Chihaya stared at the balance printed in her bankbook and swallowed.
The savings she’d accumulated in about a month: ten million yen. Looking at the number again, it sent a small chill down her spine.
“……that’s enough to get someone killed”
The timid Chihaya was genuinely rattled at the reality of having an amount of money she’d only ever seen in dramas at her free disposal.
Though when she factored in taxes and everything else, barely half would remain. And if the loaner Allrounder got destroyed, that would take a big bite out of it — as savings went, it still felt precarious.
She wonders if all Actors are doing this well, and looks out the window from her room with a mix of respect and awe.
Curious how they spend their money, Chihaya pulls out her phone.
A quick look: apparently the average annual income for an Actor is around ten million yen, if that.
She’s earning in a month what they earn in a year. Clear proof that the way Chihaya is making money is not normal.
Some Actors buy Actanoids on loans, then lose them in the field, and with job-failure penalties on top, end up leaving the New Frontier Development Zone carrying debts over thirty million yen.
Bankruptcy is rare, but plenty of Actors find that a single unexpected turn wipes out their finances and leaves them scrambling.
Recently, apparently, a company called Yakugi Technology lost its Actanoids in quick succession over a short period and went under in what amounted to a midnight flight.
“why……”
She’s puzzling over how she could possibly be earning this much when a post catches her eye.
When things are this brutal, it makes sense that bandit Actors show up to raid Actanoids and sell the parts.
This is why Chihaya has been able to earn so much more than other Actors in such a short time.
Transporting materials to the New Frontier requires sterilization or cleanroom production to prevent environmental contamination — on top of taxes, the costs are enormous.
Actanoid parts currently can’t be manufactured in the New Frontier except in limited cases, which means transport costs apply to all of them. In other words, an Actanoid in the New Frontier is a walking treasure chest of reusable parts.
In Chihaya’s case, she’d turned every Actanoid that attacked her into a defeat, one after another, which is how she generated ten million yen in profit in such a short time.
In other words — you can’t earn like this without taking serious risks.
Chihaya closes the curtains with a grim expression.
She’s undoubtedly earned a serious grudge. Having taken down an Order-series Actanoid, an angry Actor might go so far as to track down her address.
There’s nothing more terrifying than misplaced vengeance.
Chihaya puts the bankbook in her desk drawer and locks it.
“I-I’m planning to only take safe jobs from now on, so I’ll, cut back on spending too……”
She glosses over the fact that she’d been trying to take safe jobs all along, only to end up in fights through ambushes and attacks.
She heads toward the kitchen scrolling through her phone. She’s decided on cold tofu for tonight’s side dish — efficient and cheap.
That’s when she notices an interesting post on the forum.
“……a clan?”
A clan is something like a mutual aid association formed by Actors banding together. Forming a clan apparently lets you pool numbers to complete jobs more safely, and take on contracts better suited to your individual strengths.
Some well-known clans were even formed by corporations.
The Kaientai, formed by the major corporation Kaien Heavy Industries, is the prime example — massive financial resources and technical capacity enabling large-scale operations.
There are also well-known civilian clans within Japan.
The live-streaming group New World Live, which uses Actanoids to capture New Frontier scenery and create architecture and quasi-survival videos. And Hard Hunting Club, which focuses on culling, surveying, and resource protection for New Frontier wildlife.
There are also clans specialized in specific fields — like Order Actor, a group of engineers who, despite being a private organization, produces Order-series Actanoids that rival those of major Actanoid development companies.
“hmm……”
Chihaya leans against the wall and starts looking into clans in detail.
Hard Hunting Club, frequently singled out by animal welfare groups for its hunting activities, and Order Actor, on guard against headhunting and kidnapping attempts drawn by its technical capabilities — apparently the Actors belonging to these clans hide their identities for self-protection.
Chihaya herself still has her Actors’ Quest account under its initial registration name, with her real name kept private.
But Actors in these clans, apparently, cross-reference registration dates, activity periods for accepted jobs, and the frequency of regular and contactless deliveries to avoid being identified — running multiple accounts to stay hidden.
They can identify someone that way? Chihaya goes pale and looks at the fridge. Nearly everything in there had arrived by contactless delivery.
For someone who’s fully aware she’s earned a grudge or two, there’s a risk she can’t ignore sitting right in front of her.
“th-that’s scary……”
She immediately starts making a sub-account on Actors’ Quest. Derived from her real name, Usabuki Chihaya, she sets the account name to Usapyu — something a bit goofy.
If she operates under this account for a while it probably won’t be traced back to her, she reassures herself, and opens the fridge.
“clans, huh……”
A steep hurdle for someone with severe shyness and social anxiety — but the appeal of completing jobs more safely is real.
If it’s strictly through message functions, she can probably manage some degree of interaction, she tells herself.
“maybe I could, try becoming a clan Actor?”