No Game No Life - Volume 5 - Chapter Pr

NORMAL START 

Welcome to a frontier where infinite possibilities await—now with over seven billion active users! Go forth and tell a story that no one but you can tell! 
…Reality. Our precious lives, when you step back and look at them, are a kind of game. Try imagining the game described by the exciting copy above. A literal once-in-a-lifetime adventure—the grand game of life. 
You start playing. First, there’s a random character creation process that proceeds automatically as a collaboration between your parents. There’s the heartwarming opening with your mom and your dad and a thousand blessings and all that, and then finally, you get to dive in. You get a rough grasp on the controls, and then you’re tossed into “school,” a microcosmic tutorial for the heavy seas of society— 
The game’s setting—Earth. Awaiting us as we’re tossed into a corner of that oversized map is a massive sandbox game. There we have a vast array of choices, a spectacular degree of freedom, and countless minigames. Inspired by the hype, we advance just as advertised, but it’s not long before we realize something. 
—We’ve been had. 
Infinite possibilities—sure, that might be technically true. But the thing is, no one ever said you could do whatever you want in this game. Your level’s not high enough; your stats are too low; you have insufficient funds; your start position cuts you off. Countless shackles constrict the freedom the game boasted, making a mockery of it. 
But —we say as we struggle. Believing the billing, we fall and fall and get up again, convinced that infinite possibilities and sparkling hope stretch out before us. And so we work hard to raise our levels, improve our stats, make money. Passive skills like “Talent” and “Capacity” were randomly assigned to us in character creation, and we grumble that it’s not fair at all how some people have them and others don’t. Never giving up, never giving in, grinding away for more experience points, struggling with all we’ve got—it’s that kind of game. 
The story sets your heart on fire. It’s truly moving, isn’t it? 
—But it’s meaningless. 
No matter how high your score gets, you can never beat this game. Even once you’ve got the levels, the stats, the cash, everything—now they criticize you. Why? 
—Because you “tried too hard.” They tell you it isn’t fair at all. Even though you won through your own effort. As soon as you have something other people don’t, you’re told it’s cheating. And then you get penalized. You get handicapped with all kinds of abstract and concrete shackles imposed on you by the seven billion other players. And then, at last, a certain suspicion likely flickers through your mind. 
—Do you really have freedom in this game at all? 
No matter what choices you make, society, other players—someone—steps in and edits them. You try to roll with it and go for the win again, but the same thing always happens. And then, all of a sudden, you look back at the road you’ve walked and can’t help but see the truth: Your actions had nothing to do with your will. They were decided by someone else, directed, carried out under a tacit understanding. All there is behind you is a long path that they demanded you walk. That they—made you walk. In a flash, your suspicion turns to doubt with a shade of conviction. They were right: This bullshit game called life is indeed a vast, grand sandbox. But—you aren’t the player. 
Then you look down at your hands. 
—When you see the countless strings entangling them, your skepticism turns to certainty. And then suddenly you look around. 
—Seeing those same, innumerable strings ensnaring everyone else, your conviction becomes understanding. In heads clattering as they’re shaken, the gamers realize that they themselves are mere puppets. That all they are in this game of life, where they’d taken the cues and played their parts, are puppets in a puppet show—NPCs. 
Now, with all this in mind, I’d like to ask a question. What is the purpose of your life? 
—Were you able to give an answer you’re sure was your own? 
—…… 
—This is the world that the empty puppet saw. In the ten years since the puppet had started the game, he had never questioned this fact. The soulless puppet had never mourned it, never bemoaned it. He’d merely searched people’s faces for hope, praying . Praying that somewhere out there someone might actually be playing . Hoping that, at the very least, the puppet show might be worth something to someone, he kept smiling. 
—Until that day. 
 
Elven Gard—in the state of Tírnóg, the city of Loamigel. In the largest country in the world—its vast territory spanning three continents—among its fifty-two states, this was the capital of one. The capital was situated in the southeast, a metropolis that bordered Hardenfell, the country of Dwarf. 
—A city of Elves, born of the forest and beloved by the forest. Loamigel’s appearance was entirely different from that of the streets of Immanity—of Elkia. Over the center of the city towered the Bál Bél—an unspeakably vast tree that spread its foliage above the clouds and whose roots crawled through the ground like blood vessels to lay out the city’s network of roads. The spaces between these roads were filled by houses and streetlamps, themselves formed from the intricate interweaving of trees and vines that sprouted from the earth. It bore only a superficial resemblance to “architecture”—the phenomenon of clearing forests, flattening the earth, and laying wood and stones on top of it. It was a living city, made possible by advanced magical engineering. In this landscape that united the urban and the natural stood a particularly large residence. It was the mansion of the state governor—Lord Ron Barthel. Through its rose-woven gates now passed a lone girl. 
Blonde hair with soft curls. Long ears protruding, the sign of the Elf. On her forehead, a red gem caught the sunlight and sparkled gently. Greeting her was an aging man in fine garb with similarly long ears. 
“Welcome, Miss Fiel. Or had I best address you as Lady Nirvalen?” 
The girl named Fiel returned a fluffy, polite smile. 
“Why, Lord Barthel, surely you may address me as you please. After all, I have not officially inherited the headship.” 
The man—Barthel—twisted his lips into a grin at her answer. He took a step back and extended his hand to invite Fiel into the mansion where all was woven of wood. 
“It is most disgraceful of me to have forced a lady to wend her way from afar all the way to this provincial estate.” 
“Hee-hee, how skillful you are at uttering words utterly absent from your heart!” 
“You wound me. Though I may be old, I mean to retain a heart capable of appreciating lovely flowers…though such flowers be unsightly weeds in my garden, you see?” 
“Well, flowers of value choose for whom they would brightly bloom. And when , I might add.” 
Without dropping their smiles, but also without looking into each other’s faces, the two walked. Barthel guided Fiel into the courtyard. At the center of the garden emblazed with all kinds of flowering plants stood a white-painted table and two chairs. As Fiel seated herself in one, Barthel settled into its opposite. 
“It is then a trifle of a task for the both of us, I see. Shall we get started?” 
They could come right to business. 
“Regarding the coming election for the Upper House—Nirvalen, may I ask that you stand down as a candidate?” 
Barthel addressed her by her family name alone as if giving an order. 
—It had been Fiel who had given him leave to address her as he pleased—but there was an understanding among the nobles. Addressing one by family name alone was tantamount to an insult, but Fiel glowed back without batting an eye. 
“Why, is that all?” 
“Of course not . I would also require that you lend the name of Nirvalen officially to support my candidacy.” 
“Ahh, how interesting .” 
“Oh, and I would also appreciate it if you would take on the deposit for my candidacy, as well as my campaign fund. Additionally, my dear Lord Kastlet seems to have an interest in this ‘Harp of Golden Dragon Bone’ you possess. He has indicated that he might support me in the election if I could procure it.” 
“Oh my … Why, that is a precious heirloom of my family . It is said an entire city was granted in exchange—” 
“So I hear. I am sure Lord Kastlet will be delighted.” 
Barthel grinned twistedly. He leered down at the ample bosom of the girl seated across from him. 
“Ah, but I do not ask this immediately. For today, you are welcome to retire in the second house before returning. It seems to me it would be best for us to have a thorough conversation regarding future developments, perhaps through the night. Hmm?” 
“Why, however you strive to put forward a refined appearance, your true self never changes.” Fiel spoke as if about to burst into laughter. “Fundamentally, what you are saying is, ‘Give me the status, give me the money, give me the lady,’ is it not? Why, these days I suppose even the bandits of Immanity make demands with greater humility.” 
“Worms do know their place, after all. Do you not suppose that this bearing befits a man of my stature?” 
“Why, not in the slightest, Sir , but you certainly are free to hold that opinion if you wish .” 
Fiel continued without breaking her gentle smile. 
“And may I take it that you are making such requests of me as a consequence of a hangover?” 
“Ha-ha-ha, I prefer the intoxication of flowers to that of spirits. Surely upon coming here, you must have anticipated that I might make such requests? After all…” 
Barthel snapped his fingers. The spirit presence sharpened, and on the table appeared a steaming tea set. Subsequently, a slip of paper danced out to slide in front of Fiel. 
“…You must be aware of the circumstances, in which an acting member of the Upper House is plotting to free the slaves— If you do not feel that this information becoming public would pose a problem, I certainly will not object if you refuse. Hm?” 
Fiel maintained her composure despite Barthel’s baiting. She merely ran her eyes over the slip of paper that had dropped on the table. What was documented there was simple: It was a list of records and evidence of the maneuverings orchestrated by Fiel. Considering that Elven society could not function without the system of slavery, such acts were essentially criminal. Should this list become public, it would not be surprising if Fiel and any accomplices were charged with high treason— 

“Given the scope of your knowledge, Sir , I must wonder why it is that you do not report this matter forthwith.” 
“I am a libertarian as well as an opportunist. What profit would there be for me in exposing your gambit ?” 
“And so you intend to blackmail me, do you? Why, I can only applaud the dexterity of your thought.” 
“‘Blackmail’? Such a horrid word… I merely implore you, foolish maiden. Will you not come and accept my strict discipline, crawling on your hands and knees and wagging your rump? Hm?” 
“If I may be so bold, Sir—may we proceed to the matter at hand?” 
“Ah, you are beside yourself with excitement, hmm? Very well.” 
With this, Barthel snapped his fingers once more. Forthwith, a complex magical pattern glowed through the air, producing a deck of cards. 
“Let us play oracle card—surely the rules need no explanation?” 
Oracle card. A common, simple game among Elves, in which players competed using a hand of twenty-two cards and the extent of their magic. 
—It was a dangerous game, primarily used in place of duels and disadvantageous to Fiel, who was the lesser mage. According to the Ten Covenants, Fiel, as the challenged party, had the right to determine the game— 
“Why certainly , and let us clarify what it is we shall wager.” 
But Fiel batted not an eye, only responding carefully without looking away. The two would confirm their demands of each other—demands that would be absolutely binding under the Ten Covenants. 
“Then I shall demand your person—and lifelong, all-encompassing submission.” 
“As for us , why, we demand that you forget about us, and that you assist us unconditionally and unreservedly .” 
—They were obvious stakes. If Barthel acquired Fiel’s person, the entire house of Nirvalen along with her chastity would fall into his hands. Meanwhile, if Fiel prevailed, she would eliminate the basis for his blackmail while grasping the opportunity to wring him dry. 
“Why, this all sounds quite fine, except—a petty villain such as yourself, my lord , had best not expect to win everything … Why, don’t you know that when dexterity of thought reaches a certain point, it is called delusion ?” 
“How amusing your transparent bravado is, hmm? Do you suggest that the shame of Nirvalen stands a chance before me?” 
Their gazes locked in challenge, and simultaneously, they declared: 
““— Aschente .”” 
As if in anticipation of these words, the rite on the table activated, and the game began. Barthel and Fiel were each uniformly dealt a hand of twenty-two cards. The cards pinned themselves in the air, shuffling so that neither player could see the other’s order. Then the two faced each other with hands of the same size and kind. 
—This was oracle card. The simple game using the twenty-two cards of the tarot’s Major Arcana deck commenced. 
—Of the games played among Elves, this was one in which magical cheating was all but impossible. For, given that players can see the rite and the flow of magic, if magic were employed, it would be discovered immediately, constituting a loss. For this reason, it was popular among Elves to use self-operating magical items such as this deck. Among such games, oracle card was particularly favored, for its gameplay as well as its clear demarcation of victory—to be specific: 
“—Two-card set.” 
At Fiel’s brief whisper, two of the cards floating before her disappeared, instantaneously and silently reappearing facedown on the table. Barthel smiled, then announced: 
“—Two-card set.” 
This time, two cards disappeared from Barthel’s hand, and as before, they appeared on the table. Both having produced two cards from their respective hands, their contest was ready to begin. Barthel asked: 
“So, are you ready?” 
“Why, yes . With that —” 
They both declared: 
““—Open deal.”” 
At these words, all the cards they’d placed on the table flipped over at once. Suddenly—as if space was bursting—a vast spirit presence swelled. The cards Barthel had chosen were Strength and The Chariot. The scroll was Knight of Honor. Fiel’s cards were The Fool and The Lovers. The scroll: Falling Down. Light poured forth from each of their melds, and before each of them arose a faint, translucent specter. Barthel had summoned a knight in full armor. The knight drew his sword, spurred on his horse, and charged. Before him, called out by Fiel’s cards, tottered a half-nude maiden. The maiden, as if dancing, hung to the knight’s neck, and she whispered something in his ear. The knight, as if in torment, raised his head—and turned his sword. Returning, holding the maiden, he rode toward his summoner, Barthel—to strike. 
—Rank Seven, Elf, with the highest magical aptitude among the Ixseeds. The oracle cards they’d built were on the cutting edge of magical engineering. The fragmentary rite deployed by the composite seal of the cards attacked Barthel ruthlessly. Barthel, for his part—just clucked. He raised his hand and assembled a magical defense in an instant. Two magical circles floated up in the air and intercepted the sword of the onrushing knight. Light burst with a boom. The massive quantity of spirits scattered mowed over the garden as if licking it and dispersed. Barthel, having taken a harsh blowback, yet said placidly: 
“To think you would use an attack-reversing scroll on the first turn. It gives the impression of an incompetent cowering before the threat of injury. Hm?” 
To this, Fiel answered without interrupting her smile: 
“Why, it is a natural hedge against risk in the first move. And it would hardly be amusing if the match were to end so suddenly .” 
“Ha-hmm, this is just what makes you so distressing to watch… To attempt such artifice in this game betrays a boundless lack of sense. I suppose I must educate you in the sort of behavior that suits my noble blood, hmm?” 
So, to sum up, this was oracle card. 
—A game for duels among Rank Seven, Elf. Both players held the same twenty-two-card hand and selected cards two at a time to form “scrolls.” Each scroll, besides raw strength, had certain affinities, and the losing player would have to receive the attack that corresponded to the scroll. Defending against the attack relied on the player’s magic. Used cards were discarded on the table, and, after eleven turns—that is, after all the cards had been used—the player had to choose whether to resign or to continue. If the game continued, then each player would start the contest with twenty-two cards once more—and so on until one player could hold out no longer. There were 231 scrolls in total—it was impossible to predict and prepare for all of them. Therefore, victory depended on the ability to continue defending against attacks. 
—In short, it was a test of one’s ability as an Elven mage. “Quadcasters” were considered the best of the best. Barthel was not quite up to that level, but still a remarkable mage as a “tricaster.” Fiel, meanwhile— 
“—You rely on link tattoos and boosters for beginners just to achieve duocasting, and you sincerely believe you can defeat me, do you—shame of Nirvalen, hm?” 
—Indeed. The decisive factor for victory in this game was magic skill. The number of rites that could be deployed concurrently—also implied the power and frequency of magic that could be applied. Against a tricaster such as Barthel, Fiel, barely a duocaster, didn’t stand a chance. But Fiel laughed it off. 
“Why, of course I do. You’re making quite the show over having blocked only my first move, but why not wait to crow until you actually land an attack ?” 
Then, she glanced upward. From the garden where the flowers danced and scattered in the still-throbbing spirits, she could see the second floor. Through the window, she saw walking a black-haired, black-clad girl—her partner—and her face softened. Yes, this game properly had no place for an Immanity, bereft of magic, to get involved. A single blow would be enough to decide the matter. It could hardly even be called a game. But —two faces flashed through Fiel’s mind. Self-assured, sarcastic, yet somehow melancholy, a man and a girl whispered. 
— Who said you had to take them head-on? 
And so— 
“Why, this game was over before it began!” 
 
“… Tsk , damn that Barthel.” 
On the second floor, Fritz, a butler of the house of Barthel, clucked with bile at the match in the garden. 
—His master’s intent was clear to see from the covenant he had set out. He would seize upon her weakness, goad her into an unwinnable game, and take possession of her person. Once he defeated the girl, he would automatically own the Nirvalen family’s votes, interests, property, and—more important than anything, more valuable than gold—those tits. You could see he’d put on his smug bad-guy face, but it could be assumed that his mind had already left the game behind and moved on to later that night in bed and tits galore. Fritz knew this because, as he blocked the card attacks on Barthel’s behalf from where the girl couldn’t see—in other words, helping Barthel cheat—his own mind was full of tits galore. 
Shame of Nirvalen? Incompetent? What did it matter? Those tits were enough to wipe all other defects clean from the slate. A woman, after all, was about her knockers. If those knockers were complemented by a nice face, fine buttocks, curvaceous hips, and long legs, that was all well and good, but everything beyond the knockers was optional and had about as much value as the paper napkin that comes with your lunch. 
Intelligence? Magic? Such trifles were of no interest whatsoever. 
—To get straight to the point, Fiel pushed Fritz’s buttons hard . 
“Oh, fancy seeing you here. You are Lord Barthel’s butler… Fritz, was it?” 
“—?! You’re Nirvalen’s—” 
As the manservant spun about in a panic, there stood a black-haired, black-clad Immanity…Nirvalen’s slave. Chlammy, was it? Fritz clucked to himself. 
“… Tsk , you flat-chested wench. Mind your manners before you speak to me.” 
To begin with, being addressed by such a pathetically endowed Immanity was obnoxious. And now, of all times, was inopportune. He was laden with the duty of supporting Barthel while appreciating every last bit of Fiel’s tits. But, as if incapable of discerning what ran through Fritz’s mind, the flat-chested wench continued amiably: 
“Fate must have brought us together here. Why don’t you challenge me to a game?” 
“…Watch your tongue, you kept bitch. You’d best at least triple the size of your breasts before opening your mouth, you inferior thing .” 
The words resounded with contempt, derision, and countless ill intentions. 
Yet the girl merely replied, “Watch my tongue…you say? For instance—” 
Still smiling, she narrowed her eyes. 
“If I were to use it to expose the misconduct of Lord Barthel and yourself—what would you think of that?” 
“…What’s this about?” 
“You are thinking that an Immanity is incapable of detecting magic—I suppose?” 
“……” 
As he fell silent, the flat-chested girl shook her head theatrically. “You would be right. Hypothetically. Just hypothetically , mind you. For a duocaster to win against a tricaster, it would be difficult, but not impossible. However, if you were to conspire with Lord Barthel and help him block her card attacks from here, your game would result in almost certain victory. Meanwhile, I, being unable to detect magic, would be unable to prove such shenanigans. My master—Fi—would be in quite a bind, wouldn’t she?” 
“……” 
But — The flat-chested girl broke into a giggle as she continued. 
“There’s no need for me to detect it, you know? After all, you will confess .” 
“…What?” 
“I’ll say this one more time: Why don’t you challenge me to a game? If you refuse—” The girl flashed a dusky smile and produced a small jewel from her breast pocket. “I shall let Public Safety know about your using Lord Barthel’s funds to produce and sell these ‘seeds’ to the Dwarves—a neighboring country—so that you may savor your own ruin. Is that a better way to use my tongue?” 
“Wha—?!” 
Fritz loosed a groan. Of course, the small stone Chlammy played with in her palm was none other than the “seed” in which he was dealing—illegal contraband. 
“By concentrating spirits in liquid form and ingesting them, it is possible to boost the spirits within one’s own body. It serves as a doping agent for magic. However, there are side effects—in fact, to such an extent that it became prohibited due to rampant abuse.” 
—In other words… 
“A feeling of pleasure and omnipotence induced by overdose. That’s what you call a drug.” 
“…!” 
“Do you understand now? Challenge me. There is no other way for you to save yourself.” 
At Chlammy’s chilly smile, Fritz pursed his lips. It was over. This was the end of the line. 
“…Ngk!” 
No—bear it. It’s wasn’t time; it was still too early to laugh…! It would be unsightly to break into a belly laugh at this flat-chested bint who thought she had him cornered with information such as this ! Turning his face from the flat-chest, Fritz shook his shoulders weakly. Did it look like the fear of a cornered man? —How foolish. How terribly foolish. It was Barthel who had put Nirvalen up to this. In exchange for overlooking the information that Nirvalen was plotting to free the slaves, he’d forced her to accept a game under disadvantageous conditions. To make his victory certain, he’d tasked Fritz with assisting him. But —Fritz recalled the words of that super-bosom. 
—And it would hardly be amusing if the match were to end so suddenly … 
—Those two… They were never going after Barthel in the first place, but me. He stifled his laughter. Fiel’s easy acceptance of Barthel’s game was all planned. If Fritz had his hands full supporting Barthel, even a lone Immanity girl could corner him. That kind of basic calculation was transparent. To begin with, he’d known this would happen . He knew that his seed smuggling had been found out. He’d been informed in advance by Barthel himself that there would be an interruption during the game. The reason being that these two had brought the discussion to Barthel first. 
— Your butler is engaged in this criminal affair. We would like to force him to confess in secret so as not to damage your reputation as his master. We request your cooperation so that we can obtain information. 
And so they’d worked to set him up. The game unfolding in the courtyard had been fixed in advance with Barthel for that very purpose— 
(… Or so they think — How ludicrous!) 
The two hadn’t realized that it was Barthel himself who was actually the ringleader—Barthel, the very one who’d asked them to help. Barthel couldn’t take out Fritz. If Fritz confessed, not only the smuggling routes but also a mountain of evidence indicating the true ringleader would come out. Therefore, Barthel had pretended to collaborate with them, only to bring Fiel into his grasp. He had proposed the idea himself and chosen his own mansion as the stage. Given the assumption that this was secret, she could have no allies here but her flat-chested slave. 
—What a farce. A pathetically endowed Immanity and a pathetically stupid rack. They thought they were setting him up as they leaped right into the spider’s web. 
“…You are stupider than I thought. Let me explain this in a way that even an idiot can understand.” 
As Fritz stifled his laughter, the flat-chest spoke as if throwing cold water on him. 
“You do not have any choice. It’s play or be smashed. You get 
it?” 
Spluttering at the comical taunt, Fritz raised his head. He removed his eyes from the courtyard and fixed them on the girl before him. Maintaining his composure with all his might, Fritz seated himself at an adjacent table. 
“…Very well. But I am a busy man. Let us make it quick.” 
“How convenient. I cannot afford leisure myself, given my partner’s circumstances. We’ll make it simple.” 
The flat-chest sat at the table after him and commenced. 
“Here I have a perfectly ordinary deck of playing cards.” 
She drew three cards from the deck and laid them on the table. They were the ace, queen, and king of spades. 
“King beats queen, ace beats king, and queen beats ace.” 
With that, she laid the three cards facedown and shuffled them. 
“Each of us will draw one card facedown, and we will reveal them to decide the winner. Understandable enough for an idiot?” 
“—Heh! And your request?” 
“Are you not the one who should be making requests? Or pleas to spare your life, I might say,” the flat-chest sneered. 
Slightly irked, Fritz responded, “…Then I request the destruction and oblivion of all information you wenches have grasped regarding the smuggling.” 
“Yes, and I request your confession and testimony regarding all of it. Everything, you understand.” 
At these vague words, Fritz’s brow twitched slightly. Her objective was—all the information about the smuggling and a confession about the cheating in the game proceeding in the courtyard. How interesting: These pathetic, stupid wenches, in their own stupid way, meant to stand here in consideration of their own interests. Little do they know, they came too late from the start… 
“—Very well. Aschente .” 
“Yes, Aschente …” 
—They drew their cards. His card still facedown, Fritz wove a little spell. Did you think that, if I was assisting Barthel, I would be unable to use magic here? Still the adversary was the shame of Nirvalen. Fiel Nirvalen—the first incompetent in the history of the house. She’d flunked out of school—the Garden—and was barely capable of even monocasting without the link tattoos and boosters on the back of her hand and forehead and so on. This trash was facing Barthel, a tricaster. Moreover, the foolish pair of tits was expecting the match to be thrown. What could come of Fritz diverting his attention for a mere moment? 
—He looked through his facedown card. It was the ace. He’d unfortunately been unable to figure that out from the start, but this was a game proposed by his opponent. There was no question she was cheating. There was no magic present—this he could say for sure. Then how could an Immanity cheat—? She could have shuffled deliberately and controlled the cards they drew. In any case, it was certain that the flat-chest’s card was the one that could beat his—the queen. Only three cards, presented from the beginning. Even if he were to repaint his facedown card from ace to king, his iniquity would be exposed as soon as the third card was overturned. But then all he had to do was to use magic to switch the faces of his card and hers. Even if she had drawn deliberately to acquire the card before her, that itself was cheating. And without the ability to detect magic, there was no way for an Immanity to prove that he had switched them. 
— Is that what you expect? I would advise you not to underestimate me, puny Immanity. Silently, he touched his finger to the table. Instantly, the spirits that ran along the table told him the flat-chest’s card: It was the king, which meant she’d assumed that he’d switch the facedown cards—and drew the losing card intentionally. Such a cheap trap. She thought using one of the oldest tricks in the book made her a tactician. 
“—What can be expected of the shame of Nirvalen and her slave… Fools.” 
By this point, Fritz wasn’t even trying to contain it. He laughed out loud. 
“A foolish pair of melons being preferable to a clever flat-chest, a woman is most valuable if her nutrients go to her bosom rather than her brain— But when it comes to a foolish flat-chest, what can one even say?” 
“…It appears they were right when they said noble character is not something one is born with.” 
The flat-chest twisted her face peevishly. Fritz swallowed quietly. There was nothing he had to do. She just had to fall into her own trap. 
“Well then, open deal, all right?” 
“Yes, and therein lies your downfall.” 
They revealed their cards simultaneously. Fritz’s card, just as he had seen, was the ace. And the flat-chest’s— 
—was the queen . 
“…H-how—?! It can’t be!!” 
Kicking away his chair as he stood, Fritz shrieked. Absurd, impossible, it wasn’t— Fritz panted, but Chlammy smiled. 
—Softly. Yes. With a full-faced glow, as of the sun: 
“…Hee-hee, did it surprise you it was not what you saw when you peeked ?” 
—Chlammy’s visage, along with her speech, swayed. 
“When you use magic , why, you’d best look carefully at your opponent first?” 
The visage of the black-haired girl evaporated like a summer haze, leaving a girl of waving blonde tresses—that is— 
“Wench…you’re Nirvalen?!” 
Having mimicked the visage of Chlammy , she transformed back into Fiel . 
“Why, yes , I am Fiel Nirvalen.” 
Fiel’s lips curved in an arc, producing her fluffy smile. 
“You were speaking of nutrients going to the bosom rather than the brain, I recall…? Why, this poses a rather interesting question. Wherever are your nutrients going—as it appears that even your dear member lacks development?” 
Uncovering in an instant the details of Fritz’s body by making spirits crawl over him, Fiel narrowed her eyes. 
“Why, I can only weep for the sad nutrients you’ve ingested, only to put them to no use, whether above or below.” 
But Fritz had no attention to spare for such jests— He’d lost? To Nirvalen?! 
“Why, there’s no need for such alarm . It may be short and small, but I’m sure there are some who prefer it that way… Though when your brains and face are lacking as well, it’s hard to make promises!” 
—Then— Then what, then what, then what?! 
“…Impossible! Then what of the one dueling Lord Barthel—? Who is she?!” 
 
“ Chlammy —why, I’m all done here.” 
Fiel Nirvalen leaned over the terrace railing and waved into the courtyard. That moment—the Fiel Nirvalen who was playing a game before her— No. The girl who bore that appearance returned to her original form as if casting off a veil. Chlammy Zell—the blackhaired, black-clad girl revealed there—bowed gracefully. 
“—Your cooperation is appreciated, Lord Barthel.” 
“…W-well. Of course I must bear responsibility for failing to identify indiscretions within my own ranks, hm.” 
At the Immanity girl lowering her head deeply to him, Barthel hid his discomfiture and furrowed his brow. 
“B-but isn’t this different from what we agreed upon? Hm? I understood you as promising to conduct this matter in secret… There was no mention of another participant.” 
At his words, the girl gave him a quizzical “I’m sorry?” 
“Please excuse my impertinence, but, were there an uninvited guest in your mansion, would you not be the first to observe this, my lord?” 
“…Mm-mmg…” 
Indeed . Barthel closed his mouth. The only ones in the mansion were himself, Fritz, Fiel, Chlammy, and a few additional servants. It was his own house. Were there an intruder, he should be able to detect it immediately. He had cast a rite for that very purpose. Indeed, he had selected the location for the game with that in mind—yet. In that case, how had this Immanity girl been able to duel him? The black-haired girl beamed. 
“Just as promised, we are alone, my lord.” 
“I-I see. Do excuse me… S-so now we can conclude this game as null and void, hm?” 
—It was odd. Something was odd. Spurred by an unease that threatened to crush him, Barthel stood. For now, his highest priority was to brush off this game and figure out what to do next— 
“What’s this? It appears you are confused, Lord Barthel.” 
—At the freezing touch of these words, Barthel turned back. There sat Chlammy, a black-haired girl, wearing a grand sneer. 
“Two-card set.” Two cards vanished her from her hand and appeared on the table. “I’d remind you that our game is certainly not concluded.” 
“—Wha…?!” It was impossible to conclude the game without mutual consent. “W-wench, what are you plotting?!” 
“To continue the game, of course. Please be seated. Though, if you fold, I will help myself to your chips.” 
At Chlammy’s words, Barthel’s eyes bulged. He had hardly listened to his opponent’s demand, assuming that his victory was a fait accompli. 
— That you forget about us, and that you assist us unconditionally and unreservedly. 
Though the wording might have been different, the demand was the same as the one Barthel had made to Fiel—no, even greater. He would even forget that he had lost the game as he was reduced to their slave. While Barthel’s demand had been this: 
— Your person—and lifelong, all-encompassing submission. 
In fact, the one who had accepted the game was not Fiel, but Chlammy. Winning would only gain him one slave of Nirvalen, a prize hardly worth taking. He’d meant to force through conditions that favored him—but instead had swallowed conditions that favored her —?! 
“Y-you wenches—!” 
“Lord Barthel? Your time is almost up. Do you mean to resign?” 
His rage was countered by Chlammy’s cool demeanor. 
—A player who did not produce a card within the set time would automatically forfeit the match. Having just remembered that rule, Barthel shouted at his cards in a flurry. 
“—! Two-card set!” 
Obeying Barthel’s shriek, two cards disappeared from his hand and appeared on the table. Chlammy turned up the corners of her mouth in a grin and said: 
“Open deal.” 
With this declaration, the four cards on the table flipped over. Barthel’s cards were The Moon and The High Priestess. The scroll was Double Shadow. Chlammy’s cards were Justice and The Emperor. The scroll was I Am the Rulebook. Barthel’s scroll: one that dodged the opponent’s attacks and spun them against the prosecutor. Chlammy’s scroll: one that pressed through by its own will regardless of any status effects. The scrolls activated. The sword drawn by the Emperor lay bare the truth of the High Priestess and pulled her down off her perch. Having stripped his opponent of her might and authority, the Emperor’s force rushed on toward the vacant Barthel. 
“ ? Ngk?!” 
He rushed to spin defense magic. Three spells activated just before the Emperor’s sword would have struck. But the hastily erected guard creaked, and a burning load was placed upon Barthel’s spirit corridor junction nerves. There was a boom and a flash, and a voice came from behind the breathless Barthel. 
“Oh my . Why, it would appear that was sufficient to shave off half your strength!” 
He turned to see Fiel calmly advancing with his crestfallen butler in tow. 
“Fritz—you knave. How could you lose to Nirvalen?!” 
Fritz winced at Barthel’s censure, casting his gaze down wordlessly. Beside him, Fiel spoke with her fluffy smile. 
“Why, what can you expect? Ultimately, he took me for an Immanity and let his guard entirely down.” 
“Shut your mouth, Nirvalen! You treacherous vixen, you deceived me?!” 
“Whaaat? The word deceive is so offensive… Why, after all…” 
Fiel looked at Chlammy, still seated at the table. Chlammy nodded and smiled coldly. 
“…Weren’t you the one who was always trying to put one over on us ?” 
Barthel gasped, but Chlammy continued. 
“You were the one telling your butler to manage the smuggling so you could profit. Did you think we wouldn’t realize?” 
“Why, you thought you’d pretend to help, trap us, wipe out the evidence, and then take everything —” 
“And if it didn’t work out, you’d just annul the game and moon us… Rather deplorable, my dear lord.” 
At Fiel and Chlammy’s invective, Barthel’s face warped violently. They knew everything. They knew what he’d been plotting, and he was the one who’d been led by the nose… No. 
“Heh, heh-heh… You missed your chance, Nirvalen!” 
“Excuuse me? Did you call?” 
As Fiel stared at him blankly, Barthel shrieked in triumph. 
“Now that I know the one who was playing with me was this little hussy, it is transparent that you cheated! An Immanity could never guard against a card attack! You were helping her, weren’t you?!” 
—Indeed, since the start of the game, they had gone through three full decks, and seven battles further. Which meant that, in the course of forty rounds, Chlammy had received some attacks. Barthel had seen with his own eyes that they had been blocked by magical barriers. Chlammy couldn’t have done this, and therefore Fiel must have helped her— but . The condemned Fiel scratched her cheek incredulously and grinned back. 
“Why, considering that you were relying on your butler , this is a most shocking accusation…” 
And then Chlammy told him. 
“In the first place, that’s not cheating— you ass .” 
The direct insult left Barthel speechless. 
“Listen carefully to the words of a covenant you make—when you and I confirmed the conditions, I explicitly said we .” 
—Now Barthel truly had no more words. He merely opened his eyes. Given that she’d said we , it was considered a game between Barthel and the team of Chlammy and Fiel. There wasn’t a rule against leaving one’s seat during the game; Fiel could cast a barrier from a remote location without cheating— No, wait… she’d been disguising both of them, hiding it from us, playing a game on the second floor, and at the same time casting a barrier—? 
With a sigh, Chlammy twisted her lips. 
“Fi, it looks like this twit finally gets it.” 
“Well, you must consider that he is handicapped by all the blood flow going to his loins rather than his brain. Why not give him the credit he deserves ?” Fiel spoke sunnily, but in a tone that conveyed nothing but cold. “Yet he falls so easily for such simple word games. It’s disappointing. After preparing so many complicated tricks and backup plans—look, it’s all gone to waste.” 
Before his eyes, a girl of an inferior race sighed as if disgusted with him. 
“Anyway… Your play is so obvious. You always make a bruteforce attack at the start. It gets blocked, and then you try a curse. You don’t use counters because you don’t like them, and just now you allowed your fear to take over, stalling for time with scrolls that annul attacks. Any bloody dunce could— Excuse me. Given this, it is hardly surprising that you do not understand.” 
Barthel’s shoulders quivered. In rage and humiliation—and, most unspeakably, in fear . Throughout these forty rounds, Chlammy had suffered injury in only a scant few. And those had all been starting rounds, the ones in which luck played the biggest factor. For the rest— she’d read every play he’d made . Not an Elf, but a mere human, an Immanity— 
“—Don’t underestimate humans like that, you old creep.” 
The mysterious black-haired girl— 
“…Come—let the game continue!” 
—smiled at him like the Grim Reaper. 
 …… 
The sharp spirit surge caught Barthel by the arm—and ripped at his spirit corridor junction nerves. At the ineffable agony, the old man of hundreds of years wailed like a child. After the shock that scattered the flowers that bloomed in the garden subsided—to the old Elf, fallen from his chair, grasping in torment, the Immanity girl whispered sweetly. 
“—This marks the end of the fourth cycle. What seems to be the matter, Lord Barthel?” 
“Eeegh—ee…” 
“By the way, I wonder if you’ve noticed. Fi…that is, Fiel Nirvalen—is a hexcaster.” 
At these words poured into his ear, the old man’s face blanched whiter than paper. He knew by now that this was no lie. It was the only explanation for the series of feats Fiel had pulled off that day. As if to console the pale, shivering old man, Chlammy knelt and continued. 
“Fear not, my lord. I see you have no strength left to weave further barriers—but you still have ample chance of victory. All you have to do is read my every move without taking a single attack and wear down our hexcaster.” 
—Describing chances that would require scientific notation to express mathematically, Chlammy smiled. 
“And it’s no problem if you fail. It will only hurt a little—though you might die accidently.” 
—Indeed, what she’d described— was exactly what she’d pulled off . Surely you don’t mean to say that a mere human can do it and you can’t—? 
“I— I-I— I concede! It is my loss! So please—please spare me!!” 
“—Very well. Then we win, I see. Thank you for the match, Lord Barthel.” 
As Chlammy stood with a look askance at the pitiful old man, Fiel bounded upon her with a cheer. 
“Why, how wonderful ! This must be the first time an Immanity has ever defeated an Elf at oracle card !” 
“…It’s nothing worthy of boast against a senile buffoon such as this. He’s the lowest of the low among all the trash we’ve been playing .” 
Stroking Chlammy’s swollen head comfortingly, Fiel turned with a Well then . She teased the splayed Barthel and Fritz, standing by his side, with her eyes. 
“Shall we, Lord Barthel? By the Covenants, please forget everything about us.” 
And then—Chlammy continued with a smile. 
“Carry on with your illegal trade as you were.” 
—Wha…what? 
“And also, Mr. Fritz? Why, half a month from now —you will confess everything.” 
—What…in blazes? 
As both Barthel and Fritz seemed woefully incapable of keeping up with what was transpiring, Chlammy stepped up to the table once more. 
“With that, we shall presently be taking our leave—but first.” She smirked while shuffling the tarot cards they had used for the game. “As a final courtesy, I will tell your fortune.” 
“Why, Chlammy , it is news to me that you had such a skill!” 
“Indeed, this will be my first time. However—this fortune will not fail.” 
Her words were at once jocular and eerie as she drew four cards— 
“Oh my, what interesting cards. Let’s see, by my reckoning…” 
On cue, she revealed each card in turn to her audience. 
—Temperance, upright. 
“It appears your business of selling seeds to the Dwarves will proceed quite smoothly.” 
—The Tower, upright. 
“But then in half a month…goodness me, for some reason , one of your Dwarven customers will confess and get caught.” 
—Wheel of Fortune, reversed. 
“And then, unfortunately , Lord Barthel, your butler will mention your name, and the whole affair will be traced back to you…and then.” 
—Judgment, reversed. 
“You yourself, Lord Barthel, will be judged in a court of law—the end. My condolences.” 
Ignoring the blanching pair, Chlammy threw a theatrical question at Fiel. 
“Heh-heh, that’s rather interesting, isn’t it, Fi? When Lord Barthel gets caught, whoever shall take ownership of that trading company of his, Will Andmorrow, the greatest in Elven Gard?” 
“Oh my . Why, what a coincidence—it happens to be that boy of the house of Enrich we amused ourselves with three days ago.” 
—Everything. Everything had been in the palms of their hands. The two girls darkly laughed at what they called destiny . 
“Nirvalen. You bitch—no, you bitches, just what are you plotting?!” 
To Barthel, howling as his teeth chattered, the two responded with cold smiles. 
“What’s that? Well, we could tell you, I suppose.” 
“But you’ll forget anyway. Much as you’ll forget you were involved with us at all .” 
Watching the two witches giggle innocently to each other, Barthel shivered. Just what had he got himself into? 
“Well then, by the Covenants—farewell, Lord Barthel.” 
“Why, we pray for your continued success in your business.” 
—And so. With a snap of the ladies’ fingers, the day ceased to have been. 
 
Chlammy and Fiel drew their matching hoods down over their faces. They weren’t here, and they never had been. That’s how it became. Hiding from view, they leaped from the top floor of Lord Barthel’s mansion. Faster than gravity, the rite Fiel wove took hold of their bodies and carried them high in the sky. 
—Through the wind, into the night. Only the red moon, the light of the stars, and the lamps of the city lit the scenery below them, brilliantly. A city in the forest. A city of green woven of astonishingly refined magic. It was a sight with which Chlammy was quite familiar—but, even if it had been the first time she was seeing it, it would have been indication enough that Elven Gard’s civilization was on another level entirely. The two flitted through the sky above, their hoods flapping. 
“Chlammy, why, you were amazing.” From tree—no, from building to building, bounding roof to roof, Fiel gushed. 
“You really took out that old scoundrel without my aid. Goodness, I was so concerned.” 
“…Never mind that, Fi. Are you all right?” 
“Eh-heh-heh, it’s not a bad feeling to have you concerned about me. You certainly are growing, Chlammy,” Fiel responded with a silly smile while maintaining the rite allowing them to glide through the air. But the gem in her forehead had lost its sparkle and appeared cloudy due to her profligate use of magic. Chlammy could see this clearly, even in the dim light. 
Lord Ron Barthel and his butler, Fritz. A tricaster and a duocaster. They might not have been the best of the best, but they were up there. 
… But , Chlammy pondered, with a glance at the girl dancing through the air beside her. 
—Fiel Nirvalen. The head of one of the few truly great families of Elven Gard, which Chlammy served as a slave. Fiel had attended the towering white tree of the greatest magic school in the nation, the Garden—and failed and withdrawn. Those who did not know her, with her white link tattoos and beginner boosters, sneered. She was the first incompetent since the birth of the house of Nirvalen—scrap, they said. But Chlammy, who knew Fiel was only feigning incompetence, sneered at the sneerers. Fiel was the greatest talent since the inception of the house of Nirvalen—gold—this she knew. Fiel had never particularly made a show of her true ability to Chlammy. But still— 
She’d cast a spell of disguise on herself and Chlammy, and she’d cast a spell of blocked awareness both on Barthel and on Fritz to prevent them from catching on. On top of that, she’d defended Chlammy in oracle card from a distance, and what’s more, she’d taken on Fritz in their game… She had been orchestrating six spells at once . 
A hexcaster—without a doubt, she was better than the best. 
No, wait. In that game with Sora and Shiro a while back—the Othello match using Jibril’s core—Fiel had woven a rite capable of controlling the astronomical power wielded by Rank Six, Flügel. Taking this into account, it was enough to imagine that she was a mage for whom “better than the best” didn’t even cut it. A mage to be welcomed as an honorary instructor, even by the same Garden that had expelled her. 
…It was very least they could do. 
“Mmrr…? Why, what’s the matter, Chlammy?” 
With her golden locks fluttering in the wind and her white skin glowing in the darkness, Fiel’s smiling form was more dazzling than the light of the sun. She was the flower of Nirvalen, born to a pedigreed house and concealing extraordinary intellectual and magical talent. Wherever she walked, a future of nothing but sparkles should have been her due—had she not herself thrown it all away. Yes, she had refused that promised future. Concealing her nature, playing the incompetent, she had chosen, of all things, to bite back at her homeland, her country, her race. All for one person. Just one. None other than— 
“—…It is nothing.” 
—For her friend. Softly dropping her eyes, Chlammy exhaled. To free the slaves— Certainly, it had a nice ring to it. But it was tantamount to freeing the national secrets of Elven Gard. To free the Fairies, for instance, who’d been exploited for high-level magic, was equivalent to selling their secret weaponry to another country. If that happened, the Dwarves of Hardenfell could hardly pass up the chance. Elf would most likely lose the continent they’d been quarreling with Dwarf over for nearly a millennium. In the worst case, they’d go on to see their country split, and what lay at the end of that did not bear discussion. 
—But if it was for Chlammy, Fiel’s homeland could go to ruin for all she cared. So she boasted and so she truly thought, and in fact, she had already taken any number of perilous steps to that end. Toward Fiel, Chlammy felt deep gratitude as well as a certain feeling akin to admiration, which transcended race and age. 
—But then what about herself? Chlammy had to wonder. Though it might not have shown on her face, Fiel’s deep fatigue was evident in the color of her gem. As someone who couldn’t win a single game without placing such a burden on one of Fiel’s class…was she really worthy of being called a friend—? 
— Grk. Her head throbbed. It was a flashback, Chlammy realized, as she stopped, holding her head in her hands. 
—A girl and a puppet that wanted to be a person, joining pinkies and exchanging a promise. He—the puppet—Sora. Did he think that he would tie her down? Tether her to the ground, one who should have been free to ascend unaided to the heavens— 
“Why…Chlammy, whatever is it?” 
Chlammy replied, averting her eyes from the friend who’d doubled back after noticing she’d stopped. “…Fi, I’m sorry. If I’d only moved more skillfully…” 
“Chlammy…? 
Elven Gard. It was an enormous country that wielded its overwhelming magical supremacy over almost 30 percent of the planet’s landmass. It was the greatest nation in the world, with over twice the might of its closest competitor, Hardenfell. Its foundations were like a fortress, defying attempts to find a crack— 
…No. That was just another excuse. Still thinking of those two, Chlammy tightened her fists. 
“If they had been the ones playing—they could have done it without magic.” 
“Chlammy…” 
Gradually, she and Fiel chipped away at those who held the reins of distribution, trade, and rights. Undercutting power beneath a veil of secrecy, at the end a tiny ant tunnel, a hole thinner than a needle opened. But, at this rate, they could never— 
“And never mind that, they could have won more grandly!” 
The more little games they stacked, the more catastrophe loomed. If the powers that be ever caught on to their machinations, they would be squashed in a blink. Somewhere, there had to be a Sora-style solution—to end it all with a single, unexpected strike. 
“And yet…all I do is cause trouble for you, and we make no progress worth—” 
“Chlammy!” 
As the skin of her palms began to split, pierced by her fingernails in her clenched fists, a quiet but authoritative voice stopped her. 
“Chlammy, why…you can’t be them.” 
“……I know.” 
She looked down. She knew. It was futile, even if she tried to imitate Sora. It was Sora and Shiro together that made “  ” (Blank)—Immanity’s greatest gamer. She would have to find her own— 
“Why, no. You understand nothing, I’m afraid.” 
Her thoughts interrupted, Chlammy looked up. 
“I don’t know what sort of memories you received from Mr. Sora. But I do purport to know a bit—about who Mr. Sora is .” In that forest city, amidst its fantastic illumination, Fiel’s expression turned serious. “Why, Mr. Sora used you because he couldn’t do it himself.” 
“…Fair enough, but look at—” 
“And he used me because you couldn’t do it yourself.” 
“—!” 
“They are not the only one who is two. To begin with, attempting to win that game without relying on me would be as like unto Mr. Sora or Miss Shiro playing alone .” 
“…Fi…” 
“ Chlammy , why, you can rely on me. And you ought to.” 
Just as “  ” was a team, Chlammy and Fiel were, too. If they were able to produce the same results together, then to whom must they apologize? But— 
“But all I do is weigh you down. I haven’t—” 
“Why, it’s because of you that I have the will…and also…” 
Holding her disheartened friend’s hand, Fiel glowed. 
“I’m perfectly aware, you know, of how every day you summon up those memories from Mr. Sora and try to uncover all of Mr. Sora and Miss Shiro’s strategies to make them your own—” 
Her eyes suddenly clouded with a somber tinge. 
“And because of that, you haven’t slept in forever.” 
“……” 
“If you don’t sleep, I won’t sleep. If you will try, then I will try. Why, if you think I am tired—don’t you see you are the same?” 
With these words, Fiel peered into Chlammy’s face. 
—Stroking the dark circles even the night couldn’t conceal, she whispered like a mother chiding her child: 
“Chlammy, if you would worry about my fatigue, tonight is the night you must promise me you will sleep properly… Why, if we carry on like this, we’ll both collapse…” 
“…I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—” 
“Mmng, why, that’s not it.” Fiel pouted comically, her cheeks puffed out. “Don’t you think there’s something else you should be saying?” 
“…—You’re right. Thank you, Fi.” 
Smiling and nodding, Fiel took Chlammy’s hand and wove a rite again. Meanwhile… 
“In any case, I doubt that the reason Mr. Sora entrusted us with the downfall of Elven Gard was such a grand and noble one… Why, don’t you agree?” 
The two then recalled the man’s face—his sloppy, slovenly face—and they quoted him together. 
““Man…politics, rights…overthrowing a big country is such a pain in the ass. I’ll leave it to you guys.”” 
Smirking, the pair leaped back into the sky. 
 
An inn on the outskirts of the city. The companions had secured a little room with two parallel beds. Fiel, having removed her hood and changed into her bedclothes, repeated her admonishment. 
“Now, Chlammy, tonight you must sleep.” 
“…W-well then, may I…ask one thing?” 
“Yes? Why, ask anything you liike.” 
Chlammy, hugging a pillow, averted her gaze uncomfortably. 
“E-err… C-c-could you…sleep with me?” As Fiel’s face lit up knowingly, Chlammy blushed and shouted, “N-no! It’s just, Sora’s memories are keeping me up! S-so I’m thinking of how Sora holds Shiro’s— If you held my hand, it might… It’s all Sora’s fault, you know?!” 

“Yes, yes, it’s all Mr. Sora’s fault. Why, then, you don’t need to be ashamed. Just like before, if you have a bad dream, you can jump right under my blanket.” 
“I said… No, it’s not like that! Ngh , everything—it’s all Sora’s fault. Why must I…?” And so on—carping on in a low mumble, she went ahead and climbed into Fiel’s bed. To Chlammy, as she lay with her back turned, Fiel smiled and spoke. 
“Chlammy, is there anything else you want? Why, I could sing a lullaby.” 
“I suppose I want you to stop teasing me and let me rest.” 
“Really? Why, you don’t want stroking or fluffing ?” 
“………………W-well, if you want to.” 
“Okay! Why, I want to very much, so I’ll go ahead!” 
At the sensation of Fiel’s hand combing her hair, Chlammy felt the tension leave her body. The familiar feeling—from all those times she’d cried—reminded her of the past. 
All those days she’d been kept by the Nirvalens as a slave. Even with Fiel on her side—she’d amassed any number of unpleasant memories, and they made her want to cry. Made her want to die. But she’d decided never to feel sorry for herself. She’d held back the tears with all her might, releasing them all in that bed, back in those days, long ago. By now, having touched Sora’s memories, the time had long since passed when she should— 
“……Chlammy, are you asleep?” 
Fiel’s voice was soft so as not to wake her friend if she was. It put the stopper on Sora’s memories just as they were about to come rushing back. 
“…Not yet. What?” 
“Mmm, if you can’t sleep, I was thinking of talking a bit until you can. Do you mind?” 
“…Well, no…but what?” 
At the serious tone underscoring Fiel’s words, Chlammy nodded, confused. 
“Chlammy, why, it seems as if you trust Mr. Sora unconditionally .” Fiel whispered with concern. “To be honest, that worries me…” 
“…” 
“Are the memories Mr. Sora gave you actually real?” 
—Sora and Shiro had a Flügel. With the Covenants, it was possible to falsify memories. Perhaps they had forged memories and given them to Chlammy to manipulate her. That was what Fiel was implying. But… 
“It’s possible I’m being tricked, you mean. That does indeed sound like something Sora would do—” 
Chlammy smirked. 
“—would sound like it, rather.” 
Chlammy tittered at Fiel’s dubious expression. 
“You needn’t worry. The one who’s overestimating Sora— is not me, but you, Fi .” 
—The memory flashed through the back of Chlammy’s mind. Sora’s memory was drenched in awful recollections, but now— 
“…Hey, Fi, do you know why the word ‘genius’ exists?” 
“…What?” 
“It is to maintain that a puppet is not a person . One who defies understanding is called a genius. With approval, a genius. Without, a monster. As spoken by most people, it is actually a slight.” 
Implying that since it’s a different beast from themselves, there’s nothing more to say, the majority comforted themselves thus and gave up. But that puppet was different. 
“Yes, he really was just a puppet .” 
—He was just a dumbass. 
“But he refused to be just a puppet .” 
—He admired the real thing he saw before him. 
“And then—he endured, suffering in ways from which it would be hard to believe one could recover.” 
Chlammy, in her sleepy daze, swam through Sora’s memories. A way to fly without being able to fly—how could you tell whether or not it was possible? By trying to fly—and seeing if you fell : That was the only way. After falling so many times, his body, his heart shattered— 
“…Even so, he stood up. With that silly grin of his, as if nothing had happened.” 
His heart bleeding, his teeth grinding, looking at his sister, he stood up. In that, the typical image of a genius’s effortlessness …was nowhere to be found. 
—It really is tough to have a smart little sister, isn’t it? “Big brother.” 
“Sora— is terribly awkward . And that is why he could catch up—no, even overtake. He stands at a place anyone can reach if they are a person, while being a fool just as he says. As a fool, he has run to catch up with the real thing he admired, enduring , over and over—just…a fool.” 
…As Chlammy spoke, Fiel’s hand kept stroking her. Guiding her deeper and deeper beneath a state of consciousness. 
“What you need is just a little—but to go all the way—you need enough resolve to make one feel faint, and…” 
In her submerged consciousness, Chlammy remembered the tournament for the monarchy, Sora’s words: 
— When it comes to conflict and slaughter, we’re seasoned experts compared to you — 
Visceral memory overlapped the recollection. 
—The memory of blood, on a hand, 
at which he looked down with vacant eyes— 
the memory of a puppet that wanted only to be a person— 
“…He really is…just so awkward… can’t even … tell a single lie …you know…” 
“Chlammy?” 
…Only the breath of sleep answered. Deep in thought, Fiel stroked the girl, who had drifted off with words still falling from her lips. One more thing , she’d murmured, but left the thought incomplete. Fiel pondered, looking at the ceiling. She recalled the man Chlammy had assessed as awkward, incapable of telling a single lie. 
—The face of the man who seemed to walk in clothes woven of lies. Bold, frivolous, eliciting caution from all who saw him— 
“ ? Oh…” 
Finally, Fiel got there. 
“I see… A ‘liar who can’t lie’… That’s what she meant…” 
A man whose life even Chlammy deemed awe-inspiring—one who had weathered such experiences. 
Why… would he elicit caution ? 
Fiel felt a long-held unease dissipate. Having reached her answer, imagining a future in which Chlammy believed, of which Sora and his sister dreamed, a minute smile spilled across her face. And the ghosts of sleep that had eluded her returned to close her eyes. 
I can’t wait , she thought. For the first time in a long time—a really and truly long time, too many years to count—she faded into a deep sleep.