Episode 7 — Whis-Kiss 2

Caught off guard by the unexpected turn of events, the girl froze, unable to react — but the Professor handled it with practiced ease.

"Tch."

He drew his pistol and intercepted the incoming round with a quick-draw shot.

The girl, who'd apparently closed her eyes expecting to be hit dead-on, cracked one eye open and stared blankly at the Professor, stunned to find herself still alive.

"Wh-what did you just do?"

"...Nothing much. Anyway — you still don't intend to turn back?"

"...Of course not."

Watching the girl force a composed smile despite the cold sweat on her brow, the Professor let out a light sigh and pressed a decorative-looking button on his belt.

It was a kind of safety key — one that made the estate's defense systems stop recognizing the Professor himself. By excluding his own presence from the system, he'd sidestepped the "one person on the path" rule that would otherwise have gotten her attacked.

"You can follow me now."

"...? What was that button for?"

"...Secret."

"Ugh! What's the harm in telling me?"

Grumbling, she reached out toward the button in question, but the Professor coolly slapped her hand away and shook his head.

"Don't touch me without permission. You'll get hurt."

"Ow?! That's a bit much, don't you think?"

"Some of my equipment has intercept systems built in for emergency defense. Reach for it carelessly, and you might lose a hand."

"...!"

Calmly, in his machine-toned voice, he announced the potential severing of her wrist, then turned and continued up the path. She had more complaints to voice, but grudgingly followed, cheeks puffed out.

Once through the front door, the interior struck her — walls decorated with the hides and mounted heads of the beast-type monsters common on the server, like a hunter's cabin, but scattered with futuristic equipment throughout.

And then—

"Oh! Welcome back safe, Professor! How'd the job go?"

"Same as always."

"Uh..."

Whis-Kiss froze at a sight she'd never seen in her life.

A blond, musclebound man — a good two meters tall, built like a brick wall — was standing there holding a tray, dressed head to toe in a frilly maid outfit!

"Oh! A new client? Cute!"

"No. A guest. Just serve her tea or coffee, whatever she wants."

"A guest?! What's gotten into you, Professor, taking in guests now?!"

"I mean — she said she'd leave once she got one drink of whatever she wanted, so serve her something reasonable, satisfy her, and send her on her way."

"Aww, that's harsh."

"Y-yeah! What is that?!"

At the Professor's cold dismissal, the girl puffed her cheeks out until they couldn't puff any further, stamping her feet in protest, while Cuticle also frowned at the Professor, apparently agreeing that this was going too far.

But the Professor didn't even glance back at either of them, turning to head upstairs toward his room.

"You should probably start realizing that just being let onto the property without being a client is already an extraordinary courtesy."

"Come on! I just came to network a little, between fellow freelance mercenaries!"

"I work alone. Except in special circumstances. No networking required."

As she tried to follow the Professor up the stairs, Cuticle stopped her.

"Hold it! Follow him up there right now and you'll get shot!"

"Huh?!"

"This house has a few rules, and breaking them means it's fair game to shoot you dead—!"

"Eek...?!"

Whis-Kiss was genuinely stunned. Even having heard he was a solitary freelancer with an impressive track record for years, she hadn't expected him to be this sharp-edged.

In the end, she was left sitting dejectedly on the parlor sofa, sipping herbal tea Cuticle brought her, wallowing in dismay. She waited through several refills, hoping the Professor would come back down, but he never did.

Just as she was about to give up, tear up a little, say her goodbyes to Cuticle, and head out, the Professor finally came down the stairs, dressed comfortably in an all-black robe.

"Safe travels. Next time we cross paths on business, I'll offer you a greeting at least."

"........."

Huffing, brushing off his words, she opened the door and left the house. Cuticle walked over and gave the Professor's helmeted head a light smack.

"Seriously, isn't that a bit too sharp with a girl, even for you?"

"...Girl? A mercenary. Someone who risks their life for money — the same line of work as me."

"...!"

That explained, at least somewhat, why the Professor had taken such a hard-edged stance. He'd apparently recognized her skill and treated her with the same wariness he'd give an equal.

"I work alone. That's all there is to it."

"...Well, that's true, I suppose."

An apartment in what used to be Japan.

A woman in a suit, her sleek black hair falling long and loose, threw back a can of beer in one go.

Kirikage Mai.

Known in Worst Field by the alias "Mist Shadow" — the only user in the entire game running a ninja concept.

She had a problem weighing on her.

Once an ordinary customer-service representative, she'd been dragged into a VR game by some coworkers and stumbled across the fact that the average monthly income of dark gamers exceeded her own salary. She'd quit her job on the spot and switched to being a dark gamer full-time.

Leading with her family's inherited Kirikage-style ninjutsu, she'd earned decent income playing thief or assassin classes in whatever game she tried. Then she'd taken on Worst Field, currently booming thanks to its official-match content — and Worst Field had turned out to be a completely foreign environment for her.

Bullets flying in from every direction, energy shields that stopped her throwing stars cold at the slightest provocation, an environment with no skill or class suited to make use of her ninjutsu at all...

Still, through sheer grit, after about a year of struggle, she'd managed to get the game system itself to recognize her movement as a legitimate skill, effectively creating the only "Kirikage-style Ninja" class in the entire game.

Naturally, she'd assumed the Roaring Dragon Society would let her participate in official matches after that — but—

"Sorry, Mist Shadow. That's going to be tough."

"Why?! Are my results worse than the other named users?"

"No, that's not it..."

"Then what exactly is the problem?!"

"...You don't use guns, do you?"

"?!"

Official matches reimagined warfare built entirely around firepower, echoing the era of the old wars. A user running a ninja — a class more suited to the feudal era — simply didn't have a proper place in that setting. All her gear was one-of-a-kind, handmade, which caused supply chain issues, and even if they'd tried to accommodate her, there was practically nothing a single ninja could accomplish in a large-scale, full-frontal engagement.

In the end, she'd told the officer that if participating in official matches was truly impossible, she'd be leaving the Roaring Dragon Society entirely — and logged out right after.

Now that she'd actually made the decision, she had no idea how to keep her dark-gaming career going as a freelance mercenary, which was why she was drinking.

"Seriously... what do I do now..."

Buzzed, she carried a bowl of dried squid snacks over and sat down in front of the living room TV, deciding to think about the rest of it tomorrow and clear her head for now.

"Tabby! Switch to WFN, please."

She addressed the voice-activated device on the coffee table, turning the TV on and setting the channel to Worst Field news. The screen popped on to reveal a report on the very defection she'd just heard about — Sister Grave, formerly a named user under Father Masquerade, switching over to Mary's Children.

[There are various theories circulating about the reasoning behind this transfer, but regardless, with the loss of a major frontline named user like Sister Grave, it seems inevitable that Father Masquerade's official-match firepower will suffer a significant gap...]

"Huh. So people do switch factions."

Maybe she should transfer to some faction with better treatment too. Chewing on a piece of squid, she reached for another can of beer.

[However, Father Masquerade's protests have been quite fierce, and there are increasingly frequent reports of movement from Crimson Hood as well.]

[Isn't it a bit much for Crimson Hood to get involved over one named user from an affiliate faction?]

[It could simply be pressure tactics, but this does put Mary's Children in an awkward position either way.]

"Guess it's never that easy, huh."

Well, if nothing else, joining the Black Tiger Alliance — known for treating its dark gamers well — was sure to draw complaints from the Roaring Dragon Society. The two factions had been at each other's throats since the start of the game. But apart from the Black Tiger Alliance, treatment of dark gamers was pretty much the same everywhere. And how many factions would even bother giving a proper deal to someone like Mist Shadow, whose class fell entirely outside the established meta?

"Tch."

She popped open another can, tipping it back again to drown her sorrows over her own circumstances, when—

[The one who apparently intervened to get her out safely was a mysterious, well-known freelance mercenary — the Professor — according to testimony from an anonymous Mary's Children user.]

[That man again? He really does turn up in the most unexpected places. And he doesn't even participate in official matches...]

She froze.

Setting down the beer can with a thud, Kirikage immediately spoke to the voice device.

"Tabby! Search! Worst Field user 'Professor'!"

The news broadcast switched instantly to a search screen, pulling up everything publicly known about the Professor. Scrolling through with a gesture, she skimmed articles mentioning him, paparazzi-style in-game photos, before eventually landing on the Worst Field wiki page.

"...!"

Reading over the length of the Professor's active career listed on the wiki, Kirikage was certain.

This man — maybe, just maybe—

He could be the freelance mercenary she needed to keep her dark-gaming career alive.

"Tabby! Order food delivery! Extra-large hangover soup!"

She ordered her soup immediately, cleared away the beer cans, and pushed herself to her feet. First a glass of water, then the soup — she needed to sober up as fast as possible so she could safely log back into the game.

The Professor had just returned from wrapping up a small job.

Cuticle took the briefcase carrying his gun and gestured toward the parlor. A client, perhaps?

He turned to look — and found a face he never wanted to see again seated on the sofa.

The kunoichi user who'd shattered his helmet not long ago.

Smiling brightly, she was even waving at him!

"Cuticle. What exactly is going on here."

"She said she has something important to discuss with you? Might be a job."

"...I've never accepted a job from a mercenary before."

Speaking in a low murmur, and unsure of her intentions, he cautiously drew the pistol at his hip as he approached. That she'd made it inside the estate unscathed meant she'd at least broken no rules — and there was currently nothing registering as a weapon on her person. But she was the game's sole ninja character. She might have unusual martial arts at her disposal.

"...Why are you here?"

"Well, I'd like to talk after you set that dangerous thing down, if you don't mind?"

"........."

He looked down at her in silence, as if refusing outright. Seductively, she plucked at various parts of her outfit, pulling them aside slightly to show off.

"...What are you thinking? Seduction won't work on me."

"Please. I was just proving I'm completely unarmed."

"...I don't imagine a ninja being unarmed is much of a handicap."

Mist sighed. She'd half-expected this, but being met with this much wariness still stung a little.

"Fine. Can I at least sit down to talk?"

"If it's not about a job, I'd rather decline."

"Seriously! Just listen for a minute, would you?"

The Professor scowled internally, wondering why women kept popping up around him lately. As someone who firmly believed in keeping relationships dry and businesslike, women were, without exception, a source of headaches for him.

"Fine. I'll listen. But that's all I'm agreeing to. I can't promise anything about the actual matter, and I'll say now — I'm almost certainly going to refuse."

"...?!"

She'd sat down, but her eyebrows twitched at hearing the refusal was practically confirmed before she'd even started.

Cuticle came over and set down teacups for both of them. Mist took a breath and spoke — figuring there was no point beating around the bush with a man like this, since it would only waste time.

"...Would you consider hiring me?"

"Refused. Finish your tea and head home."

The Professor answered almost the instant the words left her mouth, then stood to leave. Mist nearly dropped the cup she'd just been about to sip from.

"W-wait, hold on? Instant refusal?!"

"...Well, then."

"W-wait for me, would you?!"

"...I work alone, as a general policy."

"Then what is that gu— Cuticle to you?!"

—To be continued—