2 - Noble Son, Embark

It was morning.

For Sakurako Ogi, mornings were a time of battle.

How swiftly and smoothly could she clear out the hordes of chores that stood before her? That was the battle.

She was a lover of tokusatsu heroes, robot anime, and shonen manga. Thinking of herself as the protagonist, and the countless tasks ahead as her swarm of enemies, caused her heart to soar. For a maid, housework was a battlefield.

“Cooking complete!” She stood alone in the kitchen and raised a fist in the manner of a true fighter.

She was going the extra mile and making Japanese food this morning. Most of Sakurako’s own favorite foods were the oily and spicy stuff that let her explore her Southeast Asian roots. But as a servant, she had to match her master’s palate.

Ichiro Tsuwabuki, as a rule, was a light eater, and preferred healthy food. He wasn’t especially picky, so he would go along with her if she prepared curry every day, even for a whole month. Once, she had decided to test how long Ichiro would eat Indian curry before he complained.

Ichiro had never complained, but one morning, he had abruptly greeted her with “Namaste.” That had convinced her to put an end to the curry marathon.

But all that aside, attempting to identify his unspoken cravings was a way for her to test her skills as a maid. Sometimes she got it wrong, and sometimes she just couldn’t resist doing curry either way.

This morning, Sakurako had deduced that Ichiro would want Japanese food.

A very small amount of rice in a bowl, lightly-flavored soup, and salt-grilled butterfish for the main dish. She’d also provided smaller dishes of aemono and tamagoyaki. Sakurako had come from a middle-class upbringing, but having worked here for five years now, she had grown accustomed to preparing high-class meals.

“Morning, Sakurako-san.” The cool and breezy tone of voice presaged her master Ichiro Tsuwabuki’s appearance in the living room. His hair, a delicate platinum blond, was just a little bit moist. He must have taken his usual swim in the apartment’s indoor pool this morning.

“Good morning, Ichiro-sama.” Sakurako lined the dishes up on the table, turned her entire body to face him, and bowed reverently.

Ichiro looked at the dishes and murmured, “Japanese food today...”

She picked up on the slight note of pleasure hidden behind his indifferent-sounding words and struck an internal victory pose.

She watched Ichiro’s movements quietly as he approached the table. “Well, Sakurako-san, will you join me?”

“Yes, sir! As you wish!” Sakurako nodded happily, and sat down across from him at the small living room table.

“Good job finding butterfish,” he commented.

“I asked the fishmonger in the shopping district about it,” she said excitedly. “You usually start craving grilled fish around this time of year. And butterfish is best for summer!”

“Aha.” Ichiro’s response was rather understated. He didn’t like letting his emotions show through, if he could help it. But she could hardly be his servant if she let that bother her. She hadn’t known him five years for nothing.

“You’re going to Thistle today, right?” she asked.

“Yes, Thistle.”

“If you hear any juicy behind-the-scenes gossip, let me know, okay?” she asked eagerly.

Sakurako was also a game otaku, so although she knew she shouldn’t stick her nose into her master’s business too much, she was very curious about Ichiro’s visit to NaroFan’s mother company, the Thistle Corporation.

Sakurako wasn’t entirely sure what circumstances had led Thistle to invite Ichiro to visit them in the first place. She had heard that he had been introduced to Thistle’s young president (shockingly, younger than Sakurako herself) when he had gone to Megumi Fuyo’s party the other day.

Of course, Ichiro was a beyond-rich-and-famous celebrity, both as an heir to a corporation large enough to silence a crying day trader and as a considerably talented person in his own right. It was easy to see why the president of a startup like Thistle would want to network with him.

Not to mention the fact that he threw tons of money to the developers via microtransactions, which made him a premiere customer of the service.

“We’ll see,” Ichiro said, tearing the butterfish apart dexterously with his chopsticks. “I still don’t know what President Azami might want to talk to me about. It’s a field in which I have technical interest, so as long as her intentions are not utterly foolish, I expect to enjoy myself. I hope that the rest of you will enjoy your time at the beach, as well, Sakurako-san.”

“Even though it’s just in a game!” Sakurako protested. It was a real-life beach that Sakurako had wanted to visit; she couldn’t even wear a swimsuit in the game.

“If your avatar is a man, can’t you wear a man’s swimsuit?” Ichiro asked, accurately surmising the motive behind her objection.

“It would expose my chest,” Sakurako whispered gravely, grabbing some breast meat from the stewed chicken soup.

Sakurako enjoyed cosplaying and roleplaying as the elder Knight, but that didn’t mean she felt like the old man mentally. Even if it would just look like Sir Kirschwasser’s chest to everyone else, she couldn’t walk around feeling like her breasts were on display.

Sakurako Ogi was an innocent maiden. Even though she was pushing thirty, she was still an innocent maiden.

“Well, looking at Iris’s swimsuit designs should be enough feast for the eyes...” she muttered.

“Hmm, good,” Ichiro said.

“Is it okay?” Sakurako asked. “Do you think she’ll have to fail a lot, first?”

“I’ve heard that swimsuits are low-difficulty items, so she’ll likely be fine,” Ichiro said. “Ahh, but she’ll need a fee for the graphics overlay. Here.”

Despite being in the middle of a meal, Ichiro pulled out one of his many credit cards. Its stylish black design showed just how well he was trusted by financial institutions. It was a different card than the one he usually stuck into the Miraive Gear Cocoon’s card slot when he was playing NaroFan, the “business use card” that he lent to her when she went out shopping for the apartment. Ichiro paid the real money funds needed to run Iris Brand, but it seemed he wanted her to use this card to pay while he wasn’t logged in.

Sakurako silently accepted it and bowed.

“If you need potions or anything, you can buy those, too,” he added.

“I would never be like you in that regard, Ichiro-sama,” Sakurako snapped back. “The fun of the game is doing what I can with limited resources. There’s no tension if I can just pay real money to get unlimited recovery items.”

“But it’s not unlimited,” Ichiro said.

“If you spent your full assets on potions, the server would crash. That’s effectively unlimited.”

“I wonder if even fictional worlds are subject to entropy,” he mused.

“Who knows?” Sakurako had only ever heard the word “entropy” in a certain late-night anime series, so she kept her response vague.

Ichiro chose that moment to lay down his chopsticks, then politely thanked her for the food. He had not left a grain of rice, and he had polished off the fish, too. The bones left behind looked like a true work of art. Sakurako couldn’t understand how he could be satisfied with so little rice, but then, he did this every day.

“There’s not much entropy in the way you eat, Ichiro-sama!”

“Your usage is slightly off,” he said. “Do you want to talk about thermodynamics?”

“No, I’m finished! What would you like for after-dinner tea?”

“Roasted green, I think.”

“Yes, sir.”

She didn’t intend to linger at the breakfast table now that her master had finished eating. Sakurako was able to control her eating speed to make sure she always finished at around the same time Ichiro did. She ate almost twice the calories that he did, but she was always careful to make sure she wasn’t eating like a pig.

Sakurako finished her soup, let out a sigh, then stood up to make the tea. “By the way, Ichiro-sama. About the matter we discussed yesterday...”

“You mean Nem trying to interfere with Iris again?”

“Y-Yes. How did you manage to guess that without a single hint?”

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” Ichiro said placidly, then continued. “I believe I know Megumi’s disposition quite well. She’s not an impulsive woman, but she is proud, prone to misconception, and has a rather reckless side to her. There is a chance that she may take her unjustified anger out on Iris. The truth is, I believe Nem is trying to pick a fight with her.”

“Over you, right?” Sakurako asked.

“Well, yes.”

From the fragments of the story Sakurako had heard, the cause of the quarrel was the brooch that Iris had made. Ichiro had had a real-life version crafted by a skilled and famous silversmith, and had worn it to her party. It wasn’t hard to imagine what must have gone through the head of professional apparel designer Megumi Fuyo when she had seen him so proudly flaunting the accessory.

Hearing the story, then, more or less confirmed it: Megumi Fuyo was in love with Ichiro.

The poor girl.

Sakurako didn’t like to speak ill of her master, but she couldn’t imagine Ichiro Tsuwabuki being a proper romantic partner to anyone. She felt the same way about Asuha. She didn’t know why they put themselves through it all... but no, best not to think about it.

Regardless, that was the incident that had spawned Megumi/Nem’s rivalry towards Iris. It was probably bothering Iris very badly, too. If Ichiro could nip it in the bud, then the hostility might die down. But Sakurako’s hopes weren’t high.

“Anyway, it was as I said yesterday,” Ichiro said. “I’m sorry to ask you this, but if Nem tries to do something unreasonable, I want you to keep Iris safe. If I didn’t have business today, I would do it myself... Oh, thank you.” The last was spoken as he took the tea she offered to him.

“Like the Edward incident the other day?” Sakurako asked.

“The primary difference between this and the Ed incident is that if Iris accepts her challenge, we’ll lose the right to interfere,” Ichiro said leisurely as he sipped his roasted green tea. “Speaking of Ed, I’ve always wondered where he got his handle name from.”

“I asked him a while back, and it turned out it’s from his favorite character in Cowboy Bebop,” Sakurako said.

“What’s that?” he asked.

“You don’t know?! Oh, please! I’ll lend you the DVD!”

“If I feel like it.”

There was only one anime Sakurako had ever successfully gotten Ichiro to watch via an exchange like this in the five years she had worked for him, but setting that aside...

“Returning to the subject at hand,” Ichiro said, “the incident with Ed was sparked by my choosing Iris, who prioritized design over numerical ability, to make my armor. So even if Iris had accepted Edward’s challenge, there would have been no easy way of comparing the two. But in this case, the comparison would be between each girl’s design sense. Ed and Nem have something in common in that they both disagree with my decision, but if Iris wishes to use her own skill to silence Nem, then I won’t interfere.”

“But at Iris’s skill level, she’s probably going to lose, right?” Sakurako asked.

“That’s right. She has no design sense at all.” Ichiro’s words were harsh, but his expression was a joyful one. “If she accepts the challenge regardless, we should respect her feelings.”

Sakurako thought his expression made him look a lot like an archvillain. He always looked like he was really enjoying himself when he talked about Iris’s lack of talent. She had to say, she found it in extremely bad taste.

Then again, even if Iris accepted Nem’s challenge, things wouldn’t necessarily be straightforward. Nem’s designs were acknowledged by the world at large, but Iris’s designs were the ones that Ichiro liked. Nem wanted the latter, while Iris wanted the former. As long as that was true, it would be hard to say what “victory” would look like for either of them. At the least, Iris certainly wouldn’t be happy to have it decided based on Ichiro’s opinion.

“Dear, dear...” Sakurako let out a small sigh. “I understand what you’re saying, Ichiro-sama. As Sakurako Ogi, and as the elder Knight Kirschwasser, I shall follow your instructions to the best of my ability.”

“Hmm, good,” Ichiro said. “You’re quite dedicated, aren’t you?”

“It is my job, after all.”

“But you’re enjoying it, yes?”

“You could tell?” she asked. Though it was partly roleplaying, she did enjoy following her master’s orders.

Sakurako wondered if the great retainers of history had felt the same way. It was truly an ideal job. The pay was good, she had a place to live, and she had three meals a day.

“Leave it to me,” she assured him. “I am your loyal retainer, after all. Will you be departing shortly?”

“No, I’d like to spend some quiet time on the sofa after my meal, as usual,” said Ichiro.

“Yes, sir. Shall I drive you?” she asked.

“I’ll drive myself today.”

“Yes, sir.”

They closed the conversation there. Ichiro sat down on the sofa in front of his wide-screen LCD and started reading through the newspapers Sakurako had set out in advance.

Sakurako, for her part, quickly tidied up after breakfast, prepared some black tea, then set out the key for the Koenigsegg, Ichiro’s favorite car. It was a different car from the Lincoln that Sakurako drove. The lustrous metallic blue “Supercar” had a stylish chassis in keeping with Ichiro’s taste. Whenever he drove out by himself, it was always in the Koenigsegg.

“I’ll see Ichiro-sama off at a little after 9:00, then hurry to finish up the housework... which means I can log in at around 10:00, I suppose...” As she thought things over, Sakurako cleaned the dishes at a speed that would make most people do a double-take, but to write about it in more detail would take more unnecessary space, so, moving on...

“Meow-hoo! Matsunaga, I’m here!” The short, cat-eared avatar beamed at him broadly as she led two others along behind her. Her bouncy aura seemed criminally inappropriate for the gloomy Dual Serpents guild house.

She was quite famous among players of Narrow Fantasy Online: Amesho, “the player with over 2,000 friends.” Her name derived from “American Shorthair,” and she had that breed’s same cheerful, curious, sociable personality, which allowed her to make friends within ten seconds of meeting most people.

But Matsunaga knew the truth: she was actually just very skilled at “damsel play.” She was friendly with everyone, but skillfully kept them just at arm’s length. It was easy to lose track of her clear calculation if you didn’t watch her carefully at all times, but no one could incorporate cat puns into their speech that naturally. The effortless way she seemed to use them was the result of total calculation.

...At least, he was pretty sure it was calculation.

In fact, Matsunaga wasn’t confident about that at all. Rationally speaking, he couldn’t believe this could be her natural personality. He assumed she was just a dedicated crossplayer, but whenever he actually dealt with the girl, she really was very... very natural.

“I see you’re well, Amesho,” he said.

“Purrfect as always! And you look like you’re plotting something wicked, as mewsual, Matsunaga.”

“Well, I won’t deny that I have something in mind. Ah...” Matsunaga cast a glance behind him. Nem was standing there. She looked slightly overawed by Amesho’s personality, but was able to manage a bow for courtesy’s sake.

“Allow me to introduce her. This is Nem.”

“Oh, yeah! Nice to meetcha!” Amesho waved, grinning. “I heard the whole story! Umm, you’re the president of a big fashion brand, and you started playing the game to get revenge on Tsuwabuki, yeah?”

“I do not intend to take revenge on Ichiro,” Nem answered, slightly indignantly.

“Well, whatever you’re gonna do, you’ll need a guild! Matsunaga told you about that, mmright?” Amesho asked.

“Yes, more or less.” Matsunaga nodded. Regardless of what Nem was trying to do in the game, she would be better off having players to help her. Especially since she was obviously a beginner. She seemed to be in contact with the game’s development staff, but she didn’t seem to want to rely on them.

Matsunaga had made it clear in advance that he wouldn’t help her directly. The Dual Serpents’ philosophy was to quietly manipulate things behind the scenes, and guild policy was to play the villains and have fun doing it. The members of the guild were all long-time internet friends; they had plotted out their race and appearance in advance, and had made their avatars to one standard. The result was the “Dual Serpent Shinobi Army,” spoken of in legendary tones, and much discussed in rumors — rumors started, of course, by Matsunaga himself.

He could hardly send that same Shinobi Army to accompany Nem; working with Matsunaga would get her branded as a villain in game terms, which would probably be contrary to Nem’s intentions. And trying to explain the concept of “roleplaying” to this rich heiress would likely be a fruitless distraction.

“Now, Amesho,” he said. “As to the favor that I asked of you...”

The people that would make up her guild had to be more or less familiar with the game, more or less capable, more or less discreet, and more or less able to sympathize with Nem’s motivations. Matsunaga had had no idea where to start; that was where Amesho came in.

“Oh yeah, yeah,” Amesho said. “Of course, I told you I wouldn’t join any guilds myself!”

“Though you do have an official fan club, I hear,” he commented.

“A fan club is just a fan club! It’s official, yeah, but I’m not part of it. ‘Cause when you join a guild, it’s like picking sides with friends! I could never do that!”

Behind her gleaming, guileless smile, the self-interest in her words flitted in and out of view. She must not have intended to hide much in front of him, Matsunaga thought.

“So anyway, Nem?” Amesho asked.

“Y-Yes?” Nem asked.

“Matsunaga told me the deal pretty much, so I brought my bestest friends with me. I’ll introduce you!”

At last, Amesho turned her attention towards the two avatars she had brought along with her. The fact that she was willing to talk this way in front of them suggested that they must, like Matsunaga, have taken an academic view of Amesho’s damsel playstyle.

“Finally...” the man murmured.

The man and woman were of very different heights, and it was the man who spoke up, with a grunt. He wore a threadbare, full-length robe, and was a DPS class of the Anthromorph race. His sharp, curved talons came from the effect of the “Beast Claw” Skill, which suggested he was of the barehand combat class, the Grappler.

“I was wondering when I’d be allowed to speak up...” the woman added. She was a striking, petite girl, wearing a black dress in the Gothic Lolita style. She was clearly a support class; most likely a spellcaster. She carried a silver staff that resembled a giant key; it was a rare item known as Randolf the Magic Key, and it could only be equipped by high-level spellcasters.

The man’s eyes glittered red in the darkness. The girl’s eyes, by contrast, were a deep and gloomy shade of blue. Just from looking at them, Matsunaga could tell that they filled the conditions of “familiar with the game” and “capable.”

The girl was fine, but the man’s attitude suggested a rather vulgar personality. Appearing to bite back her nervousness, Nem managed to offer them a greeting. “Yes, um. A... pleasure to meet you.”

“Sure.” The man gave a short response and nodded. But that was all.

She waited.

He waited.

“U-Um...” Nem began.

“Yeah?” the man said.

Seen up close, his visage was grotesque. He had seemed to have gone for more of the intense visuals available for the Anthromorph race. It was understandable that someone as unaccustomed to the game as Nem would be frightened by him.

“Hey!” the girl said.

Matsunaga was just about to offer some help, but before he could, the girl grabbed the man’s tattered sleeve and rebuked him.

“Isn’t there something else you should say?” the girl scolded. “She’s frightened.”

“Shut up. I was thinking up a proper greeting.” The man grimaced at the girl’s rebuke.

“Um, sorry,” the girl said. “He looks gruff, because he is. His personality keeps him from making many friends, see? But despite how he looks, he was really happy when Amesho asked him.”

“Don’t tell her that,” the man muttered.

“I’m Sorceress,” the girl said. “He’s Taker. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Sorceress. In other words, a witch. An easy name to understand.

The girl’s broad smile had none of the cheer of Amesho’s, and if anything, seemed dulled by pessimism. Was that smile part of her roleplay, or was it a real-life habit leaking through? Matsunaga couldn’t tell for sure. The one thing he could say was that, as expected of anyone Amesho would recommend, they both had big personalities.

Sorceress’s calm, collected attitude allowed Nem the footing to regain her initiative.

“Nem,” she said. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” She paused. “Taker, Sorceress. Might I ask you a question?”

“Wha—”

“What is it?” the girl asked. “We’ll answer you.”

Taker fell silent, and he glared at Sorceress with his monstrous red eyes. Perhaps they didn’t get along.

“Why is it you’re helping me?” Nem asked. “I admit, I cannot see what would be in it for you. If you are enjoying the game, wouldn’t you be more—”

“We heard the circumstances,” Taker interrupted. “I hate those ‘talented’ types. Well, we can talk about that elsewhere, but don’t worry. From what Sho— Amesho told us, we’re definitely on the same side.” With those words alone, Taker turned back to Matsunaga. “Hey, any rooms to unwind in in this dungeon of a guild house?”

“I could not speak as to its suitability to ‘unwind,’ but the room next door is unoccupied,” Matsunaga said.

“You heard him,” the man said. “Let’s go. You too, Witch.”

“Don’t call me ‘Witch,’” the girl snapped. “I see you’re as lacking in both delicacy and literacy as ever.”

Taker and Sorceress led the hesitant Nem into the side room, sniping at each other all the while. Nem occasionally cast glances back at Matsunaga, who merely waved a reassuring hand as he watched her walk away.

Once the three were gone, he turned to Amesho. “Who are those two?”

“They’re my friends, of course!” Amesho didn’t sound like she was playing dumb. Her answer seemed to be relatively earnest.

“He said he hated ‘talented types,’ though,” Matsunaga said.

“Oh, yeah, that’s mmright! He does kinda have that going on. Well, I don’t think they’d hate guys like Tsuwabuki so bad they’d want to kill them,” she added, as if without a care in the world.

“But Nem is talented, too. She’s a young company president and a first-rate designer. Even if she was sponsored by her father.”

“Oh mew, Matsunaga! You’re one of those guys who thinks talent’s absolute? I thought you were different...” The catgirl looked up at Matsunaga, head tilted. “Nem’s jealous of this Iris girl ‘cause Tsuwabuki acknowledges her, right? But she can’t figure out what’s so great about Iris’s designs, so she feels lost, yeah? Well, I’ve got a feeling she’s just lost her head and is throwing a little tantrum, but what that means in the end is, she’s got nyo talent. The talent that’ll earn you praise from the world, and the talent you want for yourself... they don’t always match up, y’know? I bet you’ve felt the same way, and that’s why you asked me for help. Mmright?”

Matsunaga said nothing. The thought of her seeing through him so easily, so nonchalantly, sent a chill deep through his body.

“A-And why did you agree, Miss Amesho?” he asked at last.

“Me? I’m sorta playing life on easy mode since I’m all ‘power of the community’... So I guess what I want, and where my talent lies, more or less line up. But because you’re my precious, precious friend, Matsunaga, I take any request you have for me seriously. So, if I’m ever in trouble, you’d better help me-owt too, okay?”

The fact that she could say such things without hesitation seemed to be part of Amesho’s personality. She was just a natural-born damsel player. The ability to sail through life with the power of connections... it certainly was one form of talent.

“But in that case, I’m surprised that you didn’t pursue Nem more aggressively,” Matsunaga said. “She seems like she could be a powerful connection to have, in the long run.”

“Oh, um. Yeah, for her...” Amesho’s smile faded slightly. “From what you told me, it sounded like she doesn’t have any friends she can really open up to. So she probably shouldn’t be friends with someone like me. She’d end up really dependent, and it wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

“But even realizing that, you still brought those two here?” he asked.

“Well, yeah. But knowing Taker and Sorceress, they’ll be less like friends and more like confidantes. So, I don’t mind introducing ‘em, but someone like Nem’s gotta find friends on her own.”

“Ah, Miss Amesho?” Matsunaga asked. Amesho’s erudite speech, delivered in her unique speech pattern, suggested someone with a wealth of personal experience in the matter. As someone who had enjoyed the life of a shut-in otaku for over thirty years, Matsunaga felt somewhat abashed, yet managed to ask the question. “I don’t really like asking this, but...”

“Yeah, what?” she asked.

“How old are you?”

The cat-eared girl, who hid a formidable character behind an innocent expression, shot him a beaming smile and answered.

“The age when you want to steal a motorcycle and drive off!”

A teenager? Matsunaga thought. No... that had to be a lie.

A small building in Jinbocho, Kanda Ward, served as the main office of the Thistle Corporation. Though a small mortar structure, it was still a company building, and it towered proudly over the used bookstores all around it.

In a lot some distance away parked a flashy Supercar that seemed very out of place in the town of Jinbocho. The dihedral door, resembling the wing of a bird of prey, twisted open, and a young man stepped out. He slid his Ray-Ban sunglasses into his breast pocket and squinted against the bright sunlight.

The Thistle Corporation office worker who came out to meet him murmured beneath his breath, “A Koenigsegg...”

The unique doors made it unmistakably a Supercar from the Swedish automobile maker.

Ichiro Tsuwabuki loved his Koenigsegg Agera, but he hadn’t driven it in quite some time. He usually let his servant, Sakurako Ogi, drive him around in his Lincoln, while he relaxed in the back seat. This time, there was no one in the passenger seat, and Ichiro descended upon Jinbocho alone.

“Um, thank you for coming, Mr. Tsuwabuki,” the employee said.

“Yes, thank you for coming out to meet me in this heat,” Ichiro replied.

“I hope you’ll forgive my mode of dress...”

The Thistle employee who came out to meet him — perhaps due to the government’s “Cool Biz” campaign getting entrenched in recent years, or perhaps simply because it was the kind of company they ran — was wearing a casual T-shirt and chino pants. The employee ID hanging from his neck was the sole evidence of his affiliation.

“Nonsense, nonsense,” Ichiro said. “I don’t concern myself with such things.”

From a Cool Biz perspective, it was actually Ichiro’s outfit that would be the problem. His usual suit jacket and slacks made even those looking at him feel hotter, and the fact that there wasn’t a single bead of sweat on his brow was truly eerie. In addition, for some reason, Ichiro’s skin was especially resistant to UV rays, preventing both the production of melanin pigment, and damage to the DNA in the nuclei of his cells. The sight of the man unconcernedly exposing his fair skin even in that bright sunlight... it was as if he had a season all to himself.

Many cosmetics makers wanted to take samples of his skin cells, but Sakurako simply diagnosed it as “I think your DNA just marches to its own drummer.”

Anyway...

“I like the atmosphere of this part of the city,” Ichiro murmured along the short walk to the office. The restless hum of the cicadas made the sunlight feel even hotter. It was annoying, but Ichiro did not feel unreasonable anger towards them, knowing how short their lives must be.

“Kanda is a rather old town, after all,” the employee agreed.

“Nature is wonderful, but I also enjoy towns where you can feel the pulse of the people who live there,” said Ichiro. “I passed through Akihabara on the way, and I like towns like that, as well.” Akihabara was home turf for his servant, Sakurako Ogi. She insisted she could show him around even blindfolded (and had even done it once), so naturally, it was more fun walking around it with her. “I saw them building some kind of large-scale arcade there.”

“Yes, what was the name again?” the employee asked. “I hear they’re installing a lot of Miraive Gear Cocoons there, and they sent us a request for it to be an official NaroFan affiliate, too. I guess they’re building it in response to the growing popularity of the VR game market.”

“In an environment where amusement facilities are seeing profits drop across the board... whoever’s building it must be doing very well for themselves,” Ichiro commented.

As they entered the company building, modest air conditioners cooled them off. Although it was a company building, the office portion only took up two floors, in addition to the reception office on the first floor. Thistle Corporation operated with a very small staff; the majority of the building was taken up not by people, but by hardware — countless server machines, strictly maintained.

Put another way, the enormous continent of Asgard that Ichiro Tsuwabuki and the others spent their days exploring was held entirely within this unremarkable mortar building. Within the mass of machines running on the other side of those thick metal doors, thousands of adventurers were, right now, challenging the unknown frontier.

Although Thistle had found many ways to reduce the load, VRMMOs were still known for the incredible data transfers they required. This necessitated far more server machines than conventional MMOs, and the expenses were overwhelming. According to the employee he had spoken to, they were still operating more or less in the red.

“Good morning. Thank you for coming, Ichiro.” The company president, Azami Nono, addressed him from the farthest part of the narrow office lined with enormous computers. Unlike the first time they had met, she was wearing thin-rimmed glasses. She was also not wearing a crisp businesswoman’s suit, but a simple outfit comprised of a shirt with a few buttons undone and a tight skirt. The workers coming and going from the office were also dressed casually. Some were even wearing T-shirts with anime characters printed on them.

There were three monitors lined up on the president’s desk, in addition to a laptop and a tablet, all linked together. There were two smartphones attached to a charging station, as well as a landline telephone.

“Sorry, I haven’t finished up all my work yet,” she said. “We have an update coming, and the last stretch is so hectic...”

“It’s the one year anniversary, isn’t it?” Ichiro asked. “My servant is looking forward to seeing what sort of event you’ll unveil.”

“To tell you the truth, that’s part of the reason I invited you here...” Her fingers glided across the keyboard, her eyes flicking back and forth between multiple displays. Yet she seemed at ease enough to converse while she did it.

Azami Nono was a genius who had majored in quantum physics at an American university. She had personally invented the Drive technology that made it possible to immerse the consciousness in artificial worlds. She could handle this much with ease.

“And... that should do it. Sorry for the wait, Ichiro. I’ll show you to the meeting room.”

President Azami told her subordinates in the office, “I’m stepping out for a minute, so keep an eye on things,” and led Ichiro to the third floor. This floor contained employee restrooms and meeting rooms, and Ichiro also spotted three employee-use Miraive Gear Cocoons, one of which was currently in use.

He narrowed his eyes.

As an MMO, Narrow Fantasy Online naturally had staff members who acted as GMs. At least one of them had to be logged in at all times, and he was told they had shifts blocked out for the task. Ichiro had never met one in the game personally, but these GMs apparently acted as impartial judges in disputes, and handled event and Grand Quest announcements.

“Speaking of which, I caused some trouble recently, didn’t I?” Ichiro asked. Anyone who knew him would feel inclined to interrupt with, “You actually realize it?” but Ichiro said it without batting an eye.

Naturally, Azami was aware of the dispute he had had with the Akihabara Forging Guild in Glasgobara Merchant Town.

“You know that if you’re ever in a situation you can’t handle by yourself, you can use GM Call,” she said.

“That’s nonsense,” Ichiro replied firmly. “I believe the inclusion of a third-party opinion detracts from the purity of an incident. It’s why we have laws about noninterference in civilian affairs. But even if I didn’t call them, there was a GM there, wasn’t there?”

“Oh, did you realize?” she asked.

“I had an inkling.”

President Azami grimaced. “VRMMOs are a type of reality, but they’re also a fictional world, which creates problems that are difficult to resolve. It even makes PK-ing more complicated.”

Having an unfamiliar avatar — with a real human and a real mind behind it — marching towards you with a terrifying weapon to try and kill you might inspire abnormal terror. And it wasn’t something you were just viewing through your monitor, as if it were in a different world — a VRMMO put the player right into the moment. PK problems aside, there were likely also many people who suffered trauma due to an inability to identify the difference between reality and fiction.

“As in the incident where Ed attacked Iris, yes?” Ichiro asked.

“You see more light violence taking place in combat-forbidden areas,” she said. “Knowing they can’t damage the person they’re talking to loosens their self-control, perhaps.”

“Hmm... It’s all a bit beyond me,” Ichiro said.

The woman grimaced. “We do what we can to prevent it, but...”

All that Ichiro could say was that there definitely were people like that. Thinking back through history, there had been many people who acted outside of both his own sense of values, as well as the values of objective societal judgment. But those were rare things in the long course of human history, and it couldn’t happen that often in a VRMMO where ordinary people were so absorbed in their diversions.

Or perhaps human hearts were like inscrutable black boxes, and the reality-like fictional world was like the passcode to unlock what lay within. Maybe that was all. Either way, it was not something Ichiro could understand.

“By the way, I’d like to hear the reason you invited me,” he said. “I have a number of questions for you about the game, of course, but let’s discuss your business first.”

“Ah, yes. Good idea,” Azami said, giving a single clap. “Well, as we were discussing earlier, Narrow Fantasy Online will be celebrating its one year anniversary in August. As you may know, we’ve been offering all sorts of memorial services this month, as part of the pre-anniversary.”

“It doesn’t seem like players have enjoyed them, to be frank,” said Ichiro.

“Yes, that’s true...” Azami visibly wilted at the comment. She must have stayed on top of gathering information from the internet.

As memorial events leading up to the one year anniversary, the company had offered up numerous services, including the Grand Quest in the Delve Necrolands and various special items. The major controversy among players had been in regards to the latter; a number of items had been released that had broken game balance, and you could also buy more of them through microtransactions. It had caused quite a bitter outcry, and the backlash had resulted in the release of some of those items being delayed.

It had been those pay-to-download items that had allowed Ichiro to easily get the components he’d needed to create his original design armor, so Ichiro, personally, was very grateful for them. But of course, not all customers felt that way.

Azami Nono was an unparalleled genius to have created VR technology at such a young age. Yet she was, perhaps, second-rate when it came to being a developer and game designer.

“Anyway, please continue,” Ichiro said.

“Okay,” she said. “In the ten days leading up to the anniversary, we’re going to hold a ceremony in the game, unveiling a lot of additional elements and such as the update rolls out.”

“I see,” Ichiro said. “You want me to appear as a guest?”

“Ah, yes. That’s right, but... you’re awfully confident, aren’t you?”

“Well, that’s the only thing I could imagine you inviting me here for,” Ichiro said.

He had a point. But Ichiro Tsuwabuki, able to propose without a trace of doubt that she must be inviting him as a guest, could be described even in the most generous of estimates as “a creep.” Indeed, he was a creep, as many had already acknowledged.

But then Ichiro said, “I don’t believe I’m cut out to be a guest, though. I may be a celebrity even within the game, but from an objective point of view, I believe my fame within the game has taken on a rather negative tone.”

“Of course, we’ll be inviting many other guests,” she said. “Famous players that users might be curious about, celebrities we might use to acquire new players. We’re even sounding out voice actors for interest.”

There was a deeper implication to Azami Nono’s statement. Ichiro’s powers of deduction were very keen when it came to situations like these.

With cool deportment, he made a great show of sitting down on the sofa and crossed his legs. “I see. So my appearance is a message to someone else.”

Having Ichiro Tsuwabuki enjoying NaroFan as a player would certainly have meaning. Ichiro hadn’t appeared in front of crowds for close to five years, but his name hadn’t lost any of his renown in certain academic and economic circles.

His family had owned a massive zaibatsu before the war, and even now, he was still the heir to a large conglomerate that was seeing startling growth in all sectors. And of course, he also had quite a large private fortune he had earned himself. Just saying his name would have an effect similar to showing the Shogunate’s seal.

Put another way, there were likely pressures mounting on her that would be difficult to avoid without the use of his name. He could imagine several reasons why. For one thing, Azami Nono was a very young company president, and she had likely had to lay a lot of groundwork in order to develop her VRMMO. The process would have forced her to deal with lots of shrewd old men, who likely thought very little of her. Even the conversation they had exchanged thus far suggested that she — though a genius at invention and technology — had no real talent as a businesswoman.

Fictional spaces developed within a quantum realm were still unexplored territory as a market, as well. Even Ichiro had to acknowledge that web-based online communities were still an expanding business model.

Narrow Fantasy Online was a game, but it was also a realistic metaverse unlike any cooperative online space previously seen. Every bit of in-depth knowledge and technology in the entire world about that fictional space was housed there in that small mortar building in Jinbocho.

If she wasn’t careful, she could be consumed. She wanted to borrow the authority of Ichiro Tsuwabuki’s name to fight against that. It was understandable.

“Well, I don’t mind.” Ichiro felt no particular resistance to the thought of someone else borrowing his personal authority.

“Really?!” she cried.

“A nonsense question,” he said. “I do not lie, and have no need to lie.”

If Sakurako, Asuha, or Iris had been there, they likely would have cringed at the sheer pretension in Ichiro’s words. Unfortunately, the only one who was there at the moment was Azami Nono.

“Besides, I like NaroFan,” he added. “But there is one condition.”

“Yes?” she asked.

“Do not forget that I am but a player in the game. My playstyle may offer a slightly greater financial contribution than other users, but that is all. I have no interest in changing that position.”

Azami surely understood what he was getting at. Ichiro Tsuwabuki wanted to enjoy the game like any other player. His engrossment in the game did not make him want to directly interfere in the devs’ decisions, nor back Thistle financially in case they got into danger of being bought out. The devs could use Ichiro in his capacity as a player in any way they wanted, but he had no desire to undermine their relationship as company and client.

“Of course,” she said. “Thistle is my company, and NaroFan is our game. No matter who you are, I don’t intend to let you interfere.”

“Hmm, good. I’m glad of that.” Ichiro nodded in satisfaction.

They continued their discussion from earlier in the day for a while, until at last, Ichiro said this:

“By the way, I ran into Megumi in the game recently.”

Azami stopped suddenly.

“Of course, I’m sure you already knew that,” Ichiro continued.

“That’s right... I checked to see that you had interacted.” There was a slightly pained expression on President Azami’s face.

Megumi Fuyo, lone daughter of the president of Tsunobeni, Co., and head of cutting-edge fashion brand “MiZUNO,” was Azami Nono’s friend. It was easy for Ichiro to guess the reason for her expression.

“I thought so,” he said. “Did Megumi get special help in crafting her avatar?”

“She said she wanted to see what your guild in the game was like,” Azami said. “I mapped a Warp Feather and Glasgobara’s location into her starting data, and gave her the Immortal trait to keep her from encountering any accidents.”

“Immortal” was a special character status possessed mostly by GMs. It canceled out the effects of all damage and debuffs, which meant that Megumi Fuyo’s avatar — in other words, Nem — was untouchable in game terms.

The system was absolute. It was clearly cheating, and favoritism on behalf of the developers. Unfair. Even if Nem didn’t exploit her Immortal status to go around PK-ing, it was not an action he could condone.

“I also tweaked a few of her other stats so that she couldn’t deal damage to other players or monsters,” Azami added.

“A pure observer, then?” Ichiro asked.

“Yes. All data like HP and attack power are sealed,” she said. “She doesn’t have a level, either, but she can form guilds and take part in events.”

In other words, Megumi couldn’t do anything. It was clear that President Azami had gone to great pains to keep it balanced. Megumi Fuyo would only have agreed to those conditions if cruising around the world of NaroFan was all she wanted to do. Which meant that she probably didn’t intend to start any trouble.

“Do you believe that what Megumi is doing is against the rules?” Azami asked anxiously.

“Well, you are the ones who make the rules in NaroFan, so I have no objection on that level,” Ichiro said. “I have no desire to push my ideas upon you, and everyone has certain things they want to do most. Megumi surely asked you for the favor because it was something that she needed.” Ichiro then stopped talking and looked Azami Nono squarely in the eye. “However, if she compromises my beliefs or enjoyment in any way, I will take whatever steps are necessary to oppose her. Of course, I hope that won’t happen, but it’s rather difficult to know at the moment.”

“Not everyone can draw the line as easily as you do, Ichiro,” Azami said.

“I agree.”

That subject trailed off, and they fell into silence for a few seconds. At last...

“It’s 11:00. It’s a bit early, Ichiro, but would you like to go out for lunch?” Azami asked.

“Curry, was it?”

“Yes. We are in Jinbocho, after all.”

“Something other than Indian curry, if possible,” Ichiro joked.

Azami dropped her jaw in shock. “You don’t like Indian curry?”

“I do like it,” he said. “But if I’m not careful, I’ll end up eating it every day.”

“Eh?”

One time, he had praised the Indian curry his skilled servant Sakurako had made, and the result was that she had ended up feeding it to him every day for nearly a month. It was a painful memory. She appeared to have learned the concept of self-restraint more recently, but if he didn’t watch himself, he might still end up eating the same thing three days in a row. Incidentally, he could stop such behavior in its tracks by occasionally asking her, teasingly, “Have you been putting on weight lately?”

It was his knowledge of his servant’s tastes that kept him avoiding Southeast Asian food as much as possible when he went out. He was wondering if Jinbocho’s European-style curry would be more to his tastes.

Azami headed for the office to tell her subordinates they were going out for lunch. “Ichiro, do you have plans for the afternoon?”

“I don’t lack them, you could say. If you have something else you need from me, I could adjust, but...”

“Well, the truth is...” She was just opening the office door as they talked. Then, suddenly, she froze.

“What’s the matter?” Ichiro asked.

“Oh...” Azami Nono’s eyes focused on one spot in the office.

Ichiro noticed that the entire room had gone silent. The eyes of all the staff were fixed on the same man Azami was looking at. A strange atmosphere hung over the room.

The object of their gazes was a middle-aged man of moderate height.

“Hey now, don’t be so nervous. You can keep working, you know?” the man said with a distinctly unpleasant smile pasted on his face.

Understanding dawned.

Ichiro remembered this man. He was the CEO of Pony Entertainment, Inc. — in other words, the boss of the company that made and sold the VR game hardware known as the Miraive Gear X and Miraive Gear Cocoon. He recalled that Azami Nono had worked there after she had graduated from college and developed the Miraive Gear for them. She had gone independent shortly after. He seemed to recall that the man’s name was Shinya Otogiri.

“Oh, Nono! I thought you weren’t here!” Otogiri burst out into a deliberately superficial smile the minute he saw Azami. “The other employees said that you were in a business conference, and asked me to wait... Have you thought about my proposal? NaroFan could use a little bolstering with its one year anniversary coming up, eh?”

“...My opinion has not changed,” said Azami.

“Oh? That’s too bad,” Otogiri commented.

Ah, so that’s what it is. As Ichiro watched the grinning Otogiri, he felt his understanding of the situation deepen.

The reason Thistle was desperate for a supporter like Ichiro Tsuwabuki must be that the pressure from Pony Entertainment, Inc., was getting to be too much to ignore. In order to develop new VR technologies and business models to go along with it, Otogiri of Pony wanted the talent of Azami Nono and the Thistle Corporation.

The grinning Otogiri suddenly seemed to notice the person standing behind Azami — in other words, Ichiro. The superficial smile vanished for a moment, but he immediately plastered it back on. “Well, if it isn’t the Tsuwabuki heir.”

“Oh, hello.” Ichiro Tsuwabuki was not the kind of person to speak deferentially, even to someone much older than him. “Is this our first time meeting in person? Though I hear you and my father have had some extensive dealings.”

“True,” the man said. “Your father is quite the backstabber. But that’s all in the past now. But yes, I see. So, you’re the one, eh? That’s right, as I recall, you bought that Miraive Gear Cocoon from us.” As he spoke, Otogiri continued casting surreptitious glances in Azami Nono’s direction, as if his interest was not fully on Ichiro.

“Yes, and I’ve been quite enjoying NaroFan, thank you,” said Ichiro.

“Of course you are! NaroFan is an excellent game. That’s why it’s such a shame. Nono here is a brilliant developer, but she has no business experience. If the company runs itself into the ground and the game has to be canceled, it’s going to be heartbreaking for the users. I’ve been trying to offer them a helping hand, but...”

Otogiri’s loquacious attitude spelled out the broad points of the position Thistle was in, and the actions Pony was taking against them, very clearly. It was likely this man wasn’t even intending to hide it.

“Or, Ichiro, are you going to buy Thistle? With your finances, it would be possible,” the man asked shrewdly. “Having a patron in someone like you, who understands the game... it would surely give Nono lots of peace of mind to develop—”

“Nonsense.” Ichiro cut off the smooth-talking Otogiri in his usual fashion. “I will use my money only in accordance with the game’s rules. I have no intention of undermining our relationship as developer and user; to become the development team’s boss would be to sacrifice that purity. I am unlike you in that regard, Mr. Otogiri.”

“...What do you know?” the man asked suspiciously.

“Nothing in particular,” said Ichiro. “Azami, let’s get curry.”

“Um, right...”

Ichiro turned away from Otogiri and descended the stairs. Azami let the office staff know that they were going out to lunch, then ran after him.

Shinya Otogiri watched them leave.

Outside, the rays of the midsummer sun beat down on them. Ichiro did not squint, but kept his usual cool demeanor, one hand in his pocket, as he gazed up at the blue sky above.

Sakurako would be logged in to NaroFan by now. He hoped she was enjoying the beach...

...and that nothing else in particular was going on.