5. The Story Begins
Defects.
Those bastards, whose very name made them sound like something was broken about them, came with a mechanism attached: the Suppression Rate. The moment I saw that loaded message — complete the Story, and your Suppression Rate rises by 90% — the strategy became obvious.
Finish the Story.
While everyone else fought with swords and magic, mine would be a battle fought entirely with my mouth. A mouth-fighter, in other words.
"..."
"What are you doing, Ashburn?"
"Huh?"
After that discovery in the library, the days had slipped past as I prepared my counterattack. Before I knew it, two weeks had gone by since enrollment, and the outing period had arrived.
I stood on the bridge where I'd promised to meet my childhood friend, Seria. One look at her face after so long, and that day came rushing back to me.
"If you confess properly... I-I'll let you do the rub-rub thing with me."
"So when the fireworks go off! Confess! Properly! Got it?!"
Goddamn it. My rub-rub privileges.
Seria gazed at me with worry, utterly unaware that I'd been yearning for her chest this whole time.
"Why are you spacing out like that? Is somebody at the academy giving you trouble? Want me to go sort them out?"
"...It's not that."
The problem was that far too many people were already giving me trouble. And on top of that, come midnight tonight, my body would cave in on itself and I would die. So this was how a man on death row felt.
"You look off, you know. Ashburn, are you actually okay?"
"I'm fine."
"Hmmm."
Hands planted on her hips, Seria studied me for a long moment. Then she nodded as if to let it slide for now and took a step back.
"So? How do I look?"
"About what?"
"Wh-what do you mean, 'about what'?! Did you seriously just say 'about what'?!"
Ah, crap. The classic trap: your girlfriend shows up with a brand-new look and you don't even notice.
"I got all dolled up! The seniors lent me tons of perfume and makeup and did it all for me with their own hands!"
"Pretty, pretty. So very pretty."
"No, there's no soul in that!"
I'd flat-out died about three times by now — wasn't it only natural the soul had left me?
Of course, if it were up to my heart, I'd have slammed the confession down on the spot and kissed her beneath the brilliant fireworks she'd dreamed of.
But.
"..."
I didn't want to. Because at midnight tonight, everyone dies. No — I, at the very least, was guaranteed to. I refused to make her wait for a man being crushed to death while clinging to hopes that could never come true.
"You didn't even react to the makeover. Can't even manage a proper compliment. You really are hopeless, Ashburn."
"Sorry I'm so hopeless, then."
"...Do you actually mean that?"
"Yeah, I mean it. I'm so sorry that I'll buy you dinner—"
"Then how about this."
Seria laced her fingers behind her back — and the motion pushed out the cleavage above her half-unbuttoned collar. She surely didn't mean anything by it, but my eyes went there all the same. The fidgeting lilt in her voice. The red creeping up her face.
"Tonight... after the hot air balloon event ends, there's going to be fireworks. So let's meet back here then."
"Huh?"
"There's something I need to tell you."
A smile that was embarrassed all over yet refused to give up a single inch of ground. Seria meant it. She truly intended to confess tonight. If I never got around to it, she was going to be the one to say it.
"Hold on — I don't think I can make it out tonight."
I scrambled to deflect, but a Bear Claw closed around my throat.
"Shut it! You ARE coming! Got it? Abso-lute-ly! You come out! No excuses! I've got things to say to you!"
"C-can't you just say them here?"
"I'm seriously about to beat the crap out of youuuu!"
Like a bear gone berserk, Seria shredded the empty air with both hands. Having failed to raise Seria's Suppression Rate, I found myself locked into the appointment half against my will.
"You'd better come!"
"Hey! Hey!"
Like a bear bolting for its den with a salmon clamped in its jaws, she fled. And just like that, I had become a bastard who'd made a promise there was no way in hell he could keep.
"Haah... that stubborn, dim-witted bear."
The image was vivid: you, waiting for me beneath the fireworks. Every time a burst lit up the sky, you would glance back across the bridge. He'll come. He's bound to come. He's on his way right now. That's what you'd be thinking — you, waiting without one flicker of doubt. And then, at last, every firework would burn out, and in a darkness so thick you couldn't see your own hands, with nothing left overhead but drifting stars — I was sorry. Sorry to the you who would sink down there in tears.
"Fuck."
I hated the me who would never show up there.
Behind the girls' dormitory at Grayton Academy, the self-proclaimed man of the sea, Bruno, stood around looking sheepish. The sun had long since sunk away, curfew had come and gone, and the night was black as pitch. Bruno was, at this very moment, waiting for a reply to a love letter.
Let no one misunderstand. The sender of that love letter was Ashburn. The recipient was Clara Rose.
Like anyone's coming out at this hour, you absolute dunce, Ashburn. Hold her there until you're ready, he says. Seriously — what kind of lunatic writes a love letter asking for an answer to his confession, then sends a friend to stand there in his place?
"Ah, whatever. Don't wanna know anymore."
Bruno gave up. He had no idea where Ashburn even was, and he was just resolving to make him answer for all of this when—
Tap. Tap.
A cautious little sound reached his ears. A soft, padded footfall, nothing like the click of ordinary shoes. It was Clara Rose, rounding the corner with quick, nervous glances at her surroundings.
She actually came?!
A guy summons her at this hour of night — shouldn't that set off at least a few alarms? But that was simply the kind of girl Clara was.
II. She does not doubt kindness directed toward herself.
She would not disregard a kindness like a love letter. She was a girl who suspected nothing, even when summoned in the dead of night.
"Um... are you Ashburn?"
Clara asked, hesitant.
"N-no! I'm not Ashburn. Name's Bruno. He, uh, Ashburn's got some stuff to take care of, so he'll be along in a little while—"
"Oh, I see."
A boy whose face she'd never seen was going to confess to her, so please wait a little while tonight. No sane person would swallow that load of crap—
"Okay, then. I'll wait for a bit."
"..."
Clara crouched down against the dormitory wall, hugging her knees tight to her chest and staring blankly at the ground.
Is "innocent" even the word for this? Wasn't this a few steps past innocent and straight into stupid? Watching her wait there in complete, quiet trust without a whisper of suspicion left him dumbfounded — but whatever else, Bruno had done everything asked of him.
Ashburn, you little shit. When the hell are you getting here?
All that remained was to wait for the man who would be along any minute.
Boom—!
The instant the sound of fireworks split the night somewhere far away—
"Kyaaaaaah!"
—Clara screamed. For one absurd heartbeat, Bruno wondered whether he'd stumbled into a trap and was about to take the fall for something he never did. Mercifully, that wasn't it.
Roots were erupting from the red flower shoes. As he watched them coil and knot around one another, slowly twisting themselves into the shape of a human being, Bruno, too, screamed.
"Kyaaaaah?!"
Night had fallen before I knew it. Hot air balloons in every color of the rainbow bobbed gently above Academy City, and packed into their enormous wicker baskets rode nobles with money to spare.
How much was it again, to ride one of those? It was an event for drinking in the breathtaking view of Academy City from the heavens — strictly for the golden-spoon crowd, from what I'd heard. For the record, I was enjoying the very same view free of charge. There happened to be a steeple nearby, and I'd smashed the lock and let myself in.
"Wow. You can see everything from up here."
Like the lamps lining the streets below, the balloons scattered across the sky each carried a flame of their own. It felt as though I could see straight past the Horizon District, all the way to the Central District.
"Truly, all kinds of things exist out there, huh."
Random bit of trivia, but Academy City was divided into ten districts in total. Seen from above, they formed great rings, and crossing from one district into the next meant taking to the bridges. There was the Central District, which governed them all. The wuxia-themed Cheongun District. The medieval-flavored Crown District. And, home to the likes of us, the dumpster-tier Horizon District. All sorts, truly — though from up here, the Central District was about all I could make out.
"My, my. What a gorgeous night view."
One thing was certain: a night view woven from balloons and fireworks was a sight I had never once seen, even in my past life. A cool wind swept past — the night that proclaimed the beginning of Academy City. Call it a strange thing to think, but it was a view that made me want to live.
"Did God make the world this beautiful just to tell me not to go falling off a building?"
I felt a flicker of pride, like I'd just pulled off a soliloquy worthy of a true Storyteller. For the record, it wasn't as if I hadn't considered running. I'd reasoned that if I started the Story with a good stretch of distance between us, I might just finish it before the thing caught up to me. And then this dogshit message appeared:
The Storyteller cannot leave the designated Stage.
Just like the warning that flashes when you try to walk out of bounds on an unfinished game map. This steeple, at best, was the farthest point I could reach and still stand within the range where the Story could begin.
"Hey, Ashburn!"
Just then, Cobi hollered up from the base of the steeple.
"Are you serious about this?! Can you actually handle it?!"
"It'll be handled. Give me the signal and I'll start on the spot."
"Haah, shit. I wash my hands of this."
I lifted my eyes to the sky again. Between the lazily drifting balloons, the fireworks had finally begun to bloom. There was still a little time left until midnight. I would end this Story before it ran out.
"Phew."
I closed my eyes and drew one short, steadying breath. Now that the moment had come, what welled up wasn't nerves — it was release. A lightness, as if I had at last found the seat that belonged to me. The gale at the top of the steeple tore past me—
—and with a ripple through the air, a book came to rest in my hand, its pages steeped in the scent of flowers.
You can now begin the Story: Where Did the Red Flower Shoes Come From?
My trembling lips finally parted—
The Story of Clara Rose, the Bride of the Flower Shoes, has begun!
The first page of the book turned.