Do Not Let the Shaman Live (3)

Every so often, you meet a person possessed of a truly monstrous drive.

"So I was thinking I might go to Korea. Only, I took a hiatus not long ago for a trip overseas, so I'm a little hesitant..."

"Then we simply make it an official business trip. That ought to settle it."

"Huh? Boss? What did you just say...?"

"A moment, if you please. I'll put in a call or two."

"Huh?"

That an appearance on a Korean Etube channel's interview program was, out of nowhere, booked under the name of Ninomae Hitomi—no, of Mary Tepes—was entirely because an eccentric of exactly that breed happened to be her boss.

"Kindly think ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠of it as Mary, together with two or three others, appearing on a talk show."

"You can't just decide a thing like that, this offhandedly!"

"Fortunately, he's a friend I can reach through a mutual acquaintance or two. And as it happens, I hear everyone lined up for interviews dropped out in a body, so several weeks of programming have gone ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠up in smoke. They're in quite a bind."

"But it isn't even domestic. It's a foreign country!"

"Point at any of our members you like and they'll manage basic Korean, won't they? More than half are genuinely fluent, for that matter."

"Th-that may be true, but... we're VTubers!"

"It's a channel that specializes in internet broadcasters. They have a large subculture audience, and they've even had VTubers on in avatar form a few times. Koreans, admittedly."

The trouble with facing an eccentric of this caliber was that even the affairs he seemed to slap together on a whim still possessed a logic of their own. There was always, at the very least, a reason the man himself considered rational. Hitomi's objections, raised one after another, were refuted each time by the outsider who had come up from R'lyeh. Sunk at last, she had no choice but to run up the white flag.

"Haa... So, who would be coming with me? If I spring this on everyone out of nowhere, they'll all be in a difficult spot..."

"You needn't worry about that."

"Why not?"

At Hitomi's question, President Gyokichi smiled without a word and took out his phone. A moment later a familiar melody chimed from her own—the notification tone of a messenger app famous all over Japan. She checked it. The Anapro group chat was on fire.

"There isn't an employee alive who can resist a free overseas trip on the company. And the truth is, I'll be prying the funds out of the Church, so it isn't even my money."

Gyokichi said it, and shrugged.

"Funds?"

"Well, we are cooperating with a Church operation, after all."

Han Seoyeon had to be out of the country while the prophet was being hunted. Provide a plausible reason for that absence, and the Church itself would be glad of it.

"To think you'd milk the Church for money over something like this without batting an eye... I really do think your nerve is a little off, Boss."

"It's nothing more than an ordinary businessman's point of view."

"......"

It took a considerable effort to swallow the retort that an ordinary businessman employed neither Hyakuren no Nomiya nor the Apostle Bartholomew.

"And that's how it ended up. Next week, I'll be going to Korea."

An expressionless character, giving off an air that was faintly bored, stared dead ahead. Set in those golden irises were pupils split vertical. At the nape, glimpsed for only an instant, something very like the scales of a reptile showed through. An ancient serpent god: Tachibana Rin, of Anathema Production's first generation.

Tachibana Rin—Guroyuki Sui—gave the chat a light once-over and tilted her head. Still without a trace of expression.

‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠

"Unexpected. Hardly any serious reactions."

"'Going to that country, I'm disgusted.' Or, 'So this woman was a rotten Koreaboo too.' Or, 'She's definitely off somewhere secretly stanning Korean idols.'"

Depending on the site, reactions of that sort were entirely plausible. But for her to come out and say them herself, so bluntly, seemed to throw everyone; the chat window dissolved into confusion. For someone who had been hounded without end by malicious comments since her days as a child actress, it was an all too natural train of thought. Of course, even if one expected as much—this is the reaction I'll get—the ordinary instinct was to keep that sort of thing hidden during a broadcast.

"Anyway. If there's no backlash, good. I'll go, and I'll come back fine."

"Who am I going with? Probably Mary-chan and Shion-chan. And that damned brat. Three."

"Denied. Refrain from nonsense."

Having flicked that rebuke at the chat for its strange remarks, Rin launched the game scheduled for today as if nothing at all were out of order. Well—if one insisted on pairing them off two by two, it would come out that way, and since one of the pairs stood on the eve of marriage, it wasn't as though the impression was entirely unfounded.

The screen, drowned in black, brightened again and offered up the developer's logo. A moment later the title appeared. After listening for a while to the quiet background music, Tachibana Rin smiled—a change of expression so slight it was nearly invisible—and opened her mouth.

"Well, then..."

And at the melody that followed at once, that mouth closed again.

A messenger notification. Quite a few people kept the app installed on their computers and used it there; Tachibana Rin was one of them. The message printed itself in the lower right. The pupils of Rin's avatar trembled, ever so slightly. By her measure, it was a considerable display of panic.

Ordinarily she shut the program off entirely before a stream began, precisely because a message's contents might end up on the broadcast, just as they were about to now. That it ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠would be a problem if something which must never air accidentally went out—that was a concern anyone could arrive at.

And this, the greater part of the viewers were certain, was exactly that problem.

The screen cut over with extreme speed. What came up was the broadcast's waiting card: white-haired Rin arrayed in a jūnihitoe, the twelve-layered robe of the old court. Written across it in kana that breathed of antiquity were the words:

The screen gave off a distinctly ironic air. It was a swift cut, honed across years of streaming—but that fraction of a second alone was enough for a great many viewers to read it.

"...Going to call the company. Be right back."

A broadcast accident. The words passed through every mind at once.

Tachibana Rin said it in a voice that stayed level, yet trembled ever so faintly, and cut the microphone at once. In a silence where not even static came through, the viewers' chat poured out speculation and commentary of every kind.

"Haa."

Letting a small sigh escape, she returned to being the usual Guroyuki Sui and rubbed the spot between her brows with her fingertips. Then she took out her phone and, just as she had announced on stream, called President Gyokichi.

However one looked at it, how many people could stay calm after attempting noise marketing in this fashion? Guroyuki grumbled as much at the president who had picked up. Nor was it a matter of pretending at a mistake, leaking the information, and leaving it there. Woven through the thing was a bit of craft meant to conceal the fact that the noise marketing was deliberate.

Even granting that her past life had already been all but stripped bare—letting part of Bansei Marin's real name slip on an official stream...

Right. Amid the uproar of everyone clamoring to be sent on the trip themselves, this was the card the president had played.

"I'll hang up now. I can't leave the viewers sitting there too long."

Guroyuki let out one last sigh, ended the call, and turned her eyes back to the monitor. The microphone came on, and static began to seep into the broadcast.

"Assertion. Nothing happened."

Today's stream had only just gotten underway.

"I clearly said nothing happened. So. Quiet."

...And only then, far too late, did the regret come flooding in—whether she could endure, until it was over, the viewers and every question they were about to fling at her.