Chapter 571: The Only One Who Can Claim Glory
Author's Preface
※Note on Subtitle Correction: Why do I keep forgetting that even if it's a parody song, using the lyrics is a total no-go?
I'll keep the details private, but the author has actually ended up in the exact same state as Sunraku in this chapter at a certain place before.
"I guess even premium tickets don't get you fast-pass access to the restrooms..."
The fact that there was a line of about ten people on average in front of every single restroom—easily numbering well over a hundred if you counted the individual stalls—felt like a grim reminder of physical life's ultimate karma: no matter how refined human technology becomes, we can never escape the call of nature.
Anyway, that was just a minor detour. I might as well wait here for Rei-san, who had vanished into that stagnant, unending queue after peering inside.
Twenty minutes later.
"I-I am so, so, incredibly sorry to have kept you waiting...!!"
"No, ah... yeah. I can see the line has literally doubled in size since you first joined, so I totally get it..."
Gently averting my eyes from the crowd of women who radiated the solemn, suffering aura of ascetic monks, I replied to Rei-san; it was probably around the time everyone's lunch was starting to process, which really hammered home the absolute truth of the golden rule for event venues: no matter how slight the urge, always make the restroom your top priority.
"So, um... where are we heading?"
"Oh, right here."
"Supernova... Oh, the one Rakuro-kun mentioned before we came inside."
"Yeah, the guys who make Galaxy Traveler."
Having seen an update that practically reconstructed the entire game's foundation from scratch, there was no way I couldn't be curious about it; I felt a bit bad for dragging Rei-san around for my own selfish interests, but since she seemed genuinely interested too, I figured I'd act as her guide since I had some experience under my belt.
"Galaxy Traveler is a game where players become captains of their own spaceships and journey through an endless universe. I don't know what it's like after the update, but back in the day... well, to put it mildly, it was pretty monotonous—the kind of game where it was far easier to score it by deducting points for its flaws rather than grading it on its merits."
"W-What kind of game is it exactly...?"
"Hmm, before the update, it leaned more toward being a simulator. You'd try to communicate with aliens, terraform uncharted planets to gather resources... but honestly, you spent most of your time drifting through space while micro-managing the affection meters of your NPC crew."
"That sounds... well, like something that would have a very dedicated niche, doesn't it?"
"That's exactly it."
"Eh?"
My guess was probably spot on; the only reason Supernova was pouring so much effort into Gyara-Tra—a game so deduction-heavy it practically invited a failing grade—was because of none other than its highly dedicated group of connoisseurs.
"Gyara-Tra is one of those rare modern games that actually has microtransactions, though it's a bit weird because the only time you can really pay is right at the starting line."
Most online games running nowadays funnel money to the developers based on play-time, which is calculated from the price of the software itself and the connection fees charged by Utopia Corp when hooking up VR systems to the network. I once heard from Katzo that pro gamers who play literally day and night easily drop a default ten thousand yen a month, partly just to flex their superior connection speeds.
Takeda-shi once solemnly remarked that after all the drama surrounding gacha games in the past, in-game purchases had become heavily regulated, but that didn't mean microtransactions had completely vanished.
And even in a game like Gyara-Tra, where the heavy death penalties make spending real money almost entirely pointless, the pay-to-win elements have never disappeared. Is it because it turns a profit for the developers? Sure, that's part of it, but the primary reason is simply that the payment system is still actively and heavily used to this day.
"Gyara-Tra's player base basically falls into three categories: free-to-play users, min-tier spenders whose purchases are basically a drop in the bucket, and ultra-heavy whales who dump at least a hundred thousand yen into the game just to play on a custom "New Game Plus" right from the start."
Yes, and that is precisely Gal-Tra's greatest mystery: this game has an absurdly high concentration of heavy spenders—true elites of capitalism who ruthlessly buy power and time with cold, hard cash.
It was a common occurrence to see a massive armada setting sail from the starting point of Earth, which wasn't some cinematic game background, but rather a fleet belonging to a whale who had dropped a cool million yen just to assemble it.
"In this game, it's game over if the captain dies or the ship is sunk. If that happens, the death penalty completely wipes out everything you've built up to that point. Even your cash-shop purchases are mercilessly deleted without exception."
"T-That is..."
"Which means even if you spent a hundred million yen on the game, it's all gone the second you die—so logically, there shouldn't be any reason to go crazy with microtransactions, but..."
Yet, the whales keep on whaling...
I couldn't help but wonder what happened to those rumored players who were apparently engaging in private "fleet space battles" even before the update... and checking that out was exactly why I wanted to visit the booth.
Arriving at Supernova's booth—which felt like it had a disproportionately high number of premium ticket holders—I suddenly noticed some kind of machine stationed right by the entrance.
"Is that the same kind of terminal they had at the ShanFro booth...?"
It was a login terminal. Did logging in grant some kind of bonus... wait, *gasp*!?
"Is something wrong?"
"......No, I see what's going on."
"...?"
Leaving Rei-san with a question mark practically floating over her head, I approached one of the login terminals. Perhaps noticing my movement, the crowd of people standing completely still in front of the other machines shot sharp glares in my direction.
"Um..."
"Rei-san, take a look over there."
"Let's see... some kind of counter is spinning, isn't it?"
Indeed. And that was almost certainly a real-time count of the number of visitors who had logged into the terminals at this booth. Right now... the counter was spinning at breakneck speed past 49,912, and it wouldn't be long before it hit 50,000.
"So this is that ancient electronic sport... the milestone number getter..." [*1]
If there was any truth to Takeda-shi's social circle, it spanned all the way from oil magnates to retired seniors. Even among those elites, the early 21st-century cyber-sport known as "Kiri-ban Get"—where players engaged in split-second, sub-second tactical maneuvering just to claim a mathematically pleasing milestone number for themselves—was something even that Takeda-shi had only ever heard of in legends... but man, this tension was actually pretty thrilling.
"Kiri... ban?"
"Everyone here is aiming to be the exact 50,000th visitor. I bet there's some kind of special reward for hitting the milestone number."
Otherwise, there was no way everyone from sharp-dressed young corporate presidents to old grandpas who looked like they spent their days tending to bonsai trees would be staring at the screens with the eyes of starving beasts. GalaTra was truly something else; its player demographics were absurdly wide.
"The standard terminals have a time limit of about two minutes per person, with thirty machines in total, and fifteen of them are reserved for premium ticket holders..."
It had just passed 49,950. The winner would be decided in the next cycle.
"I-It just passed 49,970...!"
"──Now!"
The GalaTra veterans standing by at the premium terminals simultaneously began hammering in their login passwords! Ah! The middle-aged guy next to me must have typo'd his password, because he just collapsed to his knees in despair!!
"Don't underestimate the typing speed of youth...!!"
I only realized this because these terminals used the exact same specifications as the ones at the ShanFro booth: if you left the screen idle for more than ten seconds, it automatically kicked you back to the home screen. So, anticipating the perfect timing, at the very last fraction of a second before the timeout... I logged in!!!
"What's the verdict?!"
『You are the 49,999th visitor!』
"Daaaaaaaah!!!"
I collapsed to my knees.
Author's Afterword
• Galaxy Traveler
Its true form is a brutal pay-to-win battlefield where the high bourgeoisie beat each other with thick wads of cash.
Conglomerate chairmen who are thoroughly accustomed to ordering people around (acquaintances of Takeda-shi) and retired elders from lineages whose ancestors actually appear in history textbooks (also acquaintances of Takeda-shi) casually dump 100k yen into the game as if they were buying cheap candy to construct massive battleships and colonize the galaxy with their colossal armadas.
After Takeda-shi shared the story of how a certain company president had gotten completely hooked on the game as a conversation starter, it somehow triggered a chain reaction of absolute addiction among people who normally had absolutely zero connection to video games.
Translator's Notes
- [1] Kiri-ban: A classic Japanese internet slang term from the early web days (popular in the late 90s and early 2000s). It refers to hit counters on websites reaching aesthetically pleasing milestone numbers (like 10,000, 50,000, etc.). Webmasters would often offer special prizes or recognition to the visitor who successfully took a screenshot proving they were the "Kiri-ban getter."
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