First Impression (5)
First Impression (5)
One thing I had firmly settled in my mind.
I intended to commit to this concept and push it as far as it would go.
Part of me did want to blend in among the main cast as a character, but setting that aside, I'd already concluded it was far too late to reveal my true nature—the otaku.
Besides, if I paraded otaku tastes around in this era's setting, would anyone even understand the concept?
Actually, no. Hmm.
Now that I thought about it, this world had several rather well-known characters—not people in the "figures appearing in the game" sense, but "characters" existing within the background lore.
Most of the vintage characters still recognized on 21st-century Earth had actually originated in the early-to-mid 20th century. In many cases, characters who had gained popularity through short animations and weekly or daily newspaper comic strips, products of advancing printing and film technology, had never faded away and simply continued on into the present.
Some might have argued that a setting based on 1901 was too early for such characters to have emerged, but in reality, there had already been wildly popular figures like the Yellow Kid. The Yellow Kid had been famous enough to become the origin of the term "yellow journalism," and the comic strip featuring the character had run in the 1890s.
... That was the sort of explanation the developers had given in interviews to defend the game's worldbuilding.
The lore in question concerned a character who enjoyed a fair degree of in-universe popularity. A mascot character, one who was treated as a "character" even within the game world itself.
A dog character named Digger, the protagonist of an in-universe comic called "Digger the Dog."
The premise was a short-form comic about a dog named Digger who loved to dig, and the misadventures that unfolded every time he burrowed into the ground. By all indications, the strip was currently enjoying explosive popularity among newspaper readers.
The developers had likely created this original character as an alternative because the Yellow Kid contained content that discriminated against East Asians. Even so, Digger's design had the feel of a turn-of-the-century character: drawn with the bold pen lines characteristic of early Disney-style cartoons.
In this world, motion-picture film and cameras had first appeared only the previous year, and the movie market was just beginning to form. Short silent animations, running maybe three to five minutes, were starting to be produced as well, though all of it, animation or live-action, remained resolutely black and white.
Anyway, I considered the idea that I liked this character.
"......."
It didn't seem like a bad one.
I'd always enjoyed reading comics anyway. I hadn't been a rabid Disney fan or anything, but I'd watched almost everything well-known.
And plush dolls, crudely made though they were, were already being produced. Maybe I'd buy a few later.
Not at that moment, of course. Much later—say, a year or two later.
Because if I cracked at that moment, I'd die of sheer embarrassment.
It had been embarrassing enough even after I'd rewound time. I didn't have the nerve to endure that level of mortification in real time. Even if I'd spent ten years living in a woman's body, I'd lived thirty years as a man before that.
"What are you thinking about so hard?"
As I sat there lost in thought, Alice asked me that.
I lifted my eyes to her.
"You're supposed to be reading, but your eyes haven't moved at all."
That was what she told me.
She wasn't wrong; my concentration had been nonexistent. Not that I'd had any desire to concentrate in the first place.
"I was thinking about the sparring session this morning."
"The sparring? Ah."
Alice seemed to reach a conclusion of her own after hearing my reply.
"Were you evaluating the way our classmates moved?"
...I hadn't been, but I'd say I had. It fit the character better.
"Yes, that's correct."
I nodded as I answered.
To be honest, attending the academy was proving far more difficult than life at the imperial palace. I couldn't put my finger on everything, but maintaining my character was staggeringly harder than I'd expected, and this was just the first day of classes.
Alice, as if embodying the principle that "a student's duty is to study," headed straight for the library the moment classes ended. She immediately began organizing today's lecture material, and I settled in across from her with a book.
...I decided I wouldn't bother diligently reviewing the day's lessons. Even if I did, circumstances would force me to redo it over and over. I was better off cramming when exams actually rolled around. It might be last-minute cramming for everyone else, but I'd have more than enough time.
"Well?"
Setting down her pen, Alice asked. She seemed to be waiting for my assessment.
I hadn't properly watched Alice's bout, but I doubted she was asking for an evaluation of herself.
"Most were unremarkable."
I gave her the honest answer.
Even among the main cast, a fair number of characters had backgrounds far removed from combat. The academy might have doubled as a military academy, but not every student who graduated intended to become an officer.
And so, even by my eyes—no, even by the standards of an ordinary person who had never undergone any proper training—the majority of students had awkward, unpracticed movements.
"But there were a few who stood out."
Alice had apparently reached the same impression, because she nodded as she spoke.
The victor in Alice and Charlotte's match had been Alice. Alice herself, however, believed she had won by the narrowest of margins. From the brief glimpse I'd caught of Charlotte's swordsmanship, I agreed. She hadn't projected any blade aura, but the refinement of her technique alone deserved high praise.
I had faced Claire Grace myself, so I'd skip her.
Leo Grace had also acquitted himself well, considering his opponent was Jennifer. It probably helped that Jennifer hadn't used a firearm, but his footwork alone was at a level comparable to Claire's. I suppose that was only natural for the protagonist.
And then... Crowfield.
Class A also included the daughter of the Count Crowfield I had killed—Mia Crowfield.
Like me, she had black hair. Her bangs were long enough to nearly conceal her eyes, giving her a distinctly gloomy air.
Which made sense, given that her gentle, devoted father had been brutally murdered. The largest recovered piece of the body had reportedly been a finger. The rest had been bone fragments and bits of flesh. They had identified the count's remains by the clothing they were still clinging to.
She probably hadn't seen the corpse herself, but she would have heard the story. And she would have heard the rumor that the person who ordered the count's assassination was the Emperor—assuming events had unfolded as they had in the original scenario.
The staff Mia Crowfield carried was a dummy, unsuitable for live combat. It could manage lightweight spells but couldn't produce magic powerful enough to kill a person.
And that magic staff had a mana gauge: a thermometer-like measuring window that displayed the mana output of any spell being cast, visible at a glance.
The moment Mia Crowfield attempted a spell with that dummy staff, the gauge shattered to pieces.
Jennifer had naturally declared Mia Crowfield the victor on the spot, wearing a deeply satisfied expression.
... In the original story, she had used a spell that launched an enormous icicle to impale an enemy.
She hadn't so much as glanced my way, but if she ever learned I had killed her father, how would she react? She wouldn't even speak to me then simply because I was an imperial princess. If she knew the truth, would she actually try to kill me? She had done as much in the original game, once Claire's past came to light.
The thought was faintly chilling. In the game's graphics it had looked harmless—no visible wounds, just an effect. In reality, a direct hit would blow a massive hole through a person's body. Then again, in the game, getting slashed by a sword or shot by a gun just shaved off some HP, and characters stood there perfectly fine. That was game logic, and players never questioned it.
People who obsessed over such details tended to get branded as odd. There were always a few who pointed out that in an FPS, you could take a bullet, rest a few seconds, and be right as rain again.
Realistically, I doubted I would ever become close with her.
And that presented no major problem. The Crowfield family's story progressed independently regardless. I had no particular need to help. Leo was there for that.
"Well, at least it's not a complete collection of nobodies. That's a relief. This really is a place worth learning something."
Alice smiled with satisfaction and picked up her pen again.
And I knew perfectly well that her smile wasn't solely because she had things to learn here.
She was probably happy at having made a new friend. Charlotte, for instance.
If possible, I hoped nothing would ever cut that smile short.
I would make sure of it myself.
*
"What are you thinking about so hard?"
Leo, whom Claire considered her younger brother despite his absurd insistence that he was her older brother, asked her that.
The two sat side by side at an outdoor café. It was mid-April, and the warm sunlight pouring down was proof that winter had vanished entirely. Claire considered it foolish to let this sunshine go to waste.
The buildings around the academy used the latest boiler systems wherever possible. Smoke still rose from the chimneys, that was inevitable, but at least around here, it was white, not black. Just steam, not acrid soot.
Plenty of people in the Empire proudly called black smoke a symbol of modernization, but Claire didn't much agree. Coming to the academy and seeing this place made the whole world look different. What exactly did those people find so appealing about black exhaust? If they loved it so much, they could try cleaning a chimney with their own hands.
Still, the reason the world looked so different wasn't just the blue, clear sky.
"Secret."
But she couldn't tell him that reason.
She did think of him as precious family. If you counted the years they'd spent together, Leo had known Claire far longer than Sylvia had. Yet despite that, Claire felt a much deeper intimacy with Sylvia.
Perhaps it was because Sylvia had been the first "protector" she had ever experienced. A child who wasn't even an adult, yet carried herself with more maturity than any adult around her.
Being separated from one's birth parents in childhood didn't erase the bond entirely. A child remembered her parents for years and would weep with joy upon seeing them again.
Not that Sylvia was old enough to be called a mother. Seeing her here at that moment, they might even be exactly the same age.
Truthfully, Claire had wanted to come somewhere like this with Sylvia this morning and share tea while they talked about everything that had happened and how they had both been living.
But Sylvia surely had her own reasons and circumstances.
An orphan who had nearly died nameless in a back-alley brothel was now living in the imperial household as a princess.
"......."
She used to smile so naturally back then.
Not a loud, booming laugh, but a quiet smile directed at the children as she shared out whatever food she had and told old stories. Claire had been very young, but she could never forget it. That memory was the first real "recollection" she had ever possessed.
That same person now used stiff Polite Speech with children her own age and had become someone full of secrets.
What had happened to her in the imperial household?
At the very least, it hadn't been the kind of memories you could simply laugh off.
"...... No, I mean... haah, forget it. I get the feeling asking would only open a door to something dangerous, so I won't."
Seeing Claire's expression go from a private smile to sudden seriousness, Leo started to ask something but then simply closed his mouth.
Sylvia had asked her not to tell. So even if Leo pressed her, Claire couldn't have said anything.
Well, it didn't matter.
They'd be seeing each other's faces from that point on anyway.
When she thought back over the past ten years, years of hoping and being disappointed over and over, the opportunities ahead to bring a smile back to Sylvia's face were countless.
"Now she's smiling again."
Letting Leo's incredulous muttering pass in one ear, Claire took a sip of milk tea heavily sweetened with sugar and milk.