Starting the next day, they spent four days in planning, then began to implement the strategy.
Calling the schedule “tight” would have been a massive understatement. Still, miraculously, in spite of the sort of bustle that made heads spin and the fact that things proceeded at a reckless pace that pushed everyone to their limit and beyond, everything was completed on schedule.
The three who were behind the murderous schedule pinned its achievements and responsibility on each other.
Marielle—Kansai dialect–speaking big-sister type, Crescent Moon League guild master, and universally beloved busybody—puffed out her ample chest with pride. “Our accountant’s a real hustler. I leave all the numbers to her, and she doesn’t misread one in ten thousand. If Henrietta went and threatened ’em with a ledger, demon in hell or trumpet-wieldin’ angel, they’d wet themselves right where they sat and apologize.”
Shaking her abundant, wavy, honey-colored hair, Henrietta—the accountant in question—said, “My managerial abilities can only do so much. The really outrageous, earth-shattering thing is the craftiness of Master Shiroe’s merciless, remorseless plan. Why does he even have a ‘shiro’ in his name? ‘White’? Is that a joke? He really should call himself ‘Pitch-black Kuroe.’ If darling Akatsuki weren’t around, I’d have to go ask to be held.” With an evaluation like that, it was hard to tell whether she was praising or vilifying him.
As for Shiroe, who’d been so roundly disparaged, he adjusted his glasses as they were about to slip off and said, “Inasmuch as I’m aware I’m blackhearted, that’s kid stuff. It’s nothing compared to Mari’s natural charm. When she cheers them on with that smile of hers, exhausted guild members decide to work a little longer. I think even a zombie might come back to life and go into service to win praise from Mari.” He spoke with a straight face and seemed quite serious.
At any rate, according to the schedule those three had set up, Akatsuki, Naotsugu, Nyanta, and all the members of the Crescent Moon League were worked until they were dead on their feet. For League members who didn’t yet have much experience, this was a life-or-death crisis. Spurred on by fierce encouragement from each other, the project participants were revived again and again, zombie-like, until they finished all the preparations and greeted the morning of the project’s launch.
That morning.
In the streets of Akiba—where, at the beginning of summer, the sun steadily rose earlier and the temperature was inching up—temporary shops appeared in three locations. Although showy, they seemed a bit cheap.
The support pillar was made of bamboo, cut to a good size, and lashed together with lumber. Colorful valances swung from a big pavilion made from a sailcloth awning, so that it looked like an attraction or bazaar venue. There was a central platform that seemed to be a converted two-horse carriage and a wooden counter, which was the only truly splendid part of the whole outfit.
The shapes of the venues varied slightly from location to location, but the banners that fluttered in the wind all said the exact same thing in vivid letters: SNACK SHOP CRESCENT MOON.
In Akiba these days, it was rare to find any shop as lonely as a snack shop or dining hall.
All food tasted the same, after all.
As the settings in the Elder Tales game had dictated, there were pubs and taverns run by NPCs, and many inns would provide meals. However, all the food provided by these establishments tasted exactly the same. From cheap bean porridge to ultra-premium roast chicken, everything tasted like flavorless soggy rice crackers. There was no fatty richness to the food, and although it was damp, the sullen flavor made it oddly difficult to swallow. The more one ate, the more discouraged they got.
It was the same with beverages. No matter what one ordered, although the colors were different, the smell and taste were just like plain well water. The one exception was alcoholic drinks, and even these tasted exactly like the others. They didn’t even have alcohol’s unique burn to them. One would just abruptly get drunk.
Under the circumstances, no one frequented taverns or dining halls.
Of course, there were a few people who’d visit in search of a place to sit down or take a break. There was potential demand for places with chairs lined up in the shade, as an alternative to standing and talking in the plaza. However, even those people didn’t visit for the food.
They ordered the very cheapest food, and it was intended mainly as payment for the seat.
In the current Akiba, most players purchased food items from NPCs or the market.
Because all food items tasted the same, and apparently it was possible to get nutrients from them, cost had become the only basis of selection.
Since high-level food items had the effect of temporarily raising player stats, the combat guilds sometimes requested them. However, that demand was very slight, probably less than 1 percent of the whole.
To the overwhelming majority of players, food items were considered “universally disappointing livestock feed,” and they only ate them because if they didn’t their stomachs felt painfully empty. In that case, it was only natural that they’d go for the cheap stuff.
As a result, a fierce price-cutting war broke out.
The production of food items in this world was extremely fast. No matter how high-class the food item, all one had to do was select it from the menu and it would be done in ten seconds.
Provided one had enough material, it was possible to make three hundred meals in an hour. Chef wasn’t a popular subclass, but even so, an explosion of cheap food items came into circulation on the market.
For their part, the producers didn’t have to go out of their way to prepare high-level food items whose ingredients were hard to come by. In the current sluggish economy, it was possible to fill demand with low-level food items, and all they had to do was provide them at low cost.
That sort of market logic brought prices down. Even though “eating” was consumption related to one of the three primitive desires and therefore something everybody had to do, and even though there was a regular volume of food item transactions, prices were at rock bottom.
Why would anyone start a snack shop in a frigid business climate like that? The question was on the mind of every player in Akiba who happened to see the banners.
These days, even Chefs tended to put their items directly on the market. It was less work that way, and more to the point, over-the-counter sales brought unbearable stress. That was only to be expected: To the people who purchased them, the food items they’d made were nothing but cattle feed. No craftsman wanted to sell food to the general public that even they thought was bad. What the creators really wanted was to have customers delighted by their wares’ delicious flavors, but no one saw that sort of smile anymore. At this point, there were no Chefs among the production classes who sold items from stalls.
However, when the sun had climbed to a certain height, and there was a bit less than an hour before noon, ripples of surprise began to spread.
They’d probably been made in the kitchen of some guildhall. A huge amount of parcels was delivered to each temporary shop, and an indescribably wonderful smell began to waft from them.
It was the fragrant smell of browning oil. The alluring scent of mixed spices.
At the same time, a woman with a gorgeous figure stepped forward and raised her voice, her long green hair swaying.
“Stop by and give us a try! We’re Snack Shop Crescent Moon, open for business as of today! Is the flavorless yech of your everyday meals gettin’ you down? Have we got news for you! Come rediscover real food! You’re not even gonna believe how tasty this is! It’s yum, yum, yummy!!”
Marielle delivered her spiel at the top of her lungs; she was already feeling pretty desperate.
The uniforms the guild’s Tailors had put together featured pure white blouses, tight-fitting skirts with pink pinstripes, and bright salmon-pink frilly aprons with big bows—the sort of uniform family restaurant waitresses or fast-food workers had worn in the old world.
Serara, who was standing at the ready next to her, raised her small voice frantically, determined not to lose.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for your purchase!”
She must have been incredibly nervous. They hadn’t sold a single item yet, but she was already thanking people profusely and handing out flyers.
Crescent Burger: fifteen gold coins. Super Crescent Burger: thirty gold coins. Crispy Chicken (one piece): eighteen gold coins; (three pieces): fifty gold coins. Fish and Chips (small): ten gold coins; (large): twenty gold coins. Black Rose Tea (cup): five gold coins; (canteen): fifteen gold coins.
The flyers had a header that read “Grand Opening” and a menu.
Compared to a hamburger shop on Earth, the menu was pretty poor, but for the players of Akiba, it was more than enough to provoke nostalgia.
Spurred on by the savory smells and idle curiosity, several players made purchases.
Even the most diplomatic couldn’t have called the prices economical. As a matter of fact, they were expensive.
In Akiba, a night in the cheapest room at an inn cost at least ten gold coins. One meal’s worth of food items could be purchased for five. Viewed that way, the cost per meal here was three to six times higher than usual. This was not a minor expense.
However, at the same time, it wasn’t an impossible amount.
Surviving in this other world didn’t cost all that much. As far as places to sleep were concerned, provided one had a sleeping bag, if worst came to worst, they didn’t even need to rent a room.
There were lots of ruined buildings. Simply taking shelter from the evening dew didn’t cost anything. As far as food went, the market was overflowing with cheap items, and clothes and equipment didn’t need to be replaced all that frequently.
Of course there were always more luxurious options to aspire to, but if one was frugal, it was possible to live on fifteen gold coins a day. The running costs that any endeavor incurred, such as guildhall maintenance fees and overhaul fees on weapons and equipment, made it difficult to save up large sums of money in this world, but it was easy to earn enough to keep oneself going from day to day.
A price of a thousand gold coins would have made players hesitate, weighing that cost against the cost of a magic item, but ten-odd gold coins was practically pocket money, an amount no one worried about spending.
Driven by that mentality, the onlookers purchased several items.
Marielle and Serara charmed customers who’d made purchases with smiling hospitality. The young male guild members who’d carried the parcels from the hall where they’d been prepared also smiled and yelled, “Thank you very much!” in chorus with Marielle and Serara.
When—half-hopeful, half-curious—the onlookers took the first bite, the shock nearly knocked them off their feet.
“Wha—?! Wha—?! What the heck is this?!”
It tasted. Put into words, that was all it was, but from the thrill that ran through the people who experienced it, the world might as well have turned inside out.
The meat tasted like meat.
The lettuce was juicy and refreshing enough to rinse away the grease from the meat, and the tomato added just the right acidity.
The sweetness of the lightly browned bread. The smoothness of the butter. The spicy bite of the mustard.
Each taste was novel and deeply moving.
The food was far from perfect. In the old world, it would have been closer to home cooking than restaurant fare, and the taste wasn’t so exquisite that it could have graced the first pages of a gourmet magazine. However, in this world, it was easily the best flavor there was.
The players ate as if in a dream, fighting back tears.
This was, without a doubt, the best thing any of them had ever eaten in their entire lives. Before that thought even had time to sink in, the hamburgers were gone.
They even licked up the meat juice that had dripped onto the paper wrappers.
No one thought it was embarrassing.
If they’d had the wherewithal to feel embarrassed, they would have made themselves stop crying.
In less than an hour, the same shock they’d experienced had run through the streets of Akiba.
The event was revolutionary, as if people who’d seen only in monochrome had abruptly been given full true-color vision.
Suddenly, the people of Akiba seemed to realize just how dispirited they’d been. Everyone had forgotten how important it was for food to taste good. They’d given up on it.
Snack Shop Crescent Moon became Akiba’s newest legend.
Marielle’s office looked like a battlefield in its own right.
A plain, solid conference desk had been set in front of Marielle’s grand work desk, which had been in the room to begin with, and the fancy sofa had been exiled to a corner.
The conference desk held a mountain of materials and documents.
All the papers had been covered with fine figures, scribbled there by Henrietta, the accounting supervisor, and Shiroe, the strategy manager.
By the time the Crescent Moon League members returned to the guildhall after winding up that astounding first day, it was already ten at night. In the midst of a fatigue worse than if they’d spent all day fighting tough monsters, many of the members collapsed where they stood.
Physical stamina in this world seemed to be related to the ability values, or levels, of their Elder Tales characters. Since most of the Crescent Moon League members were midrange players, this sight was only natural, and the players deserved praise for lasting as long as they had.
However, sparing only a glance or two for the fallen sales team, Shiroe and Henrietta continued their battle with the paperwork, working as though they were running from the demons of hell.
A corner of the room held stacks of paper and inkpots, generated through Shiroe’s Scribe skills. Pulling several dozen sheets from the stack, Henrietta silently documented the latest figures. Then she heaved a great sigh and raised her head.
“I’ve finished the totals for today.”
“Good work.”
At her words, Shiroe looked up as well, letting his hand fall still.
“If you’d like to reward me, give me Akatsuki.”
“…I won’t give her to you, but you can cuddle her for an hour.”
“My!”
Averting his eyes from Henrietta—who was wriggling with joy, her own eyes sparkling—Shiroe picked up a nearby sheet of paper covered in figures.
“The percentage wasted was lower than we expected, wasn’t it?”
“That’s because the customers never stopped coming. We sold the entire amount we’d planned on.”
“…Meaning it’s going to be an issue of laying in materials…”
“Yes, it will.”
The figures in front of them were within the estimated range. As a matter of fact, they looked quite good, but that didn’t mean there were no problems. This huge sales operation had harnessed the full power of the Crescent Moon League, but since they were dealing in food, they were bound to run through materials.
During the preparations period, they’d hunted monsters and animals that dropped items, building up their stores, and even today, the day the shops had opened, a party that had included Naotsugu and Shouryuu had been organized and sent out to gather materials. Still, if they kept burning through them at this rate, their materials would only last four days.
“…The materials really won’t stretch.”
“Shall we start buying?”
“We’ll have to see what Mari says about it.”
Shiroe and Henrietta fiddled with several more figures, running simulations of different models. What if they pared down the menu or increased their offerings? What if they raised the prices or lowered them?
No matter what combination they used, their stores of materials wouldn’t last five days. The Crescent Moon League was a small guild, and apparently this was the limit of their storeroom and manpower.
“’Scuse the intrusion, you two. …Wait, it’s my room anyway.”
Just as the two of them finished their review and reached for their tea, the door opened wide and Marielle entered the office. She probably hadn’t been drawn there by their conversation, but Marielle—elated and showing no signs of fatigue—approached them with her usual bright smile and ruffled Shiroe’s hair.
“Well done, kiddo. You, too, Henrietta.”
She hugged Henrietta tightly to her generous bosom, but Henrietta seemed used to it; she only greeted her with a nonchalant “Welcome back, Mari.”
Without heading for her work desk, Marielle claimed a chair at the conference desk and filled their glasses, including one for herself, from a bottle of black-leaf tea she said she’d filched from the kitchen. When they sold it at the shop, they changed the name to Black Rose Tea, but it had nothing to do with roses. The name was just a reflection of Henrietta’s tastes.
“And? How were our sales, y’all?!”
As she questioned them, Marielle’s eyes sparkled.
At times like this, she really sounds like an Osakan… Well, it’s cute, so I guess it’s not a problem.
While Shiroe hid a sigh, Henrietta began to report their numbers.
“Our sales totaled 43,776 gold coins. We had 1,159 customers, and the average customer spent thirty-eight coins. We sold out of the Crescent Burgers and Super Crescent Burgers. Except for the Black Rose Tea, all other items sold out as well.”
“Wow! That’s fantastic! Forty thousand coins… Compared to our monthly budget, that’s, um…”
“Forty times greater.”
“Yep, forty!! What a haul! If we keep this up, we’ll hit five million in no time!”
Marielle broke into a cheerful little dance, still facing the conference desk. Stealthily averting his eyes from her swaying chest, Shiroe checked her enthusiasm. “We won’t make it in time, Mari. Not even close.”
“Oh?”
“Think about it. That’s a hundred and twenty days. It would take us four months.”
“But we had to turn away so many customers! If we’d wanted to sell, there were plenty of folks who wanted to buy. If we just lay in more stock…”
Raising a hand to interrupt Marielle’s words, Shiroe objected.
“We probably have tens of thousands of potential customers. There are over fifteen thousand players here in Akiba. That isn’t the problem. The problem is in the number of Crescent Moon League members and how that affects the number of shops and the amount of merchandise we can arrange for.”
“Is it?”
Marielle looked troubled, as if she hadn’t completely understood. Henrietta explained in careful detail.
“Yes, he’s correct. If it takes one salesclerk three minutes to hand the customer their merchandise and ring them up, that salesclerk can process twenty customers per hour. That’s 160 customers in eight hours of business. Ten salesclerks could serve 1,600 customers. Even if we made every Crescent Moon League member a salesclerk, the most they could handle would be four thousand customers per day. Besides, that’s if we focused exclusively on the selling aspect and completely ignored acquisition, preparation, cooking, and paperwork. It’s a number we really couldn’t sustain… In that sense, I think the plan we set up has the best balance of members assigned to sales, the kitchen, odd jobs, and procurement. And when we conducted sales with that balance, the results were…”
With a teacher’s gesture, Henrietta pointed to the documents.
“Slightly over one thousand customers, an amount nearly equal to the number of visitors. …In other words, at the Crescent Moon League’s size, no matter how much the users want the items, we won’t be able to handle more than one thousand customers per day.”
“Is that right…? Hmmm. And we could be makin’ a killin’, too…”
On having this pointed out to her, Marielle frowned, her eyebrows drawing together in disappointment. However, she recovered almost immediately and came back with a counter:
“Well, why not recruit more members? I bet we could at this point. I mean, we’re the home of the miraculous Snack Shop Crescent Moon, Akiba’s rapid growth stock. Right?”
“We can’t do that.”
Shiroe was the one to check her this time.
“Being suspicious isn’t a very good thing, but if we recruit new members at a time like this, I think most of the people who join will be spies. We’re already incredibly busy, and we won’t be able to deal with them.”
“Agreed.”
“I see,” sighed Marielle.
“Mari, money isn’t the point of this strategy anyway.”
“Uh-huh… That’s right! The fortune right in front of my nose blinded me for a sec. …Still, we do need money, don’t we? You said if this keeps up, it’ll take us over three months. If we won’t make it in time that way, then… Should we do that other thing? Will it work?”
Henrietta smiled at Marielle’s timid question.
“Don’t worry. No merchant worth his salt would refuse. I’m the one telling you, so rest assured it’s true. Any simpleton that daft would qualify to be guillotined by Pareto optimality.”
At Henrietta’s beaming face, Shiroe gave a wry smile of his own.
The trajectory the project was following was almost exactly what he’d anticipated.
A team play by the two of them will probably be quite a sight…
Shiroe mentally ran through the plan in his head. Over the next few days, the three of them would have to successfully conclude three different sets of negotiations.
“All right, then, Miss Henrietta, please take care of those negotiations. I leave the details to you.”
“Yes, sir. You can count on me.”
Henrietta cocked her head to one side, smiling like a proper young lady.
“Mari, you handle product procurement.”
“Roger that. …Although I’m not so great with numbers, y’know…”
“If you carry things through to a basic agreement, I’ll help you explain the conditions. …In fact, why don’t we conduct my negotiations and the product negotiations as a team? That should save time and trouble.”
The sight of Henrietta encouraging Marielle relieved Shiroe.
Henrietta was far more capable than Shiroe had assumed. He’d gotten the impression that she was sharp from his previous dealings with her and from little things she said, but he hadn’t expected her to be this good.
Marielle had great talent, but she was a little spacey; she probably needed companions like Henrietta and Shouryuu.
He thought of Akatsuki, who even now was running through the darkened streets on a special mission, and Naotsugu, who’d volunteered to organize the storeroom even though he must have been tired from the hunting he’d done during the day, and Nyanta, who was still doing basic prep work on the Crescent Burgers they’d sell tomorrow.
Everyone’s performing their missions even better than I’d hoped. If we wipe out now, I’ll have no choice but to claim total responsibility for it…
“What’s wrong, kiddo?”
“Nothing.”
Doubt as to whether he was a worthy companion for them skimmed through his mind.
…But only for a moment. It was his responsibility to become worthy. So that he wouldn’t let down the companions who’d waited for him. So that he wouldn’t make liars out of them.
Just as he’d promised Akatsuki that day. Just as he’d sworn in front of Naotsugu and Nyanta, Marielle and the others.
No, even the question of whether he was worthy or not was arrogant and pointless. The important thing now was to make the operation in front of him succeed. The path toward fulfilling his responsibility as the one who’d suggested this plan—a plan that required everyone’s strength—lay, just barely, in doing this over and over.
“I’ll lay the groundwork for the conference. Everything we’re doing now is advance preparation. Let’s move forward with plans for the festival without tipping our hand.”
Kneading her fingers together nervously, Marielle sighed for the umpteenth time. In public, she smiled as though she was full of self-confidence, but she had absolutely no confidence when attempting something she had no experience with.
She knew why Shiroe had nominated her.
It was true that she had quite a lot of friends among the small and midsized guilds of Akiba. The person Marielle was about to meet was one of her acquaintances, and in that sense, he’d be easy to talk to. That said…he was one of the most influential of those acquaintances.
She tugged at her outfit here and there.
She’d dusted off some of her finest clothes for this, but she couldn’t quite relax. That was only natural: She’d never taken part in a business talk in the game. She couldn’t imagine that there were many people who had.
Clothes in Elder Tales—which, up until a short while ago, had been “equipment”—boasted a great deal of flexibility.
When exploring or hunting, equipment had to be chosen with an emphasis on practicality. In Elder Tales, unless the clothes were very unique, the basic design concept was medieval European fantasy costumes. In other words, vanguard warriors wore plate armor. The attackers, in the middle, wore chain mail or leather armor.
Healers differed widely from each other, but Clerics like Marielle could wear comparatively heavy equipment, meaning that a lightweight breastplate and leather armor, a tunic, and mantle were probably appropriate. Although it was possible to customize it by adding one’s guild’s crest or dyeing it a little, it wasn’t easy to change the appearance of equipment that had been chosen to be functional.
However, spending time in town brought increased flexibility.
Elder Tales might have been a medieval European fantasy RPG, but its designs weren’t strictly traditional. The artwork had been tailored to suit modern tastes. While medieval European-style fashions were the rule, it had a rather varied fashion culture that included Japanese and ethnic costumes, and even uniforms, maid outfits, and other otaku-esque designs.
Since the subcontracting developers and the operating companies for each of the regional servers had a lot of power regarding model and item data, this was probably only to be expected.
Apparently, the area that mapped to Japan in this world wasn’t as hot and humid as real-world Japan. At this time of year, heading into summer, there was a wide range of fashion options and a huge variety of wearable outfits: casual options like capris and cotton tunic shirts; players in fantasy-style robes, ancient Grecian togas, and even casual Japanese dress; armor and haute couture suits.
Today, Marielle wore a white silk blouse and a long mermaid skirt. She had no jacket, but she’d tossed a cape loosely around her shoulders. The guild’s Tailors had flashed her a V for victory, but she wasn’t sure whether she’d worn the right thing.
“You mustn’t act so nervous.”
Henrietta spoke at her side, still looking straight ahead.
Henrietta wore a black ribbon in her honey-colored hair, which, as always, had a gentle wave to it. Her monotone dress was quite young and girlish.
Looking at her, Marielle thought, It takes guts to have your own style.
“Is this gonna be okay?”
“You mustn’t be uneasy. You have to be aggressive when you go into negotiations. In any case, of all the needles’ eyes that we need to get through, this is the easiest. Even if we fail, we can recover. These aren’t last-ditch negotiations.”
Marielle nodded, agreeing with Henrietta.
The first deal they had to negotiate today was for material procurement. Their material items had nearly run out already. Although they might be all right for tomorrow, the shortage would start to interfere with business by the next day unless they managed to replenish their stock.
Conversely, if these material procurement negotiations succeeded, the Crescent Moon League would be able to concentrate exclusively on cooking and retail sales.
And after that—
We’ll think about that when we get there. Henrietta and Shiro are here, too. If I just stick to my post, he’s bound to do something about it for me. I’ll just give these negotiations everything I’ve got.
“That said… If we manage to make these negotiations a huge success, my next mission will be significantly easier. We’ll have to stay focused going in.”
“Yeeeeek… Quit puttin’ more pressure on me…”
Just as Marielle had almost managed to become defiant, Henrietta’s cool retort brought back all her timidity. There were certain things people were good at and certain things they weren’t. She revised her self-assessment: She would never learn how to keep a poker face.
“Hi! Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
The player who’d appeared was a human with hazel hair and keen hazel eyes. His name was Calasin. He was the guild master for Shopping District 8, the third-largest production guild in Akiba.
Calasin greeted them candidly as he closed the door, then took a seat.
They were in a private room in a tavern near Akiba’s central plaza. These rooms could be rented for two hours for a few gold coins, and they were suited to confidential talks.
Marielle and Calasin knew each other.
There’d been a time when they’d gone out hunting together, back when they were both fledgling players.
Since both Marielle and Calasin had started their own guilds, they almost never went anywhere together anymore, but horizontal connections between guilds were surprisingly strong.
When, as with Calasin’s Shopping District 8 and the Crescent Moon League, the guilds’ fields were different, it was particularly convenient for them to cooperate and share information. As a result, Calasin and Marielle were still in contact.
“Wow, Miss Mari, that’s a pretty scary face. What did you need today?”
Calasin spoke casually in a voice grounded in their relationship.
Although they were old friends, Calasin’s Shopping District 8 was on a completely different level from Marielle’s Crescent Moon League.
The Crescent Moon League had about thirty members, and while “mutual aid guild” sounded impressive, it really just meant that the guild was a jack-of-all-trades. It was a guild that midlevel Adventurers joined so they could train in their own ways and adventure with their friends.
Calasin’s guild, Shopping District 8, was an artisan guild, a guild completely specialized to the production classes. It didn’t provide support for combat or exploration. Its members traded materials with one another and exchanged finished items at wholesale prices, and commerce was at the center of its activities. Its enormous membership of seven hundred made it the third-largest commerce guild in Akiba, second only to the Marine Organization and the Roderick Trading Company in size.
Following the Catastrophe, battles had changed dramatically.
Players as experienced as Shiroe and Naotsugu could pick out all sorts of specific ways in which battles had changed, from the performance of individual special skills to the ecology of enemy monsters, but for the vast majority of players, the big change was probably the terror of having to fight for real.
Once a player fought them in person, even monsters of a level they could beat easily were terrifying. Swords, axes, fangs, claws, flames, and curses came at you. Even if they knew logically that they could handle it if their level was high enough, the terror and the smell of blood on the battlefield made more than a few players weak at the knees.
Even if they’d been locked into this other world and fighting monsters was the most efficient way to make a living, more players than one might imagine didn’t want to fight any more than they absolutely had to.
Although she didn’t know the exact number, Marielle estimated that, after the Catastrophe, nearly half of all players had become the type that wanted to avoid battles. With the winds of the era at their backs, the production guilds were seeing explosive expansion.
The Marine Organization, currently the largest production guild in Akiba, had 2,500 members. The second largest, the Roderick Trading Company, had 1,800.
When the seven hundred members of Calasin’s Shopping District 8 were added in, those three alone had a total of five thousand players, and no doubt there were many other small production guilds. This was yet another change the Catastrophe had brought about: There hadn’t been that many players who specialized in production before.
“Well, we’ve got a favor to ask of Shoppin’ District Eight.”
“And what could that be?”
Even though Marielle’s expression was more serious than usual, Calasin responded easily. He’d probably already given thought to what it meant for Marielle to call him at a time like this.
Marielle had made Snack Shop Crescent Moon a success.
To the production guilds, she was one step away from completely owning the food in this world. Just as people who’d grown used to full color couldn’t go back to black and white, players who’d eaten richly flavored food would probably be unable to return to the former, flavorless food items.
As a matter of fact, Marielle had received reports that sales of food items on the market had experienced an abrupt slowdown over the past few days.
Elder Tales was no longer a game.
Whether or not there was a way to return to their former world, until that way was found, this other world was a second reality. They could avoid dying here, but no one could avoid living.
The approximately thirty thousand players on the Japanese server were unable to escape the curse of having to live there.
To exaggerate slightly, at the very least in this far eastern area, Marielle and the Crescent Moon League held the initiative in food provision. At any rate, it must have seemed that way to Calasin.
Wow… Calasin’s got his merchant face on. I guess if you’re runnin’ a big outfit like that, you can’t do things halfway…
That was the impression Calasin’s determined face gave Marielle, even as she herself exuded tension. If Henrietta hadn’t told her that they had the initiative in these negotiations, and to be aggressive, his expression would have given her cold feet.
“It’s about procurin’ supplies. Our guild is goin’ through material items like nobody’s business, and we’re thinkin’ about outsourcin’ the procurement to somebody else. Specifically, we need young venison, lettuce, tomatoes, wheat flour, and potatoes. …Also haru-haru fish and ptarmigan meat. We’ll have to discuss amount and pricin’ details, but assume we’re gonna need a lot.”
“Procurement, hm?”
There was no hesitation in Calasin’s response.
He’d probably seen this coming. To a certain extent, that was only to be expected.
The Crescent Moon League was small. Anybody could foresee that if they continued large-scale sales, they’d run through their stores in no time. If that happened, they’d be forced to stop supplying merchandise.
Both Marielle, who’d asked the favor, and Calasin, who’d just heard it, understood at once that the request took into account the number of members, the amount of materials they could acquire by hunting on their own, and the stores in their storeroom.
“…Amount and price, then. How much?”
In response to Calasin’s question, Marielle took out a note and gave him several figures.
“I see…”
Calasin drew a slow breath; from his expression, he was considering something. He probably wasn’t sure whether or not to accept the request.
Considered normally, this wasn’t a bad deal. A major production guild like Shopping District 8 had vast stores of material items in huge warehouses. Recently, they’d been caught up in the price-cutting wars, and even if they prepared and sold their food items, they wouldn’t bring in much. Selling these items off to someone else at a fair price would be a good way to adjust inventory.
If necessary, they could keep an eye on the market and buy the ingredients Marielle had requested at low prices, then resell them to the Crescent Moon League.
From a business perspective, there was no reason to say no.
That was the conclusion Marielle and Henrietta had reached.
However, that didn’t mean he’d accept it easily. Marielle remembered what Henrietta had told her. “We’ve got everyone’s attention now. Even if it’s a marvelous procurement contract, the other party won’t jump at it. They’ll try to find a way to get a bigger piece of the pie.”
After a short silence, Calasin broke into a sociable smile.
“These would be ingredients for use at Snack Shop Crescent Moon, correct?” he asked.
Marielle smiled. “That’s right.”
“I hear Snack Shop Crescent Moon is doing great business.”
“It is, and thanks for sayin’ so. Our Chefs are pleased as punch that it’s goin’ over so well.”
“…You’re using new recipes, then?”
“Our Chefs are real good.”
Marielle fielded Calasin’s probe with a smile.
Marielle had been beaming her sunflower smile since the very beginning, and to a bystander, it might have looked as if she understood all and was secure in her advantage. However, at this point, Marielle herself was pushed to the limit.
She’d broken out in a cold sweat at Calasin’s question; she was worried she might have let something slip.
However, Shiroe had told her, “No matter what happens, Mari, keep smiling. That’s the most important thing. If you just keep smiling, the other person in charge will help with everything else.”
And so, feeling just a little desperate, Marielle kept right on smiling. It was a bargain sale on smiles. Her green eyes, which tilted down slightly at the corners, softened, and her smile seemed rapturous. Marielle wasn’t aware that her generous bosom and maternal atmosphere worked together to create a natural barrier that allowed no further pursuit.
“We’ll give careful consideration to the procurement proposal, but listen… In order to expand your chain rapidly, Shopping District Eight and the Crescent Moon League could work together to—”
“Excuse me. Calasin, I’m afraid it’s nearly time.”
Henrietta interrupted Calasin, addressing him in a clear voice.
“Time?”
“Yes. Our next contacts are here.”
At Henrietta’s calm voice, Marielle looked a bit guilty; she put her hands together in an apology.
“Sorry ’bout this, Calasin. You and I go way back, so I squeezed you in a bit early, but Henrietta says we really can’t play favorites.”
“Erm… What do you mean, Mari?”
“Uuuu…”
Marielle shot a sidelong glance at Henrietta. At this point, she wasn’t acting. Marielle was never able to match Henrietta, particularly where financial outlay was concerned.
“We’ve set up negotiations with the Marine Organization and the Roderick Trading Company as well, with regard to a different matter…”
“A different matter?”
“Right. Y’see, it’s… About fundin’, I guess you’d say. About Crescent Moon sales.”
“—!”
Shopping District 8 might have been the third-largest production guild in Akiba, but the Marine Organization and the Roderick Trading Company were even larger. The membership of the Marine Organization alone was triple that of Shopping District 8; it was an enormous guild. If big money like that was about to join the negotiations, Calasin and his guild would be left without a leg to stand on.
“We don’t want to leave anybody out in the cold, and we owe Shoppin’ District Eight, y’know? Like I said, we go way back. I’d love to have Shoppin’ District Eight join the talks, too. …But Henrietta says we have to get the procurement business settled first or no can do.”
“‘Settled’…? Mari, you know we can’t even advance to the next step unless we get our current supply environment in order.”
Henrietta frowned at Marielle’s words a moment prior, admonishing her as though she were a young child.
“Wait, Mari, Miss Henrietta. What is the Crescent Moon League planning? What do you mean, ‘funding’?”
At Calasin’s question, Marielle’s lips parted slightly. Henrietta put a slender finger to those lips, then turned back to Calasin.
“How much is Shopping District Eight willing to pay for that information?”
Henrietta’s enigmatic gaze pierced Calasin. The procurement deal wouldn’t be a bad one for Shopping District 8 either way. He narrowed his eyes slightly, then made up his mind and spoke.
“Shopping District Eight will accept your request and the corresponding responsibility. We’ll provide you with 3,200 each of young venison, lettuce, tomatoes, wheat flour, potatoes, haru-haru fish, and ptarmigan meat. The first delivery will be made early in the morning of the day after tomorrow. …Your cost will be fifty thousand gold coins.”
“Forty thousand.”
“…All right. I, Calasin of Shopping District Eight, accept this contract.”
“Oh, good. It’s better for you this way, too, right, Calasin?! C’mon, let’s let him sit in on the next set of negotiations so he can hear what’s goin’ on.”
“Yes, let’s.”
As Henrietta agreed, a bell-like tone sounded in Marielle’s ear, signaling the arrival of their next visitors.
“Well, well! If it isn’t two lovely ladies and the young gent from Shopping District Eight.”
“……Hm.”
As announced, the two who’d opened the door and entered were Michitaka, the general manager of the Marine Organization, and Roderick of the Roderick Trading Company.
“Pleased to meetcha! I’m Marielle, guild master of the Crescent Moon League. This is Henrietta, my head clerk.”
“Would you refrain from using antiquated terms like head clerk, please? …As she says, I’m Henrietta. I’m in charge of the accounts.”
The two delivered their greetings in turn. In the old world, Marielle had been nothing more than someone who took it easy at home and helped out with the chores, and Henrietta was a white-collar worker who’d graduated from the department of economics. Although she handled accounting duties and had learned a lot from her father, Henrietta was still just a rank-and-file office worker, and she didn’t really know what sort of expression she should wear at large-scale negotiations like these. Still, both gave introductions that, while awkward, were impressive in their own right.
“Michitaka of the Marine Organization here. General manager.”
The big man who greeted them jovially was built more like a warrior than a merchant. The arm he put out for a handshake was thick and had noticeable burn scars, probably because he was a Blacksmith.
“I’m Roderick, guild master of the Roderick Trading Company. It’s a production guild.”
In contrast, the young man who introduced himself as Roderick looked like a scholar. According to the information they’d received earlier, he was an Apothecary.
“Yes, we’re ac…acqua… Um, we know! You’re both famous.”
Marielle beamed.
To Henrietta, it looked as though the burden on Marielle’s shoulders had lifted ever so slightly. According to their preliminary meeting with Shiroe, her responsibility had been to contract with Shopping District 8 for short-term material procurement. In that sense, she’d completed her assignment during the previous negotiations.
The person in charge of this next round of negotiations was Henrietta.
In other words, this is my battlefield.
Henrietta smiled; there was an intelligent gleam in her eyes. The men in front of her were the leaders of Akiba’s largest and second-largest guilds. The huge guilds were on an entirely different level, and ordinarily, they would have completely ignored the Crescent Moon League. Henrietta would have felt too daunted even to speak to them.
That said, all the preparations Henrietta and the rest of the group had made over the past week had been leading up to this moment. The days of hunting, the stocking up on ingredients, the energetic sales under the blazing sun, the trench warfare–like document filing—it had all been in order to set the stage for this moment.
This step was grounded in the previous one, and the step before that had been drawn from the one before it. In addition, it had been Henrietta’s companions who had drawn it out, not Henrietta herself.
If I back down now, I’ll never be able to face the others. Besides, this pitch-black plan came courtesy of Master Shiroe. …If we can’t win with this, we’d never win with anything else. Fu-fu-fu-fu. And here I am, right in the middle of it…
Henrietta considered herself a second-rate Elder Tales player. Up to this point, she had never tackled any large-scale battles nor high-end content. And yet, incredibly, she was sitting right at the center of what was probably the largest strategy since the beginning of this world.
Her strength was useful to someone.
It was all right for her to use her power.
That knowledge brought her elation and a firm feeling of resolution.
“Yeah. We know you, too. You’re the manager of Snack Shop Crescent Moon, right? You’ve turned into the talk of the town over the past few days. I ate some, too. I’ve only had it once so far, but still.”
Michitaka laughed as he spoke.
Marielle responded with her usual smile; she seemed completely self-assured.
“…What’s caused you to assemble production guilds, particularly major ones like ours, Miss Marielle of Crescent Moon?”
As Roderick spoke, he sneaked a glance at Calasin’s expression. He might have been trying to deduce the reason Calasin had been admitted early by himself.
“Hm, why? You want to know why. Well, ’course you do. Let’s see…”
“Before we begin, let me explain why we invited Shopping District Eight to come early.”
Henrietta began to explain, counting her own breaths.
Slowly, bit by bit. Being careful not to go too quickly. Speaking in such a way that she would sound relaxed and at ease. She chose her words carefully, modulating her tone as she explained.
“We’ve asked Shopping District Eight to supply us with ingredients.”
At her words, tension abruptly flickered across Michitaka’s cheery face and Roderick’s keen eyes. Those words alone had been enough to tell them how the situation was trending.
Shopping District 8 had seven hundred members.
The Marine Organization had 2,500 members registered. The Roderick Trading Company had 1,800. While there were differences in the orientation and level distribution of their artisans, the balance of power was roughly equal to their member ratio. However, if, in addition to the ingredients procurement, Snack Shop Crescent Moon were to team up with Shopping District 8 in earnest, the power relationships were likely to flip on them.
Crescent Moon had triggered a food item revolution.
However, its scale meant that its supply system was small as well. Delivering meals to one thousand players every day wouldn’t come close to satisfying the demand: There were more than fifteen thousand players in Akiba.
That said, if the seven hundred members of Shopping District 8 mustered all their strength, they would be able to fill that demand. No doubt the profits would be enormous.
After all, this was food.
Unlike clothes and furniture, weapons, armor, and accessories, food was needed—and consumed—on a daily basis. Once one ate it, it was gone. Even if each individual item was cheap, the total sales were bound to be astronomical. On top of that, since it was consumable merchandise, these sales would be continuous. It was as plain as day to them that with the food supply under its control, Shopping District 8 would turn its power to personnel expansion, and before long it would have upset even the numbers ratio.
Henrietta understood Michitaka and Roderick’s thoughts perfectly. Depending on how it was used, food could become a nuclear weapon able to destroy the balance between the production guilds at a stroke.
“You’re saying you’re partnering with Shopping District Eight?”
It was Michitaka who made the first move.
Apparently his personality was as straightforward as his appearance indicated. There was no telling whether it worked this way with real-world managers, but in guilds in online games, surprisingly, this type of player was the sort who won popularity.
“No. If that were the case, they wouldn’t have needed to call us. Is it something else?” Roderick murmured.
Roderick wore delicate glasses. Between his gender and the glasses, he looked a bit like Shiroe, but he seemed slightly neurotic, and Henrietta thought it counted against him somewhat. Even if he were more blackhearted than Shiroe, she doubted he had the audacity to make people swallow that blackness.
Up until just the other day, Henrietta had assumed Shiroe’s introspective, reserved character was something similar to Roderick’s, and so the difference felt particularly marked to her. Any resemblance between the two was purely superficial.
“Yes, as you say, it’s something else. This other matter is something we want to ask of the Marine Organization, the Roderick Trading Company, and Shopping District Eight equally.”
Henrietta tilted her head slightly.
Negotiations were all about reading each other’s cards.
In that sense, Henrietta had been placed in a very dangerous position.
Henrietta’s group had brought up this topic. That meant that unless they disclosed their information to a certain extent, the talks couldn’t advance. However, the very act of giving up information meant showing their cards.
One of her advantages was that the other parties wanted profit. To them, Snack Shop Crescent Moon looked like tasty, lucrative bait.
In addition:
As long as we hold the initiative in these negotiations, we’ll always get to decide what information to release and what to conceal.
Almost as if she were playing chess, Henrietta organized their information into “can reveal” and “shouldn’t reveal” at high speed.
Shiroe had given Henrietta one condition with regard to these negotiations: She was not allowed to lie.
Since they were all trying to read one another’s cards, and she wasn’t allowed to bluff, this was a significant handicap. When she thought of future developments, she could understand that this condition was absolute, but she couldn’t deny that it placed her at a slight disadvantage.
Master Shiroe certainly does make unreasonable demands. …I’ll have to have him lend me sweet Akatsuki to make this worth it. Aah, darling Akatsuki! That jet-black, glossy, beautiful hair… She’s just like a doll!
Beside Henrietta—who’d started fantasizing, her cheeks faintly flushed—Marielle had a small warning coughing fit.
“…Oh. I beg your pardon. The topic at hand, then: The Crescent Moon League is currently planning a large-scale operation. You may consider it a—a type of challenge. However, the Crescent Moon League doesn’t have enough power to carry out this challenge. To that end, we’d like to ask for your support.”
“Hm… A quest, is it?”
Henrietta didn’t answer Roderick’s words with either yes or no. She only lowered her eyes slightly, curving her lips into a crescent of a smile.
I do believe he’s been kind enough to misinterpret me…
Quests were a type of mission in Elder Tales. They were sequential adventures that could be triggered by a request from a non-player character, or by a book or clue, and their content was quite diverse.
For example, an old villager might ask one to go find his daughter in the woods and bring her back. Or to clear a certain cavern of goblins. Or to bring back a manticore spine from the swamp. The term quest spanned nearly every possible type of mission.
In Elder Tales, which didn’t have a clear story the way ordinary off-line RPGs did, quests were the game’s story. The decision of which and how many quests to accept was left to individual players. However, Elder Tales had encompassed several hundred thousand, or even several million, quests since the days when it was just a game, and no player had a clear grasp of the full picture.
Just as there were many different types of quests, the rewards given for quests were diverse, too: They could be experience points or gold coins, items, knowledge of magic, or a right of some sort. Rare rewards included training in magic or recipes for the production classes.
Roderick had misinterpreted Henrietta’s “challenge” to mean “quest.” Not only that, but from the words large-scale operation, he assumed that the quest couldn’t be completed by an individual player; it would require multiple players or possibly even a huge group larger than a party.
The operation that was currently under way was the sale of the knowledge of the new cooking method in exchange for funding. However, to Henrietta, the new cooking method seemed more like a type of idea or realization.
If they let even a little bit of information slip, the sharp production guild leaders might pick up on the method, even without being told anything specific. In fact, there was no telling when someone from another guild might catch on, at least to some of it.
In light of these circumstances, Henrietta had chosen to use this “guidance” strategy. She’d use her negotiation partners’ suspicions and rivalry to get them to say the words she wanted them to hear.
…She wouldn’t lie. But, with this trick, Henrietta wouldn’t let them reach the truth, either.
“What sort of support does your group need, Mari?”
Calasin’s question was another assist Henrietta had foreseen. Without answering right away, she gazed into the eyes of the three men.
Making it seem as though she was having trouble making up her mind was another necessary part of negotiations.
Beside her, she knew her ally Marielle was spreading around that brilliant sunflower smile of hers. The three young men seemed to be looking at Marielle’s and Henrietta’s faces in turn.
Well, Mari’s gorgeous. She really is. If only she weren’t so very tall, she’d be just my type, and I’d take her home and hug her like a body pillow… Oh there, see? He’s blushing. Master Calasin is sweet on Mari. How adorably innocent…
Actually, all three were looking at, then averting their glances from, both the sunny Marielle and the moonlike Henrietta, but Henrietta didn’t notice the attention directed at herself.
Several moments after she’d organized what she needed to say, Henrietta opened her mouth.
“Before I tell you what we need, let me explain our system. Unless I clarify the forces we have lined up, you may not trust me. The director of this large-scale progressive operation is Master Shiroe.”
Henrietta had taken a gamble.
This dialogue hadn’t been part of her instructions from Shiroe, and she didn’t have Marielle’s permission. Henrietta didn’t know how much significance Shiroe’s name would have. She’d heard that he was a veteran player with a long career in the game and that he had some very unexpected acquaintances, but in that case, she didn’t know why Shiroe was on friendly terms with a small guild like the Crescent Moon League or, for that matter, why he wasn’t affiliated with a guild.
Henrietta had spoken with Shiroe personally, and she thought he was an extraordinary player. However, was that really all he was?
Henrietta had heard about the griffins from Serara. From what Henrietta knew, those were items that an ordinary veteran player shouldn’t even have had access to.
“Machiavelli-with-glasses is running it?”
Although he’d muttered it in a very small voice, Michitaka had definitely said it.
“We’ve asked Master Naotsugu to hold the front line, Miss Akatsuki to act as the attacker, and Master Nyanta to be the point guard. Incompetent as we are, Marielle and I will form the rear guard. In addition to these, we intend to execute the operation with the Crescent Moon League members and other interested persons.”
Henrietta let her words end there. Surreptitiously, she watched for Michitaka’s reaction.
She was certain he’d responded to Shiroe’s name and to a few of the others. However, he’d repressed the reaction, and she didn’t know what it had meant. Yet even so, he had reacted. She was sure of it.
In other words, Master Shiroe really does have a chance at victory.
Shiroe’s name had meant something.
“I’ve just given you an outline of our core members. We would like to request your support in order to make up the remaining shortfall. …That shortfall is capital. At present, we are in need of five million gold coins.”
The three men sucked in their breath audibly.
It was an enormous sum indeed.
There had, of course, been previous quests whose accomplishment required money. It might have been bribes during a mission or payment for training. If one included quests whose missions required a certain item to accomplish—which meant that players needed money in order to purchase said item at the market—in a broad sense, “expenditures” were necessary in about a quarter of all quests.
However, five million gold coins was far too much. It would have been an unthinkable sum for any quest meant for individual players. …On the other hand, if this were a type of legend-class or wide-ranging quest, the amount wasn’t impossibly large.
Taking into account the fact that they hadn’t heard rumors of such a thing, was it a completely unknown quest? There was a good possibility that it was. It might be a brand-new quest, one introduced with the Homesteading the Noosphere expansion pack, a quest no one knew about. They didn’t yet know exactly what sort of content Homesteading had included, but they’d heard reports that the current level-90 maximum was being raised, and that meant it might have been aimed at characters above level 90.
If it was a long quest, would it be the sort of large-scale quest in which a sequence of multiple quests formed a story? If that was the case, in long quests such as those, each time an individual quest ended, players could expect to gain a certain reward.
In long quests, it was normal for players to be given small rewards at each important point, to keep their motivation up.
…That was probably what was going through the three men’s heads.
People tend to assume that information they want to believe is true. She’d heard this often from her stock-trader father. The three were gravitating toward the desire to believe in this tale of an absolutely unknown quest.
Henrietta asked Marielle to take out what they’d brought.
What she took out was black tea and custard pudding.
“Go ahead, help yourselves! That’s our new offerin’. It’s nice and sweet! It’s made with Roc eggs.”
Marielle urged the three men on with a cheerful smile. They were astonished, both by the delicious flavors and by what they’d just heard.
Rocs were monsters whose levels were 85 or higher. A recipe made with their eggs… That would be a completely unknown recipe, most certainly higher than level 90, wouldn’t it?
“Of course, we aren’t asking you to give us the money for free. After the completion of this large-scale operation, we are prepared to give detailed information regarding the operation to all three of you. We have also asked our Scribe to copy the cooking method we currently employ and the methods we have learned while making our attempt, and we intend to provide you with these as well.”
To Henrietta and Marielle, the “operation” was a sort of neighborhood watch initiative with the goal of improving the atmosphere in Akiba. They didn’t yet know the details about where it would touch down—Shiroe was keeping that part vague.
However, with an initiative like that one, there would be no detailed information to reveal. Once things were over, it would be—and would have to be—as clear as crystal. Shiroe himself had declared that politics conducted behind closed doors could not maintain any kind of public order. There would be no disadvantage to revealing information, and at that point in time, the value of that information would evaporate.
However, to the three production guild leaders, the story sounded completely different. If what the Crescent Moon League intended to challenge was an unknown long quest, everything about that quest—its starting point, its terms, the puzzles along the way—would be S-rank confidential information. Now, when they couldn’t turn to solutions sites, it might well take them years to discover the same quest.
On top of that, Henrietta had clearly said, “The cooking method we currently employ and the methods we have learned while making our attempt.” If it came with that sort of reward, the quest probably involved production. From the activities of Snack Shop Crescent Moon, it could only be a new—and groundbreaking—food item recipe. Even if it was only a reward for Chefs and had nothing to do with the other production classes, it would be invaluable.
The three of them had begun to believe the story they’d invented.
Henrietta was sure she’d made it over the pass.
That was how unprecedented these terms were. It would be strange for them not to accept.
If they did refuse, it would be because they doubted some aspect of the tale, but the three men were completely caught up in the story of the unknown quest they’d imagined.
It’s about time I threw them a life vest…
“We’re working with everything we have to raise funds. Including asset disposal and the Crescent Moon sales, we’ve managed to raise 500,000 gold coins. We still need 4.5 million. We thought that asking any one guild would drastically change the current balance. In that case, 1.5 million gold coins from each guild… How does that sound?”
In a single stroke, Henrietta cut the amount she was requesting by two-thirds.
In this world, a level-90 player could have anywhere from ten thousand to forty or fifty thousand gold coins on hand. In other words, those 1.5 million gold coins could be covered by contributions from about one hundred members.
If the Marine Organization, the largest of the three guilds, took up a collection from its 2,500 members, the contribution would only be six hundred gold coins per person.
Six hundred gold coins was no more than the cost of a suit of midrange armor. It was only natural that the three players’ expressions shifted into determination.
“The Roderick Trading Company will participate.”
“Shopping District Eight is in as well.”
“All right. The Marine Organization will set you up with capital. Heck, if you want, we’ll fund the whole thing on our own.”
“I’d have a problem with that. …Are you planning to monopolize the profits?”
As the three began to argue, Marielle said, “Oh, now, don’t be like that, y’all. Okay? C’mon. Play nice, for my sake.”
At these words from Marielle, who’d smiled through the entire talk, the three had no choice but to back down. After all, the Crescent Moon League held the initiative in the discussion.
“In that case, we’ll expect your payment in… Will four days be sufficient?”
“Fine. And when will you deliver the recipe?”
“It depends on our Scribe’s schedule, but if possible, we’d like to give you the cooking method upon receipt of the funds. You’ll have it by the day after at the very latest. The Scribe is Master Shiroe, you see.”
With those parting words, the three left the rented room. After they’d gone, Marielle and Henrietta were exhausted. Henrietta had controlled the initiative and set the pace from beginning to end, but the pressure had been greater than she’d expected.
Although it hadn’t taken long, she felt mentally fatigued. Her back seemed to have gone limp and weak; unable to sit up properly, she slumped forward onto the table.
“Sorry, Henrietta…”
Marielle seemed listless and apologetic.
“Whatever’s the matter, Mari?”
Henrietta’s well-bred speech had also grown rather careless.
“I wanted to help with the negotiatin’, but there wasn’t much I could do… Negotiatin’s hard, isn’t it…?”
Marielle sounded sincerely miserable. Even though Henrietta was completely worn out, she couldn’t fight back a giggle.
“What are you saying, Mari? If you hadn’t smiled like that, we wouldn’t have had a chance in these negotiations.”
The smile Henrietta gave Marielle was filled with deep gratitude. Without Marielle’s beaming sunflower smile, they’d never have been able to separate those three veteran players from their money.
…And so Henrietta and Marielle acquired five million in campaign funds.
It was a bright moonlit night.
A dry wind, still warm with the afternoon’s heat, blew across a crumbling station platform over which lightning bugs flitted. It was a concrete plateau about two hundred meters in length, mounted on an elevated structure, and it commanded a view down over Akiba’s central plaza.
In the real world, it had been a platform at Akihabara Station.
The rails and support posts had rusted away long ago, and it was covered with unidentifiable weeds and moss. The buildings to the right and left of the platform bore what could have been the scars of a great crash: They seemed to have been struck with terrific force partway up, and their tops were broken and jagged.
The moonlight threw the dark spearhead shadows of the buildings across the platform’s marbled green and concrete surface, and in the midst of it all stood two tall shadows.
Shiroe and Nyanta.
“I think the wind’s picked up a bit, don’t mew?”
“Yes, it has.”
Shiroe looked up at the moon, shading his eyes with one hand.
Possibly because the wind ruffled his hair, making a few strands catch on his eyelashes, he narrowed his eyes behind his glasses and spoke slowly.
“It’s still a little while before midnight, I think… We’ve probably got a bit of time left before Soujirou comes. Captain Nyanta, do you want to sit down somewhere?”
“No, no. Thanks for meowr consideration, but I’m not quite such a run-down oldster.”
“I didn’t say it because I thought you were old.” Shiroe shrugged.
“Are mew not looking forward to seeing Soujicchi, Shiroechi?”
“Um. Mm…”
The question made Shiroe think a bit.
“It’s not that I don’t want to see him. I just feel a little guilty. When Soujirou formed his guild, he invited me to join, so… It’s awkward.”
“He did, did he?”
“He didn’t invite you, Captain Nyanta?”
“If memory serves, I wasn’t logging in regularly back then. I don’t remember getting an invitation.”
“I see…”
They were waiting for Soujirou Seta.
He was an old friend of Nyanta, Shiroe, and Naotsugu.
He was also a Samurai and Master Swordsman, and one of the eight former Debauchery Tea Party members in this world.
In a way, Soujirou was one of the players who’d been most influenced by the Debauchery Tea Party. Not only was he hardworking and earnest, he was kind. When the Debauchery Tea Party had decided to disband, it might have been Soujirou who missed it most.
Samurai were skilled with a variety of Asian weapons, but the essence of these was the katana. The term katana covered many varieties: Tachi, the traditional longsword. Kodachi, smaller short swords. Wakizashi, or side swords, meant to be worn in pairs, and the main Samurai weapon—the uchigatana, or “striking sword.” In Elder Tales, generally speaking, swords made of steel that emphasized superior attack power were called tachi, and lighter swords that emphasized speed and handling and were easy to swing were called uchigatana.
Soujirou was an uchigatana master.
His techniques, which hid their strikes in elegance instead of speed, were nearly impossible to follow, even if one strained their eyes. Soujirou could parry an attack from a giant who could snap great trees in two, and even Sand Cricket Armor, which could block an attack from an iron hammer, was useless against him.
“There’s a knack to it, sir,” Soujirou had said with a slightly bashful smile.
Naotsugu had left the game, and at the same time, due to a variety of personal circumstances, several of their other companions had left Elder Tales as well. By all accounts, Captain Nyanta had also nearly stopped playing for a while or had at least not logged in frequently.
In the midst of that, Soujirou had headed the list of members who had stayed in Elder Tales. “I don’t want to let the Debauchery Tea Party go to waste,” he’d said and started his own guild.
Of course, as a prerequisite, he’d invited the remaining members of the Debauchery Tea Party to join. However, the Tea Party hadn’t been a guild, and many of the players who’d “belonged” to it had been free spirits.
There had been several players who’d joined Soujirou’s guild, but several others had refused. Shiroe had been one of the latter.
“I don’t think mew have anything to feel guilty about. Mew were following different paths. Soujicchi isn’t the type of boy who’d be upset about something so trivial.”
“That’s true, but…,” Shiroe said evasively.
His refusal to join the guild wasn’t the only thing that was worrying him. The issue was why he’d refused.
Shiroe didn’t think it was Soujirou that he’d turned down.
He’d refused to let himself be bound by a guild.
Yet now here he was, going all the way to Susukino to help the Crescent Moon League guild, then, becoming irritated by the growing silent power of the big guilds in Akiba, he was seeking out Soujirou’s guild, the West Wind Brigade, for help to change the situation.
Simply time had passed, and Shiroe had changed with it.
He was already different from the Shiroe who’d been merely fastidious and prejudiced against the human relationships known as guilds. However, he didn’t think his current feelings would get across to Soujirou if he only defined them in the negative, as “different.”
In addition, he thought that Soujirou, who’d started his West Wind Brigade immediately after losing the Debauchery Tea Party, might have understood quite a lot more than Shiroe had.
The West Wind Brigade…
While not large, it was a guild with great influence in Akiba. Although its official membership was 120, its active membership was said to be sixty, and yet even with small numbers like that, it competed on equal terms with D.D.D., Honesty, and the Knights of the Black Sword, the famous guilds of Akiba.
While it could never have won on size, it had competed with the big guilds to hold first place in large-scale battles that had gone down in the server’s history, such as Radamanteus’s Throne and the Nine Great Gaols of Helos.
In terms of military achievements, its record might be even more splendid than those of the big guilds, which had hordes of reserve members.
“Don’t worry about it too much. Mew’ve decided to conquer, Shiroechi, so mew need to walk tall. Mew’re already the landlord of my veranda, mew know.”
At Nyanta’s words, Shiroe changed his mind. Come to think of it, he’s right.
Just as Soujirou had created a place for himself and defended it, Shiroe had built a new place for himself. He couldn’t afford to spend forever worrying.
“Good evening. I haven’t seen you in a while, Mr. Shiro. Sage Nyanta.”
The approaching shape hailed the two of them while it was still a good distance away. On seeing Soujirou’s boyish expression, Shiroe remembered, Oh, that’s right. He was younger than me, wasn’t he? It had been almost a year since they’d spoken.
“It’s been a long time, Soujirou.”
“Long time no see. How have mew been, Soujicchi?”
At their greetings, Soujirou ducked his head, looking a bit embarrassed.
Smiling together like this made it feel as though they’d gone back in time.
Soujirou came over to them, lightly dodging the countless vines that hung down over the platform as he approached. The lightning bugs seemed to dance out of the way of his hands.
As Soujirou came closer, they saw he was dressed in Japanese hakama and had two swords hanging at his waist, like a patriot from the last days of the Tokugawa shogunate. Of course, in a full-scale battle, he’d probably wear armor; this was how he equipped himself when in town.
“I hear mew started a guild. How goes it?”
“I did; thank you for asking. It was going pretty well, but then the Catastrophe hit, so…”
Soujirou shrugged.
His expression made Shiroe realize something unexpectedly.
Now that he thought about it, he himself, Naotsugu, Nyanta, Soujirou—none of them seemed to be the least bit discouraged by the Catastrophe. This way of taking things as half sightseeing and half adventure, no matter how bad the circumstances were, might have been in the genetics of the Debauchery Tea Party.
“Are Nazunacchi and Mistress Saki still with mew?”
“Nazuna is. Saki’s part of the guild, but… It looks as if she wasn’t logged in at the time of the Catastrophe.”
The names Nyanta had brought up belonged to skilled healers who had been part of the Debauchery Tea Party. The question reminded Shiroe of another reason he hadn’t joined Soujirou’s guild.
“Are you still as popular as ever, Soujirou?”
“Huh? Ah… It’s not like that…”
Soujirou abruptly looked flustered. Nyanta narrowed his already threadlike eyes even further in a smile and asked, “Ah, youth. How many do mew have now?”
At his question, Soujirou quietly raised one hand and folded down just the thumb.
He still has a harem…? Not that I’m jealous or anything, really…but. But. Four is incredibly hard to swallow…somehow. I mean, four of them? What’s with that? Nazuna, Saki, and two others… Talk about a deluxe lineup…
Shiroe felt his energy draining away.
“—But never mind that! What’s going on, Mr. Shiro? I didn’t expect you to summon me. I thought you didn’t like me.”
“Huh? Why?”
The unexpected words made Shiroe answer the question with a frank question of his own.
“Well, I… Um. Because I tend to attract harems.”
Soujirou faltered, red-faced. Shiroe had no way to respond. Beside him, Nyanta burst into loud laughter. If Naotsugu had been there, he would have promptly delivered a physical comeback in the form of a karate chop.
“That’s definitely a serious problem, but there’s no way I’d hate you for it. We were in the Debauchery Tea Party together, remember?”
“I see. I suppose that’s true… But then, what brings you here?”
At Soujirou’s question, Shiroe straightened, psyching himself up again.
“I’ll get straight to the point: I’d like your help.”
“What sort of help might that be?”
“…What do mew think of the way Akiba is now, Soujicchi?”
“This town? That’s a pretty abstract question… Well, I think it’s painful in several ways. It isn’t just this town. I mean, depending on how you look at it, this entire world is a prison, isn’t it?”
“A prison, hm?”
Soujirou combed his hair up with his fingers. His Samurai-style ponytail fluttered in the wind that crossed the platform.
“Yes. We were abruptly pulled into another world. We don’t know how to get back home. We can’t die, either. That’s simply how the world works, and on top of that, there are monsters prowling outside the town. Leaving us aside, I can understand how players who hate fighting would feel as if they’ve been locked in.”
“That’s right. Now that mew mention it, that’s exactly right,” Nyanta agreed.
Soujirou had taken a vague thought that was on everyone’s mind and stated it clearly. Shiroe agreed: If one thought of it that way, it was only natural that they would feel trapped.
“So it is painful, you know. I don’t think it’s good. Under circumstances like these, people tend to resort to bullying the weak. As a matter of fact, my guild has been talking about leaving town.”
“You’re leaving Akiba?”
“No, I just meant the idea has come up,” Soujirou said. “We haven’t made specific plans or anything. Besides, it’s convenient to be headquartered in town. It’s just that it’s hard to watch things get worse and worse. Especially when there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it.” He’d said the words easily, but it certainly wasn’t because he’d relinquished responsibility. Soujirou had thought of doing something and had properly examined the possibilities. As a result, he’d concluded that there was nothing he could do, and he was saying so honestly. That was all.
As proof, his voice is bitter…
“There is something we can do.”
“Do you mean that, Mr. Shiro?!”
“…I think there is.”
Shiroe honestly avoided making a positive statement. He did want to do something, and he intended to try, but he had no guarantees. In any case, in Tea Party terms, anyone who refused to follow without a guarantee was a coward, not a friend.
That meant that if one wanted someone to be a friend, they didn’t give them guarantees.
“In order to do it, I want your help.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“…It isn’t just you, Soujirou. I’ll have to borrow the West Wind Brigade’s name.”
Shiroe stared Soujirou right in the eye.
If, as Nyanta had said, birth and death were constants for all things, and effort was necessary to ensure long life, then as the one who’d created and protected the West Wind Brigade, Soujirou had nourished it properly with love and paid for it through hard work. If he was going to borrow that strength, Shiroe couldn’t avert his eyes.
And even more so, because he himself hadn’t tried to cultivate anything.
Soujirou looked mildly startled, but then he nodded, seeming satisfied. Shiroe continued.
“First, I want you to talk to the people around you about how the current atmosphere in Akiba is bad. Tell them that if this keeps up, things will go to seed. If you’d let that travel to the other major guilds as well, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Yes, that’s fine. That’s something everyone already feels, though, on some level.”
“Still, I think it’s important to put it into words. If you can make them aware that the West Wind Brigade thinks this and might even take action, it will have enough of an effect. Second, you should be getting an invitation in a few days. If possible, I’d like you to stay in Akiba until that day. It’s an invitation to a conference. I’d like to settle things at that conference somehow.”
“I understand.”
Soujirou agreed easily with a nonchalant smile.
“You’re sure you don’t need to ask about the particulars of the operation?”
“Well, you’re busy, aren’t you, Mr. Shiro? I’d hate to take up your time with things like that. Besides, I’m a vanguard lunkhead, and you’re the Tea Party’s top strategy counselor. Even if you told me, I’m sure I wouldn’t understand half of it.”
The words were so warm that Shiroe flinched.
He’d never thought that Soujirou would trust him this much, after they’d been apart for over a year and after he’d shrugged his hand off once already.
“Mew’re a good boy, Soujicchi.”
“Only because you praise me for it, Sage Nyanta.”
Soujirou smiled as he spoke. Then his expression tensed, and he looked at them both squarely.
“On a completely different note: Mr. Shiro, Sage Nyanta… Would you join the West Wind Brigade? It would make Nazuna happy, too, I think. We’re all pretty good-natured. Right now we’re taking turns exploring the outlying areas, working to uncover information about the new expansion pack. I know this may sound forward, but… That strategy you’re putting into action, Mr. Shiro. Wouldn’t it be more efficient if you worked under the auspices of the West Wind Brigade?—Or is that out of the question?”
Soujirou had straightened up, standing formally. His suggestion made sense, but Shiroe couldn’t agree to it now. Last week, he might have been able to. At this point, though, Shiroe already had a home.
“You really do dislike me, then?”
Soujirou sounded dejected. Shiroe had shaken his head.
Even as he thought, That’s the second time I’ve turned down an invitation from Soujirou, Shiroe touched his shoulder.
Nyanta’s words had finally given Shiroe a clear picture of what it was he needed to do. It was what he’d kept his eyes turned away from.
By taking advantage of Naotsugu and Akatsuki’s kindness and by letting Nyanta protect him, he’d managed to go without saying it until now.
“It really isn’t that, Soujirou. …Listen. I realized it was about time I made a place for myself. I’ve been running away from tiresome things that happened years ago, and I ran all the way here, but I finally realized I need to be one of the people who protects things, too. I’ve formed my own guild. It doesn’t have many members yet, and we’ve just barely begun, but… I finally realized that the place where I belong can’t exist until I make a place for other people to belong.”
As Soujirou gazed at him as though he were meeting him for the first time, Shiroe slowly told him about his resolution.
Starting the next day, they spent four days in planning, then began to implement the strategy.
Calling the schedule “tight” would have been a massive understatement. Still, miraculously, in spite of the sort of bustle that made heads spin and the fact that things proceeded at a reckless pace that pushed everyone to their limit and beyond, everything was completed on schedule.
The three who were behind the murderous schedule pinned its achievements and responsibility on each other.
Marielle—Kansai dialect–speaking big-sister type, Crescent Moon League guild master, and universally beloved busybody—puffed out her ample chest with pride. “Our accountant’s a real hustler. I leave all the numbers to her, and she doesn’t misread one in ten thousand. If Henrietta went and threatened ’em with a ledger, demon in hell or trumpet-wieldin’ angel, they’d wet themselves right where they sat and apologize.”
Shaking her abundant, wavy, honey-colored hair, Henrietta—the accountant in question—said, “My managerial abilities can only do so much. The really outrageous, earth-shattering thing is the craftiness of Master Shiroe’s merciless, remorseless plan. Why does he even have a ‘shiro’ in his name? ‘White’? Is that a joke? He really should call himself ‘Pitch-black Kuroe.’ If darling Akatsuki weren’t around, I’d have to go ask to be held.” With an evaluation like that, it was hard to tell whether she was praising or vilifying him.
As for Shiroe, who’d been so roundly disparaged, he adjusted his glasses as they were about to slip off and said, “Inasmuch as I’m aware I’m blackhearted, that’s kid stuff. It’s nothing compared to Mari’s natural charm. When she cheers them on with that smile of hers, exhausted guild members decide to work a little longer. I think even a zombie might come back to life and go into service to win praise from Mari.” He spoke with a straight face and seemed quite serious.
At any rate, according to the schedule those three had set up, Akatsuki, Naotsugu, Nyanta, and all the members of the Crescent Moon League were worked until they were dead on their feet. For League members who didn’t yet have much experience, this was a life-or-death crisis. Spurred on by fierce encouragement from each other, the project participants were revived again and again, zombie-like, until they finished all the preparations and greeted the morning of the project’s launch.
That morning.
In the streets of Akiba—where, at the beginning of summer, the sun steadily rose earlier and the temperature was inching up—temporary shops appeared in three locations. Although showy, they seemed a bit cheap.
The support pillar was made of bamboo, cut to a good size, and lashed together with lumber. Colorful valances swung from a big pavilion made from a sailcloth awning, so that it looked like an attraction or bazaar venue. There was a central platform that seemed to be a converted two-horse carriage and a wooden counter, which was the only truly splendid part of the whole outfit.
The shapes of the venues varied slightly from location to location, but the banners that fluttered in the wind all said the exact same thing in vivid letters: SNACK SHOP CRESCENT MOON.
In Akiba these days, it was rare to find any shop as lonely as a snack shop or dining hall.
All food tasted the same, after all.
As the settings in the Elder Tales game had dictated, there were pubs and taverns run by NPCs, and many inns would provide meals. However, all the food provided by these establishments tasted exactly the same. From cheap bean porridge to ultra-premium roast chicken, everything tasted like flavorless soggy rice crackers. There was no fatty richness to the food, and although it was damp, the sullen flavor made it oddly difficult to swallow. The more one ate, the more discouraged they got.
It was the same with beverages. No matter what one ordered, although the colors were different, the smell and taste were just like plain well water. The one exception was alcoholic drinks, and even these tasted exactly like the others. They didn’t even have alcohol’s unique burn to them. One would just abruptly get drunk.
Under the circumstances, no one frequented taverns or dining halls.
Of course, there were a few people who’d visit in search of a place to sit down or take a break. There was potential demand for places with chairs lined up in the shade, as an alternative to standing and talking in the plaza. However, even those people didn’t visit for the food.
They ordered the very cheapest food, and it was intended mainly as payment for the seat.
In the current Akiba, most players purchased food items from NPCs or the market.
Because all food items tasted the same, and apparently it was possible to get nutrients from them, cost had become the only basis of selection.
Since high-level food items had the effect of temporarily raising player stats, the combat guilds sometimes requested them. However, that demand was very slight, probably less than 1 percent of the whole.
To the overwhelming majority of players, food items were considered “universally disappointing livestock feed,” and they only ate them because if they didn’t their stomachs felt painfully empty. In that case, it was only natural that they’d go for the cheap stuff.
As a result, a fierce price-cutting war broke out.
The production of food items in this world was extremely fast. No matter how high-class the food item, all one had to do was select it from the menu and it would be done in ten seconds.
Provided one had enough material, it was possible to make three hundred meals in an hour. Chef wasn’t a popular subclass, but even so, an explosion of cheap food items came into circulation on the market.
For their part, the producers didn’t have to go out of their way to prepare high-level food items whose ingredients were hard to come by. In the current sluggish economy, it was possible to fill demand with low-level food items, and all they had to do was provide them at low cost.
That sort of market logic brought prices down. Even though “eating” was consumption related to one of the three primitive desires and therefore something everybody had to do, and even though there was a regular volume of food item transactions, prices were at rock bottom.
Why would anyone start a snack shop in a frigid business climate like that? The question was on the mind of every player in Akiba who happened to see the banners.
These days, even Chefs tended to put their items directly on the market. It was less work that way, and more to the point, over-the-counter sales brought unbearable stress. That was only to be expected: To the people who purchased them, the food items they’d made were nothing but cattle feed. No craftsman wanted to sell food to the general public that even they thought was bad. What the creators really wanted was to have customers delighted by their wares’ delicious flavors, but no one saw that sort of smile anymore. At this point, there were no Chefs among the production classes who sold items from stalls.
However, when the sun had climbed to a certain height, and there was a bit less than an hour before noon, ripples of surprise began to spread.
They’d probably been made in the kitchen of some guildhall. A huge amount of parcels was delivered to each temporary shop, and an indescribably wonderful smell began to waft from them.
It was the fragrant smell of browning oil. The alluring scent of mixed spices.
At the same time, a woman with a gorgeous figure stepped forward and raised her voice, her long green hair swaying.
“Stop by and give us a try! We’re Snack Shop Crescent Moon, open for business as of today! Is the flavorless yech of your everyday meals gettin’ you down? Have we got news for you! Come rediscover real food! You’re not even gonna believe how tasty this is! It’s yum, yum, yummy!!”
Marielle delivered her spiel at the top of her lungs; she was already feeling pretty desperate.
The uniforms the guild’s Tailors had put together featured pure white blouses, tight-fitting skirts with pink pinstripes, and bright salmon-pink frilly aprons with big bows—the sort of uniform family restaurant waitresses or fast-food workers had worn in the old world.
Serara, who was standing at the ready next to her, raised her small voice frantically, determined not to lose.
“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you for your purchase!”
She must have been incredibly nervous. They hadn’t sold a single item yet, but she was already thanking people profusely and handing out flyers.
Crescent Burger: fifteen gold coins. Super Crescent Burger: thirty gold coins. Crispy Chicken (one piece): eighteen gold coins; (three pieces): fifty gold coins. Fish and Chips (small): ten gold coins; (large): twenty gold coins. Black Rose Tea (cup): five gold coins; (canteen): fifteen gold coins.
The flyers had a header that read “Grand Opening” and a menu.
Compared to a hamburger shop on Earth, the menu was pretty poor, but for the players of Akiba, it was more than enough to provoke nostalgia.
Spurred on by the savory smells and idle curiosity, several players made purchases.
Even the most diplomatic couldn’t have called the prices economical. As a matter of fact, they were expensive.
In Akiba, a night in the cheapest room at an inn cost at least ten gold coins. One meal’s worth of food items could be purchased for five. Viewed that way, the cost per meal here was three to six times higher than usual. This was not a minor expense.
However, at the same time, it wasn’t an impossible amount.
Surviving in this other world didn’t cost all that much. As far as places to sleep were concerned, provided one had a sleeping bag, if worst came to worst, they didn’t even need to rent a room.
There were lots of ruined buildings. Simply taking shelter from the evening dew didn’t cost anything. As far as food went, the market was overflowing with cheap items, and clothes and equipment didn’t need to be replaced all that frequently.
Of course there were always more luxurious options to aspire to, but if one was frugal, it was possible to live on fifteen gold coins a day. The running costs that any endeavor incurred, such as guildhall maintenance fees and overhaul fees on weapons and equipment, made it difficult to save up large sums of money in this world, but it was easy to earn enough to keep oneself going from day to day.
A price of a thousand gold coins would have made players hesitate, weighing that cost against the cost of a magic item, but ten-odd gold coins was practically pocket money, an amount no one worried about spending.
Driven by that mentality, the onlookers purchased several items.
Marielle and Serara charmed customers who’d made purchases with smiling hospitality. The young male guild members who’d carried the parcels from the hall where they’d been prepared also smiled and yelled, “Thank you very much!” in chorus with Marielle and Serara.
When—half-hopeful, half-curious—the onlookers took the first bite, the shock nearly knocked them off their feet.
“Wha—?! Wha—?! What the heck is this?!”
It tasted. Put into words, that was all it was, but from the thrill that ran through the people who experienced it, the world might as well have turned inside out.
The meat tasted like meat.
The lettuce was juicy and refreshing enough to rinse away the grease from the meat, and the tomato added just the right acidity.
The sweetness of the lightly browned bread. The smoothness of the butter. The spicy bite of the mustard.
Each taste was novel and deeply moving.
The food was far from perfect. In the old world, it would have been closer to home cooking than restaurant fare, and the taste wasn’t so exquisite that it could have graced the first pages of a gourmet magazine. However, in this world, it was easily the best flavor there was.
The players ate as if in a dream, fighting back tears.
This was, without a doubt, the best thing any of them had ever eaten in their entire lives. Before that thought even had time to sink in, the hamburgers were gone.
They even licked up the meat juice that had dripped onto the paper wrappers.
No one thought it was embarrassing.
If they’d had the wherewithal to feel embarrassed, they would have made themselves stop crying.
In less than an hour, the same shock they’d experienced had run through the streets of Akiba.
The event was revolutionary, as if people who’d seen only in monochrome had abruptly been given full true-color vision.
Suddenly, the people of Akiba seemed to realize just how dispirited they’d been. Everyone had forgotten how important it was for food to taste good. They’d given up on it.
Snack Shop Crescent Moon became Akiba’s newest legend.
Marielle’s office looked like a battlefield in its own right.
A plain, solid conference desk had been set in front of Marielle’s grand work desk, which had been in the room to begin with, and the fancy sofa had been exiled to a corner.
The conference desk held a mountain of materials and documents.
All the papers had been covered with fine figures, scribbled there by Henrietta, the accounting supervisor, and Shiroe, the strategy manager.
By the time the Crescent Moon League members returned to the guildhall after winding up that astounding first day, it was already ten at night. In the midst of a fatigue worse than if they’d spent all day fighting tough monsters, many of the members collapsed where they stood.
Physical stamina in this world seemed to be related to the ability values, or levels, of their Elder Tales characters. Since most of the Crescent Moon League members were midrange players, this sight was only natural, and the players deserved praise for lasting as long as they had.
However, sparing only a glance or two for the fallen sales team, Shiroe and Henrietta continued their battle with the paperwork, working as though they were running from the demons of hell.
A corner of the room held stacks of paper and inkpots, generated through Shiroe’s Scribe skills. Pulling several dozen sheets from the stack, Henrietta silently documented the latest figures. Then she heaved a great sigh and raised her head.
“I’ve finished the totals for today.”
“Good work.”
At her words, Shiroe looked up as well, letting his hand fall still.
“If you’d like to reward me, give me Akatsuki.”
“…I won’t give her to you, but you can cuddle her for an hour.”
“My!”
Averting his eyes from Henrietta—who was wriggling with joy, her own eyes sparkling—Shiroe picked up a nearby sheet of paper covered in figures.
“The percentage wasted was lower than we expected, wasn’t it?”
“That’s because the customers never stopped coming. We sold the entire amount we’d planned on.”
“…Meaning it’s going to be an issue of laying in materials…”
“Yes, it will.”
The figures in front of them were within the estimated range. As a matter of fact, they looked quite good, but that didn’t mean there were no problems. This huge sales operation had harnessed the full power of the Crescent Moon League, but since they were dealing in food, they were bound to run through materials.
During the preparations period, they’d hunted monsters and animals that dropped items, building up their stores, and even today, the day the shops had opened, a party that had included Naotsugu and Shouryuu had been organized and sent out to gather materials. Still, if they kept burning through them at this rate, their materials would only last four days.
“…The materials really won’t stretch.”
“Shall we start buying?”
“We’ll have to see what Mari says about it.”
Shiroe and Henrietta fiddled with several more figures, running simulations of different models. What if they pared down the menu or increased their offerings? What if they raised the prices or lowered them?
No matter what combination they used, their stores of materials wouldn’t last five days. The Crescent Moon League was a small guild, and apparently this was the limit of their storeroom and manpower.
“’Scuse the intrusion, you two. …Wait, it’s my room anyway.”
Just as the two of them finished their review and reached for their tea, the door opened wide and Marielle entered the office. She probably hadn’t been drawn there by their conversation, but Marielle—elated and showing no signs of fatigue—approached them with her usual bright smile and ruffled Shiroe’s hair.
“Well done, kiddo. You, too, Henrietta.”
She hugged Henrietta tightly to her generous bosom, but Henrietta seemed used to it; she only greeted her with a nonchalant “Welcome back, Mari.”
Without heading for her work desk, Marielle claimed a chair at the conference desk and filled their glasses, including one for herself, from a bottle of black-leaf tea she said she’d filched from the kitchen. When they sold it at the shop, they changed the name to Black Rose Tea, but it had nothing to do with roses. The name was just a reflection of Henrietta’s tastes.
“And? How were our sales, y’all?!”
As she questioned them, Marielle’s eyes sparkled.
At times like this, she really sounds like an Osakan… Well, it’s cute, so I guess it’s not a problem.
While Shiroe hid a sigh, Henrietta began to report their numbers.
“Our sales totaled 43,776 gold coins. We had 1,159 customers, and the average customer spent thirty-eight coins. We sold out of the Crescent Burgers and Super Crescent Burgers. Except for the Black Rose Tea, all other items sold out as well.”
“Wow! That’s fantastic! Forty thousand coins… Compared to our monthly budget, that’s, um…”
“Forty times greater.”
“Yep, forty!! What a haul! If we keep this up, we’ll hit five million in no time!”
Marielle broke into a cheerful little dance, still facing the conference desk. Stealthily averting his eyes from her swaying chest, Shiroe checked her enthusiasm. “We won’t make it in time, Mari. Not even close.”
“Oh?”
“Think about it. That’s a hundred and twenty days. It would take us four months.”
“But we had to turn away so many customers! If we’d wanted to sell, there were plenty of folks who wanted to buy. If we just lay in more stock…”
Raising a hand to interrupt Marielle’s words, Shiroe objected.
“We probably have tens of thousands of potential customers. There are over fifteen thousand players here in Akiba. That isn’t the problem. The problem is in the number of Crescent Moon League members and how that affects the number of shops and the amount of merchandise we can arrange for.”
“Is it?”
Marielle looked troubled, as if she hadn’t completely understood. Henrietta explained in careful detail.
“Yes, he’s correct. If it takes one salesclerk three minutes to hand the customer their merchandise and ring them up, that salesclerk can process twenty customers per hour. That’s 160 customers in eight hours of business. Ten salesclerks could serve 1,600 customers. Even if we made every Crescent Moon League member a salesclerk, the most they could handle would be four thousand customers per day. Besides, that’s if we focused exclusively on the selling aspect and completely ignored acquisition, preparation, cooking, and paperwork. It’s a number we really couldn’t sustain… In that sense, I think the plan we set up has the best balance of members assigned to sales, the kitchen, odd jobs, and procurement. And when we conducted sales with that balance, the results were…”
With a teacher’s gesture, Henrietta pointed to the documents.
“Slightly over one thousand customers, an amount nearly equal to the number of visitors. …In other words, at the Crescent Moon League’s size, no matter how much the users want the items, we won’t be able to handle more than one thousand customers per day.”
“Is that right…? Hmmm. And we could be makin’ a killin’, too…”
On having this pointed out to her, Marielle frowned, her eyebrows drawing together in disappointment. However, she recovered almost immediately and came back with a counter:
“Well, why not recruit more members? I bet we could at this point. I mean, we’re the home of the miraculous Snack Shop Crescent Moon, Akiba’s rapid growth stock. Right?”
“We can’t do that.”
Shiroe was the one to check her this time.
“Being suspicious isn’t a very good thing, but if we recruit new members at a time like this, I think most of the people who join will be spies. We’re already incredibly busy, and we won’t be able to deal with them.”
“Agreed.”
“I see,” sighed Marielle.
“Mari, money isn’t the point of this strategy anyway.”
“Uh-huh… That’s right! The fortune right in front of my nose blinded me for a sec. …Still, we do need money, don’t we? You said if this keeps up, it’ll take us over three months. If we won’t make it in time that way, then… Should we do that other thing? Will it work?”
Henrietta smiled at Marielle’s timid question.
“Don’t worry. No merchant worth his salt would refuse. I’m the one telling you, so rest assured it’s true. Any simpleton that daft would qualify to be guillotined by Pareto optimality.”
At Henrietta’s beaming face, Shiroe gave a wry smile of his own.
The trajectory the project was following was almost exactly what he’d anticipated.
A team play by the two of them will probably be quite a sight…
Shiroe mentally ran through the plan in his head. Over the next few days, the three of them would have to successfully conclude three different sets of negotiations.
“All right, then, Miss Henrietta, please take care of those negotiations. I leave the details to you.”
“Yes, sir. You can count on me.”
Henrietta cocked her head to one side, smiling like a proper young lady.
“Mari, you handle product procurement.”
“Roger that. …Although I’m not so great with numbers, y’know…”
“If you carry things through to a basic agreement, I’ll help you explain the conditions. …In fact, why don’t we conduct my negotiations and the product negotiations as a team? That should save time and trouble.”
The sight of Henrietta encouraging Marielle relieved Shiroe.
Henrietta was far more capable than Shiroe had assumed. He’d gotten the impression that she was sharp from his previous dealings with her and from little things she said, but he hadn’t expected her to be this good.
Marielle had great talent, but she was a little spacey; she probably needed companions like Henrietta and Shouryuu.
He thought of Akatsuki, who even now was running through the darkened streets on a special mission, and Naotsugu, who’d volunteered to organize the storeroom even though he must have been tired from the hunting he’d done during the day, and Nyanta, who was still doing basic prep work on the Crescent Burgers they’d sell tomorrow.
Everyone’s performing their missions even better than I’d hoped. If we wipe out now, I’ll have no choice but to claim total responsibility for it…
“What’s wrong, kiddo?”
“Nothing.”
Doubt as to whether he was a worthy companion for them skimmed through his mind.
…But only for a moment. It was his responsibility to become worthy. So that he wouldn’t let down the companions who’d waited for him. So that he wouldn’t make liars out of them.
Just as he’d promised Akatsuki that day. Just as he’d sworn in front of Naotsugu and Nyanta, Marielle and the others.
No, even the question of whether he was worthy or not was arrogant and pointless. The important thing now was to make the operation in front of him succeed. The path toward fulfilling his responsibility as the one who’d suggested this plan—a plan that required everyone’s strength—lay, just barely, in doing this over and over.
“I’ll lay the groundwork for the conference. Everything we’re doing now is advance preparation. Let’s move forward with plans for the festival without tipping our hand.”
Kneading her fingers together nervously, Marielle sighed for the umpteenth time. In public, she smiled as though she was full of self-confidence, but she had absolutely no confidence when attempting something she had no experience with.
She knew why Shiroe had nominated her.
It was true that she had quite a lot of friends among the small and midsized guilds of Akiba. The person Marielle was about to meet was one of her acquaintances, and in that sense, he’d be easy to talk to. That said…he was one of the most influential of those acquaintances.
She tugged at her outfit here and there.
She’d dusted off some of her finest clothes for this, but she couldn’t quite relax. That was only natural: She’d never taken part in a business talk in the game. She couldn’t imagine that there were many people who had.
Clothes in Elder Tales—which, up until a short while ago, had been “equipment”—boasted a great deal of flexibility.
When exploring or hunting, equipment had to be chosen with an emphasis on practicality. In Elder Tales, unless the clothes were very unique, the basic design concept was medieval European fantasy costumes. In other words, vanguard warriors wore plate armor. The attackers, in the middle, wore chain mail or leather armor.
Healers differed widely from each other, but Clerics like Marielle could wear comparatively heavy equipment, meaning that a lightweight breastplate and leather armor, a tunic, and mantle were probably appropriate. Although it was possible to customize it by adding one’s guild’s crest or dyeing it a little, it wasn’t easy to change the appearance of equipment that had been chosen to be functional.
However, spending time in town brought increased flexibility.
Elder Tales might have been a medieval European fantasy RPG, but its designs weren’t strictly traditional. The artwork had been tailored to suit modern tastes. While medieval European-style fashions were the rule, it had a rather varied fashion culture that included Japanese and ethnic costumes, and even uniforms, maid outfits, and other otaku-esque designs.
Since the subcontracting developers and the operating companies for each of the regional servers had a lot of power regarding model and item data, this was probably only to be expected.
Apparently, the area that mapped to Japan in this world wasn’t as hot and humid as real-world Japan. At this time of year, heading into summer, there was a wide range of fashion options and a huge variety of wearable outfits: casual options like capris and cotton tunic shirts; players in fantasy-style robes, ancient Grecian togas, and even casual Japanese dress; armor and haute couture suits.
Today, Marielle wore a white silk blouse and a long mermaid skirt. She had no jacket, but she’d tossed a cape loosely around her shoulders. The guild’s Tailors had flashed her a V for victory, but she wasn’t sure whether she’d worn the right thing.
“You mustn’t act so nervous.”
Henrietta spoke at her side, still looking straight ahead.
Henrietta wore a black ribbon in her honey-colored hair, which, as always, had a gentle wave to it. Her monotone dress was quite young and girlish.
Looking at her, Marielle thought, It takes guts to have your own style.
“Is this gonna be okay?”
“You mustn’t be uneasy. You have to be aggressive when you go into negotiations. In any case, of all the needles’ eyes that we need to get through, this is the easiest. Even if we fail, we can recover. These aren’t last-ditch negotiations.”
Marielle nodded, agreeing with Henrietta.
The first deal they had to negotiate today was for material procurement. Their material items had nearly run out already. Although they might be all right for tomorrow, the shortage would start to interfere with business by the next day unless they managed to replenish their stock.
Conversely, if these material procurement negotiations succeeded, the Crescent Moon League would be able to concentrate exclusively on cooking and retail sales.
And after that—
We’ll think about that when we get there. Henrietta and Shiro are here, too. If I just stick to my post, he’s bound to do something about it for me. I’ll just give these negotiations everything I’ve got.
“That said… If we manage to make these negotiations a huge success, my next mission will be significantly easier. We’ll have to stay focused going in.”
“Yeeeeek… Quit puttin’ more pressure on me…”
Just as Marielle had almost managed to become defiant, Henrietta’s cool retort brought back all her timidity. There were certain things people were good at and certain things they weren’t. She revised her self-assessment: She would never learn how to keep a poker face.
“Hi! Sorry to have kept you waiting.”
The player who’d appeared was a human with hazel hair and keen hazel eyes. His name was Calasin. He was the guild master for Shopping District 8, the third-largest production guild in Akiba.
Calasin greeted them candidly as he closed the door, then took a seat.
They were in a private room in a tavern near Akiba’s central plaza. These rooms could be rented for two hours for a few gold coins, and they were suited to confidential talks.
Marielle and Calasin knew each other.
There’d been a time when they’d gone out hunting together, back when they were both fledgling players.
Since both Marielle and Calasin had started their own guilds, they almost never went anywhere together anymore, but horizontal connections between guilds were surprisingly strong.
When, as with Calasin’s Shopping District 8 and the Crescent Moon League, the guilds’ fields were different, it was particularly convenient for them to cooperate and share information. As a result, Calasin and Marielle were still in contact.
“Wow, Miss Mari, that’s a pretty scary face. What did you need today?”
Calasin spoke casually in a voice grounded in their relationship.
Although they were old friends, Calasin’s Shopping District 8 was on a completely different level from Marielle’s Crescent Moon League.
The Crescent Moon League had about thirty members, and while “mutual aid guild” sounded impressive, it really just meant that the guild was a jack-of-all-trades. It was a guild that midlevel Adventurers joined so they could train in their own ways and adventure with their friends.
Calasin’s guild, Shopping District 8, was an artisan guild, a guild completely specialized to the production classes. It didn’t provide support for combat or exploration. Its members traded materials with one another and exchanged finished items at wholesale prices, and commerce was at the center of its activities. Its enormous membership of seven hundred made it the third-largest commerce guild in Akiba, second only to the Marine Organization and the Roderick Trading Company in size.
Following the Catastrophe, battles had changed dramatically.
Players as experienced as Shiroe and Naotsugu could pick out all sorts of specific ways in which battles had changed, from the performance of individual special skills to the ecology of enemy monsters, but for the vast majority of players, the big change was probably the terror of having to fight for real.
Once a player fought them in person, even monsters of a level they could beat easily were terrifying. Swords, axes, fangs, claws, flames, and curses came at you. Even if they knew logically that they could handle it if their level was high enough, the terror and the smell of blood on the battlefield made more than a few players weak at the knees.
Even if they’d been locked into this other world and fighting monsters was the most efficient way to make a living, more players than one might imagine didn’t want to fight any more than they absolutely had to.
Although she didn’t know the exact number, Marielle estimated that, after the Catastrophe, nearly half of all players had become the type that wanted to avoid battles. With the winds of the era at their backs, the production guilds were seeing explosive expansion.
The Marine Organization, currently the largest production guild in Akiba, had 2,500 members. The second largest, the Roderick Trading Company, had 1,800.
When the seven hundred members of Calasin’s Shopping District 8 were added in, those three alone had a total of five thousand players, and no doubt there were many other small production guilds. This was yet another change the Catastrophe had brought about: There hadn’t been that many players who specialized in production before.
“Well, we’ve got a favor to ask of Shoppin’ District Eight.”
“And what could that be?”
Even though Marielle’s expression was more serious than usual, Calasin responded easily. He’d probably already given thought to what it meant for Marielle to call him at a time like this.
Marielle had made Snack Shop Crescent Moon a success.
To the production guilds, she was one step away from completely owning the food in this world. Just as people who’d grown used to full color couldn’t go back to black and white, players who’d eaten richly flavored food would probably be unable to return to the former, flavorless food items.
As a matter of fact, Marielle had received reports that sales of food items on the market had experienced an abrupt slowdown over the past few days.
Elder Tales was no longer a game.
Whether or not there was a way to return to their former world, until that way was found, this other world was a second reality. They could avoid dying here, but no one could avoid living.
The approximately thirty thousand players on the Japanese server were unable to escape the curse of having to live there.
To exaggerate slightly, at the very least in this far eastern area, Marielle and the Crescent Moon League held the initiative in food provision. At any rate, it must have seemed that way to Calasin.
Wow… Calasin’s got his merchant face on. I guess if you’re runnin’ a big outfit like that, you can’t do things halfway…
That was the impression Calasin’s determined face gave Marielle, even as she herself exuded tension. If Henrietta hadn’t told her that they had the initiative in these negotiations, and to be aggressive, his expression would have given her cold feet.
“It’s about procurin’ supplies. Our guild is goin’ through material items like nobody’s business, and we’re thinkin’ about outsourcin’ the procurement to somebody else. Specifically, we need young venison, lettuce, tomatoes, wheat flour, and potatoes. …Also haru-haru fish and ptarmigan meat. We’ll have to discuss amount and pricin’ details, but assume we’re gonna need a lot.”
“Procurement, hm?”
There was no hesitation in Calasin’s response.
He’d probably seen this coming. To a certain extent, that was only to be expected.
The Crescent Moon League was small. Anybody could foresee that if they continued large-scale sales, they’d run through their stores in no time. If that happened, they’d be forced to stop supplying merchandise.
Both Marielle, who’d asked the favor, and Calasin, who’d just heard it, understood at once that the request took into account the number of members, the amount of materials they could acquire by hunting on their own, and the stores in their storeroom.
“…Amount and price, then. How much?”
In response to Calasin’s question, Marielle took out a note and gave him several figures.
“I see…”
Calasin drew a slow breath; from his expression, he was considering something. He probably wasn’t sure whether or not to accept the request.
Considered normally, this wasn’t a bad deal. A major production guild like Shopping District 8 had vast stores of material items in huge warehouses. Recently, they’d been caught up in the price-cutting wars, and even if they prepared and sold their food items, they wouldn’t bring in much. Selling these items off to someone else at a fair price would be a good way to adjust inventory.
If necessary, they could keep an eye on the market and buy the ingredients Marielle had requested at low prices, then resell them to the Crescent Moon League.
From a business perspective, there was no reason to say no.
That was the conclusion Marielle and Henrietta had reached.
However, that didn’t mean he’d accept it easily. Marielle remembered what Henrietta had told her. “We’ve got everyone’s attention now. Even if it’s a marvelous procurement contract, the other party won’t jump at it. They’ll try to find a way to get a bigger piece of the pie.”
After a short silence, Calasin broke into a sociable smile.
“These would be ingredients for use at Snack Shop Crescent Moon, correct?” he asked.
Marielle smiled. “That’s right.”
“I hear Snack Shop Crescent Moon is doing great business.”
“It is, and thanks for sayin’ so. Our Chefs are pleased as punch that it’s goin’ over so well.”
“…You’re using new recipes, then?”
“Our Chefs are real good.”
Marielle fielded Calasin’s probe with a smile.
Marielle had been beaming her sunflower smile since the very beginning, and to a bystander, it might have looked as if she understood all and was secure in her advantage. However, at this point, Marielle herself was pushed to the limit.
She’d broken out in a cold sweat at Calasin’s question; she was worried she might have let something slip.
However, Shiroe had told her, “No matter what happens, Mari, keep smiling. That’s the most important thing. If you just keep smiling, the other person in charge will help with everything else.”
And so, feeling just a little desperate, Marielle kept right on smiling. It was a bargain sale on smiles. Her green eyes, which tilted down slightly at the corners, softened, and her smile seemed rapturous. Marielle wasn’t aware that her generous bosom and maternal atmosphere worked together to create a natural barrier that allowed no further pursuit.
“We’ll give careful consideration to the procurement proposal, but listen… In order to expand your chain rapidly, Shopping District Eight and the Crescent Moon League could work together to—”
“Excuse me. Calasin, I’m afraid it’s nearly time.”
Henrietta interrupted Calasin, addressing him in a clear voice.
“Time?”
“Yes. Our next contacts are here.”
At Henrietta’s calm voice, Marielle looked a bit guilty; she put her hands together in an apology.
“Sorry ’bout this, Calasin. You and I go way back, so I squeezed you in a bit early, but Henrietta says we really can’t play favorites.”
“Erm… What do you mean, Mari?”
“Uuuu…”
Marielle shot a sidelong glance at Henrietta. At this point, she wasn’t acting. Marielle was never able to match Henrietta, particularly where financial outlay was concerned.
“We’ve set up negotiations with the Marine Organization and the Roderick Trading Company as well, with regard to a different matter…”
“A different matter?”
“Right. Y’see, it’s… About fundin’, I guess you’d say. About Crescent Moon sales.”
“—!”
Shopping District 8 might have been the third-largest production guild in Akiba, but the Marine Organization and the Roderick Trading Company were even larger. The membership of the Marine Organization alone was triple that of Shopping District 8; it was an enormous guild. If big money like that was about to join the negotiations, Calasin and his guild would be left without a leg to stand on.
“We don’t want to leave anybody out in the cold, and we owe Shoppin’ District Eight, y’know? Like I said, we go way back. I’d love to have Shoppin’ District Eight join the talks, too. …But Henrietta says we have to get the procurement business settled first or no can do.”
“‘Settled’…? Mari, you know we can’t even advance to the next step unless we get our current supply environment in order.”
Henrietta frowned at Marielle’s words a moment prior, admonishing her as though she were a young child.
“Wait, Mari, Miss Henrietta. What is the Crescent Moon League planning? What do you mean, ‘funding’?”
At Calasin’s question, Marielle’s lips parted slightly. Henrietta put a slender finger to those lips, then turned back to Calasin.
“How much is Shopping District Eight willing to pay for that information?”
Henrietta’s enigmatic gaze pierced Calasin. The procurement deal wouldn’t be a bad one for Shopping District 8 either way. He narrowed his eyes slightly, then made up his mind and spoke.
“Shopping District Eight will accept your request and the corresponding responsibility. We’ll provide you with 3,200 each of young venison, lettuce, tomatoes, wheat flour, potatoes, haru-haru fish, and ptarmigan meat. The first delivery will be made early in the morning of the day after tomorrow. …Your cost will be fifty thousand gold coins.”
“Forty thousand.”
“…All right. I, Calasin of Shopping District Eight, accept this contract.”
“Oh, good. It’s better for you this way, too, right, Calasin?! C’mon, let’s let him sit in on the next set of negotiations so he can hear what’s goin’ on.”
“Yes, let’s.”
As Henrietta agreed, a bell-like tone sounded in Marielle’s ear, signaling the arrival of their next visitors.
“Well, well! If it isn’t two lovely ladies and the young gent from Shopping District Eight.”
“……Hm.”
As announced, the two who’d opened the door and entered were Michitaka, the general manager of the Marine Organization, and Roderick of the Roderick Trading Company.
“Pleased to meetcha! I’m Marielle, guild master of the Crescent Moon League. This is Henrietta, my head clerk.”
“Would you refrain from using antiquated terms like head clerk, please? …As she says, I’m Henrietta. I’m in charge of the accounts.”
The two delivered their greetings in turn. In the old world, Marielle had been nothing more than someone who took it easy at home and helped out with the chores, and Henrietta was a white-collar worker who’d graduated from the department of economics. Although she handled accounting duties and had learned a lot from her father, Henrietta was still just a rank-and-file office worker, and she didn’t really know what sort of expression she should wear at large-scale negotiations like these. Still, both gave introductions that, while awkward, were impressive in their own right.
“Michitaka of the Marine Organization here. General manager.”
The big man who greeted them jovially was built more like a warrior than a merchant. The arm he put out for a handshake was thick and had noticeable burn scars, probably because he was a Blacksmith.
“I’m Roderick, guild master of the Roderick Trading Company. It’s a production guild.”
In contrast, the young man who introduced himself as Roderick looked like a scholar. According to the information they’d received earlier, he was an Apothecary.
“Yes, we’re ac…acqua… Um, we know! You’re both famous.”
Marielle beamed.
To Henrietta, it looked as though the burden on Marielle’s shoulders had lifted ever so slightly. According to their preliminary meeting with Shiroe, her responsibility had been to contract with Shopping District 8 for short-term material procurement. In that sense, she’d completed her assignment during the previous negotiations.
The person in charge of this next round of negotiations was Henrietta.
In other words, this is my battlefield.
Henrietta smiled; there was an intelligent gleam in her eyes. The men in front of her were the leaders of Akiba’s largest and second-largest guilds. The huge guilds were on an entirely different level, and ordinarily, they would have completely ignored the Crescent Moon League. Henrietta would have felt too daunted even to speak to them.
That said, all the preparations Henrietta and the rest of the group had made over the past week had been leading up to this moment. The days of hunting, the stocking up on ingredients, the energetic sales under the blazing sun, the trench warfare–like document filing—it had all been in order to set the stage for this moment.
This step was grounded in the previous one, and the step before that had been drawn from the one before it. In addition, it had been Henrietta’s companions who had drawn it out, not Henrietta herself.
If I back down now, I’ll never be able to face the others. Besides, this pitch-black plan came courtesy of Master Shiroe. …If we can’t win with this, we’d never win with anything else. Fu-fu-fu-fu. And here I am, right in the middle of it…
Henrietta considered herself a second-rate Elder Tales player. Up to this point, she had never tackled any large-scale battles nor high-end content. And yet, incredibly, she was sitting right at the center of what was probably the largest strategy since the beginning of this world.
Her strength was useful to someone.
It was all right for her to use her power.
That knowledge brought her elation and a firm feeling of resolution.
“Yeah. We know you, too. You’re the manager of Snack Shop Crescent Moon, right? You’ve turned into the talk of the town over the past few days. I ate some, too. I’ve only had it once so far, but still.”
Michitaka laughed as he spoke.
Marielle responded with her usual smile; she seemed completely self-assured.
“…What’s caused you to assemble production guilds, particularly major ones like ours, Miss Marielle of Crescent Moon?”
As Roderick spoke, he sneaked a glance at Calasin’s expression. He might have been trying to deduce the reason Calasin had been admitted early by himself.
“Hm, why? You want to know why. Well, ’course you do. Let’s see…”
“Before we begin, let me explain why we invited Shopping District Eight to come early.”
Henrietta began to explain, counting her own breaths.
Slowly, bit by bit. Being careful not to go too quickly. Speaking in such a way that she would sound relaxed and at ease. She chose her words carefully, modulating her tone as she explained.
“We’ve asked Shopping District Eight to supply us with ingredients.”
At her words, tension abruptly flickered across Michitaka’s cheery face and Roderick’s keen eyes. Those words alone had been enough to tell them how the situation was trending.
Shopping District 8 had seven hundred members.
The Marine Organization had 2,500 members registered. The Roderick Trading Company had 1,800. While there were differences in the orientation and level distribution of their artisans, the balance of power was roughly equal to their member ratio. However, if, in addition to the ingredients procurement, Snack Shop Crescent Moon were to team up with Shopping District 8 in earnest, the power relationships were likely to flip on them.
Crescent Moon had triggered a food item revolution.
However, its scale meant that its supply system was small as well. Delivering meals to one thousand players every day wouldn’t come close to satisfying the demand: There were more than fifteen thousand players in Akiba.
That said, if the seven hundred members of Shopping District 8 mustered all their strength, they would be able to fill that demand. No doubt the profits would be enormous.
After all, this was food.
Unlike clothes and furniture, weapons, armor, and accessories, food was needed—and consumed—on a daily basis. Once one ate it, it was gone. Even if each individual item was cheap, the total sales were bound to be astronomical. On top of that, since it was consumable merchandise, these sales would be continuous. It was as plain as day to them that with the food supply under its control, Shopping District 8 would turn its power to personnel expansion, and before long it would have upset even the numbers ratio.
Henrietta understood Michitaka and Roderick’s thoughts perfectly. Depending on how it was used, food could become a nuclear weapon able to destroy the balance between the production guilds at a stroke.
“You’re saying you’re partnering with Shopping District Eight?”
It was Michitaka who made the first move.
Apparently his personality was as straightforward as his appearance indicated. There was no telling whether it worked this way with real-world managers, but in guilds in online games, surprisingly, this type of player was the sort who won popularity.
“No. If that were the case, they wouldn’t have needed to call us. Is it something else?” Roderick murmured.
Roderick wore delicate glasses. Between his gender and the glasses, he looked a bit like Shiroe, but he seemed slightly neurotic, and Henrietta thought it counted against him somewhat. Even if he were more blackhearted than Shiroe, she doubted he had the audacity to make people swallow that blackness.
Up until just the other day, Henrietta had assumed Shiroe’s introspective, reserved character was something similar to Roderick’s, and so the difference felt particularly marked to her. Any resemblance between the two was purely superficial.
“Yes, as you say, it’s something else. This other matter is something we want to ask of the Marine Organization, the Roderick Trading Company, and Shopping District Eight equally.”
Henrietta tilted her head slightly.
Negotiations were all about reading each other’s cards.
In that sense, Henrietta had been placed in a very dangerous position.
Henrietta’s group had brought up this topic. That meant that unless they disclosed their information to a certain extent, the talks couldn’t advance. However, the very act of giving up information meant showing their cards.
One of her advantages was that the other parties wanted profit. To them, Snack Shop Crescent Moon looked like tasty, lucrative bait.
In addition:
As long as we hold the initiative in these negotiations, we’ll always get to decide what information to release and what to conceal.
Almost as if she were playing chess, Henrietta organized their information into “can reveal” and “shouldn’t reveal” at high speed.
Shiroe had given Henrietta one condition with regard to these negotiations: She was not allowed to lie.
Since they were all trying to read one another’s cards, and she wasn’t allowed to bluff, this was a significant handicap. When she thought of future developments, she could understand that this condition was absolute, but she couldn’t deny that it placed her at a slight disadvantage.
Master Shiroe certainly does make unreasonable demands. …I’ll have to have him lend me sweet Akatsuki to make this worth it. Aah, darling Akatsuki! That jet-black, glossy, beautiful hair… She’s just like a doll!
Beside Henrietta—who’d started fantasizing, her cheeks faintly flushed—Marielle had a small warning coughing fit.
“…Oh. I beg your pardon. The topic at hand, then: The Crescent Moon League is currently planning a large-scale operation. You may consider it a—a type of challenge. However, the Crescent Moon League doesn’t have enough power to carry out this challenge. To that end, we’d like to ask for your support.”
“Hm… A quest, is it?”
Henrietta didn’t answer Roderick’s words with either yes or no. She only lowered her eyes slightly, curving her lips into a crescent of a smile.
I do believe he’s been kind enough to misinterpret me…
Quests were a type of mission in Elder Tales. They were sequential adventures that could be triggered by a request from a non-player character, or by a book or clue, and their content was quite diverse.
For example, an old villager might ask one to go find his daughter in the woods and bring her back. Or to clear a certain cavern of goblins. Or to bring back a manticore spine from the swamp. The term quest spanned nearly every possible type of mission.
In Elder Tales, which didn’t have a clear story the way ordinary off-line RPGs did, quests were the game’s story. The decision of which and how many quests to accept was left to individual players. However, Elder Tales had encompassed several hundred thousand, or even several million, quests since the days when it was just a game, and no player had a clear grasp of the full picture.
Just as there were many different types of quests, the rewards given for quests were diverse, too: They could be experience points or gold coins, items, knowledge of magic, or a right of some sort. Rare rewards included training in magic or recipes for the production classes.
Roderick had misinterpreted Henrietta’s “challenge” to mean “quest.” Not only that, but from the words large-scale operation, he assumed that the quest couldn’t be completed by an individual player; it would require multiple players or possibly even a huge group larger than a party.
The operation that was currently under way was the sale of the knowledge of the new cooking method in exchange for funding. However, to Henrietta, the new cooking method seemed more like a type of idea or realization.
If they let even a little bit of information slip, the sharp production guild leaders might pick up on the method, even without being told anything specific. In fact, there was no telling when someone from another guild might catch on, at least to some of it.
In light of these circumstances, Henrietta had chosen to use this “guidance” strategy. She’d use her negotiation partners’ suspicions and rivalry to get them to say the words she wanted them to hear.
…She wouldn’t lie. But, with this trick, Henrietta wouldn’t let them reach the truth, either.
“What sort of support does your group need, Mari?”
Calasin’s question was another assist Henrietta had foreseen. Without answering right away, she gazed into the eyes of the three men.
Making it seem as though she was having trouble making up her mind was another necessary part of negotiations.
Beside her, she knew her ally Marielle was spreading around that brilliant sunflower smile of hers. The three young men seemed to be looking at Marielle’s and Henrietta’s faces in turn.
Well, Mari’s gorgeous. She really is. If only she weren’t so very tall, she’d be just my type, and I’d take her home and hug her like a body pillow… Oh there, see? He’s blushing. Master Calasin is sweet on Mari. How adorably innocent…
Actually, all three were looking at, then averting their glances from, both the sunny Marielle and the moonlike Henrietta, but Henrietta didn’t notice the attention directed at herself.
Several moments after she’d organized what she needed to say, Henrietta opened her mouth.
“Before I tell you what we need, let me explain our system. Unless I clarify the forces we have lined up, you may not trust me. The director of this large-scale progressive operation is Master Shiroe.”
Henrietta had taken a gamble.
This dialogue hadn’t been part of her instructions from Shiroe, and she didn’t have Marielle’s permission. Henrietta didn’t know how much significance Shiroe’s name would have. She’d heard that he was a veteran player with a long career in the game and that he had some very unexpected acquaintances, but in that case, she didn’t know why Shiroe was on friendly terms with a small guild like the Crescent Moon League or, for that matter, why he wasn’t affiliated with a guild.
Henrietta had spoken with Shiroe personally, and she thought he was an extraordinary player. However, was that really all he was?
Henrietta had heard about the griffins from Serara. From what Henrietta knew, those were items that an ordinary veteran player shouldn’t even have had access to.
“Machiavelli-with-glasses is running it?”
Although he’d muttered it in a very small voice, Michitaka had definitely said it.
“We’ve asked Master Naotsugu to hold the front line, Miss Akatsuki to act as the attacker, and Master Nyanta to be the point guard. Incompetent as we are, Marielle and I will form the rear guard. In addition to these, we intend to execute the operation with the Crescent Moon League members and other interested persons.”
Henrietta let her words end there. Surreptitiously, she watched for Michitaka’s reaction.
She was certain he’d responded to Shiroe’s name and to a few of the others. However, he’d repressed the reaction, and she didn’t know what it had meant. Yet even so, he had reacted. She was sure of it.
In other words, Master Shiroe really does have a chance at victory.
Shiroe’s name had meant something.
“I’ve just given you an outline of our core members. We would like to request your support in order to make up the remaining shortfall. …That shortfall is capital. At present, we are in need of five million gold coins.”
The three men sucked in their breath audibly.
It was an enormous sum indeed.
There had, of course, been previous quests whose accomplishment required money. It might have been bribes during a mission or payment for training. If one included quests whose missions required a certain item to accomplish—which meant that players needed money in order to purchase said item at the market—in a broad sense, “expenditures” were necessary in about a quarter of all quests.
However, five million gold coins was far too much. It would have been an unthinkable sum for any quest meant for individual players. …On the other hand, if this were a type of legend-class or wide-ranging quest, the amount wasn’t impossibly large.
Taking into account the fact that they hadn’t heard rumors of such a thing, was it a completely unknown quest? There was a good possibility that it was. It might be a brand-new quest, one introduced with the Homesteading the Noosphere expansion pack, a quest no one knew about. They didn’t yet know exactly what sort of content Homesteading had included, but they’d heard reports that the current level-90 maximum was being raised, and that meant it might have been aimed at characters above level 90.
If it was a long quest, would it be the sort of large-scale quest in which a sequence of multiple quests formed a story? If that was the case, in long quests such as those, each time an individual quest ended, players could expect to gain a certain reward.
In long quests, it was normal for players to be given small rewards at each important point, to keep their motivation up.
…That was probably what was going through the three men’s heads.
People tend to assume that information they want to believe is true. She’d heard this often from her stock-trader father. The three were gravitating toward the desire to believe in this tale of an absolutely unknown quest.
Henrietta asked Marielle to take out what they’d brought.
What she took out was black tea and custard pudding.
“Go ahead, help yourselves! That’s our new offerin’. It’s nice and sweet! It’s made with Roc eggs.”
Marielle urged the three men on with a cheerful smile. They were astonished, both by the delicious flavors and by what they’d just heard.
Rocs were monsters whose levels were 85 or higher. A recipe made with their eggs… That would be a completely unknown recipe, most certainly higher than level 90, wouldn’t it?
“Of course, we aren’t asking you to give us the money for free. After the completion of this large-scale operation, we are prepared to give detailed information regarding the operation to all three of you. We have also asked our Scribe to copy the cooking method we currently employ and the methods we have learned while making our attempt, and we intend to provide you with these as well.”
To Henrietta and Marielle, the “operation” was a sort of neighborhood watch initiative with the goal of improving the atmosphere in Akiba. They didn’t yet know the details about where it would touch down—Shiroe was keeping that part vague.
However, with an initiative like that one, there would be no detailed information to reveal. Once things were over, it would be—and would have to be—as clear as crystal. Shiroe himself had declared that politics conducted behind closed doors could not maintain any kind of public order. There would be no disadvantage to revealing information, and at that point in time, the value of that information would evaporate.
However, to the three production guild leaders, the story sounded completely different. If what the Crescent Moon League intended to challenge was an unknown long quest, everything about that quest—its starting point, its terms, the puzzles along the way—would be S-rank confidential information. Now, when they couldn’t turn to solutions sites, it might well take them years to discover the same quest.
On top of that, Henrietta had clearly said, “The cooking method we currently employ and the methods we have learned while making our attempt.” If it came with that sort of reward, the quest probably involved production. From the activities of Snack Shop Crescent Moon, it could only be a new—and groundbreaking—food item recipe. Even if it was only a reward for Chefs and had nothing to do with the other production classes, it would be invaluable.
The three of them had begun to believe the story they’d invented.
Henrietta was sure she’d made it over the pass.
That was how unprecedented these terms were. It would be strange for them not to accept.
If they did refuse, it would be because they doubted some aspect of the tale, but the three men were completely caught up in the story of the unknown quest they’d imagined.
It’s about time I threw them a life vest…
“We’re working with everything we have to raise funds. Including asset disposal and the Crescent Moon sales, we’ve managed to raise 500,000 gold coins. We still need 4.5 million. We thought that asking any one guild would drastically change the current balance. In that case, 1.5 million gold coins from each guild… How does that sound?”
In a single stroke, Henrietta cut the amount she was requesting by two-thirds.
In this world, a level-90 player could have anywhere from ten thousand to forty or fifty thousand gold coins on hand. In other words, those 1.5 million gold coins could be covered by contributions from about one hundred members.
If the Marine Organization, the largest of the three guilds, took up a collection from its 2,500 members, the contribution would only be six hundred gold coins per person.
Six hundred gold coins was no more than the cost of a suit of midrange armor. It was only natural that the three players’ expressions shifted into determination.
“The Roderick Trading Company will participate.”
“Shopping District Eight is in as well.”
“All right. The Marine Organization will set you up with capital. Heck, if you want, we’ll fund the whole thing on our own.”
“I’d have a problem with that. …Are you planning to monopolize the profits?”
As the three began to argue, Marielle said, “Oh, now, don’t be like that, y’all. Okay? C’mon. Play nice, for my sake.”
At these words from Marielle, who’d smiled through the entire talk, the three had no choice but to back down. After all, the Crescent Moon League held the initiative in the discussion.
“In that case, we’ll expect your payment in… Will four days be sufficient?”
“Fine. And when will you deliver the recipe?”
“It depends on our Scribe’s schedule, but if possible, we’d like to give you the cooking method upon receipt of the funds. You’ll have it by the day after at the very latest. The Scribe is Master Shiroe, you see.”
With those parting words, the three left the rented room. After they’d gone, Marielle and Henrietta were exhausted. Henrietta had controlled the initiative and set the pace from beginning to end, but the pressure had been greater than she’d expected.
Although it hadn’t taken long, she felt mentally fatigued. Her back seemed to have gone limp and weak; unable to sit up properly, she slumped forward onto the table.
“Sorry, Henrietta…”
Marielle seemed listless and apologetic.
“Whatever’s the matter, Mari?”
Henrietta’s well-bred speech had also grown rather careless.
“I wanted to help with the negotiatin’, but there wasn’t much I could do… Negotiatin’s hard, isn’t it…?”
Marielle sounded sincerely miserable. Even though Henrietta was completely worn out, she couldn’t fight back a giggle.
“What are you saying, Mari? If you hadn’t smiled like that, we wouldn’t have had a chance in these negotiations.”
The smile Henrietta gave Marielle was filled with deep gratitude. Without Marielle’s beaming sunflower smile, they’d never have been able to separate those three veteran players from their money.
…And so Henrietta and Marielle acquired five million in campaign funds.
It was a bright moonlit night.
A dry wind, still warm with the afternoon’s heat, blew across a crumbling station platform over which lightning bugs flitted. It was a concrete plateau about two hundred meters in length, mounted on an elevated structure, and it commanded a view down over Akiba’s central plaza.
In the real world, it had been a platform at Akihabara Station.
The rails and support posts had rusted away long ago, and it was covered with unidentifiable weeds and moss. The buildings to the right and left of the platform bore what could have been the scars of a great crash: They seemed to have been struck with terrific force partway up, and their tops were broken and jagged.
The moonlight threw the dark spearhead shadows of the buildings across the platform’s marbled green and concrete surface, and in the midst of it all stood two tall shadows.
Shiroe and Nyanta.
“I think the wind’s picked up a bit, don’t mew?”
“Yes, it has.”
Shiroe looked up at the moon, shading his eyes with one hand.
Possibly because the wind ruffled his hair, making a few strands catch on his eyelashes, he narrowed his eyes behind his glasses and spoke slowly.
“It’s still a little while before midnight, I think… We’ve probably got a bit of time left before Soujirou comes. Captain Nyanta, do you want to sit down somewhere?”
“No, no. Thanks for meowr consideration, but I’m not quite such a run-down oldster.”
“I didn’t say it because I thought you were old.” Shiroe shrugged.
“Are mew not looking forward to seeing Soujicchi, Shiroechi?”
“Um. Mm…”
The question made Shiroe think a bit.
“It’s not that I don’t want to see him. I just feel a little guilty. When Soujirou formed his guild, he invited me to join, so… It’s awkward.”
“He did, did he?”
“He didn’t invite you, Captain Nyanta?”
“If memory serves, I wasn’t logging in regularly back then. I don’t remember getting an invitation.”
“I see…”
They were waiting for Soujirou Seta.
He was an old friend of Nyanta, Shiroe, and Naotsugu.
He was also a Samurai and Master Swordsman, and one of the eight former Debauchery Tea Party members in this world.
In a way, Soujirou was one of the players who’d been most influenced by the Debauchery Tea Party. Not only was he hardworking and earnest, he was kind. When the Debauchery Tea Party had decided to disband, it might have been Soujirou who missed it most.
Samurai were skilled with a variety of Asian weapons, but the essence of these was the katana. The term katana covered many varieties: Tachi, the traditional longsword. Kodachi, smaller short swords. Wakizashi, or side swords, meant to be worn in pairs, and the main Samurai weapon—the uchigatana, or “striking sword.” In Elder Tales, generally speaking, swords made of steel that emphasized superior attack power were called tachi, and lighter swords that emphasized speed and handling and were easy to swing were called uchigatana.
Soujirou was an uchigatana master.
His techniques, which hid their strikes in elegance instead of speed, were nearly impossible to follow, even if one strained their eyes. Soujirou could parry an attack from a giant who could snap great trees in two, and even Sand Cricket Armor, which could block an attack from an iron hammer, was useless against him.
“There’s a knack to it, sir,” Soujirou had said with a slightly bashful smile.
Naotsugu had left the game, and at the same time, due to a variety of personal circumstances, several of their other companions had left Elder Tales as well. By all accounts, Captain Nyanta had also nearly stopped playing for a while or had at least not logged in frequently.
In the midst of that, Soujirou had headed the list of members who had stayed in Elder Tales. “I don’t want to let the Debauchery Tea Party go to waste,” he’d said and started his own guild.
Of course, as a prerequisite, he’d invited the remaining members of the Debauchery Tea Party to join. However, the Tea Party hadn’t been a guild, and many of the players who’d “belonged” to it had been free spirits.
There had been several players who’d joined Soujirou’s guild, but several others had refused. Shiroe had been one of the latter.
“I don’t think mew have anything to feel guilty about. Mew were following different paths. Soujicchi isn’t the type of boy who’d be upset about something so trivial.”
“That’s true, but…,” Shiroe said evasively.
His refusal to join the guild wasn’t the only thing that was worrying him. The issue was why he’d refused.
Shiroe didn’t think it was Soujirou that he’d turned down.
He’d refused to let himself be bound by a guild.
Yet now here he was, going all the way to Susukino to help the Crescent Moon League guild, then, becoming irritated by the growing silent power of the big guilds in Akiba, he was seeking out Soujirou’s guild, the West Wind Brigade, for help to change the situation.
Simply time had passed, and Shiroe had changed with it.
He was already different from the Shiroe who’d been merely fastidious and prejudiced against the human relationships known as guilds. However, he didn’t think his current feelings would get across to Soujirou if he only defined them in the negative, as “different.”
In addition, he thought that Soujirou, who’d started his West Wind Brigade immediately after losing the Debauchery Tea Party, might have understood quite a lot more than Shiroe had.
The West Wind Brigade…
While not large, it was a guild with great influence in Akiba. Although its official membership was 120, its active membership was said to be sixty, and yet even with small numbers like that, it competed on equal terms with D.D.D., Honesty, and the Knights of the Black Sword, the famous guilds of Akiba.
While it could never have won on size, it had competed with the big guilds to hold first place in large-scale battles that had gone down in the server’s history, such as Radamanteus’s Throne and the Nine Great Gaols of Helos.
In terms of military achievements, its record might be even more splendid than those of the big guilds, which had hordes of reserve members.
“Don’t worry about it too much. Mew’ve decided to conquer, Shiroechi, so mew need to walk tall. Mew’re already the landlord of my veranda, mew know.”
At Nyanta’s words, Shiroe changed his mind. Come to think of it, he’s right.
Just as Soujirou had created a place for himself and defended it, Shiroe had built a new place for himself. He couldn’t afford to spend forever worrying.
“Good evening. I haven’t seen you in a while, Mr. Shiro. Sage Nyanta.”
The approaching shape hailed the two of them while it was still a good distance away. On seeing Soujirou’s boyish expression, Shiroe remembered, Oh, that’s right. He was younger than me, wasn’t he? It had been almost a year since they’d spoken.
“It’s been a long time, Soujirou.”
“Long time no see. How have mew been, Soujicchi?”
At their greetings, Soujirou ducked his head, looking a bit embarrassed.
Smiling together like this made it feel as though they’d gone back in time.
Soujirou came over to them, lightly dodging the countless vines that hung down over the platform as he approached. The lightning bugs seemed to dance out of the way of his hands.
As Soujirou came closer, they saw he was dressed in Japanese hakama and had two swords hanging at his waist, like a patriot from the last days of the Tokugawa shogunate. Of course, in a full-scale battle, he’d probably wear armor; this was how he equipped himself when in town.
“I hear mew started a guild. How goes it?”
“I did; thank you for asking. It was going pretty well, but then the Catastrophe hit, so…”
Soujirou shrugged.
His expression made Shiroe realize something unexpectedly.
Now that he thought about it, he himself, Naotsugu, Nyanta, Soujirou—none of them seemed to be the least bit discouraged by the Catastrophe. This way of taking things as half sightseeing and half adventure, no matter how bad the circumstances were, might have been in the genetics of the Debauchery Tea Party.
“Are Nazunacchi and Mistress Saki still with mew?”
“Nazuna is. Saki’s part of the guild, but… It looks as if she wasn’t logged in at the time of the Catastrophe.”
The names Nyanta had brought up belonged to skilled healers who had been part of the Debauchery Tea Party. The question reminded Shiroe of another reason he hadn’t joined Soujirou’s guild.
“Are you still as popular as ever, Soujirou?”
“Huh? Ah… It’s not like that…”
Soujirou abruptly looked flustered. Nyanta narrowed his already threadlike eyes even further in a smile and asked, “Ah, youth. How many do mew have now?”
At his question, Soujirou quietly raised one hand and folded down just the thumb.
He still has a harem…? Not that I’m jealous or anything, really…but. But. Four is incredibly hard to swallow…somehow. I mean, four of them? What’s with that? Nazuna, Saki, and two others… Talk about a deluxe lineup…
Shiroe felt his energy draining away.
“—But never mind that! What’s going on, Mr. Shiro? I didn’t expect you to summon me. I thought you didn’t like me.”
“Huh? Why?”
The unexpected words made Shiroe answer the question with a frank question of his own.
“Well, I… Um. Because I tend to attract harems.”
Soujirou faltered, red-faced. Shiroe had no way to respond. Beside him, Nyanta burst into loud laughter. If Naotsugu had been there, he would have promptly delivered a physical comeback in the form of a karate chop.
“That’s definitely a serious problem, but there’s no way I’d hate you for it. We were in the Debauchery Tea Party together, remember?”
“I see. I suppose that’s true… But then, what brings you here?”
At Soujirou’s question, Shiroe straightened, psyching himself up again.
“I’ll get straight to the point: I’d like your help.”
“What sort of help might that be?”
“…What do mew think of the way Akiba is now, Soujicchi?”
“This town? That’s a pretty abstract question… Well, I think it’s painful in several ways. It isn’t just this town. I mean, depending on how you look at it, this entire world is a prison, isn’t it?”
“A prison, hm?”
Soujirou combed his hair up with his fingers. His Samurai-style ponytail fluttered in the wind that crossed the platform.
“Yes. We were abruptly pulled into another world. We don’t know how to get back home. We can’t die, either. That’s simply how the world works, and on top of that, there are monsters prowling outside the town. Leaving us aside, I can understand how players who hate fighting would feel as if they’ve been locked in.”
“That’s right. Now that mew mention it, that’s exactly right,” Nyanta agreed.
Soujirou had taken a vague thought that was on everyone’s mind and stated it clearly. Shiroe agreed: If one thought of it that way, it was only natural that they would feel trapped.
“So it is painful, you know. I don’t think it’s good. Under circumstances like these, people tend to resort to bullying the weak. As a matter of fact, my guild has been talking about leaving town.”
“You’re leaving Akiba?”
“No, I just meant the idea has come up,” Soujirou said. “We haven’t made specific plans or anything. Besides, it’s convenient to be headquartered in town. It’s just that it’s hard to watch things get worse and worse. Especially when there’s nothing we can do about it.”
“There’s nothing we can do about it.” He’d said the words easily, but it certainly wasn’t because he’d relinquished responsibility. Soujirou had thought of doing something and had properly examined the possibilities. As a result, he’d concluded that there was nothing he could do, and he was saying so honestly. That was all.
As proof, his voice is bitter…
“There is something we can do.”
“Do you mean that, Mr. Shiro?!”
“…I think there is.”
Shiroe honestly avoided making a positive statement. He did want to do something, and he intended to try, but he had no guarantees. In any case, in Tea Party terms, anyone who refused to follow without a guarantee was a coward, not a friend.
That meant that if one wanted someone to be a friend, they didn’t give them guarantees.
“In order to do it, I want your help.”
“What would you like me to do?”
“…It isn’t just you, Soujirou. I’ll have to borrow the West Wind Brigade’s name.”
Shiroe stared Soujirou right in the eye.
If, as Nyanta had said, birth and death were constants for all things, and effort was necessary to ensure long life, then as the one who’d created and protected the West Wind Brigade, Soujirou had nourished it properly with love and paid for it through hard work. If he was going to borrow that strength, Shiroe couldn’t avert his eyes.
And even more so, because he himself hadn’t tried to cultivate anything.
Soujirou looked mildly startled, but then he nodded, seeming satisfied. Shiroe continued.
“First, I want you to talk to the people around you about how the current atmosphere in Akiba is bad. Tell them that if this keeps up, things will go to seed. If you’d let that travel to the other major guilds as well, I’d really appreciate it.”
“Yes, that’s fine. That’s something everyone already feels, though, on some level.”
“Still, I think it’s important to put it into words. If you can make them aware that the West Wind Brigade thinks this and might even take action, it will have enough of an effect. Second, you should be getting an invitation in a few days. If possible, I’d like you to stay in Akiba until that day. It’s an invitation to a conference. I’d like to settle things at that conference somehow.”
“I understand.”
Soujirou agreed easily with a nonchalant smile.
“You’re sure you don’t need to ask about the particulars of the operation?”
“Well, you’re busy, aren’t you, Mr. Shiro? I’d hate to take up your time with things like that. Besides, I’m a vanguard lunkhead, and you’re the Tea Party’s top strategy counselor. Even if you told me, I’m sure I wouldn’t understand half of it.”
The words were so warm that Shiroe flinched.
He’d never thought that Soujirou would trust him this much, after they’d been apart for over a year and after he’d shrugged his hand off once already.
“Mew’re a good boy, Soujicchi.”
“Only because you praise me for it, Sage Nyanta.”
Soujirou smiled as he spoke. Then his expression tensed, and he looked at them both squarely.
“On a completely different note: Mr. Shiro, Sage Nyanta… Would you join the West Wind Brigade? It would make Nazuna happy, too, I think. We’re all pretty good-natured. Right now we’re taking turns exploring the outlying areas, working to uncover information about the new expansion pack. I know this may sound forward, but… That strategy you’re putting into action, Mr. Shiro. Wouldn’t it be more efficient if you worked under the auspices of the West Wind Brigade?—Or is that out of the question?”
Soujirou had straightened up, standing formally. His suggestion made sense, but Shiroe couldn’t agree to it now. Last week, he might have been able to. At this point, though, Shiroe already had a home.
“You really do dislike me, then?”
Soujirou sounded dejected. Shiroe had shaken his head.
Even as he thought, That’s the second time I’ve turned down an invitation from Soujirou, Shiroe touched his shoulder.
Nyanta’s words had finally given Shiroe a clear picture of what it was he needed to do. It was what he’d kept his eyes turned away from.
By taking advantage of Naotsugu and Akatsuki’s kindness and by letting Nyanta protect him, he’d managed to go without saying it until now.
“It really isn’t that, Soujirou. …Listen. I realized it was about time I made a place for myself. I’ve been running away from tiresome things that happened years ago, and I ran all the way here, but I finally realized I need to be one of the people who protects things, too. I’ve formed my own guild. It doesn’t have many members yet, and we’ve just barely begun, but… I finally realized that the place where I belong can’t exist until I make a place for other people to belong.”
As Soujirou gazed at him as though he were meeting him for the first time, Shiroe slowly told him about his resolution.
