by Shouji Gatou
“Ah, just talking about this makes me want a beer, fumo. I’m so sick of Hoppy all the time. Maybe I’ll have a beer, just for tonight...”
“Y-You drink alcohol?”
“Of course I do. I only work so I can drink, fumo.” Then he pulled out a cigarette from somewhere or other and lit it with a 100 yen lighter.
The brand was “Hope”— Short Hope, also known as Shoppo. Very austere.
But then, I thought, he’s just an old man!
“What’s with that expression? You’re thinking ‘he’s just an old man,’ is that it, fumo?”
“Gack!”
“Right on the money, eh? But I’ve never actually seen someone say ‘gack’ out loud before, fumo.”
“But, but... aren’t you a fairy?! Aren’t you a mascot who gives hope to children?! If you drink and you smoke, it’s... it’s...”
Moffle-san glared at me. So scary! “It’s what?”
“Well... it’s... Sorry.”
While I lowered my eyes, Moffle-san breathed out a plume of smoke, though his expression was sour as he did. “I refrain while I’m working. And you should hold off on the lectures until you’re actually decent at your job, fumo. ...By the way.” Moffle-san peered seriously into my face.
“Yes?”
“You’ve grown rather talkative, fumo.”
“Ah...”
He was right. Now that he mentioned it, I had had quite a lot of back-and-forth with Moffle-san today. Even though we’d barely talked the day before... How surprising! How mysterious!
“Anyway, I still think you’re too soft. With the time left in the day, I’m going to put you through your paces even more.”
Immediately, the world around me went black.
After a few more hours of scolding and verbal abuse, my second day at the park came to an end.
Tomorrow was Monday. I was supposed to head to work the minute school was over, but I wasn’t actually planning on going back. My life as a part-time worker would come to an end after a mere two days.
I’d forced myself to work despite hating it. I’d done enough, in my opinion. I’d really pushed myself.
When I got home, Mom asked me “How did it go?” but I just said I was tired and went to bed, so that I didn’t have to tell her anything. The thought of telling her that I planned to quit was depressing, and I just didn’t have the mental energy for it.
Um, yes. I really did intend to quit. But then the next morning, when I showed up at school, something strange happened.
“Ah... morning, Chujo-san.” It was that girl from before who, as it happened, had been unanimously elected class rep a few days ago. She’d stopped even saying ‘hello’ to me most of the time, but since we were in front of the shoe cabinets, I guess the timing and all made her feel obligated to talk to me.
“Ah, good morning,” I replied casually. For some reason, her jaw dropped in response.
Then, during second period gym class, this happened:
My gym teacher was... some might say earnest, some might say callous, but either way she liked singling out students who didn’t show enough enthusiasm for her liking. She’d shout “I can’t hear you!” and after watching the student cringe in response, she would cheerfully tell them “You must be anemic! Eat more meat!” and such. Yes, she was the worst kind of person for me to deal with, and had already singled me out once last week.
“Great, everyone’s here! Let’s time your sprints! Oh, heck, I forgot my stopwatch! Um... hey, you! The little one!” She pointed me out.
“Yes?” I said.
“You’ll fetch it from the staff office, right?” she demanded.
“Yes ma’am,” I responded politely. “Where is the staff office?”
“Hm? Ah... oh, er... Just find a teacher and ask them,” she instructed.
“Yes, ma’am.”
All I had done was answer her and then head for the office. But for some reason, the other girls were all squinting at me. Had I said something strange?
The same thing happened a few more times that day. Someone would address me, I would respond, and the person would react with surprise.
“Of course that’s what they’re doing. You’ve been able to respond like a normal person,” Sento Isuzu-senpai told me at lunch.
I had planned on running off and eating by myself as usual, but she had come to my classroom and personally invited me to join her. Now we were sitting next to a flowerbed in the courtyard, eating our lunches together.
She asked me how I was doing. I said that everyone was acting really weird, and that had been her response. She also mentioned that Kanie-senpai was absent from school today. Apparently he was running all around, trying to find ways to raise money for the park (though why a leader of the part-time staff needed to do that, I had no idea).
Isuzu-senpai’s words caught me off-guard. “Huh?” I asked.
“Normally you would cringe and end up in a loop of ‘um’ and ‘sorry,’” she told me. “But when I invited you to join me here, you simply said ‘Okay, let’s go’ like any normal person would. Even I was a bit surprised.”
“......” She was right, I realized. Isuzu-senpai wasn’t normally an expressive person, so I hadn’t noticed any surprise on her face, but... Ah, by the way, from now on I’ll be calling her Isuzu-senpai instead of Sento-senpai. It sounds cuter!
“I heard about the way Moffle has been treating you, and I thought you might be thinking of quitting,” she explained. “So I thought I might invite you out here to see how you were feeling...”
“I see,” I told her. “Well... I’m sorry to make you take time out of your day...”
“You see? You wouldn’t have been able to say that last week either,” she pointed out.
“Ah...” I had even surprised myself, that time. The things she said were definitely true. But what was going on here? What had happened to me?
“M-Moffle-san told me that... that the people who work at AmaBri are real fairies from real magical lands,” I blurted out.
Isuzu-senpai’s brow wrinkled a little bit. “He told you that already? Well... it’s not as if it’s highly classified information, but...”
“I was wondering if Moffle-san might have cast some kind of spell on me...”
“I doubt it. Moffle-kyo does not have that kind of power, though he is a brilliant combatant...”
“C-Combatant?” I was surprised to hear him described in such a way. And what did she mean by ‘kyo’? Kyo, like lord? ‘Lord Moffle?’
“Don’t worry about it,” she advised me. “My point is that he can’t use magic, at least based on what I know.”
“But, but... Then why is it I can talk normally... normally to people?!”
“I don’t know...” Isuzu-senpai tilted her head and popped a tamagoyaki roll into her mouth. It was a discreet (but very cute) mannerism. So amazing! “Perhaps it’s a result of his training,” she guessed. “It may have been like shock therapy for you...”
“Hmm...” Of course, that made a lot of sense. Moffle-san had given me such a kick in the pants that now, compared to the torture of having to interact with guests, talking to my schoolmates seemed like the easiest thing in the world. And compared to Moffle-san, the gym teacher who so used to scare me was like a plate of takoyaki next to a venomous blue-ringed octopus. I know that’s a weird metaphor, but that’s what it felt like!
So, now I was feeling a little conflicted; it was really great that I could interact with people normally now. It would be amazing if I could keep it up forever!
But I didn’t want to admit that it was thanks to Moffle-san.
I’m not the kind of simpleton who would just go running up to Moffle-san in tears, thanking him and shouting “I’m going to work at AmaBri forever!” My self-esteem isn’t so rotten that I’d join a cult or LGAT seminars based on a little minor self-improvement! Remember: though I might be little, I’m not a child!
“You seem rather unhappy,” Isuzu said, gazing at me from the si
de.
“Huh? O-Oh... um... sorry.”
“Ah, you’re back.”
“Ah...”
Isuzu-senpai let out a small snort—it was hard to tell if it was a chuckle or an expression of disgust—and finished off the last of the side dishes in her lunch. She had chicken kara-age. It looked really good.
“So, do you think you’ll stay with the job?” she asked.
“Ah... um... well...” I wasn’t sure. Actually, I had planned to send her an email or something, saying that I wanted to quit. But while I had worked up enough courage to do that, I wasn’t ready to say it to her face.
“Um... um... I’m sorry,” I stuttered. “I’m so—”
Oh no! I’d regressed, just like that! I felt totally hopeless, and that feeling just made me feel even more hesitant. It was a deadly spiral.
“U-Um, I’m taking... today off...” I couldn’t tell her I was quitting, but I at least managed to get that much out.
“I see. I’ll let them know.” Isuzu-senpai said nothing more than that, and went back to eating her lunch in silence.
Whenever my anxiety reached its peak, that’s when it was time for solo karaoke. I decided I’d sing and sing, not paying attention to the time.
First, I warmed up with some Vocaloid songs: “Matroyshka” and “Senbonzakura,” then “Setsuna Trip.”
After five or six songs, my vocal cords felt nice and loose.
Then, on to the anisong. I started with a passionate rendition of a recent favorite, “Yasashisa no Riyuu.” Then I went on to “SWINGING” and “Minamikaze.” All such great songs! Then I sang “The Real Folk Blues”— that’s the Cowboy Bebop ending, and while they call it blues, it’s really more like enka. (Though that’s what makes it so great, in my opinion.)
From there, it was a natural step to more enka. I’m not sure why, but singing “Kitasakaba” and “Michinoku Hitoritabi” put me in an English mood.
It was time to try some Western songs! The lyrics were in English, but if I knew a song well, I could sing it. It wasn’t some die-hard geek thing; I had learned the songs from listening to my father’s CDs, and as a result I could get pretty good grades on English songs.
First, I went with the Nirvana classic, “Smells Like Teen Spirit.” That’s a great song for when you’re feeling down. The desperation, the feeling of going deeper and darker, yet still riding high! So now that I was riding high, I sang a few more songs in that vein. This was going great!
Then, I moved to the Godfather of Soul, James Brown. But I was feeling sad today (well, and every day), so I went with “It’s a Man’s Man’s Man’s World” as sort of a cooldown. Nothing, nothing, nothiiiiiing! It felt good to hold that note so long!
JB (my nickname for James Brown) had picked me back up again, so I followed up with more JB: “Living in America.” Such a cheery, silly, bubbly song. ...Why did songs like these help to fire up someone as timid as me? I couldn’t say.
But right now, I was all about America: “Super highways! Coast to coast! Just easy to get anywhere... Atlanta… Chicago! L.A.! Wow! Living-inna-merica!”
“......?!” Just then, I froze up. I was, of course, in a private parlor, but through the smoked glass of the soundproof door I could see three plush creatures peering in at me.
It was Moffle-san, Macaron-san, and Tiramii-san. They were pressed against the glass, watching me with the strangest expressions... all screwed-up faces and wide eyes.
The English lyrics continued to scroll across the old-fashioned CRT. They hastily waved their paws and hoofs, as if to say “keep singing,” but I was so shocked that I’d locked up, so while the music kept playing, I just stood there stock still.
On the other side of the glass, the group let out a sigh. Then they opened the door and came in.
“Aww, I guess we really did interrupt, mii. Sorry, okay?” Tiramii-san said.
“We come to this karaoke place a lot, ron. And this one employee, see... he’s been telling us all about this really awesome customer who comes in, even though she never talks to him...” Macaron-san added.
“We couldn’t have been more surprised to learn that it was you, fumo,” Moffle-san chimed in.
According to Macaron-san, the employee (the one who was always patronizing to me when I paid) had encouraged them all to listen to me.
The doors were only nominally soundproof, which meant voices could leak out into the halls. So if you stood right next to the door, you could probably hear me singing.
I suddenly realized that the room clock read 9:00 p.m.
AmaBri closed at 7:00 today, so it wasn’t that unusual to think they might stop by a karaoke parlor near the station on the way back from work. (Though “usual” was also not a word I’d use for amusement park mascots doing after-work karaoke...)
“Um, um, um!” My eyes began to fill with tears of panic, but Moffle-san stopped me with a “moffu.”
“Isuzu told me you were taking off work today. Well, we all feel that way sometimes. No need to cry, fumo.”
“Um, but...”
“That’s not to say I’m not angry, of course.”
“Yeek?!”
I was so obviously afraid that Macaron-san gently patted my shoulder. “Don’t you worry, ron. He might say some things, but he’d never strike a girl. He’s old-fashioned that way, ron.”
“Macaron...” Moffle-san growled.
“Oh, calm down. It’s the least we can do for the nice performance she gave us, ron.”
“P-Performance?” I squeaked.
“Your singing. You were as great as that employee said, mii. You even blew mii away! Let’s sing together at the Alamo some time!”
“A-Alamo?” What was an ‘Alamo?’ I felt like I’d heard the name before...
“...It’s a love hotel near AmaBri, fumo. I’ll give you a word of warning: never go anywhere with this mongrel.”
“Th-That’s miin! I was just trying to get to know this cute li’l loli...”
“Shut up,” Moffle and Macaron hissed simultaneously.
“Mii...” Tiramii wheezed, deflated.
“...Anyway, it was a great performance, ron. You sure do find talent in the most unexpected places... I wish I could ask you to change postings to my Music Theater, ron.”
“A-Ah...” I had no idea what Macaron-san was talking about. Great performance? Talent? What? Was he talking about those songs I was singing just to satisfy myself? I mean, I was flattered, but he was still exaggerating, right?
I flashed back to a memory of when I was younger. We were in middle school, and going on a field trip. One of the popular girls in the class was singing an idol group song on the bus. Everyone loved it.
Right after her, my name was drawn as the next singer. Fighting back my desire to cry, I sang, and everyone went silent. Nobody said anything. I’m still pretty sure I must have sounded awful.
The girl who sang before me never talked to me again. I still don’t know how to take what happened there.
“Well, anyron... We came in late, so it’s obligatory catch-up time! Hmm, what to pick... let’s see...” Macaron-san suddenly picked up the remote and started messing with it. What on earth was he doing?
“Move it or lose it, mii!”
“Ah! Hey!” Tiramii banged a few buttons on the other remote and then mercilessly pressed the “send” button. Immediately, a cheerful intro began to play. It was the opening song for a superhero(?) anime that had recently been a hit.
“Um, um...” I tried to object.
“Gokigen you doukashitan da mii? Kao o mireba isshun de wakaru miiii! Hooligan, hooligaaan! Sesso nai deeesu!” He’d just started singing. I couldn’t stop him.
At some point, the nominally soundproof door had ended up closed, and we’d shifted to a four-person karaoke arrangement. Macaron-san had put in his song order, and was now playing a tambourine for accompaniment. Moffle-san chose his own song with a cautious scowl.
Tiramii-san had thrown himself into it so hard that he
was shrieking. “...uchitoritaaai kachikoshitaaai! Tsumari Hanshin fan ga acchi-kocchi!”
Then we moved on to a karaoke competition.
Macaron-san led off with “Ai Senshi” from Gundam, and the others booed; they seemed to think that was an exclusively end-of-the-night song.
Moffle-san sang a fiery Western song I’d never heard before: “Body Count,” by a person called Ice T. It was an invigorating song that felt like a blend of rap and heavy metal.
“Tell us what to do?” he called.
“Puff you!” they shouted back.
“Tell us what to do?”
“Puff you!”
I could tell he was singing something angry and vulgar, but I just clapped along anyway.
For over two hours, Moffle-san and the others drank and sang. Each time I tried to bow out, they just shouted “Don’t run, sing!” and I would have to play along.
I was getting desperate. I sang George Michael’s “I Want Your Sex.” It was a sexy song from the 1980s, and I sang it with all the eroticism I could muster.
“Hey! Hey, now! Act your age, fumo!”
“What a song!” Macaron-san chided. “Your dad’s not gonna like that!”
“Oh, boy. Lyrics like those from such a young-sounding voice... I’m reporting you to Agnes-san, mii!”
Everyone was so fired up, it was feeling like a real party. Although, this just proved even more that they were nothing but a bunch of old men...
The more they sang, the more they drank. By the end, all three were stumbling drunk.
As we sang “Ginga Senpu Braiger” and “Akuu Daisakusen Srungle” together, the energy was through the roof. To top it off, we sang “Ah, Sankan’ou” from Gyakuten Ippatsuman.
“Ugh... Yamamoto Masayuki is the best, ron. A treasure of humanity, ron.”
“I feel gross, mii. I drank way too much of that cheap-ass shochu...”
“C’mon, let’s go, fumo. They tack on extra for everything here, fumo.”
I was afraid they were expecting me to treat them, but thankfully, they handled the bill themselves.
As we left the karaoke building, I spoke up timidly: “Um, um... I’d better get going...”
