by Shouji Gatou
Adachi Eiko is Not an Adult
Adachi Eiko was singing. Beyond a layer of soundproof glass, Macaron watched her from behind, puffing on a cigarette.
The microphone she sang into was a professional one with a pop filter, and her ears were covered with thick headphones. Since they were only recording audio, the monitor was black. She sang with passion, her black hair swishing now and then:
Together forever, together for always.
Our dreams are cast by a magical spell
Let’s keep on smiling, I’ll always be smiling
You’re the one who made this miracle!
(Hum, hum) Brilliant Magic!
I feel my feelings rising
Nobody one can stop them
Dance to the rhythm, take a deep breath
And shout... into the future!
Brilliant Magic
A magical mystery spell
Brilliant Magic
A sparkly miracle spell
Together forever, together for always
Our dreams are cast by a magical spell
Let’s keep on smiling, I’ll always be smiling
You’re the one who made this miracle!
(*Repeat)
Let’s be brilliant
Forever brilliant
(Hum, hum) Brilliant Magic!
“Puff!” Macaron muttered. Who thought up these lyrics? All this “magical spell” nonsense. This “miracle” nonsense... “Let’s be brilliant? Forever brilliant?” It’s not better just because it rhymes! What are you, a rap artist? he groaned internally. Besides, he thought, if it were rap, it would be more provocative, like so:
Driving at night at quarter to three
Stopped by a cop, hand over my ID
He says I’m looking in your trunk, go on and let me see
It’s full of coke and AKs he’s gonna pin on me
Time to shoot the cop? Yeah, it’s time to decide
Yeah, yeah
Amagi Brilliant Park, I said.
Yeah, yeah
Amagi Brilliant Park.
That would be real music, ron! If you played that in the park, it would be a huge hit, ron!
But when Macaron had proposed his gangsta rap concept the other day, the committee had unanimously shot it down. “Grr... Grrrr...” he growled now, grinding his teeth.
Adachi Eiko kept singing, unaware of Macaron’s resentment. At least it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t bad; his issues were with the songwriter who’d written the thing decades ago.
The recording studio was on the fourth floor of a fashionable building just outside Amagi. They were spending a whopping 10,000 yen per hour for use of the facilities and a sound engineer. Macaron, in the studio serving as music producer, was puffing silently on a cigarette.
When Eiko’s song ended, the engineer pressed the speaker button and addressed her. “Okay, give us a minute.”
“All right!” Eiko’s voice called back.
After releasing the switch so that Eiko couldn’t hear them, the engineer-for-hire turned to Macaron. “What do you think, Macaron-san?”
“...Ron. It’s mostly okay, but it’s lacking some oomph on the second ‘brilliant magic’ bit, ron.”
“Right.”
“It says mezzo forte on the sheet music, but I want her to ignore that and really go for it. Well... and the humming before that was a little off, so maybe that’s the problem. Also...”
While talking technical issues with the man, Macaron glanced at Eiko in the booth. Her back was to him, so he couldn’t see her face. On the surface, she seemed to be as laid-back as ever.
Macaron was the Fairy of Music for Amagi Brilliant Park, which meant he had played instruments in that booth many times before. (In fact, he had played all the instruments for this recording, too.)
It was an awkward little space, and being inside it took a toll on a person. It was totally soundproof, which meant that all you could hear was your own voice. After singing your heart out, you’d get no applause or cheers from an audience—just an engineer’s businesslike tone through the headphones saying, “Okay, give us a minute.” Then silence—an oppressive silence that left you alone with the ringing in your ears.
If you looked through the soundproof glass, all you’d see was the producer and other bigwigs talking to each other with grave expressions. You couldn’t even hear what they were talking about. It was a grueling environment that swiftly ground down any enthusiasm you might have.
That was bad enough if you were a professional singer, but Eiko was only doing this as an extension of her part-time job. Having these exchanges through retake after retake wasn’t really going to improve her singing.
“Ahh, actually, forget what I said.” Macaron put his cigarette out. “Let’s just say some noise leaked in and do a retake of that bit, ron. Then if it still seems off, maybe we can just use take two?”
“......Very well,” the engineer said with perfectly understandable grumpiness.
“Sorry, ron.”
“......” The engineer silently pressed the switch and addressed Eiko. “Er, excuse me. Could you do just the second half of the A verse again? We had a little noise leaking in.”
“All right!” Eiko responded cheerfully, and the re-recording began.
Eiko had a nice singing voice—a good one, in fact. She didn’t have the born talent of her coworker, Chujo Shiina, but she did have a certain charm. Still, she seemed awkward, somehow; there was always a sense that she was trapped—like a person bound by thick rubber cords, or a bird in a cage.
It was as if Eiko was stifled; like she was always holding back, somehow. Even though a mature and confident woman like her would be unstoppable in most things if she just followed her heart. What could it be, then? Macaron didn’t know the answer, but...
“Okay, we’re good. Great work today, everyone.” Fortunately, the retake went well enough.
After Macaron gave final approval, Eiko turned around and smiled at him through the soundproof glass. “Thank you very much!” she said brightly.
Is it just my imagination? he wondered. Eiko seemed completely unfazed by the experience she had just been through. Her singing voice was fine, but that laid-back attitude of hers was her real talent. Macaron knew she couldn’t hear him, so he just offered up a V-sign with his hoof in response.
The catalyst for all of this was Chujo Shiina’s CD, which had sold more than expected.
Chujo Shiina was one of their high school part-timers, who had revealed a secret aptitude for singing during the first performance of their Golden Week live show. Hoping to capitalize on this, Acting Manager Kanie Seiya had printed a small CD run that the park’s fans could buy.
AmaBri had a few “theme songs”—relaxing family tunes of the sort you’d find in most amusement parks. They’d sold singles of those songs in dribs and drabs for the past twenty years, so this venture was basically a renovation of that practice. Seiya probably hadn’t been thinking about it too deeply.
And yet, the CDs had sold out in a flash. They’d only done 500 pressings, so it wasn’t exactly a massive hit... but it had been a surprise, even so. On top of that, the CDs continued to sell.
Despite not even having a picture of Shiina on the jacket, and calling her by the alias “New Part-Timer C” at her request, they’d already had to print another 1,000 CDs to meet demand. Therefore, Seiya had thought, maybe they should take advantage of the phenomenon by creating a brand new CD.
The issue was Chujo Shiina herself; she had an amazing singing voice, but she was easily flustered and suffered from terrible performance anxiety. They’d managed to coax her through that first CD recording, but when asked to sing more new songs, she had turne
d them down flat.
“You must be joking!” she had said. “I’ve done the best I can, but to do any more would be terrifying. And while I’m grateful to the people who bought my songs, I know that I’ll inevitably end up disappointing and disillusioning them. Also, it’s really scary singing in that booth by myself! And—”
Well, that was more or less the gist of it. Chujo Shiina usually had trouble stringing basic sentences together. Yet at times like these, for some reason, she was always perfectly loquacious.
At any rate, AmaBri wasn’t a talent agency, and it would be wrong to push that much responsibility onto a part-timer. Seiya had been just about to abandon the idea when Shiina’s fellow part-timers, Bando Biino and Adachi Eiko, came to speak to him directly.
“I don’t want Shiina-chan’s talents to go to waste!” Biino had said.
“I completely agree. We attempted to convince her to go along with it, but...” Eiko had said.
They explained the real problem: Shiina was too scared to sing alone. Thus, Eiko and Biino suggested, if they were with her, she might feel more up to the challenge.
When he heard that, Seiya’s eyes had lit up. “I see! You want to sing as a girl group, then? I was just thinking about something like that myself. Thanks for volunteering! I accept! Now, get to it!”
Eiko and Biino were both stunned by the order. They had been imagining themselves more as Shiina’s supporters—standing with her in the recording booth, shouting “Go for it!” and “Great work!”, playing tambourines or castanets or clapping along.
The three of them, a girl group? Impossible! They were all just amateurs... and part-time employees, at that. But their arguments fell on deaf ears, and Seiya immediately moved the plan into action. Before the day was even over, the unit’s formation was announced to the park’s cast, and they began soliciting group names. By the next day, the name “Task Force ABC” had been chosen.
Incidentally, that name had been Moffle’s suggestion. Shiina had apparently confronted Moffle about it later, to which Moffle had responded: “Sorry, fumo. I didn’t think it was serious. I only submitted it as a gag...”
“Don’t worry. The work won’t be anything too strenuous,” Seiya had explained. They would basically be like one of those local idol groups that were all the rage these days. They’d go out to local shopping districts, old folks’ homes, and daycare centers, to sing and dance and bring the park publicity.
It would be just like karaoke! It wouldn’t take up much of their time! In the face of these assurances, the three reluctantly agreed.
And thus, AmaBri’s first idol(?) unit, Task Force ABC, was born.
“Now, let’s get that first single out!” Seiya had declared to them. “Macaron, you’ll be the producer!”
Macaron couldn’t exactly say no. He was the Fairy of Music, after all. “All right, ron. I’ll do it, but... do I get some kind of bonus, or other compensation?”
Seiya snorted, as if he’d expected the question. “Of course! 50% of the royalties. In other words, half of what the park earns goes to you. Pretty good, eh?”
“Oh-ho...” Macaron had chuckled greedily at first. “Wait, wouldn’t that be 50% of 7%?”
“Of course,” Seiya agreed.
“That’ll be 10,000 yen if I’m lucky, ron!” Macaron protested vigorously. “That’s not exactly worth all the overtime, ron!”
Royalties on a CD were typically 7%. If they sold 300 CDs at 1,000 yen each, the royalty would come out to 21,000. Half of that would be 10,500. On top of that, their budget for the new CD was extremely skimpy. They didn’t have money to hire a band, so Macaron would provide the music: Guitar, bass, drums, synth—all of it!
A hired band would be paid at least 100,000 yen! Yet for my extraordinary talents—the ability to handle all instrumentation and production—I get a measly 10,000?! “It’s ridiculous, ron!” he had cried.
But Seiya had refused to entertain the argument. “Oh, shut up. If we sell 100,000 CDs, you’ll end up with 7 million!”
“But we won’t! The only CDs that reach 100,000 are the ones packaged with a meet-and-greet ticket for famous singers, ron! I’d make more at the local pachinko parlor, ron!”
“But you’re the only one who’s qualified,” Seiya told him, “so stop complaining and do it!”
“Grr...” It was true that he was the only one who could do it. Grudgingly, then, Macaron had agreed to take on the role of producer.
They finished up Biino and Shiina’s recordings, and they were about to leave the studio when Macaron’s smartphone vibrated. It was an email from his ex-wife.
《I received your child support payment. I hope you’ll continue to be so timely in the future. After discussing things with my lawyer, I’ve decided to let you meet Lalapa this month. She apparently wants to visit your workplace. While I’m not fond of the idea, I’ve decided to honor her wish to see the mortal realm. It would be convenient for us if we could do so within the week, so I hope you’ll help us to work it out.》
“R-Ron!” He found himself crying out in joy. He was well accustomed to his ex-wife’s formal and vaguely sarcastic way of expressing herself, so that didn’t bother him.
What mattered was that Lalapa was coming! His beloved daughter! She had turned twelve years old this year, and he’d heard she was becoming a fair-skinned Macaronian beauty.
Even better, she wants to come see me at work! Macaron told himself. Goddess Libra, thank you! I take back every time I’ve cursed you in the past!
“Let’s see... ‘Roger that, ron. How about Thursday, then?’” He was in the hallway, punching in his reply, when the three part-time workers approached him.
“Well done today, Macaron-san.” Adachi Eiko lilted.
“I was s-so nervous!” Chujo Shiina stammered.
“So was I! I even got a huge nosebleed!” Bando Biino enthused, while holding a tissue to her nose.
There were three girls, and all of them were different. Bando Biino especially—despite liberation from the specter’s curse, she still seemed bound by her tendency towards constant bleeding. Given that her family and friends’ misfortune had cleared up since then, it seemed that the bleeding was just part of her lot in life.
Macaron put his smartphone away and said, “Oh, you’re all done? Let’s grab a bite, then.”
“Hooray!” Eiko cried.
They didn’t even ask if it was on him. Such honest girls!
“Okay, if you want to,” Biino said.
“M-Mine in!” Shiina flubbed.
“All right. Let’s go, ron.”
The four started walking, with Macaron in the lead. Okay, ron, he thought as they headed out. It’s time to stroke their egos a little...
But about three hours after they’d arrived in a dining pub near the station...
“Point is, music’s about harmony, ron! It’s about passion, ron! And you guys are seriously lacking, ron!” ...Such was Macaron’s state after getting carried away and guzzling down too much cheap wine.
“Urp... you hear me, ron? Singing’s like... it’s something that falls from the sky! No, that’s not it. It’s something that wells up from within! Yeah, like nausea during a hangover, ron! I mean, uh... Hey girlie, more wine!”
They’d started with small talk like “What kind of music do you like?” and “Who was your favorite artist as a kid?” and such, but they’d ended up here.
“Ah... well, I suppose,” Eiko agreed cautiously.
“I-I understand!” Biino enthused. “You mean we should bleed music, right?!”
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand...” Shiina chimed in last.
Eiko, Biino, and Shiina wore their confusion openly throughout Macaron’s needling, but they endured it. If he’d been with the four Aquario spirits, they’d already have stormed out by now.
“Point is, music is... ah, it’s fine. We’ll just fumble our way through, ron.”
“That’s not what you said before,” Shiina countered.
�
��It’s not? Then... well, you know, ron. It’s all about talent anyway, so hard work won’t get you anywhere, ron.”
“That’s also not what you said before,” she added.
“...Anyway, I’m still waiting on that shochu,” Macaron grumbled. “When’s it coming?”
“You ordered wine, actually.”
Macaron glared at Shiina, who seemed to be nitpicking every little thing. “Shut up, ron! Quit commenting on everything! What are you, a Chekist?!”
“Eek! Sorry!” The girl hid fearfully behind her menu.
Meanwhile, Biino raised her hand and asked a question. “Hey, Macaron-san. What is a Chekist? Some kind of musical instrument?”
“Google it, ron. ...Anyway, what do you want?” The three turned around, following Macaron’s gaze. Just outside of their booth stood an unfamiliar man. He looked to be in his mid-twenties.
“...?” They waited for him to answer.
At first, Macaron had assumed that he was a drunk who’d come back to the wrong seat, but that didn’t seem to be the case. First of all, he didn’t look inebriated. Second of all, he was wreathed in an aura of hostility. He wore a perfectly tailored suit and shiny leather shoes, and the watch peeking out from his left sleeve was a Rolex. Macaron had never seen him before. He was dumbstruck, as were Shiina and Biino.
“Eiko-san,” the man said. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. What are you doing in a place like this?”
It seemed he and Eiko knew each other, but she looked extremely put out to see him. “Shuichi-san... I told you that I was working today...”
“I sent you a dozen messages,” the man said accusingly. “You didn’t answer, so I got worried and came looking for you.”
“...Forgive me, Shuichi-san. I never check my email while I’m out with others,” Eiko apologized. “I think it’s rude... I’ve told you that many times before...”
