Boogiepop Returns VS Imaginator Part 1 (7 page)

“Right!” I made up my mind. I turned and ran back towards the station.

The road was filled with people. I looked around me as I ran.

“Oh, Study Abroad. What are
you
doing here?” someone asked. I spun around. It was one of the guys from my class, Anou.

“Ah, um, you know.”

“Yeah, I do. You're making some chick wait for you, huh?”

The boys in my school didn't like me in the first place, but this Anou guy was one of the most aggressive. Usually, I could handle him okay, but I had no time for it today.

“Sorry, in kind of a hurry,” I said, brushing him off, and dove into a fast food joint. I bought an assortment of food and drinks, and hurried back.

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Coming through. . .” I wormed my way through the line, earning the hatred of every single person I passed, and finally caught up with Orihata. “Sorry to keep you waiting, heh heh. . .”

“I thought you weren't coming back.”

“We need an endurance strategy for this. Thought we ought to at least have lunch.” I showed her the bag.

“But you didn't like waiting.”

'Not really. But if. . .” I'm with you, I've got no time to be bored. . . I started to say, but got embarrassed, and fell silent.

“What?” Orihata asked, head to one side.

“. . . So, uh, what'll you have? I brought a bunch so you could choose. . . what do you like?”

“Anything.”

“You like everything?”

“I have no right to dislike anything.”

There she went again with the cryptic stuff. I couldn't get her to explain this. It was like her heart was locked down somewhere, and I couldn't get in.

So I grabbed a double cheeseburger at random and handed it to her, and began scarfing down a hot dog myself.

She began nibbling at the burger, neither reluctantly nor happily. I felt like I was feeding a rabbit, which made me uncomfortable.

I finished my hot dog in three bites, and had nothing left to do. My eyes wandered upwards towards the sky.

Suddenly, Orihata looked at my face, and exclaimed, “Ah!” Before I even had time to wonder why, she reached up, her face came close to mine, and she licked the ketchup off the side of my mouth. . . with her tongue!

I was stunned. She looked like nothing at all had happened.

“Now you're clean.”

She wasn't at all embarrassed, and she wasn't joking around either. It was as if she had decided her tongue would be the most effective tool, since her hands were busy holding the burger. Her job complete, she turned her attention back to eating again.

Meanwhile, I had turned bright, bright red.

I'm not sure how many hours we waited, but at some point we finally managed to make it into the theater. And before I knew it, the movie was over. I couldn't tell you a single thing that happened -- I spent the entire time in a complete daze.

When I snapped out of it, we were outside, and it was already night.

All it took was Orihata telling me, “Bye,” outside the theater to bring my attention crashing back to reality.

“Eh? Going home already?” I'm sure I sounded a little whiney.

Orihata looked a little surprised. “But. . . we already saw the movie.”

“Yeah, but. . . we could go to a cafe or something,” l said, wistfully.

“Really?”

“Of course! It'll be on me!”

“Not the money. . . you don't think I'm boring?”

'No, not at all!” I said, flustered. I thought she must be angry with me, since I'd been so out of it.

But Orihata looked relieved, and said, “Good. I was worried. I thought you hated me.”

I never in a million years thought she would say that, so I panicked a little. We somehow made it into a nearby cafe,
Tristan
, ordered some coffee, and at last, I settled down. This was the chance I needed to sort everything out, so I tried talking with her.

“Orihata, you don't think.. .
I'm
boring?” Oh god, that was terrible. Still, I couldn't not ask that.

But Orihata didn't answer. Instead, she suddenly took my hand. Her gentle touch wrapped around my wrist.

I was taken aback, but I couldn't snatch my hand away, so I just sort of jumped in my seat dramatically.

“Masaki. . . your skin is warm,” she said with a peaceful expression on her face, like an old lady who had just sipped some really good tea.

She was a mystery. I understood nothing about her.

***

And that's basically how Orihata and I started going out, although it was a strange sort of relationship, and I'm not really sure you could call it dating.

First of all, her house. . .

No matter when I called, she always answered instantly -- right in the middle of the first ring. I had barely finished dialing, and the call was connected, and BAM! There she was saying, “Orihata,” with absolutely no emotion at all.

“Um, it's Taniguchi. . .” No matter how many times I called, I always started out tongue-tied.

“What?” she always said, curtly.

“Um, well, I thought this Saturday. . .”

Our relationship was awfully like this phone call. I got all excited and chased after her, but she was completely neutral.

But even though the high school entrance exams were right in front of me, I spent all of my free time with her. In my case, I had already been successfully admitted to a private high school a year before (but one condition for my acceptance was that I graduate from a Japanese Junior High, which is why I'd moved back here), so I had nothing to worry about. Still, I was a little worried about her. I asked once, but she just shrugged.

“You haven't decided?” It was already mid-January.

“I'll be taking a test, but I don't know which school yet,” she said, as if she was talking about someone else.

“Are your parents strict?”

“I don't have any.”

“Hunh? What?”

“Parents.”

“But that. . .” Apparently she had no parents, and lived alone. In high school. . . I could see it, but in Junior High? “No relatives at all?”

“. . . . . . . .” No answer.

“Sorry, I. . . I shouldn't have asked,” I said apologetically.

She turned towards me suddenly. “Sorry, Masaki,” she said, rather urgently.

“About what?” I asked, surprised.

She looked at the ground. “I'm sorry. I can't tell you,” she murmured.

I couldn't ask further. It hurt me to see her sad. Whenever she did, I would get really cheery and try to slide past it. “Gosh, the sky is really beautiful today, huh?!” I might say, in a stupidly loud voice.

She almost never smiled, but when we separated, she always asked if we could meet again, so I guess she didn't hate me. At Ieast, that's what I kept telling myself.

Eventually, I don't know how, she decided to go to high school at Shinyo Academy.

“Oh! Congratulations!” I said happily, when she told me on the phone that she had passed the test.

“I'm glad you're happy, Masaki,” she replied. She almost never sounded like she was having fun, but that day. . . she did.

“We should do something to celebrate. What do you think? Meet in a few at the usual place?”

“Yes, okay.”

Happily, I rushed out to the park where we always met. Not knowing what was waiting for me.

***

“Yes, okay. Mmhmm. . . mmhmm. . . bye.”

Orihata Aya hung up her cell phone after her conversation with Taniguchi Masaki.

It had been the first time she had ever called him. Until now, she had always waited for him to call, but Masaki had been worried about what high school she was going to, so she thought she should let him know.

He had been happy. That made Aya happy. He was unaware that “higher education” was merely a camouflage for her “mission.” She was not happy about it. She did not feel anything about it. But if something she did made Masaki happy, then Aya was happy too.

She moved quickly towards her closet.

Since she met Masaki, her wardrobe had increased dramatically. If she wore something nice, Masaki would tell her it was cute, so Aya began paying attention to her clothes.

There was nothing else in her room. With the exception of the fumiture provided by the building's landlord, there were no other furnishings. No TV no table, not even a bed. There was but a single sleeping bag lying on the floor.

She changed, and went out, allowing the muscles in her cheeks to relax slightly.

People hardly ever came to the park where they always met. It was a large green belt surrounded by three highways, which made it a little scary for parents to take their children out to play. Unfortunately, it was also a tad too out in the open for young people, so it was like an empty air pocket smack dab in the center of the city.

Aya sat down on a bench.

Waiting for Masaki as the rays of the afternoon sun came through the trees above her, Aya entertained the brief fantasy that she was a normal, happy girl.

She didn't know exactly what Masaki thought of her. But when she thought of the secrets she was keeping from him. . . no matter what he wanted from her, he would still be important to her.

If he knew the truth, would he still be her friend? This was her greatest fear.

With her head down, Aya waited for Masaki, not moving.

She was always worried that he wouldn't come. But she couldn't possibly arrive after him. It would be awful if he hated her because of that. So she always came an hour before they were supposed to meet. But today was quite sudden, so she only had to wait another ten minutes or so.

As Aya glanced at her watch, a shadow stood before her.

She thought it was Masaki, and looked up, blushing slightly.

Her expression froze.

“. . . . . . . . !”

It wasn't him. It was a very fat man, with graying hair and a broad grin. Big, round, glittering eyes.

“What are you doing, 'Camille'?” the man said to Aya, in a high, reedy voice. The black leather jacket he wore was open at the front, but looked ready to burst apart at the seams at any moment. It shone with a tasteless gleam. There was a belt round his waist with a number of pockets hanging from it, each of which had a cell phone in it.

“Nothing of any purpose,” Aya replied, dutifully answering to the name 'Camille,' eyes down towards the ground.

“Meeting a boy? Remember who you are,” the fat man sneered. When he laughed, his eyes didn't budge, but stayed perfectly round.

His fat lay entirely on his head and belly, which were perfectly round, but his arms and legs were thin and long like poles. He looked very unhealthy. He had almost no neck. Strongly defined features and swollen cheeks, like he'd placed pads on the sides of his face.

At that moment, a gust of wind swept by, lifting his long, greying hair. His right ear was missing. There was only a jagged wound, like it had been torn off.

The man straightened his hair, hiding the injury.

“. . . . . . . . .” Aya's head was still down.

“Look up,” the man said, and she obeyed, moving jerkily.

He glared down at her frostily. “Have you done him?”

“. . . No, not yet.”

“What are you waiting for? Let him have you. You're in no position to make a big deal out of something like that.”

“Yes. . . . . . . . .”

“Well, not like
that mission
has to be in any hurry. . . but the other one does. Have you found any clues?”

“No, I -- “ Aya started to say, but was abruptly cut off as the man punched her in the face.

Aya fell off the bench, and sprawled on the pavement. Her lip was split and bleeding.

“. . . . . . . . .”

But her expression registered neither pain nor anger.

“You just don't get it, Camille, do you? What are you?
Mm?
You don't perform your duty. You're nothing but a defective product.”

He slowly waddled over to her, and kicked her in the side. He kicked her again and again, and each time her body shook.

“. . . . . . . . .”

But still her expression didn't change.

“You see? I'm not letting you stay alive out of pity. If you aren't useful to the Towa Organization. . . if you aren't useful to me. . . I'll dispose of you whenever I wish. We've got a lot more where you came from!”

He grabbed Aya's collar, and yanked her upwards, putting his face right in hers.

“Now you listen to me. He's in this area.” His voice went low and quiet, like a knife twisting in her gut. “I don't know why, but all the young girls in this area know about him. It's idle gossip, but they know of him. There must be something. Finding out what that is. . . is your job. Not walking around and just wasting time with a guy you're not even having sex with. Got me?”

“I understand, Spooky E.” Aya answered quietly, emotionless.

And then, someone called out, “Hey! What are you doing?!”

Spooky E twisted his head towards the voice. It was Taniguchi Masaki.

“Let go of her!” he screamed, running towards them.

“. . . . . . ! N-no!” Aya cried, terrified.

“Mm?” Spooky E frowned at her emotion, but quickly grinned, and dropped her. “You must be lover boy.”

He turned towards Masaki, on his guard.

“What did you do to her?!” Masaki yelled, furious, and uncharacteristically came right at Spooky E, swinging his fist.

“No, Masaki! Run away!” Aya screamed, desperate.

“Hunh. . .” Spooky E made a light step sideways, dodging the blow.

Spooky E tried to punch Masaki in the back, but Masaki had read the movement and was able to twist his body enough to dodge the blow and recover his distance.

“. . . . . . !” Spooky E looked alarmed.

Masaki got his balance back, and hit a stance.

But he was far more tense than the fat man.

(. . . this guy was pulling back. . . but I still barely dodged him.)

He should never have been able to move like that at his weight. However. . .

Masaki's instincts told him to ignore common sense. This was clearly no ordinary opponent.

“. . . . . . Mmph. . .” Cold sweat ran down his brow.

Spooky E spoke to the fallen Aya. “Is this guy some sort of stupid martial artist? Or is he an MPLS? Is he an enemy of the Towa Organization?!”