Chapter 82
Chapter 82
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Translator: Ryuma
Chapter: 82
Chapter Title: S2. Star Orphanage Emergency Countermeasures Committee
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※
Blink. Blink.
The underscore blinked at the end of the last line on the command input panel.
There was no turning back now. She'd successfully excised it and transplanted it into the NPC, and all the side effects that would follow were Yuna's responsibility to handle. Yuna hunched over, staring intently at the screen.
Her translucent reflection on the screen was filled with anxiety and nervousness. It asked her again. Did it really have to be this way?
He was holding up better than expected. Sometimes she worried something disastrous might happen, but he was clinging tightly to the important parts without losing them. Maybe it was a bomb that wouldn't detonate until much later... fifty years from now.
"...If only he were a little more incompetent and stupid."
She remembered him in the simulation world modeled after her own—laughing happily while reading internet posts and comics together, spouting strange talk about resources and modeling.
If only he'd been a fool who could do nothing but smile purely and chatter away like that. If simulation research would take him at least a century, forcing him to live out those long years doing quiet research alongside Yuna.
Then maybe she could have let it slide.
His talent shone like a star. That's why the thought of him turning that talent toward malice in the world made her face drain of color. For now, even if he harbored evil intentions, Yuna could stop him.
No, Yuna could kill him.
But what if more time passed? If he stole faith from countless people through sessions, expanded his domain, and eventually engulfed the entire world?
When he decided to turn the world into living hell, no one would be able to stop him. The world within the session had foretold it: a horrific world where an evil being gazes down from the night sky.
To save more people, she sacrificed fewer. She'd done it before. This time it was easier. At least the academy students wouldn't die. With trembling hands, Yuna pushed the students into hell.
Hoping that at the end of this hell, a future where everyone could smile would arrive.
※
Bennett arrived just in time and saved Tara. Yuna slumped back in her chair, tension draining away. A horrific incident had nearly occurred.
The NPC it inhabited acted with pure malice. It whispered evil words to Niore and manipulated people to attack Tara. It moved to inflict maximum suffering on the players.
At first, its movements were sluggish.
But after Yuna blocked it from speaking to Niore, it seemed to realize there was some entity outside interfering with it. It used every means to blind Yuna and stab her in the back.
It was anticipated that the evil god inhabiting the NPC would gain self-awareness. Interference was expected, but not adaptation at such a rapid pace. Nor did she expect it to actively exploit the system for attacks.
She'd thought the worst it could do was prepare a descent to kill the students.
"Did I misjudge...? No, no, you can do this, Yuna. It's only 7%. Trapped in the simulation. And I'm the administrator, so if I can just pull it out and smack it."
Deploying NPCs was the GM's authority. For now, the Outer God was rampaging freely, but there was a vast gap in their respective authorities. It couldn't resist.
Tara was being comforted by her companions. A deep shadow hung over her once-confident, spirited face. How terrified must she have been, ambushed while defenseless?
She could stop now.
"Sorry, sorry Tara...! Sorry, Niore...!"
After hesitating, Yuna chose to proceed.
Have you ever beheld the void?
It's usually described as empty. Vacant. But as long as one lives, a person never truly feels emptiness with their body. Humans stand firm between heaven and earth.
Even chased by hunting dogs across wild hills, or hiding in a jar from a burglar who's broken into your home, there's always something there. Rough dirt, smooth jar edges, the world felt through flesh and senses.
Even with a knife in your heart, until the blood drains and your body grows cold, doesn't the mother earth warmly embrace humanity? So nothing is ever truly absent. Thus, humans never know true void.
"......"
But now Niore knew the void.
There was nothing. At all.
No touch when reaching out, no air when inhaling. No warmth to share, no emotions to spread. She couldn't even tell if she was alive or dead.
Calling it mere "black" would insult the color. Niore desperately missed the rippling black of the universe seen through telescopes. This empty space, devoid of any interaction, was excruciatingly lonely.
What am I going through right now?
What kept Niore from madness was contact with Bennett. In the void threatening to dissolve her very existence, mutual recognition allowed them to exist.
She drifted, clutching Bennett's body tightly.
How much time passed?
Eventually, there was light. A sucking sensation pulled them somewhere, and Bennett and Niore were spat out into a barren desert.
"......Hah, ugh."
Niore breathed. Gravity pressing her shoulders, gritty sand between fingers. Stinging sunlight. Everything was welcome. Holding Bennett's body, she looked around.
Where had they been flung? Where was this? Could they return?
Crashing in the heart of a dying world, both body and mind were fragile. Repeated battles and failures had eroded their surfaces like acid rain, exposing tender, quivering hearts.
Poking these hearts was the evil god's hobby and goal. The world's controlling goddess was easily evaded. So all that remained was tormenting the two using every available means.
Like carving raw stone into art. Each sparkling facet of the gem signifies a deep, sharp wound. Only after perfect cutting does the gem scatter light everywhere.
If only there were more such gems in the world. Sparkling brightly.
The evil god extended tentacles. To stimulate tender hearts, twist them into obsessive fixation, reborn through bitter helplessness. To realize utter powerlessness.
To deceive that chasing flimsy justice led to losing everything, that abandoning hollow morality earlier would have been better, breeding hatred for cherished beliefs. To realize no path to save her sister existed, solely due to her own incompetence.
Time was plentiful. Shaping young, tender minds required little effort. Start with whispers. Make her believe failing to block the cult leader's final curse was due to her greed.
That young man burned even his soul fighting for you, yet you used only the crystal, sparing his lifespan. If you'd sacrificed even a year, the cult leader wouldn't have had leisure for magic.
So ultimately, this failure rests on you from start to finish... Niore.
Thick shadows stretched toward the fear-drenched girl. Stars laughed and chattered, awaiting her mind's slaughter. All she could do was plug her ears and look away...
Then, the evil god's whisper warped and cut off.
...Who are you.
Simultaneously, the evil god sensed a growing tumor deep within itself. Left unchecked, it would corrupt all its information—a poison. The evil god writhed in silent screams.
Dawn broke. Moon and stars retreated before the radiant sun illuminating the world; shadows ignited into ash. Amid it, the evil god heard someone's whisper.
"Enough. Cut the crap."
The awakened mage drove back the night.
It felt like a long dream. Not a good one, though.
A tale of a GM who, fixated on ends, botched the means. He desperately wanted a dragon in his session's finale. Simple reason: he'd prepared tons for a dragon battle.
Huge dragon image, roaring sound effects, epic battle map, fitting BGM, fun gimmick combat data.
But the session veered off-script. He expected players to hunt the dragon; instead, they wanted to marry it. One player did, and the others helped.
Post-quest, players offered treasures and a fresh cow to the dragon. With the bard's masterful performance (nat 20 on d20) came a heartfelt confession attack.
The GM found the confession amusing but craved dragon combat. So he thought, Aha, do both.
He approved the confession; player and dragon wed happily. After depicting newlywed bliss, a passing evil wizard's madness spell hit, and the dragon swiped with claws.
Battle ensued; the fresh groom had to stab his bride's head. Post-session, GM and players fought fiercely; the group disbanded.
(For the record, I was the dragon groom.)
Lesson: Forcing unwanted elements on players deserves a beating.
Ruin? Good. Trials and tribulations? Good. But they're springboards for growth—unless players enjoy self-torture.
Stories are best with happy endings, right?
Thus, I awoke.
"Ugggghhh..."
Stretching as I rose.
Sometimes you wake feeling perfectly rested. This was it. Like a 7% weight lifted from my head. Mind sharp, mood great.
The world felt vibrant. Each step exciting, rustling leaves inspiring hours of reflection.
Like reclaiming lost thrill.
Violet Magic Tower Master's therapy worked wonders. What'd she do?
Session over?
What ending? Day 1 rewind to smash cult? Or further back to save Isaac too? Any couplings?
Could Tara think and advance on her own? Niore compromise with reality for fitting justice? Bennett reflect on his path?
Heart pounding.
Logs, check logs. Different from live-tracking, but eases regret of not steering to end.
[Tara, wouldn't you rather kill more Silver Twilight cultists than a few civilians...?]
Eh?
"...Be...nett...!"
Ooh...
"I'll slaughter them all."
Hm.
I lay back down, eyes closed. Maybe a nightmare; sleep again for a hopeful ending world.
No dice.
"Dammit...!"
Not the Tower Master's intent, but this gut-wrenching session felt cancerous. Should've spun ruin into love or friendship...
I bolted up. No time for escapism. Story's derailing; must salvage.
Rushed to control room.
"Ho-how, wh-what do we, d-do?"
The once-confident "trust only me" Tower Master was broken. Like a kid whose dad's PC got ransomware-frozen.
"Move!"
"Eek...!"
Checked system logs.
ID_013, the NPC set as evil god. Transplanted some head-space thing into it; chemical reaction turned it virus-like.
Gaslighting Niore, blocked by Tower Master, so it spammed hate pics and nonsense. She floundered amid it.
You're no galju material, Yuna!
Veteran at nuking wholesale, but weak at fine control. Thus, evil god's tantrum backfired luckily.
She could've info-bombed the whole session but chickened out—logs would've shredded.
Countered first.
Administrator trumps all inside. Ability hierarchy clear. Opened ID_013 settings, hammered in traits.
Actually an Outer God but a cutie, loves humans so pranks occasionally but secretly prints bromides for wall; default goth loli fashion, favors black cat panties, bit lazy so nags if compliments dip per unit time on dates—
Enormous troll; it stuttered. Using edit authority on NPCs for situational patches, buying time. Cleanup.
1. Session's ruinous.
2. Want happy ending.
3. Dispose vicious virus.
Step by step. Ruin fuels happy endings.
"Y-you're... awake."
"......"
Tower Master huddled, shivering. Puppy knowing it goofed—whining, trembling, looking up guiltily.
Pinched cheek; she scrunched eyes cutely.
No, not now.
Post-op, player comps, Yuna's punishment, my punishment for napping—table all.
"Modeling for 100-year hint."
"......?"
"10, 9, 8..."
"...!!!"
Flattened Tower Master sprang up at work, carving models.
That 'evil god' trashes efforts and meaning, wishing player pain. Polar opposite to my beliefs. Unforgivable.
I'll turn your ruin into propulsion for dreams, friendship, love.
Can't excise now despite counter; push through interference to finale. Doable.
Revive players' will after try-fail loops.
Show intuitively how their efforts improved the world. "Your struggles mattered. Not in vain. One step left."
Operation... 'Time Sync', launch.
The world on the brink of the Outer God's descent was dark and bizarre. Shadows gained life as nightmare beasts, time warped slow or fast, dying folk sought final peace in madness.
In that world, the fallen saint swung her sword.
Amid zealots rapt in star-gazing ecstasy, a frail body leaped. Zealots resisted the intruder disrupting their blessed moment.
But couldn't evade the saint's thorny vines from her sleeve.
"Devour them, Regret's Endless Thorns."
"Gaaahhhh—!"
Draining power from heretics. Wrapping it around her demon sword, slashing, reaping anew. As long as sacrificial mountains fed her apotheosis, she could fight endlessly.
Crunch.
Tara ripped out a zealot's neck, sighed, gazed at shattered glass. Blood-soaked reflection stared back. Face cracked, expression unseen.
Thud.
Tara tossed the severed head. Rage intensified, but ashes of burned fury piled heavier in her heart. Heavy, hollow futility.
Killing like this wouldn't bring comrades back.
Feeling that horrific lonely void, rage-flames roared anew. If endless rage-kill-repeat left only ashes... what of her?
Mid such fearful rumination.
Crackle.
"......?"
Glass image rippled, showed elsewhere. Similar buildings sparsely remained, but far more decayed.
Phenomenon from nearing Outer God twisting spacetime. Glass reflected 100 years future.
There, Tara saw Bennett and Niore.