Chapter 29: No Pressure
By late afternoon, the blank page in front of me was no longer blank.
That did not mean the plan was good.
It consisted mostly of questions, half-formed priorities, and several circles drawn around the words money, training, and time.
I had information from the application.
I had incomplete memories of the story.
What I did not have was any practical understanding of how actual players behaved.
In the end, Kenta, the guy from the chat, was the only one I supposedly knew and could rely on for matters like this.
But before reaching out to him, I had to do something first.
I opened Darwin's Game and checked the remaining menus again.
One section immediately caught my attention.
GACHA
I stared at it.
Then closed the menu.
A second later, I sighed heavily and opened it again.
"Damn..."
One point per pull.
No listed rates.
No visible guarantee.
No pity counter.
A completely lawless banner.
"This brings back bad memories."
There had been a time when this sort of screen had controlled an embarrassing portion of my life.
Limited characters.
Daily rewards.
Saving currency for months before losing all restraint because someone smiled at me the right way in the promotional art.
Quitting had been difficult.
I had deleted everything.
Ignored comeback campaigns.
Stopped watching other people's pulls.
Eventually, I had escaped.
Now, after everything I had done to stay away, I was sitting in front of another summon button.
"I tried so hard to leave you behind."
The cartoon snake mascot continued smiling from the screen.
"And somehow, I ended up back with you."
Thirty points.
One pull would not hurt.
This was practically research.
I pressed the button.
The snake leaned backward.
Its cheeks swelled.
Then it spat out a glossy egg.
The egg bounced once before cracking open.
A COMMON text appeared.
Plastic Comb
Suddenly—
Something landed outside my apartment with a heavy thump.
I stopped.
The disappointing result became considerably less important.
I extended one arm toward the living room.
The pistol came flying around the doorway and settled into my hand.
I moved toward the entrance and checked through the peephole.
Nobody.
I opened the door carefully.
A small cardboard parcel rested on the floor.
The hallway was empty.
I looked toward the elevator.
Then the stairwell.
No footsteps.
No doors closing.
No delivery worker attempting to escape after transporting a plastic comb within seconds.
I brought the parcel inside.
The box contained exactly what the application promised.
A cheap plastic comb wrapped with enough protective material to survive an international war.
"Actual delivery."
That explained how the rewards became real.
It did not explain who had packaged the comb.
I pressed the button again.
The snake spat out another egg.
Pocket Tissues
Another thump came from outside.
I opened the door faster this time.
A second parcel waited in the hallway.
Still nobody.
Twenty-eight points remained.
Two pulls.
Two duds.
A sensible person would have stopped.
I pressed the button again.
Disposable Raincoat
Thump.
The parcel was real.
So was my disappointment.
For the fourth pull, I stood beside the entrance with one hand already gripping the handle.
The egg cracked.
Adhesive Tape
The instant the box touched the floor, I threw the door open.
Empty hallway.
I leaned out.
Nothing near the elevator.
Nobody running down the stairs.
The parcel had appeared directly in front of me without anyone placing it there.
I slowly stepped back inside.
"Fine."
Magic delivery.
Apparently, the game judged that ordinary logistics were beneath it.
Twenty-six points remained.
Four pulls without anything particularly useful.
I was not relapsing.
I had already invested four points.
Stopping now would mean accepting that those points had produced a comb, tissues, emergency rain protection, and tape.
This was not addiction.
It was refusing to end the session on a loss.
Completely different.
I pressed the button again.
An UNCOMMON one this time.
Kitchen Knife
A new parcel appeared outside.
A weapon.
Technically.
Unfortunately, the apartment already had several kitchen knives.
"This feels personal."
Twenty-five points.
I could stop.
I had received something vaguely useful.
That was enough.
I pulled again.
Pocket Tissues
This time, nothing appeared in the hallway.
A cardboard parcel simply materialized inside the apartment and dropped onto the growing pile beside the entrance.
The application had apparently grown tired of pretending that someone was delivering them.
I stared at the second packet of tissues.
"You cannot give me the same garbage twice."
The snake mascot remained cheerful.
Twenty-four points.
Six pulls.
No real prize.
I only needed one decent result.
Then I would stop.
That was reasonable.
Probably.
I pressed the button one final time.
The snake appeared again.
It leaned back farther than before.
The egg it spat out was larger, and several stars appeared as cracks spread across its surface.
The shell broke apart.
And then it showed—
LEGENDARY!
RPG-7
"...Huh?"
I stared at the screen.
RPG.
For one moment, I wondered whether the application meant an actual role-playing game or something like that.
But then...
Something large materialized beside the entrance.
The impact shook the floor and knocked several smaller parcels aside.
A tall cardboard box now leaned against the wall.
It looked like someone had delivered a standing lamp.
I looked at the box.
Then at the phone.
Then back at the box.
"You've gotta be—"
I approached it slowly.
The parcel reached almost to my shoulder.
I used the newly acquired kitchen knife to cut through the tape and pulled the cardboard apart.
Thick padding filled the inside.
Beneath it rested a long metal tube.
I removed the top layer of packing material.
Then stopped.
"What in the actual..."
I gripped the launcher with both hands and pulled.
The box shifted across the floor before the weapon came free.
Its weight settled firmly across my arms.
Not impossible to carry.
But heavy enough that I immediately had to adjust my grip and brace it against my shoulder.
The rear end swung toward the wall.
I stopped it before it struck the plaster.
"An actual RPG?"
The launcher stretched across most of the entrance.
It was long.
Heavy.
And completely absurd inside a small Japanese apartment.
Three separate warheads remained secured in the lower half of the packaging.
I looked at them.
Then at the launcher.
"How the fuck am I supposed to use this?"
I lived in an apartment building.
I could not carry it through the street.
I could not fire it indoors unless I wanted to involve every neighbor on the floor.
I was not even certain I knew how to load the thing correctly.
I shifted its weight again.
Manageable.
Uncomfortable.
Definitely not something I wanted to carry around for several hours.
Seven pulls.
A comb.
Two packets of tissues.
A raincoat.
Tape.
A kitchen knife.
And a rocket launcher with three rounds.
I checked my remaining points.
Twenty-three.
I had wanted one good result.
Technically, I had received one.
The game had simply skipped every reasonable stage between household supplies and anti-vehicle weaponry.
I claimed the launcher and each of the three warheads.
Then I carried everything into the bedroom.
The RPG barely fit beneath the bed.
The ammunition went inside the closet, where it looked equally out of place.
I stood there for several seconds.
"This is why I quit."
—
I messaged Kenta shortly afterward.
Hiro: Still free tonight?
His reply arrived within several minutes.
Kenta: Yeah.
Kenta: Want to get dinner?
Hiro: Sure.
Kenta: Family restaurant near the station? Seven?
Hiro: Works for me.
I dressed normally.
Dark jeans.
Hoodie.
A light jacket over it.
I brought the pistol.
Giving Kenta the benefit of the doubt did not require giving him all of it.
The RPG remained beneath the bed.
There were limits to how prepared someone could look while entering a family restaurant.
—
I arrived fifteen minutes early.
The restaurant sat near the station, surrounded by shops and evening foot traffic.
I looked through the windows before entering.
Families.
Students.
Office workers.
Two visible exits.
Restrooms near the back.
Nothing unusual.
Kenta arrived several minutes later.
He looked exactly like the person from the photographs in the phone.
Early twenties.
Short dark hair.
Casual jacket.
Easy smile.
"Hiro."
"Yo~"
He raised one hand in greeting.
"You look better than I expected."
"What were you expecting?"
"Honestly? I thought you might still be unconscious."
"That would've made meeting difficult."
He laughed and gestured toward the entrance.
The conversation began normally.
Painfully normally.
We talked about the gaming café where the previous Hiro had met him.
A recently released game.
The restaurant's menu.
Kenta complained about work.
I complained about university despite having already decided not to return.
He did not appear to notice that I remembered our shared past through message logs rather than experience.
Food arrived.
Kenta waited until the server moved away before lowering his voice.
"So," he said. "How much have you figured out?"
"Enough to understand that you left out a few details."
He grimaced.
"Yeah. Sorry about that."
"You sent me a game that made a snake come out of my phone."
"It sounds worse when you say it like that."
"It was worse when it happened."
"Fair."
He took a drink.
"I didn't know how you'd react if I explained everything first. Most people think it's a scam."
"A scam would've been better."
"Probably."
Kenta began explaining the game.
Most of it matched what I had already read.
Battles.
Points.
Ranks.
Clans.
Events.
The difference was in the smaller details.
Players sometimes concealed their rank.
Some clans controlled specific neighborhoods.
Certain people targeted newcomers because thirty starting points were worth the risk.
Kenta warned me not to linger near unfamiliar players and not to reveal too much about my Sigil.
The advice was useful.
That made things easier.
And more complicated.
"Did you try the gacha?" he asked.
"Yeah. A few singles."
"Get anything good?"
I remembered the RPG beneath my bed.
"Honestly... I'm not so sure."
Kenta laughed.
"That bad?"
"Comb. Tissues. Raincoat."
"That sounds about right."
"I got tissues twice."
"Well... That's just insulting."
He sounded genuinely amused.
"So... Any weapon?"
"Does a kitchen knife count?"
"Hmm. It could be useful."
"But I already owned one."
"Not so useful, I guess."
He continued eating.
No sudden change in expression.
No disappointment that I had apparently received nothing dangerous.
"What about your Sigil?" he asked after a while. "Figure it out?"
"Mostly."
"What does it do?"
I took a drink before answering.
"I can locate things that belong to me."
"Locate them?"
"Direction. Rough distance."
Kenta waited.
"That's it?"
"So far."
He leaned back slightly.
"Like a supernatural tracking device?"
"More like a very specific lost-and-found service."
"That could be useful."
"I'll never lose my keys again."
"Could be worse," he repeated.
Then he changed the subject.
We finished dinner without anything happening.
Kenta paid for his half.
I paid for mine.
Outside, evening had settled over the station.
Pedestrians moved around us.
Bicycles passed.
Cars stopped and started along the main road.
"Want to walk for a bit?" Kenta asked. "I can explain the challenge system without half the restaurant hearing us."
It was a reasonable suggestion.
I agreed.
We followed a route toward the riverside.
The first section remained busy.
Joggers.
Cyclists.
People heading home.
Kenta continued talking as we walked.
He explained clan territories and how some players used fake profiles.
One of my hands remained inside the front pocket of my hoodie.
Probably because the air grew chilly around here.
Probably.
The farther we moved from the station, the quieter the path became.
Streetlights replaced storefronts.
The elevated road ahead cast a long shadow across the walkway.
"New players usually make the same mistakes," Kenta said.
"Which are?"
"Showing off their Sigil. Spending too many points. Trusting random players."
I glanced at him but said nothing.
Kenta continued walking.
"Also, most beginners panic once a battle starts," he said. "They spend too long staring at the notification instead of paying attention to whoever challenged them."
"That sounds like a fast way to die."
"It is."
The path grew quieter as we passed beneath the elevated road.
Concrete rose along one side.
A waist-high barrier separated the walkway from the dark river on the other.
The nearest pedestrians had already disappeared around the bend, leaving only the distant noise of traffic overhead.
Kenta slowed and took out his phone.
"Actually, I should show you what the challenge screen looks like."
I stopped several steps away.
Kenta opened the application and searched through the nearby players.
My profile appeared on his screen.
Hiro Takahashi
D2
23 Points
He angled the phone so I could see it.
"This is the player page," he explained. "Rank, points, basic profile. You can open it whenever another player is within range."
His thumb moved lower.
"And this is the direct challenge option."
My phone vibrated once inside my jacket.
Kenta pressed the button.
Both phones chimed.
A notification spread across his screen.
ENCOUNTER BATTLE
KENTA ARAI VS. HIRO TAKAHASHI
A timer appeared beneath our names.
For one brief moment, neither of us moved.
I looked at his phone.
Then at Kenta.
"What are you doing?"
His expression changed.
The easy smile disappeared.
There was no embarrassment.
No hesitation.
Only a sudden coldness in his eyes.
His free hand slipped inside his jacket.
The black handle of a combat knife appeared beneath the fabric.
His fingers closed around it.
His body shifted forward.
Whatever explanation he might have offered no longer mattered.
I knew that look.
I had seen it on masked killers.
On armed men who had already decided someone else needed to die.
That brief moment when violence stopped being a possibility and became intent.
That was enough.
BANG!
A gunshot cracked beneath the elevated road.
The front of my hoodie pocket tore open.
Kenta jerked backward as the bullet struck him in the chest.
The combat knife slipped from his hand before he could fully draw it, hitting the pavement with a metallic clatter.
His eyes dropped toward the dark stain spreading across his shirt.
Then slowly returned to my face.
Shock replaced the killing intent.
I finally removed my hand from the ruined pocket.
The pistol rested firmly in my grasp, smoke curling faintly from the barrel.
It had been there the entire time.
Kenta's knees buckled.
He struck the concrete barrier and slid to the ground beside the combat knife.
My phone continued vibrating inside my jacket.
The battle timer kept counting down.
I looked at Kenta, still reaching for the combat knife with one trembling, blood-covered hand.
Then I sighed.
"So much for no pressure."
End of Chapter 29
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