“Understood.”
The brief statement from the girl caused me to notice her presence for the first time. I managed to stifle an exclamation of surprise, instead spitting out my recognition.
“… Kimidori?”
“Yes,” she replied, bowing courteously.
Prior to hearing her voice, I hadn’t noticed her at all. I couldn’t hide my shock at that fact. It was as though she’d been concealed in the president’s shadow, revealing her form only when she spoke—that was how sudden her appearance had seemed.
Miss Emiri Kimidori, first-ever client of the SOS Brigade and one-time girlfriend of the computer club president, smiled the smile of the well-brought-up lady, giving another brief bow. I was so taken aback that I couldn’t help but bow in return.
… Ah-ha, so this was the cause of the president’s conceited manner. He was hiding his true nature from Kimidori, though I doubted there was any need to do that.
In any case, where’d the custom of the president always appearing with the secretary come from? He oughta give the treasurer or vice president a shot once in a while, I told him.
“If that is your wish, perhaps I shall,” said the president, pushing his glasses up again. “However, if the treasurer wished to speak with any one of you, it would be with the president of the literature club.”
As far as that went, a little birdie named Koizumi had told me about it. It had been last year, when by the order of the student council, each club had to submit an operating budget. Despite having but a single member, the literature club was technically still a club, and its representative attended the budget meeting. That representative was obviously not Haruhi, but one Yuki Nagato. Right up to the last minute, Haruhi kept offering to go in Nagato’s place or to go along with her, but if the ringleader of the group that was illegally occupying the literature club’s room showed up at that meeting to stir up trouble, things would have really gotten out of hand.
In the end she sulked and pouted, but she listened to Koizumi’s and my pleas, eventually letting Nagato go alone, silently watching her leave like a general sending a hostage to an enemy nation.
Nagato returned about an hour later, budget funds in hand—quite an accomplishment, since the literature club barely had enough membership to even qualify as an inactive organization.
The rumor going around was that nobody had any idea what had happened, what methods she’d used. All Nagato had done was quietly take her seat at the table and stare wordlessly at the student council treasurer. The annual budget meeting was always a disorderly affair, but apparently this time it had been concluded smoothly and quietly.
Sounding self-congratulatory, the president spoke.
“Of course, it’s a meeting in name only, as Kimidori and I had already decided upon the budget. Although—I had my expectations, but the literature club was the only irregular one. It’s a bit late to quibble. So long as you use the budget for club activities, I’ll make no complaints. If you don’t, I will. That’s all there is to say.”
Having silently listened to the president, Kimidori suddenly spoke up. “If that will be all, Mr. President, I’ll be going.”
“Good work, Miss Kimidori.”
Kimidori gave us one last bow, smiling freshly before heading off to the playing field, leaving behind the faint scent of lilies.
The entire time, there had been not a single moment of eye contact between Nagato and Kimidori. Perhaps they were similar enough to be able to communicate without words. Or perhaps it was just because Nagato hadn’t bothered to look up from her book.
“Moving on to the main reason for my visit, then,” said the president, removing his glasses and letting them dangle from his fingertips. “There’s no point in a discussion unless she is here. When will she be back?”
Soon, I said. I doubted that an Asahina costume change would take too much time.
“Fine. I’ll content myself to wait.”
The president was really hamming it up. It was like he’d been president for three years, I said.
“In spite of my best efforts. I assumed that student council work would be nothing but a pain, but…” The president grinned, finally showing a glimpse of his true self. “It’s actually pretty fun. When I’m playing the president in front of the faculty or administration”—he slapped his own cheek lightly—“sometimes I forget which is the real me. Sometimes being somebody else ain’t half bad.”
“It’s fine to be assuming a persona,” said Koizumi seriously, finally speaking up. “But don’t let the mask you’re wearing consume you. How many tomb raiders have become mummies themselves?”
“An archaeologist raiding a tomb doesn’t turn into a mummy—he turns into a corpse.” The president revealed a predatory smile, wiping his glasses lenses on his shirt sleeve, then replacing them on his face. “Don’t worry, Koizumi. I’ve got it covered. Just remember…”
Having replaced his glasses, he’d become once again the perfect student council president, and it was hard to tell which was the real him.
“… Keeping a leash on that insane girl of yours is your job.”
The president’s gaze fell on the entrance to the clubroom building, from which our glorious brigade chief emerged, face full of cheer like a wild animal joyful over the arrival of spring, accompanied by the SOS Brigade’s official maid, the very incarnation of sunshine and warmth.
Haruhi emerged with a cardboard box in one hand, dragging Asahina along in the other, a satisfied grin on her face. But no sooner did she glimpse the student council president than she knit her brows in obvious irritation.
“Hey, hey!” Haruhi strode forward purposefully, not letting go of Asahina, who flailed behind her. “Ah-ha! I knew it. Just as I thought. I leave for one second, and guess who shows up? Well, too bad for you. We’re not doing a single thing that the student council can complain about!”
I wondered about that, actually. Just what was it that she was planning to instigate here in the courtyard, for starters?
“Oh… the president.”
I didn’t care that Asahina was wearing her maid outfit as she blinked her eyes rapidly; that was no more surprising to me these days than seeing weeds growing in a vacant lot.
“Hey, Haruhi,” I said. “What’s with your getup?”
It was the first I’d seen of it. When had she had time to get her hands on that thing? I asked her.
“What, you got a problem? Is there something wrong with wearing a cheongsam?”
Just as she suggested, Haruhi was wearing a long scarlet dress that sported a Chinese dragon gaudily executed in lamé and embroidery. A slit ran down the side to flatter her legs. It was even sleeveless, for crying out loud.
Having so raucously burst upon the scene, Haruhi was now the focus of the gathering students’ attention. Similarly, Asahina the Maid had also wound up the object of many stares, and the sight of her fidgeting awkwardly at their gazes was one I would’ve rather monopolized, anti-trust legislation be damned.
“If you were at a party, then no, there’d be nothing wrong with it. But this is school, and you’re in front of a bunch of new students to boot. Would it kill you to consider being appropriate?”
“I did consider that! That’s why I’m wearing this!” said Haruhi in response to my reasonable logic. “What I really wanted to wear was the bunny-girl outfit, but I knew everybody would just complain, so I went for the China style. You should be thankful!”
She seemed to want to point at the president confrontationally, but then realized that both of her hands were full. She let Asahina go and dropped the cardboard box on my desk. Her hands now free, she pointed grandiosely at the president.
“You should be thankful!” she repeated.
The president, however, was unperturbed. “Your ‘consideration’ is nothing of the sort. As a president sworn to uphold student morality, I cannot accept this. I presume you’re familiar with the phrase ‘six of one, half a dozen of the other.’ Your choice of dress am
ounts to the same thing.”
“What of it? You’re saying they’re all the same, then?”
“No, I am merely trying to avoid confusing the students who come here full of hope for their futures. I cannot allow things that would inflame the boys’ passions.”
“Inflame their passions? That’s ridiculous. Listen—guys who get worked up by that stuff are going to get just as worked up by school uniforms and gym clothes. Or are you saying we should just come to class naked?”
There was a limit to how much one was willing to argue, and the president seemed to have reached his. “This is pointless,” he spat.
“Is it? I’d hope that you’d learn to respect student independence. Once school’s over, we should be able to wear what we want. It’s not like I’m going to wear it to and from school, right? Don’t you think so, Mikuru?”
“Oh, um, yes, I don’t think I’d want to walk home in—” Asahina shook her head slightly, her voice tiny. She looked at Haruhi’s cheongsam-ed form and sighed, sounding somehow envious. Had she wanted to wear it?
Still, compared with last year when they’d both worn bunny-girl outfits and passed out flyers next to the school’s front gate, this was progress. Certainly the percentage of exposed skin had fallen. Still, I wasn’t sure whether it was a good idea for second- and third-year students to be getting in costume in front of first-years, especially not when there was no real point to it, I said.
“There is too a point! I mean, c’mon, look how much we stand out!”
Yeah, but what point was there in standing out for no good reason? I asked.
Haruhi took a good hard look at me. Just as I was starting to feel like a piece of tiny krill in front of an oncoming whale, Haruhi popped up behind Nagato, who was still silently reading.
“Kyon, have you forgotten exactly what we’re here to do? You have two seconds to answer.”
Umm.
“Time’s up!” she declared, giving me essentially no time to answer. She shook her finger in my face, then rested it on Nagato’s shoulder, who was so motionless she looked freeze-dried. “We are here to help Yuki. This is not about recruiting new SOS Brigade members. Try to understand that much, okay?”
This last part was directed at the president. The girl in question, Nagato, only turned the page of her book.
“Hmph.” The student council president did not so much as flinch. After adjusting his glasses with his finger, he spoke. “So, Suzumiya, you are saying that despite not being a member of the literature club, you are assisting that club in recruiting new members.”
I appreciated him articulating Haruhi’s motivations so clearly.
“Yup.” Haruhi puffed out her chest even more proudly, then pointed to the desks where Koizumi and I were. “See, those two are just sitting there with their desks doing nothing, right? There’s no paper saying ‘SOS Brigade,’ and Kyon looks even more out of it than usual.”
That last line wasn’t necessary.
“Oh ho.” The president tucked his chin down, his glasses reflecting pointlessly. “Well, then, Suzumiya. What is in the box you just brought out? Some sort of sign, perhaps?”
“It’s a sign.” Haruhi grabbed the stave that was sticking out of the box, pulling it out decisively.
At the end of the white-painted wooden stick were affixed two pieces of plywood, also painted white, upon which had been written LITERATURE CLUB in Haruhi’s handwriting. It went without saying that the menial tasks of cutting the wood, assembling the pieces, and painting the sign had fallen to me.
“See, it says ‘Literature Club,’ right? I’m going to make Mikuru carry it around. After all, if we left it to Yuki, she wouldn’t make any active appeals.”
This was the truth. The first-year students had time in their schedules set aside for club introductions, and that had evidently happened yesterday. I say “evidently” because the SOS Brigade had no opportunity to intervene, as the only person invited had been the president of the literature club, one Yuki Nagato. The students had assembled in the gym, and there in front of them Nagato had, in the voice of a TV news anchor reading off the weather forecasts for major world cities, presented a talk entitled “A Neurological Perspective on the Insufficiency of Verbal Discourse between Individuals.” Obviously this had nothing to do with the literature club, and as a bonus, it managed to put half the first-years to sleep. Thanks to the pseudo-hypnotic speech she delivered, if there had been any students who were interested in joining the literature club, the boredom that suffused the gym that day would’ve effectively purged such notions from them. Yuki Nagato was a force to be reckoned with.
But it didn’t seem to bother her at all. Left to her own devices today, she would’ve probably just gone straight to the clubroom and commenced reading. But Haruhi did not leave her to her own devices.
The prospect of recruiting new members would be too tantalizing for Haruhi’s invisible antennae to pass up.
But wait just a second. To be clear, the SOS Brigade was an unsanctioned organization, and even now was operating illegally within the school. We couldn’t recruit overtly. Once Haruhi might’ve gone for that anyway, but this year the student council president’s eye was on us. So what fun could be had today?
The cash register bell in Haruhi’s head had gone off, and thus on this day—one of those chilly spring days worth their weight in gold—the brigade had been drafted as volunteers for the literature club and were now killing time in the courtyard.
—So that’s the story of how we got here, but every story has its flip side.
The student council president seemed easily able to sense that.
“May I see the other side of that sign?”
“Sure.” Haruhi grinned and flicked her wrist. On the reverse of the sign that said LITERATURE CLUB it said… LITERATURE CLUB. Obviously it didn’t say SOS BRIGADE.
“You seem eminently prepared. Very well, then. I cannot claim there is no logic to what you’ve said.” The president pushed his glasses up by their bridge. “Though it is not in my nature to compromise, it is better than causing a needless conflict. So long as you do not interfere with the other clubs, you may quietly stay here until the day is out. I will be busy with inspections. Forcible recruiting is absolutely forbidden.”
He should’ve told that to the athletic clubs, I said. This was a dreary public school, and every club was short on promising new recruits.
“You’re quite right. I’ll do that. And now, one last question. It is all well and good for you to recruit new literature club members. But should you succeed, what will you do? Will you turn the clubroom over to them?”
“That’s none of your business!” Haruhi’s habit of speaking her mind to upperclassmen hadn’t changed since she’d become a second-year student herself. Haruhi sniffed and looked askance.
“Hmph. That is all, then. Good-bye.”
His Excellency the President looked sharply at Haruhi and Asahina, as if to burn the image of the cheongsam and maid outfit onto film, then calmly followed Kimidori and left.
What had he come here to accomplish? Didn’t he realize standing in front of Haruhi and telling her “no” was practically begging her to do whatever it was you didn’t want her to do? Haruhi’s face was even now splitting into that high-spirited grin of hers.
“Well, that went well. Easy as pie. Tasty, tasty pie.”
Haruhi waited for the president to be out of sight, stuck the pole of the sign she held into the ground, and peeled the veneer from the sign’s surface. As I regarded the construction, I was unsurprised. The poor LITERATURE CLUB lettering was now so much litter, and there was no doubt about what the second layer of the sign now proclaimed—
SOS BRIGADE.
Last May—what day had it been, anyway?—the “Save the World by Overloading it with Fun Haruhi Suzumiya Brigade” had been formed, and it seemed that the name would be remaining in good health for some time to come.
The cardboard box Haruhi had brought contained more than sig
ns.
Haruhi foisted one sign off onto Asahina, then like a magician’s assistant produced item after item from within the box, the skirt of her China dress aflutter.
First was an LCD monitor; then a series of cords, cables, and adapters; followed finally by a new college-style notebook and writing implements.
“C’mon, set it up!” Haruhi ordered me. “Get the monitor working.”
There were no electrical outlets in the courtyard, but Haruhi had anticipated the problem. There would be no point in trying to resist, so I did as I was told, dragging the power cable over to the computer club’s booth.
“Sorry, but could we borrow your power?”
“Sure.” It was the computer club president who replied. Evidently he was still president, since it was written on the ID badge that hung on his chest. “The other members wouldn’t let me go,” he said, sounding vaguely proud of it. “So I said I’d do it for one semester. I have been thinking about my replacement, though. Whoever it is, I’m gonna have to train him or her carefully—”
This speech seemed like it was going to take a while, so I wished he’d have done it later. At this rate, his fellow members were going to start hoping he’d retire.
“Hey, actually,” said the president, lowering his voice and speaking rapidly past the back of his hand, which was raised conspiratorially to his mouth. “I’d like Nagato to have concurrent membership in both our clubs, so she can become president of the computer club too. She’s the most talented computer programmer I’ve ever seen or heard of. No matter the bug or error, she can magically fix it, as easily as flipping a switch. Every time she stops by the club she finds a new way to surprise me. We’ve got a custom-built machine set aside for her, and in practically no time she wrote a new OS that would blow the original manufacturer away. Nobody but her can even begin to understand or use the source code either. It’s perfectly compatible with every piece of hardware and software we tested it with, but we just don’t know how she did it—”
The Dissociation of Haruhi Suzumiya Page 2
