Log Horizon - Volume 10 - Chapter Int

INTERLUDE 
1 
Shiroe was gazing absently into space. 
Until a minute ago, he’d been sending telechats all over the place, dealing with the aftermath. This room, which was hemmed in by composite stone and magical machinery, was still Fortress of the Call. Once they’d put down Taliktan, the Genius of Summoning, the monsters he’d summoned and their eggs had turned into rainbow-colored bubbles and vanished, but they needed to make sure they were really all gone. They were currently taking in additional personnel who’d been sent from Akiba and exploring the dungeon. 
Out of consideration for their fatigue, Shiroe and the rest of the raid team had been exempted from the investigation and from guarding the perimeter, but the members who had enough energy seemed to be doing things voluntarily. That said, that group consisted mainly of Tetora, who was giving a guerilla concert in the music hall, and Shouryuu and Hien, who had made preparations for a party and were cheering Tetora on. The members who were tired were resting in this studio at the base of the broadcasting tower. 
Forcibly shaking his head, which felt saturated, Shiroe took a drink of water from his canteen. 
He’d gotten pretty worked up during that last battle. He was a little embarrassed, but the thought that it had been the right way to go was strong as well. After all, he’d chosen to be greedy. 
He wanted to save the people he could save, and he wanted to protect his companions, too. 
Up until now, Shiroe had been holding back. He’d set to work quietly, covering only the range he could deal with inside himself and taking care not to get involved with anything outside that. Even when he’d gone beyond that range, he’d made sure to leave himself an escape route. However, those days were over. 
Since he’d decided to want, he didn’t intend to do it by halves. 
He’d keep the atmosphere in Akiba from becoming any gloomier. He’d prevent violence from breaking out between eastern and western Yamato. He’d talk with the Travelers. He’d return to his old world. 
Put into words, that was probably what it would be. He was overreaching himself with those goals, and Shiroe laughed a little in spite of himself. Still, it was all right—he’d decided to take action to make those things happen, and so his feelings were bright and cheerful. 
For now, his first move would probably be to contact Plant Hwyaden and the Holy Empire of Westlande. It seemed likely to be troublesome, and he was aware that he’d been putting it off, but now that things had come to this, they couldn’t afford not to exchange information. 
Nureha had said they’d discovered a way to return home. 
That in itself wasn’t really worth getting startled over. He could think of several situations in which they could say something like that, and he thought there were a few methods by which they might actually have been able to. The problem wasn’t whether they had technology that could get them home, or how to do it, but how to confirm that they really had returned. Even if an Adventurer volunteer disappeared from Theldesia and Minami called it “a successful return,” all it would mean was that they had a missing person on their hands. It was no different from the current situation with Krusty. 
The unavoidable hurdle that nearly all people who wanted to go home were ignoring was this “confirmation of return”—in other words, communication between here and Earth. Before returning, they’d have to establish a way to make contact with Earth. That was an absolute prerequisite. 
If that couldn’t be done, they would have to trust to luck in a big way when it came to future developments. In short, they’d have to choose their likeliest-looking “human disappearance” idea and just risk it. Even if that method worked, since there would be no way for the people who’d returned to Earth to contact them here, they wouldn’t be able to confirm that it had been a success. If it had actually succeeded, fine, but not being able to confirm failure would be awful. It was conceivable they might all wind up leaping into the same trap, one after another, like a group suicide. 
Exchanging information with the Travelers seemed to hold the hope of a breakthrough, but even if they did that, they’d need to discuss things with Plant Hwyaden and solidify their standing. 
He did have questions about the difference between rank 2 and rank 3 that they’d mentioned, but the only thing he could say was that Minori had demonstrated it herself. Shiroe had no intention of falling to their rank 2. 
On top of that, the objective he seemed most likely to find clues about was preventing conflict in Yamato before it started. The idea of getting in the middle of a military clash between political entities was so reckless he’d never even considered it, but surprisingly, of the issues on the table now, the hurdles for that foolhardy act were comparatively low. It was probably no wonder that that fact provoked a dry smile. 
In short, no matter which of the objectives they prioritized, Shiroe and the others would have to discuss things with Plant Hwyaden and exchange information, at the very least. 
“What’s the matter, Shiroe? Are you still tired?” 
Minori sat down on Shiroe’s left. She’d changed out of her miko outfit, and was wearing a blouse and necktie that looked a bit like a school uniform. 
“You’re frowning again, my liege.” 
On his right, Akatsuki admonished him, pushing the outer corners of her eyes up with her fingertips. Shiroe smiled wryly; he didn’t think he was making that sort of face. 
“Technically, during battle… You know. I said some pretty overambitious stuff.” 
“Did you?” 
Akatsuki gazed at him steadily, arms folded, head tilted to one side. 
During that hectic battle, I felt as if we’d connected, but it was probably an illusion, Shiroe thought. Apparently, his worries and decisions hadn’t gotten through to the petite Assassin. 
When he glanced over, just to make sure, Minori was also looking perplexed. It was only to be expected, but they didn’t seem to have gotten through to the group’s youngest girl, either. 
Maybe it was interference from the gods: This is what humans are like. Communicate by putting your thoughts into words. Feeling a little disappointed, and also greatly relieved, Shiroe attempted to explain: 
“I think I’m going to do my best to make those wishes come true. The goals are so high and far away that I’m not sure I can even reach them. There are tons of things to do, and all of them have ‘nightmare’ difficulty levels. It’s going to mean more work, and I don’t even know where to start. That’s what I was thinking about.” 
“Huhn. The usual, then.” 
“Huh?” 
Akatsuki’s response brusquely cut down Shiroe’s confession. 
What? But I learned on that harsh Susukino abyss expedition that it’s important to talk things over with your friends, and that it’s not good to let things build up too far… 
Having what he’d said rejected in a perfunctory way with the words the usual was a big shock to him. 
“She’s right. It’s the same every month, you know.” 
“Huh?!” 
Not only that, but Minori sided with her, and he was left without anything to say. 
Even so, wasn’t saying it was “the same every month” a little too mean? That made it sound as if he was some miserable clerical worker who stayed shut in his office and was constantly groaning. He wasn’t happy with the assessment that that was all he’d done since coming to Theldesia. He was sure he’d spent his time actively. On the Susukino expedition, for example, and in the Abyssal Shaft. 
Unfortunately, he realized that Minori hadn’t been there for either of those. 
Looking excited, Minori got out her Magic Bag, saying, “I bought some smooth ink that’s specifically for documents and some drying sand. Here, Shiroe, you look at them, too.” At that point, all Shiroe could do was watch, his expression strained. 
As Shiroe tried to change the subject, Li Gan ended up helping him out. 
For the past little while, he’d been crouched down, fiddling with the magic circuits of the transmission device. Abruptly, it began to emit noisy static, and light returned to the room. 
There was a popping noise, sparks scattered, and the loudspeaker suddenly began to vibrate. 
They’d been resting in this anteroom in the first place, even though it wasn’t very big, because Li Gan had said he wanted to see how damaged the transmitter was right away and to examine whether there was any residual negative influence from the Genius Taliktan. 
The members who’d been napping with their eyes closed sat up, watching to see what would happen. 
“What, guy, you fixed it?” 
“No… It isn’t fixed yet. At this point, I’ve only confirmed that its functions are still live.” 
“So can we start talkin’ to the moon now?” 
“Here comes my galactic debut!” 
Naotsugu and the others crowded around Li Gan. He was down on all fours, doing maintenance around the back of the low device, and he answered from there. Even though it was obviously an uncomfortable position, he sounded as if he was enjoying himself. You could even have said his voice was delighted. Shiroe, who was watching the scene, murmured, “He’s a hobbyist.” 
“—From the ancient writings of Miral Lake, I know that this is a long-distance transmitter from the age of the ancient alvs, but the facility wasn’t created to communicate with the moon, you see. I’ve heard that your goal is to get a message to the moon, but before we attempt that, we’ll need to analyze this magic device, research it, and appropriately improve and reinforce it. “ 
“That’s some unexpectedly practical stuff.” 
Akatsuki looked glum as she spoke, and Shiroe soothed her: “We couldn’t really expect anything else.” 
On hearing that explanation, Tetora said, “I’m disappointed. And here I was all ready to make my cosmic debut…” The idol clambered up Naotsugu, got pulled at by Marielle, and began screeching shrilly. 
In the midst of that uproar, Shiroe finally felt himself begin to relax. The Shibuya raid was over. The series of disturbances that had begun with Roe2’s letter had helped him make up his mind; in that respect, they’d been useful. 
Time was moving, and they couldn’t stay in the same place forever. 
Starting tomorrow, they’d have to tackle a new challenge. 
Riezé poked her head in from the corridor. “You’re in here, Master Shiroe?” she said, stepping into the room crowded with magic devices. 
“There was no hidden treasure. I’m impressed the device was safe.” 
“It doesn’t seem to have been broken completely.” 
“I expect the damage was slight because we tore the enemy away from it. Excellent work, commander.” 
“You were a huge help, Riezé.” 
Shiroe smiled at her, scratching his head. He didn’t really understand why Akatsuki was nodding next to him, but this girl from D.D.D. really had saved him. He felt that her organization of the rear attack ranks and constantly indicating the order in which the enemy was to be destroyed had made a big contribution to the success of the capture. She was a first-rate commander. 
“I’m told the Round Table Council is receiving inquiries from all over, and they’re terribly busy. Shall we go back for now? It’s going to be quite some time before the transmitter is operational, isn’t it?” 
As she made the suggestion, Riezé put a finger to her chin, looking thoughtful. 
She had a point: They couldn’t stay in this ruin forever. Thinking he’d have to issue orders to move out soon, Shiroe scanned the hall. 
Fortunately, more than half the members were in this room. His work as commander wouldn’t be over until they made it back to headquarters. 
“…lo…Hello? Can anybody hear— Hello?” 
Just as he was about to address the group, however, sounds that were different from earlier, sounds that meant something, issued from the magic device. As if summoning them to a new adventure, the ancient magical equipment from the age of the alvs had brought them news from a distant land. 

2 
Everyone had been caught off guard, and for a moment, the room was silent. 
“…Ni hao. Bonjour, aloha. Moi! Also moikka!” 
In the midst of that hush, the magic device kept repeating oblivious greetings. The cheerful voice belonged to a young woman. No one answered. After all, they’d only been testing the device, and no one had expected to get a response from anywhere. 
“Kaliméra. Hujambo… Guten Tag… Other than that, um… ‘Me eat you whole’?” 
“We can hear you. The noise is really bad, but… Who are you?” 
Shiroe was the first to recover. 
He’d responded mainly out of a sense of duty—as the person who was currently in charge, he couldn’t just stay silent—but the reply that came back was unexpected. 
“Hmm? Your voice… That wouldn’t be Shiro-boy, would it?” 
“Huh?” 
At the sound of his own name, Shiroe froze up. There weren’t that many people who’d know his voice. Of course lots of Akiba’s Adventurers knew Shiroe, but he didn’t think there were thirty people who’d be able to recognize him from his voice alone. In other words, this was a friend. “Hey, that voice… Wasn’t that…?” “Meow, it couldn’t be.” His companions were talking behind him, but he wasn’t listening to them. Lowering his own voice, Shiroe spoke to Li Gan. 
“Where is this connected to? Doesn’t it have some sort of detection function? Did it just connect to something nearby?” 
Li Gan shook his head vigorously in response. His expression seemed to say he hadn’t made a mistake, and he hadn’t done anything unnecessary to the equipment. It’s not like he’s a little kid who’s gotten into mischief; I wouldn’t get mad about something like that, Shiroe thought. Either way, apparently Li Gan wasn’t going to be any help here. 
Even if this was a friend of Shiroe’s, he couldn’t think of anyone who’d call him Shiro-boy. 
I don’t like that name. It sounds sort of doglike. As far as he was concerned, “Shiro” was a name for pet dogs. He didn’t hate it so much that he’d fly off the handle just because someone had called him that, but it was embarrassing, and it felt like he was being made fun of. For that reason, there was only one woman who called him Shiro-boy…and they couldn’t possibly have made contact with her. 
“I knew it! Yoo-hoo! Shiro-booooy!” 
“Kanami?!” 
It was impossible, but they’d reached her anyway. 
“It’s been forever! How’ve you been?” 
“Don’t give me that ‘it’s been forever’ line!” 
Shiroe responded on reflex; he felt dizzy, and his vision seemed to be dimming. It was anemia. He’d never gotten anemia before, but he was sure that was it. 
Why now? He wasn’t good with this person. He’d go so far as to call her a natural enemy. If someone had asked him to think of one person he’d absolutely never be able to deal with adequately, he’d have told them “Kanami.” 
It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. It wasn’t that he wanted to avoid her. 
He just couldn’t keep up with her. 
He respected her, he felt obligated to her, and he thought she was a good person. Her cheerfulness and charisma were the biggest elements behind the fact that the Debauchery Tea Party had managed to spend a long time in the raid rankings, even though it wasn’t a guild. Shiroe had been nothing more than a gloomy game expert, and it was thanks to her that he’d been able to experience the best part of MMOs: working together with companions to conquer content. 
She’d been outrageous and impudent, but the Tea Party had been a group of people who loved partying and making noise, and he didn’t think a single one of them had disliked her for it. 
That boisterous personality was why Shiroe was simply not good with this woman. She was a human typhoon who treated him like her honorary little brother at every turn. 
“Oh, hey, I heard! I heard all about it. You’re doing all sorts of fun stuff in Yamato, too, huh?! Like the Round Table thingummy!” 
“It’s the Round Table Council. How do you know about that? And actually, Kanami, didn’t you retire?! When did you come back?! Where are you?!” 
And what on earth was a “thingummy”? 
Shiroe, who’d knee-jerk answered, felt a little depressed again. With people who never listened to what other people said, he ended up letting his spinal nerves do the talking, too. Or rather, it was less “talking” than “retorting.” Not only that, but since Shiroe’s words just got ignored, it was pretty tiring. 
Isn’t she careless? he’d asked Naotsugu once. 
Because she’s a careless person, yeah. The answer he’d gotten hadn’t been any kind of resolution, and it had only drained more of his energy. 
“Kanami, you wouldn’t be on the moon, would you?” 
Through his fatigue, he did his best to ask questions in a businesslike way, and her reply was, “No, on the Chinese server. 
“We’re currently on a journey, but we stumbled onto this TV station. It looked like it might work, so we messed with it. And then you picked up.” 
“You ‘stumbled onto’…?” 
Shiroe pinched the bridge of his nose. 
In other words, after Kanami had moved to Europe, she must have gotten back into Elder Tales. The MMORPG had had players all over the world. Europe had had two servers, and it had been one of the most active regions, right up there with North America and Japan. He hadn’t even considered the possibility, but if she’d changed her entire account, he could understand why there hadn’t been any word from her. 
Shiroe didn’t know whether this was good news or bad. 

There was almost nothing about Kanami that he understood clearly to begin with. He didn’t want to know, he didn’t think he should know, and he didn’t think it would be better if he did know. 
“Oh, that’s right! Listen to this, Shiro-boy! My daughter turned three!” 
“I know.” 
There were plenty of things it was better not to know. 
“Huh? Did I tell you already?” 
“No. I heard, though.” 
“I see…” 
He could picture Kanami, eyes round, looking startled. She’d put her hands on her hips and puff out her chest, she’d squish up her soft-looking cheeks, and she’d nod as though she understood everything, even though she wasn’t actually thinking anything at all. That was the kind of woman she was. 
She had a big mouth, and she always seemed to be laughing. 
Her sense of distance was busted, and she’d often tromped right into Shiroe’s personal space, to the point where he and Naotsugu had formed a victims’ association together. 
She had outstanding energy, and she’d been that way even when they’d met offline. 
Kanami’s vitality had seemed inexhaustible, and she’d always done everything at full power. That had been the same both in the outside world and in the game. She was a natural leader and naturally cheerful. When you were around her, it always felt as if a summer wind were blowing. 
Shiroe’s parents had been very busy, and he hadn’t had many friends even when he was a kid, so he’d never gone to leisure facilities to play. It was because of his friends, Naotsugu and Kanami, that Shiroe had built up experience with “going out and having fun.” 
To Shiroe, dealing with the impossible tasks she set up for him was what the Tea Party had been all about, which meant he’d spent the majority of his time in Elder Tales, since middle school, on things like that. 
When he tried tallying them up again, the woman was a complete nuisance. You could even have called her destructive. It was only natural that he wasn’t good with her. It was so bad that he didn’t want to understand why she’d been such a hit as a charismatic leader. 
Shiroe looked down for just a moment. He saw his own feet, standing firmly on the stone floor. His fists were clenched, but not hard, and they weren’t trembling. He exhaled a little, steeling himself. 
“I’m sorry I wasn’t able to congratulate you… Congratulations,” he told Kanami. 
He’d thought the lines were something he’d never actually tell her, but he’d practiced them hundreds of times anyway, and he said them in a voice as close to normal as he could manage. 
“I tell you what, my daughter’s unbelievably cute. She zooms all over the place! She does this rocket dash and hits you—boom!—like a suicide attack, then clings to you real tight. She’s a princess.” 
She’d left the Tea Party because she’d gone to Europe to study abroad, following the guy she’d married. Shiroe hadn’t known much about him, other than he was German. He’d only found out that he was a doctor affiliated with an international NGO called Doctors of the World after the Tea Party had disbanded, and he’d learned that through KR. 
That didn’t mean he’d known nothing. Just before the Tea Party had broken up, Kanami had been exhilarated, so she’d told them all sorts of fragmented information, like how hairy his legs were, and that he liked sashimi, and that he’d teared up on the scream machine at the amusement park, and that he could only say ohayou gozaimasu—“good morning”—as “oyohan gojyamasu.” Kanami had looked happy, and she’d been even more energetic than usual; it had been a serious nuisance. 
Boasting about the people she was close to was part of Kanami’s character. Shiroe knew she bragged about the Tea Party members all over the place, too. For that reason, when she told him about her daughter, he managed to feel warm inside. 
Come to think of it, there were probably a lot of Adventurers in situations like Kanami’s. 
Adventurers who’d been separated from children who were still small. Getting separated from young family members wasn’t the only tragedy, of course. Most Adventurers probably had people who had been hard to leave, parents and siblings, back on Earth. Shiroe thought that, for those people as well, he had to find a hint somehow. 
Kanami must be traveling in search of that sort of thing, too. She was a complete terror and an awful leader, but her daughter was blameless. Feeling that it was a miracle that this sort of thing had happened on the very day he’d resolved to work toward a return home, Shiroe spoke to her. 
“Is that right—? In that case, we really do have to get back. To our old world, I mean.” 
“…Huh? Why?” 
“Huh?” 
As usual, Kanami casually smashed Shiroe’s idea. 
“Shiro! Listen, I want to show this world to my daughter!” 
“…Huh?” 
Shiroe was taken aback, and the only response he could manage was a dim-sounding one. 
He’d thought it many times—no, hundreds of times—before, but what on Earth was this person? He didn’t understand what she meant, and his heart churned with doubts. He had no idea what she was thinking. 
“Seriously. Theldesia’s amazing, isn’t it? I mean, it’s this huge, rolling expanse of uncharted world! It’s enormous and gorgeous and fantastic, and it’s full of Mommy’s friends, and it’s a grand adventure where you meet people from all over the world. I absolutely want my daughter to do something like that!” 
Kanami’s voice was cheerful. 
“She likes high places. I want to let her ride a griffin. I want to show her vast forests and the ocean and deserts. When she’s surprised, her eyes go really round. I want to show her that the world she was born into is a beautiful place!” 
But all she was talking about was her daughter. 
Kanami’s love was the real thing. She’d never been clever enough to lie or fake it. Her recklessness, her insolence, and everything that made bystanders think she was messing with people—all those things were just Kanami being serious. 
And so Shiroe knew. 
Apparently, she was actually planning to bring her daughter here. 
Unexpectedly, Shiroe felt excited. 
Everything he’d been worried about had started to seem ridiculous. He felt as if he’d seen Kanami talking about castles in the air, wearing an unguarded smile. 
He realized that, after spending time away from her, he really had forgotten about her a little bit. Now that he was hearing her voice like this again, she was several times more absurd than he’d remembered. She really was the woman he’d been bad with. 
He worried and hesitated over problems, and he suffered and drew up meticulous plans so that he wouldn’t have to do those things that bothered him, but she just leapt jauntily over them. She was an exasperating hero. 
“My liege.” 
“Shiroe?” 
Akatsuki and Minori looked up at him, worried, but he was able to smile at them. 
“That’s fine, too… I thought it couldn’t be done, and I’d given up on it, but in that case…” 
After all, we’re greedy. If we’re trying for something, even if it’s neither going home nor being buried in this world… 
…that’s a choice we can make. 
In short, that was what Kanami had been talking about. 
They wouldn’t choose one or the other. They’d choose both, and they’d wish for a future beyond that. Shiroe had been desperately telling himself that that was greedy, and he felt ridiculous. Apparently, even his biggest ambition had been small as far as Kanami was concerned. Still, if that dream existed, then it would be all right for Shiroe to obtain it. 
“We’ll make it possible to go back and forth between Earth and Theldesia.” 
When he put it into words, he heard a stir run through the people around him. 
He could understand that. When it came to attaining that hope, they didn’t even know where to begin. People had thought, It would be wonderful if we could do that, but everyone had been hesitant to say it. 
Even if they made it happen, Earth had a modern civilization, while Theldesia had medieval science. Earth had no magic technology, and Theldesia was a fantasy world. Contact between those two worlds was bound to have a drastic influence on both of them. It might even happen on a destructive scale. 
Shiroe thought that was all right. 
He didn’t plan to ignore that danger or to take part in terrorism. However, if the two worlds were on a path that would put them in contact with each other, it would probably be arrogant for him to try to stop it from happening on his own. If the worlds were on a course that would prevent them from meeting, then no matter what Shiroe did personally, they’d probably never meet. 
At the stage when they were deciding on a destination, both cowardice and arrogance were unnecessary emotions. There was no need to be frightened of possibilities they didn’t clearly understand. 
“I-is that possible?!” 
“It’ll work, it’ll work.” 
His thoughts about the two worlds’ influence on each other were scrambled by Kanami’s incredibly bright words, until they were in danger of becoming shapeless. However, even then, Shiroe had companions. 
“That’s just irresponsible!!” 
“Yeah, that’s Kanami for ya. Real-tough-to-deal-with city.” 
“This person’s amazing. She’s startled even me, and I’m an idol.” 
That was why Shiroe was able to shrug his shoulders and laugh. Even firing verbal jabs at Kanami wasn’t his own private penalty game anymore. 
“So, Shiro-boy! Get out there and make that happen, please!” 
“Are you issuing a quest?” 
“Yeah, that! It’s a quest.” 
“…I can’t.” 
Maybe because he’d laughed for the first time in ages, his heart was bright and cheerful. Inside Shiroe, even as he teased her, the time that had passed was slowly vanishing. 
“Whaaaaaat?! Did you get all mean on me, Shiro-boy?!” 
Time had passed. 
It was as if a scab that had been clinging to the inside of his heart, one Shiroe himself hadn’t noticed, had sloughed off, leaving things clean. 
Apparently, he wasn’t Shiroe of the Debauchery Tea Party anymore. 
The realization made him feel just a little sadness and far more pride. 
“Kanami. I’ve created a guild. It’s called Log Horizon. I’ve made friends and companions.” 
“Uh-huh?” 
He’d become Shiroe of Log Horizon. He was looking directly at all his companions: Minori, who was gazing at him worriedly; Akatsuki, who’d pinched up the tail of his mantle; Naotsugu, who was smirking; Nyanta, whose eyes had narrowed in a smile; Touya, who didn’t look worried at all; Isuzu and Rundelhaus; and Tetora, who was getting carried away. He had companions now. 
That was why time had passed. 
“As a result, I can’t accept a request like that one.” 
“WhaaaaAAAaaat?” 
“Because we’ll complete that quest— We’ll be the first ones in the world to see that view. Right; I guess we’ll be competing with you, Kanami. I suppose there’s no help for that…” 
Packing as much retaliation as he could into his jeer, Shiroe spoke across the magic device. Like a shore washed by waves, over and over, he felt the Tea Party slowly coming to an end. 
He’d probably made a mistake, somewhere along the way. 
Something that should have ended hadn’t done so. Those days had been magnificent. The Debauchery Tea Party had been a good place. In order to establish that as fact, they had allowed things to end. That was only natural. However, it was possible that Shiroe hadn’t been able to do it very well. 
Not that there’s much I can do well anyway. 
He had the leeway to laugh a little. 
How strange: On the day he’d decided to head toward the future, the past had said its good-byes to him. 
It wasn’t a painful thing. At the very least, it was far more peaceful than the days when the Tea Party was disbanding, and it brimmed over with a quiet light. 
The memories wouldn’t disappear. On the contrary: Now the past would begin to turn into memories. This struck Shiroe as a hushed blessing, and he tucked it away in his heart, feeling something like affection. 
“We’re rivals now, after all.” 
“I see.” 
“Still, we do go way back. If you make it here in time, I don’t mind letting you see it, too. If you’re on the Chinese server, it’s because you’re headed this way, correct?” 
If he saw her again, it felt as if he might not be as bad with her as he had been before. Shiroe almost thought that, but then he shook his head. 
It wasn’t as if Kanami herself had repented of anything. He considered the idea that having a child might have cured her troublemaking ways, but he decided not to get his hopes up based on wishful thinking. 
“I’d expect no less from everybody’s bus guide. No wonder Krus-Krus talks you up so much. I bet the girls can’t leave you alone.” 
“Look, would you quit joking around like— What? Krusty?!” 
Speak of the devil. Shiroe began to feel a dark dismay. It didn’t help that, behind him, Riezé gave a wordless scream and started repeating “Milord, Milord.” 
Shiroe and Naotsugu were fairly used to her, but Riezé was an outsider, and the stimulation had been too much for her. As Shiroe had thought, Kanami was still Kanami. For better or for worse, she was a natural problem child who somehow managed to draw nothing but jokers. There was no other way to describe her. Why had Krusty’s name come up now? 
“Right, right, he’s over here. Y’know, Krus-Krus almost died, but he’s such a toughie you wouldn’t believe it—” 
“You’re telling me Krusty’s on the Chinese server? Kanami, what have you gotten involved in over there? Do you need help? Let me talk to Krusty—” 
Even so, the questions he’d desperately asked ended up being left unfinished. 
“Whoa…oh…acting up…rgh… Punch it, kick it… Argh! Tiger Echo…” 
The magic device fell silent, and an indescribable atmosphere filled the room. 
Shoulders slumping, Shiroe turned around. 
Li Gan shook his head, pleading not guilty. Naotsugu held his head, and—unusually—Nyanta averted his eyes. Nazuna was grinning, Soujirou was smiling cheerfully, and Riezé looked unsteady, as though she’d come close to fainting. 
Tetora seemed to have put some sort of idea into Minori’s and Akatsuki’s heads. “It’s nothing. It’s not like that,” Shiroe told them, defending himself. Then he informed the capture unit, which was on the brink of an uproar, that they were returning to Akiba. 
It was a disorganized ending, but even so, to Shiroe, it was an irreplaceable one as well. As with all endings, it held the hint of a new beginning. 
Shiroe nodded and spoke to his companions. A season they couldn’t escape was bearing down, not just on Log Horizon, but on the town of Akiba and on the Adventurers. 
It was the eve of the season in which, through an encounter, Shiroe and the others would carve open new horizons—the beginning of the Noosphere. 
<Log Horizon, Volume 10: Homesteading the Noosphere—The End>