The Isekai Police [Books 1 + 2 Complete!]

Artyom and Neitra sat in his room, deep in concentration. The space was expansive, but the wider world around them might as well have not existed with how focused they were on the impromptu lesson.

"How do you fight against an enemy when you can't even remember you're in a fight? When you can't even remember there's an enemy to fight?" asked Artyom, leaning forward. "I'm going to teach you anti-memetic protocol."

Neitra nodded with wide eyes.

"There are three parts to it. The first is that you need to come up with a sign that you're under the effects of an anti-meme and a way to describe the degree of the effect," said Artyom, lifting up his left hand. "For me, that's putting something like a hairband around my left wrist. More bands means I've been affected more than once."

"But what if I forget I had a sign to begin with?"

"That's a problem, which is why you need to come up with one before you even encounter the threat of an anti-meme. It's a bit late for that, so why don't you stick with what I do too? I'll hopefully be able to tell you're under the effect of one if you forget."

"But what if you forget that we had this conversation and that I have the same sign as you?" asked Neitra as she began to fidget. "And what if I forget I had this conversation too? What if we both forget everything and get stuck here forever?!"

"Woah woah," said Artyom, holding his hands out in a soothing manner. "I forgot to say, but that's step zero: don't freak out about being under the effects of a hypothetically perfect anti-meme. If we already are, then it's too late and we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

"Oh, that makes sense," said Neitra, letting out a heavy breath and beginning to kick her feet off the side of the chair. "And we're both alive, so this anti-meme hasn't tried to kill us either. Or maybe it can't? Wow, this is frustrating."

"It sure is," said Artyom with a nod. "Which leads into step two: information gathering. The fact I have this band around my wrist and the document of notes proves it's possible to gather information about the anti-meme."

"You mean the information we can't even read?" asked Neitra with a pout. Before Artyom could continue, she sat up with wide eyes. "Wait a minute, I could tell what you wrote down was a location, and it was somewhere in the academy! So we need to gather information like that?"

"Ding ding!" exclaimed Artyom while snapping his fingers. "Anti-memes aren't perfect, they have holes in what they block."

"Like my invisibility Skill…"

"Yeah, like that." He paused for a second to look at Neitra, who had sunk into herself. "But those holes aren't always easy to find, I only found one in yours through sheer dumb luck and practice with these sorts of things. We need to be really clever to find ways around our anti-meme."

"I guess so. Like what, though?"

"Sensory and detection spells for me, and thinking outside of the box for you. Like looking through a hand mirror when walking around, or having someone else describe the possible anti-meme to you while you're not directly looking at or listening to it. Try to think up something yourself too."

"Sure, I think I can do that," said Neitra with a nod. "I'm more than just my rogue Skills, you know. I've got this!"

"Good," said Artyom, who couldn't help but smile at Neitra's raised spirits. "So that leads us to step three: information drop-offs. We need a drop-off point for collected intel in case we forget what we've learned, or forget we had a place to put them in the first place."

"And what if we forget about both of those things?"

"We have step one, right? A sign that you're under the effects of an anti-meme."

"Right, so… we put the information somewhere we'll think to search if we realize we're under the effects?"

"Seriously, you're a natural at this."

"Well I am a rogue, my Class is all about this kind of thing," said Neitra with a blush.

"Anyway, I found this note stuck to the roof of one of the drawers in my desk. Since I know I'll likely find it again if I end up forgetting everything, we can both store our intel there."

"Okay, I can do that," said Neitra. "So what now? That's all three steps, what's next?"

"Next, we continue our search. Just follow any leads we come across and try to write down or otherwise record everything relevant."

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"I think Xerica wants to search again, but she probably thinks it's the first time around."

"So we tag along and see what new information we can get, if we want to try in the first place."

"Why don't we take turns going with her?" asked Neitra, suddenly lighting up. "That way, even if whoever goes forgets everything, whoever stayed can fill the other one in on this whole anti-meme business?"

"You know, that's not a bad idea. Let's just each write up something that explains the situation so it'll be easier to believe all this and get back up to speed."

"But why wouldn't I believe you about it?"

"I was mostly talking about myself, but putting things into your own words might make it easier to understand everything again at least."

"Y-yeah, I'll write something like that down. I don't mind going today either, by the way, so I'm sure it'll help tomorrow."

"Alright, good luck," said Artyom with a resolute nod.

He knew he was throwing Neitra to the wolves, but they'd both lived after their run-in yesterday, so she would be fine. Besides, better her to be the guinea pig since she was still new to this. He was the anti-memetic expert between the two, after all.

There wasn't much else to discuss after that, and the two soon parted ways.

Artyom went to exit his room after Neitra, but felt a foreboding presence behind him. He turned around to look at the spare robes he'd left messily on the floor.

He slowly walked up to it and lifted it up, hoping what he experienced this morning was just a dream. Not just the fact he was under the effects of an anti-meme, but what he did during the initial panic.

But much to his chagrin, the jet black ink stain was also real.

Artyom tried everything to clean it out. He scrubbed at it with water, tried to squeeze the ink out with a towel, and even cast Purge Toxins in a fit of desperation.

His efforts were all futile, and after a few minutes, he finally accepted the fact by covering it back up with the robe. He was grateful they didn't have to pay a deposit on their rooms, otherwise the headmistress would have likely kept everyone's even if he was the only one who'd made a mess. It would probably cost that much to remove this one stain.

"Maybe they have some rug cleaner in a supply closet or something?" Artyom mumbled out loud as he exited his room.

Partway down the corridor, he saw Rotte slamming the door to his room with a frown. The boy's anger disappeared somewhat as soon as he saw Artyom.

"Oh hey Artyom, what's up?"

"Not much, how about you? You don't seem too happy," the man replied with his best attempt at a casual shrug. He wasn't about to drag a kid like Rotte into this mess, especially when he wasn't even a member of the party.

Seeing as how the boy didn't pick up on anything strange as he replied, Artyom's acting was a success. "How is Tommy still asleep? He's going to miss breakfast! Seriously, how can someone like him save anybody if he won't get up when there's something he should be doing?"

Artyom lowered himself lightly and placed a hand on Rotte's shoulder. "I haven't asked until now, but why are you so angry at Tommy? I thought you two made up back at Cape Horn."

"I mean, we did, and he's a lot better than before, but…" began the teen, awkwardly turning his head away. "He's still got so much to improve on. He's not good enough to call himself a hero, not when all of these delays and flaws mean more people die at the hands of the Dark Lord."

"I understand what you're saying," said Artyom with a nod. He closed his eyes and remembered the pressure put on him during the War of the Seven Worlds, how the kingdom that summoned him put the weight of the world on his shoulders, the responsibility of every single life in his hands.

It wasn't his kingdom, it was never his burden.

"But that kind of pressure you're putting on Tommy isn't going to help him do better, it'll just lead to burnout and him doing worse overall."

"But he's the hero! He should be perfect already! So if I don't push him for things like these, then who-"

"He wasn't declared the hero because some all-powerful cosmic force thought he was perfect for the job, or even the best around. He got it because he was the one who showed up. That's how summonings work."

"Summonings? Wasn't he born here?"

"He has memories of another world, he must have come from there."

Rotte frowned and tried to think of a rebuttal, but one look into Artyom's eyes and their impossibly knowing depths kicked the fight right out of him. But he still shook his head and said what was already on his mind. "I can't accept that. Tommy has the responsibility of being a hero now, he needs to either live up to it or grow into it. And I'm the only one who's trying to hold him accountable for his duty."

"And that's where we disagree," said Artyom with a sigh.

At the end of the day, everyone he'd ever rescued while at TOAL was just that: some kid in way over their head. They didn't ask to be thrown head-first into danger, most weren't cut out for it but managed to survive long enough for him to show up. He would un-summon them, either sending them back to Earth or bringing them to TOAL headquarters if they didn't or couldn't go back home otherwise. And in doing so he would leave the world that summoned them without a hero they sometimes desperately needed.

Artyom never really considered such, but now the thought made him deeply frown. The same might happen with Tommy. He wondered how Rotte would feel about that? About how many more people would come to harm if they had no hero at all instead of a flawed one?

Artyom shook it off and shot the boy a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "At the end of the day, we all have to do what we need to. But know this: prophecy is a load of bunk anyway, and the goddess can give the job to anyone already here if she's really that desperate."

Rotte looked down at his feet in consternation, fully digesting Artyom's words. He looked up with a wide eyed smile and words on his lips, but Artyom was already walking away.

"Thanks…"