The Dissociation of Haruhi Suzumiya

by Nagaru Tanigawa

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  Color Insert

  Copyright Page

  In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher constitute unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the publisher at permissions@hbgusa.com. Thank you for your support of the author’s rights.

  First released in Japan in 2003, The Melancholy of Haruhi Suzumiya quickly established itself as a publishing phenomenon, drawing much of its inspiration from Japanese pop culture and Japanese comics in particular. With this foundation, the original publication of each book in the Haruhi series included several black-and-white spot illustrations as well as a four-page color insert—all of which are faithfully reproduced here to preserve the authenticity of the first-ever English edition.

  PROLOGUE

  I imagine that everybody has his or her own method for detecting the shifting of the year’s seasons. In my case, over the past six months, the most obvious changes have been in the movements of my calico cat, Shamisen.

  Shamisen has stopped crawling into bed with me in the middle of the night, which tells me that the region’s most legitimately praiseworthy months have arrived, but it occurred to me that more responsive than any cat to the changing seasons should be the flora, with their finer sensitivity to changes in environment—and indeed, the cherry blossoms seem to be on the verge of blooming, as though having conferred and decided upon a schedule. The early April sky is so blue it looks as though it’s been colored with a crayon, the sun shining with such brilliance that it must be trying to get in shape for summer. Yet despite the warmth of the sunshine that falls upon the ground, the wind that cascades down from the mountain is still a chilly wind indeed, reminding me that my current location possesses a respectably high altitude.

  With nothing better to do, I looked vaguely up at the sky and uttered a statement so utterly pointless that the fact of its utterance can only be attributed to my total boredom.

  “Guess it’s spring,” I said.

  I didn’t particularly require a response to the statement, but if the person beside me sensed that fact, he nonetheless decided to reply.

  “It is without a doubt spring. And a new year for students has begun—a new calendar year and a new academic year. A new year for my heart, as well.”

  I supposed his excessively pleasant tone was well suited to spring and autumn. It would’ve been too much for summer, and in winter the only person I’d want close enough to me to hear such a whisper would have been Asahina.

  Whether or not he noticed me switch into total-inattention mode, he continued.

  “This is our second spring as high school students, though I am unsure as to whether I should say that it has ‘finally’ arrived or ‘already’ arrived.”

  Was that really worth agonizing over? I asked. In English, you’d use “yet” either way. I hardly remembered every moment of the past year, so if I were to think back, it would seem to have passed rather quickly, and since there was no way to know what was going to happen in the future, it didn’t really matter whether they happened “sooner” or “later.” As for what I was experiencing at a given moment, it would feel more or less brief depending on whether or not I was having fun. That was all there was to it. Seriously, get a clock. They just tick off the seconds without any complaint—although sometimes your alarm clock will fail to go off even though you don’t remember silencing it, which makes you want to chuck it over a wall. Especially on Monday mornings.

  “That is indeed true. A clock’s hands are one of the few things in life that tell us something truly objective. But for humans, who can only experience time subjectively, it is but a guideline. What’s more important is what one thought and enacted within a given span of time.”

  “Oh, brother.”

  I stopped gazing at the shifting shapes of the clouds and looked beside me.

  Next to me was one Itsuki Koizumi, smiling like always. Unlike the airplane contrail I’d been looking at, his face was neither pleasant nor unpleasant, merely normal, and there was nothing to be gained by gazing at it. I looked forward once again.

  “In my humble opinion,” I began. As the image of the courtyard fell upon my retinas, Koizumi seemed to wait for me to continue. “I’d say spring is finally here.”

  As my eyes followed the forms of the freshmen in their brand-spanking-new uniforms that were gathered there, my brain played back nostalgic scenes from the past year.

  And I had to wonder.

  Last year, had the second-year students looked down on me with this same feeling?

  I’d ended up in this particular high school thanks to the school district, and no sooner had I met the anomalous entity that was Haruhi Suzumiya than I’d heard her unbelievable self-introduction and, reeling, had been dragged into Haruhi’s world and the mysterious organization known as the SOS Brigade, thereby meeting actual aliens, time travelers, and espers. That would’ve been crazy enough on its own, but each alien, time traveler, and esper had his or her own associated events in which I was forced to participate, not to mention Haruhi’s constant wild schemes. There was no telling how much XP I’d earned over the past year. I was pretty sure I could take a mini-boss down with a single hit now.

  “The force of habit is powerful indeed.”

  I’d become totally accustomed to the uphill walk that made school attendance such a pain, and as a result, I’d started getting up later, scheming to prolong physical exercise until the last possible moment. And I wasn’t the only one who’d gotten used to school—Haruhi had undergone a similar transformation, like a carp swimming up a waterfall to become a dragon.

  I seriously wanted to show a photo of the current Haruhi to last year’s Haruhi. This is what you’re gonna look like a year from now, I’d inform her.

  But even if I could do that, I wouldn’t.

  “I quite agree.” Koizumi half closed his eyes, pursing one corner of his mouth and crossing his arms and legs. “Regarding habit—the adaptability of humanity can be easily observed by noting the many places on Earth in which they live. But I’ve lately begun to wonder if there might be a drawback to that. Once one becomes accustomed to a circumstance, it might become more difficult to adapt to sudden, unforeseen changes.”

  What was he talking about, I wondered. If he meant Haruhi, she was being sudden and unforeseen most of the time, I pointed out.

  “Yes, that is true, but…”

  For once in his life, Koizumi seemed at a loss for words—and this was the guy who was constantly offering his opinion whether you asked for it or not. If I inquired further, I wouldn’t be able to endure the terrible jargon-laden speech I’d be subjected to.

  Koizumi looked like he wanted to say something, but I turned away in order to break free of his gaze. He looked in the opposite direction. “…”

  Speaking of wordlessness, a certain school-uniform-clad paragon of silence on the level of a Buddhist statue was there, the breeze gently stirring her hair.

  It goes without saying that it was one Yuki Nagato, the SOS Brigade’s own secret alien weapon, though at the moment it was more fitting to refer to her as the literature club president. Like Koizumi and me, she’d brought her desk and chair out to the courtyard, and she was situated a few meters away, silently reading. It seemed to be something about a philosopher, an artist, and a musician forming a golden braid of some kind, and as usual for Nagato, it was as thick as a concrete block.

 
I looked up at the clubroom building from the courtyard. Haruhi still hadn’t returned from her errand to the clubroom; neither had Asahina, whom Haruhi had dragged along. At this rate I would’ve been perfectly happy to go the rest of the day without them returning—an outcome that would’ve been ideal for everyone—but I doubted I’d be so lucky.

  So, then.

  I’ve been slow in explaining the current circumstances, so here’s a quick breakdown. It’s after school, a few days after the beginning of our second year in high school. We’d brought our desks out to the courtyard, making a space for ourselves in one corner. Many other second- and third-year students had done similarly, though by no means all of them.

  I could see members of the computer club among them. They’d set up several computers on a long table and were running some kind of CGish something-or-other on the monitors. It wasn’t the space battle sim from before, but rather some kind of pastel-hued fortune-telling software, it looked like. Jumping at an opportunity, eh, Mr. Computer Club President? The fact that he was there made it clear that he’d managed to progress on to the third year of high school, though I didn’t actually know if he was still serving as the president of his club. It didn’t really matter to me. I’d just ask Nagato later.

  Looking elsewhere, I could see various other groups I didn’t recognize busily jostling around. Among them were clubs and associations whose names I’d never even heard before, and the more I looked, the less I cared about any of it. There was absolutely no reason why we should be participating in this kind of event.

  The only one of us with even a tenuous reason to be here was Nagato, honestly.

  I gave her another look; she was as still and silent as if made of china.

  Taped to the front of her desk—which itself was situated away from the main group—was a sign on which was handwritten LITERATURE CLUB in stark serif letters. The paper fluttered in the capricious spring breeze, as did Nagato’s short hair, untouched by the hands of any beautician. Her eyes never left the pages of her book; she was so silent she seemed to be trying to disconnect herself from the surrounding world.

  I’m sure you get the picture by now.

  School clubs—especially the smaller, weirder ones—must recruit new members and explain their activities.

  This was exactly what was happening here and now in the courtyard. The sports teams and clubs were set up in the gym or playing field, and the brass band and art club, who didn’t really need to actively recruit in order to get new members, had set up shop in their respective dedicated classrooms. Here in the courtyard were the rest—the various clubs and societies whose existence and activities would be completely obscure without sufficient explanation.

  Whoops, I almost forgot to mention it, since it goes without saying, but all the members of the SOS Brigade had most auspiciously made it to their next year of high school. Haruhi, Nagato, Koizumi, and I were all now second-year students, and Asahina was a third-year. I can’t claim I didn’t experience the tiniest tug at my heartstrings in saying farewell to good old classroom 1-5, but I doubted that much would change here in my second year. I should say that I am once again in the same class as Haruhi, and during the opening ceremonies when I met the rest of my classmates, there she was right behind me, every bit as arrogant as ever, though her arrogance was complicated by a strange expression, as though she were trying to mimic the sound a platypus makes.

  “What’s this?” she announced, glaring at her classmates haughtily. “There’s practically no change from last year? I figured they’d shuffle things up, but no!”

  I wanted to ask her whether she was happy or upset by that, but in any case, for once I agreed with Haruhi. We’d been placed in class 2-5, as had Taniguchi and Kunikida, and to top it all off, our homeroom teacher was still the famously concerned-for-his-students Okabe. Here and there were a few students whose faces I recognized but whose names I didn’t immediately remember, but the bulk of the class seemed to be composed of students from last year’s 1-5. I’d heard that this year there were barely enough science-track students to make up a whole class, so class 8 had been used to accommodate them, while the refugees from the previous class 8 were sprinkled around among the other seven classes. Also, a handful of students had simply been shuffled about from class to class. It was probably out of consideration to that minority that Okabe was making us do our self-introductions all over again.

  Of course I quietly had my doubts about the outcome of the class sorting, and I voiced those doubts to the individuals I knew to be capable of such manipulation.

  I received several answers:

  “No,” said Nagato succinctly. “It is a coincidence,” she further elaborated.

  “I haven’t manipulated a thing. It must have been the decision of the school administration. At the very least, the Agency has taken a hands-off approach to this situation,” said Koizumi with a pained smile. “It must be a coincidence.”

  That seemed to be the truth.

  I did know of one girl who had the ability to make coincidence into inevitability, but I wasn’t going to quibble.

  I wondered if Asahina and Tsuruya were classmates again. If so, it could very well have been due to the Tsuruya family’s machinations, but I wasn’t going to make any noise about that either. Whatever our differences in class or year, we’d all wind up in the same place after school anyway.

  What I was worried about—what I had good reason to be worried about—was something else entirely. Who lurked among the new freshmen I was currently looking at?

  I personally knew an alien. I had known an upperclassman from the future. I couldn’t escape the fact that the classmate I’d spent the most time talking to was an esper.

  However.

  That day, that fateful moment, Haruhi’s self-introduction had stunned the entire class, save for those who knew her from East Middle School. Of all the entities that she mentioned in her speech, I cannot forget that there is still one who has yet to make an appearance.

  Sliders.

  Yes. Of course, while I have no desire for such an entity to appear, she might very well be feeling their absence. And as all of us have successfully moved on to our next academic year, one might very well be even now taking a seat as a first-year high school student…

  “Geez.” I moved my head to loosen my stiff shoulders, then commenced observation of the freshmen.

  If you see anybody with potential, secure them immediately—thus had our fearless brigade chief ordered. I couldn’t help but wonder what easy-to-spot traits amounted to “potential” in Haruhi’s view.

  Incidentally, I may as well say that when class 2-5 held its self-introductions, Haruhi did not repeat her stunt from the previous year. Instead, she was refreshingly simple.

  “I am Haruhi Suzumiya, chief of the SOS Brigade. That is all!” was all she said, with a bold smile that stirred the hair on the back of my head.

  She clearly considered that more than enough introduction.

  And to be fair, for our classmates, it was enough. Not a one of them was ignorant of Haruhi Suzumiya and her SOS Brigade.

  If anyone was ignorant—

  I gazed vaguely at the school-branded uniform shoes of the students who now milled about the courtyard.

  If anyone was ignorant, they would be among these students.

  There beside the cherry trees that were just starting to show their leaves, Koizumi and I (with Nagato a short distance away) were idly passing the time when I saw a figure moving effortlessly through the crowd of students, like Moses leading his people out of Egypt.

  I remembered his face; in a way, he was the reason I’d wound up out here killing time. The sleeves of his blazer fluttered jauntily, and as he walked through the falling petals, he was the very image of phony influence and power. It made me feel as though I were on a cut-rate stage with a cheap background.

  “It has been a while,” said the student council president in a severe voice, stopping in front of us.

  Unfo
rtunately, it had not in fact been “a while.” I wasn’t going to forget the face that had subjected the entire assembled school to a lengthy speech during the opening ceremony.

  “My regards,” he said, unnecessarily adjusting his glasses as though following a script, then regarding us unpleasantly, like a leader displeased with his disciples. “Where is the brigade chief? I’ve taken the trouble of coming over to address one or two complaints I have, yet nowhere do I see your leader.”

  Indeed, wherever might she be? I wasn’t her secretary nor her agent, I said, and I had no idea of the whereabouts of any classmate as restless as she was.

  “I suppose it cannot be helped. I will put it to you, then: what exactly are you doing here?”

  I’d hoped that if I kept my mouth shut, Koizumi would reply instead, but for whatever reason the pretty boy of the SOS Brigade only smiled beatifically.

  “Isn’t it obvious?” I shot back.

  His Excellency the President looked down at us, his expression an iron mask. “Indeed it is. I know where we are, and I know what you are, so the answer is quite clear. I am here because I suspected that, however slight the chance, you were planning something quite beyond my imagination. But you are not. In which case, you surely know what I am about to ask next.”

  That was because his actions never differed one iota from expectations. Honestly, the conversation probably would’ve gone smoother if Haruhi had been here…

  But wait a sec. Why was the president maintaining his haughty act, despite Haruhi not being here? Wasn’t he just a puppet, propped up by Koizumi’s Agency?

  Or could it be—was it for the benefit of the other students in the courtyard? Our little corner was removed from the rest, though, and so long as nobody was trying to eavesdrop, it seemed unlikely that our conversation would be overheard. The only person who might hear was Nagato, who sat a few meters away, but anything that would actually worry her was probably something only the CIA or NORAD knew about.

  “Then I am done here. My inspection of the humanities clubs is complete. Miss Kimidori, go on ahead to the playing field. I’ll be just a moment.”