000 Prologue

I was posting under Midnight, but since the erotic content kept dragging on, I decided to shift gears and move to R15.

Apologies to readers for the inconvenience.

This story has been plagued by a technical issue: using half-width characters causes a posting character limit error, making it impossible to publish. So I’ve been writing English letters and numbers in full-width format instead.

I opened my eyes. I was in a white room.

I propped myself up on my elbows and scanned the space.

The room contained nothing but the bed I’d been lying on.

The walls around me glowed faintly, their material utterly indistinguishable.

Then I noticed the oddity—no door. No entrance. No exit.

(Yeah, this is the usual setup.)

I lay back down, heart sinking. I’d done it again. I’d fallen into the trope. I just waited, motionless, for the deity to show up.

‘Awake, are we?’

A voice cut through the air, sudden and sharp. A young man’s voice.

What the hell, you’re not a goddess?

A grumble of annoyance flickered in my mind, but I hid it and asked straight out.

"Are you a god? Or some kind of interdimensional transfer?"

"Fufu, Japanese people always say that."

The voice—boyish, maybe the god?—chuckled.

"Unfortunately, I'm not a god. And this isn’t a dimensional transfer. It’s abduction. By aliens."

"WHAT—THE—HELL—!!"

I panicked and screamed without thinking.

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I, Akira Yae-gashi, had been enjoying a perfectly peaceful high school life—until today.

Six feet tall, with a neutral appearance that sometimes fooled people into thinking I was female, I didn’t go out of my way to appear more masculine—though I was grateful, really, that I could blend in seamlessly with girl groups without standing out.

Because I’m into girls. In girl circles, physical touch was common—hugging, brushing against each other, casual contact—and being able to slip in and out of that environment? Heaven.

I’d even chosen this cute private high school on purpose, knowing the girl-to-boy ratio was double. A paradise.

It was the last day of summer break, the final school assembly, and I’d just been called into the staff room’s side lounge by my homeroom teacher, Takada.

Takada’s appearance? Irrelevant. Skip it.

“Yae-gashi… we’ve got a problem.”

My teacher’s face went dead serious.

I tilted my head, eyes narrowing. Listening.

"You're being expelled for unpaid enrollment fees—could even get kicked out of school, depending on how things go."

"Wha—?! Why, Mr. Takada?!"

I corner my homeroom teacher.

To sum it up, that's how it went.

Enrolling at this private high school requires paying the initial tuition fee upon registration.

The so-called "anti-slip fee"—money you pay to keep your spot, never to be refunded.

And when it came time to enroll, I ended up having to pay an additional second enrollment fee.

Seems like a move made after a lawsuit claimed it was unjust not to refund the steep enrollment fee—even though they hadn’t even enrolled yet—and a ruling ordered the refund.

Supposedly, the second enrollment fee hasn’t been paid.

Since most of the other tuition and uniform fees had already been paid, they’d granted a grace period—apparently, for the entire semester—due to a mix-up.

The deadline is before the second semester starts. Only a month and a half left.

“The school administration tried contacting Akira’s guardian repeatedly, but couldn’t get through at all. If you don’t sort this out yourself, you’re actually going to get expelled.”

Mr. Takata, my homeroom teacher, looked utterly defeated.

Yeah, well, *I’m* the one who’s actually stressed here!

“Teacher, it seems the issue is that idiot older sister. She’s got money in her account—should be able to transfer it right away.”

At the time, I still thought it was simple. Little did I know this was the start of a nightmare.

So I started with the basics.

Just contact the guardian—my sister—and have her deposit the money. Mission accomplished.

Ah, right—my sister’s the guardian because both parents are gone. It’s just her, her younger brother (me), and no one else in the family.

Tried calling her directly on her smartphone. No response—phone’s off, apparently. Left a voicemail, just in case.

Then I sent an email to her work address.

And—boom—got a reply back.

Surprisingly, it was over quickly. I opened the email—apparently, it was from the company’s server admin.

‘Is this your brother? Your sister’s gone missing. Do you know anything?’

So, apparently, the sister’s gone missing again.

Truth is, she’s been working two jobs.

After both parents passed, things got complicated—she was forced into a kind of fugitive life, burdened with debt.

So she had a front job and a back job.

Her front job was at the company I’d emailed, and her back job was as a pro gamer.

She played this VRMMO called “Star Fleet Official Edition,” affectionately known as SFO—built a spaceship, fought across the stars, and the streaming rights to her gameplay actually brought in money.

The VR environment is so overpowered that it can't be run on regular lines or standard gaming rigs—so special play zones are set up.

That’s why pro gamers hole up there during tournaments.

Since these play zones are kept secret, the pros vanish for several days during official events.

Apparently, this time they’ve slightly overshot the vacation leave they applied for at work—hence the fuss.

(Well, crap. Guess I’ll just have to wait until my sister gets back to me...)

I send an email to the company’s server admin explaining I don’t know either.

But there’s still one thing left to do.

Just withdraw money from my sister’s account and pay the enrollment fee.

I went home, changed out of my uniform, grabbed her passbook and seal, then headed to the bank.

Fun fact: I don’t have her cash card.

So I went with a gender-neutral look—nothing too flashy, just to avoid hassle at the counter.

Arriving at the bank, I grabbed a queue ticket and started filling out the withdrawal form, hunting for the withdrawal application sheet.

Then I noticed one of the forms was actually a transfer slip.

Right—there was a transfer slip handed to me by my homeroom teacher.

I realized I could just do the transfer directly from the account. Fine. I settled in to wait for my turn.

My number came up. I walked toward the counter.

Behind it sat a woman in her early thirties, glasses perched on her nose, with a slightly twitchy, nervous air.

“Transfer funds from this account, please.”

Handing over the passbook and the transfer slip, I said it. The woman with glasses glanced at the name on the passbook, then stared straight at my face.

Crap. She’s figured it out. I’m not the account holder.

I feel a flicker of panic. But I keep my face blank. No need to show it.

Not that I'm bragging, but my looks are pretty neutral—could pass for a short-haired woman, no big deal.

I changed into street clothes after coming home, figuring if I looked like a boyish woman, maybe I could throw off the mismatch between my gender and the account name.

A boy’s uniform would’ve been a dead end, obviously.

The female clerk with glasses finally looked away from me and stared at the deposit slip.

Good. Got away with it.

My relief didn’t last long. The glasses-wearing clerk dropped a line I never saw coming.

“Then, please show me your identification.”

“Huh?” I said.

“Over thirty thousand yen requires identity verification—driver’s license, or similar.”

She said it flatly.

A trap here? Right. My high school’s private, we wear branded uniforms, and the entrance fee’s steep.

(Should’ve picked a school based on the girls’ uniforms, not the boys’!)

I shoved the scream of my soul down deep and told the glasses-wearing bank clerk.

“Don’t have it today… I’ll come back later…”

I slunk away, defeated.

Back home, I started planning my countermeasures.

First goal: contact my sister and get her to pay.

Second goal: somehow bypass identity verification and withdraw money from the bank.

Third goal: borrow money.

Fourth goal: earn money.

First goal’s on hold—waiting for my sister to get back to me. No point in pushing.

But even if I’m waiting, I need a deadline. Otherwise, it’s just endless delay.

Second goal? I could forge my sister’s power of attorney. But faking a notarized document? That’s probably illegal. Definitely not worth the risk.

Apparently you can withdraw cash from an ATM with just a passbook, no card needed. Too bad I don’t know my sister’s PIN.

Third goal? Out of the question. Me and my sister—total strangers to the world. No parents. No relatives.

No financial institution’s gonna lend money to a minor with no income.

Fourth goal’s just a last resort—when the deadline for the first goal hits.

Even if we funnel all the living expenses from the family account, we’re still short by about twenty thousand.

But maybe I should start scouting for high-paying gigs now…

Then it hit me—perfect two birds with one stone.

"Wait—what if I become an SFO pro? I could contact my sister, and worst case, I’d actually make some cash!"

I decided to go all in on this brilliant idea.

I rummaged through my sister’s room until I found the software I needed.

"Star Fleet Consumer Edition," aka SFC. The home version of SFO.

Clear this software and you’ll earn eligibility to join SFO—step right into the pro-gamer ranks.

And once you’re in touch with the SFO management company, you can reach your sister, too.

I hooked up the game console to the network and the head-mounted virtual reality (HMR) monitor right away, then launched the software.

The HMR monitor’s built-in camera captured the real-world scene in front of me, overlaid with a controller error icon and text.

Looks like I need a special controller. Four belts with sensors and communication antennas, plus one receiver, show up onscreen—each blinking with an error icon.

Ransacked my sister’s room again—there it was, the myoelectric sensing controller, “Muscle Potential Sensing Controller.”

Looks like it’s a belt-based system, sensors and transmitters on both arms and legs, sending neural data from muscle potentials, received by the main unit, which then controls everything.

Pulled the standard controller out of its port, slid the MPS controller’s receiver into the connector.

Laid the sensor belts around upper arms and thighs, antennas facing outward—like a weird, high-tech spiderweb.

All set. Time to boot the game.

Game launches. After a series of checks, a fresh play screen pops up on the HMVR monitor.

A sharp, needle-like stab of pain shoots from the sensor on my right arm—right as the user screen flickers open.

『User verification confirmed via DNA scan. User identified as Yae-gashi Kuren.』

A voice crackles from the HMVR monitor’s headphones.

On the screen, save points appear—both on the main account and the alt account, both belonging to my sister.

“Huh? Logged into the sister’s main account by accident.”

Could be lucky, though. She probably uses the main account for her pro-gaming setup.

I can’t use that one—but the alt account’s save points might be close enough to clear it.

From the total playtime stats, it looks like it’d take three months to finish. Not even close.

I’ve got only a month and a half left. No way I’ll make it.

But I was gonna contact her anyway. Might as well just use this one.

The fault’s with the software that misidentified the user after running a DNA scan.

Then again, no way a device like this could actually do a DNA scan in such a short time—so it’s probably just game mechanics (a pose), but still counts as a decent excuse.

Unconsciously, I scratch my right hand through my hair. The cursor jumps up to the top-right corner.

“Ah, so moving my arm sends the signal straight through to cursor control.”

Gotta fix the multi-account user registration for me before it becomes a headache later.

Lower my right hand, reposition the cursor to match the user registration settings.

“How the hell do I select this thing?”

A graphic appears on the HMR monitor—fingers squeezing something.

Following the prompt, I clench my right hand, grasp the multi-account user registration setting, and the user settings screen pops open.

Grasp the "Halian" in the name field and crush it into deletion. Reach into the kana chart—“a-ki-ra-convert”—and pull it out.

Scroll down with my right index finger, scanning the displayed “Akira” conversion options, until I find and latch onto “Seira.”

Surprisingly intuitive.

“Anyway, this name’s been around before, huh?”

Confirm the name field now reads Yaegashi Seira. Grab the registration prompt and confirm.

The settings screen snaps shut shortly after.

Now I’ve got myself a multi-account username.

So, grab the save point marker with my right hand.

“Now I can start playing from a save point. Hmm… where should I continue from?”

The end credits begin rolling in front of me.

Looks like it was saved right after completion…

“Is this okay? Eh, whatever w.”

The end credits finish.

『You have obtained eligibility for SFO participation. Would you like to join?』

At the same time as the voice, YES, NO, and HOLD appear on screen.

Ah, so selecting HOLD here saves the end credits as a checkpoint, huh.

Naturally, I grab YES.

The world goes white. I lose consciousness.

And then I wake up in that white room from the beginning.

Ten episodes in a row. I’ll be posting them.

I’d really appreciate it if you found even a little bit of it interesting, or wanted to read more. Bookmarks, ratings—anything helps.

The rating input button is below the latest chapter.