NHK ni Youkoso!

Chapter 08
Infiltration
Part One
It actually might have had something to do with a hormonal imbalance
in my brain. Like crashing and receding waves, my mania and depression
alternated, and that was how every day went. Just when I thought I felt
better, I wanted to die so bad the very next day that I wasn't good for
anything.
Despite using drugs to force myself to be more energetic, I couldn't
carry on once again after they wore off. Shame about my past and
anxieties for the future, as well as many other fears, assaulted me
simultaneously. This ensuing depression was a rebound from my ultrahigh-energy
periods and, as such, was completely, horribly severe.
Even Misaki's nightly counseling, which I should have grown
accustomed to by then, remained frightening. Anxiety of an unknown
origin had enfolded me, and the very uncertainty of that origin fanned 
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my fear even more.
The initial, readily noticeable symptom was that my gaze started to
wander and I would become unable to look others in the eye while
speaking to them. Oh, I was just like some overly self-conscious middle
school kid. I felt embarrassed from the bottom of my heart. And because
I was aware of that embarrassment, my behavior would become even
stranger and more suspicious. It was a vicious cycle.
Anyway, for that night, I tried smoking to calm myself down in
front of Misaki. My hands, now prone to shaking, took out a cigarette
and lit it, using a cheap lighter. Damn—it was running out of fuel! How
can this he? This sucks! I didn't know what to do with the tobacco and
lighter I was holding, but I'd do anything possible to avoid the
humiliation of having to put them back in my pocket. I kept trying as
hard as I could to light it. Click, click, click, click. . . I kept struggling and,
finally, I succeeded—thank heavens!
I immediately turned away from Misaki and, instead, focused too
much on smoking my cigarette. I just kept smoking away, wasting five
yen with every puff. My lungs hurt and my guts hurt, too. The end of
my cigarette was shaking rapidly. On the back of my neck, a cold, sticky
sweat—
"What's wrong?" asked Misaki. As was usual for our counseling
sessions, we faced each other at night on one of the park benches.
"The problems caused by my chronic illness!" I replied.
"What do you mean by 'problems'?"
That's what really bothered me. Young girls these days didn't know
anything. Go study a little more! I wanted to yell at her; of course, that
would be impossible to do. The awful, useless traits acquired through 
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several years of hikikomori life—my agoraphobia, fear of eye contact,
and all my other anxiety disorders—now held me down with
considerable power.
Hm. . . Did I lock my apartment door? Was I certain I'd put out my
cigarette? More important: Misaki, don't look at me like that with those
adorable eyes! Not to mention, stop being so silent. Stop watching me without
saying anything! It makes me unbelievably nervous. My stomach really does
hurt.
I had to say something fast. ”By the way, Misaki, do you like snacks?"
What the hell was that supposed to mean?!
"No."
"Usually, girls around your age always are eating some kind of snack,
twenty-four hours a day, right? Just like a little animal. . . crunch,
crunch, crunch, crunch. What's up with that? Is it because they're young
and have fast metabolisms, so they continually have to replenish their
calories or they'll die? That's got to be it, huh?"
Should I just die?
She didn't say anything.
Should I just die?
"I won't die! And that's because I'm an energetic man! This
overflowing energy is the best! I'm only twenty-two! My future stretches
out before me! 'A neeew toooomorrow is here, one of hopesssss. . . '" I
sang.
Misaki clutched my shirt sleeve.
"Hm?"
"Let's go into the city, the day after tomorrow," she said, continuing
to pull on my sleeve, "near the station, maybe. Together. Someone 
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important once said long ago, 'Throw out your books and go to the city,'
or something like that. That's not a lie. It was written in a book I read
recently, so it's about time for us to go into the city. If we do that, I think
you'll definitely head in a good direction. Okay?"
Without thinking, I nodded.
Misaki's request had instilled a new fear within me. To go into the city,
in broad daylight, with a mysterious girl whose true identity I still didn't
know. . . No question, this rash action would put an unbelievable
amount of pressure on me. Completely overwhelmed by it, I
undoubtedly would do something embarrassing once again. There was
no chance that I would avoid doing something incomprehensibly
pathetic Ah, I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay locked up in my room.
Regardless, a promise is a promise. I reminded myself that the first step
to being an outstanding member of society would be to faithfully honor
my promises to others— I wasn't a member of society, though; I was just
a hikikomori.
Anyway, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. The tension and
unrelenting impatience reminded me of the feelings I used to have the
day before a test. For someone whose will was weak like mine, this
pressure weighed down heavily on me with a palpable force.
However, just as Dostoyevsky or somebody had written in a story,
along with pain that exceeded normal bounds also came an undeniable
pleasure. In essence, when stress surpasses a particular limit, humans get
high on it for some reason. Getting extremely run down, for example, 
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might make a person rashly agreeable. This feeling, in turn, would raise
the excitement and the enjoyment.
"Right, Yamazaki?"
"Yes, sure. I have no idea what you're talking about, though."
Today, as usual, Yamazaki had been grinding away at his game since
the early morning. His body language somehow suggested that he might
be enjoying himself in some ghastly way.
"Let me see how far you've gotten," I said, but he blocked the
computer with his body. He must have been making an especially erotic
game
Well, whatever bizarre erotic game Yamazaki was working on
meant nothing to me now. I decided I should be eating breakfast right
about then and opened the fridge.
"Huh? What, Yamazaki, you're out of food?"
"Hey, you! Don't eat someone else's food every day as though it's
yours! And in their own apartment, no less!"
"No matter what you say, because I sold the fridge in my room to
that secondhand shop. . . " Trying to make suitable excuses, I took some
instant ramen from its usual place in the cabinet.
Just then, the doorbell rang. A visitor?
Yamazaki slowly stood up from his computer desk and opened the
door in the front hall. Standing there were two religious solicitors.
However, today's solicitors weren't Misaki and her aunt but a young
man around twenty, wearing a suit, and a roughly middle-school-aged
boy in a navy blazer. I wondered whether perhaps the routes had been
changed.
Either way, the solicitors' actions remained unchanged. 
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"Um, we're handing out these magazines. . . " The solicitor handed
two pamphlets to Yamazaki. "Uh, see, we're spreading the word about
our religion. . . "
Yamazaki tried to chase the solicitors away with some appropriate
speech.
Watching them, I suddenly had a wonderful idea. Joining them at
the front door, I pounded Yamazaki as hard as I could on the back
before interjecting, "What are you saying, Yamazaki?! Earlier, didn't you
say that you were interested in such literature?"
"Huh?"
Ignoring Yamazaki, who had turned to give me a look that meant,
"What are you talking about, you idiot?" I faced the solicitors and rattled
on, in one breath: "Actually, we've been interested in your activities for a
while. Could we possibly convince you to let us attend one of your
meetings?"
Part Two
Last night, when we parted, Misaki had whispered, "Tomorrow, it's my
turn to present at missionary school, and I don't want to."
"What's that?" I asked, and Misaki falteringly described it.
Missionary school was apparently a kind of assembly where
"research students" could perfect their skills at "service activities." The
following day, she would have to give a speech in front of everyone.
She used so many technical religious terms that an outsider like me 
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couldn't really understand what she was talking about. When I tried to
get her to explain more fully, Misaki quickly got up from the bench to go
home. She left, saying merely, "Anyway, as I have this thing that I have
to do tomorrow, we'll have to go into the city the day after that. Don't
forget your promise."
That was last night. Today, Misaki's religious group would hold a
meeting, and at that meeting, she would have to play a really difficult
role. Having put all this together, an idea struck me. Today was the
perfect opportunity to find out who Misaki really was! Summoning my
courage, I begged the solicitors, "Please, take us with you and allow us to
observe!"
Apparently, it was a rule that normally, outside observers first had
to attend the "literature research" that took place every Wednesday.
Thus, the two solicitors appeared uncertain what to do with me. I
continued to entreat them, "It must be today! Please, take us to the
meeting today!"
After I begged them for a few more minutes, they finally gave in.
They disclosed the location of the "Imperial Hall" and the meeting time.
"It starts at six o'clock in the evening. If you tell them you've come 'on
Kaneda's sponsorship,' you'll be allowed to enter."
It was early evening. Having disguised ourselves in strange clothing, we
quickly walked up the road toward the Imperial Hall.
My reason for infiltrating the meeting was to observe Misaki's
private life, so I could figure out her real motivations. This was the 
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reason that I decided to disguise myself. In the beginning, Yamazaki
stubbornly resisted my attempts to get him to join me, but I finally
convinced him. "Infiltrating a religious organization is a once-in-alifetime
opportunity, you know! It'll be interesting!" Eventually, he
yielded to my half-assed argument and, in the end, happily disguised
himself.
I wore the black suit I had bought when I entered college so that I
would look like a prize recruit. I pulled a tulip-pink hat down low over
my eyes and donned dark purple sunglasses. Even I thought I looked
ridiculous.
For his part, Yamazaki wore platform shoes to make himself about
four inches taller, put green contacts in his eyes—and on top of all that,
bleached his hair gold. I had no idea why he even owned such an idiotic
thing as platform shoes. Still, it was the perfect disguise.
Yet, I remained a bit anxious. I was afraid that our voices might
expose our true identities. "What do you think, Yamazaki? There's no
way we can change our voices, is there?"
When I expressed my worry on this point, Yamazaki dragged me
into the department store near the station, and we headed toward the
fourth-floor toy store. At the party goods section, he picked up some
helium gas. It had been popular a while ago because if you inhaled it,
your voice would sound like a duck.
"Ah! You're smart!" I thumped Yamazaki on the back.
He stuck out his thumb and grinned. He was having a great time.
In this way, we completed all our preparations and triumphantly
headed toward the Imperial Hall, which was located at the edge of the
shopping center near the station. People passing us—clearly a shady 
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pair, squeaking in high "duck" voices—threw perplexed glances in our
direction. Normally, we would have been intimidated by their stares; but
only for today, we weren't scared of other people. My dark glasses
blocked the glances, and I had a friend in Yamazaki, who bravely walked
beside me.
More than anything else, the "energy-giving drug" I had bought
through the mail was working quite well. Only half a day earlier, I had
been suffering from anxieties I couldn't imagine escaping—but now, I
was suffused with energy. Apparently, just a few milligrams of generic
drugs could drastically change people's emotions.
"Is this it?" Yamazaki asked in his duck voice once we had exited the
narrow alley that ran next to the tracks, pointing at a four-story building
next to a convenience store.
I checked the map the solicitor had drawn for me. The information
board at the building's entrance also announced, ”Third Floor, Imperial
Hall." There was no mistake; this was it. It was great that we had arrived
at our destination, but I felt unexpectedly let down.
Contrary to its powerful-sounding name, the Imperial Hall was a
rather worn-out old building that rented out office space to small
businesses. The first floor was a real estate company and the second
floor housed a tax attorney's office, leaving only the third floor to be
occupied by the religious group. Colored red by the sunset, the rental
space looked even more faded. I had imagined a huge temple decorated
in gold leaf and the like, so I was taken by surprise.
Still, it was about time to start our infiltration. "L-let's go,
Yamazaki."
"Yeah, let's, Satou." 
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Fortifying our will, we climbed the narrow stairs of the building.
In the end, our infiltration of the hall succeeded easily.
No one we passed even obliquely mentioned our strange disguises.
Although I had told yet another gigantic lie: "Actually, my eyes are so
bad, I need my sunglasses." I said this despite not having been asked.
And everyone said, "Oh my, how terrible," and took pity on me.
That's right: They were actually good people.
"Good evening."
"Welcome."
"Thank you for coming."
A housewife, a female middle school student, and a businessman
greeted us with invigorating smiles on their faces. Bowing our heads to
them, we continued up the narrow stairs and stepped into the meeting
hall. And once again, we tasted disappointment.
The interior of the hall lacked any religious atmosphere.
Adornments such as candles, crosses, and altars were nowhere to be
found. Instead, inside the room, a podium like those found in school
auditoriums occupied center stage, faced by rows of evenly spaced metal
folding chairs. The room could accommodate about one hundred
people. The floor and walls were painted uniformly in a soft cream color,
and the fluorescent lighting was bright. This relaxed space, the meeting
room, basically resembled a normal town hall.
For now, we sat in folding chairs at the very back, hunching down to
make ourselves as invisible as possible. However, that attempt soon 
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failed miserably. Yamazaki and I were surrounded by hospitable, smiling
people—young and old, male and female. It looked as though the young
solicitor wed seen the previous day had told everyone to expect visitors
beforehand.
"I hear you're interested in the Bible," said a housewife with a child in
her arms. "After all, faith is an issue that everyone has to face."
A young man about my age said, "Please, take your time and watch."
A high-school-aged girl said—
They were all speaking to us at the same time.
Returning their greetings in my duck voice, I felt increasingly
anxious. This is bad. At this rate, we'll stand out. Or rather, we're already
standing out plenty. Misaki doesn't seem to have arrived yet; the way it's going,
though, it's only a matter of time before she sees through our disguises.
For the moment, we decided to retreat temporarily. Asking the
housewife where the bathroom was, we hurried from the meeting hall.
"This is no good, Satou."
"It's bad, isn't it, Yamazaki?"
We caught our breath while relieving ourselves in the sparkling
clean bathroom.
"Why are those people being so friendly to shady people like us?"
"I'm kind of moved." I was somewhat surprised by myself. This was
the first time in my long life that I had ever experienced anything like
this. A large number of people had openly welcomed me with smiles on
their faces. I had no idea how to deal with it.
"Ha ha ha ha, maybe I should convert!"
I heard Yamazaki, who had gone into the private stall, suddenly
burst into laughter. Next came the sound of toilet paper unrolling. I 
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heard him blow his nose, and then he came out of the stall. The pupils of
his eyes had dilated behind his colored contacts. White powder stuck to
his sleeves.
"How about you, Satou?" Yamazaki held out a plastic packet filled
with the drug. I gently refused. As my espionage activities were about to
begin, I couldn't afford to lose my level-headed judgment.
Putting tissues inside my mouth, I changed the contours of my face
creating an even more perfect disguise. Yamazaki, an off-the-chart smile
plastered across his face, meanwhile busied himself walking in circles
around the bathroom.
A short time later, we heard a choral hymn coming from beyond the
bathroom wails. The assembly seemed to have begun.
Casually, we headed toward the meeting hall.
As I mentioned, the meeting hall's interior lacked any sort of religious
atmosphere at all. It looked like a youth training center. Even so. . .
Why had I gotten goose bumps up and down my spine? I was
moved. It might have been a side effect of the drugs I'd taken before
leaving the apartment. My emotional amplification might have been
nothing more than a side effect. But. . .
Almost one hundred people had gathered in this hall, and they were
singing without hesitation, with remarkable spirit. Older men, older
women, young men, young women—they had turned in unison to face
the lectern and single-mindedly sang a hymn praising God. Here, I could
certainly feel holiness. Oh, this is true religion! This is wonderful!
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Anyway, wrapped up in the hymn, I moved quickly along the wall of
the meeting hall and arrived back at a seat along the very edge. When
the hymn ended, a middle-aged man standing at the podium began to
pray. He seemed to be the most important person there.
"Great Creator, who made the heavens and this Earth, too, along
with us humans, may praise and glory be returned to your great name."
Everyone looked forward, listening attentively to his prayer. No one
looked at us.
It was going as planned.
Or so I thought. As he was finishing his prayers, the important man
at the podium said something like, "Thanks to the aid of the Holy Spirit,
you were all able to gather here again today. Many children, as well as
new people. . . "
New people? Who? Who are they?
They were us.
Everyone's gazes immediately turned toward us. I pulled the tulip
hat even farther down over my eyes. Yamazaki, as though competing
with everyone else, flashed his insane smile.
At the edge of my peripheral vision, I could see Misaki. She was in
front of me, in the seat closest to the pedestal. She hadn't realized we
were there. Relaxing, I stopped Yamazaki, who was trying to wave to
everyone.
"Well then, we give you all our thanks in the name of the Son, Lord
Jesus Christ, and give you our prayers."
"Amen." The congregation spoke as one. Only our duck voices stood
out terribly in the chorus. 
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The purpose of this meeting was to improve proselytizing techniques.
This was why it was called "missionary school."
First, a veteran male follower stood at the podium and spoke as an
example to follow. After that, the missionary students expounded on
various subjects for six minutes at a time. At the end, the "director" gave
a three-tiered assessment ("good," "work harder," or "needs
improvement") to each student's discussion.
At least, that's how the housewife sitting next to me explained it.
Bowing politely to her, I casually assessed the scene. Even though it
was a weekday evening, a decent number of people had gathered. What
caught my eye first was the huge number of housewives. They were all
extremely normal, middle-aged women, like the kind you'd find
shopping at any nearby supermarket. In addition, there were
businessmen, corning straight to the assembly on their way home from
work. Finally, there were young people on their way home from school.
A wide variety of people had gathered in this meeting hall.
The more senior male followers wore serious expressions at the
podium, and I was fascinated by their discussions. Some people even
wrote down the contents of these lectures in their notebooks. The
speeches once again contained the sort of vocabulary that made normal
people's heads hurt. "Armageddon" and "Satan" and other such
wonderful terms kept coming up, and so my stomach began to ache.
At any rate, I was certain that there were about one hundred people
gathered here, and that they were all very, very serious.
"The birth of mankind was six thousand years ago."
"Noah's Ark is on Mount Ararat."
"Satan's war will begin soon." 
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"According to the Book of Revelations. . . "
Are you all from Gakken Mu!?25 I wanted to yell, but Yamazaki and I
were vastly outnumbered.
Finally, the first lecture ended. In summation, this was its message:
The decay of this world is spreading visibly. Political corruption is
unending, disputes break out ceaselessly around the world, and brutal
urban crime just goes on and on. Youths are addicted to licentious
relationships, adults seek only material worth, and morality falls further
and further by the wayside. In shore, this is Satan's doing. Those in this
world ruled by Satan are unaware that they do his bidding, and this is
precisely why Armageddon draws near. Before Armageddon arrives, we
must save as many people as possible from damnation. This is the goal of
our mission.
Apparently, an antagonism between God and Satan existed, and
those without faith would fall into hell.
The student lectures that followed seemed to have similar themes.
"Praise God, hate Satan" appeared to be the general policy. They all
seemed to have practiced quite a bit for this day and skillfully referenced
passages from the Bible, speaking without hesitation. I could see some
signs of nervousness; even so, they spoke proudly. Each time the bell
rang, marking the end of the allotted six minutes, everyone clapped. I
clapped, too. Continuing in this way, eventually, the young people's
speeches ended.
Next. . . Yamazaki and I exchanged glances: Misaki's turn had come.
I was expectant. I wanted her to use ridiculous lines like those I
heard each night at counseling. I wanted her to make me laugh and feel
cheerful. 
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However, Misaki, at the podium, was shaking slightly, her face pale.
During the entire time, she had nothing interesting to say. In a vague,
flat monotone, she merely gave a passable speech about the Bible, staring
at her shoes the entire time.
She seemed to be in pain. Her demeanor reminded me of a girl who,
from elementary school on, everyone had bullied.
Missionary school ended.
After a ten minute break, a "service meeting" was scheduled. During
the break, everyone chatted amiably—a group of housewives, boys, and
young men. Each group gathered together, talking and smiling happily.
"Kazuma is in Bethel—"
"—servants volunteering—"
"Anyway, in the reclamation work we did before—"
"—the Satomi sisters finally were baptized."
Specialized, technical terms were used often, so I couldn't really
follow the conversations well.
I looked toward the corner of the meeting hail where Misaki sat
alone, stooped over on a steel chair. She was making herself small, trying
as hard as she could to not stand out. There, in the corner of the room,
she was destroying any trace of herself. She really was pale. Each time
someone passed her, Misaki looked downward. It appeared as though
she feared someone might try to talk to her. During the break, no one
spoke to her. That seemed to be what she wanted.
In the friendly meeting hall, she alone stood out from the 
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surroundings.
"Let's go home." I nudged Yamazaki toward the door.
"What are you saying, Satou? The service meeting is about to start!"
Yamazaki's eyes were bloodshot, and I had some idea why. In the
technical terms we were most familiar with—that is to say, in the
vocabulary of erotic games—service was defined as "a special type of
loving massage that a maid in an apron performs for her master."
"This is a service meeting! Those girls over there will perform their
services for us!"
"There's no way that's going to happen!"
Putting the angry Yamazaki into a full nelson, I muscled him
outside. As we approached the building's main exit, a voice called out
from behind, "Hey, you!"
It was the younger of the two solicitors we'd encountered earlier, the
middle-school-aged boy. His hands thrust in his blazer pockets, he
glared at us. "You guys are really here just to make fun, right?"
Suddenly, Yamazaki took off. He ran away without even glancing
back.
Once again, I was left alone.
However, the boy didn't yell at me. In fact, we started walking along
the dark road together. Even though it was already summer, the night
wind was unseasonably chilly. The boy was smoking a cigarette. He
exhaled, "Ah. . . "
"That's against the commandments, I think."
Forestalling me, the boy drew a Zippo from his pocket and lit
another cigarette with what seemed to be a practiced hand.
Walking on my right side, he explained, ”Sometimes, people like you 
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want to see something weird, so they come to observe the meetings.
Stupid students, like you guys. Well then, what did you think? Was it
funny?"
I didn't say anything.
"I'm not doing this religion thing because I like it, you know."
"What do you mean?"
"It's my parents. Both my mom and dad love religion. In our house,
I'm the only one with a decent head on his shoulders. If I ever said that I
wanted to leave the church, what do you think would happen? I once
said to my mom, 'I want to join a school activity, and I want to play at
friends' houses.' When I did, that old hag started screaming, 'You devil!'
She wouldn't even make me lunch for days."
The boy laughed. "I go along with my parents enough for them not
to get mad; and then, when I'm outside the house, I do what I want."
He spent his time at school like a normal kid, I concluded, and while
at home, he lived as a devout, religious person. He was living a double
life.
"What I'm saying is, you guys should be sure not to make the
mistake of joining up." He sounded serious. "Everyone made a fuss over
you today, right? Everyone seemed happy, right? You probably thought
something dumb like, 'maybe I could get along with nice people such as
these,' right? You're wrong. That's their trick. They're not acting out of
any kind of selfless love. It's a way to get you to convert.
"Once you're on the inside, it's just like any other normal society.
Everyone wants to be the leader. Everyone wants to go to the holy land.
My father is desperately trying to set things up for himself to advance—
sending presents to the leaders, trying to raise his position, no matter 
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what. It's really idiotic. You saw what happened today, didn't you? That
girl who presented last was just a nondescript researcher until recently,
but her family kept telling her to enter missionary school until finally,
she did. When she, a family member, presents at the missionary school,
her aunt gains status."
I fished for more information about Misaki.
"Eh?" The boy blinked. ”Well, that girl just recently became a
researcher. She's a normal girl—an adopted child, or some kind of ward
of that older woman. The uncle seems to have no interest in religion,
which might prove to be a saving grace. No, I guess she's torn between
two things, which is even harder. She always seems troubled, for some
reason."
I was deeply grateful to the boy for this inside information.
When we parted, the boy admonished, "Like I said, don't do it. You
absolutely must not convert. Well, I don't really care if you convert; if
you do, though, don't have kids."
I nodded slightly and returned to my apartment.
Part Three
The next day, Misaki and I walked through the city streets. The sky was
a cloudless blue. As it was Saturday, there were a lot of people near the
station, and it was all a little dizzying for me.
As promised, I'd met her at the neighborhood park at one o'clock in
the afternoon, and we'd gone straight to the station. About two hours 
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had passed, and we were still walking. We just kept walking. Although
Misaki walked in front of me, ostensibly in the lead, I got the feeling that
we'd been walking around and around the same roads for a while.
Still, Misaki's footsteps remained steady.
Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Um, where are we walking?"
Misaki turned around. "What?"
"I mean, what's our destination?"
"We can't just walk like this?"
I rolled my eyes toward the sky.
Misaki stopped and folded her arms, deep in thought. "Hm. Now
that you mention it, it is kind of strange. Thinking about it more
carefully, I guess most people do try to go somewhere."
I had nothing to say.
"Hey, where do you think people normally would go?"
It's not like I have an answer. To begin with, what in the hell were we
doing? It was Saturday, in the middle of the afternoon, and we had met
to walk around in the city. Who in the world are we, anyway? If I could
answer that question, maybe our destination would change.
At any rate, I asked, "Misaki, is there anywhere you'd like to go?"
"No."
"Have you eaten lunch yet?"
"Not yet."
For the time being, we decided to go to a nearby family restaurant.
As we entered the family restaurant, Misaki said, "This is the first time 
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I've eaten at a place like this."
I smoked a cigarette. The tip was shaking slightly. It was painful for
me. I wanted sunglasses. If I could just have sunglasses, I wouldn't have
to worry about strangers staring at me.
Misaki ordered the lunch special. She ate with vigor while I sipped
my coffee.
Dammit, I thought. The caffeine was making it even more difficult to
stay calm. Soon, I would start acting suspiciously.
Misaki was rather cheery, however. She looked like she was having
fun making some sort of origami from the paper napkins set up on the
table.
"Look, it's finished. Isn't it amazing?" It was a crane.
"It is amazing. You're very skilled." I praised her.
My stomach was starting to hurt, so we left the family restaurant.
We walked for about another half hour before heading to a café. I
drank some black tea, and Misaki ate cake. I was trying to remember the
original reason we were meeting like this.
On that night, Misaki had said, "Let's go into the city. If we do that,
I think you'll definitely head in a good direction."
Oh, right. In short, this was another part of the hikikomori escape
program, and it didn't mean we were on a date or anything. And then,
there was the previous night. After watching Misaki last night, I was
even more mystified by her true identity. For starters, the evening had
erased my theory that all this was just a covert religious recruitment on
her part. Given how little she had fit in with the surroundings at the
assembly, it was unlikely that she'd zealously try to convert strangers.
In the end, who was she? Even now, she remained a huge mystery. 
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What should I do, hanging out like this with such a mysterious girl? What
should I do? Finally, with no idea what else to do, I simply kept silent.
Misaki pulled another book out of the bag that she always carried.
This one was The Many Words That Guide You: A Collection of Proverbs
That Will Echo in Your Heart. Another strange book. . . I was no longer
surprised.
Moving her cake plate aside, Misaki opened the book on the table.
"Let it be." Saying this, she intently looked at me. "It seems to be a
saying by a man named John. What do you think this means?"
"L-let things be as they are."
"Ah, that's a great saying!"
Eventually, our meandering took us back to the manga café where
Misaki worked occasionally. The man sitting at the register nodded at
her. Acting like a regular customer, I took a receipt. Then, we sat down
in the very back of the room.
The place was basically deserted.
Drinking free cola, I concentrated on reading manga. Misaki, who
sat across from me, watched me and drank orange juice. I was incredibly
distracted, but there was nothing I could do about it. I felt like a hole was
about to open in my stomach.
Finally, I couldn't put up with it. There was no way I could read
manga like this. I tried speaking. "Misaki?"
"Hm?"
"There aren't many people in this manga café, are there?"
"It's because of the recent downturn in the economy."
I looked over at the man behind the counter. "That man, how is he
related to you?" 
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166
"He's my uncle. I'm always causing him trouble; but because I'm
leaving before long, I think he'll forgive me."
It sounded like they had some sort of complicated family dynamic;
however, I didn't want to hear that story, so I changed direction.
"Anyway, Misaki, do you enjoy your religious activities?"
"Not really. I trouble people all the time."
"Trouble?"
"You know—how to phrase it? I disturb the atmosphere. Well, my
presence there depresses a lot of other people. Actually, it would be best
if I weren't anywhere."
"You could just leave the group."
"I can't. I have to do something to repay my aunt."
"Misaki, you don't really believe in God, do you?"
Misaki put her cup of juice on the table. It made a small clank. "I do
think it would be nice if God existed. If I could, I'd like to believe, but it's
rather difficult."
She sounded disappointed. In a discouraged tone, she gave an abrupt
hypothesis. "To start with, if God really existed, He would have to be a
terrible villain. Thinking about it comprehensively, I've come to that
conclusion."
"Huh?"
"Well, for human beings, the ratio of painful things to enjoyable
things has to be about nine to one. One time, I wrote it all down in my
notebook and calculated it." Misaki took out her secret notebook and
spread it open on the table.
"See, there's the pie chart. If you look, you can see clear as day that
the happy times—the times when you think, 'How fun! I'm glad I'm 
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167
alive!'—don't make up even one tenth of life. I worked this out properly
with a calculator, so there's no mistake."
I rather wondered what kind of calculation methods she'd used, but
Misaki didn't show me any other pages. I had no intention of going out
of my way to infringe on her privacy further.
Misaki continued, "That's why. Any God who would purposefully
create such a painful world must be a really terrible guy, don't you think?
It's a logical conclusion, isn't it?"
"Misaki, didn't you just say that you wanted to believe in God?"
"Yeah. I do want to believe. I think I wish did God did exist. I
mean. . . "
"You mean?"
"If that type of bad God did exist, then we could go on living in good
health. If we could push the responsibility for our misery onto God, then
we would have that much more peace of mind, wouldn't we?"
It was a complicated discussion. I folded my arms and pretended to
think deeply about it, but my mind wasn't working properly.
To begin with, Misaki, how serious about this are you? You've been
smiling bizarrely for a while now. From start to finish, I felt as though I'd
been trapped in a deceptive fog.
In the end, though, her words sounded honest and heartfelt. "If I
could believe in God," she whispered, "I could become happy. God is a
bad guy; even so, I know I could become happy."
"The problem is," she continued, "the problem is. . . I have a poor
imagination, so I can't believe in God very easily. Look, couldn't He
create some really showy miracle for me, just like He does in the Bible?"
She was the kind of girl who said these unreasonable things. 
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168
After we chatted for about an hour longer, I decided it was about
time to leave. When I went to pay, the man behind the register said,
"Don't worry about it. Please, be kind to her."
I felt that this was a strange thing to say to a guy getting to know a
girl Misaki's age, but the man's weary expression was strangely
compelling. I bowed my head slightly and hurried for home.
Back at my apartment, I was incredibly surprised.
In the middle of my room, a life-sized, mannequin-like doll had been
set up. Wobbling with each step, Yamazaki circled the doll.
"Welcome back, Satou! This is our object of worship." I was
speechless.
"The other day, I heard that a school acquaintances older brother
had a Ruriruri26 life-sized figure he bought a long time ago that he didn't
know what to do with. Right away, I did everything I could to get it!
Please, Satou, you worship her, too—this pale, young little, adorable
Ruriruri!"
The doll seemed to be some anime character. Yamazaki was
prostrating himself before a life-sized doll that was modeled after a girl
in the upper years of elementary school.
Looking around, I saw that the metal tin where we kept our drugs
was empty. Yamazaki had finished all the rest.
"Yes, I believe I did use the drugs! I experienced the greatest trip of
this century. Yes! This time, I had a real epiphany. Indeed, Satou, I've
seen the very structure of this world." After rubbing his forehead at the 
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feet of the doll, Yamazaki suddenly stood up and faced me.
"I just kept thinking and thinking, 'what are we missing?' There's
something missing from us. There's a big hole in our chests, so I wanted
something to fill that hole. I wanted something to make me content.
That's it. Yesterday, our religious observation reinforced my meditation
on the subject. Everyone is uncertain. In this incomprehensible world,
we want to be ordered around by someone else, and that's why we made
God. The dual antagonism between God and Satan explains the world
more easily. You see? That strong, simple story! I honestly was affected!
"Unfortunately, that God isn't suited for us because that God is
incredibly frightening. As you can see from the illustrations in
'Awaken!'—he is incredibly realistic and not at all cute." Yamazaki
picked up the pamphlet lying in the corner of the room and held it out to
me.
"Please, look at the special feature for June, 'Guardian Angels: They
Are Always Protecting You.' In their religion, angels look like this."
Yamazaki had opened to a page featuring a realistic illustration of a
muscular man with wings on his back.
Yamazaki ripped the pamphlet into pieces. "I don't need an angel like
this!" he screamed. "What is he, some kind of bodybuilder? When you
say 'angel,’ I think of something more, you know, beautiful and moe moe
and loli loli. . . "
Many, many memories of erotic games where an angelic girl
appeared as the heroine flashed through my mind.
"That's right! Don't you see, Satou? Now is the exact time for
religious reform!"
I was still speechless. 
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170
"Our object of worship is this Ruriruri doll! And I am the founder of
the sect!"
I gently tapped Yamazaki on the shoulder.
Shaking off my hand, Yamazaki continued ranting. "Those who
believe will be saved! We must make something we ourselves can believe
in order to bring meaning to our lives! And the meaning will be how we
live on with our incredible new religion!"
Stalking around and around the room, he raised his fists, howling.
He was screaming about anything that came to mind.
Eventually, Yamazaki ended up clinging pathetically to the life-sized
doll. "I can't keep living like this," he whispered. His eyes were open
wide.
I made him some hot coffee. Yamazaki drank his coffee, tears in his
eyes.
I, too, felt like crying.
"By the way, Yamazaki, what are you going to do with this doll?"
"I'm giving it to you, Satou. Do whatever you want with it."

Chapter 08

Infiltration

Part One

It actually might have had something to do with a hormonal imbalance

in my brain. Like crashing and receding waves, my mania and depression

alternated, and that was how every day went. Just when I thought I felt

better, I wanted to die so bad the very next day that I wasn't good for

anything.

Despite using drugs to force myself to be more energetic, I couldn't

carry on once again after they wore off. Shame about my past and

anxieties for the future, as well as many other fears, assaulted me

simultaneously. This ensuing depression was a rebound from my ultrahigh-energy

periods and, as such, was completely, horribly severe.

Even Misaki's nightly counseling, which I should have grown

accustomed to by then, remained frightening. Anxiety of an unknown

origin had enfolded me, and the very uncertainty of that origin fanned 

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my fear even more.

The initial, readily noticeable symptom was that my gaze started to

wander and I would become unable to look others in the eye while

speaking to them. Oh, I was just like some overly self-conscious middle

school kid. I felt embarrassed from the bottom of my heart. And because

I was aware of that embarrassment, my behavior would become even

stranger and more suspicious. It was a vicious cycle.

Anyway, for that night, I tried smoking to calm myself down in

front of Misaki. My hands, now prone to shaking, took out a cigarette

and lit it, using a cheap lighter. Damn—it was running out of fuel! How

can this he? This sucks! I didn't know what to do with the tobacco and

lighter I was holding, but I'd do anything possible to avoid the

humiliation of having to put them back in my pocket. I kept trying as

hard as I could to light it. Click, click, click, click. . . I kept struggling and,

finally, I succeeded—thank heavens!

I immediately turned away from Misaki and, instead, focused too

much on smoking my cigarette. I just kept smoking away, wasting five

yen with every puff. My lungs hurt and my guts hurt, too. The end of

my cigarette was shaking rapidly. On the back of my neck, a cold, sticky

sweat—

"What's wrong?" asked Misaki. As was usual for our counseling

sessions, we faced each other at night on one of the park benches.

"The problems caused by my chronic illness!" I replied.

"What do you mean by 'problems'?"

That's what really bothered me. Young girls these days didn't know

anything. Go study a little more! I wanted to yell at her; of course, that

would be impossible to do. The awful, useless traits acquired through 

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146

several years of hikikomori life—my agoraphobia, fear of eye contact,

and all my other anxiety disorders—now held me down with

considerable power.

Hm. . . Did I lock my apartment door? Was I certain I'd put out my

cigarette? More important: Misaki, don't look at me like that with those

adorable eyes! Not to mention, stop being so silent. Stop watching me without

saying anything! It makes me unbelievably nervous. My stomach really does

hurt.

I had to say something fast. ”By the way, Misaki, do you like snacks?"

What the hell was that supposed to mean?!

"No."

"Usually, girls around your age always are eating some kind of snack,

twenty-four hours a day, right? Just like a little animal. . . crunch,

crunch, crunch, crunch. What's up with that? Is it because they're young

and have fast metabolisms, so they continually have to replenish their

calories or they'll die? That's got to be it, huh?"

Should I just die?

She didn't say anything.

Should I just die?

"I won't die! And that's because I'm an energetic man! This

overflowing energy is the best! I'm only twenty-two! My future stretches

out before me! 'A neeew toooomorrow is here, one of hopesssss. . . '" I

sang.

Misaki clutched my shirt sleeve.

"Hm?"

"Let's go into the city, the day after tomorrow," she said, continuing

to pull on my sleeve, "near the station, maybe. Together. Someone 

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important once said long ago, 'Throw out your books and go to the city,'

or something like that. That's not a lie. It was written in a book I read

recently, so it's about time for us to go into the city. If we do that, I think

you'll definitely head in a good direction. Okay?"

Without thinking, I nodded.

Misaki's request had instilled a new fear within me. To go into the city,

in broad daylight, with a mysterious girl whose true identity I still didn't

know. . . No question, this rash action would put an unbelievable

amount of pressure on me. Completely overwhelmed by it, I

undoubtedly would do something embarrassing once again. There was

no chance that I would avoid doing something incomprehensibly

pathetic Ah, I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay locked up in my room.

Regardless, a promise is a promise. I reminded myself that the first step

to being an outstanding member of society would be to faithfully honor

my promises to others— I wasn't a member of society, though; I was just

a hikikomori.

Anyway, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach. The tension and

unrelenting impatience reminded me of the feelings I used to have the

day before a test. For someone whose will was weak like mine, this

pressure weighed down heavily on me with a palpable force.

However, just as Dostoyevsky or somebody had written in a story,

along with pain that exceeded normal bounds also came an undeniable

pleasure. In essence, when stress surpasses a particular limit, humans get

high on it for some reason. Getting extremely run down, for example, 

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might make a person rashly agreeable. This feeling, in turn, would raise

the excitement and the enjoyment.

"Right, Yamazaki?"

"Yes, sure. I have no idea what you're talking about, though."

Today, as usual, Yamazaki had been grinding away at his game since

the early morning. His body language somehow suggested that he might

be enjoying himself in some ghastly way.

"Let me see how far you've gotten," I said, but he blocked the

computer with his body. He must have been making an especially erotic

game

Well, whatever bizarre erotic game Yamazaki was working on

meant nothing to me now. I decided I should be eating breakfast right

about then and opened the fridge.

"Huh? What, Yamazaki, you're out of food?"

"Hey, you! Don't eat someone else's food every day as though it's

yours! And in their own apartment, no less!"

"No matter what you say, because I sold the fridge in my room to

that secondhand shop. . . " Trying to make suitable excuses, I took some

instant ramen from its usual place in the cabinet.

Just then, the doorbell rang. A visitor?

Yamazaki slowly stood up from his computer desk and opened the

door in the front hall. Standing there were two religious solicitors.

However, today's solicitors weren't Misaki and her aunt but a young

man around twenty, wearing a suit, and a roughly middle-school-aged

boy in a navy blazer. I wondered whether perhaps the routes had been

changed.

Either way, the solicitors' actions remained unchanged. 

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"Um, we're handing out these magazines. . . " The solicitor handed

two pamphlets to Yamazaki. "Uh, see, we're spreading the word about

our religion. . . "

Yamazaki tried to chase the solicitors away with some appropriate

speech.

Watching them, I suddenly had a wonderful idea. Joining them at

the front door, I pounded Yamazaki as hard as I could on the back

before interjecting, "What are you saying, Yamazaki?! Earlier, didn't you

say that you were interested in such literature?"

"Huh?"

Ignoring Yamazaki, who had turned to give me a look that meant,

"What are you talking about, you idiot?" I faced the solicitors and rattled

on, in one breath: "Actually, we've been interested in your activities for a

while. Could we possibly convince you to let us attend one of your

meetings?"

Part Two

Last night, when we parted, Misaki had whispered, "Tomorrow, it's my

turn to present at missionary school, and I don't want to."

"What's that?" I asked, and Misaki falteringly described it.

Missionary school was apparently a kind of assembly where

"research students" could perfect their skills at "service activities." The

following day, she would have to give a speech in front of everyone.

She used so many technical religious terms that an outsider like me 

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couldn't really understand what she was talking about. When I tried to

get her to explain more fully, Misaki quickly got up from the bench to go

home. She left, saying merely, "Anyway, as I have this thing that I have

to do tomorrow, we'll have to go into the city the day after that. Don't

forget your promise."

That was last night. Today, Misaki's religious group would hold a

meeting, and at that meeting, she would have to play a really difficult

role. Having put all this together, an idea struck me. Today was the

perfect opportunity to find out who Misaki really was! Summoning my

courage, I begged the solicitors, "Please, take us with you and allow us to

observe!"

Apparently, it was a rule that normally, outside observers first had

to attend the "literature research" that took place every Wednesday.

Thus, the two solicitors appeared uncertain what to do with me. I

continued to entreat them, "It must be today! Please, take us to the

meeting today!"

After I begged them for a few more minutes, they finally gave in.

They disclosed the location of the "Imperial Hall" and the meeting time.

"It starts at six o'clock in the evening. If you tell them you've come 'on

Kaneda's sponsorship,' you'll be allowed to enter."

It was early evening. Having disguised ourselves in strange clothing, we

quickly walked up the road toward the Imperial Hall.

My reason for infiltrating the meeting was to observe Misaki's

private life, so I could figure out her real motivations. This was the 

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reason that I decided to disguise myself. In the beginning, Yamazaki

stubbornly resisted my attempts to get him to join me, but I finally

convinced him. "Infiltrating a religious organization is a once-in-alifetime

opportunity, you know! It'll be interesting!" Eventually, he

yielded to my half-assed argument and, in the end, happily disguised

himself.

I wore the black suit I had bought when I entered college so that I

would look like a prize recruit. I pulled a tulip-pink hat down low over

my eyes and donned dark purple sunglasses. Even I thought I looked

ridiculous.

For his part, Yamazaki wore platform shoes to make himself about

four inches taller, put green contacts in his eyes—and on top of all that,

bleached his hair gold. I had no idea why he even owned such an idiotic

thing as platform shoes. Still, it was the perfect disguise.

Yet, I remained a bit anxious. I was afraid that our voices might

expose our true identities. "What do you think, Yamazaki? There's no

way we can change our voices, is there?"

When I expressed my worry on this point, Yamazaki dragged me

into the department store near the station, and we headed toward the

fourth-floor toy store. At the party goods section, he picked up some

helium gas. It had been popular a while ago because if you inhaled it,

your voice would sound like a duck.

"Ah! You're smart!" I thumped Yamazaki on the back.

He stuck out his thumb and grinned. He was having a great time.

In this way, we completed all our preparations and triumphantly

headed toward the Imperial Hall, which was located at the edge of the

shopping center near the station. People passing us—clearly a shady 

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152

pair, squeaking in high "duck" voices—threw perplexed glances in our

direction. Normally, we would have been intimidated by their stares; but

only for today, we weren't scared of other people. My dark glasses

blocked the glances, and I had a friend in Yamazaki, who bravely walked

beside me.

More than anything else, the "energy-giving drug" I had bought

through the mail was working quite well. Only half a day earlier, I had

been suffering from anxieties I couldn't imagine escaping—but now, I

was suffused with energy. Apparently, just a few milligrams of generic

drugs could drastically change people's emotions.

"Is this it?" Yamazaki asked in his duck voice once we had exited the

narrow alley that ran next to the tracks, pointing at a four-story building

next to a convenience store.

I checked the map the solicitor had drawn for me. The information

board at the building's entrance also announced, ”Third Floor, Imperial

Hall." There was no mistake; this was it. It was great that we had arrived

at our destination, but I felt unexpectedly let down.

Contrary to its powerful-sounding name, the Imperial Hall was a

rather worn-out old building that rented out office space to small

businesses. The first floor was a real estate company and the second

floor housed a tax attorney's office, leaving only the third floor to be

occupied by the religious group. Colored red by the sunset, the rental

space looked even more faded. I had imagined a huge temple decorated

in gold leaf and the like, so I was taken by surprise.

Still, it was about time to start our infiltration. "L-let's go,

Yamazaki."

"Yeah, let's, Satou." 

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Fortifying our will, we climbed the narrow stairs of the building.

In the end, our infiltration of the hall succeeded easily.

No one we passed even obliquely mentioned our strange disguises.

Although I had told yet another gigantic lie: "Actually, my eyes are so

bad, I need my sunglasses." I said this despite not having been asked.

And everyone said, "Oh my, how terrible," and took pity on me.

That's right: They were actually good people.

"Good evening."

"Welcome."

"Thank you for coming."

A housewife, a female middle school student, and a businessman

greeted us with invigorating smiles on their faces. Bowing our heads to

them, we continued up the narrow stairs and stepped into the meeting

hall. And once again, we tasted disappointment.

The interior of the hall lacked any religious atmosphere.

Adornments such as candles, crosses, and altars were nowhere to be

found. Instead, inside the room, a podium like those found in school

auditoriums occupied center stage, faced by rows of evenly spaced metal

folding chairs. The room could accommodate about one hundred

people. The floor and walls were painted uniformly in a soft cream color,

and the fluorescent lighting was bright. This relaxed space, the meeting

room, basically resembled a normal town hall.

For now, we sat in folding chairs at the very back, hunching down to

make ourselves as invisible as possible. However, that attempt soon 

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154

failed miserably. Yamazaki and I were surrounded by hospitable, smiling

people—young and old, male and female. It looked as though the young

solicitor wed seen the previous day had told everyone to expect visitors

beforehand.

"I hear you're interested in the Bible," said a housewife with a child in

her arms. "After all, faith is an issue that everyone has to face."

A young man about my age said, "Please, take your time and watch."

A high-school-aged girl said—

They were all speaking to us at the same time.

Returning their greetings in my duck voice, I felt increasingly

anxious. This is bad. At this rate, we'll stand out. Or rather, we're already

standing out plenty. Misaki doesn't seem to have arrived yet; the way it's going,

though, it's only a matter of time before she sees through our disguises.

For the moment, we decided to retreat temporarily. Asking the

housewife where the bathroom was, we hurried from the meeting hall.

"This is no good, Satou."

"It's bad, isn't it, Yamazaki?"

We caught our breath while relieving ourselves in the sparkling

clean bathroom.

"Why are those people being so friendly to shady people like us?"

"I'm kind of moved." I was somewhat surprised by myself. This was

the first time in my long life that I had ever experienced anything like

this. A large number of people had openly welcomed me with smiles on

their faces. I had no idea how to deal with it.

"Ha ha ha ha, maybe I should convert!"

I heard Yamazaki, who had gone into the private stall, suddenly

burst into laughter. Next came the sound of toilet paper unrolling. I 

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155

heard him blow his nose, and then he came out of the stall. The pupils of

his eyes had dilated behind his colored contacts. White powder stuck to

his sleeves.

"How about you, Satou?" Yamazaki held out a plastic packet filled

with the drug. I gently refused. As my espionage activities were about to

begin, I couldn't afford to lose my level-headed judgment.

Putting tissues inside my mouth, I changed the contours of my face

creating an even more perfect disguise. Yamazaki, an off-the-chart smile

plastered across his face, meanwhile busied himself walking in circles

around the bathroom.

A short time later, we heard a choral hymn coming from beyond the

bathroom wails. The assembly seemed to have begun.

Casually, we headed toward the meeting hall.

As I mentioned, the meeting hall's interior lacked any sort of religious

atmosphere at all. It looked like a youth training center. Even so. . .

Why had I gotten goose bumps up and down my spine? I was

moved. It might have been a side effect of the drugs I'd taken before

leaving the apartment. My emotional amplification might have been

nothing more than a side effect. But. . .

Almost one hundred people had gathered in this hall, and they were

singing without hesitation, with remarkable spirit. Older men, older

women, young men, young women—they had turned in unison to face

the lectern and single-mindedly sang a hymn praising God. Here, I could

certainly feel holiness. Oh, this is true religion! This is wonderful!

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156

Anyway, wrapped up in the hymn, I moved quickly along the wall of

the meeting hall and arrived back at a seat along the very edge. When

the hymn ended, a middle-aged man standing at the podium began to

pray. He seemed to be the most important person there.

"Great Creator, who made the heavens and this Earth, too, along

with us humans, may praise and glory be returned to your great name."

Everyone looked forward, listening attentively to his prayer. No one

looked at us.

It was going as planned.

Or so I thought. As he was finishing his prayers, the important man

at the podium said something like, "Thanks to the aid of the Holy Spirit,

you were all able to gather here again today. Many children, as well as

new people. . . "

New people? Who? Who are they?

They were us.

Everyone's gazes immediately turned toward us. I pulled the tulip

hat even farther down over my eyes. Yamazaki, as though competing

with everyone else, flashed his insane smile.

At the edge of my peripheral vision, I could see Misaki. She was in

front of me, in the seat closest to the pedestal. She hadn't realized we

were there. Relaxing, I stopped Yamazaki, who was trying to wave to

everyone.

"Well then, we give you all our thanks in the name of the Son, Lord

Jesus Christ, and give you our prayers."

"Amen." The congregation spoke as one. Only our duck voices stood

out terribly in the chorus. 

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The purpose of this meeting was to improve proselytizing techniques.

This was why it was called "missionary school."

First, a veteran male follower stood at the podium and spoke as an

example to follow. After that, the missionary students expounded on

various subjects for six minutes at a time. At the end, the "director" gave

a three-tiered assessment ("good," "work harder," or "needs

improvement") to each student's discussion.

At least, that's how the housewife sitting next to me explained it.

Bowing politely to her, I casually assessed the scene. Even though it

was a weekday evening, a decent number of people had gathered. What

caught my eye first was the huge number of housewives. They were all

extremely normal, middle-aged women, like the kind you'd find

shopping at any nearby supermarket. In addition, there were

businessmen, corning straight to the assembly on their way home from

work. Finally, there were young people on their way home from school.

A wide variety of people had gathered in this meeting hall.

The more senior male followers wore serious expressions at the

podium, and I was fascinated by their discussions. Some people even

wrote down the contents of these lectures in their notebooks. The

speeches once again contained the sort of vocabulary that made normal

people's heads hurt. "Armageddon" and "Satan" and other such

wonderful terms kept coming up, and so my stomach began to ache.

At any rate, I was certain that there were about one hundred people

gathered here, and that they were all very, very serious.

"The birth of mankind was six thousand years ago."

"Noah's Ark is on Mount Ararat."

"Satan's war will begin soon." 

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"According to the Book of Revelations. . . "

Are you all from Gakken Mu!?25 I wanted to yell, but Yamazaki and I

were vastly outnumbered.

Finally, the first lecture ended. In summation, this was its message:

The decay of this world is spreading visibly. Political corruption is

unending, disputes break out ceaselessly around the world, and brutal

urban crime just goes on and on. Youths are addicted to licentious

relationships, adults seek only material worth, and morality falls further

and further by the wayside. In shore, this is Satan's doing. Those in this

world ruled by Satan are unaware that they do his bidding, and this is

precisely why Armageddon draws near. Before Armageddon arrives, we

must save as many people as possible from damnation. This is the goal of

our mission.

Apparently, an antagonism between God and Satan existed, and

those without faith would fall into hell.

The student lectures that followed seemed to have similar themes.

"Praise God, hate Satan" appeared to be the general policy. They all

seemed to have practiced quite a bit for this day and skillfully referenced

passages from the Bible, speaking without hesitation. I could see some

signs of nervousness; even so, they spoke proudly. Each time the bell

rang, marking the end of the allotted six minutes, everyone clapped. I

clapped, too. Continuing in this way, eventually, the young people's

speeches ended.

Next. . . Yamazaki and I exchanged glances: Misaki's turn had come.

I was expectant. I wanted her to use ridiculous lines like those I

heard each night at counseling. I wanted her to make me laugh and feel

cheerful. 

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However, Misaki, at the podium, was shaking slightly, her face pale.

During the entire time, she had nothing interesting to say. In a vague,

flat monotone, she merely gave a passable speech about the Bible, staring

at her shoes the entire time.

She seemed to be in pain. Her demeanor reminded me of a girl who,

from elementary school on, everyone had bullied.

Missionary school ended.

After a ten minute break, a "service meeting" was scheduled. During

the break, everyone chatted amiably—a group of housewives, boys, and

young men. Each group gathered together, talking and smiling happily.

"Kazuma is in Bethel—"

"—servants volunteering—"

"Anyway, in the reclamation work we did before—"

"—the Satomi sisters finally were baptized."

Specialized, technical terms were used often, so I couldn't really

follow the conversations well.

I looked toward the corner of the meeting hail where Misaki sat

alone, stooped over on a steel chair. She was making herself small, trying

as hard as she could to not stand out. There, in the corner of the room,

she was destroying any trace of herself. She really was pale. Each time

someone passed her, Misaki looked downward. It appeared as though

she feared someone might try to talk to her. During the break, no one

spoke to her. That seemed to be what she wanted.

In the friendly meeting hall, she alone stood out from the 

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surroundings.

"Let's go home." I nudged Yamazaki toward the door.

"What are you saying, Satou? The service meeting is about to start!"

Yamazaki's eyes were bloodshot, and I had some idea why. In the

technical terms we were most familiar with—that is to say, in the

vocabulary of erotic games—service was defined as "a special type of

loving massage that a maid in an apron performs for her master."

"This is a service meeting! Those girls over there will perform their

services for us!"

"There's no way that's going to happen!"

Putting the angry Yamazaki into a full nelson, I muscled him

outside. As we approached the building's main exit, a voice called out

from behind, "Hey, you!"

It was the younger of the two solicitors we'd encountered earlier, the

middle-school-aged boy. His hands thrust in his blazer pockets, he

glared at us. "You guys are really here just to make fun, right?"

Suddenly, Yamazaki took off. He ran away without even glancing

back.

Once again, I was left alone.

However, the boy didn't yell at me. In fact, we started walking along

the dark road together. Even though it was already summer, the night

wind was unseasonably chilly. The boy was smoking a cigarette. He

exhaled, "Ah. . . "

"That's against the commandments, I think."

Forestalling me, the boy drew a Zippo from his pocket and lit

another cigarette with what seemed to be a practiced hand.

Walking on my right side, he explained, ”Sometimes, people like you 

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want to see something weird, so they come to observe the meetings.

Stupid students, like you guys. Well then, what did you think? Was it

funny?"

I didn't say anything.

"I'm not doing this religion thing because I like it, you know."

"What do you mean?"

"It's my parents. Both my mom and dad love religion. In our house,

I'm the only one with a decent head on his shoulders. If I ever said that I

wanted to leave the church, what do you think would happen? I once

said to my mom, 'I want to join a school activity, and I want to play at

friends' houses.' When I did, that old hag started screaming, 'You devil!'

She wouldn't even make me lunch for days."

The boy laughed. "I go along with my parents enough for them not

to get mad; and then, when I'm outside the house, I do what I want."

He spent his time at school like a normal kid, I concluded, and while

at home, he lived as a devout, religious person. He was living a double

life.

"What I'm saying is, you guys should be sure not to make the

mistake of joining up." He sounded serious. "Everyone made a fuss over

you today, right? Everyone seemed happy, right? You probably thought

something dumb like, 'maybe I could get along with nice people such as

these,' right? You're wrong. That's their trick. They're not acting out of

any kind of selfless love. It's a way to get you to convert.

"Once you're on the inside, it's just like any other normal society.

Everyone wants to be the leader. Everyone wants to go to the holy land.

My father is desperately trying to set things up for himself to advance—

sending presents to the leaders, trying to raise his position, no matter 

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what. It's really idiotic. You saw what happened today, didn't you? That

girl who presented last was just a nondescript researcher until recently,

but her family kept telling her to enter missionary school until finally,

she did. When she, a family member, presents at the missionary school,

her aunt gains status."

I fished for more information about Misaki.

"Eh?" The boy blinked. ”Well, that girl just recently became a

researcher. She's a normal girl—an adopted child, or some kind of ward

of that older woman. The uncle seems to have no interest in religion,

which might prove to be a saving grace. No, I guess she's torn between

two things, which is even harder. She always seems troubled, for some

reason."

I was deeply grateful to the boy for this inside information.

When we parted, the boy admonished, "Like I said, don't do it. You

absolutely must not convert. Well, I don't really care if you convert; if

you do, though, don't have kids."

I nodded slightly and returned to my apartment.

Part Three

The next day, Misaki and I walked through the city streets. The sky was

a cloudless blue. As it was Saturday, there were a lot of people near the

station, and it was all a little dizzying for me.

As promised, I'd met her at the neighborhood park at one o'clock in

the afternoon, and we'd gone straight to the station. About two hours 

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had passed, and we were still walking. We just kept walking. Although

Misaki walked in front of me, ostensibly in the lead, I got the feeling that

we'd been walking around and around the same roads for a while.

Still, Misaki's footsteps remained steady.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Um, where are we walking?"

Misaki turned around. "What?"

"I mean, what's our destination?"

"We can't just walk like this?"

I rolled my eyes toward the sky.

Misaki stopped and folded her arms, deep in thought. "Hm. Now

that you mention it, it is kind of strange. Thinking about it more

carefully, I guess most people do try to go somewhere."

I had nothing to say.

"Hey, where do you think people normally would go?"

It's not like I have an answer. To begin with, what in the hell were we

doing? It was Saturday, in the middle of the afternoon, and we had met

to walk around in the city. Who in the world are we, anyway? If I could

answer that question, maybe our destination would change.

At any rate, I asked, "Misaki, is there anywhere you'd like to go?"

"No."

"Have you eaten lunch yet?"

"Not yet."

For the time being, we decided to go to a nearby family restaurant.

As we entered the family restaurant, Misaki said, "This is the first time 

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I've eaten at a place like this."

I smoked a cigarette. The tip was shaking slightly. It was painful for

me. I wanted sunglasses. If I could just have sunglasses, I wouldn't have

to worry about strangers staring at me.

Misaki ordered the lunch special. She ate with vigor while I sipped

my coffee.

Dammit, I thought. The caffeine was making it even more difficult to

stay calm. Soon, I would start acting suspiciously.

Misaki was rather cheery, however. She looked like she was having

fun making some sort of origami from the paper napkins set up on the

table.

"Look, it's finished. Isn't it amazing?" It was a crane.

"It is amazing. You're very skilled." I praised her.

My stomach was starting to hurt, so we left the family restaurant.

We walked for about another half hour before heading to a café. I

drank some black tea, and Misaki ate cake. I was trying to remember the

original reason we were meeting like this.

On that night, Misaki had said, "Let's go into the city. If we do that,

I think you'll definitely head in a good direction."

Oh, right. In short, this was another part of the hikikomori escape

program, and it didn't mean we were on a date or anything. And then,

there was the previous night. After watching Misaki last night, I was

even more mystified by her true identity. For starters, the evening had

erased my theory that all this was just a covert religious recruitment on

her part. Given how little she had fit in with the surroundings at the

assembly, it was unlikely that she'd zealously try to convert strangers.

In the end, who was she? Even now, she remained a huge mystery. 

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What should I do, hanging out like this with such a mysterious girl? What

should I do? Finally, with no idea what else to do, I simply kept silent.

Misaki pulled another book out of the bag that she always carried.

This one was The Many Words That Guide You: A Collection of Proverbs

That Will Echo in Your Heart. Another strange book. . . I was no longer

surprised.

Moving her cake plate aside, Misaki opened the book on the table.

"Let it be." Saying this, she intently looked at me. "It seems to be a

saying by a man named John. What do you think this means?"

"L-let things be as they are."

"Ah, that's a great saying!"

Eventually, our meandering took us back to the manga café where

Misaki worked occasionally. The man sitting at the register nodded at

her. Acting like a regular customer, I took a receipt. Then, we sat down

in the very back of the room.

The place was basically deserted.

Drinking free cola, I concentrated on reading manga. Misaki, who

sat across from me, watched me and drank orange juice. I was incredibly

distracted, but there was nothing I could do about it. I felt like a hole was

about to open in my stomach.

Finally, I couldn't put up with it. There was no way I could read

manga like this. I tried speaking. "Misaki?"

"Hm?"

"There aren't many people in this manga café, are there?"

"It's because of the recent downturn in the economy."

I looked over at the man behind the counter. "That man, how is he

related to you?" 

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"He's my uncle. I'm always causing him trouble; but because I'm

leaving before long, I think he'll forgive me."

It sounded like they had some sort of complicated family dynamic;

however, I didn't want to hear that story, so I changed direction.

"Anyway, Misaki, do you enjoy your religious activities?"

"Not really. I trouble people all the time."

"Trouble?"

"You know—how to phrase it? I disturb the atmosphere. Well, my

presence there depresses a lot of other people. Actually, it would be best

if I weren't anywhere."

"You could just leave the group."

"I can't. I have to do something to repay my aunt."

"Misaki, you don't really believe in God, do you?"

Misaki put her cup of juice on the table. It made a small clank. "I do

think it would be nice if God existed. If I could, I'd like to believe, but it's

rather difficult."

She sounded disappointed. In a discouraged tone, she gave an abrupt

hypothesis. "To start with, if God really existed, He would have to be a

terrible villain. Thinking about it comprehensively, I've come to that

conclusion."

"Huh?"

"Well, for human beings, the ratio of painful things to enjoyable

things has to be about nine to one. One time, I wrote it all down in my

notebook and calculated it." Misaki took out her secret notebook and

spread it open on the table.

"See, there's the pie chart. If you look, you can see clear as day that

the happy times—the times when you think, 'How fun! I'm glad I'm 

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alive!'—don't make up even one tenth of life. I worked this out properly

with a calculator, so there's no mistake."

I rather wondered what kind of calculation methods she'd used, but

Misaki didn't show me any other pages. I had no intention of going out

of my way to infringe on her privacy further.

Misaki continued, "That's why. Any God who would purposefully

create such a painful world must be a really terrible guy, don't you think?

It's a logical conclusion, isn't it?"

"Misaki, didn't you just say that you wanted to believe in God?"

"Yeah. I do want to believe. I think I wish did God did exist. I

mean. . . "

"You mean?"

"If that type of bad God did exist, then we could go on living in good

health. If we could push the responsibility for our misery onto God, then

we would have that much more peace of mind, wouldn't we?"

It was a complicated discussion. I folded my arms and pretended to

think deeply about it, but my mind wasn't working properly.

To begin with, Misaki, how serious about this are you? You've been

smiling bizarrely for a while now. From start to finish, I felt as though I'd

been trapped in a deceptive fog.

In the end, though, her words sounded honest and heartfelt. "If I

could believe in God," she whispered, "I could become happy. God is a

bad guy; even so, I know I could become happy."

"The problem is," she continued, "the problem is. . . I have a poor

imagination, so I can't believe in God very easily. Look, couldn't He

create some really showy miracle for me, just like He does in the Bible?"

She was the kind of girl who said these unreasonable things. 

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After we chatted for about an hour longer, I decided it was about

time to leave. When I went to pay, the man behind the register said,

"Don't worry about it. Please, be kind to her."

I felt that this was a strange thing to say to a guy getting to know a

girl Misaki's age, but the man's weary expression was strangely

compelling. I bowed my head slightly and hurried for home.

Back at my apartment, I was incredibly surprised.

In the middle of my room, a life-sized, mannequin-like doll had been

set up. Wobbling with each step, Yamazaki circled the doll.

"Welcome back, Satou! This is our object of worship." I was

speechless.

"The other day, I heard that a school acquaintances older brother

had a Ruriruri26 life-sized figure he bought a long time ago that he didn't

know what to do with. Right away, I did everything I could to get it!

Please, Satou, you worship her, too—this pale, young little, adorable

Ruriruri!"

The doll seemed to be some anime character. Yamazaki was

prostrating himself before a life-sized doll that was modeled after a girl

in the upper years of elementary school.

Looking around, I saw that the metal tin where we kept our drugs

was empty. Yamazaki had finished all the rest.

"Yes, I believe I did use the drugs! I experienced the greatest trip of

this century. Yes! This time, I had a real epiphany. Indeed, Satou, I've

seen the very structure of this world." After rubbing his forehead at the 

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feet of the doll, Yamazaki suddenly stood up and faced me.

"I just kept thinking and thinking, 'what are we missing?' There's

something missing from us. There's a big hole in our chests, so I wanted

something to fill that hole. I wanted something to make me content.

That's it. Yesterday, our religious observation reinforced my meditation

on the subject. Everyone is uncertain. In this incomprehensible world,

we want to be ordered around by someone else, and that's why we made

God. The dual antagonism between God and Satan explains the world

more easily. You see? That strong, simple story! I honestly was affected!

"Unfortunately, that God isn't suited for us because that God is

incredibly frightening. As you can see from the illustrations in

'Awaken!'—he is incredibly realistic and not at all cute." Yamazaki

picked up the pamphlet lying in the corner of the room and held it out to

me.

"Please, look at the special feature for June, 'Guardian Angels: They

Are Always Protecting You.' In their religion, angels look like this."

Yamazaki had opened to a page featuring a realistic illustration of a

muscular man with wings on his back.

Yamazaki ripped the pamphlet into pieces. "I don't need an angel like

this!" he screamed. "What is he, some kind of bodybuilder? When you

say 'angel,’ I think of something more, you know, beautiful and moe moe

and loli loli. . . "

Many, many memories of erotic games where an angelic girl

appeared as the heroine flashed through my mind.

"That's right! Don't you see, Satou? Now is the exact time for

religious reform!"

I was still speechless. 

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"Our object of worship is this Ruriruri doll! And I am the founder of

the sect!"

I gently tapped Yamazaki on the shoulder.

Shaking off my hand, Yamazaki continued ranting. "Those who

believe will be saved! We must make something we ourselves can believe

in order to bring meaning to our lives! And the meaning will be how we

live on with our incredible new religion!"

Stalking around and around the room, he raised his fists, howling.

He was screaming about anything that came to mind.

Eventually, Yamazaki ended up clinging pathetically to the life-sized

doll. "I can't keep living like this," he whispered. His eyes were open

wide.

I made him some hot coffee. Yamazaki drank his coffee, tears in his

eyes.

I, too, felt like crying.

"By the way, Yamazaki, what are you going to do with this doll?"

"I'm giving it to you, Satou. Do whatever you want with it."