No Game No Life, Vol. 1

by Yuu Kamiya

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  PROLOGUE

  —Urban legends. These whispers traveling through the world, as countless as the stars, represent a kind of wish.

  —For instance, the urban legend that humans have never been to the moon.

  —For instance, the Freemason conspiracy hidden in the dollar bill.

  —For instance, the Philadelphia Experiment into time travel. The nuclear shelter on the Chiyoda Line, Area 51, the Roswell incident, etc.—

  Looking at these innumerable urban legends, one can see a clear pattern emerging. Namely…they are composed of a wish: “It sure would be cool!” It’s said that there’s no smoke without fire. But, when you think about the nature of rumors and how a big fish gets embellished until it’s too big to even be a fish, you can see how these urban legends come to form. In short, they’re based on true stories but are not true stories. To put it bluntly, they’re mostly BS. And yet they don’t quite deserve to be complained about, or even wondered about, really. Since ancient times, people have always preferred fate over coincidence. From the very fact that the birth of humanity was the product of astronomically unlikely coincidence. Thus, people wanted to think, from their instincts, from the rules they had experienced, that someone intentionally made humanity. That the world was made not of chaos, but of order. Imagining someone in the back pulling the strings, to find meaning in an absurd and unreasonable world…at the very least, wishing that it could be true. So, it can be said that urban legends are generally another product of this earnest wish.

  —So. There are urban legends numerous enough to light up the sky. What isn’t too well known is that some of them are actually facts believed to be urban legends.

  —Just to be clear, this isn’t to say that any of the previously mentioned urban legends are true. It’s just to say that there do exist urban legends emerging from a different principle.

  —For instance, a rumor too surreal to believe becoming an urban legend.

  Here is an example of such a rumor. It’s a rumor, whispered around earnestly on the Internet, of a gamer named “ ” (Blank). They say he holds unbeatable records in the online rankings for over 280 games. That there’s a gamer who’s swept up all the world’s top ranks with his player name “ .” You probably think, “No way.” Of course, that’s what everyone thinks. The hypothesis they’ve come up with is simple.

  That it’s become a trendy convention among game devs to just leave their names as a space in the rankings for their games so people wouldn’t know who they were, and it isn’t an actual player—.

  Yet, bizarrely, people keep on claiming that they’ve actually played him. They say…he’s unbeatable. They say…he’s shut out chess programs that have even beaten grandmasters. They say…his play style defies common sense and is impossible to read. They say…they used tools and cheat codes and they still lost. They say…they say…they say—.

  Those who are even a little interested in such rumors probe deeper. Why…because it’s simple. If he has the top online ranks in console games, PC games, and social network games, then he must have an account. If he exists, then you should be able to look at his history. But there’s no way such a person could actually—.

  —And they sneer and search—and there’s the trap. Because there actually is a user registered with the name “ ” on every console, on every SNS, and anyone can see “ ” ’s history: and there lies a number of trophies that should literally be expressed as “countless.” Because “ ” ’s match records list not a single loss.

  —And so the plot thickens. Even though the facts are solid, the rumor becomes even more unbelievable.

  “It’s a hacker who’s erased his loss records.”

  “It’s a gamer group that invites only the best players.”

  —Etc., etc. Thus, a new urban legend is slowly born.

  —On the other hand, in this case, some of the blame does lie with the party who originated the rumor: “ .” After all, he has an account; he’s been given his place to speak. Yet he speaks not a word and exchanges no contact. Since he lets out not a line of info, everything about him, except that he’s Japanese, is a mystery. No one knows his face—and this is yet another factor that accelerates the growth of an urban legend.

  —And so.

  —It’s time for an introduction.

  This is it. The uncontested crown of the global rankings for over 280 games. The legendary gamer who continues to make unbeatable records. “ ”—in the flesh—!

  “……Ah…I’m gonna die; I’m gonna die… Ah, I died… Come on…Res me already!”

  “…Slurp… I guess…it was too hard to use two mice with my feet…”

  “What, just res me already—Hey, no fair, little sister! I haven’t eaten anything in three days, and here you are leisurely slurping instant noodles—in the middle of a battle!”

  “…Brother, you want some…? We’ve got some CalorieMate…”

  “CalorieMate is for the bourgeois; who’s gonna eat that? Just res me!”

  “…Sip… Mm, sure.”

  Shvaa…pwing!

  “Righto, props… Wait, what time is it?”

  “…Uh…still, eight o’clock in the middle of the night…”

  “Eight a.m. is the middle of the night? That’s a new way of looking at it, my sister. What day is it?”

  “…Dunno…it’s my first, second—fourth, cup of noodles…so, I guess, fourth?”

  “No, no, my sister, I didn’t mean how many days we’ve been up. I mean what day of what month?”

  “…You…don’t have a job… What does it matter?”

  “It matters! There are events on online games and tournaments!”

  —This young man and girl enjoying their online game. Talking across the room without eye contact. The room was—probably big enough for sixteen tatami mats. Pretty big. But, with the countless consoles, four PCs each—eight total, the wiring that snaked around the floor with a complexity reminiscent of modern art, the opened game boxes, and the scattered noodle cups and plastic bottles they called “rations,” there wasn’t enough space left in the room to feel the original size. In the pale light of the LED displays they had chosen based on their response rate like true gamers…and the faint glimmer of the long-risen sun through the blackout curtains…they spoke.

  “…Brother, aren’t you gonna…get a job?”

  “—Well, are you gonna go to school today?”

  “…”

  “…”

  They spoke no further.

  The brother: Sora (“Sky”/“Empty”). Eighteen, unemployed, virgin, unpopular, socially incompetent, video game vegetable. A young man with messy black hair, in jeans and a T-shirt, looking just the part of a shut-in. The sister: Shiro (“White”). Eleven, truant, friendless, bullied, socially phobic, video game vegetable. A girl who looked too different to be related to him with her pure white hair, which still dangled low and apparently uncared-for, covering her face as she sat in an elementary school sailor uniform she hadn’t worn outside the house since she’d switched schools. The characters for their names put together spelled Kuuhaku: “Blank.”

  —Well. So, this is another kind o
f urban legend. You can leave it in the shadows. Or you can have your dreams.

  —Very well, then: We see the processes by which urban legends form. In short, that they represent people’s wishes, as explained earlier. For this world is chaos. Without fate. Full only of coincidence. Unreasonable. Absurd. Devoid of meaning. And those who notice this, who don’t want to admit it, wish that the world could be just a little more cool. And this is what is born from that earnest wish: an urban legend.

  —So, it’s time. Let me make this uncool reality a little more cool for you. I offer youa new urban legend.

  —And, on that note, as a convention. As a grace.

  —I’d like to open as follows:

  —Have you heard a rumor that goes like this?—

  They say that people who are just too good at games will one day get an e-mail. The body contains some cryptic words and a URL inviting them to a certain game. And, if you beat that game—

  “…I’m pooped…gonna sleep.”

  “Hey, wait! If you go, who’s gonna heal—”

  “…You can do it, Brother.”

  “Well, theoretically, yes! If, in addition to the two characters I’m controlling with my hands, I control the two characters you abandoned with my feet!”

  “……Hang in there.”

  “Wait—please, Shiro, I beg you! If you sleep now, everyone—well, mainly I’m gonna die!Aaarrggghh, damn it, fine, I’ll show you!”

  By now, the sister had stacked five empty noodle cups. In other words, this was the fifth day the siblings’ banter had continued without sleep. As the sister lay her head on a console to sleep, ignoring her brother’s desperate but resigned cry, a sound entered her ear: Bink. It was the tablet telling her they’d got mail.

  “Brother, mail.”

  “Your brother’s busy playing four characters on four different screens; what do you want him to do?!”

  Manipulating four mice dexterously with both hands and both feet. This was all the brother could say as he whirled around the controls for a party of four like a lone dervish.

  “I mean, it’s probably just spam; forget it!”

  “…Maybe…it’s from a friend?”

  “—Of whose?”

  “…Of…yours?”

  “Ha-ha, that’s a good one; I think my beloved sister just fired off some snark that cuts to my very core.”

  “…I hope…you get…why I didn’t say mine.”

  “Well, it’s probably spam anyway. Wait, are you gonna sleep or not? If you’re not gonna sleep, help meeeee! Ah, ah, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die!”

  The brother: Sora. To repeat—eighteen, unemployed, virgin, unpopular, socially incompetent, video game vegetable. Not that he was proud of it, but the idea that someone like him who not only couldn’t get a girlfriend but couldn’t even get a friend could possibly have a “Friend” category in his list of e-mail senders could be rejected out of hand. It appeared that this applied to his sister, Shiro, as well.

  “…Ughh… What a pain.”

  Still, Shiro mustered her consciousness that was about to give in to sleep and rose. If it was just spam, then whatever. But if it was spam for a new game, that couldn’t be missed.

  “…Brother…where’s the tablet?”

  “Three o’clock, second pile, under the fourth porn game from the top—gahh, my feet are gonna grab on each other!”

  Ignoring her brother’s groans of suffering, Shiro followed his directions, fished through the pile—found it. Perhaps you ask why a pair of shut-in losers would need a tablet? But that is a silly question. Of course—for games. On the other hand, there was another way that this pair was using it. They had countless accounts and e-mail addresses for their countless games, so, while reserving their PCs mostly for gaming, they had the tablet syncing with their over thirty e-mail accounts so they could check their mail. You could call this “efficiency first.” Or just “dumb.”

  “…The sound was bink… That’s the notification for our third main address… This one, right?”

  Showing her monstrous memory ability, Shiro placidly dug through their e-mail. And—as, in the background, her brother, apparently having actually emerged victorious in a real-time battle controlling four characters alone, let out a large whoop—she read the e-mail.

  —One new message—Subject: Dear “ ”

  “……?”

  The sister tilted her head. It wasn’t especially unusual for “ ”—that is, Sora and Shiro—to receive e-mail. Requests for matches, requests for interviews, inflammatory challenges—there were plenty, but this…

  “…Brother.”

  “Whatever could it be? My beloved, sick, and twisted sister who just claimed she was going to sleep to force her brother to face a game alone bound by physical restrictions, and didn’t even go to sleep?”

  “…This…”

  As if she hadn’t even heard her brother’s sarcasm, she showed him the e-mail on the screen.

  “Huh?—The hell’s this?”

  It seemed the brother also recognized there was something special about the e-mail.

  “Save OK, drops OK…”

  He made sure his progress was saved successfully and then closed the window for the first time in five days. He opened a mail client on the PC. And he squinted.

  “How do they know Blank are a brother and sister?”

  —Indeed, the brother knew that there were people online claiming “ ” was more than one person. But that wasn’t the problem. The body just contained this one sentence with a URL:

  “Dear brother and sister, don’t you ever feel you were born into the wrong world?”

  “…The hell’s this?”

  “……”

  The words were a little—no, quite—creepy. And the URL was unfamiliar. There was no country code like “.jp” at the end. It was a URL such as led to a specific page script—a direct link into a game.

  “What do you…wanna do?”

  The sister asked as if she didn’t particularly care. But it was apparent that she, too, took an interest in this e-mail that seemed to know who they were. If she weren’t, she’d normally just put her head back on the console and sleep. She left the decision to her brother—because she recognized it as his field, that is—

  “Trying to play mind games? Oh, well, it may be a bluff, but it may be fun.”

  He ran security software to check for malware, and then he clicked the link. But…what appeared was unbelievably simple. An unadorned online chessboard.

  “……Yawn…good night…”

  “Hey, hey, wait. This is a challenge to Blank. If it’s a high-level chess program, I can’t beat it on my own.”

  The brother stopped the sister, who seemed to have immediately lost interest and was trying again to go to sleep.

  “…Chess… Give me a break…”

  “Yeah… I mean, I know how you feel…”

  Software that had shut out a grandmaster at the top of world chess: The sister had beaten it twenty times in a row. This was long ago. It wasn’t surprising she’d lost interest in the game. But.

  “Blank can’t lose. At least stay up until we can see how good they are.”

  “…Ughh… Fine.”

  And, so, Sora made his first move, then his second. Shiro watched disinterestedly. Actually, more just sleepily. She watched heavily as if she were rowing a boat. But then—after five or ten moves. Shiro’s eyes, until then 80 percent closed, opened up and stared at the screen.

  “…Huh? What’s this bastard…”

  Just as Sora began to feel uneasy, Shiro stood up and spoke.

  “…Brother, my turn…”

  The brother handed over his seat obediently without a word of argument. This indicated that the sister had judged that the brother couldn’t do it. In other words, that the opponent was worthy of playing the greatest chess player in the world. The sister proceeded with her moves.

  —Chess is a finite, zero-sum, two-player game with perfect information.
It’s a game with no room for coincidence to intervene in the form of luck. In theory, an unbeatable strategy clearly exists, but only in theory. Only if one can grasp all of the vast number of possible games: 10 to the 120th power. Practically speaking, there is no such thing.

  —But Shiro says there is. She says with conviction that all you have to do is read all 10-to-the-120th-power possibilities. And she did in fact beat the world’s top chess program twenty times in a row. In chess, the person who goes first just has to pick the best move to win, and the person who goes second can only draw. That’s the theory, anyway. She played this game against a program that goes through two hundred million possibilities a second. She won twenty times in a row alternating who went first, demonstrating the imperfections of the program. And yet.

  “…No way.”

  She opened her eyes in surprise.

  —Meanwhile, however, her brother was noticing something strange about the way things were going.

  “Calm down; what it is is the player’s human.”

  “—Huh?”

  “A program always makes the best move. It has unlimited concentration, but it can only move according to established strategies. That’s why you can win. But—now this guy.”

  The brother pointed to the screen.

  “He’s making a bad move on purpose to lure you in. You assumed that it was the program’s mistake. That was your mistake.”

  “……Nghh.”

  The sister had no counterargument for her brother.

  —It was true that, in chess…no, in almost any game…her technical skill vastly outmatched his. Truly: a genius gamer. However, in mind games, reading the opponent, and manipulation, in all kinds of insight into that wild card of the opponent’s emotions—the brother’s skills were superhuman. This was why “ ”—the combination of Sora and Shiro—was unbeaten.

  “Don’t worry; just calm down. If the opponent’s not a program, then all the more there’s no way you’ll lose. Just don’t let him shake you. I’ll explain his traps and strategy, so cool it.”

  “…Okay… I’ll try.”