CHAPTER 1

Schoolwide events are an indispensable part of school, though they happen sporadically. Which reminds me, my high school had an athletic festival last month. I was pretty skeptical when Haruhi mentioned having the SOS Brigade participate in the exhibition relay during the interclub meet, but what do you know, the SOS Brigade really did participate in a relay. I sure didn’t expect to blow away the track team and stomp all over the rugby team, with Haruhi running anchor, crossing the finish line approximately thirteen lengths ahead of the closest runner. As a result, our (excluding me) peculiarity had gone from being whispered about by students to the point where it was buzzing around school like someone had just pulled the fire alarm during class, giving me a headache. Most of the blame lies with Haruhi for coming up with the idea, but the second runner, Nagato, is also at fault. I certainly would never have expected her to run so fast that she might as well have been teleporting. Let me know beforehand, Nagato.

When I asked Nagato what kind of magic she had used, the humorless, alien-made organic android gave me an explanation using terms like “energy level” and “quantum leap,” which I appreciated, but seeing as how I had already given up on a career in the sciences and had chosen the path of liberal arts, I had no idea what she was talking about. Not that I wanted to know.

Once the crazy athletic festival was over, I eagerly anticipated the coming of a new month, only to learn that we had a cultural festival coming up. At this very moment, our lame prefectural high school was preparing for the event. Except that the only ones preparing were the teachers, executive committee members, and the members of any cultural clubs, for which this was their one opportunity to shine.

Of course, a club must be recognized before it can hold any club activities, and since the SOS Brigade had yet to be recognized, we had no need to engage in any creative preparations. Though I wouldn’t have minded picking up some stray cat in the neighborhood and throwing it into a cage with a sign saying extraterrestrial beast as some sort of exhibition. But the people who didn’t get the joke would probably make a fuss, and the ones who did get it would only ridicule us. Besides, there was no reason for me to stretch my mind to come up with something for the festival. I had no motivation to do it. A cultural festival at a typical high school like ours will always be dull. If you don’t believe me, go take a peek at any school that’s having a festival. You will then learn the reality that it’s just another school event.

By the way, if you’re wondering what 1-5, the class Haruhi and I are in, is doing, we copped out and went with some random survey. After Asakura ran off somewhere last spring, no other student in this class was crazy enough to take up the leadership position. The current plan only came after homeroom teacher Okabe strained to come up with an idea during an extended and uncomfortable homeroom period. Nobody was for or against it, so the matter was settled when class ended and we ran out of time. Nobody even knew what the survey would be about. Or who would have fun doing this. Though I doubt anyone would ever enjoy it. But that’s how it goes. Work hard, people.

And with that, feeling completely languid, I performed my daily ritual of heading to the club room. Why? Because the girl stomping next to me was saying the following.

“A survey is so dumb.”

She made a face like she’d accidentally poured sauce on her natto.

“Where’s the fun in that? I totally don’t get it!”

“Then you should have spoken up. Didn’t you see how Okabe looked like we were holding a wake in the classroom?”

“Doesn’t matter. I have no intention of participating in anything the class does. There’s no fun in doing anything with those people.”

“Except I vaguely remember you contributing to the class winning the all-around championship. Weren’t you the one who ran anchor and won the short, medium, and long medley relays? Or was that someone else?”

“That’s different.”

“How is it different?”

“This is a cultural festival. Or you could call it a campus festival. Though I suppose you wouldn’t use the word ‘campus’ when talking about a public school. Whatever. The cultural festival is the super most important event of the year, right?”

“Really?”

“Really!” she said as she nodded fervently. And then she announced. To me. The following proclamation:

“We, the SOS Brigade, will be doing something much more fun!”

As Haruhi Suzumiya spoke, her face was shining with resolve, like Hannibal deciding to cross the Alps during the Second Punic War.

Only on the surface, though.

Not a single time during the past six months has Haruhi’s “something fun” led to anything remotely pleasant for me. Almost all cases end with exhaustion. At least, Asahina and I end up exhausted, but we’re the only normal human beings here. As far as I can tell, it’s common knowledge on this planet that Haruhi is not a normal person. And I seriously doubt that Koizumi’s disposition can be considered normal human behavior. And Nagato isn’t even human.

Now that I’ve gotten involved with this bunch, how am I supposed to get through high school living like a complete stranger to myself? I really don’t want to repeat what I had to do six months ago. Never want to do something that rash again. Just thinking about it—someone give me a gun—makes me want to shoot myself in the head. I’d like to extract and burn the brain cells containing the memories of that incident. I don’t know how Haruhi felt about it, though.

Since I was busy with devising a way to erase those memories, I didn’t hear what the squawking girl next to me said.

“Hey, Kyon. Are you listening?”

“No, not really. What about it?”

“The cultural festival, the cultural festival. You should be a bit more excited. You can only experience the cultural festival as a first-year high school student once.”

“Well, yeah. No reason to make a fuss about it, though.”

“Yes, there is. Festivals don’t happen very often. It wouldn’t be a festival if people didn’t go wild. That’s what happens at all the school festivals I heard of.”

“Your middle school really went overboard, huh?”

“Totally not. It wasn’t the least bit fun. That’s why this high school cultural festival has to be more fun.”

“What would you consider fun then?”

“Real ghosts in a haunted house, stairs where the number of steps suddenly increase, the Seven Wonders of the World turn into the Thirteen Wonders, the principal’s hair tripling in size into an Afro, the school building transforms and fights with some monster that comes out of the ocean, or ‘plum’ becoming a seasonal word for ‘fall.’ That kind of stuff.”

Now, I stopped listening halfway, so I missed everything after the stairs part. Maybe someone who has the time could give me a rundown.

“… well, fine. I’ll give you a thorough explanation once we get to the club room.”

Haruhi apparently lost her good mood and fell into a sullen silence. We marched on, reaching the club room door in no time. Underneath the plate reading Literary Club was a scrap of paper with the words with the SOS Brigade scribbled on it. “We’ve been here for half a year. Nobody can say that this room isn’t ours.” And with that, she began arbitrarily asserting her occupational rights and started replacing the plate itself before I could stop her. People need to know when to be discreet.

Haruhi opened the door without knocking, and I was able to see a fairy standing in the club room. Her eyes met mine, and her face lit up with a smile like the personification of a lily flower.

“Ah… hello.”

Sweeping the room with a broom, dressed in a maid outfit, was the SOS Brigade’s tea-brewing pride and joy, Mikuru Asahina. As always, she welcomed me with a smile as though she were a fairy living in this club room. Maybe she really is a fairy or something like that. That seems more appropriate than saying she’s a time traveler.

Back when the brigade was established, Haruhi gave the incomprehensible reason of “I was thinking that we need a mascot character” when she dragged Asahina here. And then Haruhi forced her into a maid outfit, and ever since, she does a complete transformation into the SOS Brigade maid after school every day. Not because she has a few screws loose in her head, but because she’s such a sweet girl that it brings tears to my eyes.

Asahina has dressed up as a bunny girl, nurse, and cheerleader, but I have to say that she looks best as a maid. As for why, this outfit, while serving no purpose, avoids being suggestive in any way, and I’d rather it stay that way. And I might as well take this opportunity to inform everyone that the majority of Haruhi’s actions serve no purpose.

But they often lead to something else happening, and that something else usually ends up making trouble for the rest of us. I wish everything she did was meaningless.

One of the few good things Haruhi has done—actually, the only good thing she’s done—is creating this maid version of Asahina. She looks so good it makes me light-headed. This is the only time I can’t fault one of Haruhi’s ideas. I don’t know where she got the costume or how much it cost, but Haruhi has pretty good fashion sense. Of course, Asahina would look like a supermodel no matter what she was wearing.

“I’ll have tea ready at once,” Asahina murmured in her cute voice as she placed the broom in the closet. She then ran over to the cupboard and began taking out our individual cups.

I felt something hard drive into my side. Apparently, Haruhi had elbowed me.

“You’re squinting.”

Apparently, my eyes naturally squint when appreciating Asahina’s loveliness. Anybody else would do the same if they were in the presence of the adorable, graceful, and bashful Asahina.

Haruhi took the armband labeled Chief off the desk where the pyramid labeled Chief was resting, and put it on. She then plopped into a metal chair and leaned back, glaring around the room.

The other brigade member in the room was sitting at the corner of the table reading a thick book.

“…”

Staring at the pages without looking up even once was the first-year literary club member who was, as far as Haruhi was concerned, like “a bonus that came with the room after taking it over”—Yuki Nagato.

The classmate who stands out as much as nitrogen in the Earth’s atmosphere has the strangest profile out of all of us. You could say that her background is even more eccentric than Haruhi’s. Haruhi’s makes absolutely no sense at all, but Nagato’s kind of makes sense—which just confuses me more. If I believe what Nagato says, then this silent-expressionless-emotionless-heartless-quadruple-combo short-haired petite female student isn’t human but an alien-made communication machine. Don’t ask me what that is. I don’t know. She said so herself, so I have nothing to add. Apparently, it’s true. But it’s a secret Haruhi doesn’t know about. Haruhi just thinks that she’s “a slightly odd bookworm” and nothing else.

Though from an objective standpoint, I’m thinking “slightly” is a bit off.

“Where’s Koizumi?”

Haruhi’s sharp glare shot to Asahina. Asahina unconsciously flinched.

“I-I don’t know. He hasn’t showed up yet. He sure is late….”

She carefully took tea leaves from the tea caddy and placed them into the teapot. I casually surveyed the garment rack in the corner of the room. It contained a number of outfits, as though this were a dressing room for the drama club. From left to right, nurse outfit, bunny, summer maid, cheerleader, yukata, doctor’s coat, leopard skin, frog costume, some fluttery transparent thing I didn’t recognize, et cetera, et cetera.

Each and every one of them has been graced by the warmth of Asahina’s skin over the past six months. There was no meaning in Asahina wearing any of these. It was solely for the sake of satisfying Haruhi. Maybe she had some kind of trauma from her childhood. Like her parents wouldn’t buy her a Barbie doll. Which was why she was playing with Asahina now. Consequently, Asahina’s trauma built steadily, and my eyes were treated to a divine feast. Well, if you add it all up, I guess more people ended up happy than not, so I just kept my mouth shut.

“Mikuru, tea.”

“Y-yes. Right away.”

Asahina hurriedly poured green tea into the teacup labeled Haruhi in Magic Marker before placing it on a tray and slowly carrying it over.

Haruhi blew on the hot tea before speaking like a master of flower arranging criticizing the ineptitude of an apprentice.

“Mikuru, I’m pretty sure I’ve told you this before. Do you remember?”

“What?”

Asahina clung to the tray nervously.

“What was it again?” She tilted her head questioningly like a java sparrow trying to remember the taste of the hemp seeds it ate the day before.

Haruhi set her teacup on the desk. “When you carry the tea over, you’re supposed to trip and spill the tea once every three times! You’re not acting the least bit like a clumsy maid!”

“Wha—Ah… I’m sorry.”

Asahina shrugged. This was the first I’d heard of such an order. So what, Haruhi thinks that all maids are clumsy?

“That’s fine, Mikuru. You can practice on Kyon. Make sure the teacup ends up flipped over on his head.”

“Huh?”

That was Asahina’s response as she turned and glanced at me. I was looking around for a drill so I could plug up that empty hole in Haruhi’s head, but unfortunately I couldn’t find one, so instead I just sat and sighed.

“Asahina, only people with mental issues find Haruhi’s jokes funny.”

You should have learned that by now. But I refrained from voicing that last sentiment.

Haruhi’s eyes narrowed.

“Hey, stupid. I’m not joking! I’m always serious!”

Then it must be worse than we thought. You should go get a CT scan. And if I get really pissed whenever you call me stupid, does that mean I lack a sense of humor?

“Fine. I’ll show you how it’s done. You go next, Mikuru.”

Haruhi leapt from her metal chair, swiped the tray from the babbling Asahina, picked up the teapot, and began pouring tea into the cup marked with my name.

As I watched in a daze, Haruhi set the teacup on the tray, spilling a considerable amount. She verified my location before nodding and heading toward my position, which was when I plucked the teacup from the side.

“Hey! Don’t interfere!”

Interfere? If someone’s willing to stand still while hot tea is being poured onto his head, he’s either one hell of a nice guy or some kind of insurance scam artist.

I remained standing as I drank the green tea Haruhi had poured and pondered why it tasted so different from Asahina’s tea when they used the same tea leaves. That was a no-brainer. The difference would be in the spice called love. If Asahina were a wild white rose in bloom, then this girl would be some kind of special rose that was all thorns and never bloomed. And bore no fruit, naturally.

---

---

Haruhi glared at me with chastising eyes as I silently drank my tea.

“Hmph.”

With a flip of her hair, she returned to the chief’s desk. Slurp. She made a face like she was drinking boiling, bitter medicine.

Asahina, relieved, returned to her service, pouring tea into Nagato’s cup and placing it in front of the reading girl.

Nagato didn’t even flinch. She remained fixed on her hardcover. You should have at least showed a little gratitude. It’d probably take Taniguchi three days to finish savoring that tea.

“…”

Nagato continued flipping through the pages without looking up. Since that was how it always was, Asahina didn’t actually mind and went to put her own teacup on standby.

That was when the fifth brigade member walked in, despite the fact that no one would have cared if he never showed up.

“Terribly sorry I’m late. Homeroom lasted longer than usual.”

The one who opened the door with a seemingly harmless smile beaming on his face would be, according to Haruhi, the mysterious transfer student, Itsuki Koizumi. With a smile like that on his face, I would never introduce him, as a friend, to my girlfriend. That is, if I had one.

“It appears I’m the last one. I apologize if I delayed the meeting. Or should I treat everyone to something?”

“Meeting? What’s that? I didn’t hear anything about a meeting.”

“I forgot to tell you,” Haruhi said as she rested her chin in her hands. “I told everyone else during lunch. Just figured I could tell you whenever.”

“How can you have time to go to other classrooms yet not find time to tell the person sitting in front of you in your own classroom?”

“Who cares? It’s all the same anyway. The issue isn’t what you heard or when you heard it, but what you’re doing right now.”

Her words may sound impressive on the surface, but it has been well established that anything she does only serves to worsen my mood.

“Moving on, time to think about what to do now!”

Do a better job of distinguishing between now as in this very instant or now as in the near future. And would the subject of that sentence be a singular I or a plural we?

“Of course, I mean all of us. This will be an SOS Brigade event.”

“Event?” I asked.

“Weren’t you listening? The only event this time of year is the cultural festival!”

“That isn’t a brigade event. It is a school event. If you wanted to promote the cultural festival so badly, you should have run in the elections for the executive committee. You’d be flooded with pointless menial tasks to do.”

“That would defeat the purpose. We need to create an SOS Brigade–style activity. I’ve spent too much effort building up this brigade! Not a soul in this school should be able to say that they don’t know about this super-hot group,” Haruhi said.

What would constitute an SOS Brigade–style activity? I thought back on the SOS Brigade activities over the past six months and became a bit depressed.

You have it easy since you just throw out whatever idea comes to your mind, but what about the suffering Asahina and I have to go through? Koizumi just smiles shrewdly and Nagato is absolutely no help when it comes to brainstorming. Ah, I guess Asahina isn’t exactly normal, but she’s cute, so that makes it all okay. She just needs to stand there as a treat for my eyes and a balm for my weary soul.

“We have to meet their expectations,” Haruhi said with a contemplative look on her face.

Who exactly is expecting anything from the SOS Brigade? That’s worth having a survey about. And I don’t see how you’ve built up this brigade when our standing is still below that of a student association and our number of members hasn’t increased. Since more members would only complicate the situation, I can live without them, but the way things look now, this derailed Haruhi express is going to keep skidding on. And the only passengers are the five of us. I’d like to find a scapegoat to take my place. I’ll even pay an hourly wage. I’m willing to give a hundred yen per.

Haruhi drained her first cup in thirty seconds and requested a second from Asahina.

“What about you, Mikuru? What are you guys doing?”

“Um… you mean my class? A yakisoba café…”

“You’re probably a waitress, right?”

Asahina’s eyes widened.

“How did you know? I wanted to cook, but everyone told me to be a waitress…”

Haruhi had a contemplative look on her face again. Based on experience, that look in her eyes meant she couldn’t be thinking about anything good. And those eyes were glancing toward the garment rack. The expression on her face suggested she had just realized that she had yet to put Asahina in a waitress outfit.

Now Haruhi had a brooding look on her face.

“What about your class, Koizumi?”

Koizumi shrugged slightly. “We’ve decided to do a play, but the class is divided between doing an original work and a classical piece. The cultural festival is fast approaching yet they are still debating. It’s a fierce argument, so some time will be needed before a conclusion can be reached.”

How lucky of you to be in such a lively class. Sounds like a pain, though.

“Hmm.”

Haruhi’s floating gaze drifted to the remaining member, who had yet to speak a word.

“Yuki?”

The book-loving pseudo-alien looked up like a prairie dog sensing rain.

“Fortune-telling,” she responded in her usual flat voice.

“Fortune-telling?” I unconsciously echoed.

“Yes.”

Nagato nodded with a face devoid of expression, like she wasn’t even breathing.

“You’re telling fortunes?

“Yes.”

Nagato telling fortunes? Sure you don’t mean telling the future? I pictured Nagato in black pointy hat and robe and holding out a crystal ball before a couple and saying, “You will break up in fifty-eight days, three hours, and five minutes,” with a straight face. You could lie, you know.

Then again, I don’t actually know if Nagato can see the future.

“So Asahina’s class is running a refreshment booth, Koizumi’s is doing a play, and Nagato’s is holding a fortune-telling convention. They all sound infinitely more fun than the listless survey our class is doing. Yeah, how’s this? Let’s combine everything and do a fortune-telling survey play café,” I suggested.

“Stop sounding like an idiot. Let’s get this meeting started.”

Haruhi instantly rejected my valuable opinion and walked over to the whiteboard. She tapped the board with a long antenna-like pointer.

“There’s nothing written on it. What am I supposed to be looking at?”

“There will be soon. Mikuru, you’re the secretary, so take down every word I say.”

I had no idea when Asahina became the secretary. I doubted anyone did. Apparently, Haruhi just decided that a moment ago.

Asahina, tea girl and now secretary, held a felt-tip pen, stood next to the whiteboard, and looked up at Haruhi’s face next to her.

And then Haruhi suddenly spoke in a triumphant voice.

“We, the SOS Brigade, will be screening a movie!”

I really don’t know what kind of mutation is going on inside of Haruhi’s head. I’ll just not think about it. It’s nothing new. Still, this isn’t a meeting. It’s just you delivering a speech on general policy, isn’t it?

“…”

“That’s how it always is,” Koizumi whispered to me.

The elegant smile he had made me want to draw on his face. His graceful lips remained curved up.

“Suzumiya had decided what we were going to do from the very beginning. That doesn’t leave any room for discussion. Now then, did you say something you shouldn’t have again?”

Pretty sure I didn’t say anything remotely related to movies today. Maybe she saw a low-budget C-movie late last night and its crappiness put her in a miserable mood?

“There’s something I’ve always wondered about,” Haruhi continued cheerfully, convinced that her speech had touched every member in the audience.

“…”

I’m wondering about what exactly is inside your head.

“You often see people die in the last episode of TV shows and the like. Doesn’t that feel really unnatural? Why do they just happen to die at that time? It’s strange. That’s why I hate anything where someone dies at the end. I would never make a movie like that!”

“Are you talking about movies or TV shows?”

“I said that we’re going to screen a movie, didn’t I? Even those old earthen statues from the Tumulus period had better ears than you. Imprint every word I say into your memory with no mistakes.”

If I’m gonna bother memorizing your insane babbling, it’d be much more productive to memorize every last station on the rail line that runs nearby.

Asahina wrote movie screening in round letters that really didn’t look like the handwriting of a former calligraphy club member. Haruhi took a glance before nodding, satisfied.

“There you have it. We’re all under agreement then?”

She sounded as cheerful as a weather forecaster verifying the end of the rainy season.

“What do you even mean?” I asked.

A natural response. All I know is that we’re screening a movie. Who’s going to hook us up with a film? Does she have an acquaintance at Buena Vista International or something?

But Haruhi’s eyes continued to shine with reckless abandon.

“Kyon, you’re not too bright. We’re going to make a movie. And then we’ll screen it at the cultural festival. With Presented by the SOS Brigade in the credits!”

“When did we turn into the film society?”

“What are you talking about? This will absolutely be the SOS Brigade. I don’t remember turning into a stupid film society.”

If the film society people were to hear those words, they’d probably be pissed.

“It’s already been decided. Double jeopardy! Plea bargaining will be ignored!”

If the SOS Brigade jury foreman says so, then I guess the verdict won’t be overturned. Who the hell put Haruhi in the leadership position… or now that I think about it, she put herself in that position. Looks like loud and eager people are the ones who become important no matter what world you’re in. Consequently, good Samaritans who tend to go with the flow like Asahina and me end up being abused. That’s just one of the contradictions in the reality of this cruel and heartless world.

I pondered the profound subject of what could be considered an ideal society.

“I see.”

Koizumi interrupted like he had just figured something out. He smiled at both Haruhi and me.

“I understand perfectly.”

Hey, Koizumi. Don’t just accept the bomb Haruhi dropped on us. Don’t you have your own opinion on this?

Koizumi gently flipped the forelocks of his hair.

“In other words, we’re going to make an independent film, gather an audience, and screen the movie. Am I correct?”

“You are correct!”

Haruhi continued tapping the board with her antenna, and Asahina’s shoulders flinched. Regardless, Asahina mustered the courage to voice her question.

“But… why did you decide to make a movie?”

“Last night, I was having trouble getting to sleep.”

Haruhi waved the antenna in front of her face like a windshield wiper.

“So I turned on the TV, and there was this weird movie on. Didn’t really want to watch it, but I didn’t have anything else to do, so I did.”

Figured as much.

“And it was such a horrible movie, so bad I wanted to make an international prank call to the director’s house. So then I thought”—she stuck the tip of the pointer at Asahina’s petite face as she continued—“if this is the best they can do, I can make a movie that’s much better!”

“…”

Haruhi puffed up her chest, full of confidence.

“So I figured that it was worth a shot. You have a problem with that?”

Asahina furiously shook her head like she was terrified. Even if she did have a complaint, she would never voice it. Koizumi was just a yes-man. Nagato never said anything to begin with, which meant it was inevitable for me to speak up.

“I don’t care if you’re aiming to be a movie director or to be a producer. You can do whatever you want with your life. And so the rest of us can do whatever we wish and want, right?”

“What are you talking about?” Haruhi puckered her lips like a duck’s bill.

I patiently explained to her, “You say you want to make a movie. We haven’t said anything yet. If we say we don’t want to, what would you do? A director isn’t enough to make a movie.”

“Don’t worry. I’ve got most of the script thought through.”

“No, what I’m trying to say is that—”

“There’s nothing for you to fret about. Just follow me like always. No need to worry.”

I’m worried.

“Leave the planning to me. I’ll take care of everything.”

Now I’m even more worried.

“You sure complain a lot. I said we’re gonna do it, which means we’re gonna do it. Our goal is to place first in the cultural festival’s best-event poll! Then that unreasonable student council may even recognize the SOS Brigade as a club—no! I’ll definitely make them recognize us. Which means that first, we need public opinion on our side!”

Public opinion and poll results aren’t necessarily correlated.

I attempted to put up resistance.

“What about production costs?”

“We have a budget.”

Where? I can’t see the student council giving a budget to this brigade, which moves rather openly for an underground organization.

“We have the literary club’s cut.”

“That would be the literary club’s budget. It’s not for you to use.”

“But Yuki said it was fine.”

Good grief. I looked at Nagato’s face. She deliberately looked up at me without saying a word before returning to her book.

You sure nobody wants to join the literary club? Not that I’m gonna ask, but I wouldn’t be surprised if Nagato had driven this club to the verge of being cut. Apparently, she knew beforehand that Haruhi would be showing up. I sure feel sorry for anyone who had their heart set on joining the literary club. If you’re out there, do work hard to reclaim what was originally the literary club back from Haruhi.

Haruhi, oblivious to my inner monologue, waved her antenna around.

“Everyone got that? This takes priority over whatever your class is doing! If you have any objections, tell me after the festival. Got it? The director’s orders are absolute!” Haruhi shouted, completely unaware of what was going on around her, like a polar bear in the zoo who had just been given an ice cube in the middle of summer.

From brigade chief to director? What’s she planning on being in the end? Please don’t say God.

“Then that’s all for today! I have to do some thinking about casting and sponsors. The producer has lots of work to do!”

I’m not really sure what the producer does, but in any case, what is she planning on doing? Sponsors?

Slam.

A dull sound rang through the air. I turned to find that Nagato had closed her book. That sound had become the signal for the SOS Brigade to pack up and go home for the day.

After saying that she would go into details tomorrow, Haruhi shot off like a cat hearing a tin can being opened. Not that I really wanted to hear any further details.

“Splendid, don’t you think?”

That obviously came from Koizumi.

“I’m quite relieved that we aren’t trying to capture an extraterrestrial beast to put in a freak show or shooting down a UFO to exhibit its interior.”

I felt like I’d heard this before.

The smiling esper chuckled with his mouth closed.

“Besides, I am interested in finding out what kind of movie Suzumiya intends to make. Though I can probably guess what she has in mind.”

Koizumi gave Asahina, putting away the teacups, a sidelong glance.

“It would appear that this will be a fun cultural festival. Quite fascinating.”

I also turned to look at Asahina. I watched as her hair band bounced up and down.

“Ah. Wh-what is it?”

Asahina realized that we two rascals were staring at her and stopped what she was doing as her cheeks flamed.

I murmured in my heart.

No, it’s nothing. Just thinking about what costume Haruhi will bring next. That’s all.

Once she was done getting ready to go home—well, it just meant putting her book in her bag—Nagato silently stood and silently walked out the open door. Maybe she was reading a book about fortune-telling. It was a foreign book, so I wouldn’t know.

“But, yeah,” I muttered.

A movie… A movie, huh.

To be honest, I was somewhat interested. Not as interested as Koizumi, though. My interest was only at the continental-shelf level, not ocean-floor levels.

I suppose I could at least look forward to it.

Since I’m guessing nobody’s expecting much.

And I was already eating my words. I shouldn’t have bothered looking forward to this.

It was after school the next day. I had an extremely unhappy look on my face.

Only one thing crossed my mind after I saw what was written on the scrap of paper.

“So? What’s my role?”

“Exactly what it says on there.” Haruhi waved the pointer like a conductor. “You’re backstage staff. The cast is as written. Perfect casting, don’t you think?”

“…”

“I’m the lead character?” Asahina asked in a small voice. She was dressed in her uniform instead of the maid outfit. Haruhi had told her she didn’t have to wear it. It looked like Haruhi was planning on taking her somewhere.

“Um, I’d rather not be in a conspicuous role…” Asahina appealed to Haruhi with a distressed look on her face.

“…”

“No,” Haruhi replied. “You need to stand out, Mikuru. You’re like the trademark of this brigade. You should start to practice signing autographs. There will probably be a lot of requests from the audience at the premiere.”

Premiere? Where are you going to have that?

Asahina sounded quite nervous.

“… But I can’t act.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll coach you through it perfectly.”

Asahina looked up at me fearfully and sadly lowered her eyelashes.

We were the only three people in the room. Nagato and Koizumi were late because of meetings about what their classes are doing. I didn’t see how it could require staying after school. They could just do something random. Guess a lot more classes are serious about this stuff than I thought.

“Anyway, Yuki and Koizumi aren’t very dependable,” Haruhi said before turning her directionless indignation toward me. “I told them that this should take priority yet they’re late because of class activities. I’ll need to give them a strong warning.”

It’s just that Nagato and Koizumi actually feel a sense of belonging to their class. The three of us are the strange ones for being in this place at this time of year.

I suddenly thought of something.

“Asahina, don’t you need to participate in your class meeting?”

“Mmm, I’m just a waitress, so the only thing left for me to do would be a costume fitting. I wonder what they’ll have us wear. I’m kind of looking forward to it.” Asahina smiled with a faint flush in her cheeks.

It would appear that she’s grown completely accustomed to dressing up in costumes. I guess wearing a costume that’s appropriate for the situation beats wearing a meaningless costume for SOS Brigade purposes. There’s nothing strange about a waitress in a yakisoba café. Makes a lot more sense than a maid in the literary club room.

But Haruhi apparently blew her response way out of proportion.

“What’s that, Mikuru? You were dying to be a waitress? You should have told me sooner! That’s easy enough. I’ll get an outfit for you.”

I suppose I shouldn’t talk like this has nothing to do with me, but club members in a club room who aren’t wearing a uniform just look out of place. The nurse outfit was pretty out there. Might as well stick with the maid outfit then… or I guess that’s just personal preference.

“Well, that’s fine.”

Haruhi turned back to me. “Kyon, do you know what the most important thing required to make a movie is?”

Well, now. I scanned through all the movies that had left a deep impression on me. After some consideration, I confidently delivered my answer.

“Innovative concepts and earnest passion in the production, right?”

“It’s nothing abstract like that.” Haruhi denied me. “It’s the camera, obviously. How do you film a movie without equipment?”

I suppose, but I wasn’t trying to be utilitarian…. Whatever. I’m not so fervent about innovative concepts or earnest passion or knowledgeable enough about film theory to put up an argument.

“There you have it then.” Haruhi retracted the pointer and tossed it on the chief’s desk. “We’re going to go scrounge up a video camera now.”

I heard a chair clang next to me. I looked up to see that Asahina’s face had turned pale. I suppose that was to be expected. The computer currently enshrined in this club room was swiped from the computer society through Haruhi’s coercive con scheme. And during that incident, Asahina had been the sacrifice.

Strands of Asahina’s chestnut hair trembled. Her lips, like a pink shell, quivered.

“U-u-u-um, Su-Suzumiya. That’s right. I need to go back to the classroom right away to take care of something.”

“Shut up.”

A terrifying look on Haruhi’s face. Asahina, half out of her chair, gave a soft squeal before sinking back into her chair.

Haruhi suddenly grinned. “Don’t worry.”

There isn’t a single precedent of you telling us not to worry where we actually didn’t need to worry.

“I won’t be using Mikuru’s body as payment this time. I just need your help for a bit.”

Asahina looked at me like a calf about to be loaded onto a truck. I refrained from bursting into a chorus of “Dona Dona” and turned to Haruhi.

“Tell us what we’re helping you with. Or else Asahina and I aren’t budging a step.”

Haruhi’s face plainly said that she had no idea what we were so concerned about. “We’re going to go round up sponsors. We’ll make a better impression if the lead actress is along, right? You’re also coming. You can carry stuff for us.”