If someone told him, Actually, you got smashed flat as a pancake, he’d have had an easier time believing it. However, there was nothing wrong with his body, so he clearly hadn’t been crushed.
In that case, what on Earth had happened? What was going on right now?
Haruhiro was still clinging to Alice. There was no question about that. No light shone into the confines of the cocoon, but inside the shovel—no, inside the meat stick—no, the stick of meat—there was a faint pulsing glow. Thanks to that, it wasn’t pitch black.
Alice’s face was right in front of his.
It was like Haruhiro was hugging Alice from behind. No, it wasn’t like that—he actually was hugging Alice from behind, so it couldn’t be helped that they had ended up so close. On top of that, Alice’s face was turned towards him, so if they hadn’t been wearing masks, they were so close they might have had no choice but to end up kissing.
Normally, he would have moved away, but he couldn’t do that now. The cocoon was tight, after all. With the giant dream monster baby having stepped on it, the cocoon was probably embedded in the ground, and indented as a result, which made it so tight inside that neither Haruhiro nor Alice could move.
This was unbearable.
Alice blinked. “...What?”
“Nah... I was just wondering what happened out—”
Before Haruhiro could finish, there was another impact.
What was this? What the hell was this?
He didn’t know, he couldn’t possibly have known, but if he had to take an educated guess, this would be it. They were being stepped on. Repeatedly, by the giant dream monster baby.
Bam, bam, bam! It was stomping them.
“This is tight!” Alice called, so it had to be pretty bad. Actually, he was amazed Alice could speak.
You’ll bite your tongue, he thought. Be careful.
Naturally, he couldn’t actually make the warning. If he opened his mouth now, he was sure he’d bite his own tongue. He might bite all the way through.
There was a more than remote chance the cocoon would be smashed with them inside before then, so maybe he didn’t need to worry about his tongue? Maybe he should just bite through it anyway? Bad idea?
“Oh...?”
What now? This was different from before. The situation had clearly changed.
Up, huh? Up? Yeah, up. The cocoon was moving upwards.
Were they being lifted, maybe? The giant dream monster baby had picked the cocoon up? If so, what did it plan to do with it next?
“Haruhiro,” Alice said.
“Yeah?”
“It’s probably going to spin.”
What did that mean, spin?
Before he could ask, it started spinning. What was spinning, you ask? This world? Parano the other world? No, the cocoon. The cocoon was going round and round.
Haruhiro shut his eyes tight. If he did this, it felt just a little more bearable. If he opened his eyes, it was nauseating. Scary, too.
He shut his mouth tight, gritted his teeth, and held on to Alice tight because he had no other choice.
That was right. There was nothing Haruhiro could do.
It was common in Parano, common sense so to speak, that people could use magic here.
When it came to magic, there were three types: Philia, Narci, and Doppel. Alice’s was Philia.
The source of strength for Philia was an attachment, a thing that supported one’s way of life, something a person couldn’t do without. This was called a fetish.
It went without saying that Alice’s fetish was the shovel. The shovel was the source of Alice’s magic, and magic itself.
To simplify things, with Philia a fetish, with Narci oneself, and with Doppel another person, you gave a person power and became their magic.
Incidentally, Haruhiro could use magic, too. However, Haruhiro’s magic somehow wasn’t Filia, Narci, or Doppel.
Weird, huh? Weren’t there only three types of magic? Normally, yes. But there was an exception to everything.
The exception in Parano’s magic was Resonance.
Sadly, this magic did nothing for the person who had it. Each magic, regardless of type, strengthened something, and Haruhiro felt it was a faster and more reliable way than working out and improving skills through experience. But no matter how hard he worked to improve his magic, Haruhiro would not benefit in any way.
Resonance enhanced or expanded the magic of another. That was apparently the type of magic it was.
That was incredible—or was it?
According to Alice, it was an incredibly unusual and valuable magic or something like that. But as far as Haruhiro himself was concerned, he couldn’t be happy about it without reservations. Actually, he wasn’t happy in the least. He could strengthen his magic as much as he wanted, but it wouldn’t make him any stronger at all. Wasn’t that unfair? It was pretty awful, right? Like, seriously, screw that. If flipping out over it would have solved anything, he would have, but there was nothing to be done about it, so he’d just have to shut up and accept it.
Yeah. If he was getting spun, he’d just have to spin. He could look at it as a form of training, and accept his spinning self.
But hold on. They weren’t just spinning, were they? They were flying, too, right? He could feel as it whooped round and round that they were whooshing through the air, too. Had they been thrown, maybe? The giant dream monster baby had picked them up and thrown them? That was it, huh?
So that was what it had come to. It’d gotten pissed when it couldn’t stomp them flat, so it was throwing them. For all its babyish appearance, it had some pretty strong shoulders. If they’d been thrown like Haruhiro was thinking, they were really flying. This was some serious air time.
How far was this thing going to fly...?
The stupid, foolish boy.
He had no intention of saving the girl, but he was trying to get by with gentle-sounding words.
In her heart, there was unease. Tears, sparkling.
Disappear.
Disappear!
The girl quickly raised her arms. The accumulated tears, tears, tears went flying, whirling around and assaulting the boy.
“Urkh...”
It was too late for the boy. No matter what he did, it was no good. He couldn’t run. She wouldn’t let him. The poor, stupid boy. The poor, ugly girl would shed more sparkling tears, no doubt.
Sparkle. Glimmer.
“Tonbe!”
“Yes, Io-sama!”
Then, all of a sudden, she heard voices she wasn’t familiar with one after another. Something unbelievable had happened. A man who was far fatter than the ugly girl got between her and the boy who was about to be swallowed up by sparkling tears.
The man had something small in his hand. It was a small mirror with a handle. A hand-mirror, most likely.
When the tubby man crouched in front of the tall boy, the hand-mirror instantly grew to a size that covered both of them.
Mirror, mirror. The mirror reflected the sparkling tears. Sparkle and glimmer, glimmer and sparkle. Sparkle, sparkle, glimmer, glimmer.
“Eeeek!” The girl thought she had gone blind. That was how brilliant it was. “Ahh! Ahhhh!”
Her eyes were open, but everything had gone white. It didn’t just look white. She couldn’t see anything.
Her eyes, they hurt, ow, ow, ow. She fell to one knee, covering her face with both hands. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt so bad. Even as she did, though, the tears were flowing. They didn’t ever stop. It was possible they would go on forever, never stopping.
In time, she was able to see the outlines of things again. She came to her senses.
They were gone.
No one was here.
Rubbing her eyes, blinking, she double-checked. Yes, they were gone.
There was no one around.
The poor, ugly girl was all alone.
“Yeah.” Thrusting the reskinned shovel into the ground, they both nodded. “Oh, that felt good.”
Haruhiro moved away from Alice. He put some distance between them, then slumped to the ground.
He wasn’t part of “they” anymore, but “he.”
“For me, too.” Ahiru was sitting with his legs in a W shape like a girl, staring up at the polka dot sky with a vacant look. He didn’t wipe the tears, snot, and drool. “I see now. I wanted to end it. ...I see.”
“You want to lick the king’s asshole again?” Alice queried.
“No. I’ve had enough.”
“Well then, Ahiru. You’re going to be my spy.”
Ahiru looked up at Alice, using the sleeve of his coat to wipe the area around his mouth a bit. He had a look on his face like he was daydreaming. A small flame lit up in the back of those eyes.
“A spy... you say?”
Alice laughed then said, “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
“Now, then... shall we go?” Setora asked. “To that town?”
Setora riding Kiichi and the woman who was impersonating Merry descended the hill covered in bumps and rifts and headed for the town.
The haze neither thickened nor cleared. The area around the town was just slightly misty. It was bizarre, but not so aberrant she couldn’t accept it. Things must just have been like this sometimes here.
While jumping over rifts, and diverting around bumps that were sharp like swords, they somehow managed to make it down the hill.
The town seemed to be surrounded by a twisted latticework fence. As they approached, they found it ranged from as tall as a person to three times that, and it was covered all over in a thick ivy with thorns.
It might not have been impossible to scale it if they were willing to be a little reckless, but there had to be an entrance and exit somewhere.
They followed the fence, and there was a gate. No door, and no guards. They were apparently free to enter.
Setora went through the gate and entered the town. It was as hazy as ever. There was no one near the gate, but she could see figures here and there down the street.
“It’s quiet,” Not-Merry said in whisper, glancing over at Setora. “It’s quiet,” she repeated.
She was right. If there were no one around, that would be one thing, but there were people walking around, and it was still as quiet as if she were plugging her ears. Did no one in this town make noise, or talk?
Kiichi, who had more sensitive hearing than a human, wasn’t moving his ears at all. That meant he wasn’t hearing anything, either.
“Let’s take a look for now,” Setora said.
She and the others continued straight down the road.
Haze. Figures in the distance. Haze. Figures in the distance. Haze...
Figures in the distance. Haze. Figures in the distance. Haze. Figures in the distance. Haze...
“Hm...” Not-Merry groaned before shrugging her shoulders. “We aren’t passing anyone.”
“It would seem they’re avoiding us.”
“I hadn’t expected to be welcomed... but still.”
“Why don’t you try pretending a little harder?”
“Copy that,” Not-Merry said in a foreign language.
“What did you say?”
“Roger.”
“Are you messing with me?”
“Perish the thought.”
“We’re turning back for now—Kiichi.”
Just from hearing his name, Kiichi predicted her commands and did an about-face.
“Can’t we ride double?” Not-Merry grumbled as she followed along.
“If you were the real one, that might be one thing, but there’s no way I would let someone like you ride on Kiichi.”
“I’m not exactly a fake—but even if I were to explain, I doubt you’d accept it.”
“Explaining means you tell it in a way the other person can understand,” Setora said. “You’re speaking only to hide something, or to dodge the issue. That’s not an explanation.”
“Talking with you is fun,” Not-Merry said. “That’s sincerely how I feel.”
The gate was closed. It wasn’t that a previously nonexistent door had appeared out of nowhere. The thorny ivy had grown thick, intertwining and completely covering the opening of the gate.
“Well, now...” Setora said. “Do you think it doesn’t let people out once they’ve come in?”
“That would be one way that we could interpret it... I think. How’m I doing?”
“Enough. It looks like I’m not going to have time to worry about you.”
Twitch. Twitch. Kiichi’s ears shuddered.
Gurrrr... he growled.
Setora could hear something. Like the wind. But there wasn’t even a slight breeze.
Not-Merry was looking around busily, too.
Setora listened closely.
Wellllll...
...commmme...
Setora cocked her head to the side. “I could be wrong, but... we may be more welcome than we thought.”
Wel...
...come...
...to... our...
...town...
Wel...come...
Hmph. Not-Merry snorted. “In that case, they’re not refusing to let us out, but trying to keep us here.”
Her tone wasn’t far from the original’s. But that was upsetting in and of itself.
If they... follow the rules... everyone can stay... happily... in this town...
Rule... One... Be quiet... Don’t make a fuss...
Rule... Two... Fighting is... bad... Be peaceful... gentle... fun...
Rule... Three... You can’t... leave this... town... ever...
Rule... Four... Imitate... everyone...
If they... Follow the rules... everyone can stay... happily... forever...
Whose voice was this? It could be heard coming from every direction. That, or maybe it was coming from inside their heads.
Not-Merry raised just her left eyebrow. “Looks like leaving is forbidden, after all.”
Rule... One... Be quiet... Don’t make a fuss...
“Keep our mouths shut and don’t talk, is that it?” Setora smirked.
She didn’t know who the speaker was, but they were being awfully pushy. At the very least, Setora could be sure the happy life in this town wasn’t going to suit her very well.
So, what was she going to do about that? She didn’t even have to think about it. She was getting out of town immediately.
Setora gripped Kiichi powerfully with both legs.
That was when it happened.
The ivy wall blocking the gate that she was about to have Kiichi tackle and break through was smashed in from the other side.
“Whuh...?!”
What broke down the ivy wall and came through it was a big disc... no, was that a mirror?
Even here, a massive mirror wasn’t going to be moving around on its own. There was someone carrying it. The corpulent man who was holding it held the mirror aloft, spinning it around, then glared sharply at Setora and Merry.
“You people, are you Yomu?”
“Yomu?” Setora looked over at Not-Merry despite herself.
It seemed Not-Merry had no more idea what he was talking about than her, and she cocked her head to the side. “I don’t... think so?”
“You don’t look like Yomu, so what are you?!” the man cried. “From the looks of it, you’re not half-monsters, or dream monsters. You don’t look like tricksters, either. Does that mean what I think it does?! What are you people?! Do we get to take you out?!”
“What’re ya doin’, Tonbe?! Yer a such worth sack o’ lard!” Another man appeared from the hole in the wall of ivy.
“That’s one hell of an accent,” Not-Merry muttered.
It was true, he had a distinctive intonation that was hard to pick up, but his appearance was quite unique, too. Were there really people with chins that long?
This man had his mouth covered with cloth, but it couldn’t fully contain his overlong chin. It was jutting out.
Could eyebrows grow in such perfect equilateral triangles like that? His pupils were awfully small. Those sanpaku eyes had been seen as a mark of ill fortune long ago, a cause for shunning.
Also, what was with that man’s forehead? Or rather, was there anything to it? It was narrow, bordering on nonexistent. It was hard to even call it a forehead when it was that narrow. Did the man not have a forehead, then? What did it mean to have no forehead?
The sentence “He packs some crazy punch” passed through Setora’s head. Those words weren’t a part of her usual vocabulary. It sounded like something Kuzaku might say. Still, it was true, the man’s appearance packed some crazy punch.
The man put his hand on the hilt of the greatsword strapped across his back, glaring at Setora and Not-Merry. “Huh...? The hell’re you people?”
Setting Mirror Man aside, this guy seemed fairly capable—though, because his looks packed too much punch, Setora couldn’t help but laugh at him.
“I could ask you the same.”
Earnestly suppressing her laughter, Setora had to work hard to maintain a serious expression. If she laughed, Too Much Punch Man would attack Setora immediately.
She wasn’t sure she could even block the first swing. Depending on how it went, it might be over with that first swing. The evil, vicious aura that Too Much Punch Man gave off was enough to inspire that sense of urgency in her.
Mirror Man readied his giant mirror. His plump body was mostly hidden by the massive mirror. The giant mirror looked like a hand mirror blown up to that size, but how was he even carrying it? She didn’t really know.
With his lips lowered, and his left arm hanging slack, Too Much Punch Man inched closer, gripping and releasing the hilt of his greatsword with his right hand.
Even for Kiichi, who had his hackles raised and was ready to fight, handling Too Much Punch Man was probably going to be difficult. They probably couldn’t underestimate Mirror Man, either. Who knew how much of a fight Not-Merry would even put up? Whatever the case, Setora needed to be ready for an all-out battle.
Setora jumped down from Kiichi’s back, gripping the pseudo-soul vessel hidden in her pocket tightly. “Enba!”
The pseudo-soul which was made with the power of a relic and the pseudo-soul vessel that contained it were the golem Enba’s true body. That said, Enba’s cadaver, which had been made of dead bodies and metal, was broken and lost. The cadaver couldn’t function without a pseudo-soul vessel, and was no more than a mere puppet, but the pseudo-soul vessel was also no more than a hard gem without a cadaver.
Those who came before her said that it was possible to read the pseudo-soul’s will from the blue light that flickered through a number of holes. Setora thought that was a hallucination. If she didn’t remake his cadaver, Enba would not move.
If Setora were to make a cadaver anywhere but her hometown, the village, she would have to gather all the tools and materials from scratch, so it was, to put it extremely lightly, going to be a massive undertaking. It would be incredibly difficult to prepare a new cadaver for Enba.
Enba was essentially dead at this point.
For whatever reason, she had been born into the House of Shuro, and the first flesh golem she’d created as a necromancer was Enba. She couldn’t get used to the House of Shuro’s method of making and destroying new golems one after another, seeking to make a cutting-edge golem.
She had created life with her own hands. Now that she had made it, she couldn’t destroy it. She’d decided Enba would be her last golem.
The unspeaking Enba had served her in silence. He had always been at her side. Like a friend.
That had caused Enba’s death.
It was as if Setora had killed Enba herself.
She felt no guilt. Enba was a golem. He was ready to give his life for the necromancer who was his master at any time. Enba only did the obvious. Enba, obviously, would not blame Setora. No one could blame her for anything.
Enba was no more. He would likely never come back. Setora just had to accept that fact. There was nothing else she could do. That was how it was supposed to be.
Too Much Punch Man jumped and lunged towards her. He was going faster than Setora’s kinetic vision could hope to follow.
Setora or Kiichi, possibly both, would have been neatly bisected by Too Much Punch Man’s greatsword if Enba hadn’t suddenly appeared to stand in Too Much Punch Man’s way.
Enba’s long, metal-bound left arm deflected Too Much Punch Man’s greatsword. Without missing a beat, his right arm roared.
Too Much Punch Man retreated with a strange move that made him disappear, only to reappear in another place, dodging Enba’s right arm.
“The hell...?!” he shouted.
“Mwuhuh...?!” Mirror Man knocked back a sudden attack by Kiichi with his massive mirror.
Kiichi jumped back, fell into a fighting position, then growled.
That massive mirror had quite a bit of defensive power. Mirror Man had a warhammer on his back, but he surely couldn’t use it at the same time as the mirror.
Too Much Punch Man and Mirror Man were a team, one handling attack, the other handling defense, were they?
Not-Merry tapped the pommel of her head staff twice on the ground, watching on in silence. It looked like she had no intention of getting involved at all. It was impossible to know what she’d do if things went bad, but for now, Setora would need Kiichi and Enba to do their best.
Why was Enba, who should have lost his cadaver, here? More than that, when Setora had held his pseudo-soul vessel and willed him to come, he’d appeared. How did this phenomenon work? Setora had no idea, but Enba was here.
He had defended Setora a number of times in this bizarre world, eliminating her enemies, and had done a good job of deflecting Too Much Punch Man’s greatsword just now. He was no illusion.
Enba’s skin wasn’t exposed at all. The elastic corpse wrappings that Setora had made for his cadaver with her own hands were wrapped around his entire body, covering it up properly. The one who had armored his arms where they needed it was Setora, too.
No matter how you looked at him, Enba could only be Enba. However, it was hard to say he was completely unchanged. In fact, it was impossible to.
Enba had been the height of a grown man, maybe a little shorter. When she had started making Enba, Setora had been nine years old, so he had felt large at the time, but not so much anymore.
He hadn’t been large before.
Enba had grown.
Had he?
No, of course not. That couldn’t be right.
Flesh golems didn’t shrink or get thin, and they didn’t grow taller or get fatter, either. It shouldn’t have been possible, but Too Much Punch Man was probably above average height, yet also shorter than Enba. Yes, he was definitely shorter.
Enba had clearly gotten bigger.
“Go, Enba, Kiichi!” Setora called.
What did it matter when Kiichi had turned into what he had? Enba had just gotten bigger. It was no big deal.
Enba attacked Too Much Punch Man, while Kiichi charged at Mirror Man. Too Much Punch Man moved flexibly to the left and right, evading the fierce attacks from Enba’s left and right arms.
He dodged.
He dodged.
When it looked like he was going to just evade, he thrust out his greatsword like a spear for a counterattack. Enba bent over backwards to avoid it, falling backwards as he did.
Before he could regain his footing, Too Much Punch Man roared and sprang at him. “Gyahhhhhh...!”
Could Enba handle it?
Please, handle it somehow, Setora silently pleaded.
His opponent wasn’t even serious yet. They were at the stage where the enemy had seen through all of the moves available to them.
Kiichi’s cat punches using both front legs, and the kick he performed after a forward somersault, had both been blocked by Mirror Man, so he was struggling to attack.
If Too Much Punch Man determined he could overwhelm Enba, they would likely go on the offensive. She wanted to do something before then, but Setora had no cards to play.
Looking over at Not-Merry, the woman was sitting down and hugging her legs. What was she doing?
Unable to put up with this any longer, Setora finally snapped and started to yell at Not-Merry. “You—”
“Wait, wait, wait!” Someone stumbled through the hole in the wall of ivy and into town.
That person was tall, and possibly as a countermeasure against the sweet wind, the person had a cloth over their mouth.
It was...
“Stop, stop, stop! Tonbe-san! Gomi-san! They’re not enemies! They’re my comrades! There’s no need to fight!”
“Huh?!”
“Say whaaaat?!”
Too Much Punch Man and Mirror Man jumped back in unison.
“W-Wait!” Setora cried.
When Setora gave the order, Enba and Kiichi stood down.
The man took the cloth covering his mouth off. “Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh! Merry-san! Setora-san! This is insane!”
What was supposed to be “insane”? What was with that face? She felt embarrassed just looking at him.
How could anyone smile with their face all messed up like that? His eyes were filled with tears, too. It was understandable that he was happy, but wasn’t it strange to cry? It had to be.
Despite that, Setora felt an irritation deep in her nose, and the area around her eyes got hot.
No way. She felt like she was going to cry—or did she?
Meanwhile, Not-Merry had gotten up in no time, and was waving to him with a smile. “It’s been a while, Kuzaku.”
That was to be expected, perhaps. It didn’t make Setora feel strongly one way or the other, but couldn’t she put a little more in to her act?
It seemed Kuzaku was so moved that his judgment was clouded, and he was just going, Yeah, yeah, while trying to wipe away the tears, so it was probably fine for now.
“...Hold on. Huh?” Kuzaku looked at Kiichi, turned to look at Enba, then screamed. “Whaaaaaaa?! H-Huhhh?! Whaaaaaaa?! Wh-Wh-What?! Whaaaaaaaaaaaaa...?!”
“You’re being too loud, Bossari!” a female voice shouted.
There was still another one?
Who now?
Setora could tell it was a woman from the voice. She was presumably traveling with Kuzaku, but she wasn’t Shihoru.
There weren’t just monsters in this world. Mirror Man and Too Much Punch Man both were human. Most likely they were volunteer soldiers, like Haruhiro and the party. In that case, was that woman one of them, too?
The woman stood on the other side of the hole in the wall of ivy, crossing her arms. She made no attempt to enter the town.
Like Too Much Punch Man and Kuzaku, her mouth was covered with cloth, and she wore a white outfit with blue highlights. It was what they called a priest’s uniform.
“What are you?” Setora demanded.
“No, you. What are you?”
“I am Shuro Setora. Who are you?”
“I’m Io. I wouldn’t mind permitting you to call me Io-sama.”
“I don’t need permission.”
“Why?!”
“Because there is no reason I would ever address you with -sama.”
“You don’t know why you should call me Io-sama out of respect?” the woman sneered. “Oh, my. Are you soft in the head, perhaps?”
“Doesn’t that better describe you?” Setora asked coolly. “By the way, Kuzaku.”
“Muh?”
Kuzaku pointed at himself with a moronic look on his face. She already knew he wasn’t a particularly bright man, so it didn’t annoy her. This was, in its own way, a praiseworthy aspect of him.
“What are you people doing here?” Setora asked. “What did you come to this town for?”
“Ohh. The thing about that is—”
Rule... One... Be quiet... Don’t make a fuss...
Rule... Two... Fighting is... bad... Be peaceful... gentle... fun...
Rule... Three... You can’t... leave this... town... ever...
Rule... Four... Imitate... everyone...
Not following... rules... bad... Get out...
They heard that voice. Or maybe, because of all the ruckus they made, they hadn’t been noticing it. It was possible they’d been hearing it the whole time.
You not get out... Kill...
Setora turned around. She’d been careless. Because of everything that had been going on, she hadn’t noticed before now.
On the roads, on top of the roofs, in the gaps between the buildings, they were there. Their outlines were indistinct through the haze, but while some were human-like, some were similar but different, and others were completely inhuman. They may have gathered from all around town. There were swarms of them.
“...Uh, we came here to earn id?” Kuzaku asked falteringly.
He approached Setora, drawing his large katana. But this man, he had been tall to begin with, but was he this big?
“If I say that, do you understand?” he asked.
“No, not even a bit... but prepare yourselves, Enba, Kiichi.”
Enba and Kiichi defended Setora’s flanks. Not-Merry reluctantly readied her head staff, too. Mirror Man and Too Much Punch Man moved up, as well.
The residents of the town appeared not to be moving at first glance. However, they hadn’t been there before. They were definitely moving forward. They closed in little by little, and then would fall on them like a dam had just broken.
“Massacre them,” Io said.
It was like Io had given them the order. They were coming. The residents of the town were pressing in.
For a moment, a thought occurred to Setora. We won’t be massacring them. Won’t they massacre us instead?
The doors of the elevator that was not an elevator opened.
With arms bound at the back, and a belt wrapped around the neck, Alice was being dragged in by Ahiru. That was how it appeared at first glance, but Alice’s unmasked face was full of defiance. It was clearly not the look of one who’d been captured. Just what the script called for.
However, Alice soon started to grimace. Struggling, apparently. The king’s power was trying to force Alice to submit.
“Get going!” Ahiru pushed Alice from behind.
Alice stumbled forward, but did not take a knee even after having entered the royal hall.
“Hey! Kneel down, Princess!” Ahiru snapped, pulling on the belt. Alice finally fell to one knee.
“Well, well. If it isn’t our princess.”
The boy who seemed to be the king’s main body was looking at Alice. His mouth moved, too. No doubt about it. That was the king.
“Who’re you calling a princess?” Alice spat. “I’m not yours, either. Don’t make me say this stuff. You make me wanna puke.”
“What happened to that filthy shovel of yours?”
“Oh, shove off. Your face is a zillion times filthier, you know that? You make me sick.”
“Hearing it for the first time in so long, that chirping of yours is exquisitely comforting,” the king said. “I had just begun to tire of Yonaki Uguisu’s singing, too. Shall I make her a shadow, and fill my ears with only the warbling of a princess?”
“Y-Your Majesty! Wait, please!” Ahiru got down on all-fours and shouted. He was still holding the belt in his right hand, so that gesture ended up squeezing Alice’s neck.
“Guh! Hey, Ahiru, you...!”
“...Sorry.”
“What’re you apologizing for...?”
“Ah...” Ahiru covered his mouth with his left hand.
That was when the king’s main body stood up. “You two... you’re scheming something, huh?”
“No! We’re not! S-Sire, it’s not like that!” Ahiru exclaimed.
“What is it not like?”
In front of Ahiru, who was shaking his head back and forth, Alice undid the restraints on both arms, and took off the belt, as well. They’d arranged for them to be easy to remove.
“I... I was just threatened by this princess.”
“I made him bring me,” Alice said coldly. “You can guess why, right?”
“You wanted to see me, your king? It finally dawned on you that you’re happiest being kept as my pet, I see.”
“As if that would ever happen. I’m here to blow you away, you piece of shit.”
“Without that filthy shovel you were ever so proud of?”
“See, the thing about that is... I’ve still got it.”
Alice suddenly bent over, shoving a hand into her own mouth. Io and there others’ eyes went wide. Even if they knew, they couldn’t help but be surprised. After all, Alice was trying to pull that meat stick out of there.
“Urgh... blech... uhhh... blech...”
It looked downright agonizing. It was hard getting it out, but it was just as amazing that it had gone in in the first place. From the size of it, it didn’t look like it should fit inside the stomach or intestines, but the shovel wasn’t that hard, and it could shrink to a degree. In fact, the meat stick came out surprisingly easily. It was what came next that would be hard.
After the meat stick, the black skin, which was split up to be as thin as noodles or something, started to come out, too. It was incredibly long, and had a lot of volume, so how had it fit inside Alice’s body, or inside the digestive tract, to be specific? It wouldn’t fit, right?
Even the king was taken aback by this. He was watching Alice with his eyes wide.
Thanks to that, Haruhiro was able to approach the king while maintaining Stealth.
Haruhiro was diagonally behind the king. In another step, he’d be at arm’s length.
Taking two steps, he hugged him. He did it unconsciously. The feeling of, I don’t want to let him get away. I won’t let him get away, made him do it.
He was going to finish it here—no, he wanted to finish it here.
The boy’s skin was cold.
—I’m already—
“Ah...?!”
Honestly, he almost had it. In another tenth of a second, he’d have synchronized with the king.
What had he done wrong? Had he done nothing wrong? Was it just bad luck?
Whoosh! The boy seemed to get sucked into the floor. He’d escaped.
The king had slipped out of Haruhiro’s arms.
In an instant, the royal hall changed. Dark. With thorn-like, or stake-like, or spear-like, or sword-like, or katana-like growths everywhere.
It was the king’s magic. Had Haruhiro’s Stealth broken?
He’d failed. The king had noticed him.
“Me!” The king roared. His voice was no longer the voice of a boy.
The bearded man rose from the throne.
“You touched me! The king! What is that magic?!”
“You screwed it up, Haruhiro!” Alice had just finished puking up the shovel’s skin.
Wiping around the mouth area with a sleeve, Alice tried to deploy the skin, but it wasn’t going to happen.
“Ah...!” Alice suddenly landed butt-first on the ground, as if some force had been pushing down from above.
The shovel’s skin was like a withered flower. Alice might have been trying to get back up, but it wasn’t going to happen with legs that were quaking like that.
Ahiru, and Io, and Tonbe, and Gomi, and Kuzaku, and Setora, and Merry, and Kiichi, they were all huddled and shivering. Their forms blurred and he started having trouble seeing them.
It seemed that Haruhiro was crying. Why was he crying? He wasn’t sad. Was he scared? Yeah. He was scared beyond belief.
He tried to close his eyes. He didn’t want to see anything. Didn’t want to hear anything. He couldn’t take it anymore. Why were his eyes still open? It was all useless, wasn’t it? What meaning would there be in getting stubborn now? Had he always been so bad at giving up?
He probably wasn’t tenacious, or strong-willed, or anything like that, he was just afraid to end it all by shutting his eyes.
It might have been because Haruhiro was a coward, but he witnessed the miracle of Enba standing up.
Enba didn’t just get up, though.
He exploded.
Well, Haruhiro was crying like crazy, so he couldn’t see that well, but he saw Enba get erased in an instant.
“I don’t even matter,” a voice sniffled.
Shihoru.
Sparkling stuff came out of the body here and there, just everywhere, all over the place, and it sparkled so much, it hurt his eyes.
Not to be outdone by Haruhiro—no, not wanting to be outdone probably had nothing to do with it, but Shihoru was shedding sparkling tears.
“Is that your magic?!” the king shouted, the bearded man who was presumably his Doppel turning the palm of his hand towards Shihoru.
Shihoru stumbled under the king’s intimidating pressure when he did, but she withstood it somehow.
You’re amazing, Shihoru, thought Haruhiro. Those tears are amazing. It’s like a flood of sparkling tears.
“Why are you bullying meeeeeeeeeee?”
When Shihoru swung both of her arms up, those tears sparkled and flew towards the king. It was like a river of stars in the sky.
Was even the king unable to block Shihoru’s tears? When they touched the bearded man on the throne, there was a cracking, splintering sound as those parts were crushed.
It was working. It worked. The sparkling tears compressed the bearded man on the throne more and more.
It was over in no time. With each tear, the bearded man on the throne got smaller, until they couldn’t see him at all.
But what did it matter?
By that point, right next to Shihoru who was a good distance from the throne, a tall bearded man wearing a crown had appeared.
The bearded man on the throne was nothing more than the king’s Doppel. He had plenty more Doppels. Even if the one on the throne was taken out, another Doppel just had to pretend to be the king instead.
“You’ve opposed the king! I’ll make a shadow of you!” When the bearded man raised his right foot, he suddenly got big. Incredibly big. That wasn’t any human size. No, not that he was human to begin with. He was a Doppel.
Was he still keeping his calm? Haruhiro couldn’t say for sure. Were his actions rational, in the end?
Shihoru looked up at the bearded man, flinching. The tears didn’t come. She was so terrified, she couldn’t even cry.
By the time Haruhiro thought, I can’t abandon her, he might have already been acting on emotion.
“Stop...!” Haruhiro dashed.
What did he plan to do? What could he even do? Nothing, probably. But he had to save Shihoru.
No matter if she became a trickster, no matter anything, she’d still be his comrade, his friend. For Haruhiro, if someone was a comrade and a friend, they were more important than he was.
“What?” The bearded man turned his way. The moment he looked down at him, Haruhiro’s body went rigid as if he was paralyzed. “You want to be turned into a shadow first? Then let me grant your wish!”
Intimidated by the king’s magic, Haruhiro couldn’t move so much as a finger.
This is the worst, he thought. The king would stomp Haruhiro and turn him into a shadow. Then, after that, he’d probably do the same to Shihoru.
Alice couldn’t beat the king, either. If Haruhiro had been using Resonance to boost Alice, would they have been able to at least do some damage on their way out?
Either way, they’d failed. It was over.
“Go, Fatty!” Before it could all end, the long-chinned dread knight dressed all in black threw in the fat man.
Gomi and Tonbe should both have been too intimidated by the king to move, so had he launched him with magic? Did they deserve praise for pulling it off?
Tonbe, propelled by Gomi, rolled into the gap between the bearded man and Haruhiro. He was carrying his massive mirror like he was a turtle.
“For Io-sama...!”
It was a mystery. Why would Gomi and Tonbe do this? It was so unexpected, the surprise blasted all emotion out of Haruhiro, leaving only his reason to find the answer.
Oh, I get it, he thought.
Tonbe had said, “For Io-sama!”
Haruhiro’s magic was the cornerstone of this operation, and only Haruhiro could defeat the king. If they lost Haruhiro, Io would die, too. That was what Gomi and Tonbe had determined. For Io, they had no choice but to do this.
“Don’t interfere!” The bearded man’s right foot came down on Tonbe.
In that instant, Haruhiro sank his consciousness, and went into Stealth. When he Stealthed, he realized there was no bearded man anywhere. That was just an illusion. The boy playing the bearded man was just standing in front of Tonbe.
But, at this very moment, a bearded man was trying to stomp and crush Tonbe. That had to be how Tonbe felt. That was how it looked to everyone but Haruhiro and the king. In fact, Tonbe probably would become a shadow. The bearded man didn’t exist, and Tonbe wouldn’t be stomped flat. Yet, still, something the king would do was going to turn Tonbe into a shadow.
He knew this was heartless, but Haruhiro needed to watch it from beginning to end.
Was that boy in front of Tonbe, that Doppel, going to do something? No, it would most likely be the king’s main body. There were many boys in the royal hall. Which was the real one?
Whoosh! The king rose up out of the floor.
Right next to Tonbe.
He crouched down, thrusting his right hand into Tonbe’s flank.
He didn’t stomp him.
He was sucking something out.
Was it blood, or water, or perhaps some sort of life force or energy, maybe?
Tonbe became an empty shell as he watched, darkening, and being reduced to a shadow.
On the face of the king’s main body, the pale boy’s face, there was a slight smile.
Haruhiro didn’t get hasty. He wouldn’t repeat his earlier mistake.
He crept in quietly, grabbing the boy’s wrist without getting overeager.
He became the boy.
“Ooookay, here’s your medicine. Drinkie, drinkie. It’s going to be okay. It doesn’t hurt. It may not taste good, but you’re going to forget anyway. Yes, yes, gooood. Now swallow. Huhhhh? You’re still resisting? What a bother. Weeeell, how’s this, then? If I shut your mouth and pinch your nose, you have no choice but to swallow, right? Hee hee. Okay. Good boy, good boy...”
“Awaken.”
He opened his eyes, feeling like he’d heard someone’s voice.
It was dark. Nighttime, maybe? But not pitch black. There were lights. Fire. Above him. Some kind of lighting. Candles, it looked like. Small ones affixed to the wall. Not just one, but many, spaced evenly, continuing as far as he could see.
Where was this place?
It was kind of hard to breathe. When he tried touching the wall, it was hard and rocky. This was no wall. It was just bare rock. Little wonder his back was sore after lying against it. His butt hurt, too.
Maybe he was in a cave... A cave? Why would he be in a cave...?
Those candles were pretty high up. He might be able to reach one if he stood; that was how high they were. Moreover, they didn’t even give off enough light for him to see his hands and feet.
But he sensed the presence of others nearby. When he listened closely, there was a faint noise that sounded like breathing.
“Is anyone there?”
“Uh... Yeah.”
“...Yes.”
“Where is this place?”
“Nyaa...”
“Erm, I... I’m here.”
“I-I-I dunno, guys... What is this? I wish someone could help me...”
“I’ve gotta be hung over or somethin’. I feel like shit...”
“Could you stay away from me? You stink.”
It wasn’t just him. There were a number of others. Men, and women.
“Hold on, where... is this? Does anyone... know?”
“Nah...” The big man who was close by to him shook his head. Thanks to the candles, his eyes were gradually adjusting to the light. “I... wonder. Wait... um, I’m... Hmm. What was it again...”
“Huh... What?”
“I’m probably... called Kuzaku.”
“Ohh. Your name?”
“Yeah, but... I don’t remember. I can’t recall.”
“Recall what? Ah...!”
He clutched at his chest tightly, as if trying to claw something off of it. He had no clue what was going on. How long had he been here? Why was he here?
When he began to consider his situation, something began to tug at the back of his mind. But it suddenly vanished before he could latch on to it.
He didn’t know. He didn’t know anything. He was at a complete loss.
“...I’m the same,” he said at last. “Just that my name’s... Haruhiro. What is this...?”
Afterword
I will now confess to a crime I committed.
It was a long time ago now, but when I was a kid, there was a lumber mill in walking distance from my house.
I often snuck in there, and I would steal scraps of wood.
Well, it was a lumber mill, and it produced a lot of wood waste. There were mountains of the stuff piled up. I think they just threw the stuff out, so they might have given it to me if I’d asked. But at the time, I was in elementary school, so I couldn’t resolve myself to talk to the people who worked at the lumber mill.
Now, as for what I used those wood scraps for, I cut them into an appropriate size with a saw, nailed them together with a hammer, and made swords and shields.
Even I, who had a limited circle of associates, had a number of friends who’d join me in doing that sort of thing. We fought serious sword battles with our self-made swords and shields.
Though we were defending with shields, wooden swords are on a different level from a newspaper wrapped in packing tape. They have quite a lot of power.
Also, as we fought, we polished our combat technique. It was quite hard to slip past a shield and land a blow on the body, but it was just a matter of targeting the shield. If you pounded wildly on the shield, you might get lucky and destroy it, and failing that, the beating might make the person holding it lose their balance. You used that opening to hit them.
We were doing this with the strength of children, but it wasn’t uncommon for blood to be shed in our sword fights.
Not satisfied with wooden swords, some of us made long spears, and the shield and long spear combination was fearsome.
If it were just a shield, all you would have to do is close the gap, but when you closed in, you’d be pushed back by the shield, they’d get some distance from you, and then they’d attack with the spear again. When fighting a spear user, you had to do something about the spear itself, or you’d never win.
Now, when I think back on these things, I feel like it’s not all that different from now.
I’ve always lived like this, and I’ll likely die this way, too.
Now then, to my editor, Harada-san, to the illustrator, Eiri Shirai-san, to the designers of KOMEWORKS among others, to everyone involved in the production and sales of this book, and finally to all of you people now holding this book, I offer my heartfelt appreciation and all of my love. Now, I lay down my pen for today.
I hope we will meet again.
Ao Jyumonji
Scene #11: A Bad Man
If you were born as a man... you want to be popular with girls. That’s just the way people feel, Ranta thought, and that was how he lived.
He couldn’t say on what day, of what month, of what year of his life he’d started to think that, but, well, by late in preschool he must’ve already felt that way, right? He’d always been aware of popularity. Yes. Hyper aware.
But, honestly, he wasn’t popular at all.
The guys that girls were into came into that surprisingly naturally. The ones who were already popular at that young age, they were like natural born populars. What was with that? That sort of inborn popularity, like they were promised popularity by the heavens themselves?
Like that guy.
That guy in his class, Minoura. Minoura Manato.
He had, like, cool eyes, you might call them? He was, what did they call him, a hunk? Blech. Like, what was he even supposed to be a hunk of? Lame!
Basically! Anyone they called a hunk was lame. Right?
But girls liked hunks. Blech. Blech. Ptooey!
Girls would steal glances and Minoura, squealing and making a fuss.
They were shit, all of them. Not one of them with an eye for quality.
Like, sure, Minoura had a pretty face, but there was clearly something up with the guy. He seemed like a real schemer. Guys like that were the worst. They were bad news. Like, maybe the guy had a bad home life, or something. Only he didn’t let anyone know, and bottled it up inside him. Then he did bad stuff behind the scenes. He was probably dealing drugs or something, wasn’t he? He so was. He was selling them like crazy. Maybe it was time to try asking him. Be like, “How much?” and then he’d say a price and give his whole game away. Scary!
That all aside, Ranta witnessed Minoura, whom he’d never talked to much, get slapped by a woman in the shopping district at 8:17 in the evening.
“How could you?!” the woman shouted as she slapped him hard on the cheek. “You’re the worst!”
Then she took off running.
Judging by her hairstyle and clothes, she wasn’t the same age. She was, what’d they call them, a JD? She looked like she was in college. She was an adult woman, with oodles of sex appeal. The woman was probably crying.
Ranta had gone to karaoke with his friends after school, sung all he could sing, and was on his way home. It was the shopping district at night, so there were plenty of passersby.
Naturally, there was no way a woman slapping a hunk wouldn’t draw attention. There were a lot of people looking at Minoura as he stood still. Ranta was one of them.
What was more, up until the slap, Ranta hadn’t realized it was Minoura.
The incident had happened right in front of Ranta’s eyes.
Minoura was staring after the woman’s back. Then, casting his eyes downwards, he pressed a hand to his cheek and laughed a little. “Ow... That hurt...”
Ranta was thinking he’d pretend not to know the guy and just keep walking, but if he was going to go home, that meant walking in front of Minoura. He’d hate to turn around and go the other way just to avoid him.
Well, they weren’t friends, and the guy was looking down, so he probably wouldn’t notice. Ranta tried to stroll past Minoura as naturally as he could.
“Huh?” the guy called out to him. “Ranta?”
“...Yeah.”
No, man, we aren’t so close you can call me by my given name! he thought, but he wasn’t going to snap at him over it. And as for ignoring it, well, Ranta had already responded.
“Wh... What was up with that?” Ranta asked. “That was kinda incredible. She just went ‘smack’!”
Minoura pulled his hand away from his face and smiled. His cheek was a little red. “I’m the bad one.”
“...What’re you smiling for, bud?”
“Huh?”
“It’s suspicious. The way you act like that...”
“Ohhh. I see.”
Minoura looked down. For a moment Ranta thought, Is this guy gonna cry?
“...Yeah. It’s not good to be like this. You’re absolutely right, Ranta.”
“So...!” Ranta started.
The whole situation just made him madder, and Ranta took off running despite himself.
What am I running for? I look like a weirdo.
Minoura Manato.
That guy, he was a hunk, but he was a weirdo, too.
Scene #12: The Road to M-1
“Is this good?” Renji murmured, looking at his handiwork.
On the concourse of the largest station in this area there was a black board called Everyone’s Street Corner Message Board.
It was a black board, so it was meant for people to write a name and a time in chalk and use it to communicate when meeting up. Obviously, that had only been useful eons ago. Now, everyone had a smartphone or two, so no one did things in such a stupid, roundabout way. The street corner message board was plastered with posters for events like concerts, and advertisements for businesses, but not enough that it was buried in them.
This being a street corner message board that not many people took the time to stop and look at, there was a lot of open space. Also, since it had originally been meant as a way of communicating, if you were an individual, not a company, it was apparently free to use. No, not just apparently, he’d checked this. It absolutely was.
Seeking Partner
Can play funny man or straight man.
Need someone who can play funny man or straight man.
Please contact me.
tr2951@gjmail.com
Renji was trying out posting on the message board.
Naturally, that e-mail address was what you’d call a burner. 2951 wasn’t his birthday or anything, either. The numbers could be read fu-ku-ko-i, “luck, come to me” in Japanese. He wouldn’t normally, but he’d decided to try using lucky numbers. The “tr” was short for Tanaka Renji. He figured simple was best here, but maybe he should have given it a little twist.
Still, though...
“Pfft... Heh heh heh...”
As he watched the message board from a place where he could just barely see it, he felt so ridiculous, so empty, and so slightly embarrassed that he couldn’t help but laugh.
“Seeking Partner”? What was he thinking?
And why, of all places, was he posing on Everyone’s Street Corner Message Board, where no one would even look?
Was it because he had no other ideas?
Was he stupid?
No, he clearly was stupid. No matter how you looked at it, this was the work of an idiot. If he was truly seeking a partner so he could make it in comedy, he wouldn’t be posting about it in a place like that. Still, Renji was as serious as serious could get. He wanted a partner from the bottom of his heart. That was why he’d refined his text. He’d written and rewritten it. This had been his first draft:
Seeking a Crazy Partner
Orthodox, double straight man, double funny man, bring it on.
Let’s make us some new comedy together!
RSVP ASAP LMAO
tr2951@gjmail.com
Yes, yes, yes, it was obvious what anyone would say, looking at it.
He’d hoped people would think, This is no good. No good at all. But, wait, it’s so unfunny, maybe it’s actually funny instead?
The result was it had just been unfunny. Unfunny and typically bad, something he knew so well that it hurt. That was why he’d fixed it. In the end, he’d gone with something so simple, it couldn’t be misunderstood.
It wasn’t funny, but when he thought about it, the fact he was making a serious posting on Everyone’s Street Corner Message post was funny to begin with, right? What need was there to add to that? If you piled too much on, sometimes it just got lame. In other words, wouldn’t it be redundant?
He knew this. Renji was a student of comedy. This was only slightly droll, not laugh-out-loud funny. He understood that much.
However, he wanted to get into comedy, so he posted on the station’s message board. “Seeking Partner.” And the guy who applied was his partner now. Seriously.
Well, how about it? Would that be a funny story or what?
The guy who made the posting, and the guy who responded, would both be a bit off in the head. The kind of weirdos that are funny. They’d succeed, get their own radio show or something, and become a hit there. He could only imagine they’d be covered by an internet news site and go viral. Meeting at a comedy school, that wasn’t good enough. It was too common. It was having a meeting like this that was important.
It wasn’t without problems.
He had no belief they’d actually be able to meet this way.
Renji checked the time on his phone. Soon, it would be midnight. Time for the last train.
He’d been watching over Everyone’s Street Corner Message board for about eight hours, give or take, and no one, not one person, had looked at his posting.
Naturally, no messages had come, either.
He muttered, “The road to comedy is a hard one...”
Scene #13: Once-in-a-Lifetime Events Can Happen Any Day
Was he lacking energy... maybe?
Well, Manato was the same as ever, though. He’d said, “Good morning,” to everyone he met, without discriminating. If they struck up a conversation, he responded. Not just going along with whatever, either. If he didn’t know something, he said so, and he’d ask questions instead, or tell people what he thought. But it was quick, and never too pushy. He wasn’t like ramen, he was soba. Sarashina Soba at that. The high-class stuff.
Haruhiro thought of Manato as a good friend. For Manato, with his broad web of male and female acquaintances, Haruhiro was probably just another classmate. But for Haruhiro, Manato was one of his few friends.
In the time from when they went to school to when they returned home, they always spoke at least once or twice. Sometimes, they even had lengthy conversations.
For Haruhiro, that was enough to think they were pretty close.
So, one time, Haruhiro caught himself observing Manato.
Manato was a mystery. He got on with people incredibly well, and he could talk to anyone. He was a pretty boy, or a hunk, so he stood out even just standing there. Despite that, Haruhiro would sometimes suddenly notice that Manato was nowhere to be found.
Naturally, Manato was popular with the girls, so it was not uncommon for girls from other classes to come looking for him. When those girls asked Haruhiro, “Where’s Minoura-kun?” sometimes he just couldn’t tell them.
Manato caught people’s attention, but then he’d suddenly up and disappear. He’s not here, Haruhiro would think, and then out of nowhere, Manato would appear. That was sort of what Manato was like.
Today, Manato hadn’t disappeared once. In the time between classes, during break, he’d been in the classroom the whole time. Obviously, he hadn’t been in a daze or anything, either. He’d been talking with someone or other the whole time, sometimes laughing out loud.
There was nothing all that strange about him.
It just felt like he was spending a lot of time sitting in his chair.
Basically, he wasn’t moving around much. That was why Haruhiro got the impression that, probably, he didn’t have much energy.
Even if he thought, I wonder what’s up? Haruhiro was a little hesitant to bring it up over something so minor. Like, for Haruhiro himself, if someone came up to him and said, “You’ve been sitting down all break today. Is something up?” he’d think, Huh? What’s with this guy?
It does bother me, though, Haruhiro reflected. Well, he is a friend, after all.
After the school day ended, while he was doing various other stuff, Haruhiro left the school alone like usual.
Though he admired the idea of having a riotous good time with his friends, ultimately, that was a world far removed from his own. Besides, he didn’t have many friends to begin with. Though the number wasn’t zero. He just couldn’t feel close to the kind of people who got clingy. He was pretty okay with just being by himself. It was lonely sometimes, but that was only ever temporary. He’d play games, or read books, and eventually he’d feel fine again.
“Haruhiro?” somebody asked.
“...Uwah!”
Maybe because Haruhiro was deep in thought, he hadn’t noticed someone was right beside him until they’d called his name.
“Huh? Ah... Manato.”
“So you go this way, huh?” Manato asked. “On your way home.”
“Oh, um... Huh? You’re going this way, too, Manato?”
“I’m not.”
His smile—though Haruhiro wasn’t sure why he thought this; he couldn’t explain it—felt kind of shallow, like it wasn’t a real smile.
“I see,” Haruhiro said slowly.
Manato walked shoulder-to-shoulder with him down the familiar road home.
For a time, Manato said nothing. Though it was odd, it wasn’t unpleasant. Haruhiro could have kept quiet for a day or two.
“You’re not going to ask why?” Manato asked.
If Manato hadn’t said anything, they might have parted ways without exchanging a single word.
“Well... I thought it might be something like that,” Haruhiro confessed.
“That I might just feel like walking home with you, or something?”
“Like, once in your life, you might end up feeling that way, maybe... I guess.”
Manato covered his face with his right hand, laughing. “You really are interesting, Haruhiro.”
“You think so?”
“Yeah. You’re funny.”
Manato moved his hand away from his face. His cheek was just a little red. Had he hit it somewhere, or done something to it? Or maybe he’d been punched?
Haruhiro didn’t ask what had happened.
In a once-in-a-lifetime event, just about anything could probably happen.
Scene #14: Idol Worship
“Listen, Yume, she was thinkin’ she wanted to be an idol.”
Hearing Yume say that out of nowhere during break really surprised Merii.
“A-A-An idol...? Um, idol? Like NHK, or Imoaraizaka...”
“M-Merii...” Shihoru said nervously. “NHK is a Japanese broadcasting association, and there’s no idol group called Imoaraizaka...”
Hearing her error pointed out, Merii realized she’d been so confused that she’d gotten things all mixed up.
“Um, er... NBA? Was that it?”
“The NBA is the National Basketball Association in North America.”
“The right answer was KGB!”
“Yume, that’s the former Soviet Union’s intelligence agency. There are lots of groups out there, but I think the most famous is probably AKB...”
“Ohhh! Shihoru, you really know what you’re talkin’ about, huh? Then what was the one with zaka in it? Dogenzaka...?”
“That’s the name of a place in Shibuya...”
“You know, if you go lookin’ in Shibuya, there’re probably idols there, right? It’s kinda trendy.”
“W-Well, there might be some...”
Merii wanted to help Shihoru in her moment of weakness. For that, she needed the right answer. I have to come up with the right answer as soon as possible, Merii thought, and it came to her.
“Kagurazaka?”
“Th-That’s a famous place, right?” Shihoru said. “With lots of nice restaurants, I think... But I don’t think it has anything to do with idols...”
“Numa!” Yume suddenly exclaimed.
“N-Numa...?”
“Yume, she may’ve got it! Yume’s heard of this one before! In life, they say there are three sakas!”
“What... are they?” Merii tried asking, just in case.
Yume acted all special, humming nasally.
“Get this: they’re noborizaka, kudarizaka, and massakasama! That’s right!”
“It’s not massakasama, it’s masaka, Yume...” Shihoru said.
“Hoh? You sure?”
“When things are going well, that’s noborizaka, climbing the hill. When nothing does well for you, that’s kudarizaka, going down hill. But if you keep on living, the unexpected will happen, so... that’s masaka, the unexpected.”
“Mwohhhhh! Shihoru, you really know a lot! But, you know, no matter what you do, don’t you think there are times when things’ll end up gettin’ turned massakasama, upside-down?”
“...I think so.”
“Well, then, there are four sakas in life, don’t you think?”
“I don’t think it matters how many sakas there are in this case, really.”
“So there are lots of them, then? In that case, life’s full of hills!” Yume exclaimed.
It felt like she’d been struck by lightning. Merii clasped her chest and hung her head. “Deep. Life is full of hills. You may be right...”
“Right? Yume, when she goes home, it’s all hill roads, you know? It’s fine when she’s full of energy, but there are times when she’s feelin’ tired, too. It’s real hard then.”
“Hills are especially hard when you’re on a bicycle.” Merii slapped her own thighs. They hurt a little. She’d strained herself too hard. “You feel it in your legs.”
“That’s it!” Yume snapped her fingers—was that what it was called? She rubber the middle finger and thumb of her right hand together, but there was just a rubbing sound. “...Kwoh!”
“Like this?” Shihoru made a proper snapping sound.
Yume’s eyes sparkled. “That’s it! Shihoru, you’re amazin’! You can do anythin’!”
“Huh...? No... This is easy. It’s too much to say that I can do anything.”
“You’re very capable, Shihoru.” Merii nodded firmly. “You’re reserved, so you don’t show it off, but you can do anything.”
“Th-Th-Tha... That’s... not... true...”
“It is so true! Shihoru, you’re Yume and everyone’s idol!”
“Wh-Wh-Whoa, s-s-stop, it’s embarrassing...”
“But, you know, Shihoru, you’re our idol, okay? You agree, right, Merii?”
“Yeah, I think so,” Merii said.
“Even you, Merii...”
“By the way, what were we talking about again?” Merii went on.
“Hoh?” Yume picked at her nails, thinking for a while, but she couldn’t remember. “Well, it doesn’t matter! ’Cause Yume’s got herself an idol!”
Merii nodded. “I guess you’re right.”
Scene #15: I Will Not Give Up
Years ago, before his grandmother passed away, she would always say to him, “Monzo, ever since you were small as a bean, you’ve loved eating. No matter how mad a mood you were in, if we just gave you food, you’d smile. When you were left with me, you never caused any trouble at all.”
Maybe it was because of that, but his parents, grandparents, other relatives, and even the neighbors were always giving Monzo food. Monzo, of course, happily ate it all. Thanks to that, even though his parents and little sister had a slim build, Monzo had been chubby since he was very young.
But was he okay like this? After a long time quietly worrying about that, he decided to exercise, and began attending a judo class. When he moved his body, the food tasted even better, so he ended up eating even more. It was all meaningless.
That said, it wouldn’t be right to stop the judo classes he’d started of his own volition, so he committed to controlling the amount he ate. If he lost too much too fast, the recoil might become too great. When he went from three bowls of rice down to two, his health declined visibly. He got abdominal cramps, his face lost its luster, and his voice grew weak. His family got worried, and when he confessed he was actually dieting, they cried. His sister’s words hit him especially hard.
“I want you to be the same big brother you’ve always been!”
Thus, it had been over two years since Monzo had given up on his dream of a slim body type forever.
His motto became, “Food makes the man, thus a man is his food.”
After entering high school, Monzo started a part-time job. Naturally, for the food.
In Monzo’s house, it wasn’t just his mother who cooked—his father did, too. Also, it was only to be expected that Monzo cooked, too. His little sister also helped.
He wouldn’t brag about it, but Monzo’s family’s cooking was delicious. It was so good that his cousin would bring her friends over to eat, and they’d take pictures to put on social media where they’d praise it enthusiastically. His parent’s coworkers and friends would come over often, too. Everyone brought large amounts of ingredients, sweets, and wine, then enjoy Monzo’s family’s cooking before they went home.
However, one who is committed to food, one who has strong opinions on cooking, can sense intuitively when they are setting foot into the domain of experts, learning things no amateur could ever know.
To turn that around, one who had not reached that domain could not be called an expert.
There is a need, when people say your cooking is good enough to be in a restaurant, that you have pro-level skills, to recognize that these are only the opinions of amateurs. You must never let them go to your head. Monzo had no intention of going easy on his tongue. The joy of food he experienced at home, and the absolute gourmet bliss an expert could produce in him were, in fact, different things. In order to keep himself aware of that difference, he would go, clutching his hard-earned part-time money, to the most expert of restaurants he could find.
“Heh... Well, I just want to eat something good, that’s all, right?” Whispering to himself, he turned the corner.
This restaurant, founded in 1989, the first year of the Heisei Era, had left behind countless legends and was famous among those in the know.
Its name: Heisei-ken.
It was a little ramen shop run by a family, with no website. He’d heard they rejected all forms of interviews. The only information he could find online was the opening and closing times, regularly scheduled days off, and the reviews of gourmands. It was a two-hour commute by train, including multiple transfers, from Monzo’s house. This was not a place a high schooler could visit easily. This would be his first time.
He checked his smartphone. 5:59 P.M. They opened from noon to 2:00 P.M. during the day, and from 6:00 to 9:00 at night. They would open soon. Their day off each week was Wednesday, and this was Thursday, which meant that they were open for business, baby.
“Baby...” he murmured.
Heh heh! Monzo laughed.
Having at last reached Heisei-ken, the place he had longed to visit, Monzo’s eyes were greeted by the closed shutters. A single piece of paper was affixed to them, the small text on it written in permanent marker. Ahh, how many times, how many times had this sort of thing happened to him? Yes, this was nothing more than a common occurrence.
Calm down, Monzo. These things happen. It’s all right. It’s okay. Now, read slowly, as if savoring each word.
“Closed today due to emergency...”
Monzo gave a mental pep talk to his body as it was ready to collapse, and then made a firm vow.
Let’s come back another time.