site 01: Yuta Gamon
site 01: Yuta Gamon
Thursday, February 11th
“Can you see something that looks like a face? Then it’s a ghost picture.”
From Modern Entertainment
A photo uploaded by a certain Twitter user had the whole internet in an uproar.
It was a photo taken somewhere in the city, and get this: They say it’s a ghost photo.
The photographer himself noticed a few days after he’d taken the photo that indeed, it was possible to see a male face contorted in pain in the grass behind him.
■NEET God
A MALE FACE lololol CONTORTED IN PAIN lolol
You see something that looks like a face, and you figure it’s gotta be a ghost. Right. Got it. You know, how come ghosts always just show their faces? Why do they never show up stark naked? How come it’s never some hot ghost-slut with huge tits, spread legs, an o-face and a double peace sign? Anybody got any ghost photos like that? Lol
If you do, I’m ready to start believing! Lolol
Okay, Basariters, rip it apart.
Oh, or if there’s any self-proclaimed spiritualists out there, your expert opinion is always welcome lol
1: True Tales of Anonymous
I’ve seen this photo. It’s famous. Oh and FIRST.
2: True Tales of Anonymous
Yeah, that sure looks like a face, I guess. And 2ch says the guy who took the picture still feels all heavy and he’s getting chills and stuff. Can’t these people ever come up with anything new? Somebody tell him how to do an exorcism! I’m half-srs.
3: True Tales of Anonymous
The hell is this? Scary. This is way more than just a coincidence.
4: True Tales of Anonymous
Admin you’re shit and this is old news. People were talking about this two months ago, dumbass.
6: True Tales of Anonymous
That’s true. There are some where you can see faces though.
8: True Tales of Anonymous
What are the odds it’s photoshopped?
10: True Tales of Anonymous
Mulder, you’re tired.
13: True Tales of Anonymous
>10
I lol’d.
20: True Tales of Anonymous
I know this place. It’s where a killer murdered someone and chopped their body into tiny little pieces. I don’t want to say where exactly so I’ll block out some of the letters: Inoka**ira Park.
23: True Tales of Anonymous
>20
Inoka**ira Park? Lol who the hell do you think you’re fooling.
28: True Tales of Anonymous
>23
You mean you cracked my brilliant code?!
30: True Tales of Anonymous
Oh shit. That’s right next door.
35: True Tales of Anonymous
So what, the photo’s real then? If it’s real that’s scary as fuck. Tell me, NEET God!
37: True Tales of Anonymous
This is “Kirikiri Basara”, right?
38: True Tales of Anonymous
Of course it’s not real, lol. Any moron with a computer can make a ghost photo these days. How dumb do you have to be to get scared of this?
40: True Tales of Anonymous
Right, right. There’s no such thing as ghosts. Someone make the scary go away!
My fingers came down hard on the laptop’s keyboard.
I couldn’t get my thoughts out fast enough. It was aggravating that I couldn’t type faster. There were so many thoughts I wanted to get out there. Why did it have to take so much work? Life was hard.
“You know what an affiliate blog is, right? There’s no better profession out there for my NEET friends. Basically, the more popular your blog, the more hits you get. And the more people who click on your affiliate links, and the more money you earn.”
Oops, I was speaking aloud as I typed. Well, nothing wrong with that.
“It’s the American dream, I guess you could say. Oh, you can google the forms you need to sign up for an affiliate program. It’s easy enough, so I’ll skip the explanation here. Sorry. But it’s simple enough that your average salaryman or housewife can do it as a second job.”
I was on Twitter, a site that let you write short messages of 140 characters or less. There were a ton of eggs there who loved to give me a hard time. And the vast majority were idiots who would always take things out of context.
“My name is the NEET God, and I run a site called Paranormal Science Kirikiri Basara, where I find interesting articles on news sites and individual blogs, then summarize them in my own unique, cool, and classy way.”
Right now I was politely explaining to these idiots how the blog I ran worked.
“But there’s really a trick to how you pick your articles. And unfortunately, 2ch doesn’t let you reproduce stuff from their site, so you can’t take anything from there.”
From the perspective of me and the other aggregate site owners, Hiroyuki’s policy was a huge nuisance. I wanted to ride the big wave, too!
I found myself getting a little irritated, so I took a big drink of water to calm down. The ice in the glass had almost melted, and a single drop fell onto my pants and left a mark. The heater was running, so even in the winter, cold water felt good.
“Basically, I’m a normal 2nd-year NEET student in high school who wants to up his affiliate income and get rich, like others have done before me. But I’m not making enough money for you to be jealous over. I’m making so little that I want to kill myself. Maybe I was an idiot for picking a site like this just because occult stuff has been popular lately. There are so many other copycat sites like mine that my hit counter is basically frozen.”
And then, even my followers who weren’t eggs started to chime in. Most of their comments were along the lines of, “People who try to make pocket change off of affiliate links should be taken out into the street and shot,” and, “Don’t worry, I’m never clicking on anything on your site.” I was getting really tired of seeing that.
What was so wrong about trying to make money off of affiliate links? It wasn’t like it was illegal or anything. These guys were just jealous because they couldn’t make a good site!
But if I said that, it would only add fuel to the flame war, so I didn’t.
People on the internet got mad whenever you were right and they weren’t. If starting a flame war was a good way to up my affiliate income, I wouldn’t mind. But honestly, it wasn’t.
“Oh, but my top priority is always providing my Basariters with top-quality content! I look forward to seeing you guys rip some stuff apart today!”
That was how I decided to end it.
Of course, what I, Yuta Gamon, was actually trying to say was, “Visit my site more, and buy more stuff from my affiliate links.” Man, I couldn’t wait until I made enough off of affiliate links to survive. These days, only losers had real jobs.
That was how I planned to end it, anyway, but then the eggs refused to shut up.
“Creepy otaku virgins like you who refuse to get jobs don’t even have the right to breathe, let alone walk around outside.”
“I’ll cop to being an otaku and a virgin, but I’m not creepy. If I try to blend in, my looks are above average. At least, that’s what I think.”
I had no intentions of saying I was a good-looking guy, but I was better than your average NEET. At least, that’s what I wanted to believe.
I heard a loud, instantly recognizable laugh from behind me. A solidly built, well-muscled man stood behind the counter, chortling.
“You know, Gamota, you might have above-average looks, but they go to waste when you bury your face in a duffel coat and mumble to yourself, you know?”
“Grrr...” I couldn’t let myself talk back to him.
He was the owner of the café. If I ticked him off, I might lose my base of operations.
The name of this place was Café☆Blue Moon. To get here, you would go out the north side of Kichijoji Station, take the street behind the Yodobashi store, then walk past a bunch of love hotels. It was only a five minute walk from the station, but it still had the feeling of a secret hideout. At night it was a bar, but during the day it was a café.
The place had an exotic, Oriental atmosphere, due to all the items around the café that the owner had personally purchased on his travels around the world. Of course, an “exotic, Oriental atmosphere” sounded good in theory, but none of the tables and chairs matched at all, and it was a little bewildering to look at. Rococo-style chairs were lined up next to ones made from wicker, and there was a little Japanese-style room filled with cushions shaped like chocolate pies.
What was he going for with all this?
But there were two reasons I liked this place. First, other students almost never came here. And second, it had a grown-up atmosphere.
Also, you could sit here for hours without ordering anything but water, and he wouldn’t get mad or kick you out. That was nice, too.
I leaned back in the wicker sofa, then turned toward the owner and raised my empty glass.
“Master Izumin, may I have some more water?”
“Oh, jeez, you’re working me to the bone, honey.”
His real name was Kohei Izumi, and he was 43 years old. His nickname was Izumin. That’s what he’d told me to call him. His high-pitched, effeminate manner of speaking, his soft bearing, and the fact that he always wore makeup might lead you to make certain assumptions, but according to him none of those assumptions were true.
He mumbled some complaints to himself as he poured me a new glass of water. I took it and turned back to my laptop.
“Wait, Gamota, shouldn’t you be at school?”
“There’s no school today.”
“Oh, is it? Oh dear. Oh my stars! I’ve lost track of what day it is!”
My school, Seimei High, was about 20 minutes away on foot. For what it was worth, that was also about the same distance to my house. In other words, Kichijoji was my hometown. And on my days off, instead of staying at home, I always went outside to avoid living the traditional NEET lifestyle.
I was more of an active NEET.
“You know, Gamota, I saw that Kirikiri Barber site, or whatever it’s called. I have to say, if you keep making fun of ghosts, you’re going to regret it. The occult is real. And don’t come running to little old Izumin when you need somebody to save you! ‘Cause I won’t!”
“I laugh at your curses! I lol at them! There are no such things as ghosts.”
I didn’t believe in the occult at all. That was Kirikiri Basara’s official stance. Of course, in a horror movie, whoever said that was always the first to die.
“You know, Master Izumin. Kirikiri Basara isn’t just your typical aggregator site. It’s a site where we take all the world’s occult phenomena and go, ‘Haha! I’ll prove you wrong!’”
The name had come from the words “kiri” or “cut,” and “basara,” which meant “to not hold back.” It’s just a silly name I made up one day when I’d gotten mad at something, but I don’t regret it. The Basariters who commented on my site were even more brutal about this stuff than I was, after all. I actually think I was pretty lucky to come up with it.
Of course, as an individual, I wasn’t sure how I thought about that. It put me in a bad position as site admin, after all. But whenever one of the Basariters commented, it always meant a lot of hits. Since my goal was to make a living off my affiliate links, I couldn’t chase them out.
The door opened, and a girl I instantly recognized came spinning in like a ballet dancer.
“Gamotan! ♪ Gamotan goes ♪♪ Ribbit-ribbit-ribbit like a frog! ♪”
“I do not.”
Her steps were beautiful and fluid, even if her song was out of tune. She hopped a few times, spun around, and then swayed. There was no logic to her movement. She was in thrall to the impulses that came from deep within her.
And damned if her boobs weren’t bouncing! Her gigantic, watermelon-sized boobs!
“Gamotan! ♪”
YES! I wanted to make a video and watch it every night before bed. I didn’t even bother saying anything about her weird dance, opting instead to pump my fist in joy where no one could see it.
But damn, if I watched any more, I was going to get a nosebleed.
“Stop! Okay, okay! Stop dancing!” I turned toward the dancing boob-angel, clapping my hands and shouting, like a choreographer on one of those reality TV shows.
“Poyaya?”
“Don’t say ‘poyaya,’ Ryotasu.” Ryotasu was what I called her. More precisely, Ryotasu was what she called herself, and I simply took it from her.
Of course, it was just a nickname. Her real name was Ryoka Narusawa. She was a year younger than me, and went to Seimei High, just like I did.
She was one of my few friends in the real world, and also helped as an employee of Kirikiri Basara.
I considered myself extremely lucky to be friends with a younger girl like her. At school, I was a weirdo who wasn’t part of anybody’s social group, and online I was so disliked that I got mocked by eggs on Twitter. But that didn’t matter, did it?
Just the fact that Ryotasu was here made me far superior to my classmates who spent all their time in school clubs, or the unemployed thirty-somethings who spent all their time on the internet all day. I was practically normal.
In other words, Ryotasu’s role within the party was to give me a major status buff. She was cute, she had huge tits, and—
“You know, your real job isn’t dancing. It’s working for Kirikiri Basara. Help me deal with these stupid eggs...”
“Cock-a-doodle-doo? If you want an egg, go to a hen! ♪ If you want a meal, go to a rooster! ♪ Cock-a-doodle-doo! ♪”
—and she was also a little... odd.
When she finished her song, she spun around toward Master Izumin and took a bow. The wonderful show had come to an end.
Ryotasu did whatever Ryotasu wanted. There were times when she’d just burst into song for no reason other than that she felt like it. What she was doing a moment ago, or what she might be doing a moment later, didn’t matter in the slightest.
Ryotasu spun around once more to face me, and then leaned her face in close. It was so close I almost flinched back.
“You know, the whole point of Kirikiri Basara is to make you rich, right Gamotan? But I don’t get any money, right?”
She stared straight into my eyes. She was staring too deeply! I was going to fall in love!
“O-Okay, when I get the money from the affiliate links, I’ll buy you some suta-don. I recommend the soy-garlic flavor. Oh, or would you prefer salt and garlic?”
That was my way of paying her. A bowl of suta-don was a cheap price to pay.
“Hmm... I’d rather have some frozen yogurt from Woodberrys.”
“W-Woodberrys?”
“It’s a frozen yogurt shop near the station!”
“H-Huh...”
I’d lived in Kichijoji for years, but I’d never gone to any fancy places like that. I deliberately avoided them, in fact.
“All right, that works.”
“Yay! I’ll do my best, then!”
Ryotasu leapt up to express her joy.
I couldn’t stop my eyes from following the bouncing breasts in front of me.
Up, then down.
And then up again.
An infinite loop.
“Amazing.”
“Hmm? What is?”
“Never change!”
“Aye-aye, sir!”
Ryotasu raised her right hand, smiled, and saluted.
You know, Ryotasu always wore clothes that emphasized her chest. I loved it. Those were totally boob-bags. I thought those things only existed in H-games. Not that I’d ever played one.
And then there was another interruption from the counter.
“Gamota, you’re staring.”
“Hey! You’re a much bigger pervert than I am, Master Izumin!”
“Yup, that’s right!” Ryotasu agreed. I was happy she understood.
“What do you mean, ‘That’s right?’ Why? Why? WHY? Ryotasu, how could you agree with him?”
“Poyaya?” Ryotasu crossed her arms below her chest and tilted her head, making a pose like she was thinking. “Poyaya” was probably another one of her meaningless phrases. She had different phrases that she used depending on her situation and mood.
I would’ve preferred she speak in Japanese, but it was still cute. Everything about Ryotasu was cute. And since she was cute, it was okay.
Ryotasu sat down next to me, still maintaining her thinking pose. She was looking up at the ceiling— or so I thought, until I felt a toy ray gun poking me in the ribs. The Poyaya Gun, she always called it.
“Hey, hey, Samurai Gamonosuke!”
Who the hell was Samurai Gamonosuke? No one had ever called me that in my life.
And anyway, her face was way too close. She was asking for a kiss! She had to be! Ryotasu was in love with me! —But her face was still way too close!
“Um... Ryotasu?”
“Po-ya?”
“You’re too close.”
“Poyaya?”
“Distance-wise.”
“Poyah.”
I didn’t know what she was saying, but she seemed to understand me, and backed away a little. The ray gun was still poking into my ribs, though.
“Hey, hey, when do I get my frozen yogurt?”
“Well, once I get my affiliate money in, I guess.”
I decided to look and see when that would be.
“Today’s view count is... NGGAAH!” Some famous affiliate blogs got hundreds of thousands of hits a day. Compared to that, my numbers made me want to jump off a bridge.
“Monthly view count is... MGHAH!” That number was just as bad.
Unless I did something about these numbers, I could probably make a heck of a lot more money working at that frozen yogurt place.
“I guess the real money’s in porn... But wait. God controls all things. Some day, occult sites shall surpass erotic sites!”
“God is Ero-him Essaim, after all!” Ryotasu put her hands together in prayer, and wiggled and contorted her body.
As I watched her shake her body out of the corner of my eye, I slammed my finger down on the F5 key. “Hitting the button sixteen times isn’t really going to change my view numbers, though!”
The numbers weren’t exactly zero, but some months the deposit fees ate up all my money. I had a long way to go to achieve my goal of being an independent NEET.
“Our views aren’t going up very fast. We’ve got a long way to go before all-you-can-eat frozen yogurt, Ryotasu.”
“I see...” Ryotasu looked depressed. “My yogurt...”
I felt bad, but there wasn’t anything I could do about it, so I decided to ignore her.
I checked the blog.
There were more comments now.
“Wait, is it him again?”
“That’s right! His name is... S! A! R! A! I! SARAI!”
“Yes...”
Sarai was a regular commenter at Kirikiri Basara, and the smartest one we had.
To be honest, most of the debunking work on the site was done by him. He was someone I could count on.
In fact, whenever Sarai showed up and commented, the view count would go up a little as people came to read it. So while I felt grateful as the owner of the site, I did feel a little jealous that I wasn’t the star of my own show.
Male pride was a complicated thing.
“Oh, whoops. I’m getting emotional.”
I read through Sarai’s comment with the usual mixture of dread and anticipation. The page was filled with one of his usual long comments.
“This photo is a typical example of a simulacrum. I can say, without the slightest doubt, that this is not a spirit photograph, and what’s more, most so-called spirit photographs can be entirely explained via the simulacrum phenomenon, which is also known as the pareidolia effect.”
“Too long, didn’t read.”
“Wow, Sarai is always so amazing, huh?”
Hmm?! Ryotasu’s eyes were wide with amazement as she read Sarai’s debunking.
I know you have to look over to read the screen, but Ryotasu, your face is really close! And your boobs! They’re touching me! They’re touching me and I can’t focus on what Sarai’s saying!
If you were to make a pie chart of all the thoughts in my head at that moment, it would have been 3% happiness that my views had gone up, and 6% annoyance that Sarai was stealing my thunder, with the remaining 91% of me going, “Ryotasu! You’re too close to me again!”
I was so excited I almost forgot about the site!
“Oh! Gamotan’s got a naughty look on his face!” Ryotasu suddenly said.
“Huh?! What do you mean, ‘a naughty look’?! I do not!”
“Naughty Gamotans get I-shi-shu!” Ryotasu pointed the ray gun in her hand at me and pulled the trigger.
I felt a sharp pain, and numbness run through my whole body.
“Ow! Ow, ow, ow!” When you were hit with the PYG— at least, that’s what I called her Poyaya Gun— you felt a stinging sensation like an electrostim treatment.
It didn’t shoot rays, but I was sure it shot some kind of electromagnetic pulse.
“Wait! Stop! PYG! No!”
“I-SHI-SHU!”
I had no idea what that meant, but Ryotasu sure was excited.
She still kept shooting even after I fell out of my chair and started writhing on the ground. Maybe she was actually a huge sadist?
“Ow! Ow! Ow! That hurts! Fine, I’ll stop imagining naughty things!”
Satisfied, Ryotasu finally put away her gun.
“Gahh... hahh... hahh... Whew...”
Wh-What jackass gave a girl like Ryotasu a (semi-)deadly weapon?
It was her fault for always getting right up in my face, anyway. What gave her the right to shoot me just because I looked like I enjoyed it? Not that I wanted her to stop.
“Aw, it’s good to see you two kids flirting like that.” The owner had a creepy grin on his face as he teased me.
But it didn’t bother me. I bet any other guy would kill to get a chance to play with Ryotasu like this. I sat back in my chair, feeling like a winner.
Sarai’s comment was still displayed on the screen. I glanced through the rest of it.
“The simulacrum phenomenon is one of the brain and eye’s most basic functions. When the eye sees dots or lines arranged in a triangular shape, the brain interprets them as a face. This is an animal instinct that every person is born with. Since there are several such dots and lines in the photograph, it’s even easier for the brain to interpret them as faces. However, if you look at each portion individually, you’ll see that they’re all tricks of the light or part of the background.”
“I’m convinced. But I hate to admit it. But I’m convinced. I’m convinced, but I hate to admit it.”
I looked away from the monitor and rubbed my eyes again. Sarai’s comments were so complicated that I always felt tired reading them.
“You can tell from the way he writes that he thinks he’s smarter than everyone, you know? I bet he thinks that everybody in the world but him is stupid. If he’s this smart, and he’s got a girlfriend and she’s really hot, I’ll never forgive him. Ever.”
Ryotasu suddenly looked off into the distance when she heard my “profiling.”
“I feel bad for poor Sarai.”
“Y-You feel bad for him?!”
What did that mean?
My heart almost stopped for a second there.
“Ryotasu, you know Sarai?”
“Sure do! I always read his comments on Kirikiri Basara. Not all the way through, though. Ehehe...”
“No, I mean, do you know him in real life?”
“I don’t know him in real life! ♪”
“Oh, okay...”
So it was just her imagination, then?
Still, “poor Sarai,” huh? I had no idea where she was getting that from his comments.
I didn’t see any comments from Sarai yet on the newer articles. There was always a big lag between when I’d post a new article and when he’d comment on it. He was probably spending a lot of time doing research, like your typical nerd.
I’d put up three new articles on Kirikiri Basara today: “Man Livestreams One-Man Hide And Seek, Never Comes Back,” “The Curse of Kokkuri-san Is Seriously Terrifying,” and “Is It True That a Girl Once Lived with a Mummy?” I’d uploaded all of them since I’d come to the café this morning. Since all three of them had supposedly occurred in Kichijoji, I’d taken to calling them the Kichijoji Trilogy.
They’d been up for hours, but Sarai would probably wait until tomorrow to comment. Aside from Sarai, how many other people had commented by now? I decided to take a look.
“Man Livestreams One-Man Hide And Seek, Never Comes Back!”
From J-Cast News
There’s a certain video on Niconico that’s attracting a lot of attention.
It’s a livestream of a man performing a ritual called “One-Man Hide And Seek,” as described in urban legends.
Get this: there’s a rumor that after the broadcast, the streamer vanished!
The video is approximately three hours in length, and consists of nothing but footage of a doll sitting in the streamer’s room. Nothing special seems to happen. But after the upload, the streamer, who had regularly been posting over 100 tweets a day to his Twitter account, ceased to update the account altogether. And a woman believed to be the man’s sister wrote on her own blog that her brother had suddenly vanished.
Upon noticing this, one of the streamer’s followers contacted the Musashino area police, who confirmed that a missing person report had been filed for him.
■NEET God
The whole thing sounds like a setup to me, lol.
And what’s more, J-Cast just ripped this whole thing off of 2ch.
And what’s with all these livestreams of One-Man Hide And Seek, anyway?
There’s like a billion of the things.
What’s that? “Explain One-Man Hide And Seek”?
Lmgtfy, jackass.
Okay, Basariters, rip it apart.
1: Anonymous FOUND YOU
FIRST POST, BITCHES!
2: Anonymous FOUND YOU
Snake, what’s wrong? Snake? SNAAKKKKEEEE!
4: Anonymous FOUND YOU
We don’t even know for sure that the guy on the missing person report is the same guy as the streamer.
Where do people get this shit? Lol
7: Anonymous FOUND YOU
>4
2ch figured out that guy lived in Kichijoji, which is in Musashino. After that they saw a missing person report in the newspaper for a guy in Musashino, and then it hit the news sites.
18: Anonymous FOUND YOU
You guys don’t honestly think this is real, right? Dude’s probably just trying to run from some bad debts or something.
32: Anonymous FOUND YOU
NEET God, stop putting up these crappy articles all the time.
37: Anonymous FOUND YOU
>18
But from the photos I saw, he’d put some real effort into setting it up. It’s obvious he was pretty serious about doing the livestream.
41: Anonymous FOUND YOU
Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate – Affiliate
43: Anonymous FOUND YOU
Man this stuff was old news ages ago. Who gives a crap about Solo Hide-and-Seek these days NEET God, get with the times, damn it.
47: Anonymous FOUND YOU
It’s okay to trip.
It’s okay to fall.
It’s okay to play hide-and-seek.
That’s what it means to be human.
By Mitsuwo
53: Anonymous FOUND YOU
If the guy who went missing in Musashino really is the guy from the Solo Hide-and-Seek video, wouldn’t this be bigger news?
59: Anonymous FOUND YOU
No way is the news gonna talk about this stuff. Since when does the mainstream media cover anything occult?
72: Anonymous FOUND YOU
I laughed when I found out that there are as many variants for the rules of One-Man Hide And Seek as there are for rules of poker.
“The Curse of Kokkuri-san Is Seriously Terrifying!”
From Twitter
@shimizuBBA
I heard from someone in my club that four girls from the third-year class were playing Kokkuri-san, and one of them took her finger off the board. She ended up going crazy and they had to take her to the hospital. There was an ambulance at school sometime during the fall. So that’s what that was? Scary!
■NEET God
The source is Twitter, home of the stupidest people on the internet.
Okay, Basariters, rip it apart.
9: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
Kokkuri-san is like a Japanese ouija board. It scares the hell out of me.
12: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
Obvious BS, lol. But I like this stuff about a Kichijoji high school girl, so feel free to keep going.
13: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
Kokkuri-san = Ko (Fox), Ku (Dog) Ri (Raccoon).
20: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
My grandma caught me playing Kokkuri-san once and started screaming at me. She told me to never, ever play it. She’s dead now, though.
21: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
Why are all these articles from Kichijoji, lol. Is that place cursed or something? This place is turning into a local newspaper.
24: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
She’s currently locked in a psych ward and they’re not letting her receive visitors.
Source: A friend who goes to the same school.
34: Anonymous is Seriously Scary.
>24
You’re obviously NEET God using an alt. You’re fooling nobody. You don’t need to make crap up to try and make this more exciting, lol
39: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
Don’t you use a 5-yen piece to play Kokkuri-san? In the age of digital currency I bet the ghosts are bored off their asses (@_@)
42: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
Just use your Suica card that you use for the trains.
46: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
>42
I bet it makes that “ding” noise when it stops over a certain letter.
48: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
Stop it, you’ll open the automatic turnstile to the spirit world! Lol
51: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
More like COCK-kuri-san iykwimaityd
53: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
I looked up how the hell stuff like Kokkuri-san and ouija boards actually work and it’s a kind of group hypnosis. Maybe it really is that scary. Post-hypnotic suggestions and mind control are real, after all.
57: Anonymous is Seriously Scary
I don’t believe in hypnosis and mind control, anyway. I’m sure it wouldn’t work on me lol
“Is It True That a Girl Once Lived with a Mummy?”
From the Tokyo Urban Legends Blog
Did you know that there’s a huge mansion that’s been unoccupied for years in a corner of a Kichijoji residential district?
Several years ago, a mummified corpse was found there. The TV shows were all over it.
It seems the body belonged to a resident of the mansion who died from an illness.
But there’s actually a terrifying rumor surrounding the incident.
There was another person who was living with the mummy in the mansion: a girl who was only 14 or 15 years old!
■NEET God:
A loli who lives with a mummy lol.
It sounds like an H-game.
When’s the movie version coming?
Okay, Basariters, rip it apart.
1: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
FROST PRIST
3: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
http://www.love*lovedeaiknews.com/archive13/
5: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
So the mummy was banging the girl, right?
6: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
For the first time in my life, I want to be a mummy
7: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
Let’s go to the sea, Brother. You love the sea, right?
10: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
>7
That’s right. You put the dried mummy in the sea and it puffs up, and goes back to being a person. Wait, that’s dried seaweed!
12: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
Guys you’re missing the most important part. They found a mummy in some family’s house! And this girl was hiding it from the cops! And the body had gone missing from a hospital after the guy had died there! That’s a crime!
16: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
You’ve got me there. I bet the hospital was trying to keep it... under wraps!
21: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
“Mummy” is a bad way to put it. “Mummified body” is better.
24: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
I bet he was just lonely, and wanted his MUMMY. haha. Get it?
27: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
If you’ve got a thing for bandaged chicks, you’ll loved mummies.
31: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
I thought mummies only had bandages in anime.
35: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
I’m pretty sure that some Egyptian mummies have bandages and some don’t. (^^)
42: Anonymous lives 24/7 in his mom’s basement
So who took the body from the hospital to the house, and why? Is there a source somewhere?
“Gah... I hate to say it, but without that nerd Sarai, the rest of them are all morons.”
I softly closed the lid of my laptop, and let out a long, long sigh.
“I’m feeling extremely tired all of a sudden. Let’s get some food. I’ve been working all day, and I’m starving.”
“Working? You?”
“That’s right. I’m the site admin.”
Ryotasu tilted her head in confusion as she checked the time on the cuckoo clock on the wall. The little hand was past the four.
“You didn’t eat lunch?”
“I didn’t eat lunch, and I didn’t eat breakfast either.”
Mom had been out working and wasn’t there when I woke up again. My mom’s job didn’t really give her days off.
“Oh, but you don’t really eat a lot, do you, Gamota? Are you just one of those boys who doesn’t eat?”
I could hear Master Izumin’s sarcastic voice from behind the counter. I activated my “ignore” skill to completely shut out the sound of his voice.
“Gamotan, Gamotan! If you only eat one meal a day you’ll get fat, like a sumo wrestler. Plumpy and dumpy! ☆”
“NEETs are either super-thin, or super-fat. I’m the former, so I’ll be fine.”
“I see! ☆”
Ryotasu brought her face up so close that I thought she might be trying to head-butt me. Her eyes were shining as she looked in mine.
“Y-You’re too close.” What was so interesting about what I just said, anyway? I didn’t understand why Ryotasu found that impressive. It was a mystery.
I waited, but Ryotasu refused to move her face away. So I looked down, awkwardly.
I saw my bag near my feet. Strictly speaking, it wasn’t a bag. It was a laptop case with a built-in shoulder strap. I’d made it myself.
My Zonko strap, from MMM (Master Must Murder), shook as I lifted it up, and put it on my lap.
Yup. So cute.
Inside the case was my BCL (Broadcast Listener) radio, which I always kept with me. This was a powerful radio that let me listen to international shortwave broadcasts. It was a model called a Skysensor. I didn’t come up with that. I would’ve come up with a less geeky name. That was just the name of the product.
Dad had given it to me when he was still alive. It was quite an antique since it had been manufactured in 1975. But I thought it had a sleek, modern design that didn’t really look old at all.
You didn’t have to be a radio hobbyist to love this design. Any kid would love it. In fact, it had been popular with both kids and adults. I felt like I knew why.
Its body was the size of a large bento box, and heavy. Its main tuning dial and bandspread dials were big and sturdy, like the dials on a safe at the bank. The frequency panel had the numbers carved into it. There were switches to move between AM and FM, and to turn the device on and off.
It was fun just to play with the dials and switches, even if you weren’t actually doing anything.
Ryotasu was watching me as I moved my hands. She was so close I could almost feel her breath.
I turned on the power switch. White noise came out of the speaker.
--PWWEEEWWW-----BZZT
Just listening to the sound of the white noise made me feel nostalgic, and kind of special.
I spun the dial at random.
—Don’t look at the saved settings. Don’t rely on your ears, either. Just feel it with your hands.
That’s what Dad taught me, I think. The sound coming out of the speakers was constantly changing, and you could actually feel it in the tips of your fingers as you touched the dial. That was one of the unique things about radios that used gears instead of threading to connect the dials on the outside to the rest of the machine.
I’d been raised in a single-parent household, by my mom. My dad had died from an illness seven years ago. He was a radio DJ. Not a famous one. He had a mini-FM radio station in Kichijoji, and he had a day job where he was just a normal salaryman. He’d started the mini-FM station as a hobby.
The station was just something he’d done on his own, and he didn’t even have anything you could call “programs.” It was mostly unimportant local information, like local news and the specials the local restaurants were running. But he would tell me with pride that his “Music for Kichijoji” show was actually kind of popular.
And so I’d taken after my dad. In an age when every other kid was on the internet, I’d gotten into radio.
The Skysensor my dad had given me was my treasure. I remember when I used to sit right outside during his broadcasts and listen on it.
I was the only regular listener he had.
I could hear his voice come out of the speaker a moment after he spoke. I always sat just close enough that if I listened carefully, I could hear his actual voice. It made me feel special, like I had my own seat to the show that no one else had.
—If I ever die, I’m going to turn into a ghost DJ, and use my radio to say, "Yuta! Come out and play!" from the spirit world. Remember that. Make sure you keep tuning in and listening.
Dad used to always say that when he was alive.
When I was a kid, it scared me, but I believed him. I never thought I’d see the day when he actually died, though. When he died, I kept searching for his voice. But a week passed, and then a month, and then a year, and I never found it.
And then I finally understood.
The reason that Dad never spoke to me from the radio was—
In this world, there were no such things as ghosts.
So why was I still carrying this thing around with me, all these years later?
“I’m hungry. Let’s have some suta-don today.”
‘”You mean like every day?”
“Garlic-soy suta-don with extra meat is the greatest thing in the world.”
“If you eat nothing but meat, you won’t get enough nutrients, you know.”
“There’s nutrients in meat.”
“Poya? In the Narusawa household, if you don’t eat a balanced diet they get mad at you. Buh.”
Ryotasu puffed out her cheeks like a chipmunk. She was way too old to be doing that. But it was cute, so I would allow it. From a boy’s perspective, it didn’t matter if she really meant it, or if she was just putting on an act.
I put the Skysensor and my laptop in the case, and then stood up to go.
“Master Izumin, put the bill on my tab.” I’d had nothing but water from the faucet, so there wasn’t going to be a bill or a tab, though.
I left the café and went down to the station to get my suta-don to go, and then sat down on a bench in Kichijoji Park. It was a tiny little park right behind the Kichijoji Theater. There was nothing there but a colorful slide for children and several benches.
“Why do you always come here, as opposed to Inokashira Park?”
“A real otaku always chooses the minority over the majority.”
Inokashira Park just had too many people. And on a weekend like today it was swarming with people who weren’t even locals. There were families, couples, middle-aged joggers, old couples with dogs, girls sitting on benches and reading to try and show off their subculture cred, street performers, roadside stalls, drunks wasted on One Cup Ozeki in the middle of the day, kids running around screaming, and more. There were so many people around that it was impossible to sense the minute changes in the Skysensor.
But here in my home base of Kichijoji Park, it was always quiet. It was my secret hideout, you could say. There was usually nobody here but us, and today was no exception.
“So there’s this Japanese-language broadcast called ‘A Message from the Andes.’ That’s our target for today.”
Once I’d finished my suta-don, I took out the Skysensor again and started to explain to Ryotasu how it worked. Well, today wasn’t exactly the first time I’d tried. Ryotasu was the type of girl who just didn’t listen.
“If you’re able to listen to their broadcast, you can send them a listener’s report. And they’ll send you this super-rare QSL card. QSL cards are way rarer than trading cards, you know. Honestly, at this time of day, we should be able to hear it.”
“Bwhom gwihbs ywo tewh cwaado?”
“Don’t talk with your mouth full.”
Ryotasu chewed her food for a while, and then swallowed it down. “Who gives you the card?”
“The radio station, obviously.”
“Can you pick up radio all the way from the Andes?”
“Well, we’re going to try and find out.”
The winter sky was the color of twilight thinned with water. Compared to the noise around the station, this area was very quiet. Even Kichijoji turned into a quiet residential neighborhood once you got ten minutes away from the station.
I twiddled the Skysensor’s dials as I stared vaguely at Ryotasu’s heaving breasts.
I listened to the sounds of the meaningless white noise coming from the radio, and the meaningless songs that Ryotasu sang as she danced around.
This might be my favorite part of the day.
It was like this place wasn’t real.
Come to think of it, wasn’t this where I’d first met Ryotasu?
It was on a summer’s day about six months ago.
I’d been sitting on the bench alone, just like I was doing today. And then suddenly, without warning, she’d appeared on the slide.
“I’m your servant familiar, Gamotan!”
And from that day on, Ryotasu was my servant familiar. She didn’t do anything particularly familiar-ish. In fact, she didn’t even help with Kirikiri Basara. No enemies came for her to fight off with her Poyaya Gun.
I still hadn’t quite figured out what had happened with that strange meeting.
The one thing I knew for sure was that Ryotasu was cute. She was cute, and that was enough. Who cares about the rest of it? But since I’d remembered, I thought I may as well ask. I tried to make the question sound as natural as I could.
“Hey, Ryotasu. The first time we met, did you fall from the sky?”
“Ssh!” It happened without warning.
Ryotasu put her finger up to her lips and looked at me sharply.
“Wh-What...?”
Ryotasu slid down the slide and ran over to the bench I was sitting on.
She knelt down right in front of the Skysensor on the bench next to me, and stared right at my Zonko strap.
No, she was listening to the speaker, not staring at the strap.
The expression on her face wasn’t the usual dopey smile. She looked extremely serious.
“—ordered our government to communicate to... China and the Soviet Union that Our Empire... provisions of their Joint Declaration...”
I thought I could hear the voice of a man through the noise, speaking in a detached and dispassionate tone.
I quickly grabbed the volume knob and turned it up. With my other hand, I adjusted the tuner at nanometer increments. (Okay, not really.)
The voice gradually became clearer and more understandable.
“—an ultimate collapse and obliteration of the Japanese nation... lead to the total extinction of human civilization.”
“This is...”
“The Jewel Voice Broadcast,” Ryotasu said.
It was the broadcast from Emperor Hirohito that had brought an end to the last war Japan had ever fought.
“But why?”
Ryotasu ignored me and suddenly stood up.
“Your radio really is amazing, Gamotan. I knew it!” She smiled and left the park, leaving me behind.
Amazing how? And what did she mean by “I knew it”?
“And why did you just leave me here?!”
The Jewel Voice Broadcast happened over 50 years ago. Why did my radio pick it up now?
I sat there at the park for another half hour, completely confused. By the time I got home, the sun had set.
The sun set early in the winter. Spring was a long way off.
“Uwah!” When I grabbed the doorknob to unlock the front door, I felt a sharp pain in my hand.
“More static electricity? Maybe it’s because I got hit with the PYG today.” I actually heard a crackling sound, so it must have been pretty bad. I don’t know if my body just naturally built up electricity, but this happened a lot. It would be cool if I could use it as some kind of electrical attack. Every kid wants to be able to shoot fire or electricity from their hands, and maybe I could use it to fight back against Ryotasu’s PYG.
I grabbed the knob (it still stung a little) and opened the door.
“I’m home!” I shouted into the empty room. Of course, there was no answer.
I turned on the light switch, but my mom wasn’t there. She was probably still at work.
Mom had gotten a job after Dad died. She was raising me all by herself. Sometimes during busy times she would be gone when I got up in the morning and not get back until late at night.
I turned on the oil stove in the living room, shivering from the cold. I’d been talking with Ryotasu so long outside that my body felt like it was frozen solid.
“It’s so cold...” I lived in a condo three minutes’ walk from the Seimei Street intersection.
The red brick facade outside gave a clue to age of the building. It was 35 years old. Of course, there were no floor heaters, air conditioners, or anything like that.
I took my laptop out of the case and powered it on while I waited for the room to warm up. A laptop computer could be just as hot as your average pocket warmer, after all.
I suddenly remembered that Woodberrys place that Ryotasu had mentioned, and decided to look it up. I was primarily interested in how expensive it was.
“Hmm... a small is 320 yen. A medium is 390, and a double is 530 yen. That’s even cheaper than a suta-don. Of course, the great thing about a suta-don is the absolutely crazy portion size. The name means ‘stamina bowl,’ after all.”
If it was this cheap, I could take Ryotasu there, no problem. She really seemed to want it, after all. She was the rare 3D girl who actually hung out with me. I needed to treat her every once in a while. I wanted to make her happy. And I wanted to see her smile. If she was smiling at me, that made me happier than anything in the world.
“Wow! I’m thinking like a normie! That’s disgusting! It’s making my skin crawl! But I kind of feel like a grown-up.”
I rubbed my arm and decided to check out the comments on Kirikiri Basara. As the site admin, I wanted to be able to look at it at least 5 times a day. On school days I often didn’t get the chance, though.
“All right, did I get some more comments?” Like always, I started by checking the top comments on the most recent article.
“Sarai... hasn’t commented yet, huh? Slacker.” As I mumbled to myself, I saw a comment from an IP address that I didn’t recognize.
Check Out This Super-Sexy Genius Fortune-Teller with a 99% Accuracy Rate!!
http://live.nicovideo.jp/watch/lv13448XXXX?ref=rtrec&zroute=recent&tab=live&sort=view_counter&order=desc&tags=
“Did he say... Super-Sexy?” It had nothing to do with the article, but I was still interested. Kirikiri Basara sometimes dealt with light occult stuff like fortune-telling, right?
“No, no, wait. Wait. Don’t be fooled. How many times have you seen the words ‘super-sexy’ on the internet? She’s just an amateur. Compared to an idol or an actress, let alone a 2D character, she probably isn’t that great. The bar for ‘super-sexy’ is really high.” I had to be careful.
And there was a good chance that the link might lead to something nasty. It could just be a spam link to a porn site too
“Wait a second. Isn’t this address...”
It was an address that I recognized.
This was a link to a Niconico livestream. Every NEET knew about those. Hell, even people who weren’t NEETs knew.
“Hmm... It’s suspicious. It’s extremely suspicious. I feel like if I click on this, I’ll be admitting defeat.”
But... if she really was super-sexy, it would be a good article for Kirikiri Basara.
What to do?
“Well, whatever. I’ve got anti-virus installed. A free one, though.” I decided to give it a click.
Actually, I was really excited to discover where it led. Super-Sexy Genius Fortune-Teller, here we come!
When I clicked on the link, the familiar layout of a Niconico livestream appeared on my screen.
Let’s see... What’s the name?
“Myu’s Nicco-Nico Live Fortune-Telling. ☆” Was Myu the streamer’s name?
“Oh, looks like it’s just about to start.”
The screen had just switched to a live camera.
It was a dimly lit room, with the back wall covered in a black curtain.
A girl came into the frame from the left, and sat down in a chair in front of the camera. The screen showed her from the chest up.
She looked to be about my age, maybe? She was pretty cute. She was wearing a combination of a hoodie and a blazer. It made her look like a modern fortune-teller.
She smiled a little and waved at me— that is, at the camera.
“Sometimes I’m right, and sometimes I’m wrong! Believe, and be saved! Or maybe not?” She spoke in a high-pitched voice, like an anime character.
Her eyes narrowed on the other side of the screen. And then—
My heart skipped a beat as her voice became a hushed whisper.
“Show me your vision.”