I somewhat felt bad about this, but I gotta do it.

 

“Ano… Vernier-san, Savannah-san, gomen, but I’ve decided to strike out on my own.”

Both sides of the negotiating table went wide-eyed. The fanatical armies of pitchfork-wielding contract lawyers behind them drooped their shoulders down in disappointment.

I was seated in the middle. The negotiations had been going on for all of 30 seconds, then I dropped that bomb. Way to go, me.

It didn’t look like anyone wanted to say anything, so I promptly stood up. I waited again for anyone to say anything—anything at all—but no one bit the bait, so I bowed with as much courtesy I can muster, and teleported back to Katipunan.

Gah—feels bad, man.

Mom and dad were right, though. Why would I join an organization who didn’t really represent what I wanted? Besides, I still had that thing to take care of—well, more like for Tamago-san to take care of. I just throw cash at problems, really. Maybe that’s what Moses meant when he said I’d get Heaven-sent cheats? In that case, he wasn’t wrong.

A Shady Bar was as shady as ever. The bartender tipped his head to me, and I, to him. I’d tried to strike up an offhand conversation with him about what happened the other day, but he’d insisted that he didn’t know what I was talking about. It was probably that “What happens in the bar, stays in the bar (for up to 24 hours)” user data policy in play. Pretty sure the bartender still recognized me, though, since I’m starting to become a bit of a regular here.

It didn’t take too long before my trusty egg-shelled contact showed up—I looked left, then right, then when I looked left, Tamago-san was suddenly there.

There were bandages wrapped around Tamago-san’s eggface. Before I could ask anything about it, a manila folder materialized in front of me. The bartender swiftly moved to the far side of the bar, and so I opened it.

… Ah, this name.

Bean Maryukuza.

“How on earth—”

I turned my head to ask, but Tamago-san had disappeared.

The guy really wants me to look at it first before asking any questions, huh?

Ah, wait, my Perception’s kicking in.

Okay, so I’m pretty sure Tamago-san’s just hiding behind one of the benches here. Ah, looks like they’re in the corner with the sad-vibing NPC, watching for my reaction through a thumb-sized hole in a newspaper.

Fine, fine, I’ll give you your reaction.

 

…

 

No, yeah, I’ve gotten myself in some conspiracy shit.

 

Bean Maryukuza apparently owned a nonprofit called the Centrist Central Cultural Corporation—that’s a mouthful, so I’m calling it C-4 Corp, and damn right was it a bomb.

C-4 Corp supposedly “fairly and equitably promotes cultural development” by donating to “eligible cultural entities”.

Those cultural entities? Cults.

They weren’t lying at all, though. According to the money trail that Tamago-san compiled, they really were donating to cults no matter who they were, free of any transactional obligations that otherwise should’ve shown up with this much cold cash being thrown around.

What were interesting were the donation patterns. Conveniently, Tamago-san managed to copy the ledger data between C-4 Corp and the Revivalists and Obstructionists—amongst a list of hundreds of other cults. The sheer volume of data made me wonder just how much free time Tamago-san really had. Anyway, I cross-referenced the donation dates against the asset fluctuations of the two cults—which is publicly-available data, by the way, because most cults do have publicly-traded affiliate corporations just floating around, don’t know why—and lo and behold, whenever one cult started to dip towards financial extinction, C-4 Corp would inject fresh funds and keep it afloat. The thing was, if one cult got more powerful, then its opponents would grow weaker by sheer attrition through armed virtual conflict. C-4 Corp would inject a hefty amount of survival funds in the losing side and momentarily “accidentally” miss out on funding the winning side.

It’s impossible for C-4 Corp to not know that it was basically perpetuating conflict that kept anyone from truly growing. In a way, C-4 Corp was fighting a proxy war against itself—playing 4-D chess against itself.

I had a lot of questions, and first among them was why Bean Maryukuza even bothered with any of this. The way I’m looking at it, it’s just a massive monetary black hole. He can’t possibly be making any actual money out of perpetuating this conflict, at least not by itself. Maybe the conspiracy actually went even deeper, and there’s a 4th party that was compensating Bean for stirring up a mess. In that case, what’s the 4th party’s motive? What would they gain from a perpetual conflict between cults?

…Ah.

The cults were meant to organize the Heroes, so…

Heaven’s enemies, I guess? It makes the most sense with the least amount of mental gymnastics. It might not actually be them, honestly, since for all I know, Bean’s just making it a hobby to pit cults against each other and watch them fight and make bets about it.

Come to think of it, that’s another way to make money out of it, huh? The Political Arena already exists, so there’s no real reason why a Cult Arena couldn’t exist.

It still didn’t discount the fact that Heaven’s enemies might’ve influenced him with the idea, but anyway, that’s above my paygrade. Leave the higher-dimensional warfare to higher dimensions, so they say—though, not like anyone actually says that.

All I could do was what was right in front of me: defeating C-4 Corp!

[QUEST ACTIVATED]

Ah, wow, I didn’t think I’d get one of these.

It showed up in my virtual overlay. Good thing that it hijacked the menu that was already in Metro Manila Online, so it didn’t look weird at all that I was interacting with some invisible thing in the air. It was sort of neat that it also flawlessly integrated into the UI, to the point that there were new navigation options in the main menu that didn’t feel awkward at all. Come to think of it, I also had a virtual overlay in realspace, but it had a different design. I wonder if it’d conform to the changed UI all the same.

Anyway, I wasn’t sure about the significance of this notification. Did I get something for finishing a Quest? A lot of fictions have these weird status overlays, along with an experience system and a way to organize “Skills” and stuff, so normally finishing a Quest would give me some EXP and/or some nice Skills, but it didn’t seem to me that EXP nor Skills were a thing here.

Come to think of it, I did have a Status system, didn’t I?

I hadn’t bothered to look at it all these years, so I’m not sure what to expect. It wasn’t so hard to find it in my virtual overlay, which I’ll credit to the amazing UX delivery from whoever’s managing my Status. I focused on a few parts of the Status summary and I noticed that some of the terms that I’d seen before, like “NT Charge” and “C/S Aptitude”, were gone. There still wasn’t any EXP bar as well.

Perhaps the most interesting thing was the implication that my Status was being actively updated by someone, shaving off unnecessary details and streamlining the overall experience. Though, I really hoped that I’d get something added so it won’t feel like I’d been totally kept out of the fantastical stuff like Skills, but I guess they wouldn’t actually do something like that unless it was actually useful for me. The special attention was nice, I guess.

For now, I had to grapple against a Bean-managed conspiracy that fueled infinite inter-cult conflict. Not really sure how to go about it.

Ah, I actually knew a couple of ex-Bean employees, didn’t I? Maybe I could ask them about some things.

Too bad I couldn’t use my virtual persona to meet with them. It’s common sense to keep a wall between one’s realspace and virtual space selves, at least for those of us who bother to exist in realspace—beyond eating and drinking, at least. It’s not that it’s some sort of profound security issue. It’s more like bumping into a wholesome officemate you’re on good terms with in a strip club.

Yosh—let’s do some intelligence gathering! But first, gotta leave…

“Oh my, I wonder where Tamago-san went. I guess I’ll just home and think this over, then. So much stuff to think about, wow.”

I made sure to say that out loud with the worst fake acting impression I could manage. I thought I heard an eggshell crack and cry from a certain corner somewhere, but I ignored it and left the bar. I went back to my spawn point—a rowdy public plaza surrounded by shipping containers filled with shops selling cookies, alcohol, and guns and ammunition—and logged out.

 

 

It was still the afternoon, so I thought it was still a non-suspicious time to go to Yokoso-san’s. Once again, I found my sister waiting by the dining table in a magical girl outfit. Once again, I skillfully evaded both the questions in my head and my sister’s attempted bullying, and left the condo.

It’s kinda interesting that the three ex-Bean employees ended up splitting off and working in different places. I really thought they’d forged some sort of brotherhood from the shared trauma of working for Bean, but I guess they wouldn’t pass on taking advantage of their newfound freedom. One ended up working for dad’s company, while another worked for mom’s—apparently one guy had a talent in videography, and the other in audio engineering, so yay for them, I guess.

The last guy…

“Irassha—ah?”

The man at the register paused the moment we crossed eyes. He was wearing shades, and his tattoos were snaking down his arms. His apron was pink and fluffy, contrasting against the bodyguard suit he wore underneath.

I’m pretty sure there’s some sort of kevlar lining under that apron.

Ah, he started crying.

After patting him on the back for a few minutes, his eyes and nose cleared up enough for us to have a decent conversation.

“I’m just here to ask about your last job—ah.”

He started crying again. Was it really that bad?

“S- Sorry, but—no, I’m actually happy here. Boss-san treats me well.”

“That’s great! But, ano ne, I actually wanted to ask about—”

“N- no way, you know about Project Schism?!”

Insert flying dogeza here.

“I confess to my crimes! I plead guilty! I was just following orders!”

Nani.

He told me everything he knew before I’d even popped the question. What’s more was that he was pre-emptively answering all the questions that popped up in my head one after the other. Maybe the guy had a talent for divination or something? Ah, well, if this were a magic-fueled world, maybe.

Project Schism—divide and divide the cults. Nope, not “divide and conquer” but “divide and divide”, which sort of drove home the point that they really just wanted to be spectators to an infinite conflict. Bodyguard-san confirmed that Bean was actively involved, and he even had a small army of financial warfare strategists to make sure none of the cults were actually annihilated. There were even links to the black market, with Bean’s partners selling virtual weapons and ammunition to the cults while taking a slice off the bets that came from the gambling operation that sprouted up around the spectacle.

It turned out that they were making a killing out of the whole operation, and it was completely self-sustaining. I mean, this was all basically what I expected, so all I got was confirmation.

The spicy new info, though, was the location of a data warehouse in Metro Manila Online. They had their ledgers there. If I could get my hands on them, I could show them to… Wait, I already basically had their ledgers, didn’t I? Tamago-san already got the data, after all, which had to mean that they’d already broken into that same data warehouse.

I couldn’t imagine that the security would have been so lax that Tamago-san just walked in, so it must’ve been a pain to get in there—or not, and Tamago-san was actually really talented? Wow, I suddenly feel like being more generous with my tips.

Speaking of talented…

“Ne, where’s Yokoso-san, by the way?”

“Ah? Boss-san left me in charge for the past two days. I’m not really sure where she is right now.”

Wow, she’s got a lot of trust in Bodyguard-san just to leave him to singlehandedly run the store without her for a whole two days—though, wasn’t it just Wednesday today? Even if she was a nightshift student, what was she doing this entire time that she had to brush off the store during the weekdays? I’m sure that she’d just crush any exams under the pure weight of skill or talent, but—no way, something even heavier than exams?

“Areh? I was always here, you know?”

Bodyguard-san and I had an out-of-body experience for a split second there. She appeared behind him out of nowhere—even if I was facing in that direction, I still didn’t notice her! And I had a Perception subscription! A non-subscriber could evade literal magic with just pure skill, what the heck!

“Ne, Akiino-san, I heard something interesting from your conversation just now~”

She smiled and poked a dimple, leaning towards me. Her eyes were happy, and her pose too cute, to the point that I thought I saw a halo behind her—before her eyes abruptly sharpened into the eyes of an interrogator. Ah. She basically overheard something equivalent to a drug cartel’s secret.

Here we go~