5
In other words, Yoshiteru Zaimokuza is rather off.
It’s a little late to be going over this, but basically the purpose of the Service Club is to listen to any requests students have and then help them with their problems. I have to mentally confirm it this way, or I really wouldn’t know what the point was anymore. I mean, usually Yukinoshita and I just read during club time, you know? And Yuigahama just fiddles with her phone.
“Hmm. Hey…so, like, why are you here?” She’d show up like it was only natural, and while I’d taken her presence for granted, Yuigahama wasn’t actually a member of the club. I wasn’t actually even sure if I was a member. Hey, seriously, was I in this club? I wanted to quit, anyway.
“Huh? Oh, you know, I just have nothing else to do today, know what I’m sayin’?” she said.
“No, I don’t know, not if you use words like ‘know what I’m sayin’.’ What is that, a Hiroshima dialect?”
“What? Hiroshima? No, I’m a Chiba native.”
Well, actually, “know what I’m sayin’” is from the Hiroshima dialect, and that makes a lot of people go, Huh? That’s the first time I’ve heard that. The masculine register of the Hiroshima dialect has a reputation for sounding scary, but its feminine register is actually very cute. It’s among my personal top ten ranking of cutest accents.
“Hmph. I’m not going to let you call yourself a Chiba native just because you were born in Chiba prefecture.”
“Uh, Hikigaya. I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Yukinoshita gave me a thoroughly scornful look. But I ignored that.
“Let’s go, Yuigahama. First question: What do you call internal bleeding from a blunt strike?”
“Aonajimi! Blue bruise!”
“Ngh! Correct. I never expected you’d have grasped even the Chiba dialect… Then, question number two: What comes with your school lunch?”
“Miso peanuts!”
“Oh-ho, it seems you really are a Chiba native.”
“That’s what I said.” She put a hand to her hip and tilted her head to the side with a look on her face that said, What’s this guy’s problem?
Beside her, Yukinoshita had her elbows on the desk and her hands on her forehead as she sighed. “What’s this about, now? Was there a point to that exchange?”
Of course there was no point. “It was just the Trans-Chiba Ultra Quiz. Trivia from all across the prefecture! Most specifically, from between Matsudo to Choshi.”
“That’s not covering much!” Yuigahama quipped.
“Fine, then how about from Sawara to Tateyama?”
“That’s not across. That’s north to south,” said Yukinoshita.
You guys know all that from just the place names? Just how obsessed with Chiba are you?
“Okay, question number three. If you get on the Sotobo Line toward Toke, what rather uncommon animal will you see on the way?”
“Oh, speaking of Matsudo, Yukinon, there’s supposed to be a lot of ramen shops in the area. Let’s go sometime!”
“Ramen, huh? I haven’t had it often, so I don’t really know.”
“It’s okay! I haven’t had it often, either!”
“Huh? What’s okay about that? Could you explain?”
“Sure. So yeah, what was the name of that shop in Matsudo again? There’s supposed to be a place that’s really good…”
“Are you listening?”
“Hmm? I’m listening. Oh, but there’s some good places in the area. It’s in my neighborhood, so I’m really familiar with it. It’s about five minutes from here on foot. There’s this shop I pass by a lot when I’m walking my dog.”
The correct answer was ostriches. Really, it was surprising to suddenly see an ostrich outside the train window… It was actually pretty exciting.
Sigh.
Ignoring the two girls and their one-sided conversation about ramen, I went back to my book. Why the heck was I all alone here even when there were two other people in the room? I guessed this was the kind of thing high school students were supposed to do, though. High schoolers take part in a broader range of activities than middle schoolers do, showing interest in clothing and cuisine and the like. Conversation about ramen shops is particularly high schooler–esque, don’t you think?
I guess the Trans-Chiba Ultra Quiz isn’t normal fare, though.
It was the following day. When I went to the clubroom, I arrived to find the unusual sight of Yukinoshita and Yuigahama standing stock-still in front of the door. I studied them, wondering what the hell they were doing, when I noticed that the door was open just a crack and that they were peeking inside.
“What’re you doing?”
““Eeeek!”” Shrieking cutely and simultaneously, the two of them leaped into the air.
“Hikigaya… Y-you surprised me…”
“You guys surprised me.” What’s with that reaction? You guys are acting like my cat does when I run into it in the living room in the middle of the night.
“Could you not sneak up on us like that?” Even Yukinoshita’s glare and her grumpy expression were just like my cat’s. Now that I think of it, I was the only one in my family who my cat doesn’t like. Another thing Yukinoshita and my cat shared in common.
“Sorry. So what’re you doing?” I asked again, and Yuigahama, just like she had before, opened the door a crack and quietly peeped inside while replying, “There’s a suspicious person in the clubroom.”
“You two are the suspicious ones here.”
“Just listen. Never mind about us. Could you go inside and see what’s going on in there?” Yukinoshita ordered, looking sullen.
I stepped in front of the two of them as instructed, cautiously slid open the door, and went in.
Waiting for us was a gust of wind. The moment I opened the door, a sea breeze blew through the room. It scattered sheets of paper about the classroom, quite characteristic of the breeze that blew around this seaside school. It looked just like a flock of doves flying out of a silk hat used for magic tricks, and in the middle of that white world stood a man.
“Heh-heh-heh… I’m quite surprised to see you in a place like this. I’ve been waiting for you, Hachiman Hikigaya.”
“Wh-what did you say?!” He was surprised, but he was waiting for me? What was that supposed to mean? I was the surprised one here.
Swiping aside the fluttering white papers, I sized up the intruder. Just as I suspected, he was… No, I didn’t know him. Nope. I was unacquainted with Yoshiteru Zaimokuza.
Well, I suppose I wasn’t acquainted with most of the students at this school. Within the category of people with whom I was unacquainted, though, this guy far and away topped the list of people I didn’t want to know. Plus, he was sweating in a trench coat and wearing fingerless gloves even though it was almost summer. Even if I had known a guy like that, I wouldn’t have cared.
“Hikigaya, he seems to know you…” Yukinoshita hid behind my back as she compared me and the interloper, a doubtful expression on her face.
He flinched for a moment under her discourteous gaze before immediately confronting me instead, crossing his arms with a low chuckle. He shrugged his shoulders dramatically, shaking his head arrogantly. “How could you forget the face of your partner? I’m absolutely offended, Hachiman.”
“He’s calling you his partner…” Yuigahama gave me a chilly look. Her eyes were saying, All you pieces of garbage can go and die.
“Indeed, partner. You have memories of those days, do you not? We survived hell together many a time.”
“We were just paired up in gym class,” I couldn’t resist retorting, and a grimace inspired by loathing spread across his face.
“Hmph. That evil custom is nothing less than hellish. Pair with whomever you like, they say? Heh-heh-heh… I never know when I might perish, so I do not forge such bonds… I need not another such soul-rending farewell. If that was love, then I have no need of it!” His eyes glazed over as he stared out the window. He probably saw the image of some beloved princess of his floating in the sky. Or maybe everyone just likes Fist of the North Star too much.
Well, if you’ve come this far, no matter how thick you are, you’ve got to have noticed by now. This guy is a little…you know.
“What do you want, Zaimokuza?”
“Hngh, you have voiced the name that is carved on my soul. I am indeed the Master Swordsman General, Yoshiteru Zaimokuza.” His trench coat fluttered vigorously, rustling as he stretched his chubby face into an exaggeratedly handsome expression and turned to face me. He was completely in character with the Master Swordsman General identity he’d created. Just watching him made my head throb. Actually, it hurt my soul more than it did my head, and Yukinoshita’s and Yuigahama’s daggerlike stares hurt even more than that.
“Hey…what’s that?” Displeasure—or rather, discomfort—etched on her face, Yuigahama glowered at me. Why was I the one getting glowered at?
“This is Yoshiteru Zaimokuza… We’re partners in gym class.” Frankly, it was nothing more and nothing less than that. That was all there was to our relationship. I guess it wasn’t entirely wrong to say that we were partners for the purpose of surviving that “hellish time.”
Seriously, having to pick partners for stuff was hell.
And because Zaimokuza was so painful to watch, he understood the bitterness of that moment as well.
Zaimokuza and I had first paired up in gym class because we were the only two left, and ever since then, we’ve always been paired together. Frankly, he had such a bad case of M-2 syndrome that I wanted to trade him off to another team. Unable to manage it, though, I’d given up. I’d also thought about declaring myself a free agent, but unfortunately, signing someone of my caliber was just so expensive that it hadn’t gone well. Wasn’t that right? Yeah, no. It was just that neither of us had any friends.
Yukinoshita listened to my explanation while she compared Zaimokuza and me. And then, as if satisfied, she nodded. “This is what they call ‘birds of a feather flocking together,’ huh?” She’d reached the worst possible conclusion.
“Don’t be stupid. You can’t lump the two of us together. I’m not that painfully awkward. And we don’t flock together, anyway!”
“Heh, I concur. We are indeed no friends… I’m so alone, hee-hee!” Zaimokuza smiled sadly in self-deprecation. Oh, he was back to normal now.
“Not that I care, but doesn’t this friend of yours have some business with you?”
Her words brought me nearly to tears. The word friend hadn’t sounded so sad since middle school. Not since Kaori-chan told me, You’re nice, and I like you, but I don’t know about dating… Yeah, let’s be friends. I don’t need friends like that.
“Mwa-ha-ha-ha-ha, I nearly forgot! Incidentally, Hachiman, is this the place of meeting for the Service Club?” Zaimokuza, back in character, looked at me while belting out an odd guffaw.
What the heck was with that laugh? This was my first time hearing it.
“Yes, this is the Service Club,” Yukinoshita replied in my stead.
Zaimokuza glanced at her for an instant before immediately returning his gaze to me. Seriously, why did people keep looking at me today? “I-is that so? If it is as the sage Hiratsuka advised me, then, Hachiman, you are obligated to grant my wish, are you not? To think that we would yet be master and servant, even after all these centuries… Is this the guidance of the great Bodhisattva Hachiman?”
“The Service Club will not necessarily grant your wishes. We can only help you to achieve your goals yourself,” droned Yukinoshita.
“Heh. Mm-hmm… Then lend your aid to me, Hachiman. Heh-heh-heh… This reminds me of how we once attempted, as comrades in arms, to seize hold of the land.”
“What happened to the master-and-servant thing? And why do you keep looking at me like that?”
“A-hem, a-hum! Between you and I, such trifling details are unimportant. I shall make a special exception in this case.” Zaimokuza made some contrived throat-clearing noises in an attempt to cover up his inconsistency and regarded me as he had before. “My apologies. It appears that in this era, the hearts of men are corrupted, compared to the days of yore. I miss the purity of the Muromachi era… Don’t you, Hachiman?”
“No. Go die.”
“Heh-heh-heh. I do not fear death. On the other side, I would merely take the kingdom of heaven for mine own.” Zaimokuza raised his hands up high as his coat rustled and fluttered.
The word die didn’t seem to bother him that much.
I’m the same way. When you’re used to getting insulted and abused, you just get good at striking back, or rather, compartmentalizing it. What a sad skill. I’m crying right now.
“Whoa…” Yuigahama was cringing, and she’d gone somewhat pale.
“Hikigaya, come,” Yukinoshita said, tugging my sleeve and whispering in my ear. “What is that ‘Master Swordsman General’ stuff?” Such a cute face and pleasant smell so close to me, and yet her words completely lacked eroticism.
One word was enough to answer her question. “That’s M-2 syndrome. M-2 syndrome.”
“Em-too syndrome?” Yukinoshita cocked her head and gaped at me. I noticed that the shape of the girl’s lips when she made the oo sound was super-cute. What a mysterious discovery.
Yuigahama, who’d been listening intently, joined in the conversation. “He’s sick?”
“He’s not actually sick. It’s just slang.”
Put it simply, M-2 syndrome referred to a range of behaviors common to second-year middle schoolers who were too awkward to look at. But even within that category, Zaimokuza’s case was terminal. We’re talking full-blown “evil eye” territory.
He yearned for the kinds of abilities or special powers that appeared in manga, anime, games, and light novels, and he actually acted as if he possessed them. Of course, once you had powers, you had to create a premise where you were the reincarnation of a legendary warrior or chosen by the gods or a secret service elite in order to explain the origins of those powers. And then you would act based on that premise.
So then why did he do this?
Because it was cool.
I think most middle schoolers have fantasized about that sort of thing at least once. You’ve stood in the mirror before and practiced saying something like All you ladies and gentlemen watching Countdown TV, good evening! Well now, tonight I’ve written the lyrics for this song on the theme of frank love…right?
In a nutshell, M-2 syndrome was an extreme example of that.
I briefly explained the affliction, and Yukinoshita seemed to understand. It never ceased to impress me how swiftly her mind operated. It was as though if you explained one to her, she’d understand all the way up until ten. She had an aptitude for grasping the heart of the matter with little explanation.
“I don’t get it,” Yuigahama muttered. In contrast to Yukinoshita, Yuigahama stood with her mouth hanging open unpleasantly, as if she were saying, Duuuuuh? Well, even I wouldn’t have gotten it from that brief an explanation. Yukinoshita was the weird one here for catching on so quickly.
“Hmph. So essentially, it’s as if he’s role-playing within a setting of his own design.”
“That’s basically it. He’s basing his character off Yoshiteru Ashikaga, the thirteenth shogun of the Muromachi period. It was probably just easy for him to go with that because they have the same name.”
“Why does he see you as his ally?”
“I think he’s just taking the name Hachiman and thinking of the Bodhisattva Hachiman. The Seiwa Genji clan zealously worshipped him as a god of war. You know about the Tsurugaoka Hachiman shrine, right? The one in Kamakura?” I replied, and Yukinoshita suddenly went silent. When I cast her a questioning glance, she opened her big eyes wide and considered me.
“I’m surprised. You know a lot about it.”
“I guess.” I felt unpleasant memories rising within me, so I looked away and avoided the subject while I was at it. “Zaimokuza is incredibly anal over citations and historical facts, but at least his fantasies are history based, so they’re not as bad as they could be.”
Yukinoshita gave Zaimokuza a sidelong glare, and with a look of utter contempt, she asked, “It gets worse than that?”
“Yep.”
“Just for my own reference, what sort of fantasies are we talking about?”
“Well, originally, there were seven gods in the world. Three gods of creation—Garan, the Wise Emperor; Methika, Goddess of War; Hearthia, Protector of Souls—three gods of destruction—Olto, the Foolish King; Rogue of the Lost Temple; Lai-Lai the Paranoid—and the eternally missing god, the Nameless God. These seven gods are eternally repeating cycles of prosperity and decline. This is the seventh time they’ve remade the world, and to make certain that this time they can prevent its destruction, the Japanese government is looking for the reincarnations of these gods. The most important god among these seven is the eternally missing god, the Nameless God, whose powers are yet unknown, and this missing god is me, Hiki… Hey, you’re really good at leading questions! You really freaked me out there! I was just about to go into detail.”
“I didn’t prompt any of that.”
“So creepy.”
“Watch what you say, Yuigahama, or I might inadvertently kill myself.”
Yukinoshita sighed, a look of disgust on her face as she again compared me and Zaimokuza and said, “In other words, you and it are of the same breed. So that’s why you know so much about his ‘Master Swordsman General’ nonsense.”
“No, no, no. What are you talking about, Yukinoshita? Of course that’s not true. I just know a lot about it because of other stuff, you know? I chose to take Japanese history, okay? I played Nobunaga’s Ambition, okay?”
“Mm-hmm?” Yukinoshita gave me a look that said, Guilty until proven innocent.
But even under her gaze, I would not falter, because I was not like Zaimokuza. I could confidently return Yukinoshita’s gaze, as she was in error.
I am not the same as Zaimokuza. I was the same as Zaimokuza.
Hachiman is a fairly rare name, so I had a phase where I thought I might be special in some way. Having liked anime and manga since I was little, it was inevitable I’d fall prey to such delusions. Everyone, at one point or another, lies in bed at night and imagines they have some kind of hidden powers and that one day those powers will suddenly awaken—entangling them in a battle to determine the fate of the world—and keeps a Diary of the Celestial Realm in preparation for the time that will come, and writes a quarterly report for the government about it, right? You don’t?
“Well, you know. Maybe I was like that as a kid, but not anymore.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Yukinoshita smiled mischievously, leaving me and approaching Zaimokuza.
Watching her go, the thought suddenly crossed my mind: Am I really so different from him?
The answer was yes.
I don’t have those stupid delusions anymore. I don’t write in my Celestial Diary anymore or write reports for the government anymore. The most I write these days is a list of people I hate, and the first name on that list is, of course, Yukinoshita.
I don’t assemble Gundam models and play with them while making action noises or combine clothespins to make the ultimate robot. I’ve also outgrown training with self-defense weapons made from rubber bands and aluminum foil. I’ve stopped cosplaying with my dad’s long coat and my mom’s fake fur scarf.
Zaimokuza and I were different.
While I uncertainly arrived at that conclusion, Yukinoshita stood before Zaimokuza, and Yuigahama whispered, “Yukinoshita, run!”
Pretty sad, am I right?
“I think I understand. Your request is for us to cure your mental illness, isn’t that right?”
“Hachiman, I have come to this place so that my wish might be granted, as per my agreement with thee. I hath but a single wish to ask of ye, though it is a truly noble and sublime ambition.” Zaimokuza turned away from Yukinoshita to address me directly. He was mixing up his second-person pronouns and throwing in hath to boot. How confused was this guy?
That was when I noticed something. Whenever Yukinoshita spoke to him, that idiot would turn my way instead. Well, I got why. If I didn’t know what Yukinoshita was really like, she’d have flustered me every time she talked to me, and I wouldn’t have been able to look her in the eye, either.
But Yukinoshita lacked the empathy of the average individual. She wouldn’t treat a man and his innocent feelings with any kind of sensitivity. “I’m the one speaking here. Look at me when I’m talking to you,” she said coldly, grabbing Zaimokuza’s collar and forcing him to face forward. Yes, though completely lacking in manners herself, Yukinoshita was incredibly fussy over the manners of others. So fussy that I’d even started giving her a formal greeting every time I walked into the clubroom.
When Yukinoshita let go of his collar, Zaimokuza hacked away, coughing for real. Apparently, this wasn’t the time to be in character. “M-mwa…mwa-ha-ha-ha. You caught me with mine guard down!”
“And stop talking like that.”
Her cold treatment caused Zaimokuza to fall silent and examine his shoes.
“Why are you wearing a long coat at this time of year?”
“Ahem-hem. This cloak is armor that protects mine body from miasma and is one of the twelve sacred treasures I have always had in mine possession. With each of my reincarnations, I change it to a form most appropriate for that body. Fwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Stop talking like that.”
“Oh, okay…”
“Then what are those fingerless gloves? Is there a meaning to them? Your fingertips are left unprotected.”
“Oh, yes. Um…I inherited these from my past life, and they’re one of mine twelve sacred treasures, special gauntlets known as Overamd, from which I fire my Diamond Shot. ’Tis easier to use that skill with my fingertips free…and that’s why! Fwa-ha-ha-ha-ha!”
“Stop.”
“Ha-ha-ha! Ha-ha-ha…ha…” His laugh, which had begun as a hearty one, turned a little sad and wet sounding near the end. After that, he went quiet.
Then, as if she’d taken pity on him, Yukinoshita’s expression did a one-eighty, turning kind. “Anyway, you want us to cure that illness of yours, I take it?”
“Uh, I’m not sick, though,” Zaimokuza said very quietly, averting his eyes from her. He glanced at me uncomfortably. Now he was totally back to normal. Apparently, Zaimokuza lacked the capacity to stay in character with Yukinoshita staring straight at him, eyes blazing.
Agh! I can’t stand to watch this anymore! Zaimokuza was just too pathetic. It made me want to throw him a rope or something. Anyway, when I took a step to separate myself from the two of them, I heard something rustle at my feet. It was the source of the paper blizzard that had whipped through the room.
“This paper…” Lifting my eyes from the page, I looked around. They were printed in a fixed grid of forty-two by thirty-two characters and were scattered everywhere. I picked them up, one by one, and sorted them numerically.
“Oh-ho, as expected, you understand with no explication. It seems we did not endure that hellish time together for nothing.”
Completely ignoring Zaimokuza’s dramatic muttering, Yuigahama studied the stack in my hands. “What’s that?” I handed her the bundle of papers, and she flipped through, inspecting them. A question mark floated above her forehead as she attempted to read through it before she sighed deeply and returned the heap to me.
“I think it’s a novel draft.”
That got a reaction from Zaimokuza, and he cleared his throat to return us to the topic at hand.
“Your discernment obliges me. That is indeed the draft of a light novel. I’m thinking about submitting it to a contest for new writers, but as I have no friends, I have no one with whom to seek counsel. Please read it for me.”
“I feel like I just heard something very sad delivered very casually,” said Yukinoshita.
You could say that trying to write a light novel is the logical consequence of a case of M-2 syndrome. It is indeed reasonable to want to give shape to the things you’ve continually yearned for. It’s also perfectly normal to think, Well, I daydream a lot, so I can write! Furthermore, if you can make a living doing what you love, that’s a very fortuitous thing. So there was nothing mysterious about Zaimokuza writing a light novel. The mystery was why he was coming all this way to show it to us.
“There’s submission sites and threads and stuff. Why don’t you just post it online?”
“I cannot! Those people are without mercy. If I were to receive such harsh criticism from them, I think I’d die.”
What a wimp.
But it’s true that people on the Internet, whose faces you can’t see, can be pretty blunt and inconsiderate, while friends will be kind and gentle and say placating things. Most people with the sort of relationship I had with Zaimokuza would find it hard to be harsh. There’s something about looking someone in the eye that makes it hard to give them a biting critique. You’d probably put it as delicately as possible. That is to say, most people would.
“But you know…”
I glanced to the side with a sigh. When my eyes met Yukinoshita’s, she looked puzzled. “I think Yukinoshita would be more merciless than a submission site.”
Yukinoshita, Yuigahama, and I all took home copies of the draft that Zaimokuza had given us and decided to spend the night reading it.
If I were to categorize Zaimokuza’s novel as a certain genre, I’d call it a school superhero story. Set in a certain urban region of Japan, it had secret organizations, people with superpowers and memories of their past lives, scheming, and then the main character—the kind of normal boy you’d see anywhere—has his hidden powers awaken. Finally, there’s a big spectacle of the hero defeating one villain after another.
By the time I was done reading it, the sun was rising, so I ended up sleeping through most of my classes the next day. But even so, I somehow got through a listless sixth period, endured a short homeroom, and decided to go to the clubroom.
“Hey! Wait, wait!” Just as I was entering the special-use building, I heard a voice calling out behind me. When I turned, I saw Yuigahama running up to me with a thin bag over her shoulder. She seemed particularly energetic as she came up to walk beside me. “Hikki, you look tired! What’s wrong?”
“Come on, of course I’m tired after reading that brick! I’m so sleepy. Actually, I’d like to know how you could read that thing and still have energy the next day.”
“Huh?” Yuigahama blinked. “Oh, o-of course. Man, I’m so tired.”
“You didn’t read it, did you?”
Yuigahama didn’t reply to my question. She just started humming something while looking out the window. She was trying to play dumb, but there was sweat dripping off her cheeks and the back of her neck. I’d have liked seeing her blouse turn transparent…
Opening the door to the clubroom, I caught a rare glimpse of Yukinoshita dozing off.
“Long night, huh?” I commented, but she continued breathing softly in her sleep. She was almost smiling, an expression quite different from her usual flawless mask, and seeing this new side of her made my heart race.
I started feeling as though I wouldn’t mind watching her tender, sleeping face forever…her gently swaying black hair…her smooth, pale, almost translucent skin…her large, misty eyes, and her well-shaped pink lips…
“You surprised me. That face of yours woke me up completely.”
Ack… That remark right there just woke me up, too. I almost let her appearance deceive me and lost my head. I’d like to send this girl to an eternal sleep.
Yukinoshita yawned broadly like a cat, raising both hands above her head and stretching high.
“From the look of it, you had a pretty rough night, too.”
“Yes, it’s been a long time since I last stayed up all night, and I’ve never read anything of this nature before… I don’t think I’ll be able to get into this genre.”
“Yeah, me either,” Yuigahama said.
“You didn’t even read it. Read it now, come on!” At my insistence, Yuigahama groaned and pulled said draft from her bag. It was in mint condition without a single crease. Yuigahama flipped through it at an unnaturally fast pace. She read it like it was the most boring thing in the world, seriously. Leaning in from the side to watch, I opened my mouth to speak.
“Zaimokuza’s draft isn’t representative of all light novels. There’s a lot of good ones,” I said, fully acknowledging that I wasn’t being very supportive of Zaimokuza.
Yukinoshita tilted her head and listened. “Like the one you were reading the other day?”
“Yeah, that one’s interesting. I recommend Gaga—”
“When I get the chance.” There is a law that says, People who say that will never actually read it. I keenly felt that law come into effect at that exact moment as someone knocked wildly on the clubroom door.
“Good morrow.” Zaimokuza entered with an archaic salutation. “Now then, let me hear your impressions.” He sat down in a chair with a thud and crossed his arms arrogantly. His expression had an edge of smug superiority, his face brimming with confidence.
Opposite him sat Yukinoshita, looking unusually apologetic. “I’m sorry. I don’t really know much about this sort of thing…,” she prefaced.
Zaimokuza’s response was generous. “I care not. I wanted to ask the opinions of normal folk. Say what you will about it.”
Yukinoshita replied with a brief, “Sure,” took a small breath, and readied herself.
“It was boring. It was actually painful to read. It was boring beyond anything I had imagined.”
“Gagh!”
She cut the poor bastard down in a single strike. Rattling in his chair, Zaimokuza was thrown back in his seat, but he somehow managed to right himself again.
“First of all, your grammar is all over the place. Why do you constantly put sentences in reverse order? Do you know how to use grammar? Did you not learn that in elementary school?”
“Nghh… I used a simple style in order to give the reader an impression of intimacy…”
“Don’t you think you should be capable of writing basic Japanese before you think about that? Plus, there are so many errors in the kanji readings you’re sticking in there. You don’t read the characters for ‘ability’ as ‘strength.’ And how on earth does something written with the characters for ‘illusory red blade flash’ get pronounced as ‘bloody nightmare slasher’—in English? Where did that ‘nightmare’ come from, anyway?”
“Geh! U-ugh… No! These days they come up with distinctive names for superpowers.”
“This is just self-indulgence. Nobody but you will understand it. Do you want people to actually read this? Oh yes, speaking of getting people to read it, it’s so obvious what’s going to happen in this book that it’s not in the least bit suspenseful. And why does the heroine take off her clothes in this part? There’s absolutely no need for it in that scene, and it’s utterly dull.”
“Ergh! B-but you need…elements like that in order to sell, um…”
“And these other sentences are too long, too verbose, have too many characters, and are too hard to read. Or perhaps I should just ask that you not make people read an incomplete story. Before acquiring some literary skills, you first should acquire some common sense.”
“Gyagh!” Zaimokuza threw out all four of his limbs and emitted a shriek. His shoulders twitched spasmodically. His eyes rolled back to the ceiling, showing only the whites. His overreactions were starting to get annoying, and I thought it was about time for him to stop.
“That’s enough,” I said. “Laying that all on him at once is a little much.”
“I’m still not done, but…fine, then. So next is Yuigahama?”
“Huh? M-me?!” Yuigahama replied in surprise. Zaimokuza turned to her and gave her a pleading look. His eyes were blurry with tears. Seeing this, and understandably feeling sorry for him, Yuigahama stared into space and tried to look for something to praise. “U-um… Y-you know a lot of difficult words, huh?” she squeezed out.
“So cruel—ngf!”
“You didn’t have to finish him off there…”
Those words were practically taboo to an aspiring writer. I mean, saying that means there was nothing else praiseworthy about it, you know? It’s something that people who don’t really read a lot of light novels often say when asked to give their opinion, but saying that is basically the same thing as saying, That was boring.
“O-okay, you next, Hikki.” Yuigahama stood from her seat and offered it to me as if making her escape. She sat me down directly opposite Zaimokuza and deposited herself daintily in a seat behind me and to the side.
Zaimokuza had already burned himself out. He was all pale, and I couldn’t stand to look him in the eye. “G-gngh. H-Hachiman. You get it, right? You understand the world I created, the horizons of the book. None of these fools can comprehend it, but you understand the depth of my tale, don’t you?”
Yes, I understand.
I nodded to put him at ease. Zaimokuza’s eyes told me, I trust you.
It would have made me less of a man had I failed to reply here. I took a deep breath and said kindly, “So what’re you ripping off here?”
“Bfft?! Gerk… eergh…” Zaimokuza rolled around writhing on the floor, and when he hit the wall, he stopped and lay still without a twitch. His empty eyes looked up at the ceiling, and a single tear streaked down his cheek. His message of Oh, I guess I’ll just die was abundantly clear.
“You’re merciless. That was even crueler than me.” Yukinoshita was quite taken aback.
“Hey…” Yuigahama poked my side with her elbow. She seemed to be saying, You have something else to say, right? What should I have said…? I thought for a bit before remembered I’d forgotten to raise the most basic point.
“Well, the important part is the illustrations. Don’t worry too much about the content.”
Zaimokuza gasped in and out, going through some Lamaze technique to calm himself before pushing himself to his feet, trembling like a newborn baby deer. Then he smacked the dust off his clothes and turned straight to me.
“Will you read my work again sometime?” I doubted my ears for a moment. He repeated himself in a clearer, stronger voice. “Will you read my work again sometime?” He regarded both me and Yukinoshita expectantly.
“Are you—”
“—a masochist?” Yuigahama, hiding in my shadow, cast Zaimokuza a loathing leer. It was as if she were saying, Die, you pervert. No, that wasn’t his problem.
“You still wanna do that after having your book chewed up like that?”
“Of course. Your criticism was indeed harsh. I even thought that maybe I should just die, because it’s not like I can get girls, and I don’t have any friends anyway. I was actually thinking that everyone but me should just die.”
“Yeah, I’ll bet. If someone said all that to me, I’d want to die, too.” But having taken all those hits, Zaimokuza could still say that.
“But…but even so, it made me happy. I wrote that because I wanted to, and I’m glad I could have someone read it and give me their opinion. I cannot say as of yet what I should call this feeling I have right now, but…having someone read my draft does please me,” he declared, smiling. It wasn’t the Master Swordsman General’s smile; it was Yoshiteru Zaimokuza’s smile.
Oh, I get it.
He didn’t just have M-2 syndrome. He was afflicted with a full-blown writer’s fever. Wanting to write because you want to write, because you have something to say…feeling happy when what you’ve written moves someone, and then wanting to write over and over…carrying on even in the face of the disapproval of others… I think that was what they called the writing bug.
I had to read it. Because, I mean, this was his goal: the result of his M-2 syndrome. This was the vindication of his struggle to give shape to his fantasies. Even after being treated like a sicko, being frowned upon and laughed at, he never yielded and never surrendered.
“When I’ve written something new, I’ll bring it here.” He left those words behind and turned from us, leaving the club with dignified steps. The door he closed after him seemed awfully dazzling.
Even if it’s twisted, childish, or wrong, if you can commit to it, it has to be right. If having someone deny your ability is enough to make you change, then it isn’t your dream, and it isn’t you. That was why Zaimokuza was fine the way he was.
Aside from the creepy parts.
A few days passed after that. It was sixth period. The final class of the day was gym. Zaimokuza and I were, as usual, paired up. That was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Hachiman. What divinely skilled artist is popular these days?”
“You’re getting ahead of yourself. Think about that after you’ve won that contest.”
“Hmm. ’Tis so. The problem is where I should make my debut…”
“Why do you keep assuming you’re going to win?”
“If I get popular and it gets made into an anime, maybe I can marry a voice actress?”
“Come on. Enough of that. First, write your draft. Okay?”
That was basically how Zaimokuza and I started talking during gym class. If anything changed, that was the extent of it. It’s not like we talked about anything important. Our conversations weren’t especially uplifting, and we didn’t burst into laughter like the people around us. The things we talked about were neither fashionable nor cool. It was nothing but pathetic nonsense. Even I thought it was dumb. I honestly wondered what the point of these conversations was.
But, at the very least, I didn’t hate gym class anymore.
That was basically it.
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