## Chapter 280 — Natural Mode Thomas’s desk was empty when he returned on Tuesday. Not cleared for a new employee or stripped after some administrative misunderstanding. His keyboard, university mug and reference guides remained where he had left them. The absence occupied only the centre: no student folders, notes awaiting translation or forms weighted beneath his stapler. He put down his bag and checked the in-tray. Empty. Sugiyama looked over from the neighbouring desk. “I moved the residence case.” Thomas had not asked, but his hand remained on the tray long enough to make the question visible. “The guarantor withdrew on Monday,” she continued. “Then the residence office changed what they would accept as temporary evidence. I took the calls, so Mori told me to keep it.” “Has the student been informed?” “At nine thirty. I am calling again at two after the faculty office confirms the letter.” Thomas nodded and sat down. The case had possessed a chronology on Friday. That chronology was now obsolete. Taking the folder back because it had once belonged to him would require Sugiyama to transfer information she already held so that he could occupy a role she was already performing. He logged into the system instead. Mori emerged from the small meeting room carrying the hospital-absence form Thomas had sent the previous evening. She placed it beside his keyboard and looked at him with the same practical assessment she used when a student claimed to be well enough to continue an appointment while visibly preparing to faint. “Clinic?” “Yesterday morning. Examination normal. They reviewed the hospital results and made a non-urgent neurology referral because the episodes have happened before.” “Work permitted?” “Yes, provided symptoms do not return.” “Any symptoms since Sunday?” “No.” Mori looked towards Sugiyama. “He does not get the residence case back.” “I had reached that conclusion.” “Good. You have the revised arrival guide and two ordinary document checks. Leave on time this week.” Thomas signed the absence form. Mori took it and returned to the meeting room. She had neither praised his recovery nor asked for details he had not offered. The office accepted that he had been ill, that another person now held one piece of work and that the day would continue. The arrival guide contained four new changes. One bus stop had moved again. The temporary white fence used as a landmark in the previous version had been removed, making the English instructions accurate for less than two weeks. A residence office had added a closing-time exception without specifying who could authorise it. The emergency telephone diagram still displayed an outdated handset despite most students using mobile phones. Thomas worked through the changes. At eleven, a student brought a health-insurance notice written in formal Japanese and asked whether it meant his insurance had been cancelled. It did not. At twelve fifteen, Endo left a stack of committee minutes on Thomas’s desk and removed them again after remembering that the translation deadline was next month rather than that afternoon. Nothing in the office required a recovered man to prove himself by becoming indispensable. At lunch, Thomas opened the container Isha had packed. Rice, grilled chicken, cucumber, blanched greens and half an orange occupied separate sections. A narrow strip of paper lay beneath the lid. **Eat everything. No overtime. Report headache, nausea, static, confusion, weakness or an urge to explain why a symptom is too small to count.** Beneath the list she had added: **—Nurse Isha** Thomas read it twice. The handwriting became less severe near the signature. He ate the orange. At five twenty-eight, Mori walked past his desk and stopped beside the chair. Thomas had already closed the student database. One email remained open because its writer had used three separate terms for the same residence certificate and Thomas wanted the reply to avoid adopting all of them. “You have two minutes,” Mori said. “I am leaving.” “You are editing.” “The sentence currently implies the student needs three documents.” Mori read the screen. “Then remove two nouns and leave.” Thomas did. He sent the message at five twenty-nine, shut down the computer and took his bag before the minute could become evidence against him. --- Isha met him at the apartment entrance. Her shift had ended earlier. She wore dark trousers, a pale shirt and the expression of someone attempting to make a casual encounter occur exactly beneath the building light. Thomas stopped in front of her. “You waited outside.” “I came down when you sent that you were near the river.” “The lift remains functional.” “Yes.” She examined his face. Thomas stood still through the inspection. “Thomas Albrecht. Tuesday. Flat 202 is behind you. I have no headache, nausea, visual disturbance, weakness or confusion. I ate the orange.” Isha’s mouth moved. “You omitted dizziness.” “I have none.” She stepped closer and kissed him, one hand resting against the side of his neck. The contact lasted long enough to stop resembling another neurological check. When she released him, Thomas touched the pocket where he had kept her note. “Nurse Isha’s written instructions were comprehensive.” “They were necessary.” “The final category may be difficult to self-assess.” “You have extensive experience with the urge to explain.” They went upstairs together. The hospital papers remained in Thomas’s office beside the dark-blue spell notebook. After dinner they opened neither immediately. Isha washed the dishes while Thomas dried, and the arrangement survived without her removing the towel from his hands. Only after the kitchen was finished did they sit at the desk. The note written on Sunday remained the last entry: **Cleanse Lv.5 — first observed after incoming passage and hospital discharge. Timing may be connected; mechanism unknown.** Thomas added the clinic outcome beneath it. Normal examination. No symptoms since discharge. Non-urgent neurological referral because of repeated episodes. Public explanation: transient loss of consciousness following severe emotional stress, cause unconfirmed. “Stress is true,” Isha said. “Yes.” “It does not explain why the previous collapses happened at the same moment.” “No. It explains enough for a doctor who cannot be told about the passage.” The emergency physician had not used stress to dismiss the episode. She had placed it among several possible benign explanations after urgent dangers were excluded. The clinic had done the same. Neither had claimed certainty. Thomas turned to the incomplete interface note. The transfer notice had formed in the ambulance. A second line had attempted to appear beneath it. Cleanse Level 5 had only resolved after he used the spell on Isha’s bruised arm hours later. Isha rested her forearms on the desk. “The longer collapse happened when two things changed.” “An incoming page and a Cleanse advancement.” “The passage may have carried the page while the System also altered the spell.” “Likely,” Thomas said. “Not established.” He had been rested, fed and sober. Hospital tests had found no acute neurological, cardiac or metabolic cause. The collapse began at the exact moment of passage acceptance, as every previous event had. This one differed in duration and fluctuating awareness. It also coincided with the first Cleanse advancement that appeared connected to passage rather than an ordinary cast. Coincidence remained possible. It had become the less useful working assumption. “We cannot prevent another advancement if the System decides to produce one,” Isha said. “No.” “We can keep the five-minute rule.” “Yes. And if I begin waking and losing awareness again, eye opening does not cancel the call.” Isha looked at him until the answer had settled fully between them. Thomas closed the notebook. “The public version remains stress,” he said. “The private version is that transport and Cleanse probably happened together.” “Probably.” Neither tried to name what the System wanted. Cleanse had broadened into the smallest local comfort after Thomas paid a larger physical cost than before. Reward, compensation, adaptation and accident all remained available words. None had become knowledge. Isha took the notebook from his hands and returned it to the locked drawer. “Friday,” she said. Thomas waited. “The aquarium has a late opening.” “You investigated this while I was at work.” “I investigated it yesterday.” “While I was on medical leave.” “You were asleep for part of the afternoon.” Thomas leaned back in the desk chair. “Is the aquarium selected for therapeutic reasons?” “It has benches, staff, public transport and no expected physical exertion.” “Yes.” “It also has animals I have not seen.” The second reason arrived with less preparation and mattered more. Thomas smiled. “Then Friday.” Isha touched two fingers to his wrist. The gesture began as an old check and ended with her hand sliding into his. --- By Friday, Thomas had spent five days without symptoms. He worked ordinary hours, attended the clinic appointment and did not return to the campus gym or judo. The restriction came from Thomas and Isha rather than the discharge sheet. One uneventful week cost less than testing whether medical reassurance could carry body weight. Cleanse remained private and quiet. They used Level 5 once more on Wednesday evening, targeting a small area of ordinary forearm soreness after Isha’s climbing-centre shift. The soothing finish reduced the ache without changing strength, movement or the muscle itself. It faded after thirteen minutes. A second cast refreshed the effect but did not deepen it. They recorded the result and stopped. On Friday evening, the aquarium’s entrance hall remained bright while the galleries beyond had already entered artificial dusk. A seasonal late opening extended admission into the evening. Families with younger children were leaving as Thomas and Isha arrived; couples, students and small groups moved inward beneath suspended models of fish whose shadows crossed the floor. Isha checked the posted closing time. “We have one hour and forty-eight minutes.” “The last aquarium hour was your proposal.” “The first forty-eight minutes remain available.” Thomas bought the tickets. Inside, the route began with local coastal water under daylight-coloured lamps. Silver fish moved in a broad school around rock and kelp. Flatfish lay almost invisible against sand until one changed position and revealed both eyes on the same side of its head. Isha stopped. The fish settled again. “Both eyes moved there while it grew,” Thomas said after reading the panel. “I read that.” “You are looking as though the label may have lied.” “The fish appears to have accepted a poor arrangement.” “It may consider us excessively symmetrical.” Isha crouched slightly to view it from the level of the sand. The flatfish ignored her judgement. The next tank held long-bodied fish moving through a forest of artificial grass. A moray eel watched from a gap in the rock with its mouth opening and closing. Isha leaned closer. “Is it threatening?” “It moves water across its gills that way.” “It has chosen a threatening method of breathing.” The eel continued breathing at her. Thomas felt Isha’s hand find the back of his shirt as another visitor passed behind them. The contact was light. She did not check his balance or face. Her fingers remained there because the gallery was dark and they were close. They moved into the first deep-sea room. The light shifted blue. Display cases held preserved specimens and models beside smaller live tanks. A giant isopod occupied one dim enclosure, its segmented grey body resting on the floor beneath a ledge. It resembled a woodlouse expanded until its armour required formal consideration. Isha read the size and depth range. “It has many legs.” “Fourteen.” “That is too many for a creature that is not using them.” “It may be between responsibilities.” The isopod remained still. Isha walked around the tank to inspect it from the other side. “Does it attack?” “Mostly dead animals, according to the panel.” “It has built that body to arrive after danger.” Thomas considered the armour, the patient mouthparts and the complete lack of urgency. “An efficient specialisation.” Isha gave the creature another minute to justify itself. It did not. Near the wall, a transparent sea angel moved through cold water by beating two wing-like projections. Its body was smaller than Thomas’s thumb. Internal structures showed through the clear surface. The name on the English panel made Isha look at him. “Angel?” “The shape suggested wings.” “It is a swimming snail.” “Yes.” “Without a shell.” “Yes.” She watched it turn in the water. “People named this before learning what it eats.” Thomas read farther down the panel. The sea angel fed on other swimming snails. A diagram showed its feeding structures extending from the head in a way the small live animal had not yet demonstrated. “I withdraw the objection,” Isha said. “It has earned a more alarming name.” Thomas laughed. The sound came easily. Isha looked towards him at once, but the movement ended before becoming assessment. She returned to the tank while her shoulder stayed against his arm. In the jellyfish gallery, the room darkened further. Circular tanks glowed from below. Moon jellies contracted through clear water, their bodies carrying four pale shapes at the centre. Another tank held smaller animals trailing fine threads that caught blue light. The movement seemed too simple to belong to creatures and too deliberate to belong to water. Isha stood close enough that the glass coloured her skin. “They have no brain?” “Not a central one. Nerve nets.” “No heart?” “No.” “No blood?” “Not in the way we use the word.” A jellyfish folded in on itself, opened and continued upward. Isha watched several repetitions. “The category of animal is broad.” “We are among its more demanding members.” “That is not established by this tank.” Thomas looked at her profile. The hospital had left faint fatigue beneath her eyes for several days. It was gone now. Her attention had moved fully into the water, following pulse, drift and the way one jellyfish altered direction after touching another. She had not asked whether his head hurt since entering the gallery. Thomas rested his weight lightly against her shoulder. Isha responded before thought, one arm coming around his waist. Then she felt the control in his stance. “You are not unsteady.” “No.” “You leaned.” “Yes.” Her hand remained at his waist. “Nurse Isha’s shift has ended.” “I was checking continuity of service.” “The service now charges.” “What is the rate?” Isha turned her face towards him. Blue light moved across her pale hair and made her green eyes look darker than usual. She kissed him beside the jellyfish tank. The contact remained brief enough for public space and intimate enough that Thomas stopped asking about payment. They continued with their hands linked. The octopus occupied a larger enclosure near the rear of the gallery. At first Isha could not find it. A mound of mottled red-brown texture lay against the far rock, one eye visible beneath a fold of skin. Then an arm released the surface. Suckers opened in a pale line, attached farther along the glass and drew the body after them. The colour changed as it moved. Dark red softened towards grey. Raised texture flattened. The body passed through a space between rocks that appeared too narrow to admit it, leaving the eye and several arms briefly arranged in different directions. Isha stopped close to the glass. The octopus extended one arm across it. Suckers travelled over the barrier one after another, testing a surface that gave no answer. “It has no bones,” she said. “Only a beak hard enough to limit the gaps.” “It changes colour, shape and surface.” “Yes.” “It opens containers.” “Some do.” The octopus turned one eye towards the visitors. Isha looked back without moving. Thomas read the panel beside her. The animal could solve simple problems, manipulate objects and distinguish patterns. The enclosure contained weighted shells and a closed feeder device used for enrichment. “It is very intelligent,” he said. “I know.” “You learned that from the label?” “I learned it from the way it touched the glass twice and stopped wasting effort.” The octopus withdrew its arm and entered the shadow beneath the rock. Isha waited for it to return. It did not. She accepted the refusal more easily than she had accepted the motionless isopod. They reached the large central tank during the final hour. The viewing window rose across two floors. Schools of smaller fish divided around rays and reformed behind them. A shark crossed the upper water with enough distance from the glass that its scale remained difficult to judge. Light from the surface made shifting columns through the tank. Most of the families had gone. Thomas and Isha sat on a bench near the side, where the main flow of visitors did not pass directly behind them. Isha chose the inner place out of habit, then changed her mind and sat nearer the aisle. Thomas did not remark on it. A ray approached the glass from above, pale underside visible, mouth and gill openings arranged into a face-like pattern that had not been designed for human interpretation. Isha watched it pass. “It looks pleased.” “It is breathing.” “You used that defence for the eel.” “Many apparent expressions are respiratory.” The ray turned and disappeared into the school. A child near the front pressed both hands to the glass. His father lowered one of them, pointed towards a cluster of fish and spoke too quietly for Thomas to hear. On the opposite bench, an elderly couple shared a paper cup of something from the café. The aquarium announcement gave the closing time. Isha leaned back. Her shoulder touched Thomas’s. After several minutes, her head followed. He placed his arm around her and felt the last of the week’s guarded tension yield by degrees rather than declaration. “What was best?” he asked. “The octopus.” “Because it stopped touching the glass?” “Because it understood that the glass was there.” Thomas looked towards the dark rock of the distant enclosure, no longer visible from the central tank. “The isopod understood that movement was unnecessary.” “The isopod was a floor with legs.” “It may have hidden qualities.” “It had sufficient time to show one.” The shark crossed overhead again. Thomas felt Isha’s fingers close around his free hand. “Nurse Isha has not checked my pulse for nearly an hour,” he said. “I have observed breathing, speech, gait and judgement.” “You questioned my judgement concerning the isopod.” “That was evidence against you.” Her thumb moved across his knuckles. She did not turn his wrist over. They stayed until staff began guiding the remaining visitors towards the exit route. The gift shop remained open for the final fifteen minutes. Plush sharks, seals, penguins and jellyfish filled the front shelves. The deep-sea section contained a giant-isopod cushion with too many fabric legs and an expression of mild administrative concern. Thomas lifted it. Isha stared. “It has hidden qualities,” he said. “It occupies half the sofa.” “We have a larger flat.” “We did not move to house an isopod.” Thomas returned it to the shelf. Isha chose a small octopus key ring instead. Its body was dark red, with eight short arms gathered beneath a round head. The face had been given two cheerful eyes the living animal had not displayed. At the till, Thomas held it beside the giant-isopod magnet. Isha removed the magnet from his hand before he could add it to the purchase. They left beneath the suspended fish models as the entrance lights dimmed behind them. On the train home, Isha attached the octopus to the zip of her work bag. It hung beside a plain climbing-centre tag and turned slowly with the movement of the carriage. Thomas watched her test the clip twice. She caught him looking. “It understands barriers.” “It is made of fabric.” “That has not prevented you assigning judgement to the isopod.” Thomas leaned into her side. This time she knew he was playing before she caught him. She caught him anyway. --- Kanno arrived at Sendai Station at ten twelve on Saturday morning. She wore the plum coat despite the warmth, open over a white blouse with the sleeves rolled to her forearms. The coat’s colour remained strong enough to justify inconvenience. She carried a small shoulder bag and an iced coffee whose surface had already begun gathering condensation. Thomas and Isha waited near the edge of the concourse, outside the heaviest movement. Kanno saw Thomas first. Her pace changed slightly. She reached them, looked at his face and said, “You are upright.” “That has been consistent since Sunday evening.” “Isha’s message contained the words ambulance and prolonged confusion. She then wrote that the tests were normal as though the second fact would erase the first.” Isha stood beside Thomas with the octopus key ring hanging from her bag. “I wrote that he was home and fully oriented.” “You also wrote that you would update me later, then waited nine hours.” “He was asleep.” Kanno’s attention returned to Thomas. Concern remained beneath the irritation, practical and less controlled than Mori’s had been. “Do they know what happened?” “No acute cause was found. Stress or an autonomic episode are possible. The clinic has arranged a non-urgent neurology appointment because there were shorter episodes before.” “And you have had no symptoms since?” “None.” “Work?” “Normal hours. No training this week.” Kanno drank from the coffee and considered whether another question would improve anything. She stopped. “Good,” she said. “I had prepared several sentences about men who treat discharge papers as evidence of immortality. They may remain unused.” Thomas looked at Isha. “The category is wider than I expected.” “Nurse Kanno has not been appointed,” Kanno said. “I did not appoint myself either,” Isha replied. Kanno looked between them and understood enough from Thomas’s expression to shift her attention elsewhere. “What is that?” She pointed to the octopus. Isha lifted the key ring. “We went to the aquarium.” “Yesterday?” “Yes.” “You went into a dark building full of water immediately after a neurological event?” “The water remained behind glass,” Thomas said. Kanno closed her eyes for a moment. “I see that your recovery includes argument.” She led them towards the shopping floors above the station. Thomas had expected coffee or an early lunch. Kanno passed both possibilities and entered an arcade bright with game sounds, prize machines and displays of characters whose heads were larger than the bodies supporting them. Near the back stood a row of purikura booths. One advertised **NATURAL CLEAR MODE** beneath photographs of young women with enlarged eyes, narrowed faces and skin from which every pore had been professionally removed. Another offered seasonal fantasy frames: crowns, stars, wings, animal ears and a silver sword suspiciously similar to the one in the film Kanno had inflicted upon them. Thomas stopped. Kanno pointed towards the fantasy booth. “I found this on Thursday.” “You came here alone to inspect it?” Isha asked. “I passed it while buying printer paper.” “The printer paper is on another floor.” “I investigated after the paper.” Kanno had three hundred-yen coins ready. Thomas looked at the sample images. “Why?” “Because I received a message stating that a friend had left hospital, and text is inadequate evidence of colour, posture and whether his partner is standing close enough to catch him.” “That resembles nursing.” “It is photography.” Kanno inserted the coins. “Also, the machine claims natural mode. I want to know what it thinks we are.” The curtain admitted all three with little remaining space. The booth had been designed for smaller bodies and fewer coats. Isha stood at the back, Thomas beside her and Kanno in front attempting to operate the screen without placing her elbow into either of them. A recorded voice instructed them to choose a style. Kanno selected **Natural Clear**. The preview appeared. Isha’s green eyes expanded immediately. Her skin brightened by several shades. The line of her jaw narrowed, and the machine softened the lower half of her face until she resembled a younger relative who had inherited none of her suspicion. Thomas’s face became smoother and slightly longer. His eyes darkened, his lips gained colour and the faint line beneath them vanished. Kanno lost most of her nose. She stared at the screen. “The machine has removed me selectively.” “It considers your nose unnatural,” Isha said. Kanno changed the setting to **Soft Natural**. Her nose returned in reduced form. Everyone’s eyes became larger. “This is not an improvement.” The machine announced the first photograph. They had six seconds to arrange themselves. Kanno moved to the centre. Isha bent slightly so her head remained within the frame. Thomas placed one hand at Isha’s waist and the other behind Kanno’s shoulder without touching her. The countdown reached one while Kanno was still objecting to Thomas standing too far back. The flash caught all three. In the result, Kanno looked offended, Thomas appeared politely surprised and Isha’s enlarged eyes gave her severity an almost supernatural clarity. Thomas examined the preview. “Isha may now see in darkness.” “I could already see better than you,” she said. Kanno turned. “Publicly, that sentence refers to ordinary variation.” “It does.” The second pose prompt showed three people pressing their cheeks together beneath a crown. “No,” Kanno said. The machine began counting anyway. Isha moved first. One arm came around Kanno’s shoulders, drawing her back between Thomas and herself. Thomas leaned in from the other side. Kanno had just enough time to stop resisting the arrangement before the flash. The preview softened all three faces and added a pink light across their cheeks. Kanno looked younger than the woman in Thomas and Isha’s supplied university photographs. Thomas looked as though he had never spent a day tired. Isha’s eyes dominated half her face. “It has made me harmless,” Isha said. Thomas studied the image. “Not entirely.” She turned towards him. The machine announced the third photograph before she could answer. This pose allowed free arrangement. Isha placed one hand beneath Thomas’s chin and turned his face towards the camera with exaggerated control. Thomas complied too readily. Kanno saw the exchange, stepped to Isha’s other side and folded her arms. The flash captured Thomas looking amused, Isha trying not to smile and Kanno appearing to supervise a private problem she had not agreed to manage. “That one is accurate,” Kanno said. The fourth photograph offered fantasy accessories automatically. Digital pointed ears appeared on Isha. A gold crown settled above Thomas. Kanno received pale wings and a field of stars. The booth became still. Isha looked at the preview. The ears were too large, silver at the edges and positioned several centimetres above where her real elven ears had once extended. They belonged to the film’s version of an elf rather than any body she remembered. Thomas waited. Kanno noticed the silence but not its full cause. Her hand moved towards the cancel control. “We can change the theme.” Isha reached past her and selected **More Fantasy**. The ears lengthened. Thomas acquired black horns. Kanno’s wings doubled in size and turned pink. “This is worse,” Kanno said. “Yes,” Isha replied. “Continue.” The flash caught her laughing. Not politely. Her eyes closed, the digital ears remained fixed in impossible brightness and one hand had risen towards Thomas’s horn as though preparing to test whether it belonged. The booth moved them to the editing screen. Two styluses hung from cords. Kanno took one. Isha took the other before Thomas could pretend he needed instruction. The filters could not be fully removed. Eye size, skin smoothing and face shape had been applied as part of the selected mode. Decoration remained under their control. Kanno began by drawing a more substantial nose onto her first photograph. “It resembles a root vegetable,” Thomas said. “It resembles ownership.” Isha added a dark beard to Kanno’s fantasy image. The beard reached the top of the plum coat. Kanno looked towards her. “Why?” “You required structural restoration.” “That is not my structure.” “It is now more visible than your nose.” Kanno used her stylus to add silver hair and a long pointed ear to Thomas. The result resembled the film hero attempting to infiltrate an elven court without changing his expression. Thomas accepted the alteration. On the second photograph, Isha added eight short red arms around the lower edge of Thomas’s shirt. “The octopus has claimed you,” Kanno said. “It understands barriers,” Isha replied. “That sentence has history I do not possess.” Thomas added a small cartoon aquarium beside Isha before the editing timer forced them onward. The printed strips emerged below the screen. Kanno crouched to collect them before Thomas could reach the slot. She inspected each set under the arcade lights. The machine had printed three copies. In the first photograph, they appeared filtered and uncertain. In the second, Isha held Kanno between herself and Thomas. In the third, Thomas sat inside Isha’s hand while Kanno supervised. In the fourth, all three had been converted into a badly governed fantasy party. Kanno separated the strips along the perforations. “One each.” Thomas accepted his. The hospital episode showed nowhere in it. That was not because the machine had proved health. It had removed shadows, lines and several ordinary features from every face presented to it. Kanno looked at him more carefully than the photograph did. “You are actually well?” “Yes.” She nodded once. No further medical question followed. Isha held her strip beside Kanno’s. “Your beard is better in mine.” “It is not mine.” “You chose the photograph.” “I chose natural mode.” Thomas looked back towards the booth display. “The evidence contradicts you.” Kanno finished her iced coffee and dropped the empty cup into the correct bin. Then she took three more coins from her bag. “We are doing it again.” “Why?” Thomas asked. “Because the first set cannot be allowed to become the only record.” She inserted the coins before either could object. The curtain closed around them once more. Kanno selected a setting labelled **True Natural**, which enlarged their eyes less and added more colour to their lips. The recorded voice began counting. Isha drew Kanno into the centre. Thomas placed one hand at Isha’s waist. Kanno attempted to move his other arm into a less formal position while telling the machine that its definition of truth was actionable misconduct. The flash caught them before she finished.