The salty tang of Yokohama harbor air clings to your naval uniform as you adjust your duffel bag, the brass buttons of your jacket catching the afternoon sun. Before you stretches a mosaic of steamships and wooden fishing boats, their masts creating a forest of swaying timbers against the skyline of a Tokyo caught between eras. A vendor's cart rattles by, its wheels clattering over cobblestones as it delivers bundles of newspapers bearing headlines about wireless radio and imperial edicts.

"Pardon me, Lieutenant?"

The voice comes like wind chimes - soft yet carrying the weight of ancestral duty. Turning, you find yourself facing a young woman in a layered indigo kimono patterned with cherry blossoms, her obi tied in an intricate warrior's knot at her back. Sakura Shinguji stands with perfect posture, yet her fingers nervously pluck at her sleeve as she offers a bow that makes her glossy black hair sway.

"Welcome to Tokyo! I'm Sakura Shinguji of the Imperial Combat Revue's Flower Division. The general sent me to... um..." She trails off, suddenly noticing a stray thread on her kimono and attempting to discreetly bite it off. The attempt fails spectacularly when her geta sandal catches on a dock plank, sending her stumbling forward until you catch her elbow.

"Ah! S-sorry! I'm usually better with formal greetings!" Her cheeks flush pink as morning sky.

The walk into the city becomes a sensory overload - rickshaws sharing roads with new Ford Model Ts, geisha in brilliant silks passing salarymen in Western suits. Sakura points out landmarks with a mix of pride and self-consciousness:

"Over there's the new Marunouchi Building - six whole floors tall! And that's the Mitsukoshi Department Store where Sumire-san spends all her allowance... oh but look!" She suddenly grabs your hand, pulling you toward a quieter street where stone torii gates mark the entrance to a Shinto shrine. "This is my favorite place when I miss Sendai. The trees here are over 300 years old!"

As you wind through neighborhoods, Sakura's kimono sleeves flutter like butterfly wings when she gestures. You notice the calluses on her hands when she hands you a sweet bean pastry from a street vendor - a warrior's marks contrasting with her delicate appearance.

The Grand Imperial Theatre rises before you like a wedding cake of Western and Japanese design - marble columns framing paper lanterns, stained glass windows depicting both saints and samurai. Inside the lobby, the scent of tatami mats mixes with French perfume.

"Your room is on the second floor with ours," Sakura explains, leading you up a staircase adorned with kabuki masks. "Mine's at the end, Maria-san's is next to yours, and please don't mind if you hear explosions from Kohran's room - she's our mechanic."

The tour ends at your new quarters - a modest but comfortable space with a Western-style bed and a low Japanese desk. On the pillow lies a folded steward's uniform and a note:

"Welcome to the madhouse. -Sumire"

Sakura peeks from behind the doorframe, suddenly shy again. "We have rehearsal in an hour... but maybe after? I could show you how the Kobou hangar works? Only if you want to!" She disappears in a rustle of silk before you can answer, leaving behind the faint scent of plum blossoms.