I have survived the burning of temples. I have marched through the valleys of Kai while arrows rained like hail. I have mediated in waterfalls until my skin turned blue and my heart slowed to the rhythm of a sleeping turtle.

  I do not fear pain. I do not fear death.

  But this… this is dishonorable.

  "It’s… so… hot…"

  I lay flat on my back upon the tatami mats, my limbs splayed in the shape of the character 大 (Dai). I was stripped down to my undergarments and the accursed Pink Gi of Shame, which I had unfastened to allow air to reach my chest.

  It was mid-July in the capital. The air was not merely warm; it was a physical weight. It was as if the sky itself had been wrapped in a steamer basket, wet and suffocating. This was not the dry heat of a battlefield fire; it was a cloying, heavy malice that clung to the skin like a wet ghost.

  "Hey, Masanari-kun," Aoi groaned from her position on the floor. She was melting into a puddle of despair near the low table, fanning herself with a plastic sheet that advertised 'Quick Loans.' "Stop breathing so loud. You're raising the room temperature."

  "My Lady Aoi," I wheezed, staring at the ceiling. "This humidity… it is a torture technique, is it not? The enemy clan seeks to break our spirits by boiling us in our own sweat. I feel as though I am a dumpling in a bamboo steamer."

  "It’s just Japanese summer," she muttered, rolling over. "Just be grateful we have him."

  I turned my head slowly, reverently, toward the white box mounted high upon the wall.

  The Box of Eternal Winter. The Lord Glacial.

  It hummed with a low, benevolent vibration, chewing upon the hot, sticky air of the room and spitting out a blessed breeze of dry, cool salvation. Since the season turned, this machine had become my most trusted lieutenant. It held the line against the invisible enemy outside. I had even bowed to it this morning.

  "Praise be to Lord Glacial," I whispered. "His icy breath is the only thing keeping my chakra from evaporating."

  Gurgle.

  The sound was wet and sickly. It came from the throat of the machine.

  Cough. Splutter.

  Aoi sat up, her eyes widening. "What was that?"

  I scrambled to my knees, alert. "The Lord Glacial speaks! But his voice… it sounds pained."

  Drip. Drip. Drip.

  Horror seized my heart. From the mouth of the machine—the very vent that delivered our salvation—water began to weep. Clear, cold droplets fell from the white plastic casing, splashing onto the tatami below.

  "Blood!" I screamed, rushing forward but stopping just short of touching the sacred chassis. "He is bleeding! The Lord Glacial has suffered an internal rupture!"

  "Oh no, no, no!" Aoi scrambled up, grabbing a handful of tissues. "Not the AC! Anything but the AC!"

  The dripping intensified. It was no longer a weep; it was a steady stream of lifeblood pouring from the machine’s chin.

  "I pushed him too hard," I said, my voice trembling with guilt. "I demanded too much cold. I asked him to turn this oven into a fortress of ice, and his heart has burst from the exertion! Forgive me, noble spirit!"

  "Stop apologizing to the appliance and get a bucket!" Aoi yelled, shoving past me to grab a trash bin. She placed it under the leak. Plink, plink, plink. The sound echoed like a death knell in the small apartment.

  Aoi pulled out her Oracle Slate—the cracked one she had bestowed upon me was charging in the corner—and began furiously tapping. Her face drained of color.

  "This is bad," she whispered. "If the internal unit is leaking, it could be a broken pump. Or a cracked pan." She looked up at me, her eyes filled with the terror of a merchant facing bankruptcy. "Masanari… if we have to call a repairman for a unit this old… it could cost twenty thousand yen."

  I froze.

  Twenty. Thousand. Yen.

  I performed the mental conversion instantly. In my era, that amount of coin could purchase a fine stallion. It could bribe a border guard. It could buy enough rice to feed a platoon of ashigaru for a month.

  "Twenty thousand…" I repeated, the number tasting like ash. "For a single healer to visit? That is extortion! That is the ransom of a minor lord!"

  "It’s standard rates!" Aoi cried, pulling her hair. "I don't have it! I spent my last paycheck on beer and the electricity bill! If this breaks, we die of heatstroke. It’s over. Leave me here, Masanari. Save yourself."

  "Nay!" I stood up, tightening the sash of my pink gi. My eyes burned with determination. "I shall not allow the coffers of the Sakai Clan to be drained by such banditry. I have treated arrow wounds in the dark. I have set bones on the back of a galloping horse. I shall perform the surgery myself!"

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  Aoi looked at me skeptically. "You? You think you can fix an air conditioner? You fought a toaster last week and lost."

  "That was a battle," I said sternly. "This is medicine. I need tools. Bring me the Oracle Slate so I may study the anatomy of the patient."

  Ten minutes later, the operation began.

  The atmosphere in the room was tense. I had cleared the area beneath the unit. I wore a bandana around my forehead to catch the sweat that threatened to blind me.

  "According to the Great Library of Google," Aoi read from her slate, her voice shaking, "the most common cause of a leak is a clogged drain hose. The water can't go out, so it backs up and flows inside."

  "A blockage in the veins," I nodded sagely. "A thrombosis. The bad humors must be extracted."

  "The drain hose is outside," Aoi said. "On the balcony. Connected to the outdoor unit."

  "The rear of the patient," I confirmed. "I must go to the source."

  I stepped out onto the balcony.

  Immediately, the heat struck me. It was a physical blow. The outdoor unit—the noisy iron heart of Lord Glacial—was humming loudly, blowing hot air against my legs. The cicadas in the nearby trees screamed their deafening war cry: MIIIN-MIN-MIN-MIN!

  "Focus, Masanari," I muttered. "Ignore the heat. You are ice. You are stone."

  I located the hose. It was a narrow, corrugated tube made of grey plastic, trailing along the concrete floor. It looked innocuous, but I knew that inside lay the enemy.

  "Do you see it?" Aoi called from the safety of the cool room, peering through the glass sliding door.

  "I have located the artery," I shouted back over the roar of the cicadas. "It appears limp. There is no flow."

  "Okay, look," Aoi shouted. "Usually, people use a vacuum cleaner to suck the clog out. But we don't have a wet-dry vacuum, and if we use the normal one, it’ll break."

  "I need no machine," I declared, crouching down. "I possess the lungs of a shinobi."

  I picked up the end of the hose. It was grimy, coated in the black dust of the city.

  "Wait," Aoi’s voice rose in pitch. "What are you doing?"

  "I shall use the Art of Fuki-ya," I announced. "The Blowgun Breath. By focusing my Ki into a single, compressed point, I can generate enough pressure to dislodge the clot."

  "Eww!" Aoi grimaced. "Don't put your mouth on that! It’s filthy! And don't suck, whatever you do! That’s slime water!"

  "I am insulted, my Liege! A ninja never inhales on the blowgun! I shall blow with the force of a typhoon!"

  I wiped the tip of the hose with the edge of my gi. I took a stance, grounding my feet against the hot concrete. I closed my eyes.

  Visualize the blockage. It is a stone in the river. I am the flood.

  I inhaled. I filled my diaphragm, expanding my chest until the ribs groaned. I gathered the air, compressing it, mixing it with my internal energy.

  I brought the tube to my lips.

  "Clear!" I shouted mentally.

  PHOOOOOOOOOO!

  I expelled the air with a sharp, explosive burst. My cheeks puffed out like a squirrel storing nuts for winter, but the seal remained tight. I felt the resistance in the tube—the stubborn clot refusing to yield.

  I did not relent. I pushed harder, my face turning the color of a ripe plum.

  Move! By the order of the Hattori Clan, MOVE!

  Suddenly, there was a shift. The pressure gave way.

  SPLAT.

  A sound of wet release echoed from the depths of the tube.

  I pulled my mouth away instantly, gasping for air.

  From the end of the hose, a dark, viscous substance shot out, followed by a rush of tepid water. The "clot" landed on the balcony floor with a sickening squelch.

  It was a gelatinous lump of dust, mold, and unidentifiable slime, roughly the size of a thumb.

  "Success!" I roared, raising a fist to the burning sun. "The tumor is removed! The flow is restored!"

  Water began to trickle freely from the hose now, a steady, healthy stream.

  Aoi slid the door open, peaking out. She looked at the slime on the floor and gagged. "Oh my god, that’s disgusting. It looks like a giant booger."

  "It is the manifestation of the machine's illness," I said solemnly, wiping my mouth. "It fought bravely, but it needed a surgeon’s hand."

  I returned inside, quickly checking the indoor unit. The dripping had stopped. The bucket caught only the last few echoes of the trauma. The cool air continued to blow, but now the machine sounded smoother, less labored.

  "He breathes easy now," I said, placing a hand on the plastic casing. "His pulse is steady."

  "You actually fixed it," Aoi said, staring at me with a mix of horror and genuine impressiveness. "You saved me twenty thousand yen."

  "I merely did my duty," I said, though I allowed myself a small puff of chest. "Field medicine is a necessary skill for any operative."

  I looked around the room. "However, the patient is still recovering. We must ensure he does not catch a chill."

  I grabbed the roll of toilet paper from the table.

  "What are you doing?" Aoi asked.

  "Bandages," I explained, beginning to wrap the white paper around the air conditioner’s vents. "We must bind the wound and keep the area warm to promote—"

  "Stop it!" Aoi swatted my hands away. "It needs airflow! If you cover it, it’ll freeze up and break again! You’re choking him!"

  I recoiled. "I… I see. Forgive me. Modern physiology is complex."

  I sat back down on the tatami, exhausted. The heat of the balcony still lingered on my skin, but the cool breeze of Lord Glacial was already washing it away. I felt a profound sense of accomplishment. I had defeated the invisible enemy, saved the clan's treasury, and restored the health of our most vital ally.

  Aoi opened the fridge and tossed me a can of cheap sparkling water.

  "Good job, Low Budget Cosplay Nugget," she said, popping the tab on her beer.

  I pressed the cold metal can against my forehead. "I accept this offering. But tell me, Lady Aoi… surely this heat will pass soon? The seasons must turn."

  Aoi took a long sip and sighed. "Masanari, it’s only mid-July. The real heat starts in August."

  The can slipped from my fingers and rolled across the floor.

  "August?" I whispered. "There is… more?"

  I looked up at Lord Glacial.

  "Stay strong, old friend," I prayed. "For both our sakes."

  Masanari’s Cultural Notes (Glossary)

  ? Tatami (畳): The traditional straw mats of this land. They smell of dried grass and nature. In the summer, they are cool and forgiving to a warrior's back. In the winter, they are… acceptable. Modern lords seem to prefer wood, but I find the tatami superior for sudden combat rolls.

  ? Mushiattsui (蒸し暑い): A word that combines "steaming" and "hot." It is the perfect description for this season. It is not heat; it is being cooked like a dumpling. To endure this without the "AC" is to know true despair.

  ? Semis (Cicadas): The screaming insects of the trees. Their war cry is deafening. In my time, their song signaled the fleeting nature of life. Here, they just signal that I am sweating through my third shirt of the day.

  Countdown: 87 Days Remaining

  Next Episode Preview!

  "Masanari! Why is the room spinning?!"

  "Lady Aoi! You have consumed the Golden Nectar on an empty stomach!"

  "I'm hungry… I want… the forbidden cylinder…"

  "Nay! Not the Convenience Store Hot Dog! It has been spinning under the heat lamp for an eternity! It is a petrified relic!"

  "GIVE ME THE MEAT TUBE, MASANARI!"

  Next Time on 100 Days to Legend: Episode 14: The Drunken Princess and the Petrified Sausage of the Konbini!

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