Eternal City, Chapter 2: Seize The Day

“Our story begins more than two thousand and seven hundred years ago, when myths and legends still walked the earth, in the city of Alba Longa. A powerful city-state, it was the cultural and political center of the Latins, one of the many tribes that populated ancient Italy. The rightful king, Numitor, was overthrown and sent into exile by his younger brother Amulius in clear defiance of their father’s will or Numitor’s seniority. Mad with paranoia and greed he went as far as to murder Numitor’s sons, wishing to remove any possible future challenges to his rule. However, such an act almost irremediably condemned Amulius in the eyes of the Gods, and he was warned by an oracle that to spill more of his kin’s blood would result in a great tragedy befalling Alba Longa. Shaken by the sinister omen Amulius relented in his bloody ways, yet this presented him with another problem: for while he killed Numitor’s many sons, his brother’s sole daughter still lived.

Her name was Rhea Silvia.

In order to ensure no legitimate heir to Numitor came to threaten him, Amilius forced Rhea to take a vow of chastity and serve as a priestess of Vesta, the Roman goddess of the hearth, family and home. Despite her circumstances it is said that Rhea kept a bright and sunny disposition, set on making the best of everything and helping her fellow Vestal Virgins however she could. It would not be long before everyone in the city, from the highest of nobles to the lowest of commoners, came to love Rhea and her caring nature that so seemed to emulate her patron deity.”

With each word Mario waves a vivid narrative, his words a bridge between the present and the distant past. Maybe it’s the fatigue playing a trick on my mind, or the power of suggestion, but with just a little effort I can vividly picture the scene: a city of red roofs, made of bricks and stone, surrounding a hill with steep cliffs. At the top rests a walled citadel full of temples, the biggest one at the center holding in its belly a strong, warm bonfire that can be briefly glimpsed from the entrance when the great doors open. A single staircase chiseled into the naked rock connects the citadel with the city below, and descending it is a young woman clad in white robes that gives off a strong feeling of purity and piety. She greets everyone she meets with a smile, calling out their names and making small talks as if they’re all old friends. A shepherd wearing a brown linen tunic, a crook held in one hand, approaches the woman and offers her a basket full of fresh fruits as they begin chatting amiably.

“Then came a day that Mars, the god of war and courage, decided to approach and tempt the Vestal Virgins of Alba Longa. Confided that his masculine virility would see them forsake their vows of chastity with little effort.” I hear Junko snorting loudly at that, muttering very unflattering things under her breath. At the same time the temple’s great doors swing wide open with a great boom, the light from the fire illuminating a mighty and powerful figure striding inside. The newcomer is a man wearing a simple bronze cuirass and leather sandals, a cape as red as freshly spilled blood draped over his shoulders. He has curly hair and a thick beard, a helmet with a large red crest resting on his head and a lance held in his right hand. Yet everything pales in comparison to his eyes, twin pools of burning amber that seem to reflect the light of a thousand sunrises and a thousand sunsets. The man is not a mere human, but something far beyond humanity. I feel it deep within my soul, a mix of awe and terror revealing the truth: the one who intruded inside the sacred temple is a god.

Mars, God of War.

The same feeling strikes the priestesses, who scatter and run away at the sight. It is the only possible response to Mars’ intrusion into what should be sacred ground forbidden to everyone who is not a fellow priestess, for while they are under Vesta’s protection it is unthinkable for a mortal to defy a god’s will. Their only hope is to stay out of his sight, praying fervently to their patron and waiting for him to go away. It’s why even Mars himself is shocked when Silvia approaches him with a smile, visibly vibrating with excitement as she welcomes him inside the temple.

“Rhea Silvia alone found the courage to approach Mars, offering him Hospitium. Sacred Hospitality, an important Greco-Roman concept that was regarded as the divine right of the guest and a divine duty of the host. Its rules were simple but absolute: if a stranger comes knocking at their door, the host must offer them fresh clothing, food and lodging. By the same token, the guest is honor-bound to not harm the host and respect the rules of the house. When the guest leaves the host gives gifts, among which is a symbol of the tie that now exists between the two: for the Greeks, a bone die was broken and the parts shared between the different parties. The Romans exchanged agreements in writing or tokens, which could become hereditary. The god who oversaw Hospitium and punished those who broke its rules was Mars’ own father and the King of the Gods, Jupiter; someone even the belligerent deity was wary of offending. Because of that, and also feeling a slight curiosity towards the young woman who behaved so unlike a typical Vestal Virgin, Mars accepted Rhea Silvia’s offer.

Amulius’ daughter, it is said, saw nothing strange in her decision despite the bafflement of her fellow priestesses: Vesta was the goddess of home, and Mars was her nephew through her brother Jupiter. Thus it felt perfectly natural for her to offer Sacred Hospitality to the family of the goddess she worshiped. And so Mars spent a few days in the temple, the other Vestals giving such a wide berth to the god that when he and Rhea were together it was almost as if they were alone. The more Mars interacted with Rhea the more interested in her he became: she was bright-spirited, charming, fun and entirely comfortable in his presence, a novel feeling to Mars who was used to being the target of either fear or reverence. After that first visit he would return several times to the temple, each time increasingly less belligerent and arrogant in his demeanor: his overbearing masculinity and warlike nature did not die of course, but Mars was a multifaceted god and it was those other, often hidden qualities that he began manifesting before Rhea Silvia. For the ancient Romans Mars was both their protector and the guardian of agriculture, his power over virility making crops grow and his influence warding off hostile forces of nature. It also bears mentioning that many soldiers, when retiring, became farmers or shepards: further reinforcing Mars’ role during both war and peace.”

What do you know, it’s a situation very similar to Hachiman who is a tutelary god of both warriors and agriculture. He’s also the divine ancestor of the Imperial House and protector of Japan... The parallels sure are many. Though I don’t think there’s any legend about Hachiman trying to seduce a Miko, if there's one in the Nihon Shoki I haven’t found it yet. Nor do I have any intention of actually finishing it, the little I was forced to read is enough to last me for the rest of my life. Using the Internet? What’s that? Sounds like too much work for too little reward.

“This continued for a few years, until one afternoon Rhea Silvia visited Mars’ sacred grove to get water for the temple. The god appeared and, rather than engaging in their usual conversations, took Rhea into a cave and made love to her. Vesta, of course, was furious that one of her priestesses broke the vow of celibacy and sealed her temple shut in rage, banishing Rhea from it. However, she was later visited by Venus, Goddess of love and beauty, who was more sympathetic to Rhea Silvia’s plight and offered her protection. Which may seem strange to those who know Greco-Roman mythology, since Venus was unusually depicted as Mars’ lover despite being married to Vulcan, god of fire and the forge. But so goes the story.”

“Oh man, that sounds like one of the soap operas my mother loves to watch.” Her, my own mother and literally every other Japanese housewife, Kota. The bus is still advancing through the traffic, with the driver pulling off some impressive maneuvers that cause a lot of honking in our direction. I’m sure that Ryu-sensei, were he not listening intently to Mario’s story like everyone else, would congratulate the driver so I’m glad that’s not the case. We’re currently going through an interchange node, after which the traffic visibly diminishes in intensity.

“Living in the shelter of Mars and Venus, Rhea Silvia managed to give birth to two male twins. Of course when he learned of the boys Amulius, who believed her niece had been banished due to simple incompetence, was furious: his first instinct was to have all three executed, but he was reminded by his daughter Antho of the oracle delivered many years ago. Yet he couldn’t simply let the twins live, for while born out of wedlock they still shared his lineage and could, once they reached adulthood, challenge Amulius for the throne of Alba Longa. So he had Rhea Silvia imprisoned and ordered a servant to put the infants into a basket before sending it down a river, hoping they would drown. Such a death, he believed, would not be by his hands and thus not incur the wrath of the gods upon his head. However that year the river had flooded and, when the water receded, it dropped the basket with the unharmed twins on its shores.”

Mario turns his head to the side, his eyes catching something that makes them sparkle with pride. “That river was and still is one of Rome’s greatest symbols!” He enthusiastically declares, one hand raising to point outside the bus. I follow his finger, looking out of the window.

My world is filled with a beautiful blue.

“The Tiber River.”

A large body of water, its surface both still and quivering in equal measure. The daylight sky is reflected upon it, the clouds and a flock of white birds resting on the water mixing together to resemble the stars of a constellation. Imposing stone walls rise on both banks, creating a space for people to walk on and for boats to dock. The side opposite ours is full of large and lush trees, their branches spreading towards the water like supplicants praying to the altar of their god. Further ahead stands what is less a bridge and more a work of art, made entirely in marble and with the walkway lined on both sides with statues of angels, so lifelike it’s almost like they are only waiting for the toiling of a bell before taking flight.

It’s a gorgeous sight.

It’s a terrifying, awe-inspiring vision.

The waters swell like the chest of a great best taking a deep breath to release a possent bellow, in defiance of not just its rivals but also the world itself. Tall and powerful waves rise above the surface before crashing down into the naked shores with incredible violence, the howling wind and rain making the trees shake and surge like dancers during a Bacchanalia.

And yet, in spite of everything, a single basket waved out of modest straws sail upon the frenzied Tiber with the assurance of a seasoned sailor. Despite the strong rain the simple wool blanket covering it is only slightly damp, as if exposed to the morning dew. A woodpecker likewise flies unconcerned and unbothered in a circle above the sailing basket, its plumage a deep ruby. Minutes pass like years and hours like mere instants before finally, mercifully, the tempest ends and the river returns within its bed. When the waters recede the basket is left behind on the shore, under the shelter of a strong fig tree that grows at the foot of a hill. 

Soft warblings begin to come out of the basket, attracting the attention of a dark figure emerging from a nearby cave to investigate the basket. The sight of it, like the rampaging river, fills me with contrasting and yet equally powerful feelings: a large wolf, the fur a gray so deep it is almost black, its gait that of a predator that knows no competitor and fears no hardship. Almost absentmindedly I notice the swollen, gravid teats hanging from the beast’s belly, revealing the wolf to be a female. Yet I see no cubs following her.

The she-wolf approaches the basket with evident curiosity, yet there is no hesitation in her steps. As if she was always meant to reach out to it. Her snout rubs against the blanket, feeling the softness within, an unfamiliar and yet nostalgic smell filling her nose. Taking one side of it between her fangs the she-wolf pulls the blanket to the side, revealing a couple of human neonates: rather than being frightened the two newborns begin to make baby noises, small hands reaching out to run stubby fingers over the animal’s soft fur. She gives the children a few licks, making them giggle, before standing above them and presenting her teats to the two little boys. They promptly latch upon the offered appendages and begin sucking at the warm milk within.

The woodpecker that flew in the rain lands on the branches of the fig tree. As the clouds open and the sun’s light begins to shine upon the Tiber’s shores the two animals, bird and wolf alike, raise their heads and let out a loud cry.

Celebrating the birth of a legend that would last for three thousand years and beyond.

“Rhea Silvia, in spite of being spared, later threw herself into the same river. Tiberinus, the god of the river Tiber, rescued her and took Rhea as his wife.” Marco continues his story, pulling me back to the present day. “Meanwhile the twins were found by a female wolf who took shelter with them in Mars’ sacred cave, the Lupercal, and there she suckled them in place of the cubs she recently lost. Some time later a shepard named Faustulus happened upon the cave, finding the wolf and the two boys. Nobody really knows what happened during that meeting, but when Faustulus left to return home he carried the twins back with him and presented them to his wife to raise. She named them Romulus and Remus, and they grew up to be shepherds like their adopted father. It is said that Faustulus was aware of the twins’ royal lineage from the beginning, knowing of the events that surrounded Rhea Silvia’s children and how they mysteriously disappeared, but decided to withhold this knowledge. Choosing instead to wait for the right opportunity or when necessity were to force his hand.

The two infants grew into fine young men, overflowing with vigor like their godly father and possessing a similar commanding mien, but one tempered and further refined by the empathy they inherited from their mother. Over time they became natural leaders and attracted a company of supporters from the local community of shepherds and hill-folk. They mediated between disputes, led the men when work required the collaboration of many and were always the first to step forward when it came to hunting and defending the flocks from wild animals. To the amazement of everyone but Faustulus wolves never targeted the twins and those they declared to be under their protection, even the most wild and ferocious of those beasts turning almost subservient in the presence of Romulus and Remus. 

Eventually the twins became involved in a conflict between the followers of Amulius and those of their grandfather Numitor, many of whom suffered under the usurper’s tyrannical methods. During one of several confrontations Remus, identified as one of the ringleaders of the rebellion, was taken prisoner and brought to Alba Longa. At the same time Faustulus was revealing the true nature of the twins’ birth to Romulus, an old servant of Numitor happened upon the captive Remus and saw his former liege in the young man’s features, correctly identifying him as the exiled king’s grandson. The servant freed Remus and brought him to the people of Alba Longa who were still loyal to Numitor, where he was made their leader. Romulus organized an effort to free his brother and set out for the city, but on his way received a letter from Remus who informed him of his escape and the existence of Numitor loyalists. The two groups joined forces and attacked Amulius, defeating his soldiers and killing him.”

I see Alba Long, now illuminated by the light of the setting sun. The red roofs seem to turn into several bloody stars, casting a crimson haze over the city. The forum is packed full of restless citizens, whispering among themselves and casting uneasy glances around. They know a fight of some kind happened not too long ago, but not why and among who. That is the reason they eagerly wait for those who called the gathering to reveal themselves and provide some answers. The messengers sent around the city to deliver the invitation have been interrogated, but none of them knew anything and the warriors that stand between the citizens and the podium remain silent and stone-faced like statues. Their eyes however burn with a frightening intensity, the sight of which plants a single certainty within the hearts of the gathered people: that those men are ready to fight and die without a single regret for the cause they believe in.

All sounds abruptly cease when they appear: two young men, their faces and bodies identical save for the different length of their hair, wearing simple armor they obviously put on in a hurry. Both of them are holding a spear in their right hand, the tips stained with fresh flood still dripping on the ground. They look like fresh recruits, yet there is something in the way they carry themselves that demand respect and inspire reverence. The soldiers step aside at their passage, forming serrated ranks as if the two men are their commanders. No, as if they are royalty. 

The twins reach the podium, standing behind it in silence for a few tense seconds as the gathered citizens hold their breath in anticipation. The two look at each other, exchanging a silent but meaningful conversation with just their eyes, before one of them takes a step forward and addresses the crowd. The way he talks is like the hill-folk, yet his voice resonates deep within their souls, blowing away doubts and other negative emotions like the morning wind does with the clouds. They listen to his words, and understand a new era is about to begin.

“Before Alba Longa could further descend into chaos the twins called for a great gathering of all citizens in the city’s main plaza, a practice first created by the Greeks and then continued by the Romans, where they declared the death of the tyrant and named their grandfather Numitor the rightful king. Many asked why one of the twins didn’t take the throne, or if they planned to succeed Numitor after his death.” Mario stops talking for a few seconds, making sure he has our undivided attention. In my case he shouldn’t have bothered, I don’t know if I even can pull my gaze away from him now.

Even if what my eyes are seeing and what they should be seeing are turning out to be drastically different things.

“But Romulus and Remus had other plans. While the throne of Alba Longa was theirs by right of blood, they felt that they were destined for greater things. The two princes wanted to build a city of their own, a place that would become even more powerful than Alba Longa and unite all the scattered tribes of the Latins into a single nation. They remained for the time necessary to find the wandering Numitor and return him to the city, where the three enjoyed a joyful familiar reunion and paid homage to the tomb of Rhea Silvia. Then the two princes bid a final farewell to their adoptive parents and left, already knowing where the new city would be erected: the seven hills overlooking the Tiber river, the site where they washed ashore as infants and were nursed by the she-wolf.

The face and size of Rome has changed much since that mythical time, but those seven hills still exist: the Aventine, the Caelian, the Capitoline, the Esquiline, the Palatine, the Quirinal and the Viminal. However, while the general area was perfect for their purposes the twin brothers disagreed about the location of the new city’s foundation: Romulus preferred the Palatine Hill, above the Lupercal, while Remus preferred the Aventine Hill. They argued for days, each one providing convincing and clever arguments, but in the end neither could persuade the other. To finally resolve this stalemate they agreed to seek the gods' approval through a contest of augury. The two stood at the top of their chosen hill and watched the sky, searching for auspicious birds. Remus first saw six vultures, but soon afterward Romulus saw twelve: thus, the Palatine Hill was chosen as the site for the new city.”

“Vultures? Isn’t that a strange choice for a bird to consider auspicious?” Someone asks. I think I recognize that voice... It’s on the tip of my tongue, but I’m pretty sure that guy once asked for my notes before trying to guilt-trip me into copying my report. Joke’s on him, the assignment was merely a formality so they ended up graduating them without reading a single line. A good thing too, I haven’t studied either and wrote everything in an hour while suffering from morning daze. “Why not something, I don’t know, like cranes?”

“...And here I thought you were behaving surprisingly well.” Ryu-sensei sighs dramatically, looking disappointed. It turns into a scowl when a collective deadpan stare clearly tells him literally no one buys the act. “Why don’t you let Baresi-san continue his story instead of interrupting?”

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” The guide waves a hand with a genial smile. “It’s understandable the choice may seem odd. Moreover, it’s kind of my job to answer any question people have about my country and its past. Simply put, Greek and Roman myths often portrayed the crane as a symbol of joy and celebration of life, especially their dances. Meanwhile vultures, who since ancient times have learned to follow human armies in anticipation of a banquet, were associated with military strategy, Mars and Hercules, a popular hero among Roman soldiers. The vulture’s magnificent cousin, the eagle, was instead sacred to Jupiter and stood for military courage and strength. Since Romulus and Remus were Mars’ sons, they interpreted the vultures as messengers sent by their father to show his favor.

And yet, exactly because they were his sons, Romulus and Remus couldn’t help but resemble Mars in many of his aspects. Within their veins flowed the blood of the God of War, and conflict was second nature to them. Remus couldn’t accept defeat, even if it came from his own brother: when Romulus began laying out the future city’s boundaries by plowing a square furrow around the Palatine Hill, instead of helping him Remus spent all the time mocking his brother. Then, when Romulus finally finished his work and announced that the furrow would demarcate the walls of the city Remus derisively leapt over it. Loudly proclaiming how inadequate his brother’s great accomplishment was against invaders.

In response Romulus, either in a fit of anger or as a result of a fate written a long time ago, struck his brother down, leading to his death.”

It is as sudden as a lighting strike during a clear day, and yet in hindsight not nearly as unexpected. One moment Romulus is catching his breath after a long and grueling physical activity, the next he explodes into a whirlwind of violence as a spear is picked up and thrust forward within a single motion. The wooden staff almost shatters under the incredible force it is swung with, the bronze tip cutting through thick sinews and smoothly sinking into Remus’ heart. The mortally wounded young man lurches but doesn’t take a step back, a soft and wet gasp escaping his lips. That sound is enough to make both twins go still as statues, their gazes slowly finding each other as a blood frenzy recedes from their eyes. All other sounds around them have ceased, as if the whole world is holding its breath. The two young men feel the attention of the gods boring down on them from the heavens. They understand that, even if the specific outcome was not predetermined, it was simply destiny that only one of them would see the next day.

A soothing tranquility envelopes Remus’ mind, brought forth by acknowledgement and acceptance of his fate. For war and death are too deeply interlinked to be separated, it was inevitable that what he inflicted on many others would one day come for him. As the same time heat spreads through his body the more his strength fails him, as if Remus’ very life is the fuel feeding a great bonfire that keeps getting bigger and bigger, threatening to explode out of his body in a mighty wave of destruction. As horror and unfathomable regret begin to spread on Romulus’ face his twin puts a reassuring hand on his brother’s own, still holding the spear in a deadly grip, lowering his head as the dying young man’s lips soundlessly move. I don’t understand what he says, for those words are not meant for me and likely never will. But I understand the intent, and so does Romulus. His previous emotions don’t change, but now grim resolve is added to them: he knows what he must do next. Grabbing the spear with both hands he takes a deep breath, filling his lungs with the crisp air of the wilderness and the acrid tang of human sweat, and pulls with all his strength. Teeth clenched so hard they are on the cusp of shattering.

The spear is wrenched from Remus’ chest, and a geyser of frothing blood pours out of the hole left behind. It splashes all over Romulus’ body, hot enough to burn his soul and leave behind deep scars he will take to the afterlife. Remus straightens up, heat giving way to relief as the vital fluid finally finds release, spreading his arms wide and falling on his back. Higher and higher does the fountain of ichor rise into the air, resembling a bloody finger pointing at the heavens in an imperious manner, more than a human body could possibly contain and yet that means nothing to the divine nature inherited from his father Mars. It falls down all over the grass, staining the verdant green a deep crimson and forming rivulets spreading out like veins. Quickly covering the whole of the Palatine Hill. In the distance, unseen, a wolf howls mournfully.

Then, as if this couldn’t possibly feel more like a fever dream, the ground below Romulus’ feet begins to shake violently. Massive roots emerge from the earth, sucking up all the blood inside themselves as they begin glowing with a brilliant golden light that speaks to Romulus’ soul of power, glory, honor and virtue. Countless branches grow from the roots, forming a tree so high the top disappears into the clouds and so vast it covers the whole area marked by the furrow he made around the hill. Staring up in awe at the city-sized mass, the golden light like a second sun that descended on Earth, Romulus sees the city he plans to found. The physical embodiment of its past, present and future. A microcosm of its existence, destined even after its inevitable end to survive as an ideal that would shape human history itself for eternity.

A great Kingdom.

A virtuous Republic.

And a peerless Empire that would sweep across land and sea.

“Rome.”

“This act of fratricide marked the end of the divine twins’ rivalry, and Romulus went on to become the sole founder and ruler of Rome, naming the city after himself.” Mario finishes his story with a somber tone. “Does it sound odd to you that Amulius suffered for his crime of kin-slaying, while Romulus instead became a legend despite doing the same? It’s not a matter of doing less or more, I assure you. As a central element of their foundation myth, the killing of Remus by Romulus is often interpreted as a symbol of the harsh and competitive nature of Roman society, where strength and power were valued above all else. The story highlights themes of sibling rivalry, the importance of divine favor, and the founding of a great civilization from humble beginnings. This interpretation has been reinforced by various historical accounts, artworks, and literature throughout the centuries.”

The guide pauses for a moment, as if recalling an old memory, before snapping his fingers. “The historian Terry Jones once said this: ‘the Romans did not see the tale of Romulus, Remus and the she-wolf as a charming story; they meant to show that they had imbibed wolfish appetites and ferocity with their mother's milk’.”

An apt description, I can't help but think. Despite having no idea why I think that way.

“Romulus’ act of fratricide, though tragic, was widely considered a necessary sacrifice for the greater good of the city. It showed the ruthless determination and unwavering resolve required to build and protect a powerful empire, and the type of sacrifices and choices individuals must make in their pursuit of greatness. It may be difficult for us modern people to separate fact from fiction, but for the ancient Romans the story of Romulus and Remus was the reason for their existence, the very foundation of their society.”

“We have arrived.” The driver announces during the following lull, the bus slowing down and then coming to a stop within a parking lot.

“Finally!” For a moment Ryu-sensei appears happy, jubilant even. Then a look of uncertainty becomes visible on his face, as if unable to decide between two things he both wants despite being unable to. Facing our guide he offers him a bow. “My apologies, Baresi-san. Thank you for the wonderful story, it has been very enlightening. I didn’t mean to imply otherwise.”

“It’s fine, it’s fine. I was planning to stop and continue tomorrow in case we arrived earlier, that we had just enough time to reach the end surprised even me.” The mustached man replies with an easygoing smile and a shrug of his shoulders. “Well, I suppose it also means there was no need to leave you all hanging for the finale.”

“Indeed. Quite the lucky turn of events.” Ryu-sensei easily agrees. “Alright everyone, leave in an orderly fashion and retrieve your luggage from the trunk.”

A finger pokes and pushes against my nose, startling me. I whip my head around to stare at an unapologetic-looking Kota, finger still extended. “What?” Is this revenge for waking him up on the plane? Dude, would you rather I left you there? It’s not a subway train, it wasn’t going to fly back to Japan if you just waited long enough. It was either me or one of the attendants, and I believe they’re legally required to drag out your sorry ass by force if there are no alternatives. No, Ryu-sensei would have beaten them to the punch and done it himself without even bothering to first look for other options.

“You okay man? You’ve been staring into space for a while.” By his tone he clearly thinks I’m being silly or something, yet there is also a faint trace of concern. Which in turn makes me worry because something like that is completely at odds with the usually happy-go-lucky Kota. “Barely moved at all, it’s like you were lost in your own little world. And right now I called you multiple times but it was like you were deaf.”

Staring into space? What is he talking about? Sure, I’ve been very focused on Mario’s story and the-

The... other stuff.

Oh.

Oh shit.

Calm down Osamu. You know what would be even worse than what is already an extremely worrying situation that is making you this close to a very deserved panic attack? Having said very deserved panic attack in front of everyone else before we even step into the hotel! So take a deep breath and think of something else. I remember that counting prime numbers is a good way to deal with stress, let’s try it: 2, 3, 5, 7 holy hills-

This isn’t working. Suppression until I’m alone and I can freak out it is then.

“Wait! I get it.” Blissfully unaware of my internal turmoil, please go jump into a river and thank you, Kota smashes a fist into his palm while grinning. “You... mastered the ultra-secret art of sleeping with your eyes open!”

“That’s not an ultra-secret art, that’s a medical condition.” I reply flatly. Why was I worried about this idiot again? Oh right, I wasn’t. This is the guy who trained a whole afternoon under the rain and managed to not get a cold by forgetting that’s what normally happens in those cases. True story, I wish it was just an internet meme but sadly that’s my life.

“It’s called nocturnal lagophthalmos, it’s bad for your health and we’re all waiting for you.” Junko’s head pops out from behind Kota’ shoulder as she once again gifts us with her unparalleled wisdom, encyclopedic knowledge of trivia and the truly amazing ability to say complicated words without twisting her tongue. Also she looks exasperated at the both of us but I have known Junko for years now and I’m one of the few that can correctly see through the complex mask that protects a kind and understanding soul.

She’s annoyed. With Kota, because I’m innocent.

“No Osamu, you’re at fault here too.” The sanctity of my mind, violated so casually! Demon! Fiend! Evildoer! Is there nothing sacred left in this world? My day is ruined and my disappointment is immeasurable. “Now, stop being a brat and get up, we need to get our luggage. This applies to the both of you.”

“I resent that! But you’re right, I can’t leave my precious training weights alone.” Oh God he took them with him?! What is wrong with Italian Customs? Did you not find the excessive weight of this guy’s luggage suspicious at all? Those weights are heavy enough they can be used as weapons, you know? This guy looks like a dangerous maniac when he trains with them, and that’s because he is a dangerous maniac: the first and only time I was sleep-deprived enough to accept his offer to try them I almost broke my back.

After stepping off the bus I look up at what I assume is the hotel we’ll be staying at for the foreseeable future, since it’s literally next to the parking lot. It’s obvious it has been built recently but it gives off a cozy feeling of something small and comfortable, without needless embellishments. There are many balconies starting from the first floor and a terrace on both the last and second to last floors full of plants. The hotel is part of a series of similar buildings arranged in an incomplete semi-circle, in the center there’s a small park with a tennis court, a pool and a raised structure I cannot discern the function of.

“Welcome to the Jupiter Hotel. I can guarantee the service is excellent, though obviously it’s not a five stars.” Mario explains as we follow him towards the reception. “We’re in the Ardeatino district, one of the many quartieri di Roma. It contains many monuments, historic residences and important archaeological sites, which will be our focus for the next few days. If instead you wish to enjoy a relaxing afternoon there are many popular green areas like the Appia Antica Regional Park.”

“Thank you for the offer Baresi-san, but I doubt there will be time for that. Our schedule is very busy and I’m sure my students yearn to enrich their minds with the beautiful history of your birth country.” At those words everyone pauses for half a step to give Ryu-sensei an utterly flat look. Sometimes I worry for that man: he’s competent, yes, but it’s also obvious he lives severely detached from reality. Case in point, I see many people already using their phones to look up the position of the park mentioned by Mario. That’s the dangers of teaching a class of people who technically are already adults, Ryu-sensei.

The mustached man goes to the reception, where three people are waiting for him. This may just be my impression but the counter looks just a little too small for all three, and the way they move as they take down keys from where they’re hanging from make me think they’re being careful to avoid bumping shoulders. Did they put more people on reception duty than usual just for us? Well, we’re a large group and international tourists at that, it makes sense they want to make a good impression by not letting us wait for too long.

The keys are then handed out among us, Ryu-sensei calling out groups of two and three divided by gender. Unsurprisingly, because the universe cannot begin its morning without a cup of black coffee spiced with my tears of misery, I end up in the same room as Kota. “Wow, who would have thought? Bunking up together is going to be great!” My jock of a friend tosses the keys in the air and catches them as they fall. “You can even join me on my morning runs.”

“Sadly, I will likely still be asleep by the time you go out to do that.” I raise a hand before he can reply. The hotel has only one elevator, so those of us with light baggage are taking the stairs. Yes, Kota is part of the latter category by virtue of struggling not a single bit while carrying bags stuffed with the heaviest training weights known to man. “And yes, I will object to you trying to wake me up. Violently.”

“Come on Osamu, I’ll be gentle.” He whines in mock hurt, a lopsided grin on his lips.

I stare straight into his eyes. “I will not.”

Our room is at the end of a narrow hallway, the floor covered by orange tiles with yellow designs that continue inside once we open the door. One wall, the one where two beds rest against, is painted a deep rosy-brown while the others are white but decorated with paintings made with similar rich colors. The art is abstract, not something I’m familiar with or care particularly about but they’re pleasing to the eyes, so they make for good decoration I guess.

Apart from the beds and the floor lamps the room only contains a desk with a TV screen, expertly placed in front of the beds so that people can watch it while laying down, and two closets. A glass door leads to a balcony, and a normal one opens into a western-style bathroom. Well, at a quick glance it has everything I need and it’s not needlessly big, so it works just fine for me.

Kota and I each choose a bed, he prefers the one closer to the glass door to be woken up by the dawn, and open the luggage to put away our stuff. Our stay in Italy will last for several days, so a minimum of organization is simply necessary: the field trip’s plan I read before departing said the hotel will also handle washing our clothes, so that’s another thing to keep into consideration. I really don’t want to be unable to go out because all my outdoor clothes are dirty and I’m left with only the indoor ones. Even if it would be the perfect excuse to avoid dealing with Ryu-sensei’s obsession with Italy, but it just doesn’t feel the same if I don’t have a choice about it.

“Osamu, do you mind if I take a shower first?” Kota asks me after we’re done, towels and everything else necessary already in his hands. What is that strange brand of shower gel? Never saw it before, that label with a six-packs and water raining over it is mighty suspicious, better to refuse if Kota ever offers to share.

“Don’t use up all the hot water.” I tell him in an offhand manner, watching as he wordlessly replies with a thumb-up and walks into the bathroom. When I hear him closing the door I do the same with the one leading into the hallway, then draw the curtains over the glass door and sit on my bed.

So. I’m alone now. Which means... what the absolute fuck happened to me back then?!

I fall back on the bed, hands covering my face as I suppress the urge to yell at the top of my lungs. Alright. Alright. Let’s calm down and look at it from a logical perspective. First, I have to reconstruct the sequence of events.

I arrived in Italy after a twelve hour flight. So far so good.

We met our guide and boarded a bus for the hotel. Makes sense.

There was a lot of traffic so our guide decided to tell us a legend from Roman Mythology to pass the time. How kind of him.

While he spoke I hallucinated the story’s events in a vivid manner. Understandable.

Not!

That! That right there is what’s wrong! I mean, I know how listening to or reading a very engaging story can sometimes kick a person’s imagination into overdrive and make them fantasize about those events, trying to picture how the participants and the places involved look like, and if it was what happened I could accept it.

It wasn’t what happened. The stuff I saw was so realistic that it’s like I was physically present there, a ghostly observer watching those events happen in real time. Moreover there were details included that Mario didn’t mention and which I doubt were the product of my overactive imagination. At least I hope they weren’t.

I can still recall it perfectly. Rhea Silvia and Mars’ appearances, down to the minute details of their clothes and the way they moved, not to mention the suffocating feeling of the latter’s presence. Then the way the basket with the twins sailed upon the rampaging Tiber-wait. Did, did I hallucinate about the she-wolf before Mario mentioned that part of the story?

...Yes, yes I did. He also never mentioned a woodpecker, and what the hell is a Bacchanalia?

I pull myself into a sitting position, looking at the bathroom’s door to make sure Kota is still showering. Hearing nothing but the sound of the water I pick up my phone and search the term on the web. Let’s see... Bacchanalia, a Roman festival dedicated to Bacchus, god of wine and ritual madness. Celebrated with dancing, song, and revelry. In modern usage the term bacchanalia came to mean any type of uninhibited or drunken revelry.

Okay, that’s informative. It also completely fails to clarify things and only adds to my confusion. While the woodpecker... Following a gut feeling I search the bird in relation to the god Mars and the result makes me blanch: the woodpecker was an animal sacred to Mars, and archeologists discovered that it was held as sacred by the tribes of Italy even before the birth of Rome, when it was joined by the wolf as symbols of the God of War.

I never learned about this before today, I’m one hundred percent sure. It would be the most logical explanation but the same gut feeling is telling me that no, that’s not the reason.

And then there was the whole life of Romulus and Remus. I was there, in Alba Longa, after they killed their uncle. I was there, just within speaking distance, as Romulus killed Remus and a sea of blood erupted out of his brother and turned into a giant tree. Something which, once again, Mario completely failed to mention. If that was all me, it doesn’t say good things about my mental state.

Not to mention, from the beginning to the end and even beyond I saw nothing wrong with the fact I was having a hallucination. It wasn’t until Kota brought my attention to what happened, the reason for me ‘spacing out’, that I realized something was wrong. Like a kid in front of the TV screen while it plays the last episode of my favorite Super Sentai series, I tuned out everything that wasn't the interesting sounds and pretty lights.

Did I really end up dreaming with my eyes open? Was it an extreme case of daydreaming due to me being more tired than I initially thought? Or, was it something I ate? I heard horror stories about the stuff they serve on planes, like how they’re frozen and reheated several times or how the mysterious mush they serve together with a shriveled apple is in truth made of even more apples chopped up and blended together with a large helping of paprika to hide the flavor, but I thought they were merely exaggerations made to troll people on the internet! Moreover, they served us fish and vegetables on our flight. Which were okay I guess, if a little stale. Wait, could it have been the pudding? I still am not sure how to describe the taste beyond ‘bland’!

A mild case of food poisoning... yeah. That’s a perfectly normal and logical explanation, not enough to make my stomach hurt but mixed with the fatigue and Mario’s great storytelling it released some of my mind’s inhibitors and I ended up having a lucid daydream. The stuff about the woodpecker is likely one big coincidence, after all aren’t those birds a symbol of luck in Japan? What’s more lucky that a couple of babies surviving after being sent down a river in a basket during a torrential rain?

If I repeat it to myself enough times it even starts to sound believable.

The sound of water starts to peter out, so I immediately lay back on the bed and pretend to check something on my phone. I was lucky to get a chance to unload everything off my chest where nobody could see me, but in spite of my actual feelings I know the hallucination is something I need to keep for myself. This is not even about me being from Japan, I know what people from other nations think of my birth country’s stance on the matter and they’re absolutely right, but what are the chances of finding a therapist in Rome that speaks Japanese? The most I’d achieve is for a medic to do a quick check-up and then give me medicine against stomachaches.

“Aaah! That hits the spot!” Kota slams the bathroom’s door open, making me groan and fervently hope he doesn’t end up damaging it before we leave. That would be a bigger nightmare than even what I’ll call from now on my ‘episode’. At least someone upstairs still holds some pity for me, because the training-obsessed moron is wearing a t-shirt and sweatpants, if I had to see his naked body covered only by a towel around the waist I would have jumped out of the window.

“Not our door.” I remark dispassionately, one finger pointed at the bathroom and gaze firmly locked on the screen of my phone. Where are the cat videos, I need some wholesomeness in my life before I get up and strangle an idiot.

“Oh, right! Sorry! I forgot it’s not like the stuff reinforced by my old man, it can’t take so much abuse.” Now I don’t know much about Kota’s parents, I met them a few times over the years and they looked like perfectly normal people, so what he just said is new to me. It also tells me this guy has even less restraints than I thought and his own family enables him! “Do you want to take a shower too? There’s still plenty of hot water.”

I think about it for a few seconds before deciding that, since it’s something I need to do anyway before dinner, I may as well take this chance to relax under a jet of hot water and let all my stress be washed away. A bath would be even better, but I can’t be greedy. Although... “Do you think Rome has hot springs?” I ask while standing up and retrieving the necessary for a shower, plus my pajamas. I like to wear baggy clothes while sleeping, sue me.

“I wish! A few hours of running before soaking in hot springs would be the perfect way to maximize the training’s benefits.” Kota has stars in his eyes at the thought.

“Yeah, you do that buddy.” I reply before closing the door behind me. What I don’t add verbally, and only think, is that I’ll take the hot springs without the physical activity.

I shower mostly on autopilot, sparing only the brain cells necessary to understand which bottle is the shower gel and which one is the shampoo among those provided by the hotel. Unlike Kota I didn’t bring any because, honestly, the brand doesn’t matter to me (with a few exceptions). But I brought my toothpaste, since those are not provided by hotels to their clients. Well, I suppose there are some high-class hotels that do it but there’s no way I’d ever be caught in those kinds of places even if someone else pays for the bill I can definitely not afford. I would feel like a monkey wearing human clothes, and I’ve got enough dignity left.

Once done I turn off the water and, stepping out of the shower, start drying myself with a large towel. Suddenly the lights flicker on and off a few times, as if someone quickly flipped the switch, before returning to normal. I blink in confusion, staring at the lights for a dozen seconds but nothing changes, even the intensity is the same as before. At least I think so, I wasn’t paying attention.

In the end I just shrug and resume drying my body. It’s either the lightbulbs being old or a problem with the hotel’s fuse box, in the first case I can just ask to have them replaced and in the second case people will get to fix it even without my input.

If it was raining, an idle part of my brain muses, a third possibility would be a lightning strike.

I suppress the thought with a shake of my head, which coincides with the lights flickering again. All lingering traces of heat drained away I quickly finish drying myself and put on my pajamas, then hurry out of the bathroom. Luckily, not fast enough to not notice the bag left on the floor so I stop myself before tripping over it. I glare at Kota, who is totally ignoring me in favor of watching the TV, before sighing and pushing the bag aside with one foot.

“So this is Italian football, uh?” The training maniac is sitting cross-legged on his bed, one hand stroking his chin and the other holding the remote. I look at the screen too and quickly reach a conclusion: no, there is really no difference compared to how football is played in Japan. Kota switches channels and now it shows a tennis match. “Tennis too! That’s great, I can take notes and show them to Trainer once I return.”

I don’t scoff at his words, because I’m more confused than skeptical. I walk back to my bed and sit down. “How is that supposed to help? Especially when it’s a sport you don’t play?”

“You never know. Watching how athletes play can reveal a lot about their habits, from tactics to how they train, and in the case of team sports even the relationships between members.” He argues with a passionate tone, for once sounding competent. Still single-mindedly focused on sport to the exclusion of everything else, but at least he enjoys what he does. A not-small part of me envies him for that. “International matches are good too, but in the case of team sports the chosen athletes can be from different squads so they’re not used to working together. Plus, international rules are not the same for each country, and some may even withhold certain techniques in order to avoid controversy. For example, I remember a certain case back in-”

We spend the time until dinner chatting about sports and other stuff Kota manages to see as related before invariably drifting back to his passion.

Somehow, it’s not as annoying or boring as I expected.