It was the spring of my sixth year in university. At that time, I was completely hooked on online games. I had failed to earn enough credits, so my graduation kept getting delayed. However, thanks to some decent effort last year, I finally had it in sight, and I had resolved to spend my final year of university just lazing around as much as I wanted. My hobby of playing pachinko had also become profitable enough to cover my living expenses if I took it seriously, so I quit my part-time job. I still showed up to my university lab for my graduation thesis, but only to exchange the bare minimum pleasantries with my advisor. As for my underclassmen, I barely remembered their faces. Anyway, when graduation is delayed by two years, acquaintances and friends practically vanish from your surroundings. I had already drifted away from my club activities, and for some reason, since around last year, female members had surged in number, completely changing the formerly frumpy atmosphere. I dropped by a few times, but the overwhelming sense of not belonging naturally drove me away from there as well. I had completely stopped visiting internet occult forums, and I had no idea if the off-line meetups I used to attend so enthusiastically were even happening anymore. Thus, a fine recluse was born. To accurately depict that lifestyle, let me introduce a part of a poem I wrote back then just to pass the time. ………… I slam the door shut And immediately turn on the kitchen faucet The smell of cigarette smoke soaked into me at the pachinko parlor My adventure wrapped in noise now ended I hold a modest victory in my pocket Along with some takeout sushi I wash my hands intently Each day is like an amoeba Today's victory in my pocket will vanish tomorrow And the sushi will come out the day after tomorrow ………… That new world which suddenly visited my amoeba-like days was an "MMORPG"—a massively multiplayer online RPG. What you'd call a net game or online game. Around the autumn of my fifth year, while wandering around the pachinko/pachislot board on the internet forum 2channel to gather information, I saw a post that read, "Instead of playing such crap machines, play a net game," accompanied by the web address of an online game's official site. I clicked it on a whim, never imagining it would lead to *this*... I got totally addicted. Originally, I loved console RPGs and used to play them often since I was a child. But here was a virtual space that felt like a dream come true for a recluse: a world where all the characters in the towns were operated by real, living people just like myself. Without leaving home, you could talk with people, go on adventures, and join in on fun schemes. Such an online game endlessly sucked up the vast amount of free time and loneliness of a proudly superannuated university student. That MMO, which I called "G," was a pioneering online game in Japan. Its graphics were barely a step above the Famicom, but even with such visuals, novelty-seekers flocked to it in droves. On the map right next to the town, naked characters would swarm around slimes that periodically spawned, punching them with their bare hands and fighting each other over the dropped sticks and bread. Those who saved up money by selling bread and sticks, and managed to equip weapons and armor in order, would head out one by one to challenge new monsters on the next map. I, too, forcefully wedged myself into a crowd where naked characters were desperately punching a slime, delivered the killing blow with my equipped stick, and snagged the experience points and money. I didn't care if I was resented. It made me think of the gregarious phase of locusts. Individuals born and raised within countless swarms become hot-tempered and aggressive. They have to, otherwise they can't survive. When I turned off my PC before bed and looked back at my room, the noise from just a moment ago was nowhere to be found. It was a freezing, peaceful space. I turned off the light, slipped under the covers, and realized that I hadn't spoken a single word all day. Amidst that silence, ringing continued in my head, which should have been freed from the sealed headphones. The sound of the swarm's wings. Covering my ears against that sound, I already wanted to go back to the other world. I think I first heard the rumor on 2channel's G board. "There's a ghost on the 5th floor of the Plains Cave." Such rumors were whispered as if they were true. By the spring of my sixth year in university, G had more maps implemented than at the start, and the wider selection of hunting grounds had dispersed the gathering crowds, easing the population density. Guilds were springing up like bamboo shoots after the rain, and players—not the administration—voluntarily hosted treasure hunt events, with various experiments expanding the world of G. The Plains Cave was the first dungeon to open, but its monsters varied wildly in strength depending on the floor. In particular, the monsters inhabiting the 5th floor possessed an absurd, game-breaking level of strength. Forget one-on-one; even a group of high-level players couldn't beat them. And monsters like that were crawling all over the map. Once, two of the strongest guilds at the time joined forces and dispatched a suicide extermination squad. Over thirty warriors and mages, equipped with rare items knowing they might drop them, gathered on the 5th floor of the Plains Cave and challenged it. While a decoy squad—meant to thin out the monster numbers from the designated hunting ground—was being completely wiped out, they succeeded in killing one Black Dragon and one Elemental. However, after examining the earned experience points and items, they judged it "unsuitable as a hunting ground." Ever since then, the 5th floor of the Plains Cave had been an uninhabited space writhing only with monsters. And the rumor went that a "ghost" appears in such a place. When I asked acquaintances in the game, some said they had seen it.
Putting those stories together, a warrior-class character wearing unprecedented equipment was standing alone deep within the map on the 5th floor of the Plains Cave. And this was while terrifying monsters were roaming the narrow map. The monsters showed no reaction to that character, failing to initiate combat even when entering their unique hostility territory, and unbelievably, they would overlap with that character and pass right through them. There was a technique called "death-jumping." After hunting in a dungeon and leveling up, you would unequip your gear without any experience-loss penalty and purposely let monsters kill you, instantly warping back to the town graveyard without any disadvantages. It was a technique used to save items that provided instant teleportation to town, but in the Plains Cave, quite a few people went out of their way to go all the way to the 5th floor just to death-jump. It was a perverse idea—wanting to be overkill-killed by monsters you couldn't normally get close to since you were going to die anyway—but I could somewhat understand the feeling. Even if monsters are killed and their numbers decrease, after a certain amount of time, they automatically respawn somewhere on the map. Therefore, people usually don't recognize monsters as individual entities, but the monsters on the 5th floor of the Plains Cave, especially in the deepest depths, had never been killed once since the map opened; the exact same individuals had been roaming the same spots for months. In reality, there was a possibility that their statuses were reset as newly spawned entities when the server crashed and recovered during maintenance, but it was more romantic to think the exact same monsters were always there. People kept making their way to the deepest depths, utilizing avoidance techniques just to be killed by those legendary monsters. That acquaintance of mine also reached the deepest depths naked so as not to drop any equipment, and while surrounded by monsters with the visual effects of the poison smoke they spewed covering the screen, he supposedly saw that warrior. "It wasn't moving, just standing there, but it was saying something." "What?" "I dunno. It was garbled text." It was just a short phrase, he said. The acquaintance mentioned that it started talking right as he entered the map. There was a theory that un-implemented graphic data was glitched onto the screen, but because several eyewitness accounts mentioned it "talking to them," the rumor of a ghost took on a life of its own. There was also a theory that it was a non-player character placed there for some reason, but given the timing of when it spoke, many felt it could only be operated by a human in real-time. And everyone's stories matched on the points that the words were extremely brief and short, and moreover, resulted in garbled text. Intrigued by the rumor, I checked various sources like 2channel's G threads and blogs of famous players. But while there were stories of people seeing the ghost, no screenshots preserving that scene ever turned up. This was an era before the culture of saving gameplay videos. However, people took screenshots all the time, using them to brag about rare items they obtained or report the results of guild battles. I wondered why no images of the ghost ever surfaced, but when I read the diary on a certain player's website, a chill ran down my spine. It was a post stating that the author had encountered the ghost on the 5th floor of the Plains Cave, but when they checked the screenshot they took later, the image file was corrupted. They had posted a single image they managed to open, but it was so scrambled it retained no original form, making it completely impossible to tell what was on it. I felt a little scared. Even if you argue that monsters ignoring a player or passing through them is impossible, if the administration specially programmed it that way for some reason, it wouldn't be strange at all. But if even files saved by PC functions were getting corrupted, then it suddenly starts sounding like a ghost story. Despite completely distancing myself from the occult and living like a hermit, to stumble upon a ghost story in a place like this— I couldn't help but laugh at myself when I thought about that. One day, while hunting in the Plains Cave, my warrior leveled up, so I decided to go try a "death-jump" to the 5th floor. Of course, I wanted to see the ghost. I had tried several times after hearing the rumor, but I always got killed by monsters halfway through. Touching them even for a second meant almost instant death, but even from a distance, dragon-type monsters' magic would wipe out huge chunks of my HP. That day, resolved to the possibility of dying and dropping my items, I equipped gear with magic resistance and took on the challenge. Eerie BGM played across the dark map. Countless terrifying, gigantic monsters—which would bring a hell of weeping and wailing if even a single one accidentally appeared in a normal hunting ground—were writhing about there. Carefully avoiding them at the absolute limit so as not to trigger their individual territorial agro, I pressed onward deeper and deeper. Immersed deeply in the world of that MMO, experiencing the terror as if I were actually walking through that terrifying dungeon myself, I finally reached the deepest depths. It was a dead-end space surrounded by walls, practically a Demon Lord's hall. Huge torch objects lined the surroundings, and demon gods that had never died once since the birth of this MMO world were walking about. Stepping in with a thrill of excitement, I was immediately recognized by them, and they greeted me with a breath of poison. My HP was chipped away little by little, but poison wouldn't kill you instantly. Ignoring it, I pushed forward, and ahead of me, I saw someone. A warrior. A warrior wielding a sword I'd never seen before, wearing armor I'd never laid eyes on, was standing there. I pressed the shift key to check the name. However, no text whatsoever was displayed beneath the warrior. The warrior said something. A short string of garbled text remained in the chat log. Trapped in a space with no escape, surrounded by demon gods, and merely waiting for the inevitable death to arrive, that garbled text felt to me like a curse, sending a chill down my spine. I tried to say something back, but I didn't have the composure to hammer away at the keyboard. I kept running by the skin of my teeth from the closing range of the approaching monsters. The nameless warrior was completely ignored by the monsters, as if he wasn't even there. I quickly pressed a shortcut key and spat out a phrase I always had macro-registered. "Nice loot, lol" The content didn't matter. I just wanted to see a reaction. The warrior, standing still without moving, replied to my words. It was still garbled text, but just a tiny bit longer than before. If the last one was a single word, this time it was two. And amidst the garbled text, at the end of the sentence was a trace of ASCII art resembling an emoticon. I was convinced. It wasn't a non-player character. Someone was in there. The next instant, I was blasted from all directions by a vicious breath incomparable to the poison from earlier, and I died instantly. I must have taken enough damage to kill me ten times over with change to spare. And then... *(Who are you?)* Watching the screen fade to black, I was speaking to the ghost. ◆ A week later, I rode my bicycle—a rare occurrence—and went out a bit far. There was a large supermarket past the JR train tracks where groceries were cheap. Now that I had quit my part-time job, I needed to save money even if just a little. I bought only things I could eat one-handed while playing games, like bread, bananas, and milk. I was completely dependent on the online game, and my degree of immersion was quite severe. Sleeping or waking, all I thought about was the game. Lately, I begrudged even the time it took to go pachinko, immersing myself entirely in adventures within the virtual space. I rearranged the position of my refrigerator so I could reach it right from my seat in front of the desk where my PC was, playing the online game endlessly except for the times I had to get up to use the restroom. Playing continuously for around 30 hours straight was a common occurrence, and even when I was exhausted and went to sleep, I was thorough enough to set my alarm clock for three hours later before crawling under the covers. "Every sleep is a nap" was my daily keyword. That day, too, I put my purchased food in my bicycle basket and hurried back to my room, the entrance to the MMO world. As I passed through the street in front of my university, I caught sight of a familiar bicycle parked there and stopped pedaling. It was a game center where students gathered, and I used to hang out there often back when I was a first or second-year. Just how long had it been since I last came here? The lineup of arcade games must be filled with things I don't even know. I planned to leave right away, but just to be safe so my food wouldn't get stolen, I parked my bike where it was clearly visible from the automatic doors at the entrance and stepped inside the arcade. In the dimly lit shop, lots of students were hanging out. It was a rather hardcore place that didn't have medal games or UFO catchers. Fighting games were the main attraction, and a large crowd of youths surrounded the popular cabinets to watch the matches. Naturally, being that kind of place, it was all guys. Men were crammed into the narrow space, and some in their cliques were letting out bizarre shrieks. I could barely tell what any of them were saying. From the perspective of someone who had distanced himself somewhat from game centers, it made me re-realize what a bizarre space it was. "Do you think this guy Kisuke looks like a liar?!" Hearing that bizarre shriek, I walked closer. It seemed to be a fighting game called Guilty Gear. It must have been popular because that corner had a particularly large crowd gathered. Peering into the cabinet screen, a strange man wearing a paper bag was knocked down, and standing in front of him, a character resembling a young nobleman struck a pose with a slender sword. At the strange shout the winning player had just let out, the surroundings erupted in wild cheers. The player sitting in front of the cabinet was small-piled, scratching his messy head with a casual gesture. His bangs were grown out completely, hiding almost his eyes. And for some reason, he had large headphones on his ears. His clothes were a tracksuit top and bottom, but they were worn out and tattered, with his shirt sticking out from under the left side. At a glance, it was a sloppy outfit. With a cry of "Damn it!", the guy at the opposite cabinet stood up, and immediately another guy sat down in his place. Once again, I felt an indescribable sense of creepiness. However, touching my own chin and feeling the stubble there, I gave a wry smile, thinking, *(I'm one to talk).* It was a calm self-assessment, reflecting on my own lifestyle as a hermit who had succumbed to online gaming. The moment the small player who had stood up went to sit back down again, our eyes met. His eyes were hidden by his hair so I couldn't see them, but judging by his reaction, our eyes had definitely met. He looked startled. He immediately jumped into a new match, but the sword-wielding character's movements were poor, and he suffered consecutive losses to a character resembling a nun in no time at all. Gone was the bravado of his victory call from earlier; the small player hurriedly stood up and yielded his seat to the next person. Then, he walked over toward me. "What are you doing here?" To the words I called out, he put an index finger to his lips—"Shh, shh"—and headed straight out of the shop. After leaving the game center, I looked him up and down thoroughly from head to toe once more. "How did you know it was me, Shisho?" His voice tone was different from before. It had changed from a guy's voice to a girl's voice. It was the brat I called "Audio." She should have been a second-year university student this spring. "Those guys are my university classmates. Even *they* didn't notice me at all." With that, she gestured with her chin toward the inside of the shop. Behind her messy bangs, her eyes were smiling. "So how did you know it was me?" Since entering university, Audio had started working part-time at a detective agency. It was a small detective agency called the Hattori Investigation Office, located inside a multi-tenant building. Maybe because Audio liked getting into character from the outside, she was always practicing disguises for tailing targets. Apparently, it was tailing techniques taught directly by Director Hattori. Throughout middle and high school, she constantly wore Gothic Lolita fashion, but nowadays you didn't see her in that outfit very much anymore. Last year—meaning the autumn of her first year in university—there was a Miss Campus contest at the university festival, and Audio apparently participated in it wearing Gothic Lolita attire, narrowly placing second. On that occasion, saying "It's no good anymore," she had reportedly fled from the stage, or so I heard through the grapevine. I didn't really understand why she fled, but anyway, maybe she quit Gothic Lolita fashion ever since then. "Where did I blow my cover?" Audio muttered to herself as she looked over her own outfit. Noticing a scratching sound leaking from the large headphones over her ears, I said, "How can you talk to people while listening to music?" A black cord ran from the pocket of her tracksuit jacket up to the headphones. "It's not music." With that, Audio removed the headphones from her ears and held them out. I took them and pressed one side against my ear. A conversation in a foreign language was playing from the headphones. Not English. Not German either. What language was this? Seeing me tilt my head with a strange expression, Audio said, "It's Spanish." Now that she mentioned it, she was so good at English that she had gone on a language study abroad trip to America since high school days. I had heard she was taking French at university, but was she trying to acquire languages from even other countries on top of that? What incredible vitality. As I was feeling impressed, Audio looked at her own bicycle and seemed to realize something. "This is it!" She said that, looking frustrated. "Well, that's how it is. Your attention to detail is sloppy." Saying that, I offered the headphones back to return them, but Audio—
Comments (-)