The Clan’s treasury is in ruins.

  I knelt upon the tatami floor—or rather, the synthetic wood imitation that covers the floor of Lady Aoi’s fortress—head bowed low in shame. The air smelled faintly of burnt plastic and cheese, a lingering reminder of my battle with the Vertical Toaster yesterday.

  "Masanari," Lady Aoi said, her voice grave. She sat upon the sofa, inspecting her Oracle Slate with a furrowed brow. "Because someone destroyed the smoke detector and the toaster, and because we had to buy you clothes so the police wouldn't arrest you... we have exactly two thousand yen to survive the next three days."

  I tightened my fists on my knees. "I possess a 500-yen coin, My Lady. I shall contribute to the war chest."

  "Keep it," she sighed, rubbing her temples. "We need protein. Tonight, we feast, or we starve. But we cannot afford full price. Do you understand?"

  "I await your command."

  She looked at me, her eyes gleaming with the desperation of a general facing a winter siege. "Go to the 'Super-Sanwa' down the street. It is 6:50 PM. In ten minutes, the war begins. Get the Sashimi. Specifically, the Fatty Tuna. But only... only... if it has the yellow sticker."

  "The Yellow Sticker?"

  "The Mark of the Half-Price," she whispered reverently. "Go, Masanari. And come back alive."

  I stood before the sliding glass gates of the Super-Sanwa.

  The automated doors parted with a hiss, inviting me into the belly of the beast. The air inside was frigid, conditioned by invisible spirits of ice to preserve the dead flesh of fish and beast.

  It was 6:58 PM.

  I was not alone.

  Hovering near the seafood district, I sensed them. A platoon of warriors. They were short, hunched, and deceptively frail in appearance. They wore knitted armor and pulled wheeled chariots filled with radishes and leeks.

  The Matriarchs.

  In my time, the wives of samurai defended the homestead with naginata spears while their husbands were away at war. These women possessed the same aura. Their centers of gravity were low, their eyes sharp as filtered steel. They did not look at the merchandise; they looked at the back room doors. They were waiting.

  I adjusted the Mask of Focus (my broken VR goggles) upon my forehead and tightened the sash of my trench coat. I moved silently, utilizing the Shinobi-Aruki (silent step), positioning myself behind a display of discounted bananas.

  I observed my competition.

  To my left, a woman in a purple vest. Her stance was open, but her grip on her basket was white-knuckled.

  To my right, the leader. A tiny, silver-haired grandmother with a back curved like a shrimp. She leaned on a cane, but I was not fooled. The cane was a weapon. She was the Silver Flash. I could feel her Sakki (Killing Intent)—it radiated from her in waves, cold and calculating.

  ‘She knows,’ I realized. ‘She knows I am here for the Tuna.’

  Suddenly, the double doors at the back of the seafood section swung open.

  The atmosphere in the Super-Sanwa snapped taut. The background music—a jovial, repetitive melody meant to lull civilians into a false sense of security—seemed to fade into a dull roar.

  He emerged.

  A young man in a white apron, his eyes dead and hollow, burdened by the weight of his divine duty. In his hand, he held the artifact.

  The Label Gun.

  I held my breath. He was the Arbiter. The God of Value. With a single squeeze of his trigger, he could slash the cost of a commodity by fifty percent. He held the power of economic life and death.

  The Matriarchs tightened their formation. They did not rush. They circled, like wolves herding a nervous sheep.

  Click-clack.

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  The God of Value dispensed the first sticker onto a pack of mackerel.

  Click-clack. A pack of salmon.

  The Silver Flash took a step forward. Her cane tapped the linoleum—tap—echoing like a war drum.

  The employee reached for the Holy Grail. The single pack of Premium Fatty Tuna (O-Toro). The marbleization of the fat was exquisite. It was food fit for a Shogun, yet priced for a peasant, provided the sticker landed.

  Click-clack.

  The yellow seal adhered to the plastic wrap.

  "IKUZO!" (Let's go!)

  I do not know who screamed it. Perhaps it was my own soul.

  The world exploded into motion. The woman in the purple vest lunged, throwing a hip check with the force of a battering ram. I anticipated this. I utilized the Shunshin (Body Flicker), dropping my weight and sliding on my knees beneath the handle of her shopping cart.

  I cleared the blockade, my hand outstretched toward the refrigerated altar.

  But another foe appeared—a Matriarch in a floral blouse wielded a long green onion like a rapier, thrusting it into my path to disrupt my balance. A master of the vegetable arts!

  I parried the onion with my forearm and vaulted over a display of pickled plums. I was airborne. I had the high ground. The Tuna was within my grasp.

  "Mine!" I roared, my fingertips brushes the cold condensation of the shelf.

  A shadow moved faster than thought.

  The Silver Flash.

  She did not jump. She did not run. She simply... appeared. She had used the chaos of the other warriors to slip through the gaps in reality. Her withered hand shot out, seizing the other end of the Tuna pack at the exact millisecond I grabbed mine.

  We froze.

  Time dilated. The fluorescent lights hummed above us. I held the left corner; she held the right.

  I looked down into her eyes. They were deep pools of experience. She had fought in the Great Discount Wars of the Showa Era. She had survived the bubble economy. I was a mere whelp compared to her tenure on this battlefield.

  I exerted force. My grip strength is enough to crush bamboo.

  She did not budge. Her grip was reinforced by the spectral strength of a thousand family dinners.

  "Yield, young one," her eyes seemed to say.

  "I cannot," I gritted out, my honor on the line. "My Lady... she is hungry."

  The Silver Flash’s expression softened. It was a trap, a Genjutsu of the highest order. She looked at me with the pitiable, wavering gaze of a grandmother who has not seen her family in years.

  "My grandson..." she croaked, her voice dry as autumn leaves. "He is coming to visit tomorrow. He loves... the fatty tuna."

  The attack struck my heart with the precision of a poisoned needle. Filial piety. Respect for elders. The core tenets of my code. If I took this sustenance, would I be denying a reunion between kin? Would I be the villain in this elderly warrior’s saga?

  I hesitated. A split-second waver in my Zanshin (awareness).

  YOINK.

  With a wrist movement too fast for the human eye to track, she twisted the pack. My fingers slipped on the condensation.

  The Tuna was gone.

  She bowed deeply, the mask of the frail grandmother vanishing instantly, replaced by the smirk of a victor. "Thank you for the meal," she cackled, placing the prize in her basket and vanishing into the crowd of victors near the frozen dumplings.

  I stood there, empty-handed. Defeated.

  The shelf was bare. The God of Value had retreated to the back room, his work done. The war was over.

  "I... I have failed."

  I looked down. There, in the corner of the shelf, ignored by the frenzy, sat a single lonely package. It bore the yellow sticker.

  Squid Tentacles (Geso).

  It was chewy. It was tough. It was the food of endurance, not luxury.

  I grabbed it. It was not the prize I sought, but I would not return to the fortress with nothing.

  "I have returned," I announced, stepping into the genkan.

  My trench coat was disheveled. My breathing was ragged. I had lost a sock in the skirmish (it had been pulled off by a rogue shopping cart wheel).

  Lady Aoi looked up from the sofa. "Welcome back. Did you get it? The Tuna?"

  I walked to the kitchen counter and placed the package down with a heavy thud. I dropped to one knee, bowing my head until it touched the linoleum.

  "Forgive me, Princess! I was bested. The Matriarchs... they possess a strength I did not anticipate. Their guilt-trip techniques are formidable. I allowed the Silver Flash to disarm me mentally. I am a disgrace to the Hattori name."

  Silence filled the room. I awaited the order to commit seppuku, or perhaps to sleep in the bathtub again.

  "Masanari."

  "Yes, My Lady."

  "Is this... spicy marinated squid tentacles?"

  I flinched. "It is the only spoils I could secure. I know it is unworthy of your palate. Punish me as you see fit."

  I heard the crinkle of plastic. Then, a sound I did not expect.

  "Yessssss!"

  I raised my head. Aoi was pumping her fist in the air.

  "I actually like this better than tuna," she said, ripping the package open. "Tuna is too rich sometimes. But squid? Squid is the perfect match for a cold beer. And look! It was 70% off! Masanari, you’re a genius!"

  I blinked. "I... am?"

  "Hell yeah. Good job, ninja-boy." She popped a rubbery tentacle into her mouth and chewed happily. "Go get yourself a glass of water from the magic tap. You look like you wrestled a bear."

  I stood slowly, watching her eat the rubbery sea creature with such joy.

  I had failed in my mission objective, yet I had secured the happiness of my Lord. The logic of this era is confusing. Wealth is hidden in discounts. Warriors masquerade as grandmothers. And the cheapest meat is the most celebrated.

  I went to the sink and bowed to the faucet.

  "Thank you, Water God," I whispered. "For washing away the sweat of defeat."

  Tomorrow is a new day. I must train harder. I must develop a defense against the 'Guilt-Trip Stare.' The Silver Flash has won this battle... but the war for sustenance continues.

  Countdown: 90 Days Remaining

  NEXT TIME! ON 100 DAYS TO LEGEND!

  The fortress runs dry! The scents of the battlefield cling to Masanari's skin, but the Spinning River Spirit (Washing Machine) is out of magical elixir! Masanari must venture to the Alchemist of the Corner Drugstore to retrieve the "Pods of Tide!" But wait—why are there so many options?! Liquid? Powder? Balls?!

  Episode 11: The Alchemy of Detergent!

  Don't miss it!

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