NHK ni Youkoso! Vol 1 Chapter 7

Chapter 07
The Revolving Rock
Part One
Before I knew it, I had gotten run down, both socially and emotionally;
it was that kind of summer. Before I knew it, I had been locked in a kind
of cage, with no hope for escape; it was that sort of July. I tried calling,
"Help me!" Nothing—not love, dreams, hope, effort, friends.h.i.+p, or
victory—could save me. I was in real trouble.
At least Yamazaki had some opinions about his future. Even though
he was shouting, "Arghhh! Don't screw around with me," at least he had
some sort of ambition. He'd been thinking about his family's business
since he was little.
"I'll get out of this s.h.i.+tty countryside and make a name for myself in
the big city! Y-y-you hypocrites! Just watch and I'll show you all! I have
talent! I may not know what kind of talent, but I have it!"
Before I could confirm the existence of my own talent, it seemed as if 
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fate would force me to return to the countryside, as well. The
countryside, with its bizarre family ties, annoying smiles, redneck punks,
roads made unnecessarily wide by local politicians, and only one
convenience store. . . I was going to have to make a U-turn back to the
awful, c.r.a.ppy countryside. I contemplated this destination with heartfelt
regret.
I shouted in a beautifully manly way, too. "Waaaahhh! It's terrible,
terrible, terrible!" I didn't know exactly what was terrible; for now,
though, something certainly was terrible. In fact, so many terrible things
were happening that I couldn't see any way to fix them.
For one thing, my allowance from home finally stopped. Even so, for
some reason, the will to work did not bubble up. Even though I had been
worn down, I still couldn't go outside. My t.i.tle as a "high-level
hikikomori" wasn't just for show. However, I had to manage my living
expenses at the least, or else I might be chased out of my apartment as
early as tomorrow. I had to do something.
With my student credit card, I brashly borrowed money. Following
that, I sold my furniture. I took my was.h.i.+ng machine, refrigerator, TV,
computer, kotatsu, and bed to a secondhand shop near my house. I also
tried selling my entire library to a used bookstore. In this way, having
managed to raise enough money to live on, I'd bought myself a little
more time.
Slightly more secure, boredom became the main problem. Both
Yamazaki and I became really bored. Alleviating it occupied most of our
attention. "What should I do? I have nothing to do."
I conferred with Yamazaki.
He seemed to be at the end of his rope. Lying face down on his 
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apartment floor, he whispered unenthusiastically, "I'm not in as
desperate a position as you, Satou—yet for some reason, I can't calm
down. Even if we are escaping from reality, I'd like to be able to do it in a
rejuvenating way, if possible."
Escaping from reality. . . Triggered by his words, a good idea came to
me. "Speaking of escaping, that's what people do in their fleering youth,
right?"
"Yeah."
"And speaking of fleeting, that reminds me of rock."
I shook Yamazaki's shoulders back and forth. "That's right, rock and
roll! s.e.x, drugs, and violence!"
Yamazaki stood up, swinging his fist about wildly and bellowing
loudly, "I see! That's fantastic! Speaking of rock and roll, I really respect
Jerry Lee Lewis."
"Who's that?"
"He's the lolicon rocker who, defying social convention, married his
thirteen-year-old cousin, making him the so-called giant of the lolicon
world. His way of life was truly anti-establishment! Great b.a.l.l.s of Fire!"
We decided that our theme from then on would be "s.e.x, drugs, and
violence." If we steered our lives in that direction, we might be able to
spend every day in a more energetic and happily youthful way. At least,
that was our hope, and we clung to it.
 
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s.e.x
Speaking of s.e.x, it's not for minors under 18. Speaking of "not for
minors under 18," erotic games! Even now, Yamazaki kept working on
his erotic game. Why? No one could possibly know, but it seemed sad. It
was lonely. That was all I knew. I had no idea why, but it made me want
to cry.
Drugs
Using the money I had secured from selling my furniture, I bought some
serious drugs.
"These are all legal!" Yamazaki complained.
I hung my head. "What else can I do? There's no way I could buy
illegal drugs by mail. For a hikikomori, this is the best I can do."'
"Pathetic. That's so lame."
Violence
Finally, Yamazaki and I ended up fighting in my six-mat, one room
apartment. In the middle of the empty room, we faced each other in
fighting stances. I imitated Bruce Lee, whom I had recently seen on TV.
Yamazaki used fighting games as his reference, adopting the crane pose. 
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Then, we tried to beat up each other. As soon as we started, though,
I slipped on the floor and fell. I hit the back of my head as hard as
possible. The pain brought tears to my eyes.
"This isn't fun at all," Yamazaki complained.
"Don't say that."
"It just makes me feel even more empty. I know! Should we do this at
the park?"
"Beforehand, let's do the drugs, as we already have them. Don't make
fun of them just because they're legal. They still work pretty well. We'll
have a good time."
Actually, the drugs did work. In fact, the trip was so bad, I thought I
would die.
I thought that maybe I should die.
Part Two
However, I didn't die.
I might be living a dismal hikikomori life. At the moment, however,
I did technically, have plans to meet someone. As evening fell and all
traces of other people had disappeared outside my apartment, I filled my
stomach with a late dinner. When it was dark, I set off toward the
neighborhood park. The summer night breeze felt good.
I sat on a bench and looked up at the moon and stars in the sky. A
black cat sauntered leisurely in front of me. His eyes flashed with the
reflection of streetlights.
Ah, it's night. It certainly was night. 
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Misaki materialized, there in the park.
"You're late." She had been creaking the swing back and forth when
noticing me, she energetically jumped off. The black cat crept over to
where she stood, and Misaki picked it up. The cat meowed but didn't
struggle.
"Good girl. I'll give you some canned food, okay?" Misaki pulled cat
food out of the bag on her back. Apparently, she'd been feeding the cat
every night. "Cats are great, don't you think?"
"What's great about them?"
"Cats just seem to be content wherever, whenever, even if they'd
alone."
I didn't quite comprehend what she meant, but I tried to answer her
appropriately. "Cats don't really understand grat.i.tude."
"I know."
"It'll forget all about you soon, Misaki. Investing in cat food is such a
waste."
"As long as I give the cat what it wants, it'll be fine. She'll remember
me. Don't be cruel. You'll come to the park every night, right?" She
gently stroked the cat's back as it gobbled down the food. When it
finished eating, it slowly strolled away into the bushes.
We sat down on the bench. Misaki took her "secret notebook" out of
her bag. And so, tonight, the first counseling session on escaping from
hikikomori life began.
Misaki had called it "counseling." From the very first, her actions and
words had been more than strange, so I totally thought it was some kind 
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of joke. However, it seemed she'd been serious.
"You're late. It says in the contract that you'll come after eating
dinner, remember?"
"I just ate dinner—"
"My family eats dinner at seven o'clock."
How the h.e.l.l should I know that?! I wanted to yell, bur I held it back.
"Well, starting tomorrow, come a little earlier. Anyway, we'll begin
your first 'escaping hikikomori life' counseling session now, okay? Here,
have a seat."
I moved next to her on the bench, as instructed. Misaki sat beside
me, turning to face me.
The park at night. . . no one else was there. What in the world was
about to start? What did she plan to do? I was a little nervous. Misaki
put down the huge bag she carried and started rummaging around inside
it.
Whispering something like, "Oh, here it is, here it is," she pulled out
a college-ruled notebook. On the cover, "Secret Notebook" had been
written in black marker.
"What's that?" I asked.
"A secret notebook."
"Like I said, 'what's that?'"
"Uh. . . it's a secret notebook." Misaki opened the secret notebook
and flipped through pages she'd marked. "Well then, I'll start the lecture
now?"
Backlit by the street lamps, her face wasn't visible. The tone of her
voice was serious, though. Not understanding what was going on, I
gulped deeply. 
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Misaki started her lecture. "Um. . . I'll begin with an outline of the
hikikomori. Okay, what causes someone to become a hikikomori? Do
you know, Satou? Hm? You don't? That's what I thought. You dropped
out of college, so there's no way your mind could answer this difficult
question, Satou. I know. I'm smart, after all. I'm studying for my GED
right now. I study five hours every day. Good of me, right? Ha ha ha. . . "
She laughed a little more before she continued, "According to the
results of my research, not just hikikomori, but all emotional problems
are caused by an inability to conform to one's environment. Basically,
because you can't get along well with the world, various difficulties
arise."
Misaki turned to the next page. "Long ago, we humans thought of
many different ways to get along with the world. For example, take the
idea of G.o.ds. There are all kinds of G.o.ds. Even in j.a.pan alone, there are
eight million. . . Huh? Eight million? That's a little excessive, isn't it? Is
this true? W-well, anyway, there are many G.o.ds in the world, and it
seems they ease the suffering of quite a lot of people, like those at a
church gathering. Those people who can't be saved by G.o.ds think of
other means. For example, philosophy."
Misaki began digging around in her bag again. After sticking her
head inside the enormous bag, she finally found what she was looking
for, "Oh, here it is. Here you go." Pulling out some sort of book, the
handed it to me. The t.i.tle of the book was Sophie's World.
"This is kind of hard, so I didn't really understand it, but it seems
that this one book can teach you everything you need to know about
philosophy. I borrowed it from the library, so read it by tomorrow
okay?" 
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Nonplussed, I took the book. I was at my wit's end over what to do
while Misaki's lecture droned on. "Um, well then, after philosophy, we
have psychoa.n.a.lysis! It seems to have been popular from around the
nineteenth century, after some guy named Freud thought of it. People
say that if you undergo psychoa.n.a.lysis, your problems really do
disappear. For instance, do you remember any dreams you had last
night? I'll a.n.a.lyze them for you. Tell me what happened in your dreams,
Satou."
I told her. "A really huge, strong snake appeared. It dove into the
ocean, and I stuck a thick sword into an apple. Also, I blasted away all
around me with a black, s.h.i.+ning, amazing gun."
Upon hearing this, Misaki withdrew another paperback from inside
her gigantic bag. This one was ent.i.tled Dream a.n.a.lysis: With This Single
Book, You Easily Can Grasp the Depths of Your Psyche!
"Hm. . . snake, ocean, apple, sword, gun. . . " Muttering to herself, she
was searching the index when suddenly, she looked away, face
reddening. For some reason, I grasped the situation, even in the pitchblack
park.
"Th-that's enough Freud! Next, let's do Jung!" Misaki yelled loudly.
"Hey! What are the results of my dream a.n.a.lysis? Misaki, tell me
what the big snake could possibly symbolize." I persisted, but she
ignored my attempts at s.e.xual hara.s.sment.
"Jung. . . This guy argued with Freud, and it seems he went in a
different direction. Well then, let's start a Jungian psychoa.n.a.lysis."
"Hey, don't ignore me. Wait a second!"
"As far as I can see, you're 'introverted,' and 'emotive'! You're afraid
of the 'Great Mother.' Additionally, you also are fighting with the 
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shadows. How terrible! To learn more, please read this book." Misaki
once again pulled out a book and handed it to me. This one was All
About Jung, Explained by Manga!
My head was starting to hurt, yet Misaki's lecture kept going. And
going. From Jung to Adler to Lacan. "I don't understand Lacan! I just
can't lock on!"
I was stunned that she could make this horrific pun, smiling all the
while. I wanted to go back to my room. As if noticing my reaction,
Misaki boldly changed direction. "Oh, I'm sorry for talking about all this
difficult stuff. It seems that you really aren't suited to these academic
discussions, after all. Satou. That's okay, though. We still have
tomorrow."
"Huh?"
"We're people, so it's painful."
I didn't say anything.
"I feel bad for you, experiencing such troubles. Let's look up as we
move forward, though. You're fine the way you are. You have dreams so
you'll be all right. You're not alone. If you keep walking, you'll find your
path. Everyone is cheering for you. As you do your best, you s.h.i.+ne.
You'll succeed if you keep moving ahead with positive thinking; so, let's
walk toward tomorrow together. The future is bright. We're people
we're people, we're people. . . "
Pulling Misaki's bag out of her hands, I upended it. A load books
avalanched onto the ground: Public Health Service paperbacks
Intelligent Living paperbacks. Quick Introduction to Psychoa.n.a.lysis,
Complete Mental Illness Manual, The Book to Read When You Stuck in
Life, The Rules for Success in Life, Murphy's Ghost, Cerebral Revolution, 
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Mitsuo, Mitsuru, etc., etc.
"Hey, Misaki, do you think I'm an idiot?"
Misaki gave me a look that said, "No, I don't," and she shook her
head.
Anyway, after a week of interacting with Misaki, the only thing I truly
understood was how hard she was trying. She really was working very
hard. For the first few days, that effort stalled without result; while
working to the best of her ability, her pa.s.sion was certainly real. Of
course, I didn't know where her true intentions lay or what she actually
was planning. I didn't know, but I didn't really care, either.
If my thoroughly rotten emotional state could be infused with even
just a little energy through this exchange with a girl, I would be happy.
Even if it led to problems in the future, I no longer had anything left to
lose. Not to mention that, whatever happened, we'd part soon enough
Eventually, I would be kicked out of my apartment, or I'd go somewhere
else for another reason. Either way, I would disappear soon. Meeting
with Misaki was just a way to alleviate my boredom until that time
came.
And because I was thinking in such irresponsible terms, I had no
trouble at all conversing privately with a girl I barely knew, despite the
fact that this situation was one that would usually cause a hikikomori
the greatest amount of stress possible.
Of course, no matter how cute Misaki might be, I had no intention
of doing anything to her. The sign at the park entrance read, "Beware of 
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Perverts," but even given the way I looked, I was still a gentlemanly
hikikomori. Please, don't worry, Misaki. . .
"What? What are you grinning about?" she asked me.
"Nothing, nothing. More important, what's on today's special
training menu?"
Facing me while sitting on the bench, as usual, Misaki peered into
her secret notebook. "Hm, on tonight's menu is how to converse with
others."
"Eh?"
"In general, hikikomori suck at having conversations. Because
they're bad at speaking to others, they tend to shut themselves up in
their rooms. Tonight, I thought we could reform that part of you."
"Oh."
"Therefore, starting now, I will teach you wonderful conversational
techniques. Please, listen carefully."
Misaki started her lecture, periodically glancing at her secret
notebook as I listened carefully. "When talking to people, you get
nervous. That leads to being at a loss for words, turning pale, or getting
excited. These make your emotional stability erode even further, and
your conversation consequently gets worse and worse. How can you
break this vicious cycle? The answer is easy: You'll be fine if you avoid
getting nervous. Given that fact, how can you avoid getting nervous?
Well, why do people get nervous? It's because they lack confidence in
themselves. You think your companions may make a fool out of you,
they may look down on you, or they may dislike you."
So what? I wanted to b.u.t.t in, but Misaki's tone was serious.
"Ultimately, the problem comes back to having confidence in 
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yourself. Having self-confidence, in reality, is a pretty difficult thing to
achieve. Truthfully, I don't think you'll be able to gain it through any
normal method; but I have a marvelous, revolutionary technique to
make the impossible possible. Do you want to know? You do want to
know, don't you?"
As she said this, she looked at me, and there was nothing I could do
but nod. "All right, listen carefully," Misaki said in her most dignified
voice. "This idea is a ma.s.sive about-face—like on a Copernicus level! In
short, if you can't be self-confident, then just imagine the person you're
speaking to as even more of a failure than you think you are! That's the
method!"
I had no idea what she was talking about.
"You simply a.s.sume that the person you're conversing with is a huge
failure. You theorize that they're a waste of a human being. Look down
on them as much as you can. If you can do that, you should be able to
speak well and remain calm, without any nervousness. You'll be relaxed
and at ease, right?
"There is one thing you must be careful of. You have to go out of
your way to avoid telling the person you're speaking to what you're
thinking, because they'll get mad or hurt. If someone looked you in the
face and called you trash, or said you were the worst, or labeled you a
failure as a human being, you'd be really depressed, right, Satou? That's
why I keep quiet."
You mean. . . I thought. Could this really be some kind of roundabout
criticism of me? If so, Misaki's expression remained innocent.
I had to ask, "Misaki, might you be putting these conversational
techniques' into practice during your daily life?" 
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"Yes, I am. But they don't really work that well. Most people are
better than I am; so, even if I try to believe they're worthless, I usually
fail. As far as that goes, though, when I'm talking to you, Satou, I
naturally. . . "
"Naturally. . . ?"
"Forget it. If I told you, it'd hurt you."
I'd been hurt for a long time.
"It's nothing to worry about. Even a person like you, Satou, is useful
to someone." With that declaration, Misaki stood up. "That's all for
today. See you tomorrow"
Part Three
Yamazaki was working on the game alone. Using the scenario I had half
completed, he was creating the game himself. Continuing to wire himself
with the hallucinogens we had bought a few days earlier, he silently
focused on his computer. Was this another form of escape from reality?
It was truly the ultimate way. However, was creating a game on
hallucinogens really possible? Leaning over Yamazaki's shoulder, I
peered at his computer monitor.
The screen was crammed full of tiny words. "The huge organization
that controls painful death, anxiety, evil, h.e.l.l, poison, the abyss, and the
like—this is our enemy, and we must defeat this enemy to win the
heroine's love! That is the mission of this game. The enemy is invisible,
and you won't know where it is, so watch out! You could be stabbed 
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from behind. It's dangerous, dangerous. . . ."
"What is this?" I asked Yamazaki.
Yamazaki slowly swiveled his chair. The pupils of his eyes were
entirely contracted. His lips were twisted open as wide as possible into a
dangerous smile, one that would frighten anyone.
"What do you mean? You can tell by looking, can't you? This is my
erotic game. It's an RPG—a role playing game—and the player is the
main character. The player progresses in the game by reading the text
file. If he reads it, he'll learn all kinds of important things; on top of that,
the heroine is moe moe. Look. Amazing, isn't she? The heroine is an
alien with cat ears. She's captured by the enemy. When I say enemy, I
mean villains—villains you can't see. The real object of the game is to
make these invisible enemies visible. That's where the truth of life is
found, right? Understand? In other words, I've been awakened to the
truth of the world. I realized that my mission is to spread my epiphany
to everyone, and then erotic games will become the new century's Bibles.
I'll be able to sell a million copies. I'll become rich. So. . . uh, it's fun.
Hey, Satou, you're having a good time, too, aren't you?
Trembling, I stepped back. When I did, Yamazaki let out a metallicsounding
laugh. As if triggered by his own voice, his giggles quickly
elevated into an explosion of laughter. "Ha ha ha, ha ha, ha ha ha! Oh,
how funny!"
Yamazaki took a horrible fall off the chair, landing on all fours. He
crawled toward me, his entire body shaking. His appearance reminded
me of horror movie zombies.
I started to panic and stood terrified, rooted to the spot.
Grabbing my ankles, Yamazaki screamed, "It's so funny, so very 
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funny! There's nothing I can do!"
I was so very scared, I couldn't do anything, either.
"It's so empty, so empty that I can't carry on!"
I felt the same way on that point; but Yamazaki, currently in the
throes of his drug trip, was powerfully frightening. I prayed for him to
return to normal as quickly as possible, but he did not. Smile quivering,
he continued giggling to himself.
Seeing that there was nothing I could do, I decided to give in. I
absorbed the white drug through my nasal membranes. It kicked in
immediately.
Ah, how enjoyable. . . How interesting. . . It feels so nice. . . This is the best.
Oh. . . I can't carry on. . . I'm finished?. . . It hurts. . . How pathetic. . .
What can I possibly do?. . . There's nothing I can do. . . How painful. . .
It was another bad trip.
The effects of a hallucinogen are influenced by the psychological
state and environment of the user; basically, the outcome depends on the
user's frame of mind and physical surroundings. If users feel like they're
having a good time when they take the drugs, they'll be in heaven; but if
they're depressed already, they'll go straight to h.e.l.l. Using drugs with the
intention of escaping reality can't lead to any positive results.
I knew that, of course. I did, but. . . but my drug-addled senses had
been invaded by a dramatic, tangible fear. It was different from the vague
anxiety I felt on a daily basis. It was almost visible—a totally clear, easily
understood uncertainty.
Yes, it was a huge but visible, easily understood fear, this uncertainty
I even may have wanted it like that. Compared to the daily uncertainties
which steadily tortured me little by little, this drug-induced depression 
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even may have been pleasurable.
Yamazaki turned toward the refrigerator and swung his fist.
"Dammit, if you're going to do it, then come on! I'll face you!" It
seemed Yamazaki was confronting an imaginary opponent over there.
I, however, sat trembling in the corner, holding my head and pulling
up my legs tight to my chest.
"Stop! Don't come over here!" The enemy was close. Despite my
fear, I was somehow having fun. Being chased and killed by villains was a
thrilling vision. My paranoia really excited me.
It stimulated me. In short, it was pleasant.
If it was pleasant, it also must be fun.
That's right! In other words, we were happy. I decided this was the
best trip ever! Now, I truly understood the rock-and-roll lifestyle. I
decided to make that lifestyle even more perfect.
"After drugs comes violence!"
Before the effects of the drugs wore off, we dashed out of the
apartment and headed to the park.
We were going to fight. Tonight, we would move our violence to the
wide-open park. Like young people in their fleering youth, we had to
fight! We had to fight dramatically, spectacularly, with all the pa.s.sion of
K-1 kickboxers! If we did this, we could experience even more
pleasure. . .
The sun had long since set, and there was no sign of anyone around
us. If there had been, we would have been in trouble. It would have been
embarra.s.sing.
Under the streetlamps of the park, we faced each other. I was
wearing a jersey and a T-s.h.i.+rt, and Yamazaki wore a sweats.h.i.+rt. We 
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were both dressed to move easily. We were ready.
Because the drugs still hadn't worn off, Yamazaki was loosetongued.
He kept talking incomprehensibly. "This happens a lot.
Dramas where two young, good-looking actors, arguing about youth or
love or something, fight each other in a park, where everything is wet
with rain. 'You don't really understand love!'. . . 'I love Hitomi with all
my heart!'. . . 'Bang! Crack!' That sort of thing. . . "
Doing stretching exercises, I nodded for him to continue.
"In my heart, I really do long for that kind of drama because there is
truth in those television shows. Because there's the introduction,
development, turn, and resolution; there's an explosion of emotions, and
there's the conclusion. . . On the other hand, our lives continually are
filled with dim, dreamy anxiety, and there are no easily understood
dramas, situations, or confrontations—nothing at all like that. . . Isn't
that sort of absurd? I'm twenty, and you're twenty-two, Satou. Even so,
we've never really loved anyone, hated anyone, fought as a result of love
or hate, or had any of those experiences at all. It's terrible!"
At this point, Yamazaki violently shook me by the shoulders as I
stretched my Achilles tendons.
He said, "Let's try fighting dramatically! Beautifully, swiftly, and
roughly! Let's fight with those concepts in mind!"
"Yeah!" I let out a brave yell and got into my fighting pose.
And so we started beating each other. Our fight was distressingly
pastoral. There were some things that hurt, but punches from a weak
man hopped up on drugs had limited force.
Yamazaki desperately was trying to make the fight as exciting as
possible, and so he began yelling dramatic (although entirely abstract) 
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lines, "Satou, you don't understand anything!"
I couldn't let his effort go to waste, so I also shouted something that
felt appropriate. "You're the one who's wrong!"
"What part of what I'm saying is wrong?!"
I was at a loss, having been unexpectedly questioned in a concrete
manner. The fist I was swinging around stopped as I thought about it
for a little while. "For example, how about the fact that you went to the
Yoyogi Animation Inst.i.tute?" I responded hesitantly.
As I said that, Yamazaki abruptly aimed a kick at me. "Don't make
fun of Yoyogi Animation!"
"Ow! Why are you suddenly kicking me for real, you—"
"Don't think you can talk so big even though you're a hikikomori!"
The blood rushed to my head. "Die, lolicon! Die, you erotic game
otaku!"
I swung my right fist as hard as I could, smas.h.i.+ng it into Yamazaki's
stomach. He groaned, charged, and tackled me, still groaning as he did.
Tangled up together, we fell to the ground. Yamazaki straddled my
head; I could see the moon behind him. I would be beaten to a pulp if I
stayed like this.
Hooking my leg around his neck, I somehow managed to get out
from under him. We were both breathing heavily. Yamazaki glared at
me; then, he looked down, giggling. Finally, he sighed loudly, "Ah, that
was great."
I sighed, too.
"It's not even close to being over yet. Let's keep fighting until we die,"
he said. We kept fighting: Wild kicks and limpid punches, the
pa.s.sionate battle between two weak men. It hurt. It really, really hurt. 
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Yet it was fun—fun and empty. A punch sank into the pit of my
stomach, raising bile and making my eyes overflow with tears, and I was
happy. Having just been kicked in the groin, Yamazaki looked cool,
jumping up and down.
Jeez, what in the h.e.l.l are we doing? I transferred this doubt into my
fist—punched and was punched.
Suddenly, I remembered that it was already July. It wouldn't be long.
Something had to change soon. Likely, I would decide something before
long. I was sure I'd be laughing then, laughing and smiling. You agree,
don't you, Yamazaki. . . ?
For now, we were covered in sc.r.a.pes and bruises. Everything hurt.
Our entire bodies ached terribly. One of my front teeth felt loose.
Yamazaki had a perfect black eye. My right fist was raw and bleeding.
We had just had our first little fight.
For good measure, I gave Yamazaki one more punch to the face. As I
did, he caught my arm, and I tripped and fell. Following up, Yamazaki
went on to lock my joints and twist my arm.
"Ow, ow, it's gonna break, it's gonna break!" I tried to tap out on the
ground.
"I'll break it, I'll break it, I'll break it with a snap!"
I bit down on Yamazaki's calf as hard as I could. He screamed,
"That's against the rules!"
"Shut up, what do I care? Death to Yoyogi Animation!"
"Like I said, when I hear talk like that, I get really p.i.s.sed off!"
It appeared that our fight was about to become increasingly, emptily
escalated.
Then, we heard, "Officer!" 
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140
Eh?
"They're over here, Officer!" It was a young woman's high-pitched
shout.
Yamazaki jumped up immediately and ran for dear life back to the
apartment.
Leaving me behind, he had run away alone.
Several minutes later, I found myself being hit by Misaki. They were
only so-called "girl punches"; because of my fight with Yamazaki,
though, I was already a bit beat up, and her blows jangled my bones.
Bellowing at the top of her lungs, with what no longer even resembled a
human voice, Misaki continued hitting me.
I ducked my head.
Misaki got in several dozen more punches before finally calming
down.
In other words, the voice calling, "Officer!" had been Misaki
pretending to call for the police. After eating dinner, Misaki had come to
the park as usual, where she saw two men arguing loudly and beating up
each other. When she realized I was one of them, she'd naturally been
upset.
Gathering a great deal of courage, she seemed to have felt that she
had to help. Because no one was around and she didn't have a cell phone,
though, she didn't know what to do. Finally, she decided to pretend that
a policeman was right there in order to save me.
"I can't believe you! I was so worried! I thought you might be killed!" 
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Actually, I felt bad for upsetting Misaki, who now had tears in her
eyes. I decided to make her laugh with an interesting story." Well, in the
shade of that bush over there, a girl was being attacked by a pervert. I
approached them and intervened, trying to save the girl, but the rapist
suddenly flipped out. He pulled a knife from his pocket and jumped me!
No, no, it was really dangerous! If I hadn't been there, someone could
have gotten killed."
"That's another big lie, isn't it?"
"Yeah."
"What were you really doing?"
I told her everything.
After another good outburst, Misaki wore a pained expression for
some reason. Sitting on the bench, she muttered, "That's not good.
Don't fight with your friends. Even as a joke, violence isn't good—not at
all"
"What are you talking about? Don't be so serious. It was pretty fun;
I've never punched anyone or been punched before. I actually feel
surprisingly refreshed—"
"I said, it's bad!"
"Why? Karate is good for you." I made a show of shadowboxing in
front of her. As I mimicked a right hook, Misaki trembled and covered
her head with both arms.
"Huh?" I said.
She peered through the openings in her arms at me.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
She didn't reply but tentatively put both arms down. Once more, I
feigned a right hook. Again, Misaki guarded her head with both arms. 
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142
As her reaction was amusing, I repeated my punching motions several
times. In the end, Misaki shrank up, frozen in that position, arms
covering her head.
Her strange position caused her sleeve to rise to her elbow, and I
took the opportunity to glance at her skin.
By the blue-white light of the streetlamps, I could see that her arm
was spotted with what looked like numerous burn marks. They were
circular scars, with a diameter of about five millimeters a piece. They
bore a strong resemblance to the brands that countryside punks burned
into each other to prove their bravery.
As if noticing my gaze, Misaki yanked down her sleeve. In a shaky
voice, she asked, "Did you see?"
"See what?" I pretended not to know what she was talking about.
Now that I thought about it, Misaki always wore long sleeves. Even
in the recent heat, she'd continued wearing them—but so what?
I spoke to her in a cheerful voice. "What about today's counseling?"
Misaki didn't answer. Her body still curled defensively on top of the
bench, she shook violently. Even her teeth were chattering.
A rather long stretch of time pa.s.sed.
Finally, Misaki announced, "I'm leaving," tottering uncertainly
toward the park exit.
From behind, I dazedly watched her leave, debating whether I
should call out to her. Misaki stopped in front of the swing set and
turned around to ask, "Do you hate me now, after all?"
"What?"
"You probably won't come anymore now." She was the kind of girl
who would make these strangely decisive declarations. We faced each 
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143
other, about sixteen feet apart.
Misaki looked me in the eye, soon dropping her gaze. Then, once
more, she stole a glance at me. "Will you come tomorrow?"
"If I break our promise, I'll have to pay a one-million-yen penalty,
won't I?"
"Uh, yeah. That's right!" Finally, Misaki smiled a little.
I went home to my apartment. After swathing my body in
compresses, I slept