“Excuse me. Do you know the way to the station?”

Late October brought three things to Tokyo without fail: biting winds, dazzling autumn colors, and tourists. So many tourists.

There were always some, of course, but for a week or two as November grew closer one could hardly turn a corner without tripping over a foreigner, even in Toshima’s least-trafficked residential zones.

Tomori was used to it by now, but still she never quite managed to navigate the encounters. She was supposed to know a little English—she studied it in school multiple times a week, after all!—but the words just wouldn’t come naturally to her. And if she tried to force them out through rote memorization, the sounds felt unsteady and indistinct in her lips, permanently, barely out of reach.

She was leading MyGO on their way to a café after practice when a man waved her down. He wore a dress shirt, jeans, and a padded vest, and was of course blonde, as most Americans are. Tomori tried to respond, but found herself helplessly stuttering.

“A-ah… I… I am…”

As always, the words wouldn’t materialize. She felt a cold sweat running down her temples. But then a comforting hand landed on her shoulder.

“Don’t worry, Tomorin. I got this.”

Anon strode past her and, with a flick of her hair, she squared up against the foreigner. She began to speak with the confidence and command of a true veteran.

“#!@$&. #+;! #@ )+&# #@!. !# &$#@ $#@) &$#@ "$# )&$#.”

“…I’m sorry, but I’m afraid I can’t understand you.”

“…Eh?”

Anon quickly turned around and leaned towards Tomori.

“Sorry, Tomorin,” she whispered. “I only speak British English. This guy’s American… I think they’re practically different languages. You know, like the Tokyo and Hakata dialects?”

Tomori gave a slight nod of understanding.

“…What on earth are you doing?” Taki walked up to the two of them. “Tomori. Don’t worry, I’ll handle this. We get Americans at RiNG pretty often.”

Taki crossed her arms and held her head high as she approached the man. She knew how Americans were. She was determined to not let him smell her fear.

“I am Japanese. I will help you,” she said.

“Oh, thank you! Do you know where the station is?”

A smirk crept into Taki’s face. Tomori and Anon looked on in tenterhooks.

“Of course. え…えと、あの。Righ… ライト、ダウン・ザ・ストリート、ゼン…あれ。なんだっけ”

“I’m sorry, what was that?” The man turned his ear towards Taki. She recoiled.

“Uh… Time. Time! Foul!” Taki raised both hands as she retreated. She was forced to rely on the Pacific lingua franca of baseball.

“Crap. Anon’s right,” she whispered. “He must be from some weird part of America. Like… Massachusetts.”

“Masachu-huh?”

“I don’t think I can do it. We might have to back off. …Sorry, Tomori.”

“T-that’s okay, Taki-chan… Thank you for trying…”

Anon brought a hand to her chin. “Unless…”

The second Soyo noticed her looking, she shot back a glare that had “absolutely not” helpfully written on it in several languages.

“Crap. Hm? Wait, where’s Raana-chan?”

“What?” Taki sighed. “Oh my god. I swear, this stray cat—”

“Hey.”

Behind them, a familiar voice spoke an unfamiliar tongue.

“Hey!” The man crouched down slightly to meet the young girl face to face.

“Where you wanna go? The station?”

“Yes, that’s right,” he responded with a smile.

Raana pointed to her right. “Down that street. Turn right at the cake shop. You’ll see it.”

“Oh, great! That’s a huge help. Thanks, kiddo!”

Raana nodded as the man walked off, following her directions.

A strange, awkward silence hung over the group.

“…Ha?!”

“Oh no.” Anon clutched her stomach. “This one’s rough. That’s gonna sting for a while.”

“R-Raana-chan! That’s amazing…!” Tomori’s eyes sparkled. She took Raana’s hand and looked at her in admiration. “You… you speak English…?!”

Raana tilted her head. “That what you call it?”

“U-um. I… I think so…? But… how did you learn…?”

She smiled. “I’ll show you.”