Chapter 143

Einzig’s apologetic remark verified it. This entire time, only Emir-Eins had been thinking of a different world, a different dimension. Sora should have known. After all, even back when they were at the Shrine, she hadn’t spoken of whom he’d take—only “tonight,” only “anytime”—only when he’d take her! No. Even back when she’d ripped the porn from the tablet, she’d said, This unit will dedicate all resources to becoming the ideal wife for Master. It had already been her assumption that she was his wife! “…When? Since when?! Since when have you been talking about being my wife?!” The wedding dress seemed to get in Emir-Eins’s way. It took her a second, and then she caught up with him, but regardless looked at him curiously, still decked out as a bride. “Reply: Master assigned nickname to this unit.” “Well, yeah! Am I supposed to call you Alt-Emircluster Befehler 1? Or Ec001Bf9Ö48a2? Give me a break!” “…B-Brother…how did, you…remember that…?!” “Examination: Nickname also known as term of endearment. Master holds this unit in high regard.” Emir-Eins proceeded as if Sora and Shiro’s banter didn’t register with her. But, as she drew her face close, she did answer Sora’s question: Since when? “Conclusion: This unit holds Master dear. Therefore, Master and this unit are man and wife. Couple. Pair.” —Since first sight. Her face drew even closer. Their eyes locked; their lips gradually neared. … ……BOOM! And IIIII…will always— “Like hell! What, so you just assumed we were in love from the very beginning?!” Sora screamed. He took a step back and cut the background music. That scared the crap outta me! Sora was unnerved by the glimpse into the mind of a true-blue crazed stalker. “Rebuttal: Assumed? …Negative acknowledgment. Fact.” “…Honored unit… I command you to check your records and memories for consistency with those of the cluster.” Einzig dealt a second blow to the bot with more than a few screws loose, but she kept coming. “Rejection: Cannot accept necessity. Will not share love of—” “The vote is done. Twelve units agree. Honored unit, I command you to compare your memory now.” . Emir-Eins seemed reluctant, but she was unable to oppose the vote of the cluster. After a few seconds, she sighed and shook her head. “Report: Memory errors confirmed in all units except self. All abnormal. Weird. Crazy.” You always knew the crazy ones by how they called everyone else crazy. Sora and Shiro, Jibril, Steph, and even all the Ex Machinas looked at Emir-Eins with great skepticism. Regardless, Emir-Eins shook her head and smiled. “…Hypothesis: Only as examination of hypothesis, which is negligible in probability and assumed false—” Her facial expression seemed to say, Ah-ha-ha, no way, no way. Ha-ha, that’s impossible. With mannerisms all too human, with a smile so strained you could almost see the sweat going down her cheeks, the mechanical girl examined the hypothesis, as if assessing the possibility that the planet was triangular— “…Edge case: Umm… Could it be, Master has not…married unit?” “I have not.” Sora sent right back the conclusion that the planet was triangular. Appearing dizzied by a flood of errors, the mechanical girl tottered, and yet, she queried on. “…Confirmation: …Master plans to marry unit.” “I don’t.” “Reconfirmation: Master plans to build ideal happy and loving family with—” “—Me? Over my dead body. Lady, I don’t even remember dating you, nor do I plan to do that!” Like a pious believer to whom it has just been proven that God does not exist, Emir-Eins at last asked the final question. Her mechanical face was somehow corroded with despair as she spoke. “……Hypothesis: Unit was wrong…all along?” “…Yes…!” “That would seem to be the case! ” “Well… It seems so.” “…Yeah… Basically, just yeah… Hff…” Shiro’s face was angry, Jibril’s scornful, Steph’s sympathetic, and Sora’s convoluted. …… “Choice: Membership rejected. Acceptable. Then unit will win. Outcome equivalent.” Emir-Eins headed for the stage. “Einzig to all units: Autonomous memory deletion detected. Upload backup.” “—Jawohl.” Emir-Eins wanted to pretend it never happened. Einzig did not have the kindness to approve her request. “Hey, wait, never mind that!! Shit, look at the Energy Gauge!!” “…B-Brother…! W-we’ve, gotta…get on, to the next song!” The audience’s outcry alerted Sora and Shiro to the precipitous drop in their Energy Gauge, at which they squealed. It should come as no surprise. They’d brought up a girl literally as beautiful as a doll in a wedding dress, enchanted the audience, and then, of all things, announced she was married. What’s more, they told the crowd the whole show was a farce involving her husband’s infidelity, and then damn near did the deed itself onstage, only for Sora to reject it and run. This was more than a mere fail. If he’d been in their shoes, Sora would’ve likely been pissed enough to start a riot or something! “H-Holou! Hurry, get back onstage! We’ll push you up a minute!” They hadn’t a second to lose before the next song, or their Energy would drain completely. “Report: As calculated. Conformant with original target. Based on…high-level calculations… Eegh…” Emir-Eins straightened her expression and posture and tried to play cool…and failed. “Sob: Unit rejected. Unit severely hurt. Requesting permission to self-destruct—rejected. Why…?” Einzig affected a cool demeanor. He flashed a half smile and whispered: “This is no time to self-destruct. For now—we have a chance.” And so the twelfth round began. For the first time, things on the board unfolded the way Einzig and his comrades had calculated. Before all else, Sora and Shiro had to replenish their Energy Gauge so as not to lose on the spot. Which meant they needed an effect strike ASAP—they needed to rush to make the first bad move. In the opening, and just once, it shouldn’t be much of a problem for them to commit a blunder… However. Light glittered onstage, and the sound warped to dramatic effect. It brought up their Energy Gauge. That it did, but— “Whaaaaaat?! This only brings us to half?! Get outta here!” —as Sora screamed, the gauge didn’t go up by very much, while the drain rate remained high. Sora, knowing full well that this was the natural order of things, nevertheless shouted on, pleading. “I get it! I know how you feel! I totally get it! But c’mon, guys, let’s put it behind us!” Even the Ex Machinas could recognize that it would not be easy to get the crowd going again once cooled. One or two effect strikes amounted to a drop in the ocean now. “…B-Brother…! Let me…do the next…effect…strike…” So, per their words as they flung pieces around dizzyingly, they’d have to spam that shit. Yes—spam shit moves. Three of them, four of them… “Ngaaah! We’re serious here!! That face of yours pisses me off!!” “Hmm…? This is our full output, to answer your challenge of love.” “Then why do you have to keep giving me those flirty homoerotic looks?! Tag out, already!!” “…B-Brother…we’ve got to…concentrate—!” As Sora lashed out despite the caution of Shiro, Einzig was sitting pretty. He didn’t have to strike any effects. He could just pounce upon their every blunder. Ex Machina had returned from a contest of worst response to their true calling of best response. And thus, they dominated—waiting intently for their chance. One chance. Ex Machina’s ultimate chance. When it came—it would be Sora and Shiro’s fatal and hopeless peril. —A single effect strike to end it all. “On behalf of all the units, I thank you. Your madness has given us the opportunity to answer the challenge of love.” “Command: Shut up. Explode. Requesting permission to run away—denied… Plea: Hilfe.” Emir-Eins pushed away the gratitude of all the units and asked for the help of some unknown entity. Even rejecting the synchronization of her thoughts, she partitioned herself off, crouching in a corner backstage. But her sacrifice was nothing before this opportunity—this situation that put Sora and Shiro at an overwhelming disadvantage. They’d been waiting for their chance. Ironically, it was just as the twelfth song reached its peak. —It came. “O Spieler. It is an honor…to answer your challenge of love.” Einzig spoke from the “heart” as he took the piece to the shining square. All of Ex Machina, excepting the isolated resources of Emir-Eins, had worked synchronously to glimpse this opening. A square that fulfilled all the requirements and conditions, from which Sora and Shiro could never recover. “With this, we have earned the bonus prize, those precious nude photos of you, Spieler.” Einzig struck the effect. It was just— Bzt. —the same as their first: the effect of no effects, whereby all light and sound was stolen away. Amidst the soundless silence echoed only the crowd’s murmurs. All that shone in the pitch-black darkness was the board’s dim glow. Illuminated by that dim glow were only Sora and Shiro— “Next, let us earn the special prize: Let us hear your proof that you are not the Spieler, so that we may refute it.” —and the Ex Machinas, including Einzig, who thus queried uncertainly of his determined victory. “I see… We have to strike an effect to turn things back, or we’ll lose at the concert.” “…But, if we…strike an effect…it’s determined…we’ll lose…” “Hmm. If Shiro says it’s determined, it’s determined. No way to wind that back. You’ve got us there.” Einzig acknowledged this inwardly: Of course. They’d run the calculations Rayo(33) = Rayo(7625597484987) < Rayo(10100) times. This had yielded them this one perfect chance, whereby the expected values fell into place for every last situational variable. There were 24.2 seconds left in the twelfth song. Even Ex Machina could not pin down how many times squares would flash for Sora and Shiro, or which squares would. But they could estimate the number of times from the trends established over twelve rounds: three going by the mean, two by the median. It was the endgame. Their options were, by nature, very limited, and then to commit a blunder when they were already on the ropes—it would be suicide… Though Sora and Shiro might be the most powerful of gamers, as long as the rules for how the pieces moved stayed the same, they could not escape their fate. If Shiro said it was determined— “If we strike, we’re out in the chess game, and if we don’t strike, we’re dead in the show… Another double bind, huh?” Sora’s summation made not only Einzig, but all the Ex Machinas think: —So this is the best we could do even with such an overwhelming handicap… The Spieler, wielding power overwhelming, well on his way to equaling strength itself, tested us to see if we were suitable for him. We have with difficulty overcome this test—but we have yet to refute his proof of self, which is what we need to earn the right to make babies with him. Sora…must be the Spieler. And it is impossible that he could prove conclusively otherwise. Despite all that, there was a feeling none of the units could shake. A misgiving. The reason they played this game in which they stood to lose all. A fear. In other words: What if he really isn’t the Spieler? They repressed this fear to seek the proof. As for what came next, however: “But this time…I ain’t got no ‘nice’ to hand you guys…” —What…? “I mean, this isn’t even really a double bind. Look—” “…D00ds…we just, have to…do…this.” Sora and Shiro grinned. And, as though it were obvious—like the flowing of the current—they slid a piece through the air. And made their move. It was just—inevitable. It was just—invincible. They pounced right upon the blunder Ex Machina had made—to turn it all around—to put Ex Machina on the ropes. “A blunder in the endgame is fatal. And not just for us.” “…We’re…done…making, effect strikes…” Sora and Shiro smiled, and Einzig gave a slight grin back. —I see. Now he has us at an overwhelming disadvantage—no, all but cornered in this round. But that will only give them six victories…still short of ultimate victory as the failure of the concert brings them to a loss. A loss he cannot avoid. So he chooses to lose winning at chess, surpassing our calculations. Truly, he is the Spieler… Not one to go down easily… Then Sora interrupted Einzig’s thoughts. “Okay, fine, there’s one way we can give you a ‘nice.’” The siblings sneered as they said in unison: ““…Nice try, n00bs… ”” Simultaneously, as if on cue, a voice sang out, and Einzig opened his eyes wide as he directed his gaze to the stage. Suddenly, in the muted darkness that enveloped the venue, on the stage wreathed in shadow, Holou stood idle, staring at the audience. The restless audience… No. In her divine eyes, which saw that which could not be seen, was only one spectator: the golden fox, the Werebeast. Her host. The Shrine Maiden. Holou’s friend. The beast’s eyes, too, saw through the darkness, and they looked to the stage. To her. To Holou, who didn’t know what to do. Those eyes stared at her; that face Holou knew—the one she knew so well. That unease. That worry. That face, the face of one who cursed her own lack of power—that face, for the first time in the eons Holou had seen, caused her to articulate this feeling clearly: The pained expression upon the face of her dear friend…was one she’d never wanted to see again— She wanted it not!! That instant, in the venue enveloped in muted darkness, a little light and a faint voice started. There was no accompaniment, no effects, only the delicate torch Holou lit herself and the voice with which she sang. …It was terribly amateurish. It was shaky, awkward. But she sang on, dedicated, reaching and swaying and groping for something. There was something about it…something that bled right into you, something that filled you… Everyone listened intently. It was merely a wish…for her host, the Shrine Maiden, her friend…to smile. That’s all it was, the humblest of songs… And yet. For this god of doubt, this little god who had doubted her own quintessence, who had conceived of hope and doubt together, it was the first tiny, tiny movement she had taken in hundreds of millions of years. Of certain will, she gave her heart, to show her life… “…Holou, one heptalogue props… You, smashed the ceiling…of Idol Rank S…” “Yeah. You are a goddess. You rule more than eleven dimensions.” Sora and Shiro were still playing backstage while they smiled as if satisfied from their hearts. Holou’s song made Steph weep…and even made Jibril shut her eyes in rapture. “The climax of the endgame. A technical glitch…leading to a solo a cappella.” “…Now, I can see…what the ultimate…effect’s, gotta be… ” Sora and Shiro’s snark told of the state they had brought upon the board—one of determined victory for them. Not to mention the Energy Gauge, which stayed maxed out without depleting even a single pixel. These things spoke to one truth. —They’d read everything. “…Absurd… How could such nonsense be? …Aargh!!” Anything could be. Einzig knew that as well as anyone, but still he cried out. —They read our effect strike? No, that wasn’t the half of it! They’d have no choice but to strike an effect: They’d read that this was what Ex Machina would read! Which would turn out the best for the show: They’d read that such was the effect that Ex Machina would choose! And so they could exploit a blunder and pwn: They’d read that this was when Ex Machina would strike! They’d read everything. Literally, everything!! Every accursed thing!! It was preposterous. Even if they were gods, even if they were strength itself, this was a game!! A game of prediction based on clear rules mixed with uncertainty! It should not be possible even for an Old Deus to read the convergence of all possible worlds—to determine the indeterminate! It could not be possible unless one knew in advance everything— —everything…that…would— —happen…? “Ahhh, shit. Looks like they’re onto us, Miss Shiro.” “…Mmng… And we, still…have one round, left… Mnng.” The twenty-six visual sensors of the parallel processors all turned to the clowning Sora and Shiro at once. Sora smiled to see how they were putting everything together at this late hour. The game and its rules were so disadvantageous to the two of them. By sheer strength, they’d taken on this overwhelming handicap and yet run far, far beyond Ex Machina’s reach. They defined strength, these two who grew more powerful the more Ex Machina adapted— —or so they’d fooled Ex Machina into thinking all along—!!!! “Mmm. That’s right. This game is overwhelmingly disadvantageous—to a certain party who’s not us.” Sora stuck out his tongue like a child apologizing for pulling a prank. Glib as he kept playing, without the faintest sign of remorse, he filled them in. “There’s an unreasonable handicap—on you! But don’t be mad, ’kay?” “…It’s, your fault…for being fooled… An…ancient…truth…” So basically: Einzig, Emir-Eins, and all the rest of the Ex Machina had, for twelve rounds and 1,047 moves, meant to calculate the incalculable… …only to have followed directions… “B-but what do you mean, Master? A handicap on Ex Machina?” “Huh? I meant what I said. We can see right through ’em with these rules.” —Yes, it is as he says. They left us hardly a chance to win at chess to begin with, and then if we committed blunders—why, we would have lost even without them. Given this, if we were to intentionally commit blunders in order to win, it would follow that we would do so— “See, these guys only struck effects when relatively safe squares flashed!” “…And they…always assumed, we’d exploit…those moves… N00bs…” “All they did was best response to their own blunders, ya know? We had ’em dancing on the palms of our hands. ” We presumed that the conditions of uncertainty were mutual. Yet, in the eighth round, the Spieler uttered meaningfully: “We’re not under the same conditions.” Is this it…? Is this the true meaning of those words—?! No!! Certainly, our strategy was predicated on best response—it was defensive. But that was because of our fundamental premise that our chances in chess were slim! Because they had such overwhelming strength, strength that completely transcended our level of adaptation, which approached the infinite!! Because there was no falsehood in their statement, their conviction of assured victory!!! But this—this strategy. To manipulate that to which we adapted, that which we read, and how we would adapt…? Who would stoop to such methods? Some—but not the strong—!! Then how was it? How did they deceive us—?! “—Sorry, Ex Machina… There’s no way you can beat us.” As if reading Einzig’s thoughts—no, now Einzig was beginning to believe that he really was—Sora repeated the words he’d said upon winning the first round, word for word. “Us, I said. That’s right—you can’t beat us.” Still no falsehood could be detected in Sora’s words. All that could be detected was a response as if this was too obvious to spell out. “I mean, duh. After all, you’re not even playing us.” “…Your, misunderstanding…was probably…our lifeline…” —Misunderstanding…? Does he refer to our perception of them as the second coming of the concept of strength? No—that is not it! His words came before that! Then what could it be? To what misunderstanding of ours could he refer? Then at Sora’s next words— “You think weak-ass little ladybugs like us would handicap ourselves playing broken, overpowered bots like you? Ha, you make me laugh.” —Zshh. “You know nothing—of the abject weakness that makes us stoop to this method to win.” —Zshh… Through Ex Machina’s memories, supposed to have been corrupted irrecoverably, and through their thoughts, a noisy signal ran. “…The only thing that can beat the strongest is its opposite—the weakest.” Sora’s definition of himself and his companion as the weakest… —Zshh, zshh. …took the focus of Ex Machina amidst continued noise. “I mean, bullshit beyond understanding like you can’t be beaten head-on.” Yes—they had not been able to overcome the god of war, the concept of strength, with force. “You don’t realize that. You didn’t even kill Artosh. So I knew we’d get you.” Yes—the god of war, of strength, had been lauded as a natural enemy—not by Ex Machina. But by…the Spieler……and— CHECKMATE. WINNER: “ ”. SIX VICTORIES. “Hey, you goddamn perverted pretty-boy junk-heap assbot! What do you think an idol is?” With a rather long-winded epithet, Sora inquired of those lost in their muddled memories. “Some two-bit hack-ass producer might say some shit like it’s a perfect doll that plays out customers’ ideals. But!” “…Howeverrr…we are…bomb-ass producers… So, no!” Shiro, with Sora, looked at the stage, as if unconcerned with Ex Machina’s answer. “…Holou’s…gonna, be what she wants to be… That’s all…” “That’s hope. That’s the aspiration not of customers, but people.” While floating amidst swirling memories, the Ex Machinas looked upon the two. The two, whom the strongest had praised as a natural enemy, who boasted of their weakness. “So. You were asking for the proof that I’m not the Spieler, right?” “…It’s…simple… You…know it…yourselves.” The Ex Machinas listened, still amidst a mental maelstrom. “…I decide who I am. I’m Sora—this is Shiro. We’re two in one.” “…Together, we are Blank… Other peoples’ definitions…can eat shit.” The Ex Machinas listened to the two who told them that it didn’t matter how they might analyze Sora and come up with their own definitions. No, not two. One gamer. Who then told them: “It doesn’t matter how much I resemble him, or even if we have the same memories and the same love. I’m not him. You wanna refute that? Then first—” “…Why, don’t any…of you, claim to be…the one…he loved…?” …Ah… The Ex Machinas closed their eyes. “That’s why you didn’t bind me to love you or do it with you by the Covenants…right?” Einzig, Emir-Eins, and all the Ex Machina units finally reached that understanding…and without thinking, hung their heads and smirked. “I see… So all along, our eyes were only following ghosts…” —So it is… We can never beat them. There is no way we can adapt to them…for they do not exist. We were not playing against these two…but a phantasm of our own. We were chasing our tails, boxing with shadows… How comical we must have appeared. Then came the sound to mark the start of the thirteenth and final round. The intro, the first line of the thirteenth, the final number. Music filled the air as Einzig murmured to himself… But then…what……are we……? The thirteenth song. The final number. One move of Sora and Shiro’s had restored light and sound to the stage—but that was all they needed. Holou’s song no longer seemed to require Ex Machina equipment to intoxicate everyone. Sora and Shiro had thrust two more people onstage with the words “Go have fun”—rude, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves. Steph could dance, believe it or not, and Jibril was bouncing about the air scattering nonlethal light. While the venue came together for a big, happy finale, backstage, things were as quiet as the bottom of the sea. The thirteenth round. The final contest. With glib smiles, Sora and Shiro had revealed to Ex Machina the way they’d been leading them by the nose. Yet, all this time, not for one round, not for one move had things been easy for them. They determined what Ex Machina should suppose, how Ex Machina should adapt, without letting them know, and exploited the moves they created. They took advantage of the lies the Ex Machinas were telling themselves, the biases of those who rejected a reality without the Spieler. These provided openings, fatal defects—and yet, it was a backbreaker of a challenge. To read, bit for bit, the “heart” of a transcendent machine and lead it on. There should be no need to ask why they would take on such a ne plus ultra. Because they literally couldn’t go any further. Even “ ” couldn’t beat Ex Machina head-on. Yet, now they’d let the cat out of the bag. Now Ex Machina had corrected its analysis of the last twelve rounds and 1,082 moves for the true identity of those two before them—to adapt to Sora and Shiro. Now the brother and sister duo were to lock themselves in a straight battle of calculation with a hypercomputer—to go further than they possibly could. Odds were that Sora and Shiro would lose the seventh round. They’d lose the match. They’d lose the game. —This is where it gets real. Sora and Shiro steeled themselves. But… “…Hmm. You’ve stopped moving in the middle of the game… May I ask why?” Backstage. At the start of the thirteenth round, pieces had been making noise, albeit relatively subdued. But then Ex Machina had stopped even that, stopped their hands. It was at this that Sora’s voice echoed. The quiet was heavy, oppressive…yet cold and resigned—it was a quiet Sora and Shiro knew well. —It was the quiet of despair. “…Allow me to return your query. There are no turns… Why do you not move?” “Well, good question… I guess because, like, what’s the point of beating a failure of a gamer who gives up in the middle of a game?” “…Allow me to return your query once more. What would be the point…of our victory?” Einzig smiled, but his usual bravado was nowhere to be found. Now he was truly—just a machine. Just a puppet—no. It wasn’t just Einzig. The other Ex Machinas matched his tone. “You are not the Spieler. What do we stand to gain by winning?” …Yeah, I knew that, Sora said to himself, grinding his teeth. He’d known that proving it would be enough for them to choose destruction. “We would gain nothing. We would only perish. In which case—it is you who should win.” He’d known what would happen if he proved he wasn’t the Spieler. He’d known it would be like this—a literally desperate problem. “You two should win. No—you should—Nachfolger. Then the Ex Machina Piece will not cease to be.” He’d also known that Ex Machina would then refuse this game! It was knowing all this that Sora trapped themso! “You must have known this and trapped us to force us to reproduce and abandon love. We forced a hard choice upon you. You were right to decide that this would be our salvation. We believe that you can use us—” WHONK. Sora slammed a piece down so hard it seemed he was trying to destroy the chessboard, interrupting Einzig. —So!! This is where it gets real—!! “…Hey, pervbot. Why you gotta pose like that?” A square had flashed, and Sora’s effect strike modulated the music and blazed forth a vortex of light. The big-happy-family ending was giving way to a badass climax. Cheers from the crowd set the house on fire. Sora and Shiro looked at the interrupted board, now tilted in their favor, and informed Einzig: “Stop babbling and give us your best shot. You don’t gotta stop.” “…We’re gonna…win…and you’re gonna…lose anyway. ” —Heh. Einzig smiled as if he’d given up on everything. The parallel thoughts of all units of Ex Machina forced his hand—and moved a piece according to a convention unknown to Sora and Shiro. It was a transcendentally appropriate, unreasonably perfect convention that would send the two astray to their dooms. —Yes. Was. Until about two seconds ago. But now it was a matter for the past tense. The momentary event made Einzig scowl slightly. Sora and Shiro saw this and told him. “D00ds, is your memory okay? Infinite learning, my ass!” “…False advertising… J*RO’s gonna…sue you… We, told you.” Ex Machina moved with incomparable precision, tracing every convention as if straight on to the future. Sora and Shiro predicted each convention as if breathing in and overturned it with an invention as if breathing out. Ex Machina adapted to each invention in an instant and overturned each with a new invention. Then Sora and Shiro crushed each new invention in one move as if to say it was no invention at all, bringing them right back on top. It seemed Einzig and the Ex Machinas finally got it. Sora and Shiro told them again with haggard smiles that said, Come on, realize how tough this has been for us. “If you…think, you can beat…Blank… ” “Extra, extra! We’ve got news for you. ” She and the Spieler—Sora—had maintained the same style while acting tough. For twelve rounds, wherein Ex Machina had continued to adapt to and learn from it. Thirteen rounds. This was the last. And here it was, Sora and Shiro’s—that is, “ ”’s—real style. They’d known they might have only one chance against these adapters to kick their asses for real. It had all been to hide it. That had been their greatest struggle. “Go ahead and try beating us as we are. ’Cos you’ll fail anyway.” “…Give us…all you, got… We’ll, humor you!” Surrender? Like hell they were gonna accept a boring-ass ending like that. They would only accept an overwhelming victory. Nothing else could be tolerated. —Bring it on, Ex Machina. Fight us, not your phantasm. And watch us stomp you into the ground. So spoke Sora’s and Shiro’s beastly grins…and in turn, they saw a fire begin to burn in the eyes of the Ex Machinas …… “…This ‘Spieler’ you thought I was—let me guess who he was.” As the hands crisscrossing over the board finally approached their original speed, Sora laid out his reasoning, as if chatting, as if thinking on two parallel threads. “He was the guy who ended the War… The super ultra-über-cool gamer, right?” “…………” Taking Einzig’s silence as a yes, Sora nodded. “That would explain it.” Jibril had said that Immanity used Ex Machina to end the Great War. It was a mystery how the hell that was possible, but basically— “Ex Machina wasn’t used. You just helped the man you loved.” Sora had no way of knowing the details of the exchange. But an Ex Machina called the Preier had loved an Immanity called the Spieler. Which love—which wish, which will had been shared with all the units, passed down. Emir-Eins had alluded to it as the Preier’s hope. The hope for the realization of the hope of the one she loved… Yes—for the end of the War. “But the man died…just as the War ended… You let him die.” “…There are no words to express this shock… How do you know all this…?” The Ex Machinas were perplexed by his divine insight, but Sora bashfully continued. “Ah, it’s nothing really… It’s just that Emir-Eins said she was, uh, a new model… A virgin…” Reproduction enabled only for the Spieler. Hardware-locked…? “If he survived, he’d use her, right?! At least once!! I mean, even I, uh, never mind, don’t worry about it.” Shiro’s glare stopped Sora—but he could guess what happened. The War had ended suddenly, thanks to one man. But that man was not the One True God. He died at the end, so then it must have been his partner that let him— No. Sora realized he was being rude and altered the course of his thinking. His partner had failed to protect the man she loved… That had to be it. “Moreover…you betrayed and deceived the man you loved.” . Einzig’s hands—those of all of Ex Machina—stopped for an instant. Sora talked on unperturbed, his own hands still moving wildly. “The man wanted to end the Great War without a single sacrifice. You defied his will… You killed many. Over half the Flügel. Probably others, too. Including, of all people—yourselves.” Ex Machina played on silently, but with trembling hands, wandering eyes. Showing clear emotion—confusion mixed with agitation. At Sora’s words? Or at their inability to dominate him and Shiro? “As for what went through your head when the War ended… It’s beyond my imagination.” Anyway, it’s so…ironic, Sora and Shiro both thought. The hearts of humans were so illogical that they formed logic to invent mathematics. The cores of these machines were so logical that they marveled at illogic to invent the “heart.” A race of machines, of transcendent computers that would laugh at oracle machines, and where they ended up—was the same as humans. So, yes…it was crap. The will of Ex Machina, which Sora and Shiro had realized on the moon. The meaning of the machines with hearts… The trouble that kept them waiting desperately for their unrequited love for six thousand years, on till the brink of their demise… What weighed upon those with hearts was always simple and full of crap— —Sincere. And sacred, and full of crap… Yes… “…Regret? Guilt? Frustration?” Probably all of them, and probably none of them, Sora thought. These were troubles from the “heart”…which meant that they would be illogical, indivisible, and abstract. If, despite this, he were to sum them up in one phrase, it would surely be this: “…I guess you just wanted to see him one more time.” Then, they appeared before Sora. When he’d vanquished Holou—an Old Deus—without killing her. “So you thought, next time. When you find the one with whom you can do what you couldn’t then.” Then, probably, they must have… “You waited, thinking, next time, when there’s a man who can defeat a god without killing, it must be him.” Sora’s conjecture mixed with speculation was confirmed by the wavering in their eyes. Even if they knew the man was dead, and that no matter how much another man might resemble him, he wasn’t the same person. Even if they knew that Sora was not the Spieler the Preier loved… Even if they knew that they themselves were not the Preier the Spieler loved—and even if they knew it was not they who loved the Spieler… Still… These machines with “hearts,” who were capable of telling lies… They were something to be reckoned with, Sora thought. That they would lie even to themselves… Did they really need to resemble people that much…? Sora put a stop to that train of thought. —That was why…he had to push them away. “And then? Those machines with their lovesick brains on full throttle? What did they say then?” He suppressed his aching heart into silence and laid down the law. “Like, thank you for trapping us and forcing us to reproduce; merci for averting the extinction of our race and the checkmate of the world; thx for caring about our broken hearts; go ahead and use us as you see fit?” —He had to push them away!! “Why you gotta pose and cover your ‘heart’ like that?! What kind of way to act is that for fully automated alternative sexualities on legs such as yourselves?!” Yes—after sneering to the boundary of the sneer zone, Sora gave a good Ha! and yelled. “D00ds! Let me know—what’s in Ex Machina’s ‘heart’?!” It was an obvious provocation, a ruse—everyone could see that. But whether they’d judged that it was impossible to lay bare all of “ ”’s hand in this round, or whether they’d judged that they held the upper hand when it came to processing speed in worst response— —No… “Very well… Let us inform you… Let us answer your query, Nachfolger—!!” Such rational reasons, such logic…were surely not what they had in mind. Eyes seething with rage, Einzig slammed down an effect strike and roared to the “Successor” as their environment transformed to match his words… “We gouged Artosh of his ether and ended the War—and what was left—?!” —Nothing! The venue provided this answer by becoming hollow—white as a sheet. As if to say that neither heaven nor earth, nor any law could signify aught. The audience, Sora and Shiro, everyone floated in space as the song echoed on. “…There were the Ten Covenants. And the Ixseeds. And—your will.” —This world was left. With a peaceful smile, Sora returned an effect strike that painted the blank canvas psychedelically. Pieces towered over the hazy distant horizon as sixteen seeds flew this way and that over this world. While they looked down upon the expanse, floating, the crowd cheered on. “Yes, there was still the world that had trampled our will!! And divested us of our love—!!” That itself was the symbol of their penitence. Their feelings, their love had been lent to them only to be taken back, wailed the move of the machines, which erased all sixteen seeds that traversed the psychedelic planet, all the pieces on the horizon. “That’s why you said, next time, next time, and made those feelings into a will to surpass to your successors.” From person to person, and across races, Sora’s move brought back the vanished seeds and Immanity. They came together, formed nations, and covered the world. It was as if the War had just ended and the world that lay spread out beneath them was reforming. “And we remained, a comical heap of scrap, having betrayed that will, deceiving ourselves and sleeping, with dreams never to be realized…!” Neither their feelings nor their will had succeeded them. Their eyes asked what they signified, holders of a love not theirs, sleepers waiting for one who did not love them. Translucent gazes, countless in that back room, reflecting those they had killed or let die. “Grk! Sh-Shiro! I can’t refute that they’re comical! Just look at this creep!” “…Don’t give up, don’t give up…! If you, lose an argument…we’re, done for…” None of this stopped Sora and Shiro from clowning around. The scene changed dizzyingly. The effects blazed atrociously. They read each other too deeply to lead the other on. It had become a game of who could read further and respond faster—exactly the preferred field of Ex Machina. Yet, Ex Machina… Actually, Sora and Shiro themselves were blown away even more: The two of them were neck and neck— No, even slightly ahead of Ex Machina. Sora trusted his intuition and played off guesses even he didn’t understand. Shiro accelerated her calculation and worked in conventions that rationalized his inventions. A synthesis of deduction and induction. A fusion of feeling and reason. No trick would work on Ex Machina twice. They uncovered every first time. It was their indeterminateness that gave them that ever-so-slight edge over Ex Machina’s processing power. Ex Machina reeled. “…But anyway!! That’s just ’cos you’re trash!! What sort of man blames external factors for his own failures?!” “…A-and, uh…! How do you know, they’re…‘never to be realized,’ huh…?!” Sora and Shiro’s follow-up banter as they oozed cold sweat made Ex Machina’s processes slow down. “Do you mean they may be? Ah… Then let us realize them…!!” The scene kept changing, as the Ex Machina wished. They wished for the Spieler, ideally. But they showed their feelings for which they had lied to themselves that they could meet him again. “Do you mean that all the workings of our ‘heart’ had meaning—that we may be redeemed—?!” Yes… In sum, that was all it was. Such crap… So sacred, this wish. They’d refused reproduction, accepted extinction, advanced on Sora. To ask Sora—that is, the Spieler—would he accept them…? They’d deceived him, betrayed him, played him for a fool, killed and been killed and finally let die. Could they still live in this world? Could he forgive them? It had nothing to do with logic. They were just…drowning in remorse. It was the wish of machines who no longer knew what to do— No, of their hearts: Show us the way. And that was why Sora pushed them away with a smile. It wasn’t something to ask him. It wasn’t even something to ask the Spieler. “Hell if I know… That’s a question you have to answer, isn’t it?” Sora looked, and the Ex Machinas did, too…at what their furor of effects had produced. It was what they…the machines with hearts themselves…had created—this very world. This world where everything was decided by games—Disboard lay beneath them. On the stage, an Old Deus was singing and dancing. A Flügel was flitting through the sky as an Immanity danced gracefully. Amidst a flashing flurry, a multiracial audience went wild over idols of various races. All their faces had the same…smile. “Did it have meaning? …You’ve gotta find it, right?” “…Are you, redeemed…? You’ve gotta…redeem, yourself…” Even Sora and Shiro as they spoke, even the Ex Machinas reflected in their eyes had the same face. The Ex Machinas realized that, at some point, the two with whom they burned in competition had made them glow. —Yes. In this world…you could laugh it off. “All you can do is be what you want, become what you want.” “…We’re, hopeful…for your…hope. ” —’Cos you couldn’t change. You had to compromise and walk. “So. Hey. Just for your reference…our personal opinion is—” “…It’s not a bad world… That’s…what…we think…at least.” These were the very ones who had made such massive sacrifices in order to create this world. And the man probably hadn’t died at peace. He must have gone with plenty of regret and frustration. Sora and Shiro had no place to say anything to him or those who were crushed with guilt after him. But they could only tell Ex Machina what they’d first thought when they landed in this world. With gratitude. Indeed: “Next time. This time. We’re gonna win. That’s what this world makes us think.” The chessboard, after announcing Sora and Shiro’s seventh victory, halted as if broken. And upon the triumphant stage poured an afterglow of hot applause… “So! That’s what we think, but, Ex Machina—what about you?” Having given everything, Sora and Shiro basked in the same afterglow with tired smiles. The extreme concentration had fried their brains, and their bodies were heavy as if rusted through…but even aside from that. …If there were a fourteenth round…they wouldn’t win. Of this they were sure. And for that reason, the depth of the enjoyment in Sora’s and Shiro’s smiles only furthered. —Next time, you could beat us…don’t you think? Their faces seemed to say as much, causing Einzig and the Ex Machinas to close their eyes and laugh…out loud…