If You Can Bear It

Hssssk.

The hose linked to the specimen tube tore free, coughing out a long ribbon of smoke.

A hard alert tone rang from the computers plastered across the wall.

Thuk! The bottom of the designated tube dropped open, and the man who had been floating in the jade experimental fluid vanished down through the floor.

Hiss! Hiss! Hiss!

Dozens of tube hoses snapped, one after another, in neat succession. Old men, children, women—every last one of them disappeared beneath the floor.

"Hoo. Hoo."

Scientist, watching it all from the terrace, blew across his coffee.

"And why has this side had nothing to show for days? It's souring my mood."

He tipped the coffee back in ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a single swallow. A stinging burn lit his palate, and the coffee rode his throat down into his stomach.

"The waste has exceeded the set threshold. It is time to continue your research into death, Scientist."

A researcher in a white coat approached. His eyes—nothing but black irises on a field of white—rolled.

Scientist stretched, long and lazy.

"Nnngh. What, the waste has piled up that much already? How long has it even been, for it to stack up like this? Death is a miserable thing to research..."

"Do you intend to refuse His command?"

The researcher asked it without expression.

"Don't say things that get people killed. How are you so calm, saying something even I wouldn't?"

"I only execute what has been input."

"Tsk. Programmed too well. That's the problem."

Scientist tossed the paper cup into the trash.

"Go down to the basement, take the kids, and get ready. Once the research starts, don't let anyone in."

"I will remember."

Scientist stroked the researcher's neck.

Squelch.

A scrap of skin peeled away between his fingers. Blood burst from the researcher's throat.

The researcher's eyes trembled, just barely.

"How long has it been since you were produced?"

"As of today, one hundred and forty-two days."

"You've lived a long time, then."

Scientist patted his shoulder, as if commending a job well done.

"Finish handing everything over to your successor by the day after tomorrow, and come to the basement."

"...Understood."

"If there's anything you want to eat, go tell the cook. Just as your predecessor did."

"Yes..."

"Go."

The researcher bowed his head and withdrew. The others offered him their well-wishes.

"Good work."

"You went through a lot."

"Eat plenty."

And so on.

They were warm words, full of consideration, but the researcher's face simply would not brighten.

Scientist let out a thin little laugh.

"Why is it not a single one of them ever smiles?"

Well, a smiling one would be strange too. And if there ever was one, he'd have to dispose of it on the spot.

Scientist clapped his hands.

Every researcher's gaze locked onto him.

"All right, save whatever you want to say for break. Right now we work. Work! We don't have time!"

At that, the researchers moved with the crisp, mindless snap of machines.

Hands shoved in his pockets, Scientist walked between them. The moment he stepped into their midst, no one could tell which one was Scientist—because every researcher's face was identical, as if copied.

The alert tones from the computers still had not stopped. The laboratory ran without rest, and beneath it the waste went on piling up. Here, that was an ordinary day.

Japan. On the Divine Soil of the Three Noble Gods, I slurped the miso soup Amaterasu had cooked to perfection. It was a god's miso, nothing like the soybean paste of Korea, and the taste sent a shiver clean through me.

"I knew."

"What I don't know, I don't know."

Dan Miryu let the words slide past.

"Neither good nor bad. It was ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠going to happen sooner or later anyway."

For the record, in the original it had happened a little later.

"Look after that child. He's the talent who'll handle supplying heroes to our Republic of Korea."

"Take them or don't—it won't matter. Their king is in Korea, so they'll come swarming on their own. All you have to do is look after that properly."

Dan Miryu sighed.

"You've got your work cut out for you. I'll be heading back to Korea before long myself. Leave the werewolf matter to me then."

Thwack!

The instant the call ended, my smartphone was snatched away.

"Doing something else while you're eating is no good."

My phone thief, the Successor, held the phone up and puffed her cheeks.

"It was urgent. I'll be careful next time."

"Hmph. The little one always says the same thing, and he never listened to Mommy. I'm upset."

The Successor was sulking. Even the sulk was cute, so I stroked her head.

"Hueeeeng."

Her expression melted.

"Hmm..."

Amaterasu was staring straight at us. I took the hint and nudged the Successor toward her.

"Don't stay with a child who won't listen. Go to your mother."

"Nngh?"

Pushed along a few steps, the Successor opened her arms and was gathered tight into the embrace Amaterasu already had waiting. Shrine Priest Tsukumi watched with open envy.

"Ahem."

I cleared my throat and reset the air.

"I seem to have broken the mood. My apologies."

"It is quite all right. We had not yet begun the real discussion, had we?"

Amaterasu smiled brightly, stroking the Successor's belly.

"You are a benefactor like no other to us, honored guest. Pay no mind to trifles."

"Thank you."

I finished my meal, and I did not forget to speak to Shrine Priest Tsukumi while I ate.

"Shrine Priest Tsukumi, how was the USB I gave you? Was it any help?"

"That USB, you mean?"

The USB I had received as a bonus from Another One. Inside it was the information I needed—more precisely, information the Shrine could use to clean up Japan.

"It has been an enormous help. With this, I believe we can put the country in order far more quickly."

"I'm glad."

"But how did you come by information like this? These are things one could not possibly learn in a day or two..."

"I got it from someone trustworthy. There was a small transaction involved."

"...Hmm."

I let Shrine Priest Tsukumi's lukewarm look ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠pass over me.

I didn't think he'd be considerate enough to go that far, either.

Hundreds of millions of years weren't just for show. He had predicted my next move and left a suitable gift behind—helpful, yes, but not so helpful as all that. The sort of gift that was perfect for taking credit.

And here I was, quietly hoping.

It was thin, considering he had handed over knowledge of the Origin. But what could I do? It was his to give.

"At any rate, the awkward parts are all behind us now."

The nagging trouble was gone, as satisfying as finally scratching an itch in just the right place. Japan would steady itself bit by bit, and the Successor was alive and whole. The Three Noble Gods were not merely intact but bristling with vigor, and they had become a steadfast ally of Korea. Most of what I had come to Japan to do was finished.

"Honored guest."

Amaterasu laid the Successor down with her lap for a pillow. The little cat who had been play-biting went slack and drowsy in her owner's arms.

"Would you tell me this child's original name?"

"Her name?"

The Successor's name...

"Yes. You would know it, would you not?"

"...The Shrine didn't find it on its own?"

"No. Regrettably."

Was that true? Of course it wasn't.

The Shrine would long since have grasped something as basic as the Successor's identity. A god could not fail to know that. So the real aim of the question was obvious: she wanted the name that should have been used in the original.

Coming on strong, out of nowhere.

This was why a god who knew the Origin was exhausting. They tried to learn more, however they could.

"That name is no longer needed in this world."

"...Is that so."

"Yes."

New wine belonged in new wineskins. A name was no different. The Successor's future had changed long ago. Better to give her a bright, clean one.

"Shrine Priest Tsukumi."

"Yes?"

"I want you to name this child."

"M-me?"

"She is the Shrine Priest's successor. Of course the Shrine Priest should be the one to name her."

"But this child is Lady Amaterasu's..."

"It is fine."

Once Amaterasu gave her leave, Shrine Priest Tsukumi had nowhere left to retreat.

"Un-understood. Then..."

He thought it over in earnest, and slowly opened his mouth.

"Kotori. A little bird. What do you think?"

"Tsugumi, the thrush. You chose it because it sounds like Tsukumi, didn't you? It's a good name."

Amaterasu seemed pleased as well. She smiled, satisfied.

"Tsukumi. You have done well."

"Thank you."

Amaterasu leaned to the Successor's ear and whispered.

"Kotori. Dream something good."

"Nn..."

Kotori let out a cute little sound and shifted. Her skin flickered, brief as a blink.

"Her existence has taken hold."

The seed buried in the soil of the heart had sprouted. From this day on, the girl would begin tending a world of her own under the name of Kotori.

"Lay Tsukumi Kotori down in her room, and come back."

"Yes."

Shrine Priest Tsukumi gathered Kotori into his arms. When he had gone, a shrine maiden came in and cleared the table.

Amaterasu, and me. A room with only the two of us left. Amaterasu's lips trembled, thin.

"May I dare to ask?"

"Ask what?"

"About your homeland, honored guest."

Mm.

"Yes. Ask whatever you like."

On one condition.

Right against the paper screen, a full moon rose. The moon's shadow stained the room dark.