Tokyo: The Player Behind the Scenes

The last time this was emphasized was when the Extraordinary Countermeasures Department officially listed the "Game Extraordinary Theory" as a basic research direction and informed them that the vast majority of extraordinary beings to date originated from a mysterious game, and their power came from it.

The selected player can become an extraordinary being if they successfully complete the game.

Based on this theory, Japan officially launched its third nationwide screening.

Based on more clues revealed by Muramasa Taki and his team, they launched another major investigation into those large families and items that might be passed down through generations.

Thinking of this, many people present couldn't help but cast envious glances at the three players in the front row, wishing they could take their place.

Why? I like playing games too! Why wasn't I selected? Is it because I'm bad at it?

I can practice cooking!

In human society, as long as information is exchanged, there is no such thing as truly top-secret information.

Many powerful and influential individuals are already aware of the game's existence and are forming their own research teams to determine the probability of being chosen as a player in this extraordinary game, and how to increase that probability.

The most common conclusion that was drawn first was naturally to become a master of the game.

Their investigation revealed that before being admitted to the mental hospital, Yui had a terrible track record in several rhythm games and had played quite a few RPGs.

Before becoming a working professional, Hayato frequented arcades and occasionally played claw machines. He was a figure that local owners feared, and some even offered him game tokens to stop him from playing claw machines.

Muramasa Takii and the others didn't find any records of playing the game, but the first two were enough.

As a result, many wealthy tycoons in their seventies and eighties are now staying up all night, hiring people with high salaries to play games with them. They're always grinding dungeons or leveling up, constantly talking about positioning and kiting, and always mentioning bosses and buffs, looking exactly like elderly e-sports players.

Some people even register to become esports players, just for the slightest chance of being selected as a player.

Even the gaming industry has benefited from this wave of growth. Some previously arrogant groups that advocated "nothing is too ugly to play" have been replaced by more powerful capital and kicked out of the game.

A game must first and foremost be fun!

In short, in this short month, most ordinary Japanese people are probably concerned about Mount Fuji, volcanic ash, and the situation in Tokyo, while the higher-ups have focused their attention on the mysterious game, making their own moves and hoping to become one of the players.

"According to the latest information provided by three players, the new game officially started at 12 o'clock not long ago."

While waiting for everyone to arrive, Genji had already gotten a general idea of ​​what was going on from Taki and the others.

"Based on past experiences and lessons learned from games, we have reason to believe that the content revealed by games is often a warning of impending crises in the real world. When it comes to the safety of human society, if we can crack the game as quickly as possible, we will have a greater chance of preventing disasters in reality and minimizing losses."

The information given to them by players is limited; games like Peach Blossom Village don't tell them anything at all.

Choosing to cooperate was simply to obtain logistical support, maximize one's chances of achieving a better outcome, and incidentally, allow the authorities to prepare for a real-world disaster in advance. It was a mutually beneficial relationship.

"The name of this new game is Silver Cup Manor."

"Everyone here is an elite investigator and an expert in the occult. I believe that with your combined efforts, we will be able to help the player complete the level as soon as possible."

"I hereby announce that, effective immediately, all non-urgent tasks at hand are suspended. All resources and elite personnel of the Extraordinary Measures Department will be concentrated to establish a dedicated strategy team for 'Silver Cup Manor'!"

"The strategy team will be divided into a speedrun team and a collection team. The speedrun team will be led by team leader Ping Shenglong. The core task is to gather top analysts and game experts to fully crack the game mechanics, provide players with the best strategies to complete the game as quickly as possible."

"I am directly in charge of the collection team. The core task is to mobilize all intelligence networks, historical archives, and occult databases to deeply explore the real-world clues that may be reflected in the game's background, character settings, and environmental details, assess potential risks, and formulate contingency plans."

"We will allocate personnel later."

“Now,” Gen Himeko turned her gaze to Muramasa Taki, “Ms. Muramasa, please give us a detailed description of everything in the game ‘Silver Cup Manor.’ Ms. Hamasaki, Mr. Miyamoto, please feel free to add any details. Our work begins now.”

Muramasa stood up, walked to the podium, and calmly began to explain the current information about the game.

The involvement of the official strategy team is not surprising. Since Shin Higashiyama did not receive any violation notices from the system, it means that this is allowed by the rules.

He was never one to make the game too difficult for players; after all, he only invited players to join in order to speed up the completion of the game.

Moreover, the premise of brainstorming in games is that everyone can play and try and fail infinitely.

Many outrageous hidden Easter eggs in games are discovered in this way.

However, there are only a few players right now, and they can only play once a day, so the strategies they can try are extremely limited.

In the audience, Kurosaki, who had initially seemed a bit listless, was now sitting upright, writing furiously as he took notes and jot down his questions.

Such as the materials of the prison cells, the style of the statues, and the language spoken by the butler.

There are still so many clues that haven't been explained clearly and that can be explored further.

"You said there would be a Q&A session later, right?" Kurosaki asked Taira no Ryu when he had a spare moment.

"Yes, there will be." Heisei Ryu nodded, glancing at Leon on the screen from time to time.

The more Leon listened to Taki's explanation in the video, the more stiff his expression became.

Something's not right. Something's nine-tenths wrong.

This sounds completely different from the previous games!

The games were all set in ancient Japan, mostly several hundred years ago, but the real-world disasters also occurred in present-day Japan.

At that time, he was glad that, given the short history of Ami, it should be able to become a pure land for some time to come.

This is why he tried every means to return to China and strive to stay in the country.

And now what did he hear? The Civil War!?

Many countries in the world have experienced civil wars, but with the addition of various clues, the scope gradually narrows down.

Is this some kind of game that takes place in America?!

After listening for ten minutes, Leon was completely certain that the game was set in America.

After all, Andersonville concentration camp shouldn't have had a branch with the same name.

Oh no! He just applied to the President to stay in America! Why is America sending a large country like this? Am I the Grim Reaper?!

Even Death doesn't want to work overtime.

The thought of returning to that endless, dark and dreary state made his face turn ashen, and the complexion he had painstakingly regained vanished instantly.

Should we withdraw the application before the President approves it? But wouldn't that be treating the President like a fool? He says he's going back to Japan one minute, and the next minute he reports the new game's background is in America. He doesn't want to die.

It's just that the president has been busy with the election recently, otherwise he would definitely have been observing the meeting.

"You look just as pale as you did in Tokyo."

Hirosue Eri walked into his office and glanced at his ashen face with a strange look.

Leon tried with difficulty to tug at the corners of his mouth, but couldn't manage it.

He turned off the microphone and sighed, "Have you handled the wildfires?"

"Isn't your attitude towards the wildfires here too laissez-faire? Some of these fires could have been extinguished if monitoring had been done properly and personnel had been deployed in time."

Hirosue's words revealed his dissatisfaction.

On the day she arrived in America, she barely stopped before heading to California.

Then he devoted himself to trying to solve the local wildfire problem that occurs every year.

She could sense the forest's distress call, but because she could only use her own energy to extinguish and fuel the fire, she could only manage a small amount each time, and it was futile when the fire grew too large. So it took her a month to finally see some results.

At least it wasn't a waste of effort; it did manage to quell some of the divine flower's erosion.

"It's good that it's been taken care of." Leon forced himself to compose himself and tried to make his tone as light as possible.

"Breaking news: the mysterious game has started again."

"This time, the game's background is...Ami."

Hirosue didn't react much after hearing this, he just nodded.

Saving people and saving trees are both forms of saving.

She is not opposed to it.

Thank you to "Li Daochang" for the 300 coins.

Chapter 272: God and the Priest

11 a.m., the tail end of the morning.

The church morning prayers had long since ended, and most people had already left.

The sunlight streaming in was fragmented into colorful pieces by the church's stained glass windows. An old woman sat on a bench in the front row, and beside her was an elderly man with cloudy, dull eyes.

He stared blankly in a certain direction, occasionally glancing at the old woman beside him, revealing a contradictory expression of both closeness and estrangement.

The old woman's hand covered his, gripping it tightly; the veins on both hands, beneath the loose skin, spoke volumes of the years.

"Paul, oh Paul"

She murmured to the priest in front of her, sounding utterly exhausted.

“I am here, Mrs. Mary, I am here.”

Father Paul knelt down in front of the old woman, gently placing his warm hand on the back of her cool hand. The prominent wrist bone pressed against his palm, sending an uncontrollable tremor through him.

"The doctor said my surgery can't be delayed." Her aged face was filled with fear and worry as she gazed at the crucifix in front of her. "Paul, Lord, can you really hear our prayers?"

“Look at the birds of the air, they neither sow nor reap,” Paul’s gentle and steady voice, accompanied by a light pat on his hand, clearly conveyed comfort to her ears. “Even our Heavenly Father feeds them, are you not far more precious than the birds?”

Mrs. Mary pressed her dry lips together, her deep tear troughs tinged with bitterness, and she shook her head slightly:

"I'm not afraid of death, really not, it's just that if I die, what will happen to him?"

As she spoke, she raised her other hand and gently stroked her husband's age-spotted cheeks, as if she wanted to imprint his face on her fingertips forever.

As time passed, she could no longer find her reflection in her husband's cloudy eyes.

Father Paul’s throat bobbed slightly, his eyes resolute: “I will remain this way until you are old; until you are gray-haired. The embrace of the Lord will never change.”

"Lord, thank you, Father Paul."

Mrs. Mary took a deep breath, as if drawing the last bit of strength from her faith, and struggled to suppress her deep sorrow.

She stood up from the bench and extended her hand to her husband beside her as if inviting him to dance, just as she had done when they were young.

“Honey, it’s time to go home.”

The old man slowly turned his neck, his gaze sweeping over the colorful images of saints on the stained glass window, both curious and fearful, like a child who had wandered into a strange place, as if it were his first time in a place he had actually visited a thousand times before.

His Adam's apple bobbed as he let out a silent sob, and finally placed his thin, bony hand in Mary's palm.

Then, he slowly straightened up, trembling slightly, and nestled close to his wife. Only then did the unease emanating from him begin to subside.

"Walk slowly, for you crown the years with grace."

Father Paul escorted them to the church entrance, standing at the intersection of light and shadow, watching the two figures, supporting each other and walking unsteadily, disappear at the end of the street.

The Marys were devout believers in the church and could be said to have watched Paul grow up.

Witnessing how mercilessly time had eroded them, Paul felt a tightness in his chest and returned to the altar in a daze, his fingertips tracing the Bible spread out on it.

"."

Paul then caught a glimpse of a figure sitting upright in the corner of the back bench, next to a pillar.

He was so silent that Paul momentarily forgot whether this person had ever been in that seat before.

Paul straightened his robes, closed his Bible, and walked toward the figure.

It was a middle-aged man I didn't recognize. He had some mottled scars on his face, was about forty or fifty years old, with gray hair and a scruffy beard. It was clear that his owner had no intention of taking care of him.

He was wearing a slightly old-fashioned gray-blue work shirt, and as if nailed to his seat, he stared silently at the Christ statue at the end of his line of sight.

Most striking was a blurry cross tattoo on the back of his bare hand, torn beyond recognition by countless crisscrossing, centipede-like, grotesque scars.

"Peace be with you." Paul sat down on the same bench, about one person's distance from the man, and greeted him. "Whether this place is empty or not, the cross will never miss a believer's prayer. Do you have any words you want to send to God?"

The man's gaze remained fixed on the cross above the altar.

"He said He loved the world." The middle-aged man's voice was hoarse, befitting his appearance. "Do you believe it?"

“For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son,” Paul quoted the scripture with certainty. “I believe, but love is not indulgence. You can do that.”

"Is that love?" the man suddenly interrupted, turning his head mechanically towards the priest. "Or is it just condescending observation?"

Paul saw the look in his eyes, a look he had seen many times before. Those souls crushed by life, betrayed by faith, and swallowed by despair often had a similar anger burning deep in their eyes.

"For my yoke is easy and my burden is light." Paul tried to comfort his companion with scripture.

“Enough. You don’t need to quote me from the scriptures; I’ve heard them too many times.” The man looked down at the Bible in his hands. “Do you know what a priest’s duties are?”

Paul did not get angry at the other party's rudeness, but remained calm: "The sheepdog of the lost sheep, I think you know the original text."

“Lamb,” the man nodded gently, “but what if the sheepdog is a wolf in disguise? Would God break its neck with his own hands?”