Ordinary

Chapter 17: Iteration and Recursion

"... One more thing: a few monitoring employees were very insistent that I deliver this. I have sent the data to the address." The mature voice on the other end of the call was childishly insistent on feigning composure. Pride and belief in its self-esteem must have driven it to do so, despite having already been broken years ago.

"Thank you, Mr. Fukasawa." A soft, yet strictly calm masculine tone replied, just as it had done so time and time again in varying situations. But unlike in those instances, another question followed.  "And how are the preparations coming along?"

"All is ready and awaiting testing, sir."

"Need I remind you it is your neck that is on the line here, Mr. Fukasawa? Any flaws that cause me discomfort or pain within the projection, or bugs that break the players' vision of the world – you will be the one to answer."

The red-clad gauntlet patiently tapped its cold metal-wreathed fingers one by one against the silver handle of the nearly regal chair upon which it was seated, expecting the moment when an impossibly thin screen would pop up with the video footage desired.

And so it did: with a ping notification of its arrival echoing through the misty planes wherein the chair had been planted, a view split in two materialized like a window to another world. Ignoring the distant landscape silhouettes of ever rising pale towers and expanding cities always barely out of the reach of his bubble, the man in red lifted his head a bit to focus on the screen. Through the window, the spectator caught a glimpse of reality. Both perspectives showed a similar scene. A boy wearing the night, streaks of crimson tracing his contour. The eyes that watched the figure dated the data to July 10-16, the last clip being marked at 22:31 – only an hour ago.

"What's this?" The warrior bathed in the luminance piercing through the mist ceased his tapping of the handle of the chair, instead clicking through the various instances of this player's sightings. His response indicated an unfamiliar to Ichizo Fukasawa astonishment and fascination, however faint. "Sparring every day with the Draconic Zealots, for an estimated eighteen hours daily?"

After a pause, Mr. Fukasawa asked "... What now?"

"Stay on call." The relaxed, but innately intense speaker commanded while taking a breath of the lavender aroma of his white surroundings, ready to overlook the data sent with a more careful eye. "You've fulfilled your duties for the day, may as well keep me company as I inspect this... Zero."

Irritation now showed itself behind the cracks of inflated pride that Mr. Fukasawa struggled to hold onto. "Why do we care about this random player? He's of no consequence to us, merely an anomaly. You were the one who told us to stick to the plan, and now you're the one–"

"Watch your tone please, Mr. Fukasawa." The assertive voice stayed unchanged.

"I–I apologize. I meant no offense, sir. I merely wish to understand what has caused you to take such interest in this 'Zero'. He's no threat to us, right?"

"Who knows?" The helmet on the face of the man didn't impede his voice's clarity, and his intonation betrayed behind it a momentary grin that then vanished. "Tell me, Mr. Fukasawa: what mere anomaly would find the resolve to train from before the hours of dawn into well beyond the remnants of dusk, taking no breaks, making no excuses, for a week straight?"

"I don't see how this is of any relevance to what I'm saying." Stubborn, yet aware of the tightrope he walked, the businessman still retorted.

"We are blessed that your subordinates were more diligent than you and I both when it came to this matter, Mr. Fukasawa. I do not recognize this boy's face. He is not a Disaster survivor, but he may very well be a relative of one. Of course, he could just be one heavily obsessed with the Disaster, too. Regardless, it is clear he has a goal. No one would spend twenty hours there daily without one. You mentioned this boy came to Omicron ten days ago, Mr. Fukasawa?"

"That was what my workers had told me, yes."

"And did you fact-check them like a proper boss?"

There was no answer, which could only mean one thing.

"Hmm... Regardless of your inadequacy, give a raise to the meticulous men and women who noticed this kid." The knight leaned closer to the screen and put a hand on his breastplate.

While watching the stranger's self-inflicted agony with such attention that it was as if he had partaken in it himself, Alister's finger traced the intricate etching of the rose within the diamond frame on his cuirass. What say you, Lumina, why is he here? What madness, nay, what motive could grant one the determination to commit to such a labor. It cannot be to merely climb to Rank No.1, there must be more to it. Is it a sort of cathartic redemption for the self, does he have something to prove? Is this a way of paying respects to one lost to the past, or preparing for a destined battle of the future? Could it be a mere attempt at self-destruction, disguised by another false goal, or maybe a desperate cry for help?

All throughout, the second bloody grip kept on skipping through the remote's buttons. And then came the final instance. This is from the eyes of the dragons. Only now he tackles the final floor of Ash Keep?

A softly audible inhale cursed the ears on the other end of the call – something that had never happened before in all the years Fukasawa had worked for his incomprehensible boss. The Knight of Echoes saw that Zero was not alone, there was a second soul within the chamber of black and white. It's her, Alister recalled the irises of demonic allure, the rivers of hallowed hope, and the unforgettable, unmistakable face, the gentle features of which whispered of persistence in purpose from the very first day they graced the lands of Adversity.

"Mr. Fukasawa!" Alister declared uncloudedly, fire in his words, "Tell Mr. Shinki to gather the Board. Our plans must be expedited immediately. Inform them of the initialization of my declaration. I shall prepare my projection and my words. They may begin their operations as well. Let us step forward!"

Without doubt in the message's receival, he slammed shut the call, simultaneously pausing the battle record in the same boom. The Knight of Echoes stood up from his seat, shreds of honor in his stance that had been, and took one last scan of the frozen image. Two backs leaned against each other – comfort to comfort, faced off against a storm, of which they had become the eye.

"The time has come." The man lamentingly howled, a resting hand grabbing at his weapon's sheath.

And so fate flowed through the echoes of profanity. Alister took a single step forward into the brighter light.