“Her mood fluctuations across an entire day were as solid as a mountain?!
Could this Spirit actually be a robot in disguise?!”
“Anyone doing anything generates emotional fluctuations.
I’ve never seen such an unchanging situation even in animals.”
“Analyst Murasame, are you certain nothing is wrong with Fraxinus’s AI?”
The noisy chatter below caused Kotori Itsuka to feel a slight touch of displeasure, though such an anomalous reading sparking discussion wasn’t inherently a bad thing.
Still, taking machine malfunction into account was necessary, so she directed her gaze at Reine Murasame, who was operating the equipment.
“There is no issue whatsoever.
The values transmitted by the Realizer are indeed as shown, which means the target genuinely exhibits zero emotional fluctuations.”
“Hss—”
Everyone collectively drew in a sharp breath.
“In that case, the conquest difficulty has skyrocketed.
It seems the romance games used for Shido’s training haven’t featured a character archetype like this yet.”
“There’s no way one could exist!
If that were the case, how could I possibly draft her story route?!”
“President” Mikimoto yelled out in dissatisfaction, and the others nodded in agreement.
Kotori bit down hard on her lollipop stick, her gaze fixing gravely on the three metrics.
Clearly, this was an “absolute stability” of emotion that no normal human could ever maintain.
One had to realize that even drinking a glass of water produced mild emotional ripples, let alone a teenage high school girl.
At her age, shouldn’t her mind be filled with all sorts of whimsical thoughts?
Although this theory was based on ordinary human behavior, a Spirit shouldn’t be so unnaturally stable either.
Tohka Yatogami was the prime example—when dating Shido, her emotional swings were dramatically exaggerated.
Thus, this Shiratori, possessing an “absolutely calm” disposition, left these romance masters with entirely blank minds, babbling nonsensically in confusion.
“Silence!”
Observing the chaotic state of her crew, Kotori immediately brought the microphone to her lips to halt their debate.
“Listen up, everyone!
Since you are sitting in those seats, give me some practical solutions instead of squawking like a flock of sparrows!”
“If you dare stay here without contributing anything useful, don’t blame me for doling out severe punishment.”
“My, that sounds…”
“Get lost!”
Hearing her words, Kyouhei Kannazuki immediately put on a flattering smile and edged closer to Kotori, only for her to deliver an unhesitating punch directly to his face.
Shortly after, Kannazuki collapsed onto the deck bearing a blissful smile.
“So, everyone—does anyone have a good idea?”
Adjusting her posture, Kotori raised her lollipop stick and pointed it toward the table.
“…”
No one made a move; the crew members unanimously stared blankly at the profile on screen.
Someone completely devoid of emotional fluctuations meant any attempt would be in vain—she wouldn’t exhibit dramatic reactions, nor would she follow the analytical pathways they laid out. You are reading on novelping.com, the official source.
Disguising an entire street with their personnel wouldn’t work either; doing so would only raise the risk of exposing themselves.
And so, amid this silent environment, Reine slowly raised her hand.
“I have a proposal.
Based on my analysis of the data, Shiratori seems to display an unusual interest in books regarding emotional interpretation.
Perhaps we can leverage this to enrich her feelings.”
“Analyst Murasame, what do you mean?” Mikimoto chimed in to ask.
“Namely, having Shiratori undergo romance training similar to Shin’s past sessions.
We can arrange romance game scenarios along her path while she goes out—not too frequently, of course.
Our goal is to mold Shiratori’s emotions first.
Once her personality takes shape, all problems will naturally be resolved.”
“So this is a real-life emotional training course to help Shiratori!
All crew members, understood?!”
The corners of Kotori’s lips curled up in a triumphant smirk as she planted a foot on the table, pointing her lollipop directly at Shiratori’s image in the center of the screen as she announced loudly.
“Understood!”
Just as the entire crew stood to deliver a crisp salute, a terrifying alarm suddenly blared through the ship.
[WARNING!
WARNING!
Ratatoskr is under attack by an unidentified hacker!
Firewalls breached!
System unable to counter, requesting manual intervention!]
Alarming red text flashed in the middle of the screen, the soft lighting instantly replaced by a tense red glow.
The crew members, who hadn’t fully snapped out of their previous state, were initially flustered, but quickly regained their composure and rushed back to their posts.
“How are the Territory protection walls holding?!”
“Temporarily safe!
But the target’s intrusion is terrifyingly aggressive!
It likely won’t last much longer!”
A crew member yelled nervously.
The enemy had breached three firewalls in a mere instant, leaving only the final Territory firewall struggling to hold the line.
Hearing this news, everyone’s nerves snapped tight.
They instantly switched their handheld terminal interfaces, and the rapid, continuous clicking of keyboards filled the room.
To prevent the final Territory firewall from collapsing, they had to mobilize all reserve magic power.
If their defense failed, the consequences would be unimaginable.
A best-case scenario meant complete data loss; a worst-case scenario meant the airship crashing outright.
Feeling the immense pressure, cold sweat beaded on their foreheads, and their hands even began to tremble.
However, two individuals stood completely detached from this panicked atmosphere.
Kotori maintained an indifferent attitude, crossing her legs nonchalantly as she licked her lollipop, looking over at the perfectly calm Reine.
As expected, this crew still lacks the composure to handle crisis calmly, Kotori thought, then nudged Kannazuki—who had been playing dead on the floor—with her foot.
“This familiar sensation…
is it little Kotori’s kick?!”
Kannazuki, lying on the floor, suddenly squirmed like a worm, making overly dramatic noises.
“Work quickly, or I’ll throw you off Ratatoskr.
Got it?”
“Understood.”
Kannazuki offered a brief response, then assumed a serious demeanor the rest of the crew had never seen before.
After observing the precarious Territory firewall for a few seconds, Kannazuki shifted his gaze toward the main screen above.
Then, as if rallying the crew, he swept his hand forward grandly.
“Stay calm.
Concentrate all ship barriers onto the network Territory defense wall!
Focus them at coordinates H-7, G-3, and Y-2—those are the enemy’s three primary strike points!”
“Eh…?”
Seemingly because Kannazuki’s current presence diverged so drastically from their usual impression of him, the operators controlling the Realizer froze for a second.
“I’ll explain later!
If you don’t want Fraxinus to be taken over by a hacker, follow my instructions immediately!”
“Tch—Understood…!
Control-type Realizer—Unit 2 initiating magic power routing!”
The crew member operated the console.
The Territory firewall, which had previously been as fragile as a bubble, instantly restored itself, becoming far sturdier than its prior data structure.
“H-How is this possible?!”
“Don’t slack off!
Deploy honeycomb-style defense, conduct point defense from firewall grid H-6 to J-3!”
“Engage control-type Territory units six through eight, output data at maximum capacity!”
“…!” Right as the opponent launched her strongest breach attempt, everyone’s eyes widened in shock.
That seemingly invincible data spear had actually been blocked by the Territory firewall!
For a moment, they thought their eyes were deceiving them, but that was impossible—the words “DEFENSE SUCCESSFUL” were displayed clearly across the screen.
“W-What on earth happened?”
The crew members didn’t understand, but someone else did.
That was Shiratori, who had failed her hack on Ratatoskr.
She understood precisely what had transpired.
When she had utilized the final processing capacity of the internet cafe computer to attack the enemy’s firewall, her primary thrust had been accurately intercepted by the opponent.
It was because her final strike had been countered with absolute precision that she suffered defeat.
At this moment, Shiratori sat in her chair, staring at the blue-screened computer deep in thought.
“The computers in this internet cafe are inadequate.”