It was early afternoon by the time they arrived at Gokurakuji Station.

  Emily was honestly amazed that they had all managed to come along. Especially Lachlan; despite his pale-faced denials, he looked like he might vomit at any moment, and he kept a double plastic bag clutched to his chest like a penitent's bible. Ansel looked a bit better, mostly because his large dark sunglasses gave him a stoic look and hid his bloodshot, feverish eyes. Even Michelle’s irrepressibly sunny disposition was a bit flat, though she had perked up after a twenty minute nap on Emily’s shoulder on the last leg of their journey.

  True to Michelle’s idea of finding a cafe, there was an old kissaten that was a blessedly short walk down the street from the train station. “Text me when you get there, alright?” Michelle said, trying to force a smile once they got settled. Lachlan was already headed straight to the bathroom to purify himself while Ansel stared vacantly at his coffee. They had agreed that it would be a bit odd for the four of them to all show up at Michiko’s address—plus Emily doubted Lachlan could even make it the fifteen minute walk up the winding road—and Emily dutifully promised to text Michelle when she arrived.

  Emily set off up a small winding road away from the ocean. It was lush and verdant here, away from the concrete of Tokyo, and she breathed in the air deeply. She wasn’t as hungover as her friends, but the heady co-mingling scents of mountain, forest, and sea seemed to melt away the lingering taste of highballs and cheap beer. Most of the scattered houses were tidy and well-kept, but more than a few had been abandoned, nature greedily beginning to reclaim what had once been hers.

  The house Emily arrived at didn’t seem abandoned. Besides being somewhat isolated, at the end of the road beside a small shrine, it looked like most of the other houses, if a bit older. She double-checked the address again on her phone. This was it.

  She had tried calling Michiko again to tell her that she was coming, but she hadn’t been able to leave a message in the full voicemail box. Instead of futilely trying again now, she texted Michelle: At the house. Looks pretty normal. Wish me luck!

  A reply popped up almost instantly: Don’t get murdered :) Just kidding. Maybe. Text me in 30 or we’re breaking in.

  Steeling herself before she could have second thoughts, Emily opened the house’s front gate, strode to the door, and gave it a polite knock. Seconds passed. Ten. Twenty. The sea breeze rustled in the leaves of the nearby trees. Emily knocked again, a bit harder.

  Emily’s shoulders slumped as the seconds turned into a minute. Despite her trepidation,

  she had been excited. Honestly though, what did I expect? That some thirty-year recluse was just going to welcome me in?

  She was just about to turn and begin the walk back down to the station when the door creaked open, startling Emily and sending her stumbling back.

  A middle-aged woman squinted out from the half-open door. She had short black hair that was just beginning to grey, a long face, and an expression that was a mixture of suspicion and boredom—as if being truly wary would be more effort than it was worth.

  “Emily, is it?” Michiko asked. She brought up a cigarette and took a long drag, squinting at the young American.

  “Yes, that’s me. Miss Akiyama?”

  Michiko nodded.

  “Alone? Your friends didn’t come?”

  “They’re at the station cafe. But, how did you know…?”

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Michiko sighed. “I could hear them breathing on the call. Figured they might come. My Pink Dragon hearing is still pretty good. Don’t you remember?” She gave the tiniest of smiles and took another drag.

  Emily blinked. Were we really breathing that loud? Michiko’s character in Space Dragons had the best hearing of the five Dragon pilots. They all had uncanny quirks like that. But Emily figured that had just been a show thing.

  As if a bit smugly satisfied by Emily’s confusion, Michiko opened the door wider. “Well, since you made the trip, I suppose I should invite you in. So, coming, or going?” she asked, arching her eyebrows and stepping back into the dimness of the house.

  Emily hesitated, then nodded. “Coming. Thank you.”

  Taking off her shoes in the entryway, the first thing Emily noticed was the smell, her

  hangover-sensitive stomach giving a lurch at the overpowering odor of cigarettes, stale air, and the scent of pet food. I wonder how long it’s actually been since she had visitors.

  “I mostly drink sake these days, but I might have some tea around here. Would you like some? Tea, or sake?” Michiko said as she retreated deeper into her home’s interior.

  “Tea, please. Or water would be fine too.”

  As Michiko drifted to the kitchen, Emily fumbled for her phone. Inside! she texted Michelle, putting her phone back in her pocket before she felt the answering buzz of Michelle’s reply.

  As Emily followed Michiko, she felt a flicker of relief. The inside of the house was a bit dim, a bit disheveled, but nothing like Emily’s worst fears of a mad recluse or some hoarder’s hideaway. She entered a six-tatami mat living room with a small table on the floor and two cushions, though one of them looked out of use.

  Emily felt something brush against her leg. “Oh, hello there.” She reached down and gave a purring, long-haired cat a pet.

  “I see you’ve met Miss Yama. That’s nice. She usually hides from new people,” Michiko remarked, coming to the table with a small pot of tea and a large bottle of sake. She set the tea pot to one side and unceremoniously poured herself a full glass of sake before sitting down.

  Emily joined Michiko at the table. She didn’t really know what to say. Why am I even here? she thought, suddenly feeling impossibly awkward. For her part, Michiko seemed in no hurry to break the silence. She took a sip of her sake, smoked her cigarette, and stared at Emily with a certain bored curiosity.

  “I suppose this is all a bit strange,” Michiko finally said. “To be honest, I didn’t know Jiro was still putting up that stall and giving out quizzes. I thought he had given up years ago. Do you know who Jiro is?”

  “Is he Karo Haranabe’s son? Who directed Space Dragons?”

  “Very good, Emily. I am impressed,” Michiko replied, rewarding her with a small smile.

  “A lucky guess,” Emily admitted, pouring herself a cup of tea. As far as she knew, Karo Haranabe was the only one of Space Dragon’s small production team who had a child, and the age of the man at Comic Con had fit the age. It was strange, but scanning through the names of the show’s small production team that morning, Emily had realized that no one else associated with the show appeared to still be alive. There weren’t even any siblings; the Space Dragon teenagers had all been only children, including Michiko.

  Silence returned to the house, interrupted only by the gentle whisper of Miss Yama cleaning herself next to the table. Emily had the sudden, almost overpowering feeling of loneliness as Michiko stared at her with those dark, sad eyes.

  Michiko’s voice dropped to nearly a whisper. “You must wonder why Jiro gave you my number. Why you felt the impulse to come here. Why I opened my door.”

  Emily took another sip of tea. Her hand, she realized, was trembling. “I guess I do.”

  Michiko drained her glass of sake and slowly lit a new cigarette, the lighter’s flame reflecting in her near-black eyes. She inhaled. Slowly exhaled. Tapped the cigarette on an ashtray that had the words Blue Dragon Go! written across it in arching cursive. Her eyes never left Emily’s own.

  “Well, you see Emily, the first thing you should know is that Space Dragons wasn’t just a show. It was real. All of it.”