The city was a living thing. Loud, bright, constantly moving, and Fushi couldn’t stop staring.

A week in this place and every corner still felt like discovering fire all over again. The lights blinked and changed color without anyone touching them. The ground rumbled when trains passed underneath. People walked past holding glowing rectangles that spoke to them, laughed with them, showed them tiny moving pictures. He’d already tried talking to one of the rectangles once. It didn’t answer. He’d felt foolish for a full hour afterward.

Right now he stood in front of a tall red-and-white box on the sidewalk, the vending machine. It hummed faintly, like it was alive inside. Bright pictures of colorful cans and bottles glowed behind glass. He tilted his head. He’d seen people put coins in the slot and press buttons, and then, by a miracle, something cold and wet came out.

He had coins. Yuki had given him a handful earlier, saying “for emergencies or snacks.” Fushi didn’t know what an emergency was yet, but snacks sounded good.

He dropped a coin into the slot. Nothing happened. He frowned, tapped the machine. Still nothing. He pressed a button at random. Still nothing. Another coin. Another button. A soft clunk. A can of lemon soda rattled down into the tray.

Fushi stared at it like it might bite him. Then he reached in slowly, fingers brushing the cold metal. He lifted it out, turned it over in his hands. Condensation already beaded on the surface. He pressed it to his cheek. It was cold. He smiled, wide and toothy, obviously pleased.

He was about to try opening it when someone walked past.