The Hardest Part Is Starting

The part-timer had apparently taken my request to heart; the booth they showed me to sat well off in a corner. It was a bit of a walk from the entrance, but as long as I could log into the game, I had no complaints.

"Is this your first time using a Connector?"

I nodded.

I'd done my homework on Connectors, but this would be the first time I'd actually used one.

The part-timer pointed at a sheet of paper hanging on the wall and kept talking. The way the corner of his mouth seemed to tick upward—that had to be my imagination.

The paper he'd indicated carried a heading.

I had barely started reading when the part-timer beside me, apparently unable to wait, struck up conversation again.

"If you're using a Connector, does that mean you're planning to play Last of Quantum?"

I answered with another nod.

It wasn't that I hated talking to people. Everything has its time and place. Even someone who loves food stops eating when they're full; I'd come here to play a game, so a chatty employee was never going to look good to me.

I'd expected him to run through the rules and leave. Instead, something that wasn't quite a boast started pouring out of him at machine-gun speed.

"I probably shouldn't say this myself, but I'm Diamond in LoQ. My shift's almost over anyway—want me to walk you through the basics? It's harder than you'd think for a beginner, so someone like me, an expert..."

"No. I'm fine."

I cut him off without hesitation.

The whole reason I'd gotten interested in this game was the realism. If it didn't live up to that, I had no reason to keep playing. And I already knew shooting stances and how to handle firearms. There might be some differences, given that it was a game—but they'd emphasized realism so hard I didn't expect anything glaring.

More than that, games were supposed to be fun because you slammed into them knowing nothing and figured things out one piece at a time. What was the point of starting with every guide already memorized?

"Still, it's pretty tough your first time. The controls are complicated, and—"

"I'd rather you not make me say it twice. I don't need it."

I scowled at him before I could stop myself. I'd come here in a good mood, ready to enjoy a game, and some clueless guy was hovering over me offering advice. Man or woman, anyone would find that irritating. I was lucky I hadn't just told him to get lost.

He hung his head, looking genuinely stung. At least he hadn't forgotten his job; he explained how to operate the Connector, then left.

With the nuisance gone, I turned my attention to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠Connector in front of me. Matching its simple exterior, the operation was even simpler than I'd expected.

I settled into the massive black sphere, and it wrapped around me with a gentle hold. First impression: this thing had been built for comfortable play. The cushioning wouldn't get uncomfortable even after hours, and there was an air conditioner that kept things pleasant regardless of the outside environment. I'd wondered what all the buttons on the side were for. Apparently they controlled things like that.

I pressed the start button. My vision went black for an instant, and a strange sensation enveloped me. At the same time, stark white letters on a black background filled my sight.

A little time passed, and another line rose into view.

A holographic model identical to me appeared before my eyes. I'd thought it before, but the face really was unrealistically pretty. Seeing it in-game actually felt less jarring.

A control panel floated beside it for adjusting appearance. I tried changing the hair color as a test, and it applied to the model immediately. Face shape, body, skin tone—everything was adjustable, but I didn't feel any particular need to change how I looked.

I wasn't especially good with my hands, and I had no confidence I could produce anything decent. Messing with it carelessly could easily make things worse, and the original was already excellent. Why touch it?

Once the appearance was locked in, next came the nickname. The first name that came to mind was the codename I'd used as a mercenary. It held some memories, and I'd been called by it so often on missions that it was, in a way, more familiar than my actual name.

On the blinking window asking me to set a nickname, I typed No-Life.

Without. Life. A name hung on me because I could snuff out a human life in an instant. Even thinking about it now made my skin crawl, but ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I'd heard it long enough to get used to it.

I only lingered in the memory for a moment. The second I hit confirm, I ran into an unexpected problem.

Someone was actually using it. Thinking about it, it wasn't a hard name to come up with, and it rolled off the tongue easily enough—it would have been weirder if it were still available. On a whim I tried a few of my old comrades' codenames. Same result.

Staring at the still-hovering message, I fell into thought. I didn't want to abandon the No-Life framework if I could help it. But I couldn't use a taken name either. After turning it over and over, I decided to tweak it just a little.

Slapping a number on the end felt too fake. I hated that. The problem wasn't fully solved, though. Now I had a new one: how to find an unused nickname without wrecking the name too badly.

Solve one problem, and another is waiting to greet you. Was this what they meant by one mountain after another?

Anyway, I tried a few names that came to mind. People's minds all ran in the same ruts, apparently—the already-in-use message just kept printing. Who would have thought I'd get stuck at nickname creation?

In the end, telling myself I'd look for something else if this didn't work either, I typed one more.

Amazing, that a single line of confirmation could make a person this happy.

The nickname I'd entered was Unknown.

It didn't have much to do with No-Life, strictly speaking. At first I'd considered something like Unnamed, but no matter how I turned it over, it wouldn't sit right in the mouth. So I'd landed on Unknown—similar, but different.

And it wasn't completely unrelated, if you thought about it. Before they'd started calling me No-Life, I'd briefly gone by the nickname Unknown. It hadn't been a name I particularly welcomed, but that hardly mattered now. It almost felt like going back to square one.

I nodded, satisfied, and hit confirm. This time a lavish gold font on a pure white background filled my vision.

The game's opening unfurled like a scene from a movie. Gunfire and explosions from every direction stole my attention for a moment. Then I felt the air go cold—and I was already standing in a space I didn't recognize.

Honestly, I hadn't expected much even from a full-dive VR game. The ads hammered the realism, sure, but ads always exaggerate. A game that could make you feel an environment close to the real thing, no matter how far technology had come? Even if that ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠were possible, I couldn't believe they'd use it for something as trivial as a game. Technology like that would be more efficient—and more commercial—in other fields.

The fact that it was only being used for a game meant there had to be some reason they couldn't use it elsewhere. So I hadn't gotten my hopes up. If you don't expect anything, you can't be disappointed. Charge in clutching empty hope, and all you get is a bigger letdown when you find a hollow can.

That was what I'd told myself.

"......"

Everything was more natural than I'd imagined. There was a faint sense of wrongness, but the realism was so ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠complete it was hard to believe even while looking at a virtual world.

Because we were indoors, the air felt packed with a chilled stillness. And threaded through it, the faint smell of gunpowder. It was an ordinary indoor shooting range, the kind you'd find anywhere—and I stood there, staring, completely absorbed.

I fluttered my hands. I took a few steps. A strange sensation that didn't feel like me ran through my whole body. If I had to compare it, it was similar to the feeling of just having woken up.

I didn't know the exact operating principles or the system, but calling this a simple game didn't do the realism justice. I hadn't even properly started playing, and already it had me hooked.