Returning Home By Chance

Modern World | Chapter 4

“Katy, are you there?”

Without the mirror-suit’s heads-up display, Pedring felt a little strange talking to the air. Fortunately, it only took a few more seconds of constipation before he heard its signature synthesized voice.

[KY-8 is currently experiencing a minor system overload. To prioritize stabilization, automatic replies have been turned on. Please state your query.]

So KY-8 was already working on it. Five steps ahead of Pedring, as usual.

After organizing his thoughts, Pedring asked, “Does E647 send out punishments to its hosts?”

[Yes. The current version of E647 does send punishments, sometimes dubbed “plot holes”, to its hosts. These punishments are in response to what is considered a “natural mission failure” and aim to motivate its host to complete the world’s storyline.]

…This was a little different from what KY-8 originally said, wasn’t it? Shouldn’t the metaspace be an open playground of reality? When did this “storyline” come in?

[This definition has been pulled directly from E647’s database.] Automated KY-8 added, as though anticipating Pedring’s confusion.

“Then where was all that stuff from before sourced?”

[The previous abridged information came from the annotations recorded in the KY-8 internal database, not the E647 database. The main system chose to prioritize this information over the raw data as an executive decision.]

KY-8’s database? That was probably the boss.

Now that he thought of it, Pedring could dig up a lot of forgotten projects just by skimming through KY-8’s seemingly endless database. The mirror-suit and KY-8 originally belonged to the boss, after all; from the mini-games in the HUD to the understated design of the suit itself, the boss’s personal preferences left an imprint everywhere. Pedring wouldn’t be surprised if the boss kept a diary somewhere in the internal system, mistakenly preserved into the suit at one point like all the other nonsense programs.

That all aside, there was a clear discrepancy between the boss’s notes and Pedring’s experience in the metaspace so far. It seemed that KY-8 overlooked a lot of crucial information.

Pedring thought to himself some more before unearthing a pen and paper from the office cabinet and sitting at the desk. He listed a few words and phrases that system E647 had said.

Tapping the desk with the back of his pen, he asked, “What is a mission task?”

[A mission task is a task delegated by system E647 to support the progress of the world storyline.]

He jotted down a few more words. “What happens when a mission task is completed?”

[The host is rewarded and the world storyline is further stabilized.]

“And if it’s not?”

[The host receives a punishment, and the world has a higher probability of failing the storyline.’

“Is it bad to—no, what happens if the storyline fails?”

[The host has a higher probability of being rejected by the metaspace according to the generated world’s degree of unpredictability. This is a safeguard measure implemented by E647’s core research team meant to protect the host from mental damage.]

Pedring made an “oh” shape with his lips and widened his eyes. He yelled silently in his heart:

KY-8, you were wrong! I can’t go on vacation in this world!

Feeling satisfied, he straightened his face and continued to ask, “When do the mission tasks appear? How do I—no, answer that first.”

[The mission tasks are assigned as the world storyline progresses. They appear as holographic screens with dynamic text in front of the host’s eyes or a dedicated system display assigned by the host in the metaspace, such as a book or personal cellphone.]

A holographic screen? Pedring only saw that when he was being threatened with punishment. But, since this was something entirely controlled by E647 itself, what could he do to find out what his mission tasks were?

“Are they automatic? I can’t recall them—? no, you said that I can set a dedicated display in the metaspace? Walk me through that.”

Pedring took out his smartphone and eagerly awaited the automatic response.

[This process is done in the tutorial event before the host enters the full-immersion metaspace. To preserve data, the host must be ejected from the metaspace, then reenter the tutorial stage in order to reset this setting.]

…

Pedring slowly put his phone down.

“Is there no way for me to see the mission tasks, then? I mean, I don’t even know that I failed one until E647 told me I did. Is there another one ongoing right now? Am I still about to face punishment? The car collision? Wait, no—there’s a tutorial event? I never experienced that—!”

Pedring held up a hand and breathed in deeply before sighing. “Disregard all those questions. I can figure out a temporary solution so long as I know what E647 has planned for the world storyline. Can you send me any data on that?”

[I’m sorry. I do not have access to the functions required to retrieve that information. Please allow me to relay your question to the main system.]

“Sure thing. How long until Katy is back online?”

[The main system is estimated to return to normal levels of operation in 34 minutes, real time.]

“Class might start soon…” Pedring glanced at the clock on the wall and confirmed his hunch. “By the way, is there a time buffer or something between the real world and the metaspace?”

[Yes. There is a ratio of about 1 to 100 between real time and the metaspace.]

“That’s two whole business days without Katy,” Pedring noted out loud in concern.

What was causing KY-8 to overload in the first place? In all his years of using it, Pedring had never been in a situation where KY-8 had to resort to automated responses. This occasion ended up being productive, but he probably would have gotten a better plan forward if KY-8 was here to explain itself.

If such a sophisticated system as KY-8 was being overwhelmed by a program like E647…

Could it be that something went wrong with it that KY-8 had to make up for? Or perhaps the version the boss got was flawed to begin with?

Pedring recalled the sensation of time stopping without warning in the metaspace. It was as if he was separated from the world by a veil, watching the world through another being's eyes…

But even though he watched from another's perspective, even though he had no control over what he saw, he was still subjected to the mental anguish of knowing all these things he seemingly had a hand in. He knew that something had indeed happened in the world because of his negligence.

It made him wonder if someone else had taken the system's punishment in his place.

Pedring brought his hand to his face and rubbed his eyes hard. He sighed, readjusted his glasses, and muttered, “Whatever, whatever—let’s just deal with one thing at a time.”

He threw those annoying thoughts out of his head and tapped on the desk, glancing around the office. His office, now.

Never in his life did he think that he’d ever have one. Well, it was a little different from what he imagined—Pedring’s mental image of an office came from television after all, and those offices were usually more of the cubicle kind. This was much more extravagant, being isolated from the rest of the staff even, and certainly quite fun in itself.

Should he take a photo? He had a nice shirt on as well. It wasn’t his shirt, though; it wasn’t even his world. Well, this office wasn’t really his either, then…

Anyway, KY-8 could make it happen. Bring a photo of him from this world to the real world, that is. Wasn’t this an interesting memory?

No, alright, he was avoiding the one problem that he could control: Would this teaching position secure his indefinite future in this world? And how was he going to pretend to be a teacher in a way that wouldn’t get him in trouble? Because there was no way that Pedring could learn how to be a proper teacher in twenty-five minutes. It would help if the original body of this world had some sort of syllabus or teaching materials lying around, but the office, as fancy as it was, was spotless and without personality. The school bag that was packed on his arrival to this world only held an empty binder and a laptop that was locked with a password he didn’t know.

Propelled by a certain anxiety, he looked up the words “music teacher” on his phone’s web browser under different variations. Seeing the web results be filled with countless unfamiliar college degrees every time, Pedring pursed his lips, turned over his phone, and tapped on the desk in agitation once more.

What, were music teachers—well, in his case, band directors—actually supposed to teach music? Did he have to make students practice and learn to read music? Or else assume that they knew the basics already and force them to perform songs on their own?

That was too tricky; Pedring would rather just wing it.

Let’s just leave the kids to their own devices.

As the first class passed in silent agony, Pedring discovered that this was the same mentality that the Pedring of this world had.

Aside from roll call, when all his students wordlessly gathered in the main room, none of his dear students took so much as a glance at him before pulling out their phones and slinking into the storage rooms, as though already used to being neglected.

Pedring could only stare blankly at their retreating backs, enduring for a few seconds before returning to his office with the door propped open.

It was good like this: kids don’t get enough time to relax when they’re in school, you know. Once they grow up, the kids will have to deal with employment and unemployment, housing and facilities, food and dignity. The only luxury they’ll have in the future is the ability to look back and miss these carefree days in school.

Right?

Ignore that the habits formed now would be some of the most difficult to break in adulthood, that now would be the time to nurture these teens into responsible youths who could enter the workforce immediately, and so not fall behind their peers. Yes, all life is a competition, and since Pedring was in a position of influence, he should act accordingly and prepare these kids for it…

Right? Right?

It’s too much. This isn’t the real world anyway—just wing it all!

Pedring repeated these words in his head as the second class passed, then the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth. He smiled at the backs of his so-called students as they left, the band room door swinging shut with a deafening bang.