Chapter 30: Gematria

"…So? What did you want to talk about…?"

Night had fully fallen, leaving only a sky full of stars you’d never see in the city and a white moon climbing the ceiling of the sky. Everyone had already gone to sleep—except, presumably, for one PMC guard stationed on the opposite side as lookout. Once silence settled over the area, this man—who looked every bit like a stereotypical villain—summoned me out.

Two people alone in pitch darkness, stranded in the wilderness with death hanging overhead. No way something wouldn’t happen… well, just kidding. At least with this man in black, there’s no chance he’s after anything indecent. If that’s the case, then—

"Do you remember the device you gave me when we made our deal before?"

…Knew it.

A device. Ninety-nine percent chance he means the pseudo-Mystic replication device—the “Benedictus Halo” I handed him back when I was still working as a Cleaner, in exchange for his Mystic Destruction Bomb.

And I already know what he’s getting at.

"…Either the system doesn’t function properly… or what it produced was something completely different from what you expected… Am I wrong?"

"So you did know."

Right. The “Benedictus Halo” I gave him back then can’t generate a Halo the same way a Cleaner does. It’s only pseudo. What comes out is a mechanical, gear-shaped imitation—something that only resembles a Halo. I knew that from the start.

"When I activated it, what appeared was an inferior substitute with far worse anti-material performance than a real Halo… and, above all, what it contained was something similar to the Mystic, but absolutely not the real thing."

"Huh."

"Something that only resembles the Mystic… you knew, didn’t you? You knew this would happen."

"…"

I stare back at that unreadable expression as he studies me.

"So? Assuming that’s all true…?"

"I’m not here to blame you."

"Oh?"

"What I sought was a copy of the Cleaner-equipped Benedictus Halo. And you reproduced the exact same thing—perfectly. Correct?"

"…"

Exactly.

I reproduced that weapon—that “out-of-place relic” called the Benedictus Halo—perfectly. Not a single millimeter off.

Like I told the Observers before, this is thanks to what you could call my supernatural ability—or cheat skill.

There are limits, but as long as I have the materials and a facility, I can create whatever I want. The catch is that I can’t understand the mechanism myself, so I can’t reproduce the item twice—in other words, a built-in restriction exists.

Once, I recreated an electric massager from my previous life—yes, that kind of vibrator. Obviously to use for its intended purpose, okay? And sure enough, it came out perfectly. But—predictably—I couldn’t make a second one. Even though it’s simple enough that anyone could build one without cheats.

I can repair one, but I can’t make another from scratch. It’s outside my specialty, so I don’t really get it, but it probably ties into this whole “Mystic” business. Or maybe the gods slapped that shackle onto me. I mean, if I could mass-produce nuclear warheads with this skill, that’d be pretty bad.

"Right. I recreated, perfectly, the exact same mechanism mounted on the Cleaners…"

"If that’s true, then I can form a hypothesis."

"A hypothesis…?"

The man in black raises one finger.

"The Benedictus Halo isn’t a device that generates Mystics from nothing. It reproduces an existing Mystic—literally re-creates it."

"…Huh. Guess you really are a shady adult. Sharp instincts."

"Anyone could figure it out with this many hints."

He explains: the device called the Benedictus Halo likely isn’t meant to generate Mystics from scratch, but rather to replicate a pre-existing Mystic in some form.

"If that’s the case, then it makes perfect sense that the one I received from you doesn’t function properly—it has no sample through which to reproduce anything."

"Correct-o."

"And if that’s true, another question arises."

The man in black points above my head—where, though invisible, a Halo should be floating.

—Whose Halo is his?

…

"No idea. I don’t know."

"…"

"How would I know? Sure, the shape resembles mine, but my Halo is still attached. It’s not mine."

"I see. You won’t tell me."

"I’m telling you—I don’t know."

Silence hangs between us.

"…It can’t be helped, then. Let’s drop the topic here."

"…Sure, whatever."

"I’m not going to force you."

The man in black turns his back to me and heads toward the shipwreck.

"…Going to sleep?"

"Yes. It’s already late. You should sleep soon as well. Staying up all night is bad for someone your age in the middle of their growth."

"…Says the guy who calls himself a ‘bad adult’…"

"Indeed. Also, while I didn’t expect you to be a student, our relationship remains unchanged. If anything happens, rely on me. I’ll help however I can."

"…Relationship?"

"Yes. Because for four. whole. years—
you’ve been a valued comrade of Gematria."

—Excuse me?

…Excuse me?

"Morning, Komori-chan."

"Ah… good morning, Sensei…"

…Excuse me?
Wait—what?

"Good morning, Amari-san. Those dark circles look awful. Are you alright?"

Of course they look awful! Because I couldn’t sleep! Because of you!

I really couldn’t sleep. Seriously. What does this even mean? What is going on?

Observers, listen. Don’t misunderstand. Yes, there are things I haven’t told you. But that’s normal—I’m just one person. So please believe me when I say this:

I am NOT part of Gematria!! Don’t lump me in with that bunch of degenerates!!

Sure, I’ve killed people through the Cleaners. I’ve tortured people. I’ve hurt others simply because it was inconvenient for me. I’ve even taken money to… do things to kids smaller than me… Wait.
Wait. Am I actually… kind of a piece of garbage…?

"Aw… awawawa…"

"A-are you okay, Komori-san?"

"Hii!? P-Public Safety Bureau… don’t arrest me!!"

"I told you, we’re not arresting you!"

…Siiigh… huuuh…

Okay. I’m calm. I’m calm.

Let’s… sort things out. A few hours ago, what did the man in black say to me?

"Gematria."

No matter how I replay it, he really said that.

Gematria—the term refers to a method of numerical conversion. A technique used in esoteric traditions like the Kabbalah, converting words written in the 22 Hebrew letters of the Old Testament into numbers… and also, in this world, the name of a so-called evil organization. Seekers of the Sublime. A “Sensei Lovers Club.”
…Huh? I feel like some weird information just slipped in there.

Anyway, they’re a bad group. Me—someone who should have been a lone, solitary wolf—being counted among them is insulting, not to mention nonsensical.

"……"

I glance over suspiciously; the man in black waves at me.

…He also said something else back then. “Four years ago.”

Four years ago—that would’ve been my third year of middle school, when my sense of self wasn’t firmly established… and, more importantly, back when I still went outside and hadn’t become a shut-in.

Me, joining Gematria back then? Impossible. Even considering the period before my past-life memories settled in—still impossible. In both my past life and this one, I’ve never been good with groups. Before my memories settled, I was just a gloomy, introverted girl. There’s no way someone like that would have had contact with a major organization. I checked my memories—there’s nothing.

Besides, around that time, I was still—

…Wait.
Hold on. Could it be…? That would mean…

No, but… however…

"Komori-chan! Breakfast is ready!"

"—! Mm, Sensei… I’m coming."

…No point thinking any further right now. Food comes first. My stomach is screaming, Hurry up and feed me already.

I shook off the doubts clinging to my head and walked toward the smell of breakfast.

…Hey.
Just what were you trying to do?

"BU—EHHHCHOO!!"

In the blinding white of a snowfield, a thunderous sneeze echoed through the air. Its owner looked around in embarrassment—but aside from the four of them, no one else was there. Just an endless silver world of snow stretching in every direction.

"A-are we really going the right way!?"

"…Probably? The info Komori left behind pointed us toward this direction."

"Are we suuure~? What if we get lost too and end up frozen stiff~?"

"D-don’t say scary things like that!!"

Crunch, crunch—the four girls continued onward, their colorful outfits completely at odds with the white backdrop.

And then, a guttural roar reached their ears.

"ORRRRROOOOOOO!!"

"Eek!? B-BEAR!!?"

Thick white fur. Somehow it had gotten close without them noticing. It reared up on its hind legs, spreading its arms wide to intimidate them.

But that roar was erased a second later by a single gunshot.

"I—I won’t forgive anyone who gets in Al-sama’s way!!"

A crazed voice, followed by repeated gunfire.

"Right, Al-sama!?"

The pitiful creature—no longer even recognizable—collapsed. The girl wearing a dazzling smile looked up toward her leader. The leader’s face blanched; she averted her eyes immediately. But she still nodded firmly, bracing herself.

"That’s right! Whoever gets in our way—no mercy! We’ll show them what happens when they lay a hand on one of our employees!!"

The four girls pressed forward through the pathless white wilderness, all to retrieve a beloved staff member—
all to make the world understand the terror of provoking Repair & Maintenance Service No. 68.

…As for why they were walking instead of riding a sled or truck across the snow—financial limitations—that particular detail will be omitted for the President’s dignity.