So, in the end, we're doing beach volleyball? The beach color's ridiculous, and the atmosphere is on a knife's edge, but still.
How could this possibly turn out well... if it does?
I had no idea.
Apparently those extra factors didn't matter, because Don Quixote was still bouncing around in high spirits.
"I saw it with mine own eyes! There was most certainly a ball among the wreckage and refuse that had washed ashore! We have a ball, we have people, and we have a beach... to say it is unreasonable not to play at a time like this would not be an exaggeration!"
"I'm not sure this can even be called a beach..."
As Sinclair said... well, it was a bit iffy, but what did it matter? As long as it was fun, that was enough.
Seeing Don Quixote hopping around in excitement, Gregor hesitated a little before speaking up.
"Don Quixote... we're not here to play, you know?"
"I know that! I thank thee for the advice, but I believe a brief rest for the sake of all our unity would be beneficial!"
"Yeah, maybe try hiding your expression while you say that..."
As Gregor said, she stopped hopping around, but Don Quixote's eyes were still sparkling with excitement...
No, forget it. If she's happy, there's no point in nagging her.
The moment I thought that, an entirely unexpected person objected to Gregor's words.
"No, I agree as well."
"...Mr. Yi Sang?"
"In hindsight, I have never truly engaged in any proper athletic activity with my companions. I am not especially gifted in ball games, but... to experience it now would surely be valuable. So let us try it. Vol-ley-ball."
"Honestly..."
Gregor scratched the back of his head as if there was nothing he could do.
That guy talks like that, then ends up enjoying himself just fine. He's a total tsundere, surprisingly enough.
The real problem was...
"We're not prepared..."
"...Hah."
"This isn't the time to be lazily batting a ball around... Besides, we've been too relaxed lately... yeah, the last time must've just been unusually lucky."
This one. The two troublemakers who had nearly collided earlier, too.
Judging by the way Ms. Ishmael's grim mood was steadily deepening, she'd probably blow up soon enough.
Beach volleyball with a bomb that goes off the moment you slip.
In that situation, beach volleyball looked like a pretty reckless gamble, but...
"...Let's do it, beach volleyball."
"A wise decision! I shall go fetch the ball~!"
It seemed Dante had chosen to smash his head into the wall for now.
Well, not doing it wouldn't have improved the situation either, so maybe this was better.
"Ah, good grief..."
"Gregor, you'll go along with it just fine once we start anyway, so why are you like this?"
"Hey, no! What do you take me for...?"
Tsundere bug-arm old man.
...If I said that out loud, he'd probably get hurt. Better keep it to myself.
"This is a game decided by the Manager. Everyone, relax your faces and receive it with joy!"
"O-okay... Haa~ I just hope I don't wrench my back while running around."
And yet, once the match actually started, he'd probably be the one trying the hardest.
Knowing Gregor's personality, it couldn't be otherwise.
"I know the rules and dimensions of the match. I shall draw the court myself."
Hmm, looks like Meursault is handling the setup.
"Hup..."
Maybe I should warm up too.
*
A little while later.
Don Quixote held the ball with a solemn expression.
"Now then! I shall begin!"
The match began on the court spread across the tidal flat, with Don Quixote serving first.
Bang!!
"I-is this how it is done?"
"That's right~ Ahaha, good job!"
The game took shape as a few of the prisoners returned the ball well enough.
"Hup!"
"Oops."
"Hah!"
"Oh~ Sara. Your form's pretty good, huh?"
"There was physical education at Nest school too."
"A pointless thing to learn..."
...Except for one person, again.
I didn't ask for much, but it would've been nice if she could at least keep her mouth shut.
"Ahem... haa!"
Bang!!!!
Damn it. Ms. Otis, what the hell is that level of seriousness for...?
Sinclair dodged it well, or he'd have been killed.
"Ms. Otis... if I hadn't dodged that ball just now, I think I might've died..."
"It is a form of training."
Oh. If you think of it that way, maybe it's reasonable. Constantly playing around isn't always a good thing.
"..."
Thunk!
"Ryoshu, you can't hit the ball with the back of a blade..."
...That one's just a weird person.
"All right~! I!! I got it!"
"O-oh... ugh!"
"Hah. If you'd studied the characteristics of whales instead of wasting time..."
With Ms. Ishmael's nonstop muttering, a bad feeling brushed the back of my neck.
Ah... something's wrong. Something is definitely going wrong.
"...Tch!"
Thunk!
"Haa... looks like I don't even have a compass to cross the Great Lake with..."
Thunk!
"Hm."
Thunk!
"Damn it... that bastard is definitely still alive somehow."
The exact moment Ms. Ishmael finished that line, one thought flashed through my head.
We're screwed.
"...Ah, shit, seriously!"
Wham!!!
Even in the middle of the cheerful game, Ms. Ishmael's grim mood had become too much to tolerate, and Heathcliff kicked the ball with enough force to make it look like he was trying to burst it open...
"Huh...?"
The ball, thrown off by his anger and completely off target, flew toward the clean stretch of beach we'd seen a few days ago.
That's it. It's over. A total disaster.
Krrt... bang!!
Explosion! There's no taking it back now! Ha! Ha!
Damn it.
"The ball... exploded?"
"Yes. It seems a visible plasma barrier had been formed."
"Plasma...? Why would something like that even be there...?!"
"It's a kind of device used to distinguish a Nest from the Backstreets. The form may vary, but similar things exist on the borders of all Nests."
It's a technology found in most Nests. Usually, the boundary between the Backstreets and a Nest isn't something that's visually marked all that clearly.
At Faust's logical explanation, Rodion added a few words.
"Obvious, really. Fences to keep Backstreets people from crawling into a Nest are common everywhere. But you know, with that tech, they could've made it so there wasn't even a trace left... The fact they did it like that means... what, they wanted to blow it up in plain sight and turn even that into entertainment? Hah, rich people really do have a lot of games to play."
"...I can't really speak to the specific intent or the showiness of the technology from my side."
Hmm... from my perspective, it felt more like a warning than entertainment. But interpretation varies from person to person, I guess.
"The ball... I spent an hour finding it..."
I patted Don Quixote on the shoulder as she stared blankly at the shattered remains of the ball.
Her intentions may have been impure, but she had tried her best to lift the mood on the bus in her own way.
That wouldn't magically make anyone feel better, though.
With the atmosphere thrown into chaos in an instant, Gregor dragged us back to reality with an irritated expression.
"Everyone, get a grip. That explosion from the ball has drawn those crab-shell bastards over here."
This... is going to get busy.
"...You. I'll deal with you later."
"..."
What do you mean, later? If you do that, the only thing you'll be seeing later is a private meeting with Vergilius.
"We're screwed... why does this keep happening...?"
"Well, shouldn't you be used to it by now, Manager? Let's take care of those things first."
"..."
"...Still, I thought it was a gamble worth taking. It just went down in flames."
Even after lightly patting Dante's shoulder, the atmosphere didn't improve.
Haa... my head hurts. The aftereffects should've eased up by now, so why is this happening?
It feels even worse than before.
*
...Even while the battle was in full swing, Ms. Ishmael's grim mood showed no sign of stopping.
That bastard, the Great Lake, not prepared enough... every word she muttered only made the gloom thicker, and the atmosphere gradually sank to the bottom.
At this point, someone had to step up and do something.
Normally that would've been me, but... I'm only half-functional right now.
I hesitated to be the first to speak.
So the prisoners' gazes turned elsewhere...
"Um, Ishmael."
"...Yes."
"Could we talk for a moment?"
Their manager, Dante.
At his call, Ms. Ishmael answered with an openly annoyed expression.
Before that, I should probably hold Heathcliff's shoulder. If those two start fighting, I'm not confident I can stop it without bloodshed.
"Yes, go ahead."
"Since we arrived here, you seem to have been lost in other thoughts... and when we're all doing things together, it feels like you're standing a little apart."
"Of course. There's something more important, and yet everyone's here acting carefree and happy."
"The important thing is... the Great Lake?"
"Yes."
"You mean, in our current state, we shouldn't go there?"
"Yes."
"I see... so, what exactly is the reason you think we'll lose no matter what?"
"I told you already. Because we're not prepared yet. At the very least, we need half a year to get used to the Lake and to those things... or to build up equivalent experience. The same goes for the Manager. At the very least, you need to be able to protect your own body... ah, if it's training for the Manager, I can help with that. And Otis... I'm sure she'd cooperate if it meant helping the Manager too."
"...If such a situation comes to pass."
Otis gave a light affirmative. Well, Dante's combat ability improving would probably be necessary someday.
There's no guarantee we'll always be able to fight while protecting him.
Still, half a year, huh... half a year...
"H-hold on, hold on. Ishmael, half a year...? We can't waste that much time."
"Waste? You think it's a waste? What we're doing now is more like a waste. And besides... I never said we should just play around. We'd simply detour to another destination for a while and then come back."
As Ishmael kept talking, Faust pointed out the flaw in her words and pushed back.
Whether that was especially wise or not was another matter.
"That's impossible. We haven't even identified the Golden Boughs in every sector, and the before-team hasn't even prepared a preliminary survey."
"Excuses. I've known for a long time that there's some other grand reason. ...And whatever it is, this time you'll be forced to painfully realize that your thinking was wrong."
"...Perhaps."
"..."
We're done for.
"Haa... what a mess, seriously. Then at least a detailed voyage plan and battle direction..."
Wait, Heathcliff. Don't move. You're making me nervous. Don't try to shake me off.
"...Hey, let go."
"J-just once, for my face..."
"I said let go."
"No... ah. Um... haa, yes."
Haa... my head hurts. I really hate this...