Episode 8 — Absolute Solution 1

Swallowing the word "mister" that had almost slipped out, she asked her question instead.

"...He's simply under an exclusive supply contract for my gear."

"Then couldn't I just sign a contract like that too?"

"You're a mercenary. Cuticle is a crafter."

She thought for a moment about how to crack his defenses, then, as if something had just occurred to her, spoke up.

"By the way, Professor. How many times has your helmet been broken so far?"

"........."

"Not many, I'd guess... right?"

"...Three times."

"Heh, so that means I'm one of the very few people to have ever left a mark on you across your whole long career. Isn't that right?"

"...Not particularly. The job got done, so it's irrelevant."

Even as he said it, she caught the faintest waver in his otherwise flat, toneless voice. Just as she'd suspected — the Professor took an almost arrogant amount of pride in his brand.

"You're being offered the chance to have a mercenary with that kind of skill as a business partner. Opportunities like this don't come often, do they?"

"...I find it more plausible you infiltrated my home to slit my throat."

"Seriously! Why are you this wary of me?!"

"...Because you're skilled enough to have shattered my helmet. That's all."

"Ngh...!"

She hadn't expected him to be quite this sharp-tongued. Calling him petty would probably just earn a dismissive snort — he'd already heard plenty of criticism from all the users he'd killed, no doubt.

"You think I'm a spy for the Roaring Dragon Society?"

"...Yes."

"...!"

So that was the sticking point after all. She gritted her teeth. If she didn't clear this up definitively, he'd never take her on.

"I'm a dark gamer."

"........."

"My original goal really was just to participate in official matches for the Roaring Dragon Society."

She took a breath and lowered her head.

"...But the officers there were all so rigidly closed-minded — going on about how my gear was hurting the supply chain, how there's nothing a solo ninja can accomplish — they kept me shut out at every turn."

"........."

"So I left the Roaring Dragon Society. I'm a freelancer now."

The Professor had been quiet for a moment, but he snapped his fingers to draw her attention.

"This estate has a few rules."

"...?"

"I'll ask you directly about one of them."

"What is it?"

"If someone pays you to do it, could you kill a colleague you'd worked alongside up until just yesterday — kill them repeatedly, until they're reset all the way down to level one?"

"?!"

She understood the question the moment it registered, and nodded almost instantly.

"As many times as you like. It's not like I have any attachment to those people."

"........."

"I take it this means I'd have to accept contracts even against my own homeland."

"That's right. Maintain mechanical neutrality toward every faction, without exception. The only criteria that matter are money and confidence in the mission's success."

She felt like she'd caught a glimpse of the real secret behind how the Professor had managed to stay freelance for so long. He'd clearly upheld that rule to an almost extreme degree.

"I'd welcome a rule like that with open arms. So — do I pass?"

"........."

The Professor thought it over for a moment. Judging strictly by objective facts, there was no real reason to turn her away. If there was any reason at all, it was his own pride in having achieved a 100% success rate entirely on his own so far, a lingering trace of suspicion toward her, and—

"Honestly, I don't like your type."

"Why? Am I not charming enough?"

She looked herself over, checking for what might be lacking. The Professor shook his head.

"That's exactly the part that's troublesome."

"What is?"

"...I prefer dry relationships. But you—"

"Oh well. Whatever seduction I try, you'd probably just stand there like a statue in that helmet and tell me to knock it off, right?"

"........."

At his reaction, she felt certain of something. This man's emotions weren't dead at all — he was simply hiding them, somewhat, behind that helmet. Sure, his usual tone reflected a baseline of emotional restraint, but he wasn't quite the emotionless psychopath type either.

"Heh~. So this is difficult for you, isn't it?"

Delighted, as if she'd found a weakness, she leaned her upper body in closer. The Professor flinched, edging backward along the sofa.

"...That's enough, Cuticle."

"?"

"Explain the estate's rules to her, and..."

"Ooh!"

"...pick out a suitable room for her among the third-floor guest rooms."

Having apparently conceded defeat, the Professor decided to take her on and quietly retreated upstairs.

Shadow vaguely sensed that he'd fled because he found her too hard to handle, but didn't let it show, following Cuticle's guidance instead.

"You really don't use guns?"

"Nope. Machines just aren't for me..."

"Well, that's something... How have you survived this long, exactly?"

"Ngh..."

She couldn't bring herself to explain. Before she'd developed her early-stage ninjutsu skills, she really had died constantly, over and over.

"Anyway, I'd say it's about time you start using guns and a shield module, at least."

"I don't really know how to use them."

"It's easier than you'd think?"

"Hmmm..."

Shadow ended up following Cuticle into the elevator down to the basement. When they arrived at a solid-looking underground firing range facility, Cuticle immediately called the Professor over the intercom mounted on the wall near the elevator.

"What's the matter?"

"When it comes to shooting, you're more of an expert than I am."

"Ahh..."

"...Are you serious?"

"Yeah. I genuinely have never used a gun or a shield module before, ever."

"...Then why exactly are you playing this game."

"Don't say it like that!"

Just as expected, the Professor shook his head in disbelief in front of her, and Shadow's eyes welled up. She hadn't expected to be treated like this much of a fool.

"Fine, whatever. So what have you been doing about shields up until now?"

"...I had Mr. Whaleoka apply special plating to my wakizashi's blade..."

"Which naturally means constantly paying to reapply the plating."

"Ngh."

Speaking as if he already knew, the Professor gave a faint smirk.

"There's a similar modification for combat knives. Expensive, and the number of uses is awkward enough that most people avoid it, but—"

"Ugh..."

Without another word, the Professor pulled four of the smaller-sized guns from the wall rack and set them down on the table in front of her, then walked over to the ammunition shelf and picked up a box, its label printed in eye-catching red text.

"Here. Take a look."

He tossed the red-labeled ammo box down in front of her. She tilted her head, reading the text printed on it.

"Shield... neutralizing rounds? What about them?"

"...There's a price listed below that."

"...?!"

Her hand started trembling. The number printed there was practically pocket change compared to what she paid for a single plating job on her sword.

"I-i-is this a scam?!"

"It's very real. Starting to see why Cuticle told you to use them?"

"...!"

"For what you were spending on plating each time, you could buy enough of these rounds to nearly fill a whole room. And typically, just three to five of these rounds are enough to neutralize practically any shield you'll encounter."

That was the final straw for Shadow, who burst into tears. The Professor clicked his tongue quietly and turned away. Cuticle shot him a look, urging him to comfort her, but as the man who'd created this estate's rules, the Professor was in no position to allow himself that kind of emotional gesture.

"...Now you understand. This is what kind of game this is."

"Hic... how could I have..."

"Now you understand why the Roaring Dragon Society's officers never let you into official matches."

"...!"

Finally, biting her lower lip, she forced herself to stop crying. Then, as if she'd made up her mind about something, she marched straight up to the Professor and grabbed him by the collar—

"Ngh—!!"

"?! H-hey! What are you doing?!"

"...Revenge for not comforting me."

"You little—!"

She proceeded to bury her face right against his clothing and blow her nose in a thoroughly reckless act. The Professor gritted his teeth. This woman was, without question, a headache.

"Tch...!"

Fortunately, it was just his house robe — if it had been the combat gear he wore out on jobs, the very thought was too horrifying to entertain.

"So, what are all these guns, anyway?"

"I picked out types that would suit you."

"This one's a pistol, I get that. But this?"

"...You don't recognize it?"

"I told you, I'm a total novice with guns."

Sighing, the Professor wiped down his robe with a handkerchief and started his explanation.

"First, these two — as you know, these are pistols."

"They look pretty easy to use, honestly."

"...No. Not at all."

"?"

"Pistol marksmanship ranks as intermediate difficulty among firearm skills. Easy to pick up, difficult to master. A deceptively deep category."

"Oh..."

The Professor pulled out the magazine to show her.

"As you can see, the magazine's small, so even a well-built model rarely holds more than twenty rounds — which means, despite being a close-quarters weapon, it has more than a few gaps in coverage."

"That's... kind of unappealing, honestly."

"Right?"

Setting the pistol aside, the Professor picked up the next weapon — a submachine gun.

"This is what's called a submachine gun. Essentially a larger pistol optimized for automatic fire."

"Ah! Like one of those old rapid-fire guns?"

"That's right. Though it uses the same ammunition type as the pistol next to it."

"Huh..."

He pulled out the banana-shaped magazine on the front of the submachine gun to show her.

"Like this — since it's built for automatic fire, submachine guns tend to have a lower magazine capacity, usually around 30 rounds. If you commit to a large drum magazine, you can push that up to around 100."

"...Drum magazine, meaning..."

"Exactly what it sounds like, a round magazine. Massive capacity, but heavy — and for someone like you, it'd probably be a hassle to handle."

For someone built around agility and disruption, a gun fitted with a drum magazine would definitely get in the way. She seemed to have picked up on that herself, nodding along.

"And then there's the manufacturers."

"Companies?"

"Right. Each company has its own particular performance characteristics and design philosophy, so it's important to use guns from a manufacturer that suits your taste or playstyle — or at least prioritize their parts."

She tilted her head, apparently not even aware of that much.

"Ugh... don't tell me you're a total novice on this too?"

"I don't know much, but I've heard a little..."

"........."

The Professor genuinely found himself wondering how this woman had survived this game up until now.

"Hah..."

"I don't need every detail."

"I know."

He had Cuticle bring up the screen and play a simple advertisement.

"Faster to just show you than to explain."

"An ad?"

"Yeah. One put out by a gun manufacturer. I'll add a bit of commentary as we go."

The first one to play was an advertisement from A3, one of the game's premier premium equipment manufacturers. Originally an NPC company built around an old-world American design concept, it had gradually absorbed user involvement and now operated as a massive company with NPCs and users working side by side, notably sponsored by real-world American, Canadian, and British companies.

[Do you consider yourself the best?]

[Then don't hesitate! We build the strongest gear for the best!]

[Cutting-edge, top-tier, unmatched versatility! The company that has it all — Astro Armstrong Arms!]

"...American concept, I take it?"

"That's right. A premium manufacturer producing high-performance gear with excellent versatility."

"No downsides at all, then?"

"...Prices running up to 80% higher than other manufacturers is the biggest one."

"Whoa..."

—To be continued—