputters, hands slapping on the table. “You mean…?”

Keisuke lifts a shoulder, matching the tilt of his mouth. “It’ll be up to the three of you whether hime-sama turns herself over to the prince. After all, it’s not like anyone else will even know she’s here.”

Yamazaki and Hajime both glance down the table, and Itou presses a scandalized hand to his chest. “As if I would lower myself to metagame. Quite honestly, I had considered recusing myself from this meeting to preserve the mystery, but, well…”

“Hime-sama,” Keisuke agrees, as if that explains everything. And perhaps it does, since Enomoto nods too.

“Even so…” Itou flicks out his fan, obscuring the smirk that curls at one corner of his mouth. “I do hope you won’t make things easy for me, hime-sama. There’s nothing I like more than a good challenge.”

*

Chizuru’s nerves are already at a roiling boil as the conference door clicks behind them, little spatters of anxiety hissing up and down her spine, but Yamazaki’s grunt threatens to send her seething right over into a full-blown panic. It’s not the first time she’s seen him so weary— between his exams and Professor Matsumoto’s extended office hours, the end of the semester had worn him ragged enough to see the threads— but when he scrubs a hand down his face, there’s no relief, no easing of the scowl he’s been wearing since Keisuke called them out of dinner. No surprise, after all the trouble she’s gotten them into.

His breath catches at the end of his sigh, a prelude to speech, and she’s braced for the letdown. Thanks for coming, but I think you’ve done enough damage. Or maybe, let’s give you to the prince already, at least then the rest of us could have fun.

Instead, he rubs his eyes and groans, “I should have seen that coming.”

I’m sorry. That’s what she should say— sorry for ruining something that was fun for you. I can leave if you want. At least then there’s a chance that the rest of them might have a good time.

But she doesn’t. Instead, she just lingers behind him, hands curled into fists, hoping that if she doesn’t move, he won’t remember to tell her to leave. Because under all the sweetness everyone thinks is so natural on her, there’s just selfishness, all the way down to the core. “I…”

“They’ve left the choice in our hands.” Yamazaki may keep his pace brisk, but Hajime falls in beside him with the ease of habit, matching his stride. “Quite generous with how much of this plot hinges on our decision.”

“Oh, come on,” Yamazaki snorts, his stride stretching just a little too long for Chizuru’s legs to keep pace. Not that it’s a problem— she’s used to jogging every other step when Souji deigns to walk her to class, or just straight up speedwalking when she’s out with Sanosuke and Shinpachi. “This is classic illusion of choice. Ootori already knows what we’re going to do. He’s counting on it.”

That hardly seems possible when she can’t even begin to wrap her head around what her choices are.

“There are certainly two obvious options,” Hajime allows, almost begrudging. “But they hardly lead to the same outcome.”

“See, that’s— that’s exactly what that villain wants you to think!” Yamazaki sputters, rattling his hands in the empty air in front of them. “Sets up this whole Saw trap of a situation, letting us think we have choice, when he knows there’s no way we’d ever choose anything but—”

Hajime holds up a hand— not a demand, but a request, and Yamazaki swallows the last of his protests with a groan. “I understand your grievances as a player. However, if we do not allow our options to be influenced by the meta aspects—”

“—meta!—”

“—Both Goro and Toshi have, until this point, held themselves beholden to the will of their master.” The Doji daimyo— it takes a moment for Chizuru to remember, but Yamazaki’s already tilted his chin, inviting Hajime to continue with his point. “Even when such decisions went against their own morals. Crane Clan has always planned to strengthen their ties to the throne— it is only natural to assume that its daimyo would have been in favor of this proposal, were he here to receive it. And that we would see it through in his stead for the future of the clan.”

“If Daisetsu could hold the throne long enough for it to matter,” Yamazaki snaps. “Which isn’t guaranteed, even if he does have both Crane and Lion Clan behind him.”

Hajime fixes him with a look of reproach. “Toshi has been one of the second prince’s most stalwart believers—”

Yamazaki spins to a halt. “I believe in Doji Hogkyu, who believed in Hantei Daisetsu. But now he’s dead, and he—”

“Would still want him on the throne.” It’s not often that Hajime gets stubborn, but he does now, folding his arms over his chest. “Especially if the only other choice was Hantei Satorii. It does not matter whether their master is alive or dead, they are still meant to uphold the clan’s best interests, and I do not see why this is any different—”

“Because it’s hime-sama.” There’s barely a difference in their heights— and what little there is falls in Hajime’s favor— but Yamazaki straightens his spine, finding a hidden inch or two between the bones. “There’s only one thing we can do.”

“Um.” Chizuru nearly jumps when both their heads snap toward her, wide-eyed. Guilty, almost. “What is that?”

“Ah, er…” Yamazaki’s jaw works, as if he’d forgotten how to use it. “Well, I…um…”

“Are you kidding me?" A shadow peels off from the wall, dimness pulling its grin cheshire-wide, and this time Chizuru does jump. "You’ve been listening to them just as long as me and you still haven’t figured it out? They’re gonna screw over the prince.”

“Souji.” Hajime blinks, for once looking taken aback. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“It got boring in there having to listen to all those nerds going on about their katanas and their bushi or whatever.” His shoulders don’t so much shrug as spike up to his ears. “What was I supposed to do? Care?”

“You’re welcome to leave anytime,” Yamazaki reminds him, each word straining his patience. “Unless you’re too busy eavesdropping to bother.”

Souji’s mouth curls like it has a mouse trapped between its paws. “Isn’t that what Cat Clan is supposed to do? Gather information?”

Air hisses out from between Yamazaki’s teeth. “I think you mean spy.”

If anything, Souji’s grin only widens. “What’s the matter, nerd? I thought you wanted me to get into character.”

Yamazaki mouth hangs open, retort ready to leap right off from between his teeth, only for Hajime to say, “Any information gathered outside of the bounds of the campaign cannot be applied when in character. As the hallways are considered liminal spaces within the context of the game, they do not fall under the purview of—”

“Whatever,” Souji grunts. “Did I get it right or not? You’re gonna fuck over the prince for Chizuru.”

It’s difficult to deal with Souji when he’s eager to get underfoot and claw at your ankles the whole time, but Hajime weathers it with all the diffidence of an automatic feeder. “That depends.”

Souji may be slouching, but even still, his glower looms over the three of them. “Oh yeah, on what?”

Hajime slants a curious look her way. “On what hime-sama would like to do.”

What hime-sama would like to do. The words are angry wasps trapped inside a moving car, growing louder— angrier— with every rebuffed attempt at escape. Both Yamazaki and Hajime know exactly what they want to do— no, what their characters would want to do, a whole other person’s thoughts leaping fully formed from their heads without so much as a blink, and yet they’re stuck waiting for her. For hime-sama, really, to decide whether she remains a player or becomes a pawn.

It’s just— Chizuru barely knows what she wants, let alone someone who only exists in her head. Well, alright, technically their heads— but still.

“There is no need to rush into a decision.” Hajime doesn’t often smile, but there’s a softness that shines in her direction, little as she deserves it. “Ootori has made it clear that he is willing to wait for an answer.”

So long as she makes one by breakfast, that is. Because after that, her chronic indecision starts to have repercussions— the kind that involves people grousing about delayed schedules, and considering refunds, and worst of all, being mad at her.

Be grateful that your consequences are only inconveniences now, Father would say, forehead several disapproving lines deep. In a hospital setting, they will be bodies instead.

Perceptive, confident, decisive— that’s what a medical professional should be. What Chizuru would be if there wasn’t something wrong with her. If she could be good at things instead of always settling for ‘acceptable’ when everyone else is ‘exceptional.’

Just once, she’d like to know what it’s like to be good enough, instead of…whatever this is.

A hand presses against her shoulder blade, there for only a moment before it falls back to Yamazaki’s side, and she...jumps, stupidly. Like she didn't want it. “We should get dinner. I’ve always found it’s better to make decisions on a full stomach rather than an empty one.”

It’s hardly a solution, simply a deferral of the decision rather than being made, and yet— the knot in her chest unravels. Not untangled, not fully, but loosened enough to let her lungs take in a full breath, sending the cobwebs in the corners of her brain scattering. “If you think that’ll help.”

Yamazaki doesn’t precisely smile, but there’s the hint of one lingering around his mouth. His eyes crinkle, so warm it lights something in her chest too. “I do.

Some people are born to hold lives in their hands, Father would tell her, and when she looks at Yamazaki— so calm, so reliable— she knows it’s true. He’s made to be a doctor, and Chizuru— well, she’ll be lucky if they let her work in pathology.

*

The carpet has barely given way to hardwood before two girls flank her, arms hooking tight around her own as one of them— the taller one— squares up with Yamazaki’s slack jaw and informs him, “She’s ours now.”

By the time he’s able to sputter out more than a name, they’ve already dragged her away— not far, of course, but one or two tables over from where the rest of her housemates have congregated over their emptied dishes, just far enough that they’d have to strain to overhear them.

“Here.” A plate shoves its way in front of her, bearing a very restrained breast of chicken parmigiana and a pile of what looked to be cavatappi in a different, although similarly red, sauce. Chizuru is not often tempted to offer commentary, but for once, it’s an effort not to ask if this cuisine was lore-accurate. “This one should still be warm.”

“Katie waited until they were taking away the chafing dishes to get it,” the smaller one tells her, sitting cross-legged on the seat next to her. “So like, you’re really hime-sama right?”

Chizuru nods, slowly navigating her butter knife through lukewarm chicken and sauce. “I-I guess so? Ah, I mean…I am playing her, so I suppose if anyone is, um…” Her. “It’d be me?”

The girl's head subtly tilts back toward her friend. “Do you think—?”

“Oh,” The tall one— Katie?— says with all the authority of an expert in her field. “For sure.”

That puts a little dent between girl’s eyebrows; not one that’s used to being there, from how long it lasts. “So, this would be—?”

“Uh-huh. Yeah.” Katie’s eyes sweep up her from elbows to hairline. “Definitely checks out.”

“Ah…” Her skin prickles under the scrutiny, but there’s nowhere to hide that isn’t under a table— which is somehow more conspicuous than just weathering whatever assessment she’s being put through. “Is it really that big a deal that I’m playing her?”

The small girl’s eyes blow as wide as her grin. “Oh my god, yeah. Like, huge. Event of the year, big.”

“O-oh.” It’s impossible to make herself any smaller in the seat without slouching. “I didn’t know…”

“Whaat?” For someone so small, this girl can make a lot of noise, dragging out the vowel to nearly impossible proportions. “Toshi and Goro didn’t warn you? Not even a little?”

“What, you’re surprised?” Katie's arms settle over her chest with an ease that said idle rather than impatient. “Everything’s on a need-to-know basis with those two. And I guess hime-sama didn’t ‘need-to-know’ everyone would be up in her business.”

Chizuru would like to think that always-frigid hands might help when it comes to cooling her core temperature, but her palms don't manage to move the burn in her cheeks a single degree, no matter how hard she presses. “I wasn’t trying to play anyone important! I just thought…I’m not used to all of this. It’d be easier if I played someone who”—belonged— “had an established connection. To other players, I mean. Not…”

The linchpin this whole game hung itself on. Which is apparently what hime-sama is, despite being just a bunch of numbers on paper until this weekend.

Katie snorts. “Well, you found someone with established connections all right.”

“I-I didn’t know it would be an issue!” Her chest tightens a sob she can't bear to let out of her throat. Don’t make such a scene, Father would tell her, it isn’t the business of other people to deal with your outbursts. “I could always play someone else, I just—”

“Issue? Girl.”

Chizuru knows she’s small, the sort of person who would have trouble seeing over the steering wheel if she ever found the confidence to drive. Everyone seems tall compared to her, even Hajime, but when Katie unfurls from her slouch, she’s not just tall-in-comparison, or tall-for-a-girl, but properly tall. The sort of person who could look Souji in the eye and not have to strain.

It’s…overwhelming to see all of that move toward her, hand falling just short of her arm on the tablecloth. Intimidating too, except that the knotty expression on Katie’s face smoothes with her stature, turning scowl into smirk. “You’re not a problem. Far from it— you’re entertainment.”

Ah, well, that’s…worse. But she doesn’t have the time to worry at that particular chestnut, not when the girl to her other side bounces in her chair, hands fitting tight around Chizuru’s elbow. “Toshi and Goro never bring anyone to play! I mean, we all know about hime-sama, but she’s like their girlfriend in Canada, you know?”

Chizuru might be familiar with all those words, but she’s never quite heard them in that order. “Ah…she does certainly seem to be important to their characters, but I have to admit, I’m, um…not exactly clear on what Canada has to do with it?”

“Really?” Katie stares at her as if she’s waiting for the end of a particularly unimpressive magic trick. “You live with a bunch of guys and there’s not a single Canadian Girlfriend among them?”

“None of those boys need to pretend they’re getting laid,” the other girl snorts, right as Chizuru blurts out, “I think most of them are single, actually.”

“You don’t say,” she hums, thoughtful.

“Audra.”

“What?” The girl might be smaller than her— Sen’s size and narrow like her too— but she shrugs like swans take flight; simple, powerful and ripples left in her wake. “It’s just interesting, is all. I didn’t say I was going to do anything about it.”

“Now,” Katie huffs, skeptical, before fixing her attention to Chizuru. “Listen, you’ve got to know the type. Got a girlfriend they never stop talking about, but she’s just too busy to meet anyone. Lives far away. Probably doesn’t exist?”

It’s like playing twenty questions— the topics keep circling closer and closer to something meant to be familiar, but Chizuru’s too inexperienced with…everything to know what it is. “Well, I guess hime-sama is supposed to be fictional.”

The small girl— Audra, that’s her name— leans in, clapping her hands. “Oh. You are going to be fun.”

“Hey, are you three going to let the girlfriend eat or what?” One of the boys— lanky, tall, scowling, and not one of hers— snaps. “She’s going to go hungry at this rate.”

Yamazaki sputters where they’ve pinned him to his seat. “I-I’ve already said she’s not my—”

The man leans back, utterly unimpressed, and drawls, “I didn’t say she was yours, Toshi.”

That shuts his mouth, quick. Katie snorts. “Well, I guess that asshole’s good for something sometimes.”

There’s something about the way she says it that itches, Chizuru’s mouth opening before she even quite knows what she’s going to ask—

But she doesn’t have the time, not when a commotion kicks up at the doors to the hall, everyone craning their necks to catch a glimpse. She does too, before she stops herself— it’s not any of business, after all, unless it is, and then she wants to know about it even less— but it’s only the game masters coming in after their meeting, Itou and Marie still half in costume, and—

And Itou fights through the crowd to throw his finger at their table. “YOU.”

Souji leans back in his chair with a grin. “Hey, loser. Long time no see.”

*

“I can’t believe you guys,” one of their friends— Jeff, she thinks his name is, dark haired and not quite as tall as the others— laughs as they wind their way to the elevators. “Itou’s favorite little scene partners, bringing his literal nemesis into his campaign.”

“Against my will,” Yamazaki grits out, at the same time Hajime staunchly insists, “It’s hardly just his game.”

There’s a studied silence, and Hajime clears his throat. “I was hoping he would have moved beyond it. It has been a year.”

“Goro,” Audra chides, curly head bobbing along beside him. “That’s a little oblivious, even for you.”

“Whatever,” one of the taller men grunts, hands shoved into his pockets. “Someone needed to let a little air out of that prick anyway.”

“Kyle,” the other one coughs. “C’mon dude.”

“What? You know it’s true.” His shoulders slouch under the weight of everyone’s stares. “He’s a smug little asshole to begin with, and now he gets to lord himself around, playing Daisetsu? He’ll be unlivable.”

“Oh yeah, great reasoning,” Katie snorts, rolling her eyes. “Some guy annoys you, so that means he deserves to be uncomfortable all weekend. Nice one. Real cool.”

“I didn’t say—”

A shoulder bounces against hers, dragging her attention away— and down, right into Audra’s curious stare. “So, Goro said that you were a…roommate?”

“Ah, h-housemate!” The conversation up ahead is getting raucous enough to blot out an emergency siren, but Chizuru drops her voice anyway, giving her rushed explanation only a little more body than a whisper. “Hajime and Yamazaki share their room. I, um, have my own.”

“Lucky.” This close it’s easy to see that her smile is just the littlest bit lopsided, naturally stuck in a smirk until a laugh blows it wide. And when it does, well— Chizuru can’t say she’s ever felt particularly lucky, but she can believe it, just this once. “But I guess you’d have to, with all those boys. How’d you manage that anyway? I feel like Goro told me that whole place was supposed to be men-only, or whatever."

With an inadvisable haircut and an anxiety-ridden few weeks of lying through her teeth. “It’s a long story…”

“Must be nice.” The debate is still raging up ahead, but somehow Katie’s fallen back, her voice pitched low to match. “There’s people who would kill for twenty-four-seven access to Toshi.”

“Y-yamazaki?” She catches herself, hands clenched to keep from trembling. “Ah, I please don’t think I mean…there’s nothing wrong with living with him. It’s just…”

It’s always been Sakai and his slouchy sweaters that seemed to draw a crowd during office hours, chairs clustered around his whiteboard, taking half a section’s worth of students through the basics of Bio 101.

But that’s hardly what they’re asking her. “He’s very thoughtful and, um…organized! And it’s nice to have someone else that cooks— though Hajime is also quite good at it! He just prefers” — fish and rice, exclusively— “simple things. It’s nice to have some variation.”

They both stare down at her, oddly expectant.

“And, er…” She clears her throat. “He’s very helpful with…coursework?”

Once she’d been able to bring herself to ask. She couldn’t speak for Sakai’s methodology, but she had to admit— she’d found Yamazaki’s approach to Dr. Matsumoto’s study packets much more helpful than just another lecture. Even when—

“Toshi cooks?” Katie shakes her head, halfway to a laugh. “What am I saying, of course he does. That guy would count macros and he doesn’t even lift.”

“Definitely checks out,” Audra confirms, even though there’s her smile's...strangely distracted. “But you’re sure he doesn’t do anything else? Like…for you?”

Chizuru blinks. “What do you—?”

“Toshi!” a voice calls out from behind them, familiar enough to his friends that they turn around too.

Katie snorts. “Talk about people who would like to have all of Toshi’s attention.”

Audra’s eyes widen. “Oh. Marie…”

“Can’t believe she’s trying that here,” Katie mutters, shaking her head. “In front of—”

Yamazaki turns, too far ahead to hear whatever Katie’s about to say, but Audra’s elbow cuts it short anyway. His eyes sweep over them first, catching on Katie before falling to Audra and then backtracking to find Chizuru, his eyes narrowing, suspicious, and—

“Toshi.” It’s Marie he finds now, further down the hall. Still costumed too, save for her hair. “If you have a moment…?”

“Ah, sure.” He waves at the group. “Go on ahead, I’ll only be a minute.”

Hajime hardly looks convinced, but he keeps walking, the rest of their friends on his heels. Furthest behind, Chizuru hears him ask, “Did you need me for something?” but turns the corner before she can catch a reply.

Something sinks in her stomach, slow, like a quarter in a bottle of molasses. “What do you think she wants?”

“Ah…” Katie winces under Audra’s pointed look. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Toshi’s just a popular guy,” Audra adds with a smile. “I’m sure there’ll be plenty of people wanting a piece of him.”

There it is, that weird sinking again, like when Shinpachi's SUV rides it breaks down a hill. Poor man's rollercoaster.

Like you'd know anything about that, Sanosuke would laugh, and—

“Chizuru.” Katie stares down at her now, a divot digging in between her brows. “You alright?”

“Ah, yeah, I just…” She clears her throat around the lump in it. “I think I just left something back in the dining room.”

Audra blinks. “Something important? Did you want us to come with you—?”

“No!” It comes out too loud, too sharp, but Chizuru’s chest feels too tight to care. “I, um, will only be a minute.”

*

Chizuru doesn’t rush back down the hall, but she certainly takes it at a quick clip, only hesitating when she hears a soft, feminine voice— Marie— around a corner. “I could come by later, if that works for you.”

She presses herself to the wall, swallowing loud enough to nearly miss Yamazaki reply, “I’ll be busy tonight.”

“Of course, of course.” Air hisses out through her teeth. Not angry, but.. nervous, maybe. Like this answer mattered. “Later this weekend, then? I could—”

For as long as she lives, Chizuru will never know what possesses her to step out, nor how she manages to say, “Yamazaki?”

His spine straightens, whipping to face her. “Yukimura! I thought you went with everyone else.”

There’s no guilt in his voice, no shame, just surprise. Pleasurable surprise, and maybe the smallest hint of relief, too. “Ah, I just— you’re coming to my room now, right?”

They both stare at her, blank.

“With Hajime,” she clarifies, hoping she doesn’t sound as lame as she feels. “For the, um…thing?”

“Oh!” He blinks. “You’ve figured out what you want?”

“Um.” Her tongue tangles up trying to manage something, anything that sounds like an affirmative. “Yeah. Just now, actually.”

“Great. Best to strike while the iron is hot.” He nods his head at Marie. “Sorry, we’ll have to discuss this another time.”

“Of course.” Marie glances at her, and if looks could burn, then Marie's would char her down to her bones. “Whenever. I can always make time for you.”

*

Hajime eschews the seating options in her suite for the floor, kneeling behind her coffee table as if he were an actual samurai, sword lying beside him. He doesn’t have one now, of course, but when his hands press politely to his thighs, Chizuru can’t help but feel it’s there spiritually. “I take this meeting to mean that you have decided on our course of action.”

“Ah, not…really?” Not at all, actually, but she can’t bear to admit it while Yamazaki’s brows knot a little deeper with each nervous shift she makes on the couch. “I just…there must be a right choice, isn’t there? Something they want me to pick?”

It’s Hajime’s turn for his brow to furrow. “The Story Masters would not have offered you a choice if they were not equally prepared for either answer.”

“Ah, well, I know that”— she doesn’t, not even a little, but she trusts that Hajime and Yamazaki do— “but there has to be a, um, better option, doesn’t there? Something that’s less disruptive than—”

“Yukimura.” Hajime’s stare is steady, a palpable weight, grounding her until the couch feels more solid beneath her. “Your commitment to serving the best interests of the campaign is appreciated. But your concern is ultimately unnecessary.”

She blinks, eyes stinging where she stares at her hands. “But I don’t want to…”

“You’re coming at this from the wrong angle.” She startles, eyes darting up to where Yamazaki waits for her, patient. “This isn’t a group project but a…a playground. We may all be in the same physical place, but that doesn’t mean we’re all playing the same game. No matter what you choose, it’ll make some things harder for some people, and some things easier for others. And doing that isn’t a problem— it’s a feature.”

“I…” Can’t picture it. Actions have consequences, and poor choices always mean poor outcomes. Father always said—

“You are approaching the decision as if there is a correct answer that can be discerned through thoughtful contemplation, but that is a fundamental misunderstanding of your duty as a player.” Hajime meets her eyes, steady. “No one is asking you to pick the best course of action for the campaign.”

“I-I don’t understand.” Her voice comes out too small, too weak for the way they are looking at her. “I know I asked to play hime-sama, but I’m not— you’re the ones who should really—”

“There is no need to worry about Yamazaki and myself, Yukimura.” A corner of Hajime’s mouth lifts, as close to a smile as he ever comes. “Whatever hime-sama wills, Toshi and Goro obey.”

That’s half the problem— it’s too much responsibility. Hime-sama had been raised to lead, to be the wife of a man so important even her own words might leave their mark on history, even if only from the shadows, but Chizuru—

“Yukimura.” She nearly jumps at the way Yamazaki’s voice cushions her name, as if it were something precious. “The question isn’t what you think is the right thing to do. The question is: what would hime-sama do?”

“But I’m not…” The expert on hime-sama. Yamazaki is, but he only sits there, legs folded beneath him as if he really were her servant. As if her opinion mattered.

What would hime-sama do? The words bounce around in her brain, over and over until they lose meaning, until all she can hear is hime-sama, hime-sama.

She’s not hime-sama, but— but neither is Doji Kaoru. That’s what she’s called— a title, a station, no more her name than Hogkyu’s daughter. And yet that’s what had been at the top of her character sheet; for all the pages and pages of backstory, neither Yamazaki nor Hajime had bothered to give her any other. That’s what she’d been to them— to Toshi and Goro— the charming, dutiful Doji princess, doted upon by her father and beloved of her clan.

It’d been Chizuru who gave her a name. Who had read about her opulent chambers deep in the ooku and thought, how could a girl beloved by so many be so lonely? Who heard about her glorious duty to marry the most important men in Rokugan and said, what if she could have a choice?

Yamazaki and Hajime may be the expert on hime-sama, but Chizuru—

Chizuru knew Doji Kaoru.

*

If courage served as the guiding virtue of Crab Clan, then caution could be called the same for Crane. Caution is what keeps her at the foot of the pass, hands trembling as she watches each furtive courier climb up the pass. Caution is what keeps her tucked in the bush as larger, more conspicuous entourages pass— all on foot, pretending to a station much lower than they were born. ‘Slumming it,’ her cousin had called it once, until he had grown old enough to walk beyond the walls of the inner court, and she had grown old enough to be forbidden to leave it.

And caution is what puts her feet on that same path as night falls, shadows haunting her heels the way they did Goro’s hand. For all her fretting over posture, slouching and stretching until she moved like the boys she saw run through the manor’s halls, and the constant rehearsal of her credentials until she nearly believed them herself, she had needed neither of them to convince the man at the gate to let her through. All it had taken was a few grunts and her courier’s clothes, ill-fitting as they were. She’d had little time to peruse her options when she’s taken them off the back of the boy who owned them, glad he had been felled by a blow to the head instead of somewhere that would leave a stain—

*

Chizuru flinches, the chill of cold flesh clammy against her palms. Could Kaoru have done that— stolen a jinbei off a boy her size as the Doji compound burned around her, afraid of who might be close at hand? The fairest flower in Crane Clan’s secret garden, a princess sheltered from the worst the world had to offer, and yet—

*

It was the second she’s ever touched.

It had been a secret— their secret, the three of them. She wasn’t allowed beyond the compound’s walls, after all, even if it had been easy to squeeze through the gap between two posts and stumble into the forest. Even if she had brought her guards— in truth, this time, instead of simply intention now that Goro had been given real steel to wear at his hip, a man by the measure of the Kakita.

And it had been that steel that sliced through flesh; a single cut to bring a bandit to his knees. His first kill— a sacred rite to the Kakita, celebrated by feasting and liberal application of sake— and now just another one of their secrets. Valor stolen and glory denied, all because she had not believed in the danger outside these walls, no matter how many times they had warned her.

He had reached for her, this man— greedily, as if her flesh would belong to him if only he could clasp it between his hands. There had not even been time for fear to well in her; just a single moment where the sun had broken through the branches, glinting off the hunger in his eyes and the cold edge of Goro’s blade, and then it was over, blood all over the grass.

It was the shock that had made her reach out, as if pawing at a corpse might make it more real to her, but Toshi had snatched her hand out of the air, clasped in his own. Another first— a more distracting one, truth be told, as she tried to memorize its warmth and the faint beat of his heart where it pressed against her skin— “It is not for your hands to be dirtied with death.”

She wonders, more often than she likes, if the man’s bones lay there still, abandoned beneath the bushes where Goro and Toshi had dragged it. Barely more than babes, and they had left him to be gnawed at by the foxes and the wolves and whatever else roamed those woods and longed for mortal flesh.

Still, she had not regretted it, not even one. Not like she does the poor boy in the Crane Clan’s colors, killed on the road by cruelty and left there for convenience. She may not have had any part in his death, but he had died for her nonetheless, even if only in name. And the only kindness she had spared him was a pause before she took what she could steal.

If only Toshi had been there to stop her. Or Goro to remind her to avert her eyes. If only it had been some other hands that had delicately unwrapped the hemp cloth from his body; a funeral in reverse. If only it had been some other boy that had donned his clothes, and not—

*

Ah, that’s— that’s too much. Yamazaki and Hajime are still kneeling across from her, unaware of how her fingers were leaving streaks all over their princess. Turning her from the perfect daimyo's daughter into a scared, selfish girl, just like—

“Yukimura.” Her eyes dart to where Yamazaki sits, heart pounding in her throat. “You don’t need to worry. Hime-sama is the fan to my shadow and Goro’s sword. Whatever she chooses…we face together.”

The fan. Strange how that settles her. Kaoru’s weapon— not a blade or a bludgeon, but words. Raised to be an empress, her bloodline meant to leand legitimacy to Hantei’s rule, but still—

*

It’s Toshi’s voice that beckons her through the shoji. Shadows may be silent, but between Goro and himself, he has always been the one to speak, the one who carried the conversation when Goro lapsed into his private contemplation. His voice that always called out to be careful, his voice that offered her the first greeting of her morning—

And his voice that spoke her father’s will to her, whether she wished it or not. But she has never heard it like this; terse and tense, impatient.

A woman might open the door by inches, creeping forward on her knees when called, but— she does not come to them as a woman. Instead, she lets it glide beneath the weight of her fingers, opening too fast, too hard for good manners. That was always how the young couriers had done it, receiving only raised eyebrows or stern glares in place of censure. But Toshi does not spare her even that.

“What is it?” His back is to her, broader than she remembers, but still more slender than Goro. A man that fights with his head, rather than his hands. “Give us your message and go.”

She hesitates— too long even for the greenest of boys— and Toshi turns. For the first time, she wonders if they will recognize her. Their hime-sama, wrapped in rags. If they will believe this filthy boy when he calls himself their princess.

But even in this dim light, surprise ripples over his face like a stone thrown into a still lake. “H-hime-sama?”

That is enough to draw Goro’s attention from the care of his blade, eyes pulsing wide. “Hime-sama! How is it you are here?”

*

Kaoru may open her mouth, but it’s Chizuru who hesitates.

Oh, it was easy to play Kaoru in her head, to let her voice speak loud enough to drown out all her worries. But to do it out here, where Yamazaki and Hajime can hear her— where they can be disappointed—?

“Yukimura.” Yamazaki lowers his head, a faint smile tugging at one corner of his mouth. “Just let her out.”

*

“I found you!” Kaoru sags in relief, hands curl in her lap to keep from reaching out. But her smile must be too wide, too much the silly little girl they left behind, since Toshi’s brow furrows further, and—

*

“Oh, I’m sorry, that’s— that’s too silly.” Her skin is so hot it’s painful, not bothering to cool even when she presses a palm to her cheek, “I should say something better. More—”

Perfect. But Hajime simply holds up a hand, eyes boring into hers. “Just trust yourself, Yukimura.”

“I…” Don’t know how. But she clamps her teeth around the excuse and slides from the couch, folding her knees underneath her on the floor.

*

“I found you,” she repeats, but the joy is gone from it now. “I found you, and I was…”

The sob steals her words from her, the pain of it doubling her over until all that is left is fear. The fear she had refused to feel all the nights beneath the stars, walking so much farther, so much longer than she had ever dreamed.

“Hime-sama.” Toshi does not dare to touch her, but he comes close enough she can feel his heat even through a layer of hemp.

She does not weep so much as exorcise her sorrow, letting all those lonely ri finally fall behind her. It is not until she is done that she realizes her mouth has been moving the whole time, simply repeating, “I was so scared, so scared.”

“You are with us now,” Toshi tells her, as if she did not have eyes of her own to see. And yet, something in her releases, her back nearly brushing his hovering fingers. “You are safe. We will allow no harm to come to you.”

This is hardly the joyous reunion she had hoped for, but even she is surprised by the chill in Goro’s voice as he says, “Where is your escort?”

“There is none.” Her voice frays nearly to breaking. “There is only me.”

There has never been much expression on Goro’s face, but she has learned to discern which angle imply a frown. “Your father allowed you to travel alone? Now of all times?”

She can see the lecture brewing on his lips, ready to take her to task as thoroughly as the head of her guard should, but— “There is only me— only me, because there is no one else. No one else forever”

She cannot see Toshi’s face, but she knows what is must hold, for the whole of it is reflected on Goro's. “No one else? But surely your father could have spared one of his men—”

“He cannot,” she gasps, “because they are all dead.”

“Dead?” Goro’s gaze flickers over her shoulder, meeting Toshi’s. “And Doji Hogkyu—?”

“Do not make me say it.” She lifts her eyes to meet his, pleading. “For whatever love you still hold for me, do not make me say that my father is—”

She cannot bear to speak the words, and Toshi cannot bear to make her. “You are certain? You have seen it?”

“Not his body.” That would have been held deeper within the fortress, too dangerous to attempt, even to save him from a criminal’s grave. “But I saw the parade from my chambers, all the heads carried through the courtyard”—she nearly retches at the memory— “I would know him anywhere.”

There is a light that leaves Goro as she speaks, leaving him ashen, a wax statue of the man he should be. “How did this happen? Who did this?”

“I-I don’t know. Hantei Satorii’s men came to ask father something. He opened the gates to them, invited them in to speak, and…” She shakes her head, screwing her eyes shut, as if it might block out the memory.

There is silence, and then Toshi shifts, cold air slipping in between them. “You shouldn’t stay here. Your father has allies, men he trusted. You cannot…”

She lifts her head, turning until she can see his own face, too stern for the boy she once knew. “You would send me away?”

“No, that’s not…” A frustrated noise escapes the confines of his throat. “Were you here this evening, when the prince spoke?”

Her heart flutters in her chest, but she nods, nonetheless. The second prince, searching for his promised Crane Clan wife. Both brothers are older than her; handsome and powerful, well positioned in the court. Between them, Daisetsu is the better option, lacking the cruelty that mars his brother’s reputation. The exact sort of husband Father had raised her to marry. And yet…

“Then you heard what he wants.” Toshi does not wait for confirmation before he plows on, “He could protect you. He has men— allies who want to see him on the throne— and you are too valuable to him to lose. You could go to him now, and—”

“I don’t want to marry Hantei Daisetsu.”

*

Chizuru claps a hand over her mouth. Ah, she hadn’t meant to say that. Not so boldly. To be empress was hime-sama’s destiny, and yet—

That’s not what Kaoru wants.

*

“What else can we do?” Toshi snaps, the way he would when she had won too many games of go. “You cannot go back to the Doji. There are no allies Satorii will not burn down to see you in his grasp. If you do not go to Daisetsu, then—”

Her fingers pinch his sleeve, forcing his eyes to hers.

“Toshi.” There’s a whine in her voice, a plea. “How could I be any safer than I am at your side?”

*

Yamazaki sits back on his heels, still clutching his sleeve. “Y-yukimura…”

Chizuru blinks. “Oh, I’m sorry, was that too much? I should have asked—I’m not very good at this—”