00:04 - Sat, 24 Jan 2004 - 21:30
Stranger in the 25th Hour
//
Being an intercity train on a weekend evening, the JR-West eight sixteen to Fuyuki should've been relatively commuter-free -- or so you anticipated.
In practice, the expectations that you've carried from the States -- from the real world -- somewhat underrepresent the volume of the overtime demanded in Japan of the typical corporate wage-slave. At this hour, the carriage that you've boarded isn't so packed that every last row is occupied -- but of the looks cast in your direction, there's hardly any scarcity.
It isn't yourself that's garnered such scrutiny, you're aware; your presence aboard the train to Himeji earlier in the day elicited no such response -- even if as an albino of Caucasian descent, your outward appearance sets you miles apart from the local populace. Rather, gazes both of judgment and poorly concealed lust are drawn to the woman opposite of you; whose uniform is despite its modest, conservative cut far too tight to conceal the pneumatic swells and plunges of her body-line. The fact that she's of all things wearing a maid uniform really doesn't help.
In you, Okiku's figure evokes nothing akin to envy. Where the woman herself preens at the attention she's recieving, the very fact of her company -- of her proximity to you; and of your obvious association -- makes you want to shrivel up and die.
It's of small thanks that before departing the castle, she at least bothered to comb or rearrange her hair. With half of her face now exposed, she looks less like a horror movie reject, and more like an adult film actress in cosplay.
'Wouldn't be a problem if the JR-West offerred Women-Only Carriages all-day, every day,' you think. ''Rush-hour only, only on weekdays' is completely pointless ...'
Sighing, you turn your eyes to the stickers pasted in replicate along the windows -- advising in bilingual that one should be mindful to remain silent so as not to disturb other passengers; and to power off mobile devices when the train is in transit.
It hadn't occurred to you before boarding that scootering all the way from Shinto to Miyama with a passenger and luggage might be a little difficult; but as Uber won't be in existence for a half a decade yet, you aren't entirely confident that you'd be able to hail a cab at this time of the night. The immediate solution at hand would be to call the Black Card concierge service -- but with the JR-West advisory in place, it might be a little rude of you to do so ...
Or not.
'There isn't really any way for them to enforce the rule,' you think -- pulling out your PHS, and confirming that you do indeed have reception. 'At most, I'll be stared at by the other passengers a bit -- and it isn't like they aren't already staring ...'
They'd overhear your conversation as perfect Japanese, though -- and so, rather than as a gaijin being rude out of ignorance, you'd likely be seen as a mixed-heritage kikokushijo knowingly flaunting the rules.
No matter. It's doubtful that you'll meet any of these people ever again.
At first opportunity, immediately following the purchase of your phone, you set the interface language to English; and you took the time during lunch to program the number for the concierge service to speed-dial. On the Panasonic P505iS, instant dialing is a matter of tabbing in one of the eight directions on the analogue pad -- and so, with a keystroke, you're on the line.
It takes only a single tone for the other end to pick up.
"Salutations, Ms. Gabriella," says a young woman, speaking in a vaguely mechanical monotone. "My name is Iustitia, and I will henceforth be serving your American Express Centurion account as its dedicated concierge. It is good to be speaking with you at last. How might I be of service this evening?"
The language that she's speaking appears to be ... German?
To your knowledge, the concierge service associated with a given AmEx Black Card is accessible on-call twenty-four hours a day via a card-specific international number -- but from this, it would reasonably follow that a card-holder is in fact serviced by a shift-rotation of staff members rather than a specific individual. It's a bit curious that this 'Iustitia' would introduce herself in the manner that she did -- as if, regardless of when you happen to call, you'd only ever end up speaking with her.
It's a bit curious that she managed to pick up within a single ringtone.
Assuming that American Express wishes to maintain the fiction of a solitary operator per account, it could viably employ a host of individuals with similar-sounding voices, or simply mandate the use of a voice modulator. A more disturbing possibility occurs to you, however.
"Say, Iustitia," you say. "You don't happen to be a von Einzbern, do you?"
There's a moment of silence.
"I assure you, Ms. Gabriella," says Iustitia, "that as far as I'm aware, I'm of no direct relation to you."
"I see."
It's a strangely specific statement -- and yet she fails to confirm or deny any potential relationship with the Einzberns. You try not to imagine the terrible, dreary life of a homunculus OL, infiltrating and toiling away to rise through the corporate ranks of American Express -- specifically for the purpose of someday servicing your account.
As a name, Iustitia isn't terribly distant from Justeaze, if you squint.
Pushing this silliness from your mind, however, you continue, "I'm current aboard the eight sixteen express from Himeji to Fuyuki, and I'm due to arrive at around nine twenty-three. If it's possible, I'd like to request a taxi pickup."
"Ticket issued," Iustitia replies. "Your driver shall await your arrival before the main entrance of the station. Is there anything else that you require?"
In thought, you tap your forefinger against the plastic of the armrest several times.
"Actually, yes," you say, after a moment. "The silver Vespa that I rented today-"
"Registration number 'Fuyuki L Wa 34-76?'"
Honestly, without checking the paperwork you've recieved from the rental service, you wouldn't have the faintest clue -- and the fact that American Express would have the information on hand is simultaneously reassuring and disturbing.
Probably more the latter than the former, as it implies round-the-clock monitoring and analysis.
"That's correct," you say. "Earlier in the day, I parked the scooter in the multi-storey garage attached to the Fuyuki Train Station. As I won't be riding it back to Miyama, I'd like for the parking fee to be paid, and for the vehicle to be relocated to the driveway of-"
"The Municipality of Miyama, Ijin-doori, Section Four, Number Two?"
You make a conscious effort not to twitch.
"Yes, thank you," you reply. "The latch of the gate is a bit rusted, but you can open it just by reaching inside and pulling up. That'll be all for now, I think."
"Ticket issued, and I bid that you enjoy your evening," says Iustitia. "May that you continue to act as the hand that preserves the balance."
The line disconnects. Holding the phone before you, you stare at it for a moment before flipping it shut.
The hand that preserves the balance? What was
that all about?
"No need for you to hire a vehicle on my behalf, Mistress Gabriella," Okiku interrupts -- speaking up for the first time since you boarded the train. "The Princess indicated that you require me in the capacity of a servant -- and as a licensed domestic laborer, an aptitude for swift, discrete, and unassisted self-transport is amongst my qualifications."
She states this as a matter of fact -- with the proud, slightly smug expression of a child informing her mother that she's scored an A+ on a midterm. You don't quite have the heart to tell her of Osakabe-Hime's miscommunication on the subject of Servants.
Also, you don't relish the prospect of Matou Zouken taking note of a suspicious swarm of insects nesting in his neighborhood. Unlike Taylor Hebert, he's presumably unable to assert control over arthropods within a range; but centuries of experience across an assortment of specializations more than make up for the incapacity.
"Let me take care of the transportation," you say, leaning into your seat. "Your job for the moment is to try and act like a normal human being at all times -- barring an explicit order of mine to the contrary, or a clear emergency." You eye the seemingly innocuous paper bag on her lap, and frown in disdain. "And, like, keep an eye on that ... that
thing. I don't want it anywhere near the lobby unless I actually decide to use it."
"I listen and obey, my Mistress," she says, clutching the bag against her abdomen, and nodding her head with creepy eagerness.
Her words and response are precisely the sort of thing that an eavesdropper would be inclined to misinterpret; but rather than repeat the mistake of verbally rebuking her -- which, earlier in the evening, resulted in a very public
incident in the middle of a crowded street -- you sigh again in resignation and stare out the window. In retrospect, it did seem a little strange that Osakabe-Hime would so readily volunteer Okiku's services -- given that the woman serves as the primary enabler of her lifestyle.
The princess had also been looking to dispose of the contents of the paper bag -- a pristine, entirely untouched self-improvement manual, gifted to her a month ago as a Christmas present; which, by virtue of its sender's identity, theoretically qualifies as a summoning catalyst. Possibly.
It'd be very difficult to live with yourself if the path that you carve in the coming War opens with a book subtitled to English as
Finding Myself: How the Quest for the Perfect Husband Completed Me as a Woman.
Unsurprisingly, Osakabe-Hime is a very bad friend.
'Still,' you think, 'it's good that I took the opportunity to seek her out. Even if the circumstances aren't so forgiving from here on out, I've at least gotten a bit of a handle on my Attributes.'
Speaking with the princess has supplied you with a lead -- and its implications are of relevance to one or more of the items on your sheet.
You, Gabriella von Einzbern, possess a highly irregular resilience against Curses.
//
"So," the princess concludes, "it's basically a game menu that you access with a mental command -- like in some webnovel VR-MMO?"
This wouldn't be entirely accurate, but it's close enough that you don't bother to correct her.
You weren't aware that the concept of the VR-MMO existed in Japanese media as far back as 2004 -- but, having concluded with its fourth and final installation early last year, the first phase of the
.hack game series sits in its entirety upon the shelf besides the princess' television. More surprisingly, the webnovel of
Sword Art Online is at present a bit more than two years of age -- and the princess knows something of it, if only in passing. Already, it's considered an exemplary of a larger genre of MMO-inspired power fantasies.
You've deigned not to subject her to a detailed plot summary.
"As far I know," you say, "the Masters of the War are granted the ability to call up displays like this for each of the Servants that they happen across -- but the appearance of their 'menus' automatically conforms to their tastes and expectations. Probably, it only looks to me like a game menu because of the personality I've been given."
"But, you aren't a Servant," the princess observes. "And I'm supposing that the Masters don't typically get status screens for themselves?"
"Yeah," you say. "If there's particular a reason that I was designed like this, I'm not aware of it."
She nods, paging through the notebook that I've set out before her.
"And these would be ..."
"The names of three of the currently unexplained abilities that I possess, in Japanese," you say. "One of the others grants me the capacity to verbally communicate in any language -- but I need to learn to read and write the old fashioned way. Therefore, I'm at the moment functionally illiterate in every language other than English -- and I'm entirely lost as to the logic behind assigning me with ability names that I can't even read ..."
Osakabe-Hime is contemplative.
"Figured it'd be something like that," she says.
"Sorry?"
"Your language comprehension thing, I mean." She props her chin up with an arm. "Take it with a grain of salt, because I'm really not an expert, but -- well, you know how Japan is referred to as 'the Land of the Eight Million Gods?'"
"Yeah?"
"Most of those aren't actually 'gods' in the sense that they recieve any worship. They're closer to Faeries or Elementals -- like from a
Final Fantasy or something. They're sentient, yes; but they're nothing more or less than the phenomenon that they represent -- or rather, they
are their functions. If nature's a closed system, then the Faeries are at one and the same time the stuff that the system's made of; and the endpoint nodes that it uses to interact with everything else. Terminals, basically."
So far, the explanation is consistent with your understanding of the faeries -- and so you nod.
"Right," she says. "So, homunculi. In Shinto, specific objects and locations are sometimes referred to as 'yorishiro' or 'go-shintai,' because they come to be inhabited by the various gods. On a very, very basic level, that's what homunculi are."
The terms parse to your mind as 'habitation host' and 'divine corpus,' respectively -- but at the forefront of your consciousness, you somehow 'hear' the Japanese as spoken. Previously, this only occurred with proper nouns -- and so, it might be the case that your autotranslation arbitrarily exempts specialized terms; or maybe, words absent of cross-language equivalents that also happen to fall beyond a certain placement on a Zipf distribution?
"So," you say, "you're telling me that I'm some kind of ... goddess?"
"In Shinto, definitely," replies the princess, smirking. "But don't get ahead of yourself, 'cause I've got like a dozen shrines dedicated to me."
She takes a sip of her bottled tea, and more soberly continues, "But, no -- you probably wouldn't be considered a goddess outside the context of Shinto. More like, you're a spirit built around a specific function and purpose, forcibly written into meatspace. You might be a Terminal to
something -- because it does seem like you're connected to whatever -- but I'm not really getting the sense that you're a Faerie or an Elemental."
You aren't a
Nature Terminal, then; you aren't a Terminal to Gaia.
By corollary, whatever it is that 'Chikushou-dou' and 'Tokoyo' are, they probably aren't semantically equivalent to Gaia -- or at least Gaia as a whole. As 'the Path of the Beasts' and 'the Eternal World' don't particularly sound as if they'd be associated with the Human Order, you can only presume that they're somehow related to the Reverse of the World?
"Alright," you say. "So, what does that have to do with the language thing?"
"In general, spiritual beings created as Terminals don't need to speak, because communication is intrinsic to their existence," she replies. "Therefore, you're not actually speaking to me right now."
You stare at her, raising a brow.
"Pretty sure I am."
"You aren't," insists the princess, shaking her her head. "The words that I'm hearing from you are superficially Japanese -- but that's my conscious mind applying a shape to them for ease of comprehension. Faerie speech is pretty much purely information; and whatever it sounds like after the fact is just the World filling in the blanks as a formality."
This -- this is probably going to take you a bit to digest.
Assuming the explanation is valid, if you were to right this moment create a digital voice recording, sound technicians of different first languages would entirely disagree on the shape of the associated graphical representation. It'd be a Schrodinger's audio-graph, essentially ...
Furrowing your brow, you lower your gaze to the surface of the kotatsu and exhale. You'll try to wrap your head around this when you're back in Fuyuki. For now, there are other questions of higher priority.
"Anyhow," you say, "any thoughts on those ability names?"
Osakabe-Hime tilts her head, looking again to your notes.
"Well," she replies, "the second is just 'the Terminus of Tokoyo.' The Aozora Bunko Ruby-texy thing is really very Chuunibyou, but I'm not really sure what 'the Path of the Beasts' would have to do with anything. 'Tokoyo' is one of the names associated the region of the Reverse that the islands of Japan sit upon; while 'the Path of the Beasts' refers to the Buddhist idea that souls tainted with the baser attachments end up reincarnating as animals. Doesn't feel like there's any meaningful connection there, because 'reincarnation' doesn't actually follow the Buddhist conception of it."
Which is to say, you've been saddled with an Attribute so nonsensical in name that an actual supernatural entity can't make heads or tails of it.
"I'm guessing that 'the Pure Earth of Tokoyo' is more of the same?" you ask.
The princess nods, penning a doodle into the margins of your notes.
"Though," she says, drawing away, "'Cursed Boundary Layer' probably refers to the same variety of bounded field that comprises the Hakuro-jou."
"Elaborate?"
"Let's take care of the simpler stuff first," she replies. "The name of the first ability is 'Wish Engine' -- or, more relevant to your family's business in Fuyuki, 'Wishcraft Engine.' The Ruby-text pronunciation is 'Curse Engine' or 'Cursecraft Engine.'"
"What's the relationship?"
Your question seems to surprise the princess.
"You don't know what Wishcraft is?" she asks, stopping her pen. "Ah, right. Incomplete memories. How much do you know about Curses, then?"
"Just assume that I'm totally ignorant?"
"Right, then," she says. "You know how, like, little kids get told to make a wish when blowing out the candles of their birthday cakes?"
"Yeah?" you ask -- not quite seeing point of the example.
"So, say that a particular kid makes a wish for a brand new Game Boy Advance SP -- and his mom actually has a decent track record of getting him the stuff he wants."
"Right?"
"Do you think the kid actually believes that his wish is gonna come true?"
"Yes?" you answer -- because you've personally known people who believed in Santa until they were fourteen.
"Not true," says the princess. "Not really. Even little babies that don't know how to speak yet instinctively comprehend that Mommy isn't absolutely guaranteed to make their every wish come true. It's why they cry."
You're fairly certain that infant psychology doesn't work like that -- but humoring her, you slowly nod, and gesture for her to continue.
"Basically," she says, "humans are built in such a way that they're inherently receptive to interfacing with the house-rules of the Human Order. Consequently, reality as defined by the Human Order applies to them -- and this is an entirely unconscious thing that isn't in fact
acquired. Without being told, they already know that Mommy might never arrive if they keep their silence."
"So, you're saying that not even babies can go up against the Reality Principle, because humans are just built that way," you summarize. "What about people in the middle of a psychotic break?"
"On some level," says the princess, "they recognize and abide by the rules -- even if it isn't on a conscious basis." She pauses. "But, there are exceptions -- and when the rules don't apply, and you wish for something hard enough ..."
Setting down her pen, Osakabe-Hime opens her hand above the surface of the kotatsu, palm up.
For a moment, there's an utter stillness in the room -- and then a swirl of violet sparks, dancing in the air above her palm. You look on as a shape appears amidst the swirl -- expanding with staggered multiplication to a square sheet of black paper; and then rapidly folding into a floating origami crane.
It's the second time that you've witnessed the undeniably supernatural -- and
you're still unable to believe your eyes.
"I'm a creature of the World of Man," the princess explains, "and so to some extent, I'm bound within the strictures of the Human Order. Because I'm not legitimately a human in any way that matters, though, observation of the Reality Principle is a more like a suggestion than a law. Ergo, if I assert my force of will with enough intensity, I can reject reality and substitute my own!"
Osakabe-Hime watches Mythbusters, apparently? Though, this seems more like the self-justification of a hikkikomori than a proper, serious explanation ...
"This is different from magecraft, then?" you ask.
"From Occidental magecraft, at least," she says. "There's no mana involved, and no Thaumaturgical Circuits. I'm not calling on any Foundations, or any external power." The crane twirls around, and refolds into an elephant. "This is a Curse -- and it's all just me, asserting myself over the texture of the World."
Curses don't require mana? But what about Gandr?
"Like I said, humans can occasionally push past the threshold as well," the princess continues. "I've heard that certain Catholic saints placed such conviction in their self-presumed blessings that probability literally distorted in their presence -- making their belief as fact; but at the expense of their sense of reality. Knowledge of the mechanics of phenomenon implementation is by definition entirely unnecessary, because reality itself is overwritten by desire."
"So," you say, "Cursecraft is what, precisely? Systematically regimenting your force of will to reject the Reality Principle on demand?"
"Tamamo-chi would say that it involves physical conditioning as well -- but that's about the size of it, yes. Conviction that it works is a huge part of
making it work."
Superficially similar to the witchcraft of Pratchett's
Discworld, then -- with a functional headology and all. In fact, wasn't Tamamo-no-Mae's Cursecraft officially translated as 'Witchcraft' in the English localization?
Outside the practice of the -craft, though, you suppose that Curses in general might be closer to the Spiral powers from Gurren Lagann -- kicking reality to the curb, because it happens to be convenient ...
"As for Wishcraft ..." says the princess, trailing off and raising her hand to the ceiling.
The origami crane from before materializes above her hand; but at a gesture of her wrist, it begins to swell -- growing to more than a meter across.
"Still no need for Circuits or a Foundation," she says -- breathing lightly as if in physical exertion, "but for me at least, this is a lot less efficient. Doesn't really require as much 'push' in the way of force of will -- but so long as the outcome is still taking shape, I have to maintain concentration to isolate from the rest of my mind the desire that forms the basis. Holding it apart, I fill it up with mana -- because mana makes it real."
It's more difficult, and incurs a mana cost. The Cursecraft version is likely to produce a 'real' outcome as well -- and so, 'making it real' with mana can't be the primary value of the technique.
"Not sure I see the benefit," you say. "If there's so many drawbacks, why even bother?"
Dismissing the display with a sigh, Osakabe-Hime pushes herself upright.
"People bother with it because it doesn't involve pushing past the Reality Principle," she says. "Other than the fact that any ongoing effect ceases the moment you stop feeding it mana, it still behaves largely like a Curse -- but because it doesn't operate by exceeding the boundaries of the human existence, it acts
entirely within the strictures of the Human Order. Mana is pretty much the only requirement."
Ergo, psychological distortion isn't a risk.
Wishcraft would in contrast to Curses exchange the likelihood of insanity for vast mana expenditures -- and possibly, time invested toward mental conditioning. It would follow from this that the version of Gandr utilized by Tohsaka Rin might in fact be a Wishcraft technique -- a focused desire for the general ill of a target, massively overcharged with mana ...
"Curses violate the 'strictures,' then -- because they go past the limits of the human mind?"
"Mm ... suppose I should clarify," says the princess. "Curses break the limits that humans are supposed to abide by, but ultimately adhere to the physics imposed by the Human Order. Wishcraft, comparatively, violates neither human limitations nor the laws of physics."
This is a little difficult to buy, given Angra Mainyu's abilities as of Hollow Ataraxia; and the overall events of Heaven's Feel. Perhaps she means that the Human Order doesn't explicitly
reject Curses?
It doesn't seem like Osakabe-Hime is intentionally misleading you -- but she stated herself that you should take her explanations with a grain of salt. Accepting her words without external verification isn't wise -- especially given that one of your primary Attributes is apparently functionality as a 'Cursecraft' or 'Wishcraft Engine.'
Nasu is a Bloodborne fan -- and exploration into the use of Curses would likely afflict you with a variety of Insight that you really don't need.
"Now that you've gotten all of this background out of the way," you say, "what were you saying about setting up a 'Cursed Boundary Layer,' earlier?"
With her bottle of tea to her lips, the princess stares at you in askance -- and realization dawns.
"Ah, yeah," she says, setting down her drink. "Forgot to get back to that. I was saying, the entirety of the Hakuro-jou -- all of the buildings, walls, courtyards, and so forth -- make up a large-scale bounded field directly tied to my existence; but nothing of the sort that a perfectly sane human would be able to construct."
"It's comprised of Curses, I'm guessing?"
The princess nods.
"Manipulating the space within the grounds is about as difficult as moving my hand -- and so, you could say that the castle itself is an extension of me, like a Territory from out of Yuyu Hakusho. Outside of literally violating the laws of physics, I can basically do anything I want." She swirls the tea within her bottle, frowning. "But earlier, when you arrived, I wasn't able to affect you at all. That's the 'thing' that I was asking you about. Detecting you as an anomaly was about the only thing I
could do."
You'd like to quip that at-will spatial manipulation without huge energy expenditures is probably a violation of physics -- but Osakabe-Hime seems honestly bothered by all of this; and so you refrain.
"I tried poking you with Curses to knock you out, but that didn't work," she admits, propping her elbows upon the edge of the kotatsu and staring into the tabletop. "I mean -- don't take this the wrong way, but you're kinda like a boulder?"
"Uh ... thanks?"
Noticing your half-lidded stare, she slightly wilts.
"Sorry. Bad analogy," she says. "I meant like, y'know, something with a lot of density and inertia -- like a black hole, almost. Throw things in, and it doesn't move, because it's already way too massive. It just sort of soaks up all the kinetic energy."
A black hole isn't really a polite comparison either, but you decide not to hold it against her. Other than her maid, you're probably the first person she's spoken with face-to-face in ages. Random impropriety isn't unexpected, given the circumstances.
Still, this explains the repeated poking that she subjected you to.
"I have the ability to cancel out Curses, you're saying?"
"You don't 'cancel' them out, exactly. If you had an ability like that, we wouldn't be able to speak like this -- because the weight of your existence alone would probably tear my room to shreds." The princess grimaces, apparently considering the hypothetical fallout. "I'd say that it's more like the castle flows across you, without interacting. I ended up having to shift the grounds around your body just to bring you here, because targetting
you in specific failed to work entirely."
To your perspective, it felt as if she'd merely teleported you -- and so the distinction she's making with regard to the underlying process isn't very meaningful. In a roundabout way, she was still able to move you in the end.
"I take it that resistance against Curses isn't common, then?"
"Resistance?" the princess asks. "Resistance isn't
uncommon -- because the fundamental action of Mystery is to seek the rejection of any processes bound within the Human Order. Curses can put up a good fight, and might even win in the end -- but ultimately, it's a fight." She makes a gesture with her hand. "This? This wasn't a fight, Gabi-chi."
She shakes her head, meeting your gaze.
"This was me lobbing snowballs at a glacier."
//
As of nine twenty-seven, the plaza before the main entrance of the station is largely deserted. Parked in the pick-up zone, there's a black stretch limousine. A middle-aged Japanese gentleman in a uniform suit stands beside the passenger door to the rear, holding a cap to the breast of his waistcoat.
"Ms. von Einzbern, I presume?" he asks.
Somewhat taken aback by Iustitia's choice of transportation, you nod.
"That would be me, yes."
"My name is Kitagawa Kouji," he replies, bowing, "and for the remainder of your stay in Japan, I shall be acting your personal chauffeur. Please feel free to make use of my services as necessary."
"Thank you," you say, somewhat at a loss for words.
Kitagawa nods.
"Now, if I may," he says, "what is your destination this evening?"
//
[ ] The Clockwork Mansion.
[ ] Summon a Servant.
[ ] Catalyst: Self.
[ ] Catalyst: The name of the Hashashin.
[ ] Catalyst: The book within the paper bag.
[ ] Attempt to obtain a grasp of Alchemy.
[ ] The Haunted Mansion.
[ ] Atelier Galliasta.
[ ] Einzbern Forest.
[ ] Write-In.
- A bit more than twenty-four hours remain until the summoning of Sasaki Kojirou.
- Of the 2nd-tier and 3rd-tier choices, select only one of each as applicable.
//
Party Members
- Gabriella von Einzbern
- Okiku
Support Members
- Osakabe-Hime
- Iustitia v.E. *NEW*
- Kitagawa Kouji *NEW*
Inventory
- Attire: Default
- Catalyst: Tamamo-no-Mae *NEW*
- Clockwork Key
- Mobile Phone
- Handbag
- Wallet
- Bilingual Kanji Dictionary
- Notebook & Stationery
- Fuyuki City Map
- Passport
- Driver's License
- International Driving Permit
- Motor-Scooter
- Limosine *NEW*
- Debit Card
- Black Card