Chapter 157 - The Strategist IX

[Operator of All Things at Play] changed its appearance, transforming from an adorable blue butterfly anyone could love into a shape thick with television static.

It would probably assume some terrifying form.

This was the moment when the God of Alienation finally came out as the final boss, proclaiming, “Yes, I am Kira,” but I wasn't remotely afraid.

Even in <Death Note>, after delivering that line, the ultimate mastermind changed careers from god to Vocaloid. Being afraid would have been strange.

I calmly drew my gun.

A Walther PPK pistol. A Godslayer. A dedicated Noble Phantasm I had retrieved from Namsan solely for this battle.

Feeling its cool touch, I recalled the conversation I'd had alone with the Saintess thirty-three days ago.

That's right.

The protagonist entering a flashback before delivering the final blow. Wasn't that another time-honored cliché?

Hundreds of thousands, even millions of creative works had already demonstrated a significant correlation between a character's flashbacks and their attack power.

Therefore, flashback scene: start.

10

["Mr. Undertaker."]

The Saintess spoke in something close to a whisper.

["Come to think of it, why must we specifically use the format of a 'speedrun stream'? Couldn't it just be an ordinary stream?"]

A dark night.

To place it in the timeline, this was the very night Oh Dokseo had declared, ["I'll save you, Mister!"] Dokseo herself, having confidently added another entry to her collection of embarrassing memories, was dead to the world.

The Saintess and I, on the other hand, barely needed sleep.

She could simply click the [Time Stop] button and go to sleep, while my level of mastery was so high that a brief nap was enough.

As the apocalypse unfolded and all humanity was forced into the wholesome routine of going to bed early and rising early, the two of us always indulged in the all-night lifestyle of irresponsible adults.

["Ah. Because it's quite literally a matter of time."]

["A matter of time?"]

["Yes. The God of Alienation called [Operator of All Things at Play] is waiting for more humans to worship it as a god."]

SNOOORE.

From the bed, Oh Dokseo's nose was enthusiastically broadcasting noise to the world.

["Everyone imagines gods in their own way. A benevolent god, a terrifying god, an omnipotent, omniscient god... As those images become more varied, [Operator of All Things at Play] becomes capable of changing into countless forms."]

["Changing."]

["Yes. There have been innumerable depictions of gods in humanity's creative works. [Operator of All Things at Play] need only choose whichever one it wants."]

[Operator of All Things at Play] could transform into anything.

It could become Cthulhu and stage a horror story, or turn into an infinitely caring god and inspire people to submit voluntarily.

["Determining this world's genre. I suspect that is the authority [Operator of All Things at Play] possesses."]

["..."]

["If the world's genre becomes fixed as something like misery fiction, we're in serious trouble. Before [Operator of All Things at Play] chooses a genre, we have to force a particular one on it ourselves."]

["A particular genre? What kind...?"]

["Comedy."]

I took a sip of café au lait.

["You probably noticed when we crossed the sea using <Hamel's Journal>... I've deliberately kept our live commentary comedic. Nothing too serious. Nothing that might let us slip into misery fiction."]

["Ah."]

["If we can define this run's genre as 'comedy,' even if only in its opening portion, [Operator of All Things at Play] will never be able to descend in the form of a terrifying god."]

["... I see. That's why you've kept joking."]

I nodded.

Every work had a tone.

No matter how tragic a development [Operator of All Things at Play] tried to introduce, what if the work's tone had been light and comedic from the outset?

It would inevitably be condemned for forcing the atmosphere into misery.

That wasn't a planned cliché. It was simply a failed work.

If that happened, [Operator of All Things at Play] would effectively be admitting that it lacked the ability to handle clichés.

An anomaly could never reject its own essence.

We had to exploit this void spot.

["Saintess. We've taken the hate potion, so all manner of misfortunes will soon come rushing at us."]

["..."]

["Once we return to Korea, I plan to head straight into Hundred Flowers Girls' High School. Gapless has the authority to distort the human sense of time without limit, so we'll probably spend what feels like more than five years there. Let me warn you now: those five years will be no different from hell."]

Therefore.

["We will deliberately 'skip' those unhappy days."]

["Skip...?"]

["Yes. Omit them and move past them. We won't say a single word about the misfortunes we experience within Gapless's time. That's the only way to maintain the tone of a 'comedy.'"]

["Ah... I see."]

Incidentally, those “unhappy scenes” were deliberately omitted for you readers as well.

Of course, people with certain tastes must have been desperate to see me sobbing as I cradled my companions' corpses.

But all of this was a decision made with the bigger picture in mind: defeating the God of Alienation. I ask for your understanding.

["That's also why you can't take center stage, Saintess. You really have nothing whatsoever to do with comedy."]

["..."]

["Before [Operator of All Things at Play] molds the world into a serious, heavy genre, we need to get ahead of it and establish the tone. But it's impossible to maintain 'comedy' for long in an apocalypse like this."]

["... Because people are dying."]

["Yes. Fifty days at the absolute most. No, honestly, I'd like to finish this within thirty."]

Hence the speedrun.

Before the world became truly serious and heavy, we would stage the most “absurdly hilarious,” “side-splitting,” “uproarious,” “chaotic” spectacle possible.

And in doing so, narrow the very range of genres the God of Alienation called [Operator of All Things at Play] could deploy.

The Saintess looked completely convinced. I spoke to her.

["Remember our conversation today, Saintess."]

["Pardon?"]

["The exact nature of [Operator of All Things at Play]'s authority remains conjecture. But if, as I expect, its ability is related to the genres of creative works—"]

I set down my coffee cup.

["The conversation we've had tonight will certainly prove invaluable."]

11

Flashback scene: end.

With [Perfect Recall], I could recall the past perfectly, anytime, anywhere.

Even now, as I placed my finger on the Walther PPK pistol's trigger, I completed my “flashback” in an instant.

And then.

“Monkey's Paw,” I murmured. “It's time to fulfill your promise.”

OOK, KEEK-KEEK, KEEK!

The invisible Monkey's Paw shrieked.

All the misfortune we had accumulated so far. Though it hadn't been covered on the stream, we had undeniably suffered “off-screen.”

The total amounts of misfortune and good fortune had to match.

Even while the speedrun stream wasn't running, [The Monkey's Paw] had lingered beside us.

“There's only one piece of good fortune I want.”

KEEEEK, OOK, KEEE-HEEEK!

“Put all that good fortune into the bullet I'm about to fire.”

RRRIP!

My dress shirt's right sleeve burst apart. Monkey fur had grown in an instant, covering my entire right arm.

Countless buffs began slathering themselves onto the Noble Phantasm named the Walther PPK pistol.

The first buff: [The Total Fortune System], turned to our advantage by stacking [The Monkey's Paw] and [Hate Potion].

Thanks to this, the single bullet I was about to fire would carry uncannily powerful good fortune.

The second buff: [Chekhov’s Gun]. An anomaly that ensured a decisive scene whenever a gun appeared.

And the gun I'd brought wasn't an ordinary pistol. It was itself an anomaly overlaid with the image of a “Godslayer.”

Thanks to this, the single bullet I was about to fire would inevitably bring the battle to its finale.

The third buff was...

["Mr. Undertaker. Now."]

The Saintess sent me a message through Telepathy.

The timing was truly perfect. That very line was the third buff. In other words, the “flashback” cliché.

Not only I, but the Saintess too, remembered our conversation that night and gave me the cue.

This established the cliché of “We knew this situation would arise long ago, and we've been preparing for it.”

And thus the fourth and final buff was completed.

“I've won—”

I murmured with a smile.

“—just as planned.”

That's right.

One of the greatest clichés in fiction.

The cliché of “Everything unfolded exactly as the protagonist had planned, in the palm of their hand.”

I had accumulated countless chains of cause and effect, enough to dare claim this cliché.

From run 135 all the way to run 593, even dying by strangulation at Workshop Master Noh Doha's hands, I had been dying to build up these buffs.

Into this single bullet, I packed the anomalies and clichés called:

[The Total Fortune System].

[Hate Potion].

[Chekhov’s Gun].

[Flashback].

[Just as Planned].

CLICK.

I pulled the trigger at the god.

BAAAANG!

The gunshot rang out for a long time.

Perhaps too long.

Belatedly noticing my attack, [Operator of All Things at Play] attempted an evasive maneuver. But it had just proclaimed itself the final boss and was on the verge of transforming.

Attacking someone mid-transformation violated the unwritten code of fiction, but such an ambush was permitted if it happened just once in the entire series.

KZZZZZT!

As my bullet passed through, it left a “scratch” in the God of Alienation's static-covered domain.

Sixteen-bit static, eight-bit static, four-bit static. The domain, which grew lower in resolution the closer it came to the God of Alienation, was pierced layer by layer.

The bullet whipped up a vortex, shattering the low-resolution world like sheets of glass.

As the bullet hurtled toward it, the God of Alienation spewed messages. It was in such a panic that they lacked even the bare minimum of formatting, flooding my vision simultaneously.

['Operator of All Things at Play' asserts the 'Twist upon Twist' cliché.] ['Operator of All Things at Play' asserts the 'Attacks during Transformation Fail' cliché] [Resurrection] [Regeneration] [asserts] [asks its believers and shrine maiden to activate the 'Did We Get It?' cliché] [cliché] [requests] ['Operator of All Things at Play'] [asserts] [asserts] [■] [asserts] [asserts]

That was the anomaly's scream.

The bullet pierced the God of Alienation's wing.

['Oper■tor of ■ll ■■ings at Play'] [ah] [asserts] [ah] [ah] [ah] [■] [■] [■] [■] [■] [■]

KZZZZZZZT.

The sixteen-bit space that had stretched to the horizon rapidly contracted. It collapsed toward the point the bullet had pierced.

Static flickering alternately black, gray, and white swirled into a single point like a black hole. Tens of thousands of NPCs were sucked into it as well, letting out bizarre screams.

Then holes began opening here and there throughout the world.

CRASH!

With the sound of shattering glass, “bullet wounds” opened in the sky, in the ground, and in the hotel building.

[■] [■] [■] [■] [■] [■] [■]

In gush after gush, the holes vomited pitch-black liquid like waterfalls.

The black vomit smelled of petroleum.

A strange sound rang out as the liquid flowed, much like the crackling static of a broken radio.

The nauseating stench and unpleasant noise overflowed in an instant, blanketing the entire world in black.

Oh Dokseo and I were submerged in the God of Alienation's vomit.

The black liquid rose over our heads, but fortunately, we had no trouble breathing. It probably wasn't a physical liquid to begin with.

When I closed my eyes beneath the black surface and opened them again, a “white space” stretched almost infinitely around me. Everything in every direction was white, making it difficult to tell up from down.

This was the divine domain.

Not the comedy temple I had artificially constructed, but the space where [Operator of All Things at Play] truly existed.

“M-Mister? Where are we?”

“...”

Only three people had been invited into the divine domain: me, Oh Dokseo, and the Saintess.

Perhaps only the three of us had been recognized as the main characters of this story.

“... ...”

There, before us, lay the fallen master of this space.