The air smelled of rotted cabbage, stale sake, and something distinctively unnatural—like the scent of a lightning strike trapped in a bottle.

  I opened my eyes. Darkness. Total, crushing darkness.

  Am I dead? I wondered, my hand instinctively reaching for the wakizashi at my hip. It was gone. My fingers brushed against cold, slimy metal instead of the familiar texture of my woven tatami mats. Panic, cold and sharp as a winter wind, spiked in my chest. Did Lord Nobunaga’s men capture me? Is this an Iga dungeon?

  No. Iga dungeons smelled of mold and blood. This place smelled of… discarded noodles.

  I gathered my legs beneath me. My muscles, honed by eighteen years of relentless training in the hidden valleys, coiled like springs. With a guttural shout, I exploded upward, shattering the lid of my prison.

  Light. Blinding, searing, godless light.

  I tumbled out of the metal box and landed in a crouch, ready to slit the throat of my jailer. But there was no jailer. There was only noise.

  A roar like a thousand thunderstorms. Screams. Music that sounded like iron pots banging together. I looked up, and my breath hitched in my throat.

  I was in a canyon. But the cliffs were not made of stone; they were made of glass and steel, stretching so high they pierced the heavens. And upon these cliffs, demons danced. Massive, glowing giants trapped behind walls of light, smiling down at the ants below.

  "By the chaotic gods..." I whispered, my voice trembling. "What hell is this?"

  I looked down at my arm. The skin burned. There, etched into my forearm in a bruised, purple ink that pulsed with a faint heat, was a number.

  100.

  "Hey! Are you okay? You just exploded out of a dumpster behind the 109!"

  I spun around, dropping into the Crane’s Wing stance. A girl stood there. She was dressed in peculiar, tight-fitting blue trousers and a white tunic that exposed her arms—scandalous. She held a black rectangular slate in her hand, pointing it at me.

  "Begone, witch!" I barked, my voice cracking slightly. "I am Masanari of Iga! I shall not fall prey to your illusions!"

  The girl lowered the slate. She looked less like a witch and more like someone who hadn't slept in three days. "Okay, cool. Nice cosplay. Very... committed. Look, just don't bleed on the pavement, okay? The cops around here are strict."

  She turned to walk away. I took a step to follow, to interrogate her about this realm, but a sudden, deafening shriek froze me.

  A beast made of yellow iron, roaring with the fury of a dragon, came barreling around the corner. It had no legs, only spinning black discs, and eyes that glowed with blinding light.

  "An Iron Boar!" I screamed. "Civilian, take cover!"

  I did the only logical thing. I leaped.

  Channeling my Ki into my calves, I vaulted ten feet into the air, flipping over the yellow beast. I landed gracefully on the asphalt, my wooden sandals—geta—clacking sharply.

  The beast screeched to a halt. A man inside its belly began yelling in a foreign tongue. "Abunai daro, kuso-gaki!"

  Wait. That was Japanese. A vulgar, twisted dialect, but Japanese nonetheless.

  "Whoa." The girl had stopped. Her mouth hung open. "Did you... did you just vertical jump a taxi?"

  I was panting, not from exertion, but from sensory overload. The lights. The noise. The giant glowing women on the walls selling what looked like soup. It was too much. My eyes watered. My focus was shattering. I needed a blinder. Something to narrow the world.

  I looked at the trash scattered near the metal prison I had emerged from. There, sitting atop a pile of refuse, was a white, bulky visor. It looked like the headgear of a futuristic samurai.

  I snatched it up. The glass front was cracked, and a wire dangled uselessly from the side. Perfect.

  I jammed the device onto my head. Darkness returned, save for the peripheral vision at my feet and the muffled sounds of the world. I slid the visor up slightly, just enough to see a narrow strip of reality.

  "Focus," I muttered to myself. "Narrow the aperture. Observe only the threat."

  "Okay," the girl said, stepping closer. She poked my shoulder. "You're definitely weird. But that jump was insane. Are you a stuntman? A parkour guy?"

  "I am a shinobi," I said gravely, adjusting my new helm. "And I am lost."

  The girl sighed, rubbing her temples. "Right. Shinobi. Look, Mr. Ninja, my name is Aoi. I'd love to help you LARP, but I’m currently broke, hungry, and late for my shift. So, unless you can turn leaves into money, goodbye."

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  Her stomach growled. A ferocious sound that rivaled the Iron Boars.

  I looked at her. She was frail. Unarmed. And despite my outburst, she had not fled. In the codes of Iga, a debt of kindness—even a small one—must be repaid. She had warned me of the police.

  "I have no money," I admitted, shame coloring my cheeks. "But I have skills. I can hunt. I can glean roots from the forest."

  Aoi looked around the concrete jungle of Shibuya. "Good luck finding a forest, buddy. We’re in Tokyo." She paused, looking at me, then at the yellow beast that was driving away, then back at me. A spark lit up in her eyes. It was the look of a merchant sensing profit.

  "Wait. You're fast, right? Like, superhuman fast?"

  "I was the fastest in my village," I said humbly. "Though my instructors said my heart was too soft for the killing blow."

  "Great. No killing required. How do you feel about delivering burgers?"

  Ten minutes later, I stood before a metallic steed.

  "This," Aoi explained, patting the seat, "is a bicycle. You pedal these things to make the wheels go. You put this bag on your back. You pick up food from point A, take it to point B. The app tells you where to go."

  She held up the glowing slate. On its surface, a map was drawn in light, shifting and moving as if possessed by a spirit.

  "A Spirit Map," I whispered, awestruck. "And this... bicycle. It requires manual labor to function? It is not powered by the souls of the damned?"

  "Just leg power, Masa. Can I call you Masa? 'Masanari' is a mouthful." She strapped a massive, cubic green backpack onto me. It felt like a supply crate for a siege. "Okay, I signed you into my account. I hurt my ankle yesterday, so I can't ride. We split the profits 50/50. Deal?"

  I did not understand '50/50', nor did I understand why the food must be carried in a giant cube, but I understood a mission.

  "I shall deliver the Box of Sustenance with my life," I vowed, bowing low. The helmet slid down, blinding me again. I pushed it back up.

  "Just... get it there hot. And don't crash."

  The slate chirped. Aoi tapped it. "Okay! Pickup at 'Mega Burger' on Dogenzaka. Drop off is an apartment complex three kilometers away. You have 15 minutes or I lose my tip. Go!"

  I mounted the iron steed. It wobbled. A chaotic, unstable weapon. But I was a master of balance. I gripped the handlebars, feeling the cold rubber.

  "For the honor of the clan!" I bellowed.

  I stomped on the pedals.

  The bicycle did not just move; it shot forward as if kicked by a horse. The raw power of my legs, trained by running up waterfalls carrying boulders, transferred directly into the chain. I heard a metallic groan from the gears.

  "Whoaaaa!" I screamed as I merged into the stream of Iron Boars.

  The world blurred. The strange black mask that Aoi called "Vee-Ar” acted as blinders, blocking out the flashing billboards and the terrifying giant faces, allowing me to focus solely on the path ahead.

  Obstacle: Red light.

  "A barrier of blood!" I shouted.

  I yanked the handlebars up. The bicycle launched into the air, hopping onto the pedestrian walkway. Civilians scattered like startled pigeons.

  "Sumimasen! Urgent mission!" I cried out.

  Obstacle: Traffic congestion.

  A wall of cars blocked the road. The slate in the holder on the handlebars chirped, a disembodied woman's voice speaking from within. "Turn right in 200 meters."

  "The spirit guides me!"

  I couldn't go right. The road was blocked. But the wall... the wall was open.

  I steered toward the side of a building. It was a steep, angled slope leading to a pedestrian overpass.

  "Identify target: Ramp!"

  I pedaled harder. The chain screamed in agony. I hit the slope at full speed. Gravity tried to pull me down, but momentum was my ally. I rode the bicycle horizontally along the wall for three seconds—a technique I had once used to infiltrate the Takeda clan's castle—before launching off the curb and landing back on the street, bypassing the traffic.

  A policeman on the corner dropped his whistle. I did not stop. The burger must be delivered.

  I arrived at the 'Mega Burger'. I drifted the bike sideways, skidding to a halt. A teenager in a striped uniform handed me a brown bag, looking terrified by my helmet and my panting.

  "Secure the package!" I muttered, placing it gently into the green cube. "The daimyo awaits his feast."

  "Uh... sure, man," the teen said.

  I looked at the slate. "Destination: 5 minutes away."

  "I shall do it in two," I growled.

  The return trip was a blur of adrenaline and near-death experiences. I learned that the Iron Boars honk when angry. I learned that pedestrians do not appreciate a bicycle flying over their heads. I learned that the wind in Tokyo tastes of soot.

  I reached the destination: a tall fortress of glass. The slate said "Room 404."

  I burst into the lobby. An old man in a uniform tried to stop me. "Hey! No bikes inside!"

  "Silence, guard! The Lord 404 hungers!"

  I abandoned the steed and sprinted for the stairs. The elevator doors were closing, but I did not trust the moving metal room. I took the stairs three at a time, bounding up like a mountain goat.

  Fourth floor. Door 404.

  I composed myself. I adjusted my tunic. I straightened the VR goggles on my forehead. I knocked three times—the code of a messenger.

  The door opened. A man in his underwear stood there, looking confusingly at me.

  "Uber?" he asked.

  I knelt on one knee, presenting the brown bag with both hands, my head bowed in reverence.

  "My Lord," I proclaimed, my voice echoing in the hallway. "I have traversed the Valley of Neon Demons and outran the Iron Boars to bring you this... Mega Cheese."

  The man stared at me. He stared at the bag. He took it slowly.

  "Dude," he said. "You're, like, five minutes early. And you're sweating like a pig."

  "The journey was perilous," I said gravely. "But honor is satisfied."

  The man blinked. "Right. Uh. Keep the change."

  He handed me a coin. A 500-yen coin. It was shiny. Gold and silver.

  "A treasure," I whispered, holding it up to the light.

  When I returned to the street, Aoi was waiting by the bicycle. She looked at her phone, then at me.

  "You did that in six minutes," she said, her voice a mix of horror and awe. "The average is twenty."

  "The wind was at my back," I said, wiping sweat from my brow. "And the spirit in the slate provided wise counsel."

  Aoi grinned. It was a terrifying, predatory grin. "Masa, my weird, delusional friend... I think we're going to get along just fine. You're staying at my place. But you're sleeping on the floor."

  "I prefer the floor," I said. "It is good for the spine."

  I looked down at my arm again. The bruise throbbed.

  99.

  The sun was setting over this strange, loud, metal kingdom. I was lost in time. I was a servant to a broke girl and a glowing slate. I looked ridiculous with a broken toy on my head.

  But I was alive.

  "Come on, Masa," Aoi said, walking toward the subway. "Let's go get you some real clothes. You look like you escaped a museum exhibit."

  "Lead on, Lady Aoi," I said, pushing the bicycle. "But beware... I sense the Iron Boars are more active at night."

  "They're called cars, Masa. Just... come on."

  I followed her into the neon abyss. Ninety-nine days left. I did not know what would happen when the number reached zero, but until then, I would survive. I would adapt. And I would master the art of the Uber Eats.

  Next time on 100 Days to Legend:

  Day 2: I attempt to clean the apartment using Wind Style techniques, and Aoi introduces me to the terrifying demon known as the "Vacuum Cleaner." Also, why is there a tiny man trapped in the television?

  Wakizashi:A short sword worn by samurai/ninjas (companion to the Katana).

  Geta: Traditional wooden sandals with elevated teeth.

  "Abunai daro, kuso-gaki!":Rough slang meaning "Watch out, you damn brat!"

  Sumimasen:"Excuse me" or "I'm sorry."