The Academy Read Online Free PDF

English, Deutsch, Español, Italiano, and two names in kanji, one of which he assumed was Okinawan Japanese. Michael wasn’t even sure whether there was a big difference between Okinawan and mainland Japanese, or whether it was like the difference between Mexican and Puerto Rican Spanish. But he was glad to see her anyway.
    “Yes—er, no,” he said carefully, finally feeling a slight easing in the burning sensation. “Thank you, please tell Mr. Sato that I am sorry that I don’t speak Okinawan, but thank him for his kind concern for me.” Michael handed the little cup back with a sheepish grin, and as Sato heard his response, he nodded and smiled. The smile barely broke through the stone of that face. He said “Ma’asan, eh?” and elbowed Michael and winked, and then bowed slightly and left.
    “Ma’asan?” Michael asked the interpreter.
    “It means, ‘tasty,’ Sir.” she replied with a brilliant smile. She was not even five feet tall, Michael realized. Tiny, like all the women in adventure books about big burly men finding themselves in Japan. Her ink black hair was short, though, appallingly short. He wondered if it was custom, or her owner’s taste, or even a punishment. Without thinking about it, he brushed one hand across the soft layers of shorn hair, so much like an animal’s coat. She didn’t even blink, only took his caress with the same calm confidence she had radiated when interpreting. But her smile seemed to waver and then get suddenly wider.
    “Thank you for your help,” he said, suddenly embarrassed by his action. It had been so long since he felt free to touch a slave, he thought. Yet how natural it felt, how comforting to know that she would stand there and allow him to run his hand across her head. But did he do something wrong by touching her? No one had said anything to him about such things.
    “It is my honor to serve, Sir,” she said. “Do you require anything more from me?”
    “Yes—yes,” Michael said. He didn’t want her to leave. He wanted to touch her again. Most of all, he wanted to take her into one of those secluded groves and fuck her brains out. Instead, he asked her what he had been drinking, and how to get another one.
    “It is called Awamori, Sir,” she said, elegantly indicating in which direction he should walk. “It is considered one of Okinawa’s most famous exports. It is like brandy, and the Awamori here is of the finest quality.” She remained calm and polite, but that initial smile was now barely a memory. Her face was frozen in a kind of cheerful grin that made him shiver, and he recalled that one of the ways that Japanese people showed embarrassment was by smiling. So he had done something wrong by touching her, dammit. Also, he knew a factoid when he heard one; she was slipping into a tour guide mode, and she was much more important as an interpreter. He sighed and shooed her away to help someone else while he waited for one of the servers to pour him a new cup.
    “You must watch yourself when you drink this fine beverage,” came Ken Mandarin’s voice from over his shoulder. “It is a drink that seduces, you know. You think you have not had enough, and then suddenly, you find yourself in—how do you say it? A compromising position.”
    “Ms. Mandarin, I’m honored to meet you,” he said, surprised at how cleanly it came out. The he remembered that Chris had arranged to “loan” him to her, and he blushed. She smiled in her predatory way, and tossed back a cup of the strong drink and sighed with satisfaction. How dangerous she seemed, especially in contrast to the slight, composed translator who had come to his rescue a moment before.
    “Yes, I am sure you are!” she replied, putting her cup down. “So, what are you doing off of your leash, hm?” She started to walk away, and he felt compelled to follow—a question was hardly a dismissal, and she was one of the big shots here.
    “I’ve been freed to wander,” he said, keeping up