Boogiepop Returns VS Imaginator Part 1

by Kadono. Kouhei

  “If you were an MPLS, I might have to be careful. . . but an ordinary human? Let me show you why they call me. . . Spooky Electric.” He opened his fists.

  On his palms, his blood vessels stood out unnaturally. Blue and red lines ran all across them.

  Masaki thought he could hear a crackle coming from them. . .

  “O -- Orihata! Run!” he yelled, sensing danger.

  But Aya just slumped, making no attempt to stand.

  “Shit. . . !” Masaki rushed forward, desperately.

  Grinning, Spooky E waited for him.

  Inside, Masaki thought, 'To hell with it,' and, grinding his teeth, he aimed a kick right at Spooky E's unguarded crotch.

  His karate master had told him, “If you really need to, don't hesitate.”

  Masaki's toes struck directly at every man's weakest point.

  But. . . the sensation was all wrong.

  “ -- Hunh?!” He looked up at his enemy's face.

  The grin was still there, the same as ever.

  “Too baaaad,” he said, and with a quick little jitterbug of a step, Spooky E put his palms on Masaki's head, one on each side.

  Everything went black before Masaki's eyes, and he passed out.

  ***

  My head throbbed.

  I could hear voices, but they seemed so far away. . .

  “Please, let him be. We haven't yet. There's still a chance. . .”

  “He got to you pretty good, huh? But if that boy knew what you've been up to, he won't think the same. . .”

  “I know. ..but please. . . spare him.”

  “Huh? You aren't even human. What are you thinking?”

  “Please. . .”

  “Okay, then. I’ll let him live. . . on that one condition.”

  “Thank you.”

  “But don't forget, Camille. Your primary mission is to find him. Find that -- “

  That was all I heard. After that, I knew nothing more.

  ***

  And when I woke up, it felt very warm all around me.

  “Uh. . . . . . ?” I opened my eyes, stretching. Orihata's face was right above me.

  “You woke up,” she said, gently.

  Surprised, I sat up, looking around. We were in the park where I had apparently fallen asleep on a bench.

  On her lap no less.

  “Wh-what? Why am I sleeping here?”

  I shook my head, but the last thing I could remember is getting a phone call from Orihata, and suggesting we celebrate her getting accepted into high school. I couldn't remember what I did after that. I couldn't even remember arriving at the park.

  “I think you got sunstroke. When I got here, you were already asleep,” Orihata said calmly.

  “Really? I was sleeping?”

  “It surprised me. I thought you were dead. . .”

  “Wow. . . I'm s-sorry. But sunstroke?” It was sunny enough, but it was barely spring. Much too early to get sunstroke, right?

  “Sorry, this is all my fault. . .” she said.

  “N-no it isn't! I'm the one who passed out!” I said hurriedly.

  It seemed like I was always showing her these awkward undignified moments.

  “S-so we were going to celebrate, right? Is there anything you'd like me to do? Go ahead, ask me anything,” I said, cheerfully, grinning, trying desperately to cover.

  She looked suddenly very sad.

  She stood up from the bench, turning her back on me.

  There was a long silence.

  “. . . . . . . . .”

  Her figure seemed to absorb the rays of the setting sun, like she was melting into the backlight.

  She looked very fragile, almost like a ghost.

  After a minute of silence, I gingerly asked, “Wh-what's wrong?”

  “Masaki. . . you're really strong, aren't you?” she whispered, not turning around.

  “Um?”

  “When we first met. . . if I hadn't saved you, you'd have been able to get out of that on your own, right?”

  Suddenly, I found myself in a very awkward position. “Uh, w-well, that's not. . .”

  “Masaki, can I ask you a favor?” Her voice came over her shoulders.

  “Yes. Anything!”

  “Masaki, you're friends with the girls in this area, right?”

  “Uh, yeah. . . I-I guess.”

  “I wonder if you've heard anything from them. . . rumors of a mysterious shinigami.”

  “Rumors?”

  “Nobody knows where he appears, but all the girls know his name.” She turned around. The backlight hid her face, and I couldn't make out her expression. “They all know about Boogiepop.”

  III

  Do not doubt your work.

  No matter how pointless or unrewarding it

  may appear to be, anything is better than

  knowing for certain that is actually is.

  -- Kirima Seiichi (VS Imaginator)

  “Umm, so if x is an imaginary number, then the range of y is. . . a complete mystery. Suemaaaa! Help meeee. . . !”

  One day late in March, my friend Miyashita Touka and I were hunched over our study guides in a quiet corner of the freshly emptied cram school. There was nobody else around.

  This year's students had mostly taken their tests and stopped coming, and next year's crowd wouldn't start attending seriously until next week. It was like a little breathing room between tests.

  “We've only been studying twenty minutes. It's too soon to give up.”

  *Yeah. . . but I have. My head's already spinning from all those numbers. If I see another equation, I'm gonna hurl!”

  'Not like you're a drunk or anything. . .” I giggled. Touka was at best artless and at worst. . . a little on the rude side, but still, I thought she was refreshing. At least, she always admitted it when she didn't understand something.

  “Come on, help me here, Kazuko-chaaaan! How does this thing work?” With a labored expression, she glared fiercely at the study guide, poking at it with the tip of her pencil.

  This year, we would finally be seniors. While we'd effectively been so since January once April came around, we would officially make the switch from being laid-back high school students to stressed-out exam students.

  I met Touka back during the winter course at this cram school, and that was where I learned that we went to the same high school, but somehow had managed to completely avoid running into each other. And even now, we pretty much only saw each other at cram school.

  Still, we hit it off really well. I'm a little warped because of some stuff in my past, but she came over to me despite all that.

  “Well, this one. . .” I leaned over, and started explaining the problem to her.

  “Uh huh. Uh huh.” Touka sat up, and leaned her entire upper body onto the table. From the side, we must've looked like we were about to arm wrestle. The very thought amused me.

  “Got that?”

  “Umm.. .well. . . kind of.”

  “Then explain it back to me.”

  “Eh heh. That. . . that might be pushing things,” Touka replied, looking extremely embarrassed.

  “Tut tut. You've got to understand this properly,” I said.

  Touka giggled. “I'm sorry. It's like I'm turning you into my own private tutor. And you're not even getting paid. Still, if I didn't make smart friends, I'd be totally screwed. . .”

  “You aren't gonna sweet talk your way out of this.”

  “Ah, you noticed.

  “Yep. So, how do we use that equation to solve this problem?”

  “Um. . . pass!”

  “You can't do that! We're not playing shogi here. . .”

  Studying for exams was never easy, but at moments like this, it could be a lot of fun.

  While Touka was grappling with the problem, I glanced away, turning my gaze to a painting that was hung on the wall.

  It was a strange picture of a large number of people holding hands, sprawled on the ground of a wasteland. The style was pretty rough
, with a lot of pencil traces left in it, and to me, it felt awfully dated for such a hip cram school.

  It was an abstract oil painting. The title was “Snow Falling in April.” The painter was Asukai Jin, who was one of the teachers that worked here. This painting had won some kind of an award and was probably just hung on the wall to make the school look more important than it was.

  Because of certain events in my past, I got pretty interested in criminal psychology and the unconscious psyche. This fascination has led me to read all I could find on those subjects, so it was out of habit that I started analyzing the painting in-depth.

  (Hmm. . . the sky is cloudy. . . it lacks width. Must be a very closed off painting. But there's something cheerful about it. Or maybe just shallow. The wasteland clearly represents a feeling of emptiness, so why is it I get a hint of deep conviction behind it?)

  With all those people, why weren't any of them looking at each other?

  “It's a weird painting,” Touka said, following my gaze.

  “Yeah. . . something about it I just don't like,” I said in a snobbish 'Oh, I hate this painting' sort of way. It might be a good painting, but I just can't bring myself to like it.

  “Not your type, Suema?”

  “No, I think. . . the guy that painted this hates people like me.”

  Or maybe. . . yeah, he was the same as me. It was a natural aversion.

  “That's beyond me,” Touka laughed.

  “Too strange?”

  “Nah, it's cool. Go with your gut.”

  In the past, more than a few people have told me that I was strange. But Touka always accepted what I said without question. You wouldn't believe how happy that always made me feel.

  “I bet he likes you, though.”

  “Is that a confession?” she joked, and we cackled.

  A voice came from behind us, “Um, are you Suema Kazuko-san? From Shinyo Academy. . . ?”

  We turned, and there was a girl who looked about our age.

  “Yes, and. . . you are?”

  “I'm Kinukawa Kotoe. I. . . I go to Shinyo Academy also. I wanted to talk to you about something, Suema-san. . .” She opened and closed her hands. Clearly this was really important to her.

  “What about?”

  “Well. . . you know a lot, don't you? About, you know. . . and Kinoshita-san said you. . .”

  “Kinoshita? You mean Kyoko?”

  Kinoshita Kyoko was a former classmate of mine.

  “Yes! She said Suema could keep a secret, and was very nice, and was very smart. . . so she said you could help me out!” Kotoe said earnestly, waving her hands around like she was worried this wasn't enough.

  “I’m, well. . .” I hadn't done that much for Kyoko, really. Just listened to her problems and told her what I thought. The person who had helped her out when she was really in trouble was another girl.

  “Please, Suema-san. Help Jin-niisan! “

  “H-help who? Touka, do you have. . . Touka?” I turned around to find Touka completely gone.

  Somehow, she'd gotten up without my ever noticing, and was standing right next to this Kotoe girl.

  “Sit down, Kinukawa-san,” she said, and handed her a cup of coffee from the vending machine.

  When the heck did she buy that?

  “Th-thanks. . .” Kotoe bobbed her head, and took a sip of coffee from the paper cup.

  “Feel better now?” Touka asked, sounding oddly masculine.

  “Y-yes, thanks.” Kotoe bobbed her head again.

  “You need her help?” She pointed at me with her chin.

  “Y-yes. And I am sorry, but, um. . .”

  “I understand. I'm in the way. I'll leave you two alone.”

  “W-wait! Touka. . . !”

  “Kinukawa-san needs your help. You should at least listen to her.” She sounded like she was on stage. Touka gave me a strange, asymmetrical expression, somewhere between innocent and mocking. I got the strangest feeling that this wasn't Touka. . . heck, this wasn't even a girl. It was very unsettling. “Adios,” she said, and was gone.

  “. . . . . . . . .”

  I stared after her like I'd seen a fox.

  Kotoe pressed forward, “So. . .”

  “Mm? Oh, right. . . okay. If you're friends with Kyoko, then, sure, I'll hear you out,” I sighed.

  ***

  “-- Asukai Jin?” I said, eyes wide. This was the first name out of Kotoe's mouth. “The painting guy?”

  “Yeah. He teaches here. You know him?”

  “Just the name. They say he's a pretty good counselor.”

  I'd heard the rumors. You went to him for guidance counseling, he'd give you very specific advice. Neither Touka nor I had ever met with the guy. A fine arts course teacher didn't really have much contact with those of us in the national science course.

  “I've. . . heard that too. I don't really know much.”

  “And you are his. . . niece? Or cousin?” I wasn't sure which. The gist of her introduction had escaped me.

  “Our parents didn't really. . . get along. So Jin-niisan and I haven't been friendly for all that long, but. . . the first time we ever really spoke to each other was at his father's funeral. But I knew pretty much instantly that he was this really amazing guy.”

  “Huh. . .” Her story just wasn't coming together. I had to try to make sense of it somehow. “So, why does he need help?”

  “Suema-san, you know a lot, right? If somebody. . . changes. . . then, I dunno. . . it's, like, you know, that sort of thing.”

  “That sort of thing?” I asked, perplexed. I found myself looking at the painting again.

  There were a number of goats among the crowd. They were munching on the rose bushes that grew out of the wasteland. Black goats.

  From what I know, roses are sturdy enough, and they could pretty much bloom anywhere. Though, the quality of the flowers would probably suffer. So, seeing thorny rose bushes wasn't all that surprising. But the black goats. . . those were usually an allegory for the devil.

  They were eating the roses -- flowers, leaves, thorns and all.

  The picture itself didn't give off all that unpleasant of a feeling. . . it was pastoral and peaceful. But something about it bugged me. . .

  “Has he suddenly become stand-offish?”

  “Not that. . . it's like he doesn't worry anymore.”

  “He used to?”

  “Yeah, all the time,” she said forcefully. “Maybe I shouldn't be telling you this but. . . his father, which was like his only family. . . he died in kind of a strange way. . .”

  “How?”

  “Well. . .”

  “If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine. Lately, I've been trying to avoid those kinds of stories anyway,” I said, honestly.

  Kotoe looked relieved. “I knew I could count on you. You seem so with it.”

  'Never mind that. Why do you think he's stopped worrying?” I never did like getting compliments. Especially about this type of subject. It felt like those times when somebody would tell you how cute you used to be when you were a child. It's irritating because these people are all so lost in the past.

  “Mm. . .” Kotoe told me that Asukai Jin had been staying out all night recently. It seemed like she was monitoring his behavior pretty closely.

  “And when he does come home in the morning, he just claims to have spent the night at a friend's house? No other details at all? I mean, uh, couldn't that just be what young guys do?”

  “It doesn't seem like he's got a girlfriend! When he comes home, there's always. . . .stains on his clothes. Dark red stains. They might be. . .”

  I gulped a little at this one. “You mean, blood?”

  “But he's never injured! And his clothes never look torn, so. . .”

  “He goes out every night and comes back covered in other people's blood? That sounds like, I dunno. . . like a vampire or something.” I shivered.

  “But if I talk to the police, Jin-niisan might get arrested, and my father's alwa
ys looking for an excuse to just kick him out. Please, Suema-san, I. . . I don't know what to do anymore!” Kotoe buried her face in her hands.

  This was starting to sound a little dangerous. I get this feeling sometimes. Like a pounding in my chest, like an itch racing all over my body.

  'Come on, Kazuko! You're an exam student! You don't have time to go poking your head where it doesn't belong!' I told myself.

  But. . . once before, I was almost killed by something I'd never seen, and I didn't find out about it until it was all over. It's because of that experience that I have this weird compulsion of mine.

  A compulsion to face off against darkness.

  “Um, Kinukawa-san, why don't you just leave everything up to me, okay?” I'd said, before I could stop myself.

  ***

  And so I found myself alone just outside the cram school's guidance counseling office, which was essentially Asukai Jin's personal domain. I'd sent Kotoe home minutes before. I knew that if she'd tagged along, she'd just have gotten in the way.

  There was not a soul left in the building at this time of day.

  I tried the door and it opened. It wasn't locked or anything.

  (Pretty careless. . . or is there simply nothing in here worth stealing?)

  I went in. I'd been a student here for three months, but this was my first time ever setting foot inside this office. It was tiny and dark.

  'It's like one of those police interrogation rooms from TV,' I thought.

  There was a desk next to the teacher's chair, and a computer on top of that. I almost turned it on, but thought better of it. It was probably password protected anyway.

  (There must be something. . . a clue as to why he's changed. . . )

  I poked around his desk. But there was nothing there but cram school pamphlets and various papers with notes scrawled on them about students' scores for different schools. . . nothing to do with Asukai Jin himself.

  “Hmm. . .”

  Had I underestimated the situation? Was this too simple a way of gathering information?

  “Agh. . . !” I said, flopping down in his chair. I slouched down a bit, but my skirt started rising up, forcing me to twist my body a bit. . .