A new day in my life had arrived, once again I was back at the university, anxiously waiting for the clock on the wall to mark the time to leave so I could flee this prison, return to my beautiful room, dedicate myself to doing nothing, and rest.
"I don't understand what's so difficult about this class, it's just about programming and systems."
"From the way you talked about it being a torture of classes, I expected something harder, but it's just like learning another language and math," said the small figure from my backpack.
Once again, Rory spoke whatever crossed her mind without a filter. It seemed she had found a new hobby, and it was demonstrating how everything was beneath her as a goddess. She didn't actually do it out of malice; it was simply her curiosity and disappointment speaking for her. She constantly boasts about being over a thousand years old, and yet her mind seems to work like a five-year-old's when something new and unknown appears before her.
"Well, if it's so easy, how about you do my homework for me?"
"Because you're the one who has to learn it, not me."
"Oh, come on, if we're going to be together, what difference does it make if one of us learns it and not the other?"
"The truth is, I hate these subjects."
"????"
"Interesting. And if you hate this so much, then why are you studying it?"
"Didn't you say before that in this era everyone can choose what they study? You're studying it for a reason, right?"
"Because one thing is studying what I want, like literature."
"And another very different thing is studying something that pays the bills."
"But aren't you already living on your own?"
"I wouldn't call barely scraping by at the end of the month 'living'."
"Then find another job."
"That's why I'm here!"
"No, you're studying, not looking for a job."
A little annoyed by her interruptions during class, I shook my backpack so the annoying voice would take a breather.
When classes ended, I started packing my things quickly to get out of this place as soon as possible. A minute spent here is a minute not spent in my room. But this time, Luna seemed to read my intention easily and made her move before I could slip away to reach the extraction point, when a familiar hand landed on my shoulder.
Not again.
I turned slowly, preparing an excuse, a lie, anything. But the words died in my throat when I saw Luna's expression.
It wasn't her usual polite smile. It wasn't the arrogant confidence of the perfect girl. It was something else. Frustration, perhaps. Or confusion. Or both.
"César," she said, and her voice didn't have its usual commanding tone. It sounded... human.
"Luna?"
"Do you have a moment? Seriously, this time it's important."
I glanced at my backpack. Rory, as always, was in the front pocket, her head barely peeking out. I felt a small movement, her way of saying, "I'm here, you decide."
"You know what you said a couple of days ago about the romantic werewolf story being pretty generic?"
"It bothered me. A lot, to be honest."
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"No, don't apologize." She raised a hand to stop me.
"It bothered me... so I started researching online and it turns out you were right."
"I couldn't believe it, but after I saw there was a specific tag for that, and that the same tag went to page 240... I had no choice but to accept that maybe a couple of people had already thought the same thing."
"I read dozens of synopses of romance novels with supernatural elements," she continued. "New girl, mysterious guy, secret to reveal, forbidden love. All of them. All of them followed the same pattern. And I was about to write exactly that."
"Well, I guess having so many similar stories at least indicates there's an audience for it, at least."
"You have no idea how hard it is to have an audience for a long story like a saga with an idea that almost no one understands."
"Yeah, but I don't want that!'
"I want it to be a freaking original hit! I want something that screams, Author Luna!"
"I want readers to say this is clearly something only Luna could write! Not a machine spitting out a story template."
"Yet you were about to do exactly that."
"......"
"Yeah, unfortunately, I have no choice but to accept that... my background and knowledge are pretty limited for this task."
"But that's exactly why I think I need help."
"Oh, well, good luck with that."
"No, wait! I'm not finished yet."
"What I mean is that even though you usually don't say much, you seem like someone who knows a lot about the subject."
"You clearly know what's trendy or what has an audience, so I imagine you also have a lot of ideas about original things or things that could work more easily in fantasy."
"Basically, you're calling me an otaku, I guess."
"What? No!"
"On the contrary, well, yes, but that's not what I meant."
"......."
"Just let me get to the point I'm trying to make."
"......."
"The thing is, I've always respected your edits; they're really good."
"And I already know how you work, and you know how I work."
"So I was thinking if I could count on you as an external consultant to help me create my story."
"I'll pay you, of course, as usual."
Oh shit, now what the hell does she want? Does she want me to tell her what to do? Or tell her what things are really bad? And if I tell her something that offends her? It's too complicated. Not to mention, with something like this, I could end up accidentally revealing my novel to her. However, a little extra money is always good, especially now that Rory is in my life and it seems she's never going anywhere. It meant fewer sleepless nights worrying about how to pay the bills. It meant being able to buy better ingredients than stale bread and frozen pizza. It meant...
It meant someone was paying me to talk about fantasy.
"Fantasy consultant?", I repeated, savoring the absurdity of the words.
"Luna, that's not a real job. It's... it's something you made up five seconds ago."
"It's a job now," she said, and her commanding tone had returned, but mixed with something that could almost be called pleading.
"I'll pay you. The same as I pay you for corrections, but per session. Once a week."
"You tell me what works, what doesn't, what I can do to make my story not... boring."
"Why me?" I asked.
"You know a hundred people more talented than me. People who have published, who have contacts, who..."
"Because you're honest," she interrupted.
"Because when you read my manuscript, you didn't tell me what I wanted to hear. You told me what I needed to know."
"......"
"you have no idea how dificult that is for someone ..... for my position...."
"You clearly know about this, even if you hide it, I can see it."
"You said you read everything, that you play war video games to understand how soldiers think, that you mix science fiction with magic." "I don't know anything about that."
"My world has always been academia, essays, corporate structures, surely boring stuff for your standard." She paused.
"But I want to learn. And I need someone to teach me."
"Someone who already knows a lot."
"I don't even know what the hell these tutorials would be!?"
"Classes, maybe? Study sessions?"
"I'll sit with you, I'll ask you questions, you'll recommend me readings, movies, games."
"Just talk to me about the things you like, how you integrate those things you play or experience and add them to that story of yours."
"You'll explain to me why some things work and others don't."
That... was a solid argument. Damn Luna and her ability to be reasonable.
"And if I don't have time?", I attempted weakly.
"I'll make your schedule fit mine. I'll talk to the professors if necessary. I have... influence."
Of course she did. She always did.
"One hour a week," I gave in.
"And only for a month. To try it out."
The smile she gave me was so bright it almost hurt.
"Deal. I'll text you tonight with the details. And César..." She hesitated for a moment.
"Thanks. For not treating me like I know everything."
I nodded, not knowing what to say. And as she walked away, I felt a small movement in my backpack.
Rory, of course, had heard everything.
"Fantasy consultant", she whispered from her hiding spot.
"That's... stupid? No, that's not the right word. Absurd? Not that either. Wonderful? Yes, wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."
"Shut up."
"I love it. You're going to teach the perfect girl how to be a geek. This is pure gold, César."
"I'm not teaching her to be a geek. I'm just going to... advise her."
"Sure, sure. And I'm just a PVC figure." Her laughter echoed inside the backpack.
"This is going to be fun."
"Besides, she sounded almost like an innocent girl desperately asking you out."
"Who? Luna?"
"Of course not! Do you even know who she is?"
"She's Luna Hoshikawa."
"She's the heiress to the owners of the Amanogawa Corporation, CosmoWave Industries, and Hoshikawa Heavy Industries."
"She's basically royalty in Japan."
"It's almost a miracle that she's so humble, relatively speaking, considering where she comes from."
"I don't even know why she comes to study here; she probably has a million tutors back home."
"Hmmm....."
"And how do you know so much about her? Are you her secret lover?"
"The way you're talking is telling me something else."
"She paid me to correct her writing; of course I researched."
"Besides, if even the most remote possibility of something like that existed, her parents would murder anyone who isn't a CEO of an equally large rival company or a member of some first-world senate."
"And yet, out of so many professionals she could have hired, she came to you."
"Damn, midget."
"And here I thought you were helping me."
"I was helping. See, you even managed without me having to intervene; that's something."
"That was better than I expected, actually."
"I was betting you'd run off again today."
Back home, today I started working on my story again. Or at least, I tried.
Rory had discovered the TV remote. This, in itself, wasn't a problem. The problem was that she had discovered it five minutes ago and had already changed channels seventeen times, found a documentary about ants (which fascinated her for exactly thirty seconds), a cooking show (which outraged her because "the chef doesn't respect the ingredients"), and now, finally, had settled on the news.
With the volume quite high.
"—disappearances continue in the southern area of the city. Authorities report eleven cases so far this month, most of them young women who were out at night. The public is advised to avoid going out alone after dark and to report any suspicious activity—"
Rory was sitting on the edge of the nightstand, legs crossed and chin resting on one hand, watching the screen with an intensity I found unsettling. The TV light cast dancing shadows on her small face.
"Uh, scary, walking around the city at night," she suddenly said, in a tone that was anything but scared. She brought her hands to her chest in an exaggeratedly theatrical gesture. "I'm so helpless."
She turned her head towards me. Her red eyes gleamed with malice.
I looked at her. At her. At the goddess of war and death. At the creature who wielded a masssive helbard for her size that, according to her, could kill mortals with just a touch. At the twelve-centimeter figure who had spent the morning complaining that my coffee was "too hot to be decent."
"Do you even need help?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.
Rory jumped to her feet with that feline agility that still surprised me every time. She placed a hand on her hip and struck a pose that was pure theater.
"Not really, but come on, it's the great original fantasy every man and woman wants to live!", she exclaimed, gesturing with her free hand towards an imaginary horizon. "A damsel in distress, a brave man coming to save her, a mortal battle, the hero winning thanks to his strength and cunning... The rescued princess's kiss of love."
I sighed, resting my cheek on my hand. "You should stop watching so many movies."
"You were the one playing them on the computer, I was just a figurine on the shelf, remember?" She countered, with a triumphant smile. Then she tilted her head, and her expression changed. It became sharper and curious with malice yet thinking on delivery like a innocent little girl.
"Although I wonder... why did you watch them?"
The question hung in the air between us.
"What do you mean?"
Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
Rory took a step forward on the nightstand, approaching the edge. The TV light continued to flicker behind her, but her eyes didn't leave mine.
"Come on, César." Her voice was soft, but it had that edge that only appeared when she was about to say something important.
"Did you want to be the brave hero who shows up to save the day?" She paused theatrically.
"Or maybe... the pretty princess looking for rescue?"
The world stopped.
I felt the air turn solid in my lungs. My hand, which was about to reach for the keyboard, froze mid-motion.
"What are you talking about?" My voice came out harsher than I intended. Defensive. I knew it. I hated it.
Rory didn't flinch. She took a small leap from the nightstand to my shoulder, landing with the precision of a feather. From there, she slid down my arm until she was sitting on my forearm, looking directly at me.
"Come on, don't play dumb," she said, and her voice had lost all trace of theatricality. Now it was just her. My Rory. The one who had listened to me for ten years.
"I've lived with you. I know everything about you."
"What you always show others... as well as what you usually hide from everyone else."
She paused. Her small hand found my skin and rested there, warm, real.
"Just look at me," she continued.
"Why did you buy an anime figure of me? A Goddess of death and war, in the first place?" She tilted her head, and her red eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and her desire to provoke.
"Was it to save me? Or were you hoping that I would be the one to save the day?"
The question hit me like a punch to the stomach.
Why did I buy Rory?
Memory took me back to that store, ten years ago. A teenager with money saved for months, standing in front of a display case, looking at a figure holding an axe bigger than herself. A figure who smiled with a mix of danger and desire, that seemed to say "I can destroy you, but I can also love you." A figure who, in her original story, had been rejected by the only being she cared about.
I didn't do it for that.
The phrase escaped my lips before I could stop it. "I didn't do it for that."
Rory watched me in silence. She didn't ask "then why?" She didn't push. She just waited, with the patience of someone who is a thousand years old and can afford to wait another lifetime.
But I didn't know what else to say. Because the truth was more complicated than a simple answer.
Did I buy her because I wanted to save her? Because in my head, I could rewrite her ending, give her the love she had been denied? Or did I buy her because, deep down, I wished someone like her would come and save me? That an unstoppable force would burst into my life and make it bearable?
Or maybe... maybe I just bought her because she was beautiful. Because in her painted eyes I saw a reflection of everything I wanted to be and could never be. Strong. Decisive. Free. Cute.
Rory must have seen something in my expression, because suddenly her smile reappeared. But it wasn't the mocking smile from before. It was softer. Gentler.
"It doesn't matter," she finally said.
"What?"
"That it doesn't matter." She stood up on my forearm and stretched her arms above her head, as if just waking from a nap.
"I'm fine with any role, César."
She looked me directly in the eyes.
"It's always beautiful to be rescued by someone you love," she said, and her voice was honest.
"Just as it's also beautiful to rescue a loved one."
Her small hand squeezed my skin.
"So don't worry. I won't hesitate to rescue you if you ever need help, César."
And then she smiled. A genuine smile, without guile, without malice. The smile of someone who has just made a promise and has no intention of breaking it.
The knot in my throat loosened.
"Besides," Rory continued, changing her tone to a lighter one,
"if I rescued you, you'd have to give me a kiss. It's the law."
"Law?"
"Law of rescued damsels. I just invented it now."
I let out a laugh. A hoarse, strange sound, but real.
"You're incredibly absurd."
"I'm a goddess. Absurdity is a requirement."
I didn't know how to respond to that. So I just held her in my hand, feeling her tiny weight, her warmth, her absurd and wonderful presence, and returned her to her pillow throne.
The remote control flew from one hand to another while Rory, with a concentration that only a thousand-year-old goddess could have for something so trivial, explored every corner of the television spectrum. The news gave way to a soap opera, which gave way to a penguin documentary, which gave way to a game show where people shouted as if their lives depended on it.
"—and for ONE HUNDRED THOUSAND YEN, what is the capital of Mongolia?! —the host bellowed from the screen.
"—Ulaanbaatar —"Rory answered at the same time as the contestant, but with a tone of boredom that bordered on divine.
"So easy. In my time, contests were to the death. Literally."
"Surely, maybe because of that, your anime don't have a second season" I said to the air.
"Hey, my anime wasn't canceled; it just..... on hold for negotiations for a second season"
"For ten years?"
"Business takes time, also animation too; drawers need time to make me beautiful on every cell of animation"
"After the studio of your anime shut down five years ago too?"
"Just a setback"
"......."
"Did you hate my anime so much?"
"......"
"You know I don't see sad anime; I love your design and your story, but I don't past chapter 6"
"But I remember the internet going on fire against the author for the finale where the protagonists rejected your love confession after you become the goddess of death and war to protect him in his final battle against the empire of iron bones"
"Surely the anime studio saw the online discussion and better stopped to continue altogether before entering that topic"
"......."
"But I did buy your figure because I loved Rory, not the whole anime"
"Do you think that is bad?"
"No. It's not a bad thing."
"It's... better. Much better."
"It means you have good taste. The best taste. Only the most exquisite taste could appreciate me without needing any context."
"It also means I only needed six chapters to make you fall in love with me."
I tried to concentrate on my computer screen, on the empty document staring back at me with its blinking cursor, mocking, accusing. Chapter three hundred fifty-seven awaited me. The post-battle melancholy scene. The moment when the protagonist, after losing everything, finds a moment to remember.
But the cursor just blinked. And Rory changed channels.
"—and now, exclusively, images of the latest attack in the southern district—"
Click.
"—three simple steps to prepare the perfect ramen in—"
Click.
"—emperor penguins travel up to eighty kilometers to—"
Click.
"César, did you know penguins have knees?"Rory asked without taking her eyes off the screen.
"They're inside their bodies, that's why they look so funny when they walk."
Click.
"—...rains will continue through the weekend..."
Click.
"—...scandal in the entertainment industry: actor..."
Click.
"—...easy recipe for homemade bread in just twenty..."
Click.
"—...and in sports, the local team..."
Click.
I rested my forehead on my hand, fingers still hovering over the keyboard. The word processor screen blinked with its mocking cursor, counting the seconds I'd spent without writing a single word.
Click.
"—...documentary on the secret life of..."
Click.
"—...alert: it is advised not to go out alone at night in the southern area, authorities report three new cases of..."
Click.
"—...and now, on Planet of Animals, the incredible world of..."
Click.
"—...coming soon to theaters, the new movie from..."
Click.
"—...John Wuck: Chapter 7, next in our action block—"
Click.
"—...John Wuck: Chapter 7, next on—"
Click.
"RORY!"
The click stopped.
From the bed, where she was sitting cross-legged surrounded by a mountain of pillows she had rearranged to create her "divine observation throne," Rory looked at me with an expression of innocence so exaggerated it was offensive.
"Yes, darling?"
"You've been changing channels nonstop for twenty minutes."
"Twenty-one, to be exact." She smiled.
"I'm keeping count."
"May I ask... why?"
Rory raised the remote control with both hands, as if it were a sacred object.
"I am... how do you say it? Exploring? Researching? Your world has too many options, César. Too many. In my time, if you wanted entertainment, you had to witness a field battle or listen to a drunk poet. This..." she waved the remote, "...this is overwhelming."
"And you can't explore with a little less... intensity?"
"No."
Click.
The television turned on again. This time, the screen showed a dark, rainy scene. A suited man walked through a neon-lit alley, with a gun in each hand and an expression of absolute determination on his face.
Rory leaned forward, her red eyes suddenly focused.
"Wait. Wait. This... this looks interesting."
"RORY!"
The small figure turned towards me, remote in one hand and an expression of innocence so exaggerated it was offensive.
"Yes, dear?"
I blinked. Then I pointed at the computer screen, then the TV, then the mess of channels she'd been changing for the last twenty minutes.
"I'm trying to write."
"Oh, I know." She turned back to the television.
"That's why I change carefully, so I don't make noise."
She turned towards the screen, and for the first time in twenty minutes, she stopped changing channels. On the TV, a trailer showed a suited man moving with lethal precision amidst gunshots, punches, falling bodies. His face was a mask of absolute determination.
I looked again at the computer screen. The cursor was still blinking. The document was still empty.
Rory, blessed with a moment of silence, had settled in to watch the whole movie. John Wuck shot his way through half a dozen assassins, and she made technical comments about the fight choreography.
"That shot was unnecessary. He could have disarmed him."
"The fall down the stairs was good. Uses the environment."
"Why doesn't anyone aim for the head? Basic, folks. Basic."
I, for my part, tried to write. Or at least, I tried.
Today I had to write about a pretty sad chapter. In this chapter, the protagonist is walking through a kingdom that collapsed in the past due to a dragon invasion. My idea is for him to pass by important places and slowly remember how things used to be in that city of Atlantis when everything was fine. It's a very sentimental moment: the protagonist is remembering the places where he used to talk with his deceased wife. It's a moment of mourning and grief.
However, I don't see myself capable of writing something like that while Rory is watching an action movie behind me, shouting excitedly. It's pretty hard to concentrate like this. The atmosphere isn't right.
"Look, César, look! He just killed three with a pencil! A pencil!" she shouted from the bed, pointing at the screen with the remote as if she had witnessed a divine miracle.
"I know, Rory. I've seen the movie."
"And you didn't tell me? You hid this from me?" Her tone was one of theatrical indignation.
"This is art. This is... this is what I do, but on TV!"
I nodded vaguely, my fingers still hovering over the keyboard. The cursor kept blinking. Always blinking.
Oh well. Looks like it won't be today either.
I closed the document without saving. There was nothing to save.
Instead, if I couldn't write, at least I could try to find inspiration to write that scene the right way. But it's not as easy as just listening to music. This scene is a very important moment in the novel. It's a scene of melancholy and remembering with dignity, even after a brutal battle that cost the protagonist everything.
And the only thing I can think of is to go back to that painful scene in Star Fantasy, the one that still haunts me to this day. The moment Tamamo dies.
I rested my head in my hands. I couldn't go on like this. I needed inspiration, and the only source my brain seemed capable of offering was that scene. The scene I had seen dozens, perhaps hundreds of times. The scene that still, years later, could make my chest tighten just thinking about it.
My fingers moved before my brain could stop them. I opened the game. The loading screen appeared with its familiar music. Rory, on the other side of the room, was still commenting on the movie, but her voice became a distant murmur.
I navigated the menus. My character, my pride. A light blue slime girl, voluptuous in body, as similar to Melona as I could manage in the character editor; I spent hundreds of hours just to get the right outfit to make her look pretty. Now at max level, the most powerful equipment the game could offer. The most elegant armor, shining with a celestial glow. My best version. My virtual pride, where I could look exactly as I wanted.
I loaded my save. I navigated the menus until I found the "Remembered Cutscenes" section. There it was. Chapter 47: "The Light That Fades Away."
I started loading the scene in the game again.
The dialogue began once more.
The hot spring steamed gently under the moonlight. My character, an android from an alien race, was sitting at the water's edge, feet submerged. Beside him, Tamamo, in her orange autumn kimono, held a paper lantern that illuminated her face with a warm glow.
"I've been locked away for so long..." Her voice, from the voice actress, filled my headphones.
"But with you... with you, everything is different."
"I've wanted to talk to you for a long time," Tamamo said, her voice soft like the murmur of water.
"Ever since you freed me from that stone, I've felt something I haven't felt in thousands of years."
My character turned his head to look at her.
"What is it?" he asked.
Tamamo smiled. A shy, vulnerable smile. Nothing like the villainess she had been.
"Hope," she whispered.
"And also... affection. An affection I don't know how to explain."
"......"
"What I mean is, if you wouldn't mind... being my lover, if you would like us to be a couple, a duo for all eternity."
And then, always then, the shadow.
A blinding light. A flash of pure energy, shot from somewhere in the darkness. The weapon capable of erasing souls.
Tamamo moved without hesitation. She stepped between my character and the attack.
"NO!" my character screamed, but it was too late.
She looked at him. Just a second. Her golden eyes met his.
"I'm sorry," she said.
"I wanted... I wanted to live with you."
And then, the light. Her body dissolved into golden particles that rose into the night sky like wounded fireflies. The lantern fell to the ground, rolled, stopped. Extinguished.
"Tamamo..." my character whispered, hands reaching out towards nothing.
Black.
Title of the next chapter: "The Weight of Loss."
A living memory of one of my greatest defeats.
"Playing that again?"
Rory's voice came from behind, but it no longer had its excited tone from before. It was softer. More careful.
I didn't respond.
I felt a small weight on my shoulder. She had jumped from the bed and climbed up my chair, as she often did when she wanted to be close without interrupting. But now she was interrupting. Or trying to, at least.
"César, you know the damage rewatching that does to you. It's not healthy for you."
"I know."
"You should put it aside if you hate how that story ends so much."
I clenched my fingers around the mouse. On the screen, the cutscene menu was still open, the title "Chapter 47" glowing with a light that, for me, was a black hole.
"I feel like I can't do that," I whispered.
"It would be an insult to Tamamo."
Silence stretched out behind me. For a moment, I thought Rory had left, that she had gone back to her TV exploration. But then I felt her hand on my neck, small and warm.
"I'm sure she would prefer you not to remember that part of her," she said with a tenderness unusual in her voice.
"That you remember other things. Like when you trusted her when no one else did."
"......"
"!!!!!!"
"César!?"
The way she said my name made me stop. She was serious. Too serious.
"What?"
"Behind you."
I turned slowly, following her gaze. Rory wasn't looking at me. She was looking at a fixed point on the other side of the room. Towards the bookshelf.
Towards the place where I had placed the new Tamamo figure.
And then I saw her.
The figure was no longer motionless. It was no longer just plastic and paint. She was standing on the edge of the bookshelf, one hand resting on the shelf above for balance, her blue and purple kimono glowing under the faint light of the galaxy lamp.
Her blue eyes, the ones I had seen die hundreds of times on the screen, were open.
And they were looking directly at me.
But not just at me. Her gaze shifted for an instant towards the monitor, where the screen still showed the chapter title. Where her own death had just played out. Where her voice had spoken her last words mere seconds before.
When her eyes met mine again, there was something in them I couldn't decipher. Pain? Confusion? Acceptance?
And then she spoke.
Her voice was exactly like in the game. The same softness. The same timbre. The same warmth I had heard die a hundred times.
"So that's how it happened."
Rory, from the desk, jumped to her feet instinctively. Her hand groped for her halberd, which she had left leaning against the keyboard.
I couldn't move. I couldn't speak. I could only watch.