Now, a few things. I was going to assume that this kid illegally came into the country, either the normal methods or through spatial manipulations. Now though? He should know that wolf beast-people like me are around…pretty much everywhere.

Unless he's been living under a rock for the last few centuries.

Or got sent here some…other way.

"The sensors in your suit are picking up trace amounts of Dimensional Magic. It appears to be a natural rift in the fabric of reality," Aria affirms my suspicions. This kid got isekai-ed.

Quietly, I ask, "When did I get sensors in my suit?"

"Always," she replies. "Dad sometimes gets caught up in the 'spectacular' — his words, not mine — functions of the suits, and he forgets to mention the things he puts in all suits.

Like, for example, there's a button on the right temple of your mask that silences your voice, so you don't have to whisper."

"Uh," he 'uh's'. "I'm Hiro Tatsumi. First name, last name? And I'm lost."

"Uh-huh. Where are you from?"

"Somewhere far away," he wistfully says as he stares off into the distance. Come on, kid. Don't bullshit me, that's an obviously Japanese name. Very, very generic, too.

"Try me," I challenge, arms crossed.

"Have you heard of Japan?"

"Maybe. It sorta rings a bell. I might've heard it from some scholar." SO, it's pretty much confirmed that he's not from this planet. Now, before I arrest him, I want to mess with him. Just to see how far I can take this.

"Thought so…" He sighs painfully. Hey kid, it's not like you're stuck here.

"Aria," I push the button, "do we have a way of possibly erasing memories and deporting this kid to his world without hospitalizing someone?"

"Yes, but I have to inform Thomas first. We can get a demon to erase his memories, and Thomas has a device that can punch holes through dimensions. It will take three days to charge."

"Question: why didn't we use that on me?"

"It's a one-way gate. Also, mother was worried that something could disintegrate you, so it was a spur of the moment thing. On transporting the kid, stall him. We'll attempt to expedite the process, but we still need some time."

"Are there a lot of people like you? Around here, I mean," the kid, Hiro, awkwardly asks.

"If you mean wolf beast-people, then yes, we're prolific in the area. If you mean females…then also yes."

"That's not- Never mind," he sighs. "So why are you here?"

"I got called out here 'cause the locals noticed that someone was living in their forest, and the officials got attacked by someone using magic. That doesn't happen everyday." I end with a glare, making my point clear.

"Ah, is- is magic rare here?" He's sweaty. Doesn't want to stand out or something. Not understand common sense.

Sorry to burst your bubble kid, but the only common thing about common sense is that everyone had their own.

"A small percent of the population can use magic, here in the nation of…" - What's a good name? Something romantic? - "Les États-Unis." I think that's America in French. Barely knowing a lick doesn't help.

"Oh," he says. Probably coming to terms with the fact that he already failed his conformist lifestyle by over-excitement of magic. Then he perks up. "I think I might've seen some bandits around here. Maybe it was them?"

"Perhaps…" I trail off, looking to the side. Oh? What's this? A magical hot plate? Why. "What in Dreamer is this contraption?" I drastically point to the runes written on the polished stone, most likely also done with magic.

I mean, what average teenager with no redeemable qualities would find themselves with knowledge on par with Thomas? Utterly ridiculous unless given immense power or helped out by an external force.

"That's a hot plate. It heats food evenly with magic," he says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Kid, I kid you not, nobody in a medieval fantasy would understand that. Luckily, you're in an urban world.

"How mysterious… This could revolutionize the world!" Not really, you'd need a steam engine for that. "We could do away with cooking with fire forever!" Also, not really. We still have gas stoves and people that enjoy camping.

"Would you like to buy it?" He sheepishly asks, hand on the back of his head and an innocent smile.

"No," I answer. "I don't buy from poachers."

"Huh?"

Slapping some handcuffs on him, I smile and say, "Hiro Tatsumi, you're under arrest for assault, poaching, trespassing, theft of privately owned property, and illegal entry into the country."

"Huh?" Interrogation only works if you ask multiple questions; else, you're committing insanity.

I recite, from my short-term memory, "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you do not have an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?"

"Uh- Yes, yes, and what's happening?" He's stuttering; things aren't going his way. I grab the cuffs and push him forward.

Before answering, I push the mask button. "Aria, can you get a car down here, quick?"

"Yes, I'm on my way."

I turn back forward, towards the path that leads towards the road. "Kid, you're in the United States, and you're under arrest."

"United St- WAIT! You lied to me! You said you never heard of Japan!"

"Well, you're the one who thought that they were the protagonist of their story." My statement causes him to go silent in contemplation. What could possibly be going through his head?

"Is that my fault?" He falters, "I-I saw the magic and the beasts and the goddess and you, and I thought it was all going right for me. For once. That my last action earned me a better life."

A lot of key words in there: goddess and last action. I can assume from that what happened.

"This isn't your body?"

"…No. It's a copy, probably."

"Aria."

"Already noted."

We walk the rest of the way back, not a word shared between us as he follows my lead. The only sounds being the wind, fauna, and the flora under our feet.

"Hold on a minute," he says right as we get to the road. He looks over his shoulder and into the tinted glass of my mask's eyes. "Did the demon army get to you? Did they take over your mind? Are they grabbing memories and forcing you to say words you don't know?"

I blink. He wouldn't know that, of course, but it's the principle of the matter. I dramatically look from him to the asphalt road and back to him. "We do have demons, but not like that. You might need to get your head checked out."

He looks down at the ground and whispers under his breath, "She was right. They do have the people pulled into illusions and delusions.

Boy, the only one here that's delusional is you. I've said, multiple times now, that you're in America. "The only illusions you'll have are ones in the bed."

"What?"

"Sorry. It was a bad attempt at innuendo."

Luckily, before my awkward conversational attempts can continue, the screeching of tires approaches. We both stare at the approaching station wagon—Aria in the driver's seat.