NHK ni Youkoso!

Chapter 02
Jihad
Part One
Several months after the night I'd decided to fight the N.H.K., I looked
out the apartment window at the neighborhood park across the street.
The cherry blossoms were in full bloom—a cheerful, endlessly beautiful
scene.
However, no victory was in view. I saw no sign that I would win this
battle.
For starters, I didn't know where my enemy was hiding.
I thought maybe I should blow up the N.H.K. headquarters.
No, if I did something like that, I'd just be shot and killed by the
police. I rejected that plan.
Most important, I knew my enemy was the N.H.K. I had to believe
this—or at least pretend that I believed it. That had to be it. I needed to 
Jihad
21
refrain from making any careless moves.
If I continued like this, my situation would never improve.
Recently, I'd been increasingly depressed over the signs of spring,
which mercilessly invaded even my gloomy six-mat, one-room
apartment.
Another student had arrived to replace the one who had just vacated
the apartment next door. Now, freshmen walked along the road to
school, smiles spread across their faces. Opening the window let in a cool
spring breeze, cherry blossom petals, or people's lively voices.
Argh, how could this happen? I alone had been left behind by the
gaieties of spring. No, more than that: I was being actively mocked by
the rest of the entire world, ail of which was in high spirits due to
spring's onset. At least, that was the message I got.
I hadn't had proper contact with another human being for almost a
year.
I felt like I might forget how to speak Japanese if I kept going at this
rate. I sensed that I was constantly getting farther and farther from my
return to society. That would not be good; it would be very bad. If I
didn't escape from my life as a hikikomori soon, I would be socially laid
to rest by the world forever.
First, I needed to consider my independence. I knew I had to find
work. Thus, I recently bought a job information magazine from the
convenience score. After reading through it, however, everything
seemed impossible.
Oh, it's impossible. Absolutely impossible. I'm a dropout from a thirdrate
college, with zero qualifications. That's me. If I were the personnel
manager at some company, I'd definitely never hire a hikikomori like 
Welcome to the N.H.K.
22
myself. In this day and age—when it's hard enough to get work—there's
no way any company willingly would hire a useless person like me.
Eventually, though, at some point in time, every human being, no
matter who, must work. That's the fact of the matter.
I couldn't just keep riding my parents' coattails forever.
And I couldn't keep tricking my parents with the worst kinds of lies
like, "It's all right! Even if I did quit college with only a few
qualifications, I'll have no trouble finding work! Right now, I'm studying
for all kinds of certifications, including the IT-administrator certificate,
the TOEFL, word processing, computing, and abacus proficiency,
among other things. Please, send me just a little more allowance!"
Yeah, my time limit was approaching. It might even be just a few
months away.
Before my parents stopped sending my allowance, I needed to
reform my leechlike personality and escape this rotten hikikomori
lifestyle.
I had to take down the N.H.K.
Could I do it? Could I do something that reckless?
The world outside my apartment was full of danger. Cars drove at
fearsome speeds, cedar pollen floated on the wind, and random killers
sometimes haunted the streets. Could I really launch myself into that
dangerous world? Would I really be okay?
Quite honestly, I was very anxious about it.
Actually, it was impossible.
A loser like me could never lead a regular life within society. A
normal social life would be impossible for someone who, just yesterday,
woke at the decent hour of seven o'clock in the morning for the first time
in a long while, only to lie in bed, lost in thought, until afternoon. Yes, a 
Jihad
23
decent life in conventional society would be impossible for someone
who, after that, decided to take a quick nap, closing his eyes only to sleep
soundly through the day and night until five o'clock this morning.
A normal life within society would be impossible for someone like
me, who cried so unsuccessfully to apply Freudian analysis to last night's
dream. My dream featured indulging in an impure heterosexual
relationship in a small room with the female upperclassman from high
school, and my analysis suggested only that it indicated a subconscious
desire to indulge an impure heterosexual relationship in a small room
with the female upperclassman from high school. My final result
concluded, "What part of this is a dream interpretation? You're just
reiterating the same thing!"
Impossible for me, who went to eat breakfast and, upon opening the
refrigerator, realized that there was not a single item of food inside.
Impossible for me, who then decided to ignore my empty stomach and
take a bath, only to discover that I was entirely out of both soap and
shampoo.
And impossible for me, who responded to the horoscope read on the
TV morning show—Virgo's luck in love is up today. An unexpected person
may profess their love to you—with the pathetic comment, "How are they
going co profess it to me if I don't leave my room all day? Huh? Let's see
them try it."
A normal life within society was totally impossible for me.
Argh.
Maybe I should just die! 
Welcome to the N.H.K.
24
Maybe I should just die. No. I won't die because I am a strong, capable soldier.
I was determined to live until the day I defeated the N.H.K., even if
that meant I would have to crawl along the floor.
I would win or I would lose; I was still uncertain which. Anyway,
what I required was a good amount of courage; thus, I needed to make
efficient use of every ounce of courage in my body. For the time being,
however, first I needed to make breakfast.
After slowly rising from my bed, I opened the cupboard and
removed the cup of ramen I kept for emergencies. I poured hot water
from the hot pot I stored on top of the refrigerator. And then I waited—
listening to the faint notes of an anime song that echoed from room 202,
the apartment next to mine, I waited patiently for three minutes.
Not that it was important or anything but my next door neighbor,
who had just moved in this spring, really seemed to like anime. While it
didn't really matter, school should have started already. Was it okay that
he hadn't left his apartment? I felt like warning him, "Morning is no time
to be engrossed in the theme song to Ojamajo Doremi.
12 You're going to
be late!" Of course, I didn't do any such thing. My next door neighbor's
lifestyle wasn't my concern.
While these thoughts ran through my mind, three minutes passed in
what felt like a matter of seconds.
My ramen was ready.
Just then, it happened.
At the very moment that I was about to thrust my disposable
chopsticks into the noodles, my doorbell's resounding "ding dong, ding
dong" interrupted the entire process.
Who could it be? 
Jihad
25
Naturally, I didn't panic. The unexpected visitor disturbing my
breakfast was probably just a bill collector, coming to pick up my electric
utility payment. As I would be in trouble were I to lose my lifeline, I
obediently put down my chopsticks and headed toward the door, still
clad in my pajamas.
I flung open the door and quickly said, "Oh, electricity! The
electricity, right? I can pay you now. Um, I'll pay right. . . "
My words trailed off. Alerted by the smile plastered across the
visitor's face and the subtle aura emanating from her entire body, I
realized there was no way this middle-aged woman possibly could be the
bill collector for the electricity company.
"Please, forgive us for interrupting your busy schedule,"' said my
visitor. The woman's face was lit by the morning sun. "We're actually
handing out these pamphlets," she beamed, passing me two small
pamphlets.
Printed on the cover was: "Awaken! Tower of Druaga."13
A refreshing spring breeze blew in through the open door. Outside,
the mild, April morning was calm and cheerful.
Part Two
At Mita House's14 room 201, the door separating the inside of my
apartment from the outside was now standing open. The woman on a
religious mission and me—nothing separated us any longer.
Then, I saw it. Diagonally to the right, behind the woman with the 
Welcome to the N.H.K.
26
bottomless evangelical smile, stood another woman.
Did they plan to use two people to recruit me? Were they tipping
the balance of power, two against one? How cowardly!
Then, further realization dawned. I noticed just how young the
other religious recruiter was.
For some odd reason, even on this serene April morning when the
sun shone so gently, she shaded herself with a pure white parasol.
Although I couldn't see her face, which was hidden by the parasol, I
could tell nevertheless that she was young, particularly compared to the
middle-aged woman. In fact, it was obvious that she was even younger
than me.
Holding her parasol, draped in a plain, light-colored, long-sleeved
dress, she gave off a sanctified, pure air. As if guarding the older woman,
she stood calmly, clean and quiet.
Without my even realizing it, tears had sprung to my eyes,
unbidden.
This young girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen by my estimate,
was being taken advantage of by some idiotic cult. Just thinking about it,
I couldn't help but feel compassion. I mean, come on, what is this?!
I was sure she was at that age when she would much rather be having
fun. The age at which she'd rather put on some nice clothes, walk
around Shibuya, and try to have impure, heterosexual relations, instead.
But religions have strict commandments, such as "Thou shalt not
commit adultery." She had to be suffering. It must be painful, painful,
painful.
I imagined her not knowing how to deal with her feverish body each
night. "God is watching, so we can't do something like this. But. . . but 
Jihad
27
I. . . I can't suppress my excited emotions. Ooh, why am I such a naughty
girl? And even though God is watching. . . I confess. Heavenly Father!"
Those sorts of things, where commandments and sexual desire
merged into one, constantly had to agonize her. Because the erotic book
about nunneries I had read recently mentioned such issues, my
reasoning had to be correct.
An idea suddenly hit me. If everything I surmised was accurate, then
in that way, the existence of religion might not be such a bad thing after
all. In fact, surprisingly, it might not even be an exaggeration to call it
quite wonderful, instead.
Oh yes, it was actually obscene. Mulling it over carefully, I saw that
its obscenity made it extremely wonderful indeed.
For example, an image popped into my mind of a young girl being
spanked by a strict, older nun. This image was followed by salacious
scenes from the witch trials that would later occur. And finally, a violent
torture session took place in a stone-floored basement. The inquisitor
would say, "I'll find out if you are really a witch," and then he'd prepare
the triangular punishment horse! "With a whip?!" Smack! Smack! Smack!
"Not yet?! Not yet?! Not yet?!" Smack! Smack! "Ahhh! I beg your mercy!
Spare me! Please, forgive me!" However, no one listens to her appeals,
and this seemingly endless banquet of indignities keeps escalating and
escalating without end!
Fantastic!
Satisfaction!
A standing ova—
"Um. . . "
Suddenly, I realized that the older woman standing right in front of 
Welcome to the N.H.K.
28
me was staring at me. She anxiously inquired, "Are you all right?"
My runaway fantasies about the religious girl had hijacked my
attention, not to mention my emotions. For a little while, even casual
observers could see how absent minded and odd I was.
What the hell?
I desperately tried to shift to a resolute attitude.
"Ahem, ahem." I cleared my throat.
Then, like a very, very normal young person, and without letting my
eyes drift in the wrong direction, I gave the older woman as intelligent a
glance as I could manage.
Sure, I was clearly shaken. This, I admit.
However, having already regained emotional control, there were no
longer any cracks in my armor left open to attack. After all, there was no
need for me to be so flustered. I had only to reply, "Yes, I'm fine," as I
shoved the two pamphlets back at her, and this whole thing would be
over.
But because of my extremely long time as a hikikomori, my ability to
communicate with others had deteriorated to nearly the lower level
possible, which was the real reason I was so shaken by all this.
Calm down. Calm down! Say it. Just utter that one phrase, "Yes, I'm fine."
Right. I'll say it in just a second. Yes, this time I'll really say it.
Most likely, it had been so long since I'd talked with anyone that my
voice would sound rather hollow. The words coming out of my mouth,
at least, would probably sound hollow. It was even possible that I might
mutter accidentally. But why should that matter, anyway?
After all, it wasn't likely that I would ever meet this woman or the
girl again. Whatever they thought of me shouldn't matter. Who cared if 
Jihad
29
they found me odd or disturbing? That's why I needed to say it. I needed
to refuse their conversion outright!
Just say, "Yes, I'm fine!"
I'll say, "Yes, I'm fine!"
"Yes, I. . . "
At that second, my line of sight casually passed over the word
"Awaken!" decorating the cover of the pamphlet I held in my right hand.
On that same cover, in black, gothic letters, was printed: "The
hikikomori life is attacking our youth. Are you safe?"
The woman, noticing my gaze, further brightened her pious smile.
"This is our special report for the month. We're investigating the
hikikomori issue from a Biblical standpoint. Are you interested?"
It would be downright impossible to fully express the fear that
ravaged me then.
Could they see through me? Was it possible this woman already
knew that I was, in actuality, a hikikomori, myself? Was that why she'd
gone out of her way to give me this pamphlet? It was an extremely
frightening idea.
The thought that I was already identified as a worthless hikikomori
by people who didn't even know me incited violent fear, chills, and
shakes— culminating in a confusion that was terribly hard to endure.
Regardless, I had to calm down.
I have to trick them—trick them quickly and smoothly.
"Hikikomori? Ha ha ha! How could someone like me possibly be a
hikikomori?!"
Am I completely stupid? Saying something like that just made me look
even more suspicious. I had to trick them more convincingly—and fast. I 
Welcome to the N.H.K.
30
needed to trick them now or come up with some excuse. . . something.
Come on, I begged myself.
"Hey, th-there's no way I could be one, right? Right! I mean, no way
could someone like me have spent almost a year not speaking to anyone.
Or have a hikikomori life so extreme that I had to drop out of college
with no job, no hope for my future, and nothing left. Or be in a state of
abject despair. Or anything like those things, right?"
The older woman backed away from me. Naturally, my thoughts
continued to drift idly, with no end in sight. Someone, please stop me.
"That's right! You're stupid, lady, so very stupid. And how rude!
What do you mean by, 'The hikikomori life is attacking our youth. Are
you safe?' Besides, if prayers could fix being a hikikomori, no one would
suffer like that, right? And what do you people know? Even I don't
understand it, so how could you people possibly get it?!"
That was it. Now, I was finished. The missionary was thoroughly
frightened. She looked ready to do an about-face and place an immediate
call to the police. "There's a crazy person in the apartment over there!
He's dangerous!"
Ah, I am definitely dangerous. Quite dangerous. I even surprise myself! In
fact, I'm stunned by my own idiocy, which caused me to overreact horrifyingly
to an ordinary, everyday, pamphlet-pushing older woman. I can't take any
more.
It's time for me to die. Someone like me, having disgraced themselves so
badly in front of a religious person, should die as quickly as possible.
"It's fine now, ma'am, so please go home quickly. Take the girl and
go away."
Oh, it's no use. It's over, it's over, it's over for me! Yeah, I'll buy a katana
tomorrow. Then, I'll commit harakiri. Rather than exposing myself to any 
Jihad
31
further disgrace, I'll expose my innards and prove myself as a warrior. That's
right, I'll do that. . . I wonder where they sell katana.
I thought of asking, "Hey, ma'am, do you know where? You don't?
No, of course not. It's fine. That's not something you need to know. It's
fine, so just go away. Yeah, right, right, I am very sorry. I am a
hikikomori. A top-class, high-level hikikomori. There are hardly any
hikikomori out there who can claim to be as worthless as I am. I'm
unemployed. I'm trash. I'm a hack! I don't want you people to help,
though. I'm fine, so just go away. See? Look, I'll give this back. I'll give
back your two pamphlets. So, please, just go away as fast as you can,
right now!"
"W-w-well then, please forgive me for bothering you at such a busy
time."
Hurriedly averting her eyes, the older woman turned abruptly and
prompted the girl behind her. "We're going now, Misaki. Let's walk back
to the assembly hall, okay?"
Yeah, go home, go home. Go home right away. You too, Misaki, disappear
quickly!
Hm? What, Misaki? What's that expression for? Even though the old
lady's already left, why are you going out of your way to lower your parasol and
stare into my face? What, you have a problem with something, huh? Hey,
what's that look for? What the hell are you looking at? What are you laughing
at? Are you making fun of me? Are you laughing at me. . . ?!
Indeed, it appeared that I was being thoroughly ridiculed by a religious
girl I didn't even know. 
Welcome to the N.H.K.
32
For just a second, she raised her parasol and looked directly into my
face. She was smiling brightly. It was an adorable, mocking smile. And I
wanted to die.
Because I was being laughed at by someone as crazy as a cult-loving
girl; because I was being completely looked down upon; and, more than
anything, because her smile was unnecessarily cute, for those various
reasons. . .
I can't go on. I'm seriously going to die.
Goodbye.
Goodbye, religious, middle-aged woman.
Goodbye, Misaki, holding your parasol
Goodbye, goodbye, everyone.
I'll be setting off on my journey. I'll shut my apartment door, turn
the lock, draw the curtains, and set off on my journey.
Sitting on my bed, I stopped myself from breathing. I tightly covered
my mouth with both hands to stop my breath. That hurts. It hurts. But
soon, I'll die. I'd been holding my breath for thirty seconds. Surely, I had
to die momentarily.
However, my moment of death wouldn't come. The reason was
because breath was leaking in through my nose.
Nothing in the world works the way we want. Someone, please do
something. 

Chapter 02

Jihad

Part One

Several months after the night I'd decided to fight the N.H.K., I looked

out the apartment window at the neighborhood park across the street.

The cherry blossoms were in full bloom—a cheerful, endlessly beautiful

scene.

However, no victory was in view. I saw no sign that I would win this

battle.

For starters, I didn't know where my enemy was hiding.

I thought maybe I should blow up the N.H.K. headquarters.

No, if I did something like that, I'd just be shot and killed by the

police. I rejected that plan.

Most important, I knew my enemy was the N.H.K. I had to believe

this—or at least pretend that I believed it. That had to be it. I needed to 

Jihad

21

refrain from making any careless moves.

If I continued like this, my situation would never improve.

Recently, I'd been increasingly depressed over the signs of spring,

which mercilessly invaded even my gloomy six-mat, one-room

apartment.

Another student had arrived to replace the one who had just vacated

the apartment next door. Now, freshmen walked along the road to

school, smiles spread across their faces. Opening the window let in a cool

spring breeze, cherry blossom petals, or people's lively voices.

Argh, how could this happen? I alone had been left behind by the

gaieties of spring. No, more than that: I was being actively mocked by

the rest of the entire world, ail of which was in high spirits due to

spring's onset. At least, that was the message I got.

I hadn't had proper contact with another human being for almost a

year.

I felt like I might forget how to speak Japanese if I kept going at this

rate. I sensed that I was constantly getting farther and farther from my

return to society. That would not be good; it would be very bad. If I

didn't escape from my life as a hikikomori soon, I would be socially laid

to rest by the world forever.

First, I needed to consider my independence. I knew I had to find

work. Thus, I recently bought a job information magazine from the

convenience score. After reading through it, however, everything

seemed impossible.

Oh, it's impossible. Absolutely impossible. I'm a dropout from a thirdrate

college, with zero qualifications. That's me. If I were the personnel

manager at some company, I'd definitely never hire a hikikomori like 

Welcome to the N.H.K.

22

myself. In this day and age—when it's hard enough to get work—there's

no way any company willingly would hire a useless person like me.

Eventually, though, at some point in time, every human being, no

matter who, must work. That's the fact of the matter.

I couldn't just keep riding my parents' coattails forever.

And I couldn't keep tricking my parents with the worst kinds of lies

like, "It's all right! Even if I did quit college with only a few

qualifications, I'll have no trouble finding work! Right now, I'm studying

for all kinds of certifications, including the IT-administrator certificate,

the TOEFL, word processing, computing, and abacus proficiency,

among other things. Please, send me just a little more allowance!"

Yeah, my time limit was approaching. It might even be just a few

months away.

Before my parents stopped sending my allowance, I needed to

reform my leechlike personality and escape this rotten hikikomori

lifestyle.

I had to take down the N.H.K.

Could I do it? Could I do something that reckless?

The world outside my apartment was full of danger. Cars drove at

fearsome speeds, cedar pollen floated on the wind, and random killers

sometimes haunted the streets. Could I really launch myself into that

dangerous world? Would I really be okay?

Quite honestly, I was very anxious about it.

Actually, it was impossible.

A loser like me could never lead a regular life within society. A

normal social life would be impossible for someone who, just yesterday,

woke at the decent hour of seven o'clock in the morning for the first time

in a long while, only to lie in bed, lost in thought, until afternoon. Yes, a 

Jihad

23

decent life in conventional society would be impossible for someone

who, after that, decided to take a quick nap, closing his eyes only to sleep

soundly through the day and night until five o'clock this morning.

A normal life within society would be impossible for someone like

me, who cried so unsuccessfully to apply Freudian analysis to last night's

dream. My dream featured indulging in an impure heterosexual

relationship in a small room with the female upperclassman from high

school, and my analysis suggested only that it indicated a subconscious

desire to indulge an impure heterosexual relationship in a small room

with the female upperclassman from high school. My final result

concluded, "What part of this is a dream interpretation? You're just

reiterating the same thing!"

Impossible for me, who went to eat breakfast and, upon opening the

refrigerator, realized that there was not a single item of food inside.

Impossible for me, who then decided to ignore my empty stomach and

take a bath, only to discover that I was entirely out of both soap and

shampoo.

And impossible for me, who responded to the horoscope read on the

TV morning show—Virgo's luck in love is up today. An unexpected person

may profess their love to you—with the pathetic comment, "How are they

going co profess it to me if I don't leave my room all day? Huh? Let's see

them try it."

A normal life within society was totally impossible for me.

Argh.

Maybe I should just die! 

Welcome to the N.H.K.

24

Maybe I should just die. No. I won't die because I am a strong, capable soldier.

I was determined to live until the day I defeated the N.H.K., even if

that meant I would have to crawl along the floor.

I would win or I would lose; I was still uncertain which. Anyway,

what I required was a good amount of courage; thus, I needed to make

efficient use of every ounce of courage in my body. For the time being,

however, first I needed to make breakfast.

After slowly rising from my bed, I opened the cupboard and

removed the cup of ramen I kept for emergencies. I poured hot water

from the hot pot I stored on top of the refrigerator. And then I waited—

listening to the faint notes of an anime song that echoed from room 202,

the apartment next to mine, I waited patiently for three minutes.

Not that it was important or anything but my next door neighbor,

who had just moved in this spring, really seemed to like anime. While it

didn't really matter, school should have started already. Was it okay that

he hadn't left his apartment? I felt like warning him, "Morning is no time

to be engrossed in the theme song to Ojamajo Doremi.

12 You're going to

be late!" Of course, I didn't do any such thing. My next door neighbor's

lifestyle wasn't my concern.

While these thoughts ran through my mind, three minutes passed in

what felt like a matter of seconds.

My ramen was ready.

Just then, it happened.

At the very moment that I was about to thrust my disposable

chopsticks into the noodles, my doorbell's resounding "ding dong, ding

dong" interrupted the entire process.

Who could it be? 

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25

Naturally, I didn't panic. The unexpected visitor disturbing my

breakfast was probably just a bill collector, coming to pick up my electric

utility payment. As I would be in trouble were I to lose my lifeline, I

obediently put down my chopsticks and headed toward the door, still

clad in my pajamas.

I flung open the door and quickly said, "Oh, electricity! The

electricity, right? I can pay you now. Um, I'll pay right. . . "

My words trailed off. Alerted by the smile plastered across the

visitor's face and the subtle aura emanating from her entire body, I

realized there was no way this middle-aged woman possibly could be the

bill collector for the electricity company.

"Please, forgive us for interrupting your busy schedule,"' said my

visitor. The woman's face was lit by the morning sun. "We're actually

handing out these pamphlets," she beamed, passing me two small

pamphlets.

Printed on the cover was: "Awaken! Tower of Druaga."13

A refreshing spring breeze blew in through the open door. Outside,

the mild, April morning was calm and cheerful.

Part Two

At Mita House's14 room 201, the door separating the inside of my

apartment from the outside was now standing open. The woman on a

religious mission and me—nothing separated us any longer.

Then, I saw it. Diagonally to the right, behind the woman with the 

Welcome to the N.H.K.

26

bottomless evangelical smile, stood another woman.

Did they plan to use two people to recruit me? Were they tipping

the balance of power, two against one? How cowardly!

Then, further realization dawned. I noticed just how young the

other religious recruiter was.

For some odd reason, even on this serene April morning when the

sun shone so gently, she shaded herself with a pure white parasol.

Although I couldn't see her face, which was hidden by the parasol, I

could tell nevertheless that she was young, particularly compared to the

middle-aged woman. In fact, it was obvious that she was even younger

than me.

Holding her parasol, draped in a plain, light-colored, long-sleeved

dress, she gave off a sanctified, pure air. As if guarding the older woman,

she stood calmly, clean and quiet.

Without my even realizing it, tears had sprung to my eyes,

unbidden.

This young girl, no older than seventeen or eighteen by my estimate,

was being taken advantage of by some idiotic cult. Just thinking about it,

I couldn't help but feel compassion. I mean, come on, what is this?!

I was sure she was at that age when she would much rather be having

fun. The age at which she'd rather put on some nice clothes, walk

around Shibuya, and try to have impure, heterosexual relations, instead.

But religions have strict commandments, such as "Thou shalt not

commit adultery." She had to be suffering. It must be painful, painful,

painful.

I imagined her not knowing how to deal with her feverish body each

night. "God is watching, so we can't do something like this. But. . . but 

Jihad

27

I. . . I can't suppress my excited emotions. Ooh, why am I such a naughty

girl? And even though God is watching. . . I confess. Heavenly Father!"

Those sorts of things, where commandments and sexual desire

merged into one, constantly had to agonize her. Because the erotic book

about nunneries I had read recently mentioned such issues, my

reasoning had to be correct.

An idea suddenly hit me. If everything I surmised was accurate, then

in that way, the existence of religion might not be such a bad thing after

all. In fact, surprisingly, it might not even be an exaggeration to call it

quite wonderful, instead.

Oh yes, it was actually obscene. Mulling it over carefully, I saw that

its obscenity made it extremely wonderful indeed.

For example, an image popped into my mind of a young girl being

spanked by a strict, older nun. This image was followed by salacious

scenes from the witch trials that would later occur. And finally, a violent

torture session took place in a stone-floored basement. The inquisitor

would say, "I'll find out if you are really a witch," and then he'd prepare

the triangular punishment horse! "With a whip?!" Smack! Smack! Smack!

"Not yet?! Not yet?! Not yet?!" Smack! Smack! "Ahhh! I beg your mercy!

Spare me! Please, forgive me!" However, no one listens to her appeals,

and this seemingly endless banquet of indignities keeps escalating and

escalating without end!

Fantastic!

Satisfaction!

A standing ova—

"Um. . . "

Suddenly, I realized that the older woman standing right in front of 

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me was staring at me. She anxiously inquired, "Are you all right?"

My runaway fantasies about the religious girl had hijacked my

attention, not to mention my emotions. For a little while, even casual

observers could see how absent minded and odd I was.

What the hell?

I desperately tried to shift to a resolute attitude.

"Ahem, ahem." I cleared my throat.

Then, like a very, very normal young person, and without letting my

eyes drift in the wrong direction, I gave the older woman as intelligent a

glance as I could manage.

Sure, I was clearly shaken. This, I admit.

However, having already regained emotional control, there were no

longer any cracks in my armor left open to attack. After all, there was no

need for me to be so flustered. I had only to reply, "Yes, I'm fine," as I

shoved the two pamphlets back at her, and this whole thing would be

over.

But because of my extremely long time as a hikikomori, my ability to

communicate with others had deteriorated to nearly the lower level

possible, which was the real reason I was so shaken by all this.

Calm down. Calm down! Say it. Just utter that one phrase, "Yes, I'm fine."

Right. I'll say it in just a second. Yes, this time I'll really say it.

Most likely, it had been so long since I'd talked with anyone that my

voice would sound rather hollow. The words coming out of my mouth,

at least, would probably sound hollow. It was even possible that I might

mutter accidentally. But why should that matter, anyway?

After all, it wasn't likely that I would ever meet this woman or the

girl again. Whatever they thought of me shouldn't matter. Who cared if 

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they found me odd or disturbing? That's why I needed to say it. I needed

to refuse their conversion outright!

Just say, "Yes, I'm fine!"

I'll say, "Yes, I'm fine!"

"Yes, I. . . "

At that second, my line of sight casually passed over the word

"Awaken!" decorating the cover of the pamphlet I held in my right hand.

On that same cover, in black, gothic letters, was printed: "The

hikikomori life is attacking our youth. Are you safe?"

The woman, noticing my gaze, further brightened her pious smile.

"This is our special report for the month. We're investigating the

hikikomori issue from a Biblical standpoint. Are you interested?"

It would be downright impossible to fully express the fear that

ravaged me then.

Could they see through me? Was it possible this woman already

knew that I was, in actuality, a hikikomori, myself? Was that why she'd

gone out of her way to give me this pamphlet? It was an extremely

frightening idea.

The thought that I was already identified as a worthless hikikomori

by people who didn't even know me incited violent fear, chills, and

shakes— culminating in a confusion that was terribly hard to endure.

Regardless, I had to calm down.

I have to trick them—trick them quickly and smoothly.

"Hikikomori? Ha ha ha! How could someone like me possibly be a

hikikomori?!"

Am I completely stupid? Saying something like that just made me look

even more suspicious. I had to trick them more convincingly—and fast. I 

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30

needed to trick them now or come up with some excuse. . . something.

Come on, I begged myself.

"Hey, th-there's no way I could be one, right? Right! I mean, no way

could someone like me have spent almost a year not speaking to anyone.

Or have a hikikomori life so extreme that I had to drop out of college

with no job, no hope for my future, and nothing left. Or be in a state of

abject despair. Or anything like those things, right?"

The older woman backed away from me. Naturally, my thoughts

continued to drift idly, with no end in sight. Someone, please stop me.

"That's right! You're stupid, lady, so very stupid. And how rude!

What do you mean by, 'The hikikomori life is attacking our youth. Are

you safe?' Besides, if prayers could fix being a hikikomori, no one would

suffer like that, right? And what do you people know? Even I don't

understand it, so how could you people possibly get it?!"

That was it. Now, I was finished. The missionary was thoroughly

frightened. She looked ready to do an about-face and place an immediate

call to the police. "There's a crazy person in the apartment over there!

He's dangerous!"

Ah, I am definitely dangerous. Quite dangerous. I even surprise myself! In

fact, I'm stunned by my own idiocy, which caused me to overreact horrifyingly

to an ordinary, everyday, pamphlet-pushing older woman. I can't take any

more.

It's time for me to die. Someone like me, having disgraced themselves so

badly in front of a religious person, should die as quickly as possible.

"It's fine now, ma'am, so please go home quickly. Take the girl and

go away."

Oh, it's no use. It's over, it's over, it's over for me! Yeah, I'll buy a katana

tomorrow. Then, I'll commit harakiri. Rather than exposing myself to any 

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further disgrace, I'll expose my innards and prove myself as a warrior. That's

right, I'll do that. . . I wonder where they sell katana.

I thought of asking, "Hey, ma'am, do you know where? You don't?

No, of course not. It's fine. That's not something you need to know. It's

fine, so just go away. Yeah, right, right, I am very sorry. I am a

hikikomori. A top-class, high-level hikikomori. There are hardly any

hikikomori out there who can claim to be as worthless as I am. I'm

unemployed. I'm trash. I'm a hack! I don't want you people to help,

though. I'm fine, so just go away. See? Look, I'll give this back. I'll give

back your two pamphlets. So, please, just go away as fast as you can,

right now!"

"W-w-well then, please forgive me for bothering you at such a busy

time."

Hurriedly averting her eyes, the older woman turned abruptly and

prompted the girl behind her. "We're going now, Misaki. Let's walk back

to the assembly hall, okay?"

Yeah, go home, go home. Go home right away. You too, Misaki, disappear

quickly!

Hm? What, Misaki? What's that expression for? Even though the old

lady's already left, why are you going out of your way to lower your parasol and

stare into my face? What, you have a problem with something, huh? Hey,

what's that look for? What the hell are you looking at? What are you laughing

at? Are you making fun of me? Are you laughing at me. . . ?!

Indeed, it appeared that I was being thoroughly ridiculed by a religious

girl I didn't even know. 

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32

For just a second, she raised her parasol and looked directly into my

face. She was smiling brightly. It was an adorable, mocking smile. And I

wanted to die.

Because I was being laughed at by someone as crazy as a cult-loving

girl; because I was being completely looked down upon; and, more than

anything, because her smile was unnecessarily cute, for those various

reasons. . .

I can't go on. I'm seriously going to die.

Goodbye.

Goodbye, religious, middle-aged woman.

Goodbye, Misaki, holding your parasol

Goodbye, goodbye, everyone.

I'll be setting off on my journey. I'll shut my apartment door, turn

the lock, draw the curtains, and set off on my journey.

Sitting on my bed, I stopped myself from breathing. I tightly covered

my mouth with both hands to stop my breath. That hurts. It hurts. But

soon, I'll die. I'd been holding my breath for thirty seconds. Surely, I had

to die momentarily.

However, my moment of death wouldn't come. The reason was

because breath was leaking in through my nose.

Nothing in the world works the way we want. Someone, please do

something.