It was almost time for the next show to start, but there was no one lined up at the booth, which said something about the low attendance of the film. “Two students,” I said to the bored-looking lady on the other side of the glass when she looked up at us.
… Having gotten this far, I took my hands off the keyboard, leaned back in the folding chair, and stretched.
I really wasn’t used to doing this kind of thing, so my shoulders were unavoidably tight. As I rolled my head around to loosen my neck—
“You seem to be moving right along,” said Koizumi, looking both pleased and interested. “Keep it up until the end, if you please. I truly look forward to reading whatever you write.”
Too bad for you, Koizumi. I was willing to bet on it. This wasn’t something that would be fun to read, I told him. It was pretty far off the mark from a love story.
“Even so,” said Koizumi as he poked at the liquid-crystal display of his own laptop, “I’m intrigued by whatever you write, because writing always reveals at least a little bit about the writer. You can always hear the voice of the author speaking out between the lines. I’m interested in your writing, more than I am in Nagato’s or Asahina’s.”
There wasn’t any need for him to be interested, I told him. Since when had he taken on any job besides being an expert on Haruhi psychology? Wasn’t performing psychoanalysis on me outside of his job description?
“Considering that Suzumiya’s mental state is affected by yours, I don’t think you can assert that unconditionally, no.”
Did his impudence know no bounds?
I ended my exchange with Koizumi and looked over the room. Haruhi had yet to return, and Asahina was still drawing her pictures.
“Mmmm… hmm…” The cute upperclassman was bent over the drawing paper, a look of extreme concentration on her face as she childishly gripped a pencil, first drawing a line, then thinking for a moment, then rubbing the line out with a rubber eraser, finally hmm-ing again before hunching over the paper and continuing her work. Although I’ve already introduced you to the final product, at the time Asahina was still working on it. Given the results, her effort certainly paid off—and it turned out to be a very Asahina-like story too.
At this point, the only one of us who had finished her story was Nagato, who sat at her designated corner of the table, silently reading. Having completed her triad of untitled short stories, the sole literature club member sat and quietly read her book, ignoring Asahina and me, as well as Haruhi’s delighted running around, as though we were none of her concern.
For my part, I wanted to ask for some author’s notes regarding Untitled 1, 2, and 3, but I decided it would be better not to, and in any case, my main worry at that moment was the “love story” I’d been assigned. I should’ve been writing my brains out, but I couldn’t stand the idea of turning something in only to have Haruhi say, “It’s boring. Rejected.”
How’d I let myself get cornered into caring so much about something I couldn’t do anything about?
Just as I was letting it really get me riled up, that pleasant smile came at me again from the side.
“But that’s not really so, is it?” said Koizumi, as though refuting my internal monologue. His fingers never left the keyboard as he continued touch-typing. “If you write something about a past experience, something from before you met Suzumiya and me, I’m sure she’d be very interested to read it.”
I was impressed at his ability to talk and type at the same time—but his assurances didn’t make me feel any better, I told him.
“For example,” said Koizumi, vaguely amused, “haven’t you ever wondered about my past? What I did before I transferred to this school? What I thought of as I passed my days? Have you never wanted a glimpse of that?”
Well, now… that all depends. If it were a piece of nonfiction that depicted the daily life of an esper, then my elementary-school self would be jumping for joy to read it. Even now my intellectual curiosity was piqued by the organization known as “The Agency.”
“If you knew the truth, you’d only be disappointed. There aren’t any particularly interesting episodes. As you yourself are aware, I am an esper whose potency is limited to a very specific time and place,” said Koizumi. “However, it is true that my days do differ from the days of ordinary people. I do occasionally consider writing an autobiography, once things have calmed down. If I finish it, I’ll have to put your name in the dedication.”
“Don’t bother.”
“Oh? I would certainly want to give you a complimentary copy.”
I reached out for my tea, not answering. The teacup was empty. Since Asahina was still working, I would have to get another cup on my own, which I stood to do.
Bang. The room’s door slammed open, and in charged an energetic girl.
“Hey, everybody! Making good progress?”
Haruhi was so lively that it seemed a bit odd as she strode straight to the brigade chief’s seat, sat down, put on the desk the sheaf of papers she had been holding, and turned her eerily bright gaze to me.
“Oh hey, Kyon—if you’re making tea, get some for me too. Mikuru’s busy and I’d feel bad interrupting her.”
There was no point in childishly quibbling with her over something so trivial. I expressed my irritation with an audible sigh, then filled the teapot with hot water, poured tea into my cup as well as Haruhi’s, and became a temporary waiter as I brought it to her.
Haruhi cheerfully took the cup and sipped from it. “What’s this? It’s just hot leaf juice. Change the tea leaves, will ya?”
“You do it. I’m busy.”
It was the truth—I was busy, so even if the brigade chief had been thankful for the tea, a bit of mutinous behavior would be forgiven. She couldn’t very well claim that tea-brewing was more important than working on the newsletter.
Haruhi grinned. “Oh, so you are working. Finally! I’m impressed. You better make the deadline. We’re gonna have to start doing the layouts soon.”
I sipped the tea I’d brewed and speculated on the cause of Haruhi’s high spirits. It likely had something to do with the sheaf of A4 papers that she’d tossed onto her desk.
“Oh, this?” The ever-perceptive Haruhi noticed what I was looking at. “They’re finished manuscripts. Ones I commissioned. Everybody did a pretty good job. Taniguchi insisted he couldn’t write anything, so I gave him an extension until tomorrow. Kunikida was about half done. They’re taking it seriously, so they’ll be done tomorrow.”
Humming a tune to herself, Haruhi flipped through the manuscripts page-by-page as though checking them over. “Here are the illustrations I got from the manga club, and here’s the art club’s rough illustration for the cover. This is the piece from the computer club. These’ll buy us a few pages, at least. I’ve got no idea about what they wrote, but who cares? I’m sure their enthusiasm comes through, and people who know about video games will get something out of it.”
Ah, so that’s how it was. In essence, it seemed Haruhi had found happiness in the process of pushing the publication forward. Making something out of nothing as we gradually progressed toward completion—hell, even I thought it was pretty fun. It was sort of like gradually building a plastic model out of tiny parts or moving toward the final boss in an RPG. It was enjoyable, so long as you weren’t one of the model pieces or NPCs.
“What’re you mumbling about?” Haruhi polished off her tea briskly, grinning at me as she shook the emptied cup around. “You better hurry up and get back to your seat. C’mon, write! The computer club’s not even in the brigade, and look what they did! If you slack off, we’ll get a reputation for being slackers. We’re the ones who originally accepted this challenge, after all.”
Having a worthy organizational rival seemed to energize Haruhi. It was enough to make me want to tell her the truth about the student council president, just to irritate her. The original trumped-up charge had been against Nagato as a member of the literature club, and Haruhi had simply decided t
o barge in and take over leadership—even going so far as to wear an editor-in-chief armband.
I glared over at Koizumi, wondering how many plans he’d dreamed of to stave off her boredom. The island mystery had definitely been the first, and the nonsense on the snowy mountain had been number two. No, wait—what about the thing with Kimidori and the cave cricket? Oh, right, that had been Nagato’s doing.
I was reflecting on such nonsense when a knock suddenly sounded at the door.
“Excuse me.” The door opened before anyone had time to answer it, and a tall, thin figure entered the room.
Tinkk!
I was probably the only one who heard the sound, like a piano wire being snipped by wire cutters.
It was like the sub-boss of a shooter had appeared: there he was, the student council president.
The president’s glasses reflected meaninglessly, indicating he was in serious business mode. He swept his gaze slowly over the room.
“This is quite a nice room. I’m even more convinced it’s wasted on the likes of you.”
“What’re you doing here? You’re interrupting our work—just get lost.” Haruhi flipped into irritated mode faster than a superhero changing costume. She crossed her arms, looking even haughtier than the president, not even bothering to stand up.
The president calmly endured her murderous gaze. “Think of it as enemy reconnaissance. I have no intention of being your constant foe or an obstacle you must overcome. I came only to check up on you, as is my responsibility. Think of it as a checkup to make sure you’re being serious. From what I can tell, you’re certainly flailing around quite a bit. That’s all well and good, but movement does not necessarily translate into results. Let us say that you must continue devoting yourself to the task.”
It wasn’t like we needed him to come and tell us that—but before I could respond, the brigade chief (or should I say the editor in chief) beat me to it.
“Shut up.”
Zing. It was as though I could hear the sound of Haruhi’s eyes turning into daggers.
“If you came just to needle us, you’re out of luck. I’m not going to fall for such a clumsy jab.”
“And I’ve no such free time.” The president snapped his fingers pretentiously. I practically expected him to call out, “Garçon,” but the slick head of the student council was not calling for a waiter. “Kimidori, if you please.”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
Kimidori, holding a stack of booklets in her arms, quietly approached Haruhi.
Nagato returned her eyes to the open hardcover book in front of her, unmoving.
“…”
Kimidori smiled, giving no indication that she’d noticed Nagato. “Here you are. Reference materials.” She presented the stack of musty old booklets to Haruhi.
“What’re these?”
Haruhi didn’t bother to hide the look of irritation on her face, her eyebrows going up as she accepted the stack like it was a cursed item of some kind.
The president adjusted his glasses sarcastically. “They’re newsletters produced by previous incarnations of the literature club. Feel free to refer to them. Given your tendency toward fanciful theories, there is a distinct possibility that you’re misunderstanding what constitutes ‘literature.’ No need to thank me. If you feel any obligation, direct it to Miss Kimidori. It was she who took the trouble to find them in the archive room.”
“Huh. Thanks. Not that I’m really pleased.”
Haruhi made a face like a feudal lord who’d received tribute in salt despite not particularly having a salt shortage. She dropped the booklets unceremoniously on the desk, then, as though realizing who this messenger’s face reminded her of—
“Hey, you… so you got on the student council, did you?”
“Yes, starting this year,” replied Kimidori politely, bowing and returning quietly to the president’s side.
“Did you work things out with your boyfriend?” Haruhi asked as though she didn’t really care.
“I really appreciated your help,” said Kimidori, her placid smile unwavering. “But we’ve broken up. When I think about it now, it is as though we were never really going out together. It’s a distant memory.”
It was a roundabout answer, but I felt like I knew the reason. I bet the computer club prez would agree with me. He’d have no memory of any dating at all. He’d just been punished for daring to look at the SOS Brigade’s website. I felt a little bad for him.
“…”
Nagato turned a page of her book.
At this point it felt like Nagato and Kimidori were engaged in a fierce battle to see who could ignore the other more. But since Nagato acted like this pretty much no matter who was around, the battle was probably all in my head. I felt like I was wearing glasses with weird-colored lenses.
“Huh, is that so?” Haruhi curled the corners of her lips strangely. “Well, you’re still young. Things happen.”
In point of fact, Haruhi was even younger, but I had no intention of taking such a cheap shot. Ignorance was the key here. And in any case, Kimidori’s actual age was probably the same as Nagato’s. Her seniority was doubtful. I bet she’d just happened to be enrolled as a junior.
Not that I could very well say anything about that. Going by Nagato’s reaction, Kimidori was not an enemy. I glanced casually over at Asahina out of the corner of my eye. At the very least, she knew that Nagato was an alien. Her shock when she was first dragged to the clubroom was proof enough of that. So my concern that she might also know the truth about Kimidori was entirely founded.
Still—
“Hmm. Oh, ah—mmm.”
Thanks to the intensity of her picture-drawing efforts, the lovely upperclassman seemed not to have noticed the two intruders in the room. I wasn’t sure whether to applaud her intense concentration or worry about how close she was getting to that klutzy-girl stereotype. If the latter were true, it was the result of Haruhi’s training of her.
As I stood there dumbly, Haruhi and the president continued their verbal combat.
“It seems you’re doing a fiction anthology,” said the president nihilistically. “But are any of you even capable of writing a proper story?”
“I’ll say it again: sucks to be you,” Haruhi shot back. “I’m not the least bit worried.”
Her face brimmed with confidence; I wanted to know what wormhole that confidence had sprung from.
She continued. “We don’t need anyone to teach us. Writing a story is easy. Even this idiot Kyon can do it. Most people know how to read and write, don’t they? If you can write letters, then you can write sentences, and all you have to do is connect those sentences. It’s not like you need special training to learn how to write. We’re high school students. We don’t have to practice writing stories! We can just write them.”
The president pushed up his glasses. “I can’t help but be impressed by your optimistic outlook. It is, however, infantile.”
I totally agreed, but I wished he would refrain from provoking Haruhi any further. Even if her ire were directed solely at the president, all of us in the room would have to endure her burning aura.
As expected, the angle between Haruhi’s eyebrows and eyes became sharply acute. “You think you’re a real big shot, huh? Well, even if you are, I hate big shots! And I hate small-fry people who think they’re big shots even more!”
She certainly wasn’t under-equipped for a war of words. I wondered for how long they’d keep up this performance. After all, the president did outrank Haruhi. It might have been just another act, but the ability to stay cool in the face of Haruhi’s blazing anger was impressive. The president was pulling it off, as was Kimidori.
“Hmph. I am not particularly important. You judge people by their rank, do you? If I have anything to boast of, it is having gained my position through a legitimate public election. And how is it you’ve come to sit in your seat there? What was it again? ‘Brigade chief’?”
I had to admit that Koizumi’s
choice of personnel was impressive. The president had real guts. There probably wasn’t a single other student in the whole school who could face down Haruhi with such vicious sarcasm.
But Haruhi was a force to be reckoned with herself. I knew that all too well.
“There’s no point in trying to provoke me,” said the leader of this unauthorized student organization. “The student council may want to destroy the SOS Brigade along with the literature club, but it won’t work.”
Haruhi glanced at me briefly. What the hell was she looking at?
Her flashing eyes turned quickly and sharply back to the president.
“I am absolutely not moving from this spot. Want to know why?”
“I’d love to,” said the president.
If Haruhi’s words had been microwave radiation, then the volume she spoke at would’ve been more potent than any microwave oven.
“Because this is the SOS Brigade’s room, and I am the chief of that brigade!”
Having said what he’d come to say and let Haruhi speak her piece, the president and his attendant left.
“Argh, so irritating! What did that idiot president come here to do, anyway?” Haruhi grumbled, her lip curled in a sneer as she flipped through the old literature club booklets that Kimidori had left.
Haruhi’s war cry had finally gotten Asahina to realize that guests had entered the clubroom, but by the time she had, in a panic, started to make tea for them, it was too late—but thanks to her haste, I was able to finally enjoy her delicious tea and apply myself to my own writing… Well, no, not that last part.
Somehow, now that the mood had been wrecked, my motivation was gone. The fact that my theme had been chosen by lottery didn’t help; neither did the fact that I was trying to write an episode out of my past.
But that wasn’t going to be good enough. Thanks to the president’s visit, Haruhi’s zeal had been enflamed, and it seemed ready to blacken the ceiling with its intensity.
“Listen up, everyone.” Haruhi pursed her lips before opening her mouth to speak. “It’s come to this. We’re going to make this newsletter if it kills us, and it’s going to be great. We’re not going to have a single copy left over, and we’re gonna take down the president. Got that?”
The Indignation of Haruhi Suzumiya Page 8
