Not a game

One more before the trip.

Trying out this scheduled post feature—now.

Yusei leaned against the sink. Stood still for a moment.

Lifted his gaze slowly. There, familiar yet unfamiliar, like himself, like someone else, a man.

Mouth slightly agape, staring back at him.

Eyes shaped like short blades. Kite-colored irises. Pulsing, unnatural pupils.

Just a mirror. Only himself.

Himself? His height doesn’t reach 180.

Look at this—collarbone, the slope of the shoulders, the tightness of the abdomen. A soldier’s body, forged through discipline.

Not a gamer’s frame.

Water streams from the faucet. He scoops it and slams it against his face. Splashes strike the reddened chest and shoulders. A body like a blade, honed through relentless strain, enduring hardship without faltering.

The man in the mirror glares up at Yousei through half-lidded eyes. Eyes blazing through the gaps between his fingers.

"Height’s impressive."

A static hiss. Illusion. Nothing should be audible besides the sound of water.

"Time is limited."

"Yeah, right."

"Those lizards don’t flinch. No matter how hard you beat them down, their morale doesn’t drop."

"Guess so."

Heavy solemnity. Drowsy mockery. His own voice alternates in his ears. Pathetic.

He meant to snort a laugh, but the reflection in the mirror didn’t do that.

"Delusion. Hallucination. Auditory illusion... Diving Syndrome progressing faster than expected. Went too deep into Angler Game."

Stay calm, Yusei. Now more than ever, keep your composure.

That’s right. Keep it steady. You’re far better than me at killing them. As long as you stay calm.

Shut up for a moment. A talking mirror—what kind of sick joke is that.

Listen. Don’t doubt me.

Don’t pretend you know. Who the hell are you?

Urban legend, wasn’t it?

Keep repeating “Who are you?” to a mirror, and you’ll lose your mind.

Mind? Who guarantees sanity anymore? Who draws the line between sane and mad?

I’m starting to forget who I am.

Funny. Me too, you bastard. Probably need a psych eval.

But it’s too late now. No place to run. Only one path left.

What are you talking about?

Someone in the mirror is gripping their own face with full force.

Fingernails carve red lines. Thumb digging into the cheekbone, index finger piercing through the cheek, threatening to break through.

The growl like an animal—whose voice was that?

No, Io thought. Look down on yourself. Be objective.

Again, the static. Someone in the mirror blurs. Becomes the familiar face of oneself.

Yusei took a deep breath. Look closely. Your own face. What is this Sitaruskiya? You're still in the middle of seclusion.

Get sleep. Eat. Yes, that’s best. Io nodded. Replenish your stamina. It directly affects focus, judgment.

"Shut up!"

Teeth clenched. Sweat streams.

"It's unavoidable now. Too late. You chose this yourself.

Even if it was the result of Goblet’s manipulation."

"Goblet."

"Yes. There was opportunity. Chances to cut ties with her—plenty of them."

"What do you know about her? A navigation AI can't manipulate a user."

You don’t know her. She doesn’t know you.

She won’t let you go. Like a fledgling bird just hatched, she seeks you.

I don’t care what she is. But you’ve proven that even an entity so cold in nature discards every alternative except the one you offered—unconsciously.

Don’t get so dramatic. Saving the world with toy guns?

Grind your teeth. Move your legs.

Leave the mirror. I know the treatment for Dive Syndrome.

Breathe outside air. Clear your mind. Count to three. Remember where you came from.

You didn’t doubt her at first. You thought her insignificant.

She noticed. Didn’t care.

Something changed. You began to doubt her. But by then, she had already transformed.

She began to fear your suspicion. She interfered with your thoughts. Slowly. Without flaw.

Do you remember when it started? You felt doubt countless times. You erased it immediately. Always. Always.

Precisely—she was an arrogant goddess.

Whatever Goblet had been, I know how to counter her.

Pull the power from the Dive terminal. Contact Jonathan.

That’s all. For a while, they’ll mock me as a brain-fried relic. That’s all.

“Abandon the lieutenants? Just a game.”

She bit her lip. Both her. And the one in the mirror.

“Fulfill your duty.”

“Duty.”

“It’s no longer a game.”

Io managed to pull herself away from the sink. The water ran. She didn’t care.

Distant, yet composed. Attempting fine calculations and thoughts, the answers came with startling ease.

Yet what meaning could such self-analysis possibly hold.

Madmen do not question their own thoughts.

—It’s no longer a game.

Idiotic.

It’s a game.

Leaning against the wall, she stared at the dive terminal.

The sleek, streamlined immersive device glowed with pale blue lines, waiting for her—now, any moment.

Sedatives had been stockpiled as a countermeasure against Dive Syndrome. But even that felt pointless now.

She closed her eyes. A floating nausea surged—like after a binge of toxic intake.

—For the comrades who believed in me, in you

Refusal was impossible.

—

When she realized it, she was seated cross-legged against a wrecked quadrupedal tank.

Both arms, thrown aside, were shredded. Burned by fire, pierced by fragments. Gloves torn, blood seeping through. Armored plating cracked, some sections partially melted.

Two soldiers stood nearby. Unknown faces.

She rolled her head to the side, tilting her neck, watching them. She felt their breath catch.

—...You’re awake?

— Were you sleeping?

— Like dead.

Drops of rain fell sporadically. Harsh breathing from people rushing about the perimeter echoed.

Preparations for combat continued.

— You should rest a little longer. Sinclair should return soon.

— A medic is on the way. Receive treatment and a recovery injection.

Io closed her eyes.

— (Goblet)

Agent Io. Your return is welcomed.

The battlefield has exceeded chaos and begun to run unchecked. Each faction prioritizes on-site judgment and reinterprets orders, repelling the Weedran pursuit unit.

No anomalies. All within expected parameters.

Something should be said to this one, though.

(What is the Reaper doing?...No... What was I doing?)

Six skirmishes have occurred since the last intervention, and Io has eliminated every enemy force.

The Reaper is operating independently to maintain contact with Commander Sinclair and the Charger.

(Are the lieutenants safe? Is our operation proceeding as planned?)

Crewk McGibbon is consolidating as many child soldiers as possible under his command and has begun evacuating northeast. Progress is favorable.

Ioh has communicated with Crewk McGabin on multiple occasions. Refer to the logs if necessary.

That's nice. Io stands up.

No good, Sergeant. You still need to rest.

Stay out of my way. I'm not dying.

—It’s fine. No need to worry. You’ve fulfilled your duty.

The soldiers exchanged glances, then saluted once before departing.

Recovery protocol ongoing. Caloric reserves required for regeneration secured.

1200 seconds until recovery

A sensation of organs rolling around inside the abdomen.

The sensation of being assembled like a jigsaw puzzle by muscle—

If you're concerned, I'll block the sensory input.

(No, it's fine)

Walking with a sluggish drag, limbs heavy as if pulled through mud. The ground, slick with rain. Mud splattered onto the armor, clinging tightly—light rain smeared it further, ugly and unrelenting.

Io’s vision snapped into focus on Crewk McGaban’s face—simple white-rimmed viewport, like a fragment of her comms log.

(You said show me, Goblet?)

—You seemed interested.

Wants to be called clever, does he.

—Io… are you alright? I’m sorry. I now think my orders were… a little reckless.

I’ve heard how you’ve fought. Strike the lizard, we’re saved. Our allies too.

But I didn’t want you… to suffer.

From Carver Ve onward, you’ve always been…

This… is my duty. I don’t regret it. But I’m not blind to what it costs.

In the end, I was too consumed by myself and my squad… while you’ve always fought for us.

—Ah! Leave it to me, Shorty! I’ll sort it out right away!

No more delays.

—Saying this to you, who I sent into a death zone, is the height of hypocrisy. Still, I have to say it.

Survive, Io.

The window closes. Io does not stop walking. Sniffs once.

(When was this sent?)

Fifty minutes ago. Engaged with enemy reconnaissance unit.

(So. … Fulfilling my duty.)

For the survival of the human species on Planet Sitalskia.

Progress from the lieutenant remains unclear. Doesn’t matter.

Pound the lizard. Pound the filthy, clinging scales. Pound until they shatter.

The lieutenant and the comrades survive. That’s enough.

For the comrades.

The whisper was not intentional. Closer to self-suggestion.

To maintain morale, you need reason—or illusion.

For the comrades. That single phrase was both reason and illusion.

Reaper has returned.

Condor streaks overhead, heading toward the makeshift helipad—what could only be called a temporary assembly point cobbled together from stragglers.

A helipad in name only, just an open field.

Io breaks into a run, meeting Condor’s landing. The dented, warped slide door swings open.

Inside, Reaper beckons.

“Io! I told you to sleep!”

“I’ve completed the necessary recovery procedures.”

“…Pointless, I suppose. Fine, get in! Command wants to speak with you—urgently!”

—

Condor’s interior houses a specialized communications unit.

A secure channel to Oxanun Command. In the sealed cabin, a familiar man’s image materializes—somewhere, somehow, like a memory.

‘This is Youaris.’

Iō saluted automatically. Lieutenant Colonel Yuaris was thinner, more exhausted than when they had met before.

Colonel, I'm currently occupied.

That applies to me as well. So I’ll keep it brief—just the matter at hand. Understood?

—Speak.

The hologram leans on its elbow, hands clasped in front of its face.

I am well aware of what you—more precisely, Lieutenant Crook McGibbon and his faction—are doing.

Likely. Otherwise it's a lie. You being a lieutenant colonel and all.

Keep your remarks to things that aren't a waste of time.

Regardless, I’m prepared to endorse the actions of that insolent lieutenant.

Reaper, standing with arms folded ahead of Io, shrugged.

So, a transaction. What’s being demanded this time.

If Captain Creeke’s actions weren’t arbitrary—either reckless or in defiance of orders—then there’d be nothing to worry about.

A military force that can be dissolved so easily by public pressure isn’t worth the name.

Yuaris claims she’ll handle it.

“Terms?”

—Ten minutes ago, the combat delay order for defense line units was rescinded.

Each unit retreats sequentially to Oxanun. Evacuation to Audar follows. This is the final departure from the Karaf continent.

I require your support in executing this.

“Vague.”

—The escort force for the transport fleet is insufficient. The final vessel will likely be defenseless against enemy attack.

I need you to provide its defense.

“You’re asking me to stay behind in Karaf?”

—“Protect the allied forces. Die doing it.”

The bluntness of the statement made Io laugh involuntarily.

—The final vessel carries my staff as well.

The kind of personnel who managed, however imperfectly, to keep this catastrophic and chaotic retreat operation running.

They will surely be needed in the battles to come.

……So you’re not joining us?

I am fulfilling my duty.

Not some abstract romanticism you parade around like a banner.

This is my mission. Service to the nation. Responsibility to my subordinates.

I understand. I’ll take on the task—no, your request.

Major Yuris gave no sign of emotion as she nodded once.

Very well. I’ve just issued orders pertaining to Lieutenant Creeke’s actions. In some cases, I had to falsify and fabricate documents.

Truly… absolutely… you are a plaguebearer.

Major, why not enjoy your final prank?

Sergeant, you’re truly good at provoking me.

That’s settled. Move out. ……We’ll share the dawn.

Yuaris cut the transmission with a final statement.

Io felt an odd, hollow ache.

The Reaper spoke.

“That mole bastard gave me nothing but hot water to drink, but his strategy had a clear thread.

I’d almost salute him now. ……Just a little.”

“Reaper, what about Sinclair?”

“The Charger is executing the final delaying maneuver. We’ll rendezvous with him.

If we abandon everything and run, the friendly forces can still reach Oxanun.

……Don’t worry. I’ll make it work.

I’ll request a Condor. You go to Oxanun.”

Io extended a fist. A brief silence. The Reaper met it.

Fists clashing.

“Tell Boomer and Charger I said hello.”

“I don’t think you’ll die. Smash those lizards flashy and hard.”

The Reaper does not seem to believe Io will actually die.

Stepping down from Sinclair’s Condor.

The drizzle grows heavier by the minute.