Work Text:
[NEW MESSAGE RECEIVED]
Argenti received it aboard The One and Only after completing a certain journey.
Although it was from an unknown account, he opened it.
Dear Knight of Beauty, Argenti
Please excuse the sudden message.
We would like to invite you to the 10th Anniversary Tournament of the "Great Galactic Race."
Why not participate in this gem of a race where those proud of their speed from each planet gather?This tournament is hosted by the Interastral Peace Corporation.
The starting point will be Belobog on Jarilo-VI.
If you are able to participate, please reply to this message.
Argenti pondered for a moment.
The "Great Galactic Race" was different from the races he entered every year; not only had he never participated, he was not even aware of its existence. He searched for the race name again to gather information.
He learned that in the past nine tournaments, prominent players well-known to Argenti had been crowned champions. Both past tournaments and the current one allowed for general public entries. Regarding the invited player slots, there was a brief mention in a corner of the website, but specific player names were not disclosed.
Although the date of this tournament was imminent, there was enough time to modify the engine for racing.
Despite his hesitation, he could find no active reason to refuse, so Argenti replied to the message expressing his "Participation."
Participation has been accepted.
*This message is an automated response. Details will be sent by the representative at a later date.
After confirming the mechanical message, Argenti opened a different chat.
It was the account of his lover, Boothill.
Their exchange had ended last night with a discussion regarding the destination of their next journey.
No conclusion had been reached, and it was not a matter of urgency.
Argenti: Hello, Boothill.
The next destination has been decided.
I just received an invitation to the "Great Galactic Race" and will be competing there.
If it suits your schedule, please come to watch.
It was marked as read immediately, and a reply was sent. It was voice input, as usual.
Boothill: So y'all are enterin' that'n too?
I been hearin' 'bout a few others.
Looks like them muddle-fudgers at the IPC are a-sendin' invitations all over yonder.
Argenti: That way of putting it... so you mean the purpose of the "Galactic Race" is not a simple speed race?
If the goal is a gathering of various galactic factions, perhaps it is better not to participate so easily.
Boothill: Nah, I went 'n said somethin' to dampen your spirits.
Don't you pay it no mind.
Just run your race.
I reckon I'll be there to see it.
At that moment, a large meteorite grazed the side of The One and Only.
Distracted driving is dangerous.
Argenti put down his device and hurried the navigation toward Belobog.
"Hey, that muddle-fudger Oswaldo Schneider ain't the one a-runnin' this 'Great Galactic Race,' is he?"
"Hmm... how did you find out about this private line? I wonder if it's thanks to our mutual friend."
That night, in a hotel room in Pier Point.
A certain executive of the IPC is responding to a voice call that came in suddenly.
His voice sounds very sleepy.
From the speaker, a blatant clicking of a tongue flows out and echoes in the room.
"Well, fine... just as you suspected, the 'Great Galactic Race' is the work of the Marketing Development Department. The goal is to gauge the technological prowess of various regions."
"Then why the fork is a Knight of Beauty a-gettin' called out there?"
"Oh, that... it's likely a camouflage to show that the 'Great Galactic Race' is a legitimate speed race, and simply functions as a draw for the crowd... Their beauty makes for the perfect figurehead, after all."
"Wait, ain't y'all a-talkin' a bit too freely?"
"Is that so? I told you. This isn't my job. There's no need to sneak around and hide information. ...On your end, I hope you aren't planning on hanging up this expensive line with just this tiny bit of info?"
"......"
"I have a proposal. Whether you take it or not is up to you. ...As a down payment, I'll give you one piece of information. Oswaldo will not be coming to this tournament."
After talking for a while longer, Aventurine ended the call.
He took a breath and then turned over.
Beneath his white limbs, the silk sheets sagged and formed waves, while the arm-pillow extended under his neck did not twitch even once.
At the end of his turn, his lover—Ratio—who was providing his left arm as a pillow, was reading a paperback book held open with his right hand.
"Ratio, it's time for work."
"Are you involving me?"
"If you didn't want to be involved, you should have made me stop the call midway. You were listening properly to how you're being placed as a piece, weren't you?"
"Sorry, but I heard nothing."
"How cold."
Aventurine's fingertips trace Ratio's bare chest.
Miraculously, he succeeded in momentarily drawing Ratio's consciousness away from the book.
Aventurine directs the full extent of his charm toward the cold gaze looking down at him.
"I'll do anything if you grant them. Literally, anything, you know."
And then, he whispered three wishes into Ratio's ear.
The first wish.
"I want you to enter the race. It would cause a stir if it were under my name, wouldn't it? So, use yours."
The day after the secret discussion between Boothill and Aventurine.
The IPC staff member processing the general public entries for the "Great Galactic Race" was surprised to see that name among the miscellaneous entries—some of which were mere pranks—and hurriedly contacted Ratio for confirmation.
"Naturally, that is my entry. It is neither a game nor a prank."
After Ratio himself answered as such, he added, "However."
"My interest lies in the machine. I shall show you a machine that is, theoretically, perfect. But I will not be the one piloting it."
At that resolute voice, the flustered IPC staff member replied.
"Yes, it would be no trouble at all for us to provide a trained pilot here. If you provide the machine, we will surely show you results."
"Hmph. Your posture in making a proposal without me having to say it is a passing grade. I will have it ready in time for the tournament."
Only a few days later.
On the day before the tournament, Ratio's machine was delivered to Belobog exactly as scheduled.
They were not the only ones preparing for the race, of course.
Argenti, who had entered Belobog much earlier, modified the engine of his beloved machine, The One and Only, for racing and took several trial runs on the course.
The city grew more lively with each passing day, and the sight of tournament officials working busily became prominent.
As tension mounted, the first day of the tournament quietly dawned under a lightly clouded sky.
The match schedule consisted of a total of three days: two days for qualifiers and one day for the finals.
The machine finished by Ratio and Argenti's The One and Only dominated the qualifying tournament.
While Ratio's machine climbed the ranks on the right side of the tournament bracket, Argenti showed overwhelming power on the left side.
The two days of qualifiers passed in the blink of an eye.
Among the eight machines officially announced for the finals, the names of their two machines were, naturally, present.
However.
On the night before the finals, after finishing his meal, Argenti sat on his hotel bed and opened his device.
"I reckon I'll be there to see it."
Boothill had sent him that message, but Argenti had not seen him during the qualifiers.
And he was beginning to think that was for the best.
On the first day, there were several machines clearly flying with restraint.
On the second day, there were successive withdrawals due to malfunctions of unknown causes.
To top it off, after Argenti passed a certain checkpoint in the lead, a sudden turn in the weather struck the following machines.
I am being maneuvered to win.
Argenti was finally convinced of it.
A fixed race is not worth having someone cheer for.
He considered withdrawal as an option, but it was clear the host, the IPC, would stop at nothing to make Argenti win. Even if he brought it up, he did not think he could simply go home.
He typed a message to Boothill into his device.
Argenti: Boothill, your prediction may have been correct.
There seems to be a political underside to this race.
Tomorrow's final is not worth watching, so you do not have to come.
But, Argenti started to type, then stopped his hand.
His own face was reflected in the screen that went black as it entered sleep mode after a few seconds.
In the eyes staring back, he recognized a small mixture of anger, regret, and loneliness.
That was why he could not type it.
I wish to see you for the first time in a while.
Even when the next morning arrived, the message telling him he didn't have to come remained unread.
The second wish.
"I want you to create a computer virus. I want to disrupt the tournament. You're probably going to say that's the IPC's specialty, aren't you? It actually is, but if I move, they'll trace it back to me."
The final day. Inside the cockpit waiting for the signal to start the finals, Argenti was listening to a confused live broadcast.
"Uh... to everyone watching the broadcast, my apologies, but the data being sent to the commentator's booth is all... hey, what's going on, send some proper data!"
It was no wonder the commentator was in a panic.
At the starting line, the eight machines participating in the finals were already all present.
All of them were famous machines or pilots, drawing significant media attention.
However, on the large vision screens that were supposed to introduce them, a bug occurred where the names of machines and pilots that had lost in the qualifiers were scrolling randomly, and the script contained descriptions of qualifying matches and results that had never happened.
The brain's processing could not keep up with the tremendous discrepancy between memory and records, and nothing could be said.
On the other hand, the staff in charge of the starter role felt no sense of incongruity, as their memories of the eight machines lined up before them matched the results of the qualifiers.
They had certainly won through the qualifiers yesterday.
It didn't matter what the current tournament bracket looked like.
Turning a blind eye to the confusion in the commentator's booth and the spectator stands, they waved the flag at exactly the scheduled time.
The eight machines launched high into the sky, soon breaking through into the galaxy.
Before the start, Argenti had scanned the spectator stands once.
And, feeling relieved that Boothill's figure was not visible there, he simultaneously felt a small sense of loneliness, just as he had last night.
A Ranger who always chooses to fight with his back to the wall might not have been granted the leave to watch his lover's race.
Suddenly, a flash of insight ran through Argenti's mind.
At the same time, he felt a sense of incongruity.
The complication of information and the breakdown of the live broadcast that occurred just before the finals.
The fixed race that was carried out throughout the two days of qualifiers.
The doubt cast upon the tournament itself when he decided to participate.
It would be stranger if you weren't here.
"Finally caught up to ya."
At the voice over the radio that had rudely broken in, the tips of Argenti's fingers gripping the steering wheel jumped slightly.
Alongside The One and Only was a sharp, streamlined machine.
"You're fast, darlin'"
As Argenti turned his gaze toward the cockpit, the reticle eyes were looking at Argenti as well.
"So you were here."
While running side-by-side at an extraordinary speed, they looked at each other and smiled boldly.
Boothill returned his gaze to the front.
"Now then, what d'ya plan on doin' after this?"
"I believe you are aware, but this race is a fixed race. Your machine may also encounter interference."
"Yeah, 'bout that..."
The third wish.
"This is the final wish. About the machine you had entered and..."
"Gambler, you needn't say it; I understand. You want me to instruct the Ranger on how to handle the machine and the computer virus, don't you?"
"As expected. You'll do it for me, right?"
"You said you would do anything"
"I did, didn't I?"
"Then, do not show your face until this matter is concluded. Time is irreversible. Let us begin immediately."
"...Thank you, Ratio."
Boothill is unaware of this exchange.
The thoughts that had circulated through Boothill on that day.
The catalyst, naturally, was the message sent from Argenti: "I'm enterin' the Great Galactic Race."
Boothill, who had heard of the "Great Galactic Race" before, had an intuition that the Marketing Development Department was involved.
Wanting to know the internal affairs of the IPC, the only person he could think of to talk to was Aventurine.
Boothill had no way of knowing whether the contact information he had previously received from the Trailblazer was a private line or not, but it seemed that the contact caused Aventurine no small amount of agitation.
Aventurine frankly admitted that Boothill's intuition was correct and said this:
"I have a proposal. Whether you take it or not is up to you. ...As a down payment, I'll give you one piece of information. Oswaldo will not be coming to this tournament."
"What kind of chip is that supposed to be?"
"That's a difficult question. In fact, I'm the one asking. How would you use this chip? Will you bet it, or throw it away?"
"...For once, that don't matter none."
"Heh. ...To think you have a motive to move other than Oswaldo."
"Even without that shirtbag, if the folks at Marketing Development lose face, it oughtta deal 'em some proper damage, right?"
"Fine, let's leave it at that for you."
"So? What's this proposal?"
"Right now, the board is very simple. It would be interesting for both me and you if the Marketing Development Department were to fall... no, for you, they are an 'opponent you're dyin' to make fall.' So, let's ruin their plans."
"Ha, I hear ya. But that ain't fair. I don't know nothin' 'bout their 'plan' or whatever."
"Of course, I have no intention of withholding information. This race is a commemorative tournament, and it's a project dear to their hearts. Unfortunately, the past nine times haven't drawn much attention... which is exactly why they need to launch it grandly. The scale and budget have grown, and their contact with the media is reportedly frequent."
"Say it plain."
"Calm down. At the negotiation table, being short-tempered only shortens your lifespan. ...This race needs a story that will please or move the general public."
"A story?"
"For example, a story where a Knight of Beauty overcomes numerous difficulties and trials to win the championship... that would surely be a hit."
At that moment, feeling a piercing bloodlust from the other side of the device, even Ratio, who was reading next to Aventurine, turned his gaze toward the device once.
"Is it alright to give such an honest reaction? It's as if you've confessed that he is your current Achilles' heel... how unexpected."
"Let's get back to it. What's it gonna take to crush that plan?"
"Actually, I anticipate that you won't be able to prepare it yourself. Did you know? The Knight of Beauty is a regular in these kinds of races. First, you'll need a machine that can rival his speed."
"Ha, I can find one'n them myself."
"One more thing: a virus that can hack the tournament's system. This time, they've only increased the number of personnel; it seems they're using a system and tournament rules that haven't changed from the past nine times. Now then, if you were to do it all alone—understanding the internal structure and creating the virus—how long would it take?"
"......What d'ya want?"
"Perhaps for you, at this point, it won't hurt or itch at all."
"......Say it."
"I want it to be settled that you caused this entire incident alone."
"......Is that all?"
"Look at you. Are you hoping for an add-on? But unfortunately, there's nothing else I want to receive from you."
"I'm in."
"Do you truly understand? I told you to take all the mud."
"Suits me just fine. Though, if y'all go 'n betray me..."
"That won't happen. For me, this isn't even a gamble. In a plan where there's only gain, betrayal isn't necessary."
After finishing the call, Boothill had no choice but to wait for a while.
However, before long, an ID to participate in the race was sent from an anonymous account.
Furthermore, on the day before the tournament, "presents"—a device containing a virus and a chip with a video message—were sent under the name of Ratio.
It was clear that Aventurine had fulfilled his "promise."
Boothill watched that video message before entering Belobog.
The explanation in Ratio's voice, which played as soon as the chip was inserted into the smartphone, was very thorough.
"First, let us speak of the machine I have arranged. Operation is extremely simple."
A diagram of the cockpit is projected largely on the screen.
"This is the engine switch. Press the button to ignite; a long press will turn it off. And the speed can be changed with this lever. Push to accelerate, pull to decelerate. Steering is done with this handle. The radio can intercept the lines of nearby machines. Use it when necessary."
The image of the cockpit disappears, and this time the device containing the virus is shown.
"Regarding the handling of this, I shall first convey the fundamental principle. Absolutely do not let it be stolen or taken. In the unlikely event that it is inserted into your port, you will be destroyed immediately. Insert it into the venue's main machine at the necessary timing."
The image switches to a floor plan of the venue and the tournament's time schedule.
"The strategy is as follows. First, for the qualifiers, let the pilot provided by the host participate.
They likely will not lose.
The action takes place on the day of the finals. The broadcast begins one system hour before the race starts.
Immediately after the broadcast begins, you need do nothing. If it is too early, there is a possibility they will deal with it.
Just before the race, set the device in the main machine.
I do not have a grasp on the security, but you should be able to manage. Commit the floor plan to memory.
The device will activate simply by being set. This will disrupt only the main vision and the live broadcast.
If you expose the disorder of the tournament to the gathered media, the goal is achieved.
I shall ensure there is no hindrance to the continuation of the race. Therefore, in the assumed scenario, it will not lead to cancellation.
And you will board my machine.
As in the qualifiers, the pilot provided by the host will likely be on board, but I leave their handling to you.
When the race begins as scheduled, manage somehow to catch up to that specific machine.
Once you have caught up, press the green switch below the steering wheel inside the cockpit.
That will remotely neutralize the virus in the main machine.
In other words, the broadcast and the main vision will also return to normal.
If that happens, they will likely put off investigating the cause and return to the commentary.
To reclaim their lost face, they should want to resume the race broadcast as if nothing had happened.
Do as you please after that.
Whether the matter of the virus is discovered after the race and sparks fly toward you all is of no concern to me. That is all."
The audio and video cut off abruptly there and vanished due to pre-processing for the destruction of evidence.
The information sent through Boothill's ears and eyes was firmly memorized in his brain.
Throwing away the chip that had turned to junk and holding the device with the virus, Boothill headed for Belobog.
From then on, things proceeded almost entirely according to the strategy.
During the qualifiers, while keeping an eye on the race results, he studied the race course with diagrams and scouted the path to approach the main machine.
On the day of the finals, he waited for the broadcast to begin before moving, first knocking out the pilot who was scheduled to participate. Then, slipping past security to set the device in the main machine, he boarded the machine and entered takeoff preparations with a nonchalant face.
The biggest unexpected factor was Argenti's speed.
From the moment he slid out into the galaxy, he was separated by five machine-lengths; he desperately increased his speed and piloted while reading the course.
On top of that, there is this encounter.
To Argenti, who said he might encounter interference, Boothill omitted everything and said:
"Fudge it, I went 'n crushed that whole borin' fixed race. I came here to see your race."
"Crushed it?"
At that moment, two other separate machines overtook the two of them and flew off.
Now that the broadcast was cut off and interference tailored to the race development could not be realized, the other pilots had also realized they were liberated from the stupid fixed race and were beginning to show their true abilities freely.
"See there? Ain't it different from the qualifiers?"
"Yes, it seems so."
Boothill's right hand searched below the steering wheel.
He presses the green switch.
There is no immediate reaction, but the broadcast system should return soon.
However, even for the IPC, in the current confused state, they cannot secure the resources to launch interference in the middle of a high-speed race.
"You asked what I plan on doing next. This is the race you gave me. I shall certainly win. Can you still increase your speed?"
"Yeah..."
Boothill answered, but in truth, the lever controlling the speed was already pushed to its maximum output.
From the tone of his voice and the fact that he had driven the machine this far to catch up, Argenti saw through Boothill's situation and spoke.
"Do you see that purple haze ahead?"
Boothill also turned his eyes toward where Argenti indicated.
There, towering and swaying like a giant block with no end in sight, was a purple haze.
"That's huge. What in tarnation is that?"
"It is a trap for deceleration. ...In this course, if one is confident in their skill, it is about how to pass through there. ...I did not do it during the qualifiers, however."
Boothill felt a hitch at the way he spoke as if holding something back, but his mouth curved into an arc of its own accord.
"Fine by me. Let's do this."
"...Do you have a spare body? No, if anything should happen, I shall repair you."
"...Huh?"
"Listen closely; let us use that meteorite as a landmark. When we arrive, continue your descent without slowing down until I say it is alright."
Before Boothill could finish chewing over those words in his mind, the noisy voice of the commentator echoed in the cockpit.
"The broadcast is back! Everyone, sorry to keep you waiting! We'll bring you the play-by-play from here! Currently in first place is The One and... no, that's wrong! The One and Only is in third, third place! Currently, it's in a dead heat with Dr. Ratio's machine! Will there be a turnaround from here!?"
"It is our chance to win, Boothill."
The quietness of Argenti's voice over the radio, flowing in between the commentary, cooled Boothill's thoughts.
It was the voice of a warrior who knows the turning point of a battle.
The target meteorite approached, and Boothill took his hands off the speed lever fixed at full throttle and gripped the steering wheel with both hands.
The two machines, simultaneously, dived steeply.
The one who screamed was the commentator.
"Here, The One and Only and Dr. Ratio's machine are...!? No, what's happening... another bug!? No, wait, lost...!? The signal is still green, but... on the drone footage, the two machines are crashing...!? What on earth is happening... are they lost? They're lost! The broadcast, the broadcast will continue! An unthinkable loss!"
Every tournament official turned pale.
Something that must never happen was happening.
The green signal was wordlessly processed as a bug, and the manual for responding to a "lost" status was flipped open.
Meanwhile, inside the diving machine, Boothill was being assaulted by intense gravity.
He was compressed from both above and below, and the warning alarms notifying him of anomalies in the body wouldn't stop ringing.
He thought he would absolutely not close his eyes, but there was no point in keeping eyes open that reflected nothing.
He didn't even know where The One and Only was.
However, Argenti had certainly said before this dive:
"Continue your descent without slowing down until I say it is alright."
If he was going to bet on the side with a higher probability of survival, he had no choice but to believe in Argenti's words.
And then, that moment arrived abruptly.
"Pull up!"
He thought it was a miracle that he could hear the voice.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled the steering wheel up.
The machine shifted to an ascent while creaking.
He understood through physical sensation that if he slowed down, he would be thrown out.
Feeling the gravity once more, he emerged.
Looking at the rearview mirror, Boothill was astonished.
The towering purple haze was behind them.
"This is...!? The One and Only and Dr. Ratio's machine have returned to the course! No—wait, is that wrong? Hey, get the information straight!"
From behind the commentary where staff members began arguing in confusion, Argenti's radio broke in again.
"You managed to break through, didn't you."
"This is too fudging crazy..."
"I was happy, so I couldn't help it."
"Everyone! Our apologies! Currently, first place is The One and Only. Running side-by-side, Dr. Ratio's machine is in second! It looked like they were lost just before the trap, but the signal was green the whole time. It's reported they passed under the trap, which is theoretically within expectations! But in terms of feasibility, it's completely unexpected! With miraculous acrobatic flying, they broke through the trap and leaped into first and second place!"
Listening to the commentary, Boothill swallowed a wry smile.
Passed under a trap that looked bottomless? How?
Even though it was something he had done, he couldn't explain it at all.
However, he was alive, and he was winning.
That fact fueled Boothill's excitement.
"Now then,"
Argenti looked at Boothill through the cockpit.
Their gazes collided.
"Now that it has come to this, you are my only enemy. I shall take the victory!"
"Don't go 'n sayin' such stupid shirt! I ain't gonna let ya!"
Boothill also clung on as The One and Only boosted instantly.
His body was screaming from the violence of the gravity earlier.
But he had no intention of letting Argenti win alone, nor did he have any intention of whining.
Whining now would do nothing but test Argenti, who would not compromise on speed and victory.
As proof that his will to carry out an all-out race was real, while running side-by-side, Boothill had stolen one of Argenti's techniques.
The One and Only was boosting by utilizing gravitational pull every time a meteorite approached. Boothill likewise dashed through, as if jumping from meteorite to meteorite.
Until they returned to the atmosphere, and even after entering the atmosphere, their dead heat continued. Without either yielding, they landed as if plunging headfirst into the snowfield. A tremendous cloud of snow rose, and the machines enveloped in pure white slid for a while according to inertia before crossing the finish line together.
The time appeared.
A tie for first place, without even a tenth of a second's difference.
Argenti turned around to look at Boothill again through the cockpit. He widened his eyes once, and then, instinctively lowered his brows.
"Honestly... you are quite a person..."
Beyond Argenti's gaze, the cockpit of Dr. Ratio's machine was empty.
"A tie for first! It's a tie for first place! The One and Only and Dr. Ratio's machine are in first! An interview with the pilots... oh...? Dr. Ratio's machine has no pilot? Truly nothing but mysterious things are happening! Staff have just confirmed the cockpit, but there is no one there! According to tournament rules, it is a foul unless it is a manned flight for any reason. Dr. Ratio's machine is recorded as 'No Result' due to pilot withdrawal! The times are tied, but at this moment, The One and Only's first place has been decided! An interview with the winner!"
By the time the broadcast staff gathered at The One and Only, Argenti had already left the cockpit. And, to the cameras and microphones pointed at him, he declared:
"I am sorry, but I am in a hurry and cannot answer. Thank you for the opportunity to participate."
Then, the white armor and crimson hair vanished into the snowfield.
"Come in."
At the same time, in Aventurine's private room in Pier Point.
In response to the chime, Aventurine went to the entrance to welcome his guest. The one who arrived was Ratio, looking somewhat displeased as usual.
"I was properly well-behaved, just as I was told not to show my face, wasn't I?"
While returning to the living room and sitting on the brown leather sofa, Aventurine spoke without meeting his gaze. Ratio, who sat down next to him a moment later, ran the fingers of his left hand through the golden hair, stroking it. After freezing for an instant, Aventurine laughed with nothing but a short breath.
"Was that supposed to be a reward just now?"
Ratio immediately took his hand away from the head and crossed his legs.
"That aside, what was the result of the race?"
"The result? If you wanted to see it, you should have watched it yourself. The internet, the radio, and the television are all obsessed with it."
"......"
At the silence insisting that he wanted to hear it from him, Aventurine gave in and took out his smartphone.
"The one who won was the Knight of Beauty. But it wasn't a race created by the IPC. The strategy all went well. During the first half of the final race, the virus interfered, making broadcasting entirely impossible. The IPC side couldn't carry out their manipulations, either. By the time the broadcast resumed, they were competing neck-and-neck. In fact, it was a tie. However, the pilot of Dr. Ratio's machine was lost. Therefore, a victor was decided."
"Lost? Why?"
"Don't you understand? It's because of the contract between me and Boothill. I need him to take all the responsibility. A wanted criminal of the IPC being on board Dr. Ratio's machine... that could jeopardize not only your position but mine as well."
"But there was the option of a disguise, surely."
"He's not the kind of guy who'd do that. Besides, you must have prepared an escape pod and autopilot with that assumption in mind, didn't you? My assessment is this: before entering the atmosphere, he switched to autopilot and used the escape pod. The machine was stable until landing, after all. He's probably on some planet by now."
"While you are in the middle of your passionate speech,"
"What is it?"
"An escape pod and autopilot... there was neither the budget nor the time to create such things."
Aventurine instinctively looked at Ratio.
His expression was dyed with surprise.
A worst-case scenario surfaced in both of their minds, and then, Aventurine spoke first.
"Well... that outlaw would probably survive somehow... he almost got lost at the trap, too. ...Could you take a look at this?"
While playing the race footage on his smartphone, Aventurine showed the screen to Ratio.
On the course were The One and Only and Ratio's machine. The next moment after flying side-by-side, they fell at a high speed that made one think it was a free fall. Then, dozens of seconds later, they surged upward from the opposite side of the trap. It was clear that they had flown under the trap, drawing a U-shaped trajectory.
"The commentary was in utter chaos. Actually, even I felt a chill. I even thought for a moment that he intended to commit double suicide from the start."
"This was within expectations. I thought he would surely do it."
"Is that so?"
Aventurine looked at Ratio, taking his eyes off the smartphone screen.
Ratio crossed his arms and stared back with a serious gaze.
"In building the machine, I researched the races of the Knight of Beauty. I scoured the archive footage. ...You should watch them all together if you are interested. He is strong in simple speed races, but that is not all. I found that acrobatic flight when evading traps is his specialty. Therefore, so that he could keep up with that, I designed the steering to transmit power by the shortest route."
"So that was it. It certainly looked as if his machine was leading and guiding."
"However,"
Ratio spoke while continuing to look at the screen where the race was being replayed.
"A tie, then. He could not win."
"You sound frustrated. Haven't you mistaken the victory conditions? It was enough for us if we could provide a stage for a fair fight for that Knight. It wasn't supposed to be about making Boothill win."
Ratio's gaze rose, capturing Aventurine from the front.
"...Gambler."
"Hmm?"
"Why are you favoring that Knight so much? This matter as well—you moved not because of the Ranger, but because the Knight was involved, didn't you?"
"Oh, that. Did I not tell you, Ratio?"
Answering as if to dodge the question on purpose, Aventurine sank deep into the sofa while placing his smartphone aside.
"I racked up a debt in Penacony... no, he probably doesn't even think of it as a favor. But if he hadn't been there, I might not have even been able to be here talking like this. ...Look back at this whole thing again. The Marketing Development Department incurred losses due to the broadcast failure. Well, the profits from the topicality of the results will probably outweigh that. Even so, an indirect repayment of the favor was achieved. It's an ample reward. Rather, the one I don't understand is Boothill. He only needed to compete; there should have been no need for him to go along with such reckless flying."
"That is,"
Ratio started to speak reflexively but swallowed his words.
He remembered the beginning of the incident.
In a hotel room. When the smartphone of Aventurine rang while Ratio was reading, giving himself over to the lethargy of the aftermath.
The conversation, which was carried out on speaker on purpose, began with the topic of who was in charge of the race hosted by the IPC.
The Knight of Beauty might be turned into a draw for the crowd; a story suitable for a commemorative tournament might be fabricated. The bloodlust that was transmitted through the smartphone when Aventurine provoked him so.
If that bloodlust, though illogical, is not the sole truth, then what in this world could rival it?
Aventurine's puzzled expression announced that he had no inkling of it.
A very slight sense of shame prevented Ratio from saying it.
"What were you about to say?"
"...Nothing. It is an illogical story."
"...Hmm... I thought he might have had his life saved by the Knight of Beauty too, but... I see. For now, shall we try to contact him?"
Concerned about the whereabouts of the "lost" pilot without an escape pod, Aventurine attempted a voice call, but there was no response. There was only the sound of the ringing tone.
Snow had begun to fall from the sky of Belobog.
The fluttering powder snow dyed the race venue, which had been seething with enthusiasm, into white.
In a snowfield slightly removed from there, an inorganic electronic sound was echoing.
If anyone were there to hear it, they would recognize it as a smartphone's ringtone.
Boothill opened his eyes.
His body, which had been sounding alerts continuously since the middle of the race, had finally reached its limit; as soon as Boothill arrived here—in the shade of the trees in the snowfield—it had entered a forced shutdown, ignoring its master's will.
About one system hour had passed since the race ended.
Noticing the incoming call on his smartphone at the same time he woke up, Boothill sat back up with one knee raised as if leaning against a tree and fumbled in his pocket with his left hand.
The one calling was Aventurine.
Boothill pressed the end-call button to cut the reception and scanned his notifications.
A message from Argenti that had arrived last night.
Just as he was about to tap it, a shadow fell over him.
"I have been searching for you."
Boothill stole a glance up from beneath his hat, looked down, and slowly closed his eyes.
Before him, Argenti knelt on one knee.
"You're lookin' fit as a fiddle. Just what kind of contraption is that spaceship of yours?"
"The One and Only is The One and Only. If you are referring to the way we passed through the trap, that was a stationary type, and I believe it was suited for beginners. ...Besides, I did not perform such a reckless stunt as exiting a machine while it was still sliding."
Calm green eyes stared at the left eye that was hidden by the hat and invisible.
"...Why is that? It was the moment we landed, wasn't it?"
"Tch, so ya saw through it."
"No, even when we crossed the finish line, I believed without a doubt that you were beside me. ...However, you were not there. If there were a time you could have exited, I can only think of immediately after landing."
"...Ain't no way I can just waltz onto a podium at an IPC race, right?"
"...That is true, but,"
A sound like crackling sparks was coming from Boothill's body.
The increased number of wounds and the dislocated right shoulder. It was not difficult to imagine the state of his back resting against the tree trunk.
It was a mystery that he wasn't broken.
"Please tell me everything later. First, The One and Only..."
As Argenti started to stand up, Boothill tossed out a word.
"Before that, sorry for not noticin' this. ...What's it say? Mind readin' it for me?"
Boothill held out the smartphone gripped in his left hand. The message from Argenti from last night, which he had intended to rely on voice-to-text for, was displayed.
Argenti took a glance and cast his eyes down.
Every single word he sent last night was etched in his mind.
"Boothill,"
A clear voice echoed, and in the next moment, it melted into the silently piling snow.
Boothill listened, keeping his head down steadily.
"Your prediction may have been correct. There seems to be a political underside to this race. Tomorrow's final is not worth watching, so you do not have to come."
As Argenti took a breath, cold air circulated through his lungs.
He opened his lips again.
"But, I wish to see you for the first time in a while."
In the darkness behind his eyelids, Argenti ruminated on the emotions of last night.
Boothill tossed the smartphone aside and touched Argenti's cheek.
Caresed by fingertips that were chilled and covered in frost, the eyes opened.
His gaze met the left eye.
"Comin' to see your race... I reckon it was the right choice."
"...Yes."
Argenti took off Boothill's hat and kissed him as if pressing their lips together. Resting their cheeks against each other, Boothill's five fingers tangled into the red hair, and Argenti whispered into his ear.
"Thank you, Boothill."
After casting his eyes down as if loath to let his eyelashes get wet, Argenti slowly stood up. He placed the hat back on Boothill's head and spoke.
"I shall go get The One and Only."
"Yeah... if I'm out cold while I'm a-waitin', sorry, but give me a haul."
"Yes, of course."
He followed with his gaze the red hair atop the snowfield as Argenti walked away calmly.
He smiled contentedly, and then, the white eyelid slowly lowered.
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