The Protagonist's Party is Too Diligent

Whether she was a character intended for the sequel or someone never meant to appear in the game at all, one thing was clear: Lena Meyer’s presence posed a significant threat to me.

The fact that she was a student specially admitted through a request from the governor to the Emperor was unsettling. The governor was merely a passing character in the game, and I’d never met him directly, so I had no idea what his true personality was or how he might perceive me. And as for the Emperor—well, even meeting him in person rarely revealed his true intentions.

At least I had some insight into the Emperor’s mindset from the game. I knew how he viewed the Empire and its citizens, how he treated the nobles, and what plans he had for the people. Due to my presence, he seemed to be acting more passively than in the game, but he was still someone to be wary of.

So, what exactly was Lena Meyer?

A bit stiff, with a military-like tone, but youthful and attractive in appearance.

...There’s no way anyone would see her as “just an extra.”

Granted, even if she had been a background extra, everyone here had unique appearances, from shop owners in villages to merchants in markets. But among all those people, there weren’t many who “stood out” like she did.

The fact that she was a year younger than us only added to it. Lena Meyer was the kind of character you could easily expect to appear in a sequel.

...It’s like they added a “cool beauty” character to the roster without even waiting.

I adjusted my binoculars to get a better look inside Lena Meyer’s room.

I was in the same spot I’d used to observe Mia Crowfield before.

Of course, I hadn’t brought a gun. Lena was a bit suspicious, but not to the point of needing elimination.

Honestly, even if it came down to it, killing someone younger than me would leave a bad taste in my mouth.

For now, I’d decided to investigate Lena Meyer properly. Whether I needed to keep her at a distance could come later.

Peering through her window wasn’t likely to reveal anything groundbreaking, but—

—I found something surprising.

Inside Lena Meyer’s room, there was a large stuffed toy by her bedside.

This toy, almost as tall as a person’s torso, hadn’t been among the belongings she’d moved into her room.

She must have snuck it in somehow. If she’d tucked it away in a cabinet and brought it in one go, no one would have noticed.

The toy was easy to recognize. It was the very character I’d once thought of using for my own “persona”—*Digger the Dog.*

...Honestly, it’s not exactly a cute character.

The mascots from my world were designed for 21st-century tastes, with round, soft, squishy looks that made you want to hug them. Or they’d be a bit weird-looking, giving them an odd charm.

But here, chronologically, it’s like the early 20th century.

The character industry was only just beginning, and the “characters” from this era matched those early 20th-century tastes.

Digger the Dog had a long, thin body with extremely spindly limbs. Even in the cartoon, his arms and legs seemed to move without joints, probably to make every movement look comical.

His face was based on a brown puppy, cutely deformed, and his body was round enough to make for a good hug. Though, admittedly, his floppy arms would likely dangle everywhere.

And Lena Meyer was lying face-down, her face buried in the body of that toy.

She was probably napping.

I silently lowered my binoculars and ran my hands over my face.

...Was it all just an act with her, too?

It did feel that way. She didn’t quite seem like a cold beauty without any emotions; I’d been able to sense her feelings of anticipation or her admiration for me through that blank expression over the past week.

That meant that, even if her stoic look was a facade, the way she respected me was likely genuine.

I let out a silent scream and rolled around on the rooftop. Thankfully, I’d prepared three layers of ponchos, so my clothes stayed dust-free.

Having overlapping personalities wasn’t the problem. If Lena Meyer were a true cool beauty, I could have gradually adjusted my character to set myself apart. Or, if she’d kept that personality all along, it wouldn’t have been an issue for me to stick with a cool beauty persona as well.

The problem was that Lena Meyer might reveal her real personality.

If Lena Meyer was supposed to be a “character from the original story,” showing her true self was inevitable.

Because it’s a cliché!

She’d laugh at a silly joke, lose her stoic facade over some sweet dessert, or get caught hugging a big stuffed toy if someone barged into her room.

She’d be mortified, coming up with flimsy excuses to maintain her character, but no one would believe her, and eventually, she’d break down into an “adorable character.”

Exactly.

That was the concept I’d come up with.

So what would happen if Lena Meyer “broke character” before I did?

...Obviously, all my own efforts to keep my act would be pointless.

Realizing this, I stopped rolling and shuddered on the spot.

A chill ran down my spine.

There’s a world of difference between “Oh, turns out they’re just a normal person, too,” and “Wait, you too?” The former is a subculture character’s fate, a cliché; the latter is the cringe of a real-life otaku caught pretending to be normal.

Besides, the reaction is bound to be different between someone you’ve known for years and someone you’ve just met. If there were only one of us, the others might dismiss it. But if both of us were caught—

—there’d be no question about which one of us would be more embarrassed.

“This can’t happen.”

The words slipped out before I realized.

Lena Meyer couldn’t break character before me.

If I’d known this would happen, I would’ve prepared a plush toy and a list of lines to say...!

I’d postponed it, not feeling ready to fully commit, and now this was the result.

If she’s a sequel character, she should have shown up in the sequel! Why did she have to intrude now?

Not that I had any proof she was a sequel character...

I quickly rolled over, grabbed my binoculars, and looked again.

“Huh?”

Lena Meyer had gotten up from the bed.

Not only that, but she’d moved to the door.

She stood with it slightly ajar, as if someone were outside.

A fresh wave of chills ran down my spine.

If someone walked into her room—

They’d see the large stuffed dog on her bed, along with the small ceramic figurines on her desk.

Lena Meyer would be forced to explain, marking the beginning of the trope where her cool exterior cracked.

I shot up from where I was crouched.

There was no time to gather up my ponchos. This was more urgent.

I hurriedly ran down the stairs.

---

As of late, Sylvia Pengryphon had been acting suspiciously.

Then again, to Mia Crowfield, Sylvia Pengryphon had always seemed suspicious.

Since their conversation in her room, Mia had stopped tailing her. There was little to gain from doing so.

Following someone capable of singlehandedly turning the tide of battle wouldn’t lead to any solutions.

Besides, she was someone who, in a private space, had the nerve to hand over a gun to a known adversary.

...The way she subtly showed trust in Mia’s abilities was unnerving.

She’d even gifted Mia a valuable blue marmaros stone, without which Mia might have been seriously injured or worse. The situation had been so dangerous that Charlotte, who’d initially insisted on taking the job, had personally apologized to Mia.

It made Mia think she could trust Sylvia, at least a little.

But recently, she’d noticed Sylvia Pengryphon looking at Lena Meyer in an unusual way.

Sylvia’s gaze was unreadable, lacking any obvious emotions, but Mia couldn’t shake the feeling that it carried a sense of “danger.”

That’s why, on the weekend after Lena Meyer’s first week, Mia found herself impulsively standing outside Lena’s room.

After a moment’s hesitation, she decided it was best to say something. She wouldn’t reveal everything, but at the very least, a word of warning seemed necessary.

After all, Lena was a foreign student, clueless about the undercurrents here.

Taking a deep breath, Mia Crowfield knocked on Lena Meyer’s door.