Chapter 160: A Backward Encounter, and Pandora’s Box?
Crap, crap, crap! I mean, it’s not like I’ve got anything to feel guilty about, but this is definitely NOT the kind of situation where I can just kick back and casually munch on dessert!!
???: “Still, Silvi, you sure can pack it away. Don’t you ever gain weight?”
Sylvia: “I’ll knock your lights out, playboy. I’ve still got training after this—I need the calories.”
???: “Even so, weren’t you the one who slept in big-time? We’ve been training nonstop since morning, y’know. You could at least let us do a little sightseeing around Japan.”
???: “Ha! As if. You’d just go around hitting on girls with crap like ‘Oh, what an Asian beauty! How about it, my lady—dinner with me?’ or whatever.”
???: “Kah! Johnson, you seriously managed to propose to your wife with cheesy pickup lines like that?! If it were me, I’d have rolled up that shit-tier script and flushed it down the toilet!”
Johnson: “You want me to kick that brain dangling between your legs into paste, huh?!”
???: “Shut up for a moment. I can’t hear her voice.”
???: “Uh, Alex… that’s not live, it’s a recording, yeah? I mean… you’ve listened to it like, dozens of times since yesterday, right?”
Alex: “Lucas… her voice is gentler than marijuana, and it grips my heart more powerfully. The number of replays… whether it’s a recording… those are trivial matters. You understand, don’t you?”
???: “You’re more messed up than a guy on drugs…”
???: “Your girlfriend’s coming tomorrow, right?”
Alex: “Yes! Even though I said I would pay, she’s using her own money to come all the way here from Hokkaido! How… how admirably considerate of her!!”
???: “Silvi, why the hell are you tossing fuel onto Alex’s fire?!”
???: “Ah, here we go. This is gonna take a while…”
They’re speaking rapid-fire English and it sounds like there’s slang mixed in, so I can barely understand what they’re saying… but I can tell from the general vibe that this is a seriously stupid conversation. This pack of muscleheads-plus-one, possibly even rowdier than we are when we’re going at each other, draws the attention of every eye in the room whether they want it or not. Most of those stares aren’t annoyed, though—they’re the kind of surprised, admiring looks you’d give a Major League ballplayer you just spotted. Well, yeah… they’re pro gamers, after all. I don’t know which rooms they’re staying in, but if you’re a celebrity, couldn’t you just have your meals brought up to your room…?
???: “Sir, have you decided on your order?”
Rakuro: “Nweh!? Ah, uh… I’ll go with this.”
???: “Very good, sir. And how about toppings?”
Rakuro: “Toppings? Uh… sure, all of ’em.”
Too distracted by what’s going on behind me, I place my dessert order in a total daze and wrack my brain over what to do about this bizarre situation. At any rate, there’s no way they’d figure out that I’m a last-minute sub for… Subway Squat—Metro Squat, was it? Which means, in my current situation, there’s absolutely no reason for me to panic. None at all… but—
???: “—No Face? —…” ???: “—No Name——. —…”
Every time bits and pieces of English drift into my ears, I tense up. Precisely because they’re simple English words, even my listening comprehension can pick them up. And sure enough, the mysterious anonymous members seem to be a topic of conversation for them too—“No Face” and “No Name” keep popping up with considerable frequency.
Anyway, I can’t understand English well enough, so even if they were discussing strategy, it’d be lost on me… I can kinda pick up insults and gaming terms, though.
In this day and age, matching with foreign players is nothing unusual. Since game systems don’t account for the obstacle of language barriers, players have to find ways to deal with it on their own. As such, people who play games where there’s a chance of matching with overseas players generally acquire some method or other for overcoming the language wall. Basically, as long as you memorize simple phrases for “where are we going,” “what should I do,” and “insults,” you can manage somehow. International exchange filled with noob-calls and Japanese-style profanity… really warms the heart, doesn’t it.
???: “Thank you for waiting, sir. Here is your ‘Tokyo Extreme-Ice Volcano (Erebus) Parfait ~Ride of the Far-North Valkyries~,’ with the full topping set.”
Rakuro: “Wait, what I ordered was the cheeseca—hyuh.”
I shift my attention back from behind me to the table, and… an involuntary, strange sound escapes my throat. What stood before me was a mountain. A frozen, frigid iceberg of a mountain. But this was no mere dead and frozen peak—from its crater, bright-red lava (berry jam) spewed forth; from its slopes, countless stick-snacks jutted out like spears, their tips speared with marshmallows adorned with angel-shaped candy…
Rakuro: “The hell is this?”
???: “This is the ‘Erebus Parfait,’ created by mobilizing our hotel’s full corps of pastry chefs. Since our founding, sir, you are the ninety-ninth customer to order it fully armed—full toppings.”
Rakuro: “…And, just out of curiosity, how many people have successfully conquered it?”
???: “Seven have done so solo.”
People have actually… no, that’s not the point. Why the hell has this monstrosity been delivered to my table? I’m pretty sure I ordered something like a cheesecake. Wait, now that I think about it, wasn’t there a dessert displayed right next to the cheesecake…
Every eye in the restaurant gathers on me—on the frozen volcano that’s suddenly materialized in the heart of Tokyo. Naturally, that includes the group sitting at the table behind me…
This is bad. I’m not even entirely sure why or how, but this is definitely bad!
Is this thing… actually meant to be eaten by a human being? Isn’t the size category for containing this thing more along the lines of cows or elephants? The bowl alone is bigger than my face—hell, just how much milk went into this majestic mountain of fresh cream and soft-serve? I have no idea. Even with these eyes of mine, I can’t tell.
Rakuro: “W-well, I’m not the one paying, and I guess I can chalk it up as an experience…”
I grab the bowl to pull it closer, but my arm won’t budge. The sheer weight of this thing makes my cheek twitch—am I about to eat a goddamn bowling ball? At this point, this is no time to be worrying about who’s sitting at the table behind me. My internal council, with its track record of always arriving at conclusions via fisticuffs, has already determined that this creature is a decisive battle on par with fighting Wethermon or Lycagon.
Rakuro: “All right, then… time to march on Kamakura…!”
The battle took an hour and a half. A fierce struggle that ended with me—whose order arrived first—leaving my seat later than any of the Star Rain crew. Should I call it a net win? Or should I say that the menu selection alone had room for time-saving improvements…? I reaffirmed that “sweets go into a second storage”—no, a separate stomach—is a lie. There’s no spare stomach capacity to hold in reserve when you’re facing a monster that demands your primary stomach to run at full throttle just to barely bring it down.
However, during the heat of battle, among the words drifting over from the table behind me, one thing caught my attention.
Ruins War Hounds… That’s an FPS, right? They released 6 a while back. If it’s coming up in the pro gamers’ conversation, maybe they’re announcing 7 at this GGC…?
At the very least, it doesn’t seem like a topic I need to be particularly concerned about. Anyway, I need to digest this… before I puke.
After all that, I don’t even have the energy to full-dive once I’m back in my room. I’m just sprawled out on my back on the bed, zoning out, when a loud, obnoxious banging on the door jolts me back to my senses. Wondering what’s up, I get out of bed and, with perfectly natural muscle memory, put on my gas mask—
Wait. If this is a hotel employee, isn’t that really bad?
Towa: “Sunraku-kun, you in there~? The charismatic model just door-crashed you, so pretending you’re not home is not gonna fly~?”
Correction: the gas mask can stay on. Still carrying the aftereffects of the earlier “Erebus Parfait Subjugation Battle” in my body, I sluggishly shuffle over and open the door. There, grinning, stands a scumbag disguised as a charismatic model, a cardboard box in her arms.
Towa: “Here you go—a present from me!”
Rakuro: “…No suspicious ticking sounds detected. Check.”
Towa: “Umm, the first thing you do when receiving a gift from someone is check whether it’s a bomb? How is that as a human being?”
Even if it’s not a bomb, there’s a very real danger that she might send one of those gunpowder-based surprise boxes, just because “it seemed like it’d be funny.”
Rakuro: “That was a joke. Anyway, what’s this?”
Towa: “Hmm? Well, y’see, if too many things about me get exposed, it’d be… you know, for my work stuff. So I figured I’d cosplay on the day of the match.”
Rakuro: “I see.”
So rather than just hiding her face, she’ll hide it as part of a full-body costume. Yeah, that logic does check out. Still think it’s not the kind of thing you do for a gaming tournament, though.
Towa: “So anyway, I just went to pick up the cosplay outfit I ordered last night. Ahh, the wonders of modern shipping.”
Rakuro: “Uh-huh?”
Towa: “And, well—since I’m doing it, I figured I might as well drag you into it too.”
Rakuro: “Don’t just casually spread the splash damage my way.”
Why does this woman always try to drag in as many people as possible and blow everything up spectacularly? If I had to compare, she’s like an uncontrollable giant firework trying to set off all the surrounding fireworks by chain reaction… Way too dangerous.
Towa: “But Sunraku-kun, your face isn’t exactly something you can show people, right?”
Rakuro: “The fact that you chose THOSE exact words is proof you’re a genuine scumbag. Ahh ha ha. I’m gonna deck you, you asshole.”
So in other words, the contents of this box she just handed me are a cosplay outfit. And it comes with the bonus of being hand-picked by Pencilgon, which inspires absolutely zero confidence.
Rakuro: “Just to check—what’s inside this?”
Towa: “A costume worthy of No Face. More or less.”
Right now, I have an overwhelming urge to take a photo of her making that crisp, self-assured expression and post it on social media—the reactions would be insane. But all I actually feel is the desire to smash a pie into that face.
Rakuro: “What about yours, by the way?”
Towa: “Fufufu. That’s a surprise for the main event. …Kinda thing?”
Nothing but bad feelings about this… Hm?
Rakuro: “It’s a summons from Katzo.”
Towa: “Wonder what it’s about?”
For now, I guess we should head to the designated meeting spot—the in-game entrance.
[Sylvia: A massive eater. “Japanese pizza is way too small!” Johnson: His proposal line was, “I want you to become my family.” Lucas: Has gotten caught up with “newhalfs” about three times and almost fallen to that side. Alex: His broken Japanese is actually just an act. Once the topic turns to his girlfriend, he starts talking at high speed for around two hours.
Lately, I might be having the most fun when I’m thinking up settings for these muscleheads. Part of that is because the octopus’s setup has more or less solidified too.]