Chapter 8: Remotely Close【Part 1】
【言語に関するご注意 / Language Notice】本作はすべて、英語と英語の表現で書かれています。翻訳作品ではなく、オリジナルの英語ライトノベルです。あらかじめご了承の上、作品をお楽しみください。
See chapter one for the main author's note.
Daiki
International law exists to preserve what we call humanity. It is supposed to separate us—from the wild animals. Even in the bleakest theater of war, the rules dictate you must give your enemy the chance to surrender. Or, at the very least, treat them with dignity.
Yet, a ‘destroy at will’ order seems to be issued for this table.
Orange juice sprays across her cheeks like shrapnel.
Sausages fly like missiles, straight into his mouth.
Bang!
Plates rattle and glasses dance as my hands slam the table.
“Shin, Sora! Could you two at least pretend to be human!?” I yell. “We are in public in, case you forgot!”
The ceasefire request is denied.
Without slowing down, they continue their relentless assault on the plates, blinking at me with cheeks bulging like hamsters.
“I didn’t know breakfast could taste this good—” Shin chokes out, spraying stray crumbs.
“Told you this place has amazing food!” Sora gulps down her juice. “Wait until you see the seafood joint I went to yesterday. Right, Masaki?”
Masaki does not answer, or move.
A forkful of fruit hovers halfway to his mouth as he watches the onslaught. Total shell shock.
I take cover, leaning across the table toward him. “Psst. Masaki. Let’s evacuate to the corner table of the patio and pretend we’ve never seen these two before in our lives.”
“Hey! I can hear you, Commander Subtle!” Sora barks, brandishing a half-eaten sausage like a gavel and pointing it to me.
“I am just trying to look out for my friend here,” I say, putting up my hands defensively. “I don’t want him associated with the roving bandits who sacked the island’s supplies in their first week.”
“We are high-class culinary reviewers,” Sora counters, pointing her fork at me before taking another bite from sausage, her tone shifting. “Seriously though, who cooks all this? Did they kidnap a divine being and lock them in the kitchen?”
“Just like most things on this island. Students,” I retort.
Masaki blinks, finally recovering. “Wait, wasn’t your sister in the culinary branch too, Daiki?”
“She just helped out. She knows next to nothing about food—last time I saw her, she couldn’t even fry an egg. Joining that branch was just a way to lean into power.”
Shin stops chewing, his brows furrowing. “Wait. The chefs have political muscle here?”
“An absurd amount,” I say, leaning back like an armchair historian. “Similar to the entertainment branch, the culinary branch holds ridiculous leverage here. A large food supply imbalance in the school’s first year made their expertise indispensable—it was all over the national news at the time. Ever since then, they’ve held on to their elevated position.”
“Oh! Oh!” Masaki shoots a finger upward. “The Saturated Year?!”
“Bingo.” I snap my fingers, pointing at the prize winner.
Shin crowds in on the prize. “So then your sister must have just missed that year?”
I nod. “She did, but—”
“Bzzzt!” Sora slams her hand flat on the table between us. “The history lesson is officially over. I would like to spend our few free days without a teacher—thank you.”
With that decree, breakfast passes more peacefully. The meal finally grinds to an end, leaving behind a battlefield of pillaged platters and crumpled napkins. But peace is a fragile thing.
“No way! You ate way more sausages than me!” Shin jumps up, thumping both hands on the table before lifting a dramatic finger toward the empty, greasy plate between them. “You’re paying for those!”
Masaki shoots across the table, headbutting Shin in the forehead. “What!? Do you think I am dumb!?” he yells, face-to-face “I only had five at most! You literally vacuumed that platter dry!”
Shin grinds his head his forehead back against him, trying to push him away. “Caveman! Clearly those sausages went straight up instead of down, because your math is completely off!”
A waiter approaches our table with a booklet and a mobile terminal, bewildered by the sudden outbreak in his section.
Before he can open his mouth, I slide my student ID card across the table and make intense eye contact with him.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper.
The waiter gives a slow, solemn nod. He taps his terminal against the card and slips away into the background.
I don’t think the two even noticed him coming, let alone leaving.
Lost in their tunnel-visioned standoff, Masaki snarls at Shin, grabbing his collar. “If you think I’m letting you stuff your—”
Smack. Smack.
I slap both of their foreheads, parting them back into their respective seats. “Guys, that is enough games for today.”
The force is heavy enough to factory-reset them both out of bickering mode, leaving them to passively rub their reddening foreheads.
“Anyway, Shin, if you are finished fighting,” I continue, shaking the sting out of my hands. “Are you still up for going to the RemoteLines Center?”
“Huh?” Shin blinks a few times at me, then turns his gaze back to the street. “Oh. Nah. I changed my mind. I’ll go this evening instead to maximize my sun time today.”
I look around the table at the others. “Anybody else?”
“...”
Oh, so now they can be silent all of a sudden.
Sora is already glued to her phone screen, oblivious to the world around her. Masaki is vanity-checking his ruffled hair in the window reflection, ignoring Shin, who sits pouting and wound-licking right in front of it.
“Fine. Suit yourselves,” I sigh. I pocket my card and stand up. “I’m heading out. Maybe I can still beat the rush hour.”
Leaving the cool shade of the cafe awning, the morning sun warms my shoulders. It is a liberating feeling—shaking off the stagnant weight of the long sit as I blend seamlessly into the sprawling arteries of the city.
The main boulevards pack tight with currents of pedestrians. Along the edges of the crowd, a few heads bop above the rest, gliding at a steadier pace. They weave through the foot traffic effortlessly on inline skates.
It sure looks faster, even in a dense crowd like this. I make a mental note to check out shops that could sell them later—navigating this city entirely on foot looks like it will get exhausting fast.
Sweet aromas of caramelized sugar and fresh-baked bread drift from the flanking buildings, competing to draw customers onto their patios.
A quick glance at my phone screen confirms the flashing dot is still heading in the right direction. But the moment I reach the next intersection, curiosity attacks from all sides at once.
At the center, a circled crowd cheers as students fuse street dancing with skate tricks.
Nearby, tall vertical digital boards cycle through coded entries with fixed percentages. People huddle underneath, tracking the data with intense stares. Whatever they are searching for is a mystery—the entries are coded by seemingly random numerics?
An unexpected sight at the edge of the intersection snaps my focus away.
A lone, sleek glass pillar.
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Discover what happens next in: Chapter 8: Remotely Close【Part 2】
Written by Limited_Infinity. Extras, official publishing platforms and updates are publicly available only on the Patreon page “_Limited_Infinity_”
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