Chapter 387: Monster in the Goldfish Bowl
A five-star from a summon ticket... so it wasn't fiction after all...
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Yura: "Dumplings, right? Daifuku?"
Sunraku: "With yokan."
Yura: "Nice choice, yokan."
I'm in trouble. Real trouble. Even if Bakumatsu is a hellhole on par with the Apocalyptic Round Table... no, unlike the Round Table where everyone got twisted chasing efficiency thanks to abysmal drop rates, this is the result of a contamination of common sense. Strictly speaking, they're different categories. Anyway. The point is—even considering this is Bakumatsu, and even considering this is a death-game-flavored event, I had no intention of suddenly picking a fight with the final boss.
The only reason I could handle this sudden raid worthy of that brutally blunt nickname is purely because I'd already experienced similar patterns in SLF. And that experience has become the single lifeline keeping me alive as I face off against this player with absurdly high clear difficulty... Raid Boss Yura.
Sunraku: "......!"
Yura: "......?"
Sunraku: "......!!"
The ghosts around us are being quiet (read: noisy). Of course they are—the provisional first-place and the historical all-time champion are sitting side by side in a teahouse, casually having a Japanese-style tea time. But I don't have time to care about them. I think I just saw the vengeful spirit that was haunting me earlier, but... the anxiety that my head will fly off the moment I let my attention slip from the unexploded bomb sitting right next to me—no matter how much I try to wipe it away, it won't go away.
Yura: "Matcha..."
What about matcha? What is he trying to say? But hesitation leads directly to death. The "Raid Boss-san Strategy Scroll" that circulated among players for a while contained theories from the research team about Raid Boss-san's bizarre behavior. First of all, Raid Boss-san doesn't have a simple thought process like attacking everything he sees indiscriminately. In fact, you could even say he's passive. There are testimonies of people who randomly ran into him at a crossroads, exchanged normal greetings, and parted ways.
Sunraku: "Green tea's fine, right? It's not like this is some fancy tea time."
Judgment... okay, safe. The criteria are completely impossible to make sense of, but if my head's still on, it's safe. However, according to the research team, it's as if a massive number of flags are buried inside conversations with Raid Boss-san. The criteria are unknown, but tripping any of those flags triggers an attack. At the very least, hesitating or stumbling in your reply for more than two seconds triggers an attack. Also, bringing up unrelated topics has a high probability of being a fail.
Yura: "Your score... amazing."
Sunraku: "It's not that much."
Raid Boss-san is not invincible. But he is a one-man army. Usually, after an event, a large-scale raid of Raid Boss-san vs. everyone else takes place, and the first-place reward vanishing into thin air is practically a given. The fact that he can handle a huge number of players at once just shows how far removed he is from everything else. Plus, in a full-dive game where appearance and personality are often mismatched, Raid Boss-san—whose baby face, voice, and mannerisms all perfectly match his appearance—is extremely popular.
That's why research into Raid Boss-san goes on day and night. I'm not saying solo. If even four people could manage to divine-punish Raid Boss-san, their names would be remembered with glory.
Yura: "Hmm... are you aiming for first place?"
Damn. Speed up my thinking.
Sunraku: "...Well. There's no need to compromise until after the results are in."
I bite my tongue at having let slip words that hint at a roundabout Giant Killing, and wait for the judgment. Should I just launch an attack myself? No, in this tight space, we're both in each other's range. Without a guaranteed kill, making a move is just a roundabout way of committing suicide.
Yura: "Heh."
The conversation cuts off. This is bad. A dangerous time. One theory is that Raid Boss-san has a unique "rhythm." In other words, he's an improv musical score that's constantly being updated. If you miss a note or mess up the tempo, divine punishment. Come on—a sense of rhythm test? Your raid difficulty is insane, Raid Boss.
The restorationist haori, dyed with patterns of dancing cherry blossom petals, and the Shinsengumi haori, emblazoned with a bold, single character for "Sincerity," sit side by side, munching on sweets. Ugh, they're just crudely sweet. Only the texture is decent, which somehow makes it feel even more hollow. Texture's all about mouthfeel, anyway, so I hear it's fairly easy to recreate.
Yura: "Going to take me down?"
Raid Boss-san's way of speaking—you could call it Raid Boss-ese—basically always leaves out the nouns. That's why it's confusing, and that's why you get divine-punished. I have to fix the context. If there's no one else here but me and Raid Boss-san, then every word he says is directed at me.
Sunraku: "I said no compromises, didn't I?"
I strike, and he responds. Raid Boss-san demands a conversation that clicks so well you could sit in a family restaurant with a close friend and talk until closing time. Forcing a first-meeting person into communication where killing intent and friendliness are two sides of the same coin—honestly, in any other game, you'd be treated like a lunatic and shunned. But unfortunately, this is Bakumatsu, and he's Raid Boss-san. He's practically not even recognized as a player anymore. It's precisely because he's treated like a boss character who speaks in cryptic lines that this guy is accepted in this game.
Maybe that's why. A goldfish can't live in the ocean. A goldfish that lacks adaptability can only survive inside a goldfish bowl. No matter how sharp his fangs, no matter what player skills he has to cut down anyone... he probably finds his peace in this game.
Alright. My thoughts are getting poetic. Are you watching, Raid Boss-san Research Team? I hear the Strategy Scroll is at version 3.1, but right here, right now, I'm giving you a major update.
Sunraku: "Yura-san. I'm going to take you down."
A stir runs through the ghosts. The act of speaking to Raid Boss-san from my side is a reckless gamble close to Russian roulette. But, my friends, we've already reached the answer. That's right—it's rhythm.
Sunraku: "My heaven tells me to do it, so—!?"
Killing intent! Not from Raid Boss-san. This is... from above!!
???: "Gotcha!!"
Sunraku: "Grena—"
That guy is a master of area attacks. He saw me, the wedge keeping Raid Boss pinned in the teahouse, and made his move. A rugged restorationist patriot skillfully wields his hoe, hurling a lit giant firework shell from the rooftop toward us.
As expected of a ranker. The ignition timing is perfect. It's calibrated to detonate the moment it hits the ground. Can I dodge it? No, I can't... But that guy made a fatal mistake. Leaking his presence in front of a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—that's the end of his luck. If even I could notice it, then naturally—
Yura: "Too bad, huh? Too bad, too bad."
A single flash. Raid Boss-san swings the shabby, rust-eaten sword he holds. On its tip sits the giant firework's fuse, cleanly sliced at the ignition point. The giant firework, robbed of its detonation fire, falls uselessly to the ground.
Sunraku: "Rust Gleam... you landed a critical hit on a fuse that's barely a centimeter wide..."
A rust-eaten sword that anyone can get if they feel like it constantly demands its wielder choose between two extremes: cut everything or break. And Raid Boss-san can always pick the same answer... armor parameters are practically meaningless against him. What a monster. Even subtracting the fact that he's fully adapted to Bakumatsu's physics engine, it's insane.
By the time I noticed, Raid Boss-san's left hand was already a blur. A short blade, thrown with the shortest motion and fastest operation, pierces the wall of a row house. Using it as a stepping stone, his slender boyish body leaps to the roof. It's window operation so beautiful I can't help but admire it. As if a path existed from the start in impossible places—walls and midair—he moves with fluid motion, and Raid Boss-san faces off against Grenade. But it's already too late. Before the audience could even grasp the situation, it was over.
Yura: "Divine punishment."
Grenade: "Gh, ko...!?"
Four flashes of a rusted arc, swinging left and right from top to bottom. Denied even a final death poem, Grenade's body crumples and collapses, like a carelessly built daruma tower falling apart. The ghosts erupt in cheers. Well, normally this would naturally lead to the slaughter of the audience, so being able to calmly spectate Raid Boss-san's battle is almost impossible.
The problem is, now that the explosion idiot provoked him, Raid Boss-san's switch is flipped, and his next target automatically becomes me.
Yura: "—"
He is too fast. Leaping from the roof, pulling a spear from his inventory mid-air, stabbing it vertically into the ground. Stepping on the pommel, leaping again, three spins in the air, and from a high stance, he cleaves me in two—
Yura: "...? It passed through?"
Sunraku: "I came to this tea time with resolve from the start. Preparedness keeps worry at bay, as they say."
An expert's art, learned by watching. A flash that cuts even the wind. A shooting star that awed all of America. The swiftest hunter... I may lack battle experience against you, but I'm not lacking in experience against unfairness on a level that matches yours. Optimization by a hair's breadth is the true essence of Ryuguin Fugaku. And its core lies in mental shortcuts and footwork. I can't match the performance of the original, but if I know in advance what kind of attack is coming, I can close the gap between Role Play and the real thing.
Sunraku: "Full throttle until I die."
The corner of Raid Boss-san's mouth curled upward.