Commander, Limited Event? (2)
Halloween.
A custom in which children dress up as demons, witches, ghosts—anything that looks even remotely wicked—and wander from house to house collecting candy.
Once it washed ashore in the East, it simply became a legally sanctioned cosplay day. But that isn't what matters.
What matters is that on a particular day, people put on a particular kind of costume.
Would the game companies—those maestros at sniffing out the perfect angle to sell a skin—ever let such a gorgeous opportunity slip by?
Whatever the original point of the holiday, they had long since taken this day to dress their prettiest characters in outfits dripping with romantic fantasy, and in doing so, pry open their players' wallets.
I had been one of those players.
There's talk that in the West, where the whole thing started, people don't even enjoy Halloween much anymore.
What does that matter to me now? It isn't as if we celebrate it properly either.
I don't know the exact date. Whenever a game company drops its Halloween commemorative skins, that day is Halloween. What's the problem?
Our eyes get their fill, the game company rakes in a perfectly legal bonus.
...Is it even a bonus if they earned it by working? Whatever. They sell a mountain of the things.
That's the virtuous cycle of the economy. What even is policy supposed to be? This is policy.
...There was a time when I, too, used to think that way.
It had been a while since a day like this—one where the whole of Firma felt this alive.
The Commander who'd vanished—that is, me—had come back, but the work had been piled to the ceiling. Just when things seemed to settle, I dropped the bombshell that I'd lost my memories—a lie, though I hadn't exactly said anything untrue. After somehow cleaning that up, I went and took a business trip outside on top of it.
But it was fine now.
There had been some minor issues, but the trip was a success, and internally, we'd finished putting everything in order. No more frantic running around. Now we could afford to take it easy.
This whole thing was... well, roughly... a way of showing that to everyone...
That's what I thought it meant, anyway...
Inside the hall where I'd made my (not actually) amnesia announcement, an untimely festival was in full swing.
And I, for the first time in a while, was thoroughly enjoying this situation—called a festival, read as an event—in full possession-mode.
And why wouldn't I? Nearly every operative was walking around in everything from skins that had actually been implemented in the game to outfits that had never even had an illustration. Cute, pretty, and on the other hand, downright racy looks were scattered everywhere I turned. Wouldn't it be rude of me not to look?
This was a privilege only I—who'd become a successful fan by getting possessed—could enjoy. Jealous? Go get possessed yourself.
...I was muttering that to myself, so that no one would hear, when—
"Commander~."
...The devil had arrived.
Well, Calia's costume was the devil type, actually.
Of course, if it had been that pure, literal meaning, I would have been just fine with it. But the thing Calia was holding... was something so steeped in human malice that the Crusaders of old should have declared a holy war against it. Something that deserved to be erased from this world. Something wicked.
If the one who brought it wasn't a devil, what else could you call her?
"What... is this?"
"What else? It's the outfit you're gonna wear, Commander."
...Clothes? This?
Something like two masks stitched together—a scrap of black cloth smaller than my hand, with fur and strings attached—plus an animal-ear headband and... a tail? Why was that there?
Anyway, this thing that looked like it belonged in a video shot on a certain island nation with a very particular concept, not at a Halloween event—this was what I was supposed to wear?
What even was my definition of clothes...?
The cat-styled over-the-knee socks she'd brought along actually had more fabric in them. She wanted me to walk around in that? Was she insane?
"But we've been wearing ours just fine, haven't we?"
No, no, no—that's possible because it's you people...!
On top of originally being a man, I was used to modern social norms. Suddenly putting on something that was basically the same as being naked was physiologically impossible. I had always been the one putting clothes on characters, never the one being dressed, and I had no intention of becoming that...!
And even then, I'd bought those because it was a game from my perspective. If it had been real life, I never would have put them on...!
"That's a pretty aggrieved look you've got."
"Well of course it is...!"
"You ogled everything you wanted, and now you're trying to back out?"
"..."
...Ah.
When she put it that bluntly, I had nothing to say. I should have just stayed buried in my work. What luxury was I hoping to enjoy in my position, crawling out here against my better judgment?
Something I hadn't even bothered with in my previous life—why had I suddenly decided to care about it and come out here? I shouldn't have. Why did I do that...
"...Commander."
Just then, as I stood there devastated, Rielly took a step toward me.
Ah, Rielly after all...! I believed in you...! You came to save me...!
"Rielly...? You're on my side, right...?"
"I apologize, but on this occasion, I share the same opinion."
...
...Huh? No?
"W-what did you say...?"
"Ah—that is not to say I have ever harbored such irreverent thoughts as that hooligan over there. Not in the slightest."
So please don't look at me like that, Rielly added. She drew a breath, then continued.
"A festival, however, finds its meaning in everyone participating together, does it not?"
"..."
"As you well know, Commander, among us there are those who avoid festivals altogether, and those who are clumsy with social relationships."
"Yeah... that's true."
"And yet everyone took part. Everyone in Firma."
...And it wasn't exactly wrong.
Rielly herself was in a maid uniform whose top and bottom had been reduced to the absolute limit. And Calia... had been in a succubus getup that was practically naked from the start.
Of course, not everyone had cranked the exposure that high. But in this place, the only person still looking the way they always did was me.
"I understand it feels awkward, given that you always wear long sleeves."
"Wouldn't it be nice to let go of yourself, just for one day?"
The moment Rielly delivered her closing line, Calia slid in with perfect timing.
...Since when did those two work together this well. I couldn't even argue. And it was sneakily true, which made it worse.
Ah.
Seriously...
"...Fine. I get it."
"...!"
"Just... this once..."
Yeah. If it was just once... If I just closed my eyes and did it, it'd work out somehow.
It'll work out somehow is, in fact, a rather irresponsible thing to say.
It means you have no proper solution, and you're dumping whatever comes of it onto someone else. And usually, that someone else... coincidentally, has a high probability of being your future self.
"Ah, nngh..."
A changing room a little ways from the hall. Having arrived there half of my own will and half against it, I was—against all odds—changing clothes with my own two hands.
"You done?"
"Not yet, so w-wait...!"
That was a lie.
I'd fumbled a bit with the strings, but thanks to pushing my intelligence as Commander to its absolute limit, I'd succeeded in putting it on a while ago. Of course, whether they'd been scammed on the raw materials while making it, the surface area of the fabric was as horrifyingly narrow as a raft on the ocean—but at least the important parts were somehow covered.
I had my doubts about whether this even qualified as clothes, but at any rate, it was earning its keep.
...Even if it was doing so on a laughably tiny ration of cloth.
"Hahh..."
No, I mean. I did agree to wear it. But even so, wasn't this... letting go a little too much? My human rights, my dignity, and various other important things—all of them.
...Thankfully the tail just stuck onto the body. If it had been some other method, I really would have bitten my tongue and died.
...That said, regardless of how I felt about it, I couldn't spend a thousand years holed up in this tiny room. So, feeling like I was walking to my own execution, I went crazy and kicked the door open...
"...Commander?"
"Ah, you're all dressed...?"
Uh...
Was this... not it...?
"S-so, how is it...?"
"..."
At their somewhat unhinged reaction, I even asked, swallowing my embarrassment. But as if they'd come face to face with Medusa herself, both of them just kept standing there, frozen, without a word.
Ah. What do I do. It really was an outfit that doesn't suit me. ...I was an idiot for even briefly thinking I looked pretty.
"...Commander."
"...Y-yeah?"
"If you don't want to go to the hall, wanna come to my room? No—let's go. Yeah?"
Just as my self-esteem was about to plunge into the mud in an instant, Calia spat out something incomprehensible.
...Her room? Why there all of a sudden?
"Kindly put that nonsense away."
"Ah, why!"
"Do you have to ask? Let us go, Commander."
...Of course, she was immediately stopped by Rielly.
But what was that even about. Did she have a glow-in-the-dark dinosaur in there or something?
"You are at your most beautiful right now, so please have confidence."
"...Really?"
"I would stake my neck on it."
...Well, I guess it doesn't matter?
I don't think so.
"Ah, h-hello...?"
See?
I barely managed a greeting while my head felt like it was about to explode, and not a single one of all those girls answered. Normally they would have smiled and responded right away, and a few would have come running for a hug.
Rielly... did you lie to me?
"You didn't say a line that matches the concept."
"...Really?"
"Everyone is waiting, so consider yourself fooled and give it a try. A simple phrase will suffice."
What? There was something like that?
There was nothing about that in the plan. Are you kidding me?
Hah. Fine.
I was so mortified the heat was about to boil over, but I might as well see it through to the end. What did I become this for. At this rate I wouldn't sleep tonight.
So, in this outfit, the most decent thing would be...
...And in the next instant, I detonated from the embarrassment that came crashing in.
...For better or worse, I mean that metaphorically.
...
Fuck, I want to die.
