Kays Translations

Chapter 1: And So, Civilization Perished

The best thing about online auctions is that you can earn money without ever having to meet anyone face-to-face.

For someone like me, who enjoys being alone, it’s a godsend.

After entering the workforce, I bounced from job to job. But I couldn’t endure meeting people or talking to them. The stress of it all took a toll on my health, so I retreated to a rented house in Okutama. There, I made a living through online auctions.

With a small vegetable garden, a well, delivery services (with drop-off options), and online auctions, I could live without encountering anyone all year round.

Initially, I earned by repairing and reselling items.

I’ve always been confident in my dexterity. Buying broken antique clocks, old mechanical dolls, or rusted safes without keys at low prices, fixing them, repainting them, and then reselling them brought in just enough to scrape by.

But competition exists everywhere. Often, someone else snatched up the items I had my eye on. And reasonably priced products weren’t always consistently available.

Relying on others’ listings for income wasn’t stable.

So, I decided to become a primary producer myself.

Instead of buying broken items to repair and sell, I would create original products from scratch and list those.

I made various items—secret puzzle boxes, snow globes, artificial flowers, and models—but the most consistently profitable ones were replicas of weapons from popular anime.

Anime often features magic swords or mystical staffs, and official merchandise is usually released for these items. However, such products often feel cheap and toy-like, are produced in limited quantities, or are overly expensive. Sometimes, it even takes months to receive the item after ordering.

That’s where I stepped in. I would watch the trending anime of the season, pick out weapons that seemed “doable” and “marketable,” and start creating them. Sometimes, I would complete and list the item the same week the weapon appeared in the show.

At first, sales were slow. But thanks to the growing popularity of the anime, my items soon started selling at fixed prices. Becoming recognized as a reliable seller also helped.

I went all out—recreating complex transformation mechanisms, crafting character-inspired scents for the weapons, and paying attention to the paint’s vibrancy, the material’s texture, and even the durability. Branding my products as “authentic and realistic” proved to be a hit.

My wallet grew fuller. I was able to buy better crafting tools, cover the cost of materials comfortably, and even build up some savings. No longer did I need to sneak into scrapyards for supplies. I could buy materials online or even purchase a piece of forested land and harvest wood directly from the mountain.

It was the perfect job, combining hobby and livelihood, and I didn’t have to deal with anyone.

Of course, there were issues.

For instance, I had no answer to comments like, “Do you have official permission to sell this?” The fear of being sued by the official creators was so strong that I made it a habit to purchase all official merchandise and display them on a household shrine for good luck.

Reselling was another problem. People would immediately buy my products and resell them at higher prices. It infuriated me, but since I was technically selling unofficial merchandise without permission, I couldn’t take a strong stance. It was infuriatingly ironic.

I had considered reaching out to the official creators for permission or even proposing a partnership for selling goods. But I’m a self-proclaimed social misfit. Just imagining the effort and interaction required made my stomach churn and nearly made me vomit.

I started online auctions precisely to avoid meeting and talking to people. Taking actions that required such interactions felt like a betrayal of my own purpose.

Despite these challenges, I was living a fulfilling life deep in the mountains—until one day, I found a meteorite in my backyard.

The meteorite had landed in a small crater, still warm to the touch. It was likely from last night’s meteor shower.

Excitedly, I picked it up and began sketching designs.

What had started as a job to make money had turned into a lifelong passion as my skills improved. Forging a magic weapon from a meteorite—what could be more romantic than that?

A staff? A sword? Maybe a gun, though that might be too unconventional.

Upon examining the meteorite closely, I found that its outer shell, a mix of metal and rock, encased a translucent crystalline structure like a gemstone.

Carefully carving it out revealed a gemstone roughly the size of a clenched fist.

In anime, weapons often feature gemstones (called magic stones or spirit gems in the stories). Thanks to this, I had some basic knowledge of gemstones.

However, when I compared the gem to those in my gemstone dictionary, I couldn’t find a match.

I brought out polarized filters, a spectroscope, and a magnifying glass for further examination. Still, its identity remained elusive. More astonishingly, during this process, I discovered that its hardness exceeded any known values.

The gemstone extracted from the meteorite was harder than a diamond.

A mythical Mohs hardness of 11.

“Is this even possible?” I wondered and tried to search online. That’s when I noticed something strange.

The internet wasn’t working.

As the evening fell and it grew dark, I tried turning on the lights. They didn’t work either. The electricity was out.

I felt more puzzled than anxious.

Had the cell tower gone down along with the power supply?

Had something happened at the foot of the mountain? There were no strong winds or rains indicative of a typhoon, and I hadn’t felt any earthquakes either…

It was odd but not worth panicking over.

Japan is known for its quick disaster recovery. Everything might be back to normal by tomorrow, or at most within a few weeks.

As a recluse in the mountains, I had plenty of food stocked up. Losing access to online auctions hurt, but I wasn’t so strapped for cash that a few weeks without sales would ruin me.

I decided to continue investigating the gemstone by the light of a disaster-preparedness flashlight—but it wouldn’t turn on either.

It was an old flashlight, likely older than me, and the batteries had probably drained due to natural discharge. I regretted not buying spare batteries.

Resigned, I lit an aroma candle I’d been planning to sell and used that for light.

No internet, no electricity—it was inconvenient, but only for a few days, I told myself.

In the meantime, I would continue studying this incredible gemstone from outer space and wait for things to return to normal.

Over seven days, I carefully examined and worked on the gem extracted from the meteorite. I named the gem “Octa Meteorite”, inspired by its discovery location in Okutama. Its characteristics were astonishing: Mohs hardness of 11, a refractive index of 1.55, a specific gravity of 7.7, a weight of 2300 grams, and a dark slate-blue hue.

In other words, this gem was harder than diamonds, glittered like quartz, was as heavy as iron, and was a fist-sized, black-colored jewel.

I meticulously shaped and polished the Octa Meteorite into a perfect sphere. While minerals with high hardness are resistant to scratches, they tend to have low structural strength and are prone to breaking under strong impacts. For this reason, I started by carefully chiseling the raw stone into a sphere using carving tools. The resulting fragments were ground into fine powder, which I then used as an abrasive to polish the gem. After days of painstaking work, I achieved a smooth, radiant, and stunningly beautiful spherical gemstone.

While there are various cutting styles for gemstones, I concluded that a spherical shape best suited the raw form and properties of the stone.

I was completely mesmerized by the finished gem. Not only was it captivating because of its mysterious origin—a massive jewel extracted from a meteorite—but it also possessed an inexplicable charm that seemed to draw me in. No matter how long I gazed at it, I couldn’t tire of its beauty.

As someone who had dealt with many gemstones due to my work, I had never encountered one that evoked such a profound emotional response. I began to understand why humanity’s history with famous gems was so often steeped in bloodshed and conspiracy.

After hours of admiring the jewel from every angle, I finally snapped back to the present and remembered my current predicament. I had been so engrossed in the polishing process that I’d lost track of time, but now it struck me—seven days had passed, and still, the electricity and internet were out. To make matters worse, the water supply had stopped a few days ago, leaving me reliant on the old backyard well.

I wasn’t overly worried, though. I had plenty of rice stocked up, vegetables growing in the yard, and firewood in the surrounding mountains. If the gas stopped working, I could use the dusty old fireplace. I figured I could last another month without much trouble.

However, the prolonged outage made me curious. If power and internet were still down after seven days, it suggested a major disaster had occurred. Perhaps the city had already made significant recovery progress, but in this remote area of Okutama, which was technically part of Tokyo but practically a backwater, restoration efforts were likely slower.

I couldn’t help but wonder—was it an earthquake? A tornado? Surely not a terrorist attack or a missile strike?

Even with my growing curiosity, I had no intention of venturing outside to find out. Buying a newspaper would require enduring the terrifying experience of interacting with a store clerk, and trying to talk to strangers in town felt like torture.

Despite my concerns, I wasn’t panicking. It had only been seven days without power or internet. In a disaster-prone country like Japan, expecting full restoration in seven days for a remote mountain area was probably asking too much. I resolved to wait patiently and trust the efficiency of Japan’s disaster recovery systems. After all, I wasn’t exactly struggling to survive.

In the meantime, I decided to pass the time by crafting fantasy-inspired weapons using the beautiful Octa Meteorite. It would be the perfect way to indulge my creativity and wait for things to return to normal.

Another seven days passed.

I stood in my house, clutching the polished Octa Meteorite in both hands, staring in shock at a crack in the wall. Moments earlier, it seemed as though a beam of light had shot out from the gem and struck the wall.

This bizarre event happened while I was investigating the gem’s properties. With the electricity still out and the internet unavailable, I couldn’t research whether similar gemstones existed, so I resorted to experimenting with whatever tools I had on hand.

I didn’t have any particular purpose in mind—it was simply fun to play amateur researcher. With my usual internet pastime unavailable, it was the perfect way to kill time.

As part of my investigation, I decided to determine the natural frequency of the Octa Meteorite.

Natural frequency refers to the specific vibration frequency unique to an object. It’s closely tied to the phenomenon of resonance—where an object can vibrate or even break if exposed to vibrations matching its natural frequency. For example, if you expose a wine glass to a sound that matches its natural frequency, you can shatter it without touching it. Even if not as dramatic, you might notice dishes or windows vibrating when loud music is playing; this is caused by their natural frequency aligning with the sound waves.

Using the tools I had available, I conducted experiments and calculations to identify the Octa Meteorite’s natural frequency.

I couldn’t help but act childishly as I produced a sound that matched the natural frequency of the Octa Meteorite, touching it and excitedly exclaiming, “Whoa, it’s tingling! It’s tingling! This is awesome!”

The Octa Meteorite, vibrating in sync with my voice, began to hum and resonate more strongly. Just as I thought, I should stop this before it breaks, it suddenly fired something like a white beam, hitting the wall of my house.

The impact caused cracks to run through the wall, and bits of dust fell down with a soft patter.

I stared closely at the Octa Meteorite, which I was holding aloft with both hands.

“Did you… just fire a beam?”

My plan had been to attach the Octa Meteorite to the tip of a magic wand and pretend to be a wizard.

For that, I had carved a piece of Japanese pagoda tree wood, famous for its protective properties, and carefully engraved original magic patterns on it. I tinkered with resin and metal wire to attach and reinforce the gemstone to the wand’s handle. After seven days of effort, all the parts were finally complete. I had been playing with resonance before assembling them.

Of course, it was all just a game. While I made the wand as realistic as possible, I knew magic wasn’t real. It was just a costume prop meant to enhance the immersion of pretending to wield magic—a playful escape into the world of fiction.

At least, that’s how it was supposed to be.

I stepped into the backyard and cautiously sang at the Octa Meteorite’s natural frequency again.

This time, another white beam shot out, slicing through the trees on the mountainside and vanishing into the distance.

What the heck!?
Are you serious!?
I just cast magic!?!
This is amazing!

I ran around in excitement, striking dramatic poses as I fired off magic beams.

When I finally assembled the wand—topping the wooden handle with the gemstone, reinforced with metal—it became a beautifully classic, old-style magic wand. My excitement skyrocketed even further.

Quoting lines from anime, imitating poses from manga, and firing magic beams while pretending to be a cool wizard was ridiculously fun. It felt like I’d returned to my childhood.

But the fun didn’t last forever.

As I kept casting spells, I gradually started feeling tired.

It wasn’t the usual kind of fatigue. It was a strange sensation, like floating in a pool, being in zero gravity, or that weightless feeling in an elevator. The discomfort grew stronger, and I started feeling unwell.

At first, I thought it was just exhaustion from overexcitement. But then it occurred to me—Could this be something like running out of mana?

The idea that magic consumes mana is a common trope.

Swinging a sword uses stamina, and thinking too hard drains your mental energy. Similarly, using magic must deplete some kind of resource—something you might call mana.

I must have been using up mana and was now feeling its effects.

This just keeps getting better!

No, it was already incredible, but the fact that this fantastical object fell from space had me absolutely pumped.

I’ve decided—this magic wand is going to be my treasure! No matter what happens, I’ll never sell it. Even if I fall on hard times, I won’t part with it.

…Ah, speaking of falling on hard times.

I suddenly remembered my current situation and took a deep breath to calm down.

It’s been 14 days since the electricity and internet went out.

The water supply stopped long ago, and just the other day, the gas was cut off too. It’s like all the infrastructure has completely shut down.

Fortunately, I still have plenty of food stored away. I can draw water from an old well, and by gathering firewood from the mountains, I don’t have to worry about having a heat source.

But even so, can it really take this long for services to be restored, even in a remote mountain area far from the city?

How long did it take for services to recover after the Great East Japan Earthquake or the Noto Peninsula Earthquake?

Something feels off.

What if the restoration work has already been completed, but my house was accidentally overlooked for some reason?

No, no, that can’t be right. There’s no reason for me to be singled out for neglect. Sure, my social skills are virtually non-existent, but I’ve paid my taxes properly. There’s no way the government would deliberately ignore me like this.

The thought made me uneasy, but the idea of going directly to the municipal office to talk it out felt like a hassle.

I’m a hardcore homebody. Don’t underestimate me.

Well, there’s no need to panic just yet. Who knows? Maybe tomorrow everything will be back to normal as if nothing ever happened.

It hasn’t even been a year. It’s just been 14 days. If the disaster area is large, it’s only natural that remote and sparsely populated places like this would be the last to receive attention.

Let’s stay calm.

I’ll spend some time investigating this mysterious magic stone while I wait for everything to return to normal.

Seven more days passed.

I didn’t want to go outside, nor did I want to talk to anyone, but I did want information about the outside world.

And then I remembered the “dream gadget” that could fulfill my selfish desires—a radio, buried somewhere in my junk box. Unintentionally, I stumbled upon a key to understanding the cause of the ongoing disaster.

The radio, which was among the pile of junk I had bought for cheap, was, of course, broken and didn’t work.

When I took it apart for repairs, I found something strange.

The capacitor inside the radio was covered with a milky-white crystal, almost like quartz.

“What a strange thing,” I thought as I reached for tweezers to remove the crystal. That’s when I noticed something even stranger.

The milky-white crystal wasn’t simply stuck to the surface of the capacitor; it seemed to have grown out from the inside, breaking through.

It was as if roots of crystalline threads had invaded the interior of the capacitor, completely destroying it.

How could something break in such a way?

Puzzled, I thought deeply and came up with a hypothesis.

I dismantled other junk items to examine their power components, disassembled the batteries from a flashlight, and even took apart my computer and refrigerator.

As it turned out, my hypothesis was correct.

Every electrical device I inspected had been destroyed from within by crystals that had grown out of their power and conductive components.

This can’t be some isolated phenomenon happening only inside my house.

Summoning my courage, I ventured outside and walked ten minutes to a general store with a public phone.

Feeling relieved to see the store’s shutters down, I discreetly dismantled the public phone while keeping an eye out for anyone nearby. Sure enough, its electrical systems had been overrun by crystals as well.

It was the same everywhere.

Streetlights, vending machines, even an abandoned mini-truck—all of them! Their electrical systems had been consumed and rendered useless by the crystals.

It felt like my once-ordinary life had suddenly been invaded by horror, sending chills down my spine.

This phenomenon surely isn’t limited to Okutama. If it were, rescue teams would have arrived by now.

The fact that they haven’t means this must be something far more widespread, causing chaos so overwhelming that rescue efforts can’t even begin.

Perhaps all of Japan.

Or maybe… it’s on a global scale.

Humanity is fragile without functioning electrical devices.

Infrastructure collapses, communication ceases, and coordination breaks down.

Hospitals must have lost their diagnostic machines and computers for managing patient records. Refrigerators for storing medicine or blood for transfusions must have stopped working, making treatment impossible.

Traffic signals would fail, paralyzing transportation. Cars wouldn’t run in the first place.

Agricultural tractors and sprinklers would stop, devastating food production, and fishing vessels would cease to operate.

Airplanes likely crashed. Nuclear power plants might have exploded.

When electricity is lost, everything is lost.

Raindrops began to fall, striking my stunned face.

As the rain grew heavier, I sought shelter under the eaves of the general store.

The sound of the rain was intense, drowning out everything else.

It was only then that I realized the houses scattered throughout the mountains were all completely deserted.

The residents must have evacuated long ago.

Dark clouds loomed ominously in the sky, and soon hail began to fall.

No…

…This isn’t hail.

I stared in shock at a small milky-white crystal that rolled to my feet, splashing in the mud.

Lightning is a massive discharge of static electricity that occurs within clouds.

Static electricity.

Electricity.

These crystals feed on electricity to grow.

The rain clouds in this changed world no longer bring lightning.

Instead, they rain down crystals.

If these crystals have spread not only across the earth where humanity thrives but even to the skies, then this phenomenon must have engulfed the entire planet.

It’s all over.

While I was holed up in my house, idly thinking everything would be fine, human civilization had already collapsed.

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