Rapid Fire King:Volume1 Chapter 3

Chapter 3: Super Uncertain Duty

1

It was Sunday and Takamura was playing an intrasquad practice game on the secondary sports ground next to the school.

It was 11 AM and his team was at bat for the bottom of the fifth.

This practice game was part of a round-robin tournament structure. The practice game from the other day had ended quickly since it was only the regular members playing, but with the freshmen included in this tournament, it was likely going to take up the afternoon as well.

There was no roof over the bench he sat on. The shade of a nearby tree kept the sun off for now, but that would change come afternoon.

They had divided into three teams for the round-robin tournament. He was on Team B and they had won against Team C 6-to-2

They had Naka, their ace, on Team B, so they had an easy time scoring on the aceless Teams A and C.

However, they were currently losing to Team A 1-to-0.

…This isn’t working.

Their defense still was not working together well. The three outfielders on his team were freshmen. They had yet to figure out the whole teamwork thing, so they would often stare at each other while no one actually went to catch the ball.

So when the pitcher threw the ball so it would be hit but easily caught, they failed if it flew all the way to the outfield.

They had only managed to end the top of the fifth when Takamura forced himself to catch a line drive flying above his head.

“Ahh,” he groaned on the bench.

Then he realized that might sound like he was complaining about the freshmen, so…

“I’m so hungry.”

He tried to lie his way out of it and crossed his arms.

He was the eighth batter. The freshmen were all ahead of him. The current batter was the fifth, so there were still three ahead of him.

They only had one out, but he doubted he would get to bat this inning. The pitcher was a second year, so he was certain they would have three outs before the three freshmen batters ahead of him were done.

But he was not all that confident in his own ability to bat, so he was in no position to complain.

Also, he knew he was having trouble focusing today.

Something was bothering him.

And that was around 50% of the reason he was crossing his arms in thought.

He was worrying over something and even he could tell how seriously he was taking these worries.

Plus, this was something he could not tell anyone else about. If he did, they were bound to laugh.

His problem was not related to baseball.

Nor was it related to his love life or even school.

It was about a game, but not a baseball game.

It was about a video game.

He was worried about the bullets fired by the enemy ships in the shoot ‘em up game he had been playing.

2

Takamura was worried about something in the shoot ‘em up game.

…I can’t seem to dodge the bullets for some reason.

He could not dodge the enemy bullets.

That had been bothering him for a while now.

It had started two nights ago when he had pulled out that game console and played the shoot ‘em up game he had for it.

He had stayed up late playing it that night and the night after, but…

…I keep trying, but I just can’t do it right.

His ship was hit by the enemy bullets so often it felt like every single one was doing it.

They would hit him, his ship would be destroyed, and he would game over.

…Why is that happening?

He worried about it, he thought about it, and he pondered it. He pictured the situation from last night in the hopes of finding some kind of solution.

…First, there was the screen.

He was using an old 15-inch home TV.

His small ship was in the center of the screen. He had a top-down view of the white fighter.

The troublesome enemy bullets were about 1/6 the size of his ship.

If his ship was a gold general or king on the shogi board, then the enemy shots were a lot like marking pins placed next to it.

The problem was that his king could not dodge those marking pins.

The enemy fired those bullets.

He knew that.

The enemy would fire after appearing from outside the screen.

He knew that too.

The screen was scrolling vertically, so the enemies were either on the ground or in the sky. The former were tanks or gun emplacements and the latter were airplanes or helicopters.

The enemies would suddenly appear from the top or sides of the upwards-scrolling screen.

They would fire bullets, but only a beat after appearing on the screen. None of them started firing the instant they appeared.

The incoming bullets would accurately target his ship. They would hit it right smack in the middle.

Thus, he had to keep his ship on the move so it would not be hit.

Logically speaking, he would never die if his ship was always on the move.

Yet he was hit and he did die.

And it always happened suddenly.

He would grab a power up item, think “hell yeah”, and then get hit and die.

Because he would suddenly find a bullet had arrived right in front of his ship. As in, less than a centimeter away. Once it was that close, there was no way to move his ship out of the way.

He would notice it and know what was coming.

And the bullet would hit his ship.

Nothing he did was fast enough.

More and more would fly toward him.

Boom.

Dead.

His mind would go blank.

He would simply stare for a moment, but then uncontrollable rage would fill him.

To calm himself down, he would place his joystick on the floor while deciding never to play that game again.

He would sigh, collapse backwards, stretch his arms upwards, and sigh again.

Then he would just lie there for a while.

Until he grew frustrated.

Then he would sit back up and play some more.

He would return to the beginning.

It was always like that.

If he could do so-so at the game, it would not have bothered him so much. He would have just chalked it up to being that kind of game.

But when he was defeated so utterly, he felt more confusion than anything: Why does this keep happening?

If he did not figure that out, his only memories of the game would be of being shot down over and over. He had started this half for fun, so he wanted something more than defeat out of it. Which meant…

…I need to think about this until I can figure out why I can’t dodge it.

“Hm.”

As he thought about it, he narrowed his question down to one thing.

…Why don’t I notice the bullets until right before they hit me?

The enemy bullets would suddenly be there right in front of him.

He did not know why.

But he felt like it could not be mere coincidence.

He concluded there was some reason why the bullets arrived so close without him noticing.

They would keep hitting him until he figured out what that reason was.

As things were, he was not even really playing the shoot ‘em up game.

…Right now, it’s a game of being shot down over and over.

True to the name, the point of a shoot ‘em game was to shoot them.

But to do that, it was crucial he did not let the enemy attacks hit him.

He had to dodge the enemy bullets.

He realized something at that point.

…If I just hit the buttons without thinking, I’m not really playing the shoot ‘em up game.

He had to dodge and survive while shooting his way through the enemies.

He could not just shoot his way through the enemies. He also had to defend himself by dodging and surviving.

He understood how to shoot. You only had to press the button for that.

But how was he supposed to dodge and survive?

He had to answer his earlier question to figure that out.

…Why do the enemy bullets appear in front of me all of a sudden?

He did not have an answer.

He felt like he had hit a dead end already.

“Yeah.”

He thought back over his nights of playing the game, but he doubted this would tell him the answer.

He understood what was happening, but he did not understand why. And unless he knew why, he could never think up a solution.

What do I do? he wondered.

“Taka.”

He was dragged back to reality when someone called his name.

3

Naka had spoken to him from the right.

Takamura kept his arms crossed and panicked a bit. Was it his turn at bat?

It was not.

Naka said nothing more as he stood next to him, so Takamura looked up at the tall boy.

“What is it, Naka? Do you want to do pitching practice?”

“That would only put more pressure on the other team’s freshmen. Anyway, what do you think of our freshmen?”

Asking that will put pressure on them too, thought Takamura as he kept his voice low.

“Well, they’re doing about as well as you can expect.”

“We need to narrow down our options for summer, so pay attention, okay?”

When Takamura replied “same to you”, Naka looked off into the distance. He was viewing Team C seated by the backstop.

He kept his eyes on them as he spoke.

“You need to be careful,” he warned.

Takamura looked up at that. He more or less understood what Naka was trying to say, so he looked to Team C as well.

“You mean Takagi from the second year? I heard he wants to be a shortstop like me.”

“That’s it, yeah. Their shortstop kept some pretty tight defense during the previous game, right?”

“I just can’t get into these struggles over the regular spots.”

…I hate how it feels like I’m competing with my own teammates.

That was how he saw it.

Besides, they were not rivals or anything. Takagi was a friendly guy who was generally right there with them when they were having fun. Takamura could even call him an underclassman friend.

But personality and abilities were not the same.

And Takamura thought Takagi still had a ways to go when it came to technique.

Part of him thought that was his pride speaking, but another part of him thought it was true. Because just like your personality would not change your test scores, it would not change your defense and batting average either.

It all came down to how good at the game you were.

It was those results during their practice games that had Takamura standing on the field as a regular member.

That was a fact. However…

…It feels kind of dark to look at it that way.

Also…

…Takagi can get pretty worked up over things.

Takagi was definitely the type who took baseball seriously. He placed a lot of emphasis on whether or not a point was scored and he had been doing a lot to manage the freshmen recently.

What would happen if that Takagi competed with him for a regular position?

Takamura had the greater technical skills, but…

…I might pull back when it matters. His competitive spirit might overpower me.

I can definitely see that happening, he thought with a hand on his forehead and a bitter smile on his lips. And…

“What’s wrong?” asked Naka.

Takamura suddenly started thinking about others instead of himself.

“Well,” he said while wiping the sweat from his brow. “I was wondering if Takagi wants to be a regular.”

“C’mon, man. Of course he does.”

“Why?”

“You don’t?”

“I…”

…Do I?

He liked baseball. He would practice even in the evening when the sun was setting. He would give up his Sundays for it.

But that did not mean he wanted to be a regular.

If he did, surely he would see Takagi as a rival and put some effort into taking the regular spot from him.

But he did not do that.

Then why was he playing baseball?

…Because…

Because I like playing baseball, he concluded.

Naka smiled bitterly next to him.

“You can be awfully cold at times.”

Takamura did not expect that, but he was also aware of it.

He had never discussed this with someone else before.

He felt some surprise while slowly asking a question as if searching for what Naka really meant.

“Cold…how?”

Naka crossed his arms behind his head and kept his eyes on the field.

“Takagi is serious about this. You weren’t really aware of that, were you? All of us who like batting know how he stays behind afterwards to practice defense,” he said. “But you’re better than him. It’s like you have a subconscious understanding of how to practice effectively.”

“H-hey.” Takamura asked a probing question. “Am I turning into a real pain in the ass?”

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t want to be shortstop, after all.” Naka’s bitter smile grew. “As long as they can hold that defensive line well enough for me, I don’t care who has that spot. And you can do it. But you know what? If I did want to be shortstop, I’m not sure how I’d deal with someone who doesn’t even put in extra practice but is still better than me.”

“But the way things are, I feel like Takagi has more of a future there.”

“But you’re better now, right? And can you put in more of an effort and practice more with Takagi threatening to take your spot?” The bitter smile vanished from Naka’s face and his eyebrows lay flat. “You hate that kind of competition, don’t you? I kind of already knew that.”

After some thought, Takamura answered.

“Yeah.”

He nodded.

Naka nodded back.

“Then that’s what’s right for you.”

Takamura did not know what made this right, but if their ace said so, it had to be true.

So to respond, he turned his tanned face toward the net.

He viewed the people beyond the green net who were watching the game to kill some time around lunch.

They were from the concert band which also had practice on Sundays. He could see the sheet music they were holding. They seemed to be speaking with their freshmen about something too.

…It’s tough everywhere, isn’t it?

He smiled bitterly, but Naka narrowed his eyes while still standing.

“I notice Iwa-san isn’t here today.”

Noting some displeasure in the boy’s voice, Takamura uncrossed his arms.

“Is she not?”

He straightened up in his seat to look past the net.

But she was not there.

Huh? he thought while looking in the distance.

But there really was no sign of Iwata.

“…?”

She should always be there somewhere even during ordinary practices. She should especially have been there while they were testing the freshmen’s skill.

But she was not there.

Nor were the two assistants who always sat behind her.

He adjusted his position on the bench and tilted his head.

Naka tilted his head too.

“That’s unusual.”

It was, in fact, a first.

…Did something happen?

Iwata’s family ran a ramen shop built into their home. The locals were the usual clientele.

When she could not go somewhere, it always had something to do with her family. If she missed school, it inevitably turned out she was helping out at home.

But she had never before missed keeping records for one of the baseball team’s games.

Those games tended to be on the weekend, so she usually helped out at home during the other weekend day so she would be free for the game.

She should have done the same this time. She had not said anything to the contrary on the way home the day before yesterday, so everything should have been normal.

Yet things were different today.

…So did something happen?

That ramen shop was in Takamura’s neighborhood, so…

…I should stop by on the way home.

As soon as he decided on that, he straightened up again and heard a metallic clang.

The solid sound seemed to pierce through his head.

The freshman batter two spots before him had hit the ball.

He and Naka turned back toward the batter box.

“Oh? He did it.”

Given an excuse to throw out his previous thoughts, Takamura looked up. He stood up while watching the previous batter make his way for the batter box. His at bat was coming up soon.

He had to get ready.

1

Takamura was late leaving thanks to cleaning up and chatting with his teammates.

He rode a bike back from his local station: JR Higashi-Akiru Station.

He lazily rode his old mountain bike alongside the road heading west.

His watch’s digital display said it was 6:47 PM. The sun was setting, but some calm blue remained in the sky.

He descended the hill in front of his home and stood in front of the ramen shop down below.

Piano music leaked from his headphones while he viewed the weather-beaten white sign with Kazuyo Ramen written in thick, red characters.

It had no special meaning. The owner’s wife was simply named Kazuyo.

That owner’s surname was written on the nameplate next to the curtain covering the entrance.

That surname was Iwata and the given names Takashi, Kazuyo, and Ren were written next to that.

This was Iwata’s home.

Long ago, Takamura had asked Iwata where the shop’s name came from and this had been her response:

“Well, my dad is really obsessed with ramen, you see. And there was apparently a time when he took it to the extent of seeming a little crazy.

“I’ve heard that cooks tend to start out wanting to make people happy with what they make. And once they reach a certain level, they start going crazy seeing just how good they can make their food. I don’t really get it myself.

“He apparently married my mom and built this shop during that time. They were trying to come up with a name and when my mom thought about my dad’s…situation I guess you could call it? Anyway, she thought about calling it Crazy Ramen.

“I’m serious.

“But that apparently snapped my dad out of it. Made him realize how much of a dumb weirdo he was being. Well, maybe not, but I hope it did.

“Regardless, it was apparently a shock to him, so he named it after my mom for showing him the truth.

“It ends up being a nice story, right?

“But if you want the whole truth, my mom says she meant it as Crazy For Ramen but misspoke.

“She had meant it as a compliment for how seriously he took his ramen, but it all got twisted around.

“So I have to wonder.

“Maybe even back then, my dad was the same cheerful ramen deliveryman he is now. …That’s what I like to think anyway.”

He would sometimes remember that story in the bath or on the train and laugh.

It amused him that miscommunications like that could happen.

And he was only here now due to a slight miscommunication.

“I just don’t get it.”

Iwata had not shown up to the practice tournament for some reason.

…Did something happen?

He was worried.

So he removed his headphones and stepped through the curtained entrance.

He went inside.

2

Takamura sensed a deluge of noise as soon as he entered the ramen shop.

He first heard Iwata’s dad saying “welcome” from the back of the place. He also heard the guitar music on the speakers, the steam from the kitchen, and the creaking of the customers’ chairs.

He saw six customers in that small space of less than 10 square meters.

Past the concrete floor and wooden counter, he saw only Iwata’s dad and his wife working in the kitchen with their backs turned.

He walked between the old tables and stood in front of the counter. He placed his bag on a chair.

He looked up and felt the heat on his neck. He also smelled soy sauce.

“Old man,” he said while taking a seat. “Tell me why Ren took the day off.”

“Hm, is that Kou?”

The man replied in a low voice without looking back.

There were flames in the metal pot he was working with. Once he placed the lid on the pot, he turned around.

“Ren isn’t here right now.”

“You mean she isn’t sick or something?”

He grabbed a cup from the counter and walked to the water dispenser.

“Is she out on a delivery driving like a madwoman on the Super Cub again?”

“No, it’s not that.”

The man turned his back again and his wife Kazuyo turned to face Takamura instead.

“She had some business to take care of, Kou-kun.”

“I see,” he replied while pressing the cup into the water dispenser’s opening. The bit of cold water that got on his hand felt nice.

“Kou. Did a teacher at school say something to you?”

“No, no. We’re not in middle school anymore. And we’re not even in the same class.” He took a breath. “I was just curious.”

“Oh? So Kou’s finally aiming for our daughter, is he? Hee hee hee.”

“C’mon, it’s not like that.”

“That’s what everyone says at first.”

“Hold on, old man. I just-” The water overflowed from the cup. “Whoa.”

He quickly pulled the cup away from the dispenser and took a sip to lower the water level a bit.

The water helped cool his body.

He realized he had not had anything to drink since leaving school.

He took another sip. After returning to his seat, he took yet another sip.

“When will Ren be back?”

“Eh?”

…You’re not even listening?

He frowned and wondered how long it had been since he called her Ren.

So he scratched his head and asked again.

“I was wondering when Ren-…”

“She should be back soon, I think.”

“Soon?”

“Yeah, she should be back for a time at 7. Want to eat some ramen until then?”

“Sure, if it’s on the house.”

“Ha ha ha. Not happening. Wanna try again later?”

Takamura thought about what it would mean if Iwata returned and found him waiting.

…It would look like I’m prying into her business.

So he decided not to wait.

He stood up and slung his bag over his shoulder.

“I’ll come back some other day.”

“Sounds good. Ren will probably tell you about some things if she feels like it.”

He tilted his head at the man’s words.

…Tell me about some things if she feels like it?

“What is she doing?”

Her father turned around and briefly glanced upwards to think about what to say.

“Kou.”

“Yeah?”

“Ren isn’t a kid anymore either. She has her own things to deal with.”

“Eh?”

He frowned and the man smiled bitterly for a moment.

“What a hopeless boy.”

“Eh?”

He was clearly confused, but the man only turned his back while still smiling bitterly.

He did not look Takamura’s way again, so Takamura remained confused.

…Hopeless?

About what? he wondered, but he knew he was not getting any more of an answer here.

Then a new customer arrived and he lost his chance to ask anything more.

He could only tilt his head as he walked out.

All while wondering what made him so hopeless.

3

Takamura checked his watch outside and saw it was nearly 7 PM. Once he got home, it would be time to prepare dinner.

He walked away from the ramen shop and walked north up the gentle slope in front of it.

In the morning, chatting students would climb that same slope to reach the middle school behind the city hall. I used to do the same, he recalled while reaching the midpoint of the slope. His house was to the right there.

It was a two-story house with a weather-beaten workshop bordering the road.

He realized the ramen shop smell had left him as he climbed the slope.

It bothered him that he had not learned why Iwata was not at the practice tournament, but…

…Well, I’m sure she’ll tell me tomorrow or some other time.

That was one advantage of living nearby and attending the same school.

He started to push his bicycle through the gap to the side of the 10-meter-wide workshop.

The actual house was through that narrow gap. At nearly 200 square meters, the workshop was larger than the house.

He entered that dark gap to reach the house.

After taking a few steps, he heard a familiar sound from the slope road behind him.

A motorbike was driving down it.

…That sound.

He recognized it, so he stopped pushing his bicycle and looked back.

He saw a motorbike descending southward along the slope road he could see through the gap between the workshop and the neighbor’s house.

He only glimpsed it for a second and the afterimage of the light and the roar of its engine lingered with him.

“Huh?”

He leaned his bicycle against the workshop wall and rushed to the road with movements even he could tell were frantic.

He left the workshop and arrived on the sidewalk.

He looked down the hill where the Super Cub had gone.

There it was.

He could see its tail lights, but the red light turned left toward the ramen shop’s parking area and vanished behind the building.

A streetlight briefly shined on the rider.

The delivery driver was not wearing a helmet.

That allowed him to see a ponytail blowing in the wind.

“Iwa?”

It had to be. She was the only ponytailed person who drove a Super Cub around here.

In that case…

…Was she helping out at home after all?

He considered it, but something felt off.

Specifically, he had seen her ponytail blowing in the wind.

If she was using the Super Cub for a delivery, she would have had the wooden box for carrying the food. To see her ponytail behind her like that, the box could not have been strapped on behind her.

If she was helping out while the ramen shop was open, then the Super Cub was used for deliveries. She might use it do some shopping at night, but there were no supermarkets or convenience stores in the direction of the city hall.

In that case…

…Was she out doing something other than helping out at home?

Since she was not at the practice games during the day, she must have been out since then.

Her father had said she would be back for a time.

That meant she had been out somewhere doing something.

“But…”

He did not understand something about this. All the facts pointed toward her having been out somewhere, but that made no sense to him.

The girl he knew spent her weekends helping out at home or doing her newspaper club work. He tried to think if she had ever done anything else, but…

…She really hasn’t, has she?

This scene here was a first for him.

“What does it mean?”

He noticed an edge to his voice.

He tilted his head, realized he wouldn’t find any answers here, and sighed.

He recalled that it was Sunday.

…It is true normal girls will head out to have some fun on Sunday.

Prying into her business would be a bad idea. After his visit to the arcade, he understood just how important personal problems could be to people.

That said, he still felt a little on edge.

…Maybe I feel guilty.

He had hidden his trip to the arcade from her two days before. And he had used her honest misunderstanding to do so.

But he knew she was unlikely to understand his visit to the arcade.

Her family did not own any of the home video game consoles that were the pride of the nation. He recalled what she had said when he bought that black game console from a friend before:

“Stop wasting your money.”

So he had kept it a secret.

And today’s actions suggested that she had a secret of her own.

That meant they were even.

…Is this why she was so angry the day before last?

What if, he thought. What if she isn’t the person I think she is anymore?

Had she questioned him two days ago because she hoped that was not the case with him?

But he also felt like she would tell him what she had been doing if he asked. She had never been the lying type.

But…

…I can’t tell her.

In that case…

“I’m still the bad one.”

He could not be mad with her now.

He scratched his head and turned his back on the road.

“…”

He recalled the ponytailed figure he had glimpsed.

Her shoulders had been so slender.

…Yeah.

She must have been cold, he thought.

“Is she really taller than me?”

I don’t even know that anymore, he thought while heading home.

1

Takamura had a lot to think about, but he ended up seated in front of his TV that night as well.

However, a while after starting the battle, he sighed after having lost a few times.

The sigh was directed toward the words “Game Over” on the screen.

He stared at them, but spoke to himself.

“I sigh, but I don’t quit. I’m more persistent than I thought.”

He could see his slightly raised eyebrows reflected in the screen.

…I’ve got it bad.

That was the look of someone who could not dodge the bullets at all but still had no intention of quitting.

He could see his reflected face trying to figure out how to dodge them.

He once more realized how bad he had it.

He leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the floor.

“When did I become such a nerd?”

He forced a joke to calm himself down, but the groaning of his heart would not stop.

He had picked up where he left off last night, but he was still having trouble. The game had returned to its title screen.

He sat back up and checked the clock to find an hour had passed since he sat down. He had spent al that time on the game.

But spending time on it did not mean he was getting any better.

“I can’t believe this.”

He really could not.

Yet again, he found himself unable to dodge the enemy bullets.

He could not get past wondering what he was doing wrong.

If he did not know that, he could not get any further.

If he did not know that, he could not correct his actions.

And if he could not dodge those bullets, he could not continue playing the game.

He kept losing over and over.

“I can’t believe this,” he said again.

His mind was filled with images from just before his ship died.

He had died in so many different ways over the past hour, but they all had something in common. Just as he had previously analyzed, he would suddenly find the enemy bullets right in front of him and then they hit him.

It was the same as the day before and the day before that.

That meant he had made no progress after two days.

He still could not dodge the bullets.

That said, he could dodge the obvious ones being shot straight on at him. He could see them coming, so he only had to move his ship out of the way.

But he could not do that with the ones that caught him by surprise.

All of a sudden, there they were.

When had they been shot? When had they gotten so close?

He did not know what was happening.

And it happened so unpredictably.

He felt like he could reach the third stage of this game if not for those unexpected hits.

He could tell that much after playing it for two days.

But those sudden and unexpected hits stripped him of any accomplishment he might have felt.

“And the extra lives are useless when I can’t recover from there.”

Recover.

He thought about that word.

When your ship was shot down in a shoot ‘em up game…

…You lose all your power ups and have to start over from the beginning.

You could restart like that as long as you had an extra life and you got a game over once your lives were brought down to zero.

In the game he was playing, one power up item would shoot out from the exploding ship so you could get one level of power up with your next life.

But if you had powered your ship up to the highest level and then were destroyed, you still only started back at the second level.

“And that’s too weak to even matter.”

In this game, there were ten levels of power ups possible from gathering items.

That was the same number as in Super Rapid Fire.

And while your ship grew stronger, the attacks from the enemies grew fiercer in each consecutive stage.

If you were killed on a later stage, it had to be nearly impossible to recover even if you had extra lives. The enemy attacks would be too much by that point. You needed full power to take on the enemy, so the second stage of power ups was useless.

Of course, if a game was impossible to beat, it would be poorly received by players.

And since this game was on the market, he had to conclude it was in fact possible to recover.

It had to be.

“Please let it be.”

But for now, he could not pull it off, which left him with only one option: not dying.

That was his path forward. It was the only way if recovering was too difficult.

But to not die, he had to dodge the bullets.

And he could not do that.

So he was shot down, beginning the death spiral toward game over.

“Dammit.”

He knew he had to learn how to dodge and that meant figuring out why the hits caught him by surprise.

But…

…I don’t get it.

“Dammit,” he muttered again while rolling down onto the floor and looking up at the ceiling. “I can’t believe this.”

He kept saying that.

And after sighing, he said something else.

“I want to get good at this.”

That was such an ordinary thing to say that he had never really thought about it before.

But a few seconds after saying it, his own words inspired a certain emotion in him.

“!?”

Surprise.

2

Takamura sprang up to a sitting position.

“Hold on.”

He could feel his heart racing.

He thought about the supposedly ordinary line he had just spoken.

…I want to get good at this.

That was obvious. Why else would he be trying to dodge those bullets?

But the words held great meaning for him.

Because…

…This isn’t just for fun?

“Hey,” he said while forcing a self-deprecating tone. As if to ask why he would think something so silly. “This is just for run, right?”

And yet…

…I want to get good at this game?

That’s crazy, he thought. It’s just a video game, he added.

This was not sports or school. It was a game and he wasn’t even competing with anyone.

On top of that, he was keeping it a secret.

He knew people generally thought of video games as bad things. In shoot ‘em up games, you fought a simulated war where the point was to destroy objects and machines with pilots inside. That was only acceptable because it was fictional.

And most of all, he would not earn anyone’s praise by getting good at this game.

That was why you only did it “for fun”.

But even if it was just for fun, he had been searching for a way to dodge the enemy bullets, so…

“I clearly want to get good at this game, don’t I?”

The game’s title screen appeared on the CRT TV as if to answer his question.

He could see something else reflected on that screen: his face and his baseball bag in a corner of his room.

Baseball.

He practiced that on a daily basis and worked to improve in it.

…Am I treating this like baseball?

“Do I want to get good at this game?”

The self-deprecation deepened on his reflected face, but he could not deny it.

His time with baseball had taught him the fun and meaning of getting good at something. It had done so through the sense of achievement felt after catching a sharp hit and the gratitude of having reliable teammates.

He had gained something by getting good at baseball.

He did not know if that would happen with video games as well. But…

“You can get good at them.”

Video games were not sports or school. Improving there would not earn anyone’s praise.

…But some people are good at them.

The existence of video games meant there was a challenge there and something that could only be obtained by getting good at them.

So…

“Is it fun once you’re good at them?”

And…

“Can I do it if I get good at them?”

He spoke the words that had been lurking deep in his heart lately. This was something he had been unable to do with baseball.

“Can I get serious with them?”

If so, he began.

…I don’t know if I can or not.

He might simply be unable to get serious about anything.

But…

“What if?” Bitterness entered the smile on his lips. “What if I can get serious about video games?”

With that, he straightened up, took a breath, and directly faced the screen.

He nodded once and spoke.

“Let’s see this through until I know if I can or not.”

His expression changed from relaxation to tension.

He readied the joystick.

“Okay.”

His gaze pierced the word “options” in the center of the title screen.

Most home game console games had options to set the difficulty and the number of lives you started with.

With this game, you accessed that by selecting “options”.

When he moved the cursor to “options” and pressed the button, the title screen vanished and a screen full of English text appeared.

The topmost entry was labeled “level”.

The word “normal” was displayed to its right.

That was the current difficulty level. It was the default setting.

“There’s my mistake.”

He made sure the white arrow was next to “level”.

Then he moved the joystick in his lap left and the word “normal” changed to “hard”.

But he moved the joystick left once more.

That changed “hard” to “very hard”.

He moved the joystick left yet again, but the text did not change.

He had the game on its highest difficulty setting.

He took a breath and pressed the start button.

The title screen returned.

“Very hard.”

He had never played on that difficulty before. In fact, this was his first time changing the difficulty at all.

He simply wanted to do what that Freeter had done.

Maybe he wanted to be like that man.

Back when he first started playing baseball, he had worn the cap of his favorite player’s team.

Now he wore his own team’s cap.

He closed his eyes and calmed his breathing.

“Okay.”

He hit the start button and opened his eyes to see a single word on the screen: Start.

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