Best Money I ever spent.

Dave leisurely strolled through the Home and Garden show, passing booths hawking all sorts of home-related wares. He stopped at a couple of booths, but his heart wasn’t really in them. He’d only agreed to come as an escape from his stressful and tedious job as a programmer.

His wife Beth ushered him along, stopping at several more booths offering interior lighting products. “We really need this for the living room,” she said, excitedly jamming the brochure into the bag with the others. “What do you think?”

“Whatever you want,” he replied, distracted by the home electronics displays just up ahead.

Beth turned, her voice sharp and angry, “You’re not even listening.”

Dave stared, bemused by rows of neatly arranged massage chairs. “Let’s check those out.”

Beth frowned, retort frozen on her lips as Dave dashed off. She followed, muttering, “Now I need a massage.”

Dave arrived at the display slightly out of breath. “Wow,” he exclaimed, shocked by the display’s attention to detail. Each grouping of chairs was adorned with an incredibly life-like mannequin.

The first depicted a woman in a brightly colored kimono, gracefully preparing for a tea ceremony. The second showed a man in a black and red hakama, katana poised mid-draw. The final mannequin sat upon a throne, dressed in a regal red and gold sokutai, his expression calm, almost knowing.

Beth arrived by his side just as the salesman approached. Dave didn’t notice. He just stared at the enthroned mannequin, mesmerized.

The salesman smiled. “You have good taste,” he offered, hoping to break the ice.

“If you mean expensive taste,” Beth retorted. “That is certainly true.”

The salesman chuckled politely, amping up the charm. “We have convenient payment plans.”

Dave leaned in, examining the chair more closely, oblivious to everything else.

It looked less like a piece of furniture and more like a space pod. Light from the overhead pin spots danced across its black and silver surface, casting an ethereal blue glow. The curves were too smooth, too deliberate—almost like it had been grown instead of built.

Then, a group of kanji caught his eye.

帝国

“What does that mean?” Dave asked, pointing to the characters.

“Imperial or Emperor,” the salesman stated proudly.

Dave nodded slowly, his fingers brushing the edge of the armrest. The leather was cool to the touch, but not cold—like it had a pulse just beneath the surface.

“Go on,” the salesman said, his voice softer now. “Have a seat. The Imperial 9000 adapts to its user. Some say it... remembers.”

Beth snorted. “Great, it remembers your credit score.”

Dave eased himself down into the chair, expecting a mechanical whir or stiff cushions. Instead, the chair breathed—adjusting to his posture with a gentle sigh, like it had just been waiting for him.

Hidden beneath the right armrest, a smooth black panel lit up with soft gold kanji characters. Before he could ask for a translation, his hand shot out and pressed what he found out later translated to gateway.

戸口

The lights around the booth dimmed.

The hum of the convention center faded.

Then, the scent of cherry blossoms filled the air.

A soft chime echoed from somewhere far away.

The chair reclined gently on its own, and Dave's eyes fluttered shut—though he hadn't meant to close them.

When he opened them again, everything had changed.

Gone were the glaring lights and scuffed carpet of the Home and Garden show. Instead, he found himself beneath a painted ceiling of gold leaf and dragons, their eyes glittering like sapphires in the candlelight. Incense wafted through the air—rich, earthy, and calming.

He was still seated, but the chair had changed. It was now carved from dark wood, inlaid with jade and ivory. His clothes were different, too—silk, rich and heavy, pooling around him in crimson and gold folds.

Voices murmured in the background, gentle and reverent.

“His Excellency has awakened,” someone whispered in perfect, unaccented Japanese—not that Dave knew Japanese, but somehow, he understood every word.

Two robed attendants approached and bowed low.

“Would you care for your massage now, honored one?” the taller one asked.

Dave blinked.

Then blinked again.

“Uh... yeah,” he said. “That would be great.”

Beth crossed her arms and sighed.

Dave hadn’t moved in minutes. His eyes were closed, his head tilted slightly back, lips parted just enough to look ridiculous—and yet, for the first time in months, he looked... peaceful. Serene, even.

She tilted her head. “Huh,” she murmured, more to herself than anyone else.

Then she looked at the chair again. The monstrous, glowing, throne-like monstrosity with its obsidian sheen and ridiculous kanji etched into the side.

Her nose wrinkled.

“Great,” she muttered. “I’m going to have that eyesore in my living room.”

The salesman’s smile widened like a fox sensing the henhouse door had creaked open.

“We are offering sixty months same as cash,” he said smoothly, handing her a stylized pamphlet printed on paper thicker than her wedding invitations.

Beth sighed. “Fine. At least we won’t pay interest.”

She glanced back at Dave, still reclined like a sleeping Buddha, a faint smile playing at his lips. Her brow furrowed.

“Maybe it’ll fit in the office,” she muttered. “Or the garage.”

The salesman bowed slightly. “We offer complimentary white-glove delivery.”

Beth rolled her eyes. “I bet you do.”

As Dave started to stand, unsure if the massage was over—or even real—the massive double doors at the far end of the throne room burst open with a resounding klang.

Three palace guards stormed in, their armor lacquered black and trimmed in gold. Between them, they dragged a man—bloody, bruised, and barely conscious. His robes, once white, were streaked with crimson.

The attendants at Dave’s side immediately dropped to their knees, heads bowed low. The entire room seemed to freeze.

One of the guards shouted, “Apologies your highness. This man failed to yield, interfering with a royal courier.”

Dave froze. What the hell? All I wanted was a massage. All I know about feudal Japan comes from the Shogun mini-series. And I slept through half of it.

Dave made a sweeping gesture, trying to look imperial. “How did this happen?”

The guard, still kneeling, looked momentarily uncertain. Then, straightening his spine, he replied hastily, “This man stepped in front of the courier. He ignored the order to move. After he ignored the order a second time, the courier summoned us.”

Dave stared at the bruised man on the floor, then back at the guard.

“I was asking him,” Dave said, trying to sound imperious.

His voice cracked slightly on him, but the effect seemed to land. The guards stiffened, backing a step away from the prisoner, who now stared up at Dave with a mixture of confusion and awe.

The man coughed, blood flecking his lips. “I did hear the order, Your Majesty,” he rasped. “But…”

The nearest guard stepped forward and shoved the man’s head to the floor.

“There is no but,” he snapped. “The law is clear.”

“Hold!” Dave roared, surprising even himself. His voice echoed through the hall. “Let the man finish.”

The guard froze, mid-motion, and after a tense beat, stepped back.

The man lifted his head just enough to speak. “I heard the order,” he said, voice quivering. “But a small child had wandered into the path. I stepped forward to shield her. I would have moved in time, but... I didn’t want her hurt.”

A murmur rippled through the room—attendants exchanging glances, guards shifting uncomfortably on their feet.

Dave sat still, heart pounding. This wasn’t just about etiquette anymore.

He leaned forward, voice steady. “And the child?”

“She was unharmed, Your Majesty. A palace servant’s daughter, I believe.”

Dave let out a slow breath. “Then your delay was not defiance—it was courage. No missive even from me is worth more than a life.”

He glanced at the attendant, who was still holding the blank scroll.

“Record this: He is pardoned. Let him be healed. And let it be known—protecting the innocent will always outweigh protocol.”

The attendant bowed low, brush already dancing across the parchment.

Dave glared at the guards. “Bring this courier to me.”

They bowed and retreated swiftly, armor clinking with every step as the great doors creaked shut behind them.

A quiet hum settled over the throne room. The air was warm, perfumed with sandalwood and cherry blossoms. Somewhere behind the pillars, a stringed instrument plucked a soft, curious melody—as if the palace itself was waiting to see what kind of emperor had just been born.

Dave shifted in his seat, trying not to let his panic show on his face.

What am I doing? he thought. Is this still part of the massage? Is this even a dream?

And yet… he didn’t want to leave. Not yet.

The throne molded to his back like it approved.

Session complete.

Dave blinked. The throne room faded. The silk vanished. The scent of incense was replaced by convention center popcorn and someone arguing over gutter guards in the next booth.

He sat up, groggy but smiling.

“I’ll take it,” he said, already climbing out of the chair.

Beth handed him the contract without a word. “At least you’re predictable.”

Dave signed without reading, eagerly anticipating his next foray.

Two days later, the Imperial 9000 arrived—delivered by two solemn men in matching gray tunics, who bowed in unison before leaving without a sound.

Dave didn’t even wait for them to drive away.

He sank into the chair, hit the gateway button, and whispered, “Take me back.”

As the lights dimmed and the scent of cherry blossoms returned, Dave grinned.

“Best money I ever spent.”