1

Shoving her back hard, the line began to move.

Akatsuki had been thinking, but the waves of people pushed her into motion, hurried her on. Whatever she’d been thinking about had vanished. Feeling depressed, the petite young woman walked briskly across an enormous intersection.

On both sides of Akatsuki, behind her and in front of her, tall, black shadows undulated, moving forward. She could hear car horns at point-blank range. They were probably being sounded in irritation by commercial trucks that had shoved their muzzles into the intersection and were now unable to budge. The metallic, shrill sounds echoed, but nobody paid any attention to them.

Was she the only one who shrank into herself, feeling as if she’d been scolded, each time that sound blared out? She wished somebody would do something about it quickly, but in her experience, it had never been resolved, not even once. The human walls that flowed around her were overwhelming. Salarymen. Businesswomen. Students. People of all ages and occupations walked on, mechanically.

Some people were talking loudly. They held their cell phones right up to their lips, conducting business negotiations in yells. Akatsuki ducked her head, frightened of the voices that shouted at their subordinates. Cordial voices, promising dates. Akatsuki knew the women speaking into their cell phones in coaxing voices weren’t smiling at all.

That was right: She only “knew” it. She couldn’t see the expressions of the people around her. In a crowd like this, it was nearly impossible for Akatsuki to see anyone else’s face. There was too little space, and even if she looked up, she couldn’t see well.

She only kept walking as if prodded, hurrying, feeling an irritated melancholy, feeling afraid without knowing why.

The town was overflowing with jagged noise. The sound of an emergency vehicle siren, echoing in the distance. Car horns. Exhaust noises, like bad-tempered beasts. The sound of everyone talking away on their cell phones, en masse, rolled in the background like the ocean. Neon lights and music played at all sorts of tempos were mixed in, and the whole mess was plastered over everything like a pizza sauce whose flavor was unidentifiable.

As Akatsuki walked, looking down, she couldn’t understand the music that was playing or the content of the conversations. They only ran together, pressuring her ears; sometimes she almost caught a phrase or a scrap of conversation that surfaced, but the avalanche of information washed it away. Yes, this was a violent flood. Akatsuki wasn’t drowning, but that was only because she’d learned how to close her mouth, ears, and eyes. She’d been swallowed by the muddy torrent and was being swept along, and in that sense, she wasn’t much different from someone who was drowning.

The waves of people that had swallowed Akatsuki passed under the elevated tracks and climbed the sloping road within the urban canyon. Where was this enormous crowd going? Layered structures of glass and concrete bristled as if to pierce the sky, completely burying the ground, and the people went in and out of them. This oppressive state, as if a grotesque giant were chewing and excreting at the same time, was nearly the entirety of the town. Akatsuki and the others traveled in order to be swallowed by buildings, and after being spit out by those buildings, they wandered through this compressed town to be swallowed by different buildings.

The evergreen shrubs caked with red-brown soot were dingy things. They were insignificant plants that only existed to be used as a sort of excuse, an alibi: “This building belongs to a highly-conscious corporation that has taken care to create an abundant natural environment.” Artificial was really the only word for them. Although they weren’t quite trampled, they were pressured by the human wave—the one that was currently pushing Akatsuki along—8,760 hours per year, and they drooped, unable even to keep up appearances.

Akatsuki only glanced at them and kept walking. For all the residents of this city, not falling behind the pace of the surrounding black crowd was a survival strategy. Breaking step was nearly synonymous with dropping out.

Asphalt streamed past Akatsuki’s eyes. She was walking with her head down, and the asphalt, struck by a great variety of shoes, was the main element in her field of vision. Even though they should have been washed away by the previous night’s rain, broken convenience store chopsticks, unidentifiable flyers, plastic bags, cling wrap that had once been silver, key chains that had soaked up muddy water and would no longer be retrieved by anyone, and many other things appeared on the dirty, exhausted road. These were things she was seeing for the first time, of course, and there was no point in really noticing them; they were trampled by the crowd, flowing away into the past as far as the moving Akatsuki was concerned. Still, at the same time, they were unique, and they appeared on the road again and again.

Naturally, any single plastic bag had probably held a product purchased at a store somewhere, but when they appeared on the road as garbage, their individuality was long gone. Now, in every sense, there was no difference between the plastic bag that was stepped on by the crowd and mercilessly shredded and the bag that appeared five minutes later…and this was the same for everyone. Probably for Akatsuki as well.

Time seemed to pass at both a furious pace and as slowly as a snail. The advertising music that was interjected at irregular intervals like sudden, heavy rain sounded like an explosion, and it chopped up Akatsuki’s time in ways that had nothing to do with her feelings. It became a pacemaker, controlling Akatsuki’s daily life. However, it wasn’t that she was too busy to think. On the other hand, in the midst of her thinly sliced time, there was no space for studying or playing, so she inevitably did the things that could be done in small increments.

For the people around her, this seemed to mean talking on their cell phones in loud voices or listlessly buying game items on their smartphones. For Akatsuki, who had no interest in these things, her minced time was a depressing prison of self-awareness. She had to grit her teeth to endure that idleness. The emotion that resembled anger had already cooled completely, decaying into self-loathing. Could she even be called human when she lived a life that was broken down into minimal units like this? Akatsuki thought it was like being livestock. As proof, she had no way to escape this place.

The line stopped, all at once. A traffic signal. It blinked a few times, then turned red, letting traffic that ran at right angles to it move as it did so. The herd of cars rushed by as if pursued by a hunter, setting up a harsh din as it passed in front of Akatsuki. Akatsuki knew that here, in the heart of the city, the distance to the next signal wasn’t even fifty meters. Even if that one was green, these cars would probably stop again at the next one, or the one after that. Even though it was such a short distance, the cars accelerated as though they couldn’t stand it, spraying fumes around. She couldn’t understand what they meant by it. Akatsuki couldn’t drive, and possibly it was some secret she didn’t know.

The cars charged down the road as though they loathed blank space. As Akatsuki gazed at them without really seeing them, she sneezed. She felt as if she’d been doing this frequently since she began commuting through this town, and she rubbed her nose. A faint regret remained after she’d rubbed it. It wasn’t a ladylike gesture, and she was constantly thinking she should stop, but she couldn’t seem to correct it. Because of the acrid, acidic car exhaust, Akatsuki’s nose was always sneezing.

Akatsuki began walking briskly, moving to the front of the human wave. Even if she had begun to “walk,” her steps were short, so it was really closer to a trot.

Abruptly, a doubt welled up inside her: Where was she going? If she was putting herself through this sort of pain to get there, she must have a destination. Not only that, but she was heading there on some sort of schedule, for a meeting or an appointed time. That’s right; she’d been heading to—to school. She thought it had been some sort of learning facility. Probably university. However, for some reason, it had vanished from inside of her.

Despair assailed her first, faster than confusion. She felt as if she’d be crushed by a sense of uneasiness with no outlet, here in this town that was like a conveyor belt line. Laughter. Electronic parade noises of the sort that stirred up a fondness for gambling. The scream of car brakes. The echoing rumble of the Yamanote Line going by. Her throat hurt as though there was a lump in it, and her vision blurred. A desire to stop and stand still flooded her, but Akatsuki desperately kept moving, so as not to trouble the people around her. She crossed at a blinking signal, passed by the front of a convenience store, turned the corner at a bank, moving onward, onward, in the midst of a familiar crowd. Going somewhere that wasn’t here. Maybe none of the people here had anywhere to go, just like that plastic bag. Not even the replaceable Akatsuki. However, to Akatsuki, she was the only Akatsuki there was, and she needed proof that this was true… Even if that proof didn’t exist.

Before she knew it, Akatsuki was running up concrete stairs, taking them two at a time. The dreary emergency stairwell reminded her of the desolate view at a housing development somewhere. It was an extraordinarily familiar view, she knew on sight, but it wasn’t distinctive, and so she didn’t really know where it was. What was important was that she was running up the stairs, and that there was nothing the least bit thrilling about it: It was an escape, nothing more.

She wasn’t clear on what she was running from, but this was because she knew that the moment she specifically imagined it, it would catch her. If she had to say, it was that plastic bag. Akatsuki felt like a plastic bag—trampled by the crowd, clinging as if it were wet, nearly torn—was plastered to her back. Or, no—to the soles of the feet as they struck the stairs, making a rustling noise. But she couldn’t hear it, even if she strained her ears. It wasn’t really plastered to her; that was a mistake. However, for some reason, Akatsuki kept running, unable even to look at her feet. An unpleasant sense of urgency was rubbing her spine like cold needles.

It felt as though there wasn’t much oxygen; she couldn’t get enough air, and she was out of breath. She thought this was wrong, but since she didn’t know what the right answer was, she couldn’t prove it. She ran up the concrete stairs, leapt out onto a landing, doubled back, leaning as though to shake off the inertia, and continued climbing the stairs. The repetition had the absurdity of wasted effort about it, like a rat running in an exercise wheel. Akatsuki fled desperately, spurred on by the sound of concrete excavation echoing from somewhere. It was almost as if she couldn’t stand the concrete stairway itself. Still, in order to escape, she had to run up it. How far would she have to go to reach the end of that chain?

Akatsuki didn’t know how many dozens—or possibly hundreds—of landings she’d passed, but when she reached the next one, she realized it wasn’t a landing at all. Her feet were buried in a creamy gray substance; she lost her footing and fell, dragging the exhaust-stained crowd with her. Car horns. The strident parade. Voices she couldn’t understand. As she fell endlessly through screams and violent wind, Akatsuki was sure she saw that plastic bag again.

2

It was a white beach.

A perfectly clear sky stretched on and on.

A cerulean infinity that seemed to have been sketched lightly in watercolors was full of rippling wavelets.

Akatsuki walked along that shore by herself.

She was alone in that vast space, which was deserted in the way only a winter beach can be.

She felt awed by the sand that crumbled, crisply and easily.

When she looked down, her small toes took another step.

She made one more footprint in the pure, unspoiled whiteness.

Far, far away, she saw a small flying shadow. Was it a seabird?

Crunch, crunch.

All she heard were those quiet footsteps and the sound of the cerulean surf as it lapped the beach.

Hugging her coat around her against the chill, Akatsuki walked.

Slowly, without being rushed by anything.

When she raised her head, the surface of the water sparkled with irregular reflections.

The winter light was simply bright; it held no heat.

Her small footprints and their tiny sound continued across the sandy beach in a chain.

Every time her bare feet touched cerulean, particles of light burst and vanished.

Akatsuki didn’t know where this was, but the irritability from a moment before was gone.

This wasn’t her destination, but she thought it was a safe place.

Strolling along the quiet beach was a pleasant, calming experience.

How long had she walked?

She approached the water’s edge and touched the blue with her bare toes, then pirouetted away.

She dragged her footprints out like a honeybee’s dance.

Because she was all alone, Akatsuki did these things seriously.

However, it was a little funny, and she gave a tiny smile.

Akatsuki’s loyal footprints adored her, following her everywhere.

Even that was fun, like a journal being written.

She had to strain her eyes in order to see into the distance, but she saw a human figure.

It was a tall one, and it was rocking and gazing at the sea as if it was mildly troubled.

Startled by how light her body was, Akatsuki realized belatedly that she’d broken into a run.

She covered what had seemed to be a long distance in so few steps that it surprised her; she slowed her pace.

She wasn’t the type to slam into him bodily and hug him.

However, even so, drawn by feelings of longing, she looked up at the man.

Noticing Akatsuki, Shiroe broke into a smile.

Shiroe normally wore an obstinate expression, and whenever Akatsuki saw him smile like that, it made her feel really satisfied.

As if embarrassed, dazzled, awkward…

After Shiroe narrowed his eyes in a smile, he hesitated a bit. Then he turned to Akatsuki, asked her a question with his eyes, and started to walk down the beach.

Akatsuki began to walk with him, as though chasing the tail of his coat.

Shiroe seemed to be walking slowly on purpose.

Akatsuki, who walked wordlessly beside him, did the same.

There was an elegance about the beach, where the only sounds came from the gentle movement of the atmosphere and the waves.

They were both hesitant to break that stillness.

My liege’s hands are big.

She thought this as she saw him scratch his head two or three times, then adjust his glasses.

She watched the hand go into the pocket of his white coat, then quickened her steps.

Or, no, would slower be better?

If she fell behind a little, it might give her an excuse to catch the tail of that coat.

As she thought that, Akatsuki’s mouth fell into a stubborn line.

The expression she was making wasn’t the least bit cross.

To hide her face, Akatsuki twirled at the water’s edge.

Her camel-brown coat flared out, and she was sure she was smiling.

Shiroe turned back and waited for her for a little while.

The two of them began walking again, crunching across the sandy beach, which might have been made of spun sugar. They could feel the fragile sand changing shape under their feet. The wind that stroked their cheeks was rather cold, but now it didn’t bother them at all. There was a steady warmth in the center of their bodies.

To Akatsuki, everything was novel and fun. Shiroe’s big shoes bit into the sand with a crunch. His footprints were deeper than hers; that was fun, too. A mildly strong wind blew through every so often, setting Shiroe’s coattail fluttering, and she thought it was cute.

Shiroe’s pockets looked five times bigger than Akatsuki’s own, and she thought she’d like to stick a hand into one of them, but of course she couldn’t. Instead she turned back, saw the way Shiroe’s footprints and her own stretched across the beach, and was satisfied.

Something cool brushed Akatsuki’s small nose, and her eyes went round.

White snow fluttered down silently, scattering.

It didn’t bring the slightest hint of coldness with it, and when she touched it with her fingertip, it vanished, delicately.

Snow had begun to fall.

When Akatsuki looked up to tell Shiroe about it, he nodded, smiling calmly, and she realized that no report was necessary.

Shiroe had pulled the hood of her duffel coat up for her, and she put it over her head and continued walking.

She didn’t feel tired, but she thought they’d come quite a long distance.

The turquoise sky grew even clearer, turning a deep indigo, and jewel-like lights appeared in the heavens.

The surface of the water reflected the lights, making everything transparent. It accepted the snow, swaying and pale.

“I didn’t think it would be such a quiet place.”

As Shiroe murmured, he stopped walking.

Before they were aware of it, they’d reached a small inlet.

“Mm,” Akatsuki replied in agreement.

She’d really wanted to respond with something cleverer or more ladylike, but she hadn’t been able to think of anything. Still, it didn’t seem to have made Shiroe cross. He was gazing at the sea, where night had fallen.

Toom.

Toom.

She thought she heard a sound, as though someone had softly struck a great crystal.

It was as if a distant signal was echoing from beyond the enormous sea.

Suddenly, a new awareness came into being in the back of Akatsuki’s mind, but it dispersed the moment she noticed it.

Something inside Akatsuki that was not Akatsuki, something transparent, had blown through and gone.

Even though it hadn’t been her, its loss colored Akatsuki’s emotions with sorrow.

When a big hand touched her shoulder gently as though to encourage her, Akatsuki realized that Shiroe had felt the same thing. His expression wasn’t grim, but it was stern.

Shiroe had taken a box cutter out from somewhere; he lightly ratcheted the blade up, then, awkwardly, cut off a bit of his bangs. The black hair had a mysterious sandy luster to it, and there wasn’t enough of it to really call it a “tuft.”

Taking the box cutter from Shiroe, Akatsuki cut a little bit off the tip of her ponytail. She had no idea why they were doing this, but she did know it was necessary.

The two of them tossed the hair into the cerulean ocean that moistened the ground at their feet.

Somewhere, as if in acceptance, the crystal sounded, and the snow that held no chill fluttered and danced.

At that, finally, Akatsuki understood that these pale fragments were everyone’s memories.

Death doesn’t steal people’s memories, she thought. We offer our memories here for a chance to return. Even if they didn’t remember it, she realized, they stood up again because they wanted to.

“Amazing.”

The words Shiroe had let fall expressed Akatsuki’s feelings exactly.

Just how many thoughts were in the snow that drifted down?

How many people had renewed their resolutions on this shore?

The vast number and weight made Akatsuki feel dizzy.

She was also certain, without reason, that this wasn’t a legitimate, guaranteed right, but unbelievably precious good fortune.

…As was the fact that Shiroe was beside her.

“You fell, Akatsuki?”

At Shiroe’s words, Akatsuki brooded for a little while, then nodded.

That was right.

She’d died.

By the murderer’s blade.

That was all right.

Not because she’d be able to revive in the Temple, although that was all right as well. Akatsuki had fought because she wanted to, and she’d fallen. She had no regrets about that.

However, the awareness that she had died woke Akatsuki’s memories. They were memories of dashing out of Raynesia’s mansion and racing through the sky, and of the enormous “something” Soujirou had pointed out to her. Of the intent profile of the Kannagi who’d protected him, and of the showy yet serious “something” that Riezé, and Henrietta, and the other women who’d gathered for the tea parties had…

—And that was all.

What is that “something”?

Akatsuki realized that “something” was the only word she had for it.

She’d gone through that battle, but she hadn’t made any progress at all.

She felt frustrated and guilty over the things she didn’t understand, and she couldn’t do anything but cry.

She’d touched that important “something.” She finally realized that. However, she had absolutely no idea what it was, or what she should do. Even though she knew how valuable and important it was, she hadn’t been able to put it to use. Even though it had been a present…

She wanted to explain it to Shiroe.

She wanted to tell him she’d found something really pretty, something wonderful.

Something important had been there. She couldn’t be certain, but she thought it was something that had been held out to her.

But she couldn’t explain it in specific terms. The words weren’t there.

The choking regret made Akatsuki cry openly, like a child.

She even felt as though the fact that she couldn’t tell him would hurt something important, and she couldn’t stand it. She was terrified that the value of that gift might be dulled, all because she was worthless.

Something had definitely been there, and yet.

In Raynesia’s eyes.

In Soujirou’s invincible smile.

Dying hadn’t been a mistake. Akatsuki’s mistake had been in failing to grasp it, even though she’d brushed it with her fingertips.

…No. Akatsuki thought it might have been right in front of her from the very beginning. In that case, in not having been able to find it, she’d piled up countless mistakes. Without having anyone tell her so, Akatsuki was convinced that this was true.

Tears spilled over again at her worthlessness. This was why she’d died without being able to do anything.

“I see. That makes two of us, then. I died.”

When Shiroe placed a hand on her head and Akatsuki looked up, he was smiling a troubled, gentle smile. Akatsuki knew he was worrying about her. His reserved, self-deprecating smile was the expression Akatsuki’s guild master wore when he spoke to her.

“You, too, my liege?”

“Mm-hmm.”

After that, there was silence.

Shiroe moved the hand he’d set on Akatsuki’s head as if he was perplexed; Akatsuki thought it was probably because he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. Shiroe was a bit clumsy that way. Even though Akatsuki didn’t mind at all, he was probably trying to be considerate.

“I messed up. My predictions were too naïve. —I didn’t believe completely.”

They were words of caution directed at himself, more than a complaint.

“I don’t understand.”

As a result, when Akatsuki responded, she was careful not to complain, either.

“It’s funny. I never thought I’d get to meet you here, Akatsuki.”

The continuation of the whispered answer came after countless snowflakes had fallen.

When she thought about what Shiroe’s words meant, Akatsuki was startled.

He was right: It was very strange. She hadn’t seen Shiroe in quite a while now.

Come to think of it, she’d wanted to see him.

She’d really wanted to see Shiroe.

She’d wanted him to pat her head.

She remembered that she’d wanted him to praise her, too.

That alone was enough to make this chance meeting an odd one.

To think they’d be able to meet in a place like this.

Up until just now, she hadn’t thought about that, either.

The strangeness of having encountered Shiroe.

Even as Akatsuki didn’t understand, she felt that this was not an ordinary place. She was grateful for this miraculous coincidence.

“Yes, my liege. It’s funny.”

She remembered the pure white sands they’d walked across, and the cerulean sea.

In the midst of a landscape so bright it seemed bleached, Shiroe turned toward her.

When she ran to him and looked up, a big hand stroked her forehead.

It was just a coincidence.

Still, that coincidence blessed Akatsuki.

She wanted nothing else.

No doubt the things Akatsuki hadn’t reached were still asleep, still right where they’d been when she’d touched them.

Not only that, but there must be countless things like them. In the shadows, where Akatsuki hadn’t seen them. In smiles she’d overlooked until now, because she hadn’t tried to find them there.

She’d arrogantly thought that the good fortune she’d acquired was only natural. She’d assumed that good fortune she hadn’t obtained didn’t exist. Even though it was likely that good luck and encounters and help were waiting all over the world for Akatsuki to find them.

“…And so I’ll try one more time,” Akatsuki said.

“I’ll try again, too, I suppose—Everyone taught me.”

Akatsuki caught Shiroe’s coat, gripping it hard.

She had a premonition, like the sensation of the fragile sand crumbling under her feet, that this memory wouldn’t stay with her.

Because of that, even as she thought she might leave wrinkles in the coat, she squeezed it tightly, tightly.

She and Shiroe would probably be separated again. That was why she wanted to squeeze the coat. However, her wish was in vain: The endless sand dunes, like powdery snow, were growing brighter.

The faint sound of the receding tide held the memory Akatsuki had given it.

The ultramarine sky was growing more jumbled, and she fell into it.

3

It’s all right.

Slowly, smiling at the sensation that lingered in the palm of her hand, Akatsuki let her consciousness surface.

It’s all right.

Her palm still held the texture of slightly rough cloth.

It’s all right.

However, when she opened her eyes slightly, Akatsuki saw her own small hand, right in front of her face, clenched as if it was holding something.

Akatsuki knew her memories were sifting away, coming undone. As she lay on a hard bier, with tears trickling down her cheeks, she was losing the memory of the dream she’d held inside just a moment ago.

As if to shake off the loneliness and the feeling of guilt that she seemed to have left behind in her shallow sleep, Akatsuki turned her stiff palm into a fist and wiped away her tears.

She got up, then sat on the edge of the plain marble slab.

For some reason, she had the feeling she’d passed through a very strange place.

It had been quiet, lonely, gentle, and transparent.

Akatsuki had traveled there; encountered; realized; and then gotten back on her feet.

She felt as if she’d had some sort of important conversation. If possible, she would have liked to bring it back with her.

Even now, there was a sensation in the palm of her hand. Probably from…cloth she’d gripped. Along with a faint warmth, the sensation was fading rapidly. Akatsuki tried to stop the evaporation of memories that always accompanied dreams, but she knew it was wasted effort.

The sound of the crystal bell was growing fainter.

However, she’d managed to bring back one important thing from that place.

The most important thing.

Akatsuki checked herself over, confirming that none of her equipment had been lost.

She got down from the bier and tried moving, carefully.

It was the first time she’d died since the Catastrophe.

From common sense in Elder Tales, and also from rumors following the Catastrophe, Akatsuki knew that resurrection was accompanied by the loss of a certain amount of experience points and memories. She wasn’t able to identify any lost memories right away.

She remembered Log Horizon, and Shiroe, and the others. In a general way, none of her memories from the old world—her family and school, her childhood memories—seemed to be missing, either. If she checked carefully, she might find holes, but it would probably take some time.

The lost experience points didn’t seem to have left her feeling all that strange physically, either. Since the Catastrophe, people said a loss of experience points—even if it wasn’t enough to lower your level—left you feeling fatigued. However, it was hard for Akatsuki to determine whether what she felt now was from losing experience points, or from having gotten stiff from sleeping on marble. It was no worse than that, in other words.

When she took another look around, she saw that she was in the Temple.

The white marble room held several such platforms, and the walls were adorned with unobtrusive carvings.

This was Akiba’s Temple. Although she hadn’t done it all that often, she’d resurrected in these surroundings when this was a game. Akatsuki began to walk, adjusting the position of her short sword as she went.

There were a lot of things she needed to do.

When she glanced up at the sky from the corridor, the winter sun had risen beyond the clouds.

From the angle, it seemed to be past noon. It had been the middle of the night when she’d begun fighting; had it taken her half a day to resurrect? No, that probably wasn’t it. It was likely that, as she’d resurrected, the thread of her tension had snapped and she’d fallen asleep. In that case, she thought, it made sense that she ached all over.

Akatsuki made her way through the Temple zone, which was larger than it looked.

There were things she needed to do.

There were things she absolutely had to do.

She couldn’t give up just because she’d lost once. Akatsuki had realized just how negligent she’d been up until now. She’d thought she’d been fighting with her entire self. She’d tried to believe she was more desperate than anyone else, but that had been fraud, a mere excuse. There had been lots of things she could have done. Akatsuki had been avoiding the things she really had to do. She’d worked desperately at only the things she liked doing, and had tried to convince herself that that was effort.

Akatsuki advanced resolutely through the chapel, which was illuminated by stained glass.

Once she descended the staircase, which looked wide to her, she should have been in Akiba in no time.

However, the sight that waited there for Akatsuki was something she hadn’t expected.

“Are you all right? You aren’t still injured anywhere, are you?”

Akatsuki was boggled: She’d been careless, and so she’d been easily pulled into a hug. “How sweet!” Henrietta, melting over the way Akatsuki looked, swung her around, nuzzling her with her cheek. Being able to sweep a girl up that easily—even if she was a small girl—was due to Adventurer strength, but Henrietta didn’t seem to have realized this.

“We thought you’d be waking up soon.”

Riezé spoke to her; she’d been leaning against the railing on the stone slope. Behind her, she saw Raynesia, bundled up in fluffy clothes and hanging her head apologetically. Behind the princess stood a woman with fox ears, arms folded, smiling a fearless smile. It was the West Wind Brigade Kannagi she’d seen during that late-night battle.

“……”

Akatsuki’s lips tightened.

She knew her face was growing darker and grimmer.

It wasn’t that she disliked everyone.

She was reaping what she’d sown. Up until now, she hadn’t made any friends of her own age and gender, and so she didn’t really know how to talk to them. That was all.

Still, she knew she had to do it. That was the one thing Akatsuki had managed to bring back from her lost dream. And so, she squeezed Henrietta’s hands, which were over her own stomach, holding her up.

She looked at Henrietta, who’d closed her mouth as if she were startled. At Riezé. At the fox-eared woman. And, most of all, at Raynesia, whose expression seemed troubled.

Once lowered to the ground, Akatsuki simply bowed her head.

“I know this is an impudent request, but I want to ask you for help. Would you teach me about the Mysteries? I want to capture that murderer.”

She saw the fox-eared woman startle, and she knew Henrietta, behind her, had gasped. Raynesia’s face was sorrowful.

“Master Soujirou was able to use a Mystery, wasn’t he, Nazuna?”

Nazuna—the fox-eared woman, a mature-looking beauty—responded to Riezé’s questions. “Yeah. That’s right.”

“But, even so, it wasn’t enough.”

“Right.”

Riezé shifted the conversation back to Akatsuki. “And you want a Mystery, even so. Why?”

Akatsuki bit her lip.

She hadn’t managed to explain it well. They’d probably thought she was making a selfish request just because she wanted a Mystery. Regret filled her heart, but she hadn’t been able to think of any other way to put it.

“Akatsuki.”

However, just then, her eyes met Riezé’s.

The girl, who was probably about the same age as her, was gazing at Akatuski with a cool expression.

She was standing firmly as part of a guild so enormous Akatsuki couldn’t even imagine it. The woman called Nazuna, and Raynesia, and even Henrietta were all connected to people, going above and beyond simply carrying out their own roles, and they all found the places where they belonged.

Akatsuki remembered her resolution. If she backed down here, things would be just the same as before. Just the same as when she’d given it everything she had and failed, yet consoled herself with the thought that she’d done the best she could. Even so, Akatsuki knew that, in life, there were matches you wanted to win no matter what, and battles you didn’t want to lose. There were walls you wanted to get over, no matter who you had to beg or how pathetically you had to plead.

“I want to end that murderer.”

Akatsuki appealed desperately. However, sadly, her mouth wouldn’t work well for her.

“It isn’t just the Mysteries. If there’s a way to stop him, no matter what it is, I want you to tell me. Will you let me depend on you?”

“Do you think you can win?”

The blunt question had come from Nazuna. The West Wind Brigade healer who’d supported Soujirou to the very end. A Kannagi with long black hair and traditional Japanese clothes, which she wore carelessly. Akatsuki answered the question almost without plan.

“I don’t know. But, even if I win, even if I defeat him, it won’t end. If I don’t do whatever needs to happen to end it, it won’t end…I don’t think. We have to try to end it.”

Akatsuki went on desperately, trying to shake off the impatience of being unable to communicate.

She resented her own clumsiness.

“Besides, my liege could do it. Probably… So I have to.”

Questioning looks pierced Akatsuki.

…Over her words, she thought, Shiroe could do it.

Even though she’d already made up her mind, Akatsuki’s words accumulated slowly.

“…My liege…isn’t here. Not in Akiba.”

This was the secret Akatsuki and Log Horizon had been keeping.

Shiroe wasn’t here. Since D.D.D. had gone away, they claimed he was buried under a vast amount of work in order to protect the Round Table Council. But that had been a lie. Shiroe had left, probably to do something only he could do. Akatsuki didn’t know what that was. She didn’t know, but she’d been asked to keep an eye on things while he was away.

And so she had to protect the town from this disaster, which Shiroe would have been able to handle.

She’d promised.

“Nazuna asked whether you could do it.”

At Riezé’s words, Akatsuki flinched, frightened.

She couldn’t make that promise.

She couldn’t guarantee it.

She didn’t want them to ask her to.

“…I can’t do it alone. That’s why I want your help. Please, help me.”

That was a pain that was hard for Akatsuki to bear. Admitting that she was a child, admitting that she was helpless, was as painful as if she were being physically cut. A feeling like a curse began to take root in her: Was that really all the strength this little body could hold?

Still, before Akatsuki’s very eyes, Shiroe had made the same request.

Henrietta’s arms tightened around her in a hug, and Akatsuki was startled by their warmth. Seeing her, Nazuna gave a languid smile, as though to say she’d been surprised into giving up the offensive.

“I’d been thinking something like this was going to come up, ever since Souji said he was pulling out. Everyone at Shiroe’s place is stubborn. Birds of a feather flocking together, I guess.”

“I’d call that a half-passing grade, I suppose. By training unit standards, you need to drill repeatedly. At present, D.D.D. has confirmed eight Mysteries, and is in the process of examining them in detail. Milord has already given his permission. He said to pass them along to you, Akatsuki,” the blond-haired girl informed her, calmly.

“I also have something I must do.”

Still silent, her face pale, Raynesia nodded.

“…Honestly. To think I came all the way to Theldesia to be a middle schooler again…”

With Riezé’s little sigh as the signal, a small, modest subjugation unit was formed.

However, to Akatsuki, it was a very big step.

4

Mikakage nibbled her onigiri.

These box lunches, delivered by Onigiri Shop Enmusubi, were an incredibly popular meal at RoderLab. They’d never gathered proper statistics, but there was a general rumor that over half the lunches in the guild were supplied by the place.

Behind Mikakage, a friendly People of the Earth girl wearing a triangular kerchief was passing out onigiri with order tags stuck to them, one at a time. Her glossy black hair was cut in an even bob just above her shoulders, and her ever-changing expression was charming. She thought the girl’s name was Kaede.

Onigiri Shop Enmusubi was run by approximately twenty People of the Earth, and of them, about five cute girls were treated as idols. They were particularly popular at RoderLab; there was even a fan club. This girl, Kaede, vied for “most popular” with Kuudelya, and Mikakage remembered seeing her on a poster in the cooking building.

No, not that. Now’s not the time for that.

Furrowing her brow, Mikakage bit into her rice ball.

Today of all days, she didn’t feel like mindlessly thinking about the cute box lunch–girl rankings.

After all, Mikakage was shouldering a small part of this uproar. Of course, it wasn’t as though she was responsible for it. Mikakage had only reported what she’d learned from her current investigations and the implications of that knowledge, and she wasn’t the least bit responsible for the incident itself. Still, that didn’t clear up the murky feelings in her heart.

Allie the Alraune, Mikakage’s plant spirit partner, climbed up into her lap, and Mikakage gave her a small onigiri. The Alraune took the perfectly round rice ball in both hands and bit into it. Even as she let the sight soothe her, Mikakage looked around.

The enormous, semicircular, cone-shaped hall she was in was commonly known as “the lecture hall.”

Right now, it was filled to about 80 percent of capacity.

For the moment, it was lunchtime, and most of the participants were taking boxed lunches out of their packs or unwrapping the bundles of onigiri that had been delivered.

Ordinarily, more people would have gone outside or to the cafeteria, but due to the content today, movement of that sort was sluggish.

There were both morning and afternoon conferences, but the morning session had been more like presentations by the various research departments than a conference. The afternoon session would probably follow suit.

The RoderLab was a guild that resembled a university. As a result, no matter what they did, conferences tended to end up as reports on research results.

The atmosphere in the tiered classroom was hard to describe.

It certainly wasn’t cheerful. It would have been safe to call it depressed. However, rather than simply despairing, it felt as if it was stirring restlessly, hiding confusion and excitement down at the bottom. As a matter of fact, here and there, people with the same major had gathered in groups and were talking in low voices.

Some of these groups had gone beyond gathering by major and were holding quiet, ongoing debates.

That was how shocking some of the content of the morning’s presentations had been.

“So hey, there’s some good stuff, too, yeah?”

Her colleague Aomori, who was also stuffing his face with onigiri, spoke from beside her.

“Would you call it a good thing?”

“Mmm. Probably?”

Hearing Aomori’s noncommittal answer, Mikakage nodded vaguely, a little troubled.

It was true: She couldn’t declare that it was a bad thing.

Mikakage had given her presentation during the morning session.

Because of the way it was organized, the RoderLab held many presentation meetings every month. The cooking section to which Mikakage belonged was no exception. However, the cooking section created things that were good to eat, and their presentations almost always took the form of sampling parties. Mikakage had used up all her energy on her presentation that morning.

To her—a Chef whose presentations didn’t usually use materials or involve long oral statements—the burden had been a heavy one. Her colleague had pushed it all onto her, and words of resentment coiled within her.

Mikakage kicked Aomori hard, stole the fried chicken out of his lunchbox, and quickly gave it to Allie.

“What was that for?!”

“Is it good, Allie?”

Shy Allie didn’t answer the question. She only ate the fried chicken energetically, keeping it hidden from Mikakage. She looked adorable, and Mikakage was relieved.

Little by little, even Adventurers without Chef subclasses were becoming able to cook.

That was the report Mikakage had given.

At present, there were two types of cooking method in this world.

The first was the “menu method.” Carrying the materials listed in a recipe you “remembered,” you opened the operations menu in the general vicinity of kitchen facilities. Once you selected the desired recipe from the operations menu, the dish was complete.

No matter what kind of dish it was, as a rule, the production time was ten seconds.

There were great advantages to this method. First, the required time was an obvious advantage. Even if it was a stewed dish that took time, or a fermented food, it only took ten seconds.

The economy of the ingredients that were used up was another advantage. At most, recipes only listed five types of ingredients. This included seasonings. For example, when making Meat and Potato Stew, you needed just three types: three potatoes, one beef, and one dark soy sauce. You didn’t need onions or carrots, and sweet rice wine wasn’t required either. Of course, the finished product looked as though these things had been used. It was as if the materials had been supplied from thin air.

Of course, there was an enormous—a far too enormous—disadvantage as well. This was that, no matter what sort of ingredients had been used or what kind of recipe you’d made, the finished food tasted like bran porridge. One could call it a flavorless flavor. The texture was also like a bland energy bar, and it was nothing that would whet anyone’s appetite.

The other method was known as “home cooking.”

With this method, it was necessary to cook just as you’d done in the old world. You weren’t restricted by recipes, and the taste depended on whether or not the person who was cooking knew how to prepare that particular dish. You had to get all the ingredients together; they wouldn’t pop up out of nowhere. In addition, the freshness and condition of the ingredients determined how complete the dish was. In other words, it was very similar to cooking in the real world.

In both cases, the overwhelming difference from the real world was that the person doing the cooking had to have a Chef subclass. It was also characterized by the fact that, with both the menu and home cooking methods, restrictions were applied according to Chef levels.

With the menu method, if the Chef’s level hadn’t reached the level set for the recipe, the probability that the dish would succeed decreased.

With the home cooking method, it wasn’t possible to see the Chef level that was specifically required, but there was a high probability of failure with complicated techniques such as steaming or frying, or with dishes that required lots of steps.

In either case, if they failed, just as in the days when this had been a game, all that was left was a charred wreck or a sloppy mess.

For Adventurers without a Chef subclass, every dish failed. No matter how good at cooking they’d been on Earth, they weren’t even able to make salad. Ever since the Catastrophe, this had been common knowledge.

That was slowly beginning to crumble.

Now, even Adventurers without Chef subclasses were able to use simple seasonings and cut up ingredients. At this point, they could make salads.

What was happening? No one knew.

They didn’t even understand the Catastrophe. There was no way for them to understand what this change meant.

However, it wasn’t hard to anticipate that the range it affected would be vast.

Even Mikakage and the other Chefs weren’t able to say exactly when this change had taken place. Akiba and the Round Table Council had noticed the subclass restrictions on item creation early on. That had been what had triggered the establishment of the Round Table Council in the first place.

It was safe to say that the way people with the same subclass formed departments at the RoderLab was based on that same discovery. In other words, all the people around Mikakage were Chefs. Not only that, but all of them, Mikakage included, were high-level. In addition, that knowledge was widespread in Akiba, and there was a universal awareness that meals were made by guild Chefs, or that you purchased side dishes from Chefs who were selling them.

That was why they hadn’t noticed when this phenomenon began.

According to Mikakage and the cooking section’s recent investigation, about half of all Adventurers now had a decent probability of making salad successfully. Even the ones who failed seemed to be feeling a different response than they’d felt before.

They’d managed to verify that the phenomenon was occurring.

However, it wasn’t yet clear whether it was the result of each individual’s unconscious efforts—a result of the Adventurer’s abilities expanding—or whether some game protection was coming undone. They’d confirmed that a similar phenomenon was occurring among the People of the Earth. It had even been possible for Allie, a plant spirit.

What was even more frightening was the fact that the phenomenon wasn’t limited to cooking.

For example, the Carpenter subclass had monopolized item creation in the field of construction, while in furniture production, it had been the Woodworker subclass. That had been the way this world was.

However, at the presentation meeting that morning, reports that were similar to the one Mikakage had given on Chefs had shown up here and there.

The techniques of construction and forging weren’t as familiar to modern people as cooking techniques, and so even when they tried to conduct surveys, the sample sizes were too small, and they couldn’t get conclusive evidence. Even so, from a handful of cases, there had been clear reports that the old experience rule was wavering.

Mikakage wasn’t the only one who was disturbed.

Aomori, her other friends in the hall, and everyone at the RoderLab had a premonition of something.

At the sudden hush, Mikakage looked up.

The eyes of the people around her were focused on Roderick, who stood on the platform. Since it was still the middle of the lunch break, the nearby companions who’d been stuffing their mouths with onigiri and sandwiches were gazing at Roderick with expressions full of questions.

The man wore his white coat casually, and there was fatigue in his ordinarily calm, easygoing face. Scratching his head, he began to speak.

“Uh. I’m sorry to interrupt your meal, but I was waiting on news regarding an investigation; that’s come in, and it looks as though we’ll have to switch gears this afternoon, so let me cut in here. We’ll extend lunchtime by an hour. In addition, when I say ‘switch gears,’ I mean we’ll be shifting to countermeasures.”

At the words shifting to countermeasures, a stir ran through the hall.

Half was surprise at the fact that it was on a level where countermeasures were necessary. Half was due to the fact that the cautious Roderick had decided to actively contribute.

“You can keep eating, so do listen. There are three concerns I need to report. The first has to do with the Appearance Reset Potions and the difference in genders going back to the days of the game. According to many cases…or rather, to nearly all cases, we reported earlier that physical bodies influence character, and it appears as though voices are influenced as well. It isn’t clear whether or not the vocal cords have a mechanistic role, but the voices of Adventurers who currently have female bodies are gradually growing feminine…even if the player happens to be male.”

A pen rolled, making an awfully loud noise.

The lecture hall was so silent there wasn’t a single cough to be heard.

“The next has to do with visual observations… Erm. We haven’t actually confirmed this matter. We’re measuring again, but it’s still uncertain. That said, I think it is a fact. The distance between the town of Akiba and Fuji seems to be expanding. Or rather, the space between two arbitrary points is growing, albeit slightly.”

This report seemed to have struck most of the crowd in the venue as a bolt from the blue.

“Excuse me…”

One timid-looking Blacksmith raised his hand. When Roderick gave him permission, the question he asked gave voice to everyone else’s doubts.

“Is that true everywhere, do you think? In other words, is Yamato…growing?”

“We believe so.”

At Roderick’s answer, the entire venue gulped.

“The final matter has to do with the results of a survey request we received from an external party, but I think I should share them… It’s in regard to the flavor text set for items. For some items, we have confirmed that this text has effects.”

Mikakage’s eyes went round.

Flavor text with effects? What did that mean?

For example, say there was a certain magic weapon: “Damage +5%, Additional Flame Damage 180 to 216 Points, [STR] Boost +15.” This was the strength of the magic. Special magic effects accompanied normal weapon stats, making the weapon more powerful.

In comparison, “flavor text” indicated text like this: “This weapon, Mighty Inferno Spear, was bestowed on distinguished knights by the regular army of Ancient Westlande. It is decorated with Fire Dragon fangs and holds the power of flames. In antiquity, Loga Zari used this spear to inspire courage in his subordinates.” In other words, it explained the item, detailing its origins and features. It was information you could read as a result of appraising the item, but in terms of the game, it was meaningless. It was text that existed to enliven the atmosphere.

In any case, the “flavor” in flavor text meant just that: to add flavor. That was all.

There were no effects. Not having effects was what made it flavor text…or that was how it should have been.

But there were effects?

Mikakage didn’t understand right away just what that meant.

Because she didn’t know, she looked at Aomori.

Aomori didn’t know either. He looked back at Mikakage uneasily.

Most of their companions were doing the same thing.

Roderick closed his eyes briefly and gave a deep sigh. On seeing him, everyone braced themselves, finally realizing that something troublesome had happened.

“We don’t think these are isolated phenomena. It’s impossible to think that phenomena such as these could happen at a time like this, one after another, without any connection to each other. In other words, we feel they are related cases. At present, we believe this world is in the midst of ongoing, large-scale changes. The Catastrophe has not ended. I propose that we gather information regarding this matter to the greatest extent possible.”

Roderick’s words rolled around the dumbstruck hall, unanswered.

Almost none of Akiba’s residents knew of these changes yet.

5

In a busy office, Akatsuki and Raynesia were both kneeling formally.

In front of them were Riezé and Henrietta. Lots of maids were bustling around them, and for some reason, Nazuna was kicking back and eating a strawberry daifuku, a dumpling made of mochi and stuffed with jam.

Akatsuki had been marched straight here from the Temple, and after she’d been fed a combination breakfast/lunch served with the words “for now,” they’d decided to ask her about the circumstances in detail.

Akatsuki had thought that being asked for “the circumstances in detail” would be a problem, and she kept shooting glances at Raynesia. Prompted by Henrietta, Raynesia sat down neatly beside Akatsuki.

The pile of the luxurious carpet was long and fluffy, so her knees certainly wouldn’t get sore; but Akatsuki lived in a Japanese-style room normally and so had absolutely no reluctance with regard to kneeling formally. However, what about Raynesia? She didn’t seem used to kneeling that way at all; she was just copying Akatsuki, with a terribly serious expression on her face.

“We’ve heard the general outline already. The murderer is actually a Person of the Earth. A member of the Kunie clan, at that. Those combat abilities are thanks to mobile armor. The city’s defensive magic circle supplies the magic, and he has acquired fighting power equal to that of a small-scale raid boss.”

At Riezé’s words, Raynesia hung her head.

Apparently Raynesia had explained the circumstances to the female Adventurers who gathered for the tea parties.

This startled Akatsuki.

A Person of the Earth was killing Adventurers.

Raynesia had been terribly frightened and worried about that situation being discovered. Even so, as she knelt formally next to Akatsuki, looking at Riezé and Henrietta, her expression was a resolute one, not one of dejection.

However, that might have been only natural. Come to think of it, the People of the Earth princess Akatsuki had thought she wanted to support had ridden a griffin and soared through the sky in order to recruit heroes for the Zantleaf siege.

“—If this incident is discovered, the relationship between Adventurers and People of the Earth in Akiba will sour. If suspicion toward the Kunie clan grows, cracks may begin to appear in city life itself. That’s what you two thought. You were concerned about that situation, Akatsuki, and so you tried to resolve the incident, instead of killing the murderer. Is that correct?”

Still sitting, Akatsuki thought for a little while, then nodded.

Put into words, that was probably what it was.

Akatsuki was aware that she’d dashed out into the nighttime streets without thinking much at all. She’d only wanted to tell somebody that Raynesia hadn’t made a mistake. She’d felt that if she stopped the murderer, that would get across. No: She was only able to understand that because she was thinking about it after the fact. If she remembered that time honestly, she might have been simply acting out her frustration for no good reason. She thought she’d just been venting her irritation at the world, which didn’t even try to understand her or Raynesia.

However, she was hesitant to put that into words, and she only gazed at Riezé silently.

“I can understand why you would have thought that. I don’t think it’s an incident that can be kept hidden to the end, but even so, resolving it quickly will be a big part of calming the uproar.”

“Plus there’ve been all these victims.”

Nazuna, who’d taken sweet sake out of her pack, poked fun at Riezé, who was speaking like a lecturer.

“…Will the West Wind Brigade make this matter public, then?”

“Nah. Soujirou said he’d pull out. We won’t make it public or retaliate. The guild members will probably have something to say about it internally, but Soujirou will handle that somehow. That’s the sort of guild we are. I’m the one who cleans up the mess… Although whatever happen now is up to you two.”

“That’s…”

“Enough of the roundabout review. Just lecture ’em already.”

At Nazuna’s words, Riezé and Henrietta sighed.

It wasn’t that they couldn’t deal with Nazuna, but they would have preferred her to go through the proper procedures, yet Nazuna didn’t seem to care one bit. Depending on how you looked at them, her licentious, traditional Japanese clothes also seemed untidy. White skin wrapped in a chain mail undershirt bulged from the open neck of her clothes, and as she sprawled on the sofa, she vividly resembled not a fox but a big cat.

Her current appearance didn’t match her stern, tense atmosphere in battle. However, to Akatsuki, she looked natural. This version of her might be the real one.

But maybe there’s no such thing as a “real version”…

Akatsuki thought that the Shiroe who patted her head was her real liege.

However, he was her liege when he was at his wits’ end over documents as well, and the one who arranged for reinforcements on the battlefield was her real liege, too.

It made a slight pain race through her chest, but the lieges who praised Minori and smiled at Marielle were also real.

Just as the Raynesia next to her didn’t look elegant and fragile as usual—or limp and tired. Instead, she wore an intent expression rife with determination.

Essentially, it was likely that none of it was a lie.

In the midst of a world that had grown just a bit wider and more vivid, Akatsuki realized this for the first time.

There were lots of “reals.”

“In short, is this what it was?”

In front of Akatsuki and Raynesia, Henrietta folded her arms and spoke to them softly.

“You thought you could do it all on your own and tried to look impressive. You knew you really should have discussed it with us, didn’t you? Akatsuki and Raynesia, haven’t you gotten a bit conceited? Aren’t you patronizing the people around you?”

Henrietta’s eyes held none of their usual mischief.

She wore a truly serious expression.

Akatsuki had no way to respond. She was right.

This incident wasn’t the worst it could have been. She could excuse herself by saying the blood had rushed to her head and she’d dashed out.

But she’d hidden in Shiroe’s shadow all this time, and there really was no way to excuse that.

In the end, she hadn’t tried to relate to other people: She’d considered it too much work and had cut them off, thinking she didn’t need them. Sage Nyanta and Naotsugu were one thing, but hadn’t she been stingy with her words with Minori, Touya, and the others, the younger members of her own guild?

Of course she’d supported their efforts. She’d guarded them silently, provided materials. She’d reconnoitered and chosen hunting grounds. However, she’d avoided speaking with them directly and traveling around with them. There hadn’t even been a good reason.

She’d used evasive words, saying that that wasn’t her role.

The realization that she’d dimly understood this tormented Akatsuki.

“How long do you intend to stay on your own? Don’t you think it’s spoiled of you to assume that, provided Master Shiroe is there, that’s enough?”

At Henrietta’s reprimanding voice, Akatsuki drooped.

She had no words. Everything was as she’d said.

Because she’d been entirely dependent on her liege, the moment that liege was gone, she’d stopped being able to do anything. She’d wanted to at least carry out her liege’s request, but she hadn’t even been able to do that. Even though it was a mission Shiroe had given to her alone…

“Did you visit this manor with the intention of acting as a guard?”

Feeling as though her thoughts had received a response, Akatsuki raised her eyes.

“Visiting Water Maple Manor and assisting its security system—that duty wasn’t given to you alone, Akatsuki. It was mine as well, and Riezé’s.”

This time, Akatsuki turned bright red with shame and pain.

Come to think of it, that was only natural. Raynesia was currently one of the most important women in Akiba, and Akatsuki wouldn’t have been assigned as her only guard. Raynesia’s tea parties were being held on Shiroe’s instructions. If she’d given it just a little thought, she would have known.

Even the thought that Shiroe was counting on her had been self-
important.

That was so sad and frustrating that it made tears well up.

Now wasn’t the time to cry, though. Akatsuki had definitely thought that she would protect Raynesia. However, she hadn’t wanted to protect only her life, as a bodyguard. That day, at that time, she’d wanted to protect the wish and the nobility of this girl, who bore a heavy responsibility as the representative of the People of the Earth.

“Akatsuki is, um…m-my—”

Raynesia broke in, speaking with what sounded like great difficulty.

However, Riezé stopped her.

“But I still want your help. I need it.”

Akatsuki desperately strung pleading words together.

“Yes, of course. I will help, and so will Riezé. Just as we promised a moment ago. However, to whom are you directing those words?”

That question was incredibly difficult for Akatsuki.

To whom? To Henrietta and Riezé? To Nazuna? To Mikakage and the others who weren’t here?

But who was that? Who should she rely on? Did she have any right to rely on anybody?

Still, there was definitely something there.

It was only that Akatsuki couldn’t find the right words. The gift was there.

Akatsuki had realized that in the dream she’d lost.

The thing she’d let fall in the faint light of dawn tormented her.

She was sure she’d been holding it tightly, along with Shiroe’s coat, but when she’d opened her eyes, her hand had been empty.

She hadn’t been able to bring it back from the dream.

There was an unbearable impatience in her chest.

The words she was sure she’d had wouldn’t come out.

They had to be there, properly, inside her heart, but she couldn’t communicate them to everyone.

Akatsuki thought, quite seriously, that if it made it possible to convey these feelings and wishes—the ones she thought were really, truly important—to everyone, she wouldn’t mind splitting her own chest open.

However, even if she’d split her chest open, they couldn’t have seen them.

At the thought of the worthlessness of her clumsy self, Akatsuki’s expression twisted, and she found herself on the verge of tears.

“Akatsuki is my friend.”

Having shaken off Riezé’s restraint, Raynesia declared this; her face was angry. Akatsuki gazed at her with an expression of blank amazement.

Inside her, something was born.

It was the words she hadn’t managed to hold on to, and the door she’d been pretending not to notice. The key to that door.

Hearing those words from the silver princess—words she’d never thought she’d say—warmed Akatsuki and gave her strength.

“Raynesia is doing her best, so… I want to help her. Everybody… With everybody. Because, um…we’re friends…”

She couldn’t put it into words well.

Feelings of embarrassment and helplessness and depression flooded her.

Even so, the strong determination that she had to push through was there as well.

As if to break through that irritation, Akatsuki took half a step forward.

It was an advance so small you really couldn’t call it a step.

Inside her mouth, the word friends seemed about to become hoarse with hesitation.

Inside Akatsuki, a slow understanding came together.

The Raynesia who wore a peaceful smile and seemed to be somewhere far away was real, but the Raynesia who was getting angry beside Akatsuki was real as well. The Henrietta who always toyed with Akatsuki was real, but so was the Henrietta who was taking Akatsuki to task. The Riezé who carefully inspected the dresses the People of the Earth wore and the Riezé whose profile was that of a battle commander were both real.

When she looked at them properly, straight on, there were all sorts of people around Akatsuki who worried about her.

Even if Akatsuki looked uncool, it wouldn’t make her a fake. The Akatsuki she couldn’t forgive was still the real Akatsuki.

There were this many people who were worried about the Akatsuki who’d messed up and been killed.

She thought she understood why Riezé had mentioned middle schoolers. This really was middle school level. To think she’d have to learn something like this so late in the game… I’m lower than Minori, Akatsuki thought. Still, there was no gut-wrenching anxiety in the idea. It was probably true that she was lower than Minori. Besides, right now, there were people right here in front of her who were worried about her.

“Understood. In that case, I have a plan. A plan to put an end to this matter. I’ve contacted the Round Table Council and requested that they set a ban on going out at night. Three days from now, let’s bring down that murderer.”

At Riezé’s words, Akatsuki felt her heart relax. This time, she wouldn’t get it wrong.

6

Henrietta looked out over Akiba from the landing on the stairs.

Most of the town’s trees were deciduous, but there were some evergreens as well. The verdant accents within the gray town were gentle on the eyes. The Crescent Moon League’s home was in this guild center, so she was used to the scenery itself. However, at the moment, the altitude was different.

Her guild home was on the fifth floor of the center. This landing was on the tenth. She was headed for the top level of the same building—in other words, for the Round Table Council.

Henrietta kept walking. Viewed from a real-world perspective, climbing up and down a high-rise building with dead elevators time after time would be torture, but Adventurer bodies were high-performance. She could make the entire round trip without any trouble, even when carrying a wooden crate.

The walls of the stairwell were exposed concrete, but she reached the floor she wanted without the cold posing much of a problem.

Greeting a Person of the Earth girl whom she knew by sight, Henrietta entered the Staff Office. This was the core of the Round Table Council. The true “Round Table Council” indicated the council composed of the leaders of the eleven guilds that represented Akiba, but the plans they settled on were administered by this Staff Office.

Many loud voices had said that technically, in some way, the eleven guilds had a hand in setting Akiba’s policies, and it was probably a bad idea not to give them space in which to do that, so each of the eleven guilds had been given an office inside the Staff Office. That said, most of the eleven guilds were big enough that it wasn’t odd for them to be representing Akiba. Most of the guild masters had offices within their own headquarters and conducted a variety of business there. Although it was a midlevel guild, the Crescent Moon League was the same in that respect, and Marielle had a fancy office that reflected her tastes.

As a result, it was typical for guilds to put someone in their Staff Office offices to hold the fort and use them as places where they could be contacted. However, unfortunately, the Crescent Moon League didn’t have that many people. This meant that Henrietta stopped by regularly to organize the materials and correspondence that had piled up.

Many People of the Earth worked here, too.

This was partly with the goal of commissioning them for simple office work, and partly an operational test to see whether or not they could work together in the same space. It might have been all right to ask them to handle the role of contact, but they were letting the current situation stand. Even without being assigned jobs like that, the People of the Earth staff had all sorts of work, such as handling contacts and negotiations for Akiba’s several hundred guilds.

Having greeted them, Henrietta reached the office, then let out a groan. The work desk was overflowing with documents again. This happened all the time, and just looking at it depressed her. Of the eleven guilds, the Crescent Moon League had things comparatively easy, and even it was like this. She didn’t even want to think about the other guilds.

As she quickly sorted the files, Henrietta poured them into the crate she’d brought along. It looked like a huge amount, but most of it was reports and confirmation documents. When files weren’t important enough to take back to the guild house, she just signed them to show they’d been looked over and tossed them into the furnished “approved” box.

As she performed this simple work, she thought back over the past few days.

After that day, things had moved quickly.

Riezé’s supervision had been brilliant, but the other participants hadn’t fallen behind. Come to think of it, even though they were women, Nazuna, Kyouko, and Azukiko had participated in raids before the Catastrophe. Organized action was probably their forte.

Raynesia’s sitting room had become a temporary strategy headquarters, and a work desk Riezé had brought in from her guild had been installed there. That room was a scene of pandemonium to rival this one. Vast amounts of written memos overflowed in the processes of correction and the creation of clean copies. Henrietta and the other Adventurers had been raised in real-world Earth’s paperless society, and the sight made their heads ache.

The participants in the antimurderer strategy called the initiative “the arrest strategy,” “the recapture strategy,” and similar things.

Because they were using Raynesia’s manor as the strategy’s headquarters, the only participating members were the women who’d been invited to Raynesia’s tea parties. Which meant that, of course, Henrietta and Marielle were participating as well.

There were two central figures: Akatsuki and Raynesia. Unfortunately, not only were both of them unused to this sort of exercise, they didn’t even have any aptitude for it. Their eyes had gone wide at this string of “firsts,” and they were running around in confusion. As the ones who’d proposed the plan, the two of them were key, but as far as group action was concerned, they couldn’t be counted upon. As a result, Riezé and Henrietta were handling the actual administrative duties.

They’d had to.

Growing tired of organizing, Henrietta sat in a leather-covered armchair and looked up at the ceiling. As long as they weren’t summoned, no staff other than Crescent Moon League members would enter the office. It was probably inevitable that her posture looked more deflated than usual.

At the guild, she was surrounded by Marielle and the other cheerful, noisy members, and she couldn’t think properly. Henrietta gently pushed her glasses up, gave a quiet sigh, and took a single card out of her well-used mini commuter pass case.

It was a brusque card, with nothing but a few lines of letters written on it in plain handwriting.

The card was a bank account.

A card that showed an account at the only banking organization in Elder Tales, which was annexed to the guild center. It was an access card, something that hadn’t existed until now.

Before the Catastrophe, Elder Tales had been a game. Its “bank” hadn’t been like a bank on Earth: It was a nonprofit organization that was there to hold players’ cash and items. Actually, it hadn’t even been a nonprofit organization. It had been one of the game functions.

The moment game characters were born—in other words, the instant they began the game—they automatically had a bank account. Procedures to open one weren’t required. Guilds were the same way: The instant they were formed, they had one bank account. It was an automatic process, and in exchange for being no trouble at all to open, you couldn’t refuse to have one. That was the long and short of what it had been. Naturally, there hadn’t been any cards or bankbooks. After all, the game system identified individuals with absolute precision and managed everything without those things.

However, the card in front of her was different.

It was one of the three cards the three committees on the Round Table Council would soon have the right to own. The account it showed belonged neither to an individual nor to a guild. It was a possibility no one in Yamato had considered.

“…Because of this, I’d really prefer to stay quiet just now.”

Henrietta spun the card around and around between her fingertips and closed her eyes.

She’d had a vague hunch that Shiroe wasn’t in Akiba. No one had explicitly told her so, but she’d guessed as much when Shiroe had asked her to take care of this card.

The card didn’t have any meaning; not yet. There was no money in the account, and it wasn’t linked to any action. At present, it was just a blank account that had been set up.

However, the future possibilities were dizzying.

Henrietta knew this. Just thinking of how it would be used gave her a faint chill.

The matter of the account hadn’t been made public because the card was currently still meaningless. In other words, at this stage, they were still verifying the possibilities, and it wasn’t yet time to announce them. At the very least, that was how it had been explained to Henrietta. Meanwhile, Henrietta had also guessed the circumstances that hadn’t been explained.

Shiroe had probably avoided announcing it because he’d taken information leakage into account.

Akatsuki’s behavior in hiding the fact that he wasn’t in Akiba also supported this idea.

Krusty, Shiroe, and Michitaka were thinking about problems that might come up in the future. The existence of enemies was probably one of those problems. To make matters worse, they thought they’d have to assume they might exist within the Round Table Council as well.

Henrietta felt that Plant Hwyaden was in the west, watching Akiba. Although a minority, the Odysseia she’d begun hearing about were eerie as well.

The idea that, if we only die enough, we’ll be able to return to Earth…

Their incomprehensible claim made Henrietta sigh. The worry was too heavy for the accountant of a midlevel guild. She couldn’t possibly shoulder it. However, in that case, who would carry it? It would be easy to say Shiroe could do it and leave it to him. However, would that be all right? From Henrietta’s perspective, Shiroe was younger than she was.

That’s right. He’s younger. That pitch-black gentleman. Honestly…

Shiroe probably didn’t have any particular interest in Henrietta as an individual. No matter what he was doing, he wasn’t doing it for Henrietta’s sake. Still, she felt as though it wouldn’t do to say, “Shiroe can handle it” and detach herself, as though it were someone else’s problem. She felt as if that would be the same as giving Shiroe up.

Since she thought this way, Henrietta was convinced that she really did need to be involved with the murderer incident.

If Riezé was advising Akatsuki with regard to combat, Henrietta should probably be involved with the matter from a different angle. She’d provide cover fire for that obstinate Shiroe. Henrietta thought it would be rather nice to pitch in and help for that reason.

Ever since the ball at the Court of Ice, where she’d danced with Shiroe, Henrietta had thought that she didn’t mind supporting him. She thought it suited her to support Akatsuki and Shiroe from the shadows.

Riezé, meanwhile, was drilling Akatsuki and training the other members of the task force in teamwork.

Until dusk, they practiced the Mysteries. There were several interested people involved besides Akatsuki, so their information regarding the Mysteries would probably expand a bit.

Then, after dinner, they’d assemble for a meeting, and after that, Akatsuki, Riezé, and the rest of the combat unit would scatter throughout Akiba, in order to keep an eye on a wide area and capture the murderer.

Having heard the detailed circumstances from Akatsuki and Nazuna, Riezé had apparently determined that the murderer wouldn’t show himself for several days. Henrietta had agreed with her, and it was good to have that time. The murderer had taken ferocious attacks from Soujirou and Akatsuki, and had sustained more damage than ever before. It would probably take some time for those wounds to heal. Since he wasn’t an Adventurer, it would certainly take more than a night.

Henrietta had negotiated with the Round Table Council and had a ban on going out at night put in place for Akiba.

This was a trick she’d settled on after discussing the matter with Riezé, both for damage control and to draw out the criminal. These days, Akatsuki and the others who were on guard continued patrolling until dawn, then slept for a short while when the sun came up.

Now was the time for Henrietta to do her job as well.

Putting together a mental list of people who needed to be persuaded, Henrietta stood. She scooped the documents on the work desk into the crate without sorting them, then contacted Hien via telechat.

Michitaka first. Then Calasin, then the members of the eleven guilds. This persuasion work would serve to provide a smoke screen for Shiroe’s operation as well. She didn’t know how far Shiroe had anticipated, but Henrietta smiled, feeling a bit spiteful.

“It may not go the way you’ve predicted, Master Shiroe. Especially…the determination within the girls.”