You hold her gaze, then add quietly, “As for the possibility of getting you back to your proper timeline… imagine the distance between Earth and the Moon. Now imagine firing a bullet from here, and having it nd perfectly in the chamber of a rifle waiting on the Moon.”

  You lift one hand slightly, palm up. “Not impossible. With enough magic, research, time, energy. But honestly? It would be years easier to abduct a Shizuka from some other branch where you died than to put you back exactly where you came from.”

  You do not soften it. “That’s the scale we’re talking about.”

  Rika does not interrupt.

  She goes still instead, eyes unfocusing just a little as the implication settles. Acceptance arriving the hard way. “…Figures,” she says after a moment. “So I’m not lost because someone failed,” she adds. “I’m lost because the universe doesn’t care about neat endings.”

  She exhales slowly through her nose. “Good to know you’re not pretending otherwise.”

  Her eyes return to yours, sharper now. “And good to know you’re not dangling false hope to keep me cooperative.”

  “I’m not going to do that with any of you,” you reply immediately. No hesitation. “That’s not leverage. That’s cruelty.”

  You look at her steadily. “The real challenge is telling each of you the same truth.”

  A brief pause, chosen. “At the moment, the only path back to a precise origin timeline, if it’s possible at all, could take centuries.”

  You lift a finger. “Centuries we technically have. Enchantments change aging, durability, survivability. Time stops being the enemy.”

  Another pause. “But that doesn’t make the wait hypothetical. It makes it real.”

  You let that sit.

  “I won’t promise a door I don’t know how to open yet. I’ll only promise that if one exists, I’ll tell you. And if it doesn’t, I won’t lie about that either.”

  Rika is quiet for a long moment. “…Centuries,” she repeats softly.

  Then she gives a short, humorless huff. “Guess that rules out retirement pns.”

  She rubs the bridge of her nose once, then drops her hand. “Most commanders would’ve sold that as ‘eventually’ and let the details die quietly.”

  Her eyes lift back to yours. “You’re telling me up front that there might not be an end. Just... time.”

  You nod once. “Webbs and Reeves are starting to understand what enchanting actually changed,” you say. “They can expin it on paper now. Logistics. Supply chains. Range.”

  You gnce aside briefly, then back. “But I do not think they have felt it yet. Not really. Standard soldier indoctrination preventing them from imagining it.”

  You tap the storage room wall lightly with your knuckles.“On those ships, as long as the enchantments are maintained, the crew and passengers will not age. Not meaningfully. Time passes. Their bodies will not.”

  Rika absorbs that in silence.

  “And if we really do have centuries,” she says, voice sharpening just a touch, “then I expect you to pn like it.”

  You let out a quiet breath, almost a ugh. “I might have had a fantasy about a harem when I was a teenager,” you admit. “Never thought it would become real.”

  You meet her eyes again, steady. “But fantasies do not survive contact with responsibility. Or with real people.”

  A small shrug. “If I am pnning for centuries, then this can't about collecting. It's about building something that does not rot under its own weight.”

  You pause. “And making sure we still recognize ourselves after a hundred years.”

  Rika studies you for a long second.

  “...Good,” she says.

  “Because if you are going to ask people to live that long,” she adds, “you better give them something worth living inside.”

  She pauses, then adds dryly, “And if you do ever kidnap a version of Shizuka from a timeline where I’m dead, I expect advance warning.”

  The corner of her mouth lifts. “Professional courtesy.”

  You ugh, "I'll send your bunnysuit."

  Rika exhales slowly, still studying you, then lets her gaze sharpen again.

  “You’ve said all that,” she begins carefully, “but there’s one thing I need to ask.”

  She tilts her head slightly, eyes unflinching, voice low but deliberate. “Where do I actually stand in all of this? In your pns, in your world, in... us?”

  “That part is simple,” you say. “It’s your choice.”

  You gesture slightly, encompassing more than just the room. “You have a pce on the team, helping keep people alive. You have a pce at the base, helping the others who fall through worlds. You have a pce in my bed if you want it.”

  You pause, deliberate. “I won’t force you into any of them.”

  Your voice firms just a touch. “And I don’t give orders to people who didn’t choose a position that answers to me. If you want orders, that’s something you step into yourself. I don’t push anyone under me.”

  “I’m not looking to own you. I’m letting you choose if you want to stand here.”

  Rika holds your gaze for a moment longer, then nods once. “Alright,” she says. “Then I’ll define mine.”

  She straightens slightly. “I’ll take responsibility for firearms training. Not just shooting, but handling, maintenance, safety, and discipline. Pistols to automatics. I’ll make sure nobody in your group becomes a liability the first time someone hands them a gun.”

  She lifts a finger, precise. “I’ll also act as a liaison when we deal with military or paramilitary groups. Not as your mouthpiece. As your transtor. I’ll tell you when they are posturing, when they are afraid, and when they are about to do something stupid.”

  “In return, I expect autonomy in how I train people and honesty when you make decisions that affect lives. If I think something will get someone killed, I will say so. Publicly if needed.”

  Her eyes stay locked on yours. “I am not swearing obedience. I am committing competence.”

  She exhales once, then adds, quieter. “And if, at some point, I decide I want more than that, I’ll say so. Directly. Until then, don’t read between lines that aren’t there.”

  Rika’s hand closes around yours, firm, professional. “Put me to work.”

  You nod, then add lightly, “So should your first job be to find that tight bunny suit or keep looting?”

  She stares at you for half a beat. Then she snorts, sharp and undylike, and releases your hand. “Looting,” she says without hesitation. “Always looting.”

  She pivots and heads for the storage room door. “If you ever see me in a bunny suit, something has gone catastrophically wrong with command priorities.”

  A pause. She gnces back over her shoulder. “Or the world is ending again.”

  She opens it and steps out into the shop without waiting for confirmation. “Point me at anything that looks fmmable, explosive, or medically useful. We can talk about fashion after humanity survives.”

  You step out of the storage room after Rika, finding Sango wrapping another bottle in tissue paper with careful precision. She looks up as you approach, her hands stilling.

  "Sango," you begin, keeping your voice steady and open. "I'd like to talk with you. But unlike with Albedo and Rika, I'm emphasizing your choice: we can speak privately, or if you'd be more comfortable we can talk with Albedo and Rika."

  Sango's eyes widen slightly. She gnces toward Albedo, then Rika, uncertainty clear in her posture. "I... I do not know which would be proper," she admits quietly.

  Rika leans against a dispy shelf, arms crossed but expression neutral. "No judgment either way," she says. "Whatever makes sense to you."

  Albedo steps forward slightly, her voice calm and reassuring. "There is no wrong answer here, Sango. This is about what you need, not what is expected."

  Sango takes a slow breath, then looks back to you. "I think... I would like them to stay," she says carefully. "I am still learning this world. Having others present may help me understand."

  "That's fine," you reply. "Then let's talk here."

  You gesture for everyone to gather closer. Sango sets down the bottle she was wrapping and moves to stand near the crates, her hands folded in front of her. Albedo and Rika position themselves to either side, creating a loose circle.

  "Before we talk about you specifically," you begin, "I want to share what I know about your world. Your timeline. It might help you understand why I'm approaching this the way I am."

  Sango nods slowly, attention fixed on you.

  "Your world, your Japan, is roughly five hundred years in the past from Rika's Japan" you continue. "Feudal era. Warring states. Local lords and constant conflict. This world runs on things you have never needed before,” you continue. “Electricity, unseen power that moves through wires. Light without fme. Heat without fire. Machines that do the work of hundreds of people at once.”

  Her brow furrows slightly, listening.

  “Weapons here do not rely on strength or skill alone,” you say. “A person with no training can kill at a distance. A group can erase a vilge without ever seeing it.”

  Rika shifts her stance, but does not interrupt.

  “Your world also has demons,” you continue, “danger had shape. You could see it. Smell it. Hear it coming.”

  Sango’s jaw tightens. “Demons do not hide what they are.”

  “You were trained to fight them. To hunt them. Your vilge specialized in that. Here, they 'were' metaphors or legends. story-creatures with power and malice.” you agree. “Here, the closest things to demons often call themselves human.”

  Her eyes lift to yours, sharp now.

  "The weapon you carry, the Hiraikotsu, is enormous. Most people in this world would be incapable of using it, the strength required is beyond standard humans to wield it. It's designed to kill demons creatures that regenerate, that ignore pain, that do not fall when wounded."

  Sango nods again, more firmly this time. “The Hiraikotsu was crafted to crush bone and disperse their essence. I trained sense childhood to use it. Demons cannot be fought with normal bdes. They heal too quickly.”

  “That tells me two things,” you say. “You are stronger than you appear, far stronger than this era's women. And your enemies were not fragile.”

  A quiet acknowledgment passes over her face.

  "Your world also had spiritual energy," you continue. "Not magic in the way I use it, but something simir. Priests, monks, demon syers, they could channel that energy into their weapons and tools."

  She gnces down at her hands, then back to you. "Yes. My brother and I were taught those techniques. But they are subtle. Not... like what I have seen here."

  "That's because your world's power structure was different," you say. "Smaller scale. More personal. Here, we have technology that can ftten entire cities. Weapons that move faster than sound. Systems of control that span continents."

  Sango's eyes narrow slightly, processing. "That sounds... dangerous."

  "It is," Rika says from the side. "And it was, even before the zombies. Now it's worse."

  “Most of what you have seen from me so far is utility. Movement. Concealment. Convenience. This world rewards quiet power more than spectacle.”

  You nod toward Rika, then back to Sango. "What I'm trying to say is that your instincts, your training, were built for a different kind of threat. They are not wrong. But this world operates on different rules."

  Sango absorbs that in silence for several seconds. Then she speaks, voice low but steady. "Are you saying I must unlearn what I know?"

  "No," you reply immediately. "I'm saying you need to add to it. Your training is priceless for the changing world. Your experience matters. But you're going to encounter things that don't fit the patterns you were taught."

  She holds your gaze, then inclines her head slightly. "I understand," she says. "Then... what comes next?"

  “Not what I would like to,” you say, then pause, choosing your words. “The differences between your Japan and the current are five hundred years apart. And we are not even in Japan anymore. We are across the ocean, on a nd you likely never imagined existed, in a different world... I am honestly fortunate to recognize that issue at all.”

  You rub a thumb against your knuckle, thinking it through for several moments before continuing. “I need to say this properly.”

  You look back to her. “The first step will be instruction. Not just for you. Several of the women here come from worlds where modern customs simply do not exist. Daily life, expectations, what is considered normal or improper. That will be a shared lesson.”

  Then you simplify, deliberately. “Second, and more important, I am asking you to stay with us. Regardless of what role you eventually choose.”

  Sango listens without interrupting.

  “I am not assigning you a path,” you say. “Only offering one. I believe you will be safer, stronger, and more at peace with a group than wandering this world alone without a direction.”

  You meet her eyes. “That is all I am asking for now.”

  Sango is quiet for a long moment. Her fingers tighten where they rest together, then rex. She draws in a measured breath. “In my world,” she says slowly, “when a man speaks like this, it often means something else will be asked ter.”

  Her eyes lift to yours, steady but guarded. “Protection is offered. Shelter is offered. Guidance is offered.” Her voice does not accuse. It simply states. “And when the debt comes due, it is not always spoken aloud.”

  Albedo does not interrupt. Rika remains still.

  “I have lost my vilge,” Sango continues. “I have lost my family. I have been controlled once before. I do not wish to trade one form of obedience for another.”

  She hesitates, then finishes quietly. “If I stay, will I still be allowed to refuse you?”

  The question hangs in the space between you.

  You do not rush to answer. When you speak, your voice is steady, deliberate. “This is where the cultural differences become a real problem,” you say. “Across a lot of human history, this same discomfort stayed unspoken. Power mixed with kindness. Obligation pretended it was safety.”

  You take a knee, showing she is in control, and meet her eyes.

  Sango’s breath catches.

  “You can refuse me. Right now. Later. Always.” A small breath. Honest.

  “I might beg. I might cry. I do want you.” You do not look away. “But I will never force myself on you.”

  “My door may be closed out of courtesy. It is not locked. I would be honored to have you in my bed and maybe more. But I will not demand it. And I will not enter yours unless you invite me.”

  You straighten slightly. “The offer I am making you is this. Stay with us. Choose your role if you want one. Step away from any part you do not. Your safety here does not depend on obedience or affection.”

  Then, softer. “If you ever say no, it has no consequence.”

  You let the silence return and give her the space to decide what that means to her.

  For a long moment she cannot speak. Her eyes move from your face to the floor, then back again. When she finally does answer, her voice is quiet but steady. “In my world,” she says, “men with power rarely kneel.”

  She studies you as if committing the image to memory. “I was taught that safety always has a price,” she continues. “That refusing a lord simply means paying ter, in ways you cannot predict.” Her fingers curl, then slowly uncurl. “What you are offering is unfamiliar. That makes it frightening.”

  She draws a breath and lets it out. “But you spoke pinly. You lowered yourself. You gave me words I can hold you to.”

  Her gaze sharpens, resolve threading through the uncertainty. “I will stay,” Sango says. “With the group. I will fight. I will learn this world.”A pause. “And I will decide the rest in my own time.”

  She inclines her head, respectful but not submissive.

  “If you ever break this promise,” she adds, calm and clear, “I will leave. Even if it kills me.”

  Then, after a heartbeat, something softer. “For now,” she says, “thank you for saying the things men are usually afraid to say.”

  SnafuSam