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The only caveat was all of these superpowered interlopers aboard. He’d caught glimpses of them, most notably that one who had been wandering around, the one the militiamen had dubbed the Senmurai--or “Knight of the Mist” in Hunese.

It was going to be a very delicate balance, getting out of this alive, but not only was it his best means of escape, but there was the Sosho’Diyu to think of, as well.

Therein lay his path to greatness. It was clear to him now. Foreigner be damned. Royo would find that treasure. Even if it wasn’t real, he would find it anyway. Because this was the Hand of Shukumei, of Destiny, reaching out to him. He had to but grasp it and pull himself up.

...What? No. Royo’s glowing eyes squinted, and he shook his head. Had those really been his own thoughts just now? Or were they what the Foreigner wanted him to think? The Sosho’Diyu... did he truly care about finding it? Did it even exist?

He rubbed his forehead with both of his chained hands. He could feel the fury rising in his chest again, but he didn’t have a direction for it and so decided to just push it back down. Fortunately, it was soon overshadowed by another bout of stomach pain anyway.

Enough time had passed, he decided. The train must have traveled far enough into the tunnel by now. He had endured this humiliation long enough.

His ash-gray skin tingled with both anticipation and dread. He clenched his jaw as he began to regulate his breathing even more heavily than before. Deliberately slow and long inhales. Then he forced his abdominal muscles to contract and release, contract and release--hold--contract and release. And repeat. And distort the pattern to further upset his stomach. And concentrate. On his goal. Provoking disgust in himself. Mind over matter.