Balancing act underway

Canceled the shift. The contract required specialized knowledge and operated on a performance-based model with flexible deadlines.

Stockpiled supplements for nutritional support. Never particularly fussy about food to begin with. Combined with calorie bars, that’s sufficient.

Acquired high-end medical equipment to counteract prolonged physical inactivity. The limitation: it doesn’t compensate for internal organ function.

Finally, discussed the network service plan with the account manager. Downgrading the tier.

Immersive terminals monitor usage time. Excessive, sustained dives trigger access restrictions.

Half a century has passed since safety protocols for various dives were established. That hasn’t changed. The practice once sparked social issues.

But there was a way around it. Just prepare multiple terminals and user IDs—enough to mask the discrepancy.

Tracking actual usage was an enormous burden for the management company. No corporation would pay human labor costs to support people who willingly acted like fools.

"Your hair’s grown out."

Yusei ran a hand through his hair while still seated on the bed.

A retro game magazine lay scattered nearby. Though paper media had long since fallen out of favor, owning such old-school magazines had become a kind of status symbol.

"Still a fool, me too."

The mutter continued. This was a remedy for various ailments linked to immersive terminals—most of which were largely fabricated by the media to exploit public fear—aimed at reducing their impact.

In games we become someone else. Sometimes that makes us lose track of who we are.

Some people say what’s the point of games like this. But human reason and self-awareness were always ambiguous to begin with.

Articulating internal information aloud—this proved surprisingly effective.

Conversely, Yusei was beginning to lose himself. And he knew it.

“Jonas, come out.”

Activate contact vision. The target is Jonathan Ridge.

His avatar pops into view moments later—a stylized, four-head-tall blonde man.

—Hey Yusei, I was just about to hit the rack. Perfect timing.

So, the mountain retreat setup—how’s that coming?

“Hahah, totally ready.”

Jonathan yawns widely. Time is just before three p.m. A little early to sleep, but not impossible.

You're not bad yourself. How long's it been since you last holed up in the mountains?

"Mountaining" was slang among the group.

It referred to the state of sealing oneself away for the game—exactly what Yousei was doing right now, preparing for the session.

Back then, it happened with some regularity. Now, gaming has gained full societal acceptance. Immersive terminals are no longer just for entertainment—they're standard in medicine, training, and countless other fields.

Before every major event, every international tournament—mountaining. Not healthy, but undeniably fun.

"I didn’t think you’d get this deep into a solo game at this point."

"Who cares? You’ve always got things to do, don’t you?"

"Cover for me with the professor. I filed the self-enrollment form, just in case."

—Got it. Yeah, write "for functional training" under the dive-related section. The review’s been lenient lately. University policy changed recently.

—Already did it.

—Smart. Don’t forget to wipe the logs.

—That’s handled.

…………

Jonathan’s avatar crosses arms and tilts his head. Still overacting as usual.

—Yusei, you’re showing dive syndrome symptoms.

—Too late now. We’re all cracked to some degree. Remember when you holed up in the mountains a year and a half ago?

—This isn’t a joke.

—Jonas?

—You’ve got a flaw. You keep trying to navigate reality through roleplay.

—Call it rational performance.

—Whatever. It’s your life. You decide what matters.

Relax. That’s our steel rule. If you actually start dying, I’ll go break your home terminal myself.

—Good to know, man. Just make sure you back up everything first.

—Aww, leave it to me. I’ll treat your precious erotic novels especially carefully.

…When you’re done holed up in the mountains, submit your report, Yousei-kun.

I’m particularly intrigued by the 150cm-tall Boink-chan and the 175cm-tall Boob-bounce-sister. Understand?

—You remember that well, Jonas.

Guffawing Jonathan, his avatar doing breakdancing moves.

Yousei doubled over laughing, severed the comV.

—Game. …It’s a game, isn’t it.

Yousei lay on the bed, legs stretched out, staring at his palms.

His back against the wall felt strangely hot. Something about unease.

Jonathan. If it ever comes to that, I’m counting on you.

Sergeant Io deliberately pulled his lips back, baring his teeth. A beastlike grin.

Let’s have some fun, Sergeant Io Two Hundred…!

——

——Sitalskia Unified Calendar Year 266. June 17, 02:33 PM

Eastern Karaf Continent, Oxanun Seasidestreet

Operation ID: Io Two Hundred

A platinum-blonde woman stands with her arms crossed before him.

Long hair, reaching her waist. Gathered into a single knot. Slim frame. Hands delicate and fine. Wears military uniform, but it doesn’t suit her.

Familiar. Someone he’d seen before.

Sergeant Io, the PR team stylist will arrive shortly. By the time your makeup is done, the photographer should be ready.

One shot with the sea in the background. One with the cruiser *Crips* behind you. Then one with civilians just before the evacuation from Oxanun.

It’ll be over in an instant if you cooperate.”

Io shook her head.

Oxanun should be at a critical juncture. Last time, Sinclair led a large-scale counteroffensive and bought significant time. Weedran wouldn’t collapse over something like that.

Still playing these games, the Karaaf Front Army.

(“Goblet, what’s happening in Oxanun?”)

“Oxanun is currently stable.

The Karaaf Front Army is in the final phase of civilian evacuation. Weedran requires time for military reorganization.”

(“Regarding the Karaaf Virus.”)

“No notable data.

The data recovered from Salor Banker has been scrubbed—names of involved parties, sponsors, and related entities erased.

Tracking is possible, but demands immense resources and time.”

That’s what the Reaper will handle.

Io exhaled sharply. Dug in, dove in—only to be left wide open.

You always take that attitude again.

...?

All men are like that. They fight with their lives on the line, so they think they’re superior.

Ignore orders, sneer at me, whisper behind my back—act like it’s perfectly normal.

Not only men risk their lives. Don’t drag me into your incomprehensible hysteria.

Such a polished way of speaking. Corporal, if you’re truly a soldier, why not show respect to my rank insignia?

The platinum blonde woman pointed at her lieutenant’s insignia.

Io’s avatar moved on its own, executing a perfect salute. She didn’t like that at all.

Worst of all. I’d love to make someone like you cry.

I don’t care about your ideology or what you think.

Finish the job quickly.

Wait until I’m ready.

"Staff! You there! —"

Io ignored the lieutenant and called out to the technician preparing the gear.

Camera strapped to the chest. That should be sufficient.

"Get ready."

"Wha—?"

"The camera. Aim it."

"Oh—ah."

"Uh, corporal?"

The technician complied with surprising ease. The lieutenant's brow twitched.

Io seized the hand and forced it into position.

"I—ouch, let go."

"Lieutenant, you're the only one in Oxanun right now openly declaring you don't intend to fight."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Look at the others. Even the public relations assistant carries a weapon.

You're the only one without a pistol. You think fighting lizards in the mud is beneath you, don't you?"

The lieutenant tried to shake Io off, but the difference in physical stats was too great.

It's fine—capture it.

Stop—halt the recording!

Sergeant, you were saying something about backstabbing, weren't you—

No one will acknowledge you, that’s certain.

In the end, the staff shot two frames exactly as Io instructed.

First frame: Ioh glaring at the lieutenant. Second frame: Ioh receiving a sharp slap from the lieutenant.

Io turns on his heel without so much as touching his bruised cheek.

Good. I'll take the vehicle.

There's no way it could be anything but good!

Do whatever you want with the rest.

Sergeant Io!

Seize the public relations team's vehicle with little regard for procedure.

No clear direction. A directive is needed.

What's the status of the event progression now?

Goblet, move the vehicle.

Understood. Where shall we proceed?

Where do we go? What must be done now?

—There’s suspicious movement from Crewk McGibbon.

Then that’s where we go.

—

A derelict building. No idea how this place was secured. Probably once a library.

Clearly older than the surrounding structures, and dimly lit. The only thing nearby is an ancient archive—perfect for a haunted house.

One of the many abandoned buildings now deserted after mass civilian evacuation. The military is systematically seizing them, converting into defensive outposts.

This one is among them, though deemed tactically useless.

Carlyle ahead walks with a strained expression.

—Ah, uh, Sergeant—

—What is it, Private—

—I wasn’t told I could lead you here—

—Yeah. He was angry. Lieutenant did.

The engineering trio of Carlyle had not received orders to return to their original unit or undergo reorganization since arriving in Oxanun.

Reasons were multiple. Carlyle’s infection status. His deep ties to Unit 3552 and Io.

No one wanted to take on the troublesome risk. And gradually, no one cared anymore.

Taking advantage of that, they still acted as support personnel for Unit 3552. Good fellows, Carlyle and his two companions.

They could have disembarked from the vessel at any point.

“Well, what I wanted to say first…

I don’t think the captain made a wrong decision.

And in case you’re wondering, by the time I realized it, it was already too late.”

“Huh?”

The library control room, reached following Carlyle’s guidance, bore a metal plate affixed to it. Scratched onto the surface in what appeared to be Captain Creeke’s handwriting was a single message.

——Salomia and Karaaf Front Army, Youth Tactics Study Group Headquarters

“Salomia?”

“Volunteer corps. From Audar.

Salomia Remigan Volunteers. A collection of young recruits who enlisted when the Karaaf Continent faced collapse. By status, no different from child soldiers.”

“Why come here now?”

“Face-saving for the higher-ups, probably. Karaaf’s already beyond holding, but letting it fall outright leaves no excuse. The Audar Front Army had an obligation to send reinforcements, regardless of content. One of those is Salomia.

...And the sight of youth dedicating themselves to the nation makes good propaganda.”

“Disgusting. What’s your connection to the lieutenant?”

“Who knows? The commander of Salomia is said to be a relative of Captain Creeke, or something like that.

I don’t know the details myself.”

Carlyle knocks on the door of the command room.

"Private, Carlyle. I’ve brought the sergeant."

"……Fine, come in."

The door opens. The room isn’t large, but the chair and desk are high-grade.

Scattered tightly across the space, equipment of all kinds. Each piece bears dents, repair marks—clearly secondhand, scavenged from somewhere.

And Crook McGibbon, sprawled across the command desk, his back arched like a puppet. Surrounding him, the boy soldiers.

Pax, Shorty, Cheryl. The usual crew.

Pax looks up at the ceiling, exasperated.

"Welcome, Sergeant. This is your new base—3552."

Crook twists his doll-like face into a cruel smile, playing with his gold-dyed hair.

"Ah, just the right moment, Sergeant. I was beginning to think I’d have to show you myself."

"Hmph? Private, what’s the purpose of this place?"

You know damn well I wouldn’t be satisfied with childish games. You’re not studying tactics with blind faith, are you?

Just doing what I can, just as you’re focused on what you can do.

So?

Lieutenant clasped her fingers at her lips, playing coy. Backlight obscured her expression.

This place—the Young Officers’ Tactical Study HQ—is ultimately a communications hub.

A relay point for coordinating with juvenile combat units across the region.

—Ah, I see.

Sergeant, you seized the port, secured the vessels. Don’t know what strings you pulled, but even politicians who sway public opinion.

Still, that wasn’t enough.

Io pulled a nearby chair and dropped into it with a thud. Time to hear the lecture from the ever-eloquent Crewk.

Final phase of the withdrawal from the Karaf Continent. The previous counteroffensive did buy time—but also caused chaos.

The operational capacity of the Oxanun Command has reached its limit.

That didn’t show.

The frontline officers are just holding on by sheer will. Supply delays and misallocations are routine. Some units haven’t received updated orders in days.

Among them, many youth battalions have been abandoned.

Is that why we’re 3552?

Exactly.

Once, we were pampered like nobility. But people grow tired of things like that.

Yet we’ve gained more freedom to act than before.

Crewk says it with pride. Glances sideways at Carlyle—shoulders shrug.

Carlyle whispers, low and furtive.

In truth, she’s no small thing. Our princess.

The enhanced soldier with special curriculum isn’t just a title.

Hearing you, Sergeant. I do not care for being called princess.

Carlyle straightened her spine.

Yes! My apologies!

Regardless.

Cruick leaned back, feet propped on the desk, arms crossed.

A boy soldier unit is no different than a hiking club. They lack the knowledge or experience to judge retreat on their own. They lack the courage to ignore orders from superior units.

We’ll teach them the proper method. Secretly from Major Yuaris.

A tactical study session—just a cover for this.

Hmph, Io grunted.

Can it really be done? So smoothly. I didn’t know Cruick MacGibbon had such finesse—or connections.

Well… impressive. Doing something like that.

Overthinking the in-game event serves no purpose.

Or perhaps this is one reason Goblet places such trust in Cruick.

You know I wasn’t playing around in Oxanun.

Smiling and waving at the media wasn’t pointless.

Surrender, Lieutenant. I’m done. You’re… a damn capable commander.

Realizing that now? Corporal.

Cut me some slack. So, what do I do next?

Hmph. The Lieutenant kept his nose in the air.

Nothing. Just stay quiet for a while. Watch our moves.

...Guess I’m the one who’s unpopular.

Io stood up. Another hollow feeling. Like he’d been played.

He expected a fierce clash. But if this continues, the whole “mountain siege” setup is wasted.

Time to go freelance, he thought. Then Crewk suddenly panicked.

Wait—hold on. Don’t misunderstand. I don’t hate you.

That’s good—good to know. Call me if you need me.

Shiryl whispers to Crewk. Pretends to speak quietly, but it’s loud enough to hear clearly.

Teasing tone, unmistakably playing with Crewk.

“Captain, Corporal’s mad at you.”

“I didn’t mean to.”

Shorty backs her up, dead serious.

“I know. Come on, stop him already.”

“Ah—ah—got it, got it, Corporal. Got a little job for you.”

“Haha, if it’s no big deal, I’ll stick to lizard hunting.”

Carlyle elbows him.

“Grow up. Enough with the teasing.”

“Mmm…uh…”

“Sorry. ‘A little job’ was an understatement.”

I’d like you to use the secret line I’ve built to speak with the young soldiers who’ve joined our cause.

You’re… our hero after all.”

Crouke clears his throat with deliberate theatrics.

Intelligent girl, but socially inexperienced—something I’ve observed through prior interaction.

Even gifted, she lacks finesse in reading emotional nuance. A character with depth.

Pax urged Crouke to take the lead.

“Um… Sergeant. I mean…

We had you and the corporals. But the others didn’t.

If they could just talk to you—even a little—I think they’d keep going.”

Io lets out a wry smile.

“Sounds like I’m whining.

Got it, Commander. Send the detailed orders.”

The young recruits—except for Cheryl—smiled with visible relief.