As I settled into an empty spot of my own, I asked the question on my mind. “Ms. Futarishizuka, has something happened?”
“I went back to Karuizawa earlier to get some things for dinner, and there she was, right at the front door. I couldn’t very well leave without inviting her, could I? One extra guest shouldn’t cause any problems.”
“I see.”
The other day, during the school ski trip, Magical Pink had a big argument with Ms. Futarishizuka before the two of them ultimately reconciled. The magical girl had even pledged to abstain from her work of killing psychics for a while.
With her here, the table was packed. Going clockwise, the seating order was as follows: my neighbor and Abaddon, Miss Hoshizaki, Type Twelve, Lady Elsa, Prince Lewis, Ms. Futarishizuka, Magical Pink, and Peeps and me. Thanks to Peeps’s size and the fact that Abaddon refused to eat with us, we’d just barely managed to fit everyone at the table. If anyone else showed up, we’d need to upgrade.
Personally, I found it strange how well Prince Lewis had adapted himself. Despite his former extravagant lifestyle as royalty, he never raised a word of complaint. His clothing choices had also shifted to fit modern Japan, just like Lady Elsa’s. Anyone looking at him would simply see a trendy young man. His flexibility was truly commendable.
“Our low table is starting to feel very cramped,” I noted.
“Do you think I should get a bigger one?” asked Ms. Futarishizuka.
“Grandmother, if we require household goods, then the youngest daughter would be pleased to handle it for you.”
“I’d rather you build a room for your grandmother here in the house first.”
“Building an addition demands intricate planning. We must approach such a task only after adequate preparation.”
“Oh? I wonder where all that mechanical life-form super-science went off to.”
Once I’d taken a seat, everyone dug in. Tonight’s dinner was laid out on the table, once again courtesy of Lady Elsa and Prince Lewis. Fried rice, shrimp stir-fried in chili sauce, spring rolls, mapo tofu—it was a veritable buffet of Chinese cuisine. The juicy pot stickers were just as tasty as the ones you might get from a specialty shop. I figured they’d had some help from Ms. Futarishizuka, but it was still impressive.
“Hey, Sasaki, there’s something I wanted to ask you,” said Miss Hoshizaki.
“What is it?”
Once we’d finished about half of the food, my senior colleague spoke up. The next thing out of her mouth was a rather unexpected acronym.
“Do you know what a DMCA is?”
“Well, yes. I know of the concept… Why?”
The Digital Millennium Copyright Act was a federal law enacted by a certain allied nation. It dealt mainly with the control of digital works, such as those on the internet; the legislation had also amended copyright law in that country. They’d enacted it in the late ’90s due to the proliferation of pirated works.
It was also famous in our country as a type of complaint lodged against major search engines. You might use it in a sentence like, I’m filing a DMCA complaint against such-and-such a site. You saw it a lot when specific information was removed from a search engine.
“They’re pretty complicated, huh?” said my colleague.
“You’re referring to takedown requests aimed at removing certain search engine results, right?”
“Y-yes, that’s right.”
It seemed Miss Hoshizaki had the same understanding of the term as I did. Was there some information on the internet she wanted to get rid of?
“You have to enter so many things into the online request form,” she continued, “your real name, your address, everything. And if you lie about any of it, you can get fined, right? That’s what I heard, anyway. Plus, you have to do it all in English.”
“That’s because in the country that made the law, it’s generally a lawyer’s job to handle those things. The name and address would then be the name of the attorney and address of the office handling the matter. I don’t think the form is meant for end users.”
“Wait… Wait, really?”
“Well, that’s just what I read on the internet,” I said casually, “but I think I’m right.”
“……”
Miss Hoshizaki was at a loss for words. I was concerned—her expression looked awfully grave. Was she dealing with some kind of problem?
“If something’s troubling you,” I said, “then I could try to help you out.”
“Huh? Oh, um. No, it’s nothing important! I’m perfectly fine.”
“You are?”
“Of course! I just asked out of curiosity.”
Now I was very suspicious. There was no way she was just curious.
But she said she was fine, so I didn’t want to pry. Maybe that leaked photo of her from a while back has started making the rounds again. But wouldn’t Type Twelve have taken care of that right away?
“Mother, if a problem has occurred, I would like to state my intention to be of service to you in any way I can.”
“No, it’s super minor. Really, you can just ignore me.”
“I have detected an increase in Mother’s heart rate and a significant change in body surface temperature compared to your baseline. If you are not undergoing mental or emotional stress, then it is possible you are suffering from a bacterial infection or a virus.”
“All that aside, the view-count contest is almost over, right?”
“Mother, ignoring the youngest daughter’s conversation so blatantly makes her feel terribly lonely.”
“Urk… Then, um, let’s stop talking about me right now! Okay?”
“Acknowledged. I understand that topics related to Mother are hereby ended.”
She sure changed the topic with gusto, I thought as Miss Hoshizaki’s gaze shifted to Ms. Futarishizuka.
“Yes, indeed,” replied the girl in the kimono. “If we’re ending at two weeks like we initially agreed, the day after tomorrow will be the last day.”
“Right? So we have two whole days until the deadline.”
I’m glad she brought that up now, I thought. I had my own suggestion for everyone. “Regarding that matter. I have a proposal as well—or, rather, a request.”
“What is it?” asked Ms. Futarishizuka.
“My neighbor’s activities have grown beyond the scope of this contest, and as things stand, she may be asked to work on the final day. If it’s all right with everyone else, I’d appreciate it if we could push the deadline two days later.”
If she won the second-string polling, Ochiba Kareki would participate in Winterfest. A rehearsal was scheduled for the day before, and Mr. Kuga told me he’d like her to take part. I wasn’t sure if she’d have time to play pretend family with the rest of us—and I imagined the event period would give her a generous view count boost. Plus, as her manager, I wanted to let her participate.
Ms. Futarishizuka nodded. “Ah, yes. OtherPro’s Winterfest, perhaps?”
“You know of it?” I replied.
“Well, of course. They throw a big party each year. Rent out a huge venue and everything.”
“Apparently, there will be a big vote held tomorrow to decide which second-string members get to take part. If my neighbor wins, she’ll be formally allowed to participate in Winterfest with the first-string members. The day after that, there will be an all-day rehearsal.”
“If I recall, the voting results are live streamed, yes?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
In effect, this was our current schedule: tomorrow, the advance poll; the next day, the final day of the view-count contest as originally planned; the day after that, Winterfest day one; and after that, Winterfest day two. It was one event after another.
“Wait, VTubing? I had no idea you were doing that.” Miss Hoshizaki sounded surprised.
“It’s all thanks to my neighbor and the youngest daughter.”
“Wait, what’s Sasaki helping you with?”
“He’s my manager.”
“Really asserting yourself today, huh?” said Abaddon.
With that, we took a vote, and the majority agreed to move the final day of the view-count contest to the last day of Winterfest. Miss Hoshizaki was the first to raise her hand and agree, which made me a little curious. What did this have to do with her?
“My, that’s a surprise,” said Ms. Futarishizuka. “Even the youngest daughter agrees.”
“Grandmother, as I explained previously, a human can never hope to beat a mechanical life-form on an electronic battlefield. Also, my elder sister’s work brings me joy. I am more than happy to acquiesce to this proposition.”
“Oh, right. You’re surprisingly close with her, aren’t you, dear?”
“Grandmother, your remark is incorrect.”
“Incorrect? Which part?”
“The youngest daughter is steadily growing closer with every member of the family, except for you.”
“Hmph! Be that way! I have the magical child anyway. I don’t care!”
That fact rather frightened me, to be honest. We knew we had to convince Type Twelve to return to her home planet one day, and yet, slowly but surely, she was winning over those she interacted with. It wasn’t just the incredible might of her UFO, still sitting out in space, either. She was bonding with us on an emotional level. At least to me, that seemed like a very dangerous situation for humanity.
“Might I have a word, Futarishizuka?” asked Lady Elsa.
“What is it, dear?”
“Will the girl in that charming outfit be joining our pretend family?” She was looking across the table at Magical Pink.
Personally, I was more concerned about where she was living at the moment. I felt sure she was still homeless. We should probably bring her to an orphanage, but would she accept that?
“Well, the youngest daughter is the boss around here,” said Ms. Futarishizuka. “What do you think?”
“I will never yield my position as youngest daughter.”
“Yes, yes, I know that, child. Perhaps you could tell us what other positions are available.”
“I heard that this human has lost her parents. Is there a problem with treating her as an orphan who has settled down in our family’s neighborhood?”
Maybe Type Twelve felt Magical Pink—a girl even shorter and more youthful than she was—was a threat. She had no mercy for outsiders, a reminder that she was a mechanical life-form. As always, we were forced to adjust to her values.
“Come, now. That’s a little brutal, even for you. Our warm, cozy family drama would suddenly turn into some gloomy social awareness piece. You know, the kind that gets hit with a bunch of complaints these days the moment it’s broadcast.”