The sun had risen, but the Lady Aoi had not.

  It was the eighth day of my tenure as the shadow guardian of this strange, opulent castle—an apartment complex known as The Heights. My Lady, a master of disguise who masquerades as a destitute scholar, remained in her chambers. She was currently engaged in the sacred act of "sleeping in," a luxury only those with vast armies and overflowing granaries can afford.

  I stood by the entrance to her room, listening. Her breathing was rhythmic, though occasionally interrupted by a snort that sounded remarkably like a wild boar foraging for truffles.

  Such raw, unbridled confidence, I thought, bowing slightly to the closed door. She fears no assassin. She sleeps deeply because she knows I, Masanari, guard the perimeter.

  My stomach gave a treacherous growl, breaking my meditation.

  It was time to perform my duties. A retainer must ensure his Lord is fed upon waking. In my time, I have survived on tree bark and dried crickets for weeks. However, Lady Aoi possesses a larder that rivals the Imperial Kitchens. It would be an insult to her status to serve her bark.

  I entered the Culinary Shrine—the kitchen.

  My eyes fell upon the "Silver Box of Morning Crispness."

  Lady Aoi had utilized this device two days ago. It is a wondrous mechanism. One inserts soft, pale bread into its vertical maws, depresses a lever, and after a precise duration, the bread leaps forth, golden and hardened. It is alchemy. It is the mastery of fire without flint or steel.

  "Today," I whispered, tying my sleeves back with a cord, "I shall improve upon the formula."

  I retrieved the bag of sliced bread. Then, I opened the "Arctic Chest" (the refrigerator) and withdrew a heavy block of orange sustenance.

  Cheddar.

  It is a brick of solidified milk, dyed the color of the setting sun. In my era, milk was rare, and cheese of this magnitude would be a gift fit for a Shogun. Yet, Lady Aoi leaves it wrapped in plastic, casually tossed beside a half-eaten jar of pickles.

  My Ninja Logic engaged.

  Observation: Toasted bread is dry. It requires moisture and flavor.

  Observation: Cheese melts when heated, becoming a savory sludge of joy.

  Hypothesis: If I apply the cheese after the bread is toasted, the bread cools too quickly.

  Conclusion: The cheese must be fused with the bread during the alchemy.

  It was flawless reasoning.

  I took two slices of bread. I sliced the cheddar thick—generously thick, for my Lady deserves only the best. I placed the cheese slabs against the bread.

  The slot of the Silver Box was narrow. A lesser man might have hesitated.

  I am not a lesser man.

  I applied the "Palm of Gentle Coercion." With a firm, steady shove, I forced the bread-and-cheese sandwich into the vertical slot. It was a tight fit. The cheese scraped against the heating filaments, but it seated.

  "Perfect," I murmured.

  I depressed the lever. It clicked. The internal coils began to glow with the angry red of a blacksmith’s forge.

  I stood with my arms crossed, watching the device. A true ninja is patient.

  At first, the aroma was pleasant. It smelled of warming grain and softening dairy. I nodded approvingly.

  The alchemy is working. The spirits of the cow and the wheat are merging.

  Then, a sizzling sound began. Hiss. Pop. Sizzle.

  Thick, yellow tears of molten cheddar began to run down the bread, sliding directly onto the glowing red coils.

  Smoke began to rise. It was not the wispy, white steam of rice. It was thick, grey, and acrid.

  "Oho," I noted, leaning closer, my eyes narrowing. "The Fire Spirit is enthusiastic today. Perhaps I have offered too much tribute?"

  The grey smoke turned black. The smell shifted from 'savory' to 'the burning hooves of a demon horse.'

  FWOOSH.

  A tongue of orange flame erupted from the slot, licking at the air.

  I did not panic. Panic is death. I merely observed. "Interesting. The Silver Box has summoned the flames of Jigoku. Is this... a flambé?"

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  I reached for a pair of chopsticks to attempt a rescue, but before I could move, the world shattered.

  BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

  The sound was not of this earth.

  It was a shriek. A piercing, rhythmic scream that drilled directly into my ear canals and vibrated against my skull. It was louder than a temple bell struck by a giant; sharper than a whistle made of bone.

  I instantly dropped into a defensive crouch, hands over my ears, my teeth gritted against the sonic assault.

  Sonic Genjutsu!

  "AMBUSH!" I roared, my voice barely audible over the screeching. "LADY AOI! THE ENEMY IS HERE!"

  I scanned the room for the source. The noise was omnidirectional, bouncing off the sleek walls of the kitchen. It was designed to disorient, to paralyze. A psychological weapon of war.

  Where is it? Where is the assassin?

  I looked up.

  There. On the ceiling. A small, white, circular disc. A blinking red eye stared down at me.

  The Watcher.

  I had ignored it for days, thinking it a mere decoration or a talisman of good fortune. I was a fool. It was a sentry. A mechanical bat that screams to alert the invasion force.

  BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

  My ears were bleeding. Not literally, but my soul was weeping from the frequency.

  "You shall not summon your masters, demon!" I shouted.

  I ignored the flaming toaster. The fire was a distraction; the sound was the true attack.

  I sprinted toward the wall. Channeling my focus into my legs, I performed a vertical wall run—step, step, push—launching myself backward toward the center of the ceiling.

  I reached up, my fingers hooking into the plastic casing of the screaming disc.

  Gravity took hold, dragging me down. I did not let go.

  CRACK.

  With the sound of shattering plastic and tearing drywall, I ripped the device from its mount. I landed in a three-point crouch, the screaming disc still wailing in my hand.

  BEEP! BEEP—

  "SILENCE!"

  I drove my fist into the center of the disc. The plastic crunched. The wailing died instantly, replaced by the sad rattle of a broken circuit board.

  I exhaled, adrenaline coursing through my veins. "Target neutralized."

  "MASANARI! WHAT THE HELL IS HAPPENING?!"

  I looked up. Lady Aoi stood in the doorway. She was wearing an oversized shirt that said 'I Paused My Game For This,' and her hair resembled a bird's nest that had been struck by lightning.

  "My Lady!" I presented the broken shards of the smoke detector to her, bowing my head. "Do not fear! I have slain the Screaming Turtle of the Ceiling. It attempted to signal an ambush, but I have crushed its throat."

  She did not look at my trophy. She looked past me. Her eyes were wide, reflecting orange light.

  "THE TOASTER!" she screamed.

  I turned.

  Ah. The Silver Box.

  The flames were no longer licking; they were consuming. The "Silver Box of Morning Crispness" had become the "Black Box of Eternal Damnation." A column of black smoke was billowing upward, filling the kitchen with a haze that stung the eyes.

  "Fire!" Aoi shrieked.

  She rushed past me. I prepared to draw my blade to cut the fire, but she opted for a water-based strategy. She ripped the cord from the wall—a wise move, severing the lightning source—and then threw a damp dish towel over the appliance.

  She grabbed a can of something—a red cylinder—but hesitated, then just grabbed the entire toaster with oven mitts and threw it into the metal sink, turning on the faucet.

  HISSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS.

  Steam exploded outward, engulfing us both. The smell of wet, charred metal and incinerated cheese was overpowering. It smelled like a dairy farm had burned down, and the cows had been made of plastic.

  Silence returned to the kitchen.

  The air was heavy with the grey fog of failure.

  Lady Aoi stood over the sink, breathing heavily. She slowly turned to face me. Her face was smudged with soot.

  I remained kneeling on the floor, the broken smoke detector still clutched in my hand.

  "Masanari," she said. Her voice was dangerously calm. The calm of a Daimyo before ordering a mass execution.

  "Yes, My Lady?"

  "What... did you put... in the toaster?"

  "Breakfast," I reported faithfully. "Bread. And cheese. I sought to fuse them for efficiency."

  She closed her eyes. She pinched the bridge of her nose. "You put... a block of cheddar cheese... directly into the vertical slots?"

  "Indeed. The fit was snug, but my will was stronger."

  "Masanari."

  "Yes."

  "That is a toaster. Not an oven. Gravity exists. Cheese melts. It falls onto the heating coils. It catches fire."

  I paused. I replayed the events in my mind.

  Cheese melts. Gravity pulls down. Coils are hot.

  The logic was sound. I had failed to account for the viscosity of the cheese under thermal stress.

  "I see," I said, bowing lower, my forehead touching the cool linoleum. "My calculations were flawed. I mistook the Silver Box for a horizontal crucible. I have brought shame upon the breakfast."

  She looked at the ceiling, where a jagged hole and two hanging wires marked the grave of the smoke detector. "And the alarm? You ripped it out of the ceiling?"

  "It screamed, My Lady. It was a sonic weapon. I feared it signaled enemy reinforcements."

  Aoi slid down the cabinets until she was sitting on the floor, burying her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook. Was she weeping? Or laughing? With the aristocracy, it is often hard to tell.

  "That," she muffled through her hands, "was the smoke detector. It screams to tell us there is a fire. So we don't die."

  I froze.

  It was not a sentry? It was... a guardian spirit?

  I looked at the shattered plastic in my hand. I had murdered a benevolent ally who was merely trying to warn me of my own incompetence.

  "I have... slain the warning spirit," I whispered, horror dawning on me. "I have killed the town crier because I did not like his voice."

  Aoi looked up, wiping a tear from her eye. "Masanari."

  "I am ready for Seppuku," I said, reaching for the small fruit knife on the counter.

  "NO!" She scrambled up and snatched the knife away. "No Seppuku! Just... no more cooking. Ever. Anything that generates heat? Banned. You are banned from the Toaster, the Oven, the Stove, and... god, even the Kettle for now."

  "I understand," I said solemnly. "I am unworthy of the Fire element."

  She sighed, walking over to the window and throwing it open to let the smoke escape. "And you owe me a new toaster. And a new smoke detector. And my security deposit is definitely gone now."

  "I shall patrol the streets," I vowed, standing up. "I will find a rogue Samurai carrying a toaster and relieve him of it."

  "Please don't," she groaned. "Just... go sit on the couch. Don't touch anything."

  I retreated to the living room.

  I sat on the soft cushions, staring at my hands.

  The modern world is a treacherous battlefield. The appliances are fragile. The cheese is volatile. The ceilings scream.

  I looked back at the kitchen. Aoi was scraping black sludge out of the sink.

  She possesses the patience of a Saint, I thought. Truly, she is a benevolent ruler.

  My stomach growled again.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out a single, un-toasted slice of bread I had saved from the massacre. I ate it in silence.

  It was dry.

  Days Remaining: 92

  NEXT TIME! The Laundry Avalanche! Masanari discovers the 'Spinning River Spirit' (Washing Machine)! He believes the clothes are being tortured! A red sock is mixed with the whites—A WAR CRIME?! Aoi loses her favorite shirt! Tune in next time for Episode 9: "The Pink Gi of Shame!"