Kenji woke up half-buried in hay. He reached out for his phone—but his fingers brushed against more hay. Where are my glasses? He pushed himself up, squinting at the blurry world around him. The ground was covered with straw and brown shapes were mooing softly. W-Where am I?
A large wooden door creaked open, and daylight poured in. Kenji instinctively shielded his eyes. Standing in the doorway was a broad-shouldered, straw-hatted, pitchfork wielding farmer.
"Uh... hi?" Kenji tried, raising a hand in an awkward wave.
The farmer didn't reply. Instead, he stomped forward, grabbed Kenji by the collar with one rough, calloused hand, and yeeted him out of the barn like a sack of potatoes.
"Wait—!"
Too late. Kenji soared through the air... before gravity caught up with him.
SPLAT!
He gracefully landed face-first in the mud, and for a long moment, he just lay there—crying a little. Cows nearby were chewing grass and mooing. Kenji groaned and rolled onto his back, wiping mud from his face. The cloudless blue sky above offered zero sympathy.
Footsteps crunched on the dirt. A shadow fell over him, leaning down to peer at him.
"What happened to you, my poor friend? Finally touching some grass?" said an amused voice.
Kenji blinked up at the speaker—an elderly man with a pointy grey beard and kind eyes that crinkled at the corners. He wore a white tunic tied at the waist with a sash, and a blue turban. Prayer beads dangled from one wrist as he extended a hand to help Kenji up.
"Huh? How..." His brain was still buffering, when Japanese subtitles appeared at the bottom of his vision.
"What the—?!" Kenji nearly fell over again.
The old man chuckled warmly, clearly amused by Kenji's reaction.
"My grandson taught me that one. Did I use it correctly?" The man continued as he began dusting off Kenji's uniform with quick, efficient movements. "Please forgive my neighbor, thieves stole his prized bucket last week, so now he thinks every stranger is here to rob him blind." He shook his head with a sigh. "Even my goat has better manners."
Kenji stared at him blankly.
"Come," the old man said, gesturing toward a cluster of mudbrick houses in the distance. "You do look like you could use some tea!"
"I-I should probably—" Kenji started to protest.
"No, no! You'll be our guest," the old man interrupted cheerfully before clapping him on the back.
Kenji sighed in defeat, following after the old man. Straining his weak eyes, he saw green fields stretching toward dust-brown mountains.
"Are those... mountains?" he asked hesitantly.
The old man chuckled again. "Very big ones! I wonder how you ended up here at all."
"I have no idea..." Looking down at his high-school uniform, Kenji remembered his life in Tokyo: crowded trains, late-night ramen, a huge pile of homework...
As they entered the village, the aroma of baked bread, saffron rice, and sizzling kebab filled the air, making Kenji's stomach tighten with hunger.
"This is our bazaar," the old man explained proudly as they passed through the bustling square. "We'll stop by later to buy onions."
Kenji catched a glimpse of stalls brimming with bright fabrics, thick carpets, gleaming copperware, and reed baskets filled with apples and figs. Fat merchants shouted over one another, while children chased each other through the crowd. Villagers gathered in circles to talk. The clang of metal rang from a forge, blending with the rhythm of a hand drum.
I can probably find new glasses here.
They arrived at the old man's home—a tiny courtyard surrounded by high mudbrick walls. A stone fountain trickled gently in the center. Birds chirped from the branches of an orange tree. In the shade, a woman sat weaving a reed basket.
Without looking up from her work she began speaking rapidly in scolding tones—
"My soul!" The old man interrupted. "We have a guest!"
The woman sprang up, adjusting her scarf.
"Welcome, welcome! You bring light to our home! We are your servants!" she said, gesturing toward a bench in the shade.
Kenji awkwardly bowed and sat down.
"Th-Thanks."
"My name is Ismail, by the way," said the old man as he poured steaming tea into ceramic cups. "And this is my beloved wife, Nasrin."
Kenji's social battery was running low, but he tried.
"I-I'm Kenji, from Japan."
"Well then, Kenji from Japan," Ismail said, placing a hand on his chest. "Welcome to Galbadistan!"
G-Galbadistan?! Where is that!
Kenji picked up the cup from the silver tray, and took a small sip. Uh... Not bad! He leaned back against the mud wall, finally allowing himself to unwind. Nasrin then brought a plate of fresh fruit, while Ismail told the tell about that time he lost his donkey.
"...and there I was, chasing my donkey through my mother-in-law's watermelon patch, when..."
WAIT—
Kenji's heart sank.
I have a math exam tomorrow!!
Yamamoto-san was definitely not going to believe this excuse.