NHK ni Youkoso! Vol 1 Chapter 5

Chapter 05
A Humbert Humbert for
The Twenty-First Century
Part One
"Take fireflies, for example. Try to imagine their beauty, the evanescent
beauty of their lives, which don't even last a week.
"Female fireflies flash their lights only to have intercourse with the
males; males twinkle just to have intercourse with the females. And once
their mating has finished, they die. In short, their reproductive instinct is
the single, absolute reason for fireflies to live. In that simple instinct and
their simple world, no kind of sadness can intervene. This is precisely
why fireflies are so fleetingly beautiful. Ah! Fireflies are the best!
"In contrast, please consider the human species this time. You'll find
extremely complex society before you.
"I believe Freud stated something like 'Humans are creatures with 
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broken instincts.' Whenever I deal with any kind of frustration, rage, or
sadness in life, I can't help but to remember those words.
"Modern concepts such as 'love' and 'romance' have made man, this
creature with broken instincts, bury his original nature. It's all a lie, of
course. To cover up the deception, mankind has to create still more
entirely new concepts. This is why the world becomes increasingly
complex with each new day.
"However, that complexity cannot hide the various contradictions
born from our broken instincts. They create hopelessly fundamental
oppositions: words and instinct, ideas and the physical self, reason and
s.e.xual desire. These opposing concepts are like two snakes biting at each
other's tails. The two snakes constantly are locked in a fierce battle for
superiority, so they turn and turn, causing us more and more pain.
"Do you understand? Do you get what I'm explaining? What? You
don't understand the meaning at all? Well, that's okay.
"What I'm trying to say—"
I threw my pillow at Yamazaki. "Shut up! Die!"
Yamazaki, seated on top of the kotatsu, bent back his upper body to
avoid the pillow and quietly continued his speech. "Because of our
broken instincts, we are in pain. We continue in pain because our
instincts have been twisted by reason. So, what are we supposed in do?
Should we abandon knowledge? Throw away reason? In any event, that
wouldn't be possible. For better or worse, we ate the fruit of knowledge
long, long ago. This was written in that religious pamphlet 'Awaken!'
that I got from that woman earlier."
"What?! What the h.e.l.l are you thinking, waking me up at two
o'clock in the morning, starting an unreasonably obscure speech and 
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drinking in my room?"
"Our reason and instinct are in opposition, but we can't get rid of
either one. Given that, what are we meant to do? Compromise
appropriately and start trying to date girls? Get married and try having
kids? That is, after all, the conventional path. However, I discovered. . .
women. . . those things just aren't human. Instead, they may, in fact, be
closer to monsters. About a year ago, I realized the truth. While I was
working at a convenience store to earn my tuition, all kinds of things
happened. They're really terrible memories, and I don't want to think
about them anymore." Having said all this in one breath, Yamazaki took
a second beer from my fridge.
Before I could stop him, he opened the pull tab and guzzled it down
in one swallow.
Suddenly, he screamed, "Women are c.r.a.p! Screw women!"
Yamazaki's face was alarmingly red. He already seemed to be drunk.
He gets drunk quickly yet keeps drinking all the time, anyway. I once
wondered if he might not be a budding alcoholic; then, at some point, he
explained, "My family home in Hokkaido was a wine factory. I've been
drinking since I was in middle school. Don't worry about me—I'm
totally fine!"
I wasn't sure which part of him was totally fine. Once Yamazaki got
drunk, he wouldn't stop his tirades until he ran out of steam, even if you
yelled or ignored him. I'd learned this the hard way.
I had no idea what to do with him.
Then he seemed to deflate; his shoulders dropped with his voice.
"Women are c.r.a.p. There are still times when I'd like to date a girl,
though. I'm human, after all, and that can't be helped. . . Anyway, I had 
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another terrible experience. There was the cutest girl in my cla.s.s. Her
name was Nanako. At my school, where otaku girls from around the
country gather, she alone had a decent-looking face. I don't even have to
tell you that I'm rather good looking myself. My delicate body and
attractive features got me picked on and teased by the girls in grade
school—now, though, I figured that my good looks had to be
advantageous.
"I said to Nanako 'Let's go out!' She replied, 'Sorry, Yamazaki, but
you're kind of, you know. . . On top of that, I'm dating Kazuo.'
"What do you mean by 'you know'? What am I 'kind of''? And by
Kazuo, you mean that greasy guy? I. . . I went out of my way to confess
my feelings for you politely, so what's this all about?!"
Yamazaki waved both arms around, shouting, "Know your place,
you b.i.t.c.h! I mean, you could at least let me do you! Don't screw around
with me!"
I felt an intense wave of fear. It seemed I had stumbled upon another
of his hidden facets. As if noticing my appalled expression, Yamazaki
hurriedly gave me a big fake smile. "Ha! Ha ha ha! No, no, I'm just
kidding. Just a joke! How could a guy like me have confessed anything to
a girl? Real-life women are all c.r.a.p, anyway. Ever since the time in
middle school when I was almost raped by my big sister's friends, I gave
up on them."
This was an even more shocking disclosure. Trying to appear
composed, I continued smoking my cigarette. Meanwhile, Yamazaki's
voice became increasingly loud. "Or something! That was all a lie.
Everything I've said has been lies. Ha ha ha, I'm a little drunk, huh? Eh?
What's wrong, Satou? Don't look at me like that. What's with those 
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expressions that seem to mix pity, derision, and fear? Don't. . . don't look
at me. Don't look at me with those eyes!"
I had no idea in the least what I should do.
I guess Yamazaki basically was trying to say that women screw up men.
"Real women aren't decent at all. Being human is about our instinct
for s.e.x with women. Our reason naturally would reject women, yet our
instinct really, really desires nothing more than s.e.x with women. So,
we're in trouble." This seemed to be the way his discussion was heading.
Why are you telling me this?! I wanted to yell at him. However, like a
grown-up, I endured it.
Thinking about it, he really was an unfortunate person. Because of
modern society's own warped nature, his mental state likewise had
become thoroughly twisted.
Poor guy.
"No, don't feel sorry for me!"
"Calm down. Hey, here's an idea! Why not go to a brothel? If you
do, maybe this confusion will be cleared away."
"Haven't I just been explaining this? How I don't even notice real
women?
"What other kinds of women are there, besides real women?" The
second I asked him this, he s.h.i.+fted and looked as though he were about
to break into tears at any second. Then, his expression turned to pride.
Grinning slyly, he said, "They're right nearby, aren't they? You
haven't realized yet? Satou, this week, you must have been overcome by
their charms, too." 
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I was speechless.
'You realize now what I'm trying to say, don't you, Satou?"
I blinked.
"How lovable," he continued, "are the girls who live in the twodimensional
world. How wonderful are those girls inside my monitor."
All right, given his lengthy speech, I had to at least acknowledge
Yamazaki's pa.s.sion. "Okay, Yamazaki, erotic games have an amazing
culture."
"As long as you understand, that's all that matters. Erotic games are
the sole signpost guiding human reason to triumph over instinct. So long
as we have erotic games, we don't need anything more to do with real
women. Erotic games are our hope. So, Satou, have you just about
finished your plan for the game?"
"J-just a little longer. . . Anyway, don't you think the games you lent
me are sort of skewed?"
"Skewed how?"
"Well, you know. . . I mean, the characters in the games are a bit too
young; like, the heroines all appear to be no more than elementary
school children. . . "
"Ha! What are you saying now, Satou? This isn't like you. To start
with, the heroines of erotic games are no more than fictional characters,
drawn with two-dimensional computer graphics. In order to express
innocence, purity, and femininity, there's no personification more
appropriate than a little girl, is there? We're relaxed by the symbol of the
little girl. And when they're 2D characters, they have no chance of
dealing any blows to our fragile emotional state. On top of that, the
motif becomes that of the weakest character possible in social, physical, 
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and emotional senses—the little girl. Because of that double safety lock,
we are protected from being hurt, and we can escape the fear of being
rejected. That is to say, this is the true meaning of moe: ideal, young,
innocent femininity. Do you understand? You do understand, don't
you?"
I mulled over his words. . . I don't understand at all! I tried to scream,
but by that time, Yamazaki already had disappeared from my room.
On top of my kotatsu, he'd left a present: a single CD.
Part Two
I thought carefully about it the next morning. It sounded like Yamazaki
had been dumped by a girl previously. In response, he'd gotten drunk in
despair and had decided, "Screw real women—I have erotic games!" At
least, that might explain what had happened.
However, if that were the whole story, he wouldn't have had to go
out of his way to share his embarra.s.sment with me. He hadn't needed to
declare that he was this huge lolicon. He had hedged the confession with
a rather incomprehensible theory; ultimately, though, he was still I
lolicon who liked erotic games. He was dangerous. Or, at the very least,
Yamazaki was more dangerous than I had ever imagined.
When I put the CD he had left the night before into my computer, I
was horrified by the contents. This was no good; it was too dangerous.
The 700MB CD-R had been stuffed with JPEG images. They were
photographs—portraits of a girl who appeared to be in the latter years of 
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elementary school. Worse, she was completely naked. In short, they
were nude photos.
Deliberately, I closed the curtains of my room. The recent child
p.o.r.nography laws made this CD way too dangerous. Although
innocent, I could be thrown in jail, all because of Yamazaki. What the
h.e.l.l was he thinking? Just constrain yourself to some CG, dammit! I wanted
to berate him, but he was at the Yoyogi Animation Inst.i.tute.
On my fifteen inch computer display, the naked girl smiled perkily.
My chest hurt, and I couldn't breathe. Holding my head, I decided
to explore the entirety of the CD, for the time being. As I did, I found a
text file, which I opened in a text editor. It was a message from
Yamazaki.
"Well, what do you think, Satou? You're pretty scared, aren't you?
Remember, in order to make a high-quality erotic game, you need realworld
references. Please, let these real-life images fill your imagination.
This is Rika Nis.h.i.+mura's photo book. She's known as the greatest
treasure of the lolicon world. Because they're all soft-core images, you
can relax. Okay then, let's make a great erotic game using Rika's smile!"
That b.a.s.t.a.r.d! I trembled with rage. For one thing, when had I even
agreed to make a Lolita-style erotic game? Oh, come on, don't push your
tastes onto me.
Hm. It occurred to me when I considered it more carefully—maybe
he was trying to convert me!?
It might have been different back in the time of Genji Hikari; in the
modern age, however, society considers lolicons deviants to be
destroyed. Thus, it must be extremely difficult to find others to share
your interests. That must be why Yamazaki planned to make me his 
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partner in creating an erotic game, into one of his lolicon pals.
No, these suspicions of mine were, plainly put, nothing more than
simple guesses, and he simply might be trying to make a high-quality
erotic game. After all, in the current erotic game scene, games with little
girl heroines were fairly common. In fact, it could even be said that
Lolita-type characters directly symbolized this diseased media genre.
Now that I thought about it, another description for an erotic game
was to call it a bishoujo game. Not a "beautiful woman" game but a
"beautiful girl" game. I thought that some deep nexus of the problem was
hidden around this point.
What will happen to j.a.pan, where these bishoujo games are establis.h.i.+ng a
huge market? Pretending to consider this lofty social problem, I forced
myself to stop worrying. Then, timidly, I loaded the Rika Nis.h.i.+mura
photo collection onto my computer screen.
A few seconds pa.s.sed.
I shuddered. . . Rika Nis.h.i.+mura was actually pretty cute.
"N-no, no! I'm just temporarily confused!" In my dim, six-mat, oneroom
apartment, my cry echoed emptily. And Rika smiled at me with
that innocent smile, displaying her protruding ribs, her endlessly pliant
body.
I gulped and clicked the mouse with trembling fingers. The next
image was displayed on the monitor. Oh, Rika. . .
This is wrong! I raised my head and, with the entire force of my body,
slammed it into the wall. It made a thumping sound. Tears fell from my
eyes. It hurt. Yet Rika was still smiling. . . Oh, Rika.
No, no!
I hurriedly opened Internet Explorer. Right! The problem was 
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simply that Rika herself was too cute; that didn't mean I was a lolicon or
anything. I just happen to be affected by her beauty, but I'm still normal. To
prove it, I needed to find other Lolita images on the Internet. It was
obvious that any Lolita images other than Rika's wouldn't excite me in
the least.
However, thanks to the new child p.o.r.nography laws, it was much
more difficult to find Lolita images on the Internet than expected. I tried
skimming the surface, but all I found were fraudulent sites using
overseas telephone numbers.
But I'd be d.a.m.ned if anyone could doubt my net-surfing skills. I was
a veteran, with four years of intensive connection to the Internet. To
find valuable data, the best thing was to make the rounds on the message
boards. These were the laws of the wired world. I decided to start with a
'bot-style search engine to scan the p.o.r.no-image info message boards.
What was this? Several thousands of pages of results. . . Even after
refining my search conditions, I still got several hundred hits. There
were just too many.
For the moment, I tried opening the very first page. Instantly, with
frightening energy, a seemingly endless number of browser windows
opened on their own.
"Dammit! A trap!" I swore. It was one of those multiple-browseropening
attacks, using JavaScript, often found on pay pages. Even so, I
didn't flinch. Got it! It's too big a task for Internet Explorer.
For a case like this, I needed to switch to a tab browser. Tab
browsers: These excellent browsers allowed one to view multiple pages
at once, in a single window. I downloaded Donut, the browser widely
reputed to be most stable among the tab browsers, and opened in 
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immediately. Oh! This makes browsing so easy! At this rate, I would find
the page I was looking for soon.
I opened as many simultaneous pages as my computer's resources
would allow and searched them all. Lolita images, Lolita images. . . In new
tabs, I opened all the pages linked to the message boards, then clicking
on further links from the initial pages, and checking them all, top to
bottom. I was looking for an underground-type p.o.r.no message board.
Don't be tricked by pay pages! Beware of files with .exe extension! Suppress
the annoying ads with pop-up blocker software!
The hands on my clock advanced; outside my window, it was
already night. The blue-white glow of my monitor was the only light in
my six-mat, one-room apartment. Even the time it would have taken to
turn on the fluorescent lights would have been a waste. My wondrous,
G.o.dlike typing speed blows through the wide-open Internet with wild intuition!
Fear my light-speed mouse skills!
I'm an untamed beast!
I'm a wolf!
Part Three
When I returned to reality, a week had pa.s.sed. I liberated myself from
the mouse and keyboard for the first time in several dozen hours and
entered the bathroom. Reflected in the mirror was an unbelievably
dangerous person—in short, me. The stubble from not shaving, my
greasy hair, empty eyes, slack jaw. . . a dropout, unemployed hikikomori 
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who anyone would avoid, who no one would want to go near. . . a dirty,
disheveled, stinking, nightmarish. . .
A lolicon stood there.
"Ugh." I weakly slid onto the bathroom floor.
How could things have come to this?
What had been done could never be undone. I had. . . I had collected
Lolita images from all over the world. And I hadn't been satisfied with
images alone. I had even gotten involved with video data, in formats like
MPEG and RealMovie. My 30GB hard drive was full of the indecent
bodies of little girls who, in truth, I pitied.
I can’t go on. I just can’t go on. A lolicon hikikomori is pretty much the
worst thing ever. I'm less than human. I'm a monster. I can’t keep living. I can
never walk in the light of day again.
True, I certainly was a hikikomori. I was fairly certain that I wasn't a
lolicon, though. My tastes were pretty conventional, and I had, in fact,
even liked older women. Even so, now. . .
"Ahhh… hunh hunh!" Unbearable sobs poured forth, and my tears
gushed onto the floor. They were tears of atonement. Yes, I
acknowledged my mistakes, and I wanted to reform myself now. I
wanted to change. But it was already too late.
As soon as I had started whispering things to myself like, "Nozomi is
beautiful," I knew I was going to h.e.l.l. As soon as I had begun to mutter
thoughts like, "Kiyomi is amazing. Even for a first-year middle school
student, she's amazing," to myself, I was ready to fall into h.e.l.l. As soon as
I had begun to opine, "Wow, Russians are hardcore, and Americans do
terrible things, also," grinning to myself, I knew that there was a one
hundred percent chance that I was going to h.e.l.l. 
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I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I apologize, I didn't really want to do it. I didn't mean
any harm. It was just a joke at the start. But now. . .
"Argh!" It hurt. I was in pain. My chest hurt. My heart was breaking
with guilt. I didn't want to be a lolicon or anything of the sort. But now,
nonetheless, I was a first-rate lolicon hikikomori, the most worthless
piece of human garbage who ever lived.
Still, listen: You're wrong. You're making a mistake! I don't want to lock
up a girl in my room or anything like that! I don't want to kidnap anyone!
You're wrong. I'm not the one who committed that crime! Please, believe me!
Trust me! Don't look at me like that! Don't look at me!
But. . . red schoolbags. And recorders. And innocent girls playing in
the park. Gah!
"You want to play with big brother?"
"I'll give you candy."
"Just lift up your skirt."
"Let's play doctor."
"Here's your shot!"
I'm done for, done for, done for! I should die, die, die, right away. What's
that noise? Shut up. . .
"Satou! You're here, aren't you? Please, open up!" From somewhere
far away, someone was calling out, "Satou! Are you alive? Are you dead?
If you're alive, please open the door!"
Someone was pounding on my apartment door. I didn't have the
capacity to show myself in public anymore, though. Leave me alone. . .
"What, are you really not there? I just wanted to lend you this
marvelous illegal video."
Standing up, I wiped away my tears and opened the door.
Hearing my story, Yamazaki crumpled his face into a frown of pure 
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disgust. "You locked yourself up for a whole week and just collected
p.o.r.n? You're a failure as a human being."
"First off, this is all your fault."
"You say that, but I guess it's your nature, after all. Right, Satou?"
"D-d-don't you feel guilty, dragging me into this, and then saying
that?"
"I told you those were just character references, right? Look, Satou,
you're not normal at all if you've collected thirty gigs of p.o.r.n. I don't
even want to come close to you. Don't come near me—you're freaking
me out!"
"G-gr-grrrr!" As a result of intense rage, I literally saw red. Both of
my fists trembled.
"W-well, to change the mood, let's start talking seriously about our
plan for making the game. I'll lend you this tape, okay?"
s.n.a.t.c.hing the tape from his hands, I smashed it against my leg and
broke it in two. "Wh-wh-what are you. . . ?" Yamazaki stuttered.
At that moment, I saw my only escape from the lolicon world.
I glared at Yamazaki. "Yamazaki."
"What? Please, pay me back for the video."
"Lolicon material is inhuman; it's monstrous."
He was silent.
"Let's escape, let's escape together! If we don't get away right now,
we'll be lolicons until we die! Hurry!" Forcefully grabbing Yamazaki's
hand, I pulled him out of the room.
Stopping by Yamazaki’s room for his digital camera, we headed outside, 
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walking quickly through the town.
It was an early May afternoon. Although it was warm in town, there
were few people outside.
"Where are we going?"
Without answering, I kept trudging forward.
On the way, I ducked into a convenience store and bought a
disposable camera, which I gave to Yamazaki. I then continued to hurry
toward my destination, Yamazaki in tow.
It was three o'clock in the afternoon. The best time possible.
"A digital camera and a disposable camera? What in the world do
you want me to use this for?" Yamazaki asked, out of breath.
When I reached my destination, I answered, "Take a picture of me."
"Why?"
"Well, do you know where we are?"
"Hm. This looks like the front gate of an elementary school."
"Right, the Ikuta Elementary School, a public elementary school
with about five hundred students. And I'm going to hide in the shrubs in
front of the gate. Yamazaki, you hide, too. Hurry up!"
"Huh?"
"The end-of-the-day bell will ring soon. When that happens, the
students will come pouring out of this gate."
"That's true. So?"
"I'm going to take pictures."
"O-of what?"
"Of elementary school students."
He didn't say anything.
"I'm going to take some great pictures of beautiful little girls, using 
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your state-of-the-art digital camera."
Silence.
"You understand, Yamazaki? I'm going to sneak some pictures soon.
I'll hide and take pictures of little girls in the spring. I might even
'accidentally' take some panty shots. It'll be fine. If we stay still and hide
in these bushes, no one will find us. I'm going to photograph these
elementary school students. I'll take as many pictures as I can—only of
the cutest girls, of course."
The bell rang. In a few minutes, the students would come through
this gate.
"Yamazaki, you take pictures of me with that disposable camera.
Take as many pictures as you can of ugly me, the filthy lolicon guy, while
he's taking pictures of elementary school kids! You understand? This is
the only way we can escape from lolicon! You see that, right? You
understand? It's an ugly picture. However, at the same time, this is your
appearance, too. You need to burn this disgusting, pathetic, dirty
appearance onto that film. We'll develop it together and objectively look
at our own ugliness, dirtiness, and unsightliness. And then, we'll be able
to escape from lolicon and return to normal."
The voices of the little girls echoed out from the entrance to the
stairs. I readied the digital camera. Only a little more. . .
"Ready, Yamazaki?! I'm going to take the pictures. In just a moment,
the first girls will arrive. I'll secretly take their pictures! Then, you take
my picture! You get it? If you understand, answer me, Yamazaki.
"Oh, the first one is beautiful! In a white dress, black tights, and dark
brown boots, she's amazing! Moe, moe! Are you listening, Yamazaki?!
I'm clicking the shutter! Now, you click the shutter, too. Don't use the 
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flash, though—if you do, they'll find us and call the police right away.
"Ah, this thrill, this blood-boiling, flesh-crawling thrill. I'm excited!
My heart is pounding! Elementary school students nowadays are so
cute. I'm clicking the shutter! Click! Click! Nice shot!
"Let's call that wonderful elementary school student—she looks to be
about a sixth-grade girl—let's call her Sakura, for now. The second that
Sakura turned back around to meet her friends, I couldn't let that
perfect diagonal, forty-five degree angle get away from me! Heh heh heh,
are you listening, Yamazaki? Are you making sure to get photos of me,
Yamazaki? Capture every last detail of my hideous lolicon appearance,
or else I'll just be a normal pervert.
"Whoa! More and more students are pouring out of the building.
Look at those pretty girls, so full of life. I'm taking their pictures, taking
their pictures, taking their pictures! Blow, spring breeze! Rise up,
sudden wind! And lift up their skirts!
"Are you still there, Yamazaki? I'm looking into the digital camera's
finder, so I can't tell if you're there or not. You're standing diagonally
behind me, aren't you, Yamazaki? Be sure to photograph my distasteful
appearance. You understand, don't you? Come on, Yamazaki, are you
really listening? Hey, say something! I'm doing my best to get a panty
shot of these little kids. You should be infected by my enthusiasm and
doing your best, too. Are you listening? Hey, I said to say something!
Oh well, whatever. We are committing a crime, after all. If you're too
scared to talk, that's only natural. You have a soft voice, anyway.
"Hey, what do you know? Taking secret pictures is fun. And I am
ugly now. . . Hm, that's right—I didn't really want to become this sort of
sc.u.m. When I was little, my dream was to go to Tokyo University and 
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become a great scholar. I wanted to invent something that would help all
mankind. And now, I'm a lolicon hikikomori! You should cry. Yeah,
that's right. Cry! Shed tears for my repulsive appearance!
"We wanted to smile casually and happily each day; we wanted to
enjoy a normal, average, invigorating daily life. The incomprehensibly
rough waves of fate have made it impossible, though—so, cry in despair!
We really wanted to be useful to everyone, to be respected by everyone,
to live in harmony with everyone. Now, though, we're lolicon
hikikomori—so, cry in despair! You must cry!
"Oh, I'm sad. I'm so sad. But the elementary school kids are cute. I'm
excited.
"Ah. Ooh. My tears won't stop. The finder is fogging up, so I can't
see too well. But I'll keep taking pictures of these little girls—so,
Yamazaki, you need to work hard to keep taking pictures, too. It's sad,
but let's try hard. We can't stop crying, but let's do all we can. We'll do
our best to photograph the elementary school kids!
"Huh? What? Why are you suddenly tapping my shoulder? Is
something wrong? Hey, hey, cut it out. We're just getting to the good
part.
"See? Look at that one, the short-haired girl wearing knee socks.
She's so cute; I want to take her home. Put her under my arm like takeout
and carry her home. Eh? What a pain in the a.s.s you are. I'm busy
right now! Come on, what's wrong with you, Yamazaki. If you tap me
like that, the picture will blur. Hey, hey, you're really annoying me.
What happened to you, all of a sudden?"
"Satou! I said, Satou!"
"Shhh! Quiet, or we're going to get caught!" 
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"What are you doing in a place like this, Satou?"
"It should be obvious. That short-haired girl. . . "
"The girl?"
"Taking secret pict—"
At that moment, I just happened to take my eyes off the finder. As I
did, the palm resting on my shoulder entered the corner of my vision.
Those slender, pliable fingers couldn't possibly belong to a man. . .
I turned around.
Misaki was there. My heart started pumping at fifty times my
normal pulse rate.
A gentle breeze was blowing.
Time stopped.
Somewhere along the way, Yamazaki had disappeared, only to be
replaced by Misaki.
To make things worse, Misaki was decked out in her religious
outfit—the plain, long-sleeved dress and white parasol. Dressed like that
she was crouched down in the bushes with me.
"Wh-wh-when did you get here?"
"Just a few seconds ago."
I thought about asking how much of my frenzied prartle she had
heard, but I gave up. Either way, this was a huge crisis.
A shady man, digital camera hung around his neck, hiding in the
shadows near the gate of an elementary school. Anyone would take him
for a pervert—and rightfully so. I was already out of options. Gah! I'm 
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sorry, Mother and Father. I wasn't content with dropping out of college. I
needed to be thrown in jail for s.e.x crimes, also. I'm a complete failure as a son.
How can I atone for this crime?
I was already out of time. Misaki, who kept looking into my face,
would start screaming soon. "There's a pervert here! Someone, come
quick!"
No, no. No doubt, it wouldn't end with that. After all, she was
dressed in her religious clothes. And religions have strict
commandments like, "Thou shalt not commit adultery." Naturally,
l.u.s.ting after a child would be beyond the pale—which is exactly why
G.o.d's rage rains down on lolicon men.
That's right. Misaki likely would threaten me with something like,
"The Lord knows all your sins!"18 She would say, "For if our heart
condemns us, G.o.d is greater than our heart and knoweth all things.!"19
and set me s.h.i.+vering with fear. Saying, "For the wages of sin is death,"20
she likely would try to throw me into the h.e.l.lfire of G.o.d's rage!
This was the absolute end. Looking up at the sky, I prepared for the
moment that G.o.d's punishment would descend upon me. In that
moment, my life would come to a close. My future would be sealed. It
was just a second away.
Time pa.s.sed while I waited, though, and Misaki didn't denounce
me. Looking back down at Misaki, she was still gazing at me. Our bodies
hidden in the bushes, we stared at each other silently.
Finally, Misaki explained, "I just saw Yamazaki, face covered with
both hands, run off in the direction of your apartment. I wondered what
was going on; and when I peeked in here, I saw you, Satou, so. . . "
"You know Yamazaki?" 
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94
"The man in room 202, right? He looked pretty happy to get
'Awaken!' from us. That's unusual."
"He did? What a strange guy."
"Am I bothering you? You did look pretty busy, after all, Satou."
"N-no! Not at all. I mean, not really. By the way, Misaki, what were
you doing in this area?" I tried to change the subject. I was beginning to
feel as though I might actually get away with the whole thing.
"I'm on my way home from our religious recruiting. Auntie Kazuko
and I were just pa.s.sing by here. I had Auntie go on home ahead of me
when I found out you were here."
"Yeah? By the way, I really like your religious outfit. The parasol
really gives off a spiritual aura."
When I said that, Misaki cast her eyes downward. "This is a
disguise." Her face turned pink as she spoke.
"Huh?"
"I really hate doing this religious solicitation stuff, so I go out of my
way to carry a parasol. That way, no one will remember my face." Her
reason was strangely rea.s.suring. After everything, she remained
mysterious. I still couldn't tell who she really was.
This was my chance to escape. Run away now!
"Well then, I've got to be going." I stood up.
Misaki also stood, closing her parasol.
Just like that, I started walking away awkwardly. I made it to the
sidewalk from behind the bushes, and then I briskly headed up the path
toward my apartment.
"Satou?"
"What?" I asked without turning around or slowing down. 
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"So, you're actually a lolicon?"
I felt as though my heart would stop. Pretending I hadn't heard, I
walked even faster.
Misaki continued, "It's fine if you are a lolicon. In fact, it might even
be more convenient for you. If you say you're a lolicon hikikomori, it'd
be the absolute best. You'd be at the very lowest rank of human society,
after all."
I stopped walking and turned around.
Misaki wore her habitual smile. "Yeah. Thinking about it, lolicon is
better. That way, I think you're even more perfect for my project." She
jumped lightly, excited. It seemed, once again, to be somewhat forced.
In the calmest voice I could possibly manage, I stated, "I have no idea
what you're talking about. Anyway, I'm not a lolicon hikikomori, you
know. I'm a creator! I was just taking reference pictures."
"Hm. . . "
"It's true."
"Well, let's meet again. Don't do anything that would put you on the
news, okay?" With that, Misaki marched away.
It was a May afternoon.