1.
Game Development Department clubroom.
Since this wasn’t the first time I was visiting, I confidently guided the teacher into the room, only to find the clubroom in an even greater state of disarray than usual.
Whether it was the aftermath of the console I had thrown or for some other reason, the inside of the clubroom was in utter chaos.
At the center of the chaotic scene, as if they anticipated our arrival, a pair of cute twin girls were hugging each other and looking up at us.
I sighed and clicked my tongue.
“Let’s clean up a bit, kids. And… Momo, come here.”
“Eh, m-me? Why…?”
“You’re the one who threw the console. Come forward, raise your hand, and reflect on your actions.”
“….”
Momo seemed poised to make an excuse but upon meeting my intense gaze, she nervously slipped out, knelt down, and raised her hands.
I placed my hand on Momo’s teary expression and gestured towards Midori, who was staring blankly at me.
“Midori, you too. Raise your hand and reflect.”
“Eh?! B-but why…!”
“It’s shared responsibility. You should have stopped her. What were you doing over there? If the teacher had been hit, it could have been fatal.”
“Eeek…!”
“…I’m not that frail, am I?”
“Hush.”
“Y-yes…”
Despite knowing the teacher’s weaknesses, Midori shot a sour glance but sat next to Momo, knelt down, and also raised her hand.
I ignored the teacher’s muttering complaints on the side.
If a sharp edge had hit and killed someone, the realm of Kiburatos might have fallen that very day.
The thought chilled me to the bone.
As I gripped the twins’ heads firmly, I spoke quietly.
Looks like some moral education was in order.
Guaaak.
“Ah! My head! It hurts…! I swear it’s gonna explode…!”
“Aaah! Sorry! Sorry! I’ll repent, please…!”
“A carelessly thrown stone kills a frog. You two almost killed something alive.”
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry!”
“Apologies…! It won’t happen again…!”
“Frogs? No, I don’t think I’m that fragile…?”
Who would keel over and die from a single bullet wound? In Kiburatos, that level would make one practically undead already.
Ignoring the teacher’s complaints, I continued with the moral education.
“Even a minor action of yours could result in the teacher dropping dead. Remember just how insignificant they are! How frail their body is!”
“Uh, Hiiro?”
“Say it with me! The teacher is frail and inferior. Their body is frog-level.”
“Se, the teacher is frail and inferior…!”
“The teacher’s body… is frog-level…!”
“Excuse me? Why do I feel attacked here? Kids?”
“The teacher is trash! They have a trash-level body!”
“Trash teacher! A teacher who dies from a stone hit!”
“…”
For five whole minutes, we had a meaningful session where we truly appreciated the teacher’s value.
By the time the moral education ended, the teacher had somehow crawled into a nearby cabinet and was curled up inside.
Not knowing why, I grabbed the teacher by the leg, dragged them back, and brought up the main topic.
“So, how exactly do you need our help?”
“Eh? Hiiro will help too…?”
“It’d be awkward to back out now. Just tell us quickly. Teacher, let’s work together.”
“I need some time to heal this emotional wound…”
“But we’re just stating facts?”
“Fact bullying!”
Realizing this. Adults sure are sharp.
“That has nothing to do with it, though…”
—
2.
“Insufficient performance and too few club members, right…?”
“Hmm. Solving either problem would suffice.”
According to the twins, the problems facing the Game Development Department were as follows.
As the academy Millennium was inherently results-driven, all clubs needed to achieve specific performance targets, a rule that applied to the Game Development Department as well. While a club could secure temporary approval by recruiting the minimum number of members as specified in the rules, the bigger issue was that the Game Development Department couldn’t attract new members.
The odds that students, who had been admitted to Millennium, an engineering-focused academy, would be interested in retro games were extremely low. Moreover, each of the current members of the game development club had their own issues.
A prime example of this was Yuzu, who still shut herself inside the cabinet, barely making her presence known. Given her circumstances, it was indeed challenging to recruit new members. Therefore, the solution was simple.
“The only option left is game development, right?”
“Exactly! That’s why we thought of asking the teacher for help!”
With the options narrowed down, their course of action was clear: Create a game worthy of their club’s name—Game Development Department.
But…
“I doubt I will be of much help with game development?”
“Me too. I’ve never tried something like game development before.”
The issue was not only the teacher but also me—we both recognized that we wouldn’t be of much help with game development. Of course, they hadn’t called me to give that kind of assistance, but I pretended to be unaware.
Similarly,
I didn’t bother alerting anyone about the subtle presence outside the clubroom.
“Tap-tap.”
“Is it okay if I come in?”
Without waiting for an answer, the door opened, and a figure entered.
Both the teacher and the twins froze in shock as they stared at the girl who had entered the clubroom.
“You’ve come! One of the Four Kings of the Student Council! The ruthless accountant, Yuuka!”
“…Please don’t compare people and their roles to named monsters. It’s rude. And… I knew you’d be here, teacher.”
“Hehe. Nice to see you, Yuuka.”
“…Haa. Well, it seems unavoidable… Hiiro, why are you here?”
“It sort of happened like this, Senior Yuuka…”
“That’s not how it happened at all! Don’t sound like a traitor to the organization!”
“Ah. Nothing much. Just thought I’d lend a helping hand to some acquaintances.”
“…Is that so?”
I shrugged and gave a vague answer. Yuuka glanced at me with suspicion but didn’t probe further. There really was no particular reason to.
Since Yuuka didn’t consider it too significant, she frowned suspiciously but didn’t say much more.
Soon, Yuuka’s sharp gaze landed on Momo, easily the biggest troublemaker in the Game Development Department.
“Momo. The dissolution of the Game Development Department is already a decided matter. Nobody can stop it.”
“Ah, it’s not final yet! Last time, you clearly said that if we meet the quota with new members or achieve the required results as a Millennium club, we could be reconsidered!”
—
In the heart of Millennium, a school that glorified results, to survive, one always needed to prove their worth—individuals and groups alike.
Currently, the Student Council had judged that the Game Development Department had failed to prove its value. Even more so, they had given them a sort of grace period.
“But since your club lacks the required number of members, and you’ve produced no club activity results worthy of note for more than a year now, you’ll likely face dissolution with no objections.”
“OBJECTIONS ABUNDANT! We try our best in club activities!”
A year is not a short period by any means. What had the Game Development Department actually done during that time?
“Constructing a massive pachinko park within the school and turning it into a large-scale gambling den, raiding the Ancient History Research Club citing the search for retro game consoles… What kind of common club report is this?! Don’t joke around!”
The construction of gambling dens, raids on other clubs—judging from this, there were likely more incidents. Indeed, the Student Council had been remarkably lenient up until now.
“Momo, have you done all these things?”
“…Sometimes it’s important to assess intentions over outcomes.”
“Momo, what are you talking about…?”
I exhaled deeply.
Honestly, at this point, Yuuka might as well be a saint.
They tolerated this for a year?
“…It was merely procedural, a grace period at best. Truth be told, I wanted to evict you immediately.”
Ah, so you were just waiting for the right moment.
“Unfair!”
“U, we’ve also created games!”
“Surely you’re not counting the achievement of winning the First Prize at the “Kuso Game of the Year”?
“….”
“….”
Yuuka’s sharp words cut down the twins.
As they wore expressions of despair, the teacher, standing nearby observing the situation, whispered to me.
“What kind of game could it be?”
“It’s… there’s a game that gathered a lot of criticism…”
“…Ah.”
The teacher seemed to understand the situation and gave a bitter smile. They occasionally offered meaningless words of encouragement to the two who were still struggling, saying things like “Coming in first means it was a good effort!”
After watching this farce, Yuuka sighed and reluctantly spoke.
“Anyway. At Millennium, only ‘results’ matter. If you want to prove you’re doing proper club activities, then show us the proof.”
“Proof…?”
“…If you produce meaningful results, the dissolution will be overturned. I’ve already said this multiple times, haven’t I?”
Yuuka’s so-called “meaningful results” seemed like a much more daunting challenge.
Apparently, the others were thinking along similar lines, considering options like “competition awards” or “getting a commendation in a contest.”
“Work hard, but given your current level, you might just end up as ‘Kuso Game of the Year’ winners again.”
“Arggh…!”
“If you think this is impossible, vacate the clubroom immediately.”
In a strangely provoking tone, Yuuka continued speaking. She was deliberately doing this.
The teacher, likely recognizing this fact, wore a peculiar smile but didn’t mention it.
“Chh…! We’ll show you with our results!”
“With results?”
“The preparations are already completed!”
“…What?”
Yuuka wore an expression of bewilderment, but Momo, with a confident grin despite her small frame, answered.
“We have a hidden ace.”
“Eh…?”
“Why are you surprised, Midori? Anyway! We’ll submit our game, ‘TSC 2’—’Tales Saga Chronicle 2’—to this year’s ‘Millennium Prize’!”
“?!”
“Millennium’s greatest contest where every one of its clubs submits their results! If we win, even you will have no complaints!”
…
Momo’s shocking declaration left Yuuka speechless with a look of amazement.
But soon, she smirked and spoke.
“Momo, what you’re saying is beyond even qualifying for an Interhigh. It’s like a high school baseball team attempting to play in the major leagues—wildly unrealistic.”
“…”
“Hmm. For some reason, it’s making me curious instead.”
“…Eh?”
“N-no way?!”
“Fine. I’ll wait and see.”
That works.
That was the expression on Momo’s and Midori’s faces.
As for me and the teacher, we had caught onto the fact that Yuuka’s serious but somewhat staged ‘performance’ was sprinkled with a hint of sincerity, so we played along, pretending to be surprised while casually observing the scene.
Seeing the original scene come to life was entertaining. To be honest, I felt like popcorn would complement the moment.
“Until the Millennium Prize, there are only two weeks left. We’ll see what kind of result you can present.”
With that, the conversation between the twins and Yuuka concluded.
Since they had secured the grace period, the Game Development Department now had to work hard to create a game during that time, and we needed to assist them in that effort.
“Teacher, it’s quite disappointing to meet you again only for you to maintain such a stern stance. Next time, let’s have a more pleasant meeting. And, Hiiro, see you again soon.”
“Sure. See you.”
With that, Yuuka exited the clubroom.
Yuuka, who had suddenly stormed in and delivered a torrent of information, disappeared just as abruptly. The rest of us now had to deal with the aftermath of her visit.
I approached Momo and asked.
“So, Momo.”
“Uh, yes?”
“What exactly was the ‘hidden ace’ you mentioned?”
Since the situation had already unfolded, it was time to begin solving the problem.
From now on, it would be our time.
“Teacher, Hiiro,” Momo continued, “Do either of you know anything about ‘G.Bible’?”
—
3.
Before the main story begins,
The day before my return to Millennium,
I recall a conversation I had with Seiya.
“Your next destination… is called ‘Ruins,’ am I correct?”
“Yep. That’s right. There’s something I need to find there.”
“Is that so? Then, I’d like to offer you some advice.”
“I’ll listen. Please tell me.”
In the instant that followed, Seiya’s eyes sparkled.
Seiya’s gentle golden eyes, serene yet unmistakably filled with fear, turned toward me.
The gaze infused with the power to read destinies conveyed an eerie pressure just from meeting it.
“The ‘Ruins.’ I don’t know much about this place, but I am certain about one fact.”
Before delivering an important statement, Seiya hesitated, gripping my hand as her body trembled briefly.
“There is… something incomprehensible there. A ominous entity has awakened, and countless foes are being created.”
The incomprehensible something within the Ruins.
The ominous entity that awakened at this time.
And the countless adversaries.
I know of an existence that fits all these conditions.
Whether or not it has awakened and becomes active at this point remains unclear, but one thing is definite—it has started to move.
Since it’s the words of a seer, they’re trustworthy.
So…
“…I have more to discover in the Ruins.”
For this journey into the Ruins, I have a strong premonition that I will uncover an immense amount.
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