by Mamare Touno
Allie the Alraune, Mikakage’s plant spirit partner, climbed up into her lap, and Mikakage gave her a small onigiri. The Alraune took the perfectly round rice ball in both hands and bit into it. Even as she let the sight soothe her, Mikakage looked around.
The enormous, semicircular, cone-shaped hall she was in was commonly known as “the lecture hall.”
Right now, it was filled to about 80 percent of capacity.
For the moment, it was lunchtime, and most of the participants were taking boxed lunches out of their packs or unwrapping the bundles of onigiri that had been delivered.
Ordinarily, more people would have gone outside or to the cafeteria, but due to the content today, movement of that sort was sluggish.
There were both morning and afternoon conferences, but the morning session had been more like presentations by the various research departments than a conference. The afternoon session would probably follow suit.
The RoderLab was a guild that resembled a university. As a result, no matter what they did, conferences tended to end up as reports on research results.
The atmosphere in the tiered classroom was hard to describe.
It certainly wasn’t cheerful. It would have been safe to call it depressed. However, rather than simply despairing, it felt as if it was stirring restlessly, hiding confusion and excitement down at the bottom. As a matter of fact, here and there, people with the same major had gathered in groups and were talking in low voices.
Some of these groups had gone beyond gathering by major and were holding quiet, ongoing debates.
That was how shocking some of the content of the morning’s presentations had been.
“So hey, there’s some good stuff, too, yeah?”
Her colleague Aomori, who was also stuffing his face with onigiri, spoke from beside her.
“Would you call it a good thing?”
“Mmm. Probably?”
Hearing Aomori’s noncommittal answer, Mikakage nodded vaguely, a little troubled.
It was true: She couldn’t declare that it was a bad thing.
Mikakage had given her presentation during the morning session.
Because of the way it was organized, the RoderLab held many presentation meetings every month. The cooking section to which Mikakage belonged was no exception. However, the cooking section created things that were good to eat, and their presentations almost always took the form of sampling parties. Mikakage had used up all her energy on her presentation that morning.
To her—a Chef whose presentations didn’t usually use materials or involve long oral statements—the burden had been a heavy one. Her colleague had pushed it all onto her, and words of resentment coiled within her.
Mikakage kicked Aomori hard, stole the fried chicken out of his lunchbox, and quickly gave it to Allie.
“What was that for?!”
“Is it good, Allie?”
Shy Allie didn’t answer the question. She only ate the fried chicken energetically, keeping it hidden from Mikakage. She looked adorable, and Mikakage was relieved.
Little by little, even Adventurers without Chef subclasses were becoming able to cook.
That was the report Mikakage had given.
At present, there were two types of cooking method in this world.
The first was the “menu method.” Carrying the materials listed in a recipe you “remembered,” you opened the operations menu in the general vicinity of kitchen facilities. Once you selected the desired recipe from the operations menu, the dish was complete.
No matter what kind of dish it was, as a rule, the production time was ten seconds.
There were great advantages to this method. First, the required time was an obvious advantage. Even if it was a stewed dish that took time, or a fermented food, it only took ten seconds.
The economy of the ingredients that were used up was another advantage. At most, recipes only listed five types of ingredients. This included seasonings. For example, when making Meat and Potato Stew, you needed just three types: three potatoes, one beef, and one dark soy sauce. You didn’t need onions or carrots, and sweet rice wine wasn’t required either. Of course, the finished product looked as though these things had been used. It was as if the materials had been supplied from thin air.
Of course, there was an enormous—a far too enormous—disadvantage as well. This was that, no matter what sort of ingredients had been used or what kind of recipe you’d made, the finished food tasted like bran porridge. One could call it a flavorless flavor. The texture was also like a bland energy bar, and it was nothing that would whet anyone’s appetite.
The other method was known as “home cooking.”
With this method, it was necessary to cook just as you’d done in the old world. You weren’t restricted by recipes, and the taste depended on whether or not the person who was cooking knew how to prepare that particular dish. You had to get all the ingredients together; they wouldn’t pop up out of nowhere. In addition, the freshness and condition of the ingredients determined how complete the dish was. In other words, it was very similar to cooking in the real world.
In both cases, the overwhelming difference from the real world was that the person doing the cooking had to have a Chef subclass. It was also characterized by the fact that, with both the menu and home cooking methods, restrictions were applied according to Chef levels.
With the menu method, if the Chef’s level hadn’t reached the level set for the recipe, the probability that the dish would succeed decreased.
With the home cooking method, it wasn’t possible to see the Chef level that was specifically required, but there was a high probability of failure with complicated techniques such as steaming or frying, or with dishes that required lots of steps.
In either case, if they failed, just as in the days when this had been a game, all that was left was a charred wreck or a sloppy mess.
For Adventurers without a Chef subclass, every dish failed. No matter how good at cooking they’d been on Earth, they weren’t even able to make salad. Ever since the Catastrophe, this had been common knowledge.
That was slowly beginning to crumble.
Now, even Adventurers without Chef subclasses were able to use simple seasonings and cut up ingredients. At this point, they could make salads.
What was happening? No one knew.
They didn’t even understand the Catastrophe. There was no way for them to understand what this change meant.
However, it wasn’t hard to anticipate that the range it affected would be vast.
Even Mikakage and the other Chefs weren’t able to say exactly when this change had taken place. Akiba and the Round Table Council had noticed the subclass restrictions on item creation early on. That had been what had triggered the establishment of the Round Table Council in the first place.
It was safe to say that the way people with the same subclass formed departments at the RoderLab was based on that same discovery. In other words, all the people around Mikakage were Chefs. Not only that, but all of them, Mikakage included, were high-level. In addition, that knowledge was widespread in Akiba, and there was a universal awareness that meals were made by guild Chefs, or that you purchased side dishes from Chefs who were selling them.
That was why they hadn’t noticed when this phenomenon began.
According to Mikakage and the cooking section’s recent investigation, about half of all Adventurers now had a decent probability of making salad successfully. Even the ones who failed seemed to be feeling a different response than they’d felt before.
They’d managed to verify that the phenomenon was occurring.
However, it wasn’t yet clear whether it was the result of each individual’s unconscious efforts—a result of the Adventurer’s abilities expanding—or whether some game protection was coming undone. They’d confirmed that a similar phenomenon was occurring among the People of the Earth. It had even been possible for Allie, a plant spirit.
What was even more frighte
ning was the fact that the phenomenon wasn’t limited to cooking.
For example, the Carpenter subclass had monopolized item creation in the field of construction, while in furniture production, it had been the Woodworker subclass. That had been the way this world was.
However, at the presentation meeting that morning, reports that were similar to the one Mikakage had given on Chefs had shown up here and there.
The techniques of construction and forging weren’t as familiar to modern people as cooking techniques, and so even when they tried to conduct surveys, the sample sizes were too small, and they couldn’t get conclusive evidence. Even so, from a handful of cases, there had been clear reports that the old experience rule was wavering.
Mikakage wasn’t the only one who was disturbed.
Aomori, her other friends in the hall, and everyone at the RoderLab had a premonition of something.
At the sudden hush, Mikakage looked up.
The eyes of the people around her were focused on Roderick, who stood on the platform. Since it was still the middle of the lunch break, the nearby companions who’d been stuffing their mouths with onigiri and sandwiches were gazing at Roderick with expressions full of questions.
The man wore his white coat casually, and there was fatigue in his ordinarily calm, easygoing face. Scratching his head, he began to speak.
“Uh. I’m sorry to interrupt your meal, but I was waiting on news regarding an investigation; that’s come in, and it looks as though we’ll have to switch gears this afternoon, so let me cut in here. We’ll extend lunchtime by an hour. In addition, when I say ‘switch gears,’ I mean we’ll be shifting to countermeasures.”
At the words shifting to countermeasures, a stir ran through the hall.
Half was surprise at the fact that it was on a level where countermeasures were necessary. Half was due to the fact that the cautious Roderick had decided to actively contribute.
“You can keep eating, so do listen. There are three concerns I need to report. The first has to do with the Appearance Reset Potions and the difference in genders going back to the days of the game. According to many cases…or rather, to nearly all cases, we reported earlier that physical bodies influence character, and it appears as though voices are influenced as well. It isn’t clear whether or not the vocal cords have a mechanistic role, but the voices of Adventurers who currently have female bodies are gradually growing feminine…even if the player happens to be male.”
A pen rolled, making an awfully loud noise.
The lecture hall was so silent there wasn’t a single cough to be heard.
“The next has to do with visual observations… Erm. We haven’t actually confirmed this matter. We’re measuring again, but it’s still uncertain. That said, I think it is a fact. The distance between the town of Akiba and Fuji seems to be expanding. Or rather, the space between two arbitrary points is growing, albeit slightly.”
This report seemed to have struck most of the crowd in the venue as a bolt from the blue.
“Excuse me…”
One timid-looking Blacksmith raised his hand. When Roderick gave him permission, the question he asked gave voice to everyone else’s doubts.
“Is that true everywhere, do you think? In other words, is Yamato…growing?”
“We believe so.”
At Roderick’s answer, the entire venue gulped.
“The final matter has to do with the results of a survey request we received from an external party, but I think I should share them… It’s in regard to the flavor text set for items. For some items, we have confirmed that this text has effects.”
Mikakage’s eyes went round.
Flavor text with effects? What did that mean?
For example, say there was a certain magic weapon: “Damage +5%, Additional Flame Damage 180 to 216 Points, [STR] Boost +15.” This was the strength of the magic. Special magic effects accompanied normal weapon stats, making the weapon more powerful.
In comparison, “flavor text” indicated text like this: “This weapon, Mighty Inferno Spear, was bestowed on distinguished knights by the regular army of Ancient Westlande. It is decorated with Fire Dragon fangs and holds the power of flames. In antiquity, Loga Zari used this spear to inspire courage in his subordinates.” In other words, it explained the item, detailing its origins and features. It was information you could read as a result of appraising the item, but in terms of the game, it was meaningless. It was text that existed to enliven the atmosphere.
In any case, the “flavor” in flavor text meant just that: to add flavor. That was all.
There were no effects. Not having effects was what made it flavor text…or that was how it should have been.
But there were effects?
Mikakage didn’t understand right away just what that meant.
Because she didn’t know, she looked at Aomori.
Aomori didn’t know either. He looked back at Mikakage uneasily.
Most of their companions were doing the same thing.
Roderick closed his eyes briefly and gave a deep sigh. On seeing him, everyone braced themselves, finally realizing that something troublesome had happened.
“We don’t think these are isolated phenomena. It’s impossible to think that phenomena such as these could happen at a time like this, one after another, without any connection to each other. In other words, we feel they are related cases. At present, we believe this world is in the midst of ongoing, large-scale changes. The Catastrophe has not ended. I propose that we gather information regarding this matter to the greatest extent possible.”
Roderick’s words rolled around the dumbstruck hall, unanswered.
Almost none of Akiba’s residents knew of these changes yet.
5
In a busy office, Akatsuki and Raynesia were both kneeling formally.
In front of them were Riezé and Henrietta. Lots of maids were bustling around them, and for some reason, Nazuna was kicking back and eating a strawberry daifuku, a dumpling made of mochi and stuffed with jam.
Akatsuki had been marched straight here from the Temple, and after she’d been fed a combination breakfast/lunch served with the words “for now,” they’d decided to ask her about the circumstances in detail.
Akatsuki had thought that being asked for “the circumstances in detail” would be a problem, and she kept shooting glances at Raynesia. Prompted by Henrietta, Raynesia sat down neatly beside Akatsuki.
The pile of the luxurious carpet was long and fluffy, so her knees certainly wouldn’t get sore; but Akatsuki lived in a Japanese-style room normally and so had absolutely no reluctance with regard to kneeling formally. However, what about Raynesia? She didn’t seem used to kneeling that way at all; she was just copying Akatsuki, with a terribly serious expression on her face.
“We’ve heard the general outline already. The murderer is actually a Person of the Earth. A member of the Kunie clan, at that. Those combat abilities are thanks to mobile armor. The city’s defensive magic circle supplies the magic, and he has acquired fighting power equal to that of a small-scale raid boss.”
At Riezé’s words, Raynesia hung her head.
Apparently Raynesia had explained the circumstances to the female Adventurers who gathered for the tea parties.
This startled Akatsuki.
A Person of the Earth was killing Adventurers.
Raynesia had been terribly frightened and worried about that situation being discovered. Even so, as she knelt formally next to Akatsuki, looking at Riezé and Henrietta, her expression was a resolute one, not one of dejection.
However, that might have been only natural. Come to think of it, the People of the Earth princess Akatsuki had thought she wanted to support had ridden a griffin and soared through the sky in order to recruit heroes for the Zantleaf siege.
“—If this incident is discovered, the relationship between Adventurers and People of the Earth in Akiba will sour. If suspicion toward the Kunie clan grows, cracks may begin to appear
in city life itself. That’s what you two thought. You were concerned about that situation, Akatsuki, and so you tried to resolve the incident, instead of killing the murderer. Is that correct?”
Still sitting, Akatsuki thought for a little while, then nodded.
Put into words, that was probably what it was.
Akatsuki was aware that she’d dashed out into the nighttime streets without thinking much at all. She’d only wanted to tell somebody that Raynesia hadn’t made a mistake. She’d felt that if she stopped the murderer, that would get across. No: She was only able to understand that because she was thinking about it after the fact. If she remembered that time honestly, she might have been simply acting out her frustration for no good reason. She thought she’d just been venting her irritation at the world, which didn’t even try to understand her or Raynesia.
However, she was hesitant to put that into words, and she only gazed at Riezé silently.
“I can understand why you would have thought that. I don’t think it’s an incident that can be kept hidden to the end, but even so, resolving it quickly will be a big part of calming the uproar.”
“Plus there’ve been all these victims.”
Nazuna, who’d taken sweet sake out of her pack, poked fun at Riezé, who was speaking like a lecturer.
“…Will the West Wind Brigade make this matter public, then?”
“Nah. Soujirou said he’d pull out. We won’t make it public or retaliate. The guild members will probably have something to say about it internally, but Soujirou will handle that somehow. That’s the sort of guild we are. I’m the one who cleans up the mess… Although whatever happen now is up to you two.”
“That’s…”
“Enough of the roundabout review. Just lecture ’em already.”
