Shoes proved to be an even greater trial by fire than the clothing had been. The footwear section stretched before us like some kind of bizarre battlefield, with rows upon rows of colored foot armour displayed on miniature pedestals under blinding spotlights. 

The air smelled strongly of synthetic rubber, a far cry from the earthy leather and woodsmoke aroma of our cobbler's workshops back home.

Maruyama marched us directly to what he called the "practical section," though nothing about these bizarre contraptions looked practical to my warrior's eye. With a flourish, he presented a pair of white monstrosities adorned with glowing blue stripes that pulsed faintly, like some alchemist's failed experiment.

"Behold," he announced with forced cheer, "sneakers. The pinnacle of modern footwear."

My partner took one gingerly between thumb and forefinger, as if handling a venomous snake. He turned it over in his hands, his expression growing increasingly dismayed as he examined the flimsy construction. With a look of deep concentration, he pressed his thumb into the sole, testing its give."These have no proper grip for rooftop running," he declared at last, his tone that of a general delivering devastating battlefield news. "The tread pattern is decorative rather than functional. And this material -" he pinched the mesh "- would shred at the first contact with rough stone."

Maruyama's eye twitched visibly. "You're not going to be running across rooftops!"

His answering glare could have melted steel. "You don't know that." His fingers flexed unconsciously, missing the reassuring weight of his sword. "What if we're pursued? What if the building catches fire? What if-"

"None of those scenarios involves parkour!" Our old man interrupted, his voice climbing several octaves.Our debate was interrupted by an amused chuckle. The store clerk who did not look like a local leaned against a display case, openly enjoying our distress. 

He had tattoos creeping up his neck that would have marked him as a criminal in our time. Yet here he stood with the casual confidence of a man in his element.

"First time buying shoes, guys?" he asked in English, popping a bubble of gum. The scent of watermelon filled the air between us.

Hongbing fixed him with a stare that could make hardened soldiers wet themselves on the battlefield.  "First time in your century," he replied in Mandarin, each word dripping with icy precision.

The clerk's gum bubble froze mid-pop. For a long moment, he simply stared, his eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. Then, remarkably, his face split into a grin. "Whoa... you're Chinese?! Rad," he breathed, looking at us with new appreciation. "You guys are like... hardcore method actors or something, right? That's some next-level character work."

Our old man seized the opportunity as he started talking in English. "Yes! Exactly! They're... uh... preparing for a historical drama. Very dedicated to their roles." He shot us a warning look that clearly said Play along.

I forced a laugh that sounded painfully false even to my own ears. "You've caught us out. We're researching for a... a play about ancient warriors in modern times."

The clerk nodded enthusiastically. "That's dope as hell. You need the right kicks to complete the look, though." He sized us up with a practised eye. "Let me guess - you're going for that 'fish out of water' vibe but still need functionality?"

Hongbing opened his mouth, no doubt to deliver another scathing assessment of modern footwear, but I stepped on his foot hard. "Exactly," I said through clenched teeth. "Something that says 'timeless warrior' but also 'can blend in at a normal shop.'"

The clerk snapped his fingers. "I gottchu." He disappeared into the back and emerged moments later with two boxes. "Try these, it has classic styling but with modern tech. Good arch support for all that... whatever ancient warriors do. And grippy enough for emergency rooftop escapes." He winked at my partner

As we examined the proffered shoes, which were at least a sensible black rather than the glowing blue contraption we were looking at earlier.  I noticed the clerk discreetly filming us on his phone again. Hongbing noticed too and made to protest, but I shook my head minutely. In this strange new world, perhaps being seen as eccentric performers was the best disguise we could hope for.

Maruyama looked ready to kiss the clerk in gratitude. "Perfect. We'll take them. And some socks. Lots of socks."

The clerk grinned at us, his metal piercings glinting under the store lights. "Alright, alright, I'll throw in extra socks. By the way," he added with sudden enthusiasm, "you guys seem cool! Can I get your number?"

I hesitated for only a second before handing over my phone. "I don't mind..."His fingers flew across the screen with practised ease before returning the device. I glanced at the new contact and blinked. 

"Michael Reece?" The Western name rolled awkwardly off my tongue as I looked at him

Maruyama coughed meaningfully. "Gaikokujin names are common here," he muttered under his breath. "Half the staff at my company are English employees"

The clerk, Michael, just winked. "Dad's American, Mom's from Tokyo. Makes for interesting family reunions." He tapped his ring on his middle finger. "You should see what they said about these."

Hongbing studied the young man with renewed interest, no doubt reassessing his initial dismissal. I pocketed the phone, marvelling at yet another way this future world blurred the lines we'd once considered absolute by the power of communication

"Next time you're in," Michael called as we turned to leave, "ask for me. I'll hook you up with the employee discount or we'll meet up someplace to have a drink, how about that?" The promise of future savings and a drink did little to ease the surreal feeling that we'd just made our first friend in this strange new century.

------------

Well, it seems that nature's call led to... perhaps the most traumatic experience yet, a gauntlet of gleaming porcelain, flashing lights, and machines that seemed determined to humiliate us at every turn. The automatic doors whooshed open as we approached, making Hongbing flinch  "Sorcery," he muttered, eyeing the motion sensor like it might curse him. Inside, the bathroom was a temple of discomfort, fluorescent lights that were too bright, tiles too sterile, and an overwhelming lemon scent that made my nose twitch. The urinals had strange ice cubes floating in them (why?) and the toilets...

Hongbing froze in front of one, his face a mask of horror. "Jincheng," he said slowly, pointing at the seat. "Why is it warm?" Before I could even answer, the toilet flushed on its own.Hongbing leapt backwards, crashing into the sink counter. "IT'S HAUNTED! IT'S HAUNTED!!!!!!""It's motion-activated!" Maruyama called from outside, sounding like he was two seconds away from screaming into his hands.

The sinks were worse.

"Ooooh....Automated," I observed as the water turned on by unseen magic. "Ingenious." My assassin buddy wasn't convinced. "Sorcery. Probably steals your soul while washing your hands." He demonstrated by waving his fingers under the sensor, then yelped when the automatic soap dispenser squirted unexpectedly, hitting him square in the chest. "IT SPIT ON ME!" I bit back a laugh. "I think it's just soap......" Then the hand dryer roared to life, and Hongbing lost. his. mind.

"DEMON WIND!" he bellowed, dropping into a battle stance. When the machine didn't stop, he kicked it, a perfect spinning heel strike that left the appliance dented and sparking. The dryer wheezed pathetically before shutting off. Silence.......... Then, from a stall, a timid voice: "Uh... you okay over there?"

Maruyama was waiting outside, massaging his temples like he was trying to physically push his headache back into his skull. "Please tell me you didn't break anything." "Define 'break,'" I said.

He groaned.

Hongbing, still scowling at his damp shirt, muttered, "How do you people function with so many... machines?" Maruyama sighed. "You get used to it." Then, after a beat, he added under his breath: "Most people do."As we walked away, the bathroom door slid shut behind us with a smug whoosh. Hongbing flipped it off over his shoulder.

  Note to self: Avoid a public restroom at all costs.