Chapter 34: Booting up.

───A parallel world.

Parallel worlds; multiverses. I’m sure you’ve heard those terms before. Right—the kind of setting you see in sci-fi stories. Put simply, imagine the world we live in now—let’s call it the real world. Now imagine another “real world” that’s similar, yet different in some way. A world where a version of you who isn’t you exists, surrounded by friends who aren’t your friends. Almost the same, but not quite—another possibility that could have been.

To put it even more simply, it’s like having a second save file in a game.

So why have I spent so much time talking about this? What does any of it matter?

Naturally, it leads to the skeletal corpse that Imo and I dug up.

Let me start with the conclusion: that was what became of me. To be precise, it was another world’s version of me.

The time of death was probably three to four years ago. The cause was a bullet to the chest—the damage was still visible on the bone. Plus, I saw it in a “dream.”

…What’s with that reaction? Too stunned to speak? “That’s impossible”? “Did you fail your SAN check when you found the corpse?” That kind of thing?

Just listen already. I’ve known about the existence of parallel worlds for a while. After all—the proof of it is me.

Think about it. I have memories of a previous life—an obviously bizarre thing to have. And not just any memories, but memories of a world where this one exists as a game.

You could dismiss those memories as coincidence, or as the delusions of a lunatic. But if they’re real, then the existence of parallel worlds becomes obvious.

Whether the Producer in the real world sensed this world and turned it into a game, or whether this world was born because the Producer created that game—I don’t know. But the fact remains: “Blue Archive” and the real world are at least two parallel worlds that undeniably exist.

If those two worlds exist, then it isn’t strange if others exist too. Maybe other games—Mo○Han, Ar○Knights—might have their own worlds.

…Whoops, got sidetracked.

Anyway—you get that parallel worlds are a thing. Next is why I can say with certainty that the corpse was me. One reason is that despite the estimated time of death, a Peacemaker engraved with “the cleaner logo I designed” was buried there. But that’s only part of it. The bigger reason is the “dreams” I keep seeing.

Ah—! You’re thinking, “There she goes again with her vague nonsense!”

Well, I can’t help it. I’m not fully convinced myself.

You know how dreams work, right? They don’t appear out of nowhere; they’re a scrambled mix of information you’ve already experienced. If you suddenly saw a face you’ve never encountered in your life, that would just be horror.

But in these dreams… obviously, I’ve never boarded that flying battleship, nor have I ever looked down at myself lying inside a coffin.

So no, it isn’t a horror development.

As for the cause—I had a hypothesis. And it seems I was right. Probably.

Remember when the former directors kidnapped me and I checked through my belongings? My clothes, my leggings, and… the “bracelet.”

Anyone who knows me would have noticed something odd. “Why would a shut-in like Amari Komori bother accessorizing with a bracelet?”

…Hey, wait—that’s wrong. I do accessorize! I’m still a high school girl, you know!

Ah—right, sorry. What I meant was, “Why would I record something as trivial as a bracelet in my inventory?” I’m careless. I don’t write down unnecessary details. Probably.

Which means—ironically—the bracelet must be an important key item.

Ta-da-da-daaa—dadan-dan-daaaaaaaan

Miii-saaaaan-gaaa!

Okay, no. Its proper name is Enchanter—“one that grants enchantments.”

Its effect: whatever it touches gains the anti-Mystic attribute. Even students who won’t budge when hit with a metal pipe (excluding me) will take damage if you strike them while holding the pipe together with this thing. Basically, it’s a Mystic Bane effect. Its material is the same as that used in Mystic Breaker Rounds.

I wore it as an emergency tool. Because of its nature, it glows faintly when touching something with mystic energy. (In my case, it never glowed—probably because my mystic is pathetically low.)

And I pressed that Enchanter against the corpse presumed to be “me.”

Result: nothing. Not even a flicker.

Because it was dead? Wrong.

According to intel I got from the black suits, a student loses most of their mystic when they die along with their halo—but a small amount lingers for at least five years, like a residual scent. I don’t know how they got such grim intel, but based on that, the corpse should still have had mystic. It would be strange if it didn’t.

Yet the corpse had none.

Meaning “I” had already lost my mystic before dying.

So—where did that mystic go?

Now we finally connect this to another mystery: “the Cleaner’s Benedictus Halo.”

The Benedictus Halo—an Artificial Mystic Reproduction Device. To fully function, it needs a source mystic to copy. So whose mystic served as the origin for the Halo used by the Cleaner?

You get it now, right?

The other me’s mystic was used as the material for the Benedictus Halo.

And how that relates to these memories—I call it mystic interference.

Two identical mystics—normally impossible—coexisting in the same world, in close proximity. Their signals cross and intertwine. As a result, the memories of the other me—the “Cleaner” who possesses my mystic—flowed into my mind. That’s the hypothesis. Maybe the reason my mystic is weak is because of this interference… well, that’s wishful thinking.

How is it? Not a bad theory, right?

…Honestly, I’ve suspected this for a while. Anyone who’s made things before will understand: even if you forget, your creations have quirks that make you go, “Huh? Did I make this?” That kind of feeling.

From the beginning, I was certain the Cleaner’s Benedictus Halo was something I created. I even told Sensei confidently, “I made that.” If I’d been wrong, I would’ve sounded like a huge liar.

Also, considering I was able to bypass the rule of my absurd creation ability—“I cannot create the same thing twice”—it was clear this wasn’t something made by “the me of this world.”

Once I laid out all the information, the truth was easy to reach. My certainty only solidified just now, but still.

"Fwaaah…"

…Phew. Talking this long made me sleepy. I don’t know whether you Observers even bothered reading a rant like that, but good work if you did.

For those who didn’t read it, here’s the summary: “The corpse was me from a parallel world; the Benedictus Halo was made by that parallel-world me; the mystic packed into it also belonged to her; the memories I shouldn’t have are ones I absorbed through her mystic, which the Cleaner possessed; the Cleaner is one of the creations that other me sent here after something happened.” That’s the gist, yeah?

Ah, and this ship is probably the same. It’s obviously over-technology. I doubt anyone but a cheat-level me could make something like this.

…Thinking it over, even a theory that dramatic is meaningless right now. Even if I wanted to verify it, I’d need to examine “my mystic” built into the Cleaner—which has been confiscated. Until then, a theory is only a theory. I want to investigate what the Cleaner and that other me were trying to do, and why she joined Gematria in the first place—but that’s not for now.

What matters now is figuring out how to escape this stranded situation—not running answer-checks on my personal mysteries.

"…Mm… so I’m gonna sleep now…"

"Wait wait wait wait!!"

Someone shook me with a decent amount of force—ruff-ruff-ruff.

I forced my heavy eyelids open—and right in front of me was a hulking, doll-like robot. The former director.

"…What…? I’m tired… let me sleep…"

I glared at him. I was exhausted—an all-nighter followed by hard labor—I was dead tired, in a terrible mood. On top of that, I’d just explained everything from one to ten for you Observers who were probably dying to know what happened yesterday. I’m even more tired now. Huh? “You were the one who started talking”? Shut up shut up shut up! I’m sleepy!!

"Not ‘sleepy’—I mean, could you explain this soon?"

He pointed at the complicated-looking console installed in front of the chair where I had curled up to sleep, as well as the multiple control devices beyond it.

Simply put—we were at the ship’s control center: the bridge.

"…It’s exactly what it looks like. Okay, I’m sleeping…"

"Hey! …Sigh… We saw the flare and rushed over to find out what happened—and look what we’ve stumbled on."

"Yeah… um, I’m tired too, so can I sleep a little?"

"Of course you can’t!!"

"Sorry, Komori-chan. Can you stay awake a little longer?"

"…If you say so, Sensei… fine…"

With bleary eyes, I looked around again.

We were on the same bridge as yesterday. Present were Sensei, Kanna-san, Aru-sama and her group, the two Informants, the former director, the black suits, and several PMC soldiers. Everyone except the PMCs still in hibernation had gathered here.

Outside the bridge windows, the fully risen sun shone brilliantly over the snowy landscape.

Ah, right. The standby team saw the flare Imo launched yesterday and arrived. Now they were starting to investigate the ship. I’d been too tired and forgot.

"Sigh… What an insane find. Instead of a comms device, you found an airship?"

"A flying battleship."

"That detail doesn’t matter… So? Does it work or not?"

Bang-bang. He slapped the console. People say broken machines recover if you smack them at a 45-degree angle—but realistically, you should just send them in for repairs.

"Hm… I don’t know… Sure, I’m good with machines… but this is the first time I’ve seen something like this… Judging by appearance, the reactor and main systems seem intact… but it won’t respond at all… maybe it’s out of fuel? Black suits, find anything…?"

"…A relic of the Nameless Priestess…? No, that’s wrong… It doesn’t match any known OOPArts… fascinating…"

"…Useless."

"O-oh. I see…"

Even the usually reliable black suits were mumbling nonsense—totally unhelpful.

"…Seems you’re stuck, aren’t you?"

That was when it happened. From directly behind me, a divine aura radiated. (From Komori’s POV.)

That’s right—our Aru-sama.

As expected of Aru-sama. Had she already figured out why the ship wouldn’t activate—something none of us could determine?

I looked up, hope swelling in my chest… and a flicker of anxiety… and what I saw was—

"Broken machines get fixed if you smack them at a 45-degree angle!"

"Ah—President, hold on."

She was just about to strike the console with a karate chop.

Let me repeat: people say broken machines recover if struck at a 45-degree angle—but realistically, you send them for repairs.

"Take this!!"

Thunk! A sharp metallic crack rang out as she dented the console—and a second later, sparks spat out and the monitor burst into static.

"I-I broke it!?!"

"…Told you to stop…"

"…Aru-chan, that seems pretty bad, doesn’t it?"

"No no no! Aru-sama did nothing wrong!! The problem is the flimsy machinery!!"

Aru-sama looked ready to roll her eyes back and spiral straight into panic.

But then—

『ksshhh… System operating normally confirmed. …Biometric authentication───Amari, Komori──match. Welcome, Master.』

Apparently, that level of blunt-force trauma was the perfect wake-up call for the ship.

"…It moved? As expected of Aru-sama…!! You actually knew how to fix a battleship…!"

"Y-yes, of course! See? Just like I said! Machines get fixed when you smack them at a forty-five-degree angle!!"

"…But please don’t touch the machines in my room, okay…?"

"Why not!?"

Because I would hate it if she broke my game console…

"So, how is it!? Is it running!?"

"Too close. Too big. Too loud. Sexual harassment?"

"Yes yes, please step away from my student."

Ignoring the overexcited former director and Sensei dragging him away, I slid my fingers across the console. The biometric scan had just read “Amari Komori,” and since this ship was originally built by me, security shouldn’t be a problem. Or rather—the other-world me must’ve had terrible security awareness, because she only put a password on the first login screen.

The real problem was figuring out which controls did what. The memories I see through dreams of that other-me are fragmented—and she only ever shows me dramatic scenes, never useful technical details. Useless other-me.

I would probably have to work through this by trial and error… and then an idea struck.

"…Ah—mm. Hey, S◯ri? Tell me the ship’s current status?"

『Understood.』

…It worked. So it really is S◯ri.

『Searching… search complete. Damage rate: 15%. Engine operability: 65%. Fuel remaining: 45%. Automatic defense systems available. Mystic reserves… cannot be measured. Ideal-Land System requirements not met. Cannot activate. Gravity-control system normal. Self-repair system online.』

"…So, in simple terms?"

『Flight possible.』

The bridge instantly erupted into cheers.

"We can go home! We can really go home!? We won’t have to warm ourselves with bear pelts anymore!? We’re having barbecue when we get back!!!"

"Farewell to this snowfield where even oil freezes! Once I return, this achievement will put me back on the board—no, even higher…!"

"It felt long, yet short… Ahhh… First thing when we get back, let’s go to a bathhouse. …I wonder if Komori-san would come if we invite her… no—but what if she refuses…"

"…Were you always that whiny of a guy…?"

"Kukuku… my research can finally progress…"

"I couldn’t touch my games for days… Ah—work… Yuka’s gonna kill me…"

"Fufu… when I get back, I’ll take some leave… no, wait. I hope nothing went wrong while I was gone…"

…There were maybe two people sounding a bit gloomy, but almost everyone expressed their joy in their own way.

Their actions afterward were quick.

"Now that it’s decided, we must prepare for departure!"

Following the former director’s instructions, we split into three groups: one to check for flaws so we wouldn’t repeat the blimp disaster on the way here, another to verify ship controls, and a third to retrieve our luggage and the hibernating PMC soldiers left at the crash site.

Group One was the PMC troops, the former director, and the Informants.
Group Two was me, Sensei, and Kanna-san.
Group Three was the black suits with Aru-sama’s group.
That’s how we were organized.

"I wanted to remain on the ship too…"

Despite whining like that, the black suit was dragged off as Aru-sama’s group departed.

They’d probably be back by evening. Departure would likely be tomorrow morning, meaning I had to memorize these controls before then.

Thinking that, I opened the console again—

───completely relaxed, without the slightest vigilance.

That was why I didn’t notice until it happened.

"Whoa!?"

Sensei, who was looking at the ship diagnostics with me, suddenly yelped. As I turned toward the sound—I realized. A cold piece of metal was pressed against my temple.

Without turning my head, only shifting my eyes, I saw Sensei being pinned down by PMC soldiers—and Imo pointing a gun at me.

Finally, I remembered.

I had forgotten—no, I had willfully ignored—the truth. The comrades I had shared my life with for days were, in reality, enemies who resorted to “kidnapping” in pursuit of one single piece of data I possessed.

"Sensei!"

"Kanna-chan!"

Hearing the commotion, Kanna-san kicked the door open. She immediately raised her gun—but with a crackling burst of electricity and a flash of light from behind, she collapsed unconscious. Standing behind her was Homura holding a stun gun—and that massive, doll-like robot… the former director.

"…Y-you… former… director…!"

"Good work securing the area. You did well."

"...No. This is just our job."

With unhurried, confident steps, he approached—and then dropped himself into the seat I had been sitting in moments ago. The captain’s chair. The seat meant for the commander of this ship.

"…What… are you planning…?"

"What? You already understand without asking, don’t you? You and I are enemies. Did you really think I would do something stupid like escaping together, hand-in-hand with the enemy? We’ll be taking exclusive control of this ship. As for the others—let them stay out here on the snowfield and play in the snow forever."

"Wh… what about the black suits and the remaining PMC soldiers…?"

"Those? I woke them last night and packed them into the ship already. And the black suit… she’s not my ally. She’s not getting a seat."

"…Damn it…"

"Oh—take that card from Sensei. …I won’t let him do a thing."

"Kh—!"

A PMC soldier snatched away the card Sensei had pulled out of nowhere.

No counterplay.
Checkmate.

I let my guard down. I relaxed. That was my mistake. I should’ve known. I should’ve seen it.

…If I were still the “Cleaner,” I would’ve noticed something so simple. But I let myself get attached. Because we slept in the same room, or shared meals, or wrestled together. Because someone called me a friend.

I looked for excuses and convinced myself they weren’t the enemy.

I was no longer a “mercenary”—just a powerless “student” who couldn’t help Sensei or Aru-sama anymore.

"…Information. The proof of wrongdoing… all the evidence you wanted… I’ll give it all to you. So… at least let Aru-sama and the others board the ship…"

"I refuse. I don’t need something so insignificant anymore. Not when I’ve secured a weapon this enormous! With this, I’ll never need to be chained to the company again. With this firepower, I will take the seat of Kaiser’s president—no! I’ll replace that missing Federal Student Council President and rule Kivotos myself…!!"

Throw her in a cell. We might need her later.

Those were the last words I heard as my consciousness went dark.