Somehow, Living Life in Another World is Wrong, as I Expected Ch. 14.4 (Patreon)

Later. A wonderful word, with a range of applications that the average person never fully appreciates. Homework could be done later. Messages could be answered later. Whatever deeply uncomfortable conversation someone wanted to have with you could also happen later, preferably after one of you had moved to a different prefecture. It sounded considerably more cooperative than ‘no’, despite frequently producing the same result.

Unfortunately, adding a location to it was a rookie mistake. ‘At the manor’ gave later an address. All Karsten had to do was walk there, with me beside her, and my carefully negotiated delay became a journey with a measurable distance. I found myself paying an unreasonable amount of attention to how many streets we had left. There were fewer each time I checked. Terrible urban planning. Someone should really have put her house further away.

The irritating thing about preparing for a conversation was that I could hold several excellent versions of it entirely within my own head. Or against the shampoo bottle in the shower. 

My explanations were concise. My answers were convincing. The other person asked the appropriate questions in the appropriate order, and nobody interrupted to point out that I had skipped something important. Truly, I was an exceptional conversationalist when allowed to write both sides.

Actual people were less accommodating. They had concerns I hadn't considered, understood words differently, and occasionally remembered things I had said months earlier. An unreasonable practice, particularly when I had been hoping they would forget. Karsten was especially bad about that. She listened. Properly, too, which meant that throwing enough complaints into an explanation wouldn't necessarily distract her from the part I wanted to hurry past.

I could discuss the books easily enough. Titles, subjects, permission to borrow them. There would be details to settle, and details were useful things. You could spend an entire afternoon getting them right without ever mentioning why the result mattered to you. I had done that with customers often enough. Ask about the dimensions, the weight, the intended use. Keep the conversation somewhere I knew what I was doing.

Except she had already offered me access to her library. I couldn't very well spend the next hour negotiating an invitation I had received before we even reached the front door. That would require a level of shamelessness which, while theoretically within my capabilities, would be difficult to maintain with Wilhelm watching.

By the time we were shown into a sitting room, I had prepared three different ways to begin and found reasons to dislike all of them. Karsten took the seat opposite mine. I looked at the empty space on the table between us, where there were no books, no documents, and absolutely nothing for me to pretend to be reading.

I should have brought the payroll.

…

The sitting room was the sort of place that made you aware of where you put your elbows. Dark wooden furniture, pale upholstery, curtains thick enough that closing them would probably remove the concept of afternoon altogether. A carpet covered most of the floor, its pattern disappearing beneath the table and emerging on the other side without a single visible stain. I wondered how many people were employed just to keep it that way. My shop's floor had acquired several permanent colors, none of which had been intentional.

There were bookshelves against one wall, because apparently even the furniture had decided to mock my earlier complaint, but getting up to inspect them would have been a little obvious. Argyle stood off to the side of Karsten's chair, his hands folded neatly in front of him. Wilhelm had taken a position nearer the door. Between the two of them, there was very little chance of anyone interrupting us. Usually, I would appreciate that. Right now, I was beginning to understand the appeal of an unexpected visitor.

“You wished to discuss the conditions of your appointment.” Karsten began, resting her hands in her lap, “Before we put forward any requests, I would like to understand what you intend to accomplish.”

“Continuing to earn a living would be a good start.” I shifted back in the chair, which was annoyingly comfortable, “The shop doesn't stop existing because the Council gives me a title. If they want me available whenever something happens, they'll need to account for the work I'm losing.”

“Availability can be defined. It need not mean abandoning your business.” She answered without hesitation, apparently having expected that much, “Though there will be circumstances in which your assistance is necessary.”

“Then I'd like those circumstances to involve an actual need for my assistance. Being able to do something isn't the same as being the only person who can do it.” I glanced toward Argyle, “Otherwise, you'll find out exactly how many people in this city think a nationally recognized mage should personally fix their gate.”

“Hikiganya could always charge extra.” His smile suggested that my suffering might constitute adequate compensation on its own, “Perhaps we should have announced your rates during the speech.”

“I'll put you in charge of collecting.”

“Ferris.” Karsten didn't raise her voice. She didn't have to. Argyle's smile remained, but he quieted, and her attention returned to me, “A reasonable distinction. We should also establish what work you are willing to undertake, rather than defining your position entirely through exceptions.”

That was inconveniently fair. I rubbed a thumb against the side of my finger, finding a rough patch of skin that had survived every attempt at making me respectable, “Equipment, for one. I already know what the knights need, and I can provide it without having to invent an entirely new profession for myself. Anything beyond that gets discussed before someone promises my services on my behalf.”

“And your research?”

“Time for it. Access to the books you mentioned, and permission to follow up on anything useful I find.” I paused, choosing the next part more carefully, “I don't want someone deciding that every hour spent studying needs to produce something they can hand to a soldier.”

For the first time, Wilhelm spoke from beside the door, “You are concerned that the title will determine the direction of your work.”

“Yes. Exactly that.” I looked toward him, grateful for a summary that didn't make me sound like I was negotiating paid unemployment, “I have something I'm already trying to do. I'd rather not have to abandon it to satisfy whoever happens to be holding the paperwork.”

Karsten considered that for a moment. Her expression hadn't hardened, but the faint amusement from earlier had gone, “Then we must distinguish between research you conduct in service to the kingdom and research you pursue for yourself. I can argue for that distinction. I cannot promise that every request for resources will be granted without explanation.”

There it was. I had managed to talk about money, scheduling, and administrative procedure, and somehow arrived back at the one subject I had been avoiding. Across the room, Argyle was watching me more closely now. Even Wilhelm had stopped looking comfortably detached.

“That's fair.” I said, before I could manufacture another objection. Karsten waited. Apparently, agreeing with her hadn't counted as an explanation.

…

I had never actually told anyone that I wasn't from this world. That seemed like the sort of thing I should have considered before agreeing to explain my research, but apparently my mouth had decided that today was the day it would start making commitments without consulting the rest of me. An exciting development. Perhaps tomorrow it could apply for a second job.

People could suspect things. Natsuki's existence certainly made it harder to pretend that I was the only person here who might recognize something from Japan. But someone working it out and me sitting them down to say it were two different things. I had managed to avoid the latter entirely. No explanation, no questions, no opportunity to watch someone's expression change as they reconsidered everything they thought they knew about me.

As far as most people were concerned, I was foreign. An unusual name, strange expressions, a regrettable lack of respect for important people. That was enough of an explanation for the everyday inconveniences of knowing me. Foreigners were allowed to be ignorant of local customs. They were also allowed to miss home without providing proof that the place existed. I had found that arrangement very agreeable.

The trouble started when you ran out of countries to be foreign from.

‘From beyond the Great Waterfall.’ That would probably be the closest way of saying it in terms they understood. Convenient, if you ignored the fact that I had no idea whether it was even accurate. I hadn't crossed a waterfall. There had been no boat, no expedition, no dramatic moment where I watched familiar land disappear behind me. Oh, and can’t forget about the flatness of this world. I certainly didn’t remember the flat earthers being lauded as prophets after the people of Earth saw a completely separate piece of flat land floating near the planet.

Calling it a distant homeland made the problem sound like something a sufficiently determined merchant could solve with enough provisions.

Another world was harder. Another world meant that I couldn't point to a map and complain about the distance. It meant admitting that I didn't know where to begin looking, despite all the time I had spent trying. I could explain how my magic worked with considerably more confidence than I could explain what had happened to me. That was a particularly unpleasant thing to admit to someone whose assistance I wanted.

At first, keeping quiet had been practical. I needed food, work, somewhere to sleep. Announcing that I had arrived from a place nobody had heard of wouldn't have helped with any of those things. Later, there had been a shop to run and customers who didn't need my life story with their purchases. Every stage had come with a perfectly reasonable excuse. Eventually, silence had stopped requiring one.

Now Karsten was waiting across the table, Argyle beside her and Wilhelm near the door, and I was trying to remember when the explanation had become this difficult. They already knew I was secretive. What they didn't know was how much of that secrecy consisted of things I simply didn't know how to say.

My sister existed. My parents existed. The streets I remembered, the school I had complained about, the room I had expected to return to, the teacher, the club, all of them existed. None of them became less real because I couldn't produce directions.

But how do I prove they were real? How do I make sure I don’t immediately get institutionalized for hallucinations? The answer is, I can’t. I can’t say for certain whether or not Karsten would believe me, as her Divine Protection would only be able to tell that I believed it was the truth, not that it was the real truth.

I drew a breath.

…

“I'm trying to get home.” The words sounded ordinary enough. People said them after work, after getting lost, after discovering that the last train had already left. I kept my eyes on Karsten, “And before you offer to arrange transportation, it's somewhere you won't find on a map. I'm from beyond the Great Waterfall.”

Argyle's smile lingered for a moment before disappearing. Wilhelm looked at me, then at Karsten, as though she might have received a more complete explanation than he had. She hadn't. That was everything I had managed to get out, and judging by the way my hands had tightened against my knees, providing supplementary material would take a little longer.

“That's the closest description I can give you.” I continued, because apparently I had decided to keep talking until someone physically stopped me, “I didn't cross it. I don't know how I arrived here, and I don't know how to get back. That's what the research is for.”

“Hikigaya.” Argyle's voice had changed. I hadn't thought I would miss the teasing quite so quickly, but the careful gentleness replacing it was considerably worse, “How long have you believed this?” He took a step forward, studying my face with an attention I usually associated with injuries, “Crusch-sama, I should examine him. Some conditions aren't apparent during an ordinary healing.”

Wonderful. I had made it through approximately four sentences before requiring medical supervision. Somewhere, a guidance counselor was feeling vindicated without knowing why, “I'm not asking you to believe I've personally climbed over the edge of the world. I'm telling you that I had a life somewhere else before I ended up here.”

“And Ferris believes that you remember one.” His ears had lowered, and there wasn't any mockery in his expression now, “That doesn't mean you're well.”

Wilhelm opened his mouth, hesitated, then glanced toward the bookshelves. Apparently, the answer wasn't written on any of the spines. “I have encountered travelers from many lands.” He began, before stopping again. For once, the old man seemed unable to find anything useful to do with his experience.

“I believe you.” Karsten said.

All three of us looked at her. Argyle turned so quickly that one of his ribbons brushed his shoulder, while I sat there wondering whether I had missed a qualifying statement. She hadn't said that she believed I was confused, or tired, or in need of whatever examination Argyle was already planning.

“Crusch-sama, even if he isn't lying…”

“I understand your concern, Ferris.” Her gaze remained on mine, “But I trust him. Hikigaya-kun has told us something difficult because I asked him to explain what he hopes to accomplish. I will take his answer seriously.”

I had prepared objections to disbelief. It turned out that acceptance left me with considerably less to say. My fingers loosened against my knees, and I looked down before she could notice how long it was taking me to answer.

“When you feel able,” she continued, “I would like to hear about your home. Your family, perhaps. Whatever you wish to tell me.”

My family. Not evidence, not an explanation of how any of it was possible. I could talk about Komachi without first establishing that she existed.

I…

“My sister would probably like you.” I said, then considered that for a moment, “Actually, that's concerning. You'd get along far too well.”

Karsten smiled. For once, I didn't feel particularly inclined to explain the joke.

…

A/N: So, as I was writing this chapter, I was informed that I will be starting my new job next week! I still want to continue doing my usual schedule for chapters, but if it becomes too much, I will have to scale back. In the meantime, I will be attempting to keep to the schedule as is, with the only likely difference being the time when the chapter releases.