The Hikikomori's Sanctuary

To think I have to counsel this hopeless hikikomori…

…Is this truly a young lady's room?

My brow furrowed of its own accord. A wave of dizziness washed over me — and it wasn't merely the stale, rancid air stabbing at my nostrils. The scene spread before my eyes looked less like a place where a human being lived and more like a colossal waste-processing facility. The fact that anyone had managed to survive in here at all defied belief.

Crunch.

The moment I took a step, an ominous crackling sound rang out. Looking down, I found an emptied cup-noodle container, crushed flat and screaming in protest. And that was only the beginning. The floor had long since lost any trace of its original color.

…The Calculator of Slaughter? A genius magic engineer? Who in their right mind would look at this wreckage and conjure up titles that grand?

It was a cauldron of pure chaos. At first, following the advice of those gallery bastards, I'd been so terrified of her infamous reputation that I'd even planned an escape route for the worst-case scenario. But she had demolished that blood-curdling image so thoroughly that what I felt now was less fear than sheer bewilderment.

Dozens — no, hundreds — of delivery containers were stacked like fortress walls, while empty plastic bottles rolled about underfoot like an anti-tank minefield. Clumps of tissue paper wadded up like cotton waste, discarded underwear and socks tangled together in a single grotesque heap…

Wow. I really didn't think it would be this bad…

It was beyond anything I had imagined. This place was a sacred shrine of hikikomori existence — an abyss that transcended every boundary of common sense I possessed.

And yet, even amid that mountain of filth, traces of the room's owner's true identity still remained. Dozens of mana screens hummed and flickered, embroidering the empty air. At the heart of the trash heap, a control board for operating the mana network had been set up like a fortress command center. Intricate magic-engineering blueprints and wiring lay tangled with half-eaten pizza boxes in a bizarre, unholy harmony.

This was not a room. That conviction hit me like a wave.

…According to the knowledge of psychiatrist Aris Mardia, this was Diogenes syndrome. Extreme self-neglect, poor hygiene, social isolation… and, beyond that, a mental disorder accompanied by compulsive hoarding — the obsessive accumulation of garbage and unnecessary objects.

I had never encountered a heroine suffering from an illness this severe — not even counting her status as a villainess. Compared to Elara von Heim or Ruby Scarlet, this was an entirely different dimension.

But looked at another way, this place was her mind. A space that nakedly visualized a mental state that was complicated, disordered, cut off from the world, and locked inside a private universe of its own.

Why, then, did I feel this strange pang of pity…?

"…Haha."

I swallowed a hollow laugh and turned to look at Mocca Mellow. She kept her head bowed low, desperately avoiding my gaze. Her once-pale face had flushed a deep, bursting red. Her lips trembled as she finally managed to speak.

"Hnnngh… D-do not look…! Scrutinizing a maiden's chamber so thoroughly is most improper, is it not…!"

I let out a deep sigh and crossed my arms.

"Hmm. Even if I try not to look, it's filling my ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠entire field of vision. I couldn't look away if I wanted to."

"Uuuugh…"

"Look over there… that's Mocca's bra, isn't it…"

"Hyaaaaaah—!"

She shrieked and scrambled over, kicking a black undergarment that had been sprawled on the floor and shoving it under the bed to hide it.

…I can practically hear the sound of illusions shattering into pieces.

If I hadn't seen the state of Mocca Mellow's room, that kind of lingerie might have been rather provocative. Right now, it just looked like Contaminant Number One being placed under quarantine.

I carefully picked my way through the gaps between the debris, advancing into the heart of this magical hellscape. Pushing through the trash heaps, I found the chair in front ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of the desk where she seemed to spend most of her time curled up — a gaming chair of the sort you'd only see on modern Earth. The one difference was the soft blue glow of mana circuits running along the backrest. A blanket was bunched up there like a nest, as if some lingering human warmth still clung to the spot.

So this is where she eats, sleeps, and… does everything else, huh…

Feigning nonchalance, I nudged the scattered junk aside with my foot to clear some space. I tipped my top hat down, and without so much as asking the owner's permission, dropped myself onto that throne.

"Well, it's a bit chaotic for a counseling session… but it's cozy enough. Have a seat, ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for now."

"Hnnngh… Th-that is my seat."

"I don't see a guest chair anywhere."

"C-could you not simply sit upon the floor…?"

She couldn't even meet my eyes as she answered. I let a languid smirk curl my lips.

"…There's nowhere to sit. You want me to plant my backside in a pigsty like this?"

The moment my hips settled into the chair, a lukewarm heat seeped through my trousers. This was the very spot where she had been curled up until moments ago. Mixed with the scent of worn synthetic leather, Mocca Mellow's distinctive body odor — sweet, yet somehow damp — flooded into my nostrils. For an instant the dense air nearly choked me, as if I'd been pulled into her embrace, but I crossed my legs with practiced calm. Then I deliberately leaned forward, matching eye level with her as she crouched on the floor.

"H-hk…?!"

"What? Did I get something on me?"

"……"

Mocca whipped her head away, face burning red.

"Well, shall we get down to business either way?"

All right. Neither I nor Mocca Mellow had an escape route left. Time to begin my real work — right here in the middle of a landfill.

"Have you made your decision?"

"……"

Mocca fell silent at my words. Was she planning to refuse counseling after all…? That doubt had barely formed when—

—Zzzzzzt.

A sudden ringing filled my ears. A signal that her emotions were surging violently. The presence of a strange man in this space was uncomfortable enough, but the absolute refusal to submit to anything resembling counseling — I could feel it clearly. Keywords had begun to surface around her as well.

This situation was clearly throwing her into confusion.

"…Does this feel like a burden?"

"……"

At my quiet question, Mocca Mellow's shoulders flinched. Heavy silence settled once more. How many seconds passed? In that airless, awkward current, she stopped fidgeting with her fingers and mumbled in a voice that barely crawled out of her throat.

"…Are you in earnest?"

"Pardon?"

"D-did Master truly say… that she would sever the Magical Network? If I refuse counseling…?"

"Ah, yes. She really did. I showed you the notice, didn't I?"

"……"

Her gaze drifted toward the dozens of mana screens floating in the air.

—Zzzzzzzt.

The ringing scraped across my eardrums again — far more intense this time. To her, this Magical Network was apparently the entire world. The glittering streams of numbers, the real-time information pouring in from every corner of the continent. In this trash-heap corner of a room, it was the sole lifeline connecting her to society. Severing it would mean… plunging her into a state of complete isolation.

"Try to picture it. The moment every one of those screens goes black…"

I whispered low, driving the wedge home.

"The only umbilical cord linking you to the world gets cut. Inside this reeking room, you would truly be left alone. Forever."

Perhaps my description had been too vivid. Mocca Mellow's pupils trembled as if struck by an earthquake. With shaking hands, she wrapped her arms around her own shoulders.

"Th-that… that is… no different from telling me to die…!"

"Which is why I'm asking you to choose."

I rested my chin on the armrest of the chair and looked down at her steadily.

"Shall we kill the Magical Network? Or shall we do counseling?"

"Uuuugh…"

Mocca Mellow bit her lip, her face crumpling into a near-sob. The keyword Burden floating above her head slowly faded, and in its place a far more intense, crimson keyword carved itself into the air.

A primal terror of a life without the network. It was overwhelming even the burden of facing a strange man. At last, she collapsed onto the floor as if her strength had given out, and hung her head.

"I-I shall do it…"

"I can't quite hear you."

"I said I'll do it! Counseling, treatment — whatever it takes… just do not sever the Magical Network…!"

It was practically a wailing plea. Only then did I rise from the chair with a satisfied smile.

"An excellent choice."

I extended a hand toward her as she crouched on the floor.

"Then the contract is sealed."

Mocca Mellow couldn't bring herself to take my hand.

"Hmm. I'd been thinking we might share some pudding together, but…"

This was hardly the atmosphere for a friendly tea party. In the present situation, I was an invader — the most burdensome predator threatening her sanctuary. I would have to draw out the conversation slowly, like reeling in a line. The knowledge flickering through Aris Mardia's mind advised the same.

I let out a languid sigh and stood fully.

"Here — eat this on your own for now. We'll begin proper counseling starting tomorrow. At this same late hour of the night."

"……"

Neither affirmation nor denial came back. …Had I pushed her too hard? Instead of answering, she only trembled, her shoulders shaking. Feigning ignorance, I settled my top hat back into place and offered a polite farewell.

"Well then. Until next time, Miss Mocca Mellow."

"……"

The moment I closed the door, the cool air of the corridor flooded into my lungs.

"Hoo…"

I exhaled deeply and brushed at my collar as if shaking off the smell. In that short span of time, the greasy cheese stench, the mildew, and that sweet body odor had all soaked into me. Truly, extreme occupations had nothing on this.

But the results were solid. I had forced open — even if only a crack — the most stubborn hikikomori shell of them all. Straightening my rumpled necktie, I set off. Now it was time to report to the true client of this commission: Beatrice.

The next day arrived.

I stepped once more into the uppermost floor of the Magic Tower to report the current situation to Beatrice. Sunlight poured down behind her, shattering into a halo. Backlit as she was, her expression was lost in shadow and hard to read. But the silhouette alone radiated a suffocating pressure of authority.

Clouds lay beneath her feet; magic circles danced above her head. She sat with her legs crossed, tilting a teacup like a queen who held the world under her heel.

Click. Click.

As I approached across the marble floor, she slowly turned her head. Golden eyes that had been hidden in shadow gleamed coldly, like topaz jewels.

"…You arrived earlier than I expected."

A languid yet refined voice. I answered with confidence.

"I managed to secure her consent for counseling rather easily. After entering Miss Mocca's room, that is."

Beatrice set down her teacup without a sound and propped her chin on her hand.

"Oh? I thought you'd take one look at that landfill and flee…"

Landfill? She meant Mocca Mellow's room. Honestly, even "landfill" felt like a generous understatement. I gave a small smile and shrugged.

"Haha. Are you disappointed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠I didn't run?"

"Heh… No."

The corner of her mouth twisted in a captivating, barely-there curve. She shook her head and answered languidly.

"I mean that I'm relieved. Do take a seat."

Beatrice pointed a finger toward the opposite chair. I walked over with due courtesy, sat down, and quietly removed my top hat, resting it on my knee.

"Would you care for some tea?"

Beatrice regarded me with languid eyes.

"Yes, well. I'll gratefully accept."

Still watching me with that same lazy gaze, she waved a hand through the air. An antique teapot floated up of its own accord and began pouring a crimson liquid into a cup. A fragrant bergamot aroma rose — Earl Grey.

"Still, impressive… to pass through so swiftly. Did she open the door easily?"

"Yes, it wasn't difficult. Thanks to the Magic Tower Lord's — ah, rather, Lady Beatrice's — formidable influence."

"Hmm, is that so…? Even so, that child's room is a magical hellscape, is it not? An ordinary mind wouldn't last five minutes."

She raised her teacup, wetting her lips, and continued.

"More than ten of my disciples have already come bolting out of there begging me to save them. I fully expected you to join their ranks…"

"It was certainly an impressive sight."

I took a sip of tea and replied evenly.

"But I saw no reason to run. The board you laid out for me was simply too well crafted."

"…Board?"

"The notice. The clause stating that if she refuses counseling, the Magical Network will be severed."

At my words, Beatrice's topaz eyes glittered with interest.

"Ahh, that."

She set her teacup down on its saucer with a soft clink.

"Was it effective?"

"Effective doesn't begin to cover it. She treated it as practically a death sentence."

I chuckled and went on.

"She still seemed half in denial, but the moment I went in and confirmed — 'I'm really cutting it off' — she dropped to her knees on the spot."

"Heh… Hahaha."

Beatrice tipped her head back slightly and let out a low, elegant laugh.

"So that was the correct answer after all. I've spoiled that child far too much. I'd considered starving her or cutting off her allowance, but I never thought to sever that particular line."

She propped her chin and gazed out the window — or rather, down toward wherever Mocca Mellow's room was buried far below.

"…I only put it down as a last resort. I never expected her to tuck her tail so quickly."

"Thanks to that, the contract went smoothly. Counseling begins tonight."

"You truly are exceptional…"

Beatrice's gaze returned to me. Satisfaction lingered in her eyes — but at the same time, a calculating coolness flickered through them.

"I shall give you a gift."

"…A gift?"

She flicked her fingers lightly.

Tap.

With a crisp sound, a sheet of parchment that had been floating in the air glided smoothly toward me. I caught it. Like a VIP room key at a hotel, it was a card and document embossed with golden patterns. As I checked the contents, my eyebrows twitched.

This was…

Room B-102…

"…It's the room right next to where Mocca Mellow lives."

Beatrice whispered, her red lips curving into an arc.

"Is commuting time not a waste? If you mean to fix my disciple, proximity would be best, would it not?"

"……"

This wasn't a gift — it was an order to keep watch, wasn't it…? For some reason, the Earl Grey tasted unusually bitter today.

But setting that aside, I also thought this worked out rather well. The closer I was, the easier the breeding — no, the counseling — would be. I smiled brightly and bowed my head.

"I'm grateful for your consideration."