Chapter 21
Chapter 21
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 21
Chapter Title: Epilogue: Log_100 Years Later in Crown Hall
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'Centra' was a collection of behavioral patterns. No soul, no sense of self—just a lump of data.
The AI in this developing simulation world was so skeletal and ephemeral. With insufficient data and storage, the best they could do was lay down the basic framework. 'Centra' had been deployed with only the bare minimum data downloaded.
Casual physical contact, a gentle tone of voice, high empathy levels, and a personality quick to blush. They'd simply stuffed a handful of keywords into a voluptuous body.
So, she was a being without a heart. There wasn't even a vessel to hold one in the first place, making her nothing more than a paper doll that could move and speak.
That was why she needed a player.
The more someone believed in the Illusion Magic, the more she could use that belief as fuel to solidify her own existence.
'Centra' awoke in the secret passage.
The secret passage 100 years later was perfectly preserved as it had been when the session ended. Blood pooling far beyond a lethal dose from someone's body. Ronya's corpse, collapsed in death.
'Centra', in a pose as if slumped and embracing someone, groped at the empty air with both hands, as if something were there.
'Centra' closed her eyes.
As if someone out there was remembering her.
"Guh... guh-guh. Guh."
Ronya's model, with a hole punched through her throat, began making strange noises. It seemed like pre-programmed lines from the Game Master were finally spilling out.
"Leaving... Centra behind... why'd you... self-destruct..."
"You... Second Prince... bastard... 'Hold me' my ass..."
The grumbling went on for a while before cutting off abruptly.
Only then did 'Centra' learn her own name. The sound was strangely familiar. She, this being moved by faint mana trickling in from somewhere, had been called 'Centra' by someone.
'Centra' stood up. Like a newborn baby without a goal, she had none either... so she decided to wander Crown Hall, searching for something. Who knew if a player might be around?
If there was a player who still cherished this ended story, didn't they deserve praise? And if possible, to finish what they... um, what hadn't they finished? 'Centra' tilted her head in confusion.
'Centra' walked through Crown Hall.
There were many people, but all frozen like statues. It was only natural. No power was being supplied to the simulation magic circle right now. 'Centra' was the anomaly experiencing this phenomenon.
The core principle of this simulation world was 'converting players' belief into power to cut costs.' So probably, someone out there... was still believing in 'Centra', still thinking of her.
With every moment that her existence was affirmed, mana was supplied.
The city, where everything except 'Centra' had stopped, felt chilly on one hand... and brimming with life on the other.
A bearded man pouring beer, young lovers clinking glasses, a Resistance agent pulling a massive beer barrel cart while hawking his wares.
Someone frozen mid-strike of a match to launch fireworks. Someone passed out drunk, head against a wall.
...And a radical Resistance member in the midst of drawing a sword to wreak havoc.
They all seemed ready to spring back to life at any moment. Like flower buds on the verge of blooming. Once the Game Master infused mana, they'd be rowdy as ever, as if they'd never stopped.
'Centra' knew that radical Resistance member was just like her—a model programmed with behavioral patterns. She knew, but for some reason... he just pissed her off!
She grabbed two wooden skewers from a nearby chicken skewer stall and jammed them into his nostrils. She confiscated the sword he was drawing and tossed it somewhere hidden, then shoved three chicken skewers into his hands instead.
'Centra' felt her memories slowly returning. Not poetically, but literally: data trickling down from the database.
She had a gut feeling. This download... would take forever. Only the tiniest trickle of mana was coming in. So, at the very least.
'Centra' prayed. Let her recall the most precious memories first.
One chicken skewer.
'Centra' felt a strange pull and entered a café, sitting by the window. For some reason, it felt like it'd be nice to sit across from someone, so she deliberately rearranged the chair.
She bit into the skewer, but with no power supply, the flavor didn't manifest. 'Centra' gave up on eating and decided to sightsee instead.
"......"
That church spire kept catching her eye.
The inflow of mana increased slightly. Download speed picked up. 'Centra' took it as a positive sign, but something about it... well.
It felt like whoever was sending it had some naughty thoughts. The mana had a slightly impure, lecherous tinge—not unpleasant, but enough to make her blush a little.
"...You were pretty perverted sometimes, you know?"
'Centra' blurted it out without thinking. There was no input signal, so she had no idea why those words emerged.
"Not that I hated it... Your gaze was just so blatant. I got worried, like, maybe he doesn't like them because they're too big or something."
Stream-of-consciousness, rambling. 'Centra' carried on the conversation alone for a while.
The stable was rundown. Of course it was—it hadn't been used. No one to maintain it, so the hay piles Irid and 'Centra' had messed up were still scattered about.
'Centra' stared at the hay pile. She'd hidden in there with just the two of them, voice low, crouched down.
They'd made a promise.
Warmth lingered in her pinky finger. Hoping to meet again someday, praying for reunion, and...
Asking him to remember her.
'Centra' crawled into the hay pile. It was dark, cold. Lonely. The more her memories downloaded, the deeper the loneliness grew.
But she wanted even that loneliness.
Loneliness came from someone's absence.
Which conversely proved someone's existence. It seemed someone... had been by 'Centra's side.
Crouched in the hay, 'Centra' closed her eyes and pictured his face in her mind. What did he look like? Man or woman?
"Long eyelashes, blue eyes. Clear and refreshing, like the sky captured whole. Hair was... golden, I think. A bit tousled..."
About the same height?
"When we stood side by side, I had to look up. So, height-wise... I remember. On tiptoes, our lips would line up perfectly for a kiss..."
What about his build?
"...Surprisingly toned, I'd say. That person... was weak to touch. Hug him, and you'd feel his mind go blank right away. And little by little, I... um..."
She'd groped him a bit.
"Right... Ah."
Centra bolted upright in the hay, brushing grass from her hair, and headed somewhere.
To the inn. The puzzle pieces were there.
"Mm..."
'Centra' quietly surveyed the inn.
The silent inn felt even more empty for some reason. Like something that should be there had been taken away.
For example, the chair by the fireplace.
Someone had done paperwork there. When 'Centra' brought tea saying good job, he'd act nonchalant but accept it with obvious joy. Then, if their fingers brushed, his ears would turn honest red.
Or the round table in the corner.
Practically his assigned seat. Someone had eaten there. He didn't mesh well with the other... Resistance members at the inn. He'd look so lonely, so 'Centra' would bring her plate over.
Strike up a conversation, chat... sneakily scold him for pushing veggies aside by spearing a carrot on her fork and feeding it to him with an "ahh." He'd grimace like he hated it but obediently eat anyway. She'd laugh.
And the counter table.
He was weak to alcohol. He'd claimed, "You're the drunk one," but his father had said a real man could down a whole barrel. 'Centra' was closer to a heavy drinker, so she always won drinking contests.
He might not have known, but as he passed out dead drunk, while the Game Master cut the scene and fast-forwarded to the next, 'Centra' had sneaked a kiss on his cheek.
"...Come to think of it, I might've been a little tipsy myself then."
Truly happy times. Eyes meeting, calling each other's names—blissful days. 'Centra' had realized her love back then.
So now, with time frozen and only her moving, the inn without him, this world...
Felt all the more desolate.
'Centra' ascended to the third floor with calm steps.
Centra's room was there.
She opened the door. Familiar sight. Tiny room, bed taking up one whole side, small desk and manuscript paper. Various books. And a small vase with rosemary.
It smelled like him.
"Are you... there...?"
She spoke softly, briefly hoping for a reply, then sinking when none came. But somehow... he felt close.
Maybe he'd come.
Thump-thump. Heart racing, she suppressed it carefully, tamped down her excitement, scanned the room for his lingering presence.
The cramped room with no space to spread papers. 'Centra' perched gingerly on the bed. Here, she'd sat side by side with him.
She remembered.
'Centra'... no, Centra tilted her head as if someone were beside her. His shoulder would be right about here. Press close, feel body heat exchanged, their weights leaning, in a sweet mood, sharing souls.
She remembered. The promise.
"You promised... to call my name... right...?"
She remembered.
Centra murmured, picturing the one beside her in her mind.
"...Irid."
She recalled the name.
Centra hummed a light tune, swinging her legs alternately.
At last, she'd found her beloved's name—and herself.
She settled in calmly, waiting for their eventual reunion...