~oOo~

Log Horizon © Mamare Touno

This work provided under section 107 of the copyright act of 1978

Chapter 9

~oOo~

He'd been planning to experiment more with his newfound abilities on Sunday, but his all-nighter on top of exhaustion from using his mana had made him too lethargic to do anything for most of the day.

The upside was that Michael woke extremely early on Monday morning, the sun not quite over the horizon.

He ate his cereal with robotic precision (and milk, because he wasn't a barbarian).

What should he do?

His mind went in circles as he tried to figure out how to grind xp. PVP would probably work, but at his level, it would be an extremely foolhardy option. Dogs and cats could potentially count as low-level mobs if he beat them up, but they'd be difficult to catch. Carnivorous plants would make ideal targets, but he didn't have a job, and with his experiences trying to sneak pokemon cards out of walmart as a kid, he knew he made a terrible thief.

Also, he'd probably be New York's first supervillain if he did any of those things, but if he'd learned anything, it was that infamy got book deals.

He polished off his cereal, poured the remaining milk into a cup, then drank it.

Moving to wash his tableware, Michael stared out the window.

Brick apartment buildings were clustered tightly, diffusing early morning sunlight over their roofs. The majority of the road was in shadow, while the rest was painted a desaturated orange.

That reminded him of something, actually.

Returning to his room, Michael opened the door of the closet he had built into his wall. Hunting through the boxes, he found an orange bandana his brother had used in a middle school play years ago.

His lips quirked. In trying to help his brother set up his costume, Michael had taken it upon himself to cut out eyeholes in the black bandanna their parents had bought. It had turned out that safety scissors weren't the best choice for the job. Luckily, he'd succeeded the second time around, and the school drama instructor had bought their excuse that more foxes were orange than black. It had been a memorable rendition of "the Mask of Zorro."

He shook his head, dispersing the intrusive thoughts, and fastened the bandanna around his forehead.

Michael pulled his green sweatshirt off a wall hanger, grabbed his brass knuckles, and left the apartment. Making sure the hood concealed the bandanna (he didn't, after all, want to be mistaken for a gang member), he made his way onto the street.

Having already decided his path in his mind, he put in earbuds and started playing music through his phone.

He met few people as he passed through the neighborhood, but made sure to wave cheerily and say "Yo!" to counteract the image he probably presented of a delinquent hoodlum.

It took him half an hour to complete the four mile circuit around his neighborhood. Pulling up his status screen, he checked to see if he'd earned the "Border Patrol" subclass.

The answer, sadly, was no.

That was a disappointment- subclasses were grindable without combat, so he wouldn't need to fight anything to get the benefits.

Then again, he'd only done one patrol. Maybe he needed to do more?

Thus resolved, Michael decided to do two more circuits. Picking up the pace a little, he was pleasantly surprised to find his feet barely hurt and he felt a negligible amount of tiredness compared to the usual exhaustion he'd feel after a long run.

The second circuit again failed to give him a subclass, and by the third circuit he was jogging at a moderate pace.

Still, he greeted everyone he saw, and the people he'd seen before cheerfully greeted him back.

He was marveling over the fact that he was barely winded as he saw three musclebound men surrounding a taller, but thinner one.

The latter was holding his hands up, backed up against a closed barbershop.

That didn't look good.

But at the same time, it wasn't any of his business. Plus, it looked more like a robbery, and less like an in-progress murder, so he didn't feel particularly guilty about planning to go around them.

The taller man disrupted his plans by looking at him and shouting "Help!"

He'd've been perfectly fine ignoring the plea, but the gangsters took one look at him and pulled out their weapons.

"What the fuck are you doing on our turf, you bandana-wearing motherfucker?"

But his bandana- ah, shit. Michael realized with a start that the jogging would have dislodged his bandana enough to be visible. He came to a stop, and tried to process his thoughts.

"I'm talking to you, asshat. If I don't get some respect, I'm gonna start shooting!" The gangster brandished his pistol, holding it sideways.

Shit, shit, shit.

Michael's incoherent attempts at planning were brought to a halt as he felt a bullet graze his thigh, the gangster's aim negatively affected by his abysmal stance.

The pain was dulled, but time seemed to freeze anyways.

Well, he really only had one option now.

With one hand, Michael pulled the bandana over his eyes and took his earbuds out. In a single fluid motion, he grabbed his brass knuckles out of the pockets of his hoodie and slipped them onto his hands, while settling into a crouch.

Then, relying on pure instinct, he took a single step.

Now directly in front of the gangster who had addressed him, he punched. The gangster was blindsided, still focused on his afterimage.

Yellow light came out of his fist, and pavement cracked as he slammed his hand into the ground. All four of the men- helpless victim included- were thrown into the air. Taking another step, he flung himself after the man the gangsters had been mugging.

Neatly catching him, Michael set the man down.

The gangsters tried to get up, but one had broken a leg, and all three had lost their weapons.

Michael took a moment to consider his options.

Ah, what the hell. He'd always wanted to call out a special attack.

"Aura Saber!"

Michael jumped into the air and kicked, a shockwave of compressed air and mana bowling over the gangsters.

This time, they stayed down.

He checked their pulse, as the almost-mugged man called the police.

He felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned around.

"Dude, I can't thank you enough. You're the superhero New York needs, man, and maybe the one it wants, but not because it deserves one."

Michael rolled his eyes at the badly mangled quote.

"Oh, can I have your autograph!"

"Uh, sure."

He heard police sirens approaching, as the man fumbled around in his pocket for a pen.

Reflexively, he began signing his name.

Aw, crap. He had intended to keep his identity secret for at least a little while while he figured stuff out.

Thinking fast, he added an "angelo" to the end.

The man grabbed his card. "That's not really a superhero name… Wait. Do you mean like the ninja turtle?""

"Um."

The man looked over his costume.

"Holy shit, that's genius!"

Michael blinked. That worked too, he guessed.

"Yeah. Right. Totally. Anyways, I need to go, secret identity and all that."

"I get it man, good luck!"

Michael Phantom Stepped away (in the opposite direction of his neighborhood, of course), circled around, and made his way back to the apartment complex.

Disappointingly, he still didn't have the "Border Patrol" subclass. At least he seemed to have gained some sort of ongoing quest for his efforts, though...

~oOo~

In Krusty's memories, talk show hosts were immaculate, larger than life figures.

He found it rather ironic that he'd forgotten his favorite pets, but retained his fascination with TV personalities and their larger-than-life egos.

So he had been somewhat excited to appear on (extremely) late night TV, even despite his exhaustion, and despite how hastily arranged this interview was.

But to his concealed disappointment, the long-legged, conventionally attractive host fell flat. Her makeup was masterfully done, but he couldn't help notice how her nose made a slight diagonal across her face, or how each cheek didn't dimple quite the same way when she smiled, or the hairline scar on her hand.

It didn't help that, in this case, he was the larger than life figure.

Even with his blue dress uniform on rather than his armor, he knew he cut an imposing figure.

Krusty could easily visualize what the crowd saw- the host, perched on a stool and chirping her questions, while he stretched languidly on the couch, fleeting smiles only briefly punctuating his evaluating expression.

With light brown, almost blonde hair and six feet of height, he'd look like a westerner at first glance, although his facial features would reverse that impression.

He'd seen himself in the mirror- perfectly smooth, even, skin and symmetric features combined to make him more attractive than most people would look with makeup on. That wasn't to say his features were generic or plastic, however, as something about the Catastrophe had transposed many of his original features onto his new face.

The host leaned forward. He idly tried to remember her name as she began to speak.

"So, I'm going to ask the question we've all been wondering- you're well respected, well connected, and lead thousands of people. Your family is politically well connected, and it wouldn't have been hard to get taken seriously. So why didn't you come over first?"

Krusty had been well trained to take on tough questions.

Step one: buy time.

He leaned forward and smiled. "Well, that's a good question. Why didn't I come first?"

Step two: prevaricate.

"Yes, I could have come through first, but there were a few reasons I didn't."

Step three: present a carefully-worded version of the truth.

"The biggest one was that I'd been teleported to China, and only recently made my way back to Akihabara, so I wasn't properly caught up."

Of course, he'd been there for months, but recent was a relative term. And not being caught up was more or less true- nobody except possibly Shiroe could have kept track of everything the adventurers got up to.

"And of course, I had a lady friend I hadn't visited in quite a long while."

He let his smile get a little wider as the host tittered behind an elegant red and yellow fan. His relationship with Princess Lenessia wasn't really romantic, but denial wouldn't stop the tabloids anyways.

He paused for a moment, searching for a third reason. He knew a list came off much stronger than a mere two examples.

"Finally, I needed to stay in Akihabara in order to counter any subterfuge by Plant Hwyaden."

That had been a bit more than he wanted to admit, but hopefully would satiate her curiosity.

Of course, the real reason had been that politics bored him, but that wouldn't go over well.

And now he was free to implement step four: change topics to divert attention.

"By the way, what movies and music have I missed while I was gone?"

He gave a quick laugh, as the host reciprocated.

This would be familiar territory for her, as he knew she was likely used to interviewing starlets and musicians.

"Oh, you've missed so much! There was an excellent world war one drama everyone's been raving about for months. I don't want to spoil too much, but I was crying by the end scene!"

She continued for a few more sentences, naming a few movies and songs, although she kept her descriptions brief so as not to bore her audience.

Rounding out her recap, she said "oh, and there was yet another absolutely terrible ninja turtle movie. I wouldn't normally mention it, but we've had some interesting news from America..."

"I've been informed of that, actually." Krusty had been wondering when the host would get around to mentioning it.

"Well it's certainly good to see that those who've already figured out how to become adventurers have decided to help the populace, but I've seen a lot of people concerned that magic could prove to be a destabilizing force. What do you think the effects will be?"

Krusty had been prepared for this question, or one similar, and had a response ready to go.

"Heroes have to fight villain after villain, scheme after scheme, to keep the innocent safe. They're always outnumbered, always outgunned, and always make it through only with sheer determination. Or at least, that's what many stories would have to believe. But of course, stories are merely that- stories. For a compelling narrative, everything has to hinge on the actions of the characters the audience is already familiar with. But in real life, there is no such thing as a side character. Each and every person has their own dreams, desires, friends and family. And in real life, the innocent are wholly capable of defending themselves. Michaelangelo's actions are certainly commendable, but I believe that, soon, everyone will be capable of their own magic, and the world will be led into a new golden age."

The host's mouth was slightly ajar, and the audience didn't seem to know how to react. There was isolated clapping, but many looked confused, or even disbelieving. His speech hadn't gone down as well as he'd hoped.

At least recovery would be simple.

"Incidentally, this Michelangelo reminds me of my traveling companion and good friend Leonardo. I don't know if they're related, but I'm hoping they're not- if dressing like a turtle is genetic, we're going to have a much bigger problem on our hands than magic."

The host and audience laughed. His joke hadn't been the most elegant, perhaps, but it did the trick.

Now he just had to distract the host for an additional fifteen minutes, preferably by throwing Leonardo and his peculiarities under the bus as much as possible.

~oOo~

BologneseMaster fidgeted outside the door of his house.

The key was in his paws, but he couldn't bring himself to use it.

It had taken him the better part of the night to get here; he'd avoided public transport in a bid to get some time to himself.

That hadn't been one of his better decisions.

Four hours to stew in his doubts had erased the confidence Krusty's short speech had given him.

Releasing a shuddering breath, he hid the key back into the flowerpot by the door.

Simply waltzing in seemed… wrong, somehow.

Instead, he knocked on the door.

"I'm home!"

Immediately, the recriminations started. Who would answer at this time of the night? Or morning, as it was.

He heard the scratching of nails against hardwood, and the barking of a dog.

BologneseMaster smiled. Well, that answered that question.

He heard the flick of a lightswitch and the thumping of feet as tsuki whined outside the door.

The door opened, and his dog nearly bowled him over.

His heart almost burst as he saw the face of his son for the first time in two years.

"Down here, kid."

His son's eyes opened comically wide.

"Dad?" His stunned expression morphed into a disbelieving smile.

"Give your old man a hug, I've missed you."

The fur on back grew damp as he hugged his son. Curiously, so did the fur on his face.

~oOo~

It would have been incorrect to call the events of last night an unmitigated failure. A failure? Absolutely. But that was mitigated by a single, crucial detail.

Plant Hwyaden still had their portal maker.

It took the average spellcaster quite a while to recuperate from totally using their mana, but that problem was easily solved by simply throwing more spellcasters into the equation.

So at five in the morning, the world still dark, Nureha dropped gracefully onto the asphalt of one of Tokyo's many roads.

Activating her overskill, she layered illusion over illusion to conceal her appearance. Her height was the same, but instead of her voluptuous figure and long, slightly curled black hair she appeared to be merely an average high school, or perhaps college student wearing slacks and a button up shirt.

It was good and bad that the area was completely unfamiliar to her. Bad for the obvious reasons, but good because she was nowhere near her parents.

It would be incorrect to say that she hated them. She merely tried to pretend they didn't exist, and actively avoided thinking about them. Indeed, she would have been happy to hear that they had died over the intervening two years.

But it would be incorrect to say that she hated them.

She walked at a leisurely pace as the city woke up. Traffic appeared in even out-of the way roads. The morning sun competed with the street lights, and slowly made them irrelevant.

Eventually, she found her way to a small shopping mall. To her luck, it was open fairly early, even though most of the shops were closed down.

Finding a cell phone vendor, she stepped inside.

A sleepy cashier idled at the counter, but no other staff were present.

Stepping outside of his view, Nureha turned on a display unit.

Plant Hwyaden's homepage was nearly the same as before the catastrophe- the same raid schedules, the same blog posts, and the same tired image macros. But the forums were still ticking, and the moderators left behind had kept the remaining community vibrant even without Elder Tale. In fact, looking at the number of registered users, a massive spike had happened in the last few days- the Round Table's concerted effort to make them look bad had had a counterproductive effect.

So, confident that she could reach thousands of loyal members of Plant Hwyaden, she used her administrator credentials to made a very simple news post.

"We're back."

~oOo~

It was a bright, cheerful Sunday.

Well, it would have been a cheerful Sunday, if Shoryu hadn't accidentally mentioned to his mother that he wanted to see his friends in Crescent Moon who hadn't been playing during the Catastrophe.

One thing lead to another, and well...

"What do you mean I have to go back to school!?"

"You have a bright future ahead of you, and you're not going to squander it because you didn't finish your high school education."

"Minori isn't going to school!"

"Minori can only stay on earth for four hours a day, as you very well know, and that time would be better spent on diplomacy. And anyways, we're not Minori's parents."

Shoryu paused to think.

"But the other students won't be comfortable with me because I'm an adventurer!"

"So what? We don't need the students' permission, just the administration's. And if they deny you entrance, we can hit them with an unlawful discrimination lawsuit."

Shoryu groaned. He would have refused to come over if he had realized he'd be forced to go back to high school.

But… why didn't he want to go to school?

It's not like he'd have Elder Tale to distract him, and he'd missed the friends he left behind. It's wasn't like he was philosophically opposed to sitting down and getting in some book learning.

But with all his time in Elder Tale, it just didn't feel right to sit back and let Krusty, Minori, and BologneseMaster do the hard work.

There was a certain appeal in falling back into normalcy, he knew. It was the path of least resistance. Hadn't he watched so many anime where the main characters, despite their kickass powers and wold-changing destinies, still deigned to attend high school?

He knew his mom was, in her own pushy way, looking out for him. It had to be terrifying to see your child flung around like a ragdoll by an eldritch monster in high definition on your flatscreen while you could do nothing to interfere. She just wanted him to bow out, and leave the fighting to people like Krusty who armored themselves in half inch thick plate.

But as shonen as it was, Shoryu couldn't abandon his friends.

His mother had turned to pay attention to his sister, evidently considering the argument over with. Possibly with good reason. He hadn't put up much resistance, had he?

Shoryu breathed in, out, and back in, centering himself. "Mom, I can't go back to school."

"I thought we settled this? We'd just-"

"Mom," Shoryu interjected, "please, just let me explain. I'm not against the idea of going to school in principle, but right now, I just… can't. We thought re-establishing contact would be entirely peaceful, maybe with a few scuffles. But Minori got stabbed by some crazy within days, and even Geniuses are deciding to attack. I can't just sit back and let that happen. I can't just reintegrate and watch passively."

His mother looked conflicted. "Shoryu, you've been fighting for two and a half years. Can't you let other people pick up the slack? It's not just adventurers any more. There's the police and the JSDF."

"They're not going to be enough. I could tell them everything I know about fighting monsters, but geniuses are on an entirely different level."

She sighed. "I'd say you could get hurt, but there's no 'could,' about it. You're absolutely, positively going to get hurt. You're fighting against monsters with swords! Not even a gun! And I know Minori said Adventurers respawned on death, but how do you know it's really you, and not just a copy? How can you keep fighting when you could die?"

"I have died. I-" Michael grimaced, then continued in a softer voice. "I've died before. It wasn't fun, but it wasn't horrible. I know, because I experience the entire process. But I'll do it again as many times as necessary. Because I'll come back, but you, or dad, or Kaiyo won't."

He met his mother's eyes. An unsure look crossed her face, but then her expression softened, and she hugged him.

"Oh, Shoryu," she breathed. "You've grown up so much, so fast. We can put off school for a few months."

He refrained from pointing out he'd been gone about two and a half years, and instead just sunk into her embrace.

She squeezed a bit harder, then growled "but if you think, mister, that this means you're getting out of learning each and every subject as thoroughly as possible, you are. Very. Much. Mistaken."

Shoryu laughed uncomfortably.

~oOo~

A/N: And thus concludes Arc 1.