Then he stood and started out of the room—but he paused at the door. He turned to me with a cheerful smile. “Play nice with Hikaru-kun, now.”

  “Hrm...” I gave a noncommittal nod, to which Matoba-san once again waved, then quickly showed himself out.

  Now it was just me and Myusel in the dining area.

  “Uh, um... Would you like t-tea?”

  “Nah, don’t worry about it. I just got up early and came to clear my head a bit.”

  “Clear your head, sir?” Myusel looked at me with an inquisitive tilt of her head. No matter how many times she did that, it was always cute!

  “Yeah,” I muttered, “I’m definitely more of a Myusel guy.”

  “Er...?”

  “A girl can be really cute, but a flat chest and a hard body are just deal-breakers for me. I want someone with a little roundness, someone who looks like they’d be soft to hug.”

  “Shinichi-sama...” Myusel’s white cheeks turned scarlet.

  “Huh? Oh...”

  Crud. Did I say that out loud?

  “Er, ah, y’see...”

  “I, uh... I’ll just go get breakfast ready...!”

  Without waiting for me to try to come up with an excuse, Myusel zipped out of the room and into the kitchen.

  Ahh, Myusel. You’re like detergent for my soul!

  As I sat there, moe-ing it up in an attempt to clear away the clouds of my nightmare, my heart filled with that classic, tender bittersweetness.

  After another day of classes at the school, we came back home, where we sat in the living area, doing whatever we felt like. We were all in the same room together, but we were each just doing our own thing. This stretch of time until dinner was brief, but richly relaxing.

  I continued in a light novel I’d been reading. Myusel was bringing tea to each of us in the room. And Minori-san seemed to be typing up a report on her laptop.

  As for Elvia, she was drawing industriously in her sketchbook, apparently doing some type of design. Hikaru-san was peeking over her shoulder at her drawing. Incidentally, Hikaru-san was dressed in another Gothic-Loli outfit, although not the Suiren one. Our newest resident didn’t seem to feel any compulsion to wear anything more typical.

  “Shinichi-san?”

  At the sound of my name, I looked up from my novel to see Hikaru-san looking in my direction. She—I mean he—had his hand at his chin as if he was thinking about something.

  “I was thinking. What if we tried bringing in some trading cards?”

  “Huh? Trading cards?” I blinked.

  Trading cards. In Japan, we called them torekaa for short.

  As an otaku, they were a perfectly familiar bit of merchandise to me, but I hadn’t tried introducing them here yet. The biggest reason was simply that I wasn’t that interested—had never been that into them, really.

  “Do you know why trading cards were so quick to catch on when they were first invented?” Hikaru-san asked.

  “Huh? Er, uh, no,” I said.

  “It was because they’re cheap enough that people can buy them with pocket change, and yet they fulfill the desire for acquisition. They’re something you can purchase without thinking too hard about it.”

  “Oh, sure, I guess that makes sense.”

  For sure, I had seen plenty of elementary school kids buying cards at convenience stores or bookshops.

  “At the same time,” Hikaru-san went on, “from a vendor’s perspective, the return on floor space dedicated to cards is very high.”

  “Sorry?” I said. The discussion had suddenly taken a turn for the technical.

  “Even a pack of ten cards takes up virtually no space, right?”

  “Yeah, sure.”

  I nodded, picturing one of those boxes stuffed with packs of trading cards. A box with ten or twenty packs could still practically fit in the palm of your hand.

  “Say a pack of ten cards costs a hundred yen. So if you have twenty packs in the box, that’s two thousand yen. And yet you dedicate less space in your store to those twenty packs then you would to two paperback books. If one book sells for six hundred yen, you aren’t quite at double the profit, but it’s still obviously a better return on your investment.”

  “............Ah.”

  Now that he mentioned it...

  Trading cards were usually put right next to the cash register as an impulse item. I had always thought of this as being primarily because it made the purchase easier for the customer, but considering it more carefully, I realized that what it really implied was that the store didn’t need a specialized, dedicated space for the cards. You didn’t have to line oodles of them up. It meant you could sell one more thing in your store without having to give any additional space to it. You didn’t even need any specialist knowledge to sell them.

  I could see why that sort of calculus would appeal to store owners. And from the perspective of Amutech’s business...

  “They’re easy to transport, which means they would be simple to bring to this world,” Hikaru-san said. “They’re also cheap and you can buy them anywhere, so procurement wouldn’t be a problem. And a collection fits in your pocket, but you can pull it out and brag to your friends about all the cards you’ve got.”

  “It’s... It’s starting to make sense,” I said.

  “I can see all the works that are already a big hit here in Eldant, with the students and the people around them. Since they don’t seem to have any objection to anime- or manga-style art, I’m sure they would be fascinated by the beautiful pictures on some trading cards.”

  “Yeah, that’s true...” I nodded, picturing how the students would react.

  There were several differences between otaku and non-otaku, and in my experience, one of the brightest lines was an interest in the people on the production side of any given work.

  What I mean is, some people pore over the credits in an anime, checking out the names of the director, the character designer, the animation director, the scriptwriter, the production studio, and on and on. When you hear someone talking knowledgeably about things like how they love the art in episode X because so-and-so was the animation director, you know you’re dealing with a bona fide otaku.

  Now that I thought about it, though, recently the students at school had stopped talking exclusively in terms of “pretty art” or “cute art,” and had started saying that they liked the way X-sensei drew girls, or that the way Y-sensei handled hips was sexy, or that when it came to thighs, Z-sensei was the undisputed master, and so on and so forth. That is to say, they were starting to be able to discern personal differences in artistic style.

  It would only be natural, then, for them to take an interest in trading cards, where the illustrations were done by a variety of artists. It was like a gallery of lovely pictures small enough to fit in your pocket. Then again, there was also the possibility that the Eldant people would see trading cards as revolutionary, a totally new concept.

  Then there was the fact that a lot of trading cards depicted things the students already enjoyed: stories they knew, familiar characters, and of course, monsters and robots and stuff. Not to mention cards inspired you to want to collect them all. There were a lot of facets to cards’ attractiveness.

  “Don’t forget, production and transport costs are low enough to make it economical—and probably profitable—to import large amounts of product,” Hikaru-san said.

  “Hang on—large amounts? How much do you think people are going to buy?”

  “Consider that they’re also excellent Japanese language teaching material.”

  “Uh...?”

  “Most cards have some sort of explanatory text on them, right? Or at the very least, a card name.”

  “Right...”

  “People might not be able to get longer sentences immediately, but I’ll bet a lot of them could pick out vocabulary and decipher shorter sentences. Gaining that understanding would make the cards even more fun. And since so many cards are used as part of a game rather than purely for collecting, they could learn while they play.” Hikaru-san was smiling now.

  He was right; picking up vocabulary in the context of a game did make it easier to remember. What it all meant was that in addition to introducing a product with high profit margins, Amutech could simultaneously hope to quietly increase its customer base. Trading cards were cheap, portable, and easily understood, so they might give the Eldant masses—most of whom were currently illiterate—their first real brush with otaku culture.

  Ooh. It almost seemed too good to be true.

  “As far as the cards go,” Hikaru-san said, “rather than just importing packs and selling them as-is, I think we should open them and then sell individual cards in sleeves or packages that we make here.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “Individual cards would be cheaper. And I think it would be useful for the Eldant side to get used to being part of the supply chain.”

  “I mean, maybe...”

  It had been in the original plan to have Eldant start producing otaku products that could then be exported to other countries around here. Some experimental otaku goods had already worked their way secretly into Bahairam, but that was the exception. I would certainly be happy to see them become more plentiful in the free market.

  Then there was the little fact that I was opposed to the Japanese government’s plan for cultural invasion.

  A major pillar of that plan was for the government to control the supply of otaku goods—and if I could undermine that foundation, so much the better for resisting the weaponization of otaku stuff. So how could I not be on board with a plan that would help make Eldant a supplier of product?

  “It’s true that up until this point, it’s just been us importing things for them to enjoy,” Minori-san said with a nod. She was a member of the JSDF, and so technically part of the Japanese government, but she was also an otaku herself. Just like me, she wasn’t thrilled at the idea of otaku products being turned into weapons of invasion, and she had a lot of sympathy for my perspective.

  “So,” Hikaru-san said with a glance at the beast girl beside him. “I was thinking maybe we could have Elvia-san do the illustrations for the packaging.”

  “M-Me?!” Elvia was very surprised to abruptly become the topic of conversation.

  “You are Amutech’s in-house artist, aren’t you?”

  “Well, yes, I am, but...”

  “Then perhaps it’s time you started doing some art.”

  “I get it,” I said, crossing my arms and thinking.

  You know... This might be fun. It was always interesting to create something. That didn’t have to mean manga or novels or whatever. Coming up with a new plan and seeing it to fruition—making it real—is itself a form of creativity. I felt myself getting excited, just like I had when we had come up with the idea for the movie.

  Along with our personal computer over here, we did have a printer and scanner, good business-grade equipment with relatively significant functionality. So far I had only ever used them to produce teaching materials for the school, but there was no reason we couldn’t set them to printing packaging.

  Or better yet, why not use the printing technology available here? I had seen those broadside portraits of Petralka, which proved that local color printing technology was at a fairly sophisticated level. It might not be as crisp as a computer printer, and the details might seem just a little off, meaning that there could be minor variations in the quality of any given product... but we could consider that part of the experience.

  Yeah. I liked where this was going.

  “B-But my art isn’t...” Elvia still seemed hesitant. “Compared to the stuff that’s for sale, it’s just... different...”

  She seemed to be talking about artistic style. Personally, I thought Elvia did terrific examples of “moe art,” very much in line with proper otaku products, but maybe there was something that kept her, as the artist, from being totally satisfied with them.

  “Moe art and otaku things don’t have any hard and fast rules. They aren’t some kind of tradition or anything. It’s all about whether the audience can feel moe about them or not,” Hikaru-san said firmly. “Elvia-san, I think your art is excellent. What about you, Shinichi-san?”

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “I love your stuff, too, Elvia. I think it’s terrific.”

  “Y’ really mean that?” Elvia looked at me, her eyes wide. Her tail, which had been hanging limply, wagged slightly behind her.

  Elvia was easy to read if nothing else. It was part of what was so adorable about her.

  “Y’ really do like my work, Shinichi-sama?”

  “Sure I do. I’ve told you before. If I didn’t like what you were doing, Amutech wouldn’t have kept you on as its artist.”

  Elvia turned bright red—was she that happy to hear her work praised?

  “Okay! I’ll do it! I’m all over the packaging for your ‘cards’!”

  All of a sudden she was super into it. I could practically see the flame burning behind her. It looked like she was 100% on board now.

  “Well, it looks like that’s settled. I’ll talk to Matoba-san tomorrow or the next day,” Hikaru-san said.

  “Oh, sure. Thanks,” I said, nodding.

  Nodding was all I could do. No matter how you looked at this idea, there was absolutely no reason for me to object or oppose it.

  If anything...

  “What kinda pictures do you think I should do?”

  “Good question. Given what I’ve observed among the students over the past several days, it seems like the most popular features are—”

  Hikaru-san and Elvia had already begun an impromptu conference on the content of the packaging. I let their conversation drift in one ear and out the other; the only thing I felt was sheer amazement. You could even say I was overwhelmed.

  Unlike me, Hikaru-san was clearly capable of viewing otaku products from a business perspective. The profit margins on trading cards? I had never once thought about such a thing.

  I had been importing things into this world on the basis of what I thought was interesting. It was really nothing more than the desire to share what I liked, so that everyone could enjoy it together.

  But Hikaru-san was different. She—er, he—didn’t think about things as a consumer, but rather more like a creator or producer. More like someone on the supply side of the equation.

  “He’s very talented, you know. He had to be, to be chosen as your assistant.”

  Matoba-san’s words came back to me. And he was right: Hikaru-san was tremendously capable.

  More so than me, really.

  I wasn’t upset about that. It was a good thing to have another talented person in my circle. But it’s true that I felt something akin to nervousness.

  If Hikaru-san was really that much more distinguished than I was—then what if they decided they didn’t need me anymore?

  I had already gone against the Japanese government once. The only reason I was still General Manager of Amutech was because it was the most efficient way for the government to ingratiate the company here in Eldant. They knew that if they just went and got rid of me, it would invite the ire of the Eldant government. I was simply too close to Petralka.

  But Hikaru-san had already begun to endear himself to the empress. He was already proving how much more effective he could be than me. And if the Japanese government took that to heart...?

  Another incursion by the special forces—successful this time? Or maybe I would just be forcibly sent back to Japan?

  No, stop. These grim fantasies weren’t going to help anyone. Letting my imagination get carried away was a bad habit of mine.

  “I’ve been thinkin’ I’d like to do something like this,” Elvia said, striking a pose where she covered her chest with one arm. It squeezed her boobs in a way that was kind of sexy, but not low-class. A spot-on moe pose. But the ability to strike that pose at a moment’s notice showed just how deeply Elvia had gotten lost in my world—how well acquainted she had become with otaku culture.

  I didn’t say anything. Elvia seemed to be having fun, and that was worth a lot.

  That was what I told myself, anyway, as I finally turned back to my novel and tried to focus on the words.

  I had eaten dinner and taken my bath, and was nearly back to my room when I noticed someone coming down the hall from the other direction and stopped. The other person seemed to notice me, too, because they looked up from arms full of something.

  “Shinichi-san,” Hikaru-san said, coming to a halt and smiling softly.

  Her—ahem, his—arms were full of clothes.

  They were probably the cosplay costumes he had brought from Japan. And there were plenty of them. He had a firm grip on them, but even cloth had to get heavy after a point. I felt a little concerned just looking at him.

  “Want some help?” I asked.

  “No, I’m fine,” Hikaru-san said.

  “Yeah? You sure have an awful lot of clothes there.”

  “These are the ones I lent to Myusel-san and Elvia-san. Minori-san and I got a little carried away and just tried them in everything we could think of. I had them laundered, and now I’m just bringing them back to my room.”

  “Ahh...”

  I thought back to Myusel and Elvia, dressed in Gothic-Loli outfits. Hikaru-san and Minori-san had enjoyed having the two girls cosplay—or whatever you wanted to call it in this case—on Hikaru-san’s very first day here, and I gathered that since then, they had asked Myusel and Elvia around several more times to try on new dresses. Cerise, for what it’s worth, wasn’t involved; her body type and proportions were just too different from Hikaru-san’s.

  ...Hang on.

  I knew it was a little late to be worrying about this, but was this really okay? I mean, Hikaru-san was a guy... so what did he do when the girls were changing?

  “It takes time to wash something with this much lace and decorations.”

  “Oh, huh...”

  As casually as I could, I scoped out Hikaru-san’s body again. Long, black hair. Slim build. Pretty face. Black lace can look really tasteless if you get it even a little bit wrong, but it actually looked really good on Hikaru-san. I had never known anyone else who wore Gothic-Loli so well. It looked cute on Myusel and Elvia in part because they would look cute in anything, but I couldn’t deny a certain sense that the outfits had been “wearing them,” so to speak. But Hikaru-san looked absolutely at ease in the style.

 

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