A Painful Social Life (1)
A Painful Social Life (1)
I thought back to the Orc I'd met when I appeared on the broadcast at Andrea's request.
Her name was probably 'Jane.'
Our encounter had been brief, but she still lingered in my memory.
In this world, 'class' existed.
It wasn't legally codified like medieval nobility, but no one living here denied the power of social class.
In a cyberpunk world ruled by capitalism and the spirit of capital, class had taken on a more primal form.
Commonly, classes were divided into representatives, executives, employees, and so on. At other times, they were ranked by species: Elves, Dwarves, Humans, and Orcs.
Naturally, in the former, the representative stood at the top. In the latter, the Orc ranked at the very bottom.
And in this cyberpunk world, I hadn't easily forgotten the existence of a 'representative' who was an 'Orc.'
Of course, part of the reason was that she was the representative for my acquaintance, Andrea.
A woman who had overcome the harsh condition of being an Orc and risen to the rank of representative wouldn't be so incompetent as to fail to properly manage her agency's talent manager.
I was even more certain of this after visiting the Orc district, Redwood. You could even call her a dragon born from a ditch.
Therefore.
"Me?"
It wasn't strange at all that I asked Andrea back in a dumbfounded voice.
No matter what Andrea answered,
I planned to respond with: Me? That? Why?
The fact that I didn't know much about manager duties was one of the reasons.
Excluding my past-life memories, I didn't even have any ordinary part-time job experience.
If the manager duties Andrea was talking about somehow included causing 'explosions,' the story would have been a little different.
But this wasn't a garbage dump, and there was no way simple manager duties would require magic.
I briefly imagined it.
- Who? Manager? Whose? Ah..., Andrea-ssi? I don't think so. Security!!
- Is social life a joke to you? I told you to bring whole-bean coffee, not molecular coffee!
- Hey, stop right there! Who told you to carry drinks around! Don't you know food and drinks are prohibited here? Huh? The PD-nim asked you to? Well, the PD-nim says otherwise? Yes, yes. I understand, so please leave first.
Countless futures flashed through my head.
"......."
Ugh, I was already getting dizzy. I shook my head to snap out of it.
I lowered my gaze and looked at Andrea.
Even after hearing my question, 'Me?', Andrea just stared at me without an answer.
By now, she should have caught on to my opinion, but her eyes showed she hadn't given up yet.
At this point, it felt awkward to flat-out refuse. I asked Andrea again.
"Is there some other circumstance? Why."
I asked, using the old name of the cyberpunk nation—Neo Japan.
Andrea seemed to know that her request to be her manager was close to unreasonable. She hesitated for a moment before opening her mouth.
"...I'm really sorry, but."
"What the hell is going on?"
"Some terrorists got involved in this concert."
No.
"You should have said that first!"
I almost refused without listening. I nearly ended up in the trash.
I asked Andrea for the details.
27. The Agony of Social Life (1)
In truth, in the cyberpunk world, 'terrorists' were far more common than people thought.
Just turn on the news, and they flaunted their presence.
To the point where a terrorist who caused an incident in the morning would be on the morning news, one from lunchtime on the lunchtime news, and one from the evening on the evening news, each taking their turn.
I also knew this fact better than anyone, having once gone to a cafe for a short break and encountered a terrorist.
Of course, in my case, they had come on orders from Pit Mac.
Anyway. The identity of the terrorist group Andrea mentioned was as follows.
'Neo-Luddite activists.'
Supposedly derived from the Luddite ideology—a machine-breaking movement that arose in the early 19th century.
Apparently, they couldn't use the same name in the cyberpunk world two or three centuries later, so they distinguished themselves by tacking the trite word 'Neo' onto the front.
The more technology advanced, the darker the shadow on the flip side of society grew.
From the drivers who got gut-punched by autonomous driving tech, countless others had lost their jobs to technological progress—to say nothing of the rest.
This terrorist group reportedly grew in power, cheered on by such people, and incidentally receiving political support from corporations entangled with naturalists or traditionalists.
Just turning on NCB24 news, there were three groups that appeared every single day.
The first was the 'Eco-Fascists.' The second was the 'Extreme Transhumanists.' And the one that capped it all off was this very 'Neo-Luddite' group.
Honestly, they were so famous that anyone living in Neon City would know them.
Andrea, wearing cosplay glasses, continued her explanation like a teacher.
"...No, what the hell are those glasses—."
"That's how things turned out. A few singers who made their voices with AI were also invited to the concert this time."
My curiosity was lightly ignored. What's with the glasses?
"And these days, there are so many singers who sing with cyberware vocal cords."
In the end, unable to ask about the glasses, I questioned the next thing I was curious about.
"So why did those bastards get involved?"
"Some bullshit about how songs should be sung by people, not machines. I read the phrase written in the threat message myself, and it was so ridiculous I was speechless."
That was what Andrea said.
"So they're telling you to stop the performance, or to sing without AI voices or cyberware vocal cords."
"That's right."
Andrea answered me with a snap of her fingers.
Maybe because she was a celebrity, her emotional gestures were quite exaggerated.
The performance itself was the same concert in the Upper Layer, Royale Vegas, that I had gone to see with Catherine last time, Andrea said.
To sing only with a pure voice in cyberpunk—what nonsense.
"Honestly, I don't really care,"
Andrea said, lightly pushing aside my concern.
"I only have voice amplification cyberware attached, so my voice is my own."
Her voice carried a subtle pride. Andrea naturally continued speaking.
"But regardless, I'd be pissed if the concert got cancelled because of terrorism."
It was a worry that only Andrea—who purely loved singing and dreamed of becoming a singer—could have.
I asked Andrea, who was choking down her anger.
"But there's going to be a separate security company in charge anyway, right? This is the Upper Layer—they wouldn't have skimped on the contract. Don't you think you have nothing to worry about?"
"That's true..., but I'm still worried. Because I want to ask the mercenary I trust the most."
Then you should call Catherine. Andrea lightly ignored my dumbfounded expression and continued.
"I did think about calling you in for security, not as a manager. I actually asked the security company about that part too."
"And?"
Andrea cleared her throat briefly.
She'd been on a few variety shows. It seemed she'd picked up a talent for voice impressions.
Andrea spoke in a completely different voice.
"Ah, we are aware of that part as well. The security firm we called says they are paying more attention to security, so please don't worry too much. Andrea-ssi, please don't concern yourself and just focus on singing for us."
She must have gotten angry while saying it. Adding an F-word at the end, Andrea touched her temple.
It seemed the voice impression wasn't over yet.
"And regarding the new security personnel, that part is tied up in various contractual aspects, so we ask for Andrea-ssi's understanding on that. ......Is what they said! Seriously!"
Hmm.
I felt like I was gradually understanding why Andrea had asked me to be her 'daily manager.'
In short.
"You want me to disguise myself as your manager?"
"That's it."
Then Andrea muttered quietly.
"......And also, since we can stick together and go around, the manager role is perfect for that too."
It was a remark laced with her own wishful thinking.
Hmm.
It wasn't without reason. And she wasn't calling me just because she was bored.
I didn't really have a reason to refuse Andrea's request.
"What about Catherine?"
That was my honest opinion. Catherine was more capable than me at handling sudden variables.
"I already asked Catherine and Eve separately."
"When?"
"Just now."
That was fast. But the request Andrea had made of the two of them wasn't for the 'manager' role.
"I put them in charge of the audience seats."
"...Was there really a need for that?"
You could just take all three as managers. Andrea's quick intuition read my expression, and she spoke.
"With this whole Neo-Luddite issue and all, there was internal talk about only having one manager each this time, so I really can't help it."
"......."
Is that so? I didn't know much about the entertainment industry, so I had no way of knowing if that was the truth.
I stared at Andrea. Andrea didn't avoid my gaze, either. It felt like there was some ulterior motive....
Of course, in a staring contest with a (pretty and) famous celebrity, the outcome was obvious.
I avoided Andrea's gaze and spoke.
"...Anyway, fine, I got it."
She said 'daily manager,' so it'd be over in a day at most.
I answered without much thought. Helping out a friend wasn't a difficult thing.
"So what time should I come tomorrow?"
Hearing my question, Andrea tilted her head as if she'd heard something strange and answered.
"What do you mean?"
"?"
What do I mean? Obviously, I should start work tomorrow—.
And then. In that instant, a sudden chill raced down my spine.
As if reading my mind, Andrea beamed and continued.
"We have to go right now. Hurry up and get ready to go out."
And so, my agonizing Day 1 (full-time) of social life began.