There’s a common perception floating around out there.
“Is the Master a weeb?”
“Yep.”
“That’s right, nyah.”
“…Hey.”
Just like how Drei and Kiharu answered instantly, the world seems to think I’m an otaku.
“Just because I play a few mobile bishoujo games, that makes me an otaku?”
“Most regular people don’t really play those kinds of games.”
“Even games that people say are ‘pretty mainstream’ are, in reality, still targeted at otaku.”
So I’m an otaku because I play otaku games?
“Then are the people who make otaku games all otaku, too?”
“That’s right, isn’t it?”
“Then what about the characters from otaku games—are they all otaku too?”
“We’re a bit of a different case, aren’t we?”
“The way we look is based on the tastes of our designers. We could dress normally too, you know.”
“Wow, that kinda stings, not gonna lie.”
I thought at least Drei and Kiharu would understand…
“But seriously, if you’re playing a dozen different bishoujo games, doesn’t that kinda make you an otaku?”
“I used to work at a game company.”
“That doesn’t automatically make you an otaku, nya.”
“Yeah. Some people model bishoujo characters just because the higher-ups tell them to. Doesn’t mean they like it. Some are just in it for the paycheck.”
“That’s… a dangerous thing to say in the industry, even if it’s technically true.”
There are things you can say, and things you shouldn’t.
This is one of the latter.
“Anyway, there’s no way to change how people see me now, huh?”
“Maybe you could’ve brushed it off up to Elaine, but after that, come on.”
“You summoned Illinois, didn’t you?”
“And her appearance, thanks to that collab, kind of matches what people already assume about you.”
“You called for me?”
Illinois, who was fiddling with various panels on the bridge, turned to look this way.
“Illinois. What do you think?”
“Having a human body and being able to share experiences with you, Captain, is amazing.”
“No, I mean—”
“Hmm… maybe something like, it doesn’t matter what the world thinks?”
“That’s a good thought, Illinois. But could you… zip that up a bit first?”
I pointed at the halfway-unzipped hoodie she was wearing.
“I got a warning. They told me to tone it down.”
“Eh? But this is a heat vent.”
“Even heat vents should have limits.”
Maybe her humanoid design was centered around exposure?
Those engine pods of hers must overheat often, so she vents it out by leaving the front open, but for onlookers… it’s a bit much.
With Elaine and Drei, I could still say it’s “just subculture”.
But Illinois’s outfit—or Kiharu cosplaying as a goddess on a whim—
Yeah, even I had to admit it was leaning hard into otaku territory.
“Captain, do you not like this kind of look?”
“It’s not that I dislike it. I’d just prefer you tone it down when there are others around.”
“Understood. I’ll be careful.”
Illinois quietly zipped up her hoodie.
She looked pretty uncomfortable, like it was pressing down tightly over her engines,
but at least she was being considerate of others.
Especially right now—
Up on her deck, there was some kind of political event happening, with people taking photos and conducting research.
It was like someone was holding a party on our rooftop.
But since it was a government-hosted celebration for clearing an S-Rank Tower,
It wasn’t something I could just outright reject.
After all, the people gathered up on Illinois’s deck weren’t some random villains from inside the Tower—
They were the ones who’d fought against those villains to save the world.
Dungeon staff.
Hunter managers.
Elite federal officials from the U.S. Department of Defense’s Hunter Division.
For people like that, “a party on the Illinois” was a meaningful and joyful event.
“Master. I brought food.”
Elaine walked into the bridge and held out a dish.
It wasn’t just one or two servings—
it was enough for everyone in the bridge, like she had swept up everything the chefs were offering on deck.
“Elaine. Didn’t the people at the banquet try to stop you or ask for a photo or something?”
“No one could speak to me. I moved at high-speed and collected the dishes. My priority is your meal, Master. Please eat.”
She wasn’t carrying buffet food, but something that looked like a full course meal straight from a fine restaurant.
“It’s the signature dish of a Michelin 3-star restaurant.”
“Oh…”
“The chef said if we visited the restaurant for the full course, they could offer an even more perfect experience.”
“So basically they’re asking us to come eat there.”
“Yes. And also… he said he just started playing [Granade Impact: Re:Dive].”
“…”
I glanced at the monitor outside the bridge.
One of the chefs—who looked like a top executive or head chef, with the air of a fine dining artist—
noticed the camera, gave a slight nod in my direction, and took out his smartphone.
The game login screen.
I zoomed in on the UID, the unique account number that indicates how recently a player joined—
It was an account made within the past month.
A 50-something Western gentleman, a Michelin 3-star chef, playing a Korean bishoujo gacha game?
“Drei, is he an otaku too, then?”
“Nope. He just wanted to share the hobby of a world-saving hero.”
“But what if that hobby is otaku culture?”
“Oh, don’t you know that saying? If only a niche group enjoys something, it’s otaku culture. But if the whole country or the whole world starts enjoying it, it stops being otaku and becomes mainstream with an otaku flavor. Right, Kiharu?”
“Exactly. It’s like the normies stole the introverts’ culture.”
“…Fine. So no matter what I do, I’ll never be able to shake the image of being a bishoujo-loving otaku, huh?”
Even people who don’t seem like they’d ever enjoy otaku games are now calling me a weeb and trying to indulge in that culture themselves.
“Fine. I accept it. They say if you can’t avoid it, enjoy it.”
“Master.”
“Yeah, Elaine. I knew you’d say that…”
“It’s fine if you’re an otaku, Master. In fact, isn’t that exactly why you gave me Full Limit Break and Full Refinement?”
“…”
“Elaine, I think you just landed the final blow.”
“You keep denying it, so of course people react that way, nya. I mean, what else can you do? You’re getting roasted by weeb-snipers from all over the world.”
“…My life.”
The Master is an otaku.
It’s a reputation I probably won’t be able to erase at this point.
So, as I said earlier—
“If that’s how it is… then I’ll stand at the forefront of otaku culture.”
If you can’t avoid it, don’t just enjoy it—own it.
Be the prime example. The ideal.
“Drei. Can you pull up a list for me?”
“Sure. What kind of list?”
“S-Rank Towers in Japan. And the nearby ‘holy sites.’ I’ll check out Japanese travel forums in the meantime.”
When Koreans travel to Japan, the way they explore varies a lot by person.
But some of them go for what’s known as “pilgrimage tours”—and those people almost always visit a place called Akihabara.
“You know the saying—there are no borders between otaku.”
We’re all united by the love of fandom.
“If we start by clearing the S-Rank Towers located near otaku holy sites, then setting Japan as our next destination won’t be a problem. I mean, if it’s for otaku culture, even the political hardliners will keep their mouths shut.”
“That’s actually a pretty solid plan, but… there’s one serious problem.”
“Problem? What kind of problem?”
“Illinois, why don’t you explain?”
“Captain.”
Illinois, now starting to sweat, waved her hand like a fan as she looked my way.
“Normal people… don’t really use the word ‘holy site’.”
“…”
* * *
[Meanwhile, at the White House.]
“So you’re telling me… to recommend comic books to him? Huh?”
President Eisen Armstrong Luigi tapped on the two reports laid out in front of him, a furrow in his brow.
“Sure, I read them when I was a kid. New York’s friendly neighbor, Gotham’s lonely hero, even the inevitable force itself.
If anyone asked me who the most ‘American’ hero was, I’d name those guys without hesitation. But, Patrick.”
“Yes, Mr. President?”
“You want me to ask the Master to read these comics—so he can summon them?”
“That’s correct.”
“So basically, these comic publishers have been lobbying—not just anywhere, but all the way up to the President—hoping their characters get summoned?”
“Yes, sir.”
“…Why?”
Luigi tapped the report again, face serious.
“Surely the creators don’t want their characters brought to life just to become someone else’s summon?”
“There were those who objected, saying their creations shouldn’t be subordinate to anyone.
But among the creators, some had a different opinion.”
“Which was?”
“If the characters I created became real—even if just as someone’s summon—I would be a happy creator.”
“…”
“They compared it to… a father walking his daughter down the aisle.”
“…So, they want to bring the most American hero into the real world, even if it means becoming a summon?”
“Yes. And this also reflects the unofficial stance of the Department of Defense.”
At the mention of the Pentagon, President Luigi buried his face in his hand.
“Unbelievable. So the idea is to summon the ultimate American hero and use him to defend the country?”
“It’s still in the proposal stage, sir.”
“No. That would be forcing American duties onto the Master.”
“But, sir, the reasoning behind it is—”
“Do you know who you never want to mess with in this world?”
President Luigi rapped the table with a deeply serious expression.
“Otaku.”
“…”
“Instead of wasting time lobbying, tell those companies to just make a mobile game the Master would actually like.”
Bang.
“Rejected. No more lobbying. Tell them to make a proper game.”
“Y-you mean… on a government level? Like the project China launched?”
“…What?”
“You know, that one.”
Aide John Patrick pulled up a report on his tablet.
“[Enhi: Chronicles of Han & Chu]. They turned ancient Chinese heroes into waifu characters and…”
“…Unbelievable.”
President Luigi shut his eyes tightly.
“The whole damn world’s gone otaku.”
