The private jet takes off at 8:47 a.m. I know because I've been looking at my watch for twenty minutes, my fingers slightly clenched on the white leather armrests. Not fear. Just anticipation.
'I've never taken a plane.'
In my past life — those vague, fragmented memories, that other existence — I never traveled. Not really. Train trips, maybe. Nearby vacations. But never crossing an ocean, never seeing an entire country change beneath my feet.
'I'm on a plane. I'm going to Europe.'
The feeling is strange. Not unpleasant. Just new.
Across from me, Daichi has had his nose pressed to the window since takeoff. His black hair, short on the sides and longer on top, is messy despite the gel. He's wearing a clean sweatshirt — an achievement — and his hands are tapping frantically on the armrest.
"Have you seen the size of the clouds?" he says, his voice muffled by the window. "WE'RE ABOVE THE CLOUDS."
I lean over to look. A white sea, infinite, with holes here and there revealing the blue below.
'It's big. Really big.'
"It's huge," I say.
Daichi turns to me, eyes sparkling. "You're excited too, huh?"
I think for a second.
"Yes," I admit. "I am."
He smiles at me, and I see in that smile all the bond that exists between us.
Two weeks.
That's all the time it took us between grandfather's announcement and departure. Two weeks to pack our bags, to read everything we could about Italy, Spain, and England. Two weeks for the excitement to build, build, until it became almost unbearable.
I spent those fourteen days reading everything about Europe.
Not because I had to. Because I wanted to. The excitement of travel, once it grabbed me, didn't let go. I devoured guidebooks, online articles, videos. I took notes in my notebook — not about my power, for once. About the cities, the monuments, the food, the customs.
'It's funny. Usually I write down everything about my Alter. Now, I'm writing about a continent.'
Daichi, for his part, filled three binders. Three. One per country. He carried them everywhere before we left, pulling them out at the table, in the car, even in front of the TV. Mom sighed with a smile. Dad nodded with quiet pride — Daichi takes after him when it comes to organization.
Italy, I learned everything. Its boot shape. Its three active volcanoes. Its two thousand seven hundred years of history. The Colosseum, its eighty thousand seats. The Leaning Tower of Pisa, leaning since the twelfth century. Pasta, more than three hundred different shapes.
'I've never been this excited about pasta.'
But what interests me most is something else. It's seeing how Alters fit in here. In Japan, they're part of the landscape — heroes are everywhere, in ads, schools, the street. In Italy, how does it work? The guides don't talk about it much. I'll have to observe for myself.
Grandfather called us the day before departure, as always. His deep voice resonated through the phone's speaker.
"You'll see, kids. Europe, it's something. I spent years there, when I was young. I made friends everywhere. Influential friends."
"Hero friends?" Daichi asked, eyes wide.
Grandfather laughed. "Maybe. You'll see. I made some arrangements. But it'll take time."
"How long?"
"A few days. A week. The right people need to be available."
Daichi spent the next few hours bouncing around everywhere. Me, I just smiled.
'Grandfather really thought of everything.'
He also gave us a gift before leaving: two small, thin silver necklaces, with a discreet pendant. "Simultaneous translation," he explained. "Twenty pre-programmed languages. You speak into the mic, it comes out in the chosen language. And vice versa. That way, no barriers."
Daichi put his on immediately and spent the next hour talking to himself to hear his voice in Italian, French, German. Me, I just slipped mine around my neck and forgot about it. But I know it's there, useful when I need it.
The landing is smooth. Very smooth.
The jet descends slowly, goes through the clouds, and suddenly — the earth appears. Green fields, roads, houses with ocher roofs. Then buildings, streets, cars.
Rome.
I feel my heart beat a little faster. I place a hand on my chest, by reflex.
'My heart is beating faster. It's excitement.'
Daichi, across from me, has his nose smashed against the window.
"WE'RE ARRIVING!" he whispers, as if speaking loudly could make us miss the landing.
The plane touches the ground. A gentle jolt, a sound of tires, braking. Then taxiing, slow, towards a small private building.
"We've arrived," I say. Not a question. An observation.
"WE'VE ARRIVED!" Daichi turns to me, eyes sparkling. "Did you see? WE'RE IN ITALY."
I nod.
'I'm happy. Really happy.'
I smile. Not discreetly. A real smile.
The private airport is quiet. Far from the hustle and bustle I saw in videos.
I follow my family through the small hallways. Signs in Italian, in English. Uniformed staff greeting us with polite smiles. Sunlight coming in through the large bay windows.
'I'm really in Italy.'
Daichi walks ahead, turning his head in all directions. He talks to himself, listing everything he wants to do, see, eat. The necklace around his neck shines a little when he talks — he must have set it to Italian mode out of curiosity.
"Calm down," Mom says, smiling. "We have fifteen days."
"FIFTEEN DAYS ISN'T ENOUGH!"
Dad handles the formalities with a smiling employee. Me, I watch.
A car waits for us at the exit — a large black sedan, with a chauffeur in a suit. Daichi's eyes go wide.
"We have a CHAUFFEUR?"
"Your grandfather is thoughtful," Mom says, smiling. "He thought of everything."
We get in. I sit by the window, Daichi next to me. The car starts gently, and Rome begins to scroll by before our eyes.
The city scrolls by.
Modern buildings, then older ones. Umbrella pines, cypress trees. Signs in a language I don't understand — well, that I wouldn't understand without the necklace, but I haven't activated it yet. I prefer to listen to the sounds, the intonations. People walking, talking, living.
Daichi comments on everything he sees — "Look at that building, it's YELLOW!" — and I listen with a discreet smile.
'It's different. Everything is different.'
The buildings are more colorful than in Japan. The streets, narrower in some places, wider in others. The people... they seem to talk louder. Laugh louder. Live more outdoors.
I see a man cross the street with a shovel in his hand. Not a normal shovel — a shovel that glows slightly. He stops in front of a small hole in the sidewalk, plunges the shovel in, and pulls out a perfectly cut block of earth. A sewer worker, probably. With an earthmoving Alter.
'Alters are everywhere. Like in Japan, but different.'
Further on, a woman makes groceries float behind her while talking on the phone. Bags dancing in the air, following her movements without her touching them.
'A telekinesis Alter. Or object control.'
Daichi doesn't even notice them. He's too busy looking at the buildings.
Me, I watch everything.
The hotel is a small elegant building on a quiet street. A light-colored facade, green shutters, a porch with flowers.
The owner greets us with a smile and perfect English. "Tanaka famiglia? Welcome. We were expecting you."
Our rooms are on the second floor — two adjoining suites, with a view of a small shaded square. I put my bag on the bed near the window and look outside.
Ocher roofs, shutters, trees. A fountain in the center of the square, with children playing around it. People seated at a café terrace. The sun, lower now, gilding the walls.
'It's beautiful.'
Daichi enters without knocking. Obviously.
"Did you see? There's a pastry shop downstairs, on the corner."
I turn to him. "Already spotted it?"
"Coming up. It's called 'Dolce Roma.' I saw cakes in the window." He sits on the next bed, bouncing a little. His eyes shine. "Are we going?"
"Now?"
"Yes."
"We just arrived."
"Exactly. We have to celebrate."
I look at my brother. 'He's so excited.'
I smile.
"Okay. Let's go."
Outside, the street is quiet, shaded. Daichi walks fast, I follow at my own pace. I take the time to look.
The stones of the walls, ocher and worn. The shutters, green, blue, red. Cats lounging on windowsills. An old lady watching us pass with curiosity. Daichi says "Buongiorno" to her with his necklace — the pendant shines for a second, and the lady replies with a toothless smile.
'Everything is different. Even the air is different.'
Daichi talks as he walks — about Italy, heroes, the pasta he's going to eat, the possibility of meeting Italian heroes. I half-listen, letting his words blend with the impressions of the street.
The pastry shop is small, with outdoor tables. Colorful cakes in the window — shapes, colors I've never seen. People seated at tables talking loudly in Italian, laughing. A smell of sugar, coffee, vanilla, lemon.
'It smells good.'
Daichi orders using his necklace — he speaks in Japanese, the pendant translates into Italian for the vendor, who replies in Italian translated into Japanese in Daichi's discreet earpiece. It's strange to see, but effective. He gets a chocolate cake, another fruit one, a third he can't name.
I just point to a simple biscuit, shortbread-like, with sprinkles. The vendor smiles at me.
We sit outside. Daichi attacks his cakes with enthusiasm.
"It's GOOD," he says with his mouth full.
"Eat slower."
"Impossible."
I bite into my biscuit. It's good. Different from Japanese biscuits — more butter, more sugar. A different texture.
'This is Italy. This is what it tastes like.'
I watch the street. People pass by, talk, laugh. An elderly couple, hand in hand. Children running. A man reading a newspaper on a terrace. The waitress bringing coffees with a smile — she has bluish highlights in her hair, like a natural coloring. A cosmetic Alter, maybe.
Daichi looks up, chocolate at the corner of his lips.
"Kenji."
"What?"
"We're in Italy."
"I know."
"No, I mean — we're REALLY in Italy." He looks around, eyes shining. "Three days ago, we were in Fukuoka. Now, we're in Rome. And grandfather has friends everywhere. Maybe we'll meet heroes."
I nod.
"Maybe."
He attacks his second cake.
Me, I watch the sky beginning to turn pink. I think of Bishop, his advice.
'Gotta enjoy it.'
I think of Yuki, her seed in my bag.
'I'll find a beautiful spot. I promised her.'
I think of Toru, the memories I need to bring back for him.
'I'll remember everything.'
I think of Italian heroes. The possibility of meeting them someday.
'Maybe. Maybe not. But it's good, just being here.'
I smile.
Daichi sees me.
"You're happy," he says.
"Yes."
"That's good."
"Yes."
We stay silent for a moment, sitting at this small table, on this unknown street, in this new country. Daichi has chocolate on his cheek. I don't tell him.
Around us, Rome continues to live, to murmur, to shine.
'I'm here. Now. This is travel.'
I take another bite of my biscuit.
In the evening, we dine in a small trattoria near the hotel.
Dad made a reservation. Of course he made a reservation. He planned everything, organized everything, calculated everything. Mom teases him about his need for control, but I know she's reassured.
The restaurant is typical, says the guide. Red and white checkered tablecloths, wine bottles lined up on a shelf, smells of garlic and tomato. The owner greets us with a warm smile and seats us at a table near the window.
Daichi is in heaven.
"I want pasta," he says. "Real Italian pasta."
"You'll have some," says Mom.
"I want all the pasta."
"All of it is a lot."
"I CAN TRY."
I look at the menu. I don't understand much, but the English descriptions help — and the necklace can translate if needed. I end up choosing spaghetti — the classic — with a basic tomato sauce.
When the dishes arrive, Daichi attacks his with the same energy as the cakes. Mom tells him to slow down. Dad tastes calmly, eyes closed. Me, I take a bite.
'It's different. Really different from Japanese pasta.'
Firmer. More flavor. The sauce is simple, but it has something I can't identify.
"So?" asks Mom.
"It's good," I say. And it's true.
During dinner, I observe the other customers. A family with two children — the youngest has small sparks crackling around his fingers when he waves his hands while talking. An electric Alter, not yet mastered. His parents don't seem worried.
At another table, an elderly couple. The woman's eyes change color during the conversation — green, then blue, then gray. An emotional Alter, maybe. The man drinks his wine without making waves.
'Alters are integrated. Like in Japan. But differently. More discreet, maybe. Or more natural.'
I make a mental note.
The next day, we visit the Colosseum.
The queue is long, but Dad got skip-the-line tickets. We enter quickly, and suddenly — I'm there. In front of this monument I've seen a thousand times in photos, videos, in my books.
'It's immense.'
Truly immense. The ocher stones rise towards the sky, rounded, imposing. Arches everywhere, corridors, levels. I look up and I see nothing but that — Colosseum, sky, Colosseum.
Daichi has already run ahead, camera in hand.
"Come on! WE HAVE TO SEE THE INSIDE!"
We follow him. Inside, it's even more impressive. The arena, down below. The tiers of seats, rising, rising. Tourists everywhere, guides speaking in every language. Some guides use Alters to project images or amplify their voice.
I place a hand on a stone. It's warm from the sun. Old. Very old.
'People came here two thousand years ago. They watched fights. They shouted, applauded, trembled.'
I close my eyes for a second. Just to imagine.
When I open them again, I see a group of tourists listening to a guide. The guide has a small holographic projector floating above his hand — a projection Alter, probably. He shows reconstructions of the ancient Colosseum, gladiators, beasts.
"And here," he says in Italian, and my necklace discreetly translates in my ear: "the gladiators waited their turn."
'Handy, this necklace.'
Another guide, further on, has a naturally amplified voice — a sound Alter, like Daichi, but used for work.
'Alters are everywhere. Even in tourism.'
Daichi tugs my sleeve.
"Come on, let's go to the top!"
I follow him.
In the afternoon, we walk through the Roman Forum.
Ruins everywhere. Broken columns, collapsed arches, stones that have seen emperors pass. Daichi reads every explanatory sign out loud, absorbing everything. Sometimes he activates his necklace to understand a difficult word.
Me, I walk, I look, I imagine.
'It was a city. People lived here, worked here, loved here.'
I pass in front of a temple, or what's left of it. Tourists take photos. A woman makes her phone float to get a better angle — minor telekinesis Alter. A child runs among the ruins, leaving behind a trail of small flowers that grow instantly in the grass. His mother catches up to him, apologizing to other visitors.
'A plant Alter. Like Yuki, but younger.'
I think of her. Of her seed, in my bag. I haven't found the right place yet.
'Tomorrow, maybe.'
In the evening, Dad receives a message on his phone.
He reads, nods, then looks at us.
"It's from your grandfather," he says. "The meeting with his contacts is postponed."
Daichi freezes. "What?"
"Postponed, not canceled. It'll be in a few days. On the twelfth day of our stay, probably."
"TWELFTH DAY? That's in a VERY LONG TIME."
"Ten days," Dad corrects. "It goes by fast."
Daichi sulks for a minute, then remembers he's in Italy and that it doesn't matter. He goes back to his pasta.
Me, I think.
'The twelfth day. That leaves us time to visit, to see, to learn.'
I'm almost relieved. No pressure. Just enjoy.
The days pass.
We visit the Pantheon, with its oculus and dancing light. The Trevi Fountain, where I toss a coin thinking of nothing. The Spanish Steps, with their steps and flowers. The Vatican, immense, impressive, with its Swiss Guards and their discreet Alters.
Every day, I write everything in my notebook. Impressions, colors, people. Daichi takes photos. Mom buys souvenirs. Dad checks his itineraries.
On the fifth day, we take the train to Florence.
Florence is different from Rome. Smaller. More intimate. Narrow streets, ancient bridges, markets everywhere.
We visit the Duomo, with its red dome. The Ponte Vecchio, with its suspended shops. The Uffizi Gallery, full of paintings I don't understand but look at anyway.
Daichi is less excited by art. He prefers the markets, where he can taste new things.
"Kenji, try this!"
He hands me a piece of cheese. I taste it. It's strong. Very strong.
"It's... special."
"It's GOOD."
"If you say so."
On the seventh day, we go to Pisa. The tower really leans. Daichi takes the classic photo — the one where you look like you're holding it up. Me, I look at the stones, the light, the people all taking the same photo.
'It's funny. Everyone does the same thing. Me too, maybe, if I had a phone.'
I don't have one. I prefer to watch.
On the ninth day, we are in Venice.
Venice is strange. Canals everywhere, gondolas, bridges. No cars. Just water and stone.
We take a water bus to St. Mark's Square. Daichi is fascinated by the gondoliers — some have Alters that help them maneuver, small gusts of wind or controlled waves.
"I could do that," he says. "With my sound waves. Create wind."
"You'd capsize the gondolas."
"... True."
We visit the Doge's Palace. I look at the prisons, the bridges, the decorated halls. I think of the people who lived here, centuries ago.
'It's old. Everything is old. And yet it still stands.'
I place a hand on a wall. The stone is cold. Damp.
'It has seen so many things.'
On the eleventh day, we return to Rome.
We have a day of rest before the famous meeting on the twelfth day. Daichi is nervous. He organizes his things, messes them up, organizes them again.
"What if I say something stupid?"
"You always say stupid things."
"It's not the same! This time it's HEROES."
"They're human. Like us."
He looks at me, skeptical. "You, you're not human. You're Kenji."
I don't know what to say to that.
In the evening, I go out alone for a while. I walk through the streets of Rome at night. The lights are soft. People talk less loudly. The city is calm.
I stop near a small garden, at the end of a street. A solitary tree, with a bench underneath. The soil around is beautiful — dark, rich.
'It's here.'
I take Yuki's seed from my pocket. The small plastic box, with the damp cotton and the stem that grew during the trip. I dig a small hole with my fingers. I place the seed. I cover it with soil.
"For you, Yuki," I say quietly. "In a pretty place."
I stay for a while, sitting on the bench. The night is mild. Rome is calm.
'It will grow. I'll send her a photo.'
I return to the hotel. Daichi is already asleep, exhausted by his nervousness. I sit at my desk, open my notebook.
Day 11 — Rome
We are back in Rome after ten days of travel. We saw Florence, Pisa, Venice. So many things. So many images.
Florence is small and beautiful. Pisa has a leaning tower. Venice is on the water, strange and magnificent.
Everywhere, I saw Alters. People using them for their work, for their daily life. A gondolier controlling waves. A guide projecting images. A child making flowers grow. It's like in Japan, but different. More integrated, maybe. More natural.
Grandfather's necklace is useful. I understand almost everything, but sometimes I turn it off to listen to the sounds, the music of the language. That's beautiful too.
Tomorrow is the twelfth day. We are supposed to meet grandfather's contacts. Maybe heroes. Daichi is nervous. Me, I'm curious.
I planted Yuki's seed tonight. In a small garden, near a tree. The soil was beautiful. I'll send her a photo.
Toru, Yuki: I keep noting everything. Every image, every feeling. I'll tell you.
I'm tired, but happy. Really happy.
Eleven days in Italy. Four left. Then Spain. Then England.
I don't know what tomorrow will bring. But it's good, not knowing.
I close the notebook. I look out the window.
Rome glows softly in the night.