Do Not Be Afraid (2)

Of course, all of that was nothing more than a motto requiring a certain humility. Almost no one actually despised them for it.

An apostle was, in practice, the summit a cleric could reach, and while engaged in the work of a holy knight they were treated—formally, at least—as the Pope's equal. Further explanation would be superfluous.

And Han Seoyeon, who occupied one seat among those apostles, was at this very moment...

"Char-chan... Char-chan is wishing Shutang a happy birthday... This is way too wholesome...!"

...sitting in her chair, swinging her legs back and forth, overcome with joy.

It was an open display of feeling, startling enough to surprise even people who knew Han Seoyeon reasonably well not only as an apostle but as a human being. Objectively the movement wasn't much, yet for her it counted as a reaction of considerable size. Anyone who had gone past mere acquaintance into actual familiarity, though, wouldn't have found it especially alarming. She was the type who showed relatively little, but a fair wealth of emotion lay hidden underneath, and the moment the subject turned to certain people that emotion grew far fiercer—a fact you could grasp after living with her for only a few days.

Those "certain people," incidentally, were of course Shutang, the Lord, and Ninomae. Psychological priority ran, roughly, in the reverse of that order.

A discontented thumping on the desk carried through the microphone. Charlotte only giggled, as if even that were adorable.

"Mmm..."

Ordinarily Han Seoyeon would have nodded in satisfaction, pleased that someone out there got it. This time a groan slipped out of her before she could stop it. The sex joke built around a whipped-cream cake had dragged yesterday straight back to the surface.

Her cheeks flushed on their own. She could see Ninomae again, flinching and squirming at the ticklish sensation—and, just as vivid, the sweet taste of whipped cream in that first kiss, shared in the instant before Ninomae, unable to bear the embarrassment, fled.

Her heart lurched out of rhythm. An apostle's body could hardly be suffering from arrhythmia, so there was no excuse available: the cause was emotional turbulence, and nothing else. To go through all of this and still fail to notice would be absurd. Han Seoyeon covered her face with her palm.

Even while Seoyeon brooded, the two of them kept talking inside the screen, and the call ended with Charlotte stepping aside to make room.

The next to call was Amairo Tsubasa, a Gen 2 classmate whose concept was that of a holy knight. In the real world, she was also a woman of the Hyakurenno clan.

The Blasphemy Project. Otherwise known as the Special Protective Probation Order.

It was the name of the Gen 2 debut project, and, in-setting, the name of the resocialization program that bound them together. Under the supervision of Amairo Tsubasa, a holy knight of the Japanese diocese, four monsters of European origin would melt into surface society and live there. That was the concept holding Anathema Production's second generation together. They differed from Gen 1, who shared the common trait of all being Japanese monsters but had no particular points of contact in their settings.

Tsubasa murmured this, and sighed.

Even she—handler by setting, and in practice the one who so often served as the brakes—went off the rails from time to time. Viewed in that light, Mary Tepes could quite literally be called the most well-adjusted member of Gen 2. From a manager's seat, she was the sole source of healing.

Part of it was that the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠woman behind the avatar, Ninomae herself, had a comparatively gentle nature. A greater part, though, was Mary Tepes's setting from the start: someone who put on airs outwardly and was, in truth, exceedingly kind.

Her usual way of speaking is a little arrogant, but there isn't actually any setting that she comes from a distinguished house.

More precisely, it was a setting in which she had a setting of noble blood.

In other words, the claim she went around making—that she was a descendant of Dracula, of Vlad Țepeș—was nothing more than a concept. In reality she had been a village girl from some countryside corner of Eastern Europe, and her present air of a noble young lady was merely something she had invented for herself after becoming a vampire. The queen business, needless to say, was self-proclaimed as well.

Ninomae seemed to keep that setting in mind ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠whenever she performed, and over the course of a stream she would now and then let a hint slip, disguised as a mistake. Even without that, Țepeș—the Impaler—was never a surname passed down through a family. It was a title granted to an individual. So even if some actual daughter of Dracula existed somewhere, there was no world in which she would have inherited the name Țepeș along with the blood.

The fans, for the most part, were of the attitude that they would gladly take someone like her as their sovereign anyway, and so Mary Tepes's self-proclaimed queen concept had yet to break completely, and carried on.

After an exchange along those lines, Tsubasa took her leave as well.

Only two guests had come and gone, and already Mary was grinning so brightly it was obvious how pleased she was. Only after chat pointed this out did she clear her throat and compose her face. She traded a few words with the viewers, and then the incoming tone of the voice-chat application sounded again.

A soft voice, an unhurried way of speaking. Kitayama Maya of Gen 1, oni blood running through her in real life and in virtual alike.

She was probably referring to the time Mary had minded the booth for a little while. Of course, Maya had attended then not as the VTuber Kitayama Maya but under the name of the illustrator Sakuragi Oka. She didn't go so far as to say exactly what the help had been for, though, so Mary decided to let it pass without comment.

Yes. Mary's birthday live concert was less than a week away.

There was no way she wouldn't be nervous. She was doing her best not to think about it, but she was surely feeling the weight all the same.

She had been terribly busy with live preparations for some time now, and even in this moment she was terribly nervous—and yet it wasn't purely negative feeling. This pounding in her chest wasn't only from nerves. That much, at least, could be said with certainty.

The sound of Maya's small laugh came through the call.

Mary tilted her head. Then something seemed to flash through her mind, and her eyes went wide. She had the feeling this had happened before. Specifically, during the call-in segment of Maya's birthday stream.

Mary yelped, startled. At that reaction Maya murmured as if puzzled.

If you don't want it, just say so. I'll cancel the send. Maya said this with a bright smile. From her own point of view she was surely being considerate, and yet...

In the end, Mary never asked her to cancel—not even in the moment the transfer finished. In the end, she was a woman who could not overcome her own desire.

—And of course, the chat window exploded on the spot.