"Right, so—Natasha, let me introduce you. Remember the plane incident before I came to Japan? I met her during that. Her name's Xiaoying (Yinglong). She's an Eastern dragon. She got hurt, and she's been recovering here with me."
"Xiaoying, this is my sister. Natasha. You should know who she is."
What exactly does watching DVDs have to do with recovering from an injury? Natasha had questions. She kept them to herself.
Yinglong was a friendly sort by nature. She twisted her impeccably serpentine waist toward Natasha and extended one small dragon claw. "Hello, little Natasha."
The guileless charm was genuinely entertaining. Natasha smiled and greeted her warmly. Then Bella ushered Yinglong firmly back to her room—too much TV was bad for young dragons, time for bed.
With Yinglong dealt with, Bella turned her persuasive efforts toward her younger sister. Wasted effort. Natasha had developed a strong immunity to her explanations over time, and this particular case was a steep climb.
Natasha lowered her voice. "One of those deep-sea 'large' creatures? Or an alien? Some kind of genetic mutation?"
"No, no, none of those. Xiaoying is a friend. She'd be upset if she heard you say that."
"She?" Natasha caught the pronoun immediately.
Bella felt the sweat forming on her forehead. She leaned in and dropped her voice. "Xiaoying is just a child. She's very innocent. She was deceived—taken from home by bad people..."
In Bella's retelling, Yinglong became a small, innocent victim of human trafficking.
Natasha nodded slowly. It aligned with what she'd seen. She accepted the explanation.
Bella let out a quiet, internal breath of relief. Good thing Sadako had been busy practicing English and had moved out—otherwise she'd have another story to improvise on the spot.
The next morning, Bella kept her promise to Yinglong about the DVDs, then took Natasha out to see Tokyo.
It had been a while since they'd gone shopping together—not since Paris. As a major international city, Tokyo's streets were electric with life. Even on a weekday, the sidewalks ran thick with people in every direction.
Natasha was in a bright yellow miniskirt and strappy heels, three shopping bags already hanging from one arm—all clothing, all purchased in the last hour.
As a government employee with a budget of essentially zero, she had nothing to pay with. Fortunately, someone more financially solvent was present.
She'd had a wonderful time running up charges on Bella's card.
Bella, dressed to complement Natasha's look, wore a blue crop top with a white button-down knotted at the waist, frayed denim shorts, and flat canvas shoes. At this length, her legs looked exceptionally long.
From her perspective, wearing heels to go shopping was a questionable life decision. But Natasha had clearly put them on specifically to close the height gap between them, so Bella made her peace with it.
Between the two of them, they were already loaded down with bags.
"Over there! Look at all those people—let's see what's going on."
Natasha pulled Bella toward a department store atrium where a crowd had gathered. The production crew wasn't blocking spectators, as long as nobody got too close.
Japanese staff hustled around the space arranging lighting and props. The director, assistant director, cinematographer—everyone was barking rapid-fire instructions in Japanese. Off to one side, a middle-aged man stood slightly apart from the action, his smile fixed pleasantly in place, understanding nothing.
What surprised Bella was that Natasha recognized him.
Her younger sister walked right over.
"Hi, Mr. Harris."
The man turned at the sound of English, studied her for a moment, then said with mild uncertainty: "Charlotte?"
Natasha introduced them. She used Bella's standing cover identity—Daisy Johnson—framing them as friends rather than sisters. Then she introduced the man to Bella: Bob Harris, a former Hollywood star, now in a quieter chapter of his career, picking up commercial work in Japan.
He and Natasha had met on a flight. Or at least—he believed he'd met the woman he was now calling "Charlotte."
"If I remember right, you mentioned you were here to find your boyfriend?" Bob said. "Did you find him?"
Bella watched "Charlotte" with quiet amusement. Let's see how you work this one.
"I did," Natasha said, her smile effortlessly warm. "He's very busy. We only get to see each other once in a while."
Bob nodded with the knowing sympathy of a man who had seen a few things. "If your boyfriend came to Japan to study, I think that's actually the right call. You're both young—there's no harm in learning more. The separation is a kind of test. It can strengthen what you have, if you let it. Be patient with each other. Trust each other. The more you understand your own needs and personality, the less outside noise can shake you. Once you know your direction, don't let distractions pull you off course. Go after what you want."
His advice was genuinely thoughtful. Even Bella found herself nodding along.
Natasha, meanwhile, proceeded to paint her "boyfriend" in unflattering detail. According to her: ordinary looks, ordinary build, middling intellect—and chronically, catastrophically unlucky. Wherever she went, disaster somehow followed.
Bella stood beside her, expression neutral, doing her best impression of an uninvolved bystander.
"Cherish what you have," Bob said finally, his tone gentle. "Don't wait until it's gone to realize its worth." Then he returned to work—sitting in the middle of the set, expression pleasant and vaguely bewildered, letting the Japanese crew arrange him like a prop.
Past his prime or not, a former Hollywood star still carried real weight in Japan. The crew was clearly pleased to have him.
The artistically inclined director—long flowing hair, serious demeanor—delivered a lengthy monologue in Japanese. Buried within it were a number of colorful opinions about Americans in general. Everyone present understood perfectly: the crew, the onlookers, Bella and Natasha among them—everyone but Bob Harris, who was nodding as if receiving important directorial guidance while they positioned him just right for the Suntory whisky commercial.
Natasha understood every word. She was too professional to react. She waved to Bob from a distance and steered Bella out of the department store.
Out on Omotesando, they walked between high-rises and flagship boutiques, elaborately dressed windows catching the afternoon light. Natasha looked at Bella with an expectant smile, waiting for her to speak first.
Bella smiled back. Then, in a lightly teasing voice: "So, Charlotte—is this boyfriend of yours really as bad as all that?"