"…Damn it."
It was 7:30 AM in the morning. The weather was fair, but the room was
dark.
He was on the second floor of a wood-walled, two-story rental. The
south-facing, two-bedroom apartment was a ten-minute walk from a private
rail station. The rent: 80,000 yen.
"I give up. This is useless."
Resigning himself to his annoyance, he vigorously rubbed a fogged-up
mirror with the palm of his hand. The shabby bathroom was still humid
from the shower he'd taken that morning, so the mirror quickly clouded
over again, right where he'd just wiped it.
But it wasn't the mirror he was annoyed at.
"What bogus advice."
"Soft bangs for a softer look!"—those words had frolicked on the pages
of a style magazine catering to current male fashion trends.
Takasu Ryuuji's bangs were definitely "soft" right then. Just like the
article instructed, he'd pulled his hair all the way out, used a dryer at full
blast to make the bangs naturally stand on end, and then worked them to the
sides with a light-hold hair wax. He had done everything—everything—just
as the article said in order to get it looking exactly like the model's hair. All
that work was the product of waking up thirty minutes early in the hopes of
fulfilling his desire.
All that work—for nothing.
"It's not as if I'll really change just from doing my bangs," he said.
"That was probably wishful thinking…"
He took that effeminate magazine, the one that he'd swallowed his pride
to buy, and half-heartedly tossed it at the waste bin. He cringed—a miss.
The bin toppled and spewed out its contents, and the magazine he'd just
discarded flopped open to a page of fashion tips, laying there amidst the
trash.
It read, "Soft or Wild?! What you can still do to declare your
transformation for the new school year! Our authoritative guide to your
debut!" If he could say one thing in response to that, it would be that he
never wanted a "debut."
But he did want a transformation. Yet it had ended in failure.
Out of complete desperation, he used a wetted hand to muss the
softened bangs he'd just spent so much effort making until they reverted
back to his usual straight hairstyle. Then he kneeled on the floor to gather
the trash.
"Wha—?! Wh-what is this…? There's mold… it's growing mold
again?!"
He'd discovered black mold along the wooden baseboard near the bath.
There was mold, even though he was always careful to wipe away
excess moisture. Just the previous week, he'd held a mold-cleaning rally (a
competition for all things water-related) for a whole day. Apparently, not
even that level of effort could vanquish the run-down house's poor
ventilation. He bit his thin lips in frustration, and as a last-ditch effort, tried
scrubbing the mold with a tissue. Naturally, it didn't come off; the tissue
just came apart in bits that added even more mess. An exercise in futility.
"Damn it… I just used the last of the mold remover, too. I'll have to buy
more again…"
Right, then. He couldn't do anything but leave it as it was. I'll destroy
you for sure, he thought, fixing the mold with a sidelong glare while he
cleaned up the scattered trash. He took the opportunity to give the floor a
cursory wipe with the tissue. After disposing of the fallen hair and dust, he
wiped all the moisture from the washbasin, lifted his head, and finally took
a deep breath.
"Whew. That's right, I need to feed her… Inko-chan!"
"Yahh!"
A shrill reply returned the high school boy's rough call. Good, she was
awake.
After regaining his composure, he entered the wood-floored kitchen,
still barefoot. He prepared the feed and a change of newspaper, then headed
to the tatami mat living room. He removed the cloth covering the birdcage
filling one corner of the room and was thus reunited with his beloved pet,
whom he hadn't seen since the night before. He didn't know what other
owners did, but at the Takasu household, that was how they took care of
Inko. When sleeping, her face was downright unpleasant, so they hid her
until she woke in the morning.
"Inko-chan, good morning."
Inko-chan was an inko—a yellow parakeet. He spoke to her while
replenishing her feed, as usual.
"G-good… good morn…" Although her eyebrows twitched creepily—
like she didn't even understand what she was saying—the ever-clever Inkochan managed to answer in Japanese. She'd just woken up, but she was in
high spirits. This side of her was a little cute, he had to admit.
"Inko-chan, say thank you for the food."
"Thank—ank—you—thank you for the food! Thank you for the food!
Thank! You!"
"That's it, that'll do. Okay, let's see if you can say that today. Can you
say your own name? Say 'Inko-chan.'"
"I-In-Ini-In-nnn… Inn." Summoning all the strength in her body, Inkochan waved her head, contorted her posture, and jerkily swung open her
wings.
"Iii…" Her eyes narrowed, and her ashen tongue peeked out from her
beak. Today might be it—her owner clenched his fists. But…
"…Iiidiot."
Ah, the intelligence of birds. As expected of a one-gram brain.
With a sigh, he gathered up the dirtied newspaper into a plastic bag. But
as he consolidated it with the rest of the trash and prepared to head to the
kitchen, he heard something.
"Where're ya goin'?"
It was coming from behind the sliding door, barely ajar. It seemed the
other idiot had woken up.
"Ryu-chan, whaddya wearin' your uniform for…?"
He quickly closed the trash bag and turned to the owner of the voice.
"I'm going to school. I told you yesterday that today was the start of the
school year, didn't I?"
"Ohhh… Then… then…" Sprawled on the futon, she spoke as if on the
verge of tears. "Then, what about my lunch…? What about my bento…? I
can't smell that bento smell! Ryu-chan, didn't you make me one?"
"Nope."
"Wahhh! What'll I do when I wake up? There's nothing to eat!"
"I'll be home before you're awake. Today's just the opening
ceremonies."
"Oh…that's all, huh?" She laughed, knocking her feet together. Clap
clap clap clap! She used her feet to give him a standing ovation…or maybe
a sprawling ovation.
"The opening ceremony, huh? Congratulations! That means you're a
second-year student, starting today."
"Never mind that. Didn't I tell you to at least wipe off your makeup
before bed? You kept saying it was too much trouble, so I even bought you
those easy-cleaning wipes… Argh, there's foundation all over the
pillowcase again! This stuff doesn't come out in the wash, you know! And
who knows what'll happen to your skin—you're old enough to know
better."
"Sorrryyyy."
She got up as-is, fully exposing her leopard print panties, large chest
jiggling. Wavy, mostly-blonde hair fell across the valley of her chest in a
tangled, disheveled mess. She oozed "femininity" as she brushed up that
hair with her long-nailed hands.
But then she said, "I drank so much that I only got home an hour ago…
Sooo sleeeepy… Yaaawn… Oh, right… I brought back pudding!"
While yawning, she rubbed her mascara-laden eyes, then crawled
toward the convenience store bag she'd unceremoniously dumped in a
corner of the room. Those manners, that puckered mouth, the mumbling of
pudding, pudding, her plump cheeks, her round eyes—it was all
embarrassingly childish.
This strange woman, who many might call a beauty…
"Huh? Ryu-chaan, I can't find the spoon!"
"The clerk probably forgot to put one in."
"Nu-uh, I'm sure I saw him do it… Huh…"
She was, in fact, Takasu Ryuuji's biological mother: Takasu Yasuko
(alias Mirano), thirty-three years old (but eternally claiming twenty-three).
She worked as an entertainer at the town's one and only hostess bar,
Bishamon Heaven.
Yasuko inverted the bag, rummaged around the corner of the futon, and
tilted her small face in disappointment.
"The room's so dark… No way can I find it like this. Ryu-chaan, can
you open the curtains a little?"
"They are open."
"Whaa? Ohh, right. I forgot since I'm usually not awake at this time…"
In the dim room, the mismatched parent and child both breathed a small
sigh.
Their apartment had one large, south-facing window. In the six years
since they started renting it, they'd come to completely depend on the bright
sunlight that flooded in from the south. With their entryway on the north
side and neighboring buildings to the east and west spaced just dozens of
centimeters away, they only had southern-facing windows. Since the
apartment got such amazing natural sunlight, they hadn't needed to turn on
the overheads from sunrise to sunset. The morning rays were particularly
strong; rainy days excepted, they lavished illumination upon Ryuuji when
he made their lunches and also on Yasuko, while she slept out of
exhaustion.
"Sure is a huge condo, isn't it…?" she said.
"I wonder what kind of people live there… Should I turn on the light?"
Ryuuji asked.
Last year, a ten-story, ultra-high-end luxury condo went up just a few
meters from their apartment's south window. Naturally, the sunlight stopped
coming in, which tormented him with all kinds of maddening frustration.
First, the laundry wouldn't dry. Then the corners of the tatami mats swelled
and bubbled with moisture. Mold had started growing, and the condensation
was terrible. The wallpaper's peeling edges were no doubt owed to the
moisture, as well. Ryuuji tried telling himself to calm down, since it was
just a rental, but he was a high-strung guy. He couldn't help but find such
unsanitary living conditions intolerable.
Now, the two of them could only peer open-mouthed at the white bricks
of that luxury condo, bound together in squalor.
"Wellll, it's probably fine," Yasuko said. "I sleep right through the
mornings, anyhow."
"Complaining about it won't change anything, either…and hey, the rent
did go down by five thousand yen," he said, as he brought Yasuko a spoon
from the kitchen. Ryuuji scratched his head. This was no time to have a
family moment. It was nearly time for him to leave.
After throwing his randoseru backpack on, he stooped down from his
newly grown-up height to put on socks. Then, once he made sure he had
everything he needed, he noticed the slight throbbing in his chest.
That's right, he thought, remembering again. Today is the first day of the
new school year. Opening ceremonies first, and after that—the class
assignments.
He'd failed to change his image, but that didn't mean he was depressed.
A faint feeling of hope, or anticipation, or something along those lines,
fluttered in Ryuuji's stomach, even if he wasn't the type to show it on his
face.
"…I'm off. Remember to lock the doors and change out of your
pajamas."
"Yuuup. Oh, hey, Ryu-chan, hey." Still sprawled on her futon, Yasuko
bit down on her spoon with her back teeth and smiled like a kid. "Ryu-chan,
you're kinda looking fired up! You'd better do your best as a second-year
student! You're going places I never got to."
Yasuko had dropped out of school as a first-year in order to have
Ryuuji, and so she didn't know anything about the world of a second-year
high school student. For a moment, Ryuuji started feeling sentimental. "I
guess so."
He smiled a little and raised a hand. It was his way of showing gratitude
towards his mother, but it backfired. Yasuko let out a squeal and rolled
around enthusiastically—then she said it. She said that.
"Ryu-chan, you're so cool! Every day, you look more like your daddy!"
"Tch!"
…She'd said it.
Ryuuji mutely closed the front door, and then instinctively looked up at
the sky. His vision spun around and around; he felt as though a deep
whirlpool surrounded his feet, drawing him downwards. He hated it. No, he
thought, no, stop it.
That was the one phrase he never, ever wanted anyone to say to him.
Especially on a day like today.
You look like your daddy.
It seemed Yasuko couldn't understand how much that fact troubled
Ryuuji. It was the whole reason he bought that magazine and tried out softer
bangs.
On the way to school, Ryuuji's face twisted into a sullen expression. His
high school was well within walking distance of their house, but he still
moved at a fast clip, taking long, straight strides.
He sighed and unconsciously pulled on his bangs. He hid his eyes out of
habit. Yes, his troubles lay in his eyes.
They were bad.
It had nothing to do with his eyesight.
It was the way they looked.
Though his facial features had rapidly grown more masculine in the past
year, that hadn't made him extraordinarily handsome, or given him out-ofthis-world good looks. Well, he wasn't bad-looking, either… Not that
anyone would say that out loud—but he thought he didn't look too bad, at
least.
His eyes were appalling, though. They were so awful, there was no way
he would ever be considered handsome.
He had angular sanpaku eyes. The kind of eyes ringed by white on all
sides. On top of that, his eyeballs themselves were huge; the blue-tinged
whites threw off an intense, garish light. His dim, small black irises moved
swiftly, as if trying to cut straight through whatever was unfortunate enough
to be the target of their gaze. Despite Ryuuji's intentions, his eyes seemed to
possess the ability to strike panic into anyone that saw them… He
understood that. He understood it all too well. It was so bad that even he
had become flustered after seeing a kid with an absolutely livid expression
in a group photo—until realizing he was looking at himself.
It wasn't just his eyes, though. Thanks to his curt personality, his way of
speaking probably also came off a little rough. Sometimes he got highstrung, too. More than that, though, was the fact that he was the type of
person who struggled with the fine line between jokes and sarcasm.
Because he lived alone with a woman like Yasuko, he'd probably also lost
any innocence or meekness he once had… Really, he considered himself the
real parent out of the two of them.
But even so, scenes like these kept happening…
"Wh-what, Takasu? Are you disobeying a teacher?! S-someone hold
him back! Hold him back!"
You're mistaken. I forgot about part of the presentation, so I just came
to apologize.
"S-s-s-s-sorry, it wasn't on purpose, I bumped into you because he p-pp-pushed me."
Who would get angry from just being brushed on the shoulder?
"I heard that damn Takasu guy crashed another school's graduation in
junior high and holed himself up in their announcement room."
I'm not that bad an apple.
"…I guess I should start being more proactive about clearing up
misunderstandings," Ryuuji said, sighing at the bitter memories he'd
unearthed.
His grades weren't bad. He was never late or absent. He'd never hit
anyone—he'd never even had a heated argument with anyone before. Long
story short, Takasu Ryuuji was a very ordinary young man. But, simply
because he had a fearsome look in his eyes (and maybe because his only
parent was in the bar business), everyone believed he was a terrible
delinquent.
If anyone stayed in the same class with him for a year, those stupid
misunderstandings would eventually be resolved. But a year wasn't short,
especially not to a high school student, and today he would have to start all
over again. On top of all that, his attempted image change had been a
failure.
Nonetheless, he looked forward to the class rotation. There was
someone in particular he wanted to share a class with. But when his
thoughts started running through the hardships that lay ahead, his hopes
seemed to whiz away and deflate to half their size.
It was all because of that unwelcome comment Yasuko had made… No,
that wasn't right. It was all because of the unwelcome genes branded into
him by his father.
"Your daddy's in heaven, now. He was so cool—he had a coif with
shaved sides, and he wore these really pointy patent leather shoes that he
always shined… And on his neck, he had a gold chain, like thiiiis thick, and
a baggy suit, and a Rolex. Oh, and he always layered a weekly magazine
over his stomach. When I asked him what that was for, he said it was so
he'd be safe if he ever got stabbed. Ahhh! He was so exciting."
He remembered Yasuko's enchanted expression when she recounted all
that. Afterwards, she'd shown him the only picture left of his father.
His father looked exactly as Yasuko described.
He stood posed with his legs spread arrogantly wide. He had a carrying
case under his arm. He wore a white suit with an incredibly showy openneck shirt, several gold rings glinted on both his hands, and a diamond stud
adorned one ear. His lower jaw was thrust out, as though jeering towards
the camera. One of his hands groped at the breast of a younger version of
Ryuuji's mother. She held an enlarged stomach, and her carefree laugh was
almost audible from the picture: "Ha ha!" His father's front teeth were gold.
He was really kind, and sincere, and never raised his hand against a
civilian even once, and on and on Yasuko would go. Yet, a person who was
kind and sincere wouldn't join the yakuza to become a mobster, nor would
they get what had likely been a much younger high school student pregnant.
Beyond all that, however, were those sharp eyes of his.
They were eyes that would make you drop your wallet without a fuss if
ever they stared straight at you. Just his gaze by itself threatened
unreasonable violence. An unpleasant thought had risen to Ryuuji's mind:
That same look is stuck on my face… Ordering people not to get the wrong
idea was probably impossible. After all, even Ryuuji imagined his father as
a scary man, and he had no memory of him.
All that said, his father was probably still alive. According to Yasuko,
he'd been turned into Swiss cheese while saving an underling and had been
dumped into a Yokohama harbor somewhere—but there was no grave.
There was also no memorial shrine. There were no ashes or earthly
possessions left behind, or Buddhist tablets, either. Ryuuji had no memory
of any of that happening. And when Yasuko was drunk, she would
sometimes put on a sly smile and say, "If daddy suddenly came home, what
would Ryuu-chan doooo? Hee hee hee hee, I wonder."
Ryuuji's father was probably serving time behind cold iron bars. That
was what his son thought.
"Yo, Takasu! Morning—sure is a nice day!"
Ryuuji noticed the voice behind him and turned around to raise his
hand. "Yo, Kitamura. Morning."
There's no helping it, Ryuuji thought, as he stopped to wait for Kitamura
Yuusaku, his close friend and classmate for another year, to catch up. From
an outside standpoint, his eyes glared at Kitamura, as if saying, "I'll get that
guy!" But, of course, that wasn't the case. He was just thinking calmly as he
watched him approach.
There was no helping the misconceptions people might have about him.
If another one happened, he'd just clear it up. After all, even if it took time
to win them over, there were always some people like this guy who would
figure it out eventually. He didn't like it, but…it was the only option, so
what else could he do?
He looked up at the sky and squinted at its radiance. The day was
beautiful, without even a breeze. The sakura petals fell without a sound,
gently landing in Ryuuji's hair.
Still carrying all that stubborn, painful, mental baggage, he took another
long step forward in the loafers he'd shined the night before.
It was wonderful weather for the opening ceremony.
***
"Yikes."
"I'm in the same class as Takasu-kun."
"He's as tough as they come."
"It's a little scary."
"Someone talk to him."
"No way, take it from me—that's impossible. You go."
"Hey, don't push me."
And so it went, on and on.
No matter what they say, Rjuuji thought, I am the way I am. I won't be
bothered by it.
Ryuuji accepted the surrounding stares of his new classmates with
indifference. Still seated at his desk, he turned his back slightly, causing
people to avert their eyes. He quietly licked his parched lips. His jittering
leg was an unconscious fidget. From the side, he looked like a predator,
impatiently awaiting feeble prey. But that was just appearances.
"As always, it looks like a bunch of guys here totally have the wrong
idea about you," Kitsamura said. "Well, that'll be fixed before long. I'm
with you, and there's quite a few people from the original class A mixed in
here, too."
"Yeah. It's fine, I don't mind it," Ryuuji replied with a thin smile.
The muttering from his classmates still hadn't let up. "I'm telling you,"
someone said. "He's in a good mood. Look at him—definitely licking his
lips in cruel anticipation, stalking the prey in front of him."
In actuality, he felt like shooting out of his seat like a rocket, while
grinning from ear to ear. And naturally, that feeling wasn't just from being
in the same class as Kitamura. Something like that only warranted a smile
and a, "We're together again, Kitamura."
The thing that made him so happy he wanted to jump for joy was—
"Hey, Kitamura-kun! We're in the same class this year!"
Because of her.
"Hm?" Kitamura said. "Huh, so you're in class C, too, Kushieda!"
"What, you only just noticed? You're so cold! It's a brand-new year;
you could at least check the registry."
"Sorry, sorry. What a coincidence, though! I guess the meetings of
student club presidents will be easier than ever."
"Ha ha, that's right! Oh, you were…Takasu-kun, right?" she asked, as
she turned to Ryuuji. "I wonder if you remember me? We've had a few near
misses, what with both of us hanging around Kitamura-kun."
Ryuuji said nothing.
"Uhhh? It's okay to call you Takasu-kun, right?" she said.
"…Ah, ye…kay." He fumbled for his words but was too taken aback by
the sudden spectacle of a goddess assailing him. Her smile dazzled him,
bursting out like the sun. It was as warm as the stolen light that once shined
through his southern window, a warmth that suffused his vision all at once
with radiant beams. The overflowing particles of light clung to him until
Ryuuji could no longer keep his eyes open.
"Kushieda Minori, right?" he said.
Ah, if only, if only, if only! The sound of his own brusque voice made
Ryuuji want to shout out loud. Why could he only answer like that, why
couldn't he have said something more suave— "Oh, hey! You remembered
my whole name! Awesome—that sure makes me happy! Uhm, uh-oh, I
think someone's trying to get my attention over there. Well then, Kitamurakun. After school, we're having this year's first meeting for new secondyears. Make sure you don't forget! See you later, too, Takasu-kun!"
Just about at his limits, Ryuuji tried raising a hand in courtesy…at her
turned back. He was too late. She probably didn't even see.
But.
She said she was happy… She said she'd see me later…
Kushieda Minori had said that to him.
She said she was happy… She said she'd see me later…
Kushieda Minori, who he had prayed would be in his class, had said
that.
She said she was happy… She said she'd see me later…
About me. About me!
She said she was happy!
"Takasu?"
"…Yeah?"
Suddenly Kitamura drew incredibly close, until Ryuuji bent away from
him in his chair. "What are you grinning at?"
"Uh, n-nothing."
"I see." Kitamura pushed up his glasses with his center finger, and
Ryuuji couldn't avoid feeling a certain admiration for Kitamura. The guy
was probably the only person in the world who could detect one of Ryuuji's
grins.
That wasn't the only thing Ryuuji admired him for, though.
"Kitamura," he said. "You're, like…really good at…talking to girls."
(He meant Kushieda, of course.)
"Huh? What makes you say that?" Peering over his lenses, Kitamura's
eyes showed no trace of humility—only genuine surprise. Somehow, he
was completely unaware of his talent. Confronted with such a thick-skulled
guy, Ryuuji held back his answer.
Kitamura's casual conversation with Kushieda Minori just a moment
past had been more than successful—and it wasn't just that conversation,
either. Ever since they were first-years, Kitamura was able to have pleasant
conversations with Kushieda Minori, who was in the same softball club.
Meanwhile, Ryuuji toiled endlessly, pitifully hard to earn leftover smiles
and passing greetings. In soccer terms, he was the sweeper—though he'd
never had a chance to play offense.
The reason Ryuuji started to think Kushieda Minori was cute, the reason
that he liked her and wanted to become closer to her in the first place, was
because he was constantly right there, getting to see how fun her
conversations with Kitamura were.
It wasn't just that, though. It was because of her bright, ever-changing
expressions. Her flexible body and exaggerated gestures. Her easygoing
smile. Her unclouded voice.
Even though everyone else was afraid of him, from the start, she had
been cheerfully broadminded and never deviated in that attitude toward
Ryuuji.
He liked everything about Kushieda Minori. To him, all the elements
that composed her seemed radiant, as though she were made from
fragments of the sun. She was wholesome and straightforward—in his
mind, she was nothing less than the perfect girl.
But even so.
"Don't be stupid. No way am I good at talking to girls. I bet you don't
even know what all the girls call me, do you?"
Unconsciously, Ryuuji released a deep sigh. Despite how jealous he
became while watching Kitamura's conversations—so jealous that he
thought his eyes might bleed—his friend continued, unaware.
"I'm terrible with girls," he said. "I doubt I'll ever pull off dating one."
That was his remark.
"I…don't think…that's the case," Ryuuji said. Looking up at such a
dazzling gentleman, he again decided to swallow any other words he had.
No matter how many times he said it, this guy definitely wouldn't
understand. And that made Ryuuji feel miserable.
It was true that the girls called Kitamura "Maruo-kun." This was
because he looked exactly like a certain character from a famous manga, an
obnoxiously serious honor student. His intense glasses, straight-laced
personality, outstanding grades, and frivolous fashion sense all put him
distinctly apart from the norm. He was such a spitting image of Maruo that
whenever he said the word "precisely"—the character's trademark phrase—
the class would practically go into an uproar. On top of that, last year he'd
also been the class president, and more recently had become the vice
president of the student council. On top of that, he was also serving as the
unofficial new president of the softball club. It was only fitting that he'd
wind up as the subject of a joking comparison.
Still, he wasn't bad looking. No, in fact, if you looked closely, he was
surprisingly handsome. Plus, he didn't have any two-faced qualities to his
personality. He had a great sense of humor, and really, there just wasn't
anything to dislike about him. And because of that, even though the girls
targeted him for teasing, it wasn't mean-spirited.
Ah, that's right. Ryuuji understood. Whatever Kitamura might say, the
girls did like him. It wasn't just Kushieda Minori. He could talk naturally to
any girl. The girls would act like they were close and say, "Awww, I'm with
Maruo again this year!" In response, he would make a light remark like,
"What, you're unhappy about that?"
When you act like that, how can you say that you're bad with girls?
You're not even hated like I am. Just as he was thinking this, he heard a
voice say, "Y-yikes…"
There it was again.
When he overheard that word, he turned his gaze down and let the
speaker go past. He felt like he could handle anything anybody might say
about him. He was over the moon about being in the same class as
Kushieda Minori; they'd never shared a classroom before.
But people kept talking.
"It's really amazing… You can tell just looking at him that he's not
someone you should mess with."
"Yeah, those eyes are intense. Be careful—if he lost his temper, you'd
be a goner."
And the spell was broken. Although the whispering voices probably
harbored no ill will, the sheer number of them was starting to get to him.
Until the new homeroom teacher came, hiding out in the restrooms might
be the best thing for his peace of mind. With that thought in mind, he stood
up. But the moment he headed for the hallway, something bumped lightly
against his stomach.
"Oof…?"
It sure felt like he'd hit something, but he saw nothing in front of him.
How strange. Ryuuji restlessly glanced around the vicinity. But what he saw
was the faces of his classmates as they murmured all around him…
"Oh, man. Just as expected of Takasu-kun… He's made the first move."
"It's the ultimate showdown already… I knew this class would be
trouble the moment I saw the registry."
They were probably going on about the look in his eyes.
"It's the battle that'll decide who's in charge…the clash of the
delinquents!"
"It's like an amazing card just hit the table…"
They were acting strangely. A battle? The delinquents? An amazing
card? What are they talking about? He turned his head to try and better
grasp the situation—and then it happened.
"So, you run into someone, and you can't even apologize…?"
He heard a quiet voice from somewhere nearby. The speaker sounded
strange, monotone, emotionally contained to an extreme degree—but it felt
like they were just barely keeping the lid on an unparalleled explosion.
The voice's owner was nowhere to be seen.
"Uh…?"
Feeling a bit like he'd wandered into the Twilight Zone, Ryuuji slowly
looked to his right. No one there. He looked to his left. No one there, either.
Apprehensively, he looked in the scariest direction—up. Good, no one
there.
"Which means…"
Sure enough, there she was. Way, way below his line of sight—far
below even Ryuuji's chest—was the crown of someone's head.
His first impression of her was that of a doll. Any way you sliced it, she
was small. Small, and enveloped in a long, cloud-like shroud of hair—it
was the Palmtop Tiger.
"…The Palmtop Tiger?"
Without thinking, those enigmatic words suddenly popped into his mind
and spilled right out of his mouth. He felt like he'd heard them from
someone else, murmuring from far off.
The Palmtop Tiger. Is that her…?
"Who…?"
Is that supposed to describe the doll I see in front of me? Sure, palmtop
works, but what makes this girl a tiger? On and on, his mind continued in
this way.
"Who…exactly is supposed to be a 'Palmtop Tiger,' anyway?" Taiga
asked.
It was no time to ponder the question. The "tiger" raised her chin
slightly, then both her eyes.
"...…!"
Her stare lasted about three seconds. Ryuuji thought she had been
scared stiff, but he was woefully mistaken.
A momentary vacuum had exploded like a bomb and had only just
passed. Hearing was slow to return to Ryuuji's ears. When he came to, he
was on his butt. It wasn't just Ryuuji. Several others had also collapsed
close by, whimpering. Some were even trying to crawl away.
What just happened?
Then he understood.
Nothing had happened.
It was just—the girl in front of him.
"…You're irritating," she said.
All she had done was glare at Ryuuji with her two huge eyes. That was
all. And yet, during those brief seconds of tension, Ryuuji had been simply
overwhelmed. Completely overwhelmed. His mind had gone blank. Tension
had immobilized his body, and he literally collapsed, right there.
He'd been so taken aback by her glowering stare—or more accurately,
by the intensity it contained—that he had fallen right on his butt.
What had happened was way out there. It was on a completely different
level. He had totally and completely lost. Ryuuji, who had never been
bested when it came to his intimidating eyes, had lost by a country mile.
For the first time in his life, he understood. A truly savage gaze had a
violent—no, murderous—weight to it.
"Hmph." After a few endless seconds of her gaze, which seemed to
unwaveringly pierce right through his heart, she finally looked away, filled
with contempt. "'Ryu,' is it? Like a dragon… How lame."
Her lips were like flower petals turned up by the wind. Her words struck
like bullets and were just as child-like as she was.
She tousled her fluffy hair with an unbelievably small hand. Her eyes,
their murderousness subdued, were now half-hidden by soft eyelids. They
resembled the stare of a glass-eyed doll. Those transparent, hollow eyes
reflected nothing at all as they gave Ryuuji a final once-over.
She was cute. She was terrifying.
Her milky white cheeks, her long, hazy ashen hair with its mysterious
color, her delicate limbs and slender shoulders, the eyelashes that softened
her gleaming eyes—she was cute as candy filled with lethal poison and as
dainty as a flower bud with a deadly fragrance.
But, in the moment she glared at him, Ryuuji had seen a shape in her
eyes. The form of a carnivore, bearing down on him. It was just an illusion,
of course, but it had seemed more real than reality. Ryuuji had felt a weight
of several tons pressing on him. His blood shuddered at the predator's roar;
he felt it breathing down his neck. It seemed to say, I can kill any of you any
time I want.
Its sharp claws and giant fangs had loomed close. The smell of blood
and the beast had filled the room. The illusion, many times the size of the
small girl, was none other than a tiger.
"Uh, uhhh…uh, uhm, uh… Yup yup yup yup…" Instinctively, Ryuuji
nodded his head up and down. He clasped one hand against the other. Right,
of course. The Palmtop Tiger. He didn't know who'd come up with that,
but, "It fits perfectly, doesn't it…"
It had a certain flair. He admired whoever had coined the name.
Then he realized why she'd muttered Ryu along with her contemptuous
gaze.
Either when he fell on his butt, or maybe while the illusory tiger tore
him apart, his jacket zipper had opened. And so, his shirt was completely
exposed—the shirt Yasuko had so enthusiastically bought him. The shirt
with a gimmicky dragon on it, exactly the kind a delinquent would wear. It
wasn't as though he'd worn that shirt, which sent totally the wrong
message, because he wanted to. It was just convenient to use during laundry
day, and he had figured no one would see it, anyway.
Intense embarrassment flashed over him as he quickly zipped his jacket.
He was still slumped disgracefully on the floor, like a damsel just roughed
up by hoodlums. Then someone briskly crossed in front of his gaze and
said, "Taigaaa, you're late! You skipped out on the opening ceremony,
didn't you?!"
"I woke up late. More importantly, I'm glad I'm in the same class as
you again this year, Minorin."
"Yeah! I'm glad, too!"
It was Kushieda Minori herself.
Minori laughed as she touched the Palmtop Tiger's hair, as though they
were close. She had endearingly called the tiger "Taigaaa," much like the
Palmtop Tiger had called her "Minorin."
While Ryuuji watched, dumbfounded, he heard someone whisper. "In
their first match, victory goes to Aisaka, the Palmtop Tiger."
"Now that you mention it, Takasu just looks scary. He doesn't really act
like a delinquent at all."
"Huh? You think?"
"That's because he's no match for the Palmtop Tiger. At any rate, she's
the real deal."
"Takasu-kun, are you okay? Aisaka lashing out at you on day one was
really unfortunate."
It seemed that the misunderstandings were likely to be fixed faster than
Ryuuji thought.
***
The Palmtop Tiger's outrageous, real name was Aisaka Taiga. She was
one hundred and forty-five centimeters tall. She and Kushieda Minori were
supposedly close friends.
If rumors held true, her prodigal father supposedly controlled the
Japanese underworld, or was a genius karate master who controlled
America's underworld—or something like that. She herself held an
advanced karate belt but had been expelled after attacking her teacher—or
something like that.
Supposedly, when they first started high school, one guy after another
initially mistook her for a vain beauty and made insistent romantic
advances. However, they all got brutally rejected—they were threatened,
chewed out, torn up, and teased mercilessly. A whole mess of guys were
now beyond any hope of recovery. It was said Aisaka left a path of male
corpses in her wake.
Anyway, when it came to Aisaka Taiga, there was no end to the dark
rumors. Whether those were myths or facts, what Ryuuji was sure about
was that she ranked as the school's most dangerous creature.
Ryuuji learned all about those rumors over the days following the
opening ceremonies.