No Game No Life - Volume 7 - Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2 
WHODUNIT 
 
Floating in the liminal space of death, the Shrine Maiden had a distant dream. In distant memories of the old and faraway, which the dead can never reach, an unwanted girl drifted through eternity alone and at last went to sleep. That was her dream… 
…… 
The first thing of which she was aware was a world squirming into being. Watching heaven and earth writhe—not even in creation and destruction, but just painting creation over creation—the girl asked, Where am I? and Who am I? The world still had nothing that would answer her, but what did respond was her ether. It said: This is the planet and Thou art a god. But to the girl’s following query, her ether did not respond, but merely went silent for eternity. 
What’s a god? 
Through the everlasting silence, the girl simply took up her brush alone, continued to question, and continued to write. After waiting for just one word, a simple reply, what finally reached her were merely the fires of war. Looking to the gods who smashed the planet in conflict, the girl gleefully launced into her queries…only to receive empty answers. 
Who are you? —I am a god. 
What is a god? —A god is a god…… 
The girl did not understand, but the Shrine Maiden floating through the memories did. The planet still had no self to ask why. The lonely philosopher, questioning eternity while hugging her knees, lost hope…and fell into an eternal sleep, clinging dearly to the one answer she at last had found at the end of infinity— 
Yes. Until thou awakest me. 
The booming voice floated the Shrine Maiden’s distant consciousness up to the surface…… 
…… 
…Gracious…? What’s this? Am I still living? 
The Shrine Maiden tried to look around only to realize that her eyes—no, none of her senses—worked. In the lightless, soundless void, all she could hear was a voice resounding within her consciousness, one she knew well. 
Nay. Should this hand be loosed, thy soul will surely disperse at once, like the dew. 
The words of the god whose ether she’d housed within her through many years. To that voice—ice-cold, emotionless, and inorganic as ever—sound: 
I see. Be that as it may, if I’m dead, we can’t chat, can we? Aye, it mustn’t be reckoned so till I am dew. 
It seemed she was literally in the palm of a god’s hand, her soul in its grip. The Shrine Maiden laughed cacophonously, though she had no mouth or throat—or even a body. But this laughter was perhaps not well taken. 
Mortal. Know thy place as one who hast deceived a god. 
With that, the Shrine Maiden felt her consciousness flicker once. She must have indeed “died” in the palm of the god’s tightened grasp, but even so, she remained casual. She’d deceived and exploited an Old Deus—that she’d admit. Defiantly. After all… 
’Tis the rule of the world that the fault lies in falling for it, you know? 
Once more her consciousness lapsed. Had she died for a moment again? 
Blimey, if you’d stop killing me and bringing me back on a whim… It chills my guts, it does—or, wait, do I have guts? 
Twice. Thou hast deceived me. 
A divine pronouncement of guilt. Sacred words that but for the Ten Covenants should spell doom in and of themselves. Still. 
What, now, are you sulking? That must mean the game is coming along swimmingly. 
Yes, if the deception was going fine. As if in place of an answer, the Shrine Maiden, till now bereft of senses, found her vision opened. She saw the spiraling land divided into spaces and the players making their individual ways. It seemed that things were all proceeding as planned. 
Oh dear, you’re gonna lose, you know? 
Forgetting even that she was drenched in death to the top of her head, the Shrine Maiden laughed merrily. 
Indeed. When a god may be deceived twice by her host—all may be so, and all may be not. 
The god’s face could not be seen as she spoke. Her voice contained no feeling, no involvement, no interest whatsoever. It was as though she wished for nothing, hoped for nothing, and dismissed all as equally valueless, meaningless. 
I care not. Should I succeed or should I fail—only the ending will change. The conclusion will not. 
Very much like…a petulant child. 
Insofar as thou hast deceived, betrayed— sold —your god, the limits of the theory thou hast sought remain unchanged. 
The Shrine Maiden snickered at the girl’s lack of self-awareness. She knew. No, she couldn’t understand, but she just knew that was how it was. To an Old Deus—to a transcendant being such as that girl—time itself appeared on a different scale than to the Shrine Maiden. The ending of this game—perhaps even what lay beyond—might appear as countless confirmed facts to that girl as she looked out across infinite branching futures, even potential worlds. But… 
They’ll change… The ending, the conclusion, and you. 
It was no use. At the point she’d been deceived by the Shrine Maiden, it had become self-evident that even a god did not know everything—especially this girl. The Shrine Maiden extinguished the laughter from her voice. 
I’ve misled and deceived and betrayed you. The first time accidentally, the second time purposefully. That said— 
The Shrine Maiden’s voice became tinged with a slight loneliness as she spoke with the deliberate intention to provoke. 
—I’ve not lied to you. That you don’t see that shows the limits of your vision. 
In the instant the girl claimed the Shrine Maiden had sold her, it had been made plain. The scope of a transcendent race’s knowledge and understanding, after all…only goes so far. 
I—they—will take you beyond. 
Armed with this surety, she could now be so daring as to assert: 
Doubt is synonymous with faith. To usher in those things even you know not, that I myself once despaired of… To change the ending and the conclusion with the whole world in tow… The hands that bring in that future—do you not think they’ll be a sight? 
. 
What they bring in—appears, indeed, to be what ye would call a sight . 
Yes, the scene glimpsed by the eyes of the god flashed in the vision she shared with the Shrine Maiden—the form of those soon to come. 
…… 
I—I think…mind… Ahh… Perhaps I got a bit carried away…? 
It should be fine…probably. Should be, surely…somehow. 
 
The 152nd space. Following their third roll, eighty-four, to the 204th… According to Shiro’s map, this plain grazed the state of Highwest, in the Elven Gard domain on the continent of Lucia. The rocks had faded to teal and gave way to a barren plain on the verge of becoming a desert. Here, those watched from on high headed toward the end of the possibilities that even a god knew not… Now. 
“Oh yeahhhh! Screw walking on foot; tools are where it’s aaat!” 
He shouted gleefully. Human potential lies not in the body but in the mind! Flying through the wind, tearing across the wasteland—on a Harley—toward the full stop, they threw the engine into high gear and sped off with literal abandon. 
“S-Soraaa—?! What is thiiiiiiiiis?!” 
“…B-Brother…! S-slow…dowwwn…!” 
The middle-aged man who’d crammed the pair of shrieking toddlers of about two years old into the sidecar howled. 
“Prattle not so, my little sister! Can you not hear it? The voice of the wind telling us to become like liiight!” 
At her brother’s cryptic assertion, the madness visible in his eyes through his goggles, Shiro thought, It all started a few hours ago… 
…… 
It had been eighteen days since the start of the game when they ran out of food. 
“Aww man, this suuucks… I wanna go hooome… We’re so screwwwed… We’re all gonna diiie, ah-ha-ha-ha-ha.” 
“…Brother…it’s…okay, to cross the goal line…isn’t it?” 
“Oh, look at the flying pink elephaaant… We could just get on that, and we’d be there in a jiffy. ?” 
The three of them were still on their second move, creeping along like ghosts across the fifty-eight spaces they’d rolled during their “random number analysis” ritual. 
…In the first place, they’d been miraculously lucky to obtain a carriage early on. Having lost it, they’d intended to procure another vehicle or even build themselves a bicycle—except this off-road trail stretching 580 kilometers was too rugged for such shoddy contraptions. Every time they lost a mode of transport they’d suffered to round up, their hearts had cracked a fraction more, until finally: 

 

God, why don’t we just walk? Of like, defeated minds, the trio reluctantly set out on foot. 
As players landed on Sora’s and Shiro’s Tasks, their dice increased steadily. Nevertheless, the three of them could only seek shade from the sun, endure the rain, and worry about wild animals as they walked and walked. So things went for over two weeks, until they ran out of food and were finally left moaning in despair. Just then, though, their vision suddenly went dark, and—after their 119th load screen—they finally reached their destination. Their roll of fifty-eight had led them to the 120th space…and a Task. Sora and company stood alone in the wide-open wasteland, where there likewise stood…a sign. 
—Name the manufacturer of this motorcycle. If you get it right, it’s yours! 
It sat beside the Task Sora and Shiro had written: a large, high-displacement motorcycle with sidecar attached, tank full, engine humming. Predictably, this was a question that only Sora or Shiro—or maybe Jibril—could answer: 
Harley. 
After throwing the dice again, Sora straddled the Harley, grinning as if he’d just witnessed a miracle performed before his very eyes. 
“Ha-ha!! Making over half my Tasks about vehicles finally paid off! Oh, roar, my V-type, liquid-cooled, DOHC Evolution engine!! Let us zoom across the spiraling horizon! Come—let us go, to the unyielding space beyoooond!!!” 
And that’s how this came to pass. 
“…B-Brother, do you, have, a license…?” 
Asking a question to which she knew the answer perfectly well was Shiro’s attempt to distract herself from her fear as the wind beat against her face. Of course he didn’t. A motorcycle license? The fastest thing he’d ever ridden was a mommy bike. There was no reason for a socially incompetent shut-in loser like him to have one. 
“A license to ride a Harley? Ha! Sure I do—” 
But as he jabbed his heart with his thumb, her brother’s an answer defied her expectations. 
“I have old-guy soul! And American spirit!! Right in my heart!!” 
“…Brother! We’re Japanese…! We hardly even have, Japanese spirit… We’re shut-ins!” 
Having collected Shiro’s and Steph’s dice, Sora appeared 43.2 years old— 
“And that’s age fraud… Come, to your senses…!” 
—but, looks notwithstanding, inside, he was still Sora, virgin, actually 18. 
“Be calm, my little sister… Your elder brother’s heart is in an enlightened state heretofore unknown. Good enough?” 
Shiro nodded uneasily at her brother’s Buddha-like smile. Such a illogical segue like this was the best proof that things weren’t “good” by any stretch, but— 
“You categorize people according to their country of birth… Do you mean to say something so sad?” 
We are the world, we are the children. 
On the verge of bursting into song, Sora looked through his goggles into the distance. 
“Do you mean to suggest that unless one is born in Japan one cannot understand the Japanese concept of harmony? To feel harmony, to respect harmony… Do you mean to tell me that unless one is born within the borders drawn on the map and labeled ‘Japan’ one cannot grasp this? Your elder brother disagrees.” 
“…Uh…well…b-but, Brother—” 
“America—a fine example. The only American race is that of its citizens—am I correct?” 
“…Y-yeah…it’s a country, of immigrants…but…” 
“But those merely born in America, or even those who have immigrated there, call themselves Americans with pride. It is to touch the heart; it is to know the heart. It is when one comes in contact with, not the borders, but the collective culture built by the people—that one finds the same heart in oneself.” 
Therefore, it is not a question of birth. 
Another Buddha-like smile. Sora’s expression as he shouted made him look like the wrathful bodhisattva Vajrapani. Shiro was now certain— 
“Within this Harley resides an American soul! Now I am America!! ” 
What do I do…? Brother’s snapped… 
“A-anyway, it’s not like it’s a public road, right? And Earth law doesn’t apply, right? And there are no cops, right?” 
The man who proclaimed himself America stammered out a list of chickenshit qualifiers. 
“Shiro, I’m not imagining it, am I? Sora’s broken, isn’t he?” 
In the sidecar with Shiro, who was approximately 2.2 years of age, was a girl buried beneath their luggage. Steph, approximately 1.8 years of age. She dejectedly muttered her suspicion, and Shiro sympathized with her completely, albeit reluctantly. 
“A-and also, we’ll soon encounter a serious problem…” 
“Problem?! There’s no problem! From America with love—let it be!!! ?” 
“…Brother…the Bea*les…were British…!” 
“I will not let it be!! Sh-Shiro, you know what I mean… We must pick some flowers—” 
“…I’m, a babe… Babes, don’t…pee…” 
“Say what?! Can’t hear you over the wind and engine! Speak up!!” 
Sora decided to leverage his sudden bout of protagonist deafness to get Shiro to repeat herself, but she ignored him. Drawing the tablet from her backpack and crushing Steph in the process, Shiro thought: 
…For her brother to break so thoroughly meant he was functioning properly. 
More than eighteen days since the start of the game… 436 hours and eighteen minutes, to be precise. They’d run out of food and grown increasingly weary, having failed to manage to get any sleep. Even if there were no monsters, there could be wild dogs or insects or weather… Dangers sufficient to kill a person were abundant. Environments where they could relax and take a break were rare on this long trip… It would be abnormal not to break down. 
…Except for someone who had the best portable bed, who could be carried on her brother’s back or lie on his chest when she got tired of walking—Shiro. In that case, now it’s time for my job, she muttered, commencing her analysis: 
Start situation processing. 
—Breakdown of dice counts and approximate ages: 
•   Sora: 24 dice—43.2 years. 
•   Shiro: 2 dice—2.2 years. 
•   Steph: 1 die—1.8 years. 
The reason Sora had Shiro and Steph were so young wasn’t, of course, for the sake of the old-man soul with the Harley license. Becoming small meant they ate less. When they walked, they priorited endurance and distributed their dice accordingly. The reason Shiro had two and Steph had one was so Shiro wouldn’t drop to zero if by chance someone overcame one of her Tasks. It was thanks to having consistently and appropriately adapted the distribution of their dice that they’d come this far. However, the elder brother was the one who had each time carried this burden without so much as a peep. As a result, it was no surprise he was the flagship, since, despite the amount of damage to his vessel, he never sank. All of Steph’s considerations and demands were excluded. 
Steph had resigned herself to proceed boldy with the mind-set, “I’m pantsless anyhow, so I can’t be embarrassed.” 
…Urgent…must find, food for Brother…an environment, where Brother can sleep… 
—Current location: Space 152. The west edge of the state of Highwest in Elven Gard. Dice: spaces left to destination, estimated time and fuel required— 
“……Oh.” 
Shiro had zoomed out the map on her tablet. She gasped when she discovered something just barely within their current space. Immediately she started crunching numbers—no, calculating—and whispered: 
“…Brother…two point four kilometers east…in a…small town…there’s, an inn.” 
“An inn?! An inn! That sounds wonderful after sleeping in the wild for over two weeks without a bath!” 
Steph, crushed by Shiro and their luggage, had whispered with all her might even before Sora could speak. 
Surely there’s a bathroom as well. Steph didn’t say it, but she glanced at Shiro, who nodded. But Sora furrowed his brow slightly in reluctance. Of course he would, Shiro thought—since the word bath had been mentioned and Shiro hadn’t flinched. However… 
“Please! Let us hasten there! Hasten, hasten, to the flowers, the flowers!” 
“…You’re awfully gung-ho about flowers at a time like this… Whatcha gonna do with the flowers, eat them?” 
“Let us make haste there now! If you don’t go that way—I shall leap from here!” 
“A-all right, all right already! Hrmm… Just when I was getting my groove on…” 
Sora was in such fine form that it was hard to tell this was his last flicker before the candle went out. With a reluctant pout, he tilted the vehicle. It drifted spectacularly, the sidecar coming off the ground as sand flew up from his turn— 
“Eeyaaaaah! Is this the only way you can get this contraption to turn?!” 
“Y E P!!” 
Shiro couldn’t help but be impressed by the way her brother lied without a moment’s hesitation. 
“Is that sooo-ooo?! Then I suppose there’s nothing to be done about it— Aaaaaaaah!!” 
The bike headed off into a small forest, Steph’s wail blaring like a horn. 
 
As luck would have it, a man was likewise racing across the 152nd space on all fours faster than the sound of Steph’s caterwauling. Cloaked in an aura of sooty red, it was Ino Hatsuse. With four dice, he was approximately 39.2 years of age. The crimson mist was the vapor of his boiling blood—the proof of his bloodbreak. 
“Yes, well, it was my mistake, I suppose? My blunder, without a shred of an excuse?” 
The rusty color was the proof of the murderous, sneering beast’s boiling wrath. 
Ino was pissed. Teed off like never before. Two moves back, he had landed on a certain space, where a booming voice had announced: 
Shred that thing between your legs and die for the sake of the world, the Task he himself had written—death. Naturally, Ino had closed his eyes—one who killed might also be killed. He’d long been ready for this; he knew it had been coming to him, but for his soon-to-be-shredded, illustrious member, he shed a solitary tear. And so he’d accepted everything, awaiting death for a few minutes, a few hours—before finally realizing his vague Task was not binding. 
At the same time, having been praying that Izuna would not land on his Task, Ino wept in relief. He’d prayed, even prostrated himself every hour and supplicated to the Holy Shrine Maiden. He’d repented, regretted, tormented himself…and for the first time in his life, he’d begged with bitter tears, sincerely and with all his heart, to that One True God. O almighty smug little bitch above, please, for once, make a non-dickish move. His prayer had been granted—his dear Izuna would not have to die for his folly. It had been granted not in benevolence, but rather with a LMAO. Thus, Ino had come to know that there was nothing in this world that would heed a prayer of charity. This world, rather, was filled with malevolence…which he had to correct, starting with that monkey who had surely been trolling him all along. Sora. 
Here was what Ino had been thinking: Unlike himself, Izuna was clever. She would surely catch on to the true nature of this game and win. That had freed him to make sure he wiped out Sora, fully intending to give his dice to Izuna if the chance arose. But that would no longer do, Ino knew, so he shaved down his life as he sprinted for the goal. If he made it, all demands would be granted—which meant… 
He had to run toward victory for the world: the death of King Sora—!!! 
His sense of reason told him he’d gotten what he deserved. For having tried to kill another, it was a proper—or rather, too generous—price. Why did people fight? They fought for peace. Wasn’t this putting the cart before the horse? But now, in this situation, it was too late for him to be talking smart. Why did he fight? Because he was a fool. Clowns who put the noose around their own necks and then got mad at other people deserved to honk like clowns. 
In other words: 
“I just can’t help wanting to sink my fist into your stinking mug, you know, ya damn monkey!” 
That…was one thing—!! 
This…was another—!! 
“Ahh, I beg your pardon—purely as a figure of speech, you understand. Would you be Mr. Ino Hatsuse?” 
Ino had just braced himself to carve into his life and break the sound barrier when he noticed Jibril calmly standing beside him. 
“Ha-ha-ha! I suppose your birdbrained nature cannot be helped, but are you aware that even birds have decent eyes?” 
Though his form might have appeared more youthful, there was only one male Werebeast in this game. At Ino’s jab, Jibril looked at some book and gave a slight nod. 
“My apologies… I have never paid particular attention to the distinction between Werebeasts and dogs, it being but a difference of bipedal versus quadrupedal locomotion, and now you bring up the sexes… Oh, how’s this? If you simply remain quadrupedal as you are for eternity, then we can classify you both together as beasts and save an entry in the dictionary!” 
Hearing Jibril’s sunny suggestion, Ino unconsciously stopped running. 
Quietly, he stood in a wordless gesture of defiance. 
“Ahhh… What a pity… Well, that aside. ?” 
As if she really didn’t care, the disappointment on Jibril’s face only lasted an instant when—whip, she pointed to the forest. 
“I sense three Immanities there. Two must be my masters, yes?” 
“…? …Why do you ask me?” 
“Oh, I was just thinking I’d greet them…but please feel free to resume crawling along the earth as you were!” 
I’m done here, so piss off, Jibril communicated telepathically as she flew off with a smile. Ino mumbled doubtfully as he watched her go. 
“…Why is that bitch still here?” 
That maniac could teleport all she wanted… Wait. The rules about advancing spaces according to the dice might have closed that off, but she was still able to follow Ino easily, despite the fact that he’d been running hard enough to achieve the speed of sound. Why would she still be here, much less take the time to tell Ino that she was going to greet Sora and Shiro…? 
“…Cool your head a bit. Does she mean for me to ask?” 
Ino still could not understand the true nature of this game, but there was something odd in courtesy so unbefitting a Flügel… 
 
On the east edge of the 152nd space, just as Shiro had plotted out, there was a town. A remote rural town on the outskirts of the state of Highwest in Elven Gard—a bit of it, at least. Not long before their arrival, the space had broken. This fraction of habitation had just barely made it onto the map. Of a small slice of Elven Gard, this was an even finer sliver. But compared to Elkia—no, even their old world—this was a civilization on a completely different level. Uniquely honed style one hesitated to even call architecture. Residences and roads woven of trees blended gracefully into the forest. Flowers shaped like jellyfish floated through the air, glowing faintly and filling the place with color. A fantastical habitat had been copied by the god, but no one lived there. There were no Elves. 
Anyone would stop to gawk at this scenery. For a game designer, this would undoubtedly represent their masterpiece. Despite this spectacle, a sound rang out that made no attempt to respect the austere atmosphere. 
Puppuppaparararaa! ? 
“Sora finds a mysterious herb— Not again! Gimme a break, you little shit!!” 
Making his own sound effects, in one smooth motion, the middle-aged man yelled and threw the peculiar herb to the ground. Who gives a shit about wonder and awe when you’re starving? he asked. Scenery be damned, Sora, age 43.2, had skidded the Harley right up to the house and was rummaging through it. 
“…Brother, the Elves…are vegetarian…” 
“You shitting me?! Then where the hell does all that nutrition for Fiel’s boobs come from?! Even a cow doesn’t get fat unless she eats fat! There’s gotta be, like, meat or at least some rice somewhere!” 
Judging from the DQ8 sound effect, he seemed to be exercising his right as a Hero, that mysterious privilege of eminent domain that allowed him to shamelessly rummage through other people’s houses. In this grubby man’s case, he just looked like a pickpocket. 
“…Can I, ask you…something…?” 
“Eegh?! Wh-what is it now? D-do you want me to w-wash your clothes, too?” 
The young girl discreetly drying the clothes she’d washed jumped at Shiro’s voice and laughed shrilly. Similarly ignoring the scenery, as soon as they’d slipped into the house, Steph, age 1.8, had run around looking for something when— 
Waaaah!! she’d wailed, returning in just a towel. Shiro shuffled away from her and asked: 
“…………Was it…a number, two…?” 
“No, a number one—! Um, I mean, I—I don’t know what you’re— Waaaah!!” 
Realizing she couldn’t keep up appearances, Steph fled from Shiro and sank onto a bed. In seconds, she’d abandoned reality by sinking into a dream. 
…They were, after all, exhausted. None of them had the wherewithal left to admire the scenery. Not Sora, not Steph—and, of course, not Shiro, either. Shiro, in fact, continued furiously filling her little head, calculating something: a formula to weave together the reason they’d come here, the reason she’d led her brother here, and what she’d said to Steph, having excluded the girl to this point— 
—Starting verification of situational variables necessary for proof of theory. Induction of point B (Brother) to arrive at specified coordinates—confirmed. Truth of bathtub Boolean of specified coordinates—confirmed. Precondition of change in three die variables—confirmed. Precondition of determination of transfer values—24 at point B, 2 at point S (Shiro)—confirmed possible. Exclusion of random float Steph—confirmed. 
—Verification complete. Validity of induction function—provable. 
…Come, Brother—let the game, begin…? 
Announcing this to herself, Shiro moved behind Sora wearing an evil smile just like his. Sora, keenly picking up on the dangerous aura, turned to see— 
“?Huh, w-w-waiiit! Shiro, that’s—that’s dangerous!!” 
Standing on a large pile of stools, Shiro extended her hand to reach a high shelf. As she wobbled as if about to fall any second, Sora hurriedly grabbed her, howling. 
“—Ahh! The hell are you doing making a two-year-old work hard while you pretend to be a DQ Hero, ya dumb Sora, approximately forty-three! That’s why you’re over forty and still a goddamn virgin!!” 
Until now, Sora had controlled the distribution of dice with perfect precision. This late in the game, though, he realized fatigue had overtaken him, and he’d forgotten about it, prompting an apology. 
“…My bad, Shiro. I shoulda realized earlier…uhh…?” 
Shiro, held aloft by her brother with her face downcast, smiled thinly. Her brother, looking up at the shelf she’d been reaching for, was wondering: 
How many dice should I give back to her? 
That’s what he would think… That’s what he’d have to think. Even if he returned eight to bring her tally to ten—and hence her original age—she still wouldn’t be able to reach that high. Her brother, with his superior situational awareness, would grasp her intent—that she wanted to help with scouting and supply. And his conclusion would be: The more hands, the better. 
“Mmm. All right. I’ll keep ten. My eighteen-year-old body does the trick, so, Shiro, I’ll give you the other fourteen, okay?” 
Yes, this was what he had to do. Shiro nodded once and lowered her head apologetically…but only to hide the grin escaping her lips indicating that everything was going according to plan. The dice were their collective age, divided into equal parts. Each time they gained or lost one from the default value of ten, they gained or lost a tenth of their age. Thus, once Shiro, who now held two dice, took the fourteen dice Sora offered— 
—she’d have sixteen. Shiro took the long-anticipated dice…and sneered. 
…Bye-bye, Loli physique… Bye-bye, prepubescence—! 
The next moment, Shiro’s body was wreathed in light, her limbs rapidly developing and lengthening. Shiro imagined how tiny Steph, now sleeping peacefully, had looked originally. That little bitch Steph, with her jugs of fortune and bouncy, boinky, shmexy body. But now…heh. Shiro smiled scornfully to herself. 
Sorry to put one over on you, but this is my game… I’ll be going on ahead, Steph. Farewell, stunted brat Shiro… Welcome, shmexy bitch Shiro…! With this body, the first equation will be complete! All I have to do is seduce Brother, and then—! 
……And then… 
“………………………………Huh?” 
The one mumbling confusedly was the one holding ten dice, now age eighteen—Sora. 
“……Uh, um? …? …Brother, what’s…?” 
The bewildered Shiro looked up at her brother as if to ask, Is it just my imagination? It felt as though her eyes were still taking in the view from the same height she was accustomed to, but that must’ve been her imagination……right? Tilting her head and smiling, Shiro slipped her hand across her chest… 
…Foop. Foop, foop foop foop… 
“…Brother, I’m flat as a board… I’m literally, almost, flat as a board?!” 
Feeling nothing but air where her chest should have been, the glint in Shiro’s eyes disappeared. She could now only laugh at her calculations as she was overwhelmed by a crumbling sensation that eroded the ground under her feet. 
“C-c-c-c-calm down, Shiro! It-it’s fine; you have developed!” 
This was the biggest shock since the start of the game—no, of her life. As Shiro’s already pale face burned down to the color of ash, her brother scrambled to reply tactfully. 
“It’s, uh, you knowww… Yeah! It’s, like, not necessarily the case that everyone gains years uniformly when they gain dice, right?” 
Her brother, up until just now a scruffy middle-aged man, tried lying—no, formulating a gentle hypothesis, but… 
…I know. That’s not it. Shiro grimaced at herself more deeply. It was true, as her brother claimed, that she had “developed.” Her limbs were slightly longer, and the baby fat on her stomach had shrunk a tad. 
Allow me to digress for a bit. Did you know that Japanese elementary schools don’t hold students back even if they’re chronically truant? Although Shiro hadn’t attended even a single day of school, on paper, she was still in the fifth grade. But let us consider the fact that she regarded herself as underdeveloped even for a fifth-grader. Now let us venture an interpretation as to what was now being described as “development.” 
Multiplying her age by 1.6 had finally brought her to the physical equivalent of a fifth-grader. If they lined up the entire grade by height, she’d be at the head of the class. —Yeahhh!! 
“Sh-Shiro, cheer up!! This just proves you were already a total babe!!” 
“……? Whatever… Brother, I’m…tired…” 
“Wait, wait, wait, hey, Shiro! Don’t gimme that thumbs-up! Don’t die giving me that nice smile! Hey!!” 
—Whish, whish, whoosh, whoosh. As she felt her whole soul turning to sand and blowing away, Shiro cursed her brother’s voice, audible from afar—cursed all that had betrayed her, everything. She’d been sold out. By the future, by the world. She’d never have them, the bouncy, boinky, shmexy body, those jugs of fortune… She gave up completely and collapsed to the floor. 
“??!” 
“Whoaaaaa! Wh-what is it now?!” 
Suddenly, as if to salvage her fading consciousness, something hit her like a bolt. 

 

Shiro braced herself against the data tsunami that surged through her brain by stomping her foot through the floor. 
They say people’s lives flash before their eyes when they confront death. It’s a phenomenon in which your brain surpasses its limits, becomes abnormally active, searching through your memories and knowledge in an effort to find a way out of a crisis—so they say. 
…We’ll set aside the question of whether her despair was sufficient to actually kill Shiro. She surrendered to the sensation of her brain circuits frying and wildly combed through the data. 
I can feel it… There’s something—there—that would correct the broken equation… A flash of light—!! 
—List. 
All the games, comics, videos, and other media her brother had played, read, or watched in the eight years she’d known him. 23,671 mainstream games, 1,852 porn games, 85,743 graphic novels and porno doujinshi, 2,465 anime, 4,867 dramas and live-action films and television. 
—Sort. 
Her brother’s favorite characters among his 874 waifu. In her mind, she aligned every single entry, including video, images, and audio, and appended the data. Strategy guides, fanbooks, manuals, articles—in particular, the characters’ official ages, heights, and measurements, among many others! Logically, methodically, she quantified, aggregated, graphed, and analyzed—! 
“…Uh, Ms.…Shiro? What are you—?” 
Little did he know that Shiro’s brain, probably one of the highest performing in all humankind, was now being taxed beyond its limits for perhaps the most meaningless reason ever. Frightened, Sora tried to rouse her as she stared ghoulishly at the floor, but in a few unresponsive seconds when she was oblivious to external stimuli, Shiro summed everything up. 
—Calculate. 
She numerically sorted Sora’s—her brother’s—tastes, preferences, and fetishes. Yes, numbers didn’t lie… Her brother’s likes were as follows: 
Age—accounting for nonhuman characters in terms of average heights—mean: 12.344. 
Measurements—bust/waist/hips—mean: 77.2/59.873/78.23. 
Relationship—younger: 61.1%, little sister: 48.4%, big boobs—only 3.2%. 
—Conclusion—!!! 
“……I’m so, glad…Brother…you’re a…total…lolicon!” 
As though night were breaking to dawn, the world was filled with light. The future still held hope… Shiro fell to her knees and looked skyward. 
“—My little sister. I am completely in the dark as to what’s going on, but did you just casually unleash a devastating insult on your big brother?” 
Her brother, mathematically and statistically confirmed a deviant, groaned with half-closed eyes. An insult? Please, it was a saving grace. Shiro wiped away her tears and stood so Sora wouldn’t notice her true reaction. 
Now she knew. No matter how old she got, she would always have a Loli body. It wasn’t clear whether this meant in real life or just this game—but! 
…Bye-bye…jugs of…fortune… However—! 
It’s…fine. Yes, it’s fine. Shiro clenched her fists, pretending not to notice her bleeding heart, and howled. Now that I know my brother’s a lolicon, everything, is, fine—!! 
If Brother doesn’t like them— 
If he doesn’t care about boobs, then— 
Who needs boobs anyway??!!! 
…Having reached this grand conclusion, Shiro acted calm and amended her calculations. The first equation had fallen apart cataclysmically. But— 
“…Brother…I’m…tired… I’m gonna…take a bath…” 
“Uh, okay… Stay strong, all right? Y-your brother loves you no matter how you look!” 
Yes, that’s exactly what Brother would say. Before her dream—before her future of a shmexy body—shattered, that would be his precise response. But for that very reason! The second equation…and the proof of the formula still awaited—! 
 
…Sora followed behind Shiro as she hobbled along. 
“H-hey, Shiro. They say you can still grow even after you’re seventeen. So chin up, okay?” 
“…I am…soooo, fine…soooo, all right…” 
Her voice was so very the opposite of fine. As Shiro, of all people, went to take a bath all on her own, Sora felt deep regret. 
Shiro was 11…with one die, 1.1. With sixteen, 17.6. He shouldn’t have given her so many. He’d known she worried about her childish figure—even though she was a child. They’d already been playing this monstrous game for eighteen days. Anyone would be worn out in this situation, both mentally and physically. So what would happen if he carelessly gave her more dice than she started with…and she didn’t like how she looked? 
Surely, it would be a shock. You’re such a worthless piece of shit not to understand a girl’s feelings at least this much… Sora ground his teeth, following his sister as she wobbled with hollow steps into the changing room. 
“H-hey, I know what it is. You’re tired. You know? You gotta get in the bath—” 
—get a good night’s sleep, and then you’ll feel a little better. 
“…Mm…wash my…back…” 
“Yeahyeahyeah! Wash your back! Then you’ll feel refreshed, right?!” 
Sora did his best to smile and nod at Shiro’s requests as they exited the changing room. 
“…Wash…my hair…” 
“Yeah, yeah! After over two weeks of this sucktacular adventure, you gotta do something, right?!” 
And then they were in the bath chamber…presumably. It was hard to tell with the Elven style of architecture. There was steam in this open-air enclosure, though, and no roof, making it less of a bath and more of a— 
—hot spring. 
Until now, Sora hadn’t had the energy to concern himself with things like scenery, but seeing this open-air bath, his heart raced. Just relax in this bath and forget everything, and you should feel better in no time, he thought. 
“…And…while…you wash my…hair…” 
While Sora stood entranced by the bathtub, Shiro continued. 
“…Unleash…your pent-up…craving…on me…” 
… 
……Huh? 
“…Violate…me… It’ll be like, a doujinshi…” 
“……” 
“……Like, a, doujinshi…” 
“Yeah, I got that the first time, all right? Uhhh?” 
Shiro had her back to Sora as he spoke. 
“…Why’m I in here with you? You need someone to wash your back and hair. Who’s—?” 
Sora looked around, but all he saw— 
“……who’s, gonna…do it…?” 
—was Shiro, turning toward him with nothing on. With only a towel around his waist, Sora felt as if ice had been poured down his back. He finally realized that he was facing his naked sister alone in the bath. 
“—Hey, hey, hey, don’t be ridiculous! HA-HA-HA, come on, come on, hold up for a second, will you?” 
Sora quickly averted his gaze as cold sweat poured down him like a waterfall. 
“Sh-Shiro, you’re seventeen! Think about the rating; what are you gonna do if this book gets ban—?” 
“…Brother, you’re…wrong.” 

Why? 
With the most innocent of smiles, Shiro took a step forward at the same time Sora took a step back. 
Why is Shiro’s smile so scary—?! 
“…My dice…aren’t…1.1 years, each…?” 
I see, understood Sora. Of course, Shiro’s wasn’t exactly eleven. She’d had her eleventh birthday, and then they’d come to Disboard. She was eleven years and seven months. So her dice weren’t 1.1 years each—they were 1.15833…years. 
But so what? Wasn’t that within the margin of error? Thp, thp. Step by step, Sora retreated and wondered, but Shiro seemed to read his mind. She pursued him and smiled as if to say: 
That’s right. It’s within the margin of error. That murderous margin that threw formula after formula into disarray. That margin made Shiro with two dice not age 2.2 but 2.3166…and then with sixteen dice not 17.6… 
…but 18.533. An adult. 
“My initial formula…my new body…failed…but…” 
Oh, crap. 
Sora finally realized he was too late. Seeing his sister whisper to him, he heard his instincts scream. 
I don’t know why, but this— 
“…Everything’s working out…just as I planned, Brother—” 
—is critical. 
Shiro’s voice was serene and had a pleasant lilt. A faint smile formed on her lips as she quivered in faint shyness. Exposing her flushed body, his younger sister slid closer, while behind her— 
“…Now, Brother…you don’t have, any choice but, to get in the bath with me…do you?” 
—Sora could swear he saw, leering with a sickle, the shadow of death itself. Thp, thp. The relentless advance of Death—pardon, his younger sister—dared Sora to put up a shrill attempt at resistance. 
“B-but you still look pretty much…uh, I mean, t-t—to begin with, inside you’re—” 
“…You had an old-man soul…you said so…so now…I no longer have, an underage soul…” 
“No, nonono! Something’s wrong about this! You know, there’s some law or ordinance or authority or something!” 
“…You said…Earth laws…don’t apply…and…F the police…” 
But as Sora backpedaled, he finally hit the wall. Nowhere left to run, nothing left to say, he was certain: This was a verbal assault. Wielding Sora’s own words as weapons, Shiro advanced to entrap him. 
“…Brother, nice job, screwing yourself over… You have, no excuse…to run away…” 
Voilà, the long-awaited—kabe-don. The trendy “wall-bang” gesture of pounding both hands against the wall to trap one’s object of affection—though, in this case, her arms only reached the level of his hips. Looking down at her delighted ruby eyes, Sora thought: 
Now what will you do, Sora, virgin, approximately and precisely age eighteen simultaneously? She’s sealed off your escape—no, taken advantage of the fact that you sealed off your escape—!! He’d be lying if he said losing to Shiro didn’t get to him, but that was the default. Realizing she’d beaten him in, of all things, mind games, though, he felt the ground crumble under him and— 
…Wait. Wait, wait, wait—! 
“?Hh…ha-ha, ha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” 
A gleam of light that flickered through his mind made Sora roar with laughter. 
She’d almost had him there. Run away? An excuse to run away? Who needed that crap? 
“Heh-heh! My younger sister, listen carefully! I shall grant your assertion that we are both of age—however!” 
Yes, it was still only check, not checkmate! After all— 
—even if they were both eighteen, how did that require that they share a bath together?! 
“For siblings to bathe together at the age of eighteen is the most unnatural of things!! And if you’re eighteen, you should be able…” 
Sora crowed in the conviction he had destroyed her check, but— 
—it had already been eighteen days since the game had started. They’d been in constant extreme circumstances, enduring fatigue, hunger, wild animals, Tasks—all of which they’d survived despite the constant sensation of Death’s scythe at their throats. And yet… 
“…Brother…do you…hate me…that much?” 
With the hurt echo of Shiro’s downcast murmur, Sora at last felt Death’s sickle peel a layer of his skin from his neck, and everything clouded over. 
…… 
Embraced by the naked Shiro, who kept her face averted, Sora…wondered. 
After hearing this, what reason do I have to say no? 
Because she was a child? He’d just conceded they were both of age. 
Because she looked like a child? Then would he continue to call her a child her whole life? 
Because they were siblings? Destroyed—by her words, destroyed! If they were siblings and he didn’t hate her, for that very reason, he should have been able to proceed, head held high and free of guilt. 
Guilt? 
…Something’s off here, Sora thought vacantly. 
…What is it? This feeling I’m about to notice something I shouldn’t—and on top of that… 
He felt Shiro’s heartbeat against his hip due to their height difference. She was looking up at him as her heart pounded loudly, fiercely, like an alarm bell. 
…The hell! What’s with those eyes that say “Notice”?! 
They were playing a game of betrayal and deception. But why was it that the one and only person who’d never betray him, Shiro, of all people— 
—had him so trapped—? Just as Death’s scythe seemed about to rupture Sora’s windpipe… 
“Pardon me, Master… King Sora—” 
“Whoaaa, young Jibril!! You-you-you-your dice, they’re— Good God! You have only two left!! What dire circumstances! Come, come! Let me give you eight of mine! Come now, you mustn’t hesitate, or I’ll kick your ass!!” 
“Huh? Um, what…?” 
…a savage angel swooped down upon the equally savage bathhouse. 
It seemed the number of her dice had no impact on Jibril’s appearance. Regardless, the Messiah had arrived (glaring sharply for some reason) to find dice being thrown at her. 
Her face immediately seemed to soften somewhat, not that it mattered to Sora, who nearly broke into a song and dance. 
“Ah, what tragedy! To err indeed is human, but imagine the state of my heart, following my careless misjudgment that hath rendered me a minor! Now remote from all eroticism, cast into a hell devoid of hope, O God! That thou shouldst deprive me even of the opportunity to bathe with fair maidens—is my sin truly so grave?!” 
Like a Shakespearean actor, Sora, approximately age 3.6, shivered in ecstasy. 
I’m saved. I don’t know what from, but in any case, I’ve survived. Sora displayed his gratitude to the heavens, but… 
—Dooom… The wind of a violent aura gave him goose bumps. 
“…Jibril…get a…clue… I’m, gonna…” 
Booming as if from the depths of hell was something coming from behind the small Immanity girl, Shiro. It could be seen clearly by Sora and Jibril as well. 
“Oh, it seems I am to die… Master, might you know the nature of the grave sin I have committed?” 
“Sorry, I don’t know, either. But it looks like it was pretty bad…” 
It even made Jibril, voice trembling, count her sins. 
You haven’t been saved, declared the shadow, its eyes widening at Sora. Death, with its great scythe and evil smile, seemed on the verge of twisting its expression maliciously, hoisting that same sickle overhead and hurling it at him. 
…… 
Sora didn’t know. Neither did Jibril. For Shiro, this had been a one-in-a-million chance—a once-in-a-lifetime gamble—to make her brother notice her. In the eight years since she’d met him, never before had the situation, the conditions, the stars lined up so well, and Jibril’s arrival had made it all for naught. Had Shiro had a few more hours—no, a few more minutes—she could’ve completed the equation and had “Brother” all to herself—! Shiro’s vision boiled over with rage—but, quietly, in the breeze… 
…there swayed a red cloth. 
“…Hmm. I must say, your nonchalance tends to dispel all grudges and resentment…” 
The red cloth…of a young musclehead standing straight in the bathtub; a loincloth swimming in the wind…! Ah, however I may grasp at straws, I am still but a child, Shiro thought. It was an indescribably bizarre shock image. His muscles pulsed as if independent organisms. If to be eighteen was to have the right—the duty—to view indecency that eroded one’s psyche, then… 
“……I’m, okay…with a, child’s soul…” 
With this last murmur, Shiro fainted on the spot. 
 
“To swoon at the sight of my build at the height of its glory… Oh dear, it seems I have enraptured another one, have I?” 
As that meathead Ino bathed, he recalled the trials of his youth, a time he was “way too popular,” which pissed Sora off to his core. 
“…Hey, old fart. Can you answer a question that’s just hit me?” 
Sora struggled not to look directly at the Werebeast as he asked in a low voice, though shrunken down to 3.6 years of age. 
“Isn’t going naked in public an infringement of rights, a breach of the Ten Covenants?” 
Hmm? Ino looked down at Sora, then answered with a smile: 
“No one will trouble themselves over such a small thing as that. Why do you not live true to your desires?” 
“I’m asking you if showing off the shock image you call ‘throbbing muscles’ is considered an act of violence! You never get sarcasm, do you? …And don’t call it small! It’s just ’cause of my age!” 
Sora insisted that several of his parts had shrunk along with his count of dice. 
A simple partition divided the bathtub. Shiro’s hand softly trembled as she held Sora’s underneath it, no doubt a consequence of having been deeply traumatized by the aforementioned act of violence. 
“……So scary… Euuugh, the muscles… They’re, coming for meee…” 
The little sister chanted deliriously, having been punished more harshly than she deserved for cheating the ratings. Likewise, from the other side of the screen came another voice. 
“…You roused me from my tranquil sleep to insist that I ‘wash Shiro’s hair.’ Is that not violence as well?” 
“What could I do…? Shiro’s still all mad at Jibril, you know…” 
Steph grumbled sleepily, dragged in by Jibril like the flow of a river. Sora couldn’t see what lay beyond the partition, but Steph, having received six dice from Shiro, was age 12.6 as she washed Shiro’s hair. The bubbling sound was surely Jibril getting stomped down to the bottom of the bath by Shiro. 
“How lackadaisically you hand away your dice, sir. Do you not know they are your life?” 
Doubt, confusion… Ino’s mumbling was filled with countless meanings. Feeling the gazes collect from the other side of the partition, Sora sighed. 
“What’s the big deal…? One or ten is the same as long as you don’t go to zero. Plus—” 
He waved his hand frivolously and gestured toward Steph with his chin. 
“—we’re all in the same boat. Our vitality is, like, zero. There’s no way in hell we’d survive.” 
A silence followed, suggesting a number of emotions and intentions, but Sora gave a light wave of his hand as if to dismiss it all. He changed the subject in an attempt to hide his embarrassment. 
“Anyway, what are you guys even doing here? Especially you, Gra—Pops? What about you?” 
Even though you two did end up being lifesavers, Sora thought. 
“Naturally, I came to kill your punk ass, sir.” 
“Hey, h-h-hey!! At least couch it a little! You’re gonna make me cry, damn it!!” 
Even if violence was prohibited by the Covenants, you’d be lying if—for instance, confronted by a body like Schwarzy’s in his prime—you said hearing a robot tell you You are terminated wasn’t scary. 
“However, my mind has changed. Let us save your death for last.” 
…Oh, I see how it is…I’ll kill you last. Everyone knew what came next—I lied. 
Shit. I’m next on his list—!! 
“…Sir…may I inquire as to the extent of your knowledge of Eastern Union history?” 
Though Sora had been furiously contemplating how to escape, Ino’s sudden question made him redirect his train of thought. 
…I bet this is one of those questions that gives you a chance to avoid the death flag. 
“History, you say… Didn’t you guys cover up almost all your history…?” 
Sora answered gingerly, choosing his words. Yes, the Eastern Union concealed from outsiders not only the content of their games but also the details of their history. 
Probably because it touched on the process by which they’d developed their trump card, video games—but anyway. 
“So all I know is a smattering from books. They say for over six thousand years you were a bunch of feuding island tribes—” 
After the conclusion of the Great War, the Werebeasts split into factions based on their physical attributes—in other words, whether they had dog or cat ears—and continued fighting among themselves. In Sora’s view, this was a truly unforgivable travesty. Why must one be placed above the other? A wise man once said, “Heaven did not create animal ears above animal ears”! Dog ears, cat ears, rabbit ears—all are equal… Can one not love each for its own merits? Thus, let us envelop the world in love…for it is not met that such treasures should fight. That said, without naming names… 
…isn’t there a world where people kill their own palette swaps? With this in mind, they were in no position to criticize. On the contrary— 
“Then you got them all under your control in half a century to form the world’s third-largest country, the Eastern Union, which even had a game that could beat any other race for sure.” 
This inestimable feat, for which amazing didn’t even cut it, was worth every word of exclamation and praise you could throw at it. Sure, in this world, there were sixteen intelligent life-forms—Ixseeds. Wouldn’t organizing just one of them be easy? 
To conquer a karmic morass engulfed in discrimination and prejudice for over six thousand years, you say? 
“If we just had someone like the Shrine Maiden back there, I bet some of those wars would end.” 
“…How you surprise me.” 
“What do you mean?” 
“I thought you’d say it made sense that such a feat would be accomplished…with the power of an Old Deus.” 
But Ino’s prattling was the real surprise. 
“Ah-ha-ha-ha! Whoa there, Gramps! You really do know some funny jokes!” 
Slapping the water and laughing out loud, Sora looked up at the vast game board. 
“We’re talking about subjugating a region that’s been in conflict for half a century here. If you could pull off a miracle like that by praying to gods, even our world would be a war-free zone by now!” 
Sure, this game spoke to the power of the Old Deus eloquently. To copy the land and warp the law of heaven to place this spiraling terrain in the sky… If you calculated the energy required for this in terms of physics, what kind of numbers would we talking about? Sora had no idea, but they had to be close to infinite… The work of a god if there ever was one. Such unimaginable, world-rewriting, truth-decreeing power… 
And yet, such things were entirely useless. In this world, no matter how much power you had, you couldn’t infringe on others’ rights. Moreover, in any world, ending conflict aside, there was only one way to conquer. 
“Here’s what I think—if there’s an Old Deus behind that Shrine Maiden who can pull off such games…” 
Sora spoke to Ino as though looking at someone he respected with all his heart. 
“The Shrine Maiden’s the one using the Old Deus. By outsmarting her at games, of course.” 
They were bound by the Covenants not to infringe on others’ rights—both of them. For the Shrine Maiden to use the Old Deus or for the Old Deus to use the Shrine Maiden required one to get the other to consent to a game—and win. 
…… 
“…………Is that it…indeed…O Holy Shrine Maiden?” 
At the end of a long silence, Ino’s gaze and shoulders fell, as if understanding something. He chuckled. 
“…It seems I have bathed a bit long… I shall take my leave.” 
“Thanks, bro. After managing to find a hot spring, I’d really like to relax and enjoy it without your muscles staring me down.” 
Sora watched Ino climb out of the tub and make his exit. The young man silently heaved a sigh of relief at having apparently avoided the death flag. But… 
“By the way, may I ask one last question?” 
Sora’s heart jumped as Ino suddenly turned and spoke. Pretending he hadn’t noticed (though he must have), Ino asked—no, insisted: 
“The traitor who has the memories… King Sora, it is you, isn’t it?” 
Steph could be heard gasping from the other side of the partition. If Ino was right, it would explain how Sora was able to expound about the game as if he knew it all. Wondering whether that was indeed what they were thinking, Sora smirked. 
“Well, well! What evidence do you have that I’m the traitor?” 
“My word, is evidence necessary?” 
Ino eyed him keenly to say he needed no such thing. 
“Were Tet to gather all the Ixseeds and say there was one traitor, in all cases, it would by necessity be you.” 
“Ha-ha! I like it. It’s easy to understand! Nice deduction!” 
Your presence is all the evidence I need, bitch, was Ino’s contention, to which Sora clapped his hands, laughing. 
Yes, they had all agreed to begin this game. 
If you took the rules at face value, this “traitor” must have tricked everyone into validating the rules and agreeing to have their memories erased. You’re the only asshole who could pull this off, Ino “praised” him. But… 
“Well then, let me say I’d start off by doubting Tet.” 
Sora continued. If I may expand on that… 
“There’s no way I’d go to such impossible lengths for such a cheap trick.” 
Ino, as well as Steph and Jibril behind the partition, gasped in disbelief. Silently, they questioned his assertion that memory retention—and by extension, the knowledge of true conditions for victory—was a “cheap trick.” Sora smirked. 
A lie should have been embedded within the second explanation of the rules, but between the first and the second, it wasn’t possible to fit a grand falsehood. Learning that their memories would be erased, everyone’s first concern would have been the same—the risk of being told that finishing made you win, only to discover it actually made you lose. They must have agreed in advance to prohibit such a grandiose deception. But in that case, what falsehood could there be…? No, more importantly—!! 
“Don’t you think, before that, I’d worry about food and transportation?! If we hadn’t scored a Harley, then screw finishing, we might not even have survived to our next stop!” 
“—Aughh… This is quite convincing indeed…” 
Sora nodded, now cleared of suspicion by the pointed pain known only to those who’d survived the same dire straits. 
Yes, a trick like that hardly assured victory, whereas “  ”’s method was always the same. Namely… 
“If we’re gonna plant something, it’s gonna be deadly.” 
Yes, that was it. 
“It’s gonna make us win no matter what.” 
Sora put his elbow on the bathtub, chin in hand, and stared straight at Ino. His words were bold yet amicable. 
“That’s what I’d do… It’s what anyone would do, right?” 
Of course. Isn’t that what you would’ve done ? 
“……I see. You do have a point…” 
Ino trudged away, no longer turning back, but Sora called rather timidly after him. 
“—By the way. Can I ask you a question, too?” 
“What is it?” 
“……That thing of yours. It’s, like, the size of my arm. Is it always like that? Or only in emergencies?” 
Chuckling, Ino kept walking. 
“Ha-ha-ha! Unlike you, King Sora, I have consideration for the feelings of others. As I have no intention of inflicting unnecessary wounds, sir, I shall decline to answer and leave it at that.” 
“That is an answer, isn’t it? Isn’t it?!” 
Sora howled angrily as Ino walked away, roaring with laughter, when—poik. 
“Master, surely there is no need to lend your ears to the prattle of dogs.” 
Apparently having finally been let off the hook by Shiro, Jibril peeked over the partition. 
“Do they not also say in your world, my masters, ‘All things in moderation’? It is of no particular advantage to a woman for it to be too big. ?” 
Sora could feel the ladies all nodding behind the partition, but… 
“…I’m feeling an unprecedented sense of isolation. Could it be—?” 
Good lord… Is it the case that I am, in fact, the only one lacking in experience? If so, I’ll never recover from such a harsh reality, he lamented. 
“Please be at ease, Master, for I am myself in mint condition, while little Dora here is a font of merely academic sexual—” 
“—What?! No—no, I— Wait, I can’t deny or affirm that, can I?! I—I mean, however you look at it, Sora’s arm, whether you’ve got experience or not—that would kill!!” 
“…I don’t even, care… Everything, about that old fart…is creepy…scary…shiver.” 
Sora’s eyes narrowed as if dazzled by their responses. Thank god… It wasn’t just me… 
“May I also add that, prior its attenuation by the dice, your original size, Master, is nothing to grieve over.” 
“S-seriously…? I-I’m okay?” 
Not two dice Sora—now 3.6 years of age—Sora as Sora’s original metrics. Putting aside how Jibril’d come by such information, if this walking library—ahem, flying cataclysmic library—vouched for it, then perhaps he could… 
“Yes. It’s fun-sized. If memory serves, it should be perfect for a child. ?” 
“…Jibril…you’re, forgiven… You just said, the best thing…” 
“I’m done with this game. I quit. Back to character creation…” 
Yes, let us begin life anew, Sora wept. 
“Oh, Master, please wait! All your humble servant Jibril must do is reform her body into that of a child!!” 
“…Jibril, you’re, unforgiven… Sink in, the bathtub…and count, your sins…!” 
Shiro’s command was met with a loud splash. Jibril dropped like a cannonball from the top of the partition into the tub. 
Grbrbrbrbubrbebububub! 
Ohhhh! ? I am being stomped by my master—what a thrill! 
“…Jibril, where’d you go…?” 
Sending up a flurry of bubbles—and going to the trouble of employing magic, apparently—Jibril shoved this report directly into their brains. Sora sighed, exhausted. 
Their peaceful banter was ill-suited to this game of betrayal, deception, and murder. 
“Aaah, I’m revived… The magic of Elven hot springs is said to do wonders for one’s beauty and fatigue…” 
Steph was the only one who seemed to have given up on thought. She went on endlessly babbling What a nice bath! to herself as if fleeing reality. 
 
Sora awoke and looked around. He scratched his head, thinking he must have been more spent than he’d realized. He’d gotten out of the bath and redistributed the dice among his company, but that’s all he remembered. A human being enduring this unending string of trials could be expected to get so tired as to forget things, but what of the principal cause of his fatigue, the one who’d trapped him—Shiro? 
“…Nghh… Muscllles… Stay awayyy… Brother, save meee…” 
As if it were only natural—no, it was natural—she was nestled in Sora’s arms. Even in sleep, she was battling wounds it seemed would never heal. 
…This is too cruel. How can such violence stand? Stroking Shiro’s head, Sora contemplated whether he ought to submit a complaint to Tet, saying, Get off your ass already. 
“Oh my? I apologize, Master, did I wake you?” 
Hmm? 
“Seems like Shiro fell asleep in the bath, so I carried her to the bedroom only to run outta steam myself and collapse on the mattress…but her groaning in her sleep about rippling muscles woke me up. That pretty much cover it?” 
“Your exposition is most admirable, Master.” 
“What about you, though? I get the old fart, but what are you doing here, Jibril?” 
Dimly lit by spirit light and the glittering of the two dice hovering by her chest, Jibril was seated in a chair writing in a book, also as if it were only natural. Apparently, Ino had come to interrogate Sora, but then what about Jibril…? 
“Well… I witnessed you sleeping without so much as a blanket and felt it would be terrible if you were to catch a cold…” 
Jibril answered Sora’s queries with a tranquil smile. 
“…and therefore took advantage of your slumber to provide you with warmth from my naked—” 
“Goddamn it! How—? How could I have slept through thaaat—?!” 
With Shiro snoozing in total darkness, I could’ve experienced, you know, all kinds of sensations legally—! How could I miss such a critical—? All alone, Sora shivered, clutching his head in shame. 
“…I came to see your faces, my masters… That is all.” 
In the dimly lit room, Jibril spoke quietly to Sora with a literal shadowy smile on her face. Sora, disconcerted, looked back at her, but she kept working on her book—her journal, presumably. Still, coming out of nowhere as usual, she posed a question. 
“Master, what do you think…of reincarnation?” 
“…? I dunno, are you saying you have it here…? Man, you guys got everything, don’cha?” 
Reincarnation. A concept that many in the siblings’ previous world believed in but one which had never been proven. What was he supposed to say about the common sense of a world like Disboard—? 
“Oh, no. We have it not.” 
You don’t? Faked out, Sora squinted at her, but Jibril just kept writing and declared plainly: 
“…A soul that has lost its vessel dissolves into the spirit corridors and loses its meaning.” 
She was describing this world’s concept of death. 
“…Just as there is no reason for water to gather in a broken cup, the soul without its body permeates into the earth, dissolves into the atmosphere, and returns to the planet… This world has no reincarnation. However.” 
Then Jibril stopped writing. She faced Sora gently and continued. 
While only an infinitesimal possibility… 
…or as far-fetched as claiming monkeys typing infinitely could write a novel… 
“It would be theoretically conceivable for people with the exact same souls to be born again.” 
At some point, it had been established as common knowledge that souls really existed. Sora, at the time, had vaguely understood them to be something like DNA, but… 
“…So what you’re saying is a clone could be born by coincidence?” 
Let’s say these supposed “souls,” which contained more than just DNA, were reproduced under the exact same conditions. In that case, sure, maybe you could, in some ways, call that reincarnation. 
“Master, hypothetically, if Lord Shiro were a reincarnation of someone else, what would you thi—?” 
“I wouldn’t think anything. It’s irrelevant and makes no difference to me.” 
Sora replied immediately to Jibril’s gentle probing. 
“Shiro is just Shiro. She’s no one in the past, and even if there’s someone like her in the future, that’s not her.” 
Suppose, for argument’s sake, such a clone did exist. It would only be some stranger who looked like Shiro. 
“…Then allow me to pose a different hypothetical… What if something were to happen to Lord Shiro—” 
…An unthinkable premise. If you wanna make me cry, just say so, Sora grumbled. 
“—and then such a clone with exactly the same soul came to you? What would you think?” 
Where does the self end and the stranger begin? It was a deep philosophical question, but Sora’s brain lacked such refinement. 
“HA-HA-HA! Then your premise holds no water.” 
“…Why do you say that?” 
“’Cause she’s a different person! Doesn’t matter what I think. She wouldn’t depend on or care about me!” 
I have my little sister, Shiro, who cares for me and stays by my side…and how about that? Weren’t the chances of someone like her existing far scanter than someone born naturally with the exact same DNA? As Sora asked this, the corners of his eyes glistened with tears. It seemed he hadn’t given a satisfying answer. Jibril silently lowered her head, at which point, a voice suddenly piped up. 
“…Brother…you’re wrong…” 
“—My sister, when did you wake up?” 
“…The moment…she said, the words…‘warmth from my naked’…” 
The harsh glint of Shiro’s red eyes in the dim light overwhelmed Sora. She took his place facing Jibril and spoke quietly, in her usual near-whisper. 
“…I don’t, get…what, you’re asking…Jibril…” 
It didn’t seem that Sora (or even Jibril herself) knew, either. But Shiro, knowing herself to be dense to people’s subtleties, declared, for that very reason, that whatever Jibril was asking was of no interest to her. 
“…Reincarnation… I’ll never, accept it…” 
Probability and hypotheses be damned, she whispered in a tone that brooked no argument. 
“…A clone of me…would go back, to Brother.” 
. 
“…No matter how many times, I’m reborn…every time, I’ll look for Brother…and go to him.” 
Her red eyes scrutinizing him as she spoke made Sora question himself. 
“…And…I know Brother…won’t be able…to say no…” 
Could he confront this white skin, this soft voice, these red eyes looking up at him and say, That’s not Shiro—it’s someone else and push her away? 
“…But if there’s someone, who looks like me…and sounds like me…and acts like me…” 
Then it would be simple, Shiro insisted like a pouty, temperamental child. 
“…being stroked by Brother and smiling…happily…but isn’t me…” 
She concluded with tears in her eyes: 
“…………I will…never accept it…” 
In the silence, Sora chuckled. I see—that is simple. Think about it the other way around. What if someone who looked like me but wasn’t were stroking Shiro? It didn’t matter how Sora or Shiro or others saw it. It only mattered how you personally saw it. And that was that. 
As if satisfied by the answer this time, Jibril lowered her eyes, closed the book she’d been scribbling in again, and stood. 
“Pardon me for interrupting your rest. I shall withdraw. Please enjoy yourselves.” 
“…Hey. You still never told us why you came, did you?” 
Jibril had started to leave, happily stroking the two dice by her chest, when Sora narrowed his eyes and asked the question. 
“I came to see your faces, Masters… That truly is all. ?” Jibril laughed as she joked. “But I received more than I came for… Lastly, I have a report and a confirmation—one of each.” 
I shall start with the report, she said with a somehow complex smile. 
“I was correct to come here. It was an unsurpassably pleasant time.” 
And now the confirmation, she continued with a suggestive smile. 
“…In this game, it is permitted? that I win, is it not?” 
It was a game of betrayal and deception. Whatever secret thoughts each might harbor, there was one solid fact. 
Only one would finish. 
Just as Sora had set things up so that he and Shiro would win—just as everyone had—Jibril, too, must have done the same with her master’s permission. Her eyes seemed to confirm it. 
“Of course. But also—we’re not gonna let you win.” 
“…Jibril, I’ll…punish you…real good…” 
Jibril bowed deeply at their defiant replies. 
“…I beg your forgiveness, but this game alone I must win. By any means necessary.” 
As soon as Jibril had said this, she turned and flapped out the window into the night sky. Looking at the spot where she had been before disappearing as suddenly as she had come, Shiro muttered: 
“…Brother, how many dice…did you give…Jibril?” 
“Hunh? I mean, c’mon, she only had two, y’know? I made her give them—” 
—back is Sora was about to say when he stopped. 
Do I remember her doing that? —Nope. 
Considering that Sora and Shiro each had nine at their chests and Steph, asleep in another room, had one— 
“Jibriiil!! What’s up with making that dramatic declaration of war and then cheesing us like that?!” 
She musta disguised her dice with magic to make off with the eight she “borrowed”! Sora burst into tears. 
“…Brother… You fail, at this game… You fail, at life…” 
But from whence had this failure originated? A transfer made in order to escape Shiro. Her claim that it was all his fault left no room for objections, even from their allies. Sora merely clutched his head and wept.