I took the elevator down the building. Even if we were a filthy rich family who could totally nonchalantly choose to live in a mansion, my parents have a certain minimalist taste, thanks (or no thanks) to some convenient interpretations of Japanese culture, so we’re living in a condominium unit deep in Metro Manila.

There was no one else with me in the elevator.

It’s actually somewhat rare for people to go out these days. Deep-dive VR tech is already so well developed that work and play can happen almost exclusively in virtual space. Thanks to some convenient interpretations of Japanese culture, however, “realspace” still exists as an “authentic space” in which people can roleplay and live the experience of various tropes in weeb media.

Because of that, when I mention that I genuinely go out to buy groceries sometimes, people say I have a “weird hobby”.

I left the elevator. The labyrinth at the lobby recognized my RFID, opening a path to the outside.

I still found it cool and deeply strange at the same time that the building’s lobby security was a tiny labyrinth. It didn’t have any fancy traps or anything. Its main gimmicks were claustrophobic paths and constantly-shifting walls. The system’s designed to lead intruders into a specific holding area, and they get stuck there, and the subscription-based robo-police swing around to pick them up like they were a return package.

Man, imagine abolishing the police only to replace it with an automated subscription service. That happened about 60 years ago, I think?

On the other hand, the system recognizes the building’s residents’ constantly-changing RFID codes. The chips are embedded in us since birth, which was something I got used to pretty quickly, surprisingly. In exchange for the sheer convenience, the weirdness factor for a 21st century soul like mine really just stops factoring in pretty quickly.

Ah, well, sometimes there are software updates, so those are usually pretty inconvenient, but I’m not some madman who accepts every single End User License Agreement without reading into it and making sure all the “Display tailored ads” options are unchecked.

The labyrinth’s walls unfolded like hurricane shutters welcoming me with a royal reception. The walls were mixed-color fiberglass panels, and it’s rather well-lit, so it didn’t feel scary or foreboding at all.

Also, management hosted “labyrinth events” here sometimes. I participated once. It was fun, but I wish I had friends close by—coming by myself was just sad.

Outside, the sidewalks were wide, and a myriad trees left almost no square inch without shade. Compared to my previous life’s memories, Metro Manila’s really gone a long way in urban development.

There were some people walking here and there, and a bike rolled by just a while ago—in a designated bicycle lane, no less. Still, there’s not a lot of people at all. Like I said, most people were in virtual space. 99% of the people here were “walking as a hobby” or “biking as a hobby”—though, the latter really was a hobby even back then, anyway?

The majority of the shut-ins seemed to view all us “realspacers” collectively as heroes who braved the harsh desert sands and winter bite of the outside world.

Even if it’s actually quite pleasant and windy outside. Come on guys, come outside and play~

Really, it’s so much safer these days! I could stand in the path of an automated truck on the highway and it’d sooner crash into an oil cargo train and set back the local fuel supply rather than give me a hard reset to my next life.

As for me, I’m genuinely going to the grocery store. Viva la 1% who unironically go out to do things!

Incidentally, this place was a high-rise residential block close to the center of Metro North City, the largest city in present-day Metro Manila. Even at slightly past noon, the towers in the center of the city were high enough to block out the sun. However, thanks to ★magic★, part of the sunlight gets reflected and diffused before it reaches street level, so it’s quite well-lit without even being that hot. Even at high noon, it doesn’t get blazingly hot down here. It’s pretty neat.

It’s in quiet times like these that I wonder how I’ll turn up as a Hero, though. I checked and double checked, but I’m really just a normal guy, you know? Ah, well, a normal rich kid who had an RPG-like status screen—in a world where everyone else had Augmented Reality (AR) status screens anyway!

After a short walk, I shook off my thoughts and entered a grocery store occupying a rented commercial space at the foot of another condominium building. The tarp hanging over the door read “Yokoso-san no Zenzen Zen Den”—Yokoso-san’s Absolutely Zen Den. What an amazing name for a grocery store.

Considering that every other establishment in the area had the same naming sense, it’s unfortunately not out of place at all. It’s not an exaggeration to say that, with its bright and frilly colors and anime standees, it blended in perfectly with the local commercial scene.

I went in, and…

“Ira-don’t-be-sshai!”

I wanted to leave. This could’ve been a perfect store.

By the way, Filipinos speaking in cringy Japanese was normal here—some people just did it more than others. The Japanese didn’t like it. I didn’t like it. But, the rest of the population didn’t see anything wrong with it, to the point then even I’d picked up the habit of addressing people with -san. Sigh.

I gave the titular Yokoso-san a slight nod. She’s wearing her store’s branded apron over a shirt and plain jeans. Her glasses made her look like she’s taking a master’s degree, and her hair’s tied up into a bun.

She greets everyone else “irasshai” like normal, but when it comes to me, there’s that “don’t be” in the middle.

She wants my money that bad, huh…

… Not that I’m in danger or anything…

It’s not exactly a secret that I was an Akiino. Most people wore AR contact lenses or glasses, and it was possible to instantly display someone’s name hovering over their head like some sort of NPC. Some people paid for AR ID redaction services, but those were really expensive—and I mean, really expensive. Only the rich and powerful would pay for them, and when it came to rich and powerful, there really have only been two names out there for the past two centuries.

The Akiinos and Maryukuzas.

Well, that’s what they go by nowadays, anyway.

As a result, 90% of the time, if your AR turned up a blank ID, the person you were looking at was either one of the two, and you probably shouldn’t mess with them.

In Yokoso-san’s eyes, though, that just meant more sales.

You know, we talked a bit the other week. Just a light over-the-counter chat, really. Out of curiosity, I asked her about how long she’d been running the store. It’s been almost 3 years, apparently—then she unnecessarily added that she ran the store “as a hobby”, but in reality…

She’s very broke.

“Buy as much as you like! Saa~ cough up that money, Akiino…”

I didn’t know how to say it, but my inner college student felt for her, really.

The dark circles under her eyes were like shelves for her round glasses. Round glasses ought to amplify existing cuteness, but somehow, they were amplifying her pitiable state.

Did I prefer going here because I felt bad for her? Maybe.

In reality, though, her store’s actually pretty well-managed. The shelves were always stocked, and she diligently monitored commercial trends and promptly stocked up before anyone else even realized there was about to be a price hike. Though, as she didn’t have any employees, the store only operated in the daytime.

I tried prodding about it before, but she insisted that “hobbies shouldn’t take up the whole day”.

I really, really think that she’s a nighttime student, though.

Anyway, I picked up some vegetables, fruits, and a whole lotta meat—that’s the Akiino family’s designated diet. Somehow, I was the only one who was into bread, so it’s ended up that there was a “Kaba-designated bread box” beside the fridge at home. Dad even bought a magic lock that only responded to my lonesome self—the moment I think “imma get some of that bread” with my hand reaching towards the box, the lock opens and the box pops open with fog and sound effects.

I’m pretty sure the “magic lock” was really just a normal smart lock, though. It’s pretty amazing what you could do with a bunch of wearable sensors and an unnecessarily high-end AI program.

Finishing my inspection of the aisles, my inner college student felt a bit imperiled by the fact that I was holding Php 50,000 worth of food in this one basket. Well, at least Yokoso-san looked happy. Ah, wait, that’s a bit of a twisted grin there…

The products passed through her hands and the barcode scanner in just a few blinks, then she looked at me with a face like “Come on, quickly, hand over the money”. That speed was seriously inhuman. I was pretty sure she was also a magic user, but I didn’t think she signed up with NanCo. They didn’t offer any packages that specifically helped with managing a store in the day, and living a student life at night—I mean, wow, that’d be oddly specific, huh. Custom Builds would be too expensive for Yokoso-san, on the other hand, so it must be some other provider I haven’t heard about.

“Ah, Yokoso-san.”

“Heh? Hai?”

“What magic provider are you subscribed to? It’s like your skills are all over the place.”

“Ha? A magic provider? I’m not so wasteful on hard-earned m— I mean, the cost-benefit ratio isn’t that great just for a little bit of magic, you know?”

“Eh? You don’t use magic?”

“Zenzen arimasen!”

Her haphazard use of Japanese besides, Yokoso-san used raw skills to manage a store in the day and to study at night? What a terrifying girl…

“A-Anyway, thanks again.”

“You better damn well Come again, Akiino-san!”

I mean, I will, but I really wish you’d stop throwing in unnecessary overtext left and right!

I collected my grocery bags and approached the door to leave. Just as the automatic door slid open, a commotion erupted behind me.

“Hehe, come on now, Yokoson! Come to my place!”

“Zenzen ikimasen!”

I recognized that voice. I didn’t like that voice. I turned around, and… yeah, it’s him.

Bean Maryukuza.