FUJIWARA, takako

Takako Fujiwara

17

Female.

Japanese

A sword art meant to give the user room to breathe, Takako’s mace turns light blue before she swings it forward at a moderate speed. The first point in special targets two additional enemies, the other sends them tumbling backwards or at least forces them back a step (depending on their level).

Takako’s fists turn bright silver before she launches a trio of punches at a single enemy.

Smart, savvy, and sociable, Takako loves stories. She’s writing her own cell phone novel (a historical romance set in the Tokugawa era – everyone dies in the end, obviously), has a collection of ebooks whose provenance one shouldn’t look at too closely, and enough paper in her room to be considered a serious fire hazard. The only book she might not like are ones with maps. She has no idea why.

She’s also fairly certain she might be a sociopath.

It’s not something she, well, advertises. Besides it’s a) a self-diagnosed mental illness b) whose nosology comes from a field of, well, frauds. Like most Japanese she tends not to hold brain doctors in the highest regard unless they’re the kind that wields a scalpel. If she were more rational about this, she’d forget it completely.

But someone once mentioned it and…

Well, the idea has stuck with her and much as she hates it, it’s like a bad toothache with no dentist, worrying away at the back of her brain. The signs are all there. She is remorseless, blithe to the point of injury and can’t help being manipulative. It’s a real effort to remember people are people, and not just characters. It’s an even bigger effort to remember that she’s not the author.

Add god-complex to the list.

Oh, she can be brave, innovative and polite but she sometimes wonders if it’s all just superficial gloss… and in reality she isn't just monstrous and cunning enough to fool herself into thinking she can empathize with others.

Welp. She’s got a story to write.

Born in Tokyo to two wealthy business-oriented parents, Takako never lacked for anything. In return, she was expected to excel.

Excel she did.

A born leader, Takako always charmed her age-mates into making her the de facto leader of all their games, quickly and seamlessly adapted to any social gathering, flawlessly picked up anything she was taught, and was constantly witty.

The only blemish to an otherwise exemplary childhood occurred when one of her friends mysteriously snapped, going after her with a pair of scissors. Though adults quickly interfered, Takako was left with a scar across her right collarbone. When asked, all she had to say about the incident was a smile and: “Um, what’s a sociopath?”

Disturbingly, she was still bleeding when asked.

Tossed into the whirlpool of social dramas that teenagers always somehow manage to summon, Takako stood out as being uncommonly apt at navigating troubled social waters. Confident, yet not to the degree that might be considered impolite; witty, but only in the ‘correct’ circumstances; smart, but never to the degree of showing up others; she was always seen as a center of calm. Though she never made any close friendships, Takako seemed to be on cordial terms with everybody, and the rumor mill rarely praised or harangued her. She stood out by not standing out, a virtuoso display of social gymnastics that has rarely been equaled given that she was simultaneously a non-factor and the class president, head of the archery club and worked a part-time job despite school rules.

Getting a beta into the much-vaunted Sword Arts Online was purely a thing of luck. While not particularly interested in the game, she was quickly enamored by the realism and the potential for storytelling that the new technology incorporated, spending an hour each day going through the various storylines that might be possible.

None yet!

‘Ah.’

As thoughts went, it wasn’t anything to write home about. Possibilities cycled through her head: but in the end, regardless of the motivations, the statement could either be true or false.

As pandemonium broke out, she hummed a tune under her breath and went through her interface again. She was no computer expert, so she laboriously hit every button, just in case the log out had merely switched places.

Though she unequipped and re-equipped every piece of armor, weapon, item that she had; hit every name on her rather truncated friends list; and even sent out a few spam messages with LOG OUT written in the title, body and address nothing happened.

Innnnteresting.

If it was a prank it was well executed. If it was true...

Well. It was undeniably well executed too. Her gaze shifted to the panicked people, still in the throes of whatever passed for shock. Shock, to her, had always seemed rather pointless, but to be fair, it probably seemed pointless to the people going through it.

For a moment she considered going to help. It would be so easy, while they were still vulnerable, to gather them to her... and it would be for a good cause, even. They needed leadership. And here she was, a beta tester with superior knowledge and a thirst for quality storytel-

Her collarbone throbbed. Slowly, she turned away, before loping off into the darkness.