In a near-future Tokyo where everyone lives part of their lives in the metaverse, the popular sport 'Hollow Clearer' allows players to battle as fantastical avatars. The scene is split between idol-type and Vtuber-type competitors. Asuka Mahiro is a high school student who fights as the most hated villain avatar in Japan: 'Blackwall Orcus.' Only his teacher, Kozue Ritsuko, knows his true identity.
Meanwhile, the brilliant and elegant young lady Asogi Miu is secretly celebrated in the underworld
Persona Non Grata - The Watcher and the Budding of Love
The morning air was still cold. The thirty-eight-year-old concrete building of the Tokyo Metropolitan Sector North Third High School bore black stains from past rains. Mahiro sat in his usual seat by the window, a philosophy book open in his hands. The clamor around him felt distant. No one spoke to him. He spoke to no one. That was his place in this classroom.
First period was Information Studies. The teacher was Kasumi Ritsuko. Twenty-eight years old. Behind black-rimmed glasses, her brown eyes quietly surveyed the entire classroom from the podium. Her semi-long black hair curled lightly inward at the tips, with her bangs swept to the right. On her left wrist was a thin bracelet. Linked to a biometric sensor, it was one of her tools as a monitor.
"Today we'll be doing a case study on the Digital Personality Protection Act. Open your materials to page forty-two."
A soft, composed voice. The students obeyed without resistance. Mahiro turned the page as well. The texture of the paper felt pleasant against his fingertips.
As the lesson progressed, Ritsuko walked slowly through the classroom, peering at the students' terminals. Her footsteps made almost no sound. It was as if her very presence melted into the air.
"Asuka-kun."
Ritsuko stopped beside Mahiro's desk. Her voice was quiet, at a volume the surrounding students couldn't hear.
"Yesterday's assignment doesn't seem to have been submitted."
Mahiro looked up. His dark brown eyes met the gaze behind her glasses.
"...Sorry. I forgot."
His voice was small, so faint it seemed it might need repeating. Ritsuko furrowed her brow slightly.
"Come to the faculty office after school. Let's talk about the assignment."
"...Yes."
Mahiro dropped his gaze back to his book. Ritsuko glanced at his hands for a moment, then returned to the podium.
That afternoon. During fifth period, Modern Japanese Literature.
The teacher was writing a classical Chinese passage on the blackboard, asking students for their interpretations. Mahiro was, as always, staring out the window. Overcast skies. The wind was strong, shaking the cherry blossom branches in the schoolyard.
"Asuka."
He'd been called on. Mahiro slowly stood. The eyes of his classmates converged on him all at once. Curious eyes. Amused eyes. Watching to see how he would answer.
"Tell me your interpretation of this 'fujin'—this lack of benevolence."
Mahiro looked at the blackboard. Fujin. Without jin—without benevolence. A state that deviates from Confucian virtue. In his head, his thoughts began their usual quiet rotation.
"...It means lacking compassion. But—"
Then, abruptly, Mahiro cut himself off. The words that came out of his mouth next were ones even he hadn't anticipated.
"Benevolence this, virtue that—no matter how many pretty words you pile up, people ultimately act on their own desires. You all laughing—you're just looking down on the weak, aren't you?"
The classroom fell silent.
The teacher's eyes went wide. Classmates exchanged glances. A murmur began to spread.
Mahiro was more surprised than anyone by the words that had come out of his own mouth. That wasn't me. It felt as though something black had laughed deep inside his head.
"...My apologies. 'Fujin' refers to a state lacking in compassion."
Mahiro corrected himself, feigning composure. The teacher, still looking bewildered, simply said, "Sit down."
As Mahiro sat, the boy next to him let out a small laugh.
"Asuka, your whole vibe just changed."
Mahiro didn't respond. He just stared out the window. His heart was pounding at an unpleasant pace. His fingertips were cold.
At the back of the classroom, Ritsuko was quietly watching Mahiro. She wasn't in this class. She had been observing from the hallway. Behind her black-rimmed glasses, her eyes narrowed, as if trying to discern something.
After school. Mahiro visited the faculty office.
When he opened the door, Ritsuko was at her desk, operating her terminal. The evening light streamed through the window, softly illuminating her profile.
"You came. Sit."
Ritsuko gestured to the chair beside her. Mahiro sat in silence. A few other teachers were in the office, but each was absorbed in their own work.
"About the assignment."
Ritsuko spoke without looking up from her terminal.
"Can you tell me why it wasn't submitted?"
"...I didn't have time to do it at home."
"I see. But during class yesterday, you were staring out the window the whole time, weren't you?"
Mahiro said nothing.
Ritsuko finally lifted her eyes from the terminal and looked at Mahiro directly. Behind her glasses, her gaze was gentle, yet carried a certain measuring coldness.
"Have you been staying up late recently?"
"...Not particularly."
"Are you using a full-dive gear?"
Mahiro's shoulders tensed, just barely. Ritsuko didn't miss it.
"I'm not using one."
"I see."
Ritsuko answered curtly and closed her terminal. Then, lowering her voice slightly:
"Mahiro-kun. You've been acting strange lately."
"...Strange how?"
"Today's Modern Japanese class. Those weren't your words, were they?"
Mahiro's breath caught. His heart was pounding at that unpleasant pace again.
"That was... just a slip of the tongue."
"A slip of the tongue doesn't produce words like that."
Ritsuko's voice was quiet. But that very quietness cornered Mahiro all the more.
"Sensei, aren't you misunderstanding something about me?"
Mahiro raised his head. A faint hint of defiance surfaced in his dark brown eyes.
Ritsuko gazed at him for a long moment. Then she slowly removed her glasses and pushed them back on with her fingertips.
"...You're right. It might be a misunderstanding."
She let out a small breath.
"But if anything ever happens, you can always talk to me. I am your homeroom teacher, after all."
"...Thank you."
Mahiro stood. Ritsuko's gaze pierced his back. He didn't look back once until he'd left the faculty office.
Night. The Information Science Building of Private Hermitage Academy.
The building, bustling with students during the day, was now completely silent. Miyu was alone in the depths of the server room. High-performance servers hummed low, their pale blue light illuminating her white skin.
She donned her full-dive gear and descended into the back layer of the Virtual Commons—the Deep Layer. Her avatar: a white mist, Shroud. In that form, she moved through the dark back alleys.
"Today, I'll dig into that man's past."
Miyu's voice was converted in the virtual space into a low, clear girl's voice. She slid her fingertips through the void, deploying countless windows.
Kurokabe no Orcus.
The most hated Clear-Tool in Japan. Clad in jet-black armor and wielding a massive wall-type shield, he cornered his opponents psychologically before crushing them. His fighting style incited the audience, feeding on their hatred.
Miyu pulled up Orcus's past match records one after another. Unofficial records obtained through the back layer's information network—data that couldn't be accessed through legitimate channels in the official database. Her fingertips danced across the keyboard.
Footage played.
Orcus provoking his opponents. Precisely striking at their past traumas. Exposing their psychological weaknesses and mocking them. Then crushing them with tactics that skirted the edge of the rules.
"...This isn't just a villain."
Miyu murmured.
Orcus's methods weren't mere provocation. He saw through to the wounds deep in his opponents' hearts and targeted them precisely to break them down. Psychological warfare. And of an extremely sophisticated kind.
She traced Orcus's post-match logs. Logout timings. Traces of connection origins. Stripping away layer after layer of obfuscation, she followed his trail.
"...This time window. Every time, he logs out at almost the same moment. And the connection origin is..."
Miyu furrowed her brow. A specific area. Sector North. The Itabashi vicinity. Beyond that, deeper analysis was needed.
As she continued her analysis, she became aware of the emotions welling up in her chest. Revulsion. Fear. And, surpassing both, an intellectual curiosity.
Who is this man? Why does he fight like this?
I want to find out.
That impulse drove her fingers even faster.
The weekend. Mahiro and Miyu sat facing each other at Café Noir.
Twelve minutes on foot from Shibuya Station. A back alley at the top of the hill in Shinsencho. A small coffee shop converted from an old two-story wooden house. A hideaway beyond the reach of electronics.
The shop was filled with the aroma of roasted coffee. Behind the counter, the seventy-something owner, Kurozawa Genichiro, silently ground beans. Mahiro and Miyu were the only customers.
"The coffee here is truly delicious."
Miyu wrapped both hands around her white cup and smiled happily. Her long black hair slipped over her shoulders. Her bangs were cut straight above her brows, with a single strand falling by her ear. Her large, brownish eyes reflected the shop's soft light, gleaming amber.
"You really like coffee, huh."
Mahiro said, watching her smile.
"Yes. But I don't drink it much at home. Drinking alone feels... flavorless."
"...Coffee alone isn't so bad either."
"Is it? I prefer drinking with someone."
Miyu looked at Mahiro. Her eyes were those of a girl without her perfect ojousama mask—her true self.
Mahiro averted his gaze slightly. A warmth spread through his chest. This feeling was completely different from the exhilaration of fighting as Orcus. It was quieter. Softer.
"...Actually, there was something I wanted to ask you."
"What is it?"
"Are you interested in philosophy?"
Miyu tilted her head.
"Philosophy... I don't understand difficult things very well, but what you talk about is interesting, Mahiro-kun. I'd like to hear more."
Mahiro, slightly embarrassed, stared at the cup in his hands.
"I've been thinking about death lately."
"Death?"
"Everyone dies someday. No one can avoid it. But death itself isn't what scares me. What's frightening is never being needed by anyone until you die. Disappearing without ever having been anyone."
Mahiro's voice was quiet. But his words carried a weight that seemed wrenched from the depths of his heart.
Miyu listened in silence.
"Good and evil are ultimately relative, aren't they? Change your perspective, and justice and evil swap places. Absolute good doesn't exist anywhere."
"...That's a rather sad way of thinking."
"Sad?"
"Yes. Because if good and evil are relative, then you can't believe in anyone—or even in yourself."
Miyu looked directly at Mahiro.
"But I want to believe. That justice exists. That helping someone isn't wrong."
Mahiro gazed back into her eyes. They were beautiful eyes. Strong will and faint anxiety mingled within them.
"...You're strong."
"I'm not strong at all. I'm terribly weak."
Miyu smiled faintly. That smile tightened Mahiro's chest.
Her words strangely overlapped with the ideology of Orcus that she had investigated last night as Shroud. The relativity of good and evil. Doubt in absolute justice. The words Orcus spoke during matches.
A chill ran down Miyu's spine.
(Why? Why do Mahiro-kun's words overlap with that man's ideology?)
She hid her agitation and brought the coffee cup to her lips. Her fingertips trembled faintly.
By the time they left the shop, it was dark outside.
They walked down the hill side by side. The streetlights stretched their shadows long. Mahiro matched Miyu's pace, walking slowly.
"Thank you for today. I had a wonderful time."
"Me too. ...Can we meet again?"
At Mahiro's words, Miyu stopped.
"Yes. Of course."
She smiled. That smile seemed especially vivid in the darkness of the night.
"Next time, please tell me more about the books you're reading."
"Yeah. ...If my rambling's okay with you."
They began walking again.
At that moment, Miyu's hand accidentally touched Mahiro's fingers. Just for an instant. So brief it was hard to tell if they'd touched at all.
Both of them stopped at the s
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