PROLOGUE: Story Starts

My name is Sparr Akira (or Akira Sparr in English), but most people know me as Still Stronger.

I'm known for my gaming style—taking on impossible challenges and leaving with a simple message: "I am Still Stronger." No rage quits. No victory dances. Just that. It drives people crazy, which is a bonus.

You could call me a professional gamer, but I don't go to tournaments. I don't stream. I don't have sponsors. I definitely don't get paid. According to my mother, that's what people call a NEET. She says it with this disappointed sigh, like I just told her I want to drop out of society and join a cult. To be fair, she's not wrong about the NEET part. But she's also the one who gave me the credit card, so who's really enabling whom?

Honestly, I don't think I need to get a job.

My family is rich. Like, uncomfortably rich. The kind of rich where you don't talk about money at dinner because it's tacky, but the dinner itself costs more than a used car. I'm not one to spend on flashy things—I don't own a yacht, I don't have a gold-plated keyboard, and I've never bought a bottle of champagne just to spray it on anyone. That's wasteful. And sticky.

So I've saved a lot. Most of it comes from savings accounts my grandparents opened when I was still in diapers. You can understand how rich my family is when I tell you my total balance is 900 million USD. Not yen. USD. Almost a billion. And I haven't even touched the investment accounts yet.

My parents are divorced, which is fine. I live with my mother. My father still sends money—he's one of the top 10 richest people in the world, so his idea of "child support" is buying me a small country every birthday. I politely decline. Usually. Last time he offered me an island, I asked if it had good Wi-Fi. He said no, so I passed.

My mother isn't on his level, but she's still very rich by Japanese standards. Most of her wealth isn't liquid—it's land. She owns about 1% of Japan's entire territory. That's not an exaggeration. If you've ever walked through a nice park in Tokyo, there's a decent chance my mother's name is on the deed somewhere. Her yearly income is around 60 billion yen. She never talks about it, but I've seen the documents. They're in a folder labeled "Do Not Touch" and another folder labeled "Seriously, Akira, Don't Touch." I touched.

A few years ago, someone suggested I buy a horse.

Apparently it's a "good investment." People say that about everything. Wine is a good investment. Art is a good investment. Vintage Pokémon cards are a good investment. I bought a horse anyway—a foal, specifically. Not because I wanted a return on investment. The maximum prize money a horse has ever earned in Japan is about 1.8 billion yen. That's pocket change compared to what I have sitting in a low-interest savings account like a lazy dragon on a pile of gold.

No, the real reason I bought a horse was much stupider.

I wanted to race it.

Not professionally. Just me, on a track, against a horse. Because I thought to myself: If I can win against a horse, I can say "Even against a horse, still stronger." And that would be the coolest thing ever. You have to understand—I've beaten level 99 bosses with a fishing rod. I've won fighting game tournaments using only the hug emote. A horse should be easy.

Spoiler: It was not easy.

So I bought a stable, hired staff, a trainer, and a jockey.

In the contract, I made it clear: I own the horse. That's it. If the horse wins prize money, every yen goes to the staff, the trainer, and the jockey. I don't want their money. I want their horse.

Then came the naming.

It's my thing to name everything of mine with 'Still Stronger'. My gaming handle. My username. My horse. But I almost made a terrible mistake. I almost named it "Still Stronger's horse."

Then I imagined the commentary.

A race commentator, voice cracking with hype, screaming into the mic:

"AND HERE COMES STILL STRONGER'S HOOOOORSE! HE'S PASSING THEM LIKE THEY'RE STANDING STILL! STILL STRONGER'S HORSE IS A ONE-HORSE ARMY! HE'S GOT THE TURF ON FIRE! THE CROWD IS GOING WILD! STILL STRONGER'S HORSE HITS THE FINAL STRETCH—HE'S UNSTOPPABLE! HE'S INVINCIBLE! HE'S… HE'S STILL STRONGER'S HOOOOOORSE! FIRST PLACE! I NEED A DRINK! SOMEBODY GET ME A DOCTOR! NO, GET ME TWO DOCTORS—ONE FOR ME AND ONE FOR THE OTHER HORSES!"

...Hell no.

Absolutely not.

I could already see the memes. The forum threads. People making compilation videos titled "Top 10 Cringiest Horse Names in Racing History." My face photoshopped onto a milk carton labeled "Still Stronger's Weirdo Owner – Last Seen Naming Things."

My mother would disown me. And she owns 1% of Japan's land. That's a lot of inheritance down the drain. Do you know how much property tax she pays? Neither do I, but it's a lot.

My dad? He'd probably be proud. He's got that kind of sense of humor. He once named his yacht "The Second Wife" just to annoy my mother. But I can't live with him. The guy brings home a new "girlfriend" every week. Last time I visited, there was a lady in the kitchen making pancakes at 11 PM. She asked if I wanted sprinkles. I said no. She cried. I don't need that energy in my life.

So I just named the horse 'Still Stronger'. Simple. Elegant. No commentary disasters.

I usually go and race that horse once a month.

That thing is a real goddamn menace. I bought it to race against me, but it tries to give me extra service by sparring with me. It tries to bite my neck every chance it gets. Not the arm. Not the leg. The neck. Like it's aiming for a critical hit.

It's basically a plus-sized Chihuahua. You know the saying: The smaller the dog, the more concentrated the evil. Well, this horse proved that equation wrong, because it's one of the 100 largest horses on Earth. And it's still 100% pure evil.

As for our record: eleven races. Score: 10 and 1.

Yes. I lost once.

To a hay‑brained, tail‑swishing, neck‑biting plus‑sized Chihuahua.

That one time, I swear it looked back and whinnied, "Still stronger, bitch."

No, I don't speak horse. But I know thats what it said.

A normal guy would shrug. A psychopath would turn the horse into glue and eat the glue. I'm neither. I just lost once. But once is once too many.

I lost to a glorified lawn mower. A four‑legged grass muncher. A knock‑off of my own name.

But damn, his delivery was clean. He lives up to the brand.

Anyways. Now you know.

And now I need to go find a pillow. Preferably one that doesn't talk back.

Apparently my horse won some big races and got famous.

Then a game company called Cygames contacted me. They wanted to turn my horse into an anime girl.

I said yes immediately.

Not because I needed the money. They were offering 100 million yen for the permit. That's cute. That's like offering a billionaire a coupon for free coffee. I told them to keep the money. In fact, I paid them. I wanted to see my horse as an anime girl so badly that I funded the project.

Don't judge me. You would too.

I was especially looking forward to hanging a picture of its anime girl form right in front of the horse's stable. Just to see its reaction. "Look, this is what they think you look like." I imagine it would try to bite my neck again. Worth it.

With that excitement, I decided to give the game a try. Since I was a VIP—money talks, apparently—they gave me special rights. I could use any username I wanted. Already taken? Didn't matter. I got it anyway.

And you guessed it.

Still Stronger.

So there I was, in front of the monitor, staring at the loading screen.

Five minutes passed. The game finally loaded.

And I don't remember anything else. I just blacked out.