Watching Jade try to keep her composure while Misha—who looked every bit like a creature from someone’s nightmares—enthusiastically threw clothes at her and poked at every conceivable part of her body was hands-down one of the funniest things I’d seen in ages.

  Misha, as always, had absolutely no sense of any personal boundaries, prodding and tugging at spots no one wanted to be touched in public, let alone by a seven-digited Gryplik on a mission; much to Jade’s groaning and yelping surprise.

  The whole scene did wonders for my mood.

  It washed away the exhaustion lingering from my all-night coding marathon and dulled the edge of the anxiety buzzing in the back of my mind about everything I still needed to prep for the Operator meeting. For a moment, it was just pure comedy gold—Jade’s stiff, mortified reactions and Misha’s relentless enthusiasm creating a perfect storm of chaos.

  Misha had brought out four separate outfits, all designed to showcase different features, and was urging Jade to try them on in rapid succession.

  She didn’t just hand over the clothes, though—no, that would’ve been far too simple.

  Instead, Misha took it upon herself to assist, pulling, prodding, and pushing Jade into different positions to highlight the flexibility or defensive capabilities of each piece.

  Watching the poor girl get manhandled like a mannequin was nothing short of magical.

  ‘Man, I wish my eyes had a recording function right now…’ I thought wistfully, already imagining replaying this moment whenever I needed a laugh. ‘I should seriously save up for some basic upgrades like that.’

  In the game, there’d been a ton of cybernetic eye implants with features like video capture, but Sera’s body clearly didn’t have anything of the sort.

  I’d checked her basic systems three times in the last few minutes, just to be sure.

  No luck.

  Jade shot me a series of desperate, pleading glances, her wide, light-green eyes silently begging for help. I met her gaze with my best reassuring mentor expression and gave her a steady nod, pretending I didn’t understand her plight at all.

  ‘Sorry, Jade. If I’m going to potentially chip in for your gear, I’m at least getting a comedy show out of it.’

  As if reading my mind, Misha didn’t miss a beat, launching into a spirited explanation of the outfit she was currently holding up to Jade.

  “This one is very special!” Misha began, practically bouncing on the balls of her elongated feet. “Closest thing to what Ela has. Misha used the same cut of Aramid and Synthweave Composites! Anti-stab and anti-bullet, just like Ela’s gear!”

  Jade’s eyes widened as she reached out to touch the fabric, tentatively running her fingers over it. “Oh, uh… it’s very nice,” she managed, clearly trying to give some sort of feedback while keeping one wary eye on Misha, who was already rummaging through the chaos around them.

  “Misha will show Jade how strong it is!” the Gryplik declared, her ruby-like eyes gleaming with enthusiasm. Her seven-digited hands suddenly produced a long-knife seemingly out of thin air, the blade catching the dim light in a way that made Jade visibly recoil.

  “Nope—uh, nope, that’s… That’s fine!” Jade said quickly, backing away a step with her hands raised. Panic flickered across her face as she tried to calm Misha down. “Jade doesn’t need a demonstration! Jade already saw how Ela’s outfit worked! Knives, bullets—yep, saw them all! Totally convinced!”

  Misha tilted her head, the motion eerily rapid and fluid alike, being just a little unsettling. “But Jade must see how this one performs! Misha promises it is just as good as Ela’s, maybe even better!”

  “Nope, totally believe Misha!” Jade said, her voice climbing a pitch as she waved her hands in front of her and continued to back away from Misha. “Jade doesn’t need to see anything! Jade believes Misha completely, one hundred percent!”

  I couldn’t help but stifle a laugh, watching Jade try to talk down the overzealous Gryplik while simultaneously keeping her distance from the blade.

  Misha seemed genuinely confused by Jade’s reluctance, though she slowly lowered the knife, muttering something about humans being weird in Gryplik.

  “Misha only wanted to help…” she said, her tone dropping slightly into something almost sulky as she placed the knife down on a nearby counter—though where that counter even came from was as much a mystery as the knife itself.

  Jade gave me another wide-eyed look, as if silently begging for backup, but I just grinned.

  “See? Misha’s got your back,” I said with a chuckle.

  Jade shot me a glare that clearly said, This is not funny, but I just shrugged.

  “You’re in good hands,” I added, nodding toward Misha, who had already turned back to the pile of clothes to grab yet another item.

  “Jade will love this next one!” Misha announced, her earlier energy snapping back like a rubber band. Jade groaned softly under her breath, clearly resigned to whatever whirlwind Misha was about to throw at her next.

  I took the chance to let the live comedy show in front of me—the ongoing chaos between Misha and Jade—fade into the background.

  It seemed like the perfect moment to dive deeper into the [Cultural Savant] Perk that had been pinging incessantly ever since we’d entered the store.

  With Misha fully absorbed in her whirlwind of outfit demonstrations and Jade too distracted trying to survive them, neither of them was likely to notice if I spaced out for a bit.

  I hadn’t had many opportunities to use [Cultural Savant] so far.

  The earlier interaction with the Nihgon pair at Mr. Shori’s had been more surface-level, relying on quick tips rather than exploring the full depth of what the Perk could do.

  Now, with a bit of downtime, I figured it was time to see just how far I could push it.

  Focusing on the odd sensation behind my right eye—the part of my brain that seemed to hum whenever the Perk activated—I felt a gentle stream of information begin to flow into my thoughts.

  It wasn’t like reading a manual or wiki entry.

  Instead, it was more like receiving concise, practical instructions, tailored to the moment: One- or two-sentence summaries on how to act, what to say, and what to avoid.

  For Misha, being a Gryplik, much of what the Perk told me were things I’d already picked up, like: “Do not use singular pronouns; only group ones. Substitute them with names instead.”

  That wasn’t new. But when I focused on it more deeply, the Perk offered context I hadn’t fully known before:

  “Gryplik society evolved without the need for individual pronouns as they see themselves as a collective. Gryplik body language is very effective at singling out individuals in a group, and the Gryplik language offers unique intonations to distinguish between members without relying on Names or pronouns.”

  The deeper explanation made sense, but what caught my attention was the odd way the Perk flagged the concept of a “Name.” The word felt strange, almost like it came with invisible air quotes in my mind every time I thought about it, as if the concept of a “Name” carried extra weight or maybe a level of artificiality within Gryplik society.

  ‘Why is that…?’ I wondered, zeroing in on the sensation behind my eye as I tried to dig deeper into the strange air-quote feeling around the word “Name.”

  With the idea that it might be tied to Gryplik culture, I pushed harder, and [Cultural Savant] rewarded me with an explanation that made the odd discrepancy click into place.

  “Gryplik ‘Names’ are not the same as human ones. They are earned, functioning more like Titles. A ‘Named’ Gryplik has done something extraordinary, either considered to be positive for Gryplik-kind or negative, and their ‘Name’ reflects that accomplishment. When interacting with other races, Gryplik often translate their earned ‘Names’ into the local language.”

  ‘Huh… so Misha isn’t just her name—it’s an earned title, translated into Standard…?’ I mused, my eyes drifting over to the Gryplik in question. Misha was still darting around Jade, poking and prodding her like a hyperactive stylist with zero concept of personal space.

  This was new information for me.

  I’d never delved this deep into Gryplik culture back in my previous life, so the idea of earned names being titles rather than identifiers was fascinating. It added a whole new layer of meaning to every interaction I’d ever had with Misha—I had practically been calling her by her earned title this entire time without even realising.

  [Cultural Savant] was proving to be more in-depth than I’d initially thought, but it was also maddeningly specific.

  It seemed to only provide information directly tied to the interaction at hand, which meant it wasn’t about to turn into a cultural encyclopedia for me to browse at will.

  For instance, no matter how much I tried to focus on the concept of Gryplik earning their names, the Perk stayed silent.

  The moment I pushed beyond the immediate relevance of the current situation, [Cultural Savant] shut down like a stubborn guide refusing to give me spoilers.

  I also couldn’t revisit entries from earlier interactions, like the Nihgon pair I’d dealt with at Mr. Shori’s stall. The Perk seemed locked into the present moment, only dishing out context that was immediately useful for [Negotiation] or social navigation.

  ‘I guess that does make some sort of sense,’ I thought, leaning back against a nearby counter and continuing to watch the chaos unfold between Misha and Jade. ‘It’s not a wiki-Perk—it’s designed for practical use, not lore-dumping every culture in existence. It’d be kind of ridiculous if it just handed me a full dossier on every race or group the moment I asked, huh?’

  Still, the lack of freedom was a little frustrating.

  I could’ve spent hours diving into the intricacies of Gryplik culture, but I had to settle for whatever crumbs [Cultural Savant] decided were relevant to the current situation.

  Still, the fact that Misha’s name was actually a translated title got my brain spinning with possibilities.

  ‘If it’s technically a translated name from Gryplik, shouldn’t I be able to reverse it…?’ I thought, my curiosity kicking into high gear.

  With the [Polyglot] Trait in my arsenal, it seemed downright plausible.

  Translations—especially reverse translations—were often messy and inaccurate, but [Polyglot] didn’t just give me rudimentary knowledge, but gave me a perfect understanding of both languages involved.

  Even if the reverse translation itself wasn’t entirely correct, I should, in theory, be able to identify where it went wrong and piece together the underlying meaning.

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  With that plan in mind, I mentally rolled up my sleeves and got to work, trying to chart “Misha” back into the Gryplik language.

  What I didn’t anticipate, though, was just how challenging it would really be.

  Despite [Polyglot] providing me with complete fluency in both Standard and Gryplik, I quickly realized there was a massive difference between understanding and using a language versus conducting a full linguistic autopsy on it. Reverse engineering a translation was a completely different skillset—one I’d never even attempted to train before.

  Still, it wasn’t impossible.

  I could tell right away that my basic idea was sound, as I didn’t stumble upon any obvious question marks. I had all the pieces of the puzzle; it was just a matter of trial and error to figure out how they fit together.

  It reminded me of converting a program from one coding language to another—knowing the syntax and logic of both was only the first step. Actually making it functional and coherent in both systems required patience, effort, and a lot of debugging.

  I worked through it slowly, letting my thoughts flow and focusing on the details without getting overly frustrated—my Ego definitely pulling its weight once again. Meanwhile, [Polyglot] smoothed out most of the rough edges, but the deeper I delved, the more I realized just how much nuance must go into Gryplik naming conventions.

  Finally, after several minutes of deep thought and trial-and-error, I landed on an answer. It didn’t feel flawless, but it was solid enough that I decided to stick with it for now.

  ‘Misha, translated back into Gryplik, would mean something like “The one who left and paves the path”…?’ I thought, the words rolling awkwardly through my mind. ‘It sounds kind of strange, but I guess that’s what happens when you try to translate meaning directly into Standard. Some nuance is always going to get lost in the process...’

  What really caught my attention, though, was the tone.

  While the translation into Standard came across as neutral, maybe even positive, in Gryplik the phrase carried a distinctly negative weight.

  The connotation wasn’t celebratory or proud—it was downright derogatory.

  ‘Wait… Misha’s name isn’t a title of honor. It’s a slight,’ I realized, a knot forming in my stomach. ‘It’s more like an insult than anything else.’

  I stared at Misha as the pieces started clicking together.

  ‘Misha isn’t just quirky or eccentric—Misha is considered an outcast.’

  The realization sent a ripple of unease through me.

  Gryplik society, as far as I understood it, placed a lot of importance on collective harmony and unity. For Misha to carry a name like that meant something had happened—something big enough to mark her as not just somebody as part of a group that split, but “the one who left.”

  I glanced at the Gryplik again, watching as Misha buzzed around Jade with her boundless energy, as if nothing in the world could touch her. She didn’t seem remotely bothered by her name or what it implied, but the weight of the discovery sat heavy in my chest.

  ‘What happened to Misha to make her leave…?’

  The question twisted in my mind, and almost immediately, my thoughts spiraled to something worse—our earlier interaction.

  Misha had practically cannon-balled me the moment I walked through the door, desperate for attention. She’d been lonely, and not just in the casual way someone might miss company, but in a deeper, more fundamental sense.

  She hadn’t just been craving social interaction; she’d been missing her kind.

  The pieces started to fall into place, and as if to confirm my suspicions, [Cultural Savant] pinged again, offering up more context—probably the same intel it had been trying to give me the moment Misha cannon-balled into me earlier.

  “Gryplik rely on a social structure of communal closeness. Gryplik that are cut off from the collective—whether by choice, punishment, or accident—often experience extreme loneliness. This can lead to mood instability and, over extended periods of time, adverse health conditions that may worsen over time.”

  The words hit harder than I expected.

  Misha wasn’t just lonely; she was isolated, cut off from the natural social web that Gryplik relied on to thrive. It explained her clinginess and the overly enthusiastic energy that seemed almost desperate now that I thought about it more.

  ‘So when she said she was lonely, it wasn’t just about the annoying customers who didn’t understand Gryplik customs—it was about being alienated from other Gryplik entirely, wasn’t it…?’

  I felt a wave of sympathy crash over me.

  Misha’s cheerful, chaotic demeanor wasn’t just a personality quirk—it was a shield, a way to cope with something a lot harder to endure. It didn’t take much for me to recognize it in hindsight because I'd done the very same thing more times than I could possibly count.

  Putting on a strong face, pretending everything was fine, smiling when it was the last thing I had wanted to do—all of that had been far, far easier than admitting to myself, let alone anyone else, that things hadn’t been okay. And Misha, despite the differences in culture, biology, and upbringing, was doing the exact same thing in her own way right now.

  I glanced at her again as she darted around Jade, moving with never ending energy, her words tumbling out with almost manic energy. It was admirable, really—carrying on like that despite the hurt that had to be lurking just beneath the surface.

  But the admiration came with a heavier thought, one that settled uncomfortably in the back of my mind: How long can someone like Misha keep going without the closeness that Gryplik need?

  It wasn’t just a question—it was a genuine concern.

  The kind that gnawed at the back of my mind even as I watched Misha throw herself into her work with unrelenting energy.

  The cracks were there; subtle, sure, but unmistakable.

  Even if she managed to hide them most of the time, I couldn’t stop wondering: What would it take to widen those cracks further… or maybe, just maybe, close them for good?

  ‘Come on, [Cultural Savant], give me something to work with here,’ I silently pleaded, trying to prod the System into giving me more insight.

  I focused on the fragments of Gryplik knowledge it had already shared, cycling through the information in my mind. There had to be something useful, right? It wasn’t like a lonely, emotionally depleted store keeper was going to do wonders for [Negotiation]’s whole stick.

  But no matter how much I poked and prodded, the Perk stayed silent.

  No helpful prompts, no sudden pings.

  Just radio silence.

  Frustration crept in, and I resorted to my usual fallback: Throwing everything I had at the problem. Focus, trial-and-error, wild guesses—anything that might jog the System into action.

  And finally, after a serious few minutes of utter frustration that almost made me kick the nearest pile of Misha’s goods, I hit on something, a piece of the puzzle I’d overlooked before.

  “Gryplik communal closeness refers not just to the physical and emotional proximity to others, but also to the interaction within the Gryplik language itself. The language incorporates subliminal messaging and emotional undertones that create a physical sensation of belonging in the speakers and listeners alike.”

  I blinked, rereading the prompt in my mind.

  ‘So it’s not just about having someone nearby or even getting along with them—it’s baked into the way Gryplik talk to each other. Their language itself carries a lot the… emotional undertones? Subliminal signals? That is needed to create the communal closeness…?’

  That, in a weird way, explained so much—why Misha felt so alienated despite interacting with so many people on a daily basis. Even if Misha was physically close to others, the deeper sense of connection her kind needed simply wasn’t there.

  Because nobody spoke Gryplik here.

  It wasn’t even about Gryplik customs, as I’d originally assumed—it was the very act of speaking and hearing Gryplik itself that Misha was missing.

  The language wasn’t just words strung together; it carried an entire extra layer of connection that Standard didn’t even begin to touch.

  Once I focused on Gryplik as a language in my mind, it was impossible not to notice the difference. I was fluent in it thanks to [Polyglot], but I’d never stopped to actually really think about it in-depth before. There was this… other dimension to it, something embedded in the structure itself, like an undercurrent of emotion and intention that Standard completely lacked.

  It reminded me of my recent realization about Cyber and its hidden manifestation layers—like there was something invisible yet fundamental woven into its core.

  Except for Misha, the stakes were so much higher.

  To her, all of us humans must seem emotionally tone-deaf, like our language was stripped of any real meaning. No subliminal undertones, no resonance—just cold, empty words.

  She’d been stuck speaking Standard this whole time, unable to rely on the emotional and subliminal connections that her language naturally provided.

  But even as I thought that, a new realization hit me with a torrent of dread: ‘No… that’s not entirely right, is it?’

  Misha had been trying to connect, hadn’t she?

  From the very first moment I met her, she’d reached for the most emotional threads Standard had to offer, as if she were searching for a lifeline.

  The memory now clicked into place painfully: The very first thing Misha had called me, after I had shown even a basic understanding of Gryplik customs, was “friend Ela.”

  In human language, there were few words as emotionally charged as “friend,” no matter how one tried to look at it.

  It carried a kind of weight, an intent, and an emotional vulnerability that went far beyond its apparent simplicity.

  And of all the words Misha could’ve chosen, of every conceivable word in the Standard language, she’d picked the one with the deepest emotional resonance she could find to try and reach out.

  But I hadn’t seen it.

  I’d brushed it off as a quirky, endearing tick from the strange, chaotic Gryplik, rather than recognizing it for what it truly was—a cry for help.

  She had seen a flicker of light at the end of the tunnel when I’d engaged with her in Gryplik custom.

  It had been something so small on my part, just a basic acknowledgment of her culture, but to her, it must have been huge. Without her ever having to explain it beforehand, I had simply shown that I knew about it; she had realized I saw her culture, her language, her identity.

  And she had tried to reach out with everything she had, hoping that I would understand.

  But I hadn’t listened.

  Not really.

  I glanced at her again, darting around Jade with relentless energy, moving so quickly and with so much purpose that it was easy to forget what might be brewing underneath.

  That sharp pang of sympathy hit me again, far harder this time.

  ‘Misha’s been screaming into the void, and we’ve all been too deaf to hear her—I have been to deaf to hear it.’

  The thought knocked the wind out of me and if it wasn’t for my Ego working overtime, I would have started crying right then and there; I could already feel the tightness in my chest, despite my Ego’s best efforts to keep me calm.

  But for the first time, I truly felt the full weight of what it must’ve been like for her—trapped in a sea of Standard, a language that couldn’t begin to replicate the richness of her own.

  She hadn’t just been speaking it; she’d been fighting against it, desperately trying to bridge a gap that couldn’t be crossed with words alone.

  And Misha had kept doing it—over and over again—because it was all she had.

  Stranded in a place that couldn’t possibly feel like home, surrounded by people who didn’t know her, couldn’t truly understand her, and probably never would.

  The thought hit hard enough to sting.

  Biting back a sudden surge of emotion, I decided, ‘This isn’t gonna fucking stand any longer.’

  Without giving myself time to overthink it, I shifted into action.

  Briskly, I crossed the few metres that separated me from the other two, catching the surprised raise of Jade’s eyebrows in my peripheral vision.

  She clearly had no clue what I was about to do, and, honestly, neither did I entirely.

  I stopped right behind Misha, who was mid-dart, her long arms juggling pieces of clothing and armor with her usual chaotic energy. Before she could even register my presence, I wrapped my arms around her, pulling the huge, lanky Gryplik into a tight hug.

  “Misha’s busy!” she protested at first, her voice squeaking in surprise as I easily lifted her off the ground, halting her endless motion.

  “Yeah, well, Misha can take a break for a minute,” I said, my tone light but firm, holding her steady.

  For a second, she stiffened in my grasp, her elongated frame almost too awkward to hold properly. Then, slowly, her body relaxed, and I felt her seven-digited hands lightly clutch at my arms in a way that made my chest ache.

  “Misha didn’t think hugs were allowed…?” She said quietly, her voice suddenly small and unsure.

  I rested my chin lightly against her shoulder, my grip unwavering.

  “Hugs are always allowed, Misha,” I replied softly. Even quieter, trying to make sure that only Misha could hear me, I added, “Especially for friends.”

  I poured as much emotion as Standard could possibly hold into that last word, pushing my full Ego behind it for good measure. If there was any way to bridge the language barrier, even a little and even if I had to rely on the System to make it work, I was determined to find it.

  I needed more time to figure out what kind of fallout might come from suddenly revealing that I could speak perfect Gryplik—even though every instinct in me was screaming to just tell Misha right now.

  So if I could tide the situation over in another way, it was the preferable route.

  In the end, I already knew that if push came to shove, I wouldn’t hesitate to blow my cover if it meant helping Misha in the long run…

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