[Machines are for people who weren't born in ye olde Fantasy Japan-analog. Mechanists are the closest thing Ryoma might kind of remember if he squinted, and they used fancy but terrifying puppets on strings to do their bidding. It's a good thing phones are fragile--Ryoma prefers to have the ultimate option to break things when stuff starts going awry.

He takes the phone back, letting it rest flat on his palm as he proceeds to poke at it like someone's eighty year old grandfather. He's very proud of himself for not jumping when the screen flickers to life.

Dark magic is afoot here.]

That is incredibly strange and specific.

[... but Ryoma doesn't know enough about phones to really dispute it with Tsuzuki.]

So I touch which part of the screen to find the numbers, again? And then I... 'call' you?

[Somewhere a million voices went silent, as if a million beleaguered teenagers being forced to explain modern technology to their hard-of-hearing elders were suddenly wiped out. They cried for Tsuzuki, for his plight. Run, run far away before he gets to the stage where he understands wi-fi as a word but not a concept.]