I guess, from a soldier’s perspective, Elvia left something to be desired in terms of surviving in a society built on competition.
“But I really feel... relaxed when I’m around her,” I said.
“Relaxed?”
“It’s like, I know she’ll just say what’s on her mind... She’s so open that I never feel like I have to dance around anything with her, I guess...”
It could be surprisingly hard work to be around flatterers all the time. Knowing that the person you were with would just say whatever was on their mind—it had a way of putting you at ease. All right, you didn’t want someone who would literally say anything—who would be mean or constantly teasing you or whatever. A little bit of restraint was necessary. But still.
“Hmm...” Amatena crossed her arms and frowned thoughtfully.
“‘Cool beauty’ is great and all, but if you always go around looking aloof, or like you’re about to kill something, it can make people worry about what you’re thinking—”
Speaking of thinking, I really hadn’t before I said that. I quickly cut myself off, afraid Amatena would feel I was being critical of her. But she didn’t seem particularly bothered. The only hitch was that she didn’t seem to get what I meant by “cool beauty.” Well, she could probably figure it out from context.
“Yet...” Amatena’s face remained impassive. “To allow your thoughts and feelings to show spontaneously is a vulnerability.”
“A vulnerability...?”
“Something your opponent can exploit. That’s why Elvia has no future in the military.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“You and your foe are constantly trying to read each other. To know the enemy without allowing him to know you—there’s nothing more fundamental,” Amatena declared.
Hmm...
I understood what she was trying to say. When you were face-to-face with an enemy, you couldn’t be too obvious about what you were thinking. And that didn’t just go for when a Bahairamanian soldier was facing down an Eldant knight or something—someone from another faction in your own organization could be just as much your enemy. If ‘having a future’ meant winning those sorts of encounters, then there was no question that a face like an open book was a disadvantage.
“But doesn’t that make you tired?” I said softly.
“Tired?” Amatena cocked her head as if I was speaking a foreign language.
“Yeah. I mean, emotionally.”
She paused. “I don’t understand.”
I looked up at Amatena from my chair—and then I had a thought. I beckoned her over. She came around the desk toward me, and I turned my computer so she could see it.
“Look at this.”
“At what?”
I pulled something up on the screen—a photo from the training session earlier that Hikaru-san had sent me. It might have been taken on a phone, but the resolution on those tiny cameras was nothing to sneeze at.
“But this is...”
The photo I was showing Amatena was the very first one we had taken of her, her face a mask of surprise. It showed none of the cool composure she normally put on; it could have been the face of any young woman.
“The way you look here. It’s... cute. I guess I mean, it puts people at ease.”
I considered that a compliment, but if I had been hoping to get a “Is this really me...? (blush!)” reaction by showing Amatena a new and attractive side of herself, I was disappointed. The Bahairamanian soldier just frowned.
“I look completely defenseless.”
“Well, look, if you never have an unguarded moment... it’s kind of like saying to everyone you meet, ‘I don’t trust you. You’re my enemy.’ And it sort of stings to be treated that way.”
Amatena didn’t say anything to that. She just blinked, as if it had never occurred to her.
“I just want you to know that not everyone is going to take advantage of you the moment they see an opening, okay? There are a lot of people who would actually want to help you. But you keep all of them at arm’s length.”
For a long beat, Amatena looked at the ground, deep in thought. Then, suddenly, she looked up, straight at me. “Do you think that is the way I feel about you?”
“I understand that’s not what you think of us right now.”
If Amatena really believed we were her enemies, she would never have come here, no matter how many assurances she had from Elvia. She would never have let Hikaru-san give her instructions on how to be like Elvia. Her prickly attitude toward us was just a matter of lifelong habit.
“So that’s how you see me.” Amatena put her chin in her hand thoughtfully.
“More or less.”
There was a pause. “I see.” It was almost a whisper, and then she was lost in thought again.
And so but anyway... the next day arrived. Minori-san, Hikaru-san, and I were at the castle for our before-school audience. Myusel didn’t have class to teach today, so she was at home with Clara, continuing to show her the ropes of being a maid. Clara was every bit as dedicated as Amatena to remaining completely expressionless, so I had to imagine that teaching her a little warmth was going to be the hardest part of the job.
In any event...
We were in the same audience chamber as usual; Petralka was seated on her throne as usual; and just as usual, she was flanked by Garius and Prime Minister Zahar.
“Er, ahem...” I started with my daily report; that is to say, the current state of Amutech’s activities as well as the school. I wrote out these reports too, but I figured they might be easier to understand if I told Petralka myself, and she encouraged me to do so. It was really no problem, especially in that it meant I got more time to see her.
The empress and her attendants nodded as I finished my report. But then...
“A new maid?” Petralka asked, raising an eyebrow at the very last thing I’d tossed out there. Obviously, I had been talking about Clara.
“Yeah. She says she’s a relative of Myusel’s, so we thought we would hire her. That okay?”
“If in your judgment you need more hands to share the work, then of course we’ve no reason to object, but... but with this, yet one more woman is serving in your circle, no...?”
“Serving in my...? I mean, it’s not like she’s attending to me personally.”
And to be accurate, it wasn’t one woman, it was two. But I could hardly say that.
“Your Majesty,” Garius said pointedly. “I believe there is a more important matter to raise this morning...”
“Mm? Ah, yes.” Petralka nodded, though she didn’t look thrilled about it.
It was Garius, though, who explained exactly what this more important matter was.
“We’ve already mentioned to you the unusual movements we’ve been seeing from Bahairam recently.” I had to work hard to squelch a flinch at that. I had an unpleasant thought that maybe they had discovered Amatena and Clara—but if so, wouldn’t they have mentioned it when I brought up my new maid?
Minori-san voiced the question I was too nervous to ask. “Has something happened?” That was an adult woman—and soldier—for you: her tone was completely level, with no hint of any personal concern. Her self-control was absolute.
“By compiling reports from our spies, we’re beginning to get a picture of the domestic situation in Bahairam,” Garius said.
Just like the Kingdom of Bahairam was sending boatloads of spies (like Elvia) into the Holy Eldant Empire, our nation was likewise sending agents over there. Like for like, for sure. And the information they had come up with?
“It seems a major purge is being conducted in the Bahairamanian military.”
“You mean...”
That would line up exactly with what Amatena had said.
“In other words, significant reforms are being made in their military. Obviously, that leaves them unable to undertake normal military action. If I had to guess—and at this point we do—I might say that the incursions are a bluff,
a distraction to keep us from noticing what’s happening there.”
Again, just like Amatena told us.
“I doubt Bahairam has any serious intention of attacking us. That doesn’t quite mean we can relax, but we don’t have to be too touchy.”
It seemed Eldant’s military minds had concluded that despite the large number of border skirmishes, they weren’t the prelude to a large-scale invasion.
“But why would they be purging anything?” I asked.
“Bahairam is a country of extremes,” Garius said. “Not just the military, but the entire national structure, has been refined over the past several generations. The system doesn’t have the force of history behind it—it’s like a hastily built house, full of weak places. As such, they may expound equality under their king, but the shadows of their system hide personal grudges and private conflict at every level. The result is a gulf between rich and poor far more dramatic than anything we have here in Eldant.”
“Huh...”
“This led to two separate purges under the previous king, and a further one immediately after the accession of the current ruler. Many allegedly corrupt soldiers and civil servants have been executed under the banner of righting wrongs and making the system more honest.”
“...............Executed?”
That was a word I didn’t like. I frowned deeply.
“What is the matter, Shinichi?” Petralka asked, concerned by my reaction.
“Er, uh, nothing at all...”
“Indeed?”
“It’s just, y’know, even hearing the word executed kind of freaks me out...”
I wasn’t just saying that; it was totally true. It scared the daylights out of me, the idea of repaying a crime with the ultimate punishment, death, especially when the criminal hadn’t even killed anybody. I did understand that without anyone being made an example of, the corruption might spread—and that the deliberate creation of a dramatic gap between the rich and the poor could indirectly lead to killings. But still.
“...Ah, yes.” Something seemed to occur to Petralka out of the blue, and she smiled like a kid who had just thought of a fun game. “We have heard that over the coming break, there is to be a photo-graphy party at your house, yes?”
“Huh? What does that have to do with—”
“We simply heard rumors.”
It occurred to me that several of Petralka’s advisors were parents of my students. It would have been simple enough for word of the get-together—or the photography seminar—to travel from students to parents, then from parents to empress. But it completely blindsided me. As did what came next...
“We shall attend as well!” Petralka declared.
“What? But you—”
“You suggest this would be a problem?”
“N-No, but...”
I had been expecting Petralka to visit our house at some point. But I never imagined it would be so soon. Amatena might be able to just stay hidden, but with Clara still not having mastered the basics of maid-ing, I had to hope she wouldn’t do anything that would give her away.
“All is well, then!” Petralka was fired up about this. I glanced around and noticed that Prime Minister Zahar looked awfully tired, somehow resigned to this. I was sure he had tried to dissuade Petralka himself, but that she had overruled him. “Spare us your distraught posturing, Zahar!” Petralka slapped the arm of her throne. “We shall be properly guarded, and we shall only be at Shinichi’s mansion. There will be nothing to worry about!”
“Your Majesty... I’m sure you’re quite right about that, but...”
“And we are looking forward to it,” Petralka added.
I looked at Garius, but his shoulders slumped wordlessly. Ever since the incident with Bedouna, the Assembly of Patriots, Petralka’s comings and goings from the castle had been strictly controlled. Then she had snuck away to Japan with me. I guess Garius was trying not to stress her out too much. And the photography party would be the perfect pressure-release valve. I definitely understood that, and yet...
“Hmm...”
The students, the empress, and the empress’s bodyguards. The more pairs of eyes we had around, the greater the danger that Amatena and Clara would be discovered.
I privately vowed to come up with a strategy before the next break.
No sooner had class started than I announced a change in our curriculum.
Normally during this time, we would watch a Japanese-language anime, translating as we went. The students had picked up a fair amount of Japanese by now, and could actually understand a good chunk of what they heard in simple, slice-of-life programs.
Anyway.
“Today, we’re going to talk about how to use a camera and how to take photographs,” I told the kids from my place at the lectern.
I took out my phone and held it up so everyone could see it. Before I had given any instructions, the quicker students pulled out their 3TSes and digital cameras and put them on their desks. Many of my pupils, hungry for otaku culture, took a lot of initiative.
I had decided to start with some basic tenets of photography. I wanted to make sure to teach the kids the most fundamental principles now, before it was too late. When everyone was gathered at my house for a photography slam—along with Petralka and her knights—we wouldn’t have the leisure to explain very much. And I couldn’t imagine what would happen if I turned them loose in the mansion with no instruction in the basic manners and rules of photography. Actually, I could, and it wasn’t pretty. Even Loek and Romilda had treated the photo-taking like a duel. With a dozen times that many people, the spirit of competition seemed likely to take over completely, and the kids would probably start snapping photos indiscriminately. Whether they were of me, or Myusel, or Minori-san, or Elvia, or Hikaru-san, or Brooke, or Cerise, or any of our personal rooms... heck, maybe even of the furniture.
The photographic madness could all too easily come to include even Clara and Amatena’s hidden rooms, where Bahairamanian military uniforms might be discovered.
And that would be bad. Very bad.
So the first thing I absolutely had to get the students to understand was that it was impolite to take a picture of someone, or of their possessions or their room, without asking permission.
“Taking photos is tons of fun,” I began, “and I completely understand wanting a memento of a place or a moment. In fact, that’s what cameras are for.” Once I was sure I had the students’ attention, I doused the image I had been showing on my phone’s screen and put it on the lectern. “But you can’t always take a picture of something just because you want to.” My voice became more stern; the students looked at each other, surprised. “Think of a ’layer,” I said. “Someone doing cosplay.” I mentally pictured Hikaru-san. “In cosplay, you enjoy yourself by becoming someone that you want to be. Maybe a hero from a manga, or a heroine from an anime. But it would suck if you weren’t in character, right? And even more if somebody had a permanent record of it. Like, imagine someone cosplaying Madoka from Rental☆Madoka. No matter how tired she got, Madoka would never squat in the shadows muttering ‘Bah, this is dumb,’ would she?”
There was a growing chatter in the classroom.
“No ’layer wants to be photographed doing something like that. Obviously, everyone gets tired, and squatting isn’t inherently a bad thing. But as someone who loves Rental☆Madoka, that ’layer would only want to be photographed when they were at their very best, their very cutest, looking just like Madoka.”
I could see kids around the room nodding and saying, “That makes sense...” It looked like they were starting to get the basic idea.
“Asking a ’layer for permission to take their picture is almost like asking, ‘Would you please get completely in character?’ And it acts like an opportunity for them to switch on their persona. That character is what both of you want out of cosplay, after all.” Cosplayers wanted to completely become the character they were portraying, while fans photographing them wanted to see that
character through the ’layer. “So you can see how just snapping a picture of a cosplayer unannounced is pretty rude. It has to do with the very heart of what cosplay is.”
I paused. Cosplay was a nice, simple example, an easy entrée into the subject. Now for the real challenge.
“But did you know that the same thing applies to our everyday lives?” The students looked at me, amazed. “Wouldn’t it be embarrassing to be remembered forever for making a face you wish everyone would forget? Like if you were asleep, or yawning or something. Girls, picture how you look in the mirror first thing in the morning—still sleepy, haven’t combed your hair. How about it? Would you want anyone and everyone to see you that way?”
The female students promptly shook their heads. The guys didn’t seem as sure, but maybe that was to be expected. Incidentally, I had once bumped into my little sister Shizuki in the hallway in the state I’d just described—and she had practically punted me downstairs.
I went on: “And if you deliberately hide the fact that you’re taking a photo from the other person, that’s called kakushi-tori, a sneak shot, and it’s actually a crime in Japan. Think about it: not only would there be some unflattering picture of you, but you wouldn’t even know it. Scary, huh?”
The kids looked at each other again. Hmm. They seemed to be having trouble imagining what that would be like. Okay, then.
I clenched my fist and proclaimed, “Would you want a picture of the person inside a mascot costume? Would you want to see the zipper on the back of Ultra**n’s suit?!” No one would be happy to see such dream-shattering, illusion-wrecking things! It would be tragic! My argument was that one must avoid arbitrarily taking photos so as not to produce such despair-inducing images! “There is no one inside!”
Go***lla, Ga**ra, Gaba**n, and all the others—they were all real, live creatures and were all our friends—no, more to the point, there was no one inside any of them! Let there be no child weeping piteously at the creepiness of a bunch of folded-up kaiju suits because someone somewhere sneaked into a warehouse and grabbed a few pictures!
Outbreak Company: Volume 11 Page 10
