Occultic;Nine: Volume 1

by Chiyomaru Shikura

  221. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  [Breaking News] “Sarai Says He’ll Make a Teenage Girl Cry”

  222. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  Let’s go to the sea, Brother. You love the sea, right?

  223. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  Sarai: “It’s all the plasma’s fault.”

  Yeah, that’s it.

  Go study with professor Dai*** you hardhead.

  224. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  Kirikiri Basara sends our own Sarai onto the field!

  You guys ready to shoot him from behind?

  Shoot the bastard!

  225. SARAI

  All right. If you’re that insistent, then I’ll do it. The next time Myu Aikawa streams, I’ll call her.

  226. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  Woah...

  227. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  You think you’re hot shit, don’t you lol

  You’re obnoxious

  228. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  The next Nicco-Nico Live Fortune-Telling is tonight. If you do show up, I’ll be cheering on Myu, ‘kay?

  229. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  Several days later, we find Sarai, his ass thoroughly kicked by a teenage girl...

  230. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  Well, there’s no telling if Sarai’s call is even going to get through. Actually, the odds are pretty damn low lol

  231. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  You think Sarai-kyun might be worried that Myu’s going to take his position at Kirikiri Basara? Don’t worry man. Everyone here already hates you.

  232. Anonymous Tells It Like It Is

  Go get your ass owned, Sarai.

  “Wow, Sarai doesn’t know how to handle it when people are trying to provoke him. The best thing to do at a time like this is grin and be self-effacing, and try to suck up to them.”

  “Huh? But Gamota, weren’t you arguing with all those egg people earlier? You were talking to yourself when you did.”

  “Ghhnn...”

  Of course, that was a lot easier to say when you weren’t the one on the receiving end. Even a saint would snap if he was the one one being trolled.

  “But Master Izumin, does that mean Sarai and I are on the same level? That arrogant, nerdy tryhard Sarai is on the same level as me, the NEET God? Aw, poor Sarai! I had no idea you were such a loser! We should go drinking together sometime!” Not that I’d ever been drinking.

  “Hahaha, look at you get mad. You really are a kid, Gamota. ♪” Master Izumin was grinning at me. It was so creepy I felt a shiver run down my back.

  “But I’m interested in seeing this Sarai kid go up against Myu Aikawa. As a reader of the Kyam-Kyam fortune-telling page, I’m on her side.”

  I was going to watch tonight’s livestream no matter what. Could there be a better way to get some hits? I envisioned myself writing about it, getting a million hits, and getting rich off the affiliate income.

  After Sarai’s declaration that he would appear on Nicco-Nico Live Fortune-Telling, the comments on my article started speculating about who would be the winner. In just two hours after upload, the number of comments had already exceeded the total for articles like “Man Livestreams One-Man Hide And Seek, Never Comes Back,” and “The Curse of Kokkuri-san Is Seriously Terrifying.”

  “Ryotasu, the day I buy you some yogurt may not be that far off. How about we go right now?” But when I looked around the shop, Ryotasu was nowhere to be found.

  “Ryotasu left already.”

  “She left?!”

  That’s so mean. How could she leave without saying anything? It made me really sad. Especially since I was going to go get yogurt with her.

  “Can you go home too, Gamota? It’s about time for the night’s customers to arrive.” It was only when he told me that I realized it was already dark outside.

  “The NEET God shall, like a true NEET, leave by himself! I’m not crying!” I needed to get home and get ready for the stream, anyway.

  “Oh, read this, Master.” I passed him a sheet of paper.

  “Huh? What’s this? A love letter?”

  “Hey, don’t be creepy, please? It’s my suggestions for how to improve that weird lucky tea stuff you made me drink.”

  “Huh, really? That’s a big help. I don’t really know what young boys are into, you see. ♪ That’s so nice of you, Gamota. ♪”

  “I-It’s not like I’m trying to thank you for letting me stay here all the time. I just don’t want to drink any more of that nasty stuff, is all.”

  It’s just to protect myself. Next time, give me something better tasting, okay? Bye!

  I quickly ran out of the café.

  Master Izumin said, in a sweeter tone than usual, “Come back soon!” But it was so creepy I didn’t even want to respond.

  site 08: MMG

  “Is there some reason you’re bringing up RFID chips again?” Hatoyama seemed irritated as he spoke.

  “That plan was a massive failure. I’ve never seen such a poorly thought-out plan.”

  “Some of the donors even claimed to suffer health problems. And the whole thing almost came to light,” Matoba added with a frown.

  “Um, what happened to that one man? What was his name? The traitor.”

  “Aaron Russo.”

  Hatoyama nodded when Takasu said the name. “Yes, him. Was he properly ‘dealt with’?”

  “Yes. There were no issues.” Takasu said no more.

  It would be inappropriate to go into the details in a place like this. All everyone needed to know was that the traitor had been dealt with.

  “It was actually during the information suppression after he was dealt with where you were very helpful, Mr. Hatoyama.”

  Hatoyama chuckled and waved his hands in front of his face. “I don’t mind. It’s not my money. Japan’s ‘Freedom of the Press’ ranking has dropped to 65. It’s dropped even lower after the passage of the State Secrecy Law. Some of the younger Diet members say that this was something to be ashamed of, but it certainly does come in handy. Since everyone in the country thinks they’re free, there’s no room to doubt that it’s peaceful.”

  “You have the whole public thinking you’re a clown, Mr. Hatoyama. Very cunning of you.”

  Hatoyama smiled, pleased with Matoba’s statement. “It makes things easier, you see. The matter with the ‘occult’ is proceeding apace as well, then?”

  “Yes, of course.” Takasu nodded respectfully. “The idea of turning the failed RFID project into an urban legend to bury it was quite bold.”

  Matoba shrugged. “The first time I heard it, I was terrified at what might happen.”

  “Either way, I’d prefer we stopped discussing the microchips. I don’t want to hear about any of our Dark History. Can you tell me how the new plan is going? Don’t tell me it’s failed so hard you’re already praying to God for help?” He was smiling, but there was no laughter in his eyes.

  In his eyes, Matoba and the others caught a glimpse of the cunning man who played the fool, and shivered.

  But Takasu ignored him and gave a small shrug. “Dark History, huh? It’s true that the RFIDs were a failure. But there’s nothing to be learned from success. And there is much to be learned from the history of failure. It is critical that we not become arrogant. We are, after all, the rulers.”

  site 09: Toko Sumikaze

  Tuesday, February 16th

  By the time I got back to the editing department, the sun had almost set.

  “I’m back!” I said, but there were only two or three people there to hear me. They all glanced at me, waved and said hello, then went back to their work. The others were probably all still out working.

  There was only a week until the next issue had to be ready, but the place felt lifeless. That was a common sight, lately.

  The twenty-four story building I was in, just five minutes’ walk from Gotanda Station, looked very nice from the outsi
de. Since the company located there sold textbooks, academic books, and other serious works, it was probably important for them to maintain a proper exterior.

  But there was a corner on the sixteenth floor that was very different than the others.

  Mumuu Monthly. It was a monthly magazine that dealt with the occult. It had a lot of history, and it had gotten its start long before I’d been born. But these days, if someone was talking about it, you could expect them to be laughing.

  Its editing department was blocked off from the rest of the floor with shelves, and there was stuff piled almost all the way up to the ceiling. For some reason, some of the lights were always turned off, which gave the whole place a gloomy look. According to the editor-in-chief, it was to save electricity, but I thought there was probably a much less high-minded reason for it. Compared to the rest of the building, the Mumuu editing department was a mess.

  There were old, yellowed document drafts crammed haphazardly onto the shelves. What looked like ancient texts (but probably weren’t) lay in piles on the floor. There was some kind of huge stone sculpture that reflected some garish color in the light, and a strange life-sized statue— the kind you’d find overseas— holding a spear. There was even a little torii altar behind one of the shelves. All that weird stuff made it incredibly hard to see.

  The company had only moved into this building a few years ago. In that short time, we’d easily made much more of a mess than any of the other departments. No one ever talked about cleaning it up, though. Everyone seemed to prefer it this way.

  Not me, though. Not really. Maybe it was just because my sixth sense was a lot stronger than your average person’s. That torii altar and all that other stuff didn’t make the place lucky. Quite the opposite, probably. And personally, I found it really creepy. Thanks to all that, when I went into the womens’ bathroom alone at night, I’d hear voices that weren’t really there.

  Thanks to my power, I’d had all kinds of awful experiences.

  “Maybe it’s fate that I’m working for an occult magazine.”

  Surprisingly, very few people in Mumuu’s editorial department had a strong sixth sense. Quite the opposite, in fact. And the things I told them were such common stories that they didn’t even think they were worth writing about.

  I weaved my way through shelves that threatened to collapse at any minute and headed for my desk in the back of the department. “I’m so tired... Maybe I should’ve had the veggie and extra garlic ramen at Ramen Saburo.” I sighed and sat down.

  I’d been in Kichijoji doing research on a story, so I’d thought about stopping, but for a magazine editor like me who was running around doing interviews every day of the week, anything with extra garlic was strictly forbidden. So I’d been forced to skip it. I used to go all the time when I was a student, but once I’d gotten a job, I’d almost entirely stopped.

  I took off my heels and tossed them under my desk, then sighed. The shoulder where I’d been carrying my bag was stiff. I tried giving it a little massage, but it didn’t help me.

  My bag was stuffed full. It held my laptop, my drafts, my reference documents, and my notebook, all of which I needed for work, as well as a camera.

  I took the camera out of my bag. I hadn’t had a chance to use it today, either. Well, there weren’t going to be many chances for an editor at an occult magazine to use a high-powered camera like this. It was really kind of a waste.

  The camera was just a hobby of mine. It wasn’t part of my job. Cameras these days were easy to use, and supposedly, even girls like me were getting into them. I’d gotten into it, figuring that it wouldn’t hurt with my job.

  I was getting a little sick of it now, though. It was just taking up space. The camera itself was very compact, but if you included the lens, it was bigger than you’d think. Maybe I should just leave it at home.

  I rubbed my shoulder and looked at my desk, where I saw an envelope I didn’t remember putting there. The handwriting on the front said “Isayuki Hashigami #26.”

  “Ascension!” Oops. I said my favorite word again. It was useable in almost any situation, so I had a habit of saying it all the time. I’d like to fix that, but it had proven impossible.

  “Mr. Hashigami’s latest article’s ready, huh? I should’ve stopped by and gotten it. Did Makabe pick it up for me, maybe?” For the past two years or so, Isayuki Hashigami, a professor at Seimei University, had been writing a column for Mumuu. The next issue would mark his twenty-sixth column. Last spring, his old editor had transferred to another department, and I’d taken over for him.

  Dr. Hashigami’s house was in Kichijoji, too. But the article itself had a clear deadline, and he hadn’t said anything to me, so I hadn’t stopped by his house today.

  I looked around the room for Makabe, but his desk was empty. Did he drop the draft off and leave again?

  “Nah, knowing him he’s probably off having a relaxing lunch somewhere. Not that it’s lunchtime.” The new employees had a tendency to slack off at times, I thought. Though to be fair, I’d only joined the company a year before Makabe.

  I decided to read it immediately. “Let’s see. ‘Why We Should Be Less Emotional About Ghosts,’ huh? Interesting.”

  Whether you believe in ghosts, or not, you’re probably too emotional about them... is what Dr. Hashigami had said. That emotion was clouding our eyes to the truth and stopping us from seeing the true nature of the phenomenon.

  —When you think of a ghost, what do you think of? Do you think of a person? If you do, you’re already too emotionally involved.

  “I see. So maybe believers are more prone to preconceptions than non-believers.” Personally, I liked this new theory of Dr. Hashigami’s.

  After the Mayan prophecy in 2012 had failed to amount to anything, it had become the subject of vicious online mockery. A famous source of articles we’d been using since the turn of the century was gone. Lately, there’d only been smaller topics to write about, and I remembered hearing the head editor complaining about declining sales. But now we had this new occult boom helping us out.

  Dr. Hashigami had switched to believing in the occult, and his articles, discussing his attempts to research it from a scientific perspective, were gaining in popularity. It was like night and day compared to the first column he’d written for us. It felt like something must have happened to him, but... what could it have been?

  “Hey, Sumikaze. You back?” I heard the voice of our head editor, Takafuji. He was the one who’d made such a mess out of the editing department. He was also a man who insisted on not dressing up, wearing a polo shirt and blazer at all times. If the hem of his polo shirt hadn’t been tucked in to his pants, I might have been able to show him a little bit of respect, but that didn’t seem to concern him in the slightest.

  His skills as an editor, however, were worthy of respect. In the two years since he’d taken over the department, Mumuu’s sales had almost doubled, supposedly. Given the fact that the Mayans were lost to us as a source of income, that was pretty incredible.

  “Dr. Hashigami’s article looks good this time.”

  “Did you read it already?” Usually, he wouldn’t look at it this early.

  “Hey, who do you think got it for you?”

  “It was Makabe, right?”

  “It was me! Me!”

  “You did it yourself? Hmm... I hope that that’s not a sign of something ominous. Are we going to get attacked by UFOs from the Large Magellanic Cloud tomorrow?”

  “Nah. If we were, someone I know would’ve told me about it. I’ve got connections all over the world, you see.”

  “Ahaha! It was just a joke. You’re too old to be proud of knowing people like that, aren’t you?” Supposedly, it was true that he knew people all over the world, though. He’d been working at Mumuu since it was founded, after all.

  “Anyway, I happened to have something else to take care of in Dr. Hashigami’s neighborhood. I figured that while I was there, I should pick it up.”

&nbs
p; “I see. You’re really spoiling Makabe, aren’t you?”

  “Don’t be stupid. I sent him on an emergency day trip to Yamanashi instead.”

  “I take that back. That’s a dick move.”

  “Haha.”

  One of the older editors told me that he used to have a much more severe personality. But lately, he’d relaxed enough that he’d even talk to new girls like me. Maybe it was just because sales were good. The same older editor had told me that before I joined, we didn’t even have the money to send people on long-distance trips.

  “Still, thanks for getting it for me.” I stood up and bowed. “If only Dr. Hashigami would get a computer. Then we wouldn’t have to go pick his stuff up, you know.”

  I loved his work, but going all the way to Dr. Hashigami’s house every month was a bigger hassle than you’d think. I’d have been happier if he could have just sent it over email, but maybe people of his generation didn’t like that.

  Still... I didn’t like that house. Well, there was something about it that my sixth sense didn’t like.

  “So, hey, Sumikaze. Is Dr. Hashigami kind of a misanthrope?”

  “Huh? What do you mean?”

  “When I went to get the draft, his mom answered the door. I asked if he was away, and she said he was home. I wondered if it might have been rude for me to just come barging over like that.”

  “I don’t think so. Whenever I go pick up the drafts he always talks to me. And wait, his mom? Not his wife?”

  “Yeah, she looked like she was in her seventies.”

  “Huh...” I’d been to his house over ten times, and I’d never met his mother.

  “Wait, does he live with his mother?”

  “I don’t know the answer to that, I’m afraid.”

  I searched my memories, and quickly found an answer. “Oh, his mom died a long time ago, I think?” I pulled the folder that held all his drafts out from the desk.

  It was my policy to always keep things neat and organized, so my desk was clean, even if the rest of the office wasn’t. “He talked about how his mom was dead in an article last year.” I flipped through the files, and sure enough, his eighteenth article talked about how his mother was deceased.