Last night, Rasuko had barely slept. To be precise, he had postponed sleeping. In the third-floor corner room of Graovant, beneath a lamp that illuminated the white ceiling, he sat at his desk rereading the final page of his report over and over. The other translations were arranged meticulously. The entry for "Naal" read "sea region containing tidal currents," "Dova" read "public gathering plaza," "Peche" read "fish (everyday language)"—words he could stand behind, arranged in perfect order. Only the entry for Shal was different. "Investigation ongoing. At present, no equivalent expression in Imperial language has been confirmed for the vocabulary in question. Investigation will continue." Written in a style close to bullet points, yet maintaining academic form—a single line. When placed alongside the other translations, the difference in density stood out oddly. An entry without a translation felt light. But the entry marked "investigation ongoing" felt, for some reason, heavy. That heaviness had no name. Rasuko checked outside the window once. The surface of Meira Bay was a deep navy color in the hour before dawn. In the distance, a lighthouse beam swept across the sea at regular intervals. Light came, darkness returned, light came again. Had it been yesterday when Kairo said "the waves don't die," or was it longer ago? He closed the report. He put on his jacket and checked his inner pocket. The corner of the paper with wave characters touched his fingertip. The usual motion. This morning, that motion had become less a confirmation and more a certainty. It was in the pocket. That was enough. The stone-paved slope leading to the Tunglaat-Aisle branch office had long shadows cast by the low morning sun. Rasuko walked while watching his feet. Not from tension, but because last night's drowsiness mixed with this morning's tension, his gaze naturally fell downward. In that downward gaze, fish baskets appeared. "Oh—" Rasuko thought. A procession of elderly people carrying fish baskets was coming up from the lower part of the slope. From the direction of Dova Plaza, apparently preparing for the morning market. Rasuko tried to stop, but someone carrying other cargo was coming from behind, and he was swept along in the flow. Five steps, ten steps, twenty steps—he ended up being carried about fifty steps in the direction of the plaza. Trying to extricate himself, he spoke in Aisle language to the elderly man walking beside him. "Let me through"—this tone dropped from second tone to first tone. He had practiced it in the hallway last night. "...Talni Dova, Reshta Naal," Rasuko said. The elderly man looked down at his feet. Examining the area around his own feet with a puzzled expression. Then he tilted his head and left without saying anything. Rasuko watched his back for a while. He didn't understand what had happened. Had he gotten the tone wrong? If he had meant to drop from second tone to first tone but instead raised it—"let me through" would become "step on me." If that were the case, it would explain why the old man checked his feet. But Rasuko had no sense of having made a mistake. He straightened his posture and walked toward the branch office again. The bundle of reports was in his jacket's chest pocket. Its thickness felt slightly lighter than usual this morning. ◇ Hernan Valdo's office was at the back of the third floor of the administrative building in the Graovant district. After knocking and entering, Hernan was already seated at his desk. Silver short hair, sharp blue eyes. His refined features were lit by the morning light from an angle. An old sword scar on his left collarbone was barely visible through the open collar of his jacket. "The report," Hernan Valdo said. Speaking few words, he simply extended his hand. Rasuko handed over the bundle. Hernan, having received it, began reading from the first page at an even pace. His expression didn't change. He moved his eyes across each page at the same speed—until he reached the Shal entry. Only there did the pace slow. For three breaths, his eyes stopped. Rasuko was aware of counting. One breath, two breaths, three breaths. During that time, there was no sound in the office. Only the sensation of the Meira Bay wind outside the window stirring the building. "Investigation ongoing," Hernan Valdo repeated. A restrained, quiet voice. A voice with no trace of emotion. "Submitting in an academically incomplete state poses no problem?" Hernan Valdo asked. Rasuko had prepared an answer. During the sleepless hours last night, he had prepared these words. "Assigning an inaccurate translation would contradict my integrity as a translator," Rasuko said. His voice nearly trembled, but he finished. "In the training at the Imperial Language Academy, assigning translations to vocabulary without confirmed equivalence is considered synonymous with mistranslation. Shal currently has no confirmed Imperial language equivalent. Therefore, a blank space is more honest than a mistranslation," Rasuko said. Hernan looked up from the report. His blue eyes met Rasuko's. There was a quiet quality to them, as if measuring something. While meeting that gaze, Rasuko knew that this was a linguistic standard that Hernan himself had once supported. A principle in the Imperial Language Academy textbooks. To overturn it, one would have to say, "political necessity takes precedence over accuracy." This morning, Hernan did not speak those words. Silence continued for several seconds. "You may leave," Hernan Valdo said. That was all. As Rasuko bowed and headed toward the door, a voice came from behind him. "The investigation completion deadline is set as the date of the next report submission," Hernan Valdo said. He closed the door. The moment he stepped into the hallway, Rasuko leaned his back lightly against the wall. The cold stone transmitted through his jacket. He exhaled. The battle wasn't over, but this morning's round was finished. At that moment, footsteps sounded. A male clerk was walking down the hallway. A man in his late twenties wearing glasses. The bundle of documents he carried was so large that his face was half-hidden. Walking while checking something, he came forward with his face turned toward the documents. He noticed Rasuko. He stopped. He looked at Rasuko from above the bundle of documents. He saw Rasuko standing upright against the wall. His eyes seemed to be making a judgment. Then he carefully extended the bundle of documents toward Rasuko with both hands. "Could you please verify this?" the clerk said. Rasuko received it reflexively. The clerk simply said "Excuse me" and quickly left. Rasuko remained alone in the hallway, standing motionless while holding the bundle of documents in both hands. He had been mistaken for some kind of waiting Imperial inspector. It took several seconds to understand that. The cover of the documents read "Meira-An Harbor District Salt Import Ledger (Seventh Month)." (I need to return this...) He hurried down the hallway after the clerk. He found the clerk's figure around the corner and called out, "Um, excuse me, this—" The clerk turned around, saw the documents, saw Rasuko's face, and turned visibly pale. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry! I thought you were the inspector—" the clerk said. "No, I reflexively accepted it too—" Rasuko said. The two of them moved to the side of the hallway and returned the documents. The clerk bowed three times and left. Rasuko straightened his jacket shoulder and looked back on the morning's events as a whole, smiling slightly. A tense meeting followed by a salt ledger. It was that kind of morning. ◇ When Rasuko emerged into Dova Plaza, the sun was already high. People were scattered across the stone pavement. The elderly from the fish market, spice vendors, women carrying baskets. The central tidal column received the morning light on its white limestone surface. Several pigeons were at the base of the roughly four-meter-tall column. At the eastern end of the plaza, on a stone bench, Emera was there. Deep sea-blue long hair. Wavy curls that fell softly in the humid morning air. Golden eyes reading something—a thin booklet open on her lap. When Rasuko approached, she looked up. "Is it finished?" Emera asked. Her voice was calm. Rasuko sat beside the bench. The cold stone transmitted through his trousers. "I submitted the report," Rasuko said. Emera waited with an expectant expression. She was waiting for more. "I didn't write a translation for the Shal entry. I only wrote that investigation is ongoing," Rasuko said. After speaking, he realized he had wanted to voice this fact to someone. Before Hernan, he had presented his reasoning. In the hallway, he had returned documents. But this fact itself, spoken aloud to someone—this was the first time. Emera didn't answer immediately. Rasuko looked to the side. Emera closed the booklet on her lap. Then slowly she looked up. Her golden eyes met Rasuko's. Her expression was different. It was not an expression Rasuko had seen from Emera in the six previous encounters. Not the face of intellectual certainty, nor the strength of her core, nor the cautious warning of someone with resolve. Simply, overflowing from within—a smile. A smile like something had come undone, soft and pure. Rasuko, seeing that face, didn't know what to say. A wordless time was born between them. The sounds of the plaza were distant. The vendor's voices, the sound of waves—all slightly distant. Two people whose profession was words, needing no words for several seconds. When Rasuko returned his gaze forward and looked to the side again, Emera was still smiling. (Ah,) he thought. The same thing was being born at the corner of his own mouth. He tried to give it a name. But before he could— In the distance, a sound of wings. A carrier pigeon flew up from the top of the tidal column. Both looked up at once. The pigeon's white wings stretched into the blue sky and disappeared toward the south. "I've learned to distinguish between pigeons coming from the Imperial homeland and those going to it," Emera said. Her voice was calm. "That one is heading to the Imperial homeland. It's carrying a letter," Emera said. "How can you tell?" Rasuko asked. "When the cargo is heavy, the wing movements are slightly different. Kairo taught me," Emera said. Rasuko watched the pigeon in the sky. It was already small. Heading to the Imperial homeland. Whose letter was it carrying—he thought about it, then stopped thinking. Being here in this plaza today was what mattered now. ◇ When Rasuko returned to Graovant in the evening, an envelope was on his desk. A red wax seal with the Tunglaat insignia. An official document from the Tunglaat headquarters in Valtenhall, the Imperial homeland. He lit the lamp. As light spread, the envelope entered an orange circle. He broke the seal and read. It was the Imperial homeland's response to Hernan's request for additional instructions. A notice that a senior translator would be dispatched in two weeks. And a single line at the end—"The translation confirmation of all untranslated vocabulary, including Shal, is designated as a priority item in the Empire's cultural integration policy." Rasuko placed the official document on his desk. Outside the window, the sunset was turning Meira Bay orange. The color of the sea was changing. The water surface rippled in gold and orange, and though it should have looked the same as it had a week ago from this spot, it looked completely different. (In two weeks, a senior translator will arrive.) That meant the time he could hold Shal without a translation would come to an end. The one coming would likely be a translator well-versed in Aisle language, experienced and seasoned. A person combining mechanical precision with political flexibility would come. Rasuko put his jacket back on and went outside. Dova Plaza was in the evening