“Iroha’s aim is insane.”
“That’s pro-level—seriously, pro!”
Yaaay.
I replied modestly over the team’s voice chat. I mean, I’ve been grinding this game for years, so pulling this off is only natural—or so I let that quiet confidence show between the lines.
“W-well, it’s thanks to you two, really!”
Still, hearing the praise honestly made me happy.
That last bit of aiming was insane, even by my own standards. The hand holding my water glass was shaking, and the rim kept clinking against my front teeth—but let’s keep that a secret.
“KASSEN.”
A full-dive action game that’s taken the gaming world by storm these past few years, modeled after Sengoku-era battles. With its 360-degree visuals and sound that make you feel like you’re truly in the middle of a battlefield, plus its high-level controls and strategic depth, it’s an unquestionable god-tier game. Player numbers are unrivaled both domestically and overseas, and there are plenty of professional players who specialize exclusively in KASSEN.
As for my own skill? I’d say I’m a cut above average.
“Hey, seriously, you should go for it—go pro.”
“You’d totally make it!”
“Ah—no, um…”
…Nope. No way.
I shut that path down ages ago. What I need to be doing right now is—
—Beep, beep, beep.
“Oh no, my shift! Sorry, I’m logging off. See you at school.”
I jumped to my feet as if launched by the alarm. I disconnected as fast as possible and removed the contact-lens-type device—officially known as a “smart contact,” or SmaCon—from my eye, still faintly warm.
Ah—right. Today was Thursday.
Along with my field of vision, my thoughts snapped back to reality. The hidden café I work at five days a week in a quiet residential area—BAMBOO café—is somehow busier on Thursdays than on weekends. My hand instinctively reached for the energy drinks lined up at the edge of my desk, but—
—SAME AS 4 SERVINGS OF PASTA. DON’T WASTE THEM!!
I pulled my hand back as if slapped by the notes I’d written myself. For a struggling student—no, a struggling high schooler—scraping by on part-time wages and a tiny allowance to cover tuition and living expenses, wasteful spending is strictly forbidden.
“…I’m heading out, Yachiyo.”
I said this to the other “energy drink” enthroned atop my bookshelf: Yachiyo’s shrine-like acrylic stand. Then I rushed out of my one-room apartment, living alone.
A poor high schooler who can’t even savor a victory drink has only one mode of transportation: walking. I crushed the fifteen-minute door-to-door route in ten, and the moment I passed through BAMBOO café’s automatic doors—
“Why is my hamburger cold?!”
“Hey, is our order still not ready?”
“What’s going on back there?!”
“S-s-s-sorry—!”
…Whoa. This is a battlefield too.
Alright. Let’s do this.
“Good morning!”
With the standard greeting that never changes whether it’s noon or night in the food-service world, I dove into the staff room, changed in thirty seconds, and jumped straight into the fray.
“Manager, I’ve got new hamburgers in the oven, so please take it from here!”
“You’re a lifesaver, Sakayori!”
“Hayashida-san, I’ll clear this—could you handle table eight’s order?”
“Got it, Sakayori. You’re seriously a godsend!”
“So, what happened to Mio-chan?”
“S-Sakayori-senpaaai!”
“What do you mean, ‘what happened’?!”
A drenched, frozen-in-place junior coworker—Mio-chan—and a customer who was somehow even wetter than she was both turned toward me at the same time.
“I asked for some water, and this staff member dumped a whole pitcher on me.”
…A whole pitcher?
“S-s-s-so sorry! I tripped while carrying the water!”
Ahh, I see. Got it. In times like this—
“Let’s apologize together. We are deeply sorry!”
Another day of BAMBOO café running at full throttle—as usual
“I’m going on break—”
Somehow surviving the storm that was peak hours, I dragged myself—totally wiped—into the staff room. Just as I was about to pull up some clipped highlights from Yachiyo’s stream—
“Senpai, I’m really sorry about earlier!”
Mio-chan, who’d gone on break before me, stood up as we swapped places. Azuma Mio, who’d only started last month, has plenty of motivation—but her skills haven’t quite caught up yet. From endearingly clumsy slip-ups that make you laugh, to serious incidents that turn your face pale, she manages a full spectrum of mistakes every single day.
“I’m really—really—sorry! I’m such a klutz. I’m so sorry you got stuck training a useless newbie like me!”
“Hey now, getting to cover for a cute junior is one of the perks of being a senior.”
“Ugh… you’re a saint. An actual saint. Senpai, why don’t you ever get mad? Is it because you think I’m not even worth getting angry at…?”
Of course not.
What kind of awful person would that make me?
“I think if you get yelled at right away, you can’t do things you otherwise could. And honestly, Mio-chan, I think you learn fast. You handled that whole group order earlier—I was really saved by that.”
“Y-you really think so? You’re not just being nice to me~~~?”
“Nope, not at all.”
“Thank goodness! Then I’ll do my best after break too!”
With that, Mio-chan burst energetically out of the staff room. A moment later, I heard the sound of her tripping over something in the hallway—but let’s believe in Mio-chan here.
“…Phew.”
I let out a breath and sank my weight back against the folding chair.
For a while, I relaxed my focus and vaguely stared at the “Wash Your Hands!” poster on the wall. My gaze slid to the one beside it—“Alcohol Sales Guidelines,” then “Proper Uniform Wear”—and finally landed on the calendar.
“It’s already July…”
Seven… fourteen… twenty… three?
Whenever I look at a calendar, I unconsciously start counting how many days until payday. Then I work backward to calculate how much I can spend per day—
a sad little habit I’d picked up in my year since moving to the city..
Alright. Looks like I’ll manage this month too.
Maybe it would’ve been okay to drink just one energy drink… no—bad idea. A high school girl living alone in Tokyo—anything can happen. I want to save money, even if I have to push myself, just in case.
—Today’s 100 yen becomes tomorrow’s 1,000.
You’ll curse yourself tomorrow for wasting it today.
It’s frustrating, but Mom was right.
And not just about money. Mom is always right—so coldly right, so ruthlessly logical, so deeply backed by experience that it makes you want to look away.
That’s why I couldn’t take it anymore and ran away from home.
In the winter of my third year of middle school, after who knows how many clashes, I finally made up my mind to move to Tokyo, just as I’d been planning. On the condition that I’d cover all my tuition and living expenses myself, I left my hometown—half runaway, half independence.
I think I became free. But—
—Even now, I still think Iroha will come crying home right away. She’s a spoiled brat after all.
No matter how far away I am, Mom’s words still reach my ears at odd moments, clear as if she were standing right beside me.
“...In our hearts we've all got a song It's a precious melody…”
Without realizing it, I was humming one of Yachiyo’s songs.
My favorite song of hers. I pulled my earphones from the side pocket of my bag and dove into the rest of the track. As the gentle voice brushed over me, I finally felt some of the stress drain away.
Cutting through the electronic sounds, I could hear Mio-chan apologizing again from the café floor.
Once my break ends, the battle will start all over again.
※
“Oh—Iroha’s here.”
“Morning~”
The next morning, at the usual spot along our usual route to school, I met up with Roka and Mami. The last time we’d seen each other was in the game yesterday. Their avatars in the virtual world are stylish and carefully designed, but in real life the two of them are even more eye-catching. Even though we’re standing in the shade, it’s like a different kind of light is shining just on them.
“Did you make it to your shift yesterday?”
“Your eye bags are intense. Did you actually sleep?”
“I slept~”
“When Iroha says ‘I slept,’ it’s probably like three hours, right?”
Roka immediately fires back, eyebrows drooping into a worried arch. So much for trying not to make her worry—of course Roka sees right through me.
“That’s basically an all-nighter~. Just hearing that makes me sleepy.”
Whether she really got sleepy from hearing the truth or not, Mami let out a big, lazy yawn. If you stare too long, the drowsiness starts spreading—dangerous.
“What were you doing? Work?”
“Nope. Studying ahead and reviewing. Finals are coming up.”
“With you, Iroha, you’d still take first place without trying.”
“That kind of complacency is dangerous. The moment you show an opening, you get shot in the back. That’s the kind of world it is.”
Uh oh. That just slipped out—straight from Mom’s sayings.
“That was an ‘Mom quote,’ wasn’t it?”
Yes. Guilty as charged. I made a whoops, you caught me face, and Mami responded by planting a hand on my shoulder and nodding smugly. What is with her?
“Iroha’s always in KASSEN mode, huh.”
Roka’s exactly right. My battles don’t end when I log out of the game, or when I clock out of BAMBOO café. If anything, this is where the real fight begins. I have to defend my top-of-the-grade position—held since the first term of first year—with my life if I have to.
No, not just exam scores.
“Oh, it’s Sakayori-san. Morning!”
“S-Sakayori-senpai! Good morning!”
“Good morning, Sakayori-san. Thanks again for the other day.”
Ah—good morning, everyone~
“Sakayori-san, you look pretty today too.”
“Oh crap, I actually said hi to Sakayori-senpai!”
“Must be nice, being you.”
Proper in conduct, excellent in grades, strong in both academics and athletics.
Only by maintaining the image of a flawless, gapless high school girl can I keep moving forward.
—Pushing yourself is just an excuse lazy people make. I only ever talk about what I was able to do.
Only after going this far can I finally catch a glimpse of my mother’s back, still far ahead of me.
Well… no matter how perfectly I live it through, Mom will never praise me.
Since when was it, I wonder, that she stopped praising me?
That was, I think—
Uh, it was—
It was—
“Alright, does anyone understand this? Since today is the sixth… Sakayori-san.”
“Yes!”
My name was called out of the blue, and my drifting consciousness came crashing back down.
Crap—where are we? What’s going on?
I’d let my guard down the moment I thought that. I knew sixth-period classical Japanese after P.E. was a battle against sleep.
Even so—
“Here, narinu is a combination of the verb naru in its continuative form, and the perfective auxiliary verb nu.”
“Ooh, impressive.”
“As expected of Sakayori-san.”
“That was so amazing I didn’t understand a word she said.”
The perfect high school girl, Sakayori Iroha, does not mess up.
…That was close.
※
“Alright then, I’m heading out—”
“I-I’m s-so sorry, Senpai! I messed up again today. I’m really, really sorry!”
“It’s fine, really. You’re making fewer mistakes every day, Mio-chan. Anyway, good work today.”
Another day, another narrow escape—today I survived my part-time job, where orders fly like bullets, with my life intact. As mentioned before, for some reason BAMBOO café is busiest on Thursdays, but Fridays are crowded in their own way too… Today, yeah, I’m a bit tired. But still—
“Hehehe… a three-day weekend has finally arrived. For the first time in forever, I can sleep a full six hours a day.”
The road I usually stride through with long, quick steps, I trudged along tonight with strides barely half my foot’s length. When I looked up, a full moon floated above the buildings, cutting a round hole in the night sky like a peephole into another world.
Lately, I feel like I’ve been looking up at the moon more often. Back when I lived at home, I never paid it any attention. What kind of mental shift is this, I wonder?
It’s beautiful…
Just as I felt like I might start hearing my mother’s voice again, I hurriedly shoved my earphones into my ears. I needed music. And of course, the song—
—Hmm. Let’s go with “Remember.”
The familiar intro flowed into my ears, and my heart lifted softly. One by one, the taut strings inside me loosened. Three minutes and fifty-three seconds of happiness, guaranteed. No matter how many times I listen, it never fades—my oshi, Yachiyo’s debut song.
Yachiyo, an AI live streamer.
The mysterious diva who appeared out of nowhere quite literally turned my world upside down. She serves as the administrator of the virtual space Tsukuyomi, as well as its tutorial guide and navigator. At the same time, she’s an artist who regularly streams live as the face of Tsukuyomi. Her age? Eight thousand years old.
It’s an outrageous character setting, but no one knows her true identity. She claims to be an AI, yet her creator, designer, and moderator are all completely unknown. Every week brings new rumors—joint projects by multiple corporations, secret overseas government programs, even the theory that she’s a digital ghost—but the sheer, bubble-like randomness with which these stories appear ironically strips them all of any real credibility.
As for me, whether Yachiyo turns out to be the product of a corporation, a nation, or even a ghost—I’m just grateful that something gave birth to my precious oshi, Yachiyo, in the same era I live in. That’s all.
No exaggeration at all: Yachiyo saved me.
When I was cornered, unable to move forward or backward, right or left, Yachiyo gave me wings through her songs and taught me that it was okay to fly. With this very song I’m listening to right now.
“...In our hearts we've all got a song It's a precious melody…”
I get through my days supported by Yachiyo.
Watching her streams makes me laugh. Listening to her songs calms me down. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve poured out worries I couldn’t tell anyone else into the chat-based advice app. On days she streams, I watch live. On days she doesn’t, I watch past streams or highlight clips. Even on days when I have no appetite, watching Yachiyo helps me eat—little by little.
For concerts, even if I can’t get a ticket, I go as close as I can and burn her image into my eyes. Then, when ugly memories surface behind my eyelids, I overwrite them with the sight of Yachiyo looking like she’s having the time of her life, and fall asleep. When my feet refuse to move toward work or school, listening to her songs gets me walking again.
She made me think that it’s okay to be alive.
Yachiyo never blames me.
She never rushes me.
But she’s always there by my side.
If anything, she’s kinder than most “people.”
If Yachiyo didn’t exist, how would I even go on living? I know I have to live. I do. But—
Suddenly, tears welled up.
Yeah… I really am a bit worn out today.
The outline of the moon I was looking up at blurred and warped, and—
“—!”
Huh? What was that?
Something crossed in front of the moon. Just for an instant—something tiny—
“A shooting star!”
“That’s a shooting star.”
…Huh?
As if jolted by the voices around me, I clasped my hands together.
—Anyone who relies on gods is an idiot.
I could hear my mother’s voice again, but I couldn’t help myself.
Gods, Buddhas—please, please—
“M-money…”
…Seriously? Me?
Of all things, that’s my wish? That’s the least high-school-girl-like thing imaginable. I’m such a boring person.
Yeah. I really must be tired.
With a self-mocking smile turned on myself, I trudged back onto the road home. And it was only then—when I noticed that the direction I was heading and the direction the shooting star had fallen were exactly the same—that—
“…Huh?”
It was just as I finally made it back—when I noticed the utility pole right next to my apartment glowing in seven different colors.
Seven colors, huh…
“Gaming… utility pole…?”
A gaming utility pole.
The phrase made no sense. And yet, there was no other way to describe it.
As I step back the soles of my shoes scraped against the asphalt.
Wait, wait—what is this?
What kind of phenomenon is this? No matter how you look at it, that’s an ordinary utility pole emitting full-on RGB gamer lighting. It definitely wasn’t like this when I left earlier, right? Just to be sure, I touched my eyelids.
Okay, okay. I’m not wearing my smart contacts.
Which means—
“Hah. What, it’s just a hallucination.”
I turned to leave—
and the utility pole puffed out smoke.
Like it was trying to stop me.
…You’ve got to be kidding me.
The exhaustion I’d forgotten in the shock came crashing back, doubled. This was bad. Really bad. If this was actually real, it was going to be a huge problem.
There were a million things I could be wondering about—how a utility pole could glow, where the smoke was coming from, whose wish that shooting star had supposedly granted to make this happen—but the biggest question was—
“Why… here?”
That’s it.
Honestly, I wouldn’t care if a utility pole glowed, danced, or started singing. The world’s full of festive nonsense—you could just laugh it off.
If it were any other pole.
If it weren’t this pole—
the one standing right next to the apartment I live in.
A gaming utility pole, glowing in seven colors and puffing out smoke at opportune moments. There’s no way I’m bold enough to spend a peaceful three-day weekend with a disaster-class supernatural phenomenon right outside my door.
And yet, tragic as it is, this is a 38,000-yen-a-month apartment with no guarantor. There’s no landlord who’ll come running with a phone call. And there are no neighbors bursting out to ask what’s going on, either.
Which means—
if I don’t like the glowing utility pole, I’m the one who has to deal with it.
…Damn it. When push comes to shove, you must do what you have to.
I steeled myself and took a step forward.
Then another.
And one more.
As if beckoning me closer, the seven-colored light blinked softly.
Why was the utility pole glowing? Let’s not think about that for now. It’s glowing because it’s glowing—fine, that’s good enough. So even when a door-like seam suddenly appeared down the middle of the pole, I didn’t ask why. And when a handle shaped like bamboo sprouted from that door, I didn’t ask when it got there. And even when the door slowly, slowly began to open inward like double sliding doors—
“No—don’t open!”
I reflexively shoved it shut with my hands.
No. Opening is not okay.
No one said anything about opening. Glowing and opening are completely different things.
But—
“Guh—ugh—brute force, huh?!”
It pushed back.
Strong—way too strong. That’s right: the perfect high school girl, Sakayori Iroha, had in fact neglected strength training.
The doors creaked open with a baaang, and inside was—
A baby crib?
Frilly cushions, a pink rattle, a tiny spinning mobile, and other baby toys—and at the center of it all, the owner of those baby goods—
“Fweh… fweh…”
“A—a baby?!”
—Now, long long ago… no, not that.
—In a world just a little bit ahead of now, not all that different from the present.
—There once lived an ordinary high school girl who played games.
—Her name was Sakayori Iroha, so it is said.
—You may call her Iroha♪
—When Iroha returned home, lo and behold, there stood a single utility pole that glowed in seven colors.
—Finding this strange, she drew near to look, and saw that the inside of the pole was shining.
—And so Iroha said:
“……Huh?????”
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