Galaxy? Space? Rokuro nods along, though it's clear by the look on his face that he only half understands what Tech is talking about. By some magic they are speaking the same language, but there's nothing to be done about words that didn't exist in his time and place.
"Yes. It has. I have felt... overwhelmed, at times, with how little I appear to know in comparison to others." A glance away. This is more than he would admit to most people. Rokuro is a perfectionist, and has always taken pride in being well-read and spoken. He was lucky enough to be educated during childhood, unlike most people in his Japan. Few outside of samurai-class can read more than a handful of words, or even spell their own names.
"And it seems I am the only one." More quietly, folding his arms across his chest. While his peers practice their new abilities and share knowledge and experience, Rokuro is left contemplating the flush toilet in his studio. He would rather gouge out his remaining eye than ask another person about such unseemly matters.
"I cannot help but question why I was brought to this place, when I am... less useful than most." Adding insult to an already grievous injury. Rokuro was born to be useful. Trained from childhood to read, write, cook, clean, fight, and eventually die, for his chosen master. Back home, a page of his abilities is worth more than their weight in gold. Here, Rokuro could likely be traded for a skinny cow and singular sack of rice.
no subject
"Yes. It has. I have felt... overwhelmed, at times, with how little I appear to know in comparison to others." A glance away. This is more than he would admit to most people. Rokuro is a perfectionist, and has always taken pride in being well-read and spoken. He was lucky enough to be educated during childhood, unlike most people in his Japan. Few outside of samurai-class can read more than a handful of words, or even spell their own names.
"And it seems I am the only one." More quietly, folding his arms across his chest. While his peers practice their new abilities and share knowledge and experience, Rokuro is left contemplating the flush toilet in his studio. He would rather gouge out his remaining eye than ask another person about such unseemly matters.
"I cannot help but question why I was brought to this place, when I am... less useful than most." Adding insult to an already grievous injury. Rokuro was born to be useful. Trained from childhood to read, write, cook, clean, fight, and eventually die, for his chosen master. Back home, a page of his abilities is worth more than their weight in gold. Here, Rokuro could likely be traded for a skinny cow and singular sack of rice.