After her bath, she found a loose-fitting sleepwear that didn't quite fit.
But since it was pajamas, it didn't matter.
With no phone to scroll through, she obediently went to bed.
Lying there, Kiyomi still hadn't figured out what era this world was.
Since magic existed, anything from a bizarre skill tree wouldn't surprise him.
The bunk bed he lay in was, quite literally, a "box bed." In modern terms, this "box" was more like a closet.
Anyone who'd seen Doraemon wouldn't be unfamiliar with sleeping in a wall cabinet.
A closed space offered a sense of safety, even knowing he was being watched, it gave him a comforting illusion.
Kiyomi turned over. Silky fabric brushed his cheek, and he squinted in satisfaction.
In his own world, sheets and duvet covers didn't become widespread until after the 19th century. This felt like silk, clearly, the textile and fabric tech here was quite advanced.
Though the house stood by the sea, the room temperature was pleasant. With a thin blanket, it was extremely comfortable.
Drifting between worry and anticipation for tomorrow, he fell asleep.
,
Before opening his eyes the next day, Kiyomi wondered if he'd see those little horns.
He didn't.
He woke up earlier than Shoko. Outside, the sky was dimly lit. In Tokyo, this would be around six. Here, he wasn't sure.
He got up, changed, and stepped outside. He heard a baby crying, Lady Eit was trying to calm the child by breastfeeding.
Solitar watched from the side.
Kiyomi quietly turned back.
A moment later, Lady Eit knocked on the door.
After a full night's rest, maybe having accepted her situation, she seemed more energetic than yesterday, though still tired.
She didn't mention what had just happened and gestured to say she'd help with breakfast.
Nobles varied by era and region. Eit was clearly the kind who knew her way around a household.
But she was still baffled by Kiyomi's way of cooking. She couldn't help much.
Solitar watched with keen interest.
Breakfast was ramen.
Kiyomi had learned many cooking methods to give his hardworking mother little daily surprises.
The broth was seasoned with salt and vegetables, simmered with shellfish, not too bland.
The shellfish were ones Solitar kept in jars. She said they were edible, and they did taste pretty good.
She asked if he wanted more. Kiyomi said he'd let her know if he did.
Best to keep Solitar somewhat busy, not idle, not overloaded, just the right balance to keep the novelty alive.
For the sake of preserving this "pleasant" arrangement long-term, Kiyomi was constantly thinking.
He glanced at the two others under the same roof, Eit and Shoko.
Eit looked resigned. As for Shoko, if she were the one handling negotiations, Kiyomi figured their time before ending up in specimen jars would be drastically shorter.
He had no bias against Miss Shoko. It was simply fact: a flower won't bloom just anywhere, and people are the same.
They need time to adapt.
He was adapting faster, and was better at communication. Shoko hadn't caught up yet. If she tried to negotiate now, it might wear down Solitar's patience faster.
That was not something they could afford to gamble on. So he'd handle it for now.
They were about to begin language lessons.
,
After breakfast, Solitar cleaned the dishes using the same magical water-control technique she'd used on laundry.
She pointed at the room, making a "please" gesture, her face full of anticipation.
Eit lulled the baby to sleep, then came to begin the lesson.
Teaching began.
How did people who spoke different languages first start to communicate?
Gestures, drawings, abstract movements, human civilization evolved from a pre-language era. Even between two wildly different countries, some gestures still meant the same thing.
For instance, they'd confirmed that nodding here also meant "yes."
During the learning process, it was inevitable that they would offend or miscommunicate.
Yesterday, when Kiyomi tapped his forehead while thinking, Lady Eit had clearly looked displeased and gently lowered his hand.
Having a tolerant environment that allowed mistakes was crucial.
When learning a language for communication, the key was to focus on high-frequency words. Grammar could come later.
Kiyomi and Shoko were starting from square one, building their vocabulary from the ground up.
They began with naming objects. Eit took them around the shipyard, teaching the names of things. She repeated each word a few times, wrote them down, and had the two read and write them.
So far, it wasn't too hard, felt a bit like a game show spelling challenge.
The hard part would come later, useless particles, sentence structures, patterns you could only learn through repeated trial and error.
Since they couldn't go outside, their exposure would be limited. Eventually, most knowledge would come from books, which required extremely high comprehension.
It sounded daunting. But the initial stages were surprisingly simple.
They were learning fast.
Before starting, Lady Eit had been nervous. There were many things to teach, and time was limited. Her child couldn't wait forever.
But once she began teaching… she started worrying that she wouldn't have enough material to last two or three years.
They were learning too fast.
Spurred by fear and anxiety, the two of them poured all their energy into mastering this new world.
There was nothing worse than being trapped with no means to influence your fate. So if there was even the faintest chance, they'd seize it.
A lot of their past academic knowledge wasn't directly useful, but study habits and learning strategies remained. Those skills helped them comprehend things from many angles.
They could tell when they had or hadn't learned something. Knew what was unclear. High schoolers had a level of cognition that little kids couldn't match.
Whenever Kiyomi got stuck, Shoko would explain via card. They progressed rapidly.
,
A fulfilling day came to an end.
Shoko remembered a phrase she'd once read: "The brain is the most energy-consuming organ in the body." Now, her fatigue gave that phrase real meaning.
She was exhausted. Her head throbbed.
Her extraordinary comprehension had led her to a sobering realization: her current state was the result of being too smart.
The kind of knowledge that normally required segmented learning, she had violently "cracked open" in one go. Her brain had been running nonstop.
The progress was incredible, but the mental load was extreme.
[My body… is too weak.]
That old emotion surged again.
She remembered her resentment at the moment of death. Her anger, directed at her own weakness.
But this… this much, she could handle.
She told herself:
This is still bearable. Keep going.
The door opened.
Kiyomi came in carrying a cup of sugar water and handed it to her.
"Shoko, you look pale."
"Is it that obvious?"
"Very obvious."
Shoko accepted the cup and forced a smile, but her amber eyes didn't smile at all. "I'm fine."
Kiyomi looked into her eyes. "I think you're lying."
She replied, "It's okay. I've got this."
Kiyomi didn't say anything. He stepped outside, hands hanging loosely at his sides, absentmindedly rubbing his fingertips.