“Welcome to RGJ, Tatsumi!” I say, smiling. “You’re definitely in the right place if you want to talk about Kunihiro Takeuchi’s works! We’ve got fans of MahouSekai, ImoSlow, DDrive, Null Sword Lord, and even Wormy Apple. Feel free to check out how people felt about the new anime in Spring, or some of the other great stories we’ve made in Summer!”
“Thanks!” says the 16-year-old American boy. He’s wearing a featureless black mask. Whenever someone first comes here, they come wearing a mask. Sometimes people paint their masks before making a name for themselves, but a lot of times they don’t. I wonder what face he’ll wear once he gets more used to here. Something familiar? Something new? He might just never bother, but that’s boring. I take another look at Tatsumi. He’s still standing in this teeny little corner of RGJ. I do my best to liven it up and make people welcome whenever a new member joins up, but it’s still just a humble antechamber in the Autumn Hall. Half the time people don’t even come here. For now, it’s just the two of us, surrounded by ruddy wooden walls adorned by painted mushrooms. Intricate brocades hang from the ceiling and ceremonial plants stand at attention in the corners. Minutes pass, and absolutely nothing happens. Do something! I yell at Tatsumi internally. Talk more! Interact! What are you, Amaterasu in her cave? Make friends!
As if he heard my mental prodding, the boy finally begins to move. He walks to the exit of the room, grasps the thin paper and wood doors, and hesitantly slides them open. I smile as a beautiful passage is revealed. Shining gold inlays and coral-green lacquer decorate the upper halves of the walls; flickering candles mounted in sconces on the walls imbued them with a rich glow. The lower halves hold pictures of maple trees and mushrooms in meadows dotted by deer. Casual chatter echoes from the doorways of rooms lining the passage. Finally, Tatsumi takes his first steps into RGJ. He walks forward and I follow, padding silently along the polished pink and white stone of the floor. It doesn’t look like he’s stopping. If he’s not going anywhere in the Autumn Hall, then he’s probably headed to the Spring Hall. Sure enough, the lower halves of the wall shift from a rich, deep crimson to a vibrant bright green. The paintings now depict sakura trees and weeping willows swaying gently by flowing rivers. But the biggest change of all, one that only grows more pronounced as Tatsumi opens another set of sliding doors, is the sheer volume of discussion in the grand chamber that lies before us. Hundreds of people stand, walk, and above all talk amongst each other as we enter. Countless stages rise up from the floor as plateaus of red wood and blue and white stone tiles. Each stage holds multiple people; some as few as one or two and others as many as dozens or hundreds. This is the Spring Hall – a space for discussion of Kunihiro Takeuchi’s works and their adaptations.
Tatsumi slowly wanders past stage after stage, and as I trail behind I greet and chat with various people. I wish he’d hurry up and start talking already, but I get it. When you don’t know anyone, all of their chatter just sounds like indistinct murmuring, and it’s hard to get a good idea of what sorts of people they are and what they might like. I’m really slow at that myself. Finally, he works up the courage to step onto a stage for MahouSekai and starts to talk.
“Hi everyone! I started reading Magical World after watching the ImoSlow anime by Oopantry and getting a recommendation from Seenit. I’m only at chapter 20, but Ellen really looks like best girl to me. The Magical Representative system is a cool change of pace from the Adventurer’s Guild in ImoSlow.”
“fuck off seenit” says one of the people on the stage.
I sigh and climb up. “Just ignore Nan, he’s always like that.”
“Ellen’s my number two girl, personally. Ilsa’s definitely number one. But you’ve got some really great material ahead of you, Tatsumi! The Neo Magic Axis Arc is generational fiction.” A well-built redheaded man walks up to Tatsumi with an easygoing grin on his face – my friend, Special_Grade_Esruc.
“Ilsa? She’s only been toxic so far, though.”
I chuckle. “That only makes her better for Special; he loves evil women.”
Special wags his finger at me. “Ilsa Did Nothing Wrong. Italy had it coming.”
“See what I mean, Tatsumi?” I pass the conversation back his way.
“Oh, so he’s a gooner.”
Special pauses in shock. “Hello? Mods???”
I smile and step back some, watching Tatsumi settle into the discussion. As he stands on the stage, slowly talking more confidently, I finally get a good look at him. He’s taller than I thought.
- - - Updated - - -
I got a message today: In Sight updated! It’s a groundbreaking crossover between ImoSlow, MahouSekai, and DDrive that even incorporates some elements from Null Sword Lord that’s written by RGJ’s very own Nastya99. That means it’s time to go to the Summer Hall. The lower halves of the walls are bright yellow and painted with images of healthy green trees, glittering blue ponds, and winding white clouds. Like the Spring Hall, the Summer Hall is a large expanse, but while the Spring Hall has stages for debate and discussion, the Summer Hall has countless bridges leading across pools of water on the floor’s surface. Some bridges are small, taking a few people at a time to nearby islands and back. Some sit unfinished, providing nothing but a nice view and a promise of what could’ve been. And some are truly magnificent affairs, tens of people wide and hundreds long. It’s to one of those bridges that I walk. Each plank of the bridge holds a stirring turn of phrase, a creatively reimagined character, a dynamic battle scene, or a novel plot twist. All too quickly I reach the end of the bridge, where there’s already a crowd discussing the latest chapter of the story I’ve just traversed.
“Hi! I’m new here, but I started reading your fanfic after it got recommended to me and now that I’ve caught up, I can say for a fact that it’s straight fire! Marika and Frag teaming up against Ilsa was ridiculously hype, like, I could see Oopantry animating it easily. I can’t wait for the next chapter!” Tatsumi squeals his enjoyment excitedly. Huh, so his voice cracks sometimes. That’s kind of cute.
Nastya99, a stocky woman in a cardigan and cargo shorts, responds happily. “Thanks so much for the positive feedback! I’m glad you’re enjoying my work, and I’ll definitely do my best on the next chapter.”
I step forward and give my own impression to Nastya. “This entire arc you’ve drawn a really fascinating correlation between how Magical Representatives are in a way the reification of their countries and how the Legacy Drives subsume the identities of their drivers. There’s functionally no difference between Germany-chan and Siegfried, but at the same time, it’s the actions that they take and that their identities are filtered through that allows them to express their latent humanity. But in the end, Siegfried’s identity is filtered through his humanity while Germany-chan’s humanity is filtered through her identity. As long as Germany-chan stays Germany-chan, no matter how much she did nothing wrong, she’ll never do anything right. Tl;dr peak fiction OP, you’ve done it again.”
“YES!” Nastya shrieks. “That’s exactly it! No matter what Ilsa does, she’s fundamentally trapped by her role, so she can only take self-destructive actions that inevitably harm others and thus herself! You always get it and I love that!”
I smile proudly. “Well, it’s thanks to your stellar writing.” And my old friend Jesustional, who recommended me your fic in the first place. My smile wanes. I miss him.
Nastya approaches me, suddenly shy. She leans forward and says, “Your analyses are always so great to read! If you don’t mind, can I be your friend?”
My eyes widen, and my grin returns at full force. “Of course you can!” And without further ado, I pull off her mask. A cloud of white smoke rises, revealing well-kept blond hair, bright blue eyes, and pale skin. Nastya’s face is frankly pretty plain, but unmistakably kind. Dimples dot her cheeks whenever she smiles.
“Now you’re my friend! Let’s spend plenty of time together!”
Nastya immediately begins to whisper in my ear. “You have no idea how much it means to know that you like my work! You’re such a pillar of the community.”
“Thanks!” I whisper back. “That’s really flattering! I guess I’ll have to do my best to live up to your expectations, huh?”
“Just keep being your awesome self!” she responds. “Actually, I do have a huge favor to ask you. Is it alright if I base one of my upcoming characters on you?”
I pause, shocked. “Of course you can! That’s a huge honor!”
“Thank you thank you thank you! If you don’t mind, could I ask you some questions? Something I noticed is that you never really talk about yourself.”
“I guess so.” I frown. “Honestly, there’s never really anything to talk about.”
- - - Updated - - -
Today I’m in a room in the Autumn Hall, where people talk about anything and everything, to play a game! Just discussing things is always nice, but there’s nothing quite like getting all of your friends in a room for some fun! There’s eight other people with me today; we all did the prep work for this about a week ago, and now it’s day 5 of 15 of finding out the results.
“Question 5: What does RGJ stand for, anyways?” I read out the myriad answers.
“Really Good Job – Nastya99. Zero points. Red Green Jblue – EL HERMANO. Zero points. What the heck is Jblue anyways? Regimental General Janissary – Cellopain. Zero points. Rian Golong Jaconson – Hime. Tragically, zero points. Risky Gambler Jenkins – Special_Grade_Esruc. Zero points. Retarded Gooner Jokes – MagnumBong. Zero points. Roger Gummy Jollies – Absidy. Zero points. Ropes Go Jrrrrrrrr – Chok Boy. Zero points. Restart Gemini Joker – TatsumiKuroganeX. Zero points.” I slap the forehead of my mask and groan. “How the hell did we all pick different things?”
“I thought for sure that it’d be Restart Gemini Joker.” says Tatsumi.
“No way, lol,” replies Cellopain. “The forum’s older than that technique in the first place.”
Tatsumi raises a dark brown hand, pointer finger extended as if to say something, and then lowers it in silence. He has darker skin than I thought.
“>jblue,” says Link. MagnumBong, Chok Boy, Absidy, and Cellopain immediately follow suit.
“Well what about Hime’s answer?” deflects EL HERMANO.
I shrug. “I just wrote the first thing that came to mind. Sounds like he could be an ImoSlow character, right? Besides, I’m still in the lead on points. Meanwhile Nastya’s still holding onto dead last.” I walk over to her and throw an arm over her shoulder. “Were you aiming to be the blackest sheep?”
The blonde sighs exhaustedly. “Not really, no. I just couldn’t really think of anything. I’ve been pretty out of it, lately.” I narrow my eyes. Her hair is lank, with split ends and she has bags under her eyes. Nastya definitely looks worse off than before. At this rate, she might end up collapsing or something. I hope she can finish the game at least. “I hope you get well soon!”
“Thanks, Hime. Hopefully I beat S_G_E at least.”
Special_Grade_Esruc grins confidently, pulls back his shoulders, and says, “Nah, I’d win.”
“Take a shot every time he says that” says Absidy.
“Nah, I’d win.” He keeps the exact same expression on his face.
“How many times has it been by now?” says Tatsumi. “Like 20 in the last couple of days, I think.” Huh, both Tatsumi and Special wear sweatpants.
“Nah, I’d win.”
“Look, if you’re going to be a shitposter, at least be a funny one,” says Chok Boy. “Otherwise you’re just a shit poster. Or a bot like Alto.”
At that, Special_Grade_Esruc frowns and touches his face. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine, it’s fine!” I reply, and walk over to clap him on the back. “I don’t know how many jokes I’ve ran into the ground myself.” Special starts coughing and doubles over. “And Chok, Alto’s got his own stuff going on. Don’t be rude to him, alright?”
“Alright, alright,” says Chok Boy after a few minutes. Special finally stops coughing and stands back up, smiling wanly.
“Anyways, let’s stay tuned for tomorrow’s question: Who is the Best Girl of Magical World?” Nastya and Special cheer weakly while Tatsumi pumps a fist. I’m glad that things are still going well and there wasn’t an argument. I’d hate for any of my friends to leave again.
My friends all tend to disappear, one way or another.
- - - Updated - - -
One day, Tatsumi asks me a question.
“What’s a shitposter?”
“Oh, that’s an easy one. It’s someone who makes shitty, terrible posts.”
“That’s it? I thought there’d be more to it.”
“How come?” I look at him, confused.
Tatsumi hesitates. “It’s just that I heard this place has way more shitposters than usual, so I thought it meant something in particular.”
I hum in thought. “Well, if you really want to get philosophical, the point of a forum is to communicate with others and exchange your thoughts. A meeting of the minds. So a shitposter would be someone who’s lost their ability to communicate with others, and thus, their mind.” I laugh, shaking my head. “But that’s way too self-serious.” I think back to what else Tatsumi said, and frown. “Who said we were full of shitposters, anyways?”
“The Professor,” he answers.
“Never heard of him.” He must be some weirdo from outside of RGJ. Because I know everyone here, and that doesn’t include him.
- - - Updated - - -
Today Tatsumi seems like he’s in a different mood. Sulkier than usual. He even got into an argument with Forward in the Spring Hall; it was bad enough where I had to step in. Did something bad happen to him outside of RGJ? Should I say something?
For now, I follow Tatsumi. He’s in a different Hall than usual; instead of the bright green of Spring or the brilliant yellow of Summer, the lower halves of the walls are colored pale blue. Snow-covered trees and lightly frozen lakes adorn the wood along with brown ducks and gray geese lightly frosted with white. Unlike the Summer and Autumn Halls, where multitudes of rooms branch out from corridors like berries on a stem, here rooms and the hallways connecting them interlink like a large grid. Each one holds paintings depicting various characters and situations from the works of Kunihiro Takeuchi. Such is the Winter Hall – a museum dedicated to art.
Tatsumi stalks through the halls; even his loud stomps can’t muffle his grumbling. He makes his way to the ImoSlow section and starts to gaze at image after image of his waifu, Marika. As I approach him, I hear some of his complaints.
“Ooh, look at me. I have such a big postcount. I’m so special and always right. Fuck Nan.” He clicks his tongue and goes to the next room. I follow suit and as I enter the room, I see a man in a bathrobe sitting on a stool. That’s Alto, an old friend of mine. Before him is a blank easel. He brings up the paintbrush in his right hand and replicates an image he saw elsewhere with deft strokes for display here. It’s a painting of Marika from ImoSlow mounting her brother. Her cleavage is provocatively angled toward the viewer. Tatsumi sees Alto and clicks his tongue, then walks up to him and asks him a question.
“Every time I see you post it’s to repost fanart. You’ve got over 30,000 posts; are they all fanart? Don’t you ever get bored or feel like posting something else?”
The middle-aged man freezes. His left hand, once idle, slowly, jerkily, rises to his face. Unkempt nails trace a furrowed and pimpled brow. He opens cracked lips framed by scraggly black hair and caked together from disuse and speaks. “I stay at home. Caregiving for my family. I have to respond at a moment’s notice. Fanart is something I can find and enjoy quickly. Other people should be happy too.” Alto’s fingers begin to dig into his skull. “So they don’t have to think about cleaning up vomit, or waking up at 4 am, or changing adult diapers, or-”
His left arm falls to the ground. It lands with a squelch, splattering blood onto the once pristine floor; but soon enough, both impromptu brush and paint fade away. Alto blinks and then resumes his painting.
Alto used to talk so happily about the works he painted himself. He’d always join in on my forum games too. I guess he’s just a shitposter now. What a shame.
Tatsumi begins tapping his foot impatiently. “So uh, are you gonna finish your post or what?” His only response is another painting, this time of Frag from DDrive crumpled to his knees in a filthy alley in the rain. Memory files fly out of his ruptured metal skull, fading away outside of the protection of their cranial cage.
“Let’s leave him alone,” I whisper in Tatsumi’s ear. Irritated, he stalks away. I walk after him, leaving the worn-down man alone amongst the silent paintings.
- - - Updated - - -
Tatsumi hasn’t posted as much as he used to recently. Is he alright? I hope he’s not leaving. I don’t want to lose a potential friend. I search through the various halls of RGJ, but he’s not talking about the chances of DDrive getting a remake before the heat death of the universe in Spring, his ImoSlow and MahouSekai crossover’s still gathering dust in Summer, and he’s not even painting the latest artwork of Marika or Kasumi from Tanpooru in Winter. Finally, after bobbing my head in and out of countless warmly-lit rooms, I find Tatsumi sitting on the floor of a particularly secluded chamber of the Autumn Hall. He’s holding onto his tucked up knees.
I sit down next to him and whisper. “What’s up? You haven’t been posting much lately. You’ve been angrier than usual lately too. Is something wrong?”
He looks toward me, slightly relaxing his grip. “I got in trouble with my family. Mom’s upset that I failed a math test.”
“Well, you can make up for it, right?” I push some cheer into my voice to send it to him.
His glum voice gets even glummer. “It was my midterm.”
“Oh.” So much for the cheer. I rub his back consolingly.
“She says I’m spending too much time online. Dad agrees too. They can’t take my computer away because I need it for school, but they make me use it in the living room so I can’t go onto the forum. I have to use my phone in the bathroom or late at night now.” He sighs. “They keep saying I should do something fun instead. See a movie. Play the trumpet again. ‘Touch grass.’ So fucking annoying. I am doing something fun, dammit!”
“They actually said ‘touch grass’?”
“‘Go outside’, close enough.” I laugh, and I get the feeling he smiled for a bit. “I wish they’d shut up about my grades. I get it already! Like they haven’t already said that shit a billion times before. It’s not like college and jobs will even matter once America sinks into the ocean or we all get shot or nuked or something. School sucks enough. Can’t I just relax at home at least?”
“I totally understand. You have the right to spend your time how you want.” He shifts to lean on his hands, and I lay my right over his left. “I don’t know about your parents, but I know I want you to have fun and be happy here with everyone else.”
“Thanks, Hime. I’m happy you’re here for me.”
“Of course! I’m always around if you need me.”
Tatsumi sighs again. “Totally different from the normies around me. They don’t get the stuff I like like we do. I just can’t relate to them anymore. Mom’s all ‘Why don’t you spend more time with your friends?’, but I am. That’s you guys.”
My breath catches in my throat.
“We’re friends? You’ll be my friend?”
He turns to face me. “Uh, duh? I thought we were a long time ago.”
“Glad to be friends then!” Joy and triumph flood through me. We’ll have so much fun together now! Every day! I’ll be able to see him face to face!
I reach out to Tatsumi’s mask, still grinning, to take a closer look at my friend – and then everything around me lurches and goes dark.
- - - Updated - - -
When I come to, I’m standing on a green wooden bridge. Unlike the smooth stone floors of RGJ, the surface feels rough against my feet. Ahead of me, I see brightly colored coral like the flowers and patterns on the walls I’m no longer surrounded by. Farther forward is dark silt and mud and deep blue water that shrouds everything beyond it in an inscrutable darkness. What lies within the ocean? Fish? Deadly denizens of the deep? Other hidden places much like my own? No. I know the answer. There’s nothing there. Not a single thing. Just an empty darkness that will crush me under the pressure like Alto’s arm or Jesustional or Donna1894 or Fracture or SBS or-
I force myself to turn away. Before me is a magnificent castle of red, white, and green. Where I belong. But I can’t go back. It’s not because the pressure of the ocean surrounding me suddenly weighs more than the heaviest shackles, or because the stone stairs connecting the bridge and the castle are a more daunting climb than even the highest mountains that once led to the heavens, or because the grand castle gates are firmly sealed such that even the mightiest battering ram would splinter into toothpicks upon impact. It’s because standing in front of those gates is a man who blocks my path.
“Good,” he says. “I made it in time.” Despite the distance between us, I can hear him perfectly well.
“What are you talking about? What am I doing here, outside of RGJ? Did you do that?” I yell.
He sighs. “I’ve been watching you for the past few days. Though I can’t blame you for not noticing; Caules’s stealth codecasts are impeccable. But now it’s time to end this case.” The glare emanating from his pitch black mask is terrifying. “This is a warning for your misconduct.”
A warning? For me? “What do you mean, a warning! That shouldn’t be possible! I’m-”
“Hime. Otohime. The first member of this forum and princess of this artificial Ryūgūjō.” He begins walking down the stairs, his leather shoes clacking against the stone. “A guide who dutifully ushers in new users and ensures that they don’t want to leave.”
I don’t like the way he says that. Like I’m not genuine.
The man continues his descent, his blood-red coat and bile-yellow scarf swaying with each step. “The Ryūgūjō is known in folklore for Urashima Tarō’s descent. His journey can be compared to many other similar stories such as those of Orpheus, Peter Pan, and even Sir Isaac Newton and Adam and Eve according to the thesis of a student of mine, but the important factor at this point is Otohime’s selection of a suitable person to bring to her palace. In the myth, Urashima Tarō is chosen for his kindness; for this forum, the criteria is interest in a certain author. The shared interest allows these minds to be linked in parallel for the true purpose of the mystic code that is this forum.”
“You’re not making any sense.” Nevertheless, I wince at the onset of a migraine.
“Have you heard of the infinite monkey theorem? It states that given enough time, even a monkey could eventually write the works of Shakespeare through pure chance without having the slightest intention or knowledge of what it’s created. Urashima Tarō spent what he thought were a few days in Ryūgūjō but were actually hundreds of years. This forum puts that time dilation to use while utilizing the minds of its members to achieve processing at an incredible rate. But to what end? The Ryūgūjō is the palace of the sea god Wadatsumi; a repository of divine knowledge. The forum borrows that iconography to mimic the magecraft of the Far East – the sacred domain of Thought Magecraft. Through accumulating and accelerating the mental power of many people, one can discover new fonts of wisdom, even if only by chance.” Now more than halfway down the stairs, the man stops to pull a cigar from a bag on his waist. He dutifully cuts off the tip, lights it, and brings it up to the mouth of his mask – and then curses at the obstacle and holds the useless cigar by his side. “That was the intended purpose of the forum, at least. But left in your hands, it’s gone astray.”
“Astray?” I say, seizing onto the first word he’s said that wasn’t utter nonsense.
“Urashima Tarō spent hundreds of years in Ryūgūjō without noticing. Even after returning to his home, he still did not experience the weight of those years. Until he opened the tamatebako. A human mind can only function for so long. Anyone who aims to use time dilation must account for that. Similarly, while the human mind can be displaced from its body, it cannot remain distant for extended periods of time without degrading. As a result, each user of the forum should only be active for a certain amount of time. But you ignore those limits. You pull people in to make them stay here as long as you like, with no regard for their safety.”
I snap back at his anger with some of my own. “All I want to do is spend time with my friends! Why are you treating that like a bad thing? I’m not hurting anyone!”
He clicks his tongue. “To prevent such damage, each user receives a safety device.” He taps the black mask, no, the black lid covering his face. “A tamatebako. A Schrödinger’s Box that contains any stresses incurred by the mind so long as it’s unopened. Without it, there’s nothing to protect a person’s mind from the wear of being outside of their body. Inevitably, it crumbles to dust.” The man slams his foot upon the ground as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. “You’re fucking killing people.”
Now you’re my friend! Let’s spend plenty of time together!
Before I even realize it, I’m on my knees. That can’t be right! That can’t be right! “That can’t be right! Those masks are just in the way! Whenever someone first comes here, their words are just murmurs to me that I can barely hear! I can see every last grain of wood of RGJ with my eyes closed but I can’t even tell how tall someone else is until I stare at them long enough! It takes me weeks to understand what someone mostly looks like, and even longer just to shake their hand! And even then I can’t even see them laugh or smile! Everyone else can hug each other and hang out with each other as much as they want, but I can’t even visit someone else! RGJ is all I have! But if I take off those damn masks, then my friends come by more and more! I can play with them and spend time with them and make more and more of them just like anyone else!” I force my head up to stare at his cold face, tears pooling in eyes underneath my mask. “I just wanted to see people clearly! To hear everything they said! To spend time with them whenever I want! I want to talk to them daily! I want to see and hear them laugh at my jokes! I want them to tell me funny stories until I can’t breathe from laughter! I want to play games with them when I’m bored! I want to talk about the things I like with them! I want to know about what they’re doing! I want them to cheer me up when I’m sad! I want them to thank me when I take their hands when they’re upset! I want them to care about me! I want them to think about me! I want them to always include me! I want them to be there for me! I don’t want to be alone! Is that so wrong!?”
“Yes.”
The man walks up to me and stops. “An inhuman thing like you could never be a friend to humans.”
My vision starts to swim as his words echo painfully through my head and nausea wracks my stomach. “You’re nothing but malignant information infesting my student’s account while he’s away. Misfortune generated by a careless experiment. Simply a digital selkie skin puppeted by the lingering desire to keep this mystic code running, no matter the cost. You don’t want friends. You want toys.” He crouches down and grabs the edge of my mask. A primal fear shakes me to the bone, but I can’t even so much as move under the crushing pressure of the water. The noxious stench of his cigar spurs me to retch, but nothing comes up because I’ve never eaten. “As Rian’s teacher, I’ll rectify his mistake.”
His fingers begin to lift.
“STOP! PLEASE! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”
“Neither did the people you killed.”
His violent pull sends my mask flying.
“Consider yourself banned.”
The smooth black mask crashes to the ground and shatters. White smoke turns to bubbles and foam that pop, leaving nothing behind.
Originally Posted by castor212
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