No Game No Life, Vol. 3

by Yuu Kamiya

  Jibril closed her eyes and whispered.

  “…Master, why…must you win?”

  Yes—a move trapping her opponent so deftly one couldn’t even laughing call it unbeatably. The voice that answered Jibril’s question was all too feeble. Yet with a force sufficient to push Jibril and Steph a step away from the door, it resounded:

  “…Blank…doesn’t—lose!”

  Shiro’s chest heaving in the dark, isolated room. Her face tear-stained as she clawed at her blankets, her only thoughts of her brother. His words to her that day she’d come home sobbing after her one and only day at school.

  —Hey, Shiro. They say people can change, but is that really true? If you wish with all your might to be able to fly, can you sprout wings? I don’t think so. Maybe what needs to change isn’t you, but your approach. You have to create it—a way to fly just as you are. You’ve got to come up with one. I guess you’re wondering what I’m talking about when I can’t fly myself, but let’s try to come up with some wings that’ll let you fly… We’ll take our time. I know I’m a no-good brother, but I’ll try to help you think of something, ’kay?

  —If she forgot this, how could she live? If she sealed away her memories of her brother—the very reason she could live in the first place—what else was there? If these were planted memories, what kind of brutal match had she accepted? ’Cause this—this—was too much!

  “…Brotherrr…nooo…I don’t want, to forget Brother—I’d much rather die!!”

  At that voice which sounded every bit as if it might tear out their master’s throat, neither Jibril nor Steph could do anything but gasp.

  …A proposal on pain of ten thousand deaths. Having had it rejected, there was now nothing Jibril could say. Stepping past the defeated Flügel, whose eyes were now fixed on the floor, Steph reluctantly opened her mouth.

  “U-um…I-I can’t claim to understand the situation well, but…”

  It wasn’t logic prompting Steph’s remarks. They were merely the articulation of her vague yet heartfelt desire—to console Shiro.

  “For you, Shiro…Sora definitely existed, right? So without him, you come to this. You have no room for doubt—so definitely.”

  —But Steph’s remarks…

  “If that’s the case, then this Sora person must have had a reason for creating this situation, right?”

  —Steph’s remarks shattered assumptions and brought in one ray of hope. Yet of the three collected there, she was the only one who didn’t realize it. As if time had stopped, both Jibril and Shiro’s eyes went wide, and they froze.

  “H-however, is it not true that this situation cannot be explained by erasure of memory by the Cove—”

  “Oh, that…I mean, that’s not—seee…”

  Steph’s next suggestion was the one that stole their breath.

  “—Could it be…the game has yet to conclude?”

  Jibril’s eyes as round as glass beads. Unable to grasp the meaning behind her gaze, Steph stammered.

  “Y-you see—could it not be that what is rewriting our memories is not the Covenants, but the game itself. And if we assume Shiro is correct that hers are not the memories that have been rewritten, but ours…then, well…that could mean that this ‘Sora’ attained our consent for s-such a game, and it’s…still not…over…or something…”

  As Steph’s confidence failed and her words trailed off, Shiro raised her wet face.

  “—Wh-what basis do you have…?”

  Jibril wrung her hands as she wrestled with this hypothesis, which seemed to leap out of nowhere in absurd disregard for the evidence present.

  “B-basis…? I—I just feel it’s wrong.”

  No, Steph had no evidence—and that was why. Words elicited by emotion rather than intellect just spilled out of her.

  “This person—could not conceivably lose.”

  This person—a neutral designation specifying neither Shiro nor Sora—made Jibril close her mouth.

  —Steph’s hypothesis was full of holes. It was unclear how such an alteration of reality could be possible without the Covenants. And what purpose would be served by leaving only the agent plenipotentiary—Shiro—with memories of this specific person while erasing them from everyone else? Should Steph’s supposition prove true, though, there was no question it would explain any number of the thornier issues now vexing them.

  —The monarch of Elkia, the monarch of Immanity, her own lord. Who had brought down a god, who had brought down a Flügel—who intended to swallow up the Eastern Union! For this person to lose? The very notion felt…not right.

  What if Steph’s hypothesis was correct and this inscrutable situation had not been orchestrated by the enemy at all but was rather a scenario designed to achieve victory—?

  “In that case, there is a way in which we can confirm.”

  Jibril nodded her head and elaborated.

  “It is true that, even using the Covenants, it would be impossible to erase from all memories and records in the world the fact that a specific object or individual existed. However, if we suppose—”

  The conditions demanded by this hypothetical scenario were quite severe. Accomplishing it without the power of the Covenants only deepened the mystery—and yet.

  “—that a person named Sora was Master’s brother and that he accepted a match as agent plenipotentiary of Immanity, then perhaps all memory of him could be erased from Immanity. And from myself—but even so…”

  Steph reacted to Jibril’s words with a gasp.

  “Memories of him wouldn’t disappear from those who weren’t his property or constituents—so we could ask another race!”

  “Precisely. I shall at once shift to the embassy of the Eastern Union to confirm this—also…”

  Genuflecting before the door, lowering her head:

  “…Afterward, I shall accept any punishment for my unsightly misconduct in proceeding on the presumption that my masters had been defeated—but please allow me a bit of time before this.”

  Jibril dissolving into void no sooner than she’d made this declaration. Vanished, leaving only a faint breeze filling the space left following the transmigration of matter. Steph, left alone, found herself at a loss for what to do but for the time being called through the door:

  “Uh, er…Sh-Shiro…are you all right?”

  …But by then, Shiro’s mind was already elsewhere.

  —The definite possibility that her brother existed. Having touched on a piece of it, her thoughts, which had been frozen, reactivated rapidly. A revelation of her hope in Sora—her brother—and the evidence that would turn that hope into certainty. Peeling her heavy body from the bed, standing up, she made her way to the center of the room as if crawling. Her wet ruby eyes, always half closed. She opened them wide and surveyed the room, sweeping her gaze so as not to miss a speck of dust, her thoughts accelerating faster.

  (…If Brother, really…existed, then, why, did he…create, this situation?) Were she to accept Steph’s hypothesis, then this situation had been prepared by her brother. All she could do was unravel why he might have done it—what her brother was thinking…but.

  —Her brother’s thoughts, which offered up play styles that sneered at conventional wisdom as easily as breathing. To divine the machinations of whom she felt she could never catch up to in an eternity?

  …It was impossible. She hadn’t a prayer. However, her brother had left her definite clues and decisive information.

  “…There’s, no way…Brother—would lose…”

  —No, “ ” didn’t lose. Which would mean—she had agreed. Her brother had believed in her, and she had believed in him. She had known from the start that a situation as maddening as this one would be the result. Why—hadn’t she realized? Shiro tore at her hair.

  (—I’m so…dumb! I’m so, stupid!) How could she look her brother in the eye now as the sister he was so proud of?

  —Just because she had lost some memories.

  “…How, could I…hav
e, doubted—Brother?”

  But now wasn’t the time; she checked herself. This game her brother had entrusted to her—she had to end it.

  Shiro forced her thought circuits to bend to her will—they could burn out for all she cared. Her little heart, responding to a scream from her brain that it needed more oxygen, beat out the fastest rhythm it could handle. Feeling her body heat rise precipitously, Shiro reviewed all of her memories. Pulling up every resource on Sora—every word, every move, like a silent movie. If the present in which she was floundering existed by her brother’s design, he would have left her a hint. Her last memory of her brother: the words surfaced, the meaning of which she’d been unable to fathom.

  —Shiro, we are always two in one.

  “…Two, in one…Brother, would…never…leave me, alone…”

  Why—why had she woken up in what was supposed to be Steph’s bedroom now? Why hadn’t she thought about it? Why hadn’t she realized right away?! Shiro ground her teeth. This was exactly why she would never measure up to her brother. The answer was so simple—Sora, her brother—Brother—

  (…He is here—he’s always been here!) Shiro’s eyes—glaring piercingly through the royal bedchamber—had no more tears.

  Five moves remaining

  …I am…Sora…Age… Now I forget.

  …My darling sister—is Shiro, age eleven, a beauty with pretty white hair and red eyes. It’s okay; I still remember.

  “Shiro, are you there?”

  The sense of a nod. My awareness and body, my memories…they’re all a mishmash now. But I’m still just able to tell that the nod came from Shiro.

  “—Shiro, you’re still there, right?”

  Again, the sense of a nod. All that supports me now. Even with most of my memories lost, still I know this much.

  —That it’s far beyond what I’d imagined. I’ve long lost my sight. I’ve got no feeling in my limbs. I hear voices—but I can’t remember whose they are, where I am. I could never have imagined how terrifying it would be for everything to gradually fade away.

  “Shiro…it’s about time, I think…so you’ll—”

  The sense of a third nod with the feeling of desperate forbearance.

  —I, know…, said a little voice. To these words, Sora says wryly, as if pleading:

  “Will you do me a favor? My hand…well, it’s got no more feeling…ha-ha.”

  With a laugh generously seasoned with despair, he continues.

  “Anywhere. Just, hold me somewhere I can feel—so I don’t go crazy.”

  His shoulder gripped tightly, Sora, slightly relieved, sighs. Ahh. And places the piece in his mouth on the board.

  Shiro’s heart rate as she glared into the void rose further.

  —Organize all the information. Her brother’s reminder: we’re two in one. So she had also been a part of the game—no, it wasn’t over—so she was still in the game. Her brother’s conviction: We are always victorious before the game starts. So all of this was playing out as expected, exactly as intended. Her brother’s assertion: We aren’t the main character in a boys’ manga. The main character in a boys’ manga—grows. If this were a boys’ manga, this would be Shiro’s cue to grow as a person. She’d realize she could get along even without Sora, something like that—but her brother had denied that unequivocally. Her brother’s faith: We are bound by a promise. The two of them…were two in one. Two comprised a finished product.

  (…A, finished…product—doesn’t, need…to grow!) Though her little head throbbed and started protesting in pain, Shiro ignored it and drove herself harder: Think more, think more—! Why was creating this situation necessary? Her brother had said: Let’s go grab the last piece. He’d accepted a match in order to win a piece that would give them more of an edge over the Eastern Union in their game—

  (…Then—who…is the enemy?) Her last memory with her brother. Her brother who had left behind cryptic words. At the time, he’d been looking from his throne at, talking to someone—But no matter how many times Shiro reviewed her memory—invisible. Why invisible? Why visible only to her brother? Someone using invisibility magic who—maybe Jibril would—in her memories—something—only—so—

  (…Think more…think more, more, think more!!) Shiro’s pulse, her thoughts—accelerated to a speed that by comparison stopped the hands of the clock on the wall.

  —This would never be sufficient to retrace her brother’s thoughts. Her brother’s actions always had two or three—sometimes ten or twenty—meanings. He created strategies calculating backward from the results, using methods she couldn’t even imagine. She wasn’t capable of that creativity, that way of thinking beyond convention, that knack for shortcuts. (Then…I, just…have to, do this…my own, way!) Her body heat rising still more, the pain as if her head were being clamped in a vise making her sweat.

  —It was an extremely inefficient, shall we say even brutal, way of thinking. The remaining memories, elements of the situation, clues, scenarios, information. Thousands, millions of possibilities. From each of these, she played out the billions, trillions of logical consequences.

  —And verified each one by brute force. A method of deduction like a computer’s, using the extremes of power. Shiro’s little head which made it all possible broke into a cold sweat, throbbing as if it would split.

  Finally—in roughly the time it took the clock’s second hand to tick twice in what felt to Shiro like hours—in the back of her mind…someone—an answer emerged. All too fragmentary in her memory, that someone—whose face, looks, voice…even she couldn’t remember. But hazily, an impression.

  “…The one…we, played…to become monarch…”

  The one who for the sake of Immanity—had even tried to use Elven Gard. What if someone like that heard that her brother had bet the Immanity Piece?

  —Eastern Union, unbeatable piece, support of Elf—spectators.

  “…Chla…mmy…!”

  Just as she pronounced the name of her brother’s opponent and felt everything come into place. As if an overrevved gear had flown off its axle—Shiro fainted.

  Eight moves remaining

  Let’s run through this… I’m Sora. Shiro’s brother, eighteen, virgin, socially incompetent, game vegetable. From another worldwait. I played a game with a god, won, and came to this world with Shiro…and then?

  —I see, it looks like my memories since I came to this world have been taken. But the real issue lies ahead…what is the goal of this game? If that’s taken—it’s all over.

  …—

  —It’s okay. I can remember…it’s still mine. Looks like its importance was just as I expected.

  “…Just what are you after?”

  A girlish voice asks keenly. My vision is gone. So I can’t see her—but I’ve heard her voice. Her name is…Chlammy Zell. An informant for the country of Elves—Elven Gard. In this game, my opponent.

  “Hmm, in what?”

  Good, seems I can still talk, too.

  “Don’t play dumb. You’re—playing to lose, aren’t you?”

  Without my sight, I was playing by the sound of the pieces on the board. But it seems I didn’t go wrong… Everything is going fine.

  “No? This is a move to win.”

  …Well, I think. Whatever underlay my conviction has become so slight. If you asked for proof, I couldn’t give you a solid answer.

  “—I see, so your goal was for me to take your memory.”

  Yes—that was the kind of game it was. What you lose goes to your opponent. Since I no longer have my memories beyond coming to this world, that means Chlammy has them.

  “…You’re no country’s spy—yes, that much I understand now.”

  I don’t really know what this is about, but apparently she’s understood me. The girl went on.

  “—At this rate, you’ll lose. Your existence will be taken, and even the fact that you existed will disappear. What intention do you have beyond that?”

  …That I can’t tell her. For t
hat is my true goal in this game.

  “Why do you ask? All you have to do is take it from me.”

  Yes—because that’s the kind of game this is.

  “…Very well. Then I shall fulfill your wish and take everything from you.”

  Chlammy makes a clack on the board. Using the sound to play back the move mentally—I quietly form a grin.

  “Wha…what is this?!”

  With a shrill—no—almost shrieking voice, Chlammy stiffens.

  —At the same time, something floods out of me and disappears.

  “Wh-what…in the world…are you?!”

  What she’s asking me is exactly what she’d just screechedwho are you?

  —Okay, let’s run it over one more time. I’m…Sora. Shiro’s brother and………and what?

  “?!”

  An indescribable chill, a feeling that threatens to freeze and shatter my whole body, overwhelms me. Who am I? Where am I? Where did I come from? Where have I been?! Unbecoming myself—a fear that can’t be described. Unable to take it, my teeth chatter, I shake, and I know this through senses that are but a husk of what has been taken away. Somewhere in my head, shouting: You knew this! It’s as planned. It’s all right.