Log Time Show

"A welcome reception will be held at the ship's event hall from 5 pm. Pilots of the Guardian Troopers, please attend."

The ship's announcement is being repeated, and it's only 10 minutes until 5 o'clock. I want to participate, but no matter how much I check the ship's map, I can't find the event hall. There's a multipurpose hall called Hotsho no Ma, but this is probably it, right?

There are quite a few people in military-style cosplay. The beauties who are wearing matching uniforms neatly must be event companions. It seems like a glamorous job, but standing and working all day without breaking their smiles must be quite difficult.

I've heard that most of them are part-time university students, but apparently, the discount for beauties has become severe recently due to advancements in cosmetic surgery technology. Even as a companion part-time job, the minimum wage is barely enough to cover the cost of cosmetic surgery, and it's the cosmetic surgeons and dispatch offices that are making money.

There are so many cosmetically enhanced beauties these days that women who haven't had cosmetic surgery are called "unique" or "natural" and are popular. While everyone has their own preferences, if you want artificial beauty, androids are more ideal.

I didn't see any at the ship's casino, but there will be plenty of the latest android models in the special district, which I'm a little looking forward to. They probably don't use androids on the ship because even the slightest vibration would put excessive strain on the stabilizers, significantly shortening the lifespan of consumable parts and incurring high maintenance costs.

I remember saving up my allowance in middle school to build a 40cm toy android, which required frequent part replacements due to low durability. It's probably still in the closet at my parents' house, gathering dust. Nowadays, higher-performance toys often come as magazine supplements, but back then, it was a treasure to me.

After that, I aspired to become a robot engineer, graduated from a second-rate industrial university, and now work for a black company. I wonder how far my life will fall - I don't even want to imagine my old age.

But still, the memories of those days as a boy, absorbed in tinkering with parts, are one of the few precious treasures left for me now. Back then, I truly believed there were infinite possibilities for the future. If I see a life flashing before my eyes when I die, I want to reminisce about that happy feeling.

Completely lost, I decide to just head in the direction with more cosplayers, hoping to eventually reach the venue, probably.

After going up and down some stairs, I end up in what seems to be the engine room area. It's clearly an off-limits zone for unauthorized personnel.

Hurrying towards the lively area, the engine section is like a three-dimensional maze. I cautiously squeeze through the gaps between hot pipes, feeling completely lost.

In the meantime, I stumble upon three men changing clothes in a cramped space under an emergency staircase.

Seeing what looks like guns wrapped in cloth, I'm momentarily startled, but they must be cosplayers too. Struggling to put on bulletproof vests over their grease-stained work clothes and wrap what looks like dynamite around their waists with tape, their cosplay is more like terrorists than soldiers.

These guys must be event staff too, not even provided a proper changing area, the poor sods. To those in charge, it's probably a trivial matter, but it's these little indignities that wear you down. The expressions on their faces convey the melancholy of life - they probably didn't want an outsider like me to witness such a pitiful scene.

"Ah, excuse me. Keep up the good work."

I give them a warm smile.

"Ah, thanks," they reply sheepishly, exchanging glances and forcing weak smiles. Not a shred of vigor - can they really pull off playing terrorists?

Going up the emergency stairs, there's an entrance to the backstage area. A foreigner in a Scutum foam suit notices me and hurriedly puts on his helmet. It wrinkles at the joints when he moves, but it's a pretty well-made suit. I'm looking forward to what kind of event this will be.

This must indeed be the right way to Hotsho no Ma. At the entrance, companion ladies in military uniforms have started checking people in. Anyone can enter, but presenting a pilot card gets you a larger paper bag.

The large hall is quite empty, with only about 100 people inside. Jimmy doesn't seem to be here yet - actually, does he even plan to come? He's probably too absorbed with his supposed girlfriend to bother.

The seating arrangement is just like a movie theater, which is probably how it's also used. All the seats can be stored accordion-style, allowing it to function as a gymnasium too, with a folded basketball hoop stored in the ceiling.

If you go down to the front row, it's the actual floor. Along the right wall are a series of round portholes, with the frontmost porthole attached to an emergency hatch. Peeking through, there seems to be a small deck with a cute pool you can access. The door is locked though, so it can't normally be accessed.

The sky is a beautiful wisteria color. Does the wide view make the sky look exceptionally beautiful at sea? The surrounding ships and buildings already have their lights on.

It's just the most dramatic time of day. Despite the freezing cold, couples are standing at evenly spaced intervals along the shore by the airport, gazing at the sea. Well, there's nothing wrong with admiring the setting sun over the ocean, but it's remarkable that there are only couples doing it. Not a single brave soul viewing the sea alone.

A fishing boat has come quite close, with anglers casting their rods down. The bobbers are faintly glowing, creating a fantastical atmosphere. I wonder what they're catching? 

What I thought was a horn sound turned out to be the ship slowly starting to move. Departing? I was surprised it started moving in the opposite direction from the seats. I must have mixed up the front and back of the ship since you can't see the bow or stern from here. Are the seats facing backwards for safety in case of a collision? The ship is so large that it doesn't rock much. If I wasn't looking outside, I might not have even noticed we departed.

The event seems about to start. One of the companion ladies in a military-style cosplay has taken the stage. 

There are still many empty seats, but close to half are occupied - over 200 but under 300 people. Apparently around 50 invited players, so the rest must be general audience members? There are quite a few foreigners.

I hurry to take an end seat in the front row. I would have preferred further back, but I don't have the courage to cross in front of everyone now to get to the upper aisle.

"Thank you all for gathering here today. I am Colonel Alisa, and I will be your host." 

The tall beauty who made an overly theatrical salute while sweeping back her pink hair past her shoulders has quite a presence.

Well, all the companion ladies here are beauties with great figures, but this Colonel Alisa stands out. Her hair is clearly a costume wig, but her facial features are distinctive - a blend of Caucasoid sharpness and Mongoloid softness. Is she mixed? But she speaks perfect Japanese.

Her slightly hooked nose might be polarizing, though it seems a shame she hasn't had minor cosmetic surgery to fix it. Some naturally beautiful people take pride in their looks and refuse even minor procedures. The nose makes her seem quite stern, fitting for playing an arrogant superior officer role. 

"What's wrong? Everyone looks so glum? I'm the Colonel, you know. Yes, a very important person. You all better listen closely to my orders."

Colonel Alisa is doing her overacted shtick with exaggerated gestures. She's probably a trainee actor from a theatre troupe - too skilled for an amateur but improvises poorly for a professional. There are a few chuckles from the audience, but most seem lost. 

This heroic show style doesn't suit this crowd. If I was hosting, I couldn't last a second with this deadpan atmosphere. But the Colonel powers through unfazed - she's got grit.

"Brave warriors of the Arcadia Mercenary Brigade! Upon arrival at the battlefield, you will immediately be put to the test. The rules of combat will remain secret until you take your seats in the cockpits, but rest assured it will be a grueling battle unprecedented in your experience." 

Fighting with special rules sounds interesting, though in my case, I'm hopeless at anything besides close-quarters combat, so one mistake could lead to an instant defeat.

"After the battle, a grand feast awaits, but the invitation is only for the 16 surviving ace pilots."

The people around me all start fiddling with their mobile devices. Ah, I see - these are casino patrons, betting on which pilots will survive.

"Well, it seems tedious to cash in the chips I got, so I might as well bet everything on myself. At least betting on my own ability feels more satisfying than leaving it up to the dealer. Staring at these toy-like chips, I'm realizing they don't really add much pressure to the stakes.

With 50 participants, today's battle will narrow it down to 16. Roughly a third then. If there's also a feast, time must be limited. One match with the top 16 scores advancing? Or maybe a battle royale? Ah whatever, I'll just give it my all.

For a moment, I sensed a murderous intent. I thought it might be the gazes of other players getting fired up, but it wasn't that. Something more serious, a dreadful sort of madness.

"D-Don't move! This venue has b-been seized by us, the Earth Protectors, friends of the planet!"

Suddenly, a man in a mask bursts out from behind the stage curtains, pointing a pistol at Colonel Alisa. Most of the audience seems to think it's some kind of attraction, but what is this overwhelming murderous intent emanating from various parts of the hall?

This seems dangerous - could they actually be terrorists?

I remember the Earth Protectors from a few years ago when there was an incident where they broke into a power substation and died from electrocution. They became an internet joke as "comedian terrorists", but having real weapons pointed at you is genuinely scary.

The masked man looks like one of the three changing clothes under the stairs earlier. He has that same murderous aura, though with a somewhat different vibe, but I recognize the grease stains on his workman's sleeve. 

Over the workman's clothes, he's wearing a bulletproof vest with what looks like sticks of dynamite taped around his midsection. Is he planning a suicide bombing? But wouldn't the explosion just blow him to bits even with the vest on?

The gun looks like a cheap automatic pistol type, but its battered appearance makes it seem more real in a way.

If I was piloting my Rinks unit in a game, a pistol would be nothing. But in reality, there's no way I can dodge bullets.

More concerning than the pistol is the dynamite - if that explodes, won't the whole room be blown apart?

For now, everyone seems to think it's part of the event and is staying calm. But if panic breaks out and people stampede for the exits, we'll be trapped.

If it comes to it, should I try to escape through that emergency exit I saw earlier? I wonder where the other two terrorists are - being in the front row, I can't see what's happening behind me, and looking back would draw too much attention.

Colonel Alisa has gone pale and frozen stiff. Well, she's just a regular companion lady. Just standing there in this situation is impressive enough.

For a moment, I accidentally made eye contact with the terrorist. Crap, he saw my face up close earlier. 

The man seems to have noticed me too.

"H-Hey you, over there, slowly come over here."

I've been singled out. I reluctantly stand up and start walking over.

His hand is trembling. In that instant, I realized this was my chance - the split-second opportunity that comes on the battlefield. Anyone who hesitates or wavers will miss their chance.

Before I knew it, I was dashing for the emergency exit. The terrorist's murderous intent flares up, and the gun fires.

Huh, it's a surprisingly dull gunshot. Reflexively, I lightly leap to the left to dodge. You can't react after the bullet is fired, but by timing my movement to when the trigger is pulled, avoiding it from just 30cm away is possible. The scary part is how terrible his shooting is - if the bullet had deflected in the direction I dodged, it would've been bad news.

Well, it's not a gatling gun - a single pistol is just a single point of attack, making it harder for an amateur to hit a moving target.

Realizing this, the man starts firing indiscriminately. In that case, it comes down to luck, but there are evasion patterns that minimize the odds of being hit. I've been practicing them daily in games - my body just moves naturally.

8 shots before it's empty - is that all a real pistol can do?

The next moment, another gunshot rings out from the audience area. I hastily leap to the side, but it's too late to dodge - yet my body doesn't feel any pain. 

It was the terrorist who had been shot in the face and collapsed. The shooter was a man in the audience who swiftly concealed what looked like a resin toy gun under his coat. Considering the distance, his marksmanship was terrifying. A pro? Or is he a pro?

"Ah, the enemy terrorist has been successfully neutralized by our special forces squad."

Colonel Alisa's words are met with applause. Don't tell me this was all an act? I look like an idiot for desperately dodging earlier. 

I collapse on the spot. Unlike piloting my Rinks, my actual stamina is drained from just that much exertion. I've wastefully depleted my mental and physical energy right before an important match.

Colonel Alisa withdraws as two Scutum suit performers reenact a sword fight onstage as if nothing happened. The fallen "terrorist" is carried off on a stretcher.

There were supposed to be two more terrorists, but it seems their roles were cut, perhaps because my actions messed up the choreography. Still, I made quite the spectacle of myself. If I'd realized it was acting, I shouldn't have fled and could have at least pretended to help the Colonel.