by Yuu Kamiya
At the very least, they had to beat Ex Machina at chess, a perfect play. And they had to do it seven times, against a hypercomputer cluster that infinitely grew more powerful as it learned and adapted in less than an instant. That should have been enough to make this game overwhelmingly disadvantageous—no, infinitely approaching impossible—for Sora and Shiro. And then they stuck on this Energy Gauge that looked like it would run out anytime now.
As for that final, really special rule…
“…Hmm. I cannot understand it… What is the meaning of this…?”
Suddenly, one square on the board flashed in Technicolor. Einzig furrowed his brow at it. This represented the really special rule: At random points in the game, squares would flash, and if you slammed a piece on them, then it was an effect strike.
But to spell out This is where I’m moving, in a high-speed game of chess with no turns, was like saying, Come get me—it was suicidal. And the flashing square was random, which meant that they might have to make a fatally bad move. Meanwhile, Ex Machina had no reason whatsoever to do that. The Energy Gauge running out was entirely Sora and Shiro’s problem. Ex Machina could just ignore the concert and win at chess by a perfect play.
This was what led everyone, including Jibril and Steph, to one conclusion: that this game clearly was overwhelmingly disadvantageous to Sora and Shiro. Even Einzig said doubtfully, “Certainly you could not expect us to hit this, Spieler.”
Did he really? But Sora’s and Shiro’s faces twisted into sneers.
Bingo. He really does.
“I do, actually. I mean—that’s the wrong way to put it. ’Cos—we’re gonna hit it ourselves, too.”
With a wicked leer, Sora took the piece in his hand and spelled out, This is where I’m moving. Saying, Come get me. It was suicidal, obviously a bad move. He moved right onto the flashing square and said:
“But you guys are also gonna hit it. I promise.”
Sora glanced at the speechless faces of the Ex Machinas, Steph, and Jibril. They would be speechless. Since they all knew that was the worst move they possibly could have made.
But that was the thing!
—That was the soul of this game… And so!!
“Looks like you don’t get it, pervbot! But you’re one thing to us!”
“…All you’ve…ever been…to us…is stage equipment…!”
In echo to their cry, it came to demonstrate the final rule—the effect strike. They’d employed Jibril’s Materialization Shiritori board to implement it. It launched effects—just as the striker imagined them. It used that space-rewriting trick Ex Machina had always pained their asses with. Now their surroundings were being rebuilt the way Sora wanted. Sora and Shiro crowed.
“Now—all you Eastern Union idol agencies! Ready to kick and scream?”
“…You’ll regret…underestimating…Bl4nk Productions… But you can cry…d00ds.”
The Ten Covenants forbade them from harming Holou, other players, or the audience. On the other hand—they could do anything else! In their shiritori game with Jibril, they hadn’t been allowed to use things that didn’t exist. There was no such limit on the effect strike—!!
“This show is gonna go down in history!! Ready to scream, Shiro?!”
“…Ohhh, yeahhh…!”
The Ex Machinas hadn’t even gotten over the shock of Sora banging out that blunder with no hesitation. Now the scenery shocked Jibril and Steph, too—and prompted Sora and Shiro to yell:
““Repeat after we!!””
The throne room had already been rebuilt into a venue. Now Sora and Shiro were rebuilding it again. Light exploded through the stage, the seats, the backstage area—and boom!
““Yack deculturrrrrrrrrre!!!!””
…They weren’t even on Disboard anymore. They were in a place no one knew—not even Sora or Shiro, strictly speaking—somewhere in space. Amidst the unknown wilderness, all the audience and backstage crew looked at was Holou. Standing on the arm of a robot fighter, a giant screen projecting her to the heavens, Holou sang and danced. Accentuating her performance—or maybe overdoing it a little—were the effects. Missiles traced strange and complex patterns as beams and lasers traced the universe. The silver, spiraling paths of the fighters, the rain of curtain fire, it was all so beautiful, but—
……
This was obviously a war zone, and it threw everyone except Holou and Sora and Shiro into mute amazement.
…Well, it would. Even Sora and Shiro hadn’t seen this except in fiction. For those who didn’t know it at all, the instinctual associations it aroused had much more to do with running away than rocking out. Sora and Shiro, however, sneered with confidence. When the audience saw the writing on the screen, they immediately exploded into a cheer. It read:
Don’t worry. It’s harmless.
“Howww can they accept it just like thaaat?!”
Steph’s shriek at the rebounding Energy Gauge was ignored.
“Ha-haaa! O cherished dumbasses! Have we got a divine set list for you!”
“…It’s divine…’cos…she’s a god… ”
“Galactic idol? Ha!! Small potatoes! She’s headed for super-dimensional territory. Make way!”
Sora and Shiro shouted out in glee, not stopping their chess game for so much as an instant. Einzig kept playing smoothly, too, but he and his maids couldn’t hide their shock. Meanwhile, without regard for this—
—He’d really played badly just for the sake of a show.
Steph and Jibril squeaked at this eerily familiar behavior of Sora.
“…Oh…! Could it be—?”
“Quite identical…to that time…?!”
—The effect strike projected the image of the one who struck it throughout the venue in ambient sensory effects. Yes, the scene, the shock, the vibration, all extended all the way backstage, around the players. So it was just like that time. That time they’d played Materialization Shiritori with Jibril.
They’d risked loss on the first move to check what they could do—and their real aim lay beyond. They’d beaten Jibril by trapping her in a hypernova. Thus, they would beat Ex Machina—by trapping them in effects? Or something.
They weren’t the only ones this occurred to.
“You mean to impede our chess…by blinding us with special effects?”
Einzig spoke softly, well up to speed. Steph and Jibril inhaled shortly behind. Emir-Eins paid no mind.
“Negative acknowledgment: Effects damaging players prohibited. Therefore, low impact on Ex Machina. Pointless.”
—There was the rub: It wasn’t like that time. This was the real world. Which meant that the Ten Covenants prevented injury. The most they could hope to do was distract. And what good would that do against the Ex Machinas? The proof was in their smooth, well-reasoned moves, effectively partitioned from their emotions.
“…Then why could it be that the Spieler would choose loss…?”
The shock of the Ex Machinas was all at Sora’s bad move. Even if he cared about the concert, why would he set up the rules to assure his own defeat? Sora and Shiro observed their doubt with another crooked sneer.
—Wrong. Now you’ve made a big mistake.
“Still confused, huh? We’ll say it one more time. To us—”
“…All you’ve…ever been…is…stage equipment…”
Sora and Shiro leered and made their move.
.
“…Einzig to all units: What just happened? Report…”
Einzig mumbled this deadpan. The other units choked on errors. Sora gave them his most ironic smile yet.
“Why I’d choose loss? I made that move ’cos I wanted effects. Loss can kiss my ass.”
Sora decided to answer Einzig’s question—silently: What just happened? Sora spelled out, This is where I’m moving. Saying, Come get me. It was suicidal, obviously a bad move. For the effects. It seemed Einzig and the bots were pretty sure they were winning. Sora grinned. Four moves. He and Shiro made four moves, back
and forth between each other—and everything changed. And now—
“Well, then! A little smug about managing to get me alone into a draw, are we?”
The Ex Machinas saw how it was. And couldn’t believe it. Sora and Shiro bathed in the looks of Einzig, Emir-Eins—all the Ex Machinas. But, as if cracking up, as if guilty, as if so very ironic—
“With Shiro—I’ve—we’ve managed to beat Lord Tet at chess.”
“…Think of how…the god of play…Tet, would feel…to fall behind, you tools.”
Holou’s first number reached its end. Right about then…
CHECKMATE. WINNER: “ ”. ONE VICTORY.
…the chessboard called it. But their victory over Ex Machina, despite making a terrible move, paled before what they’d related. They’d beaten the One True God—the God of Play. The greatest gamer of all. It was a bold claim. It was also a cold, hard fact.
“.”
The machines knew better than anyone: There was no lie anywhere in their words. Sora and Shiro left Ex Machina’s shock behind.
“Time for round two. No time to sit back, Ex Machina!”
The intro to Holou’s second song started on the very next beat. The cheers were their signal. Sora and Shiro savagely, boldly, insolently smiled—and spoke.
“Get used. That’s really all you’re playing this game for. ”
“…Go for it…perfect equipment… Moar effects…moar… ”
To kick all the expectations of the Ex Machinas, Jibril, and Steph to the curb.
“—Sorry, Ex Machina… There’s no way—you can beat us.”
Sora and Shiro, with the start of the second round, calmly got their pieces moving.
And so Einzig—no, also Emir-Eins and the whole cluster—was forced to provisionally give this unfathomable suspicion the value of fact.
In round two, Einzig barely eked out a victory for Ex Machina.
In round three…now the movement was dizzying.
All units were screaming, Analysis failed. They could only take it.
“Pwnd! Okay, Shiro, now it’s your turn! Pick your effect!”
“…Ohhh, yeahhh… Wait ’til…you see, this…Brother… ”
Sora and Shiro were placing pieces one after the other, without discussion but with plenty of joy. While even straight-up announcing that they were about to do another effect strike. Yes—another. Sora and his sister had struck one this round already.
A fatal blunder—that was what it should have been. The parallel processors had spat out the probability of recovery from that effect strike as zero. And yet, the two of them were still winning. Einzig and the machines evaluated a new hypothesis: regarding the true meaning of the effect strike—
“Einzig to all units: Initiating verification. Request supplementary post-blunder computation.”
“—Jawohl.”
Einzig instructed the cluster to prepare to clean up as he waited for the chance to verify the hypothesis. Regarding the meaning, the will to be inferred from Sora’s words: You’re also gonna hit it. I promise. The chance came right away.
—A Technicolor square appeared.
Cluster report: The position was fatal. There was a high probability that occupying it would make the round unwinnable. But Einzig moved his piece straight there—and smacked down an effect strike. Because if the hypothesis was correct, it wasn’t just a matter of this round—it could spell defeat in every round. The need for verification was critical, and so Einzig took the risk and imagined his effect.
—Bzt. All light and sound vanished from the venue, as if there had been a power failure. It was the effect of stopping effects. Not having light or sound stopped the concert itself. It wasn’t even about the Energy Gauge anymore. For Ex Machina, it was the worst possible move because it would force their loss in this round. On the other hand, it was the best possible move because it would force the end of the concert, and therefore their victory in this game.
“Yeah…you got the picture.”
Only the light of the board lit Sora’s dark smile. His fiendish voice was followed in a few seconds by another shining square and his sister striking another effect from it.
—Force this, suckers.
It was as if the soundless black Einzig had brought was itself part of the effect. The lights flashed, Holou’s costume changed, and the music modulated—people cheered. Einzig had thought he was winning by force-quitting the concert and losing by forcing the exploitation of an opening. So much for any of that. Sora grinned.
“We really need you to throw down like that so we can ramp it up, you know? ”
“.”
Sora’s words set a final value to Einzig’s hypothesis: True.
Sora and his sister had lost in the second round simply because they’d focused on spamming effect strikes to pump up their Energy Gauge. But then—if they weren’t striking any effects—or were striking, say, just one—
“Let’s see who can play the worst. ’Cos perfect play is boring.”
“…Who…wants…to win…at tic-tac-toe…?”
Predators of overwhelming strength—hard to imagine as Immanities—Sora and Shiro smiled savagely. Their self-assured words made it as clear to the Ex Machinas as to anyone what they were saying.
—Beating you is not the issue.
Ex Machina had, in fact, lost the first round. If this had just been a one-shot match, that would have been it.
—The issue is we want to have fun.
Get used. That really was all they’d wanted from Ex Machina.
—Get us our effects. Get this show rocking.
You do that—and we’ll let you pick some effects, too!
“Screw best response; it’s about worst response. Can you keep up, O transcendent machinery?”
The smile of Sora, the taunt of a predator letting his prey run, appeared to be an acknowledgment. The hypothesis was confirmed. The meaning of the effect strike was to make the game fun for Sora—by giving Ex Machina a chance.
Then—is this to say—
he plays us—with a handicap?!
At this verification result, which defied all logic, the cluster thought in parallel. Is he so powerful that he can far outstrip Ex Machina, or even the god of play himself? Understanding failed. No—accept it! Credibility not found. No—at least one part is true! Then analyze it. Interpret it. Learn from it, adapt to it—and, at last, transcend it!! Show the nature of the race. Demonstrate its quintessence—! The style of play conforms to that which Sora—that which the Spieler showed us five days ago. Did he let us win? No. Then where lies the discrepancy—?
“…What’s this? Looks like you’ve finally noticed that my genius sister exists, you junk heap.”
“?!”
Sora had apparently noticed Ex Machina’s eyes going to Shiro.
“Honestly, it was really starting to get annoying. We’d really like it if you’d rethink your perspective, you know?”
“…You think…you can…ignore me…? We’ll…teach you…!”
The bile and seething sarcasm made Ex Machina think.
—Who…is this girl? No—she is Sora’s sister. His family. Her name is Shiro. We recognized this. We did not ignore it. We simply did not assign it high importance. Why? Obviously, because she is an outsider. To play chess in concert with an outsider—what is that? They are not capable of parallel thought, nor do they have time to coordinate. They are only two discrete units operating independently…which meant nothing…we thought…
“…Playing, Brother, alone…or just me…is, one thing…”
“But if you think you can beat Blank, we’ve got news for you.”
Their categorical statement contained not a shred of logical coherence. But why was it that it resonated so deeply within Ex Machina’s illogical “heart”—?
CHECKMATE. WINNER: “ ”. TWO VICTORIES.
The chessboard called it as a sound signaled the end of the third song. Leaning back in his chair and holding Shiro, Sora spoke.
“You’d better etch this into your buggy heads. Blank doesn’t—”
Sora stopped. He and Shiro looked up.
“…We did… We did once… We lost… We did…”
“I see, so we can’t use that line anymore… I feel depressed now.”
“I—I cannot apologize enough, my masters! How I have failed you!”
Something had triggered doom-and-gloom mode. The two sunk deep into their chair, which for some reason prompted Jibril to prostrate herself in a panic. But Ex Machina thought on.
They still couldn’t make sense of it. Of what Shiro was to be able to make Sora so powerful, or of the mechanism behind it. But—something did catch Einzig’s attention. He gave an instruction to the cluster.
“All units: Change top analysis priority from target path to methods of victory other than chess.”
If Einzig’s suspicions about Shiro were correct, then it could be extremely difficult to reveal the hand of the two in four rounds and overcome it. But extreme difficulty, even impossibility, anything—they were there to adapt to and overcome it all. Who, after all, would have thought that the Spieler would still be present after six thousand years?
“Heh-heh-heh. The Spieler challenges us to overcome him. We accept this challenge laid down by love!”
Einzig’s ardent defiance was met by Sora’s and Shiro’s frigid glares.
Backstage, there was only silence. Sora and Shiro sat deep in their chair, resting. The Ex Machinas had paused their communication. After the third round of the game, the third song in the concert, came an intermission. Cheers behind her, Holou came back down the stairs. Jibril watched.
“…Masters. Surely Holou cannot feel fatigue, nor must time pass for her to change her costume?”