“By the way, Miss Kogami, are you aware of the difference between a normal phone and an awakener phone?”
“Hmm? Aye. One can use it to speak even within a dungeon, is that not so?”
“Yes, exactly.”
The Awakener Phone—a phone exclusively for awakener. It did not rely on existing communication methods but used an entirely new system. By attuning the device to its owner’s personal mana, it built a unique network and assigned a personal number.
In essence, each awakened who carried one acted as a base station… or so it was explained, though the truth was more complex. Simply put: the phone emitted pseudo-signals through mana, enabling calls or walkie-talkie–like communication.
Ordinary phones could connect to awakener phones, but that involved technical details too convoluted to bother with here.
The awakener-only network was built with mana-based technology. Since it had no points of contact with normal systems, no hacker—no matter how skilled—could ever break into it. And yet awakener could connect to normal networks freely. A remarkable piece of technology… though—
“In other words, if a non-awakener had one, it would be no more than a paperweight.”
“Aye.”
“Well, maybe a blunt weapon or a shield. Monster materials are durable, after all.”
“…Eh?”
“Not that a non-awakener could buy one anyway.”
“Indeed, I have heard as much.”
Yet Inari tilted her head. Tools existed for need, and an awakener phone had no meaning unless used by an awakener. If the non-awakener could not buy one, there was no need to even mention it. Which meant…
“…Could it be there are non-awakener who desire them? Is that the tale?”
“More precisely… you recall the new model we released with you as the motif?”
“Aye, I recall.”
“Quite a few people want it. They don’t care if it works. They just want to own it. Inquiries have spiked.”
“What for, pray tell…?”
“Fan psychology, I suppose.”
The same impulse that drove people to buy Inari goods, applied to phones. But since selling them to non-awakener was forbidden—even if harmless—this was blocked by self-regulation.
“Still, nothing can be done. Refuse them, plain and simple.”
“Well, yes. But rejecting every request outright seems a bit harsh. Since what they really want is the phone Miss Kogami advertises, we’re considering a collaboration with a normal smartphone company—make a model that looks the same, but functions like any other phone.”
“Mm. Do as thou wilt.”
“Great. Then let’s schedule the commercial shoot.”
“…Hold, there were no commercials before, were there?”
“That’s because we weren’t selling to the public before. This time we must.”
Akai’s regretful tone made Inari rise from the sofa, approach, and stare intently. Akai looked away. When Inari moved to block her gaze, she blurted:
“I can’t help it! I want footage of Miss Kogami on broadcast television! Do you know that every existing clip of you is taken by someone else!? Our company has nothing but short promotional videos!”
“O-oh…”
“I know you dislike such things, but when people say, ‘Your company doesn’t seem to have a good relationship with her. Should we negotiate instead?’—the frustration is unbearable!”
“M-my apologies. Fear not, I shan’t betray thee in such fashion.”
Inari patted her back gently. Akai muttered:
“I want video footage. During the CM shoot, I’d like to film promotional material for us too.”
“A-aye… I suppose that much I can do.”
“And maybe not a full album, but at least release a single with a music video…”
“That I refuse!”
“Eh!? But you were going along with it just now!”
“Why is it thou art so eager to make me sing…?”
“Because the times demand it.”
“Such conviction… with eyes so unwavering…!”
Akai’s position was difficult. For awakeners who served as mascots for corporate sponsors, it was practically idol work: singing, dancing, photo books, merchandising. That was how the money flowed. But Inari did none of that.
Many fans admired her restraint. But more still said, “Why doesn’t she release anything? I’d pay good money!” Their demands inevitably reached FoxPhone, sparking rumors of discord. All of it was a byproduct of Inari’s growing popularity.
“Well, we won’t force you… but the voices asking for it are many.”
“Nuoh—these letters? What a mountain it is…”
“They’ve all been screened. Every one is from your fans. No need to reply, but read some when you have the time.”
Inari eyed the heap stacked on the desk—an almost fanatical pile of letters—and could not help but falter.
“I cannot comprehend… the pastimes of the modern age…”
Though, seeing Atsuage on the sofa nodding sagely, perhaps it was it who truly understood contemporary sensibilities better than Inari herself.