KAGEROU DAZE 01

From some indistinct, faraway loudspeaker, the old folk song “Sunrise and Sunset” echoed along, signifying the end of the school day.

The sky, which had seemed so lustrous a blue a moment ago, soon splashed itself in rich shades of orange and pink as if stirred to action by the simple, tinkling melody.

The distant green mountains, far beyond the glass window, projected the same air of unchanging, oppressive majesty they always did.

I was, unfortunately, currently the lone passenger on the bus, as it lurched ominously and creaked its way along the hilly, uneven road.

The classmate who got off at the last stop wasn’t a particularly close friend of mine, but the “Sunrise and Sunset” melody that always seemed to pitch up on cue with his departure never failed to stir up the familiar pangs of loneliness.

Picking at the exposed foam poking out invitingly from the seatback in front of me, I peered at the scene beyond the window one more time. I was rewarded with a steady stream of electric poles whizzing past my eyes, a field resplendent with a bumper crop of something-or-other in the background behind it.

It wasn’t the most effective way to make the time go.

I sighed and closed my eyes.

If only I could use my cell phone wantonly at times like this. Life would be joyous.

Apropos of nothing, my mind recalled a scene on a city train, which I once saw on my friend’s TV.

Everyone—man and woman, young and old—had been staring intently at their touchscreen phones, each person fully ensconced in their own little worlds.

The sight, as viewed through the old picture-tube TV set, was more than enough to make any elementary-age country kid swoon. Especially if they were this far out in the country. Those city women—really, not that much older than I am—freely wandering around that glorious urbanity, smartphone at the ready…

I bet they used those phones to contact each other, too, arranging meet-up times for their next big night out. They’d text and chat with their friends all night, share notes with each other over the ’Net—the fun never ending for them.

Occasionally, this fantasy would inspire me to wander into the electronics shop that lay along the way home from school.

Out this far from civilization, with hardly any kind of entertainment available with a price tag, the cash I received from my family as New Year’s Day gifts piled up to dizzying heights.

Or by a kid’s standards, it did. It was really just a pitiful wad of bills, and I had taken all of it to the store, eagerly chirping out “Gimme a smartphone, please!” as I skipped inside. I had to explain what a smartphone was to the guy running the shop. He didn’t have much idea what one was, either.

This, as you’d expect, didn’t bring me much closer to mobile bliss. The heavy, plastic, near-antique telephone receiver he showed me instead was, in a way, more character building of an experience than most of what I learned at school.

Which is great.

But right here, right now, “character building” was the last thing I needed.

I’d trade away all that dippy “life experience” for a cell phone in an instant. But who would make that offer to me in the first place?

If, for example, I tried asking those stubborn parents of mine, they’d call me impertinent. Ungrateful. They’d kick me out of the house long enough that I’d have to cower in fear of the stray dogs running around at night.

Fending for my hide in the great outdoors without any supplies was low on my list of priorities. And even if I dared attempt such a purchase without my parents’ knowledge, there was no place selling them.

I didn’t even have any opportunity to hit the city for one—we had no relatives there. City people ventured out to visit their hayseed relatives during New Year’s, or maybe at the Obon holiday in August. Us, we stayed here.

Maybe I could convince someone to courier one over?

Or can you even do that, really, with a cell phone?

In terms of tech-gadget knowledge, all I really had to go on were that cell phones let you make voice calls, send text messages, and bump around on the Internet.

I had my parents to thank for that, too, of course.

Thanks to their misguided attempts at child rearing, and their Luddite habit of screaming at their only kid just for attempting to sneak a peek at a friend’s TV, I never had anything to contribute to my classmates’ conversations. Usually, I was the last to learn about trends, or fashion, or sometimes common sense.

But a cell phone, at least, was something I could keep in my pocket. It wouldn’t draw my parents’ ire that easily.

So, really, if I could just score one, I was set.

The problem was how, and on that score, I didn’t have much to go on. The best idea was to ask someone.

But, well…about that…

“Yeah, if I could do that, this would be so much easier…”

With a sigh, the words slipped from my lips.

There was someone I could talk to.

Or, technically speaking, it was possible to speak with her. But she wasn’t the kind of girl I could just sidle up and bare my soul to.

That was how difficult I found it to approach this girl, Hiyori Asahina, and interact with her.

Born into a fabulously rich family, easily among the top three powerbrokers in this stretch of our rural county, she had been learning things like piano, flower arranging, and ballet practically since she was in diapers. She was ferried off to the city on regular occasions, attending whatever recital or showing she was involved with next.

Back a little while ago, I spotted her from a distance wielding a charmingly decorated cell phone, tapping away as if to symbolize her clear superiority over us all.

She must have bought it in the city. Along those lines, she was my go-to girl when it came to phone issues.

But I already knew that. That conclusion, I came to eons ago.

The big issue here was twofold: One, Hiyori Asahina was a shockingly, hopelessly moody girl. Two, I was shockingly, hopelessly in love with her.

“I know we live in this utter hellhole of a country backwater, but there’s one thing here better than anything you’ll find, anywhere else. That’s Hiyori Asahina. That’s you.”

Several weeks ago, a classmate of mine sent a love letter along those lines to Hiyori Asahina. Her response: “…Gross,” spoken with practiced, honed disdain. I’m not sure the classmate will ever recover.

But that demonstrated just how charming Hiyori Asahina was. It wasn’t a matter of outclassing the rest of the school. No, she was even a level above the child stars and models you saw in magazines and posters.

She was a hit with every male student in the school, of course, and you’d always hear things like “Hiyori Asahina’ll make men out of our boys ’round here yet” and “You can’t even spit without hitting one of Asahina’s secret admirers” among the bemused local adults.

Not that I was different. I was another Asahina admirer…or maybe Asahina addict, to be more accurate. Compared to the Johnny-come-lately Asahina casuals surrounding me, I was confident that no one could beat me in terms of faith, dedication, and amount of (unofficial) merchandise in possession.

To a top-level general in the Asahina Army, morning always came early.

Every morning at six, I greeted my fluffy, stuffed Hiyori doll (made by yours truly) with a smile before reporting to breakfast, poring over the timetable I made of Hiyori’s daily activities and figuring out where I had the best chance of “naturally” running into her that day.

Before leaving home, I always made sure to pick a selection from my carefully curated gallery of Hiyori Asahina instant photos, thrusting it into the holder for my bus pass as I smirked to myself the entire commute.

Once on school grounds, I took a deep breath to take in as much of Asahina’s pheromones as I could—different people reacted in different ways to them, but to me, it was an unobtrusively pleasant scent, like bacon—and if I ever managed to spot her in the hall, I’d flash a smile and observe.

If I ever found myself approaching her, of course, I would never greet her with a rude, thoughtless “hey.” That was how you could tell a wannabe casual from a true Asahina Army foot soldier.

A fresh recruit to the Army would always attempt to force a conversation, latching on in a barefaced attempt to curry her favor. That never had anything but the opposite effect on Hiyori Asahina.

Just this morning, in fact, I found myself gnashing my teeth as I witnessed just one such upstart make his doomed approach. A simple swipe from Asahina’s jeweled dagger (“Ugh, move,” as she put it) was enough to instantly KO him.

The unlucky suitor was apparently later dragged into the gym’s storage room by a particularly radicalized member of the Asahina Royal Guard. It’s better for the sake of one’s moral character not to even try to imagine what happened to him next.

Thus, a true Asahina rank-and-filer would never attempt something so crassly brash. Instead, they would look on from afar, bathing in the radiant light of her beauty to gain the vitality to push them forward another day. It was a divine vocation, in other words.

So how could someone like myself, engaged in what was honestly God’s work, bring up such a silly and pointless topic as mobile telephony with Hiyori Asahina herself? That’s where the problem lay. I would never allow myself to as much as hope she would lift a finger for me.

Intellectually, I knew that.

But in my heart, I found baser desires constantly whispering their temptations.

Yes. The true desire secretly hidden underneath my lust for a cell phone:

“…I want to text with Hiyori Asahina.”

No. Not just text. I want to voice with her. While we’re on the bus, of course, but in the evening, too, unbeknownst to anyone, night after night.

“I gotta do it with her…”

The thoughts bubbled out from my mouth. I shut my eyes, balling my hands into fists, but the dream remained far away, reminding me yet again of how incapable I was of reaching it.

“Yeah, that’s great, but this’s your stop, kid.”

The words suddenly thrust at me dragged my mind back into the real world in an instant.

I turned upward, seeking out the scoundrel who tossed this sharpened stone at my unguarded soul. As expected, the bus driver’s gaze pounded down at me, accompanied by a grin that all but shouted, “Oh, this is hilarious!”

Shame coursed into my mind, faster than I could formulate any other thought.

“Agh…Uh. Sorry! I’m getting off!”

Hurrying myself off the bus would do nothing to alleviate this sordid state of affairs, but I shot up off my seat anyway, unable to withstand any more of it. I had to show my bus pass before departing, however, which meant more frantic fumbling and flailing through my backpack.

“Uhh, bus pass, bus pass…Ah, jeez, where is it…? No, I got it, I got it! Just gimme one second…”

I rifled through every pocket and pouch of my backpack, but the bus pass that I knew I placed inside this morning had disappeared without a trace.

“Oh, crap, did I leave it at home…?! But I couldn’t have…”

Now things were even more sordid. The shame had already blanked my mind, like an eraser to a whiteboard.

“Huh? Aw, don’ worry about it. I can let it slide one day; yer always showin’ it to me erry day anyway.”

The exasperated driver gave me a pat on the head as he smiled. A breeze of relief wafted across my chest.

What a guy. He had every right in the world to haul me in for skipping out on my bus fare, and yet his kindheartedness saved my life.

“Uh, uh, are you sure?! I’m sorry, I swear I’ll have it tomorrow…”

“Sure, sure, ’s fine! But, hey, kid…?”

The driver took his hand off my head, his expression suddenly stern as his eyes sparkled.

“Buh? Ah! Yeah?”

The anxiety stabbed into my heart once more. I knew I shouldn’t have forgotten my pass…

“Oh, jus,’ y’know, the ‘I gotta do it with her.’ Hee-hee-hee! Boy, I tell you, kid, that’s all I thought about when I was your—”

“Thank you very much!! See you tomorrow!!!!”

Like a frightened jackrabbit, I sprang out of the bus before the driver could finish his painfully misinformed observation. The moment I hit terra firma, I hung a right, dodging the weather-beaten bus shelter.

Soon, I was tearing my way down the sidewalk, summer grass growing wild to the side.

I could hear “Have a good one!” faintly from behind me. That guy was bad news. Really bad news. I couldn’t articulate exactly how, but he was plainly bad news. I had to forget about him as soon as possible.

Slowing down, I stretched my upper body straight up. On the far end of a one-lane road that seemed to stretch on to infinity, the faintly dark mountains slowly began to consume the sun.

Sunset came pretty late into the evening this time of year.

The nights were still obstinately chilly, but the air was nonetheless infused with a reminder of the sun’s heat, letting you taste the incoming summer on your skin.

“Wonder what I’m gonna do this summer. They had me helpin’ out in the field the whole time last year. Hope they give me a break this time…”

I had made it into my teenage years without making good on my intent to escape from this backwoods dump. The main thing I associated summer with was fieldwork, caked in mud, under the blistering sun.

“Wish we could go on a trip somewhere…not that we will. Not like we got the money for that. Man, I bet I know who does…”

I knew Hiyori Asahina had the free money to travel wherever she wanted, to enjoy a storybook summer in the exotic retreat of her choice. I had no way of confirming it, but the image came to mind too readily for my tastes.

She came from a different world, a different perspective, a different everything. She’s seen sights and done things a thick country hick like me couldn’t even imagine.

I knew that well enough. That was why I looked up to her. Why I fell for her.

Taking in the setting sun, I stole a glance at the nearby orange-tinted fields as I dwelled on my eternal conundrum. Then I spotted my house, a little ways away from the village itself, a single plume of smoke rising from its tiny chimney across the vast stretch of meadow.

When was the last time I left this village? I couldn’t recall, which I assume meant it was a while ago.

And I’m still just a teenager, too. That’s how boring and unmemorable it must have been.

When would I earn my next chance to ditch this village?

Suddenly, I conjured an image of my future self with Hiyori Asahina, glancing at the destination sign as we boarded a fancy sleeper train, smiling at each other.

I felt a twinge from somewhere near my chest. A warning, wordlessly telling me how ludicrous the idea was.

“But I can’t give up on it that easy…”

I sighed softly before embarking on the final short leg of my journey.

Amid the false bravado, I thought I heard a voice sneer “Running out of time, aren’t you?” at me from somewhere.

“Just a bit more…”

I focused carefully on my stitching, pouring my soul into each one.

“I’ll make you cuter than ever, okay…?”

It was just about ten at night.

Thankfully, this room, which my mother carefully and thoroughly cleaned on a daily basis, was just as neat as always.

Once I reached home, I sat down at my windowside study desk to stitch for a bit, stare at my work, stitch again, and all the while feel the stress slip from my shoulders. The process had repeated itself for the past four hours or so.

Now the time was near: My magnum opus, my very own Talking Hiyori, had neatly consumed at least three months of my free time. Now, I was a mere few stitches away from completion.

“This is going to change Asahina Army history…!”

The level of expertise, of artisanship, was enough to make me yell out in joy. Just looking at it gave me goose bumps.

Her face was unabashedly fetching but still retained an ominous tone that seemed to separate her from the rest of the human race. Her attractive, well-combed black hair was matched with a one-piece dress. I had kept careful records of her wardrobe, and here I opted for the outfit that (I imagined) she liked the best.

The icing on the cake was the miniature tape recorder I found at the electronics shop I tried and failed to buy a cell phone from.

Inside was a loop packed with recordings of Hiyori Asahina’s voice, painstakingly taken over a period of several weeks whenever I passed by her. The device fit inside the doll, inserted through a rear zipper, giving me the chance at a virtual conversation with my love.

The theme I settled on for her design was “Looking Good in the Big City!” and throughout the entire development process, I never wavered from this concept. Once complete, it would shake the very foundations of our Asahina brotherhood.

And then it was one stitch. Just one stitch away from finishing my masterpiece.

I put my hands down for a moment and closed my eyes.

Looking back, these past three months may have been the most epic journey I’d made in my life.

A journey that stayed firmly shut within the boundaries of my mind, of course, but the cross-country tour of Japan’s top sights I fantasized about taking with Hiyori Asahina had extended in my imagination to a good three laps around the virtual nation.

“…Okay.”

I didn’t surrender myself to reverie for long. There was one final stitch to sew. I shifted my focus to the doll in front of me.

“And now…here she is—!”

“Hibiyaaa! Phoooone!! Get down here!!”

My hands slipped at the sound of my mother’s voice booming from down below, causing my needle to ominously embed itself into Talking Hiyori’s torso.

“Gaaaaaahhhhhh!!”

I shouted out loud at this unexpected disaster. My cool, collected mind was now shattered by the sight of a thick iron bar thudding itself into Hiyori Asahina’s chest.

“What did I…How…How…?!”

My hands quivered in horror as I covered my face with them.

In my imagination, Hiyori Asahina was in my arms, whispering her final words as I pleaded for her life. I had trouble with the dialogue, not having honestly spoken with her that often, but at least the atmosphere was right.

“Hibiyaaaa!! Get down here now!!”

My mother’s cruel bellowing was starting to build steam. It was time to abandon the effort for now.

“All right! I’m coming!”

Carefully positioning my virtual Hiyori on the desk, I spun around on my chair, positioned myself opposite from the doorway, and hopped off.

Opening the door, I jumped down the creaky old staircase. A rotary-dial telephone sat unceremoniously on a shelf in the downstairs hallway.

“Who’s even calling me at a time like…I mean, who is it, anyway? You coulda told me, Mom…”

Doubts still fresh in my mind, I picked up the receiver and began speaking. Someone calling at this time of the night couldn’t be anyone decent. Might as well try to keep this short.

“Uh, hello? This is Hibiya, but who’s—”

“About time.”

I had tried to sound gruff and annoyed, but it was like a kid against a heavyweight fighter. I was floored.

The identity of the voice, regardless of what attitude it was trying to bring across, was enough to drown me in bewilderment.

“Huh? What—”

“Uh, I said, about time? You know I’m standing up while I’m making this call? My legs are starting to, like, hurt?”

There was no mistaking the voice, or the chip on her shoulder. There was no way you ever could.

Hiyori Asahina was on the other side—her usual overbearing, outrageously uncaring attitude all but thundering in through the receiver.

“Uh, like, can you hear me? Helloooooo? Are you deaf or something?”

“Uh, Hiyori?! Y-yeah, I can hear you! Yeah! I hear you great!!”

My brain was too overloaded to function properly. Spinal reflex was all I had to offer in response to Hiyori Asahina’s query.

“Why’re you acting so tense? Ugh…Like, whatever. So I wanted to, uh, ask you about something?”

“‘Ask’…?”

“Uh, yeah? ‘Ask’? Or maybe more like, uh, ‘negotiate,’ or something?”

Who could have ever predicted this turn of events? I knew how I acted on that bus. Talking about “doing it” to myself.

And now I’m doing it.

But what did she want, so close to midnight like this?

“Oh, dude, you’re always totally welcome to…uh. I mean, sure, no problem. What’s up?”

“Well, you know you, like, dropped your bus pass, right? I saw it in the hallway at school today and it, uh, had your name on it?”

That explained things well enough. No doubt I was lost in thought about my work on Talking Hiyori that I completely lost track of my pass. Never in a thousand years would I dream of finding it this way.

Though, in a twisted way, I suppose I had the bus driver to thank.

I had made such a mental effort to put that danger to society out of my mind that I removed the bus pass from memory entirely.

And that set the stage for this phone call, one that would undoubtedly change my life.

She was here to tell me she picked up my pass. What bliss. So, so kind of her. I always knew Hiyori Asahina was an angel in—

Wait a second.

I was struck by the distinct feeling I had forgotten something. Something vitally important…

—Before leaving home, I always made sure to pick a selection from my carefully curated gallery of Hiyori Asahina instant photos, thrusting it into the holder for my bus pass as I smirked to myself the entire commute—

“…Uh, are you even listening, or…? ’Cause there’s all these, like, weird pauses whenever it’s your turn to talk? So about your bus pass…”

“It’s not mine!”

“Huh?”

I was sweating enough that I feared the puddle forming around my feet would somehow cause the telephone to electrocute me.

In my mind, the Apocalyptic Crap Festival was well under way. It chiefly consisted of myself, Hibiya Amamiya, uttering “crap crap crap crap crap crap crap crap crap crap crap” as rapidly as possible, as a gaggle of drunken parade-goers strapped me to a piece of plywood in the main tent and slowly hoisted the guillotine blade above my neck.

Crap.

This was really bad.

The photo I chose for today was particularly dangerous. Hiyori Asahina, her skirt flipped up a bit by a spring breeze. A tad naughty, but that was right up my alley. It couldn’t have been a worse selection.

Just watch what happens when the girl herself discovers that I’m walking around in broad daylight with that photo in my bus-pass holder. It’s all over. All gone. Take only pictures, leave only ashes.

And oh, man, I just spent three hours finishing up Talking Hiyori. I’m digging myself deeper and deeper into my grave.

I’ve got to do something…anything…

“Well, I mean, it’s kind of got your name on it, y’know? Like…How’d you even get off the bus, if you didn’t notice it was gone?”

“Uh, maybe it’s someone with the same name? Probably that! There’s got to be, like, a million people around here named Hibiya Amamiya!”

“With that weird name? Like, no? I don’t know anyone else, anyway. But, uh, I wanted to ask about what you had on the back of it?”

There was nothing I could do. The Apocalyptic Crap Festival in my brain had reached a fever pitch.

The revelers pulled a black hood over my head as I helplessly squirmed. A strapping young man in a loincloth took a long knife to the rope holding the guillotine blade upward, slowly scraping the blade against it as he grinned.

There on the plywood sheet, Hibiya Amamiya smiled in apparent reverie, as if internally coming to terms with something.

I’m done for. There’s nothing I can do that’ll help weasel me out of this. If this is how I go out, I might as well do it with a bang.

“Like, is this—”

“All right! All right, all right! Look, I know it’s never gonna happen, but you could at least let a guy dream, okay?!”

I told her the truth, or at least attempted to. It failed to come out quite as intended.

It’s only human, I suppose: You’ve resigned yourself to your fate, but there’s still something inside you, telling you to keep fighting.

“Uh, I dunno what you’re freaking out over, okay? It’s weird.”

That urge shattered to pieces. I expected nothing less.

It was no doubt my final day as an Asahina Army general. Hot tears ran down my cheeks.

I closed my eyes. In the darkness, I could see all her other would-be suitors descending from the heavens to greet me, in all their naked glory.

I’m sorry I treated you all like idiots. I’m ready to go with you now.

I hope you won’t mind if I bring some photos and my Talking Hiyori with me, at least.

As I stood there in silence, feverishly trying to glorify my tragic death, Hiyori Asahina gave me yet another unexpected shock.

“Like, who said you had to dream or anything? I, uh, called you because I wanna, like, help make it come true, okay?”

“Huehh?”

I had trouble understanding Hiyori Asahina’s statement, enough so that my response easily ranked within the Top Three Dumbest Things I’ve Said All Year.

But she definitely said it. She wanted to make it come true. What was she talking about?!

“Come true…? Did you mean…?”

“Uh, I mean exactly what I said, okay? I know you’re, like, serious about it? So I wanna help make it come true.”

The hastily constructed altar at the center of the Apocalyptic Crap Festival in my mind exploded, splintering into a million pieces.

Hibiya Amamiya, suddenly awakened to a new and awesome force, stood up and crushed the guillotine’s blade in his palm, like it was made of cake icing.

“R-r-really?! I mean, uh, seriously?! You really feel that way?! I mean…Whaaaaa?! Really?!!”

“Ugh! Quit being so loud! I’m not gonna, like, say it again?”

“O-okay!”

“Okay? Good. So, like, great, but did you really wannit that bad? I mean, I guess you’ve been, like, thinking about it forever, right?”

The near-endless stream of volatile questions began to make my heart palpitate. Today was putting a terrible burden on my blood pressure.

Do I “want it”?! Is it even okay for her to say that?! Is that how loose standards have gotten with our generation?!

No, no, no. What are you thinking? Take your mind out of the gutter.

I’m acting like some kind of wild ape. This isn’t the right thing to do.

“Oh, I super want it.”

After careful consideration, Hibiya Amamiya opted for full-on wild ape mode.

I’d like to meet the guy who wouldn’t, given this kind of chance.

Go ahead! Call me disgusting! Watch me care!

“Yeah, uh, I guess so, if you had that in your holder and everything? I, like, kinda figured it was like that? So how ’bout I make it come, uh, true?”

“Are…are you sure…? Really…?!”

The sweat pouring off my forehead neatly converted itself into a nosebleed.

The horde of naked men descending toward me just a moment ago now glared wistfully. I ignored them. Filthy monsters. Go away.

“But I got, like, one condition, okay? The ‘negotiation’ thing I talked about? I want you to, like, make a wish come true for me, too.”

Hiyori Asahina’s voice was calm as she carried the conversation forward. One would expect a woman to act at least a tad embarrassed, discussing things like these. But maybe this is my lack of experience making itself embarrassingly obvious again. Maybe it was normal these days for couples to “negotiate” this, like some pro athlete’s contract.

But I wasn’t in the market for theatrics. I don’t play around, and I doubt she did, either. This was just her way of shyly courting me. But I’m a man. I have to take the lead.

“Well, of course! Of course! I’ll do anything I can! What did you need from me?!”

“Wh-whoa, someone’s sure, uh, rarin’ to go, huh? Well, like, it kinda connects with your ‘request,’ too, so…Like, are you free during summer break?”

“Of course! Totally free! I’m helping out around the farm a little bit, but no, no special plans!”

“Oh? Wow, good. Okay, could you, like, keep your whole summer vacation free? ’Cause we’re going to the city. Oh, and just the two of us, okay?”

“Uehhm?”

I was preparing myself for something difficult or physically demanding. Humiliating, perhaps. What I didn’t expect was Hiyori Asahina offering something on such a grand scale.

“Let’s go on a date somewhere nearby” was one thing, but once you got to the level of “Let’s go to the city,” that was simply unheard of around here. Even the high-school-age kids in this county rarely went beyond something like “I know this really secluded pond; why don’t we head over there and bring some sushi rolls to eat?”

And where did “just the two of us” come from? Was she treating me to some kind of grand, epic adventure? If she was expecting me to fire right back with an instant answer, she was gonna be disappointed.

“I…uh, why the city? And why…alone…?”

“Um, like, I wanted to go there? Because there’s something I want over there? So I thought I’d invite you to, you know, help hold my things, and stuff. What, don’t you like being with me?”

“N-no! No! Of course I do! You kidding me?! I just…My parents are superstrict, so I dunno if I can get the money to…”

“Oh, that’s fine. We’re, like, totally loaded, so I can cover for you. I’m kind of keeping this, you know, a secret from my parents, so…Oh! But you gotta keep quiet about it too, okay? Don’t, like, tell a soul, okay?”

“You’re keeping it secret from your parents?”

“Uh, yeah? I mean, that’ll help make your ‘dream’ come true easier, right? You know, ’cause of your ‘superstrict’ parents?”

She was right. The mere thought of reporting my romantic trysts to them made me erupt in primal fear. But a trip with my beloved without my parents’ knowledge? It was everything I needed to make my fantasy a reality.

That, and as she undoubtedly knew by now, it was hardly a secret around the local county that Hiyori Asahina’s family was practically rolling in cash. She could cover travel expenses for two kids without batting an eye.

But something nagged at me.

If she was going through all this trouble just for some shopping in the city, why didn’t she just ask her parents?

And something about her phrasing—the whole “make my dreams come true” thing—didn’t seem quite right to me. My dreams didn’t involve grand vacations with her. Not very often. Okay, they did. But, really, an afternoon walking around the village would have been more than enough to keep me happy.

Why was she going out of her way, crossing this rickety, dangerous bridge, to travel the city alone with me? The only possible answer, one as obvious as it was plainly proven, sprung to my mind.

“…You’re really that into me?”

“Huh? What’d you say?”

“Uhh, uh, nothing! Sorry!”

I snapped my head upward, breaking out of my self-engineered episode of egotism.

To make a long story short, Hiyori Asahina had clearly fallen in love with me. She had fallen in love so badly, she didn’t know what to do with herself.

And as she so bravely struggled with her emotions, she picked up a bus-pass holder with my name on it, accompanied by a picture of herself. She was seizing that as a chance to approach me, using terms like “discussion” and “negotiation” to disguise what was so blatantly plain to us both.

She was taking the noble route, couching her intentions by speaking of my dreams, and making them reality. But perhaps, deep down, she wanted to embrace me with her arms this very minute.

The evidence presented to me was clear enough. She wanted to go somewhere far away with me, and only me. As her luggage boy, is how she put it. But, again, that was no doubt her way of smoothing over the torrential desire gushing through her body.

“But…all right. I know how you feel, and I’m ready to answer that!”

“Ugh, that sounds soooo lame…Look, I’m expecting you to, like, help me get what I want, okay? ’Cause if you don’t, I’ll send you right back home.”

The icy chill behind Hiyori Asahina’s voice still stung as frigidly as ever. But now I knew. This was how she showed affection. And the more I realized that, the more it sounded like sweet honey to me.

But what did she want, exactly?

It may all be just a big excuse. It may not even exist. But…

“Oh, uh, sure! Naturally…but what’re you looking for, anyway?”

“Huh? Uh, you know, there’s this new pop-idol singer, right? And I’m kinda looking for her autograph? I mean, you saw the ads, right? ‘The sixteen-year-old phenom who’ll steal your heart away!’ and stuff? I, like, totally love her. She’s so adorable!”

“Oh! Oh. Yeah, I don’t really watch a lot of TV, so…Wow, though. Neat.”

I could feel my heart freeze over at teeth-clattering speed.

The warmth that manifested itself the moment Hiyori Asahina began talking about that singer was more than enough to show me and my wild fantasies of a chic urban getaway with my new partner where the chips really lay.

It should have been obvious from the start. There’s no way her main goal was to spend time with me. I had my head way too far into the clouds.

And I didn’t know which pop idol she was talking about, but if she was charming enough to make Hiyori Asahina’s heart melt, she was truly someone to fear.

“But…but, uh, if she’s that famous, wouldn’t it be hard to get her autograph…?”

“Hee-hee! You think so? Well, guess what! I’m gonna have a chance at it.”

She all but trumpeted the words, the “rich heiress” side of her exposed for all to see.

“A chance? Is she doing an autograph event, or?”

“Uh, no? I mean, she, like, never does stuff like that. Like, she’s so famous, it always turns into a mob scene wherever she show up.”

A new pop idol who’s already too famous for one-on-one fan events? What kind of world-beating beauty was this?

No. She couldn’t be that beautiful.

After all, there wasn’t a woman in the world who could outclass Hiyori Asahina. There couldn’t be.

But if this star wasn’t into public appearances, then an autograph seemed out of the question.

She wasn’t expecting me to come up with some harebrained scheme to trick this celebrity into whipping out a pen for her, was she?

“But I kind of have an in, you know? My sister’s husband is a schoolteacher, and that girl is one of his students! I was chatting with her on the phone, and she was like ‘Come on down for Obon, I can probably get a signature for you.’ So I figured I’d, like, do a little sightseeing while I was over there, but my parents…You know, they freaked? They were all like ‘Oooh, how can you say that, you need to study, blah blah blah.’”

“So that’s why you aren’t telling them?”

“Right. Yeah. But, like, I haven’t been to the city by myself before, so I figured I’d invite you to help carry my stuff. You know?”

I knew. It explained why she was so gung-ho about a trip with me, or at least anyone available and breathing.

If she had a local relative who knew that pop idol, there was a pretty good chance an autograph was in her future. We wouldn’t have to pay for a hotel, either.

Given the level of respect Hiyori Asahina generally had for others—which is to say, zero—a long lecture from her parents was a surefire way to make her run away from home, even if it meant going it alone. That made the meaning behind “let’s go away and keep it a secret” all the more clear.

Which brought another nagging question to the forefront:

“Uh…so, so why did you need me to come along at all?”

“Why? No reason. I just figured, like, you’d listen to what I’d say, you know?”

I felt something sharp thud unto my heart. Faced with the overwhelming presence of Hiyori Asahina’s sheer indifference, the smile of Hibiya Amamiya—the same pair of lips that accused her just a moment ago of being “that into” him—evaporated into a wisp of dust.

I should have expected it. All Hiyori Asahina cared about was this airhead pop singer’s autograph. Nothing else captured so much as a moment of her interest.

In conclusion, then, there was no particular romantic motivation behind tonight’s phone call.

The Level-3 Super Hibiya in my mind, previously dismembering the hordes of masked men that stalked the charred remains of the Apocalyptic Crap Festival, suddenly fell to his knees, a shriveled version of himself.

“But…you said you’d make my dreams come true. What was that supposed to mean?! I mean, it’s not that easy to—”

“Uh, what are you going on about? I’ll help you buy a cell phone. It’s not supposed to, like, mean anything, okay?”

Cell phone?

Why did the conversation make a sudden swerve toward portable technology? I didn’t remember the topic coming up once this entire phone call.

Wait up.

Let’s pick our way back through this conversation.

Hiyori Asahina noticed my bus pass on the floor. She picked it up, discovering the photo I had inside. She saw that, and she quite loudly articulated her wish to “make my dreams come true.” Because I was clearly “serious about this.”

Then she asked if I “wanted it.” Two words I’d never forget. Ever.

Where did mobile phones fit into this?

That didn’t have anything to do with—

“…Ohhhgh.”

A sudden nightmare scenario popping into my brain made me audibly groan.

Like a long-lost puzzle piece, it made all the discomfort lurking behind the scenes a suddenly complete, eerily dreadful picture of doom.

I turned toward the full-length mirror placed on one wall of the downstairs corridor. It reflected my image back, of course, just as I was when I returned home earlier.

Thrusting a harried hand into the breast pocket where I always put my bus pass, I realized that something else I always kept in there was missing.

“Uh, you did want a cell phone, right? You, like, stuck part of a sales flyer for one in your bus-pass holder. I’m trying to help you come with me so you can make that dream come true. Why’re you acting all, like, suspicious of me?”

At that moment, my foolish misunderstanding became clear as day, the ecstasy in my heart crashing to earth at terminal speed.

Hiyori Asahina hadn’t spotted my photo of her at all.

It was a department-store flyer advertising a sale on mobile devices. I had a habit of sticking it in my breast pocket so I could use it as conversation fodder, just in case I ran into Hiyori Asahina sometime.

How did that escape my notice until now?

This sudden call from Hiyori Asahina herself shook me, no doubt.

But that didn’t excuse the megaton-level mistake I just made.

She was “shyly courting me.” I “super want it.” Why don’t you just die, you stupid, depraved freak?

Just recalling the events of a moment ago made me want to run around the hall, screaming and bashing my head against the wall panels. Then I realized that another question—the biggest one of all, actually—still remained unanswered.

I gingerly asked:

“…Uh, was there anything else inside my pass holder?”

Hiyori Asahina sighed an exasperated, gruff sigh.

“What, did you lose something else? That was, like, all I saw in there, but…What? Was there something important?”

“No. Not, um, really.”

I knew it. Hiyori Asahina didn’t have the photo.

She couldn’t have. If she did, she’d call the youth detention center, not me.

But, after thinking about it a moment, it made sense. Around school, especially in the school years around Hiyori Asahina’s, there was a huge population of card-holding Asahina Army members.

—You can’t even spit without hitting one of Asahina’s secret admirers—

It wasn’t much of an exaggeration.

If one of those half-starved hyenas picked up my pass holder, graced with the presence of one of my favorite self-made trading cards, before Hiyori Asahina did—what would he (and it’d definitely be “he”) do?

The answer was evident.

He’d swipe the photo and toss the holder back where he found it. A bus pass around this county—especially one that brought the rider out as far into the sticks as I lived—wasn’t worth much.

It even had my name on it, too. Stealing something that left such a clear trail of footprints provided little benefit to any would-be thief.

The photo by itself, though…Talk about the ultimate in opportunity crimes. If I reported to the police that I was searching for something so blatantly gray-area, it’d be straight to happy-delinquent land for me.

It’s not like I could ask anyone else about it, either. The criminal who made off with it probably figured he’d face zero punishment whatsoever. The flyer was folded right in there, too, so the photo was probably stuck somewhere in between.

But maybe I needed to thank the Asahina Army scavenger behind this theft. The act made me boil with anger, of course, but he kept my deviant and totally actionable sexual desires a secret from Hiyori Asahina. He saved my life, in a way. It made me nauseated, imagining her laying eyes on that photo. It’d be nothing but prison food for the rest of my teenage years.

“But…wow, that’s really great…”

I leaned against the shelf the phone was poised on, slowly collapsing down to the floor.

“Uh, hello? You’re acting, like, really weird again?”

“Oh. Sorry. I guess I am, kinda, huh?”

So, in the end, I misread her intentions and let myself wallow in a fantastical realm of fantasy for several minutes.

The gap from my previous euphoria made it difficult to remain upright, but I still felt a strange sense of serenity.

It was all an impossible dream. A lone flower, atop a high mountain peak, never possibly within my grasp. I let myself dream about it nonetheless, but having this enormous chance presented before me and then promptly burned to the ground made the truth all the more stark.

There was no reason left to expect things would improve with—

“Uh, so are you going, or what?”

“Huh?”

She sounded ready to lecture at me, but still seemed open to my response. My pulse, almost slowed back to normal, leapt back into action.

Oh. Right. This wasn’t over yet.

In fact, I was still being presented with an unbelievable chance, wasn’t I?

Even if it was all a ridiculous fever dream on my part, even if this was just another one of Hiyori Asahina’s selfish whims, she was still this close to me.

She initiated an entire conversation with me. She’s inviting me to come along with her. Even if it meant nothing at all, could I have been any more blessed?

I used my free hand to prop myself back up to a standing position.

“Well, of course I’m going. We can make this a great summer break together.”

Yes. There’s no reason it can’t start like this. The gears are all in motion.

Whether it’s destiny at work or just some dumb coincidence, it didn’t matter. Regardless of what happens, as long as I didn’t give up, I’m sure I could communicate my true feelings to her.

“Pfft. Well, like, you’re gonna work for it, okay? I’ll figure out a schedule and stuff tomorrow. All right?”

“Sure thing! Looking forward to it!”

“Mm. Good. Talk to you later.”

There was a click, and then Hiyori Asahina’s voice was gone.

I sighed deeply, letting my body relax a little.

Then I shot a look toward the front door, suddenly taken by an impulse to run out and breathe some fresh air. Walking down the hall, I put on a threadbare pair of shoes and slipped out. A chill wind, scented with summer grass, greeted me by the door.

A large full moon shone in the dark blue sky as I walked down the road, gazing at it. There weren’t too many lights along this street, but the moon was all I needed to see the way.

Summer was about to begin, and an adventure that only we were privy to.

I looked to the moon in anticipation, the past euphoria not quite drained from my body.

It was a season we’d likely never forget.