“This is Romeo 1, headed to war zone.”
“Romeo 2, copy that.”
“Romeo 3, roger.”
“Been a while since our last big battle.”
“Don’t go crying to your mama.”
“Isn’t it a bit early for the Thanksgiving turkey?”
“Bogey on radar.”
“Prepare for engagement.”
“Where are they? Don’t see them… Oh my god.”
“Above! Above!”
“Monster!”
“Get him!”
“Don’t get too close!”
“Close to where?!”
“All of it!”
“Mayday, mayday!”
“Hotel 4, requesting cover, requesting cover…”
“Charlie 3, communication blackout!”
“Oscar 2, down in flames!”
“Wingman missing, missing!”
“Oh God…”
“Oh no…”
“I love you, Canaria.”
Yuu-1
Over the next few days, Kusaoka-san and I investigated the most noteworthy among my friends.
Though we had finally gotten to the bottom of Anna-san’s testimony, time was of the essence. The other loan shark must have certainly given money to those on my client list. I had no doubt that Shia-san herself had been infected by those poisonous fangs.
Our school was located in the hinterlands of a quiet, slightly remote school zone. That place would likely set the stage for the climax of our adventure. By the time we arrived, it had become quite dark. Only the plane formations moving across the sky seemed to watch over us.
A young boy and girl fraternising at this hour would cause no end of problems for the PTA. I inched closer to the boy beside me.
“What a pickle, Haruma-san.”
“What is?”
“Let’s not do anything that would make us ashamed to see the light of day.”
“Yeah, like what?”
As much as Kusaoka-san desperately attempted to avoid the topic, no boy dislikes being within touching distance of his ideal girl. Beneath his apathetic expression, his nose was growing like Pinocchio’s.
Over these past few days, he had truly opened up to me. Was it as if we were dating? Is that how one would put it? His happiness came across to me loud and clear. We did make some good progress today as well.
Now then, onto the matter at hand. Was the teacher in charge of the key still around?
The school gates were shut tight, as if they were made with an iron curtain. I could see the familiar school building on the other side, cloaked in a tranquil sort of darkness. During the day, it was overrun by students, and the damaged structure brought to mind a withered tree. Fortunately, this was the only time I had something important to do here. I walked along the fence, blending into the small patches of darkness that grew between the streetlights.
A private residence lay next to our school. It was a red-roofed, two-storey, single-family home. I suppose it was home sweet home to whoever had worked hard to buy it. On the other side of the curtains, blissful-sounding laughter rang out.
I picked up a rock beside my foot.
There is something I have always been hiding until now: When I was in elementary school, I was always called the Cyclone Ace of the baseball team. Once again, the time had come for the dead ball to erupt from my hand, a brushback that threatened to tear out the batter’s throat. I aimed at the veranda next door, brandishing the rock with all my strength.
“—What are you trying to do?”
I felt someone snatch my hand from the side. It was Kusaoka-san. I had just been going through the motions of a pitch, but this was a balk! A three-strike rule violation!
I might have been the Cyclone Ace, but I never did learn the rules of baseball. You shall achieve victory if you hit the ball far away with your bat! That sort of thing is rather too primitive and not the object of an enlightened person’s interest.
“Please unhand me. I must become an ace once more.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying. Like, what, are you gonna break the glass? Race off on a stolen motorcycle and get hurt on window glass?”
“Quoting A Night at Fifteen and Sotsugyo, I see. How antiquated, Haruma-san. Young students these days don’t listen to songs like that.”
“I like them a lot, though… Okay, so what do you listen to?”
“Jukensei Blues and things like that.”
“That’s even older than Ozaki, isn’t it (1)?”
Kusaoka-san’s hand cut through empty space. Putting aside the fact that within a moment he would hit my head and that an inconceivable violence lay within him, I was amazed. It was my first time quoting a song title. My Johannes points went up again! Tonight, I would provide some dinner fanservice and maybe even ask for sweets!
“Haruma-san, you are a special case.” I beamed. Kusaoka-kun applied himself to such subtle details. He did have quite a few commendable traits.
“I have no idea why you’re smiling…”
“More importantly, is it not forbidden for students to enter the building for private use once the school gates have been closed?”
“Can you tell me what that rule has to do with breaking a window?”
“Breaking a window is a serious matter. The police might even come. Don’t you suppose it’s possible that a teacher still at school would be disturbed by the noise and go outside the building to survey the situation? Then we make use of the distraction to push the teacher over.”
“Pushing isn’t necessary, but I do grant you it’s possible. It’s just a hypothetical, though…” Kusaoka-san let out a sigh of admiration.
Then he started rubbing his head.
“Um, I’m gonna ask you something reaaaaally obvious.”
“What is it?”
“…Wouldn’t it break your heart to do something like that?”
“One good deed a day, I say.” I smiled.
“What is this chick spouting?”
I heard Kusaoka-san utter something peculiar. Come to think of it, my words might have been somewhat difficult to follow.
“Let’s see, one good deed a day is a proverb. It derives from Buddhist teachings.”
“That’s not what I meant…” Kusaoka-san looked up at the sky. He looked so manly I found it rather affecting.
One good deed a day.
When it was explained to me in my elementary school ethics class, I was terribly struck by it. As much as those words appeared to encompass the concept of performing a single act of good a day, they were deeply suggestive.
Why was it one good deed? Why not ten good deeds or a hundred good deeds?
Anyone who comes upon these questions will of course be greeted with a ready-made answer.
To put it simply, human kindness is a limited commodity. Endless charity is a poison that turns people dependent. In Akutagawa Ryuunosuke’s masterpiece The Spider’s Thread, the Buddha’s iron hammer of justice brings down the arrogant Kandata.
That’s right. People with good sense must only perform one good deed a day.
I had already done Kusaoka-san a great service by volunteering to go on a date with him. That is to say, my good deed of the day had already been sold out. Now, my heart had turned to the devil and I was compelled to break windows.
“Hyaa!”
“Ahh!”
Taking advantage of the momentary gap in time when Kusaoka-san loosened his grip, I hurled the rock, only for it to fly off-kilter. The Cyclone Ace had failed.
One more time. As I searched for another rock, I felt a pair of arms pin me from behind. Oh? Kusaoka-san’s palms were touching a strange part of my chest, were they not?
I call foul! This deserves a yellow card, I say! A yellow card! Actually, make that a black card! Touching me comes at a high premium! All the black cards under the sky would not be a sufficient sum! To be honest, I never did learn the rules of soccer.
“I get it already. I get it. Wait here a bit,” Kusaoka-san sighed as I struggled violently against him.
He returned to the front of the school gates and thrust his arm to the side. And then—what do you know it?—he was able to scale the school gates, the supposed iron curtain, as if it was the Berlin Wall.
“Here, gimme your hand.” Having scrambled up the gates, Kusaoka-san offered me his hand.
When I blithely clasped his hand, he pulled me up with a level of strength beyond my comprehension. There was a sense of security in a boy’s palm, which somehow struck me as devious. My wrists tingled and I could feel my cheeks burning a little.
Somehow, I was able to smooth over my wrinkled blouse. Since that made my chest look rather flat, I add some slight protrusions. There, that should do it for now.
“…It was a joke. Do you really think I would break the window of a lawful citizen’s house?” I said in a small voice, relying on his hand even as I was climbing down the gate.
“But you were halfway through chucking a rock when I stopped you, weren’t you?”
“You see, I had utmost faith in you, Haruma-san. It is proof of our trust.”
“…Oh, okay.”
Kusaoka-san casually let go of my hand with a nod and shoved his hands into his pockets as if nothing had happened.
…Yes.
In that short space of time, it seemed as if our symbiotic relationship had strengthened. I have me to thank for it. My heart had turned to the devil, as if I had been led astray. I would have to accept a guidance fee later.
TRANSLATOR’S NOTES
(1) Ozaki Yutaka was a famous Japanese musician, well-known for his hits A Night at Fifteen (1983) and Sotsugyo (1985), which were both about teenage rebellion. Jukensei Blues (1967) by Nakagawa Goro is a protest song about the plight of students preparing for university entrance exams. It was based off the Bob Dylan song North Country Blues.
“This is Romeo 1, headed to war zone.”
“Romeo 2, copy that.”
“Romeo 3, roger.”
“Been a while since our last big battle.”
“Don’t go crying to your mama.”
“Isn’t it a bit early for the Thanksgiving turkey?”
“Bogey on radar.”
“Prepare for engagement.”
“Where are they? Don’t see them… Oh my god.”
“Above! Above!”
“Monster!”
“Get him!”
“Don’t get too close!”
“Close to where?!”
“All of it!”
“Mayday, mayday!”
“Hotel 4, requesting cover, requesting cover…”
“Charlie 3, communication blackout!”
“Oscar 2, down in flames!”
“Wingman missing, missing!”
“Oh God…”
“Oh no…”
“I love you, Canaria.”
Yuu-1
Over the next few days, Kusaoka-san and I investigated the most noteworthy among my friends.
Though we had finally gotten to the bottom of Anna-san’s testimony, time was of the essence. The other loan shark must have certainly given money to those on my client list. I had no doubt that Shia-san herself had been infected by those poisonous fangs.
Our school was located in the hinterlands of a quiet, slightly remote school zone. That place would likely set the stage for the climax of our adventure. By the time we arrived, it had become quite dark. Only the plane formations moving across the sky seemed to watch over us.
A young boy and girl fraternising at this hour would cause no end of problems for the PTA. I inched closer to the boy beside me.
“What a pickle, Haruma-san.”
“What is?”
“Let’s not do anything that would make us ashamed to see the light of day.”
“Yeah, like what?”
As much as Kusaoka-san desperately attempted to avoid the topic, no boy dislikes being within touching distance of his ideal girl. Beneath his apathetic expression, his nose was growing like Pinocchio’s.
Over these past few days, he had truly opened up to me. Was it as if we were dating? Is that how one would put it? His happiness came across to me loud and clear. We did make some good progress today as well.
Now then, onto the matter at hand. Was the teacher in charge of the key still around?
The school gates were shut tight, as if they were made with an iron curtain. I could see the familiar school building on the other side, cloaked in a tranquil sort of darkness. During the day, it was overrun by students, and the damaged structure brought to mind a withered tree. Fortunately, this was the only time I had something important to do here. I walked along the fence, blending into the small patches of darkness that grew between the streetlights.
A private residence lay next to our school. It was a red-roofed, two-storey, single-family home. I suppose it was home sweet home to whoever had worked hard to buy it. On the other side of the curtains, blissful-sounding laughter rang out.
I picked up a rock beside my foot.
There is something I have always been hiding until now: When I was in elementary school, I was always called the Cyclone Ace of the baseball team. Once again, the time had come for the dead ball to erupt from my hand, a brushback that threatened to tear out the batter’s throat. I aimed at the veranda next door, brandishing the rock with all my strength.
“—What are you trying to do?”
I felt someone snatch my hand from the side. It was Kusaoka-san. I had just been going through the motions of a pitch, but this was a balk! A three-strike rule violation!
I might have been the Cyclone Ace, but I never did learn the rules of baseball. You shall achieve victory if you hit the ball far away with your bat! That sort of thing is rather too primitive and not the object of an enlightened person’s interest.
“Please unhand me. I must become an ace once more.”
“I don’t get what you’re saying. Like, what, are you gonna break the glass? Race off on a stolen motorcycle and get hurt on window glass?”
“Quoting A Night at Fifteen and Sotsugyo, I see. How antiquated, Haruma-san. Young students these days don’t listen to songs like that.”
“I like them a lot, though… Okay, so what do you listen to?”
“Jukensei Blues and things like that.”
“That’s even older than Ozaki, isn’t it (1)?”
Kusaoka-san’s hand cut through empty space. Putting aside the fact that within a moment he would hit my head and that an inconceivable violence lay within him, I was amazed. It was my first time quoting a song title. My Johannes points went up again! Tonight, I would provide some dinner fanservice and maybe even ask for sweets!
“Haruma-san, you are a special case.” I beamed. Kusaoka-kun applied himself to such subtle details. He did have quite a few commendable traits.
“I have no idea why you’re smiling…”
“More importantly, is it not forbidden for students to enter the building for private use once the school gates have been closed?”
“Can you tell me what that rule has to do with breaking a window?”
“Breaking a window is a serious matter. The police might even come. Don’t you suppose it’s possible that a teacher still at school would be disturbed by the noise and go outside the building to survey the situation? Then we make use of the distraction to push the teacher over.”
“Pushing isn’t necessary, but I do grant you it’s possible. It’s just a hypothetical, though…” Kusaoka-san let out a sigh of admiration.
Then he started rubbing his head.
“Um, I’m gonna ask you something reaaaaally obvious.”
“What is it?”
“…Wouldn’t it break your heart to do something like that?”
“One good deed a day, I say.” I smiled.
“What is this chick spouting?”
I heard Kusaoka-san utter something peculiar. Come to think of it, my words might have been somewhat difficult to follow.
“Let’s see, one good deed a day is a proverb. It derives from Buddhist teachings.”
“That’s not what I meant…” Kusaoka-san looked up at the sky. He looked so manly I found it rather affecting.
One good deed a day.
When it was explained to me in my elementary school ethics class, I was terribly struck by it. As much as those words appeared to encompass the concept of performing a single act of good a day, they were deeply suggestive.
Why was it one good deed? Why not ten good deeds or a hundred good deeds?
Anyone who comes upon these questions will of course be greeted with a ready-made answer.
To put it simply, human kindness is a limited commodity. Endless charity is a poison that turns people dependent. In Akutagawa Ryuunosuke’s masterpiece The Spider’s Thread, the Buddha’s iron hammer of justice brings down the arrogant Kandata.
That’s right. People with good sense must only perform one good deed a day.
I had already done Kusaoka-san a great service by volunteering to go on a date with him. That is to say, my good deed of the day had already been sold out. Now, my heart had turned to the devil and I was compelled to break windows.
“Hyaa!”
“Ahh!”
Taking advantage of the momentary gap in time when Kusaoka-san loosened his grip, I hurled the rock, only for it to fly off-kilter. The Cyclone Ace had failed.
One more time. As I searched for another rock, I felt a pair of arms pin me from behind. Oh? Kusaoka-san’s palms were touching a strange part of my chest, were they not?
I call foul! This deserves a yellow card, I say! A yellow card! Actually, make that a black card! Touching me comes at a high premium! All the black cards under the sky would not be a sufficient sum! To be honest, I never did learn the rules of soccer.
“I get it already. I get it. Wait here a bit,” Kusaoka-san sighed as I struggled violently against him.
He returned to the front of the school gates and thrust his arm to the side. And then—what do you know it?—he was able to scale the school gates, the supposed iron curtain, as if it was the Berlin Wall.
“Here, gimme your hand.” Having scrambled up the gates, Kusaoka-san offered me his hand.
When I blithely clasped his hand, he pulled me up with a level of strength beyond my comprehension. There was a sense of security in a boy’s palm, which somehow struck me as devious. My wrists tingled and I could feel my cheeks burning a little.
Somehow, I was able to smooth over my wrinkled blouse. Since that made my chest look rather flat, I add some slight protrusions. There, that should do it for now.
“…It was a joke. Do you really think I would break the window of a lawful citizen’s house?” I said in a small voice, relying on his hand even as I was climbing down the gate.
“But you were halfway through chucking a rock when I stopped you, weren’t you?”
“You see, I had utmost faith in you, Haruma-san. It is proof of our trust.”
“…Oh, okay.”
Kusaoka-san casually let go of my hand with a nod and shoved his hands into his pockets as if nothing had happened.
…Yes.
In that short space of time, it seemed as if our symbiotic relationship had strengthened. I have me to thank for it. My heart had turned to the devil, as if I had been led astray. I would have to accept a guidance fee later.
TRANSLATOR’S NOTES
(1) Ozaki Yutaka was a famous Japanese musician, well-known for his hits A Night at Fifteen (1983) and Sotsugyo (1985), which were both about teenage rebellion. Jukensei Blues (1967) by Nakagawa Goro is a protest song about the plight of students preparing for university entrance exams. It was based off the Bob Dylan song North Country Blues.
